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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #65191 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65191)
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-The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Essays of Douglas Jerrold, by Douglas
-Jerrold
-
-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
-will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
-using this eBook.
-
-Title: The Essays of Douglas Jerrold
-
-Author: Douglas Jerrold
-
-Editor: Walter Jerrold
-
-Illustrator: H. M.  Brock
-
-Release Date: April 29, 2021 [eBook #65191]
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
-Produced by: Charlene Taylor, Barry Abrahamsen, and the Online Distributed
-             Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
-             produced from images generously made available by The Internet
-             Archive/American Libraries.)
-
-*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ESSAYS OF DOUGLAS JERROLD ***
-
-
-
-
-                        THE ESSAYS AND SKETCHES
-                           BY DOUGLAS JERROLD
-
-
-
-
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-
-
-
-
-                          All rights reserved
-
-
-
-
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-
-
-[Illustration:
-
-  “The two flasks were in brief time emptied.”
-]
-
-
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-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
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-
-
-                             The Essays of
-                            DOUGLAS JERROLD
-
-                                   ❧
-
-
-
-
-                                 Edited
-                            by his Grandson
-                             WALTER JERROLD
-                         with Illustrations by
-                               H·M·BROCK
-                                  1903
-
-
-
-                         NEW YORK: E. P. DUTTON
-                              AND COMPANY
-
-                        West Twenty-Third Street
-
-
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-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-
-
-                                CONTENTS
-
-
-                                                  PAGE
-
-                  SHAKESPEARE AT CHARLECOTE PARK     1
-
-                  SHAKESPEARE AT “BANK-SIDE”         7
-
-                  THE EPITAPH OF SIR HUGH EVANS     13
-
-                  BULLY BOTTOM’S BABES              22
-
-                  SHAKESPEARE IN CHINA              28
-
-                  SOLOMON’S APE                     39
-
-                  THE CASTLE BUILDERS OF PADUA      46
-
-                  THE TAPESTRY WEAVER OF            50
-                    BEAUVAIS
-
-                  THE WINE CELLAR: A “MORALITY”     58
-
-                  RECOLLECTIONS OF GUY FAWKES       67
-
-                  ELIZABETH AND VICTORIA            75
-
-                  THE LITTLE GREAT AND THE GREAT    90
-                    LITTLE
-
-                  THE MANAGER’S PIG                 95
-
-                  SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL    103
-
-                  FIRESIDE SAINTS                  121
-
-                  CAT-AND-FIDDLE MORALITIES: THE   127
-                    TALE OF A TIGER
-
-                  A GOSSIP AT RECULVERS            140
-
-                  THE TWO WINDOWS                  150
-
-                  THE ORDER OF POVERTY             154
-
-                  THE OLD MAN AT THE GATE          166
-
-                  THE FOLLY OF THE SWORD           171
-
-                  THE GREENWICH PENSIONER          181
-
-                  THE DRILL SERGEANT               189
-
-                  THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING        199
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
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-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-
-
-                         LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
-
-
-             “The two flasks were in brief time       _Photogravure
-               emptied” (The Wine Cellar)             Frontispiece_
-
-                                                       PAGE
-
-             _Headpiece to_ Contents                      v
-
-             _Tailpiece to_ Contents                     vi
-
-             _Headpiece to_ List of Illustrations       vii
-
-             _Headpiece to_ Shakespeare at Charlecote     1
-               Park
-
-             _Tailpiece to_ Shakespeare at Charlecote     6
-               Park
-
-             _Headpiece to_ Shakespeare at                7
-               “Bank-Side”
-
-             _Tailpiece to_ Shakespeare at               12
-               “Bank-Side”
-
-             _Headpiece to_ The Epitaph of Sir Hugh      13
-               Evans
-
-             “One who would have added weight and        17
-               dignity to the ceremony”
-
-             _Headpiece to_ Bully Bottom’s Babes         22
-
-             _Tailpiece to_ Bully Bottom’s Babes         27
-
-             _Headpiece to_ Shakespeare in China         28
-
-             “Became wise by poring on his book”         34
-
-             _Tailpiece to_ Shakespeare in China         38
-
-             _Headpiece to_ Solomon’s Ape                39
-
-             “Cast him down a ripe pomegranate”          43
-
-             _Tailpiece to_ Solomon’s Ape                45
-
-             _Headpiece to_ The Castle Builders of       46
-               Padua
-
-             _Headpiece to_ The Tapestry Weaver of       50
-               Beauvais
-
-             _Tailpiece to_ The Tapestry Weaver of       57
-               Beauvais
-
-             _Headpiece to_ The Wine Cellar: A           58
-               “Morality”
-
-             _Tailpiece to_ The Wine Cellar: A           66
-               “Morality”
-
-             _Headpiece to_ Recollections of Guy         67
-               Fawkes
-
-             “Rejoicing in the captivity of a suit of    70
-               clothes stuffed with hay”
-
-             _Tailpiece to_ Recollections of Guy         74
-               Fawkes
-
-             _Headpiece to_ Elizabeth and Victoria       75
-
-             “Rank ... preached its high prerogative     80
-               from externals”
-
-             “Hangman’s surgery”                         83
-
-             _Headpiece to_ The Little Great and the     90
-               Great Little
-
-             _Tailpiece to_ The Little Great and the     94
-               Great Little
-
-             _Headpiece to_ The Manager’s Pig            95
-
-             _Tailpiece to_ The Manager’s Pig           102
-
-             _Headpiece to_ Some Account of a Stage     103
-               Devil
-
-             “Would solace the child by playing upon    113
-               a diabolic fiddle”
-
-             _Tailpiece to_ Some Account of a Stage     120
-               Devil
-
-             _Headpiece to_ Fireside Saints             121
-
-             _Tailpiece to_ Fireside Saints             126
-
-             _Headpiece to_ Cat-and-Fiddle              127
-               Moralities: The Tale of a Tiger
-
-             “Almost for two whole days did the tiger   135
-               sleep”
-
-             _Tailpiece to_ Cat-and-Fiddle              139
-               Moralities: The Tale of a Tiger
-
-             _Headpiece to_ A Gossip at Reculvers       140
-
-             “Sugar from even the sweeter lips of       143
-               lady mistress”
-
-             _Tailpiece to_ A Gossip at Reculvers       149
-
-             _Headpiece to_ The Two Windows             150
-
-             _Headpiece to_ The Order of Poverty        154
-
-             “He has dreamed away his life upon a       164
-               hillside”
-
-             _Tailpiece to_ The Order of Poverty        165
-
-             _Headpiece to_ The Old Man at the Gate     166
-
-             _Headpiece to_ The Folly of the Sword      171
-
-             “Hodge, poor fellow, enlists”              175
-
-             _Tailpiece to_ The Folly of the Sword      180
-
-             _Headpiece to_ The Greenwich Pensioner     181
-
-             _Tailpiece to_ The Greenwich Pensioner     188
-
-             _Headpiece to_ The Drill Sergeant          189
-
-             “He is, indeed, unbent”                    195
-
-             _Headpiece to_ The Handbook of Swindling   199
-
-             “Politely receives his destroyer”          233
-
-             “Any one of these names may be ...         246
-               confidently given in to the night
-               constable”
-
-             “Other worthies laboured on horseback”     256
-
-
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-
-
-
-
-                              INTRODUCTION
-
-
-MUCH of Douglas Jerrold’s writing took essay form although he only
-applied the title to five short pieces which were added as _Essays_ to
-_The Chronicles of Clovernook_ in 1846. Those five pieces are included
-in this volume along with others from his collected works, and from
-among those scattered contributions to periodicals which have been
-brought together at various times since his death.
-
-Born in London on January 3rd, 1803, Douglas William Jerrold was the
-youngest son of a theatrical manager then of the Kent circuit. His baby
-years were passed at Cranbrook, his childhood at Sheerness, and then,
-not having quite attained the mature age of eleven, he was entered as a
-first-class volunteer on board the _Namur_, guardship at the Nore, on
-December 22, 1813. Here in the ship’s school his education was
-continued, and here the midshipman was allowed privileges dear to the
-boyish heart; he was permitted to keep pigeons, and not the least of his
-privileges was the being permitted the use of the captain’s collection
-of books—that captain, it is pleasant to recall, being a brother of Jane
-Austen. About fifteen months after joining the _Namur_ he was
-transferred to the brig _Ernest_, engaged in convoying transports and in
-bringing home wounded soldiers from the Continent. Then came Waterloo
-and Peace. In October 1815 the _Ernest_ was paid off and the boy-officer
-returned to civil life. At the end of the year the Jerrold family left
-Sheerness for London, and Douglas made a new start as printer’s
-apprentice, and perseveringly pursued a rigorous plan of self-education.
-Then he began writing verses and plays, and when he was eighteen his
-first piece was represented on the stage. Play-writing and slight
-journalism were combined with the compositor’s work for a few years
-before, throwing aside the composing stick, he relied entirely on the
-pen. Numerous plays—of many of which nothing beyond the names is now
-recoverable—were written before Douglas Jerrold made his “hit” with
-_Black-eyed Susan_ in 1829. Thenceforward he was a busy playwright and a
-constant contributor to the magazines, annuals and newspapers. In 1841
-the advent of _Punch_ introduced him to a medium peculiarly suited to
-his genius, and to that periodical he contributed his most popular work,
-_Mrs Caudle’s Curtain Lectures_, and one of his best novels, _The Story
-of a Feather_. To the _Illuminated Magazine_ (1843-4) and _Douglas
-Jerrold’s Shilling Magazine_ (1845-8), both of which he edited, he
-contributed many characteristic essays and stories, but later he devoted
-himself more particularly to political writing as editor of _Douglas
-Jerrold’s Weekly Newspaper_ (1846-8), and of _Lloyd’s Weekly Newspaper_
-(1852-7). He died on June 8th, 1857.
-
-We have heard much within recent years for and against fiction “with a
-purpose,” as though this was some new literary manifestation. Among the
-best remembered writers of the early Victorian era are just those who
-had a purpose other than that of merely amusing their readers—Thackeray
-and Dickens are of course the two most striking examples. The author’s
-purpose is often the salt not only flavouring his work for immediate
-contemporaries, but also preserving it for future readers. That with
-Douglas Jerrold this purpose counted for much we have his own words to
-show. Prefacing one of his serial ventures he said: “It will be our
-chief object to make every essay—however brief, and however light and
-familiar in its treatment—breathe _with a purpose_. Experience assures
-us that, especially at the present day, it is _by a defined purpose
-alone_, whether significant in twenty pages or in twenty lines, that the
-sympathies of the world are to be engaged, and its support insured.”
-That this conviction was at the back of the greater part of Douglas
-Jerrold’s writings no student of his work can fail to recognise. The
-fact is perhaps answerable for much of his work having enjoyed but a
-temporary popularity, for there are two ways of writing “with a
-purpose”—the first the topical or journalistic way, and the second the
-general or more philosophical. Yet if Douglas Jerrold expended himself
-to a considerable extent over the particular, he by no means neglected
-the general, of which there is abundant testimony in this volume, as
-well as in _St Giles and St James_, _The Story of a Feather_, _Punch’s
-Letters_, and that little book of golden philosophy, _The Chronicles of
-Clovernook_.
-
-The essays collected into this volume are, as has been hinted, from
-various sources; the earliest dates from the late ’twenties, the latest
-from the last year of the author’s life. No attempt has been made to
-place them chronologically. It has seemed well to keep the five
-Shakespearean essays together, representing as they do a life-long
-interest of their author’s. In the early ’thirties Douglas Jerrold and a
-number of other young Shakespeare enthusiasts—William Godwin the
-Younger, Laman Blanchard, Kenny Meadows, etc.—formed the Mulberry Club,
-at the gatherings of which essays and verses were read by the members;
-some certainly of the following papers formed part of the club’s
-“Mulberry Leaves,” as also did the same writer’s song on _Shakespeare’s
-Crab Tree_, a song which may be quoted here, as it is not widely known,
-to complete Jerrold’s “leaves.”
-
-                   To Shakespeare’s mighty line
-                     Let’s drink with heart and soul;
-                   ’Twill give a zest divine,
-                     Though humble be the bowl.
-                   Then drink while I essay,
-                     In slipshod, careless rhyme,
-                   A legendary lay
-                     Of Willy’s golden time.
-
-                   One balmy summer’s night,
-                     As Stratford yeomen tell,
-                   One Will, the royst’ring wight,
-                     Beneath a crab tree fell;
-                   And, sunk in deep repose,
-                     The tipsy time beguiled,
-                   Till Dan Apollo rose
-                     Upon his greatest child.
-
-                   Since then all people vowed
-                     The tree had wondrous power:
-                   With sense, with speech endowed,
-                     ’Twould prattle by the hour;
-                   Though scattered far about,
-                     Its remnants still would blab:
-                   Mind, ere this fact you doubt,—
-                     It was a female crab.
-
-                   “I felt,” thus spoke the tree,
-                     “As down the poet lay,
-                   A touch, a thrill, a glee,
-                     Ne’er felt before that day.
-                   Along my verdant blood
-                     A quick’ning sense did shoot,
-                   Expanding every bud,
-                     And rip’ning all my fruit.
-
-                   “What sounds did move the air,
-                     Around me and above!
-                   The yell of mad despair,
-                     The burning sigh of love!
-                   Ambition, guilt-possessed,
-                     Suspicion on the rack,
-                   The ringing laugh and jest,
-                     Begot by sherris-sack!
-
-                   “Since then, my branches full
-                     Of Shakespeare’s vital heat,
-                   My fruit, once crude and dull
-                     Became as honey sweet;
-                   And when, o’er plain and hill,
-                     Each tree was leafless seen,
-                   My boughs did flourish still
-                     In everlasting green.”
-
-                   And thus our moral food
-                     Doth Shakespeare leaven still,
-                   Enriching all the good
-                     And less’ning all the ill;—
-                   Thus, by his bounty shed
-                     Like balm from angel’s wing,
-                   Though winter scathe our head,
-                     Our spirits dance with spring.
-
-With reference to the first of the following essays there recently came
-into my hands an interesting letter from the author, which may well be
-quoted here. Walter Savage Landor’s _Citation and Examination of William
-Shakespeare_ had been published in 1834, and apparently Jerrold’s
-correspondent had pointed out the similarity of theme:—
-
-                                  “11 THISTLE GROVE, LITTLE CHELSEA,
-                                               “_August 6th (1835)_.
-
-    “MY DEAR SIR,—_The Trial of Shakespeare_ was, I think, published
-    by Bentley. I have only read extracts from it in reviews; and
-    though therein I recognised _nothing similar to my little
-    sketch_, nevertheless the publication of the book does, on
-    consideration, seem to preoccupy the subject. I concluded that
-    you had seen something of the volume, or should before have
-    pointed it out to you. If you please—for I confess myself
-    somewhat thin-skinned under any charge of plagiary, the more
-    especially when unmerited—you may omit the first legend.
-
-    “For the second, it has never yet seen the light; nor am I aware
-    of the existence of any essay to which even the uncharitableness
-    of criticism might imagine a resemblance.
-
-    “It struck me, on reading it, that were it broken up more into
-    paragraphs—as new objects are introduced—it would be more
-    effective. As it is the images crowding so closely upon each
-    other—(whilst the spirit of the essay depends upon the
-    distinctness with which they represent the several plays)—may
-    confuse, and thus fail to satisfy the reader. If you think with
-    me, and will again favour me with the proof, I will make the
-    alterations with as little trouble as possible to the printer.
-    There being now only one legend, I should call the paper
-    _Shakespeare at Bank-side_.—I am, my dear Sir, yours truly,
-
-                                                  “DOUGLAS JERROLD.”
-
-    “W. H. HARRISON, Esq.”
-
-Beyond the fact that they both deal with the tradition of Shakespeare’s
-deer-stealing escapade and departure from Stratford-on-Avon, there is
-but little similarity between Douglas Jerrold’s brief essay and Landor’s
-much longer work. With reference to _Shakespeare in China_ it may be of
-interest to point out—the author in satirising his fellow countryman
-later used the fiction of describing English characters from the Chinese
-point of view in _Punch_ of May 25th, 1844.
-
-If the first few essays testify to the author’s loving homage to
-Shakespeare, others in no uncertain voice proclaim his political
-radicalism, his detestation of war, and his sense of the truth that
-man’s inhumanity to man makes countless thousands mourn. In
-_Recollections of Guy Fawkes_ the references to the Isle of Sheppy “some
-five and twenty years ago” are reminiscences of Jerrold’s boyhood at
-Sheerness. The pleasant little homily on human consistency, _The
-Manager’s Pig_, is said to have been founded in fact; the manager in
-question being Davidge of the Coburg Theatre, to whom Jerrold was for a
-time “household author” at a weekly salary. The series of
-_Cat-and-Fiddle Moralities_ so auspiciously begun with _The Tale of a
-Tiger_ was not pursued any further. _The Drill Sergeant_ and _The
-Greenwich Pensioner_ formed part of a series of _Full Lengths_,
-contributed to the _Monthly Magazine_ in 1826-7; there were at least six
-of them, but as I have not been able to consult a complete set of the
-magazine, I have only been able to trace three—the two given and one on
-_The Ship Clergyman_.
-
-In the closing item of this collection we have a satiric essay of a
-sort, which seems to have been in the air at the time; it was published
-originally in 1839 with illustrations by Phiz, at the same time that
-Thackeray by contributing his _Catherine_ to _Fraser’s_ was also seeking
-to discredit “the Newgate school” of fiction. Later, in _Punch_, Douglas
-Jerrold reverted to the “Newgate novel-mongers,” mentioning them as
-still a power, and showing that satire had not stopped the demand for
-their productions; and in one of the most popular of his comedies a
-character is made to say, “When I was young, girls used to read
-_Pilgrim’s Progress_, _Jeremy Taylor_, and such books of innocence; now,
-young ladies know the ways of Newgate as well as the turnkeys. Then,
-books gave girls hearty, healthy food; now, silly things, like larks in
-cages, they live upon hemp-seed.”
-
-                                                                   W. J.
-
-
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-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-
-
-                     SHAKESPEARE AT CHARLECOTE PARK
-
-
-IT was a fine May morning when the bailiff of Sir Thomas Lucy, of
-Charlecote, attended by some half-dozen serving men, rode quickly
-through the streets of Stratford, and halted at the abode of his worship
-the Mayor. The children in the street stood mute, and stared; gossips
-ran to door and casement; Thrums, the tailor, mechanically twitched off
-his cap, and for a moment forgot the new bridal jerkin of Martin
-Lapworth, the turner, of Henley Street; John-a-Combe, the thrifty
-money-scrivener, startled from a sum of arithmetic, watched the horsemen
-with peering eyes and open mouth; and every face expressed astonishment
-and surmise as the horses’ hoofs tore up the road, and the arms of the
-riders rang and clattered; and their visages, burly and glowing, showed
-as of men bearing mighty tidings. Had a thunderbolt fallen in the
-market-place, it could not more suddenly have broken the tranquillity of
-Stratford than had the sudden visit of Sir Thomas Lucy’s retainers.
-Every one pressed to the Mayor’s house to learn the tidings, and in a
-brief time one, taking up the fears of his neighbour for the truth, told
-an inquiring third that the swarthy Spaniard, with a thousand ships, had
-entered the Thames; that her gracious highness the Queen was a close
-prisoner in the Tower, and that the damnable papists had carried the
-host through the city, and had performed High Mass in the Abbey of
-Westminster. This rumour was opposed by another, averring that the Queen
-had drunk poison in a quart of sherris (a beverage much loved by her
-highness)—whilst a fourth story told of her private marriage with the
-Master of the Horse. Great wonderment followed on each tale. Some vowed
-they would never be brought to speak Spanish, others religiously called
-for fire upon all Catholics—whilst more than one good housewife hoped
-that in all reasonable time her Majesty would bring forth a prince.
-Stratford was the very court-place for rumour; old, yellow Avon paused
-in his course, astonished at the hum and buzz that came with every wind.
-
-At length the truth became manifest. No Spanish bottom poisoned the
-Thames; no Spanish flag blasted the air of England. Elizabeth yet
-gripped her sceptre—yet indulged in undrugged sack and cold virginity.
-Still it was no mean event that could thrust seven of Sir Thomas Lucy’s
-men into their saddles, and send them galloping, like so many St
-Georges, to the Mayor of Stratford. Thus it was then; the park of Sir
-Thomas had been entered on the over-night, and one fine head of fallow
-deer stolen from the pasturage, whilst another was found sorely maimed,
-sobbing out its life among the underwood. The marauders were known, and
-Sir Thomas had sent to his worship to apprehend the evil-doers, and
-despatch them under a safe guard to the hall of Charlecote. This simple
-story mightily disappointed the worthy denizens of Stratford, and, for
-the most part, sent them back to their various business. Many, however,
-lingered about his worship’s dwelling to catch a view of the
-culprits—for they were soon in custody—and many a head was thrust from
-the windows to look at the offenders, as, mounted on horseback, and well
-guarded on all sides by Sir Thomas Lucy’s servants and the constables of
-Stratford, they took their way through the town, and, crossing the Avon,
-turned on the left to Charlecote.
-
-There were four criminals, and all in the first flush of manhood; they
-rode as gaily among their guards as though each carried a hawk upon his
-fist and were ambling to the sound of Milan bells. One of the culprits
-was specially distinguished from his companions, more by the perfect
-beauty of his face than by the laughing unconcern that shone in it. He
-seemed about twenty-two years of age, of somewhat more than ordinary
-stature, his limbs combining gracefulness of form with manly strength.
-He sat upon his saddle as though he grew there. His countenance was of
-extraordinary sweetness. He had an eye, at once so brilliant and so
-deep, so various in its expression, so keenly piercing, yet so meltingly
-soft—an eye so wonderful and instant in its power as though it could
-read the whole world at a glance—such an eye as hardly ever shone within
-the face of man; it was not an eye of flesh—it was a living soul. His
-nose and chin were shaped as with a chisel from the fairest marble; his
-mouth looked instinct with thought, yet as sweet and gentle in its
-expression as is an infant’s when it dreams and smiles. And as he doffed
-his hat to a fair head that looked mournfully at him from an upper
-casement, his broad forehead bared out from his dark curls in surpassing
-power and amplitude. It seemed a tablet writ with a new world.
-
-The townspeople gazed at the young man, and some of them said, “Poor
-Will Shakespeare!” Others said, “’Twas a sore thing to get a child for
-the gallows!” and one old crone lifted up her lean hands and cried, “God
-help poor Anne Hathaway, she had better married the tailor!” Some
-prophesied a world of trouble for the young man’s parents; many railed
-him as a scapegrace given to loose companions, a mischievous varlet, a
-midnight roysterer; but the greater number only cried, “Poor Will
-Shakespeare!” It was but a short ride to the hall, yet ere the escort
-had arrived there Sir Thomas Lucy with some choice guests were seated at
-dinner.
-
-Hereupon the constables were ordered to take especial care of the
-culprits, who were forthwith consigned to the darkest and strongest
-cellar at Charlecote. Here, at least, it was thought that Will
-Shakespeare would abate somewhat of his unseemly hardihood, for all the
-way to the mansion he had laughed and jested and made riddles on the
-constables’ beards, and sang snatches of profane songs, and kissed his
-fingers to the damsels on the road, and, indeed, “showed himself,” as a
-discreet, observing nun declared, “little better than a child of Satan.”
-In the cellar he and his co-mates, it was thought, would mend their
-manners. “As they do not learn to respect God, and worship Sir Thomas,
-and honour deer’s flesh, as good Christians ought—and they learn not
-these things in the dark—’tis to waste God’s gifts upon ’em to let ’em
-see the light of day.” Thus spoke Ralph Elder, constable of Stratford,
-to one of the grooms of Charlecote. “I tell you, John,” continued the
-functionary, “Will Shakespeare’s horse didn’t stumble for nothing at the
-field of hemp. God saves poor babes born to be hanged, for ’tis no
-constable’s affair——Hush! mercy on us, they laugh—laugh like lords!”
-
-To the shame of the prisoners be it spoken, the discourse of Ralph was
-broken by a loud shout from the cellar. To add to the abomination, the
-captives trolled forth in full concert a song—“a scornful thing,” as
-Ralph afterwards declared it, “against the might and authority of Sir
-Thomas Lucy.” The men, the maids—all flocked to the cellar door, while
-the dungeon of the prisoners rang with their shouting voices. “It was
-thus they glorified,” as Ralph avowed, “in their past iniquities”:—
-
- “’Twas yester morning, as I walked adown by Charlecote Meads,
-  And counting o’er my wicked sins, as friars count their beads;
-  I halted just beside a deer—a deer with speaking face,
-  That seem’d to say, ‘In God’s name come and take me from this place!’
-
- “And then it ’gan to tell its tale—and said its babe forlorn
-  Had butcher’d been for Lucy’s dish soon after it was born;
-  ‘I know ’tis right!’ exclaimed the dam, ‘my child should form a feast,
-  But what I most complain of is, that beast should dine off beast!’
-
- “And still the creature mourn’d its fate, and how it came to pass
-  That Lucy here a scarecrow is, in London town an ass![1]
-  And ended still its sad complaints with offers of its life,
-  twenty hundred times exclaimed, ‘Oh! haven’t you a knife?’
-
- “There’s brawny limbs in Stratford town, there’s hearts without a fear,
-  There’s tender souls who really have compassion on a deer;
-  And last night was without a moon, a night of nights to give
-  Fit dying consolation to a deer that may not live.
-
- “The dappled brute lay on the grass, a knife was in its side;
-  Another from its yearning throat let forth its vital tide.
-  It said, as tho’ escaping from the worst that could befall,
-  ‘Now, thank my stars, I shall not smoke on board at Charlecote Hall!’
-
- “Oh, happy deer! Above your friends exalted high by fate,
-  You’re not condemned like all the herds to Lucy’s glutton plate;
-  But every morsel of your flesh, from shoulder to the haunch,
-  Tho’ bred and killed in Charlecote Park, hath lined an honest paunch.”
-
-Footnote 1:
-
-  “In the country a scarecrow, in London an ass!”—_Shakespeare’s Satire
-  on Sir Thomas Lucy._
-
-The household were truly scandalised at this bravado. The night came on,
-and still the prisoners sang and laughed. In the morning Sir Thomas took
-his chair of state, and ordered the culprits to his presence. The
-servants hurried to the cellar—but the birds were flown. How they
-effected their escape remaineth to this day a mystery, though it cannot
-be disguised that heavy suspicion fell upon four of the maids. The story
-went that Shakespeare was a day or two afterwards passed on the London
-road.
-
-This tale was corroborated by John-a-Combes. For, many years afterwards,
-a townsman of Stratford, who had quitted his native place for the Indies
-just at the time that Warwickshire rang with the deeds of the
-deer-stealers, returned home, and amongst other gossip was heard to ask
-the thrifty money-getter what became of that rare spark, Will
-Shakespeare, him who entered Sir Thomas’s park at Charlecote. “Marry,
-sir,” replied John; “the worst has become of him, for after that robbery
-he went to London, where he turned stage actor, and writ plays, _King
-Lear_, _Hamlet_, _Macbeth_, _Othello_, and such things.”
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
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-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-
-
-                     SHAKESPEARE AT “BANK-SIDE”[2]
-
-
-THE bell of St Mary Overy had struck three; the flag was just displayed
-from the Rose play-house; and, rustling in the wind, was like, in the
-words of the pious Philip Stubbes, “unto a false harlot, flaunting the
-unwary onward to destruction and to death.” Barges and boats, filled
-with the flower of the court-end and the city, crowded to the bridge.
-Gallants, in the pride of new cloak and doublet, leaped to the shore,
-making rich the strand with many a fair gentlewoman lifted all tenderly
-from the craft; horses pranced along Bank-side, spurred by their riders
-to the door of the tiring-room; nay, there was no man, woman, or child
-who did not seem beckoned by the Rose flag to the play,—whose ears did
-not drink in the music of the trumpets, as though it was the most
-ravishing sound of the earth. At length the trumpets ceased, and the
-play began.
-
-Footnote 2:
-
-  According to Rowe’s story, related to Pope, Shakespeare’s first
-  employment in London was to wait at the door of the play-house and
-  hold the horses of those that had no servants, that they might be
-  ready after the performance. “But I cannot,” says Mr Steevens,
-  “dismiss this anecdote without observing, that it seems to want every
-  mark of probability.”
-
-The Rose was crammed. In the penny gallery was many an apprentice
-unlawfully dispensing his master’s time—it might be, his master’s penny
-too. Many a husband, slunk from a shrew’s pipe and hands, was there, to
-list and shake the head at the player’s tale of wedded love. Nor here
-and there was wanting, peeping from a nook, with cap pulled over the
-brow, and ruff huddled about the neck, the sly, happy face of one, who
-yesterday gave an assenting groan to the charitable wonder of a godly
-neighbour—of one who marvelled that the Rose flag should flout the
-heavens, yet call not down the penal fire. The yard was thronged; and on
-the stage was many a bird of courtly feather, perched on his sixpenny
-stool; whilst the late comer lay at length upon the rushes, his thoughts
-wrested from his hose and points by the mystery of the play.
-
-Happy, thrice happy wights, thus fenced and rounded in from the leprous,
-eating cares of life! Happy ye, who, even with a penny piece, can
-transport yourselves into a land of fairy—can lull the pains of flesh
-with the music of high thoughts! The play goes on, with all its
-influences. Where is the courtier? Ten thousand miles from the glassy
-floor of a palace, lying on a bank, listening to a reed piping in
-Arcady. Where the man of thrift? He hath shuffled off his trading suit,
-and dreams himself a shepherd of the golden time. Where the wife-ridden
-husband, doubtful of a natural right to his own soul? He is an Indian
-emperor, flushed with the mastery of ten thousand slaves! Where is the
-poor apprentice—he who hath weals upon his back for twopence lost on
-Wednesday? He is in El Dorado, strutting upon gold. Thus works the
-play—let it go on. Our business calls us to the outside.
-
-There is scarcely a passenger to be seen on Bank-side. Three or four
-boys loiter about the theatre, some trying, through a deceitful crevice,
-to catch a glimpse of the play—some tending horses, until the show be
-done. Apart from these, his arms crossed, leaning against a post, his
-eyes fixed on the Rose flag,—stands a youth, whose face, though perfect
-in its beauty, has yet a troubled air. As he stands, watching the
-rustling beacon, it almost seems—so fixed is his look—as though he held
-some converse with it; as though the fortunes of his future life were
-woven in its web in mystic characters, and he, with his spirit straining
-from his eyes, were seeking to decipher them. Now—so would imagination
-work—there seemed voluble speech in its flapping folds, and now a
-visible face. The youth turned from gazing on the flag to the open
-river. Some spirit was upon him; and, through his eyes, gave to vulgar
-objects a new and startling form. He was in a day-dream of wonder and
-beauty; and as it is told that those doomed to the ocean with hearts
-yearning for the land see fields and pleasant gardens in the heaving
-wave,—so our hero, tricked by his errant fancy, gazed breathless at new
-wonders sweeping before him. A golden mist shrouded the mansions and
-warehouses on the strand. Each common thing of earth glowed and dilated
-under the creative spirit of the dreamer. The Thames seemed fixed—whilst
-a thousand forms moved along the silver pavement. The sky shone
-brighter—harmony was in the air! The shades move on.
-
-First passes one bearing in his hand a skull: wisdom is in his eyes,
-music on his tongue—the soul of contemplation in the flesh of an Apollo:
-the greatest wonder and the deepest truth—the type of great thought and
-sickly fancies—the arm of clay, wrestling with and holding down the
-angel. He looks at the skull, as though death had written on it the
-history of man. In the distance one white arm is seen above the tide,
-clutching at the branches of a willow “growing askant a brook.”
-
-Now there are sweet, fitful noises in the air: a shaggy monster, his
-lips glued to a bottle—his eyes scarlet with wine—wine throbbing in the
-very soles of his feet—heaves and rolls along, mocked at by a sparkling
-creature couched in a cowslip’s bell.
-
-And now a maiden and a youth, an eternity of love in their passionate
-looks, with death as a hooded priest joining their hands: a gay gallant
-follows them, led on by Queen Mab, twisting and sporting as a porker’s
-tail.
-
-The horns sound—all, all is sylvan! Philosophy in hunter’s suit,
-stretched beneath an oak, moralises on a wounded deer, festering,
-neglected, and alone: and now the bells of folly jingle in the breeze,
-and the suit of motley glances among the greenwood.
-
-The earth is blasted—the air seems full of spells: the shadows of the
-Fates darken the march of the conqueror: the hero is stabbed with
-air-drawn steel.
-
-The waves roar like lions round the cliff: the winds are up, and
-howling; yet there is a voice, louder than theirs—a voice made high and
-piercing by intensest agony! The singer comes, his white head “crowned
-with rank fumitor”—madness, tended by truth, speaking through folly!
-
-The Adriatic basks in the sun: there is a street in Venice; “a merry
-bargain” is struck—the Jew slinks like a balked tiger from the court.
-
-Enter a pair of legs, marvellously cross-gartered.
-
-And hark! to a sound of piping, comes one with an ass’s head wreathed
-with musk roses and a spirit playing around it like a wildfire.
-
-A handkerchief, with “magic in the web,” comes like a trail of light,
-and disappears.
-
-A leek—a leek of immortal green shoots up!
-
-Behold! like to the _San Trinidad_, swims in a buck-basket labelled “to
-Datchet Meads.”
-
-There gleam two roses, red and white—a Roman cloak stabbed through and
-through—a lantern of the watch of Messina!
-
-A thousand images of power and beauty pass along.
-
-The glorious pageant is over—no! fancy is yet at work.—
-
-Yonder ship, laden with sherris, canary, and spice—see how her masts and
-rigging fall and melt, like metal in a furnace! Her huge hold, stowed to
-the deck with wine, swells and distends, and takes another form. We see
-no ship, but a man mountain, with a belly that “would sink a navy.” One
-butt of red wine is sinking in the Thames: no; it moves and shapes
-itself into something like a nose, which, rising like a comet, fiery
-red, before him of the abdomen, seems as ’twere purposed for a torch to
-light him “’twixt tavern and tavern.” And see——
-
-But the day-dream of the youth is broken. A visitor, mounted, has just
-arrived, and would fain enter the play-house; but there is none bold or
-strong enough to hold his steed. At least a dozen men—it was remarkable
-that each had in his bosom a roll of paper, it might be the draft of a
-play—rushing from the Rose, strove to hold the bridle: but some the
-horse trod down—some he struck paralytic with his flashing eye—some ran
-away, half distraught at his terrible neighing. At length our dreamer
-approached the steed, which, as it had been suddenly turned to stone,
-stood still. The rider dismounted and entered the play-house, leaving
-his horse tended by our hero. The animal ate from out his hand—answered
-with its proud head the caresses of its feeder—and, as it pranced and
-curveted, a sound of music, as from the horny hoofs of dancing satyrs,
-rose from the earth. All stood amazed at the sudden taming of the horse.
-
-The play ended—the audience issued from the doors. The story had run
-from mouth to mouth, touching the new-comer and his horse. All hurried
-about the stranger, to see him mount. He, with some difficulty, such was
-the crowd, leaped on his steed, when, inclining his face, radiant with
-smiles, towards the youth who had performed the office of his groom, he
-flashed like a sunbeam out of sight. All stood marble with astonishment.
-At length the immortal quality of the visitor was made manifest, for, in
-the press and hurry, a feather had fallen from one of his wings—albeit,
-concealed and guarded by a long cloak.
-
-The youth who had taken charge of the horse seized, as his rightful
-wages, on this relic of Phœbus, and, taking his way, he fashioned it
-into a pen, and with it from time to time gave to the “airy nothings” of
-his day-dream “a local habitation and a name.”
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-It is modestly hoped that this well-authenticated story will wholly
-silence the sceptical objections of Mr Steevens.
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
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-
-
-[Illustration:
-
-  “Hearing little John Fenton lisp his Berkshire Latin”
-]
-
-
-
-
-                     THE EPITAPH OF SIR HUGH EVANS
-
-
-“THERE’S pippins and cheese to come!”
-
-Such are the hopeful words of an old divine—of one Sir Hugh Evans—a
-preacher distinguished in the latter part of the reign of Henry the
-Fourth, not so much for the ascetic asperity of his speech and bearing
-as for a certain household wisdom that ran like threads of gold through
-his most familiar sentences, enhanced and recommended by a blithe look
-and a chirping voice; all of which excellent gifts made him the oracle
-and friend of the yeomen and goodwives of Windsor. These inestimable
-qualities—to say nothing of his miraculous hand at bowls, and his
-marvellous sagacity as a brewer of sack—had, as we have already
-inferred, endeared him to his flock: and, living, and preaching, and
-gossiping in a neighbourhood of love and good fellowship, the parson
-grew old, his cheek mellowing to the last; when, in the year——, he fell,
-like an over-ripe plum from the tree, into his grave—all the singing men
-and maids and little children of mournful Windsor following their
-teacher to his couch of earth, and chanting around it the hymn best
-loved by him when living.
-
-In sooth, the funeral of the poor knight was most bravely attended. Six
-stout morrice-men carried the corpse from a cottage, the property of the
-burly, roystering Host of the “Garter”—a pretty rustic nook, near
-Datchet Meads, whither the worn-out parson had, for six months before
-his death, retired from the stir and bustle of Windsor—and where, on a
-summer evening, he might be seen seated in the porch, patiently hearing
-little John Fenton lisp his Berkshire Latin,—the said John being the
-youngest grandson of old Master Page, and godchild of the grey-headed,
-big-bellied landlord of the “Garter.” Poor Sir Hugh had long been
-afflicted with a vexing asthma; and, though in his gayer times he would
-still brew sack for younger revellers, telling them rare tales of “poor
-dear Sir John and the Prince,” he had, for seven years before his death,
-eschewed his former sports, and was never known to hear of a match of
-bowls that he did not shake his head and sigh,—and then, like a
-stout-hearted Christian as he was, soothe his discomfited spirit with
-the snatch of an old song. Doctor Caius had, on his death-bed,
-bequeathed to Sir Hugh an inestimable treasure; nothing less than a
-prescription—a very charm—to take away a winter cough: for three years
-had it been to Sir Hugh as the best gift of King Oberon; but the fourth
-winter the amulet cast its virtue, and from year to year the parson grew
-worse and worse,—when, in the sixty-eighth year of his age, on a bright
-May morning, in the arms of his gossip and friend, staid, sober Master
-Slender, with the Host of the “Garter” seated (for he was too fat to
-stand) in an arm-chair at the bedside, and Master Page and Master Ford
-at the foot, Sir Hugh Evans, knight and priest, passed into death, as
-into a sweet, sound sleep. His wits had wandered somewhat during the
-night,—for he talked of “Herne the hunter” and “a boy in white”; and
-then he tried to chirrup a song,—and Masters Page and Ford smiled sadly
-in each other’s face as the dying man, chuckling as he carolled, trolled
-forth—
-
-          “Pinch him, and burn him, and turn him about,
-           Till candles, and starlight, and moonshine be out.”
-
-As the day advanced, the dying man became more calm; and at length,
-conscious of his state, he passed away at half-past nine in the morning,
-with a look of serenest happiness—and “God be with you!” were the last
-words that fluttered from his lips.
-
-The personal property of the dead parson was shared among his friends
-and servants. Master Slender inherited his “Book of Songs and Posies”;
-the Host of the “Garter” the sword with which Sir Hugh had dared Doctor
-Caius to mortal combat; and all his wardrobe, consisting of two entire
-suits and four shirts, somewhat softened the grief of Francis Simple—son
-of Simple, former retainer of Master Slender, and for three years
-body-servant of dead Sir Hugh. A sum of two shillings and fourpence,
-discovered among the effects of the deceased, was faithfully distributed
-to the parish poor.
-
-
-[Illustration:
-
-  “One ... who would have added weight and dignity to the ceremony”
-]
-
-
-There was sadness in Windsor streets as the funeral procession moved
-slowly towards the church. Old men and women talked of the frolics of
-Sir Hugh; and though they said he had been in his day something of the
-merriest for a parson, yet more than one gossip declared it to be her
-belief that “worse men had been made bishops.” A long train of friends
-and old acquaintance followed the body. First, came worthy Master
-Slender—chief mourner. He was a bachelor, a little past his prime of
-life, with a sad and sober brow, and a belly inclining to portliness.
-The severe censors of Windsor had called him woman-hater, for that in
-his songs and in his speech he would bear too hardly on the frailties
-and fickleness of the delicate sex; for which unjust severity older
-people might perchance, and they would, have found some small apology.
-For, in truth, Master Slender was a man of softest heart; and though he
-studiously avoided the company of women, he was the friend of all the
-children of Datchet and Windsor. He always carried apples in his pocket
-for little John Fenton, youngest child of Anne Fenton, formerly Anne
-Page; and was once found sitting in Windsor Park, with little John upon
-his knees,—Master Slender crying like a chidden maid. Of this enough.
-Let it now suffice to say that Master Slender—for the Host was too heavy
-to walk—was chief mourner. Then followed Ford and his wife; next, Mr
-Page and his son William,—poor Mrs Page being dead two years at
-Christmas, from a cold caught with over dancing, and then obstinately
-walking through the snow from her old gossip Ford’s. Next in the
-procession were Master Fenton and his wife, and then followed their
-eight children in couples; then Robin—now a prosperous vintner, once
-page to Sir John,—with Francis Simple; and then a score of little ones,
-to whom the poor dead parson would give teaching in reading and
-writing,—and, where he marked an apter wit among his free disciples,
-something of the Latin accidence. These were all that followed Sir Hugh
-Evans to his rest—for death had thinned the thick file of his old
-acquaintance. One was wanting, who would have added weight and dignity
-to the ceremony—who, had he not some few years before been called to
-fill the widest grave that was ever dug for flesh, would have cast from
-his broad and valiant face a lustrous sorrow on the manes of the dead
-churchman,—who would have wept tears, rich as wine, upon the coffin of
-his old friend; for to him, in the convenient greatness of his heart,
-all men, from the prince of the blood to the nimming knave who stole the
-“handle of Mrs Bridget’s fan,” were, by turns, friends and good fellows;
-who, at the supper at the “Garter” (for the Host gave a solemn feast in
-celebration of the mournful event), would have moralised on death and
-mortal accidents, and, between his tankards, talked fine philosophy—true
-divinity; would have caroused to the memory of the dead in the most
-religious spirit of sack, and have sent round whole flagons of surest
-consolation. Alas! this great, this seeming invincible spirit, this
-mighty wit, with jests all but rich enough to laugh Death from his
-purpose—to put him civilly aside with a quip, bidding him to pass on and
-strike at leaner bosoms,—he himself, though with “three fingers on the
-ribs,” had been hit; and he, who seemed made to live for ever, an
-embodied principle of fleshly enjoyment,—he, the great Sir John—
-
-                 “He was dead and nailèd in his chest.”
-
-Others, too, passed away with their great dominator, were wanting at the
-ceremonial. Where was he, with nose enshrining jests richer to us than
-rubies? Truly liberal, yet most unfortunate spirit, hapless Bardolph;
-where, when Sir Hugh was laid upon the lap of his mother earth, oh!
-where wert thou? Where was that glorious feature that, had the burying
-been at the dead time of night, would have outshone the torches? Where
-was that all-rich—all-lovely nose? Alack! it may be in the maws of
-French falcons; its luckless owner throttled on the plains of Agincourt
-for almost the smallest theft; hung up by fellest order of the Fifth
-Henry—of his old boon companion, his brother robber on the field of
-Gadshill. And could Harry march from the plain with laurel on his brow
-and leave the comrade of his youth—his fellow-footpad—with neck mortally
-cut “with edge of penny cord”? Should such a chaplet have been
-intertwined with such hemp? The death of Bardolph is a blot—a foul, foul
-blot on the ’scutcheon of Agincourt. But let us pass the ingratitude and
-tyranny of kings, to dwell wholly upon the burial of Sir Hugh.
-
-Who shall say that all the spirits with whom the parson was wont to
-recreate himself,—to counsel, to quarrel,—who shall say that they did
-not all mingle in the procession, all once again pass through the
-streets of ancient Windsor? The broad shadow of Sir John, arm-in-arm
-with the spirit of Mrs Page,—Bardolph and Nym, descended from their
-gibbets, new from the plains of France, to make melancholy holiday in
-Berkshire,—learned Dr Caius, babbling Quickly, and Pistol, her broken,
-war-worn husband, kicked down the tavern stairs, where in his old days
-he served as drawer, and was killed,—and Shallow, immortal Shallow, his
-lean ghost fluttering with a sense of office,—who shall say that all
-these did not crowd about the coffin of good Sir Hugh, and, as he was
-laid in the grave, give him a smiling welcome to his everlasting
-habitation? Let us not, in this day of light, be charged with
-superstition, if in these pages—perpetual as adamant—we register our
-belief, a belief mingling in our very blood, that all these illustrious
-ghosts followed, and, with their dim majesty, ennobled the
-procession,—albeit, to the eyes of the uninitiate, none but the living
-did service to the dead.
-
-Sir Hugh Evans was laid by the side of his old friend and old
-antagonist, Doctor Caius; and, for many years, there was a story among
-the good wives of Windsor, that the fairies, once a year, danced round
-the grave of Sir Hugh, the turf upon it growing as bright as emeralds;
-and, in a hawthorn bush, but a few paces from the spot, “melodious
-birds” did, at certain seasons, “sing madrigals.”
-
-We have now to speak of the epitaph of the good Sir Hugh. More than four
-hundred years have passed away since the mortal part of that most worthy
-piece of Welsh divinity was consigned to dust. It may be a lesson to
-ambition to learn that the exact spot where he was buried cannot, at the
-present time, be verified: the ablest antiquarians are at odds about it.
-Proud, however,—and, we trust, not unbecomingly so,—are we to be the
-means of publishing to the world the epitaph of Sir Hugh, copied from
-his tombstone, in the possession of a gentleman in Berkshire, who has
-resisted our most earnest supplications that he would suffer us to make
-known his name. This favour he has resolutely refused; but has, in the
-most handsome manner, presented us with the use of the tombstone,
-together with a most voluminous, and no less satisfactory, account of
-its genuineness. Happy should we have been could we have found room for
-the history of the relic at full. Leaving it, however, for the archives
-of the Antiquarian Society, we must content ourselves with stating that
-the document fully proves that the tombstone was erected from the
-private munificence of Master Slender, and that the pithy and most
-touching epitaph inscribed upon it was selected by his happy taste, as
-combining all the excellences of an epitaph in the fewest words—these
-words having the further recommendation of being uttered, on a memorable
-occasion, by the deceased himself. The words were repeated to Master
-Slender by his servant Simple, despatched, on a certain day, by Sir Hugh
-with a letter touching the wooing of Anne Page. After long pondering,
-reviewing every circumstance of his ancient friendship with the dead Sir
-Hugh,—seated, one sunny afternoon, on the bench outside the “Garter,”
-the words came jump again into the mind of Slender; and quickly raising
-and emptying his tankard, he marched, like a man resolved, to the
-stone-cutter, and—for he cared not for Latin—bade the workman cut on the
-stone—(the inscription, considering its age, is in a wonderful state of
-preservation)—the words that follow:—
-
-
-                               HUGH EVANS
-                                PRIESTE
-                          Dyed atte Datchette
-                           MAY—ANNO DOMI 14—
-                                 AGED—
-                 “THERE’S PIPPINS AND CHEESE—TO COME.”
-
-
-How simply, yet how beautifully, does this epitaph shadow forth the
-fruitfulness of the future! How delicate, and yet how sufficing, its
-note of promise!—
-
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-
-
-                 “THERE’S PIPPINS AND CHEESE—TO COME.”
-
-Pippins! Does not the word, upon a tombstone, conjure up thoughts of
-Hesperian gardens—of immortal trees, laden with golden fruit; with
-delicious produce, the growth of a soil where not one useless weed takes
-root, where no baneful snake rustles among the grass, where no blight
-descends, no canker withers? Where we may pluck from the consenting
-boughs, and eat, and eat—and never, as in earthly things, find a worm at
-the core, a rottenness at the heart, where outside beauty tempted us to
-taste? “There’s pippins _to come_!” The evil and misery gathered with
-the apple of death will be destroyed—forgotten—by the ambrosial fruit to
-be plucked for ever in immortal orchards!—
-
-
-                 “THERE’S PIPPINS AND CHEESE—TO COME!”
-
-What a picture of plenty in its most beneficent aspect—what a prospect
-of pastoral abundance!
-
-Think of it, ye oppressed of the earth! Ye, who are bowed and pinched by
-want—ye, who are scourged by the hands of persecution—ye, crushed with
-misery—ye, doomed to the bitterness of broken faith; take this
-consolation to your wearied souls—apply this balsam to your bruised
-hearts.—Though all earth be to you as barren as the sands—
-
-
-                 “THERE’S PIPPINS AND CHEESE—TO COME!”
-
-
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-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-
-
-                          BULLY BOTTOM’S BABES
-
-
-THE immortal weaver of Athens hath a host of descendants. They are
-scattered throughout every country of the world, their moral likeness to
-their sage ancestor becoming stronger in the land of wealth and luxury.
-They are a race marked and distinguished by the characteristics of their
-first parent—omnivorous selfishness and invulnerable self-complacency.
-They wear the ass’s head, yet know it not; and heedless of the devotion,
-have the Titania fortune still to round their temples “with coronets of
-fresh and fragrant flowers.” They sleep to the watching of an enamoured
-fairy, and wake only to new experiences of her tenderness and beauty.
-
-             “Be kind and courteous to this gentleman;
-              Hop in his walks, and gambol in his eyes;
-              Feed him with apricocks and dewberries;
-              With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries
-              The honey-bags steal from the humble-bees,
-              And for night-tapers crop their waxen thighs,
-              And light them at the fiery glow-worm’s eyes,
-              To have my love to bed and to arise:
-              And pluck the wings from painted butterflies,
-              To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes:
-              Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies.”
-
-Have we not here the adjuration of the fairy fortune to all her
-ministering delights and pleasures of the world, to render service and
-to do homage to the dull-brained creature of her passion? Extract the
-poetry, the delicious fancy, from the injunction of the Queen of
-Fairies, and what is it but the command of worldly luck to her many
-servitors, to seek all imaginable delights for the sordid lump of earth,
-the mere animal with an “ass’s head” her diseased and wayward affections
-have made an idol of? Is not the world thronged with these Bottoms? In
-shape, in lineament, in every moral feature, are they not the veritable
-descendants of the swaggering homespun Athenian? They are the very
-nurslings of fortune, the monstrous and uncouth objects of her blind and
-fickle passion; yet do they submit to her endearments with no distrust,
-no passing suspicion of their own worthiness. They receive her
-blandishments as nothing more than a just and rightful reward for
-excellence. They cannot conceive how it could have been otherwise. Their
-imagination, vassal to their self-complacency, will not allow them to
-change places for an instant with their less prosperous fellow. No;
-Fortune dotes upon them, and how can she help it? Her extravagant
-fondness is not excused, but justified, made inevitable by the excelling
-worthiness of their parts. Hence, with what serenity they issue mandates
-to the retainers of their fond mistress—with what lordly self-conviction
-of their own merits they accept their service! How they order Cobweb,
-Peaseblossom, and Mustardseed to do their fantastic bidding, as though
-their bondmaster, created with natural and inalienable right to their
-feudality. Nothing in the way of greatness surprises them—no flattery
-startles them.
-
-“Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful!” cries Titania to her
-ass-headed lover, and he by no syllable disclaims the truth, the justice
-of the eulogy. He swallows the praise as his natural food, takes the
-sweet sound of his doting goddess as rightful, every-day applause. He is
-loved by a goddess, for the goddess—we have said it—cannot help it.
-
-The insensibility of the sons of Bottom is one of their grand, their
-unerring characteristics. It is this profitable faculty that would make
-them task the daintiest spirits for their own poorest, vilest wants, and
-dream of nothing monstrous or extravagant in such application.
-
-“I shall desire you of more acquaintance, good Master Cobweb: if I cut
-my finger, I shall make bold with you.”
-
-“Scratch my head, Peaseblossom.”
-
-“Monsieur Cobweb; good mounsieur, get you your weapons in your hand, and
-kill me a red-hipped bumble-bee on the top of a thistle; and, good
-mounsieur, bring me the honey-bag.”
-
-Thus spoke the great progenitor, Bottom; and of a verity his children
-are not more shame-faced task-masters.
-
-Next, let us contrast the power and beauty of delights placed by Queen
-Titania at his will, with the mean, the sordid wretchedness of Bottom’s
-appetite and tastes.
