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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Roundabout Papers + +Author: William Makepeace Thackeray + +Release Date: May 21, 2006 [EBook #2608] +Last Updated: March 5, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROUNDABOUT PAPERS *** + + + + +Produced by Donald Lainson; David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + ROUNDABOUT PAPERS + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By William Makepeace Thackeray + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <big><b>ROUNDABOUT PAPERS.</b></big> </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> ON A LAZY IDLE BOY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> ON TWO CHILDREN IN BLACK. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> ON RIBBONS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> ON SOME LATE GREAT VICTORIES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> THORNS IN THE CUSHION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> ON SCREENS IN DINING-ROOMS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> TUNBRIDGE TOYS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> DE JUVENTUTE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> ON A JOKE I ONCE HEARD FROM THE LATE THOMAS + HOOD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> ROUND ABOUT THE CHRISTMAS TREE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> ON A CHALK-MARK ON THE DOOR </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> ON BEING FOUND OUT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> ON A HUNDRED YEARS HENCE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> SMALL-BEER CHRONICLE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> OGRES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> ON TWO ROUNDABOUT PAPERS WHICH I INTENDED TO + WRITE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> A MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> ON LETTS'S DIARY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_NOTE"> NOTES OF A WEEK'S HOLIDAY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> NIL NISI BONUM. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> ON HALF A LOAF. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> THE NOTCH ON THE AXE.—A STORY A LA MODE. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> DE FINIBUS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> ON A PEAL OF BELLS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> ON A PEAR-TREE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> DESSEIN'S. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> ON SOME CARP AT SANS SOUCI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> AUTOUR DE MON CHAPEAU. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> ON ALEXANDRINES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> ON A MEDAL OF GEORGE THE FOURTH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> “STRANGE TO SAY, ON CLUB PAPER.” </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> THE LAST SKETCH. </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + ROUNDABOUT PAPERS. + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON A LAZY IDLE BOY. + </h2> + <p> + I had occasion to pass a week in the autumn in the little old town of + Coire or Chur, in the Grisons, where lies buried that very ancient British + king, saint, and martyr, Lucius,* who founded the Church of St. Peter, on + Cornhill. Few people note the church now-a-days, and fewer ever heard of + the saint. In the cathedral at Chur, his statue appears surrounded by + other sainted persons of his family. With tight red breeches, a Roman + habit, a curly brown beard, and a neat little gilt crown and sceptre, he + stands, a very comely and cheerful image: and, from what I may call his + peculiar position with regard to Cornhill, I beheld this figure of St. + Lucius with more interest than I should have bestowed upon personages who, + hierarchically, are, I dare say, his superiors. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * Stow quotes the inscription, still extant, from the table + fast chained in St. Peter's Church, Cornhill; and says, “he + was after some chronicle buried at London, and after some + chronicle buried at Glowcester”—but, oh! these incorrect + chroniclers! when Alban Butler, in the “Lives of the + Saints,” v. xii., and Murray's “Handbook,” and the Sacristan + at Chur, all say Lucius was killed there, and I saw his tomb + with my own eyes! +</pre> + <p> + The pretty little city stands, so to speak, at the end of the world—of + the world of to-day, the world of rapid motion, and rushing railways, and + the commerce and intercourse of men. From the northern gate, the iron road + stretches away to Zurich, to Basle, to Paris, to home. From the old + southern barriers, before which a little river rushes, and around which + stretch the crumbling battlements of the ancient town, the road bears the + slow diligence or lagging vetturino by the shallow Rhine, through the + awful gorges of the Via Mala, and presently over the Splugen to the shores + of Como. + </p> + <p> + I have seldom seen a place more quaint, pretty, calm, and pastoral, than + this remote little Chur. What need have the inhabitants for walls and + ramparts, except to build summer-houses, to trail vines, and hang clothes + to dry on them? No enemies approach the great mouldering gates: only at + morn and even the cows come lowing past them, the village maidens chatter + merrily round the fountains, and babble like the ever-voluble stream that + flows under the old walls. The schoolboys, with book and satchel, in smart + uniforms, march up to the gymnasium, and return thence at their stated + time. There is one coffee-house in the town, and I see one old gentleman + goes to it. There are shops with no customers seemingly, and the lazy + tradesmen look out of their little windows at the single stranger + sauntering by. There is a stall with baskets of queer little black grapes + and apples, and a pretty brisk trade with half a dozen urchins standing + round. But, beyond this, there is scarce any talk or movement in the + street. There's nobody at the book-shop. “If you will have the goodness to + come again in an hour,” says the banker, with his mouthful of dinner at + one o'clock, “you can have the money.” There is nobody at the hotel, save + the good landlady, the kind waiters, the brisk young cook who ministers to + you. Nobody is in the Protestant church—(oh! strange sight, the two + confessions are here at peace!)—nobody in the Catholic church: until + the sacristan, from his snug abode in the cathedral close, espies the + traveller eying the monsters and pillars before the old shark-toothed arch + of his cathedral, and comes out (with a view to remuneration possibly) and + opens the gate, and shows you the venerable church, and the queer old + relics in the sacristy, and the ancient vestments (a black velvet cope, + amongst other robes, as fresh as yesterday, and presented by that + notorious “pervert,” Henry of Navarre and France), and the statue of St. + Lucius who built St. Peter's Church, on Cornhill. + </p> + <p> + What a quiet, kind, quaint, pleasant, pretty old town! Has it been asleep + these hundreds and hundreds of years, and is the brisk young Prince of the + Sidereal Realms in his screaming car drawn by his snorting steel elephant + coming to waken it? Time was when there must have been life and bustle and + commerce here. Those vast, venerable walls were not made to keep out cows, + but men-at-arms, led by fierce captains, who prowled about the gates, and + robbed the traders as they passed in and out with their bales, their + goods, their pack-horses, and their wains. Is the place so dead that even + the clergy of the different denominations can't quarrel? Why, seven or + eight, or a dozen, or fifteen hundred years ago (they haven't the register + at St. Peter's up to that remote period. I dare say it was burnt in the + fire of London)—a dozen hundred years ago, when there was some life + in the town, St. Lucius was stoned here on account of theological + differences, after founding our church in Cornhill. + </p> + <p> + There was a sweet pretty river walk we used to take in the evening and + mark the mountains round glooming with a deeper purple; the shades + creeping up the golden walls; the river brawling, the cattle calling, the + maids and chatter-boxes round the fountains babbling and bawling; and + several times in the course of our sober walks we overtook a lazy + slouching boy, or hobble-dehoy, with a rusty coat, and trousers not too + long, and big feet trailing lazily one after the other, and large lazy + hands dawdling from out the tight sleeves, and in the lazy hands a little + book, which my lad held up to his face, and which I dare say so charmed + and ravished him, that he was blind to the beautiful sights around him; + unmindful, I would venture to lay any wager, of the lessons he had to + learn for to-morrow; forgetful of mother, waiting supper, and father + preparing a scolding;—absorbed utterly and entirely in his book. + </p> + <p> + What was it that so fascinated the young student, as he stood by the river + shore? Not the Pons Asinorum. What book so delighted him, and blinded him + to all the rest of the world, so that he did not care to see the + apple-woman with her fruit, or (more tempting still to sons of Eve) the + pretty girls with their apple cheeks, who laughed and prattled round the + fountain! What was the book? Do you suppose it was Livy, or the Greek + grammar? No; it was a NOVEL that you were reading, you lazy, not very + clean, good-for-nothing, sensible boy! It was D'Artagnan locking up + General Monk in a box, or almost succeeding in keeping Charles the First's + head on. It was the prisoner of the Chateau d'If cutting himself out of + the sack fifty feet under water (I mention the novels I like best myself—novels + without love or talking, or any of that sort of nonsense, but containing + plenty of fighting, escaping, robbery, and rescuing)—cutting himself + out of the sack, and swimming to the island of Monte Cristo. O Dumas! O + thou brave, kind, gallant old Alexandre! I hereby offer thee homage, and + give thee thanks for many pleasant hours. I have read thee (being sick in + bed) for thirteen hours of a happy day, and had the ladies of the house + fighting for the volumes. Be assured that lazy boy was reading Dumas (or I + will go so far as to let the reader here pronounce the eulogium, or insert + the name of his favorite author); and as for the anger, or it may be, the + reverberations of his schoolmaster, or the remonstrances of his father, or + the tender pleadings of his mother that he should not let the supper grow + cold—I don't believe the scapegrace cared one fig. No! Figs are + sweet, but fictions are sweeter. + </p> + <p> + Have you ever seen a score of white-bearded, white-robed warriors, or + grave seniors of the city, seated at the gate of Jaffa or Beyrout, and + listening to the story-teller reciting his marvels out of “Antar” or the + “Arabian Nights?” I was once present when a young gentleman at table put a + tart away from him, and said to his neighbor, the Younger Son (with rather + a fatuous air), “I never eat sweets.” + </p> + <p> + “Not eat sweets! and do you know why?” says T. + </p> + <p> + “Because I am past that kind of thing,” says the young gentleman. + </p> + <p> + “Because you are a glutton and a sot!” cries the Elder (and Juvenis winces + a little). “All people who have natural, healthy appetites, love sweets; + all children, all women, all Eastern people, whose tastes are not + corrupted by gluttony and strong drink.” And a plateful of raspberries and + cream disappeared before the philosopher. + </p> + <p> + You take the allegory? Novels are sweets. All people with healthy literary + appetites love them—almost all women;—a vast number of clever, + hard-headed men. Why, one of the most learned physicians in England said + to me only yesterday, “I have just read So-and-So for the second time” + (naming one of Jones's exquisite fictions). Judges, bishops, chancellors, + mathematicians, are notorious novel-readers; as well as young boys and + sweet girls, and their kind, tender mothers. Who has not read about Eldon, + and how he cried over novels every night when he was not at whist? + </p> + <p> + As for that lazy naughty boy at Chur, I doubt whether HE will like novels + when he is thirty years of age. He is taking too great a glut of them now. + He is eating jelly until he will be sick. He will know most plots by the + time he is twenty, so that HE will never be surprised when the Stranger + turns out to be the rightful earl,—when the old waterman, throwing + off his beggarly gabardine, shows his stars and the collars of his various + orders, and clasping Antonia to his bosom, proves himself to be the + prince, her long-lost father. He will recognize the novelist's same + characters, though they appear in red-heeled pumps and ailes-de-pigeon, or + the garb of the nineteenth century. He will get weary of sweets, as boys + of private schools grow (or used to grow, for I have done growing some + little time myself, and the practice may have ended too)—as private + school-boys used to grow tired of the pudding before their mutton at + dinner. + </p> + <p> + And pray what is the moral of this apologue? The moral I take to be this: + the appetite for novels extending to the end of the world; far away in the + frozen deep, the sailors reading them to one another during the endless + night;—far away under the Syrian stars, the solemn sheikhs and + elders hearkening to the poet as he recites his tales; far away in the + Indian camps, where the soldiers listen to ——'s tales, or + ——'s, after the hot day's march; far away in little Chur + yonder, where the lazy boy pores over the fond volume, and drinks it in + with all his eyes;—the demand being what we know it is, the merchant + must supply it, as he will supply saddles and pale ale for Bombay or + Calcutta. + </p> + <p> + But as surely as the cadet drinks too much pale ale, it will disagree with + him; and so surely, dear youth, will too much novels cloy on thee. I + wonder, do novel-writers themselves read many novels? If you go into + Gunter's, you don't see those charming young ladies (to whom I present my + most respectful compliments) eating tarts and ices, but at the proper + eventide they have good plain wholesome tea and bread-and-butter. Can + anybody tell me does the author of the “Tale of Two Cities” read novels? + does the author of the “Tower of London” devour romances? does the dashing + “Harry Lorrequer” delight in “Plain or Ringlets” or “Sponge's Sporting + Tour?” Does the veteran, from whose flowing pen we had the books which + delighted our young days, “Darnley,” and “Richelieu,” and “Delorme,” * + relish the works of Alexandre the Great, and thrill over the “Three + Musqueteers?” Does the accomplished author of the “Caxtons” read the other + tales in Blackwood? (For example, that ghost-story printed last August, + and which for my part, though I read it in the public reading-room at the + “Pavilion Hotel” at Folkestone, I protest frightened me so that I scarce + dared look over my shoulder.) Does “Uncle Tom” admire “Adam Bede;” and + does the author of the “Vicar of Wrexhill” laugh over the “Warden” and the + “The Three Clerks?” Dear youth of ingenuous countenance and ingenuous + pudor! I make no doubt that the eminent parties above named all partake of + novels in moderation—eat jellies—but mainly nourish themselves + upon wholesome roast and boiled. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * By the way, what a strange fate is that which befell the + veteran novelist! He was appointed her Majesty's Consul- + General in Venice, the only city in Europe where the famous + “Two Cavaliers” cannot by any possibility be seen riding + together. +</pre> + <p> + Here, dear youth aforesaid! our Cornhill Magazine owners strive to provide + thee with facts as well as fiction; and though it does not become them to + brag of their Ordinary, at least they invite thee to a table where thou + shalt sit in good company. That story of the “Fox” * was written by one of + the gallant seamen who sought for poor Franklin under the awful Arctic + Night: that account of China** is told by the man of all the empire most + likely to know of what he speaks: those pages regarding Volunteers*** come + from an honored hand that has borne the sword in a hundred famous fields, + and pointed the British guns in the greatest siege in the world. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * “The Search for Sir John Franklin. (From the Private + Journal of an Officer of the 'Fox.')” + + ** “The Chinese and the Outer Barbarians.” By Sir John + Bowring. + + *** “Our Volunteers.” By Sir John Burgoyne. +</pre> + <p> + Shall we point out others? We are fellow-travellers, and shall make + acquaintance as the voyage proceeds. In the Atlantic steamers, on the + first day out (and on high-and holy-days subsequently), the jellies set + down on table are richly ornamented; medioque in fonte leporum rise the + American and British flags nobly emblazoned in tin. As the passengers + remark this pleasing phenomenon, the Captain no doubt improves the + occasion by expressing a hope, to his right and left, that the flag of Mr. + Bull and his younger Brother may always float side by side in friendly + emulation. Novels having been previously compared to jellies—here + are two (one perhaps not entirely saccharine, and flavored with an amari + aliquid very distasteful to some palates)—two novels* under two + flags, the one that ancient ensign which has hung before the well-known + booth of “Vanity Fair;” the other that fresh and handsome standard which + has lately been hoisted on “Barchester Towers.” Pray, sir, or madam, to + which dish will you be helped? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * “Lovel the Widower” and “Framley Parsonage.” + </pre> + <p> + So have I seen my friends Captain Lang and Captain Comstock press their + guests to partake of the fare on that memorable “First day out,” when + there is no man, I think, who sits down but asks a blessing on his voyage, + and the good ship dips over the bar, and bounds away into the blue water. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON TWO CHILDREN IN BLACK. + </h2> + <p> + Montaigne and “Howel's Letters” are my bedside books. If I wake at night, + I have one or other of them to prattle me to sleep again. They talk about + themselves for ever, and don't weary me. I like to hear them tell their + old stories over and over again. I read them in the dozy hours, and only + half remember them. I am informed that both of them tell coarse stories. I + don't heed them. It was the custom of their time, as it is of Highlanders + and Hottentots to dispense with a part of dress which we all wear in + cities. But people can't afford to be shocked either at Cape Town or at + Inverness every time they meet an individual who wears his national airy + raiment. I never knew the “Arabian Nights” was an improper book until I + happened once to read it in a “family edition.” Well, qui s'excuse. . . . + Who, pray, has accused me as yet? Here am I smothering dear good old Mrs. + Grundy's objections, before she has opened her mouth. I love, I say, and + scarcely ever tire of hearing, the artless prattle of those two dear old + friends, the Perigourdin gentleman and the priggish little Clerk of King + Charles's Council. Their egotism in nowise disgusts me. I hope I shall + always like to hear men, in reason, talk about themselves. What subject + does a man know better? If I stamp on a friend's corn, his outcry is + genuine—he confounds my clumsiness in the accents of truth. He is + speaking about himself and expressing his emotion of grief or pain in a + manner perfectly authentic and veracious. I have a story of my own, of a + wrong done to me by somebody, as far back as the year 1838: whenever I + think of it and have had a couple of glasses of wine, I CANNOT help + telling it. The toe is stamped upon; the pain is just as keen as ever: I + cry out, and perhaps utter imprecatory language. I told the story only + last Wednesday at dinner:— + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Roundabout,” says a lady sitting by me, “how comes it that in your + books there is a certain class (it may be of men, or it may be of women, + but that is not the question in point)—how comes it, dear sir, there + is a certain class of persons whom you always attack in your writings, and + savagely rush at, goad, poke, toss up in the air, kick, and trample on?” + </p> + <p> + I couldn't help myself. I knew I ought not to do it. I told her the whole + story, between the entrees and the roast. The wound began to bleed again. + The horrid pang was there, as keen and as fresh as ever. If I live half as + long as Tithonus,* that crack across my heart can never be cured. There + are wrongs and griefs that CAN'T be mended. It is all very well of you, my + dear Mrs. G., to say that this spirit is unchristian, and that we ought to + forgive and forget, and so forth. How can I forget at will? How forgive? I + can forgive the occasional waiter who broke my beautiful old decanter at + that very dinner. I am not going to do him any injury. But all the powers + on earth can't make that claret-jug whole. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * “Tithonus,” by Tennyson, had appeared in the preceding + (the 2nd) number of the Cornhill Magazine. +</pre> + <p> + So, you see, I told the lady the inevitable story. I was egotistical. I + was selfish, no doubt; but I was natural, and was telling the truth. You + say you are angry with a man for talking about himself. It is because you + yourself are selfish, that that other person's Self does not interest you. + Be interested by other people and with their affairs. Let them prattle and + talk to you, as I do my dear old egotists just mentioned. When you have + had enough of them, and sudden hazes come over your eyes, lay down the + volume; pop out the candle, and dormez bien. I should like to write a + nightcap book—a book that you can muse over, that you can smile + over, that you can yawn over—a book of which you can say, “Well, + this man is so and so and so and so; but he has a friendly heart (although + some wiseacres have painted him as black as bogey), and you may trust what + he says.” I should like to touch you sometimes with a reminiscence that + shall waken your sympathy, and make you say, Io anche have so thought, + felt, smiled, suffered. Now, how is this to be done except by egotism? + Linea recta brevissima. That right line “I” is the very shortest, + simplest, straightforwardest means of communication between us, and stands + for what it is worth and no more. Sometimes authors say, “The present + writer has often remarked;” or “The undersigned has observed;” or “Mr. + Roundabout presents his compliments to the gentle reader, and begs to + state,” &c.: but “I” is better and straighter than all these grimaces + of modesty: and although these are Roundabout Papers, and may wander who + knows whither, I shall ask leave to maintain the upright and simple + perpendicular. When this bundle of egotisms is bound up together, as they + may be one day, if no accident prevents this tongue from wagging, or this + ink from running, they will bore you very likely; so it would to read + through “Howel's Letters” from beginning to end, or to eat up the whole of + a ham; but a slice on occasion may have a relish: a dip into the volume at + random and so on for a page or two: and now and then a smile; and + presently a gape; and the book drops out of your hand; and so, bon soir, + and pleasant dreams to you. I have frequently seen men at clubs asleep + over their humble servant's works, and am always pleased. Even at a + lecture I don't mind, if they don't snore. Only the other day when my + friend A. said, “You've left off that Roundabout business, I see; very + glad you have,” I joined in the general roar of laughter at the table. I + don't care a fig whether Archilochus likes the papers or no. You don't + like partridge, Archilochus, or porridge, or what not? Try some other + dish. I am not going to force mine down your throat, or quarrel with you + if you refuse it. Once in America a clever and candid woman said to me, at + the close of a dinner, during which I had been sitting beside her, “Mr. + Roundabout, I was told I should not like you; and I don't.” “Well, ma'am,” + says I, in a tone of the most unfeigned simplicity, “I don't care.” And we + became good friends immediately, and esteemed each other ever after. + </p> + <p> + So, my dear Archilochus, if you come upon this paper, and say, “Fudge!” + and pass on to another, I for one shall not be in the least mortified. If + you say, “What does he mean by calling this paper On Two Children in + Black, when there's nothing about people in black at all, unless the + ladies he met (and evidently bored) at dinner, were black women? What is + all this egotistical pother? A plague on his I's!” My dear fellow, if you + read “Montaigne's Essays,” you must own that he might call almost any one + by the name of any other, and that an essay on the Moon or an essay on + Green Cheese would be as appropriate a title as one of his on Coaches, on + the Art of Discoursing, or Experience, or what you will. Besides, if I + HAVE a subject (and I have) I claim to approach it in a roundabout manner. + </p> + <p> + You remember Balzac's tale of the Peau de Chagrin, and how every time the + possessor used it for the accomplishment of some wish the fairy Peau + shrank a little and the owner's life correspondingly shortened? I have + such a desire to be well with my public that I am actually giving up my + favorite story. I am killing my goose, I know I am. I can't tell my story + of the children in black after this; after printing it, and sending it + through the country. When they are gone to the printer's these little + things become public property. I take their hands. I bless them. I say, + “Good-by, my little dears.” I am quite sorry to part with them: but the + fact is, I have told all my friends about them already, and don't dare to + take them about with me any more. + </p> + <p> + Now every word is true of this little anecdote, and I submit that there + lies in it a most curious and exciting little mystery. I am like a man who + gives you the last bottle of his '25 claret. It is the pride of his + cellar; he knows it, and he has a right to praise it. He takes up the + bottle, fashioned so slenderly—takes it up tenderly, cants it with + care, places it before his friends, declares how good it is, with honest + pride, and wishes he had a hundred dozen bottles more of the same wine in + his cellar. Si quid novisti, &c., I shall be very glad to hear from + you. I protest and vow I am giving you the best I have. + </p> + <p> + Well, who those little boys in black were, I shall never probably know to + my dying day. They were very pretty little men, with pale faces, and + large, melancholy eyes; and they had beautiful little hands, and little + boots, and the finest little shirts, and black paletots lined with the + richest silk; and they had picture-books in several languages, English, + and French, and German, I remember. Two more aristocratic-looking little + men I never set eyes on. They were travelling with a very handsome, pale + lady in mourning, and a maid-servant dressed in black, too; and on the + lady's face there was the deepest grief. The little boys clambered and + played about the carriage, and she sat watching. It was a railway-carriage + from Frankfort to Heidelberg. + </p> + <p> + I saw at once that she was the mother of those children, and going to part + from them. Perhaps I have tried parting with my own, and not found the + business very pleasant. Perhaps I recollect driving down (with a certain + trunk and carpet-bag on the box) with my own mother to the end of the + avenue, where we waited—only a few minutes—until the whirring + wheels of that “Defiance” coach were heard rolling towards us as certain + as death. Twang goes the horn; up goes the trunk; down come the steps. + Bah! I see the autumn evening: I hear the wheels now: I smart the cruel + smart again: and, boy or man, have never been able to bear the sight of + people parting from their children. + </p> + <p> + I thought these little men might be going to school for the first time in + their lives; and mamma might be taking them to the doctor, and would leave + them with many fond charges, and little wistful secrets of love, bidding + the elder to protect his younger brother, and the younger to be gentle, + and to remember to pray to God always for his mother, who would pray for + her boy too. Our party made friends with these young ones during the + little journey; but the poor lady was too sad to talk except to the boys + now and again, and sat in her corner, pale, and silently looking at them. + </p> + <p> + The next day, we saw the lady and her maid driving in the direction of the + railway-station, WITHOUT THE BOYS. The parting had taken place, then. That + night they would sleep among strangers. The little beds at home were + vacant, and poor mother might go and look at them. Well, tears flow, and + friends part, and mothers pray every night all over the world. I dare say + we went to see Heidelberg Castle, and admired the vast shattered walls and + quaint gables; and the Neckar running its bright course through that + charming scene of peace and beauty; and ate our dinner, and drank our wine + with relish. The poor mother would eat but little Abendessen that night; + and, as for the children—that first night at school—hard bed, + hard words, strange boys bullying, and laughing, and jarring you with + their hateful merriment—as for the first night at a strange school, + we most of us remember what THAT is. And the first is not the WORST, my + boys, there's the rub. But each man has his share of troubles, and, I + suppose, you must have yours. + </p> + <p> + From Heidelberg we went to Baden-Baden: and, I dare say, saw Madame de + Schlangenbad and Madame de la Cruchecassee, and Count Punter, and honest + Captain Blackball. And whom should we see in the evening, but our two + little boys, walking on each side of a fierce, yellow-faced, bearded man! + We wanted to renew our acquaintance with them, and they were coming + forward quite pleased to greet us. But the father pulled back one of the + little men by his paletot, gave a grim scowl, and walked away. I can see + the children now looking rather frightened away from us and up into the + father's face, or the cruel uncle's—which was he? I think he was the + father. So this was the end of them. Not school, as I at first had + imagined. The mother was gone, who had given them the heaps of pretty + books, and the pretty studs in the shirts, and the pretty silken clothes, + and the tender—tender cares; and they were handed to this scowling + practitioner of Trente et Quarante. Ah! this is worse than school. Poor + little men! poor mother sitting by the vacant little beds! We saw the + children once or twice after, always in Scowler's company; but we did not + dare to give each other any marks of recognition. + </p> + <p> + From Baden we went to Basle, and thence to Lucerne, and so over the St. + Gothard into Italy. From Milan we went to Venice; and now comes the + singular part of my story. In Venice there is a little court of which I + forget the name: but in it is an apothecary's shop, whither I went to buy + some remedy for the bites of certain animals which abound in Venice. + Crawling animals, skipping animals, and humming, flying animals; all three + will have at you at once; and one night nearly drove me into a + strait-waistcoat. Well, as I was coming out of the apothecary's with the + bottle of spirits of hartshorn in my hand (it really does do the bites a + great deal of good), whom should I light upon but one of my little + Heidelberg-Baden boys! + </p> + <p> + I have said how handsomely they were dressed as long as they were with + their mother. When I saw the boy at Venice, who perfectly recognized me, + his only garb was a wretched yellow cotton gown. His little feet, on which + I had admired the little shiny boots, were WITHOUT SHOE OR STOCKING. He + looked at me, ran to an old hag of a woman, who seized his hand; and with + her he disappeared down one of the thronged lanes of the city. + </p> + <p> + From Venice we went to Trieste (the Vienna railway at that time was only + opened as far as Laybach, and the magnificent Semmering Pass was not quite + completed). At a station between Laybach and Graetz, one of my companions + alighted for refreshment, and came back to the carriage saying:— + </p> + <p> + “There's that horrible man from Baden, with the two little boys.” + </p> + <p> + Of course, we had talked about the appearance of the little boy at Venice, + and his strange altered garb. My companion said they were pale, + wretched-looking and DRESSED QUITE SHABBILY. + </p> + <p> + I got out at several stations, and looked at all the carriages. I could + not see my little men. From that day to this I have never set eyes on + them. That is all my story. Who were they? What could they be? How can you + explain that mystery of the mother giving them up; of the remarkable + splendor and elegance of their appearance while under her care; of their + barefooted squalor in Venice, a month afterwards; of their shabby + habiliments at Laybach? Had the father gambled away his money, and sold + their clothes? How came they to have passed out of the hands of a refined + lady (as she evidently was, with whom I first saw them) into the charge of + quite a common woman like her with whom I saw one of the boys at Venice? + Here is but one chapter of the story. Can any man write the next, or that + preceding the strange one on which I happened to light? Who knows? the + mystery may have some quite simple solution. I saw two children, attired + like little princes, taken from their mother and consigned to other care; + and a fortnight afterwards, one of them barefooted and like a beggar. Who + will read this riddle of The Two Children in Black? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON RIBBONS. + </h2> + <p> + The uncle of the present Sir Louis N. Bonaparte, K.G., &c., + inaugurated his reign as Emperor over the neighboring nation by + establishing an Order, to which all citizens of his country, military, + naval, and civil—all men most distinguished in science, letters, + arts, and commerce—were admitted. The emblem of the Order was but a + piece of ribbon, more or less long or broad, with a toy at the end of it. + The Bourbons had toys and ribbons of their own, blue, black, and + all-colored; and on their return to dominion such good old Tories would + naturally have preferred to restore their good old orders of Saint Louis, + Saint Esprit, and Saint Michel; but France had taken the ribbon of the + Legion of Honor so to her heart that no Bourbon sovereign dared to pluck + it thence. + </p> + <p> + In England, until very late days, we have been accustomed rather to + pooh-pooh national Orders, to vote ribbons and crosses tinsel gewgaws, + foolish foreign ornaments, and so forth. It is known how the Great Duke + (the breast of whose own coat was plastered with some half-hundred + decorations) was averse to the wearing of ribbons, medals, clasps, and the + like, by his army. We have all of us read how uncommonly distinguished + Lord Castlereagh looked at Vienna, where he was the only gentleman present + without any decoration whatever. And the Great Duke's theory was, that + clasps and ribbons, stars and garters, were good and proper ornaments for + himself, for the chief officers of his distinguished army, and for + gentlemen of high birth, who might naturally claim to wear a band of + garter blue across their waistcoats; but that for common people your plain + coat, without stars and ribbons, was the most sensible wear. + </p> + <p> + And no doubt you and I are as happy, as free, as comfortable; we can walk + and dine as well; we can keep the winter's cold out as well, without a + star on our coats, as without a feather in our hats. How often we have + laughed at the absurd mania of the Americans for dubbing their senators, + members of Congress, and States' representatives, Honorable. We have a + right to call OUR Privy Councillors Right Honorable, our Lords' sons + Honorable, and so forth; but for a nation as numerous, well educated, + strong, rich, civilized, free as our own, to dare to give its + distinguished citizens titles of honor—monstrous assumption of + low-bred arrogance and parvenu vanity! Our titles are respectable, but + theirs absurd. Mr. Jones, of London, a Chancellor's son, and a tailor's + grandson, is justly Honorable, and entitled to be Lord Jones at his noble + father's decease: but Mr. Brown, the senator from New York, is a silly + upstart for tacking Honorable to his name, and our sturdy British good + sense laughs at him. Who has not laughed (I have myself) at Honorable + Nahum Dodge, Honorable Zeno Scudder, Honorable Hiram Boake, and the rest? + A score of such queer names and titles I have smiled at in America. And, + mutato nomine? I meet a born idiot, who is a peer and born legislator. + This drivelling noodle and his descendants through life are your natural + superiors and mine—your and my children's superiors. I read of an + alderman kneeling and knighted at court: I see a gold-stick waddling + backwards before Majesty in a procession, and if we laugh, don't you + suppose the Americans laugh too? + </p> + <p> + Yes, stars, garters, orders, knighthoods, and the like, are folly. Yes, + Bobus, citizen and soap-boiler, is a good man, and no one laughs at him or + good Mrs. Bobus, as they have their dinner at one o'clock. But who will + not jeer at Sir Thomas on a melting day, and Lady Bobus, at Margate, + eating shrimps in a donkey-chaise? Yes, knighthood is absurd: and chivalry + an idiotic superstition: and Sir Walter Manny was a zany: and Nelson, with + his flaming stars and cordons, splendent upon a day of battle, was a + madman: and Murat, with his crosses and orders, at the head of his + squadrons charging victorious, was only a crazy mountebank, who had been a + tavern-waiter, and was puffed up with absurd vanity about his dress and + legs. And the men of the French line at Fontenoy, who told Messieurs de la + Garde to fire first, were smirking French dancing-masters; and the Black + Prince, waiting upon his royal prisoner, was acting an inane masquerade: + and Chivalry is naught; and honor is humbug; and Gentlemanhood is an + extinct folly; and Ambition is madness; and desire of distinction is + criminal vanity; and glory is bosh; and fair fame is idleness; and nothing + is true but two and two; and the color of all the world is drab; and all + men are equal; and one man is as tall as another; and one man is as good + as another—and a great dale betther, as the Irish philosopher said. + </p> + <p> + Is this so? Titles and badges of honor are vanity; and in the American + Revolution you have his Excellency General Washington sending back, and + with proper spirit sending back, a letter in which he is not addressed as + Excellency and General. Titles are abolished; and the American Republic + swarms with men claiming and bearing them. You have the French soldier + cheered and happy in his dying agony, and kissing with frantic joy the + chief's hand who lays the little cross on the bleeding bosom. At home you + have the Dukes and Earls jobbing and intriguing for the Garter; the + Military Knights grumbling at the Civil Knights of the bath; the little + ribbon eager for the collar; the soldiers and seamen from India and the + Crimea marching in procession before the Queen, and receiving from her + hands the cross bearing her royal name. And, remember, there are not only + the cross wearers, but all the fathers and friends; all the women who have + prayed for their absent heroes; Harry's wife, and Tom's mother, and Jack's + daughter, and Frank's sweetheart, each of whom wears in her heart of + hearts afterwards the badge which son, father, lover, has won by his + merit; each of whom is made happy and proud, and is bound to the country + by that little bit of ribbon. + </p> + <p> + I have heard, in a lecture about George the Third, that, at his accession, + the King had a mind to establish an order for literary men. It was to have + been called the Order of Minerva—I suppose with an Owl for a badge. + The knights were to have worn a star of sixteen points, and a yellow + ribbon; and good old Samuel Johnson was talked of as President, or Grand + Cross, or Grand Owl, of the society. Now about such an order as this there + certainly may be doubts. Consider the claimants, the difficulty of + settling their claims, the rows and squabbles amongst the candidates, and + the subsequent decision of posterity! Dr. Beattie would have ranked as + first poet, and twenty years after the sublime Mr. Hayley would, no doubt, + have claimed the Grand Cross. Mr. Gibbon would not have been eligible, on + account of his dangerous freethinking opinions; and her sex, as well as + her republican sentiments, might have interfered with the knighthood of + the immortal Mrs. Catharine Macaulay. How Goldsmith would have paraded the + ribbon at Madame Cornelys's, or the Academy dinner! How Peter Pindar would + have railed at it! Fifty years later, the noble Scott would have worn the + Grand Cross and deserved it; but Gifford would have had it; and Byron, and + Shelley, and Hazlitt, and Hunt would have been without it; and had Keats + been proposed as officer, how the Tory prints would have yelled with rage + and scorn! Had the star of Minerva lasted to our present time—but I + pause, not because the idea is dazzling, but too awful. Fancy the + claimants, and the row about their precedence! Which philosopher shall + have the grand cordon?—which the collar?—which the little + scrap no bigger than a buttercup? Of the historians—A, say,—and + C, and F, and G, and S, and T,—which shall be Companion and which + Grand Owl? Of the poets, who wears, or claims, the largest and brightest + star? Of the novelists, there is A, and B and C D; and E (star of first + magnitude, newly discovered), and F (a magazine of wit), and fair G, and + H, and I, and brave old J, and charming K, and L, and M, and N, and O + (fair twinklers), and I am puzzled between three P's—Peacock, Miss + Pardoe, and Paul Pry—and Queechy, and R, and S, and T, mere et fils, + and very likely U, O gentle reader, for who has not written his novel + now-a-days?—who has not a claim to the star and straw-colored + ribbon?—and who shall have the biggest and largest? Fancy the + struggle! Fancy the squabble! Fancy the distribution of prizes! + </p> + <p> + Who shall decide on them? Shall it be the sovereign? shall it be the + Minister for the time being? and has Lord Palmerston made a deep study of + novels? In this matter the late Ministry,* to be sure, was better + qualified; but even then, grumblers who had not got their canary cordons, + would have hinted at professional jealousies entering the Cabinet; and, + the ribbons being awarded, Jack would have scowled at his because Dick had + a broader one; Ned been indignant because Bob's was as large: Tom would + have thrust his into the drawer, and scorned to wear it at all. No—no: + the so-called literary world was well rid of Minerva and her yellow + ribbon. The great poets would have been indifferent, the little poets + jealous, the funny men furious, the philosophers satirical, the historians + supercilious, and, finally, the jobs without end. Say, ingenuity and + cleverness are to be rewarded by State tokens and prizes—and take + for granted the Order of Minerva is established—who shall have it? A + great philosopher? no doubt we cordially salute him G.C.M. A great + historian? G.C.M. of course. A great engineer? G.C.M. A great poet? + received with acclamation G.C.M. A great painter? oh! certainly, G.C.M. If + a great painter, why not a great novelist? Well, pass, great novelist, + G.C.M. But if a poetic, a pictorial, a story-telling or music-composing + artist, why not a singing artist? Why not a basso-profondo? Why not a + primo tenore? And if a singer, why should not a ballet-dancer come + bounding on the stage with his cordon, and cut capers to the music of a + row of decorated fiddlers? A chemist puts in his claim for having invented + a new color; an apothecary for a new pill; the cook for a new sauce; the + tailor for a new cut of trousers. We have brought the star of Minerva down + from the breast to the pantaloons. Stars and garters! can we go any + farther; or shall we give the shoe maker the yellow ribbon of the order + for his shoetie? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * That of Lord Derby, in 1859, which included Mr. Disraeli + and Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton. +</pre> + <p> + When I began this present Roundabout excursion, I think I had not quite + made up my mind whether we would have an Order of all the Talents or not: + perhaps I rather had a hankering for a rich ribbon and gorgeous star, in + which my family might like to see me at parties in my best waistcoat. But + then the door opens, and there come in, and by the same right too, Sir + Alexis Soyer! Sir Alessandro Tamburini! Sir Agostino Velluti! Sir Antonio + Paganini (violinist)! Sir Sandy McGuffog (piper to the most noble the + Marquis of Farintosh)! Sir Alcide Flicflac (premier danseur of H. M. + Theatre)! Sir Harley Quin and Sir Joseph Grimaldi (from Covent Garden)! + They have all the yellow ribbon. They are all honorable, and clever, and + distinguished artists. Let us elbow through the rooms, make a bow to the + lady of the house, give a nod to Sir George Thrum, who is leading the + orchestra, and go and get some champagne and seltzer-water from Sir + Richard Gunter, who is presiding at the buffet. A national decoration + might be well and good: a token awarded by the country to all its + benemerentibus: but most gentlemen with Minerva stars would, I think, be + inclined to wear very wide breast-collars to their coats. Suppose + yourself, brother penman, decorated with this ribbon, and looking in the + glass, would you not laugh? Would not wife and daughters laugh at that + canary-colored emblem? + </p> + <p> + But suppose a man, old or young, of figure ever so stout, thin, stumpy, + homely, indulging in looking-glass reflections with that hideous ribbon + and cross called V. C. on his coat, would he not be proud? and his family, + would they not be prouder? For your nobleman there is the famous old blue + garter and star, and welcome. If I were a marquis—if I had thirty—forty + thousand a year (settle the sum, my dear Alnaschar, according to your + liking), I should consider myself entitled to my seat in Parliament and to + my garter. The garter belongs to the Ornamental Classes. Have you seen the + new magnificent Pavo Spicifer at the Zoological Gardens, and do you grudge + him his jewelled coronet and the azure splendor of his waistcoat? I like + my Lord Mayor to have a gilt coach; my magnificent monarch to be + surrounded by magnificent nobles: I huzzay respectfully when they pass in + procession. It is good for Mr. Briefless (50, Pump Court, fourth floor) + that there should be a Lord Chancellor, with a gold robe and fifteen + thousand a year. It is good for a poor curate that there should be + splendid bishops at Fulham and Lambeth: their lordships were poor curates + once, and have won, so to speak, their ribbon. Is a man who puts into a + lottery to be sulky because he does not win the twenty thousand pounds + prize? Am I to fall into a rage, and bully my family when I come home, + after going to see Chatsworth or Windsor, because we have only two little + drawing-rooms? Welcome to your garter, my lord, and shame upon him qui mal + y pense! + </p> + <p> + So I arrive in my roundabout way near the point towards which I have been + trotting ever since we set out. + </p> + <p> + In a voyage to America, some nine years since, on the seventh or eighth + day out from Liverpool, Captain L—— came to dinner at eight + bells as usual, talked a little to the persons right and left of him, and + helped the soup with his accustomed politeness. Then he went on deck, and + was back in a minute, and operated on the fish, looking rather grave the + while. + </p> + <p> + Then he went on deck again; and this time was absent, it may be, three or + five minutes, during which the fish disappeared, and the entrees arrived, + and the roast beef. Say ten minutes passed—I can't tell after nine + years. + </p> + <p> + Then L—— came down with a pleased and happy countenance this + time, and began carving the sirloin: “We have seen the light,” he said. + “Madam, may I help you to a little gravy, or a little horse-radish?” or + what not? + </p> + <p> + I forget the name of the light; nor does it matter. It was a point off + Newfoundland for which he was on the look-out, and so well did the + “Canada” know where she was, that, between soup and beef, the captain had + sighted the headland by which his course was lying. + </p> + <p> + And so through storm and darkness, through fog and midnight, the ship had + pursued her steady way over the pathless ocean and roaring seas, so surely + that the officers who sailed her knew her place within a minute or two, + and guided us with a wonderful providence safe on our way. Since the noble + Cunard Company has run its ships, but one accident, and that through the + error of a pilot, has happened on the line. + </p> + <p> + By this little incident (hourly of course repeated, and trivial to all + sea-going people) I own I was immensely moved, and never can think of it + but with a heart full of thanks and awe. We trust our lives to these + seamen, and how nobly they fulfil their trust! They are, under heaven, as + a providence for us. Whilst we sleep, their untiring watchfulness keeps + guard over us. All night through that bell sounds at its season, and tells + how our sentinels defend us. It rang when the “Amazon” was on fire, and + chimed its heroic signal of duty, and courage, and honor. Think of the + dangers these seamen undergo for us: the hourly peril and watch; the + familiar storm; the dreadful iceberg; the long winter nights when the + decks are as glass, and the sailor has to climb through icicles to bend + the stiff sail on the yard! Think of their courage and their kindnesses in + cold, in tempest, in hunger, in wreck! “The women and children to the + boats,” says the captain of the “Birkenhead,” and, with the troops formed + on the deck, and the crew obedient to the word of glorious command, the + immortal ship goes down. Read the story of the “Sarah Sands:”— + </p> + <p> + “SARAH SANDS. + </p> + <p> + “The screw steamship 'Sarah Sands,' 1,330 registered tons, was chartered + by the East India Company in the autumn of 1858, for the conveyance of + troops to India. She was commanded by John Squire Castle. She took out a + part of the 54th Regiment, upwards of 350 persons, besides the wives and + children of some of the men, and the families of some of the officers. All + went well till the 11th November, when the ship had reached lat. 14 S., + long. 56 E., upwards of 400 miles from the Mauritius. + </p> + <p> + “Between three and four P. M. on that day a very strong smell of fire was + perceived arising from the after-deck, and upon going below into the hold, + Captain Castle found it to be on fire, and immense volumes of smoke + arising from it. Endeavors were made to reach the seat of the fire, but in + vain; the smoke and heat were too much for the men. There was, however, no + confusion. Every order was obeyed with the same coolness and courage with + which it was given. The engine was immediately stopped. All sail was taken + in, and the ship brought to the wind, so as to drive the smoke and fire, + which was in the after-part of the ship, astern. Others were, at the same + time, getting fire-hoses fitted and passed to the scene of the fire. The + fire, however, continued to increase, and attention was directed to the + ammunition contained in the powder-magazines, which were situated one on + each side the ship immediately above the fire. The star-board magazine was + soon cleared. But by this time the whole of the after-part of the ship was + so much enveloped in smoke that it was scarcely possible to stand, and + great fears were entertained on account of the port magazine. Volunteers + were called for, and came immediately, and, under the guidance of + Lieutenant Hughes, attempted to clear the port magazine, which they + succeeded in doing, with the exception, as was supposed, of one or two + barrels. It was most dangerous work. The men became overpowered with the + smoke and heat, and fell; and several, while thus engaged, were dragged up + by ropes, senseless. + </p> + <p> + “The flames soon burst up through the deck, and running rapidly along the + various cabins, set the greater part on fire. + </p> + <p> + “In the meantime Captain Castle took steps for lowering the boats. There + was a heavy gale at the time, but they were launched without the least + accident. The soldiers were mustered on deck;—there was no rush to + the boats; and the men obeyed the word of command as if on parade. The men + were informed that Captain Castle did not despair of saving the ship, but + that they must be prepared to leave her if necessary. The women and + children were lowered into the port lifeboat, under the charge of Mr. + Very, third officer, who had orders to keep clear of the ship until + recalled. + </p> + <p> + “Captain Castle then commenced constructing rafts of spare spars. In a + short time, three were put together, which would have been capable of + saving a great number of those on board. Two were launched overboard, and + safely moored alongside, and then a third was left across the deck + forward, ready to be launched. + </p> + <p> + “In the meantime the fire had made great progress. The whole of the cabins + were one body of fire, and at about 8.30 P. M. flames burst through the + upper deck, and shortly after the mizzen rigging caught fire. Fears were + entertained of the ship paying off, in which case the flames would have + been swept forwards by the wind; but fortunately the after-braces were + burnt through, and the main-yard swung round, which kept the ship's head + to wind. About nine P. M., a fearful explosion took place in the port + magazine, arising, no doubt, from the one or two barrels of powder which + it had been impossible to remove. By this time the ship was one body of + flame, from the stern to the main rigging, and thinking it scarcely + possible to save her, Captain Castle called Major Brett (then in command + of the troops, for the Colonel was in one of the boats) forward, and, + telling him that he feared the ship was lost, requested him to endeavor to + keep order amongst the troops till the last, but, at the same time, to use + every exertion to check the fire. Providentially, the iron bulkhead in the + after-part of the ship withstood the action of the flames, and here all + efforts were concentrated to keep it cool. + </p> + <p> + “'No person,' says the captain, 'can describe the manner in which the men + worked to keep the fire back; one party were below, keeping the bulkhead + cool, and when several were dragged up senseless, fresh volunteers took + their places, who were, however, soon in the same state. At about ten P. + M., the maintopsail-yard took fire. Mr. Welch, one quartermaster, and four + or five soldiers, went aloft with wet blankets, and succeeded in + extinguishing it, but not until the yard and mast were nearly burnt + through. The work of fighting the fire below continued for hours, and + about midnight it appeared that some impression was made; and after that, + the men drove it back, inch by inch, until daylight, when they had + completely got it under. The ship was now in a frightful plight. The + after-part was literally burnt out—merely the shell remaining—the + port quarter blown out by the explosion: fifteen feet of water in the + hold.' + </p> + <p> + “The gale still prevailed, and the ship was rolling and pitching in a + heavy sea, and taking in large quantities of water abaft: the tanks, too, + were rolling from side to side in the hold. + </p> + <p> + “As soon as the smoke was partially cleared away, Captain Castle got spare + sails and blankets aft to stop the leak, passing two hawsers round the + stern, and setting them up. The troops were employed baling and pumping. + This continued during the whole morning. + </p> + <p> + “In the course of the day the ladies joined the ship. The boats were + ordered alongside, but they found the sea too heavy to remain there. The + gig had been abandoned during the night, and the crew, under Mr. Wood, + fourth officer, had got into another of the boats. The troops were + employed the remainder of the day baling and pumping, and the crew + securing the stern. All hands were employed during the following night + baling and pumping, the boats being moored alongside, where they received + some damage. At daylight, on the 13th, the crew were employed hoisting + time boats, the troops were working manfully baling and pumping. Latitude + at noon, 13 deg. 12 min. south. At five P. M., the foresail and + foretopsail were set, the rafts were cut away, and the ship bore for the + Mauritius. On Thursday, the 19th, she sighted the Island of Rodrigues, and + arrived at Mauritius on Monday the 23rd.” + </p> + <p> + The Nile and Trafalgar are not more glorious to our country, are not + greater victories than these won by our merchant-seamen. And if you look + in the Captain's reports of any maritime register, you will see similar + acts recorded every day. I have such a volume for last year, now lying + before me. In the second number, as I open it at hazard, Captain Roberts, + master of the ship “Empire,” from Shields to London, reports how on the + 14th ult. (the 14th December, 1859), he, “being off Whitby, discovered the + ship to be on fire between the main hold and boilers: got the hose from + the engine laid on, and succeeded in subduing the fire; but only + apparently; for at seven the next morning, the 'Dudgeon' bearing S.S.E. + seven miles' distance, the fire again broke out, causing the ship to be + enveloped in flames on both sides of midships: got the hose again into + play and all hands to work with buckets to combat with the fire. Did not + succeed in stopping it till four P. M., to effect which, were obliged to + cut away the deck and top sides, and throw overboard part of the cargo. + The vessel was very much damaged and leaky: determined to make for the + Humber. Ship was run on shore, on the mud, near Grimsby harbor, with five + feet of water in her hold. The donkey-engine broke down. The water + increased so fast as to put out the furnace fires and render the ship + almost unmanageable. On the tide flowing, a tug towed the ship off the + mud, and got her into Grimsby to repair.” + </p> + <p> + On the 2nd of November, Captain Strickland, of the “Purchase” brigantine, + from Liverpool to Yarmouth, U. S., “encountered heavy gales from W.N.W. to + W.S.W., in lat. 43 deg. N., long. 34 deg. W., in which we lost jib, + foretopmast, staysail, topsail, and carried away the foretopmast stays, + bobstays and bowsprit, headsails, cut-water and stern, also started the + wood ends, which caused the vessel to leak. Put her before the wind and + sea, and hove about twenty-five tons of cargo overboard to lighten the + ship forward. Slung myself in a bowline, and by means of thrusting 2 + 1/2-inch rope in the opening, contrived to stop a great portion of the + leak. + </p> + <p> + “December 16th.—The crew continuing night and day at the pumps, + could not keep the ship free; deemed it prudent for the benefit of those + concerned to bear up for the nearest port. On arriving in lat. 48 deg. 45' + N., long. 23 deg. W., observed a vessel with a signal of distress flying. + Made towards her, when she proved to be the barque 'Carleton,' + water-logged. The captain and crew asked to be taken off. Hove to, and + received them on board, consisting of thirteen men: and their ship was + abandoned. We then proceeded on our course, the crew of the abandoned + vessel assisting all they could to keep my ship afloat. We arrived at Cork + harbor on the 27th ult.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Coulson, master of the brig “Othello,” reports that his brig + foundered off Portland, December 27;—encountering a strong gale, and + shipping two heavy seas in succession, which hove the ship on her + beam-ends. “Observing no chance of saving the ship, took to the long boat, + and within ten minutes of leaving her saw the brig founder. We were picked + up the same morning by the French ship 'Commerce de Paris,' Captain + Tombarel.” + </p> + <p> + Here, in a single column of a newspaper, what strange, touching pictures + do we find of seamen's dangers, vicissitudes, gallantry, generosity! The + ship on fire—the captain in the gale slinging himself in a bowline + to stop the leak—the Frenchman in the hour of danger coming to his + British comrade's rescue—the brigantine almost a wreck, working up + to the barque with the signal of distress flying, and taking off her crew + of thirteen men. “We then proceeded on our course, THE CREW OF THE + ABANDONED VESSEL ASSISTING ALL THEY COULD TO KEEP MY SHIP AFLOAT.” What + noble, simple words! What courage, devotedness, brotherly love! Do they + not cause the heart to beat, and the eyes to fill? + </p> + <p> + This is what seamen do daily, and for one another. One lights occasionally + upon different stories. It happened, not very long since, that the + passengers by one of the great ocean steamers were wrecked, and, after + undergoing the most severe hardships, were left, destitute and helpless, + at a miserable coaling port. Amongst them were old men, ladies, and + children. When the next steamer arrived, the passengers by that steamer + took alarm at the haggard and miserable appearance of their unfortunate + predecessors, and actually REMONSTRATED WITH THEIR OWN CAPTAIN, URGING HIM + NOT TO TAKE THE POOR CREATURES ON BOARD. There was every excuse, of + course. The last-arrived steamer was already dangerously full: the cabins + were crowded; there were sick and delicate people on board—sick and + delicate people who had paid a large price to the company for room, food, + comfort, already not too sufficient. If fourteen of us are in an omnibus, + will we see three or four women outside and say “Come in, because this is + the last 'bus, and it rains?” Of course not: but think of that + remonstrance, and of that Samaritan master of the “Purchase” brigantine! + </p> + <p> + In the winter of '53, I went from Marseilles to Civita Vecchia, in one of + the magnificent P. and O. ships, the “Valetta,” the master of which + subsequently did distinguished service in the Crimea. This was his first + Mediterranean voyage, and he sailed his ship by the charts alone, going + into each port as surely as any pilot. I remember walking the deck at + night with this most skilful, gallant, well-bred, and well-educated + gentleman, and the glow of eager enthusiasm with which he assented, when I + asked him whether he did not think a RIBBON or ORDER would be welcome or + useful in his service. + </p> + <p> + Why is there not an ORDER OF BRITANNIA for British seamen? In the Merchant + and the Royal Navy alike, occur almost daily instances and occasions for + the display of science, skill, bravery, fortitude in trying circumstances, + resource in danger. In the first number of the Cornhill Magazine, a friend + contributed a most touching story of the M'Clintock expedition, in the + dangers and dreadful glories of which he shared; and the writer was a + merchant captain. How many more are there (and, for the honor of England, + may there be many like him!)—gallant, accomplished, high-spirited, + enterprising masters of their noble profession! Can our fountain of Honor + not be brought to such men? It plays upon captains and colonels in seemly + profusion. It pours forth not illiberal rewards upon doctors and judges. + It sprinkles mayors and aldermen. It bedews a painter now and again. It + has spirited a baronetcy upon two, and bestowed a coronet upon one noble + man of letters. Diplomatists take their Bath in it as of right; and it + flings out a profusion of glittering stars upon the nobility of the three + kingdoms. Cannot Britannia find a ribbon for her sailors? The Navy, royal + or mercantile, is a Service. The command of a ship, or the conduct of her, + implies danger, honor, science, skill, subordination, good faith. It may + be a victory, such as that of the “Sarah Sands;” it may be discovery, such + as that of the “Fox;” it may be heroic disaster, such as that of the + “Birkenhead;” and in such events merchant seamen, as well as royal seamen, + take their share. + </p> + <p> + Why is there not, then, an Order of Britannia? One day a young officer of + the “Euryalus” * may win it; and, having just read the memoirs of LORD + DUNDONALD, I know who ought to have the first Grand Cross. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * Prince Alfred was serving on board the frigate “Euryalus” + when this was written. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON SOME LATE GREAT VICTORIES. + </h2> + <p> + On the 18th day of April last I went to see a friend in a neighboring + Crescent, and on the steps of the next house beheld a group something like + that here depicted. A newsboy had stopped in his walk, and was reading + aloud the journal which it was his duty to deliver; a pretty orange-girl, + with a heap of blazing fruit, rendered more brilliant by one of those + great blue papers in which oranges are now artfully wrapped, leant over + the railing and listened; and opposite the nympham discentem there was a + capering and acute-eared young satirist of a crossing-sweeper, who had + left his neighboring professional avocation and chance of profit, in order + to listen to the tale of the little newsboy. + </p> + <p> + That intelligent reader, with his hand following the line as he read it + out to his audience, was saying:—“And—now—Tom—coming + up smiling—after his fall—dee—delivered a rattling + clinker upon the Benicia Boy's—potato-trap—but was met by a—punisher + on the nose—which,” &c. &c.; or words to that effect. Betty + at 52 let me in, while the boy was reading his lecture and, having been + some twenty minutes or so in the house and paid my visit, I took leave. + </p> + <p> + The little lecturer was still at work on the 51 doorstep, and his audience + had scarcely changed their position. Having read every word of the battle + myself in the morning, I did not stay to listen further; but if the + gentleman who expected his paper at the usual hour that day experienced + delay and a little disappointment I shall not be surprised. + </p> + <p> + I am not going to expatiate on the battle. I have read in the + correspondent's letter of a Northern newspaper, that in the midst of the + company assembled the reader's humble servant was present, and in a very + polite society, too, of “poets, clergymen, men of letters, and members of + both Houses of Parliament.” If so, I must have walked to the station in my + sleep, paid three guineas in a profound fit of mental abstraction, and + returned to bed unconscious, for I certainly woke there about the time + when history relates that the fight was over. I do not know whose colors I + wore—the Benician's, or those of the Irish champion; nor remember + where the fight took place, which, indeed, no somnambulist is bound to + recollect. Ought Mr. Sayers to be honored for being brave, or punished for + being naughty? By the shade of Brutus the elder, I don't know. + </p> + <p> + In George II.'s time, there was a turbulent navy lieutenant (Handsome + Smith he was called—his picture is at Greenwich now, in brown + velvet, and gold and scarlet; his coat handsome, his waistcoat exceedingly + handsome; but his face by no means the beauty)—there was, I say, a + turbulent young lieutenant who was broke on a complaint of the French + ambassador, for obliging a French ship of war to lower her topsails to his + ship at Spithead. But, by the King's orders, Tom was next day made Captain + Smith. Well, if I were absolute king, I would send Tom Sayers to the mill + for a month, and make him Sir Thomas on coming out of Clerkenwell. You are + a naughty boy, Tom! but then, you know, we ought to love our brethren, + though ever so naughty. We are moralists, and reprimand you; and you are + hereby reprimanded accordingly. But in case England should ever have need + of a few score thousand champions, who laugh at danger; who cope with + giants; who, stricken to the ground, jump up and gayly rally, and fall, + and rise again, and strike, and die rather than yield—in case the + country should need such men, and you should know them, be pleased to send + lists of the misguided persons to the principal police stations, where + means may some day be found to utilize their wretched powers, and give + their deplorable energies a right direction. Suppose, Tom, that you and + your friends are pitted against an immense invader—suppose you are + bent on holding the ground, and dying there, if need be—suppose it + is life, freedom, honor, home, you are fighting for, and there is a death—dealing + sword or rifle in your hand, with which you are going to resist some + tremendous enemy who challenges your championship on your native shore? + Then, Sir Thomas, resist him to the death, and it is all right: kill him, + and heaven bless you. Drive him into the sea, and there destroy, smash, + and drown him; and let us sing Laudamus. In these national cases, you see, + we override the indisputable first laws of morals. Loving your neighbor is + very well, but suppose your neighbor comes over from Calais and Boulogne + to rob you of your laws, your liberties, your newspapers, your parliament + (all of which SOME dear neighbors of ours have given up in the most + self-denying manner): suppose any neighbor were to cross the water and + propose this kind of thing to us? Should we not be justified in humbly + trying to pitch him into the water? If it were the King of Belgium himself + we must do so. I mean that fighting, of course, is wrong; but that there + are occasions when, &c.—I suppose I mean that that one-handed + fight of Sayers is one of the most spirit-stirring little stories ever + told and, with every love and respect for Morality—my spirit says to + her, “Do, for goodness' sake, my dear madam, keep your true, and pure, and + womanly, and gentle remarks for another day. Have the great kindness to + stand a LEETLE aside, and just let us see one or two more rounds between + the men. That little man with the one hand powerless on his breast facing + yonder giant for hours, and felling him, too, every now and then! It is + the little 'Java' and the 'Constitution' over again.” + </p> + <p> + I think it is a most fortunate event for the brave Heenan, who has acted + and written since the battle with a true warrior's courtesy, and with a + great deal of good logic too, that the battle was a drawn one. The + advantage was all on Mr. Sayers's side. Say a young lad of sixteen insults + me in the street, and I try and thrash him, and do it. Well, I have + thrashed a young lad. You great, big tyrant, couldn't you hit one of your + own size? But say the lad thrashes me? In either case I walk away + discomfited: but in the latter, I am positively put to shame. Now, when + the ropes were cut from that death-grip, and Sir Thomas released, the + gentleman of Benicia was confessedly blind of one eye, and speedily + afterwards was blind of both. Could Mr. Savers have held out for three + minutes, for five minutes, for ten minutes more? He says he could. So we + say WE could have held out, and did, and had beaten off the enemy at + Waterloo, even if the Prussians hadn't come up. The opinions differ pretty + much according to the nature of the opinants. I say the Duke and Tom could + have held out, that they meant to hold out, that they did hold out, and + that there has been fistifying enough. That crowd which came in and + stopped the fight ought to be considered like one of those divine clouds + which the gods send in Homer: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Apollo shrouds + The godlike Trojan in a veil of clouds.” + </pre> + <p> + It is the best way of getting the godlike Trojan out of the scrape, don't + you see? The nodus is cut; Tom is out of chancery; the Benicia Boy not a + bit the worse, nay, better than if he had beaten the little man. He has + not the humiliation of conquest. He is greater, and will be loved more + hereafter by the gentle sex. Suppose he had overcome the godlike Trojan? + Suppose he had tied Tom's corpse to his cab-wheels, and driven to Farnham, + smoking the pipe of triumph? Faugh! the great hulking conqueror! Why did + you not hold your hand from yonder hero? Everybody, I say, was relieved by + that opportune appearance of the British gods, protectors of native valor, + who interfered, and “withdrew” their champion. + </p> + <p> + Now, suppose six-feet-two conqueror, and five-feet-eight beaten; would + Sayers have been a whit the less gallant and meritorious? If Sancho had + been allowed REALLY to reign in Barataria, I make no doubt that, with his + good sense and kindness of heart, he would have devised some means of + rewarding the brave vanquished, as well as the brave victors in the + Baratarian army, and that a champion who had fought a good fight would + have been a knight of King Don Sancho's orders, whatever the upshot of the + combat had been. Suppose Wellington overwhelmed on the plateau of Mont St. + John; suppose Washington attacked and beaten at Valley Forge—and + either supposition is quite easy—and what becomes of the heroes? + They would have been as brave, honest, heroic, wise; but their glory, + where would it have been? Should we have had their portraits hanging in + our chambers? have been familiar with their histories? have pondered over + their letters, common lives, and daily sayings? There is not only merit, + but luck which goes to making a hero out of a gentleman. Mind, please you, + I am not saying that the hero is after all not so very heroic; and have + not the least desire to grudge him his merit because of his good fortune. + </p> + <p> + Have you any idea whither this Roundabout Essay on some late great + victories is tending? Do you suppose that by those words I mean Trenton, + Brandywine, Salamanca, Vittoria, and so forth? By a great victory I can't + mean that affair at Farnham, for it was a drawn fight. Where, then, are + the victories, pray, and when are we coming to them? + </p> + <p> + My good sir, you will perceive that in this Nicaean discourse I have only + as yet advanced as far as this—that a hero, whether he wins or + loses, is a hero; and that if a fellow will but be honest and courageous, + and do his best, we are for paying all honor to him. Furthermore, it has + been asserted that Fortune has a good deal to do with the making of + heroes; and thus hinted for the consolation of those who don't happen to + be engaged in any stupendous victories, that, had opportunity so served, + they might have been heroes too. If you are not, friend, it is not your + fault, whilst I don't wish to detract from any gentleman's reputation who + is. There. My worst enemy can't take objection to that. The point might + have been put more briefly perhaps; but, if you please, we will not argue + that question. + </p> + <p> + Well, then. The victories which I wish especially to commemorate in this + paper, are the six great, complete, prodigious, and undeniable victories, + achieved by the corps which the editor of the Cornhill Magazine has the + honor to command. When I seemed to speak disparagingly but now of + generals, it was that chief I had in my I (if you will permit me the + expression). I wished him not to be elated by too much prosperity; I + warned him against assuming heroic imperatorial airs, and cocking his + laurels too jauntily over his ear. I was his conscience, and stood on the + splash-board of his triumph-car, whispering, “Hominem memento te.” As we + rolled along the way, and passed the weathercocks on the temples, I + saluted the symbol of the goddess Fortune with a reverent awe. “We have + done our little endeavor,” I said, bowing my head, “and mortals can do no + more. But we might have fought bravely and not won. We might have cast the + coin, calling, 'Head,' and lo! Tail might have come uppermost.” O thou + Ruler of Victories!—thou Awarder of Fame!—thou Giver of Crowns + (and shillings)—if thou hast smiled upon us, shall we not be + thankful? There is a Saturnine philosopher, standing at the door of his + book-shop, who, I fancy, has a pooh-pooh expression as the triumph passes. + (I can't see quite clearly for the laurels, which have fallen down over my + nose.) One hand is reining in the two white elephants that draw the car; I + raise the other hand up to—to the laurels, and pass on, waving him a + graceful recognition. Up the Hill of Ludgate—around the Pauline + Square—by the side of Chepe—until it reaches our own Hill of + Corn—the procession passes. The Imperator is bowing to the people; + the captains of the legions are riding round the car, their gallant minds + struck by the thought, “Have we not fought as well as yonder fellow, + swaggering in the chariot, and are we not as good as he?” Granted, with + all my heart, my dear lads. When your consulship arrives, may you be as + fortunate. When these hands, now growing old, shall lay down sword and + truncheon, may you mount the car, and ride to the temple of Jupiter. Be + yours the laurel then. Neque me myrtus dedecet, looking cosily down from + the arbor where I sit under the arched vine. + </p> + <p> + I fancy the Imperator standing on the steps of the temple (erected by + Titus) on the Mons Frumentarius, and addressing the citizens: “Quirites!” + he says, “in our campaign of six months, we have been engaged six times, + and in each action have taken near upon a HUNDRED THOUSAND PRISONERS. Go + to! What are other magazines compared to our magazine? (Sound, trumpeter!) + What banner is there like that of Cornhill? You, philosopher yonder!” (he + shirks under his mantle.) “Do you know what it is to have a hundred and + ten thousand readers? A hundred thousand readers? a hundred thousand + BUYERS!” (Cries of “No!”—“Pooh!” “Yes, upon my honor!” “Oh, come!” + and murmurs of applause and derision)—“I say more than a hundred + thousand purchasers—and I believe AS MUCH AS A MILLION readers!” + (Immense sensation.) “To these have we said an unkind word? We have + enemies; have we hit them an unkind blow? Have we sought to pursue party + aims, to forward private jobs, to advance selfish schemes? The only + persons to whom wittingly we have given pain are some who have volunteered + for our corps—and of these volunteers we have had THOUSANDS.” + (Murmurs and grumbles.) “What commander, citizens, could place all these + men!—could make officers of all these men?” (cries of “No—no!” + and laughter)—“could say, 'I accept this recruit, though he is too + short for our standard, because he is poor, and has a mother at home who + wants bread?' could enroll this other, who is too weak to bear arms, + because he says, 'Look, sir, I shall be stronger anon.' The leader of such + an army as ours must select his men, not because they are good and + virtuous, but because they are strong and capable. To these our ranks are + ever open, and in addition to the warriors who surround me”—(the + generals look proudly conscious)—“I tell you, citizens, that I am in + treaty with other and most tremendous champions, who will march by the + side of our veterans to the achievement of fresh victories. Now, blow, + trumpets! Bang, ye gongs! and drummers, drub the thundering skins! + Generals and chiefs, we go to sacrifice to the gods.” + </p> + <p> + Crowned with flowers, the captains enter the temple, the other Magazines + walking modestly behind them. The people huzza; and, in some instances, + kneel and kiss the fringes of the robes of the warriors. The Philosopher + puts up his shutters, and retires into his shop, deeply moved. In ancient + times, Pliny (apud Smith) relates it was the custom of the Imperator “to + paint his whole body a bright red;” and, also, on ascending the Hill, to + have some of the hostile chiefs led aside “to the adjoining prison, and + put to death.” We propose to dispense with both these ceremonies. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THORNS IN THE CUSHION. + </h2> + <p> + In the Essay with which this volume commences, the Cornhill Magazine was + likened to a ship sailing forth on her voyage, and the captain uttered a + very sincere prayer for her prosperity. The dangers of storm and rock, the + vast outlay upon ship and cargo, and the certain risk of the venture, gave + the chief officer a feeling of no small anxiety; for who could say from + what quarter danger might arise, and how his owner's property might be + imperilled? After a six months' voyage, we with very thankful hearts could + acknowledge our good fortune: and, taking up the apologue in the + Roundabout manner, we composed a triumphal procession in honor of the + Magazine, and imagined the Imperator thereof riding in a sublime car to + return thanks in the Temple of Victory. Cornhill is accustomed to grandeur + and greatness, and has witnessed, every ninth of November, for I don't + know how many centuries, a prodigious annual pageant, chariot, progress, + and flourish of trumpetry; and being so very near the Mansion House, I am + sure the reader will understand how the idea of pageant and procession + came naturally to my mind. The imagination easily supplied a gold coach, + eight cream-colored horses of your true Pegasus breed, huzzaing + multitudes, running footmen, and clanking knights in armor, a chaplain and + a sword-bearer with a muff on his head, scowling out of the coach-window, + and a Lord Mayor all crimson, fur, gold chain, and white ribbons, solemnly + occupying the place of state. A playful fancy could have carried the + matter farther, could have depicted the feast in the Egyptian Hall, the + Ministers, Chief Justices, and right reverend prelates taking their seats + round about his lordship, the turtle and other delicious viands, and Mr. + Toole behind the central throne, bawling out to the assembled guests and + dignitaries: “My Lord So-and-so, my Lord What-d'ye-call-'im, my Lord + Etcaetera, the Lord Mayor pledges you all in a loving-cup.” Then the noble + proceedings come to an end; Lord Simper proposes the ladies; the company + rises from table, and adjourns to coffee and muffins. The carriages of the + nobility and guests roll back to the West. The Egyptian Hall, so bright + just now, appears in a twilight glimmer, in which waiters are seen + ransacking the dessert, and rescuing the spoons. His lordship and the Lady + Mayoress go into their private apartments. The robes are doffed, the + collar and white ribbons are removed. The Mayor becomes a man, and is + pretty surely in a fluster about the speeches which he has just uttered; + remembering too well now, wretched creature, the principal points which he + DIDN'T make when he rose to speak. He goes to bed to headache, to care, to + repentance, and, I dare say, to a dose of something which his + body-physician has prescribed for him. And there are ever so many men in + the city who fancy that man happy! + </p> + <p> + Now, suppose that all through that 9th of November his lordship has had a + racking rheumatism, or a toothache, let us say, during all dinner-time—through + which he has been obliged to grin and mumble his poor old speeches. Is he + enviable? Would you like to change with his lordship? Suppose that bumper + which his golden footman brings him, instead i'fackins of ypocras or + canary, contains some abomination of senna? Away! Remove the golden + goblet, insidious cupbearer! You now begin to perceive the gloomy moral + which I am about to draw. + </p> + <p> + Last month we sang the song of glorification, and rode in the chariot of + triumph. It was all very well. It was right to huzza, and be thankful, and + cry, Bravo, our side! and besides, you know, there was the enjoyment of + thinking how pleased Brown, and Jones, and Robinson (our dear friends) + would be at this announcement of success. But now that the performance is + over, my good sir, just step into my private room, and see that it is not + all pleasure—this winning of successes. Cast your eye over those + newspapers, over those letters. See what the critics say of your harmless + jokes, neat little trim sentences, and pet waggeries! Why, you are no + better than an idiot; you are drivelling; your powers have left you; this + always overrated writer is rapidly sinking to, &c. + </p> + <p> + This is not pleasant; but neither is this the point. It may be the critic + is right, and the author wrong. It may be that the archbishop's sermon is + not so fine as some of those discourses twenty years ago which used to + delight the faithful in Granada. Or it may be (pleasing thought!) that the + critic is a dullard, and does not understand what he is writing about. + Everybody who has been to an exhibition has heard visitors discoursing + about the pictures before their faces. One says, “This is very well;” + another says, “This is stuff and rubbish;” another cries, “Bravo! this is + a masterpiece:” and each has a right to his opinion. For example, one of + the pictures I admired most at the Royal Academy is by a gentleman on whom + I never, to my knowledge, set eyes. This picture is No. 346, “Moses,” by + Mr. S. Solomon. I thought it had a great intention, I thought it finely + drawn and composed. It nobly represented, to my mind, the dark children of + the Egyptian bondage, and suggested the touching story. My newspaper says: + “Two ludicrously ugly women, looking at a dingy baby, do not form a + pleasing object;” and so good-by, Mr. Solomon. Are not most of our babies + served so in life? and doesn't Mr. Robinson consider Mr. Brown's cherub an + ugly, squalling little brat? So cheer up, Mr. S. S. It may be the critic + who discoursed on your baby is a bad judge of babies. When Pharaoh's kind + daughter found the child, and cherished and loved it, and took it home, + and found a nurse for it, too, I dare say there were grim, brick-dust + colored chamberlains, or some of the tough, old, meagre, yellow princesses + at court, who never had children themselves, who cried out, “Faugh! the + horrid little squalling wretch!” and knew he would never come to good; and + said, “Didn't I tell you so?” when he assaulted the Egyptian. + </p> + <p> + Never mind then, Mr. S. Solomon, I say, because a critic pooh-poohs your + work of art—your Moses—your child—your foundling. Why, + did not a wiseacre in Blackwood's Magazine lately fall foul of “Tom + Jones?” O hypercritic! So, to be sure, did good old Mr. Richardson, who + could write novels himself—but you, and I, and Mr. Gibbon, my dear + sir, agree in giving our respect, and wonder, and admiration, to the brave + old master. + </p> + <p> + In these last words I am supposing the respected reader to be endowed with + a sense of humor, which he may or may not possess; indeed, don't we know + many an honest man who can no more comprehend a joke than he can turn a + tune. But I take for granted, my dear sir, that you are brimming over with + fun—you mayn't make jokes, but you could if you would—you know + you could: and in your quiet way you enjoy them extremely. Now many people + neither make them, nor understand them when made, nor like them when + understood, and are suspicious, testy, and angry with jokers. Have you + ever watched an elderly male or female—an elderly “party,” so to + speak, who begins to find out that some young wag of the company is + “chaffing” him? Have you ever tried the sarcastic or Socratic method with + a child? Little simple he or she, in the innocence of the simple heart, + plays some silly freak, or makes some absurd remark, which you turn to + ridicule. The little creature dimly perceives that you are making fun of + him, writhes, blushes, grows uneasy, bursts into tears,—upon my word + it is not fair to try the weapon of ridicule upon that innocent young + victim. The awful objurgatory practice he is accustomed to. Point out his + fault, and lay bare the dire consequences thereof: expose it roundly, and + give him a proper, solemn, moral whipping—but do not attempt to + castigare ridendo. Do not laugh at him writhing, and cause all the other + boys in the school to laugh. Remember your own young days at school, my + friend—the tingling cheeks, burning ears, bursting heart, and + passion of desperate tears, with which you looked up, after having + performed some blunder, whilst the doctor held you to public scorn before + the class, and cracked his great clumsy jokes upon you—helpless, and + a prisoner! Better the block itself, and the lictors, with their fasces of + birch-twigs, than the maddening torture of those jokes! + </p> + <p> + Now with respect to jokes—and the present company of course excepted—many + people, perhaps most people, are as infants. They have little sense of + humor. They don't like jokes. Raillery in writing annoys and offends them. + The coarseness apart, I think I have met very, very few women who liked + the banter of Swift and Fielding. Their simple, tender natures revolt at + laughter. Is the satyr always a wicked brute at heart, and are they + rightly shocked at his grin, his leer, his horns, hoofs, and ears? Fi + donc, le vilain monstre, with his shrieks, and his capering crooked legs! + Let him go and get a pair of well-wadded black silk stockings, and pull + them over those horrid shanks; put a large gown and bands over beard and + hide; and pour a dozen of lavender-water into his lawn handkerchief, and + cry, and never make a joke again. It shall all be highly-distilled poesy, + and perfumed sentiment, and gushing eloquence; and the foot SHAN'T peep + out, and a plague take it. Cover it up with the surplice. Out with your + cambric, dear ladies, and let us all whimper together. + </p> + <p> + Now, then, hand on heart, we declare that it is not the fire of adverse + critics which afflicts or frightens the editorial bosom. They may be + right; they may be rogues who have a personal spite; they may be dullards + who kick and bray as their nature is to do, and prefer thistles to + pineapples; they may be conscientious, acute, deeply learned, delightful + judges, who see your joke in a moment, and the profound wisdom lying + underneath. Wise or dull, laudatory or otherwise, we put their opinions + aside. If they applaud, we are pleased: if they shake their quick pens, + and fly off with a hiss, we resign their favors and put on all the + fortitude we can muster. I would rather have the lowest man's good word + than his bad one, to be sure; but as for coaxing a compliment, or + wheedling him into good-humor, or stopping his angry mouth with a good + dinner, or accepting his contributions for a certain Magazine, for fear of + his barking or snapping elsewhere—allons donc! These shall not be + our acts. Bow-wow, Cerberus! Here shall be no sop for thee, unless—unless + Cerberus is an uncommonly good dog, when we shall bear no malice because + he flew at us from our neighbor's gate. + </p> + <p> + What, then, is the main grief you spoke of as annoying you—the + toothache in the Lord Mayor's jaw, the thorn in the cushion of the + editorial chair? It is there. Ah! it stings me now as I write. It comes + with almost every morning's post. At night I come home and take my letters + up to bed (not daring to open them), and in the morning I find one, two, + three thorns on my pillow. Three I extracted yesterday; two I found this + morning. They don't sting quite so sharply as they did; but a skin is a + skin, and they bite, after all, most wickedly. It is all very fine to + advertise on the Magazine, “Contributions are only to be sent to Messrs. + Smith, Elder and Co., and not to the Editor's private residence.” My dear + sir, how little you know man- or woman-kind, if you fancy they will take + that sort of warning! How am I to know, (though, to be sure, I begin to + know now,) as I take the letters off the tray, which of those envelopes + contains a real bona fide letter, and which a thorn? One of the best + invitations this year I mistook for a thorn-letter, and kept it without + opening. This is what I call a thorn-letter:— + </p> + <p> + “CAMBERWELL, June 4. + </p> + <p> + “SIR—May I hope, may I entreat, that you will favor me by perusing + the enclosed lines, and that they may be found worthy of insertion in the + Cornhill Magazine. We have known better days, sir. I have a sick and + widowed mother to maintain, and little brothers and sisters who look to + me. I do my utmost as a governess to support them. I toil at night when + they are at rest, and my own hand and brain are alike tired. If I could + add but a LITTLE to our means by my pen, many of my poor invalid's wants + might be supplied, and I could procure for her comforts to which she is + now a stranger. Heaven knows it is not for want of WILL or for want of + ENERGY on my part, that she is now in ill-health, and our little household + almost without bread. Do—do cast a kind glance over my poem, and if + you can help us, the widow, the orphans will bless you! I remain, sir, in + anxious expectancy, + </p> + <p> + “Your faithful servant, + </p> + <p> + “S. S. S.” + </p> + <p> + And enclosed is a little poem or two, and an envelope with its penny stamp—heaven + help us!—and the writer's name and address. + </p> + <p> + Now you see what I mean by a thorn. Here is the case put with true female + logic. “I am poor; I am good; I am ill; I work hard; I have a sick mother + and hungry brothers and sisters dependent on me. You can help us if you + will.” And then I look at the paper, with the thousandth part of a faint + hope that it may be suitable, and I find it won't do: and I knew it + wouldn't do: and why is this poor lady to appeal to my pity and bring her + poor little ones kneeling to my bedside, and calling for bread which I can + give them if I choose? No day passes but that argument ad misericordiam is + used. Day and night that sad voice is crying out for help. Thrice it + appealed to me yesterday. Twice this morning it cried to me: and I have no + doubt when I go to get my hat, I shall find it with its piteous face and + its pale family about it, waiting for me in the hall. One of the immense + advantages which women have over our sex is, that they actually like to + read these letters. Like letters? O mercy on us! Before I was an editor I + did not like the postman much:—but now! + </p> + <p> + A very common way with these petitioners is to begin with a fine flummery + about the merits and eminent genius of the person whom they are + addressing. But this artifice, I state publicly, is of no avail. When I + see THAT kind of herb, I know the snake within it, and fling it away + before it has time to sting. Away, reptile, to the waste-paper basket, and + thence to the flames! + </p> + <p> + But of these disappointed people, some take their disappointment and + meekly bear it. Some hate and hold you their enemy because you could not + be their friend. Some, furious and envious, say: “Who is this man who + refuses what I offer, and how dares he, the conceited coxcomb, to deny my + merit?” + </p> + <p> + Sometimes my letters contain not mere thorns, but bludgeons. How are two + choice slips from that noble Irish oak, which has more than once supplied + alpeens for this meek and unoffending skull:— + </p> + <p> + “THEATRE ROYAL, DONNYBROOK. + </p> + <p> + “SIR,—I have just finished reading the first portion of your Tale, + Lovel the Widower, and am much surprised at the unwarrantable strictures + you pass therein on the corps de ballet. + </p> + <p> + “I have been for more than ten years connected with the theatrical + profession, and I beg to assure you that the majority of the corps de + ballet are virtuous, well-conducted girls, and, consequently, that snug + cottages are not taken for them in the Regent's Park. + </p> + <p> + “I also have to inform you that theatrical managers are in the habit of + speaking good English, possibly better English than authors. + </p> + <p> + “You either know nothing of the subject in question, or you assert a + wilful falsehood. + </p> + <p> + “I am happy to say that the characters of the corps de ballet, as also + those of actors and actresses, are superior to the snarlings of dyspeptic + libellers, or the spiteful attacks and brutum fulmen of ephemeral authors. + </p> + <p> + “I am, sir, your obedient servant, + </p> + <p> + “A. B. C.” + </p> + <p> + The Editor of the Cornhill Magazine. + </p> + <p> + “THEATRE ROYAL, DONNYBROOK. + </p> + <p> + “SIR,—I have just read in the Cornhill Magazine for January, the + first portion of a Tale written by you, and entitled Lovel the Widower. + </p> + <p> + “In the production in question you employ all your malicious spite (and + you have great capabilities that way) in trying to degrade the character + of the corps de ballet. When you imply that the majority of ballet-girls + have villas taken for them in the Regent's Park, I SAY YOU TELL A + DELIBERATE FALSEHOOD. + </p> + <p> + “Haveing been brought up to the stage from infancy, and though now an + actress, haveing been seven years principal dancer at the opera, I am + competent to speak on the subject. I am only surprised that so vile a + libeller as yourself should be allowed to preside at the Dramatic Fund + dinner on the 22nd instant. I think it would be much better if you were to + reform your own life, instead of telling lies of those who are + immeasurably your superiors. + </p> + <p> + “Yours in supreme disgust, + </p> + <p> + “A. D.” + </p> + <p> + The signatures of the respected writers are altered, and for the site of + their Theatre Royal an adjacent place is named, which (as I may have been + falsely informed) used to be famous for quarrels, thumps, and broken + heads. But, I say, is this an easy chair to sit on, when you are liable to + have a pair of such shillelaghs flung at it? And, prithee, what was all + the quarrel about? In the little history of “Lovel the Widower” I + described, and brought to condign punishment, a certain wretch of a + ballet-dancer, who lived splendidly for a while on ill-gotten gains, had + an accident, and lost her beauty, and died poor, deserted, ugly, and every + way odious. In the same page, other little ballet-dancers are described, + wearing homely clothing, doing their duty, and carrying their humble + savings to the family at home. But nothing will content my dear + correspondents but to have me declare that the majority of ballet-dancers + have villas in the Regent's Park, and to convict me of “deliberate + falsehood.” Suppose, for instance, I had chosen to introduce a red-haired + washerwoman into a story? I might get an expostulatory letter saying, + “Sir, in stating that the majority of washerwomen are red-haired, you are + a liar! and you had best not speak of ladies who are immeasurably your + superiors.” Or suppose I had ventured to describe an illiterate + haberdasher? One of the craft might write to me, “Sir, in describing + haberdashers as illiterate, you utter a wilful falsehood. Haberdashers use + much better English than authors.” It is a mistake, to be sure. I have + never said what my correspondents say I say. There is the text under their + noses, but what if they choose to read it their own way? “Hurroo, lads! + here's for a fight. There's a bald head peeping out of the hut. There's a + bald head! It must be Tim Malone's.” And whack! come down both the + bludgeons at once. + </p> + <p> + Ah me! we wound where we never intended to strike; we create anger where + we never meant harm; and these thoughts are the thorns in our Cushion. Out + of mere malignity, I suppose, there is no man who would like to make + enemies. But here, in this editorial business, you can't do otherwise: and + a queer, sad, strange, bitter thought it is, that must cross the mind of + many a public man: “Do what I will, be innocent or spiteful, be generous + or cruel, there are A and B, and C and D, who will hate me to the end of + the chapter—to the chapter's end—to the Finis of the page—when + hate, and envy, and fortune, and disappointment shall be over.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON SCREENS IN DINING-ROOMS. + </h2> + <p> + A grandson of the late Rev. Dr. Primrose (of Wakefield, vicar) wrote me a + little note from his country living this morning, and the kind fellow had + the precaution to write “No thorn” upon the envelope, so that, ere I broke + the seal, my mind might be relieved of any anxiety lest the letter should + contain one of those lurking stabs which are so painful to the present + gentle writer. Your epigraph, my dear P., shows your kind and artless + nature; but don't you see it is of no use? People who are bent upon + assassinating you in the manner mentioned will write “No thorn” upon their + envelopes too; and you open the case, and presently out flies a poisoned + stiletto, which springs into a man's bosom, and makes the wretch howl with + anguish. When the bailiffs are after a man, they adopt all sorts of + disguises, pop out on him from all conceivable corners, and tap his + miserable shoulders. His wife is taken ill; his sweetheart, who remarked + his brilliant, too brilliant appearance at the Hyde Park review, will meet + him at Cremorne, or where you will. The old friend who has owed him that + money these five years will meet him at so-and-so and pay. By one bait or + other the victim is hooked, netted, landed, and down goes the basket-lid. + It is not your wife, your sweetheart, your friend who is going to pay you. + It is Mr. Nab the bailiff. YOU know—you are caught. You are off in a + cab to Chancery Lane. + </p> + <p> + You know, I say? WHY should you know? I make no manner of doubt you never + were taken by a bailiff in your life. I never was. I have been in two or + three debtors' prisons, but not on my own account. Goodness be praised! I + mean you can't escape your lot; and Nab only stands here metaphorically as + the watchful, certain, and untiring officer of Mr. Sheriff Fate. Why, my + dear Primrose, this morning along with your letter comes another, bearing + the well-known superscription of another old friend, which I open without + the least suspicion, and what do I find? A few lines from my friend + Johnson, it is true, but they are written on a page covered with feminine + handwriting. “Dear Mr. Johnson,” says the writer, “I have just been + perusing with delight a most charming tale by the Archbishop of Cambray. + It is called 'Telemachus;' and I think it would be admirably suited to the + Cornhill Magazine. As you know the Editor, will you have the great + kindness, dear Mr. Johnson, to communicate with him PERSONALLY (as that is + much better than writing in a roundabout way to the Publishers, and + waiting goodness knows how long for an answer), and state my readiness to + translate this excellent and instructive story. I do not wish to breathe A + WORD against 'Lovel Parsonage,' 'Framley the Widower,' or any of the + novels which have appeared in the Cornhill Magazine, but I AM SURE + 'Telemachus' is as good as new to English readers, and in point of + interest and morality far,” &c. &c. &c. + </p> + <p> + There it is. I am stabbed through Johnson. He has lent himself to this + attack on me. He is weak about women. Other strong men are. He submits to + the common lot, poor fellow. In my reply I do not use a word of + unkindness. I write him back gently, that I fear “Telemachus” won't suit + us. He can send the letter on to his fair correspondent. But however soft + the answer, I question whether the wrath will be turned away. Will there + not be a coolness between him and the lady? and is it not possible that + henceforth her fine eyes will look with darkling glances upon the pretty + orange cover of our Magazine? + </p> + <p> + Certain writers, they say, have a bad opinion of women. Now am I very + whimsical in supposing that this disappointed candidate will be hurt at + her rejection, and angry or cast down according to her nature? “Angry, + indeed!” says Juno, gathering up her purple robes and royal raiment. + “Sorry, indeed!” cries Minerva, lacing on her corselet again, and scowling + under her helmet. (I imagine the well-known Apple case has just been + argued and decided.) “Hurt, forsooth! Do you suppose WE care for the + opinion of that hobnailed lout of a Paris? Do you suppose that I, the + Goddess of Wisdom, can't make allowances for mortal ignorance, and am so + base as to bear malice against a poor creature who knows no better? You + little know the goddess nature when you dare to insinuate that our divine + minds are actuated by motives so base. A love of justice influences US. We + are above mean revenge. We are too magnanimous to be angry at the award of + such a judge in favor of such a creature.” And rustling out their skirts, + the ladies walk away together. This is all very well. You are bound to + believe them. They are actuated by no hostility: not they. They bear no + malice—of course not. But when the Trojan war occurs presently, + which side will they take? Many brave souls will be sent to Hades. Hector + will perish. Poor old Priam's bald numskull will be cracked, and Troy town + will burn, because Paris prefers golden-haired Venus to ox-eyed Juno and + gray-eyed Minerva. + </p> + <p> + The last Essay of this Roundabout Series, describing the griefs and + miseries of the editorial chair, was written, as the kind reader will + acknowledge, in a mild and gentle, not in a warlike or satirical spirit. I + showed how cudgels were applied; but surely, the meek object of + persecution hit no blows in return. The beating did not hurt much, and the + person assaulted could afford to keep his good-humor; indeed, I admired + that brave though illogical little actress, of the T. R. D-bl-n, for her + fiery vindication of her profession's honor. I assure her I had no + intention to tell l—s—well, let us say monosyllables—about + my superiors: and I wish her nothing but well, and when Macmahon (or shall + it be Mulligan?) Roi d'Irlande ascends his throne, I hope she may be + appointed professor of English to the princesses of the royal house. Nuper—in + former days—I too have militated; sometimes, as I now think, + unjustly; but always, I vow, without personal rancor. Which of us has not + idle words to recall, flippant jokes to regret? Have you never committed + an imprudence? Have you never had a dispute, and found out that you were + wrong? So much the worse for you. Woe be to the man qui croit toujours + avoir raison. His anger is not a brief madness, but a permanent mania. His + rage is not a fever-fit, but a black poison inflaming him, distorting his + judgment, disturbing his rest, embittering his cup, gnawing at his + pleasures, causing him more cruel suffering than ever he can inflict on + his enemy. O la belle morale! As I write it, I think about one or two + little affairs of my own. There is old Dr. Squaretoso (he certainly was + very rude to me, and that's the fact); there is Madame Pomposa (and + certainly her ladyship's behavior was about as cool as cool could be). + Never mind, old Squaretoso: never mind, Madame Pomposa! Here is a hand. + Let us be friends as we once were, and have no more of this rancor. + </p> + <p> + I had hardly sent that last Roundabout Paper to the printer (which, I + submit, was written in a pacable and not unchristian frame of mind), when + Saturday came, and with it, of course, my Saturday Review. I remember at + New York coming down to breakfast at the hotel one morning, after a + criticism had appeared in the New York Herald, in which an Irish writer + had given me a dressing for a certain lecture on Swift. Ah my dear little + enemy of the T. R, D., what were the cudgels in YOUR little billet-doux + compared to those noble New York shillelaghs? All through the Union, the + literary sons of Erin have marched alpeen-stock in hand, and in every city + of the States they call each other and everybody else the finest names. + Having come to breakfast, then, in the public room, I sit down, and see—that + the nine people opposite have all got New York Heralds in their hands. One + dear little lady, whom I knew, and who sat opposite, gave a pretty blush, + and popped her paper under the tablecloth. I told her I had had my + whipping already in my own private room, and begged her to continue her + reading. I may have undergone agonies, you see, but every man who has been + bred at an English public school comes away from a private interview with + Dr. Birch with a calm, even a smiling face. And this is not impossible, + when you are prepared. You screw your courage up—you go through the + business. You come back and take your seat on the form, showing not the + least symptom of uneasiness or of previous unpleasantries. But to be + caught suddenly up, and whipped in the bosom of your family—to sit + down to breakfast, and cast your innocent eye on a paper, and find, before + you are aware, that the Saturday Monitor or Black Monday Instructor has + hoisted you and is laying on—that is indeed a trial. Or perhaps the + family has looked at the dreadful paper beforehand, and weakly tries to + hide it. “Where is the Instructor, or the Monitor?” say you. “Where is + that paper?” says mamma to one of the young ladies. Lucy hasn't it. Fanny + hasn't seen it. Emily thinks that the governess has it. At last, out it is + brought, that awful paper! Papa is amazingly tickled with the article on + Thomson; thinks that show up of Johnson is very lively; and now—heaven + be good to us!—he has come to the critique on himself:—“Of all + the rubbish which we have had from Mr. Tomkins, we do protest and vow that + this last cartload is” &c. Ah, poor Tomkins!—but most of all, + ah! poor Mrs. Tomkins, and poor Emily, and Fanny, and Lucy, who have to + sit by and see paterfamilias put to the torture! + </p> + <p> + Now, on this eventful Saturday, I did not cry, because it was not so much + the Editor as the Publisher of the Cornhill Magazine who was brought out + for a dressing; and it is wonderful how gallantly one bears the + misfortunes of one's friends. That a writer should be taken to task about + his books, is fair, and he must abide the praise or the censure. But that + a publisher should be criticised for his dinners, and for the conversation + which did NOT take place there,—is this tolerable press practice, + legitimate joking, or honorable warfare? I have not the honor to know my + next-door neighbor, but I make no doubt that he receives his friends at + dinner; I see his wife and children pass constantly; I even know the + carriages of some of the people who call upon him, and could tell their + names. Now, suppose his servants were to tell mine what the doings are + next door, who comes to dinner, what is eaten and said, and I were to + publish an account of these transactions in a newspaper, I could assuredly + get money for the report; but ought I to write it, and what would you + think of me for doing so? + </p> + <p> + And suppose, Mr. Saturday Reviewer—you censor morum, you who pique + yourself (and justly and honorably in the main) upon your character of + gentleman, as well as of writer, suppose, not that you yourself invent and + indite absurd twaddle about gentlemen's private meetings and transactions, + but pick this wretched garbage out of a New York street, and hold it up + for your readers' amusement—don't you think, my friend, that you + might have been better employed? Here, in my Saturday Review, and in an + American paper subsequently sent to me, I light, astonished, on an account + of the dinners of my friend and publisher, which are described as + “tremendously heavy,” of the conversation (which does not take place), and + of the guests assembled at the table. I am informed that the proprietor of + the Cornhill, and the host on these occasions, is “a very good man, but + totally unread;” and that on my asking him whether Dr. Johnson was dining + behind the screen, he said, “God bless my soul, my dear sir, there's no + person by the name of Johnson here, nor any one behind the screen,” and + that a roar of laughter cut him short. I am informed by the same New York + correspondent that I have touched up a contributor's article; that I once + said to a literary gentleman, who was proudly pointing to an anonymous + article as his writing, “Ah! I thought I recognized YOUR HOOF in it.” I am + told by the same authority that the Cornhill Magazine “shows symptoms of + being on the wane,” and having sold nearly a hundred thousand copies, he + (the correspondent) “should think forty thousand was now about the mark.” + Then the graceful writer passes on to the dinners, at which it appears the + Editor of the Magazine “is the great gun, and comes out with all the + geniality in his power.” + </p> + <p> + Now suppose this charming intelligence is untrue? Suppose the publisher + (to recall the words of my friend the Dublin actor of last month) is a + gentleman to the full as well informed as those whom he invites to his + table? Suppose he never made the remark, beginning—“God bless my + soul, my dear sir,” nor anything resembling it? Suppose nobody roared with + laughing? Suppose the Editor of the Cornhill Magazine never “touched up” + one single line of the contribution which bears “marks of his hand?” + Suppose he never said to any literary gentleman, “I recognized YOUR HOOF” + in any periodical whatever? Suppose the 40,000 subscribers, which the + writer to New York “considered to be about the mark,” should be between + 90,000 and 100,000 (and as he will have figures, there they are)? Suppose + this back-door gossip should be utterly blundering and untrue, would any + one wonder? Ah! if we had only enjoyed the happiness to number this writer + among the contributors to our Magazine, what a cheerfulness and easy + confidence his presence would impart to our meetings! He would find that + “poor Mr. Smith” had heard that recondite anecdote of Dr. Johnson behind + the screen; and as for “the great gun of those banquets,” with what + geniality should not I “come out” if I had an amiable companion close by + me, dotting down my conversation for the New York Times! + </p> + <p> + Attack our books, Mr. Correspondent, and welcome. They are fair subjects + for just censure or praise. But woe be to you, if you allow private + rancors or animosities to influence you in the discharge of your public + duty. In the little court where you are paid to sit as judge, as critic, + you owe it to your employers, to your conscience, to the honor of your + calling, to deliver just sentences; and you shall have to answer to heaven + for your dealings, as surely as my Lord Chief Justice on the Bench. The + dignity of letters, the honor of the literary calling, the slights put by + haughty and unthinking people upon literary men,—don't we hear + outcries upon these subjects raised daily? As dear Sam Johnson sits behind + the screen, too proud to show his threadbare coat and patches among the + more prosperous brethren of his trade, there is no want of dignity in HIM, + in that homely image of labor ill-rewarded, genius as yet unrecognized, + independence sturdy and uncomplaining. But Mr. Nameless, behind the + publisher's screen uninvited, peering at the company and the meal, + catching up scraps of the jokes, and noting down the guests' behavior and + conversation,—what a figure his is! Allons, Mr. Nameless! Put up + your note-book; walk out of the hall; and leave gentlemen alone who would + be private, and wish you no harm. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TUNBRIDGE TOYS. + </h2> + <p> + I wonder whether those little silver pencil-cases with a movable almanac + at the butt-end are still favorite implements with boys, and whether + pedlers still hawk them about the country? Are there pedlers and hawkers + still, or are rustics and children grown too sharp to deal with them? + Those pencil-cases, as far as my memory serves me, were not of much use. + The screw, upon which the movable almanac turned, was constantly getting + loose. The 1 of the table would work from its moorings, under Tuesday or + Wednesday, as the case might be, and you would find, on examination, that + Th. or W. was the 23 1/2 of the month (which was absurd on the face of the + thing), and in a word your cherished pencil-case an utterly unreliable + time-keeper. Nor was this a matter of wonder. Consider the position of a + pencil-case in a boy's pocket. You had hard-bake in it; marbles, kept in + your purse when the money was all gone; your mother's purse, knitted so + fondly and supplied with a little bit of gold, long since—prodigal + little son!—scattered amongst the swine—I mean amongst + brandy-balls, open tarts, three-cornered puffs, and similar abominations. + You had a top and string; a knife; a piece of cobbler's wax; two or three + bullets; a Little Warbler; and I, for my part, remember, for a + considerable period, a brass-barrelled pocket-pistol (which would fire + beautifully, for with it I shot off a button from Butt Major's jacket);—with + all these things, and ever so many more, clinking and rattling in your + pockets, and your hands, of course, keeping them in perpetual movement, + how could you expect your movable almanac not to be twisted out of its + place now and again—your pencil-case to be bent—your liquorice + water not to leak out of your bottle over the cobbler's wax, your + bull's-eyes not to ram up the lock and barrel of your pistol, and so + forth. + </p> + <p> + In the month of June, thirty-seven years ago, I bought one of those + pencil-cases from a boy whom I shall call Hawker, and who was in my form. + Is he dead? Is he a millionnaire? Is he a bankrupt now? He was an immense + screw at school, and I believe to this day that the value of the thing for + which I owed and eventually paid three-and-sixpence, was in reality not + one-and-nine. + </p> + <p> + I certainly enjoyed the case at first a good deal, and amused myself with + twiddling round the movable calendar. But this pleasure wore off. The + jewel, as I said, was not paid for, and Hawker, a large and violent boy, + was exceedingly unpleasant as a creditor. His constant remark was, “When + are you going to pay me that three-and-sixpence? What sneaks your + relations must be? They come to see you. You go out to them on Saturdays + and Sundays, and they never give you anything! Don't tell ME, you little + humbug!” and so forth. The truth is that my relations were respectable; + but my parents were making a tour in Scotland; and my friends in London, + whom I used to go and see, were most kind to me, certainly, but somehow + never tipped me. That term, of May to August, 1823, passed in agonies + then, in consequence of my debt to Hawker. What was the pleasure of a + calendar pencil-case in comparison with the doubt and torture of mind + occasioned by the sense of the debt, and the constant reproach of that + fellow's scowling eyes and gloomy, coarse reminders? How was I to pay off + such a debt out of sixpence a week? ludicrous! Why did not some one come + to see me, and tip me? Ah! my dear sir, if you have any little friends at + school, go and see them, and do the natural thing by them. You won't miss + the sovereign. You don't know what a blessing it will be to them. Don't + fancy they are too old—try 'em. And they will remember you, and + bless you in future days; and their gratitude shall accompany your dreary + after life; and they shall meet you kindly when thanks for kindness are + scant. O mercy! shall I ever forget that sovereign you gave me, Captain + Bob? or the agonies of being in debt to Hawker? In that very term, a + relation of mine was going to India. I actually was fetched from school in + order to take leave of him. I am afraid I told Hawker of this + circumstance. I own I speculated upon my friend's giving me a pound. A + pound? Pooh! A relation going to India, and deeply affected at parting + from his darling kinsman, might give five pounds to the dear fellow! . . . + There was Hawker when I came back—of course there he was. As he + looked in my scared face, his turned livid with rage. He muttered curses, + terrible from the lips of so young a boy. My relation, about to cross the + ocean to fill a lucrative appointment, asked me with much interest about + my progress at school, heard me construe a passage of Eutropius, the + pleasing Latin work on which I was then engaged; gave me a God bless you, + and sent me back to school; upon my word of honor, without so much as a + half-crown! It is all very well, my dear sir, to say that boys contract + habits of expecting tips from their parents' friends, that they become + avaricious, and so forth. Avaricious! fudge! Boys contract habits of tart + and toffee eating, which they do not carry into after life. On the + contrary, I wish I DID like 'em. What raptures of pleasure one could have + now for five shillings, if one could but pick it off the pastry-cook's + tray! No. If you have any little friends at school, out with your + half-crowns, my friend, and impart to those little ones the little + fleeting joys of their age. + </p> + <p> + Well, then. At the beginning of August, 1823, Bartlemy-tide holidays came, + and I was to go to my parents, who were at Tunbridge Wells. My place in + the coach was taken by my tutor's servants—“Bolt-in-Tun,” Fleet + Street, seven o'clock in the morning, was the word. My Tutor, the Rev. + Edward P——, to whom I hereby present my best compliments, had + a parting interview with me: gave me my little account for my governor: + the remaining part of the coach-hire; five shillings for my own expenses; + and some five-and-twenty shillings on an old account which had been + overpaid, and was to be restored to my family. + </p> + <p> + Away I ran and paid Hawker his three-and-six. Ouf! what a weight it was + off my mind! (He was a Norfolk boy, and used to go home from Mrs. Nelson's + “Bell Inn,” Aldgate—but that is not to the point.) The next morning, + of course, we were an hour before the time. I and another boy shared a + hackney-coach; two-and-six: porter for putting luggage on coach, + threepence. I had no more money of my own left. Rasherwell, my companion, + went into the “Bolt-in-Tun” coffee-room, and had a good breakfast. I + couldn't; because, though I had five-and-twenty shillings of my parents' + money, I had none of my own, you see. + </p> + <p> + I certainly intended to go without breakfast, and still remember how + strongly I had that resolution in my mind. But there was that hour to + wait. A beautiful August morning—I am very hungry. There is + Rasherwell “tucking” away in the coffee-room. I pace the street, as sadly + almost as if I had been coming to school, not going thence. I turn into a + court by mere chance—I vow it was by mere chance—and there I + see a coffee-shop with a placard in the window, Coffee, Twopence. Round of + buttered toast, Twopence. And here am I, hungry, penniless, with + five-and-twenty shillings of my parents' money in my pocket. + </p> + <p> + What would you have done? You see I had had my money, and spent it in that + pencil-case affair. The five-and-twenty shillings were a trust—by me + to be handed over. + </p> + <p> + But then would my parents wish their only child to be actually without + breakfast? Having this money, and being so hungry, so VERY hungry, + mightn't I take ever so little? Mightn't I at home eat as much as I chose? + </p> + <p> + Well, I went into the coffee-shop, and spent fourpence. I remember the + taste of the coffee and toast to this day—a peculiar, muddy, + not-sweet-enough, most fragrant coffee—a rich, rancid, yet + not-buttered-enough delicious toast. The waiter had nothing. At any rate, + fourpence I know was the sum I spent. And the hunger appeased, I got on + the coach a guilty being. + </p> + <p> + At the last stage,—what is its name? I have forgotten in + seven-and-thirty years,—there is an inn with a little green and + trees before it; and by the trees there is an open carriage. It is our + carriage. Yes, there are Prince and Blucher, the horses; and my parents in + the carriage. Oh! how I had been counting the days until this one came! + Oh! how happy had I been to see them yesterday! But there was that + fourpence. All the journey down the toast had choked me, and the coffee + poisoned me. + </p> + <p> + I was in such a state of remorse about the fourpence, that I forgot the + maternal joy and caresses, the tender paternal voice. I pull out the + twenty-four shillings and eightpence with a trembling hand. + </p> + <p> + “Here's your money,” I gasp out, “which Mr. P—— owes you, all + but fourpence. I owed three-and-sixpence to Hawker out of my money for a + pencil-case, and I had none left, and I took fourpence of yours, and had + some coffee at a shop.” + </p> + <p> + I suppose I must have been choking whilst uttering this confession. + </p> + <p> + “My dear boy,” says the governor, “why didn't you go and breakfast at the + hotel?” + </p> + <p> + “He must be starved,” says my mother. + </p> + <p> + I had confessed; I had been a prodigal; I had been taken back to my + parents' arms again. It was not a very great crime as yet, or a very long + career of prodigality; but don't we know that a boy who takes a pin which + is not his own, will take a thousand pounds when occasion serves, bring + his parents' gray heads with sorrow to the grave, and carry his own to the + gallows? Witness the career of Dick Idle, upon whom our friend Mr. Sala + has been discoursing. Dick only began by playing pitch-and-toss on a + tombstone: playing fair, for what we know: and even for that sin he was + promptly caned by the beadle. The bamboo was ineffectual to cane that + reprobate's bad courses out of him. From pitch-and-toss he proceeded to + manslaughter if necessary: to highway robbery; to Tyburn and the rope + there. Ah! heaven be thanked, my parents' heads are still above the grass, + and mine still out of the noose. + </p> + <p> + As I look up from my desk, I see Tunbridge Wells Common and the rocks, the + strange familiar place which I remember forty years ago. Boys saunter over + the green with stumps and cricket-bats. Other boys gallop by on the + riding-master's hacks. I protest it is Cramp, Riding master, as it used to + be in the reign of George IV., and that Centaur Cramp must be at least a + hundred years old. Yonder comes a footman with a bundle of novels from the + library. Are they as good as OUR novels? Oh! how delightful they were! + Shades of Valancour, awful ghost of Manfroni, how I shudder at your + appearance! Sweet image of Thaddeus of Warsaw, how often has this almost + infantile hand tried to depict you in a Polish cap and richly embroidered + tights! And as for Corinthian Tom in light blue pantaloons and Hessians, + and Jerry Hawthorn from the country, can all the fashion, can all the + splendor of real life which these eyes have subsequently beheld, can all + the wit I have heard or read in later times, compare with your fashion, + with your brilliancy, with your delightful grace, and sparkling vivacious + rattle? + </p> + <p> + Who knows? They MAY have kept those very books at the library still—at + the well-remembered library on the Pantiles, where they sell that + delightful, useful Tunbridge ware. I will go and see. I went my way to the + Pantiles, the queer little old-world Pantiles, where, a hundred years + since, so much good company came to take its pleasure. Is it possible, + that in the past century, gentlefolks of the first rank (as I read lately + in a lecture on George II. in the Cornhill Magazine) assembled here and + entertained each other with gaming, dancing, fiddling, and tea? There are + fiddlers, harpers, and trumpeters performing at this moment in a weak + little old balcony, but where is the fine company? Where are the earls, + duchesses, bishops, and magnificent embroidered gamesters? A half-dozen of + children and their nurses are listening to the musicians; an old lady or + two in a poke bonnet passes, and for the rest, I see but an uninteresting + population of native tradesmen. As for the library, its window is full of + pictures of burly theologians, and their works, sermons, apologues, and so + forth. Can I go in and ask the young ladies at the counters for “Manfroni, + or the One-Handed Monk,” and “Life in London, or the Adventures of + Corinthian Tom, Jeremiah Hawthorn, Esq., and their friend Bob Logic?”—absurd. + I turn away abashed from the casement—from the Pantiles—no + longer Pantiles, but Parade. I stroll over the Common and survey the + beautiful purple hills around, twinkling with a thousand bright villas, + which have sprung up over this charming ground since first I saw it. What + an admirable scene of peace and plenty! What a delicious air breathes over + the heath, blows the cloud shadows across it, and murmurs through the + full-clad trees! Can the world show a land fairer, richer, more cheerful? + I see a portion of it when I look up from the window at which I write. But + fair scene, green woods, bright terraces gleaming in sunshine, and purple + clouds swollen with summer rain—nay, the very pages over which my + head bends—disappear from before my eyes. They are looking + backwards, back into forty years off, into a dark room, into a little + house hard by on the Common here, in the Bartlemy-tide holidays. The + parents have gone to town for two days: the house is all his own, his own + and a grim old maid-servant's, and a little boy is seated at night in the + lonely drawing-room, poring over “Manfroni, or the One-Handed Monk,” so + frightened that he scarcely dares to turn round. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DE JUVENTUTE. + </h2> + <p> + Our last paper of this veracious and roundabout series related to a period + which can only be historical to a great number of readers of this + Magazine. Four I saw at the station to-day with orange-covered books in + their hands, who can but have known George IV. by books, and statues, and + pictures. Elderly gentlemen were in their prime, old men in their middle + age, when he reigned over us. His image remains on coins; on a picture or + two hanging here and there in a Club or old-fashioned dining-room; on + horseback, as at Trafalgar Square, for example, where I defy any monarch + to look more uncomfortable. He turns up in sundry memoirs and histories + which have been published of late days; in Mr. Massey's “History;” in the + “Buckingham and Grenville Correspondence;” and gentlemen who have accused + a certain writer of disloyalty are referred to those volumes to see + whether the picture drawn of George is overcharged. Charon has paddled him + off; he has mingled with the crowded republic of the dead. His effigy + smiles from a canvas or two. Breechless he bestrides his steed in + Trafalgar Square. I believe he still wears his robes at Madame Tussaud's + (Madame herself having quitted Baker Street and life, and found him she + modelled t'other side the Stygian stream). On the head of a five-shilling + piece we still occasionally come upon him, with St. George, the + dragon-slayer, on the other side of the coin. Ah me! did this George slay + many dragons? Was he a brave, heroic champion, and rescuer of virgins? + Well! well! have you and I overcome all the dragons that assail US? come + alive and victorious out of all the caverns which we have entered in life, + and succored, at risk of life and limb, all poor distressed persons in + whose naked limbs the dragon Poverty is about to fasten his fangs, whom + the dragon Crime is poisoning with his horrible breath, and about to + crunch up and devour? O my royal liege! O my gracious prince and warrior! + YOU a champion to fight that monster? Your feeble spear ever pierce that + slimy paunch or plated back? See how the flames come gurgling out of his + red-hot brazen throat! What a roar! Nearer and nearer he trails, with eyes + flaming like the lamps of a railroad engine. How he squeals, rushing out + through the darkness of his tunnel! Now he is near. Now he is HERE. And + now—what?—lance, shield, knight, feathers, horse and all? O + horror, horror! Next day, round the monster's cave, there lie a few bones + more. You, who wish to keep yours in your skins, be thankful that you are + not called upon to go out and fight dragons. Be grateful that they don't + sally out and swallow you. Keep a wise distance from their caves, lest you + pay too dearly for approaching them. Remember that years passed, and whole + districts were ravaged, before the warrior came who was able to cope with + the devouring monster. When that knight DOES make his appearance, with all + my heart let us go out and welcome him with our best songs, huzzas, and + laurel wreaths, and eagerly recognize his valor and victory. But he comes + only seldom. Countless knights were slain before St. George won the + battle. In the battle of life are we all going to try for the honors of + championship? If we can do our duty, if we can keep our place pretty + honorably through the combat, let us say, Laus Deo! at the end of it, as + the firing ceases, and the night falls over the field. + </p> + <p> + The old were middle-aged, the elderly were in their prime, then, thirty + years since, when yon royal George was still fighting the dragon. As for + you, my pretty lass, with your saucy hat and golden tresses tumbled in + your net, and you, my spruce young gentleman in your mandarin's cap (the + young folks at the country-place where I am staying are so attired), your + parents were unknown to each other, and wore short frocks and short + jackets, at the date of this five-shilling piece. Only to-day I met a + dog-cart crammed with children—children with moustaches and mandarin + caps—children with saucy hats and hair-nets—children in short + frocks and knickerbockers (surely the prettiest boy's dress that has + appeared these hundred years)—children from twenty years of age to + six; and father, with mother by his side, driving in front—and on + father's countenance I saw that very laugh which I remember perfectly in + the time when this crown-piece was coined—in HIS time, in King + George's time, when we were school-boys seated on the same form. The smile + was just as broad, as bright, as jolly, as I remember it in the past—unforgotten, + though not seen or thought of, for how many decades of years, and quite + and instantly familiar, though so long out of sight. + </p> + <p> + Any contemporary of that coin who takes it up and reads the inscription + round the laurelled head, “Georgius IV. Britanniarum Rex. Fid. Def. 1823,” + if he will but look steadily enough at the round, and utter the proper + incantation, I dare say may conjure back his life there. Look well, my + elderly friend, and tell me what you see? First, I see a Sultan, with + hair, beautiful hair, and a crown of laurels round his head, and his name + is Georgius Rex. Fid. Def., and so on. Now the Sultan has disappeared; and + what is that I see? A boy,—a boy in a jacket. He is at a desk; he + has great books before him, Latin and Greek books and dictionaries. Yes, + but behind the great books, which he pretends to read, is a little one, + with pictures, which he is really reading. It is—yes, I can read now—it + is the “Heart of Mid Lothian,” by the author of “Waverley”—or, no, + it is “Life in London, or the Adventures of Corinthian Tom, Jeremiah + Hawthorn, and their friend Bob Logic,” by Pierce Egan; and it has pictures—oh! + such funny pictures! As he reads, there comes behind the boy, a man, a + dervish, in a black gown, like a woman, and a black square cap, and he has + a book in each hand, and he seizes the boy who is reading the + picture-book, and lays his head upon one of his books, and smacks it with + the other. The boy makes faces, and so that picture disappears. + </p> + <p> + Now the boy has grown bigger. HE has got on a black gown and cap, + something like the dervish. He is at a table, with ever so many bottles on + it, and fruit, and tobacco; and other young dervishes come in. They seem + as if they were singing. To them enters an old moollah, he takes down + their names, and orders them all to go to bed. What is this? a carriage, + with four beautiful horses all galloping—a man in red is blowing a + trumpet. Many young men are on the carriage—one of them is driving + the horses. Surely they won't drive into that?—ah! they have all + disappeared. And now I see one of the young men alone. He is walking in a + street—a dark street—presently a light comes to a window. + There is the shadow of a lady who passes. He stands there till the light + goes out. Now he is in a room scribbling on a piece of paper, and kissing + a miniature every now and then. They seem to be lines each pretty much of + a length. I can read heart, smart, dart; Mary, fairy; Cupid, stupid; true, + you; and never mind what more. Bah! it is bosh. Now see, he has got a gown + on again, and a wig of white hair on his head, and he is sitting with + other dervishes in a great room full of them, and on a throne in the + middle is an old Sultan in scarlet, sitting before a desk, and he wears a + wig too—and the young man gets up and speaks to him. And now what is + here? He is in a room with ever so many children, and the miniature + hanging up. Can it be a likeness of that woman who is sitting before that + copper urn, with a silver vase in her hand, from which she is pouring hot + liquor into cups? Was SHE ever a fairy? She is as fat as a hippopotamus + now. He is sitting on a divan by the fire. He has a paper on his knees. + Read the name of the paper. It is the Superfine Review. It inclines to + think that Mr. Dickens is not a true gentleman, that Mr. Thackeray is not + a true gentleman, and that when the one is pert and the other is arch, we, + the gentlemen of the Superfine Review, think, and think rightly, that we + have some cause to be indignant. The great cause why modern humor and + modern sentimentalism repel us, is that they are unwarrantably familiar. + Now, Mr. Sterne, the Superfine Reviewer thinks, “was a true + sentimentalist, because he was ABOVE ALL THINGS a true gentleman.” The + flattering inference is obvious: let us be thankful for having an elegant + moralist watching over us, and learn, if not too old, to imitate his + high-bred politeness and catch his unobtrusive grace. If we are + unwarrantably familiar, we know who is not. If we repel by pertness, we + know who never does. If our language offends, we know whose is always + modest. O pity! The vision has disappeared off the silver, the images of + youth and the past are vanishing away! We who have lived before railways + were made, belong to another world. In how many hours could the Prince of + Wales drive from Brighton to London, with a light carriage built + expressly, and relays of horses longing to gallop the next stage? Do you + remember Sir Somebody, the coachman of the Age, who took our half-crown so + affably? It was only yesterday; but what a gulf between now and then! THEN + was the old world. Stage-coaches, more or less swift, riding-horses, + pack-horses, highwaymen, knights in armor, Norman invaders, Roman legions, + Druids, Ancient Britons painted blue, and so forth—all these belong + to the old period. I will concede a halt in the midst of it, and allow + that gunpowder and printing tended to modernize the world. But your + railroad starts the new era, and we of a certain age belong to the new + time and the old one. We are of the time of chivalry as well as the Black + Prince or Sir Walter Manny. We are of the age of steam. We have stepped + out of the old world on to “Brunel's” vast deck, and across the waters + ingens patet tellus. Towards what new continent are we wending? to what + new laws, new manners, new politics, vast new expanses of liberties + unknown as yet, or only surmised? I used to know a man who had invented a + flying-machine. “Sir,” he would say, “give me but five hundred pounds, and + I will make it. It is so simple of construction that I tremble daily lest + some other person should light upon and patent my discovery.” Perhaps + faith was wanting; perhaps the five hundred pounds. He is dead, and + somebody else must make the flying-machine. But that will only be a step + forward on the journey already begun since we quitted the old world. There + it lies on the other side of yonder embankments. You young folks have + never seen it; and Waterloo is to you no more than Agincourt, and George + IV. than Sardanapalus. We elderly people have lived in that praerailroad + world, which has passed into limbo and vanished from under us. I tell you + it was firm under our feet once, and not long ago. They have raised those + railroad embankments up, and shut off the old world that was behind them. + Climb up that bank on which the irons are laid, and look to the other side—it + is gone. There IS no other side. Try and catch yesterday. Where is it? + Here is a Times newspaper, dated Monday 26th, and this is Tuesday 27th. + Suppose you deny there was such a day as yesterday? + </p> + <p> + We who lived before railways, and survive out of the ancient world, are + like Father Noah and his family out of the Ark. The children will gather + round and say to us patriarchs, “Tell us, grandpapa, about the old world.” + And we shall mumble our old stories; and we shall drop off one by one; and + there will be fewer and fewer of us, and these very old and feeble. There + will be but ten praerailroadites left: then three then two—then one—then + 0! If the hippopotamus had the least sensibility (of which I cannot trace + any signs either in his hide or his face), I think he would go down to the + bottom of his tank, and never come up again. Does he not see that he + belongs to bygone ages, and that his great hulking barrel of a body is out + of place in these times? What has he in common with the brisk young life + surrounding him? In the watches of the night, when the keepers are asleep, + when the birds are on one leg, when even the little armadillo is quiet, + and the monkeys have ceased their chatter,—he, I mean the + hippopotamus, and the elephant, and the long-necked giraffe, perhaps may + lay their heads together and have a colloquy about the great silent + antediluvian world which they remember, where mighty monsters floundered + through the ooze, crocodiles basked on the banks, and dragons darted out + of the caves and waters before men were made to slay them. We who lived + before railways are antediluvians—we must pass away. We are growing + scarcer every day; and old—old—very old relicts of the times + when George was still fighting the Dragon. + </p> + <p> + Not long since, a company of horse-riders paid a visit to our + watering-place. We went to see them, and I bethought me that young Walter + Juvenis, who was in the place, might like also to witness the performance. + A pantomime is not always amusing to persons who have attained a certain + age; but a boy at a pantomime is always amused and amusing, and to see his + pleasure is good for most hypochondriacs. + </p> + <p> + We sent to Walter's mother, requesting that he might join us, and the kind + lady replied that the boy had already been at the morning performance of + the equestrians, but was most eager to go in the evening likewise. And go + he did; and laughed at all Mr. Merryman's remarks, though he remembered + them with remarkable accuracy, and insisted upon waiting to the very end + of the fun, and was only induced to retire just before its conclusion by + representations that the ladies of the party would be incommoded if they + were to wait and undergo the rush and trample of the crowd round about. + When this fact was pointed out to him, he yielded at once, though with a + heavy heart, his eyes looking longingly towards the ring as we retreated + out of the booth. We were scarcely clear of the place, when we heard “God + save the Queen,” played by the equestrian band, the signal that all was + over. Our companion entertained us with scraps of the dialogue on our way + home—precious crumbs of wit which he had brought away from that + feast. He laughed over them again as we walked under the stars. He has + them now, and takes them out of the pocket of his memory, and crunches a + bit, and relishes it with a sentimental tenderness, too, for he is, no + doubt, back at school by this time; the holidays are over; and Doctor + Birch's young friends have reassembled. + </p> + <p> + Queer jokes, which caused a thousand simple mouths to grin! As the jaded + Merryman uttered them to the old gentleman with the whip, some of the old + folks in the audience, I dare say, indulged in reflections of their own. + There was one joke—I utterly forget it—but it began with + Merryman saying what he had for dinner. He had mutton for dinner, at one + o'clock, after which “he had to COME TO BUSINESS.” And then came the + point. Walter Juvenis, Esq., Rev. Doctor Birch's, Market Rodborough, if + you read this, will you please send me a line, and let me know what was + the joke Mr. Merryman made about having his dinner? YOU remember well + enough. But do I want to know? Suppose a boy takes a favorite, + long-cherished lump of cake out of his pocket, and offers you a bite? + Merci! The fact is, I DON'T care much about knowing that joke of Mr. + Merryman's. + </p> + <p> + But whilst he was talking about his dinner, and his mutton, and his + landlord, and his business, I felt a great interest about Mr. M. in + private life—about his wife, lodgings, earnings, and general + history, and I dare say was forming a picture of those in my mind—wife + cooking the mutton: children waiting for it; Merryman in his plain + clothes, and so forth; during which contemplation the joke was uttered and + laughed at, and Mr. M., resuming his professional duties, was tumbling + over head and heels. Do not suppose I am going, sicut est mos, to indulge + in moralities about buffoons, paint, motley, and mountebanking. Nay, Prime + Ministers rehearse their jokes; Opposition leaders prepare and polish + them; Tabernacle preachers must arrange them in their minds before they + utter them. All I mean is, that I would like to know any one of these + performers thoroughly, and out of his uniform: that preacher, and why in + his travels this and that point struck him; wherein lies his power of + pathos, humor, eloquence;—that Minister of State, and what moves + him, and how his private heart is working;—I would only say that, at + a certain time of life certain things cease to interest: but about SOME + things when we cease to care, what will be the use of life, sight, + hearing? Poems are written, and we cease to admire. Lady Jones invites us, + and we yawn; she ceases to invite us, and we are resigned. The last time I + saw a ballet at the opera—oh! it is many years ago—I fell + asleep in the stalls, wagging my head in insane dreams, and I hope + affording amusement to the company, while the feet of five hundred nymphs + were cutting flicflacs on the stage at a few paces' distance. Ah, I + remember a different state of things! Credite posteri. To see those nymphs—gracious + powers, how beautiful they were! That leering, painted, shrivelled, + thin-armed, thick-ankled old thing, cutting dreary capers, coming thumping + down on her board out of time—THAT an opera-dancer? Pooh! My dear + Walter, the great difference between MY time and yours, who will enter + life some two or three years hence, is that, now, the dancing women and + singing women are ludicrously old, out of time, and out of tune; the paint + is so visible, and the dinge and wrinkles of their wretched old cotton + stockings, that I am surprised how anybody can like to look at them. And + as for laughing at ME for falling asleep, I can't understand a man of + sense doing otherwise. In MY time, a la bonne heure. In the reign of + George IV., I give you my honor, all the dancers at the opera were as + beautiful as Houris. Even in William IV.'s time, when I think of Duvernay + prancing in as the Bayadere,—I say it was a vision of loveliness + such as mortal eyes can't see now-a-days. How well I remember the tune to + which she used to appear! Kaled used to say to the Sultan, “My lord, a + troop of those dancing and singing gurls called Bayaderes approaches,” + and, to the clash of cymbals, and the thumping of my heart, in she used to + dance! There has never been anything like it—never. There never will + be—I laugh to scorn old people who tell me about your Noblet, your + Montessu, your Vestris, your Parisot—pshaw, the senile twaddlers! + And the impudence of the young men, with their music and their dancers of + to-day! I tell you the women are dreary old creatures. I tell you one air + in an opera is just like another, and they send all rational creatures to + sleep. Ah, Ronzi de Begnis, thou lovely one! Ah, Caradoni, thou smiling + angel! Ah, Malibran! Nay, I will come to modern times, and acknowledge + that Lablache was a very good singer thirty years ago (though Porto was + the boy for me): and then we had Ambrogetti, and Curioni, and Donzelli, a + rising young singer. + </p> + <p> + But what is most certain and lamentable is the decay of stage beauty since + the days of George IV. Think of Sontag! I remember her in Otello and the + Donna del Lago in '28. I remember being behind the scenes at the opera + (where numbers of us young fellows of fashion used to go), and seeing + Sontag let her hair fall down over her shoulders previous to her murder by + Donzelli. Young fellows have never seen beauty like THAT, heard such a + voice, seen such hair, such eyes. Don't tell ME! A man who has been about + town since the reign of George IV., ought he not to know better than you + young lads who have seen nothing? The deterioration of women is + lamentable; and the conceit of the young fellows more lamentable still, + that they won't see this fact, but persist in thinking their time as good + as ours. + </p> + <p> + Bless me! when I was a lad, the stage was covered with angels, who sang, + acted, and danced. When I remember the Adelphi, and the actresses there: + when I think of Miss Chester, and Miss Love, and Mrs. Serle at Sadler's + Wells, and her forty glorious pupils—of the Opera and Noblet, and + the exquisite young Taglioni, and Pauline Leroux, and a host more! One + much-admired being of those days I confess I never cared for, and that was + the chief MALE dancer—a very important personage then, with a bare + neck, bare arms, a tunic, and a hat and feathers, who used to divide the + applause with the ladies, and who has now sunk down a trap-door for ever. + And this frank admission ought to show that I am not your mere twaddling + laudator temporis acti—your old fogy who can see no good except in + his own time. + </p> + <p> + They say that claret is better now-a-days, and cookery much improved since + the days of MY monarch—of George IV. Pastry Cookery is certainly not + so good. I have often eaten half a crown's worth (including, I trust, + ginger-beer) at our school pastry-cook's, and that is a proof that the + pastry must have been very good, for could I do as much now? I passed by + the pastry-cook's shop lately, having occasion to visit my old school. It + looked a very dingy old baker's; misfortunes may have come over him—those + penny tarts certainly did NOT look so nice as I remember them: but he may + have grown careless as he has grown old (I should judge him to be now + about ninety-six years of age), and his hand may have lost its cunning. + </p> + <p> + Not that we were not great epicures. I remember how we constantly grumbled + at the quantity of the food in our master's house—which on my + conscience I believe was excellent and plentiful—and how we tried + once or twice to eat him out of house and home. At the pastry-cook's we + may have over-eaten ourselves (I have admitted half a crown's worth for my + own part, but I don't like to mention the REAL figure for fear of + perverting the present generation of boys by my monstrous confession)—we + may have eaten too much, I say. We did; but what then? The school + apothecary was sent for: a couple of small globules at night, a trifling + preparation of senna in the morning, and we had not to go to school, so + that the draught was an actual pleasure. + </p> + <p> + For our amusements, besides the games in vogue, which were pretty much in + old times as they are now (except cricket, par exemple—and I wish + the present youth joy of their bowling, and suppose Armstrong and + Whitworth will bowl at them with light field-pieces next), there were + novels—ah! I trouble you to find such novels in the present day! O + Scottish Chiefs, didn't we weep over you! O Mysteries of Udolpho, didn't I + and Briggs Minor draw pictures out of you, as I have said? Efforts, feeble + indeed, but still giving pleasure to us and our friends. “I say, old boy, + draw us Vivaldi tortured in the Inquisition,” or, “Draw us Don Quixote and + the windmills, you know,” amateurs would say, to boys who had a love of + drawing. “Peregrine Pickle” we liked, our fathers admiring it, and telling + us (the sly old boys) it was capital fun; but I think I was rather + bewildered by it, though “Roderick Random” was and remains delightful. I + don't remember having Sterne in the school library, no doubt because the + works of that divine were not considered decent for young people. Ah! not + against thy genius, O father of Uncle Toby and Trim, would I say a word in + disrespect. But I am thankful to live in times when men no longer have the + temptation to write so as to call blushes on women's cheeks, and would + shame to whisper wicked allusions to honest boys. Then, above all, we had + WALTER SCOTT, the kindly, the generous, the pure—the companion of + what countless delightful hours; the purveyor of how much happiness; the + friend whom we recall as the constant benefactor of our youth! How well I + remember the type and the brownish paper of the old duodecimo “Tales of my + Landlord!” I have never dared to read the “Pirate,” and the “Bride of + Lammermoor,” or “Kenilworth,” from that day to this, because the finale is + unhappy, and people die, and are murdered at the end. But “Ivanhoe,” and + “Quentin Durward!” Oh! for a half-holiday, and a quiet corner, and one of + those books again! Those books, and perhaps those eyes with which we read + them; and, it may be, the brains behind the eyes! It may be the tart was + good; but how fresh the appetite was! If the gods would give me the desire + of my heart, I should be able to write a story which boys would relish for + the next few dozen of centuries. The boy-critic loves the story: grown up, + he loves the author who wrote the story. Hence the kindly tie is + established between writer and reader, and lasts pretty nearly for life. I + meet people now who don't care for Walter Scott, or the “Arabian Nights;” + I am sorry for them, unless they in their time have found THEIR romancer—their + charming Scheherazade. By the way, Walter, when you are writing, tell me + who is the favorite novelist in the fourth form now? have you got anything + so good and kindly as dear Miss Edgeworth's Frank? It used to belong to a + fellow's sisters generally; but though he pretended to despise it, and + said, “Oh, stuff for girls!” he read it; and I think there were one or two + passages which would try my eyes now, were I to meet with the little book. + </p> + <p> + As for Thomas and Jeremiah (it is only my witty way of calling Tom and + Jerry), I went to the British Museum the other day on purpose to get it; + but somehow, if you will press the question so closely, on reperusal, Tom + and Jerry is not so brilliant as I had supposed it to be. The pictures are + just as fine as ever; and I shook hands with broad-backed Jerry Hawthorn + and Corinthian Tom with delight, after many years' absence. But the style + of the writing, I own, was not pleasing to me; I even thought it a little + vulgar—well! well! other writers have been considered vulgar—and + as a description of the sports and amusements of London in the ancient + times, more curious than amusing. + </p> + <p> + But the pictures!—oh! the pictures are noble still! First, there is + Jerry arriving from the country, in a green coat and leather gaiters, and + being measured for a fashionable suit at Corinthian House, by Corinthian + Tom's tailor. Then away for the career of pleasure and fashion. The park! + delicious excitement! The theatre! the saloon!! the green-room!!! + Rapturous bliss—the opera itself! and then perhaps to Temple Bar, to + KNOCK DOWN A CHARLEY there! There are Jerry and Tom, with their tights and + little cocked hats, coming from the opera—very much as gentlemen in + waiting on royalty are habited now. There they are at Almack's itself, + amidst a crowd of high-bred personages, with the Duke of Clarence himself + looking at them dancing. Now, strange change, they are in Tom Cribb's + parlor, where they don't seem to be a whit less at home than in fashion's + gilded halls: and now they are at Newgate, seeing the irons knocked off + the malefactors' legs previous to execution. What hardened ferocity in the + countenance of the desperado in yellow breeches! What compunction in the + face of the gentleman in black (who, I suppose, has been forging), and who + clasps his hands, and listens to the chaplain! Now we haste away to + merrier scenes: to Tattersall's (ah gracious powers! what a funny fellow + that actor was who performed Dicky Green in that scene at the play!); and + now we are at a private party, at which Corinthian Tom is waltzing (and + very gracefully, too, as you must confess,) with Corinthian Kate, whilst + Bob Logic, the Oxonian, is playing on the piano! + </p> + <p> + “After,” the text says, “THE OXONIAN had played several pieces of lively + music, he requested as a favor that Kate and his friend Tom would perform + a waltz. Kate without any hesitation immediately stood up. Tom offered his + hand to his fascinating partner, and the dance took place. The plate + conveys a correct representation of the 'gay scene' at that precise + moment. The anxiety of THE OXONIAN to witness the attitudes of the elegant + pair had nearly put a stop to their movements. On turning round from the + pianoforte and presenting his comical MUG, Kate could scarcely suppress a + laugh.” + </p> + <p> + And no wonder; just look at it now (as I have copied it to the best of my + humble ability), and compare Master Logic's countenance and attitude with + the splendid elegance of Tom!* Now every London man is weary and blase. + There is an enjoyment of life in these young bucks of 1823 which contrasts + strangely with our feelings of 1860. Here, for instance, is a specimen of + their talk and walk. “'If,' says LOGIC—'if ENJOYMENT is your MOTTO, + you may make the most of an evening at Vauxhall, more than at any other + place in the metropolis. It is all free and easy. Stay as long as you + like, and depart when you think proper.'—'Your description is so + flattering,' replied JERRY, 'that I do not care how soon the time arrives + for us to start.' LOGIC proposed a 'BIT OF A STROLL' in order to get rid + of an hour or two, which was immediately accepted by Tom and Jerry. A TURN + or two in Bond Street, a STROLL through Piccadilly, a LOOK IN at + TATTERSALL'S, a RAMBLE through Pall Mall, and a STRUT on the Corinthian + path, fully occupied the time of our heroes until the hour for dinner + arrived, when a few glasses of TOM'S rich wines soon put them on the qui + vive. VAUXHALL was then the object in view, and the TRIO started, bent + upon enjoying the pleasures which this place so amply affords.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * This refers to an illustrated edition of the work. +</pre> + <p> + How nobly those inverted commas, those italics, those capitals, bring out + the writer's wit and relieve the eye! They are as good as jokes, though + you mayn't quite perceive the point. Mark the varieties of lounge in which + the young men indulge—now A STROLL, then A LOOK IN, then A RAMBLE, + and presently A STRUT. When George, Prince of Wales, was twenty, I have + read in an old Magazine, “the Prince's lounge” was a peculiar manner of + walking which the young bucks imitated. At Windsor George III. had A CAT'S + PATH—a sly early walk which the good old king took in the gray + morning before his household was astir. What was the Corinthian path here + recorded? Does any antiquary know? And what were the rich wines which our + friends took, and which enabled them to enjoy Vauxhall? Vauxhall is gone, + but the wines which could occasion such a delightful perversion of the + intellect as to enable it to enjoy ample pleasures there, what were they? + </p> + <p> + So the game of life proceeds, until Jerry Hawthorn, the rustic, is fairly + knocked up by all this excitement and is forced to go home, and the last + picture represents him getting into the coach at the “White Horse Cellar,” + he being one of six inside; whilst his friends shake him by the hand; + whilst the sailor mounts on the roof; whilst the Jews hang round with + oranges, knives, and sealing-wax: whilst the guard is closing the door. + Where are they now, those sealing-wax venders? where are the guards? where + are the jolly teams? where are the coaches? and where the youth that + climbed inside and out of them; that heard the merry horn which sounds no + more; that saw the sun rise over Stonehenge; that rubbed away the bitter + tears at night after parting as the coach sped on the journey to school + and London; that looked out with beating heart as the milestones flew by, + for the welcome corner where began home and holidays? + </p> + <p> + It is night now: and here is home. Gathered under the quiet roof elders + and children lie alike at rest. In the midst of a great peace and calm, + the stars look out from the heavens. The silence is peopled with the past; + sorrowful remorses for sins and short-comings—memories of passionate + joys and griefs rise out of their graves, both now alike calm and sad. + Eyes, as I shut mine, look at me, that have long ceased to shine. The town + and the fair landscape sleep under the starlight, wreathed in the autumn + mists. Twinkling among the houses a light keeps watch here and there, in + what may be a sick chamber or two. The clock tolls sweetly in the silent + air. Here is night and rest. An awful sense of thanks makes the heart + swell, and the head bow, as I pass to my room through the sleeping house, + and feel as though a hushed blessing were upon it. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON A JOKE I ONCE HEARD FROM THE LATE THOMAS HOOD. + </h2> + <p> + The good-natured reader who has perused some of these rambling papers has + long since seen (if to see has been worth his trouble) that the writer + belongs to the old-fashioned classes of this world, loves to remember very + much more than to prophesy, and though he can't help being carried onward, + and downward, perhaps, on the hill of life, the swift milestones marking + their forties, fifties—how many tens or lustres shall we say?—he + sits under Time, the white-wigged charioteer, with his back to the horses, + and his face to the past, looking at the receding landscape and the hills + fading into the gray distance. Ah me! those gray, distant hills were green + once, and HERE, and covered with smiling people! As we came UP the hill + there was difficulty, and here and there a hard pull to be sure, but + strength, and spirits, and all sorts of cheery incident and companionship + on the road; there were the tough struggles (by heaven's merciful will) + overcome, the pauses, the faintings, the weakness, the lost way, perhaps, + the bitter weather, the dreadful partings, the lonely night, the + passionate grief—towards these I turn my thoughts as I sit and think + in my hobby-coach under Time, the silver-wigged charioteer. The young + folks in the same carriage meanwhile are looking forwards. Nothing escapes + their keen eyes—not a flower at the side of a cottage garden, nor a + bunch of rosy-faced children at the gate: the landscape is all bright, the + air brisk and jolly, the town yonder looks beautiful, and do you think + they have learned to be difficult about the dishes at the inn? + </p> + <p> + Now, suppose Paterfamilias on his journey with his wife and children in + the sociable, and he passes an ordinary brick house on the road with an + ordinary little garden in the front, we will say, and quite an ordinary + knocker to the door, and as many sashed windows as you please, quite + common and square, and tiles, windows, chimney-pots, quite like others; or + suppose, in driving over such and such a common, he sees an ordinary tree, + and an ordinary donkey browsing under it, if you like—wife and + daughter look at these objects without the slightest particle of curiosity + or interest. What is a brass knocker to them but a lion's head, or what + not? and a thorn-tree with pool beside it, but a pool in which a thorn and + a jackass are reflected? + </p> + <p> + But you remember how once upon a time your heart used to beat, as you beat + on that brass knocker, and whose eyes looked from the window above. You + remember how by that thorn-tree and pool, where the geese were performing + a prodigious evening concert, there might be seen, at a certain hour, + somebody in a certain cloak and bonnet, who happened to be coming from a + village yonder, and whose image has flickered in that pool. In that pool, + near the thorn? Yes, in that goose-pool, never mind how long ago, when + there were reflected the images of the geese—and two geese more. + Here, at least, an oldster may have the advantage of his young + fellow-travellers, and so Putney Heath or the New Road may be invested + with a halo of brightness invisible to them, because it only beams out of + his own soul. + </p> + <p> + I have been reading the “Memorials of Hood” by his children,* and wonder + whether the book will have the same interest for others and for younger + people, as for persons of my own age and calling. Books of travel to any + country become interesting to us who have been there. Men revisit the old + school, though hateful to them, with ever so much kindliness and + sentimental affection. There was the tree under which the bully licked + you: here the ground where you had to fag out on holidays, and so forth. + In a word, my dear sir, YOU are the most interesting subject to yourself, + of any that can occupy your worship's thoughts. I have no doubt, a Crimean + soldier, reading a history of that siege, and how Jones and the gallant + 99th were ordered to charge or what not, thinks, “Ah, yes, we of the 100th + were placed so and so, I perfectly remember.” So with this memorial of + poor Hood, it may have, no doubt, a greater interest for me than for + others, for I was fighting, so to speak, in a different part of the field, + and engaged, a young subaltern, in the Battle of Life, in which Hood fell, + young still, and covered with glory. “The Bridge of Sighs” was his + Corunna, his Heights of Abraham—sickly, weak, wounded, he fell in + the full blaze and fame of that great victory. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * Memorials of Thomas Hood. Moxon, 1860. 2 vols. +</pre> + <p> + What manner of man was the genius who penned that famous song? What like + was Wolfe, who climbed and conquered on those famous Heights of Abraham? + We all want to know details regarding men who have achieved famous feats, + whether of war, or wit, or eloquence, or endurance, or knowledge. His one + or two happy and heroic actions take a man's name and memory out of a + crowd of names and memories. Henceforth he stands eminent. We scan him: we + want to know all about him; we walk round and examine him, are curious, + perhaps, and think are we not as strong and tall and capable as yonder + champion; were we not bred as well, and could we not endure the winter's + cold as well as he? Or we look up with all our eyes of admiration; will + find no fault in our hero: declare his beauty and proportions perfect; his + critics envious detractors, and so forth. Yesterday, before he performed + his feat, he was nobody. Who cared about his birthplace, his parentage, or + the color of his hair? To-day, by some single achievement, or by a series + of great actions to which his genius accustoms us, he is famous, and + antiquarians are busy finding out under what schoolmaster's ferule he was + educated, where his grandmother was vaccinated, and so forth. If half a + dozen washing-bills of Goldsmith's were to be found to-morrow, would they + not inspire a general interest, and be printed in a hundred papers? I + lighted upon Oliver, not very long since, in an old Town and Country + Magazine, at the Pantheon masquerade “in an old English habit.” + Straightway my imagination ran out to meet him, to look at him, to follow + him about. I forgot the names of scores of fine gentlemen of the past age, + who were mentioned besides. We want to see this man who has amused and + charmed us; who has been our friend, and given us hours of pleasant + companionship and kindly thought. I protest when I came, in the midst of + those names of people of fashion, and beaux, and demireps, upon those + names “Sir J. R-yn-lds, in a domino; Mr. Cr-d-ck and Dr. G-ldsm-th, in two + old English dresses,” I had, so to speak, my heart in my mouth. What, YOU + here, my dear Sir Joshua? Ah, what an honor and privilege it is to see + you! This is Mr. Goldsmith? And very much, sir, the ruff and the slashed + doublet become you! O Doctor! what a pleasure I had and have in reading + the Animated Nature. How DID you learn the secret of writing the + decasyllable line, and whence that sweet wailing note of tenderness that + accompanies your song? Was Beau Tibbs a real man, and will you do me the + honor of allowing me to sit at your table at supper? Don't you think you + know how he would have talked? Would you not have liked to hear him + prattle over the champagne? + </p> + <p> + Now, Hood is passed away—passed off the earth as much as Goldsmith + or Horace. The times in which he lived, and in which very many of us lived + and were young, are changing or changed. I saw Hood once as a young man, + at a dinner which seems almost as ghostly now as that masquerade at the + Pantheon (1772), of which we were speaking anon. It was at a dinner of the + Literary Fund, in that vast apartment which is hung round with the + portraits of very large Royal Freemasons, now unsubstantial ghosts. There + at the end of the room was Hood. Some publishers, I think, were our + companions. I quite remember his pale face; he was thin and deaf, and very + silent; he scarcely opened his lips during the dinner, and he made one + pun. Some gentleman missed his snuff-box, and Hood said,—(the + Freemasons' Tavern was kept, you must remember, by Mr. CUFF in those days, + not by its present proprietors). Well, the box being lost, and asked for, + and CUFF (remember that name) being the name of the landlord, Hood opened + his silent jaws and said * * * Shall I tell you what he said? It was not a + very good pun, which the great punster then made. Choose your favorite pun + out of “Whims and Oddities,” and fancy that was the joke which he + contributed to the hilarity of our little table. + </p> + <p> + Where those asterisks are drawn on the page, you must know, a pause + occurred, during which I was engaged with “Hood's Own,” having been + referred to the book by this life of the author which I have just been + reading. I am not going to dissert on Hood's humor; I am not a fair judge. + Have I not said elsewhere that there are one or two wonderfully old + gentlemen still alive who used to give me tips when I was a boy? I can't + be a fair critic about them. I always think of that sovereign, that + rapture of raspberry-tarts, which made my young days happy. Those old + sovereign-contributors may tell stories ever so old, and I shall laugh; + they may commit murder, and I shall believe it was justifiable homicide. + There is my friend Baggs, who goes about abusing me, and of course our + dear mutual friends tell me. Abuse away, mon bon! You were so kind to me + when I wanted kindness, that you may take the change out of that gold now, + and say I am a cannibal and negro, if you will. Ha, Baggs! Dost thou wince + as thou readest this line? Does guilty conscience throbbing at thy breast + tell thee of whom the fable is narrated? Puff out thy wrath, and, when it + has ceased to blow, my Baggs shall be to me as the Baggs of old—the + generous, the gentle, the friendly. + </p> + <p> + No, on second thoughts, I am determined I will not repeat that joke which + I heard Hood make. He says he wrote these jokes with such ease that he + sent manuscripts to the publishers faster than they could acknowledge the + receipt thereof. I won't say that they were all good jokes, or that to + read a great book full of them is a work at present altogether jocular. + Writing to a friend respecting some memoir of him which had been + published, Hood says, “You will judge how well the author knows me, when + he says my mind is rather serious than comic.” At the time when he wrote + these words, he evidently undervalued his own serious power, and thought + that in punning and broad-grinning lay his chief strength. Is not there + something touching in that simplicity and humility of faith? “To make + laugh is my calling,” says he; “I must jump, I must grin, I must tumble, I + must turn language head over heels, and leap through grammar;” and he goes + to his work humbly and courageously, and what he has to do that does he + with all his might, through sickness, through sorrow, through exile, + poverty, fever, depression—there he is, always ready to his work, + and with a jewel of genius in his pocket! Why, when he laid down his puns + and pranks, put the motley off, and spoke out of his heart, all England + and America listened with tears and wonder! Other men have delusions of + conceit, and fancy themselves greater than they are, and that the world + slights them. Have we not heard how Liston always thought he ought to play + Hamlet? Here is a man with a power to touch the heart almost unequalled, + and he passes days and years in writing, “Young Ben he was a nice young + man,” and so forth. To say truth, I have been reading in a book of “Hood's + Own” until I am perfectly angry. “You great man, you good man, you true + genius and poet,” I cry out, as I turn page after page. “Do, do, make no + more of these jokes, but be yourself, and take your station.” + </p> + <p> + When Hood was on his death-bed, Sir Robert Peel, who only knew of his + illness, not of his imminent danger, wrote to him a noble and touching + letter, announcing that a pension was conferred on him: + </p> + <p> + “I am more than repaid,” writes Peel, “by the personal satisfaction which + I have had in doing that for which you return me warm and characteristic + acknowledgments. + </p> + <p> + “You perhaps think that you are known to one with such multifarious + occupations as myself, merely by general reputation as an author; but I + assure you that there can be little, which you have written and + acknowledged, which I have not read; and that there are few who can + appreciate and admire more than myself, the good sense and good feeling + which have taught you to infuse so much fun and merriment into writings + correcting folly and exposing absurdities, and yet never trespassing + beyond those limits within which wit and facetiousness are not very often + confined. You may write on with the consciousness of independence, as free + and unfettered, as if no communication had ever passed between us. I am + not conferring a private obligation upon you, but am fulfilling the + intentions of the legislature, which has placed at the disposal of the + Crown a certain sum (miserable, indeed, in amount) to be applied to the + recognition of public claims on the bounty of the Crown. If you will + review the names of those whose claims have been admitted on account of + their literary or scientific eminence, you will find an ample confirmation + of the truth of my statement. + </p> + <p> + “One return, indeed, I shall ask of you,—that you will give me the + opportunity of making your personal acquaintance.” + </p> + <p> + And Hood, writing to a friend, enclosing a copy of Peel's letter, says, + “Sir R. Peel came from Burleigh on Tuesday night, and went down to + Brighton on Saturday. If he had written by post, I should not have it till + to-day. So he sent his servant with the enclosed on SATURDAY NIGHT; + another mark of considerate attention.” He is frightfully unwell, he + continues: his wife says he looks QUITE GREEN; but ill as he is, poor + fellow, “his well is not dry. He has pumped out a sheet of Christmas fun, + is drawing some cuts, and shall write a sheet more of his novel.” + </p> + <p> + Oh, sad, marvellous picture of courage, of honesty, of patient endurance, + of duty struggling against pain! How noble Peel's figure is standing by + that sick-bed! how generous his words, how dignified and sincere his + compassion! And the poor dying man, with a heart full of natural gratitude + towards his noble benefactor, must turn to him and say—“If it be + well to be remembered by a Minister, it is better still not to be + forgotten by him in a 'hurly Burleigh!'” Can you laugh? Is not the joke + horribly pathetic from the poor dying lips? As dying Robin Hood must fire + a last shot with his bow—as one reads of Catholics on their + death-beds putting on a Capuchin dress to go out of the world—here + is poor Hood at his last hour putting on his ghastly motley, and uttering + one joke more. + </p> + <p> + He dies, however, in dearest love and peace with his children, wife, + friends; to the former especially his whole life had been devoted, and + every day showed his fidelity, simplicity, and affection. In going through + the record of his most pure, modest, honorable life, and living along with + him, you come to trust him thoroughly, and feel that here is a most loyal, + affectionate, and upright soul, with whom you have been brought into + communion. Can we say as much of the lives of all men of letters? Here is + one at least without guile, without pretension, without scheming, of a + pure life, to his family and little modest circle of friends tenderly + devoted. + </p> + <p> + And what a hard work, and what a slender reward! In the little domestic + details with which the book abounds, what a simple life is shown to us! + The most simple little pleasures and amusements delight and occupy him. + You have revels on shrimps; the good wife making the pie; details about + the maid, and criticisms on her conduct; wonderful tricks played with the + plum-pudding—all the pleasures centring round the little humble + home. One of the first men of his time, he is appointed editor of a + Magazine at a salary of 300L. per annum, signs himself exultingly “Ed. N. + M. M.,” and the family rejoice over the income as over a fortune. He goes + to a Greenwich dinner—what a feast and a rejoicing afterwards!