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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/872-0.txt b/872-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..61f9e10 --- /dev/null +++ b/872-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9078 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Reprinted Pieces, by Charles Dickens + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: Reprinted Pieces + + +Author: Charles Dickens + + + +Release Date: December 25, 2014 [eBook #872] +[This file was first posted on February 6, 1997] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK REPRINTED PIECES*** + + +Transcribed from the 1905 Chapman and Hall edition by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org + + + + + + Reprinted Pieces + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE +_The Long Voyage_ 309 +_The Begging-letter Writer_ 317 +_A Child’s Dream of a Star_ 324 +_Our English Watering-place_ 327 +_Our French Watering-place_ 335 +_Bill-sticking_ 346 +“_Births_. _Mrs. Meek_, _of a Son_” 357 +_Lying Awake_ 361 +_The Ghost of Art_ 367 +_Out of Town_ 373 +_Out of the Season_ 379 +_A Poor Man’s Tale of a Patent_ 386 +_The Noble Savage_ 391 +_A Flight_ 397 +_The Detective Police_ 406 +_Three_ “_Detective_” _Anecdotes_ 422 + _I.—The Pair of + Gloves_ + _II.—The Artful + Touch_ + _III.—The Sofa_ +_On Duty with Inspector Field_ 430 +_Down with the Tide_ 442 +_A Walk in a Workhouse_ 451 +_Prince Bull_. _A Fairy Tale_ 457 +_A Plated Article_ 462 +_Our Honourable Friend_ 470 +_Our School_ 475 +_Our Vestry_ 481 +_Our Bore_ 487 +_A Monument of French Folly_ 494 + + [Picture: The long voyage] + + + + +THE LONG VOYAGE + + +WHEN the wind is blowing and the sleet or rain is driving against the +dark windows, I love to sit by the fire, thinking of what I have read in +books of voyage and travel. Such books have had a strong fascination for +my mind from my earliest childhood; and I wonder it should have come to +pass that I never have been round the world, never have been shipwrecked, +ice-environed, tomahawked, or eaten. + +Sitting on my ruddy hearth in the twilight of New Year’s Eve, I find +incidents of travel rise around me from all the latitudes and longitudes +of the globe. They observe no order or sequence, but appear and vanish +as they will—‘come like shadows, so depart.’ Columbus, alone upon the +sea with his disaffected crew, looks over the waste of waters from his +high station on the poop of his ship, and sees the first uncertain +glimmer of the light, ‘rising and falling with the waves, like a torch in +the bark of some fisherman,’ which is the shining star of a new world. +Bruce is caged in Abyssinia, surrounded by the gory horrors which shall +often startle him out of his sleep at home when years have passed away. +Franklin, come to the end of his unhappy overland journey—would that it +had been his last!—lies perishing of hunger with his brave companions: +each emaciated figure stretched upon its miserable bed without the power +to rise: all, dividing the weary days between their prayers, their +remembrances of the dear ones at home, and conversation on the pleasures +of eating; the last-named topic being ever present to them, likewise, in +their dreams. All the African travellers, wayworn, solitary and sad, +submit themselves again to drunken, murderous, man-selling despots, of +the lowest order of humanity; and Mungo Park, fainting under a tree and +succoured by a woman, gratefully remembers how his Good Samaritan has +always come to him in woman’s shape, the wide world over. + +A shadow on the wall in which my mind’s eye can discern some traces of a +rocky sea-coast, recalls to me a fearful story of travel derived from +that unpromising narrator of such stories, a parliamentary blue-book. A +convict is its chief figure, and this man escapes with other prisoners +from a penal settlement. It is an island, and they seize a boat, and get +to the main land. Their way is by a rugged and precipitous sea-shore, +and they have no earthly hope of ultimate escape, for the party of +soldiers despatched by an easier course to cut them off, must inevitably +arrive at their distant bourne long before them, and retake them if by +any hazard they survive the horrors of the way. Famine, as they all must +have foreseen, besets them early in their course. Some of the party die +and are eaten; some are murdered by the rest and eaten. This one awful +creature eats his fill, and sustains his strength, and lives on to be +recaptured and taken back. The unrelateable experiences through which he +has passed have been so tremendous, that he is not hanged as he might be, +but goes back to his old chained-gang work. A little time, and he tempts +one other prisoner away, seizes another boat, and flies once +more—necessarily in the old hopeless direction, for he can take no other. +He is soon cut off, and met by the pursuing party face to face, upon the +beach. He is alone. In his former journey he acquired an inappeasable +relish for his dreadful food. He urged the new man away, expressly to +kill him and eat him. In the pockets on one side of his coarse +convict-dress, are portions of the man’s body, on which he is regaling; +in the pockets on the other side is an untouched store of salted pork +(stolen before he left the island) for which he has no appetite. He is +taken back, and he is hanged. But I shall never see that sea-beach on +the wall or in the fire, without him, solitary monster, eating as he +prowls along, while the sea rages and rises at him. + +Captain Bligh (a worse man to be entrusted with arbitrary power there +could scarcely be) is handed over the side of the Bounty, and turned +adrift on the wide ocean in an open boat, by order of Fletcher Christian, +one of his officers, at this very minute. Another flash of my fire, and +‘Thursday October Christian,’ five-and-twenty years of age, son of the +dead and gone Fletcher by a savage mother, leaps aboard His Majesty’s +ship Briton, hove-to off Pitcairn’s Island; says his simple grace before +eating, in good English; and knows that a pretty little animal on board +is called a dog, because in his childhood he had heard of such strange +creatures from his father and the other mutineers, grown grey under the +shade of the bread-fruit trees, speaking of their lost country far away. + +See the Halsewell, East Indiaman outward bound, driving madly on a +January night towards the rocks near Seacombe, on the island of Purbeck! +The captain’s two dear daughters are aboard, and five other ladies. The +ship has been driving many hours, has seven feet water in her hold, and +her mainmast has been cut away. The description of her loss, familiar to +me from my early boyhood, seems to be read aloud as she rushes to her +destiny. + + ‘About two in the morning of Friday the sixth of January, the ship + still driving, and approaching very fast to the shore, Mr. Henry + Meriton, the second mate, went again into the cuddy, where the + captain then was. Another conversation taking place, Captain Pierce + expressed extreme anxiety for the preservation of his beloved + daughters, and earnestly asked the officer if he could devise any + method of saving them. On his answering with great concern, that he + feared it would be impossible, but that their only chance would be to + wait for morning, the captain lifted up his hands in silent and + distressful ejaculation. + + ‘At this dreadful moment, the ship struck, with such violence as to + dash the heads of those standing in the cuddy against the deck above + them, and the shock was accompanied by a shriek of horror that burst + at one instant from every quarter of the ship. + + ‘Many of the seamen, who had been remarkably inattentive and remiss + in their duty during great part of the storm, now poured upon deck, + where no exertions of the officers could keep them, while their + assistance might have been useful. They had actually skulked in + their hammocks, leaving the working of the pumps and other necessary + labours to the officers of the ship, and the soldiers, who had made + uncommon exertions. Roused by a sense of their danger, the same + seamen, at this moment, in frantic exclamations, demanded of heaven + and their fellow-sufferers that succour which their own efforts, + timely made, might possibly have procured. + + ‘The ship continued to beat on the rocks; and soon bilging, fell with + her broadside towards the shore. When she struck, a number of the + men climbed up the ensign-staff, under an apprehension of her + immediately going to pieces. + + ‘Mr. Meriton, at this crisis, offered to these unhappy beings the + best advice which could be given; he recommended that all should come + to the side of the ship lying lowest on the rocks, and singly to take + the opportunities which might then offer, of escaping to the shore. + + ‘Having thus provided, to the utmost of his power, for the safety of + the desponding crew, he returned to the round-house, where, by this + time, all the passengers and most of the officers had assembled. The + latter were employed in offering consolation to the unfortunate + ladies; and, with unparalleled magnanimity, suffering their + compassion for the fair and amiable companions of their misfortunes + to prevail over the sense of their own danger. + + ‘In this charitable work of comfort, Mr. Meriton now joined, by + assurances of his opinion, that, the ship would hold together till + the morning, when all would be safe. Captain Pierce, observing one + of the young gentlemen loud in his exclamations of terror, and + frequently cry that the ship was parting, cheerfully bid him be + quiet, remarking that though the ship should go to pieces, he would + not, but would be safe enough. + + ‘It is difficult to convey a correct idea of the scene of this + deplorable catastrophe, without describing the place where it + happened. The Haleswell struck on the rocks at a part of the shore + where the cliff is of vast height, and rises almost perpendicular + from its base. But at this particular spot, the foot of the cliff is + excavated into a cavern of ten or twelve yards in depth, and of + breadth equal to the length of a large ship. The sides of the cavern + are so nearly upright, as to be of extremely difficult access; and + the bottom is strewed with sharp and uneven rocks, which seem, by + some convulsion of the earth, to have been detached from its roof. + + ‘The ship lay with her broadside opposite to the mouth of this + cavern, with her whole length stretched almost from side to side of + it. But when she struck, it was too dark for the unfortunate persons + on board to discover the real magnitude of the danger, and the + extreme horror of such a situation. + + ‘In addition to the company already in the round-house, they had + admitted three black women and two soldiers’ wives; who, with the + husband of one of them, had been allowed to come in, though the + seamen, who had tumultuously demanded entrance to get the lights, had + been opposed and kept out by Mr. Rogers and Mr. Brimer, the third and + fifth mates. The numbers there were, therefore, now increased to + near fifty. Captain Pierce sat on a chair, a cot, or some other + moveable, with a daughter on each side, whom he alternately pressed + to his affectionate breast. The rest of the melancholy assembly were + seated on the deck, which was strewed with musical instruments, and + the wreck of furniture and other articles. + + ‘Here also Mr. Meriton, after having cut several wax-candles in + pieces, and stuck them up in various parts of the round-house, and + lighted up all the glass lanthorns he could find, took his seat, + intending to wait the approach of dawn; and then assist the partners + of his dangers to escape. But, observing that the poor ladies + appeared parched and exhausted, he brought a basket of oranges and + prevailed on some of them to refresh themselves by sucking a little + of the juice. At this time they were all tolerably composed, except + Miss Mansel, who was in hysteric fits on the floor of the deck of the + round-house. + + ‘But on Mr. Meriton’s return to the company, he perceived a + considerable alteration in the appearance of the ship; the sides were + visibly giving way; the deck seemed to be lifting, and he discovered + other strong indications that she could not hold much longer + together. On this account, he attempted to go forward to look out, + but immediately saw that the ship had separated in the middle, and + that the forepart having changed its position, lay rather further out + towards the sea. In such an emergency, when the next moment might + plunge him into eternity, he determined to seize the present + opportunity, and follow the example of the crew and the soldiers, who + were now quitting the ship in numbers, and making their way to the + shore, though quite ignorant of its nature and description. + + ‘Among other expedients, the ensign-staff had been unshipped, and + attempted to be laid between the ship’s side and some of the rocks, + but without success, for it snapped asunder before it reached them. + However, by the light of a lanthorn, which a seaman handed through + the skylight of the round-house to the deck, Mr. Meriton discovered a + spar which appeared to be laid from the ship’s side to the rocks, and + on this spar he resolved to attempt his escape. + + ‘Accordingly, lying down upon it, he thrust himself forward; however, + he soon found that it had no communication with the rock; he reached + the end of it, and then slipped off, receiving a very violent bruise + in his fall, and before he could recover his legs, he was washed off + by the surge. He now supported himself by swimming, until a + returning wave dashed him against the back part of the cavern. Here + he laid hold of a small projection in the rock, but was so much + benumbed that he was on the point of quitting it, when a seaman, who + had already gained a footing, extended his hand, and assisted him + until he could secure himself a little on the rock; from which he + clambered on a shelf still higher, and out of the reach of the surf. + + ‘Mr. Rogers, the third mate, remained with the captain and the + unfortunate ladies and their companions nearly twenty minutes after + Mr. Meriton had quitted the ship. Soon after the latter left the + round-house, the captain asked what was become of him, to which Mr. + Rogers replied, that he was gone on deck to see what could be done. + After this, a heavy sea breaking over the ship, the ladies exclaimed, + “Oh, poor Meriton! he is drowned; had he stayed with us he would have + been safe!” and they all, particularly Miss Mary Pierce, expressed + great concern at the apprehension of his loss. + + ‘The sea was now breaking in at the fore part of the ship, and + reached as far as the mainmast. Captain Pierce gave Mr. Rogers a + nod, and they took a lamp and went together into the stern-gallery, + where, after viewing the rocks for some time, Captain Pierce asked + Mr. Rogers if he thought there was any possibility of saving the + girls; to which he replied, he feared there was none; for they could + only discover the black face of the perpendicular rock, and not the + cavern which afforded shelter to those who escaped. They then + returned to the round-house, where Mr. Rogers hung up the lamp, and + Captain Pierce sat down between his two daughters. + + ‘The sea continuing to break in very fast, Mr. Macmanus, a + midshipman, and Mr. Schutz, a passenger, asked Mr. Rogers what they + could do to escape. “Follow me,” he replied, and they all went into + the stern-gallery, and from thence to the upper-quarter-gallery on + the poop. While there, a very heavy sea fell on board, and the + round-house gave way; Mr. Rogers heard the ladies shriek at + intervals, as if the water reached them; the noise of the sea at + other times drowning their voices. + + ‘Mr. Brimer had followed him to the poop, where they remained + together about five minutes, when on the breaking of this heavy sea, + they jointly seized a hen-coop. The same wave which proved fatal to + some of those below, carried him and his companion to the rock, on + which they were violently dashed and miserably bruised. + + ‘Here on the rock were twenty-seven men; but it now being low water, + and as they were convinced that on the flowing of the tide all must + be washed off, many attempted to get to the back or the sides of the + cavern, beyond the reach of the returning sea. Scarcely more than + six, besides Mr. Rogers and Mr. Brimer, succeeded. + + ‘Mr. Rogers, on gaining this station, was so nearly exhausted, that + had his exertions been protracted only a few minutes longer, he must + have sunk under them. He was now prevented from joining Mr. Meriton, + by at least twenty men between them, none of whom could move, without + the imminent peril of his life. + + ‘They found that a very considerable number of the crew, seamen and + soldiers, and some petty officers, were in the same situation as + themselves, though many who had reached the rocks below, perished in + attempting to ascend. They could yet discern some part of the ship, + and in their dreary station solaced themselves with the hopes of its + remaining entire until day-break; for, in the midst of their own + distress, the sufferings of the females on board affected them with + the most poignant anguish; and every sea that broke inspired them + with terror for their safety. + + ‘But, alas, their apprehensions were too soon realised! Within a + very few minutes of the time that Mr. Rogers gained the rock, an + universal shriek, which long vibrated in their ears, in which the + voice of female distress was lamentably distinguished, announced the + dreadful catastrophe. In a few moments all was hushed, except the + roaring of the winds and the dashing of the waves; the wreck was + buried in the deep, and not an atom of it was ever afterwards seen.’ + +The most beautiful and affecting incident I know, associated with a +shipwreck, succeeds this dismal story for a winter night. The Grosvenor, +East Indiaman, homeward bound, goes ashore on the coast of Caffraria. It +is resolved that the officers, passengers, and crew, in number one +hundred and thirty-five souls, shall endeavour to penetrate on foot, +across trackless deserts, infested by wild beasts and cruel savages, to +the Dutch settlements at the Cape of Good Hope. With this forlorn object +before them, they finally separate into two parties—never more to meet on +earth. + +There is a solitary child among the passengers—a little boy of seven +years old who has no relation there; and when the first party is moving +away he cries after some member of it who has been kind to him. The +crying of a child might be supposed to be a little thing to men in such +great extremity; but it touches them, and he is immediately taken into +that detachment. + +From which time forth, this child is sublimely made a sacred charge. He +is pushed, on a little raft, across broad rivers by the swimming sailors; +they carry him by turns through the deep sand and long grass (he +patiently walking at all other times); they share with him such putrid +fish as they find to eat; they lie down and wait for him when the rough +carpenter, who becomes his especial friend, lags behind. Beset by lions +and tigers, by savages, by thirst, by hunger, by death in a crowd of +ghastly shapes, they never—O Father of all mankind, thy name be blessed +for it!—forget this child. The captain stops exhausted, and his faithful +coxswain goes back and is seen to sit down by his side, and neither of +the two shall be any more beheld until the great last day; but, as the +rest go on for their lives, they take the child with them. The carpenter +dies of poisonous berries eaten in starvation; and the steward, +succeeding to the command of the party, succeeds to the sacred +guardianship of the child. + +God knows all he does for the poor baby; how he cheerfully carries him in +his arms when he himself is weak and ill; how he feeds him when he +himself is griped with want; how he folds his ragged jacket round him, +lays his little worn face with a woman’s tenderness upon his sunburnt +breast, soothes him in his sufferings, sings to him as he limps along, +unmindful of his own parched and bleeding feet. Divided for a few days +from the rest, they dig a grave in the sand and bury their good friend +the cooper—these two companions alone in the wilderness—and then the time +comes when they both are ill, and beg their wretched partners in despair, +reduced and few in number now, to wait by them one day. They wait by +them one day, they wait by them two days. On the morning of the third, +they move very softly about, in making their preparations for the +resumption of their journey; for, the child is sleeping by the fire, and +it is agreed with one consent that he shall not be disturbed until the +last moment. The moment comes, the fire is dying—and the child is dead. + +His faithful friend, the steward, lingers but a little while behind him. +His grief is great, he staggers on for a few days, lies down in the +desert, and dies. But he shall be re-united in his immortal spirit—who +can doubt it!—with the child, when he and the poor carpenter shall be +raised up with the words, ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of +these, ye have done it unto Me.’ + +As I recall the dispersal and disappearance of nearly all the +participators in this once famous shipwreck (a mere handful being +recovered at last), and the legends that were long afterwards revived +from time to time among the English officers at the Cape, of a white +woman with an infant, said to have been seen weeping outside a savage hut +far in the interior, who was whisperingly associated with the remembrance +of the missing ladies saved from the wrecked vessel, and who was often +sought but never found, thoughts of another kind of travel came into my +mind. + +Thoughts of a voyager unexpectedly summoned from home, who travelled a +vast distance, and could never return. Thoughts of this unhappy wayfarer +in the depths of his sorrow, in the bitterness of his anguish, in the +helplessness of his self-reproach, in the desperation of his desire to +set right what he had left wrong, and do what he had left undone. + +For, there were many, many things he had neglected. Little matters while +he was at home and surrounded by them, but things of mighty moment when +he was at an immeasurable distance. There were many many blessings that +he had inadequately felt, there were many trivial injuries that he had +not forgiven, there was love that he had but poorly returned, there was +friendship that he had too lightly prized: there were a million kind +words that he might have spoken, a million kind looks that he might have +given, uncountable slight easy deeds in which he might have been most +truly great and good. O for a day (he would exclaim), for but one day to +make amends! But the sun never shone upon that happy day, and out of his +remote captivity he never came. + +Why does this traveller’s fate obscure, on New Year’s Eve, the other +histories of travellers with which my mind was filled but now, and cast a +solemn shadow over me! Must I one day make his journey? Even so. Who +shall say, that I may not then be tortured by such late regrets: that I +may not then look from my exile on my empty place and undone work? I +stand upon a sea-shore, where the waves are years. They break and fall, +and I may little heed them; but, with every wave the sea is rising, and I +know that it will float me on this traveller’s voyage at last. + + + + +THE BEGGING-LETTER WRITER + + +THE amount of money he annually diverts from wholesome and useful +purposes in the United Kingdom, would be a set-off against the Window +Tax. He is one of the most shameless frauds and impositions of this +time. In his idleness, his mendacity, and the immeasurable harm he does +to the deserving,—dirtying the stream of true benevolence, and muddling +the brains of foolish justices, with inability to distinguish between the +base coin of distress, and the true currency we have always among us,—he +is more worthy of Norfolk Island than three-fourths of the worst +characters who are sent there. Under any rational system, he would have +been sent there long ago. + +I, the writer of this paper, have been, for some time, a chosen receiver +of Begging Letters. For fourteen years, my house has been made as +regular a Receiving House for such communications as any one of the great +branch Post-Offices is for general correspondence. I ought to know +something of the Begging-Letter Writer. He has besieged my door at all +hours of the day and night; he has fought my servant; he has lain in +ambush for me, going out and coming in; he has followed me out of town +into the country; he has appeared at provincial hotels, where I have been +staying for only a few hours; he has written to me from immense +distances, when I have been out of England. He has fallen sick; he has +died and been buried; he has come to life again, and again departed from +this transitory scene: he has been his own son, his own mother, his own +baby, his idiot brother, his uncle, his aunt, his aged grandfather. He +has wanted a greatcoat, to go to India in; a pound to set him up in life +for ever; a pair of boots to take him to the coast of China; a hat to get +him into a permanent situation under Government. He has frequently been +exactly seven-and-sixpence short of independence. He has had such +openings at Liverpool—posts of great trust and confidence in merchants’ +houses, which nothing but seven-and-sixpence was wanting to him to +secure—that I wonder he is not Mayor of that flourishing town at the +present moment. + +The natural phenomena of which he has been the victim, are of a most +astounding nature. He has had two children who have never grown up; who +have never had anything to cover them at night; who have been continually +driving him mad, by asking in vain for food; who have never come out of +fevers and measles (which, I suppose, has accounted for his fuming his +letters with tobacco smoke, as a disinfectant); who have never changed in +the least degree through fourteen long revolving years. As to his wife, +what that suffering woman has undergone, nobody knows. She has always +been in an interesting situation through the same long period, and has +never been confined yet. His devotion to her has been unceasing. He has +never cared for himself; he could have perished—he would rather, in +short—but was it not his Christian duty as a man, a husband, and a +father,—to write begging letters when he looked at her? (He has usually +remarked that he would call in the evening for an answer to this +question.) + +He has been the sport of the strangest misfortunes. What his brother has +done to him would have broken anybody else’s heart. His brother went +into business with him, and ran away with the money; his brother got him +to be security for an immense sum and left him to pay it; his brother +would have given him employment to the tune of hundreds a-year, if he +would have consented to write letters on a Sunday; his brother enunciated +principles incompatible with his religious views, and he could not (in +consequence) permit his brother to provide for him. His landlord has +never shown a spark of human feeling. When he put in that execution I +don’t know, but he has never taken it out. The broker’s man has grown +grey in possession. They will have to bury him some day. + +He has been attached to every conceivable pursuit. He has been in the +army, in the navy, in the church, in the law; connected with the press, +the fine arts, public institutions, every description and grade of +business. He has been brought up as a gentleman; he has been at every +college in Oxford and Cambridge; he can quote Latin in his letters (but +generally misspells some minor English word); he can tell you what +Shakespeare says about begging, better than you know it. It is to be +observed, that in the midst of his afflictions he always reads the +newspapers; and rounds off his appeal with some allusion, that may be +supposed to be in my way, to the popular subject of the hour. + +His life presents a series of inconsistencies. Sometimes he has never +written such a letter before. He blushes with shame. That is the first +time; that shall be the last. Don’t answer it, and let it be understood +that, then, he will kill himself quietly. Sometimes (and more +frequently) he _has_ written a few such letters. Then he encloses the +answers, with an intimation that they are of inestimable value to him, +and a request that they may be carefully returned. He is fond of +enclosing something—verses, letters, pawnbrokers’ duplicates, anything to +necessitate an answer. He is very severe upon ‘the pampered minion of +fortune,’ who refused him the half-sovereign referred to in the enclosure +number two—but he knows me better. + +He writes in a variety of styles; sometimes in low spirits; sometimes +quite jocosely. When he is in low spirits he writes down-hill and +repeats words—these little indications being expressive of the +perturbation of his mind. When he is more vivacious, he is frank with +me; he is quite the agreeable rattle. I know what human nature is,—who +better? Well! He had a little money once, and he ran through it—as many +men have done before him. He finds his old friends turn away from him +now—many men have done that before him too! Shall he tell me why he +writes to me? Because he has no kind of claim upon me. He puts it on +that ground plainly; and begs to ask for the loan (as I know human +nature) of two sovereigns, to be repaid next Tuesday six weeks, before +twelve at noon. + +Sometimes, when he is sure that I have found him out, and that there is +no chance of money, he writes to inform me that I have got rid of him at +last. He has enlisted into the Company’s service, and is off +directly—but he wants a cheese. He is informed by the serjeant that it +is essential to his prospects in the regiment that he should take out a +single Gloucester cheese, weighing from twelve to fifteen pounds. Eight +or nine shillings would buy it. He does not ask for money, after what +has passed; but if he calls at nine, to-morrow morning may he hope to +find a cheese? And is there anything he can do to show his gratitude in +Bengal? + +Once he wrote me rather a special letter, proposing relief in kind. He +had got into a little trouble by leaving parcels of mud done up in brown +paper, at people’s houses, on pretence of being a Railway-Porter, in +which character he received carriage money. This sportive fancy he +expiated in the House of Correction. Not long after his release, and on +a Sunday morning, he called with a letter (having first dusted himself +all over), in which he gave me to understand that, being resolved to earn +an honest livelihood, he had been travelling about the country with a +cart of crockery. That he had been doing pretty well until the day +before, when his horse had dropped down dead near Chatham, in Kent. That +this had reduced him to the unpleasant necessity of getting into the +shafts himself, and drawing the cart of crockery to London—a somewhat +exhausting pull of thirty miles. That he did not venture to ask again +for money; but that if I would have the goodness _to leave him out a +donkey_, he would call for the animal before breakfast! + +At another time my friend (I am describing actual experiences) introduced +himself as a literary gentleman in the last extremity of distress. He +had had a play accepted at a certain Theatre—which was really open; its +representation was delayed by the indisposition of a leading actor—who +was really ill; and he and his were in a state of absolute starvation. +If he made his necessities known to the Manager of the Theatre, he put it +to me to say what kind of treatment he might expect? Well! we got over +that difficulty to our mutual satisfaction. A little while afterwards he +was in some other strait. I think Mrs. Southcote, his wife, was in +extremity—and we adjusted that point too. A little while afterwards he +had taken a new house, and was going headlong to ruin for want of a +water-butt. I had my misgivings about the water-butt, and did not reply +to that epistle. But a little while afterwards, I had reason to feel +penitent for my neglect. He wrote me a few broken-hearted lines, +informing me that the dear partner of his sorrows died in his arms last +night at nine o’clock! + +I despatched a trusty messenger to comfort the bereaved mourner and his +poor children; but the messenger went so soon, that the play was not +ready to be played out; my friend was not at home, and his wife was in a +most delightful state of health. He was taken up by the Mendicity +Society (informally it afterwards appeared), and I presented myself at a +London Police-Office with my testimony against him. The Magistrate was +wonderfully struck by his educational acquirements, deeply impressed by +the excellence of his letters, exceedingly sorry to see a man of his +attainments there, complimented him highly on his powers of composition, +and was quite charmed to have the agreeable duty of discharging him. A +collection was made for the ‘poor fellow,’ as he was called in the +reports, and I left the court with a comfortable sense of being +universally regarded as a sort of monster. Next day comes to me a friend +of mine, the governor of a large prison. ‘Why did you ever go to the +Police-Office against that man,’ says he, ‘without coming to me first? I +know all about him and his frauds. He lodged in the house of one of my +warders, at the very time when he first wrote to you; and then he was +eating spring-lamb at eighteen-pence a pound, and early asparagus at I +don’t know how much a bundle!’ On that very same day, and in that very +same hour, my injured gentleman wrote a solemn address to me, demanding +to know what compensation I proposed to make him for his having passed +the night in a ‘loathsome dungeon.’ And next morning an Irish gentleman, +a member of the same fraternity, who had read the case, and was very well +persuaded I should be chary of going to that Police-Office again, +positively refused to leave my door for less than a sovereign, and, +resolved to besiege me into compliance, literally ‘sat down’ before it +for ten mortal hours. The garrison being well provisioned, I remained +within the walls; and he raised the siege at midnight with a prodigious +alarum on the bell. + +The Begging-Letter Writer often has an extensive circle of acquaintance. +Whole pages of the ‘Court Guide’ are ready to be references for him. +Noblemen and gentlemen write to say there never was such a man for +probity and virtue. They have known him time out of mind, and there is +nothing they wouldn’t do for him. Somehow, they don’t give him that one +pound ten he stands in need of; but perhaps it is not enough—they want to +do more, and his modesty will not allow it. It is to be remarked of his +trade that it is a very fascinating one. He never leaves it; and those +who are near to him become smitten with a love of it, too, and sooner or +later set up for themselves. He employs a messenger—man, woman, or +child. That messenger is certain ultimately to become an independent +Begging-Letter Writer. His sons and daughters succeed to his calling, +and write begging-letters when he is no more. He throws off the +infection of begging-letter writing, like the contagion of disease. What +Sydney Smith so happily called ‘the dangerous luxury of dishonesty’ is +more tempting, and more catching, it would seem, in this instance than in +any other. + +He always belongs to a Corresponding-Society of Begging-Letter Writers. +Any one who will, may ascertain this fact. Give money to-day in +recognition of a begging-letter,—no matter how unlike a common +begging-letter,—and for the next fortnight you will have a rush of such +communications. Steadily refuse to give; and the begging-letters become +Angels’ visits, until the Society is from some cause or other in a dull +way of business, and may as well try you as anybody else. It is of +little use inquiring into the Begging-Letter Writer’s circumstances. He +may be sometimes accidentally found out, as in the case already mentioned +(though that was not the first inquiry made); but apparent misery is +always a part of his trade, and real misery very often is, in the +intervals of spring-lamb and early asparagus. It is naturally an +incident of his dissipated and dishonest life. + +That the calling is a successful one, and that large sums of money are +gained by it, must be evident to anybody who reads the Police Reports of +such cases. But, prosecutions are of rare occurrence, relatively to the +extent to which the trade is carried on. The cause of this is to be +found (as no one knows better than the Begging-Letter Writer, for it is a +part of his speculation) in the aversion people feel to exhibit +themselves as having been imposed upon, or as having weakly gratified +their consciences with a lazy, flimsy substitute for the noblest of all +virtues. There is a man at large, at the moment when this paper is +preparing for the press (on the 29th of April, 1850), and never once +taken up yet, who, within these twelvemonths, has been probably the most +audacious and the most successful swindler that even this trade has ever +known. There has been something singularly base in this fellow’s +proceedings; it has been his business to write to all sorts and +conditions of people, in the names of persons of high reputation and +unblemished honour, professing to be in distress—the general admiration +and respect for whom has ensured a ready and generous reply. + +Now, in the hope that the results of the real experience of a real person +may do something more to induce reflection on this subject than any +abstract treatise—and with a personal knowledge of the extent to which +the Begging-Letter Trade has been carried on for some time, and has been +for some time constantly increasing—the writer of this paper entreats the +attention of his readers to a few concluding words. His experience is a +type of the experience of many; some on a smaller, some on an infinitely +larger scale. All may judge of the soundness or unsoundness of his +conclusions from it. + +Long doubtful of the efficacy of such assistance in any case whatever, +and able to recall but one, within his whole individual knowledge, in +which he had the least after-reason to suppose that any good was done by +it, he was led, last autumn, into some serious considerations. The +begging-letters flying about by every post, made it perfectly manifest +that a set of lazy vagabonds were interposed between the general desire +to do something to relieve the sickness and misery under which the poor +were suffering, and the suffering poor themselves. That many who sought +to do some little to repair the social wrongs, inflicted in the way of +preventible sickness and death upon the poor, were strengthening those +wrongs, however innocently, by wasting money on pestilent knaves +cumbering society. That imagination,—soberly following one of these +knaves into his life of punishment in jail, and comparing it with the +life of one of these poor in a cholera-stricken alley, or one of the +children of one of these poor, soothed in its dying hour by the late +lamented Mr. Drouet,—contemplated a grim farce, impossible to be +presented very much longer before God or man. That the crowning miracle +of all the miracles summed up in the New Testament, after the miracle of +the blind seeing, and the lame walking, and the restoration of the dead +to life, was the miracle that the poor had the Gospel preached to them. +That while the poor were unnaturally and unnecessarily cut off by the +thousand, in the prematurity of their age, or in the rottenness of their +youth—for of flower or blossom such youth has none—the Gospel was NOT +preached to them, saving in hollow and unmeaning voices. That of all +wrongs, this was the first mighty wrong the Pestilence warned us to set +right. And that no Post-Office Order to any amount, given to a +Begging-Letter Writer for the quieting of an uneasy breast, would be +presentable on the Last Great Day as anything towards it. + +The poor never write these letters. Nothing could be more unlike their +habits. The writers are public robbers; and we who support them are +parties to their depredations. They trade upon every circumstance within +their knowledge that affects us, public or private, joyful or sorrowful; +they pervert the lessons of our lives; they change what ought to be our +strength and virtue into weakness, and encouragement of vice. There is a +plain remedy, and it is in our own hands. We must resolve, at any +sacrifice of feeling, to be deaf to such appeals, and crush the trade. + +There are degrees in murder. Life must be held sacred among us in more +ways than one—sacred, not merely from the murderous weapon, or the subtle +poison, or the cruel blow, but sacred from preventible diseases, +distortions, and pains. That is the first great end we have to set +against this miserable imposition. Physical life respected, moral life +comes next. What will not content a Begging-Letter Writer for a week, +would educate a score of children for a year. Let us give all we can; +let us give more than ever. Let us do all we can; let us do more than +ever. But let us give, and do, with a high purpose; not to endow the +scum of the earth, to its own greater corruption, with the offals of our +duty. + + + + +A CHILD’S DREAM OF A STAR + + +THERE was once a child, and he strolled about a good deal, and thought of +a number of things. He had a sister, who was a child too, and his +constant companion. These two used to wonder all day long. They +wondered at the beauty of the flowers; they wondered at the height and +blueness of the sky; they wondered at the depth of the bright water; they +wondered at the goodness and the power of GOD who made the lovely world. + +They used to say to one another, sometimes, Supposing all the children +upon earth were to die, would the flowers, and the water, and the sky be +sorry? They believed they would be sorry. For, said they, the buds are +the children of the flowers, and the little playful streams that gambol +down the hill-sides are the children of the water; and the smallest +bright specks playing at hide and seek in the sky all night, must surely +be the children of the stars; and they would all be grieved to see their +playmates, the children of men, no more. + +There was one clear shining star that used to come out in the sky before +the rest, near the church spire, above the graves. It was larger and +more beautiful, they thought, than all the others, and every night they +watched for it, standing hand in hand at a window. Whoever saw it first +cried out, ‘I see the star!’ And often they cried out both together, +knowing so well when it would rise, and where. So they grew to be such +friends with it, that, before lying down in their beds, they always +looked out once again, to bid it good night; and when they were turning +round to sleep, they used to say, ‘God bless the star!’ + +But while she was still very young, oh, very, very young, the sister +drooped, and came to be so weak that she could no longer stand in the +window at night; and then the child looked sadly out by himself, and when +he saw the star, turned round and said to the patient pale face on the +bed, ‘I see the star!’ and then a smile would come upon the face, and a +little weak voice used to say, ‘God bless my brother and the star!’ + +And so the time came all too soon! when the child looked out alone, and +when there was no face on the bed; and when there was a little grave +among the graves, not there before; and when the star made long rays down +towards him, as he saw it through his tears. + +Now, these rays were so bright, and they seemed to make such a shining +way from earth to Heaven, that when the child went to his solitary bed, +he dreamed about the star; and dreamed that, lying where he was, he saw a +train of people taken up that sparkling road by angels. And the star, +opening, showed him a great world of light, where many more such angels +waited to receive them. + +All these angels, who were waiting, turned their beaming eyes upon the +people who were carried up into the star; and some came out from the long +rows in which they stood, and fell upon the people’s necks, and kissed +them tenderly, and went away with them down avenues of light, and were so +happy in their company, that lying in his bed he wept for joy. + +But, there were many angels who did not go with them, and among them one +he knew. The patient face that once had lain upon the bed was glorified +and radiant, but his heart found out his sister among all the host. + +His sister’s angel lingered near the entrance of the star, and said to +the leader among those who had brought the people thither: + +‘Is my brother come?’ + +And he said ‘No.’ + +She was turning hopefully away, when the child stretched out his arms, +and cried, ‘O, sister, I am here! Take me!’ and then she turned her +beaming eyes upon him, and it was night; and the star was shining into +the room, making long rays down towards him as he saw it through his +tears. + +From that hour forth, the child looked out upon the star as on the home +he was to go to, when his time should come; and he thought that he did +not belong to the earth alone, but to the star too, because of his +sister’s angel gone before. + +There was a baby born to be a brother to the child; and while he was so +little that he never yet had spoken word, he stretched his tiny form out +on his bed, and died. + +Again the child dreamed of the open star, and of the company of angels, +and the train of people, and the rows of angels with their beaming eyes +all turned upon those people’s faces. + +Said his sister’s angel to the leader: + +‘Is my brother come?’ + +And he said, ‘Not that one, but another.’ + +As the child beheld his brother’s angel in her arms, he cried, ‘O, +sister, I am here! Take me!’ And she turned and smiled upon him, and +the star was shining. + +He grew to be a young man, and was busy at his books when an old servant +came to him and said: + +‘Thy mother is no more. I bring her blessing on her darling son!’ + +Again at night he saw the star, and all that former company. Said his +sister’s angel to the leader. + +‘Is my brother come?’ + +And he said, ‘Thy mother!’ + +A mighty cry of joy went forth through all the star, because the mother +was re-united to her two children. And he stretched out his arms and +cried, ‘O, mother, sister, and brother, I am here! Take me!’ And they +answered him, ‘Not yet,’ and the star was shining. + +He grew to be a man, whose hair was turning grey, and he was sitting in +his chair by the fireside, heavy with grief, and with his face bedewed +with tears, when the star opened once again. + +Said his sister’s angel to the leader: ‘Is my brother come?’ + +And he said, ‘Nay, but his maiden daughter.’ + +And the man who had been the child saw his daughter, newly lost to him, a +celestial creature among those three, and he said, ‘My daughter’s head is +on my sister’s bosom, and her arm is around my mother’s neck, and at her +feet there is the baby of old time, and I can bear the parting from her, +GOD be praised!’ + +And the star was shining. + +Thus the child came to be an old man, and his once smooth face was +wrinkled, and his steps were slow and feeble, and his back was bent. And +one night as he lay upon his bed, his children standing round, he cried, +as he had cried so long ago: + +‘I see the star!’ + +They whispered one another, ‘He is dying.’ + +And he said, ‘I am. My age is falling from me like a garment, and I move +towards the star as a child. And O, my Father, now I thank thee that it +has so often opened, to receive those dear ones who await me!’ + +And the star was shining; and it shines upon his grave. + + + + +OUR ENGLISH WATERING-PLACE + + +IN the Autumn-time of the year, when the great metropolis is so much +hotter, so much noisier, so much more dusty or so much more water-carted, +so much more crowded, so much more disturbing and distracting in all +respects, than it usually is, a quiet sea-beach becomes indeed a blessed +spot. Half awake and half asleep, this idle morning in our sunny window +on the edge of a chalk-cliff in the old-fashioned watering-place to which +we are a faithful resorter, we feel a lazy inclination to sketch its +picture. + +The place seems to respond. Sky, sea, beach, and village, lie as still +before us as if they were sitting for the picture. It is dead low-water. +A ripple plays among the ripening corn upon the cliff, as if it were +faintly trying from recollection to imitate the sea; and the world of +butterflies hovering over the crop of radish-seed are as restless in +their little way as the gulls are in their larger manner when the wind +blows. But the ocean lies winking in the sunlight like a drowsy lion—its +glassy waters scarcely curve upon the shore—the fishing-boats in the tiny +harbour are all stranded in the mud—our two colliers (our watering-place +has a maritime trade employing that amount of shipping) have not an inch +of water within a quarter of a mile of them, and turn, exhausted, on +their sides, like faint fish of an antediluvian species. Rusty cables +and chains, ropes and rings, undermost parts of posts and piles and +confused timber-defences against the waves, lie strewn about, in a brown +litter of tangled sea-weed and fallen cliff which looks as if a family of +giants had been making tea here for ages, and had observed an untidy +custom of throwing their tea-leaves on the shore. + +In truth, our watering-place itself has been left somewhat high and dry +by the tide of years. Concerned as we are for its honour, we must +reluctantly admit that the time when this pretty little semicircular +sweep of houses, tapering off at the end of the wooden pier into a point +in the sea, was a gay place, and when the lighthouse overlooking it shone +at daybreak on company dispersing from public balls, is but dimly +traditional now. There is a bleak chamber in our watering-place which is +yet called the Assembly ‘Rooms,’ and understood to be available on hire +for balls or concerts; and, some few seasons since, an ancient little +gentleman came down and stayed at the hotel, who said that he had danced +there, in bygone ages, with the Honourable Miss Peepy, well known to have +been the Beauty of her day and the cruel occasion of innumerable duels. +But he was so old and shrivelled, and so very rheumatic in the legs, that +it demanded more imagination than our watering-place can usually muster, +to believe him; therefore, except the Master of the ‘Rooms’ (who to this +hour wears knee-breeches, and who confirmed the statement with tears in +his eyes), nobody did believe in the little lame old gentleman, or even +in the Honourable Miss Peepy, long deceased. + +As to subscription balls in the Assembly Rooms of our watering-place now, +red-hot cannon balls are less improbable. Sometimes, a misguided +wanderer of a Ventriloquist, or an Infant Phenomenon, or a juggler, or +somebody with an Orrery that is several stars behind the time, takes the +place for a night, and issues bills with the name of his last town lined +out, and the name of ours ignominiously written in, but you may be sure +this never happens twice to the same unfortunate person. On such +occasions the discoloured old Billiard Table that is seldom played at +(unless the ghost of the Honourable Miss Peepy plays at pool with other +ghosts) is pushed into a corner, and benches are solemnly constituted +into front seats, back seats, and reserved seats—which are much the same +after you have paid—and a few dull candles are lighted—wind +permitting—and the performer and the scanty audience play out a short +match which shall make the other most low-spirited—which is usually a +drawn game. After that, the performer instantly departs with maledictory +expressions, and is never heard of more. + +But the most wonderful feature of our Assembly Rooms, is, that an annual +sale of ‘Fancy and other China,’ is announced here with mysterious +constancy and perseverance. Where the china comes from, where it goes +to, why it is annually put up to auction when nobody ever thinks of +bidding for it, how it comes to pass that it is always the same china, +whether it would not have been cheaper, with the sea at hand, to have +thrown it away, say in eighteen hundred and thirty, are standing enigmas. +Every year the bills come out, every year the Master of the Rooms gets +into a little pulpit on a table, and offers it for sale, every year +nobody buys it, every year it is put away somewhere till next year, when +it appears again as if the whole thing were a new idea. We have a faint +remembrance of an unearthly collection of clocks, purporting to be the +work of Parisian and Genevese artists—chiefly bilious-faced clocks, +supported on sickly white crutches, with their pendulums dangling like +lame legs—to which a similar course of events occurred for several years, +until they seemed to lapse away, of mere imbecility. + +Attached to our Assembly Rooms is a library. There is a wheel of fortune +in it, but it is rusty and dusty, and never turns. A large doll, with +moveable eyes, was put up to be raffled for, by five-and-twenty members +at two shillings, seven years ago this autumn, and the list is not full +yet. We are rather sanguine, now, that the raffle will come off next +year. We think so, because we only want nine members, and should only +want eight, but for number two having grown up since her name was +entered, and withdrawn it when she was married. Down the street, there +is a toy-ship of considerable burden, in the same condition. Two of the +boys who were entered for that raffle have gone to India in real ships, +since; and one was shot, and died in the arms of his sister’s lover, by +whom he sent his last words home. + +This is the library for the Minerva Press. If you want that kind of +reading, come to our watering-place. The leaves of the romances, reduced +to a condition very like curl-paper, are thickly studded with notes in +pencil: sometimes complimentary, sometimes jocose. Some of these +commentators, like commentators in a more extensive way, quarrel with one +another. One young gentleman who sarcastically writes ‘O!!!’ after every +sentimental passage, is pursued through his literary career by another, +who writes ‘Insulting Beast!’ Miss Julia Mills has read the whole +collection of these books. She has left marginal notes on the pages, as +‘Is not this truly touching? J. M.’ ‘How thrilling! J. M.’ ‘Entranced +here by the Magician’s potent spell. J. M.’ She has also italicised her +favourite traits in the description of the hero, as ‘his hair, which was +_dark_ and _wavy_, clustered in _rich profusion_ around a _marble brow_, +whose lofty paleness bespoke the intellect within.’ It reminds her of +another hero. She adds, ‘How like B. L. Can this be mere coincidence? +J. M.’ + +You would hardly guess which is the main street of our watering-place, +but you may know it by its being always stopped up with donkey-chaises. +Whenever you come here, and see harnessed donkeys eating clover out of +barrows drawn completely across a narrow thoroughfare, you may be quite +sure you are in our High Street. Our Police you may know by his uniform, +likewise by his never on any account interfering with anybody—especially +the tramps and vagabonds. In our fancy shops we have a capital +collection of damaged goods, among which the flies of countless summers +‘have been roaming.’ We are great in obsolete seals, and in faded +pin-cushions, and in rickety camp-stools, and in exploded cutlery, and in +miniature vessels, and in stunted little telescopes, and in objects made +of shells that pretend not to be shells. Diminutive spades, barrows, and +baskets, are our principal articles of commerce; but even they don’t look +quite new somehow. They always seem to have been offered and refused +somewhere else, before they came down to our watering-place. + +Yet, it must not be supposed that our watering-place is an empty place, +deserted by all visitors except a few staunch persons of approved +fidelity. On the contrary, the chances are that if you came down here in +August or September, you wouldn’t find a house to lay your head in. As +to finding either house or lodging of which you could reduce the terms, +you could scarcely engage in a more hopeless pursuit. For all this, you +are to observe that every season is the worst season ever known, and that +the householding population of our watering-place are ruined regularly +every autumn. They are like the farmers, in regard that it is surprising +how much ruin they will bear. We have an excellent hotel—capital baths, +warm, cold, and shower—first-rate bathing-machines—and as good butchers, +bakers, and grocers, as heart could desire. They all do business, it is +to be presumed, from motives of philanthropy—but it is quite certain that +they are all being ruined. Their interest in strangers, and their +politeness under ruin, bespeak their amiable nature. You would say so, +if you only saw the baker helping a new comer to find suitable +apartments. + +So far from being at a discount as to company, we are in fact what would +be popularly called rather a nobby place. Some tip-top ‘Nobbs’ come down +occasionally—even Dukes and Duchesses. We have known such carriages to +blaze among the donkey-chaises, as made beholders wink. Attendant on +these equipages come resplendent creatures in plush and powder, who are +sure to be stricken disgusted with the indifferent accommodation of our +watering-place, and who, of an evening (particularly when it rains), may +be seen very much out of drawing, in rooms far too small for their fine +figures, looking discontentedly out of little back windows into +bye-streets. The lords and ladies get on well enough and quite +good-humouredly: but if you want to see the gorgeous phenomena who wait +upon them at a perfect non-plus, you should come and look at the +resplendent creatures with little back parlours for servants’ halls, and +turn-up bedsteads to sleep in, at our watering-place. You have no idea +how they take it to heart. + +We have a pier—a queer old wooden pier, fortunately without the slightest +pretensions to architecture, and very picturesque in consequence. Boats +are hauled up upon it, ropes are coiled all over it; lobster-pots, nets, +masts, oars, spars, sails, ballast, and rickety capstans, make a perfect +labyrinth of it. For ever hovering about this pier, with their hands in +their pockets, or leaning over the rough bulwark it opposes to the sea, +gazing through telescopes which they carry about in the same profound +receptacles, are the Boatmen of our watering-place. Looking at them, you +would say that surely these must be the laziest boatmen in the world. +They lounge about, in obstinate and inflexible pantaloons that are +apparently made of wood, the whole season through. Whether talking +together about the shipping in the Channel, or gruffly unbending over +mugs of beer at the public-house, you would consider them the slowest of +men. The chances are a thousand to one that you might stay here for ten +seasons, and never see a boatman in a hurry. A certain expression about +his loose hands, when they are not in his pockets, as if he were carrying +a considerable lump of iron in each, without any inconvenience, suggests +strength, but he never seems to use it. He has the appearance of +perpetually strolling—running is too inappropriate a word to be thought +of—to seed. The only subject on which he seems to feel any approach to +enthusiasm, is pitch. He pitches everything he can lay hold of,—the +pier, the palings, his boat, his house,—when there is nothing else left +he turns to and even pitches his hat, or his rough-weather clothing. Do +not judge him by deceitful appearances. These are among the bravest and +most skilful mariners that exist. Let a gale arise and swell into a +storm, let a sea run that might appal the stoutest heart that ever beat, +let the Light-boat on these dangerous sands throw up a rocket in the +night, or let them hear through the angry roar the signal-guns of a ship +in distress, and these men spring up into activity so dauntless, so +valiant, and heroic, that the world cannot surpass it. Cavillers may +object that they chiefly live upon the salvage of valuable cargoes. So +they do, and God knows it is no great living that they get out of the +deadly risks they run. But put that hope of gain aside. Let these rough +fellows be asked, in any storm, who volunteers for the life-boat to save +some perishing souls, as poor and empty-handed as themselves, whose lives +the perfection of human reason does not rate at the value of a farthing +each; and that boat will be manned, as surely and as cheerfully, as if a +thousand pounds were told down on the weather-beaten pier. For this, and +for the recollection of their comrades whom we have known, whom the +raging sea has engulfed before their children’s eyes in such brave +efforts, whom the secret sand has buried, we hold the boatmen of our +watering-place in our love and honour, and are tender of the fame they +well deserve. + +So many children are brought down to our watering-place that, when they +are not out of doors, as they usually are in fine weather, it is +wonderful where they are put: the whole village seeming much too small to +hold them under cover. In the afternoons, you see no end of salt and +sandy little boots drying on upper window-sills. At bathing-time in the +morning, the little bay re-echoes with every shrill variety of shriek and +splash—after which, if the weather be at all fresh, the sands teem with +small blue mottled legs. The sands are the children’s great resort. +They cluster there, like ants: so busy burying their particular friends, +and making castles with infinite labour which the next tide overthrows, +that it is curious to consider how their play, to the music of the sea, +foreshadows the realities of their after lives. + +It is curious, too, to observe a natural ease of approach that there +seems to be between the children and the boatmen. They mutually make +acquaintance, and take individual likings, without any help. You will +come upon one of those slow heavy fellows sitting down patiently mending +a little ship for a mite of a boy, whom he could crush to death by +throwing his lightest pair of trousers on him. You will be sensible of +the oddest contrast between the smooth little creature, and the rough man +who seems to be carved out of hard-grained wood—between the delicate hand +expectantly held out, and the immense thumb and finger that can hardly +feel the rigging of thread they mend—between the small voice and the +gruff growl—and yet there is a natural propriety in the companionship: +always to be noted in confidence between a child and a person who has any +merit of reality and genuineness: which is admirably pleasant. + +We have a preventive station at our watering-place, and much the same +thing may be observed—in a lesser degree, because of their official +character—of the coast blockade; a steady, trusty, well-conditioned, +well-conducted set of men, with no misgiving about looking you full in +the face, and with a quiet thorough-going way of passing along to their +duty at night, carrying huge sou’-wester clothing in reserve, that is +fraught with all good prepossession. They are handy fellows—neat about +their houses—industrious at gardening—would get on with their wives, one +thinks, in a desert island—and people it, too, soon. + +As to the naval officer of the station, with his hearty fresh face, and +his blue eye that has pierced all kinds of weather, it warms our hearts +when he comes into church on a Sunday, with that bright mixture of blue +coat, buff waistcoat, black neck-kerchief, and gold epaulette, that is +associated in the minds of all Englishmen with brave, unpretending, +cordial, national service. We like to look at him in his Sunday state; +and if we were First Lord (really possessing the indispensable +qualification for the office of knowing nothing whatever about the sea), +we would give him a ship to-morrow. + +We have a church, by-the-by, of course—a hideous temple of flint, like a +great petrified haystack. Our chief clerical dignitary, who, to his +honour, has done much for education both in time and money, and has +established excellent schools, is a sound, shrewd, healthy gentleman, who +has got into little occasional difficulties with the neighbouring +farmers, but has had a pestilent trick of being right. Under a new +regulation, he has yielded the church of our watering-place to another +clergyman. Upon the whole we get on in church well. We are a little +bilious sometimes, about these days of fraternisation, and about nations +arriving at a new and more unprejudiced knowledge of each other (which +our Christianity don’t quite approve), but it soon goes off, and then we +get on very well. + +There are two dissenting chapels, besides, in our small watering-place; +being in about the proportion of a hundred and twenty guns to a yacht. +But the dissension that has torn us lately, has not been a religious one. +It has arisen on the novel question of Gas. Our watering-place has been +convulsed by the agitation, Gas or No Gas. It was never reasoned why No +Gas, but there was a great No Gas party. Broadsides were printed and +stuck about—a startling circumstance in our watering-place. The No Gas +party rested content with chalking ‘No Gas!’ and ‘Down with Gas!’ and +other such angry war-whoops, on the few back gates and scraps of wall +which the limits of our watering-place afford; but the Gas party printed +and posted bills, wherein they took the high ground of proclaiming +against the No Gas party, that it was said Let there be light and there +was light; and that not to have light (that is gas-light) in our +watering-place, was to contravene the great decree. Whether by these +thunderbolts or not, the No Gas party were defeated; and in this present +season we have had our handful of shops illuminated for the first time. +Such of the No Gas party, however, as have got shops, remain in +opposition and burn tallow—exhibiting in their windows the very picture +of the sulkiness that punishes itself, and a new illustration of the old +adage about cutting off your nose to be revenged on your face, in cutting +off their gas to be revenged on their business. + +Other population than we have indicated, our watering-place has none. +There are a few old used-up boatmen who creep about in the sunlight with +the help of sticks, and there is a poor imbecile shoemaker who wanders +his lonely life away among the rocks, as if he were looking for his +reason—which he will never find. Sojourners in neighbouring +watering-places come occasionally in flys to stare at us, and drive away +again as if they thought us very dull; Italian boys come, Punch comes, +the Fantoccini come, the Tumblers come, the Ethiopians come; Glee-singers +come at night, and hum and vibrate (not always melodiously) under our +windows. But they all go soon, and leave us to ourselves again. We once +had a travelling Circus and Wombwell’s Menagerie at the same time. They +both know better than ever to try it again; and the Menagerie had nearly +razed us from the face of the earth in getting the elephant away—his +caravan was so large, and the watering-place so small. We have a fine +sea, wholesome for all people; profitable for the body, profitable for +the mind. The poet’s words are sometimes on its awful lips: + + And the stately ships go on + To their haven under the hill; + But O for the touch of a vanish’d hand. + And the sound of a voice that is still! + + Break, break, break, + At the foot of thy crags, O sea! + But the tender grace of a day that is dead + Will never come back to me. + +Yet it is not always so, for the speech of the sea is various, and wants +not abundant resource of cheerfulness, hope, and lusty encouragement. +And since I have been idling at the window here, the tide has risen. The +boats are dancing on the bubbling water; the colliers are afloat again; +the white-bordered waves rush in; the children + + Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him + When he comes back; + +the radiant sails are gliding past the shore, and shining on the far +horizon; all the sea is sparkling, heaving, swelling up with life and +beauty, this bright morning. + + + + +OUR FRENCH WATERING-PLACE + + +HAVING earned, by many years of fidelity, the right to be sometimes +inconstant to our English watering-place, we have dallied for two or +three seasons with a French watering-place: once solely known to us as a +town with a very long street, beginning with an abattoir and ending with +a steam-boat, which it seemed our fate to behold only at daybreak on +winter mornings, when (in the days before continental railroads), just +sufficiently awake to know that we were most uncomfortably asleep, it was +our destiny always to clatter through it, in the coupé of the diligence +from Paris, with a sea of mud behind us, and a sea of tumbling waves +before. In relation to which latter monster, our mind’s eye now recalls +a worthy Frenchman in a seal-skin cap with a braided hood over it, once +our travelling companion in the coupé aforesaid, who, waking up with a +pale and crumpled visage, and looking ruefully out at the grim row of +breakers enjoying themselves fanatically on an instrument of torture +called ‘the Bar,’ inquired of us whether we were ever sick at sea? Both +to prepare his mind for the abject creature we were presently to become, +and also to afford him consolation, we replied, ‘Sir, your servant is +always sick when it is possible to be so.’ He returned, altogether +uncheered by the bright example, ‘Ah, Heaven, but I am always sick, even +when it is impossible to be so.’ + +The means of communication between the French capital and our French +watering-place are wholly changed since those days; but, the Channel +remains unbridged as yet, and the old floundering and knocking about go +on there. It must be confessed that saving in reasonable (and therefore +rare) sea-weather, the act of arrival at our French watering-place from +England is difficult to be achieved with dignity. Several little +circumstances combine to render the visitor an object of humiliation. In +the first place, the steamer no sooner touches the port, than all the +passengers fall into captivity: being boarded by an overpowering force of +Custom-house officers, and marched into a gloomy dungeon. In the second +place, the road to this dungeon is fenced off with ropes breast-high, and +outside those ropes all the English in the place who have lately been +sea-sick and are now well, assemble in their best clothes to enjoy the +degradation of their dilapidated fellow-creatures. ‘Oh, my gracious! how +ill this one has been!’ ‘Here’s a damp one coming next!’ ‘Here’s a pale +one!’ ‘Oh! Ain’t he green in the face, this next one!’ Even we ourself +(not deficient in natural dignity) have a lively remembrance of +staggering up this detested lane one September day in a gale of wind, +when we were received like an irresistible comic actor, with a burst of +laughter and applause, occasioned by the extreme imbecility of our legs. + +We were coming to the third place. In the third place, the captives, +being shut up in the gloomy dungeon, are strained, two or three at a +time, into an inner cell, to be examined as to passports; and across the +doorway of communication, stands a military creature making a bar of his +arm. Two ideas are generally present to the British mind during these +ceremonies; first, that it is necessary to make for the cell with violent +struggles, as if it were a life-boat and the dungeon a ship going down; +secondly, that the military creature’s arm is a national affront, which +the government at home ought instantly to ‘take up.’ The British mind +and body becoming heated by these fantasies, delirious answers are made +to inquiries, and extravagant actions performed. Thus, Johnson persists +in giving Johnson as his baptismal name, and substituting for his +ancestral designation the national ‘Dam!’ Neither can he by any means be +brought to recognise the distinction between a portmanteau-key and a +passport, but will obstinately persevere in tendering the one when asked +for the other. This brings him to the fourth place, in a state of mere +idiotcy; and when he is, in the fourth place, cast out at a little door +into a howling wilderness of touters, he becomes a lunatic with wild eyes +and floating hair until rescued and soothed. If friendless and +unrescued, he is generally put into a railway omnibus and taken to Paris. + +But, our French watering-place, when it is once got into, is a very +enjoyable place. It has a varied and beautiful country around it, and +many characteristic and agreeable things within it. To be sure, it might +have fewer bad smells and less decaying refuse, and it might be better +drained, and much cleaner in many parts, and therefore infinitely more +healthy. Still, it is a bright, airy, pleasant, cheerful town; and if +you were to walk down either of its three well-paved main streets, +towards five o’clock in the afternoon, when delicate odours of cookery +fill the air, and its hotel windows (it is full of hotels) give glimpses +of long tables set out for dinner, and made to look sumptuous by the aid +of napkins folded fan-wise, you would rightly judge it to be an +uncommonly good town to eat and drink in. + +We have an old walled town, rich in cool public wells of water, on the +top of a hill within and above the present business-town; and if it were +some hundreds of miles further from England, instead of being, on a clear +day, within sight of the grass growing in the crevices of the +chalk-cliffs of Dover, you would long ago have been bored to death about +that town. It is more picturesque and quaint than half the innocent +places which tourists, following their leader like sheep, have made +impostors of. To say nothing of its houses with grave courtyards, its +queer by-corners, and its many-windowed streets white and quiet in the +sunlight, there is an ancient belfry in it that would have been in all +the Annuals and Albums, going and gone, these hundred years if it had but +been more expensive to get at. Happily it has escaped so well, being +only in our French watering-place, that you may like it of your own +accord in a natural manner, without being required to go into convulsions +about it. We regard it as one of the later blessings of our life, that +BILKINS, the only authority on Taste, never took any notice that we can +find out, of our French watering-place. Bilkins never wrote about it, +never pointed out anything to be seen in it, never measured anything in +it, always left it alone. For which relief, Heaven bless the town and +the memory of the immortal Bilkins likewise! + +There is a charming walk, arched and shaded by trees, on the old walls +that form the four sides of this High Town, whence you get glimpses of +the streets below, and changing views of the other town and of the river, +and of the hills and of the sea. It is made more agreeable and peculiar +by some of the solemn houses that are rooted in the deep streets below, +bursting into a fresher existence a-top, and having doors and windows, +and even gardens, on these ramparts. A child going in at the courtyard +gate of one of these houses, climbing up the many stairs, and coming out +at the fourth-floor window, might conceive himself another Jack, +alighting on enchanted ground from another bean-stalk. It is a place +wonderfully populous in children; English children, with governesses +reading novels as they walk down the shady lanes of trees, or nursemaids +interchanging gossip on the seats; French children with their smiling +bonnes in snow-white caps, and themselves—if little boys—in straw +head-gear like bee-hives, work-baskets and church hassocks. Three years +ago, there were three weazen old men, one bearing a frayed red ribbon in +his threadbare button-hole, always to be found walking together among +these children, before dinner-time. If they walked for an appetite, they +doubtless lived en pension—were contracted for—otherwise their poverty +would have made it a rash action. They were stooping, blear-eyed, dull +old men, slip-shod and shabby, in long-skirted short-waisted coats and +meagre trousers, and yet with a ghost of gentility hovering in their +company. They spoke little to each other, and looked as if they might +have been politically discontented if they had had vitality enough. +Once, we overheard red-ribbon feebly complain to the other two that +somebody, or something, was ‘a Robber;’ and then they all three set their +mouths so that they would have ground their teeth if they had had any. +The ensuing winter gathered red-ribbon unto the great company of faded +ribbons, and next year the remaining two were there—getting themselves +entangled with hoops and dolls—familiar mysteries to the +children—probably in the eyes of most of them, harmless creatures who had +never been like children, and whom children could never be like. Another +winter came, and another old man went, and so, this present year, the +last of the triumvirate, left off walking—it was no good, now—and sat by +himself on a little solitary bench, with the hoops and the dolls as +lively as ever all about him. + +In the Place d’Armes of this town, a little decayed market is held, which +seems to slip through the old gateway, like water, and go rippling down +the hill, to mingle with the murmuring market in the lower town, and get +lost in its movement and bustle. It is very agreeable on an idle summer +morning to pursue this market-stream from the hill-top. It begins, +dozingly and dully, with a few sacks of corn; starts into a surprising +collection of boots and shoes; goes brawling down the hill in a +diversified channel of old cordage, old iron, old crockery, old clothes, +civil and military, old rags, new cotton goods, flaming prints of saints, +little looking-glasses, and incalculable lengths of tape; dives into a +backway, keeping out of sight for a little while, as streams will, or +only sparkling for a moment in the shape of a market drinking-shop; and +suddenly reappears behind the great church, shooting itself into a bright +confusion of white-capped women and blue-bloused men, poultry, +vegetables, fruits, flowers, pots, pans, praying-chairs, soldiers, +country butter, umbrellas and other sun-shades, girl-porters waiting to +be hired with baskets at their backs, and one weazen little old man in a +cocked hat, wearing a cuirass of drinking-glasses and carrying on his +shoulder a crimson temple fluttering with flags, like a glorified +pavior’s rammer without the handle, who rings a little bell in all parts +of the scene, and cries his cooling drink Hola, Hola, Ho-o-o! in a shrill +cracked voice that somehow makes itself heard, above all the chaffering +and vending hum. Early in the afternoon, the whole course of the stream +is dry. The praying-chairs are put back in the church, the umbrellas are +folded up, the unsold goods are carried away, the stalls and stands +disappear, the square is swept, the hackney coaches lounge there to be +hired, and on all the country roads (if you walk about, as much as we do) +you will see the peasant women, always neatly and comfortably dressed, +riding home, with the pleasantest saddle-furniture of clean milk-pails, +bright butter-kegs, and the like, on the jolliest little donkeys in the +world. + +We have another market in our French watering-place—that is to say, a few +wooden hutches in the open street, down by the Port—devoted to fish. Our +fishing-boats are famous everywhere; and our fishing people, though they +love lively colours, and taste is neutral (see Bilkins), are among the +most picturesque people we ever encountered. They have not only a +quarter of their own in the town itself, but they occupy whole villages +of their own on the neighbouring cliffs. Their churches and chapels are +their own; they consort with one another, they intermarry among +themselves, their customs are their own, and their costume is their own +and never changes. As soon as one of their boys can walk, he is provided +with a long bright red nightcap; and one of their men would as soon think +of going afloat without his head, as without that indispensable appendage +to it. Then, they wear the noblest boots, with the hugest tops—flapping +and bulging over anyhow; above which, they encase themselves in such +wonderful overalls and petticoat trousers, made to all appearance of +tarry old sails, so additionally stiffened with pitch and salt, that the +wearers have a walk of their own, and go straddling and swinging about +among the boats and barrels and nets and rigging, a sight to see. Then, +their younger women, by dint of going down to the sea barefoot, to fling +their baskets into the boats as they come in with the tide, and bespeak +the first fruits of the haul with propitiatory promises to love and marry +that dear fisherman who shall fill that basket like an Angel, have the +finest legs ever carved by Nature in the brightest mahogany, and they +walk like Juno. Their eyes, too, are so lustrous that their long gold +ear-rings turn dull beside those brilliant neighbours; and when they are +dressed, what with these beauties, and their fine fresh faces, and their +many petticoats—striped petticoats, red petticoats, blue petticoats, +always clean and smart, and never too long—and their home-made stockings, +mulberry-coloured, blue, brown, purple, lilac—which the older women, +taking care of the Dutch-looking children, sit in all sorts of places +knitting, knitting, knitting from morning to night—and what with their +little saucy bright blue jackets, knitted too, and fitting close to their +handsome figures; and what with the natural grace with which they wear +the commonest cap, or fold the commonest handkerchief round their +luxuriant hair—we say, in a word and out of breath, that taking all these +premises into our consideration, it has never been a matter of the least +surprise to us that we have never once met, in the cornfields, on the +dusty roads, by the breezy windmills, on the plots of short sweet grass +overhanging the sea—anywhere—a young fisherman and fisherwoman of our +French watering-place together, but the arm of that fisherman has +invariably been, as a matter of course and without any absurd attempt to +disguise so plain a necessity, round the neck or waist of that +fisherwoman. And we have had no doubt whatever, standing looking at +their uphill streets, house rising above house, and terrace above +terrace, and bright garments here and there lying sunning on rough stone +parapets, that the pleasant mist on all such objects, caused by their +being seen through the brown nets hung across on poles to dry, is, in the +eyes of every true young fisherman, a mist of love and beauty, setting +off the goddess of his heart. + +Moreover it is to be observed that these are an industrious people, and a +domestic people, and an honest people. And though we are aware that at +the bidding of Bilkins it is our duty to fall down and worship the +Neapolitans, we make bold very much to prefer the fishing people of our +French watering-place—especially since our last visit to Naples within +these twelvemonths, when we found only four conditions of men remaining +in the whole city: to wit, lazzaroni, priests, spies, and soldiers, and +all of them beggars; the paternal government having banished all its +subjects except the rascals. + +But we can never henceforth separate our French watering-place from our +own landlord of two summers, M. Loyal Devasseur, citizen and +town-councillor. Permit us to have the pleasure of presenting M. Loyal +Devasseur. + +His own family name is simply Loyal; but, as he is married, and as in +that part of France a husband always adds to his own name the family name +of his wife, he writes himself Loyal Devasseur. He owns a compact little +estate of some twenty or thirty acres on a lofty hill-side, and on it he +has built two country houses, which he lets furnished. They are by many +degrees the best houses that are so let near our French watering-place; +we have had the honour of living in both, and can testify. The +entrance-hall of the first we inhabited was ornamented with a plan of the +estate, representing it as about twice the size of Ireland; insomuch that +when we were yet new to the property (M. Loyal always speaks of it as ‘La +propriété’) we went three miles straight on end in search of the bridge +of Austerlitz—which we afterwards found to be immediately outside the +window. The Château of the Old Guard, in another part of the grounds, +and, according to the plan, about two leagues from the little +dining-room, we sought in vain for a week, until, happening one evening +to sit upon a bench in the forest (forest in the plan), a few yards from +the house-door, we observed at our feet, in the ignominious circumstances +of being upside down and greenly rotten, the Old Guard himself: that is +to say, the painted effigy of a member of that distinguished corps, seven +feet high, and in the act of carrying arms, who had had the misfortune to +be blown down in the previous winter. It will be perceived that M. Loyal +is a staunch admirer of the great Napoleon. He is an old soldier +himself—captain of the National Guard, with a handsome gold vase on his +chimney-piece presented to him by his company—and his respect for the +memory of the illustrious general is enthusiastic. Medallions of him, +portraits of him, busts of him, pictures of him, are thickly sprinkled +all over the property. During the first month of our occupation, it was +our affliction to be constantly knocking down Napoleon: if we touched a +shelf in a dark corner, he toppled over with a crash; and every door we +opened, shook him to the soul. Yet M. Loyal is not a man of mere castles +in the air, or, as he would say, in Spain. He has a specially practical, +contriving, clever, skilful eye and hand. His houses are delightful. He +unites French elegance and English comfort, in a happy manner quite his +own. He has an extraordinary genius for making tasteful little bedrooms +in angles of his roofs, which an Englishman would as soon think of +turning to any account as he would think of cultivating the Desert. We +have ourself reposed deliciously in an elegant chamber of M. Loyal’s +construction, with our head as nearly in the kitchen chimney-pot as we +can conceive it likely for the head of any gentleman, not by profession a +Sweep, to be. And, into whatsoever strange nook M. Loyal’s genius +penetrates, it, in that nook, infallibly constructs a cupboard and a row +of pegs. In either of our houses, we could have put away the knapsacks +and hung up the hats of the whole regiment of Guides. + +Aforetime, M. Loyal was a tradesman in the town. You can transact +business with no present tradesman in the town, and give your card ‘chez +M. Loyal,’ but a brighter face shines upon you directly. We doubt if +there is, ever was, or ever will be, a man so universally pleasant in the +minds of people as M. Loyal is in the minds of the citizens of our French +watering-place. They rub their hands and laugh when they speak of him. +Ah, but he is such a good child, such a brave boy, such a generous +spirit, that Monsieur Loyal! It is the honest truth. M. Loyal’s nature +is the nature of a gentleman. He cultivates his ground with his own +hands (assisted by one little labourer, who falls into a fit now and +then); and he digs and delves from morn to eve in prodigious +perspirations—‘works always,’ as he says—but, cover him with dust, mud, +weeds, water, any stains you will, you never can cover the gentleman in +M. Loyal. A portly, upright, broad-shouldered, brown-faced man, whose +soldierly bearing gives him the appearance of being taller than he is, +look into the bright eye of M. Loyal, standing before you in his +working-blouse and cap, not particularly well shaved, and, it may be, +very earthy, and you shall discern in M. Loyal a gentleman whose true +politeness is ingrain, and confirmation of whose word by his bond you +would blush to think of. Not without reason is M. Loyal when he tells +that story, in his own vivacious way, of his travelling to Fulham, near +London, to buy all these hundreds and hundreds of trees you now see upon +the Property, then a bare, bleak hill; and of his sojourning in Fulham +three months; and of his jovial evenings with the market-gardeners; and +of the crowning banquet before his departure, when the market-gardeners +rose as one man, clinked their glasses all together (as the custom at +Fulham is), and cried, ‘Vive Loyal!’ + +M. Loyal has an agreeable wife, but no family; and he loves to drill the +children of his tenants, or run races with them, or do anything with +them, or for them, that is good-natured. He is of a highly convivial +temperament, and his hospitality is unbounded. Billet a soldier on him, +and he is delighted. Five-and-thirty soldiers had M. Loyal billeted on +him this present summer, and they all got fat and red-faced in two days. +It became a legend among the troops that whosoever got billeted on M. +Loyal rolled in clover; and so it fell out that the fortunate man who +drew the billet ‘M. Loyal Devasseur’ always leaped into the air, though +in heavy marching order. M. Loyal cannot bear to admit anything that +might seem by any implication to disparage the military profession. We +hinted to him once, that we were conscious of a remote doubt arising in +our mind, whether a sou a day for pocket-money, tobacco, stockings, +drink, washing, and social pleasures in general, left a very large margin +for a soldier’s enjoyment. Pardon! said Monsieur Loyal, rather wincing. +It was not a fortune, but—à la bonne heure—it was better than it used to +be! What, we asked him on another occasion, were all those neighbouring +peasants, each living with his family in one room, and each having a +soldier (perhaps two) billeted on him every other night, required to +provide for those soldiers? ‘Faith!’ said M. Loyal, reluctantly; a bed, +monsieur, and fire to cook with, and a candle. And they share their +supper with those soldiers. It is not possible that they could eat +alone.’—‘And what allowance do they get for this?’ said we. Monsieur +Loyal drew himself up taller, took a step back, laid his hand upon his +breast, and said, with majesty, as speaking for himself and all France, +‘Monsieur, it is a contribution to the State!’ + +It is never going to rain, according to M. Loyal. When it is impossible +to deny that it is now raining in torrents, he says it will be +fine—charming—magnificent—to-morrow. It is never hot on the Property, he +contends. Likewise it is never cold. The flowers, he says, come out, +delighting to grow there; it is like Paradise this morning; it is like +the Garden of Eden. He is a little fanciful in his language: smilingly +observing of Madame Loyal, when she is absent at vespers, that she is +‘gone to her salvation’—allée à son salut. He has a great enjoyment of +tobacco, but nothing would induce him to continue smoking face to face +with a lady. His short black pipe immediately goes into his breast +pocket, scorches his blouse, and nearly sets him on fire. In the Town +Council and on occasions of ceremony, he appears in a full suit of black, +with a waistcoat of magnificent breadth across the chest, and a +shirt-collar of fabulous proportions. Good M. Loyal! Under blouse or +waistcoat, he carries one of the gentlest hearts that beat in a nation +teeming with gentle people. He has had losses, and has been at his best +under them. Not only the loss of his way by night in the Fulham +times—when a bad subject of an Englishman, under pretence of seeing him +home, took him into all the night public-houses, drank ‘arfanarf’ in +every one at his expense, and finally fled, leaving him shipwrecked at +Cleefeeway, which we apprehend to be Ratcliffe Highway—but heavier losses +than that. Long ago a family of children and a mother were left in one +of his houses without money, a whole year. M. Loyal—anything but as rich +as we wish he had been—had not the heart to say ‘you must go;’ so they +stayed on and stayed on, and paying-tenants who would have come in +couldn’t come in, and at last they managed to get helped home across the +water; and M. Loyal kissed the whole group, and said, ‘Adieu, my poor +infants!’ and sat down in their deserted salon and smoked his pipe of +peace.—‘The rent, M. Loyal?’ ‘Eh! well! The rent!’ M. Loyal shakes his +head. ‘Le bon Dieu,’ says M. Loyal presently, ‘will recompense me,’ and +he laughs and smokes his pipe of peace. May he smoke it on the Property, +and not be recompensed, these fifty years! + +There are public amusements in our French watering-place, or it would not +be French. They are very popular, and very cheap. The sea-bathing—which +may rank as the most favoured daylight entertainment, inasmuch as the +French visitors bathe all day long, and seldom appear to think of +remaining less than an hour at a time in the water—is astoundingly cheap. +Omnibuses convey you, if you please, from a convenient part of the town +to the beach and back again; you have a clean and comfortable +bathing-machine, dress, linen, and all appliances; and the charge for the +whole is half-a-franc, or fivepence. On the pier, there is usually a +guitar, which seems presumptuously enough to set its tinkling against the +deep hoarseness of the sea, and there is always some boy or woman who +sings, without any voice, little songs without any tune: the strain we +have most frequently heard being an appeal to ‘the sportsman’ not to bag +that choicest of game, the swallow. For bathing purposes, we have also a +subscription establishment with an esplanade, where people lounge about +with telescopes, and seem to get a good deal of weariness for their +money; and we have also an association of individual machine proprietors +combined against this formidable rival. M. Féroce, our own particular +friend in the bathing line, is one of these. How he ever came by his +name we cannot imagine. He is as gentle and polite a man as M. Loyal +Devasseur himself; immensely stout withal; and of a beaming aspect. M. +Féroce has saved so many people from drowning, and has been decorated +with so many medals in consequence, that his stoutness seems a special +dispensation of Providence to enable him to wear them; if his girth were +the girth of an ordinary man, he could never hang them on, all at once. +It is only on very great occasions that M. Féroce displays his shining +honours. At other times they lie by, with rolls of manuscript testifying +to the causes of their presentation, in a huge glass case in the +red-sofa’d salon of his private residence on the beach, where M. Féroce +also keeps his family pictures, his portraits of himself as he appears +both in bathing life and in private life, his little boats that rock by +clockwork, and his other ornamental possessions. + +Then, we have a commodious and gay Theatre—or had, for it is burned down +now—where the opera was always preceded by a vaudeville, in which (as +usual) everybody, down to the little old man with the large hat and the +little cane and tassel, who always played either my Uncle or my Papa, +suddenly broke out of the dialogue into the mildest vocal snatches, to +the great perplexity of unaccustomed strangers from Great Britain, who +never could make out when they were singing and when they were +talking—and indeed it was pretty much the same. But, the caterers in the +way of entertainment to whom we are most beholden, are the Society of +Welldoing, who are active all the summer, and give the proceeds of their +good works to the poor. Some of the most agreeable fêtes they contrive, +are announced as ‘Dedicated to the children;’ and the taste with which +they turn a small public enclosure into an elegant garden beautifully +illuminated; and the thorough-going heartiness and energy with which they +personally direct the childish pleasures; are supremely delightful. For +fivepence a head, we have on these occasions donkey races with English +‘Jokeis,’ and other rustic sports; lotteries for toys; roundabouts, +dancing on the grass to the music of an admirable band, fire-balloons and +fireworks. Further, almost every week all through the summer—never mind, +now, on what day of the week—there is a fête in some adjoining village +(called in that part of the country a Ducasse), where the people—really +the people—dance on the green turf in the open air, round a little +orchestra, that seems itself to dance, there is such an airy motion of +flags and streamers all about it. And we do not suppose that between the +Torrid Zone and the North Pole there are to be found male dancers with +such astonishingly loose legs, furnished with so many joints in wrong +places, utterly unknown to Professor Owen, as those who here disport +themselves. Sometimes, the fête appertains to a particular trade; you +will see among the cheerful young women at the joint Ducasse of the +milliners and tailors, a wholesome knowledge of the art of making common +and cheap things uncommon and pretty, by good sense and good taste, that +is a practical lesson to any rank of society in a whole island we could +mention. The oddest feature of these agreeable scenes is the everlasting +Roundabout (we preserve an English word wherever we can, as we are +writing the English language), on the wooden horses of which machine +grown-up people of all ages are wound round and round with the utmost +solemnity, while the proprietor’s wife grinds an organ, capable of only +one tune, in the centre. + +As to the boarding-houses of our French watering-place, they are Legion, +and would require a distinct treatise. It is not without a sentiment of +national pride that we believe them to contain more bores from the shores +of Albion than all the clubs in London. As you walk timidly in their +neighbourhood, the very neckcloths and hats of your elderly compatriots +cry to you from the stones of the streets, ‘We are Bores—avoid us!’ We +have never overheard at street corners such lunatic scraps of political +and social discussion as among these dear countrymen of ours. They +believe everything that is impossible and nothing that is true. They +carry rumours, and ask questions, and make corrections and improvements +on one another, staggering to the human intellect. And they are for ever +rushing into the English library, propounding such incomprehensible +paradoxes to the fair mistress of that establishment, that we beg to +recommend her to her Majesty’s gracious consideration as a fit object for +a pension. + +The English form a considerable part of the population of our French +watering-place, and are deservedly addressed and respected in many ways. +Some of the surface-addresses to them are odd enough, as when a laundress +puts a placard outside her house announcing her possession of that +curious British instrument, a ‘Mingle;’ or when a tavern-keeper provides +accommodation for the celebrated English game of ‘Nokemdon.’ But, to us, +it is not the least pleasant feature of our French watering-place that a +long and constant fusion of the two great nations there, has taught each +to like the other, and to learn from the other, and to rise superior to +the absurd prejudices that have lingered among the weak and ignorant in +both countries equally. + +Drumming and trumpeting of course go on for ever in our French +watering-place. Flag-flying is at a premium, too; but, we cheerfully +avow that we consider a flag a very pretty object, and that we take such +outward signs of innocent liveliness to our heart of hearts. The people, +in the town and in the country, are a busy people who work hard; they are +sober, temperate, good-humoured, light-hearted, and generally remarkable +for their engaging manners. Few just men, not immoderately bilious, +could see them in their recreations without very much respecting the +character that is so easily, so harmlessly, and so simply, pleased. + + + + +BILL-STICKING + + +IF I had an enemy whom I hated—which Heaven forbid!—and if I knew of +something which sat heavy on his conscience, I think I would introduce +that something into a Posting-Bill, and place a large impression in the +hands of an active sticker. I can scarcely imagine a more terrible +revenge. I should haunt him, by this means, night and day. I do not +mean to say that I would publish his secret, in red letters two feet +high, for all the town to read: I would darkly refer to it. It should be +between him, and me, and the Posting-Bill. Say, for example, that, at a +certain period of his life, my enemy had surreptitiously possessed +himself of a key. I would then embark my capital in the lock business, +and conduct that business on the advertising principle. In all my +placards and advertisements, I would throw up the line SECRET KEYS. +Thus, if my enemy passed an uninhabited house, he would see his +conscience glaring down on him from the parapets, and peeping up at him +from the cellars. If he took a dead wall in his walk, it would be alive +with reproaches. If he sought refuge in an omnibus, the panels thereof +would become Belshazzar’s palace to him. If he took boat, in a wild +endeavour to escape, he would see the fatal words lurking under the +arches of the bridges over the Thames. If he walked the streets with +downcast eyes, he would recoil from the very stones of the pavement, made +eloquent by lamp-black lithograph. If he drove or rode, his way would be +blocked up by enormous vans, each proclaiming the same words over and +over again from its whole extent of surface. Until, having gradually +grown thinner and paler, and having at last totally rejected food, he +would miserably perish, and I should be revenged. This conclusion I +should, no doubt, celebrate by laughing a hoarse laugh in three +syllables, and folding my arms tight upon my chest agreeably to most of +the examples of glutted animosity that I have had an opportunity of +observing in connexion with the Drama—which, by-the-by, as involving a +good deal of noise, appears to me to be occasionally confounded with the +Drummer. + +The foregoing reflections presented themselves to my mind, the other day, +as I contemplated (being newly come to London from the East Riding of +Yorkshire, on a house-hunting expedition for next May), an old warehouse +which rotting paste and rotting paper had brought down to the condition +of an old cheese. It would have been impossible to say, on the most +conscientious survey, how much of its front was brick and mortar, and how +much decaying and decayed plaster. It was so thickly encrusted with +fragments of bills, that no ship’s keel after a long voyage could be half +so foul. All traces of the broken windows were billed out, the doors +were billed across, the water-spout was billed over. The building was +shored up to prevent its tumbling into the street; and the very beams +erected against it were less wood than paste and paper, they had been so +continually posted and reposted. The forlorn dregs of old posters so +encumbered this wreck, that there was no hold for new posters, and the +stickers had abandoned the place in despair, except one enterprising man +who had hoisted the last masquerade to a clear spot near the level of the +stack of chimneys where it waved and drooped like a shattered flag. +Below the rusty cellar-grating, crumpled remnants of old bills torn down, +rotted away in wasting heaps of fallen leaves. Here and there, some of +the thick rind of the house had peeled off in strips, and fluttered +heavily down, littering the street; but, still, below these rents and +gashes, layers of decomposing posters showed themselves, as if they were +interminable. I thought the building could never even be pulled down, +but in one adhesive heap of rottenness and poster. As to getting in—I +don’t believe that if the Sleeping Beauty and her Court had been so +billed up, the young Prince could have done it. + +Knowing all the posters that were yet legible, intimately, and pondering +on their ubiquitous nature, I was led into the reflections with which I +began this paper, by considering what an awful thing it would be, ever to +have wronged—say M. JULLIEN for example—and to have his avenging name in +characters of fire incessantly before my eyes. Or to have injured MADAME +TUSSAUD, and undergo a similar retribution. Has any man a +self-reproachful thought associated with pills, or ointment? What an +avenging spirit to that man is PROFESSOR HOLLOWAY! Have I sinned in oil? +CABBURN pursues me. Have I a dark remembrance associated with any +gentlemanly garments, bespoke or ready made? MOSES and SON are on my +track. Did I ever aim a blow at a defenceless fellow-creature’s head? +That head eternally being measured for a wig, or that worse head which +was bald before it used the balsam, and hirsute afterwards—enforcing the +benevolent moral, ‘Better to be bald as a Dutch cheese than come to +this,’—undoes me. Have I no sore places in my mind which MECHI +touches—which NICOLL probes—which no registered article whatever +lacerates? Does no discordant note within me thrill responsive to +mysterious watchwords, as ‘Revalenta Arabica,’ or ‘Number One St. Paul’s +Churchyard’? Then may I enjoy life, and be happy. + +Lifting up my eyes, as I was musing to this effect, I beheld advancing +towards me (I was then on Cornhill, near to the Royal Exchange), a solemn +procession of three advertising vans, of first-class dimensions, each +drawn by a very little horse. As the cavalcade approached, I was at a +loss to reconcile the careless deportment of the drivers of these +vehicles, with the terrific announcements they conducted through the +city, which being a summary of the contents of a Sunday newspaper, were +of the most thrilling kind. Robbery, fire, murder, and the ruin of the +United Kingdom—each discharged in a line by itself, like a separate +broad-side of red-hot shot—were among the least of the warnings addressed +to an unthinking people. Yet, the Ministers of Fate who drove the awful +cars, leaned forward with their arms upon their knees in a state of +extreme lassitude, for want of any subject of interest. The first man, +whose hair I might naturally have expected to see standing on end, +scratched his head—one of the smoothest I ever beheld—with profound +indifference. The second whistled. The third yawned. + +Pausing to dwell upon this apathy, it appeared to me, as the fatal cars +came by me, that I descried in the second car, through the portal in +which the charioteer was seated, a figure stretched upon the floor. At +the same time, I thought I smelt tobacco. The latter impression passed +quickly from me; the former remained. Curious to know whether this +prostrate figure was the one impressible man of the whole capital who had +been stricken insensible by the terrors revealed to him, and whose form +had been placed in the car by the charioteer, from motives of humanity, I +followed the procession. It turned into Leadenhall-market, and halted at +a public-house. Each driver dismounted. I then distinctly heard, +proceeding from the second car, where I had dimly seen the prostrate +form, the words: + +‘And a pipe!’ + +The driver entering the public-house with his fellows, apparently for +purposes of refreshment, I could not refrain from mounting on the shaft +of the second vehicle, and looking in at the portal. I then beheld, +reclining on his back upon the floor, on a kind of mattress or divan, a +little man in a shooting-coat. The exclamation ‘Dear me’ which +irresistibly escaped my lips caused him to sit upright, and survey me. I +found him to be a good-looking little man of about fifty, with a shining +face, a tight head, a bright eye, a moist wink, a quick speech, and a +ready air. He had something of a sporting way with him. + +He looked at me, and I looked at him, until the driver displaced me by +handing in a pint of beer, a pipe, and what I understand is called ‘a +screw’ of tobacco—an object which has the appearance of a curl-paper +taken off the barmaid’s head, with the curl in it. + +‘I beg your pardon,’ said I, when the removed person of the driver again +admitted of my presenting my face at the portal. ‘But—excuse my +curiosity, which I inherit from my mother—do you live here?’ + +‘That’s good, too!’ returned the little man, composedly laying aside a +pipe he had smoked out, and filling the pipe just brought to him. + +‘Oh, you _don’t_ live here then?’ said I. + +He shook his head, as he calmly lighted his pipe by means of a German +tinder-box, and replied, ‘This is my carriage. When things are flat, I +take a ride sometimes, and enjoy myself. I am the inventor of these +wans.’ + +His pipe was now alight. He drank his beer all at once, and he smoked +and he smiled at me. + +‘It was a great idea!’ said I. + +‘Not so bad,’ returned the little man, with the modesty of merit. + +‘Might I be permitted to inscribe your name upon the tablets of my +memory?’ I asked. + +‘There’s not much odds in the name,’ returned the little man, ‘—no name +particular—I am the King of the Bill-Stickers.’ + +‘Good gracious!’ said I. + +The monarch informed me, with a smile, that he had never been crowned or +installed with any public ceremonies, but that he was peaceably +acknowledged as King of the Bill-Stickers in right of being the oldest +and most respected member of ‘the old school of bill-sticking.’ He +likewise gave me to understand that there was a Lord Mayor of the +Bill-Stickers, whose genius was chiefly exercised within the limits of +the city. He made some allusion, also, to an inferior potentate, called +‘Turkey-legs;’ but I did not understand that this gentleman was invested +with much power. I rather inferred that he derived his title from some +peculiarity of gait, and that it was of an honorary character. + +‘My father,’ pursued the King of the Bill-Stickers, ‘was Engineer, +Beadle, and Bill-Sticker to the parish of St. Andrew’s, Holborn, in the +year one thousand seven hundred and eighty. My father stuck bills at the +time of the riots of London.’ + +‘You must be acquainted with the whole subject of bill-sticking, from +that time to the present!’ said I. + +‘Pretty well so,’ was the answer. + +‘Excuse me,’ said I; ‘but I am a sort of collector—’ + +‘‘Not Income-tax?’ cried His Majesty, hastily removing his pipe from his +lips. + +‘No, no,’ said I. + +‘Water-rate?’ said His Majesty. + +‘No, no,’ I returned. + +‘Gas? Assessed? Sewers?’ said His Majesty. + +‘You misunderstand me,’ I replied, soothingly. ‘Not that sort of +collector at all: a collector of facts.’ + +‘Oh, if it’s only facts,’ cried the King of the Bill-Stickers, recovering +his good-humour, and banishing the great mistrust that had suddenly +fallen upon him, ‘come in and welcome! If it had been income, or +winders, I think I should have pitched you out of the wan, upon my soul!’ + +Readily complying with the invitation, I squeezed myself in at the small +aperture. His Majesty, graciously handing me a little three-legged stool +on which I took my seat in a corner, inquired if I smoked. + +‘I do;—that is, I can,’ I answered. + +‘Pipe and a screw!’ said His Majesty to the attendant charioteer. ‘Do +you prefer a dry smoke, or do you moisten it?’ + +As unmitigated tobacco produces most disturbing effects upon my system +(indeed, if I had perfect moral courage, I doubt if I should smoke at +all, under any circumstances), I advocated moisture, and begged the +Sovereign of the Bill-Stickers to name his usual liquor, and to concede +to me the privilege of paying for it. After some delicate reluctance on +his part, we were provided, through the instrumentality of the attendant +charioteer, with a can of cold rum-and-water, flavoured with sugar and +lemon. We were also furnished with a tumbler, and I was provided with a +pipe. His Majesty, then observing that we might combine business with +conversation, gave the word for the car to proceed; and, to my great +delight, we jogged away at a foot pace. + +I say to my great delight, because I am very fond of novelty, and it was +a new sensation to be jolting through the tumult of the city in that +secluded Temple, partly open to the sky, surrounded by the roar without, +and seeing nothing but the clouds. Occasionally, blows from whips fell +heavily on the Temple’s walls, when by stopping up the road longer than +usual, we irritated carters and coachmen to madness; but they fell +harmless upon us within and disturbed not the serenity of our peaceful +retreat. As I looked upward, I felt, I should imagine, like the +Astronomer Royal. I was enchanted by the contrast between the freezing +nature of our external mission on the blood of the populace, and the +perfect composure reigning within those sacred precincts: where His +Majesty, reclining easily on his left arm, smoked his pipe and drank his +rum-and-water from his own side of the tumbler, which stood impartially +between us. As I looked down from the clouds and caught his royal eye, +he understood my reflections. ‘I have an idea,’ he observed, with an +upward glance, ‘of training scarlet runners across in the season,—making +a arbour of it,—and sometimes taking tea in the same, according to the +song.’ + +I nodded approval. + +‘And here you repose and think?’ said I. + +‘And think,’ said he, ‘of posters—walls—and hoardings.’ + +We were both silent, contemplating the vastness of the subject. I +remembered a surprising fancy of dear THOMAS HOOD’S, and wondered whether +this monarch ever sighed to repair to the great wall of China, and stick +bills all over it. + +‘And so,’ said he, rousing himself, ‘it’s facts as you collect?’ + +‘Facts,’ said I. + +‘The facts of bill-sticking,’ pursued His Majesty, in a benignant manner, +‘as known to myself, air as following. When my father was Engineer, +Beadle, and Bill-Sticker to the parish of St. Andrew’s, Holborn, he +employed women to post bills for him. He employed women to post bills at +the time of the riots of London. He died at the age of seventy-five +year, and was buried by the murdered Eliza Grimwood, over in the Waterloo +Road.’ + +As this was somewhat in the nature of a royal speech, I listened with +deference and silently. His Majesty, taking a scroll from his pocket, +proceeded, with great distinctness, to pour out the following flood of +information:— + +‘“The bills being at that period mostly proclamations and declarations, +and which were only a demy size, the manner of posting the bills (as they +did not use brushes) was by means of a piece of wood which they called a +‘dabber.’ Thus things continued till such time as the State Lottery was +passed, and then the printers began to print larger bills, and men were +employed instead of women, as the State Lottery Commissioners then began +to send men all over England to post bills, and would keep them out for +six or eight months at a time, and they were called by the London +bill-stickers ‘trampers,’ their wages at the time being ten shillings per +day, besides expenses. They used sometimes to be stationed in large +towns for five or six months together, distributing the schemes to all +the houses in the town. And then there were more caricature wood-block +engravings for posting-bills than there are at the present time, the +principal printers, at that time, of posting-bills being Messrs. Evans +and Ruffy, of Budge Row; Thoroughgood and Whiting, of the present day; +and Messrs. Gye and Balne, Gracechurch Street, City. The largest bills +printed at that period were a two-sheet double crown; and when they +commenced printing four-sheet bills, two bill-stickers would work +together. They had no settled wages per week, but had a fixed price for +their work, and the London bill-stickers, during a lottery week, have +been known to earn, each, eight or nine pounds per week, till the day of +drawing; likewise the men who carried boards in the street used to have +one pound per week, and the bill-stickers at that time would not allow +any one to wilfully cover or destroy their bills, as they had a society +amongst themselves, and very frequently dined together at some +public-house where they used to go of an evening to have their work +delivered out untoe ’em.”’ + +All this His Majesty delivered in a gallant manner; posting it, as it +were, before me, in a great proclamation. I took advantage of the pause +he now made, to inquire what a ‘two-sheet double crown’ might express? + +‘A two-sheet double crown,’ replied the King, ‘is a bill thirty-nine +inches wide by thirty inches high.’ + +‘Is it possible,’ said I, my mind reverting to the gigantic admonitions +we were then displaying to the multitude—which were as infants to some of +the posting-bills on the rotten old warehouse—‘that some few years ago +the largest bill was no larger than that?’ + +‘The fact,’ returned the King, ‘is undoubtedly so.’ Here he instantly +rushed again into the scroll. + +‘“Since the abolishing of the State Lottery all that good feeling has +gone, and nothing but jealousy exists, through the rivalry of each other. +Several bill-sticking companies have started, but have failed. The first +party that started a company was twelve year ago; but what was left of +the old school and their dependants joined together and opposed them. +And for some time we were quiet again, till a printer of Hatton Garden +formed a company by hiring the sides of houses; but he was not supported +by the public, and he left his wooden frames fixed up for rent. The last +company that started, took advantage of the New Police Act, and hired of +Messrs. Grissell and Peto the hoarding of Trafalgar Square, and +established a bill-sticking office in Cursitor Street, Chancery Lane, and +engaged some of the new bill-stickers to do their work, and for a time +got the half of all our work, and with such spirit did they carry on +their opposition towards us, that they used to give us in charge before +the magistrate, and get us fined; but they found it so expensive, that +they could not keep it up, for they were always employing a lot of +ruffians from the Seven Dials to come and fight us; and on one occasion +the old bill-stickers went to Trafalgar Square to attempt to post bills, +when they were given in custody by the watchman in their employ, and +fined at Queen Square five pounds, as they would not allow any of us to +speak in the office; but when they were gone, we had an interview with +the magistrate, who mitigated the fine to fifteen shillings. During the +time the men were waiting for the fine, this company started off to a +public-house that we were in the habit of using, and waited for us coming +back, where a fighting scene took place that beggars description. +Shortly after this, the principal one day came and shook hands with us, +and acknowledged that he had broken up the company, and that he himself +had lost five hundred pound in trying to overthrow us. We then took +possession of the hoarding in Trafalgar Square; but Messrs. Grissell and +Peto would not allow us to post our bills on the said hoarding without +paying them—and from first to last we paid upwards of two hundred pounds +for that hoarding, and likewise the hoarding of the Reform Club-house, +Pall Mall.”’ + +His Majesty, being now completely out of breath, laid down his scroll +(which he appeared to have finished), puffed at his pipe, and took some +rum-and-water. I embraced the opportunity of asking how many divisions +the art and mystery of bill-sticking comprised? He replied, +three—auctioneers’ bill-sticking, theatrical bill-sticking, general +bill-sticking. + +‘The auctioneers’ porters,’ said the King, ‘who do their bill-sticking, +are mostly respectable and intelligent, and generally well paid for their +work, whether in town or country. The price paid by the principal +auctioneers for country work is nine shillings per day; that is, seven +shillings for day’s work, one shilling for lodging, and one for paste. +Town work is five shillings a day, including paste.’ + +‘Town work must be rather hot work,’ said I, ‘if there be many of those +fighting scenes that beggar description, among the bill-stickers?’ + +‘Well,’ replied the King, ‘I an’t a stranger, I assure you, to black +eyes; a bill-sticker ought to know how to handle his fists a bit. As to +that row I have mentioned, that grew out of competition, conducted in an +uncompromising spirit. Besides a man in a horse-and-shay continually +following us about, the company had a watchman on duty, night and day, to +prevent us sticking bills upon the hoarding in Trafalgar Square. We went +there, early one morning, to stick bills and to black-wash their bills if +we were interfered with. We were interfered with, and I gave the word +for laying on the wash. It was laid on—pretty brisk—and we were all +taken to Queen Square: but they couldn’t fine me. I knew that,’—with a +bright smile—‘I’d only give directions—I was only the General.’ Charmed +with this monarch’s affability, I inquired if he had ever hired a +hoarding himself. + +‘Hired a large one,’ he replied, ‘opposite the Lyceum Theatre, when the +buildings was there. Paid thirty pound for it; let out places on it, and +called it “The External Paper-Hanging Station.” But it didn’t answer. +Ah!’ said His Majesty thoughtfully, as he filled the glass, +‘Bill-stickers have a deal to contend with. The bill-sticking clause was +got into the Police Act by a member of Parliament that employed me at his +election. The clause is pretty stiff respecting where bills go; but he +didn’t mind where his bills went. It was all right enough, so long as +they was his bills!’ + +Fearful that I observed a shadow of misanthropy on the King’s cheerful +face, I asked whose ingenious invention that was, which I greatly +admired, of sticking bills under the arches of the bridges. + +‘Mine!’ said His Majesty. ‘I was the first that ever stuck a bill under +a bridge! Imitators soon rose up, of course.—When don’t they? But they +stuck ’em at low-water, and the tide came and swept the bills clean away. +I knew that!’ The King laughed. + +‘What may be the name of that instrument, like an immense fishing-rod,’ I +inquired, ‘with which bills are posted on high places?’ + +‘The joints,’ returned His Majesty. ‘Now, we use the joints where +formerly we used ladders—as they do still in country places. Once, when +Madame’ (Vestris, understood) ‘was playing in Liverpool, another +bill-sticker and me were at it together on the wall outside the Clarence +Dock—me with the joints—him on a ladder. Lord! I had my bill up, right +over his head, yards above him, ladder and all, while he was crawling to +his work. The people going in and out of the docks, stood and +laughed!—It’s about thirty years since the joints come in.’ + +‘Are there any bill-stickers who can’t read?’ I took the liberty of +inquiring. + +‘Some,’ said the King. ‘But they know which is the right side up’ards of +their work. They keep it as it’s given out to ’em. I have seen a bill +or so stuck wrong side up’ards. But it’s very rare.’ + +Our discourse sustained some interruption at this point, by the +procession of cars occasioning a stoppage of about three-quarters of a +mile in length, as nearly as I could judge. His Majesty, however, +entreating me not to be discomposed by the contingent uproar, smoked with +great placidity, and surveyed the firmament. + +When we were again in motion, I begged to be informed what was the +largest poster His Majesty had ever seen. The King replied, ‘A +thirty-six sheet poster.’ I gathered, also, that there were about a +hundred and fifty bill-stickers in London, and that His Majesty +considered an average hand equal to the posting of one hundred bills +(single sheets) in a day. The King was of opinion, that, although +posters had much increased in size, they had not increased in number; as +the abolition of the State Lotteries had occasioned a great falling off, +especially in the country. Over and above which change, I bethought +myself that the custom of advertising in newspapers had greatly +increased. The completion of many London improvements, as Trafalgar +Square (I particularly observed the singularity of His Majesty’s calling +that an improvement), the Royal Exchange, &c., had of late years reduced +the number of advantageous posting-places. Bill-Stickers at present +rather confine themselves to districts, than to particular descriptions +of work. One man would strike over Whitechapel, another would take round +Houndsditch, Shoreditch, and the City Road; one (the King said) would +stick to the Surrey side; another would make a beat of the West-end. + +His Majesty remarked, with some approach to severity, on the neglect of +delicacy and taste, gradually introduced into the trade by the new +school: a profligate and inferior race of impostors who took jobs at +almost any price, to the detriment of the old school, and the confusion +of their own misguided employers. He considered that the trade was +overdone with competition, and observed speaking of his subjects, ‘There +are too many of ’em.’ He believed, still, that things were a little +better than they had been; adducing, as a proof, the fact that particular +posting places were now reserved, by common consent, for particular +posters; those places, however, must be regularly occupied by those +posters, or, they lapsed and fell into other hands. It was of no use +giving a man a Drury Lane bill this week and not next. Where was it to +go? He was of opinion that going to the expense of putting up your own +board on which your sticker could display your own bills, was the only +complete way of posting yourself at the present time; but, even to effect +this, on payment of a shilling a week to the keepers of steamboat piers +and other such places, you must be able, besides, to give orders for +theatres and public exhibitions, or you would be sure to be cut out by +somebody. His Majesty regarded the passion for orders, as one of the +most unappeasable appetites of human nature. If there were a building, +or if there were repairs, going on, anywhere, you could generally stand +something and make it right with the foreman of the works; but, orders +would be expected from you, and the man who could give the most orders +was the man who would come off best. There was this other objectionable +point, in orders, that workmen sold them for drink, and often sold them +to persons who were likewise troubled with the weakness of thirst: which +led (His Majesty said) to the presentation of your orders at Theatre +doors, by individuals who were ‘too shakery’ to derive intellectual +profit from the entertainments, and who brought a scandal on you. +Finally, His Majesty said that you could hardly put too little in a +poster; what you wanted, was, two or three good catch-lines for the eye +to rest on—then, leave it alone—and there you were! + +These are the minutes of my conversation with His Majesty, as I noted +them down shortly afterwards. I am not aware that I have been betrayed +into any alteration or suppression. The manner of the King was frank in +the extreme; and he seemed to me to avoid, at once that slight tendency +to repetition which may have been observed in the conversation of His +Majesty King George the Third, and—that slight under-current of egotism +which the curious observer may perhaps detect in the conversation of +Napoleon Bonaparte. + +I must do the King the justice to say that it was I, and not he, who +closed the dialogue. At this juncture, I became the subject of a +remarkable optical delusion; the legs of my stool appeared to me to +double up; the car to spin round and round with great violence; and a +mist to arise between myself and His Majesty. In addition to these +sensations, I felt extremely unwell. I refer these unpleasant effects, +either to the paste with which the posters were affixed to the van: which +may have contained some small portion of arsenic; or, to the printer’s +ink, which may have contained some equally deleterious ingredient. Of +this, I cannot be sure. I am only sure that I was not affected, either +by the smoke, or the rum-and-water. I was assisted out of the vehicle, +in a state of mind which I have only experienced in two other places—I +allude to the Pier at Dover, and to the corresponding portion of the town +of Calais—and sat upon a door-step until I recovered. The procession had +then disappeared. I have since looked anxiously for the King in several +other cars, but I have not yet had the happiness of seeing His Majesty. + + + + +‘BIRTHS. MRS. MEEK, OF A SON + + +MY name is Meek. I am, in fact, Mr. Meek. That son is mine and Mrs. +Meek’s. When I saw the announcement in the Times, I dropped the paper. +I had put it in, myself, and paid for it, but it looked so noble that it +overpowered me. + +As soon as I could compose my feelings, I took the paper up to Mrs. +Meek’s bedside. ‘Maria Jane,’ said I (I allude to Mrs. Meek), ‘you are +now a public character.’ We read the review of our child, several times, +with feelings of the strongest emotion; and I sent the boy who cleans the +boots and shoes, to the office for fifteen copies. No reduction was made +on taking that quantity. + +It is scarcely necessary for me to say, that our child had been expected. +In fact, it had been expected, with comparative confidence, for some +months. Mrs. Meek’s mother, who resides with us—of the name of Bigby—had +made every preparation for its admission to our circle. + +I hope and believe I am a quiet man. I will go farther. I know I am a +quiet man. My constitution is tremulous, my voice was never loud, and, +in point of stature, I have been from infancy, small. I have the +greatest respect for Maria Jane’s Mama. She is a most remarkable woman. +I honour Maria Jane’s Mama. In my opinion she would storm a town, +single-handed, with a hearth-broom, and carry it. I have never known her +to yield any point whatever, to mortal man. She is calculated to terrify +the stoutest heart. + +Still—but I will not anticipate. + +The first intimation I had, of any preparations being in progress, on the +part of Maria Jane’s Mama, was one afternoon, several months ago. I came +home earlier than usual from the office, and, proceeding into the +dining-room, found an obstruction behind the door, which prevented it +from opening freely. It was an obstruction of a soft nature. On looking +in, I found it to be a female. + +The female in question stood in the corner behind the door, consuming +Sherry Wine. From the nutty smell of that beverage pervading the +apartment, I have no doubt she was consuming a second glassful. She wore +a black bonnet of large dimensions, and was copious in figure. The +expression of her countenance was severe and discontented. The words to +which she gave utterance on seeing me, were these, ‘Oh, git along with +you, Sir, if you please; me and Mrs. Bigby don’t want no male parties +here!’ + +That female was Mrs. Prodgit. + +I immediately withdrew, of course. I was rather hurt, but I made no +remark. Whether it was that I showed a lowness of spirits after dinner, +in consequence of feeling that I seemed to intrude, I cannot say. But, +Maria Jane’s Mama said to me on her retiring for the night: in a low +distinct voice, and with a look of reproach that completely subdued me: +‘George Meek, Mrs. Prodgit is your wife’s nurse!’ + +I bear no ill-will towards Mrs. Prodgit. Is it likely that I, writing +this with tears in my eyes, should be capable of deliberate animosity +towards a female, so essential to the welfare of Maria Jane? I am +willing to admit that Fate may have been to blame, and not Mrs. Prodgit; +but, it is undeniably true, that the latter female brought desolation and +devastation into my lowly dwelling. + +We were happy after her first appearance; we were sometimes exceedingly +so. But, whenever the parlour door was opened, and ‘Mrs. Prodgit!’ +announced (and she was very often announced), misery ensued. I could not +bear Mrs. Prodgit’s look. I felt that I was far from wanted, and had no +business to exist in Mrs. Prodgit’s presence. Between Maria Jane’s Mama, +and Mrs. Prodgit, there was a dreadful, secret, understanding—a dark +mystery and conspiracy, pointing me out as a being to be shunned. I +appeared to have done something that was evil. Whenever Mrs. Prodgit +called, after dinner, I retired to my dressing-room—where the temperature +is very low indeed, in the wintry time of the year—and sat looking at my +frosty breath as it rose before me, and at my rack of boots; a +serviceable article of furniture, but never, in my opinion, an +exhilarating object. The length of the councils that were held with Mrs. +Prodgit, under these circumstances, I will not attempt to describe. I +will merely remark, that Mrs. Prodgit always consumed Sherry Wine while +the deliberations were in progress; that they always ended in Maria +Jane’s being in wretched spirits on the sofa; and that Maria Jane’s Mama +always received me, when I was recalled, with a look of desolate triumph +that too plainly said, ‘Now, George Meek! You see my child, Maria Jane, +a ruin, and I hope you are satisfied!’ + +I pass, generally, over the period that intervened between the day when +Mrs. Prodgit entered her protest against male parties, and the +ever-memorable midnight when I brought her to my unobtrusive home in a +cab, with an extremely large box on the roof, and a bundle, a bandbox, +and a basket, between the driver’s legs. I have no objection to Mrs. +Prodgit (aided and abetted by Mrs. Bigby, who I never can forget is the +parent of Maria Jane) taking entire possession of my unassuming +establishment. In the recesses of my own breast, the thought may linger +that a man in possession cannot be so dreadful as a woman, and that woman +Mrs. Prodgit; but, I ought to bear a good deal, and I hope I can, and do. +Huffing and snubbing, prey upon my feelings; but, I can bear them without +complaint. They may tell in the long run; I may be hustled about, from +post to pillar, beyond my strength; nevertheless, I wish to avoid giving +rise to words in the family. + +The voice of Nature, however, cries aloud in behalf of Augustus George, +my infant son. It is for him that I wish to utter a few plaintive +household words. I am not at all angry; I am mild—but miserable. + +I wish to know why, when my child, Augustus George, was expected in our +circle, a provision of pins was made, as if the little stranger were a +criminal who was to be put to the torture immediately, on his arrival, +instead of a holy babe? I wish to know why haste was made to stick those +pins all over his innocent form, in every direction? I wish to be +informed why light and air are excluded from Augustus George, like +poisons? Why, I ask, is my unoffending infant so hedged into a +basket-bedstead, with dimity and calico, with miniature sheets and +blankets, that I can only hear him snuffle (and no wonder!) deep down +under the pink hood of a little bathing-machine, and can never peruse +even so much of his lineaments as his nose? + +Was I expected to be the father of a French Roll, that the brushes of All +Nations were laid in, to rasp Augustus George? Am I to be told that his +sensitive skin was ever intended by Nature to have rashes brought out +upon it, by the premature and incessant use of those formidable little +instruments? + +Is my son a Nutmeg, that he is to be grated on the stiff edges of sharp +frills? Am I the parent of a Muslin boy, that his yielding surface is to +be crimped and small plaited? Or is my child composed of Paper or of +Linen, that impressions of the finer getting-up art, practised by the +laundress, are to be printed off, all over his soft arms and legs, as I +constantly observe them? The starch enters his soul; who can wonder that +he cries? + +Was Augustus George intended to have limbs, or to be born a Torso? I +presume that limbs were the intention, as they are the usual practice. +Then, why are my poor child’s limbs fettered and tied up? Am I to be +told that there is any analogy between Augustus George Meek and Jack +Sheppard? + +Analyse Castor Oil at any Institution of Chemistry that may be agreed +upon, and inform me what resemblance, in taste, it bears to that natural +provision which it is at once the pride and duty of Maria Jane to +administer to Augustus George! Yet, I charge Mrs. Prodgit (aided and +abetted by Mrs. Bigby) with systematically forcing Castor Oil on my +innocent son, from the first hour of his birth. When that medicine, in +its efficient action, causes internal disturbance to Augustus George, I +charge Mrs. Prodgit (aided and abetted by Mrs. Bigby) with insanely and +inconsistently administering opium to allay the storm she has raised! +What is the meaning of this? + +If the days of Egyptian Mummies are past, how dare Mrs. Prodgit require, +for the use of my son, an amount of flannel and linen that would carpet +my humble roof? Do I wonder that she requires it? No! This morning, +within an hour, I beheld this agonising sight. I beheld my son—Augustus +George—in Mrs. Prodgit’s hands, and on Mrs. Prodgit’s knee, being +dressed. He was at the moment, comparatively speaking, in a state of +nature; having nothing on, but an extremely short shirt, remarkably +disproportionate to the length of his usual outer garments. Trailing +from Mrs. Prodgit’s lap, on the floor, was a long narrow roller or +bandage—I should say of several yards in extent. In this, I SAW Mrs. +Prodgit tightly roll the body of my unoffending infant, turning him over +and over, now presenting his unconscious face upwards, now the back of +his bald head, until the unnatural feat was accomplished, and the bandage +secured by a pin, which I have every reason to believe entered the body +of my only child. In this tourniquet, he passes the present phase of his +existence. Can I know it, and smile! + +I fear I have been betrayed into expressing myself warmly, but I feel +deeply. Not for myself; for Augustus George. I dare not interfere. +Will any one? Will any publication? Any doctor? Any parent? Any body? +I do not complain that Mrs. Prodgit (aided and abetted by Mrs. Bigby) +entirely alienates Maria Jane’s affections from me, and interposes an +impassable barrier between us. I do not complain of being made of no +account. I do not want to be of any account. But, Augustus George is a +production of Nature (I cannot think otherwise), and I claim that he +should be treated with some remote reference to Nature. In my opinion, +Mrs. Prodgit is, from first to last, a convention and a superstition. +Are all the faculty afraid of Mrs. Prodgit? If not, why don’t they take +her in hand and improve her? + +P.S. Maria Jane’s Mama boasts of her own knowledge of the subject, and +says she brought up seven children besides Maria Jane. But how do _I_ +know that she might not have brought them up much better? Maria Jane +herself is far from strong, and is subject to headaches, and nervous +indigestion. Besides which, I learn from the statistical tables that one +child in five dies within the first year of its life; and one child in +three, within the fifth. That don’t look as if we could never improve in +these particulars, I think! + +P.P.S. Augustus George is in convulsions. + + + + +LYING AWAKE + + +‘MY uncle lay with his eyes half closed, and his nightcap drawn almost +down to his nose. His fancy was already wandering, and began to mingle +up the present scene with the crater of Vesuvius, the French Opera, the +Coliseum at Rome, Dolly’s Chop-house in London, and all the farrago of +noted places with which the brain of a traveller is crammed; in a word, +he was just falling asleep.’ + +Thus, that delightful writer, WASHINGTON IRVING, in his Tales of a +Traveller. But, it happened to me the other night to be lying: not with +my eyes half closed, but with my eyes wide open; not with my nightcap +drawn almost down to my nose, for on sanitary principles I never wear a +nightcap: but with my hair pitchforked and touzled all over the pillow; +not just falling asleep by any means, but glaringly, persistently, and +obstinately, broad awake. Perhaps, with no scientific intention or +invention, I was illustrating the theory of the Duality of the Brain; +perhaps one part of my brain, being wakeful, sat up to watch the other +part which was sleepy. Be that as it may, something in me was as +desirous to go to sleep as it possibly could be, but something else in me +would not go to sleep, and was as obstinate as George the Third. + +Thinking of George the Third—for I devote this paper to my train of +thoughts as I lay awake: most people lying awake sometimes, and having +some interest in the subject—put me in mind of BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, and so +Benjamin Franklin’s paper on the art of procuring pleasant dreams, which +would seem necessarily to include the art of going to sleep, came into my +head. Now, as I often used to read that paper when I was a very small +boy, and as I recollect everything I read then as perfectly as I forget +everything I read now, I quoted ‘Get out of bed, beat up and turn your +pillow, shake the bed-clothes well with at least twenty shakes, then +throw the bed open and leave it to cool; in the meanwhile, continuing +undrest, walk about your chamber. When you begin to feel the cold air +unpleasant, then return to your bed, and you will soon fall asleep, and +your sleep will be sweet and pleasant.’ Not a bit of it! I performed +the whole ceremony, and if it were possible for me to be more saucer-eyed +than I was before, that was the only result that came of it. + +Except Niagara. The two quotations from Washington Irving and Benjamin +Franklin may have put it in my head by an American association of ideas; +but there I was, and the Horse-shoe Fall was thundering and tumbling in +my eyes and ears, and the very rainbows that I left upon the spray when I +really did last look upon it, were beautiful to see. The night-light +being quite as plain, however, and sleep seeming to be many thousand +miles further off than Niagara, I made up my mind to think a little about +Sleep; which I no sooner did than I whirled off in spite of myself to +Drury Lane Theatre, and there saw a great actor and dear friend of mine +(whom I had been thinking of in the day) playing Macbeth, and heard him +apostrophising ‘the death of each day’s life,’ as I have heard him many a +time, in the days that are gone. + +But, Sleep. I will think about Sleep. I am determined to think (this is +the way I went on) about Sleep. I must hold the word Sleep, tight and +fast, or I shall be off at a tangent in half a second. I feel myself +unaccountably straying, already, into Clare Market. Sleep. It would be +curious, as illustrating the equality of sleep, to inquire how many of +its phenomena are common to all classes, to all degrees of wealth and +poverty, to every grade of education and ignorance. Here, for example, +is her Majesty Queen Victoria in her palace, this present blessed night, +and here is Winking Charley, a sturdy vagrant, in one of her Majesty’s +jails. Her Majesty has fallen, many thousands of times, from that same +Tower, which I claim a right to tumble off now and then. So has Winking +Charley. Her Majesty in her sleep has opened or prorogued Parliament, or +has held a Drawing Room, attired in some very scanty dress, the +deficiencies and improprieties of which have caused her great uneasiness. +I, in my degree, have suffered unspeakable agitation of mind from taking +the chair at a public dinner at the London Tavern in my night-clothes, +which not all the courtesy of my kind friend and host MR. BATHE could +persuade me were quite adapted to the occasion. Winking Charley has been +repeatedly tried in a worse condition. Her Majesty is no stranger to a +vault or firmament, of a sort of floorcloth, with an indistinct pattern +distantly resembling eyes, which occasionally obtrudes itself on her +repose. Neither am I. Neither is Winking Charley. It is quite common +to all three of us to skim along with airy strides a little above the +ground; also to hold, with the deepest interest, dialogues with various +people, all represented by ourselves; and to be at our wit’s end to know +what they are going to tell us; and to be indescribably astonished by the +secrets they disclose. It is probable that we have all three committed +murders and hidden bodies. It is pretty certain that we have all +desperately wanted to cry out, and have had no voice; that we have all +gone to the play and not been able to get in; that we have all dreamed +much more of our youth than of our later lives; that—I have lost it! The +thread’s broken. + +And up I go. I, lying here with the night-light before me, up I go, for +no reason on earth that I can find out, and drawn by no links that are +visible to me, up the Great Saint Bernard! I have lived in Switzerland, +and rambled among the mountains; but, why I should go there now, and why +up the Great Saint Bernard in preference to any other mountain, I have no +idea. As I lie here broad awake, and with every sense so sharpened that +I can distinctly hear distant noises inaudible to me at another time, I +make that journey, as I really did, on the same summer day, with the same +happy party—ah! two since dead, I grieve to think—and there is the same +track, with the same black wooden arms to point the way, and there are +the same storm-refuges here and there; and there is the same snow falling +at the top, and there are the same frosty mists, and there is the same +intensely cold convent with its ménagerie smell, and the same breed of +dogs fast dying out, and the same breed of jolly young monks whom I mourn +to know as humbugs, and the same convent parlour with its piano and the +sitting round the fire, and the same supper, and the same lone night in a +cell, and the same bright fresh morning when going out into the highly +rarefied air was like a plunge into an icy bath. Now, see here what +comes along; and why does this thing stalk into my mind on the top of a +Swiss mountain! + +It is a figure that I once saw, just after dark, chalked upon a door in a +little back lane near a country church—my first church. How young a +child I may have been at the time I don’t know, but it horrified me so +intensely—in connexion with the churchyard, I suppose, for it smokes a +pipe, and has a big hat with each of its ears sticking out in a +horizontal line under the brim, and is not in itself more oppressive than +a mouth from ear to ear, a pair of goggle eyes, and hands like two +bunches of carrots, five in each, can make it—that it is still vaguely +alarming to me to recall (as I have often done before, lying awake) the +running home, the looking behind, the horror, of its following me; though +whether disconnected from the door, or door and all, I can’t say, and +perhaps never could. It lays a disagreeable train. I must resolve to +think of something on the voluntary principle. + +The balloon ascents of this last season. They will do to think about, +while I lie awake, as well as anything else. I must hold them tight +though, for I feel them sliding away, and in their stead are the +Mannings, husband and wife, hanging on the top of Horse-monger Lane Jail. +In connexion with which dismal spectacle, I recall this curious fantasy +of the mind. That, having beheld that execution, and having left those +two forms dangling on the top of the entrance gateway—the man’s, a limp, +loose suit of clothes as if the man had gone out of them; the woman’s, a +fine shape, so elaborately corseted and artfully dressed, that it was +quite unchanged in its trim appearance as it slowly swung from side to +side—I never could, by my uttermost efforts, for some weeks, present the +outside of that prison to myself (which the terrible impression I had +received continually obliged me to do) without presenting it with the two +figures still hanging in the morning air. Until, strolling past the +gloomy place one night, when the street was deserted and quiet, and +actually seeing that the bodies were not there, my fancy was persuaded, +as it were, to take them down and bury them within the precincts of the +jail, where they have lain ever since. + +The balloon ascents of last season. Let me reckon them up. There were +the horse, the bull, the parachute,—and the tumbler hanging on—chiefly by +his toes, I believe—below the car. Very wrong, indeed, and decidedly to +be stopped. But, in connexion with these and similar dangerous +exhibitions, it strikes me that that portion of the public whom they +entertain, is unjustly reproached. Their pleasure is in the difficulty +overcome. They are a public of great faith, and are quite confident that +the gentleman will not fall off the horse, or the lady off the bull or +out of the parachute, and that the tumbler has a firm hold with his toes. +They do not go to see the adventurer vanquished, but triumphant. There +is no parallel in public combats between men and beasts, because nobody +can answer for the particular beast—unless it were always the same beast, +in which case it would be a mere stage-show, which the same public would +go in the same state of mind to see, entirely believing in the brute +being beforehand safely subdued by the man. That they are not accustomed +to calculate hazards and dangers with any nicety, we may know from their +rash exposure of themselves in overcrowded steamboats, and unsafe +conveyances and places of all kinds. And I cannot help thinking that +instead of railing, and attributing savage motives to a people naturally +well disposed and humane, it is better to teach them, and lead them +argumentatively and reasonably—for they are very reasonable, if you will +discuss a matter with them—to more considerate and wise conclusions. + +This is a disagreeable intrusion! Here is a man with his throat cut, +dashing towards me as I lie awake! A recollection of an old story of a +kinsman of mine, who, going home one foggy winter night to Hampstead, +when London was much smaller and the road lonesome, suddenly encountered +such a figure rushing past him, and presently two keepers from a madhouse +in pursuit. A very unpleasant creature indeed, to come into my mind +unbidden, as I lie awake. + +—The balloon ascents of last season. I must return to the balloons. Why +did the bleeding man start out of them? Never mind; if I inquire, he +will be back again. The balloons. This particular public have +inherently a great pleasure in the contemplation of physical difficulties +overcome; mainly, as I take it, because the lives of a large majority of +them are exceedingly monotonous and real, and further, are a struggle +against continual difficulties, and further still, because anything in +the form of accidental injury, or any kind of illness or disability is so +very serious in their own sphere. I will explain this seeming paradox of +mine. Take the case of a Christmas Pantomime. Surely nobody supposes +that the young mother in the pit who falls into fits of laughter when the +baby is boiled or sat upon, would be at all diverted by such an +occurrence off the stage. Nor is the decent workman in the gallery, who +is transported beyond the ignorant present by the delight with which he +sees a stout gentleman pushed out of a two pair of stairs window, to be +slandered by the suspicion that he would be in the least entertained by +such a spectacle in any street in London, Paris, or New York. It always +appears to me that the secret of this enjoyment lies in the temporary +superiority to the common hazards and mischances of life; in seeing +casualties, attended when they really occur with bodily and mental +suffering, tears, and poverty, happen through a very rough sort of poetry +without the least harm being done to any one—the pretence of distress in +a pantomime being so broadly humorous as to be no pretence at all. Much +as in the comic fiction I can understand the mother with a very +vulnerable baby at home, greatly relishing the invulnerable baby on the +stage, so in the Cremorne reality I can understand the mason who is +always liable to fall off a scaffold in his working jacket and to be +carried to the hospital, having an infinite admiration of the radiant +personage in spangles who goes into the clouds upon a bull, or upside +down, and who, he takes it for granted—not reflecting upon the thing—has, +by uncommon skill and dexterity, conquered such mischances as those to +which he and his acquaintance are continually exposed. + +I wish the Morgue in Paris would not come here as I lie awake, with its +ghastly beds, and the swollen saturated clothes hanging up, and the water +dripping, dripping all day long, upon that other swollen saturated +something in the corner, like a heap of crushed over-ripe figs that I +have seen in Italy! And this detestable Morgue comes back again at the +head of a procession of forgotten ghost stories. This will never do. I +must think of something else as I lie awake; or, like that sagacious +animal in the United States who recognised the colonel who was such a +dead shot, I am a gone ’Coon. What shall I think of? The late brutal +assaults. Very good subject. The late brutal assaults. + +(Though whether, supposing I should see, here before me as I lie awake, +the awful phantom described in one of those ghost stories, who, with a +head-dress of shroud, was always seen looking in through a certain glass +door at a certain dead hour—whether, in such a case it would be the least +consolation to me to know on philosophical grounds that it was merely my +imagination, is a question I can’t help asking myself by the way.) + +The late brutal assaults. I strongly question the expediency of +advocating the revival of whipping for those crimes. It is a natural and +generous impulse to be indignant at the perpetration of inconceivable +brutality, but I doubt the whipping panacea gravely. Not in the least +regard or pity for the criminal, whom I hold in far lower estimation than +a mad wolf, but in consideration for the general tone and feeling, which +is very much improved since the whipping times. It is bad for a people +to be familiarised with such punishments. When the whip went out of +Bridewell, and ceased to be flourished at the carts tail and at the +whipping-post, it began to fade out of madhouses, and workhouses, and +schools and families, and to give place to a better system everywhere, +than cruel driving. It would be hasty, because a few brutes may be +inadequately punished, to revive, in any aspect, what, in so many +aspects, society is hardly yet happily rid of. The whip is a very +contagious kind of thing, and difficult to confine within one set of +bounds. Utterly abolish punishment by fine—a barbarous device, quite as +much out of date as wager by battle, but particularly connected in the +vulgar mind with this class of offence—at least quadruple the term of +imprisonment for aggravated assaults—and above all let us, in such cases, +have no Pet Prisoning, vain glorifying, strong soup, and roasted meats, +but hard work, and one unchanging and uncompromising dietary of bread and +water, well or ill; and we shall do much better than by going down into +the dark to grope for the whip among the rusty fragments of the rack, and +the branding iron, and the chains and gibbet from the public roads, and +the weights that pressed men to death in the cells of Newgate. + +I had proceeded thus far, when I found I had been lying awake so long +that the very dead began to wake too, and to crowd into my thoughts most +sorrowfully. Therefore, I resolved to lie awake no more, but to get up +and go out for a night walk—which resolution was an acceptable relief to +me, as I dare say it may prove now to a great many more. + + + + +THE GHOST OF ART + + +I AM a bachelor, residing in rather a dreary set of chambers in the +Temple. They are situated in a square court of high houses, which would +be a complete well, but for the want of water and the absence of a +bucket. I live at the top of the house, among the tiles and sparrows. +Like the little man in the nursery-story, I live by myself, and all the +bread and cheese I get—which is not much—I put upon a shelf. I need +scarcely add, perhaps, that I am in love, and that the father of my +charming Julia objects to our union. + +I mention these little particulars as I might deliver a letter of +introduction. The reader is now acquainted with me, and perhaps will +condescend to listen to my narrative. + +I am naturally of a dreamy turn of mind; and my abundant leisure—for I am +called to the Bar—coupled with much lonely listening to the twittering of +sparrows, and the pattering of rain, has encouraged that disposition. In +my ‘top set’ I hear the wind howl on a winter night, when the man on the +ground floor believes it is perfectly still weather. The dim lamps with +which our Honourable Society (supposed to be as yet unconscious of the +new discovery called Gas) make the horrors of the staircase visible, +deepen the gloom which generally settles on my soul when I go home at +night. + +I am in the Law, but not of it. I can’t exactly make out what it means. +I sit in Westminster Hall sometimes (in character) from ten to four; and +when I go out of Court, I don’t know whether I am standing on my wig or +my boots. + +It appears to me (I mention this in confidence) as if there were too much +talk and too much law—as if some grains of truth were started overboard +into a tempestuous sea of chaff. + +All this may make me mystical. Still, I am confident that what I am +going to describe myself as having seen and heard, I actually did see and +hear. + +It is necessary that I should observe that I have a great delight in +pictures. I am no painter myself, but I have studied pictures and +written about them. I have seen all the most famous pictures in the +world; my education and reading have been sufficiently general to possess +me beforehand with a knowledge of most of the subjects to which a Painter +is likely to have recourse; and, although I might be in some doubt as to +the rightful fashion of the scabbard of King Lear’s sword, for instance, +I think I should know King Lear tolerably well, if I happened to meet +with him. + +I go to all the Modern Exhibitions every season, and of course I revere +the Royal Academy. I stand by its forty Academical articles almost as +firmly as I stand by the thirty-nine Articles of the Church of England. +I am convinced that in neither case could there be, by any rightful +possibility, one article more or less. + +It is now exactly three years—three years ago, this very month—since I +went from Westminster to the Temple, one Thursday afternoon, in a cheap +steamboat. The sky was black, when I imprudently walked on board. It +began to thunder and lighten immediately afterwards, and the rain poured +down in torrents. The deck seeming to smoke with the wet, I went below; +but so many passengers were there, smoking too, that I came up again, and +buttoning my pea-coat, and standing in the shadow of the paddle-box, +stood as upright as I could, and made the best of it. + +It was at this moment that I first beheld the terrible Being, who is the +subject of my present recollections. + +Standing against the funnel, apparently with the intention of drying +himself by the heat as fast as he got wet, was a shabby man in threadbare +black, and with his hands in his pockets, who fascinated me from the +memorable instant when I caught his eye. + +Where had I caught that eye before? Who was he? Why did I connect him, +all at once, with the Vicar of Wakefield, Alfred the Great, Gil Blas, +Charles the Second, Joseph and his Brethren, the Fairy Queen, Tom Jones, +the Decameron of Boccaccio, Tam O’Shanter, the Marriage of the Doge of +Venice with the Adriatic, and the Great Plague of London? Why, when he +bent one leg, and placed one hand upon the back of the seat near him, did +my mind associate him wildly with the words, ‘Number one hundred and +forty-two, Portrait of a gentleman’? Could it be that I was going mad? + +I looked at him again, and now I could have taken my affidavit that he +belonged to the Vicar of Wakefield’s family. Whether he was the Vicar, +or Moses, or Mr. Burchill, or the Squire, or a conglomeration of all +four, I knew not; but I was impelled to seize him by the throat, and +charge him with being, in some fell way, connected with the Primrose +blood. He looked up at the rain, and then—oh Heaven!—he became Saint +John. He folded his arms, resigning himself to the weather, and I was +frantically inclined to address him as the Spectator, and firmly demand +to know what he had done with Sir Roger de Coverley. + +The frightful suspicion that I was becoming deranged, returned upon me +with redoubled force. Meantime, this awful stranger, inexplicably linked +to my distress, stood drying himself at the funnel; and ever, as the +steam rose from his clothes, diffusing a mist around him, I saw through +the ghostly medium all the people I have mentioned, and a score more, +sacred and profane. + +I am conscious of a dreadful inclination that stole upon me, as it +thundered and lightened, to grapple with this man, or demon, and plunge +him over the side. But, I constrained myself—I know not how—to speak to +him, and in a pause of the storm, I crossed the deck, and said: + +‘What are you?’ + +He replied, hoarsely, ‘A Model.’ + +‘A what?’ said I. + +‘A Model,’ he replied. ‘I sets to the profession for a bob a-hour.’ +(All through this narrative I give his own words, which are indelibly +imprinted on my memory.) + +The relief which this disclosure gave me, the exquisite delight of the +restoration of my confidence in my own sanity, I cannot describe. I +should have fallen on his neck, but for the consciousness of being +observed by the man at the wheel. + +‘You then,’ said I, shaking him so warmly by the hand, that I wrung the +rain out of his coat-cuff, ‘are the gentleman whom I have so frequently +contemplated, in connection with a high-backed chair with a red cushion, +and a table with twisted legs.’ + +‘I am that Model,’ he rejoined moodily, ‘and I wish I was anything else.’ + +‘Say not so,’ I returned. ‘I have seen you in the society of many +beautiful young women;’ as in truth I had, and always (I now remember) in +the act of making the most of his legs. + +‘No doubt,’ said he. ‘And you’ve seen me along with warses of flowers, +and any number of table-kivers, and antique cabinets, and warious +gammon.’ + +‘Sir?’ said I. + +‘And warious gammon,’ he repeated, in a louder voice. ‘You might have +seen me in armour, too, if you had looked sharp. Blessed if I ha’n’t +stood in half the suits of armour as ever came out of Pratt’s shop: and +sat, for weeks together, a-eating nothing, out of half the gold and +silver dishes as has ever been lent for the purpose out of Storrses, and +Mortimerses, or Garrardses, and Davenportseseses.’ + +Excited, as it appeared, by a sense of injury, I thought he would never +have found an end for the last word. But, at length it rolled sullenly +away with the thunder. + +‘Pardon me,’ said I, ‘you are a well-favoured, well-made man, and +yet—forgive me—I find, on examining my mind, that I associate you +with—that my recollection indistinctly makes you, in short—excuse me—a +kind of powerful monster.’ + +‘It would be a wonder if it didn’t,’ he said. ‘Do you know what my +points are?’ + +‘No,’ said I. + +‘My throat and my legs,’ said he. ‘When I don’t set for a head, I mostly +sets for a throat and a pair of legs. Now, granted you was a painter, +and was to work at my throat for a week together, I suppose you’d see a +lot of lumps and bumps there, that would never be there at all, if you +looked at me, complete, instead of only my throat. Wouldn’t you?’ + +‘Probably,’ said I, surveying him. + +‘Why, it stands to reason,’ said the Model. ‘Work another week at my +legs, and it’ll be the same thing. You’ll make ’em out as knotty and as +knobby, at last, as if they was the trunks of two old trees. Then, take +and stick my legs and throat on to another man’s body, and you’ll make a +reg’lar monster. And that’s the way the public gets their reg’lar +monsters, every first Monday in May, when the Royal Academy Exhibition +opens.’ + +‘You are a critic,’ said I, with an air of deference. + +‘I’m in an uncommon ill humour, if that’s it,’ rejoined the Model, with +great indignation. ‘As if it warn’t bad enough for a bob a-hour, for a +man to be mixing himself up with that there jolly old furniter that one +‘ud think the public know’d the wery nails in by this time—or to be +putting on greasy old ‘ats and cloaks, and playing tambourines in the Bay +o’ Naples, with Wesuvius a smokin’ according to pattern in the +background, and the wines a bearing wonderful in the middle distance—or +to be unpolitely kicking up his legs among a lot o’ gals, with no reason +whatever in his mind but to show ’em—as if this warn’t bad enough, I’m to +go and be thrown out of employment too!’ + +‘Surely no!’ said I. + +‘Surely yes,’ said the indignant Model. ‘BUT I’LL GROW ONE.’ + +The gloomy and threatening manner in which he muttered the last words, +can never be effaced from my remembrance. My blood ran cold. + +I asked of myself, what was it that this desperate Being was resolved to +grow. My breast made no response. + +I ventured to implore him to explain his meaning. With a scornful laugh, +he uttered this dark prophecy: + +‘I’LL GROW ONE. AND, MARK MY WORDS, IT SHALL HAUNT YOU!’ + +We parted in the storm, after I had forced half-a-crown on his +acceptance, with a trembling hand. I conclude that something +supernatural happened to the steamboat, as it bore his reeking figure +down the river; but it never got into the papers. + +Two years elapsed, during which I followed my profession without any +vicissitudes; never holding so much as a motion, of course. At the +expiration of that period, I found myself making my way home to the +Temple, one night, in precisely such another storm of thunder and +lightning as that by which I had been overtaken on board the +steamboat—except that this storm, bursting over the town at midnight, was +rendered much more awful by the darkness and the hour. + +As I turned into my court, I really thought a thunderbolt would fall, and +plough the pavement up. Every brick and stone in the place seemed to +have an echo of its own for the thunder. The waterspouts were +overcharged, and the rain came tearing down from the house-tops as if +they had been mountain-tops. + +Mrs. Parkins, my laundress—wife of Parkins the porter, then newly dead of +a dropsy—had particular instructions to place a bedroom candle and a +match under the staircase lamp on my landing, in order that I might light +my candle there, whenever I came home. Mrs. Parkins invariably +disregarding all instructions, they were never there. Thus it happened +that on this occasion I groped my way into my sitting-room to find the +candle, and came out to light it. + +What were my emotions when, underneath the staircase lamp, shining with +wet as if he had never been dry since our last meeting, stood the +mysterious Being whom I had encountered on the steamboat in a +thunderstorm, two years before! His prediction rushed upon my mind, and +I turned faint. + +‘I said I’d do it,’ he observed, in a hollow voice, ‘and I have done it. +May I come in?’ + +‘Misguided creature, what have you done?’ I returned. + +‘I’ll let you know,’ was his reply, ‘if you’ll let me in.’ + +Could it be murder that he had done? And had he been so successful that +he wanted to do it again, at my expense? + +I hesitated. + +‘May I come in?’ said he. + +I inclined my head, with as much presence of mind as I could command, and +he followed me into my chambers. There, I saw that the lower part of his +face was tied up, in what is commonly called a Belcher handkerchief. He +slowly removed this bandage, and exposed to view a long dark beard, +curling over his upper lip, twisting about the corners of his mouth, and +hanging down upon his breast. + +‘What is this?’ I exclaimed involuntarily, ‘and what have you become?’ + +‘I am the Ghost of Art!’ said he. + +The effect of these words, slowly uttered in the thunder-storm at +midnight, was appalling in the last degree. More dead than alive, I +surveyed him in silence. + +‘The German taste came up,’ said he, ‘and threw me out of bread. I am +ready for the taste now.’ + +He made his beard a little jagged with his hands, folded his arms, and +said, + +‘Severity!’ + +I shuddered. It was so severe. + +He made his beard flowing on his breast, and, leaning both hands on the +staff of a carpet-broom which Mrs. Parkins had left among my books, said: + +‘Benevolence.’ + +I stood transfixed. The change of sentiment was entirely in the beard. +The man might have left his face alone, or had no face. + +The beard did everything. + +He lay down, on his back, on my table, and with that action of his head +threw up his beard at the chin. + +‘That’s death!’ said he. + +He got off my table and, looking up at the ceiling, cocked his beard a +little awry; at the same time making it stick out before him. + +‘Adoration, or a vow of vengeance,’ he observed. + +He turned his profile to me, making his upper lip very bulky with the +upper part of his beard. + +‘Romantic character,’ said he. + +He looked sideways out of his beard, as if it were an ivy-bush. +‘Jealousy,’ said he. He gave it an ingenious twist in the air, and +informed me that he was carousing. He made it shaggy with his +fingers—and it was Despair; lank—and it was avarice: tossed it all kinds +of ways—and it was rage. The beard did everything. + +‘I am the Ghost of Art,’ said he. ‘Two bob a-day now, and more when it’s +longer! Hair’s the true expression. There is no other. I SAID I’D GROW +IT, AND I’VE GROWN IT, AND IT SHALL HAUNT YOU!’ + +He may have tumbled down-stairs in the dark, but he never walked down or +ran down. I looked over the banisters, and I was alone with the thunder. + +Need I add more of my terrific fate? IT HAS haunted me ever since. It +glares upon me from the walls of the Royal Academy, (except when MACLISE +subdues it to his genius,) it fills my soul with terror at the British +Institution, it lures young artists on to their destruction. Go where I +will, the Ghost of Art, eternally working the passions in hair, and +expressing everything by beard, pursues me. The prediction is +accomplished, and the victim has no rest. + + + + +OUT OF TOWN + + +SITTING, on a bright September morning, among my books and papers at my +open window on the cliff overhanging the sea-beach, I have the sky and +ocean framed before me like a beautiful picture. A beautiful picture, +but with such movement in it, such changes of light upon the sails of +ships and wake of steamboats, such dazzling gleams of silver far out at +sea, such fresh touches on the crisp wave-tops as they break and roll +towards me—a picture with such music in the billowy rush upon the +shingle, the blowing of morning wind through the corn-sheaves where the +farmers’ waggons are busy, the singing of the larks, and the distant +voices of children at play—such charms of sight and sound as all the +Galleries on earth can but poorly suggest. + +So dreamy is the murmur of the sea below my window, that I may have been +here, for anything I know, one hundred years. Not that I have grown old, +for, daily on the neighbouring downs and grassy hill-sides, I find that I +can still in reason walk any distance, jump over anything, and climb up +anywhere; but, that the sound of the ocean seems to have become so +customary to my musings, and other realities seem so to have gone aboard +ship and floated away over the horizon, that, for aught I will undertake +to the contrary, I am the enchanted son of the King my father, shut up in +a tower on the sea-shore, for protection against an old she-goblin who +insisted on being my godmother, and who foresaw at the font—wonderful +creature!—that I should get into a scrape before I was twenty-one. I +remember to have been in a City (my Royal parent’s dominions, I suppose), +and apparently not long ago either, that was in the dreariest condition. +The principal inhabitants had all been changed into old newspapers, and +in that form were preserving their window-blinds from dust, and wrapping +all their smaller household gods in curl-papers. I walked through gloomy +streets where every house was shut up and newspapered, and where my +solitary footsteps echoed on the deserted pavements. In the public rides +there were no carriages, no horses, no animated existence, but a few +sleepy policemen, and a few adventurous boys taking advantage of the +devastation to swarm up the lamp-posts. In the Westward streets there +was no traffic; in the Westward shops, no business. The water-patterns +which the ’Prentices had trickled out on the pavements early in the +morning, remained uneffaced by human feet. At the corners of mews, +Cochin-China fowls stalked gaunt and savage; nobody being left in the +deserted city (as it appeared to me), to feed them. Public Houses, where +splendid footmen swinging their legs over gorgeous hammer-cloths beside +wigged coachmen were wont to regale, were silent, and the unused pewter +pots shone, too bright for business, on the shelves. I beheld a Punch’s +Show leaning against a wall near Park Lane, as if it had fainted. It was +deserted, and there were none to heed its desolation. In Belgrave Square +I met the last man—an ostler—sitting on a post in a ragged red waistcoat, +eating straw, and mildewing away. + +If I recollect the name of the little town, on whose shore this sea is +murmuring—but I am not just now, as I have premised, to be relied upon +for anything—it is Pavilionstone. Within a quarter of a century, it was +a little fishing town, and they do say, that the time was, when it was a +little smuggling town. I have heard that it was rather famous in the +hollands and brandy way, and that coevally with that reputation the +lamplighter’s was considered a bad life at the Assurance Offices. It was +observed that if he were not particular about lighting up, he lived in +peace; but that, if he made the best of the oil-lamps in the steep and +narrow streets, he usually fell over the cliff at an early age. Now, gas +and electricity run to the very water’s edge, and the South-Eastern +Railway Company screech at us in the dead of night. + +But, the old little fishing and smuggling town remains, and is so +tempting a place for the latter purpose, that I think of going out some +night next week, in a fur cap and a pair of petticoat trousers, and +running an empty tub, as a kind of archæological pursuit. Let nobody +with corns come to Pavilionstone, for there are breakneck flights of +ragged steps, connecting the principal streets by back-ways, which will +cripple that visitor in half an hour. These are the ways by which, when +I run that tub, I shall escape. I shall make a Thermopylæ of the corner +of one of them, defend it with my cutlass against the coast-guard until +my brave companions have sheered off, then dive into the darkness, and +regain my Susan’s arms. In connection with these breakneck steps I +observe some wooden cottages, with tumble-down out-houses, and back-yards +three feet square, adorned with garlands of dried fish, in one of which +(though the General Board of Health might object) my Susan dwells. + +The South-Eastern Company have brought Pavilionstone into such vogue, +with their tidal trains and splendid steam-packets, that a new +Pavilionstone is rising up. I am, myself, of New Pavilionstone. We are +a little mortary and limey at present, but we are getting on capitally. +Indeed, we were getting on so fast, at one time, that we rather overdid +it, and built a street of shops, the business of which may be expected to +arrive in about ten years. We are sensibly laid out in general; and with +a little care and pains (by no means wanting, so far), shall become a +very pretty place. We ought to be, for our situation is delightful, our +air is delicious, and our breezy hills and downs, carpeted with wild +thyme, and decorated with millions of wild flowers, are, on the faith of +a pedestrian, perfect. In New Pavilionstone we are a little too much +addicted to small windows with more bricks in them than glass, and we are +not over-fanciful in the way of decorative architecture, and we get +unexpected sea-views through cracks in the street doors; on the whole, +however, we are very snug and comfortable, and well accommodated. But +the Home Secretary (if there be such an officer) cannot too soon shut up +the burial-ground of the old parish church. It is in the midst of us, +and Pavilionstone will get no good of it, if it be too long left alone. + +The lion of Pavilionstone is its Great Hotel. A dozen years ago, going +over to Paris by South-Eastern Tidal Steamer, you used to be dropped upon +the platform of the main line Pavilionstone Station (not a junction +then), at eleven o’clock on a dark winter’s night, in a roaring wind; and +in the howling wilderness outside the station, was a short omnibus which +brought you up by the forehead the instant you got in at the door; and +nobody cared about you, and you were alone in the world. You bumped over +infinite chalk, until you were turned out at a strange building which had +just left off being a barn without having quite begun to be a house, +where nobody expected your coming, or knew what to do with you when you +were come, and where you were usually blown about, until you happened to +be blown against the cold beef, and finally into bed. At five in the +morning you were blown out of bed, and after a dreary breakfast, with +crumpled company, in the midst of confusion, were hustled on board a +steamboat and lay wretched on deck until you saw France lunging and +surging at you with great vehemence over the bowsprit. + +Now, you come down to Pavilionstone in a free and easy manner, an +irresponsible agent, made over in trust to the South-Eastern Company, +until you get out of the railway-carriage at high-water mark. If you are +crossing by the boat at once, you have nothing to do but walk on board +and be happy there if you can—I can’t. If you are going to our Great +Pavilionstone Hotel, the sprightliest porters under the sun, whose +cheerful looks are a pleasant welcome, shoulder your luggage, drive it +off in vans, bowl it away in trucks, and enjoy themselves in playing +athletic games with it. If you are for public life at our great +Pavilionstone Hotel, you walk into that establishment as if it were your +club; and find ready for you, your news-room, dining-room, smoking-room, +billiard-room, music-room, public breakfast, public dinner twice a-day +(one plain, one gorgeous), hot baths and cold baths. If you want to be +bored, there are plenty of bores always ready for you, and from Saturday +to Monday in particular, you can be bored (if you like it) through and +through. Should you want to be private at our Great Pavilionstone Hotel, +say but the word, look at the list of charges, choose your floor, name +your figure—there you are, established in your castle, by the day, week, +month, or year, innocent of all comers or goers, unless you have my fancy +for walking early in the morning down the groves of boots and shoes, +which so regularly flourish at all the chamber-doors before breakfast, +that it seems to me as if nobody ever got up or took them in. Are you +going across the Alps, and would you like to air your Italian at our +Great Pavilionstone Hotel? Talk to the Manager—always conversational, +accomplished, and polite. Do you want to be aided, abetted, comforted, +or advised, at our Great Pavilionstone Hotel? Send for the good +landlord, and he is your friend. Should you, or any one belonging to +you, ever be taken ill at our Great Pavilionstone Hotel, you will not +soon forget him or his kind wife. And when you pay your bill at our +Great Pavilionstone Hotel, you will not be put out of humour by anything +you find in it. + +A thoroughly good inn, in the days of coaching and posting, was a noble +place. But no such inn would have been equal to the reception of four or +five hundred people, all of them wet through, and half of them dead sick, +every day in the year. This is where we shine, in our Pavilionstone +Hotel. Again—who, coming and going, pitching and tossing, boating and +training, hurrying in, and flying out, could ever have calculated the +fees to be paid at an old-fashioned house? In our Pavilionstone Hotel +vocabulary, there is no such word as fee. Everything is done for you; +every service is provided at a fixed and reasonable charge; all the +prices are hung up in all the rooms; and you can make out your own bill +beforehand, as well as the book-keeper. + +In the case of your being a pictorial artist, desirous of studying at +small expense the physiognomies and beards of different nations, come, on +receipt of this, to Pavilionstone. You shall find all the nations of the +earth, and all the styles of shaving and not shaving, hair cutting and +hair letting alone, for ever flowing through our hotel. Couriers you +shall see by hundreds; fat leathern bags for five-franc pieces, closing +with violent snaps, like discharges of fire-arms, by thousands; more +luggage in a morning than, fifty years ago, all Europe saw in a week. +Looking at trains, steamboats, sick travellers, and luggage, is our great +Pavilionstone recreation. We are not strong in other public amusements. +We have a Literary and Scientific Institution, and we have a Working +Men’s Institution—may it hold many gipsy holidays in summer fields, with +the kettle boiling, the band of music playing, and the people dancing; +and may I be on the hill-side, looking on with pleasure at a wholesome +sight too rare in England!—and we have two or three churches, and more +chapels than I have yet added up. But public amusements are scarce with +us. If a poor theatrical manager comes with his company to give us, in a +loft, Mary Bax, or the Murder on the Sand Hills, we don’t care much for +him—starve him out, in fact. We take more kindly to wax-work, especially +if it moves; in which case it keeps much clearer of the second +commandment than when it is still. Cooke’s Circus (Mr. Cooke is my +friend, and always leaves a good name behind him) gives us only a night +in passing through. Nor does the travelling menagerie think us worth a +longer visit. It gave us a look-in the other day, bringing with it the +residentiary van with the stained glass windows, which Her Majesty kept +ready-made at Windsor Castle, until she found a suitable opportunity of +submitting it for the proprietor’s acceptance. I brought away five +wonderments from this exhibition. I have wondered ever since, Whether +the beasts ever do get used to those small places of confinement; Whether +the monkeys have that very horrible flavour in their free state; Whether +wild animals have a natural ear for time and tune, and therefore every +four-footed creature began to howl in despair when the band began to +play; What the giraffe does with his neck when his cart is shut up; and, +Whether the elephant feels ashamed of himself when he is brought out of +his den to stand on his head in the presence of the whole Collection. + +We are a tidal harbour at Pavilionstone, as indeed I have implied already +in my mention of tidal trains. At low water, we are a heap of mud, with +an empty channel in it where a couple of men in big boots always shovel +and scoop: with what exact object, I am unable to say. At that time, all +the stranded fishing-boats turn over on their sides, as if they were dead +marine monsters; the colliers and other shipping stick disconsolate in +the mud; the steamers look as if their white chimneys would never smoke +more, and their red paddles never turn again; the green sea-slime and +weed upon the rough stones at the entrance, seem records of obsolete high +tides never more to flow; the flagstaff-halyards droop; the very little +wooden lighthouse shrinks in the idle glare of the sun. And here I may +observe of the very little wooden lighthouse, that when it is lighted at +night,—red and green,—it looks so like a medical man’s, that several +distracted husbands have at various times been found, on occasions of +premature domestic anxiety, going round and round it, trying to find the +Nightbell. + +But, the moment the tide begins to make, the Pavilionstone Harbour begins +to revive. It feels the breeze of the rising water before the water +comes, and begins to flutter and stir. When the little shallow waves +creep in, barely overlapping one another, the vanes at the mastheads +wake, and become agitated. As the tide rises, the fishing-boats get into +good spirits and dance, the flagstaff hoists a bright red flag, the +steamboat smokes, cranes creak, horses and carriages dangle in the air, +stray passengers and luggage appear. Now, the shipping is afloat, and +comes up buoyantly, to look at the wharf. Now, the carts that have come +down for coals, load away as hard as they can load. Now, the steamer +smokes immensely, and occasionally blows at the paddle-boxes like a +vaporous whale-greatly disturbing nervous loungers. Now, both the tide +and the breeze have risen, and you are holding your hat on (if you want +to see how the ladies hold their hats on, with a stay, passing over the +broad brim and down the nose, come to Pavilionstone). Now, everything in +the harbour splashes, dashes, and bobs. Now, the Down Tidal Train is +telegraphed, and you know (without knowing how you know), that two +hundred and eighty-seven people are coming. Now, the fishing-boats that +have been out, sail in at the top of the tide. Now, the bell goes, and +the locomotive hisses and shrieks, and the train comes gliding in, and +the two hundred and eighty-seven come scuffling out. Now, there is not +only a tide of water, but a tide of people, and a tide of luggage—all +tumbling and flowing and bouncing about together. Now, after infinite +bustle, the steamer steams out, and we (on the Pier) are all delighted +when she rolls as if she would roll her funnel out, and all are +disappointed when she don’t. Now, the other steamer is coming in, and +the Custom House prepares, and the wharf-labourers assemble, and the +hawsers are made ready, and the Hotel Porters come rattling down with van +and truck, eager to begin more Olympic games with more luggage. And this +is the way in which we go on, down at Pavilionstone, every tide. And, if +you want to live a life of luggage, or to see it lived, or to breathe +sweet air which will send you to sleep at a moment’s notice at any period +of the day or night, or to disport yourself upon or in the sea, or to +scamper about Kent, or to come out of town for the enjoyment of all or +any of these pleasures, come to Pavilionstone. + + + + +OUT OF THE SEASON + + +IT fell to my lot, this last bleak Spring, to find myself in a +watering-place out of the Season. A vicious north-east squall blew me +into it from foreign parts, and I tarried in it alone for three days, +resolved to be exceedingly busy. + +On the first day, I began business by looking for two hours at the sea, +and staring the Foreign Militia out of countenance. Having disposed of +these important engagements, I sat down at one of the two windows of my +room, intent on doing something desperate in the way of literary +composition, and writing a chapter of unheard-of excellence—with which +the present essay has no connexion. + +It is a remarkable quality in a watering-place out of the season, that +everything in it, will and must be looked at. I had no previous +suspicion of this fatal truth but, the moment I sat down to write, I +began to perceive it. I had scarcely fallen into my most promising +attitude, and dipped my pen in the ink, when I found the clock upon the +pier—a red-faced clock with a white rim—importuning me in a highly +vexatious manner to consult my watch, and see how I was off for Greenwich +time. Having no intention of making a voyage or taking an observation, I +had not the least need of Greenwich time, and could have put up with +watering-place time as a sufficiently accurate article. The pier-clock, +however, persisting, I felt it necessary to lay down my pen, compare my +watch with him, and fall into a grave solicitude about half-seconds. I +had taken up my pen again, and was about to commence that valuable +chapter, when a Custom-house cutter under the window requested that I +would hold a naval review of her, immediately. + +It was impossible, under the circumstances, for any mental resolution, +merely human, to dismiss the Custom-house cutter, because the shadow of +her topmast fell upon my paper, and the vane played on the masterly blank +chapter. I was therefore under the necessity of going to the other +window; sitting astride of the chair there, like Napoleon bivouacking in +the print; and inspecting the cutter as she lay, all that day, in the way +of my chapter, O! She was rigged to carry a quantity of canvas, but her +hull was so very small that four giants aboard of her (three men and a +boy) who were vigilantly scraping at her, all together, inspired me with +a terror lest they should scrape her away. A fifth giant, who appeared +to consider himself ‘below’—as indeed he was, from the waist +downwards—meditated, in such close proximity with the little gusty +chimney-pipe, that he seemed to be smoking it. Several boys looked on +from the wharf, and, when the gigantic attention appeared to be fully +occupied, one or other of these would furtively swing himself in mid-air +over the Custom-house cutter, by means of a line pendant from her +rigging, like a young spirit of the storm. Presently, a sixth hand +brought down two little water-casks; presently afterwards, a truck came, +and delivered a hamper. I was now under an obligation to consider that +the cutter was going on a cruise, and to wonder where she was going, and +when she was going, and why she was going, and at what date she might be +expected back, and who commanded her? With these pressing questions I +was fully occupied when the Packet, making ready to go across, and +blowing off her spare steam, roared, ‘Look at me!’ + +It became a positive duty to look at the Packet preparing to go across; +aboard of which, the people newly come down by the rail-road were +hurrying in a great fluster. The crew had got their tarry overalls +on—and one knew what that meant—not to mention the white basins, ranged +in neat little piles of a dozen each, behind the door of the after-cabin. +One lady as I looked, one resigning and far-seeing woman, took her basin +from the store of crockery, as she might have taken a refreshment-ticket, +laid herself down on deck with that utensil at her ear, muffled her feet +in one shawl, solemnly covered her countenance after the antique manner +with another, and on the completion of these preparations appeared by the +strength of her volition to become insensible. The mail-bags (O that I +myself had the sea-legs of a mail-bag!) were tumbled aboard; the Packet +left off roaring, warped out, and made at the white line upon the bar. +One dip, one roll, one break of the sea over her bows, and Moore’s +Almanack or the sage Raphael could not have told me more of the state of +things aboard, than I knew. + +The famous chapter was all but begun now, and would have been quite +begun, but for the wind. It was blowing stiffly from the east, and it +rumbled in the chimney and shook the house. That was not much; but, +looking out into the wind’s grey eye for inspiration, I laid down my pen +again to make the remark to myself, how emphatically everything by the +sea declares that it has a great concern in the state of the wind. The +trees blown all one way; the defences of the harbour reared highest and +strongest against the raging point; the shingle flung up on the beach +from the same direction; the number of arrows pointed at the common +enemy; the sea tumbling in and rushing towards them as if it were +inflamed by the sight. This put it in my head that I really ought to go +out and take a walk in the wind; so, I gave up the magnificent chapter +for that day, entirely persuading myself that I was under a moral +obligation to have a blow. + +I had a good one, and that on the high road—the very high road—on the top +of the cliffs, where I met the stage-coach with all the outsides holding +their hats on and themselves too, and overtook a flock of sheep with the +wool about their necks blown into such great ruffs that they looked like +fleecy owls. The wind played upon the lighthouse as if it were a great +whistle, the spray was driven over the sea in a cloud of haze, the ships +rolled and pitched heavily, and at intervals long slants and flaws of +light made mountain-steeps of communication between the ocean and the +sky. A walk of ten miles brought me to a seaside town without a cliff, +which, like the town I had come from, was out of the season too. Half of +the houses were shut up; half of the other half were to let; the town +might have done as much business as it was doing then, if it had been at +the bottom of the sea. Nobody seemed to flourish save the attorney; his +clerk’s pen was going in the bow-window of his wooden house; his brass +door-plate alone was free from salt, and had been polished up that +morning. On the beach, among the rough buggers and capstans, groups of +storm-beaten boatmen, like a sort of marine monsters, watched under the +lee of those objects, or stood leaning forward against the wind, looking +out through battered spy-glasses. The parlour bell in the Admiral Benbow +had grown so flat with being out of the season, that neither could I hear +it ring when I pulled the handle for lunch, nor could the young woman in +black stockings and strong shoes, who acted as waiter out of the season, +until it had been tinkled three times. + +Admiral Benbow’s cheese was out of the season, but his home-made bread +was good, and his beer was perfect. Deluded by some earlier spring day +which had been warm and sunny, the Admiral had cleared the firing out of +his parlour stove, and had put some flower-pots in—which was amiable and +hopeful in the Admiral, but not judicious: the room being, at that +present visiting, transcendantly cold. I therefore took the liberty of +peeping out across a little stone passage into the Admiral’s kitchen, +and, seeing a high settle with its back towards me drawn out in front of +the Admiral’s kitchen fire, I strolled in, bread and cheese in hand, +munching and looking about. One landsman and two boatmen were seated on +the settle, smoking pipes and drinking beer out of thick pint crockery +mugs—mugs peculiar to such places, with parti-coloured rings round them, +and ornaments between the rings like frayed-out roots. The landsman was +relating his experience, as yet only three nights old, of a fearful +running-down case in the Channel, and therein presented to my imagination +a sound of music that it will not soon forget. + +‘At that identical moment of time,’ said he (he was a prosy man by +nature, who rose with his subject), ‘the night being light and calm, but +with a grey mist upon the water that didn’t seem to spread for more than +two or three mile, I was walking up and down the wooden causeway next the +pier, off where it happened, along with a friend of mine, which his name +is Mr. Clocker. Mr. Clocker is a grocer over yonder.’ (From the +direction in which he pointed the bowl of his pipe, I might have judged +Mr. Clocker to be a merman, established in the grocery trade in +five-and-twenty fathoms of water.) ‘We were smoking our pipes, and +walking up and down the causeway, talking of one thing and talking of +another. We were quite alone there, except that a few hovellers’ (the +Kentish name for ‘long-shore boatmen like his companions) ‘were hanging +about their lugs, waiting while the tide made, as hovellers will.’ (One +of the two boatmen, thoughtfully regarding me, shut up one eye; this I +understood to mean: first, that he took me into the conversation: +secondly, that he confirmed the proposition: thirdly, that he announced +himself as a hoveller.) ‘All of a sudden Mr. Clocker and me stood rooted +to the spot, by hearing a sound come through the stillness, right over +the sea, _like a great sorrowful flute or Æolian harp_. We didn’t in the +least know what it was, and judge of our surprise when we saw the +hovellers, to a man, leap into the boats and tear about to hoist sail and +get off, as if they had every one of ’em gone, in a moment, raving mad! +But _they_ knew it was the cry of distress from the sinking emigrant +ship.’ + +When I got back to my watering-place out of the season, and had done my +twenty miles in good style, I found that the celebrated Black Mesmerist +intended favouring the public that evening in the Hall of the Muses, +which he had engaged for the purpose. After a good dinner, seated by the +fire in an easy chair, I began to waver in a design I had formed of +waiting on the Black Mesmerist, and to incline towards the expediency of +remaining where I was. Indeed a point of gallantry was involved in my +doing so, inasmuch as I had not left France alone, but had come from the +prisons of St. Pélagie with my distinguished and unfortunate friend +Madame Roland (in two volumes which I bought for two francs each, at the +book-stall in the Place de la Concorde, Paris, at the corner of the Rue +Royale). Deciding to pass the evening tête-à-tête with Madame Roland, I +derived, as I always do, great pleasure from that spiritual woman’s +society, and the charms of her brave soul and engaging conversation. I +must confess that if she had only some more faults, only a few more +passionate failings of any kind, I might love her better; but I am +content to believe that the deficiency is in me, and not in her. We +spent some sadly interesting hours together on this occasion, and she +told me again of her cruel discharge from the Abbaye, and of her being +re-arrested before her free feet had sprung lightly up half-a-dozen steps +of her own staircase, and carried off to the prison which she only left +for the guillotine. + +Madame Roland and I took leave of one another before mid-night, and I +went to bed full of vast intentions for next day, in connexion with the +unparalleled chapter. To hear the foreign mail-steamers coming in at +dawn of day, and to know that I was not aboard or obliged to get up, was +very comfortable; so, I rose for the chapter in great force. + +I had advanced so far as to sit down at my window again on my second +morning, and to write the first half-line of the chapter and strike it +out, not liking it, when my conscience reproached me with not having +surveyed the watering-place out of the season, after all, yesterday, but +with having gone straight out of it at the rate of four miles and a half +an hour. Obviously the best amends that I could make for this remissness +was to go and look at it without another moment’s delay. So—altogether +as a matter of duty—I gave up the magnificent chapter for another day, +and sauntered out with my hands in my pockets. + +All the houses and lodgings ever let to visitors, were to let that +morning. It seemed to have snowed bills with To Let upon them. This put +me upon thinking what the owners of all those apartments did, out of the +season; how they employed their time, and occupied their minds. They +could not be always going to the Methodist chapels, of which I passed one +every other minute. They must have some other recreation. Whether they +pretended to take one another’s lodgings, and opened one another’s +tea-caddies in fun? Whether they cut slices off their own beef and +mutton, and made believe that it belonged to somebody else? Whether they +played little dramas of life, as children do, and said, ‘I ought to come +and look at your apartments, and you ought to ask two guineas a-week too +much, and then I ought to say I must have the rest of the day to think of +it, and then you ought to say that another lady and gentleman with no +children in family had made an offer very close to your own terms, and +you had passed your word to give them a positive answer in half an hour, +and indeed were just going to take the bill down when you heard the +knock, and then I ought to take them, you know?’ Twenty such +speculations engaged my thoughts. Then, after passing, still clinging to +the walls, defaced rags of the bills of last year’s Circus, I came to a +back field near a timber-yard where the Circus itself had been, and where +there was yet a sort of monkish tonsure on the grass, indicating the spot +where the young lady had gone round upon her pet steed Firefly in her +daring flight. Turning into the town again, I came among the shops, and +they were emphatically out of the season. The chemist had no boxes of +ginger-beer powders, no beautifying sea-side soaps and washes, no +attractive scents; nothing but his great goggle-eyed red bottles, looking +as if the winds of winter and the drift of the salt-sea had inflamed +them. The grocers’ hot pickles, Harvey’s Sauce, Doctor Kitchener’s Zest, +Anchovy Paste, Dundee Marmalade, and the whole stock of luxurious helps +to appetite, were hybernating somewhere underground. The china-shop had +no trifles from anywhere. The Bazaar had given in altogether, and +presented a notice on the shutters that this establishment would re-open +at Whitsuntide, and that the proprietor in the meantime might be heard of +at Wild Lodge, East Cliff. At the Sea-bathing Establishment, a row of +neat little wooden houses seven or eight feet high, I saw the proprietor +in bed in the shower-bath. As to the bathing-machines, they were (how +they got there, is not for me to say) at the top of a hill at least a +mile and a half off. The library, which I had never seen otherwise than +wide open, was tight shut; and two peevish bald old gentlemen seemed to +be hermetically sealed up inside, eternally reading the paper. That +wonderful mystery, the music-shop, carried it off as usual (except that +it had more cabinet pianos in stock), as if season or no season were all +one to it. It made the same prodigious display of bright brazen +wind-instruments, horribly twisted, worth, as I should conceive, some +thousands of pounds, and which it is utterly impossible that anybody in +any season can ever play or want to play. It had five triangles in the +window, six pairs of castanets, and three harps; likewise every polka +with a coloured frontispiece that ever was published; from the original +one where a smooth male and female Pole of high rank are coming at the +observer with their arms a-kimbo, to the Ratcatcher’s Daughter. +Astonishing establishment, amazing enigma! Three other shops were pretty +much out of the season, what they were used to be in it. First, the shop +where they sell the sailors’ watches, which had still the old collection +of enormous timekeepers, apparently designed to break a fall from the +masthead: with places to wind them up, like fire-plugs. Secondly, the +shop where they sell the sailors’ clothing, which displayed the old +sou’-westers, and the old oily suits, and the old pea-jackets, and the +old one sea-chest, with its handles like a pair of rope ear-rings. +Thirdly, the unchangeable shop for the sale of literature that has been +left behind. Here, Dr. Faustus was still going down to very red and +yellow perdition, under the superintendence of three green personages of +a scaly humour, with excrescential serpents growing out of their +blade-bones. Here, the Golden Dreamer, and the Norwood Fortune Teller, +were still on sale at sixpence each, with instructions for making the +dumb cake, and reading destinies in tea-cups, and with a picture of a +young woman with a high waist lying on a sofa in an attitude so +uncomfortable as almost to account for her dreaming at one and the same +time of a conflagration, a shipwreck, an earthquake, a skeleton, a +church-porch, lightning, funerals performed, and a young man in a bright +blue coat and canary pantaloons. Here, were Little Warblers and +Fairburn’s Comic Songsters. Here, too, were ballads on the old ballad +paper and in the old confusion of types; with an old man in a cocked hat, +and an arm-chair, for the illustration to Will Watch the bold Smuggler; +and the Friar of Orders Grey, represented by a little girl in a hoop, +with a ship in the distance. All these as of yore, when they were +infinite delights to me! + +It took me so long fully to relish these many enjoyments, that I had not +more than an hour before bedtime to devote to Madame Roland. We got on +admirably together on the subject of her convent education, and I rose +next morning with the full conviction that the day for the great chapter +was at last arrived. + +It had fallen calm, however, in the night, and as I sat at breakfast I +blushed to remember that I had not yet been on the Downs. I a walker, +and not yet on the Downs! Really, on so quiet and bright a morning this +must be set right. As an essential part of the Whole Duty of Man, +therefore, I left the chapter to itself—for the present—and went on the +Downs. They were wonderfully green and beautiful, and gave me a good +deal to do. When I had done with the free air and the view, I had to go +down into the valley and look after the hops (which I know nothing +about), and to be equally solicitous as to the cherry orchards. Then I +took it on myself to cross-examine a tramping family in black (mother +alleged, I have no doubt by herself in person, to have died last week), +and to accompany eighteenpence which produced a great effect, with moral +admonitions which produced none at all. Finally, it was late in the +afternoon before I got back to the unprecedented chapter, and then I +determined that it was out of the season, as the place was, and put it +away. + +I went at night to the benefit of Mrs. B. Wedgington at the Theatre, who +had placarded the town with the admonition, ‘DON’T FORGET IT!’ I made +the house, according to my calculation, four and ninepence to begin with, +and it may have warmed up, in the course of the evening, to half a +sovereign. There was nothing to offend any one,—the good Mr. Baines of +Leeds excepted. Mrs. B. Wedgington sang to a grand piano. Mr. B. +Wedgington did the like, and also took off his coat, tucked up his +trousers, and danced in clogs. Master B. Wedgington, aged ten months, +was nursed by a shivering young person in the boxes, and the eye of Mrs. +B. Wedgington wandered that way more than once. Peace be with all the +Wedgingtons from A. to Z. May they find themselves in the Season +somewhere! + + + + +A POOR MAN’S TALE OF A PATENT + + +I AM not used to writing for print. What working-man, that never labours +less (some Mondays, and Christmas Time and Easter Time excepted) than +twelve or fourteen hours a day, is? But I have been asked to put down, +plain, what I have got to say; and so I take pen-and-ink, and do it to +the best of my power, hoping defects will find excuse. + +I was born nigh London, but have worked in a shop at Birmingham (what you +would call Manufactories, we call Shops), almost ever since I was out of +my time. I served my apprenticeship at Deptford, nigh where I was born, +and I am a smith by trade. My name is John. I have been called ‘Old +John’ ever since I was nineteen year of age, on account of not having +much hair. I am fifty-six year of age at the present time, and I don’t +find myself with more hair, nor yet with less, to signify, than at +nineteen year of age aforesaid. + +I have been married five and thirty year, come next April. I was married +on All Fools’ Day. Let them laugh that will. I won a good wife that +day, and it was as sensible a day to me as ever I had. + +We have had a matter of ten children, six whereof are living. My eldest +son is engineer in the Italian steam-packet ‘Mezzo Giorno, plying between +Marseilles and Naples, and calling at Genoa, Leghorn, and Civita +Vecchia.’ He was a good workman. He invented a many useful little +things that brought him in—nothing. I have two sons doing well at +Sydney, New South Wales—single, when last heard from. One of my sons +(James) went wild and for a soldier, where he was shot in India, living +six weeks in hospital with a musket-ball lodged in his shoulder-blade, +which he wrote with his own hand. He was the best looking. One of my +two daughters (Mary) is comfortable in her circumstances, but water on +the chest. The other (Charlotte), her husband run away from her in the +basest manner, and she and her three children live with us. The +youngest, six year old, has a turn for mechanics. + +I am not a Chartist, and I never was. I don’t mean to say but what I see +a good many public points to complain of, still I don’t think that’s the +way to set them right. If I did think so, I should be a Chartist. But I +don’t think so, and I am not a Chartist. I read the paper, and hear +discussion, at what we call ‘a parlour,’ in Birmingham, and I know many +good men and workmen who are Chartists. Note. Not Physical force. + +It won’t be took as boastful in me, if I make the remark (for I can’t put +down what I have got to say, without putting that down before going any +further), that I have always been of an ingenious turn. I once got +twenty pound by a screw, and it’s in use now. I have been twenty year, +off and on, completing an Invention and perfecting it. I perfected of +it, last Christmas Eve at ten o’clock at night. Me and my wife stood and +let some tears fall over the Model, when it was done and I brought her in +to take a look at it. + +A friend of mine, by the name of William Butcher, is a Chartist. +Moderate. He is a good speaker. He is very animated. I have often +heard him deliver that what is, at every turn, in the way of us +working-men, is, that too many places have been made, in the course of +time, to provide for people that never ought to have been provided for; +and that we have to obey forms and to pay fees to support those places +when we shouldn’t ought. ‘True,’ (delivers William Butcher), ‘all the +public has to do this, but it falls heaviest on the working-man, because +he has least to spare; and likewise because impediments shouldn’t be put +in his way, when he wants redress of wrong or furtherance of right.’ +Note. I have wrote down those words from William Butcher’s own mouth. +W. B. delivering them fresh for the aforesaid purpose. + +Now, to my Model again. There it was, perfected of, on Christmas Eve, +gone nigh a year, at ten o’clock at night. All the money I could spare I +had laid out upon the Model; and when times was bad, or my daughter +Charlotte’s children sickly, or both, it had stood still, months at a +spell. I had pulled it to pieces, and made it over again with +improvements, I don’t know how often. There it stood, at last, a +perfected Model as aforesaid. + +William Butcher and me had a long talk, Christmas Day, respecting of the +Model. William is very sensible. But sometimes cranky. William said, +‘What will you do with it, John?’ I said, ‘Patent it.’ William said, +‘How patent it, John?’ I said, ‘By taking out a Patent.’ William then +delivered that the law of Patent was a cruel wrong. William said, ‘John, +if you make your invention public, before you get a Patent, any one may +rob you of the fruits of your hard work. You are put in a cleft stick, +John. Either you must drive a bargain very much against yourself, by +getting a party to come forward beforehand with the great expenses of the +Patent; or, you must be put about, from post to pillar, among so many +parties, trying to make a better bargain for yourself, and showing your +invention, that your invention will be took from you over your head.’ I +said, ‘William Butcher, are you cranky? You are sometimes cranky.’ +William said, ‘No, John, I tell you the truth;’ which he then delivered +more at length. I said to W. B. I would Patent the invention myself. + +My wife’s brother, George Bury of West Bromwich (his wife unfortunately +took to drinking, made away with everything, and seventeen times +committed to Birmingham Jail before happy release in every point of +view), left my wife, his sister, when he died, a legacy of one hundred +and twenty-eight pound ten, Bank of England Stocks. Me and my wife never +broke into that money yet. Note. We might come to be old and past our +work. We now agreed to Patent the invention. We said we would make a +hole in it—I mean in the aforesaid money—and Patent the invention. +William Butcher wrote me a letter to Thomas Joy, in London. T. J. is a +carpenter, six foot four in height, and plays quoits well. He lives in +Chelsea, London, by the church. I got leave from the shop, to be took on +again when I come back. I am a good workman. Not a Teetotaller; but +never drunk. When the Christmas holidays were over, I went up to London +by the Parliamentary Train, and hired a lodging for a week with Thomas +Joy. He is married. He has one son gone to sea. + +Thomas Joy delivered (from a book he had) that the first step to be took, +in Patenting the invention, was to prepare a petition unto Queen +Victoria. William Butcher had delivered similar, and drawn it up. Note. +William is a ready writer. A declaration before a Master in Chancery was +to be added to it. That, we likewise drew up. After a deal of trouble I +found out a Master, in Southampton Buildings, Chancery Lane, nigh Temple +Bar, where I made the declaration, and paid eighteen-pence. I was told +to take the declaration and petition to the Home Office, in Whitehall, +where I left it to be signed by the Home Secretary (after I had found the +office out), and where I paid two pound, two, and sixpence. In six days +he signed it, and I was told to take it to the Attorney-General’s +chambers, and leave it there for a report. I did so, and paid four +pound, four. Note. Nobody all through, ever thankful for their money, +but all uncivil. + + [Picture: A poor man’s tale of a patent] + +My lodging at Thomas Joy’s was now hired for another week, whereof five +days were gone. The Attorney-General made what they called a +Report-of-course (my invention being, as William Butcher had delivered +before starting, unopposed), and I was sent back with it to the Home +Office. They made a Copy of it, which was called a Warrant. For this +warrant, I paid seven pound, thirteen, and six. It was sent to the +Queen, to sign. The Queen sent it back, signed. The Home Secretary +signed it again. The gentleman throwed it at me when I called, and said, +‘Now take it to the Patent Office in Lincoln’s Inn.’ I was then in my +third week at Thomas Joy’s living very sparing, on account of fees. I +found myself losing heart. + +At the Patent Office in Lincoln’s Inn, they made ‘a draft of the Queen’s +bill,’ of my invention, and a ‘docket of the bill.’ I paid five pound, +ten, and six, for this. They ‘engrossed two copies of the bill; one for +the Signet Office, and one for the Privy-Seal Office.’ I paid one pound, +seven, and six, for this. Stamp duty over and above, three pound. The +Engrossing Clerk of the same office engrossed the Queen’s bill for +signature. I paid him one pound, one. Stamp-duty, again, one pound, +ten. I was next to take the Queen’s bill to the Attorney-General again, +and get it signed again. I took it, and paid five pound more. I fetched +it away, and took it to the Home Secretary again. He sent it to the +Queen again. She signed it again. I paid seven pound, thirteen, and +six, more, for this. I had been over a month at Thomas Joy’s. I was +quite wore out, patience and pocket. + +Thomas Joy delivered all this, as it went on, to William Butcher. +William Butcher delivered it again to three Birmingham Parlours, from +which it got to all the other Parlours, and was took, as I have been told +since, right through all the shops in the North of England. Note. +William Butcher delivered, at his Parlour, in a speech, that it was a +Patent way of making Chartists. + +But I hadn’t nigh done yet. The Queen’s bill was to be took to the +Signet Office in Somerset House, Strand—where the stamp shop is. The +Clerk of the Signet made ‘a Signet bill for the Lord Keeper of the Privy +Seal.’ I paid him four pound, seven. The Clerk of the Lord Keeper of +the Privy Seal made ‘a Privy-Seal bill for the Lord Chancellor.’ I paid +him, four pound, two. The Privy-Seal bill was handed over to the Clerk +of the Patents, who engrossed the aforesaid. I paid him five pound, +seventeen, and eight; at the same time, I paid Stamp-duty for the Patent, +in one lump, thirty pound. I next paid for ‘boxes for the Patent,’ nine +and sixpence. Note. Thomas Joy would have made the same at a profit for +eighteen-pence. I next paid ‘fees to the Deputy, the Lord Chancellor’s +Purse-bearer,’ two pound, two. I next paid ‘fees to the Clerk of the +Hanapar,’ seven pound, thirteen. I next paid ‘fees to the Deputy Clerk +of the Hanaper,’ ten shillings. I next paid, to the Lord Chancellor +again, one pound, eleven, and six. Last of all, I paid ‘fees to the +Deputy Sealer, and Deputy Chaff-wax,’ ten shillings and sixpence. I had +lodged at Thomas Joy’s over six weeks, and the unopposed Patent for my +invention, for England only, had cost me ninety-six pound, seven, and +eightpence. If I had taken it out for the United Kingdom, it would have +cost me more than three hundred pound. + +Now, teaching had not come up but very limited when I was young. So much +the worse for me you’ll say. I say the same. William Butcher is twenty +year younger than me. He knows a hundred year more. If William Butcher +had wanted to Patent an invention, he might have been sharper than myself +when hustled backwards and forwards among all those offices, though I +doubt if so patient. Note. William being sometimes cranky, and consider +porters, messengers, and clerks. + +Thereby I say nothing of my being tired of my life, while I was Patenting +my invention. But I put this: Is it reasonable to make a man feel as if, +in inventing an ingenious improvement meant to do good, he had done +something wrong? How else can a man feel, when he is met by such +difficulties at every turn? All inventors taking out a Patent MUST feel +so. And look at the expense. How hard on me, and how hard on the +country if there’s any merit in me (and my invention is took up now, I am +thankful to say, and doing well), to put me to all that expense before I +can move a finger! Make the addition yourself, and it’ll come to +ninety-six pound, seven, and eightpence. No more, and no less. + +What can I say against William Butcher, about places? Look at the Home +Secretary, the Attorney-General, the Patent Office, the Engrossing Clerk, +the Lord Chancellor, the Privy Seal, the Clerk of the Patents, the Lord +Chancellor’s Purse-bearer, the Clerk of the Hanaper, the Deputy Clerk of +the Hanaper, the Deputy Sealer, and the Deputy Chaff-wax. No man in +England could get a Patent for an Indian-rubber band, or an iron-hoop, +without feeing all of them. Some of them, over and over again. I went +through thirty-five stages. I began with the Queen upon the Throne. I +ended with the Deputy Chaff-wax. Note. I should like to see the Deputy +Chaff-wax. Is it a man, or what is it? + +What I had to tell, I have told. I have wrote it down. I hope it’s +plain. Not so much in the handwriting (though nothing to boast of +there), as in the sense of it. I will now conclude with Thomas Joy. +Thomas said to me, when we parted, ‘John, if the laws of this country +were as honest as they ought to be, you would have come to +London—registered an exact description and drawing of your invention—paid +half-a-crown or so for doing of it—and therein and thereby have got your +Patent.’ + +My opinion is the same as Thomas Joy. Further. In William Butcher’s +delivering ‘that the whole gang of Hanapers and Chaff-waxes must be done +away with, and that England has been chaffed and waxed sufficient,’ I +agree. + + + + +THE NOBLE SAVAGE + + +TO come to the point at once, I beg to say that I have not the least +belief in the Noble Savage. I consider him a prodigious nuisance, and an +enormous superstition. His calling rum fire-water, and me a pale face, +wholly fail to reconcile me to him. I don’t care what he calls me. I +call him a savage, and I call a savage a something highly desirable to be +civilised off the face of the earth. I think a mere gent (which I take +to be the lowest form of civilisation) better than a howling, whistling, +clucking, stamping, jumping, tearing savage. It is all one to me, +whether he sticks a fish-bone through his visage, or bits of trees +through the lobes of his ears, or bird’s feathers in his head; whether he +flattens his hair between two boards, or spreads his nose over the +breadth of his face, or drags his lower lip down by great weights, or +blackens his teeth, or knocks them out, or paints one cheek red and the +other blue, or tattoos himself, or oils himself, or rubs his body with +fat, or crimps it with knives. Yielding to whichsoever of these +agreeable eccentricities, he is a savage—cruel, false, thievish, +murderous; addicted more or less to grease, entrails, and beastly +customs; a wild animal with the questionable gift of boasting; a +conceited, tiresome, bloodthirsty, monotonous humbug. + +Yet it is extraordinary to observe how some people will talk about him, +as they talk about the good old times; how they will regret his +disappearance, in the course of this world’s development, from such and +such lands where his absence is a blessed relief and an indispensable +preparation for the sowing of the very first seeds of any influence that +can exalt humanity; how, even with the evidence of himself before them, +they will either be determined to believe, or will suffer themselves to +be persuaded into believing, that he is something which their five senses +tell them he is not. + +There was Mr. Catlin, some few years ago, with his Ojibbeway Indians. +Mr. Catlin was an energetic, earnest man, who had lived among more tribes +of Indians than I need reckon up here, and who had written a picturesque +and glowing book about them. With his party of Indians squatting and +spitting on the table before him, or dancing their miserable jigs after +their own dreary manner, he called, in all good faith, upon his civilised +audience to take notice of their symmetry and grace, their perfect limbs, +and the exquisite expression of their pantomime; and his civilised +audience, in all good faith, complied and admired. Whereas, as mere +animals, they were wretched creatures, very low in the scale and very +poorly formed; and as men and women possessing any power of truthful +dramatic expression by means of action, they were no better than the +chorus at an Italian Opera in England—and would have been worse if such a +thing were possible. + +Mine are no new views of the noble savage. The greatest writers on +natural history found him out long ago. BUFFON knew what he was, and +showed why he is the sulky tyrant that he is to his women, and how it +happens (Heaven be praised!) that his race is spare in numbers. For +evidence of the quality of his moral nature, pass himself for a moment +and refer to his ‘faithful dog.’ Has he ever improved a dog, or attached +a dog, since his nobility first ran wild in woods, and was brought down +(at a very long shot) by POPE? Or does the animal that is the friend of +man, always degenerate in his low society? + +It is not the miserable nature of the noble savage that is the new thing; +it is the whimpering over him with maudlin admiration, and the affecting +to regret him, and the drawing of any comparison of advantage between the +blemishes of civilisation and the tenor of his swinish life. There may +have been a change now and then in those diseased absurdities, but there +is none in him. + +Think of the Bushmen. Think of the two men and the two women who have +been exhibited about England for some years. Are the majority of +persons—who remember the horrid little leader of that party in his +festering bundle of hides, with his filth and his antipathy to water, and +his straddled legs, and his odious eyes shaded by his brutal hand, and +his cry of ‘Qu-u-u-u-aaa!’ (Bosjesman for something desperately insulting +I have no doubt)—conscious of an affectionate yearning towards that noble +savage, or is it idiosyncratic in me to abhor, detest, abominate, and +abjure him? I have no reserve on this subject, and will frankly state +that, setting aside that stage of the entertainment when he counterfeited +the death of some creature he had shot, by laying his head on his hand +and shaking his left leg—at which time I think it would have been +justifiable homicide to slay him—I have never seen that group sleeping, +smoking, and expectorating round their brazier, but I have sincerely +desired that something might happen to the charcoal smouldering therein, +which would cause the immediate suffocation of the whole of the noble +strangers. + +There is at present a party of Zulu Kaffirs exhibiting at the St. +George’s Gallery, Hyde Park Corner, London. These noble savages are +represented in a most agreeable manner; they are seen in an elegant +theatre, fitted with appropriate scenery of great beauty, and they are +described in a very sensible and unpretending lecture, delivered with a +modesty which is quite a pattern to all similar exponents. Though +extremely ugly, they are much better shaped than such of their +predecessors as I have referred to; and they are rather picturesque to +the eye, though far from odoriferous to the nose. What a visitor left to +his own interpretings and imaginings might suppose these noblemen to be +about, when they give vent to that pantomimic expression which is quite +settled to be the natural gift of the noble savage, I cannot possibly +conceive; for it is so much too luminous for my personal civilisation +that it conveys no idea to my mind beyond a general stamping, ramping, +and raving, remarkable (as everything in savage life is) for its dire +uniformity. But let us—with the interpreter’s assistance, of which I for +one stand so much in need—see what the noble savage does in Zulu +Kaffirland. + +The noble savage sets a king to reign over him, to whom he submits his +life and limbs without a murmur or question, and whose whole life is +passed chin deep in a lake of blood; but who, after killing incessantly, +is in his turn killed by his relations and friends, the moment a grey +hair appears on his head. All the noble savage’s wars with his +fellow-savages (and he takes no pleasure in anything else) are wars of +extermination—which is the best thing I know of him, and the most +comfortable to my mind when I look at him. He has no moral feelings of +any kind, sort, or description; and his ‘mission’ may be summed up as +simply diabolical. + +The ceremonies with which he faintly diversifies his life are, of course, +of a kindred nature. If he wants a wife he appears before the kennel of +the gentleman whom he has selected for his father-in-law, attended by a +party of male friends of a very strong flavour, who screech and whistle +and stamp an offer of so many cows for the young lady’s hand. The chosen +father-in-law—also supported by a high-flavoured party of male +friends—screeches, whistles, and yells (being seated on the ground, he +can’t stamp) that there never was such a daughter in the market as his +daughter, and that he must have six more cows. The son-in-law and his +select circle of backers screech, whistle, stamp, and yell in reply, that +they will give three more cows. The father-in-law (an old deluder, +overpaid at the beginning) accepts four, and rises to bind the bargain. +The whole party, the young lady included, then falling into epileptic +convulsions, and screeching, whistling, stamping, and yelling +together—and nobody taking any notice of the young lady (whose charms are +not to be thought of without a shudder)—the noble savage is considered +married, and his friends make demoniacal leaps at him by way of +congratulation. + +When the noble savage finds himself a little unwell, and mentions the +circumstance to his friends, it is immediately perceived that he is under +the influence of witchcraft. A learned personage, called an Imyanger or +Witch Doctor, is immediately sent for to Nooker the Umtargartie, or smell +out the witch. The male inhabitants of the kraal being seated on the +ground, the learned doctor, got up like a grizzly bear, appears, and +administers a dance of a most terrific nature, during the exhibition of +which remedy he incessantly gnashes his teeth, and howls:—‘I am the +original physician to Nooker the Umtargartie. Yow yow yow! No connexion +with any other establishment. Till till till! All other Umtargarties +are feigned Umtargarties, Boroo Boroo! but I perceive here a genuine and +real Umtargartie, Hoosh Hoosh Hoosh! in whose blood I, the original +Imyanger and Nookerer, Blizzerum Boo! will wash these bear’s claws of +mine. O yow yow yow!’ All this time the learned physician is looking +out among the attentive faces for some unfortunate man who owes him a +cow, or who has given him any small offence, or against whom, without +offence, he has conceived a spite. Him he never fails to Nooker as the +Umtargartie, and he is instantly killed. In the absence of such an +individual, the usual practice is to Nooker the quietest and most +gentlemanly person in company. But the nookering is invariably followed +on the spot by the butchering. + +Some of the noble savages in whom Mr. Catlin was so strongly interested, +and the diminution of whose numbers, by rum and smallpox, greatly +affected him, had a custom not unlike this, though much more appalling +and disgusting in its odious details. + +The women being at work in the fields, hoeing the Indian corn, and the +noble savage being asleep in the shade, the chief has sometimes the +condescension to come forth, and lighten the labour by looking at it. On +these occasions, he seats himself in his own savage chair, and is +attended by his shield-bearer: who holds over his head a shield of +cowhide—in shape like an immense mussel shell—fearfully and wonderfully, +after the manner of a theatrical supernumerary. But lest the great man +should forget his greatness in the contemplation of the humble works of +agriculture, there suddenly rushes in a poet, retained for the purpose, +called a Praiser. This literary gentleman wears a leopard’s head over +his own, and a dress of tigers’ tails; he has the appearance of having +come express on his hind legs from the Zoological Gardens; and he +incontinently strikes up the chief’s praises, plunging and tearing all +the while. There is a frantic wickedness in this brute’s manner of +worrying the air, and gnashing out, ‘O what a delightful chief he is! O +what a delicious quantity of blood he sheds! O how majestically he laps +it up! O how charmingly cruel he is! O how he tears the flesh of his +enemies and crunches the bones! O how like the tiger and the leopard and +the wolf and the bear he is! O, row row row row, how fond I am of him!’ +which might tempt the Society of Friends to charge at a hand-gallop into +the Swartz-Kop location and exterminate the whole kraal. + +When war is afoot among the noble savages—which is always—the chief holds +a council to ascertain whether it is the opinion of his brothers and +friends in general that the enemy shall be exterminated. On this +occasion, after the performance of an Umsebeuza, or war song,—which is +exactly like all the other songs,—the chief makes a speech to his +brothers and friends, arranged in single file. No particular order is +observed during the delivery of this address, but every gentleman who +finds himself excited by the subject, instead of crying ‘Hear, hear!’ as +is the custom with us, darts from the rank and tramples out the life, or +crushes the skull, or mashes the face, or scoops out the eyes, or breaks +the limbs, or performs a whirlwind of atrocities on the body, of an +imaginary enemy. Several gentlemen becoming thus excited at once, and +pounding away without the least regard to the orator, that illustrious +person is rather in the position of an orator in an Irish House of +Commons. But, several of these scenes of savage life bear a strong +generic resemblance to an Irish election, and I think would be extremely +well received and understood at Cork. + +In all these ceremonies the noble savage holds forth to the utmost +possible extent about himself; from which (to turn him to some civilised +account) we may learn, I think, that as egotism is one of the most +offensive and contemptible littlenesses a civilised man can exhibit, so +it is really incompatible with the interchange of ideas; inasmuch as if +we all talked about ourselves we should soon have no listeners, and must +be all yelling and screeching at once on our own separate accounts: +making society hideous. It is my opinion that if we retained in us +anything of the noble savage, we could not get rid of it too soon. But +the fact is clearly otherwise. Upon the wife and dowry question, +substituting coin for cows, we have assuredly nothing of the Zulu Kaffir +left. The endurance of despotism is one great distinguishing mark of a +savage always. The improving world has quite got the better of that too. +In like manner, Paris is a civilised city, and the Théâtre Français a +highly civilised theatre; and we shall never hear, and never have heard +in these later days (of course) of the Praiser there. No, no, civilised +poets have better work to do. As to Nookering Umtargarties, there are no +pretended Umtargarties in Europe, and no European powers to Nooker them; +that would be mere spydom, subordination, small malice, superstition, and +false pretence. And as to private Umtargarties, are we not in the year +eighteen hundred and fifty-three, with spirits rapping at our doors? + +To conclude as I began. My position is, that if we have anything to +learn from the Noble Savage, it is what to avoid. His virtues are a +fable; his happiness is a delusion; his nobility, nonsense. + +We have no greater justification for being cruel to the miserable object, +than for being cruel to a WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE or an ISAAC NEWTON; but he +passes away before an immeasurably better and higher power than ever ran +wild in any earthly woods, and the world will be all the better when his +place knows him no more. + + + + +A FLIGHT + + +WHEN Don Diego de—I forget his name—the inventor of the last new Flying +Machines, price so many francs for ladies, so many more for +gentlemen—when Don Diego, by permission of Deputy Chaff-wax and his noble +band, shall have taken out a Patent for the Queen’s dominions, and shall +have opened a commodious Warehouse in an airy situation; and when all +persons of any gentility will keep at least a pair of wings, and be seen +skimming about in every direction; I shall take a flight to Paris (as I +soar round the world) in a cheap and independent manner. At present, my +reliance is on the South-Eastern Railway Company, in whose Express Train +here I sit, at eight of the clock on a very hot morning, under the very +hot roof of the Terminus at London Bridge, in danger of being ‘forced’ +like a cucumber or a melon, or a pine-apple. And talking of pine-apples, +I suppose there never were so many pine-apples in a Train as there appear +to be in this Train. + +Whew! The hot-house air is faint with pine-apples. Every French citizen +or citizeness is carrying pine-apples home. The compact little +Enchantress in the corner of my carriage (French actress, to whom I +yielded up my heart under the auspices of that brave child, ‘MEAT-CHELL,’ +at the St. James’s Theatre the night before last) has a pine-apple in her +lap. Compact Enchantress’s friend, confidante, mother, mystery, Heaven +knows what, has two pine-apples in her lap, and a bundle of them under +the seat. Tobacco-smoky Frenchman in Algerine wrapper, with peaked hood +behind, who might be Abd-el-Kader dyed rifle-green, and who seems to be +dressed entirely in dirt and braid, carries pine-apples in a covered +basket. Tall, grave, melancholy Frenchman, with black Vandyke beard, and +hair close-cropped, with expansive chest to waistcoat, and compressive +waist to coat: saturnine as to his pantaloons, calm as to his feminine +boots, precious as to his jewellery, smooth and white as to his linen: +dark-eyed, high-foreheaded, hawk-nosed—got up, one thinks, like Lucifer +or Mephistopheles, or Zamiel, transformed into a highly genteel +Parisian—has the green end of a pine-apple sticking out of his neat +valise. + +Whew! If I were to be kept here long, under this forcing-frame, I wonder +what would become of me—whether I should be forced into a giant, or +should sprout or blow into some other phenomenon! Compact Enchantress is +not ruffled by the heat—she is always composed, always compact. O look +at her little ribbons, frills, and edges, at her shawl, at her gloves, at +her hair, at her bracelets, at her bonnet, at everything about her! How +is it accomplished? What does she do to be so neat? How is it that +every trifle she wears belongs to her, and cannot choose but be a part of +her? And even Mystery, look at _her_! A model. Mystery is not young, +not pretty, though still of an average candle-light passability; but she +does such miracles in her own behalf, that, one of these days, when she +dies, they’ll be amazed to find an old woman in her bed, distantly like +her. She was an actress once, I shouldn’t wonder, and had a Mystery +attendant on herself. Perhaps, Compact Enchantress will live to be a +Mystery, and to wait with a shawl at the side-scenes, and to sit opposite +to Mademoiselle in railway carriages, and smile and talk subserviently, +as Mystery does now. That’s hard to believe! + +Two Englishmen, and now our carriage is full. First Englishman, in the +monied interest—flushed, highly respectable—Stock Exchange, perhaps—City, +certainly. Faculties of second Englishman entirely absorbed in hurry. +Plunges into the carriage, blind. Calls out of window concerning his +luggage, deaf. Suffocates himself under pillows of great-coats, for no +reason, and in a demented manner. Will receive no assurance from any +porter whatsoever. Is stout and hot, and wipes his head, and makes +himself hotter by breathing so hard. Is totally incredulous respecting +assurance of Collected Guard, that ‘there’s no hurry.’ No hurry! And a +flight to Paris in eleven hours! + +It is all one to me in this drowsy corner, hurry or no hurry. Until Don +Diego shall send home my wings, my flight is with the South-Eastern +Company. I can fly with the South-Eastern, more lazily, at all events, +than in the upper air. I have but to sit here thinking as idly as I +please, and be whisked away. I am not accountable to anybody for the +idleness of my thoughts in such an idle summer flight; my flight is +provided for by the South-Eastern and is no business of mine. + +The bell! With all my heart. It does not require me to do so much as +even to flap my wings. Something snorts for me, something shrieks for +me, something proclaims to everything else that it had better keep out of +my way,—and away I go. + +Ah! The fresh air is pleasant after the forcing-frame, though it does +blow over these interminable streets, and scatter the smoke of this vast +wilderness of chimneys. Here we are—no, I mean there we were, for it has +darted far into the rear—in Bermondsey where the tanners live. Flash! +The distant shipping in the Thames is gone. Whirr! The little streets +of new brick and red tile, with here and there a flagstaff growing like a +tall weed out of the scarlet beans, and, everywhere, plenty of open sewer +and ditch for the promotion of the public health, have been fired off in +a volley. Whizz! Dust-heaps, market-gardens, and waste grounds. +Rattle! New Cross Station. Shock! There we were at Croydon. +Bur-r-r-r! The tunnel. + +I wonder why it is that when I shut my eyes in a tunnel I begin to feel +as if I were going at an Express pace the other way. I am clearly going +back to London now. Compact Enchantress must have forgotten something, +and reversed the engine. No! After long darkness, pale fitful streaks +of light appear. I am still flying on for Folkestone. The streaks grow +stronger—become continuous—become the ghost of day—become the living +day—became I mean—the tunnel is miles and miles away, and here I fly +through sunlight, all among the harvest and the Kentish hops. + +There is a dreamy pleasure in this flying. I wonder where it was, and +when it was, that we exploded, blew into space somehow, a Parliamentary +Train, with a crowd of heads and faces looking at us out of cages, and +some hats waving. Monied Interest says it was at Reigate Station. +Expounds to Mystery how Reigate Station is so many miles from London, +which Mystery again develops to Compact Enchantress. There might be +neither a Reigate nor a London for me, as I fly away among the Kentish +hops and harvest. What do _I_ care? + +Bang! We have let another Station off, and fly away regardless. +Everything is flying. The hop-gardens turn gracefully towards me, +presenting regular avenues of hops in rapid flight, then whirl away. So +do the pools and rushes, haystacks, sheep, clover in full bloom delicious +to the sight and smell, corn-sheaves, cherry-orchards, apple-orchards, +reapers, gleaners, hedges, gates, fields that taper off into little +angular corners, cottages, gardens, now and then a church. Bang, bang! +A double-barrelled Station! Now a wood, now a bridge, now a landscape, +now a cutting, now a—Bang! a single-barrelled Station—there was a +cricket-match somewhere with two white tents, and then four flying cows, +then turnips—now the wires of the electric telegraph are all alive, and +spin, and blurr their edges, and go up and down, and make the intervals +between each other most irregular: contracting and expanding in the +strangest manner. Now we slacken. With a screwing, and a grinding, and +a smell of water thrown on ashes, now we stop! + +Demented Traveller, who has been for two or three minutes watchful, +clutches his great-coats, plunges at the door, rattles it, cries ‘Hi!’ +eager to embark on board of impossible packets, far inland. Collected +Guard appears. ‘Are you for Tunbridge, sir?’ ‘Tunbridge? No. Paris.’ +‘Plenty of time, sir. No hurry. Five minutes here, sir, for +refreshment.’ I am so blest (anticipating Zamiel, by half a second) as +to procure a glass of water for Compact Enchantress. + +Who would suppose we had been flying at such a rate, and shall take wing +again directly? Refreshment-room full, platform full, porter with +watering-pot deliberately cooling a hot wheel, another porter with equal +deliberation helping the rest of the wheels bountifully to ice cream. +Monied Interest and I re-entering the carriage first, and being there +alone, he intimates to me that the French are ‘no go’ as a Nation. I ask +why? He says, that Reign of Terror of theirs was quite enough. I +ventured to inquire whether he remembers anything that preceded said +Reign of Terror? He says not particularly. ‘Because,’ I remark, ‘the +harvest that is reaped, has sometimes been sown.’ Monied Interest +repeats, as quite enough for him, that the French are revolutionary,—‘and +always at it.’ + +Bell. Compact Enchantress, helped in by Zamiel (whom the stars +confound!), gives us her charming little side-box look, and smites me to +the core. Mystery eating sponge-cake. Pine-apple atmosphere faintly +tinged with suspicions of sherry. Demented Traveller flits past the +carriage, looking for it. Is blind with agitation, and can’t see it. +Seems singled out by Destiny to be the only unhappy creature in the +flight, who has any cause to hurry himself. Is nearly left behind. Is +seized by Collected Guard after the Train is in motion, and bundled in. +Still, has lingering suspicions that there must be a boat in the +neighbourhood, and will look wildly out of window for it. + +Flight resumed. Corn-sheaves, hop-gardens, reapers, gleaners, +apple-orchards, cherry-orchards, Stations single and double-barrelled, +Ashford. Compact Enchantress (constantly talking to Mystery, in an +exquisite manner) gives a little scream; a sound that seems to come from +high up in her precious little head; from behind her bright little +eyebrows. ‘Great Heaven, my pine-apple! My Angel! It is lost!’ +Mystery is desolated. A search made. It is not lost. Zamiel finds it. +I curse him (flying) in the Persian manner. May his face be turned +upside down, and jackasses sit upon his uncle’s grave! + +Now fresher air, now glimpses of unenclosed Down-land with flapping crows +flying over it whom we soon outfly, now the Sea, now Folkestone at a +quarter after ten. ‘Tickets ready, gentlemen!’ Demented dashes at the +door. ‘For Paris, sir? No hurry.’ + +Not the least. We are dropped slowly down to the Port, and sidle to and +fro (the whole Train) before the insensible Royal George Hotel, for some +ten minutes. The Royal George takes no more heed of us than its namesake +under water at Spithead, or under earth at Windsor, does. The Royal +George’s dog lies winking and blinking at us, without taking the trouble +to sit up; and the Royal George’s ‘wedding party’ at the open window (who +seem, I must say, rather tired of bliss) don’t bestow a solitary glance +upon us, flying thus to Paris in eleven hours. The first gentleman in +Folkestone is evidently used up, on this subject. + +Meanwhile, Demented chafes. Conceives that every man’s hand is against +him, and exerting itself to prevent his getting to Paris. Refuses +consolation. Rattles door. Sees smoke on the horizon, and ‘knows’ it’s +the boat gone without him. Monied Interest resentfully explains that +_he_ is going to Paris too. Demented signifies, that if Monied Interest +chooses to be left behind, he don’t. + +‘Refreshments in the Waiting-Room, ladies and gentlemen. No hurry, +ladies and gentlemen, for Paris. No hurry whatever!’ + +Twenty minutes’ pause, by Folkestone clock, for looking at Enchantress +while she eats a sandwich, and at Mystery while she eats of everything +there that is eatable, from pork-pie, sausage, jam, and gooseberries, to +lumps of sugar. All this time, there is a very waterfall of luggage, +with a spray of dust, tumbling slantwise from the pier into the +steamboat. All this time, Demented (who has no business with it) watches +it with starting eyes, fiercely requiring to be shown his luggage. When +it at last concludes the cataract, he rushes hotly to refresh—is shouted +after, pursued, jostled, brought back, pitched into the departing steamer +upside down, and caught by mariners disgracefully. + +A lovely harvest-day, a cloudless sky, a tranquil sea. The piston-rods +of the engines so regularly coming up from below, to look (as well they +may) at the bright weather, and so regularly almost knocking their iron +heads against the cross beam of the skylight, and never doing it! +Another Parisian actress is on board, attended by another Mystery. +Compact Enchantress greets her sister artist—Oh, the Compact One’s pretty +teeth!—and Mystery greets Mystery. _My_ Mystery soon ceases to be +conversational—is taken poorly, in a word, having lunched too +miscellaneously—and goes below. The remaining Mystery then smiles upon +the sister artists (who, I am afraid, wouldn’t greatly mind stabbing each +other), and is upon the whole ravished. + +And now I find that all the French people on board begin to grow, and all +the English people to shrink. The French are nearing home, and shaking +off a disadvantage, whereas we are shaking it on. Zamiel is the same +man, and Abd-el-Kader is the same man, but each seems to come into +possession of an indescribable confidence that departs from us—from +Monied Interest, for instance, and from me. Just what they gain, we +lose. Certain British ‘Gents’ about the steersman, intellectually +nurtured at home on parody of everything and truth of nothing, become +subdued, and in a manner forlorn; and when the steersman tells them (not +exultingly) how he has ‘been upon this station now eight year, and never +see the old town of Bullum yet,’ one of them, with an imbecile reliance +on a reed, asks him what he considers to be the best hotel in Paris? + +Now, I tread upon French ground, and am greeted by the three charming +words, Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, painted up (in letters a little too +thin for their height) on the Custom-house wall—also by the sight of +large cocked hats, without which demonstrative head-gear nothing of a +public nature can be done upon this soil. All the rabid Hotel population +of Boulogne howl and shriek outside a distant barrier, frantic to get at +us. Demented, by some unlucky means peculiar to himself, is delivered +over to their fury, and is presently seen struggling in a whirlpool of +Touters—is somehow understood to be going to Paris—is, with infinite +noise, rescued by two cocked hats, and brought into Custom-house bondage +with the rest of us. + +Here, I resign the active duties of life to an eager being, of +preternatural sharpness, with a shelving forehead and a shabby +snuff-coloured coat, who (from the wharf) brought me down with his eye +before the boat came into port. He darts upon my luggage, on the floor +where all the luggage is strewn like a wreck at the bottom of the great +deep; gets it proclaimed and weighed as the property of ‘Monsieur a +traveller unknown;’ pays certain francs for it, to a certain functionary +behind a Pigeon Hole, like a pay-box at a Theatre (the arrangements in +general are on a wholesale scale, half military and half theatrical); and +I suppose I shall find it when I come to Paris—he says I shall. I know +nothing about it, except that I pay him his small fee, and pocket the +ticket he gives me, and sit upon a counter, involved in the general +distraction. + +Railway station. ‘Lunch or dinner, ladies and gentlemen. Plenty of time +for Paris. Plenty of time!’ Large hall, long counter, long strips of +dining-table, bottles of wine, plates of meat, roast chickens, little +loaves of bread, basins of soup, little caraffes of brandy, cakes, and +fruit. Comfortably restored from these resources, I begin to fly again. + +I saw Zamiel (before I took wing) presented to Compact Enchantress and +Sister Artist, by an officer in uniform, with a waist like a wasp’s, and +pantaloons like two balloons. They all got into the next carriage +together, accompanied by the two Mysteries. They laughed. I am alone in +the carriage (for I don’t consider Demented anybody) and alone in the +world. + +Fields, windmills, low grounds, pollard-trees, windmills, fields, +fortifications, Abbeville, soldiering and drumming. I wonder where +England is, and when I was there last—about two years ago, I should say. +Flying in and out among these trenches and batteries, skimming the +clattering drawbridges, looking down into the stagnant ditches, I become +a prisoner of state, escaping. I am confined with a comrade in a +fortress. Our room is in an upper story. We have tried to get up the +chimney, but there’s an iron grating across it, imbedded in the masonry. +After months of labour, we have worked the grating loose with the poker, +and can lift it up. We have also made a hook, and twisted our rugs and +blankets into ropes. Our plan is, to go up the chimney, hook our ropes +to the top, descend hand over hand upon the roof of the guard-house far +below, shake the hook loose, watch the opportunity of the sentinels +pacing away, hook again, drop into the ditch, swim across it, creep into +the shelter of the wood. The time is come—a wild and stormy night. We +are up the chimney, we are on the guard-house roof, we are swimming in +the murky ditch, when lo! ‘Qui v’là?’ a bugle, the alarm, a crash! What +is it? Death? No, Amiens. + +More fortifications, more soldiering and drumming, more basins of soup, +more little loaves of bread, more bottles of wine, more caraffes of +brandy, more time for refreshment. Everything good, and everything +ready. Bright, unsubstantial-looking, scenic sort of station. People +waiting. Houses, uniforms, beards, moustaches, some sabots, plenty of +neat women, and a few old-visaged children. Unless it be a delusion born +of my giddy flight, the grown-up people and the children seem to change +places in France. In general, the boys and girls are little old men and +women, and the men and women lively boys and girls. + +Bugle, shriek, flight resumed. Monied Interest has come into my +carriage. Says the manner of refreshing is ‘not bad,’ but considers it +French. Admits great dexterity and politeness in the attendants. Thinks +a decimal currency may have something to do with their despatch in +settling accounts, and don’t know but what it’s sensible and convenient. +Adds, however, as a general protest, that they’re a revolutionary +people—and always at it. + +Ramparts, canals, cathedral, river, soldiering and drumming, open +country, river, earthenware manufactures, Creil. Again ten minutes. Not +even Demented in a hurry. Station, a drawing-room with a verandah: like +a planter’s house. Monied Interest considers it a band-box, and not made +to last. Little round tables in it, at one of which the Sister Artists +and attendant Mysteries are established with Wasp and Zamiel, as if they +were going to stay a week. + +Anon, with no more trouble than before, I am flying again, and lazily +wondering as I fly. What has the South-Eastern done with all the +horrible little villages we used to pass through, in the _Diligence_? +What have they done with all the summer dust, with all the winter mud, +with all the dreary avenues of little trees, with all the ramshackle +postyards, with all the beggars (who used to turn out at night with bits +of lighted candle, to look in at the coach windows), with all the +long-tailed horses who were always biting one another, with all the big +postilions in jack-boots—with all the mouldy cafés that we used to stop +at, where a long mildewed table-cloth, set forth with jovial bottles of +vinegar and oil, and with a Siamese arrangement of pepper and salt, was +never wanting? Where are the grass-grown little towns, the wonderful +little market-places all unconscious of markets, the shops that nobody +kept, the streets that nobody trod, the churches that nobody went to, the +bells that nobody rang, the tumble-down old buildings plastered with +many-coloured bills that nobody read? Where are the two-and-twenty weary +hours of long, long day and night journey, sure to be either +insupportably hot or insupportably cold? Where are the pains in my +bones, where are the fidgets in my legs, where is the Frenchman with the +nightcap who never _would_ have the little coupé-window down, and who +always fell upon me when he went to sleep, and always slept all night +snoring onions? + +A voice breaks in with ‘Paris! Here we are!’ + +I have overflown myself, perhaps, but I can’t believe it. I feel as if I +were enchanted or bewitched. It is barely eight o’clock yet—it is +nothing like half-past—when I have had my luggage examined at that +briskest of Custom-houses attached to the station, and am rattling over +the pavement in a hackney-cabriolet. + +Surely, not the pavement of Paris? Yes, I think it is, too. I don’t +know any other place where there are all these high houses, all these +haggard-looking wine shops, all these billiard tables, all these +stocking-makers with flat red or yellow legs of wood for signboard, all +these fuel shops with stacks of billets painted outside, and real billets +sawing in the gutter, all these dirty corners of streets, all these +cabinet pictures over dark doorways representing discreet matrons nursing +babies. And yet this morning—I’ll think of it in a warm-bath. + +Very like a small room that I remember in the Chinese baths upon the +Boulevard, certainly; and, though I see it through the steam, I think +that I might swear to that peculiar hot-linen basket, like a large wicker +hour-glass. When can it have been that I left home? When was it that I +paid ‘through to Paris’ at London Bridge, and discharged myself of all +responsibility, except the preservation of a voucher ruled into three +divisions, of which the first was snipped off at Folkestone, the second +aboard the boat, and the third taken at my journey’s end? It seems to +have been ages ago. Calculation is useless. I will go out for a walk. + +The crowds in the streets, the lights in the shops and balconies, the +elegance, variety, and beauty of their decorations, the number of the +theatres, the brilliant cafés with their windows thrown up high and their +vivacious groups at little tables on the pavement, the light and glitter +of the houses turned as it were inside out, soon convince me that it is +no dream; that I am in Paris, howsoever I got there. I stroll down to +the sparkling Palais Royal, up the Rue de Rivoli, to the Place Vendôme. +As I glance into a print-shop window, Monied Interest, my late travelling +companion, comes upon me, laughing with the highest relish of disdain. +‘Here’s a people!’ he says, pointing to Napoleon in the window and +Napoleon on the column. ‘Only one idea all over Paris! A monomania!’ +Humph! I THINK I have seen Napoleon’s match? There was a statue, when I +came away, at Hyde Park Corner, and another in the City, and a print or +two in the shops. + +I walk up to the Barrière de l’Etoile, sufficiently dazed by my flight to +have a pleasant doubt of the reality of everything about me; of the +lively crowd, the overhanging trees, the performing dogs, the +hobby-horses, the beautiful perspectives of shining lamps: the hundred +and one enclosures, where the singing is, in gleaming orchestras of azure +and gold, and where a star-eyed Houri comes round with a box for +voluntary offerings. So, I pass to my hotel, enchanted; sup, enchanted; +go to bed, enchanted; pushing back this morning (if it really were this +morning) into the remoteness of time, blessing the South-Eastern Company +for realising the Arabian Nights in these prose days, murmuring, as I +wing my idle flight into the land of dreams, ‘No hurry, ladies and +gentlemen, going to Paris in eleven hours. It is so well done, that +there really is no hurry!’ + + + + +THE DETECTIVE POLICE + + +WE are not by any means devout believers in the old Bow Street Police. +To say the truth, we think there was a vast amount of humbug about those +worthies. Apart from many of them being men of very indifferent +character, and far too much in the habit of consorting with thieves and +the like, they never lost a public occasion of jobbing and trading in +mystery and making the most of themselves. Continually puffed besides by +incompetent magistrates anxious to conceal their own deficiencies, and +hand-in-glove with the penny-a-liners of that time, they became a sort of +superstition. Although as a Preventive Police they were utterly +ineffective, and as a Detective Police were very loose and uncertain in +their operations, they remain with some people a superstition to the +present day. + +On the other hand, the Detective Force organised since the establishment +of the existing Police, is so well chosen and trained, proceeds so +systematically and quietly, does its business in such a workmanlike +manner, and is always so calmly and steadily engaged in the service of +the public, that the public really do not know enough of it, to know a +tithe of its usefulness. Impressed with this conviction, and interested +in the men themselves, we represented to the authorities at Scotland +Yard, that we should be glad, if there were no official objection, to +have some talk with the Detectives. A most obliging and ready permission +being given, a certain evening was appointed with a certain Inspector for +a social conference between ourselves and the Detectives, at The +Household Words Office in Wellington Street, Strand, London. In +consequence of which appointment the party ‘came off,’ which we are about +to describe. And we beg to repeat that, avoiding such topics as it might +for obvious reasons be injurious to the public, or disagreeable to +respectable individuals, to touch upon in print, our description is as +exact as we can make it. + +The reader will have the goodness to imagine the Sanctum Sanctorum of +Household Words. Anything that best suits the reader’s fancy, will best +represent that magnificent chamber. We merely stipulate for a round +table in the middle, with some glasses and cigars arranged upon it; and +the editorial sofa elegantly hemmed in between that stately piece of +furniture and the wall. + +It is a sultry evening at dusk. The stones of Wellington Street are hot +and gritty, and the watermen and hackney-coachmen at the Theatre +opposite, are much flushed and aggravated. Carriages are constantly +setting down the people who have come to Fairy-Land; and there is a +mighty shouting and bellowing every now and then, deafening us for the +moment, through the open windows. + +Just at dusk, Inspectors Wield and Stalker are announced; but we do not +undertake to warrant the orthography of any of the names here mentioned. +Inspector Wield presents Inspector Stalker. Inspector Wield is a +middle-aged man of a portly presence, with a large, moist, knowing eye, a +husky voice, and a habit of emphasising his conversation by the aid of a +corpulent fore-finger, which is constantly in juxtaposition with his eyes +or nose. Inspector Stalker is a shrewd, hard-headed Scotchman—in +appearance not at all unlike a very acute, thoroughly-trained +schoolmaster, from the Normal Establishment at Glasgow. Inspector Wield +one might have known, perhaps, for what he is—Inspector Stalker, never. + +The ceremonies of reception over, Inspectors Wield and Stalker observe +that they have brought some sergeants with them. The sergeants are +presented—five in number, Sergeant Dornton, Sergeant Witchem, Sergeant +Mith, Sergeant Fendall, and Sergeant Straw. We have the whole Detective +Force from Scotland Yard, with one exception. They sit down in a +semi-circle (the two Inspectors at the two ends) at a little distance +from the round table, facing the editorial sofa. Every man of them, in a +glance, immediately takes an inventory of the furniture and an accurate +sketch of the editorial presence. The Editor feels that any gentleman in +company could take him up, if need should be, without the smallest +hesitation, twenty years hence. + +The whole party are in plain clothes. Sergeant Dornton about fifty years +of age, with a ruddy face and a high sunburnt forehead, has the air of +one who has been a Sergeant in the army—he might have sat to Wilkie for +the Soldier in the Reading of the Will. He is famous for steadily +pursuing the inductive process, and, from small beginnings, working on +from clue to clue until he bags his man. Sergeant Witchem, shorter and +thicker-set, and marked with the small-pox, has something of a reserved +and thoughtful air, as if he were engaged in deep arithmetical +calculations. He is renowned for his acquaintance with the swell mob. +Sergeant Mith, a smooth-faced man with a fresh bright complexion, and a +strange air of simplicity, is a dab at housebreakers. Sergeant Fendall, +a light-haired, well-spoken, polite person, is a prodigious hand at +pursuing private inquiries of a delicate nature. Straw, a little wiry +Sergeant of meek demeanour and strong sense, would knock at a door and +ask a series of questions in any mild character you choose to prescribe +to him, from a charity-boy upwards, and seem as innocent as an infant. +They are, one and all, respectable-looking men; of perfectly good +deportment and unusual intelligence; with nothing lounging or slinking in +their manners; with an air of keen observation and quick perception when +addressed; and generally presenting in their faces, traces more or less +marked of habitually leading lives of strong mental excitement. They +have all good eyes; and they all can, and they all do, look full at +whomsoever they speak to. + +We light the cigars, and hand round the glasses (which are very +temperately used indeed), and the conversation begins by a modest amateur +reference on the Editorial part to the swell mob. Inspector Wield +immediately removes his cigar from his lips, waves his right hand, and +says, ‘Regarding the swell mob, sir, I can’t do better than call upon +Sergeant Witchem. Because the reason why? I’ll tell you. Sergeant +Witchem is better acquainted with the swell mob than any officer in +London.’ + +Our heart leaping up when we beheld this rainbow in the sky, we turn to +Sergeant Witchem, who very concisely, and in well-chosen language, goes +into the subject forthwith. Meantime, the whole of his brother officers +are closely interested in attending to what he says, and observing its +effect. Presently they begin to strike in, one or two together, when an +opportunity offers, and the conversation becomes general. But these +brother officers only come in to the assistance of each other—not to the +contradiction—and a more amicable brotherhood there could not be. From +the swell mob, we diverge to the kindred topics of cracksmen, fences, +public-house dancers, area-sneaks, designing young people who go out +‘gonophing,’ and other ‘schools.’ It is observable throughout these +revelations, that Inspector Stalker, the Scotchman, is always exact and +statistical, and that when any question of figures arises, everybody as +by one consent pauses, and looks to him. + +When we have exhausted the various schools of Art—during which discussion +the whole body have remained profoundly attentive, except when some +unusual noise at the Theatre over the way has induced some gentleman to +glance inquiringly towards the window in that direction, behind his next +neighbour’s back—we burrow for information on such points as the +following. Whether there really are any highway robberies in London, or +whether some circumstances not convenient to be mentioned by the +aggrieved party, usually precede the robberies complained of, under that +head, which quite change their character? Certainly the latter, almost +always. Whether in the case of robberies in houses, where servants are +necessarily exposed to doubt, innocence under suspicion ever becomes so +like guilt in appearance, that a good officer need be cautious how he +judges it? Undoubtedly. Nothing is so common or deceptive as such +appearances at first. Whether in a place of public amusement, a thief +knows an officer, and an officer knows a thief—supposing them, +beforehand, strangers to each other—because each recognises in the other, +under all disguise, an inattention to what is going on, and a purpose +that is not the purpose of being entertained? Yes. That’s the way +exactly. Whether it is reasonable or ridiculous to trust to the alleged +experiences of thieves as narrated by themselves, in prisons, or +penitentiaries, or anywhere? In general, nothing more absurd. Lying is +their habit and their trade; and they would rather lie—even if they +hadn’t an interest in it, and didn’t want to make themselves +agreeable—than tell the truth. + +From these topics, we glide into a review of the most celebrated and +horrible of the great crimes that have been committed within the last +fifteen or twenty years. The men engaged in the discovery of almost all +of them, and in the pursuit or apprehension of the murderers, are here, +down to the very last instance. One of our guests gave chase to and +boarded the emigrant ship, in which the murderess last hanged in London +was supposed to have embarked. We learn from him that his errand was not +announced to the passengers, who may have no idea of it to this hour. +That he went below, with the captain, lamp in hand—it being dark, and the +whole steerage abed and sea-sick—and engaged the Mrs. Manning who was on +board, in a conversation about her luggage, until she was, with no small +pains, induced to raise her head, and turn her face towards the light. +Satisfied that she was not the object of his search, he quietly +re-embarked in the Government steamer along-side, and steamed home again +with the intelligence. + +When we have exhausted these subjects, too, which occupy a considerable +time in the discussion, two or three leave their chairs, whisper Sergeant +Witchem, and resume their seat. Sergeant Witchem, leaning forward a +little, and placing a hand on each of his legs, then modestly speaks as +follows: + +‘My brother-officers wish me to relate a little account of my taking +Tally-ho Thompson. A man oughtn’t to tell what he has done himself; but +still, as nobody was with me, and, consequently, as nobody but myself can +tell it, I’ll do it in the best way I can, if it should meet your +approval.’ + +We assure Sergeant Witchem that he will oblige us very much, and we all +compose ourselves to listen with great interest and attention. + +‘Tally-ho Thompson,’ says Sergeant Witchem, after merely wetting his lips +with his brandy-and-water, ‘Tally-ho Thompson was a famous horse-stealer, +couper, and magsman. Thompson, in conjunction with a pal that +occasionally worked with him, gammoned a countryman out of a good round +sum of money, under pretence of getting him a situation—the regular old +dodge—and was afterwards in the “Hue and Cry” for a horse—a horse that he +stole down in Hertfordshire. I had to look after Thompson, and I applied +myself, of course, in the first instance, to discovering where he was. +Now, Thompson’s wife lived, along with a little daughter, at Chelsea. +Knowing that Thompson was somewhere in the country, I watched the +house—especially at post-time in the morning—thinking Thompson was pretty +likely to write to her. Sure enough, one morning the postman comes up, +and delivers a letter at Mrs. Thompson’s door. Little girl opens the +door, and takes it in. We’re not always sure of postmen, though the +people at the post-offices are always very obliging. A postman may help +us, or he may not,—just as it happens. However, I go across the road, +and I say to the postman, after he has left the letter, “Good morning! +how are you?” “How are _you_?” says he. “You’ve just delivered a letter +for Mrs. Thompson.” “Yes, I have.” “You didn’t happen to remark what +the post-mark was, perhaps?” “No,” says he, “I didn’t.” “Come,” says I, +“I’ll be plain with you. I’m in a small way of business, and I have +given Thompson credit, and I can’t afford to lose what he owes me. I +know he’s got money, and I know he’s in the country, and if you could +tell me what the post-mark was, I should be very much obliged to you, and +you’d do a service to a tradesman in a small way of business that can’t +afford a loss.” “Well,” he said, “I do assure you that I did not observe +what the post-mark was; all I know is, that there was money in the +letter—I should say a sovereign.” This was enough for me, because of +course I knew that Thompson having sent his wife money, it was probable +she’d write to Thompson, by return of post, to acknowledge the receipt. +So I said “Thankee” to the postman, and I kept on the watch. In the +afternoon I saw the little girl come out. Of course I followed her. She +went into a stationer’s shop, and I needn’t say to you that I looked in +at the window. She bought some writing-paper and envelopes, and a pen. +I think to myself, “That’ll do!”—watch her home again—and don’t go away, +you may be sure, knowing that Mrs. Thompson was writing her letter to +Tally-ho, and that the letter would be posted presently. In about an +hour or so, out came the little girl again, with the letter in her hand. +I went up, and said something to the child, whatever it might have been; +but I couldn’t see the direction of the letter, because she held it with +the seal upwards. However, I observed that on the back of the letter +there was what we call a kiss—a drop of wax by the side of the seal—and +again, you understand, that was enough for me. I saw her post the +letter, waited till she was gone, then went into the shop, and asked to +see the Master. When he came out, I told him, “Now, I’m an Officer in +the Detective Force; there’s a letter with a kiss been posted here just +now, for a man that I’m in search of; and what I have to ask of you, is, +that you will let me look at the direction of that letter.” He was very +civil—took a lot of letters from the box in the window—shook ’em out on +the counter with the faces downwards—and there among ’em was the +identical letter with the kiss. It was directed, Mr. Thomas Pigeon, Post +Office, B—, to be left till called for. Down I went to B— (a hundred and +twenty miles or so) that night. Early next morning I went to the Post +Office; saw the gentleman in charge of that department; told him who I +was; and that my object was to see, and track, the party that should come +for the letter for Mr. Thomas Pigeon. He was very polite, and said, “You +shall have every assistance we can give you; you can wait inside the +office; and we’ll take care to let you know when anybody comes for the +letter.” Well, I waited there three days, and began to think that nobody +ever would come. At last the clerk whispered to me, “Here! Detective! +Somebody’s come for the letter!” “Keep him a minute,” said I, and I ran +round to the outside of the office. There I saw a young chap with the +appearance of an Ostler, holding a horse by the bridle—stretching the +bridle across the pavement, while he waited at the Post Office Window for +the letter. I began to pat the horse, and that; and I said to the boy, +“Why, this is Mr. Jones’s Mare!” “No. It an’t.” “No?” said I. “She’s +very like Mr. Jones’s Mare!” “She an’t Mr. Jones’s Mare, anyhow,” says +he. “It’s Mr. So and So’s, of the Warwick Arms.” And up he jumped, and +off he went—letter and all. I got a cab, followed on the box, and was so +quick after him that I came into the stable-yard of the Warwick Arms, by +one gate, just as he came in by another. I went into the bar, where +there was a young woman serving, and called for a glass of +brandy-and-water. He came in directly, and handed her the letter. She +casually looked at it, without saying anything, and stuck it up behind +the glass over the chimney-piece. What was to be done next? + +‘I turned it over in my mind while I drank my brandy-and-water (looking +pretty sharp at the letter the while), but I couldn’t see my way out of +it at all. I tried to get lodgings in the house, but there had been a +horse-fair, or something of that sort, and it was full. I was obliged to +put up somewhere else, but I came backwards and forwards to the bar for a +couple of days, and there was the letter always behind the glass. At +last I thought I’d write a letter to Mr. Pigeon myself, and see what that +would do. So I wrote one, and posted it, but I purposely addressed it, +Mr. John Pigeon, instead of Mr. Thomas Pigeon, to see what that would do. +In the morning (a very wet morning it was) I watched the postman down the +street, and cut into the bar, just before he reached the Warwick Arms. +In he came presently with my letter. “Is there a Mr. John Pigeon staying +here?” “No!—stop a bit though,” says the barmaid; and she took down the +letter behind the glass. “No,” says she, “it’s Thomas, and he is not +staying here. Would you do me a favour, and post this for me, as it is +so wet?” The postman said Yes; she folded it in another envelope, +directed it, and gave it him. He put it in his hat, and away he went. + +‘I had no difficulty in finding out the direction of that letter. It was +addressed Mr. Thomas Pigeon, Post Office, R—, Northamptonshire, to be +left till called for. Off I started directly for R—; I said the same at +the Post Office there, as I had said at B—; and again I waited three days +before anybody came. At last another chap on horseback came. “Any +letters for Mr. Thomas Pigeon?” “Where do you come from?” “New Inn, +near R—.” He got the letter, and away he went at a canter. + +‘I made my inquiries about the New Inn, near R—, and hearing it was a +solitary sort of house, a little in the horse line, about a couple of +miles from the station, I thought I’d go and have a look at it. I found +it what it had been described, and sauntered in, to look about me. The +landlady was in the bar, and I was trying to get into conversation with +her; asked her how business was, and spoke about the wet weather, and so +on; when I saw, through an open door, three men sitting by the fire in a +sort of parlour, or kitchen; and one of those men, according to the +description I had of him, was Tally-ho Thompson! + +‘I went and sat down among ’em, and tried to make things agreeable; but +they were very shy—wouldn’t talk at all—looked at me, and at one another, +in a way quite the reverse of sociable. I reckoned ’em up, and finding +that they were all three bigger men than me, and considering that their +looks were ugly—that it was a lonely place—railroad station two miles +off—and night coming on—thought I couldn’t do better than have a drop of +brandy-and-water to keep my courage up. So I called for my +brandy-and-water; and as I was sitting drinking it by the fire, Thompson +got up and went out. + +‘Now the difficulty of it was, that I wasn’t sure it was Thompson, +because I had never set eyes on him before; and what I had wanted was to +be quite certain of him. However, there was nothing for it now, but to +follow, and put a bold face upon it. I found him talking, outside in the +yard, with the landlady. It turned out afterwards that he was wanted by +a Northampton officer for something else, and that, knowing that officer +to be pock-marked (as I am myself), he mistook me for him. As I have +observed, I found him talking to the landlady, outside. I put my hand +upon his shoulder—this way—and said, “Tally-ho Thompson, it’s no use. I +know you. I’m an officer from London, and I take you into custody for +felony!” “That be d-d!” says Tally-ho Thompson. + +‘We went back into the house, and the two friends began to cut up rough, +and their looks didn’t please me at all, I assure you. “Let the man go. +What are you going to do with him?” “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do +with him. I’m going to take him to London to-night, as sure as I’m +alive. I’m not alone here, whatever you may think. You mind your own +business, and keep yourselves to yourselves. It’ll be better for you, +for I know you both very well.” _I_’d never seen or heard of ’em in all +my life, but my bouncing cowed ’em a bit, and they kept off, while +Thompson was making ready to go. I thought to myself, however, that they +might be coming after me on the dark road, to rescue Thompson; so I said +to the landlady, “What men have you got in the house, Missis?” “We +haven’t got no men here,” she says, sulkily. “You have got an ostler, I +suppose?” “Yes, we’ve got an ostler.” “Let me see him.” Presently he +came, and a shaggy-headed young fellow he was. “Now attend to me, young +man,” says I; “I’m a Detective Officer from London. This man’s name is +Thompson. I have taken him into custody for felony. I am going to take +him to the railroad station. I call upon you in the Queen’s name to +assist me; and mind you, my friend, you’ll get yourself into more trouble +than you know of, if you don’t!” You never saw a person open his eyes so +wide. “Now, Thompson, come along!” says I. But when I took out the +handcuffs, Thompson cries, “No! None of that! I won’t stand _them_! +I’ll go along with you quiet, but I won’t bear none of that!” “Tally-ho +Thompson,” I said, “I’m willing to behave as a man to you, if you are +willing to behave as a man to me. Give me your word that you’ll come +peaceably along, and I don’t want to handcuff you.” “I will,” says +Thompson, “but I’ll have a glass of brandy first.” “I don’t care if I’ve +another,” said I. “We’ll have two more, Missis,” said the friends, “and +confound you, Constable, you’ll give your man a drop, won’t you?” I was +agreeable to that, so we had it all round, and then my man and I took +Tally-ho Thompson safe to the railroad, and I carried him to London that +night. He was afterwards acquitted, on account of a defect in the +evidence; and I understand he always praises me up to the skies, and says +I’m one of the best of men.’ + +This story coming to a termination amidst general applause, Inspector +Wield, after a little grave smoking, fixes his eye on his host, and thus +delivers himself: + +‘It wasn’t a bad plant that of mine, on Fikey, the man accused of forging +the Sou’-Western Railway debentures—it was only t’other day—because the +reason why? I’ll tell you. + +‘I had information that Fikey and his brother kept a factory over yonder +there,’—indicating any region on the Surrey side of the river—‘where he +bought second-hand carriages; so after I’d tried in vain to get hold of +him by other means, I wrote him a letter in an assumed name, saying that +I’d got a horse and shay to dispose of, and would drive down next day +that he might view the lot, and make an offer—very reasonable it was, I +said—a reg’lar bargain. Straw and me then went off to a friend of mine +that’s in the livery and job business, and hired a turn-out for the day, +a precious smart turn-out it was—quite a slap-up thing! Down we drove, +accordingly, with a friend (who’s not in the Force himself); and leaving +my friend in the shay near a public-house, to take care of the horse, we +went to the factory, which was some little way off. In the factory, +there was a number of strong fellows at work, and after reckoning ’em up, +it was clear to me that it wouldn’t do to try it on there. They were too +many for us. We must get our man out of doors. “Mr. Fikey at home?” +“No, he ain’t.” “Expected home soon?” “Why, no, not soon.” “Ah! Is +his brother here?” “I’m his brother.” “Oh! well, this is an +ill-conwenience, this is. I wrote him a letter yesterday, saying I’d got +a little turn-out to dispose of, and I’ve took the trouble to bring the +turn-out down a’ purpose, and now he ain’t in the way.” “No, he ain’t in +the way. You couldn’t make it convenient to call again, could you?” +“Why, no, I couldn’t. I want to sell; that’s the fact; and I can’t put +it off. Could you find him anywheres?” At first he said No, he +couldn’t, and then he wasn’t sure about it, and then he’d go and try. So +at last he went up-stairs, where there was a sort of loft, and presently +down comes my man himself in his shirt-sleeves. + +‘“Well,” he says, “this seems to be rayther a pressing matter of yours.” +“Yes,” I says, “it _is_ rayther a pressing matter, and you’ll find it a +bargain—dirt cheap.” “I ain’t in partickler want of a bargain just now,” +he says, “but where is it?” “Why,” I says, “the turn-out’s just outside. +Come and look at it.” He hasn’t any suspicions, and away we go. And the +first thing that happens is, that the horse runs away with my friend (who +knows no more of driving than a child) when he takes a little trot along +the road to show his paces. You never saw such a game in your life! + +‘When the bolt is over, and the turn-out has come to a standstill again, +Fikey walks round and round it as grave as a judge—me too. “There, sir!” +I says. “There’s a neat thing!” “It ain’t a bad style of thing,” he +says. “I believe you,” says I. “And there’s a horse!”—for I saw him +looking at it. “Rising eight!” I says, rubbing his fore-legs. (Bless +you, there ain’t a man in the world knows less of horses than I do, but +I’d heard my friend at the Livery Stables say he was eight year old, so I +says, as knowing as possible, “Rising eight.”) “Rising eight, is he?” +says he. “Rising eight,” says I. “Well,” he says, “what do you want for +it?” “Why, the first and last figure for the whole concern is +five-and-twenty pound!” “That’s very cheap!” he says, looking at me. +“Ain’t it?” I says. “I told you it was a bargain! Now, without any +higgling and haggling about it, what I want is to sell, and that’s my +price. Further, I’ll make it easy to you, and take half the money down, +and you can do a bit of stiff {415} for the balance.” + +“Well,” he says again, “that’s very cheap.” “I believe you,” says I; +“get in and try it, and you’ll buy it. Come! take a trial!” + +‘Ecod, he gets in, and we get in, and we drive along the road, to show +him to one of the railway clerks that was hid in the public-house window +to identify him. But the clerk was bothered, and didn’t know whether it +was him, or wasn’t—because the reason why? I’ll tell you,—on account of +his having shaved his whiskers. “It’s a clever little horse,” he says, +“and trots well; and the shay runs light.” “Not a doubt about it,” I +says. “And now, Mr. Fikey, I may as well make it all right, without +wasting any more of your time. The fact is, I’m Inspector Wield, and +you’re my prisoner.” “You don’t mean that?” he says. “I do, indeed.” +“Then burn my body,” says Fikey, “if this ain’t too bad!” + +‘Perhaps you never saw a man so knocked over with surprise. “I hope +you’ll let me have my coat?” he says. “By all means.” “Well, then, +let’s drive to the factory.” “Why, not exactly that, I think,” said I; +“I’ve been there, once before, to-day. Suppose we send for it.” He saw +it was no go, so he sent for it, and put it on, and we drove him up to +London, comfortable.’ + +This reminiscence is in the height of its success, when a general +proposal is made to the fresh-complexioned, smooth-faced officer, with +the strange air of simplicity, to tell the ‘Butcher’s Story.’ + +The fresh-complexioned, smooth-faced officer, with the strange air of +simplicity, began with a rustic smile, and in a soft, wheedling tone of +voice, to relate the Butcher’s Story, thus: + +‘It’s just about six years ago, now, since information was given at +Scotland Yard of there being extensive robberies of lawns and silks going +on, at some wholesale houses in the City. Directions were given for the +business being looked into; and Straw, and Fendall, and me, we were all +in it.’ + +‘When you received your instructions,’ said we, ‘you went away, and held +a sort of Cabinet Council together!’ + +The smooth-faced officer coaxingly replied, ‘Ye-es. Just so. We turned +it over among ourselves a good deal. It appeared, when we went into it, +that the goods were sold by the receivers extraordinarily cheap—much +cheaper than they could have been if they had been honestly come by. The +receivers were in the trade, and kept capital shops—establishments of the +first respectability—one of ’em at the West End, one down in Westminster. +After a lot of watching and inquiry, and this and that among ourselves, +we found that the job was managed, and the purchases of the stolen goods +made, at a little public-house near Smithfield, down by Saint +Bartholomew’s; where the Warehouse Porters, who were the thieves, took +’em for that purpose, don’t you see? and made appointments to meet the +people that went between themselves and the receivers. This public-house +was principally used by journeymen butchers from the country, out of +place, and in want of situations; so, what did we do, but—ha, ha, ha!—we +agreed that I should be dressed up like a butcher myself, and go and live +there!’ + +Never, surely, was a faculty of observation better brought to bear upon a +purpose, than that which picked out this officer for the part. Nothing +in all creation could have suited him better. Even while he spoke, he +became a greasy, sleepy, shy, good-natured, chuckle-headed, unsuspicious, +and confiding young butcher. His very hair seemed to have suet in it, as +he made it smooth upon his head, and his fresh complexion to be +lubricated by large quantities of animal food. + +‘—So I—ha, ha, ha!’ (always with the confiding snigger of the foolish +young butcher) ‘so I dressed myself in the regular way, made up a little +bundle of clothes, and went to the public-house, and asked if I could +have a lodging there? They says, “yes, you can have a lodging here,” and +I got a bedroom, and settled myself down in the tap. There was a number +of people about the place, and coming backwards and forwards to the +house; and first one says, and then another says, “Are you from the +country, young man?” “Yes,” I says, “I am. I’m come out of +Northamptonshire, and I’m quite lonely here, for I don’t know London at +all, and it’s such a mighty big town.” “It _is_ a big town,” they says. +“Oh, it’s a _very_ big town!” I says. “Really and truly I never was in +such a town. It quite confuses of me!” and all that, you know. + +‘When some of the journeymen Butchers that used the house, found that I +wanted a place, they says, “Oh, we’ll get you a place!” And they +actually took me to a sight of places, in Newgate Market, Newport Market, +Clare, Carnaby—I don’t know where all. But the wages was—ha, ha, ha!—was +not sufficient, and I never could suit myself, don’t you see? Some of +the queer frequenters of the house were a little suspicious of me at +first, and I was obliged to be very cautious indeed how I communicated +with Straw or Fendall. Sometimes, when I went out, pretending to stop +and look into the shop windows, and just casting my eye round, I used to +see some of ’em following me; but, being perhaps better accustomed than +they thought for, to that sort of thing, I used to lead ’em on as far as +I thought necessary or convenient—sometimes a long way—and then turn +sharp round, and meet ’em, and say, “Oh, dear, how glad I am to come upon +you so fortunate! This London’s such a place, I’m blowed if I ain’t lost +again!” And then we’d go back all together, to the public-house, and—ha, +ha, ha! and smoke our pipes, don’t you see? + +‘They were very attentive to me, I am sure. It was a common thing, while +I was living there, for some of ’em to take me out, and show me London. +They showed me the Prisons—showed me Newgate—and when they showed me +Newgate, I stops at the place where the Porters pitch their loads, and +says, “Oh dear, is this where they hang the men? Oh Lor!” “That!” they +says, “what a simple cove he is! _That_ ain’t it!” And then, they +pointed out which was it, and I says “Lor!” and they says, “Now you’ll +know it agen, won’t you?” And I said I thought I should if I tried +hard—and I assure you I kept a sharp look out for the City Police when we +were out in this way, for if any of ’em had happened to know me, and had +spoke to me, it would have been all up in a minute. However, by good +luck such a thing never happened, and all went on quiet: though the +difficulties I had in communicating with my brother officers were quite +extraordinary. + +‘The stolen goods that were brought to the public-house by the Warehouse +Porters, were always disposed of in a back parlour. For a long time, I +never could get into this parlour, or see what was done there. As I sat +smoking my pipe, like an innocent young chap, by the tap-room fire, I’d +hear some of the parties to the robbery, as they came in and out, say +softly to the landlord, “Who’s that? What does he do here?” “Bless your +soul,” says the landlord, “he’s only a”—ha, ha, ha!—“he’s only a green +young fellow from the country, as is looking for a butcher’s sitiwation. +Don’t mind him!” So, in course of time, they were so convinced of my +being green, and got to be so accustomed to me, that I was as free of the +parlour as any of ’em, and I have seen as much as Seventy Pounds’ Worth +of fine lawn sold there, in one night, that was stolen from a warehouse +in Friday Street. After the sale the buyers always stood treat—hot +supper, or dinner, or what not—and they’d say on those occasions, “Come +on, Butcher! Put your best leg foremost, young ‘un, and walk into it!” +Which I used to do—and hear, at table, all manner of particulars that it +was very important for us Detectives to know. + +‘This went on for ten weeks. I lived in the public-house all the time, +and never was out of the Butcher’s dress—except in bed. At last, when I +had followed seven of the thieves, and set ’em to rights—that’s an +expression of ours, don’t you see, by which I mean to say that I traced +’em, and found out where the robberies were done, and all about +’em—Straw, and Fendall, and I, gave one another the office, and at a time +agreed upon, a descent was made upon the public-house, and the +apprehensions effected. One of the first things the officers did, was to +collar me—for the parties to the robbery weren’t to suppose yet, that I +was anything but a Butcher—on which the landlord cries out, “Don’t take +him,” he says, “whatever you do! He’s only a poor young chap from the +country, and butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth!” However, they—ha, ha, +ha!—they took me, and pretended to search my bedroom, where nothing was +found but an old fiddle belonging to the landlord, that had got there +somehow or another. But, it entirely changed the landlord’s opinion, for +when it was produced, he says, “My fiddle! The Butcher’s a purloiner! I +give him into custody for the robbery of a musical instrument!” + +‘The man that had stolen the goods in Friday Street was not taken yet. +He had told me, in confidence, that he had his suspicions there was +something wrong (on account of the City Police having captured one of the +party), and that he was going to make himself scarce. I asked him, +“Where do you mean to go, Mr. Shepherdson?” “Why, Butcher,” says he, +“the Setting Moon, in the Commercial Road, is a snug house, and I shall +bang out there for a time. I shall call myself Simpson, which appears to +me to be a modest sort of a name. Perhaps you’ll give us a look in, +Butcher?” “Well,” says I, “I think I will give you a call”—which I fully +intended, don’t you see, because, of course, he was to be taken! I went +over to the Setting Moon next day, with a brother officer, and asked at +the bar for Simpson. They pointed out his room, up-stairs. As we were +going up, he looks down over the banister, and calls out, “Halloa, +Butcher! is that you?” “Yes, it’s me. How do you find yourself?” +“Bobbish,” he says; “but who’s that with you?” “It’s only a young man, +that’s a friend of mine,” I says. “Come along, then,” says he; “any +friend of the Butcher’s is as welcome as the Butcher!” So, I made my +friend acquainted with him, and we took him into custody. + +‘You have no idea, sir, what a sight it was, in Court, when they first +knew that I wasn’t a Butcher, after all! I wasn’t produced at the first +examination, when there was a remand; but I was at the second. And when +I stepped into the box, in full police uniform, and the whole party saw +how they had been done, actually a groan of horror and dismay proceeded +from ’em in the dock! + +‘At the Old Bailey, when their trials came on, Mr. Clarkson was engaged +for the defence, and he couldn’t make out how it was, about the Butcher. +He thought, all along, it was a real Butcher. When the counsel for the +prosecution said, “I will now call before you, gentlemen, the +Police-officer,” meaning myself, Mr. Clarkson says, “Why Police-officer? +Why more Police-officers? I don’t want Police. We have had a great deal +too much of the Police. I want the Butcher!” However, sir, he had the +Butcher and the Police-officer, both in one. Out of seven prisoners +committed for trial, five were found guilty, and some of ’em were +transported. The respectable firm at the West End got a term of +imprisonment; and that’s the Butcher’s Story!’ + +The story done, the chuckle-headed Butcher again resolved himself into +the smooth-faced Detective. But, he was so extremely tickled by their +having taken him about, when he was that Dragon in disguise, to show him +London, that he could not help reverting to that point in his narrative; +and gently repeating with the Butcher snigger, ‘“Oh, dear,” I says, “is +that where they hang the men? Oh, Lor!” “_That_!” says they. “What a +simple cove he is!”’ + +It being now late, and the party very modest in their fear of being too +diffuse, there were some tokens of separation; when Sergeant Dornton, the +soldierly-looking man, said, looking round him with a smile: + +‘Before we break up, sir, perhaps you might have some amusement in +hearing of the Adventures of a Carpet Bag. They are very short; and, I +think, curious.’ + +We welcomed the Carpet Bag, as cordially as Mr. Shepherdson welcomed the +false Butcher at the Setting Moon. Sergeant Dornton proceeded. + +‘In 1847, I was despatched to Chatham, in search of one Mesheck, a Jew. +He had been carrying on, pretty heavily, in the bill-stealing way, +getting acceptances from young men of good connexions (in the army +chiefly), on pretence of discount, and bolting with the same. + +‘Mesheck was off, before I got to Chatham. All I could learn about him +was, that he had gone, probably to London, and had with him—a Carpet Bag. + +‘I came back to town, by the last train from Blackwall, and made +inquiries concerning a Jew passenger with—a Carpet Bag. + +‘The office was shut up, it being the last train. There were only two or +three porters left. Looking after a Jew with a Carpet Bag, on the +Blackwall Railway, which was then the high road to a great Military +Depôt, was worse than looking after a needle in a hayrick. But it +happened that one of these porters had carried, for a certain Jew, to a +certain public-house, a certain—Carpet Bag. + +‘I went to the public-house, but the Jew had only left his luggage there +for a few hours, and had called for it in a cab, and taken it away. I +put such questions there, and to the porter, as I thought prudent, and +got at this description of—the Carpet Bag. + +‘It was a bag which had, on one side of it, worked in worsted, a green +parrot on a stand. A green parrot on a stand was the means by which to +identify that—Carpet Bag. + +‘I traced Mesheck, by means of this green parrot on a stand, to +Cheltenham, to Birmingham, to Liverpool, to the Atlantic Ocean. At +Liverpool he was too many for me. He had gone to the United States, and +I gave up all thoughts of Mesheck, and likewise of his—Carpet Bag. + +‘Many months afterwards—near a year afterwards—there was a bank in +Ireland robbed of seven thousand pounds, by a person of the name of +Doctor Dundey, who escaped to America; from which country some of the +stolen notes came home. He was supposed to have bought a farm in New +Jersey. Under proper management, that estate could be seized and sold, +for the benefit of the parties he had defrauded. I was sent off to +America for this purpose. + +‘I landed at Boston. I went on to New York. I found that he had lately +changed New York paper-money for New Jersey paper money, and had banked +cash in New Brunswick. To take this Doctor Dundey, it was necessary to +entrap him into the State of New York, which required a deal of artifice +and trouble. At one time, he couldn’t be drawn into an appointment. At +another time, he appointed to come to meet me, and a New York officer, on +a pretext I made; and then his children had the measles. At last he +came, per steamboat, and I took him, and lodged him in a New York prison +called the Tombs; which I dare say you know, sir?’ + +Editorial acknowledgment to that effect. + +‘I went to the Tombs, on the morning after his capture, to attend the +examination before the magistrate. I was passing through the +magistrate’s private room, when, happening to look round me to take +notice of the place, as we generally have a habit of doing, I clapped my +eyes, in one corner, on a—Carpet Bag. + +‘What did I see upon that Carpet Bag, if you’ll believe me, but a green +parrot on a stand, as large as life! + +‘“That Carpet Bag, with the representation of a green parrot on a stand,” +said I, “belongs to an English Jew, named Aaron Mesheck, and to no other +man, alive or dead!” + +‘I give you my word the New York Police Officers were doubled up with +surprise. + +‘“How did you ever come to know that?” said they. + +‘“I think I ought to know that green parrot by this time,” said I; “for I +have had as pretty a dance after that bird, at home, as ever I had, in +all my life!”’ + + * * * * * + +‘And was it Mesheck’s?’ we submissively inquired. + +‘Was it, sir? Of course it was! He was in custody for another offence, +in that very identical Tombs, at that very identical time. And, more +than that! Some memoranda, relating to the fraud for which I had vainly +endeavoured to take him, were found to be, at that moment, lying in that +very same individual—Carpet Bag!’ + + * * * * * + +Such are the curious coincidences and such is the peculiar ability, +always sharpening and being improved by practice, and always adapting +itself to every variety of circumstances, and opposing itself to every +new device that perverted ingenuity can invent, for which this important +social branch of the public service is remarkable! For ever on the +watch, with their wits stretched to the utmost, these officers have, from +day to day and year to year, to set themselves against every novelty of +trickery and dexterity that the combined imaginations of all the lawless +rascals in England can devise, and to keep pace with every such invention +that comes out. In the Courts of Justice, the materials of thousands of +such stories as we have narrated—often elevated into the marvellous and +romantic, by the circumstances of the case—are dryly compressed into the +set phrase, ‘in consequence of information I received, I did so and so.’ +Suspicion was to be directed, by careful inference and deduction, upon +the right person; the right person was to be taken, wherever he had gone, +or whatever he was doing to avoid detection: he is taken; there he is at +the bar; that is enough. From information I, the officer, received, I +did it; and, according to the custom in these cases, I say no more. + +These games of chess, played with live pieces, are played before small +audiences, and are chronicled nowhere. The interest of the game supports +the player. Its results are enough for justice. To compare great things +with small, suppose LEVERRIER or ADAMS informing the public that from +information he had received he had discovered a new planet; or COLUMBUS +informing the public of his day that from information he had received he +had discovered a new continent; so the Detectives inform it that they +have discovered a new fraud or an old offender, and the process is +unknown. + +Thus, at midnight, closed the proceedings of our curious and interesting +party. But one other circumstance finally wound up the evening, after +our Detective guests had left us. One of the sharpest among them, and +the officer best acquainted with the Swell Mob, had his pocket picked, +going home! + + + + +THREE ‘DETECTIVE’ ANECDOTES + + +I.—THE PAIR OF GLOVES + + +‘IT’S a singler story, sir,’ said Inspector Wield, of the Detective +Police, who, in company with Sergeants Dornton and Mith, paid us another +twilight visit, one July evening; ‘and I’ve been thinking you might like +to know it. + +‘It’s concerning the murder of the young woman, Eliza Grimwood, some +years ago, over in the Waterloo Road. She was commonly called The +Countess, because of her handsome appearance and her proud way of +carrying of herself; and when I saw the poor Countess (I had known her +well to speak to), lying dead, with her throat cut, on the floor of her +bedroom, you’ll believe me that a variety of reflections calculated to +make a man rather low in his spirits, came into my head. + +‘That’s neither here nor there. I went to the house the morning after +the murder, and examined the body, and made a general observation of the +bedroom where it was. Turning down the pillow of the bed with my hand, I +found, underneath it, a pair of gloves. A pair of gentleman’s dress +gloves, very dirty; and inside the lining, the letters TR, and a cross. + +‘Well, sir, I took them gloves away, and I showed ’em to the magistrate, +over at Union Hall, before whom the case was. He says, “Wield,” he says, +“there’s no doubt this is a discovery that may lead to something very +important; and what you have got to do, Wield, is, to find out the owner +of these gloves.” + +‘I was of the same opinion, of course, and I went at it immediately. I +looked at the gloves pretty narrowly, and it was my opinion that they had +been cleaned. There was a smell of sulphur and rosin about ’em, you +know, which cleaned gloves usually have, more or less. I took ’em over +to a friend of mine at Kennington, who was in that line, and I put it to +him. “What do you say now? Have these gloves been cleaned?” “These +gloves have been cleaned,” says he. “Have you any idea who cleaned +them?” says I. “Not at all,” says he; “I’ve a very distinct idea who +didn’t clean ’em, and that’s myself. But I’ll tell you what, Wield, +there ain’t above eight or nine reg’lar glove-cleaners in London,”—there +were not, at that time, it seems—“and I think I can give you their +addresses, and you may find out, by that means, who did clean ’em.” +Accordingly, he gave me the directions, and I went here, and I went +there, and I looked up this man, and I looked up that man; but, though +they all agreed that the gloves had been cleaned, I couldn’t find the +man, woman, or child, that had cleaned that aforesaid pair of gloves. + +‘What with this person not being at home, and that person being expected +home in the afternoon, and so forth, the inquiry took me three days. On +the evening of the third day, coming over Waterloo Bridge from the Surrey +side of the river, quite beat, and very much vexed and disappointed, I +thought I’d have a shilling’s worth of entertainment at the Lyceum +Theatre to freshen myself up. So I went into the Pit, at half-price, and +I sat myself down next to a very quiet, modest sort of young man. Seeing +I was a stranger (which I thought it just as well to appear to be) he +told me the names of the actors on the stage, and we got into +conversation. When the play was over, we came out together, and I said, +“We’ve been very companionable and agreeable, and perhaps you wouldn’t +object to a drain?” “Well, you’re very good,” says he; “I shouldn’t +object to a drain.” Accordingly, we went to a public-house, near the +Theatre, sat ourselves down in a quiet room up-stairs on the first floor, +and called for a pint of half-and-half, apiece, and a pipe. + +‘Well, sir, we put our pipes aboard, and we drank our half-and-half, and +sat a-talking, very sociably, when the young man says, “You must excuse +me stopping very long,” he says, “because I’m forced to go home in good +time. I must be at work all night.” “At work all night?” says I. “You +ain’t a baker?” “No,” he says, laughing, “I ain’t a baker.” “I thought +not,” says I, “you haven’t the looks of a baker.” “No,” says he, “I’m a +glove-cleaner.” + +‘I never was more astonished in my life, than when I heard them words +come out of his lips. “You’re a glove-cleaner, are you?” says I. “Yes,” +he says, “I am.” “Then, perhaps,” says I, taking the gloves out of my +pocket, “you can tell me who cleaned this pair of gloves? It’s a rum +story,” I says. “I was dining over at Lambeth, the other day, at a +free-and-easy—quite promiscuous—with a public company—when some +gentleman, he left these gloves behind him! Another gentleman and me, +you see, we laid a wager of a sovereign, that I wouldn’t find out who +they belonged to. I’ve spent as much as seven shillings already, in +trying to discover; but, if you could help me, I’d stand another seven +and welcome. You see there’s TR and a cross, inside.” “_I_ see,” he +says. “Bless you, _I_ know these gloves very well! I’ve seen dozens of +pairs belonging to the same party.” “No?” says I. “Yes,” says he. +“Then you know who cleaned ’em?” says I. “Rather so,” says he. “My +father cleaned ’em.” + +‘“Where does your father live?” says I. “Just round the corner,” says +the young man, “near Exeter Street, here. He’ll tell you who they belong +to, directly.” “Would you come round with me now?” says I. “Certainly,” +says he, “but you needn’t tell my father that you found me at the play, +you know, because he mightn’t like it.” “All right!” We went round to +the place, and there we found an old man in a white apron, with two or +three daughters, all rubbing and cleaning away at lots of gloves, in a +front parlour. “Oh, Father!” says the young man, “here’s a person been +and made a bet about the ownership of a pair of gloves, and I’ve told him +you can settle it.” “Good evening, sir,” says I to the old gentleman. +“Here’s the gloves your son speaks of. Letters TR, you see, and a +cross.” “Oh yes,” he says, “I know these gloves very well; I’ve cleaned +dozens of pairs of ’em. They belong to Mr. Trinkle, the great +upholsterer in Cheapside.” “Did you get ’em from Mr. Trinkle, direct,” +says I, “if you’ll excuse my asking the question?” “No,” says he; “Mr. +Trinkle always sends ’em to Mr. Phibbs’s, the haberdasher’s, opposite his +shop, and the haberdasher sends ’em to me.” “Perhaps you wouldn’t object +to a drain?” says I. “Not in the least!” says he. So I took the old +gentleman out, and had a little more talk with him and his son, over a +glass, and we parted excellent friends. + +‘This was late on a Saturday night. First thing on the Monday morning, I +went to the haberdasher’s shop, opposite Mr. Trinkle’s, the great +upholsterer’s in Cheapside. “Mr. Phibbs in the way?” “My name is +Phibbs.” “Oh! I believe you sent this pair of gloves to be cleaned?” +“Yes, I did, for young Mr. Trinkle over the way. There he is in the +shop!” “Oh! that’s him in the shop, is it? Him in the green coat?” +“The same individual.” “Well, Mr. Phibbs, this is an unpleasant affair; +but the fact is, I am Inspector Wield of the Detective Police, and I +found these gloves under the pillow of the young woman that was murdered +the other day, over in the Waterloo Road!” “Good Heaven!” says he. +“He’s a most respectable young man, and if his father was to hear of it, +it would be the ruin of him!” “I’m very sorry for it,” says I, “but I +must take him into custody.” “Good Heaven!” says Mr. Phibbs, again; “can +nothing be done?” “Nothing,” says I. “Will you allow me to call him +over here,” says he, “that his father may not see it done?” “I don’t +object to that,” says I; “but unfortunately, Mr. Phibbs, I can’t allow of +any communication between you. If any was attempted, I should have to +interfere directly. Perhaps you’ll beckon him over here?” Mr. Phibbs +went to the door and beckoned, and the young fellow came across the +street directly; a smart, brisk young fellow. + +‘“Good morning, sir,” says I. “Good morning, sir,” says he. “Would you +allow me to inquire, sir,” says I, “if you ever had any acquaintance with +a party of the name of Grimwood?” “Grimwood! Grimwood!” says he. “No!” +“You know the Waterloo Road?” “Oh! of course I know the Waterloo Road!” +“Happen to have heard of a young woman being murdered there?” “Yes, I +read it in the paper, and very sorry I was to read it.” “Here’s a pair +of gloves belonging to you, that I found under her pillow the morning +afterwards!” + +‘He was in a dreadful state, sir; a dreadful state I “Mr. Wield,” he +says, “upon my solemn oath I never was there. I never so much as saw +her, to my knowledge, in my life!” “I am very sorry,” says I. “To tell +you the truth; I don’t think you are the murderer, but I must take you to +Union Hall in a cab. However, I think it’s a case of that sort, that, at +present, at all events, the magistrate will hear it in private.” + +‘A private examination took place, and then it came out that this young +man was acquainted with a cousin of the unfortunate Eliza Grimwood, and +that, calling to see this cousin a day or two before the murder, he left +these gloves upon the table. Who should come in, shortly afterwards, but +Eliza Grimwood! “Whose gloves are these?” she says, taking ’em up. +“Those are Mr. Trinkle’s gloves,” says her cousin. “Oh!” says she, “they +are very dirty, and of no use to him, I am sure. I shall take ’em away +for my girl to clean the stoves with.” And she put ’em in her pocket. +The girl had used ’em to clean the stoves, and, I have no doubt, had left +’em lying on the bedroom mantelpiece, or on the drawers, or somewhere; +and her mistress, looking round to see that the room was tidy, had caught +’em up and put ’em under the pillow where I found ’em. + +That’s the story, sir.’ + + + +II.—THE ARTFUL TOUCH + + +‘One of the most beautiful things that ever was done, perhaps,’ said +Inspector Wield, emphasising the adjective, as preparing us to expect +dexterity or ingenuity rather than strong interest, ‘was a move of +Sergeant Witchem’s. It was a lovely idea! + +‘Witchem and me were down at Epsom one Derby Day, waiting at the station +for the Swell Mob. As I mentioned, when we were talking about these +things before, we are ready at the station when there’s races, or an +Agricultural Show, or a Chancellor sworn in for an university, or Jenny +Lind, or anything of that sort; and as the Swell Mob come down, we send +’em back again by the next train. But some of the Swell Mob, on the +occasion of this Derby that I refer to, so far kidded us as to hire a +horse and shay; start away from London by Whitechapel, and miles round; +come into Epsom from the opposite direction; and go to work, right and +left, on the course, while we were waiting for ’em at the Rail. That, +however, ain’t the point of what I’m going to tell you. + +‘While Witchem and me were waiting at the station, there comes up one Mr. +Tatt; a gentleman formerly in the public line, quite an amateur Detective +in his way, and very much respected. “Halloa, Charley Wield,” he says. +“What are you doing here? On the look out for some of your old friends?” +“Yes, the old move, Mr. Tatt.” “Come along,” he says, “you and Witchem, +and have a glass of sherry.” “We can’t stir from the place,” says I, +“till the next train comes in; but after that, we will with pleasure.” +Mr. Tatt waits, and the train comes in, and then Witchem and me go off +with him to the Hotel. Mr. Tatt he’s got up quite regardless of expense, +for the occasion; and in his shirt-front there’s a beautiful diamond +prop, cost him fifteen or twenty pound—a very handsome pin indeed. We +drink our sherry at the bar, and have had our three or four glasses, when +Witchem cries suddenly, “Look out, Mr. Wield! stand fast!” and a dash is +made into the place by the Swell Mob—four of ’em—that have come down as I +tell you, and in a moment Mr. Tatt’s prop is gone! Witchem, he cuts ’em +off at the door, I lay about me as hard as I can, Mr. Tatt shows fight +like a good ‘un, and there we are, all down together, heads and heels, +knocking about on the floor of the bar—perhaps you never see such a scene +of confusion! However, we stick to our men (Mr. Tatt being as good as +any officer), and we take ’em all, and carry ’em off to the station.’ +The station’s full of people, who have been took on the course; and it’s +a precious piece of work to get ’em secured. However, we do it at last, +and we search ’em; but nothing’s found upon ’em, and they’re locked up; +and a pretty state of heat we are in by that time, I assure you! + +‘I was very blank over it, myself, to think that the prop had been passed +away; and I said to Witchem, when we had set ’em to rights, and were +cooling ourselves along with Mr. Tatt, “we don’t take much by _this_ +move, anyway, for nothing’s found upon ’em, and it’s only the +braggadocia, {426} after all.” “What do you mean, Mr. Wield?” says +Witchem. “Here’s the diamond pin!” and in the palm of his hand there it +was, safe and sound! “Why, in the name of wonder,” says me and Mr. Tatt, +in astonishment, “how did you come by that?” “I’ll tell you how I come +by it,” says he. “I saw which of ’em took it; and when we were all down +on the floor together, knocking about, I just gave him a little touch on +the back of his hand, as I knew his pal would; and he thought it WAS his +pal; and gave it me!” It was beautiful, beau-ti-ful! + +‘Even that was hardly the best of the case, for that chap was tried at +the Quarter Sessions at Guildford. You know what Quarter Sessions are, +sir. Well, if you’ll believe me, while them slow justices were looking +over the Acts of Parliament, to see what they could do to him, I’m blowed +if he didn’t cut out of the dock before their faces! He cut out of the +dock, sir, then and there; swam across a river; and got up into a tree to +dry himself. In the tree he was took—an old woman having seen him climb +up—and Witchem’s artful touch transported him!’ + + + +III.—THE SOFA + + +‘What young men will do, sometimes, to ruin themselves and break their +friends’ hearts,’ said Sergeant Dornton, ‘it’s surprising! I had a case +at Saint Blank’s Hospital which was of this sort. A bad case, indeed, +with a bad end! + +‘The Secretary, and the House-Surgeon, and the Treasurer, of Saint +Blank’s Hospital, came to Scotland Yard to give information of numerous +robberies having been committed on the students. The students could +leave nothing in the pockets of their great-coats, while the great-coats +were hanging at the hospital, but it was almost certain to be stolen. +Property of various descriptions was constantly being lost; and the +gentlemen were naturally uneasy about it, and anxious, for the credit of +the institution, that the thief or thieves should be discovered. The +case was entrusted to me, and I went to the hospital. + +‘“Now, gentlemen,” said I, after we had talked it over; “I understand +this property is usually lost from one room.” + +‘Yes, they said. It was. + +‘“I should wish, if you please,” said I, “to see the room.” + +‘It was a good-sized bare room down-stairs, with a few tables and forms +in it, and a row of pegs, all round, for hats and coats. + +‘“Next, gentlemen,” said I, “do you suspect anybody?” + +‘Yes, they said. They did suspect somebody. They were sorry to say, +they suspected one of the porters. + +‘“I should like,” said I, “to have that man pointed out to me, and to +have a little time to look after him.” + +‘He was pointed out, and I looked after him, and then I went back to the +hospital, and said, “Now, gentlemen, it’s not the porter. He’s, +unfortunately for himself, a little too fond of drink, but he’s nothing +worse. My suspicion is, that these robberies are committed by one of the +students; and if you’ll put me a sofa into that room where the pegs +are—as there’s no closet—I think I shall be able to detect the thief. I +wish the sofa, if you please, to be covered with chintz, or something of +that sort, so that I may lie on my chest, underneath it, without being +seen.” + +‘The sofa was provided, and next day at eleven o’clock, before any of the +students came, I went there, with those gentlemen, to get underneath it. +It turned out to be one of those old-fashioned sofas with a great +cross-beam at the bottom, that would have broken my back in no time if I +could ever have got below it. We had quite a job to break all this away +in the time; however, I fell to work, and they fell to work, and we broke +it out, and made a clear place for me. I got under the sofa, lay down on +my chest, took out my knife, and made a convenient hole in the chintz to +look through. It was then settled between me and the gentlemen that when +the students were all up in the wards, one of the gentlemen should come +in, and hang up a great-coat on one of the pegs. And that that +great-coat should have, in one of the pockets, a pocket-book containing +marked money. + +‘After I had been there some time, the students began to drop into the +room, by ones, and twos, and threes, and to talk about all sorts of +things, little thinking there was anybody under the sofa—and then to go +up-stairs. At last there came in one who remained until he was alone in +the room by himself. A tallish, good-looking young man of one or two and +twenty, with a light whisker. He went to a particular hat-peg, took off +a good hat that was hanging there, tried it on, hung his own hat in its +place, and hung that hat on another peg, nearly opposite to me. I then +felt quite certain that he was the thief, and would come back by-and-by. + +‘When they were all up-stairs, the gentleman came in with the great-coat. +I showed him where to hang it, so that I might have a good view of it; +and he went away; and I lay under the sofa on my chest, for a couple of +hours or so, waiting. + +‘At last, the same young man came down. He walked across the room, +whistling—stopped and listened—took another walk and whistled—stopped +again, and listened—then began to go regularly round the pegs, feeling in +the pockets of all the coats. When he came to the great-coat, and felt +the pocket-book, he was so eager and so hurried that he broke the strap +in tearing it open. As he began to put the money in his pocket, I +crawled out from under the sofa, and his eyes met mine. + + [Picture: Dective story. The Sofa] + +‘My face, as you may perceive, is brown now, but it was pale at that +time, my health not being good; and looked as long as a horse’s. Besides +which, there was a great draught of air from the door, underneath the +sofa, and I had tied a handkerchief round my head; so what I looked like, +altogether, I don’t know. He turned blue—literally blue—when he saw me +crawling out, and I couldn’t feel surprised at it. + +‘“I am an officer of the Detective Police,” said I, “and have been lying +here, since you first came in this morning. I regret, for the sake of +yourself and your friends, that you should have done what you have; but +this case is complete. You have the pocket-book in your hand and the +money upon you; and I must take you into custody!” + +‘It was impossible to make out any case in his behalf, and on his trial +he pleaded guilty. How or when he got the means I don’t know; but while +he was awaiting his sentence, he poisoned himself in Newgate.’ + + * * * * * + +We inquired of this officer, on the conclusion of the foregoing anecdote, +whether the time appeared long, or short, when he lay in that constrained +position under the sofa? + +‘Why, you see, sir,’ he replied, ‘if he hadn’t come in, the first time, +and I had not been quite sure he was the thief, and would return, the +time would have seemed long. But, as it was, I being dead certain of my +man, the time seemed pretty short.’ + + + + +ON DUTY WITH INSPECTOR FIELD + + +HOW goes the night? Saint Giles’s clock is striking nine. The weather +is dull and wet, and the long lines of street lamps are blurred, as if we +saw them through tears. A damp wind blows and rakes the pieman’s fire +out, when he opens the door of his little furnace, carrying away an eddy +of sparks. + +Saint Giles’s clock strikes nine. We are punctual. Where is Inspector +Field? Assistant Commissioner of Police is already here, enwrapped in +oil-skin cloak, and standing in the shadow of Saint Giles’s steeple. +Detective Sergeant, weary of speaking French all day to foreigners +unpacking at the Great Exhibition, is already here. Where is Inspector +Field? + +Inspector Field is, to-night, the guardian genius of the British Museum. +He is bringing his shrewd eye to bear on every corner of its solitary +galleries, before he reports ‘all right.’ Suspicious of the Elgin +marbles, and not to be done by cat-faced Egyptian giants with their hands +upon their knees, Inspector Field, sagacious, vigilant, lamp in hand, +throwing monstrous shadows on the walls and ceilings, passes through the +spacious rooms. If a mummy trembled in an atom of its dusty covering, +Inspector Field would say, ‘Come out of that, Tom Green. I know you!’ +If the smallest ‘Gonoph’ about town were crouching at the bottom of a +classic bath, Inspector Field would nose him with a finer scent than the +ogre’s, when adventurous Jack lay trembling in his kitchen copper. But +all is quiet, and Inspector Field goes warily on, making little outward +show of attending to anything in particular, just recognising the +Ichthyosaurus as a familiar acquaintance, and wondering, perhaps, how the +detectives did it in the days before the Flood. + +Will Inspector Field be long about this work? He may be half-an-hour +longer. He sends his compliments by Police Constable, and proposes that +we meet at St. Giles’s Station House, across the road. Good. It were as +well to stand by the fire, there, as in the shadow of Saint Giles’s +steeple. + +Anything doing here to-night? Not much. We are very quiet. A lost boy, +extremely calm and small, sitting by the fire, whom we now confide to a +constable to take home, for the child says that if you show him Newgate +Street, he can show you where he lives—a raving drunken woman in the +cells, who has screeched her voice away, and has hardly power enough left +to declare, even with the passionate help of her feet and arms, that she +is the daughter of a British officer, and, strike her blind and dead, but +she’ll write a letter to the Queen! but who is soothed with a drink of +water—in another cell, a quiet woman with a child at her breast, for +begging—in another, her husband in a smock-frock, with a basket of +watercresses—in another, a pickpocket—in another, a meek tremulous old +pauper man who has been out for a holiday ‘and has took but a little +drop, but it has overcome him after so many months in the house’—and +that’s all as yet. Presently, a sensation at the Station House door. +Mr. Field, gentlemen! + +Inspector Field comes in, wiping his forehead, for he is of a burly +figure, and has come fast from the ores and metals of the deep mines of +the earth, and from the Parrot Gods of the South Sea Islands, and from +the birds and beetles of the tropics, and from the Arts of Greece and +Rome, and from the Sculptures of Nineveh, and from the traces of an elder +world, when these were not. Is Rogers ready? Rogers is ready, strapped +and great-coated, with a flaming eye in the middle of his waist, like a +deformed Cyclops. Lead on, Rogers, to Rats’ Castle! + +How many people may there be in London, who, if we had brought them +deviously and blindfold, to this street, fifty paces from the Station +House, and within call of Saint Giles’s church, would know it for a not +remote part of the city in which their lives are passed? How many, who +amidst this compound of sickening smells, these heaps of filth, these +tumbling houses, with all their vile contents, animate, and inanimate, +slimily overflowing into the black road, would believe that they breathe +_this_ air? How much Red Tape may there be, that could look round on the +faces which now hem us in—for our appearance here has caused a rush from +all points to a common centre—the lowering foreheads, the sallow cheeks, +the brutal eyes, the matted hair, the infected, vermin-haunted heaps of +rags—and say, ‘I have thought of this. I have not dismissed the thing. +I have neither blustered it away, nor frozen it away, nor tied it up and +put it away, nor smoothly said pooh, pooh! to it when it has been shown +to me?’ + +This is not what Rogers wants to know, however. What Rogers wants to +know, is, whether you _will_ clear the way here, some of you, or whether +you won’t; because if you don’t do it right on end, he’ll lock you up! +‘What! _You_ are there, are you, Bob Miles? You haven’t had enough of +it yet, haven’t you? You want three months more, do you? Come away from +that gentleman! What are you creeping round there for?’ + +‘What am I a doing, thinn, Mr. Rogers?’ says Bob Miles, appearing, +villainous, at the end of a lane of light, made by the lantern. + +‘I’ll let you know pretty quick, if you don’t hook it. WILL you hook +it?’ + +A sycophantic murmur rises from the crowd. ‘Hook it, Bob, when Mr. +Rogers and Mr. Field tells you! Why don’t you hook it, when you are told +to?’ + +The most importunate of the voices strikes familiarly on Mr. Rogers’s +ear. He suddenly turns his lantern on the owner. + +‘What! _You_ are there, are you, Mister Click? You hook it too—come!’ + +‘What for?’ says Mr. Click, discomfited. + +‘You hook it, will you!’ says Mr. Rogers with stern emphasis. + +Both Click and Miles _do_ ‘hook it,’ without another word, or, in plainer +English, sneak away. + +‘Close up there, my men!’ says Inspector Field to two constables on duty +who have followed. ‘Keep together, gentlemen; we are going down here. +Heads!’ + +Saint Giles’s church strikes half-past ten. We stoop low, and creep down +a precipitous flight of steps into a dark close cellar. There is a fire. +There is a long deal table. There are benches. The cellar is full of +company, chiefly very young men in various conditions of dirt and +raggedness. Some are eating supper. There are no girls or women +present. Welcome to Rats’ Castle, gentlemen, and to this company of +noted thieves! + +‘Well, my lads! How are you, my lads? What have you been doing to-day? +Here’s some company come to see you, my lads!—_There’s_ a plate of +beefsteak, sir, for the supper of a fine young man! And there’s a mouth +for a steak, sir! Why, I should be too proud of such a mouth as that, if +I had it myself! Stand up and show it, sir! Take off your cap. There’s +a fine young man for a nice little party, sir! An’t he?’ + +Inspector Field is the bustling speaker. Inspector Field’s eye is the +roving eye that searches every corner of the cellar as he talks. +Inspector Field’s hand is the well-known hand that has collared half the +people here, and motioned their brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers, male +and female friends, inexorably to New South Wales. Yet Inspector Field +stands in this den, the Sultan of the place. Every thief here cowers +before him, like a schoolboy before his schoolmaster. All watch him, all +answer when addressed, all laugh at his jokes, all seek to propitiate +him. This cellar company alone—to say nothing of the crowd surrounding +the entrance from the street above, and making the steps shine with +eyes—is strong enough to murder us all, and willing enough to do it; but, +let Inspector Field have a mind to pick out one thief here, and take him; +let him produce that ghostly truncheon from his pocket, and say, with his +business-air, ‘My lad, I want you!’ and all Rats’ Castle shall be +stricken with paralysis, and not a finger move against him, as he fits +the handcuffs on! + +Where’s the Earl of Warwick?—Here he is, Mr. Field! Here’s the Earl of +Warwick, Mr. Field!—O there you are, my Lord. Come for’ard. There’s a +chest, sir, not to have a clean shirt on. An’t it? Take your hat off, +my Lord. Why, I should be ashamed if I was you—and an Earl, too—to show +myself to a gentleman with my hat on!—The Earl of Warwick laughs and +uncovers. All the company laugh. One pickpocket, especially, laughs +with great enthusiasm. O what a jolly game it is, when Mr. Field comes +down—and don’t want nobody! + +So, you are here, too, are you, you tall, grey, soldierly-looking, grave +man, standing by the fire?—Yes, sir. Good evening, Mr. Field!—Let us +see. You lived servant to a nobleman once?—Yes, Mr. Field.—And what is +it you do now; I forget?—Well, Mr. Field, I job about as well as I can. +I left my employment on account of delicate health. The family is still +kind to me. Mr. Wix of Piccadilly is also very kind to me when I am hard +up. Likewise Mr. Nix of Oxford Street. I get a trifle from them +occasionally, and rub on as well as I can, Mr. Field. Mr. Field’s eye +rolls enjoyingly, for this man is a notorious begging-letter writer.—Good +night, my lads!—Good night, Mr. Field, and thank’ee, sir! + +Clear the street here, half a thousand of you! Cut it, Mrs. Stalker—none +of that—we don’t want you! Rogers of the flaming eye, lead on to the +tramps’ lodging-house! + +A dream of baleful faces attends to the door. Now, stand back all of +you! In the rear Detective Sergeant plants himself, composedly +whistling, with his strong right arm across the narrow passage. Mrs. +Stalker, I am something’d that need not be written here, if you won’t get +yourself into trouble, in about half a minute, if I see that face of +yours again! + +Saint Giles’s church clock, striking eleven, hums through our hand from +the dilapidated door of a dark outhouse as we open it, and are stricken +back by the pestilent breath that issues from within. Rogers to the +front with the light, and let us look! + +Ten, twenty, thirty—who can count them! Men, women, children, for the +most part naked, heaped upon the floor like maggots in a cheese! Ho! In +that dark corner yonder! Does anybody lie there? Me sir, Irish me, a +widder, with six children. And yonder? Me sir, Irish me, with me wife +and eight poor babes. And to the left there? Me sir, Irish me, along +with two more Irish boys as is me friends. And to the right there? Me +sir and the Murphy fam’ly, numbering five blessed souls. And what’s +this, coiling, now, about my foot? Another Irish me, pitifully in want +of shaving, whom I have awakened from sleep—and across my other foot lies +his wife—and by the shoes of Inspector Field lie their three eldest—and +their three youngest are at present squeezed between the open door and +the wall. And why is there no one on that little mat before the sullen +fire? Because O’Donovan, with his wife and daughter, is not come in from +selling Lucifers! Nor on the bit of sacking in the nearest corner? Bad +luck! Because that Irish family is late to-night, a-cadging in the +streets! + +They are all awake now, the children excepted, and most of them sit up, +to stare. Wheresoever Mr. Rogers turns the flaming eye, there is a +spectral figure rising, unshrouded, from a grave of rags. Who is the +landlord here?—I am, Mr. Field! says a bundle of ribs and parchment +against the wall, scratching itself.—Will you spend this money fairly, in +the morning, to buy coffee for ’em all?—Yes, sir, I will!—O he’ll do it, +sir, he’ll do it fair. He’s honest! cry the spectres. And with thanks +and Good Night sink into their graves again. + +Thus, we make our New Oxford Streets, and our other new streets, never +heeding, never asking, where the wretches whom we clear out, crowd. With +such scenes at our doors, with all the plagues of Egypt tied up with bits +of cobweb in kennels so near our homes, we timorously make our Nuisance +Bills and Boards of Health, nonentities, and think to keep away the +Wolves of Crime and Filth, by our electioneering ducking to little +vestrymen and our gentlemanly handling of Red Tape! + +Intelligence of the coffee-money has got abroad. The yard is full, and +Rogers of the flaming eye is beleaguered with entreaties to show other +Lodging Houses. Mine next! Mine! Mine! Rogers, military, obdurate, +stiff-necked, immovable, replies not, but leads away; all falling back +before him. Inspector Field follows. Detective Sergeant, with his +barrier of arm across the little passage, deliberately waits to close the +procession. He sees behind him, without any effort, and exceedingly +disturbs one individual far in the rear by coolly calling out, ‘It won’t +do, Mr. Michael! Don’t try it!’ + +After council holden in the street, we enter other lodging-houses, +public-houses, many lairs and holes; all noisome and offensive; none so +filthy and so crowded as where Irish are. In one, The Ethiopian party +are expected home presently—were in Oxford Street when last heard +of—shall be fetched, for our delight, within ten minutes. In another, +one of the two or three Professors who drew Napoleon Buonaparte and a +couple of mackerel, on the pavement and then let the work of art out to a +speculator, is refreshing after his labours. In another, the vested +interest of the profitable nuisance has been in one family for a hundred +years, and the landlord drives in comfortably from the country to his +snug little stew in town. In all, Inspector Field is received with +warmth. Coiners and smashers droop before him; pickpockets defer to him; +the gentle sex (not very gentle here) smile upon him. Half-drunken hags +check themselves in the midst of pots of beer, or pints of gin, to drink +to Mr. Field, and pressingly to ask the honour of his finishing the +draught. One beldame in rusty black has such admiration for him, that +she runs a whole street’s length to shake him by the hand; tumbling into +a heap of mud by the way, and still pressing her attentions when her very +form has ceased to be distinguishable through it. Before the power of +the law, the power of superior sense—for common thieves are fools beside +these men—and the power of a perfect mastery of their character, the +garrison of Rats’ Castle and the adjacent Fortresses make but a skulking +show indeed when reviewed by Inspector Field. + +Saint Giles’s clock says it will be midnight in half-an-hour, and +Inspector Field says we must hurry to the Old Mint in the Borough. The +cab-driver is low-spirited, and has a solemn sense of his responsibility. +Now, what’s your fare, my lad?—O you know, Inspector Field, what’s the +good of asking me! + +Say, Parker, strapped and great-coated, and waiting in dim Borough +doorway by appointment, to replace the trusty Rogers whom we left deep in +Saint Giles’s, are you ready? Ready, Inspector Field, and at a motion of +my wrist behold my flaming eye. + +This narrow street, sir, is the chief part of the Old Mint, full of low +lodging-houses, as you see by the transparent canvas-lamps and blinds, +announcing beds for travellers! But it is greatly changed, friend Field, +from my former knowledge of it; it is infinitely quieter and more subdued +than when I was here last, some seven years ago? O yes! Inspector +Haynes, a first-rate man, is on this station now and plays the Devil with +them! + +Well, my lads! How are you to-night, my lads? Playing cards here, eh? +Who wins?—Why, Mr. Field, I, the sulky gentleman with the damp flat +side-curls, rubbing my bleared eye with the end of my neckerchief which +is like a dirty eel-skin, am losing just at present, but I suppose I must +take my pipe out of my mouth, and be submissive to _you_—I hope I see you +well, Mr. Field?—Aye, all right, my lad. Deputy, who have you got +up-stairs? Be pleased to show the rooms! + +Why Deputy, Inspector Field can’t say. He only knows that the man who +takes care of the beds and lodgers is always called so. Steady, O +Deputy, with the flaring candle in the blacking-bottle, for this is a +slushy back-yard, and the wooden staircase outside the house creaks and +has holes in it. + +Again, in these confined intolerable rooms, burrowed out like the holes +of rats or the nests of insect-vermin, but fuller of intolerable smells, +are crowds of sleepers, each on his foul truckle-bed coiled up beneath a +rug. Holloa here! Come! Let us see you! Show your face! Pilot Parker +goes from bed to bed and turns their slumbering heads towards us, as a +salesman might turn sheep. Some wake up with an execration and a +threat.—What! who spoke? O! If it’s the accursed glaring eye that fixes +me, go where I will, I am helpless. Here! I sit up to be looked at. Is +it me you want? Not you, lie down again! and I lie down, with a woful +growl. + +Whenever the turning lane of light becomes stationary for a moment, some +sleeper appears at the end of it, submits himself to be scrutinised, and +fades away into the darkness. + +There should be strange dreams here, Deputy. They sleep sound enough, +says Deputy, taking the candle out of the blacking-bottle, snuffing it +with his fingers, throwing the snuff into the bottle, and corking it up +with the candle; that’s all _I_ know. What is the inscription, Deputy, +on all the discoloured sheets? A precaution against loss of linen. +Deputy turns down the rug of an unoccupied bed and discloses it. STOP +THIEF! + +To lie at night, wrapped in the legend of my slinking life; to take the +cry that pursues me, waking, to my breast in sleep; to have it staring at +me, and clamouring for me, as soon as consciousness returns; to have it +for my first-foot on New-Year’s day, my Valentine, my Birthday salute, my +Christmas greeting, my parting with the old year. STOP THIEF! + +And to know that I _must_ be stopped, come what will. To know that I am +no match for this individual energy and keenness, or this organised and +steady system! Come across the street, here, and, entering by a little +shop and yard, examine these intricate passages and doors, contrived for +escape, flapping and counter-flapping, like the lids of the conjurer’s +boxes. But what avail they? Who gets in by a nod, and shows their +secret working to us? Inspector Field. + +Don’t forget the old Farm House, Parker! Parker is not the man to forget +it. We are going there, now. It is the old Manor-House of these parts, +and stood in the country once. Then, perhaps, there was something, which +was not the beastly street, to see from the shattered low fronts of the +overhanging wooden houses we are passing under—shut up now, pasted over +with bills about the literature and drama of the Mint, and mouldering +away. This long paved yard was a paddock or a garden once, or a court in +front of the Farm House. Perchance, with a dovecot in the centre, and +fowls peeking about—with fair elm trees, then, where discoloured +chimney-stacks and gables are now—noisy, then, with rooks which have +yielded to a different sort of rookery. It’s likelier than not, +Inspector Field thinks, as we turn into the common kitchen, which is in +the yard, and many paces from the house. + +Well, my lads and lasses, how are you all? Where’s Blackey, who has +stood near London Bridge these five-and-twenty years, with a painted skin +to represent disease?—Here he is, Mr. Field!—How are you, Blackey?—Jolly, +sa! Not playing the fiddle to-night, Blackey?—Not a night, sa! A sharp, +smiling youth, the wit of the kitchen, interposes. He an’t musical +to-night, sir. I’ve been giving him a moral lecture; I’ve been a talking +to him about his latter end, you see. A good many of these are my +pupils, sir. This here young man (smoothing down the hair of one near +him, reading a Sunday paper) is a pupil of mine. I’m a teaching of him +to read, sir. He’s a promising cove, sir. He’s a smith, he is, and gets +his living by the sweat of the brow, sir. So do I, myself, sir. This +young woman is my sister, Mr. Field. _She’s_ getting on very well too. +I’ve a deal of trouble with ’em, sir, but I’m richly rewarded, now I see +’em all a doing so well, and growing up so creditable. That’s a great +comfort, that is, an’t it, sir?—In the midst of the kitchen (the whole +kitchen is in ecstasies with this impromptu ‘chaff’) sits a young, +modest, gentle-looking creature, with a beautiful child in her lap. She +seems to belong to the company, but is so strangely unlike it. She has +such a pretty, quiet face and voice, and is so proud to hear the child +admired—thinks you would hardly believe that he is only nine months old! +Is she as bad as the rest, I wonder? Inspectorial experience does not +engender a belief contrariwise, but prompts the answer, Not a ha’porth of +difference! + +There is a piano going in the old Farm House as we approach. It stops. +Landlady appears. Has no objections, Mr. Field, to gentlemen being +brought, but wishes it were at earlier hours, the lodgers complaining of +ill-conwenience. Inspector Field is polite and soothing—knows his woman +and the sex. Deputy (a girl in this case) shows the way up a heavy, +broad old staircase, kept very clean, into clean rooms where many +sleepers are, and where painted panels of an older time look strangely on +the truckle beds. The sight of whitewash and the smell of soap—two +things we seem by this time to have parted from in infancy—make the old +Farm House a phenomenon, and connect themselves with the so curiously +misplaced picture of the pretty mother and child long after we have left +it,—long after we have left, besides, the neighbouring nook with +something of a rustic flavour in it yet, where once, beneath a low wooden +colonnade still standing as of yore, the eminent Jack Sheppard +condescended to regale himself, and where, now, two old bachelor brothers +in broad hats (who are whispered in the Mint to have made a compact long +ago that if either should ever marry, he must forfeit his share of the +joint property) still keep a sequestered tavern, and sit o’ nights +smoking pipes in the bar, among ancient bottles and glasses, as our eyes +behold them. + +How goes the night now? Saint George of Southwark answers with twelve +blows upon his bell. Parker, good night, for Williams is already waiting +over in the region of Ratcliffe Highway, to show the houses where the +sailors dance. + +I should like to know where Inspector Field was born. In Ratcliffe +Highway, I would have answered with confidence, but for his being equally +at home wherever we go. _He_ does not trouble his head as I do, about +the river at night. _He_ does not care for its creeping, black and +silent, on our right there, rushing through sluice-gates, lapping at +piles and posts and iron rings, hiding strange things in its mud, running +away with suicides and accidentally drowned bodies faster than midnight +funeral should, and acquiring such various experience between its cradle +and its grave. It has no mystery for him. Is there not the Thames +Police! + +Accordingly, Williams leads the way. We are a little late, for some of +the houses are already closing. No matter. You show us plenty. All the +landlords know Inspector Field. All pass him, freely and +good-humouredly, wheresoever he wants to go. So thoroughly are all these +houses open to him and our local guide, that, granting that sailors must +be entertained in their own way—as I suppose they must, and have a right +to be—I hardly know how such places could be better regulated. Not that +I call the company very select, or the dancing very graceful—even so +graceful as that of the German Sugar Bakers, whose assembly, by the +Minories, we stopped to visit—but there is watchful maintenance of order +in every house, and swift expulsion where need is. Even in the midst of +drunkenness, both of the lethargic kind and the lively, there is sharp +landlord supervision, and pockets are in less peril than out of doors. +These houses show, singularly, how much of the picturesque and romantic +there truly is in the sailor, requiring to be especially addressed. All +the songs (sung in a hailstorm of halfpence, which are pitched at the +singer without the least tenderness for the time or tune—mostly from +great rolls of copper carried for the purpose—and which he occasionally +dodges like shot as they fly near his head) are of the sentimental sea +sort. All the rooms are decorated with nautical subjects. Wrecks, +engagements, ships on fire, ships passing lighthouses on iron-bound +coasts, ships blowing up, ships going down, ships running ashore, men +lying out upon the main-yard in a gale of wind, sailors and ships in +every variety of peril, constitute the illustrations of fact. Nothing +can be done in the fanciful way, without a thumping boy upon a scaly +dolphin. + +How goes the night now? Past one. Black and Green are waiting in +Whitechapel to unveil the mysteries of Wentworth Street. Williams, the +best of friends must part. Adieu! + +Are not Black and Green ready at the appointed place? O yes! They glide +out of shadow as we stop. Imperturbable Black opens the cab-door; +Imperturbable Green takes a mental note of the driver. Both Green and +Black then open each his flaming eye, and marshal us the way that we are +going. + +The lodging-house we want is hidden in a maze of streets and courts. It +is fast shut. We knock at the door, and stand hushed looking up for a +light at one or other of the begrimed old lattice windows in its ugly +front, when another constable comes up—supposes that we want ‘to see the +school.’ Detective Sergeant meanwhile has got over a rail, opened a +gate, dropped down an area, overcome some other little obstacles, and +tapped at a window. Now returns. The landlord will send a deputy +immediately. + +Deputy is heard to stumble out of bed. Deputy lights a candle, draws +back a bolt or two, and appears at the door. Deputy is a shivering shirt +and trousers by no means clean, a yawning face, a shock head much +confused externally and internally. We want to look for some one. You +may go up with the light, and take ’em all, if you like, says Deputy, +resigning it, and sitting down upon a bench in the kitchen with his ten +fingers sleepily twisting in his hair. + +Halloa here! Now then! Show yourselves. That’ll do. It’s not you. +Don’t disturb yourself any more! So on, through a labyrinth of airless +rooms, each man responding, like a wild beast, to the keeper who has +tamed him, and who goes into his cage. What, you haven’t found him, +then? says Deputy, when we came down. A woman mysteriously sitting up +all night in the dark by the smouldering ashes of the kitchen fire, says +it’s only tramps and cadgers here; it’s gonophs over the way. A man +mysteriously walking about the kitchen all night in the dark, bids her +hold her tongue. We come out. Deputy fastens the door and goes to bed +again. + +Black and Green, you know Bark, lodging-house keeper and receiver of +stolen goods?—O yes, Inspector Field.—Go to Bark’s next. + +Bark sleeps in an inner wooden hutch, near his street door. As we parley +on the step with Bark’s Deputy, Bark growls in his bed. We enter, and +Bark flies out of bed. Bark is a red villain and a wrathful, with a +sanguine throat that looks very much as if it were expressly made for +hanging, as he stretches it out, in pale defiance, over the half-door of +his hutch. Bark’s parts of speech are of an awful sort—principally +adjectives. I won’t, says Bark, have no adjective police and adjective +strangers in my adjective premises! I won’t, by adjective and +substantive! Give me my trousers, and I’ll send the whole adjective +police to adjective and substantive! Give me, says Bark, my adjective +trousers! I’ll put an adjective knife in the whole bileing of ’em. I’ll +punch their adjective heads. I’ll rip up their adjective substantives. +Give me my adjective trousers! says Bark, and I’ll spile the bileing of +’em! + +Now, Bark, what’s the use of this? Here’s Black and Green, Detective +Sergeant, and Inspector Field. You know we will come in.—I know you +won’t! says Bark. Somebody give me my adjective trousers! Bark’s +trousers seem difficult to find. He calls for them as Hercules might for +his club. Give me my adjective trousers! says Bark, and I’ll spile the +bileing of ’em! + +Inspector Field holds that it’s all one whether Bark likes the visit or +don’t like it. He, Inspector Field, is an Inspector of the Detective +Police, Detective Sergeant is Detective Sergeant, Black and Green are +constables in uniform. Don’t you be a fool, Bark, or you know it will be +the worse for you.—I don’t care, says Bark. Give me my adjective +trousers! + +At two o’clock in the morning, we descend into Bark’s low kitchen, +leaving Bark to foam at the mouth above, and Imperturbable Black and +Green to look at him. Bark’s kitchen is crammed full of thieves, holding +a conversazione there by lamp-light. It is by far the most dangerous +assembly we have seen yet. Stimulated by the ravings of Bark, above, +their looks are sullen, but not a man speaks. We ascend again. Bark has +got his trousers, and is in a state of madness in the passage with his +back against a door that shuts off the upper staircase. We observe, in +other respects, a ferocious individuality in Bark. Instead of ‘STOP +THIEF!’ on his linen, he prints ‘STOLEN FROM Bark’s!’ + +Now, Bark, we are going up-stairs!—No, you ain’t!—You refuse admission to +the Police, do you, Bark?—Yes, I do! I refuse it to all the adjective +police, and to all the adjective substantives. If the adjective coves in +the kitchen was men, they’d come up now, and do for you! Shut me that +there door! says Bark, and suddenly we are enclosed in the passage. +They’d come up and do for you! cries Bark, and waits. Not a sound in the +kitchen! They’d come up and do for you! cries Bark again, and waits. +Not a sound in the kitchen! We are shut up, half-a-dozen of us, in +Bark’s house in the innermost recesses of the worst part of London, in +the dead of the night—the house is crammed with notorious robbers and +ruffians—and not a man stirs. No, Bark. They know the weight of the +law, and they know Inspector Field and Co. too well. + +We leave bully Bark to subside at leisure out of his passion and his +trousers, and, I dare say, to be inconveniently reminded of this little +brush before long. Black and Green do ordinary duty here, and look +serious. + +As to White, who waits on Holborn Hill to show the courts that are eaten +out of Rotten Gray’s Inn, Lane, where other lodging-houses are, and where +(in one blind alley) the Thieves’ Kitchen and Seminary for the teaching +of the art to children is, the night has so worn away, being now + + almost at odds with morning, which is which, + +that they are quiet, and no light shines through the chinks in the +shutters. As undistinctive Death will come here, one day, sleep comes +now. The wicked cease from troubling sometimes, even in this life. + + + + +DOWN WITH THE TIDE + + +A VERY dark night it was, and bitter cold; the east wind blowing bleak, +and bringing with it stinging particles from marsh, and moor, and +fen—from the Great Desert and Old Egypt, may be. Some of the component +parts of the sharp-edged vapour that came flying up the Thames at London +might be mummy-dust, dry atoms from the Temple at Jerusalem, camels’ +foot-prints, crocodiles’ hatching-places, loosened grains of expression +from the visages of blunt-nosed sphynxes, waifs and strays from caravans +of turbaned merchants, vegetation from jungles, frozen snow from the +Himalayas. O! It was very, very dark upon the Thames, and it was +bitter, bitter cold. + +‘And yet,’ said the voice within the great pea-coat at my side, ‘you’ll +have seen a good many rivers, too, I dare say?’ + +‘Truly,’ said I, ‘when I come to think of it, not a few. From the +Niagara, downward to the mountain rivers of Italy, which are like the +national spirit—very tame, or chafing suddenly and bursting bounds, only +to dwindle away again. The Moselle, and the Rhine, and the Rhone; and +the Seine, and the Saone; and the St. Lawrence, Mississippi, and Ohio; +and the Tiber, the Po, and the Arno; and the—’ + +Peacoat coughing as if he had had enough of that, I said no more. I +could have carried the catalogue on to a teasing length, though, if I had +been in the cruel mind. + +‘And after all,’ said he, ‘this looks so dismal?’ + +‘So awful,’ I returned, ‘at night. The Seine at Paris is very gloomy +too, at such a time, and is probably the scene of far more crime and +greater wickedness; but this river looks so broad and vast, so murky and +silent, seems such an image of death in the midst of the great city’s +life, that—’ + +That Peacoat coughed again. He _could not_ stand my holding forth. + +We were in a four-oared Thames Police Galley, lying on our oars in the +deep shadow of Southwark Bridge—under the corner arch on the Surrey +side—having come down with the tide from Vauxhall. We were fain to hold +on pretty tight, though close in shore, for the river was swollen and the +tide running down very strong. We were watching certain water-rats of +human growth, and lay in the deep shade as quiet as mice; our light +hidden and our scraps of conversation carried on in whispers. Above us, +the massive iron girders of the arch were faintly visible, and below us +its ponderous shadow seemed to sink down to the bottom of the stream. + +We had been lying here some half an hour. With our backs to the wind, it +is true; but the wind being in a determined temper blew straight through +us, and would not take the trouble to go round. I would have boarded a +fireship to get into action, and mildly suggested as much to my friend +Pea. + +‘No doubt,’ says he as patiently as possible; ‘but shore-going tactics +wouldn’t do with us. River-thieves can always get rid of stolen property +in a moment by dropping it overboard. We want to take them with the +property, so we lurk about and come out upon ’em sharp. If they see us +or hear us, over it goes.’ + +Pea’s wisdom being indisputable, there was nothing for it but to sit +there and be blown through, for another half-hour. The water-rats +thinking it wise to abscond at the end of that time without commission of +felony, we shot out, disappointed, with the tide. + +‘Grim they look, don’t they?’ said Pea, seeing me glance over my shoulder +at the lights upon the bridge, and downward at their long crooked +reflections in the river. + +‘Very,’ said I, ‘and make one think with a shudder of Suicides. What a +night for a dreadful leap from that parapet!’ + +‘Aye, but Waterloo’s the favourite bridge for making holes in the water +from,’ returned Pea. ‘By the bye—avast pulling, lads!—would you like to +speak to Waterloo on the subject?’ + +My face confessing a surprised desire to have some friendly conversation +with Waterloo Bridge, and my friend Pea being the most obliging of men, +we put about, pulled out of the force of the stream, and in place of +going at great speed with the tide, began to strive against it, close in +shore again. Every colour but black seemed to have departed from the +world. The air was black, the water was black, the barges and hulks were +black, the piles were black, the buildings were black, the shadows were +only a deeper shade of black upon a black ground. Here and there, a coal +fire in an iron cresset blazed upon a wharf; but, one knew that it too +had been black a little while ago, and would be black again soon. +Uncomfortable rushes of water suggestive of gurgling and drowning, +ghostly rattlings of iron chains, dismal clankings of discordant engines, +formed the music that accompanied the dip of our oars and their rattling +in the rowlocks. Even the noises had a black sound to me—as the trumpet +sounded red to the blind man. + +Our dexterous boat’s crew made nothing of the tide, and pulled us +gallantly up to Waterloo Bridge. Here Pea and I disembarked, passed +under the black stone archway, and climbed the steep stone steps. Within +a few feet of their summit, Pea presented me to Waterloo (or an eminent +toll-taker representing that structure), muffled up to the eyes in a +thick shawl, and amply great-coated and fur-capped. + +Waterloo received us with cordiality, and observed of the night that it +was ‘a Searcher.’ He had been originally called the Strand Bridge, he +informed us, but had received his present name at the suggestion of the +proprietors, when Parliament had resolved to vote three hundred thousand +pound for the erection of a monument in honour of the victory. +Parliament took the hint (said Waterloo, with the least flavour of +misanthropy) and saved the money. Of course the late Duke of Wellington +was the first passenger, and of course he paid his penny, and of course a +noble lord preserved it evermore. The treadle and index at the +toll-house (a most ingenious contrivance for rendering fraud impossible), +were invented by Mr. Lethbridge, then property-man at Drury Lane Theatre. + +Was it suicide, we wanted to know about? said Waterloo. Ha! Well, he +had seen a good deal of that work, he did assure us. He had prevented +some. Why, one day a woman, poorish looking, came in between the hatch, +slapped down a penny, and wanted to go on without the change! Waterloo +suspected this, and says to his mate, ‘give an eye to the gate,’ and +bolted after her. She had got to the third seat between the piers, and +was on the parapet just a going over, when he caught her and gave her in +charge. At the police office next morning, she said it was along of +trouble and a bad husband. + +‘Likely enough,’ observed Waterloo to Pea and myself, as he adjusted his +chin in his shawl. ‘There’s a deal of trouble about, you see—and bad +husbands too!’ + +Another time, a young woman at twelve o’clock in the open day, got +through, darted along; and, before Waterloo could come near her, jumped +upon the parapet, and shot herself over sideways. Alarm given, watermen +put off, lucky escape.—Clothes buoyed her up. + +‘This is where it is,’ said Waterloo. ‘If people jump off straight +forwards from the middle of the parapet of the bays of the bridge, they +are seldom killed by drowning, but are smashed, poor things; that’s what +they are; they dash themselves upon the buttress of the bridge. But you +jump off,’ said Waterloo to me, putting his fore-finger in a button-hole +of my great-coat; ‘you jump off from the side of the bay, and you’ll +tumble, true, into the stream under the arch. What you have got to do, +is to mind how you jump in! There was poor Tom Steele from Dublin. +Didn’t dive! Bless you, didn’t dive at all! Fell down so flat into the +water, that he broke his breast-bone, and lived two days!’ + +I asked Waterloo if there were a favourite side of his bridge for this +dreadful purpose? He reflected, and thought yes, there was. He should +say the Surrey side. + +Three decent-looking men went through one day, soberly and quietly, and +went on abreast for about a dozen yards: when the middle one, he sung +out, all of a sudden, ‘Here goes, Jack!’ and was over in a minute. + +Body found? Well. Waterloo didn’t rightly recollect about that. They +were compositors, _they_ were. + +He considered it astonishing how quick people were! Why, there was a cab +came up one Boxing-night, with a young woman in it, who looked, according +to Waterloo’s opinion of her, a little the worse for liquor; very +handsome she was too—very handsome. She stopped the cab at the gate, and +said she’d pay the cabman then, which she did, though there was a little +hankering about the fare, because at first she didn’t seem quite to know +where she wanted to be drove to. However, she paid the man, and the toll +too, and looking Waterloo in the face (he thought she knew him, don’t you +see!) said, ‘I’ll finish it somehow!’ Well, the cab went off, leaving +Waterloo a little doubtful in his mind, and while it was going on at full +speed the young woman jumped out, never fell, hardly staggered, ran along +the bridge pavement a little way, passing several people, and jumped over +from the second opening. At the inquest it was giv’ in evidence that she +had been quarrelling at the Hero of Waterloo, and it was brought in +jealousy. (One of the results of Waterloo’s experience was, that there +was a deal of jealousy about.) + +‘Do we ever get madmen?’ said Waterloo, in answer to an inquiry of mine. +‘Well, we _do_ get madmen. Yes, we have had one or two; escaped from +‘Sylums, I suppose. One hadn’t a halfpenny; and because I wouldn’t let +him through, he went back a little way, stooped down, took a run, and +butted at the hatch like a ram. He smashed his hat rarely, but his head +didn’t seem no worse—in my opinion on account of his being wrong in it +afore. Sometimes people haven’t got a halfpenny. If they are really +tired and poor we give ’em one and let ’em through. Other people will +leave things—pocket-handkerchiefs mostly. I have taken cravats and +gloves, pocket-knives, tooth-picks, studs, shirt-pins, rings (generally +from young gents, early in the morning), but handkerchiefs is the general +thing.’ + +‘Regular customers?’ said Waterloo. ‘Lord, yes! We have regular +customers. One, such a worn-out, used-up old file as you can scarcely +picter, comes from the Surrey side as regular as ten o’clock at night +comes; and goes over, _I_ think, to some flash house on the Middlesex +side. He comes back, he does, as reg’lar as the clock strikes three in +the morning, and then can hardly drag one of his old legs after the +other. He always turns down the water-stairs, comes up again, and then +goes on down the Waterloo Road. He always does the same thing, and never +varies a minute. Does it every night—even Sundays.’ + +I asked Waterloo if he had given his mind to the possibility of this +particular customer going down the water-stairs at three o’clock some +morning, and never coming up again? He didn’t think that of him, he +replied. In fact, it was Waterloo’s opinion, founded on his observation +of that file, that he know’d a trick worth two of it. + +‘There’s another queer old customer,’ said Waterloo, ‘comes over, as +punctual as the almanack, at eleven o’clock on the sixth of January, at +eleven o’clock on the fifth of April, at eleven o’clock on the sixth of +July, at eleven o’clock on the tenth of October. Drives a shaggy little, +rough pony, in a sort of a rattle-trap arm-chair sort of a thing. White +hair he has, and white whiskers, and muffles himself up with all manner +of shawls. He comes back again the same afternoon, and we never see more +of him for three months. He is a captain in the navy—retired—wery +old—wery odd—and served with Lord Nelson. He is particular about drawing +his pension at Somerset House afore the clock strikes twelve every +quarter. I have heerd say that he thinks it wouldn’t be according to the +Act of Parliament, if he didn’t draw it afore twelve.’ + +Having related these anecdotes in a natural manner, which was the best +warranty in the world for their genuine nature, our friend Waterloo was +sinking deep into his shawl again, as having exhausted his communicative +powers and taken in enough east wind, when my other friend Pea in a +moment brought him to the surface by asking whether he had not been +occasionally the subject of assault and battery in the execution of his +duty? Waterloo recovering his spirits, instantly dashed into a new +branch of his subject. We learnt how ‘both these teeth’—here he pointed +to the places where two front teeth were not—were knocked out by an ugly +customer who one night made a dash at him (Waterloo) while his (the ugly +customer’s) pal and coadjutor made a dash at the toll-taking apron where +the money-pockets were; how Waterloo, letting the teeth go (to Blazes, he +observed indefinitely), grappled with the apron-seizer, permitting the +ugly one to run away; and how he saved the bank, and captured his man, +and consigned him to fine and imprisonment. Also how, on another night, +‘a Cove’ laid hold of Waterloo, then presiding at the horse-gate of his +bridge, and threw him unceremoniously over his knee, having first cut his +head open with his whip. How Waterloo ‘got right,’ and started after the +Cove all down the Waterloo Road, through Stamford Street, and round to +the foot of Blackfriars Bridge, where the Cove ‘cut into’ a public-house. +How Waterloo cut in too; but how an aider and abettor of the Cove’s, who +happened to be taking a promiscuous drain at the bar, stopped Waterloo; +and the Cove cut out again, ran across the road down Holland Street, and +where not, and into a beer-shop. How Waterloo breaking away from his +detainer was close upon the Cove’s heels, attended by no end of people, +who, seeing him running with the blood streaming down his face, thought +something worse was ‘up,’ and roared Fire! and Murder! on the hopeful +chance of the matter in hand being one or both. How the Cove was +ignominiously taken, in a shed where he had run to hide, and how at the +Police Court they at first wanted to make a sessions job of it; but +eventually Waterloo was allowed to be ‘spoke to,’ and the Cove made it +square with Waterloo by paying his doctor’s bill (W. was laid up for a +week) and giving him ‘Three, ten.’ Likewise we learnt what we had +faintly suspected before, that your sporting amateur on the Derby day, +albeit a captain, can be—‘if he be,’ as Captain Bobadil observes, ‘so +generously minded’—anything but a man of honour and a gentleman; not +sufficiently gratifying his nice sense of humour by the witty scattering +of flour and rotten eggs on obtuse civilians, but requiring the further +excitement of ‘bilking the toll,’ and ‘Pitching into’ Waterloo, and +‘cutting him about the head with his whip;’ finally being, when called +upon to answer for the assault, what Waterloo described as ‘Minus,’ or, +as I humbly conceived it, not to be found. Likewise did Waterloo inform +us, in reply to my inquiries, admiringly and deferentially preferred +through my friend Pea, that the takings at the Bridge had more than +doubled in amount, since the reduction of the toll one half. And being +asked if the aforesaid takings included much bad money, Waterloo +responded, with a look far deeper than the deepest part of the river, he +should think not!—and so retired into his shawl for the rest of the +night. + +Then did Pea and I once more embark in our four-oared galley, and glide +swiftly down the river with the tide. And while the shrewd East rasped +and notched us, as with jagged razors, did my friend Pea impart to me +confidences of interest relating to the Thames Police; we, between +whiles, finding ‘duty boats’ hanging in dark corners under banks, like +weeds—our own was a ‘supervision boat’—and they, as they reported ‘all +right!’ flashing their hidden light on us, and we flashing ours on them. +These duty boats had one sitter in each: an Inspector: and were rowed +‘Ran-dan,’ which—for the information of those who never graduated, as I +was once proud to do, under a fireman-waterman and winner of Kean’s Prize +Wherry: who, in the course of his tuition, took hundreds of gallons of +rum and egg (at my expense) at the various houses of note above and below +bridge; not by any means because he liked it, but to cure a weakness in +his liver, for which the faculty had particularly recommended it—may be +explained as rowed by three men, two pulling an oar each, and one a pair +of sculls. + +Thus, floating down our black highway, sullenly frowned upon by the +knitted brows of Blackfriars, Southwark, and London, each in his lowering +turn, I was shown by my friend Pea that there are, in the Thames Police +Force, whose district extends from Battersea to Barking Creek, +ninety-eight men, eight duty boats, and two supervision boats; and that +these go about so silently, and lie in wait in such dark places, and so +seem to be nowhere, and so may be anywhere, that they have gradually +become a police of prevention, keeping the river almost clear of any +great crimes, even while the increased vigilance on shore has made it +much harder than of yore to live by ‘thieving’ in the streets. And as to +the various kinds of water-thieves, said my friend Pea, there were the +Tier-rangers, who silently dropped alongside the tiers of shipping in the +Pool, by night, and who, going to the companion-head, listened for two +snores—snore number one, the skipper’s; snore number two, the +mate’s—mates and skippers always snoring great guns, and being dead sure +to be hard at it if they had turned in and were asleep. Hearing the +double fire, down went the Rangers into the skippers’ cabins; groped for +the skippers’ inexpressibles, which it was the custom of those gentlemen +to shake off, watch, money, braces, boots, and all together, on the +floor; and therewith made off as silently as might be. Then there were +the Lumpers, or labourers employed to unload vessels. They wore loose +canvas jackets with a broad hem in the bottom, turned inside, so as to +form a large circular pocket in which they could conceal, like clowns in +pantomimes, packages of surprising sizes. A great deal of property was +stolen in this manner (Pea confided to me) from steamers; first, because +steamers carry a larger number of small packages than other ships; next, +because of the extreme rapidity with which they are obliged to be unladen +for their return voyages. The Lumpers dispose of their booty easily to +marine store dealers, and the only remedy to be suggested is that marine +store shops should be licensed, and thus brought under the eye of the +police as rigidly as public-houses. Lumpers also smuggle goods ashore +for the crews of vessels. The smuggling of tobacco is so considerable, +that it is well worth the while of the sellers of smuggled tobacco to use +hydraulic presses, to squeeze a single pound into a package small enough +to be contained in an ordinary pocket. Next, said my friend Pea, there +were the Truckers—less thieves than smugglers, whose business it was to +land more considerable parcels of goods than the Lumpers could manage. +They sometimes sold articles of grocery and so forth, to the crews, in +order to cloak their real calling, and get aboard without suspicion. +Many of them had boats of their own, and made money. Besides these, +there were the Dredgermen, who, under pretence of dredging up coals and +such like from the bottom of the river, hung about barges and other +undecked craft, and when they saw an opportunity, threw any property they +could lay their hands on overboard: in order slyly to dredge it up when +the vessel was gone. Sometimes, they dexterously used their dredges to +whip away anything that might lie within reach. Some of them were mighty +neat at this, and the accomplishment was called dry dredging. Then, +there was a vast deal of property, such as copper nails, sheathing, +hardwood, &c., habitually brought away by shipwrights and other workmen +from their employers’ yards, and disposed of to marine store dealers, +many of whom escaped detection through hard swearing, and their +extraordinary artful ways of accounting for the possession of stolen +property. Likewise, there were special-pleading practitioners, for whom +barges ‘drifted away of their own selves’—they having no hand in it, +except first cutting them loose, and afterwards plundering +them—innocents, meaning no harm, who had the misfortune to observe those +foundlings wandering about the Thames. + +We were now going in and out, with little noise and great nicety, among +the tiers of shipping, whose many hulls, lying close together, rose out +of the water like black streets. Here and there, a Scotch, an Irish, or +a foreign steamer, getting up her steam as the tide made, looked, with +her great chimney and high sides, like a quiet factory among the common +buildings. Now, the streets opened into clearer spaces, now contracted +into alleys; but the tiers were so like houses, in the dark, that I could +almost have believed myself in the narrower bye-ways of Venice. +Everything was wonderfully still; for, it wanted full three hours of +flood, and nothing seemed awake but a dog here and there. + +So we took no Tier-rangers captive, nor any Lumpers, nor Truckers, nor +Dredgermen, nor other evil-disposed person or persons; but went ashore at +Wapping, where the old Thames Police office is now a station-house, and +where the old Court, with its cabin windows looking on the river, is a +quaint charge room: with nothing worse in it usually than a stuffed cat +in a glass case, and a portrait, pleasant to behold, of a rare old Thames +Police officer, Mr. Superintendent Evans, now succeeded by his son. We +looked over the charge books, admirably kept, and found the prevention so +good that there were not five hundred entries (including drunken and +disorderly) in a whole year. Then, we looked into the store-room; where +there was an oakum smell, and a nautical seasoning of dreadnought +clothing, rope yarn, boat-hooks, sculls and oars, spare stretchers, +rudders, pistols, cutlasses, and the like. Then, into the cell, aired +high up in the wooden wall through an opening like a kitchen plate-rack: +wherein there was a drunken man, not at all warm, and very wishful to +know if it were morning yet. Then, into a better sort of watch and ward +room, where there was a squadron of stone bottles drawn up, ready to be +filled with hot water and applied to any unfortunate creature who might +be brought in apparently drowned. Finally, we shook hands with our +worthy friend Pea, and ran all the way to Tower Hill, under strong Police +suspicion occasionally, before we got warm. + + + + +A WALK IN A WORKHOUSE + + +ON a certain Sunday, I formed one of the congregation assembled in the +chapel of a large metropolitan Workhouse. With the exception of the +clergyman and clerk, and a very few officials, there were none but +paupers present. The children sat in the galleries; the women in the +body of the chapel, and in one of the side aisles; the men in the +remaining aisle. The service was decorously performed, though the sermon +might have been much better adapted to the comprehension and to the +circumstances of the hearers. The usual supplications were offered, with +more than the usual significancy in such a place, for the fatherless +children and widows, for all sick persons and young children, for all +that were desolate and oppressed, for the comforting and helping of the +weak-hearted, for the raising-up of them that had fallen; for all that +were in danger, necessity, and tribulation. The prayers of the +congregation were desired ‘for several persons in the various wards +dangerously ill;’ and others who were recovering returned their thanks to +Heaven. + +Among this congregation, were some evil-looking young women, and +beetle-browed young men; but not many—perhaps that kind of characters +kept away. Generally, the faces (those of the children excepted) were +depressed and subdued, and wanted colour. Aged people were there, in +every variety. Mumbling, blear-eyed, spectacled, stupid, deaf, lame; +vacantly winking in the gleams of sun that now and then crept in through +the open doors, from the paved yard; shading their listening ears, or +blinking eyes, with their withered hands; poring over their books, +leering at nothing, going to sleep, crouching and drooping in corners. +There were weird old women, all skeleton within, all bonnet and cloak +without, continually wiping their eyes with dirty dusters of +pocket-handkerchiefs; and there were ugly old crones, both male and +female, with a ghastly kind of contentment upon them which was not at all +comforting to see. Upon the whole, it was the dragon, Pauperism, in a +very weak and impotent condition; toothless, fangless, drawing his breath +heavily enough, and hardly worth chaining up. + +When the service was over, I walked with the humane and conscientious +gentleman whose duty it was to take that walk, that Sunday morning, +through the little world of poverty enclosed within the workhouse walls. +It was inhabited by a population of some fifteen hundred or two thousand +paupers, ranging from the infant newly born or not yet come into the +pauper world, to the old man dying on his bed. + +In a room opening from a squalid yard, where a number of listless women +were lounging to and fro, trying to get warm in the ineffectual sunshine +of the tardy May morning—in the ‘Itch Ward,’ not to compromise the +truth—a woman such as HOGARTH has often drawn, was hurriedly getting on +her gown before a dusty fire. She was the nurse, or wardswoman, of that +insalubrious department—herself a pauper—flabby, raw-boned, +untidy—unpromising and coarse of aspect as need be. But, on being spoken +to about the patients whom she had in charge, she turned round, with her +shabby gown half on, half off, and fell a crying with all her might. Not +for show, not querulously, not in any mawkish sentiment, but in the deep +grief and affliction of her heart; turning away her dishevelled head: +sobbing most bitterly, wringing her hands, and letting fall abundance of +great tears, that choked her utterance. What was the matter with the +nurse of the itch-ward? Oh, ‘the dropped child’ was dead! Oh, the child +that was found in the street, and she had brought up ever since, had died +an hour ago, and see where the little creature lay, beneath this cloth! +The dear, the pretty dear! + +The dropped child seemed too small and poor a thing for Death to be in +earnest with, but Death had taken it; and already its diminutive form was +neatly washed, composed, and stretched as if in sleep upon a box. I +thought I heard a voice from Heaven saying, It shall be well for thee, O +nurse of the itch-ward, when some less gentle pauper does those offices +to thy cold form, that such as the dropped child are the angels who +behold my Father’s face! + +In another room, were several ugly old women crouching, witch-like, round +a hearth, and chattering and nodding, after the manner of the monkeys. +‘All well here? And enough to eat?’ A general chattering and chuckling; +at last an answer from a volunteer. ‘Oh yes, gentleman! Bless you, +gentleman! Lord bless the Parish of St. So-and-So! It feed the hungry, +sir, and give drink to the thusty, and it warm them which is cold, so it +do, and good luck to the parish of St. So-and-So, and thankee, +gentleman!’ Elsewhere, a party of pauper nurses were at dinner. ‘How do +you get on?’ ‘Oh pretty well, sir! We works hard, and we lives +hard—like the sodgers!’ + +In another room, a kind of purgatory or place of transition, six or eight +noisy madwomen were gathered together, under the superintendence of one +sane attendant. Among them was a girl of two or three and twenty, very +prettily dressed, of most respectable appearance and good manners, who +had been brought in from the house where she had lived as domestic +servant (having, I suppose, no friends), on account of being subject to +epileptic fits, and requiring to be removed under the influence of a very +bad one. She was by no means of the same stuff, or the same breeding, or +the same experience, or in the same state of mind, as those by whom she +was surrounded; and she pathetically complained that the daily +association and the nightly noise made her worse, and was driving her +mad—which was perfectly evident. The case was noted for inquiry and +redress, but she said she had already been there for some weeks. + +If this girl had stolen her mistress’s watch, I do not hesitate to say +she would have been infinitely better off. We have come to this absurd, +this dangerous, this monstrous pass, that the dishonest felon is, in +respect of cleanliness, order, diet, and accommodation, better provided +for, and taken care of, than the honest pauper. + +And this conveys no special imputation on the workhouse of the parish of +St. So-and-So, where, on the contrary, I saw many things to commend. It +was very agreeable, recollecting that most infamous and atrocious +enormity committed at Tooting—an enormity which, a hundred years hence, +will still be vividly remembered in the bye-ways of English life, and +which has done more to engender a gloomy discontent and suspicion among +many thousands of the people than all the Chartist leaders could have +done in all their lives—to find the pauper children in this workhouse +looking robust and well, and apparently the objects of very great care. +In the Infant School—a large, light, airy room at the top of the +building—the little creatures, being at dinner, and eating their potatoes +heartily, were not cowed by the presence of strange visitors, but +stretched out their small hands to be shaken, with a very pleasant +confidence. And it was comfortable to see two mangy pauper +rocking-horses rampant in a corner. In the girls’ school, where the +dinner was also in progress, everything bore a cheerful and healthy +aspect. The meal was over, in the boys’ school, by the time of our +arrival there, and the room was not yet quite rearranged; but the boys +were roaming unrestrained about a large and airy yard, as any other +schoolboys might have done. Some of them had been drawing large ships +upon the schoolroom wall; and if they had a mast with shrouds and stays +set up for practice (as they have in the Middlesex House of Correction), +it would be so much the better. At present, if a boy should feel a +strong impulse upon him to learn the art of going aloft, he could only +gratify it, I presume, as the men and women paupers gratify their +aspirations after better board and lodging, by smashing as many workhouse +windows as possible, and being promoted to prison. + +In one place, the Newgate of the Workhouse, a company of boys and youths +were locked up in a yard alone; their day-room being a kind of kennel +where the casual poor used formerly to be littered down at night. Divers +of them had been there some long time. ‘Are they never going away?’ was +the natural inquiry. ‘Most of them are crippled, in some form or other,’ +said the Wardsman, ‘and not fit for anything.’ They slunk about, like +dispirited wolves or hyænas; and made a pounce at their food when it was +served out, much as those animals do. The big-headed idiot shuffling his +feet along the pavement, in the sunlight outside, was a more agreeable +object everyway. + +Groves of babies in arms; groves of mothers and other sick women in bed; +groves of lunatics; jungles of men in stone-paved down-stairs day-rooms, +waiting for their dinners; longer and longer groves of old people, in +up-stairs Infirmary wards, wearing out life, God knows how—this was the +scenery through which the walk lay, for two hours. In some of these +latter chambers, there were pictures stuck against the wall, and a neat +display of crockery and pewter on a kind of sideboard; now and then it +was a treat to see a plant or two; in almost every ward there was a cat. + +In all of these Long Walks of aged and infirm, some old people were +bedridden, and had been for a long time; some were sitting on their beds +half-naked; some dying in their beds; some out of bed, and sitting at a +table near the fire. A sullen or lethargic indifference to what was +asked, a blunted sensibility to everything but warmth and food, a moody +absence of complaint as being of no use, a dogged silence and resentful +desire to be left alone again, I thought were generally apparent. On our +walking into the midst of one of these dreary perspectives of old men, +nearly the following little dialogue took place, the nurse not being +immediately at hand: + +‘All well here?’ + +No answer. An old man in a Scotch cap sitting among others on a form at +the table, eating out of a tin porringer, pushes back his cap a little to +look at us, claps it down on his forehead again with the palm of his +hand, and goes on eating. + +‘All well here?’ (repeated). + +No answer. Another old man sitting on his bed, paralytically peeling a +boiled potato, lifts his head and stares. + +‘Enough to eat?’ + +No answer. Another old man, in bed, turns himself and coughs. + +‘How are you to-day?’ To the last old man. + +That old man says nothing; but another old man, a tall old man of very +good address, speaking with perfect correctness, comes forward from +somewhere, and volunteers an answer. The reply almost always proceeds +from a volunteer, and not from the person looked at or spoken to. + +‘We are very old, sir,’ in a mild, distinct voice. ‘We can’t expect to +be well, most of us.’ + +‘Are you comfortable?’ + +‘I have no complaint to make, sir.’ With a half shake of his head, a +half shrug of his shoulders, and a kind of apologetic smile. + +‘Enough to eat?’ + +‘Why, sir, I have but a poor appetite,’ with the same air as before; ‘and +yet I get through my allowance very easily.’ + +‘But,’ showing a porringer with a Sunday dinner in it; ‘here is a portion +of mutton, and three potatoes. You can’t starve on that?’ + +‘Oh dear no, sir,’ with the same apologetic air. ‘Not starve.’ + +‘What do you want?’ + +‘We have very little bread, sir. It’s an exceedingly small quantity of +bread.’ + +The nurse, who is now rubbing her hands at the questioner’s elbow, +interferes with, ‘It ain’t much raly, sir. You see they’ve only six +ounces a day, and when they’ve took their breakfast, there can only be a +little left for night, sir.’ + +Another old man, hitherto invisible, rises out of his bed-clothes, as out +of a grave, and looks on. + +‘You have tea at night?’ The questioner is still addressing the +well-spoken old man. + +‘Yes, sir, we have tea at night.’ + +‘And you save what bread you can from the morning, to eat with it?’ + +‘Yes, sir—if we can save any.’ + +‘And you want more to eat with it?’ + +‘Yes, sir.’ With a very anxious face. + +The questioner, in the kindness of his heart, appears a little +discomposed, and changes the subject. + +‘What has become of the old man who used to lie in that bed in the +corner?’ + +The nurse don’t remember what old man is referred to. There has been +such a many old men. The well-spoken old man is doubtful. The spectral +old man who has come to life in bed, says, ‘Billy Stevens.’ Another old +man who has previously had his head in the fireplace, pipes out, + +‘Charley Walters.’ + +Something like a feeble interest is awakened. I suppose Charley Walters +had conversation in him. + +‘He’s dead,’ says the piping old man. + +Another old man, with one eye screwed up, hastily displaces the piping +old man, and says. + +‘Yes! Charley Walters died in that bed, and—and—’ + +‘Billy Stevens,’ persists the spectral old man. + +‘No, no! and Johnny Rogers died in that bed, and—and—they’re both on ’em +dead—and Sam’l Bowyer;’ this seems very extraordinary to him; ‘he went +out!’ + +With this he subsides, and all the old men (having had quite enough of +it) subside, and the spectral old man goes into his grave again, and +takes the shade of Billy Stevens with him. + +As we turn to go out at the door, another previously invisible old man, a +hoarse old man in a flannel gown, is standing there, as if he had just +come up through the floor. + +‘I beg your pardon, sir, could I take the liberty of saying a word?’ + +‘Yes; what is it?’ + +‘I am greatly better in my health, sir; but what I want, to get me quite +round,’ with his hand on his throat, ‘is a little fresh air, sir. It has +always done my complaint so much good, sir. The regular leave for going +out, comes round so seldom, that if the gentlemen, next Friday, would +give me leave to go out walking, now and then—for only an hour or so, +sir!—’ + +Who could wonder, looking through those weary vistas of bed and +infirmity, that it should do him good to meet with some other scenes, and +assure himself that there was something else on earth? Who could help +wondering why the old men lived on as they did; what grasp they had on +life; what crumbs of interest or occupation they could pick up from its +bare board; whether Charley Walters had ever described to them the days +when he kept company with some old pauper woman in the bud, or Billy +Stevens ever told them of the time when he was a dweller in the far-off +foreign land called Home! + +The morsel of burnt child, lying in another room, so patiently, in bed, +wrapped in lint, and looking steadfastly at us with his bright quiet eyes +when we spoke to him kindly, looked as if the knowledge of these things, +and of all the tender things there are to think about, might have been in +his mind—as if he thought, with us, that there was a fellow-feeling in +the pauper nurses which appeared to make them more kind to their charges +than the race of common nurses in the hospitals—as if he mused upon the +Future of some older children lying around him in the same place, and +thought it best, perhaps, all things considered, that he should die—as if +he knew, without fear, of those many coffins, made and unmade, piled up +in the store below—and of his unknown friend, ‘the dropped child,’ calm +upon the box-lid covered with a cloth. But there was something wistful +and appealing, too, in his tiny face, as if, in the midst of all the hard +necessities and incongruities he pondered on, he pleaded, in behalf of +the helpless and the aged poor, for a little more liberty—and a little +more bread. + + + + +PRINCE BULL. A FAIRY TALE + + +ONCE upon a time, and of course it was in the Golden Age, and I hope you +may know when that was, for I am sure I don’t, though I have tried hard +to find out, there lived in a rich and fertile country, a powerful Prince +whose name was BULL. He had gone through a great deal of fighting, in +his time, about all sorts of things, including nothing; but, had +gradually settled down to be a steady, peaceable, good-natured, +corpulent, rather sleepy Prince. + +This Puissant Prince was married to a lovely Princess whose name was Fair +Freedom. She had brought him a large fortune, and had borne him an +immense number of children, and had set them to spinning, and farming, +and engineering, and soldiering, and sailoring, and doctoring, and +lawyering, and preaching, and all kinds of trades. The coffers of Prince +Bull were full of treasure, his cellars were crammed with delicious wines +from all parts of the world, the richest gold and silver plate that ever +was seen adorned his sideboards, his sons were strong, his daughters were +handsome, and in short you might have supposed that if there ever lived +upon earth a fortunate and happy Prince, the name of that Prince, take +him for all in all, was assuredly Prince Bull. + +But, appearances, as we all know, are not always to be trusted—far from +it; and if they had led you to this conclusion respecting Prince Bull, +they would have led you wrong as they often have led me. + +For, this good Prince had two sharp thorns in his pillow, two hard knobs +in his crown, two heavy loads on his mind, two unbridled nightmares in +his sleep, two rocks ahead in his course. He could not by any means get +servants to suit him, and he had a tyrannical old godmother, whose name +was Tape. + +She was a Fairy, this Tape, and was a bright red all over. She was +disgustingly prim and formal, and could never bend herself a hair’s +breadth this way or that way, out of her naturally crooked shape. But, +she was very potent in her wicked art. She could stop the fastest thing +in the world, change the strongest thing into the weakest, and the most +useful into the most useless. To do this she had only to put her cold +hand upon it, and repeat her own name, Tape. Then it withered away. + +At the Court of Prince Bull—at least I don’t mean literally at his court, +because he was a very genteel Prince, and readily yielded to his +godmother when she always reserved that for his hereditary Lords and +Ladies—in the dominions of Prince Bull, among the great mass of the +community who were called in the language of that polite country the Mobs +and the Snobs, were a number of very ingenious men, who were always busy +with some invention or other, for promoting the prosperity of the +Prince’s subjects, and augmenting the Prince’s power. But, whenever they +submitted their models for the Prince’s approval, his godmother stepped +forward, laid her hand upon them, and said ‘Tape.’ Hence it came to +pass, that when any particularly good discovery was made, the discoverer +usually carried it off to some other Prince, in foreign parts, who had no +old godmother who said Tape. This was not on the whole an advantageous +state of things for Prince Bull, to the best of my understanding. + +The worst of it was, that Prince Bull had in course of years lapsed into +such a state of subjection to this unlucky godmother, that he never made +any serious effort to rid himself of her tyranny. I have said this was +the worst of it, but there I was wrong, because there is a worse +consequence still, behind. The Prince’s numerous family became so +downright sick and tired of Tape, that when they should have helped the +Prince out of the difficulties into which that evil creature led him, +they fell into a dangerous habit of moodily keeping away from him in an +impassive and indifferent manner, as though they had quite forgotten that +no harm could happen to the Prince their father, without its inevitably +affecting themselves. + +Such was the aspect of affairs at the court of Prince Bull, when this +great Prince found it necessary to go to war with Prince Bear. He had +been for some time very doubtful of his servants, who, besides being +indolent and addicted to enriching their families at his expense, +domineered over him dreadfully; threatening to discharge themselves if +they were found the least fault with, pretending that they had done a +wonderful amount of work when they had done nothing, making the most +unmeaning speeches that ever were heard in the Prince’s name, and +uniformly showing themselves to be very inefficient indeed. Though, that +some of them had excellent characters from previous situations is not to +be denied. Well; Prince Bull called his servants together, and said to +them one and all, ‘Send out my army against Prince Bear. Clothe it, arm +it, feed it, provide it with all necessaries and contingencies, and I +will pay the piper! Do your duty by my brave troops,’ said the Prince, +‘and do it well, and I will pour my treasure out like water, to defray +the cost. Who ever heard ME complain of money well laid out!’ Which +indeed he had reason for saying, inasmuch as he was well known to be a +truly generous and munificent Prince. + +When the servants heard those words, they sent out the army against +Prince Bear, and they set the army tailors to work, and the army +provision merchants, and the makers of guns both great and small, and the +gunpowder makers, and the makers of ball, shell, and shot; and they +bought up all manner of stores and ships, without troubling their heads +about the price, and appeared to be so busy that the good Prince rubbed +his hands, and (using a favourite expression of his), said, ‘It’s all +right!’ But, while they were thus employed, the Prince’s godmother, who +was a great favourite with those servants, looked in upon them +continually all day long, and whenever she popped in her head at the door +said, How do you do, my children? What are you doing here?’ ‘Official +business, godmother.’ ‘Oho!’ says this wicked Fairy. ‘—Tape!’ And then +the business all went wrong, whatever it was, and the servants’ heads +became so addled and muddled that they thought they were doing wonders. + +Now, this was very bad conduct on the part of the vicious old nuisance, +and she ought to have been strangled, even if she had stopped here; but, +she didn’t stop here, as you shall learn. For, a number of the Prince’s +subjects, being very fond of the Prince’s army who were the bravest of +men, assembled together and provided all manner of eatables and +drinkables, and books to read, and clothes to wear, and tobacco to smoke, +and candies to burn, and nailed them up in great packing-cases, and put +them aboard a great many ships, to be carried out to that brave army in +the cold and inclement country where they were fighting Prince Bear. +Then, up comes this wicked Fairy as the ships were weighing anchor, and +says, ‘How do you do, my children? What are you doing here?’—‘We are +going with all these comforts to the army, godmother.’—‘Oho!’ says she. +‘A pleasant voyage, my darlings.—Tape!’ And from that time forth, those +enchanting ships went sailing, against wind and tide and rhyme and +reason, round and round the world, and whenever they touched at any port +were ordered off immediately, and could never deliver their cargoes +anywhere. + +This, again, was very bad conduct on the part of the vicious old +nuisance, and she ought to have been strangled for it if she had done +nothing worse; but, she did something worse still, as you shall learn. +For, she got astride of an official broomstick, and muttered as a spell +these two sentences, ‘On Her Majesty’s service,’ and ‘I have the honour +to be, sir, your most obedient servant,’ and presently alighted in the +cold and inclement country where the army of Prince Bull were encamped to +fight the army of Prince Bear. On the sea-shore of that country, she +found piled together, a number of houses for the army to live in, and a +quantity of provisions for the army to live upon, and a quantity of +clothes for the army to wear: while, sitting in the mud gazing at them, +were a group of officers as red to look at as the wicked old woman +herself. So, she said to one of them, ‘Who are _you_, my darling, and +how do _you_ do?’—‘I am the Quartermaster General’s Department, +godmother, and _I_ am pretty well.’ Then she said to another, ‘Who are +you, my darling, and how do you do?’—‘I am the Commissariat Department, +godmother, and I am pretty well! Then she said to another, ‘Who are you, +my darling, and how do you do?’—‘I am the Head of the Medical Department, +godmother, and _I_ am pretty well.’ Then, she said to some gentlemen +scented with lavender, who kept themselves at a great distance from the +rest, ‘And who are _you_, my pretty pets, and how do _you_ do?’ And they +answered, ‘We-aw-are-the-aw-Staff-aw-Department, godmother, and we are +very well indeed.’—‘I am delighted to see you all, my beauties,’ says +this wicked old Fairy, ‘—Tape!’ Upon that, the houses, clothes, and +provisions, all mouldered away; and the soldiers who were sound, fell +sick; and the soldiers who were sick, died miserably: and the noble army +of Prince Bull perished. + +When the dismal news of his great loss was carried to the Prince, he +suspected his godmother very much indeed; but, he knew that his servants +must have kept company with the malicious beldame, and must have given +way to her, and therefore he resolved to turn those servants out of their +places. So, he called to him a Roebuck who had the gift of speech, and +he said, ‘Good Roebuck, tell them they must go.’ So, the good Roebuck +delivered his message, so like a man that you might have supposed him to +be nothing but a man, and they were turned out—but, not without warning, +for that they had had a long time. + +And now comes the most extraordinary part of the history of this Prince. +When he had turned out those servants, of course he wanted others. What +was his astonishment to find that in all his dominions, which contained +no less than twenty-seven millions of people, there were not above +five-and-twenty servants altogether! They were so lofty about it, too, +that instead of discussing whether they should hire themselves as +servants to Prince Bull, they turned things topsy-turvy, and considered +whether as a favour they should hire Prince Bull to be their master! +While they were arguing this point among themselves quite at their +leisure, the wicked old red Fairy was incessantly going up and down, +knocking at the doors of twelve of the oldest of the five-and-twenty, who +were the oldest inhabitants in all that country, and whose united ages +amounted to one thousand, saying, ‘Will you hire Prince Bull for your +master?—Will you hire Prince Bull for your master?’ To which one +answered, ‘I will if next door will;’ and another, ‘I won’t if over the +way does;’ and another, ‘I can’t if he, she, or they, might, could, +would, or should.’ And all this time Prince Bull’s affairs were going to +rack and ruin. + +At last, Prince Bull in the height of his perplexity assumed a thoughtful +face, as if he were struck by an entirely new idea. The wicked old +Fairy, seeing this, was at his elbow directly, and said, ‘How do you do, +my Prince, and what are you thinking of?’—‘I am thinking, godmother,’ +says he, ‘that among all the seven-and-twenty millions of my subjects who +have never been in service, there are men of intellect and business who +have made me very famous both among my friends and enemies.’—‘Aye, +truly?’ says the Fairy.—‘Aye, truly,’ says the Prince.—‘And what then?’ +says the Fairy.—‘Why, then,’ says he, ‘since the regular old class of +servants do so ill, are so hard to get, and carry it with so high a hand, +perhaps I might try to make good servants of some of these.’ The words +had no sooner passed his lips than she returned, chuckling, ‘You think +so, do you? Indeed, my Prince?—Tape!’ Thereupon he directly forgot what +he was thinking of, and cried out lamentably to the old servants, ‘O, do +come and hire your poor old master! Pray do! On any terms!’ + +And this, for the present, finishes the story of Prince Bull. I wish I +could wind it up by saying that he lived happy ever afterwards, but I +cannot in my conscience do so; for, with Tape at his elbow, and his +estranged children fatally repelled by her from coming near him, I do +not, to tell you the plain truth, believe in the possibility of such an +end to it. + + + + +A PLATED ARTICLE + + +PUTTING up for the night in one of the chiefest towns of Staffordshire, I +find it to be by no means a lively town. In fact, it is as dull and dead +a town as any one could desire not to see. It seems as if its whole +population might be imprisoned in its Railway Station. The Refreshment +Room at that Station is a vortex of dissipation compared with the extinct +town-inn, the Dodo, in the dull High Street. + +Why High Street? Why not rather Low Street, Flat Street, Low-Spirited +Street, Used-up Street? Where are the people who belong to the High +Street? Can they all be dispersed over the face of the country, seeking +the unfortunate Strolling Manager who decamped from the mouldy little +Theatre last week, in the beginning of his season (as his play-bills +testify), repentantly resolved to bring him back, and feed him, and be +entertained? Or, can they all be gathered to their fathers in the two +old churchyards near to the High Street—retirement into which churchyards +appears to be a mere ceremony, there is so very little life outside their +confines, and such small discernible difference between being buried +alive in the town, and buried dead in the town tombs? Over the way, +opposite to the staring blank bow windows of the Dodo, are a little +ironmonger’s shop, a little tailor’s shop (with a picture of the Fashions +in the small window and a bandy-legged baby on the pavement staring at +it)—a watchmakers shop, where all the clocks and watches must be stopped, +I am sure, for they could never have the courage to go, with the town in +general, and the Dodo in particular, looking at them. Shade of Miss +Linwood, erst of Leicester Square, London, thou art welcome here, and thy +retreat is fitly chosen! I myself was one of the last visitors to that +awful storehouse of thy life’s work, where an anchorite old man and woman +took my shilling with a solemn wonder, and conducting me to a gloomy +sepulchre of needlework dropping to pieces with dust and age and shrouded +in twilight at high noon, left me there, chilled, frightened, and alone. +And now, in ghostly letters on all the dead walls of this dead town, I +read thy honoured name, and find that thy Last Supper, worked in Berlin +Wool, invites inspection as a powerful excitement! + +Where are the people who are bidden with so much cry to this feast of +little wool? Where are they? Who are they? They are not the +bandy-legged baby studying the fashions in the tailor’s window. They are +not the two earthy ploughmen lounging outside the saddler’s shop, in the +stiff square where the Town Hall stands, like a brick and mortar private +on parade. They are not the landlady of the Dodo in the empty bar, whose +eye had trouble in it and no welcome, when I asked for dinner. They are +not the turnkeys of the Town Jail, looking out of the gateway in their +uniforms, as if they had locked up all the balance (as my American +friends would say) of the inhabitants, and could now rest a little. They +are not the two dusty millers in the white mill down by the river, where +the great water-wheel goes heavily round and round, like the monotonous +days and nights in this forgotten place. Then who are they, for there is +no one else? No; this deponent maketh oath and saith that there is no +one else, save and except the waiter at the Dodo, now laying the cloth. +I have paced the streets, and stared at the houses, and am come back to +the blank bow window of the Dodo; and the town clocks strike seven, and +the reluctant echoes seem to cry, ‘Don’t wake us!’ and the bandy-legged +baby has gone home to bed. + +If the Dodo were only a gregarious bird—if he had only some confused idea +of making a comfortable nest—I could hope to get through the hours +between this and bed-time, without being consumed by devouring +melancholy. But, the Dodo’s habits are all wrong. It provides me with a +trackless desert of sitting-room, with a chair for every day in the year, +a table for every month, and a waste of sideboard where a lonely China +vase pines in a corner for its mate long departed, and will never make a +match with the candlestick in the opposite corner if it live till +Doomsday. The Dodo has nothing in the larder. Even now, I behold the +Boots returning with my sole in a piece of paper; and with that portion +of my dinner, the Boots, perceiving me at the blank bow window, slaps his +leg as he comes across the road, pretending it is something else. The +Dodo excludes the outer air. When I mount up to my bedroom, a smell of +closeness and flue gets lazily up my nose like sleepy snuff. The loose +little bits of carpet writhe under my tread, and take wormy shapes. I +don’t know the ridiculous man in the looking-glass, beyond having met him +once or twice in a dish-cover—and I can never shave _him_ to-morrow +morning! The Dodo is narrow-minded as to towels; expects me to wash on a +freemason’s apron without the trimming: when I asked for soap, gives me a +stony-hearted something white, with no more lather in it than the Elgin +marbles. The Dodo has seen better days, and possesses interminable +stables at the back—silent, grass-grown, broken-windowed, horseless. + +This mournful bird can fry a sole, however, which is much. Can cook a +steak, too, which is more. I wonder where it gets its Sherry? If I were +to send my pint of wine to some famous chemist to be analysed, what would +it turn out to be made of? It tastes of pepper, sugar, bitter-almonds, +vinegar, warm knives, any flat drinks, and a little brandy. Would it +unman a Spanish exile by reminding him of his native land at all? I +think not. If there really be any townspeople out of the churchyards, +and if a caravan of them ever do dine, with a bottle of wine per man, in +this desert of the Dodo, it must make good for the doctor next day! + +Where was the waiter born? How did he come here? Has he any hope of +getting away from here? Does he ever receive a letter, or take a ride +upon the railway, or see anything but the Dodo? Perhaps he has seen the +Berlin Wool. He appears to have a silent sorrow on him, and it may be +that. He clears the table; draws the dingy curtains of the great bow +window, which so unwillingly consent to meet, that they must be pinned +together; leaves me by the fire with my pint decanter, and a little thin +funnel-shaped wine-glass, and a plate of pale biscuits—in themselves +engendering desperation. + +No book, no newspaper! I left the Arabian Nights in the railway +carriage, and have nothing to read but Bradshaw, and ‘that way madness +lies.’ Remembering what prisoners and ship-wrecked mariners have done to +exercise their minds in solitude, I repeat the multiplication table, the +pence table, and the shilling table: which are all the tables I happen to +know. What if I write something? The Dodo keeps no pens but steel pens; +and those I always stick through the paper, and can turn to no other +account. + +What am I to do? Even if I could have the bandy-legged baby knocked up +and brought here, I could offer him nothing but sherry, and that would be +the death of him. He would never hold up his head again if he touched +it. I can’t go to bed, because I have conceived a mortal hatred for my +bedroom; and I can’t go away, because there is no train for my place of +destination until morning. To burn the biscuits will be but a fleeting +joy; still it is a temporary relief, and here they go on the fire! Shall +I break the plate? First let me look at the back, and see who made it. +COPELAND. + +Copeland! Stop a moment. Was it yesterday I visited Copeland’s works, +and saw them making plates? In the confusion of travelling about, it +might be yesterday or it might be yesterday month; but I think it was +yesterday. I appeal to the plate. The plate says, decidedly, yesterday. +I find the plate, as I look at it, growing into a companion. + +Don’t you remember (says the plate) how you steamed away, yesterday +morning, in the bright sun and the east wind, along the valley of the +sparkling Trent? Don’t you recollect how many kilns you flew past, +looking like the bowls of gigantic tobacco-pipes, cut short off from the +stem and turned upside down? And the fires—and the smoke—and the roads +made with bits of crockery, as if all the plates and dishes in the +civilised world had been Macadamised, expressly for the laming of all the +horses? Of course I do! + +And don’t you remember (says the plate) how you alighted at Stoke—a +picturesque heap of houses, kilns, smoke, wharfs, canals, and river, +lying (as was most appropriate) in a basin—and how, after climbing up the +sides of the basin to look at the prospect, you trundled down again at a +walking-match pace, and straight proceeded to my father’s, Copeland’s, +where the whole of my family, high and low, rich and poor, are turned out +upon the world from our nursery and seminary, covering some fourteen +acres of ground? And don’t you remember what we spring from:—heaps of +lumps of clay, partially prepared and cleaned in Devonshire and +Dorsetshire, whence said clay principally comes—and hills of flint, +without which we should want our ringing sound, and should never be +musical? And as to the flint, don’t you recollect that it is first burnt +in kilns, and is then laid under the four iron feet of a demon slave, +subject to violent stamping fits, who, when they come on, stamps away +insanely with his four iron legs, and would crush all the flint in the +Isle of Thanet to powder, without leaving off? And as to the clay, don’t +you recollect how it is put into mills or teazers, and is sliced, and +dug, and cut at, by endless knives, clogged and sticky, but +persistent—and is pressed out of that machine through a square trough, +whose form it takes—and is cut off in square lumps and thrown into a vat, +and there mixed with water, and beaten to a pulp by paddle-wheels—and is +then run into a rough house, all rugged beams and ladders splashed with +white,—superintended by Grindoff the Miller in his working clothes, all +splashed with white,—where it passes through no end of machinery-moved +sieves all splashed with white, arranged in an ascending scale of +fineness (some so fine, that three hundred silk threads cross each other +in a single square inch of their surface), and all in a violent state of +ague with their teeth for ever chattering, and their bodies for ever +shivering! And as to the flint again, isn’t it mashed and mollified and +troubled and soothed, exactly as rags are in a paper-mill, until it is +reduced to a pap so fine that it contains no atom of ‘grit’ perceptible +to the nicest taste? And as to the flint and the clay together, are they +not, after all this, mixed in the proportion of five of clay to one of +flint, and isn’t the compound—known as ‘slip’—run into oblong troughs, +where its superfluous moisture may evaporate; and finally, isn’t it +slapped and banged and beaten and patted and kneaded and wedged and +knocked about like butter, until it becomes a beautiful grey dough, ready +for the potter’s use? + +In regard of the potter, popularly so called (says the plate), you don’t +mean to say you have forgotten that a workman called a Thrower is the man +under whose hand this grey dough takes the shapes of the simpler +household vessels as quickly as the eye can follow? You don’t mean to +say you cannot call him up before you, sitting, with his attendant woman, +at his potter’s wheel—a disc about the size of a dinner-plate, revolving +on two drums slowly or quickly as he wills—who made you a complete +breakfast-set for a bachelor, as a good-humoured little off-hand joke? +You remember how he took up as much dough as he wanted, and, throwing it +on his wheel, in a moment fashioned it into a teacup—caught up more clay +and made a saucer—a larger dab and whirled it into a teapot—winked at a +smaller dab and converted it into the lid of the teapot, accurately +fitting by the measurement of his eye alone—coaxed a middle-sized dab for +two seconds, broke it, turned it over at the rim, and made a +milkpot—laughed, and turned out a slop-basin—coughed, and provided for +the sugar? Neither, I think, are you oblivious of the newer mode of +making various articles, but especially basins, according to which +improvement a mould revolves instead of a disc? For you must remember +(says the plate) how you saw the mould of a little basin spinning round +and round, and how the workmen smoothed and pressed a handful of dough +upon it, and how with an instrument called a profile (a piece of wood, +representing the profile of a basin’s foot) he cleverly scraped and +carved the ring which makes the base of any such basin, and then took the +basin off the lathe like a doughy skull-cap to be dried, and afterwards +(in what is called a green state) to be put into a second lathe, there to +be finished and burnished with a steel burnisher? And as to moulding in +general (says the plate), it can’t be necessary for me to remind you that +all ornamental articles, and indeed all articles not quite circular, are +made in moulds. For you must remember how you saw the vegetable dishes, +for example, being made in moulds; and how the handles of teacups, and +the spouts of teapots, and the feet of tureens, and so forth, are all +made in little separate moulds, and are each stuck on to the body +corporate, of which it is destined to form a part, with a stuff called +‘slag,’ as quickly as you can recollect it. Further, you learnt—you know +you did—in the same visit, how the beautiful sculptures in the delicate +new material called Parian, are all constructed in moulds; how, into that +material, animal bones are ground up, because the phosphate of lime +contained in bones makes it translucent; how everything is moulded, +before going into the fire, one-fourth larger than it is intended to come +out of the fire, because it shrinks in that proportion in the intense +heat; how, when a figure shrinks unequally, it is spoiled—emerging from +the furnace a misshapen birth; a big head and a little body, or a little +head and a big body, or a Quasimodo with long arms and short legs, or a +Miss Biffin with neither legs nor arms worth mentioning. + +And as to the Kilns, in which the firing takes place, and in which some +of the more precious articles are burnt repeatedly, in various stages of +their process towards completion,—as to the Kilns (says the plate, +warming with the recollection), if you don’t remember THEM with a +horrible interest, what did you ever go to Copeland’s for? When you +stood inside of one of those inverted bowls of a Pre-Adamite +tobacco-pipe, looking up at the blue sky through the open top far off, as +you might have looked up from a well, sunk under the centre of the +pavement of the Pantheon at Rome, had you the least idea where you were? +And when you found yourself surrounded, in that dome-shaped cavern, by +innumerable columns of an unearthly order of architecture, supporting +nothing, and squeezed close together as if a Pre-Adamite Samson had taken +a vast Hall in his arms and crushed it into the smallest possible space, +had you the least idea what they were? No (says the plate), of course +not! And when you found that each of those pillars was a pile of +ingeniously made vessels of coarse clay—called Saggers—looking, when +separate, like raised-pies for the table of the mighty Giant Blunderbore, +and now all full of various articles of pottery ranged in them in baking +order, the bottom of each vessel serving for the cover of the one below, +and the whole Kiln rapidly filling with these, tier upon tier, until the +last workman should have barely room to crawl out, before the closing of +the jagged aperture in the wall and the kindling of the gradual fire; did +you not stand amazed to think that all the year round these dread +chambers are heating, white hot—and cooling—and filling—and emptying—and +being bricked up—and broken open—humanly speaking, for ever and ever? To +be sure you did! And standing in one of those Kilns nearly full, and +seeing a free crow shoot across the aperture a-top, and learning how the +fire would wax hotter and hotter by slow degrees, and would cool +similarly through a space of from forty to sixty hours, did no +remembrance of the days when human clay was burnt oppress you? Yes. I +think so! I suspect that some fancy of a fiery haze and a shortening +breath, and a growing heat, and a gasping prayer; and a figure in black +interposing between you and the sky (as figures in black are very apt to +do), and looking down, before it grew too hot to look and live, upon the +Heretic in his edifying agony—I say I suspect (says the plate) that some +such fancy was pretty strong upon you when you went out into the air, and +blessed God for the bright spring day and the degenerate times! + +After that, I needn’t remind you what a relief it was to see the simplest +process of ornamenting this ‘biscuit’ (as it is called when baked) with +brown circles and blue trees—converting it into the common crockery-ware +that is exported to Africa, and used in cottages at home. For (says the +plate) I am well persuaded that you bear in mind how those particular +jugs and mugs were once more set upon a lathe and put in motion; and how +a man blew the brown colour (having a strong natural affinity with the +material in that condition) on them from a blowpipe as they twirled; and +how his daughter, with a common brush, dropped blotches of blue upon them +in the right places; and how, tilting the blotches upside down, she made +them run into rude images of trees, and there an end. + +And didn’t you see (says the plate) planted upon my own brother that +astounding blue willow, with knobbed and gnarled trunk, and foliage of +blue ostrich feathers, which gives our family the title of ‘willow +pattern’? And didn’t you observe, transferred upon him at the same time, +that blue bridge which spans nothing, growing out from the roots of the +willow; and the three blue Chinese going over it into a blue temple, +which has a fine crop of blue bushes sprouting out of the roof; and a +blue boat sailing above them, the mast of which is burglariously sticking +itself into the foundations of a blue villa, suspended sky-high, +surmounted by a lump of blue rock, sky-higher, and a couple of billing +blue birds, sky-highest—together with the rest of that amusing blue +landscape, which has, in deference to our revered ancestors of the +Cerulean Empire, and in defiance of every known law of perspective, +adorned millions of our family ever since the days of platters? Didn’t +you inspect the copper-plate on which my pattern was deeply engraved? +Didn’t you perceive an impression of it taken in cobalt colour at a +cylindrical press, upon a leaf of thin paper, streaming from a +plunge-bath of soap and water? Wasn’t the paper impression daintily +spread, by a light-fingered damsel (you know you admired her!), over the +surface of the plate, and the back of the paper rubbed prodigiously +hard—with a long tight roll of flannel, tied up like a round of hung +beef—without so much as ruffling the paper, wet as it was? Then (says +the plate), was not the paper washed away with a sponge, and didn’t there +appear, set off upon the plate, _this_ identical piece of Pre-Raphaelite +blue distemper which you now behold? Not to be denied! I had seen all +this—and more. I had been shown, at Copeland’s, patterns of beautiful +design, in faultless perspective, which are causing the ugly old willow +to wither out of public favour; and which, being quite as cheap, +insinuate good wholesome natural art into the humblest households. When +Mr. and Mrs. Sprat have satisfied their material tastes by that equal +division of fat and lean which has made their _ménage_ immortal; and +have, after the elegant tradition, ‘licked the platter clean,’ they +can—thanks to modern artists in clay—feast their intellectual tastes upon +excellent delineations of natural objects. + +This reflection prompts me to transfer my attention from the blue plate +to the forlorn but cheerfully painted vase on the sideboard. And surely +(says the plate) you have not forgotten how the outlines of such groups +of flowers as you see there, are printed, just as I was printed, and are +afterwards shaded and filled in with metallic colours by women and girls? +As to the aristocracy of our order, made of the finer clay-porcelain +peers and peeresses;—the slabs, and panels, and table-tops, and tazze; +the endless nobility and gentry of dessert, breakfast, and tea services; +the gemmed perfume bottles, and scarlet and gold salvers; you saw that +they were painted by artists, with metallic colours laid on with +camel-hair pencils, and afterwards burnt in. + +And talking of burning in (says the plate), didn’t you find that every +subject, from the willow pattern to the landscape after Turner—having +been framed upon clay or porcelain biscuit—has to be glazed? Of course, +you saw the glaze—composed of various vitreous materials—laid over every +article; and of course you witnessed the close imprisonment of each piece +in saggers upon the separate system rigidly enforced by means of +fine-pointed earthenware stilts placed between the articles to prevent +the slightest communication or contact. We had in my time—and I suppose +it is the same now—fourteen hours’ firing to fix the glaze and to make it +‘run’ all over us equally, so as to put a good shiny and unscratchable +surface upon us. Doubtless, you observed that one sort of glaze—called +printing-body—is burnt into the better sort of ware _before_ it is +printed. Upon this you saw some of the finest steel engravings +transferred, to be fixed by an after glazing—didn’t you? Why, of course +you did! + +Of course I did. I had seen and enjoyed everything that the plate +recalled to me, and had beheld with admiration how the rotatory motion +which keeps this ball of ours in its place in the great scheme, with all +its busy mites upon it, was necessary throughout the process, and could +only be dispensed with in the fire. So, listening to the plate’s +reminders, and musing upon them, I got through the evening after all, and +went to bed. I made but one sleep of it—for which I have no doubt I am +also indebted to the plate—and left the lonely Dodo in the morning, quite +at peace with it, before the bandy-legged baby was up. + + + + +OUR HONOURABLE FRIEND + + +WE are delighted to find that he has got in! Our honourable friend is +triumphantly returned to serve in the next Parliament. He is the +honourable member for Verbosity—the best represented place in England. + +Our honourable friend has issued an address of congratulation to the +Electors, which is worthy of that noble constituency, and is a very +pretty piece of composition. In electing him, he says, they have covered +themselves with glory, and England has been true to herself. (In his +preliminary address he had remarked, in a poetical quotation of great +rarity, that nought could make us rue, if England to herself did prove +but true.) + +Our honourable friend delivers a prediction, in the same document, that +the feeble minions of a faction will never hold up their heads any more; +and that the finger of scorn will point at them in their dejected state, +through countless ages of time. Further, that the hireling tools that +would destroy the sacred bulwarks of our nationality are unworthy of the +name of Englishman; and that so long as the sea shall roll around our +ocean-girded isle, so long his motto shall be, No surrender. Certain +dogged persons of low principles and no intellect, have disputed whether +anybody knows who the minions are, or what the faction is, or which are +the hireling tools and which the sacred bulwarks, or what it is that is +never to be surrendered, and if not, why not? But, our honourable friend +the member for Verbosity knows all about it. + +Our honourable friend has sat in several parliaments, and given bushels +of votes. He is a man of that profundity in the matter of vote-giving, +that you never know what he means. When he seems to be voting pure +white, he may be in reality voting jet black. When he says Yes, it is +just as likely as not—or rather more so—that he means No. This is the +statesmanship of our honourable friend. It is in this, that he differs +from mere unparliamentary men. You may not know what he meant then, or +what he means now; but, our honourable friend knows, and did from the +first know, both what he meant then, and what he means now; and when he +said he didn’t mean it then, he did in fact say, that he means it now. +And if you mean to say that you did not then, and do not now, know what +he did mean then, or does mean now, our honourable friend will be glad to +receive an explicit declaration from you whether you are prepared to +destroy the sacred bulwarks of our nationality. + +Our honourable friend, the member for Verbosity, has this great +attribute, that he always means something, and always means the same +thing. When he came down to that House and mournfully boasted in his +place, as an individual member of the assembled Commons of this great and +happy country, that he could lay his hand upon his heart, and solemnly +declare that no consideration on earth should induce him, at any time or +under any circumstances, to go as far north as Berwick-upon-Tweed; and +when he nevertheless, next year, did go to Berwick-upon-Tweed, and even +beyond it, to Edinburgh; he had one single meaning, one and indivisible. +And God forbid (our honourable friend says) that he should waste another +argument upon the man who professes that he cannot understand it! ‘I do +NOT, gentlemen,’ said our honourable friend, with indignant emphasis and +amid great cheering, on one such public occasion. ‘I do NOT, gentlemen, +I am free to confess, envy the feelings of that man whose mind is so +constituted as that he can hold such language to me, and yet lay his head +upon his pillow, claiming to be a native of that land, + + Whose march is o’er the mountain-wave, + Whose home is on the deep! + +(Vehement cheering, and man expelled.) + +When our honourable friend issued his preliminary address to the +constituent body of Verbosity on the occasion of one particular glorious +triumph, it was supposed by some of his enemies, that even he would be +placed in a situation of difficulty by the following comparatively +trifling conjunction of circumstances. The dozen noblemen and gentlemen +whom our honourable friend supported, had ‘come in,’ expressly to do a +certain thing. Now, four of the dozen said, at a certain place, that +they didn’t mean to do that thing, and had never meant to do it; another +four of the dozen said, at another certain place, that they did mean to +do that thing, and had always meant to do it; two of the remaining four +said, at two other certain places, that they meant to do half of that +thing (but differed about which half), and to do a variety of nameless +wonders instead of the other half; and one of the remaining two declared +that the thing itself was dead and buried, while the other as strenuously +protested that it was alive and kicking. It was admitted that the +parliamentary genius of our honourable friend would be quite able to +reconcile such small discrepancies as these; but, there remained the +additional difficulty that each of the twelve made entirely different +statements at different places, and that all the twelve called everything +visible and invisible, sacred and profane, to witness, that they were a +perfectly impregnable phalanx of unanimity. This, it was apprehended, +would be a stumbling-block to our honourable friend. + +The difficulty came before our honourable friend, in this way. He went +down to Verbosity to meet his free and independent constituents, and to +render an account (as he informed them in the local papers) of the trust +they had confided to his hands—that trust which it was one of the +proudest privileges of an Englishman to possess—that trust which it was +the proudest privilege of an Englishman to hold. It may be mentioned as +a proof of the great general interest attaching to the contest, that a +Lunatic whom nobody employed or knew, went down to Verbosity with several +thousand pounds in gold, determined to give the whole away—which he +actually did; and that all the publicans opened their houses for nothing. +Likewise, several fighting men, and a patriotic group of burglars +sportively armed with life-preservers, proceeded (in barouches and very +drunk) to the scene of action at their own expense; these children of +nature having conceived a warm attachment to our honourable friend, and +intending, in their artless manner, to testify it by knocking the voters +in the opposite interest on the head. + +Our honourable friend being come into the presence of his constituents, +and having professed with great suavity that he was delighted to see his +good friend Tipkisson there, in his working-dress—his good friend +Tipkisson being an inveterate saddler, who always opposes him, and for +whom he has a mortal hatred—made them a brisk, ginger-beery sort of +speech, in which he showed them how the dozen noblemen and gentlemen had +(in exactly ten days from their coming in) exercised a surprisingly +beneficial effect on the whole financial condition of Europe, had altered +the state of the exports and imports for the current half-year, had +prevented the drain of gold, had made all that matter right about the +glut of the raw material, and had restored all sorts of balances with +which the superseded noblemen and gentlemen had played the deuce—and all +this, with wheat at so much a quarter, gold at so much an ounce, and the +Bank of England discounting good bills at so much per cent.! He might be +asked, he observed in a peroration of great power, what were his +principles? His principles were what they always had been. His +principles were written in the countenances of the lion and unicorn; were +stamped indelibly upon the royal shield which those grand animals +supported, and upon the free words of fire which that shield bore. His +principles were, Britannia and her sea-king trident! His principles +were, commercial prosperity co-existently with perfect and profound +agricultural contentment; but short of this he would never stop. His +principles were, these,—with the addition of his colours nailed to the +mast, every man’s heart in the right place, every man’s eye open, every +man’s hand ready, every man’s mind on the alert. His principles were +these, concurrently with a general revision of something—speaking +generally—and a possible readjustment of something else, not to be +mentioned more particularly. His principles, to sum up all in a word, +were, Hearths and Altars, Labour and Capital, Crown and Sceptre, Elephant +and Castle. And now, if his good friend Tipkisson required any further +explanation from him, he (our honourable friend) was there, willing and +ready to give it. + +Tipkisson, who all this time had stood conspicuous in the crowd, with his +arms folded and his eyes intently fastened on our honourable friend: +Tipkisson, who throughout our honourable friend’s address had not relaxed +a muscle of his visage, but had stood there, wholly unaffected by the +torrent of eloquence: an object of contempt and scorn to mankind (by +which we mean, of course, to the supporters of our honourable friend); +Tipkisson now said that he was a plain man (Cries of ‘You are indeed!’), +and that what he wanted to know was, what our honourable friend and the +dozen noblemen and gentlemen were driving at? + +Our honourable friend immediately replied, ‘At the illimitable +perspective.’ + +It was considered by the whole assembly that this happy statement of our +honourable friend’s political views ought, immediately, to have settled +Tipkisson’s business and covered him with confusion; but, that implacable +person, regardless of the execrations that were heaped upon him from all +sides (by which we mean, of course, from our honourable friend’s side), +persisted in retaining an unmoved countenance, and obstinately retorted +that if our honourable friend meant that, he wished to know what _that_ +meant? + +It was in repelling this most objectionable and indecent opposition, that +our honourable friend displayed his highest qualifications for the +representation of Verbosity. His warmest supporters present, and those +who were best acquainted with his generalship, supposed that the moment +was come when he would fall back upon the sacred bulwarks of our +nationality. No such thing. He replied thus: ‘My good friend Tipkisson, +gentlemen, wishes to know what I mean when he asks me what we are driving +at, and when I candidly tell him, at the illimitable perspective, he +wishes (if I understand him) to know what I mean?’—‘I do!’ says +Tipkisson, amid cries of ‘Shame’ and ‘Down with him.’ ‘Gentlemen,’ says +our honourable friend, ‘I will indulge my good friend Tipkisson, by +telling him, both what I mean and what I don’t mean. (Cheers and cries +of ‘Give it him!’) Be it known to him then, and to all whom it may +concern, that I do mean altars, hearths, and homes, and that I don’t mean +mosques and Mohammedanism!’ The effect of this home-thrust was terrific. +Tipkisson (who is a Baptist) was hooted down and hustled out, and has +ever since been regarded as a Turkish Renegade who contemplates an early +pilgrimage to Mecca. Nor was he the only discomfited man. The charge, +while it stuck to him, was magically transferred to our honourable +friend’s opponent, who was represented in an immense variety of placards +as a firm believer in Mahomet; and the men of Verbosity were asked to +choose between our honourable friend and the Bible, and our honourable +friend’s opponent and the Koran. They decided for our honourable friend, +and rallied round the illimitable perspective. + +It has been claimed for our honourable friend, with much appearance of +reason, that he was the first to bend sacred matters to electioneering +tactics. However this may be, the fine precedent was undoubtedly set in +a Verbosity election: and it is certain that our honourable friend (who +was a disciple of Brahma in his youth, and was a Buddhist when we had the +honour of travelling with him a few years ago) always professes in public +more anxiety than the whole Bench of Bishops, regarding the theological +and doxological opinions of every man, woman, and child, in the United +Kingdom. + +As we began by saying that our honourable friend has got in again at this +last election, and that we are delighted to find that he has got in, so +we will conclude. Our honourable friend cannot come in for Verbosity too +often. It is a good sign; it is a great example. It is to men like our +honourable friend, and to contests like those from which he comes +triumphant, that we are mainly indebted for that ready interest in +politics, that fresh enthusiasm in the discharge of the duties of +citizenship, that ardent desire to rush to the poll, at present so +manifest throughout England. When the contest lies (as it sometimes +does) between two such men as our honourable friend, it stimulates the +finest emotions of our nature, and awakens the highest admiration of +which our heads and hearts are capable. + +It is not too much to predict that our honourable friend will be always +at his post in the ensuing session. Whatever the question be, or +whatever the form of its discussion; address to the crown, election +petition, expenditure of the public money, extension of the public +suffrage, education, crime; in the whole house, in committee of the whole +house, in select committee; in every parliamentary discussion of every +subject, everywhere: the Honourable Member for Verbosity will most +certainly be found. + + + + +OUR SCHOOL + + +WE went to look at it, only this last Midsummer, and found that the +Railway had cut it up root and branch. A great trunk-line had swallowed +the playground, sliced away the schoolroom, and pared off the corner of +the house: which, thus curtailed of its proportions, presented itself, in +a green stage of stucco, profilewise towards the road, like a forlorn +flat-iron without a handle, standing on end. + +It seems as if our schools were doomed to be the sport of change. We +have faint recollections of a Preparatory Day-School, which we have +sought in vain, and which must have been pulled down to make a new +street, ages ago. We have dim impressions, scarcely amounting to a +belief, that it was over a dyer’s shop. We know that you went up steps +to it; that you frequently grazed your knees in doing so; that you +generally got your leg over the scraper, in trying to scrape the mud off +a very unsteady little shoe. The mistress of the Establishment holds no +place in our memory; but, rampant on one eternal door-mat, in an eternal +entry long and narrow, is a puffy pug-dog, with a personal animosity +towards us, who triumphs over Time. The bark of that baleful Pug, a +certain radiating way he had of snapping at our undefended legs, the +ghastly grinning of his moist black muzzle and white teeth, and the +insolence of his crisp tail curled like a pastoral crook, all live and +flourish. From an otherwise unaccountable association of him with a +fiddle, we conclude that he was of French extraction, and his name +_Fidèle_. He belonged to some female, chiefly inhabiting a back-parlour, +whose life appears to us to have been consumed in sniffing, and in +wearing a brown beaver bonnet. For her, he would sit up and balance cake +upon his nose, and not eat it until twenty had been counted. To the best +of our belief we were once called in to witness this performance; when, +unable, even in his milder moments, to endure our presence, he instantly +made at us, cake and all. + +Why a something in mourning, called ‘Miss Frost,’ should still connect +itself with our preparatory school, we are unable to say. We retain no +impression of the beauty of Miss Frost—if she were beautiful; or of the +mental fascinations of Miss Frost—if she were accomplished; yet her name +and her black dress hold an enduring place in our remembrance. An +equally impersonal boy, whose name has long since shaped itself +unalterably into ‘Master Mawls,’ is not to be dislodged from our brain. +Retaining no vindictive feeling towards Mawls—no feeling whatever, +indeed—we infer that neither he nor we can have loved Miss Frost. Our +first impression of Death and Burial is associated with this formless +pair. We all three nestled awfully in a corner one wintry day, when the +wind was blowing shrill, with Miss Frost’s pinafore over our heads; and +Miss Frost told us in a whisper about somebody being ‘screwed down.’ It +is the only distinct recollection we preserve of these impalpable +creatures, except a suspicion that the manners of Master Mawls were +susceptible of much improvement. Generally speaking, we may observe that +whenever we see a child intently occupied with its nose, to the exclusion +of all other subjects of interest, our mind reverts, in a flash, to +Master Mawls. + +But, the School that was Our School before the Railroad came and +overthrew it, was quite another sort of place. We were old enough to be +put into Virgil when we went there, and to get Prizes for a variety of +polishing on which the rust has long accumulated. It was a School of +some celebrity in its neighbourhood—nobody could have said why—and we had +the honour to attain and hold the eminent position of first boy. The +master was supposed among us to know nothing, and one of the ushers was +supposed to know everything. We are still inclined to think the +first-named supposition perfectly correct. + +We have a general idea that its subject had been in the leather trade, +and had bought us—meaning Our School—of another proprietor who was +immensely learned. Whether this belief had any real foundation, we are +not likely ever to know now. The only branches of education with which +he showed the least acquaintance, were, ruling and corporally punishing. +He was always ruling ciphering-books with a bloated mahogany ruler, or +smiting the palms of offenders with the same diabolical instrument, or +viciously drawing a pair of pantaloons tight with one of his large hands, +and caning the wearer with the other. We have no doubt whatever that +this occupation was the principal solace of his existence. + +A profound respect for money pervaded Our School, which was, of course, +derived from its Chief. We remember an idiotic goggle-eyed boy, with a +big head and half-crowns without end, who suddenly appeared as a +parlour-boarder, and was rumoured to have come by sea from some +mysterious part of the earth where his parents rolled in gold. He was +usually called ‘Mr.’ by the Chief, and was said to feed in the parlour on +steaks and gravy; likewise to drink currant wine. And he openly stated +that if rolls and coffee were ever denied him at breakfast, he would +write home to that unknown part of the globe from which he had come, and +cause himself to be recalled to the regions of gold. He was put into no +form or class, but learnt alone, as little as he liked—and he liked very +little—and there was a belief among us that this was because he was too +wealthy to be ‘taken down.’ His special treatment, and our vague +association of him with the sea, and with storms, and sharks, and Coral +Reefs occasioned the wildest legends to be circulated as his history. A +tragedy in blank verse was written on the subject—if our memory does not +deceive us, by the hand that now chronicles these recollections—in which +his father figured as a Pirate, and was shot for a voluminous catalogue +of atrocities: first imparting to his wife the secret of the cave in +which his wealth was stored, and from which his only son’s half-crowns +now issued. Dumbledon (the boy’s name) was represented as ‘yet unborn’ +when his brave father met his fate; and the despair and grief of Mrs. +Dumbledon at that calamity was movingly shadowed forth as having weakened +the parlour-boarder’s mind. This production was received with great +favour, and was twice performed with closed doors in the dining-room. +But, it got wind, and was seized as libellous, and brought the unlucky +poet into severe affliction. Some two years afterwards, all of a sudden +one day, Dumbledon vanished. It was whispered that the Chief himself had +taken him down to the Docks, and re-shipped him for the Spanish Main; but +nothing certain was ever known about his disappearance. At this hour, we +cannot thoroughly disconnect him from California. + +Our School was rather famous for mysterious pupils. There was another—a +heavy young man, with a large double-cased silver watch, and a fat knife +the handle of which was a perfect tool-box—who unaccountably appeared one +day at a special desk of his own, erected close to that of the Chief, +with whom he held familiar converse. He lived in the parlour, and went +out for his walks, and never took the least notice of us—even of us, the +first boy—unless to give us a deprecatory kick, or grimly to take our hat +off and throw it away, when he encountered us out of doors, which +unpleasant ceremony he always performed as he passed—not even +condescending to stop for the purpose. Some of us believed that the +classical attainments of this phenomenon were terrific, but that his +penmanship and arithmetic were defective, and he had come there to mend +them; others, that he was going to set up a school, and had paid the +Chief ‘twenty-five pound down,’ for leave to see Our School at work. The +gloomier spirits even said that he was going to buy us; against which +contingency, conspiracies were set on foot for a general defection and +running away. However, he never did that. After staying for a quarter, +during which period, though closely observed, he was never seen to do +anything but make pens out of quills, write small hand in a secret +portfolio, and punch the point of the sharpest blade in his knife into +his desk all over it, he too disappeared, and his place knew him no more. + +There was another boy, a fair, meek boy, with a delicate complexion and +rich curling hair, who, we found out, or thought we found out (we have no +idea now, and probably had none then, on what grounds, but it was +confidentially revealed from mouth to mouth), was the son of a Viscount +who had deserted his lovely mother. It was understood that if he had his +rights, he would be worth twenty thousand a year. And that if his mother +ever met his father, she would shoot him with a silver pistol, which she +carried, always loaded to the muzzle, for that purpose. He was a very +suggestive topic. So was a young Mulatto, who was always believed +(though very amiable) to have a dagger about him somewhere. But, we +think they were both outshone, upon the whole, by another boy who claimed +to have been born on the twenty-ninth of February, and to have only one +birthday in five years. We suspect this to have been a fiction—but he +lived upon it all the time he was at Our School. + +The principal currency of Our School was slate pencil. It had some +inexplicable value, that was never ascertained, never reduced to a +standard. To have a great hoard of it was somehow to be rich. We used +to bestow it in charity, and confer it as a precious boon upon our chosen +friends. When the holidays were coming, contributions were solicited for +certain boys whose relatives were in India, and who were appealed for +under the generic name of ‘Holiday-stoppers,’—appropriate marks of +remembrance that should enliven and cheer them in their homeless state. +Personally, we always contributed these tokens of sympathy in the form of +slate pencil, and always felt that it would be a comfort and a treasure +to them. + +Our School was remarkable for white mice. Red-polls, linnets, and even +canaries, were kept in desks, drawers, hat-boxes, and other strange +refuges for birds; but white mice were the favourite stock. The boys +trained the mice, much better than the masters trained the boys. We +recall one white mouse, who lived in the cover of a Latin dictionary, who +ran up ladders, drew Roman chariots, shouldered muskets, turned wheels, +and even made a very creditable appearance on the stage as the Dog of +Montargis. He might have achieved greater things, but for having the +misfortune to mistake his way in a triumphal procession to the Capitol, +when he fell into a deep inkstand, and was dyed black and drowned. The +mice were the occasion of some most ingenious engineering, in the +construction of their houses and instruments of performance. The famous +one belonged to a company of proprietors, some of whom have since made +Railroads, Engines, and Telegraphs; the chairman has erected mills and +bridges in New Zealand. + +The usher at Our School, who was considered to know everything as opposed +to the Chief, who was considered to know nothing, was a bony, +gentle-faced, clerical-looking young man in rusty black. It was +whispered that he was sweet upon one of Maxby’s sisters (Maxby lived +close by, and was a day pupil), and further that he ‘favoured Maxby.’ As +we remember, he taught Italian to Maxby’s sisters on half-holidays. He +once went to the play with them, and wore a white waistcoat and a rose: +which was considered among us equivalent to a declaration. We were of +opinion on that occasion, that to the last moment he expected Maxby’s +father to ask him to dinner at five o’clock, and therefore neglected his +own dinner at half-past one, and finally got none. We exaggerated in our +imaginations the extent to which he punished Maxby’s father’s cold meat +at supper; and we agreed to believe that he was elevated with wine and +water when he came home. But, we all liked him; for he had a good +knowledge of boys, and would have made it a much better school if he had +had more power. He was writing master, mathematical master, English +master, made out the bills, mended the pens, and did all sorts of things. +He divided the little boys with the Latin master (they were smuggled +through their rudimentary books, at odd times when there was nothing else +to do), and he always called at parents’ houses to inquire after sick +boys, because he had gentlemanly manners. He was rather musical, and on +some remote quarter-day had bought an old trombone; but a bit of it was +lost, and it made the most extraordinary sounds when he sometimes tried +to play it of an evening. His holidays never began (on account of the +bills) until long after ours; but, in the summer vacations he used to +take pedestrian excursions with a knapsack; and at Christmas time, he +went to see his father at Chipping Norton, who we all said (on no +authority) was a dairy-fed pork-butcher. Poor fellow! He was very low +all day on Maxby’s sister’s wedding-day, and afterwards was thought to +favour Maxby more than ever, though he had been expected to spite him. +He has been dead these twenty years. Poor fellow! + +Our remembrance of Our School, presents the Latin master as a colourless +doubled-up near-sighted man with a crutch, who was always cold, and +always putting onions into his ears for deafness, and always disclosing +ends of flannel under all his garments, and almost always applying a ball +of pocket-handkerchief to some part of his face with a screwing action +round and round. He was a very good scholar, and took great pains where +he saw intelligence and a desire to learn: otherwise, perhaps not. Our +memory presents him (unless teased into a passion) with as little energy +as colour—as having been worried and tormented into monotonous +feebleness—as having had the best part of his life ground out of him in a +Mill of boys. We remember with terror how he fell asleep one sultry +afternoon with the little smuggled class before him, and awoke not when +the footstep of the Chief fell heavy on the floor; how the Chief aroused +him, in the midst of a dread silence, and said, ‘Mr. Blinkins, are you +ill, sir?’ how he blushingly replied, ‘Sir, rather so;’ how the Chief +retorted with severity, ‘Mr. Blinkins, this is no place to be ill in’ +(which was very, very true), and walked back solemn as the ghost in +Hamlet, until, catching a wandering eye, he called that boy for +inattention, and happily expressed his feelings towards the Latin master +through the medium of a substitute. + +There was a fat little dancing-master who used to come in a gig, and +taught the more advanced among us hornpipes (as an accomplishment in +great social demand in after life); and there was a brisk little French +master who used to come in the sunniest weather, with a handleless +umbrella, and to whom the Chief was always polite, because (as we +believed), if the Chief offended him, he would instantly address the +Chief in French, and for ever confound him before the boys with his +inability to understand or reply. + +There was besides, a serving man, whose name was Phil. Our retrospective +glance presents Phil as a shipwrecked carpenter, cast away upon the +desert island of a school, and carrying into practice an ingenious +inkling of many trades. He mended whatever was broken, and made whatever +was wanted. He was general glazier, among other things, and mended all +the broken windows—at the prime cost (as was darkly rumoured among us) of +ninepence, for every square charged three-and-six to parents. We had a +high opinion of his mechanical genius, and generally held that the Chief +‘knew something bad of him,’ and on pain of divulgence enforced Phil to +be his bondsman. We particularly remember that Phil had a sovereign +contempt for learning: which engenders in us a respect for his sagacity, +as it implies his accurate observation of the relative positions of the +Chief and the ushers. He was an impenetrable man, who waited at table +between whiles, and throughout ‘the half’ kept the boxes in severe +custody. He was morose, even to the Chief, and never smiled, except at +breaking-up, when, in acknowledgment of the toast, ‘Success to Phil! +Hooray!’ he would slowly carve a grin out of his wooden face, where it +would remain until we were all gone. Nevertheless, one time when we had +the scarlet fever in the school, Phil nursed all the sick boys of his own +accord, and was like a mother to them. + +There was another school not far off, and of course Our School could have +nothing to say to that school. It is mostly the way with schools, +whether of boys or men. Well! the railway has swallowed up ours, and the +locomotives now run smoothly over its ashes. + + So fades and languishes, grows dim and dies, + All that this world is proud of, + +- and is not proud of, too. It had little reason to be proud of Our +School, and has done much better since in that way, and will do far +better yet. + + + + +OUR VESTRY + + +WE have the glorious privilege of being always in hot water if we like. +We are a shareholder in a Great Parochial British Joint Stock Bank of +Balderdash. We have a Vestry in our borough, and can vote for a +vestryman—might even _be_ a vestryman, mayhap, if we were inspired by a +lofty and noble ambition. Which we are not. + +Our Vestry is a deliberative assembly of the utmost dignity and +importance. Like the Senate of ancient Rome, its awful gravity +overpowers (or ought to overpower) barbarian visitors. It sits in the +Capitol (we mean in the capital building erected for it), chiefly on +Saturdays, and shakes the earth to its centre with the echoes of its +thundering eloquence, in a Sunday paper. + +To get into this Vestry in the eminent capacity of Vestryman, gigantic +efforts are made, and Herculean exertions used. It is made manifest to +the dullest capacity at every election, that if we reject Snozzle we are +done for, and that if we fail to bring in Blunderbooze at the top of the +poll, we are unworthy of the dearest rights of Britons. Flaming placards +are rife on all the dead walls in the borough, public-houses hang out +banners, hackney-cabs burst into full-grown flowers of type, and +everybody is, or should be, in a paroxysm of anxiety. + +At these momentous crises of the national fate, we are much assisted in +our deliberations by two eminent volunteers; one of whom subscribes +himself A Fellow Parishioner, the other, A Rate-Payer. Who they are, or +what they are, or where they are, nobody knows; but, whatever one +asserts, the other contradicts. They are both voluminous writers, +indicting more epistles than Lord Chesterfield in a single week; and the +greater part of their feelings are too big for utterance in anything less +than capital letters. They require the additional aid of whole rows of +notes of admiration, like balloons, to point their generous indignation; +and they sometimes communicate a crushing severity to stars. As thus: + + MEN OF MOONEYMOUNT. + + Is it, or is it not, a * * * to saddle the parish with a debt of + £2,745 6_s._ 9_d._, yet claim to be a RIGID ECONOMIST? + + Is it, or is it not, a * * * to state as a fact what is proved to be + _both a moral and a_ PHYSICAL IMPOSSIBILITY? + + Is it, or is it not, a * * * to call £2,745 6_s._ 9_d._ nothing; and + nothing, something? + + Do you, or do you _not_ want a * * * TO REPRESENT YOU IN THE VESTRY? + + Your consideration of these questions is recommended to you by + + A FELLOW PARISHIONER. + +It was to this important public document that one of our first orators, +MR. MAGG (of Little Winkling Street), adverted, when he opened the great +debate of the fourteenth of November by saying, ‘Sir, I hold in my hand +an anonymous slander’—and when the interruption, with which he was at +that point assailed by the opposite faction, gave rise to that memorable +discussion on a point of order which will ever be remembered with +interest by constitutional assemblies. In the animated debate to which +we refer, no fewer than thirty-seven gentlemen, many of them of great +eminence, including MR. WIGSBY (of Chumbledon Square), were seen upon +their legs at one time; and it was on the same great occasion that +DOGGINSON—regarded in our Vestry as ‘a regular John Bull:’ we believe, in +consequence of his having always made up his mind on every subject +without knowing anything about it—informed another gentleman of similar +principles on the opposite side, that if he ‘cheek’d him,’ he would +resort to the extreme measure of knocking his blessed head off. + +This was a great occasion. But, our Vestry shines habitually. In +asserting its own pre-eminence, for instance, it is very strong. On the +least provocation, or on none, it will be clamorous to know whether it is +to be ‘dictated to,’ or ‘trampled on,’ or ‘ridden over rough-shod.’ Its +great watchword is Self-government. That is to say, supposing our Vestry +to favour any little harmless disorder like Typhus Fever, and supposing +the Government of the country to be, by any accident, in such ridiculous +hands, as that any of its authorities should consider it a duty to object +to Typhus Fever—obviously an unconstitutional objection—then, our Vestry +cuts in with a terrible manifesto about Self-government, and claims its +independent right to have as much Typhus Fever as pleases itself. Some +absurd and dangerous persons have represented, on the other hand, that +though our Vestry may be able to ‘beat the bounds’ of its own parish, it +may not be able to beat the bounds of its own diseases; which (say they) +spread over the whole land, in an ever expanding circle of waste, and +misery, and death, and widowhood, and orphanage, and desolation. But, +our Vestry makes short work of any such fellows as these. + +It was our Vestry—pink of Vestries as it is—that in support of its +favourite principle took the celebrated ground of denying the existence +of the last pestilence that raged in England, when the pestilence was +raging at the Vestry doors. Dogginson said it was plums; Mr. Wigsby (of +Chumbledon Square) said it was oysters; Mr. Magg (of Little Winkling +Street) said, amid great cheering, it was the newspapers. The noble +indignation of our Vestry with that un-English institution the Board of +Health, under those circumstances, yields one of the finest passages in +its history. It wouldn’t hear of rescue. Like Mr. Joseph Miller’s +Frenchman, it would be drowned and nobody should save it. Transported +beyond grammar by its kindled ire, it spoke in unknown tongues, and +vented unintelligible bellowings, more like an ancient oracle than the +modern oracle it is admitted on all hands to be. Rare exigencies produce +rare things; and even our Vestry, new hatched to the woful time, came +forth a greater goose than ever. + +But this, again, was a special occasion. Our Vestry, at more ordinary +periods, demands its meed of praise. + +Our Vestry is eminently parliamentary. Playing at Parliament is its +favourite game. It is even regarded by some of its members as a chapel +of ease to the House of Commons: a Little Go to be passed first. It has +its strangers’ gallery, and its reported debates (see the Sunday paper +before mentioned), and our Vestrymen are in and out of order, and on and +off their legs, and above all are transcendently quarrelsome, after the +pattern of the real original. + +Our Vestry being assembled, Mr. Magg never begs to trouble Mr. Wigsby +with a simple inquiry. He knows better than that. Seeing the honourable +gentleman, associated in their minds with Chumbledon Square, in his +place, he wishes to ask that honourable gentleman what the intentions of +himself, and those with whom he acts, may be, on the subject of the +paving of the district known as Piggleum Buildings? Mr. Wigsby replies +(with his eye on next Sunday’s paper) that in reference to the question +which has been put to him by the honourable gentleman opposite, he must +take leave to say, that if that honourable gentleman had had the courtesy +to give him notice of that question, he (Mr. Wigsby) would have consulted +with his colleagues in reference to the advisability, in the present +state of the discussions on the new paving-rate, of answering that +question. But, as the honourable gentleman has NOT had the courtesy to +give him notice of that question (great cheering from the Wigsby +interest), he must decline to give the honourable gentleman the +satisfaction he requires. Mr. Magg, instantly rising to retort, is +received with loud cries of ‘Spoke!’ from the Wigsby interest, and with +cheers from the Magg side of the house. Moreover, five gentlemen rise to +order, and one of them, in revenge for being taken no notice of, +petrifies the assembly by moving that this Vestry do now adjourn; but, is +persuaded to withdraw that awful proposal, in consideration of its +tremendous consequences if persevered in. Mr. Magg, for the purpose of +being heard, then begs to move, that you, sir, do now pass to the order +of the day; and takes that opportunity of saying, that if an honourable +gentleman whom he has in his eye, and will not demean himself by more +particularly naming (oh, oh, and cheers), supposes that he is to be put +down by clamour, that honourable gentleman—however supported he may be, +through thick and thin, by a Fellow Parishioner, with whom he is well +acquainted (cheers and counter-cheers, Mr. Magg being invariably backed +by the Rate-Payer)—will find himself mistaken. Upon this, twenty members +of our Vestry speak in succession concerning what the two great men have +meant, until it appears, after an hour and twenty minutes, that neither +of them meant anything. Then our Vestry begins business. + +We have said that, after the pattern of the real original, our Vestry in +playing at Parliament is transcendently quarrelsome. It enjoys a +personal altercation above all things. Perhaps the most redoubtable case +of this kind we have ever had—though we have had so many that it is +difficult to decide—was that on which the last extreme solemnities passed +between Mr. Tiddypot (of Gumption House) and Captain Banger (of +Wilderness Walk). + +In an adjourned debate on the question whether water could be regarded in +the light of a necessary of life; respecting which there were great +differences of opinion, and many shades of sentiment; Mr. Tiddypot, in a +powerful burst of eloquence against that hypothesis, frequently made use +of the expression that such and such a rumour had ‘reached his ears.’ +Captain Banger, following him, and holding that, for purposes of ablution +and refreshment, a pint of water per diem was necessary for every adult +of the lower classes, and half a pint for every child, cast ridicule upon +his address in a sparkling speech, and concluded by saying that instead +of those rumours having reached the ears of the honourable gentleman, he +rather thought the honourable gentleman’s ears must have reached the +rumours, in consequence of their well-known length. Mr. Tiddypot +immediately rose, looked the honourable and gallant gentleman full in the +face, and left the Vestry. + +The excitement, at this moment painfully intense, was heightened to an +acute degree when Captain Banger rose, and also left the Vestry. After a +few moments of profound silence—one of those breathless pauses never to +be forgotten—Mr. Chib (of Tucket’s Terrace, and the father of the Vestry) +rose. He said that words and looks had passed in that assembly, replete +with consequences which every feeling mind must deplore. Time pressed. +The sword was drawn, and while he spoke the scabbard might be thrown +away. He moved that those honourable gentlemen who had left the Vestry +be recalled, and required to pledge themselves upon their honour that +this affair should go no farther. The motion being by a general union of +parties unanimously agreed to (for everybody wanted to have the +belligerents there, instead of out of sight: which was no fun at all), +Mr. Magg was deputed to recover Captain Banger, and Mr. Chib himself to +go in search of Mr. Tiddypot. The Captain was found in a conspicuous +position, surveying the passing omnibuses from the top step of the +front-door immediately adjoining the beadle’s box; Mr. Tiddypot made a +desperate attempt at resistance, but was overpowered by Mr. Chib (a +remarkably hale old gentleman of eighty-two), and brought back in safety. + +Mr. Tiddypot and the Captain being restored to their places, and glaring +on each other, were called upon by the chair to abandon all homicidal +intentions, and give the Vestry an assurance that they did so. Mr. +Tiddypot remained profoundly silent. The Captain likewise remained +profoundly silent, saying that he was observed by those around him to +fold his arms like Napoleon Buonaparte, and to snort in his +breathing—actions but too expressive of gunpowder. + +The most intense emotion now prevailed. Several members clustered in +remonstrance round the Captain, and several round Mr. Tiddypot; but, both +were obdurate. Mr. Chib then presented himself amid tremendous cheering, +and said, that not to shrink from the discharge of his painful duty, he +must now move that both honourable gentlemen be taken into custody by the +beadle, and conveyed to the nearest police-office, there to be held to +bail. The union of parties still continuing, the motion was seconded by +Mr. Wigsby—on all usual occasions Mr. Chib’s opponent—and rapturously +carried with only one dissentient voice. This was Dogginson’s, who said +from his place ‘Let ’em fight it out with fistes;’ but whose coarse +remark was received as it merited. + +The beadle now advanced along the floor of the Vestry, and beckoned with +his cocked hat to both members. Every breath was suspended. To say that +a pin might have been heard to fall, would be feebly to express the +all-absorbing interest and silence. Suddenly, enthusiastic cheering +broke out from every side of the Vestry. Captain Banger had risen—being, +in fact, pulled up by a friend on either side, and poked up by a friend +behind. + +The Captain said, in a deep determined voice, that he had every respect +for that Vestry and every respect for that chair; that he also respected +the honourable gentleman of Gumpton House; but, that he respected his +honour more. Hereupon the Captain sat down, leaving the whole Vestry +much affected. Mr. Tiddypot instantly rose, and was received with the +same encouragement. He likewise said—and the exquisite art of this +orator communicated to the observation an air of freshness and +novelty—that he too had every respect for that Vestry; that he too had +every respect for that chair. That he too respected the honourable and +gallant gentleman of Wilderness Walk; but, that he too respected his +honour more. ‘Hows’ever,’ added the distinguished Vestryman, ‘if the +honourable and gallant gentleman’s honour is never more doubted and +damaged than it is by me, he’s all right.’ Captain Banger immediately +started up again, and said that after those observations, involving as +they did ample concession to his honour without compromising the honour +of the honourable gentleman, he would be wanting in honour as well as in +generosity, if he did not at once repudiate all intention of wounding the +honour of the honourable gentleman, or saying anything dishonourable to +his honourable feelings. These observations were repeatedly interrupted +by bursts of cheers. Mr. Tiddypot retorted that he well knew the spirit +of honour by which the honourable and gallant gentleman was so honourably +animated, and that he accepted an honourable explanation, offered in a +way that did him honour; but, he trusted that the Vestry would consider +that his (Mr. Tiddypot’s) honour had imperatively demanded of him that +painful course which he had felt it due to his honour to adopt. The +Captain and Mr. Tiddypot then touched their hats to one another across +the Vestry, a great many times, and it is thought that these proceedings +(reported to the extent of several columns in next Sunday’s paper) will +bring them in as church-wardens next year. + +All this was strictly after the pattern of the real original, and so are +the whole of our Vestry’s proceedings. In all their debates, they are +laudably imitative of the windy and wordy slang of the real original, and +of nothing that is better in it. They have head-strong party +animosities, without any reference to the merits of questions; they tack +a surprising amount of debate to a very little business; they set more +store by forms than they do by substances:—all very like the real +original! It has been doubted in our borough, whether our Vestry is of +any utility; but our own conclusion is, that it is of the use to the +Borough that a diminishing mirror is to a painter, as enabling it to +perceive in a small focus of absurdity all the surface defects of the +real original. + + + + +OUR BORE + + +IT is unnecessary to say that we keep a bore. Everybody does. But, the +bore whom we have the pleasure and honour of enumerating among our +particular friends, is such a generic bore, and has so many traits (as it +appears to us) in common with the great bore family, that we are tempted +to make him the subject of the present notes. May he be generally +accepted! + +Our bore is admitted on all hands to be a good-hearted man. He may put +fifty people out of temper, but he keeps his own. He preserves a sickly +solid smile upon his face, when other faces are ruffled by the perfection +he has attained in his art, and has an equable voice which never travels +out of one key or rises above one pitch. His manner is a manner of +tranquil interest. None of his opinions are startling. Among his +deepest-rooted convictions, it may be mentioned that he considers the air +of England damp, and holds that our lively neighbours—he always calls the +French our lively neighbours—have the advantage of us in that particular. +Nevertheless he is unable to forget that John Bull is John Bull all the +world over, and that England with all her faults is England still. + +Our bore has travelled. He could not possibly be a complete bore without +having travelled. He rarely speaks of his travels without introducing, +sometimes on his own plan of construction, morsels of the language of the +country—which he always translates. You cannot name to him any little +remote town in France, Italy, Germany, or Switzerland but he knows it +well; stayed there a fortnight under peculiar circumstances. And talking +of that little place, perhaps you know a statue over an old fountain, up +a little court, which is the second—no, the third—stay—yes, the third +turning on the right, after you come out of the Post-house, going up the +hill towards the market? You _don’t_ know that statue? Nor that +fountain? You surprise him! They are not usually seen by travellers +(most extraordinary, he has never yet met with a single traveller who +knew them, except one German, the most intelligent man he ever met in his +life!) but he thought that YOU would have been the man to find them out. +And then he describes them, in a circumstantial lecture half an hour +long, generally delivered behind a door which is constantly being opened +from the other side; and implores you, if you ever revisit that place, +now do go and look at that statue and fountain! + +Our bore, in a similar manner, being in Italy, made a discovery of a +dreadful picture, which has been the terror of a large portion of the +civilized world ever since. We have seen the liveliest men paralysed by +it, across a broad dining-table. He was lounging among the mountains, +sir, basking in the mellow influences of the climate, when he came to +_una piccola chiesa_—a little church—or perhaps it would be more correct +to say _una piccolissima cappella_—the smallest chapel you can possibly +imagine—and walked in. There was nobody inside but a _cieco_—a blind +man—saying his prayers, and a _vecchio padre_—old friar-rattling a +money-box. But, above the head of that friar, and immediately to the +right of the altar as you enter—to the right of the altar? No. To the +left of the altar as you enter—or say near the centre—there hung a +painting (subject, Virgin and Child) so divine in its expression, so pure +and yet so warm and rich in its tone, so fresh in its touch, at once so +glowing in its colour and so statuesque in its repose, that our bore +cried out in ecstasy, ‘That’s the finest picture in Italy!’ And so it +is, sir. There is no doubt of it. It is astonishing that that picture +is so little known. Even the painter is uncertain. He afterwards took +Blumb, of the Royal Academy (it is to be observed that our bore takes +none but eminent people to see sights, and that none but eminent people +take our bore), and you never saw a man so affected in your life as Blumb +was. He cried like a child! And then our bore begins his description in +detail—for all this is introductory—and strangles his hearers with the +folds of the purple drapery. + +By an equally fortunate conjunction of accidental circumstances, it +happened that when our bore was in Switzerland, he discovered a Valley, +of that superb character, that Chamouni is not to be mentioned in the +same breath with it. This is how it was, sir. He was travelling on a +mule—had been in the saddle some days—when, as he and the guide, Pierre +Blanquo: whom you may know, perhaps?—our bore is sorry you don’t, because +he’s the only guide deserving of the name—as he and Pierre were +descending, towards evening, among those everlasting snows, to the little +village of La Croix, our bore observed a mountain track turning off +sharply to the right. At first he was uncertain whether it _was_ a track +at all, and in fact, he said to Pierre, ‘_Qu’est que c’est donc_, _mon +ami_?—What is that, my friend? ‘_Où_, _monsieur_?’ said Pierre—‘Where, +sir?’ ‘_Là_!—there!’ said our bore. ‘_Monsieur_, _ce n’est rien de +tout_—sir, it’s nothing at all,’ said Pierre. ‘_Allons_!—Make haste. +_Il va neiget_—it’s going to snow!’ But, our bore was not to be done in +that way, and he firmly replied, ‘I wish to go in that direction—_je veux +y aller_. I am bent upon it—_je suis déterminé_. _En avant_!—go ahead!’ +In consequence of which firmness on our bore’s part, they proceeded, sir, +during two hours of evening, and three of moonlight (they waited in a +cavern till the moon was up), along the slenderest track, overhanging +perpendicularly the most awful gulfs, until they arrived, by a winding +descent, in a valley that possibly, and he may say probably, was never +visited by any stranger before. What a valley! Mountains piled on +mountains, avalanches stemmed by pine forests; waterfalls, chalets, +mountain-torrents, wooden bridges, every conceivable picture of Swiss +scenery! The whole village turned out to receive our bore. The peasant +girls kissed him, the men shook hands with him, one old lady of +benevolent appearance wept upon his breast. He was conducted, in a +primitive triumph, to the little inn: where he was taken ill next +morning, and lay for six weeks, attended by the amiable hostess (the same +benevolent old lady who had wept over night) and her charming daughter, +Fanchette. It is nothing to say that they were attentive to him; they +doted on him. They called him in their simple way, _l’Ange Anglais_—the +English Angel. When our bore left the valley, there was not a dry eye in +the place; some of the people attended him for miles. He begs and +entreats of you as a personal favour, that if you ever go to Switzerland +again (you have mentioned that your last visit was your twenty-third), +you will go to that valley, and see Swiss scenery for the first time. +And if you want really to know the pastoral people of Switzerland, and to +understand them, mention, in that valley, our bore’s name! + +Our bore has a crushing brother in the East, who, somehow or other, was +admitted to smoke pipes with Mehemet Ali, and instantly became an +authority on the whole range of Eastern matters, from Haroun Alraschid to +the present Sultan. He is in the habit of expressing mysterious opinions +on this wide range of subjects, but on questions of foreign policy more +particularly, to our bore, in letters; and our bore is continually +sending bits of these letters to the newspapers (which they never +insert), and carrying other bits about in his pocket-book. It is even +whispered that he has been seen at the Foreign Office, receiving great +consideration from the messengers, and having his card promptly borne +into the sanctuary of the temple. The havoc committed in society by this +Eastern brother is beyond belief. Our bore is always ready with him. We +have known our bore to fall upon an intelligent young sojourner in the +wilderness, in the first sentence of a narrative, and beat all confidence +out of him with one blow of his brother. He became omniscient, as to +foreign policy, in the smoking of those pipes with Mehemet Ali. The +balance of power in Europe, the machinations of the Jesuits, the gentle +and humanising influence of Austria, the position and prospects of that +hero of the noble soul who is worshipped by happy France, are all easy +reading to our bore’s brother. And our bore is so provokingly +self-denying about him! ‘I don’t pretend to more than a very general +knowledge of these subjects myself,’ says he, after enervating the +intellects of several strong men, ‘but these are my brother’s opinions, +and I believe he is known to be well-informed.’ + +The commonest incidents and places would appear to have been made +special, expressly for our bore. Ask him whether he ever chanced to +walk, between seven and eight in the morning, down St. James’s Street, +London, and he will tell you, never in his life but once. But, it’s +curious that that once was in eighteen thirty; and that as our bore was +walking down the street you have just mentioned, at the hour you have +just mentioned—half-past seven—or twenty minutes to eight. No! Let him +be correct!—exactly a quarter before eight by the palace clock—he met a +fresh-coloured, grey-haired, good-humoured looking gentleman, with a +brown umbrella, who, as he passed him, touched his hat and said, ‘Fine +morning, sir, fine morning!’—William the Fourth! + +Ask our bore whether he has seen Mr. Barry’s new Houses of Parliament, +and he will reply that he has not yet inspected them minutely, but, that +you remind him that it was his singular fortune to be the last man to see +the old Houses of Parliament before the fire broke out. It happened in +this way. Poor John Spine, the celebrated novelist, had taken him over +to South Lambeth to read to him the last few chapters of what was +certainly his best book—as our bore told him at the time, adding, ‘Now, +my dear John, touch it, and you’ll spoil it!’—and our bore was going back +to the club by way of Millbank and Parliament Street, when he stopped to +think of Canning, and look at the Houses of Parliament. Now, you know +far more of the philosophy of Mind than our bore does, and are much +better able to explain to him than he is to explain to you why or +wherefore, at that particular time, the thought of fire should come into +his head. But, it did. It did. He thought, What a national calamity if +an edifice connected with so many associations should be consumed by +fire! At that time there was not a single soul in the street but +himself. All was quiet, dark, and solitary. After contemplating the +building for a minute—or, say a minute and a half, not more—our bore +proceeded on his way, mechanically repeating, What a national calamity if +such an edifice, connected with such associations, should be destroyed +by—A man coming towards him in a violent state of agitation completed the +sentence, with the exclamation, Fire! Our bore looked round, and the +whole structure was in a blaze. + +In harmony and union with these experiences, our bore never went anywhere +in a steamboat but he made either the best or the worst voyage ever known +on that station. Either he overheard the captain say to himself, with +his hands clasped, ‘We are all lost!’ or the captain openly declared to +him that he had never made such a run before, and never should be able to +do it again. Our bore was in that express train on that railway, when +they made (unknown to the passengers) the experiment of going at the rate +of a hundred to miles an hour. Our bore remarked on that occasion to the +other people in the carriage, ‘This is too fast, but sit still!’ He was +at the Norwich musical festival when the extraordinary echo for which +science has been wholly unable to account, was heard for the first and +last time. He and the bishop heard it at the same moment, and caught +each other’s eye. He was present at that illumination of St. Peter’s, of +which the Pope is known to have remarked, as he looked at it out of his +window in the Vatican, ‘_O Cielo_! _Questa cosa non sara fatta_, _mai +ancora_, _come questa_—O Heaven! this thing will never be done again, +like this!’ He has seen every lion he ever saw, under some remarkably +propitious circumstances. He knows there is no fancy in it, because in +every case the showman mentioned the fact at the time, and congratulated +him upon it. + +At one period of his life, our bore had an illness. It was an illness of +a dangerous character for society at large. Innocently remark that you +are very well, or that somebody else is very well; and our bore, with a +preface that one never knows what a blessing health is until one has lost +it, is reminded of that illness, and drags you through the whole of its +symptoms, progress, and treatment. Innocently remark that you are not +well, or that somebody else is not well, and the same inevitable result +ensues. You will learn how our bore felt a tightness about here, sir, +for which he couldn’t account, accompanied with a constant sensation as +if he were being stabbed—or, rather, jobbed—that expresses it more +correctly—jobbed—with a blunt knife. Well, sir! This went on, until +sparks began to flit before his eyes, water-wheels to turn round in his +head, and hammers to beat incessantly, thump, thump, thump, all down his +back—along the whole of the spinal vertebræ. Our bore, when his +sensations had come to this, thought it a duty he owed to himself to take +advice, and he said, Now, whom shall I consult? He naturally thought of +Callow, at that time one of the most eminent physicians in London, and he +went to Callow. Callow said, ‘Liver!’ and prescribed rhubarb and +calomel, low diet, and moderate exercise. Our bore went on with this +treatment, getting worse every day, until he lost confidence in Callow, +and went to Moon, whom half the town was then mad about. Moon was +interested in the case; to do him justice he was very much interested in +the case; and he said, ‘Kidneys!’ He altered the whole treatment, +sir—gave strong acids, cupped, and blistered. This went on, our bore +still getting worse every day, until he openly told Moon it would be a +satisfaction to him if he would have a consultation with Clatter. The +moment Clatter saw our bore, he said, ‘Accumulation of fat about the +heart!’ Snugglewood, who was called in with him, differed, and said, +‘Brain!’ But, what they all agreed upon was, to lay our bore upon his +back, to shave his head, to leech him, to administer enormous quantities +of medicine, and to keep him low; so that he was reduced to a mere +shadow, you wouldn’t have known him, and nobody considered it possible +that he could ever recover. This was his condition, sir, when he heard +of Jilkins—at that period in a very small practice, and living in the +upper part of a house in Great Portland Street; but still, you +understand, with a rising reputation among the few people to whom he was +known. Being in that condition in which a drowning man catches at a +straw, our bore sent for Jilkins. Jilkins came. Our bore liked his eye, +and said, ‘Mr. Jilkins, I have a presentiment that you will do me good.’ +Jilkins’s reply was characteristic of the man. It was, ‘Sir, I mean to +do you good.’ This confirmed our bore’s opinion of his eye, and they +went into the case together—went completely into it. Jilkins then got +up, walked across the room, came back, and sat down. His words were +these. ‘You have been humbugged. This is a case of indigestion, +occasioned by deficiency of power in the Stomach. Take a mutton chop in +half-an-hour, with a glass of the finest old sherry that can be got for +money. Take two mutton chops to-morrow, and two glasses of the finest +old sherry. Next day, I’ll come again.’ In a week our bore was on his +legs, and Jilkins’s success dates from that period! + +Our bore is great in secret information. He happens to know many things +that nobody else knows. He can generally tell you where the split is in +the Ministry; he knows a great deal about the Queen; and has little +anecdotes to relate of the royal nursery. He gives you the judge’s +private opinion of Sludge the murderer, and his thoughts when he tried +him. He happens to know what such a man got by such a transaction, and +it was fifteen thousand five hundred pounds, and his income is twelve +thousand a year. Our bore is also great in mystery. He believes, with +an exasperating appearance of profound meaning, that you saw Parkins last +Sunday?—Yes, you did.—Did he say anything particular?—No, nothing +particular.—Our bore is surprised at that.—Why?—Nothing. Only he +understood that Parkins had come to tell you something.—What about?—Well! +our bore is not at liberty to mention what about. But, he believes you +will hear that from Parkins himself, soon, and he hopes it may not +surprise you as it did him. Perhaps, however, you never heard about +Parkins’s wife’s sister?—No.—Ah! says our bore, that explains it! + +Our bore is also great in argument. He infinitely enjoys a long humdrum, +drowsy interchange of words of dispute about nothing. He considers that +it strengthens the mind, consequently, he ‘don’t see that,’ very often. +Or, he would be glad to know what you mean by that. Or, he doubts that. +Or, he has always understood exactly the reverse of that. Or, he can’t +admit that. Or, he begs to deny that. Or, surely you don’t mean that. +And so on. He once advised us; offered us a piece of advice, after the +fact, totally impracticable and wholly impossible of acceptance, because +it supposed the fact, then eternally disposed of, to be yet in abeyance. +It was a dozen years ago, and to this hour our bore benevolently wishes, +in a mild voice, on certain regular occasions, that we had thought better +of his opinion. + +The instinct with which our bore finds out another bore, and closes with +him, is amazing. We have seen him pick his man out of fifty men, in a +couple of minutes. They love to go (which they do naturally) into a slow +argument on a previously exhausted subject, and to contradict each other, +and to wear the hearers out, without impairing their own perennial +freshness as bores. It improves the good understanding between them, and +they get together afterwards, and bore each other amicably. Whenever we +see our bore behind a door with another bore, we know that when he comes +forth, he will praise the other bore as one of the most intelligent men +he ever met. And this bringing us to the close of what we had to say +about our bore, we are anxious to have it understood that he never +bestowed this praise on us. + + + + +A MONUMENT OF FRENCH FOLLY + + +IT was profoundly observed by a witty member of the Court of Common +Council, in Council assembled in the City of London, in the year of our +Lord one thousand eight hundred and fifty, that the French are a +frog-eating people, who wear wooden shoes. + +We are credibly informed, in reference to the nation whom this choice +spirit so happily disposed of, that the caricatures and stage +representations which were current in England some half a century ago, +exactly depict their present condition. For example, we understand that +every Frenchman, without exception, wears a pigtail and curl-papers. +That he is extremely sallow, thin, long-faced, and lantern-jawed. That +the calves of his legs are invariably undeveloped; that his legs fail at +the knees, and that his shoulders are always higher than his ears. We +are likewise assured that he rarely tastes any food but soup maigre, and +an onion; that he always says, ‘By Gar! Aha! Vat you tell me, sare?’ at +the end of every sentence he utters; and that the true generic name of +his race is the Mounseers, or the Parly-voos. If he be not a +dancing-master, or a barber, he must be a cook; since no other trades but +those three are congenial to the tastes of the people, or permitted by +the Institutions of the country. He is a slave, of course. The ladies +of France (who are also slaves) invariably have their heads tied up in +Belcher handkerchiefs, wear long earrings, carry tambourines, and beguile +the weariness of their yoke by singing in head voices through their +noses—principally to barrel-organs. + +It may be generally summed up, of this inferior people, that they have no +idea of anything. + +Of a great Institution like Smithfield, they are unable to form the least +conception. A Beast Market in the heart of Paris would be regarded an +impossible nuisance. Nor have they any notion of slaughter-houses in the +midst of a city. One of these benighted frog-eaters would scarcely +understand your meaning, if you told him of the existence of such a +British bulwark. + +It is agreeable, and perhaps pardonable, to indulge in a little +self-complacency when our right to it is thoroughly established. At the +present time, to be rendered memorable by a final attack on that good old +market which is the (rotten) apple of the Corporation’s eye, let us +compare ourselves, to our national delight and pride as to these two +subjects of slaughter-house and beast-market, with the outlandish +foreigner. + +The blessings of Smithfield are too well understood to need +recapitulation; all who run (away from mad bulls and pursuing oxen) may +read. Any market-day they may be beheld in glorious action. Possibly +the merits of our slaughter-houses are not yet quite so generally +appreciated. + +Slaughter-houses, in the large towns of England, are always (with the +exception of one or two enterprising towns) most numerous in the most +densely crowded places, where there is the least circulation of air. +They are often underground, in cellars; they are sometimes in close back +yards; sometimes (as in Spitalfields) in the very shops where the meat is +sold. Occasionally, under good private management, they are ventilated +and clean. For the most part, they are unventilated and dirty; and, to +the reeking walls, putrid fat and other offensive animal matter clings +with a tenacious hold. The busiest slaughter-houses in London are in the +neighbourhood of Smithfield, in Newgate Market, in Whitechapel, in +Newport Market, in Leadenhall Market, in Clare Market. All these places +are surrounded by houses of a poor description, swarming with +inhabitants. Some of them are close to the worst burial-grounds in +London. When the slaughter-house is below the ground, it is a common +practice to throw the sheep down areas, neck and crop—which is exciting, +but not at all cruel. When it is on the level surface, it is often +extremely difficult of approach. Then, the beasts have to be worried, +and goaded, and pronged, and tail-twisted, for a long time before they +can be got in—which is entirely owing to their natural obstinacy. When +it is not difficult of approach, but is in a foul condition, what they +see and scent makes them still more reluctant to enter—which is their +natural obstinacy again. When they do get in at last, after no trouble +and suffering to speak of (for, there is nothing in the previous journey +into the heart of London, the night’s endurance in Smithfield, the +struggle out again, among the crowded multitude, the coaches, carts, +waggons, omnibuses, gigs, chaises, phaetons, cabs, trucks, dogs, boys, +whoopings, roarings, and ten thousand other distractions), they are +represented to be in a most unfit state to be killed, according to +microscopic examinations made of their fevered blood by one of the most +distinguished physiologists in the world, PROFESSOR OWEN—but that’s +humbug. When they _are_ killed, at last, their reeking carcases are hung +in impure air, to become, as the same Professor will explain to you, less +nutritious and more unwholesome—but he is only an _un_common counsellor, +so don’t mind _him_. In half a quarter of a mile’s length of +Whitechapel, at one time, there shall be six hundred newly slaughtered +oxen hanging up, and seven hundred sheep—but, the more the merrier—proof +of prosperity. Hard by Snow Hill and Warwick Lane, you shall see the +little children, inured to sights of brutality from their birth, trotting +along the alleys, mingled with troops of horribly busy pigs, up to their +ankles in blood—but it makes the young rascals hardy. Into the imperfect +sewers of this overgrown city, you shall have the immense mass of +corruption, engendered by these practices, lazily thrown out of sight, to +rise, in poisonous gases, into your house at night, when your sleeping +children will most readily absorb them, and to find its languid way, at +last, into the river that you drink—but, the French are a frog-eating +people who wear wooden shoes, and it’s O the roast beef of England, my +boy, the jolly old English roast beef. + +It is quite a mistake—a newfangled notion altogether—to suppose that +there is any natural antagonism between putrefaction and health. They +know better than that, in the Common Council. You may talk about Nature, +in her wisdom, always warning man through his sense of smell, when he +draws near to something dangerous; but, that won’t go down in the City. +Nature very often don’t mean anything. Mrs. Quickly says that prunes are +ill for a green wound; but whosoever says that putrid animal substances +are ill for a green wound, or for robust vigour, or for anything or for +anybody, is a humanity-monger and a humbug. Britons never, never, never, +&c., therefore. And prosperity to cattle-driving, cattle-slaughtering, +bone-crushing, blood-boiling, trotter-scraping, tripe-dressing, +paunch-cleaning, gut-spinning, hide-preparing, tallow-melting, and other +salubrious proceedings, in the midst of hospitals, churchyards, +workhouses, schools, infirmaries, refuges, dwellings, provision-shops +nurseries, sick-beds, every stage and baiting-place in the journey from +birth to death! + +These _un_common counsellors, your Professor Owens and fellows, will +contend that to tolerate these things in a civilised city, is to reduce +it to a worse condition than BRUCE found to prevail in ABYSSINIA. For +there (say they) the jackals and wild dogs came at night to devour the +offal; whereas, here there are no such natural scavengers, and quite as +savage customs. Further, they will demonstrate that nothing in Nature is +intended to be wasted, and that besides the waste which such abuses +occasion in the articles of health and life—main sources of the riches of +any community—they lead to a prodigious waste of changing matters, which +might, with proper preparation, and under scientific direction, be safely +applied to the increase of the fertility of the land. Thus (they argue) +does Nature ever avenge infractions of her beneficent laws, and so surely +as Man is determined to warp any of her blessings into curses, shall they +become curses, and shall he suffer heavily. But, this is cant. Just as +it is cant of the worst description to say to the London Corporation, +‘How can you exhibit to the people so plain a spectacle of dishonest +equivocation, as to claim the right of holding a market in the midst of +the great city, for one of your vested privileges, when you know that +when your last market holding charter was granted to you by King Charles +the First, Smithfield stood IN THE SUBURBS OF LONDON, and is in that very +charter so described in those five words?’—which is certainly true, but +has nothing to do with the question. + +Now to the comparison, in these particulars of civilisation, between the +capital of England, and the capital of that frog-eating and wooden-shoe +wearing country, which the illustrious Common Councilman so sarcastically +settled. + +In Paris, there is no Cattle Market. Cows and calves are sold within the +city, but, the Cattle Markets are at Poissy, about thirteen miles off, on +a line of railway; and at Sceaux, about five miles off. The Poissy +market is held every Thursday; the Sceaux market, every Monday. In +Paris, there are no slaughter-houses, in our acceptation of the term. +There are five public Abattoirs—within the walls, though in the +suburbs—and in these all the slaughtering for the city must be performed. +They are managed by a Syndicat or Guild of Butchers, who confer with the +Minister of the Interior on all matters affecting the trade, and who are +consulted when any new regulations are contemplated for its government. +They are, likewise, under the vigilant superintendence of the police. +Every butcher must be licensed: which proves him at once to be a slave, +for we don’t license butchers in England—we only license apothecaries, +attorneys, post-masters, publicans, hawkers, retailers of tobacco, snuff, +pepper, and vinegar—and one or two other little trades, not worth +mentioning. Every arrangement in connexion with the slaughtering and +sale of meat, is matter of strict police regulation. (Slavery again, +though we certainly have a general sort of Police Act here.) + +But, in order that the reader may understand what a monument of folly +these frog-eaters have raised in their abattoirs and cattle-markets, and +may compare it with what common counselling has done for us all these +years, and would still do but for the innovating spirit of the times, +here follows a short account of a recent visit to these places: + + * * * * * + +It was as sharp a February morning as you would desire to feel at your +fingers’ ends when I turned out—tumbling over a chiffonier with his +little basket and rake, who was picking up the bits of coloured paper +that had been swept out, over-night, from a Bon-Bon shop—to take the +Butchers’ Train to Poissy. A cold, dim light just touched the high roofs +of the Tuileries which have seen such changes, such distracted crowds, +such riot and bloodshed; and they looked as calm, and as old, all covered +with white frost, as the very Pyramids. There was not light enough, yet, +to strike upon the towers of Notre Dame across the water; but I thought +of the dark pavement of the old Cathedral as just beginning to be +streaked with grey; and of the lamps in the ‘House of God,’ the Hospital +close to it, burning low and being quenched; and of the keeper of the +Morgue going about with a fading lantern, busy in the arrangement of his +terrible waxwork for another sunny day. + +The sun was up, and shining merrily when the butchers and I, announcing +our departure with an engine shriek to sleepy Paris, rattled away for the +Cattle Market. Across the country, over the Seine, among a forest of +scrubby trees—the hoar frost lying cold in shady places, and glittering +in the light—and here we are—at Poissy! Out leap the butchers, who have +been chattering all the way like madmen, and off they straggle for the +Cattle Market (still chattering, of course, incessantly), in hats and +caps of all shapes, in coats and blouses, in calf-skins, cow-skins, +horse-skins, furs, shaggy mantles, hairy coats, sacking, baize, oil-skin, +anything you please that will keep a man and a butcher warm, upon a +frosty morning. + +Many a French town have I seen, between this spot of ground and Strasburg +or Marseilles, that might sit for your picture, little Poissy! Barring +the details of your old church, I know you well, albeit we make +acquaintance, now, for the first time. I know your narrow, straggling, +winding streets, with a kennel in the midst, and lamps slung across. I +know your picturesque street-corners, winding up-hill Heaven knows why or +where! I know your tradesmen’s inscriptions, in letters not quite fat +enough; your barbers’ brazen basins dangling over little shops; your +Cafés and Estaminets, with cloudy bottles of stale syrup in the windows, +and pictures of crossed billiard cues outside. I know this identical +grey horse with his tail rolled up in a knot like the ‘back hair’ of an +untidy woman, who won’t be shod, and who makes himself heraldic by +clattering across the street on his hind-legs, while twenty voices shriek +and growl at him as a Brigand, an accursed Robber, and an +everlastingly-doomed Pig. I know your sparkling town-fountain, too, my +Poissy, and am glad to see it near a cattle-market, gushing so freshly, +under the auspices of a gallant little sublimated Frenchman wrought in +metal, perched upon the top. Through all the land of France I know this +unswept room at The Glory, with its peculiar smell of beans and coffee, +where the butchers crowd about the stove, drinking the thinnest of wine +from the smallest of tumblers; where the thickest of coffee-cups mingle +with the longest of loaves, and the weakest of lump sugar; where Madame +at the counter easily acknowledges the homage of all entering and +departing butchers; where the billiard-table is covered up in the midst +like a great bird-cake—but the bird may sing by-and-by! + +A bell! The Calf Market! Polite departure of butchers. Hasty payment +and departure on the part of amateur Visitor. Madame reproaches +Ma’amselle for too fine a susceptibility in reference to the devotion of +a Butcher in a bear-skin. Monsieur, the landlord of The Glory, counts a +double handful of sous, without an unobliterated inscription, or an +undamaged crowned head, among them. + +There is little noise without, abundant space, and no confusion. The +open area devoted to the market is divided into three portions: the Calf +Market, the Cattle Market, the Sheep Market. Calves at eight, cattle at +ten, sheep at mid-day. All is very clean. + +The Calf Market is a raised platform of stone, some three or four feet +high, open on all sides, with a lofty overspreading roof, supported on +stone columns, which give it the appearance of a sort of vineyard from +Northern Italy. Here, on the raised pavement, lie innumerable calves, +all bound hind-legs and fore-legs together, and all trembling +violently—perhaps with cold, perhaps with fear, perhaps with pain; for, +this mode of tying, which seems to be an absolute superstition with the +peasantry, can hardly fail to cause great suffering. Here, they lie, +patiently in rows, among the straw, with their stolid faces and +inexpressive eyes, superintended by men and women, boys and girls; here +they are inspected by our friends, the butchers, bargained for, and +bought. Plenty of time; plenty of room; plenty of good humour. +‘Monsieur Francois in the bear-skin, how do you do, my friend? You come +from Paris by the train? The fresh air does you good. If you are in +want of three or four fine calves this market morning, my angel, I, +Madame Doche, shall be happy to deal with you. Behold these calves, +Monsieur Francois! Great Heaven, you are doubtful! Well, sir, walk +round and look about you. If you find better for the money, buy them. +If not, come to me!’ Monsieur Francois goes his way leisurely, and keeps +a wary eye upon the stock. No other butcher jostles Monsieur Francois; +Monsieur Francois jostles no other butcher. Nobody is flustered and +aggravated. Nobody is savage. In the midst of the country blue frocks +and red handkerchiefs, and the butchers’ coats, shaggy, furry, and hairy: +of calf-skin, cow-skin, horse-skin, and bear-skin: towers a cocked hat +and a blue cloak. Slavery! For _our_ Police wear great-coats and glazed +hats. + +But now the bartering is over, and the calves are sold. ‘Ho! Gregoire, +Antoine, Jean, Louis! Bring up the carts, my children! Quick, brave +infants! Hola! Hi!’ + +The carts, well littered with straw, are backed up to the edge of the +raised pavement, and various hot infants carry calves upon their heads, +and dexterously pitch them in, while other hot infants, standing in the +carts, arrange the calves, and pack them carefully in straw. Here is a +promising young calf, not sold, whom Madame Doche unbinds. Pardon me, +Madame Doche, but I fear this mode of tying the four legs of a quadruped +together, though strictly à la mode, is not quite right. You observe, +Madame Doche, that the cord leaves deep indentations in the skin, and +that the animal is so cramped at first as not to know, or even remotely +suspect that he _is_ unbound, until you are so obliging as to kick him, +in your delicate little way, and pull his tail like a bell-rope. Then, +he staggers to his knees, not being able to stand, and stumbles about +like a drunken calf, or the horse at Franconi’s, whom you may have seen, +Madame Doche, who is supposed to have been mortally wounded in battle. +But, what is this rubbing against me, as I apostrophise Madame Doche? It +is another heated infant with a calf upon his head. ‘Pardon, Monsieur, +but will you have the politeness to allow me to pass?’ ‘Ah, sir, +willingly. I am vexed to obstruct the way.’ On he staggers, calf and +all, and makes no allusion whatever either to my eyes or limbs. + +Now, the carts are all full. More straw, my Antoine, to shake over these +top rows; then, off we will clatter, rumble, jolt, and rattle, a long row +of us, out of the first town-gate, and out at the second town-gate, and +past the empty sentry-box, and the little thin square bandbox of a +guardhouse, where nobody seems to live: and away for Paris, by the paved +road, lying, a straight, straight line, in the long, long avenue of +trees. We can neither choose our road, nor our pace, for that is all +prescribed to us. The public convenience demands that our carts should +get to Paris by such a route, and no other (Napoleon had leisure to find +that out, while he had a little war with the world upon his hands), and +woe betide us if we infringe orders. + +Drovers of oxen stand in the Cattle Market, tied to iron bars fixed into +posts of granite. Other droves advance slowly down the long avenue, past +the second town-gate, and the first town-gate, and the sentry-box, and +the bandbox, thawing the morning with their smoky breath as they come +along. Plenty of room; plenty of time. Neither man nor beast is driven +out of his wits by coaches, carts, waggons, omnibuses, gigs, chaises, +phaetons, cabs, trucks, boys, whoopings, roarings, and multitudes. No +tail-twisting is necessary—no iron pronging is necessary. There are no +iron prongs here. The market for cattle is held as quietly as the market +for calves. In due time, off the cattle go to Paris; the drovers can no +more choose their road, nor their time, nor the numbers they shall drive, +than they can choose their hour for dying in the course of nature. + +Sheep next. The sheep-pens are up here, past the Branch Bank of Paris +established for the convenience of the butchers, and behind the two +pretty fountains they are making in the Market. My name is Bull: yet I +think I should like to see as good twin fountains—not to say in +Smithfield, but in England anywhere. Plenty of room; plenty of time. +And here are sheep-dogs, sensible as ever, but with a certain French air +about them—not without a suspicion of dominoes—with a kind of flavour of +moustache and beard—demonstrative dogs, shaggy and loose where an English +dog would be tight and close—not so troubled with business calculations +as our English drovers’ dogs, who have always got their sheep upon their +minds, and think about their work, even resting, as you may see by their +faces; but, dashing, showy, rather unreliable dogs: who might worry me +instead of their legitimate charges if they saw occasion—and might see it +somewhat suddenly. + +The market for sheep passes off like the other two; and away they go, by +_their_ allotted road to Paris. My way being the Railway, I make the +best of it at twenty miles an hour; whirling through the now high-lighted +landscape; thinking that the inexperienced green buds will be wishing, +before long, they had not been tempted to come out so soon; and wondering +who lives in this or that château, all window and lattice, and what the +family may have for breakfast this sharp morning. + +After the Market comes the Abattoir. What abattoir shall I visit first? +Montmartre is the largest. So I will go there. + +The abattoirs are all within the walls of Paris, with an eye to the +receipt of the octroi duty; but, they stand in open places in the +suburbs, removed from the press and bustle of the city. They are managed +by the Syndicat or Guild of Butchers, under the inspection of the Police. +Certain smaller items of the revenue derived from them are in part +retained by the Guild for the payment of their expenses, and in part +devoted by it to charitable purposes in connexion with the trade. They +cost six hundred and eighty thousand pounds; and they return to the city +of Paris an interest on that outlay, amounting to nearly six and a-half +per cent. + +Here, in a sufficiently dismantled space is the Abattoir of Montmartre, +covering nearly nine acres of ground, surrounded by a high wall, and +looking from the outside like a cavalry barrack. At the iron gates is a +small functionary in a large cocked hat. ‘Monsieur desires to see the +abattoir? Most certainly.’ State being inconvenient in private +transactions, and Monsieur being already aware of the cocked hat, the +functionary puts it into a little official bureau which it almost fills, +and accompanies me in the modest attire—as to his head—of ordinary life. + +Many of the animals from Poissy have come here. On the arrival of each +drove, it was turned into yonder ample space, where each butcher who had +bought, selected his own purchases. Some, we see now, in these long +perspectives of stalls with a high over-hanging roof of wood and open +tiles rising above the walls. While they rest here, before being +slaughtered, they are required to be fed and watered, and the stalls must +be kept clean. A stated amount of fodder must always be ready in the +loft above; and the supervision is of the strictest kind. The same +regulations apply to sheep and calves; for which, portions of these +perspectives are strongly railed off. All the buildings are of the +strongest and most solid description. + +After traversing these lairs, through which, besides the upper provision +for ventilation just mentioned, there may be a thorough current of air +from opposite windows in the side walls, and from doors at either end, we +traverse the broad, paved, court-yard until we come to the +slaughter-houses. They are all exactly alike, and adjoin each other, to +the number of eight or nine together, in blocks of solid building. Let +us walk into the first. + +It is firmly built and paved with stone. It is well lighted, thoroughly +aired, and lavishly provided with fresh water. It has two doors opposite +each other; the first, the door by which I entered from the main yard; +the second, which is opposite, opening on another smaller yard, where the +sheep and calves are killed on benches. The pavement of that yard, I +see, slopes downward to a gutter, for its being more easily cleansed. +The slaughter-house is fifteen feet high, sixteen feet and a-half wide, +and thirty-three feet long. It is fitted with a powerful windlass, by +which one man at the handle can bring the head of an ox down to the +ground to receive the blow from the pole-axe that is to fell him—with the +means of raising the carcass and keeping it suspended during the +after-operation of dressing—and with hooks on which carcasses can hang, +when completely prepared, without touching the walls. Upon the pavement +of this first stone chamber, lies an ox scarcely dead. If I except the +blood draining from him, into a little stone well in a corner of the +pavement, the place is free from offence as the Place de la Concorde. It +is infinitely purer and cleaner, I know, my friend the functionary, than +the Cathedral of Notre Dame. Ha, ha! Monsieur is pleasant, but, truly, +there is reason, too, in what he says. + +I look into another of these slaughter-houses. ‘Pray enter,’ says a +gentleman in bloody boots. ‘This is a calf I have killed this morning. +Having a little time upon my hands, I have cut and punctured this lace +pattern in the coats of his stomach. It is pretty enough. I did it to +divert myself.’—‘It is beautiful, Monsieur, the slaughterer!’ He tells +me I have the gentility to say so. + +I look into rows of slaughter-houses. In many, retail dealers, who have +come here for the purpose, are making bargains for meat. There is +killing enough, certainly, to satiate an unused eye; and there are +steaming carcasses enough, to suggest the expediency of a fowl and salad +for dinner; but, everywhere, there is an orderly, clean, +well-systematised routine of work in progress—horrible work at the best, +if you please; but, so much the greater reason why it should be made the +best of. I don’t know (I think I have observed, my name is Bull) that a +Parisian of the lowest order is particularly delicate, or that his nature +is remarkable for an infinitesimal infusion of ferocity; but, I do know, +my potent, grave, and common counselling Signors, that he is forced, when +at this work, to submit himself to a thoroughly good system, and to make +an Englishman very heartily ashamed of you. + +Here, within the walls of the same abattoir, in other roomy and +commodious buildings, are a place for converting the fat into tallow and +packing it for market—a place for cleansing and scalding calves’ heads +and sheep’s feet—a place for preparing tripe—stables and coach-houses for +the butchers—innumerable conveniences, aiding in the diminution of +offensiveness to its lowest possible point, and the raising of +cleanliness and supervision to their highest. Hence, all the meat that +goes out of the gate is sent away in clean covered carts. And if every +trade connected with the slaughtering of animals were obliged by law to +be carried on in the same place, I doubt, my friend, now reinstated in +the cocked hat (whose civility these two francs imperfectly acknowledge, +but appear munificently to repay), whether there could be better +regulations than those which are carried out at the Abattoir of +Montmartre. Adieu, my friend, for I am away to the other side of Paris, +to the Abattoir of Grenelle! And there I find exactly the same thing on +a smaller scale, with the addition of a magnificent Artesian well, and a +different sort of conductor, in the person of a neat little woman with +neat little eyes, and a neat little voice, who picks her neat little way +among the bullocks in a very neat little pair of shoes and stockings. + + * * * * * + +Such is the Monument of French Folly which a foreigneering people have +erected, in a national hatred and antipathy for common counselling +wisdom. That wisdom, assembled in the City of London, having distinctly +refused, after a debate of three days long, and by a majority of nearly +seven to one, to associate itself with any Metropolitan Cattle Market +unless it be held in the midst of the City, it follows that we shall lose +the inestimable advantages of common counselling protection, and be +thrown, for a market, on our own wretched resources. In all human +probability we shall thus come, at last, to erect a monument of folly +very like this French monument. If that be done, the consequences are +obvious. The leather trade will be ruined, by the introduction of +American timber, to be manufactured into shoes for the fallen English; +the Lord Mayor will be required, by the popular voice, to live entirely +on frogs; and both these changes will (how, is not at present quite +clear, but certainly somehow or other) fall on that unhappy landed +interest which is always being killed, yet is always found to be +alive—and kicking. + + + + +FOOTNOTES + + +{415} Give a bill + +{426} Three months’ imprisonment as reputed thieves. + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK REPRINTED PIECES*** + + +******* This file should be named 872-0.txt or 872-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/8/7/872 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law 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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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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: Reprinted Pieces + + +Author: Charles Dickens + + + +Release Date: December 25, 2014 [eBook #872] +[This file was first posted on February 6, 1997] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK REPRINTED PIECES*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1905 Chapman and Hall edition by David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<h1>Reprinted Pieces</h1> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><i>The Long Voyage</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page309">309</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><i>The Begging-letter Writer</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page317">317</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><i>A Child’s Dream of a Star</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page324">324</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><i>Our English Watering-place</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page327">327</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><i>Our French Watering-place</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page335">335</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><i>Bill-sticking</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page346">346</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>“<i>Births</i>. <i>Mrs. Meek</i>, +<i>of a Son</i>”</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page357">357</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><i>Lying Awake</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page361">361</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><i>The Ghost of Art</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page367">367</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><i>Out of Town</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page373">373</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><i>Out of the Season</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page379">379</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><i>A Poor Man’s Tale of a Patent</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page386">386</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><i>The Noble Savage</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page391">391</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><i>A Flight</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page397">397</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><i>The Detective Police</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page406">406</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><i>Three</i> “<i>Detective</i>” +<i>Anecdotes</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page422">422</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><i>I.—The Pair of Gloves</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><i>II.—The Artful Touch</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><i>III.—The Sofa</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><i>On Duty with Inspector Field</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page430">430</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><i>Down with the Tide</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page442">442</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><i>A Walk in a Workhouse</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page451">451</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><i>Prince Bull</i>. <i>A Fairy +Tale</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page457">457</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><i>A Plated Article</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page462">462</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><i>Our Honourable Friend</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page470">470</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><i>Our School</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page475">475</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><i>Our Vestry</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page481">481</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><i>Our Bore</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page487">487</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><i>A Monument of French Folly</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page494">494</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/fpb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"The long voyage" +title= +"The long voyage" + src="images/fps.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h2><a name="page309"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 309</span>THE +LONG VOYAGE</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">When</span> the wind is blowing and the +sleet or rain is driving against the dark windows, I love to sit +by the fire, thinking of what I have read in books of voyage and +travel. Such books have had a strong fascination for my +mind from my earliest childhood; and I wonder it should have come +to pass that I never have been round the world, never have been +shipwrecked, ice-environed, tomahawked, or eaten.</p> +<p>Sitting on my ruddy hearth in the twilight of New Year’s +Eve, I find incidents of travel rise around me from all the +latitudes and longitudes of the globe. They observe no +order or sequence, but appear and vanish as they +will—‘come like shadows, so depart.’ +Columbus, alone upon the sea with his disaffected crew, looks +over the waste of waters from his high station on the poop of his +ship, and sees the first uncertain glimmer of the light, +‘rising and falling with the waves, like a torch in the +bark of some fisherman,’ which is the shining star of a new +world. Bruce is caged in Abyssinia, surrounded by the gory +horrors which shall often startle him out of his sleep at home +when years have passed away. Franklin, come to the end of +his unhappy overland journey—would that it had been his +last!—lies perishing of hunger with his brave companions: +each emaciated figure stretched upon its miserable bed without +the power to rise: all, dividing the weary days between their +prayers, their remembrances of the dear ones at home, and +conversation on the pleasures of eating; the last-named topic +being ever present to them, likewise, in their dreams. All +the African travellers, wayworn, solitary and sad, submit +themselves again to drunken, murderous, man-selling despots, of +the lowest order of humanity; and Mungo Park, fainting under a +tree and succoured by a woman, gratefully remembers how his Good +Samaritan has always come to him in woman’s shape, the wide +world over.</p> +<p>A shadow on the wall in which my mind’s eye can discern +some traces of a rocky sea-coast, recalls to me a fearful story +of travel derived from that unpromising narrator of such stories, +a parliamentary blue-book. A convict is its chief figure, +and this man escapes with other prisoners from a penal +settlement. It is an island, and they seize a boat, and get +to the main land. Their way is by a rugged and precipitous +sea-shore, and they have no earthly hope of ultimate escape, for +the party of soldiers despatched by an easier course to cut them +off, must inevitably arrive at their distant bourne long before +them, and retake them if by any hazard they survive the horrors +of the way. Famine, as they all must have foreseen, besets +them early in their course. Some of the party die and are +eaten; some are murdered by the rest and eaten. This one +awful creature eats his fill, and sustains his strength, and +lives on to be recaptured and taken back. The unrelateable +experiences through which he has passed have been so tremendous, +that he is not hanged as he might be, but goes back to his old +chained-gang work. A little time, and he tempts one other +prisoner away, seizes another boat, and flies once +more—necessarily in the old hopeless direction, for he can +take no other. He is soon cut off, and met by the pursuing +party face to face, upon the beach. He is alone. In +his former journey he acquired an inappeasable relish for his +dreadful food. He urged the new man away, expressly to kill +him and eat him. In the pockets on one side of his coarse +convict-dress, are portions of the man’s body, on which he +is regaling; in the pockets on the other side is an untouched +store of salted pork (stolen before he left the island) for which +he has no appetite. He is taken back, and he is +hanged. But I shall never see that sea-beach on the wall or +in the fire, without him, solitary monster, eating as he prowls +along, while the sea rages and rises at him.</p> +<p>Captain Bligh (a worse man to be entrusted with arbitrary +power there could scarcely be) is handed over the side of the +Bounty, and turned adrift on the wide ocean in an open boat, by +order of Fletcher Christian, one of his officers, at this very +minute. Another flash of my fire, and ‘Thursday +October Christian,’ five-and-twenty years of age, son of +the dead and gone Fletcher by a savage mother, leaps aboard His +Majesty’s ship Briton, hove-to off Pitcairn’s Island; +says his simple grace before eating, in good English; and knows +that a pretty little animal on board is called a dog, because in +his childhood he had heard of such strange creatures from his +father and the other mutineers, grown grey under the shade of the +bread-fruit trees, speaking of their lost country far away.</p> +<p>See the Halsewell, East Indiaman outward bound, driving madly +on a January night towards the rocks near Seacombe, on the island +of Purbeck! The captain’s two dear daughters are +aboard, and five other ladies. The ship has been driving +many hours, has seven feet water in her hold, and her mainmast +has been cut away. The description of her loss, familiar to +me from my early boyhood, seems to be read aloud as she rushes to +her destiny.</p> +<blockquote><p>‘About two in the morning of Friday the +sixth of January, the ship still driving, and approaching very +fast to the shore, Mr. Henry Meriton, the second mate, went again +into the cuddy, where the captain then was. Another +conversation taking place, Captain Pierce expressed extreme +anxiety for the preservation of his beloved daughters, and +earnestly asked the officer if he could devise any method of +saving them. On his answering with great concern, that he +feared it would be impossible, but that their only chance would +be to wait for morning, the captain lifted up his hands in silent +and distressful ejaculation.</p> +<p>‘At this dreadful moment, the ship struck, with such +violence as to dash the heads of those standing in the cuddy +against the deck above them, and the shock was accompanied by a +shriek of horror that burst at one instant from every quarter of +the ship.</p> +<p>‘Many of the seamen, who had been remarkably inattentive +and remiss in their duty during great part of the storm, now +poured upon deck, where no exertions of the officers could keep +them, while their assistance might have been useful. They +had actually skulked in their hammocks, leaving the working of +the pumps and other necessary labours to the officers of the +ship, and the soldiers, who had made uncommon exertions. +Roused by a sense of their danger, the same seamen, at this +moment, in frantic exclamations, demanded of heaven and their +fellow-sufferers that succour which their own efforts, timely +made, might possibly have procured.</p> +<p>‘The ship continued to beat on the rocks; and soon +bilging, fell with her broadside towards the shore. When +she struck, a number of the men climbed up the ensign-staff, +under an apprehension of her immediately going to pieces.</p> +<p>‘Mr. Meriton, at this crisis, offered to these unhappy +beings the best advice which could be given; he recommended that +all should come to the side of the ship lying lowest on the +rocks, and singly to take the opportunities which might then +offer, of escaping to the shore.</p> +<p>‘Having thus provided, to the utmost of his power, for +the safety of the desponding crew, he returned to the +round-house, where, by this time, all the passengers and most of +the officers had assembled. The latter were employed in +offering consolation to the unfortunate ladies; and, with +unparalleled magnanimity, suffering their compassion for the fair +and amiable companions of their misfortunes to prevail over the +sense of their own danger.</p> +<p>‘In this charitable work of comfort, Mr. Meriton now +joined, by assurances of his opinion, that, the ship would hold +together till the morning, when all would be safe. Captain +Pierce, observing one of the young gentlemen loud in his +exclamations of terror, and frequently cry that the ship was +parting, cheerfully bid him be quiet, remarking that though the +ship should go to pieces, he would not, but would be safe +enough.</p> +<p>‘It is difficult to convey a correct idea of the scene +of this deplorable catastrophe, without describing the place +where it happened. The Haleswell struck on the rocks at a +part of the shore where the cliff is of vast height, and rises +almost perpendicular from its base. But at this particular +spot, the foot of the cliff is excavated into a cavern of ten or +twelve yards in depth, and of breadth equal to the length of a +large ship. The sides of the cavern are so nearly upright, +as to be of extremely difficult access; and the bottom is strewed +with sharp and uneven rocks, which seem, by some convulsion of +the earth, to have been detached from its roof.</p> +<p>‘The ship lay with her broadside opposite to the mouth +of this cavern, with her whole length stretched almost from side +to side of it. But when she struck, it was too dark for the +unfortunate persons on board to discover the real magnitude of +the danger, and the extreme horror of such a situation.</p> +<p>‘In addition to the company already in the round-house, +they had admitted three black women and two soldiers’ +wives; who, with the husband of one of them, had been allowed to +come in, though the seamen, who had tumultuously demanded +entrance to get the lights, had been opposed and kept out by Mr. +Rogers and Mr. Brimer, the third and fifth mates. The +numbers there were, therefore, now increased to near fifty. +Captain Pierce sat on a chair, a cot, or some other moveable, +with a daughter on each side, whom he alternately pressed to his +affectionate breast. The rest of the melancholy assembly +were seated on the deck, which was strewed with musical +instruments, and the wreck of furniture and other articles.</p> +<p>‘Here also Mr. Meriton, after having cut several +wax-candles in pieces, and stuck them up in various parts of the +round-house, and lighted up all the glass lanthorns he could +find, took his seat, intending to wait the approach of dawn; and +then assist the partners of his dangers to escape. But, +observing that the poor ladies appeared parched and exhausted, he +brought a basket of oranges and prevailed on some of them to +refresh themselves by sucking a little of the juice. At +this time they were all tolerably composed, except Miss Mansel, +who was in hysteric fits on the floor of the deck of the +round-house.</p> +<p>‘But on Mr. Meriton’s return to the company, he +perceived a considerable alteration in the appearance of the +ship; the sides were visibly giving way; the deck seemed to be +lifting, and he discovered other strong indications that she +could not hold much longer together. On this account, he +attempted to go forward to look out, but immediately saw that the +ship had separated in the middle, and that the forepart having +changed its position, lay rather further out towards the +sea. In such an emergency, when the next moment might +plunge him into eternity, he determined to seize the present +opportunity, and follow the example of the crew and the soldiers, +who were now quitting the ship in numbers, and making their way +to the shore, though quite ignorant of its nature and +description.</p> +<p>‘Among other expedients, the ensign-staff had been +unshipped, and attempted to be laid between the ship’s side +and some of the rocks, but without success, for it snapped +asunder before it reached them. However, by the light of a +lanthorn, which a seaman handed through the skylight of the +round-house to the deck, Mr. Meriton discovered a spar which +appeared to be laid from the ship’s side to the rocks, and +on this spar he resolved to attempt his escape.</p> +<p>‘Accordingly, lying down upon it, he thrust himself +forward; however, he soon found that it had no communication with +the rock; he reached the end of it, and then slipped off, +receiving a very violent bruise in his fall, and before he could +recover his legs, he was washed off by the surge. He now +supported himself by swimming, until a returning wave dashed him +against the back part of the cavern. Here he laid hold of a +small projection in the rock, but was so much benumbed that he +was on the point of quitting it, when a seaman, who had already +gained a footing, extended his hand, and assisted him until he +could secure himself a little on the rock; from which he +clambered on a shelf still higher, and out of the reach of the +surf.</p> +<p>‘Mr. Rogers, the third mate, remained with the captain +and the unfortunate ladies and their companions nearly twenty +minutes after Mr. Meriton had quitted the ship. Soon after +the latter left the round-house, the captain asked what was +become of him, to which Mr. Rogers replied, that he was gone on +deck to see what could be done. After this, a heavy sea +breaking over the ship, the ladies exclaimed, “Oh, poor +Meriton! he is drowned; had he stayed with us he would have been +safe!” and they all, particularly Miss Mary Pierce, +expressed great concern at the apprehension of his loss.</p> +<p>‘The sea was now breaking in at the fore part of the +ship, and reached as far as the mainmast. Captain Pierce +gave Mr. Rogers a nod, and they took a lamp and went together +into the stern-gallery, where, after viewing the rocks for some +time, Captain Pierce asked Mr. Rogers if he thought there was any +possibility of saving the girls; to which he replied, he feared +there was none; for they could only discover the black face of +the perpendicular rock, and not the cavern which afforded shelter +to those who escaped. They then returned to the +round-house, where Mr. Rogers hung up the lamp, and Captain +Pierce sat down between his two daughters.</p> +<p>‘The sea continuing to break in very fast, Mr. Macmanus, +a midshipman, and Mr. Schutz, a passenger, asked Mr. Rogers what +they could do to escape. “Follow me,” he +replied, and they all went into the stern-gallery, and from +thence to the upper-quarter-gallery on the poop. While +there, a very heavy sea fell on board, and the round-house gave +way; Mr. Rogers heard the ladies shriek at intervals, as if the +water reached them; the noise of the sea at other times drowning +their voices.</p> +<p>‘Mr. Brimer had followed him to the poop, where they +remained together about five minutes, when on the breaking of +this heavy sea, they jointly seized a hen-coop. The same +wave which proved fatal to some of those below, carried him and +his companion to the rock, on which they were violently dashed +and miserably bruised.</p> +<p>‘Here on the rock were twenty-seven men; but it now +being low water, and as they were convinced that on the flowing +of the tide all must be washed off, many attempted to get to the +back or the sides of the cavern, beyond the reach of the +returning sea. Scarcely more than six, besides Mr. Rogers +and Mr. Brimer, succeeded.</p> +<p>‘Mr. Rogers, on gaining this station, was so nearly +exhausted, that had his exertions been protracted only a few +minutes longer, he must have sunk under them. He was now +prevented from joining Mr. Meriton, by at least twenty men +between them, none of whom could move, without the imminent peril +of his life.</p> +<p>‘They found that a very considerable number of the crew, +seamen and soldiers, and some petty officers, were in the same +situation as themselves, though many who had reached the rocks +below, perished in attempting to ascend. They could yet +discern some part of the ship, and in their dreary station +solaced themselves with the hopes of its remaining entire until +day-break; for, in the midst of their own distress, the +sufferings of the females on board affected them with the most +poignant anguish; and every sea that broke inspired them with +terror for their safety.</p> +<p>‘But, alas, their apprehensions were too soon +realised! Within a very few minutes of the time that Mr. +Rogers gained the rock, an universal shriek, which long vibrated +in their ears, in which the voice of female distress was +lamentably distinguished, announced the dreadful +catastrophe. In a few moments all was hushed, except the +roaring of the winds and the dashing of the waves; the wreck was +buried in the deep, and not an atom of it was ever afterwards +seen.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The most beautiful and affecting incident I know, associated +with a shipwreck, succeeds this dismal story for a winter +night. The Grosvenor, East Indiaman, homeward bound, goes +ashore on the coast of Caffraria. It is resolved that the +officers, passengers, and crew, in number one hundred and +thirty-five souls, shall endeavour to penetrate on foot, across +trackless deserts, infested by wild beasts and cruel savages, to +the Dutch settlements at the Cape of Good Hope. With this +forlorn object before them, they finally separate into two +parties—never more to meet on earth.</p> +<p>There is a solitary child among the passengers—a little +boy of seven years old who has no relation there; and when the +first party is moving away he cries after some member of it who +has been kind to him. The crying of a child might be +supposed to be a little thing to men in such great extremity; but +it touches them, and he is immediately taken into that +detachment.</p> +<p>From which time forth, this child is sublimely made a sacred +charge. He is pushed, on a little raft, across broad rivers +by the swimming sailors; they carry him by turns through the deep +sand and long grass (he patiently walking at all other times); +they share with him such putrid fish as they find to eat; they +lie down and wait for him when the rough carpenter, who becomes +his especial friend, lags behind. Beset by lions and +tigers, by savages, by thirst, by hunger, by death in a crowd of +ghastly shapes, they never—O Father of all mankind, thy +name be blessed for it!—forget this child. The +captain stops exhausted, and his faithful coxswain goes back and +is seen to sit down by his side, and neither of the two shall be +any more beheld until the great last day; but, as the rest go on +for their lives, they take the child with them. The +carpenter dies of poisonous berries eaten in starvation; and the +steward, succeeding to the command of the party, succeeds to the +sacred guardianship of the child.</p> +<p>God knows all he does for the poor baby; how he cheerfully +carries him in his arms when he himself is weak and ill; how he +feeds him when he himself is griped with want; how he folds his +ragged jacket round him, lays his little worn face with a +woman’s tenderness upon his sunburnt breast, soothes him in +his sufferings, sings to him as he limps along, unmindful of his +own parched and bleeding feet. Divided for a few days from +the rest, they dig a grave in the sand and bury their good friend +the cooper—these two companions alone in the +wilderness—and then the time comes when they both are ill, +and beg their wretched partners in despair, reduced and few in +number now, to wait by them one day. They wait by them one +day, they wait by them two days. On the morning of the +third, they move very softly about, in making their preparations +for the resumption of their journey; for, the child is sleeping +by the fire, and it is agreed with one consent that he shall not +be disturbed until the last moment. The moment comes, the +fire is dying—and the child is dead.</p> +<p>His faithful friend, the steward, lingers but a little while +behind him. His grief is great, he staggers on for a few +days, lies down in the desert, and dies. But he shall be +re-united in his immortal spirit—who can doubt +it!—with the child, when he and the poor carpenter shall be +raised up with the words, ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto +the least of these, ye have done it unto Me.’</p> +<p>As I recall the dispersal and disappearance of nearly all the +participators in this once famous shipwreck (a mere handful being +recovered at last), and the legends that were long afterwards +revived from time to time among the English officers at the Cape, +of a white woman with an infant, said to have been seen weeping +outside a savage hut far in the interior, who was whisperingly +associated with the remembrance of the missing ladies saved from +the wrecked vessel, and who was often sought but never found, +thoughts of another kind of travel came into my mind.</p> +<p>Thoughts of a voyager unexpectedly summoned from home, who +travelled a vast distance, and could never return. Thoughts +of this unhappy wayfarer in the depths of his sorrow, in the +bitterness of his anguish, in the helplessness of his +self-reproach, in the desperation of his desire to set right what +he had left wrong, and do what he had left undone.</p> +<p>For, there were many, many things he had neglected. +Little matters while he was at home and surrounded by them, but +things of mighty moment when he was at an immeasurable +distance. There were many many blessings that he had +inadequately felt, there were many trivial injuries that he had +not forgiven, there was love that he had but poorly returned, +there was friendship that he had too lightly prized: there were a +million kind words that he might have spoken, a million kind +looks that he might have given, uncountable slight easy deeds in +which he might have been most truly great and good. O for a +day (he would exclaim), for but one day to make amends! But +the sun never shone upon that happy day, and out of his remote +captivity he never came.</p> +<p>Why does this traveller’s fate obscure, on New +Year’s Eve, the other histories of travellers with which my +mind was filled but now, and cast a solemn shadow over me! +Must I one day make his journey? Even so. Who shall +say, that I may not then be tortured by such late regrets: that I +may not then look from my exile on my empty place and undone +work? I stand upon a sea-shore, where the waves are +years. They break and fall, and I may little heed them; +but, with every wave the sea is rising, and I know that it will +float me on this traveller’s voyage at last.</p> +<h2><a name="page317"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 317</span>THE +BEGGING-LETTER WRITER</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> amount of money he annually +diverts from wholesome and useful purposes in the United Kingdom, +would be a set-off against the Window Tax. He is one of the +most shameless frauds and impositions of this time. In his +idleness, his mendacity, and the immeasurable harm he does to the +deserving,—dirtying the stream of true benevolence, and +muddling the brains of foolish justices, with inability to +distinguish between the base coin of distress, and the true +currency we have always among us,—he is more worthy of +Norfolk Island than three-fourths of the worst characters who are +sent there. Under any rational system, he would have been +sent there long ago.</p> +<p>I, the writer of this paper, have been, for some time, a +chosen receiver of Begging Letters. For fourteen years, my +house has been made as regular a Receiving House for such +communications as any one of the great branch Post-Offices is for +general correspondence. I ought to know something of the +Begging-Letter Writer. He has besieged my door at all hours +of the day and night; he has fought my servant; he has lain in +ambush for me, going out and coming in; he has followed me out of +town into the country; he has appeared at provincial hotels, +where I have been staying for only a few hours; he has written to +me from immense distances, when I have been out of England. +He has fallen sick; he has died and been buried; he has come to +life again, and again departed from this transitory scene: he has +been his own son, his own mother, his own baby, his idiot +brother, his uncle, his aunt, his aged grandfather. He has +wanted a greatcoat, to go to India in; a pound to set him up in +life for ever; a pair of boots to take him to the coast of China; +a hat to get him into a permanent situation under +Government. He has frequently been exactly +seven-and-sixpence short of independence. He has had such +openings at Liverpool—posts of great trust and confidence +in merchants’ houses, which nothing but seven-and-sixpence +was wanting to him to secure—that I wonder he is not Mayor +of that flourishing town at the present moment.</p> +<p>The natural phenomena of which he has been the victim, are of +a most astounding nature. He has had two children who have +never grown up; who have never had anything to cover them at +night; who have been continually driving him mad, by asking in +vain for food; who have never come out of fevers and measles +(which, I suppose, has accounted for his fuming his letters with +tobacco smoke, as a disinfectant); who have never changed in the +least degree through fourteen long revolving years. As to +his wife, what that suffering woman has undergone, nobody +knows. She has always been in an interesting situation +through the same long period, and has never been confined +yet. His devotion to her has been unceasing. He has +never cared for himself; he could have perished—he would +rather, in short—but was it not his Christian duty as a +man, a husband, and a father,—to write begging letters when +he looked at her? (He has usually remarked that he would +call in the evening for an answer to this question.)</p> +<p>He has been the sport of the strangest misfortunes. What +his brother has done to him would have broken anybody +else’s heart. His brother went into business with +him, and ran away with the money; his brother got him to be +security for an immense sum and left him to pay it; his brother +would have given him employment to the tune of hundreds a-year, +if he would have consented to write letters on a Sunday; his +brother enunciated principles incompatible with his religious +views, and he could not (in consequence) permit his brother to +provide for him. His landlord has never shown a spark of +human feeling. When he put in that execution I don’t +know, but he has never taken it out. The broker’s man +has grown grey in possession. They will have to bury him +some day.</p> +<p>He has been attached to every conceivable pursuit. He +has been in the army, in the navy, in the church, in the law; +connected with the press, the fine arts, public institutions, +every description and grade of business. He has been +brought up as a gentleman; he has been at every college in Oxford +and Cambridge; he can quote Latin in his letters (but generally +misspells some minor English word); he can tell you what +Shakespeare says about begging, better than you know it. It +is to be observed, that in the midst of his afflictions he always +reads the newspapers; and rounds off his appeal with some +allusion, that may be supposed to be in my way, to the popular +subject of the hour.</p> +<p>His life presents a series of inconsistencies. Sometimes +he has never written such a letter before. He blushes with +shame. That is the first time; that shall be the +last. Don’t answer it, and let it be understood that, +then, he will kill himself quietly. Sometimes (and more +frequently) he <i>has</i> written a few such letters. Then +he encloses the answers, with an intimation that they are of +inestimable value to him, and a request that they may be +carefully returned. He is fond of enclosing +something—verses, letters, pawnbrokers’ duplicates, +anything to necessitate an answer. He is very severe upon +‘the pampered minion of fortune,’ who refused him the +half-sovereign referred to in the enclosure number two—but +he knows me better.</p> +<p>He writes in a variety of styles; sometimes in low spirits; +sometimes quite jocosely. When he is in low spirits he +writes down-hill and repeats words—these little indications +being expressive of the perturbation of his mind. When he +is more vivacious, he is frank with me; he is quite the agreeable +rattle. I know what human nature is,—who +better? Well! He had a little money once, and he ran +through it—as many men have done before him. He finds +his old friends turn away from him now—many men have done +that before him too! Shall he tell me why he writes to +me? Because he has no kind of claim upon me. He puts +it on that ground plainly; and begs to ask for the loan (as I +know human nature) of two sovereigns, to be repaid next Tuesday +six weeks, before twelve at noon.</p> +<p>Sometimes, when he is sure that I have found him out, and that +there is no chance of money, he writes to inform me that I have +got rid of him at last. He has enlisted into the +Company’s service, and is off directly—but he wants a +cheese. He is informed by the serjeant that it is essential +to his prospects in the regiment that he should take out a single +Gloucester cheese, weighing from twelve to fifteen pounds. +Eight or nine shillings would buy it. He does not ask for +money, after what has passed; but if he calls at nine, to-morrow +morning may he hope to find a cheese? And is there anything +he can do to show his gratitude in Bengal?</p> +<p>Once he wrote me rather a special letter, proposing relief in +kind. He had got into a little trouble by leaving parcels +of mud done up in brown paper, at people’s houses, on +pretence of being a Railway-Porter, in which character he +received carriage money. This sportive fancy he expiated in +the House of Correction. Not long after his release, and on +a Sunday morning, he called with a letter (having first dusted +himself all over), in which he gave me to understand that, being +resolved to earn an honest livelihood, he had been travelling +about the country with a cart of crockery. That he had been +doing pretty well until the day before, when his horse had +dropped down dead near Chatham, in Kent. That this had +reduced him to the unpleasant necessity of getting into the +shafts himself, and drawing the cart of crockery to +London—a somewhat exhausting pull of thirty miles. +That he did not venture to ask again for money; but that if I +would have the goodness <i>to leave him out a donkey</i>, he +would call for the animal before breakfast!</p> +<p>At another time my friend (I am describing actual experiences) +introduced himself as a literary gentleman in the last extremity +of distress. He had had a play accepted at a certain +Theatre—which was really open; its representation was +delayed by the indisposition of a leading actor—who was +really ill; and he and his were in a state of absolute +starvation. If he made his necessities known to the Manager +of the Theatre, he put it to me to say what kind of treatment he +might expect? Well! we got over that difficulty to our +mutual satisfaction. A little while afterwards he was in +some other strait. I think Mrs. Southcote, his wife, was in +extremity—and we adjusted that point too. A little +while afterwards he had taken a new house, and was going headlong +to ruin for want of a water-butt. I had my misgivings about +the water-butt, and did not reply to that epistle. But a +little while afterwards, I had reason to feel penitent for my +neglect. He wrote me a few broken-hearted lines, informing +me that the dear partner of his sorrows died in his arms last +night at nine o’clock!</p> +<p>I despatched a trusty messenger to comfort the bereaved +mourner and his poor children; but the messenger went so soon, +that the play was not ready to be played out; my friend was not +at home, and his wife was in a most delightful state of +health. He was taken up by the Mendicity Society +(informally it afterwards appeared), and I presented myself at a +London Police-Office with my testimony against him. The +Magistrate was wonderfully struck by his educational +acquirements, deeply impressed by the excellence of his letters, +exceedingly sorry to see a man of his attainments there, +complimented him highly on his powers of composition, and was +quite charmed to have the agreeable duty of discharging +him. A collection was made for the ‘poor +fellow,’ as he was called in the reports, and I left the +court with a comfortable sense of being universally regarded as a +sort of monster. Next day comes to me a friend of mine, the +governor of a large prison. ‘Why did you ever go to +the Police-Office against that man,’ says he, +‘without coming to me first? I know all about him and +his frauds. He lodged in the house of one of my warders, at +the very time when he first wrote to you; and then he was eating +spring-lamb at eighteen-pence a pound, and early asparagus at I +don’t know how much a bundle!’ On that very +same day, and in that very same hour, my injured gentleman wrote +a solemn address to me, demanding to know what compensation I +proposed to make him for his having passed the night in a +‘loathsome dungeon.’ And next morning an Irish +gentleman, a member of the same fraternity, who had read the +case, and was very well persuaded I should be chary of going to +that Police-Office again, positively refused to leave my door for +less than a sovereign, and, resolved to besiege me into +compliance, literally ‘sat down’ before it for ten +mortal hours. The garrison being well provisioned, I +remained within the walls; and he raised the siege at midnight +with a prodigious alarum on the bell.</p> +<p>The Begging-Letter Writer often has an extensive circle of +acquaintance. Whole pages of the ‘Court Guide’ +are ready to be references for him. Noblemen and gentlemen +write to say there never was such a man for probity and +virtue. They have known him time out of mind, and there is +nothing they wouldn’t do for him. Somehow, they +don’t give him that one pound ten he stands in need of; but +perhaps it is not enough—they want to do more, and his +modesty will not allow it. It is to be remarked of his +trade that it is a very fascinating one. He never leaves +it; and those who are near to him become smitten with a love of +it, too, and sooner or later set up for themselves. He +employs a messenger—man, woman, or child. That +messenger is certain ultimately to become an independent +Begging-Letter Writer. His sons and daughters succeed to +his calling, and write begging-letters when he is no more. +He throws off the infection of begging-letter writing, like the +contagion of disease. What Sydney Smith so happily called +‘the dangerous luxury of dishonesty’ is more +tempting, and more catching, it would seem, in this instance than +in any other.</p> +<p>He always belongs to a Corresponding-Society of Begging-Letter +Writers. Any one who will, may ascertain this fact. +Give money to-day in recognition of a begging-letter,—no +matter how unlike a common begging-letter,—and for the next +fortnight you will have a rush of such communications. +Steadily refuse to give; and the begging-letters become +Angels’ visits, until the Society is from some cause or +other in a dull way of business, and may as well try you as +anybody else. It is of little use inquiring into the +Begging-Letter Writer’s circumstances. He may be +sometimes accidentally found out, as in the case already +mentioned (though that was not the first inquiry made); but +apparent misery is always a part of his trade, and real misery +very often is, in the intervals of spring-lamb and early +asparagus. It is naturally an incident of his dissipated +and dishonest life.</p> +<p>That the calling is a successful one, and that large sums of +money are gained by it, must be evident to anybody who reads the +Police Reports of such cases. But, prosecutions are of rare +occurrence, relatively to the extent to which the trade is +carried on. The cause of this is to be found (as no one +knows better than the Begging-Letter Writer, for it is a part of +his speculation) in the aversion people feel to exhibit +themselves as having been imposed upon, or as having weakly +gratified their consciences with a lazy, flimsy substitute for +the noblest of all virtues. There is a man at large, at the +moment when this paper is preparing for the press (on the 29th of +April, 1850), and never once taken up yet, who, within these +twelvemonths, has been probably the most audacious and the most +successful swindler that even this trade has ever known. +There has been something singularly base in this fellow’s +proceedings; it has been his business to write to all sorts and +conditions of people, in the names of persons of high reputation +and unblemished honour, professing to be in distress—the +general admiration and respect for whom has ensured a ready and +generous reply.</p> +<p>Now, in the hope that the results of the real experience of a +real person may do something more to induce reflection on this +subject than any abstract treatise—and with a personal +knowledge of the extent to which the Begging-Letter Trade has +been carried on for some time, and has been for some time +constantly increasing—the writer of this paper entreats the +attention of his readers to a few concluding words. His +experience is a type of the experience of many; some on a +smaller, some on an infinitely larger scale. All may judge +of the soundness or unsoundness of his conclusions from it.</p> +<p>Long doubtful of the efficacy of such assistance in any case +whatever, and able to recall but one, within his whole individual +knowledge, in which he had the least after-reason to suppose that +any good was done by it, he was led, last autumn, into some +serious considerations. The begging-letters flying about by +every post, made it perfectly manifest that a set of lazy +vagabonds were interposed between the general desire to do +something to relieve the sickness and misery under which the poor +were suffering, and the suffering poor themselves. That +many who sought to do some little to repair the social wrongs, +inflicted in the way of preventible sickness and death upon the +poor, were strengthening those wrongs, however innocently, by +wasting money on pestilent knaves cumbering society. That +imagination,—soberly following one of these knaves into his +life of punishment in jail, and comparing it with the life of one +of these poor in a cholera-stricken alley, or one of the children +of one of these poor, soothed in its dying hour by the late +lamented Mr. Drouet,—contemplated a grim farce, impossible +to be presented very much longer before God or man. That +the crowning miracle of all the miracles summed up in the New +Testament, after the miracle of the blind seeing, and the lame +walking, and the restoration of the dead to life, was the miracle +that the poor had the Gospel preached to them. That while +the poor were unnaturally and unnecessarily cut off by the +thousand, in the prematurity of their age, or in the rottenness +of their youth—for of flower or blossom such youth has +none—the Gospel was <span class="GutSmall">NOT</span> +preached to them, saving in hollow and unmeaning voices. +That of all wrongs, this was the first mighty wrong the +Pestilence warned us to set right. And that no Post-Office +Order to any amount, given to a Begging-Letter Writer for the +quieting of an uneasy breast, would be presentable on the Last +Great Day as anything towards it.</p> +<p>The poor never write these letters. Nothing could be +more unlike their habits. The writers are public robbers; +and we who support them are parties to their depredations. +They trade upon every circumstance within their knowledge that +affects us, public or private, joyful or sorrowful; they pervert +the lessons of our lives; they change what ought to be our +strength and virtue into weakness, and encouragement of +vice. There is a plain remedy, and it is in our own +hands. We must resolve, at any sacrifice of feeling, to be +deaf to such appeals, and crush the trade.</p> +<p>There are degrees in murder. Life must be held sacred +among us in more ways than one—sacred, not merely from the +murderous weapon, or the subtle poison, or the cruel blow, but +sacred from preventible diseases, distortions, and pains. +That is the first great end we have to set against this miserable +imposition. Physical life respected, moral life comes +next. What will not content a Begging-Letter Writer for a +week, would educate a score of children for a year. Let us +give all we can; let us give more than ever. Let us do all +we can; let us do more than ever. But let us give, and do, +with a high purpose; not to endow the scum of the earth, to its +own greater corruption, with the offals of our duty.</p> +<h2><a name="page324"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 324</span>A +CHILD’S DREAM OF A STAR</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">There</span> was once a child, and he +strolled about a good deal, and thought of a number of +things. He had a sister, who was a child too, and his +constant companion. These two used to wonder all day +long. They wondered at the beauty of the flowers; they +wondered at the height and blueness of the sky; they wondered at +the depth of the bright water; they wondered at the goodness and +the power of <span class="smcap">God</span> who made the lovely +world.</p> +<p>They used to say to one another, sometimes, Supposing all the +children upon earth were to die, would the flowers, and the +water, and the sky be sorry? They believed they would be +sorry. For, said they, the buds are the children of the +flowers, and the little playful streams that gambol down the +hill-sides are the children of the water; and the smallest bright +specks playing at hide and seek in the sky all night, must surely +be the children of the stars; and they would all be grieved to +see their playmates, the children of men, no more.</p> +<p>There was one clear shining star that used to come out in the +sky before the rest, near the church spire, above the +graves. It was larger and more beautiful, they thought, +than all the others, and every night they watched for it, +standing hand in hand at a window. Whoever saw it first +cried out, ‘I see the star!’ And often they +cried out both together, knowing so well when it would rise, and +where. So they grew to be such friends with it, that, +before lying down in their beds, they always looked out once +again, to bid it good night; and when they were turning round to +sleep, they used to say, ‘God bless the star!’</p> +<p>But while she was still very young, oh, very, very young, the +sister drooped, and came to be so weak that she could no longer +stand in the window at night; and then the child looked sadly out +by himself, and when he saw the star, turned round and said to +the patient pale face on the bed, ‘I see the star!’ +and then a smile would come upon the face, and a little weak +voice used to say, ‘God bless my brother and the +star!’</p> +<p>And so the time came all too soon! when the child looked out +alone, and when there was no face on the bed; and when there was +a little grave among the graves, not there before; and when the +star made long rays down towards him, as he saw it through his +tears.</p> +<p>Now, these rays were so bright, and they seemed to make such a +shining way from earth to Heaven, that when the child went to his +solitary bed, he dreamed about the star; and dreamed that, lying +where he was, he saw a train of people taken up that sparkling +road by angels. And the star, opening, showed him a great +world of light, where many more such angels waited to receive +them.</p> +<p>All these angels, who were waiting, turned their beaming eyes +upon the people who were carried up into the star; and some came +out from the long rows in which they stood, and fell upon the +people’s necks, and kissed them tenderly, and went away +with them down avenues of light, and were so happy in their +company, that lying in his bed he wept for joy.</p> +<p>But, there were many angels who did not go with them, and +among them one he knew. The patient face that once had lain +upon the bed was glorified and radiant, but his heart found out +his sister among all the host.</p> +<p>His sister’s angel lingered near the entrance of the +star, and said to the leader among those who had brought the +people thither:</p> +<p>‘Is my brother come?’</p> +<p>And he said ‘No.’</p> +<p>She was turning hopefully away, when the child stretched out +his arms, and cried, ‘O, sister, I am here! Take +me!’ and then she turned her beaming eyes upon him, and it +was night; and the star was shining into the room, making long +rays down towards him as he saw it through his tears.</p> +<p>From that hour forth, the child looked out upon the star as on +the home he was to go to, when his time should come; and he +thought that he did not belong to the earth alone, but to the +star too, because of his sister’s angel gone before.</p> +<p>There was a baby born to be a brother to the child; and while +he was so little that he never yet had spoken word, he stretched +his tiny form out on his bed, and died.</p> +<p>Again the child dreamed of the open star, and of the company +of angels, and the train of people, and the rows of angels with +their beaming eyes all turned upon those people’s +faces.</p> +<p>Said his sister’s angel to the leader:</p> +<p>‘Is my brother come?’</p> +<p>And he said, ‘Not that one, but another.’</p> +<p>As the child beheld his brother’s angel in her arms, he +cried, ‘O, sister, I am here! Take me!’ +And she turned and smiled upon him, and the star was shining.</p> +<p>He grew to be a young man, and was busy at his books when an +old servant came to him and said:</p> +<p>‘Thy mother is no more. I bring her blessing on +her darling son!’</p> +<p>Again at night he saw the star, and all that former +company. Said his sister’s angel to the leader.</p> +<p>‘Is my brother come?’</p> +<p>And he said, ‘Thy mother!’</p> +<p>A mighty cry of joy went forth through all the star, because +the mother was re-united to her two children. And he +stretched out his arms and cried, ‘O, mother, sister, and +brother, I am here! Take me!’ And they answered +him, ‘Not yet,’ and the star was shining.</p> +<p>He grew to be a man, whose hair was turning grey, and he was +sitting in his chair by the fireside, heavy with grief, and with +his face bedewed with tears, when the star opened once again.</p> +<p>Said his sister’s angel to the leader: ‘Is my +brother come?’</p> +<p>And he said, ‘Nay, but his maiden daughter.’</p> +<p>And the man who had been the child saw his daughter, newly +lost to him, a celestial creature among those three, and he said, +‘My daughter’s head is on my sister’s bosom, +and her arm is around my mother’s neck, and at her feet +there is the baby of old time, and I can bear the parting from +her, <span class="smcap">God</span> be praised!’</p> +<p>And the star was shining.</p> +<p>Thus the child came to be an old man, and his once smooth face +was wrinkled, and his steps were slow and feeble, and his back +was bent. And one night as he lay upon his bed, his +children standing round, he cried, as he had cried so long +ago:</p> +<p>‘I see the star!’</p> +<p>They whispered one another, ‘He is dying.’</p> +<p>And he said, ‘I am. My age is falling from me like +a garment, and I move towards the star as a child. And O, +my Father, now I thank thee that it has so often opened, to +receive those dear ones who await me!’</p> +<p>And the star was shining; and it shines upon his grave.</p> +<h2><a name="page327"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 327</span>OUR +ENGLISH WATERING-PLACE</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">In</span> the Autumn-time of the year, +when the great metropolis is so much hotter, so much noisier, so +much more dusty or so much more water-carted, so much more +crowded, so much more disturbing and distracting in all respects, +than it usually is, a quiet sea-beach becomes indeed a blessed +spot. Half awake and half asleep, this idle morning in our +sunny window on the edge of a chalk-cliff in the old-fashioned +watering-place to which we are a faithful resorter, we feel a +lazy inclination to sketch its picture.</p> +<p>The place seems to respond. Sky, sea, beach, and +village, lie as still before us as if they were sitting for the +picture. It is dead low-water. A ripple plays among +the ripening corn upon the cliff, as if it were faintly trying +from recollection to imitate the sea; and the world of +butterflies hovering over the crop of radish-seed are as restless +in their little way as the gulls are in their larger manner when +the wind blows. But the ocean lies winking in the sunlight +like a drowsy lion—its glassy waters scarcely curve upon +the shore—the fishing-boats in the tiny harbour are all +stranded in the mud—our two colliers (our watering-place +has a maritime trade employing that amount of shipping) have not +an inch of water within a quarter of a mile of them, and turn, +exhausted, on their sides, like faint fish of an antediluvian +species. Rusty cables and chains, ropes and rings, +undermost parts of posts and piles and confused timber-defences +against the waves, lie strewn about, in a brown litter of tangled +sea-weed and fallen cliff which looks as if a family of giants +had been making tea here for ages, and had observed an untidy +custom of throwing their tea-leaves on the shore.</p> +<p>In truth, our watering-place itself has been left somewhat +high and dry by the tide of years. Concerned as we are for +its honour, we must reluctantly admit that the time when this +pretty little semicircular sweep of houses, tapering off at the +end of the wooden pier into a point in the sea, was a gay place, +and when the lighthouse overlooking it shone at daybreak on +company dispersing from public balls, is but dimly traditional +now. There is a bleak chamber in our watering-place which +is yet called the Assembly ‘Rooms,’ and understood to +be available on hire for balls or concerts; and, some few seasons +since, an ancient little gentleman came down and stayed at the +hotel, who said that he had danced there, in bygone ages, with +the Honourable Miss Peepy, well known to have been the Beauty of +her day and the cruel occasion of innumerable duels. But he +was so old and shrivelled, and so very rheumatic in the legs, +that it demanded more imagination than our watering-place can +usually muster, to believe him; therefore, except the Master of +the ‘Rooms’ (who to this hour wears knee-breeches, +and who confirmed the statement with tears in his eyes), nobody +did believe in the little lame old gentleman, or even in the +Honourable Miss Peepy, long deceased.</p> +<p>As to subscription balls in the Assembly Rooms of our +watering-place now, red-hot cannon balls are less +improbable. Sometimes, a misguided wanderer of a +Ventriloquist, or an Infant Phenomenon, or a juggler, or somebody +with an Orrery that is several stars behind the time, takes the +place for a night, and issues bills with the name of his last +town lined out, and the name of ours ignominiously written in, +but you may be sure this never happens twice to the same +unfortunate person. On such occasions the discoloured old +Billiard Table that is seldom played at (unless the ghost of the +Honourable Miss Peepy plays at pool with other ghosts) is pushed +into a corner, and benches are solemnly constituted into front +seats, back seats, and reserved seats—which are much the +same after you have paid—and a few dull candles are +lighted—wind permitting—and the performer and the +scanty audience play out a short match which shall make the other +most low-spirited—which is usually a drawn game. +After that, the performer instantly departs with maledictory +expressions, and is never heard of more.</p> +<p>But the most wonderful feature of our Assembly Rooms, is, that +an annual sale of ‘Fancy and other China,’ is +announced here with mysterious constancy and perseverance. +Where the china comes from, where it goes to, why it is annually +put up to auction when nobody ever thinks of bidding for it, how +it comes to pass that it is always the same china, whether it +would not have been cheaper, with the sea at hand, to have thrown +it away, say in eighteen hundred and thirty, are standing +enigmas. Every year the bills come out, every year the +Master of the Rooms gets into a little pulpit on a table, and +offers it for sale, every year nobody buys it, every year it is +put away somewhere till next year, when it appears again as if +the whole thing were a new idea. We have a faint +remembrance of an unearthly collection of clocks, purporting to +be the work of Parisian and Genevese artists—chiefly +bilious-faced clocks, supported on sickly white crutches, with +their pendulums dangling like lame legs—to which a similar +course of events occurred for several years, until they seemed to +lapse away, of mere imbecility.</p> +<p>Attached to our Assembly Rooms is a library. There is a +wheel of fortune in it, but it is rusty and dusty, and never +turns. A large doll, with moveable eyes, was put up to be +raffled for, by five-and-twenty members at two shillings, seven +years ago this autumn, and the list is not full yet. We are +rather sanguine, now, that the raffle will come off next +year. We think so, because we only want nine members, and +should only want eight, but for number two having grown up since +her name was entered, and withdrawn it when she was +married. Down the street, there is a toy-ship of +considerable burden, in the same condition. Two of the boys +who were entered for that raffle have gone to India in real +ships, since; and one was shot, and died in the arms of his +sister’s lover, by whom he sent his last words home.</p> +<p>This is the library for the Minerva Press. If you want +that kind of reading, come to our watering-place. The +leaves of the romances, reduced to a condition very like +curl-paper, are thickly studded with notes in pencil: sometimes +complimentary, sometimes jocose. Some of these +commentators, like commentators in a more extensive way, quarrel +with one another. One young gentleman who sarcastically +writes ‘O!!!’ after every sentimental passage, is +pursued through his literary career by another, who writes +‘Insulting Beast!’ Miss Julia Mills has read +the whole collection of these books. She has left marginal +notes on the pages, as ‘Is not this truly touching? +J. M.’ ‘How thrilling! J. M.’ +‘Entranced here by the Magician’s potent spell. +J. M.’ She has also italicised her favourite traits +in the description of the hero, as ‘his hair, which was +<i>dark</i> and <i>wavy</i>, clustered in <i>rich profusion</i> +around a <i>marble brow</i>, whose lofty paleness bespoke the +intellect within.’ It reminds her of another +hero. She adds, ‘How like B. L. Can this be +mere coincidence? J. M.’</p> +<p>You would hardly guess which is the main street of our +watering-place, but you may know it by its being always stopped +up with donkey-chaises. Whenever you come here, and see +harnessed donkeys eating clover out of barrows drawn completely +across a narrow thoroughfare, you may be quite sure you are in +our High Street. Our Police you may know by his uniform, +likewise by his never on any account interfering with +anybody—especially the tramps and vagabonds. In our +fancy shops we have a capital collection of damaged goods, among +which the flies of countless summers ‘have been +roaming.’ We are great in obsolete seals, and in +faded pin-cushions, and in rickety camp-stools, and in exploded +cutlery, and in miniature vessels, and in stunted little +telescopes, and in objects made of shells that pretend not to be +shells. Diminutive spades, barrows, and baskets, are our +principal articles of commerce; but even they don’t look +quite new somehow. They always seem to have been offered +and refused somewhere else, before they came down to our +watering-place.</p> +<p>Yet, it must not be supposed that our watering-place is an +empty place, deserted by all visitors except a few staunch +persons of approved fidelity. On the contrary, the chances +are that if you came down here in August or September, you +wouldn’t find a house to lay your head in. As to +finding either house or lodging of which you could reduce the +terms, you could scarcely engage in a more hopeless +pursuit. For all this, you are to observe that every season +is the worst season ever known, and that the householding +population of our watering-place are ruined regularly every +autumn. They are like the farmers, in regard that it is +surprising how much ruin they will bear. We have an +excellent hotel—capital baths, warm, cold, and +shower—first-rate bathing-machines—and as good +butchers, bakers, and grocers, as heart could desire. They +all do business, it is to be presumed, from motives of +philanthropy—but it is quite certain that they are all +being ruined. Their interest in strangers, and their +politeness under ruin, bespeak their amiable nature. You +would say so, if you only saw the baker helping a new comer to +find suitable apartments.</p> +<p>So far from being at a discount as to company, we are in fact +what would be popularly called rather a nobby place. Some +tip-top ‘Nobbs’ come down occasionally—even +Dukes and Duchesses. We have known such carriages to blaze +among the donkey-chaises, as made beholders wink. Attendant +on these equipages come resplendent creatures in plush and +powder, who are sure to be stricken disgusted with the +indifferent accommodation of our watering-place, and who, of an +evening (particularly when it rains), may be seen very much out +of drawing, in rooms far too small for their fine figures, +looking discontentedly out of little back windows into +bye-streets. The lords and ladies get on well enough and +quite good-humouredly: but if you want to see the gorgeous +phenomena who wait upon them at a perfect non-plus, you should +come and look at the resplendent creatures with little back +parlours for servants’ halls, and turn-up bedsteads to +sleep in, at our watering-place. You have no idea how they +take it to heart.</p> +<p>We have a pier—a queer old wooden pier, fortunately +without the slightest pretensions to architecture, and very +picturesque in consequence. Boats are hauled up upon it, +ropes are coiled all over it; lobster-pots, nets, masts, oars, +spars, sails, ballast, and rickety capstans, make a perfect +labyrinth of it. For ever hovering about this pier, with +their hands in their pockets, or leaning over the rough bulwark +it opposes to the sea, gazing through telescopes which they carry +about in the same profound receptacles, are the Boatmen of our +watering-place. Looking at them, you would say that surely +these must be the laziest boatmen in the world. They lounge +about, in obstinate and inflexible pantaloons that are apparently +made of wood, the whole season through. Whether talking +together about the shipping in the Channel, or gruffly unbending +over mugs of beer at the public-house, you would consider them +the slowest of men. The chances are a thousand to one that +you might stay here for ten seasons, and never see a boatman in a +hurry. A certain expression about his loose hands, when +they are not in his pockets, as if he were carrying a +considerable lump of iron in each, without any inconvenience, +suggests strength, but he never seems to use it. He has the +appearance of perpetually strolling—running is too +inappropriate a word to be thought of—to seed. The +only subject on which he seems to feel any approach to +enthusiasm, is pitch. He pitches everything he can lay hold +of,—the pier, the palings, his boat, his house,—when +there is nothing else left he turns to and even pitches his hat, +or his rough-weather clothing. Do not judge him by +deceitful appearances. These are among the bravest and most +skilful mariners that exist. Let a gale arise and swell +into a storm, let a sea run that might appal the stoutest heart +that ever beat, let the Light-boat on these dangerous sands throw +up a rocket in the night, or let them hear through the angry roar +the signal-guns of a ship in distress, and these men spring up +into activity so dauntless, so valiant, and heroic, that the +world cannot surpass it. Cavillers may object that they +chiefly live upon the salvage of valuable cargoes. So they +do, and God knows it is no great living that they get out of the +deadly risks they run. But put that hope of gain +aside. Let these rough fellows be asked, in any storm, who +volunteers for the life-boat to save some perishing souls, as +poor and empty-handed as themselves, whose lives the perfection +of human reason does not rate at the value of a farthing each; +and that boat will be manned, as surely and as cheerfully, as if +a thousand pounds were told down on the weather-beaten +pier. For this, and for the recollection of their comrades +whom we have known, whom the raging sea has engulfed before their +children’s eyes in such brave efforts, whom the secret sand +has buried, we hold the boatmen of our watering-place in our love +and honour, and are tender of the fame they well deserve.</p> +<p>So many children are brought down to our watering-place that, +when they are not out of doors, as they usually are in fine +weather, it is wonderful where they are put: the whole village +seeming much too small to hold them under cover. In the +afternoons, you see no end of salt and sandy little boots drying +on upper window-sills. At bathing-time in the morning, the +little bay re-echoes with every shrill variety of shriek and +splash—after which, if the weather be at all fresh, the +sands teem with small blue mottled legs. The sands are the +children’s great resort. They cluster there, like +ants: so busy burying their particular friends, and making +castles with infinite labour which the next tide overthrows, that +it is curious to consider how their play, to the music of the +sea, foreshadows the realities of their after lives.</p> +<p>It is curious, too, to observe a natural ease of approach that +there seems to be between the children and the boatmen. +They mutually make acquaintance, and take individual likings, +without any help. You will come upon one of those slow +heavy fellows sitting down patiently mending a little ship for a +mite of a boy, whom he could crush to death by throwing his +lightest pair of trousers on him. You will be sensible of +the oddest contrast between the smooth little creature, and the +rough man who seems to be carved out of hard-grained +wood—between the delicate hand expectantly held out, and +the immense thumb and finger that can hardly feel the rigging of +thread they mend—between the small voice and the gruff +growl—and yet there is a natural propriety in the +companionship: always to be noted in confidence between a child +and a person who has any merit of reality and genuineness: which +is admirably pleasant.</p> +<p>We have a preventive station at our watering-place, and much +the same thing may be observed—in a lesser degree, because +of their official character—of the coast blockade; a +steady, trusty, well-conditioned, well-conducted set of men, with +no misgiving about looking you full in the face, and with a quiet +thorough-going way of passing along to their duty at night, +carrying huge sou’-wester clothing in reserve, that is +fraught with all good prepossession. They are handy +fellows—neat about their houses—industrious at +gardening—would get on with their wives, one thinks, in a +desert island—and people it, too, soon.</p> +<p>As to the naval officer of the station, with his hearty fresh +face, and his blue eye that has pierced all kinds of weather, it +warms our hearts when he comes into church on a Sunday, with that +bright mixture of blue coat, buff waistcoat, black neck-kerchief, +and gold epaulette, that is associated in the minds of all +Englishmen with brave, unpretending, cordial, national +service. We like to look at him in his Sunday state; and if +we were First Lord (really possessing the indispensable +qualification for the office of knowing nothing whatever about +the sea), we would give him a ship to-morrow.</p> +<p>We have a church, by-the-by, of course—a hideous temple +of flint, like a great petrified haystack. Our chief +clerical dignitary, who, to his honour, has done much for +education both in time and money, and has established excellent +schools, is a sound, shrewd, healthy gentleman, who has got into +little occasional difficulties with the neighbouring farmers, but +has had a pestilent trick of being right. Under a new +regulation, he has yielded the church of our watering-place to +another clergyman. Upon the whole we get on in church +well. We are a little bilious sometimes, about these days +of fraternisation, and about nations arriving at a new and more +unprejudiced knowledge of each other (which our Christianity +don’t quite approve), but it soon goes off, and then we get +on very well.</p> +<p>There are two dissenting chapels, besides, in our small +watering-place; being in about the proportion of a hundred and +twenty guns to a yacht. But the dissension that has torn us +lately, has not been a religious one. It has arisen on the +novel question of Gas. Our watering-place has been +convulsed by the agitation, Gas or No Gas. It was never +reasoned why No Gas, but there was a great No Gas party. +Broadsides were printed and stuck about—a startling +circumstance in our watering-place. The No Gas party rested +content with chalking ‘No Gas!’ and ‘Down with +Gas!’ and other such angry war-whoops, on the few back +gates and scraps of wall which the limits of our watering-place +afford; but the Gas party printed and posted bills, wherein they +took the high ground of proclaiming against the No Gas party, +that it was said Let there be light and there was light; and that +not to have light (that is gas-light) in our watering-place, was +to contravene the great decree. Whether by these +thunderbolts or not, the No Gas party were defeated; and in this +present season we have had our handful of shops illuminated for +the first time. Such of the No Gas party, however, as have +got shops, remain in opposition and burn tallow—exhibiting +in their windows the very picture of the sulkiness that punishes +itself, and a new illustration of the old adage about cutting off +your nose to be revenged on your face, in cutting off their gas +to be revenged on their business.