-
-“_Tit._ What, wilt thou hear some music, my sweet love?
-
-“_Bot._ I have a reasonable good ear in music. Let’s have the tongs and
-bones.
-
-“_Tit._ Or say, sweet love, what thou desir’st to eat.
-
-“_Bot._ Truly a peck of provender: I could munch your good dry oats.
-Methinks I have a great desire to a bottle of hay: good hay, sweet hay,
-hath no fellow.
-
-“_Tit._ I have a venturous fairy that shall seek
-           The squirrel’s hoard, and fetch thee new nuts.
-
-“_Bot._ I had rather have a handful or two of dried peas. But, I pray
-you, let none of your people stir me: I have an exposition of sleep come
-upon me.
-
-“_Tit._ Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms.
-            Fairies, be gone, and be always away.
-            So doth the woodbine the sweet honeysuckle
-            Gently entwist; the female ivy so
-            Enrings the barky fingers of the elm.
-            _Oh, how I love thee! how I dote on thee!_”
-
-Is this a scene of mere fairy-land? No; but a thing of hard, every-day
-prosaic life. Have we not about us the children, the thick-headed
-descendants of Bottom, with the Titania fortune tempting them to the
-enjoyments of the rarest and sweetest delights? and yet the coarse
-animal craving of
-
-            “The shallowest thick-skin of that barren sort,”
-
-make answer to her dainty invitations with the poorest, coarsest
-desires! A goddess bids them choose music, and they are for nothing but
-“tongs and bones.” Fortune prays them to the banquet on immortal food,
-and, with asinine stubbornness, they bray for “a handful or two of dried
-peas.” They are warbled to by a goddess, and, unconscious of the homage,
-they make answer with the sense of an ass. We ask it, did Bottom die
-childless?
-
-Bottom’s babes flourish in twenty paths of life. We meet his children in
-the stock-market; we see them sleek and smug behind the counter; we
-catch their faces through carriage windows; we hear their tuneful voices
-from the county-bench, the city-court, yea, in nobler convocations
-still. Sometimes, too, like their Athenian father, they are
-“translated.” No matter for the difference of calling, the influence of
-education, there is the family face—the family voice; the expression of
-self-blessed insensibility, the note of self-complacent gratulation.
-Throughout the life-teeming page of Shakespeare there is not a finer
-poetic rendering of a commonplace, vulgar class than Bottom.
-
-The very heart of their mystery beats in the bosom of the weaver. His
-eagerness to be all things, from an assured conviction of his fitness
-for everything, is only their daily conceit dramatically developed. In
-that brief scene, what a picture have we, what a history of the ten
-thousand incidents of prose life! What an exhibition of the profound
-busy-bodies who clamorously desire to be Wall, Lion, Moonshine, and
-Pyramus too, not from an acquired belief, but as it would seem from a
-natural instinct of their own fitness for the combined charges! How
-triumphantly does Bottom swagger down his fellows! How small, mean,
-degenerate—what nobodies are they, before that giant conceit, the
-thick-skulled weaver![3] And in all this there is nothing that is not
-the severest transcript of human life. We laugh at it; and the next
-moment we are touched into gravity by a reflection of its serious
-meaning—its philosophic comments on the vulgar pretence of the every-day
-world.
-
-Footnote 3:
-
-  It is impossible, we think, for the reader, if he witnessed _A
-  Midsummer Night’s Dream_ at Covent Garden last season (1840) to banish
-  from his memory the _Flute_ of Keeley in this scene. How meekly, how
-  resignedly he gave place to the burly consequence of _Bottom_. It was
-  not imbecility, but a mute absorbing sense of homage to the greatness
-  of the weaver, one of those subtle touches that show the sympathy of
-  the actor with the profoundest meanings of the poet.
-
-The finer part of the picture, in which as we receive it, Shakespeare,
-with immortal tints, has shadowed forth the souls of a herd of men, is
-Bottom doted upon by the Queen of Fairies. It is here we have the true
-lineaments of a vulgar nature emblazoned by luck. It is here we
-recognise the self-sufficient creature of worldly success—the ignorant
-bashaw of life wearing his bravery as an ordained and necessary part of
-himself. He has the riches, the sweets of the earth, at his command, and
-he pauses not in passing wonder at his prosperity. To him there is no
-such power as a Providence. It is a part of the world’s destiny that he
-should be precisely what he is; he is the begotten of fate, and owes no
-obligation to vulgar fortune.
-
-Nor are Bottom’s Babes less like their putative sire, if they have
-suffered no transformation. There are those who come into the world with
-the ass’s head, and live and die wound in the arms of doting wealth. The
-hard task-masters of life are often of these. The foolish, arrogant
-censors of the faults and backslippings of penury are to be found among
-them—the full fleshed moralists who shake their shaggy ears at the small
-delinquencies of struggling men. They eat, drink, sport, and sleep in
-fairyland; their lightest wish evokes a minister to do their bidding;
-and in their most fantastic, foolish moods, still Fortune—weak, besotted
-quean!—cries, with silverest voice:—
-
-“Oh, how I love ye! How I dote on ye!”
-
-Bottom as we opine, considered in his truthfulness, in his reflective
-powers of worldly semblance, awakens our pensiveness, not our mirth. We
-think of the thousands of his children, and the smile that would break
-at the mere words of the weaver, is chequered by the thought of his
-prosaic offspring. Yes; his offspring. It matters not that you point
-to—in his carriage, that you run through his accredited genealogy, that
-you show his armorial bearings. We answer—if he receive the goods of
-fortune as his _right_, with no thankfulness for the gifts, no gratitude
-displayed by constant sympathy with the wants and weaknesses of
-suffering man, though you call him marquis, we say he is the Babe of
-Bottom; and for his quarterings, though they date from the Conquest, the
-eye of our philosophy sees nought on his carriage panels but an ass’s
-head in a field, proper; and in the motto reads—“A bottle of hay!”
-
-
-[Illustration:
-
-  A bottle of hay.
-]
-
-
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-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-
-
-                          SHAKESPEARE IN CHINA
-
-“I cannot tell that the wisest Mandarin now living in China is not
-    indebted for part of his energy and sagacity to Shakespeare and
-    Milton, even though it should happen that he never heard of their
-    names.”
-
-                                        —Godwin’s _Essay on Sepulchres_.
-
-
-WE do great injustice to the College of Mandarins, if we think that body
-at the present time ignorant of the marvels of Shakespeare. No: Canton
-has produced its commentator, and, by means of his explanatory genius,
-it is hoped that in a few years the whole Celestial Empire will, in the
-fulness of its knowledge, bow to the majesty of the poet. At this moment
-we have before us a radiant evidence of the admission of the great
-teacher into the Sacred City: believe it, astounded reader, Shakespeare
-has gone farther than Nieuhoff. England, however—that England who has
-shown herself such an idolatress of her darling son—who has encircled
-the house in which he first drew breath with a golden rail—who has
-secured it from possible destruction at the hands of the bigot, by
-making it the property of the State—that England who, when the tree
-planted by the bard was felled by the axe, wept as she turned the timber
-into ’bacco-stoppers[4]—that England who, even at the present time, only
-a little more than two centuries after his death, has already begun to
-think of the propriety of erecting, at some future day, a national
-monument to her poet—that England cannot, after the many and affecting
-instances of her deep and maternal love towards her most illustrious
-child, refuse to aid in the dissemination of Shakespearanity in any
-corner of the world, but at the present interesting crisis, more
-particularly in the empire of China.
-
-Footnote 4:
-
-  The Mulberry-tree was cut down; and the race of Gastrels is not
-  extinct.
-
-The cry that the Chinese are not yet fit for Shakespeare—a cry raised in
-the same acute spirit in which people in chains have been said not to be
-fit for freedom—can, we think, have no bad effect on even moderately
-liberal men, after the production of papers now beneath our hands. All
-we ask of the Foreign Minister is a company, to act either on board
-Chinese junks or on shore, as the intellectual wants of his Majesty may
-require; nay, if under the direction of their own stage-manager, to
-exhibit themselves at any distance in the interior. The company to be
-paid and clothed by the government for whose benefit they act, with this
-condition, that they be subject to the laws and customs of the Chinese,
-obediently shaving their eyebrows and letting their tails grow. For the
-passing difficulty of the language, that, we have no doubt, will soon be
-overcome; many of the actors, we religiously believe it, speaking and
-playing equally well in English or in Chinese. We now come to the proofs
-of the fit condition of the people for Shakespeare—for that which they
-will “hail as a boon,” and which we shall part with as a drug.
-
-Some months since, it was our fortune to be present at an auction of
-curiosities from the East—shells, parrots, rice-paper, chop-sticks,
-japanned cabinets, and cut-throat sparrows. Our friend Peregrine—he had
-just arrived from the Great Pyramid, from the top of which, and by means
-of a most excellent glass, he had discovered, and afterwards made
-captive, three giraffes—bade money for a picture. As it was a scene from
-Shakespeare, there were of course no opposing bidders, and he became the
-owner of what proved to be an exquisite evidence of Chinese art and
-imitation; in brief, no other than a copy faithfully drawn, and most
-brilliantly coloured by an artist at Canton of the Boydell picture of
-Falstaff in the Buck-basket, and the Merry Wives. The picture, however,
-proved in itself to be of little value compared to the essay found to be
-inserted at the back between the picture and the frame; being written on
-paper, half a quire of which would not exceed the thickness of a
-butterfly’s wing, it is no wonder that the treasure escaped even the
-meritorious vigilance of an auctioneer. It is this essay that we now
-propose to submit to the reader, in evidence of the condition of China
-for an instant export of a company of fine Shakespearian actors. When we
-state that the essay has been printed by its author in at least one of
-the Canton journals, the dissemination and adoption of the principles
-comprised in it, over the whole of China, cannot for half a moment be a
-matter of doubt.
-
-We regret that we cannot wholly acquit our intelligent Mandarin of the
-taint of ingratitude. It is evident that his views of English history—at
-least of that portion in which Falstaff conspicuously appears, for the
-writer suffers no subject to escape in any way involved in the character
-of the immortal knight—have been gathered from one of our fellow
-countrymen; he has, if we may be allowed to say it, sucked the brain, as
-a “weasel sucks eggs,” of some enlightened but obscure supercargo whom
-he has left unhonoured and unthanked. How different, in a similar case,
-was the conduct of an Englishman: our deep veneration of the national
-character will not, at this happy moment, suffer us to be silent on the
-grateful magnanimity of Mr Nahum Tate, who, in his preface to his
-improved version of _King Lear_, returns his “thanks to an _ingenious
-friend_ who first pointed out the tragedy” to his condescending notice!
-The silence of the Mandarin towards his instructor is the more strange,
-as ingratitude is not the vice of the barbarian. An ingenious friend
-points out a skulking, unarmed straggler to a Cossack; the soldier makes
-him prisoner, cuts off his ears, slits his nose, bores his tongue, and
-having mounted the captive behind him, in the cordial spirit of Nahum
-Tate, “thanks his ingenious friend” for his information! But it is so;
-in this particular our mandarin fails in comparison with the Cossack and
-with Nahum Tate.
-
-We now lay before the reader the Essay of Ching the Mandarin, who, it
-will be seen, in his orders to the painter employed to copy the original
-picture—by whom taken to China remains unknown—has, with national
-exactness, given the birth and education not only of the author of
-Falstaff, but of Falstaff himself, together with glancing notices
-of—Windsor wives and Windsor soap.
-
-It is, perhaps, only due to the translator, to state that by our express
-solicitation he has a little lowered the orientalism of the original,
-whilst he has at the same time endeavoured to preserve the easy,
-conversational tone of the educated Chinese.
-
-
-                            “CHING TO TING.
-
-
-“I send, O Ting, from the barbarian ship, a picture of barbarians. Make
-one for your friend, like unto it; in size, in shape, and colour, even
-the same. But why should I waste words with Ting, whose pencil is true
-as the tongue of Confutzee? No; I will straightway deliver to him all my
-studies have made known to me of the barbarians written on the canvas
-before him: for how can even Ting paint the faces of barbarians in their
-very truth, if he knows not the history not only of themselves but of
-their fathers?
-
-“The he barbarian with the big belly was called Forlstoff, and in time
-was known as Surgeon Forlstoff: from which, there is no doubt, he was a
-skilful leech in the army of the barbarian king, more of whom in good
-season. Forlstoff’s father was one Shak or Shake, Speare or Spear; for
-there have been great tumults among the barbarians about the e. In
-nothing does the ignorance of the English barbarians more lamentably
-discover itself than in the origin they obstinately give to their
-Shakespeare; who, according to them, was, like the great Brahme, hatched
-in an egg on the bank of a river, as may be seen in a thousand idle
-books in which he is called the ‘Swan of Haveone.’ And this conceit was
-further manifested in the building of a place called ‘the Swan Theatre,’
-where the barbarians were wont to worship. There is little known of
-Shakespeare’s wife, Forlstoff’s mother, and that little proves her to
-have been an idle person, given to great sleep and sloth, as is shown by
-her getting nothing at the death of her husband but his ‘second-best
-bed!’
-
-“If Forlstoff would not, at a later time of life, leave off stealing,
-there is little doubt that he owed the fault to his father, Shakespeare,
-who was forced to fly to London, which is a sacred city for all thieves,
-for having stolen an antelope, an animal consecrated to the higher kinds
-of barbarians, and which it is death for the poor to touch. Indeed, the
-flesh of the antelope is to be eaten with safety by very few of the
-barbarians, it having killed even many of the Eldermen immediately after
-dinner.
-
-“When Shakespeare came to London he was poor and without friends, and he
-held the horses of the rich barbarians who came to worship at a temple
-on the banks of the river. In time he learned to make shoes for the
-horses; and in such esteem are the shoes still held by the barbarians,
-that they are bought at any price, and nailed at the threshold of their
-houses and barns; for where they are nailed, the foolish natives think
-no fire, no pestilence will come, and no evil thing have any strength.
-Such is the silly idolatry of the barbarians.
-
-“At length Shakespeare got admitted into the temple; and there he showed
-himself master of the greatest arts; and he wrote charms upon paper
-which, it is said, will make a man weep or laugh with very
-happiness,—will bring spirits from the sky and devils from the
-water,—will open the heart of a man and show what creeps within it,—will
-now snatch a crown from a king, and now put wings to the back of a
-beggar. And all this they say Shakespeare did, and studied not. No,
-beloved Ting, he was not like Sing, who, though but a poor cowherd,
-became wise by poring on his book spread between the horns of his cow,
-he travelling on her back.
-
-“And Shakespeare proceeded in his marvels, and he became rich; and even
-the queen of the barbarians was seen to smile at him, and once, with a
-burning look, to throw her glove at him; but Shakespeare, it is said, to
-the discomfiture of the queen, returned the glove, taking no further
-notice of the amatory invitation.
-
-“In a ripe season of his life Shakespeare gave up conjuring, and
-returned to the village on the banks of the river Haveone, where, as it
-is ignorantly believed, he was hatched, and where he lived in the
-fulness of fortune. He had laid down his conjuring-rod and taken off his
-gown, and passed for nothing more than a man, and, it is said—though
-you, beloved Ting, who see the haughty eyes and curling noses of the
-lesser man mandarins, can, after what I have writ of Shakespeare, hardly
-believe it—thought himself nothing more.
-
-
-[Illustration:
-
-  “Became wise by poring on his book”
-]
-
-
-“Shakespeare built himself a house and planted a tree. The house is
-gone, but the barbarians preserve bricks of it in their inner chambers,
-even—I tremble as I pen it—as we preserve the altars of our gods.
-
-“The tree was cut down by a fakir in a brain fever, but the wood is
-still worshipped. And this, O Ting! I would not ask you to believe had
-not your own eyes witnessed that wonderful tree,[5] the leaves whereof,
-falling to the ground, become mice! Hence learn that the leaves of
-Shakespeare’s mulberry have become men, and on a certain day every year,
-with mulberry boughs about their heads, their bodies clothed in their
-richest garments, they chant praises to the memory of Shakespeare, and
-drink wine to his name.
-
-Footnote 5:
-
-  See Navarrete’s _China_ for the account of this tree; underneath
-  which, we humbly suggest, it would be as well to keep a cat.
-
-“Shakespeare—Forlstoff’s father, and the father of a hundred lusty sons
-and daughters, such as until that time had never been born,
-Shakespeare—died! He was buried in a chest of cedar, set about with
-plates of gold. On one of these plates was writ some magic words; for
-thieves, breaking into the grave, were fixed and changed to stone; and
-are now to be seen even as they were first struck by the charm of the
-magician. And so much, beloved Ting, of Shakespeare, Forlstoff’s
-father.”
-
-That our Mandarin has herein displayed very popular abilities for the
-difficult task of a commentator, no one who has read many volumes of
-Shakespearian commentaries will, we believe, deny. It is observable that
-in many instances he makes his facts; a custom of particular advantage
-to the indulgence of the most peculiar opinions and conclusions. We have
-read some writers who, deprived of this privilege, would really have
-nothing to work upon. The pleasure of making a giant, great as it
-possibly may be, cannot be comparable to the delight of killing him, our
-own handiwork. If, however, our reader will bear with us, we will
-proceed with the labours of Ching on the character of Falstaff, and on
-those personages and events, directly and indirectly, associated with
-his glorious name. Falstaff in China! Jack Falstaff on a regimen of
-rice!
-
-“Forlstoff was born in the third hour of the morning; and at his birth
-the roundness of his belly and the whiteness of his head betokened his
-future greatness. But little is known of his early life; save that he
-assisted in the temples of the barbarians, where his voice, once
-remarkable for its sweetness, became broken with the zeal of the singer.
-He then travelled with a juggler, and—if lying were not the especial
-vice of the barbarians—did greater wonders than even our own Yiyi. The
-Eldermen of London—so named because chosen from the oldest
-inhabitants—are known by a ring upon the thumb; this ring Forlstoff, to
-the admiration of the barbarian court, crept through and through like
-any worm, and was promoted by the king therefore. I should, however, do
-evil unto truth did I not advise you, O Ting, that this feat of
-Forlstoff seems greater than it really is: for a tame eagle being kept
-at the court of the king, it was afterwards discovered that a talon of
-the bird was something thicker than the waist of the said Forlstoff.
-
-“It is certain that Forlstoff, a short time after his feat with the
-ring, became a student in a place called Clemency Inn; which, as its
-name implies, is a temple wherein youths study to become meek and
-merciful, to love all men as brothers of their own flesh, and to despise
-the allurements of wealth. There was with him another student, called
-Robert Shaller, who afterwards became a mandarin, or, in the barbarian
-tongue, a justice of the peace, being promoted to that office because he
-was like a double radish, and had his head carved with a knife. He was,
-when at Clemency Inn, dressed in an eel-skin, and used to sleep in a
-lute-case. He lent Forlstoff what the barbarians call a thousand pounds,
-which Forlstoff was honest enough to—acknowledge.
-
-“I next find Forlstoff in company with one Princeal, the son of the
-barbarian king, and several thieves. Forlstoff—and here the vice of his
-father, Shakespeare, breaks out in the child—tempts the king’s son to
-turn robber. He is, however, so ashamed of the wickedness, that he goes
-about it with a mask on his face, as a king’s son ought.
-
-“Forlstoff falls into disgrace with Princeal, and is sent by him with
-soldiers to Coventry; that being a place in the barbarian country where
-no man speaks to his neighbour. After some delay Forlstoff marches
-through Coventry to fight one Pursy, who can ride up a straight hill,
-and is therefore called Hotspur. Forlstoff fights with him by—that is,
-near a clock, and kills him, Princeal, the king’s son, meanly
-endeavouring to deprive Forlstoff of the honour.
-
-“After the battle Forlstoff goes to dine with the king at Wincer, which
-is the royal manufactory for soap. Forlstoff pretends to love two wives
-at the same time, and is put by them in what is called by the barbarians
-a _buck_-basket—that is a basket for the finer sort of barbarians, their
-word _buck_ answering to our _push_, and meaning high, handsome, grand.
-He is flung into the river, and saves himself by swimming to a garter.
-He is afterwards punished by being turned into the royal forest, with
-horns upon his head and chains upon his hands. Princeal, in time,
-becomes king, and discards Forlstoff, who goes home—goes to bed—does
-nothing but look at the ends of his fingers, talks of the green fields
-about Wincer, and dies.
-
-“For the habits of Forlstoff, if they were not quite as virtuous as
-those of Fo, it was perhaps the fault of his times; for we have his own
-words to prove that they were once those of the best barbarians. He
-swore but few oaths—gambled but once a day—paid his debts four times—and
-took recreation only when he cared for it. He loved sack—a liquor that
-has puzzled the heads of the learned—without eggs, and was
-extraordinarily temperate in bread.
-
-“His companions were thieves of the highest repute—but all, unhappily,
-died and left no sons!
-
-“You will now, oh wise and virtuous Ting, directed by these few and
-feeble words, paint me the picture of Forlstoff and his two wives.”
-
-We put it to the impartial reader whether Ching, in the above estimate
-of the character of Falstaff, has not entitled himself to take rank with
-many Shakespearian commentators; and whether, if the Foreign Minister
-will not consent to ship a company of English actors to Canton, Ching
-should not be invited by the patrons of the British drama to preside in
-a London theatre.
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
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-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-
-
-                             SOLOMON’S APE
-
-“For the king had at sea a navy of Tharshish with the navy of Hiram:
-    once in three years came the navy of Tharshish, bringing gold, and
-    silver, ivory, and apes, and peacocks.”—_Kings._
-
-
-A LEARNED rabbi, Ben Eli, had filled three thick MS. folios with the
-adventures of a certain ape, a sojourner at the court of the wisest of
-kings. Though the work has hitherto been withheld from the world, it
-seems not unlikely that it has long been the acknowledged model of many
-biographies. We conceive there is internal evidence in the history of
-thousands of courtiers, that the writers were aware how much the erudite
-Ben Eli could make of an ape. They who have gravely registered the
-slightest formality, the most evanescent word or gesture of certain
-heroes, must have had in their memory the first chronicler of monkey
-tricks. There was a time when it would have been the simplest and safest
-course to publish the entire folio: in former days, readers were like
-hogs, whose master had the right of pannage: they were turned into the
-literary forest to root, and grub up, and become as fat as they might.
-Now, it is not enough to show them the tree of knowledge; but it is
-compulsory on those who drive the “dreadful trade,” to clamber the
-branches, and gather the fruit. Nay, and when gathered, the apple serves
-not the epicure of our day, if it be not carefully pared and sliced;
-and, in some instances, presented on a fork of standard gold or silver.
-Moreover, cases have happened wherein the quality of the fork hath been
-cavilled for, more than that of the apple: thus, an embossed implement
-hath at times passed off a sorry crab. Once it was enough for wisdom to
-point out the wood where grew the nuts: now must she gather and crack
-them.
-
-Thus much by way of feeble apology for the licence we have taken with
-the folios of the venerable Ben Eli. We have wandered through their
-forest of leaves; we have picked all we could lay our hands upon; we
-have torn away the husk—have broken the shell—and for the few
-kernels—gentle feeder, some of them are before you.
-
-“And the ape became a favourite with the servants of Solomon. And the
-women smiled upon him, and the men laughed at his grimace; and the ape
-was puffed with pride, and became a proverb to the wise. And the ape
-forgot the mother that bore him, and the father that begat him, and the
-wood which, in the days of his youth, did give him shadow. And—brief be
-the words—the ape forgot he was an ape.
-
-“There was a strange woman in the court of King Solomon. She was
-beautiful as light; and many men did try for the love of the strange
-woman; for she was a princess in her own country.
-
-“And it fell, that the woman looked from her window, and beheld in the
-court below the ape stretched, sleeping in the sun: for it was high
-noon, and there was silence on all things. But in the heart of the
-strange woman there was no peace, for she thought of her father’s tents.
-
-“And the ape awoke, and, looking upward, beheld the strange woman. And
-there was vanity in his heart, and he still looked upward. And the
-captive woman had compassion on the creature, and, believing that he
-hungered, cast him down a ripe pomegranate. And the ape did eat the
-pomegranate, and did lick his lips, and did say in his heart, ‘Of a
-truth, the strange woman doth love me.’
-
-“And the next day, at the same hour, the ape watched under the window of
-the strange woman, and again she did throw him fruit, which he did eat,
-and again did cry, ‘Nay, it is certain she doth love me.’
-
-“And the same thing came to pass on the third and fourth day.
-
-“And in the stillness of the fifth day, when sleep lay upon the lids of
-the household, the ape did clamber the wall which did shut in the
-strange woman. And as he clomb, a voice still cried in his heart, ‘She
-doth love me.’
-
-“And the ape clambered up to the window of the strange woman; and when
-she saw the monster, she filled the chamber with her screams, and
-shrieked for help. And the servants of the chamber came to her aid; and
-the court was filled with a multitude.
-
-“And the woman entreated to be saved from the ape; but the ape
-understood not her words, for still he said to himself, ‘She doth love
-me.’
-
-“And the men took staves, and did beat and bruise the ape, but the ape
-was not convinced; for yet he said, ‘It is plain she doth love me.’ And
-the ape fell wounded into the court beneath.
-
-“And when they inquired of the matter, the woman said, ‘I thought the
-ape did hunger, and I took compassion on his misery, and threw to him a
-pomegranate.’
-
-“Then a wise man said to the woman—‘Daughter, let not beauty give gifts
-unto fools; for out of the kindness of her heart do they misinterpret;
-and in the very offerings of her compassion do they breed an ill
-report.’
-
-“And even as the wise man said these things, the ape lay in the court
-beneath, and did lick his sore, and did blow the pouches of his cheeks,
-and cried, ‘It is manifest, the strange woman doth love me.’
-
-“There were two jugglers in the train of the Queen of Sheba. And they
-played, each with a serpent, before King Solomon.
-
-“Now the queen sought to prove the knowledge of the king, and said,—‘Oh,
-Solomon, thou who hast spoken of trees, from the cedar to the
-hyssop—also of beasts, and of fowls, and of creeping things, and of
-fishes;
-
-“‘Declare unto thy servant, which of the two is the true serpent (for
-one was cunningly fashioned like unto a living snake, and did move and
-writhe in the hands of the juggler); for, of a truth, there is but one
-of the two that hath life.’
-
-“And the jugglers played with the snakes before the seat of King
-Solomon.
-
-“Then the king did privily send for the ape; and when he was brought in,
-the king caused him to be led near unto the jugglers.
-
-“And the ape passed one of the men who played with a snake, and took no
-note thereof; but as he approached the fellow who held the second snake,
-the ape did shake, and his hair did rise upon his skin, and he trembled
-exceedingly; wherefore King Solomon discovered the true snake, and all
-men praised the wisdom of the king.[6]
-
-Footnote 6:
-
-  See Rabbinical stories for a parallel case.
-
-“Now the ape discovered that he had been made the judge between the true
-and the false snake, and his head did swell with the shouting, and he
-was puffed up with vain glory.
-
-“And after some days a multitude stood before the judgment porch. And a
-strife had arisen between two carvers—skilful workmen were they both.
-
-“Palm-trees, and open flowers, and every manner of curious carving had
-they carved.
-
-“And they both claimed certain carvings of cherubim. And when they had
-spoken and called their witnesses, King Solomon paused to consider
-before he delivered judgment.
-
-
-[Illustration:
-
-  “Cast him down a ripe pomegranate”
-]
-
-
-“It so chanced that the ape had crept among the multitude, and had
-listened to the story of the carvers; and when he saw the king pause, he
-said to himself, ‘Solomon is perplexed.’
-
-“And the ape brake through the multitude, and ran to the porch, and did
-motion that he would judge between the carvers.
-
-“And the ape did leap upon the shoulders of the one, and did caress him;
-but at the other he did scream, and grind his teeth. And Solomon
-understood the folly of the ape, and cried:—
-
-“‘It is ever so with the fool. Allow him the wisdom that perceiveth and
-shunneth a serpent, and straightway he will believe he hath
-understanding to judge even between the cherubim.’”
-
-At present we must end our extracts from the pages of Ben Eli; though we
-cannot close without appending the final reflection of the learned
-rabbi, who, having narrated a thousand other instances of the folly of
-the ape—how he pilfered from the treasury, how he stole jewels to hang
-about him, and how he plucked bare divers peacocks to make himself a
-glory from their plumes, observes:—
-
-“_An ape will ever be an ape, though compassed with gold, and silver,
-and ivory, and though his dwelling-place be even the court of King
-Solomon._”
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
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-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-
-
-                      THE CASTLE BUILDERS OF PADUA
-
-
-GIULIO and Ippolito were sons of a farmer living near Padua. The old man
-was of a quiet and placable temper, rarely suffering any mischance to
-ruffle him, but, in the firm and placid hope of the future,
-tranquillising himself under the evil of the present. If blight came
-upon his corn one year, he would say ’twere a rare thing to have blights
-in two successive seasons; and so he would hope that the next harvest,
-in its abundance, might more than compensate for the scarcity of the
-last. Thus he lived from boyhood to age, and retained in the features of
-the old man a something of the lightness and vivacity of youth. His
-sons, however, bore no resemblance to their father. Instead of labouring
-on the farm they wasted their time in idly wishing that fortune had made
-them, in lieu of healthy, honest sons of a farmer, the children of some
-rich magnifico, that so they might have passed their days in all the
-sports of the times, in jousting, hunting, and in studying the fashions
-of brave apparel. They were of a humour at once impetuous and sulky, and
-would either idly mope about the farm, or violently abuse and ill-treat
-whomsoever accident might throw in their way. The old man was inly
-grieved at the wilfulness and disobedience of his sons, but, with his
-usual disposition, hoped that time might remedy the evil; and so, but
-rarely reproving them, they were left sole masters of their hours and
-actions.
-
-One night, after supper, the brothers walked into the garden to give
-loose to their idle fancies, always yearning after matters visionary and
-improbable. It was a glorious night, the moon was at the full, and
-myriads of stars glowed in the deep blue firmament. The air stirred
-among the trees and flowers, wafting abroad their sweetness; the dew
-glittered on the leaves, and a deep-voiced nightingale, perched in a
-citron tree, poured forth a torrent of song upon the air. It was an hour
-for good thoughts and holy aspirations. Giulio threw himself upon a
-bank, and, after gazing with intentness at the sky, exclaimed:—
-
-“Would that I had fields ample as the heavens above us!”
-
-“I would,” rejoined Ippolito, “I had as many sheep as there are stars.”
-
-“And what,” asked Giulio, with a sarcastic smile, “would your wisdom do
-with them?”
-
-“Marry,” replied Ippolito, “I would pasture them in your sageship’s
-fields.”
-
-“What!” exclaimed Giulio, suddenly raising himself upon his elbow, and
-looking with an eye of fire upon his brother; “whether I would or not?”
-
-“Truly, ay,” said Ippolito, with a stubborn significance of manner.
-
-“Have a care,” cried Giulio, “have a care, Ippolito; do not thwart me.
-Am I not your elder brother?”
-
-“Yes; and marry, what of that? Though you came first into the world, I
-trow you left some manhood for him who followed after.”
-
-“You do not mean to insist that, despite my will, despite the
-determination of your elder brother, you will pasture your sheep in my
-grounds?”
-
-“In truth but I do.”
-
-“And that,” rejoined Giulio, his cheek flushing, and his lip tremulous,
-“and that without fee or recompense?”
-
-“Assuredly.”
-
-Giulio leaped to his feet, and, dashing his clenched hand against a
-tree, with a face full of passion, and in a voice made terrible by rage,
-he screamed, rather than said, “By the Blessed Virgin but you do not!”
-
-“And by St Ursula and her eleven thousand virgins I protest I will.”
-This was uttered by Ippolito in a tone of banter and bravado that for a
-moment made the excited frame of Giulio quiver from head to foot. He
-gazed at the features of Ippolito, all drawn into a sneer, and for a
-moment gnashed his teeth. He was hastily approaching the scoffer, when,
-by an apparently strong effort, he arrested himself, and, turning upon
-his heel, struck hastily down another path, where he might be seen
-pacing with short, quick steps, whilst Ippolito, leaning against a tree,
-carelessly sang a few lines of a serenata. This indifference was too
-much for Giulio; he stopped short, turned, and then rapidly came up to
-Ippolito, and with a manner of attempted tranquillity, said, “Ippolito,
-I do not wish to quarrel with you; I am your elder brother; then give up
-the point.”
-
-“Not I,” replied Ippolito, with the same immovable smile.
-
-“What, then, you are determined that your sheep shall, in very despite
-of me, pasture in my fields?”
-
-“They shall.”
-
-“Villain!” raved Giulio; and ere the word was well uttered he had dashed
-his clenched hand in his brother’s face. Ippolito sprang like a wild
-beast at Giulio, and for a moment they stood with a hand at each other’s
-throat, and their eyes, in the words of the Psalmist, were “whetted” on
-one another. They stood but to gain breath, then grappled closer.
-Ippolito threw his brother to the earth, huddling his knees upon him,
-furious blows were exchanged, but scarce a sound was uttered, save at
-intervals a blasphemous oath or a half-strangled groan. Giulio was
-completely overpowered by the superior strength and cooler temper of his
-brother; but, lying prostrate and conquered, his hands pinioned to his
-breast, and Ippolito glaring at him with malicious triumph, he cursed
-and spat at him. Ippolito removed his hand from his brother’s throat,
-and ere his pulse could beat, Giulio’s poniard was in his brother’s
-heart. He gave a loud shriek, and fell a streaming corpse upon his
-murderer. The father, roused by the sound, came hurrying to the garden;
-Giulio, leaping from under the dead body, rushed by the old man, who was
-all too speedily bending over his murdered child. From that hour hope
-and tranquillity forsook the father; he became a brain-sick, querulous
-creature, and in a few months died almost an idiot. Giulio joined a
-party of robbers, and, after a brief but dark career of crime, was shot
-by the sbirri.
-
-Ye who would build castles in the air—who would slay your hours with
-foolish and unprofitable longings—ponder on the visionary fields, the
-ideal sheep of Giulio and Ippolito.
-
-
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-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-
-
-                    THE TAPESTRY WEAVER OF BEAUVAIS
-
-
-THE oldest people of Beauvais remembered Schatten the tapestry weaver.
-Some vowed he was threescore, some a hundred years old; and ever as the
-subject was touched upon, Schatten would widen his huge mouth, and cry
-with a low chuckle, “Ay, ay, a thousand—more or less. I shall live to
-see wrinkles in the sun.” None knew from what stock he sprang—from what
-land he came. Such questions he would ever parry with some extravagance.
-“I was born of felspar and quartz, and my home was the Hartz Mountains
-when they were no bigger than mole-hills.” And thus Schatten lived on.
-He saw the child rise into manhood—wed—become a parent—a grey-headed
-man—a corpse; and so with the child’s child, and yet no change came upon
-Schatten. He stood, a flinty image gazing on dying generations.
-
-A hovel in an obscure part of Beauvais was the dwelling of the weaver.
-There was his tapestry loom; and there, day after day, and night after
-night, would he work, at times droning a song to cheer what seemed the
-monotony of an eternal employment. Notwithstanding the inexplicable
-mystery about the man, he was, on the whole, a favourite with his
-fellow-townsmen. There was something so meek in his demeanour, so
-placid, so unassuming, and his speech was so soft and gentle, that
-although his name had been mingled in strange recitals, he had never
-been molested, but, on the contrary, was generally considered a
-harmless, well-meaning creature; one who, far from sneering at the
-pleasures of youth, looked upon them with seeming satisfaction. No one
-more frequently witnessed the bacchanal revelries of the topers of
-Beauvais; for, though Schatten was no drinker himself, he beheld with
-unaffected pleasure the loose jollity of others. The like at feasts:
-although he was temperate as a chameleon, he would most readily carve
-huge collops for others. He seemed to hold in peculiar admiration a
-purple, bloated face and swagging paunch, though his own sharp visage
-was as yellow as saffron, and his figure lank as a thread-paper. This
-urbanity towards the failings of others was, it will be conceded, the
-secret of his popularity. Though he himself abstained from all animal
-indulgence, he not only did not gloomily lecture on the lawlessness of
-appetite, but, on the contrary, smiled on its achievements. This charity
-hath served many besides old Schatten.
-
-But there was another circumstance that greatly assisted the goodly
-reputation of the weaver: it was the character of his many visitors and
-pupils. His hovel was the resort of the loveliest girls—the most
-beautiful youths, not only of the town of Beauvais, but from the great
-city itself—from elegant, voluptuous Paris; for even at the period of
-which we write it was distinguished for the refinement and luxuries of
-life.
-
-Schatten, in his capacity of tapestry weaver, had pictures of every
-variety of subject; and it was his good fortune that those professors
-who excelled in the beautiful art seemed by common consent to seek old
-Schatten, that he might immortalise their radiant sketches in his still
-more exquisite tapestry. There was no subject which painting could
-portray, no imagination which it could robe in life and colour, that was
-not ready for the loom of Schatten. If a battle were the theme, there
-might be seen contending heroes, with stern rapture in their faces,
-glory about their heads—their every limb glowing as with Mars’ own
-fire—their swords like sunbeams, and the smoking blood more like
-libations to purple Liber, than torrents in which the human life gushed
-forth. Thus a battle woven by old Schatten was a grand and glorious
-thing—each combatant was an excited god; whilst the drained and pallid
-carcass—the dreadful wounds, with jagged and gaping mouths—the rigid
-muscle straining against death—the fixed and stone-like eye, and clotted
-hair—all the gross, substantial horrors of systematic slaughter, were
-thrown into the shade: they were not to expose that common liar—Glory.
-If the subject were beauty, there might be seen—as erst was chosen by
-the antique master—one charm from twenty different faces, making a
-miracle of perfection. All that was voluptuous and entrancing shone in
-the dewy light of woman’s eye; there was an eternal youth in her red
-lip, a tenderness in her warm cheek: too pure for the earth, too
-exquisitely fragile, she seemed of a sisterhood ’twixt humanity and
-angels. The same masterly hand was displayed though the subject was the
-banquet of the glutton—the supper was still spread “in the Apollo.” The
-same power shown in the golden heaps of the miser: the food, the wine,
-seemed ambrosia and nectar, bestowing immortality on the lip that
-tasted: the gold glittered like something dropped from the skies, to be
-worn as amulets against calamity.
-
-A man so potent in his handicraft as Schatten might have surrounded
-himself with all the symbols of wealth; and, had he been ambitious, have
-successfully contended for the highest honours of citizenship. But, it
-was plain, he valued gold as ashes; and for the trappings of state and
-place, the most regal shows, the pomp and blazonry of kings, were with
-him matter for a jest.
-
-“Alack!” cried Michel Sous, a withered money-scrivener of Beauvais—“I
-hear ’twas a brave sight; and plague on my shanks! I have missed it.
-Which way went the procession?” The man of bonds and pieces remained
-gaping for the answer of the tapestry weaver, who stood, cross-legged,
-leaning on his staff, with a face immovable as granite. It was a day of
-triumph, a time of holiday, and Michel had for once quitted his bags and
-desk to sun himself in the glory of his fellow-townsmen. “Weaver, I say,
-which way went the procession, and where shall I find it?”
-
-“It went, after some turnings, into the churchyard. Take up a handful of
-mould, and, in truth, you clutch a part of what you seek.”
-
-“Why, thou art drunk, merry, or mad! The churchyard and mould! I ask you
-where went, where _is_, the procession?”
-
-“Where I tell you. I saw it pass by me, and after some windings and
-shiftings, I saw each brave puppet—that strutted as though the angels
-were looking at it—I saw it shrink, and bend, and totter, and the
-yellowness of age crept over it, and its eye faded, and its hair
-whitened, and it crawled into the earth as the fox slinks beneath his
-cover. The trumpets lay dumb and cankering in the soil—the rustling
-flags dropped tinder at the breeze—the rust-eaten sword crumbled beneath
-the mattock of the digger, and rank grass grows above the pomp of the
-last hour.”
-
-“Why, Schatten, thou art dreaming. Blessed St Mary! thou surely didst
-not see the sight, else thou hadst told me a truer story of its
-progress.”
-
-“Not so: trust me, I saw the revel—but I beheld it from the pinnacle of
-time; and I tell you again, all the men who passed me I watched into the
-churchyard. Their haughty eyes—their trophies, flags, and clamorous
-pipes—I say to you, they are dust! The shout of triumph hath died in the
-distance, and _hic jacet_ is now the only tongue.”
-
-“So, so—a riddle,” crowed the scrivener; and he hobbled on to seek a
-less perplexing respondent.
-
-Such were, at times, the answers of old Schatten, who, when he pleased,
-could be as grave and oracular as a father confessor. Such were his
-reflections on pageants which, to many thoughtless and happy minds, were
-the symbols of all earthly greatness. It was his pastime to analyse
-appearance—to unravel the glossy web of policy—to unfold the swathings
-of vain pomp and ceremony, and point to the foul mummy they encased. Yet
-would he vary this custom with smiles and laughter, and witty sayings,
-which gave a savour to the wine they honoured. He would, with his thin
-voice troll a song in praise of beauty, and, with quick conceits, prick
-on lusty youth to deeds of jollity and wild adventure; nay, he would
-often mingle in the revelry. Many a time have the townsfolk of Beauvais
-laughed at the gambols of old Schatten, who, pranked in his best, would
-trip it with some blue-eyed fair one, who, seemingly unconscious of the
-deformity of her partner, would glide through the dance all smiles and
-sweetness, as though mortal youth were wedded to immortality, and
-wrinkles and grey hairs were not the inheritance of the children of
-earth. Alas! but a few months, or weeks, and the poor maiden—she who
-seemed the embodied principle of beauty and motion—was as the “clods of
-the valley,” a mass of blank insensibility.
-
-Various were the ways by which old Schatten had insinuated himself into
-the good graces of the people of Beauvais. To please them he would, when
-in the humour, act twenty different parts—now he would be a learned
-doctor, and now a mountebank; at times he would utter the wisdom of
-sages—at times play a hundred antic tricks, making his audience shout
-with merriment. For one long winter did Schatten profoundly lecture upon
-laurels, crowns, swords, and money-bags; and, like a skilful chemist,
-would he analyse their component parts.
-
-“This,” cried Schatten, producing a semblance of the wreath, “this is
-the laurel crown of one of the Cæsars. How fresh and green the leaves
-remain! Ha! there is no such preservative as innocent blood—it embalms
-the names of mighty potentates, who else had never been heard of:
-steeped in it, deformity becomes loveliness—fame colours her most
-lasting pictures with its paint! The fields that grew this branch were
-richly manured: tens of thousands of hearts lay rotting there; the light
-of thousands of eyes was quenched; palaces and hovels, in
-undistinguished heaps, were strewn about the soil; there lay the hoary
-and the unborn; the murdered wife and the outraged virgin—and showers of
-tears falling on this garden of agony and horror, it was miraculously
-fertile—for lo! it gave forth this one branch, to deck the forehead of
-one man! In the veins that seam its leaves are the heart strings of
-murdered nations; it is the plant of fire and blood, reaped by the
-sword!—Such is the conqueror’s laurel.
-
-“And here is the despot’s diadem!—Many a time, like glowing iron, hath
-it seared the brows it circled. Of what is it composed? What wonderful
-ingredients meet in this quintessence of worldly wealth? See, the
-passions and the feelings that helped to make it still haunt their
-handiwork. Their shadows live in its glittering metal and its flashing
-gems. Full-blooded power, with a demon’s eye, glares from this
-ruby—leprous fear trembles in these pearls—in every diamond, care or
-compunction weeps a tear! Throughout the gold I see a thousand forms,
-dawning and fading like hues in heated steel:—there, fancy detects the
-assassin with his knife;—there, the bondsman snaps his chain;—there, is
-the headsman;—there, the civil war! These are the shades that haunt the
-despot’s crown; that wear him waking, and screech to him in his sleep. A
-nation’s groan is pent up in its round. It is a living thing that eats
-into the brain of the possessor, making him mad and drunk for blood and
-power!
-
-“The miser’s money-bag!—Another monster—all throat. Could its owner have
-put the sun itself within this bag, the world for him had been in
-darkness—perpetual night had cast a pall upon creation—the fruits of
-earth had withered in the bud, and want and misery been universal;
-whilst he, the thrifty villain! smugly lived in bloom, and in his very
-baseness found felicity! And yet, what was the worth of all this bag
-contained? Though it was stuffed with wealth, it was hung about with
-fears. As its owner slid his palm into the heap, he would start as
-though he felt the hand of death were hidden there to grasp him. He was
-almost blind within a world of beauty. His eye saw no images save those
-painted by gold; his ears heard not, save when the metal tinkled; his
-tongue was dumb, if it spoke not of wealth; the glittering pieces were
-to him the children of his heart and soul—dull offspring of the foulest
-appetites; yet he hugged them to his bosom—he hugged them, and in his
-dying hour they turned to snakes, and stung him in the embrace! This is
-the miser’s money-bag—the abode of reptiles, the sepulchre of the soul!
-
-“The sword!—Ceremony sanctifies it. Some kingly words are spoken—a
-trumpet is blown; straightway the sword is _ennobled_!
-
-“The lawyer’s gown!—the masquerading dress of common-sense. There is a
-living instinct in its web: let golden villainy come under it, and with
-a thought it flows and spreads, and gives an ample shelter to the thing
-it covers; let poor knavery seek it, and it shrinks and curtains up, and
-leaves the trembling victim naked to the court!”
-
-Thus, in his graver moments, would old Schatten preach to his hearers;
-then, with a thought, he would break from the solemn discourse, and make
-merriment with the self-same objects. Thus, like a skilful juggler, he
-would hold the conqueror’s laurel, that hardy plant, to his lips, and
-with a puff blow it into dust; he would change the tiara into a huge
-snake, monstrous and ugly, and make the beholders start at its
-contortions. The long purse he would ravel into a shroud; he would melt
-the sword into drops of blood, and turn the lawyer’s gown into a net of
-steel. Whilst these tricks made him a favourite with the young and gay,
-his learning, and the thousand stories he had of men of all ages and of
-all ranks, rendered him an oracle of wisdom to the studious. It was
-observed that Schatten, whilst narrating any history, always spoke as
-though he had been an eye-witness of the circumstance he detailed; nay,
-as though he had known their most secret thoughts.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-And who is Schatten, whose history is yet unfinished? Who is this
-mysterious Weaver, whose deeds, if chronicled, would fill thousands of
-folios? He is everywhere about us: in the solitude of our chamber, in
-the press and throng of the street, in the wilderness and in the city.
-
-            —“MY DAYS ARE SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER’S SHUTTLE.”
-
-
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-
-
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-
-
-
-
-                            THE WINE CELLAR
-                             _A “MORALITY”_
-
-
-STEPHEN CURLEW was a thrifty goldsmith in the reign of the Second
-Charles. His shop was a mine of metal: he worked for the Court,
-although, we fear, his name is not to be found in any record in the
-State-Paper Office. Stephen was a bachelor, and, what is strange, he
-never felt—that is, he never complained of—his loneliness. His chased
-ewers, his embossed goblets, his gold in bars, were to him wife and
-children. Midas was his only kinsman. He would creep among his
-treasures, like an old grey rat, and rub his hands, and smile, as if
-communing with the wealth about him. He had so long hugged gold to his
-heart that it beat for nothing else. Stephen was a practical
-philosopher; for he would meekly take the order—nay, consult the
-caprice—of the veriest popinjay with the humility of a pauper, when, at
-a word, he might have out-blazoned lords and earls. If this be not real
-philosophy, thought Stephen, as he walked slipshod at the heels of his
-customers, what is?
-
-Stephen was a man of temperance; he was content to see venison carved on
-his hunting-cups; he cared not to have it in his larder. His eyes would
-melt at clustering grapes chased on banquet goblets, but no drop of the
-living juice passed the goldsmith’s lips. Stephen only gave audience to
-Bacchus when introduced by Plutus. Such was the frugality of Stephen to
-his sixty-fifth year; and then, or his name had not been eternised in
-this our page, temptation fell upon him.
-
-It was eight o’clock on a raw spring evening, and Stephen sat alone in
-his back-room. There was no more fire upon the hearth than might have
-lain in a tinder-box, but Stephen held his parchment hands above it, and
-would not be cold. A small silver lamp, with a short wick—for the keen
-observation of Stephen had taught him the scientific truth, that the
-less the wick, the less the waste of oil—glowed, a yellow speck in the
-darkness. On the table lay a book, a treatise on precious stones; and on
-Stephen’s knee, _Hermes, the True Philosopher_. Stephen was startled
-from a waking dream by a loud and hasty knocking at the door. Mike, the
-boy, was out; but it could not be he. Stephen took up the lamp, and was
-creeping to the door, when his eye caught the silver, and he again
-placed it upon the table, and felt his way through the shop. Unbolting
-the five bolts of the door, but keeping fast the chain, Stephen demanded
-“who was there?”
-
-“I bear a commission from Sir William Brouncker, and I’m in haste.”
-
-“Stay you a minute—but a minute,” and Stephen hurried back for the lamp,
-then hastily returned, opened the door, and the visitor passed the
-threshold.
-
-“Tis not Charles!” cried Stephen, alarmed at his mistake, for he
-believed he had heard the voice of Sir William’s man.
-
-“No matter for that, Stephen; you work for men, and not for Christian
-names. Come, I have a job for you”; and the visitor, with the easy,
-assured air of a gallant, lounged into the back-parlour, followed by the
-tremulous Stephen.
-
-“Sir William——” began the goldsmith.
-
-“He bade me use his name; the work I’d have you do is for myself. Fear
-not: here’s money in advance,” and the stranger plucked from his pocket
-a purse, which in its ample length lay like a bloated snake upon the
-table.
-
-Stephen smiled, and said, “Your business, sir?”
-
-“See here,” and the stranger moved the lamp immediately between them,
-when, for the first time, Stephen clearly saw the countenance of his
-customer. His face was red as brick, and his eyes looked deep as the
-sea, and glowed with good humour. His mouth was large and frank, and his
-voice came as from the well of truth. His hair fell in curls behind his
-ears, and his moustache, black as coal, made a perfect crescent on his
-lip, the points upwards. Other men may be merely good fellows, the
-stranger seemed the best. “See here,” he repeated, and produced a
-drawing on a small piece of paper, “can you cut me this in a seal ring?”
-
-“Humph!” and Stephen put on his spectacles; “the subject is——”
-
-“Bacchus squeezing grape-juice into the cup of Death,” said the
-stranger.
-
-“An odd conceit,” cried the goldsmith.
-
-“We all have our whims, or woe to the sellers,” said the customer.
-“Well, can it be done?”
-
-“Surely, sir, surely. On what shall it be cut?”
-
-“An emerald, nothing less. It is the drinker’s stone. In a week, Master
-Curlew?”
-
-“This day week, sir, if I live in health.”
-
-The day came. Stephen was a tradesman of his word, and the stranger sat
-in the back-parlour, looking curiously into the ring.
-
-“_Per Bacco!_ Rarely done. Why, Master Curlew, thou hast caught the very
-chops of glorious Liber, his swimming eyes, and blessed mouth. Ha! ha!
-thou hast put thy heart into the work, Master Curlew; and how cunningly
-hast thou all but hid the dart of death behind the thyrsus of the god!
-How his life-giving hand clutches the pulpy cluster, and with what a
-gush comes down the purple rain, plashing into rubies in the cup of
-Mors!”
-
-“It was my wish to satisfy, most noble sir,” said Stephen, meekly,
-somewhat confounded by the loud praises of the speaker.
-
-“May you never be choked with a grape-stone, Master Curlew, for this
-goodly work. Ha!” and the speaker looked archly at the withered
-goldsmith; “it hath cost thee many a headache ere thou couldst do this.”
-
-“If I may say it, I have laboured hard at the craft—have been a thrifty,
-sober man,” said Stephen.
-
-“Sober! Ha! ha! ha!” shouted the speaker, and his face glowed redder,
-and his eyes melted; “sober! why, thou wast begot in a wine cask, and
-suckled by a bottle, or thou hadst never done this. By the thigh of
-Jupiter! he who touched this,” and the stranger held up the ring to his
-eye, and laughed again, “he who touched this hath never known water.
-Tut! man, were I to pink thee with a sword thou’dst bleed wine!”
-
-“I,” cried Stephen, “I bleed,” and he glanced fearfully towards the
-door, and then at the stranger, who continued to look at the ring.
-
-“The skin of the sorriest goat shall sometimes hold the choicest
-liquor,” said the stranger, looking into the dry face of the goldsmith.
