PRESNAL RANCH SCHOOL LIBRARY THE WORKS OF WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY CORNHILL EDITION VOLUME XVI Thackeray liVom the pencil drawing by D. Maclise, R.A., by permission of the Committee of the Ga.rrick Club SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON NOTES OF A JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO GRAND CAIRO BY WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY WITH THE AUTHOR'S ILLUSTRATIONS NEW YORK CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 1911 Copyright, 1904, by Charles Scribner's Sons NOTE The papers brought together under the head of Sketches and Travels in London were contributed to Fundi from 1847 to 1850, over the signature of "Spec," — except "Going to See a Man Hanged," which had appeared in Fraser's Magazine in 1840, but was added to the collection in the revised edition. Of this last Mr. Eyre Crowe speaks in his account of early days in the Coram Street house, and reflects the evi- dently deep impression of the experience Thackeray transmitted to those about him: "He tossed on his pil- low, thinking all night of the wretch Courvoisier, the Swiss valet, whose exit is described in ' Going to See a Man Hanged.' " The later sketches and travels were most of them written in the Young Street study; Lady Ritchie has described his method of work upon them there, and upon ^ the drawings with which in most cases he accompanied , them ; his daughters helping him by preparing the wood- X blocks, and sometimes the boy from the Funch office ^ " waiting in the hall. " Lady Ritchie confirms, too, the statement often made, that the original of Whitestock in "The Curate's Walk" was her father's old friend William Brookfield. SOICGS The Journey from Cornhill to Grand Cairo, as has been said already in a note to Barry Lyndon, was made in 1844. The opportunity for it came to him in August, through an offer of a passage by the Penin- sular and Oriental Company, and through an agree- ment with Chapman & Hall to write a book on the East; but the plan, or rather the hope of it, seems to have been an old one. The final realization came about, apparently, exactly as Mr. Titmarsh describes it in the preface, including the shortness of preparation and the letters to his family— his mother and step-father and his daughters, who were living for the summer in Belgium, where he had been visiting and expected to rejoin them. The Journey was not published in book form till 1846, when it appeared in a small duodecimo volume. The portrait used as a frontispiece is from the pencil drawing by Maclise, reproduced by the kind permis- sion of the Committee of the Garrick Club. CONTENTS SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON PAGE Me. Brown's Letters to his Nephew: — 3 On Tailoring — and Toilettes in General ... 10 The Influence of Lovely Woman upon Society . 17 Some More Words About the Ladies 24 On Friendship 31 Mr. Brown the Elder Takes Mr. Brown the Younger to a Club 43 A Word about Balls in Season 63 A Word about Dinners 72 On Some Old Customs of the Dinner-Table . 79 Great and Little Dinners 86 On Love, Marriage, Men, and Women 93 Out of Town Ill On a Lady in an Opera-Box 124 On the Pleasures of Being a Fogy 132 Child's Parties 145 The Curate's Walk 158 A Dinner IN THE City 172 Waiting at the Station 191 A Night's Pleasure 199 Going to See a Man Hanged 233 vii viii CONTENTS NOTES OF A JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO GRAND CAIRO CHAPTER PAGE Dedication 259 Preface 261 I Vigo. — Thoughts at Sea — Sight of Land — Vigo — Spanish Ground — Spanish Troops — Pasagero . . 265 II Lisbon — Cadiz. — Lisbon — The Belem Road — A School — Landscape — Palace of Necessidades — Cadiz — The Rock 274 III The " Lady Mauy Wood." — British Lions — Travel- ling Friends — Bishop No. 2 — " Good-by, Bishop " — The Mock Lieutenant—" Lady Mary Wood " . . 287 IV Gibraltar. — iMess-Room Gossip — Military Horticul- ture— "All's Well "—A Release— Gibraltar— Malta — Religion and Nobility — Malta Relics — The La- zaretto — Death in the Lazaretto 296 V Athens. — Reminiscences of tvt-w — The Peirasus — Landscape — Basileus — England for Ever! — Classic Remains — ti'ttto) again 313 VI Smyrna — First Glimpses of the East. — First Emo- tions — The Bazaar — A Bastinado — Women — The Caravan Bridge — Smyrna — The Whistler . . . 325 vn Constantinople. — Caiques — Eothen's " Misseri " — A Turkish Bath — Constantinople — His Highness the Sultan — Ich mochte nicht der Sultan seyn — A Sub- ject for a Ghazul — The Child-Murderer — Turkish Children — ]\Iodesty — The Seraglio — The Sultanas' Puffs — The Sublime Porte — The Schoolmaster in Constantinople 337 vin Rhodes. — Jew Pilgrims — Jew Bargaining — Relics of Chivalry — Mahometanism Bankrupt — A Dragoman —A Fine Day— Rhodes 366 CONTENTS ix CHAPTER PAGE IX The White Squall 377 X Telmessus — Beyrout. — Telmessus — Halil Pasha — Beyrout — A Portrait — A Ball on Board — A Syrian Prince 382 XI A Day and Night in Syria. — Landing at Jaffa — Jaffa— The Cadi of Jaffa— The Cadi's Divan— A Night-Scene at Jaffa -^Syrian Night's Entertain- ments 393 XII From Jaffa to Jerusalem. — A Cavalcade — March- ing Order — A Tournament — Ramleh — Roadside Sketches — Rencontres — Abou Gosh — Night before Jerusalem 403 xni Jerusalem. — A Pillar of the Church — Quarters — Jew- ish Pilgrims — Jerusalem Jews — English Service — Jewish History — The Church of the Sepulchre — The Porch of the Sepulchre — Greek and Latin Legends — The Church of the Sepulchre — Bethlehem — The Latin Convent — The American Consul — Subjects for Sketching — Departure — A Day's March— Ramleh 415 XIV From Jaffa to Alexandria. — Bill of Fare — From Jaffa to Alexandria 443 XV To Cairo. — The Nile— First Sight of Cheops — The Ezbekieh — The Hotel d'Orient — The Conqueror Waghorn — Architecture — The Chief of the Hag — A Street-Scene — Arnaoots — A Gracious Prince — The Screw-Propeller in Egypt— The " Rint " in Egypt— The Maligned Orient — " The Sex" — Sub- jects for Painters — Slaves — A Hyde Park Moslem — Glimpses of the Harem — An Eastern Acquain- tance — An Egyptian Dinner — Life in the Desert — From the Top of the Pyramid — Groups for Land- scape — Pigmies and Pyramids — Things to think of —Finis 452 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON MR. BROWN'S LETTERS TO HIS NEPHEW T is with the greatest satisfaction, my dear Robert, that I have 3"ou as a neighbour, within a couple of miles of me, and that I have seen you established comfortably in your chambers in Fig-tree Court. The situation is not cheerful, it is true; and to clamber up three pairs of black creaking stairs is an exercise not pleasant to a man who never cared for ascending mountains. Nor did the performance of the young barrister who lives under j^ou — and, it appears, plays pretty constantly upon the French horn — give me any great pleasure as I sat and partook of luncheon in your rooms. Your female attendant or laundress, too, struck me from her personal ap- pearance to be a lady addicted to the use of ardent spirits; and the smell of tobacco, which you say some old college friends of yours had partaken on the 4 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON night previous, was, I must say, not pleasant in the chambers, and I even thought might be remarked as hngering in your own morning-coat. However, I am an old fellow. The use of cigars has come in since my time (and, I must own, is adopted by many people of the first fashion), and these and other inconveniences are surmounted more gaily by young fellows like yourself than by oldsters of my standing. It pleased me, how- ever, to see the picture of the old house at home over the mantel-piece. Your college prize-books make a very good show in your book-cases ; and I was glad to remark in the looking-glass the cards of both our excellent county Members. The rooms, altogether, have a rep- utable appearance; and I hope, my dear fellow, that the Society of the Inner Temple will have a punctual tenant. As you have now completed your academical studies, and are about to commence your career in London, I propose, my dear Nephew, to give you a few hints for your guidance; which, although you have an undoubted genius of your own, yet come from a person who has had considerable personal experience, and, I have no doubt, would be useful to you if you did not disregard them, as, indeed, you will most probably do. With your law studies it is not my duty to meddle. I have seen you estabhshed, one of six pupils, in Mr. Tapeworm's chambers in Pump Court, seated on a high- legged stool on a foggy day, with your back to a blaz- ing fire. At your father's desire, I have paid a hundred guineas to that eminent special pleader, for the advan- tages which I have no doubt j^ou will enjoy, while seated on the high-legged stool in his back room, and rest contented with your mother's prediction that you will MR. BROWN'S LETTERS 5 be Lord Chief Justice some day. May you prosper, my dear fellow I is all I desire. By the way, I should like to know what was the meaning of a pot of porter which entered into your chambers as I issued from them at one o'clock, and trust that it was not your thirst which was to be quenched with such a beverage at such an hour. It is not, then, with regard to your duties as a law- student that I have a desire to lecture you, but in re- spect of your pleasures, amusements, acquaintances, and general conduct and bearing as a young man of the world. I will rush into the subject at once, and exemplify my morality in your own person. Why, sir, for instance, do you wear that tuft to your chin, and those sham tur- quoise buttons to your waistcoat? A chin-tuft is a cheap enjoyment certainly, and the twiddling it about, as I see you do constantly, so as to show your lower teeth, a harmless amusement to fill up your vacuous hours. And as for waistcoat-buttons, you will say, " Do not all the young men wear them, and what can I do but buy artificial turquoise, as I cannot afford to buy real stones? " I take you up at once and show you why you ought to shave off your tip and give up the factitious jewellery. My dear Bob, in spite of us and all the Republicans in the world, there are ranks and degrees in life and so- ciety, and distinctions to be maintained by each man ac- cording to his rank and degree. You have no more right, as I take it, to sport an imperial on your chin than I have to wear a shovel-hat with a rosette. I hold a tuft to a man's chin to be the centre of a system, so to speak, which ought all to correspond and be harmonious 6 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON — the whole tune of a man's life ought to be played in that key. Look, for instance, at Lord Hugo Fitzurse seated in the private box at the Lj^ceum, by the side of that beau- tiful creature with the black eyes and the magnificent point-lace, who you fancied was ogling you through her enormous spy-glasses. Lord Hugo has a tuft to his chin, certainly, his countenance grins with a perfect vacuity behind it, and his whiskers curl crisply round one of the handsomest and stupidest countenances in the world. But just reckon up in your own mind what it costs him to keep up that simple ornament on his chin. Look at every article of that amiable and most gentleman-like — though, I own, foolish — young man's dress, and see how absurd it is of you to attempt to imitate him. Look at his hands (I have the young nobleman per- fectly before my mind's eye now) ; the little hands are dangling over the cushion of the box gloved as tightly and delicately as a lady's. His wristbands are fastened up towards his elbows with jewellery. Gems and rubies meander down his pink shirt-front and waistcoat. He wears a watch with an apparatus of gimcracks at his waistcoat-pocket. He sits in a splendid side-box, or he simpers out of the windows at " White's," or you see him grinning out of a cab by the Serpentine — a lovely and costly picture, surrounded by a costly frame. Whereas you and I, my good Bob, if we want to see a play, do not disdain an order from our friend the newspaper Editor, or to take a seat in the pit. Your watch is your father's old hunting-watch. When we go in the Park we go on foot, or at best get a horse up after Easter, and just show in Rotten Row. We shall MR. BROWN'S LETTERS 7 never look out of " White's " bow-window. The amount of Lord Hugo's tailor's bill would support you and your younger brother. His valet has as good an allow- ance as you, besides his perquisites of old clothes. You cannot afford to wear a dandy lord's cast-off old clothes, neither to imitate those which he wears. There is nothing disagreeable to me in the notion of a dandy any more than there is in the idea of a peacock, or a camelopard, or a prodigious gaudy tulip, or an astonishingly bright brocade. There are all sorts of animals, plants, and stuffs in Xature, from peacocks to tom-tits, and from cloth-of-gold to corduroy, whereof the variety is assuredly intended b}^ Nature, and cer- tainly adds to the zest of life. Therefore, I do not say that Lord Hugo is a useless being, or bestow the least contemi^t ujion him. Nay, it is right gratifjdng and natural that he should be, and be as he is — handsome and graceful, splendid and perfumed, beautiful— whiskered and empty-headed, a sumptuous dandy and man of fashion — and what you 3'oung men have denominated " A Swell." But a cheap Swell, my dear Robert (and that little chin ornament, as well as certain other indications which I have remarked in your simple nature, lead me to insist upon this matter rather strongly with j' ou ) , is by no means a pleasing object for our observation, although he is presented to us so frequently. Try, mj^ boy, and curb anj^ little propensity which j^ou may have to dresses that are too splendid for j^-our station. You do not want light kid-gloves and wristbands up to your elbows, copying out Mr. Tapeworm's Pleas and Decla- rations; vou will onlv blot them with lawyers' ink over your desk, and they will impede j^our writing: whereas 8 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON Lord Hugo may decorate his hands in any way he likes, because he has httle else to do with them but to drive cabs, or applaud dancing-girls' pirouettes, or to handle a knife and fork or a tooth-pick as becomes the position in life which he fills in so distinguished a manner. To be sure, since the days of friend i^Esop, Jackdaws have been held up to ridicule for wearing the plumes of birds to whom Nature has affixed more gaudy tails ; but as Folly is constantly reproducing itself, so must Satire, and our honest Mr. Punch has but to. repeat to the men of our generation the lessons taught by the good-na- tured Hunchback his predecessor. Shave oiF j^our tuft, then, my boy, and send it to tlie girl of your heart as a token, if you like: and I pray you abolish the jewellery, towards which I clearly see you have a propensity. As you have a plain dinner at home, served comfortably on a clean tablecloth, and not a grand service of half-a-dozen entrees, such as we get at our county JVIember's (and an uncommonly good dinner it is too), so let your dress be perfectly neat, polite, and cleanly, without any attempts at splendour. JNIagnificence is the decency of the rich— but it cannot be purchased with half a guinea a day, which, when the rent of your chambers is paid, I take to be pretty nearly the amount of your worship's income. This point, I thought, was rather well illustrated the other day, in an otherwise silly and sentimental book which I looked over at the Club, called the " Foggarty Dia- mond " (or some such \ailgar name). Somebody gives the hero, who is a poor fellow, a diamond pin: he is obliged to buy a new stock to set off the diamond, then a new waistcoat, to correspond with the stock, then a new coat, because the old one is too shabby for the rest MR. BROWX'S LETTERS 9 of his attire;— finally, the poor devil is ruined by the diamond ornament, which he is forced to sell, as I would recommend you to sell youT waistcoat studs, were they worth anything. But as you have a good figure and a gentleman-like deportment, and as every young man likes to be well attired, and ought, for the sake of his own advantage and progress in hfe, to show himself to the best advan- tage, I shall take an early opportunity of addressing you on the subject of tailors and clothes, which at least merit a letter to themselves. ON TAILORING-AND TOILETTES IN GENERAL UR ancestors, my dear Bob, have transmitted to you (as well as every member of our family, ) considerable charms of person and fig- ure, of which fact, although you are of course perfectly aware, yet, and equally of course, you have no ob- jection to be reminded; and with these facial and cor- poreal endowments, a few words respecting dress and tailoring may not be out of place; for nothing is trivial in life, and everything to the philosopher has a mean- ing. As in the old joke about a pudding which has two sides, namely an inside and an outside, so a coat or a hat has its inside as well as its outside; I mean, that there is in a man's exterior appearance the consequence of his inward ways of thought, and a gentleman who dresses too grandly, or too absurdly, or too shabbil}", has some oddity, or insanity, or meanness in his mind, which de- velops itself somehow outwardly in the fashion of his garments. 10 ON TAILORING-AND TOILETTES 11 No man has a right to despise his dress in this world. There is no use in flinging any honest chance whatever away. For instance, although a woman cannot be ex- pected to know the particulars of a gentleman's dress, any more than we to be acquainted with the precise nomenclature or proper cut of the various articles which those dear creatures wear, yet to what lady in a society of strangers do we feel ourselves most naturally inclined to address ourselves? — to her or those whose appear- ance pleases us ; not to the gaudy, overdressed Dowager or Miss — nor to her whose clothes, though handsome, are put on in a slatternly manner, but to the person who looks neat, and trim, and elegant, and in whose person we fancy we see exhibited indications of a natural taste, order, and propriety. If Miss Smith in a rumpled gown offends our eyesight, though we hear she is a young lady of great genius and considerable fortune, while Miss Jones in her trim and simple attire attracts our admiration; so must women, on their side, be at- tracted or repelled by the appearance of gentlemen into whose company they fall. If you are a tiger in appear- ance, you may naturally expect to frighten a delicate and timid female ; if you are a sloven, to offend her : and as to be well with women, constitutes one of the chief- est happinesses of life, the object of my wortlty Bob's special attention will naturally be, to neglect no pre- cautions to win their favour. Yes: a good face, a good address, a good dress, are each so many points in the game of life, of which every man of sense will avail himself. They help many a man more in his commerce with society than learning or ge- nius. It is hard often to bring the former into a draw- ing-room ; it is often too lumbering and unwieldy for any 12 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON den but its own. And as a King Charles's spaniel can snooze before the fire, or frisk over the ottoman-cush- ions and on to the ladies' laps, when a Royal elephant would find a considerable difficulty in walking up the stairs, and subsequently in finding a seat; so a good manner and appearance will introduce you into many a house, where you might knock in vain for admission, with all the learning of Person in your trunk. It is not learning, it is not virtue, about which people inquire in society. It is manners. It no more profits me that my neighbour at table can construe Sanscrit and say the " Encyclopaedia " by heart, than that he should possess half a million in the Bank (unless, in- deed, he gives dinners; when, for reasons obvious, one's estimation of him, or one's desire to please him, takes its rise in different sources), or that the lady whom I hand down to dinner should be as virtuous as Cornelia or the late INIrs. Hannah JNIore. What is wanted for the nonce, is, that folks should be as agreeable as possible in conversation and demeanour; so that good humour may be said to be one of the very best articles of dress one can wear in society; the which to see exhibited in Lady X.'s honest face, let us say, is more pleasant to behold in a room than the glitter of Lady Z.'s best dia- monds. And yet, in point of virtue, the latter is, no doubt, a perfect dragon. But virtue is a home quality: manners are the coat it wears when it goes abroad. Thus, then, mj'^ beloved Bob, I would have your din- ing-out suit handsome, neat, well-made, fitting you nat- urally and easily, and yet with a certain air of holiday about it, which should mark its destination. It is not because they thought their appearance was much im- proved by the ornament, that the ancient philosophers ON TAILORING-AND TOILETTES 13 and topers decorated their old pates with flowers (no wreath, I know, would make some people's mugs beau- tiful; and I confess, for my part, I would as lief wear a horse-collar or a cotton night-cap in society as a coronet of polyanthuses or a garland of hyacinths) :— it is not because a philosopher cares about dress that he wears it; but he wears his best as a sign of a feast, as a bush is the sign of an inn. You ought to mark a festival as a red- letter day, and you put on your broad and spotless white waistcoat, your finest linen, your shiniest boots, as much as to say, " It is a feast; here I am, clean, smart, ready with a good appetite, determined to enjoy." You would not enjoy a feast if you came to it un- shorn, in a draggle-tailed dressing-gown. You ought to be well dressed, and suitable to it. A very odd and wise man whom I once knew, and who had not (as far as one could outwardly judge) the least vanity about his personal appearance, used, I remember, to make a point of wearing in large Assemblies a most splendid gold or crimson waistcoat. He seemed to consider him- self in the light of a walking bouquet of flowers, or a movable chandelier. His waistcoat was a piece of furni- ture to decorate the rooms: as for any personal pride he took in the adornment, he had none: for the matter of that, he would have taken the garment off", and lent it to a waiter— but this Philosopher's maxim was, that dress should be handsome upon handsome occasions— and I hope you will exhibit your own taste upon such. You don't suppose that people who entertain you so hospitably have four-and-twenty lights in the dining- room, and still and dry champagne every day?— or that my friend, INIrs. Perkins, puts her drawing-room door under her bed every night, when there is no ball? A 14 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON young fellow must dress himself, as the host and host- ess dress themselves, in an extra manner for extra nights. Enjoy, my bo}^ in honesty and manliness, the goods of this life. I would no more have you refuse to take your glass of wine, or to admire (always in honesty) a pretty girl, than dislike the smell of a rose, or turn away your eyes from a landscape. " Neque tu cJioreas sperne, jmer" as the dear old Heathen says: and, in order to dance, you must have proper pumps willing to spring and whirl lightly, and a clean pair of gloves, with which you can take your partner's pretty Httle hand. As for particularising your dress, that were a task quite absurd and impertinent, considering that you are to wear it, and not I, and remembering the variations of fashion. When I was presented to H. R. H. the Prince Regent, in the uniform of the Hammersmith Hussars, viz. a yellow jacket, pink pantaloons, and sil- ver lace, green morocco boots, and a light blue pelisse lined with ermine, the august Prince himself, the model of grace and elegance in his time, wore a coat of which the waist-buttons were placed between his royal shoul- der-blades, and which, if worn by a man now, would cause the boys to hoot him in Pall Mall, and be a uni- form for Bedlam. If buttons continue their present downward progress, a man's waist may fall down to his heels next year, or work upwards to the nape of his neck after another revolution: who knows? Be it yours decently to conform to the custom, and leave your buttons in the hands of a good tailor, who will place them wherever fashion ordains. A few general rules, however, may be gently hinted to a young fellow who has perhaps a propensity to fall into certain errors. ON TAILORING-AND TOILETTES 15 Eschew violent sporting-dresses, such as one sees but too often in the parks and public places on the backs of misguided young men. There is no objection to an ostler wearing a particular costume, but it is a pity that a gentleman should imitate it. I have seen in like man- ner young fellows at Cowes attired like the pictures we have of smugglers, buccaneers, and mariners in Adel- phi melodramas. I would like my Bob to remember, that his business in life is neither to handle a currj'^comb nor a marlin-spike, and to fashion his habit accordingly. If your hair or clothes do not smell of tobacco, as they sometimes, it must be confessed, do, you will not be less popular among ladies. And as no man is worth a fig, or can have real benevolence of character, or observe mankind properly, who does not like the society of modest and well-bred women, respect their prejudices in this matter, and if you must smoke, smoke in an old coat, and away from the ladies. Avoid dressing-gowns ; which argue dawdling, an un- shorn chin, a lax toilet, and a general lazy and indolent habit at home. Begin your day with a clean conscience in every way. Cleanliness is honesty.^ A man who shows but a clean face and hands is a rogue and hypo- crite in society, and takes credit for a virtue which he does not possess. And of all the advances towards civ- ilization which our nation has made, and of most of which Mr. ISIacaulay treats so eloquently in his lately published History, as in his lecture to the Glasgow Stu- dents the other day, there is none which ought to give a philanthropist more pleasure than to remark the great 1 Note to the beloved Reader. — This hint, dear Sir, is of course not intended to apply personally to you, who are scrupulously neat in your person; but when you look around you and see how many people neglect the use of that admir- able cosmetic, cold water, you will see that a few words in its praise may be spoken with advantage. 16 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON and increasing demand for bath-tubs at the ironmon- gers': Zinc-Institutions, of which our ancestors had a lamentable ignorance. And I hope that these institutions will be universal in our country before long, and that every decent man in England will be a Companion of the Most Honourable Order of the Bath. THE INFLUENCE OF LOVELY WOMAN UPON SOCIETY ONSTANTLY, my dear Bob, I have told you how refining is the influence of women upon societj% and how profound our respect ought to be for them. Living in chambers as you do, my dear Nephew, and not of course liable to be amused by the con- stant society of an old uncle, who moreover might be deucedly bored with your own conversation — I beseech and im- plore you to make a point of being intimate with one or two families where you can see kind and well- bred English ladies. I have seen women of all nations in the world, but I never saw the equals of English women (meaning of course to include our cousins the MacWhirters of Glasgow, and the O'Tooles of Cork) : and I pray sincerely, my boy, that you may always have a woman for a friend. Try, then, and make yourself the hienvenu in some house where accomplished and amiable ladies are. Pass 17 18 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON as much of your time as you can with them. Lose no opportunity of making yourself agreeable to them: run their errands; send them flowers and elegant little to- kens; show a willingness to be pleased by their atten- tions, and to aid their little charming schemes of shop- ping or dancing, or this, or that. I say to you, make yourself a lady's man as much as ever you can. It is better for you to pass an evening once or twice a week in a lady's drawing-room, even though the con- versation is rather slow and you know the girls' songs by heart, than in a club, tavern, or smoking-room, or a pit of a theatre. All amusements of youth, to which virtuous women are not admitted, are, rely on it, delete- rious in their nature. All men who avoid female soci- ety, have dull perceptions and are stupid, or have gross tastes and revolt against what is pure. Your Clubswag- gerers who are sucking the butts of billiard-cues all night call female society insipid. Sir, poetry is insipid to a yokel; beauty has no charms for a bhnd man: mu- sic does not please an unfortunate brute who does not know one tune from another — and, as a true epicure is hardly ever tired of water-souchy and brown bread and butter, I protest I can sit for a whole night talking to a well-regulated kindly woman about her girl coming out, or her boy at Eton, and like the evening's entertainment. One of the great benefits a young man may derive from women's society is, that he is bound to be respect- ful to them. The habit is of great good to your moral man, depend on it. Our education makes of us the most eminently selfish men in the world. We fight for our- selves, we push for ourselves; we cut the best slices out of the joint at club-dinners for ourselves; we yawn for ourselves and light our pipes, and say we won't go out: INFLUENCE OF LOVELY WOMAN 19 we prefer ourselves and our ease — and the greatest good that comes to a man from woman's society is, that he has to think of somebody besides himself — somebody to whom he is bound to be constantly attentive and respect- ful. Certainly I don't want my dear Bob to associate with those of the other sex whom he doesn't and can't respect: that is worse than billiards: worse than tavern brandy-and-water : worse than smoking selfishness at home. But I vow I would rather see you turning over the leaves of Miss Fiddlecombe's music-book all night, than at billiards, or smoking, or brand5^-and-water, or all three. Remember, if a house is pleasant, and you like to re- main in it, that to be well with the women of the house is the great, the vital point. If it is a good house, don't turn up your nose because you are only asked to come in the evening while others are invited to dine. Recol- lect the debts of dinners which a hospitable family has to pay; who are you that you should always be expect- ing to nestle under the mahogany ? Agreeable acquain- tances are made just as well in the drawing-room as in the dining-room. Go to tea brisk and good-humoured. Be determined to be pleased. Talk to a dowager. Take a hand at whist. If you are musical, and know a song, sing it like a man. Never sulk about dancing, but off with you. You will find your acquaintance enlarge. Mothers, pleased with your good humour, will probably ask you to Pocklington Square, to a little party. You will get on— you will form yourself a circle. You may marry a rich girl, or, at any rate, get the chance of see- ing a number of the kind and the pretty. Many young men, who are more remarkable for their impudence and selfishness than their good sense, are 20 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON fond of boastfully announcing that they decline going to evening-parties at all, unless, indeed, such entertain- ments commence with a good dinner, and a quantity of claret. I never saw my beautiful-minded friend, Mrs. Y. Z., many times out of temper, but can quite pardon her indignation when young Fred Noodle, to whom the Y. Z.'s have been very kind, and who has appeared scores of times at their elegant table in Up — r B-k-r Street, announced, in an unlucky moment of flippancy, that he did not intend to go to evening-parties any more. What induced Fred Noodle to utter this bravado I know not; whether it was that he has been puffed up by attentions from several Aldermen's families, with whom he has of late become acquainted, and among whom he gives himself the airs of a prodigious " iswell; *' but having made this speech one Sunday after Church, when he condescended to call in B-k-r Street, and show off his new gloves and waistcoat, and talked in a suffi- ciently dandified air about the opera (the wretched creature fancies that an eight-and-sixpenny pit ticket gives him the privileges of a man of fashion) — Noodle made his bow to the ladies, and strutted off to show his new yellow kids elsewhere. " Matilda my love, bring the Address Book," Mrs. Y. Z. said to her lovel}^ eldest daughter as soon as Noodle was gone, and the banging hall-door had closed upon the absurd j^outh. Tliat graceful and obedient girl rose, went to the back drawing-room, on a table in which apartment the volume lay, and brought the book to her mamma. Mrs. Y. Z. turned to the letter N; and under that initial discovered the name of the young fellow who had INFLUENCE OF LOVELY WOMAN 21 just gone out. Noodle, F., 250, Jermyn Street, St. James's. She took a pen from the table before her, and with it deliberately crossed the name of Mr. Noodle out of her book. Matilda looked at Eliza, who stood by in silent awe. The sweet eldest girl, who has a kind feel- ing towards every soul alive, then looked towards her mother with expostulating eyes, and said, " Oh, mamma!" Dear, dear Eliza! I love all pitiful hearts like thine. But Mrs. Y. Z. was in no mood to be merciful, and gave way to a natural indignation and feeling of out- raged justice. " What business has that young man to tell me," she exclaimed, " that he declines going to evening-parties, when he knows that after Easter we have one or two? Has he not met with constant hospitality here since Mr. Y. Z. brought him home from the Club? Has he such beaux yeux? or, has he so much wit? or, is he a man of so much note, that his company at a dinner-table be- comes indispensable? He is nobody; he is not hand- some; he is not clever; he never opens his mouth except to drink your papa's claret; and he declines evening- parties forsooth! — Mind, children, he is never invited into this house again." When Y. Z. now meets young Noodle at the Club, that kind, but feeble-minded old gentleman covers up his face with the newspaper, so as not to be seen by Noodle; or sidles away with his face to the book-cases, and lurks off by the door. The other day, thej^ met on the steps, when the wretched Noodle, driven aux ahois, actually had the meanness to ask how INIrs. Y. Z. was? The Colonel (for such he is, and of the Bombay service, too) said,— " My wife? Oh!— hum!~I'm sorry to say 22 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON Mrs. Y. Z. has been very poorly indeed, lately, very poorly; and confined to her room. God bless my soul! I've an appointment at the India House, and it's past two o'clock " — and he fled. I had the malicious satisfaction of describing to Noodle the most sumptuous dinner which Y. Z. had given the day before, at which there was a Lord present, a Foreign Minister with his Orders, two Generals with Stars, and every luxury of the season; but at the end of our conversation, seeing the effect it had upon the poor youth, and how miserably he w^as cast down, I told him the truth, viz., that the above story was a hoax, and that if he wanted to get into Mrs. Y. Z.'s good graces again, his best plan was to go to Lady Flack's party, where I knew the Miss Y. Z.'s would be, and dance with them all night. Yes, my dear Bob, you boys must pay with your persons, however lazy you may be — however much in- clined to smoke at the Club, or to lie there and read the last delicious new novel; or averse to going home to a dreadful black set of chambers, where there is no fire; and at ten o'clock at night creeping shuddering into your ball suit, in order to go forth to an evening-party. The dressing, the clean gloves, and cab-hire are nui- sances, I grant you. The idea of a party itself is a bore, but you must go. When you are at the party, it is not so stupid; there is always something pleasant for the eye and attention of an observant man. There is a bustling Dowager wheedling and manoeuvring to get proper partners for her girls; there is a pretty girl en- joying herself with all her heart, and in all the pride of her beauty, than which I know no more charming ob- ject; — there is poor Miss Meggot, lonely up against INFLUENCE OF LOVELY WOMAN 23 the wall, whom nobody asks to dance, and with whom it is your bounden duty to waltz. There is always something to see or do, when you are there; and to evening-parties, I say, you must go. Perhaps I speak with the ease of an old fellow who is out of the business, and beholds you from afar off. My dear boy, they don't want us at evening-parties. A stout, bald-headed man dancing, is a melancholy object to himself in the looking-glass opposite, and there are duties and pleasures of all ages. Once, heaven help us, and only once, upon my honour, and I say so as a gentle- man, some boys seized upon me and carried me to the Casino, where, forthwith, they found acquaintances and partners, and went whirling away in the double-timed waltz (it is an abominable dance to me — I am an old fogy) along with hundreds more. I caught sight of a face in the crowd — the most blank, melancholy, and dreary old visage it was — my own face in the glass — there was no use in my being there. Canities adest mo- rosa — no, not morosa — but, in fine, I had no business in the place, and so came away. I saw enough of that Casino, however, to show to me that — but my paper is full, and on the subject of women I have more things to say, which might fill many hun- dred more pages. SOME MORE WORDS ABOUT THE LADIES /^UFFER me to continue, my dear Bob, V our remarks about women, and their in- ) fluence over j^ou young fellows — an in- fluence so vast, for good or for evil. I have, as you pretty well know, an immense sum of money in the Three per Cents., the possession of which does not, I think, decrease your respect for my character, and of which, at my demise, you will possibly have your share. But if I ever hear of you as a Casino haunter, as a fre- quenter of Races and Greenwich Fairs, and such amuse- ments, in questionable company, I give you my honour you shall benefit by no legacy of mine, and I will divide the portion that was, and is, I hope, to be yours, amongst your sisters. Think, sir, of what they are, and of your mother at home, spotless and pious, loving and pure, and shape your own course so as to be worthy of them. Would you do anything to give tliem pain? Would j^ou say anything that should bring a blush to their fair cheeks, or shock their gentle natures? At the Roj^al Academy Exhibition last year, when that great stupid, dandified donkey, Captain Grigg, in company with the other \ail- gar oaf, INIr. Gowker, ventured to stare, in rather an insolent manner, at your pretty little sister Fanny, who had come blushing from Miss Pinkerton's Academy, I 24, MORE WORDS ABOUT THE LADIES 25 saw how your honest face flushed up with indignation, as you caught sight of the hideous grins and ogles of those two ruffians in varnished boots; and your eyes flashed out at them glances of defiance and warning so savage and terrible, that the discomfited wretches turned wisely upon their heels, and did not care to face such a resolute young champion as Bob Brown. What is it that makes all j^our blood tingle, and fills all your heart with a vague and fierce desire to thrash somebody, when the idea of the possibility of an insult to that fair creature enters j^our mind? You can't bear to think that injury should be done to a being so sacred, so inno- cent, and so defenceless. You would do battle with a Goliath in her cause. Your sword would leap from its scabbard (that is, if you gentlemen from Pump Court wore swords and scabbards at the present period of time,) to avenge or defend her. Respect all beauty, all innocence, my dear Bob; de- fend all defencelessness in your sister, as in the sisters of other men. We have all heard the story of the Gentle- man of the last century, who, when a crowd of young bucks and bloods in the Crush-room of the Opera were laughing and elbowing an old lady there— an old lady, lonely, ugly, and unprotected — went up to her respect- fully and ofl*ered her his arm, took her down to his own carriage which was in waiting, and walked home himself in the rain, — and twenty years afterwards had ten thou- sand a j^ear left him by this very old lady, as a reward for that one act of politeness. We have all heard that story; nor do I think it is probable that you will have ten thousand a year left to you for being polite to a woman : but I say, be polite, at any rate. Be respectful to every woman. A manly and generous heart can be 26 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON no otherwise; as a man would be gentle with a child, or take off his hat in a church. I would have you apply this principle universally towards women — from the finest lady of your acquain- tance down to the laundress who sets your Chambers in order. It may safely be asserted that the persons who joke with servants or barmaids at lodgings are not men of a high intellectual or moral capacity. To chuck a still-room maid under the chin, or to send off Molly the cook grinning, are not, to say the least of them, dignified acts in any gentleman. The butcher-boy who brings the leg-of-mutton to Molly, may converse with her over the area-railings; or the youthful grocer may exchange a few jocular remarks with Betty at the door as he hands in to her the tea and sugar; but not you. We must live according to our degree. I hint this to you, sir, by the way, and because the other night, as I was standing on the drawing-room landing-place, tak- ing leave of our friends Mr. and Mrs. Fairfax, after a very agreeable dinner, I heard a giggling in the hall, where you were putting on your coat, and where that uncommonly good-looking parlour-maid was opening the door. And here, whilst on this subject, and whilst Mrs. Betty is helping you on with your coat, I would say, respecting your commerce with friends' servants and your own, be thankful to them, and they will be grateful to you in return, depend upon it. Let the young fellow who lives in lodgings respect the poor little maid who does the wondrous work of the house, and not send her on too many errands, or ply his bell needlessly: if you visit any of your comrades in such circumstances, be you, too, respectful and kind in your tone to the poor little Abigail. If you frequent houses, MORE WORDS ABOUT THE LADIES 27 as I hope j^ou will, where are many good fellows and amiable ladies who cannot afford to have their doors opened or their tables attended by men, pray be particu- larly courteous (though by no means so marked in your attentions as on the occasion of the dinner at Mr. Fair- fax's to which I have just alluded) to the women-ser- vants. Thank them w^hen they serve you. Give them a half-crown now and then— nay, as often as j^our means will permit. Those small gratuities make but a small sum in your year's expenses, and it may be said that the practice of giving them never impoverished a man yet: and, on the other hand, they give a deal of inno- cent happiness to a very worthy, active, kind set of folks. But let us hasten from the hall-door to the drawing- room, where Fortune has cast your lot in life: I want to explain to you why I am so anxious that you should devote yourself to that amiable lady who sits in it. Sir, I do not mean to tell you that there are no women in the world vulgar and ill-humoured, rancorous and nar- row-minded, mean schemers, son-in-law hunters, slaves of fashion, hypocrites; but I do respect, admire, and almost worship good women ; and I think there is a verj^ fair number of such to be found in this world, and I have no doubt, in every educated Englishman's circle of society, whether he finds that circle in palaces in Bel- gravia and Mayfair, in snug little suburban villas, in ancient comfortable old Bloomsbury, or in back par- lours behind the shop. It has been my fortune to meet with excellent English ladies in every one of these places —wives graceful and affectionate, matrons tender and good, daughters happy and pure-minded, and I urge the society of such on you, because I defy you to think 28 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON evil in their company. Walk into the drawing-room of Lady Z., that great lady: look at her charming face, and hear her voice. You know that she can't but be good, with such a face and such a voice. She is one of those fortunate beings on whom it has pleased heaven to bestow all sorts of its most precious gifts and richest worldly favours. With what grace she receives you; with what a frank kindness and natural sweetness and dignity! Her looks, her motions, her words, her thoughts, all seem to be beautiful and harmonious quite. See her with her children, what woman can be more sim- ple and loving? After you have talked to her for a while, 3^ou very likely find that she is ten times as well read as j^ou are: she has a hundred accomplishments which she is not in the least anxious to show off, and makes no more account of them than of her diamonds, or of the splendour round about her — to all of which she is born, and has a happy, admirable claim of nature and possession — admirable and happy for her and for us too; for is it not a happiness for us to admire her? Does anybody grudge her excellence to that paragon? Sir, we may be thankful to be admitted to contemplate such consummate goodness and beauty: and as in look- ing at a fine landscape or a fine work of art, every gen- erous heart must be dehghted and improved, and ought to feel grateful afterwards, so one may feel charmed and thankful for having the opportunity of knowing an almost perfect woman. Madam, if the gout and the custom of the world permitted, I would kneel down and kiss the hem of your ladyship's robe. To see your gracious face is a comfort — to see you walk to your car- riage is a holiday. Drive her faithfully, O thou silver- wigged coachman! drive to all sorts of splendours and MORE WORDS ABOUT THE LADIES 29 honours and roj'-al festivals. And for us, let us be glad that we should have the privilege to admire her. Now, transport yourself in spirit, my good Bob, into another drawing-room. There sits an old ladj^ of more than fourscore j^ears, serene and kind, and as beautiful in her age now as in her youth, when History toasted her. What has she not seen, and what is she not ready to tell? All the fame and wit, all the rank and beauty, of more than half a century, have passed through those rooms where you have the honoui' of making j^our best bow. She is as simple now as if she had never had any flattery to dazzle her: she is never tired of being pleased and being kind. Can that have been anything but a good life which, after more than eighty years of it are spent, is so calm? Could she look to the end of it so cheerfully, if its long course had not been pure? Respect her, I say, for being so happy, now that she is old. We do not know what goodness and charity, what affections, what trials, may have gone to make that charming sweetness of temper, and complete that per- fect manner. But if we do not admire and reverence such an old age as that, and get good from contem- plating it, what are we to respect and admire? Or shall we walk through the shop (while X. is rec- ommending a tall copy to an amateur, or folding up a twopennyworth of letter-paper, and bowing to a poor customer in a jacket and apron with just as much re- spectful gravity as he would show while waiting upon a Duke,) and see Mrs. N. playing with the child in the back parlour until N. shall come in to tea? They drink tea at five o'clock ; and are actually as well bred as those gentlefolks who dine three hours later. Or will you please to step into Mrs. J.'s lodgings, who is waiting, 30 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON and at work, until her husband comes home from Chambers? She blushes and puts the work away on hearing the knock, but when she sees who the visitor is, she takes it with a smile from behind the sofa cushion, and behold it is one of J.'s waistcoats, on which she is sewing buttons. She might have been a Countess blaz- ing in diamonds, had Fate so willed it, and the higher her station the more she would have adorned it. But she looks as charming while plying her needle as the great lady in the palace whose equal she is, — in beauty, in goodness, in high-bred grace and simplicity: at least, I can't fancy her better, or any Peeress being more than her peer. And it is with this sort of people, my dear Bob, that I recommend you to consort, if you can be so lucky as to meet with their society — nor do I think you are very likely to find many such at the Casino; or in the danc- ing-booths of Greenwich Fair on this present Easter Monday. ON FRIENDSHIP HOICE of friends, my dear Robert, is a point upon which every man about town should be in- structed, as he should be careful. And as exam- ple, they say, is some- times better than precept, and at the risk even of appearing some- what ludicrous in your eyes, I will nar- rate to 3^ou an ad- venture which hap- pened to myself, which is at once ridiculous and melancholy (at least to me), and which will show you how a man, not impru- dent or incautious of his own nature, mav be made to suffer by the imprudent selection of a friend. Attend then, my dear Bob, to " the History of Rasselas, Prince of Abj^ssinia." Sir, in the year 1810, I was a jolly young Bachelor, as you are now (indeed, it was three years before I married your poor dear Aunt) ; I had a place in the Tape and Sealing- Wax Office; I had Chambers in Pump Court, au troisieme, and led a not uncomfortable 31 32 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON life there. I was a free and gay young fellow in those days, (however much, sir, you may doubt the assertion, and think that I am changed,) and not so particular in my choice of friends as subsequent experience has led me to be. There lived in the set of Chambers opposite to mine, a Suffolk gentleman, of good family, whom I shall call Mr. Bludyer. Our boys or clerks first made acquain- tance, and did each other mutual kind offices: borrow- ing for their respective masters' benefit, neither of whom was too richly provided with the world's goods, coals, blacking-brushes, crockery-ware, and the like; and our forks and spoons, if either of us had an entertainment in Chambers. As I learned presently that Mr. Bludyer had been educated at Oxford, and heard that his elder brother was a gentleman of good estate and reputation in his county, I could have no objection to make his ac- quaintance, and accepted finall}" his invitation to meet a large game-pie which he had brought with him from the country, and I recollect I lent my own silver tea- pot, which figured handsomely on the occasion. It is the same one which I presented to you, M^hen you took possession of your present apartments. Mr. Bludyer was a sporting man : it was the custom in those days with many gentlemen to dress as much like coachmen as possible: in top-boots, huge white coats with capes, Belcher neckerchiefs, and the like adorn- ments; and at the tables of bachelors of the very first fashion, you would meet with prize-fighters and jockeys, and hear a great deal about the prize-ring, the cock-pit, and the odds. I remember my Lord Tilbury was pres- ent at this breakfast, (who afterwards lamentably broke his neck in a steeple-chase, by which the noble family ON FRIENDSHIP 33 became extinct,) and for some time I confounded his lordship with Dutch Sam, who was also of the party, and, indeed, not unlike the noble Viscount in dress and manner. My acquaintance with Mr. Bludyer ripened into a sort of friendship. He was perfectly good-natured, and not ill bred; and his jovial spirits and roaring stories amused a man who, though always of a peaceful turn, had no dislike to cheerful companions. We used to dine together at coffee-houses, for Clubs were scarcely invented in those days, except for the aristocracy; and, in fine, were very intimate. Bludyer, a brave and ath- letic man, would often give a loose to his spirits of an evening, and mill a Charley or two, as the phrase then was. The young bloods of those days thought it was no harm to spend a night in the watch-house, and I as- sure you it has accommodated a deal of good company. Autres temps, autres moeurs. In our own days, my good Bob, a station-house bench is not the bed for a gentleman. I was at this time (and deservedly so, for I had been very kind to her, and my elder brother, your father, neglected her considerably) the favourite nephew of j^our grand-aunt, my aunt, Mrs. General INIacWhirter, who was left a very handsome fortune by the General, and to whom I do not scruple to confess I paid every attention to which her age, her sex, and her large income entitled her. I used to take sweetmeats to her poodle. I went and drank tea with her night after night. I ac- companied her Sunday after Sunday to hear the Rev. Rowland Hill, at the Rotunda Chapel, over Black- friars Bridge, and I used to read many of the tracts with which she liberally supplied me — in fact, do every- 34 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IX LONDON thing to comfort and console a lady of peculiar opin- ions and habits who had a large jointure. Your father used to say I was a sneak, but he was then a boisterous young squire; and, perhaps, we were not particularly good friends. Well, sir, my dear aunt, Mrs. General MacWhirter, made me her chief confidant. I regulated her money matters for her, and acted with her bankers and lawyers ; and as she always spoke of your father as a reprobate, I had every reason to suppose I should inherit the prop- erty, the main part of which passed to another branch of the Browns. I do not grudge it, Bob: I do not grudge it. Your family is large; and I have enough from my poor dear departed wife. Now it so happened, that in June, 1811, — I recollect the Comet was blazing furiously at the time, and ]Mrs. MacWhirter was of opinion that the world was at an end — Mr. Bludyer, who was having his chambers in Pump Court painted, asked permission to occupy mine, where he wished to give a lunch to some people whom he was desirous to entertain. Thinking no harm, of course I said yes; and I went to my desk at the Tape and Sealing- Wax Office at my usual hour, giving in- structions to my boy to make Mr. Bludyer's friends comfortable. As ill-luck would have it, on that accursed Friday, Mrs. MacWhirter, who had never been up my stair- case before in her life (for your dear grand-aunt was large in person, and the apoplexy which carried her off soon after menaced her always), having some very par- ticular business with her solicitors in Middle Temple Lane, and being anxious to consult me about a mort- gage, actually mounted my stairs, and opened the door ON FRIENDSHIP 35 on which she saw written the name of Mr. Thomas Brown. She was a pecuhar woman, I have said, at- tached to glaring colours in her dress, and from her long residence in India, seldom without a set of costly Birds of Paradise in her bonnet, and a splendid Cashmere shawl. Fancy her astonishment then, on entering my apart- ments at three o'clock in the afternoon, to be assailed in the first place by a strong smell of tobacco-smoke which pervaded the passage, and by a wild and ferocious bull-dog which flew at her on entering my sitting-room. This bull-dog, sir, doubtless attracted by the brilliant colours of her costume, seized upon her, and pinned her down, screaming so that her voice drowned that of Bludyer himself, who was sitting on the table bellowing, "A Soutliei'li) Wind and a Cloudy Shy proclaim a Hunting Morning" — or some such ribald trash: and the brutal owner of the dog, (who was no other than the famous Mulatto boxer, Norroy, called the " Black Prince " in the odious language of the Fancy, and who was inebriated doubtless at the moment,) encouraged his dog in the assault upon this defenceless lady, and laughed at the agonies which she endured. Mr. Bludj^er, the black man, and one or two more, were arranging a fight on Moulsey Hurst, when my poor aunt made her appearance among these vulgar wretches. Although it was but three o'clock, they had sent to a neighbouring tavern for gin-and-water, and the glasses sparkled on the board, — to use a verse from a Bacchanalian song which I well remember Mr. Bludyer used to yell forth— when I myself arrived from my office at my usual hour, half -past three. The black fel- low and young Captain Cavendish of the Guards were 36 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON the smokers; and it appears that at first all the gentle- men screamed with laughter; some of them called my aunt an " old girl; " and it was not until she had nearly fainted that the filthy Mulatto called the dog off from the flounce of her yellow gown of which he had hold. When this poor victim of vulgarity asked with a scream — Where was her nephew? new roars of laughter broke out from the coarse gin-drinkers. " It's the old woman whom he goes to meeting with," cried out Blud- yer. " Come away, boys! " And he led his brutalized crew out of my chambers into his own, where they fin- ished, no doubt, their arrangements about the fight. Sir, when I came home at my usual hour of half -past three, I found Mrs. MacWhirter in hysterics upon my sofa — the pipes were lying about — the tin dish-covers — the cold kidneys— the tavern cruet-stands, and wretched remnants of the orgy were in disorder on the table- cloth, stained with beer. Seeing her fainting, I wildly bade my boy to open the window, and seizing a glass of water which was on the table, I presented it to her lips.— It was gin-and-water, which I proffered to that poor lady. She started up with a scream, which terrified me as I upset the glass: and with empurpled features, and a voice quivering and choking with anger, she vowed she would never forgive me. In vain I pleaded that I was ignorant of the whole of these disgraceful transactions. I went down on my knees to her, and begged her to be pacified ; I called my boy, and bade him bear witness to my innocence: the impudent young fiend burst out laughing in my face, and I kicked him downstairs as soon as she was gone : for go she did directly to her car- riage, which was in waiting in Middle Temple Lane, OiSr FRIENDSHIP 37 and to which I followed her with tears in my eyes, amidst a crowd of jeering barristers' boys and Temple porters. But she pulled up the window in my face, and would no more come back to me than Eurydice would to Orpheus. If I grow pathetic over this story, my dear Bob, have I not reason? Your great-aunt left thirty thousand pounds to your family, and the remainder to the mis- sionaries, and it is a curious proof of the inconsistency of women, that she, a serious person, said on her death- bed that she would have left her money to me, if I had called out ]Mr. Bludyer, who insulted her, and with whom I certainly would have exchanged shots, had I thought that JNIrs. MacWhirter would have encouraged any such murder. ]\Iy wishes, dear Bob, are moderate. Your aunt left me a handsome competency — and, I repeat, I do not grudge my brother George the money. Nor is it prob- able that such a calamity can happen again to any one of our famil}^ — that would be too great misfortune. But I tell you the tale, because at least it shows you how important good company is, and that a young man about town should beware of his friends as well as of his enemies. The other day I saw you walking by the Serpentine with young Lord Foozle, of the Windsor Heavies, who nodded to all sorts of suspicious broughams on the ride, while you looked about (j^ou know you did, you j^oung rascal) for acquaintances — as much as to say — " See! here am I, Bob Brown, of Pump Court, walking with a lord." My dear Bob, I own that to walk with a lord, and to be seen with him, is a pleasant thing. Every man of the 38 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON middle class likes to know persons of rank. If he says he don't — don't believe him. And I would certainly wish that you should associate with your superiors ra- ther than your inferiors. There is no more dangerous or stupefying position for a man in life than to be a cock of small society. It prevents his ideas from grow- ing: it renders him intolerably conceited. A twopenny halfpenny Casar, a Brummagem dandy, a coterie phi- losopher or wit, is pretty sure to be an ass; and, in fine, I set it down as a maxim that it is good for a man to live where he can meet his betters, intellectual and social. But if you fancy that getting into Lord Foozle's set will do you good or advance your prospects in life, my dear Bob, you are wofully mistaken. The Windsor Heavies are a most gentleman-like, well-made, and use- ful set of men. The conversation of such of them as I have had the good fortune to meet, has not certainly inspired me with a respect for their intellectual quali- ties, nor is their life commonly of that kind which rigid ascetics would pronounce blameless. Some of the young men amongst them talk to the broughams, frequent the private boxes, dance at the Casinos; few read — many talk about horseflesh and the odds after dinner, or relax with a little lansquenet or a little billiards at Pratt's. My boy, it is not with the eye of a moralist that your venerable old uncle examines these youths, but rather of a natural philosopher, who inspects them as he would any other phenomenon, or queer bird, or odd fish, or fine flower. These fellows are like the flowers, and neither toil nor spin, but are decked out in magnificent apparel : and for some wise and useful purpose, no doubt. It is ox FRIENDSHIP 39 good that there should be honest, handsome, hard-hving, hard-riding, stupid j^oung Windsor Heavies — as that there should be polite young gentlemen in the Temple, or any other variety of our genus. And it is good that j^ou should go from time to time to the Heavies' mess, if they ask you; and know that worthy set of gentlemen. But beware, O Bob, how you live with them. Remember that j^our lot in life is to toil, and spin too — and calculate how much time it takes a Heavy or a man of that condition to do nothing. Say, he dines at eight o'clock, and spends seven hours after dinner in pleasure. Well, if he goes to bed at three in the morning — that precious j^outh must have nine hours' sleep, which bring him to twelve o'clock next day, when he will ha,ve sl headache probably, so that he can hardly be expected to dress, rally, have devilled chicken and pale ale, and get out before three. Friendship — the Club — the visits which he is compelled to pay, oc- cupy him till five or six, and what time is there left for exercise and a ride in the Park, and for a second toilette preparatory to dinner, &c.? — He goes on his routine of pleasure, this young Heavy, as you in yours of duty — one man in London is pretty nearly as busj^ as an- other. The company of young " Swells," then, if you will permit me the word, is not for you. You must con- sider that you should not spend more than a certain sum for your dinner — they need not. You wear a black coat, and they a shining cuirass and monstrous epaulets. Yours is the useful part in life and theirs the splendid — though why speak further on this subject? Since the days of the Frog and the Bull, a desire to cope with Bulls has been known to be fatal to Frogs. And to know young noblemen, and brilliant and no- 40 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON torious town bucks and leaders of fashion, has this great disadvantage — that if you talk about them or are seen with them much, you oiFend all your friends of middle life. It makes men angry to see their acquaintances better off than they themselves are. If you live much with great people, others will be sure to say that you are a sneak. I have known Jack JollifFe, whose fun and spirits made him adored by the dandies (for they are just such folks as you and I, only with not quite such good brains, and perhaps better manners — simple folks who want to be amused) — I have known Jack JollifFe, I say, offend a whole roomful of men by telling us that he had been dining with a Duke. We hadn't been to dine with a Duke. We were not courted by grandees — and we disliked the man who was, and said he was a parasite, because men of fashion courted him. I don't know any means by which men hurt themselves more in the esti- mation of their equals than this of talking of great folks. A man may mean no harm by it — he speaks of the grandees with whom he lives, as you and I do of Jack and Tom who give us dinners. But his old ac- quaintances do not forgive him his superiority, and set the Tufthunted down as the Tufthunter. I remember laughing at the jocular complaint made b}^ one of this sort, a friend, whom I shall call Main. After Main published his " Travels in the Libyan Desert " four years ago, he became a literary lion, and roared in many of the metropolitan salons. He is a good-natured fellow, never in the least puffed up by his literary success; and alwaj^s said that it would not last. His greatest leonine quality, however, is his appetite; and to behold him engaged on a Club joint, or to see him make away with pounds of turbot, and plate after plate of entreeSj roasts, and sweets, is indeed a remark- ON FRIENDSHIP 41 able sight, and refreshing to those who like to watch animals feeding. But since Main has gone out of, and other authors have come into, fashion — the poor fel- low comically grumbles. " That year of lionization has ruined me. The people who used to ask me before, don't ask me any more. They are afraid to invite me to Bloomsbury, because the}^ fancy I am accustomed to Mayfair, and Mayfair has long since taken up with a new roarer — so that I am quite alone!" And thus he dines at the Club almost every daj^ at his own charges now, and attacks the joint. I do not envy the man who comes after him to the haunch of mutton. If Fate, then, my dear Bob, should bring you in contact with a lord or two, eat their dinners, enjoy their company, but be mum about them when you go away. And, though it is a hard and cruel thing to say, I would urge you, my dear Bob, specialty to beware of taking pleasant fellows for your friends. Choose a good disagreeable friend, if you be wise — a surly, steady, economical, rigid fellow. All jolly fellows, all delights of Club smoking-rooms and billiard-rooms, all fellows who sing a capital song, and the like, are sure to be poor. As they are free with their own money, so will they be with yours; and their very generosity and goodness of disposition will prevent them from having the means of paying you back. They lend their money to some other jolly fellows. They accommodate each other by putting their jolly names to the backs of jolly bills. Gentlemen in Cursitor Street are on the look-out for them. Their tradesmen ask for them, and find them not. All! Bob, it's hard times with a gentleman, when he has to walk round a street for fear of meeting a cred- itor there, and for a man of courage, when he can't look a tailor in the face. 42 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON Eschew jolly fellows then, my boy, as the most dan- gerous and costly of company; and apropos of bills — if I ever hear of your putting your name to stamped paper — I will disown you, and cut you off with a protested shilling. I know many men who say (whereby I have my pri- vate opinion of their own probity) that all poor peo- ple are dishonest: this is a hard word, though more gen- erally true than some folks suppose — but I fear that all people much in debt are not honest. A man who has to wheedle a tradesman is not going through a very honourable business in life — a man with a bill becom- ing due to-morrow morning, and putting a good face on it in the Club, is perforce a hypocrite whilst he is talk- ing to you — a man who has to do any meanness about money I fear me is so nearly like a rogue, that it's not much use calculating where the difference lies. Let us be very gentle with our neighbours' failings ; and forgive our friends their debts, as we hope ourselves to be for- given. But the best thing of all to do with your debts is to pay them. INIake none; and don't live with people who do. Why, if I dine with a man who is notoriously living beyond his means, I am a hypocrite certainly my- self, and I fear a bit of a rogue too. I try to make my host believe that I believe him an honest fellow. I look his sham splendour in the face without saying, " You are an impostor." — Alas, Robert, I have par- taken of feasts where it seemed to me that the plate, the viands, the wine, the servants, and butlers, were all sham, like Cinderella's coach and footmen, and would turn into rats and mice, and an old shoe or a cabbage- stalk, as soon as we were out of the house and the clock struck twelve. MR. BROWN THE ELDER TAKES MR. BROWN THE YOUNGER TO A CLUB RESUMING that my dear Bobby would scarcely consider himself to be an accomplished man about town, until he had obtained an entrance into a re- '^l spectable Club, I am happy to in- form you that you are this day elected a INIember of the Polyanthus," hav- ing been proposed by my friend, Lord Viscount Colchicum, and seconded b}^ your affectionate uncle. I have settled with ^Mr. Stiff, the worthy Secre- tary, the preliminary pecuniary arrangements regard- ing the entrance fee and the first annual subscription —the ensuing payments I shall leave to my worthy nephew. You were elected, sir, with but two black balls; and every other man who was put up for ballot had four, with the exception of Tom Harico, who had more black 43 U SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON beans than white. Do not, however, be puffed up by this victory, and fancy yourself more j)opular than other men. Indeed I don't mind telhng you (but, of course, I do not wish to go any further,) that Captain Sly- boots and I, having suspicions of the Meeting, popped a couple of adverse balls into the other candidates' boxes; so that, at least, you should, in case of mishap, not be unaccompanied in ill fortune. Now, then, that you are a member of the " Polyan- thus," I trust you will comport yourself with propriety in the place: and permit me to offer you a few hints with regard to your bearing. We are not so stiff at the " Polyanthus " as at some clubs I could name— and a good deal of decent inti- macy takes place amongst us.— Do not therefore enter the Club, as I have seen men do at the " Chokers " (of which I am also a member), with your eyes scowling under your hat at your neighbour, and with an ex- pression of countenance which seems to say, " Hang your impudence, sir! How dare you stare at me?'' Banish that absurd dignity and swagger, which do not at all become your youthful countenance, my dear Bob, and let us walk up the steps and into the place. See, old Noseworthy is in the bow-window reading the paper —he is always in the bow- window reading the paper. We pass by the worthy porter, and alert pages— a fifteen-hundredth part of each of whom is henceforth your paid-for property— and you see he takes down your name as INIr. R. Brown, Junior, and will know you and be civil to you until death— Ha, there is Jawkins, as usual; he has nailed poor Styles up against a pillar, and is telling him what the opinion of the City is about George Hudson, Esq., and when Sir Robert will take BROWN THE YOUNGER AT A CLUB 45 the government. How d'you do, Jawkins?— Satisfac- tory news from India? Gilbert to be made Baron Gil- bert of Goojerat? Indeed, I don't introduce you to Jawkins, my poor Bob ; he will do that for himself, and you will have quite enough of him before many days are over. Those three gentlemen sitting on the sofa are from our beloved sister island ; they come here every day, and wait for the Honourable Member for Ballinafad, who is at present in the writing-room. I have remarked, in London, however, that every Irish gentleman is accompanied by other Irish gentle- men, who wait for him as here, or at the corner of the street. These are waiting until the Honourable Mem- ber for Ballinafad can get them three places, in the Excise, in the Customs, and a little thing in the Post Office, no doubt. One of them sends home a tremendous account of parties and poHtics here, which appears in the Ballinafad Banner. He knows everj^thing. He has just been closeted with Peel, and can vouch for it that Clarendon has been sent for. He knows who wrote the famous pamphlet, " Ways and INIeans for Ireland,"— all the secrets of the present Cabinet, the designs of Sir James Graham. How Lord John can live under those articles which he writes in the Banner is a miracle to me ! I hope he will get that little thing in the Post Office soon. This is the newspaper-room— enter the Porter with the evening papers^ what a rush the men make for them! Do you want to see one? Here is the Standard — nice article about the " Starling Club " — very pleas- ant, candid, gentleman-like notice — Club composed of clergymen^ atheists, authors, and artists. Their chief 46 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON conversation is blasphemy: they have statues of Socrates and Mahomet on the centre-piece of the dinner-table, take every opportunity of being disrespectful to Moses, and a dignified clergyman always proposes the Glori- ous, Pious, and Immortal JNIemory of Confucius. Grace is said backwards, and the Catechism treated with the most irreverent ribaldry by the comic authors and the general company. — Are these men to be allowed to meet, and their horrid orgies to continue? Have you had enough? — let us go into the other rooms. What a calm and pleasant seclusion the library pre- sents after the bawl and bustle of the newspaper-room! There is never anybody here. English gentlemen get up such a prodigious quantity of knowledge in their early life, that they leave off reading soon after they begin to shave, or never look at anything but a newspaper. How j^leasant this room is, — isn't it? with its sober dra- peries, and long calm lines of peaceful volumes — no- thing to interrupt the quiet — only the melodj^ of Hor- ner's nose as he lies asleep upon one of the sofas. What is he reading? Hah! " Pendennis," No. VII. — hum, let us pass on. Have you read " David Copperfield," by the way? How beautiful it is — how charmingly fresh and simple! In those admirable touches of tender humour — and I should call humour. Bob, a mixture of love and wit — who can equal this great genius? There are little words and phrases in his books which are like personal benefits to the reader. What a place it is to hold in the affections of men! What an awful respon- sibility hanging over a writer! What man holding such a place, and knowing that his words go forth to vast congregations of mankind, — to grown folks — to their children, and perhaps to their children's children, — but BROWN THE YOUNGER AT A CLUB 47 must think of his calhng with a solemn and humble heart! JNIay love and truth guide such a man always! It is an awful prayer; may heaven further its fulfilment! And then, Bob, let the Record revile him— See, here's Horner waking up — How do j'^ou do, Horner? This neighbouring room, which is almost as quiet as the library, is the card-room, you see. There are always three or four devotees assembled in it; and the lamps are scarcety ever out in this Temple of Trumps. I admire, as I see them, my dear Bobby, grave and si- lent at these little green tables, not moved outwardly by grief or pleasure at losing or winning, but calmly pur- suing their game (as that pursuit is called, which is in fact the most elaborate science and study) at noon-day, entirety absorbed, and philosophically indifferent to the bustle and turmoil of the enormous working world without. Disraeli may make his best speech; the Hun- garians may march into Vienna ; the Protectionists come in; Louis Philippe be restored; or the Thames set on fire; and Colonel Pam and ]Mr. Trumpington will never leave their table, so engaging is their occupation at it. The turning up of an ace is of more interest to them than all the affairs of all the world besides — and so they will go on until Death summons them, and their last trump is played. It is curious to think that a century ago almost all gentlemen, soldiers, statesmen, men of science, and divines, passed hours at play every day; as our grand- mothers did likewise. The poor old kings and queens must feel the desertion now, and deplore the present small number of their worshippers, as compared to the myriads of faithful subjects who served them in past times. 48 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON I do not say that other folks' pursuits are much more or less futile ; but fancy a life such as that of the Colonel — eight or nine hours of sleep, eight of trumps, and the rest for business, reading, exercise, and domestic duty or aiFection (to be sure, he's most likely a bachelor, so that the latter offices do not occupy him much) —fancy such a life, and at its conclusion at the age of seventy- five, the worthy gentleman being able to say, I have spent twenty-five years of my existence turning up trumps. With Trumpington matters are different. Whist is a profession with him, just as much as Law is yours. He makes the deepest study of it — he makes every sacri- fice to his pursuit: he may be fond of wine and com- pany, but he eschews both, to keep his head cool and play his rubber. He is a man of good parts, and was once well read, as you see by his conversation when he is away from the table, but he gives up reading for play — and knows that to play well a man must play every day. He makes three or four hundred a year by his Whist, and well he may— with his brains, and half his industry, he could make a larger income at any other profession. In a game with these two gentlemen, the one who has been actually seated at that card-table for a term as long as your whole life, the other who is known as a consum- mate practitioner, do you think it is likely you will come off a winner? The state of your fortune is your look- out, not theirs. They are there at their posts— like knights ready to meet all comers. If you choose to en- gage them, sit down. They will, with the most perfect probity, calmness, and elegance of manner, win and win of you until they have won every shilling of a for- BROWN THE YOUNGER AT A CLUB 49 tune, when the}'^ will make you a bow, and wish you good morning. You may go and drown yourself afterwards — it is not their business. Their business is to be present in that room, and to play cards with you or anybody. When you are done with — Bon jour. ]My dear Colonel, let me introduce you to a new member, my nephew, Mr. Robert Brown. The other two men at the table are the Honourable G. Windgall and Mr. Chanter: perhaps you have not heard that the one made rather a queer settlement at the last Derby; and the other has just issued from one of her Majesty's establishments in St. George's Fields. Either of these gentlemen is perfectly affable, good- natured, and easy of access — and will cut you for half- crowns if you like, or play you at any game on the cards. They descend from their broughams or from horseback at the Club door with the most splendid air, and they feast upon the best dishes and wines in the place. But do you think it advisable to play cards with them? Which know the games best— you or they? Which are most likely — we will not say to play foul — but to take certain little advantages in the game which their con- summate experience teaches them — you or they? Fi- nally, is it a matter of perfect certainty, if you won, that they would pay you? Let us leave these gentlemen, my dear Bob, and go through the rest of the house. From the library we proceed to the carved and gilded drawing-room of the Club, the damask hangings of which are embroidered with our lovelj^ emblem, the Polyanthus, and which is fitted with a perfectly unintel- 50 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON ligible splendour. Sardanapalus, if he had pawned one of his kingdoms, could not have had such mirrors as one of those in which I see my dear Bob admiring the tie of his cravat with such complacency, and I am sure I can- not comprehend why Smith and Brown should have their persons reflected in such vast sheets of quicksilver; or why, if we have a mind to a sixpenny cup of tea and muffins, when we come in with muddy boots from a dirty walk, those refreshments should be served to us as we occupy a sofa much more spleiidid, and far better stuffed, than any Louis Quatorze ever sat upon. I want a sofa, as I want a friend, upon which I can repose familiarly. If you can't have intimate terms and free- dom with one and the other, they are of no good. A full-dress Club is an absurdity — and no man ought to come into this room except in a uniform or court suit. I daren't put my feet on yonder sofa for fear of sullying the damask, or, worse still, for fear that Hicks the Com- mittee-man should pass, and spj^ out my sacrilegious boots on the cushion. We pass through these double-doors, and enter rooms of a very difl*erent character. By the faint and sickly odour pervading this apart- ment, by the opened windows, by the circular stains upon the marble tables, which indicate the presence of brandies-and-waters long passed into the world of spirits, my dear Bob will have no difficulty in recogniz- ing the smoking-room, where I dare say he will pass a good deal of his valuable time henceforth. If I could recommend a sure way of advancement and profit to a young man about town, it would be, after he has come away from a friend's house and din- ner, where he has to a surety had more than enough of BROWN THE YOUNGER AT A CLUB 51 claret and good things, when he ought to be going to bed at midnight, so that he might rise fresh and early for his morning's work, to stop, nevertheless, for a couple of hours at the Club, and smoke in this room and tipple weak brandy-and-water. By a perseverance in this system, you may get a num- ber of advantages. By sitting up till three of a summer morning, you have the advantage of seeing the sun rise, and as you walk home to Pump Court, can mark the quiet of the streets in the rosy glimmer of the dawn. You can easily spend in that smoking-room, (as for the billiard-room adjacent, how much more can't j^ou get rid of there,) and without any inconvenience or extrava- gance whatever, enough money to keep you a horse. Three or four cigars when you are in the Club, 3^our case filled when you are going away, a couple of glasses of very weak cognac and cold water, will cost you sixty pounds a year, as sure as your name is Bob Brown. And as for the smoking and tippling, plus billiards, they maj^ be made to cost anything. And then you have the advantage of hearing such delightful and instructive conversation in a Club smok- ing-room, between the hours of twelve and three ! Men who frequent that place at that hour are commonly men of studious habits and philosophical and reflective minds, to whose opinions it is pleasant and profitable to listen. They are full of anecdotes, which are always moral and well chosen; their talk is never free, or on light subjects. I have one or two old smoking-room pillars in my eye now, who would be perfect models for any young gentleman entering life, and to whom a fa- ther could not do better than entrust the education of his son. 52 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON To drop the satirical vein, my dear Bob, I am com- pelled as a man to say my opinion, that the best thing you can do with regard to that smoking-room is to keep out of it; or at any rate never to be seen in the place after midnight. They are very pleasant and frank, those jolly fellows, those loose fishes, those fast young men — but the race in life is not to such fast men as these — and you who want to win must get up early of a morning, my boy. You and an old college-chum or two may sit together over your cigar-boxes in one another's chambers, and talk till all hours, and do j^ourselves good probably. Talking among you is a wholesome exercita- tion; humour comes in an easy flow; it doesn't preclude grave argument and manly interchange of thought — I own myself, when I w^as younger, to have smoked many a pipe with advantage in the company of Doctor Parr. Honest men, with pipes or cigars in their mouths, have great physical advantages in conversation. You may stop talking if you like — but the breaks of silence never seem disagreeable, being filled up by the puffing of the smoke — hence there is no awkwardness in resuming the conversation — no straining for eff*ect — sentiments are delivered in a grave easy manner — the cigar harmonizes the society, and soothes at once the speaker and the sub- ject whereon he converses. I have no doubt that it is from the habit of smoking that Turks and American- Indians are such monstrous well-bred men. The pipe draws wisdom from the lips of the philosopher, and shuts up the mouth of the foolish: it generates a style of conversation, contemplative, thoughtful, benevolent, and unafl?