</p> +<p>Other population than we have indicated, our watering-place +has none. There are a few old used-up boatmen who creep +about in the sunlight with the help of sticks, and there is a +poor imbecile shoemaker who wanders his lonely life away among +the rocks, as if he were looking for his reason—which he +will never find. Sojourners in neighbouring watering-places +come occasionally in flys to stare at us, and drive away again as +if they thought us very dull; Italian boys come, Punch comes, the +Fantoccini come, the Tumblers come, the Ethiopians come; +Glee-singers come at night, and hum and vibrate (not always +melodiously) under our windows. But they all go soon, and +leave us to ourselves again. We once had a travelling +Circus and Wombwell’s Menagerie at the same time. +They both know better than ever to try it again; and the +Menagerie had nearly razed us from the face of the earth in +getting the elephant away—his caravan was so large, and the +watering-place so small. We have a fine sea, wholesome for +all people; profitable for the body, profitable for the +mind. The poet’s words are sometimes on its awful +lips:</p> +<blockquote><p>And the stately ships go on<br /> + To their haven under the hill;<br /> +But O for the touch of a vanish’d hand.<br /> + And the sound of a voice that is still!<br /> +<br /> +Break, break, break,<br /> + At the foot of thy crags, O sea!<br /> +But the tender grace of a day that is dead<br /> + Will never come back to me.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Yet it is not always so, for the speech of the sea is various, +and wants not abundant resource of cheerfulness, hope, and lusty +encouragement. And since I have been idling at the window +here, the tide has risen. The boats are dancing on the +bubbling water; the colliers are afloat again; the white-bordered +waves rush in; the children</p> +<blockquote><p>Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him<br /> +When he comes back;</p> +</blockquote> +<p>the radiant sails are gliding past the shore, and shining on +the far horizon; all the sea is sparkling, heaving, swelling up +with life and beauty, this bright morning.</p> +<h2><a name="page335"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 335</span>OUR +FRENCH WATERING-PLACE</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Having</span> earned, by many years of +fidelity, the right to be sometimes inconstant to our English +watering-place, we have dallied for two or three seasons with a +French watering-place: once solely known to us as a town with a +very long street, beginning with an abattoir and ending with a +steam-boat, which it seemed our fate to behold only at daybreak +on winter mornings, when (in the days before continental +railroads), just sufficiently awake to know that we were most +uncomfortably asleep, it was our destiny always to clatter +through it, in the coupé of the diligence from Paris, with +a sea of mud behind us, and a sea of tumbling waves before. +In relation to which latter monster, our mind’s eye now +recalls a worthy Frenchman in a seal-skin cap with a braided hood +over it, once our travelling companion in the coupé +aforesaid, who, waking up with a pale and crumpled visage, and +looking ruefully out at the grim row of breakers enjoying +themselves fanatically on an instrument of torture called +‘the Bar,’ inquired of us whether we were ever sick +at sea? Both to prepare his mind for the abject creature we +were presently to become, and also to afford him consolation, we +replied, ‘Sir, your servant is always sick when it is +possible to be so.’ He returned, altogether uncheered +by the bright example, ‘Ah, Heaven, but I am always sick, +even when it is impossible to be so.’</p> +<p>The means of communication between the French capital and our +French watering-place are wholly changed since those days; but, +the Channel remains unbridged as yet, and the old floundering and +knocking about go on there. It must be confessed that +saving in reasonable (and therefore rare) sea-weather, the act of +arrival at our French watering-place from England is difficult to +be achieved with dignity. Several little circumstances +combine to render the visitor an object of humiliation. In +the first place, the steamer no sooner touches the port, than all +the passengers fall into captivity: being boarded by an +overpowering force of Custom-house officers, and marched into a +gloomy dungeon. In the second place, the road to this +dungeon is fenced off with ropes breast-high, and outside those +ropes all the English in the place who have lately been sea-sick +and are now well, assemble in their best clothes to enjoy the +degradation of their dilapidated fellow-creatures. +‘Oh, my gracious! how ill this one has been!’ +‘Here’s a damp one coming next!’ +‘Here’s a pale one!’ ‘Oh! +Ain’t he green in the face, this next one!’ +Even we ourself (not deficient in natural dignity) have a lively +remembrance of staggering up this detested lane one September day +in a gale of wind, when we were received like an irresistible +comic actor, with a burst of laughter and applause, occasioned by +the extreme imbecility of our legs.</p> +<p>We were coming to the third place. In the third place, +the captives, being shut up in the gloomy dungeon, are strained, +two or three at a time, into an inner cell, to be examined as to +passports; and across the doorway of communication, stands a +military creature making a bar of his arm. Two ideas are +generally present to the British mind during these ceremonies; +first, that it is necessary to make for the cell with violent +struggles, as if it were a life-boat and the dungeon a ship going +down; secondly, that the military creature’s arm is a +national affront, which the government at home ought instantly to +‘take up.’ The British mind and body becoming +heated by these fantasies, delirious answers are made to +inquiries, and extravagant actions performed. Thus, Johnson +persists in giving Johnson as his baptismal name, and +substituting for his ancestral designation the national +‘Dam!’ Neither can he by any means be brought +to recognise the distinction between a portmanteau-key and a +passport, but will obstinately persevere in tendering the one +when asked for the other. This brings him to the fourth +place, in a state of mere idiotcy; and when he is, in the fourth +place, cast out at a little door into a howling wilderness of +touters, he becomes a lunatic with wild eyes and floating hair +until rescued and soothed. If friendless and unrescued, he +is generally put into a railway omnibus and taken to Paris.</p> +<p>But, our French watering-place, when it is once got into, is a +very enjoyable place. It has a varied and beautiful country +around it, and many characteristic and agreeable things within +it. To be sure, it might have fewer bad smells and less +decaying refuse, and it might be better drained, and much cleaner +in many parts, and therefore infinitely more healthy. +Still, it is a bright, airy, pleasant, cheerful town; and if you +were to walk down either of its three well-paved main streets, +towards five o’clock in the afternoon, when delicate odours +of cookery fill the air, and its hotel windows (it is full of +hotels) give glimpses of long tables set out for dinner, and made +to look sumptuous by the aid of napkins folded fan-wise, you +would rightly judge it to be an uncommonly good town to eat and +drink in.</p> +<p>We have an old walled town, rich in cool public wells of +water, on the top of a hill within and above the present +business-town; and if it were some hundreds of miles further from +England, instead of being, on a clear day, within sight of the +grass growing in the crevices of the chalk-cliffs of Dover, you +would long ago have been bored to death about that town. It +is more picturesque and quaint than half the innocent places +which tourists, following their leader like sheep, have made +impostors of. To say nothing of its houses with grave +courtyards, its queer by-corners, and its many-windowed streets +white and quiet in the sunlight, there is an ancient belfry in it +that would have been in all the Annuals and Albums, going and +gone, these hundred years if it had but been more expensive to +get at. Happily it has escaped so well, being only in our +French watering-place, that you may like it of your own accord in +a natural manner, without being required to go into convulsions +about it. We regard it as one of the later blessings of our +life, that <span class="smcap">Bilkins</span>, the only authority +on Taste, never took any notice that we can find out, of our +French watering-place. Bilkins never wrote about it, never +pointed out anything to be seen in it, never measured anything in +it, always left it alone. For which relief, Heaven bless +the town and the memory of the immortal Bilkins likewise!</p> +<p>There is a charming walk, arched and shaded by trees, on the +old walls that form the four sides of this High Town, whence you +get glimpses of the streets below, and changing views of the +other town and of the river, and of the hills and of the +sea. It is made more agreeable and peculiar by some of the +solemn houses that are rooted in the deep streets below, bursting +into a fresher existence a-top, and having doors and windows, and +even gardens, on these ramparts. A child going in at the +courtyard gate of one of these houses, climbing up the many +stairs, and coming out at the fourth-floor window, might conceive +himself another Jack, alighting on enchanted ground from another +bean-stalk. It is a place wonderfully populous in children; +English children, with governesses reading novels as they walk +down the shady lanes of trees, or nursemaids interchanging gossip +on the seats; French children with their smiling bonnes in +snow-white caps, and themselves—if little boys—in +straw head-gear like bee-hives, work-baskets and church +hassocks. Three years ago, there were three weazen old men, +one bearing a frayed red ribbon in his threadbare button-hole, +always to be found walking together among these children, before +dinner-time. If they walked for an appetite, they doubtless +lived en pension—were contracted for—otherwise their +poverty would have made it a rash action. They were +stooping, blear-eyed, dull old men, slip-shod and shabby, in +long-skirted short-waisted coats and meagre trousers, and yet +with a ghost of gentility hovering in their company. They +spoke little to each other, and looked as if they might have been +politically discontented if they had had vitality enough. +Once, we overheard red-ribbon feebly complain to the other two +that somebody, or something, was ‘a Robber;’ and then +they all three set their mouths so that they would have ground +their teeth if they had had any. The ensuing winter +gathered red-ribbon unto the great company of faded ribbons, and +next year the remaining two were there—getting themselves +entangled with hoops and dolls—familiar mysteries to the +children—probably in the eyes of most of them, harmless +creatures who had never been like children, and whom children +could never be like. Another winter came, and another old +man went, and so, this present year, the last of the triumvirate, +left off walking—it was no good, now—and sat by +himself on a little solitary bench, with the hoops and the dolls +as lively as ever all about him.</p> +<p>In the Place d’Armes of this town, a little decayed +market is held, which seems to slip through the old gateway, like +water, and go rippling down the hill, to mingle with the +murmuring market in the lower town, and get lost in its movement +and bustle. It is very agreeable on an idle summer morning +to pursue this market-stream from the hill-top. It begins, +dozingly and dully, with a few sacks of corn; starts into a +surprising collection of boots and shoes; goes brawling down the +hill in a diversified channel of old cordage, old iron, old +crockery, old clothes, civil and military, old rags, new cotton +goods, flaming prints of saints, little looking-glasses, and +incalculable lengths of tape; dives into a backway, keeping out +of sight for a little while, as streams will, or only sparkling +for a moment in the shape of a market drinking-shop; and suddenly +reappears behind the great church, shooting itself into a bright +confusion of white-capped women and blue-bloused men, poultry, +vegetables, fruits, flowers, pots, pans, praying-chairs, +soldiers, country butter, umbrellas and other sun-shades, +girl-porters waiting to be hired with baskets at their backs, and +one weazen little old man in a cocked hat, wearing a cuirass of +drinking-glasses and carrying on his shoulder a crimson temple +fluttering with flags, like a glorified pavior’s rammer +without the handle, who rings a little bell in all parts of the +scene, and cries his cooling drink Hola, Hola, Ho-o-o! in a +shrill cracked voice that somehow makes itself heard, above all +the chaffering and vending hum. Early in the afternoon, the +whole course of the stream is dry. The praying-chairs are +put back in the church, the umbrellas are folded up, the unsold +goods are carried away, the stalls and stands disappear, the +square is swept, the hackney coaches lounge there to be hired, +and on all the country roads (if you walk about, as much as we +do) you will see the peasant women, always neatly and comfortably +dressed, riding home, with the pleasantest saddle-furniture of +clean milk-pails, bright butter-kegs, and the like, on the +jolliest little donkeys in the world.</p> +<p>We have another market in our French watering-place—that +is to say, a few wooden hutches in the open street, down by the +Port—devoted to fish. Our fishing-boats are famous +everywhere; and our fishing people, though they love lively +colours, and taste is neutral (see Bilkins), are among the most +picturesque people we ever encountered. They have not only +a quarter of their own in the town itself, but they occupy whole +villages of their own on the neighbouring cliffs. Their +churches and chapels are their own; they consort with one +another, they intermarry among themselves, their customs are +their own, and their costume is their own and never +changes. As soon as one of their boys can walk, he is +provided with a long bright red nightcap; and one of their men +would as soon think of going afloat without his head, as without +that indispensable appendage to it. Then, they wear the +noblest boots, with the hugest tops—flapping and bulging +over anyhow; above which, they encase themselves in such +wonderful overalls and petticoat trousers, made to all appearance +of tarry old sails, so additionally stiffened with pitch and +salt, that the wearers have a walk of their own, and go +straddling and swinging about among the boats and barrels and +nets and rigging, a sight to see. Then, their younger +women, by dint of going down to the sea barefoot, to fling their +baskets into the boats as they come in with the tide, and bespeak +the first fruits of the haul with propitiatory promises to love +and marry that dear fisherman who shall fill that basket like an +Angel, have the finest legs ever carved by Nature in the +brightest mahogany, and they walk like Juno. Their eyes, +too, are so lustrous that their long gold ear-rings turn dull +beside those brilliant neighbours; and when they are dressed, +what with these beauties, and their fine fresh faces, and their +many petticoats—striped petticoats, red petticoats, blue +petticoats, always clean and smart, and never too long—and +their home-made stockings, mulberry-coloured, blue, brown, +purple, lilac—which the older women, taking care of the +Dutch-looking children, sit in all sorts of places knitting, +knitting, knitting from morning to night—and what with +their little saucy bright blue jackets, knitted too, and fitting +close to their handsome figures; and what with the natural grace +with which they wear the commonest cap, or fold the commonest +handkerchief round their luxuriant hair—we say, in a word +and out of breath, that taking all these premises into our +consideration, it has never been a matter of the least surprise +to us that we have never once met, in the cornfields, on the +dusty roads, by the breezy windmills, on the plots of short sweet +grass overhanging the sea—anywhere—a young fisherman +and fisherwoman of our French watering-place together, but the +arm of that fisherman has invariably been, as a matter of course +and without any absurd attempt to disguise so plain a necessity, +round the neck or waist of that fisherwoman. And we have +had no doubt whatever, standing looking at their uphill streets, +house rising above house, and terrace above terrace, and bright +garments here and there lying sunning on rough stone parapets, +that the pleasant mist on all such objects, caused by their being +seen through the brown nets hung across on poles to dry, is, in +the eyes of every true young fisherman, a mist of love and +beauty, setting off the goddess of his heart.</p> +<p>Moreover it is to be observed that these are an industrious +people, and a domestic people, and an honest people. And +though we are aware that at the bidding of Bilkins it is our duty +to fall down and worship the Neapolitans, we make bold very much +to prefer the fishing people of our French +watering-place—especially since our last visit to Naples +within these twelvemonths, when we found only four conditions of +men remaining in the whole city: to wit, lazzaroni, priests, +spies, and soldiers, and all of them beggars; the paternal +government having banished all its subjects except the +rascals.</p> +<p>But we can never henceforth separate our French watering-place +from our own landlord of two summers, M. Loyal Devasseur, citizen +and town-councillor. Permit us to have the pleasure of +presenting M. Loyal Devasseur.</p> +<p>His own family name is simply Loyal; but, as he is married, +and as in that part of France a husband always adds to his own +name the family name of his wife, he writes himself Loyal +Devasseur. He owns a compact little estate of some twenty +or thirty acres on a lofty hill-side, and on it he has built two +country houses, which he lets furnished. They are by many +degrees the best houses that are so let near our French +watering-place; we have had the honour of living in both, and can +testify. The entrance-hall of the first we inhabited was +ornamented with a plan of the estate, representing it as about +twice the size of Ireland; insomuch that when we were yet new to +the property (M. Loyal always speaks of it as ‘La +propriété’) we went three miles straight on +end in search of the bridge of Austerlitz—which we +afterwards found to be immediately outside the window. The +Château of the Old Guard, in another part of the grounds, +and, according to the plan, about two leagues from the little +dining-room, we sought in vain for a week, until, happening one +evening to sit upon a bench in the forest (forest in the plan), a +few yards from the house-door, we observed at our feet, in the +ignominious circumstances of being upside down and greenly +rotten, the Old Guard himself: that is to say, the painted effigy +of a member of that distinguished corps, seven feet high, and in +the act of carrying arms, who had had the misfortune to be blown +down in the previous winter. It will be perceived that M. +Loyal is a staunch admirer of the great Napoleon. He is an +old soldier himself—captain of the National Guard, with a +handsome gold vase on his chimney-piece presented to him by his +company—and his respect for the memory of the illustrious +general is enthusiastic. Medallions of him, portraits of +him, busts of him, pictures of him, are thickly sprinkled all +over the property. During the first month of our +occupation, it was our affliction to be constantly knocking down +Napoleon: if we touched a shelf in a dark corner, he toppled over +with a crash; and every door we opened, shook him to the +soul. Yet M. Loyal is not a man of mere castles in the air, +or, as he would say, in Spain. He has a specially +practical, contriving, clever, skilful eye and hand. His +houses are delightful. He unites French elegance and +English comfort, in a happy manner quite his own. He has an +extraordinary genius for making tasteful little bedrooms in +angles of his roofs, which an Englishman would as soon think of +turning to any account as he would think of cultivating the +Desert. We have ourself reposed deliciously in an elegant +chamber of M. Loyal’s construction, with our head as nearly +in the kitchen chimney-pot as we can conceive it likely for the +head of any gentleman, not by profession a Sweep, to be. +And, into whatsoever strange nook M. Loyal’s genius +penetrates, it, in that nook, infallibly constructs a cupboard +and a row of pegs. In either of our houses, we could have +put away the knapsacks and hung up the hats of the whole regiment +of Guides.</p> +<p>Aforetime, M. Loyal was a tradesman in the town. You can +transact business with no present tradesman in the town, and give +your card ‘chez M. Loyal,’ but a brighter face shines +upon you directly. We doubt if there is, ever was, or ever +will be, a man so universally pleasant in the minds of people as +M. Loyal is in the minds of the citizens of our French +watering-place. They rub their hands and laugh when they +speak of him. Ah, but he is such a good child, such a brave +boy, such a generous spirit, that Monsieur Loyal! It is the +honest truth. M. Loyal’s nature is the nature of a +gentleman. He cultivates his ground with his own hands +(assisted by one little labourer, who falls into a fit now and +then); and he digs and delves from morn to eve in prodigious +perspirations—‘works always,’ as he +says—but, cover him with dust, mud, weeds, water, any +stains you will, you never can cover the gentleman in M. +Loyal. A portly, upright, broad-shouldered, brown-faced +man, whose soldierly bearing gives him the appearance of being +taller than he is, look into the bright eye of M. Loyal, standing +before you in his working-blouse and cap, not particularly well +shaved, and, it may be, very earthy, and you shall discern in M. +Loyal a gentleman whose true politeness is ingrain, and +confirmation of whose word by his bond you would blush to think +of. Not without reason is M. Loyal when he tells that +story, in his own vivacious way, of his travelling to Fulham, +near London, to buy all these hundreds and hundreds of trees you +now see upon the Property, then a bare, bleak hill; and of his +sojourning in Fulham three months; and of his jovial evenings +with the market-gardeners; and of the crowning banquet before his +departure, when the market-gardeners rose as one man, clinked +their glasses all together (as the custom at Fulham is), and +cried, ‘Vive Loyal!’</p> +<p>M. Loyal has an agreeable wife, but no family; and he loves to +drill the children of his tenants, or run races with them, or do +anything with them, or for them, that is good-natured. He +is of a highly convivial temperament, and his hospitality is +unbounded. Billet a soldier on him, and he is +delighted. Five-and-thirty soldiers had M. Loyal billeted +on him this present summer, and they all got fat and red-faced in +two days. It became a legend among the troops that +whosoever got billeted on M. Loyal rolled in clover; and so it +fell out that the fortunate man who drew the billet ‘M. +Loyal Devasseur’ always leaped into the air, though in +heavy marching order. M. Loyal cannot bear to admit +anything that might seem by any implication to disparage the +military profession. We hinted to him once, that we were +conscious of a remote doubt arising in our mind, whether a sou a +day for pocket-money, tobacco, stockings, drink, washing, and +social pleasures in general, left a very large margin for a +soldier’s enjoyment. Pardon! said Monsieur Loyal, +rather wincing. It was not a fortune, but—à la +bonne heure—it was better than it used to be! What, +we asked him on another occasion, were all those neighbouring +peasants, each living with his family in one room, and each +having a soldier (perhaps two) billeted on him every other night, +required to provide for those soldiers? +‘Faith!’ said M. Loyal, reluctantly; a bed, monsieur, +and fire to cook with, and a candle. And they share their +supper with those soldiers. It is not possible that they +could eat alone.’—‘And what allowance do they +get for this?’ said we. Monsieur Loyal drew himself +up taller, took a step back, laid his hand upon his breast, and +said, with majesty, as speaking for himself and all France, +‘Monsieur, it is a contribution to the State!’</p> +<p>It is never going to rain, according to M. Loyal. When +it is impossible to deny that it is now raining in torrents, he +says it will be +fine—charming—magnificent—to-morrow. It +is never hot on the Property, he contends. Likewise it is +never cold. The flowers, he says, come out, delighting to +grow there; it is like Paradise this morning; it is like the +Garden of Eden. He is a little fanciful in his language: +smilingly observing of Madame Loyal, when she is absent at +vespers, that she is ‘gone to her +salvation’—allée à son salut. He +has a great enjoyment of tobacco, but nothing would induce him to +continue smoking face to face with a lady. His short black +pipe immediately goes into his breast pocket, scorches his +blouse, and nearly sets him on fire. In the Town Council +and on occasions of ceremony, he appears in a full suit of black, +with a waistcoat of magnificent breadth across the chest, and a +shirt-collar of fabulous proportions. Good M. Loyal! +Under blouse or waistcoat, he carries one of the gentlest hearts +that beat in a nation teeming with gentle people. He has +had losses, and has been at his best under them. Not only +the loss of his way by night in the Fulham times—when a bad +subject of an Englishman, under pretence of seeing him home, took +him into all the night public-houses, drank +‘arfanarf’ in every one at his expense, and finally +fled, leaving him shipwrecked at Cleefeeway, which we apprehend +to be Ratcliffe Highway—but heavier losses than that. +Long ago a family of children and a mother were left in one of +his houses without money, a whole year. M. +Loyal—anything but as rich as we wish he had been—had +not the heart to say ‘you must go;’ so they stayed on +and stayed on, and paying-tenants who would have come in +couldn’t come in, and at last they managed to get helped +home across the water; and M. Loyal kissed the whole group, and +said, ‘Adieu, my poor infants!’ and sat down in their +deserted salon and smoked his pipe of peace.—‘The +rent, M. Loyal?’ ‘Eh! well! The +rent!’ M. Loyal shakes his head. ‘Le bon +Dieu,’ says M. Loyal presently, ‘will recompense +me,’ and he laughs and smokes his pipe of peace. May +he smoke it on the Property, and not be recompensed, these fifty +years!</p> +<p>There are public amusements in our French watering-place, or +it would not be French. They are very popular, and very +cheap. The sea-bathing—which may rank as the most +favoured daylight entertainment, inasmuch as the French visitors +bathe all day long, and seldom appear to think of remaining less +than an hour at a time in the water—is astoundingly +cheap. Omnibuses convey you, if you please, from a +convenient part of the town to the beach and back again; you have +a clean and comfortable bathing-machine, dress, linen, and all +appliances; and the charge for the whole is half-a-franc, or +fivepence. On the pier, there is usually a guitar, which +seems presumptuously enough to set its tinkling against the deep +hoarseness of the sea, and there is always some boy or woman who +sings, without any voice, little songs without any tune: the +strain we have most frequently heard being an appeal to +‘the sportsman’ not to bag that choicest of game, the +swallow. For bathing purposes, we have also a subscription +establishment with an esplanade, where people lounge about with +telescopes, and seem to get a good deal of weariness for their +money; and we have also an association of individual machine +proprietors combined against this formidable rival. M. +Féroce, our own particular friend in the bathing line, is +one of these. How he ever came by his name we cannot +imagine. He is as gentle and polite a man as M. Loyal +Devasseur himself; immensely stout withal; and of a beaming +aspect. M. Féroce has saved so many people from +drowning, and has been decorated with so many medals in +consequence, that his stoutness seems a special dispensation of +Providence to enable him to wear them; if his girth were the +girth of an ordinary man, he could never hang them on, all at +once. It is only on very great occasions that M. +Féroce displays his shining honours. At other times +they lie by, with rolls of manuscript testifying to the causes of +their presentation, in a huge glass case in the red-sofa’d +salon of his private residence on the beach, where M. +Féroce also keeps his family pictures, his portraits of +himself as he appears both in bathing life and in private life, +his little boats that rock by clockwork, and his other ornamental +possessions.</p> +<p>Then, we have a commodious and gay Theatre—or had, for +it is burned down now—where the opera was always preceded +by a vaudeville, in which (as usual) everybody, down to the +little old man with the large hat and the little cane and tassel, +who always played either my Uncle or my Papa, suddenly broke out +of the dialogue into the mildest vocal snatches, to the great +perplexity of unaccustomed strangers from Great Britain, who +never could make out when they were singing and when they were +talking—and indeed it was pretty much the same. But, +the caterers in the way of entertainment to whom we are most +beholden, are the Society of Welldoing, who are active all the +summer, and give the proceeds of their good works to the +poor. Some of the most agreeable fêtes they contrive, +are announced as ‘Dedicated to the children;’ and the +taste with which they turn a small public enclosure into an +elegant garden beautifully illuminated; and the thorough-going +heartiness and energy with which they personally direct the +childish pleasures; are supremely delightful. For fivepence +a head, we have on these occasions donkey races with English +‘Jokeis,’ and other rustic sports; lotteries for +toys; roundabouts, dancing on the grass to the music of an +admirable band, fire-balloons and fireworks. Further, +almost every week all through the summer—never mind, now, +on what day of the week—there is a fête in some +adjoining village (called in that part of the country a Ducasse), +where the people—really the people—dance on the green +turf in the open air, round a little orchestra, that seems itself +to dance, there is such an airy motion of flags and streamers all +about it. And we do not suppose that between the Torrid +Zone and the North Pole there are to be found male dancers with +such astonishingly loose legs, furnished with so many joints in +wrong places, utterly unknown to Professor Owen, as those who +here disport themselves. Sometimes, the fête +appertains to a particular trade; you will see among the cheerful +young women at the joint Ducasse of the milliners and tailors, a +wholesome knowledge of the art of making common and cheap things +uncommon and pretty, by good sense and good taste, that is a +practical lesson to any rank of society in a whole island we +could mention. The oddest feature of these agreeable scenes +is the everlasting Roundabout (we preserve an English word +wherever we can, as we are writing the English language), on the +wooden horses of which machine grown-up people of all ages are +wound round and round with the utmost solemnity, while the +proprietor’s wife grinds an organ, capable of only one +tune, in the centre.</p> +<p>As to the boarding-houses of our French watering-place, they +are Legion, and would require a distinct treatise. It is +not without a sentiment of national pride that we believe them to +contain more bores from the shores of Albion than all the clubs +in London. As you walk timidly in their neighbourhood, the +very neckcloths and hats of your elderly compatriots cry to you +from the stones of the streets, ‘We are Bores—avoid +us!’ We have never overheard at street corners such +lunatic scraps of political and social discussion as among these +dear countrymen of ours. They believe everything that is +impossible and nothing that is true. They carry rumours, +and ask questions, and make corrections and improvements on one +another, staggering to the human intellect. And they are +for ever rushing into the English library, propounding such +incomprehensible paradoxes to the fair mistress of that +establishment, that we beg to recommend her to her +Majesty’s gracious consideration as a fit object for a +pension.</p> +<p>The English form a considerable part of the population of our +French watering-place, and are deservedly addressed and respected +in many ways. Some of the surface-addresses to them are odd +enough, as when a laundress puts a placard outside her house +announcing her possession of that curious British instrument, a +‘Mingle;’ or when a tavern-keeper provides +accommodation for the celebrated English game of +‘Nokemdon.’ But, to us, it is not the least +pleasant feature of our French watering-place that a long and +constant fusion of the two great nations there, has taught each +to like the other, and to learn from the other, and to rise +superior to the absurd prejudices that have lingered among the +weak and ignorant in both countries equally.</p> +<p>Drumming and trumpeting of course go on for ever in our French +watering-place. Flag-flying is at a premium, too; but, we +cheerfully avow that we consider a flag a very pretty object, and +that we take such outward signs of innocent liveliness to our +heart of hearts. The people, in the town and in the +country, are a busy people who work hard; they are sober, +temperate, good-humoured, light-hearted, and generally remarkable +for their engaging manners. Few just men, not immoderately +bilious, could see them in their recreations without very much +respecting the character that is so easily, so harmlessly, and so +simply, pleased.</p> +<h2><a name="page346"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +346</span>BILL-STICKING</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">If</span> I had an enemy whom I +hated—which Heaven forbid!—and if I knew of something +which sat heavy on his conscience, I think I would introduce that +something into a Posting-Bill, and place a large impression in +the hands of an active sticker. I can scarcely imagine a +more terrible revenge. I should haunt him, by this means, +night and day. I do not mean to say that I would publish +his secret, in red letters two feet high, for all the town to +read: I would darkly refer to it. It should be between him, +and me, and the Posting-Bill. Say, for example, that, at a +certain period of his life, my enemy had surreptitiously +possessed himself of a key. I would then embark my capital +in the lock business, and conduct that business on the +advertising principle. In all my placards and +advertisements, I would throw up the line <span +class="smcap">Secret Keys</span>. Thus, if my enemy passed +an uninhabited house, he would see his conscience glaring down on +him from the parapets, and peeping up at him from the +cellars. If he took a dead wall in his walk, it would be +alive with reproaches. If he sought refuge in an omnibus, +the panels thereof would become Belshazzar’s palace to +him. If he took boat, in a wild endeavour to escape, he +would see the fatal words lurking under the arches of the bridges +over the Thames. If he walked the streets with downcast +eyes, he would recoil from the very stones of the pavement, made +eloquent by lamp-black lithograph. If he drove or rode, his +way would be blocked up by enormous vans, each proclaiming the +same words over and over again from its whole extent of +surface. Until, having gradually grown thinner and paler, +and having at last totally rejected food, he would miserably +perish, and I should be revenged. This conclusion I should, +no doubt, celebrate by laughing a hoarse laugh in three +syllables, and folding my arms tight upon my chest agreeably to +most of the examples of glutted animosity that I have had an +opportunity of observing in connexion with the Drama—which, +by-the-by, as involving a good deal of noise, appears to me to be +occasionally confounded with the Drummer.</p> +<p>The foregoing reflections presented themselves to my mind, the +other day, as I contemplated (being newly come to London from the +East Riding of Yorkshire, on a house-hunting expedition for next +May), an old warehouse which rotting paste and rotting paper had +brought down to the condition of an old cheese. It would +have been impossible to say, on the most conscientious survey, +how much of its front was brick and mortar, and how much decaying +and decayed plaster. It was so thickly encrusted with +fragments of bills, that no ship’s keel after a long voyage +could be half so foul. All traces of the broken windows +were billed out, the doors were billed across, the water-spout +was billed over. The building was shored up to prevent its +tumbling into the street; and the very beams erected against it +were less wood than paste and paper, they had been so continually +posted and reposted. The forlorn dregs of old posters so +encumbered this wreck, that there was no hold for new posters, +and the stickers had abandoned the place in despair, except one +enterprising man who had hoisted the last masquerade to a clear +spot near the level of the stack of chimneys where it waved and +drooped like a shattered flag. Below the rusty +cellar-grating, crumpled remnants of old bills torn down, rotted +away in wasting heaps of fallen leaves. Here and there, +some of the thick rind of the house had peeled off in strips, and +fluttered heavily down, littering the street; but, still, below +these rents and gashes, layers of decomposing posters showed +themselves, as if they were interminable. I thought the +building could never even be pulled down, but in one adhesive +heap of rottenness and poster. As to getting in—I +don’t believe that if the Sleeping Beauty and her Court had +been so billed up, the young Prince could have done it.</p> +<p>Knowing all the posters that were yet legible, intimately, and +pondering on their ubiquitous nature, I was led into the +reflections with which I began this paper, by considering what an +awful thing it would be, ever to have wronged—say M. <span +class="smcap">Jullien</span> for example—and to have his +avenging name in characters of fire incessantly before my +eyes. Or to have injured <span class="smcap">Madame +Tussaud</span>, and undergo a similar retribution. Has any +man a self-reproachful thought associated with pills, or +ointment? What an avenging spirit to that man is <span +class="smcap">Professor Holloway</span>! Have I sinned in +oil? <span class="smcap">Cabburn</span> pursues me. +Have I a dark remembrance associated with any gentlemanly +garments, bespoke or ready made? <span +class="smcap">Moses</span> and <span class="smcap">Son</span> are +on my track. Did I ever aim a blow at a defenceless +fellow-creature’s head? That head eternally being +measured for a wig, or that worse head which was bald before it +used the balsam, and hirsute afterwards—enforcing the +benevolent moral, ‘Better to be bald as a Dutch cheese than +come to this,’—undoes me. Have I no sore places +in my mind which <span class="smcap">Mechi</span> +touches—which <span class="smcap">Nicoll</span> +probes—which no registered article whatever +lacerates? Does no discordant note within me thrill +responsive to mysterious watchwords, as ‘Revalenta +Arabica,’ or ‘Number One St. Paul’s +Churchyard’? Then may I enjoy life, and be happy.</p> +<p>Lifting up my eyes, as I was musing to this effect, I beheld +advancing towards me (I was then on Cornhill, near to the Royal +Exchange), a solemn procession of three advertising vans, of +first-class dimensions, each drawn by a very little horse. +As the cavalcade approached, I was at a loss to reconcile the +careless deportment of the drivers of these vehicles, with the +terrific announcements they conducted through the city, which +being a summary of the contents of a Sunday newspaper, were of +the most thrilling kind. Robbery, fire, murder, and the +ruin of the United Kingdom—each discharged in a line by +itself, like a separate broad-side of red-hot shot—were +among the least of the warnings addressed to an unthinking +people. Yet, the Ministers of Fate who drove the awful +cars, leaned forward with their arms upon their knees in a state +of extreme lassitude, for want of any subject of interest. +The first man, whose hair I might naturally have expected to see +standing on end, scratched his head—one of the smoothest I +ever beheld—with profound indifference. The second +whistled. The third yawned.</p> +<p>Pausing to dwell upon this apathy, it appeared to me, as the +fatal cars came by me, that I descried in the second car, through +the portal in which the charioteer was seated, a figure stretched +upon the floor. At the same time, I thought I smelt +tobacco. The latter impression passed quickly from me; the +former remained. Curious to know whether this prostrate +figure was the one impressible man of the whole capital who had +been stricken insensible by the terrors revealed to him, and +whose form had been placed in the car by the charioteer, from +motives of humanity, I followed the procession. It turned +into Leadenhall-market, and halted at a public-house. Each +driver dismounted. I then distinctly heard, proceeding from +the second car, where I had dimly seen the prostrate form, the +words:</p> +<p>‘And a pipe!’</p> +<p>The driver entering the public-house with his fellows, +apparently for purposes of refreshment, I could not refrain from +mounting on the shaft of the second vehicle, and looking in at +the portal. I then beheld, reclining on his back upon the +floor, on a kind of mattress or divan, a little man in a +shooting-coat. The exclamation ‘Dear me’ which +irresistibly escaped my lips caused him to sit upright, and +survey me. I found him to be a good-looking little man of +about fifty, with a shining face, a tight head, a bright eye, a +moist wink, a quick speech, and a ready air. He had +something of a sporting way with him.</p> +<p>He looked at me, and I looked at him, until the driver +displaced me by handing in a pint of beer, a pipe, and what I +understand is called ‘a screw’ of tobacco—an +object which has the appearance of a curl-paper taken off the +barmaid’s head, with the curl in it.</p> +<p>‘I beg your pardon,’ said I, when the removed +person of the driver again admitted of my presenting my face at +the portal. ‘But—excuse my curiosity, which I +inherit from my mother—do you live here?’</p> +<p>‘That’s good, too!’ returned the little man, +composedly laying aside a pipe he had smoked out, and filling the +pipe just brought to him.</p> +<p>‘Oh, you <i>don’t</i> live here then?’ said +I.</p> +<p>He shook his head, as he calmly lighted his pipe by means of a +German tinder-box, and replied, ‘This is my carriage. +When things are flat, I take a ride sometimes, and enjoy +myself. I am the inventor of these wans.’</p> +<p>His pipe was now alight. He drank his beer all at once, +and he smoked and he smiled at me.</p> +<p>‘It was a great idea!’ said I.</p> +<p>‘Not so bad,’ returned the little man, with the +modesty of merit.</p> +<p>‘Might I be permitted to inscribe your name upon the +tablets of my memory?’ I asked.</p> +<p>‘There’s not much odds in the name,’ +returned the little man, ‘—no name particular—I +am the King of the Bill-Stickers.’</p> +<p>‘Good gracious!’ said I.</p> +<p>The monarch informed me, with a smile, that he had never been +crowned or installed with any public ceremonies, but that he was +peaceably acknowledged as King of the Bill-Stickers in right of +being the oldest and most respected member of ‘the old +school of bill-sticking.’ He likewise gave me to +understand that there was a Lord Mayor of the Bill-Stickers, +whose genius was chiefly exercised within the limits of the +city. He made some allusion, also, to an inferior +potentate, called ‘Turkey-legs;’ but I did not +understand that this gentleman was invested with much +power. I rather inferred that he derived his title from +some peculiarity of gait, and that it was of an honorary +character.</p> +<p>‘My father,’ pursued the King of the +Bill-Stickers, ‘was Engineer, Beadle, and Bill-Sticker to +the parish of St. Andrew’s, Holborn, in the year one +thousand seven hundred and eighty. My father stuck bills at +the time of the riots of London.’</p> +<p>‘You must be acquainted with the whole subject of +bill-sticking, from that time to the present!’ said I.</p> +<p>‘Pretty well so,’ was the answer.</p> +<p>‘Excuse me,’ said I; ‘but I am a sort of +collector—’</p> +<p>‘‘Not Income-tax?’ cried His Majesty, +hastily removing his pipe from his lips.</p> +<p>‘No, no,’ said I.</p> +<p>‘Water-rate?’ said His Majesty.</p> +<p>‘No, no,’ I returned.</p> +<p>‘Gas? Assessed? Sewers?’ said His +Majesty.</p> +<p>‘You misunderstand me,’ I replied, +soothingly. ‘Not that sort of collector at all: a +collector of facts.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, if it’s only facts,’ cried the King of +the Bill-Stickers, recovering his good-humour, and banishing the +great mistrust that had suddenly fallen upon him, ‘come in +and welcome! If it had been income, or winders, I think I +should have pitched you out of the wan, upon my soul!’</p> +<p>Readily complying with the invitation, I squeezed myself in at +the small aperture. His Majesty, graciously handing me a +little three-legged stool on which I took my seat in a corner, +inquired if I smoked.</p> +<p>‘I do;—that is, I can,’ I answered.</p> +<p>‘Pipe and a screw!’ said His Majesty to the +attendant charioteer. ‘Do you prefer a dry smoke, or +do you moisten it?’</p> +<p>As unmitigated tobacco produces most disturbing effects upon +my system (indeed, if I had perfect moral courage, I doubt if I +should smoke at all, under any circumstances), I advocated +moisture, and begged the Sovereign of the Bill-Stickers to name +his usual liquor, and to concede to me the privilege of paying +for it. After some delicate reluctance on his part, we were +provided, through the instrumentality of the attendant +charioteer, with a can of cold rum-and-water, flavoured with +sugar and lemon. We were also furnished with a tumbler, and +I was provided with a pipe. His Majesty, then observing +that we might combine business with conversation, gave the word +for the car to proceed; and, to my great delight, we jogged away +at a foot pace.</p> +<p>I say to my great delight, because I am very fond of novelty, +and it was a new sensation to be jolting through the tumult of +the city in that secluded Temple, partly open to the sky, +surrounded by the roar without, and seeing nothing but the +clouds. Occasionally, blows from whips fell heavily on the +Temple’s walls, when by stopping up the road longer than +usual, we irritated carters and coachmen to madness; but they +fell harmless upon us within and disturbed not the serenity of +our peaceful retreat. As I looked upward, I felt, I should +imagine, like the Astronomer Royal. I was enchanted by the +contrast between the freezing nature of our external mission on +the blood of the populace, and the perfect composure reigning +within those sacred precincts: where His Majesty, reclining +easily on his left arm, smoked his pipe and drank his +rum-and-water from his own side of the tumbler, which stood +impartially between us. As I looked down from the clouds +and caught his royal eye, he understood my reflections. +‘I have an idea,’ he observed, with an upward glance, +‘of training scarlet runners across in the +season,—making a arbour of it,—and sometimes taking +tea in the same, according to the song.’</p> +<p>I nodded approval.</p> +<p>‘And here you repose and think?’ said I.</p> +<p>‘And think,’ said he, ‘of +posters—walls—and hoardings.’</p> +<p>We were both silent, contemplating the vastness of the +subject. I remembered a surprising fancy of dear <span +class="smcap">Thomas Hood’s</span>, and wondered whether +this monarch ever sighed to repair to the great wall of China, +and stick bills all over it.</p> +<p>‘And so,’ said he, rousing himself, +‘it’s facts as you collect?’</p> +<p>‘Facts,’ said I.</p> +<p>‘The facts of bill-sticking,’ pursued His Majesty, +in a benignant manner, ‘as known to myself, air as +following. When my father was Engineer, Beadle, and +Bill-Sticker to the parish of St. Andrew’s, Holborn, he +employed women to post bills for him. He employed women to +post bills at the time of the riots of London. He died at +the age of seventy-five year, and was buried by the murdered +Eliza Grimwood, over in the Waterloo Road.’</p> +<p>As this was somewhat in the nature of a royal speech, I +listened with deference and silently. His Majesty, taking a +scroll from his pocket, proceeded, with great distinctness, to +pour out the following flood of information:—</p> +<p>‘“The bills being at that period mostly +proclamations and declarations, and which were only a demy size, +the manner of posting the bills (as they did not use brushes) was +by means of a piece of wood which they called a +‘dabber.’ Thus things continued till such time +as the State Lottery was passed, and then the printers began to +print larger bills, and men were employed instead of women, as +the State Lottery Commissioners then began to send men all over +England to post bills, and would keep them out for six or eight +months at a time, and they were called by the London +bill-stickers ‘trampers,’ their wages at the time +being ten shillings per day, besides expenses. They used +sometimes to be stationed in large towns for five or six months +together, distributing the schemes to all the houses in the +town. And then there were more caricature wood-block +engravings for posting-bills than there are at the present time, +the principal printers, at that time, of posting-bills being +Messrs. Evans and Ruffy, of Budge Row; Thoroughgood and Whiting, +of the present day; and Messrs. Gye and Balne, Gracechurch +Street, City. The largest bills printed at that period were +a two-sheet double crown; and when they commenced printing +four-sheet bills, two bill-stickers would work together. +They had no settled wages per week, but had a fixed price for +their work, and the London bill-stickers, during a lottery week, +have been known to earn, each, eight or nine pounds per week, +till the day of drawing; likewise the men who carried boards in +the street used to have one pound per week, and the bill-stickers +at that time would not allow any one to wilfully cover or destroy +their bills, as they had a society amongst themselves, and very +frequently dined together at some public-house where they used to +go of an evening to have their work delivered out untoe +’em.”’</p> +<p>All this His Majesty delivered in a gallant manner; posting +it, as it were, before me, in a great proclamation. I took +advantage of the pause he now made, to inquire what a +‘two-sheet double crown’ might express?</p> +<p>‘A two-sheet double crown,’ replied the King, +‘is a bill thirty-nine inches wide by thirty inches +high.’</p> +<p>‘Is it possible,’ said I, my mind reverting to the +gigantic admonitions we were then displaying to the +multitude—which were as infants to some of the +posting-bills on the rotten old warehouse—‘that some +few years ago the largest bill was no larger than +that?’</p> +<p>‘The fact,’ returned the King, ‘is +undoubtedly so.’ Here he instantly rushed again into +the scroll.</p> +<p>‘“Since the abolishing of the State Lottery all +that good feeling has gone, and nothing but jealousy exists, +through the rivalry of each other. Several bill-sticking +companies have started, but have failed. The first party +that started a company was twelve year ago; but what was left of +the old school and their dependants joined together and opposed +them. And for some time we were quiet again, till a printer +of Hatton Garden formed a company by hiring the sides of houses; +but he was not supported by the public, and he left his wooden +frames fixed up for rent. The last company that started, +took advantage of the New Police Act, and hired of Messrs. +Grissell and Peto the hoarding of Trafalgar Square, and +established a bill-sticking office in Cursitor Street, Chancery +Lane, and engaged some of the new bill-stickers to do their work, +and for a time got the half of all our work, and with such spirit +did they carry on their opposition towards us, that they used to +give us in charge before the magistrate, and get us fined; but +they found it so expensive, that they could not keep it up, for +they were always employing a lot of ruffians from the Seven Dials +to come and fight us; and on one occasion the old bill-stickers +went to Trafalgar Square to attempt to post bills, when they were +given in custody by the watchman in their employ, and fined at +Queen Square five pounds, as they would not allow any of us to +speak in the office; but when they were gone, we had an interview +with the magistrate, who mitigated the fine to fifteen +shillings. During the time the men were waiting for the +fine, this company started off to a public-house that we were in +the habit of using, and waited for us coming back, where a +fighting scene took place that beggars description. Shortly +after this, the principal one day came and shook hands with us, +and acknowledged that he had broken up the company, and that he +himself had lost five hundred pound in trying to overthrow +us. We then took possession of the hoarding in Trafalgar +Square; but Messrs. Grissell and Peto would not allow us to post +our bills on the said hoarding without paying them—and from +first to last we paid upwards of two hundred pounds for that +hoarding, and likewise the hoarding of the Reform Club-house, +Pall Mall.”’</p> +<p>His Majesty, being now completely out of breath, laid down his +scroll (which he appeared to have finished), puffed at his pipe, +and took some rum-and-water. I embraced the opportunity of +asking how many divisions the art and mystery of bill-sticking +comprised? He replied, three—auctioneers’ +bill-sticking, theatrical bill-sticking, general +bill-sticking.</p> +<p>‘The auctioneers’ porters,’ said the King, +‘who do their bill-sticking, are mostly respectable and +intelligent, and generally well paid for their work, whether in +town or country. The price paid by the principal +auctioneers for country work is nine shillings per day; that is, +seven shillings for day’s work, one shilling for lodging, +and one for paste. Town work is five shillings a day, +including paste.’</p> +<p>‘Town work must be rather hot work,’ said I, +‘if there be many of those fighting scenes that beggar +description, among the bill-stickers?’</p> +<p>‘Well,’ replied the King, ‘I an’t a +stranger, I assure you, to black eyes; a bill-sticker ought to +know how to handle his fists a bit. As to that row I have +mentioned, that grew out of competition, conducted in an +uncompromising spirit. Besides a man in a horse-and-shay +continually following us about, the company had a watchman on +duty, night and day, to prevent us sticking bills upon the +hoarding in Trafalgar Square. We went there, early one +morning, to stick bills and to black-wash their bills if we were +interfered with. We were interfered with, and I gave the +word for laying on the wash. It was laid on—pretty +brisk—and we were all taken to Queen Square: but they +couldn’t fine me. I knew that,’—with a +bright smile—‘I’d only give directions—I +was only the General.’ Charmed with this +monarch’s affability, I inquired if he had ever hired a +hoarding himself.</p> +<p>‘Hired a large one,’ he replied, ‘opposite +the Lyceum Theatre, when the buildings was there. Paid +thirty pound for it; let out places on it, and called it +“The External Paper-Hanging Station.” But it +didn’t answer. Ah!’ said His Majesty +thoughtfully, as he filled the glass, ‘Bill-stickers have a +deal to contend with. The bill-sticking clause was got into +the Police Act by a member of Parliament that employed me at his +election. The clause is pretty stiff respecting where bills +go; but he didn’t mind where his bills went. It was +all right enough, so long as they was his bills!’</p> +<p>Fearful that I observed a shadow of misanthropy on the +King’s cheerful face, I asked whose ingenious invention +that was, which I greatly admired, of sticking bills under the +arches of the bridges.</p> +<p>‘Mine!’ said His Majesty. ‘I was the +first that ever stuck a bill under a bridge! Imitators soon +rose up, of course.—When don’t they? But they +stuck ’em at low-water, and the tide came and swept the +bills clean away. I knew that!’ The King +laughed.</p> +<p>‘What may be the name of that instrument, like an +immense fishing-rod,’ I inquired, ‘with which bills +are posted on high places?’</p> +<p>‘The joints,’ returned His Majesty. +‘Now, we use the joints where formerly we used +ladders—as they do still in country places. Once, +when Madame’ (Vestris, understood) ‘was playing in +Liverpool, another bill-sticker and me were at it together on the +wall outside the Clarence Dock—me with the joints—him +on a ladder. Lord! I had my bill up, right over his +head, yards above him, ladder and all, while he was crawling to +his work. The people going in and out of the docks, stood +and laughed!—It’s about thirty years since the joints +come in.’</p> +<p>‘Are there any bill-stickers who can’t +read?’ I took the liberty of inquiring.</p> +<p>‘Some,’ said the King. ‘But they know +which is the right side up’ards of their work. They +keep it as it’s given out to ’em. I have seen a +bill or so stuck wrong side up’ards. But it’s +very rare.’</p> +<p>Our discourse sustained some interruption at this point, by +the procession of cars occasioning a stoppage of about +three-quarters of a mile in length, as nearly as I could +judge. His Majesty, however, entreating me not to be +discomposed by the contingent uproar, smoked with great +placidity, and surveyed the firmament.</p> +<p>When we were again in motion, I begged to be informed what was +the largest poster His Majesty had ever seen. The King +replied, ‘A thirty-six sheet poster.’ I +gathered, also, that there were about a hundred and fifty +bill-stickers in London, and that His Majesty considered an +average hand equal to the posting of one hundred bills (single +sheets) in a day. The King was of opinion, that, although +posters had much increased in size, they had not increased in +number; as the abolition of the State Lotteries had occasioned a +great falling off, especially in the country. Over and +above which change, I bethought myself that the custom of +advertising in newspapers had greatly increased. The +completion of many London improvements, as Trafalgar Square (I +particularly observed the singularity of His Majesty’s +calling that an improvement), the Royal Exchange, &c., had of +late years reduced the number of advantageous +posting-places. Bill-Stickers at present rather confine +themselves to districts, than to particular descriptions of +work. One man would strike over Whitechapel, another would +take round Houndsditch, Shoreditch, and the City Road; one (the +King said) would stick to the Surrey side; another would make a +beat of the West-end.</p> +<p>His Majesty remarked, with some approach to severity, on the +neglect of delicacy and taste, gradually introduced into the +trade by the new school: a profligate and inferior race of +impostors who took jobs at almost any price, to the detriment of +the old school, and the confusion of their own misguided +employers. He considered that the trade was overdone with +competition, and observed speaking of his subjects, ‘There +are too many of ’em.’ He believed, still, that +things were a little better than they had been; adducing, as a +proof, the fact that particular posting places were now reserved, +by common consent, for particular posters; those places, however, +must be regularly occupied by those posters, or, they lapsed and +fell into other hands. It was of no use giving a man a +Drury Lane bill this week and not next. Where was it to +go? He was of opinion that going to the expense of putting +up your own board on which your sticker could display your own +bills, was the only complete way of posting yourself at the +present time; but, even to effect this, on payment of a shilling +a week to the keepers of steamboat piers and other such places, +you must be able, besides, to give orders for theatres and public +exhibitions, or you would be sure to be cut out by +somebody. His Majesty regarded the passion for orders, as +one of the most unappeasable appetites of human nature. If +there were a building, or if there were repairs, going on, +anywhere, you could generally stand something and make it right +with the foreman of the works; but, orders would be expected from +you, and the man who could give the most orders was the man who +would come off best. There was this other objectionable +point, in orders, that workmen sold them for drink, and often +sold them to persons who were likewise troubled with the weakness +of thirst: which led (His Majesty said) to the presentation of +your orders at Theatre doors, by individuals who were ‘too +shakery’ to derive intellectual profit from the +entertainments, and who brought a scandal on you. Finally, +His Majesty said that you could hardly put too little in a +poster; what you wanted, was, two or three good catch-lines for +the eye to rest on—then, leave it alone—and there you +were!</p> +<p>These are the minutes of my conversation with His Majesty, as +I noted them down shortly afterwards. I am not aware that I +have been betrayed into any alteration or suppression. The +manner of the King was frank in the extreme; and he seemed to me +to avoid, at once that slight tendency to repetition which may +have been observed in the conversation of His Majesty King George +the Third, and—that slight under-current of egotism which +the curious observer may perhaps detect in the conversation of +Napoleon Bonaparte.</p> +<p>I must do the King the justice to say that it was I, and not +he, who closed the dialogue. At this juncture, I became the +subject of a remarkable optical delusion; the legs of my stool +appeared to me to double up; the car to spin round and round with +great violence; and a mist to arise between myself and His +Majesty. In addition to these sensations, I felt extremely +unwell. I refer these unpleasant effects, either to the +paste with which the posters were affixed to the van: which may +have contained some small portion of arsenic; or, to the +printer’s ink, which may have contained some equally +deleterious ingredient. Of this, I cannot be sure. I +am only sure that I was not affected, either by the smoke, or the +rum-and-water. I was assisted out of the vehicle, in a +state of mind which I have only experienced in two other +places—I allude to the Pier at Dover, and to the +corresponding portion of the town of Calais—and sat upon a +door-step until I recovered. The procession had then +disappeared. I have since looked anxiously for the King in +several other cars, but I have not yet had the happiness of +seeing His Majesty.</p> +<h2><a name="page357"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +357</span>‘BIRTHS. MRS. MEEK, OF A SON</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">My</span> name is Meek. I am, in +fact, Mr. Meek. That son is mine and Mrs. +Meek’s. When I saw the announcement in the Times, I +dropped the paper. I had put it in, myself, and paid for +it, but it looked so noble that it overpowered me.</p> +<p>As soon as I could compose my feelings, I took the paper up to +Mrs. Meek’s bedside. ‘Maria Jane,’ said I +(I allude to Mrs. Meek), ‘you are now a public +character.’ We read the review of our child, several +times, with feelings of the strongest emotion; and I sent the boy +who cleans the boots and shoes, to the office for fifteen +copies. No reduction was made on taking that quantity.</p> +<p>It is scarcely necessary for me to say, that our child had +been expected. In fact, it had been expected, with +comparative confidence, for some months. Mrs. Meek’s +mother, who resides with us—of the name of Bigby—had +made every preparation for its admission to our circle.</p> +<p>I hope and believe I am a quiet man. I will go +farther. I know I am a quiet man. My constitution is +tremulous, my voice was never loud, and, in point of stature, I +have been from infancy, small. I have the greatest respect +for Maria Jane’s Mama. She is a most remarkable +woman. I honour Maria Jane’s Mama. In my +opinion she would storm a town, single-handed, with a +hearth-broom, and carry it. I have never known her to yield +any point whatever, to mortal man. She is calculated to +terrify the stoutest heart.</p> +<p>Still—but I will not anticipate.</p> +<p>The first intimation I had, of any preparations being in +progress, on the part of Maria Jane’s Mama, was one +afternoon, several months ago. I came home earlier than +usual from the office, and, proceeding into the dining-room, +found an obstruction behind the door, which prevented it from +opening freely. It was an obstruction of a soft +nature. On looking in, I found it to be a female.</p> +<p>The female in question stood in the corner behind the door, +consuming Sherry Wine. From the nutty smell of that +beverage pervading the apartment, I have no doubt she was +consuming a second glassful. She wore a black bonnet of +large dimensions, and was copious in figure. The expression +of her countenance was severe and discontented. The words +to which she gave utterance on seeing me, were these, ‘Oh, +git along with you, Sir, if you please; me and Mrs. Bigby +don’t want no male parties here!’</p> +<p>That female was Mrs. Prodgit.</p> +<p>I immediately withdrew, of course. I was rather hurt, +but I made no remark. Whether it was that I showed a +lowness of spirits after dinner, in consequence of feeling that I +seemed to intrude, I cannot say. But, Maria Jane’s +Mama said to me on her retiring for the night: in a low distinct +voice, and with a look of reproach that completely subdued me: +‘George Meek, Mrs. Prodgit is your wife’s +nurse!’</p> +<p>I bear no ill-will towards Mrs. Prodgit. Is it likely +that I, writing this with tears in my eyes, should be capable of +deliberate animosity towards a female, so essential to the +welfare of Maria Jane? I am willing to admit that Fate may +have been to blame, and not Mrs. Prodgit; but, it is undeniably +true, that the latter female brought desolation and devastation +into my lowly dwelling.</p> +<p>We were happy after her first appearance; we were sometimes +exceedingly so. But, whenever the parlour door was opened, +and ‘Mrs. Prodgit!’ announced (and she was very often +announced), misery ensued. I could not bear Mrs. +Prodgit’s look. I felt that I was far from wanted, +and had no business to exist in Mrs. Prodgit’s +presence. Between Maria Jane’s Mama, and Mrs. +Prodgit, there was a dreadful, secret, understanding—a dark +mystery and conspiracy, pointing me out as a being to be +shunned. I appeared to have done something that was +evil. Whenever Mrs. Prodgit called, after dinner, I retired +to my dressing-room—where the temperature is very low +indeed, in the wintry time of the year—and sat looking at +my frosty breath as it rose before me, and at my rack of boots; a +serviceable article of furniture, but never, in my opinion, an +exhilarating object. The length of the councils that were +held with Mrs. Prodgit, under these circumstances, I will not +attempt to describe. I will merely remark, that Mrs. +Prodgit always consumed Sherry Wine while the deliberations were +in progress; that they always ended in Maria Jane’s being +in wretched spirits on the sofa; and that Maria Jane’s Mama +always received me, when I was recalled, with a look of desolate +triumph that too plainly said, ‘Now, George Meek! You +see my child, Maria Jane, a ruin, and I hope you are +satisfied!’</p> +<p>I pass, generally, over the period that intervened between the +day when Mrs. Prodgit entered her protest against male parties, +and the ever-memorable midnight when I brought her to my +unobtrusive home in a cab, with an extremely large box on the +roof, and a bundle, a bandbox, and a basket, between the +driver’s legs. I have no objection to Mrs. Prodgit +(aided and abetted by Mrs. Bigby, who I never can forget is the +parent of Maria Jane) taking entire possession of my unassuming +establishment. In the recesses of my own breast, the +thought may linger that a man in possession cannot be so dreadful +as a woman, and that woman Mrs. Prodgit; but, I ought to bear a +good deal, and I hope I can, and do. Huffing and snubbing, +prey upon my feelings; but, I can bear them without +complaint. They may tell in the long run; I may be hustled +about, from post to pillar, beyond my strength; nevertheless, I +wish to avoid giving rise to words in the family.</p> +<p>The voice of Nature, however, cries aloud in behalf of +Augustus George, my infant son. It is for him that I wish +to utter a few plaintive household words. I am not at all +angry; I am mild—but miserable.</p> +<p>I wish to know why, when my child, Augustus George, was +expected in our circle, a provision of pins was made, as if the +little stranger were a criminal who was to be put to the torture +immediately, on his arrival, instead of a holy babe? I wish +to know why haste was made to stick those pins all over his +innocent form, in every direction? I wish to be informed +why light and air are excluded from Augustus George, like +poisons? Why, I ask, is my unoffending infant so hedged +into a basket-bedstead, with dimity and calico, with miniature +sheets and blankets, that I can only hear him snuffle (and no +wonder!) deep down under the pink hood of a little +bathing-machine, and can never peruse even so much of his +lineaments as his nose?</p> +<p>Was I expected to be the father of a French Roll, that the +brushes of All Nations were laid in, to rasp Augustus +George? Am I to be told that his sensitive skin was ever +intended by Nature to have rashes brought out upon it, by the +premature and incessant use of those formidable little +instruments?</p> +<p>Is my son a Nutmeg, that he is to be grated on the stiff edges +of sharp frills? Am I the parent of a Muslin boy, that his +yielding surface is to be crimped and small plaited? Or is +my child composed of Paper or of Linen, that impressions of the +finer getting-up art, practised by the laundress, are to be +printed off, all over his soft arms and legs, as I constantly +observe them? The starch enters his soul; who can wonder +that he cries?</p> +<p>Was Augustus George intended to have limbs, or to be born a +Torso? I presume that limbs were the intention, as they are +the usual practice. Then, why are my poor child’s +limbs fettered and tied up? Am I to be told that there is +any analogy between Augustus George Meek and Jack Sheppard?</p> +<p>Analyse Castor Oil at any Institution of Chemistry that may be +agreed upon, and inform me what resemblance, in taste, it bears +to that natural provision which it is at once the pride and duty +of Maria Jane to administer to Augustus George! Yet, I +charge Mrs. Prodgit (aided and abetted by Mrs. Bigby) with +systematically forcing Castor Oil on my innocent son, from the +first hour of his birth. When that medicine, in its +efficient action, causes internal disturbance to Augustus George, +I charge Mrs. Prodgit (aided and abetted by Mrs. Bigby) with +insanely and inconsistently administering opium to allay the +storm she has raised! What is the meaning of this?</p> +<p>If the days of Egyptian Mummies are past, how dare Mrs. +Prodgit require, for the use of my son, an amount of flannel and +linen that would carpet my humble roof? Do I wonder that +she requires it? No! This morning, within an hour, I +beheld this agonising sight. I beheld my son—Augustus +George—in Mrs. Prodgit’s hands, and on Mrs. +Prodgit’s knee, being dressed. He was at the moment, +comparatively speaking, in a state of nature; having nothing on, +but an extremely short shirt, remarkably disproportionate to the +length of his usual outer garments. Trailing from Mrs. +Prodgit’s lap, on the floor, was a long narrow roller or +bandage—I should say of several yards in extent. In +this, I <span class="GutSmall">SAW</span> Mrs. Prodgit tightly +roll the body of my unoffending infant, turning him over and +over, now presenting his unconscious face upwards, now the back +of his bald head, until the unnatural feat was accomplished, and +the bandage secured by a pin, which I have every reason to +believe entered the body of my only child. In this +tourniquet, he passes the present phase of his existence. +Can I know it, and smile!</p> +<p>I fear I have been betrayed into expressing myself warmly, but +I feel deeply. Not for myself; for Augustus George. I +dare not interfere. Will any one? Will any +publication? Any doctor? Any parent? Any +body? I do not complain that Mrs. Prodgit (aided and +abetted by Mrs. Bigby) entirely alienates Maria Jane’s +affections from me, and interposes an impassable barrier between +us. I do not complain of being made of no account. I +do not want to be of any account. But, Augustus George is a +production of Nature (I cannot think otherwise), and I claim that +he should be treated with some remote reference to Nature. +In my opinion, Mrs. Prodgit is, from first to last, a convention +and a superstition. Are all the faculty afraid of Mrs. +Prodgit? If not, why don’t they take her in hand and +improve her?</p> +<p>P.S. Maria Jane’s Mama boasts of her own knowledge +of the subject, and says she brought up seven children besides +Maria Jane. But how do <i>I</i> know that she might not +have brought them up much better? Maria Jane herself is far +from strong, and is subject to headaches, and nervous +indigestion. Besides which, I learn from the statistical +tables that one child in five dies within the first year of its +life; and one child in three, within the fifth. That +don’t look as if we could never improve in these +particulars, I think!</p> +<p>P.P.S. Augustus George is in convulsions.</p> +<h2><a name="page361"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +361</span>LYING AWAKE</h2> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My</span> uncle lay with his eyes +half closed, and his nightcap drawn almost down to his +nose. His fancy was already wandering, and began to mingle +up the present scene with the crater of Vesuvius, the French +Opera, the Coliseum at Rome, Dolly’s Chop-house in London, +and all the farrago of noted places with which the brain of a +traveller is crammed; in a word, he was just falling +asleep.’</p> +<p>Thus, that delightful writer, <span class="smcap">Washington +Irving</span>, in his Tales of a Traveller. But, it +happened to me the other night to be lying: not with my eyes half +closed, but with my eyes wide open; not with my nightcap drawn +almost down to my nose, for on sanitary principles I never wear a +nightcap: but with my hair pitchforked and touzled all over the +pillow; not just falling asleep by any means, but glaringly, +persistently, and obstinately, broad awake. Perhaps, with +no scientific intention or invention, I was illustrating the +theory of the Duality of the Brain; perhaps one part of my brain, +being wakeful, sat up to watch the other part which was +sleepy. Be that as it may, something in me was as desirous +to go to sleep as it possibly could be, but something else in me +would not go to sleep, and was as obstinate as George the +Third.</p> +<p>Thinking of George the Third—for I devote this paper to +my train of thoughts as I lay awake: most people lying awake +sometimes, and having some interest in the subject—put me +in mind of <span class="smcap">Benjamin Franklin</span>, and so +Benjamin Franklin’s paper on the art of procuring pleasant +dreams, which would seem necessarily to include the art of going +to sleep, came into my head. Now, as I often used to read +that paper when I was a very small boy, and as I recollect +everything I read then as perfectly as I forget everything I read +now, I quoted ‘Get out of bed, beat up and turn your +pillow, shake the bed-clothes well with at least twenty shakes, +then throw the bed open and leave it to cool; in the meanwhile, +continuing undrest, walk about your chamber. When you begin +to feel the cold air unpleasant, then return to your bed, and you +will soon fall asleep, and your sleep will be sweet and +pleasant.’ Not a bit of it! I performed the +whole ceremony, and if it were possible for me to be more +saucer-eyed than I was before, that was the only result that came +of it.</p> +<p>Except Niagara. The two quotations from Washington +Irving and Benjamin Franklin may have put it in my head by an +American association of ideas; but there I was, and the +Horse-shoe Fall was thundering and tumbling in my eyes and ears, +and the very rainbows that I left upon the spray when I really +did last look upon it, were beautiful to see. The +night-light being quite as plain, however, and sleep seeming to +be many thousand miles further off than Niagara, I made up my +mind to think a little about Sleep; which I no sooner did than I +whirled off in spite of myself to Drury Lane Theatre, and there +saw a great actor and dear friend of mine (whom I had been +thinking of in the day) playing Macbeth, and heard him +apostrophising ‘the death of each day’s life,’ +as I have heard him many a time, in the days that are gone.</p> +<p>But, Sleep. I will think about Sleep. I am +determined to think (this is the way I went on) about +Sleep. I must hold the word Sleep, tight and fast, or I +shall be off at a tangent in half a second. I feel myself +unaccountably straying, already, into Clare Market. +Sleep. It would be curious, as illustrating the equality of +sleep, to inquire how many of its phenomena are common to all +classes, to all degrees of wealth and poverty, to every grade of +education and ignorance. Here, for example, is her Majesty +Queen Victoria in her palace, this present blessed night, and +here is Winking Charley, a sturdy vagrant, in one of her +Majesty’s jails. Her Majesty has fallen, many +thousands of times, from that same Tower, which I claim a right +to tumble off now and then. So has Winking Charley. +Her Majesty in her sleep has opened or prorogued Parliament, or +has held a Drawing Room, attired in some very scanty dress, the +deficiencies and improprieties of which have caused her great +uneasiness. I, in my degree, have suffered unspeakable +agitation of mind from taking the chair at a public dinner at the +London Tavern in my night-clothes, which not all the courtesy of +my kind friend and host <span class="smcap">Mr. Bathe</span> +could persuade me were quite adapted to the occasion. +Winking Charley has been repeatedly tried in a worse +condition. Her Majesty is no stranger to a vault or +firmament, of a sort of floorcloth, with an indistinct pattern +distantly resembling eyes, which occasionally obtrudes itself on +her repose. Neither am I. Neither is Winking +Charley. It is quite common to all three of us to skim +along with airy strides a little above the ground; also to hold, +with the deepest interest, dialogues with various people, all +represented by ourselves; and to be at our wit’s end to +know what they are going to tell us; and to be indescribably +astonished by the secrets they disclose. It is probable +that we have all three committed murders and hidden bodies. +It is pretty certain that we have all desperately wanted to cry +out, and have had no voice; that we have all gone to the play and +not been able to get in; that we have all dreamed much more of +our youth than of our later lives; that—I have lost +it! The thread’s broken.</p> +<p>And up I go. I, lying here with the night-light before +me, up I go, for no reason on earth that I can find out, and +drawn by no links that are visible to me, up the Great Saint +Bernard! I have lived in Switzerland, and rambled among the +mountains; but, why I should go there now, and why up the Great +Saint Bernard in preference to any other mountain, I have no +idea. As I lie here broad awake, and with every sense so +sharpened that I can distinctly hear distant noises inaudible to +me at another time, I make that journey, as I really did, on the +same summer day, with the same happy party—ah! two since +dead, I grieve to think—and there is the same track, with +the same black wooden arms to point the way, and there are the +same storm-refuges here and there; and there is the same snow +falling at the top, and there are the same frosty mists, and +there is the same intensely cold convent with its +ménagerie smell, and the same breed of dogs fast dying +out, and the same breed of jolly young monks whom I mourn to know +as humbugs, and the same convent parlour with its piano and the +sitting round the fire, and the same supper, and the same lone +night in a cell, and the same bright fresh morning when going out +into the highly rarefied air was like a plunge into an icy +bath. Now, see here what comes along; and why does this +thing stalk into my mind on the top of a Swiss mountain!</p> +<p>It is a figure that I once saw, just after dark, chalked upon +a door in a little back lane near a country church—my first +church. How young a child I may have been at the time I +don’t know, but it horrified me so intensely—in +connexion with the churchyard, I suppose, for it smokes a pipe, +and has a big hat with each of its ears sticking out in a +horizontal line under the brim, and is not in itself more +oppressive than a mouth from ear to ear, a pair of goggle eyes, +and hands like two bunches of carrots, five in each, can make +it—that it is still vaguely alarming to me to recall (as I +have often done before, lying awake) the running home, the +looking behind, the horror, of its following me; though whether +disconnected from the door, or door and all, I can’t say, +and perhaps never could. It lays a disagreeable +train. I must resolve to think of something on the +voluntary principle.</p> +<p>The balloon ascents of this last season. They will do to +think about, while I lie awake, as well as anything else. I +must hold them tight though, for I feel them sliding away, and in +their stead are the Mannings, husband and wife, hanging on the +top of Horse-monger Lane Jail. In connexion with which +dismal spectacle, I recall this curious fantasy of the +mind. That, having beheld that execution, and having left +those two forms dangling on the top of the entrance +gateway—the man’s, a limp, loose suit of clothes as +if the man had gone out of them; the woman’s, a fine shape, +so elaborately corseted and artfully dressed, that it was quite +unchanged in its trim appearance as it slowly swung from side to +side—I never could, by my uttermost efforts, for some +weeks, present the outside of that prison to myself (which the +terrible impression I had received continually obliged me to do) +without presenting it with the two figures still hanging in the +morning air. Until, strolling past the gloomy place one +night, when the street was deserted and quiet, and actually +seeing that the bodies were not there, my fancy was persuaded, as +it were, to take them down and bury them within the precincts of +the jail, where they have lain ever since.</p> +<p>The balloon ascents of last season. Let me reckon them +up. There were the horse, the bull, the +parachute,—and the tumbler hanging on—chiefly by his +toes, I believe—below the car. Very wrong, indeed, +and decidedly to be stopped. But, in connexion with these +and similar dangerous exhibitions, it strikes me that that +portion of the public whom they entertain, is unjustly +reproached. Their pleasure is in the difficulty +overcome. They are a public of great faith, and are quite +confident that the gentleman will not fall off the horse, or the +lady off the bull or out of the parachute, and that the tumbler +has a firm hold with his toes. They do not go to see the +adventurer vanquished, but triumphant. There is no parallel +in public combats between men and beasts, because nobody can +answer for the particular beast—unless it were always the +same beast, in which case it would be a mere stage-show, which +the same public would go in the same state of mind to see, +entirely believing in the brute being beforehand safely subdued +by the man. That they are not accustomed to calculate +hazards and dangers with any nicety, we may know from their rash +exposure of themselves in overcrowded steamboats, and unsafe +conveyances and places of all kinds. And I cannot help +thinking that instead of railing, and attributing savage motives +to a people naturally well disposed and humane, it is better to +teach them, and lead them argumentatively and +reasonably—for they are very reasonable, if you will +discuss a matter with them—to more considerate and wise +conclusions.</p> +<p>This is a disagreeable intrusion! Here is a man with his +throat cut, dashing towards me as I lie awake! A +recollection of an old story of a kinsman of mine, who, going +home one foggy winter night to Hampstead, when London was much +smaller and the road lonesome, suddenly encountered such a figure +rushing past him, and presently two keepers from a madhouse in +pursuit. A very unpleasant creature indeed, to come into my +mind unbidden, as I lie awake.</p> +<p>—The balloon ascents of last season. I must return +to the balloons. Why did the bleeding man start out of +them? Never mind; if I inquire, he will be back +again. The balloons. This particular public have +inherently a great pleasure in the contemplation of physical +difficulties overcome; mainly, as I take it, because the lives of +a large majority of them are exceedingly monotonous and real, and +further, are a struggle against continual difficulties, and +further still, because anything in the form of accidental injury, +or any kind of illness or disability is so very serious in their +own sphere. I will explain this seeming paradox of +mine. Take the case of a Christmas Pantomime. Surely +nobody supposes that the young mother in the pit who falls into +fits of laughter when the baby is boiled or sat upon, would be at +all diverted by such an occurrence off the stage. Nor is +the decent workman in the gallery, who is transported beyond the +ignorant present by the delight with which he sees a stout +gentleman pushed out of a two pair of stairs window, to be +slandered by the suspicion that he would be in the least +entertained by such a spectacle in any street in London, Paris, +or New York. It always appears to me that the secret of +this enjoyment lies in the temporary superiority to the common +hazards and mischances of life; in seeing casualties, attended +when they really occur with bodily and mental suffering, tears, +and poverty, happen through a very rough sort of poetry without +the least harm being done to any one—the pretence of +distress in a pantomime being so broadly humorous as to be no +pretence at all. Much as in the comic fiction I can +understand the mother with a very vulnerable baby at home, +greatly relishing the invulnerable baby on the stage, so in the +Cremorne reality I can understand the mason who is always liable +to fall off a scaffold in his working jacket and to be carried to +the hospital, having an infinite admiration of the radiant +personage in spangles who goes into the clouds upon a bull, or +upside down, and who, he takes it for granted—not +reflecting upon the thing—has, by uncommon skill and +dexterity, conquered such mischances as those to which he and his +acquaintance are continually exposed.</p> +<p>I wish the Morgue in Paris would not come here as I lie awake, +with its ghastly beds, and the swollen saturated clothes hanging +up, and the water dripping, dripping all day long, upon that +other swollen saturated something in the corner, like a heap of +crushed over-ripe figs that I have seen in Italy! And this +detestable Morgue comes back again at the head of a procession of +forgotten ghost stories. This will never do. I must +think of something else as I lie awake; or, like that sagacious +animal in the United States who recognised the colonel who was +such a dead shot, I am a gone ’Coon. What shall I +think of? The late brutal assaults. Very good +subject. The late brutal assaults.</p> +<p>(Though whether, supposing I should see, here before me as I +lie awake, the awful phantom described in one of those ghost +stories, who, with a head-dress of shroud, was always seen +looking in through a certain glass door at a certain dead +hour—whether, in such a case it would be the least +consolation to me to know on philosophical grounds that it was +merely my imagination, is a question I can’t help asking +myself by the way.)</p> +<p>The late brutal assaults. I strongly question the +expediency of advocating the revival of whipping for those +crimes. It is a natural and generous impulse to be +indignant at the perpetration of inconceivable brutality, but I +doubt the whipping panacea gravely. Not in the least regard +or pity for the criminal, whom I hold in far lower estimation +than a mad wolf, but in consideration for the general tone and +feeling, which is very much improved since the whipping +times. It is bad for a people to be familiarised with such +punishments. When the whip went out of Bridewell, and +ceased to be flourished at the carts tail and at the +whipping-post, it began to fade out of madhouses, and workhouses, +and schools and families, and to give place to a better system +everywhere, than cruel driving. It would be hasty, because +a few brutes may be inadequately punished, to revive, in any +aspect, what, in so many aspects, society is hardly yet happily +rid of. The whip is a very contagious kind of thing, and +difficult to confine within one set of bounds. Utterly +abolish punishment by fine—a barbarous device, quite as +much out of date as wager by battle, but particularly connected +in the vulgar mind with this class of offence—at least +quadruple the term of imprisonment for aggravated +assaults—and above all let us, in such cases, have no Pet +Prisoning, vain glorifying, strong soup, and roasted meats, but +hard work, and one unchanging and uncompromising dietary of bread +and water, well or ill; and we shall do much better than by going +down into the dark to grope for the whip among the rusty +fragments of the rack, and the branding iron, and the chains and +gibbet from the public roads, and the weights that pressed men to +death in the cells of Newgate.</p> +<p>I had proceeded thus far, when I found I had been lying awake +so long that the very dead began to wake too, and to crowd into +my thoughts most sorrowfully. Therefore, I resolved to lie +awake no more, but to get up and go out for a night +walk—which resolution was an acceptable relief to me, as I +dare say it may prove now to a great many more.</p> +<h2><a name="page367"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 367</span>THE +GHOST OF ART</h2> +<p>I <span class="GutSmall">AM</span> a bachelor, residing in +rather a dreary set of chambers in the Temple. They are +situated in a square court of high houses, which would be a +complete well, but for the want of water and the absence of a +bucket. I live at the top of the house, among the tiles and +sparrows. Like the little man in the nursery-story, I live +by myself, and all the bread and cheese I get—which is not +much—I put upon a shelf. I need scarcely add, +perhaps, that I am in love, and that the father of my charming +Julia objects to our union.</p> +<p>I mention these little particulars as I might deliver a letter +of introduction. The reader is now acquainted with me, and +perhaps will condescend to listen to my narrative.</p> +<p>I am naturally of a dreamy turn of mind; and my abundant +leisure—for I am called to the Bar—coupled with much +lonely listening to the twittering of sparrows, and the pattering +of rain, has encouraged that disposition. In my ‘top +set’ I hear the wind howl on a winter night, when the man +on the ground floor believes it is perfectly still weather. +The dim lamps with which our Honourable Society (supposed to be +as yet unconscious of the new discovery called Gas) make the +horrors of the staircase visible, deepen the gloom which +generally settles on my soul when I go home at night.</p> +<p>I am in the Law, but not of it. I can’t exactly +make out what it means. I sit in Westminster Hall sometimes +(in character) from ten to four; and when I go out of Court, I +don’t know whether I am standing on my wig or my boots.</p> +<p>It appears to me (I mention this in confidence) as if there +were too much talk and too much law—as if some grains of +truth were started overboard into a tempestuous sea of chaff.</p> +<p>All this may make me mystical. Still, I am confident +that what I am going to describe myself as having seen and heard, +I actually did see and hear.</p> +<p>It is necessary that I should observe that I have a great +delight in pictures. I am no painter myself, but I have +studied pictures and written about them. I have seen all +the most famous pictures in the world; my education and reading +have been sufficiently general to possess me beforehand with a +knowledge of most of the subjects to which a Painter is likely to +have recourse; and, although I might be in some doubt as to the +rightful fashion of the scabbard of King Lear’s sword, for +instance, I think I should know King Lear tolerably well, if I +happened to meet with him.</p> +<p>I go to all the Modern Exhibitions every season, and of course +I revere the Royal Academy. I stand by its forty Academical +articles almost as firmly as I stand by the thirty-nine Articles +of the Church of England. I am convinced that in neither +case could there be, by any rightful possibility, one article +more or less.</p> +<p>It is now exactly three years—three years ago, this very +month—since I went from Westminster to the Temple, one +Thursday afternoon, in a cheap steamboat. The sky was +black, when I imprudently walked on board. It began to +thunder and lighten immediately afterwards, and the rain poured +down in torrents. The deck seeming to smoke with the wet, I +went below; but so many passengers were there, smoking too, that +I came up again, and buttoning my pea-coat, and standing in the +shadow of the paddle-box, stood as upright as I could, and made +the best of it.</p> +<p>It was at this moment that I first beheld the terrible Being, +who is the subject of my present recollections.</p> +<p>Standing against the funnel, apparently with the intention of +drying himself by the heat as fast as he got wet, was a shabby +man in threadbare black, and with his hands in his pockets, who +fascinated me from the memorable instant when I caught his +eye.</p> +<p>Where had I caught that eye before? Who was he? +Why did I connect him, all at once, with the Vicar of Wakefield, +Alfred the Great, Gil Blas, Charles the Second, Joseph and his +Brethren, the Fairy Queen, Tom Jones, the Decameron of Boccaccio, +Tam O’Shanter, the Marriage of the Doge of Venice with the +Adriatic, and the Great Plague of London? Why, when he bent +one leg, and placed one hand upon the back of the seat near him, +did my mind associate him wildly with the words, ‘Number +one hundred and forty-two, Portrait of a gentleman’? +Could it be that I was going mad?</p> +<p>I looked at him again, and now I could have taken my affidavit +that he belonged to the Vicar of Wakefield’s family. +Whether he was the Vicar, or Moses, or Mr. Burchill, or the +Squire, or a conglomeration of all four, I knew not; but I was +impelled to seize him by the throat, and charge him with being, +in some fell way, connected with the Primrose blood. He +looked up at the rain, and then—oh Heaven!—he became +Saint John. He folded his arms, resigning himself to the +weather, and I was frantically inclined to address him as the +Spectator, and firmly demand to know what he had done with Sir +Roger de Coverley.</p> +<p>The frightful suspicion that I was becoming deranged, returned +upon me with redoubled force. Meantime, this awful +stranger, inexplicably linked to my distress, stood drying +himself at the funnel; and ever, as the steam rose from his +clothes, diffusing a mist around him, I saw through the ghostly +medium all the people I have mentioned, and a score more, sacred +and profane.</p> +<p>I am conscious of a dreadful inclination that stole upon me, +as it thundered and lightened, to grapple with this man, or +demon, and plunge him over the side. But, I constrained +myself—I know not how—to speak to him, and in a pause +of the storm, I crossed the deck, and said:</p> +<p>‘What are you?’</p> +<p>He replied, hoarsely, ‘A Model.’</p> +<p>‘A what?’ said I.</p> +<p>‘A Model,’ he replied. ‘I sets to the +profession for a bob a-hour.’ (All through this +narrative I give his own words, which are indelibly imprinted on +my memory.)</p> +<p>The relief which this disclosure gave me, the exquisite +delight of the restoration of my confidence in my own sanity, I +cannot describe. I should have fallen on his neck, but for +the consciousness of being observed by the man at the wheel.</p> +<p>‘You then,’ said I, shaking him so warmly by the +hand, that I wrung the rain out of his coat-cuff, ‘are the +gentleman whom I have so frequently contemplated, in connection +with a high-backed chair with a red cushion, and a table with +twisted legs.’</p> +<p>‘I am that Model,’ he rejoined moodily, ‘and +I wish I was anything else.’</p> +<p>‘Say not so,’ I returned. ‘I have seen +you in the society of many beautiful young women;’ as in +truth I had, and always (I now remember) in the act of making the +most of his legs.</p> +<p>‘No doubt,’ said he. ‘And you’ve +seen me along with warses of flowers, and any number of +table-kivers, and antique cabinets, and warious +gammon.’</p> +<p>‘Sir?’ said I.</p> +<p>‘And warious gammon,’ he repeated, in a louder +voice. ‘You might have seen me in armour, too, if you +had looked sharp. Blessed if I ha’n’t stood in +half the suits of armour as ever came out of Pratt’s shop: +and sat, for weeks together, a-eating nothing, out of half the +gold and silver dishes as has ever been lent for the purpose out +of Storrses, and Mortimerses, or Garrardses, and +Davenportseseses.’</p> +<p>Excited, as it appeared, by a sense of injury, I thought he +would never have found an end for the last word. But, at +length it rolled sullenly away with the thunder.</p> +<p>‘Pardon me,’ said I, ‘you are a +well-favoured, well-made man, and yet—forgive me—I +find, on examining my mind, that I associate you with—that +my recollection indistinctly makes you, in short—excuse +me—a kind of powerful monster.’</p> +<p>‘It would be a wonder if it didn’t,’ he +said. ‘Do you know what my points are?’</p> +<p>‘No,’ said I.</p> +<p>‘My throat and my legs,’ said he. +‘When I don’t set for a head, I mostly sets for a +throat and a pair of legs. Now, granted you was a painter, +and was to work at my throat for a week together, I suppose +you’d see a lot of lumps and bumps there, that would never +be there at all, if you looked at me, complete, instead of only +my throat. Wouldn’t you?’</p> +<p>‘Probably,’ said I, surveying him.</p> +<p>‘Why, it stands to reason,’ said the Model. +‘Work another week at my legs, and it’ll be the same +thing. You’ll make ’em out as knotty and as +knobby, at last, as if they was the trunks of two old +trees. Then, take and stick my legs and throat on to +another man’s body, and you’ll make a reg’lar +monster. And that’s the way the public gets their +reg’lar monsters, every first Monday in May, when the Royal +Academy Exhibition opens.’</p> +<p>‘You are a critic,’ said I, with an air of +deference.</p> +<p>‘I’m in an uncommon ill humour, if that’s +it,’ rejoined the Model, with great indignation. +‘As if it warn’t bad enough for a bob a-hour, for a +man to be mixing himself up with that there jolly old furniter +that one ‘ud think the public know’d the wery nails +in by this time—or to be putting on greasy old ‘ats +and cloaks, and playing tambourines in the Bay o’ Naples, +with Wesuvius a smokin’ according to pattern in the +background, and the wines a bearing wonderful in the middle +distance—or to be unpolitely kicking up his legs among a +lot o’ gals, with no reason whatever in his mind but to +show ’em—as if this warn’t bad enough, +I’m to go and be thrown out of employment too!’</p> +<p>‘Surely no!’ said I.</p> +<p>‘Surely yes,’ said the indignant Model. +‘<span class="smcap">But I’ll grow +one</span>.’</p> +<p>The gloomy and threatening manner in which he muttered the +last words, can never be effaced from my remembrance. My +blood ran cold.</p> +<p>I asked of myself, what was it that this desperate Being was +resolved to grow. My breast made no response.</p> +<p>I ventured to implore him to explain his meaning. With a +scornful laugh, he uttered this dark prophecy:</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">I’ll grow one</span>. +<span class="smcap">And</span>, <span class="smcap">mark my +words</span>, <span class="smcap">it shall haunt +you</span>!’</p> +<p>We parted in the storm, after I had forced half-a-crown on his +acceptance, with a trembling hand. I conclude that +something supernatural happened to the steamboat, as it bore his +reeking figure down the river; but it never got into the +papers.</p> +<p>Two years elapsed, during which I followed my profession +without any vicissitudes; never holding so much as a motion, of +course. At the expiration of that period, I found myself +making my way home to the Temple, one night, in precisely such +another storm of thunder and lightning as that by which I had +been overtaken on board the steamboat—except that this +storm, bursting over the town at midnight, was rendered much more +awful by the darkness and the hour.</p> +<p>As I turned into my court, I really thought a thunderbolt +would fall, and plough the pavement up. Every brick and +stone in the place seemed to have an echo of its own for the +thunder. The waterspouts were overcharged, and the rain +came tearing down from the house-tops as if they had been +mountain-tops.</p> +<p>Mrs. Parkins, my laundress—wife of Parkins the porter, +then newly dead of a dropsy—had particular instructions to +place a bedroom candle and a match under the staircase lamp on my +landing, in order that I might light my candle there, whenever I +came home. Mrs. Parkins invariably disregarding all +instructions, they were never there. Thus it happened that +on this occasion I groped my way into my sitting-room to find the +candle, and came out to light it.</p> +<p>What were my emotions when, underneath the staircase lamp, +shining with wet as if he had never been dry since our last +meeting, stood the mysterious Being whom I had encountered on the +steamboat in a thunderstorm, two years before! His +prediction rushed upon my mind, and I turned faint.</p> +<p>‘I said I’d do it,’ he observed, in a hollow +voice, ‘and I have done it. May I come in?’</p> +<p>‘Misguided creature, what have you done?’ I +returned.</p> +<p>‘I’ll let you know,’ was his reply, +‘if you’ll let me in.’</p> +<p>Could it be murder that he had done? And had he been so +successful that he wanted to do it again, at my expense?</p> +<p>I hesitated.</p> +<p>‘May I come in?’ said he.</p> +<p>I inclined my head, with as much presence of mind as I could +command, and he followed me into my chambers. There, I saw +that the lower part of his face was tied up, in what is commonly +called a Belcher handkerchief. He slowly removed this +bandage, and exposed to view a long dark beard, curling over his +upper lip, twisting about the corners of his mouth, and hanging +down upon his breast.</p> +<p>‘What is this?’ I exclaimed involuntarily, +‘and what have you become?’</p> +<p>‘I am the Ghost of Art!’ said he.</p> +<p>The effect of these words, slowly uttered in the thunder-storm +at midnight, was appalling in the last degree. More dead +than alive, I surveyed him in silence.</p> +<p>‘The German taste came up,’ said he, ‘and +threw me out of bread. I am ready for the taste +now.’</p> +<p>He made his beard a little jagged with his hands, folded his +arms, and said,</p> +<p>‘Severity!’</p> +<p>I shuddered. It was so severe.</p> +<p>He made his beard flowing on his breast, and, leaning both +hands on the staff of a carpet-broom which Mrs. Parkins had left +among my books, said:</p> +<p>‘Benevolence.’</p> +<p>I stood transfixed. The change of sentiment was entirely +in the beard. The man might have left his face alone, or +had no face.</p> +<p>The beard did everything.</p> +<p>He lay down, on his back, on my table, and with that action of +his head threw up his beard at the chin.</p> +<p>‘That’s death!’ said he.</p> +<p>He got off my table and, looking up at the ceiling, cocked his +beard a little awry; at the same time making it stick out before +him.</p> +<p>‘Adoration, or a vow of vengeance,’ he +observed.</p> +<p>He turned his profile to me, making his upper lip very bulky +with the upper part of his beard.</p> +<p>‘Romantic character,’ said he.</p> +<p>He looked sideways out of his beard, as if it were an +ivy-bush. ‘Jealousy,’ said he. He gave it +an ingenious twist in the air, and informed me that he was +carousing. He made it shaggy with his fingers—and it +was Despair; lank—and it was avarice: tossed it all kinds +of ways—and it was rage. The beard did +everything.</p> +<p>‘I am the Ghost of Art,’ said he. ‘Two +bob a-day now, and more when it’s longer! +Hair’s the true expression. There is no other. +I <span class="smcap">said I’d grow it</span>, <span +class="smcap">and I’ve grown it</span>, <span +class="smcap">and it shall haunt you</span>!’</p> +<p>He may have tumbled down-stairs in the dark, but he never +walked down or ran down. I looked over the banisters, and I +was alone with the thunder.</p> +<p>Need I add more of my terrific fate? <span +class="smcap">It has</span> haunted me ever since. It +glares upon me from the walls of the Royal Academy, (except when +<span class="smcap">Maclise</span> subdues it to his genius,) it +fills my soul with terror at the British Institution, it lures +young artists on to their destruction. Go where I will, the +Ghost of Art, eternally working the passions in hair, and +expressing everything by beard, pursues me. The prediction +is accomplished, and the victim has no rest.</p> +<h2><a name="page373"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 373</span>OUT +OF TOWN</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Sitting</span>, on a bright September +morning, among my books and papers at my open window on the cliff +overhanging the sea-beach, I have the sky and ocean framed before +me like a beautiful picture. A beautiful picture, but with +such movement in it, such changes of light upon the sails of +ships and wake of steamboats, such dazzling gleams of silver far +out at sea, such fresh touches on the crisp wave-tops as they +break and roll towards me—a picture with such music in the +billowy rush upon the shingle, the blowing of morning wind +through the corn-sheaves where the farmers’ waggons are +busy, the singing of the larks, and the distant voices of +children at play—such charms of sight and sound as all the +Galleries on earth can but poorly suggest.</p> +<p>So dreamy is the murmur of the sea below my window, that I may +have been here, for anything I know, one hundred years. Not +that I have grown old, for, daily on the neighbouring downs and +grassy hill-sides, I find that I can still in reason walk any +distance, jump over anything, and climb up anywhere; but, that +the sound of the ocean seems to have become so customary to my +musings, and other realities seem so to have gone aboard ship and +floated away over the horizon, that, for aught I will undertake +to the contrary, I am the enchanted son of the King my father, +shut up in a tower on the sea-shore, for protection against an +old she-goblin who insisted on being my godmother, and who +foresaw at the font—wonderful creature!—that I should +get into a scrape before I was twenty-one. I remember to +have been in a City (my Royal parent’s dominions, I +suppose), and apparently not long ago either, that was in the +dreariest condition. The principal inhabitants had all been +changed into old newspapers, and in that form were preserving +their window-blinds from dust, and wrapping all their smaller +household gods in curl-papers. I walked through gloomy +streets where every house was shut up and newspapered, and where +my solitary footsteps echoed on the deserted pavements. In +the public rides there were no carriages, no horses, no animated +existence, but a few sleepy policemen, and a few adventurous boys +taking advantage of the devastation to swarm up the +lamp-posts. In the Westward streets there was no traffic; +in the Westward shops, no business. The water-patterns +which the ’Prentices had trickled out on the pavements +early in the morning, remained uneffaced by human feet. At +the corners of mews, Cochin-China fowls stalked gaunt and savage; +nobody being left in the deserted city (as it appeared to me), to +feed them. Public Houses, where splendid footmen swinging +their legs over gorgeous hammer-cloths beside wigged coachmen +were wont to regale, were silent, and the unused pewter pots +shone, too bright for business, on the shelves. I beheld a +Punch’s Show leaning against a wall near Park Lane, as if +it had fainted. It was deserted, and there were none to +heed its desolation. In Belgrave Square I met the last +man—an ostler—sitting on a post in a ragged red +waistcoat, eating straw, and mildewing away.</p> +<p>If I recollect the name of the little town, on whose shore +this sea is murmuring—but I am not just now, as I have +premised, to be relied upon for anything—it is +Pavilionstone. Within a quarter of a century, it was a +little fishing town, and they do say, that the time was, when it +was a little smuggling town. I have heard that it was +rather famous in the hollands and brandy way, and that coevally +with that reputation the lamplighter’s was considered a bad +life at the Assurance Offices. It was observed that if he +were not particular about lighting up, he lived in peace; but +that, if he made the best of the oil-lamps in the steep and +narrow streets, he usually fell over the cliff at an early +age. Now, gas and electricity run to the very water’s +edge, and the South-Eastern Railway Company screech at us in the +dead of night.</p> +<p>But, the old little fishing and smuggling town remains, and is +so tempting a place for the latter purpose, that I think of going +out some night next week, in a fur cap and a pair of petticoat +trousers, and running an empty tub, as a kind of +archæological pursuit. Let nobody with corns come to +Pavilionstone, for there are breakneck flights of ragged steps, +connecting the principal streets by back-ways, which will cripple +that visitor in half an hour. These are the ways by which, +when I run that tub, I shall escape. I shall make a +Thermopylæ of the corner of one of them, defend it with my +cutlass against the coast-guard until my brave companions have +sheered off, then dive into the darkness, and regain my +Susan’s arms. In connection with these breakneck +steps I observe some wooden cottages, with tumble-down +out-houses, and back-yards three feet square, adorned with +garlands of dried fish, in one of which (though the General Board +of Health might object) my Susan dwells.</p> +<p>The South-Eastern Company have brought Pavilionstone into such +vogue, with their tidal trains and splendid steam-packets, that a +new Pavilionstone is rising up. I am, myself, of New +Pavilionstone. We are a little mortary and limey at +present, but we are getting on capitally. Indeed, we were +getting on so fast, at one time, that we rather overdid it, and +built a street of shops, the business of which may be expected to +arrive in about ten years. We are sensibly laid out in +general; and with a little care and pains (by no means wanting, +so far), shall become a very pretty place. We ought to be, +for our situation is delightful, our air is delicious, and our +breezy hills and downs, carpeted with wild thyme, and decorated +with millions of wild flowers, are, on the faith of a pedestrian, +perfect. In New Pavilionstone we are a little too much +addicted to small windows with more bricks in them than glass, +and we are not over-fanciful in the way of decorative +architecture, and we get unexpected sea-views through cracks in +the street doors; on the whole, however, we are very snug and +comfortable, and well accommodated. But the Home Secretary +(if there be such an officer) cannot too soon shut up the +burial-ground of the old parish church. It is in the midst +of us, and Pavilionstone will get no good of it, if it be too +long left alone.</p> +<p>The lion of Pavilionstone is its Great Hotel. A dozen +years ago, going over to Paris by South-Eastern Tidal Steamer, +you used to be dropped upon the platform of the main line +Pavilionstone Station (not a junction then), at eleven +o’clock on a dark winter’s night, in a roaring wind; +and in the howling wilderness outside the station, was a short +omnibus which brought you up by the forehead the instant you got +in at the door; and nobody cared about you, and you were alone in +the world. You bumped over infinite chalk, until you were +turned out at a strange building which had just left off being a +barn without having quite begun to be a house, where nobody +expected your coming, or knew what to do with you when you were +come, and where you were usually blown about, until you happened +to be blown against the cold beef, and finally into bed. At +five in the morning you were blown out of bed, and after a dreary +breakfast, with crumpled company, in the midst of confusion, were +hustled on board a steamboat and lay wretched on deck until you +saw France lunging and surging at you with great vehemence over +the bowsprit.</p> +<p>Now, you come down to Pavilionstone in a free and easy manner, +an irresponsible agent, made over in trust to the South-Eastern +Company, until you get out of the railway-carriage at high-water +mark. If you are crossing by the boat at once, you have +nothing to do but walk on board and be happy there if you +can—I can’t. If you are going to our Great +Pavilionstone Hotel, the sprightliest porters under the sun, +whose cheerful looks are a pleasant welcome, shoulder your +luggage, drive it off in vans, bowl it away in trucks, and enjoy +themselves in playing athletic games with it. If you are +for public life at our great Pavilionstone Hotel, you walk into +that establishment as if it were your club; and find ready for +you, your news-room, dining-room, smoking-room, billiard-room, +music-room, public breakfast, public dinner twice a-day (one +plain, one gorgeous), hot baths and cold baths. If you want +to be bored, there are plenty of bores always ready for you, and +from Saturday to Monday in particular, you can be bored (if you +like it) through and through. Should you want to be private +at our Great Pavilionstone Hotel, say but the word, look at the +list of charges, choose your floor, name your figure—there +you are, established in your castle, by the day, week, month, or +year, innocent of all comers or goers, unless you have my fancy +for walking early in the morning down the groves of boots and +shoes, which so regularly flourish at all the chamber-doors +before breakfast, that it seems to me as if nobody ever got up or +took them in. Are you going across the Alps, and would you +like to air your Italian at our Great Pavilionstone Hotel? +Talk to the Manager—always conversational, accomplished, +and polite. Do you want to be aided, abetted, comforted, or +advised, at our Great Pavilionstone Hotel? Send for the +good landlord, and he is your friend. Should you, or any +one belonging to you, ever be taken ill at our Great +Pavilionstone Hotel, you will not soon forget him or his kind +wife. And when you pay your bill at our Great Pavilionstone +Hotel, you will not be put out of humour by anything you find in +it.</p> +<p>A thoroughly good inn, in the days of coaching and posting, +was a noble place. But no such inn would have been equal to +the reception of four or five hundred people, all of them wet +through, and half of them dead sick, every day in the year. +This is where we shine, in our Pavilionstone Hotel. +Again—who, coming and going, pitching and tossing, boating +and training, hurrying in, and flying out, could ever have +calculated the fees to be paid at an old-fashioned house? +In our Pavilionstone Hotel vocabulary, there is no such word as +fee. Everything is done for you; every service is provided +at a fixed and reasonable charge; all the prices are hung up in +all the rooms; and you can make out your own bill beforehand, as +well as the book-keeper.</p> +<p>In the case of your being a pictorial artist, desirous of +studying at small expense the physiognomies and beards of +different nations, come, on receipt of this, to +Pavilionstone. You shall find all the nations of the earth, +and all the styles of shaving and not shaving, hair cutting and +hair letting alone, for ever flowing through our hotel. +Couriers you shall see by hundreds; fat leathern bags for +five-franc pieces, closing with violent snaps, like discharges of +fire-arms, by thousands; more luggage in a morning than, fifty +years ago, all Europe saw in a week. Looking at trains, +steamboats, sick travellers, and luggage, is our great +Pavilionstone recreation. We are not strong in other public +amusements. We have a Literary and Scientific Institution, +and we have a Working Men’s Institution—may it hold +many gipsy holidays in summer fields, with the kettle boiling, +the band of music playing, and the people dancing; and may I be +on the hill-side, looking on with pleasure at a wholesome sight +too rare in England!—and we have two or three churches, and +more chapels than I have yet added up. But public +amusements are scarce with us. If a poor theatrical manager +comes with his company to give us, in a loft, Mary Bax, or the +Murder on the Sand Hills, we don’t care much for +him—starve him out, in fact. We take more kindly to +wax-work, especially if it moves; in which case it keeps much +clearer of the second commandment than when it is still. +Cooke’s Circus (Mr. Cooke is my friend, and always leaves a +good name behind him) gives us only a night in passing +through. Nor does the travelling menagerie think us worth a +longer visit. It gave us a look-in the other day, bringing +with it the residentiary van with the stained glass windows, +which Her Majesty kept ready-made at Windsor Castle, until she +found a suitable opportunity of submitting it for the +proprietor’s acceptance. I brought away five +wonderments from this exhibition. I have wondered ever +since, Whether the beasts ever do get used to those small places +of confinement; Whether the monkeys have that very horrible +flavour in their free state; Whether wild animals have a natural +ear for time and tune, and therefore every four-footed creature +began to howl in despair when the band began to play; What the +giraffe does with his neck when his cart is shut up; and, Whether +the elephant feels ashamed of himself when he is brought out of +his den to stand on his head in the presence of the whole +Collection.</p> +<p>We are a tidal harbour at Pavilionstone, as indeed I have +implied already in my mention of tidal trains. At low +water, we are a heap of mud, with an empty channel in it where a +couple of men in big boots always shovel and scoop: with what +exact object, I am unable to say. At that time, all the +stranded fishing-boats turn over on their sides, as if they were +dead marine monsters; the colliers and other shipping stick +disconsolate in the mud; the steamers look as if their white +chimneys would never smoke more, and their red paddles never turn +again; the green sea-slime and weed upon the rough stones at the +entrance, seem records of obsolete high tides never more to flow; +the flagstaff-halyards droop; the very little wooden lighthouse +shrinks in the idle glare of the sun. And here I may +observe of the very little wooden lighthouse, that when it is +lighted at night,—red and green,—it looks so like a +medical man’s, that several distracted husbands have at +various times been found, on occasions of premature domestic +anxiety, going round and round it, trying to find the +Nightbell.</p> +<p>But, the moment the tide begins to make, the Pavilionstone +Harbour begins to revive. It feels the breeze of the rising +water before the water comes, and begins to flutter and +stir. When the little shallow waves creep in, barely +overlapping one another, the vanes at the mastheads wake, and +become agitated. As the tide rises, the fishing-boats get +into good spirits and dance, the flagstaff hoists a bright red +flag, the steamboat smokes, cranes creak, horses and carriages +dangle in the air, stray passengers and luggage appear. +Now, the shipping is afloat, and comes up buoyantly, to look at +the wharf. Now, the carts that have come down for coals, +load away as hard as they can load. Now, the steamer smokes +immensely, and occasionally blows at the paddle-boxes like a +vaporous whale-greatly disturbing nervous loungers. Now, +both the tide and the breeze have risen, and you are holding your +hat on (if you want to see how the ladies hold their hats on, +with a stay, passing over the broad brim and down the nose, come +to Pavilionstone). Now, everything in the harbour splashes, +dashes, and bobs. Now, the Down Tidal Train is telegraphed, +and you know (without knowing how you know), that two hundred and +eighty-seven people are coming. Now, the fishing-boats that +have been out, sail in at the top of the tide. Now, the +bell goes, and the locomotive hisses and shrieks, and the train +comes gliding in, and the two hundred and eighty-seven come +scuffling out. Now, there is not only a tide of water, but +a tide of people, and a tide of luggage—all tumbling and +flowing and bouncing about together. Now, after infinite +bustle, the steamer steams out, and we (on the Pier) are all +delighted when she rolls as if she would roll her funnel out, and +all are disappointed when she don’t. Now, the other +steamer is coming in, and the Custom House prepares, and the +wharf-labourers assemble, and the hawsers are made ready, and the +Hotel Porters come rattling down with van and truck, eager to +begin more Olympic games with more luggage. And this is the +way in which we go on, down at Pavilionstone, every tide. +And, if you want to live a life of luggage, or to see it lived, +or to breathe sweet air which will send you to sleep at a +moment’s notice at any period of the day or night, or to +disport yourself upon or in the sea, or to scamper about Kent, or +to come out of town for the enjoyment of all or any of these +pleasures, come to Pavilionstone.</p> +<h2><a name="page379"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 379</span>OUT +OF THE SEASON</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> fell to my lot, this last bleak +Spring, to find myself in a watering-place out of the +Season. A vicious north-east squall blew me into it from +foreign parts, and I tarried in it alone for three days, resolved +to be exceedingly busy.</p> +<p>On the first day, I began business by looking for two hours at +the sea, and staring the Foreign Militia out of +countenance. Having disposed of these important +engagements, I sat down at one of the two windows of my room, +intent on doing something desperate in the way of literary +composition, and writing a chapter of unheard-of +excellence—with which the present essay has no +connexion.</p> +<p>It is a remarkable quality in a watering-place out of the +season, that everything in it, will and must be looked at. +I had no previous suspicion of this fatal truth but, the moment I +sat down to write, I began to perceive it. I had scarcely +fallen into my most promising attitude, and dipped my pen in the +ink, when I found the clock upon the pier—a red-faced clock +with a white rim—importuning me in a highly vexatious +manner to consult my watch, and see how I was off for Greenwich +time. Having no intention of making a voyage or taking an +observation, I had not the least need of Greenwich time, and +could have put up with watering-place time as a sufficiently +accurate article. The pier-clock, however, persisting, I +felt it necessary to lay down my pen, compare my watch with him, +and fall into a grave solicitude about half-seconds. I had +taken up my pen again, and was about to commence that valuable +chapter, when a Custom-house cutter under the window requested +that I would hold a naval review of her, immediately.</p> +<p>It was impossible, under the circumstances, for any mental +resolution, merely human, to dismiss the Custom-house cutter, +because the shadow of her topmast fell upon my paper, and the +vane played on the masterly blank chapter. I was therefore +under the necessity of going to the other window; sitting astride +of the chair there, like Napoleon bivouacking in the print; and +inspecting the cutter as she lay, all that day, in the way of my +chapter, O! She was rigged to carry a quantity of canvas, +but her hull was so very small that four giants aboard of her +(three men and a boy) who were vigilantly scraping at her, all +together, inspired me with a terror lest they should scrape her +away. A fifth giant, who appeared to consider himself +‘below’—as indeed he was, from the waist +downwards—meditated, in such close proximity with the +little gusty chimney-pipe, that he seemed to be smoking it. +Several boys looked on from the wharf, and, when the gigantic +attention appeared to be fully occupied, one or other of these +would furtively swing himself in mid-air over the Custom-house +cutter, by means of a line pendant from her rigging, like a young +spirit of the storm. Presently, a sixth hand brought down +two little water-casks; presently afterwards, a truck came, and +delivered a hamper. I was now under an obligation to +consider that the cutter was going on a cruise, and to wonder +where she was going, and when she was going, and why she was +going, and at what date she might be expected back, and who +commanded her? With these pressing questions I was fully +occupied when the Packet, making ready to go across, and blowing +off her spare steam, roared, ‘Look at me!’</p> +<p>It became a positive duty to look at the Packet preparing to +go across; aboard of which, the people newly come down by the +rail-road were hurrying in a great fluster. The crew had +got their tarry overalls on—and one knew what that +meant—not to mention the white basins, ranged in neat +little piles of a dozen each, behind the door of the +after-cabin. One lady as I looked, one resigning and +far-seeing woman, took her basin from the store of crockery, as +she might have taken a refreshment-ticket, laid herself down on +deck with that utensil at her ear, muffled her feet in one shawl, +solemnly covered her countenance after the antique manner with +another, and on the completion of these preparations appeared by +the strength of her volition to become insensible. The +mail-bags (O that I myself had the sea-legs of a mail-bag!) were +tumbled aboard; the Packet left off roaring, warped out, and made +at the white line upon the bar. One dip, one roll, one +break of the sea over her bows, and Moore’s Almanack or the +sage Raphael could not have told me more of the state of things +aboard, than I knew.</p> +<p>The famous chapter was all but begun now, and would have been +quite begun, but for the wind. It was blowing stiffly from +the east, and it rumbled in the chimney and shook the +house. That was not much; but, looking out into the +wind’s grey eye for inspiration, I laid down my pen again +to make the remark to myself, how emphatically everything by the +sea declares that it has a great concern in the state of the +wind. The trees blown all one way; the defences of the +harbour reared highest and strongest against the raging point; +the shingle flung up on the beach from the same direction; the +number of arrows pointed at the common enemy; the sea tumbling in +and rushing towards them as if it were inflamed by the +sight. This put it in my head that I really ought to go out +and take a walk in the wind; so, I gave up the magnificent +chapter for that day, entirely persuading myself that I was under +a moral obligation to have a blow.</p> +<p>I had a good one, and that on the high road—the very +high road—on the top of the cliffs, where I met the +stage-coach with all the outsides holding their hats on and +themselves too, and overtook a flock of sheep with the wool about +their necks blown into such great ruffs that they looked like +fleecy owls. The wind played upon the lighthouse as if it +were a great whistle, the spray was driven over the sea in a +cloud of haze, the ships rolled and pitched heavily, and at +intervals long slants and flaws of light made mountain-steeps of +communication between the ocean and the sky. A walk of ten +miles brought me to a seaside town without a cliff, which, like +the town I had come from, was out of the season too. Half +of the houses were shut up; half of the other half were to let; +the town might have done as much business as it was doing then, +if it had been at the bottom of the sea. Nobody seemed to +flourish save the attorney; his clerk’s pen was going in +the bow-window of his wooden house; his brass door-plate alone +was free from salt, and had been polished up that morning. +On the beach, among the rough buggers and capstans, groups of +storm-beaten boatmen, like a sort of marine monsters, watched +under the lee of those objects, or stood leaning forward against +the wind, looking out through battered spy-glasses. The +parlour bell in the Admiral Benbow had grown so flat with being +out of the season, that neither could I hear it ring when I +pulled the handle for lunch, nor could the young woman in black +stockings and strong shoes, who acted as waiter out of the +season, until it had been tinkled three times.</p> +<p>Admiral Benbow’s cheese was out of the season, but his +home-made bread was good, and his beer was perfect. Deluded +by some earlier spring day which had been warm and sunny, the +Admiral had cleared the firing out of his parlour stove, and had +put some flower-pots in—which was amiable and hopeful in +the Admiral, but not judicious: the room being, at that present +visiting, transcendantly cold. I therefore took the liberty +of peeping out across a little stone passage into the +Admiral’s kitchen, and, seeing a high settle with its back +towards me drawn out in front of the Admiral’s kitchen +fire, I strolled in, bread and cheese in hand, munching and +looking about. One landsman and two boatmen were seated on +the settle, smoking pipes and drinking beer out of thick pint +crockery mugs—mugs peculiar to such places, with +parti-coloured rings round them, and ornaments between the rings +like frayed-out roots. The landsman was relating his +experience, as yet only three nights old, of a fearful +running-down case in the Channel, and therein presented to my +imagination a sound of music that it will not soon forget.</p> +<p>‘At that identical moment of time,’ said he (he +was a prosy man by nature, who rose with his subject), ‘the +night being light and calm, but with a grey mist upon the water +that didn’t seem to spread for more than two or three mile, +I was walking up and down the wooden causeway next the pier, off +where it happened, along with a friend of mine, which his name is +Mr. Clocker. Mr. Clocker is a grocer over +yonder.’ (From the direction in which he pointed the +bowl of his pipe, I might have judged Mr. Clocker to be a merman, +established in the grocery trade in five-and-twenty fathoms of +water.) ‘We were smoking our pipes, and walking up +and down the causeway, talking of one thing and talking of +another. We were quite alone there, except that a few +hovellers’ (the Kentish name for ‘long-shore boatmen +like his companions) ‘were hanging about their lugs, +waiting while the tide made, as hovellers will.’ (One +of the two boatmen, thoughtfully regarding me, shut up one eye; +this I understood to mean: first, that he took me into the +conversation: secondly, that he confirmed the proposition: +thirdly, that he announced himself as a hoveller.) +‘All of a sudden Mr. Clocker and me stood rooted to the +spot, by hearing a sound come through the stillness, right over +the sea, <i>like a great sorrowful flute or Æolian +harp</i>. We didn’t in the least know what it was, +and judge of our surprise when we saw the hovellers, to a man, +leap into the boats and tear about to hoist sail and get off, as +if they had every one of ’em gone, in a moment, raving +mad! But <i>they</i> knew it was the cry of distress from +the sinking emigrant ship.’</p> +<p>When I got back to my watering-place out of the season, and +had done my twenty miles in good style, I found that the +celebrated Black Mesmerist intended favouring the public that +evening in the Hall of the Muses, which he had engaged for the +purpose. After a good dinner, seated by the fire in an easy +chair, I began to waver in a design I had formed of waiting on +the Black Mesmerist, and to incline towards the expediency of +remaining where I was. Indeed a point of gallantry was +involved in my doing so, inasmuch as I had not left France alone, +but had come from the prisons of St. Pélagie with my +distinguished and unfortunate friend Madame Roland (in two +volumes which I bought for two francs each, at the book-stall in +the Place de la Concorde, Paris, at the corner of the Rue +Royale). Deciding to pass the evening +tête-à-tête with Madame Roland, I derived, as +I always do, great pleasure from that spiritual woman’s +society, and the charms of her brave soul and engaging +conversation. I must confess that if she had only some more +faults, only a few more passionate failings of any kind, I might +love her better; but I am content to believe that the deficiency +is in me, and not in her. We spent some sadly interesting +hours together on this occasion, and she told me again of her +cruel discharge from the Abbaye, and of her being re-arrested +before her free feet had sprung lightly up half-a-dozen steps of +her own staircase, and carried off to the prison which she only +left for the guillotine.</p> +<p>Madame Roland and I took leave of one another before +mid-night, and I went to bed full of vast intentions for next +day, in connexion with the unparalleled chapter. To hear +the foreign mail-steamers coming in at dawn of day, and to know +that I was not aboard or obliged to get up, was very comfortable; +so, I rose for the chapter in great force.</p> +<p>I had advanced so far as to sit down at my window again on my +second morning, and to write the first half-line of the chapter +and strike it out, not liking it, when my conscience reproached +me with not having surveyed the watering-place out of the season, +after all, yesterday, but with having gone straight out of it at +the rate of four miles and a half an hour. Obviously the +best amends that I could make for this remissness was to go and +look at it without another moment’s delay. +So—altogether as a matter of duty—I gave up the +magnificent chapter for another day, and sauntered out with my +hands in my pockets.</p> +<p>All the houses and lodgings ever let to visitors, were to let +that morning. It seemed to have snowed bills with To Let +upon them. This put me upon thinking what the owners of all +those apartments did, out of the season; how they employed their +time, and occupied their minds. They could not be always +going to the Methodist chapels, of which I passed one every other +minute. They must have some other recreation. Whether +they pretended to take one another’s lodgings, and opened +one another’s tea-caddies in fun? Whether they cut +slices off their own beef and mutton, and made believe that it +belonged to somebody else? Whether they played little +dramas of life, as children do, and said, ‘I ought to come +and look at your apartments, and you ought to ask two guineas +a-week too much, and then I ought to say I must have the rest of +the day to think of it, and then you ought to say that another +lady and gentleman with no children in family had made an offer +very close to your own terms, and you had passed your word to +give them a positive answer in half an hour, and indeed were just +going to take the bill down when you heard the knock, and then I +ought to take them, you know?’ Twenty such +speculations engaged my thoughts. Then, after passing, +still clinging to the walls, defaced rags of the bills of last +year’s Circus, I came to a back field near a timber-yard +where the Circus itself had been, and where there was yet a sort +of monkish tonsure on the grass, indicating the spot where the +young lady had gone round upon her pet steed Firefly in her +daring flight. Turning into the town again, I came among +the shops, and they were emphatically out of the season. +The chemist had no boxes of ginger-beer powders, no beautifying +sea-side soaps and washes, no attractive scents; nothing but his +great goggle-eyed red bottles, looking as if the winds of winter +and the drift of the salt-sea had inflamed them. The +grocers’ hot pickles, Harvey’s Sauce, Doctor +Kitchener’s Zest, Anchovy Paste, Dundee Marmalade, and the +whole stock of luxurious helps to appetite, were hybernating +somewhere underground. The china-shop had no trifles from +anywhere. The Bazaar had given in altogether, and presented +a notice on the shutters that this establishment would re-open at +Whitsuntide, and that the proprietor in the meantime might be +heard of at Wild Lodge, East Cliff. At the Sea-bathing +Establishment, a row of neat little wooden houses seven or eight +feet high, I saw the proprietor in bed in the shower-bath. +As to the bathing-machines, they were (how they got there, is not +for me to say) at the top of a hill at least a mile and a half +off. The library, which I had never seen otherwise than +wide open, was tight shut; and two peevish bald old gentlemen +seemed to be hermetically sealed up inside, eternally reading the +paper. That wonderful mystery, the music-shop, carried it +off as usual (except that it had more cabinet pianos in stock), +as if season or no season were all one to it. It made the +same prodigious display of bright brazen wind-instruments, +horribly twisted, worth, as I should conceive, some thousands of +pounds, and which it is utterly impossible that anybody in any +season can ever play or want to play. It had five triangles +in the window, six pairs of castanets, and three harps; likewise +every polka with a coloured frontispiece that ever was published; +from the original one where a smooth male and female Pole of high +rank are coming at the observer with their arms a-kimbo, to the +Ratcatcher’s Daughter. Astonishing establishment, +amazing enigma! Three other shops were pretty much out of +the season, what they were used to be in it. First, the +shop where they sell the sailors’ watches, which had still +the old collection of enormous timekeepers, apparently designed +to break a fall from the masthead: with places to wind them up, +like fire-plugs. Secondly, the shop where they sell the +sailors’ clothing, which displayed the old +sou’-westers, and the old oily suits, and the old +pea-jackets, and the old one sea-chest, with its handles like a +pair of rope ear-rings. Thirdly, the unchangeable shop for +the sale of literature that has been left behind. Here, Dr. +Faustus was still going down to very red and yellow perdition, +under the superintendence of three green personages of a scaly +humour, with excrescential serpents growing out of their +blade-bones. Here, the Golden Dreamer, and the Norwood +Fortune Teller, were still on sale at sixpence each, with +instructions for making the dumb cake, and reading destinies in +tea-cups, and with a picture of a young woman with a high waist +lying on a sofa in an attitude so uncomfortable as almost to +account for her dreaming at one and the same time of a +conflagration, a shipwreck, an earthquake, a skeleton, a +church-porch, lightning, funerals performed, and a young man in a +bright blue coat and canary pantaloons. Here, were Little +Warblers and Fairburn’s Comic Songsters. Here, too, +were ballads on the old ballad paper and in the old confusion of +types; with an old man in a cocked hat, and an arm-chair, for the +illustration to Will Watch the bold Smuggler; and the Friar of +Orders Grey, represented by a little girl in a hoop, with a ship +in the distance. All these as of yore, when they were +infinite delights to me!</p> +<p>It took me so long fully to relish these many enjoyments, that +I had not more than an hour before bedtime to devote to Madame +Roland. We got on admirably together on the subject of her +convent education, and I rose next morning with the full +conviction that the day for the great chapter was at last +arrived.</p> +<p>It had fallen calm, however, in the night, and as I sat at +breakfast I blushed to remember that I had not yet been on the +Downs. I a walker, and not yet on the Downs! Really, +on so quiet and bright a morning this must be set right. As +an essential part of the Whole Duty of Man, therefore, I left the +chapter to itself—for the present—and went on the +Downs. They were wonderfully green and beautiful, and gave +me a good deal to do. When I had done with the free air and +the view, I had to go down into the valley and look after the +hops (which I know nothing about), and to be equally solicitous +as to the cherry orchards. Then I took it on myself to +cross-examine a tramping family in black (mother alleged, I have +no doubt by herself in person, to have died last week), and to +accompany eighteenpence which produced a great effect, with moral +admonitions which produced none at all. Finally, it was +late in the afternoon before I got back to the unprecedented +chapter, and then I determined that it was out of the season, as +the place was, and put it away.</p> +<p>I went at night to the benefit of Mrs. B. Wedgington at the +Theatre, who had placarded the town with the admonition, +‘<span class="smcap">Don’t forget +it</span>!’ I made the house, according to my +calculation, four and ninepence to begin with, and it may have +warmed up, in the course of the evening, to half a +sovereign. There was nothing to offend any one,—the +good Mr. Baines of Leeds excepted. Mrs. B. Wedgington sang +to a grand piano. Mr. B. Wedgington did the like, and also +took off his coat, tucked up his trousers, and danced in +clogs. Master B. Wedgington, aged ten months, was nursed by +a shivering young person in the boxes, and the eye of Mrs. B. +Wedgington wandered that way more than once. Peace be with +all the Wedgingtons from A. to Z. May they find themselves +in the Season somewhere!</p> +<h2><a name="page386"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 386</span>A +POOR MAN’S TALE OF A PATENT</h2> +<p>I <span class="GutSmall">AM</span> not used to writing for +print. What working-man, that never labours less (some +Mondays, and Christmas Time and Easter Time excepted) than twelve +or fourteen hours a day, is? But I have been asked to put +down, plain, what I have got to say; and so I take pen-and-ink, +and do it to the best of my power, hoping defects will find +excuse.</p> +<p>I was born nigh London, but have worked in a shop at +Birmingham (what you would call Manufactories, we call Shops), +almost ever since I was out of my time. I served my +apprenticeship at Deptford, nigh where I was born, and I am a +smith by trade. My name is John. I have been called +‘Old John’ ever since I was nineteen year of age, on +account of not having much hair. I am fifty-six year of age +at the present time, and I don’t find myself with more +hair, nor yet with less, to signify, than at nineteen year of age +aforesaid.</p> +<p>I have been married five and thirty year, come next +April. I was married on All Fools’ Day. Let +them laugh that will. I won a good wife that day, and it +was as sensible a day to me as ever I had.</p> +<p>We have had a matter of ten children, six whereof are +living. My eldest son is engineer in the Italian +steam-packet ‘Mezzo Giorno, plying between Marseilles and +Naples, and calling at Genoa, Leghorn, and Civita +Vecchia.’ He was a good workman. He invented a +many useful little things that brought him +in—nothing. I have two sons doing well at Sydney, New +South Wales—single, when last heard from. One of my +sons (James) went wild and for a soldier, where he was shot in +India, living six weeks in hospital with a musket-ball lodged in +his shoulder-blade, which he wrote with his own hand. He +was the best looking. One of my two daughters (Mary) is +comfortable in her circumstances, but water on the chest. +The other (Charlotte), her husband run away from her in the +basest manner, and she and her three children live with us. +The youngest, six year old, has a turn for mechanics.</p> +<p>I am not a Chartist, and I never was. I don’t mean +to say but what I see a good many public points to complain of, +still I don’t think that’s the way to set them +right. If I did think so, I should be a Chartist. But +I don’t think so, and I am not a Chartist. I read the +paper, and hear discussion, at what we call ‘a +parlour,’ in Birmingham, and I know many good men and +workmen who are Chartists. Note. Not Physical +force.</p> +<p>It won’t be took as boastful in me, if I make the remark +(for I can’t put down what I have got to say, without +putting that down before going any further), that I have always +been of an ingenious turn. I once got twenty pound by a +screw, and it’s in use now. I have been twenty year, +off and on, completing an Invention and perfecting it. I +perfected of it, last Christmas Eve at ten o’clock at +night. Me and my wife stood and let some tears fall over +the Model, when it was done and I brought her in to take a look +at it.</p> +<p>A friend of mine, by the name of William Butcher, is a +Chartist. Moderate. He is a good speaker. He is +very animated. I have often heard him deliver that what is, +at every turn, in the way of us working-men, is, that too many +places have been made, in the course of time, to provide for +people that never ought to have been provided for; and that we +have to obey forms and to pay fees to support those places when +we shouldn’t ought. ‘True,’ (delivers +William Butcher), ‘all the public has to do this, but it +falls heaviest on the working-man, because he has least to spare; +and likewise because impediments shouldn’t be put in his +way, when he wants redress of wrong or furtherance of +right.’ Note. I have wrote down those words +from William Butcher’s own mouth. W. B. delivering +them fresh for the aforesaid purpose.</p> +<p>Now, to my Model again. There it was, perfected of, on +Christmas Eve, gone nigh a year, at ten o’clock at +night. All the money I could spare I had laid out upon the +Model; and when times was bad, or my daughter Charlotte’s +children sickly, or both, it had stood still, months at a +spell. I had pulled it to pieces, and made it over again +with improvements, I don’t know how often. There it +stood, at last, a perfected Model as aforesaid.</p> +<p>William Butcher and me had a long talk, Christmas Day, +respecting of the Model. William is very sensible. +But sometimes cranky. William said, ‘What will you do +with it, John?’ I said, ‘Patent +it.’ William said, ‘How patent it, +John?’ I said, ‘By taking out a +Patent.’ William then delivered that the law of +Patent was a cruel wrong. William said, ‘John, if you +make your invention public, before you get a Patent, any one may +rob you of the fruits of your hard work. You are put in a +cleft stick, John. Either you must drive a bargain very +much against yourself, by getting a party to come forward +beforehand with the great expenses of the Patent; or, you must be +put about, from post to pillar, among so many parties, trying to +make a better bargain for yourself, and showing your invention, +that your invention will be took from you over your +head.’ I said, ‘William Butcher, are you +cranky? You are sometimes cranky.’ William +said, ‘No, John, I tell you the truth;’ which he then +delivered more at length. I said to W. B. I would Patent +the invention myself.</p> +<p>My wife’s brother, George Bury of West Bromwich (his +wife unfortunately took to drinking, made away with everything, +and seventeen times committed to Birmingham Jail before happy +release in every point of view), left my wife, his sister, when +he died, a legacy of one hundred and twenty-eight pound ten, Bank +of England Stocks. Me and my wife never broke into that +money yet. Note. We might come to be old and past our +work. We now agreed to Patent the invention. We said +we would make a hole in it—I mean in the aforesaid +money—and Patent the invention. William Butcher wrote +me a letter to Thomas Joy, in London. T. J. is a carpenter, +six foot four in height, and plays quoits well. He lives in +Chelsea, London, by the church. I got leave from the shop, +to be took on again when I come back. I am a good +workman. Not a Teetotaller; but never drunk. When the +Christmas holidays were over, I went up to London by the +Parliamentary Train, and hired a lodging for a week with Thomas +Joy. He is married. He has one son gone to sea.</p> +<p>Thomas Joy delivered (from a book he had) that the first step +to be took, in Patenting the invention, was to prepare a petition +unto Queen Victoria. William Butcher had delivered similar, +and drawn it up. Note. William is a ready +writer. A declaration before a Master in Chancery was to be +added to it. That, we likewise drew up. After a deal +of trouble I found out a Master, in Southampton Buildings, +Chancery Lane, nigh Temple Bar, where I made the declaration, and +paid eighteen-pence. I was told to take the declaration and +petition to the Home Office, in Whitehall, where I left it to be +signed by the Home Secretary (after I had found the office out), +and where I paid two pound, two, and sixpence. In six days +he signed it, and I was told to take it to the +Attorney-General’s chambers, and leave it there for a +report. I did so, and paid four pound, four. +Note. Nobody all through, ever thankful for their money, +but all uncivil.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p388b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"A poor man’s tale of a patent" +title= +"A poor man’s tale of a patent" + src="images/p388s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>My lodging at Thomas Joy’s was now hired for another +week, whereof five days were gone. The Attorney-General +made what they called a Report-of-course (my invention being, as +William Butcher had delivered before starting, unopposed), and I +was sent back with it to the Home Office. They made a Copy +of it, which was called a Warrant. For this warrant, I paid +seven pound, thirteen, and six. It was sent to the Queen, +to sign. The Queen sent it back, signed. The Home +Secretary signed it again. The gentleman throwed it at me +when I called, and said, ‘Now take it to the Patent Office +in Lincoln’s Inn.’ I was then in my third week +at Thomas Joy’s living very sparing, on account of +fees. I found myself losing heart.</p> +<p>At the Patent Office in Lincoln’s Inn, they made +‘a draft of the Queen’s bill,’ of my invention, +and a ‘docket of the bill.’ I paid five pound, +ten, and six, for this. They ‘engrossed two copies of +the bill; one for the Signet Office, and one for the Privy-Seal +Office.’ I paid one pound, seven, and six, for +this. Stamp duty over and above, three pound. The +Engrossing Clerk of the same office engrossed the Queen’s +bill for signature. I paid him one pound, one. +Stamp-duty, again, one pound, ten. I was next to take the +Queen’s bill to the Attorney-General again, and get it +signed again. I took it, and paid five pound more. I +fetched it away, and took it to the Home Secretary again. +He sent it to the Queen again. She signed it again. I +paid seven pound, thirteen, and six, more, for this. I had +been over a month at Thomas Joy’s. I was quite wore +out, patience and pocket.</p> +<p>Thomas Joy delivered all this, as it went on, to William +Butcher. William Butcher delivered it again to three +Birmingham Parlours, from which it got to all the other Parlours, +and was took, as I have been told since, right through all the +shops in the North of England. Note. William Butcher +delivered, at his Parlour, in a speech, that it was a Patent way +of making Chartists.</p> +<p>But I hadn’t nigh done yet. The Queen’s bill +was to be took to the Signet Office in Somerset House, +Strand—where the stamp shop is. The Clerk of the +Signet made ‘a Signet bill for the Lord Keeper of the Privy +Seal.’ I paid him four pound, seven. The Clerk +of the Lord Keeper of the Privy Seal made ‘a Privy-Seal +bill for the Lord Chancellor.’ I paid him, four +pound, two. The Privy-Seal bill was handed over to the +Clerk of the Patents, who engrossed the aforesaid. I paid +him five pound, seventeen, and eight; at the same time, I paid +Stamp-duty for the Patent, in one lump, thirty pound. I +next paid for ‘boxes for the Patent,’ nine and +sixpence. Note. Thomas Joy would have made the same +at a profit for eighteen-pence. I next paid ‘fees to +the Deputy, the Lord Chancellor’s Purse-bearer,’ two +pound, two. I next paid ‘fees to the Clerk of the +Hanapar,’ seven pound, thirteen. I next paid +‘fees to the Deputy Clerk of the Hanaper,’ ten +shillings. I next paid, to the Lord Chancellor again, one +pound, eleven, and six. Last of all, I paid ‘fees to +the Deputy Sealer, and Deputy Chaff-wax,’ ten shillings and +sixpence. I had lodged at Thomas Joy’s over six +weeks, and the unopposed Patent for my invention, for England +only, had cost me ninety-six pound, seven, and eightpence. +If I had taken it out for the United Kingdom, it would have cost +me more than three hundred pound.</p> +<p>Now, teaching had not come up but very limited when I was +young. So much the worse for me you’ll say. I +say the same. William Butcher is twenty year younger than +me. He knows a hundred year more. If William Butcher +had wanted to Patent an invention, he might have been sharper +than myself when hustled backwards and forwards among all those +offices, though I doubt if so patient. Note. William +being sometimes cranky, and consider porters, messengers, and +clerks.</p> +<p>Thereby I say nothing of my being tired of my life, while I +was Patenting my invention. But I put this: Is it +reasonable to make a man feel as if, in inventing an ingenious +improvement meant to do good, he had done something wrong? +How else can a man feel, when he is met by such difficulties at +every turn? All inventors taking out a Patent <span +class="GutSmall">MUST</span> feel so. And look at the +expense. How hard on me, and how hard on the country if +there’s any merit in me (and my invention is took up now, I +am thankful to say, and doing well), to put me to all that +expense before I can move a finger! Make the addition +yourself, and it’ll come to ninety-six pound, seven, and +eightpence. No more, and no less.</p> +<p>What can I say against William Butcher, about places? +Look at the Home Secretary, the Attorney-General, the Patent +Office, the Engrossing Clerk, the Lord Chancellor, the Privy +Seal, the Clerk of the Patents, the Lord Chancellor’s +Purse-bearer, the Clerk of the Hanaper, the Deputy Clerk of the +Hanaper, the Deputy Sealer, and the Deputy Chaff-wax. No +man in England could get a Patent for an Indian-rubber band, or +an iron-hoop, without feeing all of them. Some of them, +over and over again. I went through thirty-five +stages. I began with the Queen upon the Throne. I +ended with the Deputy Chaff-wax. Note. I should like +to see the Deputy Chaff-wax. Is it a man, or what is +it?</p> +<p>What I had to tell, I have told. I have wrote it +down. I hope it’s plain. Not so much in the +handwriting (though nothing to boast of there), as in the sense +of it. I will now conclude with Thomas Joy. Thomas +said to me, when we parted, ‘John, if the laws of this +country were as honest as they ought to be, you would have come +to London—registered an exact description and drawing of +your invention—paid half-a-crown or so for doing of +it—and therein and thereby have got your Patent.’</p> +<p>My opinion is the same as Thomas Joy. Further. In +William Butcher’s delivering ‘that the whole gang of +Hanapers and Chaff-waxes must be done away with, and that England +has been chaffed and waxed sufficient,’ I agree.</p> +<h2><a name="page391"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 391</span>THE +NOBLE SAVAGE</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">To</span> come to the point at once, I beg +to say that I have not the least belief in the Noble +Savage. I consider him a prodigious nuisance, and an +enormous superstition. His calling rum fire-water, and me a +pale face, wholly fail to reconcile me to him. I +don’t care what he calls me. I call him a savage, and +I call a savage a something highly desirable to be civilised off +the face of the earth. I think a mere gent (which I take to +be the lowest form of civilisation) better than a howling, +whistling, clucking, stamping, jumping, tearing savage. It +is all one to me, whether he sticks a fish-bone through his +visage, or bits of trees through the lobes of his ears, or +bird’s feathers in his head; whether he flattens his hair +between two boards, or spreads his nose over the breadth of his +face, or drags his lower lip down by great weights, or blackens +his teeth, or knocks them out, or paints one cheek red and the +other blue, or tattoos himself, or oils himself, or rubs his body +with fat, or crimps it with knives. Yielding to whichsoever +of these agreeable eccentricities, he is a savage—cruel, +false, thievish, murderous; addicted more or less to grease, +entrails, and beastly customs; a wild animal with the +questionable gift of boasting; a conceited, tiresome, +bloodthirsty, monotonous humbug.</p> +<p>Yet it is extraordinary to observe how some people will talk +about him, as they talk about the good old times; how they will +regret his disappearance, in the course of this world’s +development, from such and such lands where his absence is a +blessed relief and an indispensable preparation for the sowing of +the very first seeds of any influence that can exalt humanity; +how, even with the evidence of himself before them, they will +either be determined to believe, or will suffer themselves to be +persuaded into believing, that he is something which their five +senses tell them he is not.</p> +<p>There was Mr. Catlin, some few years ago, with his Ojibbeway +Indians. Mr. Catlin was an energetic, earnest man, who had +lived among more tribes of Indians than I need reckon up here, +and who had written a picturesque and glowing book about +them. With his party of Indians squatting and spitting on +the table before him, or dancing their miserable jigs after their +own dreary manner, he called, in all good faith, upon his +civilised audience to take notice of their symmetry and grace, +their perfect limbs, and the exquisite expression of their +pantomime; and his civilised audience, in all good faith, +complied and admired. Whereas, as mere animals, they were +wretched creatures, very low in the scale and very poorly formed; +and as men and women possessing any power of truthful dramatic +expression by means of action, they were no better than the +chorus at an Italian Opera in England—and would have been +worse if such a thing were possible.</p> +<p>Mine are no new views of the noble savage. The greatest +writers on natural history found him out long ago. <span +class="smcap">Buffon</span> knew what he was, and showed why he +is the sulky tyrant that he is to his women, and how it happens +(Heaven be praised!) that his race is spare in numbers. For +evidence of the quality of his moral nature, pass himself for a +moment and refer to his ‘faithful dog.’ Has he +ever improved a dog, or attached a dog, since his nobility first +ran wild in woods, and was brought down (at a very long shot) by +<span class="smcap">Pope</span>? Or does the animal that is +the friend of man, always degenerate in his low society?</p> +<p>It is not the miserable nature of the noble savage that is the +new thing; it is the whimpering over him with maudlin admiration, +and the affecting to regret him, and the drawing of any +comparison of advantage between the blemishes of civilisation and +the tenor of his swinish life. There may have been a change +now and then in those diseased absurdities, but there is none in +him.</p> +<p>Think of the Bushmen. Think of the two men and the two +women who have been exhibited about England for some years. +Are the majority of persons—who remember the horrid little +leader of that party in his festering bundle of hides, with his +filth and his antipathy to water, and his straddled legs, and his +odious eyes shaded by his brutal hand, and his cry of +‘Qu-u-u-u-aaa!’ (Bosjesman for something desperately +insulting I have no doubt)—conscious of an affectionate +yearning towards that noble savage, or is it idiosyncratic in me +to abhor, detest, abominate, and abjure him? I have no +reserve on this subject, and will frankly state that, setting +aside that stage of the entertainment when he counterfeited the +death of some creature he had shot, by laying his head on his +hand and shaking his left leg—at which time I think it +would have been justifiable homicide to slay him—I have +never seen that group sleeping, smoking, and expectorating round +their brazier, but I have sincerely desired that something might +happen to the charcoal smouldering therein, which would cause the +immediate suffocation of the whole of the noble strangers.</p> +<p>There is at present a party of Zulu Kaffirs exhibiting at the +St. George’s Gallery, Hyde Park Corner, London. These +noble savages are represented in a most agreeable manner; they +are seen in an elegant theatre, fitted with appropriate scenery +of great beauty, and they are described in a very sensible and +unpretending lecture, delivered with a modesty which is quite a +pattern to all similar exponents. Though extremely ugly, +they are much better shaped than such of their predecessors as I +have referred to; and they are rather picturesque to the eye, +though far from odoriferous to the nose. What a visitor +left to his own interpretings and imaginings might suppose these +noblemen to be about, when they give vent to that pantomimic +expression which is quite settled to be the natural gift of the +noble savage, I cannot possibly conceive; for it is so much too +luminous for my personal civilisation that it conveys no idea to +my mind beyond a general stamping, ramping, and raving, +remarkable (as everything in savage life is) for its dire +uniformity. But let us—with the interpreter’s +assistance, of which I for one stand so much in need—see +what the noble savage does in Zulu Kaffirland.</p> +<p>The noble savage sets a king to reign over him, to whom he +submits his life and limbs without a murmur or question, and +whose whole life is passed chin deep in a lake of blood; but who, +after killing incessantly, is in his turn killed by his relations +and friends, the moment a grey hair appears on his head. +All the noble savage’s wars with his fellow-savages (and he +takes no pleasure in anything else) are wars of +extermination—which is the best thing I know of him, and +the most comfortable to my mind when I look at him. He has +no moral feelings of any kind, sort, or description; and his +‘mission’ may be summed up as simply diabolical.</p> +<p>The ceremonies with which he faintly diversifies his life are, +of course, of a kindred nature. If he wants a wife he +appears before the kennel of the gentleman whom he has selected +for his father-in-law, attended by a party of male friends of a +very strong flavour, who screech and whistle and stamp an offer +of so many cows for the young lady’s hand. The chosen +father-in-law—also supported by a high-flavoured party of +male friends—screeches, whistles, and yells (being seated +on the ground, he can’t stamp) that there never was such a +daughter in the market as his daughter, and that he must have six +more cows. The son-in-law and his select circle of backers +screech, whistle, stamp, and yell in reply, that they will give +three more cows. The father-in-law (an old deluder, +overpaid at the beginning) accepts four, and rises to bind the +bargain. The whole party, the young lady included, then +falling into epileptic convulsions, and screeching, whistling, +stamping, and yelling together—and nobody taking any notice +of the young lady (whose charms are not to be thought of without +a shudder)—the noble savage is considered married, and his +friends make demoniacal leaps at him by way of +congratulation.</p> +<p>When the noble savage finds himself a little unwell, and +mentions the circumstance to his friends, it is immediately +perceived that he is under the influence of witchcraft. A +learned personage, called an Imyanger or Witch Doctor, is +immediately sent for to Nooker the Umtargartie, or smell out the +witch. The male inhabitants of the kraal being seated on +the ground, the learned doctor, got up like a grizzly bear, +appears, and administers a dance of a most terrific nature, +during the exhibition of which remedy he incessantly gnashes his +teeth, and howls:—‘I am the original physician to +Nooker the Umtargartie. Yow yow yow! No connexion +with any other establishment. Till till till! All +other Umtargarties are feigned Umtargarties, Boroo Boroo! but I +perceive here a genuine and real Umtargartie, Hoosh Hoosh Hoosh! +in whose blood I, the original Imyanger and Nookerer, Blizzerum +Boo! will wash these bear’s claws of mine. O yow yow +yow!’ All this time the learned physician is looking +out among the attentive faces for some unfortunate man who owes +him a cow, or who has given him any small offence, or against +whom, without offence, he has conceived a spite. Him he +never fails to Nooker as the Umtargartie, and he is instantly +killed. In the absence of such an individual, the usual +practice is to Nooker the quietest and most gentlemanly person in +company. But the nookering is invariably followed on the +spot by the butchering.</p> +<p>Some of the noble savages in whom Mr. Catlin was so strongly +interested, and the diminution of whose numbers, by rum and +smallpox, greatly affected him, had a custom not unlike this, +though much more appalling and disgusting in its odious +details.</p> +<p>The women being at work in the fields, hoeing the Indian corn, +and the noble savage being asleep in the shade, the chief has +sometimes the condescension to come forth, and lighten the labour +by looking at it. On these occasions, he seats himself in +his own savage chair, and is attended by his shield-bearer: who +holds over his head a shield of cowhide—in shape like an +immense mussel shell—fearfully and wonderfully, after the +manner of a theatrical supernumerary. But lest the great +man should forget his greatness in the contemplation of the +humble works of agriculture, there suddenly rushes in a poet, +retained for the purpose, called a Praiser. This literary +gentleman wears a leopard’s head over his own, and a dress +of tigers’ tails; he has the appearance of having come +express on his hind legs from the Zoological Gardens; and he +incontinently strikes up the chief’s praises, plunging and +tearing all the while. There is a frantic wickedness in +this brute’s manner of worrying the air, and gnashing out, +‘O what a delightful chief he is! O what a delicious +quantity of blood he sheds! O how majestically he laps it +up! O how charmingly cruel he is! O how he tears the +flesh of his enemies and crunches the bones! O how like the +tiger and the leopard and the wolf and the bear he is! O, +row row row row, how fond I am of him!’ which might tempt +the Society of Friends to charge at a hand-gallop into the +Swartz-Kop location and exterminate the whole kraal.</p> +<p>When war is afoot among the noble savages—which is +always—the chief holds a council to ascertain whether it is +the opinion of his brothers and friends in general that the enemy +shall be exterminated. On this occasion, after the +performance of an Umsebeuza, or war song,—which is exactly +like all the other songs,—the chief makes a speech to his +brothers and friends, arranged in single file. No +particular order is observed during the delivery of this address, +but every gentleman who finds himself excited by the subject, +instead of crying ‘Hear, hear!’ as is the custom with +us, darts from the rank and tramples out the life, or crushes the +skull, or mashes the face, or scoops out the eyes, or breaks the +limbs, or performs a whirlwind of atrocities on the body, of an +imaginary enemy. Several gentlemen becoming thus excited at +once, and pounding away without the least regard to the orator, +that illustrious person is rather in the position of an orator in +an Irish House of Commons. But, several of these scenes of +savage life bear a strong generic resemblance to an Irish +election, and I think would be extremely well received and +understood at Cork.</p> +<p>In all these ceremonies the noble savage holds forth to the +utmost possible extent about himself; from which (to turn him to +some civilised account) we may learn, I think, that as egotism is +one of the most offensive and contemptible littlenesses a +civilised man can exhibit, so it is really incompatible with the +interchange of ideas; inasmuch as if we all talked about +ourselves we should soon have no listeners, and must be all +yelling and screeching at once on our own separate accounts: +making society hideous. It is my opinion that if we +retained in us anything of the noble savage, we could not get rid +of it too soon. But the fact is clearly otherwise. +Upon the wife and dowry question, substituting coin for cows, we +have assuredly nothing of the Zulu Kaffir left. The +endurance of despotism is one great distinguishing mark of a +savage always. The improving world has quite got the better +of that too. In like manner, Paris is a civilised city, and +the Théâtre Français a highly civilised +theatre; and we shall never hear, and never have heard in these +later days (of course) of the Praiser there. No, no, +civilised poets have better work to do. As to Nookering +Umtargarties, there are no pretended Umtargarties in Europe, and +no European powers to Nooker them; that would be mere spydom, +subordination, small malice, superstition, and false +pretence. And as to private Umtargarties, are we not in the +year eighteen hundred and fifty-three, with spirits rapping at +our doors?</p> +<p>To conclude as I began. My position is, that if we have +anything to learn from the Noble Savage, it is what to +avoid. His virtues are a fable; his happiness is a +delusion; his nobility, nonsense.</p> +<p>We have no greater justification for being cruel to the +miserable object, than for being cruel to a <span +class="smcap">William Shakespeare</span> or an <span +class="smcap">Isaac Newton</span>; but he passes away before an +immeasurably better and higher power than ever ran wild in any +earthly woods, and the world will be all the better when his +place knows him no more.</p> +<h2><a name="page397"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 397</span>A +FLIGHT</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">When</span> Don Diego de—I forget +his name—the inventor of the last new Flying Machines, +price so many francs for ladies, so many more for +gentlemen—when Don Diego, by permission of Deputy Chaff-wax +and his noble band, shall have taken out a Patent for the +Queen’s dominions, and shall have opened a commodious +Warehouse in an airy situation; and when all persons of any +gentility will keep at least a pair of wings, and be seen +skimming about in every direction; I shall take a flight to Paris +(as I soar round the world) in a cheap and independent +manner. At present, my reliance is on the South-Eastern +Railway Company, in whose Express Train here I sit, at eight of +the clock on a very hot morning, under the very hot roof of the +Terminus at London Bridge, in danger of being +‘forced’ like a cucumber or a melon, or a +pine-apple. And talking of pine-apples, I suppose there +never were so many pine-apples in a Train as there appear to be +in this Train.</p> +<p>Whew! The hot-house air is faint with pine-apples. +Every French citizen or citizeness is carrying pine-apples +home. The compact little Enchantress in the corner of my +carriage (French actress, to whom I yielded up my heart under the +auspices of that brave child, ‘<span +class="smcap">Meat-chell</span>,’ at the St. James’s +Theatre the night before last) has a pine-apple in her lap. +Compact Enchantress’s friend, confidante, mother, mystery, +Heaven knows what, has two pine-apples in her lap, and a bundle +of them under the seat. Tobacco-smoky Frenchman in Algerine +wrapper, with peaked hood behind, who might be Abd-el-Kader dyed +rifle-green, and who seems to be dressed entirely in dirt and +braid, carries pine-apples in a covered basket. Tall, +grave, melancholy Frenchman, with black Vandyke beard, and hair +close-cropped, with expansive chest to waistcoat, and compressive +waist to coat: saturnine as to his pantaloons, calm as to his +feminine boots, precious as to his jewellery, smooth and white as +to his linen: dark-eyed, high-foreheaded, hawk-nosed—got +up, one thinks, like Lucifer or Mephistopheles, or Zamiel, +transformed into a highly genteel Parisian—has the green +end of a pine-apple sticking out of his neat valise.</p> +<p>Whew! If I were to be kept here long, under this +forcing-frame, I wonder what would become of me—whether I +should be forced into a giant, or should sprout or blow into some +other phenomenon! Compact Enchantress is not ruffled by the +heat—she is always composed, always compact. O look +at her little ribbons, frills, and edges, at her shawl, at her +gloves, at her hair, at her bracelets, at her bonnet, at +everything about her! How is it accomplished? What +does she do to be so neat? How is it that every trifle she +wears belongs to her, and cannot choose but be a part of +her? And even Mystery, look at <i>her</i>! A +model. Mystery is not young, not pretty, though still of an +average candle-light passability; but she does such miracles in +her own behalf, that, one of these days, when she dies, +they’ll be amazed to find an old woman in her bed, +distantly like her. She was an actress once, I +shouldn’t wonder, and had a Mystery attendant on +herself. Perhaps, Compact Enchantress will live to be a +Mystery, and to wait with a shawl at the side-scenes, and to sit +opposite to Mademoiselle in railway carriages, and smile and talk +subserviently, as Mystery does now. That’s hard to +believe!</p> +<p>Two Englishmen, and now our carriage is full. First +Englishman, in the monied interest—flushed, highly +respectable—Stock Exchange, perhaps—City, +certainly. Faculties of second Englishman entirely absorbed +in hurry. Plunges into the carriage, blind. Calls out +of window concerning his luggage, deaf. Suffocates himself +under pillows of great-coats, for no reason, and in a demented +manner. Will receive no assurance from any porter +whatsoever. Is stout and hot, and wipes his head, and makes +himself hotter by breathing so hard. Is totally incredulous +respecting assurance of Collected Guard, that +‘there’s no hurry.’ No hurry! And a +flight to Paris in eleven hours!</p> +<p>It is all one to me in this drowsy corner, hurry or no +hurry. Until Don Diego shall send home my wings, my flight +is with the South-Eastern Company. I can fly with the +South-Eastern, more lazily, at all events, than in the upper +air. I have but to sit here thinking as idly as I please, +and be whisked away. I am not accountable to anybody for +the idleness of my thoughts in such an idle summer flight; my +flight is provided for by the South-Eastern and is no business of +mine.</p> +<p>The bell! With all my heart. It does not require +me to do so much as even to flap my wings. Something snorts +for me, something shrieks for me, something proclaims to +everything else that it had better keep out of my way,—and +away I go.</p> +<p>Ah! The fresh air is pleasant after the forcing-frame, +though it does blow over these interminable streets, and scatter +the smoke of this vast wilderness of chimneys. Here we +are—no, I mean there we were, for it has darted far into +the rear—in Bermondsey where the tanners live. +Flash! The distant shipping in the Thames is gone. +Whirr! The little streets of new brick and red tile, with +here and there a flagstaff growing like a tall weed out of the +scarlet beans, and, everywhere, plenty of open sewer and ditch +for the promotion of the public health, have been fired off in a +volley. Whizz! Dust-heaps, market-gardens, and waste +grounds. Rattle! New Cross Station. +Shock! There we were at Croydon. Bur-r-r-r! The +tunnel.</p> +<p>I wonder why it is that when I shut my eyes in a tunnel I +begin to feel as if I were going at an Express pace the other +way. I am clearly going back to London now. Compact +Enchantress must have forgotten something, and reversed the +engine. No! After long darkness, pale fitful streaks +of light appear. I am still flying on for Folkestone. +The streaks grow stronger—become continuous—become +the ghost of day—become the living day—became I +mean—the tunnel is miles and miles away, and here I fly +through sunlight, all among the harvest and the Kentish hops.</p> +<p>There is a dreamy pleasure in this flying. I wonder +where it was, and when it was, that we exploded, blew into space +somehow, a Parliamentary Train, with a crowd of heads and faces +looking at us out of cages, and some hats waving. Monied +Interest says it was at Reigate Station. Expounds to +Mystery how Reigate Station is so many miles from London, which +Mystery again develops to Compact Enchantress. There might +be neither a Reigate nor a London for me, as I fly away among the +Kentish hops and harvest. What do <i>I</i> care?</p> +<p>Bang! We have let another Station off, and fly away +regardless. Everything is flying. The hop-gardens +turn gracefully towards me, presenting regular avenues of hops in +rapid flight, then whirl away. So do the pools and rushes, +haystacks, sheep, clover in full bloom delicious to the sight and +smell, corn-sheaves, cherry-orchards, apple-orchards, reapers, +gleaners, hedges, gates, fields that taper off into little +angular corners, cottages, gardens, now and then a church. +Bang, bang! A double-barrelled Station! Now a wood, +now a bridge, now a landscape, now a cutting, now a—Bang! a +single-barrelled Station—there was a cricket-match +somewhere with two white tents, and then four flying cows, then +turnips—now the wires of the electric telegraph are all +alive, and spin, and blurr their edges, and go up and down, and +make the intervals between each other most irregular: contracting +and expanding in the strangest manner. Now we +slacken. With a screwing, and a grinding, and a smell of +water thrown on ashes, now we stop!</p> +<p>Demented Traveller, who has been for two or three minutes +watchful, clutches his great-coats, plunges at the door, rattles +it, cries ‘Hi!’ eager to embark on board of +impossible packets, far inland. Collected Guard +appears. ‘Are you for Tunbridge, sir?’ +‘Tunbridge? No. Paris.’ +‘Plenty of time, sir. No hurry. Five minutes +here, sir, for refreshment.’ I am so blest +(anticipating Zamiel, by half a second) as to procure a glass of +water for Compact Enchantress.</p> +<p>Who would suppose we had been flying at such a rate, and shall +take wing again directly? Refreshment-room full, platform +full, porter with watering-pot deliberately cooling a hot wheel, +another porter with equal deliberation helping the rest of the +wheels bountifully to ice cream. Monied Interest and I +re-entering the carriage first, and being there alone, he +intimates to me that the French are ‘no go’ as a +Nation. I ask why? He says, that Reign of Terror of +theirs was quite enough. I ventured to inquire whether he +remembers anything that preceded said Reign of Terror? He +says not particularly. ‘Because,’ I remark, +‘the harvest that is reaped, has sometimes been +sown.’ Monied Interest repeats, as quite enough for +him, that the French are revolutionary,—‘and always +at it.’</p> +<p>Bell. Compact Enchantress, helped in by Zamiel (whom the +stars confound!), gives us her charming little side-box look, and +smites me to the core. Mystery eating sponge-cake. +Pine-apple atmosphere faintly tinged with suspicions of +sherry. Demented Traveller flits past the carriage, looking +for it. Is blind with agitation, and can’t see +it. Seems singled out by Destiny to be the only unhappy +creature in the flight, who has any cause to hurry himself. +Is nearly left behind. Is seized by Collected Guard after +the Train is in motion, and bundled in. Still, has +lingering suspicions that there must be a boat in the +neighbourhood, and will look wildly out of window for it.</p> +<p>Flight resumed. Corn-sheaves, hop-gardens, reapers, +gleaners, apple-orchards, cherry-orchards, Stations single and +double-barrelled, Ashford. Compact Enchantress (constantly +talking to Mystery, in an exquisite manner) gives a little +scream; a sound that seems to come from high up in her precious +little head; from behind her bright little eyebrows. +‘Great Heaven, my pine-apple! My Angel! It is +lost!’ Mystery is desolated. A search +made. It is not lost. Zamiel finds it. I curse +him (flying) in the Persian manner. May his face be turned +upside down, and jackasses sit upon his uncle’s grave!</p> +<p>Now fresher air, now glimpses of unenclosed Down-land with +flapping crows flying over it whom we soon outfly, now the Sea, +now Folkestone at a quarter after ten. ‘Tickets +ready, gentlemen!’ Demented dashes at the door. +‘For Paris, sir? No hurry.’</p> +<p>Not the least. We are dropped slowly down to the Port, +and sidle to and fro (the whole Train) before the insensible +Royal George Hotel, for some ten minutes. The Royal George +takes no more heed of us than its namesake under water at +Spithead, or under earth at Windsor, does. The Royal +George’s dog lies winking and blinking at us, without +taking the trouble to sit up; and the Royal George’s +‘wedding party’ at the open window (who seem, I must +say, rather tired of bliss) don’t bestow a solitary glance +upon us, flying thus to Paris in eleven hours. The first +gentleman in Folkestone is evidently used up, on this +subject.</p> +<p>Meanwhile, Demented chafes. Conceives that every +man’s hand is against him, and exerting itself to prevent +his getting to Paris. Refuses consolation. Rattles +door. Sees smoke on the horizon, and ‘knows’ +it’s the boat gone without him. Monied Interest +resentfully explains that <i>he</i> is going to Paris too. +Demented signifies, that if Monied Interest chooses to be left +behind, he don’t.</p> +<p>‘Refreshments in the Waiting-Room, ladies and +gentlemen. No hurry, ladies and gentlemen, for Paris. +No hurry whatever!’</p> +<p>Twenty minutes’ pause, by Folkestone clock, for looking +at Enchantress while she eats a sandwich, and at Mystery while +she eats of everything there that is eatable, from pork-pie, +sausage, jam, and gooseberries, to lumps of sugar. All this +time, there is a very waterfall of luggage, with a spray of dust, +tumbling slantwise from the pier into the steamboat. All +this time, Demented (who has no business with it) watches it with +starting eyes, fiercely requiring to be shown his luggage. +When it at last concludes the cataract, he rushes hotly to +refresh—is shouted after, pursued, jostled, brought back, +pitched into the departing steamer upside down, and caught by +mariners disgracefully.</p> +<p>A lovely harvest-day, a cloudless sky, a tranquil sea. +The piston-rods of the engines so regularly coming up from below, +to look (as well they may) at the bright weather, and so +regularly almost knocking their iron heads against the cross beam +of the skylight, and never doing it! Another Parisian +actress is on board, attended by another Mystery. Compact +Enchantress greets her sister artist—Oh, the Compact +One’s pretty teeth!—and Mystery greets Mystery. +<i>My</i> Mystery soon ceases to be conversational—is taken +poorly, in a word, having lunched too miscellaneously—and +goes below. The remaining Mystery then smiles upon the +sister artists (who, I am afraid, wouldn’t greatly mind +stabbing each other), and is upon the whole ravished.</p> +<p>And now I find that all the French people on board begin to +grow, and all the English people to shrink. The French are +nearing home, and shaking off a disadvantage, whereas we are +shaking it on. Zamiel is the same man, and Abd-el-Kader is +the same man, but each seems to come into possession of an +indescribable confidence that departs from us—from Monied +Interest, for instance, and from me. Just what they gain, +we lose. Certain British ‘Gents’ about the +steersman, intellectually nurtured at home on parody of +everything and truth of nothing, become subdued, and in a manner +forlorn; and when the steersman tells them (not exultingly) how +he has ‘been upon this station now eight year, and never +see the old town of Bullum yet,’ one of them, with an +imbecile reliance on a reed, asks him what he considers to be the +best hotel in Paris?</p> +<p>Now, I tread upon French ground, and am greeted by the three +charming words, Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, painted up (in +letters a little too thin for their height) on the Custom-house +wall—also by the sight of large cocked hats, without which +demonstrative head-gear nothing of a public nature can be done +upon this soil. All the rabid Hotel population of Boulogne +howl and shriek outside a distant barrier, frantic to get at +us. Demented, by some unlucky means peculiar to himself, is +delivered over to their fury, and is presently seen struggling in +a whirlpool of Touters—is somehow understood to be going to +Paris—is, with infinite noise, rescued by two cocked hats, +and brought into Custom-house bondage with the rest of us.</p> +<p>Here, I resign the active duties of life to an eager being, of +preternatural sharpness, with a shelving forehead and a shabby +snuff-coloured coat, who (from the wharf) brought me down with +his eye before the boat came into port. He darts upon my +luggage, on the floor where all the luggage is strewn like a +wreck at the bottom of the great deep; gets it proclaimed and +weighed as the property of ‘Monsieur a traveller +unknown;’ pays certain francs for it, to a certain +functionary behind a Pigeon Hole, like a pay-box at a Theatre +(the arrangements in general are on a wholesale scale, half +military and half theatrical); and I suppose I shall find it when +I come to Paris—he says I shall. I know nothing about +it, except that I pay him his small fee, and pocket the ticket he +gives me, and sit upon a counter, involved in the general +distraction.</p> +<p>Railway station. ‘Lunch or dinner, ladies and +gentlemen. Plenty of time for Paris. Plenty of +time!’ Large hall, long counter, long strips of +dining-table, bottles of wine, plates of meat, roast chickens, +little loaves of bread, basins of soup, little caraffes of +brandy, cakes, and fruit. Comfortably restored from these +resources, I begin to fly again.</p> +<p>I saw Zamiel (before I took wing) presented to Compact +Enchantress and Sister Artist, by an officer in uniform, with a +waist like a wasp’s, and pantaloons like two +balloons. They all got into the next carriage together, +accompanied by the two Mysteries. They laughed. I am +alone in the carriage (for I don’t consider Demented +anybody) and alone in the world.</p> +<p>Fields, windmills, low grounds, pollard-trees, windmills, +fields, fortifications, Abbeville, soldiering and drumming. +I wonder where England is, and when I was there last—about +two years ago, I should say. Flying in and out among these +trenches and batteries, skimming the clattering drawbridges, +looking down into the stagnant ditches, I become a prisoner of +state, escaping. I am confined with a comrade in a +fortress. Our room is in an upper story. We have +tried to get up the chimney, but there’s an iron grating +across it, imbedded in the masonry. After months of labour, +we have worked the grating loose with the poker, and can lift it +up. We have also made a hook, and twisted our rugs and +blankets into ropes. Our plan is, to go up the chimney, +hook our ropes to the top, descend hand over hand upon the roof +of the guard-house far below, shake the hook loose, watch the +opportunity of the sentinels pacing away, hook again, drop into +the ditch, swim across it, creep into the shelter of the +wood. The time is come—a wild and stormy night. +We are up the chimney, we are on the guard-house roof, we are +swimming in the murky ditch, when lo! ‘Qui +v’là?’ a bugle, the alarm, a crash! What +is it? Death? No, Amiens.</p> +<p>More fortifications, more soldiering and drumming, more basins +of soup, more little loaves of bread, more bottles of wine, more +caraffes of brandy, more time for refreshment. Everything +good, and everything ready. Bright, unsubstantial-looking, +scenic sort of station. People waiting. Houses, +uniforms, beards, moustaches, some sabots, plenty of neat women, +and a few old-visaged children. Unless it be a delusion +born of my giddy flight, the grown-up people and the children +seem to change places in France. In general, the boys and +girls are little old men and women, and the men and women lively +boys and girls.</p> +<p>Bugle, shriek, flight resumed. Monied Interest has come +into my carriage. Says the manner of refreshing is +‘not bad,’ but considers it French. Admits +great dexterity and politeness in the attendants. Thinks a +decimal currency may have something to do with their despatch in +settling accounts, and don’t know but what it’s +sensible and convenient. Adds, however, as a general +protest, that they’re a revolutionary people—and +always at it.</p> +<p>Ramparts, canals, cathedral, river, soldiering and drumming, +open country, river, earthenware manufactures, Creil. Again +ten minutes. Not even Demented in a hurry. Station, a +drawing-room with a verandah: like a planter’s house. +Monied Interest considers it a band-box, and not made to +last. Little round tables in it, at one of which the Sister +Artists and attendant Mysteries are established with Wasp and +Zamiel, as if they were going to stay a week.</p> +<p>Anon, with no more trouble than before, I am flying again, and +lazily wondering as I fly. What has the South-Eastern done +with all the horrible little villages we used to pass through, in +the <i>Diligence</i>? What have they done with all the +summer dust, with all the winter mud, with all the dreary avenues +of little trees, with all the ramshackle postyards, with all the +beggars (who used to turn out at night with bits of lighted +candle, to look in at the coach windows), with all the +long-tailed horses who were always biting one another, with all +the big postilions in jack-boots—with all the mouldy +cafés that we used to stop at, where a long mildewed +table-cloth, set forth with jovial bottles of vinegar and oil, +and with a Siamese arrangement of pepper and salt, was never +wanting? Where are the grass-grown little towns, the +wonderful little market-places all unconscious of markets, the +shops that nobody kept, the streets that nobody trod, the +churches that nobody went to, the bells that nobody rang, the +tumble-down old buildings plastered with many-coloured bills that +nobody read? Where are the two-and-twenty weary hours of +long, long day and night journey, sure to be either insupportably +hot or insupportably cold? Where are the pains in my bones, +where are the fidgets in my legs, where is the Frenchman with the +nightcap who never <i>would</i> have the little +coupé-window down, and who always fell upon me when he +went to sleep, and always slept all night snoring onions?</p> +<p>A voice breaks in with ‘Paris! Here we +are!’</p> +<p>I have overflown myself, perhaps, but I can’t believe +it. I feel as if I were enchanted or bewitched. It is +barely eight o’clock yet—it is nothing like +half-past—when I have had my luggage examined at that +briskest of Custom-houses attached to the station, and am +rattling over the pavement in a hackney-cabriolet.</p> +<p>Surely, not the pavement of Paris? Yes, I think it is, +too. I don’t know any other place where there are all +these high houses, all these haggard-looking wine shops, all +these billiard tables, all these stocking-makers with flat red or +yellow legs of wood for signboard, all these fuel shops with +stacks of billets painted outside, and real billets sawing in the +gutter, all these dirty corners of streets, all these cabinet +pictures over dark doorways representing discreet matrons nursing +babies. And yet this morning—I’ll think of it +in a warm-bath.</p> +<p>Very like a small room that I remember in the Chinese baths +upon the Boulevard, certainly; and, though I see it through the +steam, I think that I might swear to that peculiar hot-linen +basket, like a large wicker hour-glass. When can it have +been that I left home? When was it that I paid +‘through to Paris’ at London Bridge, and discharged +myself of all responsibility, except the preservation of a +voucher ruled into three divisions, of which the first was +snipped off at Folkestone, the second aboard the boat, and the +third taken at my journey’s end? It seems to have +been ages ago. Calculation is useless. I will go out +for a walk.</p> +<p>The crowds in the streets, the lights in the shops and +balconies, the elegance, variety, and beauty of their +decorations, the number of the theatres, the brilliant +cafés with their windows thrown up high and their +vivacious groups at little tables on the pavement, the light and +glitter of the houses turned as it were inside out, soon convince +me that it is no dream; that I am in Paris, howsoever I got +there. I stroll down to the sparkling Palais Royal, up the +Rue de Rivoli, to the Place Vendôme. As I glance into +a print-shop window, Monied Interest, my late travelling +companion, comes upon me, laughing with the highest relish of +disdain. ‘Here’s a people!’ he says, +pointing to Napoleon in the window and Napoleon on the +column. ‘Only one idea all over Paris! A +monomania!’ Humph! I <span +class="GutSmall">THINK</span> I have seen Napoleon’s +match? There was a statue, when I came away, at Hyde Park +Corner, and another in the City, and a print or two in the +shops.</p> +<p>I walk up to the Barrière de l’Etoile, +sufficiently dazed by my flight to have a pleasant doubt of the +reality of everything about me; of the lively crowd, the +overhanging trees, the performing dogs, the hobby-horses, the +beautiful perspectives of shining lamps: the hundred and one +enclosures, where the singing is, in gleaming orchestras of azure +and gold, and where a star-eyed Houri comes round with a box for +voluntary offerings. So, I pass to my hotel, enchanted; +sup, enchanted; go to bed, enchanted; pushing back this morning +(if it really were this morning) into the remoteness of time, +blessing the South-Eastern Company for realising the Arabian +Nights in these prose days, murmuring, as I wing my idle flight +into the land of dreams, ‘No hurry, ladies and gentlemen, +going to Paris in eleven hours. It is so well done, that +there really is no hurry!’