-“Come, confess, art thou not a sly roysterer? Or art thou a hermit over
-thy drops, and dost count flasks alone? Ay! ay! well, to thy cellar,
-man; and—yes—thine arms are long enough—bring up ten bottles of thy
-choicest Malaga.”
-
-“I!—my cellar!—Malaga!” stammered Stephen.
-
-“Surely thou hast a cellar?” and the stranger put his hat upon the table
-with the air of a man set in for a carouse.
-
-“For forty years, but it hath never known wine,” cried the goldsmith.
-“I—I have never known wine.” The stranger said nothing; but, turning
-full upon Stephen, and, placing his hands upon his knees, he blew out
-his flushing cheeks like a bagpipe, and sat with his eyes blazing upon
-the heretic. “No, never!” gasped Stephen, terrified, for a sense of his
-wickedness began to possess him.
-
-“And thou dost repent?” asked the stranger, with a touch of mercy
-towards the sinner.
-
-“I—humph! I’m a poor man,” cried Curlew; “yes, though I’m a goldsmith,
-and seem rich, I—I’m poor! poor!”
-
-“Well, ’tis lucky I come provided,” and the stranger placed upon the
-table a couple of flasks. Whether he took them from under his cloak, or
-evoked them through the floor, Stephen knew not; but he started at them
-as they stood rebukingly upon his table, as if they had been two sheeted
-ghosts. “Come, glasses,” cried the giver of the wine.
-
-“Glasses!” echoed Stephen, “in my house!”
-
-“Right, glasses! No—cups, and let them be gold ones!” and the bacchanal,
-for it was plain he was such, waved his arm with an authority which
-Stephen attempted not to dispute, but rose and hobbled into the shop,
-and returned with two cups just as the first cork was drawn. “Come,
-there’s sunlight in that, eh?” cried the stranger, as he poured the wine
-into the vessels. “So, thou hast never drunk wine? Well, here’s to the
-baptism of thy heart!” And the stranger emptied the cup, and his lips
-smacked like a whip.
-
-And Stephen Curlew tasted the wine, and looked around, below, above; and
-the oaken wainscot did not split in twain, nor did the floor yawn, nor
-the ceiling gape. Stephen tasted a second time; thrice did he drink, and
-he licked his mouth as a cat licks the cream from her whiskers, and,
-putting his left hand upon his belly, softly sighed.
-
-“Ha! ha! another cup! I know thou wilt,” and Stephen took another, and
-another; and the two flasks were in brief time emptied. They were,
-however, speedily followed by two more, placed by the stranger on the
-table, Stephen opening his eyes and mouth at their mysterious
-appearance. The contents of these were duly swallowed, and lo! another
-two stood before the goldsmith, or, as he then thought, four.
-
-“There never was such a Bacchus!” cried Stephen’s customer, eyeing the
-ring. “Why, a man may see his stomach fairly heave, and his cheek ripen
-with wine: yet, till this night, thou hadst never tasted the juice!
-What—what could have taught thee to carve the god so capitally?”
-
-“Instinct—instinct,” called out the goldsmith, his lips turned to clay
-by too much wine.
-
-“And yet,” said the stranger, “I care not so much for—— How old art
-thou, Stephen?”
-
-“Sixty-five,” and Stephen hiccupped.
-
-“I care not so much for thy Death, Stephen; instinct should have made
-thee a better hand at Death.”
-
-“Tis a good Death,” cried the goldsmith, with unusual boldness, “a most
-sweet Death.”
-
-“Tis too broad—the skeleton of an alderman with the flesh dried upon
-him. He hath not the true desolation, the ghastly nothingness, of the
-big bugbear. No matter; I’m content; but this I’ll say, though thou hast
-shown thyself a professor at Bacchus, thou art yet but a poor apprentice
-at Death.”
-
-Stephen Curlew answered not with words, but he snored very audibly. How
-long he slept he could not well discover, but when he awoke he found
-himself alone; no, not alone, there stood upon the table an unopened
-flask of wine. In a moment the mystery broke upon him—and he sprang to
-his feet with a shriek, and rushed into the shop. No—he had not been
-drugged by thieves—all was as it should be. The stranger, like an honest
-and courteous man, had taken but his own; and, without disturbing the
-sleeper, had quitted the house. And Stephen Curlew, the wine glowing in
-his heart—yea, down to his very nails, stood and smiled at the unopened
-flask before him.
-
-Stephen continued to eye the flask; and though its donor had shared with
-him he knew not how many bottles, Stephen was resolved that not one drop
-of the luscious juice before him should wet an alien throat. But
-how—where to secure it? For, in the new passion which seized upon the
-goldsmith, the one flask seemed to him more precious than the costly
-treasure in his shop—a thing to be guarded with more scrupulous
-affection—more jealous love. In what nook of his house to hide the
-glorious wealth—what corner, where it might escape the profane glances
-and itching fingers of his workmen? The thought fell in a golden flash
-upon him—the cellar—ay, the cellar! Who of his household ever thought of
-approaching the cellar? Stephen seized the flask and lamp, and paused.
-The cellar had no lock! No matter; he had a bag of three-inch nails and
-a stout hammer.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-The next morning neighbours met at the closed door and windows of the
-goldsmith, and knocked and shouted, shouted and knocked. They were,
-however, reduced to a crowbar, and, at length, burst into the house.
-Every place was searched, but there was nowhere visible old Stephen
-Curlew. Days passed on, and strange stories filled the ears of men. One
-neighbour vowed that he had had a dream or a vision, he knew not which,
-wherein he saw the goldsmith whirled down the Strand in a chariot drawn
-by a lion and a tiger, and driven by a half-naked young man, wearing a
-panther skin, and on his head vine-leaves and ivy. An old woman swore
-that she had seen Stephen carried away by a dozen devils (very much in
-liquor), with red faces and goat legs. However, in less than a month,
-the goldsmith’s nephew, a scrivener’s clerk, took possession of Curlew’s
-wealth, and became a new-made butterfly with golden wings. As for
-Stephen, after various speculations, it was concluded, to the
-satisfaction of all parties, that he must have been carried away by
-Satan himself, and the nephew cared not to combat popular opinions. But
-such, in truth, was not the end of the goldsmith. Hear it.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-Stephen, possessed by the thought of the cellar, with the one flask, a
-lamp, nails, and hammer, proceeded to the sacred crypt. He arrived in
-the vault, and having kissed the flask, reverently put it down, and
-straightway addressed himself to the work. Closing the door, he drove
-the first nail, the second, third; and borrowing new strength from the
-greatness of his purpose, he struck each nail upon the head with the
-force and precision of a Cyclops, burying it deep in the oak. With this
-new-found might he drove eleven nails; the twelfth was between his thumb
-and finger, when looking round—oh! sad mishap, heavy mischance! awful
-error!—he had driven the nails from the wrong side! In a word—and we
-tremble while we write it—he had nailed himself in! There he stood, and
-there stood the flask. He gasped with horror; his foot stumbled, struck
-the lamp, it fell over, and the light went out.
-
-Shall we write further on the agony of Stephen Curlew? Shall we describe
-how he clawed and struck at the door, now in the hope to wrench a nail,
-and now to alarm the breathing men above? No; we will not dwell upon the
-horror; it is enough that the fate of the goldsmith was dimly shadowed
-forth in the following paragraph of last Saturday:—
-
-“Some labourers, digging a foundation near”—no, we will not name the
-place, for the family of the Curlews is not yet extinct, and there may
-be descendants in the neighbourhood—“near——, found a skeleton. A hammer
-was beside it, with several long nails: a small wine flask was also
-found near the remains, which, it is considered, could not have been in
-the vault in which they were discovered less than a century and
-three-quarters!”
-
-Oh, ye heads of families! and oh, ye thrifty, middle-aged bachelors,
-boarding with families, or growing mouldy by yourselves, never, while ye
-live, forget the terrible end of Stephen Curlew. And oh, ye heads of
-families—and oh, ye aforesaid bachelors, albeit ye have only one bottle
-left, never, NEVER NAIL UP THE WINE CELLAR!
-
-
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-
-
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-
-
-
-
-                      RECOLLECTIONS OF GUY FAWKES
-
-“When a man has once been very famous for jests and merry adventures, he
-    is made to adopt all the jests that want a father, and many times
-    such as are unworthy of him.”—Motteux’s _Life of Rabelais_.
-
-
-AT midnight, on the fifth of November, in the year of grace one thousand
-six hundred and five, Guido Fawkes, “gentleman,” was discovered, “booted
-and spurred,” in the vicinity of St Stephen’s Chapel, having on his
-person “three matches, a tinder-box, and a dark lantern”; and purposing
-by means of gunpowder to blow up, says King James, “the whole nobility,
-the most part of the knights and gentry, besides the whole judges of the
-land, with _most of the lawyers_ and the whole clerks!” For the one
-indiscretion Guido Fawkes forfeited his gentility, and became a proverb
-of wickedness. In boyhood we looked upon Guido Fawkes, gentleman, as one
-little lower than the devil; he had four horns, and a dozen tails.
-“Years that bring the philosophic mind” have divested him of these
-excrescences and appendages, and Guido Fawkes now appears to matured
-charities merely a person of a singularly eccentric disposition.
-
-Some five and twenty years ago it was the patriotic custom of the
-authorities of an Isle of Sheppy dockyard to bestow upon their
-apprentices a few waggon-loads of resinous timber, that a bonfire worthy
-of the cause it celebrated might be kindled from the public purse—that
-the effigy of the arch-fiend Guy might be consumed in a fire three times
-hotter than the fire of a furnace. Such fierce liberality was not lost
-upon the townspeople; their ardour in the burning business smouldered
-not; every man subscribed his plank or log; and, from the commissioner
-in his uniform, to Bobby in his pinafore, the fifth of November glowed,
-in the calendar of their minds, a pillar of fire. For a month before
-that day, the coming anniversary busied the thoughts of boyish
-executioners, resolved to show their patriotism in the appointments of
-the Guy—in the grotesque iniquity of his face—in the cumbrous state of
-his huge arm-chair. To beg clothes from door to door was the business of
-every lover of Church and State. To ask for a coat—a pair of breeches—a
-shirt (the frill could be made of paper)—hose and hat, was not
-mendicity, but the fulfilment of a high social duty.
-
-Guy Fawkes would at length be dressed. A philosopher might have found
-good matter in his eleemosynary suit. In the coat of the bloodthirsty
-wretch he might have recognised the habit of Scum, the slop-seller, a
-quiet trader afloat of twenty thousand pounds—in the vest of the
-villainous ruffian the discarded waistcoat of Smallgrog, the honest
-landlord of a little house for sailors—in the stockings of the atrocious
-miscreant the hose of the equitable Weevil, biscuit-contractor to his
-Majesty’s fleet—whilst for the leather of the fiend-like effigy, Guy
-Fawkes was to be exhibited, and afterwards burnt in, the broad-toed
-shoes of that best of men, Trap, the town attorney.
-
-The chair, too, in which Guy Fawkes sat, might it not have some day
-enshrined a justice of the peace? and the lantern fixed in the hand of
-the diabolical, lynx-eyed monster, might it not have been the property
-of the most amiable and most somnolent of all the Blue Town watchmen? A
-mask was fixed upon the effigy, or the lump of clay kneaded into human
-features, and horribly or delicately expressed, according to the
-benevolent art of the makers!—might not the same visor have been worn by
-a perfect gentleman, with considerable advantage, at a masquerade?—might
-not the clay nose and mouth of the loathsome traitor have borne an
-accidental likeness to the very pink of patriots? Let philosophy ponder
-well on Guy Fawkes.
-
-We will now attempt our childish recollections of the great Guy. We have
-waked at midnight, perhaps dreaming of the bonfire about to blaze, and
-thinking we heard the distant chorus sounding to the advent of the
-Mighty Terror. No, it was the sea booming across the marsh, the wind
-rising or falling. There was nothing for it but to go to sleep and dream
-of unextinguishable squibs and crackers. At length four o’clock arrives;
-the cocks crow—the boys can’t be long now. There—hark!—how the chant
-comes up the street, like one voice—the voice of a solitary droning
-witch! We lie breathless, and shape to ourselves Guy Fawkes in the dark!
-Our hearts beat quicker and quicker as the chant becomes louder; and we
-sit up in bed, as the boys approach the door, and, oh! how we wish to be
-with them! There—there they are in full chorus! Hark:—
-
-               “The fifth of November, as I can remember,
-                 Is gunpowder treason and plot,
-                I know no reason, why gunpowder treason
-                 Should ever be forgot.”
-
-We feel an unutterable pang, for loudest among the loud, we hear the
-shrill voice of Jack Tarleton. “Ha!” we sigh, “_his_ mother lets _him_
-out.” The bitterness passes away with the—
-
-             “Hallo, boys! Hallo, boys! make a round ring,
-              Hallo, boys! Hallo, boys! God save the king!”
-
-
-[Illustration:
-
-  “Rejoicing in the captivity of a suit of clothes stuffed with hay”
-]
-
-
-And now the procession moves on, and the voices die in the distance,
-and we feel we are left alone; and, in a few minutes, we hear new
-revellers, rejoicing in the captivity of a suit of clothes stuffed
-with hay, and called Guy Fawkes. Guy Fawkes! Guy Fawkes! who—what _is_
-Guy Fawkes? We had been told that he had been caught with a lantern,
-tinder-box and matches, ready to blow up thousands of barrels of
-gunpowder, and so to destroy the king, bishops, and members of
-Parliament. It must be shocking—very shocking; still, we could not
-perfectly envisage the atrocity—we could not make out the full horror.
-We had the undefined sense of the greatness of a king, though we
-hardly dared to hope we should ever see one. We had a less remote
-notion of the nature of a bishop, having been helped somewhat in our
-speculations by the person of the curate at the garrison church.
-“Curates may come to be bishops, only bishops are very much greater;
-and curates have nothing upon their heads, whereas certain bishops
-might wear mitres.” On learning this we thought that bishops were
-merely full-grown curates; in the same way that we had seen Poland
-hens with their topknots of feathers only the spring before
-bare-headed little chicks. It was thus, in the irreverence of
-childhood, we disposed of the whole bench of bishops. But now came we
-to the difficulty—what, what could be a member of Parliament? Was it a
-living thing? If so, had it a voice? Could it speak? Could it sit?
-Could it say yes and no? Could it walk? Could it turn? Or was it
-merely an image? Was it pulled by wires, like sister Jenny’s doll? We
-had been told that members of Parliament made laws. What _were_ laws?
-Were they the lions and unicorns on the king’s arms? Were they a
-better sort of cake, too dear for everybody to buy? Little boys ate
-parliament-cakes—were law-cakes for men? If so, were they gilt or
-plain?—with comfits or without?
-
-It is no matter, we thought, being unable to satisfy ourselves: it is no
-matter. Guy Fawkes—that shadowy, terrible mystery—had once lived and
-tried to kill the king, the full-grown curates, and those undivined
-riddles—members of Parliament. We again went to our first question. Who
-_was_ Guy Fawkes? Did he have a father and mother? Was Guy Fawkes ever a
-little boy? and did he fly a kite and play at marbles? If so, how could
-he have ever thought it worth his while to trouble himself with other
-matters? There was something terrifying in the idea of having played
-with Guy Fawkes. We fancied him at taw—we saw him _knuckle down_. No—it
-could not be; the imagination of the child could not dwell upon such an
-impossibility. Guy Fawkes a boy!—a baby! now shaking a rattle—now
-murmuring as he fed, his mother smiling down upon him! No, no—it was
-impossible; Guy Fawkes was never born—he was from the first a man—he
-never could have been a baby. He seemed to us a part of the things that
-had always been, and always would be—a piece of grim eternity; a
-principle of everlasting wickedness.
-
-Is it in childhood alone—is it only in the dim imaginings of infancy—in
-the wandering guesses of babyhood, that we manifest this ignorance? When
-the full-grown thief is hanged, do we not sometimes forget that he was
-the child of misery and vice—born for the gallows—nursed for the halter?
-Did we legislate a little more for the cradle, might we not be spared
-some pains for the hulks?
-
-And then we had been told that Guy Fawkes came from Spain. Where was
-Spain? Was it a million miles away, and what distance was a million
-miles? Were there little boys in Spain, or were they all like Guy
-Fawkes? How strange, and yet how delightful to us did it seem to feel
-that we were a part of the wonderful things about us! To be at all upon
-this world—to be one at the great _show_ of men and women—to feel that
-when we grew bigger we should know everything of kings, bishops, members
-of Parliament, and Guy Fawkes! What a golden glory hung about the
-undiscovered!
-
-And Guy Fawkes, we had heard, had his head cut off, and his body cut
-into quarters! Could this be true? Could men do to men what we had seen
-Fulk the butcher do to sheep? How much, we thought, had little boys to
-grow out of before they could agree to this! And then, when done, what
-was the good of it—what _could_ be the good of it? Was Guy Fawkes
-eaten—if not, _why_ cut him up?
-
-Had Guy Fawkes a wife, and little boys and girls? Did he love his
-children, and buy them toys and apples—or, like Sawney Bean, did he
-devour them? Did Guy Fawkes say his prayers?
-
-Had Guy Fawkes a friend? Did he ever laugh—did he ever tell a droll
-story? Did Guy Fawkes ever sing a song? Like Frampton, the Blue Town
-Barber, did Guy Fawkes ever get drunk? At length we put to ourselves the
-question of questions:—
-
-_Was there ever such a man as Guy Fawkes? Did Guy Fawkes ever live?_
-
-This query annoyed us with the doubt that we had been tricked into a
-hate, a fear, a loathing, a wonder—and a mixture of these passions and
-emotions, for a fib. We felt disappointed when we felt the reality of
-Guy Fawkes to be doubtful. We had heard of griffins and unicorns, of
-dragons that had eaten men like apples, and had then been told that
-there never had been any such thing. If we were not to believe in a
-dragon, why should we believe in Guy Fawkes? After all, was the whole
-story but make-game?
-
-The child passively accepts a story of the future, he can bring his mind
-up to a thing promised, but wants faith in the past. The cause is
-obvious; he recollects few things gone, but is full of things to come.
-Hence Guy Fawkes was with us the ogre of a nursery; we could have
-readily believed, especially after the Story of Beauty and the Beast,
-that he married Goody Two Shoes, and was the father of Little Red Riding
-Hood.
-
-But Guy Fawkes grows with us from boyhood to youth. He gets flesh and
-blood with every November; he is no longer the stuffed plaything of a
-schoolboy or the grotesque excuse for begging vagabonds, but the
-veritable Guy Fawkes, “gentleman.” We see him, “Thomas Percy’s alleged
-man,” at the door of the vault, “booted and spurred”; we behold that
-“very tall and desperate fellow,” lurking in the deep of night, with
-looks of deadly resolution, pounced upon by that vigilant gentleman of
-the privy-chamber, Sir Thomas Knevit! We go with Guido, “the new Mutius
-Scævola, born in England,” before the council, where “he often smiles in
-scornful manner, not only avowing the fact, but repenting only, with the
-said Scævola, his failing in the execution thereof.” We think of him
-“answering quickly to every man’s objection, scoffing at any idle
-questions which were propounded to him, and jesting with such as he
-thought had no authority to examine him.” And then we think of the
-thanksgiving of the great James, who gave praise that, had the intent of
-the wicked prevailed, he should not have “died ingloriously in an
-ale-house, a stew, or such vile place,” but with “the best and most
-honourable company.”[7]
-
-Footnote 7:
-
-  See “His Majesty’s Speech concerning the Gunpowder Plot,” etc., in the
-  _Harleian Miscellany_.
-
-Guy Fawkes is, in our baby thoughts, a mysterious vision, one of the
-shadows of evil advancing on the path of childhood. We grow older, and
-the substances of evil come close upon us—we see their dark lantern, and
-snuff the brimstone.
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
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-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-
-
-                        ELIZABETH AND VICTORIA.
-
-
-EVERY generation compared to the age it immediately succeeds is but a
-further lapse from Paradise. Every grandfather is of necessity a wiser,
-kinder, nobler being that the grandson doomed to follow him—every
-grandmother chaster, gentler, more self-denying, more devoted to the
-beauty of goodness, than the giddy, vain, thoughtless creature, who in
-her time is sentenced to be grandmother to somebody, whose still
-increased defects will only serve to bring out the little lustre of the
-gentlewoman who preceded her. Man, undoubtedly, had at the first a fixed
-amount of goodness bestowed upon him; but this goodness, by being passed
-from generation to generation, has, like a very handsome piece of coin,
-with arms and legend in bold relief, become so worn by continual
-transit, that it demands the greatest activity of faith to believe that
-which is now current in the world, to be any portion of the identical
-goodness with which the human race was originally endowed. Hapless
-creatures are we! Moral paupers of the nineteenth century, turning a
-shining cheek upon one another, and by the potent force of swagger,
-passing off our thin, worn, illegible pieces of coin—how often, no
-thicker, no weightier than a spangle on a player’s robe!—when our
-glorious ancestors, in the grandeur of their goodness, could ring down
-musical shekels! Nay, as we go back, we find the coin of excellence so
-heavy, so abounding, that how any man—Samson perhaps excepted—had
-strength enough to carry his own virtues about him, puzzles the
-effeminacy of present thought. Folks then were doubtless made grave,
-majestic in their movements by the very weight of their excellence.
-Whilst we, poor anatomies—skipjacks of the nineteenth century—we carry
-all our ready virtue in either corner of our waistcoat pocket, and from
-its very lightness, are unhappily enabled to act all sorts of unhallowed
-capers—to forget the true majesty of man in the antics of the
-mountebank. Forlorn degradation of the human race!
-
-But the tears of the reader—for if he have a heart of flesh, it is by
-this time melting in his eyes—are not confidently demanded for only the
-one generation whereof (seeing he is our reader) he is certainly not the
-worst unit: but we here require of him to weep for posterity; yes, to
-subscribe a rivulet of tears for the generations to come. The coinage of
-the virtues at present in circulation among us is so thin, so defaced,
-so battered, so clipt, that it appears to us wholly impossible that any
-portion of the currency can descend a couple of generations lower. What,
-then, is to become of our grandchildren? Without one particle of golden
-truth and goodness left to them, for we cannot take into account the two
-or three pieces hoarded—as old ladies have hoarded silver pennies—what
-remains, what alternative for our descendants but to become a generation
-of coiners? Can any man withstand the terror of this picture, wherein
-all the world are shown as so many passers of pocket-pieces, lacquered
-over with something that seems like gold and silver, but which, indeed,
-is only seeming? A picture wherein he who is the ablest
-hypocrite—passing off the greatest amount of false coin upon his
-neighbor—shall appear the most virtuous person! Is not this an appalling
-scene to contemplate? Yet, if there be any truth in a common theory, if
-there be any veracity in the words written in a thousand pages, uttered
-at every fireside, dropt in the casual meeting of man and man at
-door-steps, in by-lanes, highways, and market-places—the picture we have
-shadowed forth must become an iron present.
-
-“We shall never see such times again!”
-
-“The world isn’t what it used to be.”
-
-“When I was a boy, things hadn’t come to this pass.”
-
-“The world gets wickeder and wickeder.”
-
-Since the builders of Babel were scattered, these thoughts have been
-voiced in every tongue. From the very discontent and fantasticalness of
-his nature, man looks backward at the lost Paradise of another age. He
-affects to snuff the odour of its fruits and flowers, and with a
-melancholy shaking of the head, sees, or thinks he sees, the flashing of
-the fiery swords that guard them. And then, in the restlessness of his
-heart, in the peevishness and discontent of his soul, he says all sorts
-of bitter things of the generations he has fallen among; and, from the
-vanished glory of the past, predicts increasing darkness for the future.
-Happily, the prophesying cannot be true; and happily, too, for the
-condition of the prophet, he knows it will not. But then there is a sort
-of comfort in the waywardness of discontent; at times, a soothing music
-to the restlessness of the soul in the deep bass of hearty grumbling.
-
-The ingratitude of the act is entirely forgotten in the pleasure. “Ha!
-those were the merry days—the golden times of England they were!” May
-not this be heard from the tradesman, the mechanic, as he is borne past
-Tilbury Fort, and the thoughts of Queen Elizabeth, of her “golden days,”
-ring in his brain; and living only in the nineteenth century, he has
-some vague, perplexing notion that he has missed an Eden, only by a
-hundred years or two? He thinks not—why should he?—of the luxury he now
-purchases for a shilling; a luxury, not compassable in those golden days
-by all the power and wealth of all the combining sovereigns of the
-earth, for he is a passenger of a Gravesend steamboat, the fare
-twelvepence.
-
-We would not forget that wonder of Elizabeth’s navy, the _Great Harry_.
-No; we would especially remember it, to compare the marvel, with all its
-terrors, to the agent of our day, which, wrought and directed from a few
-gallons of water, makes the winged ship but as a log—a dead leviathan
-upon the deep; which, in the certainty and intensity of its power of
-destruction must, in the fulness of time, make blood-spilling war
-bankrupt, preaching peace with all men, even from “the cannon’s mouth.”
-
-We are, however, a degenerate race. In our maudlin sensibility, we have
-taken under our protection the very brutes of the earth—the fowls of the
-air—the fish of the sea. We have cast the majesty of the law around the
-asses of the reign of Victoria—have assured to live geese a property in
-their own feathers—have, with a touch of tenderness, denounced the
-wood-plugged claws of the lobsters of Billingsgate. We have a society,
-whose motto, spiritually, is—
-
-            “Never to link our pleasure or our pride
-             With suffering of the meanest thing that lives.”
-
-Very different, indeed, was the spirit of the English people, when their
-good and gracious Queen Elizabeth smiled sweetly upon bull dogs, and
-found national music in the growl, the roar, and the yell of a
-bear-garden; whereto, in all the courtesy of a nobler and more virtuous
-age, the sovereign led the French ambassador; that, as chroniclers tell
-us, Monsieur might arrive at a sort of comparative knowledge of English
-bravery, judging the courage of the people by the stubborn daring of
-their dogs.
-
-Then we had no Epsom, with its high moralities—no Ascot, with its
-splendour and wealth. Great, indeed, was the distance—deep the
-abyss—between the sovereign and the sovereign people.
-
-And in those merry, golden days of good Queen Bess, rank was something;
-it had its brave outside, and preached its high prerogative from
-externals. The nobleman declared his nobility by his cloak, doublet and
-jerkin; by the plumes in his hat; by the jewels flashing in his shoes.
-Society, in all its gradations, was inexorably marked by the tailor and
-goldsmith.
-
-But what is the tailor of the nineteenth century? What doth he for
-nobility? Alas! next to nothing. The gentleman is no longer the creature
-of the tailor’s hands—the being of his shop-board. The gentleman must
-dress himself in ease, in affability, in the gentler and calmer
-courtesies of life, to make distinguishable the nobility of his nature
-from the homeliness, the vulgarity of the very man who, it may be, finds
-nobility in shoe-leather. Thus, gentility of blood, deprived by
-innovation of its external livery—denied the outward marks of
-supremacy—is thrown upon its bare self to make good its prerogative.
-Manner must now do the former duty of fine clothes.
-
-State, too, was in the blessed times of Elizabeth a most majestic
-matter. The queen’s carriage, unlike Victoria’s, was a vehicle wondrous
-in the eyes of men as the chariot of King Pharaoh. Now, does every poor
-man keep his coach—price sixpence! How does the economy of luxury
-vulgarise the indulgence?
-
-
-[Illustration:
-
-  “Rank preached its high prerogative from externals”
-]
-
-
-Travelling was then a grave and serious adventure. The horse-litter was
-certainly a more dignified means of transit than the fuming, boiling,
-roaring steam-engine, that rushes forward with a man as though the human
-anatomy was no more than a woolpack. In the good old times of Queen
-Bess, a man might take his five long days and more for a hundred miles,
-putting up, after a week’s jolting, at his hostelry, the Queen’s Head of
-Islington, for one good night’s rest, ere he should gird up his loins to
-enter London. Now is man taught to lose all respect for the hoariness of
-time by the quickness of motion. Now may he pass over two hundred miles
-in some seven or eight hours if he will, taking his first meal in the
-heart of Lancashire, and his good-night glass at a Geneva palace in
-London. Is it wonderful that our present days should abound more in
-sinful levity than the days of the good Queen Elizabeth, seeing that we
-may, in the same space of time, crowd so much more iniquity? The truth
-is, science has thrown so many hours upon our hands, that we are
-compelled to kill them with all sorts of arrows—which, as moralists
-declare, have mortal poison at the barb, however gay and brilliant may
-be the feathers that carry it home. Dreadful will be the time when that
-subtle fiend, science, shall perform nearly all human drudgery; for then
-men in their very idleness will have nought else to destroy save their
-own souls; and the destruction will, of course, be quicker, and, to the
-father of all mischief, much more satisfactory.
-
-Again, in the good times of Elizabeth, humanity was blessed with a
-modesty, a deference—in these days of bronze, to be vainly sought
-for—towards the awfulness of power, the grim majesty of authority. And
-if, indeed, it happened that some outrageous wretch, forgetful of the
-purpose of nature in creating him the Queen’s liegeman, and therefore
-her property—if, for a moment, he should cease to remember the fealty
-which, by the principle of the divine right of kings, should be vital to
-him as the blood in his veins—why, was there not provided for him, by
-the benignity of custom and the law, a salutary remedy? If he advanced a
-new opinion, had he not ears wherewith, by hangman’s surgery, he might
-be cured of such disease? If he took a mistaken view of the rights of
-his fellow-subjects, might he not be taught to consider them from a
-higher point of elevation, and so be instructed?
-
-Booksellers, in the merry time of Elizabeth, were enabled to vindicate a
-higher claim to moral and physical daring than is permitted to them in
-these dull and drivelling days. He who published a book,
-questioning—though never so gently—the prerogative of her Majesty to do
-just as the spirit should move her, might have his right hand chopped
-off, and afterwards—there have been examples of such devotion—wave his
-bloody stump, with a loyal shout of “God save the Queen!” But these were
-merry days—golden days—in which the royal prerogative was more majestic,
-more awful than in the nineteenth century. And wherefore? The reason is
-plain as the Queen’s arms.
-
-The king of beasts lives on flesh. His carnivorousness is one of the
-great elements of his Majesty. So was it in the times of Elizabeth, with
-the Queen’s prerogative. It was for the most part fed upon flesh. It
-would be a curious and instructive calculation could we arrive at the
-precise number of noses, and arms, and hands, and human heads, and
-quarters of human carcases, which—during the merry, golden reign of
-Elizabeth, of those days we shall never see again—were required by law
-to keep strong and lusty the prerogative of the Virgin Queen! How, as
-the human head festered and rotted above the city gates, was the
-prerogative sweetened by the putrefaction! And then the daily lessons
-preached by the mute horror of the dead man’s mouth, to the human life
-daily passing beneath it! What precepts of love and gentleness towards
-all men fell from the shrivelled lips—what Christianity gleamed from the
-withered eye-balls! How admirably were the every-day thoughts of men
-associated with prerogative, its majesty for ever preached by dead men’s
-tongues—its beauty visible in dead men’s flesh. Those were the golden
-days—the merry days—we shall never see such times again. Now, a poor and
-frivolous race, we pass beneath Temple Bar, untaught by the grim
-moralities that from its height were wont to instruct our forefathers.
-In the days of Elizabeth we might have lounged at the door of the city
-shopkeeper, and whilst chaffering for a commodity of this world, have
-had our thoughts elevated by a consideration of the ghastly
-skull—grinning a comment upon all earthly vanities—above us. Those days
-are gone—passed for ever. We have now plate-glass and dainty painting,
-and precious woods, in the shops of our tradesmen, but nought to take us
-from the vanity of life—no prerogative of a Virgin Queen, in the useful
-semblance of a _memento mori_.
-
-
-[Illustration:
-
-  “Hangman’s surgery”
-]
-
-
-It is to the want of such stern yet wholesome monitors we are doubtless
-to attribute the decay of the national character. We are sunk in
-effeminacy, withered by the fond ministerings of science. The road of
-life—which, by its ruggedness, was wont to try the sinews of our
-Elizabethan ancestors—we, their degenerate children, have spread as with
-a carpet, and hung the walls around us with radiant tapestry. The
-veriest household drudge of our time is a Sardanapalus compared to the
-lackey of the Virgin Queen. The tatterdemalion, who lives on highway
-alms, may look down upon the beggar of Elizabeth; for the mendicant of
-Victoria may, with his prayed-for pence, purchase luxuries unknown to
-the Dives of former days.
-
-And what—if we listen to complaining patriotism—what is the evil born of
-this? A loss of moral energy; a wasting away of national fibre. Believe
-this melancholy philosophy, and national weakness came in (a moral moth
-in the commodity) with silk stockings. Ere then was the bearing of man
-more majestic in the eyes of angels! For then was the sword the type of
-station, a gentleman no more appearing abroad without his rapier than a
-wasp without its sting. Human life could not but lose part of its
-dignity with its cold steel. What a fine comment on the charity, the
-gentleness, the humanity of his fellow-men, did every gentleman wear at
-his side! He was, in a manner, his own law-maker, his own executioner.
-In the judgment of later philosophy, we are prone to believe that the
-said gentlemen may appear, at the best, ferocious simpletons—creatures
-swaggering “between heaven and earth,” with their hands upon their
-hilts, ready and yearning for a thrust at those who took the wall of
-their gentility. Ha! those, indeed, were the good old days! And then
-came a whining, curd-complexioned benevolence, and in progress of time,
-its thin, white, womanly fingers unbuckled the sword-belt of the bully,
-and organised police. Sword-makers were bankrupt, and human nature lost
-a grace!
-
-Thus, it appears, the world has been from age to age declining in
-virtue, and can only escape the very profound of iniquity by a speedy
-dissolution. Every half dozen years or so, a prophet growls from a
-cellar, or cries from the altitude of a garret, the advent of the last
-day. An earthquake, or some other convulsion (the particulars of which
-are only vouchsafed to the prophet) is to destroy the earth or London at
-least; whereupon old gentlemen remove to Gravesend, and careful
-housewives take stock of their plate. Now, every such prophecy, instead
-of bewildering honest people with all sorts of fears, and all sorts of
-anxieties for their personal property, ought to make them sing
-thanksgiving songs for the promised blessing. It being the creed of
-these people that the world gets worse and worse, they would at least
-have the comfort to know that they had seen the last of its wickedness.
-For a moment, reader, we will suppose you one of these. Consider, upon
-your own faith, what a terrible wretch will necessarily be your
-great-great-great-great-great-grandson! Well, would it not be
-satisfaction to you that this dragon (we believe dragons are oviparous)
-should be crushed in the egg of the future? How would you like your own
-flesh and blood inevitably changed by the course of time into the
-anatomy of something very like a demon? You are bad enough as you are;
-that dismal truth your own humility preaches to you; to say nothing of
-the plain speaking of your neighbours. No; out of pure love and pity for
-humanity, you ought to wish all the world to stop with your own pulse.
-It is hard enough now, even for the best of us, to keep on the
-respectable side of the statutes; but, with the growing wickedness of
-the world, we should like to know what sort of metal will the laws be
-made of. The great social link must inevitably be a fetter.
-
-How often have we stood, with the unseen tears in our eyes, watching the
-nobility of the land, in nobility’s best bib and tucker, winding in
-golden line to the drawing-room of Queen Victoria! Alas! degenerate
-dukes—faded duchesses. Marquises fallen upon evil times—marchionesses
-very dim indeed! What are you to the nobility of Elizabeth? What to the
-grandees of those merry days, the golden shadow of which is brightness
-itself to the cold, grey glimmering of the present? We have yet one
-thought to comfort us; and that is, a half belief that the court of
-Elizabeth was held as nothing to all courts preceding; and so back,
-until Englishmen mourned over the abomination of cloaks and vests,
-sorrowing for those golden days, those good old times of the painted
-Britons! Great was the virtue abounding in _woad_; grievous the wilful
-iniquity woven in broad-cloth.
-
-Queen Elizabeth died—fair, regal bud!—in the sweetness of virginity; and
-though the sun (by some despairing effort) managed to rise the next
-morning, it has never been wholly itself since. She died, and was
-brought to Whitehall, to the great calamity of the fish then swimming in
-the river; for a poet of the day, quoted by Camden, has eternised the
-evil that in the hour fell upon Thames flounders:—
-
-        “The Queene was brought by water to Whitehall;
-         At every stroke the oares teares let fall;
-         More clung about the barge; fish under water
-         _Wept out their eyes of pearle, and swame blinde after_,
-         I think the bargemen might with easier thighes
-         Have rowed her thither in her people’s eyes.
-         Yet, howsoere, thus much my thoughts have scann’d,
-         She’d come by water, had she come by land.”
-
-So closed the golden days of Queen Elizabeth; leaving us, in all the
-virtues and comforts of the world, the bankrupt children of Queen
-Victoria!
-
-Unworthy is he of the balmy sweetness of this blessed May who can think
-so! A churlish, foolish, moody traitor to the spirit of goodness and
-beauty that, as with the bounty of the sun and air, calls up forms of
-loveliness in his path, and surrounds him with ten thousand household
-blessings! With active presences, which the poet of Elizabeth, in even
-_his_ large love for man could scarce have dreamed of; or, dreaming,
-seen them as a part of fairy fantasy—a cloud-woven pageant!
-
-Let the man who lives by his daily sweat pause in his toil, and, with
-his foot upon his spade, watch the white smoke that floats in the
-distance; listen to the lessening thunder of the engine that, instinct
-with Vulcanic life, has rushed, devouring space, before it. That little
-curl of smoke hangs in the air a thing of blessed promise—that roar of
-the engine is the melody of hope to unborn generations. But now, the
-digger of the soil looks moodily at that vapour, and his heart is
-festering with the curse upon the devil Steam; that fiend that grinds
-his bones beneath the wheels of British Juggernaut. Poor creature! The
-seeming demon is a beneficent presence that, in the ripeness of time,
-will work regeneration of the hopes of men.
-
-Let the poor man—the mechanic of a town—look around him. Let him in his
-own house, humble though it be, acknowledge the presence of a thousand
-comforts which, had he lived two centuries ago, he could not with a
-baron’s wealth have purchased. Not mere creature enjoyments; but
-humanizing, refining pleasures, drawing man nearer to man, expanding the
-human heart, and imparting to humanity the truest greatness in the
-greatest gentleness.
-
-“What!” it may be asked, “can you have the hardihood, or the ignorance,
-to vaunt these days above the days of Elizabeth? These days with famine
-throwing the shuttle—with ignorance, wholly brutish, digging in the
-pit—with gold, a monster all brain, and so the very worst of
-monsters—dominating throughout the land, and crushing the pulses of
-thousands within its hard, relentless grasp? Would you not rather pray
-for a return of those merry, merry days, when men were whipped,
-imprisoned, branded, burnt, at little more than the mere will of
-Majesty, for mere opinion—but who had, nevertheless, bacon and bread and
-ale sufficient to the day?”
-
-No; we would go no step backward, but many in advance; our faith still
-increasing in the enlarged sympathies of men; in the reverence which man
-has learned and is still learning to pay towards the nature of his
-fellow-men; in the deep belief that whatever change may and _must_ take
-place in the social fabric—we have that spirit of wisdom and tolerance
-(certainly _not_ a social creature of the golden days) waxing strong
-among us,—so strong that the fabric will be altered and repaired brick
-by brick, and stone by stone. Meanwhile, the scaffolding is fast growing
-up about it.
-
-
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-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-
-
-                 THE LITTLE GREAT AND THE GREAT LITTLE
-
-
-EXTRAORDINARY is the mind of man! He sails in mid-air; he compasseth the
-globe; he blunts the lightning; he writeth _Hamlet_, _Paradise Lost_,
-the _Principia_, and he chaineth a flea by the leg. He maketh the strong
-elephant to bend his joints, and he subdueth a flea, if not to “hew
-wood,” at least to draw water. These, the later triumphs of the human
-essence, are now on exhibition somewhere in that long ark for modern
-monsters, Regent Street! Yes, the “Industrious Fleas” at once delight
-and shame fashionable idlers, sending them to their beds to ruminate on
-the sagacity of the living world about them.
-
-We love a monster as much as ever did _Trinculo_; hence we have been
-bitten; that is, we have made acquaintance with the “Industrious Fleas.”
-Let us shortly enumerate their separate capabilities. One flea, a fine
-muscular fellow, worthy, did fairies die, to be mourning coach horse at
-the funeral of Queen Titania (how long since the fairies had a
-coronation!), draws a very splendid carriage, constructed from the pith
-of elder. He curvets, and bounds, and shows his blood (he must have been
-fed in some royal stable—he has surely fattened on kings) with the
-proudest royal coach-horse, on—as they say at public dinners—“the
-proudest day of its life.” Having seen its legs, we shall think more
-seriously of the kick of a flea ever after. Then, to talk of a “flea
-bite,” as a proverb for a wife—a mere nothing; let those who speak thus
-vainly contemplate the terrible proboscis of the aforesaid chariot flea,
-and then think of the formidable weapon, plunged through one’s tender
-skin, and sucking up by quarts (we saw, we looked through a microscope)
-our hearts’ best blood! To go to bed appears no wonder, but to be able
-to rise again after what we have beheld, seems to us a daily miracle! To
-proceed. Another of the “industrious” takes the air with a chain and a
-weight to his leg, the wonder consisting in its resignation to its
-destiny. A third flea, also manacled, draws water. A fourth flea has a
-more awful duty—to bear Napoleon Bonaparte, late of France, but now of
-St Helena—there he is, the victor of a hundred fights, majestically
-seated on flea back. An enthusiastic Frenchman may, if he have good
-eyes, see in the miniature emperor, the sallow, thoughtful face, the
-“brassy eye” (_vide_ Haydon’s account) of the original despot—could the
-figure take snuff, the illusion would be perfect. Two other fleas,
-soldiers, fight a desperate combat, affording in their proper persons a
-triumphant refutation to the celebrated dogma of the philosopher, that
-“fleas are not lobsters.” We understood from the _Cicerone_ that their
-deadly enmity was excited towards each other by a mutual tickling. We
-were also informed that one of the fleas (“epicurean animal!”) had the
-honour to sup off the hand of the Princess Augusta. This fact was
-shamefully hushed up by the magas of the _Court Circular_, else how
-would it have astonished the world to have read that “last night Her
-Royal Highness the Princess Augusta gave a supper to the fleas!” Certain
-it is, the document contains at times news of less interest.[8] This
-condescension on the part of her Highness, though it speaks much for her
-affability, has been the cause of grievous heartburnings and bickerings
-among the society. It is extraordinary the airs that every flea gives
-himself about “his blood.” However, it is to be hoped that a herald will
-be appointed to settle the claims of each disputant, and to favour the
-whole with a genealogical tree. Who knows whether one of these fleas’
-ancestors did not bite Sancho Panza, or the Dulcinea del Toboso, or the
-_Carters_, who were “bitten like a tench”? Speaking on our own
-responsibility, we are afraid that each of these little creatures, after
-all its vanity about pure blood, has been somewhat capricious in its
-appetite; a fault, by the by, which often puzzles the heralds in their
-labours, for certain other little animals are very angry, when they
-speak of blood, too.
-
-Footnote 8:
-
-  Her Majesty the Queen, and Prince George of Cumberland, stood the
-  whole of the sermon!!—_Court Circular_, April 8, 1832.
-
-We quitted the exhibition, and walking at a melancholy pace, with our
-long, lean visage bent towards the earth, we were accosted by a man—an
-odd-looking person, with a box at his back—who begged we would stop and
-see his show. We were in a sight-seeing humour, and at once consented.
-The box was placed on a trestle, our eye was at the glass, and our ears
-open, when the man commenced his description:—
-
-“The first view presents you with a grand state coach of the Great
-Mogul; it is drawn by a thousand curious animals; they are, as you will
-perceive, very finely dressed in rich harness, tall feathers, and flying
-ribbons; they come and tie themselves to the coach, and feel it an
-honour to be bridled; they snort, and caper, and kick mud into the eyes
-of the bystanders.
-
-“The next view shows you one of these animals with a long chain and a
-heavy log. This chain was fixed upon his leg when he was born; and
-though he has sometimes tried to file away the links, he has had his
-knuckles so smartly rapped, and been called so many names—been so
-preached to that the chain and log were for his own good, and that it
-would ruin him to take them from him—that ’tis likely he will, for the
-public benefit, be made to wear them to the end of his days.
-
-“The animal in the next view, that is chained and draws water, is one of
-the Great Mogul’s million of slaves. Although he draws bucket after
-bucketful for the Mogul’s house and his household, for his horses and
-his dogs, and his kitchen, and his flower garden, he is often perishing
-himself for one half mouthful; his lips are blistered, and his tongue
-black, with the water drawn by his own hands, running about him.
-
-“The fourth animal is mounted on a fiery dragon, that, belching flames,
-kindles forests, fires towns, dries rivers, blasts harvests, and
-swallows men, women, and sucking babes. Look to the left, and the dragon
-is turned to a something no bigger than a mouse, and with its stinted
-rations of butter and cheese.
-
-“In the fifth and last view you see ten thousand of these animals
-ferociously killing, biting, tearing another ten thousand, whom they
-never saw till a few minutes ago, and with whom they have no quarrel.
-But they kill one another because they are tickled to do so. That is,
-certain animals go about with tickling wands called ‘glory,’ ‘deathless
-renown,’ ‘laurel,’ and other titillating syllables, poking in the ribs
-of the poor benighted creatures.”
-
-I took my eye from the glass: “My good man, what have you shown me?”
-
-“Fleas, sir.”
-
-“Fleas!—nonsense; the fleas are shown above.”
-
-“Yes, sir; but mine are the fleas with two legs; though, _if_ I must be
-honest, I can’t say I see any difference between the fleas in my
-show-box and the fleas above.”
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
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-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-
-
-                           THE MANAGER’S PIG
-
-“Some people are not to be persuaded to taste of any creatures they have
-    daily seen and been acquainted with whilst they were alive.... In
-    this behaviour, methinks there appears something like a
-    consciousness of guilt; it looks as if they endeavoured to save
-    themselves from the imputation of a crime (which they know sticks
-    somewhere) by removing the cause of it as far as they can from
-    themselves.”—MANDEVILLE.
-
-
-ARISTIDES TINFOIL, it is our fixed belief, was intended by nature either
-for lawn sleeves or ermined robes; he was, we doubt it not, sent into
-this world an embryo bishop, or a lord-chief-justice _in posse_. Such,
-we are convinced, was the benignant purpose of nature; but the cruel
-despotism of worldly circumstance relentlessly crossed the fair design;
-and Tinfoil, with a heart of honey and a head of iron, was only a
-player—or, we should rather say, a master among players. Tinfoil might
-have preached charity-sermons till tears should have overflowed the
-pews; no matter, he acted the benevolent old men to the sobs and spasms
-of a crowded audience: he might, with singular efficacy, have passed
-sentence of death on coiners and sheep-stealers; circumstances, however,
-confined his mild reproofs to scene-shifters, bill-stickers, Cupids at
-one shilling per night, and white muslin Graces.
-
-“Where is Mr Moriturus?” asked Tinfoil, chagrined at the untoward
-absence of his retainer. “Where is he?”
-
-“Ill, Sir,” was the melancholy answer, “very ill.”
-
-“Ill!” exclaimed Tinfoil, in a tone of anger, quickly subsiding into
-mild remonstrance. “Ill!—why—why doesn’t the good man _die at once_?”
-
-A pretty budding girl had, unhappily, listened to the silvery tongue of
-a rival manager. “Take her from the villain!” exclaimed Tinfoil to the
-sorrowing parent; “bring her here, and then—then I’ll tell you what I’ll
-do.”
-
-“Dear, kind Mr Tinfoil, what will you do!”
-
-“I’ll bring her out, Sir—bring her out in—” and here the manager named a
-play in which the horrors of seduction are painted in bold colours for
-the indignant virtuous. “I’ll bring her out in that, Sir, as a
-particular favour to you, and sympathising as I must with the affliction
-you suffer, I—I myself will play the injured father, Sir.”
-
-These, however, are but faint lines in the strongly-marked character of
-Tinfoil, and merely displaying them to awaken the attention of the
-reader to what we consider a most triumphant piece of casuistry on the
-part of our hero—to an incident which admits of so many hundred worldly
-illustrations—we shall proceed to the pig. The subject, we own, may
-appear unpromising from its extreme homeliness; yet, as the precious
-bezoar is sought for in deer and goats, so may a pearl of price be found
-even in a pig.
-
-It is our fervent wish to be most exact in every point of this little
-history; yet cannot we remember the exact year in which Tinfoil,
-revolving in his managerial mind the very many experiments made under
-his government on the curiosity and sensibilities of the public,
-determined in a golden moment, upon the introduction of a pig, in a
-drama to be expressly written for the animal’s capacities. In the slang
-of the craft, the pig was to be measured for his part.
-
-We cannot take it upon ourselves to avow, that an accident of late
-occurrence to a brother actor, did not, at least remotely, influence the
-choice of Tinfoil. The mishap was this. A few miles from London—for the
-sake of unborn generations we conceal the name of the town—the dullard
-denizens had manifested an extraordinary apathy to the delights of the
-drama. In the despairing words of one of the sufferers, “nothing could
-move ’em.” However, another of more sanguine temperament resolved to
-make a last bold effort on their stubborn souls, and to such high end,
-set a pig at them. Mingling the blandishments of the lottery with the
-witcheries of the drama, he caused it to be printed in boldest type to
-the townspeople of ——, that a shower of little bits of paper would take
-place between the play and farce, and amidst this shower a prize would
-descend, conveying to the lucky possessor the entire property of a real
-China-bred porker! Inconceivable as to us it is the scheme failed—the
-pig remained live stock upon the hands of the projector, who, the next
-morning, walked to town; and recounting his adverse fortune to the
-calculating Tinfoil, supplicated any employment.
-
-“And you still possess the pig? Humph!” mused Tinfoil; “perhaps we may
-come to some arrangement.”
-
-In few words the applicant was admitted among Tinfoil’s troop; the pig,
-at a nominal price, passing into the hands of the manager.
-
-The pig was no sooner a member of the company than the household author
-was summoned by Tinfoil, who, introducing the man of letters to the
-porker, shortly intimated that “he must write a part for him.”
-
-“For a pig, Sir?” exclaimed the author.
-
-“Measure him,” said Tinfoil, not condescending to notice the
-astonishment of the dramatist.
-
-“But, my dear Sir, it is impossible that——”
-
-“Sir! impossible is a word which I cannot allow in my establishment. By
-this time, Sir, you ought to know that my will, Sir, is sufficient for
-all things, Sir—that, in a word, Sir, there is a great deal of Napoleon
-about me, Sir.”
-
-We must admit that the dramatist ought not to have forgotten this last
-interesting circumstance, Mr Tinfoil himself very frequently recurring
-to it. Indeed, it was only an hour before that he had censured the
-charwoman for having squandered a whole sack of sawdust on the hall
-floor, when half a sack was the allotted quantity. “He, Mr Tinfoil, had
-said half a sack; and the woman knew, or ought to know, there was a good
-deal of Napoleon about him!” To return to the pig.
-
-“Measure him, Sir,” cried Mr Tinfoil, the deepening tones growling
-through his teeth, and his finger pointing still more emphatically
-downwards to the pig.
-
-“Why,” observed the author, “if it could be measured, perhaps——”
-
-“_If_ it could! Sir,” and Mr Tinfoil, when at all excited, trolled the
-monosyllable with peculiar energy—“Sir, I wouldn’t give a straw for a
-dramatist who couldn’t measure the cholera-morbus.”
-
-“Much may be done for an actor by measuring,” remarked the dramatist,
-gradually falling into the opinion of his employer.
-
-“Everything, Sir! Good God! what might I not have been had I
-condescended to be measured? Human nature, Sir—the divine and glorious
-characteristic of our common being, Sir—that is the thing, Sir—by
-heavens! Sir, when I think of that great creature, Shakespeare, Sir, and
-think that he never measured actors—no, Sir——”
-
-“No, Sir,” acquiesced the dramatist.
-
-“Notwithstanding, Sir, we live in other times, Sir, and you must write a
-part for the pig, Sir.”
-
-“Very well, Sir; if he must be measured, Sir, he must,” said the author.
-
-“It is a melancholy thing to be obliged to succumb to the folly of the
-day,” remarked Mr Tinfoil, “and yet, Sir, I could name certain people,
-Sir, who, by heavens! Sir, would not have a part to their backs, Sir, if
-they had not been measured for it, Sir. Let me see: it is not three
-o’clock—well, some time to-night you’ll let me have the piece for the
-pig, Sir.”