*ected: in fact, dear Bob, I must out with it — I am an old smoker. At home I have done it up the chimney rather than not do it (the which I own is a BROWN THE YOUNGER AT A CLUB 53 crime) . I vow and believe that the cigar has been one of the greatest creature-comforts of my hfe — a kind companion, a gentle stimulant, an amiable anodj^ne, a cementer of friendship. May I die if I abuse that kindly weed which has given me so much pleasure! Since I have been a member of that Club, what num- bers of men have occupied this room and departed from it, like so many smoked-out cigars, leaving nothing be- hind but a little disregarded ashes! Bob, my boy, they drop off in the course of twenty years, our boon com- panions, and jolly fellow bottle-crackers. — I mind me of many a good fellow who has talked and laughed here, and whose pipe is put out for ever. Men I remember as dashing youngsters but the other daj^ have passed into the state of old fogies : they have sons, sir, of almost our age, when first we joined the " Polyanthus." Grass grows over others in all parts of the world. Where is poor Ned? Where is poor Fred? Dead rhymes with Ned and Fred too — their place knows them not — their names one year appeared at the end of the Club list, under the dismal category of " Members Deceased," in which you and I shall rank some day. Do you keep that subject steadily in your mind? I do not see why one shouldn't meditate upon Death in Pall Mall as well as in a howling wilderness. There is enough to remind one of it at every corner. There is a strange face look- ing out of Jack's old lodgings in Jermyn Street, — some- body else has got the Club chair which Tom used to oc- cupy. He doesn't dine here and grumble as he used formerly. He has been sent for, and has not come back again — one day Fate will send for us, and we shall not return— and the people will come down to the Club as usual, saying, " Well, and so poor old Brown is gone," 54 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON — Indeed, a smoking-room on a morning is not a cheer- ful spot. Our room has a series of tenants of quite distinct characters. After an early and sober dinner below, cer- tain habitues of the " Polyanthus " mount up to this apartment for their coffee and cigar, and talk as gravely as Sachems at a Palaver. Trade and travel, politics and geograplw, are their discourse— they are in bed long before their successors the jolly fellows begin their night life, and the talk of the one set is as different to the con- versation of the other, as anj^ talk can be. After the grave old Sachems, come other frequenters of the room; a squad of sporting men very hkely— verj^ solemn and silent personages these— who give the odds, and talk about the Cup in a darkling under tone. Then 3^ou shall have three or four barristers with high voices, seldom able to sit long without talking of their profes- sion, or mentioning something about Westminster Hall. About eleven, men in white neckcloths drop in from dinner-parties, and show their lacquered boots and shirt- studs with a little complacency— and at midnight, after the theatres, the young rakes and viveurs come swag- gering in, and call loudly for gin-twist. But as for a Club smoking-room after midnight, I vow again that you are better out of it: that you will waste money and your precious hours and health there; and you may frequent this " Polyanthus " room for a year, and not carry away from the place one single idea or storj^ that can do you the least good in life. How much you shall take away of another sort, I do not here set down ; but I have before my mind's eye the image of old Silenus, with purple face and chalk-stone fingers, telling his foul old garrison legends over his gin-and- BROWN THE YOUNGER AT A CLUB 55 water. He is in the smoking-room every night; and I feel that no one can get benefit from the society of that old man. What society he has he gets from this place. He sits for hours in a corner of the sofa, and makes up his par- ties here. He will ask you after a little time, seeing that you are a gentleman and have a good address, and will give you an exceedingly good dinner. I went once, j^ears ago, to a banquet of his — and found all the men at his table were Polyanthuses : so that it was a house din- ner in Square, with Mrs. Silenus at the head of the table. After dinner she retired and was no more seen, and Silenus amused himself bj^ making poor ]Mr. Tippleton drunk. He came to the Club the next day, he amused himself by describing the arts by which he had practised upon the easy brains of poor Mr. Tippleton— (as if that poor fellow wanted any arts or persuasion to in- duce him to intoxicate himself) , and told all the smok- ing-room how he had given a dinner, how many bottles of wine had been emptied, and how many Tippleton had drunk for his share. " I kept my eye on Tip, sir," the horrid old fellow said—" I took care to make him mix his liquors well, and before eleven o'clock I finished him, and had him as drunk as a lord, sir! " Will you like to have that gentleman for a friend ? He has elected himself our smoking-room king at the " Polyanthus,'* and midnight monarch. As he talks, in comes poor Tippleton— a kind soul — a gentleman — a man of reading and parts — who has friends at home very likely, and had once a career be- fore him — and what is he now? His eyes are vacant; he reels into a sofa corner, and sits in maudhn silence, 56 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON and hiccups every now and then. Old Silenus winks knowingly round at the whole smoking-room: most of the men sneer— some pity— some very young cubs laugh and jeer at him. Tippleton's drunk. ROM the Library and Smoking-room re- gions let us de- scend to the lower floor. Here you behold the Coffee- room, where the neat little tables are already laid out, awaiting the influx of diners. A great advance in civilization was made, and the hon- esty as well as econ- omy of young men of the middle classes immensely pro- moted, when the ancient tavern system was overthrown, and those houses of meeting instituted where a man, without sacrificing his dignity, could dine for a couple of shillings. I remember in the days of my youth when a very moderate dinner at a reputable coffee-house cost a man half-a-guinea: when you were obliged to order a pint of wine for the good of the house ; when the waiter got a shilling for his attendance; and when young gen- tlemen were no richer than they are now, and had to pay thrice as much as they at present need to disburse for the maintenance of their station. BROWN THE YOUNGER AT A CLUB 57 Then men (who had not the half -guinea at command) used to dive into dark streets in the vicinage of Soho or Covent Garden, and get a meagre meal at shilling taverns — or Tom, the clerk, issued out from your Cham- bers in Pump Court and brought back your dinner be- tween two plates from a neighbouring ham-and-beef shop. Either repast was strictly honourable, and one can find no earthly fault with a poor gentleman for eat- ing a poor meal. But that solitary meal in Chambers was indeed a dismal refection. I think with anything but regret of those lonely feasts of beef and cabbage; and how there was no resource for the long evenings but those books, over which you had been poring all day, or the tavern with its deuced expenses, or the thea- tre with its vicious attractions. A young bachelor's life was a clumsy piece of wretchedness then — mismanaged and ill economized — just as your Temple Chambers or College rooms now are, which are quite behind the age in the decent conveniences which every modern tene- ment possesses. And that dining for a shilling and strutting about Pall Mall afterwards was, after all, an hypocrisy. At the time when the '' Trois Freres Provengaux " at Paris had two entrances, one into the place of the Palais Royal, and one into the street behind, where the six- teen-sous dinner-houses are, I have seen bucks with pro- fuse tooth-picks walk out of these latter houses of en- tertainment, pass up the " Trois Freres " stairs, and descend from the other door into the Palais Royal, so that the people walking there might fancy these poor fel- lows had been dining regardless of expense. No; what you call putting a good face upon poverty, that is, hid- ing it under a grin, or concealing its rags under a make- 58 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON shift, is always rather a base stratagem. Your Beaux Tibbs and twopenny dandies can never be respectable altogether ; and if a man is poor, I say he ought to seem poor; and that both he and Society are in the wrong, if either sees any cause of shame in poverty. That is why we ought to be thankful for Clubs. Here is no skulking to get a cheap dinner; no ordering of expensive liquors and dishes for the good of the house, or cowering sensitiveness as to the opinion of the waiter. We advance in simplicity and honesty as we advance in civilization, and it is my belief that we become better bred and less artificial, and tell more truth every day. This, you see, is the Club Coffee-room— it is three o'clock; young Wideawake is just finishing his break- fast (with whom I have nothing to do at present, but to say parenthetically, that if you will sit up till five o'clock in the morning. Bob my boy, you may look out to have a headache and a breakfast at three in the after- noon). Wideawake is at breakfast — Goldsworthy is ordering his dinner — while Mr. Nudgit, whom you see yonder, is making his lunch. In those two gentlemen is the moral and exemplification of the previous little remarks which I have been making. You must know, sir, that at the " Polyanthus," in common with most Clubs, gentlemen are allowed to en- joy, gratis, in the Coffee-room, bread, beer, sauces, and pickles. After four o'clock, if you order your dinner, j'-ou have to pay sixpence for what is called the table — the clean cloth, the vegetables, cheese, and so forth: before that hour you may have lunch, when there is no table charge. Now, Goldsworthy is a gentleman and a man of ge- BROWN THE YOUNGER AT A CLUB 59 nius, who has courage and simphcity enough to be poor — not like some fellows whom one meets, and who make a fanfaronnade of poverty, and draping themselves in their rags, seem to cry, " See how virtuous I am,— how honest Diogenes is! " but he is a very poor man, whose education and talents are of the best, and who in so far claims to rank with the very best people in the world. In his place in Parliament, when he takes off his hat (which is both old and well brushed) , the Speaker's eye is pretty sure to meet his, and the House listens to him with the respect which is due to so much honesty and talent. He is the equal of any man, however lofty or w^ealthy. His social position is rather improved by his poverty, and the world, which is a manly and generous world in its impulses, however it may be in its practice, contemplates with a sincere regard and admiration Mr. Goldsworthy's manner of bearing his lack of fortune. He is going to dine for a shilling; he will have two mutton-chops (and the mutton-chop is a thing unknown in domestic life and in the palaces of epicures, where you may get cutlets dressed with all sorts of French sauces, but not the admirable mutton-chop), and with a due allowance of the Club bread and beer, he will make a perfectly wholesome, and sufficient, and excellent meal ; and go down to the House and fire into Ministers this very night. Now, I say, this man dining for a shilling is a pleasant spectacle to behold. I respect ]Mr. Goldsworthy vAih all my heart, without sharing those ultra-conservative po- litical opinions which we all know he entertains, and from which no interest, temptation, or hope of place will cause him to swerve; and you see he is waited upon with as much respect here as old Silenus, though he 60 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IX LONDON order the most sumptuous banquet the cook can devise, or bully the waiters ever so. But ah, Bob ! what can we say of the conduct of that poor little Mr. Nudgit? He has a bed-chamber in some court unknown in the neighbourhood of the " Polyan- thus." He makes a breakfast with the Club bread and beer; he lunches off the same supplies — and being of an Epicurean taste, look what he does — he is actually pouring a cruet of anchovy sauce over his bread to give it a flavour; and I have seen the unconscionable little gourmand sidle off to the pickle- jars when he thought nobody was observing, and pop a walnut or half a dozen of pickled onions into his mouth, and swallow them with a hideous furtive relish. He disappears at dinner-time, and returns at half- past seven or eight o'clock, and wanders round the tables when the men are at their dessert and generous over their wine. He has a number of little stories about the fashionable world to tell, and is not unentertaining. When you dine here, sometimes give Nudgit a glass or two out of your decanter. Bob my boy, and comfort his poor old soul. He was a gentleman once and had money, as he will be sure to tell j^ou. He is mean and feeble, but not unkind — a poor little parasite not to be unpitied. Mr. Nudgit, allow me to introduce you to a new member, my nephew, Mr. Robert Brown. At this moment, old Silenus swaggers in, bearing his great waistcoat before him, and walking up to the desk where the coffee-room clerk sits and where the bills of fare are displayed. As he passes, he has to undergo the fire of Mr. Goldsworthy's eyes, which dart out at him two flashes of the most killing scorn. He has passed by the battery without sinking, and lays himself along- BROWN THE YOUNGER AT A CLUB 01 side the desk. Nudgit watches him, and will presently go up smirking humbly to join him. " Hunt," he says, " I want a table, ni}'' table, you know, at seven — dinner for eight — Lord Hobanob dines with me — send the butler — What's in the bill of fare? Let's have clear soup and turtle — I've sent it in from the city — dressed fish and turbot," and with a swollen trembling hand he writes down a pompous bill of fare. As I said, Nudgit comes up simpering, with a news- paper in his hand. " Hullo, Nudg! " says Mr. Silenus, " how's the beer? Pickles good to-da}^? " Nudgit smiles in a gentle deprecatory manner. " Smell out a good dinner, hey, Nudg? " says Dives. " If any man knows how to give one, you do,'* answers the poor beggar. " I wasn't a bad hand at ordering a dinner myself, once; what's the fish in the list to-day? " and with a weak smile he casts his eye over the bill of fare. " Lord Hobanob dines with me, and he knows what a good dinner is, I can tell you," says Mr. Silenus, " so does Cramley." " Both well-known epicures," says Nudgit. "I'm going to give Hobanob a return dinner to his at the ' Rhododendrum.' He bet me that Batifol, the chef at the ' Rhododendrum,' did better than our man can. Hob's dinner was last Wednesday, and I don't say it wasn't a good one; or that taking Grosbois by surprise, is giving him quite fair play — but we'll see, Nudgit. I know what Grosbois can do." " I should think you did, indeed, Silenus," says the other. " I see your mouth's watering. I'd ask you, only I 62 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON know you're engaged. You're always engaged, Nudgit — not to-day? Well then, j^ou may come; and I say, Mr. Nudgit, we'll have a wet evening, sir, mind you that." Mr. Bowls, the butler, here coming in, Mr. Silenus falls into conversation ^vith him about wines and icing. I am glad poor Nudgit has got his dinner. He will go and walk in the Park to get up an appetite. And now, INIr. Bob, having shown you over your new house, I too will bid you for the present farewell. A WORD ABOUT BALLS IN SEASON HEN my good fi*iend,Mr. Punch, some time since, asked mie to com- pile a series of conversations for young men in the dancing world, so that they might be agreeable to their partners, and advance their own success in life, I consented with a willing heart, to my venerable friend's request, for I desire nothing better than to pro- mote the amusement and happiness of all young people ; and nothing, I thought, would be easier than to touch off a few light, airy, graceful little sets of phrases, which young fellows might adopt or expand, according to their own ingenuity and leisure. Well, sir, I imagined myself, just for an instant, to be young again, and that I had a neat waist instead of that bow-window with which Time and Nature have or- namented the castle of my body, and brown locks in- 63 64 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON stead of a bald pate (there was a time, sir, when my hair was not considered the worst part of me, and I recollect when I was a young man in the Militia, and when pigtails finally went out in our corps, who it was that longed to have my queue — it was found in her desk at her death, and my poor dear wife was always jealous of her,) — I just chose, I say, to fancy myself a young man, and that I would go up in imagination and ask a girl to dance with me. So I chose Maria — a man might go farther and fare worse than choose Maria, Mr. Bob. " My dear Miss E.," says I, " may I have the honour of dancing the next set with you? " " The next nohat? " saj^s ]\Iiss E., smiling, and turn- ing to ]Mrs. E., as if to ask what a set meant. " I forgot," says I ; " the next quadrille, I would say." " It is rather slow dancing quadrilles," says Miss E. ; *' but if I must, I must." " Well, then, a Maltz, will that do? I know nothing prettier than a waltz played not too quick." " What! " says she, " do you want a horrid old three- timed waltz, like that which the little figures dance upon the barrel-organs ? You silly old creature : you are good- natured, but you are in your dotage. All these dances are passed away. You might as well ask me to wear a gown with a waist up to my shoulders, like that in which mamma was married; or a hoop and high heels, like grandmamma in the picture; or to dance a gavotte or a minuet. Things are changed, old gentleman — the fashions of your time are gone, and — and the bucks of your time will go too, IMr. Brown. If I want to dance, here is Captain Whiskerfield, who is ready; or young Studdington, who is a delightful partner. He brings A WORD ABOUT BALLS 65 a little animation into our balls; and when he is not in society, dances every night at Vauxhall and the asino. I pictured to myself Maria giving some such reply to my equally imaginative demand — for of course I never made the request, any more than she did the an- swer — and in fact, dear Bob, after turning over the matter of ball-room conversations in my mind, and sit- ting with pen and ink before me for a couple of hours, I found that I had nothing at all to say on the subject, and have no more right to teach a youth w^hat he is to say in the present day to his partner, than I should have had in my own boyhood to instruct my own grand- mother in the art of sucking eggs. We should pay as much reverence to youth as we should to age; there are points in which you young folks are altogether our su- periors: and I can't help constantly crying out to per- sons of my own years, when busied about their young people — leave them alone; don't be always meddling with their affairs, which they can manage for them- selves; don't be alwaj^s insisting upon managing their boats, and putting your oars in the water with theirs. So I have the modest}'- to think that Mr. Punch and I were a couple of conceited old fogies, in devising the above plan of composing conversation for the benefit of youth, and that young folks can manage to talk of what interests them, without any prompting on our part. To say the truth, I have hardly been to a ball these three years. I saw the head of the stair at H. E.'s the T Ambassador in Br ne Square, the other night, but retired without even getting a sight of, or making my bow to Her Excellency; thinking wisely that mon lait de poule et mon bonnet de nuit much better became me 66 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON at that hour of midnight than the draught in a crowded passage, and the sight of ever so many beauties. But though I don't go myself to these assembhes, I have intelhgence amongst people who go : and hear from the girls and their mammas what they do, and how they enjoy themselves. I must own that some of the new arrangements please me very much, as being natural and simple, and, in so far, superior to the old mode. In mj' time, for instance, a ball-room used to be more than half-filled with old male and female fogies, whose persons took up a great deal of valuable room, who did not in the least ornament the walls against which they stood, and who would have been much better at home in bed. In a great country-house, where j^ou have a hall fire-place in which an ox might be roasted conve- nientlj% the presence of a few score more or less of stout old folks can make no difference; there is room for them at the card-tables, and round the supper-board, and the sight of their honest red faces and white waist- coats lining the wall cheers and illuminates the Assem- bly Room. But it is a very different case when j^ou have a small house in Mayfair, or in the pleasant district of Pimlico and Tyburn; and accordingly I am happy to hear that the custom is rapidly spreading of asking none but dancing people to balls. It was only this morning that I was arguing the point with our cousin Mrs. Crowder, who was greatly irate because her daughter Fanny had received an invitation to go with her aunt, Mrs. Tim- mins, to Lady Tutbury's ball, whereas poor Mrs. Crow- der had been told that she could on no account get a card. Now Blanche Crowder is a very large woman natu- A WORD ABOUT BALLS 67 rally, and with the present fashion of flounces in dress, this balloon of a creature would occupy the best part of a little back drawing-room; whereas Rosa Timmins is a little bit of a thing, who takes up no space at all, and furnishes the side of a room as prettily as a bank of flowers could. I tried to convince our cousin upon this point, this emhonpoint, I maj^ say, and of course being too polite to make remarks personal to INIrs. Crowder, I playfully directed them elsewhere. " Dear Blanche," said I, " don't you see how greatly Lady Tutbury w^ould have to extend her premises if all the relatives of all her dancers were to be invited? She has already flung out a marquee over the leads, and actually included the cistern — what can she do more! If all the girls were to have chaperons, where could the elders sit? Tutbury himself will not be present. He is a large and roomy man, like your humble servant, and Ladv Tut has sent him off to Greenwich or the ' Star and Garter ' for the night, where, I have no doubt, he and some other stout fellows will make themselves com- fortable. At a ball amongst persons of moderate means and large acquaintance in London, room is much more precious than almost anybody's companj^ except that of the beauties and the dancers. Look at Lord Trample- ton, that enormous hulking monster, (who nevertheless dances beautifulty, as all big men do,) w^hen he takes out his favourite partner. Miss Wirledge, to polk, his arm, as he whisks her round and round, forms radii of a circle of very considerable diameter. He almost w^ants a room to himself. Young men and women now, w^hen the}'^ dance, dance really; it is no lazy sauntering, as of old, but downright hard work — after which they want air and refreshment. How can they get the one, when 68 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON the rooms are filled with elderly folks ; or the other, when we are squeezing round the supper-tables, and drinking up all the available champagne and seltzer-water? No, no ; the present plan, which I hear is becoming general, is admirable for London. Let there be half-a-dozen of good, active, bright-eyed chaj^erons and duennas, little women, who are more active, and keep a better look-out than your languishing voluptuous beauties" (I said this, casting at the same time a look of peculiar tender- ness towards Blanche Crowder) ; "let them keep watch and see that all is right— that the j^oung men don't dance too often with the same girl, or disappear on to the balcony, and that sort of thing; let them have good large roomj^ family coaches to carry the young women home to their mammas. In a word, at a ball, let there be for the future no admittance except upon business. In all the affairs of London life, that is the rule, de- pend upon it." " And pray who told you, ]Mr. Brown, that I didn't wish to dance myself? " says Blanche, surveying her great person in the looking-glass (which could scarcely contain it) and flouncing out of the room; and I actually believe that the unconscionable creature, at her age and size, is still thinking that she is a fairy, and that the young fellows would like to dance round the room with her. Ah, Bob! I remember that grotesque woman a slim and graceful girl. I remember others tender and beautiful, whose bright eyes glitter, and whose sweet voices whisper no more. So they pass away — youth and beauty, love and innocence, pass away and perish. I think of one now, whom I remember the fairest and the gaj^est, the kindest and the purest; her laughter was music — I can hear it still, though it will never echo any A WORD ABOUT BALLS 69 more. Far away, the silent tomb closes over her. Other roses than those of our prime grow up and bloom, and have their day. Honest youth, generous youth, may yours be as pure and as fair ! I did not think when I began to write it, that the last sentence would have finished so; but life is not alto- gether jocular, Mr. Bob, and one comes upon serious thoughts suddenly as upon a funeral in the street. Let us go back to the business we are upon, namely, balls, whereof it, perhaps, has struck you that your uncle has very little to say. I saw one announced in the morning fashionable print to-day, with a fine list of some of the greatest folks in London, and had previously heard from various quar- ters how eager many persons were to attend it, and how splendid an entertainment it was to be. And so the morning paper announced that Mrs. Hornby Madox threw open her house in So-and-so Street, and was assisted in receiving her guests by Lady Fugle- man. Now this is a sort of entertainment and arrangement than which I confess I can conceive nothing more queer, though I believe it is by no means uncommon in Eng- lish society. Mrs. Hornby Madox comes into her for- tune of ten thousand a year — wishes to be presented in the London world, having lived in the country pre- viously — spares no expense to make her house and fes- tival as handsome as may be, and gets Lady Fugleman to ask the comj^any for her — not the honest Hornby s, not the family Madoxes, not the jolly old squires and friends and relatives of her family, and from her county; but the London dandies and the London so- ciety: whose names you see chronicled at every party, 70 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON and who, being Lady Fugleman's friends, are invited by her ladyship to JNIrs. Hornby's house. What a strange notion of society does this give — of friendship, of fashion, of what people will do to be in the fashion ! Poor ]Mrs. Hornby comes into her fortune, and says to her old friends and family, " INIy good peo- ple, I am going to cut every one of you. You were very well as long as we were in the country, where I might have my natural likings and affections. But, hence- forth, I am going to let Lady Fugleman choose my friends for me. I know nothing about you any more. I have no objection to you, but if you want to know me 3^ou must ask Lady Fugleman: if she says yes, I shall be delighted; if no, Bon jour." This strange business goes on daily in London. Hon- est people do it, and think not the least harm. The proudest and noblest do not think they demean them- selves by crowding to INIrs. Goldcalf's parties, and strike quite openly a union between her wealth and their titles, to determine as soon as the former ceases. There is not the least Iwpocrisj^ about this, at any rate— the terms of the bargain are quite understood on every hand. But oh, Bob ! see what an awful thing it is to confess, and would not even hjq^ocrisy be better than this daring cynicism, this open heartlessness — Godlessness I had almost called it? Do j^ou mean to say, you great folks, that your object in society is not love, is not friendship, is not famih^ union and affection — is not truth and kindness; — is not generous sympathy and union of Christian (pardon me the word, but I can indicate my meaning by no other) — of Christian men and women, parents and children, — but that you assemble and meet A WORD ABOUT BALLS 71 together, not caring or trying to care for one another, — without a pretext of good will — with a daring selfish- ness openly avowed? I am sure I wish Mrs. Goldcalf or the other lady no harm, and have never spoken to, or set eyes on either of them, and I do not mean to say, Mr. Robert, that you and I are a whit better than they are, and doubt whether they have made the calculation for themselves of the consequences of what they are doing. But as sure as two and two make four, a per- son giving up of his own accord his natural friends and relatives, for the sake of the fashion, seems to me to say, I acknowledge myself to be heartless; I turn my back on my friends, I disown my relatives, and I dis- honour my father and mother. A WORD ABOUT DINNERS NGLISH Society, my beloved Bob, has this eminent advan- tage over all other — that is, if there be any society left in the wretched distracted old EfUro- pean continent — that it is above all others a dinner-giving soci- ety. A people like the Ger- mans, that dines habitually, and with what vast aj^petite I need not say, at one o'clock in the afternoon — like the Italians, that spends its evenings in opera-boxes — like the French, that amuses itself of nights with eau sucree and intrigue — can- not, believe me, understand So- ciety rightly. I love and admire my nation for its good sense, its manliness, its friendli- ness, its morahty in the main — and these, I take it, are all expressed in that noble institution, the dinner. The dinner is the happy end of the Briton's day. We work harder than the other nations of the earth. We do more, we live more in our time, than Frenchmen or Germans. Every great man amongst us likes his dinner, and takes to it kindly. I could mention the most august names of poets, statesmen, philosophers, histo- A WORD ABOUT DINNERS 73 rians, judges, and divines, who are great at the dinner- table as in the field, the closet, the senate, or the bench. Gibbon mentions that he wrote the first two volumes of his history whilst a placeman in London, lodging in St. James's, going to the House of Commons, to the Club, and to dinner everj^ day. The man flourishes under that generous and robust regimen; the healthy energies of society are kept up by it; our friendly in- tercourse is maintained; our intellect ripens with the good cheer, and throws off surprising crops, like the fields about Edinburgh, under the influence of that ad- mirable liquid, Claret. The best wines are sent to this country therefore; for no other deserves them as ours does. I am a diner-out, and live in London. I protest, as I look back at the men and dinners I have seen in the last week, my mind is filled with manly respect and pleasure. How good they have been! how admirable the entertainments! how worthy the men! Let me, without divulging names, and with a cordial gratitude, mention a few of those whom I have met and who have all done their duty. Sir, I have sat at table with a great, a world-renowned statesman. I watched him during the progress of the banquet — I am at liberty to say that he enjoyed it like a man. On another day, it was a celebrated literary character. It was beautiful to see him at his dinner : cordial and gen- erous, jovial and kindly, the great author enjoyed him- self as the great statesman— may he long give us good books and good dinners! Yet another day, and I sat opposite to a Right Rev- erend Bishop. My Lord, I was pleased to see good 74. SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON thing after good thing disappear before you; and I think no man ever better became that rounded episcopal apron. How amiable he was ! how kind ! He put water into his wine. Let us respect the moderation of the Church. And then the men learned in the law: how they dinel what hospitality, what splendour, what comfort, what wine ! As we walked away very gently in the moonlight, only three days since, from the 's, a friend of my youth and myself, we could hardly speak for gratitude: " Dear sir," we breathed fervently, " ask us soon again." One never has too much at those perfect banquets — no hideous headaches ensue, or horrid resolutions about adopting Revalenta Arabica for the future — but con- tentment with all the world, light slumbering, joyful waking to grapple with the morrow's work. Ah, dear Bob, those lawyers have great merits. There is a dear old judge at whose family table if I could see you seated, my desire in life would be pretty nearly fulfilled. If you make yourself agreeable there, you will be in a fair way to get on in the world. But you are a youth still. Youths go to balls : men go to dinners. Doctors, again, notoriously eat well; when my excel- lent friend Sangrado takes a bumper, and saying, with a shrug and a twinkle of his eye, ''Video meliora pro- hoque, deteriora sequor" tosses off the wine, I always ask the butler for a glass of that bottle. The inferior clergy, likewise, dine very much and well. I don't know when I have been better entertained, as far as creature comforts go, than by men of very Low Church principles ; and one of the very best repasts that ever I saw in my life was at Darlington, given by a Quaker. A WORD ABOUT DINNERS 75 Some of the best wine in London is given to his friends by a poet of my acquaintance. All artists are notoriously fond of dinners, and invite you, but not so profusely. Newspaper-editors delight in dinners on Saturdays, and give them, thanks to the present posi- tion of Literature, very often and good. Dear Bob, I have seen the mahoganies of many men. Every evening between seven and eight o'clock, I like to look at the men dressed for dinner, perambulating the western districts of our city. I like to see the smile on their countenances lighted up with an indescribable self-importance and good-humour; the askance glances which they cast at the little street-boys and foot-passen- gers who eye their shiny boots; the dainty manner in which they trip over the pavement on those boots, es- chewing the mud-pools and dirty crossings; the refresh- ing whiteness of their linen; the coaxing twiddle wliich they give to the ties of their white chokers — the caress of a fond parent to an innocent child. I like walking myself. Those who go in cabs or broughams, I have remarked, have not the same radi- ant expression which the pedestrian exhibits. A man in his own brougham has anxieties about the stepping of his horse, or the squaring of the groom's elbows, or a doubt whether Jones's turnout is not better; or whe- ther something is not wrong in the springs; or whether he shall have the brougham out if the night is rainy. They always look tragical behind the glasses. A cab diner-out has commonly some cares, lest his sense of justice should be injured by the overcharge of the driver (these fellows are not uncommonly exorbitant in their demands upon gentlemen whom they set down at good houses) ; lest the smell of tobacco left by the last occu- 76 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IX LONDON pants of the vehicle (five medical students, let us say, who have chartered the vehicle, and smoked cheroots from the London University to the play-house in the Haymarket) should infest the clothes of Tom Lavender who is going to Lady Rosemary's; lest straws should stick unobserved to the glutinous lustre of his boots— his shiny ones, and he should aj^pear in Dives's drawing- room like a poet with a te?iui aveiidj or like Mad Tom in the play. I hope, my dear Bob, if a straw should ever enter a drawing-room in the wake of your boot, you will not be much disturbed in mind. Hark ye, in confidence; I have seen ^ in a hack-cab. There is no harm in employing one. There is no harm in any- thing natural, any more. I cannot help here parenthetically relating a story which occurred in my own youth, in the year 1815, at the time when I first made my own entree into society (for everything must have a beginning. Bob; and though we have been gentlemen long before the Con- queror, and have always consorted with gentlemen, yet we had not always attained that haute volee of fashion which has distinguished some of us subsequently) ; I recollect, I say, in 1815, when the JNIarquis of Sweet- bread was good enough to ask me and the late INIr. Ruffles to dinner, to meet Prince Schwartzenberg and the Hetman Platoff . Ruffles was a man a good deal about town in those daj^s, and certainly in very good society. I was mj^self a young one, and thought Ruffles was rather inclined to patronize me: which I did not like. " I would have you to know, INIr. Ruffles," thought I, ^ Mr. Brown's MS. here contains a name of such prodigious dignity out of the " P— r-ge," that we really do not dare to print it. A WORD ABOUT DIXXERS 77 "that, after all, a gentleman can but be a gentleman; that though we Browns have no handles to our names, we are quite as well-bred as some folks who possess those ornaments " — and in fine I determined to give him a lesson. So when he called for me in the hackney-coach at my lodgings in Swallow Street, and we had driven under the porte-cochere of Sweetbread House, where two tall and powdered domestics in the uniform of the Sweetbreads, viz. a spinach-coloured coat, with w^aist- coat and the rest of delicate yellow or melted-butter col- our, opened the doors of the hall — what do j^ou think, sir, I did? In the presence of these gentlemen, who were holding on at the door, I offered to toss up with Ruffles, heads or tails, who should pay for the coach; and then purposely had a dispute with the poor Jarvey about the fare. Ruffles's face of agonj^ during this trans- action I shall never forget. Sir, it was like the La- ocoon. Drops of perspiration trembled on his pallid brow, and he flung towards me looks of imploring terror that would have melted an ogre. A better fellow than Ruffles never lived— he is dead long since, and I don't mind owning to this harmless little deceit. A person of some note — a favourite Snob of mine — I am told, when he goes to dinner, adopts what he con- siders a happy artifice, and sends his cab away at the corner of the street ; so that the gentleman in livery may not behold its number, or that the lord with whom he dines, and about whom he is always talking, may not be supposed to know that INIr. Smith came in a hack-cab. A man who is troubled with a shame like this. Bob, is unworthj^ of anj^ dinner at all. Such a man must needs be a sneak and a humbug, anxious about the effect which he is to produce : uneasj^ in his mind : a don- 78 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON key in a lion's skin: a small pretender— distracted by doubts and frantic terrors of what is to come next. Such a man can be no more at ease in his chair at dinner than a man is in the fauteuil at the dentist's {unless indeed he go to the admirable Mr. Gilbert in Suffolk Street, who is dragged into this essay for the benefit of mankind alone, and who, I vow, removes a grinder with so little pain, that all the world should be made aware of him) — a fellow, I say, ashamed of the original from which he sprung, of the cab in which he drives, awkward, there- fore aifected and unnatural, can never hope or deserve to succeed in societ3\ The great comfort of the society of great folks is, that they do not trouble themselves about your two- penny little person, as smaller persons do, but take you for what you are — a man kindly and good-natured, or witty and sarcastic, or learned and eloquent, or a good raconteur, or a very handsome man, (and in '15 some of the Browns were — but I am speaking of five-and- thirty years ago,) or an excellent gourmand and judge of wines — or what not. Nobody sets you so quickly at your ease as a fine gentleman. I have seen more noise made about a knif?ht's lady than about the Duchess of Fitzbattleaxe herself: and Lady Mountararat, whose family dates from the Deluge, enters and leaves a room, with her daughters, the lovely Ladies Eve and Lilith D'Arc, with much less pretension and in much simpler capotes and what-do-you-call-'ems, than Lady de Mo- gyns or INIrs. Shindy, who quit an assembly in a whirl- wind as it were, with trumpets and alarums like a stage king and queen. But my pen can run no further, for my paper is out, and it is time to dress for dinner. ON SOME OLD CUSTOMS OF THE DINNER-TABLE all the sciences which have made a progress in late years, I think, dear Bob (to re- turn to the sub- ject from which I parted with so much pleasure last week), that the art of din- ner-giving has made the most delightful and rapid advances. Sir, I maintain, even now with a matured age and appetite, that the dinners of this pres- ent day are better than those we had in our youth, and I can't but be thankful at least once in every day for this decided improvement in our civilization. Those who remember the usages of five-and-twenty years back will be ready, I am sure, to acknowledge this progress. I was turning over at the Club yesterday a queer little book written at that period, which, I believe, had some authority at the time, and which records some of those 79 80 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON customs which obtained, if not in good London society, at least in some companies, and parts of our islands. Sir, many of these practices seem as antiquated now as the usages described in the accounts of Homeric feasts, or Queen Elizabeth's banquets and breakfasts. Let us be happy to think they are gone. The book in question is called " The Maxims of Sir Morgan O'Doherty," a queer baronet, who appears to have lived in the first quarter of the centur}^ and whose opinions the antiquarian may examine, not without profit — a strange barbarian indeed it is, and one won- ders that such customs should ever have been prevalent in our country. Fancy such opinions as these having ever been holden by any set of men among us. INIaxim 2. — " It is laid down in fashionable life that you must drink Cham- pagne after white cheeses, water after red. . . . Ale is to be avoided, in case a wet night is to be expected, as should cheese also." ^laxim 4.—" A fine singer, after dinner, is to be avoided, for he is a great bore, and stops the wine. . . One of the best rules (to put him down) is to applaud him most vociferously as soon as he has sung the first verse, as if all was over, and say to the gentleman farthest from you at table that you admire the conclusion of this song very much." Maxim 25. — " You meet people occasionally who tell j^ou it is bad taste to give Champagne at dinner— Port and Ten- erifFe being such superior drinking," &c. &c. I am copying out of a book printed three months since, de- scribing ways prevalent when you were born. Can it be possible, I say, that England was ever in such a state? Was it ever a maxim in " fashionable life " that you were to drink champagne after white cheeses? What OLD DINNER-TABLE CUSTOMS 81 was that maxim in fashionable hfe about drinking and about cheese? The maxim in fashionable life is to drink what you will. It is too simple now to trouble itself about wine or about cheese. Ale again is to be avoided, this strange Doherty says, if j^ou expect a wet night — and in another place he says " the English drink a pint of porter at a draught." — What English? gracious pow- ers ! Are we a nation of coalheavers ? Do we ever have a wet night? Do we ever meet peo^^le occasionally who say that to give Champagne at dinner is bad taste, and that Port and TenerifFe are such superior drinking? Fancy Teneriffe, m}" dear boj^ — I saj^ fancy a man ask- ing you to drink Teneriife at dinner; the mind shudders at it — he might as well invite you to swallow the Peak. And then consider the maxim about the fine singer who is to be avoided. What! was there a time in most people's memory, when folks at dessert began to sing? I have heard such a thing at a tenants' dinner in the country; but the idea of a fellow beginning to perform a song at a dinner-party in London fills mj^ mind with terror and amazement ; and I picture to myself am'^ table which I frequent, in INIayfair, in Bloomsburj^ in Bel- gravia, or where j^ou will, and the pain which would seize upon the host and the company if some wretch were to commence a song. We have passed that savage period of life. We do not want to hear songs from guests, we have the songs done for us ; as we don't want our ladies to go down into the kitchen and cook the dinner any more. The cook can do it better and cheaper. We do not desire feats of musical or culinary skill — but simple, quiet, easy, un- pretending conversation. In like manner, there was a practice once usual, and 82 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON which still lingers here and there, of making compli- mentary speeches after dinner; that custom is happily almost entirely discontinued. Gentlemen do not meet to compliment each other profusely, or to make fine phrases. Simplicity gains upon us daity. Let us be thankful that the florid style is disappearing. I once shared a bottle of sherry with a commercial traveller at INIargate who gave a toast or a sentiment as he filled every glass. He would not take his wine with- out this queer ceremony before it. I recollect one of his sentiments, which was as follows: " Year is to 'er that doubles our joys, and divides our sorrows— I give you woman, sir," — and we both emptied our glasses. These lumbering ceremonials are passing out of our manners, and were found only to obstruct our free intercourse. People can like each other just as much without orations, and be just as merry without being forced to drink against their will. And yet there are certain customs to which one clings still; for instance, the practice of drinking wine with your neighbour, though wisely not so frequently in- dulged in as of old, yet still obtains, and I trust will never be abolished. For though, in the old time, when ]Mr. and Mrs. Fog}^ had sixteen friends to dinner, it be- came an unsupportable corvee for Mr. F. to ask sixteen persons to drink wine, and a painful task for Mrs. Fogy to be called upon to bow to ten gentlemen, who desired to have the honour to drink her health, yet, employed in moderation, that ancient custom of challenging your friends to drink is a kindly and hearty old usage, and productive of many most beneficial results. I have known a man of a modest and reserved turn, (just like your old uncle, dear Bob, as no doubt you OLD DINNER-TABLE CUSTOMS 83 were going to remark,) when asked to drink by the host, suddenly hghten up, toss off his glass, get confidence, and begin to talk right and left. He wanted but the spur to set liim going. It is supplied by the butler at the back of his chair. It sometimes happens, again, that a host's conversa- tional powers are not brilliant. I own that I could point out a few such whom I have the honour to name among my friends — gentlemen, in fact, who wisely hold their tongues because they have nothing to say which is worth the hearing or the telling, and properly confine them- selves to the carving of the mutton and the ordering of the wines. Such men, manifestly, should always be allowed, nay encouraged, to ask their guests to take wine. In putting that question, they show their good- will, and cannot possibly betray their mental deficiency. For example, let us suppose Jones, who has been per- fectly silent all dinner-time, oppressed, doubtless, by that awful Ladj^ Tiara, who sits swelling on his right hand, suddenly rallies, singles me out, and with a loud cheering voice cries, " Brown, my boy, a glass of wine." I reply, " With pleasure, my dear Jones." He responds as quick as thought, " Shall it be hock or champagne, Brown?" I mention the wine which I prefer. He calls to the butler, and says, " Some champagne or hock " (as the case may be, for I don't choose to commit mj''- self ) , — " some champagne or hock to Mr. Brown; " and finally he says, "Good health!" in a pleasant tone. Thus you see, Jones, though not a conversationist, has had the opportunity of making no less than four obser- vations, which, if not brilliant or witty, are yet manly, sensible, and agreeable. And I defy any man in the me- tropolis, be he the most accomplished, the most learned. 84 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON the wisest, or the most eloquent, to say more than Jones upon a similar occasion. If you have had a difference with a man, and are desirous to make it up, how pleasant it is to take wine with him. Nothing is said but that simple phrase which has just been uttered by my friend Jones; and yet it means a great deal. The cup is a sj^mbol of reconcilia- tion. The other party drinks up your good-will as you accept his token of returning friendship— and thus the liquor is hallowed which Jones has paid for: and I like to think that the grape which grew by Rhine or Rhone was born and ripened under the sun there, so as to be the means of bringing two good fellows together. I once heard the head physician of a Hydropathic estab- lishment on the sunny banks of the first-named river, give the health of His JMajesty the King of Prussia, and, calling upon the company to receive that august toast with a " donnerndes Lebehoch," toss off a bumper of sparkling water. It did not seem to me a genuine enthusiasm. No, no, let us have toast and wine, not toast and water. It was not in vain that grapes grew on the hills of Father Rhine. One seldom asks ladies now to take wine, — except when, in a confidential whisper to the charming crea- ture whom 3'ou have brought down to dinner, you hum- bly ask permission to pledge her, and she delicately touches her glass, with a fascinating smile, in reply to your glance, — a smile, j'^ou rogue, which goes to your heart. I say, one does not ask ladies any more to take wine: and I think, this custom being abolished, the con- trary practice should be introduced, and that the ladies should ask the gentlemen. I know one who did, une grande dame de par le monde, as honest Brantome OLD DINNER-TABLE CUSTOMS 85 phrases it, and from whom I deserved no such kindness ; but, sir, the effect of that graceful act of hospitahty was such, that she made a grateful slave for ever of one who was an admiring rebel previously, who would do anything to show his gratitude, and who now knows no greater delight than when he receives a card which bears her respected name.^ A dinner of men is well now and again, but few well- regulated minds relish a dinner without women. There are some wretches who, I believe, still meet together for the sake of what is called " the spread," who dine each other round and round, and have horrid delights in turtle, early pease, and other culinary luxuries— but I pity the condition as I avoid the banquets of those men. The only substitute for ladies at dinners, or consolation for want of them, is— smoking. Cigars, introduced with the coffee, do, if anj^thing can, make us forget the ab- sence of the other sex. But what a substitute is that for her who doubles our joj^s, and divides our griefs! for woman! as my friend the Traveller said. 1 Upon my word, Mr. Brown, this is too broad a hint. — Punch. GREAT AND LITTLE DINNERS IT has been said, dear Bob, that I have seen the ma- hoganies of many men, and it is with no small feel- ing of pride and gratitude that I am enabled to declare also, that I hardly remember in my life to have had a bad dinner. Would to heaven that all mortal men could say likewise! Indeed, and in the presence of so much want and misery as pass under our ken daily, it is with a feeling of something like shame and humiliation that I make the avowal; but I have robbed no man of his meal that I know of, and am here speaking of very hum- ble as well as very grand banquets, the which I main- tain are, when there is a sufficiency, almost always good. Yes, all dinners are good, from a shilling upwards. The plate of boiled beef which Mary, the neat-handed waitress, brings or used to bring you in the Old Bailey — I say used, for, ah me! I speak of years long past, when the cheeks of Mary were as blooming as the car- rots which she brought up with the beef, and she may be a grandmother by this time, or a pallid ghost, far out of the regions of beef ;— from the shilling dinner of beef and carrots to the grandest banquet of the season — everything is good. There are no degrees in eating. I mean that mutton is as good as venison— beefsteak, if you are hungry, as good as turtle— bottled ale, if you like it, to the full as good as champagne; — there is no deli- cacy in the world which Monsieur Francatelli or Mon- sieur Soyer can produce, which I believe to be better 86 GREAT AND LITTLE DINNERS 87 than toasted cheese. I have seen a dozen of epicures at a grand table forsake every French and Italian delicacy for boiled leg of pork and pease-pudding. You can but be hungry, and eat and be happy. What is the moral I would deduce from this truth, if truth it be? I would have a great deal more hospi- tality practised than is common among us — more hos- pitality and less show. Properly considered, the quality of dinner is twice blest ; it blesses him that gives, and him that takes: a dinner with friendliness is the best of all friendly meetings — a pompous entertainment, where no love is, the least satisfactory. Why, then, do we of the middle classes persist in giving entertainments so costly, and beyond our means? This will be read bj^ many mortals, who are aware that they live on leg of mutton themselves, or worse than this, have what are called meat teas, than which I can- not conceive a more odious custom; that ordinarily they are very sober in their way of life; that they like in reality that leg of mutton better than the condiments of that doubtful French artist who comes from the pas- trycook's, and presides over the mysterious stewpans in the kitchen ; why, then, on their company dinners, should they flare up in the magnificent manner in which they universally do? Everybody has the same dinner in London, and the same soup, saddle of mutton, boiled fowls and tongue, entrees, champagne, and so forth. I own myself to being no better nor worse than my neighbours in this respect, and rush off to the confectioners' for sweets, &c.; hire sham butlers and attendants; have a fellow going round the table with still and dry champagne, as if I knew his name, and it was my custom to drink those 88 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON wines every day of my life. I am as bad as my neigh- bours: but why are we so bad, I ask?— why are we not more reasonable? If we receive very great men or ladies at our houses, I will lay a wager that they will select mutton and goose- berry tart for their dinner: forsaking the entrees which the men in white Berlin gloves are handing round in the Birmingham plated dishes. Asking lords and ladies, who have great establishments of their own, to French dinners and delicacies, is like inviting a grocer to a meal of figs, or a pastrycook to a banquet of raspberry tarts. The}^ have had enough of them. And great folks, if they like you, take no count of your feasts, and grand preparations, and can but eat mutton like men. One cannot have sumptuary laws now-a-daj^s, or re- strict the gastronomical more than any other trade: but I wish a check could be put upon our dinner extrava- gances by some means, and am confident that the plea- sures of life would greatly be increased by moderation. A man might give two dinners for one, according to the present pattern. Half your money is swallowed up in a dessert, which nobody wants in the least, and which I always grudge to see arriving at the end of plenty. Services of culinaiy kickshaws swallow up money, and give nobody pleasure, except the pastrycook, whom thev enrich. Everybody entertains as if he had three or four thousand a year. Some one with a voice potential should cry out against this overwhelming luxury. What is mere decency in a very wealthy man is absurdity — nay, wickedness in a poor one: a frog by nature, I am an insane, silly crea- ture, to attempt to swell myself to the size of the ox, my neighbour. Oh, that I could establish in the mid- GREAT AXD LITTLE DINNERS 89 die classes of London an Ant'i-entree and Anti-Dessert movement! I would go down to posterity not ill-deserv- ing of my country in such a case, and might be ranked among the social benefactors. Let us have a meeting at Willis's Rooms, Ladies and Gentlemen, for the pur- pose, and get a few philanthropists, philosophers, and bishops or so, to speak! As people, in former days, re- fused to take sugar, let us get up a societ}^ which shall decline to eat dessert and made dishes.^ In this way, I say, every man who now gives a dinner might give two; and take in a host of poor friends and relatives, who are now excluded from his hospitality. For dinners are given mostly in the middle classes by way of revenge; and JNIr. and jVIrs. Thomj^son ask JNIr. and Mrs. Johnson, because the latter have asked them. A man at this rate who gives four dinners of twenty persons in the course of the season, each dinner costing him something very near upon thirty pounds, receives in return, we will say, forty dinners from the friends whom he has himself invited. That is, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson pay a hundred and twenty pounds, as do all their friends, for forty-four dinners of which they par- take. So that they may calculate that every time they dine with their respective friends, they pay about twTnty-eight shillings per tete. What a sum this is, dear Johnson, for you and me to spend upon our waistcoats! What does poor Mrs. Johnson care for all these garish splendours, who has had her dinner at two with her dear children in the nursery? Our custom is not hospitality or pleasure, but to be able to cut off a certain number of acquaintance from the dining list. ^ Mr. Brown here enumerates three entrees, which he confesses he can^iot resist, and Hkewise preserved cherries at dessert: but the principle is good, though the man is weak. 90 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON One of these dinners of twenty, again, is scarcely ever pleasant as far as regards society. You may chance to get near a pleasant neighbour and neighbouress, when your corner of the table is possibly comfortable. But there can be no general conversation. Twenty people cannot engage together in talk. You would want a speaking-trumpet to communicate from your place by the lady of the house (for I wish to give my respected reader the place of honour) to the lady at the opposite corner at the right of the host. If you have a joke or a mot to make, you cannot utter it before such a crowd. A joke is nothing which can only get a laugh out of a third part of the company. The most eminent wags of my acquaintance are dumb in these great parties ; and your raconteur or story-teller, if he is prudent, will in- variably hold his tongue. For what can be more odious than to be compelled to tell a story at the top of your voice, to be called on to repeat it for the benefit of a distant person who has only heard a part of the anec- dote? There are stories of mine which would fail ut- terly, were they narrated in any but an undertone; others in which I laugh, am overcome by emotion, and so forth — what I call my intimes stories. Now it is impos- sible to do justice to these except in the midst of a gen- eral hush, and in a small circle; so that I am commonly silent. And as no anecdote is positively new in a party of twenty, the chances are so much against you that somebody should have heard the story before, in which case you are done. In these large assemblies, a wit, then, is of no use, and does not have a chance: a raconteur does not get a fair hearing, and both of these real ornaments of a dinner- GREAT AND LITTLE DINNERS 91 table are thus utterly thrown away. I have seen Jack JoUifFe, who can keep a table of eight or ten persons in a roar of laughter for four hours, remain utterly mute in a great entertainment, smothered by the num- bers and the dowager on each side of him: and Tom Yarnold, the most eminent of conversationists, sit through a dinner as dumb as the footman behind him. They do not care to joke, unless there is a sympathizing society, and prefer to be silent rather than throw their good things away. What I would recommend, then, with all my power, is, that dinners should be more simple, more frequent, and should contain fewer persons. Ten is the utmost number that a man of moderate means should ever in- vite to his table; although in a great house, managed by a great establishment, the case may be different. A man and woman may look as if thej^ were glad to see ten people: but in a great dinner they abdicate their position as host and hostess,— are mere creatures in the hands of the sham butlers, sham footmen, and tall con- fectioners' emissaries who crowd the room, — and are guests at their own table, where they are helped last, and of which they occupy the top and bottom. I have marked many a lady watching with timid glances the large artificial major-do^no, who officiates for that night only, and thought to myself, " Ah, my dear madam, how much happier might we all be if there were but half the splendour, half the made dishes, and half the company assembled." If any dinner-giving person who reads this shall be induced by my representations to pause in his present career, to cut off some of the luxuries of his table, and 92 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON instead of giving one enormous feast to twenty persons to have three simple dinners for ten, my dear Nephew will not have been addressed in vain. Everybody will be bettered; and while the guests will be better pleased, and more numerous, the host will actually be left with money in his pocket. ON LOVE, MARRIAGE, MEN, AND WOMEN OB BROWN is in love, then, and un- dergoing the com- mon lot! And so, my dear lad, you are this moment enduring the de- lights and tortures, the jealousy and wakefulness, the longing and rap- tures, the frantic despair and elation, attendant upon the passion of love. In the year 1812 (it was before I contracted my alli- ance with your poor dear Aunt, who never caused me any of the disquietudes above enumerated,) I myself went through some of those miseries and pleasures which you now, O my Nephew, are enduring. I pity and sympathize with you. I am an old cock now, with a feeble strut and a faltering crow. But I was 3'oung once: and remember the time very well. Since that time, amavi ainantes: if I see two young people happy, 93 94 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON I like it, as I like to see children enjoying a pantomime. I have been the confidant of numbers of honest fellows, and the secret watcher of scores of little prett}^ in- trigues in life. Miss Y., I know why you go so eagerly to balls now, and ^Ir. Z., what has set you off dancing at your mature age. Do you fancy, Mrs. Alpha, that I believe you walk every day at half -past eleven by the Serpentine for nothing, and that I don't see young O'Mega in Rotten Row? . . . And so, my poor Bob, you are shot. If you lose the object of your desires, the loss won't kill you; you may set that down as a certainty. If you win, it is possible that you will be disappointed; that point also is to be considered. But hit or miss, good luck or bad— I should be sorry, my honest Bob, that thou didst not undergo the malady. Every man ought to be in love a few times in his life, and to have a smart attack of the fever. You are the better for it when it is over: the better for your misfortune if you endure it with a manly heart; how much the better for success if you win it and a good wife into the bargain ! Ah! Bob- there is a stone in the burying-ground at Funchal which I often and often think of— many hopes and passions lie beneath it, along with the fairest and gentlest crea- ture in the world— it's not Mrs. Brown that lies there. After life's fitful fever, she sleeps in INIarylebone bury- ing-ground, poor dear soul! Emily Blenkinsop might have been !Mrs. Brown, but— but let us change the sub- ject. Of course you will take advice, my dear Bob, about your flame. All men and women do. It is notorious that they listen to the opinions of all their friends, and never follow their own counsel. Well, tell us about this LOVE, MARRIAGE, MEN, AND WOMEN 95 girl. What are her quahfications, expectations, belong- ings, station in life, and so forth? About beauty I do not argue. I take it for granted. A man sees beauty, or that which he likes, with eyes en- tirely his own. I don't say that plain women get hus- bands as readily as the pretty girls— but so manj^ hand- some girls are unmarried, and so many of the other sort w^edded, that there is no possibility of establishing a rule, or of setting up a standard. Poor dear Mrs. Brown was a far finer W'Oman than Emily Blenkinsop, and yet I loved Emily's little finger more than the whole hand which your Aunt INIartha gave me— I see the plainest women exercising the greatest fascinations over men — in fine, a man falls in love with a woman because it is fate, because she is a woman; Bob, too, is a man, and endowed with a heart and a beard. Is she a clever woman? I do not mean to disparage you, my good fellow, but you are not a man that is likely to set the Thames on fire ; and I should rather like to see you fall to the lot of a clever w^oman. A set has been made against clever women in all times. Take all Shakspeare's heroines— they all seem to me pretty much the same — affectionate, motherly, tender, that sort of thing. Take Scott's ladies, and other writers' — each man seems to draw from one model — an exquisite slave is what we want for the most part ; a humble, flat- tering, smiling, child-loving, tea-making, pianoforte- playing being, w'ho laughs at our jokes, however old thev may be, coaxes and w^heedles us in our humours, and fondly lies to us through life. I never could get your poor Aunt into this system, though I confess I should have been a happier man had she tried it. There are many more clever w^omen in the world than 96 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON men think for. Our habit is to despise them ; we believe they do not think because they do not contradict us ; and are weak because they do not struggle and rise up against us. A man only begins to know women as he grows old; and for mj^ part my opinion of their clever- ness rises every day. When I say I know women, I mean I know that I don't know them. Every single woman I ever knew is a puzzle to me, as I have no doubt she is to herself. Say they are not clever? Their hypocrisy is a perpetual marvel to me, and a constant exercise of cleverness of the finest sort. You see a demure-looking woman per- fect in all her duties, constant in house-bills and shirt- buttons, obedient to her lord, and anxious to please him in all things ; silent when you and he talk politics, or lit- erature, or balderdash together, and if referred to, say- ing, with a smile of perfect humility, " Oh, women are not judges upon such and such matters; we leave learn- ing and politics to men." " Yes, poor Polly," says Jones, patting the back of jNIrs. J.'s head good-na- turedly, " attend to the house, my dear; that's the best thing you can do, and leave the rest to us." Benighted idiot! She has long ago taken your measure and your friends'; she knows your weaknesses, and ministers to them in a thousand artful w^ays. She knows your ob- stinate points, and marches round them with the most curious art and patience, as 3^ou will see an ant on a journey turn round an obstacle. Every woman man- ages her husband: every person who manages another is a hypocrite. Her smiles, her submission, her good-hu- mour, for all which w^e value her,— what are they but admirable duplicity? We expect falseness from her, and order and educate her to be dishonest. Should he LOVE, MARRIAGE, MEX, AXD WOMEN 97 ui^braid, I'll own that he prevail; say that he frown, I'll answer with a smile; — what are these but lies, that we exact from our slaves? — lies, the dexterous perform- ance of which we announce to be the female virtues: brutal Turks that we are! I do not saj^ that ISIrs. Browii ever obej^ed me — on the contrary: but I should have liked it, for I am a Turk like my neighbour. I will instance your mother now. When my brother comes in to dinner after a bad da3^'s sport, or after look- ing over the bills of some of you boys, he naturally be- gins to be surly with your poor dear mother, and to growl at the mutton. What does she do? She may be hurt, but she doesn't show it. She proceeds to coax, to smile, to turn the conversation, to stroke down Bruin, and get him in a good-humour. She sets him on his old stories, and she and all the girls — poor dear little Sapphiras! — set off laughing; there is that story about the Goose walking into church, which your father tells, and your mother and sisters laugh at, until I protest I am so ashamed that I hardly know where to look. On he goes with that story time after time: and your poor mother sits there and knows that I know she is a hum- bug, and laughs on; and teaches all the girls to laugh too. Had that dear creature been born to wear a nose- ring and bangles instead of a muff and bonnet; and had she a brown skin in the place of that fair one ^\'itli which Nature has endowed her, she would have done Suttee, after your brown Brahmin father had died, and thought women very irreligious too, who refused to roast themselves for their masters and lords. I do not mean to say that the late INIrs. Brown would have gone through the process of incremation for me — far from it: by a timely removal she was spared from the grief 98 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON which her widowhood would have doubtless caused her, and I acquiesce in the decrees of Fate in this instance, and have not the least desire to have preceded her. I hope the ladies will not take my remarks in ill part. If I die for it, I must own that I don't think they have fair play. In the bargain we make with them I don't think they get their rights. And as a labourer notori- ously does more by the piece than he does by the day, and a free man works harder than a slave, so I doubt whether we get the most out of our women by enslav- ing them as we do by law and custom. There are some folks who would limit the range of women's duties to little more than a kitchen range — others who like them to administer to our delectation in a ball-room, and permit them to display dimpled shoulders and flowing ringlets — just as you have one horse for a mill, and an- other for the Park. But in whatever way we like them, it is for our use somehow that we have women brought up ; to work for us, or to shine for us, or to dance for us, or what not? It would not have been thought shame of our fathers fifty years ago, that they could not make a custard or a pie, but our mothers would hav^e been re- buked had they been ignorant on these matters. Why should not you and I be ashamed now because we can- not make our own shoes, or cut out our own breeches? We know better: we can get cobblers and tailors to do that — and it was we who made the laws for women, who, we are in the habit of saying, are not so clever as we are. My dear Nephew, as I grow old and consider these things, I know which are the stronger, men or women; but which are the cleverer, I doubt. LOVE, MARRIAGE, MEN, AND WOMEN 99 II ONG years ago, in- deed it was at the Peace of Amiens, when with several other young bucks I was making the grand tour, I recol- lect how sweet we all of us were upon the lovely Duchess of Montepulciano at Naples, who, to be sure, was not nig- gardly of her smiles in return. There came a man amongst us, however, from London, a very handsome young fellow, with such an air of fascinating melancholy in his looks, that he cut out all the other suitors of the Duchess in the course of a week, and would have married her very likely, but that war was declared while this youth was still hanker- ing about his Princess, and he was sent off to Verdun, whence he did not emerge for twelve years, and until he was as fat as a porpoise, and the Duchess was long since married to General Count Raff, one of the Em- peror's heroes. I mention poor Tibbits to show the curious differ- ence of manner which exists among us; and which, though not visible to foreigners, is instantly understood by EngHsh people. Brave, clever, tall, slim, dark, and 100 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON sentimental-looking, he passed muster in a foreign saloon, and as I must own to you, cut us fellows out: whereas we English knew instantly that the man was not well bred, by a thousand little signs, not to be un- derstood by the foreigner. In his early youth, for in- stance, he had been cruelly deprived of his h's by his parents, and though he tried to replace them in after life, they were no more natural than a glass-eye, but stared at you as it were in a ghastly manner out of the conversation, and pained you bj^ their horrid intrusions. Not acquainted with these refinements of our language, foreigners did not understand what Tibbits' errors were, and doubtless thought it was from envy that we con- spired to slight the poor fellow. I mention Mr. Tibbits, because he was handsome, clever, honest, and brave, and in almost all respects our superior ; and yet laboured under disadvantages of man- ner which unfitted him for certain society. It is not Tibbits the man, it is not Tibbits the citizen, of whom I would wish to speak lightly; his morals, his reading, his courage, his generosity, his talents are undoubted — it is the social Tibbits of whom I speak: and as I do not go to balls, because I do not dance, or to meetings of the Political Economj^ Club, or other learned asso- ciations, because taste and education have not fitted me for the pursuits for which other persons are adapted, so Tibbits' sphere is not in drawing-rooms, where the li, and other points of etiquette, are rigorously main- tained. I say thus much because one or two people have taken some remarks of mine in ill part, and hinted that I am a Tory in disguise : and an aristocrat that should be hung up to a lamp-post. Not so, dear Bob;— there is no- LOVE, MARRIAGE, MEN, AND WOMEN 101 thing like the truth, about whomsoever it may be. I mean no more disrespect towards any fellow-man by saying that he is not what is called in Society well bred, than by stating that he is not tall or short, oi' that he cannot dance, or that he does not know Hebrew, or whatever the case may be. I mean that if a man works with a pickaxe or shovel all day, his hands will be harder than those of a lady of fashion, and that his opinion about Madame Sontag's singing, or the last new novel, will not probably be of much value. And though I own my conviction that there are some animals which frisk advantageously in ladies' drawing-rooms, whilst others pull stoutly at the plough, I do not most certainly mean to reflect upon a horse for not being a lap-dog, or see that he has any cause to be ashamed that he is other than a horse. And, in a word, as j^ou are what is called a gentleman yourself, I hope that ]Mrs. Bob Brown, whoever she may be, is not only by nature, but by education, a gen- tlewoman. No man ought ever to be called upon to blush for his wife. I see good men rush into marriage with ladies of whom they are afterwards ashamed; and in the same manner charming women linked to partners, whose vulgarity they try to screen. Poor Mrs. Botibol, what a constant hypocrisy your life is, and how you insist upon informing ever5^body that Botibol is the best of men! Poor Jack Jinkins! what a female is that you brought back from Bagnigge Wells to introduce to London society! a handsome, tawdry, flaunting, water- ing-place belle; a boarding-house beauty: tremendous in brazen ornaments and cheap finery. If you marry, dear Bob, I hope INIrs. Robert B. will be a lady not very much above or below your own station. 102 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IX LONDON I would sooner that you should promote your wife than that she should advance you. And though every man can point you out instances where his friends have been married to ladies of superior rank, who have ac- cepted their new position with perfect grace, and made their husbands entirely happy; as there are examples of maid-servants decorating coronets, and sempstresses presiding worthily over Baronial Halls; yet I hope Mrs. Robert Brown will not come out of a palace or a kitchen : but out of a house something like yours, out of a family something like yours, with a snug jointure something hke that modest portion which I dare say you will inherit. I remember when Arthur Rowdy (who I need not tell you belongs to the firm of Stumpy, Rowdy & Co., of Lombard Street, Bankers,) married Lady Cleo- patra ; what a grand match it was thought by the Rowdy f amity: and how old Mrs. Rowdy in Portman Square was elated at the idea of her son's new connection. Her daughters were to go to all the parties in London; and her house was to be filled with the very greatest of great folks. We heard of nothing but dear Lady Stone- henge from morning till night; and old frequent- ers of the house were perfectly pestered with stories of dear Ladj^ Zenobia and dear Lady Cornelia, and of the dear Marquis, whose masterly translation of Cornelius Nepos had placed him among the most learned of our nobility. When Rowdy went to live in ISIaj^fair, what a wretched house it was into which he introduced such of his friends as were thought worthy of presentation to his new society! The rooms were filled with 3^oung dandies of the Stonehenge connection— beardless bucks LOVE, MARRIAGE, INIEX, AND WOMEN 103 from Downing Street, gay young sprigs of the Guards — their sisters and mothers, their kith and kin. They overdrew their accounts at Rowdy's Bank, and laughed at him in his drawing-room; they made their bets and talked their dandy talk over his claret, at which the jDOor fellow sat quite silent. Lady Stonehenge invaded his nursery, appointed and cashiered his governess and children's maids; established her apothecary in perma- nence over him: quarrelled with old Mrs. Rowdj^ so that the poor old body was only allowed to see her grandchildren by stealth, and have secret interviews with them in the garden of Berkeley Square; made Rowdy take villas at Tunbridge, which she filled with her own family; massacred her daughter's visiting-book, in which Lady Cleopatra, a good-natured woman, at first admitted some of her husband's relatives and acquain- tance ; and carried him abroad upon excursions, in which all he had to do was to settle the bills with the courier. And she went so far as to order him to change his side of the House and his politics, and adopt those of Lord Stonehenge, which were of the age of the Druids, his lordship's ancestors; but here the honest British mer- chant made a stand and conquered his mother-in-law, who would have smothered him the other day for voting for Rothschild. If it were not for the Counting House in the morning and the House of Commons at night, what w^ould become of Rowdy? They say he smokes there, and drinks when he smokes. He has been known to go to Vauxhall, and has even been seen, with a com- forter over his nose, listening to Sam Hall at the Cider Cellars. All this misery and misfortune came to the poor fellow for marrying out of his degree. The clerks at Lombard Street laugh when Lord INIistletoe steps out 104 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON of his cab and walks into the bank-parlour ; and Rowdy's private account invariably tells tales of the visit of his young scapegrace of a brother-in-law. Ill fe. ^, z--' l^x ET us now, beloved and ingenuous youth, ^''' " take the other side of the question, and discourse a little while upon the state of that man who takes unto himself a wife inferior to him in degree. I have before me in my acquaintance many most pitiable in- stances of individuals who have made this fatal mistake. Although old fellows are as likely to be made fools as young in love matters, and Dan Cupid has no respect for the most venerable age, yet I remark that it is gener- ally the young men who marry vulgar wives. They are on a reading tour for the Long Vacation, they are quar- tered at Ballinafad, they see Miss Smith or Miss O'Shaughnessy every day, healthy, lively, jolly girls with red cheeks, bright eyes, and high spirits — they come away at the end of the vacation, or when the regiment changes its quarters, engaged men, family rows ensue, mothers cry out, papas grumble, Miss pines and loses her health at Baymouth or Ballinafad — consent is got at last, Jones takes his degree, Jenkins gets his com- pany ; Miss Smith and Miss O'Shaughnessy become Mrs. Jones and Mrs. Jenkins. LOVE, MARRIAGE, MEN, AND WOMEN 105 For the first year it is all very well. Mrs. Jones is a great bouncing handsome creature, lavishly fond of her adored Jones, and caring for no other company but his. They have a cottage at Bayswater. He walks her out every evening. He sits and reads the last new novel to her whilst she works slippers for him, or makes some little tiny caps, and— dear Juha, dear Edward!— they are all in all to one another. Old Mrs. Smith of course comes up from Sw^ansea at the time when the little caps are put into requisition, and takes possession of the cottage at Bayswater. Mrs. Jones Senior calls upon ]Mrs. Edward Jones's mamma, and, of course, is desirous to do everything that is civil to the family of Edward's wife. Mrs. Jones finds in the mother-in-law of her Edward a large woman with a cotton umbrella, who dines in the middle of the day, and has her beer, and who calls Mrs. Jones JNIum. What a state they are in in Pocklington Square about this woman! How can they be civil to her? Whom can they ask to meet her? How the girls, Edward's sisters, go on about her! Fanny says she ought to be shown to the housekeeper's room when she calls; Mary proposes that Mrs. Shay, the washerwoman, should be invited on the day when Mrs. Smith comes to dinner; and Emma (who was Edward's favourite sister, and who considers herself jilted by his marriage with Julia,) points out the most dreadful thing of all, that Mrs. Smith and Julia are exactly alike, and that in a few years Mrs. Edward Jones will be the very image of that great enormous unwieldy horrid old woman. Closeted with her daughter, of whom and of her baby she has taken possession, Mrs. Smith gives her opinion about the Joneses: — They may be very good, but they 106 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON are too fine ladies for her; and they evidently think she is not good enough for them; they are sad worldly peo- ple, and have never sat under a good minister, that is clear ; they talked French before her on the day she called in Pocklington Gardens, " and though they were laugh- ing at me, I'm sure I can pardon them," Mrs. Smith says. Edward and Julia have a little altercation about the manner in which his family has treated JNIrs. Smith, and Julia, bursting into tears as she clasps her child to her bosom, says, " My child, my child, will you be taught to be ashamed of your mother ! " Edward flings out of the room in a rage. It is true that Mrs. Smith is not fit to associate with his family, and that her manners are not like theirs; that Julia's eldest brother, who is a serious tanner at Cardiff, is not a pleasant companion after dinner; and that it is not agreeable to be called " Ned " and " Old Cove " by her younger brother, who is an attorney's clerk in Gray's Inn, and favours Ned by asking him to lend him a *' Sov.," and by coming to dinner on Sundays. It is true that the appearance of that youth at the first little party the Edward Joneses gave after their marriage, when Natty disgracefully^ inebriated himself, caused no little scandal amongst his friends, and much wrath on the part of old Jones, who said, " That little scamp call my daughters by their Christian names! — a little beggar that is not fit to sit down in my hall. If ever he dares to call at my house I'll tell Jobbins to fling a pail of water over him." And it is true that Natt}^ called many times in Pocklington Square, and complained to Ed- ward that he, Nat, could neither see his Mar nor the Gurls, and that the old gent cut up uncommon stiffs. So you see Edward Jones has had his way, and got a LOVE, MARRIAGE, MEN, AND WOMEN 107 handsome wife, but at what expense? He and his fam- ily are separated. His wife brought him nothing but good looks. Her stock of brains is small. She is not easy in the new society into which she has been brought, and sits quite mum both at the grand parties which the old Joneses give in Pocklington Square, and at the snug little entertainments which poor Edward Jones tries on his own part. The women of the Jones' set try her in every way, and can get no good from her ; Jones's male friends, who are civilized beings, talk to her, and receive only monosyllables in reply. His house is a stupid one; his acquaintances drop off; he has no circle at all at last, except, to be sure, that increasing family circle which brings up old INIrs. Smith from Swansea every year. What is the lot of a man at the end of a dozen years who has a wife like this? She is handsome no longer, and she never had any other merit. He can't read novels to her all through his life, while she is working slippers —it is absurd. He can't be philandering in Kensington Gardens with a lady who does not walk out now except with two nursemaids and the twins in a go-cart. He is a young man still, when she is an old woman. Love is a mighty fine thing, dear Bob, but it is not the life of a man. There are a thousand other things for him to think of besides the red lips of Lucy, or the bright eyes of Eliza. There is business, there is friendship, there is society, there are taxes, there is ambition, and the manly desire to exercise the talents which are given us by heaven, and reap the prize of our desert. There are other books in a man's library besides Ovid; and after dawdling ever so long at a woman's knee, one day he gets up and is free. We have all been there: we have all had the fever: 108 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON the strongest and the smallest, from Samson, Hercules, Rinaldo, downwards; but it burns out, and you get well. Ladies who read this, and who know what a love I have for the whole sex, will not, I hope, cry out at the above observations, or be angry because I state that the ardour of love declines after a certain period. My dear Mrs. Hopkins, you would not have Hopkins to carry on the same absurd behaviour which he exhibited when he was courting you? or in place of going to bed and to sleep comfortably, sitting up half the night to write to you bad verses? You would not have him racked with jealousy if you danced or spoke with any one else at a ball; or neglect all his friends, his business, his interest in life, in order to dangle at your feet? No, you are a sensible woman ; you know that he must go to his count- ing-house, that he must receive and visit his friends, and that he must attend to his and your interest in life. You are no longer his goddess, his fairy, his peerless paragon, whose name he shouted as Don QiiLvote did that of Dul- cinea. You are Jane Hopkins, you are thirty years old, you have got a parcel of children, and Hop loves you and them with all his heart. He would be a helpless driveller and ninny were he to be honeymooning still, whereas he is a good honest fellow, respected on 'Change, liked by his friends, and famous for his port-wine. Yes, Bob, the fever goes, but the wife doesn't. Long after your passion is over, INIrs. Brown will be at your side, good soul, still; and it is for that, as I trust, long subsequent period of my worthy Bob's life, that I am anxious. How will she look when the fairy brilliancy of the honeymoon has faded into the light of common day? LOVE, MARRIAGE, MEX, AND WOMEN 100 You are of a jovial and social turn, and like to see the world, as why should you not? It contains a great num- ber of kind and honest folks, from whom you may hear a thousand things wise and pleasant. A man ought to like his neighbours, to mix with his neighbours, to be pop- ular with his neighbours. It is a friendly heart that has plenty of friends. You can't be talking to i\Irs. Brown for ever and ever: you will be a couple of old geese if you do. She ought then to be able to make your house pleasant to your friends. She ought to attract them to it by her grace, her good breeding, her good humour. Let it be said of her, " What an uncommonly nice woman Mrs. Brown is! " Let her be, if not a clever woman, an ap- preciator of cleverness in others, which, perhaps, clever folks like better. Above all, let her have a sense of humour, my dear Bob, for a woman without a laugh in her (like the late excellent jMrs. Brown) is the greatest bore in existence. Life without laughing is a dreary blank. A woman who cannot laugh is a wet blanket on the kindly nuptial couch. A good laugh is sunshine in a house. A quick intelligence, a brightening eye, a kind smile, a cheerful spirit,— these, I hope, ^Irs. Bob will bring to you in her trousseau^ to be used afterwards for daily wear. Before all things, my dear Nephew, try and have a cheerful wife. What, indeed, does not that word " cheerfulness " im- ply? It means a contented spirit, it means a pure heart, it means a kind and loving disposition ; it means humility and charity; it means a generous appreciation of others, and a modest opinion of self. Stupid people, people who do not know how to laugh, are always pompous and self -conceited ; that is, bigoted; that is, cruel; that is, un- 110 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON gentle, uncharitable, unchristian. Have a good, jolly, laughing, kind woman, then, for your partner, you who are yourself a kind and jolly fellow; and when you go to sleep, and when you wake, I pray there may be a smile under each of your honest nightcaps. OUT OF TOWN yy HAVE little news, my dear Bob, wherewith to entertain thee from this city, from which almost ev- erybody has fled within the last week, and which lies in a state of torpor. I wonder what the news- papers find to talk about day after day, and how they come out every morning. But for a little distant noise of cannonading from the Danube and the Theiss, the whole world is silent, and London seems to have hauled down her flag, as her IMajesty has done at Pimlico, and the Queen of cities has gone out of town. You, in pursuit of Miss Kicklebury, are probably by this time at Spa or Homburg. Watch her well, Bob, and see what her temper is like. See whether she flirts with the foreigners much, examine how she looks of a morning (you will have a hundred opportunities of fa- miliarity, and can drop in and out of a friend's apart- ments at a German watering-place as you never can hope to do here), examine her conduct with her little sisters, if they are of the party, M'hether she is good and 111 112 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IX LONDON playful with them, see whether she is cheerful and obedi- ent to old Lady Kick (I acknowledge a hard task) — in fine, try her manners and temper, and see whether she wears them all day, and only puts on her smiles with her fresh bonnet, to come out on the parade at music time. I, meanwhile, remain behind, alone in our airy and great Babylon. As an old soldier when he gets to his ground begins straightway a se caser, as the French say, makes the most of his circumstances, and himself as comfortable as he can, an old London man, if obliged to pass the dull sea- son in town, accommodates himself to the time, and- forages here and there in the deserted city, and manages to make his own tent snug. A thousand means of com- fort and amusement spring up, whereof a man has no idea of the existence, in the midst of the din and racket of the London season. I, for my part, am grown to that age, sir, when I like the quiet time the best: the gaiety of the great London season is too strong and noisy for me ; I like to talk to my beloved metropolis when she has done dancing at crow^ded balls, and squeezing at con- certs, and chattering at conversaziones, and gorging at great dinners— when she is calm, contemplative, confi- dential, and at leisure. Colonel Padmore of our Club being out of town, and too wise a man to send his favourite old cob to grass, I mounted him yesterday, and took a ride in Rotten Row, and in various parts of the city, where but ten days back all sorts of life, hilarity, and hospitality, w^re going on. What a change it is now in the Park, from that scene which the modern Pepys, and that ingenious youth who signs his immortal drawings with a D surmounted by a dickey-bird, depicted only a few weeks ago ! Where are OUT OF TOWN 113 the thousands of carriages that crawled along the Ser- pentine shore, and which give an ohservant man a happy and wholesome sense of his own insignificance — for you shall he a man long upon the town, and j)ass five hun- dred equipages without knowing the owners of one of them? Where are the myriads of horsemen who tram- pled the Row? — the splendid dandies whose boots were shiny, whose chins were tufted, whose shirts were as- tounding, whose manners were frank and manly, whose brains were somewhat small? Where are the stout old capitalists and bishops on their cobs (the Bench, by the way, cuts an uncommonly good figure on horseback) ? Where are the dear rideresses, above all? Where is she the gleaming of whose red neck-ribbon in the distance made your venerable uncle's heart beat. Bob? He sees her now prancing by, severe and beautiful — a young Diana, Avith pure bright eyes! Where is Fanny, who wore the pretty grey hat and feather, and rode the pretty grey mare? Fanny changed her name last week, with- out ever so much as sending me a piece of cake. The gay squadrons have disappeared: the ground no longer thrills with the thump of their countless hoofs. Wat- teau-like groups in shot silks no longer compose them- selves under the green boughs of Kensington Gardens; the scarlet trumpeters have blown themselves away thence; you don't behold a score of horsemen in the course of an hour's ride ; and INIrs. Catherine Highflyer, whom a fortnight since you never saw unaccompanied bj^ some superb young Earl and roue of the fashion, had yesterday so little to do with her beautiful eyes, that she absolutely tried to kill your humble servant with them as she cantered by me in at the barriers of the Row, and looked round firing Parthian shots behind her. 114 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON But Padmore's cob did not trot, nor did my blood run, any the quicker, Mr. Bob; man and beast are grown too old and steady to be put out of our pace by any Mrs. Highflyer of them all ; and though I hope, if I live to be a hundred, never to be unmoved by the sight of a pretty girl, it is not thy kind of beauty, O ogling and vain Delilah, that can set me cantering after thee. By the way, one of the benefits I find in the dull season is at my own lodgings. When I ring the bell now, that uncommonly pretty young w^oman, the land- lady's daughter, condescends to come in and superintend my comfort, and whisk about amongst the books and tea-things, and wait upon me in general : whereas in the full season, when young Lord Claude Lollypop is here attending to his arduous duties in Parliament, and oc- cupying his accustomed lodgings on the second floor, the deuce a bit will ISliss Flora ever deign to bring a message or a letter to old Mr. Brown on the first, but sends me in jMuggins, my old servant, whose ugly face I have known any time these thirty years, or the blowsy maid-of -all-work with her sandy hair in papers. Again, at the Club, how many privileges does a man lingering in London enjoy, from which he is precluded in the full season? Every man in every Club has three or four special aversions — men who somehow annoy him, as I have no doubt but that you and I, Bob, are hated by some particular man, and for that excellent reason for w^iich the poet disliked Dr. Fell— the appearance of old Banquo, in the same place, in the same arm-chair, read- ing the newspaper day after day and evening after even- ing; of Mr. Plodder threading among the coffee-room tables and taking note of every man's dinner; of old General Hawkshaw, who makes that constant noise in OUT OF TOWN 115 the Club, sneezing, coughing, and blowing his nose— all these men, by their various defects or qualities, have driven me half mad at times, and I have thought to my- self, Oh, that I could go to the Club without seeing Banquo— Oh, that Plodder would not come and inspect my mutton-chop — Oh, that fate would remove Hawk- shaw and his pocket-handkerchief for ever out of my sight and hearing! Well, August arrives, and one's three men of the sea are off one's shoulders. Mr. and Mrs. Banquo are at Leamington, the paper says; Mr. Plodder is gone to Paris to inspect the dinners at the *' Trois Freres; " and Hawkshaw is coughing away at Brighton, where the sad sea waves murmur before him. The Club is your own. How pleasant it is! You can get the Globe and Standard now without a struggle; you may see all the Sunday papers ; when j^ou dine it is not like dining in a street dinned by the tramp of waiters perpetually passing with clanking dishes of various odours, and jostled by young men who look scowlingly down upon your dinner as they pass wdth creaking boots. They are all gone — you sit in a vast and agreeable apart- ment with twenty large servants at your orders — if you were a Duke with a thousand pounds a day you couldn't be better served or lodged. Those men, having nothing else to do, are anxious to prevent your desires and make you happy — the butler bustles about with your pint of wine — if you order a dish, the chef himself will prob- ably cook it; what mortal can ask more? I once read in a book purporting to give descriptions of London, and life and manners, an account of a f amity in the low^er ranks of genteel life, who shut up the front windows of their house, and lived in the back rooms, from which they only issued for fresh air surreptitiously 116 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON at midnight, so that their friends might suppose that they were out of town. I suppose that there is some foundation for this legend. I suppose that some people are actually afraid to be seen in London, when the per- sons who form their society have quitted the metropolis : and that Mr. and Mrs. Higgs being left at home at Islington, when Mr. and Mrs. Biggs, their next-door neighbours, have departed for Margate or Gravesend, feel pangs of shame at their own poverty, and envy at their friends' better fortune. I have seen many men and cities, mv dear Bob, and noted their manners: and for servility I will back a free-born Englishman of the respectable classes against any man of any nation in the world. In the competition for social rank between Higgs and Biggs, think what a strange standard of su- periority is set up!— a shilling steamer to Gravesend, and a few shrimps more or less on one part or the other, settle the claim. Perhaps in what is called high life, there are disputes as paltry, aims as mean, and distinc- tions as absurd: but my business is with this present folly of being ashamed to be in London. Ashamed, sir! I like being in London at this time, and have so much to say regarding the pleasures of the place in the dead season, that I hope to write you another letter re- garding it next week. OUT OF TOWN 117 II |AREERING during the sea- son from one party to another, from one great dinner of twenty covers to another of eighteen guests; from Lady Hustlebury's rout to Mrs. Packhngton's soiree — friend- ship, to a man about town, becomes impossible from Feb- ruary to August : it is only his acquaintances he can cultivate during those six months of turmoil. In the last fortnight, one has had leisure to recur to more tender emotions: in other words, as nobody has asked me to dinner, I have been about seeking dinners from my old friends. And very glad are they to see you: very kindly and hospitable are they disjDOsed to be, very pleasant are those little calm reunions in the quiet summer-evenings, when the beloved friend of your youth and you sip a bottle of claret together leisurely without candles, and ascend to the drawling-room where the friend of j^our youth's wife sits blandly presiding over the teapot. What matters that it is the metal teapot, the silver uten- sils being packed off to the banker's? What matters that the hangings are down, and the lustre in a brown- hollands bag? Intimacy increases by this artless confi- dence — you are admitted to a family en deshabille. 118 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON In an honest man's house, the wine is never sent to the banker's; he can always go to the cellar for that. And so we drink and prattle in quiet — about the past season, about our sons at college, and what not ? We become in- timate again, because Fate, which has long separated us, throws us once more together. I say the dull season is a kind season: gentle and amiable, friendly and full of quiet enjoyment. Among these pleasant little meetings, for w'hich the present season has given time and opportunity, I shall mention one, sir, which took place last Wednesday, and which during the very dinner itself I vowed I would de- scribe, if the venerable iT/r. Punch would grant me leave and space, in the columns of a journal which has for its object the promotion of mirth and good-will. In the year eighteen hundred and something, sir, there lived at a villa, at a short distance from London, a cer- tain gentleman and lady who had many acquaintances and friends, among whom was your humble servant. For to become acquainted wath this young woman was to be her friend, so friendly was she, so kind, so gentle, so full of natural genius, and graceful feminine accomplish- ment. Whatever she did, she did charmingly; her life was decorated with a hundred pretty gifts, with which, as one would fancy, kind fairies had endowed her cradle ; music and pictures seemed to flow naturally out of her hand, as she laid it on the piano or the drawing-board. She sang exquisitely, and with a full heart, and as if she couldn't help it any more than a bird. I have an image of this fair creature before me now, a calm, sunshiny evening, a green lawn flaring with roses and geraniums, and a half-dozen gentlemen sauntering thereon in a state of great contentment, or gathered under the verandah. OUT OF TOWN 119 by the open French window : near by she sits singing at the piano. She is in a pink dress : she has gigot sleeves ; a httle child in a prodigious sash is playing about at her mother's knee. She sings song after song ; the sun goes down behind the black fir-trees that belt the lawn, and INlissy in the blue sash vanishes to the nursery ; the room darkens in the twilight; the stars appear in the heaven— and the tips of the cigars glow in the balcony ; she sings song after song, in accents soft and low, tender and me- lodious — we are never tired of hearing her. Indeed, Bob, I can hear her still— the stars of those calm nights still shine in my memory, and I have been humming one of her tunes w ith my pen in my mouth, to the surprise of Mr. Dodder, who is writing at the opposite side of the table, and wondering at the lackadaisical expression which pervades my venerable mug. You will naturally argue from the above pathetic pas- sage, that I was greatly smitten by ^Irs. Nightingale (as we wdll call this lady, if you wall permit me). You are right, sir. For w^iat is an amiable woman made, but that we should fall in love with her? I do not mean to say that you are to lose your sleep, or give up your din- ner, or make yourself unhappy in her absence ; but when the sun shines (and it is not too hot) I like to bask in it: when the bird sings, to listen : and to admire that which is admirable with an honest and hearty enjoyment. There were a half-dozen men at the period of which I speak who wore Mrs. Nightingale's colours, and we used to be invited down from London of a Saturday and Sunday, to Thornwood, by the hospitable host and hostess there, and it seemed like going back to school, when we came aw^ay by the coach of a INIonday morning: w^e talked of her all the way back to London, to separate upon our 120 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON various callings when we got into the smoky city. Sal- vator Rodgers, the painter, went to his easel; Wood- ward, the barrister, to his chambers; Piper, the doctor, to his patient (for he then had only one), and so forth. Fate called us each to his business, and has sent us upon many a distant errand since that day. But from that day to this, whenever we meet, the remem- brance of the holidays at Thornwood has been always a bond of union between us : and we have always had Mrs. Nightingale's colours j)ut away amongst the cherished relics of old times. N. was a West India merchant, and his property went to the bad. He died at Jamaica. Thornwood was let to other people, who knew us not. The widow with a small jointure retired, and educated her daughter abroad. We had not heard of her for years and years, nor until she came to town about a legacy a few weeks since. In those years and years what changes have taken place! Sir Salvator Rodgers is a Member of the Royal Academy ; Woodward, the barrister, has made a fortune at the Bar; and in seeing Doctor Piper in his barouche, as he rolls about Belgravia and Mayfair, you at once know what a man of importance he has become. On last INIonday week, sir, I received a letter in a del- icate female hand-writing, with which I was not ac- quainted, and which IMiss Flora, the landlady's daughter, condescended to bring me, saying that it had been left at the door by two ladies in a brougham. " — Why did you not let them come upstairs? " said I in a rage, after reading the note. " We don't know what sort of people goes about in broughams," said Miss Flora, with a toss of her head; OUT OF TOWN 121 " we don't want no ladies in our house." And she flung her impertinence out of the room. The note was signed Frances Nightingale, — whereas our Nightingale's name was Louisa. But this Frances was no other than the little thing in the large blue sash, whom M^e remembered at Thornwood ever so many years ago. The writer declared that she recollected me quite well, that her mamma was most anxious to see an old friend, and that they had apartments at No. 166, Clarges Street, Piccadilly, whither I hastened off to pay my respects to Mrs. Nightingale. When I entered the room, a tall and beautiful young woman with blue eyes, and a serene and majestic air, came up to shake hands with me: and I beheld in her, without in the least recognizing, the little Fanny of the blue sash. Mamma came out of the adjoining apartment presently. We had not met since — since all sorts of events had occurred — her voice was not a little agitated. Here was that fair creature whom we had admired so. Sir, I shall not say whether she was altered or not. The tones of her voice were as sweet and kind as ever: — and we talked about INIiss Fanny as a subject in common be- tween us, and I admired the growth and beauty of the young lady, though I did not mind telling her to her face (at which to be sure the girl was delighted), that she never in my eyes would be half so pretty as her mother. Well, sir, upon this day arrangements were made for the dinner which took place on Wednesday last, and to the remembrance of which I determined to consecrate this present page. It so happened that everybody was in town of the old set of whom I have made mention, and everybody was 122 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON disengaged. Sir Salvator Rodgers (who has become such a swell since he was knighted and got the cordon of the order of the George and Blue Boar of Russia, that we like to laugh at him a little,) made his appearance at eight o'clock, and was perfectly natural and affable. Woodward, the lawyer, forgot his abominable law and his money about which he is always thinking : and finally, Dr. Piper, of whom we despaired because his wife is mortally jealous of every lady whom he attends, and will hardly let him dine out of her sight, had pleaded Lady Rackstraw's situation as a reason for not going down to Wimbledon Common till night— and so we six had a meeting. The door was opened to us by a maid, who looked us hard in the face as we went upstairs, and who was no other than little Fanny's nurse in former days, come like us to visit her old mistress. We all knew her except Woodward, the lawyer, and all shook hands with her except him. Constant study had driven her out of the lawyer's memoiy. I don't think he ever cared for Mrs. Nightingale as much as the rest of us did, or indeed that it is in the nature of that learned man to care for any but one learned person. And what do you think, sir, this dear and faithful widow had done to make us welcome? She remembered the dishes that we used to like ever so long ago, and she had every man's favourite dish for him. Rodgers used to have a passion for herrings— there they were; the law- yer, who has an enormous appetite, which he gratifies at other people's expense, had a shoulder of mutton and onion sauce, which the lean and hungry man devoured almost entirely: mine did not come till the second course — it was baked plum-pudding— I was affected when OUT OF TOWN 123 I saw it, sir — I choked almost when I ate it. Piper made a beautiful little speech, and made an ice com- pound, for which he was famous, and we drank it just as we used to drink it in old times, and to the health of the widow. How should we have had this dinner^ how could we all have assembled together again, if everybody had not been out of town, and everybody had not been disen- gaged? Just for one evening, the scattered members of an old circle of friendship returned and met round the old table again — round this little green island we moor for the night at least, — to-morrow we part company, and each man for himself sails over the ingens cequor. Since I wrote the above, I find that everybody really is gone away. The widow left town on Friday. I have been on my round just now, and have been met at every step by closed shutters and the faces of unfamiliar char- women. No. 9 is gone to Malvern. No. 37, 15, 25, 48, and 36a, are gone to Scotland. The solitude of the Club begins to be unbearable, and I found Muggins this morning preparing a mysterious apparatus of travelling boot-trees, and dusting the portmanteaus. If you are not getting on well with the Kickleburj^s at Homburg, I recommend you to go to Spa. Mrs. Nightingale is going thither, and will be at the Hotel d'Orange; where you may use my name and present yourself to her ; and I may hint to you in confidence that Miss Fanny will have a very pretty little fortune. ON A LADY IN AN OPERA-BOX night to the Con- servatoire at Paris, where there was a magnificent as- semblage of rank and fashion gath- ered together to hear the dehght- ful performance of Madame Sontag, the friend who conferred upon me the pohte favour of a ticket to the stalls, also pointed out to me who were the most remarkable personages round about us. There were ambassadors, politicians, and gentlemen, military and literary; there were beau- ties, French, Russian, and English: there were old ladies who had been beauties once, and who, by the help of a little distance and politeness (and if you didn't use your opera-glass, which is a cruel detector of paint and wrinkles), looked j^oung and handsome still: and plenty of old bucks in the stalls and boxes, well wigged, well gloved, and brilliantly waistcoated, very obsequious to the ladies, and satisfied with themselves and the world. Up in the second tier of boxes I saw a very stout, jolly, J24 ON A LADY IX AX OPERA-BOX 125 good -humoured -looking lady, whose head-dress and ringlets and general appurtenances were unmistakably English — and whom, were you to meet her at Tim- buctoo, or in the Seraglio of the Grand Sultan amongst a bevy of beauties collected from all the countries of the earth, one would instantly know to be a British female. I do not mean to say that, were I the Padishah, I would select that moon-faced houri out of all the lovely society, and make her the Empress or Grand Signora of my do- minions; but simply that there is a character about our countiywomen which leads one to know, recognize, and admire, and wonder at them among all women of all tongues and countries. We have our British Lion; we have our Britannia ruling the waves: we have our British female — the most respectable, the most remarkable, of the women of this world. And now we have come to the woman who gives the subject, though she is not herself the subject, of these present remarks. As I looked at her with that fond curiosity and silent pleasure and wonder which she (I mean the Great- British Female) always inspires in my mind, watching her smiles, her ways and motions, her allurements and attractive gestures— her head bobbing to this friend whom she recognized in the stalls — her jolly fat hand wagging a welcome to that acquaintance in a neighbour- ing box— my friend and guide for the evening caught her eye, and made her a respectful bow, and said to me with a look of much meaning, " That is Mrs. Trotter- Walker." And from that minute I forgot Madame Sontag, and thought only of jNIrs. T.