</p> +<h2><a name="page406"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 406</span>THE +DETECTIVE POLICE</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">We</span> are not by any means devout +believers in the old Bow Street Police. To say the truth, +we think there was a vast amount of humbug about those +worthies. Apart from many of them being men of very +indifferent character, and far too much in the habit of +consorting with thieves and the like, they never lost a public +occasion of jobbing and trading in mystery and making the most of +themselves. Continually puffed besides by incompetent +magistrates anxious to conceal their own deficiencies, and +hand-in-glove with the penny-a-liners of that time, they became a +sort of superstition. Although as a Preventive Police they +were utterly ineffective, and as a Detective Police were very +loose and uncertain in their operations, they remain with some +people a superstition to the present day.</p> +<p>On the other hand, the Detective Force organised since the +establishment of the existing Police, is so well chosen and +trained, proceeds so systematically and quietly, does its +business in such a workmanlike manner, and is always so calmly +and steadily engaged in the service of the public, that the +public really do not know enough of it, to know a tithe of its +usefulness. Impressed with this conviction, and interested +in the men themselves, we represented to the authorities at +Scotland Yard, that we should be glad, if there were no official +objection, to have some talk with the Detectives. A most +obliging and ready permission being given, a certain evening was +appointed with a certain Inspector for a social conference +between ourselves and the Detectives, at The Household Words +Office in Wellington Street, Strand, London. In consequence +of which appointment the party ‘came off,’ which we +are about to describe. And we beg to repeat that, avoiding +such topics as it might for obvious reasons be injurious to the +public, or disagreeable to respectable individuals, to touch upon +in print, our description is as exact as we can make it.</p> +<p>The reader will have the goodness to imagine the Sanctum +Sanctorum of Household Words. Anything that best suits the +reader’s fancy, will best represent that magnificent +chamber. We merely stipulate for a round table in the +middle, with some glasses and cigars arranged upon it; and the +editorial sofa elegantly hemmed in between that stately piece of +furniture and the wall.</p> +<p>It is a sultry evening at dusk. The stones of Wellington +Street are hot and gritty, and the watermen and hackney-coachmen +at the Theatre opposite, are much flushed and aggravated. +Carriages are constantly setting down the people who have come to +Fairy-Land; and there is a mighty shouting and bellowing every +now and then, deafening us for the moment, through the open +windows.</p> +<p>Just at dusk, Inspectors Wield and Stalker are announced; but +we do not undertake to warrant the orthography of any of the +names here mentioned. Inspector Wield presents Inspector +Stalker. Inspector Wield is a middle-aged man of a portly +presence, with a large, moist, knowing eye, a husky voice, and a +habit of emphasising his conversation by the aid of a corpulent +fore-finger, which is constantly in juxtaposition with his eyes +or nose. Inspector Stalker is a shrewd, hard-headed +Scotchman—in appearance not at all unlike a very acute, +thoroughly-trained schoolmaster, from the Normal Establishment at +Glasgow. Inspector Wield one might have known, perhaps, for +what he is—Inspector Stalker, never.</p> +<p>The ceremonies of reception over, Inspectors Wield and Stalker +observe that they have brought some sergeants with them. +The sergeants are presented—five in number, Sergeant +Dornton, Sergeant Witchem, Sergeant Mith, Sergeant Fendall, and +Sergeant Straw. We have the whole Detective Force from +Scotland Yard, with one exception. They sit down in a +semi-circle (the two Inspectors at the two ends) at a little +distance from the round table, facing the editorial sofa. +Every man of them, in a glance, immediately takes an inventory of +the furniture and an accurate sketch of the editorial +presence. The Editor feels that any gentleman in company +could take him up, if need should be, without the smallest +hesitation, twenty years hence.</p> +<p>The whole party are in plain clothes. Sergeant Dornton +about fifty years of age, with a ruddy face and a high sunburnt +forehead, has the air of one who has been a Sergeant in the +army—he might have sat to Wilkie for the Soldier in the +Reading of the Will. He is famous for steadily pursuing the +inductive process, and, from small beginnings, working on from +clue to clue until he bags his man. Sergeant Witchem, +shorter and thicker-set, and marked with the small-pox, has +something of a reserved and thoughtful air, as if he were engaged +in deep arithmetical calculations. He is renowned for his +acquaintance with the swell mob. Sergeant Mith, a +smooth-faced man with a fresh bright complexion, and a strange +air of simplicity, is a dab at housebreakers. Sergeant +Fendall, a light-haired, well-spoken, polite person, is a +prodigious hand at pursuing private inquiries of a delicate +nature. Straw, a little wiry Sergeant of meek demeanour and +strong sense, would knock at a door and ask a series of questions +in any mild character you choose to prescribe to him, from a +charity-boy upwards, and seem as innocent as an infant. +They are, one and all, respectable-looking men; of perfectly good +deportment and unusual intelligence; with nothing lounging or +slinking in their manners; with an air of keen observation and +quick perception when addressed; and generally presenting in +their faces, traces more or less marked of habitually leading +lives of strong mental excitement. They have all good eyes; +and they all can, and they all do, look full at whomsoever they +speak to.</p> +<p>We light the cigars, and hand round the glasses (which are +very temperately used indeed), and the conversation begins by a +modest amateur reference on the Editorial part to the swell +mob. Inspector Wield immediately removes his cigar from his +lips, waves his right hand, and says, ‘Regarding the swell +mob, sir, I can’t do better than call upon Sergeant +Witchem. Because the reason why? I’ll tell +you. Sergeant Witchem is better acquainted with the swell +mob than any officer in London.’</p> +<p>Our heart leaping up when we beheld this rainbow in the sky, +we turn to Sergeant Witchem, who very concisely, and in +well-chosen language, goes into the subject forthwith. +Meantime, the whole of his brother officers are closely +interested in attending to what he says, and observing its +effect. Presently they begin to strike in, one or two +together, when an opportunity offers, and the conversation +becomes general. But these brother officers only come in to +the assistance of each other—not to the +contradiction—and a more amicable brotherhood there could +not be. From the swell mob, we diverge to the kindred +topics of cracksmen, fences, public-house dancers, area-sneaks, +designing young people who go out ‘gonophing,’ and +other ‘schools.’ It is observable throughout +these revelations, that Inspector Stalker, the Scotchman, is +always exact and statistical, and that when any question of +figures arises, everybody as by one consent pauses, and looks to +him.</p> +<p>When we have exhausted the various schools of Art—during +which discussion the whole body have remained profoundly +attentive, except when some unusual noise at the Theatre over the +way has induced some gentleman to glance inquiringly towards the +window in that direction, behind his next neighbour’s +back—we burrow for information on such points as the +following. Whether there really are any highway robberies +in London, or whether some circumstances not convenient to be +mentioned by the aggrieved party, usually precede the robberies +complained of, under that head, which quite change their +character? Certainly the latter, almost always. +Whether in the case of robberies in houses, where servants are +necessarily exposed to doubt, innocence under suspicion ever +becomes so like guilt in appearance, that a good officer need be +cautious how he judges it? Undoubtedly. Nothing is so +common or deceptive as such appearances at first. Whether +in a place of public amusement, a thief knows an officer, and an +officer knows a thief—supposing them, beforehand, strangers +to each other—because each recognises in the other, under +all disguise, an inattention to what is going on, and a purpose +that is not the purpose of being entertained? Yes. +That’s the way exactly. Whether it is reasonable or +ridiculous to trust to the alleged experiences of thieves as +narrated by themselves, in prisons, or penitentiaries, or +anywhere? In general, nothing more absurd. Lying is +their habit and their trade; and they would rather lie—even +if they hadn’t an interest in it, and didn’t want to +make themselves agreeable—than tell the truth.</p> +<p>From these topics, we glide into a review of the most +celebrated and horrible of the great crimes that have been +committed within the last fifteen or twenty years. The men +engaged in the discovery of almost all of them, and in the +pursuit or apprehension of the murderers, are here, down to the +very last instance. One of our guests gave chase to and +boarded the emigrant ship, in which the murderess last hanged in +London was supposed to have embarked. We learn from him +that his errand was not announced to the passengers, who may have +no idea of it to this hour. That he went below, with the +captain, lamp in hand—it being dark, and the whole steerage +abed and sea-sick—and engaged the Mrs. Manning who was on +board, in a conversation about her luggage, until she was, with +no small pains, induced to raise her head, and turn her face +towards the light. Satisfied that she was not the object of +his search, he quietly re-embarked in the Government steamer +along-side, and steamed home again with the intelligence.</p> +<p>When we have exhausted these subjects, too, which occupy a +considerable time in the discussion, two or three leave their +chairs, whisper Sergeant Witchem, and resume their seat. +Sergeant Witchem, leaning forward a little, and placing a hand on +each of his legs, then modestly speaks as follows:</p> +<p>‘My brother-officers wish me to relate a little account +of my taking Tally-ho Thompson. A man oughtn’t to +tell what he has done himself; but still, as nobody was with me, +and, consequently, as nobody but myself can tell it, I’ll +do it in the best way I can, if it should meet your +approval.’</p> +<p>We assure Sergeant Witchem that he will oblige us very much, +and we all compose ourselves to listen with great interest and +attention.</p> +<p>‘Tally-ho Thompson,’ says Sergeant Witchem, after +merely wetting his lips with his brandy-and-water, +‘Tally-ho Thompson was a famous horse-stealer, couper, and +magsman. Thompson, in conjunction with a pal that +occasionally worked with him, gammoned a countryman out of a good +round sum of money, under pretence of getting him a +situation—the regular old dodge—and was afterwards in +the “Hue and Cry” for a horse—a horse that he +stole down in Hertfordshire. I had to look after Thompson, +and I applied myself, of course, in the first instance, to +discovering where he was. Now, Thompson’s wife lived, +along with a little daughter, at Chelsea. Knowing that +Thompson was somewhere in the country, I watched the +house—especially at post-time in the morning—thinking +Thompson was pretty likely to write to her. Sure enough, +one morning the postman comes up, and delivers a letter at Mrs. +Thompson’s door. Little girl opens the door, and +takes it in. We’re not always sure of postmen, though +the people at the post-offices are always very obliging. A +postman may help us, or he may not,—just as it +happens. However, I go across the road, and I say to the +postman, after he has left the letter, “Good morning! how +are you?” “How are <i>you</i>?” says +he. “You’ve just delivered a letter for Mrs. +Thompson.” “Yes, I have.” +“You didn’t happen to remark what the post-mark was, +perhaps?” “No,” says he, “I +didn’t.” “Come,” says I, +“I’ll be plain with you. I’m in a small +way of business, and I have given Thompson credit, and I +can’t afford to lose what he owes me. I know +he’s got money, and I know he’s in the country, and +if you could tell me what the post-mark was, I should be very +much obliged to you, and you’d do a service to a tradesman +in a small way of business that can’t afford a +loss.” “Well,” he said, “I do +assure you that I did not observe what the post-mark was; all I +know is, that there was money in the letter—I should say a +sovereign.” This was enough for me, because of course +I knew that Thompson having sent his wife money, it was probable +she’d write to Thompson, by return of post, to acknowledge +the receipt. So I said “Thankee” to the +postman, and I kept on the watch. In the afternoon I saw +the little girl come out. Of course I followed her. +She went into a stationer’s shop, and I needn’t say +to you that I looked in at the window. She bought some +writing-paper and envelopes, and a pen. I think to myself, +“That’ll do!”—watch her home +again—and don’t go away, you may be sure, knowing +that Mrs. Thompson was writing her letter to Tally-ho, and that +the letter would be posted presently. In about an hour or +so, out came the little girl again, with the letter in her +hand. I went up, and said something to the child, whatever +it might have been; but I couldn’t see the direction of the +letter, because she held it with the seal upwards. However, +I observed that on the back of the letter there was what we call +a kiss—a drop of wax by the side of the seal—and +again, you understand, that was enough for me. I saw her +post the letter, waited till she was gone, then went into the +shop, and asked to see the Master. When he came out, I told +him, “Now, I’m an Officer in the Detective Force; +there’s a letter with a kiss been posted here just now, for +a man that I’m in search of; and what I have to ask of you, +is, that you will let me look at the direction of that +letter.” He was very civil—took a lot of +letters from the box in the window—shook ’em out on +the counter with the faces downwards—and there among +’em was the identical letter with the kiss. It was +directed, Mr. Thomas Pigeon, Post Office, B—, to be left +till called for. Down I went to B— (a hundred and +twenty miles or so) that night. Early next morning I went +to the Post Office; saw the gentleman in charge of that +department; told him who I was; and that my object was to see, +and track, the party that should come for the letter for Mr. +Thomas Pigeon. He was very polite, and said, “You +shall have every assistance we can give you; you can wait inside +the office; and we’ll take care to let you know when +anybody comes for the letter.” Well, I waited there +three days, and began to think that nobody ever would come. +At last the clerk whispered to me, “Here! +Detective! Somebody’s come for the +letter!” “Keep him a minute,” said I, and +I ran round to the outside of the office. There I saw a +young chap with the appearance of an Ostler, holding a horse by +the bridle—stretching the bridle across the pavement, while +he waited at the Post Office Window for the letter. I began +to pat the horse, and that; and I said to the boy, “Why, +this is Mr. Jones’s Mare!” “No. It +an’t.” “No?” said I. +“She’s very like Mr. Jones’s Mare!” +“She an’t Mr. Jones’s Mare, anyhow,” says +he. “It’s Mr. So and So’s, of the Warwick +Arms.” And up he jumped, and off he went—letter +and all. I got a cab, followed on the box, and was so quick +after him that I came into the stable-yard of the Warwick Arms, +by one gate, just as he came in by another. I went into the +bar, where there was a young woman serving, and called for a +glass of brandy-and-water. He came in directly, and handed +her the letter. She casually looked at it, without saying +anything, and stuck it up behind the glass over the +chimney-piece. What was to be done next?</p> +<p>‘I turned it over in my mind while I drank my +brandy-and-water (looking pretty sharp at the letter the while), +but I couldn’t see my way out of it at all. I tried +to get lodgings in the house, but there had been a horse-fair, or +something of that sort, and it was full. I was obliged to +put up somewhere else, but I came backwards and forwards to the +bar for a couple of days, and there was the letter always behind +the glass. At last I thought I’d write a letter to +Mr. Pigeon myself, and see what that would do. So I wrote +one, and posted it, but I purposely addressed it, Mr. John +Pigeon, instead of Mr. Thomas Pigeon, to see what that would +do. In the morning (a very wet morning it was) I watched +the postman down the street, and cut into the bar, just before he +reached the Warwick Arms. In he came presently with my +letter. “Is there a Mr. John Pigeon staying +here?” “No!—stop a bit though,” +says the barmaid; and she took down the letter behind the +glass. “No,” says she, “it’s +Thomas, and he is not staying here. Would you do me a +favour, and post this for me, as it is so wet?” The +postman said Yes; she folded it in another envelope, directed it, +and gave it him. He put it in his hat, and away he +went.</p> +<p>‘I had no difficulty in finding out the direction of +that letter. It was addressed Mr. Thomas Pigeon, Post +Office, R—, Northamptonshire, to be left till called +for. Off I started directly for R—; I said the same +at the Post Office there, as I had said at B—; and again I +waited three days before anybody came. At last another chap +on horseback came. “Any letters for Mr. Thomas +Pigeon?” “Where do you come from?” +“New Inn, near R—.” He got the letter, +and away he went at a canter.</p> +<p>‘I made my inquiries about the New Inn, near R—, +and hearing it was a solitary sort of house, a little in the +horse line, about a couple of miles from the station, I thought +I’d go and have a look at it. I found it what it had +been described, and sauntered in, to look about me. The +landlady was in the bar, and I was trying to get into +conversation with her; asked her how business was, and spoke +about the wet weather, and so on; when I saw, through an open +door, three men sitting by the fire in a sort of parlour, or +kitchen; and one of those men, according to the description I had +of him, was Tally-ho Thompson!</p> +<p>‘I went and sat down among ’em, and tried to make +things agreeable; but they were very shy—wouldn’t +talk at all—looked at me, and at one another, in a way +quite the reverse of sociable. I reckoned ’em up, and +finding that they were all three bigger men than me, and +considering that their looks were ugly—that it was a lonely +place—railroad station two miles off—and night coming +on—thought I couldn’t do better than have a drop of +brandy-and-water to keep my courage up. So I called for my +brandy-and-water; and as I was sitting drinking it by the fire, +Thompson got up and went out.</p> +<p>‘Now the difficulty of it was, that I wasn’t sure +it was Thompson, because I had never set eyes on him before; and +what I had wanted was to be quite certain of him. However, +there was nothing for it now, but to follow, and put a bold face +upon it. I found him talking, outside in the yard, with the +landlady. It turned out afterwards that he was wanted by a +Northampton officer for something else, and that, knowing that +officer to be pock-marked (as I am myself), he mistook me for +him. As I have observed, I found him talking to the +landlady, outside. I put my hand upon his +shoulder—this way—and said, “Tally-ho Thompson, +it’s no use. I know you. I’m an officer +from London, and I take you into custody for felony!” +“That be d-d!” says Tally-ho Thompson.</p> +<p>‘We went back into the house, and the two friends began +to cut up rough, and their looks didn’t please me at all, I +assure you. “Let the man go. What are you going +to do with him?” “I’ll tell you what +I’m going to do with him. I’m going to take him +to London to-night, as sure as I’m alive. I’m +not alone here, whatever you may think. You mind your own +business, and keep yourselves to yourselves. It’ll be +better for you, for I know you both very well.” +<i>I</i>’d never seen or heard of ’em in all my life, +but my bouncing cowed ’em a bit, and they kept off, while +Thompson was making ready to go. I thought to myself, +however, that they might be coming after me on the dark road, to +rescue Thompson; so I said to the landlady, “What men have +you got in the house, Missis?” “We +haven’t got no men here,” she says, sulkily. +“You have got an ostler, I suppose?” +“Yes, we’ve got an ostler.” “Let me +see him.” Presently he came, and a shaggy-headed +young fellow he was. “Now attend to me, young +man,” says I; “I’m a Detective Officer from +London. This man’s name is Thompson. I have +taken him into custody for felony. I am going to take him +to the railroad station. I call upon you in the +Queen’s name to assist me; and mind you, my friend, +you’ll get yourself into more trouble than you know of, if +you don’t!” You never saw a person open his +eyes so wide. “Now, Thompson, come along!” says +I. But when I took out the handcuffs, Thompson cries, +“No! None of that! I won’t stand +<i>them</i>! I’ll go along with you quiet, but I +won’t bear none of that!” “Tally-ho +Thompson,” I said, “I’m willing to behave as a +man to you, if you are willing to behave as a man to me. +Give me your word that you’ll come peaceably along, and I +don’t want to handcuff you.” “I +will,” says Thompson, “but I’ll have a glass of +brandy first.” “I don’t care if +I’ve another,” said I. “We’ll have +two more, Missis,” said the friends, “and confound +you, Constable, you’ll give your man a drop, won’t +you?” I was agreeable to that, so we had it all +round, and then my man and I took Tally-ho Thompson safe to the +railroad, and I carried him to London that night. He was +afterwards acquitted, on account of a defect in the evidence; and +I understand he always praises me up to the skies, and says +I’m one of the best of men.’</p> +<p>This story coming to a termination amidst general applause, +Inspector Wield, after a little grave smoking, fixes his eye on +his host, and thus delivers himself:</p> +<p>‘It wasn’t a bad plant that of mine, on Fikey, the +man accused of forging the Sou’-Western Railway +debentures—it was only t’other day—because the +reason why? I’ll tell you.</p> +<p>‘I had information that Fikey and his brother kept a +factory over yonder there,’—indicating any region on +the Surrey side of the river—‘where he bought +second-hand carriages; so after I’d tried in vain to get +hold of him by other means, I wrote him a letter in an assumed +name, saying that I’d got a horse and shay to dispose of, +and would drive down next day that he might view the lot, and +make an offer—very reasonable it was, I said—a +reg’lar bargain. Straw and me then went off to a +friend of mine that’s in the livery and job business, and +hired a turn-out for the day, a precious smart turn-out it +was—quite a slap-up thing! Down we drove, +accordingly, with a friend (who’s not in the Force +himself); and leaving my friend in the shay near a public-house, +to take care of the horse, we went to the factory, which was some +little way off. In the factory, there was a number of +strong fellows at work, and after reckoning ’em up, it was +clear to me that it wouldn’t do to try it on there. +They were too many for us. We must get our man out of +doors. “Mr. Fikey at home?” “No, he +ain’t.” “Expected home soon?” +“Why, no, not soon.” “Ah! Is his +brother here?” “I’m his +brother.” “Oh! well, this is an +ill-conwenience, this is. I wrote him a letter yesterday, +saying I’d got a little turn-out to dispose of, and +I’ve took the trouble to bring the turn-out down a’ +purpose, and now he ain’t in the way.” +“No, he ain’t in the way. You couldn’t +make it convenient to call again, could you?” +“Why, no, I couldn’t. I want to sell; +that’s the fact; and I can’t put it off. Could +you find him anywheres?” At first he said No, he +couldn’t, and then he wasn’t sure about it, and then +he’d go and try. So at last he went up-stairs, where +there was a sort of loft, and presently down comes my man himself +in his shirt-sleeves.</p> +<p>‘“Well,” he says, “this seems to be +rayther a pressing matter of yours.” +“Yes,” I says, “it <i>is</i> rayther a pressing +matter, and you’ll find it a bargain—dirt +cheap.” “I ain’t in partickler want of a +bargain just now,” he says, “but where is +it?” “Why,” I says, “the +turn-out’s just outside. Come and look at +it.” He hasn’t any suspicions, and away we +go. And the first thing that happens is, that the horse +runs away with my friend (who knows no more of driving than a +child) when he takes a little trot along the road to show his +paces. You never saw such a game in your life!</p> +<p>‘When the bolt is over, and the turn-out has come to a +standstill again, Fikey walks round and round it as grave as a +judge—me too. “There, sir!” I says. +“There’s a neat thing!” “It +ain’t a bad style of thing,” he says. “I +believe you,” says I. “And there’s a +horse!”—for I saw him looking at it. +“Rising eight!” I says, rubbing his fore-legs. +(Bless you, there ain’t a man in the world knows less of +horses than I do, but I’d heard my friend at the Livery +Stables say he was eight year old, so I says, as knowing as +possible, “Rising eight.”) “Rising eight, +is he?” says he. “Rising eight,” says +I. “Well,” he says, “what do you want for +it?” “Why, the first and last figure for the +whole concern is five-and-twenty pound!” +“That’s very cheap!” he says, looking at +me. “Ain’t it?” I says. “I +told you it was a bargain! Now, without any higgling and +haggling about it, what I want is to sell, and that’s my +price. Further, I’ll make it easy to you, and take +half the money down, and you can do a bit of stiff <a +name="citation415"></a><a href="#footnote415" +class="citation">[415]</a> for the balance.”</p> +<p>“Well,” he says again, “that’s very +cheap.” “I believe you,” says I; +“get in and try it, and you’ll buy it. Come! +take a trial!”</p> +<p>‘Ecod, he gets in, and we get in, and we drive along the +road, to show him to one of the railway clerks that was hid in +the public-house window to identify him. But the clerk was +bothered, and didn’t know whether it was him, or +wasn’t—because the reason why? I’ll tell +you,—on account of his having shaved his whiskers. +“It’s a clever little horse,” he says, +“and trots well; and the shay runs light.” +“Not a doubt about it,” I says. “And now, +Mr. Fikey, I may as well make it all right, without wasting any +more of your time. The fact is, I’m Inspector Wield, +and you’re my prisoner.” “You don’t +mean that?” he says. “I do, +indeed.” “Then burn my body,” says Fikey, +“if this ain’t too bad!”</p> +<p>‘Perhaps you never saw a man so knocked over with +surprise. “I hope you’ll let me have my +coat?” he says. “By all means.” +“Well, then, let’s drive to the factory.” +“Why, not exactly that, I think,” said I; +“I’ve been there, once before, to-day. Suppose +we send for it.” He saw it was no go, so he sent for +it, and put it on, and we drove him up to London, +comfortable.’</p> +<p>This reminiscence is in the height of its success, when a +general proposal is made to the fresh-complexioned, smooth-faced +officer, with the strange air of simplicity, to tell the +‘Butcher’s Story.’</p> +<p>The fresh-complexioned, smooth-faced officer, with the strange +air of simplicity, began with a rustic smile, and in a soft, +wheedling tone of voice, to relate the Butcher’s Story, +thus:</p> +<p>‘It’s just about six years ago, now, since +information was given at Scotland Yard of there being extensive +robberies of lawns and silks going on, at some wholesale houses +in the City. Directions were given for the business being +looked into; and Straw, and Fendall, and me, we were all in +it.’</p> +<p>‘When you received your instructions,’ said we, +‘you went away, and held a sort of Cabinet Council +together!’</p> +<p>The smooth-faced officer coaxingly replied, +‘Ye-es. Just so. We turned it over among +ourselves a good deal. It appeared, when we went into it, +that the goods were sold by the receivers extraordinarily +cheap—much cheaper than they could have been if they had +been honestly come by. The receivers were in the trade, and +kept capital shops—establishments of the first +respectability—one of ’em at the West End, one down +in Westminster. After a lot of watching and inquiry, and +this and that among ourselves, we found that the job was managed, +and the purchases of the stolen goods made, at a little +public-house near Smithfield, down by Saint Bartholomew’s; +where the Warehouse Porters, who were the thieves, took ’em +for that purpose, don’t you see? and made appointments to +meet the people that went between themselves and the +receivers. This public-house was principally used by +journeymen butchers from the country, out of place, and in want +of situations; so, what did we do, but—ha, ha, ha!—we +agreed that I should be dressed up like a butcher myself, and go +and live there!’</p> +<p>Never, surely, was a faculty of observation better brought to +bear upon a purpose, than that which picked out this officer for +the part. Nothing in all creation could have suited him +better. Even while he spoke, he became a greasy, sleepy, +shy, good-natured, chuckle-headed, unsuspicious, and confiding +young butcher. His very hair seemed to have suet in it, as +he made it smooth upon his head, and his fresh complexion to be +lubricated by large quantities of animal food.</p> +<p>‘—So I—ha, ha, ha!’ (always with the +confiding snigger of the foolish young butcher) ‘so I +dressed myself in the regular way, made up a little bundle of +clothes, and went to the public-house, and asked if I could have +a lodging there? They says, “yes, you can have a +lodging here,” and I got a bedroom, and settled myself down +in the tap. There was a number of people about the place, +and coming backwards and forwards to the house; and first one +says, and then another says, “Are you from the country, +young man?” “Yes,” I says, “I +am. I’m come out of Northamptonshire, and I’m +quite lonely here, for I don’t know London at all, and +it’s such a mighty big town.” “It +<i>is</i> a big town,” they says. “Oh, +it’s a <i>very</i> big town!” I says. +“Really and truly I never was in such a town. It +quite confuses of me!” and all that, you know.</p> +<p>‘When some of the journeymen Butchers that used the +house, found that I wanted a place, they says, “Oh, +we’ll get you a place!” And they actually took +me to a sight of places, in Newgate Market, Newport Market, +Clare, Carnaby—I don’t know where all. But the +wages was—ha, ha, ha!—was not sufficient, and I never +could suit myself, don’t you see? Some of the queer +frequenters of the house were a little suspicious of me at first, +and I was obliged to be very cautious indeed how I communicated +with Straw or Fendall. Sometimes, when I went out, +pretending to stop and look into the shop windows, and just +casting my eye round, I used to see some of ’em following +me; but, being perhaps better accustomed than they thought for, +to that sort of thing, I used to lead ’em on as far as I +thought necessary or convenient—sometimes a long +way—and then turn sharp round, and meet ’em, and say, +“Oh, dear, how glad I am to come upon you so +fortunate! This London’s such a place, I’m +blowed if I ain’t lost again!” And then +we’d go back all together, to the public-house, +and—ha, ha, ha! and smoke our pipes, don’t you +see?</p> +<p>‘They were very attentive to me, I am sure. It was +a common thing, while I was living there, for some of ’em +to take me out, and show me London. They showed me the +Prisons—showed me Newgate—and when they showed me +Newgate, I stops at the place where the Porters pitch their +loads, and says, “Oh dear, is this where they hang the +men? Oh Lor!” “That!” they says, +“what a simple cove he is! <i>That</i> ain’t +it!” And then, they pointed out which was it, and I +says “Lor!” and they says, “Now you’ll +know it agen, won’t you?” And I said I thought +I should if I tried hard—and I assure you I kept a sharp +look out for the City Police when we were out in this way, for if +any of ’em had happened to know me, and had spoke to me, it +would have been all up in a minute. However, by good luck +such a thing never happened, and all went on quiet: though the +difficulties I had in communicating with my brother officers were +quite extraordinary.</p> +<p>‘The stolen goods that were brought to the public-house +by the Warehouse Porters, were always disposed of in a back +parlour. For a long time, I never could get into this +parlour, or see what was done there. As I sat smoking my +pipe, like an innocent young chap, by the tap-room fire, +I’d hear some of the parties to the robbery, as they came +in and out, say softly to the landlord, “Who’s +that? What does he do here?” “Bless your +soul,” says the landlord, “he’s only +a”—ha, ha, ha!—“he’s only a green +young fellow from the country, as is looking for a +butcher’s sitiwation. Don’t mind +him!” So, in course of time, they were so convinced +of my being green, and got to be so accustomed to me, that I was +as free of the parlour as any of ’em, and I have seen as +much as Seventy Pounds’ Worth of fine lawn sold there, in +one night, that was stolen from a warehouse in Friday +Street. After the sale the buyers always stood +treat—hot supper, or dinner, or what not—and +they’d say on those occasions, “Come on, +Butcher! Put your best leg foremost, young ‘un, and +walk into it!” Which I used to do—and hear, at +table, all manner of particulars that it was very important for +us Detectives to know.</p> +<p>‘This went on for ten weeks. I lived in the +public-house all the time, and never was out of the +Butcher’s dress—except in bed. At last, when I +had followed seven of the thieves, and set ’em to +rights—that’s an expression of ours, don’t you +see, by which I mean to say that I traced ’em, and found +out where the robberies were done, and all about +’em—Straw, and Fendall, and I, gave one another the +office, and at a time agreed upon, a descent was made upon the +public-house, and the apprehensions effected. One of the +first things the officers did, was to collar me—for the +parties to the robbery weren’t to suppose yet, that I was +anything but a Butcher—on which the landlord cries out, +“Don’t take him,” he says, “whatever you +do! He’s only a poor young chap from the country, and +butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth!” However, +they—ha, ha, ha!—they took me, and pretended to +search my bedroom, where nothing was found but an old fiddle +belonging to the landlord, that had got there somehow or +another. But, it entirely changed the landlord’s +opinion, for when it was produced, he says, “My +fiddle! The Butcher’s a purloiner! I give him +into custody for the robbery of a musical instrument!”</p> +<p>‘The man that had stolen the goods in Friday Street was +not taken yet. He had told me, in confidence, that he had +his suspicions there was something wrong (on account of the City +Police having captured one of the party), and that he was going +to make himself scarce. I asked him, “Where do you +mean to go, Mr. Shepherdson?” “Why, +Butcher,” says he, “the Setting Moon, in the +Commercial Road, is a snug house, and I shall bang out there for +a time. I shall call myself Simpson, which appears to me to +be a modest sort of a name. Perhaps you’ll give us a +look in, Butcher?” “Well,” says I, +“I think I will give you a call”—which I fully +intended, don’t you see, because, of course, he was to be +taken! I went over to the Setting Moon next day, with a +brother officer, and asked at the bar for Simpson. They +pointed out his room, up-stairs. As we were going up, he +looks down over the banister, and calls out, “Halloa, +Butcher! is that you?” “Yes, it’s +me. How do you find yourself?” +“Bobbish,” he says; “but who’s that with +you?” “It’s only a young man, +that’s a friend of mine,” I says. “Come +along, then,” says he; “any friend of the +Butcher’s is as welcome as the Butcher!” So, I +made my friend acquainted with him, and we took him into +custody.</p> +<p>‘You have no idea, sir, what a sight it was, in Court, +when they first knew that I wasn’t a Butcher, after +all! I wasn’t produced at the first examination, when +there was a remand; but I was at the second. And when I +stepped into the box, in full police uniform, and the whole party +saw how they had been done, actually a groan of horror and dismay +proceeded from ’em in the dock!</p> +<p>‘At the Old Bailey, when their trials came on, Mr. +Clarkson was engaged for the defence, and he couldn’t make +out how it was, about the Butcher. He thought, all along, +it was a real Butcher. When the counsel for the prosecution +said, “I will now call before you, gentlemen, the +Police-officer,” meaning myself, Mr. Clarkson says, +“Why Police-officer? Why more Police-officers? +I don’t want Police. We have had a great deal too +much of the Police. I want the Butcher!” +However, sir, he had the Butcher and the Police-officer, both in +one. Out of seven prisoners committed for trial, five were +found guilty, and some of ’em were transported. The +respectable firm at the West End got a term of imprisonment; and +that’s the Butcher’s Story!’</p> +<p>The story done, the chuckle-headed Butcher again resolved +himself into the smooth-faced Detective. But, he was so +extremely tickled by their having taken him about, when he was +that Dragon in disguise, to show him London, that he could not +help reverting to that point in his narrative; and gently +repeating with the Butcher snigger, ‘“Oh, +dear,” I says, “is that where they hang the +men? Oh, Lor!” “<i>That</i>!” says +they. “What a simple cove he is!”’</p> +<p>It being now late, and the party very modest in their fear of +being too diffuse, there were some tokens of separation; when +Sergeant Dornton, the soldierly-looking man, said, looking round +him with a smile:</p> +<p>‘Before we break up, sir, perhaps you might have some +amusement in hearing of the Adventures of a Carpet Bag. +They are very short; and, I think, curious.’</p> +<p>We welcomed the Carpet Bag, as cordially as Mr. Shepherdson +welcomed the false Butcher at the Setting Moon. Sergeant +Dornton proceeded.</p> +<p>‘In 1847, I was despatched to Chatham, in search of one +Mesheck, a Jew. He had been carrying on, pretty heavily, in +the bill-stealing way, getting acceptances from young men of good +connexions (in the army chiefly), on pretence of discount, and +bolting with the same.</p> +<p>‘Mesheck was off, before I got to Chatham. All I +could learn about him was, that he had gone, probably to London, +and had with him—a Carpet Bag.</p> +<p>‘I came back to town, by the last train from Blackwall, +and made inquiries concerning a Jew passenger with—a Carpet +Bag.</p> +<p>‘The office was shut up, it being the last train. +There were only two or three porters left. Looking after a +Jew with a Carpet Bag, on the Blackwall Railway, which was then +the high road to a great Military Depôt, was worse than +looking after a needle in a hayrick. But it happened that +one of these porters had carried, for a certain Jew, to a certain +public-house, a certain—Carpet Bag.</p> +<p>‘I went to the public-house, but the Jew had only left +his luggage there for a few hours, and had called for it in a +cab, and taken it away. I put such questions there, and to +the porter, as I thought prudent, and got at this description +of—the Carpet Bag.</p> +<p>‘It was a bag which had, on one side of it, worked in +worsted, a green parrot on a stand. A green parrot on a +stand was the means by which to identify that—Carpet +Bag.</p> +<p>‘I traced Mesheck, by means of this green parrot on a +stand, to Cheltenham, to Birmingham, to Liverpool, to the +Atlantic Ocean. At Liverpool he was too many for me. +He had gone to the United States, and I gave up all thoughts of +Mesheck, and likewise of his—Carpet Bag.</p> +<p>‘Many months afterwards—near a year +afterwards—there was a bank in Ireland robbed of seven +thousand pounds, by a person of the name of Doctor Dundey, who +escaped to America; from which country some of the stolen notes +came home. He was supposed to have bought a farm in New +Jersey. Under proper management, that estate could be +seized and sold, for the benefit of the parties he had +defrauded. I was sent off to America for this purpose.</p> +<p>‘I landed at Boston. I went on to New York. +I found that he had lately changed New York paper-money for New +Jersey paper money, and had banked cash in New Brunswick. +To take this Doctor Dundey, it was necessary to entrap him into +the State of New York, which required a deal of artifice and +trouble. At one time, he couldn’t be drawn into an +appointment. At another time, he appointed to come to meet +me, and a New York officer, on a pretext I made; and then his +children had the measles. At last he came, per steamboat, +and I took him, and lodged him in a New York prison called the +Tombs; which I dare say you know, sir?’</p> +<p>Editorial acknowledgment to that effect.</p> +<p>‘I went to the Tombs, on the morning after his capture, +to attend the examination before the magistrate. I was +passing through the magistrate’s private room, when, +happening to look round me to take notice of the place, as we +generally have a habit of doing, I clapped my eyes, in one +corner, on a—Carpet Bag.</p> +<p>‘What did I see upon that Carpet Bag, if you’ll +believe me, but a green parrot on a stand, as large as life!</p> +<p>‘“That Carpet Bag, with the representation of a +green parrot on a stand,” said I, “belongs to an +English Jew, named Aaron Mesheck, and to no other man, alive or +dead!”</p> +<p>‘I give you my word the New York Police Officers were +doubled up with surprise.</p> +<p>‘“How did you ever come to know that?” said +they.</p> +<p>‘“I think I ought to know that green parrot by +this time,” said I; “for I have had as pretty a dance +after that bird, at home, as ever I had, in all my +life!”’</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>‘And was it Mesheck’s?’ we submissively +inquired.</p> +<p>‘Was it, sir? Of course it was! He was in +custody for another offence, in that very identical Tombs, at +that very identical time. And, more than that! Some +memoranda, relating to the fraud for which I had vainly +endeavoured to take him, were found to be, at that moment, lying +in that very same individual—Carpet Bag!’</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>Such are the curious coincidences and such is the peculiar +ability, always sharpening and being improved by practice, and +always adapting itself to every variety of circumstances, and +opposing itself to every new device that perverted ingenuity can +invent, for which this important social branch of the public +service is remarkable! For ever on the watch, with their +wits stretched to the utmost, these officers have, from day to +day and year to year, to set themselves against every novelty of +trickery and dexterity that the combined imaginations of all the +lawless rascals in England can devise, and to keep pace with +every such invention that comes out. In the Courts of +Justice, the materials of thousands of such stories as we have +narrated—often elevated into the marvellous and romantic, +by the circumstances of the case—are dryly compressed into +the set phrase, ‘in consequence of information I received, +I did so and so.’ Suspicion was to be directed, by +careful inference and deduction, upon the right person; the right +person was to be taken, wherever he had gone, or whatever he was +doing to avoid detection: he is taken; there he is at the bar; +that is enough. From information I, the officer, received, +I did it; and, according to the custom in these cases, I say no +more.</p> +<p>These games of chess, played with live pieces, are played +before small audiences, and are chronicled nowhere. The +interest of the game supports the player. Its results are +enough for justice. To compare great things with small, +suppose <span class="smcap">Leverrier</span> or <span +class="smcap">Adams</span> informing the public that from +information he had received he had discovered a new planet; or +<span class="smcap">Columbus</span> informing the public of his +day that from information he had received he had discovered a new +continent; so the Detectives inform it that they have discovered +a new fraud or an old offender, and the process is unknown.</p> +<p>Thus, at midnight, closed the proceedings of our curious and +interesting party. But one other circumstance finally wound +up the evening, after our Detective guests had left us. One +of the sharpest among them, and the officer best acquainted with +the Swell Mob, had his pocket picked, going home!</p> +<h2><a name="page422"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +422</span>THREE ‘DETECTIVE’ ANECDOTES</h2> +<h3>I.—THE PAIR OF GLOVES</h3> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">It’s</span> a singler story, +sir,’ said Inspector Wield, of the Detective Police, who, +in company with Sergeants Dornton and Mith, paid us another +twilight visit, one July evening; ‘and I’ve been +thinking you might like to know it.</p> +<p>‘It’s concerning the murder of the young woman, +Eliza Grimwood, some years ago, over in the Waterloo Road. +She was commonly called The Countess, because of her handsome +appearance and her proud way of carrying of herself; and when I +saw the poor Countess (I had known her well to speak to), lying +dead, with her throat cut, on the floor of her bedroom, +you’ll believe me that a variety of reflections calculated +to make a man rather low in his spirits, came into my head.</p> +<p>‘That’s neither here nor there. I went to +the house the morning after the murder, and examined the body, +and made a general observation of the bedroom where it was. +Turning down the pillow of the bed with my hand, I found, +underneath it, a pair of gloves. A pair of +gentleman’s dress gloves, very dirty; and inside the +lining, the letters <span class="smcap">Tr</span>, and a +cross.</p> +<p>‘Well, sir, I took them gloves away, and I showed +’em to the magistrate, over at Union Hall, before whom the +case was. He says, “Wield,” he says, +“there’s no doubt this is a discovery that may lead +to something very important; and what you have got to do, Wield, +is, to find out the owner of these gloves.”</p> +<p>‘I was of the same opinion, of course, and I went at it +immediately. I looked at the gloves pretty narrowly, and it +was my opinion that they had been cleaned. There was a +smell of sulphur and rosin about ’em, you know, which +cleaned gloves usually have, more or less. I took ’em +over to a friend of mine at Kennington, who was in that line, and +I put it to him. “What do you say now? Have +these gloves been cleaned?” “These gloves have +been cleaned,” says he. “Have you any idea who +cleaned them?” says I. “Not at all,” says +he; “I’ve a very distinct idea who didn’t clean +’em, and that’s myself. But I’ll tell you +what, Wield, there ain’t above eight or nine reg’lar +glove-cleaners in London,”—there were not, at that +time, it seems—“and I think I can give you their +addresses, and you may find out, by that means, who did clean +’em.” Accordingly, he gave me the directions, +and I went here, and I went there, and I looked up this man, and +I looked up that man; but, though they all agreed that the gloves +had been cleaned, I couldn’t find the man, woman, or child, +that had cleaned that aforesaid pair of gloves.</p> +<p>‘What with this person not being at home, and that +person being expected home in the afternoon, and so forth, the +inquiry took me three days. On the evening of the third +day, coming over Waterloo Bridge from the Surrey side of the +river, quite beat, and very much vexed and disappointed, I +thought I’d have a shilling’s worth of entertainment +at the Lyceum Theatre to freshen myself up. So I went into +the Pit, at half-price, and I sat myself down next to a very +quiet, modest sort of young man. Seeing I was a stranger +(which I thought it just as well to appear to be) he told me the +names of the actors on the stage, and we got into +conversation. When the play was over, we came out together, +and I said, “We’ve been very companionable and +agreeable, and perhaps you wouldn’t object to a +drain?” “Well, you’re very good,” +says he; “I shouldn’t object to a drain.” +Accordingly, we went to a public-house, near the Theatre, sat +ourselves down in a quiet room up-stairs on the first floor, and +called for a pint of half-and-half, apiece, and a pipe.</p> +<p>‘Well, sir, we put our pipes aboard, and we drank our +half-and-half, and sat a-talking, very sociably, when the young +man says, “You must excuse me stopping very long,” he +says, “because I’m forced to go home in good +time. I must be at work all night.” “At +work all night?” says I. “You ain’t a +baker?” “No,” he says, laughing, “I +ain’t a baker.” “I thought not,” +says I, “you haven’t the looks of a +baker.” “No,” says he, “I’m a +glove-cleaner.”</p> +<p>‘I never was more astonished in my life, than when I +heard them words come out of his lips. “You’re +a glove-cleaner, are you?” says I. “Yes,” +he says, “I am.” “Then, perhaps,” +says I, taking the gloves out of my pocket, “you can tell +me who cleaned this pair of gloves? It’s a rum +story,” I says. “I was dining over at Lambeth, +the other day, at a free-and-easy—quite +promiscuous—with a public company—when some +gentleman, he left these gloves behind him! Another +gentleman and me, you see, we laid a wager of a sovereign, that I +wouldn’t find out who they belonged to. I’ve +spent as much as seven shillings already, in trying to discover; +but, if you could help me, I’d stand another seven and +welcome. You see there’s <span +class="smcap">Tr</span> and a cross, inside.” +“<i>I</i> see,” he says. “Bless you, +<i>I</i> know these gloves very well! I’ve seen +dozens of pairs belonging to the same party.” +“No?” says I. “Yes,” says he. +“Then you know who cleaned ’em?” says I. +“Rather so,” says he. “My father cleaned +’em.”</p> +<p>‘“Where does your father live?” says +I. “Just round the corner,” says the young man, +“near Exeter Street, here. He’ll tell you who +they belong to, directly.” “Would you come +round with me now?” says I. “Certainly,” +says he, “but you needn’t tell my father that you +found me at the play, you know, because he mightn’t like +it.” “All right!” We went round to +the place, and there we found an old man in a white apron, with +two or three daughters, all rubbing and cleaning away at lots of +gloves, in a front parlour. “Oh, Father!” says +the young man, “here’s a person been and made a bet +about the ownership of a pair of gloves, and I’ve told him +you can settle it.” “Good evening, sir,” +says I to the old gentleman. “Here’s the gloves +your son speaks of. Letters <span class="smcap">Tr</span>, +you see, and a cross.” “Oh yes,” he says, +“I know these gloves very well; I’ve cleaned dozens +of pairs of ’em. They belong to Mr. Trinkle, the +great upholsterer in Cheapside.” “Did you get +’em from Mr. Trinkle, direct,” says I, “if +you’ll excuse my asking the question?” +“No,” says he; “Mr. Trinkle always sends +’em to Mr. Phibbs’s, the haberdasher’s, +opposite his shop, and the haberdasher sends ’em to +me.” “Perhaps you wouldn’t object to a +drain?” says I. “Not in the least!” says +he. So I took the old gentleman out, and had a little more +talk with him and his son, over a glass, and we parted excellent +friends.</p> +<p>‘This was late on a Saturday night. First thing on +the Monday morning, I went to the haberdasher’s shop, +opposite Mr. Trinkle’s, the great upholsterer’s in +Cheapside. “Mr. Phibbs in the way?” +“My name is Phibbs.” “Oh! I believe +you sent this pair of gloves to be cleaned?” +“Yes, I did, for young Mr. Trinkle over the way. +There he is in the shop!” “Oh! that’s him +in the shop, is it? Him in the green coat?” +“The same individual.” “Well, Mr. Phibbs, +this is an unpleasant affair; but the fact is, I am Inspector +Wield of the Detective Police, and I found these gloves under the +pillow of the young woman that was murdered the other day, over +in the Waterloo Road!” “Good Heaven!” +says he. “He’s a most respectable young man, +and if his father was to hear of it, it would be the ruin of +him!” “I’m very sorry for it,” says +I, “but I must take him into custody.” +“Good Heaven!” says Mr. Phibbs, again; “can +nothing be done?” “Nothing,” says +I. “Will you allow me to call him over here,” +says he, “that his father may not see it done?” +“I don’t object to that,” says I; “but +unfortunately, Mr. Phibbs, I can’t allow of any +communication between you. If any was attempted, I should +have to interfere directly. Perhaps you’ll beckon him +over here?” Mr. Phibbs went to the door and beckoned, +and the young fellow came across the street directly; a smart, +brisk young fellow.</p> +<p>‘“Good morning, sir,” says I. +“Good morning, sir,” says he. “Would you +allow me to inquire, sir,” says I, “if you ever had +any acquaintance with a party of the name of +Grimwood?” “Grimwood! Grimwood!” +says he. “No!” “You know the +Waterloo Road?” “Oh! of course I know the +Waterloo Road!” “Happen to have heard of a +young woman being murdered there?” “Yes, I read +it in the paper, and very sorry I was to read it.” +“Here’s a pair of gloves belonging to you, that I +found under her pillow the morning afterwards!”</p> +<p>‘He was in a dreadful state, sir; a dreadful state I +“Mr. Wield,” he says, “upon my solemn oath I +never was there. I never so much as saw her, to my +knowledge, in my life!” “I am very +sorry,” says I. “To tell you the truth; I +don’t think you are the murderer, but I must take you to +Union Hall in a cab. However, I think it’s a case of +that sort, that, at present, at all events, the magistrate will +hear it in private.”</p> +<p>‘A private examination took place, and then it came out +that this young man was acquainted with a cousin of the +unfortunate Eliza Grimwood, and that, calling to see this cousin +a day or two before the murder, he left these gloves upon the +table. Who should come in, shortly afterwards, but Eliza +Grimwood! “Whose gloves are these?” she says, +taking ’em up. “Those are Mr. Trinkle’s +gloves,” says her cousin. “Oh!” says she, +“they are very dirty, and of no use to him, I am +sure. I shall take ’em away for my girl to clean the +stoves with.” And she put ’em in her +pocket. The girl had used ’em to clean the stoves, +and, I have no doubt, had left ’em lying on the bedroom +mantelpiece, or on the drawers, or somewhere; and her mistress, +looking round to see that the room was tidy, had caught ’em +up and put ’em under the pillow where I found +’em.</p> +<p>That’s the story, sir.’</p> +<h3>II.—THE ARTFUL TOUCH</h3> +<p>‘One of the most beautiful things that ever was done, +perhaps,’ said Inspector Wield, emphasising the adjective, +as preparing us to expect dexterity or ingenuity rather than +strong interest, ‘was a move of Sergeant +Witchem’s. It was a lovely idea!</p> +<p>‘Witchem and me were down at Epsom one Derby Day, +waiting at the station for the Swell Mob. As I mentioned, +when we were talking about these things before, we are ready at +the station when there’s races, or an Agricultural Show, or +a Chancellor sworn in for an university, or Jenny Lind, or +anything of that sort; and as the Swell Mob come down, we send +’em back again by the next train. But some of the +Swell Mob, on the occasion of this Derby that I refer to, so far +kidded us as to hire a horse and shay; start away from London by +Whitechapel, and miles round; come into Epsom from the opposite +direction; and go to work, right and left, on the course, while +we were waiting for ’em at the Rail. That, however, +ain’t the point of what I’m going to tell you.</p> +<p>‘While Witchem and me were waiting at the station, there +comes up one Mr. Tatt; a gentleman formerly in the public line, +quite an amateur Detective in his way, and very much +respected. “Halloa, Charley Wield,” he +says. “What are you doing here? On the look out +for some of your old friends?” “Yes, the old +move, Mr. Tatt.” “Come along,” he says, +“you and Witchem, and have a glass of sherry.” +“We can’t stir from the place,” says I, +“till the next train comes in; but after that, we will with +pleasure.” Mr. Tatt waits, and the train comes in, +and then Witchem and me go off with him to the Hotel. Mr. +Tatt he’s got up quite regardless of expense, for the +occasion; and in his shirt-front there’s a beautiful +diamond prop, cost him fifteen or twenty pound—a very +handsome pin indeed. We drink our sherry at the bar, and +have had our three or four glasses, when Witchem cries suddenly, +“Look out, Mr. Wield! stand fast!” and a dash is made +into the place by the Swell Mob—four of +’em—that have come down as I tell you, and in a +moment Mr. Tatt’s prop is gone! Witchem, he cuts +’em off at the door, I lay about me as hard as I can, Mr. +Tatt shows fight like a good ‘un, and there we are, all +down together, heads and heels, knocking about on the floor of +the bar—perhaps you never see such a scene of +confusion! However, we stick to our men (Mr. Tatt being as +good as any officer), and we take ’em all, and carry +’em off to the station.’ The station’s +full of people, who have been took on the course; and it’s +a precious piece of work to get ’em secured. However, +we do it at last, and we search ’em; but nothing’s +found upon ’em, and they’re locked up; and a pretty +state of heat we are in by that time, I assure you!</p> +<p>‘I was very blank over it, myself, to think that the +prop had been passed away; and I said to Witchem, when we had set +’em to rights, and were cooling ourselves along with Mr. +Tatt, “we don’t take much by <i>this</i> move, +anyway, for nothing’s found upon ’em, and it’s +only the braggadocia, <a name="citation426"></a><a +href="#footnote426" class="citation">[426]</a> after +all.” “What do you mean, Mr. Wield?” says +Witchem. “Here’s the diamond pin!” and in +the palm of his hand there it was, safe and sound! +“Why, in the name of wonder,” says me and Mr. Tatt, +in astonishment, “how did you come by that?” +“I’ll tell you how I come by it,” says +he. “I saw which of ’em took it; and when we +were all down on the floor together, knocking about, I just gave +him a little touch on the back of his hand, as I knew his pal +would; and he thought it <span class="GutSmall">WAS</span> his +pal; and gave it me!” It was beautiful, +beau-ti-ful!</p> +<p>‘Even that was hardly the best of the case, for that +chap was tried at the Quarter Sessions at Guildford. You +know what Quarter Sessions are, sir. Well, if you’ll +believe me, while them slow justices were looking over the Acts +of Parliament, to see what they could do to him, I’m blowed +if he didn’t cut out of the dock before their faces! +He cut out of the dock, sir, then and there; swam across a river; +and got up into a tree to dry himself. In the tree he was +took—an old woman having seen him climb up—and +Witchem’s artful touch transported him!’</p> +<h3>III.—THE SOFA</h3> +<p>‘What young men will do, sometimes, to ruin themselves +and break their friends’ hearts,’ said Sergeant +Dornton, ‘it’s surprising! I had a case at +Saint Blank’s Hospital which was of this sort. A bad +case, indeed, with a bad end!</p> +<p>‘The Secretary, and the House-Surgeon, and the +Treasurer, of Saint Blank’s Hospital, came to Scotland Yard +to give information of numerous robberies having been committed +on the students. The students could leave nothing in the +pockets of their great-coats, while the great-coats were hanging +at the hospital, but it was almost certain to be stolen. +Property of various descriptions was constantly being lost; and +the gentlemen were naturally uneasy about it, and anxious, for +the credit of the institution, that the thief or thieves should +be discovered. The case was entrusted to me, and I went to +the hospital.</p> +<p>‘“Now, gentlemen,” said I, after we had +talked it over; “I understand this property is usually lost +from one room.”</p> +<p>‘Yes, they said. It was.</p> +<p>‘“I should wish, if you please,” said I, +“to see the room.”</p> +<p>‘It was a good-sized bare room down-stairs, with a few +tables and forms in it, and a row of pegs, all round, for hats +and coats.</p> +<p>‘“Next, gentlemen,” said I, “do you +suspect anybody?”</p> +<p>‘Yes, they said. They did suspect somebody. +They were sorry to say, they suspected one of the porters.</p> +<p>‘“I should like,” said I, “to have +that man pointed out to me, and to have a little time to look +after him.”</p> +<p>‘He was pointed out, and I looked after him, and then I +went back to the hospital, and said, “Now, gentlemen, +it’s not the porter. He’s, unfortunately for +himself, a little too fond of drink, but he’s nothing +worse. My suspicion is, that these robberies are committed +by one of the students; and if you’ll put me a sofa into +that room where the pegs are—as there’s no +closet—I think I shall be able to detect the thief. I +wish the sofa, if you please, to be covered with chintz, or +something of that sort, so that I may lie on my chest, underneath +it, without being seen.”</p> +<p>‘The sofa was provided, and next day at eleven +o’clock, before any of the students came, I went there, +with those gentlemen, to get underneath it. It turned out +to be one of those old-fashioned sofas with a great cross-beam at +the bottom, that would have broken my back in no time if I could +ever have got below it. We had quite a job to break all +this away in the time; however, I fell to work, and they fell to +work, and we broke it out, and made a clear place for me. I +got under the sofa, lay down on my chest, took out my knife, and +made a convenient hole in the chintz to look through. It +was then settled between me and the gentlemen that when the +students were all up in the wards, one of the gentlemen should +come in, and hang up a great-coat on one of the pegs. And +that that great-coat should have, in one of the pockets, a +pocket-book containing marked money.</p> +<p>‘After I had been there some time, the students began to +drop into the room, by ones, and twos, and threes, and to talk +about all sorts of things, little thinking there was anybody +under the sofa—and then to go up-stairs. At last +there came in one who remained until he was alone in the room by +himself. A tallish, good-looking young man of one or two +and twenty, with a light whisker. He went to a particular +hat-peg, took off a good hat that was hanging there, tried it on, +hung his own hat in its place, and hung that hat on another peg, +nearly opposite to me. I then felt quite certain that he +was the thief, and would come back by-and-by.</p> +<p>‘When they were all up-stairs, the gentleman came in +with the great-coat. I showed him where to hang it, so that +I might have a good view of it; and he went away; and I lay under +the sofa on my chest, for a couple of hours or so, waiting.</p> +<p>‘At last, the same young man came down. He walked +across the room, whistling—stopped and listened—took +another walk and whistled—stopped again, and +listened—then began to go regularly round the pegs, feeling +in the pockets of all the coats. When he came to the +great-coat, and felt the pocket-book, he was so eager and so +hurried that he broke the strap in tearing it open. As he +began to put the money in his pocket, I crawled out from under +the sofa, and his eyes met mine.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p428b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Dective story. The Sofa" +title= +"Dective story. The Sofa" + src="images/p428s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>‘My face, as you may perceive, is brown now, but it was +pale at that time, my health not being good; and looked as long +as a horse’s. Besides which, there was a great +draught of air from the door, underneath the sofa, and I had tied +a handkerchief round my head; so what I looked like, altogether, +I don’t know. He turned blue—literally +blue—when he saw me crawling out, and I couldn’t feel +surprised at it.</p> +<p>‘“I am an officer of the Detective Police,” +said I, “and have been lying here, since you first came in +this morning. I regret, for the sake of yourself and your +friends, that you should have done what you have; but this case +is complete. You have the pocket-book in your hand and the +money upon you; and I must take you into custody!”</p> +<p>‘It was impossible to make out any case in his behalf, +and on his trial he pleaded guilty. How or when he got the +means I don’t know; but while he was awaiting his sentence, +he poisoned himself in Newgate.’</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>We inquired of this officer, on the conclusion of the +foregoing anecdote, whether the time appeared long, or short, +when he lay in that constrained position under the sofa?</p> +<p>‘Why, you see, sir,’ he replied, ‘if he +hadn’t come in, the first time, and I had not been quite +sure he was the thief, and would return, the time would have +seemed long. But, as it was, I being dead certain of my +man, the time seemed pretty short.’</p> +<h2><a name="page430"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 430</span>ON +DUTY WITH INSPECTOR FIELD</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">How</span> goes the night? Saint +Giles’s clock is striking nine. The weather is dull +and wet, and the long lines of street lamps are blurred, as if we +saw them through tears. A damp wind blows and rakes the +pieman’s fire out, when he opens the door of his little +furnace, carrying away an eddy of sparks.</p> +<p>Saint Giles’s clock strikes nine. We are +punctual. Where is Inspector Field? Assistant +Commissioner of Police is already here, enwrapped in oil-skin +cloak, and standing in the shadow of Saint Giles’s +steeple. Detective Sergeant, weary of speaking French all +day to foreigners unpacking at the Great Exhibition, is already +here. Where is Inspector Field?</p> +<p>Inspector Field is, to-night, the guardian genius of the +British Museum. He is bringing his shrewd eye to bear on +every corner of its solitary galleries, before he reports +‘all right.’ Suspicious of the Elgin marbles, +and not to be done by cat-faced Egyptian giants with their hands +upon their knees, Inspector Field, sagacious, vigilant, lamp in +hand, throwing monstrous shadows on the walls and ceilings, +passes through the spacious rooms. If a mummy trembled in +an atom of its dusty covering, Inspector Field would say, +‘Come out of that, Tom Green. I know +you!’ If the smallest ‘Gonoph’ about town +were crouching at the bottom of a classic bath, Inspector Field +would nose him with a finer scent than the ogre’s, when +adventurous Jack lay trembling in his kitchen copper. But +all is quiet, and Inspector Field goes warily on, making little +outward show of attending to anything in particular, just +recognising the Ichthyosaurus as a familiar acquaintance, and +wondering, perhaps, how the detectives did it in the days before +the Flood.</p> +<p>Will Inspector Field be long about this work? He may be +half-an-hour longer. He sends his compliments by Police +Constable, and proposes that we meet at St. Giles’s Station +House, across the road. Good. It were as well to +stand by the fire, there, as in the shadow of Saint Giles’s +steeple.</p> +<p>Anything doing here to-night? Not much. We are +very quiet. A lost boy, extremely calm and small, sitting +by the fire, whom we now confide to a constable to take home, for +the child says that if you show him Newgate Street, he can show +you where he lives—a raving drunken woman in the cells, who +has screeched her voice away, and has hardly power enough left to +declare, even with the passionate help of her feet and arms, that +she is the daughter of a British officer, and, strike her blind +and dead, but she’ll write a letter to the Queen! but who +is soothed with a drink of water—in another cell, a quiet +woman with a child at her breast, for begging—in another, +her husband in a smock-frock, with a basket of +watercresses—in another, a pickpocket—in another, a +meek tremulous old pauper man who has been out for a holiday +‘and has took but a little drop, but it has overcome him +after so many months in the house’—and that’s +all as yet. Presently, a sensation at the Station House +door. Mr. Field, gentlemen!</p> +<p>Inspector Field comes in, wiping his forehead, for he is of a +burly figure, and has come fast from the ores and metals of the +deep mines of the earth, and from the Parrot Gods of the South +Sea Islands, and from the birds and beetles of the tropics, and +from the Arts of Greece and Rome, and from the Sculptures of +Nineveh, and from the traces of an elder world, when these were +not. Is Rogers ready? Rogers is ready, strapped and +great-coated, with a flaming eye in the middle of his waist, like +a deformed Cyclops. Lead on, Rogers, to Rats’ +Castle!</p> +<p>How many people may there be in London, who, if we had brought +them deviously and blindfold, to this street, fifty paces from +the Station House, and within call of Saint Giles’s church, +would know it for a not remote part of the city in which their +lives are passed? How many, who amidst this compound of +sickening smells, these heaps of filth, these tumbling houses, +with all their vile contents, animate, and inanimate, slimily +overflowing into the black road, would believe that they breathe +<i>this</i> air? How much Red Tape may there be, that could +look round on the faces which now hem us in—for our +appearance here has caused a rush from all points to a common +centre—the lowering foreheads, the sallow cheeks, the +brutal eyes, the matted hair, the infected, vermin-haunted heaps +of rags—and say, ‘I have thought of this. I +have not dismissed the thing. I have neither blustered it +away, nor frozen it away, nor tied it up and put it away, nor +smoothly said pooh, pooh! to it when it has been shown to +me?’</p> +<p>This is not what Rogers wants to know, however. What +Rogers wants to know, is, whether you <i>will</i> clear the way +here, some of you, or whether you won’t; because if you +don’t do it right on end, he’ll lock you up! +‘What! <i>You</i> are there, are you, Bob +Miles? You haven’t had enough of it yet, +haven’t you? You want three months more, do +you? Come away from that gentleman! What are you +creeping round there for?’</p> +<p>‘What am I a doing, thinn, Mr. Rogers?’ says Bob +Miles, appearing, villainous, at the end of a lane of light, made +by the lantern.</p> +<p>‘I’ll let you know pretty quick, if you +don’t hook it. <span class="smcap">Will</span> you +hook it?’</p> +<p>A sycophantic murmur rises from the crowd. ‘Hook +it, Bob, when Mr. Rogers and Mr. Field tells you! Why +don’t you hook it, when you are told to?’</p> +<p>The most importunate of the voices strikes familiarly on Mr. +Rogers’s ear. He suddenly turns his lantern on the +owner.</p> +<p>‘What! <i>You</i> are there, are you, Mister +Click? You hook it too—come!’</p> +<p>‘What for?’ says Mr. Click, discomfited.</p> +<p>‘You hook it, will you!’ says Mr. Rogers with +stern emphasis.</p> +<p>Both Click and Miles <i>do</i> ‘hook it,’ without +another word, or, in plainer English, sneak away.</p> +<p>‘Close up there, my men!’ says Inspector Field to +two constables on duty who have followed. ‘Keep +together, gentlemen; we are going down here. +Heads!’</p> +<p>Saint Giles’s church strikes half-past ten. We +stoop low, and creep down a precipitous flight of steps into a +dark close cellar. There is a fire. There is a long +deal table. There are benches. The cellar is full of +company, chiefly very young men in various conditions of dirt and +raggedness. Some are eating supper. There are no +girls or women present. Welcome to Rats’ Castle, +gentlemen, and to this company of noted thieves!</p> +<p>‘Well, my lads! How are you, my lads? What +have you been doing to-day? Here’s some company come +to see you, my lads!—<i>There’s</i> a plate of +beefsteak, sir, for the supper of a fine young man! And +there’s a mouth for a steak, sir! Why, I should be +too proud of such a mouth as that, if I had it myself! +Stand up and show it, sir! Take off your cap. +There’s a fine young man for a nice little party, +sir! An’t he?’</p> +<p>Inspector Field is the bustling speaker. Inspector +Field’s eye is the roving eye that searches every corner of +the cellar as he talks. Inspector Field’s hand is the +well-known hand that has collared half the people here, and +motioned their brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers, male and +female friends, inexorably to New South Wales. Yet +Inspector Field stands in this den, the Sultan of the +place. Every thief here cowers before him, like a schoolboy +before his schoolmaster. All watch him, all answer when +addressed, all laugh at his jokes, all seek to propitiate +him. This cellar company alone—to say nothing of the +crowd surrounding the entrance from the street above, and making +the steps shine with eyes—is strong enough to murder us +all, and willing enough to do it; but, let Inspector Field have a +mind to pick out one thief here, and take him; let him produce +that ghostly truncheon from his pocket, and say, with his +business-air, ‘My lad, I want you!’ and all +Rats’ Castle shall be stricken with paralysis, and not a +finger move against him, as he fits the handcuffs on!</p> +<p>Where’s the Earl of Warwick?—Here he is, Mr. +Field! Here’s the Earl of Warwick, Mr. Field!—O +there you are, my Lord. Come for’ard. +There’s a chest, sir, not to have a clean shirt on. +An’t it? Take your hat off, my Lord. Why, I +should be ashamed if I was you—and an Earl, too—to +show myself to a gentleman with my hat on!—The Earl of +Warwick laughs and uncovers. All the company laugh. +One pickpocket, especially, laughs with great enthusiasm. O +what a jolly game it is, when Mr. Field comes down—and +don’t want nobody!</p> +<p>So, you are here, too, are you, you tall, grey, +soldierly-looking, grave man, standing by the fire?—Yes, +sir. Good evening, Mr. Field!—Let us see. You +lived servant to a nobleman once?—Yes, Mr. Field.—And +what is it you do now; I forget?—Well, Mr. Field, I job +about as well as I can. I left my employment on account of +delicate health. The family is still kind to me. Mr. +Wix of Piccadilly is also very kind to me when I am hard +up. Likewise Mr. Nix of Oxford Street. I get a trifle +from them occasionally, and rub on as well as I can, Mr. +Field. Mr. Field’s eye rolls enjoyingly, for this man +is a notorious begging-letter writer.—Good night, my +lads!—Good night, Mr. Field, and thank’ee, sir!</p> +<p>Clear the street here, half a thousand of you! Cut it, +Mrs. Stalker—none of that—we don’t want +you! Rogers of the flaming eye, lead on to the +tramps’ lodging-house!</p> +<p>A dream of baleful faces attends to the door. Now, stand +back all of you! In the rear Detective Sergeant plants +himself, composedly whistling, with his strong right arm across +the narrow passage. Mrs. Stalker, I am something’d +that need not be written here, if you won’t get yourself +into trouble, in about half a minute, if I see that face of yours +again!</p> +<p>Saint Giles’s church clock, striking eleven, hums +through our hand from the dilapidated door of a dark outhouse as +we open it, and are stricken back by the pestilent breath that +issues from within. Rogers to the front with the light, and +let us look!</p> +<p>Ten, twenty, thirty—who can count them! Men, +women, children, for the most part naked, heaped upon the floor +like maggots in a cheese! Ho! In that dark corner +yonder! Does anybody lie there? Me sir, Irish me, a +widder, with six children. And yonder? Me sir, Irish +me, with me wife and eight poor babes. And to the left +there? Me sir, Irish me, along with two more Irish boys as +is me friends. And to the right there? Me sir and the +Murphy fam’ly, numbering five blessed souls. And +what’s this, coiling, now, about my foot? Another +Irish me, pitifully in want of shaving, whom I have awakened from +sleep—and across my other foot lies his wife—and by +the shoes of Inspector Field lie their three eldest—and +their three youngest are at present squeezed between the open +door and the wall. And why is there no one on that little +mat before the sullen fire? Because O’Donovan, with +his wife and daughter, is not come in from selling +Lucifers! Nor on the bit of sacking in the nearest +corner? Bad luck! Because that Irish family is late +to-night, a-cadging in the streets!</p> +<p>They are all awake now, the children excepted, and most of +them sit up, to stare. Wheresoever Mr. Rogers turns the +flaming eye, there is a spectral figure rising, unshrouded, from +a grave of rags. Who is the landlord here?—I am, Mr. +Field! says a bundle of ribs and parchment against the wall, +scratching itself.—Will you spend this money fairly, in the +morning, to buy coffee for ’em all?—Yes, sir, I +will!—O he’ll do it, sir, he’ll do it +fair. He’s honest! cry the spectres. And with +thanks and Good Night sink into their graves again.</p> +<p>Thus, we make our New Oxford Streets, and our other new +streets, never heeding, never asking, where the wretches whom we +clear out, crowd. With such scenes at our doors, with all +the plagues of Egypt tied up with bits of cobweb in kennels so +near our homes, we timorously make our Nuisance Bills and Boards +of Health, nonentities, and think to keep away the Wolves of +Crime and Filth, by our electioneering ducking to little +vestrymen and our gentlemanly handling of Red Tape!</p> +<p>Intelligence of the coffee-money has got abroad. The +yard is full, and Rogers of the flaming eye is beleaguered with +entreaties to show other Lodging Houses. Mine next! +Mine! Mine! Rogers, military, obdurate, stiff-necked, +immovable, replies not, but leads away; all falling back before +him. Inspector Field follows. Detective Sergeant, +with his barrier of arm across the little passage, deliberately +waits to close the procession. He sees behind him, without +any effort, and exceedingly disturbs one individual far in the +rear by coolly calling out, ‘It won’t do, Mr. +Michael! Don’t try it!’</p> +<p>After council holden in the street, we enter other +lodging-houses, public-houses, many lairs and holes; all noisome +and offensive; none so filthy and so crowded as where Irish +are. In one, The Ethiopian party are expected home +presently—were in Oxford Street when last heard +of—shall be fetched, for our delight, within ten +minutes. In another, one of the two or three Professors who +drew Napoleon Buonaparte and a couple of mackerel, on the +pavement and then let the work of art out to a speculator, is +refreshing after his labours. In another, the vested +interest of the profitable nuisance has been in one family for a +hundred years, and the landlord drives in comfortably from the +country to his snug little stew in town. In all, Inspector +Field is received with warmth. Coiners and smashers droop +before him; pickpockets defer to him; the gentle sex (not very +gentle here) smile upon him. Half-drunken hags check +themselves in the midst of pots of beer, or pints of gin, to +drink to Mr. Field, and pressingly to ask the honour of his +finishing the draught. One beldame in rusty black has such +admiration for him, that she runs a whole street’s length +to shake him by the hand; tumbling into a heap of mud by the way, +and still pressing her attentions when her very form has ceased +to be distinguishable through it. Before the power of the +law, the power of superior sense—for common thieves are +fools beside these men—and the power of a perfect mastery +of their character, the garrison of Rats’ Castle and the +adjacent Fortresses make but a skulking show indeed when reviewed +by Inspector Field.</p> +<p>Saint Giles’s clock says it will be midnight in +half-an-hour, and Inspector Field says we must hurry to the Old +Mint in the Borough. The cab-driver is low-spirited, and +has a solemn sense of his responsibility. Now, what’s +your fare, my lad?—O you know, Inspector Field, +what’s the good of asking me!</p> +<p>Say, Parker, strapped and great-coated, and waiting in dim +Borough doorway by appointment, to replace the trusty Rogers whom +we left deep in Saint Giles’s, are you ready? Ready, +Inspector Field, and at a motion of my wrist behold my flaming +eye.</p> +<p>This narrow street, sir, is the chief part of the Old Mint, +full of low lodging-houses, as you see by the transparent +canvas-lamps and blinds, announcing beds for travellers! +But it is greatly changed, friend Field, from my former knowledge +of it; it is infinitely quieter and more subdued than when I was +here last, some seven years ago? O yes! Inspector +Haynes, a first-rate man, is on this station now and plays the +Devil with them!</p> +<p>Well, my lads! How are you to-night, my lads? +Playing cards here, eh? Who wins?—Why, Mr. Field, I, +the sulky gentleman with the damp flat side-curls, rubbing my +bleared eye with the end of my neckerchief which is like a dirty +eel-skin, am losing just at present, but I suppose I must take my +pipe out of my mouth, and be submissive to <i>you</i>—I +hope I see you well, Mr. Field?—Aye, all right, my +lad. Deputy, who have you got up-stairs? Be pleased +to show the rooms!</p> +<p>Why Deputy, Inspector Field can’t say. He only +knows that the man who takes care of the beds and lodgers is +always called so. Steady, O Deputy, with the flaring candle +in the blacking-bottle, for this is a slushy back-yard, and the +wooden staircase outside the house creaks and has holes in +it.</p> +<p>Again, in these confined intolerable rooms, burrowed out like +the holes of rats or the nests of insect-vermin, but fuller of +intolerable smells, are crowds of sleepers, each on his foul +truckle-bed coiled up beneath a rug. Holloa here! +Come! Let us see you! Show your face! Pilot +Parker goes from bed to bed and turns their slumbering heads +towards us, as a salesman might turn sheep. Some wake up +with an execration and a threat.—What! who spoke? +O! If it’s the accursed glaring eye that fixes me, go +where I will, I am helpless. Here! I sit up to be +looked at. Is it me you want? Not you, lie down +again! and I lie down, with a woful growl.</p> +<p>Whenever the turning lane of light becomes stationary for a +moment, some sleeper appears at the end of it, submits himself to +be scrutinised, and fades away into the darkness.</p> +<p>There should be strange dreams here, Deputy. They sleep +sound enough, says Deputy, taking the candle out of the +blacking-bottle, snuffing it with his fingers, throwing the snuff +into the bottle, and corking it up with the candle; that’s +all <i>I</i> know. What is the inscription, Deputy, on all +the discoloured sheets? A precaution against loss of +linen. Deputy turns down the rug of an unoccupied bed and +discloses it. <span class="smcap">Stop Thief</span>!</p> +<p>To lie at night, wrapped in the legend of my slinking life; to +take the cry that pursues me, waking, to my breast in sleep; to +have it staring at me, and clamouring for me, as soon as +consciousness returns; to have it for my first-foot on +New-Year’s day, my Valentine, my Birthday salute, my +Christmas greeting, my parting with the old year. <span +class="smcap">Stop Thief</span>!</p> +<p>And to know that I <i>must</i> be stopped, come what +will. To know that I am no match for this individual energy +and keenness, or this organised and steady system! Come +across the street, here, and, entering by a little shop and yard, +examine these intricate passages and doors, contrived for escape, +flapping and counter-flapping, like the lids of the +conjurer’s boxes. But what avail they? Who gets +in by a nod, and shows their secret working to us? +Inspector Field.</p> +<p>Don’t forget the old Farm House, Parker! Parker is +not the man to forget it. We are going there, now. It +is the old Manor-House of these parts, and stood in the country +once. Then, perhaps, there was something, which was not the +beastly street, to see from the shattered low fronts of the +overhanging wooden houses we are passing under—shut up now, +pasted over with bills about the literature and drama of the +Mint, and mouldering away. This long paved yard was a +paddock or a garden once, or a court in front of the Farm +House. Perchance, with a dovecot in the centre, and fowls +peeking about—with fair elm trees, then, where discoloured +chimney-stacks and gables are now—noisy, then, with rooks +which have yielded to a different sort of rookery. +It’s likelier than not, Inspector Field thinks, as we turn +into the common kitchen, which is in the yard, and many paces +from the house.</p> +<p>Well, my lads and lasses, how are you all? Where’s +Blackey, who has stood near London Bridge these five-and-twenty +years, with a painted skin to represent disease?—Here he +is, Mr. Field!—How are you, Blackey?—Jolly, sa! +Not playing the fiddle to-night, Blackey?—Not a night, +sa! A sharp, smiling youth, the wit of the kitchen, +interposes. He an’t musical to-night, sir. +I’ve been giving him a moral lecture; I’ve been a +talking to him about his latter end, you see. A good many +of these are my pupils, sir. This here young man (smoothing +down the hair of one near him, reading a Sunday paper) is a pupil +of mine. I’m a teaching of him to read, sir. +He’s a promising cove, sir. He’s a smith, he +is, and gets his living by the sweat of the brow, sir. So +do I, myself, sir. This young woman is my sister, Mr. +Field. <i>She’s</i> getting on very well too. +I’ve a deal of trouble with ’em, sir, but I’m +richly rewarded, now I see ’em all a doing so well, and +growing up so creditable. That’s a great comfort, +that is, an’t it, sir?—In the midst of the kitchen +(the whole kitchen is in ecstasies with this impromptu +‘chaff’) sits a young, modest, gentle-looking +creature, with a beautiful child in her lap. She seems to +belong to the company, but is so strangely unlike it. She +has such a pretty, quiet face and voice, and is so proud to hear +the child admired—thinks you would hardly believe that he +is only nine months old! Is she as bad as the rest, I +wonder? Inspectorial experience does not engender a belief +contrariwise, but prompts the answer, Not a ha’porth of +difference!</p> +<p>There is a piano going in the old Farm House as we +approach. It stops. Landlady appears. Has no +objections, Mr. Field, to gentlemen being brought, but wishes it +were at earlier hours, the lodgers complaining of +ill-conwenience. Inspector Field is polite and +soothing—knows his woman and the sex. Deputy (a girl +in this case) shows the way up a heavy, broad old staircase, kept +very clean, into clean rooms where many sleepers are, and where +painted panels of an older time look strangely on the truckle +beds. The sight of whitewash and the smell of +soap—two things we seem by this time to have parted from in +infancy—make the old Farm House a phenomenon, and connect +themselves with the so curiously misplaced picture of the pretty +mother and child long after we have left it,—long after we +have left, besides, the neighbouring nook with something of a +rustic flavour in it yet, where once, beneath a low wooden +colonnade still standing as of yore, the eminent Jack Sheppard +condescended to regale himself, and where, now, two old bachelor +brothers in broad hats (who are whispered in the Mint to have +made a compact long ago that if either should ever marry, he must +forfeit his share of the joint property) still keep a sequestered +tavern, and sit o’ nights smoking pipes in the bar, among +ancient bottles and glasses, as our eyes behold them.</p> +<p>How goes the night now? Saint George of Southwark +answers with twelve blows upon his bell. Parker, good +night, for Williams is already waiting over in the region of +Ratcliffe Highway, to show the houses where the sailors +dance.</p> +<p>I should like to know where Inspector Field was born. In +Ratcliffe Highway, I would have answered with confidence, but for +his being equally at home wherever we go. <i>He</i> does +not trouble his head as I do, about the river at night. +<i>He</i> does not care for its creeping, black and silent, on +our right there, rushing through sluice-gates, lapping at piles +and posts and iron rings, hiding strange things in its mud, +running away with suicides and accidentally drowned bodies faster +than midnight funeral should, and acquiring such various +experience between its cradle and its grave. It has no +mystery for him. Is there not the Thames Police!</p> +<p>Accordingly, Williams leads the way. We are a little +late, for some of the houses are already closing. No +matter. You show us plenty. All the landlords know +Inspector Field. All pass him, freely and good-humouredly, +wheresoever he wants to go. So thoroughly are all these +houses open to him and our local guide, that, granting that +sailors must be entertained in their own way—as I suppose +they must, and have a right to be—I hardly know how such +places could be better regulated. Not that I call the +company very select, or the dancing very graceful—even so +graceful as that of the German Sugar Bakers, whose assembly, by +the Minories, we stopped to visit—but there is watchful +maintenance of order in every house, and swift expulsion where +need is. Even in the midst of drunkenness, both of the +lethargic kind and the lively, there is sharp landlord +supervision, and pockets are in less peril than out of +doors. These houses show, singularly, how much of the +picturesque and romantic there truly is in the sailor, requiring +to be especially addressed. All the songs (sung in a +hailstorm of halfpence, which are pitched at the singer without +the least tenderness for the time or tune—mostly from great +rolls of copper carried for the purpose—and which he +occasionally dodges like shot as they fly near his head) are of +the sentimental sea sort. All the rooms are decorated with +nautical subjects. Wrecks, engagements, ships on fire, +ships passing lighthouses on iron-bound coasts, ships blowing up, +ships going down, ships running ashore, men lying out upon the +main-yard in a gale of wind, sailors and ships in every variety +of peril, constitute the illustrations of fact. Nothing can +be done in the fanciful way, without a thumping boy upon a scaly +dolphin.</p> +<p>How goes the night now? Past one. Black and Green +are waiting in Whitechapel to unveil the mysteries of Wentworth +Street. Williams, the best of friends must part. +Adieu!</p> +<p>Are not Black and Green ready at the appointed place? O +yes! They glide out of shadow as we stop. +Imperturbable Black opens the cab-door; Imperturbable Green takes +a mental note of the driver. Both Green and Black then open +each his flaming eye, and marshal us the way that we are +going.</p> +<p>The lodging-house we want is hidden in a maze of streets and +courts. It is fast shut. We knock at the door, and +stand hushed looking up for a light at one or other of the +begrimed old lattice windows in its ugly front, when another +constable comes up—supposes that we want ‘to see the +school.’ Detective Sergeant meanwhile has got over a +rail, opened a gate, dropped down an area, overcome some other +little obstacles, and tapped at a window. Now +returns. The landlord will send a deputy immediately.</p> +<p>Deputy is heard to stumble out of bed. Deputy lights a +candle, draws back a bolt or two, and appears at the door. +Deputy is a shivering shirt and trousers by no means clean, a +yawning face, a shock head much confused externally and +internally. We want to look for some one. You may go +up with the light, and take ’em all, if you like, says +Deputy, resigning it, and sitting down upon a bench in the +kitchen with his ten fingers sleepily twisting in his hair.</p> +<p>Halloa here! Now then! Show yourselves. +That’ll do. It’s not you. Don’t +disturb yourself any more! So on, through a labyrinth of +airless rooms, each man responding, like a wild beast, to the +keeper who has tamed him, and who goes into his cage. What, +you haven’t found him, then? says Deputy, when we came +down. A woman mysteriously sitting up all night in the dark +by the smouldering ashes of the kitchen fire, says it’s +only tramps and cadgers here; it’s gonophs over the +way. A man mysteriously walking about the kitchen all night +in the dark, bids her hold her tongue. We come out. +Deputy fastens the door and goes to bed again.</p> +<p>Black and Green, you know Bark, lodging-house keeper and +receiver of stolen goods?—O yes, Inspector Field.—Go +to Bark’s next.</p> +<p>Bark sleeps in an inner wooden hutch, near his street +door. As we parley on the step with Bark’s Deputy, +Bark growls in his bed. We enter, and Bark flies out of +bed. Bark is a red villain and a wrathful, with a sanguine +throat that looks very much as if it were expressly made for +hanging, as he stretches it out, in pale defiance, over the +half-door of his hutch. Bark’s parts of speech are of +an awful sort—principally adjectives. I won’t, +says Bark, have no adjective police and adjective strangers in my +adjective premises! I won’t, by adjective and +substantive! Give me my trousers, and I’ll send the +whole adjective police to adjective and substantive! Give +me, says Bark, my adjective trousers! I’ll put an +adjective knife in the whole bileing of ’em. +I’ll punch their adjective heads. I’ll rip up +their adjective substantives. Give me my adjective +trousers! says Bark, and I’ll spile the bileing of +’em!</p> +<p>Now, Bark, what’s the use of this? Here’s +Black and Green, Detective Sergeant, and Inspector Field. +You know we will come in.—I know you won’t! says +Bark. Somebody give me my adjective trousers! +Bark’s trousers seem difficult to find. He calls for +them as Hercules might for his club. Give me my adjective +trousers! says Bark, and I’ll spile the bileing of +’em!</p> +<p>Inspector Field holds that it’s all one whether Bark +likes the visit or don’t like it. He, Inspector +Field, is an Inspector of the Detective Police, Detective +Sergeant is Detective Sergeant, Black and Green are constables in +uniform. Don’t you be a fool, Bark, or you know it +will be the worse for you.—I don’t care, says +Bark. Give me my adjective trousers!</p> +<p>At two o’clock in the morning, we descend into +Bark’s low kitchen, leaving Bark to foam at the mouth +above, and Imperturbable Black and Green to look at him. +Bark’s kitchen is crammed full of thieves, holding a +conversazione there by lamp-light. It is by far the most +dangerous assembly we have seen yet. Stimulated by the +ravings of Bark, above, their looks are sullen, but not a man +speaks. We ascend again. Bark has got his trousers, +and is in a state of madness in the passage with his back against +a door that shuts off the upper staircase. We observe, in +other respects, a ferocious individuality in Bark. Instead +of ‘<span class="smcap">Stop Thief</span>!’ on his +linen, he prints ‘<span class="smcap">Stolen from</span> +Bark’s!’</p> +<p>Now, Bark, we are going up-stairs!—No, you +ain’t!—You refuse admission to the Police, do you, +Bark?—Yes, I do! I refuse it to all the adjective +police, and to all the adjective substantives. If the +adjective coves in the kitchen was men, they’d come up now, +and do for you! Shut me that there door! says Bark, and +suddenly we are enclosed in the passage. They’d come +up and do for you! cries Bark, and waits. Not a sound in +the kitchen! They’d come up and do for you! cries +Bark again, and waits. Not a sound in the kitchen! We +are shut up, half-a-dozen of us, in Bark’s house in the +innermost recesses of the worst part of London, in the dead of +the night—the house is crammed with notorious robbers and +ruffians—and not a man stirs. No, Bark. They +know the weight of the law, and they know Inspector Field and Co. +too well.</p> +<p>We leave bully Bark to subside at leisure out of his passion +and his trousers, and, I dare say, to be inconveniently reminded +of this little brush before long. Black and Green do +ordinary duty here, and look serious.</p> +<p>As to White, who waits on Holborn Hill to show the courts that +are eaten out of Rotten Gray’s Inn, Lane, where other +lodging-houses are, and where (in one blind alley) the +Thieves’ Kitchen and Seminary for the teaching of the art +to children is, the night has so worn away, being now</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">almost at odds with +morning, which is which,</p> +</blockquote> +<p>that they are quiet, and no light shines through the chinks in +the shutters. As undistinctive Death will come here, one +day, sleep comes now. The wicked cease from troubling +sometimes, even in this life.</p> +<h2><a name="page442"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 442</span>DOWN +WITH THE TIDE</h2> +<p>A <span class="GutSmall">VERY</span> dark night it was, and +bitter cold; the east wind blowing bleak, and bringing with it +stinging particles from marsh, and moor, and fen—from the +Great Desert and Old Egypt, may be. Some of the component +parts of the sharp-edged vapour that came flying up the Thames at +London might be mummy-dust, dry atoms from the Temple at +Jerusalem, camels’ foot-prints, crocodiles’ +hatching-places, loosened grains of expression from the visages +of blunt-nosed sphynxes, waifs and strays from caravans of +turbaned merchants, vegetation from jungles, frozen snow from the +Himalayas. O! It was very, very dark upon the Thames, +and it was bitter, bitter cold.</p> +<p>‘And yet,’ said the voice within the great +pea-coat at my side, ‘you’ll have seen a good many +rivers, too, I dare say?’</p> +<p>‘Truly,’ said I, ‘when I come to think of +it, not a few. From the Niagara, downward to the mountain +rivers of Italy, which are like the national spirit—very +tame, or chafing suddenly and bursting bounds, only to dwindle +away again. The Moselle, and the Rhine, and the Rhone; and +the Seine, and the Saone; and the St. Lawrence, Mississippi, and +Ohio; and the Tiber, the Po, and the Arno; and +the—’</p> +<p>Peacoat coughing as if he had had enough of that, I said no +more. I could have carried the catalogue on to a teasing +length, though, if I had been in the cruel mind.</p> +<p>‘And after all,’ said he, ‘this looks so +dismal?’</p> +<p>‘So awful,’ I returned, ‘at night. The +Seine at Paris is very gloomy too, at such a time, and is +probably the scene of far more crime and greater wickedness; but +this river looks so broad and vast, so murky and silent, seems +such an image of death in the midst of the great city’s +life, that—’</p> +<p>That Peacoat coughed again. He <i>could not</i> stand my +holding forth.</p> +<p>We were in a four-oared Thames Police Galley, lying on our +oars in the deep shadow of Southwark Bridge—under the +corner arch on the Surrey side—having come down with the +tide from Vauxhall. We were fain to hold on pretty tight, +though close in shore, for the river was swollen and the tide +running down very strong. We were watching certain +water-rats of human growth, and lay in the deep shade as quiet as +mice; our light hidden and our scraps of conversation carried on +in whispers. Above us, the massive iron girders of the arch +were faintly visible, and below us its ponderous shadow seemed to +sink down to the bottom of the stream.</p> +<p>We had been lying here some half an hour. With our backs +to the wind, it is true; but the wind being in a determined +temper blew straight through us, and would not take the trouble +to go round. I would have boarded a fireship to get into +action, and mildly suggested as much to my friend Pea.</p> +<p>‘No doubt,’ says he as patiently as possible; +‘but shore-going tactics wouldn’t do with us. +River-thieves can always get rid of stolen property in a moment +by dropping it overboard. We want to take them with the +property, so we lurk about and come out upon ’em +sharp. If they see us or hear us, over it goes.’</p> +<p>Pea’s wisdom being indisputable, there was nothing for +it but to sit there and be blown through, for another +half-hour. The water-rats thinking it wise to abscond at +the end of that time without commission of felony, we shot out, +disappointed, with the tide.</p> +<p>‘Grim they look, don’t they?’ said Pea, +seeing me glance over my shoulder at the lights upon the bridge, +and downward at their long crooked reflections in the river.</p> +<p>‘Very,’ said I, ‘and make one think with a +shudder of Suicides. What a night for a dreadful leap from +that parapet!’</p> +<p>‘Aye, but Waterloo’s the favourite bridge for +making holes in the water from,’ returned Pea. +‘By the bye—avast pulling, lads!—would you like +to speak to Waterloo on the subject?’</p> +<p>My face confessing a surprised desire to have some friendly +conversation with Waterloo Bridge, and my friend Pea being the +most obliging of men, we put about, pulled out of the force of +the stream, and in place of going at great speed with the tide, +began to strive against it, close in shore again. Every +colour but black seemed to have departed from the world. +The air was black, the water was black, the barges and hulks were +black, the piles were black, the buildings were black, the +shadows were only a deeper shade of black upon a black +ground. Here and there, a coal fire in an iron cresset +blazed upon a wharf; but, one knew that it too had been black a +little while ago, and would be black again soon. +Uncomfortable rushes of water suggestive of gurgling and +drowning, ghostly rattlings of iron chains, dismal clankings of +discordant engines, formed the music that accompanied the dip of +our oars and their rattling in the rowlocks. Even the +noises had a black sound to me—as the trumpet sounded red +to the blind man.</p> +<p>Our dexterous boat’s crew made nothing of the tide, and +pulled us gallantly up to Waterloo Bridge. Here Pea and I +disembarked, passed under the black stone archway, and climbed +the steep stone steps. Within a few feet of their summit, +Pea presented me to Waterloo (or an eminent toll-taker +representing that structure), muffled up to the eyes in a thick +shawl, and amply great-coated and fur-capped.</p> +<p>Waterloo received us with cordiality, and observed of the +night that it was ‘a Searcher.’ He had been +originally called the Strand Bridge, he informed us, but had +received his present name at the suggestion of the proprietors, +when Parliament had resolved to vote three hundred thousand pound +for the erection of a monument in honour of the victory. +Parliament took the hint (said Waterloo, with the least flavour +of misanthropy) and saved the money. Of course the late +Duke of Wellington was the first passenger, and of course he paid +his penny, and of course a noble lord preserved it +evermore. The treadle and index at the toll-house (a most +ingenious contrivance for rendering fraud impossible), were +invented by Mr. Lethbridge, then property-man at Drury Lane +Theatre.</p> +<p>Was it suicide, we wanted to know about? said Waterloo. +Ha! Well, he had seen a good deal of that work, he did +assure us. He had prevented some. Why, one day a +woman, poorish looking, came in between the hatch, slapped down a +penny, and wanted to go on without the change! Waterloo +suspected this, and says to his mate, ‘give an eye to the +gate,’ and bolted after her. She had got to the third +seat between the piers, and was on the parapet just a going over, +when he caught her and gave her in charge. At the police +office next morning, she said it was along of trouble and a bad +husband.</p> +<p>‘Likely enough,’ observed Waterloo to Pea and +myself, as he adjusted his chin in his shawl. +‘There’s a deal of trouble about, you see—and +bad husbands too!’</p> +<p>Another time, a young woman at twelve o’clock in the +open day, got through, darted along; and, before Waterloo could +come near her, jumped upon the parapet, and shot herself over +sideways. Alarm given, watermen put off, lucky +escape.—Clothes buoyed her up.</p> +<p>‘This is where it is,’ said Waterloo. +‘If people jump off straight forwards from the middle of +the parapet of the bays of the bridge, they are seldom killed by +drowning, but are smashed, poor things; that’s what they +are; they dash themselves upon the buttress of the bridge. +But you jump off,’ said Waterloo to me, putting his +fore-finger in a button-hole of my great-coat; ‘you jump +off from the side of the bay, and you’ll tumble, true, into +the stream under the arch. What you have got to do, is to +mind how you jump in! There was poor Tom Steele from +Dublin. Didn’t dive! Bless you, didn’t +dive at all! Fell down so flat into the water, that he +broke his breast-bone, and lived two days!’</p> +<p>I asked Waterloo if there were a favourite side of his bridge +for this dreadful purpose? He reflected, and thought yes, +there was. He should say the Surrey side.</p> +<p>Three decent-looking men went through one day, soberly and +quietly, and went on abreast for about a dozen yards: when the +middle one, he sung out, all of a sudden, ‘Here goes, +Jack!’ and was over in a minute.</p> +<p>Body found? Well. Waterloo didn’t rightly +recollect about that. They were compositors, <i>they</i> +were.</p> +<p>He considered it astonishing how quick people were! Why, +there was a cab came up one Boxing-night, with a young woman in +it, who looked, according to Waterloo’s opinion of her, a +little the worse for liquor; very handsome she was too—very +handsome. She stopped the cab at the gate, and said +she’d pay the cabman then, which she did, though there was +a little hankering about the fare, because at first she +didn’t seem quite to know where she wanted to be drove +to. However, she paid the man, and the toll too, and +looking Waterloo in the face (he thought she knew him, +don’t you see!) said, ‘I’ll finish it +somehow!’ Well, the cab went off, leaving Waterloo a +little doubtful in his mind, and while it was going on at full +speed the young woman jumped out, never fell, hardly staggered, +ran along the bridge pavement a little way, passing several +people, and jumped over from the second opening. At the +inquest it was giv’ in evidence that she had been +quarrelling at the Hero of Waterloo, and it was brought in +jealousy. (One of the results of Waterloo’s +experience was, that there was a deal of jealousy about.)</p> +<p>‘Do we ever get madmen?’ said Waterloo, in answer +to an inquiry of mine. ‘Well, we <i>do</i> get +madmen. Yes, we have had one or two; escaped from +‘Sylums, I suppose. One hadn’t a halfpenny; and +because I wouldn’t let him through, he went back a little +way, stooped down, took a run, and butted at the hatch like a +ram. He smashed his hat rarely, but his head didn’t +seem no worse—in my opinion on account of his being wrong +in it afore. Sometimes people haven’t got a +halfpenny. If they are really tired and poor we give +’em one and let ’em through. Other people will +leave things—pocket-handkerchiefs mostly. I have +taken cravats and gloves, pocket-knives, tooth-picks, studs, +shirt-pins, rings (generally from young gents, early in the +morning), but handkerchiefs is the general thing.’</p> +<p>‘Regular customers?’ said Waterloo. +‘Lord, yes! We have regular customers. One, +such a worn-out, used-up old file as you can scarcely picter, +comes from the Surrey side as regular as ten o’clock at +night comes; and goes over, <i>I</i> think, to some flash house +on the Middlesex side. He comes back, he does, as +reg’lar as the clock strikes three in the morning, and then +can hardly drag one of his old legs after the other. He +always turns down the water-stairs, comes up again, and then goes +on down the Waterloo Road. He always does the same thing, +and never varies a minute. Does it every night—even +Sundays.’</p> +<p>I asked Waterloo if he had given his mind to the possibility +of this particular customer going down the water-stairs at three +o’clock some morning, and never coming up again? He +didn’t think that of him, he replied. In fact, it was +Waterloo’s opinion, founded on his observation of that +file, that he know’d a trick worth two of it.</p> +<p>‘There’s another queer old customer,’ said +Waterloo, ‘comes over, as punctual as the almanack, at +eleven o’clock on the sixth of January, at eleven +o’clock on the fifth of April, at eleven o’clock on +the sixth of July, at eleven o’clock on the tenth of +October. Drives a shaggy little, rough pony, in a sort of a +rattle-trap arm-chair sort of a thing. White hair he has, +and white whiskers, and muffles himself up with all manner of +shawls. He comes back again the same afternoon, and we +never see more of him for three months. He is a captain in +the navy—retired—wery old—wery odd—and +served with Lord Nelson. He is particular about drawing his +pension at Somerset House afore the clock strikes twelve every +quarter. I have heerd say that he thinks it wouldn’t +be according to the Act of Parliament, if he didn’t draw it +afore twelve.’</p> +<p>Having related these anecdotes in a natural manner, which was +the best warranty in the world for their genuine nature, our +friend Waterloo was sinking deep into his shawl again, as having +exhausted his communicative powers and taken in enough east wind, +when my other friend Pea in a moment brought him to the surface +by asking whether he had not been occasionally the subject of +assault and battery in the execution of his duty? Waterloo +recovering his spirits, instantly dashed into a new branch of his +subject. We learnt how ‘both these +teeth’—here he pointed to the places where two front +teeth were not—were knocked out by an ugly customer who one +night made a dash at him (Waterloo) while his (the ugly +customer’s) pal and coadjutor made a dash at the +toll-taking apron where the money-pockets were; how Waterloo, +letting the teeth go (to Blazes, he observed indefinitely), +grappled with the apron-seizer, permitting the ugly one to run +away; and how he saved the bank, and captured his man, and +consigned him to fine and imprisonment. Also how, on +another night, ‘a Cove’ laid hold of Waterloo, then +presiding at the horse-gate of his bridge, and threw him +unceremoniously over his knee, having first cut his head open +with his whip. How Waterloo ‘got right,’ and +started after the Cove all down the Waterloo Road, through +Stamford Street, and round to the foot of Blackfriars Bridge, +where the Cove ‘cut into’ a public-house. How +Waterloo cut in too; but how an aider and abettor of the +Cove’s, who happened to be taking a promiscuous drain at +the bar, stopped Waterloo; and the Cove cut out again, ran across +the road down Holland Street, and where not, and into a +beer-shop. How Waterloo breaking away from his detainer was +close upon the Cove’s heels, attended by no end of people, +who, seeing him running with the blood streaming down his face, +thought something worse was ‘up,’ and roared Fire! +and Murder! on the hopeful chance of the matter in hand being one +or both. How the Cove was ignominiously taken, in a shed +where he had run to hide, and how at the Police Court they at +first wanted to make a sessions job of it; but eventually +Waterloo was allowed to be ‘spoke to,’ and the Cove +made it square with Waterloo by paying his doctor’s bill +(W. was laid up for a week) and giving him ‘Three, +ten.’ Likewise we learnt what we had faintly +suspected before, that your sporting amateur on the Derby day, +albeit a captain, can be—‘if he be,’ as Captain +Bobadil observes, ‘so generously +minded’—anything but a man of honour and a gentleman; +not sufficiently gratifying his nice sense of humour by the witty +scattering of flour and rotten eggs on obtuse civilians, but +requiring the further excitement of ‘bilking the +toll,’ and ‘Pitching into’ Waterloo, and +‘cutting him about the head with his whip;’ finally +being, when called upon to answer for the assault, what Waterloo +described as ‘Minus,’ or, as I humbly conceived it, +not to be found. Likewise did Waterloo inform us, in reply +to my inquiries, admiringly and deferentially preferred through +my friend Pea, that the takings at the Bridge had more than +doubled in amount, since the reduction of the toll one +half. And being asked if the aforesaid takings included +much bad money, Waterloo responded, with a look far deeper than +the deepest part of the river, he should think not!—and so +retired into his shawl for the rest of the night.</p> +<p>Then did Pea and I once more embark in our four-oared galley, +and glide swiftly down the river with the tide. And while +the shrewd East rasped and notched us, as with jagged razors, did +my friend Pea impart to me confidences of interest relating to +the Thames Police; we, between whiles, finding ‘duty +boats’ hanging in dark corners under banks, like +weeds—our own was a ‘supervision +boat’—and they, as they reported ‘all +right!’ flashing their hidden light on us, and we flashing +ours on them. These duty boats had one sitter in each: an +Inspector: and were rowed ‘Ran-dan,’ which—for +the information of those who never graduated, as I was once proud +to do, under a fireman-waterman and winner of Kean’s Prize +Wherry: who, in the course of his tuition, took hundreds of +gallons of rum and egg (at my expense) at the various houses of +note above and below bridge; not by any means because he liked +it, but to cure a weakness in his liver, for which the faculty +had particularly recommended it—may be explained as rowed +by three men, two pulling an oar each, and one a pair of +sculls.</p> +<p>Thus, floating down our black highway, sullenly frowned upon +by the knitted brows of Blackfriars, Southwark, and London, each +in his lowering turn, I was shown by my friend Pea that there +are, in the Thames Police Force, whose district extends from +Battersea to Barking Creek, ninety-eight men, eight duty boats, +and two supervision boats; and that these go about so silently, +and lie in wait in such dark places, and so seem to be nowhere, +and so may be anywhere, that they have gradually become a police +of prevention, keeping the river almost clear of any great +crimes, even while the increased vigilance on shore has made it +much harder than of yore to live by ‘thieving’ in the +streets. And as to the various kinds of water-thieves, said +my friend Pea, there were the Tier-rangers, who silently dropped +alongside the tiers of shipping in the Pool, by night, and who, +going to the companion-head, listened for two snores—snore +number one, the skipper’s; snore number two, the +mate’s—mates and skippers always snoring great guns, +and being dead sure to be hard at it if they had turned in and +were asleep. Hearing the double fire, down went the Rangers +into the skippers’ cabins; groped for the skippers’ +inexpressibles, which it was the custom of those gentlemen to +shake off, watch, money, braces, boots, and all together, on the +floor; and therewith made off as silently as might be. Then +there were the Lumpers, or labourers employed to unload +vessels. They wore loose canvas jackets with a broad hem in +the bottom, turned inside, so as to form a large circular pocket +in which they could conceal, like clowns in pantomimes, packages +of surprising sizes. A great deal of property was stolen in +this manner (Pea confided to me) from steamers; first, because +steamers carry a larger number of small packages than other +ships; next, because of the extreme rapidity with which they are +obliged to be unladen for their return voyages. The Lumpers +dispose of their booty easily to marine store dealers, and the +only remedy to be suggested is that marine store shops should be +licensed, and thus brought under the eye of the police as rigidly +as public-houses. Lumpers also smuggle goods ashore for the +crews of vessels. The smuggling of tobacco is so +considerable, that it is well worth the while of the sellers of +smuggled tobacco to use hydraulic presses, to squeeze a single +pound into a package small enough to be contained in an ordinary +pocket. Next, said my friend Pea, there were the +Truckers—less thieves than smugglers, whose business it was +to land more considerable parcels of goods than the Lumpers could +manage. They sometimes sold articles of grocery and so +forth, to the crews, in order to cloak their real calling, and +get aboard without suspicion. Many of them had boats of +their own, and made money. Besides these, there were the +Dredgermen, who, under pretence of dredging up coals and such +like from the bottom of the river, hung about barges and other +undecked craft, and when they saw an opportunity, threw any +property they could lay their hands on overboard: in order slyly +to dredge it up when the vessel was gone. Sometimes, they +dexterously used their dredges to whip away anything that might +lie within reach. Some of them were mighty neat at this, +and the accomplishment was called dry dredging. Then, there +was a vast deal of property, such as copper nails, sheathing, +hardwood, &c., habitually brought away by shipwrights and +other workmen from their employers’ yards, and disposed of +to marine store dealers, many of whom escaped detection through +hard swearing, and their extraordinary artful ways of accounting +for the possession of stolen property. Likewise, there were +special-pleading practitioners, for whom barges ‘drifted +away of their own selves’—they having no hand in it, +except first cutting them loose, and afterwards plundering +them—innocents, meaning no harm, who had the misfortune to +observe those foundlings wandering about the Thames.</p> +<p>We were now going in and out, with little noise and great +nicety, among the tiers of shipping, whose many hulls, lying +close together, rose out of the water like black streets. +Here and there, a Scotch, an Irish, or a foreign steamer, getting +up her steam as the tide made, looked, with her great chimney and +high sides, like a quiet factory among the common +buildings. Now, the streets opened into clearer spaces, now +contracted into alleys; but the tiers were so like houses, in the +dark, that I could almost have believed myself in the narrower +bye-ways of Venice. Everything was wonderfully still; for, +it wanted full three hours of flood, and nothing seemed awake but +a dog here and there.</p> +<p>So we took no Tier-rangers captive, nor any Lumpers, nor +Truckers, nor Dredgermen, nor other evil-disposed person or +persons; but went ashore at Wapping, where the old Thames Police +office is now a station-house, and where the old Court, with its +cabin windows looking on the river, is a quaint charge room: with +nothing worse in it usually than a stuffed cat in a glass case, +and a portrait, pleasant to behold, of a rare old Thames Police +officer, Mr. Superintendent Evans, now succeeded by his +son. We looked over the charge books, admirably kept, and +found the prevention so good that there were not five hundred +entries (including drunken and disorderly) in a whole year. +Then, we looked into the store-room; where there was an oakum +smell, and a nautical seasoning of dreadnought clothing, rope +yarn, boat-hooks, sculls and oars, spare stretchers, rudders, +pistols, cutlasses, and the like. Then, into the cell, +aired high up in the wooden wall through an opening like a +kitchen plate-rack: wherein there was a drunken man, not at all +warm, and very wishful to know if it were morning yet. +Then, into a better sort of watch and ward room, where there was +a squadron of stone bottles drawn up, ready to be filled with hot +water and applied to any unfortunate creature who might be +brought in apparently drowned. Finally, we shook hands with +our worthy friend Pea, and ran all the way to Tower Hill, under +strong Police suspicion occasionally, before we got warm.</p> +<h2><a name="page451"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 451</span>A +WALK IN A WORKHOUSE</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">On</span> a certain Sunday, I formed one +of the congregation assembled in the chapel of a large +metropolitan Workhouse. With the exception of the clergyman +and clerk, and a very few officials, there were none but paupers +present. The children sat in the galleries; the women in +the body of the chapel, and in one of the side aisles; the men in +the remaining aisle. The service was decorously performed, +though the sermon might have been much better adapted to the +comprehension and to the circumstances of the hearers. The +usual supplications were offered, with more than the usual +significancy in such a place, for the fatherless children and +widows, for all sick persons and young children, for all that +were desolate and oppressed, for the comforting and helping of +the weak-hearted, for the raising-up of them that had fallen; for +all that were in danger, necessity, and tribulation. The +prayers of the congregation were desired ‘for several +persons in the various wards dangerously ill;’ and others +who were recovering returned their thanks to Heaven.</p> +<p>Among this congregation, were some evil-looking young women, +and beetle-browed young men; but not many—perhaps that kind +of characters kept away. Generally, the faces (those of the +children excepted) were depressed and subdued, and wanted +colour. Aged people were there, in every variety. +Mumbling, blear-eyed, spectacled, stupid, deaf, lame; vacantly +winking in the gleams of sun that now and then crept in through +the open doors, from the paved yard; shading their listening +ears, or blinking eyes, with their withered hands; poring over +their books, leering at nothing, going to sleep, crouching and +drooping in corners. There were weird old women, all +skeleton within, all bonnet and cloak without, continually wiping +their eyes with dirty dusters of pocket-handkerchiefs; and there +were ugly old crones, both male and female, with a ghastly kind +of contentment upon them which was not at all comforting to +see. Upon the whole, it was the dragon, Pauperism, in a +very weak and impotent condition; toothless, fangless, drawing +his breath heavily enough, and hardly worth chaining up.</p> +<p>When the service was over, I walked with the humane and +conscientious gentleman whose duty it was to take that walk, that +Sunday morning, through the little world of poverty enclosed +within the workhouse walls. It was inhabited by a +population of some fifteen hundred or two thousand paupers, +ranging from the infant newly born or not yet come into the +pauper world, to the old man dying on his bed.</p> +<p>In a room opening from a squalid yard, where a number of +listless women were lounging to and fro, trying to get warm in +the ineffectual sunshine of the tardy May morning—in the +‘Itch Ward,’ not to compromise the truth—a +woman such as <span class="smcap">Hogarth</span> has often drawn, +was hurriedly getting on her gown before a dusty fire. She +was the nurse, or wardswoman, of that insalubrious +department—herself a pauper—flabby, raw-boned, +untidy—unpromising and coarse of aspect as need be. +But, on being spoken to about the patients whom she had in +charge, she turned round, with her shabby gown half on, half off, +and fell a crying with all her might. Not for show, not +querulously, not in any mawkish sentiment, but in the deep grief +and affliction of her heart; turning away her dishevelled head: +sobbing most bitterly, wringing her hands, and letting fall +abundance of great tears, that choked her utterance. What +was the matter with the nurse of the itch-ward? Oh, +‘the dropped child’ was dead! Oh, the child +that was found in the street, and she had brought up ever since, +had died an hour ago, and see where the little creature lay, +beneath this cloth! The dear, the pretty dear!</p> +<p>The dropped child seemed too small and poor a thing for Death +to be in earnest with, but Death had taken it; and already its +diminutive form was neatly washed, composed, and stretched as if +in sleep upon a box. I thought I heard a voice from Heaven +saying, It shall be well for thee, O nurse of the itch-ward, when +some less gentle pauper does those offices to thy cold form, that +such as the dropped child are the angels who behold my +Father’s face!</p> +<p>In another room, were several ugly old women crouching, +witch-like, round a hearth, and chattering and nodding, after the +manner of the monkeys. ‘All well here? And +enough to eat?’ A general chattering and chuckling; +at last an answer from a volunteer. ‘Oh yes, +gentleman! Bless you, gentleman! Lord bless the +Parish of St. So-and-So! It feed the hungry, sir, and give +drink to the thusty, and it warm them which is cold, so it do, +and good luck to the parish of St. So-and-So, and thankee, +gentleman!’ Elsewhere, a party of pauper nurses were +at dinner. ‘How do you get on?’ ‘Oh +pretty well, sir! We works hard, and we lives +hard—like the sodgers!’</p> +<p>In another room, a kind of purgatory or place of transition, +six or eight noisy madwomen were gathered together, under the +superintendence of one sane attendant. Among them was a +girl of two or three and twenty, very prettily dressed, of most +respectable appearance and good manners, who had been brought in +from the house where she had lived as domestic servant (having, I +suppose, no friends), on account of being subject to epileptic +fits, and requiring to be removed under the influence of a very +bad one. She was by no means of the same stuff, or the same +breeding, or the same experience, or in the same state of mind, +as those by whom she was surrounded; and she pathetically +complained that the daily association and the nightly noise made +her worse, and was driving her mad—which was perfectly +evident. The case was noted for inquiry and redress, but +she said she had already been there for some weeks.</p> +<p>If this girl had stolen her mistress’s watch, I do not +hesitate to say she would have been infinitely better off. +We have come to this absurd, this dangerous, this monstrous pass, +that the dishonest felon is, in respect of cleanliness, order, +diet, and accommodation, better provided for, and taken care of, +than the honest pauper.</p> +<p>And this conveys no special imputation on the workhouse of the +parish of St. So-and-So, where, on the contrary, I saw many +things to commend. It was very agreeable, recollecting that +most infamous and atrocious enormity committed at +Tooting—an enormity which, a hundred years hence, will +still be vividly remembered in the bye-ways of English life, and +which has done more to engender a gloomy discontent and suspicion +among many thousands of the people than all the Chartist leaders +could have done in all their lives—to find the pauper +children in this workhouse looking robust and well, and +apparently the objects of very great care. In the Infant +School—a large, light, airy room at the top of the +building—the little creatures, being at dinner, and eating +their potatoes heartily, were not cowed by the presence of +strange visitors, but stretched out their small hands to be +shaken, with a very pleasant confidence. And it was +comfortable to see two mangy pauper rocking-horses rampant in a +corner. In the girls’ school, where the dinner was +also in progress, everything bore a cheerful and healthy +aspect. The meal was over, in the boys’ school, by +the time of our arrival there, and the room was not yet quite +rearranged; but the boys were roaming unrestrained about a large +and airy yard, as any other schoolboys might have done. +Some of them had been drawing large ships upon the schoolroom +wall; and if they had a mast with shrouds and stays set up for +practice (as they have in the Middlesex House of Correction), it +would be so much the better. At present, if a boy should +feel a strong impulse upon him to learn the art of going aloft, +he could only gratify it, I presume, as the men and women paupers +gratify their aspirations after better board and lodging, by +smashing as many workhouse windows as possible, and being +promoted to prison.</p> +<p>In one place, the Newgate of the Workhouse, a company of boys +and youths were locked up in a yard alone; their day-room being a +kind of kennel where the casual poor used formerly to be littered +down at night. Divers of them had been there some long +time. ‘Are they never going away?’ was the +natural inquiry. ‘Most of them are crippled, in some +form or other,’ said the Wardsman, ‘and not fit for +anything.’ They slunk about, like dispirited wolves +or hyænas; and made a pounce at their food when it was +served out, much as those animals do. The big-headed idiot +shuffling his feet along the pavement, in the sunlight outside, +was a more agreeable object everyway.</p> +<p>Groves of babies in arms; groves of mothers and other sick +women in bed; groves of lunatics; jungles of men in stone-paved +down-stairs day-rooms, waiting for their dinners; longer and +longer groves of old people, in up-stairs Infirmary wards, +wearing out life, God knows how—this was the scenery +through which the walk lay, for two hours. In some of these +latter chambers, there were pictures stuck against the wall, and +a neat display of crockery and pewter on a kind of sideboard; now +and then it was a treat to see a plant or two; in almost every +ward there was a cat.</p> +<p>In all of these Long Walks of aged and infirm, some old people +were bedridden, and had been for a long time; some were sitting +on their beds half-naked; some dying in their beds; some out of +bed, and sitting at a table near the fire. A sullen or +lethargic indifference to what was asked, a blunted sensibility +to everything but warmth and food, a moody absence of complaint +as being of no use, a dogged silence and resentful desire to be +left alone again, I thought were generally apparent. On our +walking into the midst of one of these dreary perspectives of old +men, nearly the following little dialogue took place, the nurse +not being immediately at hand:</p> +<p>‘All well here?’</p> +<p>No answer. An old man in a Scotch cap sitting among +others on a form at the table, eating out of a tin porringer, +pushes back his cap a little to look at us, claps it down on his +forehead again with the palm of his hand, and goes on eating.</p> +<p>‘All well here?’ (repeated).</p> +<p>No answer. Another old man sitting on his bed, +paralytically peeling a boiled potato, lifts his head and +stares.</p> +<p>‘Enough to eat?’</p> +<p>No answer. Another old man, in bed, turns himself and +coughs.</p> +<p>‘How are you to-day?’ To the last old +man.</p> +<p>That old man says nothing; but another old man, a tall old man +of very good address, speaking with perfect correctness, comes +forward from somewhere, and volunteers an answer. The reply +almost always proceeds from a volunteer, and not from the person +looked at or spoken to.</p> +<p>‘We are very old, sir,’ in a mild, distinct +voice. ‘We can’t expect to be well, most of +us.’</p> +<p>‘Are you comfortable?’</p> +<p>‘I have no complaint to make, sir.’ With a +half shake of his head, a half shrug of his shoulders, and a kind +of apologetic smile.</p> +<p>‘Enough to eat?’</p> +<p>‘Why, sir, I have but a poor appetite,’ with the +same air as before; ‘and yet I get through my allowance +very easily.’</p> +<p>‘But,’ showing a porringer with a Sunday dinner in +it; ‘here is a portion of mutton, and three potatoes. +You can’t starve on that?’</p> +<p>‘Oh dear no, sir,’ with the same apologetic +air. ‘Not starve.’</p> +<p>‘What do you want?’</p> +<p>‘We have very little bread, sir. It’s an +exceedingly small quantity of bread.’</p> +<p>The nurse, who is now rubbing her hands at the +questioner’s elbow, interferes with, ‘It ain’t +much raly, sir. You see they’ve only six ounces a +day, and when they’ve took their breakfast, there can only +be a little left for night, sir.’</p> +<p>Another old man, hitherto invisible, rises out of his +bed-clothes, as out of a grave, and looks on.</p> +<p>‘You have tea at night?’ The questioner is +still addressing the well-spoken old man.</p> +<p>‘Yes, sir, we have tea at night.’</p> +<p>‘And you save what bread you can from the morning, to +eat with it?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, sir—if we can save any.’</p> +<p>‘And you want more to eat with it?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, sir.’ With a very anxious face.</p> +<p>The questioner, in the kindness of his heart, appears a little +discomposed, and changes the subject.</p> +<p>‘What has become of the old man who used to lie in that +bed in the corner?’</p> +<p>The nurse don’t remember what old man is referred +to. There has been such a many old men. The +well-spoken old man is doubtful. The spectral old man who +has come to life in bed, says, ‘Billy Stevens.’ +Another old man who has previously had his head in the fireplace, +pipes out,</p> +<p>‘Charley Walters.’</p> +<p>Something like a feeble interest is awakened. I suppose +Charley Walters had conversation in him.</p> +<p>‘He’s dead,’ says the piping old man.</p> +<p>Another old man, with one eye screwed up, hastily displaces +the piping old man, and says.</p> +<p>‘Yes! Charley Walters died in that bed, +and—and—’</p> +<p>‘Billy Stevens,’ persists the spectral old +man.</p> +<p>‘No, no! and Johnny Rogers died in that bed, +and—and—they’re both on ’em +dead—and Sam’l Bowyer;’ this seems very +extraordinary to him; ‘he went out!’</p> +<p>With this he subsides, and all the old men (having had quite +enough of it) subside, and the spectral old man goes into his +grave again, and takes the shade of Billy Stevens with him.</p> +<p>As we turn to go out at the door, another previously invisible +old man, a hoarse old man in a flannel gown, is standing there, +as if he had just come up through the floor.</p> +<p>‘I beg your pardon, sir, could I take the liberty of +saying a word?’</p> +<p>‘Yes; what is it?’</p> +<p>‘I am greatly better in my health, sir; but what I want, +to get me quite round,’ with his hand on his throat, +‘is a little fresh air, sir. It has always done my +complaint so much good, sir. The regular leave for going +out, comes round so seldom, that if the gentlemen, next Friday, +would give me leave to go out walking, now and then—for +only an hour or so, sir!—’</p> +<p>Who could wonder, looking through those weary vistas of bed +and infirmity, that it should do him good to meet with some other +scenes, and assure himself that there was something else on +earth? Who could help wondering why the old men lived on as +they did; what grasp they had on life; what crumbs of interest or +occupation they could pick up from its bare board; whether +Charley Walters had ever described to them the days when he kept +company with some old pauper woman in the bud, or Billy Stevens +ever told them of the time when he was a dweller in the far-off +foreign land called Home!</p> +<p>The morsel of burnt child, lying in another room, so +patiently, in bed, wrapped in lint, and looking steadfastly at us +with his bright quiet eyes when we spoke to him kindly, looked as +if the knowledge of these things, and of all the tender things +there are to think about, might have been in his mind—as if +he thought, with us, that there was a fellow-feeling in the +pauper nurses which appeared to make them more kind to their +charges than the race of common nurses in the hospitals—as +if he mused upon the Future of some older children lying around +him in the same place, and thought it best, perhaps, all things +considered, that he should die—as if he knew, without fear, +of those many coffins, made and unmade, piled up in the store +below—and of his unknown friend, ‘the dropped +child,’ calm upon the box-lid covered with a cloth. +But there was something wistful and appealing, too, in his tiny +face, as if, in the midst of all the hard necessities and +incongruities he pondered on, he pleaded, in behalf of the +helpless and the aged poor, for a little more liberty—and a +little more bread.</p> +<h2><a name="page457"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +457</span>PRINCE BULL. A FAIRY TALE</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Once</span> upon a time, and of course it +was in the Golden Age, and I hope you may know when that was, for +I am sure I don’t, though I have tried hard to find out, +there lived in a rich and fertile country, a powerful Prince +whose name was <span class="smcap">Bull</span>. He had gone +through a great deal of fighting, in his time, about all sorts of +things, including nothing; but, had gradually settled down to be +a steady, peaceable, good-natured, corpulent, rather sleepy +Prince.</p> +<p>This Puissant Prince was married to a lovely Princess whose +name was Fair Freedom. She had brought him a large fortune, +and had borne him an immense number of children, and had set them +to spinning, and farming, and engineering, and soldiering, and +sailoring, and doctoring, and lawyering, and preaching, and all +kinds of trades. The coffers of Prince Bull were full of +treasure, his cellars were crammed with delicious wines from all +parts of the world, the richest gold and silver plate that ever +was seen adorned his sideboards, his sons were strong, his +daughters were handsome, and in short you might have supposed +that if there ever lived upon earth a fortunate and happy Prince, +the name of that Prince, take him for all in all, was assuredly +Prince Bull.</p> +<p>But, appearances, as we all know, are not always to be +trusted—far from it; and if they had led you to this +conclusion respecting Prince Bull, they would have led you wrong +as they often have led me.</p> +<p>For, this good Prince had two sharp thorns in his pillow, two +hard knobs in his crown, two heavy loads on his mind, two +unbridled nightmares in his sleep, two rocks ahead in his +course. He could not by any means get servants to suit him, +and he had a tyrannical old godmother, whose name was Tape.</p> +<p>She was a Fairy, this Tape, and was a bright red all +over. She was disgustingly prim and formal, and could never +bend herself a hair’s breadth this way or that way, out of +her naturally crooked shape. But, she was very potent in +her wicked art. She could stop the fastest thing in the +world, change the strongest thing into the weakest, and the most +useful into the most useless. To do this she had only to +put her cold hand upon it, and repeat her own name, Tape. +Then it withered away.</p> +<p>At the Court of Prince Bull—at least I don’t mean +literally at his court, because he was a very genteel Prince, and +readily yielded to his godmother when she always reserved that +for his hereditary Lords and Ladies—in the dominions of +Prince Bull, among the great mass of the community who were +called in the language of that polite country the Mobs and the +Snobs, were a number of very ingenious men, who were always busy +with some invention or other, for promoting the prosperity of the +Prince’s subjects, and augmenting the Prince’s +power. But, whenever they submitted their models for the +Prince’s approval, his godmother stepped forward, laid her +hand upon them, and said ‘Tape.’ Hence it came +to pass, that when any particularly good discovery was made, the +discoverer usually carried it off to some other Prince, in +foreign parts, who had no old godmother who said Tape. This +was not on the whole an advantageous state of things for Prince +Bull, to the best of my understanding.</p> +<p>The worst of it was, that Prince Bull had in course of years +lapsed into such a state of subjection to this unlucky godmother, +that he never made any serious effort to rid himself of her +tyranny. I have said this was the worst of it, but there I +was wrong, because there is a worse consequence still, +behind. The Prince’s numerous family became so +downright sick and tired of Tape, that when they should have +helped the Prince out of the difficulties into which that evil +creature led him, they fell into a dangerous habit of moodily +keeping away from him in an impassive and indifferent manner, as +though they had quite forgotten that no harm could happen to the +Prince their father, without its inevitably affecting +themselves.</p> +<p>Such was the aspect of affairs at the court of Prince Bull, +when this great Prince found it necessary to go to war with +Prince Bear. He had been for some time very doubtful of his +servants, who, besides being indolent and addicted to enriching +their families at his expense, domineered over him dreadfully; +threatening to discharge themselves if they were found the least +fault with, pretending that they had done a wonderful amount of +work when they had done nothing, making the most unmeaning +speeches that ever were heard in the Prince’s name, and +uniformly showing themselves to be very inefficient indeed. +Though, that some of them had excellent characters from previous +situations is not to be denied. Well; Prince Bull called +his servants together, and said to them one and all, ‘Send +out my army against Prince Bear. Clothe it, arm it, feed +it, provide it with all necessaries and contingencies, and I will +pay the piper! Do your duty by my brave troops,’ said +the Prince, ‘and do it well, and I will pour my treasure +out like water, to defray the cost. Who ever heard <span +class="GutSmall">ME</span> complain of money well laid +out!’ Which indeed he had reason for saying, inasmuch +as he was well known to be a truly generous and munificent +Prince.</p> +<p>When the servants heard those words, they sent out the army +against Prince Bear, and they set the army tailors to work, and +the army provision merchants, and the makers of guns both great +and small, and the gunpowder makers, and the makers of ball, +shell, and shot; and they bought up all manner of stores and +ships, without troubling their heads about the price, and +appeared to be so busy that the good Prince rubbed his hands, and +(using a favourite expression of his), said, ‘It’s +all right!’ But, while they were thus employed, the +Prince’s godmother, who was a great favourite with those +servants, looked in upon them continually all day long, and +whenever she popped in her head at the door said, How do you do, +my children? What are you doing here?’ +‘Official business, godmother.’ +‘Oho!’ says this wicked Fairy. +‘—Tape!’ And then the business all went +wrong, whatever it was, and the servants’ heads became so +addled and muddled that they thought they were doing wonders.</p> +<p>Now, this was very bad conduct on the part of the vicious old +nuisance, and she ought to have been strangled, even if she had +stopped here; but, she didn’t stop here, as you shall +learn. For, a number of the Prince’s subjects, being +very fond of the Prince’s army who were the bravest of men, +assembled together and provided all manner of eatables and +drinkables, and books to read, and clothes to wear, and tobacco +to smoke, and candies to burn, and nailed them up in great +packing-cases, and put them aboard a great many ships, to be +carried out to that brave army in the cold and inclement country +where they were fighting Prince Bear. Then, up comes this +wicked Fairy as the ships were weighing anchor, and says, +‘How do you do, my children? What are you doing +here?’—‘We are going with all these comforts to +the army, godmother.’—‘Oho!’ says +she. ‘A pleasant voyage, my +darlings.—Tape!’ And from that time forth, +those enchanting ships went sailing, against wind and tide and +rhyme and reason, round and round the world, and whenever they +touched at any port were ordered off immediately, and could never +deliver their cargoes anywhere.</p> +<p>This, again, was very bad conduct on the part of the vicious +old nuisance, and she ought to have been strangled for it if she +had done nothing worse; but, she did something worse still, as +you shall learn. For, she got astride of an official +broomstick, and muttered as a spell these two sentences, +‘On Her Majesty’s service,’ and ‘I have +the honour to be, sir, your most obedient servant,’ and +presently alighted in the cold and inclement country where the +army of Prince Bull were encamped to fight the army of Prince +Bear. On the sea-shore of that country, she found piled +together, a number of houses for the army to live in, and a +quantity of provisions for the army to live upon, and a quantity +of clothes for the army to wear: while, sitting in the mud gazing +at them, were a group of officers as red to look at as the wicked +old woman herself. So, she said to one of them, ‘Who +are <i>you</i>, my darling, and how do <i>you</i> +do?’—‘I am the Quartermaster General’s +Department, godmother, and <i>I</i> am pretty well.’ +Then she said to another, ‘Who are you, my darling, and how +do you do?’—‘I am the Commissariat Department, +godmother, and I am pretty well! Then she said to another, +‘Who are you, my darling, and how do you +do?’—‘I am the Head of the Medical Department, +godmother, and <i>I</i> am pretty well.’ Then, she +said to some gentlemen scented with lavender, who kept themselves +at a great distance from the rest, ‘And who are <i>you</i>, +my pretty pets, and how do <i>you</i> do?’ And they +answered, ‘We-aw-are-the-aw-Staff-aw-Department, godmother, +and we are very well indeed.’—‘I am delighted +to see you all, my beauties,’ says this wicked old Fairy, +‘—Tape!’ Upon that, the houses, clothes, +and provisions, all mouldered away; and the soldiers who were +sound, fell sick; and the soldiers who were sick, died miserably: +and the noble army of Prince Bull perished.</p> +<p>When the dismal news of his great loss was carried to the +Prince, he suspected his godmother very much indeed; but, he knew +that his servants must have kept company with the malicious +beldame, and must have given way to her, and therefore he +resolved to turn those servants out of their places. So, he +called to him a Roebuck who had the gift of speech, and he said, +‘Good Roebuck, tell them they must go.’ So, the +good Roebuck delivered his message, so like a man that you might +have supposed him to be nothing but a man, and they were turned +out—but, not without warning, for that they had had a long +time.</p> +<p>And now comes the most extraordinary part of the history of +this Prince. When he had turned out those servants, of +course he wanted others. What was his astonishment to find +that in all his dominions, which contained no less than +twenty-seven millions of people, there were not above +five-and-twenty servants altogether! They were so lofty +about it, too, that instead of discussing whether they should +hire themselves as servants to Prince Bull, they turned things +topsy-turvy, and considered whether as a favour they should hire +Prince Bull to be their master! While they were arguing +this point among themselves quite at their leisure, the wicked +old red Fairy was incessantly going up and down, knocking at the +doors of twelve of the oldest of the five-and-twenty, who were +the oldest inhabitants in all that country, and whose united ages +amounted to one thousand, saying, ‘Will you hire Prince +Bull for your master?—Will you hire Prince Bull for your +master?’ To which one answered, ‘I will if next +door will;’ and another, ‘I won’t if over the +way does;’ and another, ‘I can’t if he, she, or +they, might, could, would, or should.’ And all this +time Prince Bull’s affairs were going to rack and ruin.</p> +<p>At last, Prince Bull in the height of his perplexity assumed a +thoughtful face, as if he were struck by an entirely new +idea. The wicked old Fairy, seeing this, was at his elbow +directly, and said, ‘How do you do, my Prince, and what are +you thinking of?’—‘I am thinking, +godmother,’ says he, ‘that among all the +seven-and-twenty millions of my subjects who have never been in +service, there are men of intellect and business who have made me +very famous both among my friends and +enemies.’—‘Aye, truly?’ says the +Fairy.—‘Aye, truly,’ says the +Prince.—‘And what then?’ says the +Fairy.—‘Why, then,’ says he, ‘since the +regular old class of servants do so ill, are so hard to get, and +carry it with so high a hand, perhaps I might try to make good +servants of some of these.’ The words had no sooner +passed his lips than she returned, chuckling, ‘You think +so, do you? Indeed, my Prince?—Tape!’ +Thereupon he directly forgot what he was thinking of, and cried +out lamentably to the old servants, ‘O, do come and hire +your poor old master! Pray do! On any +terms!’</p> +<p>And this, for the present, finishes the story of Prince +Bull. I wish I could wind it up by saying that he lived +happy ever afterwards, but I cannot in my conscience do so; for, +with Tape at his elbow, and his estranged children fatally +repelled by her from coming near him, I do not, to tell you the +plain truth, believe in the possibility of such an end to it.</p> +<h2><a name="page462"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 462</span>A +PLATED ARTICLE</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Putting</span> up for the night in one of +the chiefest towns of Staffordshire, I find it to be by no means +a lively town. In fact, it is as dull and dead a town as +any one could desire not to see. It seems as if its whole +population might be imprisoned in its Railway Station. The +Refreshment Room at that Station is a vortex of dissipation +compared with the extinct town-inn, the Dodo, in the dull High +Street.</p> +<p>Why High Street? Why not rather Low Street, Flat Street, +Low-Spirited Street, Used-up Street? Where are the people +who belong to the High Street? Can they all be dispersed +over the face of the country, seeking the unfortunate Strolling +Manager who decamped from the mouldy little Theatre last week, in +the beginning of his season (as his play-bills testify), +repentantly resolved to bring him back, and feed him, and be +entertained? Or, can they all be gathered to their fathers +in the two old churchyards near to the High +Street—retirement into which churchyards appears to be a +mere ceremony, there is so very little life outside their +confines, and such small discernible difference between being +buried alive in the town, and buried dead in the town +tombs? Over the way, opposite to the staring blank bow +windows of the Dodo, are a little ironmonger’s shop, a +little tailor’s shop (with a picture of the Fashions in the +small window and a bandy-legged baby on the pavement staring at +it)—a watchmakers shop, where all the clocks and watches +must be stopped, I am sure, for they could never have the courage +to go, with the town in general, and the Dodo in particular, +looking at them. Shade of Miss Linwood, erst of Leicester +Square, London, thou art welcome here, and thy retreat is fitly +chosen! I myself was one of the last visitors to that awful +storehouse of thy life’s work, where an anchorite old man +and woman took my shilling with a solemn wonder, and conducting +me to a gloomy sepulchre of needlework dropping to pieces with +dust and age and shrouded in twilight at high noon, left me +there, chilled, frightened, and alone. And now, in ghostly +letters on all the dead walls of this dead town, I read thy +honoured name, and find that thy Last Supper, worked in Berlin +Wool, invites inspection as a powerful excitement!</p> +<p>Where are the people who are bidden with so much cry to this +feast of little wool? Where are they? Who are +they? They are not the bandy-legged baby studying the +fashions in the tailor’s window. They are not the two +earthy ploughmen lounging outside the saddler’s shop, in +the stiff square where the Town Hall stands, like a brick and +mortar private on parade. They are not the landlady of the +Dodo in the empty bar, whose eye had trouble in it and no +welcome, when I asked for dinner. They are not the turnkeys +of the Town Jail, looking out of the gateway in their uniforms, +as if they had locked up all the balance (as my American friends +would say) of the inhabitants, and could now rest a little. +They are not the two dusty millers in the white mill down by the +river, where the great water-wheel goes heavily round and round, +like the monotonous days and nights in this forgotten +place. Then who are they, for there is no one else? +No; this deponent maketh oath and saith that there is no one +else, save and except the waiter at the Dodo, now laying the +cloth. I have paced the streets, and stared at the houses, +and am come back to the blank bow window of the Dodo; and the +town clocks strike seven, and the reluctant echoes seem to cry, +‘Don’t wake us!’ and the bandy-legged baby has +gone home to bed.</p> +<p>If the Dodo were only a gregarious bird—if he had only +some confused idea of making a comfortable nest—I could +hope to get through the hours between this and bed-time, without +being consumed by devouring melancholy. But, the +Dodo’s habits are all wrong. It provides me with a +trackless desert of sitting-room, with a chair for every day in +the year, a table for every month, and a waste of sideboard where +a lonely China vase pines in a corner for its mate long departed, +and will never make a match with the candlestick in the opposite +corner if it live till Doomsday. The Dodo has nothing in +the larder. Even now, I behold the Boots returning with my +sole in a piece of paper; and with that portion of my dinner, the +Boots, perceiving me at the blank bow window, slaps his leg as he +comes across the road, pretending it is something else. The +Dodo excludes the outer air. When I mount up to my bedroom, +a smell of closeness and flue gets lazily up my nose like sleepy +snuff. The loose little bits of carpet writhe under my +tread, and take wormy shapes. I don’t know the +ridiculous man in the looking-glass, beyond having met him once +or twice in a dish-cover—and I can never shave <i>him</i> +to-morrow morning! The Dodo is narrow-minded as to towels; +expects me to wash on a freemason’s apron without the +trimming: when I asked for soap, gives me a stony-hearted +something white, with no more lather in it than the Elgin +marbles. The Dodo has seen better days, and possesses +interminable stables at the back—silent, grass-grown, +broken-windowed, horseless.</p> +<p>This mournful bird can fry a sole, however, which is +much. Can cook a steak, too, which is more. I wonder +where it gets its Sherry? If I were to send my pint of wine +to some famous chemist to be analysed, what would it turn out to +be made of? It tastes of pepper, sugar, bitter-almonds, +vinegar, warm knives, any flat drinks, and a little brandy. +Would it unman a Spanish exile by reminding him of his native +land at all? I think not. If there really be any +townspeople out of the churchyards, and if a caravan of them ever +do dine, with a bottle of wine per man, in this desert of the +Dodo, it must make good for the doctor next day!</p> +<p>Where was the waiter born? How did he come here? +Has he any hope of getting away from here? Does he ever +receive a letter, or take a ride upon the railway, or see +anything but the Dodo? Perhaps he has seen the Berlin +Wool. He appears to have a silent sorrow on him, and it may +be that. He clears the table; draws the dingy curtains of +the great bow window, which so unwillingly consent to meet, that +they must be pinned together; leaves me by the fire with my pint +decanter, and a little thin funnel-shaped wine-glass, and a plate +of pale biscuits—in themselves engendering desperation.</p> +<p>No book, no newspaper! I left the Arabian Nights in the +railway carriage, and have nothing to read but Bradshaw, and +‘that way madness lies.’ Remembering what +prisoners and ship-wrecked mariners have done to exercise their +minds in solitude, I repeat the multiplication table, the pence +table, and the shilling table: which are all the tables I happen +to know. What if I write something? The Dodo keeps no +pens but steel pens; and those I always stick through the paper, +and can turn to no other account.</p> +<p>What am I to do? Even if I could have the bandy-legged +baby knocked up and brought here, I could offer him nothing but +sherry, and that would be the death of him. He would never +hold up his head again if he touched it. I can’t go +to bed, because I have conceived a mortal hatred for my bedroom; +and I can’t go away, because there is no train for my place +of destination until morning. To burn the biscuits will be +but a fleeting joy; still it is a temporary relief, and here they +go on the fire! Shall I break the plate? First let me +look at the back, and see who made it. <span +class="smcap">Copeland</span>.</p> +<p>Copeland! Stop a moment. Was it yesterday I +visited Copeland’s works, and saw them making plates? +In the confusion of travelling about, it might be yesterday or it +might be yesterday month; but I think it was yesterday. I +appeal to the plate. The plate says, decidedly, +yesterday. I find the plate, as I look at it, growing into +a companion.</p> +<p>Don’t you remember (says the plate) how you steamed +away, yesterday morning, in the bright sun and the east wind, +along the valley of the sparkling Trent? Don’t you +recollect how many kilns you flew past, looking like the bowls of +gigantic tobacco-pipes, cut short off from the stem and turned +upside down? And the fires—and the smoke—and +the roads made with bits of crockery, as if all the plates and +dishes in the civilised world had been Macadamised, expressly for +the laming of all the horses? Of course I do!</p> +<p>And don’t you remember (says the plate) how you alighted +at Stoke—a picturesque heap of houses, kilns, smoke, +wharfs, canals, and river, lying (as was most appropriate) in a +basin—and how, after climbing up the sides of the basin to +look at the prospect, you trundled down again at a walking-match +pace, and straight proceeded to my father’s, +Copeland’s, where the whole of my family, high and low, +rich and poor, are turned out upon the world from our nursery and +seminary, covering some fourteen acres of ground? And +don’t you remember what we spring from:—heaps of +lumps of clay, partially prepared and cleaned in Devonshire and +Dorsetshire, whence said clay principally comes—and hills +of flint, without which we should want our ringing sound, and +should never be musical? And as to the flint, don’t +you recollect that it is first burnt in kilns, and is then laid +under the four iron feet of a demon slave, subject to violent +stamping fits, who, when they come on, stamps away insanely with +his four iron legs, and would crush all the flint in the Isle of +Thanet to powder, without leaving off? And as to the clay, +don’t you recollect how it is put into mills or teazers, +and is sliced, and dug, and cut at, by endless knives, clogged +and sticky, but persistent—and is pressed out of that +machine through a square trough, whose form it takes—and is +cut off in square lumps and thrown into a vat, and there mixed +with water, and beaten to a pulp by paddle-wheels—and is +then run into a rough house, all rugged beams and ladders +splashed with white,—superintended by Grindoff the Miller +in his working clothes, all splashed with white,—where it +passes through no end of machinery-moved sieves all splashed with +white, arranged in an ascending scale of fineness (some so fine, +that three hundred silk threads cross each other in a single +square inch of their surface), and all in a violent state of ague +with their teeth for ever chattering, and their bodies for ever +shivering! And as to the flint again, isn’t it mashed +and mollified and troubled and soothed, exactly as rags are in a +paper-mill, until it is reduced to a pap so fine that it contains +no atom of ‘grit’ perceptible to the nicest +taste? And as to the flint and the clay together, are they +not, after all this, mixed in the proportion of five of clay to +one of flint, and isn’t the compound—known as +‘slip’—run into oblong troughs, where its +superfluous moisture may evaporate; and finally, isn’t it +slapped and banged and beaten and patted and kneaded and wedged +and knocked about like butter, until it becomes a beautiful grey +dough, ready for the potter’s use?</p> +<p>In regard of the potter, popularly so called (says the plate), +you don’t mean to say you have forgotten that a workman +called a Thrower is the man under whose hand this grey dough +takes the shapes of the simpler household vessels as quickly as +the eye can follow? You don’t mean to say you cannot +call him up before you, sitting, with his attendant woman, at his +potter’s wheel—a disc about the size of a +dinner-plate, revolving on two drums slowly or quickly as he +wills—who made you a complete breakfast-set for a bachelor, +as a good-humoured little off-hand joke? You remember how +he took up as much dough as he wanted, and, throwing it on his +wheel, in a moment fashioned it into a teacup—caught up +more clay and made a saucer—a larger dab and whirled it +into a teapot—winked at a smaller dab and converted it into +the lid of the teapot, accurately fitting by the measurement of +his eye alone—coaxed a middle-sized dab for two seconds, +broke it, turned it over at the rim, and made a +milkpot—laughed, and turned out a slop-basin—coughed, +and provided for the sugar? Neither, I think, are you +oblivious of the newer mode of making various articles, but +especially basins, according to which improvement a mould +revolves instead of a disc? For you must remember (says the +plate) how you saw the mould of a little basin spinning round and +round, and how the workmen smoothed and pressed a handful of +dough upon it, and how with an instrument called a profile (a +piece of wood, representing the profile of a basin’s foot) +he cleverly scraped and carved the ring which makes the base of +any such basin, and then took the basin off the lathe like a +doughy skull-cap to be dried, and afterwards (in what is called a +green state) to be put into a second lathe, there to be finished +and burnished with a steel burnisher? And as to moulding in +general (says the plate), it can’t be necessary for me to +remind you that all ornamental articles, and indeed all articles +not quite circular, are made in moulds. For you must +remember how you saw the vegetable dishes, for example, being +made in moulds; and how the handles of teacups, and the spouts of +teapots, and the feet of tureens, and so forth, are all made in +little separate moulds, and are each stuck on to the body +corporate, of which it is destined to form a part, with a stuff +called ‘slag,’ as quickly as you can recollect +it. Further, you learnt—you know you did—in the +same visit, how the beautiful sculptures in the delicate new +material called Parian, are all constructed in moulds; how, into +that material, animal bones are ground up, because the phosphate +of lime contained in bones makes it translucent; how everything +is moulded, before going into the fire, one-fourth larger than it +is intended to come out of the fire, because it shrinks in that +proportion in the intense heat; how, when a figure shrinks +unequally, it is spoiled—emerging from the furnace a +misshapen birth; a big head and a little body, or a little head +and a big body, or a Quasimodo with long arms and short legs, or +a Miss Biffin with neither legs nor arms worth mentioning.</p> +<p>And as to the Kilns, in which the firing takes place, and in +which some of the more precious articles are burnt repeatedly, in +various stages of their process towards completion,—as to +the Kilns (says the plate, warming with the recollection), if you +don’t remember <span class="GutSmall">THEM</span> with a +horrible interest, what did you ever go to Copeland’s +for? When you stood inside of one of those inverted bowls +of a Pre-Adamite tobacco-pipe, looking up at the blue sky through +the open top far off, as you might have looked up from a well, +sunk under the centre of the pavement of the Pantheon at Rome, +had you the least idea where you were? And when you found +yourself surrounded, in that dome-shaped cavern, by innumerable +columns of an unearthly order of architecture, supporting +nothing, and squeezed close together as if a Pre-Adamite Samson +had taken a vast Hall in his arms and crushed it into the +smallest possible space, had you the least idea what they +were? No (says the plate), of course not! And when +you found that each of those pillars was a pile of ingeniously +made vessels of coarse clay—called Saggers—looking, +when separate, like raised-pies for the table of the mighty Giant +Blunderbore, and now all full of various articles of pottery +ranged in them in baking order, the bottom of each vessel serving +for the cover of the one below, and the whole Kiln rapidly +filling with these, tier upon tier, until the last workman should +have barely room to crawl out, before the closing of the jagged +aperture in the wall and the kindling of the gradual fire; did +you not stand amazed to think that all the year round these dread +chambers are heating, white hot—and cooling—and +filling—and emptying—and being bricked up—and +broken open—humanly speaking, for ever and ever? To +be sure you did! And standing in one of those Kilns nearly +full, and seeing a free crow shoot across the aperture a-top, and +learning how the fire would wax hotter and hotter by slow +degrees, and would cool similarly through a space of from forty +to sixty hours, did no remembrance of the days when human clay +was burnt oppress you? Yes. I think so! I +suspect that some fancy of a fiery haze and a shortening breath, +and a growing heat, and a gasping prayer; and a figure in black +interposing between you and the sky (as figures in black are very +apt to do), and looking down, before it grew too hot to look and +live, upon the Heretic in his edifying agony—I say I +suspect (says the plate) that some such fancy was pretty strong +upon you when you went out into the air, and blessed God for the +bright spring day and the degenerate times!</p> +<p>After that, I needn’t remind you what a relief it was to +see the simplest process of ornamenting this +‘biscuit’ (as it is called when baked) with brown +circles and blue trees—converting it into the common +crockery-ware that is exported to Africa, and used in cottages at +home. For (says the plate) I am well persuaded that you +bear in mind how those particular jugs and mugs were once more +set upon a lathe and put in motion; and how a man blew the brown +colour (having a strong natural affinity with the material in +that condition) on them from a blowpipe as they twirled; and how +his daughter, with a common brush, dropped blotches of blue upon +them in the right places; and how, tilting the blotches upside +down, she made them run into rude images of trees, and there an +end.</p> +<p>And didn’t you see (says the plate) planted upon my own +brother that astounding blue willow, with knobbed and gnarled +trunk, and foliage of blue ostrich feathers, which gives our +family the title of ‘willow pattern’? And +didn’t you observe, transferred upon him at the same time, +that blue bridge which spans nothing, growing out from the roots +of the willow; and the three blue Chinese going over it into a +blue temple, which has a fine crop of blue bushes sprouting out +of the roof; and a blue boat sailing above them, the mast of +which is burglariously sticking itself into the foundations of a +blue villa, suspended sky-high, surmounted by a lump of blue +rock, sky-higher, and a couple of billing blue birds, +sky-highest—together with the rest of that amusing blue +landscape, which has, in deference to our revered ancestors of +the Cerulean Empire, and in defiance of every known law of +perspective, adorned millions of our family ever since the days +of platters? Didn’t you inspect the copper-plate on +which my pattern was deeply engraved? Didn’t you +perceive an impression of it taken in cobalt colour at a +cylindrical press, upon a leaf of thin paper, streaming from a +plunge-bath of soap and water? Wasn’t the paper +impression daintily spread, by a light-fingered damsel (you know +you admired her!), over the surface of the plate, and the back of +the paper rubbed prodigiously hard—with a long tight roll +of flannel, tied up like a round of hung beef—without so +much as ruffling the paper, wet as it was? Then (says the +plate), was not the paper washed away with a sponge, and +didn’t there appear, set off upon the plate, <i>this</i> +identical piece of Pre-Raphaelite blue distemper which you now +behold? Not to be denied! I had seen all +this—and more. I had been shown, at Copeland’s, +patterns of beautiful design, in faultless perspective, which are +causing the ugly old willow to wither out of public favour; and +which, being quite as cheap, insinuate good wholesome natural art +into the humblest households. When Mr. and Mrs. Sprat have +satisfied their material tastes by that equal division of fat and +lean which has made their <i>ménage</i> immortal; and +have, after the elegant tradition, ‘licked the platter +clean,’ they can—thanks to modern artists in +clay—feast their intellectual tastes upon excellent +delineations of natural objects.</p> +<p>This reflection prompts me to transfer my attention from the +blue plate to the forlorn but cheerfully painted vase on the +sideboard. And surely (says the plate) you have not +forgotten how the outlines of such groups of flowers as you see +there, are printed, just as I was printed, and are afterwards +shaded and filled in with metallic colours by women and +girls? As to the aristocracy of our order, made of the +finer clay-porcelain peers and peeresses;—the slabs, and +panels, and table-tops, and tazze; the endless nobility and +gentry of dessert, breakfast, and tea services; the gemmed +perfume bottles, and scarlet and gold salvers; you saw that they +were painted by artists, with metallic colours laid on with +camel-hair pencils, and afterwards burnt in.</p> +<p>And talking of burning in (says the plate), didn’t you +find that every subject, from the willow pattern to the landscape +after Turner—having been framed upon clay or porcelain +biscuit—has to be glazed? Of course, you saw the +glaze—composed of various vitreous materials—laid +over every article; and of course you witnessed the close +imprisonment of each piece in saggers upon the separate system +rigidly enforced by means of fine-pointed earthenware stilts +placed between the articles to prevent the slightest +communication or contact. We had in my time—and I +suppose it is the same now—fourteen hours’ firing to +fix the glaze and to make it ‘run’ all over us +equally, so as to put a good shiny and unscratchable surface upon +us. Doubtless, you observed that one sort of +glaze—called printing-body—is burnt into the better +sort of ware <i>before</i> it is printed. Upon this you saw +some of the finest steel engravings transferred, to be fixed by +an after glazing—didn’t you? Why, of course you +did!</p> +<p>Of course I did. I had seen and enjoyed everything that +the plate recalled to me, and had beheld with admiration how the +rotatory motion which keeps this ball of ours in its place in the +great scheme, with all its busy mites upon it, was necessary +throughout the process, and could only be dispensed with in the +fire. So, listening to the plate’s reminders, and +musing upon them, I got through the evening after all, and went +to bed. I made but one sleep of it—for which I have +no doubt I am also indebted to the plate—and left the +lonely Dodo in the morning, quite at peace with it, before the +bandy-legged baby was up.</p> +<h2><a name="page470"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 470</span>OUR +HONOURABLE FRIEND</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">We</span> are delighted to find that he +has got in! Our honourable friend is triumphantly returned +to serve in the next Parliament. He is the honourable +member for Verbosity—the best represented place in +England.</p> +<p>Our honourable friend has issued an address of congratulation +to the Electors, which is worthy of that noble constituency, and +is a very pretty piece of composition. In electing him, he +says, they have covered themselves with glory, and England has +been true to herself. (In his preliminary address he had +remarked, in a poetical quotation of great rarity, that nought +could make us rue, if England to herself did prove but true.)</p> +<p>Our honourable friend delivers a prediction, in the same +document, that the feeble minions of a faction will never hold up +their heads any more; and that the finger of scorn will point at +them in their dejected state, through countless ages of +time. Further, that the hireling tools that would destroy +the sacred bulwarks of our nationality are unworthy of the name +of Englishman; and that so long as the sea shall roll around our +ocean-girded isle, so long his motto shall be, No +surrender. Certain dogged persons of low principles and no +intellect, have disputed whether anybody knows who the minions +are, or what the faction is, or which are the hireling tools and +which the sacred bulwarks, or what it is that is never to be +surrendered, and if not, why not? But, our honourable +friend the member for Verbosity knows all about it.</p> +<p>Our honourable friend has sat in several parliaments, and +given bushels of votes. He is a man of that profundity in +the matter of vote-giving, that you never know what he +means. When he seems to be voting pure white, he may be in +reality voting jet black. When he says Yes, it is just as +likely as not—or rather more so—that he means +No. This is the statesmanship of our honourable +friend. It is in this, that he differs from mere +unparliamentary men. You may not know what he meant then, +or what he means now; but, our honourable friend knows, and did +from the first know, both what he meant then, and what he means +now; and when he said he didn’t mean it then, he did in +fact say, that he means it now. And if you mean to say that +you did not then, and do not now, know what he did mean then, or +does mean now, our honourable friend will be glad to receive an +explicit declaration from you whether you are prepared to destroy +the sacred bulwarks of our nationality.</p> +<p>Our honourable friend, the member for Verbosity, has this +great attribute, that he always means something, and always means +the same thing. When he came down to that House and +mournfully boasted in his place, as an individual member of the +assembled Commons of this great and happy country, that he could +lay his hand upon his heart, and solemnly declare that no +consideration on earth should induce him, at any time or under +any circumstances, to go as far north as Berwick-upon-Tweed; and +when he nevertheless, next year, did go to Berwick-upon-Tweed, +and even beyond it, to Edinburgh; he had one single meaning, one +and indivisible. And God forbid (our honourable friend +says) that he should waste another argument upon the man who +professes that he cannot understand it! ‘I do <span +class="GutSmall">NOT</span>, gentlemen,’ said our +honourable friend, with indignant emphasis and amid great +cheering, on one such public occasion. ‘I do <span +class="GutSmall">NOT</span>, gentlemen, I am free to confess, +envy the feelings of that man whose mind is so constituted as +that he can hold such language to me, and yet lay his head upon +his pillow, claiming to be a native of that land,</p> +<blockquote><p>Whose march is o’er the mountain-wave,<br /> +Whose home is on the deep!</p> +</blockquote> +<p>(Vehement cheering, and man expelled.)</p> +<p>When our honourable friend issued his preliminary address to +the constituent body of Verbosity on the occasion of one +particular glorious triumph, it was supposed by some of his +enemies, that even he would be placed in a situation of +difficulty by the following comparatively trifling conjunction of +circumstances. The dozen noblemen and gentlemen whom our +honourable friend supported, had ‘come in,’ expressly +to do a certain thing. Now, four of the dozen said, at a +certain place, that they didn’t mean to do that thing, and +had never meant to do it; another four of the dozen said, at +another certain place, that they did mean to do that thing, and +had always meant to do it; two of the remaining four said, at two +other certain places, that they meant to do half of that thing +(but differed about which half), and to do a variety of nameless +wonders instead of the other half; and one of the remaining two +declared that the thing itself was dead and buried, while the +other as strenuously protested that it was alive and +kicking. It was admitted that the parliamentary genius of +our honourable friend would be quite able to reconcile such small +discrepancies as these; but, there remained the additional +difficulty that each of the twelve made entirely different +statements at different places, and that all the twelve called +everything visible and invisible, sacred and profane, to witness, +that they were a perfectly impregnable phalanx of +unanimity. This, it was apprehended, would be a +stumbling-block to our honourable friend.</p> +<p>The difficulty came before our honourable friend, in this +way. He went down to Verbosity to meet his free and +independent constituents, and to render an account (as he +informed them in the local papers) of the trust they had confided +to his hands—that trust which it was one of the proudest +privileges of an Englishman to possess—that trust which it +was the proudest privilege of an Englishman to hold. It may +be mentioned as a proof of the great general interest attaching +to the contest, that a Lunatic whom nobody employed or knew, went +down to Verbosity with several thousand pounds in gold, +determined to give the whole away—which he actually did; +and that all the publicans opened their houses for nothing. +Likewise, several fighting men, and a patriotic group of burglars +sportively armed with life-preservers, proceeded (in barouches +and very drunk) to the scene of action at their own expense; +these children of nature having conceived a warm attachment to +our honourable friend, and intending, in their artless manner, to +testify it by knocking the voters in the opposite interest on the +head.</p> +<p>Our honourable friend being come into the presence of his +constituents, and having professed with great suavity that he was +delighted to see his good friend Tipkisson there, in his +working-dress—his good friend Tipkisson being an inveterate +saddler, who always opposes him, and for whom he has a mortal +hatred—made them a brisk, ginger-beery sort of speech, in +which he showed them how the dozen noblemen and gentlemen had (in +exactly ten days from their coming in) exercised a surprisingly +beneficial effect on the whole financial condition of Europe, had +altered the state of the exports and imports for the current +half-year, had prevented the drain of gold, had made all that +matter right about the glut of the raw material, and had restored +all sorts of balances with which the superseded noblemen and +gentlemen had played the deuce—and all this, with wheat at +so much a quarter, gold at so much an ounce, and the Bank of +England discounting good bills at so much per cent.! He +might be asked, he observed in a peroration of great power, what +were his principles? His principles were what they always +had been. His principles were written in the countenances +of the lion and unicorn; were stamped indelibly upon the royal +shield which those grand animals supported, and upon the free +words of fire which that shield bore. His principles were, +Britannia and her sea-king trident! His principles were, +commercial prosperity co-existently with perfect and profound +agricultural contentment; but short of this he would never +stop. His principles were, these,—with the addition +of his colours nailed to the mast, every man’s heart in the +right place, every man’s eye open, every man’s hand +ready, every man’s mind on the alert. His principles +were these, concurrently with a general revision of +something—speaking generally—and a possible +readjustment of something else, not to be mentioned more +particularly. His principles, to sum up all in a word, +were, Hearths and Altars, Labour and Capital, Crown and Sceptre, +Elephant and Castle. And now, if his good friend Tipkisson +required any further explanation from him, he (our honourable +friend) was there, willing and ready to give it.</p> +<p>Tipkisson, who all this time had stood conspicuous in the +crowd, with his arms folded and his eyes intently fastened on our +honourable friend: Tipkisson, who throughout our honourable +friend’s address had not relaxed a muscle of his visage, +but had stood there, wholly unaffected by the torrent of +eloquence: an object of contempt and scorn to mankind (by which +we mean, of course, to the supporters of our honourable friend); +Tipkisson now said that he was a plain man (Cries of ‘You +are indeed!’), and that what he wanted to know was, what +our honourable friend and the dozen noblemen and gentlemen were +driving at?</p> +<p>Our honourable friend immediately replied, ‘At the +illimitable perspective.’</p> +<p>It was considered by the whole assembly that this happy +statement of our honourable friend’s political views ought, +immediately, to have settled Tipkisson’s business and +covered him with confusion; but, that implacable person, +regardless of the execrations that were heaped upon him from all +sides (by which we mean, of course, from our honourable +friend’s side), persisted in retaining an unmoved +countenance, and obstinately retorted that if our honourable +friend meant that, he wished to know what <i>that</i> meant?</p> +<p>It was in repelling this most objectionable and indecent +opposition, that our honourable friend displayed his highest +qualifications for the representation of Verbosity. His +warmest supporters present, and those who were best acquainted +with his generalship, supposed that the moment was come when he +would fall back upon the sacred bulwarks of our +nationality. No such thing. He replied thus: +‘My good friend Tipkisson, gentlemen, wishes to know what I +mean when he asks me what we are driving at, and when I candidly +tell him, at the illimitable perspective, he wishes (if I +understand him) to know what I mean?’—‘I +do!’ says Tipkisson, amid cries of ‘Shame’ and +‘Down with him.’ ‘Gentlemen,’ says +our honourable friend, ‘I will indulge my good friend +Tipkisson, by telling him, both what I mean and what I +don’t mean. (Cheers and cries of ‘Give it +him!’) Be it known to him then, and to all whom it +may concern, that I do mean altars, hearths, and homes, and that +I don’t mean mosques and Mohammedanism!’ The +effect of this home-thrust was terrific. Tipkisson (who is +a Baptist) was hooted down and hustled out, and has ever since +been regarded as a Turkish Renegade who contemplates an early +pilgrimage to Mecca. Nor was he the only discomfited +man. The charge, while it stuck to him, was magically +transferred to our honourable friend’s opponent, who was +represented in an immense variety of placards as a firm believer +in Mahomet; and the men of Verbosity were asked to choose between +our honourable friend and the Bible, and our honourable +friend’s opponent and the Koran. They decided for our +honourable friend, and rallied round the illimitable +perspective.</p> +<p>It has been claimed for our honourable friend, with much +appearance of reason, that he was the first to bend sacred +matters to electioneering tactics. However this may be, the +fine precedent was undoubtedly set in a Verbosity election: and +it is certain that our honourable friend (who was a disciple of +Brahma in his youth, and was a Buddhist when we had the honour of +travelling with him a few years ago) always professes in public +more anxiety than the whole Bench of Bishops, regarding the +theological and doxological opinions of every man, woman, and +child, in the United Kingdom.</p> +<p>As we began by saying that our honourable friend has got in +again at this last election, and that we are delighted to find +that he has got in, so we will conclude. Our honourable +friend cannot come in for Verbosity too often. It is a good +sign; it is a great example. It is to men like our +honourable friend, and to contests like those from which he comes +triumphant, that we are mainly indebted for that ready interest +in politics, that fresh enthusiasm in the discharge of the duties +of citizenship, that ardent desire to rush to the poll, at +present so manifest throughout England. When the contest +lies (as it sometimes does) between two such men as our +honourable friend, it stimulates the finest emotions of our +nature, and awakens the highest admiration of which our heads and +hearts are capable.</p> +<p>It is not too much to predict that our honourable friend will +be always at his post in the ensuing session. Whatever the +question be, or whatever the form of its discussion; address to +the crown, election petition, expenditure of the public money, +extension of the public suffrage, education, crime; in the whole +house, in committee of the whole house, in select committee; in +every parliamentary discussion of every subject, everywhere: the +Honourable Member for Verbosity will most certainly be found.</p> +<h2><a name="page475"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 475</span>OUR +SCHOOL</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">We</span> went to look at it, only this +last Midsummer, and found that the Railway had cut it up root and +branch. A great trunk-line had swallowed the playground, +sliced away the schoolroom, and pared off the corner of the +house: which, thus curtailed of its proportions, presented +itself, in a green stage of stucco, profilewise towards the road, +like a forlorn flat-iron without a handle, standing on end.</p> +<p>It seems as if our schools were doomed to be the sport of +change. We have faint recollections of a Preparatory +Day-School, which we have sought in vain, and which must have +been pulled down to make a new street, ages ago. We have +dim impressions, scarcely amounting to a belief, that it was over +a dyer’s shop. We know that you went up steps to it; +that you frequently grazed your knees in doing so; that you +generally got your leg over the scraper, in trying to scrape the +mud off a very unsteady little shoe. The mistress of the +Establishment holds no place in our memory; but, rampant on one +eternal door-mat, in an eternal entry long and narrow, is a puffy +pug-dog, with a personal animosity towards us, who triumphs over +Time. The bark of that baleful Pug, a certain radiating way +he had of snapping at our undefended legs, the ghastly grinning +of his moist black muzzle and white teeth, and the insolence of +his crisp tail curled like a pastoral crook, all live and +flourish. From an otherwise unaccountable association of +him with a fiddle, we conclude that he was of French extraction, +and his name <i>Fidèle</i>. He belonged to some +female, chiefly inhabiting a back-parlour, whose life appears to +us to have been consumed in sniffing, and in wearing a brown +beaver bonnet. For her, he would sit up and balance cake +upon his nose, and not eat it until twenty had been +counted. To the best of our belief we were once called in +to witness this performance; when, unable, even in his milder +moments, to endure our presence, he instantly made at us, cake +and all.</p> +<p>Why a something in mourning, called ‘Miss Frost,’ +should still connect itself with our preparatory school, we are +unable to say. We retain no impression of the beauty of +Miss Frost—if she were beautiful; or of the mental +fascinations of Miss Frost—if she were accomplished; yet +her name and her black dress hold an enduring place in our +remembrance. An equally impersonal boy, whose name has long +since shaped itself unalterably into ‘Master Mawls,’ +is not to be dislodged from our brain. Retaining no +vindictive feeling towards Mawls—no feeling whatever, +indeed—we infer that neither he nor we can have loved Miss +Frost. Our first impression of Death and Burial is +associated with this formless pair. We all three nestled +awfully in a corner one wintry day, when the wind was blowing +shrill, with Miss Frost’s pinafore over our heads; and Miss +Frost told us in a whisper about somebody being ‘screwed +down.’ It is the only distinct recollection we +preserve of these impalpable creatures, except a suspicion that +the manners of Master Mawls were susceptible of much +improvement. Generally speaking, we may observe that +whenever we see a child intently occupied with its nose, to the +exclusion of all other subjects of interest, our mind reverts, in +a flash, to Master Mawls.</p> +<p>But, the School that was Our School before the Railroad came +and overthrew it, was quite another sort of place. We were +old enough to be put into Virgil when we went there, and to get +Prizes for a variety of polishing on which the rust has long +accumulated. It was a School of some celebrity in its +neighbourhood—nobody could have said why—and we had +the honour to attain and hold the eminent position of first +boy. The master was supposed among us to know nothing, and +one of the ushers was supposed to know everything. We are +still inclined to think the first-named supposition perfectly +correct.</p> +<p>We have a general idea that its subject had been in the +leather trade, and had bought us—meaning Our +School—of another proprietor who was immensely +learned. Whether this belief had any real foundation, we +are not likely ever to know now. The only branches of +education with which he showed the least acquaintance, were, +ruling and corporally punishing. He was always ruling +ciphering-books with a bloated mahogany ruler, or smiting the +palms of offenders with the same diabolical instrument, or +viciously drawing a pair of pantaloons tight with one of his +large hands, and caning the wearer with the other. We have +no doubt whatever that this occupation was the principal solace +of his existence.</p> +<p>A profound respect for money pervaded Our School, which was, +of course, derived from its Chief. We remember an idiotic +goggle-eyed boy, with a big head and half-crowns without end, who +suddenly appeared as a parlour-boarder, and was rumoured to have +come by sea from some mysterious part of the earth where his +parents rolled in gold. He was usually called +‘Mr.’ by the Chief, and was said to feed in the +parlour on steaks and gravy; likewise to drink currant +wine. And he openly stated that if rolls and coffee were +ever denied him at breakfast, he would write home to that unknown +part of the globe from which he had come, and cause himself to be +recalled to the regions of gold. He was put into no form or +class, but learnt alone, as little as he liked—and he liked +very little—and there was a belief among us that this was +because he was too wealthy to be ‘taken down.’ +His special treatment, and our vague association of him with the +sea, and with storms, and sharks, and Coral Reefs occasioned the +wildest legends to be circulated as his history. A tragedy +in blank verse was written on the subject—if our memory +does not deceive us, by the hand that now chronicles these +recollections—in which his father figured as a Pirate, and +was shot for a voluminous catalogue of atrocities: first +imparting to his wife the secret of the cave in which his wealth +was stored, and from which his only son’s half-crowns now +issued. Dumbledon (the boy’s name) was represented as +‘yet unborn’ when his brave father met his fate; and +the despair and grief of Mrs. Dumbledon at that calamity was +movingly shadowed forth as having weakened the +parlour-boarder’s mind. This production was received +with great favour, and was twice performed with closed doors in +the dining-room. But, it got wind, and was seized as +libellous, and brought the unlucky poet into severe +affliction. Some two years afterwards, all of a sudden one +day, Dumbledon vanished. It was whispered that the Chief +himself had taken him down to the Docks, and re-shipped him for +the Spanish Main; but nothing certain was ever known about his +disappearance. At this hour, we cannot thoroughly +disconnect him from California.</p> +<p>Our School was rather famous for mysterious pupils. +There was another—a heavy young man, with a large +double-cased silver watch, and a fat knife the handle of which +was a perfect tool-box—who unaccountably appeared one day +at a special desk of his own, erected close to that of the Chief, +with whom he held familiar converse. He lived in the +parlour, and went out for his walks, and never took the least +notice of us—even of us, the first boy—unless to give +us a deprecatory kick, or grimly to take our hat off and throw it +away, when he encountered us out of doors, which unpleasant +ceremony he always performed as he passed—not even +condescending to stop for the purpose. Some of us believed +that the classical attainments of this phenomenon were terrific, +but that his penmanship and arithmetic were defective, and he had +come there to mend them; others, that he was going to set up a +school, and had paid the Chief ‘twenty-five pound +down,’ for leave to see Our School at work. The +gloomier spirits even said that he was going to buy us; against +which contingency, conspiracies were set on foot for a general +defection and running away. However, he never did +that. After staying for a quarter, during which period, +though closely observed, he was never seen to do anything but +make pens out of quills, write small hand in a secret portfolio, +and punch the point of the sharpest blade in his knife into his +desk all over it, he too disappeared, and his place knew him no +more.</p> +<p>There was another boy, a fair, meek boy, with a delicate +complexion and rich curling hair, who, we found out, or thought +we found out (we have no idea now, and probably had none then, on +what grounds, but it was confidentially revealed from mouth to +mouth), was the son of a Viscount who had deserted his lovely +mother. It was understood that if he had his rights, he +would be worth twenty thousand a year. And that if his +mother ever met his father, she would shoot him with a silver +pistol, which she carried, always loaded to the muzzle, for that +purpose. He was a very suggestive topic. So was a +young Mulatto, who was always believed (though very amiable) to +have a dagger about him somewhere. But, we think they were +both outshone, upon the whole, by another boy who claimed to have +been born on the twenty-ninth of February, and to have only one +birthday in five years. We suspect this to have been a +fiction—but he lived upon it all the time he was at Our +School.</p> +<p>The principal currency of Our School was slate pencil. +It had some inexplicable value, that was never ascertained, never +reduced to a standard. To have a great hoard of it was +somehow to be rich. We used to bestow it in charity, and +confer it as a precious boon upon our chosen friends. When +the holidays were coming, contributions were solicited for +certain boys whose relatives were in India, and who were appealed +for under the generic name of +‘Holiday-stoppers,’—appropriate marks of +remembrance that should enliven and cheer them in their homeless +state. Personally, we always contributed these tokens of +sympathy in the form of slate pencil, and always felt that it +would be a comfort and a treasure to them.</p> +<p>Our School was remarkable for white mice. Red-polls, +linnets, and even canaries, were kept in desks, drawers, +hat-boxes, and other strange refuges for birds; but white mice +were the favourite stock. The boys trained the mice, much +better than the masters trained the boys. We recall one +white mouse, who lived in the cover of a Latin dictionary, who +ran up ladders, drew Roman chariots, shouldered muskets, turned +wheels, and even made a very creditable appearance on the stage +as the Dog of Montargis. He might have achieved greater +things, but for having the misfortune to mistake his way in a +triumphal procession to the Capitol, when he fell into a deep +inkstand, and was dyed black and drowned. The mice were the +occasion of some most ingenious engineering, in the construction +of their houses and instruments of performance. The famous +one belonged to a company of proprietors, some of whom have since +made Railroads, Engines, and Telegraphs; the chairman has erected +mills and bridges in New Zealand.</p> +<p>The usher at Our School, who was considered to know everything +as opposed to the Chief, who was considered to know nothing, was +a bony, gentle-faced, clerical-looking young man in rusty +black. It was whispered that he was sweet upon one of +Maxby’s sisters (Maxby lived close by, and was a day +pupil), and further that he ‘favoured Maxby.’ +As we remember, he taught Italian to Maxby’s sisters on +half-holidays. He once went to the play with them, and wore +a white waistcoat and a rose: which was considered among us +equivalent to a declaration. We were of opinion on that +occasion, that to the last moment he expected Maxby’s +father to ask him to dinner at five o’clock, and therefore +neglected his own dinner at half-past one, and finally got +none. We exaggerated in our imaginations the extent to +which he punished Maxby’s father’s cold meat at +supper; and we agreed to believe that he was elevated with wine +and water when he came home. But, we all liked him; for he +had a good knowledge of boys, and would have made it a much +better school if he had had more power. He was writing +master, mathematical master, English master, made out the bills, +mended the pens, and did all sorts of things. He divided +the little boys with the Latin master (they were smuggled through +their rudimentary books, at odd times when there was nothing else +to do), and he always called at parents’ houses to inquire +after sick boys, because he had gentlemanly manners. He was +rather musical, and on some remote quarter-day had bought an old +trombone; but a bit of it was lost, and it made the most +extraordinary sounds when he sometimes tried to play it of an +evening. His holidays never began (on account of the bills) +until long after ours; but, in the summer vacations he used to +take pedestrian excursions with a knapsack; and at Christmas +time, he went to see his father at Chipping Norton, who we all +said (on no authority) was a dairy-fed pork-butcher. Poor +fellow! He was very low all day on Maxby’s +sister’s wedding-day, and afterwards was thought to favour +Maxby more than ever, though he had been expected to spite +him. He has been dead these twenty years. Poor +fellow!</p> +<p>Our remembrance of Our School, presents the Latin master as a +colourless doubled-up near-sighted man with a crutch, who was +always cold, and always putting onions into his ears for +deafness, and always disclosing ends of flannel under all his +garments, and almost always applying a ball of +pocket-handkerchief to some part of his face with a screwing +action round and round. He was a very good scholar, and +took great pains where he saw intelligence and a desire to learn: +otherwise, perhaps not. Our memory presents him (unless +teased into a passion) with as little energy as colour—as +having been worried and tormented into monotonous +feebleness—as having had the best part of his life ground +out of him in a Mill of boys. We remember with terror how +he fell asleep one sultry afternoon with the little smuggled +class before him, and awoke not when the footstep of the Chief +fell heavy on the floor; how the Chief aroused him, in the midst +of a dread silence, and said, ‘Mr. Blinkins, are you ill, +sir?’ how he blushingly replied, ‘Sir, rather +so;’ how the Chief retorted with severity, ‘Mr. +Blinkins, this is no place to be ill in’ (which was very, +very true), and walked back solemn as the ghost in Hamlet, until, +catching a wandering eye, he called that boy for inattention, and +happily expressed his feelings towards the Latin master through +the medium of a substitute.</p> +<p>There was a fat little dancing-master who used to come in a +gig, and taught the more advanced among us hornpipes (as an +accomplishment in great social demand in after life); and there +was a brisk little French master who used to come in the sunniest +weather, with a handleless umbrella, and to whom the Chief was +always polite, because (as we believed), if the Chief offended +him, he would instantly address the Chief in French, and for ever +confound him before the boys with his inability to understand or +reply.</p> +<p>There was besides, a serving man, whose name was Phil. +Our retrospective glance presents Phil as a shipwrecked +carpenter, cast away upon the desert island of a school, and +carrying into practice an ingenious inkling of many trades. +He mended whatever was broken, and made whatever was +wanted. He was general glazier, among other things, and +mended all the broken windows—at the prime cost (as was +darkly rumoured among us) of ninepence, for every square charged +three-and-six to parents. We had a high opinion of his +mechanical genius, and generally held that the Chief ‘knew +something bad of him,’ and on pain of divulgence enforced +Phil to be his bondsman. We particularly remember that Phil +had a sovereign contempt for learning: which engenders in us a +respect for his sagacity, as it implies his accurate observation +of the relative positions of the Chief and the ushers. He +was an impenetrable man, who waited at table between whiles, and +throughout ‘the half’ kept the boxes in severe +custody. He was morose, even to the Chief, and never +smiled, except at breaking-up, when, in acknowledgment of the +toast, ‘Success to Phil! Hooray!’ he would +slowly carve a grin out of his wooden face, where it would remain +until we were all gone. Nevertheless, one time when we had +the scarlet fever in the school, Phil nursed all the sick boys of +his own accord, and was like a mother to them.</p> +<p>There was another school not far off, and of course Our School +could have nothing to say to that school. It is mostly the +way with schools, whether of boys or men. Well! the railway +has swallowed up ours, and the locomotives now run smoothly over +its ashes.</p> +<blockquote><p>So fades and languishes, grows dim and dies,<br /> +All that this world is proud of,</p> +</blockquote> +<p>- and is not proud of, too. It had little reason to be +proud of Our School, and has done much better since in that way, +and will do far better yet.</p> +<h2><a name="page481"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 481</span>OUR +VESTRY</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">We</span> have the glorious privilege of +being always in hot water if we like. We are a shareholder +in a Great Parochial British Joint Stock Bank of +Balderdash. We have a Vestry in our borough, and can vote +for a vestryman—might even <i>be</i> a vestryman, mayhap, +if we were inspired by a lofty and noble ambition. Which we +are not.</p> +<p>Our Vestry is a deliberative assembly of the utmost dignity +and importance. Like the Senate of ancient Rome, its awful +gravity overpowers (or ought to overpower) barbarian +visitors. It sits in the Capitol (we mean in the capital +building erected for it), chiefly on Saturdays, and shakes the +earth to its centre with the echoes of its thundering eloquence, +in a Sunday paper.</p> +<p>To get into this Vestry in the eminent capacity of Vestryman, +gigantic efforts are made, and Herculean exertions used. It +is made manifest to the dullest capacity at every election, that +if we reject Snozzle we are done for, and that if we fail to +bring in Blunderbooze at the top of the poll, we are unworthy of +the dearest rights of Britons. Flaming placards are rife on +all the dead walls in the borough, public-houses hang out +banners, hackney-cabs burst into full-grown flowers of type, and +everybody is, or should be, in a paroxysm of anxiety.</p> +<p>At these momentous crises of the national fate, we are much +assisted in our deliberations by two eminent volunteers; one of +whom subscribes himself A Fellow Parishioner, the other, A +Rate-Payer. Who they are, or what they are, or where they +are, nobody knows; but, whatever one asserts, the other +contradicts. They are both voluminous writers, indicting +more epistles than Lord Chesterfield in a single week; and the +greater part of their feelings are too big for utterance in +anything less than capital letters. They require the +additional aid of whole rows of notes of admiration, like +balloons, to point their generous indignation; and they sometimes +communicate a crushing severity to stars. As thus:</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">MEN OF MOONEYMOUNT.</p> +<p>Is it, or is it not, a * * * to saddle the parish with a debt +of £2,745 6<i>s.</i> 9<i>d.</i>, yet claim to be a <span +class="GutSmall">RIGID ECONOMIST</span>?</p> +<p>Is it, or is it not, a * * * to state as a fact what is proved +to be <i>both a moral and a</i> <span class="GutSmall">PHYSICAL +IMPOSSIBILITY</span>?</p> +<p>Is it, or is it not, a * * * to call £2,745 6<i>s.</i> +9<i>d.</i> nothing; and nothing, something?</p> +<p>Do you, or do you <i>not</i> want a * * * <span +class="GutSmall">TO REPRESENT YOU IN THE VESTRY</span>?</p> +<p>Your consideration of these questions is recommended to you +by</p> +<p style="text-align: right">A <span class="smcap">Fellow +Parishioner</span>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It was to this important public document that one of our first +orators, <span class="smcap">Mr. Magg</span> (of Little Winkling +Street), adverted, when he opened the great debate of the +fourteenth of November by saying, ‘Sir, I hold in my hand +an anonymous slander’—and when the interruption, with +which he was at that point assailed by the opposite faction, gave +rise to that memorable discussion on a point of order which will +ever be remembered with interest by constitutional +assemblies. In the animated debate to which we refer, no +fewer than thirty-seven gentlemen, many of them of great +eminence, including <span class="smcap">Mr. Wigsby</span> (of +Chumbledon Square), were seen upon their legs at one time; and it +was on the same great occasion that <span +class="smcap">Dogginson</span>—regarded in our Vestry as +‘a regular John Bull:’ we believe, in consequence of +his having always made up his mind on every subject without +knowing anything about it—informed another gentleman of +similar principles on the opposite side, that if he +‘cheek’d him,’ he would resort to the extreme +measure of knocking his blessed head off.</p> +<p>This was a great occasion. But, our Vestry shines +habitually. In asserting its own pre-eminence, for +instance, it is very strong. On the least provocation, or +on none, it will be clamorous to know whether it is to be +‘dictated to,’ or ‘trampled on,’ or +‘ridden over rough-shod.’ Its great watchword +is Self-government. That is to say, supposing our Vestry to +favour any little harmless disorder like Typhus Fever, and +supposing the Government of the country to be, by any accident, +in such ridiculous hands, as that any of its authorities should +consider it a duty to object to Typhus Fever—obviously an +unconstitutional objection—then, our Vestry cuts in with a +terrible manifesto about Self-government, and claims its +independent right to have as much Typhus Fever as pleases +itself. Some absurd and dangerous persons have represented, +on the other hand, that though our Vestry may be able to +‘beat the bounds’ of its own parish, it may not be +able to beat the bounds of its own diseases; which (say they) +spread over the whole land, in an ever expanding circle of waste, +and misery, and death, and widowhood, and orphanage, and +desolation. But, our Vestry makes short work of any such +fellows as these.</p> +<p>It was our Vestry—pink of Vestries as it is—that +in support of its favourite principle took the celebrated ground +of denying the existence of the last pestilence that raged in +England, when the pestilence was raging at the Vestry +doors. Dogginson said it was plums; Mr. Wigsby (of +Chumbledon Square) said it was oysters; Mr. Magg (of Little +Winkling Street) said, amid great cheering, it was the +newspapers. The noble indignation of our Vestry with that +un-English institution the Board of Health, under those +circumstances, yields one of the finest passages in its +history. It wouldn’t hear of rescue. Like Mr. +Joseph Miller’s Frenchman, it would be drowned and nobody +should save it. Transported beyond grammar by its kindled +ire, it spoke in unknown tongues, and vented unintelligible +bellowings, more like an ancient oracle than the modern oracle it +is admitted on all hands to be. Rare exigencies produce +rare things; and even our Vestry, new hatched to the woful time, +came forth a greater goose than ever.</p> +<p>But this, again, was a special occasion. Our Vestry, at +more ordinary periods, demands its meed of praise.</p> +<p>Our Vestry is eminently parliamentary. Playing at +Parliament is its favourite game. It is even regarded by +some of its members as a chapel of ease to the House of Commons: +a Little Go to be passed first. It has its strangers’ +gallery, and its reported debates (see the Sunday paper before +mentioned), and our Vestrymen are in and out of order, and on and +off their legs, and above all are transcendently quarrelsome, +after the pattern of the real original.</p> +<p>Our Vestry being assembled, Mr. Magg never begs to trouble Mr. +Wigsby with a simple inquiry. He knows better than +that. Seeing the honourable gentleman, associated in their +minds with Chumbledon Square, in his place, he wishes to ask that +honourable gentleman what the intentions of himself, and those +with whom he acts, may be, on the subject of the paving of the +district known as Piggleum Buildings? Mr. Wigsby replies +(with his eye on next Sunday’s paper) that in reference to +the question which has been put to him by the honourable +gentleman opposite, he must take leave to say, that if that +honourable gentleman had had the courtesy to give him notice of +that question, he (Mr. Wigsby) would have consulted with his +colleagues in reference to the advisability, in the present state +of the discussions on the new paving-rate, of answering that +question. But, as the honourable gentleman has <span +class="GutSmall">NOT</span> had the courtesy to give him notice +of that question (great cheering from the Wigsby interest), he +must decline to give the honourable gentleman the satisfaction he +requires. Mr. Magg, instantly rising to retort, is received +with loud cries of ‘Spoke!’ from the Wigsby interest, +and with cheers from the Magg side of the house. Moreover, +five gentlemen rise to order, and one of them, in revenge for +being taken no notice of, petrifies the assembly by moving that +this Vestry do now adjourn; but, is persuaded to withdraw that +awful proposal, in consideration of its tremendous consequences +if persevered in. Mr. Magg, for the purpose of being heard, +then begs to move, that you, sir, do now pass to the order of the +day; and takes that opportunity of saying, that if an honourable +gentleman whom he has in his eye, and will not demean himself by +more particularly naming (oh, oh, and cheers), supposes that he +is to be put down by clamour, that honourable +gentleman—however supported he may be, through thick and +thin, by a Fellow Parishioner, with whom he is well acquainted +(cheers and counter-cheers, Mr. Magg being invariably backed by +the Rate-Payer)—will find himself mistaken. Upon +this, twenty members of our Vestry speak in succession concerning +what the two great men have meant, until it appears, after an +hour and twenty minutes, that neither of them meant +anything. Then our Vestry begins business.</p> +<p>We have said that, after the pattern of the real original, our +Vestry in playing at Parliament is transcendently +quarrelsome. It enjoys a personal altercation above all +things. Perhaps the most redoubtable case of this kind we +have ever had—though we have had so many that it is +difficult to decide—was that on which the last extreme +solemnities passed between Mr. Tiddypot (of Gumption House) and +Captain Banger (of Wilderness Walk).</p> +<p>In an adjourned debate on the question whether water could be +regarded in the light of a necessary of life; respecting which +there were great differences of opinion, and many shades of +sentiment; Mr. Tiddypot, in a powerful burst of eloquence against +that hypothesis, frequently made use of the expression that such +and such a rumour had ‘reached his ears.’ +Captain Banger, following him, and holding that, for purposes of +ablution and refreshment, a pint of water per diem was necessary +for every adult of the lower classes, and half a pint for every +child, cast ridicule upon his address in a sparkling speech, and +concluded by saying that instead of those rumours having reached +the ears of the honourable gentleman, he rather thought the +honourable gentleman’s ears must have reached the rumours, +in consequence of their well-known length. Mr. Tiddypot +immediately rose, looked the honourable and gallant gentleman +full in the face, and left the Vestry.</p> +<p>The excitement, at this moment painfully intense, was +heightened to an acute degree when Captain Banger rose, and also +left the Vestry. After a few moments of profound +silence—one of those breathless pauses never to be +forgotten—Mr. Chib (of Tucket’s Terrace, and the +father of the Vestry) rose. He said that words and looks +had passed in that assembly, replete with consequences which +every feeling mind must deplore. Time pressed. The +sword was drawn, and while he spoke the scabbard might be thrown +away. He moved that those honourable gentlemen who had left +the Vestry be recalled, and required to pledge themselves upon +their honour that this affair should go no farther. The +motion being by a general union of parties unanimously agreed to +(for everybody wanted to have the belligerents there, instead of +out of sight: which was no fun at all), Mr. Magg was deputed to +recover Captain Banger, and Mr. Chib himself to go in search of +Mr. Tiddypot. The Captain was found in a conspicuous +position, surveying the passing omnibuses from the top step of +the front-door immediately adjoining the beadle’s box; Mr. +Tiddypot made a desperate attempt at resistance, but was +overpowered by Mr. Chib (a remarkably hale old gentleman of +eighty-two), and brought back in safety.</p> +<p>Mr. Tiddypot and the Captain being restored to their places, +and glaring on each other, were called upon by the chair to +abandon all homicidal intentions, and give the Vestry an +assurance that they did so. Mr. Tiddypot remained +profoundly silent. The Captain likewise remained profoundly +silent, saying that he was observed by those around him to fold +his arms like Napoleon Buonaparte, and to snort in his +breathing—actions but too expressive of gunpowder.</p> +<p>The most intense emotion now prevailed. Several members +clustered in remonstrance round the Captain, and several round +Mr. Tiddypot; but, both were obdurate. Mr. Chib then +presented himself amid tremendous cheering, and said, that not to +shrink from the discharge of his painful duty, he must now move +that both honourable gentlemen be taken into custody by the +beadle, and conveyed to the nearest police-office, there to be +held to bail. The union of parties still continuing, the +motion was seconded by Mr. Wigsby—on all usual occasions +Mr. Chib’s opponent—and rapturously carried with only +one dissentient voice. This was Dogginson’s, who said +from his place ‘Let ’em fight it out with +fistes;’ but whose coarse remark was received as it +merited.</p> +<p>The beadle now advanced along the floor of the Vestry, and +beckoned with his cocked hat to both members. Every breath +was suspended. To say that a pin might have been heard to +fall, would be feebly to express the all-absorbing interest and +silence. Suddenly, enthusiastic cheering broke out from +every side of the Vestry. Captain Banger had +risen—being, in fact, pulled up by a friend on either side, +and poked up by a friend behind.</p> +<p>The Captain said, in a deep determined voice, that he had +every respect for that Vestry and every respect for that chair; +that he also respected the honourable gentleman of Gumpton House; +but, that he respected his honour more. Hereupon the +Captain sat down, leaving the whole Vestry much affected. +Mr. Tiddypot instantly rose, and was received with the same +encouragement. He likewise said—and the exquisite art +of this orator communicated to the observation an air of +freshness and novelty—that he too had every respect for +that Vestry; that he too had every respect for that chair. +That he too respected the honourable and gallant gentleman of +Wilderness Walk; but, that he too respected his honour more. +‘Hows’ever,’ added the distinguished Vestryman, +‘if the honourable and gallant gentleman’s honour is +never more doubted and damaged than it is by me, he’s all +right.’ Captain Banger immediately started up again, +and said that after those observations, involving as they did +ample concession to his honour without compromising the honour of +the honourable gentleman, he would be wanting in honour as well +as in generosity, if he did not at once repudiate all intention +of wounding the honour of the honourable gentleman, or saying +anything dishonourable to his honourable feelings. These +observations were repeatedly interrupted by bursts of +cheers. Mr. Tiddypot retorted that he well knew the spirit +of honour by which the honourable and gallant gentleman was so +honourably animated, and that he accepted an honourable +explanation, offered in a way that did him honour; but, he +trusted that the Vestry would consider that his (Mr. +Tiddypot’s) honour had imperatively demanded of him that +painful course which he had felt it due to his honour to +adopt. The Captain and Mr. Tiddypot then touched their hats +to one another across the Vestry, a great many times, and it is +thought that these proceedings (reported to the extent of several +columns in next Sunday’s paper) will bring them in as +church-wardens next year.</p> +<p>All this was strictly after the pattern of the real original, +and so are the whole of our Vestry’s proceedings. In +all their debates, they are laudably imitative of the windy and +wordy slang of the real original, and of nothing that is better +in it. They have head-strong party animosities, without any +reference to the merits of questions; they tack a surprising +amount of debate to a very little business; they set more store +by forms than they do by substances:—all very like the real +original! It has been doubted in our borough, whether our +Vestry is of any utility; but our own conclusion is, that it is +of the use to the Borough that a diminishing mirror is to a +painter, as enabling it to perceive in a small focus of absurdity +all the surface defects of the real original.</p> +<h2><a name="page487"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 487</span>OUR +BORE</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> is unnecessary to say that we +keep a bore. Everybody does. But, the bore whom we +have the pleasure and honour of enumerating among our particular +friends, is such a generic bore, and has so many traits (as it +appears to us) in common with the great bore family, that we are +tempted to make him the subject of the present notes. May +he be generally accepted!</p> +<p>Our bore is admitted on all hands to be a good-hearted +man. He may put fifty people out of temper, but he keeps +his own. He preserves a sickly solid smile upon his face, +when other faces are ruffled by the perfection he has attained in +his art, and has an equable voice which never travels out of one +key or rises above one pitch. His manner is a manner of +tranquil interest. None of his opinions are +startling. Among his deepest-rooted convictions, it may be +mentioned that he considers the air of England damp, and holds +that our lively neighbours—he always calls the French our +lively neighbours—have the advantage of us in that +particular. Nevertheless he is unable to forget that John +Bull is John Bull all the world over, and that England with all +her faults is England still.</p> +<p>Our bore has travelled. He could not possibly be a +complete bore without having travelled. He rarely speaks of +his travels without introducing, sometimes on his own plan of +construction, morsels of the language of the country—which +he always translates. You cannot name to him any little +remote town in France, Italy, Germany, or Switzerland but he +knows it well; stayed there a fortnight under peculiar +circumstances. And talking of that little place, perhaps +you know a statue over an old fountain, up a little court, which +is the second—no, the third—stay—yes, the third +turning on the right, after you come out of the Post-house, going +up the hill towards the market? You <i>don’t</i> know +that statue? Nor that fountain? You surprise +him! They are not usually seen by travellers (most +extraordinary, he has never yet met with a single traveller who +knew them, except one German, the most intelligent man he ever +met in his life!) but he thought that <span +class="GutSmall">YOU</span> would have been the man to find them +out. And then he describes them, in a circumstantial +lecture half an hour long, generally delivered behind a door +which is constantly being opened from the other side; and +implores you, if you ever revisit that place, now do go and look +at that statue and fountain!</p> +<p>Our bore, in a similar manner, being in Italy, made a +discovery of a dreadful picture, which has been the terror of a +large portion of the civilized world ever since. We have +seen the liveliest men paralysed by it, across a broad +dining-table. He was lounging among the mountains, sir, +basking in the mellow influences of the climate, when he came to +<i>una piccola chiesa</i>—a little church—or perhaps +it would be more correct to say <i>una piccolissima +cappella</i>—the smallest chapel you can possibly +imagine—and walked in. There was nobody inside but a +<i>cieco</i>—a blind man—saying his prayers, and a +<i>vecchio padre</i>—old friar-rattling a money-box. +But, above the head of that friar, and immediately to the right +of the altar as you enter—to the right of the altar? +No. To the left of the altar as you enter—or say near +the centre—there hung a painting (subject, Virgin and +Child) so divine in its expression, so pure and yet so warm and +rich in its tone, so fresh in its touch, at once so glowing in +its colour and so statuesque in its repose, that our bore cried +out in ecstasy, ‘That’s the finest picture in +Italy!’ And so it is, sir. There is no doubt of +it. It is astonishing that that picture is so little +known. Even the painter is uncertain. He afterwards +took Blumb, of the Royal Academy (it is to be observed that our +bore takes none but eminent people to see sights, and that none +but eminent people take our bore), and you never saw a man so +affected in your life as Blumb was. He cried like a +child! And then our bore begins his description in +detail—for all this is introductory—and strangles his +hearers with the folds of the purple drapery.</p> +<p>By an equally fortunate conjunction of accidental +circumstances, it happened that when our bore was in Switzerland, +he discovered a Valley, of that superb character, that Chamouni +is not to be mentioned in the same breath with it. This is +how it was, sir. He was travelling on a mule—had been +in the saddle some days—when, as he and the guide, Pierre +Blanquo: whom you may know, perhaps?—our bore is sorry you +don’t, because he’s the only guide deserving of the +name—as he and Pierre were descending, towards evening, +among those everlasting snows, to the little village of La Croix, +our bore observed a mountain track turning off sharply to the +right. At first he was uncertain whether it <i>was</i> a +track at all, and in fact, he said to Pierre, +‘<i>Qu’est que c’est donc</i>, <i>mon +ami</i>?—What is that, my friend? +‘<i>Où</i>, <i>monsieur</i>?’ said +Pierre—‘Where, sir?’ +‘<i>Là</i>!—there!’ said our bore. +‘<i>Monsieur</i>, <i>ce n’est rien de +tout</i>—sir, it’s nothing at all,’ said +Pierre. ‘<i>Allons</i>!—Make haste. <i>Il +va neiget</i>—it’s going to snow!’ But, +our bore was not to be done in that way, and he firmly replied, +‘I wish to go in that direction—<i>je veux y +aller</i>. I am bent upon it—<i>je suis +déterminé</i>. <i>En avant</i>!—go +ahead!’ In consequence of which firmness on our +bore’s part, they proceeded, sir, during two hours of +evening, and three of moonlight (they waited in a cavern till the +moon was up), along the slenderest track, overhanging +perpendicularly the most awful gulfs, until they arrived, by a +winding descent, in a valley that possibly, and he may say +probably, was never visited by any stranger before. What a +valley! Mountains piled on mountains, avalanches stemmed by +pine forests; waterfalls, chalets, mountain-torrents, wooden +bridges, every conceivable picture of Swiss scenery! The +whole village turned out to receive our bore. The peasant +girls kissed him, the men shook hands with him, one old lady of +benevolent appearance wept upon his breast. He was +conducted, in a primitive triumph, to the little inn: where he +was taken ill next morning, and lay for six weeks, attended by +the amiable hostess (the same benevolent old lady who had wept +over night) and her charming daughter, Fanchette. It is +nothing to say that they were attentive to him; they doted on +him. They called him in their simple way, <i>l’Ange +Anglais</i>—the English Angel. When our bore left the +valley, there was not a dry eye in the place; some of the people +attended him for miles. He begs and entreats of you as a +personal favour, that if you ever go to Switzerland again (you +have mentioned that your last visit was your twenty-third), you +will go to that valley, and see Swiss scenery for the first +time. And if you want really to know the pastoral people of +Switzerland, and to understand them, mention, in that valley, our +bore’s name!</p> +<p>Our bore has a crushing brother in the East, who, somehow or +other, was admitted to smoke pipes with Mehemet Ali, and +instantly became an authority on the whole range of Eastern +matters, from Haroun Alraschid to the present Sultan. He is +in the habit of expressing mysterious opinions on this wide range +of subjects, but on questions of foreign policy more +particularly, to our bore, in letters; and our bore is +continually sending bits of these letters to the newspapers +(which they never insert), and carrying other bits about in his +pocket-book. It is even whispered that he has been seen at +the Foreign Office, receiving great consideration from the +messengers, and having his card promptly borne into the sanctuary +of the temple. The havoc committed in society by this +Eastern brother is beyond belief. Our bore is always ready +with him. We have known our bore to fall upon an +intelligent young sojourner in the wilderness, in the first +sentence of a narrative, and beat all confidence out of him with +one blow of his brother. He became omniscient, as to +foreign policy, in the smoking of those pipes with Mehemet +Ali. The balance of power in Europe, the machinations of +the Jesuits, the gentle and humanising influence of Austria, the +position and prospects of that hero of the noble soul who is +worshipped by happy France, are all easy reading to our +bore’s brother. And our bore is so provokingly +self-denying about him! ‘I don’t pretend to +more than a very general knowledge of these subjects +myself,’ says he, after enervating the intellects of +several strong men, ‘but these are my brother’s +opinions, and I believe he is known to be +well-informed.’</p> +<p>The commonest incidents and places would appear to have been +made special, expressly for our bore. Ask him whether he +ever chanced to walk, between seven and eight in the morning, +down St. James’s Street, London, and he will tell you, +never in his life but once. But, it’s curious that +that once was in eighteen thirty; and that as our bore was +walking down the street you have just mentioned, at the hour you +have just mentioned—half-past seven—or twenty minutes +to eight. No! Let him be correct!—exactly a +quarter before eight by the palace clock—he met a +fresh-coloured, grey-haired, good-humoured looking gentleman, +with a brown umbrella, who, as he passed him, touched his hat and +said, ‘Fine morning, sir, fine +morning!’—William the Fourth!</p> +<p>Ask our bore whether he has seen Mr. Barry’s new Houses +of Parliament, and he will reply that he has not yet inspected +them minutely, but, that you remind him that it was his singular +fortune to be the last man to see the old Houses of Parliament +before the fire broke out. It happened in this way. +Poor John Spine, the celebrated novelist, had taken him over to +South Lambeth to read to him the last few chapters of what was +certainly his best book—as our bore told him at the time, +adding, ‘Now, my dear John, touch it, and you’ll +spoil it!’—and our bore was going back to the club by +way of Millbank and Parliament Street, when he stopped to think +of Canning, and look at the Houses of Parliament. Now, you +know far more of the philosophy of Mind than our bore does, and +are much better able to explain to him than he is to explain to +you why or wherefore, at that particular time, the thought of +fire should come into his head. But, it did. It +did. He thought, What a national calamity if an edifice +connected with so many associations should be consumed by +fire! At that time there was not a single soul in the +street but himself. All was quiet, dark, and +solitary. After contemplating the building for a +minute—or, say a minute and a half, not more—our bore +proceeded on his way, mechanically repeating, What a national +calamity if such an edifice, connected with such associations, +should be destroyed by—A man coming towards him in a +violent state of agitation completed the sentence, with the +exclamation, Fire! Our bore looked round, and the whole +structure was in a blaze.</p> +<p>In harmony and union with these experiences, our bore never +went anywhere in a steamboat but he made either the best or the +worst voyage ever known on that station. Either he +overheard the captain say to himself, with his hands clasped, +‘We are all lost!’ or the captain openly declared to +him that he had never made such a run before, and never should be +able to do it again. Our bore was in that express train on +that railway, when they made (unknown to the passengers) the +experiment of going at the rate of a hundred to miles an +hour. Our bore remarked on that occasion to the other +people in the carriage, ‘This is too fast, but sit +still!’ He was at the Norwich musical festival when +the extraordinary echo for which science has been wholly unable +to account, was heard for the first and last time. He and +the bishop heard it at the same moment, and caught each +other’s eye. He was present at that illumination of +St. Peter’s, of which the Pope is known to have remarked, +as he looked at it out of his window in the Vatican, ‘<i>O +Cielo</i>! <i>Questa cosa non sara fatta</i>, <i>mai +ancora</i>, <i>come questa</i>—O Heaven! this thing will +never be done again, like this!’ He has seen every +lion he ever saw, under some remarkably propitious +circumstances. He knows there is no fancy in it, because in +every case the showman mentioned the fact at the time, and +congratulated him upon it.</p> +<p>At one period of his life, our bore had an illness. It +was an illness of a dangerous character for society at +large. Innocently remark that you are very well, or that +somebody else is very well; and our bore, with a preface that one +never knows what a blessing health is until one has lost it, is +reminded of that illness, and drags you through the whole of its +symptoms, progress, and treatment. Innocently remark that +you are not well, or that somebody else is not well, and the same +inevitable result ensues. You will learn how our bore felt +a tightness about here, sir, for which he couldn’t account, +accompanied with a constant sensation as if he were being +stabbed—or, rather, jobbed—that expresses it more +correctly—jobbed—with a blunt knife. Well, +sir! This went on, until sparks began to flit before his +eyes, water-wheels to turn round in his head, and hammers to beat +incessantly, thump, thump, thump, all down his back—along +the whole of the spinal vertebræ. Our bore, when his +sensations had come to this, thought it a duty he owed to himself +to take advice, and he said, Now, whom shall I consult? He +naturally thought of Callow, at that time one of the most eminent +physicians in London, and he went to Callow. Callow said, +‘Liver!’ and prescribed rhubarb and calomel, low +diet, and moderate exercise. Our bore went on with this +treatment, getting worse every day, until he lost confidence in +Callow, and went to Moon, whom half the town was then mad +about. Moon was interested in the case; to do him justice +he was very much interested in the case; and he said, +‘Kidneys!’ He altered the whole treatment, +sir—gave strong acids, cupped, and blistered. This +went on, our bore still getting worse every day, until he openly +told Moon it would be a satisfaction to him if he would have a +consultation with Clatter. The moment Clatter saw our bore, +he said, ‘Accumulation of fat about the heart!’ +Snugglewood, who was called in with him, differed, and said, +‘Brain!’ But, what they all agreed upon was, to +lay our bore upon his back, to shave his head, to leech him, to +administer enormous quantities of medicine, and to keep him low; +so that he was reduced to a mere shadow, you wouldn’t have +known him, and nobody considered it possible that he could ever +recover. This was his condition, sir, when he heard of +Jilkins—at that period in a very small practice, and living +in the upper part of a house in Great Portland Street; but still, +you understand, with a rising reputation among the few people to +whom he was known. Being in that condition in which a +drowning man catches at a straw, our bore sent for Jilkins. +Jilkins came. Our bore liked his eye, and said, ‘Mr. +Jilkins, I have a presentiment that you will do me +good.’ Jilkins’s reply was characteristic of +the man. It was, ‘Sir, I mean to do you +good.’ This confirmed our bore’s opinion of his +eye, and they went into the case together—went completely +into it. Jilkins then got up, walked across the room, came +back, and sat down. His words were these. ‘You +have been humbugged. This is a case of indigestion, +occasioned by deficiency of power in the Stomach. Take a +mutton chop in half-an-hour, with a glass of the finest old +sherry that can be got for money. Take two mutton chops +to-morrow, and two glasses of the finest old sherry. Next +day, I’ll come again.’ In a week our bore was +on his legs, and Jilkins’s success dates from that +period!</p> +<p>Our bore is great in secret information. He happens to +know many things that nobody else knows. He can generally +tell you where the split is in the Ministry; he knows a great +deal about the Queen; and has little anecdotes to relate of the +royal nursery. He gives you the judge’s private +opinion of Sludge the murderer, and his thoughts when he tried +him. He happens to know what such a man got by such a +transaction, and it was fifteen thousand five hundred pounds, and +his income is twelve thousand a year. Our bore is also +great in mystery. He believes, with an exasperating +appearance of profound meaning, that you saw Parkins last +Sunday?—Yes, you did.—Did he say anything +particular?—No, nothing particular.—Our bore is +surprised at that.—Why?—Nothing. Only he +understood that Parkins had come to tell you +something.—What about?—Well! our bore is not at +liberty to mention what about. But, he believes you will +hear that from Parkins himself, soon, and he hopes it may not +surprise you as it did him. Perhaps, however, you never +heard about Parkins’s wife’s +sister?—No.—Ah! says our bore, that explains it!</p> +<p>Our bore is also great in argument. He infinitely enjoys +a long humdrum, drowsy interchange of words of dispute about +nothing. He considers that it strengthens the mind, +consequently, he ‘don’t see that,’ very +often. Or, he would be glad to know what you mean by +that. Or, he doubts that. Or, he has always +understood exactly the reverse of that. Or, he can’t +admit that. Or, he begs to deny that. Or, surely you +don’t mean that. And so on. He once advised us; +offered us a piece of advice, after the fact, totally +impracticable and wholly impossible of acceptance, because it +supposed the fact, then eternally disposed of, to be yet in +abeyance. It was a dozen years ago, and to this hour our +bore benevolently wishes, in a mild voice, on certain regular +occasions, that we had thought better of his opinion.</p> +<p>The instinct with which our bore finds out another bore, and +closes with him, is amazing. We have seen him pick his man +out of fifty men, in a couple of minutes. They love to go +(which they do naturally) into a slow argument on a previously +exhausted subject, and to contradict each other, and to wear the +hearers out, without impairing their own perennial freshness as +bores. It improves the good understanding between them, and +they get together afterwards, and bore each other amicably. +Whenever we see our bore behind a door with another bore, we know +that when he comes forth, he will praise the other bore as one of +the most intelligent men he ever met. And this bringing us +to the close of what we had to say about our bore, we are anxious +to have it understood that he never bestowed this praise on +us.</p> +<h2><a name="page494"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 494</span>A +MONUMENT OF FRENCH FOLLY</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was profoundly observed by a +witty member of the Court of Common Council, in Council assembled +in the City of London, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight +hundred and fifty, that the French are a frog-eating people, who +wear wooden shoes.</p> +<p>We are credibly informed, in reference to the nation whom this +choice spirit so happily disposed of, that the caricatures and +stage representations which were current in England some half a +century ago, exactly depict their present condition. For +example, we understand that every Frenchman, without exception, +wears a pigtail and curl-papers. That he is extremely +sallow, thin, long-faced, and lantern-jawed. That the +calves of his legs are invariably undeveloped; that his legs fail +at the knees, and that his shoulders are always higher than his +ears. We are likewise assured that he rarely tastes any +food but soup maigre, and an onion; that he always says, +‘By Gar! Aha! Vat you tell me, sare?’ at the end of +every sentence he utters; and that the true generic name of his +race is the Mounseers, or the Parly-voos. If he be not a +dancing-master, or a barber, he must be a cook; since no other +trades but those three are congenial to the tastes of the people, +or permitted by the Institutions of the country. He is a +slave, of course. The ladies of France (who are also +slaves) invariably have their heads tied up in Belcher +handkerchiefs, wear long earrings, carry tambourines, and beguile +the weariness of their yoke by singing in head voices through +their noses—principally to barrel-organs.</p> +<p>It may be generally summed up, of this inferior people, that +they have no idea of anything.</p> +<p>Of a great Institution like Smithfield, they are unable to +form the least conception. A Beast Market in the heart of +Paris would be regarded an impossible nuisance. Nor have +they any notion of slaughter-houses in the midst of a city. +One of these benighted frog-eaters would scarcely understand your +meaning, if you told him of the existence of such a British +bulwark.</p> +<p>It is agreeable, and perhaps pardonable, to indulge in a +little self-complacency when our right to it is thoroughly +established. At the present time, to be rendered memorable +by a final attack on that good old market which is the (rotten) +apple of the Corporation’s eye, let us compare ourselves, +to our national delight and pride as to these two subjects of +slaughter-house and beast-market, with the outlandish +foreigner.</p> +<p>The blessings of Smithfield are too well understood to need +recapitulation; all who run (away from mad bulls and pursuing +oxen) may read. Any market-day they may be beheld in +glorious action. Possibly the merits of our +slaughter-houses are not yet quite so generally appreciated.</p> +<p>Slaughter-houses, in the large towns of England, are always +(with the exception of one or two enterprising towns) most +numerous in the most densely crowded places, where there is the +least circulation of air. They are often underground, in +cellars; they are sometimes in close back yards; sometimes (as in +Spitalfields) in the very shops where the meat is sold. +Occasionally, under good private management, they are ventilated +and clean. For the most part, they are unventilated and +dirty; and, to the reeking walls, putrid fat and other offensive +animal matter clings with a tenacious hold. The busiest +slaughter-houses in London are in the neighbourhood of +Smithfield, in Newgate Market, in Whitechapel, in Newport Market, +in Leadenhall Market, in Clare Market. All these places are +surrounded by houses of a poor description, swarming with +inhabitants. Some of them are close to the worst +burial-grounds in London. When the slaughter-house is below +the ground, it is a common practice to throw the sheep down +areas, neck and crop—which is exciting, but not at all +cruel. When it is on the level surface, it is often +extremely difficult of approach. Then, the beasts have to +be worried, and goaded, and pronged, and tail-twisted, for a long +time before they can be got in—which is entirely owing to +their natural obstinacy. When it is not difficult of +approach, but is in a foul condition, what they see and scent +makes them still more reluctant to enter—which is their +natural obstinacy again. When they do get in at last, after +no trouble and suffering to speak of (for, there is nothing in +the previous journey into the heart of London, the night’s +endurance in Smithfield, the struggle out again, among the +crowded multitude, the coaches, carts, waggons, omnibuses, gigs, +chaises, phaetons, cabs, trucks, dogs, boys, whoopings, roarings, +and ten thousand other distractions), they are represented to be +in a most unfit state to be killed, according to microscopic +examinations made of their fevered blood by one of the most +distinguished physiologists in the world, <span +class="smcap">Professor Owen</span>—but that’s +humbug. When they <i>are</i> killed, at last, their reeking +carcases are hung in impure air, to become, as the same Professor +will explain to you, less nutritious and more +unwholesome—but he is only an <i>un</i>common counsellor, +so don’t mind <i>him</i>. In half a quarter of a +mile’s length of Whitechapel, at one time, there shall be +six hundred newly slaughtered oxen hanging up, and seven hundred +sheep—but, the more the merrier—proof of +prosperity. Hard by Snow Hill and Warwick Lane, you shall +see the little children, inured to sights of brutality from their +birth, trotting along the alleys, mingled with troops of horribly +busy pigs, up to their ankles in blood—but it makes the +young rascals hardy. Into the imperfect sewers of this +overgrown city, you shall have the immense mass of corruption, +engendered by these practices, lazily thrown out of sight, to +rise, in poisonous gases, into your house at night, when your +sleeping children will most readily absorb them, and to find its +languid way, at last, into the river that you drink—but, +the French are a frog-eating people who wear wooden shoes, and +it’s O the roast beef of England, my boy, the jolly old +English roast beef.</p> +<p>It is quite a mistake—a newfangled notion +altogether—to suppose that there is any natural antagonism +between putrefaction and health. They know better than +that, in the Common Council. You may talk about Nature, in +her wisdom, always warning man through his sense of smell, when +he draws near to something dangerous; but, that won’t go +down in the City. Nature very often don’t mean +anything. Mrs. Quickly says that prunes are ill for a green +wound; but whosoever says that putrid animal substances are ill +for a green wound, or for robust vigour, or for anything or for +anybody, is a humanity-monger and a humbug. Britons never, +never, never, &c., therefore. And prosperity to +cattle-driving, cattle-slaughtering, bone-crushing, +blood-boiling, trotter-scraping, tripe-dressing, paunch-cleaning, +gut-spinning, hide-preparing, tallow-melting, and other +salubrious proceedings, in the midst of hospitals, churchyards, +workhouses, schools, infirmaries, refuges, dwellings, +provision-shops nurseries, sick-beds, every stage and +baiting-place in the journey from birth to death!</p> +<p>These <i>un</i>common counsellors, your Professor Owens and +fellows, will contend that to tolerate these things in a +civilised city, is to reduce it to a worse condition than <span +class="smcap">Bruce</span> found to prevail in <span +class="smcap">Abyssinia</span>. For there (say they) the +jackals and wild dogs came at night to devour the offal; whereas, +here there are no such natural scavengers, and quite as savage +customs. Further, they will demonstrate that nothing in +Nature is intended to be wasted, and that besides the waste which +such abuses occasion in the articles of health and +life—main sources of the riches of any community—they +lead to a prodigious waste of changing matters, which might, with +proper preparation, and under scientific direction, be safely +applied to the increase of the fertility of the land. Thus +(they argue) does Nature ever avenge infractions of her +beneficent laws, and so surely as Man is determined to warp any +of her blessings into curses, shall they become curses, and shall +he suffer heavily. But, this is cant. Just as it is +cant of the worst description to say to the London Corporation, +‘How can you exhibit to the people so plain a spectacle of +dishonest equivocation, as to claim the right of holding a market +in the midst of the great city, for one of your vested +privileges, when you know that when your last market holding +charter was granted to you by King Charles the First, Smithfield +stood <span class="smcap">in the Suburbs of London</span>, and is +in that very charter so described in those five +words?’—which is certainly true, but has nothing to +do with the question.</p> +<p>Now to the comparison, in these particulars of civilisation, +between the capital of England, and the capital of that +frog-eating and wooden-shoe wearing country, which the +illustrious Common Councilman so sarcastically settled.</p> +<p>In Paris, there is no Cattle Market. Cows and calves are +sold within the city, but, the Cattle Markets are at Poissy, +about thirteen miles off, on a line of railway; and at Sceaux, +about five miles off. The Poissy market is held every +Thursday; the Sceaux market, every Monday. In Paris, there +are no slaughter-houses, in our acceptation of the term. +There are five public Abattoirs—within the walls, though in +the suburbs—and in these all the slaughtering for the city +must be performed. They are managed by a Syndicat or Guild +of Butchers, who confer with the Minister of the Interior on all +matters affecting the trade, and who are consulted when any new +regulations are contemplated for its government. They are, +likewise, under the vigilant superintendence of the police. +Every butcher must be licensed: which proves him at once to be a +slave, for we don’t license butchers in England—we +only license apothecaries, attorneys, post-masters, publicans, +hawkers, retailers of tobacco, snuff, pepper, and +vinegar—and one or two other little trades, not worth +mentioning. Every arrangement in connexion with the +slaughtering and sale of meat, is matter of strict police +regulation. (Slavery again, though we certainly have a +general sort of Police Act here.)</p> +<p>But, in order that the reader may understand what a monument +of folly these frog-eaters have raised in their abattoirs and +cattle-markets, and may compare it with what common counselling +has done for us all these years, and would still do but for the +innovating spirit of the times, here follows a short account of a +recent visit to these places:</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>It was as sharp a February morning as you would desire to feel +at your fingers’ ends when I turned out—tumbling over +a chiffonier with his little basket and rake, who was picking up +the bits of coloured paper that had been swept out, over-night, +from a Bon-Bon shop—to take the Butchers’ Train to +Poissy. A cold, dim light just touched the high roofs of +the Tuileries which have seen such changes, such distracted +crowds, such riot and bloodshed; and they looked as calm, and as +old, all covered with white frost, as the very Pyramids. +There was not light enough, yet, to strike upon the towers of +Notre Dame across the water; but I thought of the dark pavement +of the old Cathedral as just beginning to be streaked with grey; +and of the lamps in the ‘House of God,’ the Hospital +close to it, burning low and being quenched; and of the keeper of +the Morgue going about with a fading lantern, busy in the +arrangement of his terrible waxwork for another sunny day.</p> +<p>The sun was up, and shining merrily when the butchers and I, +announcing our departure with an engine shriek to sleepy Paris, +rattled away for the Cattle Market. Across the country, +over the Seine, among a forest of scrubby trees—the hoar +frost lying cold in shady places, and glittering in the +light—and here we are—at Poissy! Out leap the +butchers, who have been chattering all the way like madmen, and +off they straggle for the Cattle Market (still chattering, of +course, incessantly), in hats and caps of all shapes, in coats +and blouses, in calf-skins, cow-skins, horse-skins, furs, shaggy +mantles, hairy coats, sacking, baize, oil-skin, anything you +please that will keep a man and a butcher warm, upon a frosty +morning.</p> +<p>Many a French town have I seen, between this spot of ground +and Strasburg or Marseilles, that might sit for your picture, +little Poissy! Barring the details of your old church, I +know you well, albeit we make acquaintance, now, for the first +time. I know your narrow, straggling, winding streets, with +a kennel in the midst, and lamps slung across. I know your +picturesque street-corners, winding up-hill Heaven knows why or +where! I know your tradesmen’s inscriptions, in +letters not quite fat enough; your barbers’ brazen basins +dangling over little shops; your Cafés and Estaminets, +with cloudy bottles of stale syrup in the windows, and pictures +of crossed billiard cues outside. I know this identical +grey horse with his tail rolled up in a knot like the ‘back +hair’ of an untidy woman, who won’t be shod, and who +makes himself heraldic by clattering across the street on his +hind-legs, while twenty voices shriek and growl at him as a +Brigand, an accursed Robber, and an everlastingly-doomed +Pig. I know your sparkling town-fountain, too, my Poissy, +and am glad to see it near a cattle-market, gushing so freshly, +under the auspices of a gallant little sublimated Frenchman +wrought in metal, perched upon the top. Through all the +land of France I know this unswept room at The Glory, with its +peculiar smell of beans and coffee, where the butchers crowd +about the stove, drinking the thinnest of wine from the smallest +of tumblers; where the thickest of coffee-cups mingle with the +longest of loaves, and the weakest of lump sugar; where Madame at +the counter easily acknowledges the homage of all entering and +departing butchers; where the billiard-table is covered up in the +midst like a great bird-cake—but the bird may sing +by-and-by!</p> +<p>A bell! The Calf Market! Polite departure of +butchers. Hasty payment and departure on the part of +amateur Visitor. Madame reproaches Ma’amselle for too +fine a susceptibility in reference to the devotion of a Butcher +in a bear-skin. Monsieur, the landlord of The Glory, counts +a double handful of sous, without an unobliterated inscription, +or an undamaged crowned head, among them.</p> +<p>There is little noise without, abundant space, and no +confusion. The open area devoted to the market is divided +into three portions: the Calf Market, the Cattle Market, the +Sheep Market. Calves at eight, cattle at ten, sheep at +mid-day. All is very clean.</p> +<p>The Calf Market is a raised platform of stone, some three or +four feet high, open on all sides, with a lofty overspreading +roof, supported on stone columns, which give it the appearance of +a sort of vineyard from Northern Italy. Here, on the raised +pavement, lie innumerable calves, all bound hind-legs and +fore-legs together, and all trembling violently—perhaps +with cold, perhaps with fear, perhaps with pain; for, this mode +of tying, which seems to be an absolute superstition with the +peasantry, can hardly fail to cause great suffering. Here, +they lie, patiently in rows, among the straw, with their stolid +faces and inexpressive eyes, superintended by men and women, boys +and girls; here they are inspected by our friends, the butchers, +bargained for, and bought. Plenty of time; plenty of room; +plenty of good humour. ‘Monsieur Francois in the +bear-skin, how do you do, my friend? You come from Paris by +the train? The fresh air does you good. If you are in +want of three or four fine calves this market morning, my angel, +I, Madame Doche, shall be happy to deal with you. Behold +these calves, Monsieur Francois! Great Heaven, you are +doubtful! Well, sir, walk round and look about you. +If you find better for the money, buy them. If not, come to +me!’ Monsieur Francois goes his way leisurely, and +keeps a wary eye upon the stock. No other butcher jostles +Monsieur Francois; Monsieur Francois jostles no other +butcher. Nobody is flustered and aggravated. Nobody +is savage. In the midst of the country blue frocks and red +handkerchiefs, and the butchers’ coats, shaggy, furry, and +hairy: of calf-skin, cow-skin, horse-skin, and bear-skin: towers +a cocked hat and a blue cloak. Slavery! For +<i>our</i> Police wear great-coats and glazed hats.</p> +<p>But now the bartering is over, and the calves are sold. +‘Ho! Gregoire, Antoine, Jean, Louis! Bring up the +carts, my children! Quick, brave infants! Hola! +Hi!’</p> +<p>The carts, well littered with straw, are backed up to the edge +of the raised pavement, and various hot infants carry calves upon +their heads, and dexterously pitch them in, while other hot +infants, standing in the carts, arrange the calves, and pack them +carefully in straw. Here is a promising young calf, not +sold, whom Madame Doche unbinds. Pardon me, Madame Doche, +but I fear this mode of tying the four legs of a quadruped +together, though strictly à la mode, is not quite +right. You observe, Madame Doche, that the cord leaves deep +indentations in the skin, and that the animal is so cramped at +first as not to know, or even remotely suspect that he <i>is</i> +unbound, until you are so obliging as to kick him, in your +delicate little way, and pull his tail like a bell-rope. +Then, he staggers to his knees, not being able to stand, and +stumbles about like a drunken calf, or the horse at +Franconi’s, whom you may have seen, Madame Doche, who is +supposed to have been mortally wounded in battle. But, what +is this rubbing against me, as I apostrophise Madame Doche? +It is another heated infant with a calf upon his head. +‘Pardon, Monsieur, but will you have the politeness to +allow me to pass?’ ‘Ah, sir, willingly. I +am vexed to obstruct the way.’ On he staggers, calf +and all, and makes no allusion whatever either to my eyes or +limbs.</p> +<p>Now, the carts are all full. More straw, my Antoine, to +shake over these top rows; then, off we will clatter, rumble, +jolt, and rattle, a long row of us, out of the first town-gate, +and out at the second town-gate, and past the empty sentry-box, +and the little thin square bandbox of a guardhouse, where nobody +seems to live: and away for Paris, by the paved road, lying, a +straight, straight line, in the long, long avenue of trees. +We can neither choose our road, nor our pace, for that is all +prescribed to us. The public convenience demands that our +carts should get to Paris by such a route, and no other (Napoleon +had leisure to find that out, while he had a little war with the +world upon his hands), and woe betide us if we infringe +orders.</p> +<p>Drovers of oxen stand in the Cattle Market, tied to iron bars +fixed into posts of granite. Other droves advance slowly +down the long avenue, past the second town-gate, and the first +town-gate, and the sentry-box, and the bandbox, thawing the +morning with their smoky breath as they come along. Plenty +of room; plenty of time. Neither man nor beast is driven +out of his wits by coaches, carts, waggons, omnibuses, gigs, +chaises, phaetons, cabs, trucks, boys, whoopings, roarings, and +multitudes. No tail-twisting is necessary—no iron +pronging is necessary. There are no iron prongs here. +The market for cattle is held as quietly as the market for +calves. In due time, off the cattle go to Paris; the +drovers can no more choose their road, nor their time, nor the +numbers they shall drive, than they can choose their hour for +dying in the course of nature.</p> +<p>Sheep next. The sheep-pens are up here, past the Branch +Bank of Paris established for the convenience of the butchers, +and behind the two pretty fountains they are making in the +Market. My name is Bull: yet I think I should like to see +as good twin fountains—not to say in Smithfield, but in +England anywhere. Plenty of room; plenty of time. And +here are sheep-dogs, sensible as ever, but with a certain French +air about them—not without a suspicion of +dominoes—with a kind of flavour of moustache and +beard—demonstrative dogs, shaggy and loose where an English +dog would be tight and close—not so troubled with business +calculations as our English drovers’ dogs, who have always +got their sheep upon their minds, and think about their work, +even resting, as you may see by their faces; but, dashing, showy, +rather unreliable dogs: who might worry me instead of their +legitimate charges if they saw occasion—and might see it +somewhat suddenly.</p> +<p>The market for sheep passes off like the other two; and away +they go, by <i>their</i> allotted road to Paris. My way +being the Railway, I make the best of it at twenty miles an hour; +whirling through the now high-lighted landscape; thinking that +the inexperienced green buds will be wishing, before long, they +had not been tempted to come out so soon; and wondering who lives +in this or that château, all window and lattice, and what +the family may have for breakfast this sharp morning.</p> +<p>After the Market comes the Abattoir. What abattoir shall +I visit first? Montmartre is the largest. So I will +go there.</p> +<p>The abattoirs are all within the walls of Paris, with an eye +to the receipt of the octroi duty; but, they stand in open places +in the suburbs, removed from the press and bustle of the +city. They are managed by the Syndicat or Guild of +Butchers, under the inspection of the Police. Certain +smaller items of the revenue derived from them are in part +retained by the Guild for the payment of their expenses, and in +part devoted by it to charitable purposes in connexion with the +trade. They cost six hundred and eighty thousand pounds; +and they return to the city of Paris an interest on that outlay, +amounting to nearly six and a-half per cent.</p> +<p>Here, in a sufficiently dismantled space is the Abattoir of +Montmartre, covering nearly nine acres of ground, surrounded by a +high wall, and looking from the outside like a cavalry +barrack. At the iron gates is a small functionary in a +large cocked hat. ‘Monsieur desires to see the +abattoir? Most certainly.’ State being +inconvenient in private transactions, and Monsieur being already +aware of the cocked hat, the functionary puts it into a little +official bureau which it almost fills, and accompanies me in the +modest attire—as to his head—of ordinary life.</p> +<p>Many of the animals from Poissy have come here. On the +arrival of each drove, it was turned into yonder ample space, +where each butcher who had bought, selected his own +purchases. Some, we see now, in these long perspectives of +stalls with a high over-hanging roof of wood and open tiles +rising above the walls. While they rest here, before being +slaughtered, they are required to be fed and watered, and the +stalls must be kept clean. A stated amount of fodder must +always be ready in the loft above; and the supervision is of the +strictest kind. The same regulations apply to sheep and +calves; for which, portions of these perspectives are strongly +railed off. All the buildings are of the strongest and most +solid description.</p> +<p>After traversing these lairs, through which, besides the upper +provision for ventilation just mentioned, there may be a thorough +current of air from opposite windows in the side walls, and from +doors at either end, we traverse the broad, paved, court-yard +until we come to the slaughter-houses. They are all exactly +alike, and adjoin each other, to the number of eight or nine +together, in blocks of solid building. Let us walk into the +first.</p> +<p>It is firmly built and paved with stone. It is well +lighted, thoroughly aired, and lavishly provided with fresh +water. It has two doors opposite each other; the first, the +door by which I entered from the main yard; the second, which is +opposite, opening on another smaller yard, where the sheep and +calves are killed on benches. The pavement of that yard, I +see, slopes downward to a gutter, for its being more easily +cleansed. The slaughter-house is fifteen feet high, sixteen +feet and a-half wide, and thirty-three feet long. It is +fitted with a powerful windlass, by which one man at the handle +can bring the head of an ox down to the ground to receive the +blow from the pole-axe that is to fell him—with the means +of raising the carcass and keeping it suspended during the +after-operation of dressing—and with hooks on which +carcasses can hang, when completely prepared, without touching +the walls. Upon the pavement of this first stone chamber, +lies an ox scarcely dead. If I except the blood draining +from him, into a little stone well in a corner of the pavement, +the place is free from offence as the Place de la Concorde. +It is infinitely purer and cleaner, I know, my friend the +functionary, than the Cathedral of Notre Dame. Ha, +ha! Monsieur is pleasant, but, truly, there is reason, too, +in what he says.</p> +<p>I look into another of these slaughter-houses. +‘Pray enter,’ says a gentleman in bloody boots. +‘This is a calf I have killed this morning. Having a +little time upon my hands, I have cut and punctured this lace +pattern in the coats of his stomach. It is pretty +enough. I did it to divert myself.’—‘It +is beautiful, Monsieur, the slaughterer!’ He tells me +I have the gentility to say so.</p> +<p>I look into rows of slaughter-houses. In many, retail +dealers, who have come here for the purpose, are making bargains +for meat. There is killing enough, certainly, to satiate an +unused eye; and there are steaming carcasses enough, to suggest +the expediency of a fowl and salad for dinner; but, everywhere, +there is an orderly, clean, well-systematised routine of work in +progress—horrible work at the best, if you please; but, so +much the greater reason why it should be made the best of. +I don’t know (I think I have observed, my name is Bull) +that a Parisian of the lowest order is particularly delicate, or +that his nature is remarkable for an infinitesimal infusion of +ferocity; but, I do know, my potent, grave, and common +counselling Signors, that he is forced, when at this work, to +submit himself to a thoroughly good system, and to make an +Englishman very heartily ashamed of you.</p> +<p>Here, within the walls of the same abattoir, in other roomy +and commodious buildings, are a place for converting the fat into +tallow and packing it for market—a place for cleansing and +scalding calves’ heads and sheep’s feet—a place +for preparing tripe—stables and coach-houses for the +butchers—innumerable conveniences, aiding in the diminution +of offensiveness to its lowest possible point, and the raising of +cleanliness and supervision to their highest. Hence, all +the meat that goes out of the gate is sent away in clean covered +carts. And if every trade connected with the slaughtering +of animals were obliged by law to be carried on in the same +place, I doubt, my friend, now reinstated in the cocked hat +(whose civility these two francs imperfectly acknowledge, but +appear munificently to repay), whether there could be better +regulations than those which are carried out at the Abattoir of +Montmartre. Adieu, my friend, for I am away to the other +side of Paris, to the Abattoir of Grenelle! And there I +find exactly the same thing on a smaller scale, with the addition +of a magnificent Artesian well, and a different sort of +conductor, in the person of a neat little woman with neat little +eyes, and a neat little voice, who picks her neat little way +among the bullocks in a very neat little pair of shoes and +stockings.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>Such is the Monument of French Folly which a foreigneering +people have erected, in a national hatred and antipathy for +common counselling wisdom. That wisdom, assembled in the +City of London, having distinctly refused, after a debate of +three days long, and by a majority of nearly seven to one, to +associate itself with any Metropolitan Cattle Market unless it be +held in the midst of the City, it follows that we shall lose the +inestimable advantages of common counselling protection, and be +thrown, for a market, on our own wretched resources. In all +human probability we shall thus come, at last, to erect a +monument of folly very like this French monument. If that +be done, the consequences are obvious. The leather trade +will be ruined, by the introduction of American timber, to be +manufactured into shoes for the fallen English; the Lord Mayor +will be required, by the popular voice, to live entirely on +frogs; and both these changes will (how, is not at present quite +clear, but certainly somehow or other) fall on that unhappy +landed interest which is always being killed, yet is always found +to be alive—and kicking.</p> +<h2>FOOTNOTES</h2> +<p><a name="footnote415"></a><a href="#citation415" +class="footnote">[415]</a> Give a bill</p> +<p><a name="footnote426"></a><a href="#citation426" +class="footnote">[426]</a> Three months’ imprisonment +as reputed thieves.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK REPRINTED PIECES***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 872-h.htm or 872-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/8/7/872 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law 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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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +Reprinted Pieces by Charles Dickens +Scanned and proofed by David Price +ccx074@coventry.ac.uk + + + + + +Reprinted Pieces + + + + +THE LONG VOYAGE + + + +WHEN the wind is blowing and the sleet or rain is driving against +the dark windows, I love to sit by the fire, thinking of what I +have read in books of voyage and travel. Such books have had a +strong fascination for my mind from my earliest childhood; and I +wonder it should have come to pass that I never have been round the +world, never have been shipwrecked, ice-environed, tomahawked, or +eaten. + +Sitting on my ruddy hearth in the twilight of New Year's Eve, I +find incidents of travel rise around me from all the latitudes and +longitudes of the globe. They observe no order or sequence, but +appear and vanish as they will--'come like shadows, so depart.' +Columbus, alone upon the sea with his disaffected crew, looks over +the waste of waters from his high station on the poop of his ship, +and sees the first uncertain glimmer of the light, 'rising and +falling with the waves, like a torch in the bark of some +fisherman,' which is the shining star of a new world. Bruce is +caged in Abyssinia, surrounded by the gory horrors which shall +often startle him out of his sleep at home when years have passed +away. Franklin, come to the end of his unhappy overland journey - +would that it had been his last! - lies perishing of hunger with +his brave companions: each emaciated figure stretched upon its +miserable bed without the power to rise: all, dividing the weary +days between their prayers, their remembrances of the dear ones at +home, and conversation on the pleasures of eating; the last-named +topic being ever present to them, likewise, in their dreams. All +the African travellers, wayworn, solitary and sad, submit +themselves again to drunken, murderous, man-selling despots, of the +lowest order of humanity; and Mungo Park, fainting under a tree and +succoured by a woman, gratefully remembers how his Good Samaritan +has always come to him in woman's shape, the wide world over. + +A shadow on the wall in which my mind's eye can discern some traces +of a rocky sea-coast, recalls to me a fearful story of travel +derived from that unpromising narrator of such stories, a +parliamentary blue-book. A convict is its chief figure, and this +man escapes with other prisoners from a penal settlement. It is an +island, and they seize a boat, and get to the main land. Their way +is by a rugged and precipitous sea-shore, and they have no earthly +hope of ultimate escape, for the party of soldiers despatched by an +easier course to cut them off, must inevitably arrive at their +distant bourne long before them, and retake them if by any hazard +they survive the horrors of the way. Famine, as they all must have +foreseen, besets them early in their course. Some of the party die +and are eaten; some are murdered by the rest and eaten. This one +awful creature eats his fill, and sustains his strength, and lives +on to be recaptured and taken back. The unrelateable experiences +through which he has passed have been so tremendous, that he is not +hanged as he might be, but goes back to his old chained-gang work. +A little time, and he tempts one other prisoner away, seizes +another boat, and flies once more - necessarily in the old hopeless +direction, for he can take no other. He is soon cut off, and met +by the pursuing party face to face, upon the beach. He is alone. +In his former journey he acquired an inappeasable relish for his +dreadful food. He urged the new man away, expressly to kill him +and eat him. In the pockets on one side of his coarse +convict-dress, are portions of the man's body, on which he is regaling; in +the pockets on the other side is an untouched store of salted pork +(stolen before he left the island) for which he has no appetite. +He is taken back, and he is hanged. But I shall never see that +sea-beach on the wall or in the fire, without him, solitary +monster, eating as he prowls along, while the sea rages and rises +at him. + +Captain Bligh (a worse man to be entrusted with arbitrary power +there could scarcely be) is handed over the side of the Bounty, and +turned adrift on the wide ocean in an open boat, by order of +Fletcher Christian, one of his officers, at this very minute. +Another flash of my fire, and 'Thursday October Christian,' +five-and-twenty years of age, son of the dead and gone Fletcher by a +savage mother, leaps aboard His Majesty's ship Briton, hove-to off +Pitcairn's Island; says his simple grace before eating, in good +English; and knows that a pretty little animal on board is called a +dog, because in his childhood he had heard of such strange +creatures from his father and the other mutineers, grown grey under +the shade of the bread-fruit trees, speaking of their lost country +far away. + +See the Halsewell, East Indiaman outward bound, driving madly on a +January night towards the rocks near Seacombe, on the island of +Purbeck! The captain's two dear daughters are aboard, and five +other ladies. The ship has been driving many hours, has seven feet +water in her hold, and her mainmast has been cut away. The +description of her loss, familiar to me from my early boyhood, +seems to be read aloud as she rushes to her destiny. + + +'About two in the morning of Friday the sixth of January, the ship +still driving, and approaching very fast to the shore, Mr. Henry +Meriton, the second mate, went again into the cuddy, where the +captain then was. Another conversation taking place, Captain +Pierce expressed extreme anxiety for the preservation of his +beloved daughters, and earnestly asked the officer if he could +devise any method of saving them. On his answering with great +concern, that he feared it would be impossible, but that their only +chance would be to wait for morning, the captain lifted up his +hands in silent and distressful ejaculation. + +'At this dreadful moment, the ship struck, with such violence as to +dash the heads of those standing in the cuddy against the deck +above them, and the shock was accompanied by a shriek of horror +that burst at one instant from every quarter of the ship. + +'Many of the seamen, who had been remarkably inattentive and remiss +in their duty during great part of the storm, now poured upon deck, +where no exertions of the officers could keep them, while their +assistance might have been useful. They had actually skulked in +their hammocks, leaving the working of the pumps and other +necessary labours to the officers of the ship, and the soldiers, +who had made uncommon exertions. Roused by a sense of their +danger, the same seamen, at this moment, in frantic exclamations, +demanded of heaven and their fellow-sufferers that succour which +their own efforts, timely made, might possibly have procured. + +'The ship continued to beat on the rocks; and soon bilging, fell +with her broadside towards the shore. When she struck, a number of +the men climbed up the ensign-staff, under an apprehension of her +immediately going to pieces. + +'Mr. Meriton, at this crisis, offered to these unhappy beings the +best advice which could be given; he recommended that all should +come to the side of the ship lying lowest on the rocks, and singly +to take the opportunities which might then offer, of escaping to +the shore. + +'Having thus provided, to the utmost of his power, for the safety +of the desponding crew, he returned to the round-house, where, by +this time, all the passengers and most of the officers had +assembled. The latter were employed in offering consolation to the +unfortunate ladies; and, with unparalleled magnanimity, suffering +their compassion for the fair and amiable companions of their +misfortunes to prevail over the sense of their own danger. + +'In this charitable work of comfort, Mr. Meriton now joined, by +assurances of his opinion, that, the ship would hold together till +the morning, when all would be safe. Captain Pierce, observing one +of the young gentlemen loud in his exclamations of terror, and +frequently cry that the ship was parting, cheerfully bid him be +quiet, remarking that though the ship should go to pieces, he would +not, but would be safe enough. + +'It is difficult to convey a correct idea of the scene of this +deplorable catastrophe, without describing the place where it +happened. The Haleswell struck on the rocks at a part of the shore +where the cliff is of vast height, and rises almost perpendicular +from its base. But at this particular spot, the foot of the cliff +is excavated into a cavern of ten or twelve yards in depth, and of +breadth equal to the length of a large ship. The sides of the +cavern are so nearly upright, as to be of extremely difficult +access; and the bottom is strewed with sharp and uneven rocks, +which seem, by some convulsion of the earth, to have been detached +from its roof. + +'The ship lay with her broadside opposite to the mouth of this +cavern, with her whole length stretched almost from side to side of +it. But when she struck, it was too dark for the unfortunate +persons on board to discover the real magnitude of the danger, and +the extreme horror of such a situation. + +'In addition to the company already in the round-house, they had +admitted three black women and two soldiers' wives; who, with the +husband of one of them, had been allowed to come in, though the +seamen, who had tumultuously demanded entrance to get the lights, +had been opposed and kept out by Mr. Rogers and Mr. Brimer, the +third and fifth mates. The numbers there were, therefore, now +increased to near fifty. Captain Pierce sat on a chair, a cot, or +some other moveable, with a daughter on each side, whom he +alternately pressed to his affectionate breast. The rest of the +melancholy assembly were seated on the deck, which was strewed with +musical instruments, and the wreck of furniture and other articles. + +'Here also Mr. Meriton, after having cut several wax-candles in +pieces, and stuck them up in various parts of the round-house, and +lighted up all the glass lanthorns he could find, took his seat, +intending to wait the approach of dawn; and then assist the +partners of his dangers to escape. But, observing that the poor +ladies appeared parched and exhausted, he brought a basket of +oranges and prevailed on some of them to refresh themselves by +sucking a little of the juice. At this time they were all +tolerably composed, except Miss Mansel, who was in hysteric fits on +the floor of the deck of the round-house. + +'But on Mr. Meriton's return to the company, he perceived a +considerable alteration in the appearance of the ship; the sides +were visibly giving way; the deck seemed to be lifting, and he +discovered other strong indications that she could not hold much +longer together. On this account, he attempted to go forward to +look out, but immediately saw that the ship had separated in the +middle, and that the forepart having changed its position, lay +rather further out towards the sea. In such an emergency, when the +next moment might plunge him into eternity, he determined to seize +the present opportunity, and follow the example of the crew and the +soldiers, who were now quitting the ship in numbers, and making +their way to the shore, though quite ignorant of its nature and +description. + +'Among other expedients, the ensign-staff had been unshipped, and +attempted to be laid between the ship's side and some of the rocks, +but without success, for it snapped asunder before it reached them. +However, by the light of a lanthorn, which a seaman handed through +the skylight of the round-house to the deck, Mr. Meriton discovered +a spar which appeared to be laid from the ship's side to the rocks, +and on this spar he resolved to attempt his escape. + +'Accordingly, lying down upon it, he thrust himself forward; +however, he soon found that it had no communication with the rock; +he reached the end of it, and then slipped off, receiving a very +violent bruise in his fall, and before he could recover his legs, +he was washed off by the surge. He now supported himself by +swimming, until a returning wave dashed him against the back part +of the cavern. Here he laid hold of a small projection in the +rock, but was so much benumbed that he was on the point of quitting +it, when a seaman, who had already gained a footing, extended his +hand, and assisted him until he could secure himself a little on +the rock; from which he clambered on a shelf still higher, and out +of the reach of the surf. + +'Mr. Rogers, the third mate, remained with the captain and the +unfortunate ladies and their companions nearly twenty minutes after +Mr. Meriton had quitted the ship. Soon after the latter left the +round-house, the captain asked what was become of him, to which Mr. +Rogers replied, that he was gone on deck to see what could be done. +After this, a heavy sea breaking over the ship, the ladies +exclaimed, "Oh, poor Meriton! he is drowned; had he stayed with us +he would have been safe!" and they all, particularly Miss Mary +Pierce, expressed great concern at the apprehension of his loss. + +'The sea was now breaking in at the fore part of the ship, and +reached as far as the mainmast. Captain Pierce gave Mr. Rogers a +nod, and they took a lamp and went together into the stern-gallery, +where, after viewing the rocks for some time, Captain Pierce asked +Mr. Rogers if he thought there was any possibility of saving the +girls; to which he replied, he feared there was none; for they +could only discover the black face of the perpendicular rock, and +not the cavern which afforded shelter to those who escaped. They +then returned to the round-house, where Mr. Rogers hung up the +lamp, and Captain Pierce sat down between his two daughters. + +'The sea continuing to break in very fast, Mr. Macmanus, a +midshipman, and Mr. Schutz, a passenger, asked Mr. Rogers what they +could do to escape. "Follow me," he replied, and they all went +into the stern-gallery, and from thence to the upper-quarter +gallery on the poop. While there, a very heavy sea fell on board, +and the round-house gave way; Mr. Rogers heard the ladies shriek at +intervals, as if the water reached them; the noise of the sea at +other times drowning their voices. + +'Mr. Brimer had followed him to the poop, where they remained +together about five minutes, when on the breaking of this heavy +sea, they jointly seized a hen-coop. The same wave which proved +fatal to some of those below, carried him and his companion to the +rock, on which they were violently dashed and miserably bruised. + +'Here on the rock were twenty-seven men; but it now being low +water, and as they were convinced that on the flowing of the tide +all must be washed off, many attempted to get to the back or the +sides of the cavern, beyond the reach of the returning sea. +Scarcely more than six, besides Mr. Rogers and Mr. Brimer, +succeeded. + +'Mr. Rogers, on gaining this station, was so nearly exhausted, that +had his exertions been protracted only a few minutes longer, he +must have sunk under them. He was now prevented from joining Mr. +Meriton, by at least twenty men between them, none of whom could +move, without the imminent peril of his life. + +'They found that a very considerable number of the crew, seamen and +soldiers, and some petty officers, were in the same situation as +themselves, though many who had reached the rocks below, perished +in attempting to ascend. They could yet discern some part of the +ship, and in their dreary station solaced themselves with the hopes +of its remaining entire until day-break; for, in the midst of their +own distress, the sufferings of the females on board affected them +with the most poignant anguish; and every sea that broke inspired +them with terror for their safety. + +'But, alas, their apprehensions were too soon realised! Within a +very few minutes of the time that Mr. Rogers gained the rock, an +universal shriek, which long vibrated in their ears, in which the +voice of female distress was lamentably distinguished, announced +the dreadful catastrophe. In a few moments all was hushed, except +the roaring of the winds and the dashing of the waves; the wreck +was buried in the deep, and not an atom of it was ever afterwards +seen.' + + +The most beautiful and affecting incident I know, associated with a +shipwreck, succeeds this dismal story for a winter night. The +Grosvenor, East Indiaman, homeward bound, goes ashore on the coast +of Caffraria. It is resolved that the officers, passengers, and +crew, in number one hundred and thirty-five souls, shall endeavour +to penetrate on foot, across trackless deserts, infested by wild +beasts and cruel savages, to the Dutch settlements at the Cape of +Good Hope. With this forlorn object before them, they finally +separate into two parties - never more to meet on earth. + +There is a solitary child among the passengers - a little boy of +seven years old who has no relation there; and when the first party +is moving away he cries after some member of it who has been kind +to him. The crying of a child might be supposed to be a little +thing to men in such great extremity; but it touches them, and he +is immediately taken into that detachment. + +From which time forth, this child is sublimely made a sacred +charge. He is pushed, on a little raft, across broad rivers by the +swimming sailors; they carry him by turns through the deep sand and +long grass (he patiently walking at all other times); they share +with him such putrid fish as they find to eat; they lie down and +wait for him when the rough carpenter, who becomes his especial +friend, lags behind. Beset by lions and tigers, by savages, by +thirst, by hunger, by death in a crowd of ghastly shapes, they +never - O Father of all mankind, thy name be blessed for it! - +forget this child. The captain stops exhausted, and his faithful +coxswain goes back and is seen to sit down by his side, and neither +of the two shall be any more beheld until the great last day; but, +as the rest go on for their lives, they take the child with them. +The carpenter dies of poisonous berries eaten in starvation; and +the steward, succeeding to the command of the party, succeeds to +the sacred guardianship of the child. + +God knows all he does for the poor baby; how he cheerfully carries +him in his arms when he himself is weak and ill; how he feeds him +when he himself is griped with want; how he folds his ragged jacket +round him, lays his little worn face with a woman's tenderness upon +his sunburnt breast, soothes him in his sufferings, sings to him as +he limps along, unmindful of his own parched and bleeding feet. +Divided for a few days from the rest, they dig a grave in the sand +and bury their good friend the cooper - these two companions alone +in the wilderness - and then the time comes when they both are ill, +and beg their wretched partners in despair, reduced and few in +number now, to wait by them one day. They wait by them one day, +they wait by them two days. On the morning of the third, they move +very softly about, in making their preparations for the resumption +of their journey; for, the child is sleeping by the fire, and it is +agreed with one consent that he shall not be disturbed until the +last moment. The moment comes, the fire is dying - and the child +is dead. + +His faithful friend, the steward, lingers but a little while behind +him. His grief is great, he staggers on for a few days, lies down +in the desert, and dies. But he shall be re-united in his immortal +spirit - who can doubt it! - with the child, when he and the poor +carpenter shall be raised up with the words, 'Inasmuch as ye have +done it unto the least of these, ye have done it unto Me.' + +As I recall the dispersal and disappearance of nearly all the +participators in this once famous shipwreck (a mere handful being +recovered at last), and the legends that were long afterwards +revived from time to time among the English officers at the Cape, +of a white woman with an infant, said to have been seen weeping +outside a savage hut far in the interior, who was whisperingly +associated with the remembrance of the missing ladies saved from +the wrecked vessel, and who was often sought but never found, +thoughts of another kind of travel came into my mind. + +Thoughts of a voyager unexpectedly summoned from home, who +travelled a vast distance, and could never return. Thoughts of +this unhappy wayfarer in the depths of his sorrow, in the +bitterness of his anguish, in the helplessness of his +self-reproach, in the desperation of his desire to set right what he had +left wrong, and do what he had left undone. + +For, there were many, many things he had neglected. Little matters +while he was at home and surrounded by them, but things of mighty +moment when he was at an immeasurable distance. There were many +many blessings that he had inadequately felt, there were many +trivial injuries that he had not forgiven, there was love that he +had but poorly returned, there was friendship that he had too +lightly prized: there were a million kind words that he might have +spoken, a million kind looks that he might have given, uncountable +slight easy deeds in which he might have been most truly great and +good. O for a day (he would exclaim), for but one day to make +amends! But the sun never shone upon that happy day, and out of +his remote captivity he never came. + +Why does this traveller's fate obscure, on New Year's Eve, the +other histories of travellers with which my mind was filled but +now, and cast a solemn shadow over me! Must I one day make his +journey? Even so. Who shall say, that I may not then be tortured +by such late regrets: that I may not then look from my exile on my +empty place and undone work? I stand upon a sea-shore, where the +waves are years. They break and fall, and I may little heed them; +but, with every wave the sea is rising, and I know that it will +float me on this traveller's voyage at last. + + + +THE BEGGING-LETTER WRITER + + + +THE amount of money he annually diverts from wholesome and useful +purposes in the United Kingdom, would be a set-off against the +Window Tax. He is one of the most shameless frauds and impositions +of this time. In his idleness, his mendacity, and the immeasurable +harm he does to the deserving, - dirtying the stream of true +benevolence, and muddling the brains of foolish justices, with +inability to distinguish between the base coin of distress, and the +true currency we have always among us, - he is more worthy of +Norfolk Island than three-fourths of the worst characters who are +sent there. Under any rational system, he would have been sent +there long ago. + +I, the writer of this paper, have been, for some time, a chosen +receiver of Begging Letters. For fourteen years, my house has been +made as regular a Receiving House for such communications as any +one of the great branch Post-Offices is for general correspondence. +I ought to know something of the Begging-Letter Writer. He has +besieged my door at all hours of the day and night; he has fought +my servant; he has lain in ambush for me, going out and coming in; +he has followed me out of town into the country; he has appeared at +provincial hotels, where I have been staying for only a few hours; +he has written to me from immense distances, when I have been out +of England. He has fallen sick; he has died and been buried; he +has come to life again, and again departed from this transitory +scene: he has been his own son, his own mother, his own baby, his +idiot brother, his uncle, his aunt, his aged grandfather. He has +wanted a greatcoat, to go to India in; a pound to set him up in +life for ever; a pair of boots to take him to the coast of China; a +hat to get him into a permanent situation under Government. He has +frequently been exactly seven-and-sixpence short of independence. +He has had such openings at Liverpool - posts of great trust and +confidence in merchants' houses, which nothing but seven-and- +sixpence was wanting to him to secure - that I wonder he is not +Mayor of that flourishing town at the present moment. + +The natural phenomena of which he has been the victim, are of a +most astounding nature. He has had two children who have never +grown up; who have never had anything to cover them at night; who +have been continually driving him mad, by asking in vain for food; +who have never come out of fevers and measles (which, I suppose, +has accounted for his fuming his letters with tobacco smoke, as a +disinfectant); who have never changed in the least degree through +fourteen long revolving years. As to his wife, what that suffering +woman has undergone, nobody knows. She has always been in an +interesting situation through the same long period, and has never +been confined yet. His devotion to her has been unceasing. He has +never cared for himself; HE could have perished - he would rather, +in short - but was it not his Christian duty as a man, a husband, +and a father, - to write begging letters when he looked at her? +(He has usually remarked that he would call in the evening for an +answer to this question.) + +He has been the sport of the strangest misfortunes. What his +brother has done to him would have broken anybody else's heart. +His brother went into business with him, and ran away with the +money; his brother got him to be security for an immense sum and +left him to pay it; his brother would have given him employment to +the tune of hundreds a-year, if he would have consented to write +letters on a Sunday; his brother enunciated principles incompatible +with his religious views, and he could not (in consequence) permit +his brother to provide for him. His landlord has never shown a +spark of human feeling. When he put in that execution I don't +know, but he has never taken it out. The broker's man has grown +grey in possession. They will have to bury him some day. + +He has been attached to every conceivable pursuit. He has been in +the army, in the navy, in the church, in the law; connected with +the press, the fine arts, public institutions, every description +and grade of business. He has been brought up as a gentleman; he +has been at every college in Oxford and Cambridge; he can quote +Latin in his letters (but generally misspells some minor English +word); he can tell you what Shakespeare says about begging, better +than you know it. It is to be observed, that in the midst of his +afflictions he always reads the newspapers; and rounds off his +appeal with some allusion, that may be supposed to be in my way, to +the popular subject of the hour. + +His life presents a series of inconsistencies. Sometimes he has +never written such a letter before. He blushes with shame. That +is the first time; that shall be the last. Don't answer it, and +let it be understood that, then, he will kill himself quietly. +Sometimes (and more frequently) he HAS written a few such letters. +Then he encloses the answers, with an intimation that they are of +inestimable value to him, and a request that they may be carefully +returned. He is fond of enclosing something - verses, letters, +pawnbrokers' duplicates, anything to necessitate an answer. He is +very severe upon 'the pampered minion of fortune,' who refused him +the half-sovereign referred to in the enclosure number two - but he +knows me better. + +He writes in a variety of styles; sometimes in low spirits; +sometimes quite jocosely. When he is in low spirits he writes +down-hill and repeats words - these little indications being +expressive of the perturbation of his mind. When he is more +vivacious, he is frank with me; he is quite the agreeable rattle. +I know what human nature is, - who better? Well! He had a little +money once, and he ran through it - as many men have done before +him. He finds his old friends turn away from him now - many men +have done that before him too! Shall he tell me why he writes to +me? Because he has no kind of claim upon me. He puts it on that +ground plainly; and begs to ask for the loan (as I know human +nature) of two sovereigns, to be repaid next Tuesday six weeks, +before twelve at noon. + +Sometimes, when he is sure that I have found him out, and that +there is no chance of money, he writes to inform me that I have got +rid of him at last. He has enlisted into the Company's service, +and is off directly - but he wants a cheese. He is informed by the +serjeant that it is essential to his prospects in the regiment that +he should take out a single Gloucester cheese, weighing from twelve +to fifteen pounds. Eight or nine shillings would buy it. He does +not ask for money, after what has passed; but if he calls at nine, +to-morrow morning may he hope to find a cheese? And is there +anything he can do to show his gratitude in Bengal? + +Once he wrote me rather a special letter, proposing relief in kind. +He had got into a little trouble by leaving parcels of mud done up +in brown paper, at people's houses, on pretence of being a Railway- +Porter, in which character he received carriage money. This +sportive fancy he expiated in the House of Correction. Not long +after his release, and on a Sunday morning, he called with a letter +(having first dusted himself all over), in which he gave me to +understand that, being resolved to earn an honest livelihood, he +had been travelling about the country with a cart of crockery. +That he had been doing pretty well until the day before, when his +horse had dropped down dead near Chatham, in Kent. That this had +reduced him to the unpleasant necessity of getting into the shafts +himself, and drawing the cart of crockery to London - a somewhat +exhausting pull of thirty miles. That he did not venture to ask +again for money; but that if I would have the goodness TO LEAVE HIM +OUT A DONKEY, he would call for the animal before breakfast! + +At another time my friend (I am describing actual experiences) +introduced himself as a literary gentleman in the last extremity of +distress. He had had a play accepted at a certain Theatre - which +was really open; its representation was delayed by the +indisposition of a leading actor - who was really ill; and he and +his were in a state of absolute starvation. If he made his +necessities known to the Manager of the Theatre, he put it to me to +say what kind of treatment he might expect? Well! we got over that +difficulty to our mutual satisfaction. A little while afterwards +he was in some other strait. I think Mrs. Southcote, his wife, was +in extremity - and we adjusted that point too. A little while +afterwards he had taken a new house, and was going headlong to ruin +for want of a water-butt. I had my misgivings about the water- +butt, and did not reply to that epistle. But a little while +afterwards, I had reason to feel penitent for my neglect. He wrote +me a few broken-hearted lines, informing me that the dear partner +of his sorrows died in his arms last night at nine o'clock! + +I despatched a trusty messenger to comfort the bereaved mourner and +his poor children; but the messenger went so soon, that the play +was not ready to be played out; my friend was not at home, and his +wife was in a most delightful state of health. He was taken up by +the Mendicity Society (informally it afterwards appeared), and I +presented myself at a London Police-Office with my testimony +against him. The Magistrate was wonderfully struck by his +educational acquirements, deeply impressed by the excellence of his +letters, exceedingly sorry to see a man of his attainments there, +complimented him highly on his powers of composition, and was quite +charmed to have the agreeable duty of discharging him. A +collection was made for the 'poor fellow,' as he was called in the +reports, and I left the court with a comfortable sense of being +universally regarded as a sort of monster. Next day comes to me a +friend of mine, the governor of a large prison. 'Why did you ever +go to the Police-Office against that man,' says he, 'without coming +to me first? I know all about him and his frauds. He lodged in +the house of one of my warders, at the very time when he first +wrote to you; and then he was eating spring-lamb at eighteen-pence +a pound, and early asparagus at I don't know how much a bundle!' +On that very same day, and in that very same hour, my injured +gentleman wrote a solemn address to me, demanding to know what +compensation I proposed to make him for his having passed the night +in a 'loathsome dungeon.' And next morning an Irish gentleman, a +member of the same fraternity, who had read the case, and was very +well persuaded I should be chary of going to that Police-Office +again, positively refused to leave my door for less than a +sovereign, and, resolved to besiege me into compliance, literally +'sat down' before it for ten mortal hours. The garrison being well +provisioned, I remained within the walls; and he raised the siege +at midnight with a prodigious alarum on the bell. + +The Begging-Letter Writer often has an extensive circle of +acquaintance. Whole pages of the 'Court Guide' are ready to be +references for him. Noblemen and gentlemen write to say there +never was such a man for probity and virtue. They have known him +time out of mind, and there is nothing they wouldn't do for him. +Somehow, they don't give him that one pound ten he stands in need +of; but perhaps it is not enough - they want to do more, and his +modesty will not allow it. It is to be remarked of his trade that +it is a very fascinating one. He never leaves it; and those who +are near to him become smitten with a love of it, too, and sooner +or later set up for themselves. He employs a messenger - man, +woman, or child. That messenger is certain ultimately to become an +independent Begging-Letter Writer. His sons and daughters succeed +to his calling, and write begging-letters when he is no more. He +throws off the infection of begging-letter writing, like the +contagion of disease. What Sydney Smith so happily called 'the +dangerous luxury of dishonesty' is more tempting, and more +catching, it would seem, in this instance than in any other. + +He always belongs to a Corresponding-Society of Begging-Letter +Writers. Any one who will, may ascertain this fact. Give money +to-day in recognition of a begging-letter, - no matter how unlike a +common begging-letter, - and for the next fortnight you will have a +rush of such communications. Steadily refuse to give; and the +begging-letters become Angels' visits, until the Society is from +some cause or other in a dull way of business, and may as well try +you as anybody else. It is of little use inquiring into the +Begging-Letter Writer's circumstances. He may be sometimes +accidentally found out, as in the case already mentioned (though +that was not the first inquiry made); but apparent misery is always +a part of his trade, and real misery very often is, in the +intervals of spring-lamb and early asparagus. It is naturally an +incident of his dissipated and dishonest life. + +That the calling is a successful one, and that large sums of money +are gained by it, must be evident to anybody who reads the Police +Reports of such cases. But, prosecutions are of rare occurrence, +relatively to the extent to which the trade is carried on. The +cause of this is to be found (as no one knows better than the +Begging-Letter Writer, for it is a part of his speculation) in the +aversion people feel to exhibit themselves as having been imposed +upon, or as having weakly gratified their consciences with a lazy, +flimsy substitute for the noblest of all virtues. There is a man +at large, at the moment when this paper is preparing for the press +(on the 29th of April, 1850), and never once taken up yet, who, +within these twelvemonths, has been probably the most audacious and +the most successful swindler that even this trade has ever known. +There has been something singularly base in this fellow's +proceedings; it has been his business to write to all sorts and +conditions of people, in the names of persons of high reputation +and unblemished honour, professing to be in distress - the general +admiration and respect for whom has ensured a ready and generous +reply. + +Now, in the hope that the results of the real experience of a real +person may do something more to induce reflection on this subject +than any abstract treatise - and with a personal knowledge of the +extent to which the Begging-Letter Trade has been carried on for +some time, and has been for some time constantly increasing - the +writer of this paper entreats the attention of his readers to a few +concluding words. His experience is a type of the experience of +many; some on a smaller, some on an infinitely larger scale. All +may judge of the soundness or unsoundness of his conclusions from +it. + +Long doubtful of the efficacy of such assistance in any case +whatever, and able to recall but one, within his whole individual +knowledge, in which he had the least after-reason to suppose that +any good was done by it, he was led, last autumn, into some serious +considerations. The begging-letters flying about by every post, +made it perfectly manifest that a set of lazy vagabonds were +interposed between the general desire to do something to relieve +the sickness and misery under which the poor were suffering, and +the suffering poor themselves. That many who sought to do some +little to repair the social wrongs, inflicted in the way of +preventible sickness and death upon the poor, were strengthening +those wrongs, however innocently, by wasting money on pestilent +knaves cumbering society. That imagination, - soberly following +one of these knaves into his life of punishment in jail, and +comparing it with the life of one of these poor in a cholera- +stricken alley, or one of the children of one of these poor, +soothed in its dying hour by the late lamented Mr. Drouet, - +contemplated a grim farce, impossible to be presented very much +longer before God or man. That the crowning miracle of all the +miracles summed up in the New Testament, after the miracle of the +blind seeing, and the lame walking, and the restoration of the dead +to life, was the miracle that the poor had the Gospel preached to +them. That while the poor were unnaturally and unnecessarily cut +off by the thousand, in the prematurity of their age, or in the +rottenness of their youth - for of flower or blossom such youth has +none - the Gospel was NOT preached to them, saving in hollow and +unmeaning voices. That of all wrongs, this was the first mighty +wrong the Pestilence warned us to set right. And that no Post- +Office Order to any amount, given to a Begging-Letter Writer for +the quieting of an uneasy breast, would be presentable on the Last +Great Day as anything towards it. + +The poor never write these letters. Nothing could be more unlike +their habits. The writers are public robbers; and we who support +them are parties to their depredations. They trade upon every +circumstance within their knowledge that affects us, public or +private, joyful or sorrowful; they pervert the lessons of our +lives; they change what ought to be our strength and virtue into +weakness, and encouragement of vice. There is a plain remedy, and +it is in our own hands. We must resolve, at any sacrifice of +feeling, to be deaf to such appeals, and crush the trade. + +There are degrees in murder. Life must be held sacred among us in +more ways than one - sacred, not merely from the murderous weapon, +or the subtle poison, or the cruel blow, but sacred from +preventible diseases, distortions, and pains. That is the first +great end we have to set against this miserable imposition. +Physical life respected, moral life comes next. What will not +content a Begging-Letter Writer for a week, would educate a score +of children for a year. Let us give all we can; let us give more +than ever. Let us do all we can; let us do more than ever. But +let us give, and do, with a high purpose; not to endow the scum of +the earth, to its own greater corruption, with the offals of our +duty. + + + +A CHILD'S DREAM OF A STAR + + + +THERE was once a child, and he strolled about a good deal, and +thought of a number of things. He had a sister, who was a child +too, and his constant companion. These two used to wonder all day +long. They wondered at the beauty of the flowers; they wondered at +the height and blueness of the sky; they wondered at the depth of +the bright water; they wondered at the goodness and the power of +GOD who made the lovely world. + +They used to say to one another, sometimes, Supposing all the +children upon earth were to die, would the flowers, and the water, +and the sky be sorry? They believed they would be sorry. For, +said they, the buds are the children of the flowers, and the little +playful streams that gambol down the hill-sides are the children of +the water; and the smallest bright specks playing at hide and seek +in the sky all night, must surely be the children of the stars; and +they would all be grieved to see their playmates, the children of +men, no more. + +There was one clear shining star that used to come out in the sky +before the rest, near the church spire, above the graves. It was +larger and more beautiful, they thought, than all the others, and +every night they watched for it, standing hand in hand at a window. +Whoever saw it first cried out, 'I see the star!' And often they +cried out both together, knowing so well when it would rise, and +where. So they grew to be such friends with it, that, before lying +down in their beds, they always looked out once again, to bid it +good night; and when they were turning round to sleep, they used to +say, 'God bless the star!' + +But while she was still very young, oh, very, very young, the +sister drooped, and came to be so weak that she could no longer +stand in the window at night; and then the child looked sadly out +by himself, and when he saw the star, turned round and said to the +patient pale face on the bed, 'I see the star!' and then a smile +would come upon the face, and a little weak voice used to say, 'God +bless my brother and the star!' + +And so the time came all too soon! when the child looked out alone, +and when there was no face on the bed; and when there was a little +grave among the graves, not there before; and when the star made +long rays down towards him, as he saw it through his tears. + +Now, these rays were so bright, and they seemed to make such a +shining way from earth to Heaven, that when the child went to his +solitary bed, he dreamed about the star; and dreamed that, lying +where he was, he saw a train of people taken up that sparkling road +by angels. And the star, opening, showed him a great world of +light, where many more such angels waited to receive them. + +All these angels, who were waiting, turned their beaming eyes upon +the people who were carried up into the star; and some came out +from the long rows in which they stood, and fell upon the people's +necks, and kissed them tenderly, and went away with them down +avenues of light, and were so happy in their company, that lying in +his bed he wept for joy. + +But, there were many angels who did not go with them, and among +them one he knew. The patient face that once had lain upon the bed +was glorified and radiant, but his heart found out his sister among +all the host. + +His sister's angel lingered near the entrance of the star, and said +to the leader among those who had brought the people thither: + +'Is my brother come?' + +And he said 'No.' + +She was turning hopefully away, when the child stretched out his +arms, and cried, 'O, sister, I am here! Take me!' and then she +turned her beaming eyes upon him, and it was night; and the star +was shining into the room, making long rays down towards him as he +saw it through his tears. + +From that hour forth, the child looked out upon the star as on the +home he was to go to, when his time should come; and he thought +that he did not belong to the earth alone, but to the star too, +because of his sister's angel gone before. + +There was a baby born to be a brother to the child; and while he +was so little that he never yet had spoken word, he stretched his +tiny form out on his bed, and died. + +Again the child dreamed of the open star, and of the company of +angels, and the train of people, and the rows of angels with their +beaming eyes all turned upon those people's faces. + +Said his sister's angel to the leader: + +'Is my brother come?' + +And he said, 'Not that one, but another.' + +As the child beheld his brother's angel in her arms, he cried, 'O, +sister, I am here! Take me!' And she turned and smiled upon him, +and the star was shining. + +He grew to be a young man, and was busy at his books when an old +servant came to him and said: + +'Thy mother is no more. I bring her blessing on her darling son!' + +Again at night he saw the star, and all that former company. Said +his sister's angel to the leader. + +'Is my brother come?' + +And he said, 'Thy mother!' + +A mighty cry of joy went forth through all the star, because the +mother was re-united to her two children. And he stretched out his +arms and cried, 'O, mother, sister, and brother, I am here! Take +me!' And they answered him, 'Not yet,' and the star was shining. + +He grew to be a man, whose hair was turning grey, and he was +sitting in his chair by the fireside, heavy with grief, and with +his face bedewed with tears, when the star opened once again. + +Said his sister's angel to the leader: 'Is my brother come?' + +And he said, 'Nay, but his maiden daughter.' + +And the man who had been the child saw his daughter, newly lost to +him, a celestial creature among those three, and he said, 'My +daughter's head is on my sister's bosom, and her arm is around my +mother's neck, and at her feet there is the baby of old time, and I +can bear the parting from her, GOD be praised!' + +And the star was shining. + +Thus the child came to be an old man, and his once smooth face was +wrinkled, and his steps were slow and feeble, and his back was +bent. And one night as he lay upon his bed, his children standing +round, he cried, as he had cried so long ago: + +'I see the star!' + +They whispered one another, 'He is dying.' + +And he said, 'I am. My age is falling from me like a garment, and +I move towards the star as a child. And O, my Father, now I thank +thee that it has so often opened, to receive those dear ones who +await me!' + +And the star was shining; and it shines upon his grave. + + + +OUR ENGLISH WATERING-PLACE + + + +IN the Autumn-time of the year, when the great metropolis is so +much hotter, so much noisier, so much more dusty or so much more +water-carted, so much more crowded, so much more disturbing and +distracting in all respects, than it usually is, a quiet sea-beach +becomes indeed a blessed spot. Half awake and half asleep, this +idle morning in our sunny window on the edge of a chalk-cliff in +the old-fashioned watering-place to which we are a faithful +resorter, we feel a lazy inclination to sketch its picture. + +The place seems to respond. Sky, sea, beach, and village, lie as +still before us as if they were sitting for the picture. It is +dead low-water. A ripple plays among the ripening corn upon the +cliff, as if it were faintly trying from recollection to imitate +the sea; and the world of butterflies hovering over the crop of +radish-seed are as restless in their little way as the gulls are in +their larger manner when the wind blows. But the ocean lies +winking in the sunlight like a drowsy lion - its glassy waters +scarcely curve upon the shore - the fishing-boats in the tiny +harbour are all stranded in the mud - our two colliers (our +watering-place has a maritime trade employing that amount of +shipping) have not an inch of water within a quarter of a mile of +them, and turn, exhausted, on their sides, like faint fish of an +antediluvian species. Rusty cables and chains, ropes and rings, +undermost parts of posts and piles and confused timber-defences +against the waves, lie strewn about, in a brown litter of tangled +sea-weed and fallen cliff which looks as if a family of giants had +been making tea here for ages, and had observed an untidy custom of +throwing their tea-leaves on the shore. + +In truth, our watering-place itself has been left somewhat high and +dry by the tide of years. Concerned as we are for its honour, we +must reluctantly admit that the time when this pretty little +semicircular sweep of houses, tapering off at the end of the wooden +pier into a point in the sea, was a gay place, and when the +lighthouse overlooking it shone at daybreak on company dispersing +from public balls, is but dimly traditional now. There is a bleak +chamber in our watering-place which is yet called the Assembly +'Rooms,' and understood to be available on hire for balls or +concerts; and, some few seasons since, an ancient little gentleman +came down and stayed at the hotel, who said that he had danced +there, in bygone ages, with the Honourable Miss Peepy, well known +to have been the Beauty of her day and the cruel occasion of +innumerable duels. But he was so old and shrivelled, and so very +rheumatic in the legs, that it demanded more imagination than our +watering-place can usually muster, to believe him; therefore, +except the Master of the 'Rooms' (who to this hour wears knee- +breeches, and who confirmed the statement with tears in his eyes), +nobody did believe in the little lame old gentleman, or even in the +Honourable Miss Peepy, long deceased. + +As to subscription balls in the Assembly Rooms of our watering- +place now, red-hot cannon balls are less improbable. Sometimes, a +misguided wanderer of a Ventriloquist, or an Infant Phenomenon, or +a juggler, or somebody with an Orrery that is several stars behind +the time, takes the place for a night, and issues bills with the +name of his last town lined out, and the name of ours ignominiously +written in, but you may be sure this never happens twice to the +same unfortunate person. On such occasions the discoloured old +Billiard Table that is seldom played at (unless the ghost of the +Honourable Miss Peepy plays at pool with other ghosts) is pushed +into a corner, and benches are solemnly constituted into front +seats, back seats, and reserved seats - which are much the same +after you have paid - and a few dull candles are lighted - wind +permitting - and the performer and the scanty audience play out a +short match which shall make the other most low-spirited - which is +usually a drawn game. After that, the performer instantly departs +with maledictory expressions, and is never heard of more. + +But the most wonderful feature of our Assembly Rooms, is, that an +annual sale of 'Fancy and other China,' is announced here with +mysterious constancy and perseverance. Where the china comes from, +where it goes to, why it is annually put up to auction when nobody +ever thinks of bidding for it, how it comes to pass that it is +always the same china, whether it would not have been cheaper, with +the sea at hand, to have thrown it away, say in eighteen hundred +and thirty, are standing enigmas. Every year the bills come out, +every year the Master of the Rooms gets into a little pulpit on a +table, and offers it for sale, every year nobody buys it, every +year it is put away somewhere till next year, when it appears again +as if the whole thing were a new idea. We have a faint remembrance +of an unearthly collection of clocks, purporting to be the work of +Parisian and Genevese artists - chiefly bilious-faced clocks, +supported on sickly white crutches, with their pendulums dangling +like lame legs - to which a similar course of events occurred for +several years, until they seemed to lapse away, of mere imbecility. + +Attached to our Assembly Rooms is a library. There is a wheel of +fortune in it, but it is rusty and dusty, and never turns. A large +doll, with moveable eyes, was put up to be raffled for, by five- +and-twenty members at two shillings, seven years ago this autumn, +and the list is not full yet. We are rather sanguine, now, that +the raffle will come off next year. We think so, because we only +want nine members, and should only want eight, but for number two +having grown up since her name was entered, and withdrawn it when +she was married. Down the street, there is a toy-ship of +considerable burden, in the same condition. Two of the boys who +were entered for that raffle have gone to India in real ships, +since; and one was shot, and died in the arms of his sister's +lover, by whom he sent his last words home. + +This is the library for the Minerva Press. If you want that kind +of reading, come to our watering-place. The leaves of the +romances, reduced to a condition very like curl-paper, are thickly +studded with notes in pencil: sometimes complimentary, sometimes +jocose. Some of these commentators, like commentators in a more +extensive way, quarrel with one another. One young gentleman who +sarcastically writes 'O!!!' after every sentimental passage, is +pursued through his literary career by another, who writes +'Insulting Beast!' Miss Julia Mills has read the whole collection +of these books. She has left marginal notes on the pages, as 'Is +not this truly touching? J. M.' 'How thrilling! J. M.' +'Entranced here by the Magician's potent spell. J. M.' She has +also italicised her favourite traits in the description of the +hero, as 'his hair, which was DARK and WAVY, clustered in RICH +PROFUSION around a MARBLE BROW, whose lofty paleness bespoke the +intellect within.' It reminds her of another hero. She adds, 'How +like B. L. Can this be mere coincidence? J. M.' + +You would hardly guess which is the main street of our watering- +place, but you may know it by its being always stopped up with +donkey-chaises. Whenever you come here, and see harnessed donkeys +eating clover out of barrows drawn completely across a narrow +thoroughfare, you may be quite sure you are in our High Street. +Our Police you may know by his uniform, likewise by his never on +any account interfering with anybody - especially the tramps and +vagabonds. In our fancy shops we have a capital collection of +damaged goods, among which the flies of countless summers 'have +been roaming.' We are great in obsolete seals, and in faded pin- +cushions, and in rickety camp-stools, and in exploded cutlery, and +in miniature vessels, and in stunted little telescopes, and in +objects made of shells that pretend not to be shells. Diminutive +spades, barrows, and baskets, are our principal articles of +commerce; but even they don't look quite new somehow. They always +seem to have been offered and refused somewhere else, before they +came down to our watering-place. + +Yet, it must not be supposed that our watering-place is an empty +place, deserted by all visitors except a few staunch persons of +approved fidelity. On the contrary, the chances are that if you +came down here in August or September, you wouldn't find a house to +lay your head in. As to finding either house or lodging of which +you could reduce the terms, you could scarcely engage in a more +hopeless pursuit. For all this, you are to observe that every +season is the worst season ever known, and that the householding +population of our watering-place are ruined regularly every autumn. +They are like the farmers, in regard that it is surprising how much +ruin they will bear. We have an excellent hotel - capital baths, +warm, cold, and shower - first-rate bathing-machines - and as good +butchers, bakers, and grocers, as heart could desire. They all do +business, it is to be presumed, from motives of philanthropy - but +it is quite certain that they are all being ruined. Their interest +in strangers, and their politeness under ruin, bespeak their +amiable nature. You would say so, if you only saw the baker +helping a new comer to find suitable apartments. + +So far from being at a discount as to company, we are in fact what +would be popularly called rather a nobby place. Some tip-top +'Nobbs' come down occasionally - even Dukes and Duchesses. We have +known such carriages to blaze among the donkey-chaises, as made +beholders wink. Attendant on these equipages come resplendent +creatures in plush and powder, who are sure to be stricken +disgusted with the indifferent accommodation of our watering-place, +and who, of an evening (particularly when it rains), may be seen +very much out of drawing, in rooms far too small for their fine +figures, looking discontentedly out of little back windows into +bye-streets. The lords and ladies get on well enough and quite +good-humouredly: but if you want to see the gorgeous phenomena who +wait upon them at a perfect non-plus, you should come and look at +the resplendent creatures with little back parlours for servants' +halls, and turn-up bedsteads to sleep in, at our watering-place. +You have no idea how they take it to heart. + +We have a pier - a queer old wooden pier, fortunately without the +slightest pretensions to architecture, and very picturesque in +consequence. Boats are hauled up upon it, ropes are coiled all +over it; lobster-pots, nets, masts, oars, spars, sails, ballast, +and rickety capstans, make a perfect labyrinth of it. For ever +hovering about this pier, with their hands in their pockets, or +leaning over the rough bulwark it opposes to the sea, gazing +through telescopes which they carry about in the same profound +receptacles, are the Boatmen of our watering-place. Looking at +them, you would say that surely these must be the laziest boatmen +in the world. They lounge about, in obstinate and inflexible +pantaloons that are apparently made of wood, the whole season +through. Whether talking together about the shipping in the +Channel, or gruffly unbending over mugs of beer at the public- +house, you would consider them the slowest of men. The chances are +a thousand to one that you might stay here for ten seasons, and +never see a boatman in a hurry. A certain expression about his +loose hands, when they are not in his pockets, as if he were +carrying a considerable lump of iron in each, without any +inconvenience, suggests strength, but he never seems to use it. He +has the appearance of perpetually strolling - running is too +inappropriate a word to be thought of - to seed. The only subject +on which he seems to feel any approach to enthusiasm, is pitch. He +pitches everything he can lay hold of, - the pier, the palings, his +boat, his house, - when there is nothing else left he turns to and +even pitches his hat, or his rough-weather clothing. Do not judge +him by deceitful appearances. These are among the bravest and most +skilful mariners that exist. Let a gale arise and swell into a +storm, let a sea run that might appal the stoutest heart that ever +beat, let the Light-boat on these dangerous sands throw up a rocket +in the night, or let them hear through the angry roar the signal- +guns of a ship in distress, and these men spring up into activity +so dauntless, so valiant, and heroic, that the world cannot surpass +it. Cavillers may object that they chiefly live upon the salvage +of valuable cargoes. So they do, and God knows it is no great +living that they get out of the deadly risks they run. But put +that hope of gain aside. Let these rough fellows be asked, in any +storm, who volunteers for the life-boat to save some perishing +souls, as poor and empty-handed as themselves, whose lives the +perfection of human reason does not rate at the value of a farthing +each; and that boat will be manned, as surely and as cheerfully, as +if a thousand pounds were told down on the weather-beaten pier. +For this, and for the recollection of their comrades whom we have +known, whom the raging sea has engulfed before their children's +eyes in such brave efforts, whom the secret sand has buried, we +hold the boatmen of our watering-place in our love and honour, and +are tender of the fame they well deserve. + +So many children are brought down to our watering-place that, when +they are not out of doors, as they usually are in fine weather, it +is wonderful where they are put: the whole village seeming much too +small to hold them under cover. In the afternoons, you see no end +of salt and sandy little boots drying on upper window-sills. At +bathing-time in the morning, the little bay re-echoes with every +shrill variety of shriek and splash - after which, if the weather +be at all fresh, the sands teem with small blue mottled legs. The +sands are the children's great resort. They cluster there, like +ants: so busy burying their particular friends, and making castles +with infinite labour which the next tide overthrows, that it is +curious to consider how their play, to the music of the sea, +foreshadows the realities of their after lives. + +It is curious, too, to observe a natural ease of approach that +there seems to be between the children and the boatmen. They +mutually make acquaintance, and take individual likings, without +any help. You will come upon one of those slow heavy fellows +sitting down patiently mending a little ship for a mite of a boy, +whom he could crush to death by throwing his lightest pair of +trousers on him. You will be sensible of the oddest contrast +between the smooth little creature, and the rough man who seems to +be carved out of hard-grained wood - between the delicate hand +expectantly held out, and the immense thumb and finger that can +hardly feel the rigging of thread they mend - between the small +voice and the gruff growl - and yet there is a natural propriety in +the companionship: always to be noted in confidence between a child +and a person who has any merit of reality and genuineness: which is +admirably pleasant. + +We have a preventive station at our watering-place, and much the +same thing may be observed - in a lesser degree, because of their +official character - of the coast blockade; a steady, trusty, well- +conditioned, well-conducted set of men, with no misgiving about +looking you full in the face, and with a quiet thorough-going way +of passing along to their duty at night, carrying huge sou'-wester +clothing in reserve, that is fraught with all good prepossession. +They are handy fellows - neat about their houses - industrious at +gardening - would get on with their wives, one thinks, in a desert +island - and people it, too, soon. + +As to the naval officer of the station, with his hearty fresh face, +and his blue eye that has pierced all kinds of weather, it warms +our hearts when he comes into church on a Sunday, with that bright +mixture of blue coat, buff waistcoat, black neck-kerchief, and gold +epaulette, that is associated in the minds of all Englishmen with +brave, unpretending, cordial, national service. We like to look at +him in his Sunday state; and if we were First Lord (really +possessing the indispensable qualification for the office of +knowing nothing whatever about the sea), we would give him a ship +to-morrow. + +We have a church, by-the-by, of course - a hideous temple of flint, +like a great petrified haystack. Our chief clerical dignitary, +who, to his honour, has done much for education both in time and +money, and has established excellent schools, is a sound, shrewd, +healthy gentleman, who has got into little occasional difficulties +with the neighbouring farmers, but has had a pestilent trick of +being right. Under a new regulation, he has yielded the church of +our watering-place to another clergyman. Upon the whole we get on +in church well. We are a little bilious sometimes, about these +days of fraternisation, and about nations arriving at a new and +more unprejudiced knowledge of each other (which our Christianity +don't quite approve), but it soon goes off, and then we get on very +well. + +There are two dissenting chapels, besides, in our small watering- +place; being in about the proportion of a hundred and twenty guns +to a yacht. But the dissension that has torn us lately, has not +been a religious one. It has arisen on the novel question of Gas. +Our watering-place has been convulsed by the agitation, Gas or No +Gas. It was never reasoned why No Gas, but there was a great No +Gas party. Broadsides were printed and stuck about - a startling +circumstance in our watering-place. The No Gas party rested +content with chalking 'No Gas!' and 'Down with Gas!' and other such +angry war-whoops, on the few back gates and scraps of wall which +the limits of our watering-place afford; but the Gas party printed +and posted bills, wherein they took the high ground of proclaiming +against the No Gas party, that it was said Let there be light and +there was light; and that not to have light (that is gas-light) in +our watering-place, was to contravene the great decree. Whether by +these thunderbolts or not, the No Gas party were defeated; and in +this present season we have had our handful of shops illuminated +for the first time. Such of the No Gas party, however, as have got +shops, remain in opposition and burn tallow - exhibiting in their +windows the very picture of the sulkiness that punishes itself, and +a new illustration of the old adage about cutting off your nose to +be revenged on your face, in cutting off their gas to be revenged +on their business. + +Other population than we have indicated, our watering-place has +none. There are a few old used-up boatmen who creep about in the +sunlight with the help of sticks, and there is a poor imbecile +shoemaker who wanders his lonely life away among the rocks, as if +he were looking for his reason - which he will never find. +Sojourners in neighbouring watering-places come occasionally in +flys to stare at us, and drive away again as if they thought us +very dull; Italian boys come, Punch comes, the Fantoccini come, the +Tumblers come, the Ethiopians come; Glee-singers come at night, and +hum and vibrate (not always melodiously) under our windows. But +they all go soon, and leave us to ourselves again. We once had a +travelling Circus and Wombwell's Menagerie at the same time. They +both know better than ever to try it again; and the Menagerie had +nearly razed us from the face of the earth in getting the elephant +away - his caravan was so large, and the watering-place so small. +We have a fine sea, wholesome for all people; profitable for the +body, profitable for the mind. The poet's words are sometimes on +its awful lips: + + +And the stately ships go on +To their haven under the hill; +But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand. +And the sound of a voice that is still! + +Break, break, break, +At the foot of thy crags, O sea! +But the tender grace of a day that is dead +Will never come back to me. + + +Yet it is not always so, for the speech of the sea is various, and +wants not abundant resource of cheerfulness, hope, and lusty +encouragement. And since I have been idling at the window here, +the tide has risen. The boats are dancing on the bubbling water; +the colliers are afloat again; the white-bordered waves rush in; +the children + + +Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him +When he comes back; + + +the radiant sails are gliding past the shore, and shining on the +far horizon; all the sea is sparkling, heaving, swelling up with +life and beauty, this bright morning. + + + +OUR FRENCH WATERING-PLACE + + + +HAVING earned, by many years of fidelity, the right to be sometimes +inconstant to our English watering-place, we have dallied for two +or three seasons with a French watering-place: once solely known to +us as a town with a very long street, beginning with an abattoir +and ending with a steam-boat, which it seemed our fate to behold +only at daybreak on winter mornings, when (in the days before +continental railroads), just sufficiently awake to know that we +were most uncomfortably asleep, it was our destiny always to +clatter through it, in the coupe of the diligence from Paris, with +a sea of mud behind us, and a sea of tumbling waves before. In +relation to which latter monster, our mind's eye now recalls a +worthy Frenchman in a seal-skin cap with a braided hood over it, +once our travelling companion in the coupe aforesaid, who, waking +up with a pale and crumpled visage, and looking ruefully out at the +grim row of breakers enjoying themselves fanatically on an +instrument of torture called 'the Bar,' inquired of us whether we +were ever sick at sea? Both to prepare his mind for the abject +creature we were presently to become, and also to afford him +consolation, we replied, 'Sir, your servant is always sick when it +is possible to be so.' He returned, altogether uncheered by the +bright example, 'Ah, Heaven, but I am always sick, even when it is +IMpossible to be so.' + +The means of communication between the French capital and our +French watering-place are wholly changed since those days; but, the +Channel remains unbridged as yet, and the old floundering and +knocking about go on there. It must be confessed that saving in +reasonable (and therefore rare) sea-weather, the act of arrival at +our French watering-place from England is difficult to be achieved +with dignity. Several little circumstances combine to render the +visitor an object of humiliation. In the first place, the steamer +no sooner touches the port, than all the passengers fall into +captivity: being boarded by an overpowering force of Custom-house +officers, and marched into a gloomy dungeon. In the second place, +the road to this dungeon is fenced off with ropes breast-high, and +outside those ropes all the English in the place who have lately +been sea-sick and are now well, assemble in their best clothes to +enjoy the degradation of their dilapidated fellow-creatures. 'Oh, +my gracious! how ill this one has been!' 'Here's a damp one coming +next!' 'HERE'S a pale one!' 'Oh! Ain't he green in the face, +this next one!' Even we ourself (not deficient in natural dignity) +have a lively remembrance of staggering up this detested lane one +September day in a gale of wind, when we were received like an +irresistible comic actor, with a burst of laughter and applause, +occasioned by the extreme imbecility of our legs. + +We were coming to the third place. In the third place, the +captives, being shut up in the gloomy dungeon, are strained, two or +three at a time, into an inner cell, to be examined as to +passports; and across the doorway of communication, stands a +military creature making a bar of his arm. Two ideas are generally +present to the British mind during these ceremonies; first, that it +is necessary to make for the cell with violent struggles, as if it +were a life-boat and the dungeon a ship going down; secondly, that +the military creature's arm is a national affront, which the +government at home ought instantly to 'take up.' The British mind +and body becoming heated by these fantasies, delirious answers are +made to inquiries, and extravagant actions performed. Thus, +Johnson persists in giving Johnson as his baptismal name, and +substituting for his ancestral designation the national 'Dam!' +Neither can he by any means be brought to recognise the distinction +between a portmanteau-key and a passport, but will obstinately +persevere in tendering the one when asked for the other. This +brings him to the fourth place, in a state of mere idiotcy; and +when he is, in the fourth place, cast out at a little door into a +howling wilderness of touters, he becomes a lunatic with wild eyes +and floating hair until rescued and soothed. If friendless and +unrescued, he is generally put into a railway omnibus and taken to +Paris. + +But, our French watering-place, when it is once got into, is a very +enjoyable place. It has a varied and beautiful country around it, +and many characteristic and agreeable things within it. To be +sure, it might have fewer bad smells and less decaying refuse, and +it might be better drained, and much cleaner in many parts, and +therefore infinitely more healthy. Still, it is a bright, airy, +pleasant, cheerful town; and if you were to walk down either of its +three well-paved main streets, towards five o'clock in the +afternoon, when delicate odours of cookery fill the air, and its +hotel windows (it is full of hotels) give glimpses of long tables +set out for dinner, and made to look sumptuous by the aid of +napkins folded fan-wise, you would rightly judge it to be an +uncommonly good town to eat and drink in. + +We have an old walled town, rich in cool public wells of water, on +the top of a hill within and above the present business-town; and +if it were some hundreds of miles further from England, instead of +being, on a clear day, within sight of the grass growing in the +crevices of the chalk-cliffs of Dover, you would long ago have been +bored to death about that town. It is more picturesque and quaint +than half the innocent places which tourists, following their +leader like sheep, have made impostors of. To say nothing of its +houses with grave courtyards, its queer by-corners, and its many- +windowed streets white and quiet in the sunlight, there is an +ancient belfry in it that would have been in all the Annuals and +Albums, going and gone, these hundred years if it had but been more +expensive to get at. Happily it has escaped so well, being only in +our French watering-place, that you may like it of your own accord +in a natural manner, without being required to go into convulsions +about it. We regard it as one of the later blessings of our life, +that BILKINS, the only authority on Taste, never took any notice +that we can find out, of our French watering-place. Bilkins never +wrote about it, never pointed out anything to be seen in it, never +measured anything in it, always left it alone. For which relief, +Heaven bless the town and the memory of the immortal Bilkins +likewise! + +There is a charming walk, arched and shaded by trees, on the old +walls that form the four sides of this High Town, whence you get +glimpses of the streets below, and changing views of the other town +and of the river, and of the hills and of the sea. It is made more +agreeable and peculiar by some of the solemn houses that are rooted +in the deep streets below, bursting into a fresher existence a-top, +and having doors and windows, and even gardens, on these ramparts. +A child going in at the courtyard gate of one of these houses, +climbing up the many stairs, and coming out at the fourth-floor +window, might conceive himself another Jack, alighting on enchanted +ground from another bean-stalk. It is a place wonderfully populous +in children; English children, with governesses reading novels as +they walk down the shady lanes of trees, or nursemaids +interchanging gossip on the seats; French children with their +smiling bonnes in snow-white caps, and themselves - if little boys +- in straw head-gear like bee-hives, work-baskets and church +hassocks. Three years ago, there were three weazen old men, one +bearing a frayed red ribbon in his threadbare button-hole, always +to be found walking together among these children, before dinner- +time. If they walked for an appetite, they doubtless lived en +pension - were contracted for - otherwise their poverty would have +made it a rash action. They were stooping, blear-eyed, dull old +men, slip-shod and shabby, in long-skirted short-waisted coats and +meagre trousers, and yet with a ghost of gentility hovering in +their company. They spoke little to each other, and looked as if +they might have been politically discontented if they had had +vitality enough. Once, we overheard red-ribbon feebly complain to +the other two that somebody, or something, was 'a Robber;' and then +they all three set their mouths so that they would have ground +their teeth if they had had any. The ensuing winter gathered red- +ribbon unto the great company of faded ribbons, and next year the +remaining two were there - getting themselves entangled with hoops +and dolls - familiar mysteries to the children - probably in the +eyes of most of them, harmless creatures who had never been like +children, and whom children could never be like. Another winter +came, and another old man went, and so, this present year, the last +of the triumvirate, left off walking - it was no good, now - and +sat by himself on a little solitary bench, with the hoops and the +dolls as lively as ever all about him. + +In the Place d'Armes of this town, a little decayed market is held, +which seems to slip through the old gateway, like water, and go +rippling down the hill, to mingle with the murmuring market in the +lower town, and get lost in its movement and bustle. It is very +agreeable on an idle summer morning to pursue this market-stream +from the hill-top. It begins, dozingly and dully, with a few sacks +of corn; starts into a surprising collection of boots and shoes; +goes brawling down the hill in a diversified channel of old +cordage, old iron, old crockery, old clothes, civil and military, +old rags, new cotton goods, flaming prints of saints, little +looking-glasses, and incalculable lengths of tape; dives into a +backway, keeping out of sight for a little while, as streams will, +or only sparkling for a moment in the shape of a market drinking- +shop; and suddenly reappears behind the great church, shooting +itself into a bright confusion of white-capped women and blue- +bloused men, poultry, vegetables, fruits, flowers, pots, pans, +praying-chairs, soldiers, country butter, umbrellas and other +sun-shades, girl-porters waiting to be hired with baskets at their +backs, and one weazen little old man in a cocked hat, wearing a +cuirass of drinking-glasses and carrying on his shoulder a crimson +temple fluttering with flags, like a glorified pavior's rammer +without the handle, who rings a little bell in all parts of the +scene, and cries his cooling drink Hola, Hola, Ho-o-o! in a shrill +cracked voice that somehow makes itself heard, above all the +chaffering and vending hum. Early in the afternoon, the whole +course of the stream is dry. The praying-chairs are put back in +the church, the umbrellas are folded up, the unsold goods are +carried away, the stalls and stands disappear, the square is swept, +the hackney coaches lounge there to be hired, and on all the +country roads (if you walk about, as much as we do) you will see +the peasant women, always neatly and comfortably dressed, riding +home, with the pleasantest saddle-furniture of clean milk-pails, +bright butter-kegs, and the like, on the jolliest little donkeys in +the world. + +We have another market in our French watering-place - that is to +say, a few wooden hutches in the open street, down by the Port - +devoted to fish. Our fishing-boats are famous everywhere; and our +fishing people, though they love lively colours, and taste is +neutral (see Bilkins), are among the most picturesque people we +ever encountered. They have not only a quarter of their own in the +town itself, but they occupy whole villages of their own on the +neighbouring cliffs. Their churches and chapels are their own; +they consort with one another, they intermarry among themselves, +their customs are their own, and their costume is their own and +never changes. As soon as one of their boys can walk, he is +provided with a long bright red nightcap; and one of their men +would as soon think of going afloat without his head, as without +that indispensable appendage to it. Then, they wear the noblest +boots, with the hugest tops - flapping and bulging over anyhow; +above which, they encase themselves in such wonderful overalls and +petticoat trousers, made to all appearance of tarry old sails, so +additionally stiffened with pitch and salt, that the wearers have a +walk of their own, and go straddling and swinging about among the +boats and barrels and nets and rigging, a sight to see. Then, +their younger women, by dint of going down to the sea barefoot, to +fling their baskets into the boats as they come in with the tide, +and bespeak the first fruits of the haul with propitiatory promises +to love and marry that dear fisherman who shall fill that basket +like an Angel, have the finest legs ever carved by Nature in the +brightest mahogany, and they walk like Juno. Their eyes, too, are +so lustrous that their long gold ear-rings turn dull beside those +brilliant neighbours; and when they are dressed, what with these +beauties, and their fine fresh faces, and their many petticoats - +striped petticoats, red petticoats, blue petticoats, always clean +and smart, and never too long - and their home-made stockings, +mulberry-coloured, blue, brown, purple, lilac - which the older +women, taking care of the Dutch-looking children, sit in all sorts +of places knitting, knitting, knitting from morning to night - and +what with their little saucy bright blue jackets, knitted too, and +fitting close to their handsome figures; and what with the natural +grace with which they wear the commonest cap, or fold the commonest +handkerchief round their luxuriant hair - we say, in a word and out +of breath, that taking all these premises into our consideration, +it has never been a matter of the least surprise to us that we have +never once met, in the cornfields, on the dusty roads, by the +breezy windmills, on the plots of short sweet grass overhanging the +sea - anywhere - a young fisherman and fisherwoman of our French +watering-place together, but the arm of that fisherman has +invariably been, as a matter of course and without any absurd +attempt to disguise so plain a necessity, round the neck or waist +of that fisherwoman. And we have had no doubt whatever, standing +looking at their uphill streets, house rising above house, and +terrace above terrace, and bright garments here and there lying +sunning on rough stone parapets, that the pleasant mist on all such +objects, caused by their being seen through the brown nets hung +across on poles to dry, is, in the eyes of every true young +fisherman, a mist of love and beauty, setting off the goddess of +his heart. + +Moreover it is to be observed that these are an industrious people, +and a domestic people, and an honest people. And though we are +aware that at the bidding of Bilkins it is our duty to fall down +and worship the Neapolitans, we make bold very much to prefer the +fishing people of our French watering-place - especially since our +last visit to Naples within these twelvemonths, when we found only +four conditions of men remaining in the whole city: to wit, +lazzaroni, priests, spies, and soldiers, and all of them beggars; +the paternal government having banished all its subjects except the +rascals. + +But we can never henceforth separate our French watering-place from +our own landlord of two summers, M. Loyal Devasseur, citizen and +town-councillor. Permit us to have the pleasure of presenting M. +Loyal Devasseur. + +His own family name is simply Loyal; but, as he is married, and as +in that part of France a husband always adds to his own name the +family name of his wife, he writes himself Loyal Devasseur. He +owns a compact little estate of some twenty or thirty acres on a +lofty hill-side, and on it he has built two country houses, which +he lets furnished. They are by many degrees the best houses that +are so let near our French watering-place; we have had the honour +of living in both, and can testify. The entrance-hall of the first +we inhabited was ornamented with a plan of the estate, representing +it as about twice the size of Ireland; insomuch that when we were +yet new to the property (M. Loyal always speaks of it as 'La +propriete') we went three miles straight on end in search of the +bridge of Austerlitz - which we afterwards found to be immediately +outside the window. The Chateau of the Old Guard, in another part +of the grounds, and, according to the plan, about two leagues from +the little dining-room, we sought in vain for a week, until, +happening one evening to sit upon a bench in the forest (forest in +the plan), a few yards from the house-door, we observed at our +feet, in the ignominious circumstances of being upside down and +greenly rotten, the Old Guard himself: that is to say, the painted +effigy of a member of that distinguished corps, seven feet high, +and in the act of carrying arms, who had had the misfortune to be +blown down in the previous winter. It will be perceived that M. +Loyal is a staunch admirer of the great Napoleon. He is an old +soldier himself - captain of the National Guard, with a handsome +gold vase on his chimney-piece presented to him by his company - +and his respect for the memory of the illustrious general is +enthusiastic. Medallions of him, portraits of him, busts of him, +pictures of him, are thickly sprinkled all over the property. +During the first month of our occupation, it was our affliction to +be constantly knocking down Napoleon: if we touched a shelf in a +dark corner, he toppled over with a crash; and every door we +opened, shook him to the soul. Yet M. Loyal is not a man of mere +castles in the air, or, as he would say, in Spain. He has a +specially practical, contriving, clever, skilful eye and hand. His +houses are delightful. He unites French elegance and English +comfort, in a happy manner quite his own. He has an extraordinary +genius for making tasteful little bedrooms in angles of his roofs, +which an Englishman would as soon think of turning to any account +as he would think of cultivating the Desert. We have ourself +reposed deliciously in an elegant chamber of M. Loyal's +construction, with our head as nearly in the kitchen chimney-pot as +we can conceive it likely for the head of any gentleman, not by +profession a Sweep, to be. And, into whatsoever strange nook M. +Loyal's genius penetrates, it, in that nook, infallibly constructs +a cupboard and a row of pegs. In either of our houses, we could +have put away the knapsacks and hung up the hats of the whole +regiment of Guides. + + Aforetime, M. Loyal was a tradesman in the town. You can transact +business with no present tradesman in the town, and give your card +'chez M. Loyal,' but a brighter face shines upon you directly. We +doubt if there is, ever was, or ever will be, a man so universally +pleasant in the minds of people as M. Loyal is in the minds of the +citizens of our French watering-place. They rub their hands and +laugh when they speak of him. Ah, but he is such a good child, +such a brave boy, such a generous spirit, that Monsieur Loyal! It +is the honest truth. M. Loyal's nature is the nature of a +gentleman. He cultivates his ground with his own hands (assisted +by one little labourer, who falls into a fit now and then); and he +digs and delves from morn to eve in prodigious perspirations - +'works always,' as he says - but, cover him with dust, mud, weeds, +water, any stains you will, you never can cover the gentleman in M. +Loyal. A portly, upright, broad-shouldered, brown-faced man, whose +soldierly bearing gives him the appearance of being taller than he +is, look into the bright eye of M. Loyal, standing before you in +his working-blouse and cap, not particularly well shaved, and, it +may be, very earthy, and you shall discern in M. Loyal a gentleman +whose true politeness is ingrain, and confirmation of whose word by +his bond you would blush to think of. Not without reason is M. +Loyal when he tells that story, in his own vivacious way, of his +travelling to Fulham, near London, to buy all these hundreds and +hundreds of trees you now see upon the Property, then a bare, bleak +hill; and of his sojourning in Fulham three months; and of his +jovial evenings with the market-gardeners; and of the crowning +banquet before his departure, when the market-gardeners rose as one +man, clinked their glasses all together (as the custom at Fulham +is), and cried, 'Vive Loyal!' + +M. Loyal has an agreeable wife, but no family; and he loves to +drill the children of his tenants, or run races with them, or do +anything with them, or for them, that is good-natured. He is of a +highly convivial temperament, and his hospitality is unbounded. +Billet a soldier on him, and he is delighted. Five-and-thirty +soldiers had M. Loyal billeted on him this present summer, and they +all got fat and red-faced in two days. It became a legend among +the troops that whosoever got billeted on M. Loyal rolled in +clover; and so it fell out that the fortunate man who drew the +billet 'M. Loyal Devasseur' always leaped into the air, though in +heavy marching order. M. Loyal cannot bear to admit anything that +might seem by any implication to disparage the military profession. +We hinted to him once, that we were conscious of a remote doubt +arising in our mind, whether a sou a day for pocket-money, tobacco, +stockings, drink, washing, and social pleasures in general, left a +very large margin for a soldier's enjoyment. Pardon! said Monsieur +Loyal, rather wincing. It was not a fortune, but - a la bonne +heure - it was better than it used to be! What, we asked him on +another occasion, were all those neighbouring peasants, each living +with his family in one room, and each having a soldier (perhaps +two) billeted on him every other night, required to provide for +those soldiers? 'Faith!' said M. Loyal, reluctantly; a bed, +monsieur, and fire to cook with, and a candle. And they share +their supper with those soldiers. It is not possible that they +could eat alone.' - 'And what allowance do they get for this?' said +we. Monsieur Loyal drew himself up taller, took a step back, laid +his hand upon his breast, and said, with majesty, as speaking for +himself and all France, 'Monsieur, it is a contribution to the +State!' + +It is never going to rain, according to M. Loyal. When it is +impossible to deny that it is now raining in torrents, he says it +will be fine - charming - magnificent - to-morrow. It is never hot +on the Property, he contends. Likewise it is never cold. The +flowers, he says, come out, delighting to grow there; it is like +Paradise this morning; it is like the Garden of Eden. He is a +little fanciful in his language: smilingly observing of Madame +Loyal, when she is absent at vespers, that she is 'gone to her +salvation' - allee a son salut. He has a great enjoyment of +tobacco, but nothing would induce him to continue smoking face to +face with a lady. His short black pipe immediately goes into his +breast pocket, scorches his blouse, and nearly sets him on fire. +In the Town Council and on occasions of ceremony, he appears in a +full suit of black, with a waistcoat of magnificent breadth across +the chest, and a shirt-collar of fabulous proportions. Good M. +Loyal! Under blouse or waistcoat, he carries one of the gentlest +hearts that beat in a nation teeming with gentle people. He has +had losses, and has been at his best under them. Not only the loss +of his way by night in the Fulham times - when a bad subject of an +Englishman, under pretence of seeing him home, took him into all +the night public-houses, drank 'arfanarf' in every one at his +expense, and finally fled, leaving him shipwrecked at Cleefeeway, +which we apprehend to be Ratcliffe Highway - but heavier losses +than that. Long ago a family of children and a mother were left in +one of his houses without money, a whole year. M. Loyal - anything +but as rich as we wish he had been - had not the heart to say 'you +must go;' so they stayed on and stayed on, and paying-tenants who +would have come in couldn't come in, and at last they managed to +get helped home across the water; and M. Loyal kissed the whole +group, and said, 'Adieu, my poor infants!' and sat down in their +deserted salon and smoked his pipe of peace. - 'The rent, M. +Loyal?' 'Eh! well! The rent!' M. Loyal shakes his head. 'Le bon +Dieu,' says M. Loyal presently, 'will recompense me,' and he laughs +and smokes his pipe of peace. May he smoke it on the Property, and +not be recompensed, these fifty years! + +There are public amusements in our French watering-place, or it +would not be French. They are very popular, and very cheap. The +sea-bathing - which may rank as the most favoured daylight +entertainment, inasmuch as the French visitors bathe all day long, +and seldom appear to think of remaining less than an hour at a time +in the water - is astoundingly cheap. Omnibuses convey you, if you +please, from a convenient part of the town to the beach and back +again; you have a clean and comfortable bathing-machine, dress, +linen, and all appliances; and the charge for the whole is half-a- +franc, or fivepence. On the pier, there is usually a guitar, which +seems presumptuously enough to set its tinkling against the deep +hoarseness of the sea, and there is always some boy or woman who +sings, without any voice, little songs without any tune: the strain +we have most frequently heard being an appeal to 'the sportsman' +not to bag that choicest of game, the swallow. For bathing +purposes, we have also a subscription establishment with an +esplanade, where people lounge about with telescopes, and seem to +get a good deal of weariness for their money; and we have also an +association of individual machine proprietors combined against this +formidable rival. M. Feroce, our own particular friend in the +bathing line, is one of these. How he ever came by his name we +cannot imagine. He is as gentle and polite a man as M. Loyal +Devasseur himself; immensely stout withal; and of a beaming aspect. +M. Feroce has saved so many people from drowning, and has been +decorated with so many medals in consequence, that his stoutness +seems a special dispensation of Providence to enable him to wear +them; if his girth were the girth of an ordinary man, he could +never hang them on, all at once. It is only on very great +occasions that M. Feroce displays his shining honours. At other +times they lie by, with rolls of manuscript testifying to the +causes of their presentation, in a huge glass case in the red- +sofa'd salon of his private residence on the beach, where M. Feroce +also keeps his family pictures, his portraits of himself as he +appears both in bathing life and in private life, his little boats +that rock by clockwork, and his other ornamental possessions. + +Then, we have a commodious and gay Theatre - or had, for it is +burned down now - where the opera was always preceded by a +vaudeville, in which (as usual) everybody, down to the little old +man with the large hat and the little cane and tassel, who always +played either my Uncle or my Papa, suddenly broke out of the +dialogue into the mildest vocal snatches, to the great perplexity +of unaccustomed strangers from Great Britain, who never could make +out when they were singing and when they were talking - and indeed +it was pretty much the same. But, the caterers in the way of +entertainment to whom we are most beholden, are the Society of +Welldoing, who are active all the summer, and give the proceeds of +their good works to the poor. Some of the most agreeable fetes +they contrive, are announced as 'Dedicated to the children;' and +the taste with which they turn a small public enclosure into an +elegant garden beautifully illuminated; and the thorough-going +heartiness and energy with which they personally direct the +childish pleasures; are supremely delightful. For fivepence a +head, we have on these occasions donkey races with English +'Jokeis,' and other rustic sports; lotteries for toys; roundabouts, +dancing on the grass to the music of an admirable band, fire- +balloons and fireworks. Further, almost every week all through the +summer - never mind, now, on what day of the week - there is a fete +in some adjoining village (called in that part of the country a +Ducasse), where the people - really THE PEOPLE - dance on the green +turf in the open air, round a little orchestra, that seems itself +to dance, there is such an airy motion of flags and streamers all +about it. And we do not suppose that between the Torrid Zone and +the North Pole there are to be found male dancers with such +astonishingly loose legs, furnished with so many joints in wrong +places, utterly unknown to Professor Owen, as those who here +disport themselves. Sometimes, the fete appertains to a particular +trade; you will see among the cheerful young women at the joint +Ducasse of the milliners and tailors, a wholesome knowledge of the +art of making common and cheap things uncommon and pretty, by good +sense and good taste, that is a practical lesson to any rank of +society in a whole island we could mention. The oddest feature of +these agreeable scenes is the everlasting Roundabout (we preserve +an English word wherever we can, as we are writing the English +language), on the wooden horses of which machine grown-up people of +all ages are wound round and round with the utmost solemnity, while +the proprietor's wife grinds an organ, capable of only one tune, in +the centre. + +As to the boarding-houses of our French watering-place, they are +Legion, and would require a distinct treatise. It is not without a +sentiment of national pride that we believe them to contain more +bores from the shores of Albion than all the clubs in London. As +you walk timidly in their neighbourhood, the very neckcloths and +hats of your elderly compatriots cry to you from the stones of the +streets, 'We are Bores - avoid us!' We have never overheard at +street corners such lunatic scraps of political and social +discussion as among these dear countrymen of ours. They believe +everything that is impossible and nothing that is true. They carry +rumours, and ask questions, and make corrections and improvements +on one another, staggering to the human intellect. And they are +for ever rushing into the English library, propounding such +incomprehensible paradoxes to the fair mistress of that +establishment, that we beg to recommend her to her Majesty's +gracious consideration as a fit object for a pension. + +The English form a considerable part of the population of our +French watering-place, and are deservedly addressed and respected +in many ways. Some of the surface-addresses to them are odd +enough, as when a laundress puts a placard outside her house +announcing her possession of that curious British instrument, a +'Mingle;' or when a tavern-keeper provides accommodation for the +celebrated English game of 'Nokemdon.' But, to us, it is not the +least pleasant feature of our French watering-place that a long and +constant fusion of the two great nations there, has taught each to +like the other, and to learn from the other, and to rise superior +to the absurd prejudices that have lingered among the weak and +ignorant in both countries equally. + +Drumming and trumpeting of course go on for ever in our French +watering-place. Flag-flying is at a premium, too; but, we +cheerfully avow that we consider a flag a very pretty object, and +that we take such outward signs of innocent liveliness to our heart +of hearts. The people, in the town and in the country, are a busy +people who work hard; they are sober, temperate, good-humoured, +light-hearted, and generally remarkable for their engaging manners. +Few just men, not immoderately bilious, could see them in their +recreations without very much respecting the character that is so +easily, so harmlessly, and so simply, pleased. + + + +BILL-STICKING + + + +IF I had an enemy whom I hated - which Heaven forbid! - and if I +knew of something which sat heavy on his conscience, I think I +would introduce that something into a Posting-Bill, and place a +large impression in the hands of an active sticker. I can scarcely +imagine a more terrible revenge. I should haunt him, by this +means, night and day. I do not mean to say that I would publish +his secret, in red letters two feet high, for all the town to read: +I would darkly refer to it. It should be between him, and me, and +the Posting-Bill. Say, for example, that, at a certain period of +his life, my enemy had surreptitiously possessed himself of a key. +I would then embark my capital in the lock business, and conduct +that business on the advertising principle. In all my placards and +advertisements, I would throw up the line SECRET KEYS. Thus, if my +enemy passed an uninhabited house, he would see his conscience +glaring down on him from the parapets, and peeping up at him from +the cellars. If he took a dead wall in his walk, it would be alive +with reproaches. If he sought refuge in an omnibus, the panels +thereof would become Belshazzar's palace to him. If he took boat, +in a wild endeavour to escape, he would see the fatal words lurking +under the arches of the bridges over the Thames. If he walked the +streets with downcast eyes, he would recoil from the very stones of +the pavement, made eloquent by lamp-black lithograph. If he drove +or rode, his way would be blocked up by enormous vans, each +proclaiming the same words over and over again from its whole +extent of surface. Until, having gradually grown thinner and +paler, and having at last totally rejected food, he would miserably +perish, and I should be revenged. This conclusion I should, no +doubt, celebrate by laughing a hoarse laugh in three syllables, and +folding my arms tight upon my chest agreeably to most of the +examples of glutted animosity that I have had an opportunity of +observing in connexion with the Drama - which, by-the-by, as +involving a good deal of noise, appears to me to be occasionally +confounded with the Drummer. + +The foregoing reflections presented themselves to my mind, the +other day, as I contemplated (being newly come to London from the +East Riding of Yorkshire, on a house-hunting expedition for next +May), an old warehouse which rotting paste and rotting paper had +brought down to the condition of an old cheese. It would have been +impossible to say, on the most conscientious survey, how much of +its front was brick and mortar, and how much decaying and decayed +plaster. It was so thickly encrusted with fragments of bills, that +no ship's keel after a long voyage could be half so foul. All +traces of the broken windows were billed out, the doors were billed +across, the water-spout was billed over. The building was shored +up to prevent its tumbling into the street; and the very beams +erected against it were less wood than paste and paper, they had +been so continually posted and reposted. The forlorn dregs of old +posters so encumbered this wreck, that there was no hold for new +posters, and the stickers had abandoned the place in despair, +except one enterprising man who had hoisted the last masquerade to +a clear spot near the level of the stack of chimneys where it waved +and drooped like a shattered flag. Below the rusty cellar-grating, +crumpled remnants of old bills torn down, rotted away in wasting +heaps of fallen leaves. Here and there, some of the thick rind of +the house had peeled off in strips, and fluttered heavily down, +littering the street; but, still, below these rents and gashes, +layers of decomposing posters showed themselves, as if they were +interminable. I thought the building could never even be pulled +down, but in one adhesive heap of rottenness and poster. As to +getting in - I don't believe that if the Sleeping Beauty and her +Court had been so billed up, the young Prince could have done it. + +Knowing all the posters that were yet legible, intimately, and +pondering on their ubiquitous nature, I was led into the +reflections with which I began this paper, by considering what an +awful thing it would be, ever to have wronged - say M. JULLIEN for +example - and to have his avenging name in characters of fire +incessantly before my eyes. Or to have injured MADAME TUSSAUD, and +undergo a similar retribution. Has any man a self-reproachful +thought associated with pills, or ointment? What an avenging +spirit to that man is PROFESSOR HOLLOWAY! Have I sinned in oil? +CABBURN pursues me. Have I a dark remembrance associated with any +gentlemanly garments, bespoke or ready made? MOSES and SON are on +my track. Did I ever aim a blow at a defenceless fellow-creature's +head? That head eternally being measured for a wig, or that worse +head which was bald before it used the balsam, and hirsute +afterwards - enforcing the benevolent moral, 'Better to be bald as +a Dutch cheese than come to this,' - undoes me. Have I no sore +places in my mind which MECHI touches - which NICOLL probes - which +no registered article whatever lacerates? Does no discordant note +within me thrill responsive to mysterious watchwords, as 'Revalenta +Arabica,' or 'Number One St. Paul's Churchyard'? Then may I enjoy +life, and be happy. + +Lifting up my eyes, as I was musing to this effect, I beheld +advancing towards me (I was then on Cornhill, near to the Royal +Exchange), a solemn procession of three advertising vans, of first- +class dimensions, each drawn by a very little horse. As the +cavalcade approached, I was at a loss to reconcile the careless +deportment of the drivers of these vehicles, with the terrific +announcements they conducted through the city, which being a +summary of the contents of a Sunday newspaper, were of the most +thrilling kind. Robbery, fire, murder, and the ruin of the United +Kingdom - each discharged in a line by itself, like a separate +broad-side of red-hot shot - were among the least of the warnings +addressed to an unthinking people. Yet, the Ministers of Fate who +drove the awful cars, leaned forward with their arms upon their +knees in a state of extreme lassitude, for want of any subject of +interest. The first man, whose hair I might naturally have +expected to see standing on end, scratched his head - one of the +smoothest I ever beheld - with profound indifference. The second +whistled. The third yawned. + +Pausing to dwell upon this apathy, it appeared to me, as the fatal +cars came by me, that I descried in the second car, through the +portal in which the charioteer was seated, a figure stretched upon +the floor. At the same time, I thought I smelt tobacco. The +latter impression passed quickly from me; the former remained. +Curious to know whether this prostrate figure was the one +impressible man of the whole capital who had been stricken +insensible by the terrors revealed to him, and whose form had been +placed in the car by the charioteer, from motives of humanity, I +followed the procession. It turned into Leadenhall-market, and +halted at a public-house. Each driver dismounted. I then +distinctly heard, proceeding from the second car, where I had dimly +seen the prostrate form, the words: + +'And a pipe!' + +The driver entering the public-house with his fellows, apparently +for purposes of refreshment, I could not refrain from mounting on +the shaft of the second vehicle, and looking in at the portal. I +then beheld, reclining on his back upon the floor, on a kind of +mattress or divan, a little man in a shooting-coat. The +exclamation 'Dear me' which irresistibly escaped my lips caused him +to sit upright, and survey me. I found him to be a good-looking +little man of about fifty, with a shining face, a tight head, a +bright eye, a moist wink, a quick speech, and a ready air. He had +something of a sporting way with him. + +He looked at me, and I looked at him, until the driver displaced me +by handing in a pint of beer, a pipe, and what I understand is +called 'a screw' of tobacco - an object which has the appearance of +a curl-paper taken off the barmaid's head, with the curl in it. + +'I beg your pardon,' said I, when the removed person of the driver +again admitted of my presenting my face at the portal. 'But - +excuse my curiosity, which I inherit from my mother - do you live +here?' + +'That's good, too!' returned the little man, composedly laying +aside a pipe he had smoked out, and filling the pipe just brought +to him. + +'Oh, you DON'T live here then?' said I. + +He shook his head, as he calmly lighted his pipe by means of a +German tinder-box, and replied, 'This is my carriage. When things +are flat, I take a ride sometimes, and enjoy myself. I am the +inventor of these wans.' + +His pipe was now alight. He drank his beer all at once, and he +smoked and he smiled at me. + +'It was a great idea!' said I. + +'Not so bad,' returned the little man, with the modesty of merit. + +'Might I be permitted to inscribe your name upon the tablets of my +memory?' I asked. + +'There's not much odds in the name,' returned the little man, ' - +no name particular - I am the King of the Bill-Stickers.' + +'Good gracious!' said I. + +The monarch informed me, with a smile, that he had never been +crowned or installed with any public ceremonies, but that he was +peaceably acknowledged as King of the Bill-Stickers in right of +being the oldest and most respected member of 'the old school of +bill-sticking.' He likewise gave me to understand that there was a +Lord Mayor of the Bill-Stickers, whose genius was chiefly exercised +within the limits of the city. He made some allusion, also, to an +inferior potentate, called 'Turkey-legs;' but I did not understand +that this gentleman was invested with much power. I rather +inferred that he derived his title from some peculiarity of gait, +and that it was of an honorary character. + +'My father,' pursued the King of the Bill-Stickers, 'was Engineer, +Beadle, and Bill-Sticker to the parish of St. Andrew's, Holborn, in +the year one thousand seven hundred and eighty. My father stuck +bills at the time of the riots of London.' + +'You must be acquainted with the whole subject of bill-sticking, +from that time to the present!' said I. + +'Pretty well so,' was the answer. + +'Excuse me,' said I; 'but I am a sort of collector - ' + +''Not Income-tax?' cried His Majesty, hastily removing his pipe +from his lips. + +'No, no,' said I. + +'Water-rate?' said His Majesty. + +'No, no,' I returned. + +'Gas? Assessed? Sewers?' said His Majesty. + +'You misunderstand me,' I replied, soothingly. 'Not that sort of +collector at all: a collector of facts.' + +'Oh, if it's only facts,' cried the King of the Bill-Stickers, +recovering his good-humour, and banishing the great mistrust that +had suddenly fallen upon him, 'come in and welcome! If it had been +income, or winders, I think I should have pitched you out of the +wan, upon my soul!' + +Readily complying with the invitation, I squeezed myself in at the +small aperture. His Majesty, graciously handing me a little three- +legged stool on which I took my seat in a corner, inquired if I +smoked. + +'I do; - that is, I can,' I answered. + +'Pipe and a screw!' said His Majesty to the attendant charioteer. +'Do you prefer a dry smoke, or do you moisten it?' + +As unmitigated tobacco produces most disturbing effects upon my +system (indeed, if I had perfect moral courage, I doubt if I should +smoke at all, under any circumstances), I advocated moisture, and +begged the Sovereign of the Bill-Stickers to name his usual liquor, +and to concede to me the privilege of paying for it. After some +delicate reluctance on his part, we were provided, through the +instrumentality of the attendant charioteer, with a can of cold +rum-and-water, flavoured with sugar and lemon. We were also +furnished with a tumbler, and I was provided with a pipe. His +Majesty, then observing that we might combine business with +conversation, gave the word for the car to proceed; and, to my +great delight, we jogged away at a foot pace. + +I say to my great delight, because I am very fond of novelty, and +it was a new sensation to be jolting through the tumult of the city +in that secluded Temple, partly open to the sky, surrounded by the +roar without, and seeing nothing but the clouds. Occasionally, +blows from whips fell heavily on the Temple's walls, when by +stopping up the road longer than usual, we irritated carters and +coachmen to madness; but they fell harmless upon us within and +disturbed not the serenity of our peaceful retreat. As I looked +upward, I felt, I should imagine, like the Astronomer Royal. I was +enchanted by the contrast between the freezing nature of our +external mission on the blood of the populace, and the perfect +composure reigning within those sacred precincts: where His +Majesty, reclining easily on his left arm, smoked his pipe and +drank his rum-and-water from his own side of the tumbler, which +stood impartially between us. As I looked down from the clouds and +caught his royal eye, he understood my reflections. 'I have an +idea,' he observed, with an upward glance, 'of training scarlet +runners across in the season, - making a arbour of it, - and +sometimes taking tea in the same, according to the song.' + +I nodded approval. + +'And here you repose and think?' said I. + +'And think,' said he, 'of posters - walls - and hoardings.' + +We were both silent, contemplating the vastness of the subject. I +remembered a surprising fancy of dear THOMAS HOOD'S, and wondered +whether this monarch ever sighed to repair to the great wall of +China, and stick bills all over it. + +'And so,' said he, rousing himself, 'it's facts as you collect?' + +'Facts,' said I. + +'The facts of bill-sticking,' pursued His Majesty, in a benignant +manner, 'as known to myself, air as following. When my father was +Engineer, Beadle, and Bill-Sticker to the parish of St. Andrew's, +Holborn, he employed women to post bills for him. He employed +women to post bills at the time of the riots of London. He died at +the age of seventy-five year, and was buried by the murdered Eliza +Grimwood, over in the Waterloo Road.' + +As this was somewhat in the nature of a royal speech, I listened +with deference and silently. His Majesty, taking a scroll from his +pocket, proceeded, with great distinctness, to pour out the +following flood of information:- + +'"The bills being at that period mostly proclamations and +declarations, and which were only a demy size, the manner of +posting the bills (as they did not use brushes) was by means of a +piece of wood which they called a 'dabber.' Thus things continued +till such time as the State Lottery was passed, and then the +printers began to print larger bills, and men were employed instead +of women, as the State Lottery Commissioners then began to send men +all over England to post bills, and would keep them out for six or +eight months at a time, and they were called by the London bill- +stickers 'TRAMPERS,' their wages at the time being ten shillings +per day, besides expenses. They used sometimes to be stationed in +large towns for five or six months together, distributing the +schemes to all the houses in the town. And then there were more +caricature wood-block engravings for posting-bills than there are +at the present time, the principal printers, at that time, of +posting-bills being Messrs. Evans and Ruffy, of Budge Row; +Thoroughgood and Whiting, of the present day; and Messrs. Gye and +Balne, Gracechurch Street, City. The largest bills printed at that +period were a two-sheet double crown; and when they commenced +printing four-sheet bills, two bill-stickers would work together. +They had no settled wages per week, but had a fixed price for their +work, and the London bill-stickers, during a lottery week, have +been known to earn, each, eight or nine pounds per week, till the +day of drawing; likewise the men who carried boards in the street +used to have one pound per week, and the bill-stickers at that time +would not allow any one to wilfully cover or destroy their bills, +as they had a society amongst themselves, and very frequently dined +together at some public-house where they used to go of an evening +to have their work delivered out untoe 'em."' + +All this His Majesty delivered in a gallant manner; posting it, as +it were, before me, in a great proclamation. I took advantage of +the pause he now made, to inquire what a 'two-sheet double crown' +might express? + +'A two-sheet double crown,' replied the King, 'is a bill thirty- +nine inches wide by thirty inches high.' + +'Is it possible,' said I, my mind reverting to the gigantic +admonitions we were then displaying to the multitude - which were +as infants to some of the posting-bills on the rotten old warehouse +- 'that some few years ago the largest bill was no larger than +that?' + +'The fact,' returned the King, 'is undoubtedly so.' Here he +instantly rushed again into the scroll. + +'"Since the abolishing of the State Lottery all that good feeling +has gone, and nothing but jealousy exists, through the rivalry of +each other. Several bill-sticking companies have started, but have +failed. The first party that started a company was twelve year +ago; but what was left of the old school and their dependants +joined together and opposed them. And for some time we were quiet +again, till a printer of Hatton Garden formed a company by hiring +the sides of houses; but he was not supported by the public, and he +left his wooden frames fixed up for rent. The last company that +started, took advantage of the New Police Act, and hired of Messrs. +Grissell and Peto the hoarding of Trafalgar Square, and established +a bill-sticking office in Cursitor Street, Chancery Lane, and +engaged some of the new bill-stickers to do their work, and for a +time got the half of all our work, and with such spirit did they +carry on their opposition towards us, that they used to give us in +charge before the magistrate, and get us fined; but they found it +so expensive, that they could not keep it up, for they were always +employing a lot of ruffians from the Seven Dials to come and fight +us; and on one occasion the old bill-stickers went to Trafalgar +Square to attempt to post bills, when they were given in custody by +the watchman in their employ, and fined at Queen Square five +pounds, as they would not allow any of us to speak in the office; +but when they were gone, we had an interview with the magistrate, +who mitigated the fine to fifteen shillings. During the time the +men were waiting for the fine, this company started off to a +public-house that we were in the habit of using, and waited for us +coming back, where a fighting scene took place that beggars +description. Shortly after this, the principal one day came and +shook hands with us, and acknowledged that he had broken up the +company, and that he himself had lost five hundred pound in trying +to overthrow us. We then took possession of the hoarding in +Trafalgar Square; but Messrs. Grissell and Peto would not allow us +to post our bills on the said hoarding without paying them - and +from first to last we paid upwards of two hundred pounds for that +hoarding, and likewise the hoarding of the Reform Club-house, Pall +Mall."' + +His Majesty, being now completely out of breath, laid down his +scroll (which he appeared to have finished), puffed at his pipe, +and took some rum-and-water. I embraced the opportunity of asking +how many divisions the art and mystery of bill-sticking comprised? +He replied, three - auctioneers' bill-sticking, theatrical bill- +sticking, general bill-sticking. + +'The auctioneers' porters,' said the King, 'who do their bill- +sticking, are mostly respectable and intelligent, and generally +well paid for their work, whether in town or country. The price +paid by the principal auctioneers for country work is nine +shillings per day; that is, seven shillings for day's work, one +shilling for lodging, and one for paste. Town work is five +shillings a day, including paste.' + +'Town work must be rather hot work,' said I, 'if there be many of +those fighting scenes that beggar description, among the bill- +stickers?' + +'Well,' replied the King, 'I an't a stranger, I assure you, to +black eyes; a bill-sticker ought to know how to handle his fists a +bit. As to that row I have mentioned, that grew out of +competition, conducted in an uncompromising spirit. Besides a man +in a horse-and-shay continually following us about, the company had +a watchman on duty, night and day, to prevent us sticking bills +upon the hoarding in Trafalgar Square. We went there, early one +morning, to stick bills and to black-wash their bills if we were +interfered with. We WERE interfered with, and I gave the word for +laying on the wash. It WAS laid on - pretty brisk - and we were +all taken to Queen Square: but they couldn't fine ME. I knew +that,' - with a bright smile - 'I'd only give directions - I was +only the General.' Charmed with this monarch's affability, I +inquired if he had ever hired a hoarding himself. + +'Hired a large one,' he replied, 'opposite the Lyceum Theatre, when +the buildings was there. Paid thirty pound for it; let out places +on it, and called it "The External Paper-Hanging Station." But it +didn't answer. Ah!' said His Majesty thoughtfully, as he filled +the glass, 'Bill-stickers have a deal to contend with. The bill- +sticking clause was got into the Police Act by a member of +Parliament that employed me at his election. The clause is pretty +stiff respecting where bills go; but HE didn't mind where HIS bills +went. It was all right enough, so long as they was HIS bills!' + +Fearful that I observed a shadow of misanthropy on the King's +cheerful face, I asked whose ingenious invention that was, which I +greatly admired, of sticking bills under the arches of the bridges. + +'Mine!' said His Majesty. 'I was the first that ever stuck a bill +under a bridge! Imitators soon rose up, of course. - When don't +they? But they stuck 'em at low-water, and the tide came and swept +the bills clean away. I knew that!' The King laughed. + +'What may be the name of that instrument, like an immense fishing- +rod,' I inquired, 'with which bills are posted on high places?' + +'The joints,' returned His Majesty. 'Now, we use the joints where +formerly we used ladders - as they do still in country places. +Once, when Madame' (Vestris, understood) 'was playing in Liverpool, +another bill-sticker and me were at it together on the wall outside +the Clarence Dock - me with the joints - him on a ladder. Lord! I +had my bill up, right over his head, yards above him, ladder and +all, while he was crawling to his work. The people going in and +out of the docks, stood and laughed! - It's about thirty years +since the joints come in.' + +'Are there any bill-stickers who can't read?' I took the liberty of +inquiring. + +'Some,' said the King. 'But they know which is the right side +up'ards of their work. They keep it as it's given out to 'em. I +have seen a bill or so stuck wrong side up'ards. But it's very +rare.' + +Our discourse sustained some interruption at this point, by the +procession of cars occasioning a stoppage of about three-quarters +of a mile in length, as nearly as I could judge. His Majesty, +however, entreating me not to be discomposed by the contingent +uproar, smoked with great placidity, and surveyed the firmament. + +When we were again in motion, I begged to be informed what was the +largest poster His Majesty had ever seen. The King replied, 'A +thirty-six sheet poster.' I gathered, also, that there were about +a hundred and fifty bill-stickers in London, and that His Majesty +considered an average hand equal to the posting of one hundred +bills (single sheets) in a day. The King was of opinion, that, +although posters had much increased in size, they had not increased +in number; as the abolition of the State Lotteries had occasioned a +great falling off, especially in the country. Over and above which +change, I bethought myself that the custom of advertising in +newspapers had greatly increased. The completion of many London +improvements, as Trafalgar Square (I particularly observed the +singularity of His Majesty's calling THAT an improvement), the +Royal Exchange, &c., had of late years reduced the number of +advantageous posting-places. Bill-Stickers at present rather +confine themselves to districts, than to particular descriptions of +work. One man would strike over Whitechapel, another would take +round Houndsditch, Shoreditch, and the City Road; one (the King +said) would stick to the Surrey side; another would make a beat of +the West-end. + +His Majesty remarked, with some approach to severity, on the +neglect of delicacy and taste, gradually introduced into the trade +by the new school: a profligate and inferior race of impostors who +took jobs at almost any price, to the detriment of the old school, +and the confusion of their own misguided employers. He considered +that the trade was overdone with competition, and observed speaking +of his subjects, 'There are too many of 'em.' He believed, still, +that things were a little better than they had been; adducing, as a +proof, the fact that particular posting places were now reserved, +by common consent, for particular posters; those places, however, +must be regularly occupied by those posters, or, they lapsed and +fell into other hands. It was of no use giving a man a Drury Lane +bill this week and not next. Where was it to go? He was of +opinion that going to the expense of putting up your own board on +which your sticker could display your own bills, was the only +complete way of posting yourself at the present time; but, even to +effect this, on payment of a shilling a week to the keepers of +steamboat piers and other such places, you must be able, besides, +to give orders for theatres and public exhibitions, or you would be +sure to be cut out by somebody. His Majesty regarded the passion +for orders, as one of the most unappeasable appetites of human +nature. If there were a building, or if there were repairs, going +on, anywhere, you could generally stand something and make it right +with the foreman of the works; but, orders would be expected from +you, and the man who could give the most orders was the man who +would come off best. There was this other objectionable point, in +orders, that workmen sold them for drink, and often sold them to +persons who were likewise troubled with the weakness of thirst: +which led (His Majesty said) to the presentation of your orders at +Theatre doors, by individuals who were 'too shakery' to derive +intellectual profit from the entertainments, and who brought a +scandal on you. Finally, His Majesty said that you could hardly +put too little in a poster; what you wanted, was, two or three good +catch-lines for the eye to rest on - then, leave it alone - and +there you were! + +These are the minutes of my conversation with His Majesty, as I +noted them down shortly afterwards. I am not aware that I have +been betrayed into any alteration or suppression. The manner of +the King was frank in the extreme; and he seemed to me to avoid, at +once that slight tendency to repetition which may have been +observed in the conversation of His Majesty King George the Third, +and - that slight under-current of egotism which the curious +observer may perhaps detect in the conversation of Napoleon +Bonaparte. + +I must do the King the justice to say that it was I, and not he, +who closed the dialogue. At this juncture, I became the subject of +a remarkable optical delusion; the legs of my stool appeared to me +to double up; the car to spin round and round with great violence; +and a mist to arise between myself and His Majesty. In addition to +these sensations, I felt extremely unwell. I refer these +unpleasant effects, either to the paste with which the posters were +affixed to the van: which may have contained some small portion of +arsenic; or, to the printer's ink, which may have contained some +equally deleterious ingredient. Of this, I cannot be sure. I am +only sure that I was not affected, either by the smoke, or the rum- +and-water. I was assisted out of the vehicle, in a state of mind +which I have only experienced in two other places - I allude to the +Pier at Dover, and to the corresponding portion of the town of +Calais - and sat upon a door-step until I recovered. The +procession had then disappeared. I have since looked anxiously for +the King in several other cars, but I have not yet had the +happiness of seeing His Majesty. + + + +'BIRTHS. MRS. MEEK, OF A SON + + + +MY name is Meek. I am, in fact, Mr. Meek. That son is mine and +Mrs. Meek's. When I saw the announcement in the Times, I dropped +the paper. I had put it in, myself, and paid for it, but it looked +so noble that it overpowered me. + +As soon as I could compose my feelings, I took the paper up to Mrs. +Meek's bedside. 