-
-Now whether the writer addressed was by his “so potent art” enabled to
-measure a pig—to write a perfect swinish drama in a few hours—or
-whether, knowing the Buonapartean self-will of the manager, the
-dramatist thought it wise to make no remonstrance, we cannot truly
-discover: certain it is, with no objection made, he took his leave.
-
-“An extraordinary young man, Sir—I have brought him out, Sir—a wonderful
-young man, Sir,” observed Mr Tinfoil to a friend and neighbour, a dealer
-in marine-stores. “Only wants working, Sir—requires nothing but being
-kept at it, Sir.”
-
-“Well, it must be a puzzling trade,” remarked the dealer.
-
-“Puzzling, Sir! By heavens! Sir, my heart bleeds for men of letters,
-Sir—they are great creatures, Sir—wonderful natures, Sir—we cannot think
-too highly of them, Sir—cannot sufficiently reward them, Sir! Now, Sir,
-it is perfectly unknown my liberality towards that young man! But then,
-Sir—it is my delight, Sir, when I find real genius, Sir—when I meet with
-a man of original mind, Sir—by heavens! Sir,” again cried Mr Tinfoil,
-resorting to the exclamation as an outlet for his overcharged feelings.
-
-The pig was duly measured—the piece prepared—and, having been produced
-at enormous expense, was sealed with the unqualified approbation of a
-discerning public.
-
-The pig-drama had been represented about twenty nights, when the author
-of the piece, in friendly converse with his patron manager, remarked
-“that the porker had been a most profitable venture.”
-
-“Why, Sir,” replied Mr Tinfoil, “tolerably well; but the fact is, I am
-obliged to bolster him. He has had the advantage of three new
-afterpieces, and therefore can’t complain that he has been let down.
-Still, the pig has done very well, and perhaps may run a fortnight
-more.” Saying this Tinfoil quaffed from a brimming glass of his chosen
-fluid.
-
-“At all events,” remarked the author, “the pig possesses one advantage
-not to be found in any other of your actors.”
-
-“And what, Sir,” asked Mr Tinfoil, “what may that be?”
-
-“Why, after the pig has done his work, and the piece is put by, you may
-eat the pig.”
-
-The manager started from the inhuman man of letters with a look of
-mingled horror, disgust and pity. When he had somewhat recovered from
-his amazement he asked with evident loathing, “What did you say, Sir?”
-
-“I said,” replied the insensible author, “that when the pig had played
-out his part you might eat him.”
-
-Mr Tinfoil, gently stirring his brandy-and-water, fixed an eye, like
-that of death-darting cockatrice, upon the author, and after swallowing
-the liquor, and thereby somewhat regaining his self-possession, he
-addressed the thoughtless dramatist in words and tones that, as he has
-since declared, can never cease to vibrate in his memory.
-
-“Sir!” thus spoke Mr Tinfoil. “I regret—much regret, Sir, that anything
-in my conduct could have induced you, Sir, to think so uncharitably of
-my disposition, Sir.”
-
-“I assure you, Sir——”
-
-“Hear me out, Sir. What, Sir! think me capable of feeding upon an animal
-that I have played with—a creature, whose sagacity has almost made it my
-humble friend—a pig that has eaten from my hand—that knows my voice—that
-I—I eat that pig—good heavens, Sir!”
-
-“I’m sure I didn’t mean——”
-
-“No, Sir,” cried Tinfoil, “not were I starving, Sir—not were I
-famishing, Sir, could I be brought to taste that pig.”
-
-Much more did Mr Tinfoil deliver declaratory of his horror at the bare
-idea of setting his teeth in the flesh of his quadruped actor, and the
-rebuked man of letters quitted the manager with an exalted notion of his
-sensibility.
-
-The pig-drama continued to be played to the increasing satisfaction of
-the public; the audience, however, only being admitted to view the
-professional abilities of the animal; his suppers—from some
-extraordinary omission of Tinfoil—not being eaten before the curtain.
-Great, however, as was the success of the pig, at about the fortieth
-night his prosperity began to wane—he was withdrawn, and passed into
-oblivion.
-
-A few weeks had elapsed, and the author was summoned to the dwelling of
-his manager, to write a play for a stud of horses. Tinfoil was at
-dinner, whereto he courteously invited his household scribe.
-
-“You oughtn’t to refuse,” said one of the diners, “for this,” and the
-speaker pointed to some pickled pork in the dish, “this is an old friend
-of yours.”
-
-“Good heavens!” exclaimed the dramatist, looking reproachfully at
-Tinfoil. “Why, not the pig?”
-
-Tinfoil somewhat abashed coughed and nodded.
-
-“Why, you said that nothing on earth would tempt you to eat that pig.”
-
-“No more it could, Sir,” cried the assured manager, “no, Sir—no more it
-could—_unless salted_!”
-
-Of how many applications is this casuistry of the manager susceptible?
-
-“When, Sir,” cried the pensioned patriot, “I swore that no power in the
-universal world could make me accept a favour at the hands of such men—I
-meant——”
-
-“_Unless salted!_”
-
-How often is it with men’s principles, as with the manager’s pig; things
-inviolable, immutable—_unless salted_?
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
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-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-
-
-                     SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL
-
-
-THE “principle of evil,” as commonly embodied in the theatre, has been a
-sorry affair; the stage devil, in a word, a shabby person. From the time
-of the mysteries at Coventry to the melodramas of the phosphoric pen of
-the blue-fire dramatists, the father of iniquity has made his appearance
-in a manner more provocative of contempt than of peace; a candidate for
-our smiles, rather than a thing of terrors; we have chuckled where we
-should have shuddered.
-
-That the stage devil should have been so commonplace an individual, when
-there were devils innumerable where-from an admirable selection of
-demons might be “constantly on hand,” made it the more inexcusable on
-the part of those gentlemen invested with the power of administering to,
-and in some measure forming, public taste. What a catalogue of devils
-may be found in the Fathers! Let us particularise a few from the
-thousand of demons with which the benevolent imaginations of our
-ancestors have peopled the air, the earth, and the flood. Poor humanity
-stands aghast at the fearful odds of spiritual influences arrayed
-against it; for it is the fixed opinion of Paracelsus, that “the air is
-not so full of flies in summer as it is at all times of invisible
-devils”; whilst another philosopher declares that there is “not so much
-as an hairbreadth empty in earth or in water, above or under the earth!”
-Cornelius Agrippa has carefully classified devils, making them of nine
-orders. The first are the false Gods adored at Delphos and elsewhere in
-various idols, having for their captain Beelzebub; the second rank is of
-“liars and equivocators,” as Apollo—poor Apollo!—“and the like”; the
-third are “vessels of anger, inventors of all mischief,” and their
-prince is Belial; the fourth are malicious, revengeful devils, their
-chief being Asmodeus; the fifth are cozeners, such as belong to
-magicians and witches, their prince is Satan; the sixth are those aerial
-devils that corrupt the air, and cause plagues, thunder, fire, and
-tempests—Meresin is their prince; the seventh is a destroyer, captain of
-the fairies; the eighth is an accusing or calumniating devil; and the
-ninth are all these in several kinds, their commander being Mammon. Of
-all these infernal creatures Cornelius Agrippa writes, with the
-confidence and seeming accuracy of a man favoured with their most
-intimate acquaintance.
-
-In addition to these we have, on the authority of grave philosophers,
-legions of household devils, from such as “commonly work by blazing
-stars,” fire-drakes, or _ignes fatui_, to those who “counterfeit suns
-and moons, and oftentimes sit on ship masts.” Their common place of
-rendezvous, when unemployed, is Mount Hecla. Cardon, with an enviable
-gravity, declares that “his father had an aerial devil bound to him for
-twenty and eight years.” Paracelsus relates many stories, all
-authenticated, of she-devils, “that have lived and been married to
-mortal men, and so continued for certain years with them, and after for
-some dislike have forsaken them.” Olaus Magnus—a most delightful
-liar—has a narrative of “one Hotheius, a king of Sweden, that, having
-lost his company as he was hunting one day, met with these water-nymphs
-and fairies, and was feasted by them”; and Hector Boethius of “Macbeth
-and Banquo, two Scottish lords, that, as they were wandering in the
-woods, had their fortune told them by three strange women!” For the
-“good people,” the wood-nymphs, foliots, fairies, they are, on the best
-authority, to be seen in many places in Germany, “where they do usually
-walk in little coats some two feet long.” Subterranean devils are
-divided by Olaus Magnus into six companies; they commonly haunt mines,
-“and the metal-men in many places account it good luck, a sign of
-treasure and rich ore, when they see them.” Georgius Agricola (_de
-subterraneis animantibus_) reckons two more kinds, “that are clothed
-after the manner of metal-men, and will do their work.” Their office,
-according to the shrewd guess of certain philosophers, “is to keep
-treasure in the earth that it be not all at once revealed.”
-
-On the 20th of June 1484, it is upon record that the devil appeared “at
-Hamond, in Saxony,” in the likeness of a field-piper, and carried away a
-hundred and thirty children “that were never after seen!” I might fill
-folios with the pranks and malicious mummeries of the evil spirit, all,
-too, duly attested by the most respectable witnesses, but shall at once
-leave the demons of the philosophers for the spirits of the playmongers,
-the devils of the world for the devils of the stage.
-
-Why is it that, nine times out of ten, your stage devil is a droll
-rather than a terrible creature? I suspect this arises from the bravado
-of innate wickedness. We endeavour to shirk all thoughts, all
-recollections of his horrible attributes, by endowing him with grotesque
-propensities. We strive to laugh ourselves out of our fears: we make a
-mountebank of what is in truth our terror, and resolutely strive to grin
-away our apprehensions. Surely some feeling of this kind must be at the
-bottom of all our ten thousand jokes at the devil’s expense—of the glee
-and enjoyment with which the devil is received at the theatre; where,
-until the appearance of Mr Wieland, he had been but a commonplace
-absurdity, a dull repetition of a most dull joke.
-
-Wieland has evidently studied the attributes of the evil principle; with
-true German profundity, he has taken their length, and their depth, and
-their breadth, he has all the devil at his very finger ends, and richly
-deserves the very splendid silver-gilt horns and tail (manufactured by
-Rundell and Bridges) presented to him a few nights since by the company
-at the English Opera-house; presented with a speech from the
-stage-manager, which, or I have been grossly misinformed, drew tears
-from the eyes of the very scene-shifters.
-
-Can anybody forget Wieland’s devil in the _Daughter of the Danube_?
-Never was there a more dainty bit of infernal nature. It lives in my
-mind like one of Hoffman’s tales, a realisation of the hero of the
-nightmare, a thing in almost horrible affinity with human passions. How
-he eyed the Naiades, how he laughed and ogled, and faintingly
-approached, then wandered round the object of his demoniacal affections!
-And then how he burst into action! How he sprang, and leapt, and
-whirled, and, chuckling at his own invincible nature, spun like a
-teetotum at the sword of his baffled assailant! And then his yawn and
-sneeze! There was absolute poetry in them—the very highest poetry of the
-ludicrous: a fine imagination to produce such sounds as part of the
-strange, wild, grotesque phantom—to give it a voice that, when we heard
-it, we felt to be the only voice such a thing could have. There is fine
-truth in the devils of Wieland. We feel that they live and have their
-being in the realms of fancy; they are not stereotype commonplaces, but
-most rare and delicate monsters, brought from the air, the earth, or the
-flood; and wherever they are from, bearing in them the finest
-characteristics of their mysterious and fantastic whereabouts.
-
-Wieland’s last devil, in an opera bearing his fearful name, is not
-altogether so dainty a fellow as his elder brother of the Danube, whose
-melancholy so endeared him to our sympathies, whose lackadaisical
-demeanour so won upon our human weakness. In _The Devil’s Opera_ the
-hero is more of the pantomimist than of the thinking creature; he is not
-contemplative, but all for action; he does not, like the former fiend,
-retire into the fastness of his infernal mind to brood on love and fate,
-but is incessantly grinning, leaping, tumbling; hence he is less
-interesting to the meditative part of the audience, though, possibly,
-more attractive to the majority of playgoers, who seem to take the “evil
-principle” under their peculiar patronage, laughing, shouting, and
-hurrahing at every scurvy trick played by it on poor, undefended
-humanity; though, with a bold aim of genius on the part of the author,
-the devil, in the opera, is made the ally of love and virtue against
-blind tyranny and silly superstition. The devil is changed, bound, the
-bond-slave of the good and respectable part of the _dramatis personae_,
-to the confusion of the foolish and the wicked. This is certainly
-putting the “evil principle” to the very first advantage. The best
-triumph of the highest benevolence is, undoubtedly, to turn the
-dominating fiend into the toiling vassal, and in the new opera this
-glory is most unequivocally achieved.
-
-To Wieland we are greatly indebted for having reformed the “infernal
-powers” of the theatre; for having rescued the imp of the stage from the
-vulgar commonplace character in which he has too long distinguished
-himself, or, I ought rather to say, exposed himself; for there was no
-mystery whatever in him: he was a sign-post devil, a miserable daub,
-with not one of those emanations of profound, unearthly thought—not the
-slightest approach to that delicacy of colouring, that softening of
-light into shade, and shade into light, that distinguish the devil of
-Wieland. No: in him we have the foul fiend divested of all his vulgar,
-Bartlemy Fair attributes; his horns, and tail, and saucer-eyes, and
-fish-hook nails, are the least part of him; they are the mere accidents
-of his nature, not his nature itself; we have the devil in the abstract,
-and are compelled to receive with some consideration the popular and
-charitable proverb that declares him to be not quite so black as limners
-have shadowed him.
-
-By the rarest accident I have obtained some account of the birth and
-childhood of Wieland. It appears that he is a German born, being the
-youngest of six sons of Hans Wieland, a poor and most amiable
-doll-maker, a citizen of Hildesheim. When only four years old the child
-was lost in the Hartz Mountains, whither his father and several
-neighbours had resorted to make holiday. The child had from his cradle
-manifested the greatest propensities towards the ludicrous; it was his
-delight to place his father’s dolls in the most preposterous positions,
-doing this with a seriousness, a gravity, in strange contrast with his
-employment. It was plain to Professor Teufelskopf, a frequent visitor at
-the shop of old Wieland, employed by the professor on toys that are yet
-to astound the world—being no other than a man and wife and four
-children, made entirely out of pear-tree, and yet so exquisitely
-constructed, as to be enabled to eat and drink, cry, and pay taxes, with
-a punctuality and propriety not surpassed by many machines of flesh and
-blood—I say it was the opinion of Professor Teufelskopf that young
-Wieland was destined to play a great part among men, an opinion we are
-happy to say nightly illustrated by the interesting subject of this
-memoir. We have, however, to speak of his adventures when only four
-years old, in the Hartz Mountains. For a whole month was the child
-missing, to the agony of its parents, and the deep regret of all the
-citizens of Hildesheim, with whom little George was an especial
-favourite. The mountains were overrun by various parties in search of
-the unfortunate little vagrant, but with no success. It was plain that
-the boy had been caught away by some spirit of the mines with which the
-marvellous districts abound, or, it might be, carried to the very height
-of the Brockenberg, by the king of the mountains, to be his page and
-cup-bearer. The gravest folks of the Hildesheim shook their heads, and
-more than two declared that they never thought George would grow up to
-be a man—he was so odd, so strange, so fantastic, so unlike any other
-child. The despair of Hans Wieland was fast settling into deep
-melancholy, and he had almost given up all hope, when, as he sat
-brooding at his fireside one autumn night, his wife—she had quitted him
-not a minute to go upstairs—uttered a piercing shriek. Hans rushed from
-the fireside, and in an instant joined his wife, who, speechless with
-delight and wonder, pointed to the nook in the chamber where little
-George was wont to sleep, and where, at the time, but how brought there
-was never, never known, the boy lay in the profoundest slumber; in all
-things the same plump, good-looking child, save that his cheek was more
-than usually flushed. Hans Wieland and his wife fell upon their knees
-and sobbed thanksgivings.
-
-I cannot dwell upon the effect produced by this mysterious return of the
-child upon the people of Hildesheim. The shop of Hans Wieland was
-thronged with folks anxious to learn from the child himself a full
-account of his wanderings, of how he happened to stray away, of what he
-had seen, and by what means he had been brought back. To all these
-questions, though on other points a most docile infant, George
-maintained the most dogged silence, several of the church authorities,
-half a dozen professors, nay, the great Teufelskopf himself, questioned
-the child; but all in vain, George was resolutely dumb. It was plain,
-however, that he had been the playfellow, the pet of supernatural
-beings; and though there can be but little doubt that his friends and
-devils as shown upon the stage are no other than faithful copies of the
-grotesque originals at this moment sporting in the neighbourhood of the
-Brockenberg, Mr Wieland, as I am credibly informed, though a gentle and
-amiable person in other respects, is apt to be ruffled, nay, violent, if
-impertinently pressed upon the subject of his early wanderings. When,
-however, we reflect upon the great advantages obtained by Mr Wieland
-from what is now to be considered the most fortunate accident of his
-childhood, we must admit that there is somewhat less praise due to him
-than if he appeared before us as a great original. Since I have
-commenced this paper, I have been informed by Mr Dullandry, of _The Wet
-Blanket_, that the goblin in _The Daughter of the Danube_, a touch of
-acting in which Mr Wieland gathered a wreath of red-hot laurels, is by
-no means what it was taken for, a piece of fine invention on the part of
-the actor, but an imitation, a most servile copy of the real spirit that
-carried George away from his father and friends, tempting the little
-truant with a handful of the most delicious black cherries, and a
-draught of kirschen-wasser. That every gesture, every movement, nay,
-that the leer of the eye and the “villainous hanging of the nether lip,”
-the sneeze, the cough, the sigh, the lightning speed, the
-
-                 “_Infernal_ beauty, melancholy grace,”
-
-all the attributes of mind and body of that most delicate fiend of
-the Brockenberg, were given in the hobgoblin of the Danube. Hence,
-if Mr Wieland be not, as we thought him, a great original, he is
-most assuredly the first of mimics, and has turned a peril of his
-childhood to a golden purpose. Dullandry declares upon the best
-authority—doubtless his own—that the devil of the Brockenberg, when
-little George cried to go home to his father and mother, his brother
-and sister, would solace the child by playing upon a diabolic
-fiddle, the strings of wolf’s gut and the bow-string from the snowy
-hair of the witch of the Alps, dancing the while, and by the
-devilish magic of the music bringing from every fissure in the
-rocks, every cleft in the earth, and from every stream, their
-supernatural intelligences to caper and make holiday, for the
-especial delight of the poor, kidnapped son of the doll-maker of
-Hildesheim. If this be true, and when Dullandry speaks it is hard to
-doubt, his words being pearls without speck or flaw—if this be true,
-we here beg leave to inform Mr Wieland that from this minute we
-withdraw from him a great part of that admiration with which we have
-always remembered the spasmodic twitch of his elbow, the
-self-complacency about his eyes and jaws, the lofty look of
-conscious power, the stamping of the foot, and the inexhaustible
-energy of _bowing_ which marked his _Devil on Two Sticks_, all such
-graces and qualifications being, as from Dullandry, it now appears,
-the original property of the devil of the Brockenberg. However, to
-return to our narrative, which, as I am prepared to show, has in
-these days of daring speculation the inestimable charm of truth to
-recommend it to the severest attention of my readers.
-
-Little George remained a marvel to the good citizens of Hildesheim, few
-of whom, for certain prudential reasons, would any longer permit their
-children to play with him; fearing, and reasonably enough, some evil
-from contact with a child who was evidently a favourite with the spirits
-of the Hartz Mountains. However, this resolution had no effect on
-George, who more than ever indulged in solitary rambles, becoming day by
-day more serious and taciturn. His little head—as Professor Teufelskopf
-sagaciously observed—was filled with the shapes and shadows haunting the
-Brockenberg. Many were the solicitations made by Teufelskopf and rival
-professors to Hans Wieland, to be permitted to take little George and
-educate him for a philosopher, an alchemist, in fact for anything and
-everything, the boy displaying capacities, as all declared, only to be
-found in an infant Faust. To all these prayers Hans Wieland was deaf. He
-resolved to bring up his son to the honest and useful employment of
-doll-making; keeping, if possible, his head from the cobwebs and dust of
-the schools, and making him a worthy minister to the simple and innocent
-enjoyments of baby girls,[9] rather than consenting to his elevation as
-a puzzler and riddler among men. Thus our hero, denied to the scholastic
-yearnings of the great Teufelskopf, sat at home, articulating the joints
-of dolls, and helping to make their eyes open and shut, when—had his
-father the true worthy ambition in him—the boy would have been inducted
-into knowledge that might have given him supernatural power over living
-flesh and blood, bending and binding it to his own high, philosophic
-purposes. Hans Wieland, however, was a simple, honest soul, with a
-great, and, therefore, proper sense of the beauties and uses of the art
-of doll-making. Glad also am I to state that little George, with all his
-dreaminess, remained a most dutiful, sweet-tempered boy; and might be
-seen, seven hours at least out of the twenty-four, seated on a
-three-legged stool fitting the arms and legs of the ligneous hopes of
-the little girls of Hildesheim, his thoughts, it may be, far, far away
-with the fiddling goblin of the Brockenberg, making holiday with the
-multitude of spirits in the Hartz Mountains.
-
-Footnote 9:
-
-  One of the most touching instances of the “maternal instinct,” as it
-  has been called, in children, came under my notice a few months ago. A
-  wretched woman, with an infant in her arms, mother and child in very
-  tatters, solicited the alms of a nursery-maid passing with a child,
-  clothed in the most luxurious manner, hugging a large wax doll. The
-  mother followed the girl, begging for relief “to get bread for her
-  child,” whilst the child itself, gazing at the treasure in the arms of
-  the baby of prosperity, cried, “Mammy, when will you buy me a doll?” I
-  have met with few things more affecting than the contrast of the
-  destitute parent begging her bread (the misery seemed real) and the
-  beggar’s child begging of its mother for a “doll!”
-
-
-[Illustration:
-
-  “Would solace the child by playing upon a diabolic fiddle”
-]
-
-
-This mental abstraction on the part of little George was but too often
-forced upon the observation of the worthy Hans, the young doll-maker
-constantly giving the looks and limbs of hobgoblins to the faces and
-bodies of dolls, intended by the father to supply the demand for
-household dolls of the same staid and prudish aspect, of the same
-proportion of members, as the dolls that had for two hundred years
-soothed and delighted the little maidens of Hildesheim. It is a fact
-hitherto unknown in England, that in the Museum of Hildesheim—a
-beautiful, though somewhat heavy building of the Saxon order—there are
-either eleven or twelve (I think twelve) demon dolls made by young
-Wieland, and to this day shown to the curious—though the circumstance
-has, strangely enough, remained unnoticed by the writers of Guide
-Books—as faithful portraits of the supernatural inhabitants of the Hartz
-Mountains. I am told, however, that within the last three years, one of
-the figures has been removed into a separate chamber, and is only to be
-seen by an express order from the town council, in consequence of its
-lamentable effects on the nerves of a certain German princess, who was
-so overcome by the exhibition, that it was very much feared by the whole
-of the principality—extending in territory at least a mile and a
-quarter, and containing no less than three hundred and twenty
-subjects—the territory would pass to a younger brother, or, what is
-worse, be the scene of a frightful revolution, an heir direct being
-wanted to consolidate the dynasty. This unfortunate event, though,
-possibly, fatal to the future peace of the said principality, is
-nevertheless a striking instance of the powerful imagination or rather
-of the retentive memory of the young Wieland. The doll, like all the
-others, is a true copy from diabolic life. How the painful story
-attached to it should have escaped all the foreign correspondents of all
-the newspapers is a matter of surpassing astonishment.
-
-We have now arrived at an important change in the life of our hero. His
-father had received a munificent order for three dolls from Prince
-Gotheoleog, a great patron of the fine arts in all their many branches.
-The dolls were intended by the prince—he was the best and most indulgent
-of fathers—as presents for his daughters; and, therefore, no pains, no
-cost, were to be spared upon them. After a lapse of three months the
-order was completed; and young Wieland, then in his seventh year, was
-dressed in his holiday suit, and—the dolls being carried by Peter
-Shnicht, an occasional assistant of Hans Wieland—he took his way to the
-palace of the prince. It was about half-past twelve when he arrived
-there, and the weather being extremely sultry, George sat down upon the
-palace steps to rest and compose himself before he ventured to knock at
-the gate. He had remained there but a short time, when he was addressed
-by a tall, majestic-looking person clothed in a huntsman’s suit, and
-carrying a double-barrel gun, a weapon used in the neighbourhood of
-Hildesheim in boar-shooting, who, asking our hero his name and business,
-was struck with the extraordinary readiness of the boy’s answers, and,
-more than all, with a certain look of diabolic reverence peeping from
-his eyes, and odd smiles playing about his mouth. The stranger knocked
-at the gate, gave his gun to a servant, and bade the little doll-maker
-follow the domestic, who showed him into a sumptuous apartment. The
-reader is prepared to find in the man with the gun no other person than
-Prince Gotheoleog himself, who in a few minutes reappeared to George,
-asked him in the most condescending manner various questions respecting
-his proficiency in reading and writing, and finally dismissed him with
-ten groschen for his extraordinary intelligence. Six months after this
-Prince Gotheoleog was appointed ambassador to the court of St James’s,
-and young Wieland attended him in the humble, yet most honourable
-capacity of page. This appointment Hans Wieland, in his simplicity,
-believed would effectually win his romantic son from his errant habits,
-would cure him of day-dreaming, by plunging his neck deep into the
-affairs of this world. Alas! it had precisely the reverse effect upon
-the diplomatic doll-maker. From the moment that he found himself
-associated, though in the slightest degree, with politics, the latent
-desire to play the devil burst forth with inextinguishable ardour. A
-sense of duty—a filial regard for the prejudices of his father—did for a
-time restrain him from throwing up his very lucrative and most promising
-situation in the household of Prince Gotheoleog, and kept him to the
-incessant toil, unmitigated drudgery of diplomatic life; but having one
-luckless night gained admission into the gallery of the House of Commons
-on the debate of a certain question, to which I shall not more
-particularly allude, and there having seen and heard a certain member,
-whose name I shall not specify, sway and convulse the senate, George
-resolved from that moment to play the devil, and nothing but the devil,
-to the end of his days. He immediately retired to Bellamy’s, and penned
-his resignation to Prince Gotheoleog, trusting, with the confidence of
-true genius, to fortune, to his own force of character, or, what is more
-likely, without once thinking of the means or accidents, to obtain the
-end of his indomitable aspirations—an appearance as the devil.
-Unrivalled as Wieland is as the representative of the fiend in all his
-thousand shapes—to be sure the great advantages of our hero’s education
-in the Hartz Mountains are not to be forgotten—it is yet to be regretted
-that he ever
-
-         “To the playhouse gave up what was meant for mankind.”
-
-It is, and must ever be, a matter of sorrow not only to his best
-wishers, but to the friends of the world at large, that those high
-qualifications, those surpassing powers of diabolic phlegm, vivacity and
-impudence, which have made Mr Wieland’s devils the _beau idéal_ of the
-infernal, had not been suffered to ripen in the genial clime of
-diplomacy. In the full glow of my admiration of his diabolic
-beauties—that is, since the facts above narrated have been in my
-possession—I have often scarcely suppressed a sigh to think how great an
-ambassador has been sacrificed in a play-house fiend. Indeed, nothing
-can be more truly diplomatic than the supernatural shifts of Wieland.
-Had he acted in France, in the days of Napoleon, he had been kidnapped
-from the stage, and, _nolens volens_, made a plenipotentiary.
-
-It is a painful theme to dwell upon the strugglings of modest, and,
-consequently, unsupported genius. Therefore I shall, at least for the
-present, suppress a very long and minute account of the trials that
-beset our hero in his attempts to make known the wonders that were in
-him. I shall not relate how he was flouted by one manager, snubbed by
-another, derisively smiled upon by a third; how, at length, he obtained
-a footing in a theatre, but was condemned to act the minor iniquities,
-less gifted men being promoted to play the devil himself. In all these
-trials, however, in all these disappointments and occasional
-heartburnings, the genius of our hero continued to ripen. His horns
-still budded, and his tail gave token of great promise; and, at length,
-he burst upon the town, from top to toe, _intus et in cute_, a perfect
-and most dainty devil. Great as his success has been, I should not have
-thus lengthily dwelt upon it, were I not convinced of its future
-increase. There are grand mysteries in Wieland—part of his infant
-wanderings in the Hartz—yet to be revealed. I feel certain from the
-demoniacal variety of his humour, that there are a legion of spirits,
-fantastic and new, yet to be shown to us; all of them the old
-acquaintance of our hero’s babyhood, all from the same genuine source of
-romance as his _Devil on Two_ _Sticks_, his _Devil of the Danube_, and
-his _Devil of the Opera_.
-
-Having discussed the professional merits of Mr Wieland, the reader may
-probably feel curious respecting the private habits of a man so
-distinguished by his supernatural emotions. I am enabled, it is with
-considerable satisfaction I avow it, to satisfy the laudable anxiety of
-the reader, and from the same authentic materials that have supplied the
-principal part of this notice.
-
-Mr Wieland is a gentleman of the most retired and simple manners. After
-the severest rehearsals of a new devil he has been known to recreate
-himself in the enclosure of St James’s Park; and further, to illustrate
-his contemplative and benevolent habits, by flinging to the various
-water-fowl in the canal—by-the-way, in imitation of a great regal
-authority—fragments of cake and biscuits. His dress is of the plainest
-kind, being commonly a snuff-coloured coat buttoned up to the neck; a
-white cravat, drab small-clothes, and drab knee-gaiters. A gold-headed
-cane, said to have been in the possession of Cornelius Agrippa, is
-sometimes in his hand. He is occasionally induced to take a pinch of
-snuff, but was never seen to smoke. His face is as well known at the
-British Museum as are the Elgin Marbles, Mr Wieland having for some
-years been employed on a new edition of the _Talmud_. Although a German
-by birth, Mr Wieland speaks English with remarkable purity, having had
-the advantage of early instruction in our language from a British
-dramatist, who, driven from the stage by the invasion of French pieces,
-sought to earn his precarious bread as a journeyman doll-maker with Mr
-Wieland, senior. We could enter into further particulars, but shall
-commit a violence upon ourselves, and here wind up what we trust will
-henceforth prove a model for all stage biographers.
-
-The inquiring reader may possibly desire to learn how we became
-possessed of the valuable documents from which the above narrative is
-gathered. To this we boldly make answer; we blush not, while we avow,
-that our dear friend Dullandry has a most careless habit of carrying his
-most valuable communications for _The Wet Blanket_ in his coat pocket;
-and that only on Thursday last we overtook him, with his papers peeping
-from their sanctuary, when—when, in a word, the temptation was too much
-for us, and the consequence is, that the reader has “some account of a
-stage devil.”
-
-Why should all dramatic truths be confined to the impartial and original
-pages of _The Wet Blanket_?
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
-
-
-[Illustration:
-
-  Saint Patty
-]
-
-
-
-
-                            FIRESIDE SAINTS
-
-
-                                ST DOLLY
-
-AT an early age St Dolly showed the sweetness of her nature by her
-tender love for her widowed father, a baker, dwelling at Pie Corner,
-with a large family of little children. It chanced that with bad
-harvests bread became so dear that, of course, bakers were ruined by
-high prices. The miller fell upon Dolly’s father, and swept the shop
-with his golden thumb. Not a bed was left for the baker or his little
-ones. St Dolly slept upon a flour sack, having prayed that good angels
-would help her to help her father. Now sleeping, she dreamt that the
-oven was lighted, and she felt falling in a shower about her raisins,
-currants, almonds, lemon peel, flour, with heavy drops of brandy. Then
-in her dreams she saw the fairies gather up the things that fell and
-knead them into a cake. They put the cake into the oven, and dancing
-round and round, the fairies vanished, crying, “_Draw the cake,
-Dolly—Dolly, draw the cake!_” And Dolly awoke and drew the cake, and,
-behold, it was the first twelfth cake, sugared at the top, and bearing
-the images of Faith, Hope, and Charity. Now this cake, shown in the
-window, came to the king’s ear; and the king bought the cake, knighted
-the baker, and married Dolly to his grand falconer, to whom she proved a
-faithful and loving wife, bearing him a baker’s dozen of lovely
-children.
-
-
-                                ST PATTY
-
-St Patty was an orphan, and dwelt in a cot with a sour old aunt. It
-chanced, it being bitter cold, that three hunters came and craved for
-meat and drink. “Pack!” said the sour aunt, “neither meat nor drink have
-ye here.” “Neither meat nor drink,” said Patty; “but something better.”
-And she ran and brought some milk, some eggs, and some flour, and,
-beating them up, poured the batter in the pan. Then she took the pan and
-tossed the cake over; and then a robin alighted at the window, and kept
-singing these words—_One good turn deserves another_. And Patty tossed
-and tossed the cakes; and the hunters ate their fill and departed. And
-next day the hunter-baron came in state to the cot; and trumpets were
-blown, and the heralds cried—_One good turn deserves another_; in token
-whereof Patty became the baron’s wife, and pancakes were eaten on Shrove
-Tuesday ever after.
-
-
-                                ST NORAH
-
-St Norah was a poor girl, and came to England to service. Sweet-tempered
-and gentle, she seemed to love everything she spoke to. And she prayed
-to St Patrick that he would give her a good gift that would make her not
-proud but useful: and St Patrick, out of his own head, taught St Norah
-_how to boil a potato_. A sad thing, and to be lamented, that the secret
-has come down to so few.
-
-
-                                ST BETSY
-
-St Betsy was wedded to a knight who sailed with Raleigh and brought home
-tobacco; and the knight smoked. But he thought that St Betsy, like other
-fine ladies of the court, would fain that he should smoke out of doors,
-nor taint with ’bacco-smoke the tapestry. Whereupon the knight would
-seek his garden, his orchard, and in any weather smoke _sub Jove_. Now
-it chanced as the knight smoked St Betsy came to him and said, “My lord,
-pray ye come into the house.” And the knight went with St Betsy, who
-took him into a newly-cedared room, and said, “I pray, my lord,
-henceforth smoke here: for is it not a shame that you, who are the
-foundation and the prop of your house, should have no place to put your
-head into and smoke?” And St Betsy led him to a chair, and with her own
-fingers filled him a pipe; and from that time the knight sat in the
-cedar chamber and smoked his weed.
-
-
-                               ST PHILLIS
-
-St Phillis was a virgin of noble parentage, but withal as simple as any
-shepherdess of curds and cream. She married a wealthy lord, and had much
-pin-money. But when other ladies wore diamond and pearls, St Phillis
-only wore a red and white rose in her hair. Yet her pin-money brought
-the best of jewellery in the happy eyes of the poor about her. St
-Phillis was rewarded. She lived until fourscore, and still carried the
-red and white rose in her face, and left their fragrance in her memory.
-
-
-                                ST PHŒBE
-
-St Phœbe was married early to a wilful, but withal a good-hearted
-husband. He was a merchant, and would come home sour and sullen from
-’change. Whereupon, after much pondering, St Phœbe in her patience set
-to work and, praying the while, made of dyed lambswool a door-mat. And
-it chanced from that time, that never did the husband touch that mat
-that it didn’t clean his temper with his shoes, and he sat down by his
-Phœbe as mild as the lamb whose wool he had trod upon. Thus gentleness
-may make miraculous door-mats!
-
-
-                                ST SALLY
-
-St Sally, from her childhood, was known for her inner-most love of
-truth. It was said of her that her heart was in a crystal shrine, and
-all the world might see it. Moreover, when other women denied, or strove
-to hide their age, St Sally said, “I am five-and-thirty.” Whereupon next
-birthday St Sally’s husband, at a feast of all their friends, gave her a
-necklace of six-and-thirty opal beads; and on every birthday added a
-bead, until the beads mounted to four-score and one. And the beads
-seemed to act as a charm; for St Sally, wearing the sum of her age about
-her neck, age never appeared in her face. Such, in the olden time, was
-the reward of simplicity and truth.
-
-
-                                ST BECKY
-
-A very good man was St Becky’s husband, but with his heart a little too
-much in his bottle. Port wine—red port wine—was his delight, and his
-constant cry was—bee’s-wing. Now as he sat tipsy in his arbour, a wasp
-dropped into his glass, and the wasp was swallowed, stinging the man
-inwardly. Doctors crowded, and with much ado the man’s life was saved.
-Now St Becky nursed her husband tenderly to health, and upbraided him
-not; but she said these words, and they reformed him:—“_My dear, take
-wine, and bless your heart with it—but wine in moderation: else, never
-forget that the bee’s wing of to-day becomes the wasp’s sting of
-to-morrow._”
-
-
-                                ST LILY
-
-St Lily was the wife of a poor man, who tried to support his family—and
-the children were many—by writing books. But in those days it was not as
-easy for a man to find a publisher as to say his paternoster. Many were
-the books that were written by the husband of St Lily; but to every book
-St Lily gave at least two babes. However, blithe as the cricket was the
-spirit that ruled about the hearth of St Lily. And how she helped her
-helpmate! She smiled sunbeams into his ink bottle, and turned his goose
-pen to the quill of a dove! She made the paper he wrote on as white as
-her name, and as fragrant as her soul. And when folks wondered how St
-Lily managed so lightly with fortune’s troubles, she always answered,
-that she never heeded them, for _troubles were like babies, and only
-grew the bigger by nursing_.
-
-
-                                ST FANNY
-
-St Fanny was a notable housewife. Her house was a temple of neatness.
-Kings might have dined upon her staircase! Now her great delight was to
-provide all things comfortable for her husband, a hard-working merchant,
-much abroad, but loving his home. Now one night he returned tired and
-hungry, and, by some mischance, there was nothing for supper. Shops were
-shut; and great was the grief of St Fanny. Taking off a bracelet of seed
-pearl she said, “_I’d give this ten times over for a supper for my
-husband._” And every pearl straightway became an oyster, and St Fanny
-opened—the husband ate—and lo! in every oyster was a pearl as big as a
-hazel nut; and so was St Fanny made rich for life.
-
-
-                     ST FLORENCE OR ST NIGHTINGALE
-
-St Florence, by her works, had her lips blessed with comforting, and her
-hands touched with healing; and she crossed the sea, and built
-hospitals, and solaced, and restored. And so long as English mistletoe
-gathers beneath it truthful hearts, and English holly brightens happy
-eyes, so long will Englishmen, at home or abroad, on land or on the
-wave—so long, in memory of that Eastern Christmas, will they cry—_God
-bless St Florence! Bless St Nightingale!_
-
-
-                                ST JENNY
-
-St Jenny was wedded to a very poor man; they had scarcely bread to keep
-them; but Jenny was of so sweet a temper that even want bore a bright
-face, and Jenny always smiled. In the worst seasons Jenny would spare
-crumbs for the birds, and sugar for the bees. Now it so happened that
-one autumn a storm rent their cot in twenty places apart; when, behold,
-between the joists, from the basement to the roof, there was nothing but
-honeycomb and honey—a little fortune for St Jenny and her husband, in
-honey. Now some said it was the bees, but more declared it was the sweet
-temper of St Jenny that had filled the poor man’s house with honey.
-
-
-[Illustration:
-
-  Saint Jenny
-]
-
-
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-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-
-
-                       CAT-AND-FIDDLE MORALITIES
-
-                          The Tale of a Tiger
-
-
-FOR fifteen years had the large wooden arm-chair of the Cat-and-Fiddle
-been consecrated to the use of Captain Bam. He would sit in it as it
-were a throne; and the customary guests of the hostelry paid him
-affectionate loyalty. He had won all hearts by his odd, kind ways; he
-had become the familiar oracle of all by his strange, yet wise sayings.
-He had, too, the rare and happy knack of so mixing his wisdom with his
-drollery, that when men laughed and swallowed his jest, they also, like
-children cheated with sweetened physic, swallowed something that in
-proper season would do them hearty good. And then there was a mystery
-about Captain Bam; and, at times, mystery is a sort of sauce to human
-character. It will now and then give a strange relish to what without it
-would be insipid commonplace. Not that it was so with Captain Bam.
-Certainly not; but the mystery was this. Fifteen years before—on a
-sharp, wintry afternoon—he crossed the threshold of the Cat-and-Fiddle.
-He carried a small leathern pack, and appeared otherwise appointed for a
-long pilgrimage. It was, we say, sharp, blighting weather, and Captain
-Bam called hastily for a mug of ale. “A mug of ale, and directly,” said
-Captain Bam, “for I can’t stop a minute.” The ale was brought, and the
-Captain hastily took a long draught thereof. He then drew his breath,
-and a smile as from the very roots of his heart broke over his face, and
-his eye strangely glimmered and twinkled upon the landlord. “_Eureka!_”
-said Captain Bam, and the host looked. “_Eureka!_” again exclaimed the
-Captain. “Take my pack,” he said, in a voice trembling with the fulness
-of satisfaction, “take my pack—I will rest here.”
-
-And Captain Bam—his pack removed—sank in the large arm-chair. It seemed
-that his travels were ended; that, in a happy moment, he had
-accomplished the purpose of his life; that all his future existence
-would be an appointed state of rest. There was a little wooden nook—a
-sort of summer-house, at the end of a long garden—which, after few
-words, he hired of the host; whence every night he came to bestow his
-talk upon the guests of the Cat-and-Fiddle. “And how he would talk! Ha!
-better than a printed book.” Such was the oft avowed opinion of his
-gladdened hearers. And now the Captain is dead. His body lies in the
-churchyard of the market town, but two miles distant from the
-Cat-and-Fiddle. He had himself written his epitaph. It is a model of
-brief simplicity—enough to bring a blush into the cheek of many a
-stone-faced cherub. The epitaph has only one word: it is this: “BAM.”
-
-The Captain died, but not his stories. No; there sat every night in the
-fireside corner of the Cat-and-Fiddle an ardent, passionate lover of the
-mind of Bam. He was a silent Pylades—a mute Pythias. He would sit and
-store himself with the syllables of Bam; then, like the bee, would he
-fly rejoicing home, and ere he slept hive the wisdom in enduring ink.
-That wisdom is now before us. The little vellum-bound book, its pages
-finely written as with the point of a needle, lies upon our desk. Upon
-the forehead of its title-page there are these words, “CAT-AND-FIDDLE
-MORALITIES”; touchingly recollectful of the genial haunt where their
-fine wisdom was audible.
-
-There are—no, we will not tell the number of stories enshrined in this
-little book. But from time to time we will lay one before the reader, in
-what we believe to be the very words of Bam.
-
-Yes: we will begin with the first. Here it is—the title beautifully
-engrossed, from which we guess the legal yearnings of the
-chronicler—here it is.
-
-
-                          THE TALE OF A TIGER
-
-Perhaps, my friends, you have never heard of a place called Singapore.
-Well, it’s no matter if you haven’t. It’s a long, long way east, where
-all sorts of shipping trade, and where all sorts of people
-live—Chinamen, Malays, Javanese, Bengalees, English, Dutch, and what
-not. Well, there was at Singapore a certain Dutch family in the pepper
-trade. They were named Vandervermin. They were all rich, cautious, heavy
-people; all save Jacob Vandervermin, who when a mere youth was left a
-poor orphan; left, as it might have seemed, on purpose to exercise the
-loving benevolence of prosperous uncles and aunts, and flourishing
-cousins. Alas! the whole body of the Vandervermins considered the
-poverty of Jacob as a blight—a family reproach; a nuisance that every
-one sought to put off upon the other. Jacob was the little toe of clay
-that disgraced the Vandervermin body of brass. And what made him worse,
-he was, for one with Dutch blood in his veins, a sprightly, frolicsome
-fellow. He was a beggar, and yet, with a stony hardness of heart—as
-Peter Vandervermin, the head of the family, declared—he would laugh and
-make offensive jokes upon his wretchedness. There are men who cannot
-understand a joke, simply because it is a thing that carries no worth
-with it in a ledger. Now Peter Vandervermin received a joke—especially
-the joke of a poor man—as an offence to his judgment and a sidelong
-sneer at his pocket. His wife, Drusilla Vandervermin, was of the same
-belief; and in this goodly creed man and wife had reared a numerous
-family. Jacob Vandervermin was the only outcast of the name who had ever
-disgraced it by a jest. It was plain he would come to no good; plain
-that he would die the death of a sinner. When one day his body was found
-mortally mangled by a tiger, not one of the Vandervermins was shocked or
-surprised. No: they had always said that something dreadful would happen
-to him, and it had come about. Jacob was buried—handsomely buried. Not
-one of the Vandervermins would have given him when alive the value of a
-coffin nail; but, being dead, the case was altered. The pride of the
-family was concerned in the funeral; hence, they respected themselves in
-their treatment of the deceased. Doubtless the ghost of a despised,
-ill-used relation is propitiated by a costly burial; and thus many a
-cousin or half-brother who has glided through life in a cobweb coat has
-superfine cloth upon his coffin.
-
-I had this history of Jacob Vandervermin from a Chinaman. He repeated it
-to me with the eloquence and fervour of a believer. The Chinamen—at
-least the sort that live at Singapore—believe that when the tiger kills
-its first man, his ghost becomes its very slave; bound, ordered by fate
-to be a sort of jackal to the tiger; compelled by destiny to find the
-beast its dinners, even among his kith and kin. Hence, a tiger having
-carried off one of a family, not one of the survivors is from that
-moment safe. My Chinaman—he passed for a very learned fellow among his
-tribe—had the most intimate knowledge of the Vandervermin tragedy,
-which, after his own lofty fashion—painting his story as though he was
-painting his native porcelain—he related to me. I shall give it you in
-plain, cold English; for, my good friends all, be it known to you, I
-scorn the flourish of a traveller.
-
-At the age of eighteen Jacob Vandervermin—having been knocked from uncle
-to uncle, the poor, passive family shuttlecock—fell at length into the
-counting-house of his richest, and oldest uncle, Peter. For two years
-did Jacob eat the bread of dependence; for with that bitter word was his
-bread always buttered—when he awakened the inextinguishable ire of his
-rich and orderly relative. Jacob had been guilty of a gross wickedness;
-in fact, of a crime, in the eyes of Peter Vandervermin, of the deepest
-dye. He had, in a moment of culpable neglect, let fall a large,
-unsightly blot of ink upon his uncle’s ledger. To the mind of Peter
-Vandervermin, his graceless nephew had thrown an indelible stain upon
-the white reputation of the family; at least Peter so avenged the fault,
-for without a word he seized a ruler that lay upon the desk, and with it
-smote the skull of the blotting offender. Jacob uttered no syllable; but
-instantly closing the ledger, and raising it with both his hands, he
-brought down the book of figures with such precise vehemence upon the
-head of his uncle, that the principal of the house of Vandervermin & Co.
-lay stunned and prostrate on the floor of his own temple—that is, of his
-own counting-house.
-
-Now Jacob was not a man to give unnecessary trouble. He knew that if he
-remained it would only cause his uncle the pain and the perplexity of
-thrusting him from the house, and therefore, with scarcely a penny in
-his purse, did Jacob don his hat and cross his uncle’s threshold.
-
-Vain was it for him to beg the aid of any of the name of Vandervermin.
-What, he—a poor creature, too, a pauper, a beggar, a—no, there was no
-worse word for him—he smite so good, so tender an uncle! No, he might
-starve, perish; it would be to share his wickedness to relieve him. It
-was a secret comfort to the Vandervermins that Jacob, in a momentary
-forgetfulness, had knocked down his uncle. That sacrilegious blow had
-for ever and for ever snapped the thousand fine ties that—despite of his
-previous errors—still held him to the family heart. Now he might perish;
-and the sooner the better. The only hope was that he would be drowned,
-or decently starved to death; that, for the sake of the family, he would
-not come to be hanged, however richly he deserved it.
-
-For some weeks Jacob continued to live without money. Nothing, perhaps,
-so eminently shows the superiority, the crowning greatness of the human
-animal—a fact so well attested in many cases—as the power of man to
-subsist for a time without cash. He is a self-wonder while he does it;
-nevertheless, the miracle is performed. Tear a plant up by the
-roots—fling it aside—and it perishes. Shut a cat up in an empty,
-mouseless garret, and one by one her nine lives will go out. But take
-money from man—money, which is the root of evil, a root upon which man
-best flourishes, thereby proving the wickedness of his nature—and still,
-still he lives. Perhaps, somehow, the carnivorous, omnivorous animal
-becomes an air-plant, and so feeds upon the atmosphere about him. I have
-met with many air-plants of the sort. There is not a city, a town,
-without them. Such men get over days, and weeks, and months, and wonder
-how they have so successfully travelled thus far to the grave. They must
-rub their hands, that they have cheated what seemed to them a vital
-principle of nature.
-
-And in this way Jacob Vandervermin lived. Every day seemed to him a
-difficult stepping-stone to get over, and yet the night saw him on the
-other side of it. But it is hard, miserable work, this keeping check
-against time by meals in the bowels: this incessant looking for butcher
-and baker as the allies against death, and wondering and trembling from
-day to day, lest they should not come to the rescue. My friends, this is
-hard, debasing work—I have known it.
-
-One day, with thoughts heavy as lead upon his brain, did Jacob
-Vandervermin wander forth. He wandered and wandered, until, weary and
-spent, he sank upon the stump of a tree in a desolate place. “How—how,”
-cried Jacob, “shall I live another day!”
-
-What a mole-eyed thing is man! How he crucifies himself with vain
-thoughts—how he stands upon tiptoe, straining his eyestrings, trying to
-look into the future, when at that moment the play is over—the show is
-done.
-
-Jacob had scarcely uttered—“How shall I live another day!” when a tiger,
-a royal tiger—wherefore a cruel, treacherous, bloodthirsty beast should
-be called royal, I know not—when a royal tiger—fell like a thunderbolt
-upon him.
-
-As a very large tom-cat snaps in its mouth a very small mouse, and
-looking statelily around seems to say—the mouse kicking all the
-while—“Pooh, pooh; why this is nothing!” so did the royal tiger look and
-speak, with Jacob Vandervermin writhing and screaming in its jaw. Well,
-tigers make short work of men. Almost as short as man himself sometimes
-makes of his fellow biped. Jacob Vandervermin—it was his luck to meet
-with a benevolent tiger; he was not played with before he was finally
-crunched—Jacob Vandervermin was soon dead.
-
-And now, my friends, prepare for a wonder! Long before the tiger had
-picked the bones of Jacob—Jacob’s ghost stood, like a waiting footman,
-meekly behind the dining animal. There was Jacob in his wide,
-parasol-like hat of straw—his white jacket and trousers, in all things
-the same as when he lived, save that he was so transparent the eye could
-see through him: and then his look was so serene and passionless! It was
-odd to see how meekly the ghost looked on the while the tiger gnawed and
-crunched, and then with its rasping tongue cleaned the bones of the
-ghost’s late body. It was plain that the ghost cared no more for what he
-once thought the most valuable thing under heaven, than if it were an
-old threadbare coat, put aside for a glorious garment. Thus, after a few
-minutes, the ghost seated itself upon the stump of the tree—where, a
-short time before, it had sat in the flesh—and twiddling its thumbs,
-looked composedly about it. And when the tiger had finished Jacob—for
-the poor animal had not for a week before tasted so much as a field
-mouse—it stalked away to its den, the ghost of Jacob following it.
-
-Gorged to the whiskers, almost for two whole days did the tiger sleep.
-And then rising and stretching itself—like a Mogul after a debauch—the
-tiger said, “Jacob!”
-
-“What wills my lord?” answered Jacob’s ghost.
-
-“Jacob, I must sup: something nice, now—something delicate. I don’t like
-to say it to your face, Jacob, but you haven’t quite agreed with me. I
-could fancy something mild and tender to-night.”
-
-For a moment the ghost was thoughtful; then observed, “What says my lord
-to a nice sugar-cane salad?”
-
-The tiger leered somewhat pityingly at the ghost; then saying “Look
-here!” opened its jaws. Even the ghost of Jacob shivered—like moonlight
-upon water—at the dreadful array of teeth. “Think you,” said the tiger,
-“such teeth were made for salads?”
-
-“Tigers, I have heard, were not always flesh-eaters,” said the ghost, a
-little boldly.
-
-
-[Illustration:
-
-  “Almost for two whole days did the tiger sleep”
-]
-
-
-“Why, there is a story among tigers,” answered the ingenuous brute,
-“that at one time—but it’s a long time ago—we used to crop clover and
-trefoil and wild thyme, for all the world like foolish little lambs. And
-then suddenly—but how it came about I never heard—we took to eating the
-kids and lambkins that before we played with. How the change began, and
-who took to killing first, I know not: I have only heard it wasn’t
-tigers; and now, I only know that I must sup: that this very night I
-must have another Vandervermin. Have you any babies in the house?”