-W. " So that," said I, " is ISIrs. Trotter- Walker! You have touched a chord in my heart. You have brought back old times to my memory, and made me recall 126 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON some of the griefs and disappointments of my early- days." "Hold your tongue, man!" says Tom, my friend. " Listen to the Sontag; how divinely she is singing! how fresh her voice is still! " I looked up at Mrs. Walker all the time with unabated interest. " Madam," thought I, " you look to be as kind and good-natured a person as eyes ever lighted upon. The way in which you are smiling to that young dandy with the double eyeglass, and the empressement with which he returns the salute, show that your friends are persons of rank and elegance, and that you are esteemed by them — giving them, as I am sure from your kind ap- pearance you do, good dinners and pleasant balls. But I wonder what would you think if you knew that I was looking at you ? I behold you for the first time : there are a hundred pretty young girls in the house, whom an ama- teur of mere beauty would examine with much greater satisfaction than he would naturally bestow upon a lady whose prime is past; and yet the sight of you interests me, and tickles me, so to speak, and my eyeglass can't re- move itself from the contemplation of your honest face." What is it that interests me so? What do you suppose interests a man the most in this life? Himself, to be sure. It is at himself he is looking through his opera- glass — himself who is concerned, or he would not be watching you so keenly. And now let me confess why it is that the lad}^ in the upper box excites me so, and why I say, " That is Mrs. Trotter-Walker, is it? " with an air of such deep interest. Well then. In the year eighteen hundred and thirty- odd, it happened that I went to pass the winter at Rome, as we will call the city. Major-General and Mrs. ON A LADY IN AN OPERA-BOX 127 Trotter-Walker were also there; and until I heard of them there, I had never heard that there were such people in existence as the general and the lady — the lady yonder with the large fan in the upper boxes. INIrs. Walker, as became her station in life, took, I dare say, very comfortable lodgings, gave dinners and parties to her friends, and had a night in the week for recep- tions. Much as I have travelled and lived abroad, these even- ing reunions have never greatly fascinated me. Man cannot live upon lemonade, wax-candles, and weak tea. Gloves and white neckcloths cost money, and those plaguy shiny boots are always so tight and hot. Am I made of money, that I can hire a coach to go to one of these soirees on a rainy Roman night; or can I come in goloshes, and take them oiF in the ante-chamber? I am too poor for cabs, and too vain for goloshes. If it had been to see the girl of my heart, (I mean at the time when there were girls, and I had a heart,) I couldn't have gone in goloshes. Well, not being in love, and not liking weak tea and lemonade, I did not go to evening-parties that year at Rome: nor, of later years, at Paris, Vienna, Copenhagen, Islington, or wherever I may have been. What, then, were my feelings when my dear and val- ued friend, ]Mrs. Coverlade, (she is a daughter of that venerable Peer, the Right Honourable the Lord Com- mandine,) who was passing the winter too at Rome, said to me, " My dear Dr. Pacifico, what have you done to offend Mrs. Trotter-Walker?" " I know no person of that name," I said. " I knew Walker of the Post Office and poor Trotter who was a captain in our regiment, and died under my hands at 128 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON the Bahamas. But with the Trotter-Walkers I haven't the honour of an acquaintance." " Well, it is not likely that you will have that honour," Mrs. Coverlade said. " Mrs. Walker said last night that she did not wish to make your acquaintance, and that she did not intend to receive you." " I think she might have waited until I asked her, Madam," I said. " What have I done to her? I have never seen or heard of her : how should I want to get into her house? or attend at her Tuesdays— confound her Tuesdays! " I am sorry to say I said, " Confound Mrs. Walker's Tuesdays," and the conversation took another turn, and it so happened that I was called away from Rome suddenly, and never set eyes upon Mrs. Walker, or indeed thought about her from that day to this. Strange endurance of human vanity! a million of much more important conversations have escaped one since then, most likely— but the memory of this little mortification (for such it is, after all) remains quite fresh in the mind, and unforgotten, though it is a trifle, and more than half a score of years old. We forgive injuries, we survive even our remorse for great wrongs that we ourselves commit; but I doubt if we ever for- give slights of this nature put upon us, or forget cir- cumstances in which our self-love had been made to suffer. Otherwise, why should the remembrance of Mrs. Trotter-Walker have remained so lively in this bosom? Why should her appearance have excited such a keen interest in these eyes? Had Venus or Helen (the fa- vourite beauty of Paris) been at the side of INIrs. T.-W., I should have looked at the latter more than at the Queen of Love herself. Had JNIrs. Walker murdered Mrs, o:n^ a lady in an opera-box 129 Pacifico, or inflicted some mortal injury upon me, I might forgive her— but for shght? Never, Mrs. Trotter- Walker ; never, by Nemesis, never ! And now,, having allowed my personal wrath to ex- plode, let us calmly moralize for a minute or two upon this little circumstance; for there is no circumstance, however little, that won't afford a text for a sermon. Why was it that Mrs. General Trotter-Walker refused to receive Dr. S. Pacifico at her parties? She had no- ticed me probably somewhere where I had not remarked her ; she did not like my aquiline countenance, my man- ner of taking snufF, my Blucher boots, or what not? or she had seen me walking with my friend Jack Raggett, the painter, on the Pincio— a fellow with a hat and beard like a bandit, a shabby paletot, and a great pipe between his teeth. I was not genteel enough for her circle— I assume that to be the reason; indeed, JMrs. Coverlade, with a good-natured smile at my coat, which I own was somewhat shabby, gave me to understand as much. You little know, my worthy kind lady, what a loss you had that season at Rome, in turning up your amiable nose at the present writer. I could have given you appro- priate anecdotes (with which my mind is stored) of all the courts of Europe (besides of Africa, Asia, and St. Domingo,) which I have visited. I could have made the General die of laughing after dinner with some of my funny stories, of which I keep a book, without which I never travel. I am content with my dinner: I can carve beautifully, and make jokes upon almost any dish at table. I can talk about wine, cookery, hotels all over the Continent:— anything you will. I have been fa- miliar with Cardinals, Red Republicans, Jesuits, Ger- 130 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON man Princes, and Carbonari; and what is more, I can listen and hold my tongue to admiration. Ah, Madam! what did you lose in refusing to make the acquaintance of Solomon Pacifico, M.D.! And why? Because my coat was a trifle threadbare; because I dined at the " Lepre " with Raggett and some of those other bandits of painters, and had not the money to hire a coach and horses. Gentility is the death and destruction of social happi- ness amongst the middle classes in England. It de- stroys naturalness (if I may coin such a word) and kindly sympathies. The object of life, as I take it, is to be friendly with everybody. As a rule, and to a philo- sophical cosmopolite, every man ought to be welcome. I do not mean to your intimacy or affection, but to your society ; as there is, if we would or could but discover it, something notable, something worthy of observation, of sympathy, of wonder and amusement in every fellow- mortal. If I had been IMr. Pacifico, travelling with a courier and a carriage, would Mrs. Walker have made any objection to me? I think not. It was the Blucher boots and the worn hat and the homely companion of the individual which were unwelcome to this lady. If I had been the disguised Duke of Pacifico, and not a retired army surgeon, would she have forgiven herself for sliffhtinff me? What stores of novels, what foison of plays, are composed upon this theme, — the queer old character in the wig and cloak throws off coat and spec- tacles, and appears suddenly with a star and crown,— a Haroun Alraschid, or other Merry Monarch. And straightway we clap our hands and applaud— what?— the star and garter. But disguised emperors are not common now-a-days. ON A LADY IN AN OPERA-BOX 131 You don't turn away monarchs from your door, any more than angels, unawares. Consider, though, how many a good fellow you may shut out and sneer upon! what an immense deal of pleasure, frankness, kindness, good-fellowship we forego for the sake of our con- founded gentility, and respect for outward show! In- stead of placing our society upon an honest footing, we make our aim almost avowedly sordid. Love is of neces- sity banished from your society when you measure all your guests by a money-standard. I think of all this — a harmless man — seeing a good- natured-looking, jolly woman in the boxes yonder, who thought herself once too great a person to associate with the likes of me. If I give myself airs to mj^ neighbour, may I think of this too, and be a little more humble! And you, honest friend, who read this — have you ever pooh-poohed a man as good as you ? If you fall into the society of people whom you are pleased to call your inferiors, did you ever sneer? If so, change I into U, and the fable is narrated for your own benefit, by your obedient servant, Solomon Pacifico. ON THE PLEASURES OF BEIXG A FOGY ^HILST I was riding the other day by the beautiful Serpen- tine River uj^on my excellent friend Heaviside's grey cob, and in company of the gallant and agreeable Augustus Top- lady, a carriage passed from which looked out a face of such remarkable beauty that Au- gustus and myself quickened our pace to follow the vehicle, and to keep for a while those charming features in view. My beloved and unknown young friend who peruse these lines, it was veiy likely your face which attracted your humble servant; recollect whether you were not in the Park upon the day I allude to, and if you were, whom else could I mean but you ? I don't know your name ; I have forgotten the arms on the carriage, or whether there were any; and as for women's dresses, who can remem- ber them ? but your dear kind countenance was so pretty and good-humoured and pleasant to look at, that it re- mains to this day faithfully engraven on my heart, and I feel sure that you are as good as you are handsome. Almost all handsome women are good: they cannot choose but be good and gentle with those sweet features and that charming graceful figure. A day in which one 132 THE PLEASURES OF BEING A FOGY 133 sees a very pretty woman should always be noted as a holyday with a man, and marked with a white stone. In this way, and at this season in London, to be sure, such a day comes seven times in the week, and our calendar, like that of the Roman Catholics, is all Saints' days. Toplady, then, on his chestnut horse, with his glass in his eye, and the tips of his shiny boots just touching the stirrup, and your slave, the present writer, rode after your carriage, and looked at you with such notes of ad- miration expressed in their eyes, that you remember you blushed, you smiled, and then began to talk to that very nice-looking elderly lady in the front seat, who of course was your jMamma. You turned out of the ride — it was time to go home and dress for dinner, — \^ou were gone. Good luck go with you, and with all fair things which thus come and pass away! Top caused his horse to cut all sorts of absurd capers and caracoles by the side of your carriage. He made it dance upon two legs, then upon other two, then as if he would jump over the railings and crush the admiring nursery-maids and the rest of the infantry. I should think he got his animal from Batty's, and that, at a crack of Widdicomb's whip, he could dance a quadrille. He ogled, he smiled, he took off his hat to a Countess's carriage that happened to be passing in the other line, and so showed his hair; he grinned, he kissed his little finger-tips and flung them about as if he would shake them oiF — whereas the other party on the grey cob — the old gentleman — powdered along at a resolute trot, and never once took his respectful eyes off you while you continued in the ring. When you were gone (you see by the way in which I linger about you still, that I am unwilling to part with 134. SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON you) Toplady turned round upon me with a killing tri- umphant air, and stroked that impudent little tuft he has on his chin, and said—" I say, old boy, it was the chest- nut she was looking at, and not the gwey." And I make no doubt he thinks you are in love with him to this minute. " You silly young jackanapes," said I, " what do I care whether she was looking at the grey or the chestnut ? I was thinking about the girl; you were thinking about yourself, and be hanged to your vanity ! " And with this thrust in his little chest, I flatter myself I upset young Toplady, that triumphant careering rider. It was natural that he should wish to please; that is, that he should wish other people to admire him. Au- gustus Toplady is young (still) and lovely. It is not until a late period of life that a genteel young fellow, with a Grecian nose and a suitable waist and whiskers, begins to admire other people besides himself. That, however, is the great advantage which a man possesses whose morning of life is over, whose reason is not taken prisoner by any kind of blandishments, and who knows and feels that he is a FOGY. As an old buck is an odious sight, absurd, and ridiculous before gods and men; cruelly, but deservedly, quizzed by j^ou young people, who are not in the least duped by his youthful airs or toilette artifices, so an honest, good- natured, straightforward, middle-aged, easily-pleased Fogy is a worthy and amiable member of society, and a man who gets both resjDcct and liking. Even in the lovely sex, w^ho has not remarked how painful is that period of a woman's life when she is pass- ing out of her bloom, and thinking about giving up her position as a beauty? What sad injustice and strata- THE PLEASURES OF BEING A FOGY 135 gems she has to perpetrate during the struggle! She hides away her daughters in the school-room, she makes them wear cruel pinafores, and dresses herself in the garb which they ought to assume. She is obliged to dis- tort the calendar, and to resort to all sorts of schemes and arts to hide, in her own person, the august and re- spectable marks of time. Ah ! what is this revolt against nature but impotent blaspliemy ? Is not Autumn beauti- ful in its appointed season, that we are to be ashamed of her and paint her yellowing leaves pea-green? Let us, I say, take the fall of the year as it was made, serenely and sweetly, and await the time when Winter comes and the nights shut in. I know, for my part, many ladies who are far more agreeable and more beautiful too, now that they are no longer beauties ; and, by converse, I have no doubt that Toplady, about whom we were speaking just now, will be a far pleasanter person when he has given up the practice, or desire, of killing the other sex, and has sunk into a mellow repose as an old bachelor or a married man. The great and delightful advantage that a man en- joys in the world, after he has abdicated all pretensions as a conqueror and enslaver of females, and both for- mally, and of his heart, acknowledges himself to be a Fogy, is that he now comes for the first time to enjoy and appreciate duly the society of women. For a young man about town, there is only one woman in the whole city— (at least very few indeed of the young Turks, let us hope, dare to have two or three strings to their wicked bows) —he goes to ball after ball in pursuit of that one person; he sees no other eyes but hers; hears no other voice; cares for no other petticoat but that in which his charmer dances: he pursues her— is refused— is accepted 136 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IX LONDON and jilted; breaks his heart, mends it of course, and goes on again after some other beloved being, until in the order of fate and nature he marries and settles, or re- mains unmarried, free, and a Fogy. Until then we know nothing of women— the kindness and refinement and wit of the elders ; the artless prattle and dear little chat- ter of the young ones ; all these are hidden from us until we take the Fogy's degree: nay, even perhaps from married men, whose age and gravity entitle them to rank amongst Fogies; for every woman, who is worth any- thing, will be jealous of her husband up to seventy or eighty, and always prevent his intercourse with other ladies. But an old bachelor, or better still an old w^id- ower, has this delightful entree into the female world: he is free to come; to go; to listen; to joke; to sympa- thize ; to talk with mamma about her plans and troubles ; to pump from Miss the little secrets that gush so easily from her pure little well of a heart; the ladies do not gener themselves before him, and he is admitted to their mysteries like the Doctor, the Confessor, or the Kislar Aga. What man, who can enjoj^ this pleasure and privilege, ought to be indifferent to it? If the society of one woman is delightful, as the young fellows think, and justly, how much more delightful is the society of a thousand! One woman, for instance, has brown eyes, and a geological or musical turn ; another has sweet blue eyes, and takes, let us say, the Gorham side of the con- troversy at present pending; a third darling, with long fringed lashes hiding eyes of hazel, lifts them up ceiling- wards in behalf of Miss Sellon, thinks the Lord Chief Justice has hit the poor young lady very hard in pub- lishing her letters, and proposes to quit the Church next THE BENEFITS OF BEING A FOGY 137 Tuesday or Wednesday, or whenever Mr. Oriel is ready — and, of course, a man may be in love with one or the other of these. But it is manifest that brown eyes will remain brown eyes to the end, and that, having no other interest but music or geology, her conversation on those points may grow more than sufficient. Sapphira, again, when she has said her say with regard to the Gorham affair, and proved that the other party are but Roman- ists in disguise, and who is interested on no other subject, may possibly tire you— so may Hazelia, who is working altar-cloths all day, and would desire no better martyr- dom than to walk barefoot in a night procession up Sloane Street and home by Wilton Place, time enough to get her poor meurtris little feet into white satin slip- pers for the night's ball— I say, if a man can be wrought up to rapture, and enjoy bliss in the company of any one of these young ladies, or any other individuals in the in- finite variety of Miss-kind— how much real sympathy, benevolent pleasure, and kindly observation may he en- joy, when he is allowed to be familiar with the whole charming race, and behold the brightness of all their dif- ferent eyes, and listen to the sweet music of their various voices ! In possession of the right and privilege of gaiTulity which is accorded to old age, I cannot allow that a single side of paper should contain all that I have to say in re- spect to the manifold advantages of being a Fogy. I am a Fogy, and have been a young man. I see twenty women in the world constantly to whom I would like to have given a lock of my hair in days when my pate boasted of that ornament; for whom my heart felt tu- multuous emotions, before the victorious and beloved 138 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON Mrs. Pacifico subjugated it. If I had any feelings now, ISlrs. P. would order them and me to be quiet: but I have none; I am tranquil — yes, really tranquil (though as my dear Leonora is sitting opposite to me at this minute, and has an askance glance from her novel to my paper as I write — even if I were not tranquil, I should say that I was; but I am quiet) : I have passed the hot stage : and I do not know a pleasanter and calmer feeling of mind than that of a respectable person of the middle age, who can still be heartily and generously fond of all the women about whom he was in a passion and a fever in early life. If you cease liking a woman when you cease loving her, depend on it, that one of you is a bad one. You are parted, never mind with what pangs on either side, or by what circumstances of fate, choice, or neces- sity, — you have no money or she has too much, or she likes somebody else better, and so forth; but an honest Fogy should always, unless reason be given to the contrary, think well of the woman whom he has once thought well of, and remember her with kindness and tenderness, as a man remembers a place where he has been very happy. A proper management of his recollections thus con- stitutes a very great item in the happiness of a Fogy. I, for my part, would rather remember , and , and — — ( I dare not mention names, for isn't my Leo- nora pretending to read " The Initials," and peeping over my shoulder?) than be in love over again. It is be- cause I have suffered prodigiously from that passion that I am interested in beholding others undergoing the malady. I watch it in all ball-rooms (over my cards, where I and the old ones sit,) and dinner-parties. With- out sentiment, there would be no flavour in life at all. I like to watch young folks who are fond of each other, THE BENEFITS OF BEING A FOGY 139 be it tlie housemaid furtively engaged smiling and glan- cing with John through the area railings; be it JMiss and the Captain whispering in the embrasure of the drawing- room window — Amant is interesting to me because of Amavi — of course it is Mrs. Pacifico I mean. All Fogies of good breeding and kind condition of mind, who go about in the world much, should, remember to efface themselves — if I may use a French phrase — they should not, that is to say, thrust in their old mugs on all occasions. When the people are marching out to dinner, for instance, and the Captain is sidling up to Miss, Fogy, because he is twenty years older than the Captain, should not push himself forward to arrest that young fellow, and carry off the disappointed girl on his superannuated rheumatic old elbow. When there is anything of this sort going on (and a man of the world has possession of the carte du pays with half an eye), I become interested in a picture, or have something partic- ular to say to pretty Polly the parrot, or to little Tommy, who is not coming in to dinner, and while I am talking to him, Miss and the Captain make their little arrangement. In this way I managed only last week to let young Bil- lington and the lovely Blanche Pouter get together ; and walked downstairs with my hat for the only partner of my arm. Augustus Toplady now, because he was a Captain of Dragoons almost before Billington was born, would have insisted upon his right of precedence over Billington, who only got his troop the other day. Precedence! Fiddlestick! Men squabble about prece- dence because they are doubtful about their condition, as Irishmen will insist upon it that you are determined to insult and trample upon their beautiful country, whether you are thinking about it or no ; men young to 140 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON the world mistrust the bearing of others towards them, because they mistrust themselves. I have seen many sneaks and much cringing of course in the world ; but the fault of gentlefolks is generally the contrary — an ab- surd doubt of the intentions of others towards us, and a perpetual assertion of our twopenny dignity, which no- body is thinking of wounding. As a young man, if the Lord I knew did not happen to notice me, the next time I met him I used to envelop myself in my dignity, and treat his Lordship with such a tremendous hauteur and killing coolness of demeanour, that you might have fancied I was an Earl at least, and he a menial upon whom I trampled. Whereas he was a simple, good-natured creature who had no idea of insult- ing or slighting me, and, indeed, scarcely any idea about any subject, except racing and shooting. Young men have this uneasiness in society, because they are thinking about themselves: Fogies are happy and tranquil, be- cause they are taking advantage of, and enjoying, with- out suspicion, the good-nature and good offices of other well-bred people. Have you not often wished for yourself, or some other dear friend, ten thousand a year? It is natural that you should like such a good thing as ten thousand a year; and all the pleasures and comforts which it brings. So also it is natural that a man should like the society of people well-to-do in the world; who make their houses pleasant, who gather pleasant persons about them, who have fine pictures on their walls, jDleasant books in their libraries, pleasant parks and town and country houses, good cooks and good cellars: if I were coming to dine with you, I would rather have a good dinner than a bad one; if so-and-so is as good as you and possesses these THE BENEFITS OF BEING A FOGY 141 things, he, in so far, is better than you who do not pos- sess them : therefore I had rather go to his house in Bel- gravia than to your lodgings in Kentish Town. That is the rationale of living in good company. An absurd, conceited, high-and-mighty young man hangs back, at once insolent and bashful ; an honest, simple, quiet, easy, clear-sighted Fogy stej)s in and takes the goods which the gods provide, without elation as without squeam- ishness. It is only a few men who attain simplicity in early life. This man has his conceited self-importance to be cured of; that has his conceited bashfulness to be " taken out of him," as the phrase is. You have a disquiet which you try to hide, and you put on a haughty guarded manner. You are suspicious of the good-will of the company round about you, or of the estimation in which they hold you. You sit mum at table. It is not your place to " put yourself forward." You are thinking about yourself, that is; you are suspicious about that personage and everybody else: that is, you are not frank; that is, you are not well-bred ; that is, you are not agree- able. I would instance my young friend IMumford as a painful example — one of the wittiest, cheeriest, clev- erest, and most honest of fellows in his own circle; but having the honour to dine the other day at Mr. Hoba- nob's, where his Excellency the Crimean Minister and several gentlemen of humour and wit were assembled, IMumford did not open his mouth once for the purposes of conversation, but sat and ate his dinner as silently as a brother of La Trappe. He was thinking with too much distrust of himself ( and of others by consequence ) as Toplady was thinking of himself in the little affair in Hyde Park to which I 142 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON have alluded in the former chapter. When Mumford is an honest Fogy, like some folks, he will neither dis- trust his host, nor his company, nor himself ; he will make the best of the hour and the people round about him ; he will scorn tumbling over head and heels for his dinner, but he will take and give his part of the good things, join in the talk and laugh unaffectedly, nay, actually tumble over head and heels, perhaps, if he has a talent that way ; not from a wish to show off his powers, but from a sheer good-humour and desire to oblige. Whether as guest or as entertainer, your part and business in society is to make ])eo])\e as happy and as easy as you can ; the master gives you his best wine and welcome— you give, in your turn, a smiling face, a disposition to be pleased and to please; and my good young friend who read this, don't doubt about j^ourself , or think about your precious per- son. When you have got on your best coat and waist- coat, and have your dandy shirt and tie arranged— con- sider these as so many settled things, and go forward and through your business. That is why people in what is called the great w^orld are commonly better bred than persons less fortunate in their condition: not that they are better in reality, but from circumstances they are never uneasy about their position in the world : therefore they are more honest and simple: therefore they are better bred than Growler, who scowls at the great man a defiance and a determina- tion that he will 7iot be trampled upon: or poor Fawner, who goes quivering down on his knees, and licks my lord's shoes. But I think in our w^orld— at least in my experience— there are even more Growlers than Fawners. It will be seen by the above remark, that a desire to THE BENEFITS OF BEING A FOGY 143 shine or to occiij)y a marked place in society does not constitute my idea of happiness, or become the character of a discreet Fogy. Time, which has dimmed the lustre of his waistcoats, allayed the violence of his feelings, and sobered down his head with grey, should give to the whole of his life a quiet neutral tinge ; out of which calm and reposeful condition an honest old Fogy looks on the world, and the struggle there of women and men. I doubt whether this is not better than struggling your- self, for you preserve your interest and do not lose your temper. Succeeding? What is the great use of succeed- ing? Failing? Where is the great harm? It seems to you a matter of vast interest at one time of your life whether you shall be a lieutenant or a colonel— whether you shall or shall not be invited to the Duchess's party — whether you shall get the place you and a hundred other competitors are trying for — whether INIiss will have you or not : what the deuce does it all matter a few years afterwards? Do you, Jones, mean to intimate a desire that History should occupy herself with your pal- try personality ? The Future does not care whether you were a captain or a private soldier. You get a card to the Duchess's party : it is no more or less than a ball, or a breakfast, like other balls or breakfasts. You are half- distracted because INIiss won't have you and takes the other fellow, or you get her (as I did INIrs. Pacifico) and find that she is quite a diiFerent thing from what you expected. Psha! These things appear as nought —when Time passes— Time the consoler— Time the anodyne — Time the grey calm satirist, whose sad smile seems to say, Look, O man, at the vanity of the objects you pursue, and of yourself who pursue them! 144 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON But, on the one hand, if there is an alloj^ in all success, is there not a something wholesome in all disap- pointment ? To endeavour to regard them both benevo- lently, is the task of a philosopher ; and he who can do so is a very lucky Fogy. HILD'S PARTIES: AND A REMONSTRANCE CONCERNING THEM SIR,— As your publication finds Its way to almost every drawing-room table in this metropolis, and is read by the young and old In every family, I beseech you to give admission to the remonstrance of an unhappy parent, and to endeavour to put a stop to a practice which appears to me to be Increasing daily, and Is likely to operate most injuriously upon the health, morals, and comfort of society In general. The awful spread of Juvenile Parties, sir, is the fact to which I would draw your attention. There Is no end to those entertainments, and if the custom be not speed- ily checked, people will be obliged to fly from London ^ Addressed to Mr. Punch. 146 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON at Christmas, and hide their children during the holidaySc I gave mine warning in a speech at breakfast this day, and said with tears in my eyes that if the Juvenile Party system went on, I would take a house at JNIargate next winter, for that, by heavens! I could not bear another Juvenile Season in London. If they would but transfer Innocents' Da}^ to the sum- mer holidays, and let the children have their pleasures in May or June, we might get on. But now in this most ruthless and cut-throat season of sleet, thaw, frost, wind, snow, mud, and sore throats, it is quite a tempting of fate to be going much abroad ; and this is the time of all others that is selected for the amusement of our little darlings. As the first step towards the remedying of the evil of which I complain, I am obliged to look 3Ir. Punch him- self in his venerable beard, and say, " You, sir, have, by your agents, caused not a little of the mischief. I desire that, during Christmas time at least, Mr. Leech should be abolished, or sent to take a holiday. Judging from his sketches, I should say that he must be endowed with a perfectly monstrous organ of philoprogenitiveness ; he revels in the delineation of the dearest and most beautiful little boys and girls in turn-down collars and broad sashes, and produces in your Almanack a picture of a child's costume ball, in which he has made the little wretches in the dresses of every age, and looking so happy, beautiful, and charming, that I have carefully kept the picture from the sight of the women and chil- dren of my own household, and— I will not say burned it, for I had not the heart to do that— but locked it away privately, lest they should conspire to have a costume ball themselves, and little Polly should insist upon ap- CHILD'S PARTIES 147 pearing in the dress of Anne Boleyne, or little Jacky upon turning out as an ancient Briton." An odious, revolting and disagreeable practice, sir, I say, ought not to be described in a manner so atrociously pleasing. The real satirist has no right to lead the public astray about the Juvenile Fete nuisance, and to describe a child's ball as if it was a sort of Paradise, and the little imps engaged as happy and pretty as so many cherubs. They should be drawn, one and all, as hideous — disa- greeable — distorted — affected— jealous of each other — dancing awkwardly — with shoes too tight for them — over-eating themselves at supper — very unwell (and deservedly so) the next morning, with Mamma admin- istering a mixture made after the Doctor's prescription, — and which should be painted awfully black, in an im- mense large teacup, and (as might be shown by the hor- rible expression on the little patient's face) of the most disgusting flavour. Banish, I say, that INIr. Leech dur- ing Christmas time, at least; for, by a misplaced kind- ness and absurd fondness for children, he is likely to do them and their parents an incalculable quantity of harm. As every man, sir, looks at the world out of his own eyes or spectacles, or, in other words, speaks of it as he finds it himself, I will lay before you my own case, being perfectly sure that many another parent will sympathize with me. My family, already inconveniently large, is yet constantly on the increase, and it is out of the ques- tion that JMrs. Spec ^ should go to parties, as that admir- able woman has the best of occupations at home ; where she is always nursing the baby. Hence it becomes the father's duty to accompany his children abroad, and to give them pleasure during the holidays. ^ A name sometimes assumed by the writer in his contributions to Punch. 148 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON Our own place of residence is in South Carolina Place, Clapham Road North, in one of the most healthy of the suburbs of this great City. But our relatives and ac- quaintances are numerous; and they are spread all over the town and its outskirts. Mrs S. has sisters married, and dwelling respectively in Islington, Haverstock Hill, Bedford Place, Upper Baker Street, and Tyburn Gar- dens; besides the children's grandmother, Kensington Gravel Pits, whose parties we are all of course obliged to attend. A very great connexion of ours, and nearly related to a B-r-n-t and ]M. P., lives not a hundred miles from B-lg-ve Square. I could enumerate a dozen more places where our kinsmen or intimate friends are— heads of families every one of them, with their quivers more or less full of little arrows. What is the consequence? I herewith send it to you in the shape of these eighteen enclosed notes, written in various styles more or less correct and corrected, from ISIiss Fanny's, aged seven, who hopes in round hand, that her dear cousins will come and drink tea with her on New Year's eve, her birthday, — to that of the Governess of the B-r-n-t in question, who requests the pleasure of our company at a ball, a conjuror, and a Christmas Tree. Mrs. Spec, for the valid reason above stated, cannot fre- quent these meetings: I am the deplorable chaperon of the young people. I am called upon to conduct my fam- ily five miles to tea at six o'clock. No count is taken of our personal habits, hours of dinner, or intervals of rest. We are made the victims of an infantile conspir- acy, nor will the lady of the house hear of any revolt or denial. " Why," says she, with the spirit which becomes a woman and mother, " you go to your mans parties CHILD'S PARTIES 149 eagerly enough : what an unnatural wretch you must be to grudge your children then- pleasures!" She looks round, sweeps all six of them into her arms, whilst the baby on her lap begins to bawl, and you are assailed by seven pairs of imploring eyes, against which there is no appeal. You must go. If you are dying of lumbago, if you are engaged to the best of dinners, if j^ou are long- ing to stop at home and read Macaulay, you must give up all and go. And it is not to one party or two, but to almost all. You must go to the Gravel Pits, otherwise the grand- mother will cut the children out of her will, and leave her property to her other grandchildren. If you refuse Is- lington, and accept Tyburn Gardens, you sneer at a poor relation, and acknowledge a rich one readily enough. If» you decline Tyburn Gardens, you fling away the chances of the poor dear children in life, and the hopes of the cadetship for little Jacky. If you go to Hamp- stead, having declined Bedford Place, it is because you never refuse an invitation to Hampstead, where they make much of you, and Miss Maria is pretty, (as you think, though your wife doesn't, ) and do not care for the Doctor in Bedford Place. And if you accept Bedford Place, you dare not refuse Upper Baker Street, because there is a coolness between the two families, and you must on no account seem to take part with one or the other. In this way many a man besides myself, I dare say, finds himself miserably tied down, and a helpless pris- oner, like Gulliver in the hands of the Lilliputians. Let us just enumerate a few of the miseries of the pitiable parental slave. In the first place, examine the question in a pecuniary 150 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON point of view. The expenses of children's toilets at this present time are perfectly frightful. My eldest boy, Gustavus, at home from Dr. Birch's Academy, Rodwell Regis, wears turquoise studs, fine linen shirts, white waistcoats, and shiny boots : and, when I proposed that he should go to a party in Berlin gloves, asked me if I wished that he should be mistaken for a footman? My second, Augustus, grumbles about get- ting his elder brother's clothes, nor could he be brought to accommodate himself to Gustavus's waistcoats at all, had not his mother coaxed him by the loan of her chain and watch, which latter the child broke after many desperate attempts to wind it up. As for the little fellow, Adol- phus, his mother has him attired in a costume partly Scotch, partly Hungarian, mostly buttons, and with a Louis Quatorze hat and scarlet feather, and she curls this child's hair with her own blessed tongs eveiy night. I wish she would do as much for the girls, though : but no, Monsieur Floridor must do that: and accordingly, every day this season, that abominable little Frenchman, who is, I have no doubt, a Red Republican, and smells of cigars and hair-oil, comes over, and, at a cost of eighteenpence par tete, figs out my little creatures' heads with fixature, bandoline, crinoline— the deuce knows what. The bill for silk stockings, sashes, white frocks, is so enormous, that I have not been able to pay my own tailor these three years. The bill for flys to 'Amstid and back, to Hizzlington and take up, &c., is fearful. The drivers, in this extra weather, must be paid extra, and they drink extra. Hav- ing to go to Hackney in the snow, on the night of the 5th of January, our man was so hopelessly inebriated, CHILD'S PARTIES 151 that I was compelled to get out and drive myself ; and I am now, on what is called Twelfth Day (with, of course, another child's part}^ before me for the evening) , writing this from my bed, sir, with a severe cold, a violent tooth- ache, and a most acute rheumatism. As I hear the knock of our medical man, whom an ary.ious wife has called in, I close this letter; asking lea^e, however, if I survive, to return to this painful sub- ject next week. And, wishing you a merry! New Year, I have the honour to be, dear Mr. Punch, Your constant reader, Spec. II ONCEIVE, Sir, that in spite of my warning and entreaty we were invited to no less than three Child's Parties last Tuesday ; to two of which a lady in this house, who shall be nameless, de- sired that her children should be taken. On Wednesday we had Dr. Lens's microscope ; and on Thursday you w^re good enough to send me your box for the Haymarket The- atre; and of course Mrs. S. and the children are ex- tremely obliged to you for the attention. I did not mind the theatre so much. I sat in the back of the box, and fell asleep. I Avish there was a room with easy chair and silence enjoined, whither parents might re- tire, in the houses where Children's Parties arc given. 152 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON But no— it would be of no use: the fiddling and piano- forte-playing and scuffling and laughing of the children would keep you awake. I am looking out in the papers for some eligible schools where there shall be no vacations— I can't bear these festivities much longer. I begin to hate children in their evening dresses: when children are attired in those absurd best clothes, what can you expect from them but affectation and airs of fashion? One day last year, sir, having to conduct the two young ladies who then frequented juvenile parties, I found them, upon entering the fly, into which they had preceded me under convoy of their maid — I found them — in what a condi- tion, think vou ? Why, with the skirts of their stiff mus- lin frocks actually thrown over their heads, so that they should not crumple in the carriage ! A child who cannot go into society but with a muslin frock in this position, I say, had best stay in the nurserj'- in her pinafore. If you are not able to enter the world with your dress in its proper place, I say stay at home. I blushed, sir, to see that Mrs. S. didn't blush when I informed her of this incident, but only laughed in a strange indecorous man- ner, and said that the girls must keep their dresses neat. — Neatness as much as you please, but I should have thought Neatness would wear her frock in the natural way. And look at the children when they arrive at their place of destination ; what processes of coquetrj^ they are made to go through ! They are first carried into a room where there are pins, combs, looking-glasses, and lady's- maids, who shake the children's ringlets out, spread abroad their great immense sashes and ribbons, and finally send them full sail into the dancing-room. With CHILD'S PARTIES 153 what a monstrous precocity they ogle their own faces in the looking-glasses ; I have seen my boys, Gustavus and Adolphus, grin into the glass, and arrange their curls or the ties of their neckcloths with as much eagerness as any grown-up man could show, who was going to pay a visit to the lady of his heart. With what an abominable com- placency they get out their little gloves, and examine their silk stockings! How can they be natural or un- affected when they are so preposterously conceited about their fine clothes? The other day we met one of Gus's schoolfellows, INIaster Chaffers, at a party, who entered the room with a little gibus hat under his arm, and to be sure made his bow with the aplomb of a dancing-master of sixty; and my boys, who I suspect envied their com- rade the gibus hat, began to giggle and sneer at him; and, further to disconcert him, Gus goes up to him and says, " Why, Chaffers, you consider yourself a deuced fine fellow, but there's a straw on your trousers." Why shouldn't there be ? And why should that poor little boy be called upon to blush because he came to a party in a hack-cab? I, for my part, ordered the children to walk home on that night, in order to punish them for their pride. It rained. Gus wet and spoiled his shiny boots, Dol got a cold, and my wife scolded me for cruelty. As to the airs which the wretches give themselves about dancing, I need not enlarge upon them here, for the dangerous artist of the " Rising Generation " has already taken them in hand. Not that his satire does the children the least good: they don't see anything absurd in courting pretty girls, or in asserting the superiority of their own sex over the female. A few nights since, I saw Master Sultan at a juvenile ball, standing at the door of the dancing-room, egregiously displaying his 154 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IX LONDON muslin pocket-handkerchief, and waving it about as if he was in doubt to which of the young beauties he should cast it. " Why don't you dance, Master Sultan? " says I. " My good sir," he answered, " just look round at those girls and say if I can dance? " Blase and selfish now, what will that boy be, sir, when his whiskers grow? And when you think how Mrs. Mainchance seeks out rich partners for her little boys— how my own admirable Eliza has warned her children—" My dears, I would rather you should dance with your Brown cousins than your Jones cousins," who are a little rough in their man- ners (the fact being, that our sister JNlaria Jones lives at Islington, while Fanny Brown is an Upper Baker Street lady) ;— when I have heard my dear wife, I say, instruct our boy, on going to a party at the Baronet's, by no means to neglect his cousin Adeliza, but to dance with her as soon as ever he can engage her— what can I say, sir, but that the world of men and boys is the same— that society is poisoned at its source— and that our little chubby-cheeked cherubim are instructed to be artful and egotistical, when you would think by their faces they were just fresh from heaven. Among the very little children, I confess I get a con- solation as I watch them, in seeing the artless little girls walking after the boys to whom they incline, and court- ing them by a hundred innocent little wiles and caresses, putting out their little hands and inviting them to dances, seeking them out to pull crackers with them, and beg- ging them to read the mottoes, and so forth— this is as it should be— this is natural and kindly. The women, by rights, ought to court the men ; and they would if we but left them alone. ^ 1 On our friend's manuscript there is written, in a female handwriting, "Vulgar, immodest. — E. S." CHILD'S PARTIES 155 And, absurd as the games are, I own I like to see some thirty or forty of the creatures on the floor in a ring, playing at petits jeux, of all ages and sexes, from the most insubordinate infanthood of ISIaster Jacky, who will crawl out of the circle, and talks louder than any- body in it, though he can't speak, to blushing ^liss Lily, who is just conscious that she is sixteen— I own, I say, that I can't look at such a circlet or chaplet of children, as it were, in a hundred different colours, laughing and happy, without a sort of pleasure. How they laugh, how they twine together, how they wave about, as if the wind was passing over the flowers! Poor little buds, shall you bloom long?— (I then say to myself, by way of keeping up a proper frame of mind) —shall frosts nip you, or tempests scatter you, drought wither you, or rain beat you down? And oppressed with my feelings, I go below and get some of the weak negus with which Children's Parties are refreshed. At those houses where the magic lantern is practised, I still sometimes get a degree of pleasure, by hearing the voices of the children in the dark, and the absurd re- marks which they make as the various scenes are pre- sented—as, in the dissolving views, Cornhill changes into Grand Cairo, as Cupid comes down with a wreath, and pops it onto the head of the Duke of Wellington, as Saint Peter's at Rome suddenly becomes illuminated, and fireworks, not the least like real fireworks, begin to go off from Fort St. Angelo— it is certainly not un- pleasant to hear the " o-o-o's " of the audience, and the little children chattering in the darkness. But I think I used to like the " Pull devil, pull baker," and the Doc- tor Syntax of our youth, much better than all your new- fangled, dissolving views and pyrotechnic imitations. As for the conjuror, I am sick of him. There is one 156 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON conjuror I have met so often during this year and the last, that the man looks quite guilty when the folding doors are opened and he sees my party of children, and myself amongst the seniors in the back rows. He for- gets his jokes when he beholds me: his wretched clap- traps and waggeries fail him: he trembles, falters, and turns pale. I on my side too feel reciprocally uneasy. What right have we to be staring that creature out of his silly coun- tenance? Very likely he has a wife and family depen- dent for their bread upon his antics. I should be glad to admire them if I could ; but how do so ? When I see him squeeze an orange or a cannon-ball right away into nothing, as it were, or multiply either into three cannon- balls or oranges, I know the others are in his pocket somewhere. I know that he doesn't put out his eye when he sticks the penknife into it: or that after swallowing (as the miserable humbug pretends to do) a pocket- handkerchief, he cannot by any possibility convert it into a quantity of coloured wood-shavings. These flimsy articles may amuse children, but not us. I think I shall go and sit down below amongst the servants whilst this wretched man pursues his idiotic delusions before the children. And the supper, sir, of which our darlings are made to partake. Have they dined? I ask. Do they have a supper at home, and why do not they? Because it is un- wholesome. If it is unwholesome, why do they have supper at all? I have mentioned the wretched quality of the negus. Hoav they can administer such stuff to children I can't think. Though only last week I heard a little boy. Master Swilbj^ at Miss Waters', say that he had drunk nine glasses of it, and eaten I don't know CHILD'S PARTIES 157 how many tasteless sandwiches and insipid cakes; after which feats he proposed to fight my youngest son. As for that Christmas Tree, which we have from the Germans — anybody who knows what has happened to thein may judge what will befall us from following their absurd customs. Are we to put up pine-trees in our parlours, with wax-candles and bonbons, after the man- ner of the ancient Druids? Are we . . .? . . My dear sir, my manuscript must here abi*uptly terminate. Mrs. S. has just come into my study, and my daughter enters, grinning behind her, with twenty- five little notes, announcing that JNIaster and INIiss Spec request the pleasure of ]Miss Brown, ]\Iiss F. Brown, and M. A. Brown's company on the 25th instant. There is to be a conjuror in the back drawling-room, a magic lantern in my study, a Christmas Tree in the dining- room, dancing in the drawing-room — " And, my dear, we can have whist in our bed-room," my wife says. " You know we must be civil to those who have been so kind to our darling children." Spec. THE CURATE'S WALK IT was the third out of the four bell-buttons at the door at which my friend the Curate pulled; and the sum- mons was answered after a brief interval. I must premise that the house before which we stopped was No. 14, Sedan Buildings, leading out of Great Guelph Street, Dettingen Street, Culloden Street, Min- den Square; and Upper and Lower Caroline Row form part of the same quarter— a very queer and solemn quarter to walk in, I think, and one which always sug- 158 THE CURATE'S WALK 159 gests Fielding's novels to me. I can fancy Captain Booth strutting out of the very door at which we were standing, in tarnished lace, with his hat cocked over his eye, and his hand on his hanger; or Lady Bellaston's chair and bearers coming swinging down Great Guelph Street, which we have just quitted to enter Sedan Buildings. Sedan Buildings is a little flagged square, ending abruptly with the huge walls of Bluck's Brewery. The houses, by many degrees smaller than the large decayed tenements in Great Guelph Street, are still not uncom- fortable, although shabby. There are brass plates on the doors, two on some of them: or simple names, as " Lunt," " Padgemore," &c. (as if no other statement about Lunt and Padgemore were necessary at all), under the bells. There are pictures of mangles before two of the houses, and a gilt arm with a hammer sticking out from one. I never saw a Goldbeater. What sort of a being is he that he always sticks out his ensign in dark, mouldy, lonely, dreary, but somewhat respectable places ? What power- ful INIulciberian fellows they must be, those Goldbeaters, whacking and thumping with huge mallets at the pre- cious metals all day. I wonder what is Goldbeaters' skin? and do they get impregnated with the metal? and are their great arms under their clean shirts on Sundays, all gilt and shining? It is a quiet, kind, respectable place somehow, in spite of its shabbiness. Two pewter pints and a jolly little half-pint are hanging on the railings in perfect confi- dence, basking in what little sun comes into the Court. A group of small children are making an ornament of oyster-shells in one corner. Who has that half -pint? Is it for one of those small ones, or for some delicate female 160 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON recommended to take beer? The windows in the Court, upon some of which the sun ghstens, are not cracked, and pretty clean ; it is only the black and dreary look be- hind which gives them a poverty-stricken appearance. No curtains or blinds. A bird-cage and very few pots of flowers here and there. This — with the exception of a milkman talking to a whitey-brown woman, made up of bits of flannel and strips of faded chintz and calico seemingly, and holding a long bundle which cried — this was all I saw in Sedan Buildings while we were waiting until the door should open. At last the door was opened, and by a porteress so small, that I wonder how she ever could have lifted up the latch. She bobbed a curtsey, and smiled at the Curate, whose face gleamed with benevolence too, in reply to that salutation. " Mother not at home? " says Frank Whitestock, pat- ting the child on the head. "Mother's out charing, sir," replied the girl; "but please to walk up, sir." And she led the way up one and two pair of stairs to that apartment in the house which is called the second-floor front; in which was the abode of the charwoman. There were two young persons in the room, of the respective ages of eight and five, I should think. She of five years of age was hemming a duster, being perched on a chair at the table in the middle of the room. The elder, of eight, politely wiped a chair with a cloth for the accommodation of the good-natured Curate, and came and stood between his knees, immediately alongside of his umbrella, which also reposed there, and which she by no means equalled in height. " These children attend my school at St. Timo- THE CURATE'S WALK 161 thy's," Mr. Whitestock said, " and Betsy keeps the house while her mother is from home." Anything cleaner or neater than this house it is im- possible to conceive. There was a big bed, which must have been the resting-place of the whole of this little family. There were three or four religious prints on the walls ; besides two framed and glazed, of Prince Coburg and the Princess Charlotte. There were brass candle- sticks, and a lamb on the chimney-piece, and a cupboard in the corner, decorated with near half-a-dozen plates, j^ellow bowls, and crockery. And on the table there were two or three bits of diy bread, and a jug with water, with which these three young people (it being then nearly three o'clock ) were about to take their meal called tea. That little Betsy who looks so small is nearly ten years old; and has been a mother ever since the age of about five. I mean to say, that her own mother having to go out upon her charing operations, Betsy assumes command of the room during her parent's absence : has nursed her sis- ters from babyhood up to the present time : keeps order over them, and the house clean as you see it ; and goes out occasionally and transacts the family purchases of bread, moist sugar and mother's tea. They dine upon bread, tea and breakfast upon bread when they have it, or go to bed without a morsel. Their holiday is Sunday, which they spend at Church and Sunday-school. The younger children scarcely ever go out, save on that day, but sit sometimes in the sun, which comes in pretty pleas- antly: sometimes blue in the cold, for they very seldom see a fire except to heat irons by, when mother has a job of linen to get up. Father was a journeyman bookbinder, who died four years ago, and is buried amonff thousands and thousands of the nameless dead 162 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON who lie crowding the black chiirchj^ard of St. Timothy's parish. The Curate evidently took especial pride in Victoria, the youngest of these three children of the charwoman, and caused Betsy to fetch a book which lay at the win- dow, and bade her read. It was a Missionary Register which the Curate opened haphazard, and this baby began to read out in an exceedingly clear and resolute voice about — " The island of Raritongo is the least frequented of all the Caribbean Archipelago. Wankyfungo is at four leagues S. E. by E., and the peak of the crater of Shuag- nahua is distinctly visible. The ' Irascible ' entered Raritongo Bay on the evening of Thursday 29th, and the next day the Rev. Mr. Flethers, Mrs. Flethers, and their nine children, and Shangpooky, the native con- verted at Cacabawgo, landed and took up their residence at the house of Ratatatua, the Principal Chief, who en- tertained us with yams and a pig," &c. &c, &c. " Raritongo, Wankyfungo, Archipelago." I protest this little woman read off each of these long words with an ease which perfectly astonished me. Many a lieuten- ant in her Majesty's Heavies would be puzzled with words half the length. Whitestock, by way of reward for her scholarship, gave her another pat on the head ; having received which present with a curtsey, she went and put the book back into the window, and clambering back into the chair, resumed the hemming of the blue duster. I suppose it was the smallness of these people, as well as their singular, neat, and tidy behaviour, which inter- ested me so. Here were three creatures not so high as the table, with all the labours, duties, and cares of life upon their little shoulders, working and doing their duty THE CURATE'S WALK 163 like the biggest of my readers ; regular, laborious, cheer- ful, — content with small pittances, practising a hundred virtues of thrift and order. Elizabeth, at ten 3^ears of age, might Avalk out of this house and take the command of a small establishment. She can wash, get up linen, cook, make purchases, and buy bargains. If I were ten years old and three feet in height, I would marry her, and we would go and live in a cupboard, and share the little half -pint pot for dinner. ']Melia, eight years of age, though inferior in accomplish- ments to her sister, is her equal in size, and can wash, scrub, hem, go errands, put her hand to the dinner, and make herself generally useful. In a word, she is fit to be a little housemaid, and to make everything but the beds, which she cannot as yet reach up to. As for Vic- toria's qualifications, they have been mentioned before. I wonder whether the Princess Alice can read off " Rari- tongo," &c., as glibly as this surprising little animal. I asked the Curate's permission to make these young ladies a present, and accordingly produced the sum of sixpence to be divided amongst the three. " What will you do with it? " I said, laying down the coin. They answered, all three at once, and in a little chorus, " We'll give it to mother." This verdict caused the disbursement of another sixpence, and it was ex- plained to them that the sum was for their own private pleasures, and each was called upon to declare what she would purchase. Elizabeth says, " I would like twopenn'orth of meat, if you please, sir." 'Melia: " Ha'porth of treacle, three-farthings-worth of milk, and the same of fresh bread." Victoria, speaking very quick, and gasping in an agi- 164 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON tated manner: " Ha'pny — aha — orange, and ha'pny — aha — apple, and ha'pny — aha — treacle, and — and — " here her imagination failed her. She did not know what to do with the rest of the money. At this 'IVIelia actually interposed, " Suppose she and Victoria subscribed a farthing apiece out of their money, so that Betsy might have a quarter of a pound of meat? " She added that her sister wanted it, and that it would do her good. Upon my word, she made the proposal and the calculations in an instant, and all of her own accord. And before we left them, Betsy had put on the queerest little black shawl and bonnet, and had a mug and a bas- ket ready to receive the purchases in question. Sedan Buildings has a particularly friendly look to me since that day. Peace be with you, O thrifty, kindty, simple, loving little maidens! May their voyage in life prosper! Think of the great journey before them, and the little cock -boat manned by babies venturing over the great stormy ocean. THE CURATE'S WALK 165 II ^-^ OLLOWING the steps of little Betsy with her mug and basket, as she goes pattering down the street, we watch her into a gro- cer's shop, where a star- tling placard with "Down Again ! " written on it announces that the Su- gar Market is still in a depressed condition — and where she no doubt nego- tiates the purchase of a certain quantity of molasses. A little further on, in Lawfeldt Street, is Mr. Filch's fine silversmith's shop, where a man may stand for a half hour and gaze with ravishment at the beautiful gilt cups and tankards, the stunning waistcoat-chains, the little white cushions laid out with delightful diamond pins, gold horseshoes and splinter-bars, pearl owls, turquoise lizards and dragons, enamelled monkeys, and all sorts of agreeable monsters for your neckcloth. If I live to be a hundred, or if the girl of my heart were waiting for me at the corner of the street, I never could pass Mr. Filch's shop without having a couple of minutes' good stare at the window. I like to fancy myself dressed up in some of the jewellery. " Spec, you rogue," I say, " suppose you were to get leave to wear three or four of those rings on your fingers; to stick that opal, round which twists a brilliant serpent with a ruby head, into 166 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON your blue satin neckcloth; and to sport that gold jack- chain on your waistcoat. You might walk in the Park with that black whalebone prize riding-whip, which has a head the size of a snufF-box, surmounted with a silver jockey on a silver race-horse; and what a sensation you would create, if you took that large ram's horn with the cairngorm top out of your pocket, and offered a pinch of rappee to the company round! " A little attorney's clerk is staring in at the window, in whose mind very similar ideas are passing. What would he not give to wear that gold pin next Sunday in his blue hunting neck- cloth? The ball of it is almost as big as those which are painted over the side door of JNIr. Filch's shop, which is down that passage which leads into Trotter's Court. I have dined at a house where the silver dishes and covers came from Filch's, let out to their owner by Mr. Filch for the day, and in charge of the grave-looking man whom I mistook for the butler. Butlers and ladies'- maids innumerable have audiences of JNIr. Filch in his back -parlour. There are suits of jewels which he and his shop have knowai for a half century past, so often have they been pawned to him. When we read in the Court Journal of Lady Fitzball's head-dress of lappets and superb diamonds, it is because the jewels get a day rule from Filch's, and come back to his iron box as soon as the drawing-room is over. These jewels become histor- ical among pawnbrokers. It was here that Lady Prigsby brought her diamonds one evening of last year, and desired hurriedly to raise two thousand pounds upon them, when Filch respectfully pointed out to her lady- ship that she had paw^ned the stones already to his com- rade, Mr. Tubal, of Charing Cross. And, taking his hat, and putting the case under his arm, he went with her THE CURATE'S WALK 1G7 ladyship to the hack-cab in which she had driven to Law- feldt Street, entered the vehicle with her, and they drove in silence to the back entrance of her mansion in JVIon- mouth Square, where Mr. Tubal's young man was still seated in the hall, waiting until her ladyship should be undressed. We walked round the splendid shining shop and down the passage, which would be dark but that the gas-lit door is always swinging to and fro, as the people who come to pawn go in and out. You may be sm-e there is a gin-shop handy to all pawnbrokers'. A lean man in a dingy dress is walking lazily up and down the flags of Trotter's Court. His ragged trousers trail in the slimy mud there. The doors of the pawn- broker's, and of the gin-shop on the other side, are bang- ing to and fro : a little girl comes out of the former, with a tattered old handkerchief, and goes up and gives some- thing to the dingy man. It is ninepence, just raised on his waistcoat. The man bids the child to " cut away home," and w^hen she is clear out of the court, he looks at us wdth a lurking scowl and walks into the gin-shop doors, which swing always opposite the pawnbroker's shop. Why should he have sent the waistcoat wrapped in that ragged old cloth? Why should he have sent the child into the pawnbroker's box, and not have gone him- self? He did not choose to let her see him go into the gin-shop— why drive her in at the opposite door? The child knows well enough whither he is gone. She might as well have carried an old waistcoat in her hand through the street as a ragged napkin. A sort of vanity, you see, drapes itself in that dirty rag ; or is it a kind of debauched shame, which does not like to go naked ? The fancy can 168 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON follow the poor girl up the black alley, up the black stairs, into the bare room, where mother and children are starving, while the lazy ragamuffin, the family bully, is gone into the gin-shop to " try our celebrated Cream of the Valley," as the bill in red letters bids him. " I waited in this court the other day," Whitestock said, " just like that man, while a friend of mine went in to take her husband's tools out of pawn — an honest man — a journeyman shoemaker, who lives hard by." And we went to call on the journeyman shoemaker — Handle's Buildings — two-pair back — over a blacking manufac- tory. The blacking was made by one manufactor, who stood before a tub stirring up his produce, a good deal of which — and nothing else — was on the floor. We passed through this emporium, which abutted on a dank, steaming little court, and up the narrow stair to the two- pair back. The shoemaker was at work with his recovered tools, and his wife was making woman's shoes (an inferior branch of the business) by him. A shrivelled child was lying on the bed in the corner of the room. There was no bedstead, and indeed scarcely any furniture, save the lit- tle table on which lay his tools and shoes— a fair-haired, lank, handsome young man, with a wife who may have been pretty once, in better times, and before starvation pulled her down. She had but one thin gown ; it clung to a frightfully emaciated little body. Their story was the old one. The man had been in good work, and had the fever. The clothes had been pawned, the furniture and bedstead had been sold, and they slept on the mattress; the mattress went, and they slept on the floor; the tools went, and the end of all things seemed at hand, when the gracious apparition of THE CURATE'S WALK 169 the Curate, with his umbrella, came and cheered those stricken-down poor folks. The journeyman shoemaker must have been aston- ished at such a sight. He is not, or was not, a church- goer. He is a man of " advanced " oj)inions ; believing that priests are hypocrites, and that clergymen in gen- eral drive about in coaches-and-four, and eat a tithe-pig a day. This proud priest got ]Mr. Crispin a bed to lie upon, and some soup to eat; and (being the treasurer of certain good folks of his parish, whose charities he admin- isters) as soon as the man was strong enough to work, the Curate lent him money wherewith to redeem his tools, and which our friend is paying back by instalments at this day. And any man who has seen these two honest men talking together, would have said the shoemaker was the haughtiest of the two. We paid one more morning visit. This was with an order for work to a tailor of reduced circumstances and enlarged family. He had been a master, and was now forced to take work by the job. He who had commanded many men, was now fallen down to the ranks again. His wife told us all about his misfortunes. She is evi- dently very proud of them. " He failed for seven thou- sand pounds," the poor woman said, three or four times during the course of our visit. It gave her husband a sort of dignit}^ to have been trusted for so much money. The Curate must have heard that story many times, to which he now listened with great patience in the tail- or's house— a large, clean, dreary, faint-looking room, smelling of poverty. Two little stunted, yellow-headed children, with lean pale faces and large protruding ej^es, were at the window staring with all their might at Guy Fawkes, who was passing in the street, and making a 170 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON great clattering and shouting outside, while the luckless tailor's wife was prating within about her husband's by- gone riches. I shall not in a hurry forget the picture. The empty room in a dreary background; the tailor's wife in brown, stalking up and down the planks, talking endlessly ; the solemn children staring out of the window as the sunshine fell on their faces, and honest Whitestock seated, listening, with the tails of his coat through the chair. His business over wuth the tailor, we start again; Frank Whitestock trips through alley after alley, never getting any mud on his boots, somehow, and his white neckcloth making a wonderful shine in those shady places. He has all sorts of acquaintance, chiefly amongst the extreme j'^outh, assembled at the doors or about the gutters. There was one small person occupied in emptying one of these rivulets with an oyster-shell, for the purpose, apparently, of making an artificial lake in a hole hard by, whose solitary gravity and business air struck me much, while the Curate was very deep in con- versation with a small coalman. A half-dozen of her comrades were congregated round a scraper and on a grating hard bj^ playing with a mangy little puppy, the property of the Curate's friend. I know it is wrong to give large sums of money away promiscuously, but I could not help dropping a penny into the child's oyster-shell, as she came forward holding it before her like a tray. At first her expression was one rather of wonder than of pleasure at this influx of cap- ital, and was certainly quite worth the small charge of one penny, at which it was purchased. For a moment she did not seem to know what steps to take ; but, having communed in her own mind, she pres- THE CURATE'S WALK 171 ently resolved to turn them towards a neighbouring apple-stall, in the direction of which she went without a single word of compliment passing between us. Now, the children round the scraper were witnesses to the transaction. " He's give her a penny," one remarked to another, with hopes miserably disappointed that they might come in for a similar present. She walked on to the apple-stall meanwhile, holding her penny behind her. And what did the other little ones do? They put down the puppy as if it had been so much dross. And one after another they followed the penny- piece to the apple-stall. A DINNER IN THE CITY UT of a mere love of variety and con- trast, I think we cannot do better, after leaving the wretched Whitestock among his starving parishioners, than transport ourselves to the City, where we are invited to dine with the Wor- shipful Company of Bellows-Menders, at their splendid Hall in ]\Iarrow-pudding Lane. Next to eating good dinners, a healthy man with a benevolent turn of mind must like, I think, to read about them. When I was a boy, I had by heart the Barme- cide's feast in the " Arabian Nights ; " and the culinary passages in Scott's novels (in which works there is a deal of good eating) always were my favourites. The Ho- meric poems are full, as everybody knows, of roast and boiled: and every year I look forward with pleasure to the newspapers of the 10th of November for the menu of the Lord ^layor's feast, which is sure to appear in those journals. What student of history is there who does not remember the City dinner given to the Alhed Sovereigns in 1814? It is good even now, and to read it ought to make a man hungry, had he had five meals that day. In a word, I had long, long yearned in my secret heart to be present at a City festival. The last year's 1T2 A DIXXER IN THE CITY 173 papers had a bill of fare commencing with " four hun- dred tureens of turtle, each containing five pints; " and concluding with the pineapples and ices of the dessert. " Fancy two thousand pints of turtle, my love," I have often said to JNIrs. Spec, " in a vast silver tank, smoking fragrantly, with lovely green islands of calipash and calipee floating about— why, my dear, if it had been invented in the time of Vitellius he would have bathed in it!" " He would have been a nasty WTctch," ]Mrs. Spec said, who thinks that cold mutton is the most wholesome food of man. However, when she heard what great com- pany was to be present at the dinner, the INIinisters of State, the Foreign Ambassadors, some of the bench of Bishops, no doubt the Judges, and a great portion of the Nobility, she was pleased at the card which was sent to her husband, and made a neat tie to my white neckcloth before I set off on the festive journey. She warned me to be very cautious, and obstinately refused to allow me the Chubb door-key. The ver}^ card of invitation is a curiosity. It is al- most as big as a tea-tray. It gives one ideas of a vast, enormous hospitality. Gog and Magog in livery might leave it at your door. If a man is to eat up that card, heaven help us, I thought; the Doctor must be called in. Indeed, it was a Doctor who procured me the placard of invitation. Like all medical men who have published a book upon diet, Pillkington is a great gourmand, and he made a great favour of procuring the ticket for me from his brother of the Stock Ex- change, who is a Citizen and a Bellows-lNIender in his corporate capacity. We drove in Pillkington's brougham to the place of 174 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON mangezvous, through the streets of the town, in the broad dayhght, dressed out in our white waistcoats and ties; making a sensation upon all beholders by the premature splendour of our appearance. There is something grand in that hospitality of the citizens, who not only give you more to eat than other people, but who begin earlier than anybody else. Major Bangles, Captain Canterbuiy, and a host of the fashionables of my acquaintance, were taking their morning's ride in the Park as we drove through. You should have seen how they stared at us! It gave me a pleasure to be able to remark mentally, " Look on, gents, we too are sometimes invited to the tables of the great." We fell in with numbers of carriages as we were approaching Citywards, in which reclined gentlemen with white neckcloths— grand equipages of foreign am- bassadors, whose uniforms, and stars, and gold lace glis- tened within the carriages, while their servants with coloured cockades looked splendid without: these ca- reered by the Doctor's brougham-horse, which was a little fatigued with his professional journeys in the morning. General Sir Roger Bluff, K.C.B., and Colo- nel Tucker, were stepping into a cab at the United Service Club as we passed it. The veterans blazed in scarlet and gold lace. It seemed strange that men so famous, if they did not mount their chargers to go to dinner, should ride in any vehicle under a coach-and-six ; and instead of having a triumphal car to conduct them to the City, should go thither in a rickety cab, driven by a ragged charioteer smoking a dhoodeen. In Cornhill we fell into a line, and formed a complete regiment of the aristocracy. Crowds were gathered round the steps of A DINNER IN THE CITY 175 the old hall in Marrow-pudding Lane, and welcomed us nobility and gentry as we stepped out of our equipages at the door. The policemen could hardly restrain the ardour of these low fellows, and their sarcastic cheers were sometimes very unpleasant. There was one rascal who made an observation about the size of my white waistcoat, for which I should have liked to sacrifice him on the spot; but Pillkington hurried me, as the police- men did our little brougham, to give place to a prodigious fine equipage which followed, with immense grey horses, immense footmen in powder, and driven by a grave coachman in an episcopal wig. A veteran ofiicer in scarlet, with silver epaulets, and a profuse quantity of bullion and silver lace, descended from this carriage between the two footmen, and was nearly upset by his curling sabre, which had twisted it- self between his legs, which were cased in duck trousers very tight, except about the knees (where they bagged quite freely ) , and with rich long white straps. I thought he must be a great man by the oddness of his uniform. " Who is the general? " says I, as the old warrior, dis- entangling himself from his scimetar, entered the outer hall. " Is it the Marquis of Anglesea, or the Rajah of Sarawak? " I spoke in utter ignorance, as it appeared. " That ! Pooh," says Pillkington; "that is Mr. Champignon, M.P., of Whitehall Gardens and Fungus Abbey, Citi- zen and Bellows-Mender. His uniform is that of a Colonel of the Diddlesex Militia." There was no end to similar mistakes on that day. A venerable man with a blue and gold uniform, and a large crimson sword-belt and brass-scabbarded sabre, passed presently, whom I 176 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON mistook for a foreign ambassador at the least; where- as I found out that he was only a Billingsgate Com- missioner — and a little fellow in a blue livery, which fitted him so badly that I thought he must be one of the hired waiters of the company, who had been put into a coat that didn't belong to him, turned out to be a real right honourable gent, who had been a Minister once. I was conducted upstairs by my friend to the gorgeous drawing-room, where the company assembled, and where there was a picture of George IV. I cannot make out what public companies can want with a picture of George IV. A fellow with a gold chain, and in a black suit, such as the lamented IMr. Cooper wore preparatory to execution in the last act of George Barnwell, bawled out our names as we entered the apartment. " If my Eliza could hear that gentleman," thought I, " roaring out the name of ' jNIr. Spec! ' in the presence of at least two hundred Earls, Prelates, Judges, and distinguished characters! " It made little impression upon them, how- ever; and I slunk into the embrasure of a window, and watched the company. Every man who came into the room was, of course, ushered in with a roar. " His Excellency, the Minister of Topinambo! " the usher yelled; and the Minister ap- peared, bowing, and in tights. " INIr. Hoggin! The Right Honourable the Earl of Bareacres! Mr. Snog! Mr. Braddle! ]Mr. Alderman INIoodle! INIr. Justice Bunker! Lieut.-Gen. Sir Roger Bluff! Colonel Tucker! Mr. Tims! " with the same emphasis and mark of admiration for us all as it were. The Warden of the Bellows-Menders came forward and made a profusion of bows to the various distinguished guests as they arrived. A DINNER IN THE CITY 177 He, too, was in a court-dress, with a sword and bag. His lady must like so to behold him turning out in arms and ruffles, shaking hands with Ministers, and bowing over his wine-glass to their Excellencies the Foreign Am- bassadors. To be in a room with these great people gave me a thousand sensations of joy. Once, I am positive, the Secretary of the Tape and Sealing-Wax Office looked at me, and turning round to a noble lord in a red rib- bon, evidently asked, "Who is that?" Oh, Eliza, Eliza ! How I wish you had been there ! — or if not there, in the ladies' galleiy in the dining-hall, when the mu- sic began, and Mr. Shadrach, Mr. Meshech, and little Jack Oldboy (whom I recollect in the part of Count Almaviva any time these forty years), sang Non nobis ^ D online. But I am advancing matters prematurely. We are not in the grand dining-hall as yet. The crowd grows thicker and thicker, so that you can't see people bow as they enter any more. The usher in the gold chain roars out name after name: more ambassadors, more generals, more citizens, capitalists, bankers— among them Mr. Rowdy, my banker, from whom I shrank guiltily from private financial reasons — and, last and greatest of all, " The Right Honourable the Lord Mayor!" That was a shock, such as I felt on landing at Calais for the first time; on first seeing an Eastern bazaar; on first catching a sight of Mrs. Spec; a new sensa- tion, in a word. Till death I shall remember that sur- prise. I saw over the heads of the crowd, first a great sword borne up in the air : then a man in a fur cap of the shape of a flowerpot ; then I heard the voice shouting the 178 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON august name — the crowd separated. A handsome man with a chain and gown stood before me. It was he. He? What do I say? It was his Lordship. I cared for noth- ing till dinner-time after that. A DINNER IN THE CITY 179 II I HE glorious • company of ban- queteers were now pretty well all assembled; and I, for. my part, attracted by an irresistible fasci- nation, pushed nearer and nearer my Lord ISIayor, and surveyed him, as the Generals, Lords, Ambassadors, Judges, and other big-wigs rallied round him as their centre, and, being intro- duced to his Lordship and each other, made themselves the most solemn and graceful bows; as if it had been the object of that General's life to meet that Judge; and as if that Secretary of the Tape and Sealing-Wax Office, having achieved at length a presentation to the Lord Mayor, had gained the end of his existence, and might go home, singing a Nunc diinittis. Don Gero- nimo de Mulligan y Guayaba, ^Minister of the Republic of Topinambo (and originally descended from an illus- trious Irish ancestor, who hewed out w^ith his pickaxe in the Topinambo mines the steps by which his family have ascended to their present eminence), holding his cocked hat with the yellow cockade close over his embroidered coat-tails, conversed with Alderman Codshead, that cel- ebrated Statesman, who was also in tights, wdth a sword and bag. Of all the articles of the splendid court-dress of our aristocracy, I think it is those little bags which I admire most. The dear crisp curly little black darlings! They 180 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON give a gentleman's back an indescribable grace and air of chivalry. They are at once manly, elegant, and useful (being made of sticking-plaster, which can be applied afterwards to heal many a wound of domestic life). They are something extra appended to men, to enable them to appear in the presence of royalty. How vastly the idea of a Court increases in solemnity and grandeui* when you think that a man cannot enter it without a tail! These thoughts passed through my mind, and pleas- ingly diverted it from all sensations of hunger, while many friends around me were pulling out their watches, looking towards the great dining-room doors, rattling at the lock, (the door gasped open once or twice, and the nose of a functionary on the other side peeped in among us and entreated peace,) and vowing it was scandalous, monstrous, shameful. If you ask an assembly of Eng- lishmen to a feast, and accident or the cook delays it, they show their gratitude in this way. Before the supper-rooms were thrown open at my friend Mrs. Per- kins's ball, I recollect Liversage at the door, swearing and growling as if he had met with an injury. So I thought the Bellows-JNIenders' guests seemed heaving into mutiny, when the great doors burst open in a flood of light, and we rushed, a black streaming crowd, into the gorgeous hall of banquet. Every man sprang for his place with breathless rapid- ity. We knew where those places were beforehand ; for a cunning map had been put into the hands of each of us by an officer of the Company, where every plate of this grand festival was numbered, and each gentleman's place was ticketed off*. My wife keeps my card still in her album; and my dear eldest boy (who has a fine A DINNER IN THE CITY 181 genius and appetite) will gaze on it for half an hour at a time, whereas he passes by the copies of verses and the flower-pieces with an entire indifference. The vast hall flames with gas, and is emblazoned all over with the arms of bj^gone Bellows-Menders. Au- gust portraits decorate the walls. The Duke of Kent in scarlet, with a crooked sabre, stared me firmly in the face during the whole entertaiimient. The Duke of Cumber- land, in a hussar uniform, was at my back, and I knew was looking down into my plate. The eyes of those gaunt portraits follow you eveiywhere. The Prince Regent has been mentioned before. He has his place of honour over the great Bellows-Mender's chair, and sur- veys the high table glittering with plate, epergnes, can- dles, hock-glasses, moulds of blancmange stuck over with flowers, gold statues holding up baskets of barley-sugar, and a thousand objects of art. Piles of immense gold cans and salvers rose up in bufl*ets behind this high table ; towards which presently, and in a grand procession — the band in the gallery overhead blowing out the Bellows- Menders' march — a score of City tradesmen and their famous guests walked solemnly between our rows of tables. Grace was said, not by the professional devotees who sang "Non Nobis " at the end of the meal, but by a chap- lain somewhere in the room, and the turtle began. Armies of waiters came rushing in with tureens of this broth of the City. There was a gentleman near us — a very lean old Bellows-lNIender indeed, who had three platefuls. His old hands trembled, and his plate quivered with excite- ment, as he asked again and again. That old man is not destined to eat much more of the green fat of this life. 182 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON As he took it, he shook all over like the jelly in the dish opposite to him. He gasped out a quick laugh once or twice to his neighbour, when his two or three old tusks showed, still standing up in those jaws which had swal- lowed such a deal of calipash. He winked at the waiters, knowing them from former banquets. This banquet, which I am describing at Christmas, took place at the end of INIay. At that time the vege- tables called pease were exceedingly scarce, and cost six-and-twenty shillings a quart. " There are two hundred quarts of pease," said the old fellow, winking w^ith blood-shot eyes, and a laugh that was perfectly frightful. They were consumed with the fragrant ducks, by those who were inclined : or with the venison, which now came in. That was a great sight. On a centre table in the hall, A DINNER IN THE CITY 183 on which ah-eady stood a cold Baron of Beef— a gro- tesque piece of meat— a dish as big as a dish in a panto- mime, with a little Standard of England stuck into the top of it, as if it were round this we were to rally- on this centre table, six men placed as many huge dishes under cover; and at a given signal the master cook and five assistants in white caps and jackets marched rapidly up to the dish-covers, which being withdrawn, discovered to our sight six haunches, on which the six carvers, taking out six sharp knives from their girdles, began operating. It was, I say, like something out of a Gothic romance, or a grotesque fairy pantomime. Feudal barons must have dined so five hundred years ago. One of those knives may have been the identical blade which Wal- worth plunged into Wat Tyler's ribs, and which was afterwards caught up into the City Arms, where it blazes. (Not that any man can seriously believe that Wat Tyler was hurt by the dig of the jolly old IMayor in the red gown and chain, any more than that pantaloon is singed by the great poker, which is always forthcom- ing at the present season. ) Here we were practising the noble custom of the good old times, imitating our glori- ous forefathers, rallying round our old institutions, like true Britons. These very flagons and platters were in the room before us, ten times as big as any we use or want now-a-days. They served us a grace-cup as large as a plate-basket, and at the end they passed us a rose- water dish, into which Pepys might have dipped his nap- kin. Pepys?— what do I say? Richard III., Coeur-de- Lion, Guy of Warwick, Gog and Magog. I don't know how antique the articles are. Conversation, rapid and befitting the place and occa- sion, went on all round. " Waiter, where's the turtle- fins? "—Gobble, gobble. " Hice Punch or JNIy deary. 