'Maria Jane,' said I (I allude to Mrs. Meek), 'you +are now a public character.' We read the review of our child, +several times, with feelings of the strongest emotion; and I sent +the boy who cleans the boots and shoes, to the office for fifteen +copies. No reduction was made on taking that quantity. + +It is scarcely necessary for me to say, that our child had been +expected. In fact, it had been expected, with comparative +confidence, for some months. Mrs. Meek's mother, who resides with +us - of the name of Bigby - had made every preparation for its +admission to our circle. + +I hope and believe I am a quiet man. I will go farther. I KNOW I +am a quiet man. My constitution is tremulous, my voice was never +loud, and, in point of stature, I have been from infancy, small. I +have the greatest respect for Maria Jane's Mama. She is a most +remarkable woman. I honour Maria Jane's Mama. In my opinion she +would storm a town, single-handed, with a hearth-broom, and carry +it. I have never known her to yield any point whatever, to mortal +man. She is calculated to terrify the stoutest heart. + +Still - but I will not anticipate. + +The first intimation I had, of any preparations being in progress, +on the part of Maria Jane's Mama, was one afternoon, several months +ago. I came home earlier than usual from the office, and, +proceeding into the dining-room, found an obstruction behind the +door, which prevented it from opening freely. It was an +obstruction of a soft nature. On looking in, I found it to be a +female. + +The female in question stood in the corner behind the door, +consuming Sherry Wine. From the nutty smell of that beverage +pervading the apartment, I have no doubt she was consuming a second +glassful. She wore a black bonnet of large dimensions, and was +copious in figure. The expression of her countenance was severe +and discontented. The words to which she gave utterance on seeing +me, were these, 'Oh, git along with you, Sir, if YOU please; me and +Mrs. Bigby don't want no male parties here!' + +That female was Mrs. Prodgit. + +I immediately withdrew, of course. I was rather hurt, but I made +no remark. Whether it was that I showed a lowness of spirits after +dinner, in consequence of feeling that I seemed to intrude, I +cannot say. But, Maria Jane's Mama said to me on her retiring for +the night: in a low distinct voice, and with a look of reproach +that completely subdued me: 'George Meek, Mrs. Prodgit is your +wife's nurse!' + +I bear no ill-will towards Mrs. Prodgit. Is it likely that I, +writing this with tears in my eyes, should be capable of deliberate +animosity towards a female, so essential to the welfare of Maria +Jane? I am willing to admit that Fate may have been to blame, and +not Mrs. Prodgit; but, it is undeniably true, that the latter +female brought desolation and devastation into my lowly dwelling. + +We were happy after her first appearance; we were sometimes +exceedingly so. But, whenever the parlour door was opened, and +'Mrs. Prodgit!' announced (and she was very often announced), +misery ensued. I could not bear Mrs. Prodgit's look. I felt that +I was far from wanted, and had no business to exist in Mrs. +Prodgit's presence. Between Maria Jane's Mama, and Mrs. Prodgit, +there was a dreadful, secret, understanding - a dark mystery and +conspiracy, pointing me out as a being to be shunned. I appeared +to have done something that was evil. Whenever Mrs. Prodgit +called, after dinner, I retired to my dressing-room - where the +temperature is very low indeed, in the wintry time of the year - +and sat looking at my frosty breath as it rose before me, and at my +rack of boots; a serviceable article of furniture, but never, in my +opinion, an exhilarating object. The length of the councils that +were held with Mrs. Prodgit, under these circumstances, I will not +attempt to describe. I will merely remark, that Mrs. Prodgit +always consumed Sherry Wine while the deliberations were in +progress; that they always ended in Maria Jane's being in wretched +spirits on the sofa; and that Maria Jane's Mama always received me, +when I was recalled, with a look of desolate triumph that too +plainly said, 'NOW, George Meek! You see my child, Maria Jane, a +ruin, and I hope you are satisfied!' + +I pass, generally, over the period that intervened between the day +when Mrs. Prodgit entered her protest against male parties, and the +ever-memorable midnight when I brought her to my unobtrusive home +in a cab, with an extremely large box on the roof, and a bundle, a +bandbox, and a basket, between the driver's legs. I have no +objection to Mrs. Prodgit (aided and abetted by Mrs. Bigby, who I +never can forget is the parent of Maria Jane) taking entire +possession of my unassuming establishment. In the recesses of my +own breast, the thought may linger that a man in possession cannot +be so dreadful as a woman, and that woman Mrs. Prodgit; but, I +ought to bear a good deal, and I hope I can, and do. Huffing and +snubbing, prey upon my feelings; but, I can bear them without +complaint. They may tell in the long run; I may be hustled about, +from post to pillar, beyond my strength; nevertheless, I wish to +avoid giving rise to words in the family. + +The voice of Nature, however, cries aloud in behalf of Augustus +George, my infant son. It is for him that I wish to utter a few +plaintive household words. I am not at all angry; I am mild - but +miserable. + +I wish to know why, when my child, Augustus George, was expected in +our circle, a provision of pins was made, as if the little stranger +were a criminal who was to be put to the torture immediately, on +his arrival, instead of a holy babe? I wish to know why haste was +made to stick those pins all over his innocent form, in every +direction? I wish to be informed why light and air are excluded +from Augustus George, like poisons? Why, I ask, is my unoffending +infant so hedged into a basket-bedstead, with dimity and calico, +with miniature sheets and blankets, that I can only hear him +snuffle (and no wonder!) deep down under the pink hood of a little +bathing-machine, and can never peruse even so much of his +lineaments as his nose? + +Was I expected to be the father of a French Roll, that the brushes +of All Nations were laid in, to rasp Augustus George? Am I to be +told that his sensitive skin was ever intended by Nature to have +rashes brought out upon it, by the premature and incessant use of +those formidable little instruments? + +Is my son a Nutmeg, that he is to be grated on the stiff edges of +sharp frills? Am I the parent of a Muslin boy, that his yielding +surface is to be crimped and small plaited? Or is my child +composed of Paper or of Linen, that impressions of the finer +getting-up art, practised by the laundress, are to be printed off, +all over his soft arms and legs, as I constantly observe them? The +starch enters his soul; who can wonder that he cries? + +Was Augustus George intended to have limbs, or to be born a Torso? +I presume that limbs were the intention, as they are the usual +practice. Then, why are my poor child's limbs fettered and tied +up? Am I to be told that there is any analogy between Augustus +George Meek and Jack Sheppard? + +Analyse Castor Oil at any Institution of Chemistry that may be +agreed upon, and inform me what resemblance, in taste, it bears to +that natural provision which it is at once the pride and duty of +Maria Jane to administer to Augustus George! Yet, I charge Mrs. +Prodgit (aided and abetted by Mrs. Bigby) with systematically +forcing Castor Oil on my innocent son, from the first hour of his +birth. When that medicine, in its efficient action, causes +internal disturbance to Augustus George, I charge Mrs. Prodgit +(aided and abetted by Mrs. Bigby) with insanely and inconsistently +administering opium to allay the storm she has raised! What is the +meaning of this? + +If the days of Egyptian Mummies are past, how dare Mrs. Prodgit +require, for the use of my son, an amount of flannel and linen that +would carpet my humble roof? Do I wonder that she requires it? +No! This morning, within an hour, I beheld this agonising sight. +I beheld my son - Augustus George - in Mrs. Prodgit's hands, and on +Mrs. Prodgit's knee, being dressed. He was at the moment, +comparatively speaking, in a state of nature; having nothing on, +but an extremely short shirt, remarkably disproportionate to the +length of his usual outer garments. Trailing from Mrs. Prodgit's +lap, on the floor, was a long narrow roller or bandage - I should +say of several yards in extent. In this, I SAW Mrs. Prodgit +tightly roll the body of my unoffending infant, turning him over +and over, now presenting his unconscious face upwards, now the back +of his bald head, until the unnatural feat was accomplished, and +the bandage secured by a pin, which I have every reason to believe +entered the body of my only child. In this tourniquet, he passes +the present phase of his existence. Can I know it, and smile! + +I fear I have been betrayed into expressing myself warmly, but I +feel deeply. Not for myself; for Augustus George. I dare not +interfere. Will any one? Will any publication? Any doctor? Any +parent? Any body? I do not complain that Mrs. Prodgit (aided and +abetted by Mrs. Bigby) entirely alienates Maria Jane's affections +from me, and interposes an impassable barrier between us. I do not +complain of being made of no account. I do not want to be of any +account. But, Augustus George is a production of Nature (I cannot +think otherwise), and I claim that he should be treated with some +remote reference to Nature. In my opinion, Mrs. Prodgit is, from +first to last, a convention and a superstition. Are all the +faculty afraid of Mrs. Prodgit? If not, why don't they take her in +hand and improve her? + +P.S. Maria Jane's Mama boasts of her own knowledge of the subject, +and says she brought up seven children besides Maria Jane. But how +do I know that she might not have brought them up much better? +Maria Jane herself is far from strong, and is subject to headaches, +and nervous indigestion. Besides which, I learn from the +statistical tables that one child in five dies within the first +year of its life; and one child in three, within the fifth. That +don't look as if we could never improve in these particulars, I +think! + +P.P.S. Augustus George is in convulsions. + + + +LYING AWAKE + + + +'MY uncle lay with his eyes half closed, and his nightcap drawn +almost down to his nose. His fancy was already wandering, and +began to mingle up the present scene with the crater of Vesuvius, +the French Opera, the Coliseum at Rome, Dolly's Chop-house in +London, and all the farrago of noted places with which the brain of +a traveller is crammed; in a word, he was just falling asleep.' + +Thus, that delightful writer, WASHINGTON IRVING, in his Tales of a +Traveller. But, it happened to me the other night to be lying: not +with my eyes half closed, but with my eyes wide open; not with my +nightcap drawn almost down to my nose, for on sanitary principles I +never wear a nightcap: but with my hair pitchforked and touzled all +over the pillow; not just falling asleep by any means, but +glaringly, persistently, and obstinately, broad awake. Perhaps, +with no scientific intention or invention, I was illustrating the +theory of the Duality of the Brain; perhaps one part of my brain, +being wakeful, sat up to watch the other part which was sleepy. Be +that as it may, something in me was as desirous to go to sleep as +it possibly could be, but something else in me WOULD NOT go to +sleep, and was as obstinate as George the Third. + +Thinking of George the Third - for I devote this paper to my train +of thoughts as I lay awake: most people lying awake sometimes, and +having some interest in the subject - put me in mind of BENJAMIN +FRANKLIN, and so Benjamin Franklin's paper on the art of procuring +pleasant dreams, which would seem necessarily to include the art of +going to sleep, came into my head. Now, as I often used to read +that paper when I was a very small boy, and as I recollect +everything I read then as perfectly as I forget everything I read +now, I quoted 'Get out of bed, beat up and turn your pillow, shake +the bed-clothes well with at least twenty shakes, then throw the +bed open and leave it to cool; in the meanwhile, continuing +undrest, walk about your chamber. When you begin to feel the cold +air unpleasant, then return to your bed, and you will soon fall +asleep, and your sleep will be sweet and pleasant.' Not a bit of +it! I performed the whole ceremony, and if it were possible for me +to be more saucer-eyed than I was before, that was the only result +that came of it. + +Except Niagara. The two quotations from Washington Irving and +Benjamin Franklin may have put it in my head by an American +association of ideas; but there I was, and the Horse-shoe Fall was +thundering and tumbling in my eyes and ears, and the very rainbows +that I left upon the spray when I really did last look upon it, +were beautiful to see. The night-light being quite as plain, +however, and sleep seeming to be many thousand miles further off +than Niagara, I made up my mind to think a little about Sleep; +which I no sooner did than I whirled off in spite of myself to +Drury Lane Theatre, and there saw a great actor and dear friend of +mine (whom I had been thinking of in the day) playing Macbeth, and +heard him apostrophising 'the death of each day's life,' as I have +heard him many a time, in the days that are gone. + +But, Sleep. I WILL think about Sleep. I am determined to think +(this is the way I went on) about Sleep. I must hold the word +Sleep, tight and fast, or I shall be off at a tangent in half a +second. I feel myself unaccountably straying, already, into Clare +Market. Sleep. It would be curious, as illustrating the equality +of sleep, to inquire how many of its phenomena are common to all +classes, to all degrees of wealth and poverty, to every grade of +education and ignorance. Here, for example, is her Majesty Queen +Victoria in her palace, this present blessed night, and here is +Winking Charley, a sturdy vagrant, in one of her Majesty's jails. +Her Majesty has fallen, many thousands of times, from that same +Tower, which I claim a right to tumble off now and then. So has +Winking Charley. Her Majesty in her sleep has opened or prorogued +Parliament, or has held a Drawing Room, attired in some very scanty +dress, the deficiencies and improprieties of which have caused her +great uneasiness. I, in my degree, have suffered unspeakable +agitation of mind from taking the chair at a public dinner at the +London Tavern in my night-clothes, which not all the courtesy of my +kind friend and host MR. BATHE could persuade me were quite adapted +to the occasion. Winking Charley has been repeatedly tried in a +worse condition. Her Majesty is no stranger to a vault or +firmament, of a sort of floorcloth, with an indistinct pattern +distantly resembling eyes, which occasionally obtrudes itself on +her repose. Neither am I. Neither is Winking Charley. It is +quite common to all three of us to skim along with airy strides a +little above the ground; also to hold, with the deepest interest, +dialogues with various people, all represented by ourselves; and to +be at our wit's end to know what they are going to tell us; and to +be indescribably astonished by the secrets they disclose. It is +probable that we have all three committed murders and hidden +bodies. It is pretty certain that we have all desperately wanted +to cry out, and have had no voice; that we have all gone to the +play and not been able to get in; that we have all dreamed much +more of our youth than of our later lives; that - I have lost it! +The thread's broken. + +And up I go. I, lying here with the night-light before me, up I +go, for no reason on earth that I can find out, and drawn by no +links that are visible to me, up the Great Saint Bernard! I have +lived in Switzerland, and rambled among the mountains; but, why I +should go there now, and why up the Great Saint Bernard in +preference to any other mountain, I have no idea. As I lie here +broad awake, and with every sense so sharpened that I can +distinctly hear distant noises inaudible to me at another time, I +make that journey, as I really did, on the same summer day, with +the same happy party - ah! two since dead, I grieve to think - and +there is the same track, with the same black wooden arms to point +the way, and there are the same storm-refuges here and there; and +there is the same snow falling at the top, and there are the same +frosty mists, and there is the same intensely cold convent with its +menagerie smell, and the same breed of dogs fast dying out, and the +same breed of jolly young monks whom I mourn to know as humbugs, +and the same convent parlour with its piano and the sitting round +the fire, and the same supper, and the same lone night in a cell, +and the same bright fresh morning when going out into the highly +rarefied air was like a plunge into an icy bath. Now, see here +what comes along; and why does this thing stalk into my mind on the +top of a Swiss mountain! + +It is a figure that I once saw, just after dark, chalked upon a +door in a little back lane near a country church - my first church. +How young a child I may have been at the time I don't know, but it +horrified me so intensely - in connexion with the churchyard, I +suppose, for it smokes a pipe, and has a big hat with each of its +ears sticking out in a horizontal line under the brim, and is not +in itself more oppressive than a mouth from ear to ear, a pair of +goggle eyes, and hands like two bunches of carrots, five in each, +can make it - that it is still vaguely alarming to me to recall (as +I have often done before, lying awake) the running home, the +looking behind, the horror, of its following me; though whether +disconnected from the door, or door and all, I can't say, and +perhaps never could. It lays a disagreeable train. I must resolve +to think of something on the voluntary principle. + +The balloon ascents of this last season. They will do to think +about, while I lie awake, as well as anything else. I must hold +them tight though, for I feel them sliding away, and in their stead +are the Mannings, husband and wife, hanging on the top of Horse- +monger Lane Jail. In connexion with which dismal spectacle, I +recall this curious fantasy of the mind. That, having beheld that +execution, and having left those two forms dangling on the top of +the entrance gateway - the man's, a limp, loose suit of clothes as +if the man had gone out of them; the woman's, a fine shape, so +elaborately corseted and artfully dressed, that it was quite +unchanged in its trim appearance as it slowly swung from side to +side - I never could, by my uttermost efforts, for some weeks, +present the outside of that prison to myself (which the terrible +impression I had received continually obliged me to do) without +presenting it with the two figures still hanging in the morning +air. Until, strolling past the gloomy place one night, when the +street was deserted and quiet, and actually seeing that the bodies +were not there, my fancy was persuaded, as it were, to take them +down and bury them within the precincts of the jail, where they +have lain ever since. + +The balloon ascents of last season. Let me reckon them up. There +were the horse, the bull, the parachute, - and the tumbler hanging +on - chiefly by his toes, I believe - below the car. Very wrong, +indeed, and decidedly to be stopped. But, in connexion with these +and similar dangerous exhibitions, it strikes me that that portion +of the public whom they entertain, is unjustly reproached. Their +pleasure is in the difficulty overcome. They are a public of great +faith, and are quite confident that the gentleman will not fall off +the horse, or the lady off the bull or out of the parachute, and +that the tumbler has a firm hold with his toes. They do not go to +see the adventurer vanquished, but triumphant. There is no +parallel in public combats between men and beasts, because nobody +can answer for the particular beast - unless it were always the +same beast, in which case it would be a mere stage-show, which the +same public would go in the same state of mind to see, entirely +believing in the brute being beforehand safely subdued by the man. +That they are not accustomed to calculate hazards and dangers with +any nicety, we may know from their rash exposure of themselves in +overcrowded steamboats, and unsafe conveyances and places of all +kinds. And I cannot help thinking that instead of railing, and +attributing savage motives to a people naturally well disposed and +humane, it is better to teach them, and lead them argumentatively +and reasonably - for they are very reasonable, if you will discuss +a matter with them - to more considerate and wise conclusions. + +This is a disagreeable intrusion! Here is a man with his throat +cut, dashing towards me as I lie awake! A recollection of an old +story of a kinsman of mine, who, going home one foggy winter night +to Hampstead, when London was much smaller and the road lonesome, +suddenly encountered such a figure rushing past him, and presently +two keepers from a madhouse in pursuit. A very unpleasant creature +indeed, to come into my mind unbidden, as I lie awake. + +- The balloon ascents of last season. I must return to the +balloons. Why did the bleeding man start out of them? Never mind; +if I inquire, he will be back again. The balloons. This +particular public have inherently a great pleasure in the +contemplation of physical difficulties overcome; mainly, as I take +it, because the lives of a large majority of them are exceedingly +monotonous and real, and further, are a struggle against continual +difficulties, and further still, because anything in the form of +accidental injury, or any kind of illness or disability is so very +serious in their own sphere. I will explain this seeming paradox +of mine. Take the case of a Christmas Pantomime. Surely nobody +supposes that the young mother in the pit who falls into fits of +laughter when the baby is boiled or sat upon, would be at all +diverted by such an occurrence off the stage. Nor is the decent +workman in the gallery, who is transported beyond the ignorant +present by the delight with which he sees a stout gentleman pushed +out of a two pair of stairs window, to be slandered by the +suspicion that he would be in the least entertained by such a +spectacle in any street in London, Paris, or New York. It always +appears to me that the secret of this enjoyment lies in the +temporary superiority to the common hazards and mischances of life; +in seeing casualties, attended when they really occur with bodily +and mental suffering, tears, and poverty, happen through a very +rough sort of poetry without the least harm being done to any one - +the pretence of distress in a pantomime being so broadly humorous +as to be no pretence at all. Much as in the comic fiction I can +understand the mother with a very vulnerable baby at home, greatly +relishing the invulnerable baby on the stage, so in the Cremorne +reality I can understand the mason who is always liable to fall off +a scaffold in his working jacket and to be carried to the hospital, +having an infinite admiration of the radiant personage in spangles +who goes into the clouds upon a bull, or upside down, and who, he +takes it for granted - not reflecting upon the thing - has, by +uncommon skill and dexterity, conquered such mischances as those to +which he and his acquaintance are continually exposed. + +I wish the Morgue in Paris would not come here as I lie awake, with +its ghastly beds, and the swollen saturated clothes hanging up, and +the water dripping, dripping all day long, upon that other swollen +saturated something in the corner, like a heap of crushed over-ripe +figs that I have seen in Italy! And this detestable Morgue comes +back again at the head of a procession of forgotten ghost stories. +This will never do. I must think of something else as I lie awake; +or, like that sagacious animal in the United States who recognised +the colonel who was such a dead shot, I am a gone 'Coon. What +shall I think of? The late brutal assaults. Very good subject. +The late brutal assaults. + +(Though whether, supposing I should see, here before me as I lie +awake, the awful phantom described in one of those ghost stories, +who, with a head-dress of shroud, was always seen looking in +through a certain glass door at a certain dead hour - whether, in +such a case it would be the least consolation to me to know on +philosophical grounds that it was merely my imagination, is a +question I can't help asking myself by the way.) + +The late brutal assaults. I strongly question the expediency of +advocating the revival of whipping for those crimes. It is a +natural and generous impulse to be indignant at the perpetration of +inconceivable brutality, but I doubt the whipping panacea gravely. +Not in the least regard or pity for the criminal, whom I hold in +far lower estimation than a mad wolf, but in consideration for the +general tone and feeling, which is very much improved since the +whipping times. It is bad for a people to be familiarised with +such punishments. When the whip went out of Bridewell, and ceased +to be flourished at the carts tail and at the whipping-post, it +began to fade out of madhouses, and workhouses, and schools and +families, and to give place to a better system everywhere, than +cruel driving. It would be hasty, because a few brutes may be +inadequately punished, to revive, in any aspect, what, in so many +aspects, society is hardly yet happily rid of. The whip is a very +contagious kind of thing, and difficult to confine within one set +of bounds. Utterly abolish punishment by fine - a barbarous +device, quite as much out of date as wager by battle, but +particularly connected in the vulgar mind with this class of +offence - at least quadruple the term of imprisonment for +aggravated assaults - and above all let us, in such cases, have no +Pet Prisoning, vain glorifying, strong soup, and roasted meats, but +hard work, and one unchanging and uncompromising dietary of bread +and water, well or ill; and we shall do much better than by going +down into the dark to grope for the whip among the rusty fragments +of the rack, and the branding iron, and the chains and gibbet from +the public roads, and the weights that pressed men to death in the +cells of Newgate. + +I had proceeded thus far, when I found I had been lying awake so +long that the very dead began to wake too, and to crowd into my +thoughts most sorrowfully. Therefore, I resolved to lie awake no +more, but to get up and go out for a night walk - which resolution +was an acceptable relief to me, as I dare say it may prove now to a +great many more. + + + +THE GHOST OF ART + + + +I AM a bachelor, residing in rather a dreary set of chambers in the +Temple. They are situated in a square court of high houses, which +would be a complete well, but for the want of water and the absence +of a bucket. I live at the top of the house, among the tiles and +sparrows. Like the little man in the nursery-story, I live by +myself, and all the bread and cheese I get - which is not much - I +put upon a shelf. I need scarcely add, perhaps, that I am in love, +and that the father of my charming Julia objects to our union. + +I mention these little particulars as I might deliver a letter of +introduction. The reader is now acquainted with me, and perhaps +will condescend to listen to my narrative. + +I am naturally of a dreamy turn of mind; and my abundant leisure - +for I am called to the Bar - coupled with much lonely listening to +the twittering of sparrows, and the pattering of rain, has +encouraged that disposition. In my 'top set' I hear the wind howl +on a winter night, when the man on the ground floor believes it is +perfectly still weather. The dim lamps with which our Honourable +Society (supposed to be as yet unconscious of the new discovery +called Gas) make the horrors of the staircase visible, deepen the +gloom which generally settles on my soul when I go home at night. + +I am in the Law, but not of it. I can't exactly make out what it +means. I sit in Westminster Hall sometimes (in character) from ten +to four; and when I go out of Court, I don't know whether I am +standing on my wig or my boots. + +It appears to me (I mention this in confidence) as if there were +too much talk and too much law - as if some grains of truth were +started overboard into a tempestuous sea of chaff. + +All this may make me mystical. Still, I am confident that what I +am going to describe myself as having seen and heard, I actually +did see and hear. + +It is necessary that I should observe that I have a great delight +in pictures. I am no painter myself, but I have studied pictures +and written about them. I have seen all the most famous pictures +in the world; my education and reading have been sufficiently +general to possess me beforehand with a knowledge of most of the +subjects to which a Painter is likely to have recourse; and, +although I might be in some doubt as to the rightful fashion of the +scabbard of King Lear's sword, for instance, I think I should know +King Lear tolerably well, if I happened to meet with him. + +I go to all the Modern Exhibitions every season, and of course I +revere the Royal Academy. I stand by its forty Academical articles +almost as firmly as I stand by the thirty-nine Articles of the +Church of England. I am convinced that in neither case could there +be, by any rightful possibility, one article more or less. + +It is now exactly three years - three years ago, this very month - +since I went from Westminster to the Temple, one Thursday +afternoon, in a cheap steamboat. The sky was black, when I +imprudently walked on board. It began to thunder and lighten +immediately afterwards, and the rain poured down in torrents. The +deck seeming to smoke with the wet, I went below; but so many +passengers were there, smoking too, that I came up again, and +buttoning my pea-coat, and standing in the shadow of the paddle- +box, stood as upright as I could, and made the best of it. + +It was at this moment that I first beheld the terrible Being, who +is the subject of my present recollections. + +Standing against the funnel, apparently with the intention of +drying himself by the heat as fast as he got wet, was a shabby man +in threadbare black, and with his hands in his pockets, who +fascinated me from the memorable instant when I caught his eye. + +Where had I caught that eye before? Who was he? Why did I connect +him, all at once, with the Vicar of Wakefield, Alfred the Great, +Gil Blas, Charles the Second, Joseph and his Brethren, the Fairy +Queen, Tom Jones, the Decameron of Boccaccio, Tam O'Shanter, the +Marriage of the Doge of Venice with the Adriatic, and the Great +Plague of London? Why, when he bent one leg, and placed one hand +upon the back of the seat near him, did my mind associate him +wildly with the words, 'Number one hundred and forty-two, Portrait +of a gentleman'? Could it be that I was going mad? + +I looked at him again, and now I could have taken my affidavit that +he belonged to the Vicar of Wakefield's family. Whether he was the +Vicar, or Moses, or Mr. Burchill, or the Squire, or a +conglomeration of all four, I knew not; but I was impelled to seize +him by the throat, and charge him with being, in some fell way, +connected with the Primrose blood. He looked up at the rain, and +then - oh Heaven! - he became Saint John. He folded his arms, +resigning himself to the weather, and I was frantically inclined to +address him as the Spectator, and firmly demand to know what he had +done with Sir Roger de Coverley. + +The frightful suspicion that I was becoming deranged, returned upon +me with redoubled force. Meantime, this awful stranger, +inexplicably linked to my distress, stood drying himself at the +funnel; and ever, as the steam rose from his clothes, diffusing a +mist around him, I saw through the ghostly medium all the people I +have mentioned, and a score more, sacred and profane. + +I am conscious of a dreadful inclination that stole upon me, as it +thundered and lightened, to grapple with this man, or demon, and +plunge him over the side. But, I constrained myself - I know not +how - to speak to him, and in a pause of the storm, I crossed the +deck, and said: + +'What are you?' + +He replied, hoarsely, 'A Model.' + +'A what?' said I. + +'A Model,' he replied. 'I sets to the profession for a bob a- +hour.' (All through this narrative I give his own words, which are +indelibly imprinted on my memory.) + +The relief which this disclosure gave me, the exquisite delight of +the restoration of my confidence in my own sanity, I cannot +describe. I should have fallen on his neck, but for the +consciousness of being observed by the man at the wheel. + +'You then,' said I, shaking him so warmly by the hand, that I wrung +the rain out of his coat-cuff, 'are the gentleman whom I have so +frequently contemplated, in connection with a high-backed chair +with a red cushion, and a table with twisted legs.' + +'I am that Model,' he rejoined moodily, 'and I wish I was anything +else.' + +'Say not so,' I returned. 'I have seen you in the society of many +beautiful young women;' as in truth I had, and always (I now +remember) in the act of making the most of his legs. + +'No doubt,' said he. 'And you've seen me along with warses of +flowers, and any number of table-kivers, and antique cabinets, and +warious gammon.' + +'Sir?' said I. + +'And warious gammon,' he repeated, in a louder voice. 'You might +have seen me in armour, too, if you had looked sharp. Blessed if I +ha'n't stood in half the suits of armour as ever came out of +Pratt's shop: and sat, for weeks together, a-eating nothing, out of +half the gold and silver dishes as has ever been lent for the +purpose out of Storrses, and Mortimerses, or Garrardses, and +Davenportseseses.' + +Excited, as it appeared, by a sense of injury, I thought he would +never have found an end for the last word. But, at length it +rolled sullenly away with the thunder. + +'Pardon me,' said I, 'you are a well-favoured, well-made man, and +yet - forgive me - I find, on examining my mind, that I associate +you with - that my recollection indistinctly makes you, in short - +excuse me - a kind of powerful monster.' + +'It would be a wonder if it didn't,' he said. 'Do you know what my +points are?' + +'No,' said I. + +'My throat and my legs,' said he. 'When I don't set for a head, I +mostly sets for a throat and a pair of legs. Now, granted you was +a painter, and was to work at my throat for a week together, I +suppose you'd see a lot of lumps and bumps there, that would never +be there at all, if you looked at me, complete, instead of only my +throat. Wouldn't you?' + +'Probably,' said I, surveying him. + +'Why, it stands to reason,' said the Model. 'Work another week at +my legs, and it'll be the same thing. You'll make 'em out as +knotty and as knobby, at last, as if they was the trunks of two old +trees. Then, take and stick my legs and throat on to another man's +body, and you'll make a reg'lar monster. And that's the way the +public gets their reg'lar monsters, every first Monday in May, when +the Royal Academy Exhibition opens.' + +'You are a critic,' said I, with an air of deference. + +'I'm in an uncommon ill humour, if that's it,' rejoined the Model, +with great indignation. 'As if it warn't bad enough for a bob a- +hour, for a man to be mixing himself up with that there jolly old +furniter that one 'ud think the public know'd the wery nails in by +this time - or to be putting on greasy old 'ats and cloaks, and +playing tambourines in the Bay o' Naples, with Wesuvius a smokin' +according to pattern in the background, and the wines a bearing +wonderful in the middle distance - or to be unpolitely kicking up +his legs among a lot o' gals, with no reason whatever in his mind +but to show 'em - as if this warn't bad enough, I'm to go and be +thrown out of employment too!' + +'Surely no!' said I. + +'Surely yes,' said the indignant Model. 'BUT I'LL GROW ONE.' + +The gloomy and threatening manner in which he muttered the last +words, can never be effaced from my remembrance. My blood ran +cold. + +I asked of myself, what was it that this desperate Being was +resolved to grow. My breast made no response. + +I ventured to implore him to explain his meaning. With a scornful +laugh, he uttered this dark prophecy: + +'I'LL GROW ONE. AND, MARK MY WORDS, IT SHALL HAUNT YOU!' + +We parted in the storm, after I had forced half-a-crown on his +acceptance, with a trembling hand. I conclude that something +supernatural happened to the steamboat, as it bore his reeking +figure down the river; but it never got into the papers. + +Two years elapsed, during which I followed my profession without +any vicissitudes; never holding so much as a motion, of course. At +the expiration of that period, I found myself making my way home to +the Temple, one night, in precisely such another storm of thunder +and lightning as that by which I had been overtaken on board the +steamboat - except that this storm, bursting over the town at +midnight, was rendered much more awful by the darkness and the +hour. + +As I turned into my court, I really thought a thunderbolt would +fall, and plough the pavement up. Every brick and stone in the +place seemed to have an echo of its own for the thunder. The +waterspouts were overcharged, and the rain came tearing down from +the house-tops as if they had been mountain-tops. + +Mrs. Parkins, my laundress - wife of Parkins the porter, then newly +dead of a dropsy - had particular instructions to place a bedroom +candle and a match under the staircase lamp on my landing, in order +that I might light my candle there, whenever I came home. Mrs. +Parkins invariably disregarding all instructions, they were never +there. Thus it happened that on this occasion I groped my way into +my sitting-room to find the candle, and came out to light it. + +What were my emotions when, underneath the staircase lamp, shining +with wet as if he had never been dry since our last meeting, stood +the mysterious Being whom I had encountered on the steamboat in a +thunderstorm, two years before! His prediction rushed upon my +mind, and I turned faint. + +'I said I'd do it,' he observed, in a hollow voice, 'and I have +done it. May I come in?' + +'Misguided creature, what have you done?' I returned. + +'I'll let you know,' was his reply, 'if you'll let me in.' + +Could it be murder that he had done? And had he been so successful +that he wanted to do it again, at my expense? + +I hesitated. + +'May I come in?' said he. + +I inclined my head, with as much presence of mind as I could +command, and he followed me into my chambers. There, I saw that +the lower part of his face was tied up, in what is commonly called +a Belcher handkerchief. He slowly removed this bandage, and +exposed to view a long dark beard, curling over his upper lip, +twisting about the corners of his mouth, and hanging down upon his +breast. + +'What is this?' I exclaimed involuntarily, 'and what have you +become?' + +'I am the Ghost of Art!' said he. + +The effect of these words, slowly uttered in the thunder-storm at +midnight, was appalling in the last degree. More dead than alive, +I surveyed him in silence. + +'The German taste came up,' said he, 'and threw me out of bread. I +am ready for the taste now.' + +He made his beard a little jagged with his hands, folded his arms, +and said, + +'Severity!' + +I shuddered. It was so severe. + +He made his beard flowing on his breast, and, leaning both hands on +the staff of a carpet-broom which Mrs. Parkins had left among my +books, said: + +'Benevolence.' + +I stood transfixed. The change of sentiment was entirely in the +beard. The man might have left his face alone, or had no face. + +The beard did everything. + +He lay down, on his back, on my table, and with that action of his +head threw up his beard at the chin. + +'That's death!' said he. + +He got off my table and, looking up at the ceiling, cocked his +beard a little awry; at the same time making it stick out before +him. + +'Adoration, or a vow of vengeance,' he observed. + +He turned his profile to me, making his upper lip very bulky with +the upper part of his beard. + +'Romantic character,' said he. + +He looked sideways out of his beard, as if it were an ivy-bush. +'Jealousy,' said he. He gave it an ingenious twist in the air, and +informed me that he was carousing. He made it shaggy with his +fingers - and it was Despair; lank - and it was avarice: tossed it +all kinds of ways - and it was rage. The beard did everything. + +'I am the Ghost of Art,' said he. 'Two bob a-day now, and more +when it's longer! Hair's the true expression. There is no other. +I SAID I'D GROW IT, AND I'VE GROWN IT, AND IT SHALL HAUNT YOU!' + +He may have tumbled down-stairs in the dark, but he never walked +down or ran down. I looked over the banisters, and I was alone +with the thunder. + +Need I add more of my terrific fate? IT HAS haunted me ever since. +It glares upon me from the walls of the Royal Academy, (except when +MACLISE subdues it to his genius,) it fills my soul with terror at +the British Institution, it lures young artists on to their +destruction. Go where I will, the Ghost of Art, eternally working +the passions in hair, and expressing everything by beard, pursues +me. The prediction is accomplished, and the victim has no rest. + + + +OUT OF TOWN + + + +SITTING, on a bright September morning, among my books and papers +at my open window on the cliff overhanging the sea-beach, I have +the sky and ocean framed before me like a beautiful picture. A +beautiful picture, but with such movement in it, such changes of +light upon the sails of ships and wake of steamboats, such dazzling +gleams of silver far out at sea, such fresh touches on the crisp +wave-tops as they break and roll towards me - a picture with such +music in the billowy rush upon the shingle, the blowing of morning +wind through the corn-sheaves where the farmers' waggons are busy, +the singing of the larks, and the distant voices of children at +play - such charms of sight and sound as all the Galleries on earth +can but poorly suggest. + +So dreamy is the murmur of the sea below my window, that I may have +been here, for anything I know, one hundred years. Not that I have +grown old, for, daily on the neighbouring downs and grassy hill- +sides, I find that I can still in reason walk any distance, jump +over anything, and climb up anywhere; but, that the sound of the +ocean seems to have become so customary to my musings, and other +realities seem so to have gone aboard ship and floated away over +the horizon, that, for aught I will undertake to the contrary, I am +the enchanted son of the King my father, shut up in a tower on the +sea-shore, for protection against an old she-goblin who insisted on +being my godmother, and who foresaw at the font - wonderful +creature! - that I should get into a scrape before I was twenty- +one. I remember to have been in a City (my Royal parent's +dominions, I suppose), and apparently not long ago either, that was +in the dreariest condition. The principal inhabitants had all been +changed into old newspapers, and in that form were preserving their +window-blinds from dust, and wrapping all their smaller household +gods in curl-papers. I walked through gloomy streets where every +house was shut up and newspapered, and where my solitary footsteps +echoed on the deserted pavements. In the public rides there were +no carriages, no horses, no animated existence, but a few sleepy +policemen, and a few adventurous boys taking advantage of the +devastation to swarm up the lamp-posts. In the Westward streets +there was no traffic; in the Westward shops, no business. The +water-patterns which the 'Prentices had trickled out on the +pavements early in the morning, remained uneffaced by human feet. +At the corners of mews, Cochin-China fowls stalked gaunt and +savage; nobody being left in the deserted city (as it appeared to +me), to feed them. Public Houses, where splendid footmen swinging +their legs over gorgeous hammer-cloths beside wigged coachmen were +wont to regale, were silent, and the unused pewter pots shone, too +bright for business, on the shelves. I beheld a Punch's Show +leaning against a wall near Park Lane, as if it had fainted. It +was deserted, and there were none to heed its desolation. In +Belgrave Square I met the last man - an ostler - sitting on a post +in a ragged red waistcoat, eating straw, and mildewing away. + +If I recollect the name of the little town, on whose shore this sea +is murmuring - but I am not just now, as I have premised, to be +relied upon for anything - it is Pavilionstone. Within a quarter +of a century, it was a little fishing town, and they do say, that +the time was, when it was a little smuggling town. I have heard +that it was rather famous in the hollands and brandy way, and that +coevally with that reputation the lamplighter's was considered a +bad life at the Assurance Offices. It was observed that if he were +not particular about lighting up, he lived in peace; but that, if +he made the best of the oil-lamps in the steep and narrow streets, +he usually fell over the cliff at an early age. Now, gas and +electricity run to the very water's edge, and the South-Eastern +Railway Company screech at us in the dead of night. + +But, the old little fishing and smuggling town remains, and is so +tempting a place for the latter purpose, that I think of going out +some night next week, in a fur cap and a pair of petticoat +trousers, and running an empty tub, as a kind of archaeological +pursuit. Let nobody with corns come to Pavilionstone, for there +are breakneck flights of ragged steps, connecting the principal +streets by back-ways, which will cripple that visitor in half an +hour. These are the ways by which, when I run that tub, I shall +escape. I shall make a Thermopylae of the corner of one of them, +defend it with my cutlass against the coast-guard until my brave +companions have sheered off, then dive into the darkness, and +regain my Susan's arms. In connection with these breakneck steps I +observe some wooden cottages, with tumble-down out-houses, and +back-yards three feet square, adorned with garlands of dried fish, +in one of which (though the General Board of Health might object) +my Susan dwells. + +The South-Eastern Company have brought Pavilionstone into such +vogue, with their tidal trains and splendid steam-packets, that a +new Pavilionstone is rising up. I am, myself, of New +Pavilionstone. We are a little mortary and limey at present, but +we are getting on capitally. Indeed, we were getting on so fast, +at one time, that we rather overdid it, and built a street of +shops, the business of which may be expected to arrive in about ten +years. We are sensibly laid out in general; and with a little care +and pains (by no means wanting, so far), shall become a very pretty +place. We ought to be, for our situation is delightful, our air is +delicious, and our breezy hills and downs, carpeted with wild +thyme, and decorated with millions of wild flowers, are, on the +faith of a pedestrian, perfect. In New Pavilionstone we are a +little too much addicted to small windows with more bricks in them +than glass, and we are not over-fanciful in the way of decorative +architecture, and we get unexpected sea-views through cracks in the +street doors; on the whole, however, we are very snug and +comfortable, and well accommodated. But the Home Secretary (if +there be such an officer) cannot too soon shut up the burial-ground +of the old parish church. It is in the midst of us, and +Pavilionstone will get no good of it, if it be too long left alone. + +The lion of Pavilionstone is its Great Hotel. A dozen years ago, +going over to Paris by South-Eastern Tidal Steamer, you used to be +dropped upon the platform of the main line Pavilionstone Station +(not a junction then), at eleven o'clock on a dark winter's night, +in a roaring wind; and in the howling wilderness outside the +station, was a short omnibus which brought you up by the forehead +the instant you got in at the door; and nobody cared about you, and +you were alone in the world. You bumped over infinite chalk, until +you were turned out at a strange building which had just left off +being a barn without having quite begun to be a house, where nobody +expected your coming, or knew what to do with you when you were +come, and where you were usually blown about, until you happened to +be blown against the cold beef, and finally into bed. At five in +the morning you were blown out of bed, and after a dreary +breakfast, with crumpled company, in the midst of confusion, were +hustled on board a steamboat and lay wretched on deck until you saw +France lunging and surging at you with great vehemence over the +bowsprit. + +Now, you come down to Pavilionstone in a free and easy manner, an +irresponsible agent, made over in trust to the South-Eastern +Company, until you get out of the railway-carriage at high-water +mark. If you are crossing by the boat at once, you have nothing to +do but walk on board and be happy there if you can - I can't. If +you are going to our Great Pavilionstone Hotel, the sprightliest +porters under the sun, whose cheerful looks are a pleasant welcome, +shoulder your luggage, drive it off in vans, bowl it away in +trucks, and enjoy themselves in playing athletic games with it. If +you are for public life at our great Pavilionstone Hotel, you walk +into that establishment as if it were your club; and find ready for +you, your news-room, dining-room, smoking-room, billiard-room, +music-room, public breakfast, public dinner twice a-day (one plain, +one gorgeous), hot baths and cold baths. If you want to be bored, +there are plenty of bores always ready for you, and from Saturday +to Monday in particular, you can be bored (if you like it) through +and through. Should you want to be private at our Great +Pavilionstone Hotel, say but the word, look at the list of charges, +choose your floor, name your figure - there you are, established in +your castle, by the day, week, month, or year, innocent of all +comers or goers, unless you have my fancy for walking early in the +morning down the groves of boots and shoes, which so regularly +flourish at all the chamber-doors before breakfast, that it seems +to me as if nobody ever got up or took them in. Are you going +across the Alps, and would you like to air your Italian at our +Great Pavilionstone Hotel? Talk to the Manager - always +conversational, accomplished, and polite. Do you want to be aided, +abetted, comforted, or advised, at our Great Pavilionstone Hotel? +Send for the good landlord, and he is your friend. Should you, or +any one belonging to you, ever be taken ill at our Great +Pavilionstone Hotel, you will not soon forget him or his kind wife. +And when you pay your bill at our Great Pavilionstone Hotel, you +will not be put out of humour by anything you find in it. + +A thoroughly good inn, in the days of coaching and posting, was a +noble place. But no such inn would have been equal to the +reception of four or five hundred people, all of them wet through, +and half of them dead sick, every day in the year. This is where +we shine, in our Pavilionstone Hotel. Again - who, coming and +going, pitching and tossing, boating and training, hurrying in, and +flying out, could ever have calculated the fees to be paid at an +old-fashioned house? In our Pavilionstone Hotel vocabulary, there +is no such word as fee. Everything is done for you; every service +is provided at a fixed and reasonable charge; all the prices are +hung up in all the rooms; and you can make out your own bill +beforehand, as well as the book-keeper. + +In the case of your being a pictorial artist, desirous of studying +at small expense the physiognomies and beards of different nations, +come, on receipt of this, to Pavilionstone. You shall find all the +nations of the earth, and all the styles of shaving and not +shaving, hair cutting and hair letting alone, for ever flowing +through our hotel. Couriers you shall see by hundreds; fat +leathern bags for five-franc pieces, closing with violent snaps, +like discharges of fire-arms, by thousands; more luggage in a +morning than, fifty years ago, all Europe saw in a week. Looking +at trains, steamboats, sick travellers, and luggage, is our great +Pavilionstone recreation. We are not strong in other public +amusements. We have a Literary and Scientific Institution, and we +have a Working Men's Institution - may it hold many gipsy holidays +in summer fields, with the kettle boiling, the band of music +playing, and the people dancing; and may I be on the hill-side, +looking on with pleasure at a wholesome sight too rare in England! +- and we have two or three churches, and more chapels than I have +yet added up. But public amusements are scarce with us. If a poor +theatrical manager comes with his company to give us, in a loft, +Mary Bax, or the Murder on the Sand Hills, we don't care much for +him - starve him out, in fact. We take more kindly to wax-work, +especially if it moves; in which case it keeps much clearer of the +second commandment than when it is still. Cooke's Circus (Mr. +Cooke is my friend, and always leaves a good name behind him) gives +us only a night in passing through. Nor does the travelling +menagerie think us worth a longer visit. It gave us a look-in the +other day, bringing with it the residentiary van with the stained +glass windows, which Her Majesty kept ready-made at Windsor Castle, +until she found a suitable opportunity of submitting it for the +proprietor's acceptance. I brought away five wonderments from this +exhibition. I have wondered ever since, Whether the beasts ever do +get used to those small places of confinement; Whether the monkeys +have that very horrible flavour in their free state; Whether wild +animals have a natural ear for time and tune, and therefore every +four-footed creature began to howl in despair when the band began +to play; What the giraffe does with his neck when his cart is shut +up; and, Whether the elephant feels ashamed of himself when he is +brought out of his den to stand on his head in the presence of the +whole Collection. + +We are a tidal harbour at Pavilionstone, as indeed I have implied +already in my mention of tidal trains. At low water, we are a heap +of mud, with an empty channel in it where a couple of men in big +boots always shovel and scoop: with what exact object, I am unable +to say. At that time, all the stranded fishing-boats turn over on +their sides, as if they were dead marine monsters; the colliers and +other shipping stick disconsolate in the mud; the steamers look as +if their white chimneys would never smoke more, and their red +paddles never turn again; the green sea-slime and weed upon the +rough stones at the entrance, seem records of obsolete high tides +never more to flow; the flagstaff-halyards droop; the very little +wooden lighthouse shrinks in the idle glare of the sun. And here I +may observe of the very little wooden lighthouse, that when it is +lighted at night, - red and green, - it looks so like a medical +man's, that several distracted husbands have at various times been +found, on occasions of premature domestic anxiety, going round and +round it, trying to find the Nightbell. + +But, the moment the tide begins to make, the Pavilionstone Harbour +begins to revive. It feels the breeze of the rising water before +the water comes, and begins to flutter and stir. When the little +shallow waves creep in, barely overlapping one another, the vanes +at the mastheads wake, and become agitated. As the tide rises, the +fishing-boats get into good spirits and dance, the flagstaff hoists +a bright red flag, the steamboat smokes, cranes creak, horses and +carriages dangle in the air, stray passengers and luggage appear. +Now, the shipping is afloat, and comes up buoyantly, to look at the +wharf. Now, the carts that have come down for coals, load away as +hard as they can load. Now, the steamer smokes immensely, and +occasionally blows at the paddle-boxes like a vaporous whale- +greatly disturbing nervous loungers. Now, both the tide and the +breeze have risen, and you are holding your hat on (if you want to +see how the ladies hold THEIR hats on, with a stay, passing over +the broad brim and down the nose, come to Pavilionstone). Now, +everything in the harbour splashes, dashes, and bobs. Now, the +Down Tidal Train is telegraphed, and you know (without knowing how +you know), that two hundred and eighty-seven people are coming. +Now, the fishing-boats that have been out, sail in at the top of +the tide. Now, the bell goes, and the locomotive hisses and +shrieks, and the train comes gliding in, and the two hundred and +eighty-seven come scuffling out. Now, there is not only a tide of +water, but a tide of people, and a tide of luggage - all tumbling +and flowing and bouncing about together. Now, after infinite +bustle, the steamer steams out, and we (on the Pier) are all +delighted when she rolls as if she would roll her funnel out, and +all are disappointed when she don't. Now, the other steamer is +coming in, and the Custom House prepares, and the wharf-labourers +assemble, and the hawsers are made ready, and the Hotel Porters +come rattling down with van and truck, eager to begin more Olympic +games with more luggage. And this is the way in which we go on, +down at Pavilionstone, every tide. And, if you want to live a life +of luggage, or to see it lived, or to breathe sweet air which will +send you to sleep at a moment's notice at any period of the day or +night, or to disport yourself upon or in the sea, or to scamper +about Kent, or to come out of town for the enjoyment of all or any +of these pleasures, come to Pavilionstone. + + + +OUT OF THE SEASON + + + +IT fell to my lot, this last bleak Spring, to find myself in a +watering-place out of the Season. A vicious north-east squall blew +me into it from foreign parts, and I tarried in it alone for three +days, resolved to be exceedingly busy. + +On the first day, I began business by looking for two hours at the +sea, and staring the Foreign Militia out of countenance. Having +disposed of these important engagements, I sat down at one of the +two windows of my room, intent on doing something desperate in the +way of literary composition, and writing a chapter of unheard-of +excellence - with which the present essay has no connexion. + +It is a remarkable quality in a watering-place out of the season, +that everything in it, will and must be looked at. I had no +previous suspicion of this fatal truth but, the moment I sat down +to write, I began to perceive it. I had scarcely fallen into my +most promising attitude, and dipped my pen in the ink, when I found +the clock upon the pier - a red-faced clock with a white rim - +importuning me in a highly vexatious manner to consult my watch, +and see how I was off for Greenwich time. Having no intention of +making a voyage or taking an observation, I had not the least need +of Greenwich time, and could have put up with watering-place time +as a sufficiently accurate article. The pier-clock, however, +persisting, I felt it necessary to lay down my pen, compare my +watch with him, and fall into a grave solicitude about half- +seconds. I had taken up my pen again, and was about to commence +that valuable chapter, when a Custom-house cutter under the window +requested that I would hold a naval review of her, immediately. + +It was impossible, under the circumstances, for any mental +resolution, merely human, to dismiss the Custom-house cutter, +because the shadow of her topmast fell upon my paper, and the vane +played on the masterly blank chapter. I was therefore under the +necessity of going to the other window; sitting astride of the +chair there, like Napoleon bivouacking in the print; and inspecting +the cutter as she lay, all that day, in the way of my chapter, O! +She was rigged to carry a quantity of canvas, but her hull was so +very small that four giants aboard of her (three men and a boy) who +were vigilantly scraping at her, all together, inspired me with a +terror lest they should scrape her away. A fifth giant, who +appeared to consider himself 'below' - as indeed he was, from the +waist downwards - meditated, in such close proximity with the +little gusty chimney-pipe, that he seemed to be smoking it. +Several boys looked on from the wharf, and, when the gigantic +attention appeared to be fully occupied, one or other of these +would furtively swing himself in mid-air over the Custom-house +cutter, by means of a line pendant from her rigging, like a young +spirit of the storm. Presently, a sixth hand brought down two +little water-casks; presently afterwards, a truck came, and +delivered a hamper. I was now under an obligation to consider that +the cutter was going on a cruise, and to wonder where she was +going, and when she was going, and why she was going, and at what +date she might be expected back, and who commanded her? With these +pressing questions I was fully occupied when the Packet, making +ready to go across, and blowing off her spare steam, roared, 'Look +at me!' + +It became a positive duty to look at the Packet preparing to go +across; aboard of which, the people newly come down by the rail- +road were hurrying in a great fluster. The crew had got their +tarry overalls on - and one knew what THAT meant - not to mention +the white basins, ranged in neat little piles of a dozen each, +behind the door of the after-cabin. One lady as I looked, one +resigning and far-seeing woman, took her basin from the store of +crockery, as she might have taken a refreshment-ticket, laid +herself down on deck with that utensil at her ear, muffled her feet +in one shawl, solemnly covered her countenance after the antique +manner with another, and on the completion of these preparations +appeared by the strength of her volition to become insensible. The +mail-bags (O that I myself had the sea-legs of a mail-bag!) were +tumbled aboard; the Packet left off roaring, warped out, and made +at the white line upon the bar. One dip, one roll, one break of +the sea over her bows, and Moore's Almanack or the sage Raphael +could not have told me more of the state of things aboard, than I +knew. + +The famous chapter was all but begun now, and would have been quite +begun, but for the wind. It was blowing stiffly from the east, and +it rumbled in the chimney and shook the house. That was not much; +but, looking out into the wind's grey eye for inspiration, I laid +down my pen again to make the remark to myself, how emphatically +everything by the sea declares that it has a great concern in the +state of the wind. The trees blown all one way; the defences of +the harbour reared highest and strongest against the raging point; +the shingle flung up on the beach from the same direction; the +number of arrows pointed at the common enemy; the sea tumbling in +and rushing towards them as if it were inflamed by the sight. This +put it in my head that I really ought to go out and take a walk in +the wind; so, I gave up the magnificent chapter for that day, +entirely persuading myself that I was under a moral obligation to +have a blow. + +I had a good one, and that on the high road - the very high road - +on the top of the cliffs, where I met the stage-coach with all the +outsides holding their hats on and themselves too, and overtook a +flock of sheep with the wool about their necks blown into such +great ruffs that they looked like fleecy owls. The wind played +upon the lighthouse as if it were a great whistle, the spray was +driven over the sea in a cloud of haze, the ships rolled and +pitched heavily, and at intervals long slants and flaws of light +made mountain-steeps of communication between the ocean and the +sky. A walk of ten miles brought me to a seaside town without a +cliff, which, like the town I had come from, was out of the season +too. Half of the houses were shut up; half of the other half were +to let; the town might have done as much business as it was doing +then, if it had been at the bottom of the sea. Nobody seemed to +flourish save the attorney; his clerk's pen was going in the bow- +window of his wooden house; his brass door-plate alone was free +from salt, and had been polished up that morning. On the beach, +among the rough buggers and capstans, groups of storm-beaten +boatmen, like a sort of marine monsters, watched under the lee of +those objects, or stood leaning forward against the wind, looking +out through battered spy-glasses. The parlour bell in the Admiral +Benbow had grown so flat with being out of the season, that neither +could I hear it ring when I pulled the handle for lunch, nor could +the young woman in black stockings and strong shoes, who acted as +waiter out of the season, until it had been tinkled three times. + +Admiral Benbow's cheese was out of the season, but his home-made +bread was good, and his beer was perfect. Deluded by some earlier +spring day which had been warm and sunny, the Admiral had cleared +the firing out of his parlour stove, and had put some flower-pots +in - which was amiable and hopeful in the Admiral, but not +judicious: the room being, at that present visiting, transcendantly +cold. I therefore took the liberty of peeping out across a little +stone passage into the Admiral's kitchen, and, seeing a high settle +with its back towards me drawn out in front of the Admiral's +kitchen fire, I strolled in, bread and cheese in hand, munching and +looking about. One landsman and two boatmen were seated on the +settle, smoking pipes and drinking beer out of thick pint crockery +mugs - mugs peculiar to such places, with parti-coloured rings +round them, and ornaments between the rings like frayed-out roots. +The landsman was relating his experience, as yet only three nights +old, of a fearful running-down case in the Channel, and therein +presented to my imagination a sound of music that it will not soon +forget. + +'At that identical moment of time,' said he (he was a prosy man by +nature, who rose with his subject), 'the night being light and +calm, but with a grey mist upon the water that didn't seem to +spread for more than two or three mile, I was walking up and down +the wooden causeway next the pier, off where it happened, along +with a friend of mine, which his name is Mr. Clocker. Mr. Clocker +is a grocer over yonder.' (From the direction in which he pointed +the bowl of his pipe, I might have judged Mr. Clocker to be a +merman, established in the grocery trade in five-and-twenty fathoms +of water.) 'We were smoking our pipes, and walking up and down the +causeway, talking of one thing and talking of another. We were +quite alone there, except that a few hovellers' (the Kentish name +for 'long-shore boatmen like his companions) 'were hanging about +their lugs, waiting while the tide made, as hovellers will.' (One +of the two boatmen, thoughtfully regarding me, shut up one eye; +this I understood to mean: first, that he took me into the +conversation: secondly, that he confirmed the proposition: thirdly, +that he announced himself as a hoveller.) 'All of a sudden Mr. +Clocker and me stood rooted to the spot, by hearing a sound come +through the stillness, right over the sea, LIKE A GREAT SORROWFUL +FLUTE OR AEOLIAN HARP. We didn't in the least know what it was, +and judge of our surprise when we saw the hovellers, to a man, leap +into the boats and tear about to hoist sail and get off, as if they +had every one of 'em gone, in a moment, raving mad! But THEY knew +it was the cry of distress from the sinking emigrant ship.' + +When I got back to my watering-place out of the season, and had +done my twenty miles in good style, I found that the celebrated +Black Mesmerist intended favouring the public that evening in the +Hall of the Muses, which he had engaged for the purpose. After a +good dinner, seated by the fire in an easy chair, I began to waver +in a design I had formed of waiting on the Black Mesmerist, and to +incline towards the expediency of remaining where I was. Indeed a +point of gallantry was involved in my doing so, inasmuch as I had +not left France alone, but had come from the prisons of St. Pelagie +with my distinguished and unfortunate friend Madame Roland (in two +volumes which I bought for two francs each, at the book-stall in +the Place de la Concorde, Paris, at the corner of the Rue Royale). +Deciding to pass the evening tete-a-tete with Madame Roland, I +derived, as I always do, great pleasure from that spiritual woman's +society, and the charms of her brave soul and engaging +conversation. I must confess that if she had only some more +faults, only a few more passionate failings of any kind, I might +love her better; but I am content to believe that the deficiency is +in me, and not in her. We spent some sadly interesting hours +together on this occasion, and she told me again of her cruel +discharge from the Abbaye, and of her being re-arrested before her +free feet had sprung lightly up half-a-dozen steps of her own +staircase, and carried off to the prison which she only left for +the guillotine. + +Madame Roland and I took leave of one another before mid-night, and +I went to bed full of vast intentions for next day, in connexion +with the unparalleled chapter. To hear the foreign mail-steamers +coming in at dawn of day, and to know that I was not aboard or +obliged to get up, was very comfortable; so, I rose for the chapter +in great force. + +I had advanced so far as to sit down at my window again on my +second morning, and to write the first half-line of the chapter and +strike it out, not liking it, when my conscience reproached me with +not having surveyed the watering-place out of the season, after +all, yesterday, but with having gone straight out of it at the rate +of four miles and a half an hour. Obviously the best amends that I +could make for this remissness was to go and look at it without +another moment's delay. So - altogether as a matter of duty - I +gave up the magnificent chapter for another day, and sauntered out +with my hands in my pockets. + +All the houses and lodgings ever let to visitors, were to let that +morning. It seemed to have snowed bills with To Let upon them. +This put me upon thinking what the owners of all those apartments +did, out of the season; how they employed their time, and occupied +their minds. They could not be always going to the Methodist +chapels, of which I passed one every other minute. They must have +some other recreation. Whether they pretended to take one +another's lodgings, and opened one another's tea-caddies in fun? +Whether they cut slices off their own beef and mutton, and made +believe that it belonged to somebody else? Whether they played +little dramas of life, as children do, and said, 'I ought to come +and look at your apartments, and you ought to ask two guineas a- +week too much, and then I ought to say I must have the rest of the +day to think of it, and then you ought to say that another lady and +gentleman with no children in family had made an offer very close +to your own terms, and you had passed your word to give them a +positive answer in half an hour, and indeed were just going to take +the bill down when you heard the knock, and then I ought to take +them, you know?' Twenty such speculations engaged my thoughts. +Then, after passing, still clinging to the walls, defaced rags of +the bills of last year's Circus, I came to a back field near a +timber-yard where the Circus itself had been, and where there was +yet a sort of monkish tonsure on the grass, indicating the spot +where the young lady had gone round upon her pet steed Firefly in +her daring flight. Turning into the town again, I came among the +shops, and they were emphatically out of the season. The chemist +had no boxes of ginger-beer powders, no beautifying sea-side soaps +and washes, no attractive scents; nothing but his great goggle-eyed +red bottles, looking as if the winds of winter and the drift of the +salt-sea had inflamed them. The grocers' hot pickles, Harvey's +Sauce, Doctor Kitchener's Zest, Anchovy Paste, Dundee Marmalade, +and the whole stock of luxurious helps to appetite, were +hybernating somewhere underground. The china-shop had no trifles +from anywhere. The Bazaar had given in altogether, and presented a +notice on the shutters that this establishment would re-open at +Whitsuntide, and that the proprietor in the meantime might be heard +of at Wild Lodge, East Cliff. At the Sea-bathing Establishment, a +row of neat little wooden houses seven or eight feet high, I SAW +the proprietor in bed in the shower-bath. As to the bathing- +machines, they were (how they got there, is not for me to say) at +the top of a hill at least a mile and a half off. The library, +which I had never seen otherwise than wide open, was tight shut; +and two peevish bald old gentlemen seemed to be hermetically sealed +up inside, eternally reading the paper. That wonderful mystery, +the music-shop, carried it off as usual (except that it had more +cabinet pianos in stock), as if season or no season were all one to +it. It made the same prodigious display of bright brazen wind- +instruments, horribly twisted, worth, as I should conceive, some +thousands of pounds, and which it is utterly impossible that +anybody in any season can ever play or want to play. It had five +triangles in the window, six pairs of castanets, and three harps; +likewise every polka with a coloured frontispiece that ever was +published; from the original one where a smooth male and female +Pole of high rank are coming at the observer with their arms a- +kimbo, to the Ratcatcher's Daughter. Astonishing establishment, +amazing enigma! Three other shops were pretty much out of the +season, what they were used to be in it. First, the shop where +they sell the sailors' watches, which had still the old collection +of enormous timekeepers, apparently designed to break a fall from +the masthead: with places to wind them up, like fire-plugs. +Secondly, the shop where they sell the sailors' clothing, which +displayed the old sou'-westers, and the old oily suits, and the old +pea-jackets, and the old one sea-chest, with its handles like a +pair of rope ear-rings. Thirdly, the unchangeable shop for the +sale of literature that has been left behind. Here, Dr. Faustus +was still going down to very red and yellow perdition, under the +superintendence of three green personages of a scaly humour, with +excrescential serpents growing out of their blade-bones. Here, the +Golden Dreamer, and the Norwood Fortune Teller, were still on sale +at sixpence each, with instructions for making the dumb cake, and +reading destinies in tea-cups, and with a picture of a young woman +with a high waist lying on a sofa in an attitude so uncomfortable +as almost to account for her dreaming at one and the same time of a +conflagration, a shipwreck, an earthquake, a skeleton, a church- +porch, lightning, funerals performed, and a young man in a bright +blue coat and canary pantaloons. Here, were Little Warblers and +Fairburn's Comic Songsters. Here, too, were ballads on the old +ballad paper and in the old confusion of types; with an old man in +a cocked hat, and an arm-chair, for the illustration to Will Watch +the bold Smuggler; and the Friar of Orders Grey, represented by a +little girl in a hoop, with a ship in the distance. All these as +of yore, when they were infinite delights to me! + +It took me so long fully to relish these many enjoyments, that I +had not more than an hour before bedtime to devote to Madame +Roland. We got on admirably together on the subject of her convent +education, and I rose next morning with the full conviction that +the day for the great chapter was at last arrived. + +It had fallen calm, however, in the night, and as I sat at +breakfast I blushed to remember that I had not yet been on the +Downs. I a walker, and not yet on the Downs! Really, on so quiet +and bright a morning this must be set right. As an essential part +of the Whole Duty of Man, therefore, I left the chapter to itself - +for the present - and went on the Downs. They were wonderfully +green and beautiful, and gave me a good deal to do. When I had +done with the free air and the view, I had to go down into the +valley and look after the hops (which I know nothing about), and to +be equally solicitous as to the cherry orchards. Then I took it on +myself to cross-examine a tramping family in black (mother alleged, +I have no doubt by herself in person, to have died last week), and +to accompany eighteenpence which produced a great effect, with +moral admonitions which produced none at all. Finally, it was late +in the afternoon before I got back to the unprecedented chapter, +and then I determined that it was out of the season, as the place +was, and put it away. + +I went at night to the benefit of Mrs. B. Wedgington at the +Theatre, who had placarded the town with the admonition, 'DON'T +FORGET IT!' I made the house, according to my calculation, four +and ninepence to begin with, and it may have warmed up, in the +course of the evening, to half a sovereign. There was nothing to +offend any one, - the good Mr. Baines of Leeds excepted. Mrs. B. +Wedgington sang to a grand piano. Mr. B. Wedgington did the like, +and also took off his coat, tucked up his trousers, and danced in +clogs. Master B. Wedgington, aged ten months, was nursed by a +shivering young person in the boxes, and the eye of Mrs. B. +Wedgington wandered that way more than once. Peace be with all the +Wedgingtons from A. to Z. May they find themselves in the Season +somewhere! + + + +A POOR MAN'S TALE OF A PATENT + + + +I AM not used to writing for print. What working-man, that never +labours less (some Mondays, and Christmas Time and Easter Time +excepted) than twelve or fourteen hours a day, is? But I have been +asked to put down, plain, what I have got to say; and so I take +pen-and-ink, and do it to the best of my power, hoping defects will +find excuse. + +I was born nigh London, but have worked in a shop at Birmingham +(what you would call Manufactories, we call Shops), almost ever +since I was out of my time. I served my apprenticeship at +Deptford, nigh where I was born, and I am a smith by trade. My +name is John. I have been called 'Old John' ever since I was +nineteen year of age, on account of not having much hair. I am +fifty-six year of age at the present time, and I don't find myself +with more hair, nor yet with less, to signify, than at nineteen +year of age aforesaid. + +I have been married five and thirty year, come next April. I was +married on All Fools' Day. Let them laugh that will. I won a good +wife that day, and it was as sensible a day to me as ever I had. + +We have had a matter of ten children, six whereof are living. My +eldest son is engineer in the Italian steam-packet 'Mezzo Giorno, +plying between Marseilles and Naples, and calling at Genoa, +Leghorn, and Civita Vecchia.' He was a good workman. He invented +a many useful little things that brought him in - nothing. I have +two sons doing well at Sydney, New South Wales - single, when last +heard from. One of my sons (James) went wild and for a soldier, +where he was shot in India, living six weeks in hospital with a +musket-ball lodged in his shoulder-blade, which he wrote with his +own hand. He was the best looking. One of my two daughters (Mary) +is comfortable in her circumstances, but water on the chest. The +other (Charlotte), her husband run away from her in the basest +manner, and she and her three children live with us. The youngest, +six year old, has a turn for mechanics. + +I am not a Chartist, and I never was. I don't mean to say but what +I see a good many public points to complain of, still I don't think +that's the way to set them right. If I did think so, I should be a +Chartist. But I don't think so, and I am not a Chartist. I read +the paper, and hear discussion, at what we call 'a parlour,' in +Birmingham, and I know many good men and workmen who are Chartists. +Note. Not Physical force. + +It won't be took as boastful in me, if I make the remark (for I +can't put down what I have got to say, without putting that down +before going any further), that I have always been of an ingenious +turn. I once got twenty pound by a screw, and it's in use now. I +have been twenty year, off and on, completing an Invention and +perfecting it. I perfected of it, last Christmas Eve at ten +o'clock at night. Me and my wife stood and let some tears fall +over the Model, when it was done and I brought her in to take a +look at it. + +A friend of mine, by the name of William Butcher, is a Chartist. +Moderate. He is a good speaker. He is very animated. I have +often heard him deliver that what is, at every turn, in the way of +us working-men, is, that too many places have been made, in the +course of time, to provide for people that never ought to have been +provided for; and that we have to obey forms and to pay fees to +support those places when we shouldn't ought. 'True,' (delivers +William Butcher), 'all the public has to do this, but it falls +heaviest on the working-man, because he has least to spare; and +likewise because impediments shouldn't be put in his way, when he +wants redress of wrong or furtherance of right.' Note. I have +wrote down those words from William Butcher's own mouth. W. B. +delivering them fresh for the aforesaid purpose. + +Now, to my Model again. There it was, perfected of, on Christmas +Eve, gone nigh a year, at ten o'clock at night. All the money I +could spare I had laid out upon the Model; and when times was bad, +or my daughter Charlotte's children sickly, or both, it had stood +still, months at a spell. I had pulled it to pieces, and made it +over again with improvements, I don't know how often. There it +stood, at last, a perfected Model as aforesaid. + +William Butcher and me had a long talk, Christmas Day, respecting +of the Model. William is very sensible. But sometimes cranky. +William said, 'What will you do with it, John?' I said, 'Patent +it.' William said, 'How patent it, John?' I said, 'By taking out +a Patent.' William then delivered that the law of Patent was a +cruel wrong. William said, 'John, if you make your invention +public, before you get a Patent, any one may rob you of the fruits +of your hard work. You are put in a cleft stick, John. Either you +must drive a bargain very much against yourself, by getting a party +to come forward beforehand with the great expenses of the Patent; +or, you must be put about, from post to pillar, among so many +parties, trying to make a better bargain for yourself, and showing +your invention, that your invention will be took from you over your +head.' I said, 'William Butcher, are you cranky? You are +sometimes cranky.' William said, 'No, John, I tell you the truth;' +which he then delivered more at length. I said to W. B. I would +Patent the invention myself. + +My wife's brother, George Bury of West Bromwich (his wife +unfortunately took to drinking, made away with everything, and +seventeen times committed to Birmingham Jail before happy release +in every point of view), left my wife, his sister, when he died, a +legacy of one hundred and twenty-eight pound ten, Bank of England +Stocks. Me and my wife never broke into that money yet. Note. We +might come to be old and past our work. We now agreed to Patent +the invention. We said we would make a hole in it - I mean in the +aforesaid money - and Patent the invention. William Butcher wrote +me a letter to Thomas Joy, in London. T. J. is a carpenter, six +foot four in height, and plays quoits well. He lives in Chelsea, +London, by the church. I got leave from the shop, to be took on +again when I come back. I am a good workman. Not a Teetotaller; +but never drunk. When the Christmas holidays were over, I went up +to London by the Parliamentary Train, and hired a lodging for a +week with Thomas Joy. He is married. He has one son gone to sea. + +Thomas Joy delivered (from a book he had) that the first step to be +took, in Patenting the invention, was to prepare a petition unto +Queen Victoria. William Butcher had delivered similar, and drawn +it up. Note. William is a ready writer. A declaration before a +Master in Chancery was to be added to it. That, we likewise drew +up. After a deal of trouble I found out a Master, in Southampton +Buildings, Chancery Lane, nigh Temple Bar, where I made the +declaration, and paid eighteen-pence. I was told to take the +declaration and petition to the Home Office, in Whitehall, where I +left it to be signed by the Home Secretary (after I had found the +office out), and where I paid two pound, two, and sixpence. In six +days he signed it, and I was told to take it to the Attorney- +General's chambers, and leave it there for a report. I did so, and +paid four pound, four. Note. Nobody all through, ever thankful +for their money, but all uncivil. + +My lodging at Thomas Joy's was now hired for another week, whereof +five days were gone. The Attorney-General made what they called a +Report-of-course (my invention being, as William Butcher had +delivered before starting, unopposed), and I was sent back with it +to the Home Office. They made a Copy of it, which was called a +Warrant. For this warrant, I paid seven pound, thirteen, and six. +It was sent to the Queen, to sign. The Queen sent it back, signed. +The Home Secretary signed it again. The gentleman throwed it at me +when I called, and said, 'Now take it to the Patent Office in +Lincoln's Inn.' I was then in my third week at Thomas Joy's living +very sparing, on account of fees. I found myself losing heart. + +At the Patent Office in Lincoln's Inn, they made 'a draft of the +Queen's bill,' of my invention, and a 'docket of the bill.' I paid +five pound, ten, and six, for this. They 'engrossed two copies of +the bill; one for the Signet Office, and one for the Privy-Seal +Office.' I paid one pound, seven, and six, for this. Stamp duty +over and above, three pound. The Engrossing Clerk of the same +office engrossed the Queen's bill for signature. I paid him one +pound, one. Stamp-duty, again, one pound, ten. I was next to take +the Queen's bill to the Attorney-General again, and get it signed +again. I took it, and paid five pound more. I fetched it away, +and took it to the Home Secretary again. He sent it to the Queen +again. She signed it again. I paid seven pound, thirteen, and +six, more, for this. I had been over a month at Thomas Joy's. I +was quite wore out, patience and pocket. + +Thomas Joy delivered all this, as it went on, to William Butcher. +William Butcher delivered it again to three Birmingham Parlours, +from which it got to all the other Parlours, and was took, as I +have been told since, right through all the shops in the North of +England. Note. William Butcher delivered, at his Parlour, in a +speech, that it was a Patent way of making Chartists. + +But I hadn't nigh done yet. The Queen's bill was to be took to the +Signet Office in Somerset House, Strand - where the stamp shop is. +The Clerk of the Signet made 'a Signet bill for the Lord Keeper of +the Privy Seal.' I paid him four pound, seven. The Clerk of the +Lord Keeper of the Privy Seal made 'a Privy-Seal bill for the Lord +Chancellor.' I paid him, four pound, two. The Privy-Seal bill was +handed over to the Clerk of the Patents, who engrossed the +aforesaid. I paid him five pound, seventeen, and eight; at the +same time, I paid Stamp-duty for the Patent, in one lump, thirty +pound. I next paid for 'boxes for the Patent,' nine and sixpence. +Note. Thomas Joy would have made the same at a profit for +eighteen-pence. I next paid 'fees to the Deputy, the Lord +Chancellor's Purse-bearer,' two pound, two. I next paid 'fees to +the Clerk of the Hanapar,' seven pound, thirteen. I next paid +'fees to the Deputy Clerk of the Hanaper,' ten shillings. I next +paid, to the Lord Chancellor again, one pound, eleven, and six. +Last of all, I paid 'fees to the Deputy Sealer, and Deputy Chaff- +wax,' ten shillings and sixpence. I had lodged at Thomas Joy's +over six weeks, and the unopposed Patent for my invention, for +England only, had cost me ninety-six pound, seven, and eightpence. +If I had taken it out for the United Kingdom, it would have cost me +more than three hundred pound. + +Now, teaching had not come up but very limited when I was young. +So much the worse for me you'll say. I say the same. William +Butcher is twenty year younger than me. He knows a hundred year +more. If William Butcher had wanted to Patent an invention, he +might have been sharper than myself when hustled backwards and +forwards among all those offices, though I doubt if so patient. +Note. William being sometimes cranky, and consider porters, +messengers, and clerks. + +Thereby I say nothing of my being tired of my life, while I was +Patenting my invention. But I put this: Is it reasonable to make a +man feel as if, in inventing an ingenious improvement meant to do +good, he had done something wrong? How else can a man feel, when +he is met by such difficulties at every turn? All inventors taking +out a Patent MUST feel so. And look at the expense. How hard on +me, and how hard on the country if there's any merit in me (and my +invention is took up now, I am thankful to say, and doing well), to +put me to all that expense before I can move a finger! Make the +addition yourself, and it'll come to ninety-six pound, seven, and +eightpence. No more, and no less. + +What can I say against William Butcher, about places? Look at the +Home Secretary, the Attorney-General, the Patent Office, the +Engrossing Clerk, the Lord Chancellor, the Privy Seal, the Clerk of +the Patents, the Lord Chancellor's Purse-bearer, the Clerk of the +Hanaper, the Deputy Clerk of the Hanaper, the Deputy Sealer, and +the Deputy Chaff-wax. No man in England could get a Patent for an +Indian-rubber band, or an iron-hoop, without feeing all of them. +Some of them, over and over again. I went through thirty-five +stages. I began with the Queen upon the Throne. I ended with the +Deputy Chaff-wax. Note. I should like to see the Deputy Chaff- +wax. Is it a man, or what is it? + +What I had to tell, I have told. I have wrote it down. I hope +it's plain. Not so much in the handwriting (though nothing to +boast of there), as in the sense of it. I will now conclude with +Thomas Joy. Thomas said to me, when we parted, 'John, if the laws +of this country were as honest as they ought to be, you would have +come to London - registered an exact description and drawing of +your invention - paid half-a-crown or so for doing of it - and +therein and thereby have got your Patent.' + +My opinion is the same as Thomas Joy. Further. In William +Butcher's delivering 'that the whole gang of Hanapers and Chaff- +waxes must be done away with, and that England has been chaffed and +waxed sufficient,' I agree. + + + +THE NOBLE SAVAGE + + + +TO come to the point at once, I beg to say that I have not the +least belief in the Noble Savage. I consider him a prodigious +nuisance, and an enormous superstition. His calling rum fire- +water, and me a pale face, wholly fail to reconcile me to him. I +don't care what he calls me. I call him a savage, and I call a +savage a something highly desirable to be civilised off the face of +the earth. I think a mere gent (which I take to be the lowest form +of civilisation) better than a howling, whistling, clucking, +stamping, jumping, tearing savage. It is all one to me, whether he +sticks a fish-bone through his visage, or bits of trees through the +lobes of his ears, or bird's feathers in his head; whether he +flattens his hair between two boards, or spreads his nose over the +breadth of his face, or drags his lower lip down by great weights, +or blackens his teeth, or knocks them out, or paints one cheek red +and the other blue, or tattoos himself, or oils himself, or rubs +his body with fat, or crimps it with knives. Yielding to +whichsoever of these agreeable eccentricities, he is a savage - +cruel, false, thievish, murderous; addicted more or less to grease, +entrails, and beastly customs; a wild animal with the questionable +gift of boasting; a conceited, tiresome, bloodthirsty, monotonous +humbug. + +Yet it is extraordinary to observe how some people will talk about +him, as they talk about the good old times; how they will regret +his disappearance, in the course of this world's development, from +such and such lands where his absence is a blessed relief and an +indispensable preparation for the sowing of the very first seeds of +any influence that can exalt humanity; how, even with the evidence +of himself before them, they will either be determined to believe, +or will suffer themselves to be persuaded into believing, that he +is something which their five senses tell them he is not. + +There was Mr. Catlin, some few years ago, with his Ojibbeway +Indians. Mr. Catlin was an energetic, earnest man, who had lived +among more tribes of Indians than I need reckon up here, and who +had written a picturesque and glowing book about them. With his +party of Indians squatting and spitting on the table before him, or +dancing their miserable jigs after their own dreary manner, he +called, in all good faith, upon his civilised audience to take +notice of their symmetry and grace, their perfect limbs, and the +exquisite expression of their pantomime; and his civilised +audience, in all good faith, complied and admired. Whereas, as +mere animals, they were wretched creatures, very low in the scale +and very poorly formed; and as men and women possessing any power +of truthful dramatic expression by means of action, they were no +better than the chorus at an Italian Opera in England - and would +have been worse if such a thing were possible. + +Mine are no new views of the noble savage. The greatest writers on +natural history found him out long ago. BUFFON knew what he was, +and showed why he is the sulky tyrant that he is to his women, and +how it happens (Heaven be praised!) that his race is spare in +numbers. For evidence of the quality of his moral nature, pass +himself for a moment and refer to his 'faithful dog.' Has he ever +improved a dog, or attached a dog, since his nobility first ran +wild in woods, and was brought down (at a very long shot) by POPE? +Or does the animal that is the friend of man, always degenerate in +his low society? + +It is not the miserable nature of the noble savage that is the new +thing; it is the whimpering over him with maudlin admiration, and +the affecting to regret him, and the drawing of any comparison of +advantage between the blemishes of civilisation and the tenor of +his swinish life. There may have been a change now and then in +those diseased absurdities, but there is none in him. + +Think of the Bushmen. Think of the two men and the two women who +have been exhibited about England for some years. Are the majority +of persons - who remember the horrid little leader of that party in +his festering bundle of hides, with his filth and his antipathy to +water, and his straddled legs, and his odious eyes shaded by his +brutal hand, and his cry of 'Qu-u-u-u-aaa!' (Bosjesman for +something desperately insulting I have no doubt) - conscious of an +affectionate yearning towards that noble savage, or is it +idiosyncratic in me to abhor, detest, abominate, and abjure him? I +have no reserve on this subject, and will frankly state that, +setting aside that stage of the entertainment when he counterfeited +the death of some creature he had shot, by laying his head on his +hand and shaking his left leg - at which time I think it would have +been justifiable homicide to slay him - I have never seen that +group sleeping, smoking, and expectorating round their brazier, but +I have sincerely desired that something might happen to the +charcoal smouldering therein, which would cause the immediate +suffocation of the whole of the noble strangers. + +There is at present a party of Zulu Kaffirs exhibiting at the St. +George's Gallery, Hyde Park Corner, London. These noble savages +are represented in a most agreeable manner; they are seen in an +elegant theatre, fitted with appropriate scenery of great beauty, +and they are described in a very sensible and unpretending lecture, +delivered with a modesty which is quite a pattern to all similar +exponents. Though extremely ugly, they are much better shaped than +such of their predecessors as I have referred to; and they are +rather picturesque to the eye, though far from odoriferous to the +nose. What a visitor left to his own interpretings and imaginings +might suppose these noblemen to be about, when they give vent to +that pantomimic expression which is quite settled to be the natural +gift of the noble savage, I cannot possibly conceive; for it is so +much too luminous for my personal civilisation that it conveys no +idea to my mind beyond a general stamping, ramping, and raving, +remarkable (as everything in savage life is) for its dire +uniformity. But let us - with the interpreter's assistance, of +which I for one stand so much in need - see what the noble savage +does in Zulu Kaffirland. + +The noble savage sets a king to reign over him, to whom he submits +his life and limbs without a murmur or question, and whose whole +life is passed chin deep in a lake of blood; but who, after killing +incessantly, is in his turn killed by his relations and friends, +the moment a grey hair appears on his head. All the noble savage's +wars with his fellow-savages (and he takes no pleasure in anything +else) are wars of extermination - which is the best thing I know of +him, and the most comfortable to my mind when I look at him. He +has no moral feelings of any kind, sort, or description; and his +'mission' may be summed up as simply diabolical. + +The ceremonies with which he faintly diversifies his life are, of +course, of a kindred nature. If he wants a wife he appears before +the kennel of the gentleman whom he has selected for his father-in- +law, attended by a party of male friends of a very strong flavour, +who screech and whistle and stamp an offer of so many cows for the +young lady's hand. The chosen father-in-law - also supported by a +high-flavoured party of male friends - screeches, whistles, and +yells (being seated on the ground, he can't stamp) that there never +was such a daughter in the market as his daughter, and that he must +have six more cows. The son-in-law and his select circle of +backers screech, whistle, stamp, and yell in reply, that they will +give three more cows. The father-in-law (an old deluder, overpaid +at the beginning) accepts four, and rises to bind the bargain. The +whole party, the young lady included, then falling into epileptic +convulsions, and screeching, whistling, stamping, and yelling +together - and nobody taking any notice of the young lady (whose +charms are not to be thought of without a shudder) - the noble +savage is considered married, and his friends make demoniacal leaps +at him by way of congratulation. + +When the noble savage finds himself a little unwell, and mentions +the circumstance to his friends, it is immediately perceived that +he is under the influence of witchcraft. A learned personage, +called an Imyanger or Witch Doctor, is immediately sent for to +Nooker the Umtargartie, or smell out the witch. The male +inhabitants of the kraal being seated on the ground, the learned +doctor, got up like a grizzly bear, appears, and administers a +dance of a most terrific nature, during the exhibition of which +remedy he incessantly gnashes his teeth, and howls:- 'I am the +original physician to Nooker the Umtargartie. Yow yow yow! No +connexion with any other establishment. Till till till! All other +Umtargarties are feigned Umtargarties, Boroo Boroo! but I perceive +here a genuine and real Umtargartie, Hoosh Hoosh Hoosh! in whose +blood I, the original Imyanger and Nookerer, Blizzerum Boo! will +wash these bear's claws of mine. O yow yow yow!' All this time +the learned physician is looking out among the attentive faces for +some unfortunate man who owes him a cow, or who has given him any +small offence, or against whom, without offence, he has conceived a +spite. Him he never fails to Nooker as the Umtargartie, and he is +instantly killed. In the absence of such an individual, the usual +practice is to Nooker the quietest and most gentlemanly person in +company. But the nookering is invariably followed on the spot by +the butchering. + +Some of the noble savages in whom Mr. Catlin was so strongly +interested, and the diminution of whose numbers, by rum and +smallpox, greatly affected him, had a custom not unlike this, +though much more appalling and disgusting in its odious details. + +The women being at work in the fields, hoeing the Indian corn, and +the noble savage being asleep in the shade, the chief has sometimes +the condescension to come forth, and lighten the labour by looking +at it. On these occasions, he seats himself in his own savage +chair, and is attended by his shield-bearer: who holds over his +head a shield of cowhide - in shape like an immense mussel shell - +fearfully and wonderfully, after the manner of a theatrical +supernumerary. But lest the great man should forget his greatness +in the contemplation of the humble works of agriculture, there +suddenly rushes in a poet, retained for the purpose, called a +Praiser. This literary gentleman wears a leopard's head over his +own, and a dress of tigers' tails; he has the appearance of having +come express on his hind legs from the Zoological Gardens; and he +incontinently strikes up the chief's praises, plunging and tearing +all the while. There is a frantic wickedness in this brute's +manner of worrying the air, and gnashing out, 'O what a delightful +chief he is! O what a delicious quantity of blood he sheds! O how +majestically he laps it up! O how charmingly cruel he is! O how +he tears the flesh of his enemies and crunches the bones! O how +like the tiger and the leopard and the wolf and the bear he is! O, +row row row row, how fond I am of him!' which might tempt the +Society of Friends to charge at a hand-gallop into the Swartz-Kop +location and exterminate the whole kraal. + +When war is afoot among the noble savages - which is always - the +chief holds a council to ascertain whether it is the opinion of his +brothers and friends in general that the enemy shall be +exterminated. On this occasion, after the performance of an +Umsebeuza, or war song, - which is exactly like all the other +songs, - the chief makes a speech to his brothers and friends, +arranged in single file. No particular order is observed during +the delivery of this address, but every gentleman who finds himself +excited by the subject, instead of crying 'Hear, hear!' as is the +custom with us, darts from the rank and tramples out the life, or +crushes the skull, or mashes the face, or scoops out the eyes, or +breaks the limbs, or performs a whirlwind of atrocities on the +body, of an imaginary enemy. Several gentlemen becoming thus +excited at once, and pounding away without the least regard to the +orator, that illustrious person is rather in the position of an +orator in an Irish House of Commons. But, several of these scenes +of savage life bear a strong generic resemblance to an Irish +election, and I think would be extremely well received and +understood at Cork. + +In all these ceremonies the noble savage holds forth to the utmost +possible extent about himself; from which (to turn him to some +civilised account) we may learn, I think, that as egotism is one of +the most offensive and contemptible littlenesses a civilised man +can exhibit, so it is really incompatible with the interchange of +ideas; inasmuch as if we all talked about ourselves we should soon +have no listeners, and must be all yelling and screeching at once +on our own separate accounts: making society hideous. It is my +opinion that if we retained in us anything of the noble savage, we +could not get rid of it too soon. But the fact is clearly +otherwise. Upon the wife and dowry question, substituting coin for +cows, we have assuredly nothing of the Zulu Kaffir left. The +endurance of despotism is one great distinguishing mark of a savage +always. The improving world has quite got the better of that too. +In like manner, Paris is a civilised city, and the Theatre Francais +a highly civilised theatre; and we shall never hear, and never have +heard in these later days (of course) of the Praiser THERE. No, +no, civilised poets have better work to do. As to Nookering +Umtargarties, there are no pretended Umtargarties in Europe, and no +European powers to Nooker them; that would be mere spydom, +subordination, small malice, superstition, and false pretence. And +as to private Umtargarties, are we not in the year eighteen hundred +and fifty-three, with spirits rapping at our doors? + +To conclude as I began. My position is, that if we have anything +to learn from the Noble Savage, it is what to avoid. His virtues +are a fable; his happiness is a delusion; his nobility, nonsense. + +We have no greater justification for being cruel to the miserable +object, than for being cruel to a WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE or an ISAAC +NEWTON; but he passes away before an immeasurably better and higher +power than ever ran wild in any earthly woods, and the world will +be all the better when his place knows him no more. + + + +A FLIGHT + + + +WHEN Don Diego de - I forget his name - the inventor of the last +new Flying Machines, price so many francs for ladies, so many more +for gentlemen - when Don Diego, by permission of Deputy Chaff-wax +and his noble band, shall have taken out a Patent for the Queen's +dominions, and shall have opened a commodious Warehouse in an airy +situation; and when all persons of any gentility will keep at least +a pair of wings, and be seen skimming about in every direction; I +shall take a flight to Paris (as I soar round the world) in a cheap +and independent manner. At present, my reliance is on the South- +Eastern Railway Company, in whose Express Train here I sit, at +eight of the clock on a very hot morning, under the very hot roof +of the Terminus at London Bridge, in danger of being 'forced' like +a cucumber or a melon, or a pine-apple. And talking of pine- +apples, I suppose there never were so many pine-apples in a Train +as there appear to be in this Train. + +Whew! The hot-house air is faint with pine-apples. Every French +citizen or citizeness is carrying pine-apples home. The compact +little Enchantress in the corner of my carriage (French actress, to +whom I yielded up my heart under the auspices of that brave child, +'MEAT-CHELL,' at the St. James's Theatre the night before last) has +a pine-apple in her lap. Compact Enchantress's friend, confidante, +mother, mystery, Heaven knows what, has two pine-apples in her lap, +and a bundle of them under the seat. Tobacco-smoky Frenchman in +Algerine wrapper, with peaked hood behind, who might be Abd-el- +Kader dyed rifle-green, and who seems to be dressed entirely in +dirt and braid, carries pine-apples in a covered basket. Tall, +grave, melancholy Frenchman, with black Vandyke beard, and hair +close-cropped, with expansive chest to waistcoat, and compressive +waist to coat: saturnine as to his pantaloons, calm as to his +feminine boots, precious as to his jewellery, smooth and white as +to his linen: dark-eyed, high-foreheaded, hawk-nosed - got up, one +thinks, like Lucifer or Mephistopheles, or Zamiel, transformed into +a highly genteel Parisian - has the green end of a pine-apple +sticking out of his neat valise. + +Whew! If I were to be kept here long, under this forcing-frame, I +wonder what would become of me - whether I should be forced into a +giant, or should sprout or blow into some other phenomenon! +Compact Enchantress is not ruffled by the heat - she is always +composed, always compact. O look at her little ribbons, frills, +and edges, at her shawl, at her gloves, at her hair, at her +bracelets, at her bonnet, at everything about her! How is it +accomplished? What does she do to be so neat? How is it that +every trifle she wears belongs to her, and cannot choose but be a +part of her? And even Mystery, look at HER! A model. Mystery is +not young, not pretty, though still of an average candle-light +passability; but she does such miracles in her own behalf, that, +one of these days, when she dies, they'll be amazed to find an old +woman in her bed, distantly like her. She was an actress once, I +shouldn't wonder, and had a Mystery attendant on herself. Perhaps, +Compact Enchantress will live to be a Mystery, and to wait with a +shawl at the side-scenes, and to sit opposite to Mademoiselle in +railway carriages, and smile and talk subserviently, as Mystery +does now. That's hard to believe! + +Two Englishmen, and now our carriage is full. First Englishman, in +the monied interest - flushed, highly respectable - Stock Exchange, +perhaps - City, certainly. Faculties of second Englishman entirely +absorbed in hurry. Plunges into the carriage, blind. Calls out of +window concerning his luggage, deaf. Suffocates himself under +pillows of great-coats, for no reason, and in a demented manner. +Will receive no assurance from any porter whatsoever. Is stout and +hot, and wipes his head, and makes himself hotter by breathing so +hard. Is totally incredulous respecting assurance of Collected +Guard, that 'there's no hurry.' No hurry! And a flight to Paris +in eleven hours! + +It is all one to me in this drowsy corner, hurry or no hurry. +Until Don Diego shall send home my wings, my flight is with the +South-Eastern Company. I can fly with the South-Eastern, more +lazily, at all events, than in the upper air. I have but to sit +here thinking as idly as I please, and be whisked away. I am not +accountable to anybody for the idleness of my thoughts in such an +idle summer flight; my flight is provided for by the South-Eastern +and is no business of mine. + +The bell! With all my heart. It does not require me to do so much +as even to flap my wings. Something snorts for me, something +shrieks for me, something proclaims to everything else that it had +better keep out of my way, - and away I go. + +Ah! The fresh air is pleasant after the forcing-frame, though it +does blow over these interminable streets, and scatter the smoke of +this vast wilderness of chimneys. Here we are - no, I mean there +we were, for it has darted far into the rear - in Bermondsey where +the tanners live. Flash! The distant shipping in the Thames is +gone. Whirr! The little streets of new brick and red tile, with +here and there a flagstaff growing like a tall weed out of the +scarlet beans, and, everywhere, plenty of open sewer and ditch for +the promotion of the public health, have been fired off in a +volley. Whizz! Dust-heaps, market-gardens, and waste grounds. +Rattle! New Cross Station. Shock! There we were at Croydon. +Bur-r-r-r! The tunnel. + +I wonder why it is that when I shut my eyes in a tunnel I begin to +feel as if I were going at an Express pace the other way. I am +clearly going back to London now. Compact Enchantress must have +forgotten something, and reversed the engine. No! After long +darkness, pale fitful streaks of light appear. I am still flying +on for Folkestone. The streaks grow stronger - become continuous - +become the ghost of day - become the living day - became I mean - +the tunnel is miles and miles away, and here I fly through +sunlight, all among the harvest and the Kentish hops. + +There is a dreamy pleasure in this flying. I wonder where it was, +and when it was, that we exploded, blew into space somehow, a +Parliamentary Train, with a crowd of heads and faces looking at us +out of cages, and some hats waving. Monied Interest says it was at +Reigate Station. Expounds to Mystery how Reigate Station is so +many miles from London, which Mystery again develops to Compact +Enchantress. There might be neither a Reigate nor a London for me, +as I fly away among the Kentish hops and harvest. What do I care? + +Bang! We have let another Station off, and fly away regardless. +Everything is flying. The hop-gardens turn gracefully towards me, +presenting regular avenues of hops in rapid flight, then whirl +away. So do the pools and rushes, haystacks, sheep, clover in full +bloom delicious to the sight and smell, corn-sheaves, cherry- +orchards, apple-orchards, reapers, gleaners, hedges, gates, fields +that taper off into little angular corners, cottages, gardens, now +and then a church. Bang, bang! A double-barrelled Station! Now a +wood, now a bridge, now a landscape, now a cutting, now a - Bang! a +single-barrelled Station - there was a cricket-match somewhere with +two white tents, and then four flying cows, then turnips - now the +wires of the electric telegraph are all alive, and spin, and blurr +their edges, and go up and down, and make the intervals between +each other most irregular: contracting and expanding in the +strangest manner. Now we slacken. With a screwing, and a +grinding, and a smell of water thrown on ashes, now we stop! + +Demented Traveller, who has been for two or three minutes watchful, +clutches his great-coats, plunges at the door, rattles it, cries +'Hi!' eager to embark on board of impossible packets, far inland. +Collected Guard appears. 'Are you for Tunbridge, sir?' +'Tunbridge? No. Paris.' 'Plenty of time, sir. No hurry. Five +minutes here, sir, for refreshment.' I am so blest (anticipating +Zamiel, by half a second) as to procure a glass of water for +Compact Enchantress. + +Who would suppose we had been flying at such a rate, and shall take +wing again directly? Refreshment-room full, platform full, porter +with watering-pot deliberately cooling a hot wheel, another porter +with equal deliberation helping the rest of the wheels bountifully +to ice cream. Monied Interest and I re-entering the carriage +first, and being there alone, he intimates to me that the French +are 'no go' as a Nation. I ask why? He says, that Reign of Terror +of theirs was quite enough. I ventured to inquire whether he +remembers anything that preceded said Reign of Terror? He says not +particularly. 'Because,' I remark, 'the harvest that is reaped, +has sometimes been sown.' Monied Interest repeats, as quite enough +for him, that the French are revolutionary, - 'and always at it.' + +Bell. Compact Enchantress, helped in by Zamiel (whom the stars +confound!), gives us her charming little side-box look, and smites +me to the core. Mystery eating sponge-cake. Pine-apple atmosphere +faintly tinged with suspicions of sherry. Demented Traveller flits +past the carriage, looking for it. Is blind with agitation, and +can't see it. Seems singled out by Destiny to be the only unhappy +creature in the flight, who has any cause to hurry himself. Is +nearly left behind. Is seized by Collected Guard after the Train +is in motion, and bundled in. Still, has lingering suspicions that +there must be a boat in the neighbourhood, and WILL look wildly out +of window for it. + +Flight resumed. Corn-sheaves, hop-gardens, reapers, gleaners, +apple-orchards, cherry-orchards, Stations single and double- +barrelled, Ashford. Compact Enchantress (constantly talking to +Mystery, in an exquisite manner) gives a little scream; a sound +that seems to come from high up in her precious little head; from +behind her bright little eyebrows. 'Great Heaven, my pine-apple! +My Angel! It is lost!' Mystery is desolated. A search made. It +is not lost. Zamiel finds it. I curse him (flying) in the Persian +manner. May his face be turned upside down, and jackasses sit upon +his uncle's grave! + +Now fresher air, now glimpses of unenclosed Down-land with flapping +crows flying over it whom we soon outfly, now the Sea, now +Folkestone at a quarter after ten. 'Tickets ready, gentlemen!' +Demented dashes at the door. 'For Paris, sir? No hurry.' + +Not the least. We are dropped slowly down to the Port, and sidle +to and fro (the whole Train) before the insensible Royal George +Hotel, for some ten minutes. The Royal George takes no more heed +of us than its namesake under water at Spithead, or under earth at +Windsor, does. The Royal George's dog lies winking and blinking at +us, without taking the trouble to sit up; and the Royal George's +'wedding party' at the open window (who seem, I must say, rather +tired of bliss) don't bestow a solitary glance upon us, flying thus +to Paris in eleven hours. The first gentleman in Folkestone is +evidently used up, on this subject. + +Meanwhile, Demented chafes. Conceives that every man's hand is +against him, and exerting itself to prevent his getting to Paris. +Refuses consolation. Rattles door. Sees smoke on the horizon, and +'knows' it's the boat gone without him. Monied Interest +resentfully explains that HE is going to Paris too. Demented +signifies, that if Monied Interest chooses to be left behind, HE +don't. + +'Refreshments in the Waiting-Room, ladies and gentlemen. No hurry, +ladies and gentlemen, for Paris. No hurry whatever!' + +Twenty minutes' pause, by Folkestone clock, for looking at +Enchantress while she eats a sandwich, and at Mystery while she +eats of everything there that is eatable, from pork-pie, sausage, +jam, and gooseberries, to lumps of sugar. All this time, there is +a very waterfall of luggage, with a spray of dust, tumbling +slantwise from the pier into the steamboat. All this time, +Demented (who has no business with it) watches it with starting +eyes, fiercely requiring to be shown HIS luggage. When it at last +concludes the cataract, he rushes hotly to refresh - is shouted +after, pursued, jostled, brought back, pitched into the departing +steamer upside down, and caught by mariners disgracefully. + +A lovely harvest-day, a cloudless sky, a tranquil sea. The piston- +rods of the engines so regularly coming up from below, to look (as +well they may) at the bright weather, and so regularly almost +knocking their iron heads against the cross beam of the skylight, +and never doing it! Another Parisian actress is on board, attended +by another Mystery. Compact Enchantress greets her sister artist - +Oh, the Compact One's pretty teeth! - and Mystery greets Mystery. +My Mystery soon ceases to be conversational - is taken poorly, in a +word, having lunched too miscellaneously - and goes below. The +remaining Mystery then smiles upon the sister artists (who, I am +afraid, wouldn't greatly mind stabbing each other), and is upon the +whole ravished. + +And now I find that all the French people on board begin to grow, +and all the English people to shrink. The French are nearing home, +and shaking off a disadvantage, whereas we are shaking it on. +Zamiel is the same man, and Abd-el-Kader is the same man, but each +seems to come into possession of an indescribable confidence that +departs from us - from Monied Interest, for instance, and from me. +Just what they gain, we lose. Certain British 'Gents' about the +steersman, intellectually nurtured at home on parody of everything +and truth of nothing, become subdued, and in a manner forlorn; and +when the steersman tells them (not exultingly) how he has 'been +upon this station now eight year, and never see the old town of +Bullum yet,' one of them, with an imbecile reliance on a reed, asks +him what he considers to be the best hotel in Paris? + +Now, I tread upon French ground, and am greeted by the three +charming words, Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, painted up (in +letters a little too thin for their height) on the Custom-house +wall - also by the sight of large cocked hats, without which +demonstrative head-gear nothing of a public nature can be done upon +this soil. All the rabid Hotel population of Boulogne howl and +shriek outside a distant barrier, frantic to get at us. Demented, +by some unlucky means peculiar to himself, is delivered over to +their fury, and is presently seen struggling in a whirlpool of +Touters - is somehow understood to be going to Paris - is, with +infinite noise, rescued by two cocked hats, and brought into +Custom-house bondage with the rest of us. + +Here, I resign the active duties of life to an eager being, of +preternatural sharpness, with a shelving forehead and a shabby +snuff-coloured coat, who (from the wharf) brought me down with his +eye before the boat came into port. He darts upon my luggage, on +the floor where all the luggage is strewn like a wreck at the +bottom of the great deep; gets it proclaimed and weighed as the +property of 'Monsieur a traveller unknown;' pays certain francs for +it, to a certain functionary behind a Pigeon Hole, like a pay-box +at a Theatre (the arrangements in general are on a wholesale scale, +half military and half theatrical); and I suppose I shall find it +when I come to Paris - he says I shall. I know nothing about it, +except that I pay him his small fee, and pocket the ticket he gives +me, and sit upon a counter, involved in the general distraction. + +Railway station. 'Lunch or dinner, ladies and gentlemen. Plenty +of time for Paris. Plenty of time!' Large hall, long counter, +long strips of dining-table, bottles of wine, plates of meat, roast +chickens, little loaves of bread, basins of soup, little caraffes +of brandy, cakes, and fruit. Comfortably restored from these +resources, I begin to fly again. + +I saw Zamiel (before I took wing) presented to Compact Enchantress +and Sister Artist, by an officer in uniform, with a waist like a +wasp's, and pantaloons like two balloons. They all got into the +next carriage together, accompanied by the two Mysteries. They +laughed. I am alone in the carriage (for I don't consider Demented +anybody) and alone in the world. + +Fields, windmills, low grounds, pollard-trees, windmills, fields, +fortifications, Abbeville, soldiering and drumming. I wonder where +England is, and when I was there last - about two years ago, I +should say. Flying in and out among these trenches and batteries, +skimming the clattering drawbridges, looking down into the stagnant +ditches, I become a prisoner of state, escaping. I am confined +with a comrade in a fortress. Our room is in an upper story. We +have tried to get up the chimney, but there's an iron grating +across it, imbedded in the masonry. After months of labour, we +have worked the grating loose with the poker, and can lift it up. +We have also made a hook, and twisted our rugs and blankets into +ropes. Our plan is, to go up the chimney, hook our ropes to the +top, descend hand over hand upon the roof of the guard-house far +below, shake the hook loose, watch the opportunity of the sentinels +pacing away, hook again, drop into the ditch, swim across it, creep +into the shelter of the wood. The time is come - a wild and stormy +night. We are up the chimney, we are on the guard-house roof, we +are swimming in the murky ditch, when lo! 'Qui v'la?' a bugle, the +alarm, a crash! What is it? Death? No, Amiens. + +More fortifications, more soldiering and drumming, more basins of +soup, more little loaves of bread, more bottles of wine, more +caraffes of brandy, more time for refreshment. Everything good, +and everything ready. Bright, unsubstantial-looking, scenic sort +of station. People waiting. Houses, uniforms, beards, moustaches, +some sabots, plenty of neat women, and a few old-visaged children. +Unless it be a delusion born of my giddy flight, the grown-up +people and the children seem to change places in France. In +general, the boys and girls are little old men and women, and the +men and women lively boys and girls. + +Bugle, shriek, flight resumed. Monied Interest has come into my +carriage. Says the manner of refreshing is 'not bad,' but +considers it French. Admits great dexterity and politeness in the +attendants. Thinks a decimal currency may have something to do +with their despatch in settling accounts, and don't know but what +it's sensible and convenient. Adds, however, as a general protest, +that they're a revolutionary people - and always at it. + +Ramparts, canals, cathedral, river, soldiering and drumming, open +country, river, earthenware manufactures, Creil. Again ten +minutes. Not even Demented in a hurry. Station, a drawing-room +with a verandah: like a planter's house. Monied Interest considers +it a band-box, and not made to last. Little round tables in it, at +one of which the Sister Artists and attendant Mysteries are +established with Wasp and Zamiel, as if they were going to stay a +week. + +Anon, with no more trouble than before, I am flying again, and +lazily wondering as I fly. What has the South-Eastern done with +all the horrible little villages we used to pass through, in the +DILIGENCE? What have they done with all the summer dust, with all +the winter mud, with all the dreary avenues of little trees, with +all the ramshackle postyards, with all the beggars (who used to +turn out at night with bits of lighted candle, to look in at the +coach windows), with all the long-tailed horses who were always +biting one another, with all the big postilions in jack-boots - +with all the mouldy cafes that we used to stop at, where a long +mildewed table-cloth, set forth with jovial bottles of vinegar and +oil, and with a Siamese arrangement of pepper and salt, was never +wanting? Where are the grass-grown little towns, the wonderful +little market-places all unconscious of markets, the shops that +nobody kept, the streets that nobody trod, the churches that nobody +went to, the bells that nobody rang, the tumble-down old buildings +plastered with many-coloured bills that nobody read? Where are the +two-and-twenty weary hours of long, long day and night journey, +sure to be either insupportably hot or insupportably cold? Where +are the pains in my bones, where are the fidgets in my legs, where +is the Frenchman with the nightcap who never WOULD have the little +coupe-window down, and who always fell upon me when he went to +sleep, and always slept all night snoring onions? + +A voice breaks in with 'Paris! Here we are!' + +I have overflown myself, perhaps, but I can't believe it. I feel +as if I were enchanted or bewitched. It is barely eight o'clock +yet - it is nothing like half-past - when I have had my luggage +examined at that briskest of Custom-houses attached to the station, +and am rattling over the pavement in a hackney-cabriolet. + +Surely, not the pavement of Paris? Yes, I think it is, too. I +don't know any other place where there are all these high houses, +all these haggard-looking wine shops, all these billiard tables, +all these stocking-makers with flat red or yellow legs of wood for +signboard, all these fuel shops with stacks of billets painted +outside, and real billets sawing in the gutter, all these dirty +corners of streets, all these cabinet pictures over dark doorways +representing discreet matrons nursing babies. And yet this morning +- I'll think of it in a warm-bath. + +Very like a small room that I remember in the Chinese baths upon +the Boulevard, certainly; and, though I see it through the steam, I +think that I might swear to that peculiar hot-linen basket, like a +large wicker hour-glass. When can it have been that I left home? +When was it that I paid 'through to Paris' at London Bridge, and +discharged myself of all responsibility, except the preservation of +a voucher ruled into three divisions, of which the first was +snipped off at Folkestone, the second aboard the boat, and the +third taken at my journey's end? It seems to have been ages ago. +Calculation is useless. I will go out for a walk. + +The crowds in the streets, the lights in the shops and balconies, +the elegance, variety, and beauty of their decorations, the number +of the theatres, the brilliant cafes with their windows thrown up +high and their vivacious groups at little tables on the pavement, +the light and glitter of the houses turned as it were inside out, +soon convince me that it is no dream; that I am in Paris, howsoever +I got there. I stroll down to the sparkling Palais Royal, up the +Rue de Rivoli, to the Place Vendome. As I glance into a print-shop +window, Monied Interest, my late travelling companion, comes upon +me, laughing with the highest relish of disdain. 'Here's a +people!' he says, pointing to Napoleon in the window and Napoleon +on the column. 'Only one idea all over Paris! A monomania!' +Humph! I THINK I have seen Napoleon's match? There was a statue, +when I came away, at Hyde Park Corner, and another in the City, and +a print or two in the shops. + +I walk up to the Barriere de l'Etoile, sufficiently dazed by my +flight to have a pleasant doubt of the reality of everything about +me; of the lively crowd, the overhanging trees, the performing +dogs, the hobby-horses, the beautiful perspectives of shining +lamps: the hundred and one enclosures, where the singing is, in +gleaming orchestras of azure and gold, and where a star-eyed Houri +comes round with a box for voluntary offerings. So, I pass to my +hotel, enchanted; sup, enchanted; go to bed, enchanted; pushing +back this morning (if it really were this morning) into the +remoteness of time, blessing the South-Eastern Company for +realising the Arabian Nights in these prose days, murmuring, as I +wing my idle flight into the land of dreams, 'No hurry, ladies and +gentlemen, going to Paris in eleven hours. It is so well done, +that there really is no hurry!' + + + +THE DETECTIVE POLICE + + + +WE are not by any means devout believers in the old Bow Street +Police. To say the truth, we think there was a vast amount of +humbug about those worthies. Apart from many of them being men of +very indifferent character, and far too much in the habit of +consorting with thieves and the like, they never lost a public +occasion of jobbing and trading in mystery and making the most of +themselves. Continually puffed besides by incompetent magistrates +anxious to conceal their own deficiencies, and hand-in-glove with +the penny-a-liners of that time, they became a sort of +superstition. Although as a Preventive Police they were utterly +ineffective, and as a Detective Police were very loose and +uncertain in their operations, they remain with some people a +superstition to the present day. + +On the other hand, the Detective Force organised since the +establishment of the existing Police, is so well chosen and +trained, proceeds so systematically and quietly, does its business +in such a workmanlike manner, and is always so calmly and steadily +engaged in the service of the public, that the public really do not +know enough of it, to know a tithe of its usefulness. Impressed +with this conviction, and interested in the men themselves, we +represented to the authorities at Scotland Yard, that we should be +glad, if there were no official objection, to have some talk with +the Detectives. A most obliging and ready permission being given, +a certain evening was appointed with a certain Inspector for a +social conference between ourselves and the Detectives, at The +Household Words Office in Wellington Street, Strand, London. In +consequence of which appointment the party 'came off,' which we are +about to describe. And we beg to repeat that, avoiding such topics +as it might for obvious reasons be injurious to the public, or +disagreeable to respectable individuals, to touch upon in print, +our description is as exact as we can make it. + +The reader will have the goodness to imagine the Sanctum Sanctorum +of Household Words. Anything that best suits the reader's fancy, +will best represent that magnificent chamber. We merely stipulate +for a round table in the middle, with some glasses and cigars +arranged upon it; and the editorial sofa elegantly hemmed in +between that stately piece of furniture and the wall. + +It is a sultry evening at dusk. The stones of Wellington Street +are hot and gritty, and the watermen and hackney-coachmen at the +Theatre opposite, are much flushed and aggravated. Carriages are +constantly setting down the people who have come to Fairy-Land; and +there is a mighty shouting and bellowing every now and then, +deafening us for the moment, through the open windows. + +Just at dusk, Inspectors Wield and Stalker are announced; but we do +not undertake to warrant the orthography of any of the names here +mentioned. Inspector Wield presents Inspector Stalker. Inspector +Wield is a middle-aged man of a portly presence, with a large, +moist, knowing eye, a husky voice, and a habit of emphasising his +conversation by the aid of a corpulent fore-finger, which is +constantly in juxtaposition with his eyes or nose. Inspector +Stalker is a shrewd, hard-headed Scotchman - in appearance not at +all unlike a very acute, thoroughly-trained schoolmaster, from the +Normal Establishment at Glasgow. Inspector Wield one might have +known, perhaps, for what he is - Inspector Stalker, never. + +The ceremonies of reception over, Inspectors Wield and Stalker +observe that they have brought some sergeants with them. The +sergeants are presented - five in number, Sergeant Dornton, +Sergeant Witchem, Sergeant Mith, Sergeant Fendall, and Sergeant +Straw. We have the whole Detective Force from Scotland Yard, with +one exception. They sit down in a semi-circle (the two Inspectors +at the two ends) at a little distance from the round table, facing +the editorial sofa. Every man of them, in a glance, immediately +takes an inventory of the furniture and an accurate sketch of the +editorial presence. The Editor feels that any gentleman in company +could take him up, if need should be, without the smallest +hesitation, twenty years hence. + +The whole party are in plain clothes. Sergeant Dornton about fifty +years of age, with a ruddy face and a high sunburnt forehead, has +the air of one who has been a Sergeant in the army - he might have +sat to Wilkie for the Soldier in the Reading of the Will. He is +famous for steadily pursuing the inductive process, and, from small +beginnings, working on from clue to clue until he bags his man. +Sergeant Witchem, shorter and thicker-set, and marked with the +small-pox, has something of a reserved and thoughtful air, as if he +were engaged in deep arithmetical calculations. He is renowned for +his acquaintance with the swell mob. Sergeant Mith, a smooth-faced +man with a fresh bright complexion, and a strange air of +simplicity, is a dab at housebreakers. Sergeant Fendall, a light- +haired, well-spoken, polite person, is a prodigious hand at +pursuing private inquiries of a delicate nature. Straw, a little +wiry Sergeant of meek demeanour and strong sense, would knock at a +door and ask a series of questions in any mild character you choose +to prescribe to him, from a charity-boy upwards, and seem as +innocent as an infant. They are, one and all, respectable-looking +men; of perfectly good deportment and unusual intelligence; with +nothing lounging or slinking in their manners; with an air of keen +observation and quick perception when addressed; and generally +presenting in their faces, traces more or less marked of habitually +leading lives of strong mental excitement. They have all good +eyes; and they all can, and they all do, look full at whomsoever +they speak to. + +We light the cigars, and hand round the glasses (which are very +temperately used indeed), and the conversation begins by a modest +amateur reference on the Editorial part to the swell mob. +Inspector Wield immediately removes his cigar from his lips, waves +his right hand, and says, 'Regarding the swell mob, sir, I can't do +better than call upon Sergeant Witchem. Because the reason why? +I'll tell you. Sergeant Witchem is better acquainted with the +swell mob than any officer in London.' + +Our heart leaping up when we beheld this rainbow in the sky, we +turn to Sergeant Witchem, who very concisely, and in well-chosen +language, goes into the subject forthwith. Meantime, the whole of +his brother officers are closely interested in attending to what he +says, and observing its effect. Presently they begin to strike in, +one or two together, when an opportunity offers, and the +conversation becomes general. But these brother officers only come +in to the assistance of each other - not to the contradiction - and +a more amicable brotherhood there could not be. From the swell +mob, we diverge to the kindred topics of cracksmen, fences, public- +house dancers, area-sneaks, designing young people who go out +'gonophing,' and other 'schools.' It is observable throughout +these revelations, that Inspector Stalker, the Scotchman, is always +exact and statistical, and that when any question of figures +arises, everybody as by one consent pauses, and looks to him. + +When we have exhausted the various schools of Art - during which +discussion the whole body have remained profoundly attentive, +except when some unusual noise at the Theatre over the way has +induced some gentleman to glance inquiringly towards the window in +that direction, behind his next neighbour's back - we burrow for +information on such points as the following. Whether there really +are any highway robberies in London, or whether some circumstances +not convenient to be mentioned by the aggrieved party, usually +precede the robberies complained of, under that head, which quite +change their character? Certainly the latter, almost always. +Whether in the case of robberies in houses, where servants are +necessarily exposed to doubt, innocence under suspicion ever +becomes so like guilt in appearance, that a good officer need be +cautious how he judges it? Undoubtedly. Nothing is so common or +deceptive as such appearances at first. Whether in a place of +public amusement, a thief knows an officer, and an officer knows a +thief - supposing them, beforehand, strangers to each other - +because each recognises in the other, under all disguise, an +inattention to what is going on, and a purpose that is not the +purpose of being entertained? Yes. That's the way exactly. +Whether it is reasonable or ridiculous to trust to the alleged +experiences of thieves as narrated by themselves, in prisons, or +penitentiaries, or anywhere? In general, nothing more absurd. +Lying is their habit and their trade; and they would rather lie - +even if they hadn't an interest in it, and didn't want to make +themselves agreeable - than tell the truth. + +From these topics, we glide into a review of the most celebrated +and horrible of the great crimes that have been committed within +the last fifteen or twenty years. The men engaged in the discovery +of almost all of them, and in the pursuit or apprehension of the +murderers, are here, down to the very last instance. One of our +guests gave chase to and boarded the emigrant ship, in which the +murderess last hanged in London was supposed to have embarked. We +learn from him that his errand was not announced to the passengers, +who may have no idea of it to this hour. That he went below, with +the captain, lamp in hand - it being dark, and the whole steerage +abed and sea-sick - and engaged the Mrs. Manning who WAS on board, +in a conversation about her luggage, until she was, with no small +pains, induced to raise her head, and turn her face towards the +light. Satisfied that she was not the object of his search, he +quietly re-embarked in the Government steamer along-side, and +steamed home again with the intelligence. + +When we have exhausted these subjects, too, which occupy a +considerable time in the discussion, two or three leave their +chairs, whisper Sergeant Witchem, and resume their seat. Sergeant +Witchem, leaning forward a little, and placing a hand on each of +his legs, then modestly speaks as follows: + +'My brother-officers wish me to relate a little account of my +taking Tally-ho Thompson. A man oughtn't to tell what he has done +himself; but still, as nobody was with me, and, consequently, as +nobody but myself can tell it, I'll do it in the best way I can, if +it should meet your approval.' + +We assure Sergeant Witchem that he will oblige us very much, and we +all compose ourselves to listen with great interest and attention. + +'Tally-ho Thompson,' says Sergeant Witchem, after merely wetting +his lips with his brandy-and-water, 'Tally-ho Thompson was a famous +horse-stealer, couper, and magsman. Thompson, in conjunction with +a pal that occasionally worked with him, gammoned a countryman out +of a good round sum of money, under pretence of getting him a +situation - the regular old dodge - and was afterwards in the "Hue +and Cry" for a horse - a horse that he stole down in Hertfordshire. +I had to look after Thompson, and I applied myself, of course, in +the first instance, to discovering where he was. Now, Thompson's +wife lived, along with a little daughter, at Chelsea. Knowing that +Thompson was somewhere in the country, I watched the house - +especially at post-time in the morning - thinking Thompson was +pretty likely to write to her. Sure enough, one morning the +postman comes up, and delivers a letter at Mrs. Thompson's door. +Little girl opens the door, and takes it in. We're not always sure +of postmen, though the people at the post-offices are always very +obliging. A postman may help us, or he may not, - just as it +happens. However, I go across the road, and I say to the postman, +after he has left the letter, "Good morning! how are you?" "How +are YOU!" says he. "You've just delivered a letter for Mrs. +Thompson." "Yes, I have." "You didn't happen to remark what the +post-mark was, perhaps?" "No," says he, "I didn't." "Come," says +I, "I'll be plain with you. I'm in a small way of business, and I +have given Thompson credit, and I can't afford to lose what he owes +me. I know he's got money, and I know he's in the country, and if +you could tell me what the post-mark was, I should be very much +obliged to you, and you'd do a service to a tradesman in a small +way of business that can't afford a loss." "Well," he said, "I do +assure you that I did not observe what the post-mark was; all I +know is, that there was money in the letter - I should say a +sovereign." This was enough for me, because of course I knew that +Thompson having sent his wife money, it was probable she'd write to +Thompson, by return of post, to acknowledge the receipt. So I said +"Thankee" to the postman, and I kept on the watch. In the +afternoon I saw the little girl come out. Of course I followed +her. She went into a stationer's shop, and I needn't say to you +that I looked in at the window. She bought some writing-paper and +envelopes, and a pen. I think to myself, "That'll do!" - watch her +home again - and don't go away, you may be sure, knowing that Mrs. +Thompson was writing her letter to Tally-ho, and that the letter +would be posted presently. In about an hour or so, out came the +little girl again, with the letter in her hand. I went up, and +said something to the child, whatever it might have been; but I +couldn't see the direction of the letter, because she held it with +the seal upwards. However, I observed that on the back of the +letter there was what we call a kiss - a drop of wax by the side of +the seal - and again, you understand, that was enough for me. I +saw her post the letter, waited till she was gone, then went into +the shop, and asked to see the Master. When he came out, I told +him, "Now, I'm an Officer in the Detective Force; there's a letter +with a kiss been posted here just now, for a man that I'm in search +of; and what I have to ask of you, is, that you will let me look at +the direction of that letter." He was very civil - took a lot of +letters from the box in the window - shook 'em out on the counter +with the faces downwards - and there among 'em was the identical +letter with the kiss. It was directed, Mr. Thomas Pigeon, Post +Office, B-, to be left till called for. Down I went to B- (a +hundred and twenty miles or so) that night. Early next morning I +went to the Post Office; saw the gentleman in charge of that +department; told him who I was; and that my object was to see, and +track, the party that should come for the letter for Mr. Thomas +Pigeon. He was very polite, and said, "You shall have every +assistance we can give you; you can wait inside the office; and +we'll take care to let you know when anybody comes for the letter." +Well, I waited there three days, and began to think that nobody +ever WOULD come. At last the clerk whispered to me, "Here! +Detective! Somebody's come for the letter!" "Keep him a minute," +said I, and I ran round to the outside of the office. There I saw +a young chap with the appearance of an Ostler, holding a horse by +the bridle - stretching the bridle across the pavement, while he +waited at the Post Office Window for the letter. I began to pat +the horse, and that; and I said to the boy, "Why, this is Mr. +Jones's Mare!" "No. It an't." "No?" said I. "She's very like +Mr. Jones's Mare!" "She an't Mr. Jones's Mare, anyhow," says he. +"It's Mr. So and So's, of the Warwick Arms." And up he jumped, and +off he went - letter and all. I got a cab, followed on the box, +and was so quick after him that I came into the stable-yard of the +Warwick Arms, by one gate, just as he came in by another. I went +into the bar, where there was a young woman serving, and called for +a glass of brandy-and-water. He came in directly, and handed her +the letter. She casually looked at it, without saying anything, +and stuck it up behind the glass over the chimney-piece. What was +to be done next? + +'I turned it over in my mind while I drank my brandy-and-water +(looking pretty sharp at the letter the while), but I couldn't see +my way out of it at all. I tried to get lodgings in the house, but +there had been a horse-fair, or something of that sort, and it was +full. I was obliged to put up somewhere else, but I came backwards +and forwards to the bar for a couple of days, and there was the +letter always behind the glass. At last I thought I'd write a +letter to Mr. Pigeon myself, and see what that would do. So I +wrote one, and posted it, but I purposely addressed it, Mr. John +Pigeon, instead of Mr. Thomas Pigeon, to see what THAT would do. +In the morning (a very wet morning it was) I watched the postman +down the street, and cut into the bar, just before he reached the +Warwick Arms. In he came presently with my letter. "Is there a +Mr. John Pigeon staying here?" "No! - stop a bit though," says the +barmaid; and she took down the letter behind the glass. "No," says +she, "it's Thomas, and HE is not staying here. Would you do me a +favour, and post this for me, as it is so wet?" The postman said +Yes; she folded it in another envelope, directed it, and gave it +him. He put it in his hat, and away he went. + +'I had no difficulty in finding out the direction of that letter. +It was addressed Mr. Thomas Pigeon, Post Office, R-, +Northamptonshire, to be left till called for. Off I started +directly for R-; I said the same at the Post Office there, as I had +said at B-; and again I waited three days before anybody came. At +last another chap on horseback came. "Any letters for Mr. Thomas +Pigeon?" "Where do you come from?" "New Inn, near R-." He got +the letter, and away HE went at a canter. + +'I made my inquiries about the New Inn, near R-, and hearing it was +a solitary sort of house, a little in the horse line, about a +couple of miles from the station, I thought I'd go and have a look +at it. I found it what it had been described, and sauntered in, to +look about me. The landlady was in the bar, and I was trying to +get into conversation with her; asked her how business was, and +spoke about the wet weather, and so on; when I saw, through an open +door, three men sitting by the fire in a sort of parlour, or +kitchen; and one of those men, according to the description I had +of him, was Tally-ho Thompson! + +'I went and sat down among 'em, and tried to make things agreeable; +but they were very shy - wouldn't talk at all - looked at me, and +at one another, in a way quite the reverse of sociable. I reckoned +'em up, and finding that they were all three bigger men than me, +and considering that their looks were ugly - that it was a lonely +place - railroad station two miles off - and night coming on - +thought I couldn't do better than have a drop of brandy-and-water +to keep my courage up. So I called for my brandy-and-water; and as +I was sitting drinking it by the fire, Thompson got up and went +out. + +'Now the difficulty of it was, that I wasn't sure it WAS Thompson, +because I had never set eyes on him before; and what I had wanted +was to be quite certain of him. However, there was nothing for it +now, but to follow, and put a bold face upon it. I found him +talking, outside in the yard, with the landlady. It turned out +afterwards that he was wanted by a Northampton officer for +something else, and that, knowing that officer to be pock-marked +(as I am myself), he mistook me for him. As I have observed, I +found him talking to the landlady, outside. I put my hand upon his +shoulder - this way - and said, "Tally-ho Thompson, it's no use. I +know you. I'm an officer from London, and I take you into custody +for felony!" "That be d-d!" says Tally-ho Thompson. + +'We went back into the house, and the two friends began to cut up +rough, and their looks didn't please me at all, I assure you. "Let +the man go. What are you going to do with him?" "I'll tell you +what I'm going to do with him. I'm going to take him to London to- +night, as sure as I'm alive. I'm not alone here, whatever you may +think. You mind your own business, and keep yourselves to +yourselves. It'll be better for you, for I know you both very +well." I'D never seen or heard of 'em in all my life, but my +bouncing cowed 'em a bit, and they kept off, while Thompson was +making ready to go. I thought to myself, however, that they might +be coming after me on the dark road, to rescue Thompson; so I said +to the landlady, "What men have you got in the house, Missis?" "We +haven't got no men here," she says, sulkily. "You have got an +ostler, I suppose?" "Yes, we've got an ostler." "Let me see him." +Presently he came, and a shaggy-headed young fellow he was. "Now +attend to me, young man," says I; "I'm a Detective Officer from +London. This man's name is Thompson. I have taken him into +custody for felony. I am going to take him to the railroad +station. I call upon you in the Queen's name to assist me; and +mind you, my friend, you'll get yourself into more trouble than you +know of, if you don't!' You never saw a person open his eyes so +wide. "Now, Thompson, come along!" says I. But when I took out +the handcuffs, Thompson cries, "No! None of that! I won't stand +THEM! I'll go along with you quiet, but I won't bear none of +that!" "Tally-ho Thompson," I said, "I'm willing to behave as a +man to you, if you are willing to behave as a man to me. Give me +your word that you'll come peaceably along, and I don't want to +handcuff you." "I will," says Thompson, "but I'll have a glass of +brandy first." "I don't care if I've another," said I. "We'll +have two more, Missis," said the friends, "and confound you, +Constable, you'll give your man a drop, won't you?" I was +agreeable to that, so we had it all round, and then my man and I +took Tally-ho Thompson safe to the railroad, and I carried him to +London that night. He was afterwards acquitted, on account of a +defect in the evidence; and I understand he always praises me up to +the skies, and says I'm one of the best of men.' + +This story coming to a termination amidst general applause, +Inspector Wield, after a little grave smoking, fixes his eye on his +host, and thus delivers himself: + +'It wasn't a bad plant that of mine, on Fikey, the man accused of +forging the Sou'-Western Railway debentures - it was only t'other +day - because the reason why? I'll tell you. + +'I had information that Fikey and his brother kept a factory over +yonder there,' - indicating any region on the Surrey side of the +river - 'where he bought second-hand carriages; so after I'd tried +in vain to get hold of him by other means, I wrote him a letter in +an assumed name, saying that I'd got a horse and shay to dispose +of, and would drive down next day that he might view the lot, and +make an offer - very reasonable it was, I said - a reg'lar bargain. +Straw and me then went off to a friend of mine that's in the livery +and job business, and hired a turn-out for the day, a precious +smart turn-out it was - quite a slap-up thing! Down we drove, +accordingly, with a friend (who's not in the Force himself); and +leaving my friend in the shay near a public-house, to take care of +the horse, we went to the factory, which was some little way off. +In the factory, there was a number of strong fellows at work, and +after reckoning 'em up, it was clear to me that it wouldn't do to +try it on there. They were too many for us. We must get our man +out of doors. "Mr. Fikey at home?" "No, he ain't." "Expected +home soon?" "Why, no, not soon." "Ah! Is his brother here?" +"I'M his brother." "Oh! well, this is an ill-conwenience, this is. +I wrote him a letter yesterday, saying I'd got a little turn-out to +dispose of, and I've took the trouble to bring the turn-out down a' +purpose, and now he ain't in the way." "No, he ain't in the way. +You couldn't make it convenient to call again, could you?" "Why, +no, I couldn't. I want to sell; that's the fact; and I can't put +it off. Could you find him anywheres?" At first he said No, he +couldn't, and then he wasn't sure about it, and then he'd go and +try. So at last he went up-stairs, where there was a sort of loft, +and presently down comes my man himself in his shirt-sleeves. + +'"Well," he says, "this seems to be rayther a pressing matter of +yours." "Yes," I says, "it IS rayther a pressing matter, and +you'll find it a bargain - dirt cheap." "I ain't in partickler +want of a bargain just now," he says, "but where is it?" "Why," I +says, "the turn-out's just outside. Come and look at it." He +hasn't any suspicions, and away we go. And the first thing that +happens is, that the horse runs away with my friend (who knows no +more of driving than a child) when he takes a little trot along the +road to show his paces. You never saw such a game in your life! + +'When the bolt is over, and the turn-out has come to a standstill +again, Fikey walks round and round it as grave as a judge - me too. +"There, sir!" I says. "There's a neat thing!" "It ain't a bad +style of thing," he says. "I believe you," says I. "And there's a +horse!" - for I saw him looking at it. "Rising eight!" I says, +rubbing his fore-legs. (Bless you, there ain't a man in the world +knows less of horses than I do, but I'd heard my friend at the +Livery Stables say he was eight year old, so I says, as knowing as +possible, "Rising eight.") "Rising eight, is he?" says he. +"Rising eight," says I. "Well," he says, "what do you want for +it?" "Why, the first and last figure for the whole concern is +five-and-twenty pound!" "That's very cheap!" he says, looking at +me. "Ain't it?" I says. "I told you it was a bargain! Now, +without any higgling and haggling about it, what I want is to sell, +and that's my price. Further, I'll make it easy to you, and take +half the money down, and you can do a bit of stiff (1) for the +balance." + +" Well," he says again, "that's very cheap." "I believe you," says +I; "get in and try it, and you'll buy it. Come! take a trial!" + +'Ecod, he gets in, and we get in, and we drive along the road, to +show him to one of the railway clerks that was hid in the public- +house window to identify him. But the clerk was bothered, and +didn't know whether it was him, or wasn't - because the reason why? +I'll tell you, - on account of his having shaved his whiskers. +"It's a clever little horse," he says, "and trots well; and the +shay runs light." "Not a doubt about it," I says. "And now, Mr. +Fikey, I may as well make it all right, without wasting any more of +your time. The fact is, I'm Inspector Wield, and you're my +prisoner." "You don't mean that?" he says. "I do, indeed." "Then +burn my body," says Fikey, "if this ain't TOO bad!" + +'Perhaps you never saw a man so knocked over with surprise. "I +hope you'll let me have my coat?" he says. "By all means." "Well, +then, let's drive to the factory." "Why, not exactly that, I +think," said I; "I've been there, once before, to-day. Suppose we +send for it." He saw it was no go, so he sent for it, and put it +on, and we drove him up to London, comfortable.' + +This reminiscence is in the height of its success, when a general +proposal is made to the fresh-complexioned, smooth-faced officer, +with the strange air of simplicity, to tell the 'Butcher's Story.' + +The fresh-complexioned, smooth-faced officer, with the strange air +of simplicity, began with a rustic smile, and in a soft, wheedling +tone of voice, to relate the Butcher's Story, thus: + +'It's just about six years ago, now, since information was given at +Scotland Yard of there being extensive robberies of lawns and silks +going on, at some wholesale houses in the City. Directions were +given for the business being looked into; and Straw, and Fendall, +and me, we were all in it.' + +'When you received your instructions,' said we, 'you went away, and +held a sort of Cabinet Council together!' + +The smooth-faced officer coaxingly replied, 'Ye-es. Just so. We +turned it over among ourselves a good deal. It appeared, when we +went into it, that the goods were sold by the receivers +extraordinarily cheap - much cheaper than they could have been if +they had been honestly come by. The receivers were in the trade, +and kept capital shops - establishments of the first respectability +- one of 'em at the West End, one down in Westminster. After a lot +of watching and inquiry, and this and that among ourselves, we +found that the job was managed, and the purchases of the stolen +goods made, at a little public-house near Smithfield, down by Saint +Bartholomew's; where the Warehouse Porters, who were the thieves, +took 'em for that purpose, don't you see? and made appointments to +meet the people that went between themselves and the receivers. +This public-house was principally used by journeymen butchers from +the country, out of place, and in want of situations; so, what did +we do, but - ha, ha, ha! - we agreed that I should be dressed up +like a butcher myself, and go and live there!' + +Never, surely, was a faculty of observation better brought to bear +upon a purpose, than that which picked out this officer for the +part. Nothing in all creation could have suited him better. Even +while he spoke, he became a greasy, sleepy, shy, good-natured, +chuckle-headed, unsuspicious, and confiding young butcher. His +very hair seemed to have suet in it, as he made it smooth upon his +head, and his fresh complexion to be lubricated by large quantities +of animal food. + +' - So I - ha, ha, ha!' (always with the confiding snigger of the +foolish young butcher) 'so I dressed myself in the regular way, +made up a little bundle of clothes, and went to the public-house, +and asked if I could have a lodging there? They says, "yes, you +can have a lodging here," and I got a bedroom, and settled myself +down in the tap. There was a number of people about the place, and +coming backwards and forwards to the house; and first one says, and +then another says, "Are you from the country, young man?" "Yes," I +says, "I am. I'm come out of Northamptonshire, and I'm quite +lonely here, for I don't know London at all, and it's such a mighty +big town." "It IS a big town," they says. "Oh, it's a VERY big +town!" I says. "Really and truly I never was in such a town. It +quite confuses of me!" and all that, you know. + +'When some of the journeymen Butchers that used the house, found +that I wanted a place, they says, "Oh, we'll get you a place!" And +they actually took me to a sight of places, in Newgate Market, +Newport Market, Clare, Carnaby - I don't know where all. But the +wages was - ha, ha, ha! - was not sufficient, and I never could +suit myself, don't you see? Some of the queer frequenters of the +house were a little suspicious of me at first, and I was obliged to +be very cautious indeed how I communicated with Straw or Fendall. +Sometimes, when I went out, pretending to stop and look into the +shop windows, and just casting my eye round, I used to see some of +'em following me; but, being perhaps better accustomed than they +thought for, to that sort of thing, I used to lead 'em on as far as +I thought necessary or convenient - sometimes a long way - and then +turn sharp round, and meet 'em, and say, "Oh, dear, how glad I am +to come upon you so fortunate! This London's such a place, I'm +blowed if I ain't lost again!" And then we'd go back all together, +to the public-house, and - ha, ha, ha! and smoke our pipes, don't +you see? + +'They were very attentive to me, I am sure. It was a common thing, +while I was living there, for some of 'em to take me out, and show +me London. They showed me the Prisons - showed me Newgate - and +when they showed me Newgate, I stops at the place where the Porters +pitch their loads, and says, "Oh dear, is this where they hang the +men? Oh Lor!" "That!" they says, "what a simple cove he is! THAT +ain't it!" And then, they pointed out which WAS it, and I says +"Lor!" and they says, "Now you'll know it agen, won't you?" And I +said I thought I should if I tried hard - and I assure you I kept a +sharp look out for the City Police when we were out in this way, +for if any of 'em had happened to know me, and had spoke to me, it +would have been all up in a minute. However, by good luck such a +thing never happened, and all went on quiet: though the +difficulties I had in communicating with my brother officers were +quite extraordinary. + +'The stolen goods that were brought to the public-house by the +Warehouse Porters, were always disposed of in a back parlour. For +a long time, I never could get into this parlour, or see what was +done there. As I sat smoking my pipe, like an innocent young chap, +by the tap-room fire, I'd hear some of the parties to the robbery, +as they came in and out, say softly to the landlord, "Who's that? +What does HE do here?" "Bless your soul," says the landlord, "he's +only a" - ha, ha, ha! - "he's only a green young fellow from the +country, as is looking for a butcher's sitiwation. Don't mind +HIM!" So, in course of time, they were so convinced of my being +green, and got to be so accustomed to me, that I was as free of the +parlour as any of 'em, and I have seen as much as Seventy Pounds' +Worth of fine lawn sold there, in one night, that was stolen from a +warehouse in Friday Street. After the sale the buyers always stood +treat - hot supper, or dinner, or what not - and they'd say on +those occasions, "Come on, Butcher! Put your best leg foremost, +young 'un, and walk into it!" Which I used to do - and hear, at +table, all manner of particulars that it was very important for us +Detectives to know. + +'This went on for ten weeks. I lived in the public-house all the +time, and never was out of the Butcher's dress - except in bed. At +last, when I had followed seven of the thieves, and set 'em to +rights - that's an expression of ours, don't you see, by which I +mean to say that I traced 'em, and found out where the robberies +were done, and all about 'em - Straw, and Fendall, and I, gave one +another the office, and at a time agreed upon, a descent was made +upon the public-house, and the apprehensions effected. One of the +first things the officers did, was to collar me - for the parties +to the robbery weren't to suppose yet, that I was anything but a +Butcher - on which the landlord cries out, "Don't take HIM," he +says, "whatever you do! He's only a poor young chap from the +country, and butter wouldn't melt in his mouth!" However, they - +ha, ha, ha! - they took me, and pretended to search my bedroom, +where nothing was found but an old fiddle belonging to the +landlord, that had got there somehow or another. But, it entirely +changed the landlord's opinion, for when it was produced, he says, +"My fiddle! The Butcher's a purloiner! I give him into custody +for the robbery of a musical instrument!" + +'The man that had stolen the goods in Friday Street was not taken +yet. He had told me, in confidence, that he had his suspicions +there was something wrong (on account of the City Police having +captured one of the party), and that he was going to make himself +scarce. I asked him, "Where do you mean to go, Mr. Shepherdson?" +"Why, Butcher," says he, "the Setting Moon, in the Commercial Road, +is a snug house, and I shall bang out there for a time. I shall +call myself Simpson, which appears to me to be a modest sort of a +name. Perhaps you'll give us a look in, Butcher?" "Well," says I, +"I think I WILL give you a call" - which I fully intended, don't +you see, because, of course, he was to be taken! I went over to +the Setting Moon next day, with a brother officer, and asked at the +bar for Simpson. They pointed out his room, up-stairs. As we were +going up, he looks down over the banister, and calls out, "Halloa, +Butcher! is that you?" "Yes, it's me. How do you find yourself?" +"Bobbish," he says; "but who's that with you?" "It's only a young +man, that's a friend of mine," I says. "Come along, then," says +he; "any friend of the Butcher's is as welcome as the Butcher!" +So, I made my friend acquainted with him, and we took him into +custody. + +'You have no idea, sir, what a sight it was, in Court, when they +first knew that I wasn't a Butcher, after all! I wasn't produced +at the first examination, when there was a remand; but I was at the +second. And when I stepped into the box, in full police uniform, +and the whole party saw how they had been done, actually a groan of +horror and dismay proceeded from 'em in the dock! + +'At the Old Bailey, when their trials came on, Mr. Clarkson was +engaged for the defence, and he COULDN'T make out how it was, about +the Butcher. He thought, all along, it was a real Butcher. When +the counsel for the prosecution said, "I will now call before you, +gentlemen, the Police-officer," meaning myself, Mr. Clarkson says, +"Why Police-officer? Why more Police-officers? I don't want +Police. We have had a great deal too much of the Police. I want +the Butcher!" However, sir, he had the Butcher and the Police- +officer, both in one. Out of seven prisoners committed for trial, +five were found guilty, and some of 'em were transported. The +respectable firm at the West End got a term of imprisonment; and +that's the Butcher's Story!' + +The story done, the chuckle-headed Butcher again resolved himself +into the smooth-faced Detective. But, he was so extremely tickled +by their having taken him about, when he was that Dragon in +disguise, to show him London, that he could not help reverting to +that point in his narrative; and gently repeating with the Butcher +snigger, '"Oh, dear," I says, "is that where they hang the men? +Oh, Lor!" "THAT!" says they. "What a simple cove he is!"' + +It being now late, and the party very modest in their fear of being +too diffuse, there were some tokens of separation; when Sergeant +Dornton, the soldierly-looking man, said, looking round him with a +smile: + +'Before we break up, sir, perhaps you might have some amusement in +hearing of the Adventures of a Carpet Bag. They are very short; +and, I think, curious.' + +We welcomed the Carpet Bag, as cordially as Mr. Shepherdson +welcomed the false Butcher at the Setting Moon. Sergeant Dornton +proceeded. + +'In 1847, I was despatched to Chatham, in search of one Mesheck, a +Jew. He had been carrying on, pretty heavily, in the bill-stealing +way, getting acceptances from young men of good connexions (in the +army chiefly), on pretence of discount, and bolting with the same. + +'Mesheck was off, before I got to Chatham. All I could learn about +him was, that he had gone, probably to London, and had with him - a +Carpet Bag. + +'I came back to town, by the last train from Blackwall, and made +inquiries concerning a Jew passenger with - a Carpet Bag. + +'The office was shut up, it being the last train. There were only +two or three porters left. Looking after a Jew with a Carpet Bag, +on the Blackwall Railway, which was then the high road to a great +Military Depot, was worse than looking after a needle in a hayrick. +But it happened that one of these porters had carried, for a +certain Jew, to a certain public-house, a certain - Carpet Bag. + +'I went to the public-house, but the Jew had only left his luggage +there for a few hours, and had called for it in a cab, and taken it +away. I put such questions there, and to the porter, as I thought +prudent, and got at this description of - the Carpet Bag. + +'It was a bag which had, on one side of it, worked in worsted, a +green parrot on a stand. A green parrot on a stand was the means +by which to identify that - Carpet Bag. + +'I traced Mesheck, by means of this green parrot on a stand, to +Cheltenham, to Birmingham, to Liverpool, to the Atlantic Ocean. At +Liverpool he was too many for me. He had gone to the United +States, and I gave up all thoughts of Mesheck, and likewise of his +- Carpet Bag. + +'Many months afterwards - near a year afterwards - there was a bank +in Ireland robbed of seven thousand pounds, by a person of the name +of Doctor Dundey, who escaped to America; from which country some +of the stolen notes came home. He was supposed to have bought a +farm in New Jersey. Under proper management, that estate could be +seized and sold, for the benefit of the parties he had defrauded. +I was sent off to America for this purpose. + +'I landed at Boston. I went on to New York. I found that he had +lately changed New York paper-money for New Jersey paper money, and +had banked cash in New Brunswick. To take this Doctor Dundey, it +was necessary to entrap him into the State of New York, which +required a deal of artifice and trouble. At one time, he couldn't +be drawn into an appointment. At another time, he appointed to +come to meet me, and a New York officer, on a pretext I made; and +then his children had the measles. At last he came, per steamboat, +and I took him, and lodged him in a New York prison called the +Tombs; which I dare say you know, sir?' + +Editorial acknowledgment to that effect. + +'I went to the Tombs, on the morning after his capture, to attend +the examination before the magistrate. I was passing through the +magistrate's private room, when, happening to look round me to take +notice of the place, as we generally have a habit of doing, I +clapped my eyes, in one corner, on a - Carpet Bag. + +'What did I see upon that Carpet Bag, if you'll believe me, but a +green parrot on a stand, as large as life! + +'"That Carpet Bag, with the representation of a green parrot on a +stand," said I, "belongs to an English Jew, named Aaron Mesheck, +and to no other man, alive or dead!" + +'I give you my word the New York Police Officers were doubled up +with surprise. + +'"How did you ever come to know that?" said they. + +'"I think I ought to know that green parrot by this time," said I; +"for I have had as pretty a dance after that bird, at home, as ever +I had, in all my life!"' + + +'And was it Mesheck's?' we submissively inquired. + +'Was it, sir? Of course it was! He was in custody for another +offence, in that very identical Tombs, at that very identical time. +And, more than that! Some memoranda, relating to the fraud for +which I had vainly endeavoured to take him, were found to be, at +that moment, lying in that very same individual - Carpet Bag!' + + +Such are the curious coincidences and such is the peculiar ability, +always sharpening and being improved by practice, and always +adapting itself to every variety of circumstances, and opposing +itself to every new device that perverted ingenuity can invent, for +which this important social branch of the public service is +remarkable! For ever on the watch, with their wits stretched to +the utmost, these officers have, from day to day and year to year, +to set themselves against every novelty of trickery and dexterity +that the combined imaginations of all the lawless rascals in +England can devise, and to keep pace with every such invention that +comes out. In the Courts of Justice, the materials of thousands of +such stories as we have narrated - often elevated into the +marvellous and romantic, by the circumstances of the case - are +dryly compressed into the set phrase, 'in consequence of +information I received, I did so and so.' Suspicion was to be +directed, by careful inference and deduction, upon the right +person; the right person was to be taken, wherever he had gone, or +whatever he was doing to avoid detection: he is taken; there he is +at the bar; that is enough. From information I, the officer, +received, I did it; and, according to the custom in these cases, I +say no more. + +These games of chess, played with live pieces, are played before +small audiences, and are chronicled nowhere. The interest of the +game supports the player. Its results are enough for justice. To +compare great things with small, suppose LEVERRIER or ADAMS +informing the public that from information he had received he had +discovered a new planet; or COLUMBUS informing the public of his +day that from information he had received he had discovered a new +continent; so the Detectives inform it that they have discovered a +new fraud or an old offender, and the process is unknown. + +Thus, at midnight, closed the proceedings of our curious and +interesting party. But one other circumstance finally wound up the +evening, after our Detective guests had left us. One of the +sharpest among them, and the officer best acquainted with the Swell +Mob, had his pocket picked, going home! + + + +THREE 'DETECTIVE' ANECDOTES + + + +I. - THE PAIR OF GLOVES + + +'IT'S a singler story, sir,' said Inspector Wield, of the Detective +Police, who, in company with Sergeants Dornton and Mith, paid us +another twilight visit, one July evening; 'and I've been thinking +you might like to know it. + +'It's concerning the murder of the young woman, Eliza Grimwood, +some years ago, over in the Waterloo Road. She was commonly called +The Countess, because of her handsome appearance and her proud way +of carrying of herself; and when I saw the poor Countess (I had +known her well to speak to), lying dead, with her throat cut, on +the floor of her bedroom, you'll believe me that a variety of +reflections calculated to make a man rather low in his spirits, +came into my head. + +'That's neither here nor there. I went to the house the morning +after the murder, and examined the body, and made a general +observation of the bedroom where it was. Turning down the pillow +of the bed with my hand, I found, underneath it, a pair of gloves. +A pair of gentleman's dress gloves, very dirty; and inside the +lining, the letters TR, and a cross. + +'Well, sir, I took them gloves away, and I showed 'em to the +magistrate, over at Union Hall, before whom the case was. He says, +"Wield," he says, "there's no doubt this is a discovery that may +lead to something very important; and what you have got to do, +Wield, is, to find out the owner of these gloves." + +'I was of the same opinion, of course, and I went at it +immediately. I looked at the gloves pretty narrowly, and it was my +opinion that they had been cleaned. There was a smell of sulphur +and rosin about 'em, you know, which cleaned gloves usually have, +more or less. I took 'em over to a friend of mine at Kennington, +who was in that line, and I put it to him. "What do you say now? +Have these gloves been cleaned?" "These gloves have been cleaned," +says he. "Have you any idea who cleaned them?" says I. "Not at +all," says he; "I've a very distinct idea who DIDN'T clean 'em, and +that's myself. But I'll tell you what, Wield, there ain't above +eight or nine reg'lar glove-cleaners in London," - there were not, +at that time, it seems - "and I think I can give you their +addresses, and you may find out, by that means, who did clean 'em." +Accordingly, he gave me the directions, and I went here, and I went +there, and I looked up this man, and I looked up that man; but, +though they all agreed that the gloves had been cleaned, I couldn't +find the man, woman, or child, that had cleaned that aforesaid pair +of gloves. + +'What with this person not being at home, and that person being +expected home in the afternoon, and so forth, the inquiry took me +three days. On the evening of the third day, coming over Waterloo +Bridge from the Surrey side of the river, quite beat, and very much +vexed and disappointed, I thought I'd have a shilling's worth of +entertainment at the Lyceum Theatre to freshen myself up. So I +went into the Pit, at half-price, and I sat myself down next to a +very quiet, modest sort of young man. Seeing I was a stranger +(which I thought it just as well to appear to be) he told me the +names of the actors on the stage, and we got into conversation. +When the play was over, we came out together, and I said, "We've +been very companionable and agreeable, and perhaps you wouldn't +object to a drain?" "Well, you're very good," says he; "I +SHOULDN'T object to a drain." Accordingly, we went to a public- +house, near the Theatre, sat ourselves down in a quiet room up- +stairs on the first floor, and called for a pint of half-and-half, +apiece, and a pipe. + +'Well, sir, we put our pipes aboard, and we drank our half-and- +half, and sat a-talking, very sociably, when the young man says, +"You must excuse me stopping very long," he says, "because I'm +forced to go home in good time. I must be at work all night." "At +work all night?" says I. "You ain't a baker?" "No," he says, +laughing, "I ain't a baker." "I thought not," says I, "you haven't +the looks of a baker." "No," says he, "I'm a glove-cleaner." + +'I never was more astonished in my life, than when I heard them +words come out of his lips. "You're a glove-cleaner, are you?" +says I. "Yes," he says, "I am." "Then, perhaps," says I, taking +the gloves out of my pocket, "you can tell me who cleaned this pair +of gloves? It's a rum story," I says. "I was dining over at +Lambeth, the other day, at a free-and-easy - quite promiscuous - +with a public company - when some gentleman, he left these gloves +behind him! Another gentleman and me, you see, we laid a wager of +a sovereign, that I wouldn't find out who they belonged to. I've +spent as much as seven shillings already, in trying to discover; +but, if you could help me, I'd stand another seven and welcome. +You see there's TR and a cross, inside." "I see," he says. "Bless +you, I know these gloves very well! I've seen dozens of pairs +belonging to the same party." "No?" says I. "Yes," says he. +"Then you know who cleaned 'em?" says I. "Rather so," says he. +"My father cleaned 'em." + +'"Where does your father live?" says I. "Just round the corner," +says the young man, "near Exeter Street, here. He'll tell you who +they belong to, directly." "Would you come round with me now?" +says I. "Certainly," says he, "but you needn't tell my father that +you found me at the play, you know, because he mightn't like it." +"All right!" We went round to the place, and there we found an old +man in a white apron, with two or three daughters, all rubbing and +cleaning away at lots of gloves, in a front parlour. "Oh, Father!" +says the young man, "here's a person been and made a bet about the +ownership of a pair of gloves, and I've told him you can settle +it." "Good evening, sir," says I to the old gentleman. "Here's +the gloves your son speaks of. Letters TR, you see, and a cross." +"Oh yes," he says, "I know these gloves very well; I've cleaned +dozens of pairs of 'em. They belong to Mr. Trinkle, the great +upholsterer in Cheapside." "Did you get 'em from Mr. Trinkle, +direct," says I, "if you'll excuse my asking the question?" "No," +says he; "Mr. Trinkle always sends 'em to Mr. Phibbs's, the +haberdasher's, opposite his shop, and the haberdasher sends 'em to +me." "Perhaps YOU wouldn't object to a drain?" says I. "Not in +the least!" says he. So I took the old gentleman out, and had a +little more talk with him and his son, over a glass, and we parted +excellent friends. + +'This was late on a Saturday night. First thing on the Monday +morning, I went to the haberdasher's shop, opposite Mr. Trinkle's, +the great upholsterer's in Cheapside. "Mr. Phibbs in the way?" +"My name is Phibbs." "Oh! I believe you sent this pair of gloves +to be cleaned?" "Yes, I did, for young Mr. Trinkle over the way. +There he is in the shop!" "Oh! that's him in the shop, is it? Him +in the green coat?" "The same individual." "Well, Mr. Phibbs, +this is an unpleasant affair; but the fact is, I am Inspector Wield +of the Detective Police, and I found these gloves under the pillow +of the young woman that was murdered the other day, over in the +Waterloo Road!" "Good Heaven!" says he. "He's a most respectable +young man, and if his father was to hear of it, it would be the +ruin of him!" "I'm very sorry for it," says I, "but I must take +him into custody." "Good Heaven!" says Mr. Phibbs, again; "can +nothing be done?" "Nothing," says I. "Will you allow me to call +him over here," says he, "that his father may not see it done?" "I +don't object to that," says I; "but unfortunately, Mr. Phibbs, I +can't allow of any communication between you. If any was +attempted, I should have to interfere directly. Perhaps you'll +beckon him over here?' Mr. Phibbs went to the door and beckoned, +and the young fellow came across the street directly; a smart, +brisk young fellow. + +'"Good morning, sir," says I. "Good morning, sir," says he. +"Would you allow me to inquire, sir," says I, "if you ever had any +acquaintance with a party of the name of Grimwood?" "Grimwood! +Grimwood!" says he. "No!" "You know the Waterloo Road?" "Oh! of +course I know the Waterloo Road!" "Happen to have heard of a young +woman being murdered there?" "Yes, I read it in the paper, and +very sorry I was to read it." "Here's a pair of gloves belonging +to you, that I found under her pillow the morning afterwards!" + +'He was in a dreadful state, sir; a dreadful state I "Mr. Wield," +he says, "upon my solemn oath I never was there. I never so much +as saw her, to my knowledge, in my life!" "I am very sorry," says +I. "To tell you the truth; I don't think you ARE the murderer, but +I must take you to Union Hall in a cab. However, I think it's a +case of that sort, that, at present, at all events, the magistrate +will hear it in private." + +'A private examination took place, and then it came out that this +young man was acquainted with a cousin of the unfortunate Eliza +Grimwood, and that, calling to see this cousin a day or two before +the murder, he left these gloves upon the table. Who should come +in, shortly afterwards, but Eliza Grimwood! "Whose gloves are +these?" she says, taking 'em up. "Those are Mr. Trinkle's gloves," +says her cousin. "Oh!" says she, "they are very dirty, and of no +use to him, I am sure. I shall take 'em away for my girl to clean +the stoves with." And she put 'em in her pocket. The girl had +used 'em to clean the stoves, and, I have no doubt, had left 'em +lying on the bedroom mantelpiece, or on the drawers, or somewhere; +and her mistress, looking round to see that the room was tidy, had +caught 'em up and put 'em under the pillow where I found 'em. + +That's the story, sir.' + + +II. - THE ARTFUL TOUCH + + +'One of the most BEAUTIFUL things that ever was done, perhaps,' +said Inspector Wield, emphasising the adjective, as preparing us to +expect dexterity or ingenuity rather than strong interest, 'was a +move of Sergeant Witchem's. It was a lovely idea! + +'Witchem and me were down at Epsom one Derby Day, waiting at the +station for the Swell Mob. As I mentioned, when we were talking +about these things before, we are ready at the station when there's +races, or an Agricultural Show, or a Chancellor sworn in for an +university, or Jenny Lind, or anything of that sort; and as the +Swell Mob come down, we send 'em back again by the next train. But +some of the Swell Mob, on the occasion of this Derby that I refer +to, so far kidded us as to hire a horse and shay; start away from +London by Whitechapel, and miles round; come into Epsom from the +opposite direction; and go to work, right and left, on the course, +while we were waiting for 'em at the Rail. That, however, ain't +the point of what I'm going to tell you. + +'While Witchem and me were waiting at the station, there comes up +one Mr. Tatt; a gentleman formerly in the public line, quite an +amateur Detective in his way, and very much respected. "Halloa, +Charley Wield," he says. "What are you doing here? On the look +out for some of your old friends?" "Yes, the old move, Mr. Tatt." +"Come along," he says, "you and Witchem, and have a glass of +sherry." "We can't stir from the place," says I, "till the next +train comes in; but after that, we will with pleasure." Mr. Tatt +waits, and the train comes in, and then Witchem and me go off with +him to the Hotel. Mr. Tatt he's got up quite regardless of +expense, for the occasion; and in his shirt-front there's a +beautiful diamond prop, cost him fifteen or twenty pound - a very +handsome pin indeed. We drink our sherry at the bar, and have had +our three or four glasses, when Witchem cries suddenly, "Look out, +Mr. Wield! stand fast!" and a dash is made into the place by the +Swell Mob - four of 'em - that have come down as I tell you, and in +a moment Mr. Tatt's prop is gone! Witchem, he cuts 'em off at the +door, I lay about me as hard as I can, Mr. Tatt shows fight like a +good 'un, and there we are, all down together, heads and heels, +knocking about on the floor of the bar - perhaps you never see such +a scene of confusion! However, we stick to our men (Mr. Tatt being +as good as any officer), and we take 'em all, and carry 'em off to +the station.' The station's full of people, who have been took on +the course; and it's a precious piece of work to get 'em secured. +However, we do it at last, and we search 'em; but nothing's found +upon 'em, and they're locked up; and a pretty state of heat we are +in by that time, I assure you! + +'I was very blank over it, myself, to think that the prop had been +passed away; and I said to Witchem, when we had set 'em to rights, +and were cooling ourselves along with Mr. Tatt, "we don't take much +by THIS move, anyway, for nothing's found upon 'em, and it's only +the braggadocia, (2) after all." "What do you mean, Mr. Wield?" +says Witchem. "Here's the diamond pin!" and in the palm of his +hand there it was, safe and sound! "Why, in the name of wonder," +says me and Mr. Tatt, in astonishment, "how did you come by that?" +"I'll tell you how I come by it," says he. "I saw which of 'em +took it; and when we were all down on the floor together, knocking +about, I just gave him a little touch on the back of his hand, as I +knew his pal would; and he thought it WAS his pal; and gave it me!" +It was beautiful, beau-ti-ful! + +'Even that was hardly the best of the case, for that chap was tried +at the Quarter Sessions at Guildford. You know what Quarter +Sessions are, sir. Well, if you'll believe me, while them slow +justices were looking over the Acts of Parliament, to see what they +could do to him, I'm blowed if he didn't cut out of the dock before +their faces! He cut out of the dock, sir, then and there; swam +across a river; and got up into a tree to dry himself. In the tree +he was took - an old woman having seen him climb up - and Witchem's +artful touch transported him!' + + +III. - THE SOFA + + +"What young men will do, sometimes, to ruin themselves and break +their friends' hearts,' said Sergeant Dornton, 'it's surprising! I +had a case at Saint Blank's Hospital which was of this sort. A bad +case, indeed, with a bad end! + +'The Secretary, and the House-Surgeon, and the Treasurer, of Saint +Blank's Hospital, came to Scotland Yard to give information of +numerous robberies having been committed on the students. The +students could leave nothing in the pockets of their great-coats, +while the great-coats were hanging at the hospital, but it was +almost certain to be stolen. Property of various descriptions was +constantly being lost; and the gentlemen were naturally uneasy +about it, and anxious, for the credit of the institution, that the +thief or thieves should be discovered. The case was entrusted to +me, and I went to the hospital. + +'"Now, gentlemen," said I, after we had talked it over; "I +understand this property is usually lost from one room." + +'Yes, they said. It was. + +'"I should wish, if you please," said I, "to see the room." + +'It was a good-sized bare room down-stairs, with a few tables and +forms in it, and a row of pegs, all round, for hats and coats. + +'"Next, gentlemen," said I, "do you suspect anybody?" + +'Yes, they said. They did suspect somebody. They were sorry to +say, they suspected one of the porters. + +'"I should like," said I, "to have that man pointed out to me, and +to have a little time to look after him." + +'He was pointed out, and I looked after him, and then I went back +to the hospital, and said, "Now, gentlemen, it's not the porter. +He's, unfortunately for himself, a little too fond of drink, but +he's nothing worse. My suspicion is, that these robberies are +committed by one of the students; and if you'll put me a sofa into +that room where the pegs are - as there's no closet - I think I +shall be able to detect the thief. I wish the sofa, if you please, +to be covered with chintz, or something of that sort, so that I may +lie on my chest, underneath it, without being seen." + +'The sofa was provided, and next day at eleven o'clock, before any +of the students came, I went there, with those gentlemen, to get +underneath it. It turned out to be one of those old-fashioned +sofas with a great cross-beam at the bottom, that would have broken +my back in no time if I could ever have got below it. We had quite +a job to break all this away in the time; however, I fell to work, +and they fell to work, and we broke it out, and made a clear place +for me. I got under the sofa, lay down on my chest, took out my +knife, and made a convenient hole in the chintz to look through. +It was then settled between me and the gentlemen that when the +students were all up in the wards, one of the gentlemen should come +in, and hang up a great-coat on one of the pegs. And that that +great-coat should have, in one of the pockets, a pocket-book +containing marked money. + +'After I had been there some time, the students began to drop into +the room, by ones, and twos, and threes, and to talk about all +sorts of things, little thinking there was anybody under the sofa - +and then to go up-stairs. At last there came in one who remained +until he was alone in the room by himself. A tallish, good-looking +young man of one or two and twenty, with a light whisker. He went +to a particular hat-peg, took off a good hat that was hanging +there, tried it on, hung his own hat in its place, and hung that +hat on another peg, nearly opposite to me. I then felt quite +certain that he was the thief, and would come back by-and-by. + +'When they were all up-stairs, the gentleman came in with the +great-coat. I showed him where to hang it, so that I might have a +good view of it; and he went away; and I lay under the sofa on my +chest, for a couple of hours or so, waiting. + +'At last, the same young man came down. He walked across the room, +whistling - stopped and listened - took another walk and whistled - +stopped again, and listened - then began to go regularly round the +pegs, feeling in the pockets of all the coats. When he came to the +great-coat, and felt the pocket-book, he was so eager and so +hurried that he broke the strap in tearing it open. As he began to +put the money in his pocket, I crawled out from under the sofa, and +his eyes met mine. + +'My face, as you may perceive, is brown now, but it was pale at +that time, my health not being good; and looked as long as a +horse's. Besides which, there was a great draught of air from the +door, underneath the sofa, and I had tied a handkerchief round my +head; so what I looked like, altogether, I don't know. He turned +blue - literally blue - when he saw me crawling out, and I couldn't +feel surprised at it. + +'"I am an officer of the Detective Police," said I, "and have been +lying here, since you first came in this morning. I regret, for +the sake of yourself and your friends, that you should have done +what you have; but this case is complete. You have the pocket-book +in your hand and the money upon you; and I must take you into +custody!" + +'It was impossible to make out any case in his behalf, and on his +trial he pleaded guilty. How or when he got the means I don't +know; but while he was awaiting his sentence, he poisoned himself +in Newgate.' + +We inquired of this officer, on the conclusion of the foregoing +anecdote, whether the time appeared long, or short, when he lay in +that constrained position under the sofa? + +'Why, you see, sir,' he replied, 'if he hadn't come in, the first +time, and I had not been quite sure he was the thief, and would +return, the time would have seemed long. But, as it was, I being +dead certain of my man, the time seemed pretty short.' + + + +ON DUTY WITH INSPECTOR FIELD + + + +HOW goes the night? Saint Giles's clock is striking nine. The +weather is dull and wet, and the long lines of street lamps are +blurred, as if we saw them through tears. A damp wind blows and +rakes the pieman's fire out, when he opens the door of his little +furnace, carrying away an eddy of sparks. + +Saint Giles's clock strikes nine. We are punctual. Where is +Inspector Field? Assistant Commissioner of Police is already here, +enwrapped in oil-skin cloak, and standing in the shadow of Saint +Giles's steeple. Detective Sergeant, weary of speaking French all +day to foreigners unpacking at the Great Exhibition, is already +here. Where is Inspector Field? + +Inspector Field is, to-night, the guardian genius of the British +Museum. He is bringing his shrewd eye to bear on every corner of +its solitary galleries, before he reports 'all right.' Suspicious +of the Elgin marbles, and not to be done by cat-faced Egyptian +giants with their hands upon their knees, Inspector Field, +sagacious, vigilant, lamp in hand, throwing monstrous shadows on +the walls and ceilings, passes through the spacious rooms. If a +mummy trembled in an atom of its dusty covering, Inspector Field +would say, 'Come out of that, Tom Green. I know you!' If the +smallest 'Gonoph' about town were crouching at the bottom of a +classic bath, Inspector Field would nose him with a finer scent +than the ogre's, when adventurous Jack lay trembling in his kitchen +copper. But all is quiet, and Inspector Field goes warily on, +making little outward show of attending to anything in particular, +just recognising the Ichthyosaurus as a familiar acquaintance, and +wondering, perhaps, how the detectives did it in the days before +the Flood. + +Will Inspector Field be long about this work? He may be half-an- +hour longer. He sends his compliments by Police Constable, and +proposes that we meet at St. Giles's Station House, across the +road. Good. It were as well to stand by the fire, there, as in +the shadow of Saint Giles's steeple. + +Anything doing here to-night? Not much. We are very quiet. A +lost boy, extremely calm and small, sitting by the fire, whom we +now confide to a constable to take home, for the child says that if +you show him Newgate Street, he can show you where he lives - a +raving drunken woman in the cells, who has screeched her voice +away, and has hardly power enough left to declare, even with the +passionate help of her feet and arms, that she is the daughter of a +British officer, and, strike her blind and dead, but she'll write a +letter to the Queen! but who is soothed with a drink of water - in +another cell, a quiet woman with a child at her breast, for begging +- in another, her husband in a smock-frock, with a basket of +watercresses - in another, a pickpocket - in another, a meek +tremulous old pauper man who has been out for a holiday 'and has +took but a little drop, but it has overcome him after so many +months in the house' - and that's all as yet. Presently, a +sensation at the Station House door. Mr. Field, gentlemen! + +Inspector Field comes in, wiping his forehead, for he is of a burly +figure, and has come fast from the ores and metals of the deep +mines of the earth, and from the Parrot Gods of the South Sea +Islands, and from the birds and beetles of the tropics, and from +the Arts of Greece and Rome, and from the Sculptures of Nineveh, +and from the traces of an elder world, when these were not. Is +Rogers ready? Rogers is ready, strapped and great-coated, with a +flaming eye in the middle of his waist, like a deformed Cyclops. +Lead on, Rogers, to Rats' Castle! + +How many people may there be in London, who, if we had brought them +deviously and blindfold, to this street, fifty paces from the +Station House, and within call of Saint Giles's church, would know +it for a not remote part of the city in which their lives are +passed? How many, who amidst this compound of sickening smells, +these heaps of filth, these tumbling houses, with all their vile +contents, animate, and inanimate, slimily overflowing into the +black road, would believe that they breathe THIS air? How much Red +Tape may there be, that could look round on the faces which now hem +us in - for our appearance here has caused a rush from all points +to a common centre - the lowering foreheads, the sallow cheeks, the +brutal eyes, the matted hair, the infected, vermin-haunted heaps of +rags - and say, 'I have thought of this. I have not dismissed the +thing. I have neither blustered it away, nor frozen it away, nor +tied it up and put it away, nor smoothly said pooh, pooh! to it +when it has been shown to me?' + +This is not what Rogers wants to know, however. What Rogers wants +to know, is, whether you WILL clear the way here, some of you, or +whether you won't; because if you don't do it right on end, he'll +lock you up! 