-
-“None: I assure you, my lord, not one,” answered the ghost.
-
-“That’s a pity,” said the tiger, “for I feel it, my stomach needs
-something tender and succulent. However, lead on: air and exercise may
-tone my vitals a little. Why do you tarry, sirrah?”—and the tiger
-growled like a stage tyrant—“you know your destiny; lead on.”
-
-The ghost seemed to feel the truthful force of the rebuke, and
-immediately led the way. As they walked on, the ghost espied a
-remarkably fine ox, strayed from a neighbouring farm. “See, my lord,
-see!” cried the shadow.
-
-“No, no,” said the tiger, a little contemptuously. “I can’t do that sort
-of thing now: having once tasted the goodness of man, I must go on with
-him. No, no; I thank my luck I now know what good living really is.” And
-then the tiger paused, and twisting its tail gracefully about its legs,
-as sometimes an ingenuous maid will twist about a gown flounce, the
-brute observed—“What a lovely night! How the air freshens one’s spirits!
-What a beautiful moon—and how the stars shine—and the airs whisper among
-the tamarind trees, like unseen fairies making love! You are sure,
-Jacob, there is not a baby in the house?”
-
-“Nothing like it, my lord,” answered Jacob.
-
-“What is the best you can promise me?” asked the tiger.
-
-“To-night, I’m afraid nothing better than Drusilla, my aunt,” said the
-ghost. The tiger growled dubiously; and then said, “Well, we can but
-look at her. You know the safest way—so mind what you’re about.”
-
-Cautiously, stealthily, goaded by fate, did the ghost of Jacob lead the
-tiger to the mansion of Peter Vandervermin. Leaping a low wall, they
-gained a garden, and proceeded along a winding walk, until they came to
-a pretty little summer pavilion, wherein sat aunt Drusilla, as was her
-wont, knitting, with a large Dutch pug at her feet.
-
-“There’s your supper,” said Jacob, pointing to the withered old
-gentlewoman.
-
-“Humph!” growled the tiger, and angrily twitched its tail—“humph! It’s
-against my stomach; I can’t do it.”
-
-“What think you,” urged the ghost, “of the pug just for a snack?”
-
-The tiger curled its whiskers with a look of disgust, and growling
-“dropsical,” turned supperless away. And all the next night did the
-tiger fast. But sweet is the sauce of hunger; for on the third evening
-the tiger rose and stretched itself, and its eyes glared with
-brightening flame as it said—“Come along, Jacob: I don’t know that the
-old woman will eat badly after all.”
-
-Jacob again conducted the destroyer to the house. Again showed Drusilla,
-unconscious of her fate, knitting, knitting. There was a slight growl—a
-spring—an old woman’s scream—a yap, yap from the pug—and then the wall
-was leapt—and Peter Vandervermin was a widower.
-
-I will not follow the tiger to its banquet. Suffice it to say, the tiger
-ate and slept. However, very ill and feverish did the tiger awake in the
-morning. “Jacob,” cried the tiger, “what’s the matter with me? Phew! I
-can hardly move.”
-
-“Perhaps,” said Jacob, “my lord has just a stitch in his side.”
-
-“No, no,” said the tiger, “I feel ’em now; it’s that abominable old
-woman’s knitting needles.”
-
-“Every rose has its thorn, my lord,” said the ghost, joking as a ghost
-may be supposed to joke. “You never find a woman without pins and
-needles.”
-
-“Jacob,” cried the tiger, “either you come of a very bad family, or,
-after all, man-eating is by no means so wholesome—however pleasant it
-may be—as a hearty, simple meal off a buffalo, a deer, or anything of
-that sort.”
-
-“Then why, my lord,” urged the ghost, “why not return to the humbler
-diet?”
-
-“That’s all very well, Jacob. Why don’t men—with red noses and no
-insides—turn from arrack and new rum, and drink only at the diamond
-spring? I begin to feel myself no better than a drunkard: yes, I fear
-I’m a lost tiger. It’s very nice—very delicious to eat a man at
-night—but it’s like what I’ve heard of drink—what a headache it leaves
-in the morning! Ha!” cried the beast, “I’m afraid I’m making quite a man
-of myself. Look at my tongue, Jacob; it’s as hard and as dry, you might
-grind an axe upon it. Oh, that dreadful old woman!”—and the tiger closed
-its heavy, bloodshot eyes, and tried to sleep.
-
-Only three days past, and then the tiger leapt up, and licking itself
-all over—as though it was going out to an evening party, and wished to
-put the very best gloss upon its coat—the creature cried—“Come away,
-Jacob; I must have another Vandervermin.”
-
-“Oh, my lord,” cried the ghost, “think what you’ll suffer in the
-morning.”
-
-“_That_ for the morning,” cried the tiger, whisking its tail—“I tell
-you, Jacob, I intend to make a night of it. Slave, lead on.”
-
-And thus for three months, conducted by the fate-enforced ghost, did the
-tiger continue to sup off Vandervermins. Uncles and aunts, cousins male
-and female, in all eight, had the tiger devoured, when one night the
-brute carried off the ninth and last victim in the person of Justus
-Vandervermin, lawyer and usurer. The tiger—strange to say—devoured every
-bit of him; but it was the brute’s last morsel; it never could digest
-him. Justus Vandervermin remained, like so much india-rubber, in the
-vitals of the tiger. Nothing could stir the lawyer.
-
-“Jacob,” cried the brute, feeling its last hour approach. “I shall die,
-and your ghost will be at rest. I forgive you—but why—why didn’t you
-tell me that Justus was a lawyer?”
-
-And with these words the tiger died, and the ghost of Jacob Vandervermin
-was instantly at peace.
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-“And if all this story isn’t true, Captain”—asked one of the
-Cat-and-Fiddle company—“what do you get out of it?”
-
-“Why, true or not, this much,” answered Captain Bam; “never to neglect
-and ill-use a poor relation. For however low and helpless he may seem,
-the day may come when he shall have about him the strength of a tiger.”
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
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-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-
-
-                         A GOSSIP AT RECULVERS
-
-
-THE spirit of the Saxon seems still to linger along the shores of Kent.
-There is the air of antiquity about them; a something breathing of the
-olden day—an influence, surviving all the changes of time, all the
-vicissitudes of politic and social life. The genius of the Heptarchy
-comes closer upon us from the realm of shadows; the Wittenagemote is not
-a convocation of ghosts—not a venerable House of Mists; but a living,
-talking, voting Parliament. We feel a something old, strong, stubborn,
-hearty; a something for the intense meaning of which we have no other
-word than “English” rising about us from every rood of Kent. And
-wherefore this? England was not made piecemeal. Her foundations in the
-deep—could a sea of molten gold purchase the worth of her surrounding
-ocean?—are of the same age. The same sun has risen and set upon the
-whole island. Wherefore, then, is Kent predominant in the mind for
-qualities which the mind denies to other counties? Because it is still
-invested with the poetry of action. Because we feel that Kent was the
-cradle of the marrow and bone of England; because we still see, ay, as
-palpably as we behold yonder trail of ebon smoke—the broad black pennant
-of that mighty admiral, Steam—the sails of Cæsar threatening Kent, and
-Kent barbarians clustering on the shore, defying him. It is thus that
-the spirit of past deeds survives immortally, and works upon the future:
-it is thus we are indissolubly linked to the memories of the bygone day
-by the still active soul that once informed it.
-
-How rich in thoughts—how fertile in fancies that quicken the brain and
-dally with the heart, is every footpace of the soil! Reader, be with us
-for a brief time at this beautiful village of Herne. The sky is sullen;
-and summer, like a fine yet froward wench, smiles now and then, now
-frowns the blacker for the passing brightness: nevertheless, summer in
-her worst mood cannot spoil the beautiful features of this demure, this
-antique village. It seems a very nest—warm and snug, and green—for human
-life; with the twilight haze of time about it, almost consecrating it
-from the aching hopes and feverish expectations of the present. Who
-would think that the bray and roar of multitudinous London sounded but
-some sixty miles away? The church stands peacefully, reverently, like
-some old visionary monk, his feet on earth—his thoughts with God. And
-the graves are all about; and things of peace and gentleness, like
-folded sheep, are gathered round it.
-
-There is a stile which man might make the throne of solemn thought—his
-pregnant matter, the peasant bones that lie beneath. And on the other
-side, a park, teeming with beauty; with sward green as emeralds, and
-soft as a mole’s back; and trees, with centuries circulating in their
-gnarled massiveness.
-
-But we must quit the churchyard, and turning to the right, we will
-stroll towards Reculvers. How rich the swelling meadows! How their green
-breasts heave with conceived fertility! And on this side corn-fields;
-the grain stalk thick as a reed; the crop level and compact as a green
-bank. And here, too, is a field of canary seed: of seed grown for London
-birds in London cages. The farmer shoots the sparrow—the little rustic
-scoundrel—that with felonious bill would carry away one grain sown for,
-made sacred to, Portman Square canary! We might, perhaps, find a higher
-parallel to this did we look with curious eyes about us. Nevertheless,
-bumpkin sparrow has his world of air to range in; his free loves; and
-for his nest his ivied wall or hawthorn bush. These, say the worst, are
-a happy set-off even against a gilt-wired cage; sand like diamond dust;
-unfailing seed, and sugar from even the sweeter lips of lady mistress.
-Powder and small shot may come upon the sparrow like apoplexy upon an
-alderman, with the unbolted morsel in its gullet; yet, consider—hath the
-canary no danger to encounter? Doth not prosperity keep a cat?
-
-Well, this idle gossip has brought us within a short distance of
-Reculvers. Here—so goes the hoary legend—Augustine impressed the first
-Christian foot upon the English shore, sent hither by good Pope Gregory;
-no less good that, if the same legend be true, he had a subtle sense of
-a joke. Christianity, unless historians say what is not, owes somewhat
-of its introduction into heathen England to a pun. The story is so old
-that there is not a schoolmaster’s dog throughout merry Britain that
-could not bark it. Nevertheless, we will indicate our moral courage by
-repeating it. Our ink turns red with blushes at the thought—no
-matter—for once we will write in our blushes.
-
-
-[Illustration:
-
-  “Sugar from even the sweeter lips of lady mistress”
-]
-
-
-Pope Gregory, seeing some white-haired, pink-cheeked boys for sale in
-the Roman slave-market, asked who they were? _Sunt Angli_—they are
-English, was the response. _Non sunt Angli_—_sed Angeli_; they are not
-English, but angels, was the Papal playfulness. His Holiness then
-inquired from what part of England. _Deirii_, they are Deirians, was the
-answer. Whereupon the pope, following up his vein of pleasantry, said,
-_Non Deirii, sed De ira_—not Deirians, but from the anger of the Lord:
-snatched, as his Holiness indicated, from the vengeance that must always
-light upon heathenism.
-
-This grey-haired story, like the grey hairs of Nestor, is pregnant with
-practical wisdom. Let us imagine Pope Gregory to have been a dull man;
-even for a pope a dull man. Let us allow that his mind had not been
-sufficiently comprehensive to take within its circle the scattered
-lights of intelligence, which, brought into a focus, make a joke.
-Suppose, in a word, that the pope had had no ear for a pun? Saint
-Augustine might still have watched the bubbles upon Tiber, and never
-have been sea-sick on his English voyage.
-
-What does this prove? What does this incident preach with a
-thunder-tongue? Why, the necessity, the vital necessity, of advancing no
-man to any sort of dignity, who is not all alive as an eel to a joke. We
-are convinced of it. The world will never be properly ruled, until jests
-entirely supersede the authority of Acts of Parliament. As it is, the
-Acts are too frequently the jests, without the fun.
-
-We are now close to Reculvers. There, reader, there—where you see that
-wave leaping up to kiss that big white stone—that is the very spot where
-Saint Augustine put down the sole of his Catholic foot. If it be not, we
-have been misinformed and cheated of our money; we can say no more.
-
-Never mind the spot. Is there not a glory lighting up the whole beach?
-Is not every wave of silver—every little stone, a shining crystal? Doth
-not the air vibrate with harmonies, strangely winding into the heart,
-and awakening the brain! Are we not under the spell of the imagination
-which makes the present vulgarity melt away like morning mists, and
-shows to us the full, uplighted glory of the past?
-
-There was a landing on the Sussex Coast; a landing of a Duke of
-Normandy, and a horde of armed cut-throats. Looking at them even through
-the distance of some eight hundred years, what are they but as a gang of
-burglars? A band of pick-purses—blood-shedders—robbers!
-
-What was this landing of a host of men, in the full trump and blazonry
-of war—what all their ships, their minstrelsey, and armed power—to the
-advent of Augustine and his fellow-monks, brought hither by the
-forlornness of the soul of man? it is this thought that makes this bit
-of pebbled beach a sacred spot; it is this spirit of meditation that
-hears in every little wave a sweet and solemn music.
-
-And there, where the ocean tumbles, was in the olden day a goodly town,
-sapped, swallowed by the wearing, the voracious sea. At lowest tides the
-people still discover odd, quaint, household relics, which, despite the
-homely breeding of the finders, must carry away their thoughts into the
-mist of time, and make them feel antiquity. The very children of the
-village are hucksters of the spoils of dead centuries. They grow up with
-some small trading knowledge of fossils; and are deep, very deep in all
-sorts of petrifactions. They must have strange early sympathies towards
-that mysterious town with all its tradesfolk and market-folk sunk below
-the sea; a place of which they have a constant inkling in the petty
-spoils lashed upwards by the tempest. Indeed, it is difficult for the
-mind to conceive the annihilation of a whole town, engulfed in the
-ocean. The tricksy fancy will assert itself; and looking over the
-shining water, with summer basking on it, we are apt to dream that the
-said market-town has only suffered a “sea-change”; and that fathoms
-deep, the town still stands—that busy life goes on—that people of an
-odd, sea-green aspect, it may be, still carry on the work of mortal
-breathing; make love, beget little ones, and die. But this, indeed, is
-the dream of idleness. Yet, who—if he could change his mind at will,
-would make his mind incapable of such poor fantasies? How much of the
-coarse web of existence owes its beauty to the idlest dreams with which
-we colour it!
-
-The village of Reculvers is a choice work of antiquity. The spirit of
-King Ethelbert tarries there still, and lives enshrined in the sign of a
-public-house. It would be well for all kings could their spirits survive
-with such genial associations. There are some dead royalties too
-profitless even for a public sign. Who, now, with any other choice would
-empty a tankard under the auspices of Bloody Mary, as that anointed
-“femininitie” is called; or take a chop even at Nero’s Head? No;
-inn-keepers know the subtle prejudices of man, nor violate the
-sympathies of life with their sign-posts.
-
-Here, on the sanded floor of King Ethelbert’s hostelry, do village
-antiquarians often congregate. Here, at times, are stories told—stories
-not all unworthy of the type of Antiquarian _Transactions_—of _fibulæ_,
-talked of as buckles, and other tangible bits of Roman history. Here, we
-have heard, how a certain woman—living at this blessed hour, and the
-mother of a family—went out at very low tide, and found the branch of a
-filbert-tree with clustering filberts on it, all stone, at least a
-thousand years old—and more. Here, too, have we heard of a wonderful
-horse-shoe, picked up by Joe Squellins; a shoe, as the finder averred,
-as old as the world. Poor Joe! What was his reward?—it may be, a pint of
-ale for that inestimable bit of iron! And yet was he a working
-antiquarian. Joe Squellins had within him the unchristened elements of
-F.S.A.
-
-The sea has spared something of the old churchyard; although it has torn
-open the sad sanctity of the grave, and reveals to the day, corpse upon
-corpse—layers of the dead, thickly, closely packed, body upon body. A
-lateral view of rows of skeletons, entombed in Christian earth centuries
-since, for a moment staggers the mind, with this inward peep of the
-grave. We at once see the close, dark prison of the churchyard, and our
-breath comes heavily, and we shudder. It is only for a moment. There is
-a lark singing, singing over our head—a mile upwards in the blue
-heaven—singing like a freed soul: we look again, and smile serenely at
-the bones of what was man.
-
-Many of our gentle countrymen—fellow-metropolitans—who once a year
-wriggle out their souls from the slit of their tills to give the
-immortal essence sea air, make a pilgrimage to Reculvers. This Golgotha,
-we have noted it, has to them especial attractions. Many are the mortal
-relics borne away to decorate a London chimney-piece. Many a skeleton
-gives up its rib, its _ulna_, two or three odd _vertebræ_, or some such
-gimcrack to the London visitor, for a London ornament. Present the same
-man with a bone from a London hospital, and he would hold the act
-abominable, irreligiously presumptuous. But time has “silvered o’er” the
-bone from Reculvers; has cleansed it from the taint of mortality; has
-merged the loathsomeness in the curiosity; for time turns even the worst
-of horrors to the broadest of jests. We have now Guy Fawkes about to
-blow Lords and Commons into eternity—and now Guy Fawkes masked for a
-pantomime.
-
-One day, wandering near this open graveyard, we met a boy, carrying
-away, with exulting looks, a skull in very perfect preservation. He was
-a London boy, and looked rich indeed with his treasure.
-
-“What have you there?” we asked.
-
-“A man’s head—a skull,” was the answer.
-
-“And what can you possibly do with a skull?”
-
-“Take it to London.”
-
-“And when you have it in London, what then will you do with it?”
-
-“I know.”
-
-“No doubt. But what will you do with it?”
-
-And to this thrice-repeated question the boy three times answered, “I
-know.”
-
-“Come, here’s sixpence. Now, what will you do with it?”
-
-The boy took the coin—grinned—hugged himself, hugging the skull the
-closer, and said very briskly, “Make a money box of it!”
-
-A strange thought for a child. And yet, mused we as we strolled along,
-how many of us, with nature beneficent and smiling on all sides—how many
-of us think of nothing so much as hoarding sixpences—yea, hoarding them
-even in the very jaws of desolate Death!
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
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-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-
-
-                            THE TWO WINDOWS
-
-
-THE Union Workhouse of the ancient parish of Herne—how calm and pastoral
-is that little nook of Kent!—has two outward windows. The fabric, built
-by the inspiration of the New Poor-law, was a blind, eyeless piece of
-brickwork; a gaol for the iniquity and perseverance of poverty; a
-Newgate for the felony of want. The chiefs and elders of Parliament had
-said, “Let us make abiding-places for the poor; let us separate them,
-lepers as they are, from the clean; let us shut them up from the sight
-of the green earth; let them not behold the work of the season in the
-budding trees, in their leafy branches, in their red and golden robes of
-autumn, in the gaunt bareness of solemn winter. Let the grass spring and
-the wild-flower blossom; but let not the poor, the unclean of the land,
-look upon the work of God.” After this resolve the Union was built; with
-inner windows looking upon walls, and walls turned blank upon the
-outward world. No crevice, no loophole permitted captive poverty a look,
-a glimpse of the fresh face of nature; his soul, like his body, was
-bricked up according to statute; he had by the insolence of destitution
-offended the niceness of the world, and he was doomed by his judges to a
-divorce from the commonest rights of earth. Hence, the Union Workhouse
-turned its sullen, unbroken wall of brick upon the fields and trees, and
-the pauper was made to look only upon pauperism. The freshness and
-luxuriance of nature—her prodigal loveliness—was not for his eyes; he
-was poor, and even to behold the plenteousness of the teeming earth was
-an enjoyment beyond his state—a banned delight—a luxury which those who
-paid for his food could not properly vouchsafe him!
-
-At length—when they themselves know it not, men’s hearts will work, a
-sense of right will sometimes steal upon their sleep, an instinct of
-goodness will, like silver water from the rock, gush forth—at length it
-was resolved by the guardians of the poor—guardians of the poor! what a
-holiness of purpose should inform those well-worn syllables—that the
-dull, blind, squalid workhouse should have light; that its brick walls
-should be pierced with two windows; that the fields and trees should
-gladden pauper eyes, appealing to old recollections; childhood thoughts;
-daily, customary feelings. It was determined that the pauper prisoner
-should, through the iron bars of penury, have comforting glimpses of
-God’s goodness without; that he should, though all unconsciously, make
-offerings upon the green altar of the earth; that his heart should
-commune, in its own unknowing way, with those sweet influences, which,
-coming from God, discourse in some manner to all men.
-
-And so it was determined that the Union Workhouse should have two
-outward windows. The guardians of the poor appeared with the labourers.
-“Here,” said the guardians, “break through the wall; here pierce one
-window—here, another.” Then turning to the paupers, some few
-age-stricken folks, they said, with smug complacency, “We are going to
-give you some light.” And this, reader, is not a goosequill fiction; it
-is a thing of truth.
-
-“We are going to give you some light.” We cannot help it, if this
-liberal goodness—this gentle philanthropy—drive back thought to the
-first gift of light; if it call up, as with an iron tongue, the memory
-of the holy birth of light, word-begotten, of all men. And the nature of
-man, solemnised by such memories—kindled and uplifted, skies beyond
-expression, by the sublime inheritance—is it not a hard task to consider
-with composure even the compunction of a guardian of the poor, who
-pierces with two windows the prison-house of the pauper to let God’s
-light in? May not the small authority of man be sometimes as a
-blaspheming burlesque of Almighty Beneficence?
-
-Let us, for a time forgetful of state philosophy—forgetful of the
-plausibilities of social prosperity that set the poor apart from the
-rich and well-to-do, as creatures somewhat different in the real drama
-of life, although on certain occasions, as it were for form’s sake, for
-Christian ceremony, allowed to be made from the clay of the same Eden as
-their masters—let us behold the earth in its freshness, and man, its
-owner, in the vigour of his new birth, the heir of an impartial
-Providence, and the receiver of its glories; and then consider him as
-the task-master of his fellow, as the grudging churl that metes out
-light and air to his helpless brother; and for this sole cause—this one
-bitter reason—he _is_ helpless.
-
-A miserable sight—a hideous testimony of the thankfulness of prosperous
-man—is the rural union, with its blank dead wall of brick; a cold, blind
-thing, the work of human perversity and human selfishness, amidst ten
-thousand thousand evidences of Eternal bounty. How beautiful is the
-beauty of God around it! There is not a sapling waving its green tresses
-of June that does not make the heart yearn with kindliness; not a
-field-flower that does not, with its speaking eye, tell of abundant
-goodness; the brook is musical with the same sweet truth; all sights and
-sounds declare it. The liberal loveliness of nature, turn where we will,
-looks upon and whispers to us. We are made the heirs of wealth
-inexhaustible, of pleasures deep as the sea and pure as the joys of
-Paradise. And our return for this, our offering to the wretchedness of
-our fellow-creatures, is yonder prison, with its dead wall turned upon
-the pleasant aspects of nature, lest the pauper captives within should
-behold what God has done for that world, in which, according to the
-world’s justice, they have nothing. Hence is the pauper treated, in his
-blind dungeon, as though there was a felonious purpose in his eyesight;
-as though, a prisoner in the union, he would commit larceny on the meads
-and trees, and all the rural objects that from babyhood have been
-familiar to him, to the exceeding injury and loss of the free folks,
-who, by the blessing of skill and good luck, have “land and beeves.”
-
-We know not a more fantastic tyranny, a more wilful assertion of the
-arrogance of man, than this needless shutting up of his poorer brother
-in a gaol of poverty—barring his eyes of every comforting object,
-compelling him to look only upon that which at every look speaks to his
-soul of his miserable dependence upon his richer fellow; which denies to
-him the innocent, unbought glimpse of out-door nature, as though the
-scene was a land of promise from which his beggary had made him alien.
-Is human want so wicked that it should be unblessed with even a glance
-at the pleasant things of creation? Has the pauper—because pauper—no
-further claim upon the earth, save for his final bed—the grave? The
-rustic unions, with their forlorn blank walls, cry, yes!
-
-If God punish man for crime, as man punishes man for poverty, woe to the
-sons of Adam!
-
-
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-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-
-
-                          THE ORDER OF POVERTY
-
-
-WHY should not Lazarus make to himself an order of tatters? Why should
-not poverty have its patch of honour? Wherefore should not the undubbed
-knights of evil fortune carry about them, with a gracious humility, the
-inevitable types of their valorous contest with the Paynim iniquities of
-life? Wherefore may not man wear indigence as proudly as nobility
-flashes its jewels? Is there not a higher heraldry than that of the
-college?
-
-Not a very long time ago the King of Greece awarded to an Englishman the
-Order of the Redeemer. The Englishman did not reject the gift; he did
-not stare with wonder, or smile in meek pity at the grave mockery of the
-distinction; but winning the consent of our Sovereign Lady Victoria to
-sport the jewel, the Knight of Christ—knight by the handiwork of the
-King of Greece—hung about him the Order of the Redeemer.
-
-And what may be the gracious discipline of this Order of Redemption? Has
-the new knight sold off all that he had, and given the money to the
-poor? We have heard of no such broker’s work; and surely the newspaper
-tongue would have given loud utterance to the penitence of Mammon. What
-discipline, then, does this Order of Christ compel upon its holy and
-immaculate brotherhood? What glorifying services towards the heart and
-spirit of man what self-martyrdom does it recompense? Is it the bright
-reward of humility—of active loving-kindness towards everything that
-breathes? Is it that the knighted, beyond ten thousand men, has proved
-the divine temper of the spiritual follower of Jesus, making his hourly
-life an active goodness, and with every breath drawn drawing nearer to
-rewarding Heaven? Surely the Order of the Redeemer—that awful, solemn
-badge, setting apart its wearer from the sordid crowd of earth—could
-only be vouchsafed to some hard Christian service—could only reward some
-triumphant wrestling of the suffering soul—some wondrous victory in the
-forlorn hope of this dark struggling life. These are our thoughts—these
-our passionate words; whereupon the herald of the court of Greece—a
-grave, fantastic wizard—with mildly-reproving look and most delicate
-speech, says: “You are wrong: quite wrong. The Order of the Redeemer,
-though by no means the first Order, is a very pretty Order in its way.
-Six months since we gave it to Captain Jonquil, from Paris; and truly no
-man more deserved the Order of the Redeemer. He taught His Majesty’s
-infantry the use of the bayonet: his howitzer practice, too, is a divine
-thing. Captain Jonquil is a great soldier. Last week the Order of the
-Redeemer was also bestowed upon Andreas, a great favourite at court—but,
-if the naughty truth must be told, a pimp.”
-
-Alas! is heraldry always innocent of blasphemy?
-
-On the 13th of June 1843, a grave masque—a solemn ceremony—was held at
-the court of St James. Heraldry again looked smug and pompous. A knight
-was to be made of “the most ancient Order of the Thistle.” Let us make a
-clean breast of our ignorance; we assert nothing against the antiquity
-of the Thistle; for what we know, it may be as old—ay, as old as asses.
-But upon the glad 13th of June a chapter was held, and John, Marquis of
-Bute, and the Right Hon. William, Earl of Mansfield, were elected
-knights. They of course took the oaths to protect and succour distressed
-maidens, orphans and widows; to abstain from every sort of wrong, and to
-do every sort of right.
-
-“The Marquis of Bute then kneeling near the Sovereign, and Mr Woods on
-his knee, presenting to the Queen the riband and jewel of the Order, Her
-Majesty was graciously pleased to place the same over the noble
-Marquis’s left shoulder. His Lordship rising, kissed the Sovereign’s
-hand, and having received the congratulations of the knights brethren,
-retired.”
-
-From that moment John, Marquis of Bute, looked and moved with the aspect
-and bearing of a man, radiant with new honours. He was a Knight of the
-Thistle, and the jewel sparkling at his bosom feebly typified the
-bright, admiring looks of the world—the gaze of mingled love and
-admiration bent upon him. But on this earth—in this abiding-place of
-equity—men do not get even thistles for nothing. It may, indeed, happen
-that desert may pant and moan without honour; but in the court of kings,
-where justice weighs with nicest balance, honour never with its smiles
-mocks imbecility, or gilds with outward lustre a concealed rottenness.
-Honour never gives alms, but awards justice. Mendicancy, though with
-liveried lackies clustering at its carriage—and there is such
-pauperism—may whine and pray its hardest, yet move not the inflexible
-herald. He awards those jewels to virtue, which virtue has sweated, bled
-for. And it is with this belief, yea, in the very bigotry of the creed,
-we ask—what has John, Marquis of Bute, fulfilled to earn his thistle?
-What, the Right Hon. William, Earl of Mansfield? What dragon wrong has
-either overcome? What giant Untruth stormed in Sophist Castle? What
-necromantic wickedness baffled and confounded? Yet, these battles have
-been fought—these triumphs won; oh! who shall doubt them? Be sure of it,
-ye unbelieving demagogues—scoffing plebians, not for nothing nobility
-browses upon thistles.
-
-We pay all honour to these inventions, these learned devices of the
-Herald. They doubtless clothe, comfort, and adorn humanity, which,
-without them, would be cold, naked, shrunk, and squalid. They, moreover,
-gloriously attest the supremacy of the tame, the civilised man, over the
-wild animal. The orders of the Herald are _tattoo_ without the pain of
-puncture. The New Zealander carries his knighthood, lined and starred
-and flowered, in his visage. The civilised knight hangs it more
-conveniently on a riband.
-
-We are such devout believers in the efficacy of Orders, that we devote
-this small essay to an attempt to make them, under some phase or other,
-universal. We will not linger in a consideration of the Orders already
-dead; lovely was their life, and as fragrant is their memory. There was
-one Order—Teutonic, if we mistake not, the Order of Fools. There was a
-quaint sincerity in the very title of this brotherhood. Its philosophy
-was out-speaking; and more than all, the constitution of such a chapter
-admitted knights against whose worthiness, whose peculiar right to wear
-the badge, no envious demagogue could say his bitter saying. Surely, in
-our reverence for the wisdom of antiquity, this Order might have
-resurrection. The Fool might have his bauble newly varnished—his cap
-newly hung with tinkling bells. Some of us chirp and cackle of the
-wisdom of the bygone day; but that is only wisdom which jumps with our
-own cunning; which fortifies us in the warm and quiet nook of some
-hallowed prejudice. From the mere abstract love of justice, we should be
-right glad to have the Order of Fools revived in the fullest splendour
-of Folly. Such an Order would so beneficently provide for many
-unrewarded public idlers—ay, and public workers.
-
-There was a time when the world in its first childhood needed
-playthings. Then was the Herald the world’s toy-maker, and made for it
-pretty little nick-knacks—golden fleeces—stars, ribands and garters;
-tempting the world to follow the kickshaws, as nurse with sugared
-bread-and-butter tempts the yeanling to try its tottering feet. The
-world has grown old—old and wise: yet is not the Herald bankrupt, but
-like a pedlar at a fair, draws the hearts of simple men after the
-shining, silken glories in his box. Meanwhile, philosophy in hodden
-grey, laughs at the crowd, who bellow back the laugh and sometimes pelt
-the reverend fool for his irreligious humour: for he who believes not in
-Stars and Garters is unbeliever; to the world’s best and brightest
-faith, atheist and scoffer.
-
-Is it not strange that a man should think the better of himself for a
-few stones glittering in his bosom? That a costly band about the leg
-should make the blood dance more swiftly through the arteries? That a
-man seeing his breast set with jewellers’ stars should think them
-glorious as the stars of heaven—himself, little less than an earthly
-god, so deified? If these things be really types and emblems of true
-greatness, what rascal poverty besets the man without them! How is he
-damned in his baseness! What mere offal of humanity, the biped without
-an Order! And, therefore, let stars be multiplied; and let nobility—like
-bees—suck honey from Thistles!
-
-We are, however, confirmed in our late failing faith. We are bigoted to
-Orders. Men, like watches, must work the better upon jewels. Man is, at
-the best, a puppet; and is only put into dignified motion when pulled by
-Blue or Red Ribands. Now, as few, indeed, of us can get stars, garters
-or ribands, let us have Orders of our own. Let us, with invincible
-self-complacency, ennoble ourselves.
-
-In the hopeless ignorance and vulgarity of our first prejudice, we might
-possibly want due veneration for the Golden Fleece; an ancient and most
-noble Order, worn by few. Yet with all our worst carelessness towards
-the Order, we never felt for it the same pitying contempt we feel
-towards an Order worn by many—not at their button-holes, not outside
-their breasts, but in the very core of their hearts—the Order of the
-Golden Calf.
-
-Oh! bowelless Plutus, what a host of Knights! What a lean-faced,
-low-browed, thick-jowled, swag-bellied brotherhood! Deformity, in all
-its fantastic variety, meets in the chapter. They wear no armour of
-steel or brass, but are cased in the magic mail of impenetrable
-Bank-paper. They have no sword, no spear, no iron mace with spikes; but
-they ride merrily into the fight of life, swinging about gold-gutted
-purses, and levelling with the dust rebellious poverty. These are the
-Knights of the Golden Calf. It is a glorious community. What a look of
-easy triumph they have! With what serene self-satisfaction they measure
-the wide distance between mere paupers—the Knights of the Order of
-Nothing—and themselves! How they walk the earth as if they alone
-possessed the patent of walking upright! How they dilate in the light of
-their own gold, like adders in the sun!
-
-A most fatal honour is this Order of the Golden Calf. It is worn unseen,
-as we have said, in the hearts of men; but its effects are visible: the
-disease speaks out in every atom of flesh—poor human worm’s-meat!—and
-throbs in every muscle. It poisons the soul; gives the eye a squint;
-takes from the face of fellow-man its God-gifted dignity, and makes him
-a thing to prey upon; to work, to use up; to reduce to so much hard
-cash; then to be put up, with a wary look of triumph, into the pocket.
-This Order damns with a leprosy of soul its worshipper. It blinds and
-deafens him to the glories and the harmonies ministrant to poorer men.
-His eye is jaundiced, and in the very stars of God he sees nought but
-twinkling guineas.
-
-At this moment great is the Order throughout the land! Tyrannous its
-laws, reckless its doings. It is strong, and why should it be just? To
-be of this Order is now the one great striving of life. They alone are
-men who wear the jewel—wretches they without it. Man was originally made
-from the dust of the earth: he is now formed of a richer substance: the
-true man is made of gold. Yes, the regenerate Adam is struck only at the
-Mint.
-
-The Knights of the Order of the Golden Calf have no formal ceremony of
-election; yet has brother knight almost instinctive knowledge of
-brother. In the solitude of his own thoughts is he made one of the
-community; in utter privacy he kisses the pulseless hand of Plutus, and
-swears to his supremacy. The oath divorces him from pauper-life—from its
-cares, its wants, its sympathies. He is privileged from the uneasiness
-of thought, the wear and tear of anxiety for fellow-man; he is compact
-and self-concentrated in his selfishness. Nought ruffles him that
-touches not that inmost jewel of his soul, his knighthood’s Order.
-
-In the olden day the Knights of the Fleece, the Garter and other
-glories, won their rank upon the battlefield—blood and strife being to
-them the hand-maids of honour. The chivalry of the Golden Calf is mild
-and gentle. It splits no brain-pan, spills no blood; yet is it ever
-fighting. We are at the exchange. Look at that easy, peaceful man. What
-a serenity is upon his cheek! What a mild lustre in his eye! How plainly
-is he habited! He wears the livery of simplicity and the look of peace.
-Yet has he in his heart the Order of the Golden Calf. He is one of
-Mammon’s boldest heroes. A very soldier of fortune. He is now
-fighting—fighting valorously. He has come armed with a bran-new lie—a
-falsehood of surpassing temper, which with wondrous quietude he lays
-about him, making huge gashes in the money-bags of those he fights with.
-A good foreign lie, well finished and well mounted, is to this Knight of
-the Golden Calf as the sword of Faery to Orlando. With it he sometimes
-cuts down giant fortunes, and after “grinds their bones to make his
-bread.”
-
-And there are small esquires and pages of the Order; men who, with
-heart-felt veneration, lick their lips at the Golden Calf, and with more
-than bridegroom yearning pant for possession. These small folk swarm
-like summer-gnats; and still they drone the praises of the Calf; and
-looking at no other thing, have their eyes bleared and dazzled to all
-beside.
-
-The Knights of the Golden Calf shed no blood; that is, the wounds they
-deal bleed inwardly and give no evidence of homicide. They are, too,
-great consumers of the marrow of men; and yet they break no bones, but
-by a trick known to their Order extract without fracture precious
-nutriment. They are great alchemists, too; and turn the sweat of
-unrequited poverty, aye, the tears of childhood, into drops of gold.
-
-Much wrong, much violence, much wayward cruelty—if the true history of
-knighthood were indicted—lies upon the Fleece, the Garter, yes, upon the
-Templar’s Lamb;—yet all is but as May-day pastime to the voracity, the
-ignorance, the wilful selfishness, the bestial lowings of the Golden
-Calf. And of this Order the oldest of the brotherhood are the most
-gluttonous. There is one whose every fibre is blasted with age. To the
-imagination his face is as a coffin-plate. Yet is he all belly. As cruel
-as a cat though toothless as a bird!
-
-Oh, ye knights, great and small—whether expanding on the mart, or lying
-_perdu_ in back parlours—fling from your hearts the Order there, and
-feel for once the warmth of kindly blood! The brotherhood chuckle at the
-adjuration. Well, let us fight the Order with an Order.
-
-The Order of Poverty against the Order of the Golden Calf!
-
-Will it not be a merry time, when men, with a blithe face and open look,
-shall confess that they are poor? When they shall be to the world what
-they are to themselves? When the lie, the shuffle, the bland, yet
-anxious hypocrisy of seeming, and seeming only, shall be a creed
-forsworn? When Poverty asserts itself, and never blushes and stammers at
-its true name, the Knights of the Calf must give ground. Much of their
-strength, their poor renown, their miserable glory, lies in the
-hypocrisy of those who would imitate them. They believe themselves
-great, because the poor, in the very ignorance of the dignity of
-poverty, would ape their magnificence.
-
-The Order of Poverty! How many sub-orders might it embrace! As the
-spirit of Gothic chivalry has its fraternities, so might the Order of
-Poverty have its distinct devices.
-
-The Order of the Thistle! That is an order for nobility—a glory to
-glorify marquisate or earldom. Can we not, under the rule of Poverty,
-find as happy a badge?
-
-Look at this peasant. His face bronzed with midday toil. From sunrise to
-sunset, with cheerful looks and uncomplaining words, he turns the primal
-curse to dignity, and manfully earns his bread in the sweat of his brow.
-Look at the fields around! Golden with blessed corn. Look at this
-bloodless soldier of the plough—this hero of the sickle. His triumphs
-are there, piled up in bread-bestowing sheaves. Is he not Sir Knight of
-the Wheat-Ear? Surely, as truly dubbed in the heraldry of justice, as
-any Knight of the Thistle.
-
-And here is a white-haired shepherd. As a boy, a child, playful as the
-lambs he tended, he laboured. He has dreamed away his life upon a
-hillside—on downs—on solitary heaths. The humble, simple, patient
-watcher for fellow-men. Solitude has been his companion: he has grown
-old, wrinkled, bent in the eye of the burning sun. His highest wisdom is
-a guess at the coming weather: he may have heard of diamonds, but he
-knows the evening star. He has never sat at a congress of kings: he has
-never helped to commit a felony upon a whole nation. Yet is he to our
-mind a most reverend Knight of the Fleece. If the Herald object to this,
-let us call him Knight of the Lamb! In its gentleness and patience, a
-fitting type of the poor old shepherd.
-
-And here is a pauper, missioned from the workhouse to break stones at
-the road-side. How he strikes and strikes at that unyielding bit of
-flint! Is it not the stony heart of the world’s injustice knocked at by
-poverty? What haggardness is in his face! What a blight hangs about him!
-There are more years in his looks than in his bones. Time has marked him
-with an iron pen. He wailed as a babe for bread his father was not
-allowed to earn. He can recollect every dinner—they were so few—of his
-childhood. He grew up, and want was with him even as his shadow. He has
-shivered with cold—fainted with hunger. His every day of life has been
-set about by goading wretchedness. Around him, too, were the stores of
-plenty. Food, raiment, and money mocked the man made half mad with
-destitution. Yet, with a valorous heart, a proud conquest of the
-shuddering spirit, he walked with honesty and starved. His long journey
-of life hath been through thorny places, and now he sits upon a pile of
-stones on the wayside, breaking them for workhouse bread. Could loftiest
-chivalry show greater heroism—nobler self-control, than this old man,
-this weary breaker of flints? Shall he not be of the Order of Poverty?
-Is not penury to him even as a robe of honour? His grey workhouse coat
-braver than purple and miniver? He shall be Knight of the Granite if you
-will. A workhouse gem, indeed—a wretched, highway jewel—yet, to the eye
-of truth, finer than many a ducal diamond.
-
-
-[Illustration:
-
-  “He has dreamed his life upon a hillside—”
-]
-
-
-This man is a weaver; this a potter. Here, too, is a razor-grinder; here
-an iron-worker. Labour is their lot; labour they yearn for, though to
-some of them labour comes with miserable disease and early death. Have
-we not here Knights of the Shuttle, Knights of Clay, and Knights of
-Vulcan, who prepare the carcase of the giant engine for its vital flood
-of steam? Are not these among the noblest of the sons of Poverty? Shall
-they not take high rank in its Order?
-
-We are at the mouth of a mine. There, many, many fathoms below us, works
-the naked, grimed, and sweating wretch, oppressed, brutalised, that he
-may dig us coal for our winter’s hearth; where we may gather round, and
-with filled bellies, well-clothed backs, and hearts all lapped in
-self-complacency, talk of the talked-of evils of the world, as though
-they were the fables of ill-natured men, and not the verities of
-bleeding life. That these men, doing the foulest offices of the world
-should still be of the world’s poorest, gives dignity to want—the glory
-of long-suffering to poverty.
-
-And so, indeed, in the mind of wisdom, is poverty ennobled. And for the
-Knights of the Golden Calf, how are they outnumbered! Let us, then,
-revive the Order of Poverty. Ponder, reader, on its antiquity. For was
-not Christ Himself Chancellor of the Order, and the Apostles Knights
-Companions?
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-
-
-                        THE OLD MAN AT THE GATE
-
-
-IN Surrey, some three miles from Chertsey, is a quiet, dull, sequestered
-nook, called Shepperton Green. Whether the new philanthropy of new
-pauper laws hath, of late years, sought out the spot I know not. At the
-time whereof I write, the olden charity dwelt in an old workhouse—a
-primitive abiding-place for the broken ploughman, the palsied shepherd,
-the old, old peasant, for whom nothing more remained in this world but
-to die. The governor of this abode of benevolence dwelt in the lower
-part of the building, and therein, as the village trade might fluctuate,
-made or mended shoes. Let the plain truth be said—the governor was a
-cobbler. Within a stone’s cast of the workhouse was a little white gate
-swung between two hedge-banks in the road to Chertsey. Here, pass when
-you would, stood an old man, whose self-imposed office it was to open
-the gate; for the which service the passenger would drop some small
-benevolence in the withered hand of the aged peasant. This man was a
-pauper—one of the almsmen of the village workhouse.
-
-There was a custom—whether established by the governor aforesaid or by
-predecessors of a vanished century, I know not—that made it the
-privilege of the oldest pauper to stand the porter at the gate; his
-perquisite, by right of years, the halfpence of the rare pedestrian. As
-the senior died, the living senior succeeded to the office. Now the
-gate—and now the grave.
-
-And this is all the history? All. The story is told—it will not bear
-another syllable. The “Old Man” is at the gate; the custom which places
-him there has been made known, and with it ends the narrative.
-
-How few the incidents of life—how multitudinous its emotions! How flat,
-monotonous may be the circumstance of daily existence, and yet how
-various the thoughts which spring from it! Look at yonder landscape,
-broken into hill and dale, with trees of every hue and form, and water
-winding in silver threads through velvet fields. How beautiful—for how
-various! Cast your eye over that moor; it is flat and desolate—barren as
-barren rock. Not so. Seek the soil, and then, with nearer gaze,
-contemplate the wondrous forms and colours of the thousand mosses
-growing there; give ear to the hum of busy life sounding at every root
-of poorest grass. Listen! Does not the heart of the earth beat audibly
-beneath this seeming barrenness—audibly as where the corn grows and the
-grape ripens? Is it not so with the veriest rich and the veriest
-poor—with the most active and with apparently the most inert?
-
-That “Old Man at the Gate” has eighty years upon his head—eighty years,
-covering it with natural reverence. He was once in London—only once.
-This pilgrimage excepted, he has never journeyed twenty miles from the
-cottage in which he was born; of which he became the master; whereto he
-brought his wife; where his children saw the light, and their children
-after; where many of them died; and whence, having with a stout soul,
-fought against the strengthening ills of poverty and old age, he was
-thrust by want and sickness out, and, with a stung heart, he laid his
-bones upon a workhouse bed.
-
-Life to the “Old Man” has been one long path across a moor—a flat,
-unbroken journey; the eye uncheered, the heart unsatisfied. Coldness and
-sterility have compassed him round. Yet, has he been subdued to the
-blankness of his destiny? Has his mind remained the unwrit page that
-schoolmen talk of—has his heart become a clod? Has he been made by
-poverty a moving image—a plough-guiding, corn-thrashing instrument? Have
-not unutterable thoughts sometimes stirred within his brain—thoughts
-that elevated, yet confused him with a sense of eternal beauty—coming
-upon him like the spiritual presences to the shepherds? Has he not been
-beset by the inward and mysterious yearning of the heart towards the
-unknown and the unseen? He has been a ploughman. In the eye of the
-well-to-do, dignified with the accomplishments of reading and writing,
-is he of little more intelligence than the oxen treading the glebe. Yet,
-who shall say that the influence of nature—that the glories of the
-rising sun—may not have called forth harmonies of soul from the rustic
-drudge, the moving statue of a man!
-
-That worn-out, threadbare remnant of humanity at the gate; age makes it
-reverend, and the inevitable—shall inevitable be said?—injustice of the
-world invests it with majesty, the majesty of suffering meekly borne and
-meekly decaying. “The poor shall never cease out of the land.” This text
-the self-complacency of competence loveth to quote: it hath a melody in
-it, a lulling sweetness to the selfishness of our nature. Hunger, and
-cold, and nakedness, are the hard portion of man; there is no help for
-it; rags must flutter about us; man, yes, even the strong man, his only
-wealth (the wealth of Adam) wasting in his bones, must hold his pauper
-hand to his brother of four meals _per diem_; it is a necessity of
-nature, and there is no help for it. And thus some men send their
-consciences to sleep by the chinking of their own purses. Necessity of
-evil is an excellent philosophy applied to everybody but—ourselves.
-
-These easy souls will see nothing in our “Old Man at the Gate” but a
-pauper, let out of the workhouse for the chance of a few halfpence.
-Surely, he is something more? He is old; very old. Every day, every
-hour, earth has less claim in him. He is so old, so feeble, that even as
-you look he seems sinking. At sunset he is scarcely the man who opened
-the gate to you in the morning. Yet there is no disease in him—none. He
-is dying of old age. He is working out that most awful problem of
-life—slowly, solemnly. He is now the badged pauper—and now in the
-unknown country with Solomon!
-
-Can man look upon a more touching solemnity? There stands the old man,
-passive as a stone, nearer every moment to churchyard clay! It was only
-yesterday that he took his station at the gate. His predecessor held the
-post for two years; he too daily, daily dying:—
-
-            “Till like a clock, worn out with eating time,
-             The weary wheels of life at length stood still.”
-
-How long will the present watcher survive? In that very uncertainty—in
-the very hoariness of age which brings home to us that uncertainty—there
-is something that makes the old man sacred; for, in the course of
-nature, is not the oldest man the nearest to the angels?
-
-Yet, away from these thoughts, there is reverence due to that old man.
-What has been his life? A war with suffering. What a beautiful world is
-this! How rich and glorious! How abundant in blessings—great and
-little—to thousands! What a lovely place hath God made it; and how have
-God’s creatures darkened and outraged it to the wrong of one another!
-Well, what had this man of the world? What stake, as the effrontery of
-selfishness has it? The wild fox was better cared for. Though preserved
-some day to be killed, it _was_ preserved until then. What did this old
-man inherit? Toil, incessant toil, with no holiday of the heart: he came
-into the world a badged animal of labour; the property of animals. What
-was the earth to him?—a place to die in.
-
-“The poor shall never cease out of the land.” Shall we then,
-accommodating our sympathies to this hard necessity, look serenely down
-upon the wretched? Shall we preach only comfort to ourselves from the
-doomed condition of others? It is an easy philosophy; so easy there is
-but little wonder it is so well exercised.
-
-But “The Old Man at the Gate” has, for seventy years, worked and worked;
-and what his closing reward? The workhouse. Shall we not, some of us,
-blush crimson at our own world-successes, considering the destitution of
-our worthy, single-hearted fellows? Should not affluence touch its hat
-to “The Old Man at the Gate” with a reverence for the years upon him;
-he—the born soldier of poverty, doomed for life to lead life’s forlorn
-hope? Thus considered, surely Dives may unbonnet to Lazarus.
-
-To our mind the venerableness of age made “The Old Man at the Gate”
-something like a spiritual presence. He was so old, who could say how
-few the pulsations of his heart between him and the grave! But there he
-was with a meek happiness upon him; gentle, cheerful. He was not built
-up in bricks and mortar; but was still in the open air, with the
-sweetest influences about him; the sky—the trees—the green sward—and
-flowers with the breath of God in them!
-
-
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
-
-
-[Illustration:
-
-  The fifes and drums of her Majesty’s Grenadiers
-]
-
-
-
-
-                         THE FOLLY OF THE SWORD
-
-
-MAY we ask the reader to behold with us a melancholy show—a saddening,
-miserable spectacle? We will not take him to a prison, a workhouse, a
-Bedlam, where human nature expiates its guiltiness, its lack of worldly
-goods, its most desolate perplexity; but we will take him to a
-wretchedness, first contrived by wrong and perpetrated by folly. We will
-show him the embryo mischief that in due season shall be born in the
-completion of its terror, and shall be christened with a sounding
-name,—Folly and wickedness standing its sponsors.
-
-We are in St James’s Park. The royal standard of England burns in the
-summer air—the Queen is in London. We pass the Palace, and in a few
-paces are in Birdcage Walk. There, reader, is the miserable show we
-promised you. There are some fifty recruits, drilled by a sergeant to do
-homicide, killingly, handsomely. In Birdcage Walk Glory sits upon her
-eggs, and hatches eagles!
-
-How very beautiful is the sky above us! What a blessing comes with the
-fresh, quick air! The trees, drawing their green beauty from the earth,
-quicken our thoughts of the bounteousness of this teeming world. Here in
-this nook, this patch, where we yet feel the vibrations of surrounding
-London—even here Nature, constant in her beauty, blooms and smiles,
-uplifting the heart of man—if the heart be his to own her.
-
-Now, look aside and contemplate God’s image with a musket. Your bosom
-duly expanding with gratitude to nature for the blessings she has heaped
-about you, behold the crowning glory of God’s work managed, like a
-machine, to slay the image of God—to stain the teeming earth with
-homicidal blood—to fill the air with howling anguish! Is not yonder row
-of clowns a melancholy sight? Yet are they the sucklings of Glory—the
-baby mighty ones of a future _Gazette_. Reason beholds them with a deep
-pity. Imagination magnifies them into fiends of wickedness. There is
-carnage about them—carnage, and the pestilential vapour of the
-slaughtered. What a fine-looking thing is war! Yet dress it as we may,
-dress and feather it, daub it with gold, huzza it and sing swaggering
-songs about it—what is it, nine times out of ten—but murder in uniform?
-Cain, taken the sergeant’s shilling?
-
-And now we hear the fifes and drums of her Majesty’s Grenadiers. They
-pass on the other side; and a crowd of idlers, their hearts jumping to
-the music, their eyes dazzled, and their feelings perverted, hang about
-the march and catch the infection—the love of glory! And true wisdom
-thinks of the world’s age, and sighs at its slow advance in all that
-really dignifies man—the truest dignity being the truest love for his
-fellow. And then hope, and faith in human progress, contemplate the
-pageant, its real ghastliness disguised by outward glare and frippery,
-and know the day will come when the symbols of war will be as the sacred
-beasts of old Egypt—things to mark the barbarism of bygone war;
-melancholy records of the past perversity of human nature.
-
-We can imagine the deep-chested laughter—the look of scorn which would
-annihilate, and then the smile of compassion—of the man of war at this,
-the dream of folly and the wanderings of an inflamed brain. Yet, oh, man
-of war! at this very moment are you shrinking, withering like an aged
-giant. The fingers of Opinion have been busy at your plume—you are not
-the feathered thing you were; and then that little tube, the goose
-quill, has sent its silent shot into your huge anatomy; and the
-corroding INK, even whilst you look at it, and think it shines so
-brightly, is eating with a tooth of rust into your sword.