184 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON sir? " " Smelts or salmon, Jowler my boy? " " Always take cold beef after turtle." — Hobble-gobble. " These year pease have no taste." Hobble-gobbleobble. " Jones, a glass of 'Ock with you ? Smith, j ine us ? Waiter, three 'Ocks. S., mind your manners! There's Mrs. S. a-look- ing at you from the gallery." — Hobble-obbl-gobble-gob- gob-gob. A steam of meats, a flare of candles, a rushing to and fro of waiters, a ceaseless clinking of glass and steel, a dizzy mist of gluttony, out of which I see my old friend of the turtle soup making terrific play among the pease, his knife darting down his throat. ***** It is all over. We can eat no more. We are full of Bacchus and fat venison. We lay down our weapons and rest. " Why, in the name of goodness," says I, turning round to Pillkington, who had behaved at dinner like a doctor; " whv — ? " But a great rap, tap, tap proclaimed grace, after which the professional gentlemen sang out, ''Non Nobis" and then the dessert and the speeches began ; about which we shall speak in the third course of our entertainment. Ill N the hammer having ceased its tap- ping, INIr. Chisel, the immortal toast- master, who presided over the President, roared out to my three professional friends, " Non Nobis; " and what is called " the business of the evening " commenced. First, the Warden of the Worshipful A DINNER IN THE CITY 185 Society of the Bellows-Menders proposed " Her Maj- esty " in a reverential voice. We all stood up re- spectfully, Chisel yelling out to us to " Charge our Glasses." The royal health having been imbibed, the professional gentlemen ejaculated a part of the National Anthem; and I do not mean any disrespect to them personally, in mentioning that this eminently religious hymn was performed by IMessrs. Shadrach and Meshech, two well-known melodists of the Hebrew per- suasion. We clinked our glasses at the conclusion of the anthem, making more dents upon the time-worn old board, where many a man present had clinked for George III., clapped for George IV., rapped for Wil- liam IV., and was rejoiced to bump the bottom of his glass as a token of reverence for our present Sovereign. Here, as in the case of the Hebrew melophonists, I would insinuate no wrong thought. Gentlemen, no doubt, have the loyal emotions which exhibit themselves by clapping glasses on the tables. We do it at home. Let us make no doubt that the bellows-menders, tailors, authors, public characters, judges, aldermen, sheriiFs, and what not, shout out a health for the Sovereign every night at their banquets, and that their families fill round and drink the same toast from the bottles of half -guinea Burgundy. " His Royal Highness Prince Albert, and Albert Prince of Wales, and the rest of the royal family," fol- lowed. Chisel yelling out the august titles, and all of us banging away with our glasses, as if we were seriously interested in drinking healths to this royal race: as if drinking healths could do anybody any good; as if the imprecations of a company of bellows-menders, alder- 186 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON men, magistrates, tailors, authors, tradesmen, ambassa- dors, who did not care a twopenny-piece for all the royal families in Europe, could somehow affect heaven kindly towards their Royal Highnesses by their tipsy vows, under the presidence of Mr. Chisel. The Queen Dowager's health was next prayed for by us Bacchanalians, I need not say with what fei^ency and efficacy. This prayer w^as no sooner put up by the Chair- man, with Chisel as his Boanerges of a Clerk, than the elderly Hebrew gentlemen before mentioned began striking up a wild patriotic ditty about the " Queen of the Isles, on whose sea-girt shores the bright sun smiles, and the ocean roars, w^hose cliffs never knew, since the bright sun rose, but a people true, who scorned all foes. Oh, a people true, who scorn all wiles, inhabit you, bright Queen of the Isles. Bright Quee— Bright Quee — ee — ee — ee — ee — en awf the Isles! " or words to that effect, which Shadrach took up and warbled across his glass to JNIeshech, which ]\Ieshech trolled away to his brother singer, until the ditty Avas ended, nobody under- standing a word of what it meant; not Oldboy — not the old or young Israelite minstrel his companion — not we, who were clinking our glasses — not Chisel, who was urging us and the Chairman on — not the Chairman and the guests in embroidery— not the kind, exalted, and amiable lady whose health we were making believe to drink, certainly, and in order to render whose name wel- come to the Powers to whom we recommended her safety, we offered up, through the mouths of three singers, hired for the purpose, a perfectly insane and irrelevant song. " Why," says I to Pillkington, " the Chairman and the grand guests might just as well get up and dance round the table, or cut off Chisel's head and pop it into a turtle-soup tureen, or go through any other mad cere- A DINNER IN^ THE CITY 187 mony as the last. Which of us here cares for her Maj- esty the Queen Dowager, any more than for a virtuous and eminent lady, whose goodness and private worth appear in all her acts ? AVhat the deuce has that absurd song about the Queen of the Isles to do with her Majesty, and how does it set us all stamping with our glasses on the mahogany? " Chisel bellowed out another toast — " The Army; " and we were silent in admiration, while Sir George BluiF, the greatest General present, rose to return thanks. Our end of the table was far removed from the thick of the affair, and we only heard, as it were, the indistinct cannonading of the General, w^hose force had just ad- vanced into action. We saw an old gentleman with white w^hiskers, and a flaring scarlet coat covered with stars and gilding, rise up with a frightened and desper- ate look, and declare that " this was the proudest — a-hem — moment of his — a-hem — unworthy as he was — a-hem — as a member of the British — a-hem — who had fought under the illustrious Duke of — a-hem — his joy was to come among the Bellows-IMenders — a-hem — and inform the great merchants of the greatest City of the — hum — that a British — a-hem — was always readj^ to do his — hum. Napoleon — Salamanca — a-hem — had witnessed their — hum, haw — and should any other — hum — ho — ca- sion which he deeply deprecated — haw — there were men now around him — a-haw — who, inspired by the Bellows- Menders' Company and the City of London — a-hum — would do their duty as — a-hum — a-haw — a-hah." Im- mense cheers, yells, hurrays, roars, glass-smackings, and applause followed this harangue, at the end of which the three Israelites, encouraged by Chisel, began a militaiy cantata—" Oh, the sword and shield— on the battle-field — Are the joys that best we love, boys— Where the 188 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON Grenadiers, with their pikes and spears, through the ranks of the foeman shove, boys — Where the bold hur- ray, strikes dread dismay, in the ranks of the dead and dyin' — and the baynet clanks in the Frenchmen's ranks, as they fly from the British Lion." (I repeat, as before, that I quote from memory. ) Then the Secretary of the Tape and Sealing-Wax Office rose to return thanks for the blessings which we begged upon the JNIinistry. He was, he said, but a humble — the humblest member of that body. The suffrages which that body had received from the nation were grat- ifying, but the most gratifying testimonial of all was the approval of the Bellows-^NIenders' Company. {Im- mense applause.) Yes, among the most enlightened of the mighty corporations of the City, the most enlight- ened was the Bellows-JNIenders'. Yes, he might say, in consonance with their motto, and in defiance of illiber- ality, Afffavit Veritas et dissipati sunt. (Enormous applause. ) Yes, the thanks and pride that were boiling with emotion in his bosom, trembled to find utterance at his lip. Yes, the proudest moment of his life, the crown of his ambition, the meed of his early hopes and strug- gles and aspirations, was at that moment won in the approbation of the Bellows-Menders. Yes, his children should know that he too had attended at those great, those noble, those joyous, those ancient festivals, and that he too, the humble individual who from his heart pledged the assembled company in a bumper— that he too was a Bellows-Mender. Shadrach, ^Meshech, and Oldboy, at this began sing- ing, I don't know for what reason, a rustic madrigal, describing, " Oh, the joys of bonny May— bonny May — a-a-ay, when the birds sing on the spray," &c., which A DINNER IN THE CITY 189 never, as I could see, had the least relation to that or any other jNlinistry, but which was, nevertheless, ap- plauded by all present. And then the Judges returned thanks; and the Clergy returned thanks; and the For- eign INIinisters had an innings (all interspersed by my friends' indefatigable melodies) ; and the distinguished foreigners present, especially JNIr. Washington Jackson, were greeted, and that distinguished American rose amidst thunders of applause. He explained how Broadway and Cornhill were in fact the same. He showed how Washington was in fact an Englishman, and how Franklin would never have been an American but for his education as a printer in Lincoln's Inn Fields. He declared that Milton was his cousin, Locke his ancestor, Newton his dearest friend, Shakspeare his grandfather, or more or less — he vowed that he had wept tears of briny anguish on the pedestal of Charing Cross — kissed with honest fervour the clay of Runny mede — that Ben Jonson and Samuel— that Pope and Dryden, and Dr. Watts and Swift were the darlings of his hearth and home, as of ours, and in a speech of about five-and-thirty minutes, explained to us a series of complimentary sensations very hard to repeat or to remember. But I observed that, during his oration, the gentlemen who report for the daily papers w^ere occupied with their wine instead of their note-books— that the three singers of Israel yawned and showed many signs of disquiet and inebriety, and that my old friend, who had swallowed the three plates of turtle, was sound asleep. Pillkington and I quitted the banqueting-hall, and went into the tea-room, where gents were assembled still, drinking slops and eating buttered muffins, until the 190 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON grease trickled down their faces. Then I resumed the query which I was just about to put, when grace was called, and the last chapter ended. " And, gracious goodness! " I said, " what can be the meaning of a cer- emony so costly, so uncomfortable, so savoury, so un- wholesome as this? Who is called upon to pay two or three guineas for my dinner now, in this blessed year 1847? Who is it that can want muffins after such a ban- quet? Are there no poor? Is there no reason? Is this monstrous belly- worship to exist for ever? " " Spec," the Doctor said, " you had best come away. I make no doubt that you for one have had too much." And we went to his brougham. IMay nobody have such a headache on this happy New Year as befell the present writer on the morning after the Dinner in the City! WAITING AT THE STATION WE are amongst a number of people waiting for the Blackwall train at the Fenchurch Street Station. Some of us are going a little farther than Blackwall — as far as Gravesend; some of us are going even farther than Gravesend— to Port Phillip, in Australia, leaving behind the patrice fines and the pleas- ant fields of Old England. It is rather a queer sensation to be in the same boat and station with a party that is going ujDon so prodigious a journey. One speculates about them with more than an ordinary interest, think- ing of the difference between your fate and theirs, and that we shall never behold these faces again. Some eight-and-thirty women are sitting in the large Hall of the station, with bundles, baskets, and light bag- gage, waiting for the steamer, and the orders to embark. A few friends are taking leave of them, bonnets are laid together, and whispering going on. A little crying is taking place; — only a very little crj^ing, — and among those who remain, as it seems to me, not those M'ho are going away. They leave behind them little to weep for ; they are going from bitter cold and hunger, constant want and unavailing labour. Why should they be sorry to quit a mother who has been so hard to them as our country has been ? How many of these women will ever see the shore again, upon the brink of which they stand, and from which they will depart in a few minutes more ? It makes one sad and ashamed too, that thev should not 191 192 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON be more sony. But how are you to expect love where you have given such scanty kindness? If you saw your children glad at the thoughts of leaving you, and for ever : would you blame yourselves or them ? It is not that the children are ungrateful, but the home was unliappy, and the parents indifferent or unkind. You are in the wi'ong, under whose government they only had neglect and wretchedness; not they, who can't be called upon to love such an unlovely thing as misery, or to make any other return for neglect but indifference and aversion. You and I, let us suppose again, are civilized persons. We have been decently educated : and live decently every day, and wear tolerable clothes, and practise cleanliness : and love the arts and graces of life. As we walk down this rank of eight-and-thirty female emigrants, let us fancy that we are at Melbourne, and not in London, and that we have come down from our sheep-walks, or clear- ings, having heard of the arrival of forty honest, well- recommended young women, and having a natural longing to take a wife home to the bush— which of these would you like? If you were an Australian Sultan, to which of these would you throw the handkerchief? I am afraid not one of them. I fear, in our present mood of mind, we should mount horse and return to the country, preferring a solitude, and to be a bachelor, than to put up with one of these for a companion. There is no girl here to tempt you by her looks: (and, world-wiseacre as you are, it is by these j^ou are principally moved) —there is no pretty, modest, red-cheeked rustic,— no neat, trim little grisette, such as what we call a gentleman might cast his eyes upon without too much derogating, and might find favour in the eyes of a man about town. No ; it is a homely bevy of women with scarcely any beauty WAITING AT THE STATION 193 amongst them— their clothes are decent, but not the least picturesque — their faces are pale and care-worn for the most part — how, indeed, should it be otherwise, seeing that they have known care and want all their days? — there they sit,U23on bare benches, with dingy bundles, and great cotton umbrellas — and the truth is, you are not a hardy colonist, a feeder of sheep, feller of trees, a hunter of kangaroos — but a London man, and my lord the Sultan's cambric handkerchief is scented with Bond Street perfumery — you put it in your pocket, and couldn't give it to any one of these women. They are not like you, indeed. They have not your tastes and feelings: your education and refinements. They would not understand a hundred things which seem perfectly simple to you. They would shock you a hun- dred times a day by as many deficiencies of politeness, or by outrages upon the Queen's English — by practices entirely harmless, and yet in your eyes actually worse than crimes — they have large hard hands and clumsy feet. The woman you love must have pretty soft fingers that you may hold in yours: must speak her language properly, and at least when j^ou offer her your heart, must return hers with its h in the right place, as she whispers that it is yours, or you will have none of it. If she says, " O Hedward, I ham so unappy to think I shall never beold you agin," — though her emotion on leaving you might be perfectly tender and genuine, you would be obliged to laugh. If she said, " Hedward, my art is yours for hever and hever " (and anybody heard her), she might as well stab you, — you couldn't accept the most faithful affection offered in such terms — you are a town-bred man, I say, and your handkerchief smells of Bond Street musk and millefleur. A sun-burnt settler 194 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON out of the Bush won't feel any of these exquisite tor- tures: or understand this kind of laughter: or object to Molly because her hands are coarse and her ankles thick : but he will take her back to his farm, where she will nurse his children, bake his dough, milk his cows, and cook his kangaroo for him. But between you, an educated Londoner, and that woman, is not the union absurd and impossible? Would it not be unbearable for either? Solitude would be in- comparably pleasanter than such a companion. — You might take her with a handsome fortune, perhaps, were you starving; but then it is because you want a house and carriage, let us say {your necessaries of life), and must have them even if you purchase them with your precious person. You do as much, or your sister does as much, every day. That, however, is not the point : I am not talking about the meanness to which j^our worship may be possibly obliged to stoop, in order, as you say, " to keep up your rank in society " — only stating that this immense social difference does exist. You don't like to own it: or don't choose to talk about it, and such things had much better not be spoken about at all. I hear your worship say, there must be differences in rank and so forth ! Well ! out with it at once : you don't think ]Molly is your equal — nor indeed is she in the possession of many artificial acquirements. She can't make Latin verses, for example, as you used to do at school ; she can't speak French and Italian, as your wife veiy likely can, &c. — and in so far she is your inferior, and your amiable lady's. cv But what I note, what I marvel at, what I acknow- ledge, what I am ashamed of, what is contrary to Chris- tian morals, manly modesty and honesty, and to the WAITING AT THE STATION 195 national well-being, is that there should be that immense social distinction between the well-dressed classes (as, if you will permit me, we will call ourselves,) and our brethren and sisters in the fustian jackets and pattens. If you deny it for your part, I say that you are mistaken, and deceive yourself wofully. I say that you have been educated to it through Gothio ages, and have had it handed down to you from your fathers (not that they »vere anybody in particular, but respectable, well-dressed progenitors, let us say for a generation or two) —from your well-dressed fathers before you. How long ago is it, that our preachers were teaching the poor " to know their station? " that it was the peculiar boast of English- men, that any man, the humblest among us, could, by talent, industry, and good luck, hope to take his place in the aristocracy of his country, and that we pointed with pride to Lord This, who was the grandson of a barber; and to Earl That, whose father was an apothe- cary? What a multitude of most respectable folks pride themselves on these things still! The gulf is not impass- able, because one man in a million swims over it, and we hail him for his strength and success. He has landed on the happy island. He is one of the aristocracy. Let us clap hands and applaud. There's no country like ours for rational freedom. If you go up and speak to one of these women, as you do, (and very good-naturedly, and you can't help that confounded condescension,) she curtsies and holds down her head meekly, and replies with modesty, as becomes her station„to your honour with the clean shirt and the well-made coat. " And so she should," what hundreds of thousands of us rich and poor say still. Both believe this to be bounden duty ; and that a poor person should 196 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON naturally bob her head to a rich one physically and morally. Let us get her last curtsey from her as she stands here upon the English shore. When she gets into the Austra- lian woods her back won't bend except to her labour ; or, if it do, from old habit and the reminiscence of the old country, do you suppose her children will be like that timid creature before you? Thej^ will know nothing of that Gothic society, with its ranks and hierarchies, its cumbrous ceremonies, its glittering antique parapher- nalia, in which we have been educated ; in which rich and poor still acquiesce, and which multitudes of both still admire: far removed from these old-world traditions, they will be bred up in the midst of plenty, freedom, manly brotherhood. Do you think if your worship's grandson goes into the Australian woods, or meets the grandchild of one of yonder women by the banks of the Warrawarra, the Australian will take a hat off or bob a curtsey to the new comer? He will hold out his hand and say, " Stranger, come into my house and take a shakedown and have a share of our supper. You come out of the old country, do you ? There was some people were kind to my grandmother there, and sent her out to ^lelbourne. Times are changed since then— come in and welcome! " What a confession it is that we have almost all of us been obliged to make! A clever and earnest-minded writer gets a commission from the Morning Chronicle newspaper, and reports upon the state of our poor in London ; he goes amongst labouring people and poor of all kinds— and brings back what? A picture of human life so wonderful, so awful, so piteous and pathetic, so exciting and terrible, that readers of romances own they WAITING AT THE STATION 197 never read anything like to it ; and that the griefs, strug- gles, strange adventures here depicted, exceed anything that any of us could imagine. Yes; and these wonders and terrors have been lying by your door and mine ever since we had a door of our own. We had but to go a hundred yards off and see for ourselves, but we never did. Don't we pay poor-rates, and are they not heavy enough in the name of patience ? Very time ; and we have our own private pensioners, and give away some of our superfluity, very likely. You are not unkind; not un- generous. But of such wondrous and complicated mis- ery as this you confess you had no idea. No. How should you?— you and I — we are of the upper classes; we have had hitherto no community with the poor. We never speak a word to the servant who waits on us for twenty years; we condescend to employ a tradesman, keeping him at a proper distance, mind, of course, at a proper distance — we laugh at his young men, if they dance, jig, and amuse themselves like their betters, and call them counter-jumpers, snobs, and what not? of his workmen we know nothing, how pitilessly they are ground down, how they live and die, here close by us at the backs of our houses; until some poet like Hood wakes and sings that dreadful "Song of the Shirt; " some prophet like Carlyle rises up and denounces woe; some clear-sighted energetic man like the writer of the Chronicle travels into the poor man's country for us, and comes back with his tale of terror and wonder. Awful, awful poor man's country! The bell rings, and these eight-and-thirty women bid adieu to it, rescued from it (as a few thousands more will be) by some kind people who are interested in their behalf. In two hours more, the steamer lies alongside the ship CuUoden, which 198 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON will bear them to their new home. Here are the berths aft for the unmarried women, the married couples are in the midships, the bachelors in the fore-part of the ship. Above and below decks it swarms and echoes with the bustle of departure. The Emigration Commissioner comes and calls over their names; there are old and young, large families, numbers of children already accus- tomed to the ship, and looking about with amused uncon- sciousness. One was born but just now on board ; he will not know how to speak English till he is fifteen thousand miles away from home. Some of these kind people whose bounty and benevolence organized the Female Emigration Scheme, are here to give a last word and shake of the hand to their jwotegees. They hang sadly and gratefully round their patrons. One of them, a clergyman, who has devoted himself to this good work, says a few words to them at parting. It is a solemn min- ute indeed— for those who (with the few thousand who will follow them) are leaving the country and escaping from the question between rich and poor; and what for those who remain? But, at least, those who go will re- member that in their miseiy here thej^ found gentle hearts to love and pity them, and generous hands to give them succour, and will plant in the new country this grateful tradition of the old.— May heaven's good mercy speed them ! A NIGHT'S PLEASURE fii with AVING made a sol- emn engagement during the last Mid- summer holidays my young friend Augustus ^ Jones, that we should go to a fc Christmas Panto- mime together, and being accommo- dated by the oblig- ing proprietors of Covent Garden Theatre with a private box for last Tuesday, I invited not only him, but some other young friends to be present at the entertainment. The two Miss Twiggs, the charming daughters of the Rev. INIr. Twigg, our neighbour; Miss Minny Twigg, their youngest sister, eight years of age ; and their mater- nal aunt, Mrs. Captain Flather, as the chaperon of the young ladies, were the four other partakers of this amusement with myself and JNIr. Jones. It was agreed that the ladies, who live in ^lontpellier Square, Brompton, should take up myself and INIaster Augustus at the " Sarcophagus Club," wliich is on the way to the theatre, and where we two gentlemen dined 199 200 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON on the day appointed. Cox's most roomy fly, the mouldy green one, in which he insists on putting the roaring grey horse, was engaged for the happy evening. Only an intoxicated driver (as Cox's man always is) could ever, I am sure, get that animal into a trot. But the ut- most fury of the whip will not drive him into a danger- ous pace; and besides, the ladies were protected by Thomas, INIrs. Flather's page, a young man with a gold band to his hat, and a large gilt knob on the top, who ensured the safety of the cargo, and really gave the vehicle the dignity of one's own carriage. The dinner-hour at the " Sarcophagus " being ap- pointed for five o'clock, and a table secured in the strangers' room. Master Jones was good enough to ar- rive (under the guardianship of the Colonel's footman) about half-an-hour before the appointed time, and the interval was by him partly passed in conversation, but chiefly in looking at a large silver watch which he pos- sesses, and in hoping that we shouldn't be late. I made every attempt to pacify and amuse my young guest, whose anxiety was not about the dinner but about the play. I tried him with a few^ questions about Greek and JNIathematics — a sort of talk, however, which I was obliged speedily to abandon, for I found he knew a great deal more upon these subjects than I did — (it is disgusting how preternaturally learned the boys of our day are, by the way ) . I engaged him to relate anecdotes about his schoolfellows and ushers, which he did, but still in a hurried, agitated, nervous manner — evidentlj'- think- ing about that sole absorbing subject, the pantomime. A neat little dinner, sen'^ed in Botibol's best manner (our clief at the " Sarcophagus " knows when he has to deal with a connoisseur, and would as soon serve me up A NIGHT'S PLEASURE 201 his own ears as a rechauffe dish) , made scarcely any im- pression on young Jones. After a couple of spoonfuls, he pushed away the Palestine soup, and took out his large silver watch— he applied two or three times to the chronometer during the fish period— and it was not until I had him employed upon an omelette, full of apricot jam, that the young gentleman was decently tranquil. With the last mouthful of the omelette he began to fidget again; and it still wanted a quarter of an hour of six. Nuts, almonds and raisins, figs (the almost never-failing soother of youth ) , I hoped might keep him quiet, and laid before him all those delicacies. But he beat the devil's tattoo with the nut-crackers, had out the watch time after time, declared that it stopped, and made such a ceaseless kicking on the legs of his chair, that there were moments when I wished he was back in the parlour of JNIrs. Jones, his mamma. I know oldsters who have a savage pleasure in making boys dnnik— a horrid thought of this kind may, perhaps, have crossed my mind. " If I could get him to drink half-a-dozen glasses of that heavy port, it might soothe him and make him sleep," I may have thought. But he would only take a couple of glasses of wine. He said he didn't like more ; that his father did not wish him to take more: and abashed by his frank and honest demeanour, I would not press him, of course, a single moment further, and so was forced to take the bottle to myself, to soothe me instead of my young guest. He was almost frantic at a quarter to seven, by which time the ladies had agreed to call for us, and for about five minutes was perfectly dangerous. " We shall be late, I know we shall ; I said we should ! I am sure it's seven, past, and that the box will be taken! " and count- 202 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON less other exclamations of fear and impatience passed through his mind. At length we heard a carriage stop, and a Club sei*\'ant entering and directing himself towards our table. Young Jones did not want to hear him speak, but cried out, — "Hooray, here they are!" flung his najikin over his head, dashed off his chair, sprang at his hat like a kitten at a ball, and bounced out of the door, crying out, " Come along, Mr. Spec! " whilst the individual addressed much more deliberately fol- lowed. "Happy Augustus!" I mentally exclaimed. " O thou brisk and bounding votary of pleasure! When the virile toga has taken the place of the jacket and turned-down collar, that Columbine ^ who will float be- fore you a goddess to-night, will only be a third-rate dancing female, with rouge and large feet. You will see the ropes by which the genii come down, and the dirty A NIGHT'S PLEASURE 203 crumpled knees of the fairies — and you won't be in such a hurry to leave a good bottle of port as now at the pleas- ant age of thirteen." — [By the way, boys are made so abominably comfortable and odiously happy, now-a- days, that when I look back to 1802, and my own youth, I get in a rage with the whole race of boys, and feel in- clined to flog them all round.] Paying the bill, I say, and making these leisurely observations, I passed under the hall of the " Sarcophagus," where Thomas, the page, touched the gold-knobbed hat respectfully to me, in a manner which I think must have rather surprised old General Growler, who was unrolling himself of his muf- fetees and wrappers, and issued into the street, where Cox's fly was in waiting : the windows up, and whitened with a slight frost: the silhouettes of the dear beings within dimly visible against the chemist's light opposite the Club ; and Master Augustus already kicking his heels on the box, by the side of the inebriated driver. I caused the youth to descend from that perch, and the door of the fly being opened, thrust him in. Mrs. Captain Flather, of course, occupied the place of honour — an uncommonly capacious woman, — and one of the young ladies made a retreat from the front seat, in order to leave it vacant for myself; but I insisted on not in- commoding Mrs. Captain F., and that the two darling children should sit beside her, while I occupied the place of back bodkin between the two Miss Twiggs. They were attired in white, covered up with shawls, with bouquets in their laps, and their hair dressed evi- dently for the occasion: Mrs. Flather in her red velvet of course, with her large gilt state turban. She saw that we were squeezed on our side of the car- riage, and made an offer to receive me on hers. 204 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON Squeezed? I should think we were; but, O Emily, O Louisa, you mischievous little black-eyed creatures, who would dislike being squeezed by you? I wished it was to York we were going, and not to Covent Garden. How swiftly the moments passed ! We were at the play-house in no time: and Augustus plunged instantly out of the fly over the sliins of everybody. n E took possession of the private box as- signed to us: and Mrs. Flather seated herself in the place of honour— each of the young ladies taking it by turns to occupy the other corner. Miss Minny and Master Jones occupied the middle places; and it was pleasant to watch the young gentleman throughout the performance of the comedy — during which he was never quiet for two minutes — now shifting his chair, now swinging to and fro upon it, now digging his elbows into the capacious sides of Mrs. Captain Flather, now beating with his boots against the front of the box, or trampling upon the skirts of Mrs. Flather's satin gamient. He occux^ied himself unceasingly, too, in working up A NIGHT'S PLEASURE 205 and down ]Mrs. F.'s double-barrelled French opera-glass — not a little to the detriment of that instrument and the wrath of the owner ; indeed I have no doubt, that had not Mrs. Flather reflected that ]Mrs. Colonel Jones gave some of the most elegant parties in London, to which she was veiy anxious to be invited, she would have boxed Master Augustus's ears in the presence of the whole audience of Covent Garden. One of the young ladies was, of course, obliged to re- main in the back row with Mr. Spec. We could not see much of the play over Mrs. F.'s turban ; but I trust that we were not unhappy in our retired position. O Miss Emily ! O INIiss Louisa ! there is one who would be happy to sit for a week close by either of you, though it were on one of those abominable little private-box chairs. I know, for my part, that every time the box-keeperess popped in her head, and asked if we would take any re- freshment, I thought the interruption odious. Our young ladies, and their stout chaperon and aunt, had come provided with neat little bouquets of flowers, in which they evidently took a considerable pride, and which were laid, on their first entrance, on the ledge in front of our box. But, presently, on the opposite side of the house, INIrs. Cutbush, of Pocklington Gardens, appeared with her daughters, and bowed in a patronizing manner to the la- dies of our party, with whom the Cutbush family had a slight acquaintance. Before ten minutes, the bouquets of our party were whisked away from the ledge of the box. INIrs. Flather dropped hers to the ground, where INIaster Jones's feet speedily finished it ; INIiss Louisa Twigg let hers fall into her lap, and covered it with her pocket- 206 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON handkerchief. Uneasy signals passed between her and her sister. I could not, at first, understand what event had occurred to make these ladies so unhappy. At last the secret came out. The Misses Cutbush had bouquets like little haystacks before them. Our small nosegays, which had quite satisfied the girls until now, had become odious in their little jealous eyes; and the Cutbushes triumphed over them. I have joked the ladies subsequently on this adven- ture; but not one of them will acknowledge the charge against them. It was mere accident that made them drop the flowers— pure accident. They jealous of the Cutbushes— not they, indeed; and of course, each person on this head is welcome to his own opinion. How different, meanwhile, was the behaviour of my young friend blaster Jones, who is not as yet sophisti- cated by the world. He not only nodded to his father's servant, who had taken a place in the pit, and was to escort his young master home, but he discovered a school- fellow in the pit likewise. " By Jove, there's Smith! " he cried out, as if the sight of Smith was the most ex- traordinary event in the world. He pointed out Smith to all of us. He never ceased nodding, winking, grin- ning, telegraphing, until he had succeeded in attracting the attention not only of Master Smith, but of the greater part of the house ; and whenever anything in the play struck him as worthy of applause, he instantly made signals to Smith below, and shook his fist at him, as much as to say, " By Jove, old fellow, ain't it good? I say, Smith, isn't it prime, old boy? " He actually made re- marks on his fingers to Master Smith during the per- formance. I confess he was one of the best parts of the night's A NIGHT'S PLEASURE 207 entertainment to me. How Jones and Smith will talk about that play when they meet after the holidays ! And not only then will they remember it, but all their lives long. Why do you remember that play j^ou saw thirty years ago, and forget the one over which you yawned last week? " Ah, my brave little boy," I thought in my heart, "twenty years hence you will recollect this, and have forgotten many a better thing. You will have been in love twice or thrice by that time, and have forgotten it; you will have buried your wife and forgotten her; you will have had ever so many friendships and for- gotten them. You and Smith won't care for each other, very probably ; but you'll remember all the actors and the plot of this piece we are seeing." I protest I have forgotten it myself. In our back row we could not see or hear much of the performance ( and no great loss) — fitful bursts of elocution only occasion- ally reaching us, in which we could recognize the well- known nasal twang of the excellent jVIr. Stupor, who performed the part of the young hero; or the ringing laughter of INIrs. Belmore, who had to giggle through the whole piece. It was one of Mr. Boyster's comedies of English Life. Frank Nightrake (Stupor) and his friend Bob Fitzoffley appeared in the first scene, having a conversation with that impossible valet of English Comedy, whom any gentleman would turn out of doors before he could get through half a length of the dialogue assigned. I caught only a glimpse of this act. Bob, like a fashionable young dog of the aristocracy^ (the char- acter was played by Bulger, a meritorious man, but veiy stout, and nearly fifty years of age), was dressed in a rhubarb-coloured body-coat with brass buttons, a couple 208 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON of under-waistcoats, a blue satin stock with a paste brooch in it, and an eighteenpenny cane, which he never let out of his hand, and with which he poked fun at eveiy- body. Frank Nightrake, on the contrary, being at home, was attired in a very close-fitting chintz dressing- gown, lined with glazed red calico, and was seated before a large pewter teapot, at breakfast. And, as your true English Comedy is the representation of nature, I could not but think how like these figures on the stage, and the dialogue which they used, were to the appearance and talk of English gentlemen of the present day. The dialogue went on somewhat in the following fashion: — Bob Fitzoffley (enters whistling). — " The top of the morning to thee, Frank! What! at breakfast already? At chocolate and the Morning Post, like a dowager of sixty? Slang! {he pokes the servant with his cane) what has come to thy master, thou Prince of Valets ! thou pat- tern of Slaveys! thou swiftest of INIercuries! Has the Honourable Francis Nightrake lost his heart, or his head, or his health? " Frank (laying down the paper) .— " Bob, Bob, I have lost all three ! I have lost my health, Bob, with thee and thy like, over the Burgundy at the club ; I have lost my head, Bob, with thinking how I shall pay my debts ; and I have lost my heart. Bob, oh, to such a creature! " Bo&.—** A Venus, of course? " Slang. — " With the presence of Juno." Bob.—"' And the modesty of Minerva." Frank. — " And the coldness of Diana." Bob.—"' Pish! What a sigh is that about a woman! A NIGHT'S PLEASURE 209 Thou shalt be Endymion, the nightrake of old: and con- quer this shy goddess. Hey, Slang? " Herewith Slang takes the lead of the conversation, and propounds a plot for running away with the heiress ; and I could not help remarking how like the comedy was to life — how the gentlemen always say " thou," and " prythee," and " go to," and talk about heathen god- desses to each other ; how their servants are always their particular intimates; how when there is serious love- making between a gentleman and lady, a comic at- tachment invariably springs up between the valet and waiting-maid of each ; how Lady Grace Gadabout, when she calls upon Rose Ringdove to pay a morning visit, appears in a low satin dress, with jewels in her hair; how Saucebox, her attendant, wears diamond brooches, and rings on all her fingers : while ]Mrs. Tallyho, on the other hand, transacts all the business of life in a riding-habit, and always points her jokes by a cut of the whip. This playfulness produced a roar all over the house, whenever it was repeated, and always made our little friends clap their hands and shout in chorus. Like that hon-vivant who envied the beggars staring into the cook-shop windows, and wished he could be hungry, I envied the boys, and wished I could laugh, very much. In the last act, I remember — for it is now very nearly a week ago — everybody took refuge either in a secret door, or behind a screen or curtain, or under a table, or up a chimney: and the house roared as each person came out from his place of concealment. And the old fellow in top-boots, joining the hands of the young couple (Fitzoffley, of course, pairing off with the wid- ow) , gave them his blessing, and thirty thousand pounds. 210 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON And ah, ye gods! if I wished before that comedies were like Hfe, how I wished that hfe was like comedies! Whereon the drop fell; and Augustus, clapping to the opera-glass, jumped up, crying—" Hurray! now for the Pantomime." Ill THE composer of the Overture of the New Grand Comic Christmas Pantomime, Harlequin and the Fairy of the Spangled Pocket-handkerchief, or the Prince of the Enchanted Nose, arrayed in a bran-new Christmas suit, with his wristbands and collar turned elegantly over his cuif s and embroidered satin tie, takes a place at his desk, waves his stick, and away the Panto- mime Overture begins. I pit}^ a man who can't appreciate a Pantomime Overture. Children do not like it : they say, " Hang it, I wish the Pantomime would begin : " but for us it is always a pleasant moment of reflection and enjoyment. It is not difficult music to understand, like that of your Mendelssohns and Beethovens, whose symphonies and sonatas Mrs. Spec states must be heard a score of times before you can comprehend them. But of the proper Pantomime-music I am a delighted connoisseur. Per- haps it is because you meet so many old friends in these compositions consorting together in the queerest manner, and occasioning numberless pleasant surprises. Hark! there goes '' Old Dan Tucker " wandering into the " Groves of Blarney; " our friends the "Scots wha hae m' Wallace hied " march rapidly down " Wapping A NIGHT'S PLEASURE 211 Old Stairs/' from which the "Figlia del Reggimento " comes bounding briskly, when she is met, embraced, and carried oiF by ''Billy TayloVj" that brisk young fellow. All this while you are thinking, with a faint, sickly kind of hope, that perhaps the Pantomime rnay be a good one; something like Harlequin and the Golden Orange-Tree, which you recollect in your youth; some- thing like Fortunio, that marvellous and delightful piece of buffoonery, which realized the most gorgeous visions of the absurd. You may be happy, perchance : a glimpse of the old days may come back to you. Lives there the man with soul so dead, the being ever so hlase and travel- worn, who does not feel some shock and thrill still: just at that moment when the bell (the dear and familiar bell of your youth) begins to tinkle, and the curtain to rise, and the large shoes and ankles, the flesh-coloured leg- gings, the crumpled knees, the gorgeous robes and masks finally, of the actors ranged on the stage to shout the opening chorus? All round the house you hear a great gasping a-ha-a from a thousand children's throats. Enjoyment is going to give place to Hope. Desire is about to be realized. O you blind little brats! Clap your hands, and crane over the boxes, and open your eyes with happy wonder ! Clap your hands now. In three weeks more the Rev- erend Doctor Swishtail expects the return of his young friends to Sugarcane House. *^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^% ^* fZ^ ^s ^x King Beak, Emperor of the Romans, having invited all the neighbouring Princes, Fairies, and Enchanters to the feast at which he celebrated the marriage of his only son. Prince Aquiline, unluckily gave the liver-wing 212 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IX LONDON of the fowl which he was carving to the Prince's god- mother, the Fairy Bandanna, while he put the gizzard- pinion on the plate of the Enchanter Gor gibus. King of the ^laraschino ^lountains, and father of the Princess. Rosalia, to whom the Prince was affianced. The outraged Gor gibus rose from the table in a fury, smashed his plate of chicken over the head of King Beak's Chamberlain, and wished that Prince Aquiline's nose might grow on the instant as long as the sausage before him. It did so; the screaming Princess rushed away from her bridegroom, and her father, breaking off the match wath the House of Beak, ordered his daughter to be carried in his sedan by the two giant-porters, Gor and Gogstay, to his castle in the Juniper Forest, by the side of the bitter waters of the Absinthine Lake, whither, after upsetting the marriage-tables, and flooring King Beak in a single combat, he himself repaired. The latter monarch could not bear to see or even to hear his disfigured son. When the Prince Aquiline blew his unfortunate and monstrous nose, the windows of his father's palace broke ; the locks of the door started ; the dishes and glasses of the King's banquet jingled and smashed as they do on board a steamboat in a storm ; the liquor turned sour ; the Chancellor's wig started off his head, and the Prince's royal father, disgusted with his son's appearance, drove him forth from his palace, and banished him the kingdom. Life was a burden to him on account of that nose. He fled from a world in which he was ashamed to show it, and would have preferred a perfect solitude, but that he was obliged to engage one faithful attendant to give him A NIGHT'S PLEASURE 213 snufF (his only consolation) and to keep his odious nose in order. But as he was wandering in a lonely forest, entangling his miserable trunk in the thickets, and causing the birds to fly scared from the branches, and the lions, stags, and foxes to sneak awa}^ in terror as they heard the tre- mendous booming which issued from the fated Prince whenever he had occasion to use his pocket-handkerchief, the Fairy of the Bandanna Islands took pity on him, and, descending in her car drawn by doves, gave him a 'kerchief which rendered him invisible whenever he placed it over his monstrous proboscis. Having occasion to blow his nose (which he was obliged to do pretty frequently, for he had taken cold while lying out among the rocks and morasses in the rainy miserable nights, so that the peasants, when they heard him snoring fitfully, thought that storms were abroad,) at the gates of the castle by which he was pass- ing, the door burst open, and the Irish giant (afterwards 214 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON Clown, indeed, ) came out, and wondering looked about, furious to see no one. '^^^ The Prince entered into the castle, and whom should he find there but the Princess Bosolia, still plunged in despair. Her father snubbed her perpetually. " I wish he would snub me ! " exclaimed the Prince, pointing to his own monstrous deformity. In spite of his misfor- tune, she still remembered her Prince. " Even with his nose," the faithful Princess cried, " I love him more than all the world beside! " At this declaration of unalterable fidelity, the Prince flung away his handkerchief, and knelt in rapture at the Princess's feet. She was a little scared at first by the hideousness of the distorted being before her— but what will not woman's faith overcome? Hiding her head on his shoulder (and so losing sight of his misfortune), she vowed to love him still (in those broken verses which only Princesses in Pantomimes deliver) . A NIGHT'S PLEASURE 215 At this instant King Gor gibus, the Giants, the King's Household, Avith clubs and battle-axes, rushed in. Drawing his immense scimetar, and seizing the Prince by his too-prominent feature, he was just on the point of sacrificing him, when— when, I need not say, the Fairy Bandanna (Miss Bendigo), in her amaran- thine car drawn by Paphian doves, appeared and put a stop to the massacre. King Gorgihus became Panta- loon, the two Giants first and second Clowns, and the Prince and Princess (who had been, all the time of the 216 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON Fairy's speech, and actually while under their father's scimetar, unliooking their dresses) became the most ele- gant Harlequin and Columbine that I have seen for many a long day. The nose flew up to the ceiling, the music began a jig, and the two Clowns, after saying, " How are you? " went and knocked down Pantaloon. IV N the conclusion of the panto- mime, the pres- ent memorialist had the honour to conduct the ladies under his charge to the portico of the tlieatre, where the green fly was in waiting to re- ceive them. The driver was not more inebriated than usual; the young page with the gold-knob- bed hat was there to protect his mistresses ; and though the chap- A NIGHT'S PLEASURE 217 eron of the party certainly invited me to return with them to Brompton and there drink tea, the proposal was made in terms so faint, and the refreshment offered was so moderate, that I declined to journey six miles on a cold night in order to partake of such a meal. The waterman of the coach-stand, who had made himself con- spicuous hy bawling out for Mrs. Flather's carriage, was importunate with me to give him sixpence for pushing the ladies into the vehicle. But it was my opinion that Mrs. riather ought to settle that demand ; and as, while the fellow was urging it, she only pulled up the glass, bidding Cox's man to drive on, I of course did not inter- fere. In vulgar and immoral language he indicated, as usual, his discontent. I treated the fellow with playful and, I hope, gentlemanlike satire. Master Jones, who would not leave the box in the theatre until the people came to shroud it with brown- hoUands, (by the way, to be the last person in a theatre —to put out the last light— and then to find one's way out of the vast, black, lonely place, must require a very courageous heart) — IMaster Jones, I say, had previously taken leave of us, putting his arm under that of his fa- ther's footman, who had been in the pit, and who con- ducted him to Russell Square. I heard Augustus pro- posing to have oysters as they went home, though he had twice in the course of the performance made excursions to the cake-room of the theatre, where he had partaken of oranges, macaroons, apples, and ginger-beer. As the altercation between myself and the linkman was going on, young Grigg (brother of Grigg of the Lifeguards, himself reading for the Bar) came up, and hooking his arm into mine, desired the man to leave off "chaffing" me; asked him if he would take a bill at 218 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON three months for the money ; told him if he would call at the " Horns Tavern," Kennington, next Tuesday week, he would find sixpence there, done up for him in a brown paper parcel; and quite routed mj^ opponent. " I know you, Mr. Grigg," said he; "you're a gentleman, you are : " and so retired, leaving the victory with me. Young Mr. Grigg is one of those young bucks about town, who goes every night of his life to two Theatres, to the Casino, to Weippert's balls, to the Cafe de I'Hay- market, to Bob Slogger's, the boxing-house, to the Har- monic Meetings at the " Kidney Cellars," and other places of fashionable resort. He knows everybody at these haunts of pleasure; takes boxes for the actors' benefits; has the word from head-quarters about the venue of the fight between Putney Sambo and the Tut- bury Pet; gets up little dinners at their public-houses; shoots pigeons, fights cocks, plays fives, has a boat on the river, and a room at Rummer's in Conduit Street, besides his Chambers at the Temple, where his parents. Sir John and Lady Grigg, of Portman Square, and Grigsby Hall, Yorkshire, believe that he is assiduously occupied in studying the Law. " Tom applies too much," her ladyship saj^s. " His father was obliged to remove him from Cambridge on account of a brain- fever brought on by hard reading, and in consequence of the jealousy of some of the collegians; otherwise, I am told, he must have been Senior Wrangler, and seated first of the Tripod." " I'm going to begin the evening," said this ingenuous young fellow; " I've only been at the Lowther Arcade, Weippert's hop, and the billiard-rooms. I just toddled in for half an hour to see Brooke in Othello, and looked in for a few minutes behind the scenes at the Adelphi. A NIGHT'S PLEASURE 219 What shall be the next resort of pleasure, Spec, my elderly juvenile? Shall it be the ' Sherry-Cobbler Stall,' or the ' Cave of Harmony? ' There's some prime glee- singing there." " What! is the old ' Cave of Harmony ' still extant? " I asked. " I have not been there these twenty years." And memorj^ carried me back to the days when Light- sides of Corpus, myself, and little Oaks, the Johnian, came up to town in a chaise-and-four, at the long vaca- tion at the end of our freshman's year, ordered turtle and venison for dinner at the " Bedford," blubbered over Black-eyed Susan at the play, and then finished the evening at that vevy Harmonic Cave, where the famous English Improvisatore sang with such prodigious talent that we asked him down to stay with us in the country. Spurgin, and Hawker, the fellow-commoner of our Col- lege, I remember me, were at the Cave too, and Bar- dolph, of Brasenose. Lord, Lord! what a battle and struggle and wear and tear of life there has been since then! Hawker levanted, and Spurgin is dead these ten years ; little Oaks is a whiskered Captain of Heavj^ Dra- goons, who cut down no end of Sikhs at Sobraon ; Light- sides, a Tractarian parson, who turns his head and walks another way when we meet; and your humble serv^ant — well, never mind. But in my spirit I saw them — all those blooming and jovial young boys— and Lightsides, with a cigar in his face, and a bang-up white coat, covered with mother-of-pearl cheese-plates, bellowing out for " First and Second Turn-out," as our j^ellow post-chaise came rattling up to the inn-door at Ware. " And so the ' Cave of Harmony ' is open," I said, looking at little Grigg with a sad and tender interest, and feeling that I was about a hundred years old. i 220 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON " I believe you^ my baw-aw-oy! " said he, adopting the tone of an exceedingly refined and popular actor, whose choral and comic powers render him a general favourite. " Does Bivins keep it? " I asked, in a voice of pro- found melanchol}^ "Hoh! What a flat you are ! You might as well ask if Mrs. Siddons acted I^ady Macbeth to-night, and if Queen Anne's dead or not. I tell you what, Spec, my boy — you're getting a regular old flat — fogy, sir, a posi- tive old fogy. How the deuce do you pretend to be a man about town, and not know that Bivins has left the Cavern? Law bless j^ou! Come in and see: I know the landlord — I'll introduce you to him." This was an offer which no man could resist; and so Grigg and I went through the Piazza, and down the steps of that well-remembered place of conviviality. Grigg knew everybody; wagged his head in at the bar, and called for two glasses of his particular mixture; nodded to the singers; winked at one friend — put his little stick against his nose as a token of recognition to another; and calling the waiter by his Christian name, poked him playfully with the end of his cane, and asked him vvhether he, Grigg, should have a lobster kidney, or a mashed oyster and scalloped 'taters, or a poached rabbit, for supper? The room was full of young rakish-looking lads, with a dubious sprinkling of us middle-aged youth, and stal- wart red-faced fellows from the country, with whisky- noggins before them, and bent upon seeing life. A grand piano had been introduced into the apartment, M^hich did not exist in the old days : otherwise, all was as of yore — smoke rising from scores of human chimneys, waiters bustling about with cigars and liquors in the in- A NIGHT'S PLEASURE 221 tervals of the melody— and the President of the meeting (Bivins no more) encouraging gents to give their orders. Just as the music was about to begin, I looked oppo- site me, and there, by heavens! sat Bardolph of Brase- nose, only a little more purple and a few shades more dingy than he used to look twenty years ago. ,00K at that old Greek in the cloak and fur collar oppo- site," said mj^ friend, Mr. Grigg. " That chap is here every night. They call him Lord Farintosh. He has five glasses of whisky-and-water every night — seventeen hun- dred and twenty-five goes of alcohol in a j^ear; we totted it up one night at the bar. James the waiter is now tak- ing number three to him. He don't count the wine he has had at dinner." Indeed, James the waiter, knowing the gentleman's peculiarities, as soon as he saw Mr. Bar- dolph's glass nearly empty, brought him another noggin and a jug of boiling water without a word. Memory carried me instantaneously back to the days of my youth. I had the honour of being at school with Bar- dolph before he went to Brasenose ; the under boys used to look up at him from afar off, as at a godlike being. 222 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON He was one of the head boys of the school ; a prodigious dandj^ in pigeon-hole trousers, ornamented with what they called " tucks " in front. He wore a ring— leaving the little finger on which he wore the jewel out of his pocket, in which he carried the rest of his hand. He had whiskers even then : and to this day I cannot understand why he is not seven feet high. When he shouted out, " Under boy! " we small ones trembled and came to him. I recollect he called me once from a hundred j^ards off, and I came up in a tremor. He pointed to the ground. " Pick up my hockey-stick," he said, pointing towards it with the hand with the ring on! He had dropped the stick. He was too great, wise, and good, to stoop to pick it up himself. He got the silver medal for Latin Sapphics, in the year Pogram was gold-medallist. When he went up to Oxford, the Head Master, the Rev. J. Flibber, com- plimented him in a valedictory speech, made him a pres- ent of books, and prophesied that he would do great things at the University. He had got a scholarship, and won a prize-poem, which the Doctor read out to the sixth form with great emotion. It was on " The Recol- lections of Childhood," and the last lines were, — " Qualia prospiciens catulus ferit sethera risu, Ipsaque trans lunae cornua vacca salit." I thought of these things rapidly, gazing on the in- dividual before me. The brilliant young fellow of 1815 (by-the-by it was the Waterloo year, by which some people may remember it better; but at school we spoke of years as " Pogram's year," " Tokely's year," &c.) — there, I say, sat before me the dashing young buck of A NIGHT'S PLEASURE 223 1815, a fat, muzzy, red-faced old man, in a battered hat, absorbing whisky-and-water, and half listening to the singing. ! A wild, long-haired, professional gentleman, with a fluty voice and with his shirt-collar turned down, began to sing as follows: — "WHEN THE GLOOM IS ON THE GLEN " When the moonlight's on the mountain And the gloom is on the glen. At the cross beside the fountain There is one will meet thee then. At the cross beside the fountain ; Yes, the cross beside the fountain. There is one will meet thee then ! [Down goes half of Mr. Bardolph's No. 3 Whisky during this refrain.'] 224 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON " I have braved, since first we met, love, Many a danger in my course; But I never can forget, love. That dear fountain, that old cross. Where, her mantle shrouded o'er her — For the winds were chilly then — First I met my Leonora, When the gloom was on the glen. Yes, I met my &c. \_Another gulp and almost total disappearance of Whisky-Go, No. 3.] " Many a clime I've ranged since then, love, Many a land I've wandered o'er; But a valley like that glen, love, Half so dear I never sor! Ne'er saw maiden fairer, coyer, Than wert thou, my true love, when In the gloaming first I saw yer. In the gloaming of the glen ! " Bardolph, who had not shown the least symptom of emotion as the gentleman with the flut}^ voice performed this delectable composition, began to whack, whack, w^hack on the mahogany with his pewter measure at the conclusion of the song, wishing, perhaps, to show that the noggin was empty; in which manner James, the waiter, interpreted the signal, for he brought Mr. Bar- dolph another supply of liquor. The song, words, and music, composed and dedicated to Charles Bivins, Esquire, by Frederic Snape, and or- namented with a picture of a young lady, with large eyes and short petticoats, leaning at a stone cross by a A NIGHT'S PLEASURE 225 fountain, was now handed about the room by a waiter, and any gentleman was at liberty to purchase it for half- a-crown. The man did not offer the song to Bardolph; he was too old a hand. After a pause, the president of the musical gents cried out for silence again, and then stated to the company that Mr. Hoff would sing " Tlie Red Flag;' which an- nouncement was received by the Society with immense applause, and Mr. HofF, a gentleman whom I remember to have seen exceedingly unwell on board a Gravesend steamer, began the following terrific ballad: — "THE RED FLAG " Where the quivering lightning flings His arrows from out the clouds. And the howling tempest sings, And whistles among the shrouds, 'Tis pleasant, 'tis pleasant to ride Along the foaming brine — Wilt be the Rover's bride? Wilt follow him, lady mine? Hurrah! For the bonny, bonny brine. " Amidst the storm and rack You shall see our galley pass As a serpent, lithe and black. Glides through the waving grass. As the vulture swift and dark, Down on the ring-dove flies, You shall see the Rover's bark Swoop down upon his prize. Hurrah ! For the bonny, bonny prize. 226 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON " Over her sides we dash, We gallop across her deck — Ha ! there's a ghastly gash On the merchant-captain's neck — Well shot, well shot, old Ned ! Well struck, well struck, black James ! Our arms are red, and our foes are dead, And we leave a ship in flames ! Hurrah ! For the bonny, bonny flames ! " Frantic shouts of applause and encore hailed the atro- cious sentiments conveyed by ]Mr. Hoff in this ballad, from everybody except Bardolph, who sat muzzy and unmoved, and only winked to the waiter to bring him some more whisky. VI WHEN the piratical ballad of Mr. Hoif was con- cluded, a simple and quiet-looking young gen- tleman performed a comic song, in a way which, I must confess, inspired me with the utmost melancholy. Seated at the table with the other professional gents, this young gentleman was in no wise to be distinguished from any other young man of fashion: he has a thin, handsome, and rather sad countenance; and appears to be a per- fectly sober and meritorious young man. But suddenly (and I daresay every night of his life) he pulls a little flexible, grey countryman's hat out of his pocket, and the moment he has put it on, his face assumes an ex- pression of unutterable vacuity and folly, his eyes A NIGHT'S PLEASURE 227 goggle round savage, and his mouth stretches almost to his ears, as thus, and he begins to sing a rustic song. wiTHOxrr HIS hat IN HIS COMIC HAT The battle-song and the sentimental ballad already published are, I trust, sufficiently foolish, and fair spe- cimens of the class of poetry to which they belong; but the folly of the comic country song was so great and matchless, that I am not going to compete for a moment with the author, or to venture to attempt anything like his style of composition. It was something about a man going a-courting Molly, and " feayther," and " kyows," and " peegs," and other rustic produce. The idiotic verse was interspersed with spoken passages, of corresponding imbecility. For the time during which Mr. Grinsby per- formed this piece, he consented to abnegate altogether his claim to be considered as a reasonable being; utterly 228 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON to debase himself, in order to make the company laugh; and to forget the rank, dignity, and privileges of a man. His song made me so profoundly wretched that little Grigg, remarking my depression, declared I was as slow as a parliamentary train. I was glad they didn't have the song over again. When it was done, Mr. Grinsby put his little grey hat in his pocket, the maniacal grin sub- sided from his features, and he sat down with his natu- rally sad and rather handsome young countenance. O Grinsby, thinks I, what a number of people and things in this world do you represent! Though we weary hstening to you, we may moralise over you; though you sing a foolish, witless song, j^ou poor young melancholy jester, there is some good in it that may be had for the seeking. Perhaps that lad has a family at home dependent on his grinning : I may entertain a rea- sonable hope that he has despair in his heart; a com- plete notion of the folly of the business in which he is engaged; a contempt for the fools laughing and guf- fawing round about at his miserable jokes; and a per- fect weariness of mind at their original dulness and con- tinued repetition. What a sinking of spirit must come over that young man, quiet in his chamber or family, orderly and sensible like other mortals, when the thought of tom-fool hour comes across him, and that at a certain time that night, whatever may be his health, or distaste, or mood of mind or body, there he must be, at a table at the " Cave of Harmony," uttering insane ballads, with an idiotic grin on his face and hat on his head. To suppose that Grinsby has any personal pleasure in that song, would be to have too low an opinion of human nature : to imagine that the applauses of the mul- titude of the frequenters of the Cave tickled his vanity, A NIGHT'S PLEASURE 229 or are bestowed upon him deservedly — would be, I say, to think too hardly of him. Look at him. He sits there quite a quiet, orderly young fellow. Mark with what an abstracted, sad air he joins in the chorus of INIr. Snape's second song, " The Minaret's bells o'er the Bos- phorus toll," and having applauded his comrade at the end of the song (as I have remarked these poor gentle- men always do) , moodily resumes the stump of his cigar. " I wonder, my dear Grigg, how many men there are in the city who follow a similar profession to Grinsby's ? What a number of poor rogues, wits in their circle, or bilious, or in debt, or henpecked, or otherwise miserable in their private circumstances, come grinning out to din- ner of a night, and laugh and crack, and let off their good stories like yonder professional funny fellow? Why, I once went into the room of that famous dinner- party conversationalist and wit, Horsely CoUard; and whilst he was in his dressing-room arranging his wig, just looked over the books on the table before his sofa. There were ' Burton's Anatomy ' for the quotations, three of which he let off that night; ' Spence's Literary Anecdotes,' of which he fortuitously introduced a couple in the course of the evening ; ' Baker's Chronicle ; ' the last new Novel, and a book of Metaphysics, every one of which I heard him quote, besides four stories out of his common-place book, at which I took a peep under the pillow. He was like Grinsby." Who isn't like Grinsby in life? thought I to myself, examining that young fellow. " When Bawler goes down to the House of Commons from a meeting with his creditors, and having been a bankrupt a month before, becomes a patriot all of a sudden, and pours you out an intensely interesting 230 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON speech upon the West Indies, or the Window Tax, he is no better than the poor gin-and-water practitioner yonder, and performs in his Cave, as Grinsby in his under the Piazza. " When Serjeant Bluebag fires into a witness, or performs a jocular or a pathetic speech to a jury, in what is he better than Grinsby, except in so far as the amount of gain goes? — than poor Grinsby rapping at the table and cutting professional jokes, at half-a-pint- of- whisky fee? " When Tightrope, the celebrated literary genius, sits down to write and laugh — with the children very likely ill at home — Avith a strong personal desire to write a tragedy or a sermon, with his wife scolding him, his head racking with pain, his mother-in-law making a noise at his ears, and telling him that he is a heartless and abandoned ruffian, his tailor in the passage, vowdng that he will not quit that place until his little bill is set- tled — when, I say, Tightrope writes off, under the most miserable private circumstances, a brilliant funny ar- ticle, in how much is he morally superior to my friend Grinsby? When Lord Colchicum stands bowing and smiling before his sovereign, with gout in his toes and grief in his heart; when parsons in the pulpit — when editors at their desks — forget their natural griefs, plea- sures, opinions, to go through the business of life, the masquerade of existence, in what are they better than Grinsby yonder, who has similarly to perform his buf- fooning? " As I w^as continuing in this moral and interrogatory mood — no doubt boring poor little Grigg, who came to the Cave for pleasure, and not for philosophical dis- course — ]Mr. Bardolph opposite caught a sight of the A NIGHT'S PLEASURE 231 present writer through the fumes of the cigars, and came across to our table, holding his fourth glass of toddy in his hand. He held out the other to me: it was hot, and gouty, and not particularly clean. " Deuced queer place this, hey? " said he, pretending to survey it with the air of a stranger. " I come here every now and then, on my way home to Lincoln's Inn — from — from parties at the other end of the town. It is frequented by a parcel of queer people — low shop- boys and attorneys' clerks; but, hang it, sir, they know a gentleman when they see one, and not one of those fel- lows would dare to speak to me— no, not one of 'em, by Jove— if I didn't address him first, by Jove! I don't suppose there's a man in this room could construe a page in the commonest Greek book. You heard that donkey singing about * Leonorar ' and ' before her? ' How Flibber would have given it to us for such rhymes, hey? A parcel of ignoramuses! but, hang it, sir, they do know a gentleman!" And here he winked at me with a vinous bloodshot eye, as much as to intimate that he was infinitely superior to every person in the room. Now this Bardolph, having had the ill-luck to get a fellowship, and subsequently a small private fortune, has done nothing since the year 1820 but get drunk and read Greek. He despises every man that does not know that language (so that you and I, my dear sir, come in for a fair share of his contempt). He can still put a slang song into Greek Iambics, or turn a police report into the language of Tacitus or Herodotus; but it is difficult to see what accomplishment beyond this the boozy old mortal possesses. He spends nearly a third part of his life and income at his dinner, or on his whisky at a tavern; more than another third portion is spent 232 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON in bed. It is past noon before he gets up to breakfast, and to spell over The Times, which business of the day- being completed, it is time for him to dress and take his walk to the Club to dinner. He scorns a man who puts his h's in the wrong place, and spits at a human being who has not had a University education. And yet I am sure that bustling waiter pushing about with a bumper of cigars; that tallow-faced young comic singer; yon- der harmless and happy Snobs, enjoying the convivi- ality of the evening (and all the songs are quite modest now, not like the ribald old ditties which they used to sing in former days) , are more useful, more honourable, and more worthy men, than that whiskyfied old scholar who looks down upon them and their like. He said he would have a sixth glass if we would stop: but we didn't; and he took his sixth glass without us. JNIy melancholy young friend had begun another comic song, and I could bear it no more. The market carts were rattling into Covent Garden; and the illuminated clock marked all sorts of small hours as we concluded this night's pleasure. GOING TO SEE A MAN HANGED' July, 1840. , who had voted with jNIr. Ewart for the aboli- tion of the punishment of death, was anxious to see the effect on the pubhc mind of an execution, and asked me to accompany him to see Courvoisier killed. We had not the advantage of a sheriff's order, like the " six hundred noblemen and gentlemen " who were ad- mitted within the walls of the prison ; but determined to mingle with the crowd at the foot of the scaffold, and take up our positions at a very early hour. As I was to rise at three in the morning, I went to bed at ten, thinking that five hours' sleep would be amply sufficient to brace me against the fatigues of the com- ing day. But, as might have been expected, the event of the morrow was perpetually before my eyes through the night, and kept them wide open. I heard all the clocks in the neighbourhood chime the hours in succes- sion; a dog from some court hard by kept up a pitiful howling; at one o'clock, a cock set up a feeble, melan- choly crowing; shortly after two the dajdight came peeping grey through the window-shutters; and by the time that X arrived, in fulfilment of his promise, I had been asleep about half-an-hour. He, more wise, had not gone to rest at all, but had remained up all night at the Club, along with Dash and two or three more. Dash is one of the most eminent wits in London, ^ Originally published in Fraser^s Magazine. 233 234 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON and had kept the company merry all night with ap- propriate jokes about the coming event. It is curious that a murder is a great inspirer of jokes. We aU like to laugh and have our fling about it; there is a certain grim pleasure in the circumstance — a perpetual jingling antithesis between life and death, that is sure of its effect. In mansion or garret, on down or straw, surrounded by weeping friends and solemn oily doctors, or tossing unheeded upon scanty hospital beds, there were many people in this great city to whom that Sunday night was to be the last of anj^ that thej^ should pass on earth here. In the course of half-a-dozen dark, wakeful hours, one had leisure to think of these ( and a little, too, of that certain supreme night, that shall come at one time or other, when he who writes shall be stretched upon the last bed, prostrate in the last struggle, taking the last look of dear faces that have cheered us here, and linger- ing — one moment more — ere we part for the tremen- dous journey) ; but, chieflj^ I could not help thinking, as each clock sounded, what is he doing now? has he heard it in his little room in Newgate yonder? Eleven o'clock. He has been writing until now. The gaoler says he is a pleasant man enough to be with ; but he can hold out no longer, and is very weary. " Wake me at four," saj^s he, " for I have still much to put down." From eleven to twelve the gaoler hears how he is grind- ing his teeth in his sleep. At twelve he is up in his bed, and asks, " Is it the time? " He has plenty more time yet for sleep ; and he sleeps, and the bell goes on tolling. Seven hours more — five hours more. ]Many a carriage is clattering through the streets, bringing ladies away from evening parties; many bachelors are reehng home GOING TO SEE A MAN HANGED 235 after a jolly night; Covent Garden is alive and the light coming through the cell-window turns the gaoler's can- dle pale. Four hours more! " Courvoisier," saj^s the gaoler, shaking him, " it's four o'clock now, and I've woke you as you told me; but there's no call for you to get up yet." The poor WTctch leaves his bed, how- ever, and makes his last toilet ; and then falls to writing, to tell the world how he did the crime for which he has suffered. This time he will tell the truth, and the whole truth. Thej^ bring him his breakfast " from the coffee- shop opposite — tea, coffee, and thin bread and butter." He will take nothing, however, but goes on writing. He has to write to his mother — the pious mother far away in his own country — who reared him and loved him; and even now has sent him her forgiveness and her blessing. He finishes his memorials and letters, and makes his will, disposing of his little miserable property of books and tracts that pious people have furnished him with. " Ce 6 Juillet, 1840. Francois Benjamin Courvoisier vous donne ceci, mon ami, ponr souvenir." He has a token for his dear friend the gaoler ; another for his dear friend the under-sheriff. As the day of the convict's death draws nigh, it is painful to see how he fastens upon everybody who approaches him, how pitifully he clings to them and loves them. While these things are going on within the prison (with which we are made accurately acquainted by the copious chronicles of such events which are published subsequently), X 's carriage has driven up to the door of my lodgings, and we have partaken of an ele- gant dejeuner that has been prepared for the occasion. A cup of coffee at half -past three in the morning is un- commonly pleasant; and X enlivens us with the 236 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON repetition of the jokes that Dash has just been making. Admirable, certainly — they must have had a merry night of it, that's clear; and we stoutlj^ debate whether,- when one has to get up so early in the morning, it is best to have an hour or two of sleep, or wait and go to bed afterwards at the end of the day's work. That fowl is extraordinarily tough — the wing, even, is as hard as a board; a slight disappointment, for there is nothing else for breakfast. " Will any gentleman have some sherry and soda-water before he sets out? It clears the brains famously." Thus primed, the party sets out. The coachman has dropped asleep on the box, and wakes up wildly as the hall-door opens. It is just four o'clock. About this very time they are waking up poor — pshaw! who is for a cigar? X does not smoke himself; but vows and protests, in the kindest way in the world, that he does not care in the least for the new drab-silk lin- ings in his carriage. Z , who smokes, mounts, how- ever, the box. " Drive to Snow Hill," says the owner of the chariot. The policemen, who are the only people in the street, and are standing by, look knowing — they know what it means well enough. How cool and clean the streets look, as the carriage startles the echoes that have been asleep in the corners all night. Somebody has been sweeping the pavements clean in the night-time surely; they would not soil a lady's white satin shoes, the}^ are so dry and neat. There is not a cloud or a breath in the air, except Z 's cigar, which whifFs off, and soars straight upwards in volumes of white, pure smoke. The trees in the squares look bright and green — as bright as leaves in the country in June. We who keep late hours don't know the beauty of London air and verdure; in the early morning they GOING TO SEE A MAN HANGED 237 are delightful— the most fresh and lively companions possible. But thej^ cannot bear the crowd and the bustle of mid-day. You don't know them then — they are no longer the same things. We have come to Gray's Inn ; there is actually dew upon the grass in the gardens ; and the windows of the stout old red houses are all in a flame. As we enter Holborn the town grows more animated ; and there are already twice as many people in the streets as you see at mid-day in a German Residenz or an Eng- lish provincial town. The gin-shop keepers have many of them taken their shutters down, and many persons are issuing from them pipe in hand. Down they go along the broad bright street, their blue shadows march- ing after them; for they are all bound the same way, and are bent like us upon seeing the hanging. It is twenty minutes past four as we pass St. Sepul- chre's: by this time many hundred people are in the street, and many more are coming up Snow Hill. Be- fore us lies Newgate Prison ; but something a great deal more awful to look at, which seizes the eye at once, and makes the heart beat, is There it stands black and ready, jutting out from a little door in the prison. As you see it, you feel a kind of dumb electric shock, which causes one to start a little, and give a sort of gasp for breath. The shock is over 238 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON in a second; and presently you examine the object before you with a certain feeling of complacent curiosity. At least, such was the effect that the gallows produced upon the writer, who is trying to set down all his feelings as they occurred, and not to exaggerate them at all. After the gallows-shock had subsided, we went down into the crowd, which was very numerous, but not dense as yet. It was evident that the day's business had not begun. People sauntered up, and formed groups, and talked; the new comers asking those who seemed habi- tues of the place about former executions; and did the victim hang with his face towards the clock or towards Ludgate Hill ? and had he the rope round his neck when he came on the scaffold, or was it put on by Jack Ketch afterwards ? and had Lord W taken a window, and which was he? I maj^ mention the noble INIarquis's name, as he was not at the exhibition. A pseudo W was pointed out in an opposite window, towards whom all the people in our neighbourhood looked eagerly, and with great respect too. The mob seemed to have no sort of ill-will against him, but sympathy and admiration. This noble lord's personal courage and strength have won the plebs over to him. Perhaps his exploits against policemen have occasioned some of this popularity; for the mob hate them, as children the schoolmaster. Throughout the whole four hours, however, the mob was extraordinarily gentle and good-humoured. At first we had leisure to talk to the people about us; and I recommend X 's brother senators of both sides of the House to see more of this same people and to ap- preciate them better. Honourable Members are bat- tling and struggling in the House; shouting, yelling, crowing, hear-hearing, pooh-poohing, making speeches GOING TO SEE A MAN HANGED 239 of three columns, and gaining " great Conservative tri- umphs," or " signal successes of the Reform cause," as the case may be. Three hundred and ten gentlemen of good fortune, and able for the most part to quote Horace, declare solemnly that unless Sir Robert comes in, the nation is ruined. Three hundred and fifteen on the other side swear by their great gods that the safety of the empire depends upon Lord John ; and to this end they quote Horace too. I declare that I have never been in a great London crowd without thinking of what they call the two " great " parties in England with wonder. For which of the two great leaders do these people care, I pray you? When Lord Stanley withdrew his Irish bill the other night, were they in transports of joy, like worthy persons who read the Globe and the Chronicle? or when he beat the IMinisters, were they wild with de- light, like honest gentlemen who read the Post and the Times? Ask yonder ragged fellow, who has evidently fre- quented debating-clubs, and speaks with good sense and shrewd good-nature. He cares no more for Lord John than he does for Sir Robert; and, with due respect be it said, would mind very little if both of them were ushered out by Mr. Ketch, and took their places under j^onder black beam. What are the two great parties to him, and those like him? Sheer wind, hollow humbug, absurd claptraps; a silly mummery of dividing and debating, which does not in the least, however it may turn, affect his condition. It has been so ever since the happy days when Whigs and Tories began; and a pretty pastime no doubt it is for both. August parties, great balances of British freedom : are not the two sides quite as active, and eager, and loud, as at their very birth, and ready to fight for place as stoutly as ever they fought before? 240 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON But lo! in the meantime, whilst you are jangling and brawling over the accounts, Populus, whose estate you have administered while he was an infant, and could not take care of himself— Populus has been growing and growing, till he is every bit as wise as his guardians. Talk to our ragged friend. He is not so polished, per- haps, as a member of the " Oxford and Cambridge Club; " he has not been to Eton; and never read Horace in his life: but he can think just as soundly as the best of you ; he can speak quite as strongly in his own rough way; he has been reading all sorts of books of late years, and gathered together no little information. He is as good a man as the common run of us ; and there are ten million more men in the country as good as he, — ten million, for whom we, in our infinite superiority, are acting as guardians, and to whom, in our bounty, we give— exactly nothing. Put yourself in their position, worthy sir. You and a hundred others find yourselves in some lone place, where you set up a government. You take a chief, as is natural ; he is the cheapest order- keeper in the world. You establish half-a-dozen wor- thies, whose families you say shall have the privilege to legislate for you for ever; half-a-dozen more, who shall be appointed by a choice of thirty of the rest: and the other sixty, who shall have no choice, vote, place, or privilege, at all. Honourable sir, suppose that you are one of the last sixty: how will you feel, you who have intelligence, passions, honest pride, as well as your neighbour; how will you feel towards your equals, in whose hands lie all the power and all the property of the community? Would you love and honour them, tamely acquiesce in their superiority, see their privileges, and go yourself disregarded without a pang? You are GOING TO SEE A MAN HANGED 211 not a man if you would. I am not talking of right or wrong, or debating questions of government. But ask my friend there, with the ragged elbows and no shirt, what he thinks? You have your party, Conservative or Whig, as it may be. You believe that an aristocracy is an institution necessary, beautiful, and virtuous. You are a gentleman, in other words, and stick by your party. And our friend with the elbows (the crowd is thick- ening hugely all this time) sticks by his. Talk to him of Whig or Tory, he grins at them : of virtual represen- tation, pish! He is a democrat, and will stand by his friends, as you by yours; and they are twenty millions, his friends, of whom a vast minority now, a majority a few years hence, will be as good as you. In the mean- time we shall continue electing, and debating, and divid- ing, and having every day new triumphs for the glorious cause of Conservatism, or the glorious cause of Reform, until — ***** What is the meaning of this unconscionable republi- can tirade — apropos of a hanging? Such feelings, I think, must come across any man in a vast multitude like this. What good sense and intelligence have most of the people by whom you are surrounded; how much sound humour does one hear bandied about from one to another! A great number of coarse phrases are used, that would make ladies in drawing-rooms blush; but the morals of the men are good and hearty. A raga- muffin in the crowd (a powdery baker in a white sheep's- wool cap) uses some indecent expression to a woman near: there is an instant cry of shame, which silences the man, and a dozen people are ready to give the woman protection. The crowd has grown very dense by this 242 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON time, it is about six o'clock, and there is great heaving, and pushing, and swaying to and fro; but round the women the men have formed a circle, and keep them as much as possible out of the rush and trample. In one of the houses near us, a gallery has been formed on the roof. Seats were here let, and a number of persons of various degrees were occupying them. Several tipsy, dissolute-looking young men, of the Dick Swiveller cast, were in this gallery. One was lolling over the sunshiny tiles, with a fierce sodden face, out of which came a pipe, and which was shaded by long matted hair, and a hat cocked very much on one side. This gentleman was one of a party which had evidently not been to bed on Sunday night, but had passed it in some of those delec- table night-houses in the neighbourhood of Covent Gar- den. The debauch was not over yet, and the women of the party were giggling, drinking, and romping, as is the wont of these delicate creatures ; sprawling here and there, and falling upon the knees of one or other of the males. Their scarfs were off their shoulders, and you saw the sun shining down upon the bare white flesh, and the shoulder-points glittering like burning-glasses. The people about us Avere very indignant at some of the proceedings of this debauched crew, and at last raised up such a yell as frightened them into shame, and they were more orderly for the remainder of the day. The windows of the shops opposite began to fill apace, and our before-mentioned friend with ragged elbows pointed out a celebrated fashionable character who occupied one of them; and, to our surprise, knew as much about him as the Court Journal or the Morning Post. Presently he entertained us with a long and pretty accurate ac- count of the history of Lady , and indulged in a GOING TO SEE A MAN HANGED 243 judicious criticism upon her last work. I have met with many a country gentleman who had not read half as many books as this honest fellow, this shrewd proletaire in a black shirt. The people about him took up and carried on the conversation very knowingly, and were very little behind him in point of information. It was just as good a company as one meets on common occa- sions. I was in a genteel crowd in one of the galleries at the Queen's coronation; indeed, in point of intelli- gence, the democrats were quite equal to the aristocrats. How many more such groups were there in this immense multitude of nearly forty thousand, as some say? How many more such throughout the country? I never yet, as I said before, have been in an English mob, without the same feeling for the persons who composed it, and without wonder at the vigorous, orderly good sense and intelligence of the people. The character of the crowd was as yet, however, quite festive. Jokes bandying about here and there, and jolly laughs breaking out. Some men were endeavouring to climb up a leaden pipe on one of the houses. The land- lord came out, and endeavoured with might and main to pull them down. Many thousand eyes turned upon this contest immediately. All sorts of voices issued from the crowd, and uttered choice expressions of slang. When one of the men was pulled down by the leg, the waves of this black mob-ocean laughed innumerably; when one fellow slipped away, scrambled up the pipe, and made good his lodgment on the shelf, we were all made happj^ and encouraged him by loud shouts of admiration. What is there so particularly delightful in the spectacle of a man clambering up a gas-pipe? Why were we kept for a quarter of an hour in deep interest gazing upon 244 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON this remarkable scene? Indeed it is hard to say: a man does not know what a fool he is until he tries; or, at least, what mean follies will amuse him. The other day I went to Astley's, and saw clown come in with a fool's- cap and pinafore, and six small boys who represented his schoolfellows. To them enters schoolmaster; horses clown, and flogs him hugely on the back part of his pina- fore. I never read anything in Swift, Boz, Rabelais, Fielding, Paul de Kock, which delighted me so much ^ as this sight, and caused me to laugh so profoundly. And why? What is there so ridiculous in the sight of one miserably rouged man beating another on the breech? Tell us where the fun lies in this and the before- mentioned episode of the gas-pipe? Vast, indeed, are the capacities and ingenuities of the human soul that can find, in incidents so wonderfully small, means of contemplation and amusement. Really the time passed away with extraordinary quickness. A thousand things of the sort related here came to amuse us. First the workmen knocking and hammering at the scaffold, mysterious clattering of blows was heard within it, and a ladder painted black was carried round, and into the interior of the edifice by a small side-door. We all looked at this little ladder and at each other — things began to be very interesting. Soon came a squad of policemen ; stalwart, rosy-looking men, saying much for City feeding; well-dressed, well-limbed, and of admirable good-humour. They paced about the open space between the prison and the barriers which kept in the crowd from the scaffold. The front line, as far as I could see, was chiefly occupied by blackguards and boys — professional persons, no doubt, who saluted the policemen on their appearance with a volley of jokes GOING TO SEE A MAN HANGED 245 and ribaldry. As far as I could judge from faces, there were more blackguards of sixteen and seventeen than of any maturer age ; stunted, sallow, ill-grown lads, in rug- ged fustian, scowling about. There were a considerable number of girls, too, of the same age; one that Cruik- shank and Boz might have taken as a study for Nancy. The girl was a young thief's mistress evidently; if at- tacked, ready to reply without a particle of modesty; could give as good ribaldry as she got; made no secret (and there were several inquiries) as to her profession and means of livelihood. But with all this, there was something good about the girl; a sort of devil-may-care candour and simplicity that one could not fail to see. Her answers to some of the coarse questions put to her, w^ere very ready and good-humoured. She had a friend with her of the same age and class, of whom she seemed to be very fond, and who looked up to her for protection. Both of these women had beautiful eyes. Devil-may- care's were extraordinarily bright and blue, an admir- ably fair complexion, and a large red mouth full of white teeth. Au reste, ugly, stunted, thick-limbed, and by no means a beauty. Her friend could not be more than fifteen. They were not in rags, but had greasy cotton shawls, and old, faded, rag-shop bonnets. I was curious to look at them, having, in late fashionable novels, read many accounts of such personages. Bah! what figments these novelists tell us! Boz, who knows life well, knows that his Miss Nancj^ is the most unreal fantastical personage possible; no more like a thief's mistress than one of Gesner's shepherdesses resembles a real countrj^ wench. He dare not tell the truth con- cerning such young ladies. They have, no doubt, vir- tues like other human creatures; nay, their position en- 246 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON genders virtues that are not called into exercise among other women. But on these an honest painter of human nature has no right to dwell ; not being able to paint the whole portrait, he has no right to present one or two favourable points as characterizing the whole ; and there- fore, in fact, had better leave the picture alone alto- gether. The new French literature is essentially false and worthless from this very error — the writers giving us favourable pictures of monsters, and (to say nothing of decency or morality) pictures quite untrue to nature. But yonder, glittering through the crowd in Newgate Street — see, the Sheriffs' carriages are slowly making their way. We have been here three hours! Is it pos- sible that they can have passed so soon ? Close to the bar- riers where we are, the mob has become so dense that it is with difficulty a man can keep his feet. Each man, however, is very careful in protecting the women, and all are full of jokes and good-humour. The windows of the shops opposite are now pretty nearly filled by the persons who hired them. Many young dandies are there with moustaches and cigars; some quiet, fat, family- parties, of simple, honest tradesmen and their wives, as we fancy, who are looking on with the greatest im- aginable calmness, and sipping their tea. Yonder is the sham Lord W , who is flinging various articles among the crowd; one of his companions, a tall, burly man, with large moustaches, has provided himself with a squirt, and is aspersing the mob with brandy-and- water. Honest gentleman! high-bred aristocrat! genu- ine lover of humour and wit! I would walk some miles to see thee on the tread-mill, thee and thy INIohawk crew. We tried to get up a hiss against these ruffians, but GOING TO SEE A MAX HAXGED 247 only had a trifling success; the crowd did not seem to think their offence very heinous; and our friend, the philosopher in the ragged elbows, who had remained near us all the time, was not inspired with any such savage disgust at the proceedings of certain notorious young gentlemen, as I must confess fills my own par- ticular bosom. He only said, " So-and-so is a lord, and they'll let him off," and then discoursed about Lord Ferrers being hanged. The philosopher knew the his- tory pretty well, and so did most of the little knot of persons about him, and it must be a gratifying thing for young gentlemen to find that their actions are made the subject of this kind of conversation. Scared}" a word had been said about Courvoisier all this time. We were all, as far as I could judge, in just such a frame of mind as men are in when they are squeezing at the pit-door of a play, or pushing for a review or a Lord Maj^or's show. We asked most of the men who were near us, whether they had seen many executions? most of them had, the philosopher espe- cially; whether the sight of them did any good? " For the matter of that, no; people did not care about them at all; nobody ever thought of it after a bit." A coun- tryman, who had left his drove in Smithfield, said the same thing; he had seen a man hanged at York, and spoke of the ceremony with perfect good sense, and in a quiet, sagacious waJ^ J. S , the famous wit, now dead, had, I recollect, a good story upon the subject of executing, and of the terror which the punishment inspires. After Thistle- M'ood and his companions were hanged, their heads were taken off, according to the sentence, and the executioner, as he severed each, held it up to the crowd, in the proper 248 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON orthodox way, sajang, " Here is the head of a traitor! " At the sight of the first ghastly head the people were struck with terror, and a general expression of dis- gust and fear broke from them. The second head was looked at also with much interest, but the excitement regarding the third head diminished. When the exe- cutioner had come to the last of the heads, he lifted it up, but, by some clumsiness, allowed it to drop. At this the crowd yelled out, ''Ah, Butter-fingers!''