'What! YOU are there, are you, Bob Miles? You +haven't had enough of it yet, haven't you? You want three months +more, do you? Come away from that gentleman! What are you +creeping round there for?' + +'What am I a doing, thinn, Mr. Rogers?' says Bob Miles, appearing, +villainous, at the end of a lane of light, made by the lantern. + +'I'll let you know pretty quick, if you don't hook it. WILL you +hook it?' + +A sycophantic murmur rises from the crowd. 'Hook it, Bob, when Mr. +Rogers and Mr. Field tells you! Why don't you hook it, when you +are told to?' + +The most importunate of the voices strikes familiarly on Mr. +Rogers's ear. He suddenly turns his lantern on the owner. + +'What! YOU are there, are you, Mister Click? You hook it too - +come!' + +'What for?' says Mr. Click, discomfited. + +'You hook it, will you!' says Mr. Rogers with stern emphasis. + +Both Click and Miles DO 'hook it,' without another word, or, in +plainer English, sneak away. + +'Close up there, my men!' says Inspector Field to two constables on +duty who have followed. 'Keep together, gentlemen; we are going +down here. Heads!' + +Saint Giles's church strikes half-past ten. We stoop low, and +creep down a precipitous flight of steps into a dark close cellar. +There is a fire. There is a long deal table. There are benches. +The cellar is full of company, chiefly very young men in various +conditions of dirt and raggedness. Some are eating supper. There +are no girls or women present. Welcome to Rats' Castle, gentlemen, +and to this company of noted thieves! + +'Well, my lads! How are you, my lads? What have you been doing +to-day? Here's some company come to see you, my lads! - THERE'S a +plate of beefsteak, sir, for the supper of a fine young man! And +there's a mouth for a steak, sir! Why, I should be too proud of +such a mouth as that, if I had it myself! Stand up and show it, +sir! Take off your cap. There's a fine young man for a nice +little party, sir! An't he?' + +Inspector Field is the bustling speaker. Inspector Field's eye is +the roving eye that searches every corner of the cellar as he +talks. Inspector Field's hand is the well-known hand that has +collared half the people here, and motioned their brothers, +sisters, fathers, mothers, male and female friends, inexorably to +New South Wales. Yet Inspector Field stands in this den, the +Sultan of the place. Every thief here cowers before him, like a +schoolboy before his schoolmaster. All watch him, all answer when +addressed, all laugh at his jokes, all seek to propitiate him. +This cellar company alone - to say nothing of the crowd surrounding +the entrance from the street above, and making the steps shine with +eyes - is strong enough to murder us all, and willing enough to do +it; but, let Inspector Field have a mind to pick out one thief +here, and take him; let him produce that ghostly truncheon from his +pocket, and say, with his business-air, 'My lad, I want you!' and +all Rats' Castle shall be stricken with paralysis, and not a finger +move against him, as he fits the handcuffs on! + +Where's the Earl of Warwick? - Here he is, Mr. Field! Here's the +Earl of Warwick, Mr. Field! - O there you are, my Lord. Come +for'ard. There's a chest, sir, not to have a clean shirt on. An't +it? Take your hat off, my Lord. Why, I should be ashamed if I was +you - and an Earl, too - to show myself to a gentleman with my hat +on! - The Earl of Warwick laughs and uncovers. All the company +laugh. One pickpocket, especially, laughs with great enthusiasm. +O what a jolly game it is, when Mr. Field comes down - and don't +want nobody! + +So, YOU are here, too, are you, you tall, grey, soldierly-looking, +grave man, standing by the fire? - Yes, sir. Good evening, Mr. +Field! - Let us see. You lived servant to a nobleman once? - Yes, +Mr. Field. - And what is it you do now; I forget? - Well, Mr. +Field, I job about as well as I can. I left my employment on +account of delicate health. The family is still kind to me. Mr. +Wix of Piccadilly is also very kind to me when I am hard up. +Likewise Mr. Nix of Oxford Street. I get a trifle from them +occasionally, and rub on as well as I can, Mr. Field. Mr. Field's +eye rolls enjoyingly, for this man is a notorious begging-letter +writer. - Good night, my lads! - Good night, Mr. Field, and +thank'ee, sir! + +Clear the street here, half a thousand of you! Cut it, Mrs. +Stalker - none of that - we don't want you! Rogers of the flaming +eye, lead on to the tramps' lodging-house! + +A dream of baleful faces attends to the door. Now, stand back all +of you! In the rear Detective Sergeant plants himself, composedly +whistling, with his strong right arm across the narrow passage. +Mrs. Stalker, I am something'd that need not be written here, if +you won't get yourself into trouble, in about half a minute, if I +see that face of yours again! + +Saint Giles's church clock, striking eleven, hums through our hand +from the dilapidated door of a dark outhouse as we open it, and are +stricken back by the pestilent breath that issues from within. +Rogers to the front with the light, and let us look! + +Ten, twenty, thirty - who can count them! Men, women, children, +for the most part naked, heaped upon the floor like maggots in a +cheese! Ho! In that dark corner yonder! Does anybody lie there? +Me sir, Irish me, a widder, with six children. And yonder? Me +sir, Irish me, with me wife and eight poor babes. And to the left +there? Me sir, Irish me, along with two more Irish boys as is me +friends. And to the right there? Me sir and the Murphy fam'ly, +numbering five blessed souls. And what's this, coiling, now, about +my foot? Another Irish me, pitifully in want of shaving, whom I +have awakened from sleep - and across my other foot lies his wife - +and by the shoes of Inspector Field lie their three eldest - and +their three youngest are at present squeezed between the open door +and the wall. And why is there no one on that little mat before +the sullen fire? Because O'Donovan, with his wife and daughter, is +not come in from selling Lucifers! Nor on the bit of sacking in +the nearest corner? Bad luck! Because that Irish family is late +to-night, a-cadging in the streets! + +They are all awake now, the children excepted, and most of them sit +up, to stare. Wheresoever Mr. Rogers turns the flaming eye, there +is a spectral figure rising, unshrouded, from a grave of rags. Who +is the landlord here? - I am, Mr. Field! says a bundle of ribs and +parchment against the wall, scratching itself. - Will you spend +this money fairly, in the morning, to buy coffee for 'em all? - +Yes, sir, I will! - O he'll do it, sir, he'll do it fair. He's +honest! cry the spectres. And with thanks and Good Night sink into +their graves again. + +Thus, we make our New Oxford Streets, and our other new streets, +never heeding, never asking, where the wretches whom we clear out, +crowd. With such scenes at our doors, with all the plagues of +Egypt tied up with bits of cobweb in kennels so near our homes, we +timorously make our Nuisance Bills and Boards of Health, +nonentities, and think to keep away the Wolves of Crime and Filth, +by our electioneering ducking to little vestrymen and our +gentlemanly handling of Red Tape! + +Intelligence of the coffee-money has got abroad. The yard is full, +and Rogers of the flaming eye is beleaguered with entreaties to +show other Lodging Houses. Mine next! Mine! Mine! Rogers, +military, obdurate, stiff-necked, immovable, replies not, but leads +away; all falling back before him. Inspector Field follows. +Detective Sergeant, with his barrier of arm across the little +passage, deliberately waits to close the procession. He sees +behind him, without any effort, and exceedingly disturbs one +individual far in the rear by coolly calling out, 'It won't do, Mr. +Michael! Don't try it!' + +After council holden in the street, we enter other lodging-houses, +public-houses, many lairs and holes; all noisome and offensive; +none so filthy and so crowded as where Irish are. In one, The +Ethiopian party are expected home presently - were in Oxford Street +when last heard of - shall be fetched, for our delight, within ten +minutes. In another, one of the two or three Professors who drew +Napoleon Buonaparte and a couple of mackerel, on the pavement and +then let the work of art out to a speculator, is refreshing after +his labours. In another, the vested interest of the profitable +nuisance has been in one family for a hundred years, and the +landlord drives in comfortably from the country to his snug little +stew in town. In all, Inspector Field is received with warmth. +Coiners and smashers droop before him; pickpockets defer to him; +the gentle sex (not very gentle here) smile upon him. Half-drunken +hags check themselves in the midst of pots of beer, or pints of +gin, to drink to Mr. Field, and pressingly to ask the honour of his +finishing the draught. One beldame in rusty black has such +admiration for him, that she runs a whole street's length to shake +him by the hand; tumbling into a heap of mud by the way, and still +pressing her attentions when her very form has ceased to be +distinguishable through it. Before the power of the law, the power +of superior sense - for common thieves are fools beside these men - +and the power of a perfect mastery of their character, the garrison +of Rats' Castle and the adjacent Fortresses make but a skulking +show indeed when reviewed by Inspector Field. + +Saint Giles's clock says it will be midnight in half-an-hour, and +Inspector Field says we must hurry to the Old Mint in the Borough. +The cab-driver is low-spirited, and has a solemn sense of his +responsibility. Now, what's your fare, my lad? - O YOU know, +Inspector Field, what's the good of asking ME! + +Say, Parker, strapped and great-coated, and waiting in dim Borough +doorway by appointment, to replace the trusty Rogers whom we left +deep in Saint Giles's, are you ready? Ready, Inspector Field, and +at a motion of my wrist behold my flaming eye. + +This narrow street, sir, is the chief part of the Old Mint, full of +low lodging-houses, as you see by the transparent canvas-lamps and +blinds, announcing beds for travellers! But it is greatly changed, +friend Field, from my former knowledge of it; it is infinitely +quieter and more subdued than when I was here last, some seven +years ago? O yes! Inspector Haynes, a first-rate man, is on this +station now and plays the Devil with them! + +Well, my lads! How are you to-night, my lads? Playing cards here, +eh? Who wins? - Why, Mr. Field, I, the sulky gentleman with the +damp flat side-curls, rubbing my bleared eye with the end of my +neckerchief which is like a dirty eel-skin, am losing just at +present, but I suppose I must take my pipe out of my mouth, and be +submissive to YOU - I hope I see you well, Mr. Field? - Aye, all +right, my lad. Deputy, who have you got up-stairs? Be pleased to +show the rooms! + +Why Deputy, Inspector Field can't say. He only knows that the man +who takes care of the beds and lodgers is always called so. +Steady, O Deputy, with the flaring candle in the blacking-bottle, +for this is a slushy back-yard, and the wooden staircase outside +the house creaks and has holes in it. + +Again, in these confined intolerable rooms, burrowed out like the +holes of rats or the nests of insect-vermin, but fuller of +intolerable smells, are crowds of sleepers, each on his foul +truckle-bed coiled up beneath a rug. Holloa here! Come! Let us +see you! Show your face! Pilot Parker goes from bed to bed and +turns their slumbering heads towards us, as a salesman might turn +sheep. Some wake up with an execration and a threat. - What! who +spoke? O! If it's the accursed glaring eye that fixes me, go +where I will, I am helpless. Here! I sit up to be looked at. Is +it me you want? Not you, lie down again! and I lie down, with a +woful growl. + +Whenever the turning lane of light becomes stationary for a moment, +some sleeper appears at the end of it, submits himself to be +scrutinised, and fades away into the darkness. + +There should be strange dreams here, Deputy. They sleep sound +enough, says Deputy, taking the candle out of the blacking-bottle, +snuffing it with his fingers, throwing the snuff into the bottle, +and corking it up with the candle; that's all I know. What is the +inscription, Deputy, on all the discoloured sheets? A precaution +against loss of linen. Deputy turns down the rug of an unoccupied +bed and discloses it. STOP THIEF! + +To lie at night, wrapped in the legend of my slinking life; to take +the cry that pursues me, waking, to my breast in sleep; to have it +staring at me, and clamouring for me, as soon as consciousness +returns; to have it for my first-foot on New-Year's day, my +Valentine, my Birthday salute, my Christmas greeting, my parting +with the old year. STOP THIEF! + +And to know that I MUST be stopped, come what will. To know that I +am no match for this individual energy and keenness, or this +organised and steady system! Come across the street, here, and, +entering by a little shop and yard, examine these intricate +passages and doors, contrived for escape, flapping and counter- +flapping, like the lids of the conjurer's boxes. But what avail +they? Who gets in by a nod, and shows their secret working to us? +Inspector Field. + +Don't forget the old Farm House, Parker! Parker is not the man to +forget it. We are going there, now. It is the old Manor-House of +these parts, and stood in the country once. Then, perhaps, there +was something, which was not the beastly street, to see from the +shattered low fronts of the overhanging wooden houses we are +passing under - shut up now, pasted over with bills about the +literature and drama of the Mint, and mouldering away. This long +paved yard was a paddock or a garden once, or a court in front of +the Farm House. Perchance, with a dovecot in the centre, and fowls +peeking about - with fair elm trees, then, where discoloured +chimney-stacks and gables are now - noisy, then, with rooks which +have yielded to a different sort of rookery. It's likelier than +not, Inspector Field thinks, as we turn into the common kitchen, +which is in the yard, and many paces from the house. + +Well, my lads and lasses, how are you all? Where's Blackey, who +has stood near London Bridge these five-and-twenty years, with a +painted skin to represent disease? - Here he is, Mr. Field! - How +are you, Blackey? - Jolly, sa! Not playing the fiddle to-night, +Blackey? - Not a night, sa! A sharp, smiling youth, the wit of the +kitchen, interposes. He an't musical to-night, sir. I've been +giving him a moral lecture; I've been a talking to him about his +latter end, you see. A good many of these are my pupils, sir. +This here young man (smoothing down the hair of one near him, +reading a Sunday paper) is a pupil of mine. I'm a teaching of him +to read, sir. He's a promising cove, sir. He's a smith, he is, +and gets his living by the sweat of the brow, sir. So do I, +myself, sir. This young woman is my sister, Mr. Field. SHE'S +getting on very well too. I've a deal of trouble with 'em, sir, +but I'm richly rewarded, now I see 'em all a doing so well, and +growing up so creditable. That's a great comfort, that is, an't +it, sir? - In the midst of the kitchen (the whole kitchen is in +ecstasies with this impromptu 'chaff') sits a young, modest, +gentle-looking creature, with a beautiful child in her lap. She +seems to belong to the company, but is so strangely unlike it. She +has such a pretty, quiet face and voice, and is so proud to hear +the child admired - thinks you would hardly believe that he is only +nine months old! Is she as bad as the rest, I wonder? +Inspectorial experience does not engender a belief contrariwise, +but prompts the answer, Not a ha'porth of difference! + +There is a piano going in the old Farm House as we approach. It +stops. Landlady appears. Has no objections, Mr. Field, to +gentlemen being brought, but wishes it were at earlier hours, the +lodgers complaining of ill-conwenience. Inspector Field is polite +and soothing - knows his woman and the sex. Deputy (a girl in this +case) shows the way up a heavy, broad old staircase, kept very +clean, into clean rooms where many sleepers are, and where painted +panels of an older time look strangely on the truckle beds. The +sight of whitewash and the smell of soap - two things we seem by +this time to have parted from in infancy - make the old Farm House +a phenomenon, and connect themselves with the so curiously +misplaced picture of the pretty mother and child long after we have +left it, - long after we have left, besides, the neighbouring nook +with something of a rustic flavour in it yet, where once, beneath a +low wooden colonnade still standing as of yore, the eminent Jack +Sheppard condescended to regale himself, and where, now, two old +bachelor brothers in broad hats (who are whispered in the Mint to +have made a compact long ago that if either should ever marry, he +must forfeit his share of the joint property) still keep a +sequestered tavern, and sit o' nights smoking pipes in the bar, +among ancient bottles and glasses, as our eyes behold them. + +How goes the night now? Saint George of Southwark answers with +twelve blows upon his bell. Parker, good night, for Williams is +already waiting over in the region of Ratcliffe Highway, to show +the houses where the sailors dance. + +I should like to know where Inspector Field was born. In Ratcliffe +Highway, I would have answered with confidence, but for his being +equally at home wherever we go. HE does not trouble his head as I +do, about the river at night. HE does not care for its creeping, +black and silent, on our right there, rushing through sluice-gates, +lapping at piles and posts and iron rings, hiding strange things in +its mud, running away with suicides and accidentally drowned bodies +faster than midnight funeral should, and acquiring such various +experience between its cradle and its grave. It has no mystery for +HIM. Is there not the Thames Police! + +Accordingly, Williams leads the way. We are a little late, for +some of the houses are already closing. No matter. You show us +plenty. All the landlords know Inspector Field. All pass him, +freely and good-humouredly, wheresoever he wants to go. So +thoroughly are all these houses open to him and our local guide, +that, granting that sailors must be entertained in their own way - +as I suppose they must, and have a right to be - I hardly know how +such places could be better regulated. Not that I call the company +very select, or the dancing very graceful - even so graceful as +that of the German Sugar Bakers, whose assembly, by the Minories, +we stopped to visit - but there is watchful maintenance of order in +every house, and swift expulsion where need is. Even in the midst +of drunkenness, both of the lethargic kind and the lively, there is +sharp landlord supervision, and pockets are in less peril than out +of doors. These houses show, singularly, how much of the +picturesque and romantic there truly is in the sailor, requiring to +be especially addressed. All the songs (sung in a hailstorm of +halfpence, which are pitched at the singer without the least +tenderness for the time or tune - mostly from great rolls of copper +carried for the purpose - and which he occasionally dodges like +shot as they fly near his head) are of the sentimental sea sort. +All the rooms are decorated with nautical subjects. Wrecks, +engagements, ships on fire, ships passing lighthouses on iron-bound +coasts, ships blowing up, ships going down, ships running ashore, +men lying out upon the main-yard in a gale of wind, sailors and +ships in every variety of peril, constitute the illustrations of +fact. Nothing can be done in the fanciful way, without a thumping +boy upon a scaly dolphin. + +How goes the night now? Past one. Black and Green are waiting in +Whitechapel to unveil the mysteries of Wentworth Street. Williams, +the best of friends must part. Adieu! + +Are not Black and Green ready at the appointed place? O yes! They +glide out of shadow as we stop. Imperturbable Black opens the cab- +door; Imperturbable Green takes a mental note of the driver. Both +Green and Black then open each his flaming eye, and marshal us the +way that we are going. + +The lodging-house we want is hidden in a maze of streets and +courts. It is fast shut. We knock at the door, and stand hushed +looking up for a light at one or other of the begrimed old lattice +windows in its ugly front, when another constable comes up - +supposes that we want 'to see the school.' Detective Sergeant +meanwhile has got over a rail, opened a gate, dropped down an area, +overcome some other little obstacles, and tapped at a window. Now +returns. The landlord will send a deputy immediately. + +Deputy is heard to stumble out of bed. Deputy lights a candle, +draws back a bolt or two, and appears at the door. Deputy is a +shivering shirt and trousers by no means clean, a yawning face, a +shock head much confused externally and internally. We want to +look for some one. You may go up with the light, and take 'em all, +if you like, says Deputy, resigning it, and sitting down upon a +bench in the kitchen with his ten fingers sleepily twisting in his +hair. + +Halloa here! Now then! Show yourselves. That'll do. It's not +you. Don't disturb yourself any more! So on, through a labyrinth +of airless rooms, each man responding, like a wild beast, to the +keeper who has tamed him, and who goes into his cage. What, you +haven't found him, then? says Deputy, when we came down. A woman +mysteriously sitting up all night in the dark by the smouldering +ashes of the kitchen fire, says it's only tramps and cadgers here; +it's gonophs over the way. A man mysteriously walking about the +kitchen all night in the dark, bids her hold her tongue. We come +out. Deputy fastens the door and goes to bed again. + +Black and Green, you know Bark, lodging-house keeper and receiver +of stolen goods? - O yes, Inspector Field. - Go to Bark's next. + +Bark sleeps in an inner wooden hutch, near his street door. As we +parley on the step with Bark's Deputy, Bark growls in his bed. We +enter, and Bark flies out of bed. Bark is a red villain and a +wrathful, with a sanguine throat that looks very much as if it were +expressly made for hanging, as he stretches it out, in pale +defiance, over the half-door of his hutch. Bark's parts of speech +are of an awful sort - principally adjectives. I won't, says Bark, +have no adjective police and adjective strangers in my adjective +premises! I won't, by adjective and substantive! Give me my +trousers, and I'll send the whole adjective police to adjective and +substantive! Give me, says Bark, my adjective trousers! I'll put +an adjective knife in the whole bileing of 'em. I'll punch their +adjective heads. I'll rip up their adjective substantives. Give +me my adjective trousers! says Bark, and I'll spile the bileing of +'em! + +Now, Bark, what's the use of this? Here's Black and Green, +Detective Sergeant, and Inspector Field. You know we will come in. +- I know you won't! says Bark. Somebody give me my adjective +trousers! Bark's trousers seem difficult to find. He calls for +them as Hercules might for his club. Give me my adjective +trousers! says Bark, and I'll spile the bileing of 'em! + +Inspector Field holds that it's all one whether Bark likes the +visit or don't like it. He, Inspector Field, is an Inspector of +the Detective Police, Detective Sergeant IS Detective Sergeant, +Black and Green are constables in uniform. Don't you be a fool, +Bark, or you know it will be the worse for you. - I don't care, +says Bark. Give me my adjective trousers! + +At two o'clock in the morning, we descend into Bark's low kitchen, +leaving Bark to foam at the mouth above, and Imperturbable Black +and Green to look at him. Bark's kitchen is crammed full of +thieves, holding a CONVERSAZIONE there by lamp-light. It is by far +the most dangerous assembly we have seen yet. Stimulated by the +ravings of Bark, above, their looks are sullen, but not a man +speaks. We ascend again. Bark has got his trousers, and is in a +state of madness in the passage with his back against a door that +shuts off the upper staircase. We observe, in other respects, a +ferocious individuality in Bark. Instead of 'STOP THIEF!' on his +linen, he prints 'STOLEN FROM Bark's!' + +Now, Bark, we are going up-stairs! - No, you ain't! - YOU refuse +admission to the Police, do you, Bark? - Yes, I do! I refuse it to +all the adjective police, and to all the adjective substantives. +If the adjective coves in the kitchen was men, they'd come up now, +and do for you! Shut me that there door! says Bark, and suddenly +we are enclosed in the passage. They'd come up and do for you! +cries Bark, and waits. Not a sound in the kitchen! They'd come up +and do for you! cries Bark again, and waits. Not a sound in the +kitchen! We are shut up, half-a-dozen of us, in Bark's house in +the innermost recesses of the worst part of London, in the dead of +the night - the house is crammed with notorious robbers and +ruffians - and not a man stirs. No, Bark. They know the weight of +the law, and they know Inspector Field and Co. too well. + +We leave bully Bark to subside at leisure out of his passion and +his trousers, and, I dare say, to be inconveniently reminded of +this little brush before long. Black and Green do ordinary duty +here, and look serious. + +As to White, who waits on Holborn Hill to show the courts that are +eaten out of Rotten Gray's Inn, Lane, where other lodging-houses +are, and where (in one blind alley) the Thieves' Kitchen and +Seminary for the teaching of the art to children is, the night has +so worn away, being now + + +almost at odds with morning, which is which, + + +that they are quiet, and no light shines through the chinks in the +shutters. As undistinctive Death will come here, one day, sleep +comes now. The wicked cease from troubling sometimes, even in this +life. + + + +DOWN WITH THE TIDE + + + +A VERY dark night it was, and bitter cold; the east wind blowing +bleak, and bringing with it stinging particles from marsh, and +moor, and fen - from the Great Desert and Old Egypt, may be. Some +of the component parts of the sharp-edged vapour that came flying +up the Thames at London might be mummy-dust, dry atoms from the +Temple at Jerusalem, camels' foot-prints, crocodiles' hatching- +places, loosened grains of expression from the visages of blunt- +nosed sphynxes, waifs and strays from caravans of turbaned +merchants, vegetation from jungles, frozen snow from the Himalayas. +O! It was very, very dark upon the Thames, and it was bitter, +bitter cold. + +'And yet,' said the voice within the great pea-coat at my side, +'you'll have seen a good many rivers, too, I dare say?' + +'Truly,' said I, 'when I come to think of it, not a few. From the +Niagara, downward to the mountain rivers of Italy, which are like +the national spirit - very tame, or chafing suddenly and bursting +bounds, only to dwindle away again. The Moselle, and the Rhine, +and the Rhone; and the Seine, and the Saone; and the St. Lawrence, +Mississippi, and Ohio; and the Tiber, the Po, and the Arno; and the +- ' + +Peacoat coughing as if he had had enough of that, I said no more. +I could have carried the catalogue on to a teasing length, though, +if I had been in the cruel mind. + +'And after all,' said he, 'this looks so dismal?' + +'So awful,' I returned, 'at night. The Seine at Paris is very +gloomy too, at such a time, and is probably the scene of far more +crime and greater wickedness; but this river looks so broad and +vast, so murky and silent, seems such an image of death in the +midst of the great city's life, that - ' + +That Peacoat coughed again. He COULD NOT stand my holding forth. + +We were in a four-oared Thames Police Galley, lying on our oars in +the deep shadow of Southwark Bridge - under the corner arch on the +Surrey side - having come down with the tide from Vauxhall. We +were fain to hold on pretty tight, though close in shore, for the +river was swollen and the tide running down very strong. We were +watching certain water-rats of human growth, and lay in the deep +shade as quiet as mice; our light hidden and our scraps of +conversation carried on in whispers. Above us, the massive iron +girders of the arch were faintly visible, and below us its +ponderous shadow seemed to sink down to the bottom of the stream. + +We had been lying here some half an hour. With our backs to the +wind, it is true; but the wind being in a determined temper blew +straight through us, and would not take the trouble to go round. I +would have boarded a fireship to get into action, and mildly +suggested as much to my friend Pea. + +'No doubt,' says he as patiently as possible; 'but shore-going +tactics wouldn't do with us. River-thieves can always get rid of +stolen property in a moment by dropping it overboard. We want to +take them WITH the property, so we lurk about and come out upon 'em +sharp. If they see us or hear us, over it goes.' + +Pea's wisdom being indisputable, there was nothing for it but to +sit there and be blown through, for another half-hour. The water- +rats thinking it wise to abscond at the end of that time without +commission of felony, we shot out, disappointed, with the tide. + +'Grim they look, don't they?' said Pea, seeing me glance over my +shoulder at the lights upon the bridge, and downward at their long +crooked reflections in the river. + +'Very,' said I, 'and make one think with a shudder of Suicides. +What a night for a dreadful leap from that parapet!' + +'Aye, but Waterloo's the favourite bridge for making holes in the +water from,' returned Pea. 'By the bye - avast pulling, lads! - +would you like to speak to Waterloo on the subject?' + +My face confessing a surprised desire to have some friendly +conversation with Waterloo Bridge, and my friend Pea being the most +obliging of men, we put about, pulled out of the force of the +stream, and in place of going at great speed with the tide, began +to strive against it, close in shore again. Every colour but black +seemed to have departed from the world. The air was black, the +water was black, the barges and hulks were black, the piles were +black, the buildings were black, the shadows were only a deeper +shade of black upon a black ground. Here and there, a coal fire in +an iron cresset blazed upon a wharf; but, one knew that it too had +been black a little while ago, and would be black again soon. +Uncomfortable rushes of water suggestive of gurgling and drowning, +ghostly rattlings of iron chains, dismal clankings of discordant +engines, formed the music that accompanied the dip of our oars and +their rattling in the rowlocks. Even the noises had a black sound +to me - as the trumpet sounded red to the blind man. + +Our dexterous boat's crew made nothing of the tide, and pulled us +gallantly up to Waterloo Bridge. Here Pea and I disembarked, +passed under the black stone archway, and climbed the steep stone +steps. Within a few feet of their summit, Pea presented me to +Waterloo (or an eminent toll-taker representing that structure), +muffled up to the eyes in a thick shawl, and amply great-coated and +fur-capped. + +Waterloo received us with cordiality, and observed of the night +that it was 'a Searcher.' He had been originally called the Strand +Bridge, he informed us, but had received his present name at the +suggestion of the proprietors, when Parliament had resolved to vote +three hundred thousand pound for the erection of a monument in +honour of the victory. Parliament took the hint (said Waterloo, +with the least flavour of misanthropy) and saved the money. Of +course the late Duke of Wellington was the first passenger, and of +course he paid his penny, and of course a noble lord preserved it +evermore. The treadle and index at the toll-house (a most +ingenious contrivance for rendering fraud impossible), were +invented by Mr. Lethbridge, then property-man at Drury Lane +Theatre. + +Was it suicide, we wanted to know about? said Waterloo. Ha! Well, +he had seen a good deal of that work, he did assure us. He had +prevented some. Why, one day a woman, poorish looking, came in +between the hatch, slapped down a penny, and wanted to go on +without the change! Waterloo suspected this, and says to his mate, +'give an eye to the gate,' and bolted after her. She had got to +the third seat between the piers, and was on the parapet just a +going over, when he caught her and gave her in charge. At the +police office next morning, she said it was along of trouble and a +bad husband. + +'Likely enough,' observed Waterloo to Pea and myself, as he +adjusted his chin in his shawl. 'There's a deal of trouble about, +you see - and bad husbands too!' + +Another time, a young woman at twelve o'clock in the open day, got +through, darted along; and, before Waterloo could come near her, +jumped upon the parapet, and shot herself over sideways. Alarm +given, watermen put off, lucky escape. - Clothes buoyed her up. + +'This is where it is,' said Waterloo. 'If people jump off straight +forwards from the middle of the parapet of the bays of the bridge, +they are seldom killed by drowning, but are smashed, poor things; +that's what THEY are; they dash themselves upon the buttress of the +bridge. But you jump off,' said Waterloo to me, putting his +fore-finger in a button-hole of my great-coat; 'you jump off from the +side of the bay, and you'll tumble, true, into the stream under the +arch. What you have got to do, is to mind how you jump in! There +was poor Tom Steele from Dublin. Didn't dive! Bless you, didn't +dive at all! Fell down so flat into the water, that he broke his +breast-bone, and lived two days!' + +I asked Waterloo if there were a favourite side of his bridge for +this dreadful purpose? He reflected, and thought yes, there was. +He should say the Surrey side. + +Three decent-looking men went through one day, soberly and quietly, +and went on abreast for about a dozen yards: when the middle one, +he sung out, all of a sudden, 'Here goes, Jack!' and was over in a +minute. + +Body found? Well. Waterloo didn't rightly recollect about that. +They were compositors, THEY were. + +He considered it astonishing how quick people were! Why, there was +a cab came up one Boxing-night, with a young woman in it, who +looked, according to Waterloo's opinion of her, a little the worse +for liquor; very handsome she was too - very handsome. She stopped +the cab at the gate, and said she'd pay the cabman then, which she +did, though there was a little hankering about the fare, because at +first she didn't seem quite to know where she wanted to be drove +to. However, she paid the man, and the toll too, and looking +Waterloo in the face (he thought she knew him, don't you see!) +said, 'I'll finish it somehow!' Well, the cab went off, leaving +Waterloo a little doubtful in his mind, and while it was going on +at full speed the young woman jumped out, never fell, hardly +staggered, ran along the bridge pavement a little way, passing +several people, and jumped over from the second opening. At the +inquest it was giv' in evidence that she had been quarrelling at +the Hero of Waterloo, and it was brought in jealousy. (One of the +results of Waterloo's experience was, that there was a deal of +jealousy about.) + +'Do we ever get madmen?' said Waterloo, in answer to an inquiry of +mine. 'Well, we DO get madmen. Yes, we have had one or two; +escaped from 'Sylums, I suppose. One hadn't a halfpenny; and +because I wouldn't let him through, he went back a little way, +stooped down, took a run, and butted at the hatch like a ram. He +smashed his hat rarely, but his head didn't seem no worse - in my +opinion on account of his being wrong in it afore. Sometimes +people haven't got a halfpenny. If they are really tired and poor +we give 'em one and let 'em through. Other people will leave +things - pocket-handkerchiefs mostly. I HAVE taken cravats and +gloves, pocket-knives, tooth-picks, studs, shirt-pins, rings +(generally from young gents, early in the morning), but +handkerchiefs is the general thing.' + +'Regular customers?' said Waterloo. 'Lord, yes! We have regular +customers. One, such a worn-out, used-up old file as you can +scarcely picter, comes from the Surrey side as regular as ten +o'clock at night comes; and goes over, I think, to some flash house +on the Middlesex side. He comes back, he does, as reg'lar as the +clock strikes three in the morning, and then can hardly drag one of +his old legs after the other. He always turns down the water- +stairs, comes up again, and then goes on down the Waterloo Road. +He always does the same thing, and never varies a minute. Does it +every night - even Sundays.' + +I asked Waterloo if he had given his mind to the possibility of +this particular customer going down the water-stairs at three +o'clock some morning, and never coming up again? He didn't think +THAT of him, he replied. In fact, it was Waterloo's opinion, +founded on his observation of that file, that he know'd a trick +worth two of it. + +'There's another queer old customer,' said Waterloo, 'comes over, +as punctual as the almanack, at eleven o'clock on the sixth of +January, at eleven o'clock on the fifth of April, at eleven o'clock +on the sixth of July, at eleven o'clock on the tenth of October. +Drives a shaggy little, rough pony, in a sort of a rattle-trap arm- +chair sort of a thing. White hair he has, and white whiskers, and +muffles himself up with all manner of shawls. He comes back again +the same afternoon, and we never see more of him for three months. +He is a captain in the navy - retired - wery old - wery odd - and +served with Lord Nelson. He is particular about drawing his +pension at Somerset House afore the clock strikes twelve every +quarter. I HAVE heerd say that he thinks it wouldn't be according +to the Act of Parliament, if he didn't draw it afore twelve.' + +Having related these anecdotes in a natural manner, which was the +best warranty in the world for their genuine nature, our friend +Waterloo was sinking deep into his shawl again, as having exhausted +his communicative powers and taken in enough east wind, when my +other friend Pea in a moment brought him to the surface by asking +whether he had not been occasionally the subject of assault and +battery in the execution of his duty? Waterloo recovering his +spirits, instantly dashed into a new branch of his subject. We +learnt how 'both these teeth' - here he pointed to the places where +two front teeth were not - were knocked out by an ugly customer who +one night made a dash at him (Waterloo) while his (the ugly +customer's) pal and coadjutor made a dash at the toll-taking apron +where the money-pockets were; how Waterloo, letting the teeth go +(to Blazes, he observed indefinitely), grappled with the apron- +seizer, permitting the ugly one to run away; and how he saved the +bank, and captured his man, and consigned him to fine and +imprisonment. Also how, on another night, 'a Cove' laid hold of +Waterloo, then presiding at the horse-gate of his bridge, and threw +him unceremoniously over his knee, having first cut his head open +with his whip. How Waterloo 'got right,' and started after the +Cove all down the Waterloo Road, through Stamford Street, and round +to the foot of Blackfriars Bridge, where the Cove 'cut into' a +public-house. How Waterloo cut in too; but how an aider and +abettor of the Cove's, who happened to be taking a promiscuous +drain at the bar, stopped Waterloo; and the Cove cut out again, ran +across the road down Holland Street, and where not, and into a +beer-shop. How Waterloo breaking away from his detainer was close +upon the Cove's heels, attended by no end of people, who, seeing +him running with the blood streaming down his face, thought +something worse was 'up,' and roared Fire! and Murder! on the +hopeful chance of the matter in hand being one or both. How the +Cove was ignominiously taken, in a shed where he had run to hide, +and how at the Police Court they at first wanted to make a sessions +job of it; but eventually Waterloo was allowed to be 'spoke to,' +and the Cove made it square with Waterloo by paying his doctor's +bill (W. was laid up for a week) and giving him 'Three, ten.' +Likewise we learnt what we had faintly suspected before, that your +sporting amateur on the Derby day, albeit a captain, can be - 'if +he be,' as Captain Bobadil observes, 'so generously minded' - +anything but a man of honour and a gentleman; not sufficiently +gratifying his nice sense of humour by the witty scattering of +flour and rotten eggs on obtuse civilians, but requiring the +further excitement of 'bilking the toll,' and 'Pitching into' +Waterloo, and 'cutting him about the head with his whip;' finally +being, when called upon to answer for the assault, what Waterloo +described as 'Minus,' or, as I humbly conceived it, not to be +found. Likewise did Waterloo inform us, in reply to my inquiries, +admiringly and deferentially preferred through my friend Pea, that +the takings at the Bridge had more than doubled in amount, since +the reduction of the toll one half. And being asked if the +aforesaid takings included much bad money, Waterloo responded, with +a look far deeper than the deepest part of the river, HE should +think not! - and so retired into his shawl for the rest of the +night. + +Then did Pea and I once more embark in our four-oared galley, and +glide swiftly down the river with the tide. And while the shrewd +East rasped and notched us, as with jagged razors, did my friend +Pea impart to me confidences of interest relating to the Thames +Police; we, between whiles, finding 'duty boats' hanging in dark +corners under banks, like weeds - our own was a 'supervision boat' +- and they, as they reported 'all right!' flashing their hidden +light on us, and we flashing ours on them. These duty boats had +one sitter in each: an Inspector: and were rowed 'Ran-dan,' which - +for the information of those who never graduated, as I was once +proud to do, under a fireman-waterman and winner of Kean's Prize +Wherry: who, in the course of his tuition, took hundreds of gallons +of rum and egg (at my expense) at the various houses of note above +and below bridge; not by any means because he liked it, but to cure +a weakness in his liver, for which the faculty had particularly +recommended it - may be explained as rowed by three men, two +pulling an oar each, and one a pair of sculls. + +Thus, floating down our black highway, sullenly frowned upon by the +knitted brows of Blackfriars, Southwark, and London, each in his +lowering turn, I was shown by my friend Pea that there are, in the +Thames Police Force, whose district extends from Battersea to +Barking Creek, ninety-eight men, eight duty boats, and two +supervision boats; and that these go about so silently, and lie in +wait in such dark places, and so seem to be nowhere, and so may be +anywhere, that they have gradually become a police of prevention, +keeping the river almost clear of any great crimes, even while the +increased vigilance on shore has made it much harder than of yore +to live by 'thieving' in the streets. And as to the various kinds +of water-thieves, said my friend Pea, there were the Tier-rangers, +who silently dropped alongside the tiers of shipping in the Pool, +by night, and who, going to the companion-head, listened for two +snores - snore number one, the skipper's; snore number two, the +mate's - mates and skippers always snoring great guns, and being +dead sure to be hard at it if they had turned in and were asleep. +Hearing the double fire, down went the Rangers into the skippers' +cabins; groped for the skippers' inexpressibles, which it was the +custom of those gentlemen to shake off, watch, money, braces, +boots, and all together, on the floor; and therewith made off as +silently as might be. Then there were the Lumpers, or labourers +employed to unload vessels. They wore loose canvas jackets with a +broad hem in the bottom, turned inside, so as to form a large +circular pocket in which they could conceal, like clowns in +pantomimes, packages of surprising sizes. A great deal of property +was stolen in this manner (Pea confided to me) from steamers; +first, because steamers carry a larger number of small packages +than other ships; next, because of the extreme rapidity with which +they are obliged to be unladen for their return voyages. The +Lumpers dispose of their booty easily to marine store dealers, and +the only remedy to be suggested is that marine store shops should +be licensed, and thus brought under the eye of the police as +rigidly as public-houses. Lumpers also smuggle goods ashore for +the crews of vessels. The smuggling of tobacco is so considerable, +that it is well worth the while of the sellers of smuggled tobacco +to use hydraulic presses, to squeeze a single pound into a package +small enough to be contained in an ordinary pocket. Next, said my +friend Pea, there were the Truckers - less thieves than smugglers, +whose business it was to land more considerable parcels of goods +than the Lumpers could manage. They sometimes sold articles of +grocery and so forth, to the crews, in order to cloak their real +calling, and get aboard without suspicion. Many of them had boats +of their own, and made money. Besides these, there were the +Dredgermen, who, under pretence of dredging up coals and such like +from the bottom of the river, hung about barges and other undecked +craft, and when they saw an opportunity, threw any property they +could lay their hands on overboard: in order slyly to dredge it up +when the vessel was gone. Sometimes, they dexterously used their +dredges to whip away anything that might lie within reach. Some of +them were mighty neat at this, and the accomplishment was called +dry dredging. Then, there was a vast deal of property, such as +copper nails, sheathing, hardwood, &c., habitually brought away by +shipwrights and other workmen from their employers' yards, and +disposed of to marine store dealers, many of whom escaped detection +through hard swearing, and their extraordinary artful ways of +accounting for the possession of stolen property. Likewise, there +were special-pleading practitioners, for whom barges 'drifted away +of their own selves' - they having no hand in it, except first +cutting them loose, and afterwards plundering them - innocents, +meaning no harm, who had the misfortune to observe those foundlings +wandering about the Thames. + +We were now going in and out, with little noise and great nicety, +among the tiers of shipping, whose many hulls, lying close +together, rose out of the water like black streets. Here and +there, a Scotch, an Irish, or a foreign steamer, getting up her +steam as the tide made, looked, with her great chimney and high +sides, like a quiet factory among the common buildings. Now, the +streets opened into clearer spaces, now contracted into alleys; but +the tiers were so like houses, in the dark, that I could almost +have believed myself in the narrower bye-ways of Venice. +Everything was wonderfully still; for, it wanted full three hours +of flood, and nothing seemed awake but a dog here and there. + +So we took no Tier-rangers captive, nor any Lumpers, nor Truckers, +nor Dredgermen, nor other evil-disposed person or persons; but went +ashore at Wapping, where the old Thames Police office is now a +station-house, and where the old Court, with its cabin windows +looking on the river, is a quaint charge room: with nothing worse +in it usually than a stuffed cat in a glass case, and a portrait, +pleasant to behold, of a rare old Thames Police officer, Mr. +Superintendent Evans, now succeeded by his son. We looked over the +charge books, admirably kept, and found the prevention so good that +there were not five hundred entries (including drunken and +disorderly) in a whole year. Then, we looked into the store-room; +where there was an oakum smell, and a nautical seasoning of +dreadnought clothing, rope yarn, boat-hooks, sculls and oars, spare +stretchers, rudders, pistols, cutlasses, and the like. Then, into +the cell, aired high up in the wooden wall through an opening like +a kitchen plate-rack: wherein there was a drunken man, not at all +warm, and very wishful to know if it were morning yet. Then, into +a better sort of watch and ward room, where there was a squadron of +stone bottles drawn up, ready to be filled with hot water and +applied to any unfortunate creature who might be brought in +apparently drowned. Finally, we shook hands with our worthy friend +Pea, and ran all the way to Tower Hill, under strong Police +suspicion occasionally, before we got warm. + + + +A WALK IN A WORKHOUSE + + + +ON a certain Sunday, I formed one of the congregation assembled in +the chapel of a large metropolitan Workhouse. With the exception +of the clergyman and clerk, and a very few officials, there were +none but paupers present. The children sat in the galleries; the +women in the body of the chapel, and in one of the side aisles; the +men in the remaining aisle. The service was decorously performed, +though the sermon might have been much better adapted to the +comprehension and to the circumstances of the hearers. The usual +supplications were offered, with more than the usual significancy +in such a place, for the fatherless children and widows, for all +sick persons and young children, for all that were desolate and +oppressed, for the comforting and helping of the weak-hearted, for +the raising-up of them that had fallen; for all that were in +danger, necessity, and tribulation. The prayers of the +congregation were desired 'for several persons in the various wards +dangerously ill;' and others who were recovering returned their +thanks to Heaven. + +Among this congregation, were some evil-looking young women, and +beetle-browed young men; but not many - perhaps that kind of +characters kept away. Generally, the faces (those of the children +excepted) were depressed and subdued, and wanted colour. Aged +people were there, in every variety. Mumbling, blear-eyed, +spectacled, stupid, deaf, lame; vacantly winking in the gleams of +sun that now and then crept in through the open doors, from the +paved yard; shading their listening ears, or blinking eyes, with +their withered hands; poring over their books, leering at nothing, +going to sleep, crouching and drooping in corners. There were +weird old women, all skeleton within, all bonnet and cloak without, +continually wiping their eyes with dirty dusters of pocket- +handkerchiefs; and there were ugly old crones, both male and +female, with a ghastly kind of contentment upon them which was not +at all comforting to see. Upon the whole, it was the dragon, +Pauperism, in a very weak and impotent condition; toothless, +fangless, drawing his breath heavily enough, and hardly worth +chaining up. + +When the service was over, I walked with the humane and +conscientious gentleman whose duty it was to take that walk, that +Sunday morning, through the little world of poverty enclosed within +the workhouse walls. It was inhabited by a population of some +fifteen hundred or two thousand paupers, ranging from the infant +newly born or not yet come into the pauper world, to the old man +dying on his bed. + +In a room opening from a squalid yard, where a number of listless +women were lounging to and fro, trying to get warm in the +ineffectual sunshine of the tardy May morning - in the 'Itch Ward,' +not to compromise the truth - a woman such as HOGARTH has often +drawn, was hurriedly getting on her gown before a dusty fire. She +was the nurse, or wardswoman, of that insalubrious department - +herself a pauper - flabby, raw-boned, untidy - unpromising and +coarse of aspect as need be. But, on being spoken to about the +patients whom she had in charge, she turned round, with her shabby +gown half on, half off, and fell a crying with all her might. Not +for show, not querulously, not in any mawkish sentiment, but in the +deep grief and affliction of her heart; turning away her +dishevelled head: sobbing most bitterly, wringing her hands, and +letting fall abundance of great tears, that choked her utterance. +What was the matter with the nurse of the itch-ward? Oh, 'the +dropped child' was dead! Oh, the child that was found in the +street, and she had brought up ever since, had died an hour ago, +and see where the little creature lay, beneath this cloth! The +dear, the pretty dear! + +The dropped child seemed too small and poor a thing for Death to be +in earnest with, but Death had taken it; and already its diminutive +form was neatly washed, composed, and stretched as if in sleep upon +a box. I thought I heard a voice from Heaven saying, It shall be +well for thee, O nurse of the itch-ward, when some less gentle +pauper does those offices to thy cold form, that such as the +dropped child are the angels who behold my Father's face! + +In another room, were several ugly old women crouching, witch-like, +round a hearth, and chattering and nodding, after the manner of the +monkeys. 'All well here? And enough to eat?' A general +chattering and chuckling; at last an answer from a volunteer. 'Oh +yes, gentleman! Bless you, gentleman! Lord bless the Parish of +St. So-and-So! It feed the hungry, sir, and give drink to the +thusty, and it warm them which is cold, so it do, and good luck to +the parish of St. So-and-So, and thankee, gentleman!' Elsewhere, a +party of pauper nurses were at dinner. 'How do YOU get on?' 'Oh +pretty well, sir! We works hard, and we lives hard - like the +sodgers!' + +In another room, a kind of purgatory or place of transition, six or +eight noisy madwomen were gathered together, under the +superintendence of one sane attendant. Among them was a girl of +two or three and twenty, very prettily dressed, of most respectable +appearance and good manners, who had been brought in from the house +where she had lived as domestic servant (having, I suppose, no +friends), on account of being subject to epileptic fits, and +requiring to be removed under the influence of a very bad one. She +was by no means of the same stuff, or the same breeding, or the +same experience, or in the same state of mind, as those by whom she +was surrounded; and she pathetically complained that the daily +association and the nightly noise made her worse, and was driving +her mad - which was perfectly evident. The case was noted for +inquiry and redress, but she said she had already been there for +some weeks. + +If this girl had stolen her mistress's watch, I do not hesitate to +say she would have been infinitely better off. We have come to +this absurd, this dangerous, this monstrous pass, that the +dishonest felon is, in respect of cleanliness, order, diet, and +accommodation, better provided for, and taken care of, than the +honest pauper. + +And this conveys no special imputation on the workhouse of the +parish of St. So-and-So, where, on the contrary, I saw many things +to commend. It was very agreeable, recollecting that most infamous +and atrocious enormity committed at Tooting - an enormity which, a +hundred years hence, will still be vividly remembered in the bye- +ways of English life, and which has done more to engender a gloomy +discontent and suspicion among many thousands of the people than +all the Chartist leaders could have done in all their lives - to +find the pauper children in this workhouse looking robust and well, +and apparently the objects of very great care. In the Infant +School - a large, light, airy room at the top of the building - the +little creatures, being at dinner, and eating their potatoes +heartily, were not cowed by the presence of strange visitors, but +stretched out their small hands to be shaken, with a very pleasant +confidence. And it was comfortable to see two mangy pauper +rocking-horses rampant in a corner. In the girls' school, where +the dinner was also in progress, everything bore a cheerful and +healthy aspect. The meal was over, in the boys' school, by the +time of our arrival there, and the room was not yet quite +rearranged; but the boys were roaming unrestrained about a large +and airy yard, as any other schoolboys might have done. Some of +them had been drawing large ships upon the schoolroom wall; and if +they had a mast with shrouds and stays set up for practice (as they +have in the Middlesex House of Correction), it would be so much the +better. At present, if a boy should feel a strong impulse upon him +to learn the art of going aloft, he could only gratify it, I +presume, as the men and women paupers gratify their aspirations +after better board and lodging, by smashing as many workhouse +windows as possible, and being promoted to prison. + +In one place, the Newgate of the Workhouse, a company of boys and +youths were locked up in a yard alone; their day-room being a kind +of kennel where the casual poor used formerly to be littered down +at night. Divers of them had been there some long time. 'Are they +never going away?' was the natural inquiry. 'Most of them are +crippled, in some form or other,' said the Wardsman, 'and not fit +for anything.' They slunk about, like dispirited wolves or +hyaenas; and made a pounce at their food when it was served out, +much as those animals do. The big-headed idiot shuffling his feet +along the pavement, in the sunlight outside, was a more agreeable +object everyway. + +Groves of babies in arms; groves of mothers and other sick women in +bed; groves of lunatics; jungles of men in stone-paved down-stairs +day-rooms, waiting for their dinners; longer and longer groves of +old people, in up-stairs Infirmary wards, wearing out life, God +knows how - this was the scenery through which the walk lay, for +two hours. In some of these latter chambers, there were pictures +stuck against the wall, and a neat display of crockery and pewter +on a kind of sideboard; now and then it was a treat to see a plant +or two; in almost every ward there was a cat. + +In all of these Long Walks of aged and infirm, some old people were +bedridden, and had been for a long time; some were sitting on their +beds half-naked; some dying in their beds; some out of bed, and +sitting at a table near the fire. A sullen or lethargic +indifference to what was asked, a blunted sensibility to everything +but warmth and food, a moody absence of complaint as being of no +use, a dogged silence and resentful desire to be left alone again, +I thought were generally apparent. On our walking into the midst +of one of these dreary perspectives of old men, nearly the +following little dialogue took place, the nurse not being +immediately at hand: + +'All well here?' + +No answer. An old man in a Scotch cap sitting among others on a +form at the table, eating out of a tin porringer, pushes back his +cap a little to look at us, claps it down on his forehead again +with the palm of his hand, and goes on eating. + +'All well here?' (repeated). + +No answer. Another old man sitting on his bed, paralytically +peeling a boiled potato, lifts his head and stares. + +'Enough to eat?' + +No answer. Another old man, in bed, turns himself and coughs. + +'How are YOU to-day?' To the last old man. + +That old man says nothing; but another old man, a tall old man of +very good address, speaking with perfect correctness, comes forward +from somewhere, and volunteers an answer. The reply almost always +proceeds from a volunteer, and not from the person looked at or +spoken to. + +'We are very old, sir,' in a mild, distinct voice. 'We can't +expect to be well, most of us.' + +'Are you comfortable?' + +'I have no complaint to make, sir.' With a half shake of his head, +a half shrug of his shoulders, and a kind of apologetic smile. + +'Enough to eat?' + +'Why, sir, I have but a poor appetite,' with the same air as +before; 'and yet I get through my allowance very easily.' + +'But,' showing a porringer with a Sunday dinner in it; 'here is a +portion of mutton, and three potatoes. You can't starve on that?' + +'Oh dear no, sir,' with the same apologetic air. 'Not starve.' + +'What do you want?' + +'We have very little bread, sir. It's an exceedingly small +quantity of bread.' + +The nurse, who is now rubbing her hands at the questioner's elbow, +interferes with, 'It ain't much raly, sir. You see they've only +six ounces a day, and when they've took their breakfast, there CAN +only be a little left for night, sir.' + +Another old man, hitherto invisible, rises out of his bed-clothes, +as out of a grave, and looks on. + +'You have tea at night?' The questioner is still addressing the +well-spoken old man. + +'Yes, sir, we have tea at night.' + +'And you save what bread you can from the morning, to eat with it?' + +'Yes, sir - if we can save any.' + +'And you want more to eat with it?' + +'Yes, sir.' With a very anxious face. + +The questioner, in the kindness of his heart, appears a little +discomposed, and changes the subject. + +'What has become of the old man who used to lie in that bed in the +corner?' + +The nurse don't remember what old man is referred to. There has +been such a many old men. The well-spoken old man is doubtful. +The spectral old man who has come to life in bed, says, 'Billy +Stevens.' Another old man who has previously had his head in the +fireplace, pipes out, + +'Charley Walters.' + +Something like a feeble interest is awakened. I suppose Charley +Walters had conversation in him. + +'He's dead,' says the piping old man. + +Another old man, with one eye screwed up, hastily displaces the +piping old man, and says. + +'Yes! Charley Walters died in that bed, and - and - ' + +'Billy Stevens,' persists the spectral old man. + +'No, no! and Johnny Rogers died in that bed, and - and - they're +both on 'em dead - and Sam'l Bowyer;' this seems very extraordinary +to him; 'he went out!' + +With this he subsides, and all the old men (having had quite enough +of it) subside, and the spectral old man goes into his grave again, +and takes the shade of Billy Stevens with him. + +As we turn to go out at the door, another previously invisible old +man, a hoarse old man in a flannel gown, is standing there, as if +he had just come up through the floor. + +'I beg your pardon, sir, could I take the liberty of saying a +word?' + +'Yes; what is it?' + +'I am greatly better in my health, sir; but what I want, to get me +quite round,' with his hand on his throat, 'is a little fresh air, +sir. It has always done my complaint so much good, sir. The +regular leave for going out, comes round so seldom, that if the +gentlemen, next Friday, would give me leave to go out walking, now +and then - for only an hour or so, sir! - ' + +Who could wonder, looking through those weary vistas of bed and +infirmity, that it should do him good to meet with some other +scenes, and assure himself that there was something else on earth? +Who could help wondering why the old men lived on as they did; what +grasp they had on life; what crumbs of interest or occupation they +could pick up from its bare board; whether Charley Walters had ever +described to them the days when he kept company with some old +pauper woman in the bud, or Billy Stevens ever told them of the +time when he was a dweller in the far-off foreign land called Home! + +The morsel of burnt child, lying in another room, so patiently, in +bed, wrapped in lint, and looking steadfastly at us with his bright +quiet eyes when we spoke to him kindly, looked as if the knowledge +of these things, and of all the tender things there are to think +about, might have been in his mind - as if he thought, with us, +that there was a fellow-feeling in the pauper nurses which appeared +to make them more kind to their charges than the race of common +nurses in the hospitals - as if he mused upon the Future of some +older children lying around him in the same place, and thought it +best, perhaps, all things considered, that he should die - as if he +knew, without fear, of those many coffins, made and unmade, piled +up in the store below - and of his unknown friend, 'the dropped +child,' calm upon the box-lid covered with a cloth. But there was +something wistful and appealing, too, in his tiny face, as if, in +the midst of all the hard necessities and incongruities he pondered +on, he pleaded, in behalf of the helpless and the aged poor, for a +little more liberty - and a little more bread. + + + +PRINCE BULL. A FAIRY TALE + + + +ONCE upon a time, and of course it was in the Golden Age, and I +hope you may know when that was, for I am sure I don't, though I +have tried hard to find out, there lived in a rich and fertile +country, a powerful Prince whose name was BULL. He had gone +through a great deal of fighting, in his time, about all sorts of +things, including nothing; but, had gradually settled down to be a +steady, peaceable, good-natured, corpulent, rather sleepy Prince. + +This Puissant Prince was married to a lovely Princess whose name +was Fair Freedom. She had brought him a large fortune, and had +borne him an immense number of children, and had set them to +spinning, and farming, and engineering, and soldiering, and +sailoring, and doctoring, and lawyering, and preaching, and all +kinds of trades. The coffers of Prince Bull were full of treasure, +his cellars were crammed with delicious wines from all parts of the +world, the richest gold and silver plate that ever was seen adorned +his sideboards, his sons were strong, his daughters were handsome, +and in short you might have supposed that if there ever lived upon +earth a fortunate and happy Prince, the name of that Prince, take +him for all in all, was assuredly Prince Bull. + +But, appearances, as we all know, are not always to be trusted - +far from it; and if they had led you to this conclusion respecting +Prince Bull, they would have led you wrong as they often have led +me. + +For, this good Prince had two sharp thorns in his pillow, two hard +knobs in his crown, two heavy loads on his mind, two unbridled +nightmares in his sleep, two rocks ahead in his course. He could +not by any means get servants to suit him, and he had a tyrannical +old godmother, whose name was Tape. + +She was a Fairy, this Tape, and was a bright red all over. She was +disgustingly prim and formal, and could never bend herself a hair's +breadth this way or that way, out of her naturally crooked shape. +But, she was very potent in her wicked art. She could stop the +fastest thing in the world, change the strongest thing into the +weakest, and the most useful into the most useless. To do this she +had only to put her cold hand upon it, and repeat her own name, +Tape. Then it withered away. + +At the Court of Prince Bull - at least I don't mean literally at +his court, because he was a very genteel Prince, and readily +yielded to his godmother when she always reserved that for his +hereditary Lords and Ladies - in the dominions of Prince Bull, +among the great mass of the community who were called in the +language of that polite country the Mobs and the Snobs, were a +number of very ingenious men, who were always busy with some +invention or other, for promoting the prosperity of the Prince's +subjects, and augmenting the Prince's power. But, whenever they +submitted their models for the Prince's approval, his godmother +stepped forward, laid her hand upon them, and said 'Tape.' Hence +it came to pass, that when any particularly good discovery was +made, the discoverer usually carried it off to some other Prince, +in foreign parts, who had no old godmother who said Tape. This was +not on the whole an advantageous state of things for Prince Bull, +to the best of my understanding. + +The worst of it was, that Prince Bull had in course of years lapsed +into such a state of subjection to this unlucky godmother, that he +never made any serious effort to rid himself of her tyranny. I +have said this was the worst of it, but there I was wrong, because +there is a worse consequence still, behind. The Prince's numerous +family became so downright sick and tired of Tape, that when they +should have helped the Prince out of the difficulties into which +that evil creature led him, they fell into a dangerous habit of +moodily keeping away from him in an impassive and indifferent +manner, as though they had quite forgotten that no harm could +happen to the Prince their father, without its inevitably affecting +themselves. + +Such was the aspect of affairs at the court of Prince Bull, when +this great Prince found it necessary to go to war with Prince Bear. +He had been for some time very doubtful of his servants, who, +besides being indolent and addicted to enriching their families at +his expense, domineered over him dreadfully; threatening to +discharge themselves if they were found the least fault with, +pretending that they had done a wonderful amount of work when they +had done nothing, making the most unmeaning speeches that ever were +heard in the Prince's name, and uniformly showing themselves to be +very inefficient indeed. Though, that some of them had excellent +characters from previous situations is not to be denied. Well; +Prince Bull called his servants together, and said to them one and +all, 'Send out my army against Prince Bear. Clothe it, arm it, +feed it, provide it with all necessaries and contingencies, and I +will pay the piper! Do your duty by my brave troops,' said the +Prince, 'and do it well, and I will pour my treasure out like +water, to defray the cost. Who ever heard ME complain of money +well laid out!' Which indeed he had reason for saying, inasmuch as +he was well known to be a truly generous and munificent Prince. + +When the servants heard those words, they sent out the army against +Prince Bear, and they set the army tailors to work, and the army +provision merchants, and the makers of guns both great and small, +and the gunpowder makers, and the makers of ball, shell, and shot; +and they bought up all manner of stores and ships, without +troubling their heads about the price, and appeared to be so busy +that the good Prince rubbed his hands, and (using a favourite +expression of his), said, 'It's all right I' But, while they were +thus employed, the Prince's godmother, who was a great favourite +with those servants, looked in upon them continually all day long, +and whenever she popped in her head at the door said, How do you +do, my children? What are you doing here?' 'Official business, +godmother.' 'Oho!' says this wicked Fairy. '- Tape!' And then +the business all went wrong, whatever it was, and the servants' +heads became so addled and muddled that they thought they were +doing wonders. + +Now, this was very bad conduct on the part of the vicious old +nuisance, and she ought to have been strangled, even if she had +stopped here; but, she didn't stop here, as you shall learn. For, +a number of the Prince's subjects, being very fond of the Prince's +army who were the bravest of men, assembled together and provided +all manner of eatables and drinkables, and books to read, and +clothes to wear, and tobacco to smoke, and candies to burn, and +nailed them up in great packing-cases, and put them aboard a great +many ships, to be carried out to that brave army in the cold and +inclement country where they were fighting Prince Bear. Then, up +comes this wicked Fairy as the ships were weighing anchor, and +says, 'How do you do, my children? What are you doing here?' - 'We +are going with all these comforts to the army, godmother.' - 'Oho!' +says she. 'A pleasant voyage, my darlings. - Tape!' And from that +time forth, those enchanting ships went sailing, against wind and +tide and rhyme and reason, round and round the world, and whenever +they touched at any port were ordered off immediately, and could +never deliver their cargoes anywhere. + +This, again, was very bad conduct on the part of the vicious old +nuisance, and she ought to have been strangled for it if she had +done nothing worse; but, she did something worse still, as you +shall learn. For, she got astride of an official broomstick, and +muttered as a spell these two sentences, 'On Her Majesty's +service,' and 'I have the honour to be, sir, your most obedient +servant,' and presently alighted in the cold and inclement country +where the army of Prince Bull were encamped to fight the army of +Prince Bear. On the sea-shore of that country, she found piled +together, a number of houses for the army to live in, and a +quantity of provisions for the army to live upon, and a quantity of +clothes for the army to wear: while, sitting in the mud gazing at +them, were a group of officers as red to look at as the wicked old +woman herself. So, she said to one of them, 'Who are you, my +darling, and how do you do?' - 'I am the Quartermaster General's +Department, godmother, and I am pretty well.' Then she said to +another, 'Who are YOU, my darling, and how do YOU do?' - 'I am the +Commissariat Department, godmother, and I am pretty well! Then she +said to another, 'Who are YOU, my darling, and how do YOU do?' - 'I +am the Head of the Medical Department, godmother, and I am pretty +well.' Then, she said to some gentlemen scented with lavender, who +kept themselves at a great distance from the rest, 'And who are +YOU, my pretty pets, and how do YOU do?' And they answered, 'We- +aw-are-the-aw-Staff-aw-Department, godmother, and we are very well +indeed.' - 'I am delighted to see you all, my beauties,' says this +wicked old Fairy, ' - Tape!' Upon that, the houses, clothes, and +provisions, all mouldered away; and the soldiers who were sound, +fell sick; and the soldiers who were sick, died miserably: and the +noble army of Prince Bull perished. + +When the dismal news of his great loss was carried to the Prince, +he suspected his godmother very much indeed; but, he knew that his +servants must have kept company with the malicious beldame, and +must have given way to her, and therefore he resolved to turn those +servants out of their places. So, he called to him a Roebuck who +had the gift of speech, and he said, 'Good Roebuck, tell them they +must go.' So, the good Roebuck delivered his message, so like a +man that you might have supposed him to be nothing but a man, and +they were turned out - but, not without warning, for that they had +had a long time. + +And now comes the most extraordinary part of the history of this +Prince. When he had turned out those servants, of course he wanted +others. What was his astonishment to find that in all his +dominions, which contained no less than twenty-seven millions of +people, there were not above five-and-twenty servants altogether! +They were so lofty about it, too, that instead of discussing +whether they should hire themselves as servants to Prince Bull, +they turned things topsy-turvy, and considered whether as a favour +they should hire Prince Bull to be their master! While they were +arguing this point among themselves quite at their leisure, the +wicked old red Fairy was incessantly going up and down, knocking at +the doors of twelve of the oldest of the five-and-twenty, who were +the oldest inhabitants in all that country, and whose united ages +amounted to one thousand, saying, 'Will YOU hire Prince Bull for +your master? - Will YOU hire Prince Bull for your master?' To +which one answered, 'I will if next door will;' and another, 'I +won't if over the way does;' and another, 'I can't if he, she, or +they, might, could, would, or should.' And all this time Prince +Bull's affairs were going to rack and ruin. + +At last, Prince Bull in the height of his perplexity assumed a +thoughtful face, as if he were struck by an entirely new idea. The +wicked old Fairy, seeing this, was at his elbow directly, and said, +'How do you do, my Prince, and what are you thinking of?' - 'I am +thinking, godmother,' says he, 'that among all the seven-and-twenty +millions of my subjects who have never been in service, there are +men of intellect and business who have made me very famous both +among my friends and enemies.' - 'Aye, truly?' says the Fairy. - +'Aye, truly,' says the Prince. - 'And what then?' says the Fairy. - +'Why, then,' says he, 'since the regular old class of servants do +so ill, are so hard to get, and carry it with so high a hand, +perhaps I might try to make good servants of some of these.' The +words had no sooner passed his lips than she returned, chuckling, +'You think so, do you? Indeed, my Prince? - Tape!' Thereupon he +directly forgot what he was thinking of, and cried out lamentably +to the old servants, 'O, do come and hire your poor old master! +Pray do! On any terms!' + +And this, for the present, finishes the story of Prince Bull. I +wish I could wind it up by saying that he lived happy ever +afterwards, but I cannot in my conscience do so; for, with Tape at +his elbow, and his estranged children fatally repelled by her from +coming near him, I do not, to tell you the plain truth, believe in +the possibility of such an end to it. + + + +A PLATED ARTICLE + + + +PUTTING up for the night in one of the chiefest towns of +Staffordshire, I find it to be by no means a lively town. In fact, +it is as dull and dead a town as any one could desire not to see. +It seems as if its whole population might be imprisoned in its +Railway Station. The Refreshment Room at that Station is a vortex +of dissipation compared with the extinct town-inn, the Dodo, in the +dull High Street. + +Why High Street? Why not rather Low Street, Flat Street, Low- +Spirited Street, Used-up Street? Where are the people who belong +to the High Street? Can they all be dispersed over the face of the +country, seeking the unfortunate Strolling Manager who decamped +from the mouldy little Theatre last week, in the beginning of his +season (as his play-bills testify), repentantly resolved to bring +him back, and feed him, and be entertained? Or, can they all be +gathered to their fathers in the two old churchyards near to the +High Street - retirement into which churchyards appears to be a +mere ceremony, there is so very little life outside their confines, +and such small discernible difference between being buried alive in +the town, and buried dead in the town tombs? Over the way, +opposite to the staring blank bow windows of the Dodo, are a little +ironmonger's shop, a little tailor's shop (with a picture of the +Fashions in the small window and a bandy-legged baby on the +pavement staring at it) - a watchmakers shop, where all the clocks +and watches must be stopped, I am sure, for they could never have +the courage to go, with the town in general, and the Dodo in +particular, looking at them. Shade of Miss Linwood, erst of +Leicester Square, London, thou art welcome here, and thy retreat is +fitly chosen! I myself was one of the last visitors to that awful +storehouse of thy life's work, where an anchorite old man and woman +took my shilling with a solemn wonder, and conducting me to a +gloomy sepulchre of needlework dropping to pieces with dust and age +and shrouded in twilight at high noon, left me there, chilled, +frightened, and alone. And now, in ghostly letters on all the dead +walls of this dead town, I read thy honoured name, and find that +thy Last Supper, worked in Berlin Wool, invites inspection as a +powerful excitement! + +Where are the people who are bidden with so much cry to this feast +of little wool? Where are they? Who are they? They are not the +bandy-legged baby studying the fashions in the tailor's window. +They are not the two earthy ploughmen lounging outside the +saddler's shop, in the stiff square where the Town Hall stands, +like a brick and mortar private on parade. They are not the +landlady of the Dodo in the empty bar, whose eye had trouble in it +and no welcome, when I asked for dinner. They are not the turnkeys +of the Town Jail, looking out of the gateway in their uniforms, as +if they had locked up all the balance (as my American friends would +say) of the inhabitants, and could now rest a little. They are not +the two dusty millers in the white mill down by the river, where +the great water-wheel goes heavily round and round, like the +monotonous days and nights in this forgotten place. Then who are +they, for there is no one else? No; this deponent maketh oath and +saith that there is no one else, save and except the waiter at the +Dodo, now laying the cloth. I have paced the streets, and stared +at the houses, and am come back to the blank bow window of the +Dodo; and the town clocks strike seven, and the reluctant echoes +seem to cry, 'Don't wake us!' and the bandy-legged baby has gone +home to bed. + +If the Dodo were only a gregarious bird - if he had only some +confused idea of making a comfortable nest - I could hope to get +through the hours between this and bed-time, without being consumed +by devouring melancholy. But, the Dodo's habits are all wrong. It +provides me with a trackless desert of sitting-room, with a chair +for every day in the year, a table for every month, and a waste of +sideboard where a lonely China vase pines in a corner for its mate +long departed, and will never make a match with the candlestick in +the opposite corner if it live till Doomsday. The Dodo has nothing +in the larder. Even now, I behold the Boots returning with my sole +in a piece of paper; and with that portion of my dinner, the Boots, +perceiving me at the blank bow window, slaps his leg as he comes +across the road, pretending it is something else. The Dodo +excludes the outer air. When I mount up to my bedroom, a smell of +closeness and flue gets lazily up my nose like sleepy snuff. The +loose little bits of carpet writhe under my tread, and take wormy +shapes. I don't know the ridiculous man in the looking-glass, +beyond having met him once or twice in a dish-cover - and I can +never shave HIM to-morrow morning! The Dodo is narrow-minded as to +towels; expects me to wash on a freemason's apron without the +trimming: when I asked for soap, gives me a stony-hearted something +white, with no more lather in it than the Elgin marbles. The Dodo +has seen better days, and possesses interminable stables at the +back - silent, grass-grown, broken-windowed, horseless. + +This mournful bird can fry a sole, however, which is much. Can +cook a steak, too, which is more. I wonder where it gets its +Sherry? If I were to send my pint of wine to some famous chemist +to be analysed, what would it turn out to be made of? It tastes of +pepper, sugar, bitter-almonds, vinegar, warm knives, any flat +drinks, and a little brandy. Would it unman a Spanish exile by +reminding him of his native land at all? I think not. If there +really be any townspeople out of the churchyards, and if a caravan +of them ever do dine, with a bottle of wine per man, in this desert +of the Dodo, it must make good for the doctor next day! + +Where was the waiter born? How did he come here? Has he any hope +of getting away from here? Does he ever receive a letter, or take +a ride upon the railway, or see anything but the Dodo? Perhaps he +has seen the Berlin Wool. He appears to have a silent sorrow on +him, and it may be that. He clears the table; draws the dingy +curtains of the great bow window, which so unwillingly consent to +meet, that they must be pinned together; leaves me by the fire with +my pint decanter, and a little thin funnel-shaped wine-glass, and a +plate of pale biscuits - in themselves engendering desperation. + +No book, no newspaper! I left the Arabian Nights in the railway +carriage, and have nothing to read but Bradshaw, and 'that way +madness lies.' Remembering what prisoners and ship-wrecked +mariners have done to exercise their minds in solitude, I repeat +the multiplication table, the pence table, and the shilling table: +which are all the tables I happen to know. What if I write +something? The Dodo keeps no pens but steel pens; and those I +always stick through the paper, and can turn to no other account. + +What am I to do? Even if I could have the bandy-legged baby +knocked up and brought here, I could offer him nothing but sherry, +and that would be the death of him. He would never hold up his +head again if he touched it. I can't go to bed, because I have +conceived a mortal hatred for my bedroom; and I can't go away, +because there is no train for my place of destination until +morning. To burn the biscuits will be but a fleeting joy; still it +is a temporary relief, and here they go on the fire! Shall I break +the plate? First let me look at the back, and see who made it. +COPELAND. + +Copeland! Stop a moment. Was it yesterday I visited Copeland's +works, and saw them making plates? In the confusion of travelling +about, it might be yesterday or it might be yesterday month; but I +think it was yesterday. I appeal to the plate. The plate says, +decidedly, yesterday. I find the plate, as I look at it, growing +into a companion. + +Don't you remember (says the plate) how you steamed away, yesterday +morning, in the bright sun and the east wind, along the valley of +the sparkling Trent? Don't you recollect how many kilns you flew +past, looking like the bowls of gigantic tobacco-pipes, cut short +off from the stem and turned upside down? And the fires - and the +smoke - and the roads made with bits of crockery, as if all the +plates and dishes in the civilised world had been Macadamised, +expressly for the laming of all the horses? Of course I do! + +And don't you remember (says the plate) how you alighted at Stoke - +a picturesque heap of houses, kilns, smoke, wharfs, canals, and +river, lying (as was most appropriate) in a basin - and how, after +climbing up the sides of the basin to look at the prospect, you +trundled down again at a walking-match pace, and straight proceeded +to my father's, Copeland's, where the whole of my family, high and +low, rich and poor, are turned out upon the world from our nursery +and seminary, covering some fourteen acres of ground? And don't +you remember what we spring from:- heaps of lumps of clay, +partially prepared and cleaned in Devonshire and Dorsetshire, +whence said clay principally comes - and hills of flint, without +which we should want our ringing sound, and should never be +musical? And as to the flint, don't you recollect that it is first +burnt in kilns, and is then laid under the four iron feet of a +demon slave, subject to violent stamping fits, who, when they come +on, stamps away insanely with his four iron legs, and would crush +all the flint in the Isle of Thanet to powder, without leaving off? +And as to the clay, don't you recollect how it is put into mills or +teazers, and is sliced, and dug, and cut at, by endless knives, +clogged and sticky, but persistent - and is pressed out of that +machine through a square trough, whose form it takes - and is cut +off in square lumps and thrown into a vat, and there mixed with +water, and beaten to a pulp by paddle-wheels - and is then run into +a rough house, all rugged beams and ladders splashed with white, - +superintended by Grindoff the Miller in his working clothes, all +splashed with white, - where it passes through no end of machinery- +moved sieves all splashed with white, arranged in an ascending +scale of fineness (some so fine, that three hundred silk threads +cross each other in a single square inch of their surface), and all +in a violent state of ague with their teeth for ever chattering, +and their bodies for ever shivering! And as to the flint again, +isn't it mashed and mollified and troubled and soothed, exactly as +rags are in a paper-mill, until it is reduced to a pap so fine that +it contains no atom of 'grit' perceptible to the nicest taste? And +as to the flint and the clay together, are they not, after all +this, mixed in the proportion of five of clay to one of flint, and +isn't the compound - known as 'slip' - run into oblong troughs, +where its superfluous moisture may evaporate; and finally, isn't it +slapped and banged and beaten and patted and kneaded and wedged and +knocked about like butter, until it becomes a beautiful grey dough, +ready for the potter's use? + +In regard of the potter, popularly so called (says the plate), you +don't mean to say you have forgotten that a workman called a +Thrower is the man under whose hand this grey dough takes the +shapes of the simpler household vessels as quickly as the eye can +follow? You don't mean to say you cannot call him up before you, +sitting, with his attendant woman, at his potter's wheel - a disc +about the size of a dinner-plate, revolving on two drums slowly or +quickly as he wills - who made you a complete breakfast-set for a +bachelor, as a good-humoured little off-hand joke? You remember +how he took up as much dough as he wanted, and, throwing it on his +wheel, in a moment fashioned it into a teacup - caught up more clay +and made a saucer - a larger dab and whirled it into a teapot - +winked at a smaller dab and converted it into the lid of the +teapot, accurately fitting by the measurement of his eye alone - +coaxed a middle-sized dab for two seconds, broke it, turned it over +at the rim, and made a milkpot - laughed, and turned out a slop- +basin - coughed, and provided for the sugar? Neither, I think, are +you oblivious of the newer mode of making various articles, but +especially basins, according to which improvement a mould revolves +instead of a disc? For you MUST remember (says the plate) how you +saw the mould of a little basin spinning round and round, and how +the workmen smoothed and pressed a handful of dough upon it, and +how with an instrument called a profile (a piece of wood, +representing the profile of a basin's foot) he cleverly scraped and +carved the ring which makes the base of any such basin, and then +took the basin off the lathe like a doughy skull-cap to be dried, +and afterwards (in what is called a green state) to be put into a +second lathe, there to be finished and burnished with a steel +burnisher? And as to moulding in general (says the plate), it +can't be necessary for me to remind you that all ornamental +articles, and indeed all articles not quite circular, are made in +moulds. For you must remember how you saw the vegetable dishes, +for example, being made in moulds; and how the handles of teacups, +and the spouts of teapots, and the feet of tureens, and so forth, +are all made in little separate moulds, and are each stuck on to +the body corporate, of which it is destined to form a part, with a +stuff called 'slag,' as quickly as you can recollect it. Further, +you learnt - you know you did - in the same visit, how the +beautiful sculptures in the delicate new material called Parian, +are all constructed in moulds; how, into that material, animal +bones are ground up, because the phosphate of lime contained in +bones makes it translucent; how everything is moulded, before going +into the fire, one-fourth larger than it is intended to come out of +the fire, because it shrinks in that proportion in the intense +heat; how, when a figure shrinks unequally, it is spoiled - +emerging from the furnace a misshapen birth; a big head and a +little body, or a little head and a big body, or a Quasimodo with +long arms and short legs, or a Miss Biffin with neither legs nor +arms worth mentioning. + +And as to the Kilns, in which the firing takes place, and in which +some of the more precious articles are burnt repeatedly, in various +stages of their process towards completion, - as to the Kilns (says +the plate, warming with the recollection), if you don't remember +THEM with a horrible interest, what did you ever go to Copeland's +for? When you stood inside of one of those inverted bowls of a +Pre-Adamite tobacco-pipe, looking up at the blue sky through the +open top far off, as you might have looked up from a well, sunk +under the centre of the pavement of the Pantheon at Rome, had you +the least idea where you were? And when you found yourself +surrounded, in that dome-shaped cavern, by innumerable columns of +an unearthly order of architecture, supporting nothing, and +squeezed close together as if a Pre-Adamite Samson had taken a vast +Hall in his arms and crushed it into the smallest possible space, +had you the least idea what they were? No (says the plate), of +course not! And when you found that each of those pillars was a +pile of ingeniously made vessels of coarse clay - called Saggers - +looking, when separate, like raised-pies for the table of the +mighty Giant Blunderbore, and now all full of various articles of +pottery ranged in them in baking order, the bottom of each vessel +serving for the cover of the one below, and the whole Kiln rapidly +filling with these, tier upon tier, until the last workman should +have barely room to crawl out, before the closing of the jagged +aperture in the wall and the kindling of the gradual fire; did you +not stand amazed to think that all the year round these dread +chambers are heating, white hot - and cooling - and filling - and +emptying - and being bricked up - and broken open - humanly +speaking, for ever and ever? To be sure you did! And standing in +one of those Kilns nearly full, and seeing a free crow shoot across +the aperture a-top, and learning how the fire would wax hotter and +hotter by slow degrees, and would cool similarly through a space of +from forty to sixty hours, did no remembrance of the days when +human clay was burnt oppress you? Yes. I think so! I suspect +that some fancy of a fiery haze and a shortening breath, and a +growing heat, and a gasping prayer; and a figure in black +interposing between you and the sky (as figures in black are very +apt to do), and looking down, before it grew too hot to look and +live, upon the Heretic in his edifying agony - I say I suspect +(says the plate) that some such fancy was pretty strong upon you +when you went out into the air, and blessed God for the bright +spring day and the degenerate times! + +After that, I needn't remind you what a relief it was to see the +simplest process of ornamenting this 'biscuit' (as it is called +when baked) with brown circles and blue trees - converting it into +the common crockery-ware that is exported to Africa, and used in +cottages at home. For (says the plate) I am well persuaded that +you bear in mind how those particular jugs and mugs were once more +set upon a lathe and put in motion; and how a man blew the brown +colour (having a strong natural affinity with the material in that +condition) on them from a blowpipe as they twirled; and how his +daughter, with a common brush, dropped blotches of blue upon them +in the right places; and how, tilting the blotches upside down, she +made them run into rude images of trees, and there an end. + +And didn't you see (says the plate) planted upon my own brother +that astounding blue willow, with knobbed and gnarled trunk, and +foliage of blue ostrich feathers, which gives our family the title +of 'willow pattern'? And didn't you observe, transferred upon him +at the same time, that blue bridge which spans nothing, growing out +from the roots of the willow; and the three blue Chinese going over +it into a blue temple, which has a fine crop of blue bushes +sprouting out of the roof; and a blue boat sailing above them, the +mast of which is burglariously sticking itself into the foundations +of a blue villa, suspended sky-high, surmounted by a lump of blue +rock, sky-higher, and a couple of billing blue birds, sky-highest - +together with the rest of that amusing blue landscape, which has, +in deference to our revered ancestors of the Cerulean Empire, and +in defiance of every known law of perspective, adorned millions of +our family ever since the days of platters? Didn't you inspect the +copper-plate on which my pattern was deeply engraved? Didn't you +perceive an impression of it taken in cobalt colour at a +cylindrical press, upon a leaf of thin paper, streaming from a +plunge-bath of soap and water? Wasn't the paper impression +daintily spread, by a light-fingered damsel (you KNOW you admired +her!), over the surface of the plate, and the back of the paper +rubbed prodigiously hard - with a long tight roll of flannel, tied +up like a round of hung beef - without so much as ruffling the +paper, wet as it was? Then (says the plate), was not the paper +washed away with a sponge, and didn't there appear, set off upon +the plate, THIS identical piece of Pre-Raphaelite blue distemper +which you now behold? Not to be denied! I had seen all this - and +more. I had been shown, at Copeland's, patterns of beautiful +design, in faultless perspective, which are causing the ugly old +willow to wither out of public favour; and which, being quite as +cheap, insinuate good wholesome natural art into the humblest +households. When Mr. and Mrs. Sprat have satisfied their material +tastes by that equal division of fat and lean which has made their +MENAGE immortal; and have, after the elegant tradition, 'licked the +platter clean,' they can - thanks to modern artists in clay - feast +their intellectual tastes upon excellent delineations of natural +objects. + +This reflection prompts me to transfer my attention from the blue +plate to the forlorn but cheerfully painted vase on the sideboard. +And surely (says the plate) you have not forgotten how the outlines +of such groups of flowers as you see there, are printed, just as I +was printed, and are afterwards shaded and filled in with metallic +colours by women and girls? As to the aristocracy of our order, +made of the finer clay-porcelain peers and peeresses; - the slabs, +and panels, and table-tops, and tazze; the endless nobility and +gentry of dessert, breakfast, and tea services; the gemmed perfume +bottles, and scarlet and gold salvers; you saw that they were +painted by artists, with metallic colours laid on with camel-hair +pencils, and afterwards burnt in. + +And talking of burning in (says the plate), didn't you find that +every subject, from the willow pattern to the landscape after +Turner - having been framed upon clay or porcelain biscuit - has to +be glazed? Of course, you saw the glaze - composed of various +vitreous materials - laid over every article; and of course you +witnessed the close imprisonment of each piece in saggers upon the +separate system rigidly enforced by means of fine-pointed +earthenware stilts placed between the articles to prevent the +slightest communication or contact. We had in my time - and I +suppose it is the same now - fourteen hours' firing to fix the +glaze and to make it 'run' all over us equally, so as to put a good +shiny and unscratchable surface upon us. Doubtless, you observed +that one sort of glaze - called printing-body - is burnt into the +better sort of ware BEFORE it is printed. Upon this you saw some +of the finest steel engravings transferred, to be fixed by an after +glazing - didn't you? Why, of course you did! + +Of course I did. I had seen and enjoyed everything that the plate +recalled to me, and had beheld with admiration how the rotatory +motion which keeps this ball of ours in its place in the great +scheme, with all its busy mites upon it, was necessary throughout +the process, and could only be dispensed with in the fire. So, +listening to the plate's reminders, and musing upon them, I got +through the evening after all, and went to bed. I made but one +sleep of it - for which I have no doubt I am also indebted to the +plate - and left the lonely Dodo in the morning, quite at peace +with it, before the bandy-legged baby was up. + + + +OUR HONOURABLE FRIEND + + + +WE are delighted to find that he has got in! Our honourable friend +is triumphantly returned to serve in the next Parliament. He is +the honourable member for Verbosity - the best represented place in +England. + +Our honourable friend has issued an address of congratulation to +the Electors, which is worthy of that noble constituency, and is a +very pretty piece of composition. In electing him, he says, they +have covered themselves with glory, and England has been true to +herself. (In his preliminary address he had remarked, in a +poetical quotation of great rarity, that nought could make us rue, +if England to herself did prove but true.) + +Our honourable friend delivers a prediction, in the same document, +that the feeble minions of a faction will never hold up their heads +any more; and that the finger of scorn will point at them in their +dejected state, through countless ages of time. Further, that the +hireling tools that would destroy the sacred bulwarks of our +nationality are unworthy of the name of Englishman; and that so +long as the sea shall roll around our ocean-girded isle, so long +his motto shall be, No surrender. Certain dogged persons of low +principles and no intellect, have disputed whether anybody knows +who the minions are, or what the faction is, or which are the +hireling tools and which the sacred bulwarks, or what it is that is +never to be surrendered, and if not, why not? But, our honourable +friend the member for Verbosity knows all about it. + +Our honourable friend has sat in several parliaments, and given +bushels of votes. He is a man of that profundity in the matter of +vote-giving, that you never know what he means. When he seems to +be voting pure white, he may be in reality voting jet black. When +he says Yes, it is just as likely as not - or rather more so - that +he means No. This is the statesmanship of our honourable friend. +It is in this, that he differs from mere unparliamentary men. YOU +may not know what he meant then, or what he means now; but, our +honourable friend knows, and did from the first know, both what he +meant then, and what he means now; and when he said he didn't mean +it then, he did in fact say, that he means it now. And if you mean +to say that you did not then, and do not now, know what he did mean +then, or does mean now, our honourable friend will be glad to +receive an explicit declaration from you whether you are prepared +to destroy the sacred bulwarks of our nationality. + +Our honourable friend, the member for Verbosity, has this great +attribute, that he always means something, and always means the +same thing. When he came down to that House and mournfully boasted +in his place, as an individual member of the assembled Commons of +this great and happy country, that he could lay his hand upon his +heart, and solemnly declare that no consideration on earth should +induce him, at any time or under any circumstances, to go as far +north as Berwick-upon-Tweed; and when he nevertheless, next year, +did go to Berwick-upon-Tweed, and even beyond it, to Edinburgh; he +had one single meaning, one and indivisible. And God forbid (our +honourable friend says) that he should waste another argument upon +the man who professes that he cannot understand it! 'I do NOT, +gentlemen,' said our honourable friend, with indignant emphasis and +amid great cheering, on one such public occasion. 'I do NOT, +gentlemen, I am free to confess, envy the feelings of that man +whose mind is so constituted as that he can hold such language to +me, and yet lay his head upon his pillow, claiming to be a native +of that land, + + +Whose march is o'er the mountain-wave, +Whose home is on the deep! + + +(Vehement cheering, and man expelled.) + +When our honourable friend issued his preliminary address to the +constituent body of Verbosity on the occasion of one particular +glorious triumph, it was supposed by some of his enemies, that even +he would be placed in a situation of difficulty by the following +comparatively trifling conjunction of circumstances. The dozen +noblemen and gentlemen whom our honourable friend supported, had +'come in,' expressly to do a certain thing. Now, four of the dozen +said, at a certain place, that they didn't mean to do that thing, +and had never meant to do it; another four of the dozen said, at +another certain place, that they did mean to do that thing, and had +always meant to do it; two of the remaining four said, at two other +certain places, that they meant to do half of that thing (but +differed about which half), and to do a variety of nameless wonders +instead of the other half; and one of the remaining two declared +that the thing itself was dead and buried, while the other as +strenuously protested that it was alive and kicking. It was +admitted that the parliamentary genius of our honourable friend +would be quite able to reconcile such small discrepancies as these; +but, there remained the additional difficulty that each of the +twelve made entirely different statements at different places, and +that all the twelve called everything visible and invisible, sacred +and profane, to witness, that they were a perfectly impregnable +phalanx of unanimity. This, it was apprehended, would be a +stumbling-block to our honourable friend. + +The difficulty came before our honourable friend, in this way. He +went down to Verbosity to meet his free and independent +constituents, and to render an account (as he informed them in the +local papers) of the trust they had confided to his hands - that +trust which it was one of the proudest privileges of an Englishman +to possess - that trust which it was the proudest privilege of an +Englishman to hold. It may be mentioned as a proof of the great +general interest attaching to the contest, that a Lunatic whom +nobody employed or knew, went down to Verbosity with several +thousand pounds in gold, determined to give the whole away - which +he actually did; and that all the publicans opened their houses for +nothing. Likewise, several fighting men, and a patriotic group of +burglars sportively armed with life-preservers, proceeded (in +barouches and very drunk) to the scene of action at their own +expense; these children of nature having conceived a warm +attachment to our honourable friend, and intending, in their +artless manner, to testify it by knocking the voters in the +opposite interest on the head. + +Our honourable friend being come into the presence of his +constituents, and having professed with great suavity that he was +delighted to see his good friend Tipkisson there, in his working- +dress - his good friend Tipkisson being an inveterate saddler, who +always opposes him, and for whom he has a mortal hatred - made them +a brisk, ginger-beery sort of speech, in which he showed them how +the dozen noblemen and gentlemen had (in exactly ten days from +their coming in) exercised a surprisingly beneficial effect on the +whole financial condition of Europe, had altered the state of the +exports and imports for the current half-year, had prevented the +drain of gold, had made all that matter right about the glut of the +raw material, and had restored all sorts of balances with which the +superseded noblemen and gentlemen had played the deuce - and all +this, with wheat at so much a quarter, gold at so much an ounce, +and the Bank of England discounting good bills at so much per +cent.! He might be asked, he observed in a peroration of great +power, what were his principles? His principles were what they +always had been. His principles were written in the countenances +of the lion and unicorn; were stamped indelibly upon the royal +shield which those grand animals supported, and upon the free words +of fire which that shield bore. His principles were, Britannia and +her sea-king trident! His principles were, commercial prosperity +co-existently with perfect and profound agricultural contentment; +but short of this he would never stop. His principles were, these, +- with the addition of his colours nailed to the mast, every man's +heart in the right place, every man's eye open, every man's hand +ready, every man's mind on the alert. His principles were these, +concurrently with a general revision of something - speaking +generally - and a possible readjustment of something else, not to +be mentioned more particularly. His principles, to sum up all in a +word, were, Hearths and Altars, Labour and Capital, Crown and +Sceptre, Elephant and Castle. And now, if his good friend +Tipkisson required any further explanation from him, he (our +honourable friend) was there, willing and ready to give it. + +Tipkisson, who all this time had stood conspicuous in the crowd, +with his arms folded and his eyes intently fastened on our +honourable friend: Tipkisson, who throughout our honourable +friend's address had not relaxed a muscle of his visage, but had +stood there, wholly unaffected by the torrent of eloquence: an +object of contempt and scorn to mankind (by which we mean, of +course, to the supporters of our honourable friend); Tipkisson now +said that he was a plain man (Cries of 'You are indeed!'), and that +what he wanted to know was, what our honourable friend and the +dozen noblemen and gentlemen were driving at? + +Our honourable friend immediately replied, 'At the illimitable +perspective.' + +It was considered by the whole assembly that this happy statement +of our honourable friend's political views ought, immediately, to +have settled Tipkisson's business and covered him with confusion; +but, that implacable person, regardless of the execrations that +were heaped upon him from all sides (by which we mean, of course, +from our honourable friend's side), persisted in retaining an +unmoved countenance, and obstinately retorted that if our +honourable friend meant that, he wished to know what THAT meant? + +It was in repelling this most objectionable and indecent +opposition, that our honourable friend displayed his highest +qualifications for the representation of Verbosity. His warmest +supporters present, and those who were best acquainted with his +generalship, supposed that the moment was come when he would fall +back upon the sacred bulwarks of our nationality. No such thing. +He replied thus: 'My good friend Tipkisson, gentlemen, wishes to +know what I mean when he asks me what we are driving at, and when I +candidly tell him, at the illimitable perspective, he wishes (if I +understand him) to know what I mean?' - 'I do!' says Tipkisson, +amid cries of 'Shame' and 'Down with him.' 'Gentlemen,' says our +honourable friend, 'I will indulge my good friend Tipkisson, by +telling him, both what I mean and what I don't mean. (Cheers and +cries of 'Give it him!') Be it known to him then, and to all whom +it may concern, that I do mean altars, hearths, and homes, and that +I don't mean mosques and Mohammedanism!' The effect of this home- +thrust was terrific. Tipkisson (who is a Baptist) was hooted down +and hustled out, and has ever since been regarded as a Turkish +Renegade who contemplates an early pilgrimage to Mecca. Nor was he +the only discomfited man. The charge, while it stuck to him, was +magically transferred to our honourable friend's opponent, who was +represented in an immense variety of placards as a firm believer in +Mahomet; and the men of Verbosity were asked to choose between our +honourable friend and the Bible, and our honourable friend's +opponent and the Koran. They decided for our honourable friend, +and rallied round the illimitable perspective. + +It has been claimed for our honourable friend, with much appearance +of reason, that he was the first to bend sacred matters to +electioneering tactics. However this may be, the fine precedent +was undoubtedly set in a Verbosity election: and it is certain that +our honourable friend (who was a disciple of Brahma in his youth, +and was a Buddhist when we had the honour of travelling with him a +few years ago) always professes in public more anxiety than the +whole Bench of Bishops, regarding the theological and doxological +opinions of every man, woman, and child, in the United Kingdom. + +As we began by saying that our honourable friend has got in again +at this last election, and that we are delighted to find that he +has got in, so we will conclude. Our honourable friend cannot come +in for Verbosity too often. It is a good sign; it is a great +example. It is to men like our honourable friend, and to contests +like those from which he comes triumphant, that we are mainly +indebted for that ready interest in politics, that fresh enthusiasm +in the discharge of the duties of citizenship, that ardent desire +to rush to the poll, at present so manifest throughout England. +When the contest lies (as it sometimes does) between two such men +as our honourable friend, it stimulates the finest emotions of our +nature, and awakens the highest admiration of which our heads and +hearts are capable. + +It is not too much to predict that our honourable friend will be +always at his post in the ensuing session. Whatever the question +be, or whatever the form of its discussion; address to the crown, +election petition, expenditure of the public money, extension of +the public suffrage, education, crime; in the whole house, in +committee of the whole house, in select committee; in every +parliamentary discussion of every subject, everywhere: the +Honourable Member for Verbosity will most certainly be found. + + + +OUR SCHOOL + + + +WE went to look at it, only this last Midsummer, and found that the +Railway had cut it up root and branch. A great trunk-line had +swallowed the playground, sliced away the schoolroom, and pared off +the corner of the house: which, thus curtailed of its proportions, +presented itself, in a green stage of stucco, profilewise towards +the road, like a forlorn flat-iron without a handle, standing on +end. + +It seems as if our schools were doomed to be the sport of change. +We have faint recollections of a Preparatory Day-School, which we +have sought in vain, and which must have been pulled down to make a +new street, ages ago. We have dim impressions, scarcely amounting +to a belief, that it was over a dyer's shop. We know that you went +up steps to it; that you frequently grazed your knees in doing so; +that you generally got your leg over the scraper, in trying to +scrape the mud off a very unsteady little shoe. The mistress of +the Establishment holds no place in our memory; but, rampant on one +eternal door-mat, in an eternal entry long and narrow, is a puffy +pug-dog, with a personal animosity towards us, who triumphs over +Time. The bark of that baleful Pug, a certain radiating way he had +of snapping at our undefended legs, the ghastly grinning of his +moist black muzzle and white teeth, and the insolence of his crisp +tail curled like a pastoral crook, all live and flourish. From an +otherwise unaccountable association of him with a fiddle, we +conclude that he was of French extraction, and his name FIDELE. He +belonged to some female, chiefly inhabiting a back-parlour, whose +life appears to us to have been consumed in sniffing, and in +wearing a brown beaver bonnet. For her, he would sit up and +balance cake upon his nose, and not eat it until twenty had been +counted. To the best of our belief we were once called in to +witness this performance; when, unable, even in his milder moments, +to endure our presence, he instantly made at us, cake and all. + +Why a something in mourning, called 'Miss Frost,' should still +connect itself with our preparatory school, we are unable to say. +We retain no impression of the beauty of Miss Frost - if she were +beautiful; or of the mental fascinations of Miss Frost - if she +were accomplished; yet her name and her black dress hold an +enduring place in our remembrance. An equally impersonal boy, +whose name has long since shaped itself unalterably into 'Master +Mawls,' is not to be dislodged from our brain. Retaining no +vindictive feeling towards Mawls - no feeling whatever, indeed - we +infer that neither he nor we can have loved Miss Frost. Our first +impression of Death and Burial is associated with this formless +pair. We all three nestled awfully in a corner one wintry day, +when the wind was blowing shrill, with Miss Frost's pinafore over +our heads; and Miss Frost told us in a whisper about somebody being +'screwed down.' It is the only distinct recollection we preserve +of these impalpable creatures, except a suspicion that the manners +of Master Mawls were susceptible of much improvement. Generally +speaking, we may observe that whenever we see a child intently +occupied with its nose, to the exclusion of all other subjects of +interest, our mind reverts, in a flash, to Master Mawls. + +But, the School that was Our School before the Railroad came and +overthrew it, was quite another sort of place. We were old enough +to be put into Virgil when we went there, and to get Prizes for a +variety of polishing on which the rust has long accumulated. It +was a School of some celebrity in its neighbourhood - nobody could +have said why - and we had the honour to attain and hold the +eminent position of first boy. The master was supposed among us to +know nothing, and one of the ushers was supposed to know +everything. We are still inclined to think the first-named +supposition perfectly correct. + +We have a general idea that its subject had been in the leather +trade, and had bought us - meaning Our School - of another +proprietor who was immensely learned. Whether this belief had any +real foundation, we are not likely ever to know now. The only +branches of education with which he showed the least acquaintance, +were, ruling and corporally punishing. He was always ruling +ciphering-books with a bloated mahogany ruler, or smiting the palms +of offenders with the same diabolical instrument, or viciously +drawing a pair of pantaloons tight with one of his large hands, and +caning the wearer with the other. We have no doubt whatever that +this occupation was the principal solace of his existence. + +A profound respect for money pervaded Our School, which was, of +course, derived from its Chief. We remember an idiotic goggle-eyed +boy, with a big head and half-crowns without end, who suddenly +appeared as a parlour-boarder, and was rumoured to have come by sea +from some mysterious part of the earth where his parents rolled in +gold. He was usually called 'Mr.' by the Chief, and was said to +feed in the parlour on steaks and gravy; likewise to drink currant +wine. And he openly stated that if rolls and coffee were ever +denied him at breakfast, he would write home to that unknown part +of the globe from which he had come, and cause himself to be +recalled to the regions of gold. He was put into no form or class, +but learnt alone, as little as he liked - and he liked very little +- and there was a belief among us that this was because he was too +wealthy to be 'taken down.' His special treatment, and our vague +association of him with the sea, and with storms, and sharks, and +Coral Reefs occasioned the wildest legends to be circulated as his +history. A tragedy in blank verse was written on the subject - if +our memory does not deceive us, by the hand that now chronicles +these recollections - in which his father figured as a Pirate, and +was shot for a voluminous catalogue of atrocities: first imparting +to his wife the secret of the cave in which his wealth was stored, +and from which his only son's half-crowns now issued. Dumbledon +(the boy's name) was represented as 'yet unborn' when his brave +father met his fate; and the despair and grief of Mrs. Dumbledon at +that calamity was movingly shadowed forth as having weakened the +parlour-boarder's mind. This production was received with great +favour, and was twice performed with closed doors in the dining- +room. But, it got wind, and was seized as libellous, and brought +the unlucky poet into severe affliction. Some two years +afterwards, all of a sudden one day, Dumbledon vanished. It was +whispered that the Chief himself had taken him down to the Docks, +and re-shipped him for the Spanish Main; but nothing certain was +ever known about his disappearance. At this hour, we cannot +thoroughly disconnect him from California. + +Our School was rather famous for mysterious pupils. There was +another - a heavy young man, with a large double-cased silver +watch, and a fat knife the handle of which was a perfect tool-box - +who unaccountably appeared one day at a special desk of his own, +erected close to that of the Chief, with whom he held familiar +converse. He lived in the parlour, and went out for his walks, and +never took the least notice of us - even of us, the first boy - +unless to give us a deprecatory kick, or grimly to take our hat off +and throw it away, when he encountered us out of doors, which +unpleasant ceremony he always performed as he passed - not even +condescending to stop for the purpose. Some of us believed that +the classical attainments of this phenomenon were terrific, but +that his penmanship and arithmetic were defective, and he had come +there to mend them; others, that he was going to set up a school, +and had paid the Chief 'twenty-five pound down,' for leave to see +Our School at work. The gloomier spirits even said that he was +going to buy us; against which contingency, conspiracies were set +on foot for a general defection and running away. However, he +never did that. After staying for a quarter, during which period, +though closely observed, he was never seen to do anything but make +pens out of quills, write small hand in a secret portfolio, and +punch the point of the sharpest blade in his knife into his desk +all over it, he too disappeared, and his place knew him no more. + +There was another boy, a fair, meek boy, with a delicate complexion +and rich curling hair, who, we found out, or thought we found out +(we have no idea now, and probably had none then, on what grounds, +but it was confidentially revealed from mouth to mouth), was the +son of a Viscount who had deserted his lovely mother. It was +understood that if he had his rights, he would be worth twenty +thousand a year. And that if his mother ever met his father, she +would shoot him with a silver pistol, which she carried, always +loaded to the muzzle, for that purpose. He was a very suggestive +topic. So was a young Mulatto, who was always believed (though +very amiable) to have a dagger about him somewhere. But, we think +they were both outshone, upon the whole, by another boy who claimed +to have been born on the twenty-ninth of February, and to have only +one birthday in five years. We suspect this to have been a fiction +- but he lived upon it all the time he was at Our School. + +The principal currency of Our School was slate pencil. It had some +inexplicable value, that was never ascertained, never reduced to a +standard. To have a great hoard of it was somehow to be rich. We +used to bestow it in charity, and confer it as a precious boon upon +our chosen friends. When the holidays were coming, contributions +were solicited for certain boys whose relatives were in India, and +who were appealed for under the generic name of 'Holiday-stoppers,' +- appropriate marks of remembrance that should enliven and cheer +them in their homeless state. Personally, we always contributed +these tokens of sympathy in the form of slate pencil, and always +felt that it would be a comfort and a treasure to them. + +Our School was remarkable for white mice. Red-polls, linnets, and +even canaries, were kept in desks, drawers, hat-boxes, and other +strange refuges for birds; but white mice were the favourite stock. +The boys trained the mice, much better than the masters trained the +boys. We recall one white mouse, who lived in the cover of a Latin +dictionary, who ran up ladders, drew Roman chariots, shouldered +muskets, turned wheels, and even made a very creditable appearance +on the stage as the Dog of Montargis. He might have achieved +greater things, but for having the misfortune to mistake his way in +a triumphal procession to the Capitol, when he fell into a deep +inkstand, and was dyed black and drowned. The mice were the +occasion of some most ingenious engineering, in the construction of +their houses and instruments of performance. The famous one +belonged to a company of proprietors, some of whom have since made +Railroads, Engines, and Telegraphs; the chairman has erected mills +and bridges in New Zealand. + +The usher at Our School, who was considered to know everything as +opposed to the Chief, who was considered to know nothing, was a +bony, gentle-faced, clerical-looking young man in rusty black. It +was whispered that he was sweet upon one of Maxby's sisters (Maxby +lived close by, and was a day pupil), and further that he 'favoured +Maxby.' As we remember, he taught Italian to Maxby's sisters on +half-holidays. He once went to the play with them, and wore a +white waistcoat and a rose: which was considered among us +equivalent to a declaration. We were of opinion on that occasion, +that to the last moment he expected Maxby's father to ask him to +dinner at five o'clock, and therefore neglected his own dinner at +half-past one, and finally got none. We exaggerated in our +imaginations the extent to which he punished Maxby's father's cold +meat at supper; and we agreed to believe that he was elevated with +wine and water when he came home. But, we all liked him; for he +had a good knowledge of boys, and would have made it a much better +school if he had had more power. He was writing master, +mathematical master, English master, made out the bills, mended the +pens, and did all sorts of things. He divided the little boys with +the Latin master (they were smuggled through their rudimentary +books, at odd times when there was nothing else to do), and he +always called at parents' houses to inquire after sick boys, +because he had gentlemanly manners. He was rather musical, and on +some remote quarter-day had bought an old trombone; but a bit of it +was lost, and it made the most extraordinary sounds when he +sometimes tried to play it of an evening. His holidays never began +(on account of the bills) until long after ours; but, in the summer +vacations he used to take pedestrian excursions with a knapsack; +and at Christmas time, he went to see his father at Chipping +Norton, who we all said (on no authority) was a dairy-fed pork- +butcher. Poor fellow! He was very low all day on Maxby's sister's +wedding-day, and afterwards was thought to favour Maxby more than +ever, though he had been expected to spite him. He has been dead +these twenty years. Poor fellow! + +Our remembrance of Our School, presents the Latin master as a +colourless doubled-up near-sighted man with a crutch, who was +always cold, and always putting onions into his ears for deafness, +and always disclosing ends of flannel under all his garments, and +almost always applying a ball of pocket-handkerchief to some part +of his face with a screwing action round and round. He was a very +good scholar, and took great pains where he saw intelligence and a +desire to learn: otherwise, perhaps not. Our memory presents him +(unless teased into a passion) with as little energy as colour - as +having been worried and tormented into monotonous feebleness - as +having had the best part of his life ground out of him in a Mill of +boys. We remember with terror how he fell asleep one sultry +afternoon with the little smuggled class before him, and awoke not +when the footstep of the Chief fell heavy on the floor; how the +Chief aroused him, in the midst of a dread silence, and said, 'Mr. +Blinkins, are you ill, sir?' how he blushingly replied, 'Sir, +rather so;' how the Chief retorted with severity, 'Mr. Blinkins, +this is no place to be ill in' (which was very, very true), and +walked back solemn as the ghost in Hamlet, until, catching a +wandering eye, he called that boy for inattention, and happily +expressed his feelings towards the Latin master through the medium +of a substitute. + +There was a fat little dancing-master who used to come in a gig, +and taught the more advanced among us hornpipes (as an +accomplishment in great social demand in after life); and there was +a brisk little French master who used to come in the sunniest +weather, with a handleless umbrella, and to whom the Chief was +always polite, because (as we believed), if the Chief offended him, +he would instantly address the Chief in French, and for ever +confound him before the boys with his inability to understand or +reply. + +There was besides, a serving man, whose name was Phil. Our +retrospective glance presents Phil as a shipwrecked carpenter, cast +away upon the desert island of a school, and carrying into practice +an ingenious inkling of many trades. He mended whatever was +broken, and made whatever was wanted. He was general glazier, +among other things, and mended all the broken windows - at the +prime cost (as was darkly rumoured among us) of ninepence, for +every square charged three-and-six to parents. We had a high +opinion of his mechanical genius, and generally held that the Chief +'knew something bad of him,' and on pain of divulgence enforced +Phil to be his bondsman. We particularly remember that Phil had a +sovereign contempt for learning: which engenders in us a respect +for his sagacity, as it implies his accurate observation of the +relative positions of the Chief and the ushers. He was an +impenetrable man, who waited at table between whiles, and +throughout 'the half' kept the boxes in severe custody. He was +morose, even to the Chief, and never smiled, except at breaking-up, +when, in acknowledgment of the toast, 'Success to Phil! Hooray!' +he would slowly carve a grin out of his wooden face, where it would +remain until we were all gone. Nevertheless, one time when we had +the scarlet fever in the school, Phil nursed all the sick boys of +his own accord, and was like a mother to them. + +There was another school not far off, and of course Our School +could have nothing to say to that school. It is mostly the way +with schools, whether of boys or men. Well! the railway has +swallowed up ours, and the locomotives now run smoothly over its +ashes. + + +So fades and languishes, grows dim and dies, +All that this world is proud of, + + +- and is not proud of, too. It had little reason to be proud of +Our School, and has done much better since in that way, and will do +far better yet. + + + +OUR VESTRY + + + +WE have the glorious privilege of being always in hot water if we +like. We are a shareholder in a Great Parochial British Joint +Stock Bank of Balderdash. We have a Vestry in our borough, and can +vote for a vestryman - might even BE a vestryman, mayhap, if we +were inspired by a lofty and noble ambition. Which we are not. + +Our Vestry is a deliberative assembly of the utmost dignity and +importance. Like the Senate of ancient Rome, its awful gravity +overpowers (or ought to overpower) barbarian visitors. It sits in +the Capitol (we mean in the capital building erected for it), +chiefly on Saturdays, and shakes the earth to its centre with the +echoes of its thundering eloquence, in a Sunday paper. + +To get into this Vestry in the eminent capacity of Vestryman, +gigantic efforts are made, and Herculean exertions used. It is +made manifest to the dullest capacity at every election, that if we +reject Snozzle we are done for, and that if we fail to bring in +Blunderbooze at the top of the poll, we are unworthy of the dearest +rights of Britons. Flaming placards are rife on all the dead walls +in the borough, public-houses hang out banners, hackney-cabs burst +into full-grown flowers of type, and everybody is, or should be, in +a paroxysm of anxiety. + +At these momentous crises of the national fate, we are much +assisted in our deliberations by two eminent volunteers; one of +whom subscribes himself A Fellow Parishioner, the other, A Rate- +Payer. Who they are, or what they are, or where they are, nobody +knows; but, whatever one asserts, the other contradicts. They are +both voluminous writers, indicting more epistles than Lord +Chesterfield in a single week; and the greater part of their +feelings are too big for utterance in anything less than capital +letters. They require the additional aid of whole rows of notes of +admiration, like balloons, to point their generous indignation; and +they sometimes communicate a crushing severity to stars. As thus: + + +MEN OF MOONEYMOUNT. + + +Is it, or is it not, a * * * to saddle the parish with a debt of +2,745 pounds 6S. 9D., yet claim to be a RIGID ECONOMIST? + +Is it, or is it not, a * * * to state as a fact what is proved to +be BOTH A MORAL AND A PHYSICAL IMPOSSIBILITY? + +Is it, or is it not, a * * * to call 2,745 pounds 6S. 9D. nothing; +and nothing, something? + +Do you, or do you NOT want a * * * TO REPRESENT YOU IN THE VESTRY? + +Your consideration of these questions is recommended to you by + +A FELLOW PARISHIONER. + + +It was to this important public document that one of our first +orators, MR. MAGG (of Little Winkling Street), adverted, when he +opened the great debate of the fourteenth of November by saying, +'Sir, I hold in my hand an anonymous slander' - and when the +interruption, with which he was at that point assailed by the +opposite faction, gave rise to that memorable discussion on a point +of order which will ever be remembered with interest by +constitutional assemblies. In the animated debate to which we +refer, no fewer than thirty-seven gentlemen, many of them of great +eminence, including MR. WIGSBY (of Chumbledon Square), were seen +upon their legs at one time; and it was on the same great occasion +that DOGGINSON - regarded in our Vestry as 'a regular John Bull:' +we believe, in consequence of his having always made up his mind on +every subject without knowing anything about it - informed another +gentleman of similar principles on the opposite side, that if he +'cheek'd him,' he would resort to the extreme measure of knocking +his blessed head off. + +This was a great occasion. But, our Vestry shines habitually. In +asserting its own pre-eminence, for instance, it is very strong. +On the least provocation, or on none, it will be clamorous to know +whether it is to be 'dictated to,' or 'trampled on,' or 'ridden +over rough-shod.' Its great watchword is Self-government. That is +to say, supposing our Vestry to favour any little harmless disorder +like Typhus Fever, and supposing the Government of the country to +be, by any accident, in such ridiculous hands, as that any of its +authorities should consider it a duty to object to Typhus Fever - +obviously an unconstitutional objection - then, our Vestry cuts in +with a terrible manifesto about Self-government, and claims its +independent right to have as much Typhus Fever as pleases itself. +Some absurd and dangerous persons have represented, on the other +hand, that though our Vestry may be able to 'beat the bounds' of +its own parish, it may not be able to beat the bounds of its own +diseases; which (say they) spread over the whole land, in an ever +expanding circle of waste, and misery, and death, and widowhood, +and orphanage, and desolation. But, our Vestry makes short work of +any such fellows as these. + +It was our Vestry - pink of Vestries as it is - that in support of +its favourite principle took the celebrated ground of denying the +existence of the last pestilence that raged in England, when the +pestilence was raging at the Vestry doors. Dogginson said it was +plums; Mr. Wigsby (of Chumbledon Square) said it was oysters; Mr. +Magg (of Little Winkling Street) said, amid great cheering, it was +the newspapers. The noble indignation of our Vestry with that +un-English institution the Board of Health, under those circumstances, +yields one of the finest passages in its history. It wouldn't hear +of rescue. Like Mr. Joseph Miller's Frenchman, it would be drowned +and nobody should save it. Transported beyond grammar by its +kindled ire, it spoke in unknown tongues, and vented unintelligible +bellowings, more like an ancient oracle than the modern oracle it +is admitted on all hands to be. Rare exigencies produce rare +things; and even our Vestry, new hatched to the woful time, came +forth a greater goose than ever. + +But this, again, was a special occasion. Our Vestry, at more +ordinary periods, demands its meed of praise. + +Our Vestry is eminently parliamentary. Playing at Parliament is +its favourite game. It is even regarded by some of its members as +a chapel of ease to the House of Commons: a Little Go to be passed +first. It has its strangers' gallery, and its reported debates +(see the Sunday paper before mentioned), and our Vestrymen are in +and out of order, and on and off their legs, and above all are +transcendently quarrelsome, after the pattern of the real original. + +Our Vestry being assembled, Mr. Magg never begs to trouble Mr. +Wigsby with a simple inquiry. He knows better than that. Seeing +the honourable gentleman, associated in their minds with Chumbledon +Square, in his place, he wishes to ask that honourable gentleman +what the intentions of himself, and those with whom he acts, may +be, on the subject of the paving of the district known as Piggleum +Buildings? Mr. Wigsby replies (with his eye on next Sunday's +paper) that in reference to the question which has been put to him +by the honourable gentleman opposite, he must take leave to say, +that if that honourable gentleman had had the courtesy to give him +notice of that question, he (Mr. Wigsby) would have consulted with +his colleagues in reference to the advisability, in the present +state of the discussions on the new paving-rate, of answering that +question. But, as the honourable gentleman has NOT had the +courtesy to give him notice of that question (great cheering from +the Wigsby interest), he must decline to give the honourable +gentleman the satisfaction he requires. Mr. Magg, instantly rising +to retort, is received with loud cries of 'Spoke!' from the Wigsby +interest, and with cheers from the Magg side of the house. +Moreover, five gentlemen rise to order, and one of them, in revenge +for being taken no notice of, petrifies the assembly by moving that +this Vestry do now adjourn; but, is persuaded to withdraw that +awful proposal, in consideration of its tremendous consequences if +persevered in. Mr. Magg, for the purpose of being heard, then begs +to move, that you, sir, do now pass to the order of the day; and +takes that opportunity of saying, that if an honourable gentleman +whom he has in his eye, and will not demean himself by more +particularly naming (oh, oh, and cheers), supposes that he is to be +put down by clamour, that honourable gentleman - however supported +he may be, through thick and thin, by a Fellow Parishioner, with +whom he is well acquainted (cheers and counter-cheers, Mr. Magg +being invariably backed by the Rate-Payer) - will find himself +mistaken. Upon this, twenty members of our Vestry speak in +succession concerning what the two great men have meant, until it +appears, after an hour and twenty minutes, that neither of them +meant anything. Then our Vestry begins business. + +We have said that, after the pattern of the real original, our +Vestry in playing at Parliament is transcendently quarrelsome. It +enjoys a personal altercation above all things. Perhaps the most +redoubtable case of this kind we have ever had - though we have had +so many that it is difficult to decide - was that on which the last +extreme solemnities passed between Mr. Tiddypot (of Gumption House) +and Captain Banger (of Wilderness Walk). + +In an adjourned debate on the question whether water could be +regarded in the light of a necessary of life; respecting which +there were great differences of opinion, and many shades of +sentiment; Mr. Tiddypot, in a powerful burst of eloquence against +that hypothesis, frequently made use of the expression that such +and such a rumour had 'reached his ears.' Captain Banger, +following him, and holding that, for purposes of ablution and +refreshment, a pint of water per diem was necessary for every adult +of the lower classes, and half a pint for every child, cast +ridicule upon his address in a sparkling speech, and concluded by +saying that instead of those rumours having reached the ears of the +honourable gentleman, he rather thought the honourable gentleman's +ears must have reached the rumours, in consequence of their +well-known length. Mr. Tiddypot immediately rose, looked the honourable +and gallant gentleman full in the face, and left the Vestry. + +The excitement, at this moment painfully intense, was heightened to +an acute degree when Captain Banger rose, and also left the Vestry. +After a few moments of profound silence - one of those breathless +pauses never to be forgotten - Mr. Chib (of Tucket's Terrace, and +the father of the Vestry) rose. He said that words and looks had +passed in that assembly, replete with consequences which every +feeling mind must deplore. Time pressed. The sword was drawn, and +while he spoke the scabbard might be thrown away. He moved that +those honourable gentlemen who had left the Vestry be recalled, and +required to pledge themselves upon their honour that this affair +should go no farther. The motion being by a general union of +parties unanimously agreed to (for everybody wanted to have the +belligerents there, instead of out of sight: which was no fun at +all), Mr. Magg was deputed to recover Captain Banger, and Mr. Chib +himself to go in search of Mr. Tiddypot. The Captain was found in +a conspicuous position, surveying the passing omnibuses from the +top step of the front-door immediately adjoining the beadle's box; +Mr. Tiddypot made a desperate attempt at resistance, but was +overpowered by Mr. Chib (a remarkably hale old gentleman of eighty- +two), and brought back in safety. + +Mr. Tiddypot and the Captain being restored to their places, and +glaring on each other, were called upon by the chair to abandon all +homicidal intentions, and give the Vestry an assurance that they +did so. Mr. Tiddypot remained profoundly silent. The Captain +likewise remained profoundly silent, saying that he was observed by +those around him to fold his arms like Napoleon Buonaparte, and to +snort in his breathing - actions but too expressive of gunpowder. + +The most intense emotion now prevailed. Several members clustered +in remonstrance round the Captain, and several round Mr. Tiddypot; +but, both were obdurate. Mr. Chib then presented himself amid +tremendous cheering, and said, that not to shrink from the +discharge of his painful duty, he must now move that both +honourable gentlemen be taken into custody by the beadle, and +conveyed to the nearest police-office, there to be held to bail. +The union of parties still continuing, the motion was seconded by +Mr. Wigsby - on all usual occasions Mr. Chib's opponent - and +rapturously carried with only one dissentient voice. This was +Dogginson's, who said from his place 'Let 'em fight it out with +fistes;' but whose coarse remark was received as it merited. + +The beadle now advanced along the floor of the Vestry, and beckoned +with his cocked hat to both members. Every breath was suspended. +To say that a pin might have been heard to fall, would be feebly to +express the all-absorbing interest and silence. Suddenly, +enthusiastic cheering broke out from every side of the Vestry. +Captain Banger had risen - being, in fact, pulled up by a friend on +either side, and poked up by a friend behind. + +The Captain said, in a deep determined voice, that he had every +respect for that Vestry and every respect for that chair; that he +also respected the honourable gentleman of Gumpton House; but, that +he respected his honour more. Hereupon the Captain sat down, +leaving the whole Vestry much affected. Mr. Tiddypot instantly +rose, and was received with the same encouragement. He likewise +said - and the exquisite art of this orator communicated to the +observation an air of freshness and novelty - that he too had every +respect for that Vestry; that he too had every respect for that +chair. That he too respected the honourable and gallant gentleman +of Wilderness Walk; but, that he too respected his honour more. +'Hows'ever,' added the distinguished Vestryman, 'if the honourable +and gallant gentleman's honour is never more doubted and damaged +than it is by me, he's all right.' Captain Banger immediately +started up again, and said that after those observations, involving +as they did ample concession to his honour without compromising the +honour of the honourable gentleman, he would be wanting in honour +as well as in generosity, if he did not at once repudiate all +intention of wounding the honour of the honourable gentleman, or +saying anything dishonourable to his honourable feelings. These +observations were repeatedly interrupted by bursts of cheers. Mr. +Tiddypot retorted that he well knew the spirit of honour by which +the honourable and gallant gentleman was so honourably animated, +and that he accepted an honourable explanation, offered in a way +that did him honour; but, he trusted that the Vestry would consider +that his (Mr. Tiddypot's) honour had imperatively demanded of him +that painful course which he had felt it due to his honour to +adopt. The Captain and Mr. Tiddypot then touched their hats to one +another across the Vestry, a great many times, and it is thought +that these proceedings (reported to the extent of several columns +in next Sunday's paper) will bring them in as church-wardens next +year. + +All this was strictly after the pattern of the real original, and +so are the whole of our Vestry's proceedings. In all their +debates, they are laudably imitative of the windy and wordy slang +of the real original, and of nothing that is better in it. They +have head-strong party animosities, without any reference to the +merits of questions; they tack a surprising amount of debate to a +very little business; they set more store by forms than they do by +substances: - all very like the real original! It has been doubted +in our borough, whether our Vestry is of any utility; but our own +conclusion is, that it is of the use to the Borough that a +diminishing mirror is to a painter, as enabling it to perceive in a +small focus of absurdity all the surface defects of the real +original. + + + +OUR BORE + + + +IT is unnecessary to say that we keep a bore. Everybody does. +But, the bore whom we have the pleasure and honour of enumerating +among our particular friends, is such a generic bore, and has so +many traits (as it appears to us) in common with the great bore +family, that we are tempted to make him the subject of the present +notes. May he be generally accepted! + +Our bore is admitted on all hands to be a good-hearted man. He may +put fifty people out of temper, but he keeps his own. He preserves +a sickly solid smile upon his face, when other faces are ruffled by +the perfection he has attained in his art, and has an equable voice +which never travels out of one key or rises above one pitch. His +manner is a manner of tranquil interest. None of his opinions are +startling. Among his deepest-rooted convictions, it may be +mentioned that he considers the air of England damp, and holds that +our lively neighbours - he always calls the French our lively +neighbours - have the advantage of us in that particular. +Nevertheless he is unable to forget that John Bull is John Bull all +the world over, and that England with all her faults is England +still. + +Our bore has travelled. He could not possibly be a complete bore +without having travelled. He rarely speaks of his travels without +introducing, sometimes on his own plan of construction, morsels of +the language of the country - which he always translates. You +cannot name to him any little remote town in France, Italy, +Germany, or Switzerland but he knows it well; stayed there a +fortnight under peculiar circumstances. And talking of that little +place, perhaps you know a statue over an old fountain, up a little +court, which is the second - no, the third - stay - yes, the third +turning on the right, after you come out of the Post-house, going +up the hill towards the market? You DON'T know that statue? Nor +that fountain? You surprise him! They are not usually seen by +travellers (most extraordinary, he has never yet met with a single +traveller who knew them, except one German, the most intelligent +man he ever met in his life!) but he thought that YOU would have +been the man to find them out. And then he describes them, in a +circumstantial lecture half an hour long, generally delivered +behind a door which is constantly being opened from the other side; +and implores you, if you ever revisit that place, now do go and +look at that statue and fountain! + +Our bore, in a similar manner, being in Italy, made a discovery of +a dreadful picture, which has been the terror of a large portion of +the civilized world ever since. We have seen the liveliest men +paralysed by it, across a broad dining-table. He was lounging +among the mountains, sir, basking in the mellow influences of the +climate, when he came to UNA PICCOLA CHIESA - a little church - or +perhaps it would be more correct to say UNA PICCOLISSIMA CAPPELLA - +the smallest chapel you can possibly imagine - and walked in. +There was nobody inside but a CIECO - a blind man - saying his +prayers, and a VECCHIO PADRE - old friar-rattling a money-box. +But, above the head of that friar, and immediately to the right of +the altar as you enter - to the right of the altar? No. To the +left of the altar as you enter - or say near the centre - there +hung a painting (subject, Virgin and Child) so divine in its +expression, so pure and yet so warm and rich in its tone, so fresh +in its touch, at once so glowing in its colour and so statuesque in +its repose, that our bore cried out in ecstasy, 'That's the finest +picture in Italy!' And so it is, sir. There is no doubt of it. +It is astonishing that that picture is so little known. Even the +painter is uncertain. He afterwards took Blumb, of the Royal +Academy (it is to be observed that our bore takes none but eminent +people to see sights, and that none but eminent people take our +bore), and you never saw a man so affected in your life as Blumb +was. He cried like a child! And then our bore begins his +description in detail - for all this is introductory - and +strangles his hearers with the folds of the purple drapery. + +By an equally fortunate conjunction of accidental circumstances, it +happened that when our bore was in Switzerland, he discovered a +Valley, of that superb character, that Chamouni is not to be +mentioned in the same breath with it. This is how it was, sir. He +was travelling on a mule - had been in the saddle some days - when, +as he and the guide, Pierre Blanquo: whom you may know, perhaps? - +our bore is sorry you don't, because he's the only guide deserving +of the name - as he and Pierre were descending, towards evening, +among those everlasting snows, to the little village of La Croix, +our bore observed a mountain track turning off sharply to the +right. At first he was uncertain whether it WAS a track at all, +and in fact, he said to Pierre, 'QU'EST QUE C'EST DONC, MON AMI? - +What is that, my friend? 'Ou, MONSIEUR!' said Pierre - 'Where, +sir?' ' La! - there!' said our bore. 'MONSIEUR, CE N'EST RIEN DE +TOUT - sir, it's nothing at all,' said Pierre. 'ALLONS! - Make +haste. IL VA NEIGET - it's going to snow!' But, our bore was not +to be done in that way, and he firmly replied, 'I wish to go in +that direction - JE VEUX Y ALLER. I am bent upon it - JE SUIS +DETERMINE. EN AVANT! - go ahead!' In consequence of which +firmness on our bore's part, they proceeded, sir, during two hours +of evening, and three of moonlight (they waited in a cavern till +the moon was up), along the slenderest track, overhanging +perpendicularly the most awful gulfs, until they arrived, by a +winding descent, in a valley that possibly, and he may say +probably, was never visited by any stranger before. What a valley! +Mountains piled on mountains, avalanches stemmed by pine forests; +waterfalls, chalets, mountain-torrents, wooden bridges, every +conceivable picture of Swiss scenery! The whole village turned out +to receive our bore. The peasant girls kissed him, the men shook +hands with him, one old lady of benevolent appearance wept upon his +breast. He was conducted, in a primitive triumph, to the little +inn: where he was taken ill next morning, and lay for six weeks, +attended by the amiable hostess (the same benevolent old lady who +had wept over night) and her charming daughter, Fanchette. It is +nothing to say that they were attentive to him; they doted on him. +They called him in their simple way, L'ANGE ANGLAIS - the English +Angel. When our bore left the valley, there was not a dry eye in +the place; some of the people attended him for miles. He begs and +entreats of you as a personal favour, that if you ever go to +Switzerland again (you have mentioned that your last visit was your +twenty-third), you will go to that valley, and see Swiss scenery +for the first time. And if you want really to know the pastoral +people of Switzerland, and to understand them, mention, in that +valley, our bore's name! + +Our bore has a crushing brother in the East, who, somehow or other, +was admitted to smoke pipes with Mehemet Ali, and instantly became +an authority on the whole range of Eastern matters, from Haroun +Alraschid to the present Sultan. He is in the habit of expressing +mysterious opinions on this wide range of subjects, but on +questions of foreign policy more particularly, to our bore, in +letters; and our bore is continually sending bits of these letters +to the newspapers (which they never insert), and carrying other +bits about in his pocket-book. It is even whispered that he has +been seen at the Foreign Office, receiving great consideration from +the messengers, and having his card promptly borne into the +sanctuary of the temple. The havoc committed in society by this +Eastern brother is beyond belief. Our bore is always ready with +him. We have known our bore to fall upon an intelligent young +sojourner in the wilderness, in the first sentence of a narrative, +and beat all confidence out of him with one blow of his brother. +He became omniscient, as to foreign policy, in the smoking of those +pipes with Mehemet Ali. The balance of power in Europe, the +machinations of the Jesuits, the gentle and humanising influence of +Austria, the position and prospects of that hero of the noble soul +who is worshipped by happy France, are all easy reading to our +bore's brother. And our bore is so provokingly self-denying about +him! 'I don't pretend to more than a very general knowledge of +these subjects myself,' says he, after enervating the intellects of +several strong men, 'but these are my brother's opinions, and I +believe he is known to be well-informed.' + +The commonest incidents and places would appear to have been made +special, expressly for our bore. Ask him whether he ever chanced +to walk, between seven and eight in the morning, down St. James's +Street, London, and he will tell you, never in his life but once. +But, it's curious that that once was in eighteen thirty; and that +as our bore was walking down the street you have just mentioned, at +the hour you have just mentioned - half-past seven - or twenty +minutes to eight. No! Let him be correct! - exactly a quarter +before eight by the palace clock - he met a fresh-coloured, grey- +haired, good-humoured looking gentleman, with a brown umbrella, +who, as he passed him, touched his hat and said, 'Fine morning, +sir, fine morning!' - William the Fourth! + +Ask our bore whether he has seen Mr. Barry's new Houses of +Parliament, and he will reply that he has not yet inspected them +minutely, but, that you remind him that it was his singular fortune +to be the last man to see the old Houses of Parliament before the +fire broke out. It happened in this way. Poor John Spine, the +celebrated novelist, had taken him over to South Lambeth to read to +him the last few chapters of what was certainly his best book - as +our bore told him at the time, adding, 'Now, my dear John, touch +it, and you'll spoil it!' - and our bore was going back to the club +by way of Millbank and Parliament Street, when he stopped to think +of Canning, and look at the Houses of Parliament. Now, you know +far more of the philosophy of Mind than our bore does, and are much +better able to explain to him than he is to explain to you why or +wherefore, at that particular time, the thought of fire should come +into his head. But, it did. It did. He thought, What a national +calamity if an edifice connected with so many associations should +be consumed by fire! At that time there was not a single soul in +the street but himself. All was quiet, dark, and solitary. After +contemplating the building for a minute - or, say a minute and a +half, not more - our bore proceeded on his way, mechanically +repeating, What a national calamity if such an edifice, connected +with such associations, should be destroyed by - A man coming +towards him in a violent state of agitation completed the sentence, +with the exclamation, Fire! Our bore looked round, and the whole +structure was in a blaze. + +In harmony and union with these experiences, our bore never went +anywhere in a steamboat but he made either the best or the worst +voyage ever known on that station. Either he overheard the captain +say to himself, with his hands clasped, 'We are all lost!' or the +captain openly declared to him that he had never made such a run +before, and never should be able to do it again. Our bore was in +that express train on that railway, when they made (unknown to the +passengers) the experiment of going at the rate of a hundred to +miles an hour. Our bore remarked on that occasion to the other +people in the carriage, 'This is too fast, but sit still!' He was +at the Norwich musical festival when the extraordinary echo for +which science has been wholly unable to account, was heard for the +first and last time. He and the bishop heard it at the same +moment, and caught each other's eye. He was present at that +illumination of St. Peter's, of which the Pope is known to have +remarked, as he looked at it out of his window in the Vatican, 'O +CIELO! QUESTA COSA NON SARA FATTA, MAI ANCORA, COME QUESTA - O +Heaven! this thing will never be done again, like this!' He has +seen every lion he ever saw, under some remarkably propitious +circumstances. He knows there is no fancy in it, because in every +case the showman mentioned the fact at the time, and congratulated +him upon it. + +At one period of his life, our bore had an illness. It was an +illness of a dangerous character for society at large. Innocently +remark that you are very well, or that somebody else is very well; +and our bore, with a preface that one never knows what a blessing +health is until one has lost it, is reminded of that illness, and +drags you through the whole of its symptoms, progress, and +treatment. Innocently remark that you are not well, or that +somebody else is not well, and the same inevitable result ensues. +You will learn how our bore felt a tightness about here, sir, for +which he couldn't account, accompanied with a constant sensation as +if he were being stabbed - or, rather, jobbed - that expresses it +more correctly - jobbed - with a blunt knife. Well, sir! This +went on, until sparks began to flit before his eyes, water-wheels +to turn round in his head, and hammers to beat incessantly, thump, +thump, thump, all down his back - along the whole of the spinal +vertebrae. Our bore, when his sensations had come to this, thought +it a duty he owed to himself to take advice, and he said, Now, whom +shall I consult? He naturally thought of Callow, at that time one +of the most eminent physicians in London, and he went to Callow. +Callow said, 'Liver!' and prescribed rhubarb and calomel, low diet, +and moderate exercise. Our bore went on with this treatment, +getting worse every day, until he lost confidence in Callow, and +went to Moon, whom half the town was then mad about. Moon was +interested in the case; to do him justice he was very much +interested in the case; and he said, 'Kidneys!' He altered the +whole treatment, sir - gave strong acids, cupped, and blistered. +This went on, our bore still getting worse every day, until he +openly told Moon it would be a satisfaction to him if he would have +a consultation with Clatter. The moment Clatter saw our bore, he +said, 'Accumulation of fat about the heart!' Snugglewood, who was +called in with him, differed, and said, 'Brain!' But, what they +all agreed upon was, to lay our bore upon his back, to shave his +head, to leech him, to administer enormous quantities of medicine, +and to keep him low; so that he was reduced to a mere shadow, you +wouldn't have known him, and nobody considered it possible that he +could ever recover. This was his condition, sir, when he heard of +Jilkins - at that period in a very small practice, and living in +the upper part of a house in Great Portland Street; but still, you +understand, with a rising reputation among the few people to whom +he was known. Being in that condition in which a drowning man +catches at a straw, our bore sent for Jilkins. Jilkins came. Our +bore liked his eye, and said, 'Mr. Jilkins, I have a presentiment +that you will do me good.' Jilkins's reply was characteristic of +the man. It was, 'Sir, I mean to do you good.' This confirmed our +bore's opinion of his eye, and they went into the case together - +went completely into it. Jilkins then got up, walked across the +room, came back, and sat down. His words were these. 'You have +been humbugged. This is a case of indigestion, occasioned by +deficiency of power in the Stomach. Take a mutton chop in half-an- +hour, with a glass of the finest old sherry that can be got for +money. Take two mutton chops to-morrow, and two glasses of the +finest old sherry. Next day, I'll come again.' In a week our bore +was on his legs, and Jilkins's success dates from that period! + +Our bore is great in secret information. He happens to know many +things that nobody else knows. He can generally tell you where the +split is in the Ministry; he knows a great deal about the Queen; +and has little anecdotes to relate of the royal nursery. He gives +you the judge's private opinion of Sludge the murderer, and his +thoughts when he tried him. He happens to know what such a man got +by such a transaction, and it was fifteen thousand five hundred +pounds, and his income is twelve thousand a year. Our bore is also +great in mystery. He believes, with an exasperating appearance of +profound meaning, that you saw Parkins last Sunday? - Yes, you did. +- Did he say anything particular? - No, nothing particular. - Our +bore is surprised at that. - Why? - Nothing. Only he understood +that Parkins had come to tell you something. - What about? - Well! +our bore is not at liberty to mention what about. But, he believes +you will hear that from Parkins himself, soon, and he hopes it may +not surprise you as it did him. Perhaps, however, you never heard +about Parkins's wife's sister? - No. - Ah! says our bore, that +explains it! + +Our bore is also great in argument. He infinitely enjoys a long +humdrum, drowsy interchange of words of dispute about nothing. He +considers that it strengthens the mind, consequently, he 'don't see +that,' very often. Or, he would be glad to know what you mean by +that. Or, he doubts that. Or, he has always understood exactly +the reverse of that. Or, he can't admit that. Or, he begs to deny +that. Or, surely you don't mean that. And so on. He once advised +us; offered us a piece of advice, after the fact, totally +impracticable and wholly impossible of acceptance, because it +supposed the fact, then eternally disposed of, to be yet in +abeyance. It was a dozen years ago, and to this hour our bore +benevolently wishes, in a mild voice, on certain regular occasions, +that we had thought better of his opinion. + +The instinct with which our bore finds out another bore, and closes +with him, is amazing. We have seen him pick his man out of fifty +men, in a couple of minutes. They love to go (which they do +naturally) into a slow argument on a previously exhausted subject, +and to contradict each other, and to wear the hearers out, without +impairing their own perennial freshness as bores. It improves the +good understanding between them, and they get together afterwards, +and bore each other amicably. Whenever we see our bore behind a +door with another bore, we know that when he comes forth, he will +praise the other bore as one of the most intelligent men he ever +met. And this bringing us to the close of what we had to say about +our bore, we are anxious to have it understood that he never +bestowed this praise on us. + + + +A MONUMENT OF FRENCH FOLLY + + + +IT was profoundly observed by a witty member of the Court of Common +Council, in Council assembled in the City of London, in the year of +our Lord one thousand eight hundred and fifty, that the French are +a frog-eating people, who wear wooden shoes. + +We are credibly informed, in reference to the nation whom this +choice spirit so happily disposed of, that the caricatures and +stage representations which were current in England some half a +century ago, exactly depict their present condition. For example, +we understand that every Frenchman, without exception, wears a +pigtail and curl-papers. That he is extremely sallow, thin, long- +faced, and lantern-jawed. That the calves of his legs are +invariably undeveloped; that his legs fail at the knees, and that +his shoulders are always higher than his ears. We are likewise +assured that he rarely tastes any food but soup maigre, and an +onion; that he always says, 'By Gar! Aha! Vat you tell me, sare?' +at the end of every sentence he utters; and that the true generic +name of his race is the Mounseers, or the Parly-voos. If he be not +a dancing-master, or a barber, he must be a cook; since no other +trades but those three are congenial to the tastes of the people, +or permitted by the Institutions of the country. He is a slave, of +course. The ladies of France (who are also slaves) invariably have +their heads tied up in Belcher handkerchiefs, wear long earrings, +carry tambourines, and beguile the weariness of their yoke by +singing in head voices through their noses - principally to barrel- +organs. + +It may be generally summed up, of this inferior people, that they +have no idea of anything. + +Of a great Institution like Smithfield, they are unable to form the +least conception. A Beast Market in the heart of Paris would be +regarded an impossible nuisance. Nor have they any notion of +slaughter-houses in the midst of a city. One of these benighted +frog-eaters would scarcely understand your meaning, if you told him +of the existence of such a British bulwark. + +It is agreeable, and perhaps pardonable, to indulge in a little +self-complacency when our right to it is thoroughly established. +At the present time, to be rendered memorable by a final attack on +that good old market which is the (rotten) apple of the +Corporation's eye, let us compare ourselves, to our national +delight and pride as to these two subjects of slaughter-house and +beast-market, with the outlandish foreigner. + +The blessings of Smithfield are too well understood to need +recapitulation; all who run (away from mad bulls and pursuing oxen) +may read. Any market-day they may be beheld in glorious action. +Possibly the merits of our slaughter-houses are not yet quite so +generally appreciated. + +Slaughter-houses, in the large towns of England, are always (with +the exception of one or two enterprising towns) most numerous in +the most densely crowded places, where there is the least +circulation of air. They are often underground, in cellars; they +are sometimes in close back yards; sometimes (as in Spitalfields) +in the very shops where the meat is sold. Occasionally, under good +private management, they are ventilated and clean. For the most +part, they are unventilated and dirty; and, to the reeking walls, +putrid fat and other offensive animal matter clings with a +tenacious hold. The busiest slaughter-houses in London are in the +neighbourhood of Smithfield, in Newgate Market, in Whitechapel, in +Newport Market, in Leadenhall Market, in Clare Market. All these +places are surrounded by houses of a poor description, swarming +with inhabitants. Some of them are close to the worst +burial-grounds in London. When the slaughter-house is below the ground, +it is a common practice to throw the sheep down areas, neck and +crop - which is exciting, but not at all cruel. When it is on the +level surface, it is often extremely difficult of approach. Then, +the beasts have to be worried, and goaded, and pronged, and +tail-twisted, for a long time before they can be got in - which is +entirely owing to their natural obstinacy. When it is not +difficult of approach, but is in a foul condition, what they see +and scent makes them still more reluctant to enter - which is their +natural obstinacy again. When they do get in at last, after no +trouble and suffering to speak of (for, there is nothing in the +previous journey into the heart of London, the night's endurance in +Smithfield, the struggle out again, among the crowded multitude, +the coaches, carts, waggons, omnibuses, gigs, chaises, phaetons, +cabs, trucks, dogs, boys, whoopings, roarings, and ten thousand +other distractions), they are represented to be in a most unfit +state to be killed, according to microscopic examinations made of +their fevered blood by one of the most distinguished physiologists +in the world, PROFESSOR OWEN - but that's humbug. When they ARE +killed, at last, their reeking carcases are hung in impure air, to +become, as the same Professor will explain to you, less nutritious +and more unwholesome - but he is only an UNcommon counsellor, so +don't mind HIM. In half a quarter of a mile's length of +Whitechapel, at one time, there shall be six hundred newly +slaughtered oxen hanging up, and seven hundred sheep - but, the +more the merrier - proof of prosperity. Hard by Snow Hill and +Warwick Lane, you shall see the little children, inured to sights +of brutality from their birth, trotting along the alleys, mingled +with troops of horribly busy pigs, up to their ankles in blood - +but it makes the young rascals hardy. Into the imperfect sewers of +this overgrown city, you shall have the immense mass of corruption, +engendered by these practices, lazily thrown out of sight, to rise, +in poisonous gases, into your house at night, when your sleeping +children will most readily absorb them, and to find its languid +way, at last, into the river that you drink - but, the French are a +frog-eating people who wear wooden shoes, and it's O the roast beef +of England, my boy, the jolly old English roast beef. + +It is quite a mistake - a newfangled notion altogether - to suppose +that there is any natural antagonism between putrefaction and +health. They know better than that, in the Common Council. You +may talk about Nature, in her wisdom, always warning man through +his sense of smell, when he draws near to something dangerous; but, +that won't go down in the City. Nature very often don't mean +anything. Mrs. Quickly says that prunes are ill for a green wound; +but whosoever says that putrid animal substances are ill for a +green wound, or for robust vigour, or for anything or for anybody, +is a humanity-monger and a humbug. Britons never, never, never, +&c., therefore. And prosperity to cattle-driving, cattle- +slaughtering, bone-crushing, blood-boiling, trotter-scraping, +tripe-dressing, paunch-cleaning, gut-spinning, hide-preparing, +tallow-melting, and other salubrious proceedings, in the midst of +hospitals, churchyards, workhouses, schools, infirmaries, refuges, +dwellings, provision-shops nurseries, sick-beds, every stage and +baiting-place in the journey from birth to death! + +These UNcommon counsellors, your Professor Owens and fellows, will +contend that to tolerate these things in a civilised city, is to +reduce it to a worse condition than BRUCE found to prevail in +ABYSSINIA. For there (say they) the jackals and wild dogs came at +night to devour the offal; whereas, here there are no such natural +scavengers, and quite as savage customs. Further, they will +demonstrate that nothing in Nature is intended to be wasted, and +that besides the waste which such abuses occasion in the articles +of health and life - main sources of the riches of any community - +they lead to a prodigious waste of changing matters, which might, +with proper preparation, and under scientific direction, be safely +applied to the increase of the fertility of the land. Thus (they +argue) does Nature ever avenge infractions of her beneficent laws, +and so surely as Man is determined to warp any of her blessings +into curses, shall they become curses, and shall he suffer heavily. +But, this is cant. Just as it is cant of the worst description to +say to the London Corporation, 'How can you exhibit to the people +so plain a spectacle of dishonest equivocation, as to claim the +right of holding a market in the midst of the great city, for one +of your vested privileges, when you know that when your last market +holding charter was granted to you by King Charles the First, +Smithfield stood IN THE SUBURBS OF LONDON, and is in that very +charter so described in those five words?' - which is certainly +true, but has nothing to do with the question. + +Now to the comparison, in these particulars of civilisation, +between the capital of England, and the capital of that frog-eating +and wooden-shoe wearing country, which the illustrious Common +Councilman so sarcastically settled. + +In Paris, there is no Cattle Market. Cows and calves are sold +within the city, but, the Cattle Markets are at Poissy, about +thirteen miles off, on a line of railway; and at Sceaux, about five +miles off. The Poissy market is held every Thursday; the Sceaux +market, every Monday. In Paris, there are no slaughter-houses, in +our acceptation of the term. There are five public Abattoirs - +within the walls, though in the suburbs - and in these all the +slaughtering for the city must be performed. They are managed by a +Syndicat or Guild of Butchers, who confer with the Minister of the +Interior on all matters affecting the trade, and who are consulted +when any new regulations are contemplated for its government. They +are, likewise, under the vigilant superintendence of the police. +Every butcher must be licensed: which proves him at once to be a +slave, for we don't license butchers in England - we only license +apothecaries, attorneys, post-masters, publicans, hawkers, +retailers of tobacco, snuff, pepper, and vinegar - and one or two +other little trades, not worth mentioning. Every arrangement in +connexion with the slaughtering and sale of meat, is matter of +strict police regulation. (Slavery again, though we certainly have +a general sort of Police Act here.) + +But, in order that the reader may understand what a monument of +folly these frog-eaters have raised in their abattoirs and cattle- +markets, and may compare it with what common counselling has done +for us all these years, and would still do but for the innovating +spirit of the times, here follows a short account of a recent visit +to these places: + + +It was as sharp a February morning as you would desire to feel at +your fingers' ends when I turned out - tumbling over a chiffonier +with his little basket and rake, who was picking up the bits of +coloured paper that had been swept out, over-night, from a Bon-Bon +shop - to take the Butchers' Train to Poissy. A cold, dim light +just touched the high roofs of the Tuileries which have seen such +changes, such distracted crowds, such riot and bloodshed; and they +looked as calm, and as old, all covered with white frost, as the +very Pyramids. There was not light enough, yet, to strike upon the +towers of Notre Dame across the water; but I thought of the dark +pavement of the old Cathedral as just beginning to be streaked with +grey; and of the lamps in the 'House of God,' the Hospital close to +it, burning low and being quenched; and of the keeper of the Morgue +going about with a fading lantern, busy in the arrangement of his +terrible waxwork for another sunny day. + +The sun was up, and shining merrily when the butchers and I, +announcing our departure with an engine shriek to sleepy Paris, +rattled away for the Cattle Market. Across the country, over the +Seine, among a forest of scrubby trees - the hoar frost lying cold +in shady places, and glittering in the light - and here we are - at +Poissy! Out leap the butchers, who have been chattering all the +way like madmen, and off they straggle for the Cattle Market (still +chattering, of course, incessantly), in hats and caps of all +shapes, in coats and blouses, in calf-skins, cow-skins, horse- +skins, furs, shaggy mantles, hairy coats, sacking, baize, oil-skin, +anything you please that will keep a man and a butcher warm, upon a +frosty morning. + +Many a French town have I seen, between this spot of ground and +Strasburg or Marseilles, that might sit for your picture, little +Poissy! Barring the details of your old church, I know you well, +albeit we make acquaintance, now, for the first time. I know your +narrow, straggling, winding streets, with a kennel in the midst, +and lamps slung across. I know your picturesque street-corners, +winding up-hill Heaven knows why or where! I know your tradesmen's +inscriptions, in letters not quite fat enough; your barbers' brazen +basins dangling over little shops; your Cafes and Estaminets, with +cloudy bottles of stale syrup in the windows, and pictures of +crossed billiard cues outside. I know this identical grey horse +with his tail rolled up in a knot like the 'back hair' of an untidy +woman, who won't be shod, and who makes himself heraldic by +clattering across the street on his hind-legs, while twenty voices +shriek and growl at him as a Brigand, an accursed Robber, and an +everlastingly-doomed Pig. I know your sparkling town-fountain, +too, my Poissy, and am glad to see it near a cattle-market, gushing +so freshly, under the auspices of a gallant little sublimated +Frenchman wrought in metal, perched upon the top. Through all the +land of France I know this unswept room at The Glory, with its +peculiar smell of beans and coffee, where the butchers crowd about +the stove, drinking the thinnest of wine from the smallest of +tumblers; where the thickest of coffee-cups mingle with the longest +of loaves, and the weakest of lump sugar; where Madame at the +counter easily acknowledges the homage of all entering and +departing butchers; where the billiard-table is covered up in the +midst like a great bird-cake - but the bird may sing by-and-by! + +A bell! The Calf Market! Polite departure of butchers. Hasty +payment and departure on the part of amateur Visitor. Madame +reproaches Ma'amselle for too fine a susceptibility in reference to +the devotion of a Butcher in a bear-skin. Monsieur, the landlord +of The Glory, counts a double handful of sous, without an +unobliterated inscription, or an undamaged crowned head, among +them. + +There is little noise without, abundant space, and no confusion. +The open area devoted to the market is divided into three portions: +the Calf Market, the Cattle Market, the Sheep Market. Calves at +eight, cattle at ten, sheep at mid-day. All is very clean. + +The Calf Market is a raised platform of stone, some three or four +feet high, open on all sides, with a lofty overspreading roof, +supported on stone columns, which give it the appearance of a sort +of vineyard from Northern Italy. Here, on the raised pavement, lie +innumerable calves, all bound hind-legs and fore-legs together, and +all trembling violently - perhaps with cold, perhaps with fear, +perhaps with pain; for, this mode of tying, which seems to be an +absolute superstition with the peasantry, can hardly fail to cause +great suffering. Here, they lie, patiently in rows, among the +straw, with their stolid faces and inexpressive eyes, superintended +by men and women, boys and girls; here they are inspected by our +friends, the butchers, bargained for, and bought. Plenty of time; +plenty of room; plenty of good humour. 'Monsieur Francois in the +bear-skin, how do you do, my friend? You come from Paris by the +train? The fresh air does you good. If you are in want of three +or four fine calves this market morning, my angel, I, Madame Doche, +shall be happy to deal with you. Behold these calves, Monsieur +Francois! Great Heaven, you are doubtful! Well, sir, walk round +and look about you. If you find better for the money, buy them. +If not, come to me!' Monsieur Francois goes his way leisurely, and +keeps a wary eye upon the stock. No other butcher jostles Monsieur +Francois; Monsieur Francois jostles no other butcher. Nobody is +flustered and aggravated. Nobody is savage. In the midst of the +country blue frocks and red handkerchiefs, and the butchers' coats, +shaggy, furry, and hairy: of calf-skin, cow-skin, horse-skin, and +bear-skin: towers a cocked hat and a blue cloak. Slavery! For OUR +Police wear great-coats and glazed hats. + +But now the bartering is over, and the calves are sold. 'Ho! +Gregoire, Antoine, Jean, Louis! Bring up the carts, my children! +Quick, brave infants! Hola! Hi!' + +The carts, well littered with straw, are backed up to the edge of +the raised pavement, and various hot infants carry calves upon +their heads, and dexterously pitch them in, while other hot +infants, standing in the carts, arrange the calves, and pack them +carefully in straw. Here is a promising young calf, not sold, whom +Madame Doche unbinds. Pardon me, Madame Doche, but I fear this +mode of tying the four legs of a quadruped together, though +strictly a la mode, is not quite right. You observe, Madame Doche, +that the cord leaves deep indentations in the skin, and that the +animal is so cramped at first as not to know, or even remotely +suspect that HE is unbound, until you are so obliging as to kick +him, in your delicate little way, and pull his tail like a bell- +rope. Then, he staggers to his knees, not being able to stand, and +stumbles about like a drunken calf, or the horse at Franconi's, +whom you may have seen, Madame Doche, who is supposed to have been +mortally wounded in battle. But, what is this rubbing against me, +as I apostrophise Madame Doche? It is another heated infant with a +calf upon his head. 'Pardon, Monsieur, but will you have the +politeness to allow me to pass?' 'Ah, sir, willingly. I am vexed +to obstruct the way.' On he staggers, calf and all, and makes no +allusion whatever either to my eyes or limbs. + +Now, the carts are all full. More straw, my Antoine, to shake over +these top rows; then, off we will clatter, rumble, jolt, and +rattle, a long row of us, out of the first town-gate, and out at +the second town-gate, and past the empty sentry-box, and the little +thin square bandbox of a guardhouse, where nobody seems to live: +and away for Paris, by the paved road, lying, a straight, straight +line, in the long, long avenue of trees. We can neither choose our +road, nor our pace, for that is all prescribed to us. The public +convenience demands that our carts should get to Paris by such a +route, and no other (Napoleon had leisure to find that out, while +he had a little war with the world upon his hands), and woe betide +us if we infringe orders. + +Drovers of oxen stand in the Cattle Market, tied to iron bars fixed +into posts of granite. Other droves advance slowly down the long +avenue, past the second town-gate, and the first town-gate, and the +sentry-box, and the bandbox, thawing the morning with their smoky +breath as they come along. Plenty of room; plenty of time. +Neither man nor beast is driven out of his wits by coaches, carts, +waggons, omnibuses, gigs, chaises, phaetons, cabs, trucks, boys, +whoopings, roarings, and multitudes. No tail-twisting is necessary +- no iron pronging is necessary. There are no iron prongs here. +The market for cattle is held as quietly as the market for calves. +In due time, off the cattle go to Paris; the drovers can no more +choose their road, nor their time, nor the numbers they shall +drive, than they can choose their hour for dying in the course of +nature. + +Sheep next. The sheep-pens are up here, past the Branch Bank of +Paris established for the convenience of the butchers, and behind +the two pretty fountains they are making in the Market. My name is +Bull: yet I think I should like to see as good twin fountains - not +to say in Smithfield, but in England anywhere. Plenty of room; +plenty of time. And here are sheep-dogs, sensible as ever, but +with a certain French air about them - not without a suspicion of +dominoes - with a kind of flavour of moustache and beard - +demonstrative dogs, shaggy and loose where an English dog would be +tight and close - not so troubled with business calculations as our +English drovers' dogs, who have always got their sheep upon their +minds, and think about their work, even resting, as you may see by +their faces; but, dashing, showy, rather unreliable dogs: who might +worry me instead of their legitimate charges if they saw occasion - +and might see it somewhat suddenly. + +The market for sheep passes off like the other two; and away they +go, by THEIR allotted road to Paris. My way being the Railway, I +make the best of it at twenty miles an hour; whirling through the +now high-lighted landscape; thinking that the inexperienced green +buds will be wishing, before long, they had not been tempted to +come out so soon; and wondering who lives in this or that chateau, +all window and lattice, and what the family may have for breakfast +this sharp morning. + +After the Market comes the Abattoir. What abattoir shall I visit +first? Montmartre is the largest. So I will go there. + +The abattoirs are all within the walls of Paris, with an eye to the +receipt of the octroi duty; but, they stand in open places in the +suburbs, removed from the press and bustle of the city. They are +managed by the Syndicat or Guild of Butchers, under the inspection +of the Police. Certain smaller items of the revenue derived from +them are in part retained by the Guild for the payment of their +expenses, and in part devoted by it to charitable purposes in +connexion with the trade. They cost six hundred and eighty +thousand pounds; and they return to the city of Paris an interest +on that outlay, amounting to nearly six and a-half per cent. + +Here, in a sufficiently dismantled space is the Abattoir of +Montmartre, covering nearly nine acres of ground, surrounded by a +high wall, and looking from the outside like a cavalry barrack. At +the iron gates is a small functionary in a large cocked hat. +'Monsieur desires to see the abattoir? Most certainly.' State +being inconvenient in private transactions, and Monsieur being +already aware of the cocked hat, the functionary puts it into a +little official bureau which it almost fills, and accompanies me in +the modest attire - as to his head - of ordinary life. + +Many of the animals from Poissy have come here. On the arrival of +each drove, it was turned into yonder ample space, where each +butcher who had bought, selected his own purchases. Some, we see +now, in these long perspectives of stalls with a high over-hanging +roof of wood and open tiles rising above the walls. While they +rest here, before being slaughtered, they are required to be fed +and watered, and the stalls must be kept clean. A stated amount of +fodder must always be ready in the loft above; and the supervision +is of the strictest kind. The same regulations apply to sheep and +calves; for which, portions of these perspectives are strongly +railed off. All the buildings are of the strongest and most solid +description. + +After traversing these lairs, through which, besides the upper +provision for ventilation just mentioned, there may be a thorough +current of air from opposite windows in the side walls, and from +doors at either end, we traverse the broad, paved, court-yard until +we come to the slaughter-houses. They are all exactly alike, and +adjoin each other, to the number of eight or nine together, in +blocks of solid building. Let us walk into the first. + +It is firmly built and paved with stone. It is well lighted, +thoroughly aired, and lavishly provided with fresh water. It has +two doors opposite each other; the first, the door by which I +entered from the main yard; the second, which is opposite, opening +on another smaller yard, where the sheep and calves are killed on +benches. The pavement of that yard, I see, slopes downward to a +gutter, for its being more easily cleansed. The slaughter-house is +fifteen feet high, sixteen feet and a-half wide, and thirty-three +feet long. It is fitted with a powerful windlass, by which one man +at the handle can bring the head of an ox down to the ground to +receive the blow from the pole-axe that is to fell him - with the +means of raising the carcass and keeping it suspended during the +after-operation of dressing - and with hooks on which carcasses can +hang, when completely prepared, without touching the walls. Upon +the pavement of this first stone chamber, lies an ox scarcely dead. +If I except the blood draining from him, into a little stone well +in a corner of the pavement, the place is free from offence as the +Place de la Concorde. It is infinitely purer and cleaner, I know, +my friend the functionary, than the Cathedral of Notre Dame. Ha, +ha! Monsieur is pleasant, but, truly, there is reason, too, in +what he says. + +I look into another of these slaughter-houses. 'Pray enter,' says +a gentleman in bloody boots. 'This is a calf I have killed this +morning. Having a little time upon my hands, I have cut and +punctured this lace pattern in the coats of his stomach. It is +pretty enough. I did it to divert myself.' - 'It is beautiful, +Monsieur, the slaughterer!' He tells me I have the gentility to +say so. + +I look into rows of slaughter-houses. In many, retail dealers, who +have come here for the purpose, are making bargains for meat. +There is killing enough, certainly, to satiate an unused eye; and +there are steaming carcasses enough, to suggest the expediency of a +fowl and salad for dinner; but, everywhere, there is an orderly, +clean, well-systematised routine of work in progress - horrible +work at the best, if you please; but, so much the greater reason +why it should be made the best of. I don't know (I think I have +observed, my name is Bull) that a Parisian of the lowest order is +particularly delicate, or that his nature is remarkable for an +infinitesimal infusion of ferocity; but, I do know, my potent, +grave, and common counselling Signors, that he is forced, when at +this work, to submit himself to a thoroughly good system, and to +make an Englishman very heartily ashamed of you. + +Here, within the walls of the same abattoir, in other roomy and +commodious buildings, are a place for converting the fat into +tallow and packing it for market - a place for cleansing and +scalding calves' heads and sheep's feet - a place for preparing +tripe - stables and coach-houses for the butchers - innumerable +conveniences, aiding in the diminution of offensiveness to its +lowest possible point, and the raising of cleanliness and +supervision to their highest. Hence, all the meat that goes out of +the gate is sent away in clean covered carts. And if every trade +connected with the slaughtering of animals were obliged by law to +be carried on in the same place, I doubt, my friend, now reinstated +in the cocked hat (whose civility these two francs imperfectly +acknowledge, but appear munificently to repay), whether there could +be better regulations than those which are carried out at the +Abattoir of Montmartre. Adieu, my friend, for I am away to the +other side of Paris, to the Abattoir of Grenelle! And there I find +exactly the same thing on a smaller scale, with the addition of a +magnificent Artesian well, and a different sort of conductor, in +the person of a neat little woman with neat little eyes, and a neat +little voice, who picks her neat little way among the bullocks in a +very neat little pair of shoes and stockings. + + +Such is the Monument of French Folly which a foreigneering people +have erected, in a national hatred and antipathy for common +counselling wisdom. That wisdom, assembled in the City of London, +having distinctly refused, after a debate of three days long, and +by a majority of nearly seven to one, to associate itself with any +Metropolitan Cattle Market unless it be held in the midst of the +City, it follows that we shall lose the inestimable advantages of +common counselling protection, and be thrown, for a market, on our +own wretched resources. In all human probability we shall thus +come, at last, to erect a monument of folly very like this French +monument. If that be done, the consequences are obvious. The +leather trade will be ruined, by the introduction of American +timber, to be manufactured into shoes for the fallen English; the +Lord Mayor will be required, by the popular voice, to live entirely +on frogs; and both these changes will (how, is not at present quite +clear, but certainly somehow or other) fall on that unhappy landed +interest which is always being killed, yet is always found to be +alive - and kicking. + + + + +Footnotes: + +(1) Give a bill + +(2) Three months' imprisonment as reputed thieves. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Etext of Reprinted Pieces, by Charles Dickens + diff --git a/old/cdrpr10.zip b/old/cdrpr10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8461f07 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/cdrpr10.zip |