-
-That a man should kill a man and rejoice in the deed—nay, gather glory
-from it—is the act of a wild animal. The force of muscle and the
-dexterity of limb which make the wild man a conqueror are deemed, in
-savage life, man’s highest attributes. The creature whom, in the pride
-of our Christianity, we call heathen and spiritually desolate, has some
-personal feeling in the strife—he kills his enemy, and then, making an
-oven of hot stones, bakes his dead body, and, for crowning satisfaction,
-eats it. His enemy becomes a part of him; his glory is turned to
-nutriment; and he is content. What barbarism! Field-marshals sicken at
-the horror; nay, troopers shudder at the tale, like a fine lady at a
-toad.
-
-In what, then, consists the prime evil? In the murder, or in the meal?
-Which is the most hideous deed—to kill a man, or to cook and eat the man
-when killed?
-
-But, softly, there is no murder in the case. The craft of man has made a
-splendid ceremony of homicide—has invested it with dignity. He
-slaughters with flags flying, drums beating, trumpets braying. He kills
-according to method, and has worldly honours for his grim handiwork. He
-does not, like the unchristian savage, carry away with him mortal
-trophies from the skulls of his enemies. No, the alchemy and magic of
-authority turns his well-won scalps into epaulets, or hangs them in
-stars and crosses at his button-hole; and then, the battle over, the
-dead not eaten, but carefully buried—and the maimed and mangled howling
-and blaspheming in hospitals—the meek Christian warrior marches to
-church, and reverently folding his sweet and spotless hands, sings _Te
-Deum_. Angels wave his fervent thanks to God, to whose footstool—in his
-own faith—he has so lately sent his shuddering thousands. And this
-spirit of destruction working within him is canonised by the craft and
-ignorance of man and worshipped as glory!
-
-And this religion of the sword—this dazzling heathenism, that makes a
-pomp of wickedness—seizes and distracts us even on the threshold of
-life. Swords and drums are our baby playthings; the types of violence
-and destruction are made the pretty pastimes of our childhood; and as we
-grow older, the outward magnificence of the ogre Glory—his trappings and
-his trumpets, his privileges, and the songs that are shouted in his
-praise—ensnare the bigger baby to his sacrifice. Hence slaughter becomes
-an exalted profession; the marked, distinguished employment of what in
-the jargon of the world is called a gentleman.
-
-
-[Illustration:
-
-  “Hodge, poor fellow, enlists”
-]
-
-
-But for this craft operating upon this ignorance, who—in the name of
-outraged God—would become the hireling of the Sword? Hodge, poor fellow,
-enlists. He wants work; or he is idle, dissolute. Kept, by the injustice
-of the world, as ignorant as the farmyard swine, he is the better
-instrument for the world’s craft. His ear is tickled with the fife and
-drum; or he is drunk; or the sergeant—the lying valet of glory—tells a
-good tale, and already Hodge is a warrior in the rough. In a fornight’s
-time you may see him at Chatham; or indeed he was one of those we marked
-in Birdcage Walk. Day by day the sergeant works at the block ploughman,
-and, chipping and chipping, at length carves out a true, handsome
-soldier of the line. What knew Hodge of the responsibility of man? What
-dreams had he of the self-accountability of the human spirit? He is
-become the lackey of carnage, the liveried footman, at a few pence per
-day, of fire and blood. The musket stock, which for many an hour he
-hugs—hugs in sulks and weariness—was no more a party to its present use
-than was Hodge. That piece of walnut is the fragment of a tree that
-might have given shade and fruit for another century; homely, rustic
-people gathering under it. Now it is the instrument of wrong and
-violence; the working tool of slaughter. Tree and man, are not their
-destinies as one?
-
-And is Hodge alone of benighted mind? Is he alone deficient of that
-knowledge of moral right and wrong, which really and truly crowns the
-man king of himself? When he surrenders up his nature, a mere machine
-with human pulses to do the bidding of war, has he taken counsel with
-his own reflection—does he know the limit of the sacrifice? He has taken
-his shilling, and knows the facings of his uniform!
-
-When the born and bred gentleman, to keep to coined and current terms,
-pays down his thousand pounds or so for his commission, what incites to
-the purchase? It may be the elegant idleness of the calling: it may be
-the bullion and glitter of the regimentals; or, devout worshipper, it
-may be an unquenchable thirst for glory. From the moment when his name
-stars the _Gazette_, what does he become? The bond-servant of war!
-Instantly he ceases to be a judge between moral right and moral injury.
-It is his duty not to think, but to obey. He has given up, surrendered
-to another the freedom of his soul: he has dethroned the majesty of his
-own will. He must be active in wrong, and see not the injustice: shed
-blood for craft and usurpation, calling bloodshed valour. He may be
-made, by the iniquity of those who use him, a burglar and a brigand; but
-glory calls him pretty names for his prowess, and the wicked weakness of
-the world shouts and acknowledges him. And is this the true condition of
-reasonable man? Is it by such means that he best vindicates the
-greatness of his mission here? Is he when he most gives up the free
-motions of his own soul—is he then most glorious?
-
-A few months ago chance showed us a band of ruffians who, as it
-afterwards appeared, were intent upon most desperate mischief. They
-spread themselves over the country, attacking, robbing, and murdering
-all who fell into their hands. Men, women, and children all suffered
-alike. Nor were the villains satisfied with this. In their wanton
-ruthlessness they set fire to cottages, and tore up and destroyed
-plantations. Every footpace of their march was marked with blood and
-desolation.
-
-Who were these wretches? you ask. What place did they ravage? Were they
-not caught and punished?
-
-They were a part of the army of Africa; valorous Frenchmen, bound for
-Algiers to cut Arab throats; and, in the name of glory, and for the
-everlasting glory of France, to burn, pillage, and despoil; and all for
-national honour—all for glory!
-
-But Glory cannot dazzle Truth. Does it not at times appear no otherwise
-than a highwayman with a pistol at a nation’s breast? a burglar with a
-crowbar entering a kingdom? Alas! in this world there is no Old Bailey
-for nations, otherwise where would have been the crowned heads that
-divided Poland? Those felon monarchs anointed to—steal? It is true the
-historian claps the cutpurse conqueror in the dock, and he is tried by
-the jury of posterity. _He_ is past the verdict, yet is not its
-damnatory voice lost upon generations? For thus is the world
-taught—albeit slowly taught—true glory; when that which passed for
-virtue is truly tested to be vile; when the hero is hauled from the car
-and fixed for ever in the pillory.
-
-But war brings forth the heroism of the soul: war tests the magnanimity
-of man. Sweet is the humanity that spares a fallen foe; gracious the
-compassion that tends his wounds, that brings even a cup of water to his
-burning lips. Granted. But is there not a heroism of a grander mould—the
-heroism of forbearance? Is not the humanity that refuses to strike a
-nobler virtue than the late pity born of violence? Pretty is it to see
-the victor with salve and lint kneeling at his bloody trophy—a maimed
-and agonised fellow-man; but surely it had been better to withhold the
-blow than to have been first mischievous, to be afterwards humane.
-
-That nations professing a belief in Christ should couple glory with war
-is monstrous blasphemy. Their faith, their professing faith, is—“Love
-one another”; their practice is to—cut throats; and more, to bribe and
-hoodwink men to the wickedness, the trade of blood is magnified into a
-virtue. We pray against battle, and glorify the deeds of death. We say
-beautiful are the ways of peace, and then cocker ourselves upon our
-perfect doings in the art of man-slaying. Let us then cease to pay the
-sacrifice of admiration to the demon—War; let us not acknowledge him as
-a mighty and majestic principle, but, at the very best, a grim and
-melancholy necessity.
-
-But there always has been—there always will be—war. It is inevitable; it
-is a part of the condition of human society. Man has always made glory
-to himself from the destruction of his fellow; so it will continue. It
-may be very pitiable; would it were otherwise! But so it is, and there
-is no helping it.
-
-Happily we are slowly killing this destructive fallacy. A long breathing
-time of peace has been fatal to the dread magnificence of glory. Science
-and philosophy—_povera e nuda filosofia!_—have made good their claims,
-inducing man to believe that he may vindicate the divinity of his nature
-otherwise than by perpetrating destruction. He begins to think there is
-a better glory in the communication of triumphs of the mind, than in the
-clash of steel and the roar of artillery. At the present moment a
-society, embracing men of distant nations—“natural enemies,” as the old
-wicked cant of the old patriotism had it—is at work plucking the plumes
-from Glory, unbracing his armour, and divesting the ogre of all that
-dazzled foolish and unthinking men, showing the rascal in his natural
-hideousness, in all his base deformity. Some, too, are calculating the
-cost of Glory’s table: some showing what an appetite the demon has,
-devouring at a meal the substance of these thousand sons of
-industry—yea, eating up the wealth of kingdoms. And thus by degrees are
-men beginning to look upon this god Glory as no more than a
-finely-trapped Sawney Bean—a monster and a destroyer—a nuisance—a noisy
-lie.
-
-
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-
-
-                        THE GREENWICH PENSIONER
-
-
-A GREENWICH pensioner! Did any of my readers ever ponder on that strange
-composition of battered humanity and blue serge? Did they never feel a
-something approaching very near gratitude on passing, in the metropolis,
-a Greenwich pensioner, who, with his honest, carved out, unabashed
-front, looks as bluntly and as wonderingly at the bustle and splendour
-around him as does an unsophisticated wether suddenly removed from South
-Downs to Cheapside, whilst shaking his woollen coat beneath the whip of
-the coachman to the Lord Mayor. What a mixture of gravity and wonderment
-is in the poor brute’s countenance! how with its meek, uplifted head it
-stares at the effulgent vehicle,—runs leaping at the coach-wheels,
-mistaking them for hurdles,—falls, awe-struck, back, at the gilt and
-beavered greatness of the footman’s cocked hat,—then, suddenly awakened
-from its amazement by the lurcher’s teeth, or the driver’s stick, makes
-an unlucky spring of some three feet into the air, catches a glance of
-its figure in the mirrored walls of a silk mercer, and, startled at the
-sight, dashes through the first court,—carrying perhaps a few yards upon
-its back some red-faced, nankeen-gaitered little stockbroker, whose
-spattered small clothes are for a time unregarded in the mighty rush of
-drovers, butchers, dogs, and idlers.
-
-Now such is the real Greenwich pensioner. When I say _real_, I mean one
-who abhors London worse than he does a Frenchman; who thinks there is
-nothing to be seen in it, unless, indeed, it be Nelson’s tomb, in St
-Paul’s, or the “Ship” public-house, in Tooley Street. London is to him a
-never-failing source of merriment; that is, whilst he is out of it. He
-sits at Greenwich, and looking as sagely as a starling ere he snaps at a
-fly, at the piled-up clouds of smoke hanging over the metropolis, or,
-indeed, almost propped upon its chimney-pots, and, stretching forth his
-stick, significantly points them out to his former shipmates, asking
-them if they do not think “there is something dark over there—something
-of an ‘ox-eye’ to the west?” He, indeed, never ventures to London,
-unless it be for a fresh supply of tobacco, or to pay a quarterly visit
-to his grand-daughter, the upper housemaid in a gentleman’s family,—and
-who, indeed, thinks with horror upon his call, because the neighbours
-laugh at the cocked hat and the shoe-buckles of her relative; but
-principally because Richard, the baker’s young man, declares he hates
-all sailors. The visit is never a very lengthened one, especially if the
-girl lives far to the west; for her grandfather has to call upon Will
-Somebody, who set up, with his prize-money, a public-house in Wapping.
-So off he starts, hurries up the Strand, touches his hat from a point of
-principle as he nears Somerset House; puts out more canvas, and away for
-Temple Bar. The pensioner has not yet, however, sat for his picture.
-
-We have all read of crabs being despoiled of their claws, locusts of
-their entrails, and turtles of their brains, receiving in lieu thereof a
-pellet of cotton, and yet retaining life, and appearing, in the words of
-the experimentalising and soft-hearted naturalist, “very lively and
-comfortable.”[10] Now, the real Greenwich pensioner distances all these;
-he is, indeed, an enigma: nature knows not what to make of him. He hath
-been suspended, like a school-boy’s bob-cherry, a hundred times over the
-chaps of death, and yet still been snatched away by the hand of
-Providence—to whom, indeed, his many hurts and dangers have especially
-endeared him. Ye of the “_land_ interest,” ye soft-faced young sparks,
-who think with terror upon a razor on a frosty morning,—ye suffering old
-gentlemen, who pause at a linen-draper’s, and pass the flannel between
-your fingers, as time verges towards October—ye martyrs to a winter
-cough, ye racked with a quarterly toothache—all ye of household ailings,
-look upon this hacked, shivered piece of clay, this Greenwich
-pensioner:—consider of how many of his powers he is despoiled—see where
-the cutlass and the boarding-spike have ploughed up and pierced his
-flesh; see where the bullet has glanced, singeing by; and when you have
-reckoned up—if they are to be reckoned—his many scars, above all, look
-at his hard, contented, weather-barnacled face, and then, gentle
-spectators, complain of your rheums, your joint-twitchings, and your
-corns!
-
-Footnote 10:
-
-  See _Vaillant_ and _Redi_.
-
-Why, this Greenwich pensioner is in himself a record of the last forty
-years’ war. He is a breathing volume of naval history: not an event but
-is somewhere indented in him with steel or lead: he has been the stick
-in which the English Mars has notched his cricket matches, when
-twenty-four pounders were balls, and mainmasts wickets. See, in his
-blinded eye is Howe’s victory on the glorious First of June; that stump
-of what was once an arm is Nile; and in his wooden leg read Trafalgar.
-As to his scars, a gallant action, or a desperate cutting out is noted
-in every one of them. And what was the old fellow’s only wish, as with a
-shattered knee he lay in the cock-pit under the surgeon’s hand—what was
-his earnest supplication to the wet-eyed messmate who bore him down the
-hatchway? Simply that he would save him one of the splinters of the
-mainmast of the _Victory_, to make of it a leg for Sundays! His wish was
-granted; and at Greenwich, always on the seventh day, and also on the
-21st of October, is he to be seen, propped upon the inestimable
-splinter, which from labour, time, and beeswax, has taken the dark
-glossiness of mahogany. What a face he has! What a certain consciousness
-of his superiority on his own element at times puffs out his lip, and
-gives a sudden twitch to his head! But ask him in what quarter sets the
-wind—and note, how with his one eye he will glance at you from top to
-toe; and, without ever raising his head or hand to make a self-inquiry,
-answers you at once, as though it was a question he was already prepared
-for! And so, indeed, he is; it being his first business, on rising, to
-consult the weather. The only way to gain his entire confidence, is at
-once frankly to avow your utter ignorance, and his superiority; and
-then, after he has leered at you with an eye in which there is a meeting
-of contempt, good-humour, and self-importance, he is wholly your own;
-and will straightway launch into the South Seas, coast along the shores
-of Guinea,—where, by-the-bye, he will tell you he once fell in love with
-a negress, who, however, jilted him for the cook—and then he will launch
-out about Admiral Duncan—take you a voyage with him round Cape Horn,
-where a mermaid appeared, and sang a song to the ship’s crew; and who,
-indeed, blew aside all the musket shots that were ungallantly fired at
-her in requital of her melody. But our pensioner has one particular
-story; hear him through that, suffer yourself to be wholly astounded at
-its recital, and, if you were not a landsman, he would instantly greet
-you as his dearest friend. The heroes of this same story are, our
-pensioner and a shark: a tremendous shark that used to be the terror of
-the harbour of St Thomas’s. Upon this shark, and the piece of the
-mainmast of the _Victory_, is our pensioner content to rest all his
-importance during his life, and his fame with posterity. He will tell
-you that he, being caterer of the mess, let fall a piece of beef out at
-the port-hole, which this terrible shark received into its jaws, and
-twisted its body most provokingly at the delicious mouthful. Hereupon
-our pensioner—it was before, he reminds you, he had lost a limb—asks
-leave of the first lieutenant (for the captain was ashore) to have a
-bout with the shark: leave being granted, all the crew are quickly in
-the shrouds, and upon the hammock netting, to see Tom “tackle the
-shark.” Our pensioner now enters into a minute detail of how, having
-armed himself with a long knife, he jumped overboard, dived under the
-shark, whom he saw approaching with distended jaws, and inflicted a
-tremendous wound with the knife in the belly of the fish; this is
-repeated thrice, when the shark turns itself upon its back—a boat is let
-down, and both the conqueror and the conquered are quickly received upon
-deck. You are doubtless astonished at this; he, however, adds to your
-surprise by telling you that the mess regaled off the piece of beef
-recovered from the fish; be more astounded at this, although mingle no
-doubt in your astonishment, and he will straightway promise some day to
-treat your eyes with a sight of a set of chequer men, cut from the very
-dorsal bone of the immolated shark! To be the hearer of a sailor’s tale
-is something like undergoing the ancient ordeal of red-hot ploughshares;
-be innocent of unbelief, and you may, as was held, journey in safety;
-doubt the smallest point, and you are quickly withered into nought.
-
-What an odd contrast to his early life is the state of a Greenwich
-pensioner! It is as though a part of the angry and foaming sea should
-lie stagnant in a bathing tub. All his business is to recount his former
-adventures—to plod about, and look with a disdainful eye at trees and
-bricks and mortar; or, when he would indulge in a serious fit of spleen,
-to walk down to the river’s side, and let his gall feed upon the mishaps
-of London apprentices, who, fearless of consequences, may have ventured
-some five miles from home in _not_ a “trim-built wherry.” A Greenwich
-pensioner fresh from sea is a most preposterous creature; he gets up
-every morning for a week, a month, and still finds himself in the same
-place; he knows not what to make of it—he feels the strangeness of his
-situation, and would, had he the patience and the wit, liken himself to
-a hundred unsettled things. Compare him to a hippopotamus in a
-gentleman’s park, and he would tell you he had in his day seen a
-hippopotamus, and then, with a good-natured grunt, acquiesce in the
-resemblance; or to a jolly-boat in a flower garden; or to a sea-gull in
-the cage of a canary; or to a porpoise upon a hearthrug; or to a
-boatswain’s whistle in a nursery; or to a marling-spike in a milliner’s
-workroom; or a tar-barrel in a confectioner’s; with any one or all of
-these misplaced articles would our unsettled pensioner sympathise, until
-time shall have reconciled him to his asylum; and even then his fancy,
-like the shells upon our mantelpiece, will sound of the distant and the
-dangerous ocean. At Greenwich, however, the mutilated old sailor has
-time enough to indulge in the recollection of his early days, and, with
-what wisdom he may, to make up his mind to meet in another world those
-whom his arm may have sent thither long before. Death, at length, gently
-lays the veteran upon his back—his last words, as the sailor puts his
-withered hand upon his heart, are “All’s well,” and sea and earth have
-passed away. His body, which had been for forty years a bulwark to the
-land, now demands of it but “two paces of the vilest earth”; and if
-aught could spring from the tomb characteristic of its inmate, from the
-grave of the pensioner would arise the stout, unbending oak—it would be
-his fitting monument; and the carolling of the birds in its branches
-would be his loud, his artless epitaph.
-
-The Greenwich pensioner, wherever we meet with him, is a fine, quaint
-memento of our national greatness, and our fortunate locality. We should
-look upon him as the representative of Neptune, and bend our spirit
-towards him accordingly. But that is not sufficient; we have individual
-acknowledgments to make to him for the comforts of a long safety. Let us
-but consider, as we look at his wooden supporter, that if it had not
-been for his leg the cannon-ball might have scattered us in our tea
-parlour—the bullet which deprived him of his orb of vision might have
-stricken _Our Village_ from our hand whilst ensconced in our study; the
-cutlass which cleaved his shoulder might have demolished our china vase,
-or our globe of golden fish:—instead of which, hemmed round by such
-walls of stout and honest flesh, we have lived securely, participating
-in every peaceful and domestic comfort, and neither heard the roar of
-the cannon nor seen its smoke. Shakespeare has compared England to “a
-swan’s nest” in the “world’s pool”: let us be nautical in our similes,
-and liken her to a single lemon kernel in a huge bowl of punch: who is
-it that has prevented the kernel from being ladled down the throat of
-despotism, from becoming but an atom of the great, loathsome mass?—our
-Greenwich pensioner. Who has kept our houses from being transformed into
-barracks and our cabbage markets into parades?—again, and again, let it
-be answered, the Greenwich pensioner. Reader, if the next time you see
-the tar, you should perchance have with you your wife and smiling
-family, think that if their tenderness has never been shocked by scenes
-of blood and terror, you owe such quietude to a Greenwich pensioner.
-Indeed, I know not if a triennial progress of the Greenwich
-establishment through the whole kingdom would not be attended with the
-most beneficial effects—fathers would teach their little ones to lisp
-thanksgivings unto God that they were born in England, as reminded of
-their happy superiority by the withered form of every Greenwich
-pensioner.
-
-
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-
-
-
-                           THE DRILL SERGEANT
-
-
-SHALL we view our subject through the glasses of philosophy? Precious
-microscopic glasses, by which we look into the exquisite order of a
-bee’s weapon, which shames the ruggedness of that vaunted wonder of
-man’s hands—a Whitechapel needle. By which the superfine coat of the
-unworthy appears but as a vile complication of coarse hemp-strings; by
-which we look into the heart that to the naked eye displays a tenanted
-cherub, with voice of music and wings of light, but find a weak-eyed
-little monster, with squeak of mouse and pinions of leather. O, glorious
-spectacles! which show palaces not entirely as resting-places for
-divinities—many laurels as nettles, stinging what they are fancied to
-adorn—Fame’s trumpet, a penny whistle blown by Asthma—the awful person
-of Ceremony, a Merry-Andrew stricken grave—a grand review-day, a game at
-ninepins on an extensive scale—a levee, a triumph of the laceman and
-jeweller—a court ode, a verbose receipt for wages—“honourable
-gentleman,” convicted scoundrel—“learned friend,” stupid opponent—a
-prison, a temporary retirement from noise—a glass of spring water, a
-“cup of sack”—an ugly face, God’s own handiwork—a handsome one, nothing
-more—noble blood, of the same hue as a carter’s—a black parish coffin, a
-couch of crystal—a grave, a place of rest—consecrated earth, the whole
-globe—a tombstone, work for the mason—a pompous epitaph, the toil of a
-liar! This transformation—or rather, this showing of reality—is the
-result of using the glasses of philosophy. Without the common microscope
-we could not know how certain insects respired, whether at the mouth or
-shoulders; wanting philosophy’s optic, we should be in like ignorance of
-the source of being in some men—for all exist not by the same laws. To
-the naked eye, indeed, there appears no difference; but to the
-spectacled orb of philosophy it is shown that many men respire, not by
-inward organisation, but by external and adventitious instruments. Let
-those who are sceptical on this position consider for a moment the
-bearing of a thorough-paced coxcomb: does he breathe from his lungs? No;
-but from his habiliments. His coat, cravat, boots—yea, his spurs, are
-the sources of his being, his dignity, his action. Nay, some men take
-all their life from a riband at their button-hole, or a garter at their
-leg.—Our Drill Sergeant takes it from his rattan.
-
-I know that much of this may be deemed foreign to the purpose. To those
-who so conclude, I say—A common wire-dancer gives not his grand feat
-without many little nick-nack preparations. When we visit the Egyptian
-Hall, that grand emporium of monsters, we do not step from the pavement
-into the show-room, but are wisely made to thread two or three passages
-for the better excitation of our feelings. And shall my Drill Sergeant
-have not the common observance paid to a mermaid? I trust I have more
-respect for my subject, and the army in general. If any one of my
-readers, when he glanced at the title, thought to meet with the Sergeant
-standing bolt upright at the beginning of the line, like the sentinel at
-Buckingham Gate, I luxuriate in his disappointment.
-
-To be candid: I had laid down no form for my beginning; so I thought a
-caper or two upon philosophy would not be amiss, trusting eventually to
-drop upon my subject. This is a trick frequently played by ——. However,
-to business.
-
-We must contemplate the Drill Sergeant at a distance: there is no
-closing with him. A painter would decline a chair in the tiger’s den,
-asserting that he could take the animal’s stripes equally well through
-the bars. Even so will I take the stripes of our Sergeant. First, to
-consider his appearance, or rather the discipline by which his “thews
-and muscles” deport themselves. He has a vile, cat-like leer of the eye,
-that makes us retreat back a few paces, and rub our palms, to be assured
-the knave has not secretly placed in one of them a shilling. We tremble,
-and for once are afraid to meet the king’s countenance—(I am adding to
-the awful attributes of the Drill Sergeant the fearful privilege of
-recruiting). We shrink, lest he has mentally approved of us as being
-worthy of ball cartridge. He glances towards our leg, and we cannot but
-feel that he is thinking how it would look in a black gaiter. At this
-moment we take courage, and, valiantly lifting off our hat, pass our
-luxuriant curls through our four fingers—we are petrified; for we see by
-his chuckle that he has already doomed our tresses to the scissors of
-the barrack-barber. We are at once about to take to our legs, when,
-turning round, we see something under a middle-sized man, looking over
-our head. On this we feel our safety, and triumph in the glory of five
-feet one. Something must always be allowed for weakness—something for
-vanity; which, indeed, philosophers denominate the greatest weakness.
-Hence all these cogitations, foolishly attributed by the little
-individual to the Sergeant, arise from the civil man’s self-conceit; the
-Sergeant always treating with ineffable contempt persons of a certain
-size. And here may be remarked the astonishing capacity of our Sergeant
-in judging of human altitude. Ere George Bidder can enumerate the
-virtues of King Ferdinand, our Sergeant will sum up the exact height of
-a man, duly allowing for his pumps and silk stockings. Strive to mystify
-the question, and the ability of the Sergeant mocks the endeavour; for,
-he will, on a minute’s notice, resolve how many feet of martial flesh
-are in a complete square, after including the triangle, fife, and
-drummer lads, and deducting some of the boy officers. Thus,
-five-feet-eight reader, if thou wouldst enjoy the pranks of the
-Sergeant, unmolested by his eye, teach thy leg to mimic lameness: or, if
-easier, cough consumptively.
-
-I would wish to convey a striking resemblance of our Drill Sergeant on
-duty, when you would swear by his gait that this glorious earth was
-wholly composed of spring wires, so elastic are his soles. It is a
-motion unparalleled either in the natural or artificial world; it is a
-movement by itself—like the swoop of the eagle, the waddle of the duck,
-the fleetness of the greyhound, or the hop of the frog. And yet, on
-intense consideration, I think I have seen something approximating to
-the bearing of our Drill Sergeant. What think you of the manner of a pug
-dog in a dropsy, exposed for air on a nipping December morning, his
-black nose turning almost white with indignation at the coldness of the
-flags?—There certainly is a resemblance; there is dignity in both
-animals, albeit to the daring eye of a grotesque character. It must,
-however, be owned, that on great occasions our Sergeant can alter his
-deportment. It is not in the nature of things to be always strained to
-the highest: the distended skin of the serpent at times falls into
-amiable and social wrinkles; an arrant shrew may sometimes be caught
-singing “_Sweet Home!_” the bow-string of a William Tell may be
-doubtless as relaxed and tuneless as the instrument of a Haymarket
-fiddler;—and shall not our Sergeant unbend? He does break himself up
-from the stiffness of parade; for see him when the draughts of mine
-hostess hath diluted some portion of military starch, and he no longer
-holds his head like a game-cock, taking his morning’s potation; see him
-then, and own that even a Sergeant may be amiable. Is he not the very
-model of elegant ease? He is, indeed, unbent; for his limbs swing
-loosely as hung ramrods. Our Sergeant can now talk; his tongue hath
-overleapt the two barriers, “Attention!” and “Stand at ease!” and
-rambles wildly from Egypt to Waterloo. And if it should happen that the
-pretty barmaid be niece to the landlady, mark how the Sergeant probes
-for her feelings with charged bayonets—how he will try to smite her
-gentle ear with a discharge of artillery—swear that he hath had twenty
-wounds under his coat, although very politically adding that they have
-left him not a bit the worse man. Then, if the damsel still continue
-untouched, taking orders with a calm air, our Sergeant hints in a
-whisper, audible to the dozing watchman at the door, something about a
-Spanish widow at Saragossa; adding very loudly, “But no—I was always for
-true love!” adorning the beautiful edifice of principle with a flowery
-oath. He then begins a sentiment, and, at a loss, dives for the
-conclusion to it in a pot of ale. If there happen to be four or five
-privates in the room, our Sergeant increases in importance from the
-circumstance—just as a cat becomes great from the introduction of a
-litter of puppies. Our Sergeant is more than ever the leading gander of
-the flock—the king-herring of the shoal—the blue-bottle of the swarm—the
-pebble of the sand—the G of the gamut. He has now additional hearers of
-the tales of his prowess, and, if he but give the wink, companions who
-saw him face the breach and spike the cannon. His rank next becomes the
-subject of discussion; and looking very complacently at his arm, he
-tells of some dreadful exploit in which he earned his stripes. “And
-doubtless, Sergeant, not before you deserved them,” ventures a small,
-quiet wight in the corner, who will have his fling, though at the
-expense of his liquor; for ere he concludes his remark he gives the
-Sergeant his glass—just as a schoolboy, who twitches the trunk of an
-elephant, throws to the animal a peace-offering of apples—whilst the
-privates inwardly laugh at the joke, and get rebuked for again enjoying
-it on parade to-morrow morning. Just as the Sergeant’s opponents are
-nearly all slaughtered, a little Italian boy, bearing a tortoise,
-adroitly glides into the room to display the testaceous wonder; or he
-has with him a bust of Napoleon, at which our Sergeant bristles up,
-looking, indeed, seriously fierce at plaster of Paris. Here he utters
-some half-audible wish that he had not received a bullet in the last
-charge, and then——Now, however, our Sergeant takes an opportunity to
-pour forth his learning—he mangles five words of French; the Italian
-shakes his head, and holds forth his hand; the Sergeant swears at him
-for an impostor, ignorant of his own language. It drawing late, our
-Sergeant calls for his reckoning, and, learning the amount, with an
-affected air of destitution avows he has no money; he has not a piece of
-silver about him, unless it be that at his breast—and here he carelessly
-lifts up with one finger a Waterloo medal;—then he draws out a watch,
-once the property of a French general slain by our Sergeant, and asks if
-that will serve for the amount? At length, however, the money being
-shaken from a yellow silk purse, our Sergeant, after a salutary
-admonition to the privates, goes off, as he says, to visit a friend in
-the Ordnance.
-
-
-[Illustration:
-
-  He is, indeed, unbent.
-]
-
-
-Now this is the utmost stretch of our Sergeant’s amiability; and he
-departs with a consciousness of having made himself remarkably
-agreeable, at the same time that he has maintained the proper dignity of
-the army. To-morrow he is stiff and stately again, performing his old
-duty of setting up in due order men for the sport of War, that fearful
-skittle-player. And, indeed, how great must be the satisfaction of the
-Drill Sergeant when he thinks that, by his kindly solicitude, his
-Majesty’s subjects will “die with decency” and “in close order.”
-Soothing reflection!
-
-We may liken a Recruiting Sergeant to a sturdy woodman—a Drill Sergeant
-to a carpenter. Let us take a dozen vigorous young elms, with the same
-number of bluff-cheeked, straddling rustics. How picturesque and
-inviting do the green waving elms appear! Whilst we look at them our
-love and admiration of the natural so wholly possess us that we cannot
-for a moment bring ourselves to imagine the most beautiful offspring of
-teeming earth cut up into boot-jacks or broom-handles: in the very idea
-there is sacrilege to the sylvan deities. The woodman, however, lays the
-axe to the elms (the forest groans at the slaughter); the carpenter
-comes up with his basket of tools across his shoulder; and at a
-Christmas dinner we may by chance admire the extraordinary polish of our
-eating knife, little thinking it owes its lustre to the elm which
-shadowed us at midsummer. Now for our rustics. We meet them in green
-lanes, striding like young ogres—carelessness in their very
-hat-buckles—a scorn of ceremony in the significant tuck-up of their
-smock-frock. The Recruiting Sergeant spirits them away from fields to
-which they were the chief adornment, and the Drill Sergeant begins his
-labour.
-
-And now, reader, behold some martial carpentry and joinery. Our Drill
-Sergeant hath but few implements: as eye, voice, hand, leg, rattan.
-These few tools serve him for every purpose, and with them he brings
-down a human carcass, though at first as unwieldy as a bull, to the
-slimness and elegance of the roe. There are the dozen misshapen logs
-before him; the foliage of their heads gone with the elm leaves, as also
-their bark—their “rough pash,”—the frocks and wide breeches.
-
-Mercy on us! there was a stroke of handiwork! the Sergeant with but one
-word has driven a wedge into the very breast of that pale-looking
-youngster, whose eyelid shakes as though it would dam up a tear! Perhaps
-the poor wretch is now thinking of yellow corn and harvest home. Another
-skilful touch, and the Sergeant hath fairly chiselled away some inches
-off the shoulder of that flaxen-headed tyro: and see how he is rounding
-off that mottled set of knuckles, whilst the owner redly, but dumbly,
-sympathises with their sufferings. There is no part left untouched by
-our Sergeant; he by turns, saws, planes, pierces, and thumps every limb
-and every joint; applies scouring paper to any little knot or
-ruggedness, until man, glorious man, the “paragon of animals,” fears no
-competition in stateliness of march, or glibness of movement, from
-either peacock or Punch.
-
-The Drill Sergeant hath but little complacency in him; he is a thing to
-be reverenced, not doted upon; we fear him and his mysteries; even his
-good humour startles, for it is at once as blustering and as
-insignificant as a report of a blank cartridge. Again, I say, the Drill
-Sergeant is to be approached with awe; smirking flies the majesty of his
-rattan. He is the despot of joints; and we rub our hands with glee, and
-our very toes glow again, when we reflect they are not of his dominions.
-
-
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
-
-
-[Illustration:
-
-  The HANDBOOK of SWINDLING
-]
-
-
-
-
-                               CHAPTER I
-
-By the late Captain Barabbas Whitefeather. Late of the body-guard of his
-    Majesty, King Carlos; Treasurer of the British Wine and Vinegar
-    Company; Trustee for the protection of the River Thames from
-    incendiaries; principal inventor of Poyais stock; Ranger of St
-    George’s Fields; original Patentee of the Parachute Conveyance
-    Association; Knight of every order of the fleece; Scamp and Cur.
-
-“A man he was to all the country _dear_.”—GOLDSMITH.
-
-                        Edited by John Jackdaw.
-
-
-THE editor has disciplined himself to receive with becoming moderation
-the tremendous expression of national gratitude consequent on the
-publication of this valuable work—the production of the late estimable
-Captain Barabbas Whitefeather. It was discovered among many other papers
-accidentally left at the lodgings of the deceased, and placed in the
-hands of the editor by the executors of the lamented and—if a novel
-epithet may be applied to him—talented author.
-
-When “handbooks” devoted to the lighter elegancies, nay, to the
-frivolities, of life are every day poured down upon a thankful
-generation, it would indeed be to incur the charge of poltroonery to
-doubt the brilliant success of the present essay.
-
-The philosophical observer who has witnessed the fervent welcome
-accorded by a British public to “The Handbook of Skittles,” “The
-Handbook of Cheese-Toasting,” “The Handbook of Eel-Skinning,” “The
-Handbook of Nutmeg-Grating,” “The Handbook of Corn-Cutting,” “The
-Handbook of Kitten-Drowning,” and other productions of lesser pith and
-purpose,—the philosophic observer cannot but glow with the sweetest and
-liveliest feelings of anticipated pleasure at the outburst of national
-gratitude acknowledging and rejoicing in the publication of
-
-
-                      “THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING.”
-
-Let us for a moment consider the comprehensiveness of the subject. Other
-handbooks have their merits and their uses: far be it from the editor to
-detract one iota from their claims upon a thoughtful people; yet it must
-be conceded that their different subjects apply rather to the wants of
-sections of the public than to the public in its integrity. For
-instance, how few rejoice in the masculine exercise of skittles! Toasted
-cheese, albeit the favourite diet of many of Cyclopean digestion, is
-sedulously shunned by dyspeptic hundreds of thousands. The class of the
-eel-skinning public is indeed most limited; nutmeg is never dreamt of by
-at least a million of our fellow-subjects; a million more, it is our
-cheerful hope, know not the visitation of corns; whilst, could a census
-be taken of the number of kittens annually sacrificed by drowning, it
-would possibly be discovered that not one British subject out of five
-hundred is ever called upon to perform that painful, yet necessary and
-most domestic operation. It must then be acknowledged that all handbooks
-hitherto published are more or less limited in their application; but
-for “The Handbook of Swindling,”—why, it is a national work; a _vade
-mecum_ for a whole people!
-
-It was the intention of the editor to dedicate this work to some
-illustrious individual worthy of the distinction. But so many
-candidates—all equally deserving of the honour—with claims so nicely
-balanced, rose before him, that the editor, considering it would be
-invidious to many to select one alone, dedicates the book to the nation
-at large. Yes, he gives it to his country; but too well repaid if he
-shall be the means of calling from the working day road of life one
-simple traveller to the pleasant “primrose path” made easier and laid
-more open to him by this golden volume.
-
-     BREAKNECK STEPS,
-
-          OLD BAILEY.
-
-
-
-
-                               CHAPTER I
-
-      THE READER IS INTRODUCED TO CAPTAIN WHITEFEATHER’S RELATIONS
-
-
-IT was a favourite conviction of my late respected uncle and godfather,
-Barabbas Whitefeather—he fell in the very flower of his age, at only
-forty-five, a premature victim to the insalubrity of Bermuda, where he
-was stationed in a very public capacity by the British Government—it
-was, I say, a pet belief of the sagacious Barabbas that every man had
-within him what I think heathen philosophers have called a particle of
-divine gold; but which my uncle, in the fine simplicity of his nature,
-and at the same time humanely accommodating his language to the lowest
-understanding of his species, denominated “a bit of the swindler.”
-
-Discriminating reader, Barabbas Whitefeather was a man of homespun wit,
-who chewed not his words until they had lost all their original form and
-vigour; no, he flung them from him with the air of a man who knows he is
-laying down a guinea of the best mint gold, and not timidly and
-sneakingly, like a passer of gilt copper.
-
-“Every man has within him a bit of the swindler!”
-
-The sentence fell upon me in the days of my earliest childhood; yes, it
-was in that ductile, happy, and susceptible season of life that the
-words of my uncle Barabbas—precious seed!—dropped into my infant heart,
-where—but let me not boast, let me rather indulge in the luxury of
-memory—yes, suffer me, complying reader, to carry you into the presence
-of my sainted uncle: bear with me whilst with affectionate reverence I
-call up from the abyss of time the interesting shadow of Barabbas
-Whitefeather.
-
-It was my birthday—I was six years old. I had been promised that that
-day should be distinguished by a circumstance which, as we advance in
-life and become involved in the meshes of the world, is apt to be
-forgotten, albeit of the first importance at the time—I was to be
-breeched. _I was not._ I can only remember that a cloud seemed suddenly
-to have fallen upon our house—that my father would come home long after
-the lamb had lain down to rest, and would still leave the domestic roof
-before the rising of the lark, that his temper, generally rough, became
-much rougher; and that, only a few days before my birthday, on
-expressing my infantine delights at the trumpets blown before the
-newly-arrived judges, he rebuked me with unwonted emphasis, at the same
-time wishing the trumpets and the judges, as I then conceived, very
-oddly incorporated with one another. I was then within a few days of six
-years old—I was a fine, tall, plump child, and on my birthday was to
-have been breeched. The neighbourhood called for it. I repeat it, my
-birthday came and passed, and found and left me still in coats.
-
-That day, however, was ordained to be the most eventful of my life. It
-is that day which, if the world shall continue to remember the deeds of
-Captain Barabbas Whitefeather, must be held by posterity in especial
-respect. It is to that day that I owe everything; and what I owe, it
-would be the worst of affectation in the world to deny or to forget. To
-proceed with my history.
-
-“Brab,”—it was thus my father was wont to tamper with the euphony of
-Barabbas,—“Brab, nunkey wants to see you; so you must toddle with me.”
-
-Some weeks had elapsed since I had seen uncle Barabbas; and at his name
-visions of cakes and apples, peg-tops and whipping-tops, rose before me.
-Like Agesilaus, Socrates, Yorick, and other men whom I do not hesitate
-to call of his kidney, my uncle would chequer and ameliorate the labour
-of public life by sporting with little children. “He hath borne me on
-his back a thousand times.” I was of course delighted at the prospect of
-visiting my uncle; but was at the same time made to wonder at the
-preparation of my father, who carefully bound up one of his eyes, glued
-large whiskers on his cheeks, and otherwise so disguised himself that,
-although I saw him do it, I could scarcely believe it was he. However, I
-thought it was all to have some game with Uncle Barabbas—and in my
-childishness crowed with laughter at anticipation of the sport.
-
-I walked with my father, and in about half-an-hour came to a very large
-house, a place I had never seen before: for my dear mother, always
-fuming about fevers and measles, kept me close at home. My father,
-suddenly walking very lame, knocked at the door, and through a cold that
-had come on him all in a minute, asked hoarsely enough for my uncle. The
-man let us in, and then another man went before us; and then I knew I
-was in a place where there were heaps of gold and diamonds, for the man
-unlocked and locked again at least a dozen doors. I give my childish
-impressions, which I entreat the reader not to smile at, but to remember
-the simplicity and ingenuousness of my age. Well, after a time, we were
-led into an open court, where some gentlemen were throwing up halfpence,
-and two on a bench were pushing straws; and there was one dancing, and
-one or two singing, and all as happy as birds.
-
-I looked round the place and saw uncle Barabbas smoking in a corner. I
-was about to call him when my father gave my arm such a pull I thought
-it was broken; and so I resolved to say nothing, but to wait and see the
-fun that father would play off upon uncle. Sure enough Barabbas never
-knew him; and though my uncle patted me upon the head, he had, I
-thought, forgotten me, for he gave me nothing. My father and my uncle
-talked together for a long time; when—I see my uncle now—Barabbas
-suddenly brought himself up, and raising his head, and extending his
-right arm, the palm open, he said in a solemn voice:—
-
-“Depend upon it, every man has within him a bit of the swindler.”
-
-My father shook his head; whereupon my uncle, for he was very scholarly,
-and could talk for an hour without stopping, proceeded as follows:—I am
-perfectly certain as to the words, having subsequently found the whole
-written speech among other of my uncle’s papers; Barabbas, like some
-other wits and orators, carefully putting in pen and ink any brilliant
-thought that struck him—any argument that was a hobby with him, that he
-might at proper season extemporaneously bring it forth to the delight
-and astonishment of his hearers. My father shook his head at the dogma
-of my uncle, who, without stop, continued:—
-
-“Are you so ignorant as to believe in the deficiency of mankind in
-general—to imagine that nature is so partial a mother as to dower
-with her best gifts only a few of her children, leaving the
-multitude defenceless, unarmed? My dear sir,”—here my uncle lowered
-his voice,—“amend your ignorance—be just to nature. Do you see
-tigers whelped without claws—elephants calved that never have
-tusks—rattlesnakes hatched with no stings? Is nature so niggard—so
-partial—so unjust? No—philosophers and conquerors have made their
-marks, and signed their names to the fact—to swindle is to exhibit
-the peculiar attribute of the human animal; it is at once the
-triumph and distinguishing faculty of the race. But you will say, do
-all men swindle? and I ask, do all snakes sting—all elephants gore?
-There is, however, an unanswerable argument which proves that men,
-when gregarious, are inevitably swindlers; at least, if they are
-not, let not the failing be placed to their account; they would be,
-if they might. Let me put a case. You recollect Gloss, the retired
-merchant? What an excellent man was Gloss! A pattern man to make a
-whole generation by! Nobody could surpass him in what is called
-honesty, rectitude, moral propriety, and other gibberish. Well,
-Gloss joins a ‘Board’; he becomes one of a community; and,
-immediately, the latent feeling asserts itself: he is a backbone man
-with the rest of his brotherhood; and though as simple Gloss, and
-not a member of the ‘board,’ he is the same as ever, yet when acting
-with his fellows, when one of the body corporate, when he merges the
-man Gloss in the board member, the inherent faculty becomes active,
-and he gratifies the instinct, or the refined reason, or whatever
-men agree to call it—and complacently swindles with the rest. He
-cannot do otherwise: human nature is tested by the occasion; and if,
-under the circumstances, he refuse to swindle, he ceases to be a
-man. Swindling, my dear sir”—and here my uncle spoke in a tremulous
-voice, and my father seemed touched by the emotion—“Swindling, my
-dear sir, has indeed a far more comprehensive meaning than that
-superficially awarded to it by, possibly, very respectable people.
-Good soldiers may fight, pillage, and violate under a banner, and
-yet, in truth, shall not be able to read and interpret the legend
-emblazoned on it.”
-
-I could perceive that my father did not perfectly understand this. He,
-therefore, nodded assentingly, and my uncle, with new animation,
-proceeded:—
-
-“When I reflect on the extensive and subtle operation of the
-faculty—when I perceive that, in this our best possible social state, it
-is, so to speak, the cement that keeps society together; the bond of
-union; the very salt of human government—it does, I confess it, irk me
-to find men ungraciously deny its existence, putting off its triumphs
-upon other motives, and depriving swindling of the glory of its deeds.
-Strange perversion of human intellect—laughable contradiction of moral
-purposes! Thus, the politician flutters at the very breath of swindler;
-thus, the stockbroker struts and swells, and lays his hand upon his
-waistcoat with a blank look of wondering innocence at the slightest
-allusion to the faculty that makes a man of him—to which he owes his
-carriage and country house, his conservatories and his pineries; and
-above all, the flattering hope of calling Lord Giggleton son-in-law; his
-lordship being over head, and, what is more, over ears in love with
-Arabella’s guineas. And yet, such is the base, the black ingratitude of
-human nature, that this man, this most adroit and lucky stockbroker,
-starts even at the name of swindler! He indignantly denies the slightest
-obligation to the higher faculty—the _mens divinior_ of the cabinet, the
-mart, and the counting-house. Look at Sir Godfrey Measles, the
-illustrious pork contractor, in whom our brave and magnanimous sailors
-confide for dinners. Did he not in the most handsome way forfeit a fine
-to his king and country for having failed to supply swine’s flesh at so
-much per stone? And then, having paid his fine like a patriot and a
-man,—did he not, having before bought up all the pork to be had—did he
-not, with the gushing feelings of a philanthropist, offer it at three
-times the contract price? Now what was this? Men who veil their meaning
-in allegory may say that Sir Godfrey Measles ‘drove his pigs to a fine
-market.’ For myself, I elevate the homely phrase of pig-driver into the
-more ennobling name of swindler. Others may say that Sir Godfrey only
-traded—I stick to my belief; I say he swindled. More: I reverence him
-for the act; my only deep regret is, that he should have failed in an
-ingenuous gratitude, and denied the action of the higher principle. I
-have long looked upon the world, and, with sorrow, I say it, in nothing
-do the generations of successful men show so much cold and callous
-ingratitude as in their treatment of their guardian genius, that
-prettiest of Pucks, that best of Robin Goodfellows, that deftest of
-household fairies, hight Swindling!”
-
-My father cast his one eye towards his eloquent brother with a look of
-speaking admiration; and, although there was a pause, did not presume to
-make any rejoinder. My uncle proceeded:—
-
-“But why number examples? Why attempt to prove that which every man, if
-he would but consult the recesses of his own bosom, must truly know? Ask
-all the professions; demand of the lawyer, with yellow, studious cheek,
-wherefore he should coin gold out of little strips of paper, written
-over by youthful scribes at two or three shillings per diem. Request him
-to give you the philosophy of costs—the exquisite meaning of appearance
-and declaration, and reply and rejoinder, and all the thousand terms
-invented by the most cunning class of labourers, the overlookers at the
-building of Babel. Ask the sleek practitioner to what he owes his
-fortune. To common-sense—to justice—to the fair and rational barter of
-labour for shillings? If he be a hypocrite—if he be resolved to clap in
-with the world, and carry on a profitable duplicity, he will swell like
-a bull-frog at the query, and, forgetful of his knuckles, will strike
-his heart, answering with the big-mouthed ‘Yes!’ But if at the end of a
-long practice there should by miracle remain in that attorney’s bosom a
-throb of truth, he will blandly, yet significantly smile at the
-words—the counters men play with—common-sense and justice, and
-magnanimously and unblushingly declare his debt to—swindling!
-
-“Is it otherwise with the physician, who sells his guesses for truth,
-and doubts and doubts a patient into the grave, whilst his medicinal
-palm is open for the guinea? When the apothecary vends cinnamon and
-peppermint water for _elixir vitæ_, doth he practise a noble art? Yea;
-for, safely and successfully, he—swindles.
-
-“When the tradesman—his housemaid at the time perhaps in Bridewell for
-petty larceny committed on the greasepot—when he, smiling across the
-counter at his victim, puts off knowingly the poorest commodity at the
-highest price, how stands he in relation to his captive handmaid? Why,
-Rebecca has robbed, but the tradesman has only driven his trade: the
-slut has for ever and for ever lost her character, with it seven pounds
-_per annum_, and, it may be, tea and sugar included—but for Mr Jackson,
-her master, he has turned the profit penny; he has—but all in the way of
-business—swindled.”
-
-“It is very true,” exclaimed my father with an oath, “it is very true.
-When what is swindling isn’t swindling according to law, it’s a fortune
-to a man; but when it’s agin law, and found out——”
-
-“The result I know,” cried my uncle, a slight tint of red suffusing his
-manly cheek. “All mankind may be divided into two classes: the swindlers
-according to custom and to law, and the swindlers according to the bent
-of their natural genius.”
-
-“True agin,” cried my father, slapping his thigh.
-
-“Still, the propensity,” said my uncle, “is universal: men only want
-temptation. It is extraordinary how, like a chain, the feeling runs from
-breast to breast. Jack Smasher was one of the prettiest hands at
-coining; and more, he was blessed with a wife born, I should say, with a
-genius for passing bad money. She took a crown—one of her husband’s
-base-begotten offspring—purchased with it three pennyworth of rhubarb
-from a Quaker chemist, who—undone man!—handed over four-and-ninepence
-change. Aminadab Straightback was, even among his brethren, the
-brightest child of truth. In due season Aminadab detected the guileful
-crown, and in his own clear breast resolved to destroy it. However, it
-remained by the strangest accident in his till, and by an accident still
-more extraordinary, was given in part of change for a guinea to a
-gentleman a little the worse for liquor, who on his way home to bed took
-the precaution of dropping into Straightback’s for a box of—his own
-patent—anti-bacchic pills. In the morning the vinous gentleman
-discovered the pocket-piece, but as he had changed more than one guinea,
-could not with certainty detect the giver of the counterfeit. No matter.
-It remained loose with other money in his pocket, and one day, to his
-own surprise, he found he had passed it. He had taken a journey, and it
-was very dark when, in the handsomest manner, he fee’d the coachman. The
-poor man who drove the Tally-ho did not realise more than £400 per
-annum, and could not afford to lose five shillings; hence Smasher’s
-crown became at a fitting opportunity the property of a sand-blind old
-gentlewoman, who, her loss discovered, lifted up her hands at the
-iniquity of the world, and put aside the brassy wickedness. The good old
-soul never missed a charity sermon. The Reverend Mr Sulphurtongue made a
-sweet discourse in favour of the conversion of the Jews, and the
-churchwardens condescended to hold each a plate. To the great disgust of
-the discoverers, a bad crown was detected amongst the subscribed
-half-crowns and shillings. The beadle was directed to destroy it. He
-intended to do so, but, in pure forgetfulness, passed it one day for
-purl; the landlady of the ‘George’ having, as she said ‘taken it, was
-resolved not to lose it,’ and by some accident it was given to a pedlar,
-who, after a walk of twenty miles, entered an ale-house, took his supper
-of bread and cheese, went to bed, rose, and proffered for his account
-Jack Smasher’s pocket-piece. The pedlar was immediately given into the
-hands of a constable, taken before a magistrate, and ordered to be
-imprisoned and whipped as a passer of counterfeit coin.”
-
-“See what luck is!” cried my father; “it’s the Quaker _what_ should have
-lost the dollar.”
-
-“He couldn’t do it; for though he was a most respectable person, and
-lived and died with that character, he was but a man. He had been
-swindled—the link of the chain was touched, and it vibrated—you
-perceive, it vibrated?”
-
-Again my father nodded.