— the ex- citement had passed entirely away. The punishment had grown to be a joke— Butter-fingers was the word — a pretty commentary, indeed, upon the august nature of public executions, and the awful majesty of the law. It was past seven now; the quarters rang and passed awaj^; the crowd began to grow very eager and more quiet, and we turned back every now and then and looked at St. Sepulchre's clock. Half an hour, twenty- five minutes. What is he doing now? He has his irons off by this time. A quarter : he's in the press-room now, no doubt. Now at last mc had come to think about the man we were going to see hanged. How slowly the clock crept over the last quarter! Those who were able to turn round and see (for the crowd was now extraor- dinarily dense) chronicled the time, eight minutes, five minutes; at last— ding, dong, dong, dong!— the bell is tolling the chimes of eight. ^ ¥^ ^ M^ ^ Between the writing of this line and the last, the pen has been put down, as the reader may suppose, and the person who is addressing him has gone through a pause of no very pleasant thoughts and recollections. The whole of the sickening, ghastly, wicked scene passes be- GOING TO SEE A MAN HANGED 249 fore the eyes again ; and, indeed, it is an awful one to see, and very hard and painful to describe. As the clock began to strike, an immense sway and movement swept over the whole of that vast dense crowd. They were all uncovered directly, and a great murmur arose, more awful, bizarre, and indescribable than any sound I had ever before heard. Women and children began to shriek horridly. I don't know whe- ther it was the bell I heard ; but a dreadful quick, fever- ish kind of jangling noise mingled wdth the noise of the people, and lasted for about two minutes. The scaffold stood before us, tenantless and black; the black chain was hanging down ready from the beam. Nobody came. " He has been respited," some one said; another said, " He has killed himself in prison." Just then, from under the black prison-door, a pale, quiet head peered out. It was shockingly bright and distinct; it rose up directly, and a man in black ap- peared on the scaffold, and was silently followed by about four more dark figures. The first was a tall grave man : we all knew who the second man was. " Thai's he—thafs he! " you heard the people say, as the devoted man came up. I have seen a cast of the head since, but, indeed, should never have known it. Courvoisier bore his punishment like a man, and walked very firmly. He was dressed in a new black suit, as it seemed: his shirt was open. His arms were tied in front of him. He opened his hands in a helpless kind of way, and clasped them once or twice together. He turned his head here and there, and looked about him for an instant with a wild, imploring look. His mouth was contracted into a sort of pitiful smile. He went and placed himself at 250 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON once under the beam, with his face towards St. Sepul- chre's. The tall, grave man in black twisted him round swiftly in the other direction, and, drawing from his pocket a night-cap, pulled it tight over the j^atient's head and face. I am not ashamed to say that I could look no more, but shut my eyes as the last dreadful act was going on, which sent this wretched, guilty soul into the presence of God. If a public execution is beneficial— and beneficial it is, no doubt, or else the wise laws would not encourage forty thousand people to witness it — the next useful thing must be a full description of such a ceremony, and all its entourages, and to this end the above pages are offered to the reader. How does an individual man feel under it? In what way does he observe it,— how does he view all the phenomena connected with it, — what in- duces him, in the first instance, to go and see it, — and how is he moved by it afterwards? The writer has dis- carded the magazine " We " altogether, and spoken face to face with the reader, recording every one of the impressions felt by him as honestly as he could. I must confess, then (for " I " is the shortest word, and the best in this case), that the sight has left on my mind an extraordinary feeling of terror and shame. It seems to me that I have been abetting an act of frightful wickedness and violence, performed by a set of men against one of their fellows ; and I pray God that it may soon be out of the power of any man in England to wit- ness such a hideous and degrading sight. Forty thou- sand persons (say the Sheriffs), of all ranks and de- grees, — mechanics, gentlemen, pickpockets, members of both Houses of Parliament, street-walkers, newspaper- GOING TO SEE A MAN HANGED 251 writers, gather together before Newgate at a A^ery early hour; the most part of them give up their natural quiet night's rest, in order to partake of this hideous debauch- ery, which is more exciting than sleep, or than wine, or the last new ballet, or any other amusement they can have. Pickpocket and Peer each is tickled by the sight alike, and has that hidden lust after blood which influ- ences our race. Government, a Christian government, gives us a feast every now and then: it agrees — that is to say — a majority in the two Houses agrees, that for certain crimes it is necessary that a man should be hanged by the neck. Government commits the crim- inal's soul to the mercy of God, stating that here on earth he is to look for no mercy; keeps him for a fort- night to prepare, provides him witli a clergyman to settle his religious matters (if there be time enough, but Government can't wait) ; and on a Monday morning, the bell tolling, the clergyman reading out the word of God, " I am the resurrection and the life," " The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away," — on a Monday morning, at eight o'clock, this man is placed under a beam, with a rope connecting it and him; a plank dis- appears from under him, and those who have paid for good places may see the hands of the Government agent, Jack Ketch, coming up from his black hole, and seizing the prisoner's legs, and pulling them, until he is quite dead — strangled. Many persons, and well-informed new^spapers, say that it is mawkish sentiment to talk in this way, morbid humanity, cheap philanthropy, that an^^ man can get up and preach about. There is the Observer, for instance, a paper conspicuous for the tremendous sarcasm which distinguishes its articles, and which falls cruell}^ foul 252 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON of the Morning Herald. " Courvoisier is dead," says the Observer; " he died as he had hved— a villain; a lie was in his mouth. Peace be to his ashes. We war not with the dead." What a magnanimous Observer! From this, Observer turns to the Herald, and says, '' Fiat jus- titia mat caelum J" So much for the Herald. We quote from memory, and the quotation from the Observer possibly h,—I)e mortuis nil nisi bonum; or, Omne ignotum pro magnifico; or, Sero nunquam est ad bonos mores via; or, Ingenuas didicisse fideliter artes emollit mores nee sinit esse feros: all of which pithy Roman apophthegms would apply just as well. " Peace be to his ashes. He died a villain." This is both benevolence and reason. Did he die a villain? The Observer does not want to destroy him body and soul, evidently, from that pious wish that his ashes should be at peace. Is the next Monday but one after the sentence the time necessary for a villain to repent in? May a man not require more leisure — a week more — six months more— before he has been able to make his re- pentance sure before Him who died for us all?— for all, be it remembered,— not alone for the judge and jury, or for the sheriffs, or for the executioner who is pulling down the legs of the prisoner,— but for him too, mur- derer and criminal as he is, whom we are killing for his crime. Do we want to kiU him body and soul? Heaven forbid! My lord in the black cap specially prays that heaven may have mercy on him; but he must be ready by Monday morning. Look at the documents which came from the prison of this unhappy Courvoisier during the few days which passed between his trial and execution. Were ever let- ters more painful to read? At first, his statements are GOING TO SEE A MAX HANGED 253 false, contradictory, lying. He has not repented then. His last declaration seems to be honest, as far as the relation of the crime goes. But read the rest of his statement, the account of his personal history, and the crimes which he committed in his young days, — then " how the evil thought came to him to put his hand to the work," — it is evidently the writing of a mad, dis- tracted man. The horrid gallows is perpetually before him ; he is wild with dread and remorse. Clergymen are with him ceaselessly; religious tracts are forced into his hands ; night and day they ply him with the heinousness of his crime, and exhortations to repentance. Read through that last paper of his ; by heaven, it is pitiful to read it. See the Scripture phrases brought in now and anon ; the peculiar terms of tract-phraseology ( I do not wish to speak of these often meritorious publications with disrespect) ; one knows too well how such language is learned, — imitated from the priest at the bed-side, eagerly seized and appropriated, and confounded by the poor prisoner. But murder is such a monstrous crime (this is the great argument), — when a man has killed another it is natural that he should be killed. Away with your foolish sentimentalists who say no — it is natural. That is the word, and a fine philosophical opinion it is— philosophical and Christian. Kill a man, and you must be killed in turn; that is the unavoidable sequitur. You may talk to a man for a year upon the subject, and he will always reply to you, " It is nat- ural, and therefore it must be done. Blood demands blood." Does it? The sj^stem of compensations might be car- ried on ad infinitum,— an eye for an eye, a tooth for a 254 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON tooth, as by the old Mosaic law. But (putting the fact out of the question, that we have had this statute re- pealed by the Highest Authority), why, because you lose j^our eye, is that of your opponent to be extracted likewise? Where is the reason for the practice? And yet it is just as natural as the death dictum, founded precisely upon the same show of sense. Knowing, how- ever, that revenge is not only evil, but useless, we have given it up on all minor points. Only to the last we stick firm, contrary though it be to reason and to Christian law. There is some talk, too, of the terror which the sight of this spectacle inspires, and of this we have endea- voured to give as good a notion as we can in the above pages. I fully confess that I came away down Snow Hill that morning with a disgust for murder, but it was for the murder I saw done. As we made our way through the immense crowd, we came upon two little girls of eleven and twelve years : one of them was crying bitterly, and begged, for heaven's sake, that some one would lead her from that horrid place. This was done, and the children were carried into a place of safety. We asked the elder girl — and a very pretty one — what brought her into such a neighbourhood? The child grinned knowingly, and said, " We've koom to see the mon hanged! " Tender law, that brings out babes upon such errands, and provides them with such gratifying moral spectacles ! This is the 20th of July, and I may be permitted for my part to declare that, for the last fourteen days, so salutary has the impression of the butchery been upon me, I have had the man's face continually before my eyes; that I can see Mr. Ketch at this moment, with an GOING TO SEE A MAN HANGED 255 easy air, taking the rope from his pocket; that I feel myself ashamed and degraded at the brutal curiosity which took me to that brutal sight; and that I pray to Almighty God to cause this disgraceful sin to pass from among us, and to cleanse our land of blood. NOTES OF A JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO GRAND CAIRO BY WAY OF LISBON, ATHENS, CONSTANTINOPLE, AND JERUSALEM PERFORMED IN THE STEAMERS OF THE PENINSULAR AND ORIENTAL COMPANY TO CAPTAIN SAMUEL LEWIS OF THE PENINSULAR AND ORIENTAL STEAM NAVIGATION COMPANY'S SERVICE My dear Lewis, After a voyage, during which the captain of the ship has displayed uncommon courage, seamanship, affability, or other good qualities, grateful passengers often present him with a token of their esteem, in the shape of teapots, tankards, trays, &c. of precious metal. Among authors, however, bullion is a much rarer commodity than paper, whereof I beg you to accept a little in the shape of this small volume. It contains a few notes of a voyage which your skill and kindness rendered doubly pleasant; and of which I don't think there is any recollection more agree- able than that it was the occasion of making your friendship. If the noble company in whose service you command (and whose fleet alone makes them a third-rate maritime power in Europe) should appoint a few admirals in their navy, I hope to hear that your flag is hoisted on board one of the grandest of their steamers. But, I trust, even there you will not forget the " Iberia," and the delightful Mediterranean cruise we had in her in the Autumn of 1844. Most faithfully yours. My dear Lewis, W. M. Thackeray. London, December 24, 1845. PREFACE On the 20th of August, 1844, the writer of this little book went to dine at the " Club," quite unconscious of the wonderful events which Fate had in store for him. Mr. William was there, giving a farewell dinner to his friend, Mr. James (now Sir James). These two asked Mr. Titmarsh to join company with them, and the con- versation naturally fell upon the tour Mr. James was about to take. The Peninsular and Oriental Company had arranged an excursion in the Mediterranean, by which, in the space of a couple of months, as many men and cities were to be seen as Ulysses surveyed and noted in ten years. Malta, Athens, Smyrna, Constantinople, Jerusalem, Cairo were to be visited, and everybody was to be back in London by Lord Mayor's Day. The idea of beholding these famous places inflamed Mr. Titmarsh's mind; and the charms of such a journey were eloquently impressed upon him by Mr. James. " Come," said that kind and hospitable gentleman, " and make one of my familj^ party; in all your life you will never probably have a chance again to see so much in so short a time. Consider— it is as easy as a journey to Paris or to Baden." Mr. Titmarsh considered all these things; but also the difficulties of the situation: he had 861 262 PREFACE but six-and-thirty hours to get ready for so portentous a journey — he had engagements at home — finally, could he afford it? In spite of these objections, however, with every glass of claret the enthusiasm somehow rose, and the difficulties vanished. But when Mr. James, to crown all, said he had no doubt that his friends, the Directors of the Peninsular and Oriental Company, would make Mr. Titmarsh the present of a berth for the voyage, all objections ceased on his part: to break his outstanding engagements— to write letters to his amazed family, stating that they were not to expect him at dinner on Saturday fortnight, as he would be at Jerusalem on that day — to purchase eigh- teen shirts and lay in a sea stock of Russia ducks, — was the work of f our-and-twenty hours ; and on the 22nd of August, the " Lady Mary Wood " was sailing from Southampton with the " subject of the present memoir," quite astonished to find himself one of the passengers on board. These important statements are made partly to con- vince some incredulous friends — who insist still that the writer never went abroad at all, and wrote the following pages, out of pure fancy, in retirement at Putney; but mainly, to give him an opportunity of thanking the Di- rectors of the Company in question for a delightful ex- cursion. It was one so easy, so charming, and I think profitable —it leaves such a store of pleasant recollections for after days— and creates so many new sources of interest (a PREFACE 263 newspaper letter from Beyrout, or INIalta, or Algiers, has twice the interest now that it had formerly), — that I can't but recommend all persons who have time and means to make a similar journey — vacation idlers to ex- tend their travels and pursue it: above all, young well- educated men entering life, to take this course, we will say, after that at college; and, having their book- learning fresh in their minds, see the living people and their cities, and the actual aspect of Nature, along the famous shores of the Mediterranean. A JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO CHAPTER I VIGO THE sun brought all the sick people out of their berths this morning, and the indescribable moans and noises which had been issuing from behind the fine painted doors on each side of the cabin happily ceased. Long before sunrise, I had the good fortune to discover that it was no longer necessarj^ to maintain the horizontal posture, and, the very instant this tiiith was apparent, came on deck at two o'clock in the morning to see a noble full moon sinking westward, and millions of the most brilliant stars shining overhead. The night was so se- renely pure, that you saw them in magnificent airy per- spective; the blue sky around and over them, and other more distant orbs sparkling above, till they glittered away faintly into immeasurable distance. The ship went rolling over a heavy, sweltering, calm sea. The breeze was a warm and soft one; quite diiferent to the rigid air we had left behind us, two days since, off the Isle of Wight. The bell kept tolling its half hours, and the mate explained the mystery of watch and dog-watch. The sight of that noble scene cured all the woes and 265 266 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO discomfitures of sea-sickness at once, and if there were any need to communicate such secrets to the public, one might tell of much more good that the pleasant morning- watch effected; but there are a set of emotions about which a man had best be shy of talking lightly, — and the feelings excited by contemplating this vast, magnificent, harmonious Nature are among these. The view of it inspires a delight and ecstasy which is not only hard to describe but which has something secret in it that a man should not utter loudly. Hope, memory, humility, ten- der yearnings towards dear friends, and inexpressible love and reverence towards the Power which created the infinite universe blazing above eternally, and the vast ocean shining and rolling around— fill the heart with a solemn, humble happiness, that a person dwelling in a city has rarely occasion to enjoy. They are coming away from London parties at this time : the dear little eyes are closed in sleep under mother's wing. How far off city cares and pleasures appear to be! how small and mean they seem, dwindling out of sight before this magnifi- cent brightness of Nature ! But the best thoughts only grow and strengthen under it. Heaven shines above, and the humbled spirit looks up reverently towards that boundless aspect of wisdom and beauty. You are at home, and with all at rest there, however far away they may be ; and through the distance the heart broods over them, bright and wakeful like yonder peaceful stars overhead. The day was as fine and calm as the night; at seven bells, suddenly a bell began to toll very much like that of a country church, and on going on deck we found an awning raised, a desk with a flag flung over it close to VIGO 267 the compass, and the ship's company and passengers as- sembled there to hear the captain read the Service in a manly respectful voice. This, too, was a novel and touching sight to me. Peaked ridges of purple moun- tains rose to the left of the ship, — Finisterre and the coast of Gallicia. The sky above was cloudless and shin- ing ; the vast dark ocean smiled peacefully round about, and the ship went rolling over it, as the people within were praising the INIaker of all. In honour of the day, it was announced that the pas- sengers would be regaled with champagne at dinner; and accordingly that exhilarating liquor was served out in decent profusion, the company drinking the captain's health with the customary orations of compliment and acknowledgment. This feast was scarcely ended, when we found ourselves rounding the headland into Vigo Bay, passing a grim and tall island of rocky mountains which lies in the centre of the bay. Whether it is that the sight of land is always welcome to weary mariners, after the perils and annoyances of a voyage of three days, or whether the place is in itself ex- traordinarily beautiful, need not be argued ; but I have seldom seen anything more charming than the amphi- theatre of noble hills into which the ship now came — all the features of the landscape being lighted up with a wonderful clearness of air, which rarely adorns a view in our country. The sun had not yet set, but over the town and lofty rocky castle of Vigo a great ghost of a moon was faintly visible, which blazed out brighter and brighter as the superior luminary retired behind the pur- ple mountains of the headland to rest. Before the gen- eral background of waving heights which encompassed 268 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO the bay, rose a second semicircle of undulating hills, as cheerful and green as the mountains behind them were grey and solemn. Farms and gardens, convent towers, white villages and churches, and buildings that no doubt were hermitages once, upon the sharp peaks of the hills, shone brightly in the sun. The sight was delightfully cheerful, animated, and pleasing. Presently the captain roared out the magic words, " Stop her!" and the obedient vessel came to a stand- still, at some three hundred yards from the little town, with its white houses clambering up a rock, defended by the superior mountain whereon the castle stands. Num- bers of people, arrayed in various brilliant colours of red, were standing on the sand close by the tumbling, shining, purple waves : and there we beheld, for the first time, the royal red and yellow standard of Spain floating on its own ground, under the guardianship of a light blue sen- tinel, whose musket glittered in the sun. Numerous boats were seen, incontinently, to put off from the little shore. And now our attention was withdrawn from the land to a sight of great splendour on board. This was Lieu- tenant Bundy, the guardian of her Majesty's mails, who issued from his cabin in his long swallow-tailed coat with anchor buttons; his sabre clattering between his legs; a magnificent shirt-collar, of several inches in height, rising round his good-humoured sallow face ; and above it a cocked hat, that shone so, I thought it was made of polished tin (it may have been that or oilskin), handsomely laced with black worsted, and ornamented with a shining gold cord. A little squat boat, rowed by three ragged gallegos, came bouncing up to the ship. Into this Mr. Bundy and her Majesty's royal mail em- SPANISH TROOPS 269 barked with much majesty; and in the twinkhng of an eye, the royal standard of England, about the size of a pocket-handkerchief, — and at the bows of the boat, the man-of-war's pennant, being a strip of bunting consid- erably under the value of a farthing,— streamed out. *' They know that flag, sir," said the good-natured old tar, quite solemnly, in the evening afterwards: "they respect it, sir." The authority of her Majesty's lieu- tenant on board the steamer is stated to be so tremen- dous, that he may order it to stop, to move, to go lar- board, starboard, or what you w^ill ; and the captain dare only disobey him suo pericido. It was agreed that a party of us should land for half- an-hour, and taste real Spanish chocolate on Spanish ground. We followed Lieutenant Bundy, but humbly in the providor's boat ; that officer going on shore to pur- chase fresh eggs, milk for tea (in place of the slimy sub- stitute of whipped yolk of egg which we had been using for our morning and evening meals), and, if possible, oysters, for Avhich it is said the rocks of Vigo are famous. It was low tide, and the boat could not get up to the dry shore. Hence it was necessary to take advantage of the offers of sundry gallegos, who rushed barelegged 270 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO into the water, to land on their shoulders. The approved method seems to be, to sit upon one shoulder only, hold- ing on by the porter's whiskers ; and though some of our party were of the tallest and fattest men whereof our race is composed, and their living sedans exceedingly meagre and small, yet all M^ere landed without accident upon the juicy sand, and forthwith surrounded by a host of mendicants, screaming, " I say, sir! penny, sir! I say, English! tam your ays! penny! " in all voices from extreme youth to the most lousy and venerable old age. When it is said that these beggars were as ragged as those of Ireland, and still more voluble, the Irish trav- eller will be able to form an opinion of their capabilities. Through this crowd we passed up some steep rocky steps, through a little low gate, where, in a little guard- house and barrack, a few dirty little sentinels were keep- ing a dirty little guard ; and by low-roofed, whitewashed houses, with balconies, and women in them,— the very same women with the very same head-clothes and yellow fans and eyes, at once sly and solemn, which Murillo painted,— by a neat church into which we took a peep, and, finally, into the Plaza del Constitucion, or grand 'place of the town, which may be about as big as that pleasing square. Pump Court, Temple. We were taken to an inn, of which I forget the name, and were shown from one chamber and storey to another, till we arrived at that apartment where the real Spanish chocolate was finally to be seized out. All these rooms were as clean as scrubbing and whitewash could make them ; with sim- ple French prints (with Spanish titles) on the walls; a few rickety half -finished articles of furniture; and, finally, an air of extremely respectable poverty. A jolly, black-eyed, yellow-shawled Dulcinea conducted SPANISH TROOPS 271 us through the apartment and provided us with the de- sired refreshment. Sounds of clarions drew our eyes to the Place of the Constitution; and, indeed, I had forgotten to say, that that majestic square was filled with military, with ex- ceedingly small firelocks, the men ludicrously young and diminutive for the most part, in a uniform at once cheap and tawdry, — like those supplied to the warriors at Ast- ley's, or from still humbler theatrical wardrobes : indeed, the whole scene was just like that of a little theatre; the houses curiously small, with arcades and balconies, out of which looked women apparently a great deal too big for the chambers they inhabited; the warriors were in ginghams, cottons, and tinsel ; the officers had huge epau- lets of sham silver lace drooping over their bosoms, and looked as if they were attired at a very small expense. Only the general — the captain-general (Pooch, they told us, was his name: I know not how 'tis written in Spanish) — was well got up, with a smart hat, a real feather, huge stars glittering on his portly chest, and tights and boots of the first order. Presently, after a good deal of trumpeting, the little men marched off the place. Pooch and his staff coming into the very inn in which we were awaiting our chocolate. Then we had an opportunity of seeing some of the civilians of the town. Three or four ladies passed, with fan and mantle; to them came three or four dandies, dressed smartly in the French fashion, with strong Jew- ish physiognomies. There was one, a solemn lean fellow in black, with his collars extremely turned over, and holding before him a long ivory -tipped ebony cane, who tripped along the little place with a solemn smirk, which gave one an indescribable feeling of the truth of Gil 272 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO Bias, and of those delightful bachelors and licentiates who have appeared to us all in our dreams. In fact we were but half-an-hour in this little queer Spanish town; and it appeared like a dream, too, or a little show got up to amuse us. Boom ! the gun fired at the end of the funny little entertainment. The women and the balconies, the beggars and the walking ISIurillos, Pooch and the little soldiers in tinsel, disappeared, and were shut up in their box again. Once more we were carried on the beggars' shoulders out off the shore, and we found ourselves again in the great stalwart roast-beef world; the stout British steamer bearing out of the bay, whose purple waters had grown more purple. The sun had set by this time, and the moon above was twice as big and bright as our degenerate moons are. The providor had already returned with his fresh stores, and Bundy's tin hat was popped into its case, and he walking the deck of the packet denuded of tails. As we went out of the bay, occurred a little incident with which the great incidents of the day may be said to wind up. We saw before us a little vessel, tumbling and plunging about in the dark waters of the bay, with a bright light beaming from the mast. It made for us at about a couple of miles from the town, and came close up, flouncing and bobbing in the very jaws of the pad- dle, which looked as if it would have seized and twirled round that little boat and its light, and destroyed them for ever and ever. All the passengers, of course, came crowding to the ship's side to look at the bold little boat. " I say!" howled a man; " I say!— a word!— I say! Pasagero! Pasagero! Pasage-e-ero ! " We were two hundred yards ahead by this time. AFLOAT 273. " Go on," says the captain. " You may stop if you like," says Lieutenant Bundy, exerting his tremendous responsibiHt3\ It is evident that the heutenant has a soft heart, and felt for the poor devil in the boat who was howling so j)iteousty " Pasa- gero ! " But the captain was resolute. His duty was not to take the man up. He was evidently an irregular cus- tomer — some one trying to escape, possibl}'". The lieutenant turned away, but did not make any further hints. The captain was right; but we all felt somehow disappointed, and looked back wistfully at the little boat, jumping up and down far astern now; the poor little light shining in vain, and the poor wretch within screaming out in the most heart-rending accents a last faint desperate " I say! Pasagero-o! " We all went down to tea rather melancholy; but the new milk, in the place of that abominable whipped egg, revived us again ; and so ended the great events on board the " Lady Mary Wood " steamer, on the 25th August, 1844. CHAPTER II LISBON — CADIZ A GREAT misfortune which befalls a man who has L but a single day to stay in a town, is that fatal duty which superstition entails upon him of visiting the chief lions of the city in which he may happen to be. You must go through the ceremony, however much you may sigh to avoid it; and however much you know that the lions in one capital roar very much like the lions in another; that the churches are more or less large and splendid, the palaces pretty spacious, all the world over; and that there is scarcely a capital city in this Europe but has its pompous bronze statue or two of some peri- wigged, hook-nosed emperor, in a Roman habit, waving his bronze baton on his broad-flanked brazen charger. We only saw these state old lions in Lisbon, whose roar has long since ceased to frighten one. First we went to the Church of St. Roch, to see a famous piece of mosaic- work there. It is a famous work of art, and was bought by I don't know what king for I don't know how much money. All this information may be perfectly relied on, though the fact is, we did not see the mosaic- work: the sacristan, who guards it, was yet in bed; and it was veiled from our eyes in a side-chapel by great dirty damask curtains, which could not be removed, except when the sacristan's toilette was done, and at the price of a dollar. So we were spared this mosaic exhibition; 274 LISBON 275 and I think I always feel relieved when such an event occurs. I feel I have done my duty in coming to see the enormous animal; if he is not at home, virtute med me, ^c. — we have done our hest, and mortal can do no more. In order to reach that church of the forbidden mosaic, we had sweated up several most steep and dusty streets — hot and dusty, although it was but nine o'clock in the morning. Thence the guide conducted us into some lit- tle dust-powdered gardens, in which the people make believe to enjoy the verdure, and whence you look over a great part of the arid, dreary, stony city. There was no smoke, as in honest London, only dust — dust over the gaunt houses and the dismal yellow strips of gardens. Many churches were there, and tall, half-baked-looking public edifices, that had a dry, uncomfortable, earth- quaky look, to my idea. The ground-floors of the spa- cious houses by which we passed seemed the coolest and pleasantest portions of the mansion. They were cellars or warehouses, for the most part, in which white- jack- eted clerks sat smoking easy cigars. The streets were plastered with placards of a bull-fight, to take place the next evening (there was no opera at that season) ; but it was not a real Spanish tauromachy — only a theatrical combat, as you could see by the picture in which the horseman was cantering off at three miles an hour, the bull tripping after him with tips to his gentle horns. Mules interminable, and almost all excellently sleek and handsome, were pacing down every street: here and there, but later in the day, came clattering along a smart rider on a prancing Spanish horse; and in the afternoon a few families might be seen in the queerest old-fash- ioned little carriages, drawn by their jolly mules and swinging between, or rather before, enormous wheels. 276 JOURXEY FROM CORXHILL TO CAIRO The churches I saw were of the florid periwig archi- tecture. — I mean of that pompous, cauhflower kind of ornament which was the fashion in Louis the Fifteenth's time, at which unlucky period a building mania seems to have seized upon many of the monarchs of Europe, and innumerable public edifices were erected. It seems to me to have been the period in all history when society was the least natural, and perhaps the most dissolute; and I have always fancied that the bloated artificial forms of the architecture partake of the social disorgani- zation of the time. Who can respect a simpering ninny, grinning in a Roman dress and a full-bottomed wig, who is made to pass off for a hero ; or a fat woman in a hoop, and of a most doubtful virtue, who leers at you as a god- dess? In the palaces which we saw, several court alle- gories were represented, which, atrocious as they were in point of art, might yet serve to attract the regard of the moralizer. There were Faith, Hope, and Charity re- storing Don John to the arms of his happy Portugal: there were Virtue, Valour, and Victory saluting Don Emanuel: Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic (for what I know, or some mji:hologic nymphs) dancing before Don ]Miguel— the picture is there still, at the Ajuda; and ah me! where is poor INIig? Well, it is these state lies and ceremonies that we persist in going to see; whereas a man would have a much better insight into Portuguese manners, by planting himself at a corner, like yonder beggar, and watching the real transactions of the day. A drive to Belem is the regular route practised by the traveller who has to make only a short stay, and accord- ingly a couple of carriages were provided for our party, and we were driven through the long merry street of BELEM 277 Belem, peopled by endless strings of mules,— by thou- sands of gallegos, with water-barrels on their shoulders, or lounging by the fountains to hire, — by the Lisbon and Belem omnibuses, with four mules, jingling along at a good pace ; and it seemed to me to present a far more lively and cheerful, though not so regular, an appear- ance as the stately quarters of the city we had left be- hind us. The little shops were at full work — the men brown, well-dressed, manly, and handsome : so much can- not, I am sorry to say, be said for the ladies, of whom, with every anxiety to do so, our party could not perceive a single good-looking specimen all day. The noble blue Tagus accompanies you all along these three miles of busy, pleasant street, whereof the chief charm, as I thought, was its look of genuine business — that appear- ance of comfort which the cleverest court-architect never knows how to give. The carriages (the canvas one with four seats and the chaise in which I drove) were brought suddenly up to a gate with the royal arms over it ; and here we were intro- duced to as queer an exhibition as the eye has often looked on. This was the state-carriage house, where there is a museum of huge old tumble-down gilded coaches of the last century, lying here, mouldy and dark, in a sort of limbo. The gold has vanished from the great lumbering old wheels and panels ; the velvets are wof ully tarnished. When one thinks of the patches and powder that have simpered out of those plate-glass windows — the mitred bishops, the big-wigged marshals, the shovel- hatted abbes which they have borne in their time — the human mind becomes affected in no ordinary degree. Some human minds heave a sigh for the glories of by- gone days; while others, considering rather the lies and 278 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO humbug, the vice and servility, which went framed and glazed and enshrined, creaking along in those old Jug- gernaut cars, with fools worshipping under the wheels, console themselves for the decay of institutions that may have been splendid and costly, but were ponderous, clumsy, slow, and unfit for daily wear. The guardian of these defunct old carriages tells some prodigious fibs concerning them: he pointed out one carriage that was six hundred years old in his calendar; but any connois- seur in bric-a-brac can see it was built at Paris in the Regent Orleans' time. Hence it is but a step to an institution in full life and vigour, — a noble orphan-school for one thousand boys and girls, founded by Don Pedro, who gave up to its use the superb convent of Belem, with its splendid cloisters, vast airy dormitories, and magnificent church. Some Oxford gentlemen would have wept to see the desecrated edifice, — to think that the shaven polls and white gowns were banished from it to give place to a thousand chil- dren, who have not even the clergy to instruct them. " Every lad here may choose his trade," pur little infor- mant said, who addressed us in better French than any of our party spoke, whose manners were perfectly gen- tlemanlike and respectful, and whose clothes, though of a common cotton stuff, were cut and worn with a military neatness and precision. All the children whom we re- marked were dressed with similar neatness, and it was a pleasure to go through their various rooms for study, where some were busy at mathematics, some at drawing, some attending a lecture on tailoring, while others were sitting at the feet of a professor of the science of shoe- making. All the garments of the establishment were made by the pupils ; even the deaf and dumb were draw- A SCHOOL 279 ing and reading, and the blind were, for the most part, set to perform on musical instruments, and got up a concert for the visitors. It was then we wished ourselves of the numbers of the deaf and dumb, for the poor fel- lows made noises so horrible, that even as blind beggars they could hardly get a livelihood in the musical way. Hence we were driven to the huge palace of Necessi- dades, which is but a wing of a building that no King of Portugal ought ever to be rich enough to complete, and which, if perfect, might outvie the Tower of Babel. The mines of Brazil must have been productive of gold and silver indeed when the founder imagined this enor- mous edifice. From the elevation on which it stands it commands the noblest views, — the city is spread before it, with its many churches and towers, and for many miles you see the magnificent Tagus, rolling by banks crowned with trees and towers. But to arrive at this enormous building you have to climb a steep suburb of wretched huts, many of them with dismal gardens of dry, cracked earth, where a few reedy sprouts of Indian corn seemed to be the chief cultivation, and which were guarded by huge plants of spiky aloes, on which the rags of the proprietors of the huts were sunning them- selves. The terrace before the palace was similarly en- croached upon by these wretched habitations. A few millions judiciously expended might make of this arid hill one of the most magnificent gardens in the world; and the palace seems to me to excel for situation any royal edifice I have ever seen. But the huts of these swarming poor have crawled up close to its gates, — the superb walls of hewn stone stop all of a sudden with a lath-and-plaster hitch; and capitals, and hewn stones for 280 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO columns, still lying about on the deserted terrace, may lie there for ages to come, probably, and never take their places by the side of their brethren in yonder tall bank- rupt galleries. The air of this pure sky has little effect upon the edifices,— the edges of the stone look as sharp as if the builders had just left their work; and close to the grand entrance stands an outbuilding, part of which may have been burnt fifty years ago, but is in such cheer- ful preservation that you might fancy the fire had oc- curred yesterday. It must have been an awful sight from this hill to have looked at the city spread before it, and seen it reeling and swaying in the time of the earth- quake. I thought it looked so hot and shaky, that one might fancy a return of the fit. In several places still remain gaps and chasms, and ruins lie here and there as they cracked and fell. Although the palace has not attained anything like its full growth, 3^et what exists is quite big enough for the monarch of such a little country; and Versailles or Windsor has not apartments more nobly proportioned. The Queen resides in the Ajuda, a building of much less pretensions, of w^hich the yellow walls and beautiful gar- dens are seen between Belem and the city. The Necessi- dades are only used for grand galas, receptions of am- bassadors, and ceremonies of state. In the throne-room is a huge throne, surmounted by an enormous gilt crown, than which I have never seen anything larger in the finest pantomime at Drury Lane; but the effect of this splendid piece is lessened by a shabby old Brussels car- pet, almost the only other article of furniture in the apartment, and not quite large enough to cover its spa- cious floor. The looms of Kidderminster have supplied the web which ornaments the "Ambassadors' Waiting- THE PALACE 281 Room," and the ceilings are painted with hu^e allegories in distemper, which pretty well correspond with the other furniture. Of all the undignified ohjects in the world, a palace out at elbows is surely the meanest. Such places ought not to be seen in adversity, — splen- dour is their decency, — and when no longer able to main- tain it, they should sink to the level of their means, calmly subside into manufactories, or go shabby in se- clusion. There is a picture-gallery belonging to the palace that is quite of a piece with the furniture, where are the mythological pieces relative to the kings before alluded to, and where the English visitor will see some astonish- ing pictures of the Duke of Wellington, done in a very characteristic style of Portuguese art. There is also a chapel, which has been decorated with much ca^e and sumptuousness of ornament, — the altar surmounted by a ghastly and horrible carved figure in the taste of the time when faith was strengthened by the shrieks of Jews on the rack, and enlivened by the roasting of heretics. Other such frightful images may be seen in the churches of the city; those which we saw were still rich, tawdry, and splendid to outward show, although the French, as usual, had robbed their shrines of their gold and silver, and the statues of their jewels and crowns. But brass and tinsel look to the visitor full as well at a little dis- tance, — as doubtless Soult and Junot thought, when they despoiled these places of worship, like French phi- losophers as they were. A friend, with a classical turn of mind, was bent upon seeing the aqueduct, whither we went on a dismal excur- sion of three hours in the worst carriages, over the most diabolical clattering roads, up and down dreary parched 282 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO hills, on which grew a few grey olive-trees and many aloes. When we arrived, the gate leading to the aque- duct was closed, and we were entertained with a legend of some respectable character who had made a good live- lihood there for some time past lately, having a private key to this very aqueduct, and lying in wait there for unwary travellers like ourselves, whom he pitched down the arches into the ravines below, and there robbed them at leisure. So that all we saw was the door and the tall arches of the aqueduct, and by the time we returned to town it was time to go on board the ship again. If the inn at which we had sojourned was not of the best qual- ity, the bill, at least, would have done honour to the first establishment in London. We all left the house of en- tertainment joyfully, glad to get out of the sun-burnt city and go home. Yonder in the steamer was home, with its black funnel and gilt portraiture of " Lady Mary Wood " at the bows; and every soul on board felt glad to return to the friendly little vessel. But the au- thorities of Lisbon, however, are very suspicious of the departing stranger, and we were made to lie an hour in the river before the Sanita boat, where a passport is ne- cessary to be procured before the traveller can quit the country. Boat after boat, laden with priests and peasan- try, with handsome red-sashed gallegos clad in brown, and ill-favoured women, came and got their permits, and were off, as we lay bumping up against the old hull of the Sanita boat : but the officers seemed to take a delight in keeping us there bumping, looked at us quite calmly over the ship's sides, and smoked their cigars without the least attention to the prayers which we shrieked out for release. CADIZ 283 If we were glad to get away from Lisbon, we were quite as sorry to be obliged to quit Cadiz, which we reached the next night, and where we were allowed a couple of hours' leave to land and look about. It seemed as handsome within as it is stately without ; the long nar- row streets of an admirable cleanliness, many of the tall houses of rich and noble decorations, and all looking as if the city were in full prosperity. I have seen no more cheerful and animated sight than the long street leading from the quay where we were landed, and the market blazing in sunshine, piled with fruit, fish, and poultrj'-, under many-coloured awnings ; the tall white houses with their balconies and galleries shining round about, and the sky above so blue that the best cobalt in all the paint- box looks muddy and dim in comparison to it. There were pictures for a year in that market-place — from the copper-coloured old hags and beggars who roared to you for the love of heaven to give money, to the swagger- ing dandies of the market, with red sashes and tight clothes, looking on superbly, with a hand on the hip and a cigar in the mouth. These must be the chief critics at the great bull-fight house j^onder by the Alameda, with its scanty trees and cool breezes facing the water. Xor are there any corks to the bulls' horns here as at Lisbon. A small old English guide who seized upon me the mo- ment my foot was on shore, had a store of agreeable legends regarding the bulls, men, and horses that had been killed with unbounded profusion in the late enter- tainments which have taken place. It was so early an hour in the morning that the shops were scarcely opened as yet ; the churches, however, stood open for the faithful, and we met scores of women trip- 284 JOURNEY FROM CORXHILL TO CAIRO ping towards them with pretty feet, and smart black mantillas, from which looked out fine dark eyes and handsome pale faces, very different from the coarse brown countenances we had seen at Lisbon. A very handsome modern cathedral, built by the present bishop at his own charges, was the finest of the public edifices we saw; it was not, however, nearly so much frequented as another little church, crowded with altars and fantas- tic ornaments, and lights and gilding, where we were told to look behind a huge iron grille, and beheld a bevy of black nuns kneeling. JMost of the good ladies in the front ranks stopped their devotions, and looked at the strangers with as much curiosity as we directed at them through the gloomy bars of their chapel. The men's convents are closed ; that which contains the famous ]\Iu- rillos has been turned into an academy of the fine arts; but the English guide did not think the pictures were of sufficient interest to detain strangers, and so hurried us back to the shore, and grumbled at only getting three shillings at parting for his trouble and his information. And so our residence in Andalusia began and ended before breakfast, and we went on board and steamed for Gibraltar, looking, as we passed, at Joinville's black squadron, and the white houses of St. JNIary's across the bay, with the hills of JNIedina Sidonia and Granada lying purple beyond them. There's something even in those names which is pleasant to write down; to have passed only two hours in Cadiz is something — to have seen real donnas with comb and mantle— real caballeros with cloak and cigar — real Spanish barbers lathering out of brass basins,— and to have heard guitars under the bal- conies: there was one that an old beggar was jangling in the market, whilst a huge leering fellow in bushy whis- CADIZ 285 kers and a faded velvet dress came singing and jumping after our party, — not singing to a guitar, it is true, but imitating one capitally with his voice, and cracking his fingers by way of castanets, and performing a dance such as Figaro or Lablache might envy. How clear that fellow's voice thrums on the ear even now; and how bright and pleasant remains the recollection of the fine city and the blue sea, and the Spanish flags floating on the boats that danced over it, and Joinville's band begin- ning to play stirring marches as we puffed out of the bay. The next stage was Gibraltar, w^here we were to change horses. Before sunset we skirted along the dark savage mountains of the African coast, and came to the Rock just before gun-fire. It is the very image of an enormous lion, crouched between the Atlantic and the Mediterranean, and set there to guard the passage for its British mistress. The next British lion is ^lalta, four days further on in the INIidland Sea, and ready to spring upon Egypt or pounce upon Syria, or roar so as to be heard at Marseilles in case of need. To the eyes of the civilian the first-named of these famous fortifications is by far the most imposing. The Rock looks so tremendous, that to ascend it, even with- out the compliment of shells or shot, seems a dreadful task— what would it be when all those mysterious lines of batteries were vomiting fire and brimstone ; when all those dark guns that you see poking their grim heads out of every imaginable cleft and zigzag should salute you with shot, both hot and cold; and when, after tug- ging up the hideous perpendicular place, you were to find regiments of British grenadiers ready to plunge 286 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO bayonets into your poor panting stomach, and let out artificially the little breath left there? It is a marvel to think that soldiers will mount such places for a shilling —ensigns for five and ninepence— a day: a cabman would ask double the money to go half way! One meekly reflects upon the above strange truths, leaning over the ship's side, and looking up the huge mountain, from the tower nestled at the foot of it to the thin flag- staff at the summit, up to which have been piled the most ingenious edifices for murder Christian science ever adopted. My hobby-horse is a quiet beast, suited for Park riding, or a gentle trot to Putney and back to a snug stable, and plenty of feeds of corn: — it can't abide climbing hills, and is not at all used to gunpowder. Some men's animals are so spirited that the very appear- ance of a stone-wall sets them jumping at it; regular chargers of hobbies, which snort and say—" Ha, ha! " at the mere notion of a battle. CHAPTER III THE " LADY MARY WOOD " OUR week's voyage is now drawing to a close. We have just been to look at Cape Trafalgar, shining white over the finest blue sea. (We, who were looking at Trafalgar Square only the other day!) The sight of that cape must have disgusted Joinville and his fleet of steamers, as they passed yesterday into Cadiz ba}^ and to-morrow will give them a sight of St. Vincent. One of their steam-vessels has been lost off the coast of Africa ; they were obliged to burn her, lest the ISIoors should take possession of her. She was a virgin vessel, just out of Brest. Poor innocent! to die in the very first month of her union with the noble whiskered god of war. We Britons on board the English boat received the news of the " Groenenland's " abrupt demise with grins of satisfaction. It was a sort of national compliment, and cause of agreeable congratulation. " The lubbers! " we said; " the clumsy humbugs! there's none but Britons to rule the waves! " and we gave ourselves piratical airs, and went down presently and were sick in our little buggy berths. It was pleasant, certainly, to laugh at Joinville's admiral's flag floating at his foremast, in yon- der black ship, with its two thundering great guns at the bows and stern, its busy crew swarming on the deck, and a crowd of obsequious shore-boats bustling round the vessel— and to sneer at the JNIogador warrior, and 287 288 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO vow that we English, had we been inclined to do the busi- ness, would have performed it a great deal better. Now yesterday at Lisbon we saw H.M.S. " Caledo- nia." This, on the contrary, inspired us with feelings of respect and awful pleasure. There she lay — the huge sea-castle— bearing the unconquerable flag of our coun- try. She had but to open her jaws, as it were, and she might bring a second earthquake on the city— batter it into kingdom-come— with the Ajuda palace and the Necessidades, the churches, and the lean, dry, empty streets, and Don John, tremendous on horseback, in the midst of Black Horse Square. Wherever we looked we could see that enormous " Caledonia," with her flashing three lines of guns. We looked at the little boats which ever and anon came out of this monster, with humble wonder. There was the lieutenant who boarded us at midnight before we dropped anchor in the river: ten white- jacketed men pulling as one, swept along with the barge, gig, boat, curricle, or coach-and-six, with which he came up to us. We examined him — his red whiskers — his collars turned down — his duck trousers, his bullion epaulets — with awe. With the same reverential feeling we examined the seamen — the young gentleman in the bows of the boat — the handsome young officers of ma- rines we met sauntering in the town next day — the Scotch surgeon who boarded us as we weighed anchor — every man, down to the broken-nosed mariner who was drunk in a wine-house, and had " Caledonia " written on his hat. Whereas at the Frenchmen we looked with undisguised contempt. AVe were ready to burst with laughter as we passed the Prince's vessel— there was a little French boy in a French boat alongside cleaning it. TRAVELLING FRIENDS 289 and twirling about a little French mop— we thought it the most comical, contemptible French boy, mop, boat, steamer, prince— Psha! it is of this wretched vapouring stuff that false patriotism is made. I write this as a sort of homily apropos of the day, and Cape Trafalgar, off which we lie. What business have I to strut the deck, and clap my wings, and cry " Cock-a-doodle-doo " over it? Some compatriots are at that work even now. We have lost one by one all our jovial company. There were the five Oporto ^vine-merchants— all hearty English gentlemen— gone to their wine-butts, and their red-legged partridges, and their duels at Oporto. It ap- pears that these gallant Britons fight every morning among themselves, and give the benighted people among whom they live an opportunity to admire the spirit na- tional. There is the brave, honest major, with his wooden leg— the kindest and simplest of Irishmen: he has embraced his children, and reviewed his little invalid garrison of fifteen men, in the fort which he commands at Beldem, by this time, and, I have no doubt, played to every soul of them the twelve tunes of his musical-box. It was pleasant to see him with that musical-box— how pleased he wound it up after dinner— how happih^ he listened to the little clinking tunes as they galloped, ding-dong, after each other. A man who carries a mu- sical-box is always a good-natured man. Then there was his Grace, or his Grandeur, the Arch- bishop of Beyrouth (in the parts of the infidels), his Holiness's Nuncio to the court of her ^lost Faithful Majesty, and who mingled among us like any simple mortal,— except that he had an extra smiling courtesy, which simple mortals do not always possess; and when you passed him as such, and puffed your cigar in his 290 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO face, took off his hat with a grin of such prodigious rap- ture, as to lead you to suppose that the most deHcious privilege of his whole life was that permission to look at the tip of your nose or of your cigar. With this most reverend prelate was his Grace's brother and chaplain — a very greasy and good-natured ecclesiastic, who, from his physiognomy, I would have imagined to be a digni- tary of the Israehtish rather than the Romish church — as profuse in smiling courtesy as his Lordship of Bey- routh. These two had a meek little secretary between them, and a tall French cook and valet, who, at meal times, might be seen busy about the cabin where their reverences lay. They were on their backs for the greater part of the voyage; their yellow countenances were not only unshaven, but, to judge from appearances, unwashed. They ate in private ; and it was only of even- ings, as the sun was setting over the western wave, and, comforted by the dinner, the cabin-passengers assembled on the quarter-deck, that we saw the dark faces of the reverend gentlemen among us for a while. They sank darkly into their berths when the steward's bell tolled for tea. At Lisbon, where we came to anchor at midnight, a special boat came off, whereof the crew exhibited every token of reverence for the ambassador of the ambassador of heaven, and carried him off from our company. This abrupt departure in the darkness disappointed some of us, who had promised ourselves the pleasure of seeing his Grandeur depart in state in the morning, shaved, clean, and in full pontificals, the tripping little secretary swinging an incense-pot before him, and the greasy chaplain bearing his crosier. Next day we had another bishop, who occupied the TRAVELLING FRIENDS 291 very same berth his Grace of Beyrouth had quitted— was sick in the very same way— so much so that this cabin of the " Lady Mary Wood " is to be christened " the bishop's berth " henceforth; and a handsome mitre is to be painted on the basin. Bishop No. 2 was a very stout, soft, kind-looking old gentleman, in a square cap, with a handsome tassel of green and gold round his portly breast and back. He was dressed in black robes and tight purple stockings: and we carried him from Lisbon to the little flat coast of Faro, of which the meek old gentleman was the chief pastor. We had not been half an hour from our anchorage in the Tagus, when his lordship dived down into the episco- pal berth. All that night there was a good smart breeze ; it blew fresh all the next day, as we went jumping over the blue bright sea ; and there was no sign of his lordship the bishop until we were opposite the purple hills of Al- garve, which lay some ten miles distant,— a yellow sunny shore stretching flat before them, whose long sandy flats and villages we could see with our telescope from the steamer. Presently a little vessel, with a huge shining lateen sail, and bearing the blue and white Portuguese flag, was seen playing a sort of leap-frog on the jolly waves, jumping over them, and ducking down as merry as could be. This little boat came towards the steamer as quick as ever she could jump; and Captain Cooper roaring out, " Stop her!" to "Lady Mary Wood," her lady- ship's paddles suddenly ceased twirling, and news was carried to the good bishop that his boat was almost alongside, and that his hour was come. It was rather an afl'ecting sight to see the poor old fat 292 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO gentleman, looking wistfully over the water as the boat now came up, and her eight seamen, with great noise, energy, and gesticulation laid her by the steamer. The steamer steps were let down; his lordship's servant, in blue and yellow lively, (like the " Edinburgh Review,") cast over the episcopal luggage into the boat, along with his own bundle and the jack-boots with which he rides postilion on one of the bishop's fat mules at Faro. The blue and yellow domestic went down the steps into the boat. Then came the bishop's turn; but he couldn't do it for a long while. He went from one passenger to an- other, sadly shaking them by the hand, .often taking leave and seeming loth to depart, until Captain Cooper, in a stern but respectful tone, touched him on the shoul- der, and said, I know not with what correctness, being ignorant of the Spanish language, " Senor 'Bispo! Senor 'Bispo ! " on which summons the poor old man, looking ruefully round him once more, put his square cap under his arm, tucked up his long black petticoats, so as to show his purple stockings and jolly fat calves, and went trembling down the steps towards the boat. The good old man! I wish I had had a shake of that trembling podgy hand somehow before he went upon his sea martyrdom. I felt a love for that soft-hearted old Christian. Ah! let us hope his governante tucked him comfortably in bed when he got to Faro that night, and made him a warm gruel and put his feet in warm water. The men clung around him, and almost kissed him as they popped him into the boat, but he did not heed their caresses. Away went the boat scudding madly before the wind. Bang! another lateen-sailed boat in the dis- tance fired a gun in his honour; but the wind was blow- ing away from the shore, and who knows when that meek bishop got home to his gruel ! THE MEEK LIEUTEXANT 293 I think these were the notables of our party. I will not mention the laughing, ogling lady of Cadiz, whose manners, I very much regret to say, were a great deal too lively for my sense of propriety ; nor those fair suf- ferers, her companions, who lay on the deck with sickly, smiling, female resignation : nor the heroic children, who no sooner ate biscuit than they were ill, and no sooner were ill than they began eating biscuit again: but just allude to one other martyr, the kind lieutenant in charge of the mails, and who bore his cross with what I can't but think a very touching and noble resignation. There's a certain sort of man whose doom in the world is disappointment,— who excels in it,— and whose luck- less triumphs in his meek career of life, I have often thought, must be regarded by the kind eyes above with as much favour as the splendid successes and achieve- ments of coarser and more prosperous men. As I sat with the lieutenant upon deck, his telescope laid over his lean legs, and he looking at the sunset with a pleased, withered old face, he gave me a little account of his his- tory. I take it he is in no wise disinclined to talk about it, simple as it is: he has been seven-and-thirty years in the navy, being somewhat more mature in the service than Lieutenant Peel, Rear-Admiral Prince de Join- ville, and other commanders who need not be mentioned. He is a very well-educated man, and reads prodigioush^ —travels, histories, lives of eminent worthies and heroes, in his simple way. He is not in the least angry at his want of luck in the profession. " Were I a boy to- morrow," he said, " I would begin it again; and when I see my schoolfellows, and how they have got on in life, if some are better off than I am, I find many are worse, and have no call to be discontented." So he carries her Majesty's mails meekly through this world, waits upon 294 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO port-admirals and captains in his old glazed hat, and is as proud of the pennon at the bow of his little boat, as if it were flying from the mainmast of a thundering man- of-war. He gets two hundred a year for his services, and has an old mother and a sister living in England somewhere, who I will wager (though he never, I swear, said a word about it) have a good portion of this princely income. Is it breaking a confidence to tell Lieutenant Bundy's history? Let the motive excuse the deed. It is a good, kind, wholesome, and noble character. Why should we keep all our admiration for those who win in this world, as we do, sycophants as we are? When we write a novel, our great, stupid imaginations can go no further than to marry the hero to a fortune at the end, and to find out that he is a lord by right. O blundering, lickspittle mo- rality! And yet I would like to fancy some happy re- tributive Utopia in the peaceful cloudland, where my friend the meek lieutenant should find the yards of his ship manned as he went on board, all the guns firing an enormous salute (only without the least noise or vile smell of powder) , and he be saluted on the deck as Ad- miral Sir James, or Sir Joseph — ay, or Lord Viscount Bundy, knight of all the orders above the sun. I think this is a sufficient, if not a complete catalogue of the worthies on board the " Lady INIary Wood." In the week we were on board — it seemed a year, by the way — we came to regard the ship quite as a home. We felt for the captain— the most good-humoured, active, careful, ready of captains— a filial, a fraternal regard; for the providor, who provided for us with admirable comfort and generosity, a genial gratitude ; and for the brisk steward's lads— brisk in serving the banquet, sym- SHAKE HANDS 295 pathizing in handing the basin — every possible senti- ment of regard and good-will. What winds blew, and how many knots we ran, are all noted down, no doubt, in the ship's log: and as for what ships we saw, — every one of them with their gunnage, tonnage, their nation, their direction whither they were bound — were not these all noted down with surprising ingenuity and precision by the lieutenant, at a family desk at which he sat every night, before a great paper elegantly and mysteriously ruled off with his large ruler? I have a regard for every man on board that ship, from the captain down to the crew — down even to the cook, with tattooed arms, sweat- ing among the saucepans in the galley, who used (with a touching affection) to send us locks of his hair in the soup. And so, while our feelings and recollections are warm, let us shake hands with this knot of good fellows, comfortably floating about in their little box of wood and iron, across Channel, Biscay Bay, and the Atlantic, from Southampton Water to Gibraltar Straits. CHAPTER IV GIBRALTAR SUPPOSE all the nations of the earth to send fitting ambassadors to represent them at Wapping or Portsmouth Point, with each, under its own national signboard and language, its appropriate house of call, and your imagination may figure the Main Street of Gibraltar: almost the only part of the town, I believe, which boasts of the name of street at all, the remaining houserows being modestly called lanes, such as Bomb Lane, Battery Lane, Fusee Lane, and so on. In INIain Street the Jews predominate, the INIoors abound; and from the " Jolly Sailor," or the brave " Horse Marine," where the people of our nation are drinking British beer and gin, you hear choruses of " Garryowen " or " The Lass I left behind me ; " while through the flaring lat- tices of the Spanish ventas come the clatter of castanets and the jingle and moan of Spanish guitars and ditties. It is a curious sight at evening this thronged street, with the people, in a hundred different costumes, bustling to and fro under the coarse flare of the lamps; swarthy Moors, in white or crimson robes; dark Spanish smug- glers in tufted hats, with gay silk handkerchiefs round their heads; fuddled seamen from men-of-war, or mer- chantmen; porters, Gallician or Genoese; and at every few minutes' interval, little squads of soldiers tramping to relieve guard at some one of the innumerable posts in the town. 296 CLUB-HOUSE GOSSIP 297 Some of our party went to a Spanish venta, as a more convenient or romantic place of residence than an Eng- lish house ; others made choice of the cluL-house in Com- mercial Square, of which I formed an agreeable picture in my imagination; rather, perhaps, resembling the Junior United Service Club in Charles Street, by which every Londoner has passed ere this with respectful plea- sure, catching glimpses of magnificent blazing candela- bra, under which sit neat half -pay officers, drinking half -pints of port. The club-house of Gibraltar is not, however, of the Charles Street sort; it may have been cheerful once, and there are yet relics of splendour about it. When officers wore pigtails, and in the time of Gov- ernor O'Hara, it may have been a handsome place; but it is mouldy and decrepit now; and though his Excel- lency, INIr. Bulwer, was living there, and made no com- plaints that I heard of, other less distinguished persons thought they had reason to grumble. Indeed, what is travelling made of? At least half its pleasures and in- cidents come out of inns; and of them the tourist can speak with much more truth and vivacity than of historical recollections compiled out of histories, or filched out of handbooks. But to speak of the best inn in a place needs no apology; that, at least, is useful information; as every person intending to visit Gibraltar cannot have seen the flea-bitten countenances of our com- panions, who fled from their Spanish venta to take refuge at the club the morning after our arrival, they may surely be thankful for being directed to the best house of accommodation in one of the most unromantic, uncomfortable, and prosaic of towns. If one had a right to break the sacred confidence of the mahogany, I could entertain you with many queer stories 298 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO of Gibraltar life, gathered from the lips of the gentle- men who enjoyed themselves round the dingy tablecloth of the club-house coiFee-room, richly decorated with cold gravy and spilt beer. I heard there the very names of the gentlemen who wrote the famous letters from the *' Warspite " regarding the French proceedings at ' Mogador ; and met several refugee Jews from that place, who said that they were much more afraid of the Kabyles without the city than of the guns of the French squad- ron, of which they seemed to make rather light. I heard the last odds on the ensuing match between Captain Smith's b. g. Bolter, and Captain Brown's ch. c. Roarer: how the gun-room of her Majesty's ship " Purgatory " had "cobbed" a tradesman of the town, and of the row in consequence. I heard capital stories of the way in which Wilkins had escaped the guard, and Thompson had been locked up among the mosquitoes for being out after ten without the lantern. I heard how the governor was an old , but to say what, Avould be breaking a confi- dence; only this may be divulged, that the epithet was exceedingly complimentary to Sir Robert Wilson. All the while these conversations were going on, a strange scene of noise and bustle was passing in the market- place, in front of the window, where Moors, Jews, Span- iards, soldiers were thronging in the sun ; and a ragged fat fellow, mounted on a tobacco-barrel with his hat cocked on his ear, was holding an auction, and roaring with an energy and impudence that would have done credit to Covent Garden. The Moorish castle is the only building about the Rock which has an air at all picturesque or romantic ; there is a plain Roman Catholic cathedral, a hideous new Protes- tant church of the cigar-divan architecture, and a Court- GIBRALTAR 299 house with a portico which is said to be an imitation of the Parthenon : the ancient rehgious houses of the Span- ish town are gone, or turned into mihtary residences, and marked so that you would never know their former pious destination. You walk through narrow whitewashed lanes, bearing such martial names as are before men- tioned, and by-streets with barracks on either side : small Newgate-like looking buildings, at the doors of which you may see the sergeants' ladies conversing; or at the open windows of the officers' quarters. Ensign Fipps lying on his sofa and smoking his cigar, or Lieutenant Simson practising the flute to while away the weary hours of garrison dulness. I was surprised not to find more persons in the garrison library, where is a mag- nificent reading-room, and an admirable collection of books. In spite of the scanty herbage and the dust on the trees, the Alameda is a beautiful walk ; of which the vege- tation has been as laboriously cared for as the tremen- dous fortifications which flank it on either side. The vast Rock rises on one side with its interminable works of defence, and Gibraltar Bay is shining on the other, out on which from the terraces immense cannon are per- petually looking, surrounded by plantations of cannon- balls and beds of bomb-shells, sufficient, one would think, to blow away the whole Peninsula. The horticultural and military mixture is indeed very queer : here and there temples, rustic summer-seats, &c. have been erected in the garden, but you are sure to see a great squat mortar look up from among the flower-pots: and amidst the aloes and geraniums sprouts the green petticoat and scarlet coat of a Highlander. Fatigue-parties are seen winding up the hill, and busy about the endless cannon-ball plan- 300 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO tations ; awkward squads are drilling in the open spaces : sentries marching everywhere, and (this is a caution to artists) I am told have orders to run any man through who is discovered making a sketch of the place. It is al- ways beautiful, especially at evening, when the people are sauntering along the walks, and the moon is shining on the waters of the bay and the hills and twinkling white houses of the opposite shore. Then the place be- comes quite romantic : it is too dark to see the dust on the dried leaves; the cannon-balls do not intrude too much, but have subsided into the shade; the awkward squads are in bed; even the loungers are gone, the fan-flirting S23anish ladies, the sallow black-eyed children, and the trim white- jacketed dandies. A fife is heard from some craft at roost on the quiet waters somewhere; or a faint cheer from yonder black steamer at the ^lole, which is about to set out on some night expedition. You forget that the town is at all like Wapping, and deliver yourself up entirely to romance; the sentries look noble pacing there, silent in the moonlight, and Sandy's voice is quite musical as he challenges with a " Who goes there? " " All's Well " is very pleasant when sung decently in tune, and inspires noble and poetic ideas of duty, cour- age, and danger: but when you hear it shouted all the night through, accompanied by a clapping of muskets in a time of profound peace, the sentinel's cry becomes no more romantic to the hearer than it is to the sandy Con- naught-man or the barelegged Highlander who delivers it. It is best to read about wars comfortably in Harry Lorrequer or Scott's novels, in which knights shout their war-cries, and jovial Irish bayoneteers hurrah, without depriving you of any blessed rest. Men of a different way of thinking, however, can suit themselves perfectly "ALL'S WELL" 301 at Gibraltar; where there is marching and counter- marching, challenging and relieving guard all the night through. And not here in Commercial Square alone, but all over the huge Rock in the darkness— all through the mysterious zigzags, and round the dark cannon-ball pyramids, and along the vast rock-galleries, and up to the topmost flagstaff, where the sentry can look out over two seas, poor fellows are marching and clapping mus- kets, and crying "All's well," dressed in cap and feather, in place of honest nightcaps best befitting the decent hours of sleep. All these martial noises three of us heard to the utmost advantage, lying on iron bedsteads at the time in a cracked old room on the ground-floor, the open windows of which looked into the square. No spot could be more favourably selected for watching the humours of a gar- rison-town by night. About midnight, the door hard by us was visited by a party of young officers, who having had quite as much drink as was good for them, were naturally inclined for more; and when we remonstrated through the windows, one of them in a young tipsy voice asked after our mothers, and finally reeled away. How charming is the conversation of high-spirited youth! I don't know whether the guard got hold of them : but cer- tainly if a civilian had been hiccuping through the streets at that hour he would have been carried off to the guard- house, and left to the mercy of the mosquitoes there, and had up before the Governor in the morning. The young man in the coffee-room tells me he goes to sleep every night with the keys of Gibraltar under his pillow. It is an awful image, and somehow completes the notion of the slumbering fortress. Fancy Sir Robert Wilson, his nose just visible over the sheets, his nightcap and the 302 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO huge key (you see the very identical one in Reynolds' portrait of Lord Heathfield) peeping out from under the bolster ! If I entertain you with accounts of inns and nightcaps it is because I am more familiar with these subjects than with history and fortifications: as far as I can under- stand the former, Gibraltar is the great British depot for smuggling goods into the Peninsula. You see vessels lying in the harbour, and are told in so many words they are smugglers ; all those smart Spaniards with cigar and mantles are smugglers, and run tobaccos and cotton into Catalonia; all the respected merchants of the place are smugglers. The other day a Spanish revenue vessel was shot to death under the thundering great guns of the fort, for neglecting to bring to, but it so happened that it was in chase of a smuggler ; in this little corner of her dominions Britain proclaims war to custom-houses, and protection to free trade. Perhaps ere a very long day, England may be acting that part towards the world, which Gibraltar performs towards Spain now; and the last war in which we shall ever engage may be a custom- house war. For once establish railroads and abolish pre- ventive duties through Europe, and what is there left to fight for? It will matter very httle then under what flag people live, and foreign ministers and ambassadors may enjoy a dignified sinecure; the army will rise to the rank of peaceful constables, not having any more use for their bayonets than those worthy people have for their weapons now who accompany the law at assizes under the name of javelin-men. The apparatus of bombs and eighty-four-pounders may disappear from the Alameda, and the crops of cannon-balls which now grow there may A RELEASE 303 give place to other plants more pleasant to the eye; and the great key of Gibraltar may be left in the gate for anybody to turn at will, and Sir Robert Wilson may sleep at quiet. I am afraid I thought it was rather a release, when, having made up our minds to examine the Rock in detail and view the magnificent excavations and galleries, the admiration of all military men, and the terror of any enemies who may attack the fortress, we received orders to embark forthwith in the " Tagus," which was to carry us to Malta and Constantinople. So we took leave of this famous Rock — this great blunderbuss — which we seized out of the hands of the natural owners a hundred and forty years ago, and which we have kept ever since tremendously loaded and cleaned and ready for use. To seize and have it is doubtless a gallant thing ; it is like one of those tests of courage which one reads of in the chival- rous romances, when, for instance. Sir Huon of Bor- deaux is called upon to prove his knighthood by going to Babjdon and pulling out the Sultan's beard and front teeth in the midst of his court there. But, after all, jus- tice must confess it was rather hard on the poor Sul- tan. If we had the Spaniards established at Land's End, with impregnable Spanish fortifications on St. IMichael's Mount, we should perhaps come to the same conclusion. Meanwhile let us hope, during this long period of dep- rivation, the Sultan of Spain is reconciled to the loss of his front teeth and bristling whiskers — let us even try to think that he is better without them. At all events, right or wrong, whatever may be our title to the property, there is no Englishman but must think with pride of the manner in which his countrymen have kept it, and of the courage, endurance, and sense of duty with which stout 304 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO old Eliot and his companions resisted Crillion and the Spanish battering ships and his fifty thousand men. There seems to be something more noble in the success of a gallant resistance than of an attack, however brave. After failing in his attack on the fort, the French Gen- eral visited the English Commander who had foiled him, and parted from him and his garrison in perfect polite- ness and good humour. The English troops. Drink- water says, gave him thundering cheers as he went away, and the French in return complimented us on our gallantry, and lauded the humanity of our people. If we are to go on murdering each other in the old-fash- ioned way, what a pity it is that our battles cannot end in the old-fashioned way too. One of our fellow-travellers, who had written a book, and had suffered considerably from sea-sickness during our passage along the coasts of France and Spain, con- soled us all by saying that the very minute we got into the Mediterranean we might consider ourselves entirely free from illness ; and, in fact, that it was unheard of in the Inland Sea. Even in the Bay of Gibraltar the water looked bluer than anj^thing I have ever seen — except Miss Smith's eyes. I thought, somehow, the delicious faultless azure never could look angry — just like the eyes before alluded to— and under this assurance we passed the Strait, and began coasting the African shore calmly and without the least apprehension, as if we were as much used to the tempest as INIr. T. P. Cooke. But when, in spite of the promise of the man who had written the book, we found ourselves w^orse than in the worst part of the Bay of Biscay, or off the storm-lashed rocks of Finisterre, we set down the author in question as a gross impostor, and had a mind to quarrel with him VALETTA 305 for leading us into this cruel error. The most provoking part of the matter, too, was, that the sky was deliciousl}^ clear and cloudless, the air balmy, the sea so insultingly blue that it seemed as if we had no right to be ill at all, and that the innumerable little waves that frisked round about our keel were enjoying an anerithmon gelasina (this is one of my four Greek quotations: depend on it, I will manage to introduce the other three before the tour is done) — seemed to be enjoying, I say, the above- named Greek quotation at our expense. Here is the dis- mal log of Wednesday, 4th of September: — "All at- tempts at dining very fruitless. Basins in requisition. Wind hard ahead. Que dicible allais-je faire dans cctte galere? Writing or thinking impossible: so read letters from the ^gean." These brief words give, I think, a complete idea of wretchedness, despair, remorse, and prostration of soul and body. Two days previously we passed the forts and moles and yellow buildings of Al- giers, rising very stately from the sea, and skirted by gloomy purple lines of African shore, with fires smoking in the mountains, and lonelv settlements here and there. On the 5th, to the inexpressible joy of all, we reached Valetta, the entrance to the harbour of which is one of the most stately and agreeable scenes ever admired by sea-sick traveller. The small basin was busy with a hun- dred ships, from the huge guard-ship, which lies there a city in itself; — merchantmen loading and crews cheer- ing, under all the flags of the world flaunting in the sun- shine; a half -score of busy black steamers perpetually coming and going, coaling and painting, and puffing and hissing in and out of harbour; slim men-of-war's barges shooting to and fro, with long shining oars flash- ing like wings over the water ; hundreds of painted town- 306 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO boats, with high heads and white awnings, — down to the Httle tubs in which some naked, tawny young beggars came paddhng up to the steamer, entreating us to let them dive for halfpence. Round this busy blue water rise rocks, blazing in sunshine, and covered with every imaginable device of fortification ; to the right, St. Elmo, with flag and lighthouse; and ojjposite, the Military Hospital, looking like a palace ; and all round, the houses of the city, for its size the handsomest and most stately in the world. Nor does it disappoint you on a closer inspection, as many a foreign town does. The streets are thronged with a lively, comfortable-looking population; the poor seem to inhabit handsome stone palaces, with balconies and projecting windows of heavy carved stone. The lights and shadows, the cries and stenches, the fruit-shops and fish-stalls, the dresses and chatter of all nations ; the soldiers in scarlet, and women in black mantillas; the beggars, boatmen, barrels of pickled herrings and mac- aroni; the shovel-hatted priests and bearded capuchins; the tobacco, grapes, onions, and sunshine; the sign- boards, bottled-porter stores, the statues of saints and little chapels which jostle the stranger's eyes as he goes up the famous stairs from the Water-gate, make a scene of such pleasant confusion and liveliness as I have never witnessed before. And the effects of the groups of mul- titudinous actors in this busy, cheerful drama is height- ened, as it were, bj^ the decorations of the stage. The sky is delightfully brilliant ; all the houses and ornaments are stately ; castles and palaces are rising all around ; and the flag, towers, and walls of Fort St. Elmo look as fresh and magnificent as if they had been erected only yesterday. VALETTA 307 The Strada Reale has a much more courtly appear- ance than that one described. Here are palaces, churches, court-houses and libraries, the genteel London shops, and the latest articles of perfumery. Gay young officers are strolling about in shell- jackets mucli too small for them : midshipmen are clattering by on hired horses ; squads of priests, habited after the fashion of Don Ba- silio in the opera, are demurely pacing to and fro ; pro- fessional beggars run shrieking after the stranger; and agents for horses, for inns, and for worse places still, follow him and insinuate the excellence of their goods. The houses where they are selling carpet-bags and po- matum were the palaces of the successors of the goodliest company of gallant knights the world ever heard tell of. It seems unromantic; but these were not the romantic Knights of St. John. The heroic days of the Order ended as the last Turkish galley lifted anchor after the memorable siege. The present stately houses were built in times of peace and splendour and decay. I doubt whether the Auberge de Provence, where the " Union Club " flourishes now, has ever seen anything more ro- mantic than the pleasant balls held in the great room there. The Church of Saint John, not a handsome structure without, is magnificent within : a noble hall covered with a rich embroidery of gilded carving, the chapels of the diff'erent nations on either side, but not interfering with the main structure, of which the whole is simple, and the details only splendid ; it seemed to me a fitting place for this wealthy body of aristocratic soldiers, who made their devotions as it were on parade, and, though on their knees, never forgot their epaulets or their quarters of nobility. This mixture of religion and worldly pride 308 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO seems incongruous at first ; but have we not at church at home similar reHcs of feudal ceremony?— the verger with the silver mace who precedes the vicar to the desk ; the two chaplains of my lord archbishop, who bow over his grace as he enters the communion-table gate; even poor John, who follows my lady with a coroneted prayer- book, and makes his conge as he hands it into the pew. What a chivalrous absurdity is the banner of some high and mighty prince, hanging over his stall in Windsor Chapel, when you think of the purpose for which men are supposed to assemble there! The Church of the Knights of St. John is paved over with sprawling heral- dic devices of the dead gentlemen of the dead Order; as if, in the next world, they expected to take rank in con- formity with their pedigrees, and would be marshalled into heaven according to the orders of precedence. Cumbrous handsome paintings adorn the walls and chapels, decorated with pompous monuments of Grand JNIasters. Beneath is a crypt, where more of these hon- ourable and reverend warriors lie, in a state that a Simp- son would admire. In the altar are said to lie three of the most gallant relics in the world: the kej^s of Acre, Rhodes, and Jerusalem. What blood was shed in de- fending these emblems ! What faith, endurance, genius, and generosity ; what pride, hatred, ambition, and savage lust of blood were roused together for their guardian- ship ! In the lofty lialls and corridors of the Governor's house, some portraits of the late Grand Masters still remain: a very fine one, by Caravaggio, of a knight in gilt armour, liangs in the dining-room, near a full-length of poor Louis XVI., in royal robes, the very picture of uneasy impotency. But the portrait of De Vignacourt MALTA RELICS 309 is the only one which has a respectable air; the other chiefs of the famous society are pompous old gentlemen in black, with huge periwigs, and crowns round their hats, and a couple of melancholy pages in yellow and red. But pages and wigs and Grand JNIasters have al- most faded out of the canvas, and are vanishing into Hades with a most melancholy indistinctness. The names of most of these gentlemen, however, live as j^et in the forts of the j)lace, which all seem to have been eager to build and christen : so that it seems as if, in the Malta mythology, they had been turned into freestone. In the armoury is the very suit painted by Caravaggio, by the side of the armour of the noble old La Valette, whose heroism saved his island from the efforts of IMus- tapha and Dragut, and an army quite as fierce and nu- merous as that which was baffled before Gibraltar, by similar courage and resolution. The sword of the last- named famous corsair (a most truculent little scimitar), thousands of pikes and halberts, little old cannons and wall-pieces, helmets and cuirasses, which the knights or their people wore, are trimly arranged against the wall, and, instead of spiking Turks or arming warriors, now serve to point morals and adorn tales. And here likewise are kept many thousand muskets, swords, and boarding- pikes for daily use, and a couple of ragged old standards of one of the English regiments, who pursued and con- quered in Egypt the remains of the haughty and famous French republican army, at whose appearance the last knights of INIalta flung open the gates of all their for- tresses, and consented to be extinguished without so much as a remonstrance, or a kick, or a struggle. We took a drive into what may be called the country ; where the fields are rocks, and the hedges are stones— 310 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO passing by the stone gardens of the Florian, and won- dering at the number and handsomeness of the stone vil- lages and churches rising everywhere among the stony hills. Handsome villas were passed everywhere, and we drove for a long distance along the sides of an aqueduct, quite a royal work of the Caravaggio in gold armour, the Grand Master De Vignacourt. A most agreeable con- trast to the arid rocks of the general scenery was the gar- den at the Governor's country-house; with the orange- trees and water, its beautiful golden grapes, luxuriant flowers, and thick cool shrubberies. The eye longs for this sort of refreshment, after being seared with the hot glare of the general country; and St. Antonio was as pleasant after JNIalta as Malta was after the sea. We paid the island a subsequent visit in November, passing seventeen days at an establishment called Fort Manuel there, and by punsters the Manuel des Voya- geurs ; where Government accommodates you with quar- ters ; where the authorities are so attentive as to scent your letters with aromatic vinegar before you receive them, and so careful of your health as to lock you up in your room every night lest you should walk in your sleep, and so over the battlements into the sea : if you escaped drown- ing in the sea, the sentries on the opposite shore would fire at you, hence the nature of the precaution. To drop, however, this satirical strain : those who know what quar- antine is, may fancy that the place somehow becomes un- bearable in which it has been endured. And though the November climate of Malta is like the most delicious May in England, and though there is every gaiety and amusement in the town, a comfortable little opera, a good old Hbrary filled full of good old books (none of your works of modern science, travel, and histor^^ but DEATH IN THE LAZARETTO 311 good old useless books of the last two centuries) , and no- body to trouble you in reading them, and though the society of Valetta is most hospitable, varied, and agree- able, yet somehow one did not feel safe in the island, with perpetual glimpses of Fort Manuel from the opposite shore; and, lest the quarantine authorities should have a fancy to fetch one back again, on a pretext of posthu- mous plague, we made our way to Naples by the very first opportunity — those who remained, that is, of the little Eastern expedition. They were not all there. The Giver of life and death had removed two of our com- pany : one was left behind to die in Egypt, with a mother to bewail his loss ; another we buried in the dismal laza- retto cemetery. *-tt ^ 4lt 4it r^ #!> tf|% 0^ One is bound to look at this, too, as a part of our jour- ney. Disease and death are knocking perhaps at your next cabin door. Your kind and cheery companion has ridden his last ride and emptied his last glass beside you. And while fond hearts are yearning for him far away, and his own mind, if conscious, is turning eagerly to- wards the spot of the world whither affection or interest calls it — the Great Father summons the anxious spirit from earth to himself, and ordains that the nearest and dearest shall meet here no more. Such an occurrence as a death in a lazaretto, mere self- ishness renders striking. We were walking with him but two days ago on deck. One has a sketch of him, an- other his card, with the address written yesterday, and given with an invitation to come and see him at home in the country, where his children are looking for him. He is dead in a day, and buried in the walls of the prison. A doctor felt his pulse by deputy — a clergyman comes 312 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO from the town to read the last service over him— and the friends, who attend his funeral, are marshalled by laza- retto-guardians, so as not to touch each other. Every man goes back to his room and applies the lesson to him- self. One would not so depart without seeing again the dear, dear faces. We reckon up those we love : they are but very few, but I think one loves them better than ever now. Should it be your turn next?