— + </p> + <p> + “Well, we drank 'the Boz' with a delectable clatter, which drew from him a + good warm-hearted speech. . . . He looked very well, and had a younger + brother along with him. . . . Then we had songs. Barham chanted a Robin + Hood ballad, and Cruikshank sang a burlesque ballad of Lord H——; + and somebody, unknown to me, gave a capital imitation of a French showman. + Then we toasted Mrs. Boz, and the Chairman, and Vice, and the Traditional + Priest sang the 'Deep deep sea,' in his deep deep voice; and then we drank + to Procter, who wrote the said song; also Sir J. Wilson's good health, and + Cruikshank's, and Ainsworth's: and a Manchester friend of the latter sang + a Manchester ditty, so full of trading stuff, that it really seemed to + have been not composed, but manufactured. Jerdan, as Jerdanish as usual on + such occasions—you know how paradoxically he is QUITE AT HOME in + DINING OUT. As to myself, I had to make my SECOND MAIDEN SPEECH, for Mr. + Monckton Milnes proposed my health in terms my modesty might allow me to + repeat to YOU, but my memory won't. However, I ascribed the toast to my + notoriously bad health, and assured them that their wishes had already + improved it—that I felt a brisker circulation—a more genial + warmth about the heart, and explained that a certain trembling of my hand + was not from palsy, or my old ague, but an inclination in my hand to shake + itself with every one present. Whereupon I had to go through the friendly + ceremony with as many of the company as were within reach, besides a few + more who came express from the other end of the table. VERY gratifying, + wasn't it? Though I cannot go quite so far as Jane, who wants me to have + that hand chopped off, bottled, and preserved in spirits. She was sitting + up for me, very anxiously, as usual when I go out, because I am so + domestic and steady, and was down at the door before I could ring at the + gate, to which Boz kindly sent me in his own carriage. Poor girl! what + WOULD she do if she had a wild husband instead of a tame one?” + </p> + <p> + And the poor anxious wife is sitting up, and fondles the hand which has + been shaken by so many illustrious men! The little feast dates back only + eighteen years, and yet somehow it seems as distant as a dinner at Mr. + Thrale's, or a meeting at Will's. + </p> + <p> + Poor little gleam of sunshine! very little good cheer enlivens that sad + simple life. We have the triumph of the Magazine: then a new Magazine + projected and produced: then illness and the last scene, and the kind Peel + by the dying man's bedside speaking noble words of respect and sympathy, + and soothing the last throbs of the tender honest heart. + </p> + <p> + I like, I say, Hood's life even better than his books, and I wish, with + all my heart, Monsieur et cher confrere, the same could be said for both + of us, when the inkstream of our life hath ceased to run. Yes: if I drop + first, dear Baggs, I trust you may find reason to modify some of the + unfavorable views of my character, which you are freely imparting to our + mutual friends. What ought to be the literary man's point of honor + now-a-days? Suppose, friendly reader, you are one of the craft, what + legacy would you like to leave to your children? First of all (and by + heaven's gracious help) you would pray and strive to give them such an + endowment of love, as should last certainly for all their lives, and + perhaps be transmitted to their children. You would (by the same aid and + blessing) keep your honor pure, and transmit a name unstained to those who + have a right to bear it. You would,—though this faculty of giving is + one of the easiest of the literary man's qualities—you would, out of + your earnings, small or great, be able to help a poor brother in need, to + dress his wounds, and, if it were but twopence, to give him succor. Is the + money which the noble Macaulay gave to the poor lost to his family? God + forbid. To the loving hearts of his kindred is it not rather the most + precious part of their inheritance? It was invested in love and righteous + doing, and it bears interest in heaven. You will, if letters be your + vocation, find saving harder than giving and spending. To save be your + endeavor, too, against the night's coming when no man may work; when the + arm is weary with the long day's labor; when the brain perhaps grows dark; + when the old, who can labor no more, want warmth and rest, and the young + ones call for supper. + </p> + <p> + I copied the little galley-slave who is made to figure in the initial + letter of this paper, from a quaint old silver spoon which we purchased in + a curiosity-shop at the Hague.* It is one of the gift spoons so common in + Holland, and which have multiplied so astonishingly of late years at our + dealers' in old silverware. Along the stem of the spoon are written the + words: “Anno 1609, Bin ick aldus ghekledt gheghaen”—“In the year + 1609 I went thus clad.” The good Dutchman was released from his Algerine + captivity (I imagine his figure looks like that of a slave amongst the + Moors), and in his thank-offering to some godchild at home, he thus + piously records his escape. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * This refers to an illustrated edition of the work. +</pre> + <p> + Was not poor Cervantes also a captive amongst the Moors? Did not Fielding, + and Goldsmith, and Smollett, too, die at the chain as well as poor Hood? + Think of Fielding going on board his wretched ship in the Thames, with + scarce a hand to bid him farewell; of brave Tobias Smollett, and his life, + how hard, and how poorly rewarded; of Goldsmith, and the physician + whispering, “Have you something on your mind?” and the wild dying eyes + answering, “Yes.” Notice how Boswell speaks of Goldsmith, and the splendid + contempt with which he regards him. Read Hawkins on Fielding, and the + scorn with which Dandy Walpole and Bishop Hurd speak of him. Galley-slaves + doomed to tug the oar and wear the chain, whilst my lords and dandies take + their pleasure, and hear fine music and disport with fine ladies in the + cabin! + </p> + <p> + But stay. Was there any cause for this scorn? Had some of these great men + weaknesses which gave inferiors advantage over them? Men of letters cannot + lay their hands on their hearts, and say, “No, the fault was fortune's, + and the indifferent world's, not Goldsmith's nor Fielding's.” There was no + reason why Oliver should always be thriftless; why Fielding and Steele + should sponge upon their friends; why Sterne should make love to his + neighbors' wives. Swift, for a long time, was as poor as any wag that ever + laughed: but he owed no penny to his neighbors: Addison, when he wore his + most threadbare coat, could hold his head up, and maintain his dignity: + and, I dare vouch, neither of those gentlemen, when they were ever so + poor, asked any man alive to pity their condition, and have a regard to + the weaknesses incidental to the literary profession. Galley-slave, + forsooth! If you are sent to prison for some error for which the law + awards that sort of laborious seclusion, so much the more shame for you. + If you are chained to the oar a prisoner of war, like Cervantes, you have + the pain, but not the shame, and the friendly compassion of mankind to + reward you. Galley-slaves, indeed! What man has not his oar to pull? There + is that wonderful old stroke-oar in the Queen's galley. How many years has + he pulled? Day and night, in rough water or smooth, with what invincible + vigor and surprising gayety he plies his arms. There is in the same Galere + Capitaine, that well-known, trim figure, the bow-oar; how he tugs, and + with what a will! How both of them have been abused in their time! Take + the Lawyer's galley, and that dauntless octogenarian in command; when has + HE ever complained or repined about his slavery? There is the Priest's + galley—black and lawn sails—do any mariners out of Thames work + harder? When lawyer, and statesman, and divine, and writer are snug in + bed, there is a ring at the poor Doctor's bell. Forth he must go, in + rheumatism or snow; a galley-slave bearing his galley-pots to quench the + flames of fever, to succor mothers and young children in their hour of + peril, and, as gently and soothingly as may be, to carry the hopeless + patient over to the silent shore. And have we not just read of the actions + of the Queen's galleys and their brave crews in the Chinese waters? Men + not more worthy of human renown and honor to-day in their victory, than + last year in their glorious hour of disaster. So with stout hearts may we + ply the oar, messmates all, till the voyage is over, and the Harbor of + Rest is found. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ROUND ABOUT THE CHRISTMAS TREE. + </h2> + <p> + The kindly Christmas tree, from which I trust every gentle reader has + pulled a bonbon or two, is yet all aflame whilst I am writing, and + sparkles with the sweet fruits of its season. You young ladies, may you + have plucked pretty giftlings from it; and out of the cracker sugarplum + which you have split with the captain or the sweet young curate may you + have read one of those delicious conundrums which the confectioners + introduce into the sweetmeats, and which apply to the cunning passion of + love. Those riddles are to be read at YOUR age, when I dare say they are + amusing. As for Dolly, Merry, and Bell, who are standing at the tree, they + don't care about the love-riddle part, but understand the sweet-almond + portion very well. They are four, five, six years old. Patience, little + people! A dozen merry Christmases more, and you will be reading those + wonderful love-conundrums, too. As for us elderly folks, we watch the + babies at their sport, and the young people pulling at the branches: and + instead of finding bonbons or sweeties in the packets which WE pluck off + the boughs, we find enclosed Mr. Carnifex's review of the quarter's meat; + Mr. Sartor's compliments, and little statement for self and the young + gentlemen; and Madame de Sainte-Crinoline's respects to the young ladies, + who encloses her account, and will send on Saturday, please; or we stretch + our hand out to the educational branch of the Christmas tree, and there + find a lively and amusing article from the Rev. Henry Holyshade, + containing our dear Tommy's exceedingly moderate account for the last + term's school expenses. + </p> + <p> + The tree yet sparkles, I say. I am writing on the day before Twelfth Day, + if you must know; but already ever so many of the fruits have been pulled, + and the Christmas lights have gone out. Bobby Miseltow, who has been + staying with us for a week (and who has been sleeping mysteriously in the + bathroom), comes to say he is going away to spend the rest of the holidays + with his grandmother—and I brush away the manly tear of regret as I + part with the dear child. “Well, Bob, good-by, since you WILL go. + Compliments to grandmamma. Thank her for the turkey. Here's—” (A + slight pecuniary transaction takes place at this juncture, and Bob nods + and winks, and puts his hand in his waistcoat pocket.). “You have had a + pleasant week?” + </p> + <p> + BOB.—“Haven't I!” (And exit, anxious to know the amount of the coin + which has just changed hands.) + </p> + <p> + He is gone, and as the dear boy vanishes through the door (behind which I + see him perfectly), I too cast up a little account of our past Christmas + week. When Bob's holidays are over, and the printer has sent me back this + manuscript, I know Christmas will be an old story. All the fruit will be + off the Christmas tree then; the crackers will have cracked off; the + almonds will have been crunched; and the sweet-bitter riddles will have + been read; the lights will have perished off the dark green boughs; the + toys growing on them will have been distributed, fought for, cherished, + neglected, broken. Ferdinand and Fidelia will each keep out of it (be + still, my gushing heart!) the remembrance of a riddle read together, of a + double-almond munched together, and the moiety of an exploded cracker. . . + . The maids, I say, will have taken down all that holly stuff and nonsense + about the clocks, lamps, and looking-glasses, the dear boys will be back + at school, fondly thinking of the pantomime-fairies whom they have seen; + whose gaudy gossamer wings are battered by this time; and whose pink + cotton (or silk is it?) lower extremities are all dingy and dusty. Yet but + a few days, Bob, and flakes of paint will have cracked off the fairy + flower-bowers, and the revolving temples of adamantine lustre will be as + shabby as the city of Pekin. When you read this, will Clown still be going + on lolling his tongue out of his month, and saying, “How are you + to-morrow?” Tomorrow, indeed! He must be almost ashamed of himself (if + that cheek is still capable of the blush of shame) for asking the absurd + question. To-morrow, indeed! To-morrow the diffugient snows will give + place to Spring; the snowdrops will lift their heads; Ladyday may be + expected, and the pecuniary duties peculiar to that feast; in place of + bonbons, trees will have an eruption of light green knobs; the whitebait + season will bloom . . . as if one need go on describing these vernal + phenomena, when Christmas is still here, though ending, and the subject of + my discourse! + </p> + <p> + We have all admired the illustrated papers, and noted how boisterously + jolly they become at Christmas time. What wassail-bowls, robin-redbreasts, + waits, snow landscapes, bursts of Christmas song! And then to think that + these festivities are prepared months before—that these Christmas + pieces are prophetic! How kind of artists and poets to devise the + festivities beforehand, and serve them pat at the proper time! We ought to + be grateful to them, as to the cook who gets up at midnight and sets the + pudding a-boiling, which is to feast us at six o'clock. I often think with + gratitude of the famous Mr. Nelson Lee—the author of I don't know + how many hundred glorious pantomimes—walking by the summer wave at + Margate, or Brighton perhaps, revolving in his mind the idea of some new + gorgeous spectacle of faery, which the winter shall see complete. He is + like cook at midnight (si parva licet). He watches and thinks. He pounds + the sparkling sugar of benevolence, the plums of fancy, the sweetmeats of + fun, the figs of—well, the figs of fairy fiction, let us say, and + pops the whole in the seething caldron of imagination, and at due season + serves up THE PANTOMIME. + </p> + <p> + Very few men in the course of nature can expect to see ALL the pantomimes + in one season, but I hope to the end of my life I shall never forego + reading about them in that delicious sheet of The Times which appears on + the morning after Boxing-day. Perhaps reading is even better than seeing. + The best way, I think, is to say you are ill, lie in bed, and have the + paper for two hours, reading all the way down from Drury Lane to the + Britannia at Hoxton. Bob and I went to two pantomimes. One was at the + Theatre of Fancy, and the other at the Fairy Opera, and I don't know which + we liked the best. + </p> + <p> + At the Fancy, we saw “Harlequin Hamlet, or Daddy's Ghost and Nunky's + Pison,” which is all very well—but, gentlemen, if you don't respect + Shakspeare, to whom will you be civil? The palace and ramparts of Elsinore + by moon and snowlight is one of Loutherbourg's finest efforts. The + banqueting hall of the palace is illuminated: the peaks and gables glitter + with the snow: the sentinels march blowing their fingers with the cold—the + freezing of the nose of one of them is very neatly and dexterously + arranged: the snow-storm rises: the winds howl awfully along the + battlements: the waves come curling, leaping, foaming to shore. Hamlet's + umbrella is whirled away in the storm. He and his two friends stamp on + each other's toes to keep them warm. The storm-spirits rise in the air, + and are whirled howling round the palace and the rocks. My eyes! what + tiles and chimney-pots fly hurtling through the air! As the storm reaches + its height (here the wind instruments come in with prodigious effect, and + I compliment Mr. Brumby and the violoncellos)—as the snow-storm + rises, (queek, queek, queek, go the fiddles, and then thrumpty thrump + comes a pizzicato movement in Bob Major, which sends a shiver into your + very boot-soles,) the thunder-clouds deepen (bong, bong, bong, from the + violoncellos). The forked lightning quivers through the clouds in a + zig-zag scream of violins—and look, look, look! as the frothing, + roaring waves come rushing up the battlements, and over the reeling + parapet, each hissing wave becomes a ghost, sends the gun-carriages + rolling over the platform, and plunges howling into the water again. + </p> + <p> + Hamlet's mother comes on to the battlements to look for her son. The storm + whips her umbrella out of her hands, and she retires screaming in pattens. + </p> + <p> + The cabs on the stand in the great market-place at Elsinore are seen to + drive off, and several people are drowned. The gas-lamps along the street + are wrenched from their foundations, and shoot through the troubled air. + Whist, rush, hish! how the rain roars and pours! The darkness becomes + awful, always deepened by the power of the music—and see—in + the midst of a rush, and whirl, and scream of spirits of air and wave—what + is that ghastly figure moving hither? It becomes bigger, bigger, as it + advances down the platform—more ghastly, more horrible, enormous! It + is as tall as the whole stage. It seems to be advancing on the stalls and + pit, and the whole house screams with terror, as the GHOST OF THE LATE + HAMLET comes in, and begins to speak. Several people faint, and the + light-fingered gentry pick pockets furiously in the darkness. + </p> + <p> + In the pitchy darkness, this awful figure throwing his eyes about, the gas + in the boxes shuddering out of sight, and the wind-instruments bugling the + most horrible wails, the boldest spectator must have felt frightened. But + hark! what is that silver shimmer of the fiddles! Is it—can it be—the + gray dawn peeping in the stormy east? The ghost's eyes look blankly + towards it, and roll a ghastly agony. Quicker, quicker ply the violins of + Phoebus Apollo. Redder, redder grow the orient clouds. Cockadoodledoo! + crows that great cock which has just come out on the roof of the palace. + And now the round sun himself pops up from behind the waves of night. + Where is the ghost? He is gone! Purple shadows of morn “slant o'er the + snowy sward,” the city wakes up in life and sunshine, and we confess we + are very much relieved at the disappearance of the ghost. We don't like + those dark scenes in pantomimes. + </p> + <p> + After the usual business, that Ophelia should be turned into Columbine was + to be expected; but I confess I was a little shocked when Hamlet's mother + became Pantaloon, and was instantly knocked down by Clown Claudius. + Grimaldi is getting a little old now, but for real humor there are few + clowns like him. Mr. Shuter, as the grave-digger, was chaste and comic, as + he always is, and the scene-painters surpassed themselves. + </p> + <p> + “Harlequin Conqueror and the Field of Hastings,” at the other house, is + very pleasant too. The irascible William is acted with great vigor by + Snoxall, and the battle of Hastings is a good piece of burlesque. Some + trifling liberties are taken with history, but what liberties will not the + merry genius of pantomime permit himself? At the battle of Hastings, + William is on the point of being defeated by the Sussex volunteers, very + elegantly led by the always pretty Miss Waddy (as Haco Sharpshooter), when + a shot from the Normans kills Harold. The fairy Edith hereupon comes + forward, and finds his body, which straightway leaps up a live harlequin, + whilst the Conqueror makes an excellent clown, and the Archbishop of + Bayeux a diverting pantaloon, &c. &c. &c. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps these are not the pantomimes we really saw; but one description + will do as well as another. The plots, you see, are a little intricate and + difficult to understand in pantomimes; and I may have mixed up one with + another. That I was at the theatre on Boxing-night is certain—but + the pit was so full that I could only see fairy legs glittering in the + distance, as I stood at the door. And if I was badly off, I think there + was a young gentleman behind me worse off still. I own that he has good + reason (though others have not) to speak ill of me behind my back, and + hereby beg his pardon. + </p> + <p> + Likewise to the gentleman who picked up a party in Piccadilly, who had + slipped and fallen in the snow, and was there on his back, uttering + energetic expressions; that party begs to offer thanks, and compliments of + the season. + </p> + <p> + Bob's behavior on New Year's day, I can assure Dr. Holyshade, was highly + creditable to the boy. He had expressed a determination to partake of + every dish which was put on the table; but after soup, fish, roast-beef, + and roast-goose, he retired from active business until the pudding and + mince-pies made their appearance, of which he partook liberally, but not + too freely. And he greatly advanced in my good opinion by praising the + punch, which was of my own manufacture, and which some gentlemen present + (Mr. O'M—g—n, amongst others) pronounced to be too weak. Too + weak! A bottle of rum, a bottle of Madeira, half a bottle of brandy, and + two bottles and a half of water—CAN this mixture be said to be too + weak for any mortal? Our young friend amused the company during the + evening by exhibiting a two-shilling magic-lantern, which he had + purchased, and likewise by singing “Sally, come up!” a quaint, but rather + monotonous melody, which I am told is sung by the poor negro on the banks + of the broad Mississippi. + </p> + <p> + What other enjoyments did we proffer for the child's amusement during the + Christmas week? A great philosopher was giving a lecture to young folks at + the British Institution. But when this diversion was proposed to our young + friend Bob, he said, “Lecture? No, thank you. Not as I knows on,” and made + sarcastic signals on his nose. Perhaps he is of Dr. Johnson's opinion + about lectures: “Lectures, sir! what man would go to hear that imperfectly + at a lecture, which he can read at leisure in a book?” I never went, of my + own choice, to a lecture; that I can vow. As for sermons, they are + different; I delight in them, and they cannot, of course, be too long. + </p> + <p> + Well, we partook of yet other Christmas delights besides pantomime, + pudding, and pie. One glorious, one delightful, one most unlucky and + pleasant day, we drove in a brougham, with a famous horse, which carried + us more quickly and briskly than any of your vulgar railways, over + Battersea Bridge, on which the horse's hoofs rung as if it had been iron; + through suburban villages, plum-caked with snow; under a leaden sky, in + which the sun hung like a red-hot warming-pan; by pond after pond, where + not only men and boys, but scores after scores of women and girls, were + sliding, and roaring, and clapping their lean old sides with laughter, as + they tumbled down, and their hobnailed shoes flew up in the air; the air + frosty with a lilac haze, through which villas, and commons, and churches, + and plantations glimmered. We drive up the hill, Bob and I; we make the + last two miles in eleven minutes; we pass that poor, armless man who sits + there in the cold, following you with his eyes. I don't give anything, and + Bob looks disappointed. We are set down neatly at the gate, and a + horse-holder opens the brougham door. I don't give anything; again + disappointment on Bob's part. I pay a shilling apiece, and we enter into + the glorious building, which is decorated for Christmas, and straight-way + forgetfulness on Bob's part of everything but that magnificent scene. The + enormous edifice is all decorated for Bob and Christmas. The stalls, the + columns, the fountains, courts, statues, splendors, are all crowned for + Christmas. The delicious negro is singing his Alabama choruses for + Christmas and Bob. He has scarcely done, when, Tootarootatoo! Mr. Punch is + performing his surprising actions, and hanging the beadle. The stalls are + decorated. The refreshment-tables are piled with good things; at many + fountains “MULLED CLARET” is written up in appetizing capitals. “Mulled + Claret—oh, jolly! How cold it is!” says Bob; I pass on. “It's only + three o'clock,” says Bob. “No, only three,” I say, meekly. “We dine at + seven,” sighs Bob, “and it's so-o-o coo-old.” I still would take no hints. + No claret, no refreshment, no sandwiches, no sausage-rolls for Bob. At + last I am obliged to tell him all. Just before we left home, a little + Christmas bill popped in at the door and emptied my purse at the + threshold. I forgot all about the transaction, and had to borrow half a + crown from John Coachman to pay for our entrance into the palace of + delight. NOW you see, Bob, why I could not treat you on that second of + January when we drove to the palace together; when the girls and boys were + sliding on the ponds at Dulwich; when the darkling river was full of + floating ice, and the sun was like a warming-pan in the leaden sky. + </p> + <p> + One more Christmas sight we had, of course; and that sight I think I like + as well as Bob himself at Christmas, and at all seasons. We went to a + certain garden of delight, where, whatever your cares are, I think you can + manage to forget some of them, and muse, and be not unhappy; to a garden + beginning with a Z, which is as lively as Noah's ark; where the fox has + brought his brush, and the cock has brought his comb, and the elephant has + brought his trunk, and the kangaroo has brought his bag, and the condor + his old white wig and black satin hood. On this day it was so cold that + the white bears winked their pink eyes, as they plapped up and down by + their pool, and seemed to say, “Aha, this weather reminds us of our dear + home!” “Cold! bah! I have got such a warm coat,” says brother Bruin, “I + don't mind;” and he laughs on his pole, and clucks down a bun. The + squealing hyaenas gnashed their teeth and laughed at us quite refreshingly + at their window; and, cold as it was, Tiger, Tiger, burning bright, glared + at us red-hot through his bars, and snorted blasts of hell. The woolly + camel leered at us quite kindly as he paced round his ring on his silent + pads. We went to our favorite places. Our dear wambat came up, and had + himself scratched very affably. Our fellow-creatures in the monkey-room + held out their little black hands, and piteously asked us for Christmas + alms. Those darling alligators on their rock winked at us in the most + friendly way. The solemn eagles sat alone, and scowled at us from their + peaks; whilst little Tom Ratel tumbled over head and heels for us in his + usual diverting manner. If I have cares in my mind, I come to the Zoo, and + fancy they don't pass the gate. I recognize my friends, my enemies, in + countless cages. I entertained the eagle, the vulture, the old billy-goat, + and the black-pated, crimson-necked, blear-eyed, baggy, hook-beaked old + marabou stork yesterday at dinner; and when Bob's aunt came to tea in the + evening, and asked him what he had seen, he stepped up to her gravely, and + said— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “First I saw the white bear, then I saw the black, + Then I saw the camel with a hump upon his back. +</pre> + <p> + Chorus of children: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Then I saw the camel with a HUMP upon his back! + + Then I saw the gray wolf, with mutton in his maw; + Then I saw the wambat waddle in the straw; + Then I saw the elephant with his waving trunk, + Then I saw the monkeys—mercy, how unpleasantly they—smelt!” + </pre> + <p> + There. No one can beat that piece of wit, can he, Bob? And so it is all + over; but we had a jolly time, whilst you were with us, hadn't we? Present + my respects to the doctor; and I hope, my boy, we may spend another merry + Christmas next year. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON A CHALK-MARK ON THE DOOR + </h2> + <p> + On the doorpost of the house of a friend of mine, a few inches above the + lock, is a little chalk-mark which some sportive boy in passing has + probably scratched on the pillar. The door-steps, the lock, handle, and so + forth, are kept decently enough; but this chalk-mark, I suppose some three + inches out of the housemaid's beat, has already been on the door for more + than a fortnight, and I wonder whether it will be there whilst this paper + is being written, whilst it is at the printer's, and, in fine, until the + month passes over? I wonder whether the servants in that house will read + these remarks about the chalkmark? That the Cornhill Magazine is taken in + in that house I know. In fact I have seen it there. In fact I have read it + there. In fact I have written it there. In a word, the house to which I + allude is mine—the “editor's private residence,” to which, in spite + of prayers, entreaties, commands, and threats, authors, and ladies + especially, WILL send their communications, although they won't understand + that they injure their own interests by so doing; for how is a man who has + his own work to do, his own exquisite inventions to form and perfect—Maria + to rescue from the unprincipled Earl—the atrocious General to + confound in his own machinations—the angelic Dean to promote to a + bishopric, and so forth—how is a man to do all this, under a hundred + interruptions, and keep his nerves and temper in that just and equable + state in which they ought to be when he comes to assume the critical + office? As you will send here, ladies, I must tell you you have a much + worse chance than if you forward your valuable articles to Cornhill. Here + your papers arrive, at dinner-time, we will say. Do you suppose that is a + pleasant period, and that we are to criticise you between the ovum and + malum, between the soup and the dessert? I have touched, I think, on this + subject before. I say again, if you want real justice shown you, don't + send your papers to the private residence. At home, for instance, + yesterday, having given strict orders that I was to receive nobody, + “except on business,” do you suppose a smiling young Scottish gentleman, + who forced himself into my study, and there announced himself as agent of + a Cattle-food Company, was received with pleasure? There, as I sat in my + arm-chair, suppose he had proposed to draw a couple of my teeth, would I + have been pleased? I could have throttled that agent. I dare say the whole + of that day's work will be found tinged with a ferocious misanthropy, + occasioned by my clever young friend's intrusion. Cattle-food, indeed! As + if beans, oats, warm mashes, and a ball, are to be pushed down a man's + throat just as he is meditating on the great social problem, or (for I + think it was my epic I was going to touch up) just as he was about to soar + to the height of the empyrean! + </p> + <p> + Having got my cattle-agent out of the door, I resume my consideration of + that little mark on the doorpost, which is scored up as the text of the + present little sermon; and which I hope will relate, not to chalk, nor to + any of its special uses or abuses (such as milk, neck-powder, and the + like), but to servants. Surely ours might remove that unseemly little + mark. Suppose it were on my coat, might I not request its removal? I + remember, when I was at school, a little careless boy, upon whose forehead + an ink-mark remained, and was perfectly recognizable for three weeks after + its first appearance. May I take any notice of this chalk-stain on the + forehead of my house? Whose business is it to wash that forehead? and + ought I to fetch a brush and a little hot water, and wash it off myself? + </p> + <p> + Yes. But that spot removed, why not come down at six, and wash the + doorsteps? I dare say the early rising and exercise would do me a great + deal of good. The housemaid, in that case, might lie in bed a little + later, and have her tea and the morning paper brought to her in bed: then, + of course, Thomas would expect to be helped about the boots and knives; + cook about the saucepans, dishes, and what not; the lady's-maid would want + somebody to take the curl-papers out of her hair, and get her bath ready. + You should have a set of servants for the servants, and these under + servants should have slaves to wait on them. The king commands the first + lord in waiting to desire the second lord to intimate to the gentleman + usher to request the page of the ante-chamber to entreat the groom of the + stairs to implore John to ask the captain of the buttons to desire the + maid of the still-room to beg the housekeeper to give out a few more lumps + of sugar, as his Majesty has none for his coffee, which probably is + getting cold during the negotiation. In our little Brentfords we are all + kings, more or less. There are orders, gradations, hierarchies, + everywhere. In your house and mine there are mysteries unknown to us. I am + not going in to the horrid old question of “followers.” I don't mean + cousins from the country, love-stricken policemen, or gentlemen in mufti + from Knightsbridge Barracks; but people who have an occult right on the + premises; the uncovenanted servants of the house; gray women who are seen + at evening with baskets flitting about area-railings; dingy shawls which + drop you furtive curtsies in your neighborhood; demure little Jacks, who + start up from behind boxes in the pantry. Those outsiders wear Thomas's + crest and livery, and call him “Sir;” those silent women address the + female servants as “Mum,” and curtsy before them, squaring their arms over + their wretched lean aprons. Then, again, those servi servorum have + dependants in the vast, silent, poverty-stricken world outside your + comfortable kitchen fire, in the world of darkness, and hunger, and + miserable cold, and dank, flagged cellars, and huddled straw, and rags, in + which pale children are swarming. It may be your beer (which runs with + great volubility) has a pipe or two which communicates with those dark + caverns where hopeless anguish pours the groan, and would scarce see light + but for a scrap or two of candle which has been whipped away from your + worship's kitchen. Not many years ago—I don't know whether before or + since that white mark was drawn on the door—a lady occupied the + confidential place of housemaid in this “private residence,” who brought a + good character, who seemed to have a cheerful temper, whom I used to hear + clattering and bumping overhead or on the stairs long before daylight—there, + I say, was poor Camilla, scouring the plain, trundling and brushing, and + clattering with her pans and brooms, and humming at her work. Well, she + had established a smuggling communication of beer over the area frontier. + This neat-handed Phyllis used to pack up the nicest baskets of my + provender, and convey them to somebody outside—I believe, on my + conscience, to some poor friend in distress. Camilla was consigned to her + doom. She was sent back to her friends in the country; and when she was + gone we heard of many of her faults. She expressed herself, when + displeased, in language that I shall not repeat. As for the beer and meat, + there was no mistake about them. But apres? Can I have the heart to be + very angry with that poor jade for helping another poorer jade out of my + larder? On your honor and conscience, when you were a boy, and the apples + looked temptingly over Farmer Quarringdon's hedge, did you never—? + When there was a grand dinner at home, and you were sliding, with Master + Bacon, up and down the stairs, and the dishes came out, did you ever do + such a thing as just to—? Well, in many and many a respect servants + are like children. They are under domination. They are subject to reproof, + to ill temper, to petty exactions and stupid tyrannies not seldom. They + scheme, conspire, fawn, and are hypocrites. “Little boys should not loll + on chairs.” “Little girls should be seen, and not heard;” and so forth. + Have we not almost all learnt these expressions of old foozles: and + uttered them ourselves when in the square-toed state? The Eton master, who + was breaking a lance with our Paterfamilias of late, turned on + Paterfamilias, saying, He knows not the nature and exquisite candor of + well-bred English boys. Exquisite fiddlestick's end, Mr. Master! Do you + mean for to go for to tell us that the relations between young gentlemen + and their schoolmasters are entirely frank and cordial; that the lad is + familiar with the man who can have him flogged; never shirks his exercise; + never gets other boys to do his verses; never does other boys' verses; + never breaks bounds; never tells fibs—I mean the fibs permitted by + scholastic honor? Did I know of a boy who pretended to such a character, I + would forbid my scapegraces to keep company with him. Did I know a + schoolmaster who pretended to believe in the existence of many hundred + such boys in one school at one time, I would set that man down as a baby + in knowledge of the world. “Who was making that noise?” “I don't know, + sir.”—And he knows it was the boy next him in school. “Who was + climbing over that wall?” “I don't know, sir.”—And it is in the + speaker's own trousers, very likely, the glass bottle-tops have left their + cruel scars. And so with servants. “Who ate up the three pigeons which + went down in the pigeon-pie at breakfast this morning?” “O dear me! sir, + it was John, who went away last month!”—or, “I think it was Miss + Mary's canary-bird, which got out of the cage, and is so fond of pigeons, + it never can have enough of them.” Yes, it WAS the canary-bird; and Eliza + saw it; and Eliza is ready to vow she did. These statements are not true; + but please don't call them lies. This is not lying; this is voting with + your party. You MUST back your own side. The servants'-hall stands by the + servants'-hall against the dining-room. The schoolboys don't tell tales of + each other. They agree not to choose to know who has made the noise, who + has broken the window, who has eaten up the pigeons, who has picked all + the plovers'-eggs out of the aspic, how it is that liqueur brandy of + Gledstane's is in such porous glass bottles—-and so forth. Suppose + Brutus had a footman, who came and told him that the butler drank the + Curacoa, which of these servants would you dismiss?—the butler, + perhaps, but the footman certainly. + </p> + <p> + No. If your plate and glass are beautifully bright, your bell quickly + answered, and Thomas ready, neat, and good-humored, you are not to expect + absolute truth from him. The very obsequiousness and perfection of his + service prevents truth. He may be ever so unwell in mind or body, and he + must go through his service—hand the shining plate, replenish the + spotless glass, lay the glittering fork—never laugh when you + yourself or your guests joke—be profoundly attentive, and yet look + utterly impassive—exchange a few hurried curses at the door with + that unseen slavey who ministers without, and with you be perfectly calm + and polite. If you are ill, he will come twenty times in an hour to your + bell; or leave the girl of his heart—his mother, who is going to + America—his dearest friend, who has come to say farewell—his + lunch, and his glass of beer just freshly poured out—any or all of + these, if the door-bell rings, or the master calls out “THOMAS” from the + hall. Do you suppose you can expect absolute candor from a man whom you + may order to powder his hair? As between the Rev. Henry Holyshade and his + pupil, the idea of entire unreserve is utter bosh; so the truth as between + you and Jeames or Thomas, or Mary the housemaid, or Betty the cook, is + relative, and not to be demanded on one side or the other. Why, respectful + civility is itself a lie, which poor Jeames often has to utter or perform + to many a swaggering vulgarian, who should black Jeames's boots, did + Jeames wear them and not shoes. There is your little Tom, just ten, + ordering the great, large, quiet, orderly young man about—shrieking + calls for hot water—bullying Jeames because the boots are not + varnished enough, or ordering him to go to the stables, and ask Jenkins + why the deuce Tomkins hasn't brought his pony round—or what you + will. There is mamma rapping the knuckles of Pincot the lady's-maid, and + little Miss scolding Martha, who waits up five pair of stairs in the + nursery. Little Miss, Tommy, papa, mamma, you all expect from Martha, from + Pincot, from Jenkins, from Jeames, obsequious civility and willing + service. My dear, good people, you can't have truth too. Suppose you ask + for your newspaper, and Jeames says, “I'm reading it, and jest beg not to + be disturbed;” or suppose you ask for a can of water, and he remarks, “You + great, big, 'ulking fellar, ain't you big enough to bring it hup + yoursulf?” what would your feelings be? Now, if you made similar proposals + or requests to Mr. Jones next door, this is the kind of answer Jones would + give you. You get truth habitually from equals only; so my good Mr. + Holyshade, don't talk to me about the habitual candor of the young Etonian + of high birth, or I have my own opinion of YOUR candor or discernment when + you do. No. Tom Bowling is the soul of honor and has been true to + Black-eyed Syousan since the last time they parted at Wapping Old Stairs; + but do you suppose Tom is perfectly frank, familiar, and aboveboard in his + conversation with Admiral Nelson, K.C.B.? There are secrets, + prevarications, fibs, if you will, between Tom and the Admiral—between + your crew and THEIR captain. I know I hire a worthy, clean, agreeable, and + conscientious male or female hypocrite, at so many guineas a year, to do + so and so for me. Were he other than hypocrite I would send him about his + business. Don't let my displeasure be too fierce with him for a fib or two + on his own account. + </p> + <p> + Some dozen years ago, my family being absent in a distant part of the + country, and my business detaining me in London, I remained in my own + house with three servants on board wages. I used only to breakfast at + home; and future ages will be interested to know that this meal used to + consist, at that period, of tea, a penny roll, a pat of butter, and, + perhaps, an egg. My weekly bill used invariably to be about fifty + shillings; so that, as I never dined in the house, you see, my breakfast, + consisting of the delicacies before mentioned, cost about seven shillings + and threepence per diem. I must, therefore, have consumed daily— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + s. d. + A quarter of a pound of tea (say) 1 3 + A penny roll (say) 1 0 + One pound of butter (say) 1 3 + One pound of lump sugar 1 0 + A new-laid egg 2 9 +</pre> + <p> + Which is the only possible way I have for making out the sum. + </p> + <p> + Well, I fell ill while under this regimen, and had an illness which, but + for a certain doctor, who was brought to me by a certain kind friend I had + in those days, would, I think, have prevented the possibility of my + telling this interesting anecdote now a dozen years after. Don't be + frightened, my dear madam; it is not a horrid, sentimental account of a + malady you are coming to—only a question of grocery. This illness, I + say, lasted some seventeen days, during which the servants were admirably + attentive and kind; and poor John, especially, was up at all hours, + watching night after night—amiable, cheerful, untiring, respectful, + the very best of Johns and nurses. + </p> + <p> + Twice or thrice in the seventeen days I may have had a glass of eau sucree—say + a dozen glasses of eau sucree—certainly not more. Well, this + admirable, watchful, cheerful, tender, affectionate John brought me in a + little bill for seventeen pounds of sugar consumed during the illness—“Often + 'ad sugar and water; always was a callin' for it,” says John, wagging his + head quite gravely. You are dead, years and years ago, poor John—so + patient, so friendly, so kind, so cheerful to the invalid in the fever. + But confess, now, wherever you are, that seventeen pounds of sugar to make + six glasses of eau sucree was a LITTLE too strong, wasn't it, John? Ah, + how frankly, how trustily, how bravely he lied, poor John! One evening, + being at Brighton, in the convalescence, I remember John's step was + unsteady, his voice thick, his laugh queer—and having some quinine + to give me, John brought the glass to me—not to my mouth, but struck + me with it pretty smartly in the eye, which was not the way in which Dr. + Elliotson had intended his prescription should be taken. Turning that eye + upon him, I ventured to hint that my attendant had been drinking. + Drinking! I never was more humiliated at the thought of my own injustice + than at John's reply. “Drinking! Sulp me! I have had only one pint of beer + with my dinner at one o'clock!”—and he retreats, holding on by a + chair. These are fibs, you see, appertaining to the situation. John is + drunk. “SULP him, he has only had an 'alf-pint of beer with his dinner six + hours ago;” and none of his fellow-servants will say other wise. Polly is + smuggled on board ship. Who tells the lieutenant when he comes his rounds? + Boys are playing cards in the bedroom. The outlying fag announces master + coming—out go candles—cards popped into bed—boys sound + asleep. Who had that light in the dormitory? Law bless you! the poor dear + innocents are every one snoring. Every one snoring, and every snore is a + lie told through the nose! Suppose one of your boys or mine is engaged in + that awful crime, are we going to break our hearts about it? Come, come. + We pull a long face, waggle a grave head, and chuckle within our + waistcoats. + </p> + <p> + Between me and those fellow-creatures of mine who are sitting in the room + below, how strange and wonderful is the partition! We meet at every hour + of the daylight, and are indebted to each other for a hundred offices of + duty and comfort of life; and we live together for years, and don't know + each other. John's voice to me is quite different from John's voice when + it addresses his mates below. If I met Hannah in the street with a bonnet + on, I doubt whether I should know her. And all these good people with whom + I may live for years and years, have cares, interests, dear friends and + relatives, mayhap schemes, passions, longing hopes, tragedies of their + own, from which a carpet and a few planks and beams utterly separate me. + When we were at the seaside, and poor Ellen used to look so pale, and run + after the postman's bell, and seize a letter in a great scrawling hand, + and read it, and cry in a corner, how should we know that the poor little + thing's heart was breaking? She fetched the water, and she smoothed the + ribbons, and she laid out the dresses, and brought the early cup of tea in + the morning, just as if she had had no cares to keep her awake. Henry (who + lived out of the house) was the servant of a friend of mine who lived in + chambers. There was a dinner one day, and Harry waited all through the + dinner. The champagne was properly iced, the dinner was excellently + served; every guest was attended to; the dinner disappeared; the dessert + was set; the claret was in perfect order, carefully decanted, and more + ready. And then Henry said, “If you please, sir, may I go home?” He had + received word that his house was on fire; and, having seen through his + dinner, he wished to go and look after his children, and little sticks of + furniture. Why, such a man's livery is a uniform of honor. The crest on + his button is a badge of bravery. + </p> + <p> + Do you see—I imagine I do myself—in these little instances, a + tinge of humor? Ellen's heart is breaking for handsome Jeames of Buckley + Square, whose great legs are kneeling, and who has given a lock of his + precious powdered head, to some other than Ellen. Henry is preparing the + sauce for his master's wild-ducks while the engines are squirting over his + own little nest and brood. Lift these figures up but a story from the + basement to the ground-floor, and the fun is gone. We may be en pleine + tragedie. Ellen may breathe her last sigh in blank verse, calling down + blessings upon James the profligate who deserts her. Henry is a hero, and + epaulettes are on his shoulders. Atqui sciebat, &c., whatever tortures + are in store for him, he will be at his post of duty. + </p> + <p> + You concede, however, that there is a touch of humor in the two tragedies + here mentioned. Why? Is it that the idea of persons at service is somehow + ludicrous? Perhaps it is made more so in this country by the splendid + appearance of the liveried domestics of great people. When you think that + we dress in black ourselves, and put our fellow-creatures in green, pink, + or canary-colored breeches; that we order them to plaster their hair with + flour, having brushed that nonsense out of our own heads fifty years ago; + that some of the most genteel and stately among us cause the men who drive + their carriages to put on little Albino wigs, and sit behind great + nosegays—I say I suppose it is this heaping of gold lace, gaudy + colors, blooming plushes, on honest John Trot, which makes the man absurd + in our eyes, who need be nothing but a simple reputable citizen and + in-door laborer. Suppose, my dear sir, that you yourself were suddenly + desired to put on a full dress, or even undress, domestic uniform with our + friend Jones's crest repeated in varied combinations of button on your + front and back? Suppose, madam, your son were told, that he could not get + out except in lower garments of carnation or amber-colored plush—would + you let him? . . . But as you justly say, this is not the question, and + besides it is a question fraught with danger, sir; and radicalism, sir; + and subversion of the very foundations of the social fabric, sir. . . . + Well, John, we won't enter on your great domestic question. Don't let us + disport with Jeames's dangerous strength, and the edge-tools about his + knife-board: but with Betty and Susan who wield the playful mop, and set + on the simmering kettle. Surely you have heard Mrs. Toddles talking to + Mrs. Doddles about their mutual maids. Miss Susan must have a silk gown, + and Miss Betty must wear flowers under her bonnet when she goes to church + if you please, and did you ever hear such impudence? The servant in many + small establishments is a constant and endless theme of talk. What small + wage, sleep, meal, what endless scouring, scolding, tramping on messages + fall to that poor Susan's lot; what indignation at the little kindly + passing word with the grocer's young man, the pot-boy, the chubby butcher! + Where such things will end, my dear Mrs. Toddles, I don't know. What wages + they will want next, my dear Mrs. Doddles, &c. + </p> + <p> + Here, dear ladies, is an advertisement which I cut out of The Times a few + days since, expressly for you: + </p> + <p> + “A lady is desirous of obtaining a SITUATION for a very respectable young + woman as HEAD KITCHEN-MAID under a man-cook. She has lived four years + under a very good cook and housekeeper. Can make ice, and is an excellent + baker. She will only take a place in a very good family, where she can + have the opportunity of improving herself, and, if possible, staying for + two years. Apply by letter to,” &c. &c. + </p> + <p> + There, Mrs. Toddles, what do you think of that, and did you ever? Well, + no, Mrs. Doddles. Upon my word now, Mrs. T., I don't think I ever did. A + respectable young woman—as head kitchen-maid—under a man-cook, + will only take a place in a very good family, where she can improve, and + stay two years. Just note up the conditions, Mrs. Toddles, mum, if you + please, mum, and THEN let us see:— + </p> + <p> + 1. This young woman is to be HEAD kitchen-maid, that is to say there is to + be a chorus of kitchen-maids, of which Y. W. is to be chief. + </p> + <p> + 2. She will only be situated under a man-cook. (A) Ought he to be a French + cook; and (B), if so, would the lady desire him to be a Protestant? + </p> + <p> + 3. She will only take a place in a VERY GOOD FAMILY. How old ought the + family to be, and what do you call good? that is the question. How long + after the Conquest will do? Would a banker's family do, or is a baronet's + good enough? Best say what rank in the peerage would be sufficiently high. + But the lady does not say whether she would like a High Church or a Low + Church family. Ought there to be unmarried sons, and may they follow a + profession? and please say how many daughters; and would the lady like + them to be musical? And how many company dinners a week? Not too many, for + fear of fatiguing the upper kitchen-maid; but sufficient, so as to keep + the upper kitchen-maid's hand in. [N.B.—I think I can see a rather + bewildered expression on the countenances of Mesdames Doddles and Toddles + as I am prattling on in this easy bantering way.] + </p> + <p> + 4. The head kitchen-maid wishes to stay for two years, and improve herself + under the man-cook, and having of course sucked the brains (as the phrase + is) from under the chefs nightcap, then the head kitchen-maid wishes to + go. + </p> + <p> + And upon my word, Mrs. Toddles, mum, I will go and fetch the cab for her. + The cab? Why not her ladyship's own carriage and pair, and the head + coachman to drive away the head kitchen-maid? You see she stipulates for + everything—the time to come; the time to stay; the family she will + be with; and as soon as she has improved herself enough, of course the + upper kitchen-maid will step into the carriage and drive off. + </p> + <p> + Well, upon my word and conscience, if things are coming to THIS pass, Mrs. + Toddles and Mrs. Doddles, mum, I think I will go up stairs and get a basin + and a sponge, and then down stairs and get some hot water; and then I will + go and scrub that chalk-mark off my own door with my own hands. + </p> + <p> + It is wiped off, I declare! After ever so many weeks! Who has done it? It + was just a little round-about mark, you know, and it was there for days + and weeks, before I ever thought it would be the text of a Roundabout + Paper. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON BEING FOUND OUT. + </h2> + <p> + At the close (let us say) of Queen Anne's reign, when I was a boy at a + private and preparatory school for young gentlemen, I remember the + wiseacre of a master ordering us all, one night, to march into a little + garden at the back of the house, and thence to proceed one by one into a + tool or hen house, (I was but a tender little thing just put into short + clothes, and can't exactly say whether the house was for tools or hens,) + and in that house to put our hands into a sack which stood on a bench, a + candle burning beside it. I put my hand into the sack. My hand came out + quite black. I went and joined the other boys in the schoolroom; and all + their hands were black too. + </p> + <p> + By reason of my tender age (and there are some critics who, I hope, will + be satisfied by my acknowledging that I am a hundred and fifty-six next + birthday) I could not understand what was the meaning of this night + excursion—this candle, this tool-house, this bag of soot. I think we + little boys were taken out of our sleep to be brought to the ordeal. We + came, then, and showed our little hands to the master; washed them or not—most + probably, I should say, not—and so went bewildered back to bed. + </p> + <p> + Something had been stolen in the school that day; and Mr. Wiseacre having + read in a book of an ingenious method of finding out a thief by making him + put his hand into a sack (which, if guilty, the rogue would shirk from + doing), all we boys were subjected to the trial. Goodness knows what the + lost object was, or who stole it. We all had black hands to show the + master. And the thief, whoever he was, was not Found Out that time. + </p> + <p> + I wonder if the rascal is alive—an elderly scoundrel he must be by + this time; and a hoary old hypocrite, to whom an old schoolfellow presents + his kindest regards—parenthetically remarking what a dreadful place + that private school was; cold, chilblains, bad dinners, not enough + victuals, and caning awful!—Are you alive still, I say, you nameless + villain, who escaped discovery on that day of crime? I hope you have + escaped often since, old sinner. Ah, what a lucky thing it is, for you and + me, my man, that we are NOT found out in all our peccadilloes; and that + our backs can slip away from the master and the cane! + </p> + <p> + Just consider what life would be, if every rogue was found out, and + flogged coram populo! What a butchery, what an indecency, what an endless + swishing of the rod! Don't cry out about my misanthropy. My good friend + Mealymouth, I will trouble you to tell me, do you go to church? When + there, do you say, or do you not, that you are a miserable sinner? and + saying so do you believe or disbelieve it? If you are a M. S., don't you + deserve correction, and aren't you grateful if you are to be let off? I + say again, what a blessed thing it is that we are not all found out! + </p> + <p> + Just picture to yourself everybody who does wrong being found out, and + punished accordingly. Fancy all the boys in all the school being whipped; + and then the assistants, and then the head master (Dr. Badford let us call + him). Fancy the provost-marshal being tied up, having previously + superintended the correction of the whole army. After the young gentlemen + have had their turn for the faulty exercises, fancy Dr. Lincolnsinn being + taken up for certain faults in HIS Essay and Review. After the clergyman + has cried his peccavi, suppose we hoist up a bishop, and give him a couple + of dozen! (I see my Lord Bishop of Double-Gloucester sitting in a very + uneasy posture on his right reverend bench.) After we have cast off the + bishop, what are we to say to the Minister who appointed him? My Lord + Cinqwarden, it is painful to have to use personal correction to a boy of + your age; but really . . . Siste tandem, carnifex! The butchery is too + horrible. The hand drops powerless, appalled at the quantity of birch + which it must cut and brandish. I am glad we are not all found out, I say + again; and protest, my dear brethren, against our having our deserts. + </p> + <p> + To fancy all men found out and punished is bad enough; but imagine all + women found out in the distinguished social circle in which you and I have + the honor to move. Is it not a mercy that a many of these fair criminals + remain unpunished and undiscovered! There is Mrs. Longbow, who is for ever + practising, and who shoots poisoned arrows, too; when you meet her you + don't call her liar, and charge her with the wickedness she has done and + is doing. There is Mrs. Painter, who passes for a most respectable woman, + and a model in society. There is no use in saying what you really know + regarding her and her goings on. There is Diana Hunter—what a little + haughty prude it is; and yet WE know stories about her which are not + altogether edifying. I say it is best, for the sake of the good, that the + bad should not all be found out. You don't want your children to know the + history of that lady in the next box, who is so handsome, and whom they + admire so. Ah me, what would life be if we were all found out, and + punished for all our faults? Jack Ketch would be in permanence; and then + who would hang Jack Ketch? + </p> + <p> + They talk of murderers being pretty certainly found out. Psha! I have + heard an authority awfully competent vow and declare that scores and + hundreds of murders are committed, and nobody is the wiser. That terrible + man mentioned one or two ways of committing murder, which he maintained + were quite common, and were scarcely ever found out. A man, for instance, + comes home to his wife, and . . . but I pause—I know that this + Magazine has a very large circulation. Hundreds and hundreds of thousands—why + not say a million of people at once?—well, say a million, read it. + And amongst these countless readers, I might be teaching some monster how + to make away with his wife without being found out, some fiend of a woman + how to destroy her dear husband. I will NOT then tell this easy and simple + way of murder, as communicated to me by a most respectable party in the + confidence of private intercourse. Suppose some gentle reader were to try + this most simple and easy receipt—it seems to me almost infallible—and + come to grief in consequence, and be found out and hanged? Should I ever + pardon myself for having been the means of doing injury to a single one of + our esteemed subscribers? The prescription whereof I speak—that is + to say, whereof I DON'T speak—shall be buried in this bosom. No, I + am a humane man. I am not one of your Bluebeards to go and say to my wife, + “My dear! I am going away for a few days to Brighton. Here are all the + keys of the house. You may open every door and closet, except the one at + the end of the oak-room opposite the fireplace, with the little bronze + Shakespeare on the mantel-piece (or what not).” I don't say this to a + woman—unless, to be sure, I want to get rid of her—because, + after such a caution, I know she'll peep into the closet. I say nothing + about the closet at all. I keep the key in my pocket, and a being whom I + love, but who, as I know, has many weaknesses, out of harm's way. You toss + up your head, dear angel, drub on the ground with your lovely little feet, + on the table with your sweet rosy fingers, and cry, “Oh, sneerer! You + don't know the depth of woman's feeling, the lofty scorn of all deceit, + the entire absence of mean curiosity in the sex, or never, never would you + libel us so!” Ah, Delia! dear, dear Delia! It is because I fancy I do know + something about you (not all, mind—no, no; no man knows that)—Ah, + my bride, my ringdove, my rose, my poppet—choose, in fact, whatever + name you like—bulbul of my grove, fountain of my desert, sunshine of + my darkling life, and joy of my dungeoned existence, it is because I DO + know a little about you that I conclude to say nothing of that private + closet, and keep my key in my pocket. You take away that closet-key then, + and the house-key. You lock Delia in. You keep her out of harm's way and + gadding, and so she never CAN be found out. + </p> + <p> + And yet by little strange accidents and coincidents how we are being found + out every day. You remember that old story of the Abbe Kakatoes, who told + the company at supper one night how the first confession he ever received + was—from a murderer let us say. Presently enters to supper the + Marquis de Croquemitaine. “Palsambleu, abbe!” says the brilliant marquis, + taking a pinch of snuff, “are you here? Gentlemen and ladies! I was the + abbe's first penitent, and I made him a confession, which I promise you + astonished him.” + </p> + <p> + To be sure how queerly things are found out! Here is an instance. Only the + other day I was writing in these Roundabout Papers about a certain man, + whom I facetiously called Baggs, and who had abused me to my friends, who + of course told me. Shortly after that paper was published another friend—Sacks + let us call him—scowls fiercely at me as I am sitting in perfect + good-humor at the club, and passes on without speaking. A cut. A quarrel. + Sacks thinks it is about him that I was writing: whereas, upon my honor + and conscience, I never had him once in my mind, and was pointing my moral + from quite another man. But don't you see, by this wrath of the + guilty-conscienced Sacks, that he had been abusing me too? He has owned + himself guilty, never having been accused. He has winced when nobody + thought of hitting him. I did but put the cap out, and madly butting and + chafing, behold my friend rushes out to put his head into it! Never mind, + Sacks, you are found out; but I bear you no malice, my man. + </p> + <p> + And yet to be found out, I know from my own experience, must be painful + and odious, and cruelly mortifying to the inward vanity. Suppose I am a + poltroon, let us say. With fierce moustache, loud talk, plentiful oaths, + and an immense stick, I keep up nevertheless a character for courage. I + swear fearfully at cabmen and women; brandish my bludgeon, and perhaps + knock down a little man or two with it: brag of the images which I break + at the shooting-gallery, and pass amongst my friends for a whiskery + fire-eater, afraid of neither man nor dragon. Ah me! Suppose some brisk + little chap steps up and gives me a caning in St. James's Street, with all + the heads of my friends looking out of all the club windows. My reputation + is gone. I frighten no man more. My nose is pulled by whipper-snappers, + who jump up on a chair to reach it. I am found out. And in the days of my + triumphs, when people were yet afraid of me, and were taken in by my + swagger, I always knew that I was a lily-liver, and expected that I should + be found out some day. + </p> + <p> + That certainty of being found out must haunt and depress many a bold + braggadocio spirit. Let us say it is a clergyman, who can pump copious + floods of tears out of his own eyes and those of his audience. He thinks + to himself, “I am but a poor swindling, chattering rogue. My bills are + unpaid. I have jilted several women whom I have promised to marry. I don't + know whether I believe what I preach, and I know I have stolen the very + sermon over which I have been snivelling. Have they found me out?” says + he, as his head drops down on the cushion. + </p> + <p> + Then your writer, poet, historian, novelist, or what not? The Beacon says + that “Jones's work is one of the first order.” The Lamp declares that + “Jones's tragedy surpasses every work since the days of Him of Avon.” The + Comet asserts that “J's 'Life of Goody Twoshoes' is a [Greek text + omitted], a noble and enduring monument to the fame of that admirable + Englishwoman,” and so forth. But then Jones knows that he has lent the + critic of the Beacon five pounds; that his publisher has a half-share in + the Lamp; and that the Comet comes repeatedly to dine with him. It is all + very well. Jones is immortal until he is found out; and then down comes + the extinguisher, and the immortal is dead and buried. The idea (dies + irae!) of discovery must haunt many a man, and make him uneasy, as the + trumpets are puffing in his triumph. Brown, who has a higher place than he + deserves, cowers before Smith, who has found him out. What is a chorus of + critics shouting “Bravo?”—a public clapping hands and flinging + garlands? Brown knows that Smith has found him out. Puff, trumpets! Wave, + banners! Huzza, boys, for the immortal Brown! “This is all very well,” B. + thinks (bowing the while, smiling, laying his hand to his heart); “but + there stands Smith at the window: HE has measured me; and some day the + others will find me out too.” It is a very curious sensation to sit by a + man who has found you out, and who, as you know, has found you out; or, + vice versa, to sit with a man whom YOU have found out. His talent? Bah! + His virtue? We know a little story or two about his virtue, and he knows + we know it. We are thinking over friend Robinson's antecedents, as we + grin, bow and talk; and we are both humbugs together. Robinson a good + fellow, is he? You know how he behaved to Hicks? A good-natured man, is + he? Pray do you remember that little story of Mrs. Robinson's black eye? + How men have to work, to talk, to smile, to go to bed, and try and sleep, + with this dread of being found out on their consciences! Bardolph, who has + robbed a church, and Nym, who has taken a purse, go to their usual haunts, + and smoke their pipes with their companions. Mr. Detective Bullseye + appeal's, and says, “Oh, Bardolph! I want you about that there pyx + business!” Mr. Bardolph knocks the ashes out of his pipe, puts out his + hands to the little steel cuffs, and walks away quite meekly. He is found + out. He must go. “Good-by, Doll Tearsheet! Good-by, Mrs. Quickly, ma'am!” + The other gentlemen and ladies de la societe look on and exchange mute + adieux with the departing friends. And an assured time will come when the + other gentlemen and ladies will be found out too. + </p> + <p> + What a wonderful and beautiful provision of nature it has been that, for + the most part, our womankind are not endowed with the faculty of finding + us out! THEY don't doubt, and probe, and weigh, and take your measure. Lay + down this paper, my benevolent friend and reader, go into your + drawing-room now, and utter a joke ever so old, and I wager sixpence the + ladies there will all begin to laugh. Go to Brown's house, and tell Mrs. + Brown and the young ladies what you think of him, and see what a welcome + you will get! In like manner, let him come to your house, and tell YOUR + good lady his candid opinion of you, and fancy how she will receive him! + Would you have your wife and children know you exactly for what you are, + and esteem you precisely at your worth? If so, my friend, you will live in + a dreary house, and you will have but a chilly fireside. Do you suppose + the people round it don't see your homely face as under a glamour, and, as + it were, with a halo of love round it? You don't fancy you ARE, as you + seem to them? No such thing, my man. Put away that monstrous conceit, and + be thankful that THEY have not found you out. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON A HUNDRED YEARS HENCE. + </h2> + <p> + Where have I just read of a game played at a country house? The party + assembles round a table with pens, ink, and paper. Some one narrates a + tale containing more or less incidents and personages. Each person of the + company then writes down, to the best of his memory and ability, the + anecdote just narrated, and finally the papers are to be read out. I do + not say I should like to play often at this game, which might possibly be + a tedious and lengthy pastime, not by any means so amusing as smoking a + cigar in the conservatory; or even listening to the young ladies playing + their piano-pieces; or to Hobbs and Nobbs lingering round the bottle and + talking over the morning's run with the hounds but surely it is a moral + and ingenious sport. They say the variety of narratives is often very odd + and amusing. The original story becomes so changed and distorted that at + the end of all the statements you are puzzled to know where the truth is + at all. As time is of small importance to the cheerful persons engaged in + this sport, perhaps a good way of playing it would be to spread it over a + couple of years. Let the people who played the game in '60 all meet and + play it once more in '61, and each write his story over again. Then bring + out your original and compare notes. Not only will the stories differ from + each other, but the writers will probably differ from themselves. In the + course of the year the incidents will grow or will dwindle strangely. The + least authentic of the statements will be so lively or so malicious, or so + neatly put, that it will appear most like the truth. I like these tales + and sportive exercises. I had begun a little print collection once. I had + Addison in his nightgown in bed at Holland House, requesting young Lord + Warwick to remark how a Christian should die. I had Cambronne clutching + his cocked hat and uttering the immortal la Garde meurt et ne se rend pas. + I had the “Vengeur” going down, and all the crew hurraying like madmen. I + had Alfred toasting the muffin; Curtius (Haydon) jumping into the gulf; + with extracts from Napoleon's bulletins, and a fine authentic portrait of + Baron Munchausen. + </p> + <p> + What man who has been before the public at all has not heard similar + wonderful anecdotes regarding himself and his own history? In these humble + essaykins I have taken leave to egotize. I cry out about the shoes which + pinch me, and, as I fancy, more naturally and pathetically than if my + neighbor's corns were trodden under foot. I prattle about the dish which I + love, the wine which I like, the talk I heard yesterday—about + Brown's absurd airs—Jones's ridiculous elation when he thinks he has + caught me in a blunder (a part of the fun, you see, is that Jones will + read this, and will perfectly well know that I mean him, and that we shall + meet and grin at each other with entire politeness.) This is not the + highest kind of speculation, I confess, but it is a gossip which amuses + some folks. A brisk and honest small-beer will refresh those who do not + care for the frothy outpourings of heavier taps. A two of clubs may be a + good, handy little card sometimes, and able to tackle a king of diamonds, + if it is a little trump. Some philosophers get their wisdom with deep + thought and out of ponderous libraries; I pick up my small crumbs of + cogitation at a dinner-table; or from Mrs. Mary and Miss Louisa, as they + are prattling over their five-o'clock tea. + </p> + <p> + Well, yesterday at dinner Jucundus was good enough to tell me a story + about myself, which he had heard from a lady of his acquaintance, to whom + I send my best compliments. The tale is this. At nine o'clock on the + evening of the 31st of November last, just before sunset, I was seen + leaving No. 96, Abbey Road, St. John's Wood, leading two little children + by the hand, one of them in a nankeen pelisse, and the other having a mole + on the third finger of his left hand (she thinks it was the third finger, + but is quite sure it was the left hand). Thence I walked with them to + Charles Boroughbridge's, pork and sausage man, No. 29, Upper Theresa Road. + Here, whilst I left the little girl innocently eating a polony in the + front shop, I and Boroughbridge retired with the boy into the back parlor, + where Mrs. Boroughbridge was playing cribbage. She put up the cards and + boxes, took out a chopper and a napkin, and we cut the little boy's little + throat (which he bore with great pluck and resolution), and made him into + sausage-meat by the aid of Purkis's excellent sausage-machine. The little + girl at first could not understand her brother's absence, but, under the + pretence of taking her to see Mr. Fechter in Hamlet, I led her down to the + New River at Sadler's Wells, where a body of a child in a nankeen pelisse + was subsequently found, and has never been recognized to the present day. + And this Mrs. Lynx can aver, because she saw the whole transaction with + her own eyes, as she told Mr. Jucundus. + </p> + <p> + I have altered the little details of the anecdote somewhat. But this story + is, I vow and declare, as true as Mrs Lynx's. Gracious goodness! how do + lies begin? What are the averages of lying? Is the same amount of lies + told about every man, and do we pretty much all tell the same amount of + lies? Is the average greater in Ireland than in Scotland, or vice versa—among + women than among men? Is this a lie I am telling now? If I am talking + about you, the odds are, perhaps, that it is. I look back at some which + have been told about me, and speculate on them with thanks and wonder. + Dear friends have told them of me, have told them to me of myself. Have + they not to and of you, dear friend? A friend of mine was dining at a + large dinner of clergymen, and a story, as true as the sausage story above + given, was told regarding me, by one of those reverend divines, in whose + frock sits some anile chatter-boxes, as any man who knows this world + knows. They take the privilege of their gown. They cabal, and tattle, and + hiss, and cackle comminations under their breath. I say the old women of + the other sex are not more talkative or more mischievous than some of + these. “Such a man ought not to be spoken to,” says Gobemouche, narrating + the story—and such a story! “And I am surprised he is admitted into + society at all.” Yes, dear Gobemouche, but the story wasn't true; and I + had no more done the wicked deed in question than I had run away with the + Queen of Sheba. + </p> + <p> + I have always longed to know what that story was (or what collection of + histories), which a lady had in her mind to whom a servant of mine applied + for a place, when I was breaking up my establishment once and going + abroad. Brown went with a very good character from us, which, indeed, she + fully deserved after several years' faithful service. But when Mrs. Jones + read the name of the person out of whose employment Brown came, “That is + quite sufficient,” says Mrs. Jones. “You may go. I will never take a + servant out of THAT house.” Ah, Mrs. Jones, how I should like to know what + that crime was, or what that series of villanies, which made you determine + never to take a servant out of my house. Do you believe in the story of + the little boy and the sausages? Have you swallowed that little minced + infant? Have you devoured that young Polonius? Upon my word you have maw + enough. We somehow greedily gobble down all stories in which the + characters of our friends are chopped up, and believe wrong of them + without inquiry. In a late serial work written by this hand, I remember + making some pathetic remarks about our propensity to believe ill of our + neighbors—and I remember the remarks, not because they were + valuable, or novel, or ingenious, but because, within three days after + they had appeared in print, the moralist who wrote them, walking home with + a friend, heard a story about another friend, which story he straightway + believed, and which story was scarcely more true than that sausage fable + which is here set down. O mea culpa, mea maxima culpa! But though the + preacher trips, shall not the doctrine be good? Yea, brethren! Here be the + rods. Look you, here are the scourges. Choose me a nice long, swishing, + buddy one, light and well-poised in the handle, thick and bushy at the + tail. Pick me out a whip-cord thong with some dainty knots in it—and + now—we all deserve it—whish, whish, whish! Let us cut into + each other all round. + </p> + <p> + A favorite liar and servant of mine was a man I once had to drive a + brougham. He never came to my house, except for orders, and once when he + helped to wait at dinner so clumsily that it was agreed we would dispense + with his further efforts. The (job) brougham horse used to look dreadfully + lean and tired, and the livery-stable keeper complained that we worked him + too hard. Now, it turned out that there was a neighboring butcher's lady + who liked to ride in a brougham; and Tomkins lent her ours, drove her + cheerfully to Richmond and Putney, and, I suppose, took out a payment in + mutton-chops. We gave this good Tomkins wine and medicine for his family + when sick—we supplied him with little comforts and extras which need + not now be remembered—and the grateful creature rewarded us by + informing some of our tradesmen whom he honored with his custom, “Mr. + Roundabout? Lor' bless you! I carry him up to bed drunk every night in the + week.” He, Tomkins, being a man of seven stone weight and five feet high; + whereas his employer was—but here modesty interferes, and I decline + to enter into the avoirdupois question. + </p> + <p> + Now, what was Tomkins's motive for the utterance and dissemination of + these lies? They could further no conceivable end or interest of his own. + Had they been true stories, Tomkins's master would still, and reasonably, + have been more angry than at the fables. It was but suicidal slander on + the part of Tomkins—must come to a discovery—must end in a + punishment. The poor wretch had got his place under, as it turned out, a + fictitious character. He might have stayed in it, for of course Tomkins + had a wife and poor innocent children. He might have had bread, beer, bed, + character, coats, coals. He might have nestled in our little island, + comfortably sheltered from the storms of life; but we were compelled to + cast him out, and send him driving, lonely, perishing, tossing, starving, + to sea—to drown. To drown? There be other modes of death whereby + rogues die. Good-by, Tomkins. And so the nightcap is put on, and the bolt + is drawn for poor T. + </p> + <p> + Suppose we were to invite volunteers amongst our respected readers to send + in little statements of the lies which they know have been told about + themselves; what a heap of correspondence, what an exaggeration of + malignities, what a crackling bonfire of incendiary falsehoods, might we + not gather together! And a lie once set going, having the breath of life + breathed into it by the father of lying, and ordered to run its diabolical + little course, lives with a prodigious vitality. You say, “Magna est + veritas et praevalebit.” Psha! Great lies are as great as great truths, + and prevail constantly, and day after day. Take an instance or two out of + my own little budget. I sit near a gentleman at dinner, and the + conversation turns upon a certain anonymous literary performance which at + the time is amusing the town. “Oh,” says the gentleman, “everybody knows + who wrote that paper: it is Momus's.” I was a young author at the time, + perhaps proud of my bantling: “I beg your pardon,” I say, “it was written + by your humble servant.” “Indeed!” was all that the man replied, and he + shrugged his shoulders, turned his back, and talked to his other neighbor. + I never heard sarcastic incredulity more finely conveyed than by that + “indeed.” “Impudent liar,” the gentleman's face said, as clear as face + could speak. Where was Magna Veritas, and how did she prevail then? She + lifted up her voice, she made her appeal, and she was kicked out of court. + In New York I read a newspaper criticism one day (by an exile from our + shores who has taken up his abode in the Western Republic), commenting + upon a letter of mine which had appeared in a contemporary volume, and + wherein it was stated that the writer was a lad in such and such a year, + and, in point of fact, I was, at the period spoken of, nineteen years of + age. “Falsehood, Mr. Roundabout,” says the noble critic: “You were then + not a lad; you were then six-and-twenty years of age.” You see he knew + better than papa and mamma and parish register. It was easier for him to + think and say I lied, on a twopenny matter connected with my own affairs, + than to imagine he was mistaken. Years ago, in a time when we were very + mad wags, Arcturus and myself met a gentleman from China who knew the + language. We began to speak Chinese against him. We said we were born in + China. We were two to one. We spoke the mandarin dialect with perfect + fluency. We had the company with us; as in the old, old days, the squeak + of the real pig was voted not to be so natural as the squeak of the sham + pig. O Arcturus, the sham pig squeaks in our streets now to the applause + of multitudes, and the real porker grunts unheeded in his sty! + </p> + <p> + I once talked for some little time with an amiable lady: it was for the + first time; and I saw an expression of surprise on her kind face, which + said as plainly as face could say, “Sir, do you know that up to this + moment I have had a certain opinion of you, and that I begin to think I + have been mistaken or misled?” I not only know that she had heard evil + reports of me, but I know who told her—one of those acute fellows, + my dear brethren, of whom we spoke in a previous sermon, who has found me + out—found out actions which I never did, found out thoughts and + sayings which I never spoke, and judged me accordingly. Ah, my lad! have I + found YOU out? O risum teneatis. Perhaps the person I am accusing is no + more guilty than I. + </p> + <p> + How comes it that the evil which men say spreads so widely and lasts so + long, whilst our good, kind words don't seem somehow to take root and bear + blossom? Is it that in the stony hearts of mankind these pretty flowers + can't find a place to grow? Certain it is that scandal is good, brisk + talk, whereas praise of one's neighbor is by no means lively hearing. An + acquaintance grilled, scored, devilled, and served with mustard and + cayenne pepper, excites the appetite; whereas a slice of cold friend with + currant jelly is but a sickly, unrelishing meat. + </p> + <p> + Now, such being the case, my dear worthy Mrs. Candor, in whom I know there + are a hundred good and generous qualities: it being perfectly clear that + the good things which we say of our neighbors don't fructify, but somehow + perish in the ground where they are dropped, whilst the evil words are + wafted by all the winds of scandal, take root in all sods, and flourish + amazingly—seeing, I say, that this conversation does not give us a + fair chance, suppose we give up censoriousness altogether, and decline + uttering our opinions about Brown, Jones, and Robinson (and Mesdames B., + J., and R.) at all. We may be mistaken about every one of them, as, please + goodness, those anecdote-mongers against whom I have uttered my meek + protest have been mistaken about me. We need not go to the extent of + saying that Mrs. Manning was an amiable creature, much misunderstood; and + Jack Thurtell a gallant, unfortunate fellow, not near so black as he was + painted; but we will try and avoid personalities altogether in talk, won't + we? We will range the fields of science, dear madam, and communicate to + each other the pleasing results of our studies. We will, if you please, + examine the infinitesimal wonders of nature through the microscope. We + will cultivate entomology. We will sit with our arms round each other's + waists on the pons asinorum, and see the stream of mathematics flow + beneath. We will take refuge in cards, and play at “beggar my neighbor,” + not abuse my neighbor. We will go to the Zoological Gardens and talk + freely about the gorilla and his kindred, but not talk about people who + can talk in their turn. Suppose we praise the High Church? we offend the + Low Church. The Broad Church? High and Low are both offended. What do you + think of Lord Derby as a politician? And what is your opinion of Lord + Palmerston? If you please, will you play me those lovely variations of “In + my cottage near a wood?” It is a charming air (you know it in French, I + suppose? Ah! te dirai-je, maman!) and was a favorite with poor Marie + Antoinette. I say “poor,” because I have a right to speak with pity of a + sovereign who was renowned for so much beauty and so much misfortune. But + as for giving any opinion on her conduct, saying that she was good or bad, + or indifferent, goodness forbid! We have agreed we will not be censorious. + Let us have a game at cards—at ecarte, if you please. You deal. I + ask for cards. I lead the deuce of clubs. . . . + </p> + <p> + What? there is no deuce! Deuce take it! What? People WILL go on talking + about their neighbors, and won't have their mouths stopped by cards, or + ever so much microscopes and aquariums? Ah, my poor dear Mrs. Candor, I + agree with you. By the way, did you ever see anything like Lady Godiva + Trotter's dress last night? People WILL go on chattering, although we hold + our tongues; and, after all, my good soul, what will their scandal matter + a hundred years hence? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SMALL-BEER CHRONICLE. + </h2> + <p> + Not long since, at a certain banquet, I had the good fortune to sit by + Doctor Polymathesis, who knows everything, and who, about the time when + the claret made its appearance, mentioned that old dictum of the grumbling + Oxford Don, that “ALL CLARET would be port if it could!” Imbibing a bumper + of one or the other not ungratefully, I thought to myself, “Here surely, + Mr. Roundabout, is a good text for one of your reverence's sermons.” Let + us apply to the human race, dear brethren, what is here said of the + vintages of Portugal and Gascony, and we shall have no difficulty in + perceiving how many clarets aspire to be ports in their way; how most men + and women of our acquaintance, how we ourselves, are Aquitanians giving + ourselves Lusitanian airs; how we wish to have credit for being stronger, + braver, more beautiful, more worthy than we really are. + </p> + <p> + Nay, the beginning of this hypocrisy—a desire to excel, a desire to + be hearty, fruity, generous, strength-imparting—is a virtuous and + noble ambition; and it is most difficult for a man in his own case, or his + neighbor's, to say at what point this ambition transgresses the boundary + of virtue, and becomes vanity, pretence, and self-seeking. You are a poor + man, let us say, showing a bold face to adverse fortune, and wearing a + confident aspect. Your purse is very narrow, but you owe no man a penny; + your means are scanty, but your wife's gown is decent; your old coat well + brushed; your children at a good school; you grumble to no one; ask favors + of no one; truckle to no neighbors on account of their superior rank, or + (a worse, and a meaner, and a more common crime still) envy none for their + better fortune. To all outward appearances you are as well to do as your + neighbors, who have thrice your income. There may be in this case some + little mixture of pretension in your life and behavior. You certainly DO + put on a smiling face whilst fortune is pinching you. Your wife and girls, + so smart and neat at evening parties, are cutting, patching, and cobbling + all day to make both ends of life's haberdashery meet. You give a friend a + bottle of wine on occasion, but are content yourself with a glass of + whiskey-and-water. You avoid a cab, saying that of all things you like to + walk home after dinner (which you know, my good friend, is a fib). I grant + you that in this scheme of life there does enter ever so little hypocrisy; + that this claret is loaded, as it were; but your desire to PORTIFY + yourself is amiable, is pardonable, is perhaps honorable: and were there + no other hypocrisies than yours in the world we should be a set of worthy + fellows; and sermonizers, moralizers, satirizers, would have to hold their + tongues, and go to some other trade to get a living. + </p> + <p> + But you know you WILL step over that boundary line of virtue and modesty, + into the district where humbug and vanity begin, and there the moralizer + catches you and makes an example of you. For instance, in a certain novel + in another place my friend Mr. Talbot Twysden is mentioned—a man + whom you and I know to be a wretched ordinaire, but who persists in + treating himself as if he was the finest '20 port. In our Britain there + are hundreds of men like him; for ever striving to swell beyond their + natural size, to strain beyond their natural strength, to step beyond + their natural stride. Search, search within your own waistcoats, dear + brethren—YOU know in your hearts, which of your ordinaire qualities + you would pass off, and fain consider as first-rate port. And why not you + yourself, Mr. Preacher? says the congregation. Dearly beloved, neither in + or out of this pulpit do I profess to be bigger, or cleverer, or wiser, or + better than any of you. A short while since, a certain Reviewer announced + that I gave myself great pretensions as a philosopher. I a philosopher! I + advance pretensions! My dear Saturday friend. And you? Don't you teach + everything to everybody? and punish the naughty boys if they don't learn + as you bid them? You teach politics to Lord John and Mr. Gladstone. You + teach poets how to write; painters, how to paint; gentlemen, manners; and + opera-dancers, how to pirouette. I was not a little amused of late by an + instance of the modesty of our Saturday friend, who, more Athenian than + the Athenians, and apropos of a Greek book by a Greek author, sat down and + gravely showed the Greek gentleman how to write his own language. + </p> + <p> + No, I do not, as far as I know, try to be port at all; but offer in these + presents, a sound genuine ordinaire, at 18s. per doz. let us say, grown on + my own hillside, and offered de bon coeur to those who will sit down under + my tonnelle, and have a half-hour's drink and gossip. It is none of your + hot porto, my friend. I know there is much better and stronger liquor + elsewhere. Some pronounce it sour: some say it is thin; some that it has + wofully lost its flavor. This may or may not be true. There are good and + bad years; years that surprise everybody; years of which the produce is + small and bad, or rich and plentiful. But if my tap is not genuine it is + naught, and no man should give himself the trouble to drink it. I do not + even say that I would be port if I could; knowing that port (by which I + would imply much stronger, deeper, richer, and more durable liquor than my + vineyard can furnish) is not relished by all palates, or suitable to all + heads. We will assume then, dear brother, that you and I are tolerably + modest people; and, ourselves being thus out of the question, proceed to + show how pretentious our neighbors are, and how very many of them would be + port if they could. + </p> + <p> + Have you never seen a small man from college placed amongst great folk, + and giving himself the airs of a man of fashion? He goes back to his + common room with fond reminiscences of Ermine Castle or Strawberry Hall. + He writes to the dear countess, to say that dear Lord Lollypop is getting + on very well at St. Boniface, and that the accident which he met with in a + scuffle with an inebriated bargeman only showed his spirit and honor, and + will not permanently disfigure his lordship's nose. He gets his clothes + from dear Lollypop's London tailor, and wears a mauve or magenta tie when + he rides out to see the hounds. A love of fashionable people is a + weakness, I do not say of all, but of some tutors. Witness that Eton tutor + t'other day, who intimated that in Cornhill we could not understand the + perfect purity, delicacy, and refinement of those genteel families who + sent their sons to Eton. O usher, mon ami! Old Sam Johnson, who, too, had + been an usher in his early life, kept a little of that weakness always. + Suppose Goldsmith had knocked him up at three in the morning and proposed + a boat to Greenwich, as Topham Beauclerc and his friend did, would he have + said, “What, my boy, are you for a frolic? I'm with you!” and gone and put + on his clothes? Rather he would have pitched poor Goldsmith down stairs. + He would have liked to be port if he could. Of course WE wouldn't. Our + opinion of the Portugal grape is known. It grows very high, and is very + sour, and we don't go for that kind of grape at all. + </p> + <p> + “I was walking with Mr. Fox”—and sure this anecdote comes very pat + after the grapes—“I was walking with Mr. Fox in the Louvre,” says + Benjamin West (apud some paper I have just been reading), “and I remarked + how many people turned round to look at ME. This shows the respect of the + French for the fine arts.” This is a curious instance of a very small + claret indeed, which imagined itself to be port of the strongest body. + There are not many instances of a faith so deep, so simple, so + satisfactory as this. I have met many who would like to be port; but with + few of the Gascon sort, who absolutely believed they WERE port. George + III. believed in West's port and thought Reynolds's overrated stuff. When + I saw West's pictures at Philadelphia, I looked at them with astonishment + and awe. Hide, blushing glory, hide your head under your old nightcap. O + immortality! is this the end of you? Did any of you, my dear brethren, + ever try and read “Blackmore's Poems,” or the “Epics of Baour-Lormian,” or + the “Henriade,” or—what shall we say?—Pollok's “Course of + Time?” They were thought to be more lasting than brass by some people, and + where are they now? And OUR masterpieces of literature—OUR poets—that, + if not immortal, at any rate, are to last their fifty, their hundred years—oh, + sirs, don't you think a very small cellar will hold them? + </p> + <p> + Those poor people in brass, on pedestals, hectoring about Trafalgar Square + and that neighborhood, don't you think many of them—apart even from + the ridiculous execution—cut rather a ridiculous figure, and that we + are too eager to set up our ordinaire heroism and talent for port? A Duke + of Wellington or two I will grant, though even of these idols a moderate + supply will be sufficient. Some years ago a famous and witty French critic + was in London, with whom I walked the streets. I am ashamed to say that I + informed him (being in hopes that he was about to write some papers + regarding the manners and customs of this country) that all the statues he + saw represented the Duke of Wellington. That on the arch opposite Apsley + House? the Duke in a cloak, and cocked hat, on horseback. That behind + Apsley House in an airy fig-leaf costume? the Duke again. That in Cockspur + Street? the Duke with a pigtail—and so on. I showed him an army of + Dukes. There are many bronze heroes who after a few years look already as + foolish, awkward, and out of place as a man, say at Shoolbred's or Swan + and Edgar's. For example, those three Grenadiers in Pall Mall, who have + been up only a few months, don't you pity those unhappy household troops, + who have to stand frowning and looking fierce there; and think they would + like to step down and go to barracks? That they fought very bravely there + is no doubt; but so did the Russians fight very bravely; and the French + fight very bravely; and so did Colonel Jones and the 99th, and Colonel + Brown and the 100th; and I say again that ordinaire should not give itself + port airs, and that an honest ordinaire would blush to be found swaggering + so. I am sure if you could consult the Duke of York, who is impaled on his + column between the two clubs, and ask his late Royal Highness whether he + thought he ought to remain there, he would say no. A brave, worthy man, + not a braggart or boaster, to be put upon that heroic perch must be + painful to him. Lord George Bentinck, I suppose, being in the midst of the + family park in Cavendish Square, may conceive that he has a right to + remain in his place. But look at William of Cumberland, with his hat + cocked over his eye, prancing behind Lord George on his Roman-nosed + charger; he, depend on it, would be for getting off his horse if he had + the permission. He did not hesitate about trifles, as we know; but he was + a very truth-telling and honorable soldier: and as for heroic rank and + statuesque dignity, I would wager a dozen of '20 port against a bottle of + pure and sound Bordeaux, at 18s. per dozen (bottles included), that he + never would think of claiming any such absurd distinction. They have got a + statue of Thomas Moore at Dublin, I hear. Is he on horseback? Some men + should have, say, a fifty years' lease of glory. After a while some + gentlemen now in brass should go to the melting furnace, and reappear in + some other gentleman's shape. Lately I saw that Melville column rising + over Edinburgh; come, good men and true, don't you feel a little awkward + and uneasy when you walk under it? Who was this to stand in heroic places? + and is yon the man whom Scotchmen most delight to honor? I must own + deferentially that there is a tendency in North Britain to over-esteem its + heroes. Scotch ale is very good and strong, but it is not stronger than + all the other beer in the world, as some Scottish patriots would insist. + When there has been a war, and stout old Sandy Sansculotte returns home + from India or Crimea, what a bagpiping, shouting, hurraying, and + self-glorification takes place round about him! You would fancy, to hear + McOrator after dinner, that the Scotch had fought all the battles, killed + all the Russians, Indian rebels, or what not. In Cupar-Fife, there's a + little inn called the “Battle of Waterloo,” and what do you think the sign + is? (I sketch from memory, to be sure.)* “The Battle of Waterloo” is one + broad Scotchman laying about him with a broadsword. Yes, yes, my dear Mac, + you are wise, you are good, you are clever, you are handsome, you are + brave, you are rich, &c.; but so is Jones over the border. Scotch + salmon is good, but there are other good fish in the sea. I once heard a + Scotchman lecture on poetry in London. Of course the pieces he selected + were chiefly by Scottish authors, and Walter Scott was his favorite poet. + I whispered to my neighbor, who was a Scotchman (by the way, the audience + were almost all Scotch, and the room was All-Mac's—I beg your + pardon, but I couldn't help it, I really couldn't help it)—“The + professor has said the best poet was a Scotchman: I wager that he will say + the worst poet was a Scotchman, too.” And sure enough that worst poet, + when he made his appearance, was a Northern Briton. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * This refers to an illustrated edition of the work. +</pre> + <p> + And as we are talking of bragging, and I am on my travels, can I forget + one mighty republic—one—two mighty republics, where people are + notoriously fond of passing off their claret for port? I am very glad, for + the sake of a kind friend, that there is a great and influential party in + the United, and, I trust, in the Confederate States,* who believe that + Catawba wine is better than the best Champagne. Opposite that famous old + White House at Washington, whereof I shall ever have a grateful memory, + they have set up an equestrian statue of General Jackson, by a self-taught + American artist of no inconsiderable genius and skill. At an evening-party + a member of Congress seized me in a corner of the room, and asked me if I + did not think this was THE FINEST EQUESTRIAN STATUE IN THE WORLD? How was + I to deal with this plain question, put to me in a corner? I was bound to + reply, and accordingly said that I did NOT think it was the finest statue + in the world. “Well, sir,” says the Member of Congress, “but you must + remember that Mr. M—— had never seen a statue when he made + this!” I suggested that to see other statues might do Mr. M—— + no harm. Nor was any man more willing to own his defects, or more modest + regarding his merits, than the sculptor himself, whom I met subsequently. + But oh! what a charming article there was in a Washington paper next day + about the impertinence of criticism and offensive tone of arrogance which + Englishmen adopted towards men and works of genius in America! “Who was + this man, who” &c. &c.? The Washington writer was angry because I + would not accept this American claret as the finest port-wine in the + world. Ah me! It is about blood and not wine that the quarrel now is, and + who shall foretell its end? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * Written in July, 1861. +</pre> + <p> + How much claret that would be port if it could is handed about in every + society! In the House of Commons what small-beer orators try to pass for + strong? Stay: have I a spite against any one? It is a fact that the wife + of the Member for Bungay has left off asking me and Mrs. Roundabout to her + evening-parties. Now is the time to have a slap at him. I will say that he + was always overrated, and that now he is lamentably falling off even from + what he has been. I will back the Member for Stoke Poges against him; and + show that the dashing young Member for Islington is a far sounder man than + either. Have I any little literary animosities? Of course not. Men of + letters never have. Otherwise, how I could serve out a competitor here, + make a face over his works, and show that this would-be port is very + meagre ordinaire indeed! Nonsense, man! Why so squeamish? Do they spare + YOU! Now you have the whip in your hand, won't you lay on? You used to be + a pretty whip enough as a young man, and liked it too. Is there no enemy + who would be the better for a little thonging? No. I have militated in + former times, not without glory; but I grow peaceable as I grow old. And + if I have a literary enemy, why, he will probably write a book ere long, + and then it will be HIS turn, and my favorite review will be down upon + him. + </p> + <p> + My brethren, these sermons are professedly short; for I have that opinion + of my dear congregation, which leads me to think that were I to preach at + great length they would yawn, stamp, make noises, and perhaps go + straightway out of church; and yet with this text I protest I could go on + for hours. What multitudes of men, what multitudes of women, my dears, + pass off their ordinaire for port, their small beer for strong! In + literature, in politics, in the army, the navy, the church, at the bar, in + the world, what an immense quantity of cheap liquor is made to do service + for better sorts! Ask Serjeant Roland his opinion of Oliver Q.C. + “Ordinaire, my good fellow, ordinaire, with a port-wine label!” Ask Oliver + his opinion of Roland. “Never was a man so overrated by the world and by + himself.” Ask Tweedledumski his opinion of Tweedledeestein's performance. + “A quack, my tear sir! an ignoramus, I geef you my vort? He gombose an + opera! He is not fit to make dance a bear!” Ask Paddington and + Buckminster, those two “swells” of fashion, what they think of each other? + They are notorious ordinaire. You and I remember when they passed for very + small wine, and now how high and mighty they have become. What do you say + to Tomkins's sermons? Ordinaire, trying to go down as orthodox port, and + very meagre ordinaire too! To Hopkins's historical works?—to + Pumkins's poetry? Ordinaire, ordinaire again—thin, feeble, + overrated; and so down the whole list. And when we have done discussing + our men friends, have we not all the women? Do these not advance absurd + pretensions? Do these never give themselves airs? With feeble brains, + don't they often set up to be esprits forts? Don't they pretend to be + women of fashion, and cut their betters? Don't they try and pass off their + ordinary-looking girls as beauties of the first order? Every man in his + circle knows women who give themselves airs, and to whom we can apply the + port-wine simile. + </p> + <p> + Come, my friends. Here is enough of ordinaire and port for to-day. My + bottle has run out. Will anybody have any more? Let us go up stairs, and + get a cup of tea from the ladies. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + OGRES. + </h2> + <p> + I dare say the reader has remarked that the upright and independent vowel, + which stands in the vowel-list between E and O, has formed the subject of + the main part of these essays. How does that vowel feel this morning?—fresh, + good-humored, and lively? The Roundabout lines, which fall from this pen, + are correspondingly brisk and cheerful. Has anything, on the contrary, + disagreed with the vowel? Has its rest been disturbed, or was yesterday's + dinner too good, or yesterday's wine not good enough? Under such + circumstances, a darkling, misanthropic tinge, no doubt, is cast upon the + paper. The jokes, if attempted, are elaborate and dreary. The bitter + temper breaks out. That sneering manner is adopted, which you know, and + which exhibits itself so especially when the writer is speaking about + women. A moody carelessness comes over him. He sees no good in anybody or + thing: and treats gentlemen, ladies, history, and things in general, with + a like gloomy flippancy. Agreed. When the vowel in question is in that + mood, if you like airy gayety and tender gushing benevolence—if you + want to be satisfied with yourself and the rest of your fellow-beings; I + recommend you, my dear creature, to go to some other shop in Cornhill, or + turn to some other article. There are moods in the mind of the vowel of + which we are speaking, when it is ill-conditioned and captious. Who always + keeps good health, and good humor? Do not philosophers grumble? Are not + sages sometimes out of temper? and do not angel-women go off in tantrums? + To-day my mood is dark. I scowl as I dip my pen in the inkstand. + </p> + <p> + Here is the day come round—for everything here is done with the + utmost regularity:—intellectual labor, sixteen hours; meals, + thirty-two minutes; exercise, a hundred and forty-eight minutes; + conversation with the family, chiefly literary, and about the + housekeeping, one hour and four minutes; sleep, three hours and fifteen + minutes (at the end of the month, when the Magazine is complete, I own I + take eight minutes more); and the rest for the toilette and the world. + Well, I say, the Roundabout Paper Day being come, and the subject long + since settled in my mind, an excellent subject—a most telling, + lively, and popular subject—I go to breakfast determined to finish + that meal in 9 3/4 minutes, as usual, and then retire to my desk and work, + when—oh, provoking!—here in the paper is the very subject + treated, on which I was going to write! Yesterday another paper which I + saw treated it—and of course, as I need not tell you, spoiled it. + Last Saturday, another paper had an article on the subject; perhaps you + may guess what it was—but I won't tell you. Only this is true, my + favorite subject, which was about to make the best paper we have had for a + long time: my bird, my game that I was going to shoot and serve up with + such a delicate sauce, has been found by other sportsmen; and pop, pop, + pop, a half-dozen of guns have banged at it, mangled it, and brought it + down. + </p> + <p> + “And can't you take some other text?” say you. All this is mighty well. + But if you have set your heart on a certain dish for dinner, be it cold + boiled veal, or what you will, and they bring you turtle and venison, + don't you feel disappointed? During your walk you have been making up your + mind that that cold meat, with moderation and a pickle, will be a very + sufficient dinner: you have accustomed your thoughts to it; and here, in + place of it, is a turkey, surrounded by coarse sausages, or a reeking + pigeon-pie or a fulsome roast-pig. I have known many a good and kind man + made furiously angry by such a contretemps. I have known him lose his + temper, call his wife and servants names, and a whole household made + miserable. If, then, as is notoriously the case, it is too dangerous to + balk a man about his dinner, how much more about his article? I came to my + meal with an ogre-like appetite and gusto. Fee, faw, fum! Wife, where is + that tender little Princekin? Have you trussed him, and did you stuff him + nicely, and have you taken care to baste him and do him, not too brown, as + I told you? Quick! I am hungry! I begin to whet my knife, to roll my eyes + about, and roar and clap my huge chest like a gorilla; and then my poor + Ogrina has to tell me that the little princes have all run away, whilst + she was in the kitchen, making the paste to bake them in! I pause in the + description. I won't condescend to report the bad language, which you know + must ensue, when an ogre, whose mind is ill regulated, and whose habits of + self-indulgence are notorious, finds himself disappointed of his greedy + hopes. What treatment of his wife, what abuse and brutal behavior to his + children, who, though ogrillons, are children! My dears, you may fancy, + and need not ask my delicate pen to describe, the language and behavior of + a vulgar, coarse, greedy, large man with an immense mouth and teeth, which + are too frequently employed in the gobbling and crunching of raw man's + meat. + </p> + <p> + And in this circuitous way you see I have reached my present subject, + which is, Ogres. You fancy they are dead or only fictitious characters—mythical + representatives of strength, cruelty, stupidity, and lust for blood? + Though they had seven-leagued boots, you remember all sorts of little + whipping-snapping Tom Thumbs used to elude and outrun them. They were so + stupid that they gave into the most shallow ambuscades and artifices: + witness that well-known ogre, who, because Jack cut open the + hasty-pudding, instantly ripped open his own stupid waistcoat and + interior. They were cruel, brutal, disgusting, with their sharpened teeth, + immense knives, and roaring voices! but they always ended by being + overcome by little Tom Thumbkins, or some other smart little champion. + </p> + <p> + Yes; they were conquered in the end there is no doubt. They plunged + headlong (and uttering the most frightful bad language) into some pit + where Jack came with his smart couteau de chasse and whipped their brutal + heads off. They would be going to devour maidens, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “But ever when it seemed + Their need was at the sorest, + A knight, in armor bright, + Came riding through the forest.” + </pre> + <p> + And down, after a combat, would go the brutal persecutor, with a lance + through his midriff. Yes, I say, this is very true and well. But you + remember that round the ogre's cave the ground was covered, for hundreds + and hundreds of yards, WITH THE BONES OF THE VICTIMS whom he had lured + into the castle. Many knights and maids came to him and perished under his + knife and teeth. Were dragons the same as ogres? monsters dwelling in + caverns, whence they rushed, attired in plate armor, wielding pikes and + torches, and destroying stray passengers who passed by their lair? + Monsters, brutes, rapacious tyrants, ruffians, as they were, doubtless + they ended by being overcome. But, before they were destroyed, they did a + deal of mischief. The bones round their caves were countless. They had + sent many brave souls to Hades, before their own fled, howling out of + their rascal carcasses, to the same place of gloom. + </p> + <p> + There is no greater mistake than to suppose that fairies, champions, + distressed damsels, and by consequence ogres, have ceased to exist. It may + not be OGREABLE to them (pardon the horrible pleasantry, but as I am + writing in the solitude of my chamber, I am grinding my teeth—yelling, + roaring, and cursing—brandishing my scissors and paper-cutter, and + as it were, have become an ogre). I say there is no greater mistake than + to suppose that ogres have ceased to exist. We all KNOW ogres. Their + caverns are round us, and about us. There are the castles of several ogres + within a mile of the spot where I write. I think some of them suspect I am + an ogre myself. I am not: but I know they are. I visit them. I don't mean + to say that they take a cold roast prince out of the cupboard, and have a + cannibal feast before ME. But I see the bones lying about the roads to + their houses, and in the areas and gardens. Politeness, of course, + prevents me from making any remarks; but I know them well enough. One of + the ways to know 'em is to watch the scared looks of the ogres' wives and + children. They lead an awful life. They are present at dreadful cruelties. + In their excesses those ogres will stab about, and kill not only strangers + who happen to call in and ask a night's lodging, but they will outrage, + murder, and chop up their own kin. We all know ogres, I say, and have been + in their dens often. It is not necessary that ogres who ask you to dine + should offer their guests the PECULIAR DISH which they like. They cannot + always get a Tom Thumb family. They eat mutton and beef too; and I dare + say even go out to tea, and invite you to drink it. But I tell you there + are numbers of them going about in the world. And now you have my word for + it, and this little hint, it is quite curious what an interest society may + be made to have for you, by your determining to find out the ogres you + meet there. + </p> + <p> + What does the man mean? says Mrs. Downright, to whom a joke is a very + grave thing. I mean, madam, that in the company assembled in your genteel + drawing-room, who bow here and there and smirk in white neck-cloths, you + receive men who elbow through life successfully enough, but who are ogres + in private: men wicked, false, rapacious, flattering; cruel hectors at + home, smiling courtiers abroad; causing wives, children, servants, + parents, to tremble before them, and smiling and bowing as they bid + strangers welcome into their castles. I say, there are men who have + crunched the bones of victim after victim; in whose closets lie skeletons + picked frightfully clean. When these ogres come out into the world, you + don't suppose they show their knives, and their great teeth? A neat simple + white neck-cloth, a merry rather obsequious manner, a cadaverous look, + perhaps, now and again, and a rather dreadful grin; but I know ogres very + considerably respected: and when you hint to such and such a man, “My dear + sir, Mr. Sharpus, whom you appear to like, is, I assure you, a most + dreadful cannibal;” the gentleman cries, “Oh, psha, nonsense! Dare say not + so black as he is painted. Dare say not worse than his neighbors.” We + condone everything in this country—private treason, falsehood, + flattery, cruelty at home, roguery, and double dealing. What! Do you mean + to say in your acquaintance you don't know ogres guilty of countless + crimes of fraud and force, and that knowing them you don't shake hands + with them; dine with them at your table; and meet them at their own? + Depend upon it, in the time when there were real live ogres in real + caverns or castles, gobbling up real knights and virgins, when they went + into the world—the neighboring market-town, let us say, or earl's + castle—though their nature and reputation were pretty well known, + their notorious foibles were never alluded to. You would say, “What, + Blunderbore, my boy! How do you do? How well and fresh you look! What's + the receipt you have for keeping so young and rosy?” And your wife would + softly ask after Mrs. Blunderbore and the dear children. Or it would be, + “My dear Humguffin! try that pork. It is home-bred, homefed, and, I + promise you, tender. Tell me if you think it is as good as yours? John, a + glass of Burgundy to Colonel Humguffin!” You don't suppose there would be + any unpleasant allusions to disagreeable home-reports regarding + Humguffin's manner of furnishing his larder? I say we all of us know + ogres. We shake hands and dine with ogres. And if inconvenient moralists + tell us we are cowards for our pains, we turn round with a tu quoque, or + say that we don't meddle with other folk's affairs; that people are much + less black than they are painted, and so on. What! Won't half the county + go to Ogreham Castle? Won't some of the clergy say grace at dinner? Won't + the mothers bring their daughters to dance with the young Rawheads? And if + Lady Ogreham happens to die—I won't say to go the way of all flesh, + that is too revolting—I say if Ogreham is a widower, do you aver, on + your conscience and honor, that mothers will not be found to offer their + young girls to supply the lamented lady's place? How stale this + misanthropy is! Something must have disagreed with this cynic. Yes, my + good woman. I dare say you would like to call another subject. Yes, my + fine fellow; ogre at home, supple as a dancing-master abroad, and shaking + in thy pumps, and wearing a horrible grin of sham gayety to conceal thy + terror, lest I should point thee out:—thou art prosperous and + honored, art thou? I say thou hast been a tyrant and a robber. Thou hast + plundered the poor. Thou hast bullied the weak. Thou hast laid violent + hands on the goods of the innocent and confiding. Thou hast made a prey of + the meek and gentle who asked for thy protection. Thou hast been hard to + thy kinsfolk, and cruel to thy family. Go, monster! Ah, when shall little + Jack come and drill daylight through thy wicked cannibal carcass? I see + the ogre pass on, bowing right and left to the company; and he gives a + dreadful sidelong glance of suspicion as he is talking to my lord bishop + in the corner there. + </p> + <p> + Ogres in our days need not be giants at all. In former times, and in + children's books, where it is necessary to paint your moral in such large + letters that there can be no mistake about it, ogres are made with that + enormous mouth and ratelier which you know of, and with which they can + swallow down a baby, almost without using that great knife which they + always carry. They are too cunning now-a-days. They go about in society, + slim, small, quietly dressed, and showing no especially great appetite. In + my own young days there used to be play ogres—men who would devour a + young fellow in one sitting, and leave him without a bit of flesh on his + bones. They were quiet gentlemanlike-looking people. They got the young + fellow into their cave. Champagne, pate-de-foie-gras, and numberless good + things, were handed about; and then, having eaten, the young man was + devoured in his turn. I believe these card and dice ogres have died away + almost as entirely as the hasty-pudding giants whom Tom Thumb overcame. + Now, there are ogres in City courts who lure you into their dens. About + our Cornish mines I am told there are many most plausible ogres, who tempt + you into their caverns and pick your bones there. In a certain newspaper + there used to be lately a whole column of advertisements from ogres who + would put on the most plausible, nay, piteous appearance, in order to + inveigle their victims. You would read, “A tradesman, established for + seventy years in the City, and known, and much respected by Messrs. N. M. + Rothschild and Baring Brothers, has pressing need for three pounds until + next Saturday. He can give security for half a million, and forty thousand + pounds will be given for the use of the loan,” and so on; or, “An + influential body of capitalists are about to establish a company, of which + the business will be enormous and the profits proportionately prodigious. + They will require A SECRETARY, of good address and appearance, at a salary + of two thousand per annum. He need not be able to write, but address and + manners are absolutely necessary. As a mark of confidence in the company, + he will have to deposit,” &c.; or, “A young widow (of pleasing manners + and appearance) who has a pressing necessity for four pounds ten for three + weeks, offers her Erard's grand piano, valued at three hundred guineas; a + diamond cross of eight hundred pounds; and board and lodging in her + elegant villa near Banbury Cross, with the best references and society, in + return for the loan.” I suspect these people are ogres. There are ogres + and ogres. Polyphemus was a great, tall, one-eyed, notorious ogre, + fetching his victims out of a hole, and gobbling them one after another. + There could be no mistake about him. But so were the Sirens ogres—pretty + blue-eyed things, peeping at you coaxingly from out of the water, and + singing their melodious wheedles. And the bones round their caves were + more numerous than the ribs, skulls, and thigh-bones round the cavern of + hulking Polypheme. + </p> + <p> + To the castle-gates of some of these monsters up rides the dapper champion + of the pen; puffs boldly upon the horn which hangs by the chain; enters + the hall resolutely, and challenges the big tyrant sulking within. We defy + him to combat, the enormous roaring ruffian! We give him a meeting on the + green plain before his castle. Green? No wonder it should be green: it is + manured with human bones. After a few graceful wheels and curvets, we take + our ground. We stoop over our saddle. 'Tis but to kiss the locket of our + lady-love's hair. And now the vizor is up: the lance is in rest (Gillott's + iron is the point for me). A touch of the spur in the gallant sides of + Pegasus, and we gallop at the great brute. + </p> + <p> + “Cut off his ugly head, Flibbertygibbet, my squire!” And who are these who + pour out of the castle? the imprisoned maidens, the maltreated widows, the + poor old hoary grandfathers, who have been locked up in the dungeons these + scores and scores of years, writhing under the tyranny of that ruffian! Ah + ye knights of the pen! May honor be your shield, and truth tip your + lances! Be gentle to all gentle people. Be modest to women. Be tender to + children. And as for the Ogre Humbug, out sword, and have at him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON TWO ROUNDABOUT PAPERS WHICH I INTENDED TO WRITE.* + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * The following paper was written in 1861, after the + extraordinary affray between Major Murray and the money- + lender in a house in Northumberland Street, Strand, and + subsequent to the appearance of M. Du Chaillu's book on + Gorillas. +</pre> + <p> + We have all heard of a place paved with good intentions—a place + which I take to be a very dismal, useless, and unsatisfactory terminus for + many pleasant thoughts, kindly fancies, gentle wishes, merry little quips + and pranks, harmless jokes which die as it were the moment of their birth. + Poor little children of the brain! He was a dreary theologian who huddled + you under such a melancholy cenotaph, and laid you in the vaults under the + flagstones of Hades! I trust that some of the best actions we have all of + us committed in our lives have been committed in fancy. It is not all + wickedness we are thinking, que diable! Some of our thoughts are bad + enough I grant you. Many a one you and I have had here below. Ah mercy, + what a monster! what crooked horns! what leering eyes! what a flaming + mouth! what cloven feet, and what a hideous writhing tail! Oh, let us fall + down on our knees, repeat our most potent exorcisms, and overcome the + brute. Spread your black pinions, fly—fly to the dusky realms of + Eblis, and bury thyself under the paving-stones of his hall, dark genie! + But ALL thoughts are not so. No—no. There are the pure: there are + the kind: there are the gentle. There are sweet unspoken thanks before a + fair scene of nature: at a sun-setting below a glorious sea: or a moon and + a host of stars shining over it: at a bunch of children playing in the + street, or a group of flowers by the hedge-side, or a bird singing there. + At a hundred moments or occurrences of the day good thoughts pass through + the mind, let us trust, which never are spoken; prayers are made which + never are said; and Te Deum is sung without church, clerk, choristers, + parson, or organ. Why, there's my enemy: who got the place I wanted; who + maligned me to the woman I wanted to be well with; who supplanted me in + the good graces of my patron. I don't say anything about the matter: but, + my poor old enemy, in my secret mind I have movements of as tender charity + towards you, you old scoundrel, as ever I had when we were boys together + at school. You ruffian! do you fancy I forget that we were fond of each + other? We are still. We share our toffy; go halves at the tuck-shop; do + each other's exercises; prompt each other with the word in construing or + repetition; and tell the most frightful fibs to prevent each other from + being found out. We meet each other in public. Ware a fight! Get them into + different parts of the room! Our friends hustle round us. Capulet and + Montague are not more at odds than the houses of Roundabout and + Wrightabout, let us say. It is, “My dear Mrs. Buffer, do kindly put + yourself in the chair between those two men!” Or, “My dear Wrightabout, + will you take that charming Lady Blancmange down to supper? She adores + your poems, and gave five shillings for your autograph at the fancy fair.” + In like manner the peacemakers gather round Roundabout on his part; he is + carried to a distant corner, and coaxed out of the way of the enemy with + whom he is at feud. + </p> + <p> + When we meet in the Square at Verona, out flash rapiers, and we fall to. + But in his private mind Tybalt owns that Mercutio has a rare wit, and + Mercutio is sure that his adversary is a gallant gentleman. Look at the + amphitheatre yonder. You do not suppose those gladiators who fought and + perished, as hundreds of spectators in that grim Circus held thumbs down, + and cried, “Kill, kill!”—you do not suppose the combatants of + necessity hated each other? No more than the celebrated trained bands of + literary sword-and-buckler men hate the adversaries whom they meet in the + arena. They engage at the given signal; feint and parry; slash, poke, rip + each other open, dismember limbs, and hew off noses: but in the way of + business, and, I trust, with mutual private esteem. For instance, I salute + the warriors of the Superfine Company with the honors due among warriors. + Here's at you, Spartacus, my lad. A hit, I acknowledge. A palpable hit! + Ha! how do you like that poke in the eye in return? When the trumpets sing + truce, or the spectators are tired, we bow to the noble company: withdraw; + and get a cool glass of wine in our rendezvous des braves gladiateurs. + </p> + <p> + By the way, I saw that amphitheatre of Verona under the strange light of a + lurid eclipse some years ago: and I have been there in spirit for these + twenty lines past, under a vast gusty awning, now with twenty thousand + fellow-citizens looking on from the benches, now in the circus itself, a + grim gladiator with sword and net, or a meek martyr—was I?—brought + out to be gobbled up by the lions? or a huge, shaggy, tawny lion myself, + on whom the dogs were going to be set? What a day of excitement I have had + to be sure! But I must get away from Verona, or who knows how much farther + the Roundabout Pegasus may carry me? + </p> + <p> + We were saying, my Muse, before we dropped and perched on earth for a + couple of sentences, that our unsaid words were in some limbo or other, as + real as those we have uttered; that the thoughts which have passed through + our brains are as actual as any to which our tongues and pens have given + currency. For instance, besides what is here hinted at, I have thought + ever so much more about Verona: about an early Christian church I saw + there; about a great dish of rice we had at the inn; about the bugs there; + about ever so many more details of that day's journey from Milan to + Venice; about Lake Garda, which lay on the way from Milan, and so forth. I + say what fine things we have thought of, haven't we, all of us? Ah, what a + fine tragedy that was I thought of, and never wrote! On the day of the + dinner of the Oystermongers' Company, what a noble speech I thought of in + the cab, and broke down—I don't mean the cab, but the speech. Ah, if + you could but read some of the unwritten Roundabout Papers, how you would + be amused! Aha! my friend, I catch you saying, “Well, then, I wish THIS + was unwritten with all my heart.” Very good. I owe you one. I do confess a + hit, a palpable hit. + </p> + <p> + One day in the past month, as I was reclining on the bench of thought, + with that ocean The Times newspaper spread before me, the ocean cast up on + the shore at my feet two famous subjects for Roundabout Papers, and I + picked up those waifs, and treasured them away until I could polish them + and bring them to market. That scheme is not to be carried out. I can't + write about those subjects. And though I cannot write about them, I may + surely tell what are the subjects I am going NOT to write about. + </p> + <p> + The first was that Northumberland Street encounter, which all the papers + have narrated. Have any novelists of our days a scene and catastrophe more + strange and terrible than this which occurs at noonday within a few yards + of the greatest thoroughfare in Europe? At the theatres they have a new + name for their melodramatic pieces, and call them “Sensation Dramas.” What + a sensation Drama this is! What have people been flocking to see at the + Adelphi Theatre for the last hundred and fifty nights? A woman pitched + overboard out of a boat, and a certain Miles taking a tremendous “header,” + and bringing her to shore? Bagatelle! What is this compared to the real + life-drama, of which a midday representation takes place just opposite the + Adelphi in Northumberland Street? The brave Dumas, the intrepid Ainsworth, + the terrible Eugene Sue, the cold-shudder-inspiring “Woman in White,” the + astounding author of the “Mysteries of the Court of London,” never + invented anything more tremendous than this. It might have happened to you + and me. We want to borrow a little money. We are directed to an agent. We + propose a pecuniary transaction at a short date. He goes into the next + room, as we fancy, to get the bank-notes, and returns with “two very + pretty, delicate little ivory-handled pistols,” and blows a portion of our + heads off. After this, what is the use of being squeamish about the + probabilities and possibilities in the writing of fiction? Years ago I + remember making merry over a play of Dumas, called Kean, in which the + “Coal-Hole Tavern” was represented on the Thames, with a fleet of + pirate-ships moored alongside. Pirate-ships? Why not? What a cavern of + terror was this in Northumberland Street, with its splendid furniture + covered with dust, its empty bottles, in the midst of which sits a grim + “agent,” amusing himself by firing pistols, aiming at the unconscious + mantel-piece, or at the heads of his customers! + </p> + <p> + After this, what is not possible? It is possible Hungerford Market is + mined, and will explode some day. Mind how you go in for a penny ice + unawares. “Pray, step this way,” says a quiet person at the door. You + enter—into a back room:—a quiet room; rather a dark room. + “Pray, take your place in a chair.” And she goes to fetch the penny ice. + Malheureux! The chair sinks down with you—sinks, and sinks, and + sinks—a large wet flannel suddenly envelopes your face and throttles + you. Need we say any more? After Northumberland Street, what is + improbable? Surely there is no difficulty in crediting Bluebeard. I + withdraw my last month's opinions about ogres. Ogres? Why not? I protest I + have seldom contemplated anything more terribly ludicrous than this + “agent” in the dingy splendor of his den, surrounded by dusty ormolu and + piles of empty bottles, firing pistols for his diversion at the + mantel-piece until his clients come in! Is pistol-practice so common in + Northumberland Street, that it passes without notice in the lodging-houses + there? + </p> + <p> + We spake anon of good thoughts. About bad thoughts? Is there some + Northumberland Street chamber in your heart and mine, friend: close to the + every-day street of life visited by daily friends: visited by people on + business; in which affairs are transacted; jokes are uttered; wine is + drunk; through which people come and go; wives and children pass; and in + which murder sits unseen until the terrible moment when he rises up and + kills? A farmer, say, has a gun over the mantel-piece in his room where he + sits at his daily meals and rest: caressing his children, joking with his + friends, smoking his pipe in his calm. One night the gun is taken down: + the farmer goes out: and it is a murderer who comes back and puts the + piece up and drinks by that fireside. Was he a murderer yesterday when he + was tossing the baby on his knee, and when his hands were playing with his + little girl's yellow hair? Yesterday there was no blood on them at all: + they were shaken by honest men: have done many a kind act in their time + very likely. He leans his head on one of them, the wife comes in with her + anxious looks of welcome, the children are prattling as they did yesterday + round the father's knee at the fire, and Cain is sitting by the embers, + and Abel lies dead on the moor. Think of the gulf between now and + yesterday. Oh, yesterday! Oh, the days when those two loved each other and + said their prayers side by side! He goes to sleep, perhaps, and dreams + that his brother is alive. Be true, O dream! Let him live in dreams, and + wake no more. Be undone, O crime, O crime! But the sun rises: and the + officers of conscience come: and yonder lies the body on the moor. I + happened to pass, and looked at the Northumberland Street house the other + day. A few loiterers were gazing up at the dingy windows. A plain ordinary + face of a house enough—and in a chamber in it one man suddenly rose + up, pistol in hand, to slaughter another. Have you ever killed any one in + your thoughts? Has your heart compassed any man's death? In your mind, + have you ever taken a brand from the altar, and slain your brother? How + many plain ordinary faces of men do we look at, unknowing of murder behind + those eyes? Lucky for you and me, brother, that we have good thoughts + unspoken. But the bad ones? I tell you that the sight of those blank + windows in Northumberland Street—through which, as it were, my mind + could picture the awful tragedy glimmering behind—set me thinking, + “Mr. Street-Preacher, here is a text for one of your pavement sermons. But + it is too glum and serious. You eschew dark thoughts: and desire to be + cheerful and merry in the main.” And, such being the case, you see we must + have no Roundabout Essay on this subject. + </p> + <p> + Well, I had another arrow in my quiver. (So, you know, had William Tell a + bolt for his son, the apple of his eye; and a shaft for Gessler, in case + William came to any trouble with the first poor little target.) And this, + I must tell you, was to have been a rare Roundabout performance—one + of the very best that has ever appeared in this series. It was to have + contained all the deep pathos of Addison; the logical precision of + Rabelais; the childlike playfulness of Swift; the manly stoicism of + Sterne; the metaphysical depth of Goldsmith; the blushing modesty of + Fielding; the epigrammatic terseness of Walter Scott; the uproarious humor + of Sam Richardson; and the gay simplicity of Sam Johnson;—it was to + have combined all these qualities, with some excellences of modern writers + whom I could name:—but circumstances have occurred which have + rendered this Roundabout Essay also impossible. + </p> + <p> + I have not the least objection to tell you what was to have been the + subject of that other admirable Roundabout Paper. Gracious powers! the + Dean of St. Patrick's never had a better theme. The paper was to have been + on the Gorillas, to be sure. I was going to imagine myself to be a young + surgeon-apprentice from Charleston, in South Carolina, who ran away to + Cuba on account of unhappy family circumstances, with which nobody has the + least concern; who sailed thence to Africa in a large, roomy schooner with + an extraordinary vacant space between decks. I was subject to dreadful ill + treatment from the first mate of the ship, who, when I found she was a + slaver, altogether declined to put me on shore. I was chased—we were + chased—by three British frigates and a seventy-four, which we + engaged and captured; but were obliged to scuttle and sink, as we could + sell them in no African port: and I never shall forget the look of manly + resignation, combined with considerable disgust, of the British Admiral as + he walked the plank, after cutting off his pigtail, which he handed to me, + and which I still have in charge for his family at Boston, Lincolnshire, + England. + </p> + <p> + We made the port of Bpoopoo, at the confluence of the Bungo and Sgglolo + rivers (which you may see in Swammerdahl's map) on the 31st April last + year. Our passage had been so extraordinarily rapid, owing to the + continued drunkenness of the captain and chief officers, by which I was + obliged to work the ship and take her in command, that we reached Bpoopoo + six weeks before we were expected, and five before the coffres from the + interior and from the great slave depot at Zbabblo were expected. Their + delay caused us not a little discomfort, because, though we had taken the + four English ships, we knew that Sir Byam Martin's iron-cased squadron, + with the “Warrior,” the “Impregnable,” the “Sanconiathon,” and the + “Berosus,” were cruising in the neighborhood, and might prove too much for + us. + </p> + <p> + It not only became necessary to quit Bpoopoo before the arrival of the + British fleet or the rainy season, but to get our people on board as soon + as might be. While the chief mate, with a detachment of seamen, hurried + forward to the Pgogo lake, where we expected a considerable part of our + cargo, the second mate, with six men, four chiefs, King Fbumbo, an Obi + man, and myself, went N.W. by W., towards King Mtoby'stown, where we knew + many hundreds of our between-deck passengers were to be got together. We + went down the Pdodo river, shooting snipes, ostriches, and rhinoceros in + plenty, and I think a few elephants, until, by the advice of a guide, who + I now believe was treacherous, we were induced to leave the Pdodo, and + march N.E. by N.N. Here Lieutenant Larkins, who had persisted in drinking + rum from morning to night, and thrashing me in his sober moments during + the whole journey, died, and I have too good reason to know was eaten with + much relish by the natives. At Mgoo, where there are barracoons and a + depot for our cargo, we had no news of our expected freight; accordingly, + as time pressed exceedingly, parties were despatched in advance towards + the great Washaboo lake, by which the caravans usually come towards the + coast. Here we found no caravan, but only four negroes down with the ague, + whom I treated, I am bound to say, unsuccessfully, whilst we waited for + our friends. We used to take watch and watch in front of the place, both + to guard ourselves from attack, and get early news of the approaching + caravan. + </p> + <p> + At last, on the 23rd September, as I was in advance with Charles Rogers, + second mate, and two natives with bows and arrows, we were crossing a + great plain skirted by a forest, when we saw emerging from a ravine what I + took to be three negroes—a very tall one, one of a moderate size, + and one quite little. + </p> + <p> + Our native guide shrieked out some words in their language, of which + Charles Rogers knew something. I thought it was the advance of the negroes + whom we expected. “No!” said Rogers (who swore dreadfully in + conversation), “it is the Gorillas!” And he fired both barrels of his gun, + bringing down the little one first, and the female afterwards. + </p> + <p> + The male, who was untouched, gave a howl that you might have heard a + league off; advanced towards us as if he would attack us, and then turned + and ran away with inconceivable celerity towards the wood. + </p> + <p> + We went up towards the fallen brutes. The little one by the female + appeared to be about two years old. It lay bleating and moaning on the + ground, stretching out its little hands, with movements and looks so + strangely resembling human, that my heart sickened with pity. The female, + who had been shot through both legs, could not move. She howled most + hideously when I approached the little one. + </p> + <p> + “We must be off,” said Rogers, “or the whole Gorilla race may be down upon + us.” “The little one is only shot in the leg,” I said. “I'll bind the limb + up, and we will carry the beast with us on board.” + </p> + <p> + The poor little wretch held up its leg to show it was wounded, and looked + to me with appealing eyes. It lay quite still whilst I looked for and + found the bullet, and, tearing off a piece of my shirt, bandaged up the + wound. I was so occupied in this business, that I hardly heard Rogers cry + “Run! run!” and when I looked up— + </p> + <p> + When I looked up, with a roar the most horrible I ever heard—a roar? + ten thousand roars—a whirling army of dark beings rushed by me. + Rogers, who had bullied me so frightfully during the voyage, and who had + encouraged my fatal passion for play, so that I own I owed him 1,500 + dollars, was overtaken, felled, brained, and torn into ten thousand + pieces; and I dare say the same fate would have fallen on me, but that the + little Gorilla, whose wound I had dressed, flung its arms round my neck + (their arms, you know, are much longer than ours). And when an immense + gray Gorilla, with hardly any teeth, brandishing the trunk of a + gollyboshtree about sixteen feet long, came up to me roaring, the little + one squeaked out something plaintive, which, of course, I could not + understand; on which suddenly the monster flung down his tree, squatted + down on his huge hams by the side of the little patient, and began to + bellow and weep. + </p> + <p> + And now, do you see whom I had rescued? I had rescued the young Prince of + the Gorillas, who was out walking with his nurse and footman. The footman + had run off to alarm his master, and certainly I never saw a footman run + quicker. The whole army of Gorillas rushed forward to rescue their prince, + and punish his enemies. If the King Gorilla's emotion was great, fancy + what the queen's must have been when SHE came up! She arrived, on a + litter, neatly enough made with wattled branches, on which she lay, with + her youngest child, a prince of three weeks old. + </p> + <p> + My little protege with the wounded leg, still persisted in hugging me with + its arms (I think I mentioned that they are longer than those of men in + general), and as the poor little brute was immensely heavy, and the + Gorillas go at a prodigious pace, a litter was made for us likewise; and + my thirst much refreshed by a footman (the same domestic who had given the + alarm) running hand over hand up a cocoanut-tree, tearing the rinds off, + breaking the shell on his head, and handing me the fresh milk in its cup. + My little patient partook of a little, stretching out its dear little + unwounded foot, with which, or with its hand, a Gorilla can help itself + indiscriminately. Relays of large Gorillas relieved each other at the + litters at intervals of twenty minutes, as I calculated by my watch, one + of Jones and Bates's, of Boston, Mass., though I have been unable to this + day to ascertain how these animals calculate time with such surprising + accuracy. We slept for that night under— + </p> + <p> + And now, you see, we arrive at really the most interesting part of my + travels in the country which I intended to visit, viz. the manners and + habits of the Gorillas chez eux. I give the heads of this narrative only, + the full account being suppressed for a reason which shall presently be + given. The heads, then, of the chapters, are briefly as follows:— + </p> + <p> + The author's arrival in the Gorilla country. Its geographical position. + Lodgings assigned to him up a gum-tree. Constant attachment of the little + prince. His royal highness's gratitude. Anecdotes of his wit, playfulness, + and extraordinary precocity. Am offered a portion of poor Larkins for my + supper, but decline with horror. Footman brings me a young crocodile: + fishy but very palatable. Old crocodiles too tough: ditto rhinoceros. + Visit the queen mother—an enormous old Gorilla, quite white. + Prescribe for her majesty. Meeting of Gorillas at what appears a + parliament amongst them: presided over by old Gorilla in cocoanut-fibre + wig. Their sports. Their customs. A privileged class amongst them. + Extraordinary likeness of Gorillas to people at home, both at Charleston, + S. C., my native place; and London, England, which I have visited. + Flat-nosed Gorillas and blue-nosed Gorillas; their hatred, and wars + between them. In a part of the country (its geographical position + described) I see several negroes under Gorilla domination. Well treated by + their masters. Frog-eating Gorillas across the Salt Lake. Bull-headed + Gorillas—their mutual hostility. Green Island Gorillas. More + quarrelsome than the Bull-heads, and howl much louder. I am called to + attend one of the princesses. Evident partiality of H. R. H. for me. + Jealousy and rage of large red-headed Gorilla. How shall I escape? + </p> + <p> + Ay, how indeed? Do you wish to know? Is your curiosity excited? Well, I DO + know how I escaped. I could tell the most extraordinary adventures that + happened to me. I could show you resemblances to people at home, that + would make them blue with rage and you crack your sides with laughter. . . + . And what is the reason I cannot write this paper, having all the facts + before me? The reason is, that walking down St. James Street yesterday, I + met a friend who says to me, “Roundabout my boy, have you seen your + picture? Here it is!” And he pulls out a portrait, executed in + photography, of your humble servant, as an immense and most + unpleasant-featured baboon, with long hairy hands, and called by the + waggish artist “A Literary Gorilla.” O horror! And now you see why I can't + play off this joke myself, and moralize on the fable, as it has been + narrated already DE ME. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. + </h2> + <p> + This group of dusky children of the captivity is copied out of a little + sketch-book which I carried in many a roundabout journey, and will point a + moral as well as any other sketch in the volume. Yonder drawing* was made + in a country where there was such hospitality, friendship, kindness shown + to the humble designer, that his eyes do not care to look out for faults, + or his pen to note them. How they sang; how they laughed and grinned; how + they scraped, bowed, and complimented you and each other, those negroes of + the cities of the Southern parts of the then United States! My business + kept me in the towns; I was but in one negro-plantation village, and there + were only women and little children, the men being out a-field. But there + was plenty of cheerfulness in the huts, under the great trees—I + speak of what I saw—and amidst the dusky bondsmen of the cities. I + witnessed a curious gayety; heard amongst the black folk endless singing, + shouting, and laughter; and saw on holidays black gentlemen and ladies + arrayed in such splendor and comfort as freeborn workmen in our towns + seldom exhibit. What a grin and bow that dark gentleman performed, who was + the porter at the colonel's, when he said, “You write your name, mas'r, + else I will forgot.” I am not going into the slavery question, I am not an + advocate for “the institution,” as I know, madam, by that angry toss of + your head, you are about to declare me to be. For domestic purposes, my + dear lady, it seemed to me about the dearest institution that can be + devised. In a house in a Southern city you will find fifteen negroes doing + the work which John, the cook, the housemaid, and the help, do perfectly + in your own comfortable London house. And these fifteen negroes are the + pick of a family of some eighty or ninety. Twenty are too sick, or too old + for work, let us say: twenty too clumsy: twenty are too young, and have to + be nursed and watched by ten more.** And master has to maintain the + immense crew to do the work of half a dozen willing hands. No, no; let + Mitchell, the exile from poor dear enslaved Ireland, wish for a gang of + “fat niggers;” I would as soon you should make me a present of a score of + Bengal elephants, when I need but a single stout horse to pull my + brougham. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * This refers to an illustrated edition of the work. + + ** This was an account given by a gentleman at Richmond of + his establishment. Six European servants would have kept + his house and stables well. “His farm,” he said, “barely + sufficed to maintain the negroes residing on it.” + </pre> + <p> + How hospitable they were, those Southern men! In the North itself the + welcome was not kinder, as I, who have eaten Northern and Southern salt, + can testify. As for New Orleans, in spring-time,—just when the + orchards were flushing over with peach-blossoms, and the sweet herbs came + to flavor the juleps—it seemed to me the city of the world where you + can eat and drink the most and suffer the least. At Bordeaux itself, + claret is not better to drink than at New Orleans. It was all good—believe + an expert Robert—from the half-dollar Medoc of the public hotel + table, to the private gentleman's choicest wine. Claret is, somehow, good + in that gifted place at dinner, at supper, and at breakfast in the + morning. It is good: it is superabundant—and there is nothing to + pay. Find me speaking ill of such a country! When I do, pone me pigris + campis: smother me in a desert, or let Mississippi or Garonne drown me! At + that comfortable tavern on Pontchartrain we had a bouillabaisse than which + a better was never eaten at Marseilles: and not the least headache in the + morning, I give you my word; on the contrary, you only wake with a sweet + refreshing thirst for claret and water. They say there is fever there in + the autumn: but not in the spring-time, when the peach-blossoms blush over + the orchards, and the sweet herbs come to flavor the juleps. + </p> + <p> + I was bound from New Orleans to Saint Louis; and our walk was constantly + on the Levee, whence we could see a hundred of those huge white + Mississippi steamers at their moorings in the river: “Look,” said my + friend Lochlomond to me, as we stood one day on the quay—“look at + that post! Look at that coffee-house behind it! Sir, last year a steamer + blew up in the river yonder, just where you see those men pulling off in + the boat. By that post where you are standing a mule was cut in two by a + fragment of the burst machinery, and a bit of the chimney-stove in that + first-floor window of the coffee-house, killed a negro who was cleaning + knives in the top-room!” I looked at the post, at the coffee-house window, + at the steamer in which I was going to embark, at my friend, with a + pleasing interest not divested of melancholy. Yesterday, it was the mule, + thinks I, who was cut in two: it may be cras mihi. Why, in the same little + sketch-book, there is a drawing of an Alabama river steamer which blew up + on the very next voyage after that in which your humble servant was on + board! Had I but waited another week, I might have. . . . These incidents + give a queer zest to the voyage down the life-stream in America. When our + huge, tall, white, pasteboard castle of a steamer began to work up stream, + every limb in her creaked, and groaned, and quivered, so that you might + fancy she would burst right off. Would she hold together, or would she + split into ten million of shivers? O my home and children! Would your + humble servant's body be cut in two across yonder chain on the Levee, or + be precipitated into yonder first-floor, so as to damage the chest of a + black man cleaning boots at the window? The black man is safe for me, + thank goodness. But you see the little accident might have happened. It + has happened; and if to a mule, why not to a more docile animal? On our + journey up the Mississippi, I give you my honor we were on fire three + times, and burned our cook-room down. The deck at night was a great + firework—the chimney spouted myriads of stars, which fell blackening + on our garments, sparkling on to the deck, or gleaming into the mighty + stream through which we labored—the mighty yellow stream with all + its snags. + </p> + <p> + How I kept up my courage through these dangers shall now be narrated. The + excellent landlord of the “Saint Charles Hotel,” when I was going away, + begged me to accept two bottles of the very finest Cognac, with his + compliments; and I found them in my state-room with my luggage. Lochlomond + came to see me off, and as he squeezed my hand at parting, “Roundabout,” + says he, “the wine mayn't be very good on board, so I have brought a + dozen-case of the Medoc which you liked;” and we grasped together the + hands of friendship and farewell. Whose boat is this pulling up to the + ship? It is our friend Glenlivat, who gave us the dinner on Lake + Pontchartrain. “Roundabout,” says he, “we have tried to do what we could + for you, my boy; and it has been done de bon coeur” (I detect a kind + tremulousness in the good fellow's voice as he speaks). “I say—hem!—the + a—the wine isn't too good on board, so I've brought you a dozen of + Medoc for your voyage, you know. And God bless you; and when I come to + London in May I shall come and see you. Hallo! here's Johnson come to see + you off, too!” + </p> + <p> + As I am a miserable sinner, when Johnson grasped my hand, he said, “Mr. + Roundabout, you can't be sure of the wine on board these steamers, so I + thought I would bring you a little case of that light claret which you + liked at my house.” Et de trois! No wonder I could face the Mississippi + with so much courage supplied to me! Where are you, honest friends, who + gave me of your kindness and your cheer? May I be considerably boiled, + blown up, and snagged, if I speak hard words of you. May claret turn sour + ere I do! + </p> + <p> + Mounting the stream it chanced that we had very few passengers. How far is + the famous city of Memphis from New Orleans? I do not mean the Egyptian + Memphis, but the American Memphis, from which to the American Cairo we + slowly toiled up the river—to the American Cairo at the confluence + of the Ohio and Mississippi rivers. And at Cairo we parted company from + the boat, and from some famous and gifted fellow-passengers who joined us + at Memphis, and whose pictures we had seen in many cities of the South. I + do not give the names of these remarkable people, unless, by some wondrous + chance, in inventing a name I should light upon that real one which some + of them bore; but if you please I will say that our fellow-passengers whom + we took in at Memphis were no less personages than the Vermont Giant and + the famous Bearded Lady of Kentucky and her son. Their pictures I had seen + in many cities through which I travelled with my own little performance. I + think the Vermont Giant was a trifle taller in his pictures than he was in + life (being represented in the former as, at least, some two stories + high): but the lady's prodigious beard received no more than justice at + the hands of the painter; that portion of it which I saw being really most + black, rich, and curly—I say the portion of beard, for this modest + or prudent woman kept I don't know how much of the beard covered up with a + red handkerchief, from which I suppose it only emerged when she went to + bed, or when she exhibited it professionally. + </p> + <p> + The Giant, I must think, was an overrated giant. I have known gentlemen, + not in the profession, better made, and I should say taller, than the + Vermont gentleman. A strange feeling I used to have at meals; when, on + looking round our little society, I saw the Giant, the Bearded Lady of + Kentucky, the little Bearded Boy of three years old, the Captain, (this I + THINK; but at this distance of time I would not like to make the statement + on affidavit,) and the three other passengers, all with their knives in + their mouths making play at the dinner—a strange feeling I say it + was, and as though I was in a castle of ogres. But, after all, why so + squeamish? A few scores of years back, the finest gentlemen and ladies of + Europe did the like. Belinda ate with her knife; and Saccharissa had only + that weapon, or a two-pronged fork, or a spoon, for her pease. Have you + ever looked at Gilray's print of the Prince of Wales, a languid + voluptuary, retiring after his meal, and noted the toothpick which he + uses? . . . You are right, madam; I own that the subject is revolting and + terrible. I will not pursue it. Only—allow that a gentleman, in a + shaky steamboat, on a dangerous river, in a far-off country, which caught + fire three times during the voyage—(of course I mean the steamboat, + not the country,)—seeing a giant, a voracious supercargo, a bearded + lady, and a little boy, not three years of age, with a chin already quite + black and curly, all plying their victuals down their throats with their + knives—allow, madam, that in such a company a man had a right to + feel a little nervous. I don't know whether you have ever remarked the + Indian jugglers swallowing their knives, or seen, as I have, a whole table + of people performing the same trick, but if you look at their eyes when + they do it, I assure you there is a roll in them which is dreadful. + </p> + <p> + Apart from this usage, which they practise in common with many thousand + most estimable citizens, the Vermont gentleman, and the Kentucky whiskered + lady—or did I say the reverse?—whichever you like my dear sir—were + quite quiet, modest, unassuming people. She sat working with her needle, + if I remember right. He, I suppose, slept in the great cabin, which was + seventy feet long at the least, nor, I am bound to say, did I hear in the + night any snores or roars, such as you would fancy ought to accompany the + sleep of ogres. Nay, this giant had quite a small appetite, (unless, to be + sure, he went forward and ate a sheep or two in private with his horrid + knife—oh, the dreadful thought!—but IN PUBLIC, I say, he had + quite a delicate appetite,) and was also a tea-totaler. I don't remember + to have heard the lady's voice, though I might, not unnaturally, have been + curious to hear it. Was her voice a deep, rich, magnificent bass; or was + it soft, fluty, and mild? I shall never know now. Even if she comes to + this country, I shall never go and see her. I HAVE seen her, and for + nothing. + </p> + <p> + You would have fancied that, as after all we were only some half-dozen on + board, she might have dispensed with her red handkerchief, and talked, and + eaten her dinner in comfort: but in covering her chin there was a kind of + modesty. That beard was her profession: that beard brought the public to + see her: out of her business she wished to put that beard aside as it + were: as a barrister would wish to put off his wig. I know some who carry + theirs into private life, and who mistake you and me for jury-boxes when + they address us: but these are not your modest barristers, not your true + gentlemen. + </p> + <p> + Well, I own I respected the lady for the modesty with which, her public + business over, she retired into private life. She respected her life, and + her beard. That beard having done its day's work, she puts it away in her + handkerchief; and becomes, as far as in her lies, a private ordinary + person. All public men and women of good sense, I should think, have this + modesty. When, for instance, in my small way, poor Mrs. Brown comes + simpering up to me, with her album in one hand, a pen in the other, and + says, “Ho, ho, dear Mr. Roundabout, write us one of your amusing,” &c + .&c., my beard drops behind my handkerchief instantly. Why am I to wag + my chin and grin for Mrs. Brown's good pleasure? My dear madam, I have + been making faces all day. It is my profession. I do my comic business + with the greatest pains, seriousness, and trouble: and with it make, I + hope, a not dishonest livelihood. If you ask Mons. Blondin to tea, you + don't have a rope stretched from your garret window to the opposite side + of the square, and request Monsieur to take his tea out on the centre of + the rope? I lay my hand on this waistcoat, and declare that not once in + the course of our voyage together did I allow the Kentucky Giant to + suppose I was speculating on his stature, or the Bearded Lady to surmise + that I wished to peep under the handkerchief which muffled the lower part + of her face. “And the more fool you,” says some cynic. (Faugh, those + cynics, I hate 'em!) Don't you know, sir, that a man of genius is pleased + to have his genius recognized; that a beauty likes to be admired; that an + actor likes to be applauded; that stout old Wellington himself was + pleased, and smiled when the people cheered him as he passed? Suppose you + had paid some respectful compliment to that lady? Suppose you had asked + that giant, if, for once, he would take anything at the liquor-bar? you + might have learned a great deal of curious knowledge regarding giants and + bearded ladies, about whom you evidently now know very little. There was + that little boy of three years old, with a fine beard already, and his + little legs and arms, as seen out of his little frock, covered with a dark + down. What a queer little capering satyr! He was quite good-natured, + childish, rather solemn. He had a little Norval dress, I remember: the + drollest little Norval. + </p> + <p> + I have said the B. L. had another child. Now this was a little girl of + some six years old, as fair and as smooth of skin, dear madam, as your own + darling cherubs. She wandered about the great cabin quite melancholy. No + one seemed to care for her. All the family affections were centred on + Master Esau yonder. His little beard was beginning to be a little fortune + already, whereas Miss Rosalba was of no good to the family. No one would + pay a cent to see HER little fair face. No wonder the poor little maid was + melancholy. As I looked at her, I seemed to walk more and more in a fairy + tale, and more and more in a cavern of ogres. Was this a little fondling + whom they had picked up in some forest, where lie the picked bones of the + queen, her tender mother, and the tough old defunct monarch, her father? + No. Doubtless they were quite good-natured people, these. I don't believe + they were unkind to the little girl without the moustaches. It may have + been only my fancy that she repined because she had a cheek no more + bearded than a rose's. + </p> + <p> + Would you wish your own daughter, madam, to have a smooth cheek, a modest + air, and a gentle feminine behavior, or to be—I won't say a + whiskered prodigy, like this Bearded Lady of Kentucky—but a + masculine wonder, a virago, a female personage of more than female + strength, courage, wisdom? Some authors, who shall be nameless, are, I + know, accused of depicting the most feeble, brainless, namby-pamby + heroines, for ever whimpering tears and prattling commonplaces. YOU would + have the heroine of your novel so beautiful that she should charm the + captain (or hero, whoever he may be) with her appearance; surprise and + confound the bishop with her learning; outride the squire and get the + brush, and, when he fell from his horse, whip out a lancet and bleed him; + rescue from fever and death the poor cottager's family whom the doctor had + given up; make 21 at the butts with the rifle, when the poor captain only + scored 18; give him twenty in fifty at billiards and beat him; and draw + tears from the professional Italian people by her exquisite performance + (of voice and violoncello) in the evening;—I say, if a novelist + would be popular with ladies—the great novel-readers of the world—this + is the sort of heroine who would carry him through half a dozen editions. + Suppose I had asked that Bearded Lady to sing? Confess, now, miss, you + would not have been displeased if I had told you that she had a voice like + Lablache, only ever so much lower. + </p> + <p> + My dear, you would like to be a heroine? You would like to travel in + triumphal caravans; to see your effigy placarded on city walls; to have + your levees attended by admiring crowds, all crying out, “Was there ever + such a wonder of a woman?” You would like admiration? Consider the tax you + pay for it. You would be alone were you eminent. Were you so distinguished + from your neighbors I will not say by a beard and whiskers, that were + odious—but by a great and remarkable intellectual superiority—would + you, do you think, be any the happier? Consider envy. Consider solitude. + Consider the jealousy and torture of mind which this Kentucky lady must + feel, suppose she should hear that there is, let us say, a Missouri + prodigy, with a beard larger than hers? Consider how she is separated from + her kind by the possession of that wonder of a beard? When that beard + grows gray, how lonely she will be, the poor old thing! If it falls off, + the public admiration falls off too; and how she will miss it—the + compliments of the trumpeters, the admiration of the crowd, the gilded + progress of the car. I see an old woman alone in a decrepit old caravan, + with cobwebs on the knocker, with a blistered ensign flapping idly over + the door. Would you like to be that deserted person? Ah, Chloe! To be + good, to be simple, to be modest, to be loved, be thy lot. Be thankful + thou art not taller, nor stronger, nor richer, nor wiser than the rest of + the world! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON LETTS'S DIARY. + </h2> + <p> + Mine is one of your No. 12 diaries, three shillings cloth boards; silk + limp, gilt edges, three-and-six; French morocco, tuck ditto, four-and-six. + It has two pages, ruled with faint lines for memoranda, for every week, + and a ruled account at the end, for the twelve months from January to + December, where you may set down your incomings and your expenses. I hope + yours, my respected reader, are large; that there are many fine round sums + of figures on each side of the page: liberal on the expenditure side, + greater still on the receipt. I hope, sir, you will be “a better man,” as + they say, in '62 than in this moribund '61, whose career of life is just + coming to its terminus. A better man in purse? in body? in soul's health? + Amen, good sir, in all. Who is there so good in mind, body or estate, but + bettering won't still be good for him? O unknown Fate, presiding over next + year, if you will give me better health, a better appetite, a better + digestion, a better income, a better temper in '62 than you have bestowed + in '61, I think your servant will be the better for the changes. For + instance, I should be the better for a new coat. This one, I acknowledge, + is very old. The family says so. My good friend, who amongst us would not + be the better if he would give up some old habits? Yes, yes. You agree + with me. You take the allegory? Alas! at our time of life we don't like to + give up those old habits, do we? It is ill to change. There is the good + old loose, easy, slovenly bedgown, laziness, for example. What man of + sense likes to fling it off and put on a tight guinde prim dress-coat that + pinches him? There is the cozy wraprascal, self-indulgence—how easy + it is! How warm! How it always seems to fit! You can walk out in it; you + can go down to dinner in it. You can say of such what Tully says of his + books: Pernoctat nobiscum, peregrinatur, rusticatur. It is a little + slatternly—it is a good deal stained—it isn't becoming—it + smells of cigar-smoke; but, allons donc! let the world call me idle and + sloven. I love my ease better than my neighbor's opinion. I live to please + myself; not you, Mr. Dandy, with your supercilious airs. I am a + philosopher. Perhaps I live in my tub, and don't make any other use of it—. + We won't pursue further this unsavory metaphor; but, with regard to some + of your old habits let us say— + </p> + <p> + 1. The habit of being censorious, and speaking ill of your neighbors. + </p> + <p> + 2. The habit of getting into a passion with your man-servant, your + maid-servant, your daughter, wife, &c. + </p> + <p> + 3. The habit of indulging too much at table. + </p> + <p> + 4. The habit of smoking in the dining-room after dinner. + </p> + <p> + 5. The habit of spending insane sums of money in bric-a-brac, tall copies, + binding, Elzevirs, &c.; '20 Port, outrageously fine horses, + ostentatious entertainments, and what not? or, + </p> + <p> + 6. The habit of screwing meanly, when rich, and chuckling over the saving + of half a crown, whilst you are poisoning your friends and family with bad + wine. + </p> + <p> + 7. The habit of going to sleep immediately after dinner, instead of + cheerfully entertaining Mrs. Jones and the family: or, + </p> + <p> + 8. LADIES! The habit of running up bills with the milliners, and swindling + paterfamilias on the house bills. + </p> + <p> + 9. The habit of keeping him waiting for breakfast. + </p> + <p> + 10. The habit of sneering at Mrs. Brown and the Miss Browns, because they + are not quite du monde, or quite so genteel as Lady Smith. + </p> + <p> + 11. The habit of keeping your wretched father up at balls till five + o'clock in the morning, when he has to be at his office at eleven. + </p> + <p> + 12. The habit of fighting with each other, dear Louisa, Jane, Arabella, + Amelia. + </p> + <p> + 13. The habit of ALWAYS ordering John Coachman, three-quarters of an hour + before you want him. + </p> + <p> + SUCH habits, I say, sir or madam, if you have had to note in your diary of + '61, I have not the slightest doubt you will enter in your pocket-book of + '62. There are habits Nos. 4 and 7, for example. I am morally sure that + some of us will not give up those bad customs, though the women cry out + and grumble, and scold ever so justly. There are habits Nos. 9 and 13. I + feel perfectly certain, my dear young ladies, that you will continue to + keep John Coachman waiting; that you will continue to give the most + satisfactory reasons for keeping him waiting: and as for (9), you will + show that you once (on the 1st of April last, let us say,) came to + breakfast first, and that you are ALWAYS first in consequence. + </p> + <p> + Yes; in our '62 diaries, I fear we may all of us make some of the '61 + entries. There is my friend Freehand, for instance. (Aha! Master Freehand, + how you will laugh to find yourself here!) F. is in the habit of spending + a little, ever so little, more than his income. He shows you how Mrs. + Freehand works, and works (and indeed Jack Freehand, if you say she is an + angel, you don't say too much of her); how they toil, and how they mend, + and patch, and pinch; and how they CAN'T live on their means. And I very + much fear—nay, I will bet him half a bottle of Gladstone 14s. per + dozen claret—that the account which is a little on the wrong side + this year, will be a little on the wrong side in the next ensuing year of + grace. + </p> + <p> + A diary. Dies. Hodie. How queer to read are some of the entries in the + journal! Here are the records of dinners eaten, and gone the way of flesh. + The lights burn blue somehow, and we sit before the ghosts of victuals. + Hark at the dead jokes resurging! Memory greets them with the ghost of a + smile. Here are the lists of the individuals who have dined at your own + humble table. The agonies endured before and during those entertainments + are renewed, and smart again. What a failure that special grand dinner + was! How those dreadful occasional waiters did break the old china! What a + dismal hash poor Mary, the cook, made of the French dish which she WOULD + try out of Francatelli! How angry Mrs. Pope was at not going down to + dinner before Mrs. Bishop! How Trimalchio sneered at your absurd attempt + to give a feast; and Harpagon cried out at your extravagance and + ostentation! How Lady Almack bullied the other ladies in the drawing-room + (when no gentlemen were present): never asked you back to dinner again: + left her card by her footman: and took not the slightest notice of your + wife and daughters at Lady Hustleby's assembly! On the other hand, how + easy, cozy, merry, comfortable, those little dinners were; got up at one + or two days' notice; when everybody was contented; the soup as clear as + amber; the wine as good as Trimalchio's own; and the people kept their + carriages waiting, and would not go away until midnight! + </p> + <p> + Along with the catalogue of bygone pleasures, balls, banquets, and the + like, which the pages record, comes a list of much more important + occurrences, and remembrances of graver import. On two days of Dives's + diary are printed notices that “Dividends are due at the Bank.” Let us + hope, dear sir, that this announcement considerably interests you; in + which case, probably, you have no need of the almanac-maker's printed + reminder. If you look over poor Jack Reckless's note-book, amongst his + memoranda of racing odds given and taken, perhaps you may read:—“Nabbam's + bill, due 29th September, 142l. 15s. 6d.” Let us trust, as the day has + passed, that the little transaction here noted has been satisfactorily + terminated. If you are paterfamilias, and a worthy kind gentleman, no + doubt you have marked down on your register, 17th December (say), “Boys + come home.” Ah, how carefully that blessed day is marked in THEIR little + calendars! In my time it used to be, Wednesday, 13th November, “5 WEEKS + FROM THE HOLIDAYS;” Wednesday, 20th November, “4 WEEKS FROM THE HOLIDAYS;” + until sluggish time sped on, and we came to WEDNESDAY 18th DECEMBER. O + rapture! Do you remember pea-shooters? I think we only had them on going + home for holidays from private schools,—at public schools men are + too dignified. And then came that glorious announcement, Wednesday, 27th, + “Papa took us to the Pantomime;” or if not papa, perhaps you condescended + to go to the pit, under charge of the footman. + </p> + <p> + That was near the end of the year—and mamma gave you a new + pocket-book, perhaps, with a little coin, God bless her, in the pocket. + And that pocket-book was for next year, you know; and, in that pocket-book + you had to write down that sad day, Wednesday, January 24th, eighteen + hundred and never mind what,—when Dr. Birch's young friends were + expected to re-assemble. + </p> + <p> + Ah me! Every person who turns this page over has his own little diary, in + paper or ruled in his memory tablets, and in which are set down the + transactions of the now dying year. Boys and men, we have our calendar, + mothers and maidens. For example, in your calendar pocket-book, my good + Eliza, what a sad, sad day that is—how fondly and bitterly + remembered—when your boy went off to his regiment, to India, to + danger, to battle perhaps. What a day was that last day at home, when the + tall brother sat yet amongst the family, the little ones round about him + wondering at saddle-boxes, uniforms, sword-cases, gun-cases, and other + wondrous apparatus of war and travel which poured in and filled the hall; + the new dressing-case for the beard not yet grown; the great sword-case at + which little brother Tom looks so admiringly! What a dinner that was, that + last dinner, when little and grown children assembled together, and all + tried to be cheerful! What a night was that last night, when the young + ones were at roost for the last time together under the same roof, and the + mother lay alone in her chamber counting the fatal hours as they tolled + one after another, amidst her tears, her watching, her fond prayers. What + a night that was, and yet how quickly the melancholy dawn came! Only too + soon the sun rose over the houses. And now in a moment more the city + seemed to wake. The house began to stir. The family gathers together for + the last meal. For the last time in the midst of them the widow kneels + amongst her kneeling children, and falters a prayer in which she commits + her dearest, her eldest born, to the care of the Father of all. O night, + what tears you hide—what prayers you hear! And so the nights pass + and the days succeed, until that one comes when tears and parting shall be + no more. + </p> + <p> + In your diary, as in mine, there are days marked with sadness, not for + this year only, but for all. On a certain day—and the sun perhaps, + shining ever so brightly—the housemother comes down to her family + with a sad face, which scares the children round about in the midst of + their laughter and prattle. They may have forgotten—but she has not—a + day which came, twenty years ago it may be, and which she remembers only + too well: the long night-watch; the dreadful dawning and the rain beating + at the pane; the infant speechless, but moaning in its little crib; and + then the awful calm, the awful smile on the sweet cherub face, when the + cries have ceased, and the little suffering breast heaves no more. Then + the children, as they see their mother's face, remember this was the day + on which their little brother died. It was before they were born; but she + remembers it. And as they pray together, it seems almost as if the spirit + of the little lost one was hovering round the group. So they pass away: + friends, kindred, the dearest-loved, grown people, aged, infants. As we go + on the down-hill journey, the mile-stones are grave-stones, and on each + more and more names are written; unless haply you live beyond man's common + age, when friends have dropped off, and, tottering, and feeble, and + unpitied, you reach the terminus alone. + </p> + <p> + In this past year's diary is there any precious day noted on which you + have made a new friend? This is a piece of good fortune bestowed but + grudgingly on the old. After a certain age a new friend is a wonder, like + Sarah's child. Aged persons are seldom capable of bearing friendships. Do + you remember how warmly you loved Jack and Tom when you were at school; + what a passionate regard you had for Ned when you were at college, and the + immense letters you wrote to each other? How often do you write, now that + postage costs nothing? There is the age of blossoms and sweet budding + green: the age of generous summer; the autumn when the leaves drop; and + then winter, shivering and bare. Quick, children, and sit at my feet: for + they are cold, very cold: and it seems as if neither wine nor worsted will + warm 'em. + </p> + <p> + In this past year's diary is there any dismal day noted in which you have + lost a friend? In mine there is. I do not mean by death. Those who are + gone, you have. Those who departed loving you, love you still; and you + love them always. They are not really gone, those dear hearts and true; + they are only gone into the next room: and you will presently get up and + follow them, and yonder door will close upon YOU, and you will be no more + seen. As I am in this cheerful mood, I will tell you a fine and touching + story of a doctor which I heard lately. About two years since there was, + in our or some other city, a famous doctor, into whose consulting-room + crowds came daily, so that they might be healed. Now this doctor had a + suspicion that there was something vitally wrong with himself, and he went + to consult another famous physician at Dublin, or it may be at Edinburgh. + And he of Edinburgh punched his comrade's sides; and listened at his heart + and lungs; and felt his pulse, I suppose; and looked at his tongue; and + when he had done, Doctor London said to Doctor Edinburgh, “Doctor, how + long have I to live?” And Doctor Edinburgh said to Doctor London, “Doctor, + you may last a year.” + </p> + <p> + Then Doctor London came home, knowing that what Doctor Edinburgh said was + true. And he made up his accounts, with man and heaven, I trust. And he + visited his patients as usual. And he went about healing, and cheering, + and soothing and doctoring; and thousands of sick people were benefited by + him. And he said not a word to his family at home; but lived amongst them + cheerful and tender, and calm, and loving; though he knew the night was at + hand when he should see them and work no more. + </p> + <p> + And it was winter time, and they came and told him that some man at a + distance—very sick, but very rich—wanted him; and, though + Doctor London knew that he was himself at death's door, he went to the + sick man; for he knew the large fee would be good for his children after + him. And he died; and his family never knew until he was gone, that he had + been long aware of the inevitable doom. + </p> + <p> + This is a cheerful carol for Christmas, is it not? You see, in regard to + these Roundabout discourses, I never know whether they are to be merry or + dismal. My hobby has the bit in his mouth; goes his own way; and sometimes + trots through a park, and sometimes paces by a cemetery. Two days since + came the printer's little emissary, with a note saying, “We are waiting + for the Roundabout Paper!” A Roundabout Paper about what or whom? How + stale it has become, that printed jollity about Christmas! Carols, and + wassail-bowls, and holly, and mistletoe, and yule-logs de commande—what + heaps of these have we not had for years past! Well, year after year the + season comes. Come frost, come thaw, come snow, come rain, year after year + my neighbor the parson has to make his sermons. They are getting together + the bonbons, iced cakes, Christmas trees at Fortnum and Mason's now. The + genii of the theatres are composing the Christmas pantomime, which our + young folks will see and note anon in their little diaries. + </p> + <p> + And now, brethren, may I conclude this discourse with an extract out of + that great diary, the newspaper? I read it but yesterday, and it has + mingled with all my thoughts since then. Here are the two paragraphs, + which appeared following each other:— + </p> + <p> + “Mr. R., the Advocate-General of Calcutta, has been appointed to the post + of Legislative Member of the Council of the Governor-General.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir R. S., Agent to the Governor-General for Central India, died on the + 29th of October, of bronchitis.” + </p> + <p> + These two men, whose different fates are recorded in two paragraphs and + half a dozen lines of the same newspaper, were sisters' sons. In one of + the stories by the present writer, a man is described tottering “up the + steps of the ghaut,” having just parted with his child, whom he is + despatching to England from India. I wrote this, remembering in long, long + distant days, such a ghaut, or river-stair, at Calcutta; and a day when, + down those steps, to a boat which was in waiting, came two children, whose + mothers remained on the shore. One of those ladies was never to see her + boy more; and he, too, is just dead in India, “of bronchitis, on the 29th + October.” We were first-cousins; had been little playmates and friends + from the time of our birth; and the first house in London to which I was + taken, was that of our aunt, the mother of his Honor the Member of + Council. His Honor was even then a gentleman of the long robe, being, in + truth, a baby in arms. We Indian children were consigned to a school of + which our deluded parents had heard a favorable report, but which was + governed by a horrible little tyrant, who made our young lives so + miserable that I remember kneeling by my little bed of a night, and + saying, “Pray God, I may dream of my mother!” Thence we went to a public + school; and my cousin to Addiscombe and to India. + </p> + <p> + “For thirty-two years,” the paper says, “Sir Richmond Shakespear + faithfully and devotedly served the Government of India, and during that + period but once visited England, for a few months and on public duty. In + his military capacity he saw much service, was present in eight general + engagements, and was badly wounded in the last. In 1840, when a young + lieutenant, he had the rare good fortune to be the means of rescuing from + almost hopeless slavery in Khiva 416 subjects of the Emperor of Russia; + and, but two years later, greatly contributed to the happy recovery of our + own prisoners from a similar fate in Cabul. Throughout his career this + officer was ever ready and zealous for the public service, and freely + risked life and liberty in the discharge of his duties. Lord Canning, to + mark his high sense of Sir Richmond Shakespear's public services, had + lately offered him the Chief Commissionership of Mysore, which he had + accepted, and was about to undertake, when death terminated his career.” + </p> + <p> + When he came to London the cousins and playfellows of early Indian days + met once again, and shook hands. “Can I do anything for you?” I remember + the kind fellow asking. He was always asking that question: of all + kinsmen; of all widows and orphans; of all the poor; of young men who + might need his purse or his service. I saw a young officer yesterday to + whom the first words Sir Richmond Shakespear wrote on his arrival in India + were, “Can I do anything for you?” His purse was at the command of all. + His kind hand was always open. It was a gracious fate which sent him to + rescue widows and captives. Where could they have had a champion more + chivalrous, a protector more loving and tender? + </p> + <p> + I write down his name in my little book, among those of others dearly + loved, who, too, have been summoned hence. And so we meet and part; we + struggle and succeed; or we fail and drop unknown on the way. As we leave + the fond mother's knee, the rough trials of childhood and boyhood begin; + and then manhood is upon us, and the battle of life, with its chances, + perils, wounds, defeats, distinctions. And Fort William guns are saluting + in one man's honor,* while the troops are firing the last volleys over the + other's grave—over the grave of the brave, the gentle, the faithful + Christian soldier. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * W. R. obiit March 22, 1862. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_NOTE" id="link2H_NOTE"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + NOTES OF A WEEK'S HOLIDAY. + </h2> + <p> + Most of us tell old stories in our families. The wife and children laugh + for the hundredth time at the joke. The old servants (though old servants + are fewer every day) nod and smile a recognition at the well-known + anecdote. “Don't tell that story of Grouse in the gun-room,” says Diggory + to Mr. Hardcastle in the play, “or I must laugh.” As we twaddle, and grow + old and forgetful, we may tell an old story; or, out of mere benevolence, + and a wish to amuse a friend when conversation is flagging, disinter a Joe + Miller now and then; but the practice is not quite honest, and entails a + certain necessity of hypocrisy on story hearers and tellers. It is a sad + thing, to think that a man with what you call a fund of anecdote is a + humbug, more or less amiable and pleasant. What right have I to tell my + “Grouse in the gun-room” over and over in the presence of my wife, mother, + mother-in-law, sons, daughters, old footman or parlor-maid, confidential + clerk, curate, or what not? I smirk and go through the history, giving my + admirable imitations of the characters introduced: I mimic Jones's grin, + Hobbs's squint, Brown's stammer, Grady's brogue, Sandy's Scotch accent, to + the best of my power: and, the family part of my audience laughs + good-humoredly. Perhaps the stranger, for whose amusement the performance + is given, is amused by it and laughs too. But this practice continued is + not moral. This self-indulgence on your part, my dear Paterfamilias, is + weak, vain—not to say culpable. I can imagine many a worthy man, who + begins unguardedly to read this page, and comes to the present sentence, + lying back in his chair, thinking of that story which he has told + innocently for fifty years, and rather piteously owning to himself, “Well, + well, it IS wrong; I have no right to call on my poor wife to laugh, my + daughters to affect to be amused, by that old, old jest of mine. And they + would have gone on laughing, and they would have pretended to be amused, + to their dying day, if this man had not flung his damper over our + hilarity.” . . . I lay down the pen, and think, “Are there any old stories + which I still tell myself in the bosom of my family? Have I any 'Grouse in + my gun-room?'” If there are such, it is because my memory fails; not + because I want applause, and wantonly repeat myself. You see, men with the + so-called fund of anecdote will not repeat the same story to the same + individual; but they do think that, on a new party, the repetition of a + joke ever so old may be honorably tried. I meet men walking the London + street, bearing the best reputation, men of anecdotal powers:—I know + such, who very likely will read this, and say, “Hang the fellow, he means + ME!” And so I do. No—no man ought to tell an anecdote more than + thrice, let us say, unless he is sure he is speaking only to give pleasure + to his hearers—unless he feels that it is not a mere desire for + praise which makes him open his jaws. + </p> + <p> + And is it not with writers as with raconteurs? Ought they not to have + their ingenuous modesty? May authors tell old stories, and how many times + over? When I come to look at a place which I have visited any time these + twenty or thirty years, I recall not the place merely, but the sensations + I had at first seeing it, and which are quite different to my feelings + to-day. That first day at Calais; the voices of the women crying out at + night, as the vessel came alongside the pier; the supper at Quillacq's and + the flavor of the cutlets and wine; the red-calico canopy under which I + slept; the tiled floor, and the fresh smell of the sheets; the wonderful + postilion in his jack-boots and pigtail;—all return with perfect + clearness to my mind, and I am seeing them, and not the objects which are + actually under my eyes. Here is Calais. Yonder is that commissioner I have + known this score of years. Here are the women screaming and hustling over + the baggage; the people at the passport-barrier who take your papers. My + good people, I hardly see you. You no more interest me than a dozen + orange-women in Covent-Garden, or a shop book-keeper in Oxford Street. But + you make me think of a time when you were indeed wonderful to behold—when + the little French soldiers wore white cockades in their shakos—when + the diligence was forty hours going to Paris; and the great-booted + postilion, as surveyed by youthful eyes from the coupe, with his jurons, + his ends of rope for the harness, and his clubbed pigtail, was a wonderful + being, and productive of endless amusement. You young folks don't remember + the apple-girls who used to follow the diligence up the hill beyond + Boulogne, and the delights of the jolly road? In making continental + journeys with young folks, an oldster may be very quiet, and, to outward + appearance, melancholy; but really he has gone back to the days of his + youth, and he is seventeen or eighteen years of age (as the case may be), + and is amusing himself with all his might. He is noting the horses as they + come squealing out of the post-house yard at midnight; he is enjoying the + delicious meals at Beauvais and Amiens, and quaffing ad libitum the rich + table-d'hote wine; he is hail-fellow with the conductor, and alive to all + the incidents of the road. A man can be alive in 1860 and 1830 at the same + time, don't you see? Bodily, I may be in 1860, inert, silent, torpid; but + in the spirit I am walking about in 1828, let us say;—-in a blue + dress-coat and brass buttons, a sweet figured silk waistcoat (which I + button round a slim waist with perfect ease), looking at beautiful beings + with gigot sleeves and tea-tray hats under the golden chestnuts of the + Tuileries, or round the Place Vendome, where the drapeau blanc is floating + from the statueless column. Shall we go and dine at “Bombarda's,” near the + “Hotel Breteuil,” or at the “Cafe Virginie?”—Away! “Bombarda's” and + the “Hotel Breteuil” have been pulled down ever so long. They knocked down + the poor old Virginia Coffee-house last year. My spirit goes and dines + there. My body, perhaps, is seated with ever so many people in a + railway-carriage, and no wonder my companions find me dull and silent. + Have you read Mr. Dale Owen's “Footfalls on the Boundary of Another + World?”—(My dear sir, it will make your hair stand quite + refreshingly on end.) In that work you will read that when gentlemen's or + ladies' spirits travel off a few score or thousand miles to visit a + friend, their bodies lie quiet and in a torpid state in their beds or in + their arm-chairs at home. So in this way, I am absent. My soul whisks away + thirty years back into the past. I am looking out anxiously for a beard. I + am getting past the age of loving Byron's poems, and pretend that I like + Wordsworth and Shelley much better. Nothing I eat or drink (in reason) + disagrees with me; and I know whom I think to be the most lovely creature + in the world. Ah, dear maid (of that remote but well-remembered period), + are you a wife or widow now?—are you dead?—are you thin and + withered and old?—or are you grown much stouter, with a false front? + and so forth. + </p> + <p> + O Eliza, Eliza!—Stay, WAS she Eliza? Well, I protest I have + forgotten what your Christian name was. You know I only met you for two + days, but your sweet face is before me now, and the roses blooming on it + are as fresh as in that time of May. Ah, dear Miss X——, my + timid youth and ingenuous modesty would never have allowed me, even in my + private thoughts, to address you otherwise than by your paternal name, but + THAT (though I conceal it) I remember perfectly well, and that your dear + and respected father was a brewer. + </p> + <p> + CARILLON.—I was awakened this morning with the chime which Antwerp + cathedral clock plays at half-hours. The tune has been haunting me ever + since, as tunes will. You dress, eat, drink, walk and talk to yourself to + their tune: their inaudible jingle accompanies you all day: you read the + sentences of the paper to their rhythm. I tried uncouthly to imitate the + tune to the ladies of the family at breakfast, and they say it is “the + shadow dance of Dinorah.” It may be so. I dimly remember that my body was + once present during the performance of that opera, whilst my eyes were + closed, and my intellectual faculties dormant at the back of the box; + howbeit, I have learned that shadow dance from hearing it pealing up ever + so high in the air, at night, morn, noon. + </p> + <p> + How pleasant to lie awake and listen to the cheery peal! whilst the old + city is asleep at midnight, or waking up rosy at sunrise, or basking in + noon, or swept by the scudding rain which drives in gusts over the broad + places, and the great shining river; or sparkling in snow which dresses up + a hundred thousand masts, peaks, and towers; or wrapped round with + thunder-cloud canopies, before, which the white gables shine whiter; day + and night the kind little carillon plays its fantastic melodies overhead. + The bells go on ringing. Quot vivos vocant, mortuos plangunt, fulgara + frangunt; so on to the past and future tenses, and for how many nights, + days, and years! Whilst the French were pitching their fulgara into + Chasse's citadel, the bells went on ringing quite cheerfully. Whilst the + scaffolds were up and guarded by Alva's soldiery, and regiments of + penitents, blue, black, and gray, poured out of churches and convents, + droning their dirges, and marching to the place of the Hotel de Ville, + where heretics and rebels were to meet their doom, the bells up yonder + were chanting at their appointed half-hours and quarters, and rang the + mauvais quart d'heure for many a poor soul. This bell can see as far away + as the towers and dykes of Rotterdam. That one can call a greeting to St. + Ursula's at Brussels, and toss a recognition to that one at the town-hall + of Oudenarde, and remember how after a great struggle there a hundred and + fifty years ago the whole plain was covered with the flying French cavalry—Burgundy, + and Bern, and the Chevalier of St. George flying like the rest. “What is + your clamor about Oudenarde?” says another bell (Bob Major THIS one must + be). “Be still, thou querulous old clapper! I can see over to Hougoumont + and St. John. And about forty-five years since, I rang all through one + Sunday in June, when there was such a battle going on in the corn-fields + there, as none of you others ever heard tolled of. Yes, from morning + service until after vespers, the French and English were all at it, + ding-dong.” And then calls of business intervening, the bells have to give + up their private jangle, resume their professional duty, and sing their + hourly chorus out of Dinorah. + </p> + <p> + What a prodigious distance those bells can be heard! I was awakened this + morning to their tune, I say. I have been hearing it constantly ever + since. And this house whence I write, Murray says, is two hundred and ten + miles from Antwerp. And it is a week off; and there is the bell still + jangling its shadow dance out of Dinorah. An audible shadow you + understand, and an invisible sound, but quite distinct; and a plague take + the tune! + </p> + <p> + UNDER THE BELLS.—Who has not seen the church under the bells? Those + lofty aisles, those twilight chapels, that cumbersome pulpit with its huge + carvings, that wide gray pavement flecked with various light from the + jewelled windows, those famous pictures between the voluminous columns + over the altars, which twinkle with their ornaments, their votive little + silver hearts, legs, limbs, their little guttering tapers, cups of sham + roses, and what not? I saw two regiments of little scholars creeping in + and forming square, each in its appointed place, under the vast roof; and + teachers presently coming to them. A stream of light from the jewelled + windows beams slanting down upon each little squad of children, and the + tall background of the church retires into a grayer gloom. Pattering + little feet of laggards arriving echo through the great nave. They trot in + and join their regiments, gathered under the slanting sunbeams. What are + they learning? Is it truth? Those two gray ladies with their books in + their hands in the midst of these little people have no doubt of the truth + of every word they have printed under their eyes. Look, through the + windows jewelled all over with saints, the light comes streaming down from + the sky, and heaven's own illuminations paint the book! A sweet, touching + picture indeed it is, that of the little children assembled in this + immense temple, which has endured for ages, and grave teachers bending + over them. Yes, the picture is very pretty of the children and their + teachers, and their book—but the text? Is it the truth, the only + truth, nothing but the truth? If I thought so, I would go and sit down on + the form cum parvulis, and learn the precious lesson with all my heart. + </p> + <p> + BEADLE.—But I submit, an obstacle to conversions is the intrusion + and impertinence of that Swiss fellow with the baldric—the officer + who answers to the beadle of the British Islands, and is pacing about the + church with an eye on the congregation. Now the boast of Catholics is that + their churches are open to all; but in certain places and churches there + are exceptions. At Rome I have been into St. Peter's at all hours: the + doors are always open, the lamps are always burning, the faithful are for + ever kneeling at one shrine or the other. But at Antwerp not so. In the + afternoon you can go to the church, and be civilly treated; but you must + pay a franc at the side gate. In the forenoon the doors are open, to be + sure, and there is no one to levy an entrance fee. I was standing ever so + still, looking through the great gates of the choir at the twinkling + lights, and listening to the distant chants of the priests performing the + service, when a sweet chorus from the organ-loft broke out behind me + overhead, and I turned round. My friend the drum-major ecclesiastic was + down upon me in a moment. “Do not turn your back to the altar during + divine service,” says he, in very intelligible English. I take the rebuke, + and turn a soft right-about face, and listen awhile as the service + continues. See it I cannot, nor the altar and its ministrants. We are + separated from these by a great screen and closed gates of iron, through + which the lamps glitter and the chant comes by gusts only. Seeing a score + of children trotting down a side aisle, I think I may follow them. I am + tired of looking at that hideous old pulpit with its grotesque monsters + and decorations. I slip off to the side aisle; but my friend the + drum-major is instantly after me—almost I thought he was going to + lay hands on me. “You mustn't go there,” says he; “you mustn't disturb the + service.” I was moving as quietly as might be, and ten paces off there + were twenty children kicking and clattering at their ease. I point them + out to the Swiss. “They come to pray,” says he. “YOU don't come to pray, + you—” “When I come to pay,” says I, “I am welcome,” and with this + withering sarcasm, I walk out of church in a huff. I don't envy the + feelings of that beadle after receiving point blank such a stroke of wit. + </p> + <p> + LEO BELGICUS.—Perhaps you will say after this I am a prejudiced + critic. I see the pictures in the cathedral fuming under the rudeness of + that beadle, or at the lawful hours and prices, pestered by a swarm of + shabby touters, who come behind me chattering in bad English, and who + would have me see the sights through their mean, greedy eyes. Better see + Rubens any where than in a church. At the Academy, for example, where you + may study him at your leisure. But at church?—I would as soon ask + Alexandre Dumas for a sermon. Either would paint you a martyrdom very + fiercely and picturesquely—writhing muscles, flaming coals, scowling + captains and executioners, swarming groups, and light, shade, color most + dexterously brilliant or dark; but in Rubens I am admiring the performer + rather than the piece. With what astonishing rapidity he travels over his + canvas; how tellingly the cool lights and warm shadows are made to + contrast and relieve each other; how that blazing, blowsy penitent in + yellow satin and glittering hair carries down the stream of light across + the picture! This is the way to work, my boys, and earn a hundred florins + a day. See! I am as sure of my line as a skater of making his figure of + eight! and down with a sweep goes a brawny arm or a flowing curl of + drapery. The figures arrange themselves as if by magic. The paint-pots are + exhausted in furnishing brown shadows. The pupils look wondering on, as + the master careers over the canvas. Isabel or Helena, wife No. 1 or No. 2, + are sitting by, buxom, exuberant, ready to be painted; and the children + are boxing in the corner, waiting till they are wanted to figure as + cherubs in the picture. Grave burghers and gentlefolks come in on a visit. + There are oysters and Rhenish always ready on yonder table. Was there ever + such a painter? He has been an ambassador, an actual Excellency, and what + better man could be chosen? He speaks all the languages. He earns a + hundred florins a day. Prodigious! Thirty-six thousand five hundred + florins a year. Enormous! He rides out to his castle with a score of + gentlemen after him, like the Governor. That is his own portrait as St. + George. You know he is an English knight? Those are his two wives as the + two Maries. He chooses the handsomest wives. He rides the handsomest + horses. He paints the handsomest pictures. He gets the handsomest prices + for them. That slim young Van Dyck, who was his pupil, has genius too, and + is painting all the noble ladies in England, and turning the heads of some + of them. And Jordaens—what a droll dog and clever fellow! Have you + seen his fat Silenus? The master himself could not paint better. And his + altar-piece at St. Bavon's? He can paint you anything, that Jordaens can—a + drunken jollification of boors and doxies, or a martyr howling with half + his skin off. What a knowledge of anatomy! But there is nothing like the + master—nothing. He can paint you his thirty-six thousand five + hundred florins' worth a year. Have you heard of what he has done for the + French Court? Prodigious! I can't look at Rubens's pictures without + fancying I see that handsome figure swaggering before the canvas. And Hans + Hemmelinck at Bruges? Have you never seen that dear old hospital of St. + John, on passing the gate of which you enter into the fifteenth century? I + see the wounded soldier still lingering in the house, and tended by the + kind gray sisters. His little panel on its easel is placed at the light. + He covers his board with the most wondrous, beautiful little figures, in + robes as bright as rubies and amethysts. I think he must have a magic + glass, in which he catches the reflection of little cherubs with + many-colored wings, very little and bright. Angels, in long crisp robes of + white, surrounded with halos of gold, come and flutter across the mirror, + and he draws them. He hears mass every day. He fasts through Lent. No monk + is more austere and holy than Hans. Which do you love best to behold, the + lamb or the lion? the eagle rushing through the storm, and pouncing mayhap + on carrion; or the linnet warbling on the spray? + </p> + <p> + By much the most delightful of the Christopher set of Rubens to my mind + (and ego is introduced on these occasions, so that the opinion may pass + only for my own, at the reader's humble service to be received or + declined,) is the “Presentation in the Temple:” splendid in color, in + sentiment sweet and tender, finely conveying the story. To be sure, all + the others tell their tale unmistakably—witness that coarse + “Salutation,” that magnificent “Adoration of the Kings” (at the Museum), + by the same strong downright hands; that wonderful “Communion of St. + Francis,” which, I think, gives the key to the artist's faire better than + any of his performances. I have passed hours before that picture in my + time, trying and sometimes fancying I could understand by what masses and + contrasts the artist arrived at his effect. In many others of the pictures + parts of his method are painfully obvious, and you see how grief and agony + are produced by blue lips, and eyes rolling blood shot with dabs of + vermilion. There is something simple in the practice. Contort the eyebrow + sufficiently, and place the eyeball near it,—by a few lines you have + anger or fierceness depicted. Give me a mouth with no special expression, + and pop a dab of carmine at each extremity—and there are the lips + smiling. This is art if you will, but a very naive kind of art: and now + you know the trick, don't you see how easy it is? + </p> + <p> + TU QUOQUE.—Now you know the trick, suppose you take a canvas and see + whether YOU can do it? There are brushes, palettes, and gallipots full of + paint and varnish. Have you tried, my dear sir—you who set up to be + a connoisseur? Have you tried? I have—and many a day. And the end of + the day's labor? O dismal conclusion! Is this puerile niggling, this + feeble scrawl, this impotent rubbish, all you can produce—you, who + but now found Rubens commonplace and vulgar, and were pointing out the + tricks of his mystery? Pardon, O great chief, magnificent master and poet! + You can DO. We critics, who sneer and are wise, can but pry, and measure, + and doubt, and carp. Look at the lion. Did you ever see such a gross, + shaggy, mangy, roaring brute? Look at him eating lumps of raw meat—positively + bleeding, and raw and tough—till, faugh! it turns one's stomach to + see him—O the coarse wretch! Yes, but he is a lion. Rubens has + lifted his great hand, and the mark he has made has endured for two + centuries, and we still continue wondering at him, and admiring him. What + a strength in that arm! What splendor of will hidden behind that tawny + beard, and those honest eyes! Sharpen your pen, my good critic, shoot a + feather into him; hit him, and make him wince. Yes, you may hit him fair, + and make him bleed, too; but, for all that, he is a lion—a mighty, + conquering, generous, rampageous Leo Belgicus—monarch of his wood. + And he is not dead yet, and I will not kick at him. + </p> + <p> + SIR ANTONY.—In that “Pieta” of Van Dyck, in the Museum, have you + ever looked at the yellow-robed angel, with the black scarf thrown over + her wings and robe? What a charming figure of grief and beauty! What a + pretty compassion it inspires! It soothes and pleases me like a sweet + rhythmic chant. See how delicately the yellow robe contrasts with the blue + sky behind, and the scarf binds the two! If Rubens lacked grace, Van Dyck + abounded in it. What a consummate elegance! What a perfect cavalier! No + wonder the fine ladies in England admired Sir Antony. Look at— + </p> + <p> + Here the clock strikes three, and the three gendarmes who keep the Musee + cry out, “Allons! Sortons! Il est trois heures! Allez! Sortez!” and they + skip out of the gallery as happy as boys running from school. And we must + go too, for though many stay behind—many Britons with Murray's + Handbooks in their handsome hands—they have paid a franc for + entrance-fee, you see; and we knew nothing about the franc for entrance + until those gendarmes with sheathed sabres had driven us out of this + Paradise. + </p> + <p> + But it was good to go and drive on the great quays, and see the ships + unlading, and by the citadel, and wonder howabouts and whereabouts it was + so strong. We expect a citadel to look like Gibraltar or Ehrenbreitstein + at least. But in this one there is nothing to see but a flat plain and + some ditches, and some trees, and mounds of uninteresting green. And then + I remember how there was a boy at school, a little dumpy fellow of no + personal appearance whatever, who couldn't be overcome except by a much + bigger champion, and the immensest quantity of thrashing. A perfect + citadel of a boy, with a General Chasse sitting in that bomb-proof + casemate, his heart, letting blow after blow come thumping about his head, + and never thinking of giving in. + </p> + <p> + And we go home, and we dine in the company of Britons, at the comfortable + Hotel du Parc, and we have bought a novel apiece for a shilling, and every + half-hour the sweet carillon plays the waltz from Dinorah in the air. And + we have been happy; and it seems about a month since we left London + yesterday; and nobody knows where we are, and we defy care and the + postman. + </p> + <p> + SPOORWEG.—Vast green flats, speckled by spotted cows, and bound by a + gray frontier of windmills; shining canals stretching through the green; + odors like those exhaled from the Thames in the dog-days, and a fine + pervading smell of cheese; little trim houses, with tall roofs, and great + windows of many panes; gazebos, or summer-houses, hanging over pea-green + canals; kind-looking, dumpling-faced farmers' women, with laced caps and + golden frontlets and earrings; about the houses and towns which we pass a + great air of comfort and neatness; a queer feeling of wonder that you + can't understand what your fellow-passengers are saying, the tone of whose + voices, and a certain comfortable dowdiness of dress, are so like our own;—whilst + we are remarking on these sights, sounds, smells, the little railway + journey from Rotterdam to the Hague comes to an end. I speak to the + railway porters and hackney coachmen in English, and they reply in their + own language, and it seems somehow as if we understood each other + perfectly. The carriage drives to the handsome, comfortable, cheerful + hotel. We sit down a score at the table; and there is one foreigner and + his wife,—I mean every other man and woman at dinner are English. As + we are close to the sea, and in the midst of endless canals, we have no + fish. We are reminded of dear England by the noble prices which we pay for + wines. I confess I lost my temper yesterday at Rotterdam, where I had to + pay a florin for a bottle of ale (the water not being drinkable, and + country or Bavarian beer not being genteel enough for the hotel);—I + confess, I say, that my fine temper was ruffled, when the bottle of pale + ale turned out to be a pint bottle; and I meekly told the waiter that I + had bought beer at Jerusalem at a less price. But then Rotterdam is + eighteen hours from London, and the steamer with the passengers and beer + comes up to the hotel windows; whilst to Jerusalem they have to carry the + ale on camels' backs from Beyrout or Jaffa, and through hordes of + marauding Arabs, who evidently don't care for pale ale, though I am told + it is not forbidden in the Koran. Mine would have been very good, but I + choked with rage whilst drinking it. A florin for a bottle, and that + bottle having the words “imperial pint,” in bold relief, on the surface! + It was too much. I intended not to say anything about it; but I MUST + speak. A florin a bottle, and that bottle a pint! Oh, for shame! for + shame! I can't cork down my indignation; I froth up with fury; I am pale + with wrath, and bitter with scorn. + </p> + <p> + As we drove through the old city at night, how it swarmed and hummed with + life! What a special clatter, crowd, and outcry there was in the Jewish + quarter, where myriads of young ones were trotting about the fishy street! + Why don't they have lamps? We passed by canals seeming so full that a + pailful of water more would overflow the place. The laquais-de-place calls + out the names of the buildings: the town-hall, the cathedral, the arsenal, + the synagogue, the statue of Erasmus. Get along! WE know the statue of + Erasmus well enough. We pass over drawbridges by canals where thousands of + barges are at roost. At roost—at rest! Shall WE have rest in those + bedrooms, those ancient lofty bedrooms, in that inn where we have to pay a + florin for a pint of pa—psha! at the “New Bath Hotel” on the + Boompjes? If this dreary edifice is the “New Bath,” what must the Old Bath + be like? As I feared to go to bed, I sat in the coffee-room as long as I + might; but three young men were imparting their private adventures to each + other with such freedom and liveliness that I felt I ought not to listen + to their artless prattle. As I put the light out, and felt the bedclothes + and darkness overwhelm me, it was with an awful sense of terror—that + sort of sensation which I should think going down in a diving-bell would + give. Suppose the apparatus goes wrong, and they don't understand your + signal to mount? Suppose your matches miss fire when you wake; when you + WANT them, when you will have to rise in half an hour, and do battle with + the horrid enemy who crawls on you in the darkness? I protest I never was + more surprised than when I woke and beheld the light of dawn. Indian birds + and strange trees were visible on the ancient gilt hangings of the lofty + chamber, and through the windows the Boompjes and the ships along the + quay. We have all read of deserters being brought out, and made to kneel, + with their eyes bandaged, and hearing the word to “Fire” given I declare I + underwent all the terrors of execution that night, and wonder how I ever + escaped unwounded. + </p> + <p> + But if ever I go to the “Bath Hotel,” Rotterdam, again, I am a Dutchman. A + guilder for a bottle of pale ale, and that bottle a pint! Ah! for shame—for + shame! + </p> + <p> + MINE EASE IN MINE INN.—Do you object to talk about inns? It always + seems to me to be very good talk. Walter Scott is full of inns. In “Don + Quixote” and “Gil Blas” there is plenty of inn-talk. Sterne, Fielding, and + Smollett constantly speak about them; and, in their travels, the last two + tot up the bill, and describe the dinner quite honestly; whilst Mr. Sterne + becomes sentimental over a cab, and weeps generous tears over a donkey. + </p> + <p> + How I admire and wonder at the information in Murray's Handbooks—wonder + how it is got, and admire the travellers who get it. For instance, you + read: Amiens (please select your towns), 60,000 inhabitants. Hotels, &c.—“Lion + d'Or,” good and clean. “Le Lion d'Argent,” so so. “Le Lion Noir,” bad, + dirty, and dear. Now say, there are three travellers—three + inn-inspectors, who are sent forth by Mr. Murray on a great commission, + and who stop at every inn in the world. The eldest goes to the “Lion d'Or”—capital + house, good table-d'hote, excellent wine, moderate charges. The second + commissioner tries the “Silver Lion”—tolerable house, bed, dinner, + bill and so forth. But fancy Commissioner No. 3—the poor fag, + doubtless, and boots of the party. He has to go to the “Lion Noir.” He + knows he is to have a bad dinner—he eats it uncomplainingly. He is + to have bad wine. He swallows it, grinding his wretched teeth, and aware + that he will he unwell in consequence. He knows he is to have a dirty bed, + and what he is to expect there. He pops out the candle. He sinks into + those dingy sheets. He delivers over his body to the nightly tormentors, + he pays an exorbitant bill, and he writes down, “Lion Noir, bad, dirty, + dear.” Next day the commission sets out for Arras, we will say, and they + begin again: “Le Cochon d'Or,” “Le Cochon d'Argent,” “Le Cochon Noir”—and + that is poor Boots's inn, of course. What a life that poor man must lead! + What horrors of dinners he has to go through! What a hide he must have! + And yet not impervious; for unless he is bitten, how is he to be able to + warn others? No: on second thoughts, you will perceive that he ought to + have a very delicate skin. The monsters ought to troop to him eagerly, and + bite him instantaneously and freely, so that he may be able to warn all + future handbook buyers of their danger. I fancy this man devoting himself + to danger, to dirt, to bad dinners, to sour wine, to damp beds, to + midnight agonies, to extortionate bills. I admire him, I thank him. Think + of this champion, who devotes his body for us—this dauntless + gladiator going to do battle alone in the darkness, with no other armor + than a light helmet of cotton, and a lorica of calico. I pity and honor + him. Go, Spartacus! Go, devoted man—to bleed, to groan, to suffer—and + smile in silence as the wild beasts assail thee! + </p> + <p> + How did I come into this talk? I protest it was the word inn set me off—and + here is one, the “Hotel de Belle Vue,” at the Hague, as comfortable, as + handsome, as cheerful as any I ever took mine ease in. And the Bavarian + beer, my dear friend, how good and brisk and light it is! Take another + glass—it refreshes and does not stupefy—and then we will sally + out, and see the town and the park and the pictures. + </p> + <p> + The prettiest little brick city, the pleasantest little park to ride in, + the neatest comfortable people walking about, the canals not unsweet, and + busy and picturesque with old-world life. Rows upon rows of houses, built + with the neatest little bricks, with windows fresh painted, and tall doors + polished, and carved to a nicety. What a pleasant spacious garden our inn + has, all sparkling with autumn flowers and bedizened with statues! At the + end is a row of trees, and a summer-house, over the canal, where you might + go and smoke a pipe with Mynheer Van Dunck, and quite cheerfully catch the + ague. Yesterday, as we passed, they were making hay, and stacking it in a + barge which was lying by the meadow, handy. Round about Kensington Palace + there are houses, roofs, chimneys, and bricks like these. I feel that a + Dutchman is a man and a brother. It is very funny to read the newspaper, + one can understand it somehow. Sure it is the neatest, gayest little city—scores + and hundreds of mansions looking like Cheyne Walk, or the ladies' schools + about Chiswick and Hackney. + </p> + <p> + LE GROS LOT.—To a few lucky men the chance befalls of reaching fame + at once, and (if it is of any profit morituro) retaining the admiration of + the world. Did poor Oliver, when he was at Leyden yonder, ever think that + he should paint a little picture which should secure him the applause and + pity of all Europe for a century after? He and Sterne drew the twenty + thousand prize of fame. The latter had splendid instalments during his + lifetime. The ladies pressed round him; the wits admired him, the fashion + hailed the successor of Rabelais. Goldsmith's little gem was hardly so + valued until later days. Their works still form the wonder and delight of + the lovers of English art; and the pictures of the Vicar and Uncle Toby + are among the masterpieces of our English school. Here in the Hague + Gallery is Paul Potter's pale, eager face, and yonder is the magnificent + work by which the young fellow achieved his fame. How did you, so young, + come to paint so well? What hidden power lay in that weakly lad that + enabled him to achieve such a wonderful victory? Could little Mozart, when + he was five years old, tell you how he came to play those wonderful + sonatas? Potter was gone out of the world before he was thirty, but left + this prodigy (and I know not how many more specimens of his genius and + skill) behind him. The details of this admirable picture are as curious as + the effect is admirable and complete. The weather being unsettled, and + clouds and sunshine in the gusty sky, we saw in our little tour numberless + Paul Potters—the meadows streaked with sunshine and spotted with the + cattle, the city twinkling in the distance, the thunderclouds glooming + overhead. Napoleon carried off the picture (vide Murray) amongst the + spoils of his bow and spear to decorate his triumph of the Louvre. If I + were a conquering prince, I would have this picture certainly, and the + Raphael “Madonna” from Dresden, and the Titian “Assumption” from Venice, + and that matchless Rembrandt of the “Dissection.” The prostrate nations + would howl with rage as my gendarmes took off the pictures, nicely packed, + and addressed to “Mr. the Director of my Imperial Palace of the Louvre, at + Paris. This side uppermost.” The Austrians, Prussians, Saxons, Italians, + &c., should be free to come and visit my capital, and bleat with tears + before the pictures torn from their native cities. Their ambassadors would + meekly remonstrate, and with faded grins make allusions to the feeling of + despair occasioned by the absence of the beloved works of art. Bah! I + would offer them a pinch of snuff out of my box as I walked along my + gallery, with their Excellencies cringing after me. Zenobia was a fine + woman and a queen, but she had to walk in Aurelian's triumph. The procede + was peu delicat? En usez vous, mon cher monsieur! (The marquis says the + “Macaba” is delicious.) What a splendor of color there is in that cloud! + What a richness, what a freedom of handling, and what a marvellous + precision! I trod upon your Excellency's corn?—a thousand pardons. + His Excellency grins and declares that he rather likes to have his corns + trodden on. Were you ever very angry with Soult—about that Murillo + which we have bought? The veteran loved that picture because it saved the + life of a fellow-creature—the fellow-creature who hid it, and whom + the Duke intended to hang unless the picture was forthcoming. + </p> + <p> + We gave several thousand pounds for it—how many thousand? About its + merit is a question of taste which we will not here argue. If you choose + to place Murillo in the first class of painters, founding his claim upon + these Virgin altar-pieces, I am your humble servant. Tom Moore painted + altar-pieces as well as Milton, and warbled Sacred Songs and Loves of the + Angels after his fashion. I wonder did Watteau ever try historical + subjects? And as for Greuze, you know that his heads will fetch 1,000L., + 1,500L., 2,000L.—as much as a Sevres “cabaret” of Rose du Barri. If + cost price is to be your criterion of worth, what shall we say to that + little receipt for 10L. for the copyright of “Paradise Lost,” which used + to hang in old Mr. Rogers's room? When living painters, as frequently + happens in our days, see their pictures sold at auctions for four or five + times the sums which they originally received, are they enraged or elated? + A hundred years ago the state of the picture-market was different: that + dreary old Italian stock was much higher than at present; Rembrandt + himself, a close man, was known to be in difficulties. If ghosts are fond + of money still, what a wrath his must be at the present value of his + works! + </p> + <p> + The Hague Rembrandt is the greatest and grandest of all his pieces to my + mind. Some of the heads are as sweetly and lightly painted as + Gainsborough; the faces not ugly, but delicate and high-bred; the + exquisite gray tones are charming to mark and study; the heads not + plastered, but painted with a free, liquid brush: the result, one of the + great victories won by this consummate chief, and left for the wonder and + delight of succeeding ages. + </p> + <p> + The humblest volunteer in the ranks of art, who has served a campaign or + two ever so ingloriously, has at least this good fortune of understanding, + or fancying he is able to understand, how the battle has been fought, and + how the engaged general won it. This is the Rhinelander's most brilliant + achievement—victory along the whole line. The “Night-watch” at + Amsterdam is magnificent in parts, but on the side to the spectator's + right, smoky and dim. The “Five Masters of the Drapers” is wonderful for + depth, strength, brightness, massive power. What words are these to + express a picture! to describe a description! I once saw a moon riding in + the sky serenely, attended by her sparkling maids of honor, and a little + lady said, with an air of great satisfaction, “I MUST SKETCH IT.” Ah, my + dear lady, if with an H.B., a Bristol board, and a bit of india-rubber, + you can sketch the starry firmament on high, and the moon in her glory, I + make you my compliment! I can't sketch “The Five Drapers” with any ink or + pen at present at command—but can look with all my eyes, and be + thankful to have seen such a masterpiece. + </p> + <p> + They say he was a moody, ill-conditioned man, the old tenant of the mill. + What does he think of the “Vander Helst” which hangs opposite his + “Night-watch,” and which is one of the great pictures of the world? It is + not painted by so great a man as Rembrandt; but there it is—to see + it is an event of your life. Having beheld it you have lived in the year + 1648, and celebrated the treaty of Munster. You have shaken the hands of + the Dutch Guardsmen, eaten from their platters, drunk their Rhenish, heard + their jokes, as they wagged their jolly beards. The Amsterdam Catalogue + discourses thus about it:—a model catalogue: it gives you the prices + paid, the signatures of the painters, a succinct description of the work. + </p> + <p> + “This masterpiece represents a banquet of the civic guard, which took + place on the 18th June, 1648, in time great hall of the St. Joris Doele, + on the Singel at Amsterdam, to celebrate the conclusion of the Peace at + Munster. The thirty-five figures composing the picture are all portraits. + </p> + <p> + “'The Captain WITSE' is placed at the head of the table, and attracts our + attention first. He is dressed in black velvet, his breast covered with a + cuirass, on his head a broad-brimmed black hat with white plumes. He is + comfortably seated on a chair of black oak, with a velvet cushion, and + holds in his left hand, supported on his knee, a magnificent + drinking-horn, surrounded by a St. George destroying the dragon, and + ornamented with olive-leaves. The captain's features express cordiality + and good-humor; he is grasping the hand of 'Lieutenant VAN WAVERN' seated + near him, in a habit of dark gray, with lace and buttons of gold, + lace-collar and wristbands, his feet crossed, with boots of yellow + leather, with large tops, and gold spurs, on his head a black hat and + dark-brown plumes. Behind him at the centre of the picture, is the + standard-bearer, 'JACOB BANNING,' in an easy martial attitude, hat in + hand, his right hand on his chair, his right leg on his left knee. He + holds the flag of blue silk, in which the Virgin is embroidered, (such a + silk! such a flag! such a piece of painting!) emblematic of the town of + Amsterdam. The banner covers his shoulder, and he looks towards the + spectator frankly and complacently. + </p> + <p> + “The man behind him is probably one of the sergeants. His head is bare. He + wears a cuirass, and yellow gloves, gray stockings, and boots with large + tops, and kneecaps of cloth. He has a napkin on his knees, and in his hand + a piece of ham, a slice of bread, and a knife. The old man behind is + probably 'WILLIAM THE DRUMMER.' He has his hat in his right hand, and in + his left a gold-footed wineglass, filled with white wine. He wears a red + scarf, and a black satin doublet, with little slashes of yellow silk. + Behind the drummer, two matchlock-men are seated at the end of the table. + One in a large black habit, a napkin on his knee, a hausse-col of iron, + and a linen scarf and collar. He is eating with his knife. The other holds + a long glass of white wine. Four musketeers, with different shaped hats, + are behind these, one holding a glass, the three others with their guns on + their shoulders. Other guests are placed between the personage who is + giving the toast and the standard-bearer. One with his hat off, and his + hand uplifted, is talking to another. The second is carving a fowl. A + third holds a silver plate; and another, in the background, a silver + flagon, from which he fills a cup. The corner behind the captain is filled + by two seated personages, one of whom is peeling an orange. Two others are + standing, armed with halberts, of whom one holds a plumed hat. Behind him + are other three individuals, one of them holding a pewter pot, on which + the name 'Poock,' the landlord of the 'Hotel Doele,' is engraved. At the + back, a maid-servant is coming in with a pasty, crowned with a turkey. + Most of the guests are listening to the captain. From an open window in + the distance, the facades of two houses are seen, surmounted by stone + figures of sheep.” + </p> + <p> + There, now you know all about it: now you can go home and paint just such + another. If you do, do pray remember to paint the hands of the figures as + they are here depicted; they are as wonderful portraits as the faces. None + of your slim Van Dyck elegancies, which have done duty at the cuffs of so + many doublets; but each man with a hand for himself, as with a face for + himself. I blushed for the coarseness of one of the chiefs in this great + company, that fellow behind “WILLIAM THE DRUMMER,” splendidly attired, + sitting full in the face of the public; and holding a pork-bone in his + hand. Suppose the Saturday Review critic were to come suddenly on this + picture? Ah! what a shock it would give that noble nature! Why is that + knuckle of pork not painted out? at any rate, why is not a little fringe + of lace painted round it? or a cut pink paper? or couldn't a + smelling-bottle be painted in instead, with a crest and a gold top, or a + cambric pocket-handkerchief, in lieu of the horrid pig, with a pink + coronet in the corner? or suppose you covered the man's hand (which is + very coarse and strong), and gave him the decency of a kid glove? But a + piece of pork in a naked hand? O nerves and eau de Cologne, hide it, hide + it! + </p> + <p> + In spite of this lamentable coarseness, my noble sergeant, give me thy + hand as nature made it! A great, and famous, and noble handiwork I have + seen here. Not the greatest picture in the world—not a work of the + highest genius—but a performance so great, various, and admirable, + so shrewd of humor, so wise of observation, so honest and complete of + expression, that to have seen it has been a delight, and to remember it + will be a pleasure for days to come. Well done, Bartholomeus Vander Helst! + Brave, meritorious, victorious, happy Bartholomew, to whom it has been + given to produce a masterpiece! + </p> + <p> + May I take off my hat and pay a respectful compliment to Jan Steen, Esq.? + He is a glorious composer. His humor is as frank as Fielding's. Look at + his own figure sitting in the window-sill yonder, and roaring with + laughter! What a twinkle in the eyes! what a mouth it is for a song, or a + joke, or a noggin! I think the composition in some of Jan's pictures + amounts to the sublime, and look at them with the same delight and + admiration which I have felt before works of the very highest style. This + gallery is admirable—and the city in which the gallery is, is + perhaps even more wonderful and curious to behold than the gallery. + </p> + <p> + The first landing at Calais (or, I suppose, on any foreign shore)—the + first sight of an Eastern city—the first view of Venice—and + this of Amsterdam, are among the delightful shocks which I have had as a + traveller. Amsterdam is as good as Venice, with a superadded humor and + grotesqueness, which gives the sight-seer the most singular zest and + pleasure. A run through Pekin I could hardly fancy to be more odd, + strange, and yet familiar. This rush, and crowd, and prodigious vitality; + this immense swarm of life; these busy waters, crowding barges, swinging + drawbridges, piled ancient gables, spacious markets teeming with people; + that ever-wonderful Jews' quarter; that dear old world of painting and the + past, yet alive, and throbbing, and palpable—actual, and yet passing + before you swiftly and strangely as a dream! Of the many journeys of this + Roundabout life, that drive through Amsterdam is to be specially and + gratefully remembered. You have never seen the palace of Amsterdam, my + dear sir? Why, there's a marble hall in that palace that will frighten you + as much as any hall in Vathek, or a nightmare. At one end of that old, + cold, glassy, glittering, ghostly, marble hall there stands a throne, on + which a white marble king ought to sit with his white legs gleaming down + into the white marble below, and his white eyes looking at a great white + marble Atlas, who bears on his icy shoulders a blue globe as big as the + full moon. If he were not a genie, and enchanted, and with a strength + altogether hyperatlantean, he would drop the moon with a shriek on to the + white marble floor, and it would splitter into perdition. And the palace + would rock, and heave, and tumble; and the waters would rise, rise, rise; + and the gables sink, sink, sink; and the barges would rise up to the + chimneys; and the water-souchee fishes would flap over the Boompjes, where + the pigeons and storks used to perch; and the Amster, and the Rotter, and + the Saar, and the Op, and all the dams of Holland would burst, and the + Zuyder Zee roll over the dykes; and you would wake out of your dream, and + find yourself sitting in your arm-chair. + </p> + <p> + Was it a dream? it seems like one. Have we been to Holland? have we heard + the chimes at midnight at Antwerp? Were we really away for a week, or have + I been sitting up in the room dozing, before this stale old desk? Here's + the desk; yes. But, if it has been a dream, how could I have learned to + hum that tune out of Dinorah? Ah, is it that tune, or myself that I am + humming? If it was a dream, how comes this yellow NOTICE DES TABLEAUX DU + MUSEE D'AMSTERDAM AVEC FACSIMILE DES MONOGRAMMES before me, and this + signature of the gallant + </p> + <p> + BARTHOLOMEUS VANDER HELST, FECIT Ao, 1648. + </p> + <p> + Yes, indeed, it was a delightful little holiday; it lasted a whole week. + With the exception of that little pint of amari aliquid at Rotterdam, we + were all very happy. We might have gone on being happy for whoever knows + how many days more? a week more, ten days more: who knows how long that + dear teetotum happiness can be made to spin without toppling over? + </p> + <p> + But one of the party had desired letters to be sent poste restante, + Amsterdam. The post-office is hard by that awful palace where the Atlas + is, and which we really saw. + </p> + <p> + There was only one letter, you see. Only one chance of finding us. There + it was. “The post has only this moment come in,” says the smirking + commissioner. And he hands over the paper, thinking he has done something + clever. + </p> + <p> + Before the letter had been opened, I could read COME BACK, as clearly as + if it had been painted on the wall. It was all over. The spell was broken. + The sprightly little holiday fairy that had frisked and gambolled so + kindly beside us for eight days of sunshine—or rain which was as + cheerful as sunshine—gave a parting piteous look, and whisked away + and vanished. And yonder scuds the postman, and here is the old desk. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + NIL NISI BONUM. + </h2> + <p> + Almost the last words which Sir Walter spoke to Lockhart, his biographer, + were, “Be a good man, my dear!” and with the last flicker of breath on his + dying lips, he sighed a farewell to his family, and passed away blessing + them. + </p> + <p> + Two men, famous, admired, beloved, have just left us, the Goldsmith and + the Gibbon of our time.* Ere a few weeks are over, many a critic's pen + will be at work, reviewing their lives, and passing judgment on their + works. This is no review, or history, or criticism: only a word in + testimony of respect and regard from a man of letters, who owes to his own + professional labor the honor of becoming acquainted with these two eminent + literary men. One was the first ambassador whom the New World of Letters + sent to the Old. He was born almost with the republic; the pater patriae + had laid his hand on the child's head. He bore Washington's name: he came + amongst us bringing the kindest sympathy, the most artless, smiling + goodwill. His new country (which some people here might be disposed to + regard rather superciliously) could send us, as he showed in his own + person, a gentleman, who, though himself born in no very high sphere, was + most finished, polished, easy, witty, quiet; and, socially, the equal of + the most refined Europeans. If Irving's welcome in England was a kind one, + was it not also gratefully remembered? If he ate our salt, did he not pay + us with a thankful heart? Who can calculate the amount of friendliness and + good feeling for our country which this writer's generous and untiring + regard for us disseminated in his own? His books are read by millions** of + his countrymen, whom he has taught to love England, and why to love her. + It would have been easy to speak otherwise than he did: to inflame + national rancors, which, at the time when he first became known as a + public writer, war had just renewed: to cry down the old civilization at + the expense of the new: to point out our faults, arrogance, short-comings, + and give the republic to infer how much she was the parent state's + superior. There are writers enough in the United States, honest and + otherwise, who preach that kind of doctrine. But the good Irving, the + peaceful, the friendly, had no place for bitterness in his heart, and no + scheme but kindness. Received in England with extraordinary tenderness and + friendship (Scott, Southey, Byron, a hundred others have borne witness to + their liking for him), he was a messenger of good-will and peace between + his country and ours. “See, friends!” he seems to say, “these English are + not so wicked, rapacious, callous, proud, as you have been taught to + believe them. I went amongst them a humble man; won my way by my pen; and, + when known, found every hand held out to me with kindliness and welcome. + Scott is a great man, you acknowledge. Did not Scott's King of England + give a gold medal to him, and another to me, your countryman, and a + stranger?” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * Washington Irving died, November 28, 1859; Lord Macaulay + died, December 28, 1859. + + ** See his Life in the most remarkable Dictionary of + Authors, published lately at Philadelphia, by Mr. Allibone. +</pre> + <p> + Tradition in the United States still fondly retains the history of the + feasts and rejoicings which awaited Irving on his return to his native + country from Europe. He had a national welcome; he stammered in his + speeches, hid himself in confusion, and the people loved him all the + better. He had worthily represented America in Europe. In that young + community a man who brings home with him abundant European testimonials is + still treated with respect (I have found American writers, of wide-world + reputation, strangely solicitous about the opinions of quite obscure + British critics, and elated or depressed by their judgments); and Irving + went home medalled by the King, diplomatized by the University, crowned + and honored and admired. He had not in any way intrigued for his honors, + he had fairly won them; and, in Irving's instance, as in others, the old + country was glad and eager to pay them. + </p> + <p> + In America the love and regard for Irving was a national sentiment. Party + wars are perpetually raging there, and are carried on by the press with a + rancor and fierceness against individuals which exceed British, almost + Irish, virulence. It seemed to me, during a year's travel in the country, + as if no one ever aimed a blow at Irving. All men held their hand from + that harmless, friendly peacemaker. I had the good fortune to see him at + New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Washington,* and remarked how in + every place he was honored and welcome. Every large city has its “Irving + House.” The country takes pride in the fame of its men of letters. The + gate of his own charming little domain on the beautiful Hudson River was + for ever swinging before visitors who came to him. He shut out no one.** I + had seen many pictures of his house, and read descriptions of it, in both + of which it was treated with a not unusual American exaggeration. It was + but a pretty little cabin of a place; the gentleman of the press who took + notes of the place, whilst his kind old host was sleeping, might have + visited the whole house in a couple of minutes. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * At Washington, Mr. Irving came to a lecture given by the + writer, which Mr. Filmore and General Pierce, the President + and President Elect, were also kind enough to attend + together. “Two Kings of Brentford smelling at one rose,” + says Irving, looking up with his good-humored smile. + + ** Mr. Irving described to me, with that humor and good- + humor which he always kept, how, amongst other visitors, a + member of the British press who had carried his + distinguished pen to America (where he employed it in + vilifying his own country) came to Sunnyside, introduced + himself to Irving, partook of his wine and luncheon, and in + two days described Mr. Irving, his house, his nieces, his + meal, and his manner of dozing afterwards, in a New York + paper. On another occasion, Irving said, laughing, “Two + persons came to me, and one held me in conversation whilst + the other miscreant took my portrait!” + </pre> + <p> + And how came it that this house was so small, when Mr. Irving's books were + sold by hundreds of thousands, nay, millions, when his profits were known + to be large, and the habits of life of the good old bachelor were + notoriously modest and simple? He had loved once in his life. The lady he + loved died; and he, whom all the world loved, never sought to replace her. + I can't say how much the thought of that fidelity has touched me. Does not + the very cheerfulness of his after life add to the pathos of that untold + story? To grieve always was not in his nature; or, when he had his sorrow, + to bring all the world in to condole with him and bemoan it. Deep and + quiet he lays the love of his heart, and buries it; and grass and flowers + grow over the scarred ground in due time. + </p> + <p> + Irving had such a small house and such narrow rooms, because there was a + great number of people to occupy them. He could only afford to keep one + old horse (which, lazy and aged as it was, managed once or twice to run + away with that careless old horseman). He could only afford to give plain + sherry to that amiable British paragraph-monger from New York, who saw the + patriarch asleep over his modest, blameless cup, and fetched the public + into his private chamber to look at him. Irving could only live very + modestly, because the wifeless, childless man had a number of children to + whom he was as a father. He had as many as nine nieces, I am told—I + saw two of these ladies at his house—with all of whom the dear old + man had shared the produce of his labor and genius. + </p> + <p> + “Be a good man, my dear.” One can't but think of these last words of the + veteran Chief of Letters, who had tasted and tested the value of worldly + success, admiration, prosperity. Was Irving not good, and, of his works, + was not his life the best part? In his family, gentle, generous, + good-humored, affectionate, self-denying: in society, a delightful example + of complete gentlemanhood; quite unspoiled by prosperity; never obsequious + to the great (or, worse still, to the base and mean, as some public men + are forced to be in his and other countries) eager to acknowledge every + contemporary's merit; always kind and affable to the young members of his + calling; in his professional bargains and mercantile dealings delicately + honest and grateful; one of the most charming masters of our lighter + language; the constant friend to us and our nation; to men of letters + doubly dear, not for his wit and genius merely, but as an exemplar of + goodness, probity, and pure life:—I don't know what sort of + testimonial will be raised to him in his own country, where generous and + enthusiastic acknowledgment of American merit is never wanting: but Irving + was in our service as well as theirs; and as they have placed a stone at + Greenwich yonder in memory of that gallant young Bellot, who shared the + perils and fate of some of our Arctic seamen, I would like to hear of some + memorial raised by English writers and friends of letters in affectionate + remembrance of the dear and good Washington Irving. + </p> + <p> + As for the other writer, whose departure many friends, some few most + dearly-loved relatives, and multitudes of admiring readers deplore, our + republic has already decreed his statue, and he must have known that he + had earned this posthumous honor. He is not a poet and man of letters + merely, but citizen, statesman, a great British worthy. Almost from the + first moment when he appears, amongst boys, amongst college students, + amongst men, he is marked, and takes rank as a great Englishman. All sorts + of successes are easy to him: as a lad he goes down into the arena with + others, and wins all the prizes to which he has a mind. A place in the + senate is straightway offered to the young man. He takes his seat there; + he speaks, when so minded, without party anger or intrigue, but not + without party faith and a sort of heroic enthusiasm for his cause. Still + he is poet and philosopher even more than orator. That he may have leisure + and means to pursue his darling studies, he absents himself for a while, + and accepts a richly-remunerative post in the East. As learned a man may + live in a cottage or a college common-room; but it always seemed to me + that ample means and recognized rank were Macaulay's as of right. Years + ago there was a wretched outcry raised because Mr. Macaulay dated a letter + from Windsor Castle, where he was staying. Immortal gods! Was this man not + a fit guest for any palace in the world? or a fit companion for any man or + woman in it? I dare say, after Austerlitz, the old K. K. court officials + and footmen sneered at Napoleon for dating from Schonbrunn. But that + miserable “Windsor Castle” outcry is an echo out of fast-retreating + old-world remembrances. The place of such a natural chief was amongst the + first of the land; and that country is best, according to our British + notion at least, where the man of eminence has the best chance of + investing his genius and intellect. + </p> + <p> + If a company of giants were got together, very likely one or two of the + mere six-feet-six people might be angry at the incontestable superiority + of the very tallest of the party; and so I have heard some London wits, + rather peevish at Macaulay's superiority, complain that he occupied too + much of the talk, and so forth. Now that wonderful tongue is to speak no + more, will not many a man grieve that he no longer has the chance to + listen? To remember the talk is to wonder: to think not only of the + treasures he had in his memory, but of the trifles he had stored there, + and could produce with equal readiness. Almost on the last day I had the + fortune to see him, a conversation happened suddenly to spring up about + senior wranglers, and what they had done in after life. To the almost + terror of the persons present, Macaulay began with the senior wrangler of + 1801-2- 3-4, and so on, giving the name of each, and relating his + subsequent career and rise. Every man who has known him has his story + regarding that astonishing memory. It may be that he was not ill pleased + that you should recognize it; but to those prodigious intellectual feats, + which were so easy to him, who would grudge his tribute of homage? His + talk was, in a word, admirable, and we admired it. + </p> + <p> + Of the notices which have appeared regarding Lord Macaulay, up to the day + when the present lines are written (the 9th of January), the reader should + not deny himself the pleasure of looking especially at two. It is a good + sign of the times when such articles as these (I mean the articles in The + times and Saturday Review) appear in our public prints about our public + men. They educate us, as it were, to admire rightly. An uninstructed + person in a museum or at a concert may pass by without recognizing a + picture or a passage of music, which the connoisseur by his side may show + him is a masterpiece of harmony, or a wonder of artistic skill. After + reading these papers you like and respect more the person you have admired + so much already. And so with regard to Macaulay's style there may be + faults of course—what critic can't point them out? But for the nonce + we are not talking about faults: we want to say nil nisi bonum. Well—take + at hazard any three pages of the “Essays” or “History;”—and, + glimmering below the stream of the narrative, as it were, you, an average + reader, see one, two, three, a half-score of allusions to other historic + facts, characters, literature, poetry, with which you are acquainted. Why + is this epithet used? Whence is that simile drawn? How does he manage, in + two or three words, to paint an individual, or to indicate a landscape? + Your neighbor, who has HIS reading, and his little stock of literature + stowed away in his mind, shall detect more points, allusions, happy + touches, indicating not only the prodigious memory and vast learning of + this master, but the wonderful industry, the honest, humble previous toil + of this great scholar. He reads twenty books to write a sentence; he + travels a hundred miles to make a line of description. + </p> + <p> + Many Londoners—not all—have seen the British Museum Library. I + speak a coeur ouvert, and pray the kindly reader to bear with me. I have + seen all sorts of domes of Peters and Pauls, Sophia, Pantheon,—what + not?—and have been struck by none of them so much as by that + catholic dome in Bloomsbury, under which our million volumes are housed. + What peace, what love, what truth, what beauty, what happiness for all, + what generous kindness for you and me, are here spread out! It seems to me + one cannot sit down in that place without a heart full of grateful + reverence. I own to have said my grace at the table, and to have thanked + heaven for this my English birthright, freely to partake of these + bountiful books, and to speak the truth I find there. Under the dome which + held Macaulay's brain, and from which his solemn eyes looked out on the + world but a fortnight since, what a vast, brilliant, and wonderful store + of learning was ranged! what strange lore would he not fetch for you at + your bidding! A volume of law, or history, a book of poetry familiar or + forgotten (except by himself who forgot nothing), a novel ever so old, and + he had it at hand. I spoke to him once about “Clarissa.” “Not read + 'Clarissa!'” he cried out. “If you have once thoroughly entered on + 'Clarissa' and are infected by it, you can't leave it. When I was in India + I passed one hot season at the hills, and there were the Governor-General, + and the Secretary of Government, and the Commander-in-Chief, and their + wives. I had 'Clarissa' with me: and, as soon as they began to read, the + whole station was in a passion of excitement about Miss Harlowe and her + misfortunes, and her scoundrelly Lovelace! The Governor's wife seized the + book, and the Secretary waited for it, and the Chief Justice could not + read it for tears!” He acted the whole scene: he paced up and down the + “Athenaeum” library: I dare say he could have spoken pages of the book—of + that book, and of what countless piles of others! + </p> + <p> + In this little paper let us keep to the text of nil nisi bonum. One paper + I have read regarding Lord Macaulay says “he had no heart.” Why, a man's + books may not always speak the truth, but they speak his mind in spite of + himself: and it seems to me this man's heart is beating through every page + he penned. He is always in a storm of revolt and indignation against + wrong, craft, tyranny. How he cheers heroic resistance; how he backs and + applauds freedom struggling for its own; how he hates scoundrels, ever so + victorious and successful; how he recognizes genius, though selfish + villains possess it! The critic who says Macaulay had no heart, might say + that Johnson had none: and two men more generous, and more loving, and + more hating, and more partial, and more noble, do not live in our history. + Those who knew Lord Macaulay knew how admirably tender and generous,* and + affectionate he was. It was not his business to bring his family before + the theatre footlights, and call for bouquets from the gallery as he wept + over them. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * Since the above was written, I have been informed that it + has been found, on examining Lord Macaulay's papers, that he + was in the habit of giving away MORE THAN A FOURTH PART of + his annual income. +</pre> + <p> + If any young man of letters reads this little sermon—and to him, + indeed, it is addressed—I would say to him, “Bear Scott's words in + your mind, and 'be good, my dear.'” Here are two literary men gone to + their account, and, laus Deo, as far as we know, it is fair, and open, and + clean. Here is no need of apologies for shortcomings, or explanations of + vices which would have been virtues but for unavoidable &c. Here are + two examples of men most differently gifted: each pursuing his calling; + each speaking his truth as God bade him; each honest in his life; just and + irreproachable in his dealings; dear to his friends; honored by his + country; beloved at his fireside. It has been the fortunate lot of both to + give incalculable happiness and delight to the world, which thanks them in + return with an immense kindliness, respect, affection. It may not be our + chance, brother scribe, to be endowed with such merit, or rewarded with + such fame. But the rewards of these men are rewards paid to OUR SERVICE. + We may not win the baton or epaulettes; but God give us strength to guard + the honor of the flag! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON HALF A LOAF. + </h2> + <h3> + A LETTER TO MESSRS. BROADWAY, BATTERY AND CO., OF NEW YORK, BANKERS. + </h3> + <p> + Is it all over? May we lock up the case of instruments? Have we signed our + wills; settled up our affairs; pretended to talk and rattle quite + cheerfully to the women at dinner, so that they should not be alarmed; + sneaked away under some pretext, and looked at the children sleeping in + their beds with their little unconscious thumbs in their months, and a + flush on the soft-pillowed cheek; made every arrangement with Colonel + MacTurk, who acts as our second, and knows the other principal a great + deal too well to think he will ever give in; invented a monstrous figment + about going to shoot pheasants with Mac in the morning, so as to soothe + the anxious fears of the dear mistress of the house; early as the hour + appointed for the—the little affair—was, have we been awake + hours and hours sooner; risen before daylight, with a faint hope, perhaps, + that MacTurk might have come to some arrangement with the other side; at + seven o'clock (confound his punctuality!) heard his cab-wheel at the door, + and let him in looking perfectly trim, fresh, jolly, and well shaved; + driven off with him in the cold morning, after a very unsatisfactory + breakfast of coffee and stale bread-and-butter (which choke, somehow, in + the swallowing); driven off to Wormwood Scrubs in the cold, muddy, misty, + moonshiny morning; stepped out of the cab, where Mac has bid the man to + halt on a retired spot in the common; in one minute more, seen another cab + arrive, from which descend two gentlemen, one of whom has a case like + MacTurk's under his arm;—looked round and round the solitude, and + seen not one single sign of a policeman—no, no more than in a row in + London;—deprecated the horrible necessity which drives civilized men + to the use of powder and bullet;—taken ground as firmly as may be, + and looked on whilst Mac is neatly loading his weapons; and when all + ready, and one looked for the decisive One, Two, Three—have we even + heard Captain O'Toole (the second of the other principal) walk up, and + say: “Colonel MacTurk, I am desired by my principal to declare at this + eleventh—this twelfth hour, that he is willing to own that he sees + HE HAS BEEN WRONG in the dispute which has arisen between him and your + friend; that he apologizes for offensive expressions which he has used in + the heat of the quarrel; and regrets the course he has taken?” If + something like this has happened to you, however great your courage, you + have been glad not to fight;—however accurate your aim, you have + been pleased not to fire. + </p> + <p> + On the sixth day of January in this year sixty-two, what hundreds of + thousands—I may say, what millions of Englishmen, were in the + position of the personage here sketched—Christian men, I hope, + shocked at the dreadful necessity of battle: aware of the horrors which + the conflict must produce, and yet feeling that the moment was come, and + that there was no arbitrament left but that of steel and cannon! My + reader, perhaps, has been in America. If he has, he knows what good people + are to be found there; how polished, how generous, how gentle, how + courteous. But it is not the voices of these you hear in the roar of hate, + defiance, folly, falsehood, which comes to us across the Atlantic. You + can't hear gentle voices; very many who could speak are afraid. Men must + go forward, or be crushed by the maddened crowd behind them. I suppose + after the perpetration of that act of—what shall we call it?—of + sudden war, which Wilkes did, and Everett approved, most of us believed + that battle was inevitable. Who has not read the American papers for six + weeks past? Did you ever think the United States Government would give up + those Commissioners? I never did, for my part. It seems to me the United + States Government have done the most courageous act of the war. Before + that act was done, what an excitement prevailed in London! In every Club + there was a parliament sitting in permanence: in every domestic gathering + this subject was sure to form a main part of the talk. Of course I have + seen many people who have travelled in America, and heard them on this + matter—friends of the South, friends of the North, friends of peace, + and American stockholders in plenty.—“They will never give up the + men, sir,” that was the opinion on all sides; and, if they would not, we + knew what was to happen. + </p> + <p> + For weeks past this nightmare of war has been riding us. The City was + already gloomy enough. When a great domestic grief and misfortune visits + the chief person of the State, the heart of the people, too, is sad and + awe-stricken. It might be this sorrow and trial were but presages of + greater trials and sorrow to come. What if the sorrow of war is to be + added to the other calamity? Such forebodings have formed the theme of + many a man's talk, and darkened many a fireside. Then came the rapid + orders for ships to arm and troops to depart. How many of us have had to + say farewell to friends whom duty called away with their regiments; on + whom we strove to look cheerfully, as we shook their hands, it might be + for the last time; and whom our thoughts depicted, treading the snows of + the immense Canadian frontier, where their intrepid little band might have + to face the assaults of other enemies than winter and rough weather! I + went to a play one night, and protest I hardly know what was the + entertainment which passed before my eyes. In the next stall was an + American gentleman, who knew me. “Good heavens, sir,” I thought, “is it + decreed that you and I are to be authorized to murder each other next + week; that my people shall be bombarding your cities, destroying your + navies, making a hideous desolation of your coast; that our peaceful + frontier shall be subject to fire, rapine, and murder?” “They will never + give up the men,” said the Englishman. “They will never give up the men,” + said the American. And the Christmas piece which the actors were playing + proceeded like a piece in a dream. To make the grand comic performance + doubly comic, my neighbor presently informed me how one of the best + friends I had in America—the most hospitable, kindly, amiable of + men, from whom I had twice received the warmest welcome and the most + delightful hospitality—was a prisoner in Fort Warren, on charges by + which his life perhaps might be risked. I think that was the most dismal + Christmas fun which these eyes ever looked on. + </p> + <p> + Carry out that notion a little farther, and depict ten thousand, a hundred + thousand homes in England saddened by the thought of the coming calamity, + and oppressed by the pervading gloom. My next-door neighbor perhaps has + parted with her son. Now the ship in which he is, with a thousand brave + comrades, is ploughing through the stormy midnight ocean. Presently (under + the flag we know of) the thin red line in which her boy forms a speck, is + winding its way through the vast Canadian snows. Another neighbor's boy is + not gone, but is expecting orders to sail; and some one else, besides the + circle at home maybe, is in prayer and terror, thinking of the summons + which calls the young sailor away. By firesides modest and splendid, all + over the three kingdoms, that sorrow is keeping watch, and myriads of + hearts beating with that thought, “Will they give up the men?” + </p> + <p> + I don't know how, on the first day after the capture of the Southern + Commissioners was announced, a rumor got abroad in London that the taking + of the men was an act according to law, of which our nation could take no + notice. It was said that the law authorities had so declared, and a very + noble testimony to the LOYALTY of Englishmen, I think, was shown by the + instant submission of high-spirited gentlemen, most keenly feeling that + the nation had been subject to a coarse outrage, who were silent when told + that the law was with the aggressor. The relief which presently came, + when, after a pause of a day, we found that law was on our side, was + indescribable. The nation MIGHT then take notice of this insult to its + honor. Never were people more eager than ours when they found they had a + right to reparation. + </p> + <p> + I have talked during the last week with many English holders of American + securities, who, of course, have been aware of the threat held over them. + “England,” says the New York Herald, “cannot afford to go to war with us, + for six hundred millions' worth of American stock is owned by British + subjects, which, in event of hostilities, would be confiscated; and we now + call upon the Companies not to take it off their hands on any terms. Let + its forfeiture be held over England as a weapon in terrorem. British + subjects have two or three hundred millions of dollars invested in + shipping and other property in the United States. All this property, + together with the stocks, would be seized, amounting to nine hundred + millions of dollars. Will England incur this tremendous loss for a mere + abstraction?” + </p> + <p> + Whether “a mere abstraction” here means the abstraction of the two + Southern Commissioners from under our flag or the abstract idea of injured + honor, which seems ridiculous to the Herald, is it needless to ask. I have + spoken with many men who have money invested in the States, but I declare + I have not met one English gentleman whom the publication of this threat + has influenced for a moment. Our people have nine hundred millions of + dollars invested in the United States, have they? And the Herald “calls + upon the Companies” not to take any of this debt off our hands. Let us, on + our side, entreat the English press to give this announcement every + publicity. Let us do everything in our power to make this “call upon the + Americans” well known in England. I hope English newspaper editors will + print it, and print it again and again. It is not we who say this of + American citizens, but American citizens who say this of themselves. “Bull + is odious. We can't bear Bull. He is haughty, arrogant, a braggart, and a + blusterer; and we can't bear brag and bluster in our modest and decorous + country. We hate Bull, and if he quarrels with us on a point in which we + are in the wrong, we have goods of his in our custody, and we will rob + him!” Suppose your London banker saying to you, “Sir, I have always + thought your manners disgusting, and your arrogance insupportable. You + dare to complain of my conduct because I have wrongfully imprisoned Jones. + My answer to your vulgar interference is, that I confiscate your balance!” + </p> + <p> + What would be an English merchant's character after a few such + transactions? It is not improbable that the moralists of the Herald would + call him a rascal. Why have the United States been paying seven, eight, + ten per cent for money for years past, when the same commodity can be got + elsewhere at half that rate of interest? Why, because though among the + richest proprietors in the world, creditors were not sure of them. So the + States have had to pay eighty millions yearly for the use of money which + would cost other borrowers but thirty. Add up this item of extra interest + alone for a dozen years, and see what a prodigious penalty the States have + been paying for repudiation here and there, for sharp practice, for + doubtful credit. Suppose the peace is kept between us, the remembrance of + this last threat alone will cost the States millions and millions more. If + they must have money, we must have a greater interest to insure our + jeopardized capital. Do American Companies want to borrow money—as + want to borrow they will? Mr. Brown, show the gentleman that extract from + the New York Herald which declares that the United States will confiscate + private property in the event of a war. As the country newspapers say, + “Please, country papers, copy this paragraph.” And, gentlemen in America, + when the honor of YOUR nation is called in question, please to remember + that it is the American press which glories in announcing that you are + prepared to be rogues. + </p> + <p> + And when this war has drained uncounted hundreds of millions more out of + the United States exchequer, will they be richer or more inclined to pay + debts, or less willing to evade them, or more popular with their + creditors, or more likely to get money from men whom they deliberately + announce that they will cheat? I have not followed the Herald on the + “stone-ship” question—that great naval victory appears to me not + less horrible and wicked than suicidal. Block the harbors for ever; + destroy the inlets of the commerce of the world; perish cities,—so + that we may wreak an injury on them. It is the talk of madmen, but not the + less wicked. The act injures the whole Republic: but it is perpetrated. It + is to deal harm to ages hence; but it is done. The Indians of old used to + burn women and their unborn children. This stone-ship business is Indian + warfare. And it is performed by men who tell us every week that they are + at the head of civilization, and that the Old World is decrepit, and + cruel, and barbarous as compared to theirs. + </p> + <p> + The same politicians who throttle commerce at its neck, and threaten to + confiscate trust-money, say that when the war is over, and the South is + subdued, then the turn of the old country will come, and a direful + retribution shall be taken for our conduct. This has been the cry all + through the war. “We should have conquered the South,” says an American + paper which I read this very day, “but for England.” Was there ever such + puling heard from men who have an army of a million, and who turn and + revile a people who have stood as aloof from their contest as we have from + the war of Troy? Or is it an outcry made with malice prepense? And is the + song of the New York Times a variation of the Herald tune?—“The + conduct of the British in folding their arms and taking no part in the + fight, has been so base that it has caused the prolongation of the war, + and occasioned a prodigious expense on our part. Therefore, as we have + British property in our hands, we &c. &c.” The lamb troubled the + water dreadfully, and the wolf, in a righteous indignation, “confiscated” + him. Of course we have heard that at an undisturbed time Great Britain + would never have dared to press its claim for redress. Did the United + States wait until we were at peace with France before they went to war + with us last? Did Mr. Seward yield the claim which he confesses to be + just, until he himself was menaced with war? How long were the Southern + gentlemen kept in prison? What caused them to be set free? and did the + Cabinet of Washington see its error before or after the demand for + redress?* The captor was feasted at Boston, and the captives in prison + hard by. If the wrong-doer was to be punished, it was Captain Wilkes who + ought to have gone into limbo. At any rate, as “the Cabinet of Washington + could not give its approbation to the commander of the 'San Jacinto,'” why + were the men not sooner set free? To sit at the Tremont House, and hear + the captain after dinner give his opinion on international law, would have + been better sport for the prisoners than the grim salle-a-manger at Fort + Warren. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * “At the beginning of December the British fleet on the + West Indian station mounted 850 guns, and comprised five + liners, ten first-class frigates, and seventeen powerful + corvettes. . . . In little more than a month the fleet + available for operations on the American shore had been more + than doubled. The reinforcements prepared at the various + dockyards included two line-of-battle ships, twenty-nine + magnificent frigates—such as the 'Shannon,' the 'Sutlej,' + the 'Euryalus,' the 'Orlando,' the 'Galatea;' eight + corvettes armed like the frigates in part, with 100- and 40- + pounder Armstrong guns; and the two tremendous iron-cased + ships, the 'Warrior' and the 'Black Prince;' and their + smaller sisters the 'Resistance' and the 'Defence.' There + was work to be done which might have delayed the commission + of a few of these ships for some weeks longer; but if the + United States had chosen war instead of peace, the blockade + of their coasts would have been supported by a steam fleet + of more than sixty splendid ships, armed with 1,800 guns, + many of them of the heaviest and most effective kind.”— + Saturday Review: Jan. 11. +</pre> + <p> + I read in the commercial news brought by the “Teutonia,” and published in + London on the present 13th January, that the pork market was generally + quiet on the 29th December last; that lard, though with more activity, was + heavy and decidedly lower; and at Philadelphia, whiskey is steady and + stocks firm. Stocks are firm: that is a comfort for the English holders, + and the confiscating process recommended by the Herald is at least + deferred. But presently comes an announcement which is not quite so + cheering:—“The Saginaw Central Railway Company (let us call it) has + postponed its January dividend on account of the disturbed condition of + public affairs.” + </p> + <p> + A la bonne heure. The bond- and share-holders of the Saginaw must look for + loss and depression in times of war. This is one of war's dreadful taxes + and necessities; and all sorts of innocent people must suffer by the + misfortune. The corn was high at Waterloo when a hundred and fifty + thousand men came and trampled it down on a Sabbath morning. There was no + help for that calamity, and the Belgian farmers lost their crops for the + year. Perhaps I am a farmer myself—an innocent colonus; and instead + of being able to get to church with my family, have to see squadrons of + French dragoons thundering upon my barley, and squares of English infantry + forming and trampling all over my oats. (By the way, in writing of + “Panics,” an ingenious writer in the Atlantic Magazine says that the + British panics at Waterloo were frequent and notorious.) Well, I am a + Belgian peasant, and I see the British running away and the French cutting + the fugitives down. What have I done that these men should be kicking down + my peaceful harvest for me, on which I counted to pay my rent, to feed my + horses, my household, my children? It is hard. But it is the fortune of + war. But suppose the battle over; the Frenchman says, “You scoundrel! why + did you not take a part with me? and why did you stand like a double-faced + traitor looking on? I should have won the battle but for you. And I hereby + confiscate the farm you stand on, and you and your family may go to the + workhouse.” + </p> + <p> + The New York press holds this argument over English people in terrorem. + “We Americans may be ever so wrong in the matter in dispute, but if you + push us to a war, we will confiscate your English property.” Very good. It + is peace now. Confidence of course is restored between us. Our eighteen + hundred peace commissioners have no occasion to open their mouths; and the + little question of confiscation is postponed. Messrs. Battery, Broadway + and Co., of New York, have the kindness to sell my Saginaws for what they + will fetch. I shall lose half my loaf very likely; but for the sake of a + quiet life, let us give up a certain quantity of farinaceous food; and + half a loaf, you know, is better than no bread at all. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE NOTCH ON THE AXE.—A STORY A LA MODE. + </h2> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + PART I. + </h3> + <p> + “Every one remembers in the Fourth Book of the immortal poem of your Blind + Bard, (to whose sightless orbs no doubt Glorious Shapes were apparent, and + Visions Celestial,) how Adam discourses to Eve of the Bright Visitors who + hovered round their Eden— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth, + Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep.' +</pre> + <p> + “'How often,' says Father Adam, 'from the steep of echoing hill or + thicket, have we heard celestial voices to the midnight air, sole, or + responsive to each other's notes, singing!' After the Act of Disobedience, + when the erring pair from Eden took their solitary way, and went forth to + toil and trouble on common earth—though the Glorious Ones no longer + were visible, you cannot say they were gone. It was not that the Bright + Ones were absent, but that the dim eyes of rebel man no longer could see + them. In your chamber hangs a picture of one whom you never knew, but whom + you have long held in tenderest regard, and who was painted for you by a + friend of mine, the Knight of Plympton. She communes with you. She smiles + on you. When your spirits are low, her bright eyes shine on you and cheer + you. Her innocent sweet smile is a caress to you. She never fails to + soothe you with her speechless prattle. You love her. She is alive with + you. As you extinguish your candle and turn to sleep, though your eyes see + her not, is she not there still smiling? As you lie in the night awake, + and thinking of your duties, and the morrow's inevitable toil oppressing + the busy, weary, wakeful brain as with a remorse, the crackling fire + flashes up for a moment in the grate, and she is there, your little + Beauteous Maiden, smiling with her sweet eyes! When moon is down, when + fire is out, when curtains are drawn, when lids are closed, is she not + there, the little Beautiful One, though invisible, present and smiling + still? Friend, the Unseen Ones are round about us. Does it not seem as if + the time were drawing near when it shall be given to men to behold them?” + </p> + <p> + The print of which my friend spoke, and which, indeed, hangs in my room, + though he has never been there, is that charming little winter piece of + Sir Joshua, representing the little Lady Caroline Montague, afterwards + Duchess of Buccleuch. She is represented as standing in the midst of a + winter landscape, wrapped in muff and cloak; and she looks out of her + picture with a smile so exquisite that a Herod could not see her without + being charmed. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, MR. PINTO,” I said to the person with whom I was + conversing. (I wonder, by the way, that I was not surprised at his knowing + how fond I am of this print.) “You spoke of the Knight of Plympton. Sir + Joshua died, 1792: and you say he was your dear friend?” + </p> + <p> + As I spoke I chanced to look at Mr. Pinto; and then it suddenly struck me: + Gracious powers? Perhaps you ARE a hundred years old, now I think of it. + You look more than a hundred. Yes, you may be a thousand years old for + what I know. Your teeth are false. One eye is evidently false. Can I say + that the other is not? If a man's age may be calculated by the rings round + his eyes, this man may be as old as Methuselah. He has no beard. He wears + a large curly glossy brown wig, and his eyebrows are painted a deep + olive-green. It was odd to hear this man, this walking mummy, talking + sentiment, in these queer old chambers in Shepherd's Inn. + </p> + <p> + Pinto passed a yellow bandanna handkerchief over his awful white teeth, + and kept his glass eye steadily fixed on me. “Sir Joshua's friend?” said + he (you perceive, eluding my direct question). “Is not every one that + knows his pictures Reynolds's friend? Suppose I tell you that I have been + in his painting room scores of times, and that his sister The has made me + tea, and his sister Toffy has made coffee for me? You will only say I am + an old ombog.” (Mr. Pinto, I remarked, spoke all languages with an accent + equally foreign.) “Suppose I tell you that I knew Mr. Sam Johnson, and did + not like him? that I was at that very ball at Madame Cornelis', which you + have mentioned in one of your little—what do you call them?—bah! + my memory begins to fail me—in one of your little Whirligig Papers? + Suppose I tell you that Sir Joshua has been here, in this very room?” + </p> + <p> + “Have you, then, had these apartments for—more—than—seventy + years?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “They look as if they had not been swept for that time—don't they? + Hey? I did not say that I had them for seventy years, but that Sir Joshua + has visited me here.” + </p> + <p> + “When?” I asked, eying the man sternly, for I began to think he was an + impostor. + </p> + <p> + He answered me with a glance still more stern: “Sir Joshua Reynolds was + here this very morning, with Angelica Kaufmann and Mr. Oliver Goldschmidt. + He is still very much attached to Angelica, who still does not care for + him. Because he is dead (and I was in the fourth mourning coach at his + funeral) is that any reason why he should not come back to earth again? My + good sir, you are laughing at me. He has sat many a time on that very + chair which you are occupying. There are several spirits in the room now, + whom you cannot see. Excuse me.” Here he turned round as if he was + addressing somebody, and began rapidly speaking a language unknown to me. + “It is Arabic,” he said; “a bad patois I own. I learned it in Barbary, + when I was a prisoner amongst the Moors. In anno 1609, bin ick aldus + ghekledt gheghaen. Ha! you doubt me: look at me well. At least I am like—” + </p> + <p> + Perhaps some of my readers remember a paper of which the figure of a man + carrying a barrel formed the initial letter,* and which I copied from an + old spoon now in my possession. As I looked at Mr. Pinto I do declare he + looked so like the figure on that old piece of plate that I started and + felt very uneasy. “Ha!” said he, laughing through his false teeth (I + declare they were false—I could see utterly toothless gums working + up and down behind the pink coral), “you see I wore a beard den; I am + shafed now; perhaps you tink I am A SPOON. Ha, ha!” And as he laughed he + gave a cough which I thought would have coughed his teeth out, his glass + eye out, his wig off, his very head off; but he stopped this convulsion by + stumping across the room and seizing a little bottle of bright pink + medicine, which, being opened, spread a singular acrid aromatic odor + through the apartment; and I thought I saw—but of this I cannot take + an affirmation—a light green and violet flame flickering round the + neck of the phial as he opened it. By the way, from the peculiar stumping + noise which he made in crossing the bare-boarded apartment, I knew at once + that my strange entertainer had a wooden leg. Over the dust which lay + quite thick on the boards, you could see the mark of one foot very neat + and pretty, and then a round O, which was naturally the impression made by + the wooden stump. I own I had a queer thrill as I saw that mark, and felt + a secret comfort that it was not CLOVEN. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * This refers to an illustrated edition of the work. +</pre> + <p> + In this desolate apartment in which Mr. Pinto had invited me to see him, + there were three chairs, one bottomless, a little table on which you might + put a breakfast-tray, and not a single other article of furniture. In the + next room, the door of which was open, I could see a magnificent gilt + dressing-case, with some splendid diamond and ruby shirt-studs lying by + it, and a chest of drawers, and a cupboard apparently full of clothes. + </p> + <p> + Remembering him in Baden-Baden in great magnificence, I wondered at his + present denuded state. “You have a house elsewhere, Mr. Pinto?” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Many,” says he. “I have apartments in many cities. I lock dem up, and do + not carry mosh logish.” + </p> + <p> + I then remembered that his apartment at Baden, where I first met him, was + bare, and had no bed in it. + </p> + <p> + “There is, then, a sleeping-room beyond?” + </p> + <p> + “This is the sleeping-room.” (He pronounces it DIS. Can this, by the way, + give any clue to the nationality of this singular man?) + </p> + <p> + “If you sleep on these two old chairs you have a rickety couch; if on the + floor, a dusty one.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose I sleep up dere?” said this strange man, and he actually pointed + up to the ceiling. I thought him mad, or what he himself called “an + ombog.” “I know. You do not believe me; for why should I deceive you? I + came but to propose a matter of business to you. I told you I could give + you the clue to the mystery of the Two Children in Black, whom you met at + Baden, and you came to see me. If I told you you would not believe, me. + What for try and convinz you? Ha hey?” And he shook his hand once, twice, + thrice, at me, and glared at me out of his eye in a peculiar way. + </p> + <p> + Of what happened now I protest I cannot give an accurate account. It + seemed to me that there shot a flame from his eye into my brain, whilst + behind his GLASS eye there was a green illumination as if a candle had + been lit in it. It seemed to me that from his long fingers two quivering + flames issued, sputtering, as it were, which penetrated me, and forced me + back into one of the chairs—the broken one—out of which I had + much difficulty in scrambling, when the strange glamour was ended. It + seemed, to me that, when I was so fixed, so transfixed in the broken + chair, the man floated up to the ceiling, crossed his legs, folded his + arms as if he was lying on a sofa, and grinned down at me. When I came to + myself he was down from the ceiling, and, taking me out of the broken + cane-bottomed chair, kindly enough—“Bah!” said he, “it is the smell + of my medicine. It often gives the vertigo. I thought you would have had a + little fit. Come into the open air.” And we went down the steps, and into + Shepherd's Inn, where the setting sun was just shining on the statue of + Shepherd; the laundresses were traipsing about; the porters were leaning + against the railings; and the clerks were playing at marbles, to my + inexpressible consolation. + </p> + <p> + “You said you were going to dine at the 'Gray's-inn Coffee-house,'” he + said. I was. I often dine there. There is excellent wine at the + “Gray's-inn Coffee-house;” but I declare I NEVER SAID SO. I was not + astonished at his remark; no more astonished than if I was in a dream. + Perhaps I WAS in a dream. Is life a dream? Are dreams facts? Is sleeping + being really awake? I don't know. I tell you I am puzzled. I have read + “The Woman in White,” “The Strange Story”—not to mention that story + “Stranger than Fiction” in the Cornhill Magazine—that story for + which THREE credible witnesses are ready to vouch. I have had messages + from the dead; and not only from the dead, but from people who never + existed at all. I own I am in a state of much bewilderment: but, if you + please, will proceed with my simple, my artless story. + </p> + <p> + Well, then. We passed from Shepherd's Inn into Holborn, and looked for a + while at Woodgate's bric-a-brac shop, which I never can pass without + delaying at the windows—indeed, if I were going to be hung, I would + beg the cart to stop, and let me have one look more at that delightful + omnium gatherum. And passing Woodgate's, we come to Gale's little shop, + “No. 47,” which is also a favorite haunt of mine. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Gale happened to be at his door, and as we exchanged salutations, “Mr. + Pinto,” I said, “will you like to see a real curiosity in this curiosity + shop? Step into Mr. Gale's little back room.” + </p> + <p> + In that little back parlor there are Chinese gongs; there are old Saxe and + Sevres plates; there is Furstenberg, Carl Theodor, Worcester, Amstel, + Nankin and other jimcrockery. And in the corner what do you think there + is? There is an actual GUILLOTINE. If you doubt me, go and see—Gale, + High Holborn, No. 47. It is a slim instrument, much slighter than those + which they make now;—some nine feet high, narrow, a pretty piece of + upholstery enough. There is the hook over which the rope used to play + which unloosened the dreadful axe above; and look! dropped into the + orifice where the head used to go—there is THE AXE itself, all + rusty, with A GREAT NOTCH IN THE BLADE. + </p> + <p> + As Pinto looked at it—Mr. Gale was not in the room, I recollect; + happening to have been just called out by a customer who offered him three + pound fourteen and sixpence for a blue Shepherd in pate tendre,—Mr. + Pinto gave a little start, and seemed crispe for a moment. Then he looked + steadily towards one of those great porcelain stools which you see in + gardens—and—it seemed to me—I tell you I won't take my + affidavit—I may have been maddened by the six glasses I took of that + pink elixir—I may have been sleep-walking: perhaps am as I write now—I + may have been under the influence of that astounding MEDIUM into whose + hands I had fallen—but I vow I heard Pinto say, with rather a + ghastly grin at the porcelain stool, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Nay, nefer shague your gory locks at me, + Dou canst not say I did it.” + </pre> + <p> + (He pronounced it, by the way, I DIT it, by which I KNOW that Pinto was a + German.) + </p> + <p> + I heard Pinto say those very words, and sitting on the porcelain stool I + saw, dimly at first, then with an awful distinctness—a ghost—an + eidolon—a form—A HEADLESS MAN seated, with his head in his + lap, which wore an expression of piteous surprise. + </p> + <p> + At this minute, Mr. Gale entered from the front shop to show a customer + some delf plates; and he did not see—but WE DID—the figure + rise up from the porcelain stool, shake its head, which it held in its + hand, and which kept its eyes fixed sadly on us, and disappear behind the + guillotine. + </p> + <p> + “Come to the 'Gray's-inn Coffee-house,'” Pinto said, “and I will tell you + how THE NOTCH CAME TO THE AXE.” And we walked down Holborn at about + thirty-seven minutes past six o'clock. + </p> + <p> + If there is anything in the above statement which astonishes the reader, I + promise him that in the next chapter of this little story he will be + astonished still more. + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + PART II. + </h3> + <p> + “You will excuse me,” I said, to my companion, “for remarking, that when + you addressed the individual sitting on the porcelain stool, with his head + in his lap, your ordinarily benevolent features”—(this I confess was + a bouncer, for between ourselves a more sinister and ill-looking rascal + than Mons. P. I have seldom set eyes on)—“your ordinarily handsome + face wore an expression that was by no means pleasing. You grinned at the + individual just as you did at me when you went up to the cei—, + pardon me, as I THOUGHT you did, when I fell down in a fit in your + chambers;” and I qualified my words in a great flutter and tremble; I did + not care to offend the man—I did not DARE to offend the man. I + thought once or twice of jumping into a cab, and flying; of taking refuge + in Day and Martin's Blacking Warehouse; of speaking to a policeman, but + not one would come. I was this man's slave. I followed him like his dog. I + COULD not get away from him. So, you see, I went on meanly conversing with + him, and affecting a simpering confidence. I remember, when I was a little + boy at school, going up fawning and smiling in this way to some great + hulking bully of a sixth-form boy. So I said in a word, “Your ordinarily + handsome face wore a disagreeable expression,” &c. + </p> + <p> + “It is ordinarily VERY handsome,” said he, with such a leer at a couple of + passers-by, that one of them cried, “Oh, crikey, here's a precious guy!” + and a child, in its nurse's arms, screamed itself into convulsions. “Oh, + oui, che suis tres-choli garcon, bien peau, cerdainement,” continued Mr. + Pinto; “but you were right. That—that person was not very well + pleased when he saw me. There was no love lost between us, as you say; and + the world never knew a more worthless miscreant. I hate him, voyez-vous? I + hated him alife; I hate him dead. I hate him man; I hate him ghost: and he + know it, and tremble before me. If I see him twenty tausend years hence—and + why not?—I shall hate him still. You remarked how he was dressed?” + </p> + <p> + “In black satin breeches and striped stockings; a white pique waistcoat, a + gray coat, with large metal buttons, and his hair in powder. He must have + worn a pigtail—only—” + </p> + <p> + “Only it was CUT OFF! Ha, ha, ha!” Mr. Pinto cried, yelling a laugh, which + I observed made the policeman stare very much. “Yes. It was cut off by the + same blow which took off the scoundrel's head—ho, ho, ho!” And he + made a circle with his hook-nailed finger round his own yellow neck, and + grinned with a horrible triumph. “I promise you that fellow was surprised + when he found his head in the pannier. Ha! ha! Do you ever cease to hate + those whom you hate?”—fire flashed terrifically from his glass eye, + as he spoke—“or to love dose whom you once loved. Oh, never, never!” + And here his natural eye was bedewed with tears. “But here we are at the + 'Gray's-inn Coffee-house.' James, what is the joint?” + </p> + <p> + That very respectful and efficient waiter brought in the bill of fare, and + I, for my part, chose boiled leg of pork and pease-pudding, which my + acquaintance said would do as well as anything else; though I remarked he + only trifled with the pease-pudding, and left all the pork on the plate. + In fact, he scarcely ate anything. But he drank a prodigious quantity of + wine; and I must say that my friend Mr. Hart's port-wine is so good that I + myself took—well, I should think, I took three glasses. Yes, three, + certainly. HE—I mean Mr. P.—the old rogue, was insatiable: for + we had to call for a second bottle in no time. When that was gone, my + companion wanted another. A little red mounted up to his yellow cheeks as + he drank the wine, and he winked at it in a strange manner. “I remember,” + said he, musing, “when port-wine was scarcely drunk in this country—though + the Queen liked it, and so did Harley; but Bolingbroke didn't—he + drank Florence and Champagne. Dr. Swift put water to his wine. 'Jonathan,' + I once said to him—but bah! autres temps, autres moeurs. Another + magnum, James.” + </p> + <p> + This was all very well. “My good sir,” I said, “it may suit you to order + bottles of '20 port, at a guinea a bottle; but that kind of price does not + suit me. I only happen to have thirty-four and sixpence in my pocket, of + which I want a shilling for the waiter, and eighteenpence for my cab. You + rich foreigners and SWELLS may spend what you like” (I had him there: for + my friend's dress was as shabby as an old-clothesman's); “but a man with a + family, Mr. What-d'you-call'im, cannot afford to spend seven or eight + hundred a year on his dinner alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” he said. “Nunkey pays for all, as you say. I will what you call + stant the dinner, if you are SO POOR!” and again he gave that disagreeable + grin, and placed an odious crooked-nailed and by no means clean finger to + his nose. But I was not so afraid of him now, for we were in a public + place; and the three glasses of port-wine had, you see, given me courage. + </p> + <p> + “What a pretty snuff-box!” he remarked, as I handed him mine, which I am + still old-fashioned enough to carry. It is a pretty old gold box enough, + but valuable to me especially as a relic of an old, old relative, whom I + can just remember as a child, when she was very kind to me. “Yes; a pretty + box. I can remember when many ladies—most ladies, carried a box—nay, + two boxes—tabatiere, and bonbonniere. What lady carries snuff-box + now, hey? Suppose your astonishment if a lady in an assembly were to offer + you a prise? I can remember a lady with such a box as this, with a tour, + as we used to call it then; with paniers, with a tortoise-shell cane, with + the prettiest little high-heeled velvet shoes in the world!—ah! that + was a time, that was a time! Ah, Eliza, Eliza, I have thee now in my + mind's eye! At Bungay on the Waveney, did I not walk with thee, Eliza? + Aha, did I not love thee? Did I not walk with thee then? Do I not see thee + still?” + </p> + <p> + This was passing strange. My ancestress—but there is no need to + publish her revered name—did indeed live at Bungay St. Mary's, where + she lies buried. She used to walk with a tortoise-shell cane. She used to + wear little black velvet shoes, with the prettiest high heels in the + world. + </p> + <p> + “Did you—did you—know, then, my great gr-ndm-ther?” I said. + </p> + <p> + He pulled up his coat-sleeve—“Is that her name?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Eliza ——” + </p> + <p> + There, I declare, was the very name of the kind old creature written in + red on his arm. + </p> + <p> + “YOU knew her old,” he said, divining my thoughts (with his strange + knack); “I knew her young and lovely. I danced with her at the Bury ball. + Did I not, dear, dear Miss ——?” + </p> + <p> + As I live, he here mentioned dear gr-nny's MAIDEN name. Her maiden name + was ——. Her honored married name was ——. + </p> + <p> + “She married your great gr-ndf-th-r the year Poseidon won the Newmarket + Plate,” Mr. Pinto dryly remarked. + </p> + <p> + Merciful powers! I remember, over the old shagreen knife and spoon case on + the sideboard in my gr-nny's parlor, a print by Stubbs of that very horse. + My grandsire, in a red coat, and his fair hair flowing over his shoulders, + was over the mantel-piece, and Poseidon won the Newmarket Cup in the year + 1783! + </p> + <p> + “Yes; you are right. I danced a minuet with her at Bury that very night, + before I lost my poor leg. And I quarrelled with your grandf——, + ha!” + </p> + <p> + As he said “Ha!” there came three quiet little taps on the table—it + is the middle table in the “Gray's-inn Coffee-house,” under the bust of + the late Duke of W-ll-ngt-n. + </p> + <p> + “I fired in the air,” he continued “did I not?” (Tap, tap, tap.) “Your + grandfather hit me in the leg. He married three months afterwards. + 'Captain Brown,' I said, 'who could see Miss Sm-th without loving her?' + She is there! She is there!” (Tap, tap, tap.) “Yes, my first love—” + </p> + <p> + But here there came tap, tap, which everybody knows means “No.” + </p> + <p> + “I forgot,” he said, with a faint blush stealing over his wan features, + “she was not my first love. In Germ—- in my own country—there + WAS a young woman—” + </p> + <p> + Tap, tap, tap. There was here quite a lively little treble knock; and when + the old man said, “But I loved thee better than all the world, Eliza,” the + affirmative signal was briskly repeated. + </p> + <p> + And this I declare UPON MY HONOR. There was, I have said, a bottle of + port-wine before us—I should say a decanter. That decanter was + LIFTED up, and out of it into our respective glasses two bumpers of wine + were poured. I appeal to Mr. Hart, the landlord—I appeal to James, + the respectful and intelligent waiter, if this statement is not true? And + when we had finished that magnum, and I said—for I did not now in + the least doubt of her presence—“Dear gr-nny, may we have another + magnum?” the table DISTINCTLY rapped “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, my good sir,” Mr. Pinto said, who really began to be affected by the + wine, “you understand the interest I have taken in you. I loved Eliza + ——” (of course I don't mention family names). “I knew you had + that box which belonged to her—I will give you what you like for + that box. Name your price at once, and I pay you on the spot.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, when we came out, you said you had not sixpence in your pocket.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah! give you anything you like—fifty—a hundred—a + tausend pound.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, come,” said I, “the gold of the box may be worth nine guineas, and + the facon we will put at six more.” + </p> + <p> + “One tausend guineas!” he screeched. “One tausend and fifty pound, dere!” + and he sank back in his chair—no, by the way, on his bench, for he + was sitting with his back to one of the partitions of the boxes, as I dare + say James remembers. + </p> + <p> + “DON'T go on in this way,” I continued, rather weakly, for I did not know + whether I was in a dream. “If you offer me a thousand guineas for this box + I MUST take it. Mustn't I, dear gr-nny?” + </p> + <p> + The table most distinctly said, “Yes;” and putting out his claws to seize + the box, Mr. Pinto plunged his hooked nose into it, and eagerly inhaled + some of my 47 with a dash of Hardman. + </p> + <p> + “But stay, you old harpy!” I exclaimed, being now in a sort of rage, and + quite familiar with him. “Where is the money? Where is the check?” + </p> + <p> + “James, a piece of note-paper and a receipt stamp!” + </p> + <p> + “This is all mighty well, sir,” I said, “but I don't know you; I never saw + you before. I will trouble you to hand me that box back again, or give me + a check with some known signature.” + </p> + <p> + “Whose? Ha, Ha, HA!” + </p> + <p> + The room happened to be very dark. Indeed, all the waiters were gone to + supper, and there were only two gentlemen snoring in their respective + boxes. I saw a hand come quivering down from the ceiling—a very + pretty hand, on which was a ring with a coronet, with a lion rampant gules + for a crest. I SAW THAT HAND TAKE A DIP OF INK AND WRITE ACROSS THE PAPER. + Mr. Pinto, then, taking a gray receipt-stamp out of his blue leather + pocket-book, fastened it on to the paper by the usual process; and the + hand then wrote across the receipt-stamp, went across the table and shook + hands with Pinto, and then, as if waving him an adieu, vanished in the + direction of the ceiling. + </p> + <p> + There was the paper before me, wet with the ink. There was the pen which + THE HAND had used. Does anybody doubt me? I HAVE THAT PEN NOW. A + cedar-stick of a not uncommon sort, and holding one of Gillott's pens. It + is in my inkstand now, I tell you. Anybody may see it. The handwriting on + the check, for such the document was, was the writing of a female. It ran + thus:—“London, midnight, March 31, 1862. Pay the bearer one thousand + and fitty pounds. Rachel Sidonia. To Messrs. Sidonia, Pozzosanto and Co., + London.” + </p> + <p> + “Noblest and best of women!” said Pinto, kissing the sheet of paper with + much reverence. “My good Mr. Roundabout, I suppose you do not question + THAT signature?” + </p> + <p> + Indeed, the house of Sidonia, Pozzosanto and Co., is known to be one of + the richest in Europe, and as for the Countess Rachel, she was known to be + the chief manager of that enormously wealthy establishment. There was only + one little difficulty, THE COUNTESS RACHEL DIED LAST OCTOBER. + </p> + <p> + I pointed out this circumstance, and tossed over the paper to Pinto with a + sneer. + </p> + <p> + “C'est a brendre ou a laisser,” he said with some heat. “You literary men + are all imbrudent; but I did not tink you such a fool wie dis. Your box is + not worth twenty pound, and I offer you a tausend because I know you want + money to pay dat rascal Tom's college bills.” (This strange man actually + knew that my scapegrace Tom has been a source of great expense and + annoyance to me.) “You see money costs me nothing, and you refuse to take + it! Once, twice; will you take this check in exchange for your trumpery + snuff-box?” + </p> + <p> + What could I do? My poor granny's legacy was valuable and dear to me, but + after all a thousand guineas are not to be had every day. “Be it a + bargain,” said I. “Shall we have a glass of wine on it?” says Pinto; and + to this proposal I also unwillingly acceded, reminding him, by the way, + that he had not yet told me the story of the headless man. + </p> + <p> + “Your poor gr-ndm-ther was right just now, when she said she was not my + first love. 'Twas one of those banale expressions” (here Mr. P. blushed + once more) “which we use to women. We tell each she is our first passion. + They reply with a similar illusory formula. No man is any woman's first + love; no woman any man's. We are in love in our nurse's arms, and women + coquette with their eyes before their tongue can form a word. How could + your lovely relative love me? I was far, far too old for her. I am older + than I look. I am so old that you would not believe my age were I to tell + you. I have loved many and many a woman before your relative. It has not + always been fortunate for them to love me. Ah, Sophronia! Round the + dreadful circus where you fell, and whence I was dragged corpse-like by + the heels, there sat multitudes more savage than the lions which mangled + your sweet form! Ah, tenez! when we marched to the terrible stake together + at Valladolid—the Protestant and the J— But away with memory! + Boy! it was happy for thy grandam that she loved me not. + </p> + <p> + “During that strange period,” he went on, “when the teeming Time was great + with the revolution that was speedily to be born, I was on a mission in + Paris with my excellent, my maligned friend Cagliostro. Mesmer was one of + our band. I seemed to occupy but an obscure rank in it: though, as you + know, in secret societies the humble man may be a chief and director—the + ostensible leader but a puppet moved by unseen hands. Never mind who was + chief, or who was second. Never mind my age. It boots not to tell it: why + shall I expose myself to your scornful incredulity—or reply to your + questions in words that are familiar to you, but which yet you cannot + understand? Words are symbols of things which you know, or of things which + you don't know. If you don't know them, to speak is idle.” (Here I confess + Mr. P. spoke for exactly thirty-eight minutes, about physics, metaphysics, + language, the origin and destiny of man, during which time I was rather + bored, and, to relieve my ennui, drank a half glass or so of wine.) “LOVE, + friend, is the fountain of youth! It may not happen to me once—once + in an age: but when I love, then I am young. I loved when I was in Paris. + Bathilde, Bathilde, I loved thee—ah, how fondly! Wine, I say, more + wine! Love is ever young. I was a boy at the little feet of Bathilde de + Bechamel—the fair, the fond, the fickle, ah, the false!” The strange + old man's agony was here really terrific, and he showed himself much more + agitated than he had been when speaking about my gr-ndm-th-r. + </p> + <p> + “I thought Blanche might love me. I could speak to her in the language of + all countries, and tell her the lore of all ages. I could trace the + nursery legends which she loved up to their Sanscrit source, and whisper + to her the darkling mysteries of Egyptian Magi. I could chant for her the + wild chorus that rang in the dishevelled Eleusinian revel: I could tell + her and I would, the watchword never known but to one woman, the Saban + Queen, which Hiram breathed in the abysmal ear of Solomon—You don't + attend. Psha! you have drunk too much wine!” Perhaps I may as well own + that I was NOT attending, for he had been carrying on for about + fifty-seven minutes; and I don't like a man to have ALL the talk to + himself. + </p> + <p> + “Blanche de Bechamel was wild, then, about this secret of Masonry. In + early, early days I loved, I married a girl fair as Blanche, who, too, was + tormented by curiosity, who, too, would peep into my closet—into the + only secret I guarded from her. A dreadful fate befell poor Fatima. An + ACCIDENT shortened her life. Poor thing! she had a foolish sister who + urged her on. I always told her to beware of Ann. She died. They said her + brothers killed me. A gross falsehood. AM I dead? If I were, could I + pledge you in this wine?” + </p> + <p> + “Was your name,” I asked, quite bewildered, “was your name, pray, then, + ever Blueb——?” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! the waiter will overhear you. Methought we were speaking of Blanche + de Bechamel. I loved her, young man. My pearls, and diamonds, and + treasure, my wit, my wisdom, my passion, I flung them all into the child's + lap. I was a fool. Was strong Samson not as weak as I? Was Solomon the + Wise much better when Balkis wheedled him. I said to the king—But + enough of that, I spake of Blanche de Bechamel. + </p> + <p> + “Curiosity was the poor child's foible. I could see, as I talked to her. + that her thoughts were elsewhere (as yours, my friend, have been absent + once or twice to-night). To know the secret of Masonry was the wretched + child's mad desire. With a thousand wiles, smiles, caresses, she strove to + coax it from me—from ME—ha! ha! + </p> + <p> + “I had an apprentice—the son of a dear friend, who died by my side + at Rossbach, when Soubise, with whose army I happened to be, suffered a + dreadful defeat for neglecting my advice. The young Chevalier Goby de + Mouchy was glad enough to serve as my clerk, and help in some chemical + experiments in which I was engaged with my friend Dr. Mesmer. Bathilde saw + this young man. Since women were, has it not been their business to smile + and deceive, to fondle and lure? Away! From the very first it has been + so!” And as my companion spoke, he looked as wicked as the serpent that + coiled round the tree, and hissed a poisoned counsel to the first woman. + </p> + <p> + “One evening I went, as was my wont, to see Blanche. She was radiant: she + was wild with spirits: a saucy triumph blazed in her blue eyes. She + talked, she rattled in her childish way. She uttered, in the course of her + rhapsody, a hint—an intimation—so terrible that the truth + flashed across me in a moment. Did I ask her? She would lie to me. But I + know how to make falsehood impossible. Add I ORDERED HER TO GO TO SLEEP.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment the clock (after its previous convulsions) sounded TWELVE. + And as the new Editor* of the Cornhill Magazine—and HE, I promise + you, won't stand any nonsense—will only allow seven pages, I am + obliged to leave off at THE VERY MOST INTERESTING POINT OF THE STORY. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * Mr. Thackeray retired from the Editorship of the Cornhill + Magazine in March, 1862. +</pre> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + PART III. + </h3> + <p> + “Are you of our fraternity? I see you are not. The secret which + Mademoiselle de Bechamel confided to me in her mad triumph and wild hoyden + spirits—she was but a child, poor thing, poor thing, scarce fifteen—but + I love them young—a folly not unusual with the old!” (Here Mr. Pinto + thrust his knuckles into his hollow eyes; and, I am sorry to say, so + little regardful was he of personal cleanliness, that his tears made + streaks of white over his gnarled dark hands.) “Ah, at fifteen, poor + child, thy fate was terrible! Go to! It is not good to love me, friend. + They prosper not who do. I divine you. You need not say what you are + thinking—” + </p> + <p> + In truth, I was thinking, if girls fall in love with this sallow + hook-nosed, glass-eyed, wooden-legged, dirty, hideous old man, with the + sham teeth, they have a queer taste. THAT is what I was thinking. + </p> + <p> + “Jack Wilkes said the handsomest man in London had but half an hour's + start of him. And without vanity, I am scarcely uglier than Jack Wilkes. + We were members of the same club at Medenham Abbey, Jack and I, and had + many a merry night together. Well, sir, I—Mary of Scotland knew me + but as a little hunchbacked music-master; and yet, and yet, I think SHE + was not indifferent to her David Riz—and SHE came to misfortune. + They all do—they all do!” + </p> + <p> + “Sir, you are wandering from your point!” I said, with some severity. For, + really, for this old humbug to hint that he had been the baboon who + frightened the club at Medenham, that he had been in the Inquisition at + Valladolid—that under the name of D. Riz, as he called it, he had + known the lovely Queen of Scots—was a LITTLE too much. “Sir,” then I + said, “you were speaking about a Miss de Bechamel. I really have not time + to hear all your biography.” + </p> + <p> + “Faith, the good wine gets into my head.” (I should think so, the old + toper! Four bottles all but two glasses.) “To return to poor Blanche. As I + sat laughing, joking with her, she let slip a word, a little word, which + filled me with dismay. Some one had told her a part of the Secret—the + secret which has been divulged scarce thrice in three thousand years—the + Secret of the Freemasons. Do you know what happens to those uninitiate who + learn that secret? to those wretched men, the initiate who reveal it?” + </p> + <p> + As Pinto spoke to me, he looked through and through me with his horrible + piercing glance, so that I sat quite uneasily on my bench. He continued: + “Did I question her awake? I knew she would lie to me. Poor child! I loved + her no less because I did not believe a word she said. I loved her blue + eye, her golden hair, her delicious voice, that was true in song, though + when she spoke, false as Eblis! You are aware that I possess in rather a + remarkable degree what we have agreed to call the mesmeric power. I set + the unhappy girl to sleep. THEN she was obliged to tell me all. It was as + I had surmised. Goby de Mouchy, my wretched, besotted, miserable + secretary, in his visits to the chateau of the Marquis de Bechamel, who + was one of our society, had seen Blanche. I suppose it was because she had + been warned that he was worthless, and poor, artful and a coward, she + loved him. She wormed out of the besotted wretch the secrets of our Order. + 'Did he tell you the NUMBER ONE?' I asked. + </p> + <p> + “She said, 'Yes.' + </p> + <p> + “'Did he,' I further inquired, 'tell you the—' + </p> + <p> + “'Oh, don't ask me, don't ask me!' she said, writhing on the sofa, where + she lay in the presence of the Marquis de Bechamel, her most unhappy + father. Poor Bechamel, poor Bechamel! How pale he looked as I spoke! 'Did + he tell you,' I repeated with a dreadful calm, 'the NUMBER TWO?' She said, + 'Yes.' + </p> + <p> + “The poor old marquis rose up, and clasping his hands, fell on his knees + before Count Cagl—— Bah! I went by a different name then. + Vat's in a name? Dat vich ve call a Rosicrucian by any other name vil + smell as sveet. 'Monsieur,' he said, 'I am old—I am rich. I have + five hundred thousand livres of rentes in Picardy. I have half as much in + Artois. I have two hundred and eighty thousand on the Grand Livre. I am + promised by my Sovereign a dukedom and his orders with a reversion to my + heir. I am a Grandee of Spain of the First Class, and Duke of Volovento. + Take my titles, my ready money, my life, my honor, everything I have in + the world, but don't ask the THIRD QUESTION.' + </p> + <p> + “'Godefroid de Bouillon, Comte de Bechamel, Grandee of Spain and Prince of + Volovento, in our Assembly what was the oath you swore?'” The old man + writhed as he remembered its terrific purport. + </p> + <p> + “Though my heart was racked with agony, and I would have died, ay, + cheerfully” (died, indeed, as if THAT were a penalty!) “to spare yonder + lovely child a pang, I said to her calmly, 'Blanche de Bechamel, did Goby + de Mouchy tell you secret NUMBER THREE?' + </p> + <p> + “She whispered a oui that was quite faint, faint and small. But her poor + father fell in convulsions at her feet. + </p> + <p> + “She died suddenly that night. Did I not tell you those I love come to no + good? When General Bonaparte crossed the Saint Bernard, he saw in the + convent an old monk with a white beard, wandering about the corridors, + cheerful and rather stout, but mad—mad as a March hare. 'General,' I + said to him, 'did you ever see that face before?' He had not. He had not + mingled much with the higher classes of our society before the Revolution. + I knew the poor old man well enough; he was the last of a noble race, and + I loved his child.” + </p> + <p> + “And did she die by—?” + </p> + <p> + “Man! did I say so? Do I whisper the secrets of the Vehmgericht? I say she + died that night: and he—he, the heartless, the villain, the + betrayer,—you saw him seated in yonder curiosity-shop, by yonder + guillotine, with his scoundrelly head in his lap. + </p> + <p> + “You saw how slight that instrument was? It was one of the first which + Guillotin made, and which he showed to private friends in a HANGAR in the + Rue Picpus, where he lived. The invention created some little conversation + amongst scientific men at the time, though I remember a machine in + Edinburgh of a very similar construction, two hundred—well, many, + many years ago—and at a breakfast which Guillotin gave he showed us + the instrument, and much talk arose amongst us as to whether people + suffered under it. + </p> + <p> + “And now I must tell you what befell the traitor who had caused all this + suffering. Did he know that the poor child's death was a SENTENCE? He felt + a cowardly satisfaction that with her was gone the secret of his treason. + Then he began to doubt. I had MEANS to penetrate all his thoughts, as well + as to know his acts. Then he became a slave to a horrible fear. He fled in + abject terror to a convent. They still existed in Paris; and behind the + walls of Jacobins the wretch thought himself secure. Poor fool! I had but + to set one of my somnambulists to sleep. Her spirit went forth and spied + the shuddering wretch in his cell. She described the street, the gate, the + convent, the very dress which he wore, and which you saw to-day. + </p> + <p> + “And now THIS is what happened. In his chamber in the Rue St. Honore, at + Paris, sat a man ALONE—a man who has been maligned, a man who has + been called a knave and charlatan, a man who has been persecuted even to + the death, it is said, in Roman Inquisitions, forsooth, and elsewhere. Ha! + ha! A man who has a mighty will. + </p> + <p> + “And looking towards the Jacobins Convent (of which, from his chamber, he + could see the spires and trees), this man WILLED. And it was not yet dawn. + And he willed; and one who was lying in his cell in the convent of + Jacobins, awake and shuddering with terror for a crime which he had + committed, fell asleep. + </p> + <p> + “But though he was asleep his eyes were open. + </p> + <p> + “And after tossing and writhing, and clinging to the pallet, and saying, + 'No, I will not go,' he rose up and donned his clothes—a gray coat, + a vest of white pique, black satin small-clothes, ribbed silk stockings, + and a white stock with a steel buckle; and he arranged his hair, and he + tied his queue, all the while being in that strange somnolence which + walks, which moves, which FLIES sometimes, which sees, which is + indifferent to pain, which OBEYS. And he put on his hat, and he went forth + from his cell; and though the dawn was not yet, he trod the corridors as + seeing them. And he passed into the cloister, and then into the garden + where lie the ancient dead. And he came to the wicket, which Brother + Jerome was opening just at the dawning. And the crowd was already waiting + with their cans and bowls to receive the alms of the good brethren. + </p> + <p> + “And he passed through the crowd and went on his way, and the few people + then abroad who marked him, said, 'Tiens! how very odd he looks! He looks + like a man walking in his sleep!' This was said by various persons:— + </p> + <p> + “By milk-women, with their cans and carts, coming into the town. + </p> + <p> + “By roysterers who had been drinking at the taverns of the Barrier, for it + was Mid-Lent. + </p> + <p> + “By the sergeants of the watch, who eyed him sternly as he passed near + their halberds. + </p> + <p> + “But he passed on unmoved by their halberds, + </p> + <p> + “Unmoved by the cries of the roysterers, + </p> + <p> + “By the market-women coming with their milk and eggs. + </p> + <p> + “He walked through the Rue St. Honore, I say:— + </p> + <p> + “By the Rue Rambuteau, + </p> + <p> + “By the Rue St. Antoine, + </p> + <p> + “By the King's Chateau of the Bastille, + </p> + <p> + “By the Faubourg St. Antoine. + </p> + <p> + “And he came to No. 29 in the Rue Picpus—a house which then stood + between a court and garden— + </p> + <p> + “That is, there was a building of one story, with a great coach-door. + </p> + <p> + “Then there was a court, around which were stables, coach-houses, offices. + </p> + <p> + “Then there was a house—a two-storied house, with a perron in front. + </p> + <p> + “Behind the house was a garden—a garden of two hundred and fifty + French feet in length. + </p> + <p> + “And as one hundred feet of France equal one hundred and six feet of + England, this garden, my friends, equalled exactly two hundred and + sixty-five feet of British measure. + </p> + <p> + “In the centre of the garden was a fountain and a statue—or, to + speak more correctly, two statues. One was recumbent,—a man. Over + him, sabre in hand, stood a woman. + </p> + <p> + “The man was Olofernes. The woman was Judith. From the head, from the + trunk, the water gushed. It was the taste of the doctor:—was it not + a droll of taste? + </p> + <p> + “At the end of the garden was the doctor's cabinet of study. My faith, a + singular cabinet, and singular pictures!— + </p> + <p> + “Decapitation of Charles Premier at Vitehall. + </p> + <p> + “Decapitation of Montrose at Edimbourg. + </p> + <p> + “Decapitation of Cinq Mars. When I tell you that he was a man of a taste, + charming! + </p> + <p> + “Through this garden, by these statues, up these stairs, went the pale + figure of him who, the porter said, knew the way of the house. He did. + Turning neither right nor left, he seemed to walk THROUGH the statues, the + obstacles, the flower-beds, the stairs, the door, the tables, the chairs. + </p> + <p> + “In the corner of the room was THAT INSTRUMENT, which Guillotin had just + invented and perfected. One day he was to lay his own head under his own + axe. Peace be to his name! With him I deal not! + </p> + <p> + “In a frame of mahogany, neatly worked, was a board with a half-circle in + it, over which another board fitted. Above was a heavy axe, which fell—you + know how. It was held up by a rope, and when this rope was untied, or cut, + the steel fell. + </p> + <p> + “To the story which I now have to relate, you may give credence, or not, + as you will. The sleeping man went up to that instrument. + </p> + <p> + “He laid his head in it, asleep.” + </p> + <p> + “Asleep?” + </p> + <p> + “He then took a little penknife out of the pocket of his white dimity + waistcoat. + </p> + <p> + “He cut the rope asleep. + </p> + <p> + “The axe descended on the head of the traitor and villain. The notch in it + was made by the steel buckle of his stock, which was cut through. + </p> + <p> + “A strange legend has got abroad that after the deed was done, the figure + rose, took the head from the basket, walked forth through the garden, and + by the screaming porters at the gate, and went and laid itself down at the + Morgue. But for this I will not vouch. Only of this be sure. 'There are + more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamed of in your + philosophy.' More and more the light peeps through the chinks. Soon, + amidst music ravishing, the curtain will rise, and the glorious scene be + displayed. Adieu! Remember me. Ha! 'tis dawn,” Pinto said. And he was + gone. + </p> + <p> + I am ashamed to say that my first movement was to clutch the cheque which + he had left with me, and which I was determined to present the very moment + the bank opened. I know the importance of these things, and that men + CHANGE THEIR MIND sometimes. I sprang through the streets to the great + banking house of Manasseh in Duke Street. It seemed to me as if I actually + flew as I walked. As the clock struck ten I was at the counter and laid + down my cheque. + </p> + <p> + The gentleman who received it, who was one of the Hebrew persuasion, as + were the other two hundred clerks of the establishment, having looked at + the draft with terror in his countenance, then looked at me, then called + to himself two of his fellow-clerks, and queer it was to see all their + aquiline beaks over the paper. + </p> + <p> + “Come, come!” said I, “don't keep me here all day. Hand me over the money, + short, if you please!” for I was, you see, a little alarmed, and so + determined to assume some extra bluster. + </p> + <p> + “Will you have the kindness to step into the parlor to the partners?” the + clerk said, and I followed him. + </p> + <p> + “What, AGAIN?” shrieked a bald-headed, red-whiskered gentleman, whom I + knew to be Mr. Manasseh. “Mr. Salathiel, this is too bad! Leave me with + this gentleman, S.” And the clerk disappeared. + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” he said, “I know how you came by this; the Count de Pinto gave it + you. It is too bad! I honor my parents; I honor THEIR parents; I honor + their bills! But this one of grandma's is too bad—it is, upon my + word now! She've been dead these five-and-thirty years. And this last four + months she has left her burial-place and took to drawing on our 'ouse! + It's too bad, grandma; it is too bad!” and he appealed to me, and tears + actually trickled down his nose. + </p> + <p> + “Is it the Countess Sidonia's cheque or not?” I asked, haughtily. + </p> + <p> + “But, I tell you, she's dead! It's a shame!—it's a shame!—it + is, grandmamma!” and he cried, and wiped his great nose in his yellow + pocket-handkerchief. “Look year—will you take pounds instead of + guineas? She's dead, I tell you! It's no go! Take the pounds—one + tausend pound!—ten nice, neat, crisp hundred-pound notes, and go + away vid you, do!” + </p> + <p> + “I will have my bond, sir, or nothing,” I said; and I put on an attitude + of resolution which I confess surprised even myself. + </p> + <p> + “Wery vell,” he shrieked, with many oaths, “then you shall have noting—ha, + ha, ha!—noting but a policeman! Mr. Abednego, call a policeman! Take + that, you humbug and impostor!” and here, with an abundance of frightful + language which I dare not repeat, the wealthy banker abused and defied me. + </p> + <p> + Au bout du compte, what was I to do, if a banker did not choose to honor a + cheque drawn by his dead grandmother? I began to wish I had my snuff-box + back. I began to think I was a fool for changing that little old-fashioned + gold for this slip of strange paper. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile the banker had passed from his fit of anger to a paroxysm of + despair. He seemed to be addressing some person invisible, but in the + room: “Look here, ma'am, you've really been coming it too strong. A + hundred thousand in six months, and now a thousand more! The 'ouse can't + stand it; it WON'T stand it, I say! What? Oh! mercy, mercy!” + </p> + <p> + As he uttered these words, A Hand fluttered over the table in the air! It + was a female hand: that which I had seen the night before. That female + hand took a pen from the green baize table, dipped it in a silver + inkstand, and wrote on a quarter of a sheet of foolscap on the + blotting-book, “How about the diamond robbery? If you do not pay, I will + tell him where they are.” + </p> + <p> + What diamonds? what robbery? what was this mystery? That will never be + ascertained, for the wretched man's demeanor instantly changed. + “Certainly, sir;—oh, certainly,” he said, forcing a grin. “How will + you have the money, sir? All right, Mr. Abednego. This way out.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope I shall often see you again,” I said; on which I own poor Manasseh + gave a dreadful grin, and shot back into his parlor. + </p> + <p> + I ran home, clutching the ten delicious, crisp hundred pounds, and the + dear little fifty which made up the account. I flew through the streets + again. I got to my chambers. I bolted the outer doors. I sank back in my + great chair, and slept. . . . + </p> + <p> + My first thing on waking was to feel for my money. Perdition! Where was I? + Ha!—on the table before me was my grandmother's snuff-box, and by + its side one of those awful—those admirable—sensation novels, + which I had been reading, and which are full of delicious wonder. + </p> + <p> + But that the guillotine is still to be seen at Mr. Gale's, No. 47, High + Holborn, I give you MY HONOR. I suppose I was dreaming about it. I don't + know. What is dreaming? What is life? Why shouldn't I sleep on the + ceiling?—and am I sitting on it now, or on the floor? I am puzzled. + But enough. If the fashion for sensation novels goes on, I tell you I will + write one in fifty volumes. For the present, DIXI. But between ourselves, + this Pinto, who fought at the Colosseum, who was nearly being roasted by + the Inquisition, and sang duets at Holyrood, I am rather sorry to lose him + after three little bits of Roundabout Papers. Et vous? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DE FINIBUS. + </h2> + <p> + When Swift was in love with Stella, and despatching her a letter from + London thrice a month by the Irish packet, you may remember how he would + begin letter No. XXIII., we will say, on the very day when XXII. had been + sent away, stealing out of the coffee-house or the assembly so as to be + able to prattle with his dear; “never letting go her kind hand, as it + were,” as some commentator or other has said in speaking of the Dean and + his amour. When Mr. Johnson, walking to Dodsley's, and touching the posts + in Pall Mall as he walked, forgot to pat the head of one of them, he went + back and imposed his hands on it,—impelled I know not by what + superstition. I have this I hope not dangerous mania too. As soon as a + piece of work is out of hand, and before going to sleep, I like to begin + another: it may be to write only half a dozen lines: but that is something + towards Number the Next. The printer's boy has not yet reached Green Arbor + Court with the copy. Those people who were alive half an hour since, + Pendennis, Clive Newcome, and (what do you call him? what was the name of + the last hero? I remember now!) Philip Firmin, have hardly drunk their + glass of wine, and the mammas have only this minute got the children's + cloaks on, and have been bowed out of my premises—and here I come + back to the study again: tamen usque recurro. How lonely it looks now all + these people are gone! My dear good friends, some folks are utterly tired + of you, and say, “What a poverty of friends the man has! He is always + asking us to meet those Pendennises, Newcomes, and so forth. Why does he + not introduce us to some new characters? Why is he not thrilling like + Twostars, learned and profound like Threestars, exquisitely humorous and + human like Fourstars? Why, finally, is he not somebody else?” My good + people, it is not only impossible to please you all, but it is absurd to + try. The dish which one man devours, another dislikes. Is the dinner of + to-day not to your taste? Let us hope to-morrow's entertainment will be + more agreeable. . . . I resume my original subject. What an odd, pleasant, + humorous, melancholy feeling it is to sit in the study, alone and quiet, + now all these people are gone who have been boarding and lodging with me + for twenty months! They have interrupted my rest: they have plagued me at + all sorts of minutes: they have thrust themselves upon me when I was ill, + or wished to be idle, and I have growled out a “Be hanged to you, can't + you leave me alone now?” Once or twice they have prevented my going out to + dinner. Many and many a time they have prevented my coming home, because I + knew they were there waiting in the study, and a plague take them! and I + have left home and family, and gone to dine at the Club, and told nobody + where I went. They have bored me, those people. They have plagued me at + all sorts of uncomfortable hours. They have made such a disturbance in my + mind and house, that sometimes I have hardly known what was going on in my + family, and scarcely have heard what my neighbor said to me. They are gone + at last; and you would expect me to be at ease? Far from it. I should + almost be glad if Woolcomb would walk in and talk to me; or Twysden + reappear, take his place in that chair opposite me, and begin one of his + tremendous stories. + </p> + <p> + Madmen, you know, see visions, hold conversations with, even draw the + likeness of, people invisible to you and me. Is this making of people out + of fancy madness? and are novel-writers at all entitled to + strait-waistcoats? I often forget people's names in life; and in my own + stories contritely own that I make dreadful blunders regarding them; but I + declare, my dear sir, with respect to the personages introduced into your + humble servant's fables, I know the people utterly—I know the sound + of their voices. A gentleman came in to see me the other day, who was so + like the picture of Philip Firmin in Mr. Walker's charming drawings in the + cornhill Magazine, that he was quite a curiosity to me. The same eyes, + beard, shoulders, just as you have seen them from month to month. Well, he + is not like the Philip Firmin in my mind. Asleep, asleep in the grave, + lies the bold, the generous, the reckless, the tender-hearted creature + whom I have made to pass through those adventures which have just been + brought to an end. It is years since I heard the laughter ringing, or saw + the bright blue eyes. When I knew him both were young. I become young as I + think of him. And this morning he was alive again in this room, ready to + laugh, to fight, to weep. As I write, do you know, it is the gray of + evening; the house is quiet; everybody is out; the room is getting a + little dark, and I look rather wistfully up from the paper with perhaps + ever so little fancy that HE MAY COME IN.—No? No movement. No gray + shade, growing more palpable, out of which at last look the well-known + eyes. No, the printer came and took him away with the last page of the + proofs. And with the printer's boy did the whole cortege of ghosts flit + away, invisible? Ha! stay! what is this? Angels and ministers of grace! + The door opens, and a dark form—enters, bearing a black—a + black suit of clothes. It is John. He says it is time to dress for dinner. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Every man who has had his German tutor, and has been coached through the + famous “Faust” of Goethe (thou wert my instructor, good old Weissenborn, + and these eyes beheld the great master himself in dear little Weimar + town!) has read those charming verses which are prefixed to the drama, in + which the poet reverts to the time when his work was first composed, and + recalls the friends now departed, who once listened to his song. The dear + shadows rise up around him, he says; he lives in the past again. It is + to-day which appears vague and visionary. We humbler writers cannot create + Fausts, or raise up monumental works that shall endure for all ages; but + our books are diaries, in which our own feelings must of necessity be set + down. As we look to the page written last month, or ten years ago, we + remember the day and its events; the child ill, mayhap, in the adjoining + room, and the doubts and fears which racked the brain as it still pursued + its work; the dear old friend who read the commencement of the tale, and + whose gentle hand shall be laid in ours no more. I own for my part that, + in reading pages which this hand penned formerly, I often lose sight of + the text under my eyes. It is not the words I see; but that past day; that + bygone page of life's history; that tragedy, comedy it may be, which our + little home company was enacting; that merry-making which we shared; that + funeral which we followed; that bitter, bitter grief which we buried. + </p> + <p> + And, such being the state of my mind, I pray gentle readers to deal kindly + with their humble servant's manifold shortcomings, blunders, and slips of + memory. As sure as I read a page of my own composition, I find a fault or + two, half a dozen. Jones is called Brown. Brown, who is dead, is brought + to life. Aghast, and months after the number was printed, I saw that I had + called Philip Firmin, Clive Newcome. Now Clive Newcome is the hero of + another story by the reader's most obedient writer. The two men are as + different, in my mind's eye, as—as Lord Palmerston and Mr. Disraeli + let us say. But there is that blunder at page 990, line 76, volume 84 of + the Cornhill Magazine, and it is past mending; and I wish in my life I had + made no worse blunders or errors than that which is hereby acknowledged. + </p> + <p> + Another Finis written. Another mile-stone passed on this journey from + birth to the next world! Sure it is a subject for solemn cogitation. Shall + we continue this story-telling business and be voluble to the end of our + age? Will it not be presently time, O prattler, to hold your tongue, and + let younger people speak? I have a friend, a painter, who, like other + persons who shall be nameless, is growing old. He has never painted with + such laborious finish as his works now show. This master is still the most + humble and diligent of scholars. Of Art, his mistress, he is always an + eager, reverent pupil. In his calling, in yours, in mine, industry and + humility will help and comfort us. A word with you. In a pretty large + experience I have not found the men who write books superior in wit or + learning to those who don't write at all. In regard of mere information, + non-writers must often be superior to writers. You don't expect a lawyer + in full practice to be conversant with all kinds of literature; he is too + busy with his law; and so a writer is commonly too busy with his own books + to be able to bestow attention on the works of other people. After a day's + work (in which I have been depicting, let us say, the agonies of Louisa on + parting with the Captain, or the atrocious behavior of the wicked Marquis + to Lady Emily) I march to the Club, proposing to improve my mind and keep + myself “posted up,” as the Americans phrase it, with the literature of the + day. And what happens? Given, a walk after luncheon, a pleasing book, and + a most comfortable armchair by the fire, and you know the rest. A doze + ensues. Pleasing book drops suddenly, is picked up once with an air of + some confusion, is laid presently softly in lap: head falls on comfortable + arm-chair cushion: eyes close: soft nasal music is heard. Am I telling + Club secrets? Of afternoons, after lunch, I say, scores of sensible fogies + have a doze. Perhaps I have fallen asleep over that very book to which + “Finis” has just been written. “And if the writer sleeps, what happens to + the readers?” says Jones, coming down upon me with his lightning wit. + What? You DID sleep over it? And a very good thing too. These eyes have + more than once seen a friend dozing over pages which this hand has + written. There is a vignette somewhere in one of my books of a friend so + caught napping with “Pendennis,” or the “Newcomes,” in his lap and if a + writer can give you a sweet soothing, harmless sleep, has he not done you + a kindness? So is the author who excites and interests you worthy of your + thanks and benedictions. I am troubled with fever and ague, that seizes me + at odd intervals and prostrates me for a day. There is cold fit, for + which, I am thankful to say, hot brandy-and-water is prescribed, and this + induces hot fit, and so on. In one or two of these fits I have read novels + with the most fearful contentment of mind. Once, on the Mississippi, it + was my dearly beloved “Jacob Faithful:” once at Frankfort O. M., the + delightful “Vingt Ans Apres” of Monsieur Dumas: once at Tunbridge wells, + the thrilling “Woman in White:” and these books gave me amusement from + morning till sunset. I remember those ague fits with a great deal of + pleasure and gratitude. Think of a whole day in bed, and a good novel for + a companion! No cares: no remorse about idleness: no visitors: and the + Woman in White or the Chevalier d'Artagnan to tell me stories from dawn to + night! “Please, ma'am, my master's compliments, and can he have the third + volume?” (This message was sent to an astonished friend and neighbor who + lent me, volume by volume, the W. in W.) How do you like your novels? I + like mine strong, “hot with,” and no mistake: no love-making: no + observations about society: little dialogue, except where the characters + are bullying each other: plenty of fighting: and a villain in the + cupboard, who is to suffer tortures just before Finis. I don't like your + melancholy Finis. I never read the history of a consumptive heroine twice. + If I might give a short hint to an impartial writer (as the Examiner used + to say in old days), it would be to act, NOT a la mode le pays de Pole (I + think that was the phraseology), but ALWAYS to give quarter. In the story + of Philip, just come to an end, I have the permission of the author to + state, that he was going to drown the two villains of the piece—a + certain Doctor F—— and a certain Mr. T. H—— on + board the “President,” or some other tragic ship—but you see I + relented. I pictured to myself Firmin's ghastly face amid the crowd of + shuddering people on that reeling deck in the lonely ocean, and thought, + “Thou ghastly lying wretch, thou shalt not be drowned: thou shalt have a + fever only; a knowledge of thy danger; and a chance—ever so small a + chance—of repentance.” I wonder whether he DID repent when he found + himself in the yellow-fever, in Virginia? The probability is, he fancied + that his son had injured him very much, and forgave him on his death-bed. + Do you imagine there is a great deal of genuine right-down remorse in the + world? Don't people rather find excuses which make their minds easy; + endeavor to prove to themselves that they have been lamentably belied and + misunderstood; and try and forgive the persecutors who WILL present that + bill when it is due; and not bear malice against the cruel ruffian who + takes them to the police-office for stealing the spoons? Years ago I had a + quarrel with a certain well-known person (I believed a statement regarding + him which his friends imparted to me, and which turned out to be quite + incorrect). To his dying day that quarrel was never quite made up. I said + to his brother, “Why is your brother's soul still dark against me? It is I + who ought to be angry and unforgiving: for I was in the wrong.” In the + region which they now inhabit (for Finis has been set to the volumes of + the lives of both here below), if they take any cognizance of our + squabbles, and tittle-tattles, and gossips on earth here, I hope they + admit that my little error was not of a nature unpardonable. If you have + never committed a worse, my good sir, surely the score against you will + not be heavy. Ha, dilectissimi fratres! It is in regard of sins NOT found + out that we may say or sing (in an undertone, in a most penitent and + lugubrious minor key), Miserere nobis miseris peccatoribus. + </p> + <p> + Among the sins of commission which novel-writers not seldom perpetrate, is + the sin of grandiloquence, or tall-talking, against which, for my part, I + will offer up a special libera me. This is the sin of schoolmasters, + governesses, critics, sermoners, and instructors of young or old people. + Nay (for I am making a clean breast, and liberating my soul), perhaps of + all the novel-spinners now extant, the present speaker is the most + addicted to preaching. Does he not stop perpetually in his story and begin + to preach to you? When he ought to be engaged with business, is he not for + ever taking the Muse by the sleeve, and plaguing her with some of his + cynical sermons? I cry peccavi loudly and heartily. I tell you I would + like to be able to write a story which should show no egotism whatever—in + which there should be no reflections, no cynicism, no vulgarity (and so + forth), but an incident in every other page, a villain, a battle, a + mystery in every chapter. I should like to be able to feed a reader so + spicily as to leave him hungering and thirsting for more at the end of + every monthly meal. + </p> + <p> + Alexandre Dumas describes himself, when inventing the plan of a work, as + lying silent on his back for two whole days on the deck of a yacht in a + Mediterranean port. At the end of the two days he arose and called for + dinner. In those two days he had built his plot. He had moulded a mighty + clay, to be cast presently in perennial brass. The chapters, the + characters, the incidents, the combinations were all arranged in the + artist's brain ere he set a pen to paper. My Pegasus won't fly, so as to + let me survey the field below me. He has no wings, he is blind of one eye + certainly, he is restive, stubborn, slow; crops a hedge when he ought to + be galloping, or gallops when he ought to be quiet. He never will show off + when I want him. Sometimes he goes at a pace which surprises me. + Sometimes, when I most wish him to make the running, the brute turns + restive, and I am obliged to let him take his own time. I wonder do other + novel-writers experience this fatalism? They MUST go a certain way, in + spite of themselves. I have been surprised at the observations made by + some of my characters. It seems as if an occult Power was moving the pen. + The personage does or says something, and I ask, how the dickens did he + come to think of that? Every man has remarked in dreams, the vast dramatic + power which is sometimes evinced; I won't say the surprising power, for + nothing does surprise you in dreams. But those strange characters you meet + make instant observations of which you never can have thought previously. + In like manner, the imagination foretells things. We spake anon of the + inflated style of some writers. What also if there is an AFFLATED style,—when + a writer is like a Pythoness on her oracle tripod, and mighty words, words + which he cannot help, come blowing, and bellowing, and whistling, and + moaning through the speaking pipes of his bodily organ? I have told you it + was a very queer shock to me the other day when, with a letter of + introduction in his hand, the artist's (not my) Philip Firmin walked into + this room, and sat down in the chair opposite. In the novel of + “Pendennis,” written ten years ago, there is an account of a certain + Costigan, whom I had invented (as I suppose authors invent their + personages out of scraps, heel-taps, odds and ends of characters). I was + smoking in a tavern parlor one night—and this Costigan came into the + room alive—the very man:—the most remarkable resemblance of + the printed sketches of the man, of the rude drawings in which I had + depicted him. He had the same little coat, the same battered hat, cocked + on one eye, the same twinkle in that eye. “Sir,” said I, knowing him to be + an old friend whom I had met in unknown regions, “sir,” I said, “may I + offer you a glass of brandy-and-water?” “Bedad, ye may,” says he, “and + I'll sing ye a song tu.” Of course he spoke with an Irish brogue. Of + course he had been in the army. In ten minutes he pulled out an Army + Agent's account, whereon his name was written. A few months after we read + of him in a police court. How had I come to know him, to divine him? + Nothing shall convince me that I have not seen that man in the world of + spirits. In the world of spirits and water I know I did: but that is a + mere quibble of words. I was not surprised when he spoke in an Irish + brogue. I had had cognizance of him before somehow. Who has not felt that + little shock which arises when a person, a place, some words in a book + (there is always a collocation) present themselves to you, and you know + that you have before met the same person, words, scene, and so forth? + </p> + <p> + They used to call the good Sir Walter the “Wizard of the North.” What if + some writer should appear who can write so ENCHANTINGLY that he shall be + able to call into actual life the people whom he invents? What if Mignon, + and Margaret, and Goetz von Berlichingen are alive now (though I don't say + they are visible), and Dugald Dalgetty and Ivanhoe were to step in at that + open window by the little garden yonder? Suppose Uncas and our noble old + Leather Stocking were to glide silent in? Suppose Athos, Porthos, and + Aramis should enter with a noiseless swagger, curling their moustaches? + And dearest Amelia Booth, on Uncle Toby's arm; and Tittlebat Titmouse, + with his hair dyed green; and all the Crummles company of comedians, with + the Gil Blas troop; and Sir Roger de Coverley; and the greatest of all + crazy gentlemen, the Knight of La Mancha, with his blessed squire? I say + to you, I look rather wistfully towards the window, musing upon these + people. Were any of them to enter, I think I should not be very much + frightened. Dear old friends, what pleasant hours I have had with them! We + do not see each other very often, but when we do, we are ever happy to + meet. I had a capital half-hour with Jacob Faithful last night; when the + last sheet was corrected, when “Finis” had been written, and the printer's + boy, with the copy, was safe in Green Arbor Court. + </p> + <p> + So you are gone, little printer's boy, with the last scratches and + corrections on the proof, and a fine flourish by way of Finis at the + story's end. The last corrections? I say those last corrections seem never + to be finished. A plague upon the weeds! Every day, when I walk in my own + little literary garden-plot, I spy some, and should like to have a spud, + and root them out. Those idle words, neighbor, are past remedy. That + turning back to the old pages produces anything but elation of mind. Would + you not pay a pretty fine to be able to cancel some of them? Oh, the sad + old pages, the dull old pages! Oh, the cares, the ennui, the squabbles, + the repetitions, the old conversations over and over again! But now and + again a kind thought is recalled, and now and again a dear memory. Yet a + few chapters more, and then the last: after which, behold Finis itself + come to an end, and the Infinite begun. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON A PEAL OF BELLS. + </h2> + <p> + As some bells in a church hard by are making a great holiday clanging in + the summer afternoon, I am reminded somehow of a July day, a garden, and a + great clanging of bells years and years ago, on the very day when George + IV. was crowned. I remember a little boy lying in that garden reading his + first novel. It was called the “Scottish Chiefs.” The little boy (who is + now ancient and not little) read this book in the summer-house of his + great grandmamma. She was eighty years of age then. A most lovely and + picturesque old lady, with a long tortoise-shell cane, with a little puff, + or tour, of snow-white (or was it powdered?) hair under her cap, with the + prettiest little black-velvet slippers and high heels you ever saw. She + had a grandson, a lieutenant in the navy; son of her son, a captain in the + navy; grandson of her husband, a captain in the navy. She lived for scores + and scores of years in a dear little old Hampshire town inhabited by the + wives, widows, daughters of navy captains, admirals, lieutenants. Dear me! + Don't I remember Mrs. Duval, widow of Admiral Duval; and the Miss Dennets, + at the Great House at the other end of the town, Admiral Dennet's + daughters; and the Miss Barrys, the late Captain Barry's daughters; and + the good old Miss Maskews, Admiral Maskew's daughter; and that dear little + Miss Norval, and the kind Miss Bookers, one of whom married Captain, now + Admiral Sir Henry Excellent, K.C.B.? Far, far away into the past I look + and see the little town with its friendly glimmer. That town was so like a + novel of Miss Austen's that I wonder was she born and bred there? No, we + should have known, and the good old ladies would have pronounced her to be + a little idle thing, occupied with her silly books and neglecting her + housekeeping. There were other towns in England, no doubt, where dwelt the + widows and wives of other navy captains; where they tattled, loved each + other, and quarrelled; talked about Betty the maid, and her fine ribbons + indeed! took their dish of tea at six, played at quadrille every night + till ten, when there was a little bit of supper, after which Betty came + with the lanthorn; and next day came, and next, and next, and so forth, + until a day arrived when the lanthorn was out, when Betty came no more: + all that little company sank to rest under the daisies, whither some folks + will presently follow them. How did they live to be so old, those good + people? Moi qui vous parle, I perfectly recollect old Mr. Gilbert, who had + been to sea with Captain Cook; and Captain Cook, as you justly observe, + dear Miss, quoting out of your “Mangnall's Questions,” was murdered by the + natives of Owhyhee, anno 1779. Ah! don't you remember his picture, + standing on the seashore, in tights and gaiters, with a musket in his + hand, pointing to his people not to fire from the boats, whilst a great + tattooed savage is going to stab him in the back? Don't you remember those + houris dancing before him and the other officers at the great Otaheite + ball? Don't you know that Cook was at the siege of Quebec, with the + glorious Wolfe, who fought under the Duke of Cumberland, whose royal + father was a distinguished officer at Ramillies, before he commanded in + chief at Dettingen? Huzza! Give it them, my lads! My horse is down? Then I + know I shall not run away. Do the French run? then I die content. Stop. + Wo! Quo me rapis? My Pegasus is galloping off, goodness knows where, like + his Majesty's charger at Dettingen. + </p> + <p> + How do these rich historical and personal reminiscences come out of the + subject at present in hand? What IS that subject, by the way? My dear + friend, if you look at the last essaykin (though you may leave it alone, + and I shall not be in the least surprised or offended), if you look at the + last paper, where the writer imagines Athos and Porthos, Dalgetty and + Ivanhoe, Amelia and Sir Charles Grandison, Don Quixote and Sir Roger, + walking in at the garden-window, you will at once perceive that NOVELS and + their heroes and heroines are our present subject of discourse, into which + we will presently plunge. Are you one of us, dear sir, and do you love + novel-reading? To be reminded of your first novel will surely be a + pleasure to you. Hush! I never read quite to the end of my first, the + “Scottish Chiefs.” I couldn't. I peeped in an alarmed furtive manner at + some of the closing pages. Miss Porter, like a kind dear tender-hearted + creature, would not have Wallace's head chopped off at the end of Vol. V. + She made him die in prison,* and if I remember right (protesting I have + not read the book for forty-two or three years), Robert Bruce made a + speech to his soldiers, in which he said, “And Bannockburn shall equal + Cambuskenneth.” ** But I repeat I could not read the end of the fifth + volume of that dear delightful book for crying. Good heavens! It was as + sad, as sad as going back to school. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * I find, on reference to the novel, that Sir William died + on the scaffold, not in prison. His last words were, “'My + prayer is heard. Life's cord is cut by heaven. Helen! + Helen! May heaven preserve my country, and—' He stopped. + He fell. And with that mighty shock the scaffold shook to + its foundations.” + + ** The remark of Bruce (which I protest I had not read for + forty-two years), I find to be as follows:—“When this was + uttered by the English heralds, Bruce turned to Ruthven, + with an heroic smile, 'Let him come, my brave barons! and he + shall find that Bannockburn shall page with Cambuskenneth!'” + In the same amiable author's famous novel of “Thaddeus of + Warsaw,” there is more crying than in any novel I ever + remember to have read. See, for example, the last page. . . . + “Incapable of speaking, Thaddeus led his wife back to her + carriage. . . . His tears gushed out in spite of himself, + and mingling with hers, poured those thanks, those + assurances, of animated approbation through her heart, which + made it even ache with excess of happiness.” . . . And a + sentence or two further. “Kosciusko did bless him, and + embalmed the benediction with a shower of tears.” + </pre> + <p> + The glorious Scott cycle of romances came to me some four or five years + afterwards; and I think boys of our year were specially fortunate in + coming upon those delightful books at that special time when we could best + enjoy them. Oh, that sunshiny bench on half-holidays, with Claverhouse or + Ivanhoe for a companion! I have remarked of very late days some little men + in a great state of delectation over the romances of Captain Mayne Reid, + and Gustave Aimard's Prairie and Indian Stories, and during occasional + holiday visits, lurking off to bed with the volume under their arms. But + are those Indians and warriors so terrible as our Indians and warriors + were? (I say, are they? Young gentlemen, mind, I do not say they are not.) + But as an oldster I can be heartily thankful for the novels of the 1-10 + Geo. IV., let us say, and so downward to a period not unremote. Let us see + there is, first, our dear Scott. Whom do I love in the works of that dear + old master? Amo— + </p> + <p> + The Baron of Bradwardine and Fergus. (Captain Waverley is certainly very + mild.) + </p> + <p> + Amo Ivanhoe; LOCKSLEY; the Templar. + </p> + <p> + Amo Quentin Durward, and especially Quentin's uncle, who brought the boar + to bay. I forget the gentleman's name. + </p> + <p> + I have never cared for the Master of Ravenswood, or fetched his hat out of + the water since he dropped it there when I last met him (circa 1825). + </p> + <p> + Amo SALADIN and the Scotch knight in the “Talisman.” The Sultan best. + </p> + <p> + Amo CLAVERHOUSE. + </p> + <p> + Amo MAJOR DALGETTY. Delightful Major. To think of him is to desire to jump + up, run to the book, and get the volume down from the shelf. About all + those heroes of Scott, what a manly bloom there is, and honorable modesty! + They are not at all heroic. They seem to blush somehow in their position + of hero, and as it were to say, “Since it must be done, here goes!” They + are handsome, modest, upright, simple, courageous, not too clever. If I + were a mother (which is absurd), I should like to be mother-in-law to + several young men of the Walter-Scott-hero sort. + </p> + <p> + Much as I like those most unassuming, manly, unpretending gentlemen, I + have to own that I think the heroes of another writer, viz.— + </p> + <p> + LEATHER-STOCKING, UNCAS, HARDHEART, TOM COFFIN, + </p> + <p> + are quite the equals of Scott's men; perhaps Leather-stocking is better + than any one in “Scott's lot.” La Longue Carabine is one of the great + prize-men of fiction. He ranks with your Uncle Toby, Sir Roger de + Coverley, Falstaff—heroic figures, all—American or British, + and the artist has deserved well of his country who devised them. + </p> + <p> + At school, in my time, there was a public day, when the boys' relatives, + an examining bigwig or two from the universities, old schoolfellows, and + so forth, came to the place. The boys were all paraded; prizes were + administered; each lad being in a new suit of clothes—and + magnificent dandies, I promise you, some of us were. Oh, the chubby + cheeks, clean collars, glossy new raiment, beaming faces, glorious in + youth—fit tueri coelum—bright with truth, and mirth, and + honor! To see a hundred boys marshalled in a chapel or old hall; to hear + their sweet fresh voices when they chant, and look in their brave calm + faces; I say, does not the sight and sound of them smite you, somehow, + with a pang of exquisite kindness? . . . Well. As about boys, so about + Novelists. I fancy the boys of Parnassus School all paraded. I am a lower + boy myself in that academy. I like our fellows to look well, upright, + gentlemanlike. There is Master Fielding—he with the black eye. What + a magnificent build of a boy! There is Master Scott, one of the heads of + the school. Did you ever see the fellow more hearty and manly? Yonder + lean, shambling, cadaverous lad, who is always borrowing money, telling + lies, leering after the house-maids, is Master Laurence Sterne—a + bishop's grandson, and himself intended for the Church; for shame, you + little reprobate! But what a genius the fellow has! Let him have a sound + flogging, and as soon as the young scamp is out of the whipping-room give + him a gold medal. Such would be my practice if I were Doctor Birch, and + master of the school. + </p> + <p> + Let us drop this school metaphor, this birch and all pertaining thereto. + Our subject, I beg leave to remind the reader's humble servant, is novel + heroes and heroines. How do you like your heroes, ladies? Gentlemen, what + novel heroines do you prefer? When I set this essay going, I sent the + above question to two of the most inveterate novel-readers of my + acquaintance. The gentleman refers me to Miss Austen; the lady says Athos, + Guy Livingston, and (pardon my rosy blushes) Colonel Esmond, and owns that + in youth she was very much in love with Valancourt. + </p> + <p> + “Valancourt? and who was he?” cry the young people. Valancourt, my dears, + was the hero of one of the most famous romances which ever was published + in this country. The beauty and elegance of Valancourt made your young + grandmammas' gentle hearts to beat with respectful sympathy. He and his + glory have passed away. Ah, woe is me that the glory of novels should ever + decay; that dust should gather round them on the shelves; that the annual + cheques from Messieurs the publishers should dwindle, dwindle! Inquire at + Mudie's, or the London Library, who asks for the “Mysteries of Udolpho” + now? Have not even the “Mysteries of Paris” ceased to frighten? Alas, our + novels are but for a season; and I know characters whom a painful modesty + forbids me to mention, who shall go to limbo along with “Valancourt” and + “Doricourt” and “Thaddeus of Warsaw.” + </p> + <p> + A dear old sentimental friend, with whom I discoursed on the subject of + novels yesterday, said that her favorite hero was Lord Orville, in + “Evelina,” that novel which Dr. Johnson loved so. I took down the book + from a dusty old crypt at a club, where Mrs. Barbauld's novelists repose: + and this is the kind of thing, ladies and gentlemen, in which your + ancestors found pleasure:— + </p> + <p> + “And here, whilst I was looking for the books, I was followed by Lord + Orville. He shut the door after he came in, and, approaching me with a + look of anxiety, said, 'Is this true, Miss Anville—are you going?' + </p> + <p> + “'I believe so, my lord,' said I, still looking for the books. + </p> + <p> + “'So suddenly, so unexpectedly: must I lose you?' + </p> + <p> + “'No great loss, my lord,' said I, endeavoring to speak cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + “'Is it possible,' said he, gravely, 'Miss Anville can doubt my + sincerity?' + </p> + <p> + “'I can't imagine,' cried I, 'what Mrs. Selwyn has done with those books.' + </p> + <p> + “'Would to heaven,' continued he, 'I might flatter myself you would allow + me to prove it!' + </p> + <p> + “'I must run up stairs,' cried I, greatly confused, 'and ask what she has + done with them.' + </p> + <p> + “'You are going then,' cried he, taking my hand, 'and you give me not the + smallest hope of any return! Will you not, my too lovely friend, will you + not teach me, with fortitude like your own, to support your absence?' + </p> + <p> + “'My lord,' cried I, endeavoring to disengage my hand, 'pray let me go!' + </p> + <p> + “'I will,' cried he, to my inexpressible confusion, dropping on one knee, + 'if you wish me to leave you.' + </p> + <p> + “'Oh, my lord,' exclaimed I, 'rise, I beseech you; rise. Surely your + lordship is not so cruel as to mock me.' + </p> + <p> + “'Mock you!' repeated he earnestly, 'no, I revere you. I esteem and admire + you above all human beings! You are the friend to whom my soul is + attached, as to its better half. You are the most amiable, the most + perfect of women; and you are dearer to me than language has the power of + telling.' + </p> + <p> + “I attempt not to describe my sensations at that moment; I scarce + breathed; I doubted if I existed; the blood forsook my cheeks, and my feet + refused to sustain me. Lord Orville hastily rising supported me to a chair + upon which I sank almost lifeless. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot write the scene that followed, though every word is engraven on + my heart; but his protestations, his expressions, were too flattering for + repetition; nor would he, in spite of my repeated efforts to leave him, + suffer me to escape; in short, my dear sir, I was not proof against his + solicitations, and he drew from me the most sacred secret of my heart!”* + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * Contrast this old perfumed, powdered D'Arblay conversation + with the present modern talk. If the two young people + wished to hide their emotions now-a-days, and express + themselves in modest language, the story would run:— + + “Whilst I was looking for the books, Lord Orville came in. + He looked uncommonly down in the mouth, as he said: 'Is this + true, Miss Anville; are you going to cut?' + + “'To absquatulate, Lord Orville,' said I, still pretending + that I was looking for the books. + + “'You are very quick about it,' said he. + + “'Guess it's no great loss,' I remarked, as cheerfully as I + could. + + “'You don't think I'm chaffing?' said Orville, with much + emotion. + + “'What has Mrs. Selwyn done with the books?' I went on. + + “'What, going' said he, 'and going for good? I wish I was + such a good-plucked one as you, Miss Anville,'” &c. + + The conversation, you perceive, might be easily written down + to this key; and if the hero and heroine were modern, they + would not be suffered to go through their dialogue on + stilts, but would converse in the natural graceful way at + present customary. By the way, what a strange custom that + is in modern lady novelists to make the men bully the women! + In the time of Miss Porter and Madame D'Arblay, we have + respect, profound bows and curtsies, graceful courtesy, from + men to women. In the time of Miss Bronte, absolute + rudeness. Is it true, mesdames, that you like rudeness, and + are pleased at being ill-used by men? I could point to more + than one lady novelist who so represents you. +</pre> + <p> + Other people may not much like this extract, madam, from your favorite + novel, but when you come to read it, YOU will like it. I suspect that when + you read that book which you so love, you read it a deux. Did you not + yourself pass a winter at Bath, when you were the belle of the assembly? + Was there not a Lord Orville in your case too? As you think of him eleven + lustres pass away. You look at him with the bright eyes of those days, and + your hero stands before you, the brave, the accomplished, the simple, the + true gentleman; and he makes the most elegant of bows to one of the most + beautiful young women the world ever saw; and he leads you out to the + cotillon, to the dear unforgotten music. Hark to the horns of Elfand, + blowing, blowing! Bonne vieille, you remember their melody, and your + heart-strings thrill with it still. + </p> + <p> + Of your heroic heroes, I think our friend Monseigneur Athos, Count de la + Fere, is my favorite. I have read about him from sunrise to sunset with + the utmost contentment of mind. He has passed through how many volumes? + Forty? Fifty? I wish for my part there were a hundred more, and would + never tire of him reselling prisoners, punishing ruffians, and running + scoundrels through the midriff with his most graceful rapier. Ah, Athos, + Porthos, and Aramis, you are a magnificent trio. I think I like d'Artagnan + in his own memoirs best. I bought him years and years ago, price + fivepence, in a little parchment-covered Cologne-printed volume, at a + stall in Gray's Inn Lane. Dumas glorifies him and makes a Marshal of him; + if I remember rightly, the original d'Artagnan was a needy adventurer, who + died in exile very early in Louis XIV.'s reign. Did you ever read the + “Chevalier d'Harmenthal?” Did you ever read the “Tulipe Noire,” as modest + as a story by Miss Edgeworth? I think of the prodigal banquets to which + this Lucullus of a man has invited me, with thanks and wonder. To what a + series of splendid entertainments he has treated me! Where does he find + the money for these prodigious feasts? They say that all the works bearing + Dumas's name are not written by him. Well? Does not the chief cook have + aides under him? Did not Rubens's pupils paint on his canvases? Had not + Lawrence assistants for his backgrounds? For myself, being also du metier, + I confess I would often like to have a competent, respectable, and rapid + clerk for the business part of my novels; and on his arrival, at eleven + o'clock, would say, “Mr. Jones, if you please, the archbishop must die + this morning in about five pages. Turn to article 'Dropsy' (or what you + will) in Encyclopaedia. Take care there are no medical blunders in his + death. Group his daughters, physicians, and chaplains round him. In + Wales's 'London,' letter B, third shelf, you will find an account of + Lambeth, and some prints of the place. Color in with local coloring. The + daughter will come down, and speak to her lover in his wherry at Lambeth + Stairs,” &c., &c. Jones (an intelligent young man) examines the + medical, historical, topographical books necessary; his chief points out + to him in Jeremy Taylor (fol., London, M.DCLV.) a few remarks, such as + might befit a dear old archbishop departing this life. When I come back to + dress for dinner, the archbishop is dead on my table in five pages; + medicine, topography, theology, all right, and Jones has gone home to his + family some hours. Sir Christopher is the architect of St. Paul's. He has + not laid the stones or carried up the mortar. There is a great deal of + carpenter's and joiner's work in novels which surely a smart professional + hand might supply. A smart professional hand? I give you my word, there + seem to me parts of novels—let us say the love-making, the + “business,” the villain in the cupboard, and so forth, which I should like + to order John Footman to take in hand, as I desire him to bring the coals + and polish the boots. Ask ME indeed to pop a robber under a bed, to hide a + will which shall be forthcoming in due season, or at my time of life to + write a namby-pamby love conversation between Emily and Lord Arthur! I + feel ashamed of myself, and especially when my business obliges me to do + the love-passages, I blush so, though quite alone in my study, that you + would fancy I was going off in an apoplexy. Are authors affected by their + own works? I don't know about other gentlemen, but if I make a joke myself + I cry; if I write a pathetic scene I am laughing wildly all the time—at + least Tomkins thinks so. You know I am such a cynic! + </p> + <p> + The editor of the Cornhill Magazine (no soft and yielding character like + his predecessor, but a man of stern resolution) will only allow these + harmless papers to run to a certain length. But for this veto I should + gladly have prattled over half a sheet more, and have discoursed on many + heroes and heroines of novels whom fond memory brings back to me. Of these + books I have been a diligent student from those early days, which are + recorded at the commencement of this little essay. Oh, delightful novels, + well remembered! Oh, novels, sweet and delicious as the raspberry + open-tarts of budding boyhood! Do I forget one night after prayers (when + we under-boys were sent to bed) lingering at my cupboard to read one + little half-page more of my dear Walter Scott—and down came the + monitor's dictionary upon my head! Rebecca, daughter of Isaac of York, I + have loved thee faithfully for forty years! Thou wert twenty years old + (say) and I but twelve, when I knew thee. At sixty odd, love, most of the + ladies of thy Orient race have lost the bloom of youth, and bulged beyond + the line of beauty; but to me thou art ever young and fair, and I will do + battle with any felon Templar who assails thy fair name. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON A PEAR-TREE. + </h2> + <p> + A gracious reader no doubt has remarked that these humble sermons have for + subjects some little event which happens at the preacher's own gate, or + which falls under his peculiar cognizance. Once, you may remember, we + discoursed about a chalk-mark on the door. This morning Betsy, the + housemaid, comes with a frightened look, and says, “Law, mum! there's + three bricks taken out of the garden wall, and the branches broke, and all + the pears taken off the pear-tree!” Poor peaceful suburban pear-tree! + Gaol-birds have hopped about thy branches, and robbed them of their smoky + fruit. But those bricks removed; that ladder evidently prepared, by which + unknown marauders may enter and depart from my little Englishman's castle; + is not this a subject of thrilling interest, and may it not BE CONTINUED + IN A FUTURE NUMBER?—that is the terrible question. Suppose, having + escaladed the outer wall, the miscreants take a fancy to storm the castle? + Well—well! we are armed; we are numerous; we are men of tremendous + courage, who will defend our spoons with our lives; and there are barracks + close by (thank goodness!) whence, at the noise of our shouts and firing, + at least a thousand bayonets will bristle to our rescue. + </p> + <p> + What sound is yonder? A church bell. I might go myself, but how listen to + the sermon? I am thinking of those thieves who have made a ladder of my + wall, and a prey of my pear-tree. They may be walking to church at this + moment, neatly shaved, in clean linen, with every outward appearance of + virtue. If I went, I know I should be watching the congregation, and + thinking, “Is that one of the fellows who came over my wall?” If, after + the reading of the eighth Commandment, a man sang out with particular + energy, “Incline our hearts to keep this law,” I should think, “Aha, + Master Basso, did you have pears for breakfast this morning?” Crime is + walking round me, that is clear. Who is the perpetrator? . . . What a + changed aspect the world has, since these last few lines were written! I + have been walking round about my premises, and in consultation with a + gentleman in a single-breasted blue coat, with pewter buttons, and a tape + ornament on the collar. He has looked at the holes in the wall, and the + amputated tree. We have formed our plan of defence—PERHAPS OF + ATTACK. Perhaps some day you may read in the papers, “DARING ATTEMPT AT + BURGLARY—HEROIC VICTORY OVER THE VILLAINS,” &c. &c. Rascals + as yet unknown! perhaps you, too, may read these words, and may be induced + to pause in your fatal intention. Take the advice of a sincere friend, and + keep off. To find a man writhing in my man-trap, another mayhap impaled in + my ditch, to pick off another from my tree (scoundrel! as though he were a + pear) will give me no pleasure; but such things may happen. Be warned in + time, villains! Or, if you MUST pursue your calling as cracksmen, have the + goodness to try some other shutters. Enough! subside into your darkness, + children of night! Thieves! we seek not to have YOU hanged—you are + but as pegs whereon to hang others. + </p> + <p> + I may have said before, that if I were going to be hanged myself, I think + I should take an accurate note of my sensations, request to stop at some + Public-house on the road to Tyburn and be provided with a private room and + writing-materials, and give an account of my state of mind. Then, gee up, + carter! beg your reverence to continue your apposite, though not novel, + remarks on my situation;—and so we drive up to Tyburn turnpike, + where an expectant crowd, the obliging sheriffs, and the dexterous and + rapid Mr. Ketch are already in waiting. + </p> + <p> + A number of laboring people are sauntering about our streets and taking + their rest on this holiday—fellows who have no more stolen my pears + than they have robbed the crown jewels out of the Tower—and I say I + cannot help thinking in my own mind, “Are you the rascal who got over my + wall last night?” Is the suspicion haunting my mind written on my + countenance? I trust not. What if one man after another were to come up to + me and say, “How dare you, sir, suspect me in your mind of stealing your + fruit? Go be hanged, you and your jargonels!” You rascal thief! it is not + merely three-halfp'orth of sooty fruit you rob me of, it is my peace of + mind—my artless innocence and trust in my fellow-creatures, my + childlike belief that everything they say is true. How can I hold out the + hand of friendship in this condition, when my first impression is, “My + good sir, I strongly suspect that you were up my pear-tree last night?” It + is a dreadful state of mind. The core is black; the death-stricken fruit + drops on the bough, and a great worm is within—fattening, and + feasting, and wriggling! WHO stole the pears? I say. Is it you, brother? + Is it you, madam? Come! are you ready to answer—respondere parati et + cantare pares? (O shame! shame!) + </p> + <p> + Will the villains ever be discovered and punished who stole my fruit? Some + unlucky rascals who rob orchards are caught up the tree at once. Some rob + through life with impunity. If I, for my part, were to try and get up the + smallest tree, on the darkest night, in the most remote orchard, I wager + any money I should be found out—be caught by the leg in a man-trap, + or have Towler fastening on me. I always am found out; have been; shall + be. It's my luck. Other men will carry off bushels of fruit, and get away + undetected, unsuspected; whereas I know woe and punishment would fall upon + me were I to lay my hand on the smallest pippin. So be it. A man who has + this precious self-knowledge will surely keep his hands from picking and + stealing, and his feet upon the paths of virtue. + </p> + <p> + I will assume, my benevolent friend and present reader, that you yourself + are virtuous, not from a fear of punishment, but from a sheer love of + good: but us you and I walk through life, consider what hundreds of + thousands of rascals we must have met, who have not been found out at all. + In high places and low, in Clubs and on 'Change, at church or the balls + and routs of the nobility and gentry, how dreadful it is for benevolent + beings like you and me to have to think these undiscovered though not + unsuspected scoundrels are swarming! What is the difference between you + and a galley-slave? Is yonder poor wretch at the hulks not a man and a + brother too? Have you ever forged, my dear sir? Have you ever cheated your + neighbor? Have you ever ridden to Hounslow Heath and robbed the mail? Have + you ever entered a first-class railway carriage, where an old gentleman + sat alone in a sweet sleep, daintily murdered him, taken his pocket-book, + and got out at the next station? You know that this circumstance occurred + in France a few months since. If we have travelled in France this autumn + we may have met the ingenious gentleman who perpetrated this daring and + successful coup. We may have found him a well-informed and agreeable man. + I have been acquainted with two or three gentlemen who have been + discovered after—after the performance of illegal actions. What? + That agreeable rattling fellow we met was the celebrated Mr. John + Sheppard? Was that amiable quiet gentleman in spectacles the well-known + Mr. Fauntleroy? In Hazlitt's admirable paper, “Going to a Fight,” he + describes a dashing sporting fellow who was in the coach, and who was no + less a man than the eminent destroyer of Mr. William Weare. Don't tell me + that you would not like to have met (out of business) Captain Sheppard, + the Reverend Doctor Dodd, or others rendered famous by their actions and + misfortunes, by their lives and their deaths. They are the subjects of + ballads, the heroes of romance. A friend of mine had the house in May + Fair, out of which poor Doctor Dodd was taken handcuffed. There was the + paved hall over which he stepped. That little room at the side was, no + doubt, the study where he composed his elegant sermons. Two years since I + had the good fortune to partake of some admirable dinners in Tyburnia—magnificent + dinners indeed; but rendered doubly interesting from the fact that the + house was that occupied by the late Mr. Sadleir. One night the late Mr. + Sadleir took tea in that dining-room, and, to the surprise of his butler, + went out, having put into his pocket his own cream-jug. The next morning, + you know, he was found dead on Hampstead Heath, with the cream-jug lying + by him, into which he had poured the poison by which he died. The idea of + the ghost of the late gentleman flitting about the room gave a strange + interest to the banquet. Can you fancy him taking his tea alone in the + dining-room? He empties that cream-jug and puts it in his pocket; and then + he opens yonder door, through which he is never to pass again. Now he + crosses the hall: and hark! the hall-door shuts upon him, and his steps + die away. They are gone into the night. They traverse the sleeping city. + They lead him into the fields, where the gray morning is beginning to + glimmer. He pours something from a bottle into a little silver jug. It + touches his lips, the lying lips. Do they quiver a prayer ere that awful + draught is swallowed? When the sun rises they are dumb. + </p> + <p> + I neither knew this unhappy man, nor his countryman—Laertes let us + call him—who is at present in exile, having been compelled to fly + from remorseless creditors. Laertes fled to America, where he earned his + bread by his pen. I own to having a kindly feeling towards this + scapegrace, because, though an exile, he did not abuse the country whence + he fled. I have heard that he went away taking no spoil with him, + penniless almost; and on his voyage he made acquaintance with a certain + Jew; and when he fell sick, at New York, this Jew befriended him, and gave + him help and money out of his own store, which was but small. Now, after + they had been awhile in the strange city, it happened that the poor Jew + spent all his little money, and he too fell ill, and was in great penury. + And now it was Laertes who befriended that Ebrew Jew. He fee'd doctors; he + fed and tended the sick and hungry. Go to, Laertes! I know thee not. It + may be thou art justly exul patriae. But the Jew shall intercede for thee, + thou not, let us trust, hopeless Christian sinner. + </p> + <p> + Another exile to the same shore I knew: who did not? Julius Caesar hardly + owed more money than Cucedicus: and, gracious powers! Cucedicus, how did + you manage to spend and owe so much? All day he was at work for his + clients; at night he was occupied in the Public Council. He neither had + wife nor children. The rewards which he received for his orations were + enough to maintain twenty rhetoricians. Night after night I have seen him + eating his frugal meal, consisting but of a fish, a small portion of + mutton, and a small measure of Iberian or Trinacrian wine, largely diluted + with the sparkling waters of Rhenish Gaul. And this was all he had; and + this man earned and paid away talents upon talents; and fled, owing who + knows how many more! Does a man earn fifteen thousand pounds a year, + toiling by day, talking by night, having horrible unrest in his bed, + ghastly terrors at waking, seeing an officer lurking at every corner, a + sword of justice for ever hanging over his head—and have for his + sole diversion a newspaper, a lonely mutton-chop, and a little sherry and + seltzer-water? In the German stories we read how men sell themselves to—a + certain Personage, and that Personage cheats them. He gives them wealth; + yes, but the gold-pieces turn into worthless leaves. He sets them before + splendid banquets yes, but what an awful grin that black footman has who + lifts up the dish-cover; and don't you smell a peculiar sulphurous odor in + the dish? Faugh! take it away; I can't eat. He promises them splendors and + triumphs. The conqueror's ear rolls glittering through the city, the + multitude shout and huzza. Drive on, coachman. Yes, but who is that + hanging on behind the carriage? Is this the reward of eloquence, talents, + industry? Is this the end of a life's labor? Don't you remember how, when + the dragon was infesting the neighborhood of Babylon, the citizens used to + walk dismally out of evenings, and look at the valleys round about strewed + with the bones of the victims whom the monster had devoured? O insatiate + brute, and most disgusting, brazen, and scaly reptile! Let us be thankful, + children, that it has not gobbled us up too. Quick. Let us turn away, and + pray that we may be kept out of the reach of his horrible maw, jaw, claw! + </p> + <p> + When I first came up to London, as innocent as Monsieur Gil Blas, I also + fell in with some pretty acquaintances, found my way into several caverns, + and delivered my purse to more than one gallant gentleman of the road. One + I remember especially—one who never eased me personally of a single + maravedi—one than whom I never met a bandit more gallant, courteous, + and amiable. Rob me? Rolando feasted me; treated me to his dinner and his + wine; kept a generous table for his friends, and I know was most liberal + to many of them. How well I remember one of his speculations! It was a + great plan for smuggling tobacco. Revenue officers were to be bought off; + silent ships were to ply on the Thames; cunning depots were to be + established, and hundreds of thousands of pounds to be made by the coup. + How his eyes kindled as he propounded the scheme to me! How easy and + certain it seemed! It might have succeeded, I can't say: but the bold and + merry, the hearty and kindly Rolando came to grief—a little matter + of imitated signatures occasioned a Bank persecution of Rolando the Brave. + He walked about armed, and vowed he would never be taken alive: but taken + he was; tried, condemned, sentenced to perpetual banishment; and I heard + that for some time he was universally popular in the colony which had the + honor to possess him. What a song he could sing! 'Twas when the cup was + sparkling before us, and heaven gave a portion of its blue, boys, blue, + that I remember the song of Roland at the “Old Piazza Coffee-house.” And + now where is the “Old Piazza Coffee-house?” Where is Thebes? where is + Troy? where is the Colossus of Rhodes? Ah, Rolando, Rolando! thou wert a + gallant captain, a cheery, a handsome, a merry. At ME thou never + presentedst pistol. Thou badest the bumper of Burgundy fill, fill for me, + giving those who preferred it champagne. Caelum non animum, &c. Do you + think he has reformed now that he has crossed the sea, and changed the + air? I have my own opinion. Howbeit, Rolando, thou wert a most kind and + hospitable bandit. And I love not to think of thee with a chain at thy + shin. + </p> + <p> + Do you know how all these memories of unfortunate men have come upon me? + When they came to frighten me this morning by speaking of my robbed pears, + my perforated garden wall, I was reading an article in the Saturday Review + about Rupilius. I have sat near that young man at a public dinner, and + beheld him in a gilded uniform. But yesterday he lived in splendor, had + long hair, a flowing beard, a jewel at his neck, and a smart surtout. So + attired, he stood but yesterday in court; and to-day he sits over a bowl + of prison cocoa, with a shaved head, and in a felon's jerkin. + </p> + <p> + That beard and head shaved, that gaudy deputy-lieutenant's coat exchanged + for felon uniform, and your daily bottle of champagne for prison cocoa, my + poor Rupilius, what a comfort it must be to have the business brought to + an end! Champagne was the honorable gentleman's drink in the House of + Commons dining-room, as I am informed. What uncommonly dry champagne that + must have been! When we saw him outwardly happy, how miserable he must + have been! when we thought him prosperous, how dismally poor! When the + great Mr. Harker, at the public dinners, called out—“Gentlemen, + charge your glasses, and please silence for the Honorable Member for + Lambeth!” how that Honorable Member must have writhed inwardly! One day, + when there was a talk of a gentleman's honor being questioned, Rupilius + said, “If any man doubted mine, I would knock him down.” But that speech + was in the way of business. The Spartan boy, who stole the fox, smiled + while the beast was gnawing him under his cloak: I promise you Rupilius + had some sharp fangs gnashing under his. We have sat at the same feast, I + say: we have paid our contribution to the same charity. Ah! when I ask + this day for my daily bread, I pray not to be led into temptation, and to + be delivered from evil. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DESSEIN'S. + </h2> + <p> + I arrived by the night-mail packet from Dover. The passage had been rough, + and the usual consequences had ensued. I was disinclined to travel farther + that night on my road to Paris, and knew the Calais hotel of old as one of + the cleanest, one of the dearest, one of the most comfortable hotels on + the continent of Europe. There is no town more French than Calais. That + charming old “Hotel Dessein,” with its court, its gardens, its lordly + kitchen, its princely waiter—a gentleman of the old school, who has + welcomed the finest company in Europe—have long been known to me. I + have read complaints in The Times, more than once, I think, that the + Dessein bills are dear. A bottle of soda-water certainly costs—well, + never mind how much. I remember as a boy, at the “Ship” at Dover + (imperante Carolo Decimo), when, my place to London being paid, I had but + 12s. left after a certain little Paris excursion (about which my benighted + parents never knew anything), ordering for dinner a whiting, a beefsteak, + and a glass of negus, and the bill was, dinner 7s., glass of negus 2s., + waiter 6d., and only half a crown left, as I was a sinner, for the guard + and coachman on the way to London! And I WAS a sinner. I had gone without + leave. What a long, dreary, guilty forty hours' journey it was from Paris + to Calais, I remember! How did I come to think of this escapade, which + occurred in the Easter vacation of the year 1830? I always think of it + when I am crossing to Calais. Guilt, sir, guilt remains stamped on the + memory, and I feel easier in my mind now that it is liberated of this old + peccadillo. I met my college tutor only yesterday. We were travelling, and + stopped at the same hotel. He had the very next room to mine. After he had + gone into his apartment, having shaken me quite kindly by the hand, I felt + inclined to knock at his door and say, “Doctor Bentley, I beg your pardon, + but do you remember, when I was going down at the Easter vacation in 1830, + you asked me where I was going to spend my vacation? And I said, With my + friend Slingsby, in Huntingdonshire. Well, sir, I grieve to have to + confess that I told you a fib. I had got 20L. and was going for a lark to + Paris, where my friend Edwards was staying.” There, it is out. The Doctor + will read it, for I did not wake him up after all to make my confession, + but protest he shall have a copy of this Roundabout sent to him when he + returns to his lodge. + </p> + <p> + They gave me a bedroom there; a very neat room on the first floor, looking + into the pretty garden. The hotel must look pretty much as it did a + hundred years ago when HE visited it. I wonder whether he paid his bill? + Yes: his journey was just begun. He had borrowed or got the money somehow. + Such a man would spend it liberally enough when he had it, give generously—nay, + drop a tear over the fate of the poor fellow whom he relieved. I don't + believe a word he says, but I never accused him of stinginess about money. + That is a fault of much more virtuous people than he. Mr. Laurence is + ready enough with his purse when there are anybody's guineas in it. Still + when I went to bed in the room, in HIS room; when I think how I admire, + dislike, and have abused him, a certain dim feeling of apprehension filled + my mind at the midnight hour. What if I should see his lean figure in the + black-satin breeches, his sinister smile, his long thin finger pointing to + me in the moonlight (for I am in bed, and have popped my candle out), and + he should say, “You mistrust me, you hate me, do you? And you, don't you + know how Jack, Tom, and Harry, your brother authors, hate YOU?” I grin and + laugh in the moonlight, in the midnight, in the silence. “O you ghost in + black-satin breeches and a wig! I like to be hated by some men,” I say. “I + know men whose lives are a scheme, whose laughter is a conspiracy, whose + smile means something else, whose hatred is a cloak, and I had rather + these men should hate me than not.” + </p> + <p> + “My good sir,” says he, with a ghastly grin on his lean face, “you have + your wish.” + </p> + <p> + “Apres?” I say. “Please let me go to sleep. I shan't sleep any the worse + because—” + </p> + <p> + “Because there are insects in the bed, and they sting you?” (This is only + by way of illustration, my good sir; the animals don't bite me now. All + the house at present seems to me excellently clean.) “'Tis absurd to + affect this indifference. If you are thin-skinned, and the reptiles bite, + they keep you from sleep.” + </p> + <p> + “There are some men who cry out at a flea-bite as loud as if they were + torn by a vulture,” I growl. + </p> + <p> + “Men of the genus irritabile, my worthy good gentleman!—and you are + one.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir, I am of the profession, as you say; and I dare say make a great + shouting and crying at a small hurt.” + </p> + <p> + “You are ashamed of that quality by which you earn your subsistence, and + such reputation as you have? Your sensibility is your livelihood, my + worthy friend. You feel a pang of pleasure or pain? It is noted in your + memory, and some day or other makes its appearance in your manuscript. + Why, in your last Roundabout rubbish you mention reading your first novel + on the day when King George IV. was crowned. I remember him in his cradle + at St. James's, a lovely little babe; a gilt Chinese railing was before + him, and I dropped the tear of sensibility as I gazed on the sleeping + cherub.” + </p> + <p> + “A tear—a fiddlestick, MR. STERNE,” I growled out, for of course I + knew my friend in the wig and satin breeches to be no other than the + notorious, nay, celebrated Mr. Laurence Sterne. + </p> + <p> + “Does not the sight of a beautiful infant charm and melt you, mon ami? If + not, I pity you. Yes, he was beautiful. I was in London the year he was + born. I used to breakfast at the 'Mount Coffee-house.' I did not become + the fashion until two years later, when my 'Tristram' made his appearance, + who has held his own for a hundred years. By the way, mon bon monsieur, + how many authors of your present time will last till the next century? Do + you think Brown will?” + </p> + <p> + I laughed with scorn as I lay in my bed (and so did the ghost give a + ghastly snigger). + </p> + <p> + “Brown!” I roared. “One of the most over-rated men that ever put pen to + paper!” + </p> + <p> + “What do you think of Jones?” + </p> + <p> + I grew indignant with this old cynic. “As a reasonable ghost, come out of + the other world, you don't mean,” I said, “to ask me a serious opinion of + Mr. Jones? His books may be very good reading for maid-servants and + school-boys, but you don't ask ME to read them? As a scholar yourself you + must know that—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, Robinson?” + </p> + <p> + “Robinson, I am told, has merit. I dare say; I never have been able to + read his books, and can't, therefore, form any opinion about Mr. Robinson. + At least you will allow that I am not speaking in a prejudiced manner + about HIM.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I see you men of letters have your cabals and jealousies, as we had + in my time. There was an Irish fellow by the name of Gouldsmith, who used + to abuse me; but he went into no genteel company—and faith! it + mattered little, his praise or abuse. I never was more surprised than when + I heard that Mr. Irving, an American gentleman of parts and elegance, had + wrote the fellow's life. To make a hero of that man, my dear sir, 'twas + ridiculous! You followed in the fashion, I hear, and chose to lay a wreath + before this queer little idol. Preposterous! A pretty writer, who has + turned some neat couplets. Bah! I have no patience with Master Posterity, + that has chosen to take up this fellow, and make a hero of him! And there + was another gentleman of my time, Mr. Thiefcatcher Fielding, forsooth! a + fellow with the strength, and the tastes, and the manners of a porter! + What madness has possessed you all to bow before that Calvert Butt of a + man?—a creature without elegance or sensibility! The dog had + spirits, certainly. I remember my Lord Bathurst praising them: but as for + reading his books—ma foi, I would as lief go and dive for tripe in a + cellar. The man's vulgarity stifles me. He wafts me whiffs of gin. Tobacco + and onions are in his great coarse laugh, which choke me, pardi; and I + don't think much better of the other fellow—the Scots' gallipot + purveyor—Peregrine Clinker, Humphrey Random—how did the fellow + call his rubbish? Neither of these men had the bel air, the bon ton, the + je ne scais quoy. Pah! If I meet them in my walks by our Stygian river, I + give them a wide berth, as that hybrid apothecary fellow would say. An + ounce of civet, good apothecary; horrible, horrible! The mere thought of + the coarseness of those men gives me the chair de poule. Mr. Fielding, + especially, has no more sensibility than a butcher in Fleet Market. He + takes his heroes out of ale-house kitchens, or worse places still. And + this is the person whom Posterity has chosen to honor along with me—ME! + Faith, Monsieur Posterity, you have put me in pretty company, and I see + you are no wiser than we were in our time. Mr. Fielding, forsooth! Mr. + Tripe and Onions! Mr. Cowheel and Gin! Thank you for nothing. Monsieur + Posterity!” + </p> + <p> + “And so,” thought I, “even among these Stygians this envy and + quarrelsomeness (if you will permit me the word) survive? What a pitiful + meanness! To be sure, I can understand this feeling to a certain extent; a + sense of justice will prompt it. In my own case, I often feel myself + forced to protest against the absurd praises lavished on contemporaries. + Yesterday, for instance, Lady Jones was good enough to praise one of my + works. Tres bien. But in the very next minute she began, with quite as + great enthusiasm, to praise Miss Hobson's last romance. My good creature, + what is that woman's praise worth who absolutely admires the writings of + Miss Hobson? I offer a friend a bottle of '44 claret, fit for a pontifical + supper. 'This is capital wine,' says he; 'and now we have finished the + bottle, will you give me a bottle of that ordinaire we drank the other + day?' Very well, my good man. You are a good judge—of ordinaire, I + dare say. Nothing so provokes my anger, and rouses my sense of justice, as + to hear other men undeservedly praised. In a word, if you wish to remain + friends with me, don't praise anybody. You tell me that the Venus de' + Medici is beautiful, or Jacob Omnium is tall. Que diable! Can't I judge + for myself? Haven't I eyes and a foot-rule? I don't think the Venus IS so + handsome, since you press me. She is pretty, but she has no expression. + And as for Mr. Omnium, I can see much taller men in a fair for twopence.” + </p> + <p> + “And so,” I said, turning round to Mr. Sterne, “you are actually jealous + of Mr. Fielding? O you men of letters, you men of letters! Is not the + world (your world, I mean) big enough for all of you?” + </p> + <p> + I often travel in my sleep. I often of a night find myself walking in my + night-gown about the gray streets. It is awkward at first, but somehow + nobody makes any remark. I glide along over the ground with my naked feet. + The mud does not wet them. The passers-by do not tread on them. I am + wafted over the ground, down the stairs, through the doors. This sort of + travelling, dear friends, I am sure you have all of you indulged. + </p> + <p> + Well, on the night in question (and, if you wish to know the precise date, + it was the 31st of September last), after having some little conversation + with Mr. Sterne in our bedroom, I must have got up, though I protest I + don't know how, and come down stairs with him into the coffee-room of the + “Hotel Dessein,” where the moon was shining, and a cold supper was laid + out. I forget what we had—“vol-au-vent d'oeufs de Phenix—agneau + aux pistaches a la Barmecide,”—what matters what we had? + </p> + <p> + “As regards supper this is certain, the less you have of it the better.” + </p> + <p> + That is what one of the guests remarked,—a shabby old man, in a wig, + and such a dirty, ragged, disreputable dressing-gown that I should have + been quite surprised at him, only one never IS surprised in dr—— + under certain circumstances. + </p> + <p> + “I can't eat 'em now,” said the greasy man (with his false old teeth, I + wonder he could eat anything). “I remember Alvanley eating three suppers + once at Carlton House—one night de petite comite.” + </p> + <p> + “Petit comite, sir,” said Mr. Sterne. + </p> + <p> + “Dammy, sir, let me tell my own story my own way. I say, one night at + Carlton house, playing at blind hookey with York, Wales, Tom Raikes, + Prince Boothby, and Dutch Sam the boxer, Alvanley ate three suppers, and + won three and twenty hundred pounds in ponies. Never saw a fellow with + such an appetite, except Wales in his GOOD time. But he destroyed the + finest digestion a man ever had with maraschino, by Jove—always at + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Try mine,” said Mr. Sterne. + </p> + <p> + “What a doosid queer box,” says Mr. Brummell. + </p> + <p> + “I had it from a Capuchin friar in this town. The box is but a horn one; + but to the nose of sensibility Araby's perfume is not more delicate.” + </p> + <p> + “I call it doosid stale old rappee,” says Mr. Brummell—(as for me I + declare I could not smell anything at all in either of the boxes.) “Old + boy in smock-frock, take a pinch?” + </p> + <p> + The old boy in the smock-frock, as Mr. Brummell called him, was a very old + man, with long white beard, wearing, not a smock-frock, but a shirt; and + he had actually nothing else save a rope round his neck, which hung behind + his chair in the queerest way. + </p> + <p> + “Fair sir,” he said, turning to Mr. Brummell, “when the Prince of Wales + and his father laid siege to our town—” + </p> + <p> + “What nonsense are you talking, old cock?” says Mr. Brummell; “Wales was + never here. His late Majesty George IV. passed through on his way to + Hanover. My good man, you don't seem to know what's up at all. What is he + talkin' about the siege of Calais? I lived here fifteen years! Ought to + know. What's his old name?” + </p> + <p> + “I am Master Eustace of Saint Peter's,” said the old gentleman in the + shirt. “When my Lord King Edward laid siege to this city—” + </p> + <p> + “Laid siege to Jericho!” cries Mr. Brummell. “The old man is cracked—cracked, + sir!” + </p> + <p> + “—Laid siege to this city,” continued the old man, “I and five more + promised Messire Gautier de Mauny that we would give ourselves up as + ransom for the place. And we came before our Lord King Edward, attired as + you see, and the fair queen begged our lives out of her gramercy.” + </p> + <p> + “Queen, nonsense! you mean the Princess of Wales—pretty woman, petit + nez retrousse, grew monstrous stout!” suggested Mr. Brummell, whose + reading was evidently not extensive. “Sir Sidney Smith was a fine fellow, + great talker, hook nose, so has Lord Cochrane, so has Lord Wellington. She + was very sweet on Sir Sidney.” + </p> + <p> + “Your acquaintance with the history of Calais does not seem to be + considerable,” said Mr. Sterne to Mr. Brummell, with a shrug. + </p> + <p> + “Don't it, bishop?—for I conclude you are a bishop by your wig. I + know Calais as well as any man. I lived here for years before I took that + confounded consulate at Caen. Lived in this hotel, then at Leleux's. + People used to stop here. Good fellows used to ask for poor George + Brummell; Hertford did, so did the Duchess of Devonshire. Not know Calais + indeed! That is a good joke. Had many a good dinner here: sorry I ever + left it.” + </p> + <p> + “My Lord King Edward,” chirped the queer old gentleman in the shirt, + “colonized the place with his English, after we had yielded it up to him. + I have heard tell they kept it for nigh three hundred years, till my Lord + de Guise took it from a fair Queen, Mary of blessed memory, a holy woman. + Eh, but Sire Gautier of Mauny was a good knight, a valiant captain, gentle + and courteous withal! Do you remember his ransoming the ——?” + </p> + <p> + “What is the old fellow twaddlin' about?” cries Brummell. “He is talking + about some knight?—I never spoke to a knight, and very seldom to a + baronet. Firkins, my butterman, was a knight—a knight and alderman. + Wales knighted him once on going into the City.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not surprised that the gentleman should not understand Messire + Eustace of St. Peter's,” said the ghostly individual addressed as Mr. + Sterne. “Your reading doubtless has not been very extensive?” + </p> + <p> + “Dammy, sir, speak for yourself!” cries Mr. Brummell, testily. “I never + professed to be a reading man, but I was as good as my neighbors. Wales + wasn't a reading man; York wasn't a reading man; Clarence wasn't a reading + man; Sussex was, but he wasn't a man in society. I remember reading your + 'Sentimental Journey,' old boy: read it to the Duchess at Beauvoir, I + recollect, and she cried over it. Doosid clever amusing book, and does you + great credit. Birron wrote doosid clever books, too; so did Monk Lewis. + George Spencer was an elegant poet, and my dear Duchess of Devonshire, if + she had not been a grande dame, would have beat 'em all, by George. Wales + couldn't write: he could sing, but he couldn't spell.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you know the great world? so did I in my time, Mr. Brummell. I have + had the visiting tickets of half the nobility at my lodgings in Bond + Street. But they left me there no more cared for than last year's + calendar,” sighed Mr. Sterne. “I wonder who is the mode in London now? One + of our late arrivals, my Lord Macaulay, has prodigious merit and learning, + and, faith, his histories are more amusing than any novels, my own + included.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't know, I'm sure not in my line. Pick this bone of chicken,” says Mr. + Brummell, trifling with a skeleton bird before him. + </p> + <p> + “I remember in this city of Calais worse fare than you bird,” said old Mr. + Eustace of Saint Peter's. “Marry, sirs, when my Lord King Edward laid + siege to us, lucky was he who could get a slice of horse for his + breakfast, and a rat was sold at the price of a hare.” + </p> + <p> + “Hare is coarse food, never tasted rat,” remarked the Beau. “Table-d'hote + poor fare enough for a man like me, who has been accustomed to the best of + cookery. But rat—stifle me! I couldn't swallow that: never could + bear hardship at all.” + </p> + <p> + “We had to bear enough when my Lord of England pressed us. 'Twas pitiful + to see the faces of our women as the siege went on, and hear the little + ones asking for dinner.” + </p> + <p> + “Always a bore, children. At dessert, they are bad enough, but at dinner + they're the deuce and all,” remarked Mr. Brummell. + </p> + <p> + Messire Eustace of St. Peter's did not seem to pay much attention to the + Beau's remarks, but continued his own train of thought as old men will do. + </p> + <p> + “I hear,” said he, “that there has actually been no war between us of + France and you men of England for wellnigh fifty year. Ours has ever been + a nation of warriors. And besides her regular found men-at-arms, 'tis said + the English of the present time have more than a hundred thousand of + archers with weapons that will carry for half a mile. And a multitude have + come amongst us of late from a great Western country, never so much as + heard of in my time—valiant men and great drawers of the long bow, + and they say they have ships in armor that no shot can penetrate. Is it + so? Wonderful; wonderful! The best armor, gossips, is a stout heart.” + </p> + <p> + “And if ever manly heart beat under shirt-frill, thine is that heart, Sir + Eustace!” cried Mr. Sterne, enthusiastically. + </p> + <p> + “We, of France, were never accused of lack of courage, sir, in so far as I + know,” said Messire Eustace. “We have shown as much in a thousand wars + with you English by sea and land; and sometimes we conquered, and + sometimes, as is the fortune of war, we were discomfited. And notably in a + great sea-fight which befell off Ushant on the first of June — Our + Admiral, messire Villaret de Joyeuse, on board his galleon named the + 'Vengeur,' being sore pressed by an English bombard, rather than yield the + crew of his ship to mercy, determined to go down with all on board of her: + and to the cry of Vive la Repub—or, I would say, of Notre Dame a la + Rescousse, he and his crew all sank to an immortal grave—” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” said I, looking with amazement at the old gentleman, “surely, + surely, there is some mistake in your statement. Permit me to observe that + the action of the first of June took place five hundred years after your + time, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I am confusing my dates,” said the old gentleman, with a faint + blush. “You say I am mixing up the transactions of my time on earth with + the story of my successors? It may be so. We take no count of a few + centuries more or less in our dwelling by the darkling Stygian river. Of + late, there came amongst us a good knight, Messire de Cambronne, who + fought against you English in the country of Flanders, being captain of + the guard of my Lord the King of France, in a famous battle where you + English would have been utterly routed but for the succor of the Prussian + heathen. This Messire de Cambronne, when bidden to yield by you of + England, answered this, 'The guard dies but never surrenders;' and fought + a long time afterwards, as became a good knight. In our wars with you of + England it may have pleased the Fates to give you the greater success, but + on our side, also, there has been no lack of brave deeds performed by + brave men.” + </p> + <p> + “King Edward may have been the victor, sir, as being the strongest, but + you are the hero of the siege of Calais!” cried Mr. Sterne. “Your story is + sacred, and your name has been blessed for five hundred years. Wherever + men speak of patriotism and sacrifice, Eustace of Saint Pierre shall be + beloved and remembered. I prostrate myself before the bare feet which + stood before King Edward. What collar of chivalry is to be compared to + that glorious order which you wear? Think, sir, how out of the myriad + millions of our race, you, and some few more, stand forth as exemplars of + duty and honor. Fortunati nimium!” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” said the old gentleman, “I did but my duty at a painful moment; and + 'tis matter of wonder to me that men talk still, and glorify such a + trifling matter. By our Lady's grace, in the fair kingdom of France, there + are scores of thousands of men, gentle and simple, who would do as I did. + Does not every sentinel at his post, does not every archer in the front of + battle, brave it, and die where his captain bids him? Who am I that I + should be chosen out of all France to be an example of fortitude? I braved + no tortures, though these I trust I would have endured with a good heart. + I was subject to threats only. Who was the Roman knight of whom the Latin + clerk Horatius tells?” + </p> + <p> + “A Latin clerk? Faith, I forget my Latin,” says Mr. Brummell. “Ask the + parson, here.” + </p> + <p> + “Messire Regulus, I remember, was his name. Taken prisoner by the + Saracens, he gave his knightly word, and was permitted to go seek a ransom + among his own people. Being unable to raise the sum that was a fitting + ransom for such a knight, he returned to Afric, and cheerfully submitted + to the tortures which the Paynims inflicted. And 'tis said he took leave + of his friends as gayly as though he were going to a vilage kermes, or + riding to his garden house in the suburb of the city.” + </p> + <p> + “Great, good, glorious man!” cried Mr. Sterne, very much moved. “Let me + embrace that gallant hand, and bedew it with my tears! As long as honor + lasts thy name shall be remembered. See this dew-drop twinkling on my + check! 'Tis the sparkling tribute that Sensibility pays to Valor. Though + in my life and practice I may turn from Virtue, believe me, I never have + ceased to honor her! Ah, Virtue! Ah, Sensibility! Oh—” + </p> + <p> + Here Mr. Sterne was interrupted by a monk of the Order of St. Francis, who + stepped into the room, and begged us all to take a pinch of his famous old + rappee. I suppose the snuff was very pungent, for, with a great start, I + woke up; and now perceived that I must have been dreaming altogether. + “Dessein's” of now-a-days is not the “Dessein's” which Mr. Sterne, and Mr. + Brummell, and I recollect in the good old times. The town of Calais has + bought the old hotel, and “Dessein” has gone over to “Quillacq's.” And I + was there yesterday. And I remember old diligences, and old postilions in + pigtails and jack-boots, who were once as alive as I am, and whose + cracking whips I have heard in the midnight many and many a time. Now, + where are they? Behold they have been ferried over Styx, and have passed + away into limbo. + </p> + <p> + I wonder what time does my boat go? Ah! Here comes the waiter bringing me + my little bill. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON SOME CARP AT SANS SOUCI. + </h2> + <p> + We have lately made the acquaintance of an old lady of ninety, who has + passed the last twenty-five years of her old life in a great metropolitan + establishment, the workhouse, namely, of the parish of Saint Lazarus. Stay—twenty-three + or four years ago, she came out once, and thought to earn a little money + by hop-picking; but being overworked, and having to lie out at night, she + got a palsy which has incapacitated her from all further labor, and has + caused her poor old limbs to shake ever since. + </p> + <p> + An illustration of that dismal proverb which tells us how poverty makes us + acquainted with strange bed-fellows, this poor old shaking body has to lay + herself down every night in her workhouse bed by the side of some other + old woman with whom she may or may not agree. She herself can't be a very + pleasant bed-fellow, poor thing! with her shaking old limbs and cold feet. + She lies awake a deal of the night, to be sure, not thinking of happy old + times, for hers never were happy; but sleepless with aches, and agues, and + rheumatism of old age. “The gentleman gave me brandy-and-water,” she said, + her old voice shaking with rapture at the thought. I never had a great + love for Queen Charlotte, but I like her better now from what this old + lady told me. The Queen, who loved snuff herself, has left a legacy of + snuff to certain poorhouses; and, in her watchful nights, this old woman + takes a pinch of Queen Charlotte's snuff, “and it do comfort me, sir, that + it do!” Pulveris exigui munus. Here is a forlorn aged creature, shaking + with palsy, with no soul among the great struggling multitude of mankind + to care for her, not quite trampled out of life, but past and forgotten in + the rush, made a little happy, and soothed in her hours of unrest by this + penny legacy. Let me think as I write. (The next month's sermon, thank + goodness! is safe to press.) This discourse will appear at the season when + I have read that wassail-bowls make their appearance; at the season of + pantomime, turkey and sausages, plum-puddings, jollifications for + schoolboys; Christmas bills, and reminiscences more or less sad and sweet + for elders. If we oldsters are not merry, we shall be having a semblance + of merriment. We shall see the young folks laughing round the holly-bush. + We shall pass the bottle round cosily as we sit by the fire. That old + thing will have a sort of festival too. Beef, beer, and pudding will be + served to her for that day also. Christmas falls on a Thursday. Friday is + the workhouse day for coming out. Mary, remember that old Goody Twoshoes + has her invitation for Friday, 26th December! Ninety is she, poor old + soul? Ah! what a bonny face to catch under a mistletoe! “Yes, ninety, + sir,” she says, “and my mother was a hundred, and my grandmother was a + hundred and two.” + </p> + <p> + Herself ninety, her mother a hundred, her grandmother a hundred and two? + What a queer calculation! + </p> + <p> + Ninety! Very good, granny: you were born, then, in 1772. + </p> + <p> + Your mother, we will say, was twenty-seven when you were born, and was + born therefore in 1745. + </p> + <p> + Your grandmother was thirty when her daughter was born, and was born + therefore in 1715. + </p> + <p> + We will begin with the present granny first. My good old creature, you + can't of course remember, but that little gentleman for whom your mother + was laundress in the Temple was the ingenious Mr. Goldsmith, author of a + “History of England,” the “Vicar of Wakefield,” and many diverting pieces. + You were brought almost an infant to his chambers in Brick Court, and he + gave you some sugar-candy, for the doctor was always good to children. + That gentleman who wellnigh smothered you by sitting down on you as you + lay in a chair asleep was the learned Mr. S. Johnson, whose history of + “Rasselas” you have never read, my poor soul; and whose tragedy of “Irene” + I don't believe any man in these kingdoms ever perused. That tipsy Scotch + gentleman who used to come to the chambers sometimes, and at whom + everybody laughed, wrote a more amusing book than any of the scholars, + your Mr. Burke and your Mr. Johnson, and your Doctor Goldsmith. Your + father often took him home in a chair to his lodgings; and has done as + much for Parson Sterne in Bond Street, the famous wit. Of course, my good + creature, you remember the Gordon Riots, and crying No Popery before Mr. + Langdale's house, the Popish distiller's, and, that bonny fire of my Lord + Mansfield's books in Bloomsbury Square? Bless us, what a heap of + illuminations you have seen! For the glorious victory over the Americans + at Breed's Hill; for the peace in 1814, and the beautiful Chinese bridge + in St. James's Park; for the coronation of his Majesty, whom you recollect + as Prince of Wales, Goody, don't you? Yes; and you went in a procession of + laundresses to pay your respects to his good lady, the injured Queen of + England, at Brandenburg House; and you remember your mother told you how + she was taken to see the Scotch lords executed at the Tower. And as for + your grandmother, she was born five years after the battle of Malplaquet, + she was; where her poor father was killed, fighting like a bold Briton for + the Queen. With the help of a “Wade's Chronology,” I can make out ever so + queer a history for you, my poor old body, and a pedigree as authentic as + many in the peerage-books. + </p> + <p> + Peerage-books and pedigrees? What does she know about them? Battles and + victories, treasons, kings, and beheadings, literary gentlemen, and the + like, what have they ever been to her? Granny, did you ever hear of + General Wolfe? Your mother may have seen him embark, and your father may + have carried a musket under him. Your grandmother may have cried huzza for + Marlborough but what is the Prince Duke to you, and did you ever, so much + as hear tell of his name? How many hundred or thousand of years had that + toad lived who was in the coal at the defunct Exhibition?—and yet he + was not a bit better informed than toads seven or eight hundred years + younger. + </p> + <p> + “Don't talk to me your nonsense about Exhibitions, and Prince Dukes, and + toads in coals, or coals in toads, or what is it?” says granny. “I know + there was a good Queen Charlotte, for she left me snuff; and it comforts + me of a night when I lie awake.” + </p> + <p> + To me there is something very touching in the notion of that little pinch + of comfort doled out to granny, and gratefully inhaled by her in the + darkness. Don't you remember what traditions there used to be of chests of + plate, bulses of diamonds, laces of inestimable value, sent out of the + country privately by the old Queen, to enrich certain relations in + M-ckl-nb-rg Str-l-tz? Not all the treasure went. Non omnis moritur. A poor + old palsied thing at midnight is made happy sometimes as she lifts her + shaking old hand to her nose. Gliding noiselessly among the beds where lie + the poor creatures huddled in their cheerless dormitory, I fancy an old + ghost with a snuff-box that does not creak. “There, Goody, take of my + rappee. You will not sneeze, and I shall not say 'God bless you.' But you + will think kindly of old Queen Charlotte, won't you? Ah! I had a many + troubles, a many troubles. I was a prisoner almost so much as you are. I + had to eat boiled mutton every day: entre nous, I abominated it. But I + never complained. I swallowed it. I made the best of a hard life. We have + all our burdens to bear. But hark! I hear the cock-crow, and snuff the + morning air.” And with this the royal ghost vanishes up the chimney—if + there be a chimney in that dismal harem, where poor old Twoshoes and her + companions pass their nights—their dreary nights, their restless + nights, their cold long nights, shared in what glum companionship, + illumined by what a feeble taper! + </p> + <p> + “Did I understand you, my good Twoshoes, to say that, your mother was + seven-and-twenty years old when you were born, and that she married your + esteemed father when she herself was twenty-five? 1745, then, was the date + of your dear mother's birth. I dare say her father was absent in the Low + Countries, with his Royal Highness the Duke of Cumberland, under whom he + had the honor of carrying a halberd at the famous engagement of Fontenoy—or + if not there, he may have been at Preston Pans, under General Sir John + Cope, when the wild highlanders broke through all the laws of discipline + and the English lines; and, being on the spot, did he see the famous ghost + which didn't appear to Colonel Gardiner of the Dragoons? My good creature, + is it possible you don't remember that Doctor Swift, Sir Robert Walpole + (my Lord Orford, as you justly say), old Sarah Marlborough, and little Mr. + Pope, of Twitnam, died in the year of your birth? What a wretched memory + you have! What? haven't they a library, and the commonest books of + reference at the old convent of Saint Lazarus, where you dwell?” + </p> + <p> + “Convent of Saint Lazarus, Prince William, Dr. Swift, Atossa, and Mr. + Pope, of Twitnam! What is the gentleman talking about?” says old Goody, + with a “Ho! ho!” and a laugh like an old parrot—you know they live + to be as old as Methuselah, parrots do, and a parrot of a hundred is + comparatively young (ho! ho! ho!). Yes, and likewise carps live to an + immense old age. Some which Frederick the Great fed at Sans Souci are + there now, with great humps of blue mould on their old backs; and they + could tell all sorts of queer stories, if they chose to speak—but + they are very silent, carps are—of their nature peu communicatives. + Oh! what has been thy long life, old Goody, but a dole of bread and water + and a perch on a cage; a dreary swim round and round a Lethe of a pond? + What are Rossbach or Jena to those mouldy ones, and do they know it is a + grandchild of England who brings bread to feed them? + </p> + <p> + No! Those Sans Souci carps may live to be a thousand years old and have + nothing to tell but that one day is like another; and the history of + friend Goody Twoshoes has not much more variety than theirs. Hard labor, + hard fare, hard bed, numbing cold all night, and gnawing hunger most days. + That is her lot. Is it lawful in my prayers to say, “Thank heaven, I am + not as one of these?” If I were eighty, would I like to feel the hunger + always gnawing, gnawing? to have to get up and make a bow when Mr. Bumble + the beadle entered the common room? to have to listen to Miss Prim, who + came to give me her ideas of the next world? If I were eighty, I own I + should not like to have to sleep with another gentleman of my own age, + gouty, a bad sleeper, kicking in his old dreams, and snoring; to march + down my vale of years at word of command, accommodating my tottering old + steps to those of the other prisoners in my dingy, hopeless old gang; to + hold out a trembling hand for a sicky pittance of gruel, and say, “Thank + you, ma'am,” to Miss Prim, when she has done reading her sermon. John! + when Goody Twoshoes comes next Friday, I desire she may not be disturbed + by theological controversies. You have a very fair voice, and I heard you + and the maids singing a hymn very sweetly the other night, and was + thankful that our humble household should be in such harmony. Poor old + Twoshoes is so old and toothless and quaky, that she can't sing a bit; but + don't be giving yourself airs over her, because she can't sing and you + can. Make her comfortable at our kitchen hearth. Set that old kettle to + sing by our hob. Warm her old stomach with nut-brown ale and a toast laid + in the fire. Be kind to the poor old school-girl of ninety, who has had + leave to come out for a day of Christmas holiday. Shall there be many more + Christmases for thee? Think of the ninety she has seen already; the + four-score and ten cold, cheerless, nipping New Years! + </p> + <p> + If you were in her place, would you like to have a remembrance of better + early days, when you were young, and happy, and loving, perhaps; or would + you prefer to have no past on which your mind could rest? About the year + 1788, Goody, were your cheeks rosy, and your eyes bright, and did some + young fellow in powder and a pigtail look in them? We may grow old, but to + us some stories never are old. On a sudden they rise up, not dead, but + living—not forgotten, but freshly remembered. The eyes gleam on us + as they used to do. The dear voice thrills in our hearts. The rapture of + the meeting, the terrible, terrible parting, again and again the tragedy + is acted over. Yesterday, in the street, I saw a pair of eyes so like two + which used to brighten at my coming once, that the whole past came back as + I walked lonely, in the rush of the Strand, and I was young again in the + midst of joys and sorrows, alike sweet and sad, alike sacred and fondly + remembered. + </p> + <p> + If I tell a tale out of school, will any harm come to my old school-girl? + Once, a lady gave her a half-sovereign, which was a source of great pain + and anxiety to Goody Twoshoes. She sewed it away in her old stays + somewhere, thinking here at least was a safe investment—(vestis—a + vest—an investment,—pardon me, thou poor old thing, but I + cannot help the pleasantry). And what do you think? Another pensionnaire + of the establishment cut the coin out of Goody's stays—AN OLD WOMAN + WHO WENT UPON TWO CRUTCHES! Faugh, the old witch! What! Violence amongst + these toothless, tottering, trembling, feeble ones? Robbery amongst the + penniless? Dogs coming and snatching Lazarus's crumbs out of his lap? Ah, + how indignant Goody was as she told the story! To that pond at Potsdam + where the carps live for hundreds of hundreds of years, with hunches of + blue mould on their back, I dare say the little Prince and Princess of + Preussen-Britannien come sometimes with crumbs and cakes to feed the + mouldy ones. Those eyes may have goggled from beneath the weeds at + Napoleon's jack-boots: they have seen Frederick's lean shanks reflected in + their pool; and perhaps Monsieur de Voltaire has fed them—and now, + for a crumb of biscuit they will fight, push, hustle, rob, squabble, + gobble, relapsing into their tranquillity when the ignoble struggle is + over. Sans souci, indeed! It is mighty well writing “Sans souci” over the + gate; but where is the gate through which Care has not slipped? She + perches on the shoulders of the sentry in the sentry-box: she whispers the + porter sleeping in his arm-chair: she glides up the staircase, and lies + down between the king and queen in their bed-royal: this very night I dare + say she will perch upon poor old Goody Twoshoes's meagre bolster, and + whisper, “Will the gentleman and those ladies ask me again? No, no; they + will forget poor old Twoshoes.” Goody! For shame of yourself! Do not be + cynical. Do not mistrust your fellow-creatures. What? Has the Christmas + morning dawned upon thee ninety times? For four-score and ten years has it + been thy lot to totter on this earth, hungry and obscure? Peace and + good-will to thee, let us say at this Christmas season. Come, drink, eat, + rest awhile at our hearth, thou poor old pilgrim! And of the bread which + God's bounty gives us, I pray, brother reader, we may not forget to set + aside a part for those noble and silent poor, from whose innocent hands + war has torn the means of labor. Enough! As I hope for beef at Christmas, + I vow a note shall be sent to Saint Lazarus Union House, in which Mr. + Roundabout requests the honor of Mrs. Twoshoes's company on Friday, 26th + December. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AUTOUR DE MON CHAPEAU. + </h2> + <p> + Never have I seen a more noble tragic face. In the centre of the forehead + there was a great furrow of care, towards which the brows rose piteously. + What a deep solemn grief in the eyes! They looked blankly at the object + before them, but through it, as it were, and into the grief beyond. In + moments of pain, have you not looked at some indifferent object so? It + mingles dumbly with your grief, and remains afterwards connected with it + in your mind. It may be some indifferent thing—a book which you were + reading at the time when you received her farewell letter (how well you + remember the paragraph afterwards—the shape of the words, and their + position on the page); the words you were writing when your mother came + in, and said it was all over—she was MARRIED—Emily married—to + that insignificant little rival at whom you have laughed a hundred times + in her company. Well, well; my friend and reader, whoe'er you be—old + man or young, wife or maiden—you have had your grief-pang. Boy, you + have lain awake the first night at school, and thought of home. Worse + still, man, you have parted from the dear ones with bursting heart: and, + lonely boy, recall the bolstering an unfeeling comrade gave you; and, + lonely man, just torn from your children—their little tokens of + affection yet in your pocket—pacing the deck at evening in the midst + of the roaring ocean, you can remember how you were told that supper was + ready, and how you went down to the cabin and had brandy-and-water and + biscuit. You remember the taste of them. Yes; for ever. You took them + whilst you and your Grief were sitting together, and your Grief clutched + you round the soul. Serpent, how you have writhed round me, and bitten me. + Remorse, Remembrance, &c., come in the night season, and I feel you + gnawing, gnawing! . . . I tell you that man's face was like Laocoon's + (which, by the way, I always think over-rated. The real head is at + Brussels, at the Duke Daremberg's, not at Rome). + </p> + <p> + That man! What man? That man of whom I said that his magnificent + countenance exhibited the noblest tragic woe. He was not of European + blood, he was handsome, but not of European beauty. His face white—not + of a Northern whiteness; his eyes protruding somewhat, and rolling in + their grief. Those eyes had seen the Orient sun, and his beak was the + eagle's. His lips were full. The beard, curling round them, was unkempt + and tawny. The locks were of a deep, deep coppery red. The hands, swart + and powerful, accustomed to the rough grasp of the wares in which he + dealt, seemed unused to the flimsy artifices of the bath. He came from the + Wilderness, and its sands were on his robe, his cheek, his tattered + sandal, and the hardy foot it covered. + </p> + <p> + And his grief—whence came his sorrow? I will tell you. He bore it in + his hand. He had evidently just concluded the compact by which it became + his. His business was that of a purchaser of domestic raiment. At early + dawn nay, at what hour when the city is alive—do we not all hear the + nasal cry of “Clo?” In Paris, Habits Galons, Marchand d'habits, is the + twanging signal with which the wandering merchant makes his presence + known. It was in Paris I saw this man. Where else have I not seen him? In + the Roman Ghetto—at the Gate of David, in his fathers' once imperial + city. The man I mean was an itinerant vender and purchaser of wardrobes—what + you call an . . . Enough! You know his name. + </p> + <p> + On his left shoulder hung his bag; and he held in that hand a white hat, + which I am sure he had just purchased, and which was the cause of the + grief which smote his noble features. Of course I cannot particularize the + sum, but he had given too much for that hat. He felt he might have got the + thing for less money. It was not the amount, I am sure; it was the + principle involved. He had given fourpence (let us say) for that which + threepence would have purchased. He had been done: and a manly shame was + upon him, that he, whose energy, acuteness, experience, point of honor, + should have made him the victor in any mercantile duel in which he should + engage, had been overcome by a porter's wife, who very likely sold him the + old hat, or by a student who was tired of it. I can understand his grief. + Do I seem to be speaking of it in a disrespectful or flippant way? Then + you mistake me. He had been outwitted. He had desired, coaxed, schemed, + haggled, got what he wanted, and now found he had paid too much for his + bargain. You don't suppose I would ask you to laugh at that man's grief? + It is you, clumsy cynic, who are disposed to sneer, whilst it may be tears + of genuine sympathy are trickling down this nose of mine. What do you mean + by laughing? If you saw a wounded soldier on the field of battle, would + you laugh? If you saw a ewe robbed of her lamb, would you laugh, you + brute? It is you who are the cynic, and have no feeling: and you sneer + because that grief is unintelligible to you which touches my finer + sensibility. The OLD-CLOTHES'-MAN had been defeated in one of the daily + battles of his most interesting, chequered, adventurous life. + </p> + <p> + Have you ever figured to yourself what such a life must be? The pursuit + and conquest of twopence must be the most eager and fascinating of + occupations. We might all engage in that business if we would. Do not + whist-players, for example, toil, and think, and lose their temper over + sixpenny points? They bring study, natural genius, long forethought, + memory, and careful historical experience to bear upon their favorite + labor. Don't tell me that it is the sixpenny points, and five shillings + the rub, which keeps them for hours over their painted pasteboard. It is + the desire to conquer. Hours pass by. Night glooms. Dawn, it may be, rises + unheeded; and they sit calling for fresh cards at the “Portland,” or the + “Union,” while waning candles splutter in the sockets, and languid waiters + snooze in the ante-room. Sol rises. Jones has lost four pounds: Brown has + won two; Robinson lurks away to his family house and (mayhap indignant) + Mrs. R. Hours of evening, night, morning, have passed away whilst they + have been waging this sixpenny battle. What is the loss of four pounds to + Jones, the gain of two to Brown? B. is, perhaps, so rich that two pounds + more or less are as naught to him; J. is so hopelessly involved that to + win four pounds cannot benefit his creditors, or alter his condition; but + they play for that stake: they put forward their best energies: they ruff, + finesse (what are the technical words, and how do I know?) It is but a + sixpenny game if you like; but they want to win it. So as regards my + friend yonder with the hat. He stakes his money: he wishes to win the + game, not the hat merely. I am not prepared to say that he is not inspired + by a noble ambition. Caesar wished to be first in a village. If first of a + hundred yokels, why not first of two? And my friend the old-clothes'-man + wishes to win his game, as well as to turn his little sixpence. + </p> + <p> + Suppose in the game of life—and it is but a twopenny game after all—you + are equally eager of winning. Shall you be ashamed of your ambition, or + glory in it? There are games, too, which are becoming to particular + periods of life. I remember in the days of our youth, when my friend + Arthur Bowler was an eminent cricketer. Slim, swift, strong, well-built, + he presented a goodly appearance on the ground in his flannel uniform. + Militasti non sine gloria, Bowler my boy! Hush! We tell no tales. Mum is + the word. Yonder comes Chancy his son. Now Chancy his son has taken the + field and is famous among the eleven of his school. Bowler senior, with + his capacious waistcoat, &c., waddling after a ball, would present an + absurd object, whereas it does the eyes good to see Bowler junior scouring + the plain—a young exemplar of joyful health, vigor, activity. The + old boy wisely contents himself with amusements more becoming his age and + waist; takes his sober ride; visits his farm soberly—busies himself + about his pigs, his ploughing, his peaches, or what not! Very small + routinier amusements interest him; and (thank goodness!) nature provides + very kindly for kindly-disposed fogies. We relish those things which we + scorned in our lusty youth. I see the young folks of an evening kindling + and glowing over their delicious novels. I look up and watch the eager eye + flashing down the page, being, for my part, perfectly contented with my + twaddling old volume of “Howel's Letters,” or the Gentleman's Magazine. I + am actually arrived at such a calm frame of mind that I like + batter-pudding. I never should have believed it possible; but it is so. + Yet a little while, and I may relish water-gruel. It will be the age of + mon lait de poule et mon bonnet de nuit. And then—the cotton + extinguisher is pulled over the old noddle, and the little flame of life + is popped out. + </p> + <p> + Don't you know elderly people who make learned notes in Army Lists, + Peerages, and the like? This is the batter-pudding, water-gruel of old + age. The worn-out old digestion does not care for stronger food. Formerly + it could swallow twelve-hours' tough reading, and digest an encyclopaedia. + </p> + <p> + If I had children to educate, I would, at ten or twelve years of age, have + a professor, or professoress, of whist for them, and cause them to be well + grounded in that great and useful game. You cannot learn it well when you + are old, any more than you can learn dancing or billiards. In our house at + home we youngsters did not play whist because we were dear obedient + children, and the elders said playing at cards was “a waste of time.” A + waste of time, my good people! Allons! What do elderly home-keeping people + do of a night after dinner? Darby gets his newspaper; my dear Joan her + Missionary Magazine or her volume of Cumming's Sermons—and don't you + know what ensues? Over the arm of Darby's arm-chair the paper flutters to + the ground unheeded, and he performs the trumpet obligato que vous savez + on his old nose. My dear old Joan's head nods over her sermon (awakening + though the doctrine may be). Ding, ding, ding: can that be ten o'clock? It + is time to send the servants to bed, my dear—and to bed master and + mistress go too. But they have not wasted their time playing at cards. Oh, + no! I belong to a Club where there is whist of a night, and not a little + amusing is it to hear Brown speak of Thompson's play, and vice versa. But + there is one man—Greatorex let us call him—who is the + acknowledged captain and primus of all the whist-players. We all secretly + admire him. I, for my part, watch him in private life, hearken to what he + says, note what he orders for dinner, and have that feeling of awe for him + that I used to have as a boy for the cock of the school. Not play at + whist? “Quelle triste vieillesse vous vous preparez!” were the words of + the great and good Bishop of Autun. I can't. It is too late now. Too late! + too late! Ah! humiliating confession! That joy might have been clutched, + but the life-stream has swept us by it—the swift life-stream rushing + to the nearing sea. Too late! too late! Twentystone my boy! when you read + in the papers “Valse a deux temps,” and all the fashionable dances taught + to adults by “Miss Lightfoots,” don't you feel that you would like to go + in and learn? Ah, it is too late! You have passed the choreas, Master + Twentystone, and the young people are dancing without you. + </p> + <p> + I don't believe much of what my Lord Byron the poet says; but when he + wrote, “So for a good old gentlemanly vice, I think I shall put up with + avarice,” I think his lordship meant what he wrote, and if he practised + what he preached, shall not quarrel with him. As an occupation in + declining years, I declare I think saving is useful, amusing, and not + unbecoming. It must be a perpetual amusement. It is a game that can be + played by day, by night, at home and abroad, and at which you must win in + the long run. I am tired and want a cab. The fare to my house, say, is two + shillings. The cabman will naturally want half a crown. I pull out my + book. I show him the distance is exactly three miles and fifteen hundred + and ninety yards. I offer him my card—my winning card. As he retires + with the two shillings, blaspheming inwardly, every curse is a compliment + to my skill. I have played him and beat him; and a sixpence is my spoil + and just reward. This is a game, by the way, which women play far more + cleverly than we do. But what an interest it imparts to life! During the + whole drive home I know I shall have my game at the journey's end; am sure + of my hand, and shall beat my adversary. Or I can play in another way. I + won't have a cab at all, I will wait for the omnibus: I will be one of the + damp fourteen in that steaming vehicle. I will wait about in the rain for + an hour, and 'bus after 'bus shall pass, but I will not be beat. I WILL + have a place, and get it at length, with my boots wet through, and an + umbrella dripping between my legs. I have a rheumatism, a cold, a sore + throat, a sulky evening,—a doctor's bill to-morrow perhaps? Yes, but + I have won my game, and am gainer of a shilling on this rubber. + </p> + <p> + If you play this game all through life it is wonderful what daily interest + it has, and amusing occupation. For instance, my wife goes to sleep after + dinner over her volume of sermons. As soon as the dear soul is sound + asleep, I advance softly and puff out her candle. Her pure dreams will be + all the happier without that light; and, say she sleeps an hour, there is + a penny gained. + </p> + <p> + As for clothes, parbleu! there is not much money to be saved in clothes, + for the fact is, as a man advances in life—as he becomes an Ancient + Briton (mark the pleasantry)—he goes without clothes. When my tailor + proposes something in the way of a change of raiment, I laugh in his face. + My blue coat and brass buttons will last these ten years. It is seedy? + What then? I don't want to charm anybody in particular. You say that my + clothes are shabby? What do I care? When I wished to look well in + somebody's eyes, the matter may have been different. But now, when I + receive my bill of 10L. (let us say) at the year's end, and contrast it + with old tailors' reckonings, I feel that I have played the game with + master tailor, and beat him; and my old clothes are a token of the + victory. + </p> + <p> + I do not like to give servants board-wages, though they are cheaper than + household bills: but I know they save out of board-wages, and so beat me. + This shows that it is not the money but the game which interests me. So + about wine. I have it good and dear. I will trouble you to tell me where + to get it good and cheap. You may as well give me the address of a shop + where I can buy meat for fourpence a pound, or sovereigns for fifteen + shillings apiece. At the game of auctions, docks, shy wine-merchants, + depend on it there is no winning; and I would as soon think of buying + jewellery at an auction in Fleet Street as of purchasing wine from one of + your dreadful needy wine-agents such as infest every man's door. Grudge + myself good wine? As soon grudge my horse corn. Merci! that would be a + very losing game indeed, and your humble servant has no relish for such. + </p> + <p> + But in the very pursuit of saving there must be a hundred harmless + delights and pleasures which we who are careless necessarily forego. What + do you know about the natural history of your household? Upon your honor + and conscience, do you know the price of a pound of butter? Can you say + what sugar costs, and how much your family consumes and ought to consume? + How much lard do you use in your house? As I think on these subjects I own + I hang down the head of shame. I suppose for a moment that you, who are + reading this, are a middle-aged gentleman, and paterfamilias. Can you + answer the above questions? You know, sir, you cannot. Now turn round, lay + down the book, and suddenly ask Mrs. Jones and your daughters if THEY can + answer? They cannot. They look at one another. They pretend they can + answer. They can tell you the plot and principal characters of the last + novel. Some of them know something about history, geology, and so forth. + But of the natural history of home—Nichts, and for shame on you all! + Honnis soyez! For shame on you? for shame on us! + </p> + <p> + In the early morning I hear a sort of call or jodel under my window: and + know 'tis the matutinal milkman leaving his can at my gate. O household + gods! have I lived all these years and don't know the price or the + quantity of the milk which is delivered in that can? Why don't I know? As + I live, if I live till to-morrow morning, as soon as I hear the call of + Lactantius, I will dash out upon him. How many cows? How much milk, on an + average, all the year round? What rent? What cost of food and dairy + servants? What loss of animals, and average cost of purchase? If I + interested myself properly about my pint (or hogshead, whatever it be) of + milk, all this knowledge would ensue; all this additional interest in + life. What is this talk of my friend, Mr. Lewes, about objects at the + seaside, and so forth?* Objects at the seaside? Objects at the area-bell: + objects before my nose: objects which the butcher brings me in his tray: + which the cook dresses and puts down before me, and over which I say + grace! My daily life is surrounded with objects which ought to interest + me. The pudding I eat (or refuse, that is neither here nor there; and, + between ourselves, what I have said about batter-pudding may be taken cum + grano—we are not come to that yet, except for the sake of argument + or illustration)—the pudding, I say, on my plate, the eggs that made + it, the fire that cooked it, the tablecloth on which it is laid, and so + forth—are each and all of these objects a knowledge of which I may + acquire—a knowledge of the cost and production of which I might + advantageously learn? To the man who DOES know these things, I say the + interest of life is prodigiously increased. The milkman becomes, a study + to him; the baker a being he curiously and tenderly examines. Go, Lewes, + and clap a hideous sea-anemone into a glass: I will put a cabman under + mine, and make a vivisection of a butcher. O Lares, Penates, and gentle + household gods, teach me to sympathize with all that comes within my + doors! Give me an interest in the butcher's book. Let me look forward to + the ensuing number of the grocer's account with eagerness. It seems + ungrateful to my kitchen-chimney not to know the cost of sweeping it; and + I trust that many a man who reads this, and muses on it, will feel, like + the writer, ashamed of himself, and hang down his head humbly. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * “Seaside Studies.” By G. H. Lewes. +</pre> + <p> + Now, if to this household game you could add a little money interest, the + amusement would be increased far beyond the mere money value, as a game at + cards for sixpence is better than a rubber for nothing. If you can + interest yourself about sixpence, all life is invested with a new + excitement. From sunrise to sleeping you can always be playing that game—with + butcher, baker, coal-merchant, cabman, omnibus man—nay, diamond + merchant and stockbroker. You can bargain for a guinea over the price of a + diamond necklace, or for a sixteenth per cent in a transaction at the + Stock Exchange. We all know men who have this faculty who are not + ungenerous with their money. They give it on great occasions. They are + more able to help than you and I who spend ours, and say to poor Prodigal + who comes to us out at elbow, “My dear fellow, I should have been + delighted: but I have already anticipated my quarter, and am going to ask + Screwby if he can do anything for me.” + </p> + <p> + In this delightful, wholesome, ever-novel twopenny game, there is a danger + of excess, as there is in every other pastime or occupation of life. If + you grow too eager for your twopence, the acquisition or the loss of it + may affect your peace of mind, and peace of mind is better than any amount + of twopences. My friend, the old-clothes'-man, whose agonies over the hat + have led to this rambling disquisition, has, I very much fear, by a too + eager pursuit of small profits, disturbed the equanimity of a mind that + ought to be easy and happy. “Had I stood out,” he thinks, “I might have + had the hat for threepence,” and he doubts whether, having given fourpence + for it, he will ever get back his money. My good Shadrach, if you go + through life passionately deploring the irrevocable, and allow yesterday's + transactions to embitter the cheerfulness of to-day and to-morrow—as + lief walk down to the Seine, souse in, hats, body, clothes-bag and all, + and put an end to your sorrow and sordid cares. Before and since Mr. + Franklin wrote his pretty apologue of the Whistle have we not all made + bargains of which we repented, and coveted and acquired objects for which + we have paid too dearly! Who has not purchased his hat in some market or + other? There is General M'Clellan's cocked hat for example: I dare say he + was eager enough to wear it, and he has learned that it is by no means + cheerful wear. There were the military beavers of Messeigneurs of + Orleans:* they wore them gallantly in the face of battle; but I suspect + they were glad enough to pitch them into the James River and come home in + mufti. Ah, mes amis! A chacun son schakot! I was looking at a bishop the + other day, and thinking, “My right reverend lord, that broad-brim and + rosette must bind your great broad forehead very tightly, and give you + many a headache. A good easy wideawake were better for you, and I would + like to see that honest face with a cutty-pipe in the middle of it.” There + is my Lord Mayor. My once dear lord, my kind friend, when your two years' + reign was over, did not you jump for joy and fling your chapeau-bras out + of window: and hasn't that hat cost you a pretty bit of money? There, in a + splendid travelling chariot, in the sweetest bonnet, all trimmed with + orange-blossoms and Chantilly lace, sits my Lady Rosa, with old Lord + Snowden by her side. Ah, Rosa! what a price have you paid for that hat + which you wear; and is your ladyship's coronet not purchased too dear! + Enough of hats. Sir, or Madam, I take off mine, and salute you with + profound respect. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * Two cadets of the House of Orleans who served as Volunteers under + General M'Clellan in his campaign against Richmond. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON ALEXANDRINES.* + </h2> + <h3> + A LETTER TO SOME COUNTRY COUSINS. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * This paper, it is almost needless to say, was written just + after the marriage of the Prince and Princess of Wales in + March, 1863. +</pre> + <p> + DEAR COUSINS,—Be pleased to receive herewith a packet of Mayall's + photographs and copies of Illustrated News, Illustrated Times, London + Review, Queen, and Observer, each containing an account of the notable + festivities of the past week. If, besides these remembrances of home, you + have a mind to read a letter from an old friend, behold here it is. When I + was at school, having left my parents in India, a good-natured captain or + colonel would come sometimes and see us Indian boys, and talk to us about + papa and mamma, and give us coins of the realm, and write to our parents, + and say, “I drove over yesterday and saw Tommy at Dr. Birch's. I took him + to the 'George,' and gave him a dinner. His appetite is fine. He states + that he is reading 'Cornelius Nepos,' with which he is much interested. + His masters report,” &c. And though Dr. Birch wrote by the same mail a + longer, fuller, and official statement, I have no doubt the distant + parents preferred the friend's letter, with its artless, possibly + ungrammatical, account of their little darling. + </p> + <p> + I have seen the young heir of Britain. These eyes have beheld him and his + bride, on Saturday in Pall Mall, and on Tuesday in the nave of St. + George's Chapel at Windsor, when the young Princess Alexandra of Denmark + passed by with her blooming procession of bridesmaids; and half an hour + later, when the Princess of Wales came forth from the chapel, her husband + by her side robed in the purple mantle of the famous Order which his + forefather established here five hundred years ago. We were to see her yet + once again, when her open carriage passed out of the Castle gate to the + station of the near railway which was to convey her to Southampton. + </p> + <p> + Since womankind existed, has any woman ever had such a greeting? At ten + hours' distance, there is a city far more magnificent than ours. With + every respect for Kensington turnpike, I own that the Arc de l'Etoile at + Paris is a much finer entrance to an imperial capital. In our black, + orderless, zigzag streets, we can show nothing to compare with the + magnificent array of the Rue de Rivoli, that enormous regiment of stone + stretching for five miles and presenting arms before the Tuileries. Think + of the late Fleet Prison and Waithman's Obelisk, and of the Place de la + Concorde and the Luxor Stone! “The finest site in Europe,” as Trafalgar + Square has been called by some obstinate British optimist, is disfigured + by trophies, fountains, columns, and statues so puerile, disorderly, and + hideous that a lover of the arts must hang the head of shame as he passes, + to see our dear old queen city arraying herself so absurdly; but when all + is said and done, we can show one or two of the greatest sights in the + world. I doubt if any Roman festival was as vast or striking as the Derby + day, or if any Imperial triumph could show such a prodigious muster of + faithful people as our young Princess saw on Saturday, when the nation + turned out to greet her. The calculators are squabbling about the numbers + of hundreds of thousands, of millions, who came forth to see her and bid + her welcome. Imagine beacons flaming, rockets blazing, yards manned, ships + and forts saluting with their thunder, every steamer and vessel, every + town and village from Ramsgate to Gravesend, swarming with happy + gratulation; young girls with flowers, scattering roses before her; staid + citizens and aldermen pushing and squeezing and panting to make the + speech, and bow the knee, and bid her welcome! Who is this who is honored + with such a prodigious triumph, and received with a welcome so + astonishing? A year ago we had never heard of her. I think about her + pedigree and family not a few of us are in the dark still, and I own, for + my part, to be much puzzled by the allusions of newspaper genealogists and + bards and skalds to Vikings, Berserkers, and so forth. But it would be + interesting to know how many hundreds of thousands of photographs of the + fair bright face have by this time made it beloved and familiar in British + homes. Think of all the quiet country nooks from Land's End to Caithness, + where kind eyes have glanced at it. The farmer brings it home from market; + the curate from his visit to the Cathedral town; the rustic folk peer at + it in the little village shop-window; the squire's children gaze on it + round the drawing-room table: every eye that beholds it looks tenderly on + its bright beauty and sweet artless grace, and young and old pray God + bless her. We have an elderly friend, (a certain Goody Twoshoes,) who + inhabits, with many other old ladies, the Union House of the parish of St. + Lazarus in Soho. One of your cousins from this house went to see her, and + found Goody and her companion crones all in a flutter of excitement about + the marriage. The whitewashed walls of their bleak dormitory were + ornamented with prints out of the illustrated journals, and hung with + festoons and true-lovers' knots of tape and colored paper; and the old + bodies had had a good dinner, and the old tongues were chirping and + clacking away, all eager, interested, sympathizing; and one very elderly + and rheumatic Goody, who is obliged to keep her bed, (and has, I trust, an + exaggerated idea of the cares attending on royalty,) said, “Pore thing, + pore thing! I pity her.” Yes, even in that dim place there was a little + brightness and a quavering huzza, a contribution of a mite subscribed by + those dozen poor old widows to the treasure of loyalty with which the + nation endows the Prince's bride. + </p> + <p> + Three hundred years ago, when our dread Sovereign Lady Elizabeth came to + take possession of her realm and capital city, Holingshed, if you please + (whose pleasing history of course you carry about with you), relates in + his fourth volume folio, that—“At hir entring the citie, she was of + the people received maruellous intierlie, as appeared by the assemblies, + praiers, welcommings, cries, and all other signes which argued a + woonderfull earnest loue:” and at various halting-places on the royal + progress children habited like angels appeared out of allegoric edifices + and spoke verses to her— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Welcome, O Queen, as much as heart can think, + Welcome again, as much as tongue can tell, + Welcome to joyous tongues and hearts that will not shrink. + God thee preserve, we pray, and wish thee ever well! +</pre> + <p> + Our new Princess, you may be sure, has also had her Alexandrines, and many + minstrels have gone before her singing her praises. Mr. Tupper, who begins + in very great force and strength, and who proposes to give her no less + than eight hundred thousand welcomes in the first twenty lines of his ode, + is not satisfied with this most liberal amount of acclamation, but + proposes at the end of his poem a still more magnificent subscription. + Thus we begin, “A hundred thousand welcomes, a hundred thousand welcomes.” + (In my copy the figures are in the well-known Arabic numerals, but let us + have the numbers literally accurate:)— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “A hundred thousand welcomes! + A hundred thousand welcomes! + And a hundred thousand more! + O happy heart of England, + Shout aloud and sing, laud, + As no land sang before; + And let the paeans soar + And ring from shore to shore, + A hundred thousand welcomes, + And a hundred thousand more; + And let the cannons roar + The joy-stunned city o'er. + And let the steeples chime it + A hundred thousand welcomes + And a hundred thousand more; + And let the people rhyme it + From neighbor's door to door, + From every man's heart's core, + A hundred thousand welcomes + And a hundred thousand more.” + </pre> + <p> + This contribution, in twenty not long lines, of 900,000 (say nine hundred + thousand) welcomes is handsome indeed; and shows that when our bard is + inclined to be liberal, he does not look to the cost. But what is a sum of + 900,000 to his further proposal?— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “O let all these declare it, + Let miles of shouting swear it, + In all the years of yore, + Unparalleled before! + And thou, most welcome Wand'rer + Across the Northern Water, + Our England's ALEXANDRA, + Our dear adopted daughter— Lay to thine heart, + conned o'er and o'er, + In future years remembered well, + The magic fervor of this spell + That shakes the land from shore to shore, + And makes all hearts and eyes brim o'er; + Our hundred thousand welcomes, + Our fifty million welcomes, + And a hundred million more!” + </pre> + <p> + Here we have, besides the most liberal previous subscription, a further + call on the public for no less than one hundred and fifty million one + hundred thousand welcomes for her Royal Highness. How much is this per + head for all of us in the three kingdoms? Not above five welcomes apiece, + and I am sure many of us have given more than five hurrahs to the fair + young Princess. + </p> + <p> + Each man sings according to his voice, and gives in proportion to his + means. The guns at Sheerness “from their adamantine lips” (which had + spoken in quarrelsome old times a very different language,) roared a + hundred thundering welcomes to the fair Dane. The maidens of England + strewed roses before her feet at Gravesend when she landed. Mr. Tupper, + with the million and odd welcomes, may be compared to the thundering + fleet; Mr. Chorley's song, to the flowerets scattered on her Royal + Highness's happy and carpeted path:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Blessings on that fair face! + Safe on the shore + Of her home-dwelling place, + Stranger no more. + Love, from her household shrine, + Keep sorrow far! + May for her hawthorn twine, + June bring sweet eglantine, + Autumn, the golden vine, + Dear Northern Star!” + </pre> + <p> + Hawthorn for May, eglantine for June, and in autumn a little tass of the + golden vine for our Northern Star. I am sure no one will grudge the + Princess these simple enjoyments, and of the produce of the last-named + pleasing plant, I wonder how many bumpers were drunk to her health on the + happy day of her bridal? As for the Laureate's verses, I would + respectfully liken his Highness to a giant showing a beacon torch on “a + windy headland.” His flaring torch is a pine-tree, to be sure, which + nobody can wield but himself. He waves it: and four times in the midnight + he shouts mightily, “Alexandra!” and the Pontic pine is whirled into the + ocean and Enceladus goes home. + </p> + <p> + Whose muse, whose cornemuse, sounds with such plaintive sweetness from + Arthur's Seat, while Edinburgh and Musselburgh lie rapt in delight, and + the mermaids come flapping up to Leith shore to hear the exquisite music? + Sweeter piper Edina knows not than Aytoun, the Bard of the Cavaliers, who + has given in his frank adhesion to the reigning dynasty. When a most + beautiful, celebrated and unfortunate princess whose memory the Professor + loves—when Mary, wife of Francis the Second, King of France, and by + her own right proclaimed Queen of Scotland and England (poor soul!), + entered Paris with her young bridegroom, good Peter Ronsard wrote of her— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Toi qui as veu l'excellence de celle + Qui rend le ciel de l'Escosse envieux, + Dy hardiment, contentez vous mes yeux, + Vous ne verrez jamais chose plus belle.” * +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * Quoted in Mignet's “Life of Mary.” + </pre> + <p> + “Vous ne verrez jamais chose plus belle.” Here is an Alexandrine written + three hundred years ago, as simple as bon jour. Professor Aytoun is more + ornate. After elegantly complimenting the spring, and a description of her + Royal Highness's well-known ancestors the “Berserkers,” he bursts forth— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The Rose of Denmark comes, the Royal Bride! + O loveliest Rose! our paragon and pride— + Choice of the Prince whom England holds so dear— + What homage shall we pay + To one who has no peer? + What can the bard or wildered minstrel say + More than the peasant who on bended knee + Breathes from his heart an earnest prayer for thee? + Words are not fair, if that they would express + Is fairer still; so lovers in dismay + Stand all abashed before that loveliness + They worship most, but find no words to pray. + Too sweet for incense! (bravo!) Take our loves instead— + Most freely, truly, and devoutly given; + Our prayer for blessings on that gentle head, + For earthly happiness and rest in Heaven! + May never sorrow dim those dove-like eyes, + But peace as pure as reigned in Paradise, + Calm and untainted on creation's eve, + Attend thee still! May holy angels,” &c. +</pre> + <p> + This is all very well, my dear country cousins. But will you say “Amen” to + this prayer? I won't. Assuredly our fair Princess will shed many tears out + of the “dovelike eyes,” or the heart will be little worth. Is she to know + no parting, no care, no anxious longing, no tender watches by the sick, to + deplore no friends and kindred, and feel no grief? Heaven forbid! When a + bard or wildered minstrel writes so, best accept his own confession, that + he is losing his head. On the day of her entrance into London who looked + more bright and happy than the Princess? On the day of the marriage, the + fair face wore its marks of care already, and looked out quite grave, and + frightened almost, under the wreaths and lace and orange-flowers. Would + you have had her feel no tremor? A maiden on the bridegroom's threshold, a + Princess led up to the steps of a throne? I think her pallor and doubt + became her as well as her smiles. That, I can tell you, was OUR vote who + sat in X compartment, let us say, in the nave of St. George's Chapel at + Windsor, and saw a part of one of the brightest ceremonies ever performed + there. + </p> + <p> + My dear cousin Mary, you have an account of the dresses; and I promise you + there were princesses besides the bride whom it did the eyes good to + behold. Around the bride sailed a bevy of young creatures so fair, white, + and graceful that I thought of those fairy-tale beauties who are sometimes + princesses, and sometimes white swans. The Royal Princesses and the Royal + Knights of the Garter swept by in prodigious robes and trains of purple + velvet, thirty shillings a yard, my dear, not of course including the + lining, which, I have no doubt, was of the richest satin, or that costly + “miniver” which we used to read about in poor Jerrold's writings. The + young princes were habited in kilts; and by the side of the Princess Royal + trotted such a little wee solemn Highlander! He is the young heir and + chief of the famous clan of Brandenburg. His eyrie is amongst the Eagles, + and I pray no harm may befall the dear little chieftain. + </p> + <p> + The heralds in their tabards were marvellous to behold, and a nod from + Rouge Croix gave me the keenest gratification. I tried to catch Garter's + eye, but either I couldn't or he wouldn't. In his robes, he is like one of + the Three Kings in old missal illuminations. Goldstick in waiting is even + more splendid. With his gold rod and robes and trappings of many colors, + he looks like a royal enchanter, and as if he had raised up all this scene + of glamour by a wave of his glittering wand. The silver trumpeters wear + such quaint caps, as those I have humbly tried to depict on the playful + heads of children. Behind the trumpeters came a drum-bearer, on whose back + a gold-laced drummer drubbed his march. + </p> + <p> + When the silver clarions had blown, and under a clear chorus of + white-robed children chanting round the organ, the noble procession passed + into the chapel, and was hidden from our sight for a while, there was + silence, or from the inner chapel ever so faint a hum. Then hymns arose, + and in the lull we knew that prayers were being said, and the sacred rite + performed which joined Albert Edward to Alexandra his wife. I am sure + hearty prayers were offered outside the gate as well as within for that + princely young pair, and for their Mother and Queen. The peace, the + freedom, the happiness, the order which her rule guarantees, are part of + my birthright as an Englishman, and I bless God for my share. Where else + shall I find such liberty of action, thought, speech, or laws which + protect me so well? Her part of her compact with her people, what + sovereign ever better performed? If ours sits apart from the festivities + of the day, it is because she suffers from a grief so recent that the + loyal heart cannot master it as yet, and remains treu und fest to a + beloved memory. A part of the music which celebrates the day's service was + composed by the husband who is gone to the place where the just and pure + of life meet the reward promised by the Father of all of us to good and + faithful servants who have well done here below. As this one gives in his + account, surely we may remember how the Prince was the friend of all + peaceful arts and learning; how he was true and fast always to duty, home, + honor; how, through a life of complicated trials, he was sagacious, + righteous, active and self-denying. And as we trace in the young faces of + his many children the father's features and likeness, what Englishman will + not pray that, they may have inherited also some of the great qualities + which won for the Prince Consort the love and respect of our country? + </p> + <p> + The papers tell us how, on the night of the marriage of the Prince of + Wales, all over England and Scotland illuminations were made, the poor and + children were feasted, and in village and city thousands of kindly schemes + were devised to mark the national happiness and sympathy. “The bonfire on + Coptpoint at Folkestone was seen in France,” the Telegraph says, “more + clearly than even the French marine lights could be seen at Folkestone.” + Long may the fire continue to burn! There are European coasts (and inland + places) where the liberty light has been extinguished, or is so low that + you can't see to read by it—there are great Atlantic shores where it + flickers and smokes very gloomily. Let us be thankful to the honest + guardians of ours, and for the kind sky under which it burns bright and + steady. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON A MEDAL OF GEORGE THE FOURTH. + </h2> + <p> + Before me lies a coin bearing the image and superscription of King George + IV., and of the nominal value of two-and-sixpence. But an official friend + at a neighboring turnpike says the piece is hopelessly bad; and a chemist + tested it, returning a like unfavorable opinion. A cabman, who had brought + me from a Club, left it with the Club porter, appealing to the gent who + gave it a pore cabby, at ever so much o'clock of a rainy night, which he + hoped he would give him another. I have taken that cabman at his word. He + has been provided with a sound coin. The bad piece is on the table before + me, and shall have a hole drilled through it, as soon as this essay is + written, by a loyal subject who does not desire to deface the Sovereign's + image, but to protest against the rascal who has taken his name in vain. + Fid. Def. indeed! Is this what you call defending the faith? You dare to + forge your Sovereign's name, and pass your scoundrel pewter as his silver? + I wonder who you are, wretch and most consummate trickster? This forgery + is so complete that even now I am deceived by it—I can't see the + difference between the base and sterling metal. Perhaps this piece is a + little lighter;—I don't know. A little softer:—is it? I have + not bitten it, not being a connoisseur in the tasting of pewter or silver. + I take the word of three honest men, though it goes against me: and though + I have given two-and-sixpence worth of honest consideration for the + counter, I shall not attempt to implicate anybody else in my misfortune, + or transfer my ill-luck to a deluded neighbor. + </p> + <p> + I say the imitation is so curiously successful, the stamping, milling of + the edges, lettering, and so forth, are so neat, that even now, when my + eyes are open, I cannot see the cheat. How did those experts, the cabman, + and pikeman, and tradesman, come to find it out? How do they happen to be + more familiar with pewter and silver than I am? You see, I put out of the + question another point which I might argue without fear of defeat, namely, + the cabman's statement that I gave him this bad piece of money. Suppose + every cabman who took me a shilling fare were to drive away and return + presently with a bad coin and an assertion that I had given it to him! + This would be absurd and mischievous; an encouragement of vice amongst men + who already are subject to temptations. Being homo, I think if I were a + cabman myself, I might sometimes stretch a furlong or two in my + calculation of distance. But don't come TWICE, my man, and tell me I have + given you a bad half-crown. No, no! I have paid once like a gentleman, and + once is enough. For instance, during the Exhibition time I was stopped by + an old country-woman in black, with a huge umbrella, who, bursting into + tears, said to me, “Master, be this the way to Harlow, in Essex?” “This + the way to Harlow? This is the way to Exeter, my good lady, and you will + arrive there if you walk about 170 miles in your present direction,” I + answered courteously, replying to the old creature. Then she fell + a-sobbing as though her old heart would break. She had a daughter a-dying + at Harlow. She had walked already “vifty dree mile that day.” Tears + stopped the rest of her discourse, so artless, genuine, and abundant that—I + own the truth—I gave her, in I believe genuine silver, a piece of + the exact size of that coin which forms the subject of this essay. Well. + About a month since, near to the very spot where I had met my old woman, I + was accosted by a person in black, a person in a large draggled cap, a + person with a huge umbrella, who was beginning, “I say, Master, can you + tell me if this be the way to Har—” but here she stopped. Her eyes + goggled wildly. She started from me, as Macbeth turned from Macduff. She + would not engage with me. It was my old friend of Harlow, in Essex. I dare + say she has informed many other people of her daughter's illness, and her + anxiety to be put upon the right way to Harlow. Not long since a very + gentleman-like man, Major Delamere let us call him (I like the title of + Major very much), requested to see me, named a dead gentleman who he said + had been our mutual friend, and on the strength of this mutual + acquaintance, begged me to cash his cheque for five pounds! + </p> + <p> + It is these things, my dear sir, which serve to make a man cynical. I do + conscientiously believe that had I cashed the Major's cheque there would + have been a difficulty about payment on the part of the respected bankers + on whom he drew. On your honor and conscience, do you think that old widow + who was walking from Tunbridge Wells to Harlow had a daughter ill, and was + an honest woman at all? The daughter couldn't always, you see, be being + ill, and her mother on her way to her dear child through Hyde Park. In the + same way some habitual sneerers may be inclined to hint that the cabman's + story was an invention—or at any rate, choose to ride off (so to + speak) on the doubt. No. My opinion, I own, is unfavorable as regards the + widow from Tunbridge Wells, and Major Delamere; but, believing the cabman + was honest, I am glad to think he was not injured by the reader's most + humble servant. + </p> + <p> + What a queer, exciting life this rogue's march must be: this attempt of + the bad half-crowns to get into circulation! Had my distinguished friend + the Major knocked at many doors that morning, before operating on mine? + The sport must be something akin to the pleasure of tiger or elephant + hunting. What ingenuity the sportsman must have in tracing his prey—what + daring and caution in coming upon him! What coolness in facing the angry + animal (for, after all, a man on whom you draw a cheque a bout portant + will be angry). What a delicious thrill of triumph, if you can bring him + down! If I have money at the banker's and draw for a portion of it over + the counter, that is mere prose—any dolt can do that. But, having no + balance, say I drive up in a cab, present a cheque at Coutts's, and, + receiving the amount, drive off? What a glorious morning's sport that has + been! How superior in excitement to the common transactions of every-day + life! . . . I must tell a story; it is against myself, I know, but it WILL + out, and perhaps my mind will be the easier. + </p> + <p> + More than twenty years ago, in an island remarkable for its verdure, I met + four or five times one of the most agreeable companions with whom I have + passed a night. I heard that evil times had come upon this gentleman; and, + overtaking him in a road near my own house one evening, I asked him to + come home to dinner, In two days, he was at my door again. At + breakfast-time was this second appearance. He was in a cab (of course he + was in a cab, they always are, these unfortunate, these courageous men). + To deny myself was absurd. My friend could see me over the parlor blinds, + surrounded by my family, and cheerfully partaking of the morning meal. + Might he have a word with me? and can you imagine its purport? By the most + provoking delay, his uncle the admiral not being able to come to town till + Friday—would I cash him a cheque? I need not say it would be paid on + Saturday without fail. I tell you that man went away with money in his + pocket, and I regret to add that his gallant relative has not COME TO TOWN + YET! + </p> + <p> + Laying down the pen, and sinking back in my chair, here, perhaps, I fall + into a five minutes' reverie, and think of one, two, three, half a dozen + cases in which I have been content to accept that sham promissory coin in + return for sterling money advanced. Not a reader, whatever his age, but + could tell a like story. I vow and believe there are men of fifty, who + will dine well today, who have not paid their school debts yet, and who + have not taken up their long-protested promises to pay. Tom, Dick, Harry, + my boys, I owe you no grudge, and rather relish that wince with which you + will read these meek lines and say, “He means me.” Poor Jack in Hades! Do + you remember a certain pecuniary transaction, and a little sum of money + you borrowed “until the meeting of Parliament?” Parliament met often in + your lifetime: Parliament has met since: but I think I should scarce be + more surprised if your ghost glided into the room now, and laid down the + amount of our little account, than I should have been if you had paid me + in your lifetime with the actual acceptances of the Bank of England. You + asked to borrow, but you never intended to pay. I would as soon have + believed that a promissory note of Sir John Falstaff (accepted by Messrs. + Bardolph and Nym, and payable in Aldgate,) would be as sure to find + payment, as that note of the departed—nay, lamented—Jack + Thriftless. + </p> + <p> + He who borrows, meaning to pay, is quite a different person from the + individual here described. Many—most, I hope—took Jack's + promise for what it was worth—and quite well knew that when he said, + “Lend me,” he meant “Give me” twenty pounds. “Give me change for this + half-crown,” said Jack; “I know it's a pewter piece;” and you gave him the + change in honest silver, and pocketed the counterfeit gravely. + </p> + <p> + What a queer consciousness that must be which accompanies such a man in + his sleeping, in his waking, in his walk through life, by his fireside + with his children round him! “For what we are going to receive,” &c.—he + says grace before his dinner. “My dears! Shall I help you to some mutton? + I robbed the butcher of the meat. I don't intend to pay him. Johnson my + boy, a glass of champagne? Very good, isn't it? Not too sweet. Forty-six. + I get it from So-and-so, whom I intend to cheat.” As eagles go forth and + bring home to their eaglets the lamb or the pavid kid, I say there are men + who live and victual their nests by plunder. We all know highway robbers + in white neck-cloths, domestic bandits, marauders, passers of bad coin. + What was yonder cheque which Major Delamere proposed I should cash but a + piece of bad money? What was Jack Thriftless's promise to pay? Having got + his booty, I fancy Jack or the Major returning home, and wife and children + gathering round about him. Poor wife and children! They respect papa very + likely. They don't know he is false coin. Maybe the wife has a dreadful + inkling of the truth, and, sickening, tries to hide it from the daughters + and sons. Maybe she is an accomplice: herself a brazen forgery. If Turpin + and Jack Sheppard were married, very likely Mesdames Sheppard and Turpin + did not know, at first, what their husbands' real profession was, and + fancied, when the men left home in the morning, they only went away to + follow some regular and honorable business. Then a suspicion of the truth + may have come: then a dreadful revelation; and presently we have the + guilty pair robbing together, or passing forged money each on his own + account. You know Doctor Dodd? I wonder whether his wife knows that he is + a forger, and scoundrel? Has she had any of the plunder, think you, and + were the darling children's new dresses bought with it? The Doctor's + sermon last Sunday was certainly charming, and we all cried. Ah, my poor + Dodd! Whilst he is preaching most beautifully, pocket-handkerchief in + hand, he is peering over the pulpit cushions, looking out piteously for + Messrs. Peachum and Lockit from the police-office. By Doctor Dodd you + understand I would typify the rogue of respectable exterior, not committed + to gaol yet, but not undiscovered. We all know one or two such. This very + sermon perhaps will be read by some, or more likely—for, depend upon + it, your solemn hypocritic scoundrels don't care much for light literature—more + likely, I say, this discourse will be read by some of their wives, who + think, “Ah mercy! does that horrible cynical wretch know how my poor + husband blacked my eye, or abstracted mamma's silver teapot, or forced me + to write So-and-so's name on that piece of stamped paper, or what not?” My + good creature, I am not angry with YOU. If your husband has broken your + nose, you will vow that he had authority over your person, and a right to + demolish any part of it: if he has conveyed away your mamma's teapot, you + will say that she gave it to him at your marriage, and it was very ugly, + and what not? if he takes your aunt's watch, and you love him, you will + carry it ere long to the pawnbroker's, and perjure yourself—oh, how + you will perjure yourself—in the witness-box! I know this is a + degrading view of woman's noble nature, her exalted mission, and so forth, + and so forth. I know you will say this is bad morality. Is it? Do you, or + do you not, expect your womankind to stick by you for better or for worse? + Say I have committed a forgery, and the officers come in search of me, is + my wife, Mrs. Dodd, to show them into the dining-room and say, “Pray step + in, gentlemen! My husband has just come home from church. That bill with + my Lord Chesterfield's acceptance, I am bound to own, was never written by + his lordship, and the signature is in the doctor's handwriting?” I say, + would any man of sense or honor, or fine feeling, praise his wife for + telling the truth under such circumstances? Suppose she made a fine + grimace, and said, “Most painful as my position is, most deeply as I feel + for my William, yet truth must prevail, and I deeply lament to state that + the beloved partner of my life DID commit the flagitious act with which he + is charged, and is at this present moment located in the two-pair back, up + the chimney, whither it is my duty to lead you.” Why, even Dodd himself, + who was one of the greatest humbugs who ever lived, would not have had the + face to say that he approved of his wife telling the truth in such a case. + Would you have had Flora Macdonald beckon the officers, saying, “This way, + gentlemen! You will find the young chevalier asleep in that cavern.” Or + don't you prefer her to be splendide mendax, and ready at all risks to + save him? If ever I lead a rebellion, and my women betray me, may I be + hanged but I will not forgive them: and if ever I steal a teapot, and MY + women don't stand up for me, pass the article under their shawls, whisk + down the street with it, outbluster the policeman, and utter any amount of + fibs before Mr. Beak, those beings are not what I take them to be, and—for + a fortune—I won't give them so much as a bad half-crown. + </p> + <p> + Is conscious guilt a source of unmixed pain to the bosom which harbors it? + Has not your criminal, on the contrary, an excitement, an enjoyment within + quite unknown to you and me who never did anything wrong in our lives? The + housebreaker must snatch a fearful joy as he walks unchallenged by the + policeman with his sack full of spoons and tankards. Do not cracksmen, + when assembled together, entertain themselves with stories of glorious old + burglaries which they or bygone heroes have committed? But that my age is + mature and my habits formed, I should really just like to try a little + criminality. Fancy passing a forged bill to your banker; calling on a + friend and sweeping his sideboard of plate, his hall of umbrellas and + coats; and then going home to dress for dinner, say—and to meet a + bishop, a judge, and a police magistrate or so, and talk more morally than + any man at table! How I should chuckle (as my host's spoons clinked softly + in my pocket) whilst I was uttering some noble speech about virtue, duty, + charity! I wonder do we meet garroters in society? In an average + tea-party, now, how many returned convicts are there? Does John Footman, + when he asks permission to go and spend the evening with some friends, + pass his time in thuggee; waylay and strangle an old gentleman, or two; + let himself into your house, with the house-key of course, and appear as + usual with the shaving-water when you ring your bell in the morning? The + very possibility of such a suspicion invests John with a new and romantic + interest in my mind. Behind the grave politeness of his countenance I try + and read the lurking treason. Full of this pleasing subject, I have been + talking thief-stories with a neighbor. The neighbor tells me how some + friends of hers used to keep a jewel-box under a bed in their room; and, + going into the room, they thought they heard a noise under the bed. They + had the courage to look. The cook was under the bed—under the bed + with the jewel-box. Of course she said she had come for purposes connected + with her business; but this was absurd. A cook under a bed is not there + for professional purposes. A relation of mine had a box containing + diamonds under her bed, which diamonds she told me were to be mine. Mine! + One day, at dinner-time, between the entrees and the roast, a cab drove + away from my relative's house containing the box wherein lay the diamonds. + John laid the dessert, brought the coffee, waited all the evening—and + oh, how frightened he was when he came to learn that his mistress's box + had been conveyed out of her own room, and it contained diamonds—“Law + bless us, did it now?” I wonder whether John's subsequent career has been + prosperous? Perhaps the gentlemen from Bow Street were all in the wrong + when they agreed in suspecting John as the author of the robbery. His + noble nature was hurt at the suspicion. You conceive he would not like to + remain in a family where they were mean enough to suspect him of stealing + a jewel-box out of a bedroom—and the injured man and my relatives + soon parted. But, inclining (with my usual cynicism) to think that he did + steal the valuables, think of his life for the month or two whilst he + still remains in the service! He shows the officers over the house, agrees + with them that the coup must have been made by persons familiar with it; + gives them every assistance; pities his master and mistress with a manly + compassion; points out what a cruel misfortune it is to himself as an + honest man, with his living to get and his family to provide for, that + this suspicion should fall on him. Finally he takes leave of his place, + with a deep, though natural melancholy that ever he had accepted it. + What's a thousand pounds to gentle-folks! A loss, certainly, but they will + live as well without the diamonds as with them. But to John his Hhhonor + was worth more than diamonds, his Hhonor was. Whohever is to give him back + his character? Who is to prevent hany one from saying, “Ho yes. This is + the footman which was in the family where the diamonds was stole?” &c. + </p> + <p> + I wonder has John prospered in life subsequently? If he is innocent he + does not interest me in the least. The interest of the case lies in John's + behavior supposing him to be guilty. Imagine the smiling face, the daily + service, the orderly performance of duty, whilst within John is suffering + pangs lest discovery should overtake him. Every bell of the door which he + is obliged to open may bring a police officer. The accomplices may peach. + What an exciting life John's must have been for a while. And now, years + and years after, when pursuit has long ceased, and detection is + impossible, does he ever revert to the little transaction? Is it possible + those diamonds cost a thousand pounds? What a rogue the fence must have + been who only gave him so and so! And I pleasingly picture to myself an + old ex-footman and an ancient receiver of stolen goods meeting and talking + over this matter, which dates from times so early that her present + Majesty's fair image could only just have begun to be coined or forged. + </p> + <p> + I choose to take John at the time when his little peccadillo is suspected, + perhaps, but when there is no specific charge of robbery against him. He + is not yet convicted: he is not even on his trial; how then can we venture + to say he is guilty? Now think what scores of men and women walk the world + in a like predicament; and what false coin passes current! Pinchbeck + strives to pass off his history as sound coin. He knows it is only base + metal, washed over with a thin varnish of learning. Poluphloisbos puts his + sermons in circulation: sounding brass, lacquered over with white metal, + and marked with the stamp and image of piety. What say you to Drawcansir's + reputation as a military commander? to Tibbs's pretensions to be a fine + gentleman? to Sapphira's claims as a poetess, or Rodoessa's as a beauty? + His bravery, his piety, high birth, genius, beauty—each of these + deceivers would palm his falsehood on us, and have us accept his forgeries + as sterling coin. And we talk here, please to observe, of weaknesses + rather than crimes. Some of us have more serious things to hide than a + yellow cheek behind a raddle of rouge, or a white poll under a wig of + jetty curls. You know, neighbor, there are not only false teeth in this + world, but false tongues: and some make up a bust and an appearance of + strength with padding, cotton, and what not? while another kind of artist + tries to take you in by wearing under his waistcoat, and perpetually + thumping, an immense sham heart. Dear sir, may yours and mine be found, at + the right time, of the proper size and in the right place. + </p> + <p> + And what has this to do with half-crowns, good or bad? Ah, friend! may our + coin, battered, and clipped, and defaced though it be, be proved to be + Sterling Silver on the day of the Great Assay! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + “STRANGE TO SAY, ON CLUB PAPER.” + </h2> + <p> + Before the Duke of York's column, and between the “Athenaeum” and “United + Service” Clubs, I have seen more than once, on the esplanade, a preacher + holding forth to a little congregation of badauds and street-boys, whom he + entertains with a discourse on the crimes of a rapacious aristocracy, or + warns of the imminent peril of their own souls. Sometimes this orator is + made to “move on” by brutal policemen. Sometimes, on a Sunday, he points + to a white head or two visible in the windows of the Clubs to the right + and left of him, and volunteers a statement that those quiet and elderly + Sabbath-breakers will very soon be called from this world to another, + where their lot will by no means be so comfortable as that which the + reprobates enjoy here, in their arm-chairs by their snug fires. + </p> + <p> + At the end of last month, had I been a Pall Mall preacher, I would have + liked to send a whip round to all the Clubs in St. James's, and convoke + the few members remaining in London to hear a discourse sub Dio on a text + from the Observer newspaper. I would have taken post under the statue of + Fame, say, where she stands distributing wreaths to the three Crimean + Guardsmen. (The crossing-sweeper does not obstruct the path, and I suppose + is away at his villa on Sundays.) And, when the congregation was pretty + quiet, I would have begun:— + </p> + <p> + In the Observer of the 27th September, 1863, in the fifth page and the + fourth column, it is thus written:— + </p> + <p> + “The codicil appended to the will of the late Lord Clyde, executed at + Chatham, and bearing the signature of Clyde, F. M., is written, strange to + say, on a sheet of paper BEARING THE 'ATHENAEUM CLUB' MARK.” + </p> + <p> + What the codicil is, my dear brethren, it is not our business to inquire. + It conveys a benefaction to a faithful and attached friend of the good + Field-Marshal. The gift may be a lakh of rupees, or it may be a house and + its contents—furniture, plate, and wine-cellar. My friends, I know + the wine-merchant, and, for the sake of the legatee, hope heartily that + the stock is large. + </p> + <p> + Am I wrong, dear brethren, in supposing that you expect a preacher to say + a seasonable word on death here? If you don't, I fear you are but little + familiar with the habits of preachers, and are but lax hearers of sermons. + We might contrast the vault where the warrior's remains lie shrouded and + coffined, with that in which his worldly provision of wine is stowed away. + Spain and Portugal and France—all the lands which supplied his store—as + hardy and obedient subaltern, as resolute captain, as colonel daring but + prudent—he has visited the fields of all. In India and China he + marches always unconquered; or at the head of his dauntless Highland + brigade he treads the Crimean snow; or he rides from conquest to conquest + in India once more; succoring his countrymen in the hour of their utmost + need; smiting down the scared mutiny, and trampling out the embers of + rebellion; at the head of an heroic army, a consummate chief. And now his + glorious old sword is sheathed, and his honors are won: and he has bought + him a house, and stored it with modest cheer for his friends (the good old + man put water in his own wine, and a glass or two sufficed him)—behold + the end comes, and his legatee inherits these modest possessions by virtue + of a codicil to his lordship's will, written, “strange to say, upon a + sheet of paper, bearing the 'Athenaeum Club' mark.” + </p> + <p> + It is to this part of the text, my brethren, that I propose to address + myself particularly, and if the remarks I make are offensive to any of + you, you know the doors of our meeting-house are open, and you can walk + out when you will. Around us are magnificent halls and palaces frequented + by such a multitude of men as not even the Roman Forum assembled together. + Yonder are the Martium and the Palladium. Next to the Palladium is the + elegant Viatorium, which Barry gracefully stole from Rome. By its side is + the massive Reformatorium: and the—the Ultratorium rears its granite + columns beyond. Extending down the street palace after palace rises + magnificent, and under their lofty roofs warriors and lawyers, merchants + and nobles, scholars and seamen, the wealthy, the poor, the busy, the idle + assemble. Into the halls built down this little street and its + neighborhood the principal men of all London come to hear or impart the + news; and the affairs of the state or of private individuals, the quarrels + of empires or of authors, the movements of the court, or the splendid + vagaries of fashion, the intrigues of statesmen or of persons of another + sex yet more wily, the last news of battles in the great occidental + continents, nay, the latest betting for the horse-races, or the advent of + a dancer at the theatre—all that men do is discussed in these Pall + Mall agorae, where we of London daily assemble. + </p> + <p> + Now among so many talkers, consider how many false reports must fly about: + in such multitudes imagine how many disappointed men there must be; how + many chatterboxes; how many feeble and credulous (whereof I mark some + specimens in my congregation); how many mean, rancorous, prone to believe + ill of their betters, eager to find fault; and then, my brethren, fancy + how the words of my text must have been read and received in Pall Mall! (I + perceive several of the congregation looking most uncomfortable. One old + boy with a dyed moustache turns purple in the face, and struts back to the + Martium: another, with a shrug of the shoulder and a murmur of “Rubbish,” + slinks away in the direction of the Togatorium, and the preacher + continues.) The will of Field-Marshal Lord Clyde—signed AT CHATHAM, + mind, where his lordship died—is written, STRANGE TO SAY, on a sheet + of paper bearing the “Athenaeum Club” mark! + </p> + <p> + The inference is obvious. A man cannot get Athenaeum paper except at the + “Athenaeum.” Such paper is not sold at Chatham, where the last codicil to + his lordship's will is dated. And so the painful belief is forced upon us, + that a Peer, a Field-Marshal, wealthy, respected, illustrious, could + pocket paper at his Club, and carry it away with him to the country. One + fancies the hall-porter conscious of the old lord's iniquity, and holding + down his head as the Marshal passes the door. What is that roll which his + lordship carries? Is it his Marshal's baton gloriously won? No; it is a + roll of foolscap conveyed from the Club. What has he on his breast, under + his greatcoat? Is it his Star of India? No; it is a bundle of envelopes, + bearing the head of Minerva, some sealing-wax, and a half-score of pens. + </p> + <p> + Let us imagine how in the hall of one or other of these Clubs this strange + anecdote will be discussed. + </p> + <p> + “Notorious screw,” says Sneer. “The poor old fellow's avarice has long + been known.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose he wishes to imitate the Duke of Marlborough,” says Simper. + </p> + <p> + “Habit of looting contracted in India, you know; ain't so easy to get + over, you know,” says Snigger. + </p> + <p> + “When officers dined with him in India,” remarks Solemn, “it was notorious + that the spoons were all of a different pattern.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it isn't true. Suppose he wrote his paper at the Club?” + interposes Jones. + </p> + <p> + “It is dated at Chatham, my good man,” says Brown. “A man if he is in + London says he is in London. A man if he is in Rochester says he is in + Rochester. This man happens to forget that he is using the Club paper; and + he happens to be found out: many men DON'T happen to be found out. I've + seen literary fellows at Clubs writing their rubbishing articles; I have + no doubt they take away reams of paper. They crib thoughts: why shouldn't + they crib stationery? One of your literary vagabonds who is capable of + stabbing a reputation, who is capable of telling any monstrous falsehood + to support his party, is surely capable of stealing a ream of paper.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, we have all our weaknesses,” sighs Robinson. “Seen that + article, Thompson, in the Observer about Lord Clyde and the Club paper? + You'll find it up stairs. In the third column of the fifth page towards + the bottom of the page. I suppose he was so poor he couldn't afford to buy + a quire of paper. Hadn't fourpence in the world. Oh, no!” + </p> + <p> + “And they want to get up a testimonial to this man's memory—a statue + or something!” cries Jawkins. “A man who wallows in wealth and takes paper + away from his Club! I don't say he is not brave. Brutal courage most men + have. I don't say he was not a good officer: a man with such experience + MUST have been a good officer unless he was a born fool. But to think of + this man loaded with honors—though of a low origin—so lost to + self-respect as actually to take away the 'Athenaeum' paper! These + parvenus, sir, betray their origin—betray their origin. I said to my + wife this very morning, 'Mrs. Jawkins,' I said, 'there is talk of a + testimonial to this man. I will not give one shilling. I have no idea of + raising statues to fellows who take away Club paper. No, by George, I have + not. Why, they will be raising statues to men who take Club spoons next! + Not one penny of MY money shall they have!'” + </p> + <p> + And now, if you please, we will tell the real story which has furnished + this scandal to a newspaper, this tattle to Club gossips and loungers. The + Field-Marshal, wishing to make a further provision for a friend, informed + his lawyer what he desired to do. The lawyer, a member of the “Athenaeum + Club,” there wrote the draft of such a codicil as he would advise, and + sent the paper by the post to Lord Clyde at Chatham. Lord Clyde finding + the paper perfectly satisfactory, signed it and sent it back: and hence we + have the story of “the codicil bearing the signature of Clyde, F. M., and + written, strange to say, upon paper bearing the 'Athenaeum Club' mark.” + </p> + <p> + Here I have been imagining a dialogue between a half-dozen gossips such as + congregate round a Club fireplace of an afternoon. I wonder how many + people besides—whether any chance reader of this very page has read + and believed this story about the good old lord? Have the country papers + copied the anecdote, and our “own correspondents” made their remarks on + it? If, my good sir, or madam, you have read it and credited it, don't you + own to a little feeling of shame and sorrow, now that the trumpery little + mystery is cleared? To “the new inhabitant of light,” passed away and out + of reach of our censure, misrepresentation, scandal, dulness, malice, a + silly falsehood matters nothing. Censure and praise are alike to him— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The music warbling to the deafened ear, + The incense wasted on the funeral bier,” + </pre> + <p> + the pompous eulogy pronounced over the gravestone, or the lie that slander + spits on it. Faithfully though this brave old chief did his duty, honest + and upright though his life was, glorious his renown—you see he + could write at Chatham on London paper; you see men can be found to point + out how “strange” his behavior was. + </p> + <p> + And about ourselves? My good people, do you by chance know any man or + woman who has formed unjust conclusions regarding his neighbor? Have you + ever found yourself willing, nay, eager to believe evil of some man whom + you hate? Whom you hate because he is successful, and you are not: because + he is rich, and you are poor: because he dines with great men who don't + invite you: because he wears a silk gown, and yours is still stuff: + because he has been called in to perform the operation though you lived + close by: because his pictures have been bought and yours returned home + unsold: because he fills his church, and you are preaching to empty pews? + If your rival prospers have you ever felt a twinge of anger? If his wife's + carriage passes you and Mrs. Tomkins, who are in a cab, don't you feel + that those people are giving themselves absurd airs of importance? If he + lives with great people, are you not sure he is a sneak? And if you ever + felt envy towards another, and if your heart has ever been black towards + your brother, if you have been peevish at his success, pleased to hear his + merit depreciated, and eager to believe all that is said in his disfavor—my + good sir, as you yourself contritely own that you are unjust, jealous, + uncharitable, so, you may be sure, some men are uncharitable, jealous, and + unjust regarding YOU. + </p> + <p> + The proofs and manuscript of this little sermon have just come from the + printer's, and as I look at the writing, I perceive, not without a smile, + that one or two of the pages bear, “strange to say,” the mark of a Club of + which I have the honor to be a member. Those lines quoted in a foregoing + page are from some noble verses written by one of Mr. Addison's men, Mr. + Tickell, on the death of Cadogan, who was amongst the most prominent “of + Marlborough's captains and Eugenio's friends.” If you are acquainted with + the history of those times, you have read how Cadogan had his feuds and + hatreds too, as Tickell's patron had his, as Cadogan's great chief had + his. “The Duke of Marlborough's character has been so variously drawn” + (writes a famous contemporary of the duke's), “that it is hard to + pronounce on either side without the suspicion of flattery or detraction. + I shall say nothing of his military accomplishments, which the opposite + reports of his friends and enemies among the soldiers have rendered + problematical. Those maligners who deny him personal valor, seem not to + consider that this accusation is charged at a venture, since the person of + a general is too seldom exposed, and that fear which is said sometimes to + have disconcerted him before action might probably be more for his army + than himself.” If Swift could hint a doubt of Marlborough's courage, what + wonder that a nameless scribe of our day should question the honor of + Clyde? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LAST SKETCH. + </h2> + <p> + Not many days since I went to visit a house where in former years I had + received many a friendly welcome. We went into the owner's—an + artist's—studio. Prints, pictures, and sketches hung on the walls as + I had last seen and remembered them. The implements of the painter's art + were there. The light which had shone upon so many, many hours of patient + and cheerful toil, poured through the northern window upon print and bust, + lay figure and sketch, and upon the easel before which the good, the + gentle, the beloved Leslie labored. In this room the busy brain had + devised, and the skilful hand executed, I know not how many of the noble + works which have delighted the world with their beauty and charming humor. + Here the poet called up into pictorial presence, and informed with life, + grace, beauty, infinite friendly mirth and wondrous naturalness of + expression, the people of whom his dear books told him the stories,—his + Shakspeare, his Cervantes, his Moliere, his Le Sage. There was his last + work on the easel—a beautiful fresh smiling shape of Titania, such + as his sweet guileless fancy imagined the Midsummer Night's queen to be. + Gracious, and pure, and bright, the sweet smiling image glimmers on the + canvas. Fairy elves, no doubt, were to have been grouped around their + mistress in laughing clusters. Honest Bottom's grotesque head and form are + indicated as reposing by the side of the consummate beauty. The darkling + forest would have grown around them, with the stars glittering from the + midsummer sky: the flowers at the queen's feet, and the boughs and foliage + about her, would have been peopled with gambolling sprites and fays. They + were dwelling in the artist's mind no doubt, and would have been developed + by that patient, faithful, admirable genius: but the busy brain stopped + working, the skilful hand fell lifeless, the loving, honest heart ceased + to beat. What was she to have been—that fair Titania—when + perfected by the patient skill of the poet, who in imagination saw the + sweet innocent figure, and with tender courtesy and caresses, as it were, + posed and shaped and traced the fair form? Is there record kept anywhere + of fancies conceived, beautiful, unborn? Some day will they assume form in + some yet undeveloped light? If our bad unspoken thoughts are registered + against us, and are written in the awful account, will not the good + thoughts unspoken, the love and tenderness, the pity, beauty, charity, + which pass through the breast, and cause the heart to throb with silent + good, find a remembrance too? A few weeks more, and this lovely offspring + of the poet's conception would have been complete—to charm the world + with its beautiful mirth. May there not be some sphere unknown to us where + it may have an existence? They say our words, once out of our lips, go + travelling in omne oevum, reverberating for ever and ever. If our words, + why not our thoughts? If the Has Been, why not the Might Have Been? + </p> + <p> + Some day our spirits may be permitted to walk in galleries of fancies more + wondrous and beautiful than any achieved works which at present we see, + and our minds to behold and delight in masterpieces which poets' and + artists' minds have fathered and conceived only. + </p> + <p> + With a feeling much akin to that with which I looked upon the friend's—the + admirable artist's—unfinished work, I can fancy many readers turning + to the last pages which were traced by Charlotte Bronte's hand. Of the + multitude that have read her books, who has not known and deplored the + tragedy of her family, her own most sad and untimely fate? Which of her + readers has not become her friend? Who that has known her books has not + admired the artist's noble English, the burning love of truth, the + bravery, the simplicity, the indignation at wrong, the eager sympathy, the + pious love and reverence, the passionate honor, so to speak, of the woman? + What a story is that of that family of poets in their solitude yonder on + the gloomy northern moors! At nine o'clock at night, Mrs. Gaskell tells, + after evening prayers, when their guardian and relative had gone to bed, + the three poetesses—the three maidens, Charlotte, and Emily, and + Anne—Charlotte being the “motherly friend and guardian to the other + two”—“began, like restless wild animals, to pace up and down their + parlor, 'making out' their wonderful stories, talking over plans and + projects, and thoughts of what was to be their future life.” + </p> + <p> + One evening, at the close of 1854, as Charlotte Nicholls sat with her + husband by the fire, listening to the howling of the wind about the house, + she suddenly said to her husband, “If you had not been with me, I must + have been writing now.” She then ran up stairs, and brought down, and read + aloud, the beginning of a new tale. When she had finished, her husband + remarked, “The critics will accuse you of repetition.” She replied, “Oh! I + shall alter that. I always begin two or three times before I can please + myself.” But it was not to be. The trembling little hand was to write no + more. The heart newly awakened to love and happiness, and throbbing with + maternal hope, was soon to cease to beat; that intrepid outspeaker and + champion of truth, that eager, impetuous redresser of wrong, was to be + called out of the world's fight and struggle, to lay down the shining + arms, and to be removed to a sphere where even a noble indignation cor + ulterius nequit lacerare, and where truth complete, and right triumphant, + no longer need to wage war. + </p> + <p> + I can only say of this lady, vidi tantum. I saw her first just as I rose + out of an illness from which I had never thought to recover. I remember + the trembling little frame, the little hand, the great honest eyes. An + impetuous honesty seemed to me to characterize the woman. Twice I + recollect she took me to task for what she held to be errors in doctrine. + Once about Fielding we had a disputation. She spoke her mind out. She + jumped too rapidly to conclusions. (I have smiled at one or two passages + in the “Biography,” in which my own disposition or behavior forms the + subject of talk.) She formed conclusions that might be wrong, and built up + whole theories of character upon them. New to the London world, she + entered it with an independent, indomitable spirit of her own; and judged + of contemporaries, and especially spied out arrogance or affectation, with + extraordinary keenness of vision. She was angry with her favorites if + their conduct or conversation fell below her ideal. Often she seemed to me + to be judging the London folk prematurely: but perhaps the city is rather + angry at being judged. I fancied an austere little Joan of Arc marching in + upon us, and rebuking our easy lives, our easy morals. She gave me the + impression of being a very pure, and lofty, and high-minded person. A + great and holy reverence of right and truth seemed to be with her always. + Such, in our brief interview, she appeared to me. As one thinks of that + life so noble, so lonely—of that passion for truth—of those + nights and nights of eager study, swarming fancies, invention, depression, + elation, prayer; as one reads the necessarily incomplete, though most + touching and admirable history of the heart that throbbed in this one + little frame—of this one amongst the myriads of souls that have + lived and died on this great earth—this great earth?—this + little speck in the infinite universe of God,—with what wonder do we + think of to-day, with what awe await to-morrow, when that which is now but + darkly seen shall be clear! As I read this little fragmentary sketch, I + think of the rest. Is it? And where is it? Will not the leaf be turned + some day, and the story be told? Shall the deviser of the tale somewhere + perfect the history of little EMMA'S griefs and troubles? Shall TITANIA + come forth complete with her sportive court, with the flowers at her feet, + the forest around her, and all the stars of summer glittering overhead? + </p> + <p> + How well I remember the delight, and wonder, and pleasure with which I + read “Jane Eyre,” sent to me by an author whose name and sex were then + alike unknown to me; the strange fascinations of the book; and how with my + own work pressing upon me, I could not, having taken the volumes up, lay + them down until they were read through! Hundreds of those who, like + myself, recognized and admired that master-work of a great genius, will + look with a mournful interest and regard and curiosity upon the last + fragmentary sketch from the noble hand which wrote “Jane Eyre.” + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Roundabout Papers, by William Makepeace Thackeray + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROUNDABOUT PAPERS *** + +***** This file should be named 2608-h.htm or 2608-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/0/2608/ + +Produced by Donald Lainson; David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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