-
-“Yes,” exclaimed Barabbas Whitefeather, “I repeat it—the sympathy is
-universal. All men can, do, or might, swindle. Though with many the
-propensity be latent, it surely exists, and needs but the happy moment
-to be awakened into life. The proof is easy: take ten, twenty, thirty
-men—creatures of light; admirable, estimable, conscientious persons;
-by-words of excellence, proverbs of truth in their individual dealings;
-and yet, make of them a ‘board’—a ‘committee’—a ‘council’—a ‘company’—no
-matter what may be the collective name by which they may be known—and
-immediately every member will acknowledge the quickening of a feeling—a
-sudden growth of an indomitable lust to—swindle. What is this but a
-proof of the faculty—as I have said—dormant, but requiring only the
-necessary agent to awaken it? Oh! let no man perk himself up in the
-pride of his innocence—strut and pout, big with the prejudice of
-respectability! He knows not the mystery of his own nature; for though
-to his own eyes he shall be a saint, he will, when time and purpose
-shall see fit to call his better feelings into life, he will, he must,
-he cannot do otherwise than—swindle.”
-
-My father, though a strong man, was much affected.
-
-“As for you, my dear child,” said my uncle, taking me by the hand,
-kissing me, and looking benevolently upon me, “as for you, remember the
-words of Barabbas Whitefeather. At present you know not their worth, but
-a time will come when better than pearls or gold will be this my parting
-council to you. Throughout your life do nought but swindle. If you can,
-swindle on the right side of the statute, but at all events, my dear
-child,”—even now I feel the pressure of that wise man’s lip, the warm
-tear trickling down my cheeks,—“at all events, Barabbas, swindle!”
-
-I am now in my nine-and-thirtieth year; and from my first day of
-discretion until this, the season of ripest manhood, I can, laying my
-hand upon my heart, most conscientiously declare that never for a moment
-have I forgotten the last injunction of the best of uncles. But why
-should I speak on this head? The world will do me justice.
-
-My uncle shook my parent by the hand. “Good-bye,” he said; “we may never
-meet again, for I am now two-and-forty, and you know”—this I could _not_
-understand—“you know _it’s fourteen penn’orth_.”
-
-My father, choking with emotion, cried, “D—n ’em!” We quitted my uncle;
-and I trust I shall not be accused of adopting the language of
-hyperbole, when I state that we quitted him with feelings far more easy
-of conception than description.
-
-Only a twelvemonth after this, I lost my excellent father. It may prove
-to the giddy and the vain the uncertainty of life, when I state that my
-worthy parent was in robust health one minute and dead the next. It may
-also prove that he had held some place in the world, when I assure the
-reader that crowds of people flocked to our house to pay honour to his
-cold remains; which, for the benefit of his widow and son, were
-exhibited at sixpence a head to grown persons, and half-price for
-children. I should be unjust to my parent’s memory were I to withhold
-another circumstance illustrative of the consequence of my father to the
-world at large: the night-cap in which he died was purchased by a
-gentleman, a lover of the fine arts, after a severe contest with other
-bidders, for two guineas.
-
-And so much for my uncle and my father, both worthy of the name of
-Whitefeather.
-
-
-
-
-                               CHAPTER II
-
- CAPTAIN WHITEFEATHER TAKES AN ENLARGED VIEW OF SWINDLING. SOCIAL EVILS
-                            AND THEIR REMEDY
-
-
-NO—the theme is too pregnant with circumstance; too vast—too voluminous.
-Let me then subdue the vain, though laudable, ambition—let me repress
-the fond, the wild desire of such distinction. Is it for a single pen to
-write the History of Swindling? Is it for one man to chronicle, with
-scrupulous fidelity, the rise and progress of the exquisite art (for I
-must call it so)? Is it for one curious pair of eyes—one toilsome
-hand—to pore over and put down the many million facts to be registered
-in a complete body of the Science? Could the life of a patriarch, even
-though he worked the hours of a cotton-spinner, suffice for the labour?
-Consider, Barabbas, what running to and fro—what fetching and carrying
-of truths—what sifting and winnowing of chaff and husk—what
-gold-washing—what pearl-diving! Now picking up stray matter for your
-work in Egypt—now, with a thought, among the sages in India—now off, it
-may be, upon a wild-goose chase to Arabia Petræa—now among the
-Scandinavians—and now, cold as a snowball, to be called away to the
-opium-sellers at the walls of the Tartars! Is it possible for one man,
-though with ribs of brass and soles of adamant, to go through the toil
-and travel? And this, be it remarked, will only take in the first
-thousand years or so of the age of our dear, ill-used mother earth. How
-much remains to be done—what crooked ways to thread—what dirt and rust
-to scratch away—what inscriptions to guess at—what monuments to
-measure—even before you come to Semiramis! And when, reeling like a
-porter under a thousand-weight of facts—for a very few facts make a
-pound—you arrive at Semiramis, have you disciplined yourself to bear the
-indifference of a superficial generation—to be asked by listless
-ignorance, “Who the devil is Semiramis?” Dear Barabbas, your yearnings
-are indeed most noble; but there is a limit to human action—there is a
-point where man must stop. The task is not earthly; or, if indeed it be
-a mortal labour, it is only to be achieved by the united heads and hands
-of many. A band of hard-working encyclopædists—temperate labourers
-living upon bread and water and figs—might possibly, in the course of a
-few lustres, produce some hundred volumes of the work; but a complete
-body of swindling from the birth of time to its present lustihood, it is
-a thing only to be dreamed of—a glorious phantasm—a magnificent but most
-deceitful vision!
-
-But grant it done. Say that the last proof—the ten millionth sheet—lies
-before you, the smooth-faced devil waiting at your garret door to carry
-off the corrected matter for the press. Say that it is printed,
-published, and the whole five hundred volumes folio scrupulously conned,
-as they doubtless would be, by the critics—alack! alack!—what a
-melancholy book hath the press groaned with—what a ghastly chronicle,
-what a blood-dyed, tear-stained record!
-
-“A complete body of swindling!” Let us turn a few of the leaves. They
-creak like dungeon hinges! Are not the pictures terrible? Whole
-generations of men, thin-chapped, hollow-eyed, scourged and in bonds;
-fainting in midday; stark with the dews of night. Tens of thousands,
-living carcasses, in mines—thousands and thousands writhing in blood and
-agony upon the field—with the vassals of glory, a cloud of vultures,
-hovering to pick their bones. Next let us peep through prison bars,
-and—no; close the book—it is too shocking—one’s marrow freezes, and the
-brain reels at it.
-
-“Methinks,” says the reader, “the Captain takes a too comprehensive view
-of his subject.”
-
-Right, sagacious reader; and yet, were the history of swindling in all
-its ramifications to be duly chronicled, the work would be no less
-voluminous, no jot less tragical. The present is, after all, not an
-auspicious age for folios; neither is it the best of all possible eras
-for the publication of disagreeable truths. Lazarus himself, to touch
-worldly sympathy, should in these days be a Lazarus in superfine
-cloth—the best cambric and the glossiest beaver; nay, he would be
-something the gainer by a waistcoat of gold-smeared velvet, and, at
-least, a chain of silver. To make iniquity or sorrow bearable, it is
-highly necessary that it should be properly dressed. Hence, reader, I,
-Barabbas Whitefeather, instructed by the better spirit of the age,
-forego my first Utopian purpose, and leaving the full history of
-swindling to be written by a future college of sages, shall confine
-myself more immediately to the existing wants of the world—shall attend
-to the crying necessities of the present generation. Controlled by my
-better genius, I renounce folios.
-
-After all, the world has not, as I at first superficially believed, so
-keen a want of a complete history of swindling: for how many books have
-been written which, although not professedly treating of the theme, are,
-by their very subject, works of reference and authority in the matter!
-What, for instance, is much of _Ancient History_? What _The Lives of the
-Roman Emperors_? What _The History of Conquests_? What _The History of
-Discovery_—from the first finding of Mesopotamia to the last
-providential flight upon New Zealand? If men will read not with their
-eyes alone, but with understanding hearts, how much is there in all
-these works, in all these narratives, that is indeed no other than
-materials for a complete body of swindling? Loose pearls that need
-stringing—scattered lights to be brought to one point? Indeed, to a
-contemplative mind, to a reader properly prepared for the perusal of
-history and biography, it is almost impossible for him to open a volume
-from which he should not gather knowledge of a swindling kind. It is
-often the very staple of a book, though to the shame of many writers, I
-grieve to say it, the subject is most ungenerously disguised under
-foreign trappings—passed off under a false name. Hence, reflecting that
-if men will look round them, they are not wholly destitute of works
-containing the philosophy of swindling on a grand historical scale—on an
-enlarged and transcendental plan—I shall endeavour to prevail upon
-myself to become merely useful, leaving it to the poorly ambitious to
-glitter and to soar. Let other men make pedestals to themselves of
-unopened folios; they have their veneration—they are talked of, never
-read. I—I will descend among the crowd—will mix with my
-fellow-creatures—will right and left scatter among the children of
-innocence a “Handbook”—a veritable tome to be carried between the thumbs
-and fingers of men in their paths by day, and like a guardian and
-protecting genius to nestle in their bosoms at night. Yes, it shall be
-no large carcass of a book; no literary mammoth of a bygone time; a load
-for a shelf; but a light and dainty fairy for the palm. A
-“Handbook!”—Yes, there is a freshness, a beauty, a truthfulness in the
-name; it shall be “THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING!” Uncut folios, avaunt!
-and, thick as humming-birds in tropic groves, “Handbooks,” in green and
-gold, trim your glowing winglets and flutter among men.[11]
-
-Footnote 11:
-
-  The reader will perceive from the self-complacency with which the
-  author talks of “Handbook,” that he would pass the compound as purely
-  one of his own invention. The editor, however, conceives it to be a
-  part of his stern duty to state that a book printed at Baden-Baden,
-  where the Captain was wont to retire in autumn for the benefit of the
-  waters and other benefits—a book entitled (we give the English) “The
-  Handbook of Cogging,” was found among the Captain’s other literary
-  effects. He had, doubtless, forgotten that Handbook was from
-  _Handbuch_.—[JOHN JACKDAW, Ed.]
-
-Having resolved upon the mode in which I shall benefit humanity, having
-come to the determination to contract myself into the smallest possible
-size, that I may the more deftly make my way among the crowd, it is but
-due to myself—it is but just to my readers—to make known in a few words
-the extent and range of my purpose. That purpose is, I am proud to feel
-it, of the best wisdom, of the noblest benevolence; it is to make every
-man—at least every thinking, reasonable man, for I write not to
-blockheads—a SWINDLER. Yes; it is my aim to render him, at all points,
-armed for the contest of life—to prepare him for the cutting and
-thrusting and picking and stealing of this eventful passage. It is my
-purpose to make known a few golden rules—the result of a long and
-various experience—by which the attentive and quick-witted student may
-learn to play with men as he would play with pieces of chess, by which
-every move on the board of life may be his own, to the utter
-discomfiture of a plodding and merely painstaking opponent. And in all
-this there shall be nothing legally forbidden; nothing that shall
-suddenly shock your delicate nostrils, reader, with the smell of hemp:
-no, no; though turnkeys and the hangman walk about you, if you are an
-apt scholar, you shall snap your fingers at them, and swindle securely.
-
-“And now,” thinks the reader,—for I know his thoughts as well as I know
-my own whiskers,—“now the book begins to open; now the work warms up.”
-Be not impatient.
-
-Impressed as I am with the purpose of this inestimable little work, it
-befits the dignity of that purpose that there should be no unseemly
-haste, no helter-skelter in the communication of ideas. Were I writing
-the “HANDBOOK OF EGG-SUCKING,” or any such domestic treatise, I might
-jump into my subject; but “SWINDLING” is not to be approached
-irreverently.
-
-Its influence on the happiness of society is to be duly considered, that
-the maxims by which it is the hope of the author to recommend it may
-have their due weight upon the disciple; who, when he shall learn that
-swindling is, indeed, synonymous with self-preservation, will brush up
-his hair, take breath, and then, unless he have no more sensibility than
-a stock or stone, lapse into a state of the profoundest and most
-admiring attention. Yes; I was right—the pupil is now all ears.
-
-Philanthropists and philosophers have come to the comfortable conclusion
-that there are in England too many Englishmen. John Bull has played the
-Sultan, and has an alarmingly numerous family. Unhappily, however, he
-has not the Sultan’s wealth—neither has he the Sultan’s prerogative: he
-cannot feed all his sons and daughters; he must not choke or drown them.
-The bow-string and the Bosphorus are not for John. What then is to
-become of the family of Bull? Shall they tear each other piecemeal?
-Forgetful of their origin, shall they destroy one another in civil
-fight? _Amor patriæ_—humanity—all the finer and nobler feelings of the
-human heart revolt at the very thought. “What,” the philanthropist will
-inquire with tears in his eyes—“what, then, is to be done with a
-superabundant population?” My reply is as brief as, I flatter myself, it
-is conclusive—they must swindle. We have been gradually adopting what I
-believe to be the only remedy for the national disease; we have for some
-years in many instances applied what I conceive to be the only cure for
-the social malady; but it is only when it shall be applied upon a grand
-scale, when, in fact, a curative science shall be professed and
-practised by men cognisant of all its subtle and most bountiful
-capabilities—for it is yet in its infancy—that the greatness of its
-social value will be thoroughly manifested and acknowledged.
-
-It is allowed that all the professions are full to running over. The
-Church is crammed to suffocation with applicants for deaneries,
-prebends, vicarages; to say nothing of the thousands with their hearts
-fixed upon mitres. There is hardly standing room among the candidates
-for lawn and silk aprons.
-
-In the Courts of Law there are wigs as thick as cauliflowers in
-Battersea Gardens. Besides, the sneaking spirit of the times has so
-enervated the British character, that Englishmen lack somewhat of that
-generous pugnacity which, in the days of our fathers, would precipitate
-them into the arena of the law to feed with their own flesh the lions
-therein prowling. And when it happens that a gentleman with the true
-English blood in him shall resolve upon such noble sacrifice, why, so
-numerous are the animals awaiting him, that many a term shall pass, and
-not one of the _carnivora_ shall have so much as a mouthful of the
-honest gentleman’s flesh—shall not even make their mark in him. Consider
-it well, reader; count, if you can, the hundreds of excellent, watchful,
-well-disposed persons who, every morning during term, come down to the
-Courts to prey; and who, nevertheless, return to their homes all
-innocent of strife. Is not this a discouraging prospect for thousands of
-young men, most of them very willing to become Chancellor? But so it is;
-the profession has a greater supply than demand. In fifty years it will
-be thought great luck in a man to die Lord Chief Justice or
-Attorney-General.
-
-In the Army, a profession that I have followed with an ardour peculiarly
-my own, can anything be more barren? Here am I, at the age of
-nine-and-thirty—I, who have—but no, the dignity of my subject, the
-national importance of this treatise, shall not be lessened or neglected
-by aught personal. Hence, I disdain to speak of a deep bayonet wound
-inflicted in the most dastardly manner in the small of my back, during
-my first campaign in Biscay—of a gash across my nose, from an enemy’s
-sickle, when bivouacking in a hen-roost—of an imaginary fracture of the
-_os_—but no; I have said it, I will not mingle my private griefs, were I
-chicken-hearted enough to think them so, with matters of national
-interest. Besides, every man’s country is proverbially ungrateful to
-him. Hence, I should despise myself did I more than allude, in the most
-evanescent way, to my heavy pecuniary losses in the service of Mexico,
-Chili, Peru, and other places too numerous to mention. But so it is; and
-what, I ask—what cares the commander-in-chief, sitting in his pride of
-place at the Horse Guards—what cares he for my superb plum-pudding
-spotted charger, shot whilst grazing—it was only the day before I had
-been on him—by an enemy’s vidette? What cares he for the loss of my
-three saddles, generously given up to be converted into highlows for my
-barefooted comrades? Yes, what—I must, I will ask it—cares the said
-commander-in-chief for the subsequent ignominy endured in consequence of
-that gallant steed—that by me devoted leather? Would it affect him, even
-for half-an-hour, to know that on my return to England—my beloved
-land!—after three years’ absence, I was, at half-past six on a December
-morning, summoned by my landlady to see a Mr Jones, the said Mr Jones
-and a friend at the same time entering my apartment to remind me of my
-lost barb, my long-forgotten saddles? On that morning the
-commander-in-chief was, I doubt it not, snoring ingloriously in bed;
-little dreaming—it may be, little caring—that at that hour a brother
-soldier, placed between two big men in a small gig, was being conveyed
-at the rate of three miles an hour through fog and frost to Chancery
-Lane. I remember the Tyburn-like pace; for, let me do his benevolence
-justice, Mr Levi in the handsomest way apologised for not having had the
-horse _roughed_; adding that, as he had no other call to make that
-morning, “he was not in no ’urry.”
-
-Friendly reader, as an officer and a gentleman, I protest to you that I
-would not have even thus casually alluded to personal adventures did
-they not in the most striking, and I may add in the most pathetic manner
-illustrate the condition of a man who, with a military flame burning in
-his breast, generously offers his fire in the cause of nations. I might
-proceed; but the same modesty that has hitherto confined me to the rank
-of captain—and I may here allude to an infamous conspiracy on the part
-of the publisher and printers of the _Army List_, my name, as I have
-been informed, having been maliciously omitted from that miscellany—the
-same modesty ties up my tongue on my own sufferings, my own deserts; or
-at most but lets it move in fitful murmurings. I have done! To proceed.
-
-In the Army what are the hopes for superabundant young gentlemen, too
-spirited to starve, and too nice to dig? What, I ask, can be their hopes
-when a hypocritic sentimentality is gaining ground amongst those who are
-pleased to call themselves thinking men—a whining, sneaking abuse of
-glory and all its mighty purposes? There is a whimpering, white-faced
-cowardice that would extract all the stern immortal beauty from the
-battlefield, showing it to be no other than a place of butchery; that
-would display the valiant soldier with his throat cut, his bowels
-gloriously protruding, as a horrible sight—a piece of sacrilege done by
-man upon his fellow. And more than this, the same cant lifts up its face
-of turnip pallor, and pointing to where ten or twelve thousand stalwart
-fellows lie magnificently dead in blood and mire, has the effrontery to
-ask _cui bono_, as my old schoolmaster used to say—to put the impudent
-“_What’s the good of it?_” I should abuse the ingenuousness of the young
-martial spirit were I to be silent on the innovation of this wicked
-principle; a principle which, with the infamous invention of the steam
-gun and the unhallowed introduction of the rocket brigade, will go far,
-or Captain Whitefeather is no prophet, to utterly destroy what I was
-once proud to think the instinct for war in the “paragon of animals.”
-There is something inconceivably cowardly in the steam gun. Possessed of
-such engines, neither party will fight; and thus, nations always
-prepared for war, will hold continual peace. They will, so to speak,
-treat and deliberate at “full cock”; and being always ready, will never
-fire. Is not this, I ask, a lamentable state of the world for a man to
-be born in? Let us, however, unflinchingly look truth in the face; by so
-doing we shall be the better prepared for the evil days at hand, which
-to enable men to meet with some serenity of mind is the high purpose of
-this essay. Such days are nearer, much nearer, than those who have
-capital in powder mills like to dream of. We shall, of course, continue
-to keep a small standing army; but blank cartridges for birthdays will
-be the only order from the Horse Guards: bullets will become as rare as
-brilliants; whole tons of the death-dealing lead being sold to the
-type-founders. Laurel, “the meed of mighty conquerors”—why a whole grove
-of it will in the coming time be held of no more account, nay, of not so
-much, as a handful of dried marjoram. Have I dreamt it, or did I at a
-late philosophical meeting see a grave, pragmatic man rise from his
-seat, and when up, did I or did I not hear him seriously put it as a
-motion—that the planet Mars should be no longer called Mars, but be
-known to all future generations as JAMES WATT?
-
-The Army, then, affords no refuge for the tens of thousands up to within
-these few years begotten, christened, suckled, nursed, fondled,
-schooled, petted, sported with, wept over by fathers and mothers, uncles
-and aunts, grandfathers and grandmothers, for the glorious purposes of
-war. In such case is it not, I ask, the highest purpose of the
-philanthropist to find employment for men, who in happier times might
-have been usefully employed in burning the cottages of our enemies,
-lessening the numbers of our enemies’ children (thus nipping a foe in
-the bud) on lances and bayonets, tearing up olive groves, carrying away
-the vanity of plate and pictures from enemies’ churches, and in fire,
-and blood, and terror, planting the immortal bay? Since the British Lion
-is no longer to be fed upon Frenchmen’s flesh, since he is henceforth to
-have a regimen of bread and milk and dates, it behoves us to see that he
-be gradually and duly prepared for the change in his diet, lest
-consumption fall upon him; or, a still greater point, lest he break all
-bonds and spread dismay around.
-
-I have now, I trust, convincingly proved that the many asylums hitherto
-open to the pious, the wise, and the brave, are most inconveniently
-crammed; and that with less room for an increasing generation, the
-crowds will consequently become more dense, more clamorous, and in a
-word, more revolutionary. What is the remedy in this great natural
-crisis?
-
-In one word make I answer—“Swindling!”
-
-The philosophy of the present time is remarkable for its contempt—nay,
-for its wholesome abhorrence of poverty. A want of the luxuries of life
-is not merely inconvenient, it is positively ignominious. Hence what
-wrigglings, and smugglings, and heartburnings are every day acted and
-endured, to stand well with the world; that is, to stand without a hole
-in our hat or a damning rent in our small clothes! The modern man is
-wonderfully spiritualised by this philosophy; so much so that if he can
-secure to himself a display of the collar he is almost wholly
-unconscious of the absence of the shirt. Indeed so deep and so widely
-spread is this sentiment that the present time might be denominated the
-Age of Collars.
-
-This spirit is on the advance; and it is the consciousness of this truth
-that impresses upon me the necessity of publishing a system by the
-adoption of which the country may be saved from a desolating revolution,
-and tens of thousands of future generations be secured those benefits
-and enjoyments which, as the sons of Adam, they are justified in
-expecting from the fulness of time.
-
-I have proved, at least to my own satisfaction—a great sustaining point
-with an author—proved that by the natural course of things multitudes of
-generous spirits, before devoted to the professions, will be thrown upon
-their own resources—a dreadful condition for most men. What is to become
-of them? They cannot sink down into petty hucksters; railroads have
-destroyed the race of pedlars; they must not, even if they had
-sufficient moral courage, hold forth their white hands as medicants; and
-if, stung by the injustice of society, they should in a moment of
-exasperation take to the road, why, highwaymen, save and except the
-highwaymen of fifty years ago, cease to be picturesque; and there is
-another heavy discouragement—the barbarous institution of a rural
-police. These fiery souls—the unemployed, superabundant young
-gentlemen—must, then, become knight-errants; that is, they must
-institute an order of chivalry peculiar to the age, and the best
-calculated to meet the wants of the sufferers. Let us take a single
-knight.
-
-Here is Peter Muddleton, son of Jonah Muddleton, greengrocer,
-Houndsditch. Jonah Muddleton dies, leaving Peter heir to the goodwill of
-his shop, with seven hundred pounds in the three per cents. Well, had
-Peter fallen upon a less ambitious age, he would have tied his apron
-around him, walked behind the counter, and, saving a new coat of red and
-yellow paint bestowed upon the outside of the shop, and the substitution
-of “Peter” for “Jonah,” things would have gone on even as when Muddleton
-senior was in the flesh. Peter, however, has a spirit above ha’porths of
-starch and pen’orths of pepper; and having, as he most potently
-believes, a gentlemanly taste, resolves to do anything that may become a
-gentleman, but certainly not keep to a shop. The seven hundred pounds,
-to Peter’s real astonishment, become in a brief time about eight hundred
-shillings. A little month and Peter is penniless. What is to be done? Is
-Peter to be blamed for the spirit of the age? Could he, the hapless son
-of a vulgar sire, stultify himself to the fascinating and exalting
-appeals of an advancing era? No; he is, in the first instance, the
-victim of over refinement, and his moral perceptions having been
-rendered painfully acute to the degradation of a shop, and his physical
-man far too thin-skinned for the labour of Adam—and, moreover, having
-not a sixpence, and seeing no gentlemanly mode of obtaining that
-much-abused yet most necessary little coin—he magnanimously resolves to
-eat and drink the best, and to wear the costliest, and all—without it.
-This is the determination of a genius: but even the most consummate wit
-may be assisted by the experience of others, and it would be a sorry
-affectation in me—it would be worse, it would be a gross injustice to my
-fellow-creatures—to deny that from my own observation of life I am
-incapable of the dearest services to young gentlemen so curiously placed
-as Peter Muddleton.
-
-I have taken a single case; I have adduced one of the humblest examples;
-I already see a hundred thousand, many varying in their original rank in
-life; but all, at length, compelled by the spirit of the age to take
-their stand upon the broad ground of—SWINDLING.
-
-All commercial operations of the present, and certainly of the future
-age, do and will tend to place the whole wealth of the country in a few
-hands. I am not vain enough to suppose that this book will enjoy a large
-daily sale for more than a hundred years; with all the partiality of an
-author, I cannot bring myself to expect that the state of society—whose
-wants the work is to meet—will endure above another century. However, I
-shall have done my duty, and I may safely leave the year 2000 to the
-active philanthropy of other WHITEFEATHERS. For more than the next
-hundred years there must, if my previous hypotheses are allowed, be an
-enormous amount of intelligence unemployed by the professions; the
-tangible fat of the land becoming every year engrossed by a smaller
-number. Now, to prevent any violent partition of property, it is—I can
-lay my hand on my heart and vow it—it is my purpose to make the few
-contribute in the easiest and pleasantest way to the wants of the many.
-Briefly, it is my object to show to the elegant unemployed how they may
-successfully and safely swindle the shopkeeping minority. The whole
-system is reduced into a trial of wit; and if the swindler be a man of
-real genius, and the man swindled have a touch of generous feeling in
-him, he will forget what might be vulgarly called a loss in admiration
-of his conqueror. I have seen much of shopkeeping nature; and I am
-convinced that a man properly, wholly, and withal delicately
-swindled—where there have been no rubs or hitches in the work—that a man
-who, with all his eyes and ears about him, has nevertheless, without his
-knowing it, been turned, “like a cheveril glove,” inside out by the
-professor—that such a man, after the first burst of disappointment,
-feels but little of the bitterness of resentment; the small drop of gall
-in his heart is speedily taken up, and by a process delightful for the
-benevolent mind to consider, is assimilated to the milk of human
-kindness still running in the ventricles of the swindled; who—I have
-known such an instance—after a moody, savage look, will burst into a
-laugh, slap his leg, and with a confident, yea, with an exulting voice,
-declare that “no less a swindler could ever have swindled _him_.” Here
-is a homage—an irresistible token of admiration—paid to one man; and if
-we consider, in proportion to the possessions of the others, how small,
-how trivial has been the tribute levied upon him, a positive enjoyment
-afforded to another! Believe it, reader, the swindled, if well swindled,
-is not without his joy.
-
-This maxim is never to be lost sight of by the pupil. If he would disarm
-a man of the natural ferocity of the animal when fobbed, he must fob him
-blandly, graciously, completely. Humanity—a consideration of the
-feelings of others—demands this. How often have we seen a worthy man in
-a very tempest of passion—his face like copper—his eyes starting—his
-tongue stammering his wrongs:—“The—the—the—infamous scoundrel!—the
-barefaced villain! Did he think I was to be done in that way? Did he
-think me a fool?”
-
-There it is, take the good man’s goods; but, in the taking, see you
-never wound his self-love.
-
-
-
-
-                              CHAPTER III
-
-OF THE FACE NECESSARY TO A SWINDLER—(AN INCIDENTAL SPECULATION ON THE
-    “DIVISION OF PROPERTY”)—AND OF THE USE AND ABUSE OF MUSTACHIOS
-
-
-IT is a homely expression, often used in reply to a sarcasm on a
-personal deformity, “that we did not make ourselves.” Not even a
-Professor of Political Economy can argue away this conviction, rooted
-as it is in the depths of the human heart. Much, however, can be done
-with the rude lump—if indeed it be rude—whereof man finds himself the
-ill-starred possessor. Hence, let no one moderately deformed despair
-of his fitness to join our brotherhood Hump backs, club feet, and bow
-shins have, it must be owned, their disadvantages for the
-service—notwithstanding, the genius of their owners may triumph over
-such outward obstacles. A fine face tastefully set in hair may be
-considered a blessing for the profession; yet it would be to inflict a
-great injustice on the higher uses of the science to suppose a mere
-face so framed all-sufficient. No; “we work by wit and not by
-whiskers.” The outward man goes far, but he must depend upon the
-ethereal spark—upon the inward intelligence—for self-distinction.
-
-And first for the FACE OF A SWINDLER. Men who set themselves up as
-judges of character—I have heard the sciolists—sometimes marvel that the
-sons of commerce should so frequently fall victims to some individual
-swindler; when he, the party swindling, is one of the most ingenuous
-creatures breathing; looking, in fact, the swindler that he is,—when
-from his eyebrows to the corners of his lips there is painted in the
-largest human capitals the calling of the professor. The truth is, the
-unsuspecting men accustomed to pore over day-books and ledgers have not
-had sufficient time to learn to read human faces. They can on the
-instant, if put to the test, tell a good guinea from a bad one; but
-though they shall stare in the features of a human counterfeit for an
-hour or more, they cannot, one in a hundred, discover the washed brass
-from the true gold. More; though they shall hear the counterfeit—though
-the ring of its voice shall be the truest Brummagem—the trading man
-shall complacently rub his hands, satisfied that he is hearing the
-sweetest sound of the mint.
-
-I confess it, to the honour of the trading community of this commercial
-country, I confess it; the success of some faces of my brotherhood upon
-men behind counters has been to me startling evidence of the
-unsophisticated character of the tradesman. For instance; there is
-Nobrowns, Scarceamag, Fleeceington, and others I could name—shall I own
-it?—I have sometimes felt myself humiliated by their prosperity. I have
-felt the science lowered by the facility with which they have
-ingratiated themselves into the favour of the jeweller, the coachmaker,
-the tailor. Had _I_ kept shop, I have thought I should have shown
-Nobrowns to the door at the first glance of his eye; and without looking
-at Scarceamag, but simply hearing his base-metal voice, I should have
-told him I had nothing in his way, and straightway ordered him across
-the threshold. And yet these men have flourished for a score of years;
-and, at this moment, are prosperous swindlers. How is the enigma to be
-explained—how the more than Arcadian innocency of the dwellers in Bond
-Street and Regent Street to be philosophically accounted for? Is it,
-that men immersed in the profound abstraction of £ s. d. lose somewhat
-of the sagacity inherited and often improved by poorer souls; that, too
-much rapt by the splendid visions of the future profits, they are less
-vigilant as to the danger of present credit? Providence, however, hath
-wisely partitioned its benefits. If it be given to Scarceamag, with
-_his_ face, to swindle and be poor—it is also allotted to Puddingtête,
-the tradesman, to be swindled and grow rich. Take this, then, my dear
-pupil, for an axiom: you may—since you cannot help it—look the greatest
-swindler in life; but if you shall hold your own counsel, your face
-shall, at least to the acute men behind counters, never reveal it.
-Tradesmen can read anything but customers’ faces.[12] This truth is
-every day borne out by the success of fellows whose features have gone
-far to vulgarise the science. Ragamuffins who ought never to have
-aspired beyond the pea-and-thimble board at a country fair—knaves marked
-and impressed by the truthful hand of nature for the lowest offices of
-legerdemain have, trusting to the simplicity, the unsuspecting
-ingenuousness of a money-getting generation, to the marvellous innocency
-of the commercial body, made for themselves a reputation of the first
-class, or of very nearly the first class of the highest profession.
-Ultimately, in the advancement of society, these vulgar upstarts will be
-met by a greater number of competitors, elevated and accomplished with
-the graces of life, and the term swindler will be, as it ought to be,
-synonymous with gentleman. The commercial faculty will, on the other
-hand, be rendered more acute in its observation of human character;
-hence it will require a greater delicacy of style—more imposing and a
-more winning manner to arrive at any distinction—indeed, even to make a
-clear paltry five hundred a year as a swindler, than in these times will
-suffice to ensure to a tolerably industrious man an income of a
-thousand. This is inevitable. When the tens of thousands of noble
-spirits, heretofore absorbed by the professions, are left to trade upon
-their wits—when all society is more strongly marked, more arbitrarily
-divided into two classes, the swindlers and the swindled—when, instead
-of a violent and ruthless division of property, as infamously as
-ignorantly insisted upon by certain firebrands—there is a graceful
-exchange of elegant patronage on the one side, and a profound expression
-of thanksgiving respect on the other, the character of the successful
-swindler will rise to its ordained and natural elevation, and a
-Whitefeather (pardon the honest vanity) take his place with many
-illustrious names sufficiently obvious to the philosophical reader. The
-time is happily passing away when brute violence is to achieve national
-good—when the price of bread is to be beaten down by a bludgeon, or
-wages raised upon a pike. It is therefore a matter of deep regret to the
-contemplative man, and such I am not ashamed to confess myself, to
-perceive how many gifted persons are, by a premature nativity,
-ill-placed. How many men at the present day breathing national arson and
-patriotic pillage—men who have so profoundly studied the _meum_, that
-they are entirely ignorant of that of _tuum_—would, born a few years
-hence, have shed a lustre, have conferred a dignity upon even an
-illustrious and dignified profession. Let me not be asked to enumerate
-examples—I eschew the personal for the general. It is enough that the
-eye of the philosopher can perceive in many a sulphureous patriot the
-indefatigable swindler; that the sage, pondering on the inevitable
-changes of society, can detect in a present Bull-ring Brutus all the
-misapplied qualities of a future Isaac Solomons!
-
-Footnote 12:
-
-  I can scarcely believe that Captain Whitefeather was a reader of the
-  Essays of David Hume; and yet a similar opinion—a friend of mine, a
-  poor curate to whom I showed the Captain’s MS., pointed it out to
-  me—is expressed by the sceptic philosopher, who, in his Essay on
-  “Delicacy of Taste,” says:—“You will seldom find that mere men of the
-  world, whatever strong sense they may be endowed with, are very nice
-  in distinguishing characters, or in marking those insensible
-  differences and gradations which make one man preferable to
-  another.”—[JOHN JACKDAW, Ed.]
-
-Blissful time—glorious return of the golden age—when rapine and fire,
-and cutting and maiming shall no longer be the evils adopted by
-comprehensive minds to work out, as they conceive, a great good; but
-when one half of the people shall live peaceably upon the other; when
-the whole aim and end of every two men out of four shall be to possess
-themselves of their daily bread—(philosophers will receive the phrase in
-its more enlarged meaning)—by an art demanding in its exercise the
-highest and most chastened faculties of the moral creature. The two
-halves of society will then be fairly arrayed against each other; and
-for ruthless weapons—for sword, dagger, and pistol on one side, and
-bayonet, sabre, and carbine on the other—we shall have the more peaceful
-and courteous instruments, silvery words, blandest smiles, and the
-happiest self-possession, opposed by cautious interrogation, wary looks
-and silent heavy doubtings. Here then is a contest worthy of
-intellectual beings! This is indeed a duello of the immortal principle!
-How poor, how savage, how unworthy of a rational creature to break into
-the peaceful dwelling of an honest silversmith—to fire his
-bed-curtains—to bruise and batter his ornate cream-jugs, his chased
-candlesticks, and embossed tankards,—or, the spoil carried off amidst
-the exulting howl of barbarians, to fling it into the hospitable
-melting-pot—how loathsome, how degrading this brutal mode of a division
-of property, to that refined and gracious system, the cunning birth of
-better times—the fruit of a loftier and truer consideration of man’s
-dignity towards his fellow!
-
-Let us consider the two pictures; let us contemplate the working of the
-different principles. How revolting the scene of violence! How debasing
-to our common nature to witness a mob of denaturalised creatures
-bursting in the good man’s door! How they scamper upstairs! Like festal
-savages they wave firebrands and torches about their heads as they rush
-into the sacred bedroom. The worthy man says a short prayer, and thinks
-of his stock—his wife and daughters, trembling for their lives, are
-horrified at being seen in nightcaps with their hair in paper! All the
-house is in consternation; and, a touch of humanity softening the mob,
-they benevolently suffer the silversmith and his family to escape, in
-their night-clothes, over the roof, and descend, like cats, into the
-gutter of their neighbour. The shop is ransacked of everything; and now
-a sanguinary fight is going on behind the counter between two of the
-ruffians for the plated top of a pepper-castor. This—this is one
-principle of a division of property; as if property was only to be
-divided by the blaze of torches and the crackling of rafters! Turn we to
-the ennobling contrast.
-
-
-[Illustration:
-
-  “Politely receives his destroyer”
-]
-
-
-Mark the swindler! How graciously he descends from his chariot—for the
-swindler of first-rate genius rarely marauds on foot—and with what a
-composed elegance, with what a perfect self-possession he enters the
-shop! There is something inexpressibly taking in his manner. Surveying
-him from head to foot, we cannot repress the opinion that the “age of
-chivalry” is _not_ past. He is the knight of later times—the Chevalier
-Bayard in a round hat. _Sans peur_ glows in his eyeball, and the
-whiteness of his kid gloves is _sans reproche_! Two or three centuries
-ago he had, with mailed hand, “shaken the bags of hoarding abbots,” and
-now comes he, with a condescending smile at his mouth, to deal with a
-silversmith. See! he crosses the threshold—treads the shop. It is
-impossible to resist the fascination of his lofty courtesy. The
-tradesman, wary as he is—suspicious as loss after loss has made
-him—despite of himself, confesses the supremacy of the stranger, and,
-with a smiling lip, a twinkling eye, folded palms, and inclined back,
-politely receives his destroyer. A conversation ensues; and the
-swindler—I am of course putting the case of a man of genius—fastens upon
-the tradesman, who every moment becomes more deeply impressed with the
-consequence of his patron; and therefore, having flung to the winds all
-low suspicion, is the most obsequious, the most humble servant of the
-swindler. There is nothing too costly for him—nothing too curious; no
-order too difficult to be met—no time too short for the accomplishment
-of his wishes. The swindler is evidently a man of the very highest
-consequence; and the silversmith, if I may adopt a homely expression, is
-inevitably _done_, ay, done—
-
-                       “—as brown as a berry.”[13]
-
-Footnote 13:
-
-  It will be seen that the Captain had some knowledge of Chaucer.—[JOHN
-  JACKDAW, Ed.]
-
-The swindler whirls away from the tradesman, who has attended him,
-bareheaded, to the kerbstone, and then the man of precious metals
-returns to his shop in that delightful serenity of mind, apt, I am told,
-to possess people with profits ranging from fifty to seventy-five in the
-hundred.
-
-What—it will be asked—what, does Mr Giltspur, the silversmith, without
-further questions put, trust his service of plate, besides a magnificent
-suite of amethysts (for which the honourable Mr Thug expressed a sudden
-liking), to the honour of his customer? To be sure he does; and his
-blood simmering with a sense of profit, he orders them to be delivered
-at “——— Hotel,” where Mr Thug is staying; but which delightful and
-convenient hostelry he, shortly afterwards, suddenly leaves on the most
-imperative business. A thousand instances bear out the probability of
-Thug’s success and Giltspur’s discomfiture. People may talk about the
-innocence of a pastoral age: I am, from long experience, convinced of
-it, that the most innocent, the most unsuspecting, the most easily-taken
-biped on the face of the earth is—your London shopkeeper. Armed with
-proper weapons, it is almost impossible that he can escape you. The poor
-creature is weakness, imbecility itself; “Wear your eye thus,” and as
-surely as the fluttering bird drops into the mouth of the snake, as
-surely fall the tribe of Giltspurs into the folds of the Thugs.
-
-Well, and is it not delightful that it should be so? Here is Giltspur,
-for a certain number of days at least, made very happy; he has delivered
-his goods, and has already calculated to the odd sevenpence-halfpenny
-the amount of profit. Thug has conferred upon him a great
-pleasure—passing, it must be owned—but sweet, very sweet, whilst it
-endures.
-
-Does the reader still remember the picture of violence drawn in a former
-page? Does he still behold the pallid silversmith—his fainting wife—and
-blushing daughters? Does he yet hear the roar of the flames, as they
-come up the staircase—the fury of pillage in the shop below?
-
-The same effect is produced by the swindler, but how different the
-cause! The “division of property” is just as complete—the fine, deep
-philosophy that preaches it equally well honoured; and yet, what grace
-on one side—what civility on the other; and, to one party at least, what
-tangible, enduring satisfaction! Who, then, with the smallest spark of
-human dignity within him would stoop to violence when he may “divide”
-with ease? The “multiplication” of the human animal is, indeed,
-according to the modern school-men, “vexation”; but the “division” of
-property—unless divided on the bland principles of swindling—would be
-infinitely worse. In the progress of society, then, it is by swindling,
-and by swindling only, that we shall escape the most grievous
-revolution.
-
-To proceed with the personal qualifications necessary to a Swindler. He
-must have a face of purest brass. If handsome, all the better; yet,
-perhaps, expression is of greater importance than the mere proportion of
-feature. If, however, he _look_ a Swindler—if to the contemplative men
-who peruse human lines, printed in the blackest ink on some human faces,
-he look his profession—his success with the sages of trade is certain.
-It is, however, of the first importance that there should be no alloy in
-the face. It should, for instance, be as incapable of emotion as the
-bull hide on the shield of Ajax.[14] This, youthful Swindler, is the
-besetting danger; hence, bend all your energies to obtain a stony look
-of self-possession. Though a constable should put his “dead hand” upon
-your shoulder, and your very marrow should thrill at the touch—your face
-must remain motionless as the face of the Apollo Belvidere—your eye
-unquenched—your voice with not a crack in it. I will not disguise the
-difficulties of arriving at this super-human placidity. Talk of the
-self-possession of a Cæsar—the coolness of a Napoleon—quackery all! What
-is there in the composure of a man who takes snuff whilst hundreds of
-other men’s limbs are being blown into the air (to be wept over by the
-spirits of glory), with at the most a _sauve qui peut_ for it; whilst,
-in the scale of advantage, there is a laurel wreath and a triumphant
-entry and civic addresses,—what is all this to the quiet dignity
-demanded of a swindler in a perilous situation—his splendid cabriolet,
-perhaps, waiting at the shop—whilst, sneaked out at the back door, Bob
-the apprentice has run for Police Officer Snatchem, F. No. 20, to attend
-immediately to our hero, who at his approach beholds a no dim vision of
-the very handsome police omnibus—the prison barber with his ignominious
-shears—and hears, or thinks he hears, the pathetic, admonitory address
-of Common Sergeant or Recorder? It may, according to a worn metaphor,
-take nerves of iron to direct an army; but they must be brass, and of
-the finest brass too, to swindle. Fighting is, indeed, a mechanic trade;
-millions can fight,—but how few can gracefully swindle! We know that the
-result of both operations is often the same, but how inferior one to the
-other! Bonaparte brought a _few_ pictures from Italy, which the
-world—Heaven knows!—made noise enough about. In warlike phrase he “took
-them” from a vanquished people: a poor, shabby act to brag of; but had
-he, unassisted by squadrons and battalions, and parks of artillery—had
-he, by the unassisted efforts of his own mind, with no other masked
-battery, no other weapon than his own hand and his own tongue,—had he
-robbed one dealer of a Correggio—another of a Raphael—a third of a
-Titian—a fourth of a Murillo—and so on,—it had indeed been an
-achievement to boast of; but to crack of the incident as one of the
-trophies of the army of Italy was the sublime of gasconading! My late
-friend Featherfinger—he died, poor fellow, having burst a blood-vessel
-from intense study at Macquarrie Harbour—had a magnificent bronze clock;
-a superb thing! a thing to make a man value time. Had I not pledged my
-honour to secrecy, I could write a history touching his possession of
-that clock, which, of itself, is enough to immortalise any one man. My
-honour, however, is sacred; and my lips are hushed. This much, probably,
-I may be permitted to observe: The industry—nay, that is a poor,
-unworthy term—the genius manifested by the indefatigable Featherfinger
-to possess that clock—methinks I see him now; poor fellow! seated with
-his Greek cap, his black satin morning gown figured with pink poppies—an
-Indian shawl (the _gage d’amour_ of an Italian countess) about his
-waist—his feet in bead-embroidered slippers, the work, as he protested,
-of some heart-devoted heiress—his meerschaum in his mouth—in his hand a
-book, _Satan_ or the _Lives of Highwaymen_ (for he was passionately fond
-of light literature)—his tiger page, only three feet high, and warranted
-to grow no taller, in green and gold, with a breast-plate of best double
-gilt buttons, standing at a reverential distance—whilst the bronze clock
-on the mantelpiece vibrated with its monitory, moralising—yes,
-moralising—_tick, tick!_ Methinks I see him as I enter raise one eye
-from the page, nod, smile—and such a smile!—there was only one
-shopkeeper, and he was a philosophical member of the Society of Friends
-and dealer in _virtu_, that ever stood against it—smile, and then cast
-the other eye towards the clock itself with a look of touching reproach
-at my delay, or with a glance of approving pleasure at my punctuality.
-Methinks I see him—Gracious powers! That such a man should die at
-Macquarrie Harbour, taxed beyond his strength of study, a victim to—but
-no; loyalty to the Ministry was ever a virtue of the Whitefeathers, and
-I breathe no word against the Whigs! To hurry from the theme. Much has
-been said about the boldness, the fine contempt of public opinion shown
-by Napoleon when he took the horses of St Mark from Venice to place them
-on his own palace gate in Paris. Well, the act was not without its
-merit, but did I dare to write the story of Featherfinger’s clock, the
-theft of Napoleon would, in comparison to the genius manifested by my
-friend, sink to the petty larceny committed by schoolboys upon apple
-stalls. But so it is; the finest history remains, and ever will remain,
-unwritten. The Venice horses have been celebrated by poets and
-historians, but posterity is left to bewilder itself with guesses on
-Featherfinger’s clock. Yet—and I am prepared to meet the consequences of
-such an assertion—I am convinced that great as the conqueror was in all
-the varieties of the science, Buonaparte’s horses must pass from the
-recollection of the earth; whereas Featherfinger’s clock, duly
-chronicled, was a thing for time! It may be cited as an illustration of
-the injustice of Fortune—of the tricks she plays with the noble and the
-man—when the reader is informed that the tiger page of my dear friend—of
-him whose bones are mouldering (for he _was_ buried) in a foreign
-earth—of him born, as the poet says—
-
-               “To steal a grace beyond the reach of art”—
-
-that that little cab-page—that tiger-moth fluttering as I have seen him
-with _billet-doux_ about the carriage-lamps and round the torches of an
-opera night,—that he has at this moment a country-seat and grounds at
-Hackney, purchased and supported by the precarious profits of a
-night-house—that is, of a mansion hospitably open in the vicinity of
-Drury Lane, for the refreshment of travellers with beer, beef and
-oysters, from eleven at night until six in the morning. But so it is; a
-genius, like my departed friend, dies beggared at the last; whilst mere
-industry at forty-five grows his own pine apples!
-
-Footnote 14:
-
-  I may, by the way, observe that the Captain, whose education was not
-  equal to his parts, is indebted for a few of his classical allusions
-  to another pen.—[JOHN JACKDAW, Ed.]
-
-I have, I trust, been sufficiently minute in my description of the face
-requisite to be put upon Swindling. In conclusion, I have only to
-enforce the necessity of the most rigid self-discipline to prevent even
-the most evanescent exhibition of what is conveniently called modesty;
-for the swindler who can blush is lost. His must be a brow whereon
-
-                       “Shame is ashamed to sit.”
-
-A money-lender, a courtier, steeped to the lips in broken promises—a
-pick-pocket caught in the act, all of these may, if they can, blush and
-not be ruined; but woe to the swindler whose cheek admits the
-self-accusing tint! His face, like the face of the man in the moon, must
-look down upon all sorts of acted abominations, yet blench not.
-
-MUSTACHIOS.—These _were_ pretty things for the profession; but I grieve
-to say it, lawyers’ clerks, linen-drapers’ apprentices, players out of
-place, and even pedestrian vendors of lucifer matches, have detracted
-from their exclusive importance; hence, I would counsel the youthful,
-sanguine swindler to eschew what indeed vulgar usage has rendered a very
-questionable advantage, and to swindle with clean lips. It is enough to
-break the heart of a rabbi to see how one of “Heaven’s best gifts,” the
-human beard, is in these hirsute days cut and notched according to the
-impudence or ignorance of the wearer. It is said of the French that they
-have a thousand ways of cooking an egg: let it be our boast that we have
-as many modes of dressing the chin. I have, I hope, a love of the
-picturesque, as the world will one day know from a work of mine still,
-unhappily, in manuscript.[15] I, therefore, am a passionate admirer of
-the beard of patriarchal growth; but for your nasty, stunted, straggly,
-ragged, edgy things—now like the skin of a dog with the mange, now like
-the end of a skein of whitey-brown thread, now as if culled from chopped
-hay, and now as if cut from a singed blanket—pah!—were I caliph for a
-day—but no matter, let me not wander to legislation, but stick to my
-higher subject—Swindling. I say, then, to my disciple, eschew
-mustachios. At best they are a doubtful good. If, however, you are
-determined to wear them, let me hope that their hue is black as death.
-If, on the contrary, Heaven has awarded you a pair of pale gold or deep
-carrot colour, tamper not with them, but shave. Never, like Richard,
-think to stand “the hazard of the _die_”; if so, your case is desperate.
-I knew three promising young fellows, all of whom laid their ruin at the
-door of Mr Rowland. But—for I like to anticipate—it may be asked, Do you
-always, Captain Whitefeather, walk abroad with unrazored lips? To this I
-boldly answer that—for I was justified in the vanity—I did wear an
-adorned mouth; more, that a lady, who shall be nameless, was in
-hysterics (of course at intervals) for three days, when my mustachios
-fell; but no, I could not condescend to wear them when I saw—yes, I
-confess it—even a better pair than my own upon the face of a fellow in
-the Surrey gallery, selling play-bills, Spanish nuts, and ginger beer.
-What the revolution of society may in time produce it would of course be
-impudence in me, who am not a Paternoster Row astrologer, to declare;
-but, for the next five-and-twenty years, mustachios will, I think, be a
-dangerous decoration for the swindler. So much business has been done
-with them that suspicion will have scarcely subsided under at least
-another quarter of a century. The horse-tails of Ibrahim Pacha have not
-been more triumphant; but victory will not always perch upon the same
-banner.
-
-Footnote 15:
-
-  _The Handbook of Ratcliffe Highway_, an inestimable work (when
-  printed) for the stranger in London.—[JOHN JACKDAW, Ed.]
-
-The swindler should not at the present day hope to take the Philistines
-by the strength of his hair. No; let him shave, and put the barest face
-upon the dignity of his profession—it cannot be _too_ bare.
-
-
-
-
-                               CHAPTER IV
-
-  OF THE PARENTAGE AND NAME OF A SWINDLER—OF HIS EQUIPAGE—OF HIS MORAL
-                               PHILOSOPHY
-
-
-THE professor of our distinguished art has, it must be conceded, this
-peculiar and most grateful advantage—he may choose his ancestors. With
-the _Peerage_ or the _Red Book_ open before him, it lies within his own
-breast to decide whether he shall have come from the loins of a Norman
-baron—of one of the boldest of that invincible band of marauders and
-thieves who jumped on Hastings beach—or whether he shall be the last of
-a collateral branch of the Strozzi, or Frangepani, or of any other
-Italian house whose beginning, in the opinion of divers heralds, dates
-from beyond Numa. Here is a glorious prerogative! The swindler may make
-his own coat-of-arms, although his immediate father walked the earth
-without a shirt. Show me any other man possessing so delicious a
-privilege. With long rolls of knights and barons, and earls and princes
-before him, how the swindler may play the epicure with the mighty dead!