— and why not? Is it 23ity or comfort to think of that affection which watches and survives you? The Maker has linked together the whole race of man with this chain of love. I like to think that there is no man but has had kindly feelings for some other, and he for his neighbour, until we bind together the whole fam- ily of Adam. Nor does it end here. It joins heaven and earth together. For my friend or my child of past days is still my friend or my child to me here, or in the home prepared for us by the Father of all. If identity sur- vives the grave, as our faith tells us, is it not a consolation to think that there may be one or two souls among the purified and just, whose affection watches us invisible, and follows the poor sinner on earth ? CHAPTER V ATHENS NOT feeling any enthusiasm myself about Athens, my bounden duty of course is clear, to sneer and laugh heartily at all who have. In fact, what business has a lawyer, who was in Pump Court this day three weeks, and whose common reading is law reports or the newspaper, to pretend to fall in love for the long vaca- tion with mere poetry, of which I swear a great deal is very doubtful, and to get up an enthusiasm quite foreign to his nature and usual calling in life? What call have ladies to consider Greece " romantic," they who get their notions of mythology from the well-known pages of " Tooke's Pantheon? " What is the reason that blun- dering Yorkshire squires, young dandies from Corfu regiments, jolly sailors from ships in the harbour, and yellow old Indians returning from Bundelcund, should think proper to be enthusiastic about a coimtrj^ of which they know nothing; the mere physical beauty of which they cannot, for the most part, comprehend ; and because certain characters lived in it two thousand four hundred years ago? What have these people in common with Pericles, what have these ladies in common with Aspasia (O fie!) ? Of the race of Englishmen who come won- dering about the tomb of Socrates, do you think the ma- jority would not have voted to hemlock him? Yes: for the very same superstition which leads men by the nose 313 314 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO now, drove them onward in the days when the lowly hus- band of Xantippe died for daring to think simply and to speak the truth. I know of no quality more magnificent in fools than their faith : that perfect consciousness they have, that they are doing virtuous and meritorious ac- tions, when they are performing acts of folly, murdering Socrates, or pelting Aristides with holy oyster-shells, all for Virtue's sake; and a " History of Dulness in all Ages of the World," is a book which a philosopher would surely be hanged, but as certainly blessed, for writing. If j)apa and mamma (honour be to them!) had not followed the faith of their fathers, and thought proper to send away their only beloved son (afterwards to be celebrated under the name of Titmarsh) into ten years' banishment of infernal miserj^, tyranny, annoyance; to give over the fresh feelings of the heart of the little Mi- chael Angelo to the discipline of vulgar bullies, who, in order to lead tender young children to the Temple of Learning (as they do in the spelling-books), drive them on with clenched fists and low abuse ; if they fainted, re- vived them with a thump, or assailed them with a curse ; if they were miserable, consoled them with a brutal jeer — if, I say, my dear parents, instead of giving me the inestimable benefit of a ten years' classical education, had kept me at home with my dear thirteen sisters, it is probable I should have liked this country of Attica, in sight of the blue shores of which the present pathetic let- ter is written ; but I M^as made so miserable in youth by a classical education, that all connected with it is disagree- able in my eyes; and I have the same recollection of Greek in youth that I have of castor-oil. So in coming in sight of the promontory of Sunium, where the Greek muse, in an awful vision, came to me. REMINISCENCES OF TTim] 315 and said in a patronizing way, " Why, my dear," (she always, the old spinster, adopts this high and mighty tone,) — " Why, my dear, are you not charmed to be in this famous neighbourhood, in this land of poets and he- roes, of whose history your classical education ought to have made you a master? if it did not, you have wofully neglected your opportunities, and your dear parents have wasted their money in sending you to school." I replied, " Madam, your company in youth was made so labori- ously disagreeable to me, that I can't at present reconcile myself to you in age. I read your poets, but it was in fear and trembling ; and a cold sweat is but an ill accom- paniment to poetry. I blundered through your histo- ries; but history is so dull (saving your presence) of herself, that when the brutal dulness of a schoolmaster is superadded to her own slow conversation, the union be- comes intolerable : hence I have not the slightest pleasure in renewing my acquaintance with a lady who has been the source of so much bodily and mental discomfort to me." To make a long story short, I am anxious to apologize for a want of enthusiasm in the classical line, and to excuse an ignorance which is of the most unde- niable sort. This is an improper frame of mind for a person visit- ing the land of ^schylus and Euripides ; add to which, we have been abominably overcharged at the inn: and what are the blue hills of Attica, the silver calm basin of Pirseus, the heathery heights of Pentelicus, and yonder rocks crowned by the Doric columns of the Parthenon, and the thin Ionic shafts of the Erechtheum, to a man who has had little rest, and is bitten all over by bugs? Was Alcibiades bitten by bugs, I w^onder; and did the brutes crawl over him as he lay in the rosy arms of '61Q JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO Phryne? I wished all night for Socrates' hammock or basket, as it is described in the " Clouds; " in which rest- ing-place, no doubt, the abominable animals kept per- force clear of him. A French man-of-war, lying in the silvery little har- bour, sternly eyeing out of its stern port-holes a saucy little English corvette beside, began playing sounding marches as a crowd of boats came paddling up to the steamer's side to convey us travellers to shore. There were Russian schooners and Greek brigs lying in this lit- tle bay; dumpy little windmills whirling round on the sunburnt heights round about it ; an improvised town of quays and marine taverns has sprung up on the shore; a host of jingling barouches, more miserable than any to be seen even in Germany, were collected at the landing- place; and the Greek drivers (how queer they looked in skull-caps, shabb}^ jackets with profuse embroidery of worsted, and endless petticoats of dirty calico!) began, in a generous ardour for securing passengers, to abuse each other's horses and carriages in the regular London fashion. Satire could certainly hardl}^ caricature the vehicle in which we were made to journey to Athens; and it was only by thinking that, bad as they were, these coaches were much more comfortable contrivances than LANDSCAPE 317 any Alcibiades or Cimon ever had, that we consoled our- selves along the road. It was flat for six miles along the plain to the city : and you see for the greater part of the way the purple mount on which the Acropolis rises, and the gleaming houses of the town spread beneath. Round this wide, yellow, barren plain, — a stunt district of olive- trees is almost the only vegetation visible — there rises, as it were, a sort of chorus of the most beautiful mountains; the most elegant, gracious, and noble the eye ever looked on. These hills did not appear at all lofty or terrible, but superbly rich and aristocratic. The clouds were dancing round about them; you could see their rosy, purple shadows sweeping round the clear, serene sum- mits of the hill. To call a hill aristocratic seems affected or absurd ; but the difference between these hills and the others, is the difference between Newgate Prison and the " Travellers' Club," for instance: both are buildings; but the one stern, dark, and coarse: the other rich, ele- gant, and festive. At least, so I thought. With such a stately palace as munificent Nature had built for these people, what could they be themselves but lordly, beau- tiful, brilliant, brave, and wise? We saw four Greeks on donkeys on the road (which is a dust-whirlwind where it is not a puddle) ; and other four were playing with a dirty pack of cards, at a barrack that English poets have christened the " Half-way House." Does external na- ture and beauty influence the soul to good? You go about Warwickshire, and fancy that from merely being born and wandering in those sweet sunny plains and fresh woodlands Shakspeare must have drunk in a por- tion of that frank, artless sense of beauty, which lies about his works like a bloom or dew; but a Coventry ribbon-maker, or a slang Leamington squire, are looking 318 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO on those very same landscapes too, and what do they profit? You theorize about the influence which the ch- mate and appearance of Attica must have had in enno- bhng those who were born there; yonder dirty, swin- dhng, ragged blackguards, lolling over greasy cards three hours before noon, quarrelling and shrieking, armed to the teeth and afraid to fight, are bred out of the same land which begot the philosophers and heroes. But the " Half-way House " is past by this time, and behold ! we are in the capital of King Otho. I swear solemnly that I would rather have two hun- dred a year in Fleet Street, than be King of the Greeks, with Basileus written before my name round their beg- garly coin; with the bother of perpetual revolutions in my huge plaster-of -Paris palace, with no amusement but a drive in the afternoon over a wretched arid countrj^ where roads are not made, with ambassadors (the deuce knows why, for what good can the English, or the French, or the Russian party get out of such a bankrupt alliance as this?) perpetually pulling and tugging at me, awav from honest Germany, where there is beer and aesthetic conversation, and operas at a small cost. The shabbiness of this place actually beats Ireland, and that is a strong word. The palace of the Basileus is an enor- mous edifice of plaster, in a square containing six houses, three donkeys, no roads, no fountains (except in the pic- ture of the inn) ; backwards it seems to look straight to the mountain — on one side is a beggarly garden — the King goes out to drive (revolutions permitting) at five — some four-and-twenty blackguards saunter up to the huge sandhill of a terrace, as his Majesty passes by in a gilt barouche and an absurd fancy dress; the gilt ba- rouche goes plunging down the sandhills : the two dozen LANDSCAPE 319 soldiers, who have been presenting arms, slouch off to their quarters: the vast barrack of a palace remains en- tirely white, ghastly, and lonel}^: and, save the braying of a donkey now and then, (which long-eared minstrels are more active and sonorous in Athens than in any place I know,) all is entirely silent round Basileus's palace. How could people who knew Leopold fancy he would be so " jolly green " as to take such a berth? It was only a gobemouche of a Bavarian that could ever have been in- duced to accept it. I beseech you to believe that it was not the bill and the bugs at the inn which induced the writer hereof to speak so slightingly of the residence of Basileus. These evils are now cured and forgotten. This is writ- ten off the leaden flats and mounds which they call the Troad. It is stern justice alone which pronounces this excruciating sentence. It was a farce to make this place into a kingly capital; and I make no manner of doubt that King Otho, the very day he can get away un- perceived, and get together the passage-money, will be off for dear old Deutschland, Fatherland, Beer- land ! I have never seen a town in England which may be compared to this; for though Heme Bay is a ruin now, money was once spent upon it and houses built ; here, be- yond a few score of mansions comfortably laid out, the town is little better than a rickety agglomeration of larger and smaller huts, tricked out here and there with the most absurd cracked ornaments and cheap attempts at elegance. But neatness is the elegance of poverty, and these people despise such a homely ornament. I have got a map with squares, fountains, theatres, public gar- dens, and Places d'Othon marked out; but they only 320 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO exist in the paper capital — the wretched tumble-down wooden one boasts of none. One is obliged to come back to the old disagreeable comparison of Ireland. Athens may be about as wealthy a j^lace as Carlow or Killarney — the streets swarm with idle crowds, the innumerable little lanes flow over with dirty little children, they are playing and puddling about in the dirt everywhere, with great big eyes, yellow faces, and the queerest little gowns and skull-caps. But in the outer man, the Greek has far the advantage of the Irishman: most of them are well and decently dressed (if five-and-twenty yards of petticoat may not be called decent, what may?) they swagger to and fro with huge knives in their girdles. Almost all the men are hand- some, but live hard, it is said, in order to decorate their backs with those fine clothes of theirs. I have seen but two or three handsome women, and these had the great drawback which is common to the race — I mean, a sal- low, greasy, coarse complexion, at which it was not ad- visable to look too closely. And on this score I think we English may pride our- selves on possessing an advantage (by we, I mean the lovely ladies to whom this is addressed with the most re- spectful compliments) over the most classical country in the world. I don't care for beauty which will only bear to be looked at from a distance, like a scene in a theatre. What is the most beautiful nose in the world, if it be covered with a skin of the texture and colour of coarse whitey-brown paper ; and if Nature has made it as slip- pery and shining as though it had been anointed with pomatum? They may talk about beauty, but would you wear a flower that had been dipped in a grease-pot ? No ; give me a fresh, dewy, healthy rose out of Somersetshire; GREEK WOMEN 321 not one of those superb, tawdry, unwholesome exotics, which are only good to make poems about. Lord Byron wi'ote more cant of this sort than any poet I know of. Think of " the peasant girls with dark blue eyes " of the Rhine — the brown-faced, flat-nosed, thick-lipped, dirty wenches! Think of "filling high a cup of Samian wine ; " small beer is nectar compared to it, and Byron himself always drank gin. That man never wrote from his heart. He got up raj^ture and enthusiasm with an eye to the public; but this is dangerous ground, even more dangerous than to look Athens full in the face, and say that your eyes are not dazzled by its beauty. The Great Public admires Greece and Byron ; the public knows best. Murray's " Guide-book " calls the latter " our native bard." Our native bard! MonDieu! Jf ^ Shakspeare's, Milton's, Keats's, Scott's native bard! Well, woe be to the man who denies the public gods ! The truth is, then, that Athens is a disappointment; and I am angry that it should be so. To a skilled anti- quarian, or an enthusiastic Greek scholar, the feelings created by a sight of the place of course will be different ; but you who would be inspired by it must undergo a long preparation of reading, and possess, too, a particular feeling; both of which, I suspect, are uncommon in our busy commercial newsj^aper-reading countrj^ Men only say they are enthusiastic about the Greek and Roman authors and history, because it is considered proper and respectable. And we know how gentlemen in Baker Street have editions of the classics handsomely bound in the library, and how they use them. Of course they don't retire to read the newspaper; it is to look over a favourite ode of Pindar, or to discuss an obscure passage in Athe- nseus! Of course country magistrates and JNIembers of 322 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO Parliament are always studying Demosthenes and Ci- cero; we know it from their continual habit of quoting the Latin grammar in Parliament. But it is agreed that the classics are respectable ; therefore we are to be enthu- siastic about them. Also let us admit that Byron is to be held up as " our native bard." I am not so entire a heathen as to be insensible to the beauty of those relics of Greek art, of which men much more learned and enthusiastic have written such piles of descriptions. I thought I could recognize the towering beauty of the prodigious columns of the Temple of Ju- piter; and admire the astonishing grace, severity, ele- gance, completeness of the Parthenon. The little Tem- ple of Victory, with its fluted Corinthian shafts, blazed under the sun almost as fresh as it must have appeared to the eyes of its founders ; I saw nothing more charming and brilliant, more graceful, festive, and aristocratic, than this sumptuous little building. The Roman remains which lie in the town below look like the works of barbar- ians beside these perfect structures. They jar strangely on the eye, after it has been accustoming itself to perfect harmony and proportions. If, as the schoolmaster tells us, the Greek writing is as complete as the Greek art ; if an ode of Pindar is as glittering and pure as the Temple of Victory ; or a discourse of Plato as polished and calm as yonder mystical portico of the Erechtheum; what treasures of the senses and delights of the imagination have those lost to whom the Greek books are as good as sealed ! And yet one meets with very dull first-class men. Ge- nius won't transplant from one brain to another, or is ruined in the carriage, like fine Burgundy. Sir Robert Peel and Sir John Hobhouse are both good scholars ; but TrniQ AGAIN 323 their poetry In Parliament does not strike one as fine. JNIuzzle, the schoolmaster, who is bullying poor trembling little boys, was a fine scholar when he was a sizar, and a ruffian then and ever since. Where is the great poet, since the days of Milton, who has improved the natural off- shoots of his brain by grafting it from the Athenian tree ? I had a volume of Tennyson in my pocket, which somehow settled that question, and ended the querulous dispute between me and Conscience, under the shape of the neglected and irritated Greek muse, which had been going on ever since I had commenced my walk about Athens. The old spinster saw me wince at the idea of the author of Dora and Ulysses, and tried to follow up her advantage by further hints of time lost, and precious opportunities thrown away. " You might have written poems like them," said she; " or, no, not like them per- haps, but you might have done a neat prize poem, and pleased your papa and mamma. You might have trans- lated Jack and Gill into Greek iambics, and been a credit to your college." I turned testily away from her. " Madam," says I, " because an eagle houses on a moun- tain, or soars to the sun, don't you be angry with a spar- row that perches on a garret-window, or twitters on a twig. Leave me to myself ; look, my beak is not aquiline by any means." And so, my dear friend, you -who have been reading this last page in wonder, and who, instead of a descrip- tion of Athens, have been accommodated with a lament on the part of the writer, that he was idle at school, and does not know Greek, excuse this momentary outbreak of egotistic despondency. To say truth, dear Jones, when one walks among the nests of the eagles, and sees the prodigious eggs they laid, a certain feeling of dis- 324 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO comfiture must come over us smaller birds. You and I could not invent — it even stretches our minds painfully to try and comprehend part of the beauty of the Par- thenon—ever so little of it,— the beauty of a single col- umn, — a fragment of a broken shaft lying under the astonishing blue sky there, in the midst of that unrivalled landscape. There may be grander aspects of nature, but none more deliciously beautiful. The hills rise in per- fect harmony, and fall in the most exquisite cadences, — the sea seems brighter, the islands more purple, the clouds more light and rosy than elsewhere. As you look up through the open roof, you are almost oppressed by the serene depth of the blue overhead. Look even at the fragments of the marble, how soft and pure it is, glit- tering and white like fresh snow! " I was all beautiful," it seems to say: " even the hidden parts of me were spot- less, precious, and fair "—and so, musing over this won- derful scene, perhaps I get some feeble glimpse or idea of that ancient Greek sj^irit which peopled it with sub- lime races of heroes and gods ; ^ and which I never could get out of a Greek book,— no, not though Muzzle flung it at my head. 1 Saint Paul speaking from the Areopagus, and rebuking these superstitions away, yet speaks tenderly to the people before him, whose devotions he had marked ; quotes their poets, to bring them to think of the God unknown, whom they had ignorantly worshipped ; and says, that the times of this ignorance God winked at, but that now it was time to repent. No rebuke can surely be more gentle than this delivered by the upright Apostle. CHAPTER VI SMYRNA— FIRST GLIMPSES OF THE EAST I AIM glad that the Turkish part of Athens was ex- tinct, so that I should not he baulked of the pleasure of entering an Eastern town by an introduction to any garbled or incomplete specimen of one. Smyrna seems to me the most Eastern of all I have seen; as Calais will probably remain to the Englishman the most French town in the world. The jack-boots of the postilions don't seem so huge elsewhere, or the tight stockings of the maid-servants so Gallic. The churches and the ram- parts, and the little soldiers on them, remain for ever impressed upon j^our memory; from which larger tem- ples and buildings, and whole armies have subsequently disappeared : and the first words of actual French heard spoken, and the first dinner at " Quillacq's," remain after twenty years as clear as on the first day. Dear Jones, can't vou remember the exact smack of the white hermitage, and the toothless old fellow singing " Largo al factotum "? The first day in the East is like that. After that there is nothing. The Avonder is gone, and the thrill of that delightful shock, which so seldom touches the nerves of plain men of the world, though they seek for it every- where. One such looked out at Smyrna from our steamer, and yawned without the least excitement, and did not betray the slightest emotion, as boats with real 325 326 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO Turks on board came up to the ship. There lay the town with minarets and cypresses, domes and castles; great gmis were firing off, and the blood-red flag of the Sultan flaring over the fort ever since sunrise ; woods and moun- tains came down to the gulf's edge, and as you looked at them with the telescope, there peeped out of the general mass a score of pleasant episodes of Eastern life — there were cottages with quaint roofs ; silent cool kiosks, where the chief of the eunuchs brings down the ladies of the harem. I saw Hassan, the fisherman, getting his nets; and Ali Baba going ofl" with his donkey to the great for- est for wood. Smith looked at these wonders quite un- moved; and I was surprised at his apathy: but he had been at Smyrna before. A man only sees the miracle once; though you yearn after it ever so, it won't come again. I saw nothing of Ali Baba and Hassan the next time we came to Smyrna, and had some doubts (recol- lecting the badness of the inn) about landing at all. A person who wishes to understand France and the East should come in a yacht to Calais or Smyrna, land for two hours, and never afterwards go back again. But those two hours are beyond measure delightful. Some of us were querulous up to that time, and doubted of the wisdom of making the voyage. Lisbon, we owned, was a failure ; Athens a dead failure ; jNIalta very well, but not worth the trouble and sea-sickness : in fact, Baden-Baden or Devonshire would be a better move than this ; when Smyrna came, and rebuked all mutinous Cockneys into silence. Some men may read this who are in want of a sensation. If they love the odd and pictur- esque, if they loved the " Arabian Nights " in their youth, let them book themselves on board one of the Pe- ninsular and Oriental vessels, and try one dip into Con- THE SMYRNA BAZAAR 327 stantinople or Smyrna. Walk into the bazaar, and the East is unveiled to you; how often and often have you tried to fancy this, lying out on a summer holiday at school ! It is wonderful, too, how like it is ; you may im- agine that you have been in the place before, you seem to know it so well ! The beauty of that poetry is, to me, that it was never too handsome ; there is no fatigue of sublimity about it. Shacabac and the little Barber play as great a part in it as the heroes; there are no uncomfortable sensations of terror; you may be familiar with the great Afreet, who was going to execute the travellers for killing his son with a date-stone. Morgiana, when she kills the forty robbers with boiling oil, does not seem to hurt them in the least; and though King Schahriar makes a practice of cutting oiF his wives' heads, yet you fancy they have got them on again in some of the back rooms of the palace, where they are dancing and playing on dulcimers. How fresh, easy, good-natured, is all this! How delightful is that notion of the pleasant Eastern people about knowledge, where the height of science is made to consist in the answering of riddles! and all the mathematicians and magicians bring their great beards to bear on a conundrum ! When I got into the bazaar among this race, somehow I felt as if they were all friends. There sat the merchants in their little shops, quiet and solemn, but with friendly looks. There was no smoking, it was the Ramazan; no eating, the fish and meats fizzing in the enormous pots of the cook-shops are only for the Christians. The chil- dren abounded; the law is not so stringent upon them, and many wandering merchants were there selling figs (in the name of the Prophet, doubtless,) for their bene- 328 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO fit, and elbowing onwards with baskets of grapes and cucumbers. Countrymen passed bristling over with arms, each with a huge bellyful of pistols and daggers in his girdle; fierce, but not the least dangerous. Wild swarthy Arabs, who had come in with the caravans, walked solemnly about, very different in look and de- meanour from the sleek inhabitants of the town. Greeks and Jews squatted and smoked, their shops tended by sallow-faced boys, with large eyes, who smiled and wel- comed you in; negroes bustled about in gaudy colours; and women, with black nose-bags and shuffling yellow slippers, chattered and bargained at the doors of the little shops. There was the rope quarter and the sweet- meat quarter, and the pipe bazaar and the arm bazaar, and the little turned-up shoe quarter, and the shops where ready-made jackets and pelisses were swinging, and the region where, under the ragged awnings, regi- ments of tailors were at work. The sun peeps through these awnings of mat or canvas, which are hung over the narrow lanes of the bazaar, and ornaments them with a thousand freaks of light and shadow. Cogia Hassan Alhabbal's shop is in a blaze of light; while his neigh- bour, the barber and coffee-house keeper, has his prem- ises, his low seats and narghiles, his queer pots and basins, in the shade. The cobblers are always good-natured; there was one who, I am sure, has been revealed to me in my dreams, in a dirty old green turban, with a pleasant wrinkled face like an apple, twinkling his little grey eyes as he held them up to talk to the gossips, and smiling under a delightful old grey beard, which did the heart good to see. You divine the conversation between him and the cucumberman, as the Sultan used to under- stand the language of birds. Are any of those cucum- THE SMYRNA BAZAAR 329 bers stuffed with pearls, and is that Armenian with the black square turban Ilaroun Alraschid in disguise, standing yonder bj^ the fountain where the children are drinking — the gleaming marble fountain, chequered all over with light and shadow, and engraved with delicate arabesques and sentences from the Koran? But the greatest sensation of all is when the camels come. Whole strings of real camels, better even than in the procession of Bluebeard, with soft rolling eyes and bended necks, swaying from one side of the bazaar to the other to and fro, and treading gingerly with their great feet. O you fairy dreams of boyhood! O you sweet meditations of half -holidays, here you are realized for half -an-hour ! The genius which presides over youth led us to do a good action that da}^ There was a man sit- ting in an open room, ornamented with fine long-tailed sentences of the Koran : some in red, some in blue ; some written diagonally over the paper ; some so shaped as to represent ships, dragons, or mj^sterious animals. The man squatted on a carpet in the middle of this room, with folded arms, waggling his head to and fro, swaying about, and singing through his nose choice phrases from the sacred work. But from the room above came a clear noise of many little shouting voices, much more musical than that of Naso in the matted parlour, and the guide told us it was a school, so we went upstairs to look. I declare, on my conscience, the master was in the act of bastinadoing a little mulatto boy; his feet were in a bar, and the brute was laying on with a cane ; so we wit- nessed the howling of the poor boy, and the confusion of the brute who was administering the correction. The other children were made to shout, I believe, to drown the noise of their little comrade's howling ; but the pun- 330 JOURNEY FROM CORXHILL TO CAIRO ishment was instantly discontinued as our hats came up over the stair-trap, and the boy cast loose, and the bam- boo huddled into a corner, and the schoolmaster stood before us abashed. All the small scholars in red caps, and the little girls in gaudy handkerchiefs, turned their big wondering dark eyes towards us; and the caning was over for that time, let us trust. I don't envy some schoolmasters in a future state. I pity that poor lit- tle blubbering Mahometan; he will never be able to relish the " Arabian Nights " in the original, all his Hfe long. From this scene we rushed off somewhat discomposed to make a breakfast off red mullets and grapes, melons, pomegranates, and Smyrna wine, at a dirty little com- fortable inn, to which we were recommended : and from the windows of which we had a fine cheerful view of the gulf and its busy craft, and the loungers and merchants along the shore. There were camels unloading at one wharf, and piles of melons much bigger than the Gib- raltar cannon-balls at another. It was the fig-season, and we passed through several alleys encumbered with long rows of fig-dressers, children and women for the most part, who were packing the fruit diligently into drums, dipping them in salt-water first, and spreading them neatly over with leaves; while the figs and leaves are drying, large white worms crawl out of them, and swarm over the decks of the ships which carry them to Europe and to England, where small children eat them with pleasure— I mean the figs, not the worms— and where they are still served at wine-parties at the Univer- sities. When fresh they are not better than elsewhere; but the melons are of admirable flavour, and so large, that Cinderella might almost be accommodated with a WOMEN 331 coach made of a big one, without any very great disten- tion of its original proportions. Our guide, an accomplished swindler, demanded two dollars as the fee for entering the mosque, which others of our party subsequently saw for sixpence, so we did not care to examine that place of worship. But there were other cheaper sights, which were to the full as pic- turesque, for which there was no call to pay money, or, indeed, for a day, scarcely to move at all. I doubt whe- ther a man who would smoke his pipe on a bazaar counter all day, and let the city flow by him, would not be almost as well employed as the most active curiosity-hunter. To be sure, he would not see the women. Those in the bazaar were shabby people for the most part, whose black masks nobody would feel a curiosity to remove. You could see no more of their figures than if they had been stuffed in bolsters; and even their feet were brought to a general splay uniformity by the double yellow slippers which the wives of true believers wear. But it is in the Greek and Armenian quarters, and among those poor Christians who were pulling figs, that you see the beau- ties; and a man of a generous disposition may lose his heart half a dozen times a day in Smyrna. There was the pretty maid at work at a tambour-frame in an open porch, with an old duenna spinning by her side, and a goat tied up to the railings of the little court-garden ; there was the nymph who came down the stair with the pitcher on her head, and gazed with great calm eyes, as large and stately as Juno's ; there was the gentle mother, bending over a queer cradle, in which lay a small crying bundle of infancy. All these three charmers were seen in a single street in the Ai'menian quarter, where the house-doors are all open, and the women of the families 382 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO sit under the arches in the court. There was the fig- girl, beautiful beyond all others, with an immense coil of deep black hair twisted round a head of which Ra- phael was worthy to draw the outline, and Titian to paint the colour. I wonder the Sultan has not swept her off, or that the Persian merchants, who come with silks and sweetmeats, have not kidnapped her for the Shah of Tehran. We went to see the Persian merchants at their khan, and purchased some silks there from a swarthy, black- bearded man, with a conical cap of lambswool. Is it not hard to think that silks bought of a man in a lambswool cap, in a caravanserai, brought hither on the backs of camels, should have been manufactured after all at Lyons? Others of our party bought carpets, for which the town is famous; and there was one who absolutely laid in a stock of real Smyrna figs ; and purchased three or four real Smyrna sponges for his carriage ; so strong was his passion for the genuine article. I wonder that no painter has given us familiar views of the East : not processions, grand sultans, or magnifi- cent landscapes; but faithful transcripts of everyday Oriental life, such as each street will supply to him. The camels afford endless motives, couched in the market- places, lying by thousands in the camel square, snorting and bubbling after their manner, the sun blazing down on their backs, their slaves and keepers lying behind them in the shade: and the Caravan Bridge, above all, would afford a painter subjects for a dozen of j^ictures. Over this Roman arch, which crosses the Meles river, all the caravans pass on their entrance to the town. On one side, as we sat and looked at it, was a great row of plane- trees ; on the opposite bank, a deep wood of tall cypresses •n ^ Cu 2 > o a 0) 0) 1- CO in a n <1 o THE CARAVAN BRIDGE 333 — in the midst of which rose up innumerable grey tombs, surmounted with the turbans of the defunct behevers. Beside the stream, the view was less gloomy. There was under the plane-trees a little coffee-house, shaded by a trellis-work, covered over with a vine, and ornamented with many rows of shining pots and water-pipes, for which there was no use at noon-day now, in the time of Ramazan. Hard by the coffee-house was a garden and a bubbling marble fountain, and over the stream was a broken summer-house, to which amateurs may ascend, for the purpose of examining the river; and all round the plane-trees plenty of stools for those who were in- clined to sit and drink sweet thick coffee, or cool lemon- ade made of fresh green citrons. The master of the house, dressed in a white turban and light blue pelisse, lolled under the coffee-house awning ; the slave in white with a crimson striped jacket, his face as black as ebony, brought us pipes and lemonade again, and returned to his station at the coffee-house, where he curled his black legs together, and began singing out of his flat nose to the thrumming of a long guitar with wire strings. The instrument was not bigger than a soup-ladle, with a long straight handle, but its music pleased the performer ; for his eyes rolled shining about, and his head wagged, and he grinned with an innocent intensity of enjoyment that did one good to look at. And there was a friend to share his pleasure: a Turk dressed in scarlet, and covered all over with daggers and pistols, sat leaning forward on his little stool, rocking about, and grinning quite as eagerly as the black minstrel. As he sang and we listened, fig- ures of women bearing pitchers went passing over the Roman bridge, which we saw between the large trunks of the planes ; or grey forms of camels were seen stalk- 334 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO ing across it, the string preceded by the httle donkey, who is always here their long-eared conductor. These are very humble incidents of travel. Wherever the steamboat touches the shore adventure retreats into the interior, and what is called romance vanishes. It won't bear the vulgar gaze; or rather the light of com- mon day puts it out, and it is only in the dark that it shines at all. There is no cursing and insulting of Giaours now. If a Cockney looks or behaves in a par- ticularly ridiculous way, the little Turks come out and laugh at him. A Londoner is no longer a spittoon for true believers : and now that dark Hassan sits in his divan and drinks champagne, and Selim has a French watch, and Zuleika perhaps takes Morrison's pills, Byronism becomes absurd instead of sublime, and is only a foolish expression of Cockney wonder. They still occasionally beat a man for going into a mosque, but this is almost the only sign of ferocious vitality left in the Turk of the [Mediterranean coast, and strangers may enter scores of mosques without molestation. The paddle-wheel is the great conqueror. Wherever the captain cries " Stop her! " Civilization stops, and lands in the ship's boat, and makes a permanent acquaintance with the savages on shore. Whole hosts of crusaders have passed and died, and butchered here in vain. But to manufacture Euro- pean iron into pikes and helmets was a waste of metal: in the shape of piston-rods and furnace-pokers it is irre- sistible ; and I think an allegory might be made showing how much stronger commerce is than chivalry, and finish- ing with a grand image of INIahomet's crescent being extinguished in Fulton's boiler. This I thought was the moral of the day's sights and adventures. We pulled off to the steamer in the after- THE TOMB OF ACHILLES 335 noon — the Inbat blowing fresh, and setting all the craft in the gulf dancing over its blue waters. We were pres- ently under weigh again, the captain ordering his en- gines to work only at half power, so that a French steamer which was quitting Smyrna at the same time might come up with us, and fancy she could beat the irresistible " Tagus." Vain hope! Just as the French- man neared us, the " Tagus " shot out like an arrow, and the discomfited Frenchman went behind. Though we all relished the joke exceedingly, there was a French gentleman on board Avho did not seem to be by any means tickled with it; but he had received papers at Smyrna, containing news of ^Marshal Bugeaud's victory at Isley, and had this land victor}^ to set against our harmless little triumph at sea. That night we rounded the Island of JMitjdene: and the next day the coast of Troj^ was in sight, and the tomb of Achilles — a dismal-looking mound that rises in a low, dreary, barren shore — less lively and not more pictur- esque than the Scheldt or the mouth of the Thames. Then we passed Tenedos and the forts and town at the mouth of the Dardanelles. The weather was not too hot, the water as smooth as at Putney, and everybody happy and excited at the thought of seeing Constantinople to- morrow. We had music on board all the way from Smyrna. A German commis-voyageur, with a guitar, who had passed unnoticed until that time, produced his instrument about mid-day, and began to whistle waltzes. He whistled so divinely that the ladies left their cabins, and men laid down their books. He whistled a polka so bewitchingly that two young Oxford men began whirl- ing round the deck, and performed that popular dance with much agility until they sank doA^^l tired. He still 336 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO continued an unabated whistling, and as nobody would dance, pulled off his coat, produced a pair of castanets, and whistling a mazurka, performed it with tremendous agility. His whistling made everybody gay and happy — made those acquainted who had not spoken before, and inspired such a feeling of hilarity in the ship, that , that night, as we floated over the Sea of Marmora, a general vote was expressed for broiled bones and a regu- lar supper-party. Punch was brewed, and speeches were made, and after a lapse of fifteen years, I heard the " Old English Gentleman " and " Bright Chanticleer Proclaims the INIorn," sung in such style that you would almost fancy the proctors must hear, and send us all home. CHAPTER VII CONSTANTINOPLE WHEN we rose at sunrise to see the famous entry to Constantinople, we found, in the place of the city and the sun, a bright white fog, which hid both from sight, and which only disappeared as the vessel advanced towards the Golden Horn. There the fog cleared oiF as it were by flakes, and as you see gauze curtains lifted away, one by one, before a great fairy scene at the theatre. This will give idea enough of the fog; the difficulty is to describe the scene afterwards, which was in truth the great fairy scene, than which it is impossible to conceive anything more brilliant and magnificent. I can't go to any more romantic place than Drury Lane to draw my similes from— Drury Lane, such as we used to see it in our youth, when to our sight the grand last pictures of the melodrama or pantomime were as magnificent as any objects of nature we have seen with maturer eyes. Well, the view of Constanti- nople is as fine as any of Stanfield's best theatrical pic- tures, seen at the best period of youth, when fancy had all the bloom on her — when all the heroines who danced before the scene appeared as ravishing beauties, when there shone an unearthly splendour about Baker and Diddear — and the sound of the bugles and fiddles, and the cheerful clang of the cymbals, as the scene unrolled, and the gorgeous procession meandered triumphantly through it— caused a thrill of pleasure, and awakened 337 338 JOURNEY FROM CORXHILL TO CAIRO an innocent fulness of sensual enjoyment that is only given to boys. The above sentence contains the following proposi- tions: — The enjoyments of boyish fancy are the most intense and delicious in the world. Stanfield's pano- rama used to be the realization of the most intense j^outhful fancy. I puzzle my brains and find no better likeness for the place. The view of Constantinople re- sembles the ne plus ultra of a Stanfield diorama, with a glorious accompaniment of music, spangled houris, war- riors, and winding processions, feasting the eyes and the soul with light, splendour, and harmon5\ If you were never in this way during your youth ravished at the play-house, of course the whole comparison is useless: and 3^ou have no idea, from this description, of the effect which Constantinople produces on the mind. But if vou were never affected bv a theatre, no words can work upon your fancy, and typographical attempts to move it are of no use. For, suppose we combine mosque, minaret, gold, cypress, water, blue, caiques, seventy-four, Galata, Tophana, Ramazan, Backallum, and so forth, together, in ever so many ways, your imagination will never be able to depict a city out of them. Or, suppose I say the INIosque of St. Sophia is four hundred and seventj^-three feet in height, measuring from the middle nail of the gilt crescent surmounting the dome to the ring in the centre stone; the circle of the dome is one hundred and twenty-three feet in diameter, the windows ninety-seven in number— and all this may be true, for anything I know to the contrary: yet who is to get an idea of St. Sophia from dates, proper names, and calculations with a measuring-line? It can't be done by giving the age and measurement of all the buildings CONSTANTINOPLE 339 along the river, the names of all the boatmen who ply on it. Has your fancy, which pooh-poohs a simile, faith enough to build a city with a foot-rule? Enough said about descriptions and similes (though whenever I am uncertain of one I am naturally most anxious to fight for it) : it is a scene not perhaps sublime, but charming, magnificent, and cheerful beyond any I have ever seen — the most superb combination of city and gardens, domes and shipping, hills and water, with the healthiest breeze blowing over it, and above it the brightest and most cheerful sky. It is proper, they say, to be disappointed on entering the town, or anj^ of the various quarters of it, because the houses are not so magnificent on inspection, and seen singly, as they are when beheld en masse from the waters. But w^hy form expectations so lofty? If 3'ou see a group of peasants picturesquely disposed at a fair, you don't suppose that they are all faultless beauties, or that the men's coats have no rags, and the w^omen's gowns are made of silk and velvet : the wild ugliness of the in- terior of Constantinople or Pera has a charm of its o^vn, greatly more amusing than rows of red bricks or drab stones, however symmetrical. With brick or stone they could never form those fantastic ornaments, railings, balconies, roofs, galleries, which jut in and out of the rugged houses of the city. As we went from Galata to Pera up a steep hill, which new-comers ascend with some difficulty, but which a porter, with a couple of hun- dredweight on his back, paces up without turning a hair, I thought the w^ooden houses, far from being disagree- able objects, sights quite as surprising and striking as the grand one we had just left. I do not know how the custom-house of his Highness 340 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO is made to be a profitable speculation. As I left the ship a man pulled after my boat, and asked for back- sheesh, which was given him to the amount of about two- pence. He was a custom-house officer, but I doubt whether this sum which he levied ever went to the revenue. I can fancy the scene about the quays somewhat to resemble the river of London in olden times, before coal- smoke had darkened the whole city with soot, and when, according to the old writers, there really was bright wea- ther. The fleets of caiques bustling along the shore, or scudding over the blue water, are beautiful to look at: in Hollar's print London river is so studded over with wherry-boats, which bridges and steamers have since destroyed. Here the caique is still in full perfection: there are thirty thousand boats of the kind plying be- tween the cities; every boat is neat, and trimly carved and painted ; and I scarcely saw a man pulling in one of them that was not a fine specimen of his race, brawny and brown, with an open chest and a handsome face. They wear a thin shirt of exceedingly light cotton, which leaves their fine brown limbs full play; and with a pur- ple sea for a background, every one of these dashing boats forms a brilliant and glittering picture. Pas- sengers squat in the inside of the boat; so that as it passes you see little more than the heads of the true be- lievers, with their red fez and blue tassel, and that placid gravity of expression w^hich the sucking of a tobacco- pipe is sure to give to a man. The Bosphorus is enlivened by a multiplicity of other kinds of craft. There are the dirty men-of-war's boats of the Russians, with unwashed, mangy crews ; the great ferry-boats carrying hundreds of passengers to the vil- CONSTANTINOPLE 341 lages; the melon-boats piled up with enormous golden fruit; his Excellency the Pasha's boat, with twelve men bending to their oars ; and his Highness's own caique, with a head like a serpent, and eight-and-twenty tugging oars- men, that goes shooting by amidst the thundering of the cannon. Ships and steamers, with black sides and flaunt- ing colours, are moored everywhere, showing their flags, Russian and English, Austrian, American, and Greek; and along the quays country ships from the Black Sea or the islands, with high carved poops and bows, such as you see in the pictures of the shipping of the seven- teenth century. The vast groves and towers, domes and quays, tall minarets and spired spreading mosques of the three cities, rise all around in endless magnificence and variety, and render this water-street a scene of such de- lightful liveliness and beauty, that one never tires of looking at it. I lost a great number of the sights in and round Constantinople through the beauty of this admirable scene : but what are sights after all ? and isn't that the best sight which makes you most happy? We were lodged at Pera at " Misseri's Hotel," the host of which has been made famous ere this time by the excellent book " Eothen,"— a work for which all the passengers on board our ship had been battling, and which had charmed all— from our great statesman, our polished law^^er, our young Oxonian, who sighed over certain passages that he feared were wicked, down to the writer of this, who, after perusing it with delight, laid it down with wonder, exclaiming, " Aut Diabolus aut " — a book which has since (greatest miracle of all) ex- cited a feeling of warmth and admiration in the bosom of the godlike, impartial, stony Athenceum. Misseri, the faithful and chivalrous Tartar, is transformed into 342 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO the most quiet and gentleman-like of landlords, a great deal more gentleman-like in manner and appearance than most of us who sat at his table, and smoked cool pipes on his house-top, as we looked over the hill and the Russian palace to the water, and the Seraglio gardens shining in the blue. We confronted Misseri, " Eothen " in hand, and found, on examining him, that it was " aut Diabolus aut amicus " — but the name is a secret; I will never breathe it, though I am dying to tell it. The last good description of a Turkish bath, I think, was Lady Mary Wortley Montagu's— which volup- tuous picture must have been painted at least a hundred and thirty years ago: so that another sketch may be at- tempted by a humbler artist in a different manner. The Turkish bath is certainly a novel sensation to an Eng- lishman, and may be set down as a most queer and sur- prising event of his life. I made the valet-de-place or dragoman (it is rather a fine thing to have a dragoman in one's service) conduct me forthwith to the best ap- pointed hummums in the neighbourhood ; and we walked to a house at Tophana, and into a spacious hall lighted from above, which is the cooling-room of the bath. The spacious hall has a large fountain in the midst, a painted gallery running round it; and many ropes stretched from one gallery to another, ornamented with profuse draperies of towels and blue cloths, for the use of the frequenters of the place. All round the room and the galleries were matted inclosures, fitted with numerous neat beds and cushions for reposing on, where lay a dozen of true believers smoking, or sleeping, or in the happy half -dozing state. I was led up to one of these beds, to rather a retired corner, in consideration of my modesty ; and to the next bed presently came a dan- A TURKISH BATH 343 cing dervish, who forthwith hegan to prepare for the bath. When the dancing dervish had taken off his yellow sugar-loaf cap, his gown, shawl, &:c., he was arrayed in two large blue cloths; a white one being thrown over his shoulders, and another in the shape of a turban plaited neatly round his head; the garments of which he di- vested himself were folded up in another linen, and neatly put by. I beg leave to state I was treated in precisety the same manner as the dancing dervish. The reverend gentleman then put on a pair of wooden pattens, which elevated him about six inches from the ground ; and walked down the stairs, and paddled across the moist marble floor of the hall, and in at a little door, by the which also Titmarsh entered. But I had none of the professional agility of the dancing dervish; I staggered about very ludicrously upon the high wooden pattens ; and should have been down on my nose several times, had not the dragoman and the master of the bath supported me down the stairs and across the hall. Dressed in three large cotton napkins, with a white tur- ban round my head, I thought of Pall ^lall with a sort of despair. I passed the little door, it was closed behind me— I was in the dark— I couldn't speak the language —in a white turban. Mon Dieu! what was going to happen! The dark room was the tepidarium, a moist oozing arched den, with a light faintly streaming from an orifice in the domed ceiling. Yells of frantic laughter and song came booming and clanging through the echo- ing arches, the doors clapped to with loud reverberations. It was the laughter of the followers of Mahound, rol- licking and taking their pleasure in the public bath. I 344 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO could not go into that place: I swore I would not; they promised me a private room, and the dragoman left me. My agony at parting from that Christian cannot be described. When you get into the sudarium, or hot room, your first sensations only occur about half a minute after entrance, when you feel that you are choking. I found myself in that state, seated on a marble slab; the bath man was gone; he had taken away the cotton turban and shoulder-shawl: I saw I was in a narrow room of marble, with a vaulted roof, and a fountain of warm and cold water ; the atmosphere was in a steam, the chok- ing sensation went off, and I felt a sort of pleasure pres- ently in a soft boiling simmer, w^hich, no doubt, potatoes feel when they are steaming. You are left in this state for about ten minutes; it is warm certainly, but odd and pleasant, and disposes the mind to reverie. But let any delicate mind in Baker Street fancy my horror, when, on looking up out of this reverie, I saw a great brown wretch extended before me, only half dressed, standing on pattens, and exaggerated by them and the steam until he looked like an ogre, grinning in the most horrible way, and waving his arm, on which was a horsehair glove. He spoke, in his unknown nasal jargon, words which echoed through the arched room; his eyes seemed astonishingly large and bright, his ears stuck out, and his head was all shaved, except a bristling top-knot, which gave it a demoniac fierceness. This description, I feel, is growing too frightful; ladies who read it wdll be going into hysterics, or saying, " Well, upon my word, this is the most singular, the most extraordinary kind of language. Jane, my love, you will not read that odious book " — and so I will be A TURKISH BATH 345 brief. This grinning man belabours the patient vio- lently with the horse brush. When he has completed the horse-hair part, and you lie expiring under a squirt- ing fountain of warm water, and fancying all is done, he reappears with a large brass basin, containing a quantity of lather, in the midst of which is something like old Miss MacWhirter's flaxen wig that she is so proud of, and that w^e have all laughed at. Just as you are going to remonstrate, the thing like the wig is dashed into your face and eyes, covered over with soap, and for five minutes you are drowned in lather: you can't see, the suds are frothing over your eyeballs; you can't hear, the soap is whizzing into your ears; can't gasp for breath, Miss MacWhirter's wig is down your throat with half a pailful of suds in an instant — you are all soap. Wicked children in former days have jeered you, exclaiming, " How are you off for soap? " You little knew what saponacity was till you entered a Turk- ish bath. When the whole operation is concluded, j^ou are led — with what heartfelt joy I need not say — softly back to the cooling-room, having been robed in shawls and turbans as before. You are laid gently on the repos- ing bed; somebody brings a narghile, which tastes as tobacco must taste in jNIahomet's Paradise ; a cool sweet dreamy languor takes possession of the purified frame; and half an hour of such delicious laziness is spent over the pipe as is unknown in Europe, where vulgar prej- udice has most shamefully maligned indolence, calls it foul names, such as the father of all evil, and the like; in fact, does not know how to educate idleness as those honest Turks do, and the fruit which, when properly cultivated, it bears. 346 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO The after-bath state is the most delightful condition of laziness I ever knew, and I tried it wherever we went afterwards on our little tour. At Smyrna the whole business was much inferior to the method employed in the capital. At Cairo, after the soap, you are plunged into a sort of stone coffin, full of water, which is all but boiling. This has its charms; but I could not rel- ish the Egyptian shampooing. A hideous old blind man (but very dexterous in his art) tried to break my back and dislocate my shoulders, but I could not see the pleasure of the practice; and another fellow began tickling the soles of my feet, but I rewarded him with a kick that sent him off the bench. The pure idleness is the best, and I shall never enjoy such in Europe again. A'^ictor Hugo, in his famous travels on the Rhine, visit- ing Cologne, gives a learned account of what he didnt see there. I have a remarkable catalogue of similar ob- jects at Constantinople. I didn't see the dancing der- vishes, it was Ramazan; nor the howling dervishes at Scutari, it was Ramazan ; nor the interior of St. Sophia, nor the women's apartment of the Seraglio, nor the fashionable promenade at the Sweet Waters, alwaj^s be- cause it was Ramazan; during which period the der- vishes dance and howl but rarely, their legs and lungs being unequal to much exertion during a fast of fifteen hours. On account of the same hoh^ season, the royal palaces and mosques are shut ; and though the valley of the Sweet Waters is there, no one goes to w^alk; the people remaining asleep all day, and passing the night in feasting and carousing. The minarets are illuminated at this season; even the humblest mosque at Jerusalem, or Jaffa, mounted a few circles of dingy lamps; those THE SULTAN 347 of the capital were handsomely lighted with many fes- toons of lamps, which had a fine effect from the water. I need not mention other and constant illuminations of the city, which innumerahle travellers have described — I mean the fires. There were three in Pera during our eight days' stay there; but they did not last long enough to bring the Sultan out of bed to come and lend his aid. ]Mr. Hobhouse (quoted in the " Guide-book ") says, if a fire lasts an hour, the Sultan is bound to attend it in person; and that people having petitions to pre- sent, have often set houses on fire for the j^urpose of forcing out this royal trump. The Sultan can't lead a very " jolly life," if this rule be universal. Fancy his Highness, in the midst of his moon-faced beauties, hand- kerchief in hand, and obliged to tie it round his face, and go out of his warm harem at midnight at the cursed cry of "YangenVar!" We saw his Highness in the midst of his people and their petitions, when he came to the mosque at Tophana ; not the largest, but one of the most f)icturesque of the public buildings of the city. The streets were crowded with people watching for the august arrival, and lined with the squat military in their bastard European cos- tume; the sturdy police, with bandeliers and brown sur- touts, keeping order, driving off the faithful from the railings of the Esplanade through which their Em- peror was to pass, and only admitting (with a very unjust partiality, I thought) us Europeans into that reserved space. Before the august arrival, numerous officers collected, colonels and pashas went by with their atten- dant running footmen; the most active, insolent, and hideous of these great men, as I thought, being his Highness's black eunuchs, who went prancing through 348 JOURNEY FROM CORXHILL TO CAIRO the crowd, which separated before them with every sign of respect. The common women were assembled by many hun- dreds : the yakmac, a nmshn chin-cloth which they wear, makes almost every face look the same; but the eyes and noses of these beauties are generally visible, and, for the most part, both these features are good. The jolly negresses wear the same white veil, but they are by no means so particular about hiding the charms of their good-natured black faces, and thej^ let the cloth blow about as it lists, and grin unconfined. Wherever we went the negroes seemed happy. They have the organ of child- loving; little creatures were always prattling on their shoulders, queer little things in night-gowns of j^ellow dimity, with great flowers, and pink,, or red, or yellow shawls, with great eyes glistening underneath. Of such the black women seemed always the happ}'^ guar- dians. I saw one at a fountain, holding one child in her arms, and giving another a drink — a ragged little beggar — a sweet and touching picture of a black charity. I am almost forgetting his Highness the Sultan. About a hundred guns were fired off at clumsy intervals from the Esplanade facing the Bosphorus, warning us that the monarch had set off from his Summer Palace, and was on the way to his grand canoe. At last that vessel made its appearance; the band struck up his fa- vourite air; his caparisoned horse was led down to tlie shore to receive him; the eunuchs, fat pashas, colonels, and officers of state gathering round as the Commander of the Faithful mounted. I had the indescribable hap- piness of seeing him at a very short distance. The Padishah, or Father of all the Sovereigns on earth, has not that majestic air which some sovereigns possess, and THE SULTAN 349 which makes the beholder's eyes wink, and his knees tremble under him: he has a black beard, and a hand- some well-bred face, of a French cast; he looks like a young French roue worn out by debauch; his eyes bright, with black rings round them; his cheeks pale and hollow. He was lolling on his horse as if he could hardly hold himself on the saddle : or as if his cloak, fas- tened with a blazing diamond clasp on his breast, and falling over his horse's tail, pulled him back. But the handsome sallow face of the Refuge of the World looked decidedly interesting and intellectual. I have seen manj'' a young Don Juan at Paris, behind a coun- ter, with such a beard and countenance; the flame of passion still burning in his hollow eyes, wliile on his damp brow was stamped the fatal mark of premature decaJ^ The man we saw cannot live many summers. Women and wine are said to have brought the Zilullah to this state; and it is whispered by the dragomans, or laquais-de-j^lace, (from whom travellers at Constanti- noj^le generally get their political information,) that the Sultan's mother and his ministers conspire to keep him plunged in sensuality, that they may govern the kingdom according to their own fancies. Mr. Urqu- hart, I am sure, thinks that Lord Palmerston has some- thing to do with the business, and drugs the Sultan's champagne for the benefit of Russia. As the Pontiff of Mussulmans passed into the mosque, a shower of petitions was flung from the steps where the crowd was collected, and over the heads of the gendarmes in brown. A general cry, as for justice, rose up; and one old ragged woman came forward and burst through the throng, howling, and flinging about her lean arms, and baring her old shrunken breast. I o 50 JOURNEY FRO]M CORXHILL TO CAIRO never saw a finer action of tragic woe, or heard sounds more pitiful than those old passionate groans of hers. What was your prayer, j^oor old wretched soul? The gendarmes hemmed her round, and hustled her away, but rather kindly. The Padishah went on quite im- passible — the picture of debauch and ennui. I like pointing morals, and inventing for myself cheap consolations, to reconcile me to that state of life into which it has pleased heaven to call me; and as the Light of the World disappeared round the corner, I reasoned pleasantly with myself about his Highness, and enjoyed that secret selfish satisfaction a man has, who sees he is better off than his neighbour. " INIichael Angelo," I said, " you are still (b}^ courtesy) young: if you had five hundred thousand a year, and were a great prince, I would lay a wager that men would discover in you a magnificent courtesy of demeanour, and a majestic presence that only belongs to the sovereigns of the world. If you had such an income, you think you could spend it with splendour! distrib- uting genial hospitalities, kindly alms, soothing misery, bidding humility be of good heart, rewarding desert. If you had such means of purchasing pleasure, you think, }"ou rogue, }'ou could relish it with gusto. But fanc}^ being brought to the condition of the poor Light of the L^niverse vonder; and reconcile yourself with the idea that you are only a farthing rushlight. The cries of the poor widow fall as dead upon him as the smiles of the brightest eyes out of Georgia. He can't stir abroad but those abominable cannon begin roaring and deafening his ears. He can't see the world but over the shoulders of a row of fat pashas, and eunuchs, with their infernal ugliness. His ears can never be regaled THE ROYAL MAUSOLEUM 351 with a word of truth, or blessed with an honest laugh. The only privilege of manhood left to him, he enjoys but for a month in the year, at this time of Ramazan, when he is forced to fast for fifteen hours ; and, by con- sequence, has the blessing of feeling hungry." Sunset during Lent appears to be his single moment of pleas- ure; they say the poor fellow is ravenous by that time, and as the gun fires the dish-covers are taken off, so that for five minutes a daj^ he lives and is happy over pillau, like another mortal. And yet, when floating bj^ the Summer Palace, a bar- baric edifice of wood and marble, with gilded suns blaz- ing over the porticoes, and all sorts of strange orna- ments and trophies figuring on the gates and railings — when we passed a long row of barred and filigreed windows, looking on the water — when we were told that those were the apartments of his Highness's ladies, and actually heard them whispering and laughing behind the bars — a strange feeling of curiosity came over some ill-regulated minds — just to have one peep, one look at all those wondrous beauties, singing to the dulcimers, paddling in the fountains, dancing in the marble halls, or lolling on the golden cushions, as the gaud}^ black slaves brought pipes and coffee. This tumultuous move- ment was calmed by thinking of that dreadful state- ment of travellers, that in one of the most elegant halls there is a trap-door, on peeping below which you may see the Bosphorus running underneath, into which some luckless beauty is plunged occasionally, and the trap- door is shut, and the dancing and the singing, and the smoking and the laughing go on as before. They say it is death to pick up any of the sacks thereabouts, if a stray one should float by you. There were none any 352 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO day when I passed, at leasts on the surface of the water. It has been rather a fashion of our travellers to apolo- gize for Turkish life, of late, and paint glowing, agree- able pictures of many of its institutions. The cele- brated author of " Palm-Leaves " (his name is famous under the date-trees of the Nile, and uttered with re- spect beneath the tents of the Bedaween,) has touch- ingly described Ibrahim Pasha's paternal fondness, who cut off a black slave's head for having dropped and maimed one of his children ; and has penned a melodious panegyric of " The Harem," and of the fond and beau- tiful duties of the inmates of that place of love, obe- dience, and seclusion. I saw, at the mausoleum of the late Sultan Mahmoud's family, a good subject for a Ghazul, in the true new Oriental manner. These royal burial-places are the resort of the pious Moslems. Lamps are kept burning there; and in the antechambers, copies of the Koran are provided for the use of believers; and j^'ou never pass these cemeteries but you see Turks washing at the cisterns, previous to entering for prayer, or squatted on the benches, chant- ing passages from the sacred volume. Christians, I be- lieve, are not admitted, but may look through the bars, and see the coffins of the defunct monarchs and children of the royal race. Each lies in his narrow sarcophagus, which is commonly flanked by huge candles, and covered with a rich embroidered pall. At the head of each coffin rises a slab, with a gilded inscription ; for the prin- cesses, the slab is simple, not unlike our own monu- mental stones. The head-stones of the tombs of the defunct princes are decorated with a turban, or, since the introduction of the latter article of dress, with the THE CHILD-MURDERER 353 red fez. That of Mahmoud is decorated with the im- perial aigrette. In this dismal but splendid museum, I remarked two little tombs with little red fezzes, very small, and for very young heads evidently, which were lying under the little embroidered palls of state. I forget whether they had candles too; but their little flame of life was soon extinguished, and there was no need of many pounds of wax to typify it. These were the tombs of Mah- moud's grandsons, nephews of the present Light of the Universe, and children of his sister, the wife of Halil Pacha. Little children die in all ways; these of the much-maligned INIahometan royal race perish by the bowstring. Sultan Mahmoud (may he rest in glory!) strangled the one; but, having some spark of human feeling, was so moved by the wretchedness and agony of the poor bereaved mother, his daughter, that his royal heart relented towards her, and he promised that, should she ever have another child, it should be allowed to live. He died; and Abdul Med j id (may his name be blessed !) , the debauched young man whom we just saw riding to the mosque, succeeded. His sister, whom he is said to have loved, became again a mother, and had a son. But she relied upon her father's word and her august brother's love, and hoped that this little one should be spared. The same accursed hand tore this infant out of its mother's bosom, and killed it. The poor woman's heart broke outright at this second calamity, and she died. But on her death-bed she sent for her brother, re- buked him as a perjurer and an assassin, and expired calling down the divine justice on his head. She lies now by the side of the two little fezzes. Now I say this would be a fine subject for an Oriental 354 JOURNEY FROM CORXHILL TO CAIRO poem. The details are dramatic and noble, and could be grandly touched by a fine artist. If the mother had borne a daughter, the child would haye been safe; that perplexity might be pathetically depicted as agitating the bosom of the j^oung wife, about to become a mother. A son is born: you can see her despair and the pitiful look she casts on the child, and the waj^ in which she hugs it every time the curtains of her door are removed. The Sultan hesitated probably; he allowed the infant to live for six weeks. He could not bring his royal soul to inflict pain. He yields at last; he is a martyr — to be pitied, not to be blamed. If he melts at his daugh- ter's agony, he is a man and a father. There are men and fathers too in the much maligned Orient. Then comes the second act of the tragedy. The new hopes, the fond yearnings, the terrified misgivings, the timid belief, and weak confidence; the child that is born — and dies smiling prettily — and the mother's heart is rent so, that it can love, or hope, or suffer no more. Allah is God! She sleeps by the little fezzes. Hark! the guns are booming over the water, and his Highness is coming from his prayers. After the murder of that little child, it seems to me one can never look with anything but horror upon the butcherly Herod who ordered it. The death of the sev- enty thousand Janissaries ascends to historic dignity, and takes rank as war. But a great Prince and Light of the Universe, who procures abortions and throttles little babies, dwindles away into such a frightful insig- nificance of crime, that those may respect him who will. I pity their Excellencies the Ambassadors, who are obliged to smirk and cringe to such a rascal. To do the Turks justice — and two days^ walk in Constanti- THE ATMEIDAN 355 nople will settle this fact as well as a year's residence in the city — the people do not seem in the least animated by this Herodian spirit. I never saw more kindness to children than among all classes, more fathers walking about with little solemn Mahometans in red caps and big trousers, more business going on than in the toy quarter, and in the Atmeidan. Altliough you may see there the Thebaic stone set up by the Emperor Theo- dosius, and the bronze column of serpents which INIur- ray saj^s was brought from Delphi, but which my guide informed me was the very one exhibited by Moses in the wilderness, yet I found the examination of these anti- quities much less pleasant than to look at the many troops of childi'en assembled on the plain to play; and to watch them as they were dragged about in little queer arobas, or painted carriages, which are there kept for hire. I have a picture of one of them now in my eyes : a little green oval machine, with flowers rudely painted round the window, out of which two smiling heads are peeping, the pictures of happiness. An old, good-humoured, grey- bearded Turk is tugging the cart; and behind it walks a lady in a yakmac and yellow slippers, and a black female slave, grinning as usual, towards whom the little coach-riders are looking. A small, sturdy, barefooted INIussulman is examining the cart with some feelings of envy: he is too poor to purchase a ride for himself and the round-faced pujjpj^-dog, which he is hugging in his arms as young ladies in our country do dolls. All the neighbourhood of the Atmeidan is exceed- ingly picturesque— the mosque court and cloister, where the Persians have their stalls of sweetmeats and tobacco ; a superb sycamore-tree grows in the middle of this, over- shadowing an aromatic fountain; great flocks of pi- 356 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO geons are settling in corners of the cloister, and barley is sold at the gates, with which the good-natured peojDle feed them. From the Atmeidan you have a fine view of St. Sophia: and here stands a mosque which struck me as being much more picturesque and sumptuous — the Mosque of Sultan Achmed, with its six gleaming white minarets and its beautiful courts and trees. Any in- fidels may enter the court without molestation, and, looking through the barred windows of the mosque, have a view of its airy and spacious interior. A small audi- ence of women was collected there when I looked in, squatted on the mats, and listening to a preacher, who was walking among them, and speaking with great energy. M}'' dragoman interpreted to me the sense of a few words of his sermon: he was warning them of the danger of gadding about to public places, and of the immorality of too much talking; and, I dare say, we might have had more valuable information from him re- garding the follies of womankind, had not a tall Turk clapped my interpreter on the shoulder, and pointed him to be off. Although the ladies are veiled, and muffled with the ugliest dresses in the world, yet it appears their mod- esty is alarmed in spite of all the coverings which they wear. One day, in the bazaar, a fat old body, with dia- mond rings on her fingers, that were tinged with henne of a logwood colour, came to the shop where I was pur- chasing slippers, with her son, a young Aga of six years of age, dressed in a braided frock-coat, with a huge tassel to his fez, exceeding fat, and of a most solemn demean- our. The young Aga came for a pair of shoes, and his contortions were so delightful as he tried them, that I re- mained looking on with great pleasure, wishing for MODESTY 357 Leech to be at hand to sketch his lordship and his fat mamma, who sat on the counter. That lady fancied I was looking at her, though, as far as I could see, she had the figure and complexion of a roly-poly pudding; and so, with quite a premature bashfulness, she sent me a message by the shoemaker, ordering me to walk away if I had made my purchases, for that ladies of her rank did not choose to be stared at by strangers; and I was obliged to take my leave, though with sincere regret, for the little lord had just squeezed himself into an attitude than which I never saw anything more ludicrous in Gen- eral Tom Thumb, When the ladies of the Seraglio come to that bazaar with their cortege of infernal black eunuchs, strangers are told to move on briskly. I saw a bevy of about eight of these, with their aides-de-camp ; but they were wrapped up, and looked just as vulgar and ugly as the other women, and were not, I suppose, of the most beautiful sort. The poor devils are allowed to come out, half-a-dozen times in the year, to spend their little wretched allowance of pocket-money in purchasing trinkets and tobacco; all the rest of the time they pur- sue the beautiful duties of their existence in the walls of the sacred harem. Though strangers are not allowed to see the interior of the cage in which these birds of Paradise are con- fined, yet many parts of the Seraglio are free to the curiosity of visitors, who choose to drop a backsheesh here and there. I landed one morning at the Seraglio point from Galata, close by an ancient pleasure-house of the defunct Sultan; a vast broad-brimmed pavihon, that looks agreeable enough to be a dancing-room for ghosts now: there is another summer-house, the Guide- hook cheerfully says, whither the Sultan goes to sport 358 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO with his women and mutes. A regiment of infantry, with their music at their head, were marching to exer- cise in the outer grounds of the Seragho; and we fol- lowed them, and had an opportunity of seeing their evolutions, and hearing their bands, upon a fine green plain under the Seraglio walls, where stands one soli- tar}^ column, erected in memorj^ of some triumph of some Byzantian emperor. There were three battalions of the Turkish infantry exercising here ; and they seemed to perform their evolu- tions in a very satisfactory manner: that is, they fired all together, and charged and halted in very straight lines, and bit off imaginary cartridge-tops with great fierceness and regularity, and made all their ramrods ring to measure, just like so many Christians. The men looked small, young, clumsy, and ill-built; uncomfort- able in their shabby European clothes; and about the legs, especially, seemed exceedingly weak and ill- formed. Some score of military invalids were lolling in the sunshine, about a fountain and a marble summer- house that stand on the ground, watching their com- rades' manoeuvres (as if they could never have enough of that delightful pastime) ; and these sick were much better cared for than tlieir healthy companions. Each man had two dressing-gowns, one of white cotton, and an outer wrapper of warm brown woollen. Their heads were accommodated with wadded cotton night-caps; and it seemed to me, from their condition and from the excellent character of the military hospitals, that it would be much more wholesome to be ill tlian to be well in the Turkish service. Facing this green esplanade, and the Bosphorus shin- ing beyond it, rise the great walls of the outer Seraglio THE SERAGLIO GARDENS 359 Gardens: huge masses of ancient masonry, over which peep the roofs of numerous kiosks and outhouses, amongst thick evergreens, planted so as to hide the beau- tiful frequenters of the place from the prying eyes and telescopes. We could not catch a glance of a single figure moving in these great pleasure-grounds. The road winds round the walls; and the outer park, Avhich is likewise planted with trees, and diversified bj^ garden- plots and cottages, had more the air of the outbuildings of a homely English park, than of a palace which we must all have imagined to be the most statety in the world. The most commonplace water-carts were pass- ing here and there; roads were being repaired in the Macadamite manner; and carpenters were mending the park-palings, just as they do in Hampshire. The next thing you might fancy would be the Sultan walking out with a spud and a couple of dogs, on the way to meet the post-bag and the Saint Jameses Chronicle. The palace is no palace at all. It is a great town of pavilions, built without order, here and there, according to the fancy of succeeding Lights of the Universe, or their favourites. The only row of domes which looked particularly regular or statel}^ were the kitchens. As you examined the buildings they had a ruinous, dilapi- dated look: they are not furnished, it is said, with par- ticular splendour, — not a bit more elegantly than Miss Jones's seminary for young ladies, M^iich we may be sure is much more comfortable than the extensive establish- ment of his Highness Abdul Med j id. In the little stable I thought to see some marks of roj^al magnificence, and some horses worthy of the king of all kings. But the Sultan is said to be a very timid horseman: the animal that is always kept saddled for 360 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO him did not look to be worth twenty pounds; and the rest of the horses in the shabb}", dirty stalls, were small, ill-kept, common-looking brutes. You might see better, it seemed to me, at a country inn stable on any market- day. The kitchens are the most sublime part of the Seraglio. There are nine of these great halls, for all ranks, from his Highness downwards, where many hecatombs are roasted daily, according to the accounts, and where cook- ing goes on with a savage Homeric grandeur. Chim- neys are despised in these primitive halls; so that the roofs are black with the smoke of hundreds of furnaces, which escapes through apertures in the domes above. These, too, give the chief light in the rooms, which streams downwards, and thickens and mingles with the smoke, and so murkily lights up hundreds of swarthy figures busy about the spits and the cauldrons. Close to the door by which we entered they were making pas- try for the sultanas; and the chief pastrycook, who knew my guide, invited us courteously to see the pro- cess, and partake of the delicacies prepared for those charming lips. How those sweet lips must shine after eating these puffs! First, huge sheets of dough are rolled out till the paste is about as thin as silver paper: then an artist forms the dough-muslin into a sort of drapery, curling it round and round in many fanciful and pretty shapes, until it is all got into the circumference of a round metal tray in which it is baked. Then the cake is drenched in grease most profusely; and, finally, a quantity of sj^rup is poured over it, when the delec- table mixture is complete. The moon-faced ones are said to devour immense quantities of this wholesome food; and, in fact, are eating grease and sweetmeats THE SULTANAS' PUFFS 361 from morning till night. I don't like to think what the consequences may be, or allude to the agonies which the delicate creatures must inevitably suffer. The good-natured chief pastrycook filled a copper basin with greasy puffs; and, dipping a dubious ladle into a large cauldron, containing several gallons of syrup, poured a liberal portion over the cakes, and in- vited us to eat. One of the tarts was quite enough for me : and I excused myself on the plea of ill-health from imbibing any more grease and sugar. But my com- panion, the dragoman, finished some forty puffs in a twinkling. They slipped down his opened jaws as the sausages do down clowns' throats in a pantomime. His moustaches shone with grease, and it dripped down his beard and fingers. We thanked the smiling chief pas- trycook, and rewarded him handsomely for the tarts. It is something to have eaten of the dainties prepared for the ladies of the harem; but I think Mr. Cockle ought to get the names of the chief sultanas among the exalted patrons of his antibilious pills. From the kitchens we passed into the second part of the Seraglio, beyond which is death. The Guide-book only hints at the dangers which would befall a stranger caught prying in the mysterious first court of the palace. I have read " Bluebeard," and don't care for peeping into forbidden doors ; so that the second court was quite enough for me; the pleasure of beholding it being heightened, as it were, by the notion of the invisible dan- ger sitting next door, with uplifted scimitar ready to fall on you— present though not seen. A cloister runs along one side of this court; opposite is the hall of the divan, " large but low, covered with lead, and gilt, after the Moorish manner, plain enough." 3G2 JOURNEY FROM CORXHILL TO CAIRO The Grand Vizier sits in this place, and the ambassadors used to wait here, and be conducted hence on horseback, attired with robes of honour. But the ceremony is now, I beheve, discontinued; the Enghsh envoy, at an}^ rate, is not allowed to receive any backsheesh, and goes away as he came, in the habit of his own nation. On the right is a door leading into the interior of the Seraglio; none pass through it hut such as are sent for, the Guide-book says: it is impossible to top the terror of that description. About this door lads and servants were lolling, icho- glans and pages, witli lazy looks and shabby dresses; and among tliem, sunning himself sulkily on a bench, a poor old fat, wrinkled, dismal white eunucli, witli little fat white hands, and a great head siuik into his chest, and two sprawling little legs that seemed incapable to hold up his bkxited old body. He squeaked out some surly reply to my friend the dragoman, wlio, softened and sweetened by the tarts he liad just been devouring; was, no doul)t, anxious to be polite: and tlie ])oor worthy fellow walked away rather crestfallen at this return of his salutation, and hastened me out of the place. The palace of the Seraglio, the cloister with marble pillars, the hall of the ambassadors, the impenetrable gate guarded by eunuchs and ichoglans, have a roman- tic look in print; but not so in reality. ^lost of the marble is wood, almost all the gilding is faded, the guards are shabby, the foolish perspectives painted on tlie walls are half cracked off. The place looks like Vauxhall in the daytime. We passed out of the second court under The Sub- lime Porte — which is like a fortified gate of a Ger- man town of the middle ages — into the outer court, round which are public offices, hospitals, and dwellings A LADY IN A BROUGHAM 363 of the multifarious servants of the palace. This place is very wide and picturesque: there is a pretty church of Byzantine architecture at the further end; and in the midst of the court a magnificent plane-tree, of pro- digious dimensions and fabulous age according to the guides; St. Sophia towers in the further distance: and from here, perhaps, is the best view of its light swelling domes and beautiful proportions. The Porte itself, too, forms an excellent subject for the sketcher, if the officers of the court will permit him to design it. I made the attempt, and a couple of Turkish beadles looked on very good-naturedly for some time at the progress of the drawing; but a good number of othei* spectators speedity joined them, and made a crowd, which is not permitted, it would seem, in the Seraglio; so I was told to pack up my portfolio, and remove the cause of the disturbance, and lost my drawing of the Ottoman Porte. I don't think I have anything more to say about the city which has not been much better told by graver trav- ellers. I, with them, could see (perhaps it was the preaching of the politicians that warned me of the fact) that we are looking on at the last daj^s of an empire; and heard many stories of weakness, disorder, and op- pression. I even saw a Turkish lady drive up to Sultan Achmet's mosque in a brougham. Is not that a subject to moralize upon ? And might one not draw endless con- clusions from it, that the knell of the Turkish dominion is rung; that the European spirit and institutions once admitted can never be rooted out again; and that the scepticism prevalent amongst the higher orders must de- scend ere very long to the lower; and the cry of the muezzin from the mosque become a mere ceremony? 364 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO But as I only staj^'ed eight daj^s in this place, and knew not a sjdlable of the language, perhaps it is as well to pretermit any disquisitions about the spirit of the people. I can only say that they looked to be verj^ good- natured, handsome, and lazy; that the women's yellow slippers are very ugly ; that the kabobs at the shop hard by the Rope Bazaar are very hot and good; and that at the Armenian cook-shops thej^ serve you delicious fish, and a stout raisin wine of no small merit. There came in, as we sat and dined there at sunset, a good old Turk, who called for a penny fish, and sat down under a tree verv humbly, and ate it with his .own bread. We made that jollj'^ old ^Mussulman happy with a quart of the raisin wine; and his eyes twinkled with every fresh glass, and he wiped his old beard delighted, and talked and chirped a good deal, and, I dare say, told us the whole state of the empire. He was the only JNIussulman with whom I attained any degree of intimac\^ during my stay in Constantinople; and you will see that, for obvious reasons, I cannot divulge the particulars of our conversation. " You have nothing to say, and you own it," says somebod\^: " then why write? " That question perhaps (between ourselves) I have put likewise; and yet, my dear sir, there are some things worth remembering even in this brief letter: that woman in the brougham is an idea of significance: that comparison of the Seraglio to Vauxhall in the daytime is a true and real one; from both of which your own great soul and ingenious philo- sophic spirit may draw conclusions, that I myself have modestly forborne to press. You are too clever to re- quire a moral to be tacked to all the fables you read, as is done for children in the spelling-books; else I would A LADY IN A BROUGHAM 365 tell you that the government of the Ottoman Porte seems to be as rotten, as wrinkled, and as feeble as the old eunuch I saw crawling about it in the sun ; that when the lady drove up in a brougham to Sultan Achmet, I felt that the schoolmaster was really abroad; and that the crescent will go out before that luminary, as meekly as the moon does before the sun. CHAPTER VIII RHODES THE sailing of a vessel direct for Jaffa brought a great number of passengers together, and our decks were covered with Christian, Jew, and Heathen. In the cabin we were Poles and Russians, Frenchmen, Germans, Spaniards, and Greeks; on the deck were squatted several little colonies of people of different race and persuasion. There was a Greek Papa, a noble figure with a flowing and venerable white beard, who had been living on bread-and-water for I don't know how many years, in order to save a little money to make the pil- grimage to Jerusalem. There were several families of Jewish Rabbis, who celebrated their " feast of taber- nacles " on board ; their chief men performing worship twice or thrice a day, dressed in their pontifical habits, and bound with phylacteries: and there were Turks, who had their own ceremonies and usages, and wisely kept aloof from their neighbours of Israel. The dirt of these children of captivity exceeds all pos- sibility of description; the profusion of stinks which they raised, the grease of their venerable garments and faces, the horrible messes cooked in the filthy pots, and devoured with the nasty fingers, the squalor of mats, pots, old bedding, and foul carpets of our Hebrew friends, could hardly be painted by Swift, in his dirtiest mood, and cannot be, of course, attempted by my timid and genteel pen. What would they say in Baker Street 366 JEW PILGRIMS 367 to some sights with which our new friends favoured us? What would your ladyship have said if you had seen the interesting Greek nun combing her hair over the cabin — combing it with the natural fingers, and, averse to slaughter, flinging the delicate little intruders, which she found in the course of her investigation, gently into the great cabin ? Our attention was a good deal occupied in watching the strange ways and customs of the various comrades of ours. The Jews were refugees from Poland, going to lay their bones to rest in the valley of Jehoshaphat, and per- forming with exceeding rigour the offices of their reli- gion. At morning and evening you were sure to see the chiefs of the families, arraj^ed in white robes, bowing over their books, at prayer. Once a week, on the eve before the Sabbath, there was a general washing in Jewry, which sufficed until the ensuing Friday. The men wore long gowns and caps of fur, or else broad- 368 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO brimmed hats, or, in service time, bound on their heads little iron boxes, with the sacred name engraved on them. Among the lads there were some beautiful faces; and among the women your humble servant discovered one who was a perfect rosebud of beauty when first emerging from her Friday's toilette, and for a day or two after- wards, until each succeeding day's smut darkened those fresh and delicate cheeks of hers. We had some very rough weather in the course of the passage from Con- stantinople to Jaffa, and the sea washed over and over our Israelitish friends and their baggages and bundles ; but though they were said to be rich, they would not af- ford to pay for cabin shelter. One father of a family, finding his progeny half drowned in a squall, vowed he riDould pay for a cabin; but the weather was somewhat finer the next day, and he could not squeeze out his dol- lars, and the ship's authorities would not admit him except upon payment. This unwillingness to part with money is not only found amongst the followers of Moses, but in those of Mahomet, and Christians too. When we went to pur- chase in the bazaars, after oiFering money for change, the honest fellows would frequently keep back several piastres, and when urged to refund, would give most dismally; and begin doling out penny by penny, and utter pathetic prayers to their customer not to take any more. I bought five or six pounds' worth of Broussa silks for the womenkind, in the bazaar at Constantinople, and the rich Armenian who sold them begged for three- halfpence to pay his boat to Galata. There is something naif and amusing in this exhibition of cheatery— this simple cringing, and wheedling, and passion for two- pence-halfpenny. It was pleasant to give a millionnaire JEW PILGRIMS 369 beggar an alms, and laugh in his face and say, " There, Dives, there's a penny for you: be happy, you poor old swindling scoundrel, as far as a penny goes." I used to watch these Jews on shore, and making bargains with one another as soon as they came on board; the battle between vendor and purchaser was an agony — they shrieked, clasped hands, appealed to one another passion- ately; their handsome, noble faces assumed a look of woe — quite an heroic eagerness and sadness about a farthing. Ambassadors from our Hebrews descended at Rhodes to buy provisions, and it was curious to see their dealings : there was our venerable Rabbi, who, robed in white and silver, and bending over his book at the morning service, looked like a patriarch, and whom I saw chaffering about a fowl with a brother Rhodian Israelite. How they fought over the body of that lean animal! The street swarmed with Jews : goggling eyes looked out from the old carved casements— hooked noses issued from the low antique doors— Jew boys driving donkeys, Hebrew mo- thers nursing children, dusky, tawdry, ragged young beauties and most venerable gi*ey-bearded fathers were all gathered round about the affair of the hen! And at the same time that our Rabbi was arranging the price of it, his children were instructed to procure bundles of green branches to decorate the ship during their feast. Think of the centuries during which these wonderful people have remained unchanged; and how, from the days of Jacob downwards, they have believed and swindled! The Rhodian Jews, with their genius for filth, have made their quarter of the noble, desolate old town, the most ruinous and wretched of all. The escutcheons of 370 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO the proud old knights are still carved over the doors, whence issue these miserable greasy hucksters and ped- lars. The Turks respected these emblems of the brave enemies whom they had overcome, and left them un- touched. When the French seized INIalta they were by no means so delicate: they effaced armorial bearings with their usual hot-headed eagerness ; and a few years after they had torn down the coats-of-arms of the gentry, the heroes of Malta and Egypt were busy devising heraldry for themselves, and were wild to be barons and counts of the empire. The chivalrous relics at Rhodes are very superb. I know of no buildings whose stately and picturesque as- pect seems to corresj)ond better with one's notions of their proud founders. The towers and gates are war- like and strong, but beautiful and aristocratic: you see that they must have been high-bred gentlemen who built them. The edifices appear in almost as perfect a condi- tion as when they were in the occupation of the noble Knights of St. John ; and they have this advantage over modern fortifications, that they are a thousand times more picturesque. Ancient war condescended to orna- ment itself, and built fine carved castles and vaulted gates: whereas, to judge from Gibraltar and Malta, nothing can be less romantic than the modern military architecture ; which sternly regards the fighting, without in the least heeding the war-paint. Some of the huge artillery with which the place was defended still lies in the bastions; and the touch-holes of the guns are pre- served by being covered with rusty old corselets, worn by defenders of the fort three hundred years ago. The Turks, who battered down chivalry, seem to be waiting their turn of destruction now. In walking through MAHOMETANISM BANKRUPT 371 Rhodes one is strangely affected by witnessing the signs of this double decay. For instance, in the streets of the knights, you see noble houses, surmounted by noble es- cutcheons of superb knights, who lived there, and prayed, and quarrelled, and murdered the Turks; and were the most gallant pirates of the inland seas; and made vows of chastity, and robbed and ravished; and, pro- fessing humility, would admit none but nobility into their order ; and died recommending themselves to sweet St. John, and calmly hoping for heaven in consideration of all the heathen they had slain. When this superb fra- ternity was obliged to jdeld to courage as great as theirs, faith as sincere, and to robbers even more dexterous and audacious than the noblest knight who ever sang a can- ticle to the Virgin, these halls were filled by magnificent Pashas and Agas, who lived here in the inten^als of war, and having conquered its best champions, despised Christendom and chivalry pretty much as an English- man despises a Frenchman. Now the famous house is let to a shabby merchant, who has his little beggarly shop in the bazaar; to a small ofiicer, who ekes out his wretched pension by swindling, and who gets his pay in bad coin. Mahometanism pays in pewter now, in place of silver and gold. The lords of the world have run to seed. The powerless old sword frightens nobody now — the steel is turned to pewter too, somehow, and will no longer shear a Christian head off an}" shoulders. In the Crusades my wicked sympathies have always been with the Turks. They seem to me the best Christians of the two; more humane, less brutally presumptuous about their own merits, and more generous in esteeming their neighbours. As far as I can get at the authentic story, Saladin is a pearl of refinement compared to the brutal 372 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO beef -eating Richard — about whom Sir Walter Scott has led all the world astray. When shall we have a real account of those times and heroes — no good-humoured pageant, like those of the Scott romances — but a real authentic story to instruct and frighten honest people of the present day, and make them thankful that the grocer governs the world now in place of the baron ? Meanwhile a man of tender feelings may be pardoned for twaddling a little over this sad spec- tacle of the decay of two of the great institutions of the w^orld. Knighthood is gone — amen; it expired with dig- nity, its face to the foe : and old INIahometanism is linger- ing about just ready to drop. But it is unseemly to see such a Grand Potentate in such a state of decay : the son of Bajazet Ilderim insolvent; the descendants of the Prophet bullied by Calmucs and English and whipper- snapper Frenchmen ; the Fountain of jNIagnificence done up, and obliged to coin pewter! Think of the poor dear houris in Paradise, how sad they must look as the arrivals of the Faithful become less and less frequent every day. I can fancy the place beginning to wear the fatal Vaux- hall look of the Seraglio, and which has pursued me ever since I saw it: the fountains of eternal wine are begin- ning to run rather dry, and of a questionable liquor; the ready-roasted-meat trees may cry, " Come eat me," every now and then, in a faint voice, without any gravy in it— but the Faithful begin to doubt about the quality of the victuals. Of nights you may see the houris sitting sadly under them, darning their faded muslins: Ali, Omar, and the Imaums are reconciled and have gloomy consultations : and the Chief of the Faithful himself, the awful camel-driver, the supernatural husband of Kha- dijah, sits alone in a tumble-down kiosk, thinking mood- RHODES 373 ily of the destiny that is impending over him ; and of the day when his gardens of bHss shall be as vacant as the bankrupt Olympus. \ All the town of Rhodes has this appearance of decay and ruin, except a few consuls' houses planted on the sea-side, here and there, with bright flags flaunting in the sun; fresh paint; English crockery; shining mahogany, &c.,— so many emblems of the new prosperity of their trade, while the old inhabitants were going to rack— the fine Church of St. John, converted into a mosque, is a ruined church, with a ruined mosque inside ; the fortifica- tions are mouldering away, as much as time will let them. There was considerable bustle and stir about the little port; but it was a bustle of people M^ho looked for the most part to be beggars ; and I saw no shop in the bazaar that seemed to have the value of a pedlar's pack. I took, by way of guide, a young fellow from Berlin, a journeyman shoemaker, who had just been making a tour in Syria, and who professed to speak both Arabic and Turkish quite fluently— which I thought he might have learned when he was a student at college, before he began his profession of shoemaking ; but I found he only knew about three words of Turkish, which were produced on every occasion, as I walked under his guidance through the desolate streets of the noble old town. We went out upon the lines of fortification, through an an- cient gate and guard-house, where once a chapel prob- ably stood, and of which the roofs were richly carved and gilded. A ragged squad of Turkish soldiers lolled about the gate now ; a couple of boys on a donkey ; a grinning slave on a mule ; a pair of women flapping along in yel- low papooshes ; a basket-maker sitting under an antique 374 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO carved portal, and chanting or howling as he plaited his osiers: a peaceful well of water, at which knights' char- gers had drunk, and at which the double-boyed donkey was now refreshing himself — would have made a pretty picture for a sentimental artist. As he sits, and en- deavours to make a sketch of this plaintive little comedy, a shabby dignitaiy of the island comes clattering by on a thirty-shilling horse, and two or three of the ragged soldiers leave their pipes to salute him as he passes under the Gothic archway. The astonishing brightness and clearness of the sky under which the island seemed to bask, struck me as sur- passing anything I had seen— not even at Cadiz, or the Pirseus, had I seen sands so yellow, or water so magnifi- cently blue. The houses of the people along the shore were but poor tenements, with humble courtj^ards and gardens; but every fig-tree was gilded and bright, as if it were in an Hesperian orchard ; the palms, planted here and there, rose with a sort of halo of light round about them; the creepers on the walls quite dazzled with the brilliancy of their flowers and leaves; the people lay in the cool shadows, happy and idle, with handsome solemn faces; nobody seemed to be at work; they only talked a very little, as if idleness and silence w^re a condition of the delightfiul shining atmosphere in which they lived. We went down to an old mosque by the sea-shore, with a cluster of ancient domes hard b}^ it, blazing in the sun- shine, and carved all over with names of Allah, and titles of old pirates and generals who reposed there. The guardian of the mosque sat in the garden-court, upon a high wooden pulpit, lazily wagging his body to and fro, and singing the praises of the Prophet gently through his nose, as the breeze stirred through the trees overhead, A FINE DAY 375 and cast chequered and changing shadows over the paved court, and the httle fountains, and the nasal psalmist on his perch. On one side was the mosq[ue, into which you could see, with its white walls and cool matted floor, and quaint carved pulpit and ornaments, and nohody at prayers. In the middle distance rose up the noble towers and battlements of the knightly town, with the deep sea- line behind them. It really seemed as if everybody was to have a sort of sober cheerfulness, and must yield to indolence under this charming atmosphere. I went into the courtyard by the sea-shore (where a few lazy ships were lying, with no one on board) , and found it was the prison of the place. The door was as wide open as Westminster Hall. Some prisoners, one or two soldiers and functionaries, and some prisoners' wives, were lolling under an arcade by a fountain ; other criminals were strolling about here and there, their chains clinking quite cheerfully: and they and the guards and officials came up chatting quite friendly together, and gazed languidly over the port- folio, as I was endeavouring to get the likeness of one or two of these comfortable malefactors. One old and wrinkled she-criminal, whom I had selected on account of the peculiar hideousness of her countenance, covered it up with a dirty cloth, at which there was a general roar , of laughter among this good-humoured auditory of cut- throats, pickpockets, and policemen. The only symptom of a prison about the place was a door, across which a couple of sentinels were stretched, yawning ; while within lay three freshly-caught pirates, chained by the leg. They had committed some murders of a very late date, and were awaiting sentence ; but their wives were allowed to communicate freely with them: and it seemed to me. 376 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO that if half-a-dozen friends would set them free, and they themselves had energy enough to move, the senti- nels would be a great deal too lazy to walk after them. The combined influence of Rhodes and Ramazan, I suppose, had taken possession of my friend the Schuster- gesell from Berlin. As soon as he received his fee, he cut me at once, and went and lay down by a fountain near the port, and ate grapes out of a dirty pocket-handker- chief. Other Christian idlers lay near him, dozing, or sprawling in the boats, or listlessly munching water- melons. Along the coffee-houses of the quay sat hundreds more, with no better employment; and the captain of the " Iberia " and his officers, and several of the passengers in that famous steamship, were in this company, being idle with all their might. Two or three adventurous young men went off to see the valley where the dragon was killed; but others, more susceptible of the real influence of the island, I am sure would not have moved though we had been told that the Colossus himself was taking a walk half a mile oiF. CHAPTER IX THE WHITE SQUALL ON deck, beneath the awning, I dozing lay and yawning; It was the grey of dawning. Ere yet the sun arose; And above the funnel's roaring, And the fitful wind's deploring, I heard the cabin snoring With universal nose. I could hear the passengers snorting, I envied their disporting, Vainly I was courting The pleasure of a doze. So I lay, and wondered why light Came not, and watched the twilight And the glimmer of the skylight. That shot across the deck ; And the binnacle pale and steady. And the dull glimpse of the dead-eye. And the sparks in fiery eddy. That whirled from the chimney neck; In our jovial floating prison There was sleep from fore to mizzen. And never a star had risen The hazy sky to speck. Strange company we harboured ; We'd a hundred Jews to larboard, 377 378 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO Unwashed, uncombed, unbarbered, Jews black, and brown, and grey; With terror it would seize ye, And make your souls uneasy, To see those Rabbis greasy, Who did nought but scratch and pray: Their dirty children puking. Their dirty saucepans cooking. Their dirty fingers hooking Their swarming fleas away. To starboard Turks and Greeks were, Whiskered, and brown their cheeks were, Enormous wide their breeks were, Their pipes did pufF alway; Each on his mat allotted. In silence smoked and squatted, Whilst round their children trotted. In pretty, pleasant play. He can't but smile Avho traces The smiles on those brown faces. And the pretty prattling graces Of those small heathens gay. And so the hours kept tolling. And through the ocean rolling. Went the brave " Iberia " bowling Before the break of day — When a Squall upon a sudden Came o'er the waters scudding; And the clouds began to gather, And the sea was lashed to lather, And the lowering thunder grumbled. And the lightning jumped and tumbled. And the ship, and all the ocean, Woke up in wild commotion. THE WHITE SQUALL 379 Then the wind set up a howHng, And the poodle-dog a yowHng. And the cocks began a croVing. And the old cow raised a lowing, As she heard the tempest blowing; And fowls and geese did cackle, And the cordage and the tackle Began to shriek and crackle ; And the spray dashed o'er the funnels, And down the deck in runnels; And the rushing water soaks all. From the seamen in the fo'ksal To the stokers, whose black faces Peer out of their bed-places ; And the captain he was bawling. And the sailors pulling, hauling; And the quarter-deck tarpauling Was shivered in the squalling; And the passengers awaken, Most pitifully shaken ; And the steward jumps up, and hastens For the necessary basins. Then the Greeks they groaned and quivered, And they knelt, and moaned, and shivered, As the plunging waters met them. And splashed and overset them ; And they call in their emergence Upon countless saints and virgins ; And their marrowbones are bended. And they think the world is ended. And the Turkish women for'ard Were frightened and behorror'd; And, shrieking and bewildering. The mothers clutched their children ; 380 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO The men sung, " Allah Illah ! Mashallah Bismlllah ! " As the warring waters doused them, And splashed them and soused them; And they called upon the Prophet, And thought but little of it. Then all the fleas in Jewry Jumped up and bit like fury ; And the progeny of Jacob Did on the main-deck wake up (I wot those greasy Rabbins Would never pay for cabins) ; And each man moaned and jabbered in His filthy Jewish gaberdine. In woe and lamentation, And howling consternation. And the splashing water drenches Their dirty brats and wenches; And they crawl from bales and benches, In a hundred thousand stenches. This was the White Squall famous Which latterly o'ercame us. And which all will well remember On the 28th September ; When a Prussian Captain of Lancers (Those tight-laced, whiskered prancers) Came on the deck astonished. By that wild squall admonished. And wondering cried, " Potztausend ! Wie ist der Sturm jetzt brausend!" And looked at Captain Lewis, Who calmly stood and blew his Cigar in all the bustle. And scorned the tempest's tussle. THE WHITE SQUALL 381 And oft we've thought thereafter How he beat the storm to laughter; For well he knew his vessel With that vain wind could wrestle; And when a wreck we thought her And doomed ourselves to slaughter, How gaily he fought her, And through the hubbub brought her, And, as the tempest caught her. Cried, " George ! some brandy and water ! " And when, its force expended. The harmless storm was ended. And, as the sunrise splendid Came blushing o'er the sea ; I thought, as day was breaking. My little girls were waking. And smiling, and making A prayer at home for me. CHAPTER X TELMESSUS — BEYROUT THERE should have been a poet in our company to describe that charming httle bay of Glaucus, into which we entered on the 26th of September, in the first steamboat that ever disturbed its beautiful waters. You can't put down in j)rose that delicious episode of natural poetry ; it ought to be done in a symphony, full of sweet melodies and swelling harmonies; or sung in a strain of clear ciTstal iambics, such as Milnes knows how to write. A mere map, drawn in words, gives the mind no notion of that exquisite nature. What do mountains become in type, or rivers in ]Mr. Vizetelly's best brevier? Here lies the sweet ba}^ gleaming peaceful in the rosj^ sunshine: green islands dip here and there in its waters: purple mountains swell circling round it; and towards them, rising from the bay, stretches a rich green plain, fruitful with herbs and various foliage, in the midst of which the white houses twinkle. I can see a little mina- ret, and some spreading palm-trees; but, beyond these, the description would answer as well for Bantry Bay as for Makri. You could write so far, nay, much more particularly and grandly, without seeing the place at all, and after reading Beaufort's " Caramania," which gives you not the least notion of it. Suppose the great hydrographer of the Admiralty himself can't describe it, who surveyed the place; sup- pose Mr. Fellowes, who discovered it afterwards — sup- 382 RUIN OF TELMESSUS 383 pose, I say, Sir John Fellovves, Knt., can't do it (and I defy any man of imagination to get an impression of Telmessus from his book) — can you,^ vain man, hope to try? The effort of the artist, as I take it, ought to be, to produce upon his hearer's mind, by his art, an effect something similar to that produced on his own by the sight of the natural object. Only music, or the best poetry, can do this. Keats's " Ode to the Grecian Urn " is the best description I know of that sweet, old, silent ruin of Telmessus. After you have once seen it, the re- membrance remains with you, like a tune from Mozart, which he seems to have caught out of heaven, and which rings sweet harmony in your ears for ever after! It's a benefit for all after life ! You have but to shut your eyes, and think, and recall it, and the delightful vision comes smiling back, to your order! — the divine air — the deli- cious little pageant, which nature set before you on this lucky day. Here is the entry made in the note-book on the event- ful day:—" In the morning steamed into the bay of Glaucus— landed at Makri— cheerful old desolate vil- lage—theatre by the beautiful sea-shore— great fertility, oleanders— a palm-tree in the midst of the village, spreading out like a Sultan's aigrette— sculptured cav- erns, or tombs, up the mountain— camels over the bridge." Perhaps it is best for a man of fancy to make his own landscape out of these materials: to group the couched camels under the plane-trees ; the little crowd of wander- ing, ragged heathens come down to the calm water, to behold the nearing steamer ; to fancy a mountain, in the sides of which some scores of tombs are rudely carved; pillars and porticoes, and Doric entablatures. But it is 384 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO of the little theatre that he must make the most beautiful picture — a charming little place of festival, lying out on the shore, and looking over the sweet bay and the swell- ing purple islands. No theatre-goer ever looked out on a fairer scene. It encourages poetry, idleness, delicious sensual reverie. O Jones ! friend of my heart ! would you not like to be a white-robed Greek, lolling languidly on the cool benches here, and pouring compliments (in the Ionic dialect) into the rosy ears of Ne^era? Instead of Jones, your name should be lonides; instead of a silk hat, you should wear a chaplet of roses in your hair : you would not listen to the choruses they were singing on the stage, for the voice of the fair one would be whispering a rendezvous for the mesonuktiais liorais, and my lonides would have no ear for aught beside. Yonder, in the mountain, they would cai-ve a Doric cave temple, to re- ceive your urn when all was done; and you would be accompanied thither by a dirge of the surviving lonidae. The caves of the dead are empty now, however, and their place knows them not any more among the festal haunts of the living. But, by way of supplying the choric mel- odies sung here in old time, one of our companions mounted on the scene and spouted, a My name is Nerval. On the same day we lay to for a while at another ruined theatre, that of Antiphilos. The Oxford men, fresh with recollections of the little-go, bounded away up the hill on which it lies to the ruin, measured the steps of the theatre, and calculated the width of the scene; while others, less active, watched them with telescopes from the ship's sides, as they plunged in and out of the stones and hollows. HALIL PACHA 385 Two days after the scene was quite changed. We were out of sight of the classical country, and lay in St. George's Bay, behind a huge mountain, upon which St. George fought the dragon, and rescued the lovely Lady Sabra, the King of Babylon's daughter. The Turkish fleet was lying about us, commanded by that Halil Pacha whose two children the two last Sultans murdered. The crimson flag, with the star and crescent, floated at the stern of his ship. Our diplomatist put on his uni- form and cordons, and paid his Excellency a visit. He spoke in rapture, when he returned, of the beauty and order of the ship, and the urbanity of the infidel admiral. He sent us bottles of ancient Cyprus wine to drink : and the captain of her Majesty's ship, " Trump," alongside which we were lying, confirmed that good opinion of the Capitan Pasha which the reception of the above present led us to entertain, by relating many instances of his friendliness and hospitalities. Captain G said the Turkish ships were as well manned, as well kept, and as well manoeuvred, as any vessels in any service; and in- timated a desire to command a Turkish seventy-four, and a perfect willingness to fight her against a French ship of the same size. But I heartily trust he will neither embrace the Mahometan opinions, nor be called upon to engage any seventy-four whatever. If he do, let us hope he will have his own men to fight with. If the crew of the " Trump " were all like the crew of the captain's boat, they need fear no two hundred and fifty men out of any country, with any Joinville at their head. We were carried on shore by this boat. For two years, dur- ing which the " Trump " had been lying ofl* Beyrout, none of the men but these eight had ever set foot on shore. Mustn't it be a happy life? We were landed at 386 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO the busy quay of Beyrout, flanked by the castle that the fighting old commodore half battered down. Along the Be3a'out quays civilization flourishes under the flags of the consul, which are streaming out over the yellow buildings in the clear air. Hither she brings from England her produce of marine-stores and woollens, her crockeries, her portable soups, and her bitter ale. Hither she has brought politeness, and the last modes from Paris. They were exhibited in the person of a pretty lady, superintending the great French store, and who seeing a stranger sketching on the quay, sent forward a man with a chair to accommodate that artist, and greeted him with a bow and a smile, such as only can be found in France. Then she fell to talking with a young French officer with a beard, who was greatly smitten with her. They were making love just as they do on the Boule- vard. An Arab porter left his bales, and the camel he was unloading, to come and look at the sketch. Two stumpy, flat-faced Turkish soldiers, in red caps and white undresses, peered over the paper. A noble little Lebanonian girl, with a deep yellow face, and curly dun- coloured hair, and a blue tattooed chin, and for all cloth- ing a little ragged shift of blue cloth, stood by like a little statue, holding her urn, and stared with wondering brown eyes. How magnificently blue the water was! —how bright the flags and buildings as they shone above it, and the lines of the rigging tossing in the bay ! The white crests of the blue waves jumped and sparkled like quicksilver; the shadows were as broad and cool as the lights were brilliant and rosy ; the battered old towers of the commodore looked quite cheerful in the delicious atmosphere ; and the mountains bej'ond were of an ame- thyst colour. The French officer and the lady went on A PORTRAIT 387 chattering quite happily about love, the last new bonnet, or the battle of Isley, or the " Juif Errant." How neatly her gown and sleeves fitted h^r pretty little per- son! We had not seen a woman for a month, except honest Mrs. Flanigan, the stewardess, and the ladies of our party, and the tips of the noses of the Constan- tinople beauties as they passed by leering from their yakmacs, waddling and j)lapping in their odious yellow papooshes. And this day is to be marked with a second white stone, for having given the lucky writer of the present, occa- sion to behold a second beauty. This was a native Syrian damsel, who bore the sweet name of Mariam. So it was she stood as two of us (I mention the number for fear of scandal ) took her picture. So it was that the good-natured black cook looked behind her young mistress, with a benevolent grin, that only the admirable Leslie could paint. Mariam was the sister of the young guide whom we hired to show us through the town, and to let us be cheated in the purchase of gilt scarfs and handkerchiefs, which strangers think proper to buy. And before the following authentic drawing could be made, many were the stratagems the wily artists were obliged to employ, to subdue the shyness of the little Mariam. In the first place, she would stand behind the door (from which in the darkness her beautiful black eyes gleamed out like penny tapers) ; nor could the entreaties of her brother and mamma bring her from that hiding-place. In order to conciliate the latter, we began by making a picture of her too— that is, not of her, who was an enormous old fat woman in yellow, quivering all over with strings of pearls, and necklaces of sequins, and other ornaments, 388 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO the which descended from her neck, and down her ample stomacher: we did not depict that big old woman, who would have been frightened at an accurate representa- tion of her own enormity; but an ideal being, all grace and beauty, dressed in her costume, and still simpering before me in my sketch-book like a lady in a book of fashions. This portrait was shown to the old woman, who handed it over to the black cook, who, grinning, carried it to little Mariam — and the result was, that the young creature stepped f onvard, and submitted ; and has come over to Europe as you see. A very snug and happy family did this of Mariam's appear to be. If you could judge by all the laughter and giggling, by the splendour of the women's attire, by the neatness of the little house, prettily decorated with arabesque paintings, neat mats, and gay carpets, THE WOMEN OF LEBANON 389 they were a family well to do in the Beyrout world, and lived with as much comfort as any Europeans. They had one book; and, on the wall of the principal apart- ment, a black picture of the Virgin, whose name is borne by pretty Mariam. The camels and the soldiers, the bazaars and khans, the fountains and awnings, which chequer, with such de- lightful variety of light and shade, the alleys and mar- kets of an Oriental town, are to be seen in Beyrout in perfection ; and an artist might here employ himself for months with advantage and pleasure. A new costume was here added to the motley and picturesque assembly of dresses. This was the dress of the blue-veiled women from the Lebanon, stalking solemnly through the mar- kets, with huge horns, near a yard high, on their fore- heads. For thousands of years, since the time the Hebrew prophets wrote, these horns have so been ex- alted in the Lebanon. At night Captain Lewis gave a splendid ball and supper to the " Trump." We had the " Trump's " band to perform the music; and a grand sight it was to see the captain himself enthusiastically leading on the drum. Blue lights and rockets were burned from the yards of our ship ; which festive signals were answered presently from the " Trump," and from another English vessel in the harbour. They must have struck the Capitan Pasha with won- der, for he sent his secretary on board of us to inquire what the fireworks meant. And the worthy Turk had scarcely put his foot on the deck, when he found him- self seized round the waist by one of the " Trump's " officers, and whirling round the deck in a waltz, to 390 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO his own amazement, and the huge dehght of the com- pany. His face of wonder and gravity, as he went on twirhng, could not have been exceeded by that of a dancing dervish at Scutari; and the manner in which he managed to e^ijamher the waltz excited universal ap- plause. I forget whether he accommodated himself to Euro- pean ways so much further as to drink champagne at supper-time ; to say that he did would be telling tales out of school, and might interfere with the future advance- ment of that jolly dancing Turk. We made acquaintance with another of the Sultan's subjects, who, I fear, will have occasion to doubt of the honour of the English nation, after the foul treachery with which he was treated. Among the occupiers of the little bazaar watch-boxes, vendors of embroidered handkerchiefs and other articles of showy Eastern haberdashery, was a good-looking, neat young fellow, who spoke English very fluently, and was particularly attentive to all the passengers on board our ship. This gentleman was not only a pocket- handkerchief merchant in the bazaar, but earned a fur- ther livelihood by letting out mules and donkeys ; and he kept a small lodging-house, or inn, for travellers, as we were informed. No wonder he spoke good English, and was exceed- ingly polite and well-bred; for the w^orthy man had passed some time in England, and in the best society too. That humble haberdasher at Beyrout had been a lion here, at the veiy best houses of the great people, and had actually made his appearance at Windsor, where he was received as a Syrian Prince, and treated with great hos- pitality by royalty itself. A SYRIAN PRINCE 391 I don't know what waggish propensity moved one of the officers of the " Trump " to say that there was an equerr}^ of his Royal Highness the Prince on board, and to point me out as the dignified personage in question. So the Syrian Prince was introduced to the royal equerry, and a great many compliments passed between us. I even had the audacity to state that on my very last interview with my royal master, his Royal Highness had said, " Colonel Titmarsh, when you go to Beyrout, you will make special inquiries regarding my interesting friend Cogia Hassan." Poor Cogia Hassan (I forget whether that was his name, but it is as good as another) was overpowered wdth this royal message; and we had an intimate con- versation together, at which the waggish officer of the " Trump " assisted with the greatest glee. But see the consequences of deceit! The next day, as we were getting under way, who should come on board but my friend the Syrian Prince, most eager for a last interview with the Windsor equerry ; and he begged me to carry his protestations of unalterable fidelity to the gracious consort of her Majesty. Nor was this all. Cogia Hassan actually produced a great box of sweet- meats, of which he begged my excellency to accept, and a little figure of a doll dressed in the costume of Leba- non. Then the punishment of imposture began to be felt severely by me. How to accept the poor devil's sweetmeats? How to refuse them? And as we know that one lib leads to another, so I was obliged to support the first falsehood by another; and putting on a digni- fied air—" Cogia Hassan," says I, " I am surprised you don't know the habits of the British Court better, and are not aware that our gracious master solemnly forbids 392 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO his servants to accept any sort of backsheesh upon our travels." So Prince Cogia Hassan went over the side with his chest of sweetmeats, but insisted on leaving the doll, which may be worth twopence-halfpenny ; of which, and of the costume of the women of Lebanon, the following is an accurate likeness: — CHAPTER XI A DAY AND NIGHT IN SYRIA WHEN, after being for five whole weeks at sea, with a general belief that at the end of a few days the marine malady leaves you for good, you find that a brisk wind and a heavy rolling swell create exactly the same inward effects which they occasioned at the very commencement of the voyage — you begin to fancy that you are unfairly dealt with: and I, for my part, had thought of complaining to the company of this atrocious violation of the rules of their prospectus; but we were perpetually coming to anchor in various ports, at which intervals of peace and good humour were re- stored to us. On the 3rd of October our cable rushed with a huge rattle into the blue sea before Jaffa, at a distance of con- siderably more than a mile off the town, which lay be- fore us very clear, with the flags of the consuls flaring in the bright sky, and making a cheerful and hospitable show. The houses a great heap of sun-baked stones, surmounted here and there by minarets and countless little whitewashed domes; a few date-trees spread out their fan-like heads over these dull-looking buildings; long sands stretched away on either side, with low pur- ple hills behind them; we could see specks of camels crawling over these yellow plains; and those persons who were about to land, had the leisure to behold the 393 394 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO sea-spray flashing over the sands, and over a heap of black rocks which lie before the entry to the town. The swell is very great, the passage between the rocks narrow, and the danger sometimes considerable. So the guide began to entertain the ladies and other pas- sengers in the huge countrj^ boat which brought us from the steamer, with an agreeable story of a lieutenant and eight seamen of one of her Majesty's ships, who were upset, dashed to pieces, and drowned upon these rocks, through which two men and two boys, with a very mod- erate portion of clothing, each standing and pulling half an oar — there were but two oars between them, and another by way of rudder — were endeavouring to guide us. When tlie danger of the rocks and surf was passed, came another danger of the hideous brutes in brown skins and the briefest shirts, who came towards the boat, straddling through the water with outstretched arms, grinning and j^elling their Arab invitations to mount their shoulders. I think these fellows frightened the ladies still more than the rocks and the surf; but the poor creatures were obliged to submit; and, trembling, were accommodated somehow upon the mahogany backs of these ruffians, carried through the shallows, and flung up to a ledge before the city gate, where crowds more of dark people were swarming, howling after their fashion. The gentlemen, meanwhile, were having ar- guments about the eternal backsheesh with the roaring Arab boatmen; and I recall with wonder and delight especi, \\y, the curses and screams of one small and ex- tremely loud-lunged fellow, who expressed discontent at receiving a five, instead of a six piastre piece. But how is one to know, without possessing the language? JAFFA 395 Both coins are made of a greasy pewtery sort of tin; and I thought the biggest was the most valuable: but the fellow showed a sense of their v^alue, and a dispo- sition seemingly to cut any man's throat who did not understand it. Men's throats have been cut for a less difference before now. Being cast upon the ledge, the first care of our gal- lantry was to look after the ladies, who were scared and astonished by the naked savage brutes, who were shoul- dering the poor things to and fro; and bearing them through these and a dark archway, we came into a street crammed with donkeys and their packs and drivers, and towering camels with leering eyes looking into the sec- ond-floor rooms, and huge splay feet, through which mesdames et mesdemoisellcs were to be conducted. We made a rush at the first open door, and passed comfort- ably under the heels of some horses gathered under the arched court, and up a stone staircase, which turned out to be that of the Russian consul's house. His people welcomed us most cordially to his abode, and the ladies and the luggage (objects of our solicitude) were led up many stairs and across several terraces to a most com- fortable little room, under a dome of its own, where the representative of Russia sat. Women with brown faces and draggle-tailed coats and turbans, and wondering eyes, and no stays, and blue beads and gold coins hang- ing round their necks, came to gaze, as they passed, upon the fair neat Englishwomen. Blowsy black cooks puffing over fires and the strangest pots and ]ians on the terraces, children paddling about in long striped robes, interrupted their sports or labours to come and stare; and the consul, in his cool domed chamber, with a lattice overlooking the sea, with clean mats, and pictures of 396 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO the Emperor, the Virgin, and St. George, received the strangers with smihng courtesies, regaling the ladies with pomegranates and sugar, the gentlemen with pipes of tobacco, whereof the fragrant tubes were three yards long. The Russian amenities concluded, we left the ladies still under the comfortable, cool dome of the Russian consulate, and went to see our own representative. The streets of the little town are neither agreeable to horse nor foot travellers. Many of the streets are mere flights of rough steps, leading abruptly into private houses: you pass under archways and passages numberless; a steep, dirty labyrinth of stone-vaulted stables and sheds occupies the ground-floor of the habitations; and you pass from flat to flat of the terraces ; at various irregular corners of which, little chambers, with little private domes, are erected, and the people live seemingly as much upon the terrace as in the room. We found the English consul in a queer little arched chamber, with a strange old picture of the King's arms to decorate one side of it: and here the consul, a de- mure old man, dressed in red flowing robes, with a fee- ble janissary bearing a shabby tin-mounted staff*, or mace, to denote his office, received such of our nation as came to him for hospitality. He distributed pipes and coff^ee to all and every one; he made us a present of his house and all his beds for the night, and went him- self to lie quietly on the terrace; and for all this hos- pitality he declined to receive any reward from us, and said he was but doing his duty in taking us in. This worthy man, I thought, must doubtless be very well paid by our Government for making such sacrifices; but it appears that he does not get one single farthing, JAFFA 397 and that the greater number of our Levant consuls are paid at a similar rate of easy remuneration. If we have bad consular agents, have we a right to complain? If the worthy gentlemen cheat occasionally, can we rea- sonably be angry? But in travelhng through these countries, English people, who don't take into consider- ation the miserable poverty and scanty resources of their country, and are apt to brag and be proud of it, have their vanity hurt by seeing the representatives of every nation but their own well and decently main- tained, and feel ashamed at sitting down under the shabby protection of our mean consular flag. The active young men of our party had been on shore long before us, and seized upon all the available horses in the town; but we relied upon a letter from Halil Pacha, enjoining all governors and pashas to help us in all ways: and hearing we were the bearers of this document, the cadi and vice-governor of Jaffa came to wait upon the head of our party; declared that it was his delight and honour to set eyes upon us; that he would do everything in the world to serve us ; that there were no horses, unluckily, but he would send and get some in three hours ; and so left us with a world of grin- ning bows and many choice compliments from one side to the other, which came to each filtered through an obsequious interpreter. But hours passed, and the clat- ter of horses' hoofs was not heard. We had our dinner of eggs and flaps of bread, and the sunset gun fired : we had our pipes and coffee again, and the night fell. Is this man throwing dirt upon us? we began to think. Is he laughing at our beards, and are our mothers' graves ill-treated by this smiling, swindling cadi? We deter- mined to go and seek in his own den this shuffling dis- 398 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO penser of infidel justice. This time we would be no more bamboozled by compliments ; but we would use the language of stern expostulation, and, being roused, would let the rascal hear the roar of the indignant Brit- ish lion; so we rose up in our wrath. The poor consul got a lamp for us with a bit of wax-candle, such as I wonder his means could afford; the shabby janissary marched ahead with his tin mace; the two laquais-de- place, that two of our company had hired, stepped for- ward, each with an old sabre, and we went clattering and stumbling down the streets of the town, in order to seize upon this cadi in his own divan. I was glad, for my pavt (though outwardly majestic and indig- nant in demeanour), that the horses had not come, and that we had a chance of seeing this little queer glimpse of Oriental life, which the magistrate's faithlessness procured for us. As piety forbids the Turks to eat during the weary daylight hours of the Ramazan, they spend their time profitably in sleeping until the welcome sunset, when the town wakens: all the lanterns are lighted up; all the pipes begin to puff, and the narghiles to bubble; all the sour-milk-and-sherbet-men begin to yell out the excellence of their wares; all the frying-pans in the lit- tle dirty cookshops begin to friz, and the pots to send forth a steam : and through this dingy, ragged, bustling, beggarly, cheerful scene, we began now to march to- wards the Bow Street of Jaffa. We bustled tlu'ough a crowded narrow archway which led to the cadi's po- lice-office, entered the little room, atrociously perfumed with musk, and passing by the rail-board, where the common sort stood, mounted the stage upon which his worship and friends sat, and squatted down on the THE CADI'S DIVAN 399 divans in stern and silent dignity. His honour ordered us coffee, his countenance evidently showing consider- able alarm. A black slave, whose duty seemed to be to prepare this beverage in a side-room with a furnace, prepared for each of us about a teaspoonful of the liquor: his worship's clerk, I presume, a tall Turk of a noble aspect, presented it to us; and having lapped up the little modicum of drink, the British lion began to speak. All the other travellers (said the lion with perfect reason) have good horses and are gone; the Russians have got horses, the Spaniards have horses, the English have horses, but we, we— viziers in our country, coming with letters of Halil Pacha, are laughed at, spit upon! Are Halil Pacha's letters dirt, that you attend to them in this way? Are British lions dogs that you treat them so?— and so on. This speech with many varia- tions was made on our side for a quarter of an hour; and we finall}^ swore that unless the horses were forth- coming we would write to Halil Pacha the next morn- ing, and to his Excellency the English IMinister at the Sublime Porte. Then you should have heard the chorus of Turks in reply: a dozen voices rose up from the divan, shouting, screaming, ejaculating, expectorating (the Arabic spoken language seems to require a great emploj^ment of the two latter oratorical methods), and uttering what the meek interpreter did not translate to us, but what I dare say were by no means complimen- tary phrases towards us and our nation. Finally, the palaver concluded by the cadi declaring that by the wall of heaven horses should be forthcoming at three o'clock in the morning; and that if not, why, then, we might write to Halil Pacha. 400 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO This posed us, and we rose up and haughtily took leave. I should like to know that fellow's real opinion of us lions very much: and especially to have had the translation of the speeches of a huge-breeched tur- baned roaring infidel, who looked and spoke as if he would have liked to fling us all into the sea, which was hoarsely murmuring under our windows an accompani- ment to the concert within. We then marched through the bazaars, that were lofty and grim, and pretty full of people. In a desolate broken building, some hundreds of children were play- ing and singing; in many corners sat parties over their water-pipes, one of whom every now and then would begin twanging out a most queer chant; others there were playing at casino — a crowd squatted around the squalling gamblers, and talking and looking on with eager interest. In one place of the bazaar we found a hundred people at least listening to a story-teller, who delivered his tale with excellent action, voice, and volu- bility : in another they were playing a sort of thimblerig with coffee-cups, all intent upon the game, and the player himself very wild lest one of our party, who had discovered where the pea lay, should tell the company. The devotion and energy with which all these pastimes were pursued, struck me as much as anything. These people have been playing thimblerig and casino; that story-teller has been shouting his tale of Antar for forty years; and they are just as happy with this amusement now as when first they tried it. Is there no ennui in the Eastern countries, and are blue-devils not allowed to go abroad there? From the bazaars we went to see the house of Mus- tapha, said to be the best house and the greatest man of A NIGHT IN SYRIA 401 Jaffa. But the great man had absconded suddenly, and had fled into Egypt. The Sultan had made a demand upon limi for sixteen thousand purses, 80,000/.— Mus- tapha retired— the Sultan pounced down upon his house, and his goods, his horses and his mules. His harem was desolate. Mr. Milnes could have written six affect- ing poems, had he been with us, on the dark loneliness of that violated sanctuary. We passed from hall to hall, terrace to terrace — a few fellows were slumbering on the naked floors, and scarce turned as we went by them. We entered Mustapha's particular divan — there was the raised floor, but no bearded friends squatting away the night of Ramazan; there was the little coffee furnace, but where was the slave and the coffee and the glowing embers of the pipes? Mustapha's favourite passages from the Koran were still painted upon the walls, but nobody was the wiser for them. We walked over a sleeping negro, and opened the windows which looked into his gardens. The horses and donkeys, the camels and mules were picketed there below, but where is the said Mustapha? From the frying-pan of the Porte, has he not fallen into the fire of Mehemet Ali? And which is best, to broil or to fry? If it be but to read the "Arabian Nights " again on getting home, it is good to have made this little voyage and seen these strange places and faces. Then we went out through the arched lowering gate- way of the town into the plain beyond, and that was another famous and brilliant scene of the " Arabian Nights." The heaven shone with a marvellous bril- liancy — the plain disappeared far in the haze — the towers and battlements of the town rose black against the sky— old outlandish trees rose up here and there 402 JOURNEY FROM CORXHILL TO CAIRO — clumps of camels were couched in the rare herbage — dogs were baying about — groups of men lay sleeping under their haicks round about — round about the tall gates many lights were twinkling — and they brought us water-pipes and sherbet — and we wondered to think that London was only three weeks off. Then came the night at the consul's. The poor de- mure old gentleman brought out his mattresses ; and the ladies sleeping round on the divans, we lay down quite happy ; and I for my part intended to make as dehght- ful dreams as Alnaschar; but— lo, the delicate mos- quito sounded his horn: the active flea jumped up, and came to feast on Christian flesh (the Eastern flea bites more bitterly tlian the most savage bug in Christen- dom), and tlie bug— oh, the accursed! Why was he made ? What duty has that infamous ruflian to perform in the world, save to make people wretched? Onlj^ Bulwer in his most patlietic style could describe the miseries of that night— the moaning, the groaning, the cursing, the tumbling, the blistering, the infamous de- spair and degradation! I heard all the cocks in Jaffa crow; the children crying, and the mothers hushing them; tlie donkeys braying fitfully in the moonlight; at last, I heard the clatter of hoofs below, and the hail- ing of men. It was three o'clock, the horses were ac- tuallj'- come; nay, there were camels likewise; asses and mules, pack-saddles and drivers, all bustling together under the moonlight in the cheerful street — and the first night in Syria was over. CHAPTER XII FROM JAFFA TO JERUSALEM IT took an hour or more to get our little caravan into marching order, to accommodate all the packs to the horses, the horses to the riders; to see the ladies com- fortably placed in their litter, with a sleek and large black mule fore and aft, a groom to each mule, and a tall and exceedingly good-natured and mahogany-col- oured infidel to walk by the side of the carriage, to bal- ance it as it swayed to and fro, and to offer his back as a step to the inmates whenever they were minded to ascend or alight. These three fellows, fasting through the Ramazan, and over as rough a road, for the greater part, as ever shook mortal bones, performed their four- teen hours' walk of near fort}^ miles Avith the most ad- mirable courage, alacrity, and good humour. They once or twice drank water on the march, and so far infringed the rule; but they refused all bread or edible refresh- ment offered to them, and tugged on with an energy that the best camel, and I am sure the best Christian, might envy. What a lesson of good-humoured endur- ance it was to certain Pall IMall Sardanapaluses, who grumble if club sofa cushions are not soft enough! If I could wi'ite sonnets at leisure, I would like to chronicle in fourteen lines my sensations on finding myself on a high Turkish saddle, with a pair of fire- shovel stirrups and worsted reins, red padded saddle- cloth, and innumerable tags, fringes, glass-beads, ends 403 404 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO of rope, to decorate the harness of the horse, the gallant steed on which I was about to gallop into Syrian life. What a figure we cut in the moonlight, and how they would have stared in the Strand! Ay, or in Leicester- shire, where I warrant such a horse and rider are not often visible! The shovel stirrups are deucedly short; the clumsy leathers cut the shins of some equestrians abominably; you sit over your horse as it were on a tower, from which the descent would be very easy, but for the big peak of the saddle. A good way for the inexperienced is to put a stick or umbrella across the saddle peak again, so that it is next to impossible to go over your horse's neck. I found this a vast comfort in going down the hills, and recommend it conscientiously to other dear simple brethren of the city. Peaceful men, we did not ornament our girdles with pistols, yataghans, &c., such as some pilgrims appeared to bristle all over with ; and as a lesson to such rash peo- ple, a story may be told which was narrated to us at Jerusalem, and carries a wholesome moral. The Hon- ourable Hoggin Armer, who was lately travelhng in the East, wore about his stomach two brace of pistols, of such exquisite finish and make, that a Sheikh, in the Jericho countrj^ robbed him merely for the sake of the pistols. I don't know whether he has told the story to his friends at home. Another story about Sheikhs may here be told apro- pos. That celebrated Irish Peer, Lord Oldgent (who was distinguished in the Buckinghamshire Dragoons), having paid a sort of blackmail to the Sheikh of Jeri- cho country, was suddenly set upon by another Sheikh, who claimed to be the real Jerichonian governor; and these twins quarrelled over the body of Lord Oldgent, A CAVALCADE 405 as the widows for the innocent baby before Solomon. There was enough for both — but these digressions are interminable. \ The party got under way at near four o'clock: the ladies in the litter, the French femme-de-chamhre man- fully caracoling on a grey horse ; the cavaliers, like your humble servant, on their high saddles; the domestics, flunkies, guides, and grooms, on all sorts of animals, — some fourteen in all. Add to these, two most grave and stately Arabs in white beards, white turbans, white haicks and raiments; sabres curling round their mili- tary thighs, and immense long guns at their backs. More venerable warriors I never saw; they went hy the side of the litter soberly prancing. When we emerged from the steep clattering streets of the city into the grey plains, lighted by the moon and starlight, these militaries rode onward, leading the way through the huge avenues of strange diabolical-looking prickly pears (plants that look as if they had grown in Tar- tarus) , by which the first mile or two of route from the city is bounded; and as the dawn arose before us, ex- hibiting first a streak of grey, then of green, then of red in the sky, it was fine to see these martial figures de- fined against the rising light. The sight of that little cavalcade, and of the nature around it, will always re- main with me, I think, as one of the freshest and most delightful sensations I have enjoyed since the day I first saw Calais pier. It was full day when they gave their horses a drink at a large pretty Oriental fountain, and then presently we entered the open plain — the fa- mous plain of Sharon — so fruitful in roses once, now hardly cultivated, but always beautiful and noble. Here, presently, in the distance, we saw another cav- 406 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO alcade pricking over the plain. Our two white warriors spread to the right and left, and galloped to recon- noitre. We, too, put our steeds to the canter, and handling our umbrellas as Richard did his lance against Saladin, went undaunted to challenge this caravan. The fact is, we could distinguish that it was formed of the party of our pious friends the Poles, and we hailed them with cheerful shouting, and presently the two caravans joined company, and scoured the plain at the rate of near four miles per hour. The horse-master, a courier of this company, rode three miles for our one. He was a broken-nosed Arab, with pistols, a sabre, a fusee, a yellow Damascus cloth flapping over his head, and his nose ornamented with diachylon. He rode a hog-necked grey Arab, bristling over with harness, and jumped, and whirled, and reared, and halted, to the admiration of all. Scarce had the diachylonian Arab finished his evolu- tions, when lo! yet another cloud of dust was seen, and another party of armed and glittering horsemen ap- peared. They, too, were led by an Arab, who was fol- lowed by two janissaries, with silver maces shining in the sun. 'Twas the part}^ of the new American Consul- General of Syria and Jerusalem, hastening to that city, with the inferior consuls of Ramleh and Jaffa to escort him. He expects to see the Millennium in three years, and has accepted the office of consul at Jerusalem, so as to be on the spot in readiness. When the diachylon Arab saw the American Arab, he straightway galloped his steed towards him, took his pipe, which he delivered at his adversary in guise of a j creed, and galloped round and round, and in and out, and there and back again, as in a play of war. The RAMLEH 407 American replied in a similar playful ferocity— the two warriors made a little tournament for us there on the plains before Jaffa, in the which diachylon, being a little worsted, challenged his adversary to a race, and fled away on his grey, the American following on his bay. Here poor sticking-plaster was again worsted, the Yan- kee contemptuously riding round him, and then declin- ing further exercise. What more could mortal man want? A troop of knights and paladins could have done no more. In no page of Walter Scott have I read a scene more fair and sparkling. The sober warriors of our escort did not join in the gambols of the young men. There they rode soberly, in their white turbans, by their ladies' litter, their long guns rising up behind them. There was no lack of company along the road: don- keys numberless, camels by twos and threes ; now a mule- driver, trudging along the road, chanting a most queer melody; now a lady, in white veil, black mask, and yel- low papooshes, bestriding her ass, and followed bj^ her husband, — met us on the way; and most people gave a salutation. Presently we saw Ramleh, in a smoking mist, on the plain before us, flanked to the right by a tall lonely tower, that might have held the bells of some moutier of Caen or Evreux. As we entered, about three hours and a half after starting, among the white domes and stone houses of the little town, we passed the place of tombs. Two women were sitting on one of them, — the one bending her head towards the stone, and rocking to and fro, and moaning out a very sweet, pitiful lamen- tation. The American consul invited us to breakfast at the house of his subaltern, the hospitable one-eyed Armenian, who represents the United States at Jafl*a. 408 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO The stars and stripes were flaunting over his terraces, to which we ascended, leaving our horses to the care of a multitude of roaring, ragged Arabs beneath, who took charge of and fed the animals, though I can't say in the least why; but, in the same way as getting off my horse on entering Jerusalem, I gave the rein into the hand of the first person near me, and have never heard of the worthy brute since. At the American consul's we were served first with rice soup in pishpash, flavoured with cinnamon and spice; then with boiled mutton, then with stewed ditto and tomatoes; then with fowls swimming in grease; then with brown ragouts belaboured with onions; then with a smoking pilaff of rice: several of which dishes I can pronounce to be of excellent material and flavour. When the gentry had concluded this re- past, it was handed to a side-table, where the common- alty speedily discussed it. We left them licking their fingers as we hastened away upon the second part of the ride. And as we quitted Ramleh, the scenery lost that sweet and peaceful look which characterizes the pretty plain we had traversed ; and the sun, too, rising in the heaven, dissipated all those fresh, beautiful tints in which God's world is clothed of early morning, and which city peo- ple have so seldom the chance of beholding. The plain over which we rode looked j^ellow and gloomy; the cul- tivation little or none; the land across the roadside fringed, for the most part, with straggling wild carrot plants; a patch of green only here and there. We passed several herds of lean, small, well-conditioned cat- tle: manj'^ flocks of black goats, tended now and then by a ragged negro shejjherd, his long gun slung over his back, his hand over his ej^es to shade them as he ROAD-SIDE SKETCHES 409 stared at our little cavalcade. Most of the half -naked country-follvs we met, had this dismal appendage to Eastern rustic life ; and the weapon could hardly be one of mere defence, for, beyond the faded skull-cap, or tat- tered coat of blue or dirty white, the brawny, brown- chested, solemn-looking fellows had nothing seemingly to guard. As before, there was no lack of travellers on the road: more donkej^s trotted by, looking sleek and strong; camels singly and by pairs, laden with a little humble ragged merchandise, on their way between the two towns. About noon we halted eagerly at a short dis- tance from an Arab village and well, where all were glad of a drink of fresh water. A village of beavers, or a colony of ants, make habitations not unlike these dismal huts piled together on the plain here. There were no single huts along the whole line of road; poor and wretched as they are, the Fellahs huddle all to- gether for protection from the other thieves their neigh- bours. The government (which we restored to them) has no power to protect them, and is only strong enough to rob them. The women, with their long blue gowns and ragged veils, came to and fro with pitchers on their heads. Rebecca had such an one when she brought drink to the lieutenant of Abraham. The boys came staring round, bawling after us with their fathers for the inevitable backsheesh. The village dogs barked round the flocks, as they were driven to water or pasture. We saw a gloomy, not very lofty-looking ridge of hills in front of us ; the highest of which the guide point- ing out to us, told us that from it we should see Jeru- salem. It looked very near, and we all set up a trot of enthusiasm to get into this hill country. But that burst of enthusiasm (it may have carried us 410 JOURXEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO nearly a quarter of a mile in three minutes) was soon destined to be checked by the disagreeable nature of the country we had to traverse. Before we got to the real mountain district, we were in a manner prepared for it, by the mounting and descent of several lonely outlying hills, up and down which our rough stony track wound. Then we entered the hill district, and our path lay through the clattering bed of an ancient stream, whose brawling waters have rolled away into the past, along with the fierce and turbulent race who once inhabited these savage hills. There may have been cultivation here two thousand years ago. The mountains, or huge stony mounds environing this rough path, have level ridges all the wa\^ up to their summits ; on these parallel ledges there is still some verdure and soil: when water flowed here, and the countr}^ was thronged with that extraor- dinary^ population, which, according to the Sacred His- tories, was crowded into the region, these mountain steps may have been gardens and vineyards, such as we see now thriving along the hills of the Rhine. Now the district is quite deserted, and you ride among what seem to be so many petrified waterfalls. We saw no animals moving among the stony brakes; scarcely even a dozen little birds in the whole course of the ride. The spar- rows are all at Jerusalem, among the house-tops, where their ceaseless chirping and twittering forms the most cheerful sound of the place. The company of Poles, the company of Oxford men, and the little American army, travelled too quick for our caravan, which was made to follow the slow progress of the ladies' litter, and we had to make the journey through the mountains in a very small number. Not one of our party had a single weapon more dreadful ROAD-SIDE SKETCHES 4>lV than an umbrella: and a couple of Arabs, wickedly in- clined, might have brought us all to the halt, and rifled every carpet-bag and pocket belonging to us. Nor can I say that we journeyed without certain qualms of fear. When swarthy fellows, with girdles full of pistols and yataghans, passed us without unslinging their long guns: — when scowling camel-riders, with awful long bending lances, decorated with tufts of rags, or savage plumes of scarlet feathers, went by without molestation, I think we were rather glad that they did not stop and parley: for, after all, a British lion with an umbrella is no match for an Arab with his infernal long- sun. What, too, would have become of our women? So we tried to think that it was entirely out of anxiety for them that we were inclined to push on. There is a shady resting-place and village in the midst of the mountain district where the travellers are ac- customed to halt for an hour's repose and refreshment; and the other caravans were just quitting this spot, hav- ing enjoyed its cool shades and waters, when we came up. Should we stop? Regard for the ladies (of course no other earthly consideration) made us say, "No!" What admirable self-denial and chivalrous devotion! So our poor devils of mules and horses got no rest and no water, our panting litter-men no breathing time, and we staggered desperately after the procession ahead of us. It wound up the mountain in front of us : the Poles with their guns and attendants, the American with his janissaries; fifty or sixty all riding slowly like the pro- cession in " Bluebeard." But alas, they headed us very soon; when we got up the weary hill thej?^ were all out of sight. Perhaps thoughts of Fleet Street did cross the minds of some 412 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO of us then, and a vague desire to see a few policemen. The district now seemed peopled, and with an ugly race. Savage personages peered at us out of huts, and grim holes in the rocks. The mules began to loiter most abominably — water the muleteers must have — and, be- hold, we came to a pleasant-looking village of trees standing on a hill; children were shaking figs from the trees — women were going about — before us was the mosque of a holy man — the village, looking like a col- lection of little forts, rose up on the hill to our right, with a long view of the fields and gardens stretching from it, and camels arriving with their burdens. Here we must stop ; Paolo, the chief servant, knew the Sheikh of the village — he very good man — give him water and supper — water very good here — in fact we began to think of the propriety of halting here for the night, and making our entrj^ into Jerusalem on the next day. A man on a handsome horse dressed in red came prancing up to us, looking hard at the ladies in the litter, and passed away. Then two others sauntered up, one handsome, and dressed in red too, and he stared into the litter without ceremony, began to play with a little dog that lay there, asked if we were Inglees, and was answered by me in the affirmative. Paolo had brought the water, the most delicious draught in the world. The gentlefolks had had some, the poor mule- teers were longing for it. The French maid, the coura- geous Victoire (never since the days of Joan of Arc has there surely been a more gallant and virtuous female of France) refused the drink; when suddenly a ser- vant of the party scampers up to his master and says: *' Abou Gosh says the ladies must get out and show themselves to the women of the village! " NIGHT BEFORE JERUSALEM 413 It was Abou Gosh himself, the redoubted robber Sheikh about whom we had been laughing and crying "Wolf!" all day. Never was seen such a skurry! "March!" was the instant order given. When Vic- toire heard who it was and the message, you should have seen how she changed countenance; trembling for her virtue in the ferocious clutches of a Gosh. " Un verre d'eau pour I'amour de Dieu!" gasped she, and was ready to faint on her saddle. " Ne buvez plus, Vic- toire! " screamed a little fellow of our party. " Push on, push on!" cried one and all. "What's the matter?" exclaimed the ladies in the litter, as they saw themselves suddenly jogging on again. But we took care not to tell them what had been the designs of the redoubtable Abou Gosh. Away then we went — Victoire was saved — and her mistresses rescued from dangers they knew not of, until they were a long way out of the vil- lage. Did he intend insult or good will? Did Victoire es- cape the odious chance of becoming ]\Iadame Abou Gosh? Or did the mountain chief simply propose to be hospitable after his fashion? I think the latter was his desire ; if the former had been his wish, a half-dozen of his long guns could have been up with us in a min- ute, and had all our party at their mercy. But now, for the sake of the mere excitement, the incident was, I am sorry to say, rather a pleasant one than otherwise : especially for a traveller who is in the happy condition of being able to sing before robbers, as is the case with the writer of the present. A little way out of the land of Goshen we came upon a long stretch of gardens and vineyards, slanting to- wards the setting sun, which illuminated numberless 414 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO golden clusters of the most delicious grapes, of which we stopped and partook. Such grapes were never be- fore tasted; water so fresh as that which a countryman fetched for us from a well never sluiced parched throats before. It was the ride, the sun, and above all Abou Gosh, who made that refreshment so sweet, and hereby I offer him my best thanks. Presently, in the midst of a most diabolical ravine, down which our horses went sliding, we heard the evening gun; it was fired from Jerusalem. The twilight is brief in this country, and in a few minutes the landscape was grey round about us, and the sky lighted up by a hundred thousand stars, which made the night beautiful. Under this superb canopy we rode for a couple of hours to our journej^'s end. The mountains round about us dark, lonely, and sad; the landscape as we saw it at night (it is not more cheerful in the daytime), the most solemn and forlorn I have ever seen. The feelings of almost terror with which, riding through the night, we approached this awful place, the centre of the world's past and future history, have no need to be noted down here. The recollection of those sensations must remain with a man as long as his memory lasts; and he should think of them as often, perhaps, as he should talk of them little. CHAPTER XIII JERUSALEM THE ladies of our party found excellent quarters in readiness for them at the Greek convent in the city; where airy rooms, and plentiful meals, and wines and sweetmeats delicate and abundant, w^re provided to cheer them after the fatigues of their journey. I don't know whether the worthy fathers of the convent share in the good things which they lavish on their guests; but they look as if they do. Those whom we saw bore every sign of easy conscience and good living; there were a pair of strong, rosy, greasy, lazy lay-bro- thers, dawdling in the sun on the convent terrace, or peering over the parapet into the street below, whose looks gave one a notion of anything but asceticism. In the principal room of the strangers' house ( the lay traveller is not admitted to dwell in the sacred interior of the convent), and over the building, the Russian double-headed eagle is displayed. The place is under the patronage of the Emperor Nicholas: an Imperial Prince has stayed in these rooms: the Russian consul performs a great part in the city; and a considerable annual stipend is given by the Emperor towards the maintenance of the great establishment in Jerusalem. The Great Chapel of the Church of the Holy Sepul- chre is by far the richest, in point of furniture, of all the places of worship under that roof. We were in Russia, when we came to visit our friends here; under the pro- 415 416 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO tection of the Father of the Church and the Imperial Eagle ! This butcher and tyrant, who sits on his throne only through the crime of those who held it before him — every step in whose pedigree is stained by some hor- rible mark of murder, parricide, adultery— this padded and whiskered pontiff — who rules in his jack-boots over a system of sjDies and soldiers, of deceit, ignorance, dis- soluteness, and brute force, such as surely the history of the world never told of before — has a tender interest in the welfare of his spiritual children: in the Eastern Church ranks after divinity, and is worshipped by mil- lions of men. A pious exemplar of Christianity truly! and of the condition to which its union with politics has brought it! Think of the rank to which he pretends, and gravely believes that he possesses, no doubt!— think of those who assumed the same ultra-sacred character before him!— and then of the Bible and the Founder of the Religion, of which the Emperor assumes to be the chief priest and defender. We had some Poles of our party; but these poor fel- lows went to the Latin convent, declining to worship after the Emperor's fashion. The next night after our arrival, two of them passed in the Sepulchre. There we saw them, more than once on subsequent visits, kneeling in the Latin Church before the pictures, or marching solemnly with candles in processions, or lying flat on the stones, or passionately kissing the spots which their traditions have consecrated as the authentic places of the Saviour's sufferings. More honest or more civilized, or from opposition, the Latin fathers have long given up and disowned the disgusting mummery of the East- ern Fire — which lie the Greeks continue annually to tell. Their travellers' house and convent, though large and THE MAIN STREET 417 commodious, are of a much poorer and shabbier condi- tion than those of the Greeks. Both make beheve not to take money; but the traveller is expected to pay in each. The Latin fathers enlarge their means by a little harmless trade in beads and crosses, and mother-of-pearl shells, on which figures of saints are engraved; and which they purchase from the manufacturers, and vend at a small profit. The English, until of late, used to be quartered in these sham inns; but last year two or three Maltese took houses for the reception of tourists, who can now be accommodated with cleanly and com- fortable board, at a rate not too heavy for most pockets. To one of these we went very gladly; giving our horses the bridle at the door, which went off of their own will to their stables, through the dark inextricable labyrinths of streets, archways, and alleys, which we had threaded after leaving the main street from the Jaffa Gate. There, there was still some life. Numbers of persons were collected at their doors, or smoking before the dingy coffee-houses, where singing and story-telling were going on; but out of this great street everything was silent, and no sign of a light from the windows of the low houses which we passed. We ascended from a lower floor up to a terrace, on which were several little domed chambers, or pavilions. From this terrace, whence we looked in the morning, a great part of the city spread before us: — white domes upon domes, and terraces of the same character as our own. Here and there, from among these whitewashed mounds round about, a minaret rose, or a rare date-tree ; but the chief part of the vegetation near was that odious tree the prickly pear, — one huge green wart growing 418 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO out of another, armed with spikes, as inhospitable as the aloe, without shelter or beauty. To the right the Mosque of Omar rose ; the rising sun behind it. Yonder steep tortuous lane before us, flanked 'by ruined walls on either side, has borne, time out of mind, the title of Via Dolorosa; and tradition has fixed the spots w^here the Saviour rested, bearing his cross to Calvary. But of the mountain, rising immediately in front of us, a few grey olive-trees speckling the yellow side here and there, there can be no question. That is the jNIount of Olives. Bethany lies beyond it. The most sacred eyes that ever looked on this world have gazed on those ridges: it w^as there He used to w^alk and teach. With shame and humility one looks towards the spot where that inexpressible Love and Benevolence lived and breathed ; where the great yearning heart of the Saviour interceded for all our race; and whence the bigots and traitors of his day led him awaj^ to kill him ! That company of Jews whom we had brought wdth us from Constantinople, and who had cursed every delay on the route, not from impatience to view the Holy City, but from rage at being obliged to purchase dear provisions for their maintenance on shipboard, made what bargains they best could at Jaffa, and journeyed to the Valley of Jehoshaphat at the cheapest rate. We saw the tall form of the old Polish Patriarch, venerable in filth, stalking among the stinking ruins of the Jewish quarter. The sly old Rabbi, in the greasy folding hat, who would not pay to shelter his children from the storm off Beyrout, greeted us in the bazaars; the younger Rabbis were furbished up with some smart- ness. We met them on Sunday at the kind of prom- JEWISH PILGRIMS 419 enade by the walls of the Bethlehem Gate; they were in company of some red-bearded co-religionists, smartly attired in Eastern raiment; but their voice was the voice of the Jews of Berlin, and of course as we passed they were talking about so many hundert thaler. You may track one of the people, and be sure to hear mention of that silver calf that they worship. The English mission has been very unsuccessful with these religionists. I don't believe the Episcopal ap- paratus — the chaplains, and the colleges, and the bea- dles — have succeeded in converting a dozen of them; and a sort of mart3a'dom is in store for the luckless Hebrews at Jerusalem Avho shall secede from their faith. Their old communitj^ spurn them with horror; and I heard of the case of one unfortunate man, whose wife, in spite of her husband's change of creed, being resolved, like a true woman, to cleave to him, was spirited away from him in his absence ; was kept in privacy in the city, in spite of all exertions of the mission, of the consul and the bishop, and the chaplains and the beadles; was passed away from Jerusalem to Beyrout, and thence to Constantinople; and from Constantinople was whisked off into the Russian territories, where she still pines after her husband. May that unhap]3y convert find consolation away from her. I could not hel]D think- ing, as my informant, an excellent and accomplished gentleman of the mission, told me the story, that the Jews had done onty what the Christians do under the same circumstances. The woman was the daughter of a most learned Rabbi, as I gathered. Suppose a daugh- ter of the Rabbi of Exeter, or Canterbury, were to marrj^ a man who turned Jew, would not her Right Reverend Father be justified in taking her out of the 420 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO power of a person likely to hurl her soul to perdition? These poor converts should surely be sent away to Eng- land out of the way of persecution. We could not but feel a pity for them, as they sat there on their benches in the church conspicuous; and thought of the scorn and contumely which attended them without, as they passed, in their European dresses and shaven beards, among their grisly, scowling, long-robed countrymen. As elsewhere in the towns I have seen, the Ghetto of Jerusalem is pre-eminent in filth. The people are gathered round about the dung-gate of the city. Of a Friday you may hear their wailings and lamentations for the lost glories of their city. I think the Valley of Jehoshaphat is the most ghastly sight I have seen in the world. From all quarters they come hither to bury their dead. When his time is come j'-onder hoary old miser, with whom we made our voj^age, will lay his carcase to rest here. To do that, and to claw together money, has been the purpose of that strange, long life. We brought with us one of the gentlemen of the mission, a Hebrew convert, the Rev. Mr. E ; and lest I should be supposed to speak with disrespect above of any of the converts of the Hebrew faith, let me mention this gentleman as the only one whom I had the fortune to meet on terms of intimac3\ I never saw a man whose outward conduct was more touching, whose sincerity was more evident, and whose religious feeling seemed more deep, real, and reasonable. Only a few feet off, the walls of the Anglican Church of Jerusalem rise up from their foundations, on a pic- turesque open spot, in front of the Bethlehem Gate. The English Bishop has his church hard by: and near ENGLISH SERVICE IN JERUSxVLEM 421 it is the house where the Christians of our denomina- tion assemble and worship. There seem to be polyglot services here. I saw books of prayer, or Scripture, in Hebrew, Greek, and Ger- man: in which latter language Dr. Alexander preaches every Sunday. A gentleman who sat near me at church used all these books indifferently; reading the first les- son from the Hebrew book, and the second from the Greek. Here we all assembled on the Sunday after our arrival: it was affecting to hear the music and lan- guage of our country sounding in this distant place; to have the decent and manly ceremonial of our service ; the prayers delivered in that noble language. Even that stout anti-prelatist, the American consul, who has left his house and fortune in America in order to witness the coming of the Millennium, who believes it to be so near that he has brought a dove with him from his native land (which bird he solemnly informed us was to survive the expected Advent) , was affected by the good old words and service. He swayed about and moaned in his place at various passages; during the sermon he gave especial marks of sympathy and approbation. I never heard the service more excellently and impres- sively read than by the Bishop's chaplain, Mr. Veitch. But it was the music that was most touching, I thought, —the sweet old songs of home. There was a considerable company assembled: near a hundred people, I should think. Our party made a large addition to the usual congregation. The Bishop's family is proverbially numerous: the consul, and the gentlemen of the mission, have wives, and children, and English establishments. These, and the strangers, oc- cupied places down the room, to the right and left of 422 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO the desk and communion-table. The converts, and the members of the college, in rather a scanty number, faced the officiating clergyman ; before whom the silver maces of the janissaries were set up, as they set up the bea- dles' maces in England. I made many walks round the cit}^ to Olivet and Bethany, to the tombs of the kings, and the fountains sacred in story. These are green and fresh, but all the rest of the landscajDC seemed to me to be frightful. Parched mountains, with a grey bleak olive-tree trem- bling here and there; savage ravines and valleys, paved with tombstones — a landscape unspeakably ghastly and desolate, meet the e^^e wherever you wander round about the city. The place seems quite adapted to the events which are recorded in the Hebrew histories. It and they, as it seems to me, can never be regarded without terror. Fear and blood, crime and punishment, fol- low from page to page in frightful succession. There is not a spot at which j^ou look, but some violent deed has been done there: some massacre has been committed, some victim has been murdered, some idol has been worshipped with bloody and dreadful rites. Not far from hence is the place where the Jewish conqueror fought for the possession of Jerusalem. " The sun stood still, and hasted not to go down about a whole day; " so that the Jews might have daylight to destroy the Amorites, whose iniquities were full, and whose land they were about to occupy. The fugitive heathen king, and his allies, were discovered in their hiding-place, and hanged: "and the children of Judah smote Jerusalem with the edge of the sword, and set the city on fire; and they left none remaining, but utterly destroyed all that breathed." A GLOOMY LANDSCAPE 423 I went out at the Zion Gate, and looked at the so- called tomb of David. I had been reading all the morning in the Psalms, and his history in Samuel and Kings. "Bring thou down Shim as hoar head to the grave with blood/' are the last words of the dying mon- arch as recorded by the history. What they call the tomb is now a crumbling old mosque; from which Jew and Christian are excluded alike. As I saw it, blazing in the sunshine, with the purple sky behind it, the glare only served to mark the surrounding desolation more clearly. The lonel}^ walls and towers of the city rose hard by. Dreary mountains, and declivities of naked stones, were round about : they are burrowed with holes in which Christian hermits lived and died. You see one green place far down in the valley : it is called En Rogel. Adonijah feasted there, who was killed by his brother Solomon, for asking for Abishag for wife. The Val- ley of Hinnom skirts the hill: the dismal ravine was a fruitful garden once. Ahaz, and the idolatrous kings, sacrificed to idols under the green trees there, and " caused their children to pass through the fire." On the mountain opposite, Solomon, with the thousand women of his harem, worshipped the gods of all their nations, " Ashtoreth," and " Milcom, and Molech, the abomination of the Ammonites." An enormous char- nel-house stands on the hill where the bodies of dead pilgrims used to be thrown; and common belief has fixed upon this spot as the Aceldama, which Judas pur- chased with the price of his treason. Thus j^ou go on from one gloomy place to another, each seared with its bloody tradition. Yonder is the Temple, and you think of Titus's soldiery storming its flaming porches, and entering the city, in the savage defence of which 424 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO two million human souls perished. It was on Mount Zion that Godfrey and Tancred had their camp: when the Crusaders entered the mosque, they rode knee-deep in the blood of its defenders, and of the women and children who had fled thither for refuge: it was the victory of Joshua over again. Then, after three days of butchery, they purified the desecrated mosque and went to praj^er. In the centre of this history of crime rises up the Great Murder of all. . . . I need say no more about this gloomy landscape. After a man has seen it once, he never forgets it — the recollection of it seems to me to follow him like a re- morse, as it were to implicate him in the awful deed which was done there. Oh! with what unspeakable shame and terror should one think of that crime, and prostrate himself before the image of that Divine Blessed Sufl'erer! Of course the first visit of the traveller is to the famous Church of the Sepulchre. In the archway, leading from the street to the court and church, there is a little bazaar of Bethlehemites, who must interfere considerably with the commerce of the Latin fathers. These men bawl to you from their stalls, and hold up for your purchase their devotional baubles, — bushels of rosaries and scented beads, and carved mother-of-pearl shells, and rude stone salt-cellars and figures. Now that inns are established, — envoys of these pedlars attend them on the arrival of strangers, squat all day on the terraces before your door, and pa- tiently entreat you to buy of their goods. Some worthies there are who drive a good trade by tattooing pilgrims with the five crosses, the arms of Jerusalem; under THE CHURCH OF THE SEPULCHRE 425 which the name of the city is punctured in Hebrew, with the auspicious year of the Hadji's visit. Several of our fellow-travellers submitted to this queer operation, and will carry to their grave this relic of their journey. Some of them had engaged a servant, a man at Beyrout, who had served as a lad on board an Enghsh ship in the Mediterranean. Above his tattooage of the five crosses, the fellow had a picture of two hearts united, and the pathetic motto, " Betsy my dear." He had parted with Betsy my dear five years before at Malta. He had known a little English there, but had forgotten it. Betsy my dear was forgotten too. Only her name remained engraved with a vain simulacrum of con- stancy on the faithless rogue's skin: on w^hich was now printed another token of equally effectual devotion. The beads and the tattooing, however, seem essential ceremonies attendant on the Christian pilgrim's visit; for many hundreds of years, doubtless, the palmers have carried off with them these simple reminiscences of the sacred city. That symbol has been engraven upon the arms of how many Princes, Knights, and Cru- saders! Don't you see a moral as applicable to them as to the swindling Beyrout horseboy? I have brought you back that cheap and wholesome apologue, in lieu of any of the Bethlehemite shells and beads. After passing through the porch of the pedlars, you come to the courtyard in front of the noble old towers of the Church of the Sepulchre, with pointed arches and Gothic traceries, rude, but rich and picturesque in de- sign. Here crowds are waiting in the sun, until it shall please the Turkish guardians of the church-door to open. A swarm of beggars sit here permanently: old tattered hags with long veils, ragged children, blind old 426 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO bearded beggars, wbo raise up a chorus of prayers for money, holding out their wooden bowls, or clattering with their sticks on the stones, or pulling your coat- skirts and moaning and whining; yonder sit a group of coal-black Coptish pilgrims, with robes and turbans of dark blue, fumbling their perpetual beads. A party of Arab Christians have come up from their tents or villages: the men half naked, looking as if they were beggars, or banditti, upon occasion; the women have flung their head-cloths back, and are looking at the strangers under their tattooed ej^ebrows. As for the strangers, there is no need to describe tliein; that figure of the Englishman, with his hands in his pockets, has been seen all the world over: staring down the crater of Vesuvius, or into a Hottentot kraal — or at a pyra- mid, or a Parisian coif ee-house, or an Esquimaux hut — with the same insolent calmness of demeanour. When the gates of the church are open, he elbows in among the THE PORCH OF THE SEPULCHRE 427 first, and flings a few scornful piastres to the Turkish door-keeper; and gazes round easil^^ at the place, in which people of every other nation in the world are in tears, or in rapture, or wonder. He has never seen the place until now, and looks as indifferent as the Turkish guar- dian who sits in the doorway, and swears at the people as they pour in. Indeed, I believe it is impossible for us to compre- hend the source and nature of the Roman Catholic devotion. I once went into a church at Rome at the request of a Catholic friend, who described the interior to be so beautiful and glorious, that he thought (he said) it must be like heaven itself. I found walls hung with cheap stripes of pink and white calico, altars cov- ered with artificial flowers, a number of wax-candles, and plenty of gilt paper ornaments. The place seemed to me like a shabbj^ theatre ; and here was my friend on his knees at my side, plunged in a rapture of wonder and devotion. I could get no better impression out of this the most famous church in the world. The deceits are too open and flagrant; the inconsistencies and contrivances too monstrous. It is hard even to sympathize with persons who receive them as genuine; and though (as I know and saw in the case of my friend at Rome) the believer's life may be passed in the purest exercise of faith and charity, it is difficult even to give him credit for hon- esty, so barefaced seem the impostures which he pro- fesses to believe and reverence. It costs one no small effort even to admit the possibility of a Catholic's cre- dulity: to share in his rapture and devotion is still fur- ther out of your power; and I could get from this church no other emotions but those of shame and pain. 428 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO The legends with which the Greeks and Latins have garnished the spot have no more sacredness for you than the hideous, unreal, barbaric pictures and orna- ments which they have lavished on it. Look at the fer- vour with which pilgrims kiss and weep over a tawdry Gothic painting, scarcely better fashioned than an idol in a South Sea Moral. The histories which they are called upon to reverence are of the same period and order, — savage Gothic caricatures. In either a saint appears in the costume of the middle ages, and is made to accommodate himself to the fashion of the tenth century. The different churches battle for the possession of the various relics. The Greeks show j^ou the Tomb of Melchisedec, while the Armenians possess the Chapel of the Penitent Thief; the poor Copts (with their lit- tle cabin of a chapel) can yet boast of possessing the thicket in which Abraham caught the Ram, which was to serve as the vicar of Isaac; the Latins point out the Pillar to which the Lord was bound. The place of the Invention of the Sacred Cross, the Fissure in the Rock of Golgotha, the Tomb of Adam himself — are all here within a few yards' space. You mount a few steps, and are told it is Calvary upon which you stand. All this in the midst of flaring candles, reeking incense, savage pictures of Scripture story, or portraits of kings who have been benefactors to the various chapels; a din and clatter of strange people, — these weeping, bowing, kiss- ing,— those utterly indifferent; and the priests clad in outlandish robes, snuffling and chanting incomprehen- sible litanies, robing, disrobing, lighting up candles or extinguishing them, advancing, retreating, bowing with all sorts of unfamiliar genuflexions. Had if pleased the \ SECTARIAN JEALOUSIES 429 inventors of the Sepulchre topography to have fixed on fifty more spots of ground as the places of the events of the sacred story, the pilgrim woiild have believed just as now. The priest's authority has so mastered his faith, that it accommodates itself to any demand upon it; and the English stranger looks on the scene, for the first time, with a feeling of scorn, bewilderment, and shame at that grovelling credulity, those strange rites and ceremonies, that almost confessed imposture. Jarred and distracted by these, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, for some time, seems to an English- man the least sacred spot about Jerusalem. It is the lies, and the legends, and the priests, and their quarrels, and their ceremonies, which keep the Holy Place out of sight. A man has not leisure to view it, for the brawling of the guardians of the spot. The Roman conquerors, they say, raised up a statue of Venus in this sacred place, intending to destroy all memory of it. I don't think the heathen was as criminal as the Chris- tian is now. To deny and disbelieve, is not so bad as to make belief a ground to cheat upon. The liar An- anias perished for that; and yet out of these gates, where angels may have kept watch — out of the tomb of Christ — Christian priests issue with a lie in their hands. What a place to choose for imposture, good God ! to sully, with brutal struggles for self -aggrandise- ment, or shameful schemes of gain! The situation of the Tomb (into which, be it authen- tic or not, no man can enter without a shock of breath- less fear, and deep and awful self-humiliation,) must have struck all travellers. It stands in the centre of the arched rotunda, which is common to all denominations, and from which branch off the various chapels belong- 430 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO ing to each particular sect. In the Coptic Chapel I saw one coal-black Copt, in blue robes, cowering in the lit- tle cabin, surrounded by dingy lamps, barbarous pic- tures, and cheap, faded trumper5\ In the Latin Church there was no service going on, only two fathers dusting the mouldy gewgaws along the brown walls, and laugh- ing to one another. The gorgeous church of the Fire impostors, hard by, was always more fully attended; as was that of their wealthy neighbours, the Armenians. These three main sects hate each other; their quarrels are interminable; each bribes and intrigues with the heathen lords of the soil, to the prejudice of his neigh- bour. Now it is the Latins who interfere, and allow the common church to go to ruin, because the Greeks purpose to roof it; now the Greeks demolish a monas- tery on Mount Olivet, and leave the ground to the Turks, rather than allow the Armenians to possess it. On another occasion, the Greeks having mended the Armenian steps, which lead to the (so-called) Cave of the Nativity at Bethlehem, the latter asked for permission to destroy the work of the Greeks, and did so. And so round this sacred spot, the centre of Christendom, the representatives of the three great sects worship under one roof, and hate each other! Above the Tomb of the Saviour, the cupola is open, and you see the blue sky overhead. Wliich of the build- ers was it that Iiad the grace to leave that under the high protection of heaven, and not confine it under the mouldering old domes and roofs, which cover so much selfishness, and uncharitableness, and imposture! We went to Bethlehem, too; and saw the apocryphal wonders there. CHURCH OF THE NATIVITY 431 Five miles' ride brings you from Jerusalem to it, over naked wavy hills; the aspect of which, however, grows more cheerful as you approach the fariious village. We passed the Convent of JNIar Eh^as on the road, walled and barred like a fort. In spite of its strength, however, it has more than once been stormed b}^ the Arabs, and the luckless fathers within put to death. Hard by was Rebecca's Well: a dead body was tying there, and crowds of male and female mourners dancing and howl- ing round it. Now and then a little troop of savage scowling horsemen— a shepherd driving his black sheep, his gun over his shoulder — a troop of camels — or of women, with long blue robes and white veils bearing pitchers, and staring at the strangers with their great solemn eyes— or a company of labourers, with their don- keys, bearing grain or grapes to the city,— met us and enlivened the little ride. It was a busy and cheerful scene. The Church of the Nativity, with the adjoining Convents, forms a vast and noble Christian structure. A party of travellers were going to the Jordan that day, and scores of their followers— of the robbing Arabs, who profess to protect them, (magnificent figures some of them, with flowing haicks and turbans, with long guns and scimitars, and wretched horses, covered with gaudy trappings,) were standing on the broad pave- ment before the little Convent gate. It was such a scene as Cattermole might paint. Knights and Crusaders may have witnessed a similar one. You could fancy them issuing out of the narrow little portal, and so greeted by the swarms of swarthy clamorous women and merchants and children. The scene within the building was of the same Gothic character. We were entertained by the Superior of the 432 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO Greek Convent, in a fine refectory, with ceremonies and hospitalities that pilgrims of the middle ages might have witnessed. We were shown over the magnificent Bar- baric Church, visited of course the Grotto where the Blessed Nativity is said to have taken place, and the rest of the idols set up for worship by the clumsy legend. When the visit was concluded, the party going to the Dead Sea filed oif with their armed attendants; each individual traveller making as brave a show as he could, and personally accoutred with warlike swords and pis- tols. The picturesque crowds, and the Arabs and the horsemen, in the sunshine ; the noble old convent, and the grey-bearded priests, with their feast; and the church, and its pictures and columns, and incense; the wide brown hills spreading round the village; with the acci- dents of the road, — flocks and shepherds, wells and fu- nerals, and camel-trains, — have left on my mind a bril- liant, romantic, and cheerful picture. But you. Dear M , without visiting the place, have imagined one far finer; and Bethlehem, where the Holy Child was born, and the angels sang, " Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace and goodwill tow^ards men," is the most sacred and beautiful spot in the earth to you. B}^ far the most comfortable quarters in Jerusalem are those of the Armenians, in their convent of St. James. Wherever we have been, these Eastern Quakers look grave, and jolly, and sleek. Their convent at IMount Zion is big enough to contain two or three thou- sand of their faithful; and their church is ornamented by the most rich and hideous gifts ever devised by un- couth piety. Instead of a bell, the fat monks of the convent beat huge noises on a board, and drub the faith- THE ARMENIAN CONVENT 433 fill into prayers. I never saw men more lazy and rosy than these reverend fathers, kneeling in their comfort- able matted church, or sitting in easy devotion. Pic- tures, images, gilding, tinsel, wax-candles, twinkle all over the place; and ten thousand ostriches' eggs (or any lesser number you may allot) dangle from the vaulted ceiling. There were great numbers of people at worship in this gorgeous church; they went on their knees, kiss- ing the walls with much fervour, and paying reverence to the most precious relic of the convent,— the chair of St. James, their patron, the first Bishop of Jerusalem. The chair pointed out with greatest pride in the church of the Latin Convent, is that shabby red damask one appropriated to the French Consul,— the represen- tative of the king of that nation,— and the protection which it has from time immemorial accorded to the Christians of the Latin rite in Syria. All French^ writers and travellers speak of this protection with de- lightful complacency. Consult the French books of travel on the subject, and any Frenchman whom you may meet : he says, " JLa France, Monsieur, de tons les te^nps protege les Chretiens cfOrient;^' and the little fellow looks round the church with a sweep of the arm, and protects it accordingly. It is ho7i ton for them to go in processions; and you see them on such errands, marching with long candles, as gravely as may be. But I have never been able to edify myself with their devo- tion; and the religious outpourings of Lamartine and Chateaubriand, which we have all been reading apro- pos of the journey we are to make, have inspired me with an emotion anything but respectful. '' Voyez comme M. de Chateaubriand prie Dieu/' the Viscount's eloquence seems always to say. There is a sanctified 434 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO grimace about the little French pilgrim which it is very difficult to contemplate gravely. The pictures, images, and ornaments of the principal Latin convent are quite mean and j)oor, compared to the •wealth of the Armenians. The convent is spacious, but squalid. Many hopping and crawling plagues are said to attack the skins of pilgrims who sleep there. It is laid out in courts and galleries, the mouldy doors of which are decorated with twopenny pictures of favourite saints and martyrs; and so great is the shabbiness and laziness, that you might fancy yourself in a convent in Italy. Brown-clad fathers, dirt}% bearded, and sallow, go gliding about the corridors. The relic manufactory before mentioned carries on a considerable business, and despatches bales of shells, crosses, and beads to believers in Europe. These constitute the chief revenue of the convent now. La France is no longer the most Chris- tian kingdom, and her protection of the Latins is not good for much since Charles X. was expelled ; and Spain, which used likewise to be generous on occasions, (the gifts, arms, candlesticks, baldaquins of the Spanish sov- ereigns figure pretty frequently in the various Latin chapels,) has been stingy since the late disturbances, the spoliation of the clergy, &c. After we had been taken to see the humble curiosities of the place, the Prior treated us in his wooden parlour with little glasses of pink Rosolio, brought with many bows and genuflex- ions by his reverence the convent butler. After this communitj'' of holy men, the most impor- tant perhaps is the American Convent, a Protestant con- gregation of Independents chiefly, who deliver tracts, propose to make converts, have meetings of their own, and also swell the little congregation that attends the AN AMERICAN CONSUL 435 Anglican service. I have mentioned our fellow-traveller, the Consul-General for Syria of the United States. He was a tradesman, who had made a^ considerable for- tune, and lived at a country-house in comfortable re- tirement. But his opinion is, that the prophecies of Scrij^ture are about to be accomplished; that the day of the return of the Jews is at hand, and the glorification of the restored Jerusalem. He is to witness this— he and a favourite dove with which he travels; and he for- sook home and comfortable country-house, in order to make this journey. He has no other knowledge of Syria but what he derives from the prophecy; and this (as he takes the office gratis) has been considered a suffi- cient reason for his appointment by the United States Government. As soon as he arrived, he sent and de- manded an interview with the Pasha; explained to him his interpretation of the Apocalypse, in which he has dificovered that the Five Powers and America are about to intervene in Syrian affairs, and the infallible re- turn of the Jews to Palestine. The news must have as- tonished the Lieutenant of the Sublime Porte ; and since the days of the Kingdom of ^lunster, under his Ana- baptist ^lajest}^ John of Ley den, I doubt whether any Government has received or appointed so queer an am- bassador. The kind, worthy, simple man took me to his temporary consulate-house at the American INIission- ary Establishment; and, under pretence of treating me to white wine, expounded his ideas; talked of futurity as he would about an article in Tlie Times; and had no more doubt of seeing a divine kingdom established in Jerusalem than you that there will be a levee next spring at St. James's. The little room in which we sat was padded with missionary tracts, but I heard of scarce any 436 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO converts— not more than are made by our own Epis- copal establishment. But if the latter's religious victories are small, and very few people are induced by the American tracts, and the English preaching and catechizing, to forsake their own manner of worshipping the Divine Being in order to follow ours; yet surely our religious colony of men and women can't fail to do good, by the sheer force of good example, pure life, and kind offices. The ladies of the mission have numbers of clients, of all persua- sions, in the town, to whom they extend their charities. Each of their houses is a model of neatness, and a dis- pensary of gentle kindnesses; and the ecclesiastics have formed a modest centre of civilization in the place. A dreary joke was made in the House of Commons about Bishop Alexander and the Bishopess his lady, and the Bishoplings his numerous children, who were said to have scandalized the people of Jerusalem. That sneer evidently came from* the Latins and Greeks; for what could the Jews and^^urks care because an English clergyman had a wife and children as their own priests have? There was no sort of ill-will exhibited towards them, as far as I could learn; and I saw the Bishop's children riding about the town as safely as they could about Hyde Park. All Europeans, indeed, seemed to me to be received with forbearance, and almost courtesy, within the walls. As I was going about making sketches, the people would look on very good-humour- edly, without offering the least interruption; nay, two or three were quite ready to stand still for such a humble portrait as my pencil could make of them; and the sketch done, it was passed from one person to another, each making his comments, and signifying a very polite SUBJECTS FOR SKETCHING 437 approval. Here are a pair of them, Fath Allah and Ameenut Daoodee his father, horse-dealers by trade, who came and sat with us at the inn, and smoked pipes (the sun being down) , while the original of the above masterpiece was made. With the Arabs outside the walls, however, and the freshly arriving countrj^-'people, this politeness was not so much exhibited. There was a certain tattooed girl, with black ej^es and huge silver earrings, and a chin delicately picked out with blue, who formed one of a group of women outside the great con- vent, whose likeness I longed to carry off; — there was a woman with a little child with wondering eyes, drawing water at the pool of Siloam, in such an attitude and dress as Rebecca may have had when Isaac's lieutenant asked her for drink: — both of these parties standing still for half a minute, at the next cried out for back- sheesh; and not content with the five piastres which I gave them individually, screamed out for more, and sum- 438 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO moiled their friends, who screamed out backsheesh too. I was pursued into the convent by a dozen howling women calHng for pay, barring the door against them, to the astonishment of the worthy papa who kept it ; and at ^liriam's Well the women were joined bj^ a man with a large stick, who backed their petition. But him we could afford to laugh at, for we were two, and had sticks likewise. In the village of Siloam I would not recommend the artist to loiter. A colony of ruffians inhabit the dismal place, who have guns as well as sticks at need. Their dogs howl after the strangers as they pass through ; and over the parapets of their walls you are saluted by the scowls of a villainous set of countenances, that it is not good to see with one pair of eyes. They shot a man at mid-day at a few hundred yards from the gates while we were at Jerusalem, and no notice was taken of the murder. Hordes of Arab robbers infest the neighbour- hood of the citv, with the Sheikhs of whom travellers make terms when minded to pursue their journey. I never could understand why the walls stopped these warriors if they had a mind to plunder the city, for there are but a hundred and fifty men in the garrison to man the long lonely lines of defence. I have seen onty in Titian's pictures those magnificent purple shadows in which the hills round about lay, as the dawn rose faintly behind them ; and we looked at Olivet for the last time from our terrace, where we were await- ing the arrival of the horses that were to carry us to Jaffa. A yellow moon was still blazing in the midst of countless brilliant stars overhead; the nakedness and misery of the surrounding city were hidden in that beau- SUBJECTS FOR SKETCHING 439 tiful rosy atmosphere of mingling night and dawn. The city never looked so noble ; the mosques, domes, and minarets rising up into the calm star -lit sky. By the gate of Bethlehem there stands one palm-tree, and a house with three domes. Put these and the huge old Gothic gate as a background dark against the yel- lowing eastern sky: the foreground is a deep grey: as you look into it dark forms of horsemen come out of the twilight: now there come lanterns, more horsemen, a litter with mules, a crowd of Arab horseboys and dealers accompanying their beasts to the gate; all the members of our party come up by twos and threes ; and, at last, the great gate opens just before sunrise, and we get into the grey plains. Oh! the luxury of an English saddle! An English servant of one of the gentlemen of the mission procured it for _iie, on the back of a little mare, which (as I am a light weight) did not turn a hair in the course of the day's march— and after we got quit of the ugly, stony, clattering, mountainous Abou Gosh district, into the fair undulating plain, which stretches to Ramleh, car- ried me into the town at a pleasant hand-gallop. A ne- gro, of preternatural ugliness, in a yellow gown, with a crimson handkerchief streaming over his head, dig- ging his shovel spurs into the lean animal he rode, and driving three others before — swaying backwards and forwards on his horse, now embracing his ears, and now almost under his belly, screaming " yallah " with the most frightful shrieks, and singing country songs— galloped along ahead of me. I acquired one of his poems pretty well, and could imitate his shriek accu- rately; but I shall not have the pleasure of singing it to you in England. I had forgotten the delightful dis- 440 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO sonance two days after, both the negro's and that of a real Arab minstrel, a donkey-driver accompanying our baggage, who sang and grinned with the most amusing good humour. We halted in the middle of the day, in a little wood of olive-trees, which forms almost the only shelter be- tween Jaffa and Jerusalem, except that afforded by the orchards in the odious village of Abou Gosh, through which we went at a double quick pace. Under the olives, or up in the branches, some of our friends took a siesta. I have a sketch of four of them so employed. Two of them were dead within a month of the fatal Syrian fever. But we did not know how near fate was to us then. Fires were lighted, and fowls and eggs divided, and tea and coffee served round in tin panikins, and here we lighted pipes, and smoked and laughed at our ease. I believe everybody was happy to be out of Jerusalem. The impression I have of it now is of ten days passed in a fever. We all found quarters in the Greek convent at Ram- leh, where the monks served us a supper on a terrace, in a pleasant sunset; a beautiful and cheerful landscape stretching around; the land in graceful undulations, the towers and mosques rosy in the sunset, with no lack of verdure, especially of graceful palms. Jaffa was nine miles off. As we rode all the morning we had been accompanied by the smoke of our steamer, twenty miles off at sea. The convent is a huge caravanserai ; only three or four monks dwell in It, the ghostly hotel-keepers of the place. The horses were tied up and fed in the courtyard, into which we rode ; above were the living-rooms, wliere there is accommodation, not only for an unlimited number RAMLEH 441 of pilgrims, but for a vast and innumerable host of hopping and crawling things, who usually persist in par- taking of the traveller's bed. Let all thin-skinned trav- ellers in the East be warned on no account to travel with- out the admirable invention described in Mr. Fellowes' book; nay, possibly invented by that enterprising and learned traveller. You make a sack, of calico or linen, big enough for the body, appended to which is a closed chimney of muslin, stretched out by cane-hoops, and fastened up to a beam, or against the wall. You keep a sharp eye to see that no flea or bug is on the look-out, and when assured of this, you pop into the bag, tightly closing the orifice after you. This admirable bug-disap- pointer I tried at Ramleh, and had the only undisturbed night's rest I enjoyed in the East. To be sure, it was a short night, for our party were stirring at one o'clock, and those who got up insisted on talking and keeping awake those who inclined to sleep. But I shall never forget the terror inspired in my mind, being shut up in the bug-disappointer, when a facetious lay-bro- ther of the convent fell upon me and began tickling me. I never had the courage again to try the anti-flea con- trivance, preferring the friskiness of those animals to the sports of such a greasy grinning wag as my friend at Ramleh. In the morning, and long before sunrise, our little caravan was in marching order again. We went out wdth lanterns and shouts of " yallah " through the nar- row streets, and issued into the plain, where, though there was no moon, there were blazing stars shining steadily overhead. They become friends to a man who travels, especially under the clear Eastern sky; whence they look down as if protecting you, solemn, yellow, 442 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO and refulgent. They seem nearer to you than in Eu- rope; larger and more awful. So we rode on till the dawn rose, and Jaffa came in view. The friendly ship was lying out in waiting for us; the horses were given up to their owners : and in the midst of a crowd of naked beggars, and a perfect storm of curses and yells for backsheesh, our party got into their boats, and to the ship, where we were welcomed by the very best cap- tain that ever sailed upon this maritime globe, namely Captain Samuel Lewis, of the Peninsular and Oriental Company's Service. CHAPTER XIV FROM JAFFA TO ALEXANDRIA [From the Providor''s Log-book.] BILL OF FARE, October 12th. Mulligatawny Soup. Salt Fish and Egg Sauce. Roast Haunch of Mutton. Boiled Shoulder and Onion Sauce. Boiled Beef. Roast Fowls. Pillau ditto. Ham. Haricot Mutton. Curry and Rice. Cabbage. French Beans. Boiled Potatoes. Baked ditto Damson Tart. Currant ditto. Rice Puddings. Currant Fritters, WE were just at the port's mouth — and could see the towers and buildings of Alexandria rising purple against the sunset, when the report of a gun came booming over the calm golden water; and we heard, with much mortification, that we had no chance 443 444 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO of getting pratique that night. Akeady the ungrate- ful passengers had begun to tire of the ship, — though in our absence in Syria it had been carefully cleansed and purified; though it was cleared of the swarming Jews who had infested the decks all the way from Constanti- nople; and though we had been feasting and carousing in the manner described above. But very early next morning we bore into the harbour, busy with a great quantity of craft. We passed huge black hulks of mouldering men-of-war, from the sterns of which trailed the dirty red flag, with the star and crescent; boats, manned with red-capped seamen, and captains and steersmen in beards and tarbooshes, passed continually among these old hulks, the rowers bending to their oars, so that at each stroke they disappeared bodily in the boat. Besides these, there was a large fleet of country ships, and stars and stripes, and tricolours, and Union Jacks; and many active steamers, of the French and English companies, shooting in and out of the harbour, or moored in the briny waters. The ship of our company, the " Oriental," lay there— a palace upon the brine, and some of the Pasha's steam-vessels likewise, looking very like Christian boats; but it was queer to look at some unintelligible Turkish flourish painted on the stern, and the long-tailed Arabian hiero- glyphics gilt on the paddle-boxes. Our dear friend and comi'ade of Beyrout (if we may be permitted to call her so), H. M. S. "Trump," was in the harbour; and the captain of that gallant ship, coming to greet us, drove some of us on shore in his gig. I had been preparing myself overnight, by the help of a cigar and a moonlight contemplation on deck, for sensations on landing in Egypt. I was ready to yield FROM JAFFA TO ALEXANDRIA 445 myself up with solemnity to the mystic grandeur of the scene of initiation. Pompey's Pillar must stand like a mountain, in a yellow plain, surrounded by a grove of obelisks as tall as palm-trees. Placid sphinxes brooding o'er the Nile— mighty Memnonian countenances calm —had revealed Egypt to me in a sonnet of Tennyson's, and I was ready to gaze on it with pyramidal wonder and hieroglyphic awe. The landing quay at Alexandria is like the dockyard quay at Portsmouth: with a few score of brown faces scattered among the population. There are slop-sell- ers, dealers in marine-stores, bottled-porter shops, sea- men lolling about ; flys and cabs are plying for hire : and a yelhng chorus of donkey-boys, shrieking, " Ride, sir! —donkey, sir!— I say, sir! " in excellent English, dispel all romantic notions. The placid sphinxes brooding o'er the Nile disappeared with that shriek of the donkey- boys. You might be as well impressed with Wapping as with your first step on Egyptian soil. The riding of a donkey is, after all, not a dignified occupation. A man resists the offer at first, somehow, as an indignity. How is that poor little, red-saddled, long-eared creature to carry you? Is there to be one for you and another for your legs ? Natives and Europeans, of all sizes, pass by, it is true, mounted upon the same contrivance. I waited until I got into a very private spot, where nobody could see me, and then ascended— why not say descended, at once?— on the poor little ani- mal. Instead of being crushed at once, as perhaps the rider expected, it darted forward, quite briskly and cheerfully, at six or seven miles an hour; requiring no spur or admonitive to haste, except the shrieking of the little Egyptian gamin, who ran along by asinus's side. 446 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO The character of the houses by which you pass is scarcely Eastern at all. The streets are busy with a motley population of Jews and Armenians, slave-driv- ing-looking Europeans, large-breeched Greeks, and well-shaven buxom merchants, looking as trim and fat as those on the Bourse or on 'Change; only, among the natives, the stranger can't fail to remark (as the Ca- liph did of the Calenders, in the " Arabian Nights ") that so many of them have only one eye. It is the hor- rid ophthalmia which has played such frightful ravages with them. You see children sitting in the doorways, their eyes completely closed up with the green sickening sore, and the flies feeding on them. Five or six min- utes of the donkey-ride brings you to the Frank quar- ter, and the handsome broad street (like a street of Mar- seilles) where the principal hotels and merchants' houses are to be found, and where the consuls have their houses, and hoist their flags. The palace of the French Consul- General makes the grandest show in the street, and pre- sents a great contrast to the humble abode of the Eng- lish representative, who protects his fellow-countrymen from a second floor. But that Alexandrian two-pair-front of a Consulate was more welcome and cheering than a palace to most of us. For there lay certain letters, with post-marks of Home upon them; and kindly tidings, the first heard for two months: — though we had seen so many men and cities since, that Cornhill seemed to be a year off, at least, with certain j^ersons dwelling (more or less) in that vicinity. I saw a young Oxford man seize his des- patches, and slink off with several letters, written in a tight, neat hand, and sedulously crossed ; which any man could see, without looking farther, were the handiwork FROM JAFFA TO ALEXANDRIA 447 of Mary Ann, to whom he is attached. The lawyer re- ceived a bundle from his chambers, in which his clerk eased his soul regarding the state of Siiooks v. Rodgers, Smith ats. Tomkins, &c. The statesman had a packet of thick envelopes, decorated with that profusion of sealing-wax in which official recklessness lavishes the resources of the country: and your humble servant got just one little, modest letter, containing another, written in pencil characters, varying in size between one and two inches; but how much pleasanter to read than my lord's despatch, or the clerk's account of Smith ats. Tom- kins,— yes, even than the Mary Ann correspondence! .... Yes, my dear madam, you will understand me, when I say that it was from little Polly at home, with some confidential news about a cat, and the last report of her new doll. It was worth while to have made the journey for this pleasure: to have walked the deck on long nights, and have thought of home. You have no leisure to do so in the city. You don't see the heavens shine above you so purely there, or the stars so clearly. How, after the perusal of the above documents, we enjoyed a file of the admirable Galignani; and what O'Connell was doing; and the twelve last new victories of the French in Al- geria; and, above all, six or seven numbers of Punch! There might have been an avenue of Pompey's Pillars within reach, and a live sphinx sporting on the banks of the INIahmoodieh Canal, and we would not have stirred to see them, until Punch had had his interview and Galignani was dismissed. The curiosities of Alexandria are few, and easily seen. We went into the bazaars, which have a much more Eastern look than the European quarter, with its An- 448 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO glo-Gallic-Italian inhabitants, and Babel-like civiliza- tion. Here and there a large hotel, clumsy and white- washed, with Oriental trellised windows, and a couple of slouching sentinels at the doors, in the ugliest com- posite uniform that ever was seen, was pointed out as the residence of some great officer of the Pasha's Court, or of one of the numerous children of the Egyptian Solomon. His Highness was in his own palace, and was consequently not visible. He was in deep grief, and strict retirement. It was at this time that the European newspapers announced that he was about to resign his empire; but the quidnuncs of Alexandria hinted that a love-affair, in which the old potentate had engaged with senile extravagance, and the effects of a potion of hachich, or some deleterious drug, with which he was in the habit of intoxicating himself, had brought on that languor and desperate weariness of life and governing, into which the venerable Prince was plunged. Before three days were over, however, the fit had left him, and he determined to live and reign a little longer. A very few days afterwards several of our party were presented to him at Cairo, and found the great Egyptian ruler perfectly convalescent. This, and the Opera, and the quarrels of the two prime donne, and the beauty of one of them, formed the chief subjects of conversation; and I had this important news in the shop of a certain barber in the town, who conveyed it in a language composed of French, Spanish, and Italian, and with a volubility quite worthy of a barber of Gil Bias. Then we went to see the famous obelisk presented by JNIehemet Ali to the British Government, who have not shown a particular alacrity to accept this ponderous POMPEY'S PILLAR 449 present. The huge shaft lies on the ground prostrate, and desecrated by all sorts of abominations. Children were sprawling about, attracted by the dirt there. Arabs, negroes, and donkey-boys were passing, quite indifferent, by the fallen monster of a stone,— as indif- ferent as the British Government, who don't care for recording the glorious termination of their Egyptian campaign of 1801. If our country takes the compli- ment so coolly, surely it would be disloyal upon our parts to be more enthusiastic. I wish they would offer the Trafalgar Square Pillar to the Egyptians ; and that both of the huge, ugly monsters were lying in the dirt there, side by side. Pompey's Pillar is by no means so big as the Char- ing Cross trophy. This venerable column has not es- caped ill-treatment either. Numberless ships' compa- nies, travelling Cockneys, &c., have affixed their rude marks upon it. Some daring ruffian even painted the name of " Warren's blacking " upon it, effacing other inscriptions,— one, Wilkinson says, of " the second Psammetichus." I regret deeply, my dear friend, that I cannot give you this document respecting a lamented monarch, in whose history I know you take such an in- terest. The best sight I saw in Alexandria was a negro holi- day ; which was celebrated outside of the town by a sort of negro village of huts, swarming with old, lean, fat, ugly, infantine, happy faces, that nature has smeared with a preparation even more black and durable than that with which Psammetichus's base has been polished. Every one of these jolly faces was on the broad grin, from the dusky mother to the india-rubber child sprawl- ing upon her back, and the venerable jetty senior whose 450 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO wool was as white as that of a sheep in Florian's pas- torals. To these dancers a couple of fellows were playing on a drum and a little banjo. They were singing a chorus, which was not onlj^ singular, and perfectly marked in the rhythm, but exceeding sweet in the tune. They danced in a circle; and performers came trooping from all quarters, who fell into the round, and began wag- ghng their heads, and waving their left hands, and toss- ing up and down the little thin rods which they each carried, and all singing to the very best of their power. I saw the chief eunuch of the Grand Turk at Con- stantinople pass by— (on the next page is an accurate likeness of his beautiful features) —but with what a THE COFFEE-HOUSES 451 different expression! Tliough he is one of the greatest of the great in the Turkish Empire (ranking with a Cabinet Minister or Lord Chamberlain here), his fine countenance was clouded with care, and savage with ennui. Here his black brethren were ragged, starving, and happy; and I need not tell such a fine moralist as you are, how it is the case, in the white as well as the black world, that happiness (republican leveller, who does not care a fig for the fashion) often disdains the turrets of kings, to pay a visit to the " tabernas pauperum." We went the round of the coffee-houses in the even- ing, both the polite European places of resort, where you get ices and the French papers, and those in the town, where Greeks, Turks, and general company re- sort, to sit upon uncomfortable chairs, and drink wretched muddy coffee, and to listen to two or three miserable musicians, who keep up a variation of howling for hours together. But the pretty song of the niggers had spoiled me for that abominable music. CHAPTER XV TO CAIRO WE had no need of hiring the country boats wliich ply on the Mahmoodieh Canal to Atfeh, where it joins the Nile, but were accommodated in one of the Peninsular and Oriental Company's fly-boats; pretty similar to those narrow Irish canal boats in which the en- terprising traveller has been carried from Dublin to Bal- linasloe. The present boat was, to be sure, tugged by a little steamer, so that the Egyj)tian canal is ahead of the Irish in so far: in natural scenery, the one prospect is fully equal to the other; it must be confessed that there is nothing to see. In truth, there was nothing but this: you saw a muddy bank on each side of j^ou, and a blue sky overhead. A few round mud-huts and palm-trees were planted along the line here and there. Sometimes we would see, on the water-side, a woman in a blue robe, with her son by her, in that tight brown costume with which Nature had supplied him. Now, it was a hat dropped by one of the party into the water; a brown Arab plunged and disappeared incontinently after the hat, re-issued from the muddy water, prize in hand, and ran naked after the httle steamer (which was by this time far ahead of him) , his brawny limbs shining in the sun: then we had half -cold fowls and bitter ale: 'then we had dinner — bitter ale and cold fowls; with which incidents the day on the canal passed away, as harm- lessly as if we had been in a Dutch trackschuyt. 452 THE NILE 453 Towards evening we arrived at the town of Atfeh — half land, half houses, half palm-trees, with swarms of half -naked people crowding the rustic shady bazaars, and bartering their produce of fruit or many-coloured grain. Here the canal came to a check, ending abruptly with a large lock. A little fleet of masts and country ships were beyond the lock, and it led into The Nile. After all, it is something to have seen these red wa- ters. It is only low green banks, mud-huts, and palm- clumps, with the sun setting red behind them, and the great, dull, sinuous river flashing here and there in the light. But it is the Nile, the old Saturn of a stream — a divinity yet, though younger river-gods have de- posed him. Hail! O venerable father of crococliles! We were all lost in sentiments of the profoundest awe and respect; which we proved by tumbhng down into 454 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO the cabin of the Nile steamer that was waiting to re- ceive us, and fighting and cheating for sleeping-berths. At dawn in the morning we were on deck; the char- acter had not altered of the scenery about the river. Vast flat stretches of land were on either side, recov- ering from the subsiding inundations: near the mud villages, a country ship or two were roosting under the date-trees; the landscape everywhere stretching away level and lonely. In the sky in the east was a long streak of greenish light, which widened and rose until it grew to be of an opal colour, then orange; then, behold, the round red disc of the sun rose flaming up above the hori- zon. All the water blushed as he got up; the deck was all red; the steersman gave his helm to another, and prostrated himself on the deck, and bowed his head east- ward, and praised the Maker of the sun: it shone on his white turban as he was kneeling, and gilt up his bronzed face, and sent his blue shadow over the glow- ing deck. The distances, which had been grey, were now clothed in purple; and the broad stream was illu- minated. As the sun rose higher, the morning blush faded away; the sky was cloudless and pale, and the river and the surrounding landscape were dazzlingly clear. Looking ahead in an hour or two, we saw the Pyra- mids. Fancy my sensations, dear M ;— two big ones and a little one: ! ! I There they lay, rosy and solemn in the distance— those old, majestical, mystical, famihar edifices. Several of us tried to be impressed; but breakfast supervening, THE NILE 455 a rush was made at the coffee and cold pies, and the sentiment of awe was lost in the scramble for victuals. Are we so biases of the world that the greatest mar- vels in it do not succeed in moving us? Have society, Pall Mall clubs, and a habit of sneering, so withered up our organs of veneration that we can admire no more? My sensation with regard to the Pyramids was, that I had seen them before: then came a feeling of shame that the view of them should awaken no respect. Then I wanted (naturally) to see whether my neigh- bours were any more enthusiastic than myself— Trinity College, Oxford, was busy with the cold ham : Downing Street was particularly attentive to a bunch of grapes : Fig-tree Court behaved with decent propriety; he is in good practice, and of a Conservative turn of mind, which leads him to respect from principle les fails ac- complis; perhaps he remembered that one of them was as big as Lincoln's Inn Fields. But, the truth is, no- body was seriously moved. . . . And why should they, because of an exaggeration of bricks ever so enormous? I confess, for my part, that the Pyramids are very big. After a voyage of about thirty hours, the steamer brought up at the quay of Boulak, amidst a small fleet of dirty comfortless Cangias, in which cottons and mer- chandise were loading and unloading, and a huge noise and bustle on the shore. Numerous villas, parks, and country-houses, had begun to decorate the Cairo bank of the stream ere this : residences of the Pasha's nobles, who have had orders to take their pleasure here and beautify the precincts of the capital; tall factory chim- neys also rise here ; there are foundries and steam-engine manufactories. These, and the pleasure-houses, stand 456 JOURNEY FRO^I CORNHILL TO CAIRO as trim as soldiers on parade; contrasting with the swarming, slovenly, close, tumble-down. Eastern old town, that forms the outport of Cairo, and was built before the importation of European taste and discipline. Here we alighted upon donkeys, to the full as brisk as those of Alexandria, invaluable to timid riders, and equal to any weight. We had a Jerusalem pony race into Cairo; my animal beating all the rest by many lengths. The entrance to the capital, from Boulak, is very pleasant and picturesque — over a fair road, and the wide-planted plain of the Ezbekieh; where are gar- dens, canals, fields, and avenues of trees, and where the great ones of the town come and take their pleasure. We saw manj^ barouches driving about with fat Pashas lolling on the cushions; stately -looking colonels and doctors taking their ride, followed by their orderlies or footmen; lines of people taking pipes and sherbet in the coffee-houses; and one of the pleasantest sights of all, — a fine new white building with Hotel d'Orient written up in huge French characters, and which, in- deed, is an establishment as large and comfortable as most of "the best inns of the South of France. As a hundred Christian people, or more, come from England and from India every fortnight, this inn has been built to accommodate a large projDortion of them; and twice a month, at least, its sixty rooms are full. The gardens from the windows give a very pleasant and animated view: the hotel-gate is besieged by crews of donkey-drivers; the noble stately Arab women, with tawny skins (of which a simj)le robe of floating blue cotton enables you liberally to see the colour) and large black eyes, come to the well hard by for water: camels are perpetually arriving and setting down their loads: THE HOTEL D'ORIENT 457 the court is full of bustling dragomans, ayahs, and chil- dren from India ; and poor old venerable he-nurses, with grey beards and crimson turbans, tending little white- faced babies that have seen the light at Dumdum or Euttyghur: a copper-coloured barber, seated on his hams, is shaving a camel-driver at the great inn-gate. The bells are ringing prodigiously; and Lieutenant Waghorn is bouncing in and out of the court-yard full of business. He only left Bombay yesterday morning, was seen in the Red Sea on Tuesday, is engaged to dinner this afternoon in the Regent's Park, and ( as it is about two minutes since I saw him in the court-yard) I make no doubt he is by this time at Alexandria or at Malta, say, perhaps, at both. II en est capable. If any man can be at two places at once (which I don't believe or den}'') Waghorn is he. Six-o'clock bell rings. Sixty people sit down to a quasi-Erench banquet: thirtj^ Indian officers in mous- taches and jackets; ten civilians in ditto and specta- cles; ten pale-faced ladies with ringlets, to whom all pay prodigious attention. All the pale ladies drink pale ale, which, perhaps, accounts for it; in fact the Bombay and Suez passengers have just arrived, and hence this crowding and bustling, and display of military jackets and moustaches, and ringlets and beauty. The win- dows are open, and a rush of mosquitoes from the Ezbekieh waters, attracted b}^ the wax-candles, adds greatly to the excitement of the scene. There was a Httle tough old Major, who persisted in flinging open the windows, to admit these volatile creatures, with a noble disregard to their sting — and the pale ringlets did not seem to heed them either, though the delicate shoul- ders of some of them were bare. 458 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO All the meat, ragouts, fricandeaux, and roasts, which are served round at dinner, seem to me to be of the same meat: a black uncertain sort of viand do these "flesh- pots of Egypt " contain. But what the meat is no one knew: is it the donkey? The animal is more plentiful than any other in Cairo. After dinner, the ladies retiring, some of us take a mixture of hot water, sugar, and pale French brandy, which is said to be deleterious, but is by no means un- palatable. One of the Indians offers a bundle of Bengal cheroots; and we make acquaintance with those honest bearded white- jacketed Majors and military Command- ers, finding England here in a French hotel kept by an Italian, at the city of Grand Cairo, in Africa. On retiring to bed you take a towel with you into the sacred interior, behind the mosquito curtains. Then your duty is, having tucked the curtains closely around, to flap and bang violently with this towel, right and left, and backwards and forwards, until every mosquito shall have been massacred that may have taken refuge within your muslin canopy. Do what you will, however, one of them always escapes the murder ; and as soon as the candle is out the miscreant begins his infernal droning and trumpeting; descends playfully upon your nose and face, and so lightly that you don't know that he touches you. But that for a week afterwards you bear about marks of his ferocity, you might take the invisible little being to be a creature of fancy— a mere singing in your ears. This, as an account of Cairo, dear M , you will probably be disposed to consider as incomplete : the fact is, I have seen nothing else as yet. I have peered into no harems. The magicians, proved to be humbugs, have THE CONQUEROR WAGHORN 459 been bastinadoed out of town. The dancing-girls, those lovely Alme, of whom I had hoped to be able to give a glowing and elegant, though strictly moral, description, have been whipped into Upper Egypt, and as you are saying in your mind .... Well, it is7i't a good descrip- tion of Cairo; you are perfectly right. It is England in Egypt. I like to see her there with her pluck, enterprise, manliness, bitter ale, and Harvey sauce. Wherever they come they stay and prosper. From the summit of yon- der Pyramids forty centuries may look down on them if they are minded ; and I say, those venerable daughters of time ought to be better pleased by the examination, than by regarding the French bayonets and General Bonaparte, Member of the Institute, fifty years ago, running about with sabre and pigtail. Wonders he did, to be sure, and then ran away, leaving Kleber, to be murdered, in the lurch — a few hundred yards from the spot where these disquisitions are written. But what are his wonders compared to Waghorn? Nap massacred the Mamelukes at the Pyramids: Wag has conquered the Pyramids themselves; dragged the unwieldy struc- tures a month nearer England than they were, and brought the country along with them. All the trophies and captives that ever were brought to Roman triumph were not so enormous and wonderful as this. All the heads that Napoleon ever caused to be struck off (as George Cruikshank says) would not elevate him a monu- ment as big. Be ours the trophies of peace! O my country! O Waghorn! H(b tibi erunt artes. When I go to the Pyramids I will sacrifice in your name, and pour out libations of bitter ale and Harvey sauce in your honour. One of the noblest views in the world is to be seen from 460 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO the citadel, which we ascended to-day. You see the city- stretching beneath it, with a thousand minarets and mosques, — the great river curhng through the green plains, studded with innumerable villages. The Pyra- mids are beyond, brilliantly distinct; and the lines and fortifications of the height, and the arsenal lying below. Gazing down, the guide does not fail to point out the fa- mous JVIameluke leap, by which one of the corps escaped death, at the time that his Highness the Pasha arranged the general massacre of the body. The venerable Patriarch's harem is close by, where he received, with much distinction, some of the members of our party. We were allowed to pass very close to the sacred precincts, and saw a comfortable white Eu- ropean building, approached by flights of steps, and flanked by pretty gardens. Police and law-courts were here also, as I understood; but it was not the time of the Egyptian assizes. It would have been pleasant, otherwise, to see the chief cadi in his hall of justice; and jDainful, though instructive, to behold the immediate ap- plication of the bastinado. The great lion of the place is a new mosque which Mehemet Ali is constructing very leisurely. It is built of alabaster of a fair white, with a delicate blushing tinge; but the ornaments are European— the noble, fan- tastic, beautiful Oriental art is forgotten. The old mosques of the city, of which I entered two, and looked at many, are a thousand times more beautiful. Their variety of ornament is astonishing, — the diiference in the shapes of the domes, the beautiful fancies and caprices in the forms of the minarets, which violate the rules of proportion with the most happy, daring grace, must have struck every architect who has seen them. As you THE MOSQUE OF HASSAN 4G1 go through tlie streets, these architectural beauties keep the eye continually charmed : now it is a marble fountain, with its arabesque and carved overhanging roof, which you can look at with as much pleasure as an antique gem, so neat and brilliant is the execution of it; then, you come to the arched entrance to a mosque, which shoots up like — like what? — like the most beautiful pir- ouette by Taglioni, let us say. This architecture is not sublimely beautiful, perfect loveliness and calm, like that which was revealed to us at the Parthenon (and in com- parison of which the Pantheon and Colosseum are vul- gar and coarse, mere broad-shouldered Titans before ambrosial Jove) ; but these fantastic spires, and cupolas, and galleries, excite, amuse, tickle the imagination, so to speak, and perpetually fascinate the eye. There were very few believers in the famous mosque of Sultan Has- san when we visited it, except the Moslemitish beadle, who was on the look-out for backsheesh, just like his brother officer in an English cathedral ; and who, making us put on straw slippers, so as not to pollute the sacred pavement of the place, conducted us through it. It is stupendously light and airy ; the best specimens of Norman art that I have seen (and surely the Crusaders must have carried home the models of these heathenish temples in their eyes) do not exceed its noble grace and simplicity. The mystics make discoveries at home, that the Gothic architecture is Catholicism carved in stone — (in which case, and if architectural beauty is a criterion or expression of religion, what a dismal barbarous creed must that expressed by the Bethesda meeting-house and Independent chapels be?) —if, as they would gravely hint, because Gothic architecture is beautiful, Catholi- cism is therefore lovely and right, — why, Mahometan- 462 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO ism must have been right and lovely too once. Never did a creed possess temples more elegant; as elegant as the Cathedral at Rouen, or the Baptistery at Pisa. But it is changed now. There was nobody at prayers ; only the official beadles, and the supernumerary guides, who came for backsheesh. Faith hath degenerated. Ac- cordingly they can't build these mosques, or invent these perfect forms, any more. Witness the tawdry incom- pleteness and vulgarity of the Pasha's new temple, and the woful failures among the very late edifices in Con- stantinople ! However, they still make pilgrimages to Mecca in great force. The Mosque of Hassan is hard by the green plain on which the Hag encamps before it sets forth annualty on its pious peregrination. It was not yet its time, but I saw in the bazaars that redoubted Dervish, who is the Master of the Hag — the leader of every procession, accompanying the sacred camel; and a personage almost as much respected as Mr. O'Connell in Ireland. This fellow lives by alms (I mean the head of the Hag). Winter and summer he wears no clothes but a thin and scanty white shirt. He wields a staff, and stalks along scowling and barefoot. His immense shock of black hair streams behind him, and his brown, brawny body is curled over with black hair, like a savage man. This saint has the largest harem in the town; he is said to be enormously rich by the contributions he has levied ; and is so adored for his holiness by the infatuated folk, that when he returns from the Hag (which he does on horseback, the chief MoUahs going out to meet him and escort him home in state along the Ezbekieh road,) the people fling themselves down under the horse's feet, A STREET-SCENE 463 eager to be trampled upon and killed, and confident of heaven if the great Hadji's horse will but kick them into it. Was it my fault if I thought of Hadji Daniel, and the believers in him ? There was no Dervish of repute on the plain when I passed; only one poor, wild fellow, who was dancing, with glaring eyes and grizzled beard, rather to the con- tempt of the bystanders, as I thought, who by no means put coppers into his extended bowl. On this poor devil's head there was a poorer devil still — a live cock, entirely plucked, but ornamented with some bits of ragged tape and scarlet and tinsel, the most horribly grotesque and miserable object I ever saw. A little way from him, there was a sort of play going on — a clown and a knowing one, like Widdicombe and the clown with us,— the buiFoon answering with blunder- ing responses, which made all the audience shout with laughter; but the only joke which was translated to me would make you do anything but laugh, and shall there- fore never be revealed by these lips. All their humour, my dragoman tells me, is of this questionable sort; and a young Egyptian gentleman, son of a Pasha, whom I subsequently met at Malta, confirmed the statement, and gave a detail of the practices of private life which was anything but edifying. The great aim of woman, he said, in the much-maligned Orient, is to administer to the brutality of her lord; her merit is in knowing how to vary the beast's pleasures. He could give us no idea, he said, of the wit of the Egyptian women, and their skill in double entendre; nor, I presume, did we lose much by our ignorance. What I would urge, humbly, however, is this— Do not let us be led away by German writers and aesthetics, Semilassoisms, Hahnhahnisms, and 464 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO the like. The life of the East is a life of brutes. The much-maligned Orient, I am confident, has not been ma- ligned near enough ; for the good reason that none of us can tell the amount of horrible sensuality practised there. Beyond the jack-pudding rascal and his audience, there was on the green a spot, on which was pointed out to me a mark, as of blood. That morning the blood had spouted from the neck of an Arnaoot soldier, who had been executed for murder. These Arnaoots are the curse and terror of the citizens. Their camps are without the city; but they are always brawling, or drunken, or murdering within, in spite of the rigid law which is ap- plied to them, and which brings one or more of the scoundrels to death almost every week. Some of our party had seen this fellow borne by the hotel tlie day before, in the midst of a crowd of soldiers who had apprehended him. The man was still formid- able to his score of captors ; his clothes had been torn off ; his limbs were bound with cords ; but he was struggling frantically to get free; and my informant described the figure and appearance of the naked, bound, writhing savage, as quite a model of beauty. Walking in the street, this fellow had just before been struck by the looks of a woman who was passing, and laid hands on her. She ran away, and he pursued her. She ran into the police-barrack, which was luck- ily hard by; but the Arnaoot was nothing daunted, and followed into the midst of the police. One of them tried to stop him. The Arnaoot pulled out a pistol, and shot the policeman dead. He cut down three or four more before he was secured. He knew his inevi- table end must be death : that he could not seize upon the woman ; that he could not hope to resist half a regiment A STREET-SCENE 465 of armed soldiers: yet his instinct of lust and murder was too strong; and so he had his head taken off quite calmly this morning, many of his comrades attending their brother's last moments. He cared not the least about dying; and knelt down and had his head off as coolly as if he were looking on at the same ceremony per- formed on another. When the head was oif , and the blood was spouting on the ground, a married woman, who had no children, came forward very eagerly out of the crowd, to smear herself with it, — the application of criminals' blood be- ing considered a very favourable medicine for wo- men afflicted with barrenness,— so she indulged in this remedy. But one of the Arnaoots standing near said, " What, you like blood, do you?" (or words to that effect). " Let's see how yours mixes with my comrade's." And thereupon, taking out a pistol, he shot the woman in the midst of the crowd and the guards who were attending the execution; was seized of course by the latter; and no doubt to-morrow morning will have his head off too. It would be a good chapter to write — the Death of the Arnaoot — but I shan't go. Seeing one man hanged is quite enough in the course of a life. J'y ai He, as the Frenchman said of hunting. These Arnaoots are the terror of the town. They seized hold of an Englishman the other day, and were very nearly pistolling him. Last week one of them murdered a shopkeeper at Boulak, who refused to sell him a water-melon at a price which he, the soldier, fixed upon it. So, for the matter of three-halfpence, he killed the shopkeeper; and had his own rascally head chopped off, universally regretted by his friends. Why, I wonder, 466 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO does not his Highness the Pasha invite the Arnaoots to a dejeiine at the Citadel, as he did the Mamelukes, and serve them up the same sort of breakfast ? The walls are considerably heightened since Emin Bey and his horse leapt them, and it is probable that not one of them would escape. This sort of pistol practice is common enough here, it would appear, and not among the Arnaoots merely, but the higher orders. -Thus, a short time since, one of his Highness's grandsons, whom I shall call Bluebeard Pasha (lest a revelation of the name of the said Pasha might interrupt our good relations with his country) — one of the young Pashas being rather backward in his education, and anxious to learn mathematics, and the elegant deportment of civilized life, sent to England for a tutor. I have heard he was a Cambridge man, and had learned both algebra and politeness under the Rev- erend Doctor Whizzle, of College. One day when Mr. MacWhirter, B.A., was walking in Shoubra gardens, with his Highness the young Blue- beard Pasha, inducting him into the usages of polished society, and favouring him with reminiscences of Trump- ington, there came up a poor fellah, who flung himself at the feet of young Bluebeard, and calling for justice in a loud and pathetic voice, and holding out a petition, besought his Highness to cast a gracious eye upon the same, and see that his slave had justice done him. Bluebeard Pasha was so deeply engaged and interested by his respected tutor's conversation, that he told the poor fellah to go to the deuce, and resumed the discourse which his ill-timed outcry for justice had interrupted. But the unlucky wight of a fellah was pushed by his evil destiny, and thought he would make yet another A GRACIOUS PRINCE 467 application. So he took a short cut down one of the gar- den lanes, and as the Prince and the Reverend Mr. Mac- Wliirter, his tutor, came along once more engaged in pleasant disquisition, behold the fellah was once more in their way, kneeling at the august Bluebeard's feet, yelling out for justice as before, and thrusting his peti- tion into the royal face. When the Prince's conversation was thus interiiipted a second time, his royal patience and clemency were at an end. " Man," said he, " once before I bade thee not to pester me wdth thy clamour, and lo! you have dis- obeyed me, — take the consequences of disobedience to a Prince, and thy blood be upon thine own head." So saying, he drew out a pistol and blew out the brains of that fellah, so that he never bawled out for justice any more. The Reverend Mr. MacWhirter was astonished at this sudden mode of proceeding: " Gracious Prince," said he, "we do not shoot an undergraduate at Cambridge even for walking over a college grass-plot. — Let me suggest to your Royal Highness that this method of ridding yourself of a poor devil's importunities is such as we should consider abrupt and almost cruel in Europe. Let me beg you to moderate your roj^al impetuosity for the future ; and, as your Highness's tutor, entreat you to be a little less prodigal of your powder and shot." " O Mollah! " said his Highness, here interrupting his governor's affectionate appeal, — " you are good to talk about Trumpington and the Pons Asinorum, but if you interfere with the course of justice in any way, or prevent me from shooting any dog of an Arab who snarls at my heels, I have another pistol; and, by the beard of the Prophet! a bullet for you too." So saying he pulled out 468 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO the weapon, with such a terrific and significant glance at the Reverend Mr. MacWhirter, that that gentleman wished himself back in his Combination Room again ; and is by this time, let us hope, safely housed there. Another facetious anecdote, the last of those I had from a well-informed gentleman residing at Cairo, whose name (as many copies of this book that is to be will be in the circulating libraries there) I cannot, for obvious reasons, mention. The revenues of the country come into the august treasury through the means of the farmers, to whom the districts are let out, and who are personally answerable for their quota of the taxation. This practice involves an intolerable deal of tyranny and extortion on the part of those engaged to levy the taxes, and creates a corresponding duplicity among the fellahs, who are not only wretchedly poor among themselves, but whose object is to appear still more poor, and guard their money from their rapacious overseers. Thus the Orient is much maligned; but everybody cheats there: that is a melancholy fact. The Pasha robs and cheats the mer- chants; knows that the overseer robs him, and bides his time, until he makes him disgorge by the application of the tremendous bastinado ; the overseer robs and squeezes the labourer; and the poverty-stricken devil cheats and robs in return ; and so the government moves in a happy cycle of roguery. Deputations from the fellahs and peasants come per- petually before the augiLst presence, to complain of the cruelty and exactions of the chiefs set over them: but, as it is known that the Arab never will pay without the bastinado, their complaints, for the most part, meet with but little attention. His Highness's treasury must be filled, and his officers sujDported in their authority. THE "RINT" IN EGYPT 469 However, there was one village, of which the com- plaints were so pathetic, and the inliabitants so supremely wretched, that the royal indignation was moved at their story, and the chief of the village. Skinflint Beg, was called to give an account of himself at Cairo. When he came before the presence, Mehemet Ali re- proached him with his horrible cruelty and exactions; asked him how he dared to treat his faithful and beloved subjects in this way, and threatened him with disgrace, and the utter confiscation of his property, for thus hav- ing reduced a district to ruin. " Your Highness says I have reduced these fellahs to ruin," said Skinflint Beg; " what is the best way to con- found my enemies, and to show you the falsehood of their accusations that I have ruined them?— To bring more money from them. If I bring you five hundred purses from my village, you will acknowledge that my people are not ruined yet? " The heart of the Pasha was touched: " I will have no more bastinadoing, O Skinflint Beg; you have tortured these poor people so much, and have got so little from them, that my royal heart relents for the present, and I will have them suffer no farther." " Give me free leave— give me your Highness's gra- cious pardon, and I will bring the five hundred purses as surely as my name is Skinflint Beg. I demand only the time to go home, the time to return, and a few days to stay, and I will come back as honestly as Regulus Pasha did to the Carthaginians, — I will come back and make my face white before your Highness." Skinflint Beg's prayer for a reprieve was granted, and he returned to his village, where he forthwith called the elders together. " O friends," he said, " complaints of 470 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO our poverty and misery have reached the royal throne, and the benevolent heart of the sovereign has been melted by the words that have been poured into his ears. ' My heart yearns towards my people of El Muddee,' he says ; ' I have thought how to relieve their miseries. Near them lies the fruitful land of El Guanee. It is rich in maize and cotton, in sesame and barley; it is worth a thousand purses ; but I will let it to my children for seven hundred, and I will give over the rest of the profit to them, as an alleviation for their affliction.' " The elders of El Muddee knew the great value and fertility of the lands of Guanee, biit they doubted the sin- cerity of their governor, who, however, dispelled their fears, and adroitly quickened their eagerness to close with the proffered bargain. " I will myself advance two hundred and fifty purses," he said; " do you take counsel among yourselves, and subscribe the other five hundred ; and when the sum is ready, a deputation of you shall carry it to Cairo, and I will come with my share ; and we will lay the whole at the feet of his Highness." So the grey-bearded ones of the village advised with one an- other ; and those who had been inaccessible to bastinadoes, somehow found money at the calling of interest; and the Sheikh, and they, and the five hundred purses, set off on the road to the capital. When they arrived. Skinflint Beg and the elders of El Muddee sought admission to the royal throne, and there laid down their purses. " Here is your humble servant's contribution," said Skinflint, producing his share ; " and here is the ofl'ering of your loyal village of El Muddee. Did I not before say that enemies and de- ceivers had maligned me before the august presence, pre- tending that not a piastre was left in my village, and that my extortion had entirely denuded the peasantry? See! THE "RINT" IN EGYPT 471 here is proof that there is plenty of money still in El Muddee: in twelve hours the elders have subscribed five hundred purses, and lay them at the feet of their lord." Instead of the bastinado, Skinflint Beg was instantly rewarded with the royal favour, and the former mark of attention was bestowed upon the fellahs who had maligned him ; Skinflint Beg was promoted to the rank of Skinflint Bey; and his manner of extracting money from his people may be studied with admiration in a part of the United Kingdom.^ At the time of the Syrian quarrel, and when, appre- hending some general rupture with England, the Pasha wished to raise the spirit of the fellahs, and relever la morale nationale, he actually made one of the astonished Arabs a colonel. He degraded him three days after peace was concluded. The young Egyptian colonel, who told me this, laughed and enjoyed the joke with the utmost gusto. " Is it not a shame," he said, " to make me a colonel at three-and-twenty ; I, who have no par- ticular merit, and have never seen any service? " Death has since stopped the modest and good-natured young fellow's further promotion. The death of Bey was announced in the French papers a few weeks back. My above kind-hearted and agreeable young inform- ant used to discourse, in our evenings in the Lazaretto at Malta, very eloquently about the beauty of his wife, whom he had left behind him at Cairo — her brown hair, her brilliant complexion, and her blue eyes. It is this Circassian blood, I suppose, to which the Turkish aristoc- racy that governs Egypt must be indebted for the fair- ness of their skin. Ibrahim Pasha, riding by in his 1 At Derrynane Beg, for instance. 472 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO barouche, looked like a bluff, jolly-faced English dra- goon officer, with a grey moustache and red cheeks, such as you might see on a field-day at Maidstone. All the numerous officials riding through the town were quite as fair as Europeans. We made acquaintance with one dignitary, a very jovial and fat Pasha, the propri- etor of the inn, I believe, who was continually loung- ing about the Ezbekieh garden, and who, but for a slight Jewish cast of countenance, might have passed any day for a Frenchman. The ladies whom we saw were equally fair; that is, the very slight particles of the persons of ladies which our lucky eyes were permitted to gaze on. These lovely creatures go through the town by parties of three or four, mounted on donkeys, and attended by slaves holding on at the crupper, to re- ceive the lovely riders lest they should fall, and shouting out shrill cries of " Schmaalek," " Ameenek " (or how- ever else these words may be pronounced) , and flogging off the people right and left with the buffalo-thong. But the dear creatures are even more closely disguised than at Constantinople: their bodies are enveloped with a large black silk hood, like a cab-head; the fashion seemed to be to spread their arms out, and give this cov- ering all the amplitude of which it was capable, as they leered and ogled you from under their black masks with their big rolling eyes. Everybody has big rolling eyes here (unless, to be sure, they lose one of ophthalmia). The Arab women are some of the noblest figures I have ever seen. The habit of carrying jars on the head always gives the figure grace and motion; and the dress the women wear cer- tainly displays it to full advantage. I have brought a complete one home with me, at the service of any lady SUBJECTS FOR PAINTERS 473 for a masqued ball. It consists of a coarse blue dress of calico, opened in front, and fastened with a horn but- ton. Three yards of blue stuff for a veil ; on the top of the veil a jar to be balanced on the head ; and a little black strip of silk to fall over the nose, and leave the beautiful eyes full liberty to roll and roam. But such a costume, not aided by any stays or any other article of dress what- ever, can be worn only by a verj^ good figure. I suspect it won't be borrowed for many balls next season. The men, a tall, handsome, noble race, are treated like dogs. I shall never forget riding through the crowded bazaars, my interpreter, or laquais-de-place, ahead of me to clear the way — when he took his whip and struck it over the shoulders of a man who could not or would not make way! The man turned round — an old, venerable, handsome face, with awfully sad eyes, and a beard long and quite grey. He did not make the least complaint, but slunk out of the way, piteously shaking his shoulder. The sight of that indignitj^ gave me a sickening feeling of disgust. I shouted out to the cursed lackey to hold his hand, and forbade him ever in my presence to strike old or young more; but everybody is doing it. The whip is in everybody's hands: the Pasha's running footman, as he goes bustling through the bazaar; the doctor's at- tendant, as he soberly threads the crowd on his mare ; the negro slave, who is riding by himself, the most insolent of all, strikes and slashes about without mercy, and you never hear a single complaint. How to describe the beauty of the streets to you! — the fantastic splendour ; the variety of the houses, and arch- ways, and hanging roofs, and balconies, and porches; the delightful accidents of light and shade Avhich chequer 474 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO them; the noise, the bustle, the brilliancy of the crowd; the interminable vast bazaars with their barbaric splen- dour! There is a fortune to be made for painters in Cairo, and materials for a whole Academy of them. I never saw such a variety of architecture, of life, of pic- turesqueness, of brilliant colour, and light and shade. There is a picture in every street, and at every bazaar stall. Some of these our celebrated water-colour painter, Mr. Lewis, has produced with admirable truth and ex- ceeding minuteness and beauty ; but there is room for a hundred to follow him; and should any artist (by some rare occurrence) read this, who has leisure, and wants to break new ground, let him take heart, and try a winter in Cairo, where there is the finest climate and the best subjects for his pencil. A series of studies of negroes alone would form a pic- ture-book, delightfully grotesque. Mounting my donkey to-day, I took a ride to the desolate, noble old buildings outside the city, known as the Tombs of the Caliphs. Every one of these edifices, with their domes, and courts, and minarets, is strange and beautiful. In one of them there was an encampment of negro slaves newly arrived : some scores of them w^ere huddled against the sunny wall; two or three of their masters lounged about the court, or lay smoking upon carpets. There was one of these fellows, a straight-nosed, ebony-faced Abyssinian, with an expression of such sinister good-humour in his handsome face as would form a perfect type of villainy. He sat leering at me, over his carpet, as I endeavoured to get a sketch of that incarnate rascality. " Give me some money," said the fellow. " I know what you are about. You will sell my picture for money when you get back to Europe; let me have some of it now! " But the very rude and humble designer was quite unequal to depict SUBJECTS FOR PAINTERS 475 such a consummation and perfection of roguery ; so flung him a cigar, which he began to smoke, grinning at the giver. I requested the interpreter to inform him, by way of assurance of my disinterestedness, that his face was a great deal too ugly to be popular in Europe, and that was the particular reason why I had selected it. Then one of his companions got up and showed us his black cattle. The male slaves were chiefly lads, and the women young, well formed, and abominably hideous. The dealer pulled her blanket off one of them and bade her stand up, which she did, with a great deal of shudder- ing modesty. She was coal black, her lips were the size of sausages, her eyes large and good-humoured ; the hair or wool on this young person's head was curled and greased into a thousand filthj^ little ringlets. She was evidently the beauty of the flock. They are not unhappy; they look to being bought, as many a spinster looks to an establishment in England ; once in a family they are kindly treated and well clothed, and fatten, and are the merriest people of the whole community. These were of a much more savage sort than the slaves I had seen in the horrible market at Con- stantinople, where I recollect the following young creature — "S^^ ^ \ 470 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO (indeed it is a very fair likeness of her) whilst I was looking at her and forming pathetic conjectures regard- ing her fate — smiling very good-humoui-edly, and bid- ding the interpreter ask me to buy her for twenty pounds. From these Tombs of the Caliphs the Desert is before you. It comes up to the walls of the city, and stops at some gardens which spring up all of a sudden at its edge. You can see the first Station-house on the Suez Road; and so from distance point to point, could ride thither alone without a guide. Asinus trotted gallantly into this desert for the space of a quarter of an hour. There we were (taking care to keep our backs to the city walls) , in the real actual des- ert: mounds upon mounds of sand, stretching away as far as the eye can see, until the dreary prospect fades away in the yellow horizon! I had formed a finer idea of it out of " Eothen." Perhaps in a simoom it may look more awful. The only adventure that befell in this ro- mantic place was that asinus's legs went deep into a hole : whereupon his rider went over his head, and bit the sand, and measured his length there ; and upon this hint rose up, and rode home again. No doubt one should have gone out for a couple of days' march — as it was, the desert did not seem to me sublime, only uncomfortable. Very soon after this perilous adventure the sun like- wise dipped into the sand (but not to rise therefrom so quickly as I had done) ; and I saw this daily phenomenon of sunset with pleasure, for I was engaged at that hour to dine with our old friend J , who has established himself here in the most complete Oriental fashion. You remember J , and what a dandy he was, the faultlessness of his boots and cravats, the brilliancy of A HYDE PARK MOSLEM 477 his waistcoats and kid-gloves ; we have seen his splendour in Regent Street, in the Tuileries, or on the Toledo. My first object on arriving here was to find out his house, which he has taken far away from the haunts of Euro- pean civilization, in the Arab quarter. It is situated in a cool, shady, narrow alley; so narrow, that it was with great difficulty — his Highness Ibrahim Pasha happen- ing to pass at the same moment— that my little proces- sion of two donkeys, mounted by self and valet-de-place, with the two donkey-boys our attendants, could range ourselves along the wall, and leave room for the august cavalcade. His Highness having rushed on (with an af- fable and good-humoured salute to our imposing party ) , we made J.'s quarters; and, in the first place, entered a broad covered court or porch, where a swarthy, tawny attendant, dressed in blue, with white turban, keeps a perpetual watch. Servants in the East lie about all the doors, it appears; and you clap your hands, as they do in the dear old "Arabian Nights," to summon them. This servant disappeared through a narrow wicket, which he closed after him ; and went into the inner cham- bers to ask if his lord would receive us. He came back presently, and rising up from my donkey, I confided him to his attendant, (lads more sharp, arch, and wicked than these donkey-boys don't walk the pave of Paris or London,) and passed the mysterious outer door. First we came into a broad open court, with a covered gallery running along one side of it. A camel was re- clining on the grass there; near him was a gazelle, to glad J. with his dark blue eye; and a numerous brood of hens and chickens, who furnish his liberal table. On the opposite side of the covered gallery rose up the walls of his long, queer, many-windowed, many-galleried 478 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO house. There were wooden lattices to those arched win- dows, through the diamonds of one of which I saw two of the most beautiful, enormous, ogling, black eyes in the world, looking down upon the interesting stranger. Pigeons were flapping, and hopping, and fluttering. and cooing about. Happy pigeons, you are, no doubt, fed with crumbs from the henne-tipped fingers of Zu- leika! All this court, cheerful in the sunshine, cheerful with the astonishing brilliancy of the eyes peering out from the lattice bars, was as mouldy, ancient, and ruin- ous—as any gentleman's house in Ireland, let us say. The paint was peeling ofl* the rickety old carved gal- leries; the arabesques over the windows were chipped and worn;— the ancientness of the place rendered it doubly picturesque. I have detained you a long time in the outer court. Why the deuce was Zuleika there, wath the beautiful black eyes! Hence we passed into a large apartment, where there A HYDE PARK MOSLEM 479 was a fountain; and another domestic made his appear- ance, taking me in charge, and reheving the tawny porter at the gate. This fellow was clad in blue too, with a red sash and a grey beard. He conducted me into a great hall, where there was a great, large Saracenic oriel window. He seated me on a divan; and stalking oiF, for a moment, retm'ned with a long pipe and a brass chafing-dish : he blew the coal for the pipe, which he mo- tioned me to smoke, and left me there with a respectful bow. This delay, this mystery of servants, that outer court with the camels, gazelles, and other beautiful-eyed things, affected me prodigiously all the time he was staying away; and while I was examining the strange apartment and its contents, my respect and awe for the owner increased vastly. As you will be glad to know how an Oriental noble- man (such as J. undoubtedly is) is lodged and gar- nished, let me describe the contents of this hall of audience. It is about forty feet long, and eighteen or twenty high. All the ceiling is carved, gilt, painted and embroidered with arabesques, and choice sentences of Eastern writing. Some Mameluke Aga,or Bey, whom Mehemet Ali invited to breakfast and massacred, was the proprietor of this mansion once : it has grown dingier, but, perhaps, handsomer, since his time. Opposite the divan is a great bay-window, with a divan likewise round the niche. It looks out upon a garden about the size of Fountain Court, Temple ; surrounded by the tall houses of the quarter. The garden is full of green. A great palm-tree springs up in the midst, with plentiful shrub- beries, and a talking fountain. The room beside the divan is furnished with one deal table, value five shil- lings; four wooden chairs, value six shillings; and a 480 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO couple of mats and carpets. The tables and chairs are luxuries imported from Europe. The regular Ori- ental dinner is put upon copper trays, which are laid upon low stools. Hence J EfFendi's house may be said to be much more sumptuously furnished than those of the Beys and Agas his neighbours. When these things had been examined at leisure, J appeared. Could it be the exquisite of the " Europa " and the " Trois Freres? " A man— in a long yellow gown, with a long beard somewhat tinged with grey, with his head shaved, and wearing on it first a white wadded cotton nightcap, second, a red tarboosh — made his appearance and welcomed me cordially. It was some time, as the Americans say, before I could " realise " the semillant J. of old times. He shuffled off his outer slippers before he curled up on the divan beside me. He clapped his hands, and lan- guidly called " IMustapha." Mustapha came with more lights, pipes, and coffee; and then we fell to talking about London, and I gave him the last news of the com- rades in that dear city. As we talked, his Oriental cool- ness and languor gave way to British cordiality ; he was the most amusing companion of the club once more. He has adapted himself outwardly, however, to the Oriental life. When he goes abroad he rides a grey horse with red housings, and has two servants to walk beside him. He wears a very handsome, grave costume of dark blue, consisting of an embroidered jacket and gaiters, and a pair of trousers, which would make a set of dresses for an English family. His beard curls nobly over his chest, his Damascus scimitar on his thigh. His red cap gives him a venerable and Bey-like appearance. There is no gewgaw or parade about him, as in some of AN EASTERN ACQUAINTANCE 481 3^our dandified young Agas. I should say that he is a Major-General of Engineers, or a grave officer of State. We and the Turkified European, who found us at din- ner, sat smoking in solemn divan. His dinners were excellent; they were cooked by a regular Egyptian female cook. We had delicate cu- cumbers stuffed with forced-meats; yellow smoking pilaffs, the pride of the Oriental cuisine ; kid and fowls a I'Aboukir and a la Pyramide ; a number of little savoury plates of legumes of the vegetable-marrow sort: kibobs with an excellent sauce of plums and piquant herbs. We ended the repast with ruby pomegranates, pulled to pieces, deliciously cool and pleasant. For the meats, we certainly ate them with the Infidel knife and fork; but for the fruit, we put our hands into the dish and flicked them into our mouths in what cannot but be the true Oriental manner. I asked for lamb and pistachio-nuts, and cream-tarts aii poivre; but J.'s cook did not furnish 482 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO us with either of those historic dishes. And for drink, we had Avater freshened in the porous httle pots of grey- clay, at whose spout every traveller in the East has sucked delighted. Also it must be confessed, we drank certain sherbets, prepared by the two great rivals, Hadji Hodson and Bass Bey— the bitterest and most delicious of draughts! O divine Hodson! a camel's load of thy beer came from Beyrout to Jerusalem while we were there. How shall I ever forget the joy inspired by one of those foaming cool flasks ? We don't know the luxury of thirst in English climes. Sedentary men in cities at least have seldom ascertained it ; but when they travel, our countiymen guard against it well. The road between Cairo and Suez is jonche with soda-water corks. Tom Thumb and his brothers might track their way across the desert by those landmarks. Cairo is magnificently picturesque; it is fine to have palm-trees in your gardens, and ride about on a camel; but, after all, I was anxious to know what were the par- ticular excitements of Eastern life, which detained J., who is a town-bred man, from his natural pleasures and occupations in London ; where his family don't hear from him, where his room is still kept ready at home, and his name is on the list of his club ; and where his neglected sisters tremble to think that their Frederick is going about with a great beard and a crooked sword, dressed up like an odious Turk. In a " lark " such a costume may be very well ; but home, London, a razor, your sister to make tea, a pair of moderate Christian breeches in lieu of those enormous Turkish shulwars, are vastly more convenient in the long run. What was it that kept him away from these decent and accustomed delights? It couldn't be the black eyes in the balcony— upon his SKETCH ON THE PYRAMID 483 honour she was only the black cook, who has done the pilaff, and stuffed the cucumbers. No, it was an indul- gence of laziness such as Europeans, Englishmen at least, don't know how to enjoy. Here he lives like a languid Lotus-eater — a dreamy, hazy, lazy, tobaccofied life. He was away from evening-parties, he said; he needn't wear white kid-gloves, or starched neckcloths, or read a newspaper. And even this life at Cairo was too civilized for him; Englishmen passed through; old acquaintances would call: the great pleasure of plea- sures was life in the desert,— under the tents, with still more nothing to do than in Cairo; now smoking, now cantering on Arabs, and no crowd to jostle you; solemn contemplations of the stars at night, as the camels were picketed, and the fii-es and the pipes were lighted. The night-scene in the city is very striking for its vastness and loneliness. Everybody has gone to rest long before ten o'clock. There are no lights in the enor- mous buildings ; only the stars blazing above, with their astonishing brilliancy, in the blue, peaceful sky. Your guides carry a couple of little lanterns, which redouble the darkness in the solitary, echoing street. Mysterious people are curled up and sleeping in the porches. A patrol of soldiers passes, and hails you. There is a light yet in one mosque, where some devotees are at prayers all night ; and you hear the queerest nasal music proceeding from those pious believers. As you pass the mad-house, there is one poor fellow still talking to the moon — no sleep for him. He howls and sings there all the night — quite cheerfully, however. He has not lost his vanity with his reason ; he is a Prince in spite of the bars and the straw. 484 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO What to say about those famous edifices, which has not been better said elsewhere? — but you will not believe that we visited them, unless I bring some token from them. Here is one:— That white-capped lad skipped up the stones with a jug of water in his hand, to refresh weary climbers; and, squatting himself down on the summit, was designed as you see. The vast, flat landscape stretches behind him ; the great winding river ; the purple city, with forts, and domes, and spires ; the green fields, and palm-groves, and speckled villages ; the plains still covered with shin- ing inundations — the landscape stretches far, far away, until it is lost and mingled in the golden horizon. It is poor work this landscape-painting in print. Shelley's two sonnets are the best views that I know of the Pyra- mids — better than the reality; for a man may lay down the book, and in quiet fancy conjure up a picture out of these magnificent words, which shan't be disturbed by any pettinesses or mean realities, — such as the swarms PIGMIES AND PYRAMIDS 485 of howling beggars, who jostle you about the actual place, and scream in your ears incessantly, and hang on your skirts, and bawl for money. The ride to the Pyramids is one of the pleasantest possible. In the fall of the year, though the sky is al- most cloudless above you, the sun is not too hot to bear ; and the landscape, refreshed by the subsiding inunda- tions, delightfully green and cheerful. We made up a party of some half-dozen from the hotel, a lady (the kind soda-water provider, for whose hospitality the most grateful compliments are hereby offered) being of the company, bent like the rest upon going to the summit of Cheops. Those who were cautious and wise, took a brace of donkeys. At least five times during the route did my animals fall with me, causing me to re- peat the Desert experiment over again, but with more success. The space between a moderate pair of legs and the ground, is not many inches. By eschewing stir- rups, the donkey could fall, and the rider alight on the ground, with the greatest ease and grace. Almost everybody was down and up again in the course of the day. We passed through the Ezbekieh and bj^ the suburbs of the town, where the garden-houses of the Egyptian noblesse are situated, to Old Cairo, M'here a ferry-boat took the whole party across the Nile, with that noise and bawling volubility in which the Arab people seem to be so unlike the grave and silent Turks; and so took our course for some eight or ten miles over the devious tract which the still outlying waters obliged us to pursue. The Pyramids were in sight the whole way. One or two thin, silvery clouds w^ere hovering over them, and casting delicate, rosy shadows upon the grand, simple, old piles. 486 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO Along the track we saw a score of pleasant pictures of Eastern life:— The Pasha's horses and slaves stood ca- parisoned at his door; at the gate of one country-house, I am sorry to say, the Bey's gig was in waiting,— a most unromantic chariot: the husbandmen were coming into the city, with their strings of donkeys and their loads; as they arrived, they stopped and sucked at the fountain : a column of red-capped troops passed to drill, with slouched gait, white uniforms, and glittering bayonets. Then we had the pictures at the quay: the ferry-boat, and the red-sailed river-boat, getting under weigh, and bound up the stream. There was the grain market, and the huts on the opposite side ; and that beautiful woman, with silver armlets, and a face the colour of gold, which (the nose-bag having been luckily removed) beamed solemnly on us Europeans, like a great yellow harvest moon. The bunches of purpling dates were pending from the branches ; grey cranes or herons were flying over the cool, shining lakes, that the river's overflow had left behind; water was gurgling through the courses by the rude locks and barriers formed there, and overflowing this patch of ground ; whilst the neighbouring field was fast budding into the more brilliant fresh green. Single dromedaries were stepping along, their riders lolling on their hunches; low sail-boats were lying in the canals; now, we crossed an old marble bridge; now, we went, one by one, over a ridge of slippery earth ; now, we floun- dered through a small lake of mud. At last, at about half-a-mile off" the Pyramid, we came to a piece of water some two score yards broad, where a regiment of half- naked Arabs, seizing upon each individual of the party, bore us off" on their shoulders, to the laughter of all, and the great perplexity of several, who every moment ex- I PIGMIES AND PYRAMIDS 487 pected to be pitched into one of the many holes with which the treacherous lake abounded. It was nothing but joking and laughter, bullying of guides, shouting for interpreters, quai-relling about six- pences. We were acting a farce, with the Pyramids for the scene. There they rose up enormous under our eyes, and the most absurd, trivial things were going on under their shadow. The sublime had disappeared, vast as they were. Do you remember how Gulliver lost his awe of the tremendous Brobdingnag ladies? Every traveller must go through all sorts of chaif ering, and bargaining, and paltry experiences, at this spot. You look up the tremendous steps, with a score of savage ruffians bellow- ing round you ; you hear faint cheers and cries high up, and catch sight of little reptiles crawling upwards; or, having achieved the summit, they come hopping and bouncing down again from degree to degree, — the cheers and cries swell louder and more disagreeable; presently the little jumping thing, no bigger than an insect a mo- ment ago, bounces down upon you expanded into a panting Major of Bengal cavalry. He drives off the Arabs with an oath, — wipes his red, shining face with his yellow handkerchief, drops puffing on the sand in a shady corner, where cold fowl and hard eggs are await- ing him, and the next minute you see his nose plunged in a foaming beaker of brandy and soda-water. He can say now, and for ever, he has been up the Pyramid. There is nothing sublime in it. You cast your eye once more up that staggering perspective of a zigzag line, w^hich ends at the summit, and wish you were up there — and down again. Forwards! — Up with you! It must be done. Six Arabs are behind you, who won't let you escape if you would. 488 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO The importunity of these ruffians is a ludicrous annoy- ance to which a traveller must submit. For two miles before you reach the Pyramids they seize on you and never cease howling. Five or six of them pounce upon one victim, and never leave him until they have carried him up and down. Sometimes they conspire to run a man up the huge stair, and bring him, half -killed and fainting, to the top. Always a couple of binates insist upon impelling you sternwards; from whom the only means to release yourself is to kick out vigorously and unmercifully, when the Arabs will possibly retreat. The ascent is not the least romantic, or difficult, or sublime: you walk up a great broken staircase, of which some of the steps are four feet high. It's not hard, only a little high. You see no better view from the top than you beheld from the bottom; only a little more river, and sand, and rice-field. You jump down the big steps at your leisure; but your meditations you must keep for after-times, — the cursed shrieking of the Arabs prevents all thought or leisure. —And this is all you have to tell about the Pyra- mids? Oh! for shame! Not a compliment to their age and size? Not a big phrase,— not a rapture? Do you mean to say that you had no feeling of respect and aw^e? Try, man, and build up a monument of w^ords as lofty as they are— they, w'hom " imber edax " and " aquilo impotens " and the flight of ages have not been able to destroy ! — No: be that work for great geniuses, great painters, great poets! This quill was never made to take such flights ; it comes of the wing of a humble domestic bird, who walks a common ; who talks a great deal ( and hisses sometimes) ; who can't fly far or high, and drops always THINGS TO THINK OF 489 very quickly ; and whose unromantic end is, to be laid on a Michaelmas or Christmas table, and there to be dis- cussed for half -an-hour— let us hope, with some relish. Another week saw us in the Quarantine Harbour at Malta, where seventeen days of prison and quiet were almost agreeable, after the incessant sight-seeing of the last two months. In the interval, between the 23rd of August and the 27th of October, we may boast of hav- ing seen more men and cities than most travellers have seen in such a time: — Lisbon, Cadiz, Gibraltar, Malta, Athens, Smyrna, Constantinople, Jerusalem, Cairo. I shall have the carpet-bag, which has visited these places in company with its owner, embroidered with their names; as military flags are emblazoned, and laid up in ordinary, to be looked at in old age. With what a num- ber of sights and pictures, — of novel sensations, and lasting and delightful remembrances, does a man furnish his mind after such a tourl You forget all the annoy- ances of travel; but the pleasure remains with you, through that kind provision of nature by which a man forgets being ill, but thinks with joy of getting well, and can remember all the minute circumstances of his conva- lescence. I forget what sea-sickness is now: though it occupies a woful portion of my Journal. There was a time on board w^hen the bitter ale was decidedly muddy ; and the cook of the ship deserting at Constantinople, it must be confessed his successor was for some time be- fore he got his hand in. These sorrows have passed away with the soothing influence of time : the pleasures of the voyage remain, let us hope, as long as life will endure. 490 JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO CAIRO It was but for a couple of days that those shining col- umns of the Parthenon glowed under the blue sk}^ there ; but the experience of a life could scarcely impress them more vividly. We saw Cadiz only for an hour; but the white buildings, and the glorious blue sea, how clear they are to the memory! — with the tang of that gipsy's gui- tar dancing in the market-j)lace, in the midst of the fruit, and the beggars, and the sunshine. Who can forget the Bosphorus, the brightest and fairest scene in all the world; or the towering lines of Gibraltar; or the great piles of Mafra, as we rode into the Tagus? As I write this, and think, back comes Rhodes, with its old towers and artillery, and that wonderful atmosphere, and that astonishing blue sea which environs the island. The Arab riders go pacing over the plains of Sharon, in the rosy twilight, just before sunrise; and I can see the ghastly Moab mountains, with the Dead Sea gleaming before them, from the mosque on the way towards Bethany. The black, gnarled trees of Gethsemane lie at the foot of Olivet, and the yellow ramparts of the city rise up on the stony hills beyond. But the happiest and best of all the recollections, per- haps, are those of the hours passed at night on the deck, Avhen the stars were shining overhead, and the hours were tolled at their time, and your thoughts were fixed upon home far away. As the sun rose I once heard the priest, from the minaret of Constantinople, crying out, " Come to prayer," with his shrill voice ringing through the clear air; and saw, at the same hour, the Arab prostrate him- self and pray, and the Jew Rabbi, bending over his book, and worshipping the INIaker of Turk and Jew. Sitting at home in London, and writing this last line of farewell, those figures come back the clearest of all to the memory, THINGS TO THINK OF 491 with the picture, too, of our ship saihng over the peace- ful Sabbath sea, and our own prayers and services cele- brated there. So each, in his fashion, and after his kind, is bowing down, and adoring the Father, who is equally above all. Cavil not, you brother or sister, if your neigh- bour's voice is not like yours ; only hope that his words are honest (as far as they may be) , and his heart humble and thankful. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 3DN 7 PSD 2343 9/77 3 1158 01185 1655 PR 5617 S62 '1-911 yCSOUTHf RM ^^ 000 380 198