-How loftily, yet how serenely, may he contemplate the titled dust of
-bygone generations! Even as your dainty snuff-taker coquets with a dozen
-samples of the odoriferous tobacco, so may the swindler, pondering on a
-choice of father and mother, taste with his moral sense the various
-claims of buried greatness. Now, he likes this Prince’s mixture—and now
-this. He is puzzled, perplexed by the hundred appeals to his filial
-affection. He is one minute determined to have come from the
-Montmorencys—the next, he feels a yearning towards the Talbots—and in a
-few seconds, lo! he will make a kindred to himself from the golden line
-of D’Este. If the reader possess imagination—and if he do not I tremble
-for my book—he must sympathise with the delightful tumult in the
-swindler’s brain and breast, or rather brain alone—(for with your true
-swindler the brain must have played the Aaron’s rod with the heart,
-swallowing it whole; a miracle very often performed in the anatomy of
-great public men)—he must feel more than commonly interested in the
-contest which is to decide the parentage of our hero. With this allusion
-to the delicacy of the juncture, we leave the swindler at his books,
-merely impressing upon him the necessity of choosing a long way back—of
-electing an ancestor from some by-way catacomb—some seldom visited
-cemetery—some “untrod on corner i’ the earth.” Nor let him despair;
-there are at least a round thousand or two of dukes and princes
-sufficiently obscure in their winding-sheets, albeit possibly brave and
-blatant enough when in the flesh, from whom the swindler may scratch out
-a great progenitor. All that is necessary is that the beginner of the
-family shall have lived in the dim twilight of civilisation—that he
-shall be so far away that all the Herald’s Colleges, with all their
-spectacles upon their collective noses, shall not be able to perceive
-whether the disentombed thing be flesh or phantom. Very satisfactory
-progenitors have been found, with arms to match, of thew and sinew just
-as questionable. If, however, the swindler _will_ have a mighty
-ancestor, let him, I repeat, go far enough for him: when a man wants a
-marquis, or an earl, or a count, for his great-grandfather, he should
-not grudge a long walk—even though he walk blindfold and backwards—for
-the commodity. So much for the ambitious swindler.
-
-The swindler, however, who trusts to his unassisted genius, and disdains
-the lustre of any specious trophies from the churchyard, may with a very
-laudable pride refuse to make to himself a grandfather, being possibly
-contented with the grandsire selected by his grandmother for him. Some
-men—and let me do all homage to their simplicity—turn up their noses at
-the genealogical tree, even though its roots were struck at Tyburn: the
-swindler of sanguine spirit may be of this proud kidney; and all the
-better: I augur more of his ultimate triumph. However, though he shall
-refuse a herald-begotten progenitor, it may be highly necessary for him
-that he shall choose a name. His own may have become celebrated for
-family achievements wide away of his purpose; and therefore, whilst with
-filial affection he sticks to his own father and mother, disdaining the
-blood of Norman, Guelph, or Ghibelline—it may be imperative upon him to
-assume a nominal device not hitherto borne by any of his kin. The
-swindler wants a name. Here, then, we approach a delicate, yes, a
-difficult point. Let me, however, set out with a solemn injunction to
-the swindler, that in the choice of a name “he throw away ambition.”
-Considerable nicety is required in the selection of a good title for
-swindling; a number of fine young fellows having—if I may lighten the
-solemnity of this essay with a familiar phrase—“let the cat out of the
-bag” by the incautious assumption of a high-sounding, flowery,
-no-meaning patronymic. The truth is, the detestable rage for novels has
-so familiarised the world with a set of sugar-and-water heroes—of
-exquisite gentlemen, all of them worthy of a glass case lest the flies
-should soil them—that their very excess of virtue has put them on the
-hue and cry of suspicion. Hence “_Delacour_,” “_Erpingham_,”
-“_Rosenthorp_,” “_Millefleur_,” and a thousand others of the courtly and
-sweet-smelling class, all in their time excellent names for swindling
-(that is, for swindling in the higher sense of the term, for in “fine
-wire wove” they swindle still), are now no other than brands,
-_stigmata_, by which the calling of the professor is instantly
-suspected. Hence, my dear pupil, take no sweet, pastry-cook name from a
-novel; cull no flower from a play-bill; but look, as either a poet or a
-member of Parliament says, I forget which, “look abroad into
-universality” for the thing desired. As you walk the street cast your
-eyes above the door of the worthy shopkeeper. A thousand to one that in
-a day’s saunter you will possess yourself, and from such a source, of a
-name in every respect unexceptionable. Yes, from the board of the
-thriving, honest, painstaking, till-respecting tradesman. And if so, how
-ingenious, how pleasant withal, to obtain one of your best weapons from,
-so to speak, the armoury of the enemy, to be fleshed immediately upon
-him! It is perhaps unnecessary to warn the young swindler that he must
-not be too homely in his choice. There is a class of names which, from
-their very abundance, makes it a matter of constructive ignominy to
-swindle under them. And some of these are Jones, Walsh, Welsh, Thomson,
-Johnson, Dobson, White, Brown, Williams, Simpson, Smithson, and that
-multitudinous monosyllable, Smith! If, in a moment of hilarity you break
-a lamp, wrench off a knocker, or snap a bell wire, why any one of these
-names may be, as of course every gentleman well knows, confidently given
-in to the night constable; but to attempt to swindle under them betrays
-a petty larceny spirit in the professor, from which my experience looks
-for little present gain or future reputation. No; the name of a swindler
-should be like the wardrobe of the true gentleman—a thing not
-challenging vulgar attention; but, if examined, found to be of the very
-best material and of the choicest workmanship. Hence let the swindler
-choose between a _clinquant_ (I do believe this is almost the first bit
-of French appearing in the essay, for the which I confess myself
-deficient in the graces of modern literature[16]), between the
-_clinquant_ of novel heroes and the homeliness of “base mechanics”—let
-his name be a solid, substantial, downright English name.
-
-Footnote 16:
-
-  The Captain is in error. Though his essay is, assuredly, barren of
-  “the tongues,” the author knows more of bookmaking than he apparently
-  chooses to confess.—[JOHN JACKDAW, Ed.]
-
-
-[Illustration:
-
-  “Any one of these names maybe confidently given to the night
-    constable”
-]
-
-
-I say English, for I think we have had too long a peace to render the
-assumption of a foreign title and a foreign accent worth the trouble,
-the incessant watchfulness, the continual stretch of a man’s intellects:
-the call upon his faculties to keep up the character should be well
-rewarded, for the hazard of self-discovery is very great. I know a
-remarkable instance of the danger. There was Thaddeus Ballynamuck—he
-once, with merely a backward touch of his hand, broke the jaw of the
-manager of a minor theatre who dared to offer him terms to bring him out
-as a Patagonian giant—there was Thaddeus, who had made a splendid six
-weeks’ campaign at the West-end as an Italian count; how admirably did
-he with the _lingua Toscana_ flavour his native Connaught! The Duke of
-Tuscany was his dear friend; and not without reason; for Thaddeus at a
-boar hunt had stood between the boar and the duke, receiving the tusks
-of the beast in his hunting jacket, for the which he had obtained a
-great many Italian orders, and on the strength of which he gave a great
-many English ones. Well, Thaddeus, though considered as true an Italian
-as the poet Asso,[17] was one morning driven to the necessity of shaving
-himself, changing his southern name, and retiring for a few weeks to the
-privacy of Southend. He was betrayed into self-discovery by an excess of
-benevolence—the more was the pity. Thus it was. He always carried in his
-cab a beautiful dove-coloured Italian greyhound, its legs not much
-thicker than goose quills, and its tail like bent wire—the gift of the
-Marchesa di Lungabarba. The dog had leaped from the cab and followed its
-master into the office of Finings, the wine merchant. Thaddeus had
-before very considerably patronised Finings, and was about to give him a
-splendid order for some choice port to be shipped to his friend the
-duke—and how the eyes of Finings twinkled at the title of his
-highness!—when the cellarman, a brawny, heavy fellow from Somerset,
-shambled into the office and trod, with all his fourteen stone, upon the
-delicate toes of Angelo the greyhound: the dog howled with agony
-piercing enough to crack the parchment heart of an old maid, when the
-Captain—he was, at the moment, with the greatest difficulty endeavouring
-to make himself understood to the wine merchant—turned round, and, to
-the astonishment of Finings, fulminating a string of oaths in the very
-purest Connaught, dealt a blow on the breast of the cellarman that sent
-him prostrate on three dozen of choice brandy—picked samples for the
-dowager Lady Drinkwater—to their utter destruction, and to the exceeding
-surprise of the wine merchant, who had never in all his life heard an
-Italian count vituperate such beautiful, such unadulterate Irish. I will
-not continue the story: Thaddeus Ballynamuck, though an admirable
-artist, fell a victim to the exuberance of his feelings; as a swindler
-he was professionally killed by Angelo, the late Marchesa di
-Lungabarba’s greyhound.
-
-Footnote 17:
-
-  The Captain doubtless means Tasso—[JOHN JACKDAW, Ed.].
-
-I have narrated this little history that it may serve as an illustration
-of the perils besetting an honest, simple, guileless Englishman who
-might wish to swindle as an exotic. There is, it must be allowed,
-unnecessary peril in the experiment; besides I question if it be not
-unpatriotic. Why defraud our mother country of the advantage of our
-reputation? Why, with ungrateful, with unfilial hand add a leaf to the
-laurel of Germany—of France—of Italy—of Russia? No; for a true born
-Briton to swindle as a noble from the Hartz mountains—as a count from
-Paris—a Roman count—or a prince from St Petersburg—is poor, shuffling,
-shabby, or, if I may use a term which I am proud to find of late very
-current among politicians and political writers (for the classes are
-more distinct than people are prone to imagine)—it is _Un-English_.
-
-America, however, has her claims upon us. The swindler may, and with
-profit, prove his recollection of the ties that once bound Columbia to
-Britain—may gratefully acknowledge a sense of the relationship between
-the mother and the daughter country, by swindling as a gentleman with
-enormous possessions in New York, or, what is still better, in Virginia.
-Here the many-sided philosopher cannot fail to recognise a new advantage
-in a community of language. The _soi-disant_ (hem! French again!), the
-_soi-disant_ American swindler may avenge the injuries of a greyhound on
-the person of a cellarman, yet run no risk of discovery. He may still
-run up and down the gamut of execration and not betray himself. Think of
-this, youthful swindler. Besides, there is another great temptation to
-offer this passing honour to America. Her unsettled currency affords the
-swindler a hundred plausible excuses if—for such improprieties do occur
-at the London Hotel, Grillon’s, the Clarendon, all the very best of
-houses—if rudely pressed to show those credentials of gentility which
-even the rudest and the most illiterate never fail to acknowledge. Thus
-the swindler may for a time throw himself upon the banks: and this the
-more safely if he have displayed a handful of letters of introduction (a
-few to the royal household), all easily manufactured, and all, for the
-time, as good as letters of credit. There is another very practicable
-deceit. He may, on the night of his arrival in London, have his pocket
-picked of certain Government securities, and, having made the keeper of
-the hotel the depository of his secret, straightway advertise the loss
-in all the papers. This, I confess, is a ticklish experiment, demanding
-the finest self-possession, the greatest delicacy to carry it into
-successful operation; and if the youthful swindler have any doubts of
-himself, I charge him by his hopes of future profit and reputation not
-to think of hazarding it. Should he, however, succeed, and the landlord
-advance liberally, he may condescend to express his best wishes for the
-prosperity of his host, and more, may invite himself to dine with him.
-Great caution, however, is to be used before there be any advance to
-such familiarity; and yet I once knew a gentleman from Natchez who
-obtained unlimited credit from his host—the pot-house keeper was
-musical—by insisting upon it that he made Dibdin’s “Lovely Nan” by the
-very force of expression remarkably like Rossini. So far, all was well;
-but, forgetful of what was due to himself as a swindler,—in the genial
-atmosphere of a domestic hearth letting himself down to the level of his
-host—the foolish fellow suffered himself to play at cribbage with his
-landlord; a man who had spent at least half of his long and useful life,
-pegging. Game after game the landlord’s doubts increased: and at length
-he rose from the table with a blank in his face, and all the swindler’s
-bill in his heart. “I’m done—I know I’m done!” cried the host with a
-groan. “I must be done, for no true gentleman could ever beat me at
-cribbage.” At least one month’s board and lodging, besides the greatest
-of all advantages, the first-rate reference to shopkeepers, did my
-friend from Natchez lose by his skill at cribbage. It is true when hard
-pressed he talked a great deal about the last failure of the cotton
-crop—an excellent theme, by the way—but in this case he talked to the
-winds, or, what was much worse, to a man obstinate upon his bill. My
-friend had to make an ignominious retreat, leaving behind him all his
-goods generously subscribed for him by the ingenuous West-end
-shopkeepers.
-
-Notwithstanding this, the swindler may for a time take America for his
-country. The trick is by no means over-done. If, however, the swindler
-make the election—if he resolve upon becoming a gentleman of enormous
-fortune from the United States—he had better choose the South, and,
-above all things, he must not forget the cotton crop. As it once
-happened at New Orleans, much execution may, even in London, be done
-upon the enemy from behind cotton bags. As for his rank, the swindler
-should not venture beyond that of colonel—yes, a colonel and a great
-grower of cotton.
-
-We next come to a most important subject—the dress of the swindler. The
-present age judges of the condition of men as we judge of the condition
-of cats—by the sleekness, the gloss of their coats. Hence, in even what
-is called a respectable walk of life, with men of shallow pockets and
-deep principles, it is of the first importance to their success that, if
-they would obtain three hundred per annum, they must at least look as if
-they were in receipt of seven. Very many stoical privations are endured
-for this great purpose. How many a fine hungry fellow carries his dinner
-upon his back—his breakfast in his beaver—his supper in his boots! The
-Hottentot is not the only human animal that clothes itself with the cost
-of bowels. The swindler, however, is not—fate forbid that it should be
-so!—called upon to make the same sacrifice required every day in London
-of the poor, friendless student—of the miserable, unknown artist—the
-juvenile surgeon, panting for a practice—the barrister, without a
-fee—the curate, with lips hungering for even locusts and wild honey—the
-thousands of God’s most helpless creatures, gentlemen, born with a
-silver spoon, but left by fortune at their maturity without any
-employment for knife and fork—no, no, it is the purpose, the triumph of
-swindling to put its professors in purple and fine linen, and to make
-“their eyes red with wine and their teeth white with milk.” They have to
-dress well, not to keep up the barren name of gentleman, but to flourish
-as swindlers. Poor Dactyl, the poet—astonishing truth!—is too proud to
-take credit for a hat—too poor to buy one—and too high-spirited to nod
-to his old college friends in a rusty beaver. Will the reader listen to
-a fact? What does Dactyl? Why, he makes a compromise with his
-magnanimity—he over-persuades himself that his beaver is as yet
-tolerably jetty, since all the summer he has once a day sponged it with
-a damp sponge, and kept religiously upon the shady side of the pavement.
-I mention this wretched shift of a pusillanimous spirit to show to the
-young swindler what might be his fate if, with a pertinacity only found
-in simpletons of the very first class, he would resolve to live the
-gentleman upon the revenue of the chameleon; and, with not a sixpence in
-his pocket, would be sufficiently mad to rave about honour in his bosom.
-What is the reward of such obstinacy—what the goal of men so honourably
-idle—so perversely pure? What the end? Go,—ask it of the Thames! Put the
-question to the Serpentine—the New River—the canals! Mutter the query as
-you pause at the gunsmith’s—as you linger at the chemist’s! Ask, as you
-see whisk by you the chariot of the coroner!
-
-I had not touched upon this mean-spirited class of bipeds—of the
-species, many of whom die off in honourable poverty, and many in a
-dishonourable horse-pond—did not swindling save a third portion of the
-body from a life of starvation and an end of vulgar misery. The good,
-indulgent parents who, in submission, as they conceive, to the high
-civilisation of the day, will rather let their sons be nothing if they
-cannot put them in a fair way to become archbishops, chancellors, and
-commanders-in-chief, owe much to swindling, for—urbane goddess!—how
-often does she take the pet of the fireside—the darling of the chimney
-corner—the pretty prodigal, when plucked of every feather by the
-jackdaws[18] of the town, and make of him again a bird of finest
-plumage. Yes, thousands and thousands of young gentlemen, shamefully
-deserted by their parents when they had not a farthing more to leave
-them, and—wanting a calling—with nothing to do, have been received with
-open arms by the tenderest of foster-mothers; and not only once more set
-upon their legs, but, perhaps, for the first time in their lives, put
-into their own cabriolets! Little thinks the plodding tradesman,
-determined upon making Tom a gentleman, that his dear boy may owe all
-the external appearances of that character to nought but swindling. But
-I have wandered.
-
-Footnote 18:
-
-  I persuade myself that Captain Whitefeather here meant nothing
-  personal.—[JOHN JACKDAW, Ed.]
-
-The swindler must dress well—very well; nay, he must be rather
-over-dressed than under-dressed. If his means be scanty, he must on the
-outset, if I may use the phrase of a celebrated bill discounter, late of
-the New Cut—he must “spend his money superficially”; that is, as the
-before-named fiscal authority condescended to explain, he must expend a
-little in such a way that the outlay may appear very considerable. He
-must, however, continually bear this in mind, that in this our beloved
-country—in England—the empress of nations—the queen of reason—the genius
-of toleration—and the benefactress of the oppressed—nearly everything
-depends upon a man’s coat. Great and rich is he indeed who can afford to
-confront the midday sun in threadbare cloth. It matters not what may be
-your genius—what your worth; you must make the success of that genius
-apparent—you must publish the reward of that worth; you must assure
-men’s eyes that you are a fine gentleman, or you will, with all your
-glorious aspiration, be passed, confounded with the mob. The triumphs of
-mind are to the trading million too subtle, too abstract, to be easily
-grasped; but the quality of a man’s coat—the gorgeousness of his
-vest—the chain of finest carat—the ring of brightest sparkle—all of
-these are so many indisputable evidences of worldly success, and are,
-therefore, to be continually carried about by a man as universal
-vouchers for his character. John Bull has certainly the largest eyes of
-any of the nations. Hence, if it be imperative upon men with even a
-known calling to exhibit an outward sign of the prosperity of that
-craft, how much more is it incumbent on us—the minions of Mercury, with
-nothing but the vivacity of our wits “to feed and clothe” us—to put a
-splendid outside upon swindling, and since the world ducks to
-appearance, to assure ourselves of its very, very lowest stooping! I
-have never yet known an instance of a successful swindler in a shabby
-coat. Who, indeed, would trust a man with a hole in his hat? Read the
-Police Reports—those “short and simple annals”—how, nineteen times out
-of twenty, do they commence? Why, thus—“Algernon Mountedgecomb, a young
-man dressed in the highest style of fashion,” etc., etc. Such is always
-the strain; for can the reader point out any case with any verbal
-similarity to the following:—“Yesterday, John Snooks, a wretchedly
-attired fellow, was brought up charged with obtaining under false
-pretences a diamond ring, a gold repeater, and a suit of pearls from the
-house of——?” Has ever such a case been chronicled? Certainly not: hence,
-the tailor is indispensable to the swindler, who is on no account to
-spare him. The swindler may, in the weakness of his nature, have some
-qualms towards any one except a tailor; but the swindler who deals
-mercifully with a tailor had better seek another profession—such
-chicken-heartedness is not for our art. The benevolence is so much
-goodness lost—wasted—flung to the winds; for you are to bear with you
-this recollection: it is an axiom in his trade, that the tailor never
-loses. “Them as does pay”—such was the confession of an eminent
-coatmaker after his second bottle of Burgundy drank at Button Park, his
-country seat—“them as does pay,” said the good man, “pays for them as
-doesn’t.” Can there be a finer provision for the protection of trade,
-and the satisfaction of the non-paying? Hence, if possible, flay your
-tailor. Should he discount—for there are such philanthropists—let him
-have a few bills by all means. In his vast profits what are two or three
-thousands more or less in a twelvemonth’s balance? _If_, however, he
-will not discount the paper of your friends—“accommodate” is a good
-word—he cannot refuse your own bill. Great is the satisfaction of a
-bill! What serenity comes upon a man’s soul when he hath writ
-“accepted”! What a load he feels lifted from his lightened heart! How
-airily, how joyously he looks around him, elevated with a sense of duty
-done to his neighbour and to himself! Sweet, most sweet, the
-satisfaction! Such I am sure was the feeling of my late lamented friend,
-Captain Judas Gammon; for that excellent fellow never accepted a bill
-that he did not clasp his hands and, raising his eyes with a devout look
-of thanksgiving, exclaim, “There now—thank heaven—! that’s paid!”
-
-There is, however, one objection to a bill—it puts another pair of wings
-to the back of Time. Hence, get a long day. He was a philosopher and
-knew human nature, and more than all, those profound workings of the
-human heart set going by the machinery of bills,—he _was_ a sage who, at
-the Old Bailey bar,—what men of wit and genius have made that nook all
-classic ground!—having received sentence of seven years’ retirement from
-the bustling world, thus, with smiling face, addressed the judge:—“I beg
-your pardon, my lord, but have you a stamp about you? if so, permit me
-to accept a bill at seven years, for then they’ll pass like one.”
-
-Next for equipage. A swindler, like a physician, can scarcely hope to
-prosper on foot. He must _ride_ to fame and fortune: hence a cab is of
-the first consequence to him. This, however, is too obvious to call for
-further disquisition. The effect of a magnificent cab—a grey blood—and a
-diminutive fancy tiger—upon the sensibilities of the shopkeeping world
-are every day made manifest by the Police Reports. Jonathan Wild,
-Richard Turpin, and other worthies laboured on horseback—civilisation
-adds to their less bloodthirsty descendants the comforts and the graces
-of a cab.
-
-
-[Illustration:
-
-  Other worthies laboured on horseback
-]
-
-
-And now, come we to the moral bearing of the swindler. Destiny has
-marked him to play a very various character. He is, I will not attempt
-to disguise it, beset by difficulties. There are men, assuredly, born
-with a genius for the profession; who, as it would seem, instinctively
-adapt themselves to all its peculiarities; men who would have been lost,
-sacrificed, utterly unknown in any other calling. I do not address
-myself to them—this luminous work is not written for their instruction;
-but to the thousands of the rising generation, induced, tempted, by the
-spirit of the times—a spirit of the most tyrannic gentility—to live
-without means; to eat the fat of the land without once greasing their
-delicate fingers in search of it. Let these, however, not conclude that
-our path lies over flowers: by no means; there are very many rubs to be
-endured on the way—rubs calling for at once the greatest self-possession
-and the most admired meekness. Indeed, I should not discharge a great
-public duty did I not state it as my conviction that very far less
-powers of mind, and ingenuity of a much lower scale, are found
-sufficient to make a fortune in any of the low mechanic arts of life
-than are required by even the humblest swindler. However, the ardour of
-youth is not to be withstood; hence our best choice is to instruct and
-fortify it.
-
-And now, neophyte swindler, let me put a few questions to you. And ere
-you answer, submit to a most rigorous self-examination—search every hole
-and corner of your heart; and then hold up your head and reply
-unblushingly.
-
-Can you bear what is called public contempt? Are you clothed with a
-moral armour, more impenetrable than the scales of the dragon—from which
-the glances of reproach, the scoffs, the sneers, the hard abuse of
-vulgar minds—the mere pity of those prigs who call themselves
-philanthropists—shall fall aside unfelt and unremembered?
-
-Can you school yourself to look in all human faces—for this trial _will_
-come—and find them blank?
-
-Have you sufficient fortitude to witness unrepiningly the good fortune
-of some early companion—a dullard, yet plodding, and what the world
-calls honest—surrounded with all the luxuries of life, the fruits of
-lowly huckstering, when, possibly, you yourself are yearning for a
-tester?
-
-Can you bear with the nerves of a martyr the visitation of a
-horse-whip—for I will not shirk any of the probabilities that wait upon
-the profession—or the vindictive and un-Christianlike application of a
-pointed boot to the _os sacrum_?[19]
-
-Footnote 19:
-
-  “It is very strange,” remarks Captain Whitefeather in one of his
-  unpublished essays, “On Personal Satisfaction,” “how very few men know
-  what is due to themselves and to the second party, in inflicting what
-  they call personal chastisement. I have,” continues the Captain, with
-  that delightful ingenuousness which made him the soul of his circle,
-  “I have been kicked, horsewhipped, cudgelled, tossed in a blanket,
-  pumped upon and flung into a horse-pond, yet I never, but in one
-  instance, met with a man who thrashed me _like a gentleman_?”—[JOHN
-  JACKDAW, Ed.]
-
-Can you, at proper time and season, bear your nose pulled? I am aware
-that this is perhaps the most difficult, the most trying ordeal for the
-weakness of human nature to withstand; and therefore, I repeat the
-question—Can you bear your nose pulled?
-
-Can you, with no qualms at your throat, behold in rags or in a gaol the
-simple gull who has trusted you, or who—more exquisitely simple
-still—has become your surety?
-
-Can you, when old age approaches, and your place in the world is filled
-up by more active, more youthful professors—can you, with your hand upon
-your heart, retire like a philosopher to a corner, and with not an eye
-to look comfort to you, not a lip to breathe hope to you, not a hand to
-grasp your hand—can you breathe your last breath with the conviction
-that you have done no injury to the dead, will leave no wounds in the
-living—and that having passed a life in heroic defiance of human
-prejudices, you meet death with the magnanimous indifference of a
-roasted Indian?
-
-Consider, my dear pupil, whether you are so happily organised that you
-can support these trials—too often attendant on our chivalrous
-profession—and answer.
-
-The pupil laughs at the impossibility of such evils, and, chuckling at
-the fun, says—I can.
-
-And Swindling takes him to her arms and makes him all her own!
-
-
-
-
-                               CHAPTER V.
-
-             A BRIEF SUMMARY OF THE ADVANTAGES OF SWINDLING
-
-
-I HAVE, I hope, made it sufficiently plain to the plainest understanding
-that the faculty, the desire to swindle, is born with us, and that it is
-entirely owing to the force of circumstance whether we swindle or not;
-and that, however nice, and moral, and exemplary, we may be in our
-individual capacity, swindle we must and do, when we congregate
-together, even with what are termed and considered the very best
-intentions. This being granted, let every man with all possible speed
-enroll himself as one of a body corporate. He may be a most rigid member
-of a Temperance Society, considering the parish pump the only source of
-all human enjoyment; and yet, as one of a body, he may drive a very
-pretty trade in opium. He may, to his great self-exaltation, hold a
-plate in aid of the funds for the dissemination of the true faith; and
-yet the diamond on his finger may have been purchased with an odd
-balance of the profits which, as one of a company, he receives from a
-Hindoo idol. What the superficial world denominates and brands as
-swindling in the individual it applauds as spirited speculation, wisdom,
-foresight, a fine knowledge of business in a number. Hence, if a man
-would swindle safely, steadily, and above all, respectably, let him
-become one of a public company, and his dearest wish is straight
-fulfilled. What a profound liar he may be on the Stock Exchange, and yet
-what an oracle of truth at his own fireside! How he is permitted to rob
-his neighbour by means of false intelligence, and what a roaring he is
-justified in setting up should some famishing, unprincipled scoundrel
-lessen by one the numerous tenants of the good man’s hen-roost! Reader,
-if you are not already enrolled, become one of a body. Though you may be
-only able to edge yourself into a vestry, it shall be something. And
-what a relief it is for the individual man, compelled to walk half his
-time through the world in tight moral lacing, to be allowed to sit at
-his ease at the Board! If morality sigh for leisure, where can it be
-enjoyed if not in a company! Once in a company, how many Catos become
-Antonys!
-
-To the rising generation the advantages of swindling are incalculable.
-The term swindling is, at present, an ugly one; but with the advancement
-of the world it will be considered as another and a better system of
-ethics. To obtain all things needful for the refined man, by the
-exercise of the moral faculties, is, doubtless, the greatest triumph of
-human intellect, and this is inevitably achieved by the successful
-practice of swindling.
-
-There is another advantage—another consolation—that I have purposely
-left for consideration in this place.
-
-When the plodding, sober, thrifty man quits this noisy world—made noisy
-by the incessant rattling of pounds, shillings, and pence—it is ten to
-one that he makes what is generally called an irreparable gap in a large
-circle of the most affectionate of friends. He leaves a widow
-broken-hearted—daughters inconsolable—sons in the deepest
-affliction—nieces and nephews very much concerned—and innumerable
-acquaintances all ready, with very little further excitement, to burst
-into tears. Now here is a woe inflicted upon fifty people by the decease
-of one man—yes, here are fifty people made more or less miserable by a
-very natural event, the decease of a worthy soul, who would not
-willingly inflict a moment’s pain upon any living thing.
-
-How different the death of the swindler! He makes no irreparable gap in
-society—not he! he agonises neither man, nor woman, nor child; not a
-tear is dropped at his grave—not a sigh rises at the earth rattling on
-his coffin! Must not the conviction of this be the sweetest consolation
-to the dying swindler? Think of his end, and——
-
-                  *       *       *       *       *
-
-[It may be thought that the work ends abruptly. It does so: the author
-had not leisure to finish it. The following letter will, perhaps, throw
-some light upon the matter. It was addressed by the Captain to an
-intimate friend:—
-
-                                      “H.M. Transport, _Barrington_.
-
-    “DEAR TOM,—We are off for blue water. Some papers of mine are in
-    a deal box in the two-pair back of the Bag-o-Nails. If you love
-    me, see I’m in print. I learn from a fellow-shipmate—whose only
-    misfortune is that his handwriting was very similar to another
-    gentleman’s—that the papers will make a very pretty book, there
-    being a great call nowadays for the greatest information in the
-    smallest compass. You can pay in for me what you get through the
-    Home Office. Be wide awake, and believe me, under all
-    convictions,
-
-              “Yours truly,
-
-                   “BARABBAS WHITEFEATHER.
-
-    “P.S.—You know I never liked shaving; the chin’s bad enough—but
-    when it comes to the head, it’s ‘regular cruelty to animals.’”
-
-The above is (“errors excepted”) a true copy of the Captain’s letter. He
-died in—I regret to say I cannot give the exact latitude: suffice it to
-say he died; but left behind him what, I trust, will prove an
-imperishable monument of his social worth and his exalted genius.—JOHN
-JACKDAW, Ed.]
-
-
-
-
-                   THE EDITOR’S CHAPTER TO THE READER
-
-
-THE reader has, probably, marked a variety of style in the foregoing
-pages. The Editor feels it to be due as much to the lamented Captain
-Whitefeather as to himself to state that he, John Jackdaw, is solely
-responsible for the manner in which this work is presented to all the
-eyes of the British public.
-
-Nature had been very prodigal to the Captain; but whether from the
-extreme vivacity of his genius, or whether from a more hidden cause, it
-is vain to search, the Captain, with all his debts, owed nothing to art.
-Even his orthography was of the happiest originality.
-
-The Editor, therefore, felt the peculiar delicacy of his task. Had he
-printed the MS. as it came, with the bloom upon it, from the Captain’s
-hand, it was to be feared that in this age of light reading—which
-reading, like pills, is made to be bolted, not, like bread, to be
-carefully chewed—not one out of a hundred would have had the necessary
-patience to go through with it. To suppress the work for any defect of
-style would have been to sacrifice, as the Editor considered, a great
-national good. After much deliberation there appeared to him a golden
-mean. It struck the Editor that he might, in very many instances, give
-the style of Whitefeather, whilst in very many more he might heighten,
-and adorn, and vary it from his own poor resources. Still, be it
-understood, all the _facts_ are Whitefeather’s; the Editor only lays
-claim to certain tropes, and metaphors, and inimitable felicities of
-expression, to which, probably, it might be considered indelicate were
-he more emphatically to allude. Indeed, he has only touched upon the
-theme in the way of business; as there may be, even at this moment, many
-noble and distinguished authors who, “wanting the accomplishment” of
-grammar, are yet desirous of appearing in print. (To these, in
-parenthesis, the author addresses himself; assuring the tadpole
-_literati_ that he finishes tales, histories, biographies, poems, etc.,
-with all despatch, and with the most inviolable secrecy. His address is
-in a former page, and Breakneck Steps is too well known to all who would
-mount Parnassus.)
-
-To the publishers of the remains of Captain Whitefeather the Editor has
-to express his warmest gratitude. The Editor blushes for the
-intelligence of the trade, when he states that this national work, like
-the hitherto inimitable _Robinson Crusoe_, was offered in the humblest
-manner to twenty houses, and, sometimes coldly, sometimes sulkily,
-sometimes indignantly refused.
-
-One was tickled by the title, but looked blank when he understood that
-there was no murderer—no highwayman in it. He declared that the only way
-to keep a reader awake was to commit at least one murder in every page;
-that the gallows was now the only bay tree, and that even the youthful
-generation sucked intelligence and morals from tales of the gibbet, with
-the same eagerness and the same advantage that they sucked liquorice
-root! “Season it, sir—season it,” said one bland gentleman, “with a
-handful of murders—a terrific storm on the New River—and a miraculous
-escape from Marylebone watchhouse, and there may be some hopes of it.” A
-second asked me to change the title into “The Handbook of the Money
-Markets,” adding, to my astonishment, that he had no doubt the staple of
-the matter would serve equally well. A third—but why should I enumerate
-the rebuffs endured? No; let me rather, in the name of an obliged
-generation, register a gratitude to the enlightened spirit under whose
-auspices the book appears—a work destined, as the Editor with all
-diffidence declares, to work a good as incalculable as, perhaps,
-unknown!
-
-
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
-
-
-
-
-                               PRINTED BY
-                          TURNBULL AND SPEARS
-                               EDINBURGH
-
-
-
-
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
-
-
-
-
- ● Transcriber’s Notes:
-    ○ After the chapter “THE DRILL SERGEANT,” there is a second book
-      included in this text entitled “The HANDBOOK of SWINDLING”, which
-      begins on page 199. There is no explanation of this. It is
-      formatted a bit differently from “The Essays,” with no page breaks
-      between chapters and two chapters are numbered “I”—one on page 199
-      and the other on page 201.
-    ○ There is a final chapter on page 261 that does not appear in the
-      Table of contents.
-    ○ Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.
-    ○ Typographical errors were silently corrected.
-    ○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only
-      when a predominant form was found in this book.
-    ○ Text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).
-
-
-
-*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ESSAYS OF DOUGLAS JERROLD ***
-
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-be renamed.
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-
-<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Essays of Douglas Jerrold, by Douglas Jerrold</div>
-
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-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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you
-are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the
-country where you are located before using this eBook.
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Essays of Douglas Jerrold</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Douglas Jerrold</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Editor: Walter Jerrold</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Illustrator: H. M.  Brock</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: April 29, 2021 [eBook #65191]</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Charlene Taylor, Barry Abrahamsen, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)</div>
-
-<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ESSAYS OF DOUGLAS JERROLD ***</div>
-
-<div  class='figcenter id001'>
-<img src='images/cover.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-<div class='ic001'>
-<p><span class='small'>The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.</span></p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c000' />
-</div>
-
-<div class='nf-center-c0'>
-<div class='nf-center c001'>
-    <div><span class='large'>THE ESSAYS AND SKETCHES</span></div>
-    <div><span class='large'>BY DOUGLAS JERROLD</span></div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c001' />
-</div>
-
-<div class='nf-center-c0'>
-<div class='nf-center c001'>
-    <div><i>All rights reserved</i></div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c001' />
-</div>
-<div id='frontis'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<img src='images/frontis.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-<div class='ic001'>
-<p>“The two flasks were in brief time emptied.”</p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c002' />
-</div>
-<div  class='figcenter id002'>
-<img src='images/titlepage.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c002' />
-</div>
-<div>
-  <h1 class='c003'><span class='xxlarge'><i>The Essays of</i><br />DOUGLAS JERROLD</span></h1>
-</div>
-
-<div class='nf-center-c0'>
-<div class='nf-center c000'>
-    <div><span class='c004'>❧</span></div>
-    <div class='c001'><span class='xlarge'><i>Edited</i></span></div>
-    <div><span class='xlarge'><i>by his Grandson</i></span></div>
-    <div><span class='xxlarge'>WALTER JERROLD</span></div>
-    <div><span class='xlarge'><i>with Illustrations by</i></span></div>
-    <div><span class='xxlarge'>H·M·BROCK</span></div>
-    <div><span class='xlarge'><i>1903</i></span></div>
-    <div class='c005'><span class='xlarge'>NEW YORK: E. P. DUTTON</span></div>
-    <div><span class='xlarge'>AND COMPANY</span></div>
-    <div class='c000'><span class='xlarge'><i>West Twenty-Third Street</i></span></div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c002' />
-</div>
-<div id='i-v'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_v'>v</span>
-<img src='images/i-v.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-  <h2 class='c006'>CONTENTS</h2>
-</div>
-<div class='std-table'>
-
-<table class='table0' summary=''>
-<colgroup>
-<col width='85%' />
-<col width='14%' />
-</colgroup>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'>&nbsp;</td>
-    <td class='c008'><span class='small'>PAGE</span></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><span class='sc'>Shakespeare at Charlecote Park</span></td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_1'>1</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><span class='sc'>Shakespeare at “Bank-side”</span></td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_7'>7</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><span class='sc'>The Epitaph of Sir Hugh Evans</span></td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_13'>13</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><span class='sc'>Bully Bottom’s Babes</span></td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_22'>22</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><span class='sc'>Shakespeare in China</span></td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_28'>28</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><span class='sc'>Solomon’s Ape</span></td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_39'>39</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><span class='sc'>The Castle Builders of Padua</span></td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_46'>46</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><span class='sc'>The Tapestry Weaver of Beauvais</span></td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_50'>50</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><span class='sc'>The Wine Cellar: A “Morality”</span></td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_58'>58</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><span class='sc'>Recollections of Guy Fawkes</span></td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_67'>67</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><span class='sc'>Elizabeth and Victoria</span></td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_75'>75</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><span class='sc'>The Little Great and the Great Little</span></td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_90'>90</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><span class='sc'>The Manager’s Pig</span></td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_95'>95</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><span class='sc'>Some Account of a Stage Devil</span></td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_103'>103</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><span class='sc'>Fireside Saints</span></td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_121'>121</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><span class='sc'>Cat-and-Fiddle Moralities: The Tale of a Tiger</span></td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_127'>127</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><span class='sc'>A Gossip at Reculvers</span></td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_140'>140</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><span class='sc'>The Two Windows</span></td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_150'>150</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_vi'>vi</span><span class='sc'>The Order of Poverty</span></td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_154'>154</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><span class='sc'>The Old Man at the Gate</span></td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_166'>166</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><span class='sc'>The Folly of the Sword</span></td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_171'>171</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><span class='sc'>The Greenwich Pensioner</span></td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_181'>181</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><span class='sc'>The Drill Sergeant</span></td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_189'>189</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><span class='sc'>The Handbook of Swindling</span></td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_199'>199</a></td>
-  </tr>
-</table>
-
-</div>
-<div id='i-vi'  class='figcenter id003'>
-<img src='images/i-vi.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c001' />
-</div>
-<div id='i-vii'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_vii'>vii</span>
-<img src='images/i-vii.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-  <h2 class='c006'>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2>
-</div>
-<div class='std-table'>
-
-<table class='table1' summary=''>
-<colgroup>
-<col width='88%' />
-<col width='11%' />
-</colgroup>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'>“The two flasks were in brief time emptied” (The Wine Cellar)</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#frontis'><i>Photogravure Frontispiece</i></a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'>&nbsp;</td>
-    <td class='c008'><span class='small'>PAGE</span></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Headpiece to</i> Contents</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i-v'>v</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Tailpiece to</i> Contents</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i-vi'>vi</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Headpiece to</i> List of Illustrations</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i-vii'>vii</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Headpiece to</i> Shakespeare at Charlecote Park</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i001'>1</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Tailpiece to</i> Shakespeare at Charlecote Park</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i006'>6</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Headpiece to</i> Shakespeare at “Bank-Side”</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i007'>7</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Tailpiece to</i> Shakespeare at “Bank-Side”</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i012'>12</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Headpiece to</i> The Epitaph of Sir Hugh Evans</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i013'>13</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'>“One who would have added weight and dignity to the ceremony”</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i017'>17</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Headpiece to</i> Bully Bottom’s Babes</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i022'>22</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Tailpiece to</i> Bully Bottom’s Babes</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i027'>27</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Headpiece to</i> Shakespeare in China</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i028'>28</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_viii'>viii</span>“Became wise by poring on his book”</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i034'>34</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Tailpiece to</i> Shakespeare in China</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i038'>38</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Headpiece to</i> Solomon’s Ape</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i039'>39</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'>“Cast him down a ripe pomegranate”</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i043'>43</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Tailpiece to</i> Solomon’s Ape</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i045'>45</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Headpiece to</i> The Castle Builders of Padua</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i046'>46</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Headpiece to</i> The Tapestry Weaver of Beauvais</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i050'>50</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Tailpiece to</i> The Tapestry Weaver of Beauvais</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i057'>57</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Headpiece to</i> The Wine Cellar: A “Morality”</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i058'>58</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Tailpiece to</i> The Wine Cellar: A “Morality”</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i066'>66</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Headpiece to</i> Recollections of Guy Fawkes</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i067'>67</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'>“Rejoicing in the captivity of a suit of clothes stuffed with hay”</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i070'>70</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Tailpiece to</i> Recollections of Guy Fawkes</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i074'>74</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Headpiece to</i> Elizabeth and Victoria</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i075'>75</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'>“Rank ... preached its high prerogative from externals”</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i080'>80</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'>“Hangman’s surgery”</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i083'>83</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Headpiece to</i> The Little Great and the Great Little</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i090'>90</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Tailpiece to</i> The Little Great and the Great Little</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i094'>94</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Headpiece to</i> The Manager’s Pig</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i095'>95</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Tailpiece to</i> The Manager’s Pig</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i102'>102</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Headpiece to</i> Some Account of a Stage Devil</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i103'>103</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'>“Would solace the child by playing upon a diabolic fiddle”</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i113'>113</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Tailpiece to</i> Some Account of a Stage Devil</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i120'>120</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Headpiece to</i> Fireside Saints</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i121'>121</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Tailpiece to</i> Fireside Saints</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i126'>126</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Headpiece to</i> Cat-and-Fiddle Moralities: The Tale of a Tiger</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i127'>127</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'>“Almost for two whole days did the tiger sleep”</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i135'>135</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_ix'>ix</span><i>Tailpiece to</i> Cat-and-Fiddle Moralities: The Tale of a Tiger</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i139'>139</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Headpiece to</i> A Gossip at Reculvers</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i140'>140</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'>“Sugar from even the sweeter lips of lady mistress”</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i143'>143</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Tailpiece to</i> A Gossip at Reculvers</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i149'>149</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Headpiece to</i> The Two Windows</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i150'>150</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Headpiece to</i> The Order of Poverty</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i154'>154</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'>“He has dreamed away his life upon a hillside”</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i164'>164</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Tailpiece to</i> The Order of Poverty</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i165'>165</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Headpiece to</i> The Old Man at the Gate</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i166'>166</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Headpiece to</i> The Folly of the Sword</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i171'>171</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'>“Hodge, poor fellow, enlists”</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i175'>175</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Tailpiece to</i> The Folly of the Sword</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i180'>180</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Headpiece to</i> The Greenwich Pensioner</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i181'>181</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Tailpiece to</i> The Greenwich Pensioner</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i188'>188</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Headpiece to</i> The Drill Sergeant</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i189'>189</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'>“He is, indeed, unbent”</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i195'>195</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'><i>Headpiece to</i> The Handbook of Swindling</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i199'>199</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'>“Politely receives his destroyer”</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i233'>233</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'>“Any one of these names may be ... confidently given in to the night constable”</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i246'>246</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c007'>“Other worthies laboured on horseback”</td>
-    <td class='c008'><a href='#i256'>256</a></td>
-  </tr>
-</table>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c002' />
-</div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-  <span class='pageno' id='Page_xi'>xi</span>
-  <h2 class='c006'>INTRODUCTION</h2>
-</div>
-<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Much</span> of Douglas Jerrold’s writing took essay form although
-he only applied the title to five short pieces which
-were added as <i>Essays</i> to <i>The Chronicles of Clovernook</i> in
-1846. Those five pieces are included in this volume along
-with others from his collected works, and from among those
-scattered contributions to periodicals which have been
-brought together at various times since his death.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Born in London on January 3rd, 1803, Douglas William
-Jerrold was the youngest son of a theatrical manager then
-of the Kent circuit. His baby years were passed at
-Cranbrook, his childhood at Sheerness, and then, not
-having quite attained the mature age of eleven, he was
-entered as a first-class volunteer on board the <i>Namur</i>, guardship
-at the Nore, on December 22, 1813. Here in the ship’s
-school his education was continued, and here the midshipman
-was allowed privileges dear to the boyish heart; he
-was permitted to keep pigeons, and not the least of his
-privileges was the being permitted the use of the captain’s
-collection of books—that captain, it is pleasant to recall,
-being a brother of Jane Austen. About fifteen months
-after joining the <i>Namur</i> he was transferred to the brig
-<i>Ernest</i>, engaged in convoying transports and in bringing
-home wounded soldiers from the Continent. Then came
-Waterloo and Peace. In October 1815 the <i>Ernest</i> was
-paid off and the boy-officer returned to civil life. At the
-end of the year the Jerrold family left Sheerness for
-London, and Douglas made a new start as printer’s
-apprentice, and perseveringly pursued a rigorous plan of
-self-education. Then he began writing verses and plays,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_xii'>xii</span>and when he was eighteen his first piece was represented on
-the stage. Play-writing and slight journalism were combined
-with the compositor’s work for a few years before,
-throwing aside the composing stick, he relied entirely on
-the pen. Numerous plays—of many of which nothing
-beyond the names is now recoverable—were written before
-Douglas Jerrold made his “hit” with <i>Black-eyed Susan</i> in
-1829. Thenceforward he was a busy playwright and a constant
-contributor to the magazines, annuals and newspapers.
-In 1841 the advent of <i>Punch</i> introduced him to a medium
-peculiarly suited to his genius, and to that periodical he
-contributed his most popular work, <i>Mrs Caudle’s Curtain
-Lectures</i>, and one of his best novels, <i>The Story of a Feather</i>.
-To the <i>Illuminated Magazine</i> (1843-4) and <i>Douglas
-Jerrold’s Shilling Magazine</i> (1845-8), both of which he
-edited, he contributed many characteristic essays and stories,
-but later he devoted himself more particularly to political
-writing as editor of <i>Douglas Jerrold’s Weekly Newspaper</i>
-(1846-8), and of <i>Lloyd’s Weekly Newspaper</i> (1852-7).
-He died on June 8th, 1857.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>We have heard much within recent years for and against
-fiction “with a purpose,” as though this was some new
-literary manifestation. Among the best remembered writers
-of the early Victorian era are just those who had a
-purpose other than that of merely amusing their readers—Thackeray
-and Dickens are of course the two most striking
-examples. The author’s purpose is often the salt not only
-flavouring his work for immediate contemporaries, but
-also preserving it for future readers. That with Douglas
-Jerrold this purpose counted for much we have his own
-words to show. Prefacing one of his serial ventures he said:
-“It will be our chief object to make every essay—however
-brief, and however light and familiar in its treatment—breathe
-<i>with a purpose</i>. Experience assures us that,
-especially at the present day, it is <i>by a defined purpose alone</i>,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_xiii'>xiii</span>whether significant in twenty pages or in twenty lines,
-that the sympathies of the world are to be engaged, and its
-support insured.” That this conviction was at the back of
-the greater part of Douglas Jerrold’s writings no student of
-his work can fail to recognise. The fact is perhaps answerable
-for much of his work having enjoyed but a temporary
-popularity, for there are two ways of writing “with a
-purpose”—the first the topical or journalistic way, and the
-second the general or more philosophical. Yet if Douglas
-Jerrold expended himself to a considerable extent over the
-particular, he by no means neglected the general, of which
-there is abundant testimony in this volume, as well as in
-<i>St Giles and St James</i>, <i>The Story of a Feather</i>, <i>Punch’s
-Letters</i>, and that little book of golden philosophy, <i>The
-Chronicles of Clovernook</i>.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The essays collected into this volume are, as has been
-hinted, from various sources; the earliest dates from the
-late ’twenties, the latest from the last year of the author’s
-life. No attempt has been made to place them chronologically.
-It has seemed well to keep the five Shakespearean
-essays together, representing as they do a life-long interest
-of their author’s. In the early ’thirties Douglas Jerrold and
-a number of other young Shakespeare enthusiasts—William
-Godwin the Younger, Laman Blanchard, Kenny Meadows,
-etc.—formed the Mulberry Club, at the gatherings of
-which essays and verses were read by the members; some
-certainly of the following papers formed part of the club’s
-“Mulberry Leaves,” as also did the same writer’s song on
-<i>Shakespeare’s Crab Tree</i>, a song which may be quoted
-here, as it is not widely known, to complete Jerrold’s
-“leaves.”</p>
-
-<div class='lg-container-b c011'>
-  <div class='linegroup'>
-    <div class='group'>
-      <div class='line'>To Shakespeare’s mighty line</div>
-      <div class='line in2'>Let’s drink with heart and soul;</div>
-      <div class='line'>’Twill give a zest divine,</div>
-      <div class='line in2'>Though humble be the bowl.</div>
-      <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_xiv'>xiv</span>Then drink while I essay,</div>
-      <div class='line in2'>In slipshod, careless rhyme,</div>
-      <div class='line'>A legendary lay</div>
-      <div class='line in2'>Of Willy’s golden time.</div>
-    </div>
-    <div class='group'>
-      <div class='line'>One balmy summer’s night,</div>
-      <div class='line in2'>As Stratford yeomen tell,</div>
-      <div class='line'>One Will, the royst’ring wight,</div>
-      <div class='line in2'>Beneath a crab tree fell;</div>
-      <div class='line'>And, sunk in deep repose,</div>
-      <div class='line in2'>The tipsy time beguiled,</div>
-      <div class='line'>Till Dan Apollo rose</div>
-      <div class='line in2'>Upon his greatest child.</div>
-    </div>
-    <div class='group'>
-      <div class='line'>Since then all people vowed</div>
-      <div class='line in2'>The tree had wondrous power:</div>
-      <div class='line'>With sense, with speech endowed,</div>
-      <div class='line in2'>’Twould prattle by the hour;</div>
-      <div class='line'>Though scattered far about,</div>
-      <div class='line in2'>Its remnants still would blab:</div>
-      <div class='line'>Mind, ere this fact you doubt,—</div>
-      <div class='line in2'>It was a female crab.</div>
-    </div>
-    <div class='group'>
-      <div class='line'>“I felt,” thus spoke the tree,</div>
-      <div class='line in2'>“As down the poet lay,</div>
-      <div class='line'>A touch, a thrill, a glee,</div>
-      <div class='line in2'>Ne’er felt before that day.</div>
-      <div class='line'>Along my verdant blood</div>
-      <div class='line in2'>A quick’ning sense did shoot,</div>
-      <div class='line'>Expanding every bud,</div>
-      <div class='line in2'>And rip’ning all my fruit.</div>
-    </div>
-    <div class='group'>
-      <div class='line'>“What sounds did move the air,</div>
-      <div class='line in2'>Around me and above!</div>
-      <div class='line'>The yell of mad despair,</div>
-      <div class='line in2'>The burning sigh of love!</div>
-      <div class='line'>Ambition, guilt-possessed,</div>
-      <div class='line in2'>Suspicion on the rack,</div>
-      <div class='line'>The ringing laugh and jest,</div>
-      <div class='line in2'>Begot by sherris-sack!</div>
-    </div>
-    <div class='group'>
-      <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_xv'>xv</span>“Since then, my branches full</div>
-      <div class='line in2'>Of Shakespeare’s vital heat,</div>
-      <div class='line'>My fruit, once crude and dull</div>
-      <div class='line in2'>Became as honey sweet;</div>
-      <div class='line'>And when, o’er plain and hill,</div>
-      <div class='line in2'>Each tree was leafless seen,</div>
-      <div class='line'>My boughs did flourish still</div>
-      <div class='line in2'>In everlasting green.”</div>
-    </div>
-    <div class='group'>
-      <div class='line'>And thus our moral food</div>
-      <div class='line in2'>Doth Shakespeare leaven still,</div>
-      <div class='line'>Enriching all the good</div>
-      <div class='line in2'>And less’ning all the ill;—</div>
-      <div class='line'>Thus, by his bounty shed</div>
-      <div class='line in2'>Like balm from angel’s wing,</div>
-      <div class='line'>Though winter scathe our head,</div>
-      <div class='line in2'>Our spirits dance with spring.</div>
-    </div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c012'>With reference to the first of the following essays there
-recently came into my hands an interesting letter from the
-author, which may well be quoted here. Walter Savage
-Landor’s <i>Citation and Examination of William Shakespeare</i>
-had been published in 1834, and apparently Jerrold’s
-correspondent had pointed out the similarity of theme:—</p>
-
-<div class='c013'>“<span class='sc'>11 Thistle Grove, Little Chelsea</span>,</div>
-<div class='c014'>“<i>August 6th (1835)</i>.</div>
-
-<p class='c015'>“<span class='sc'>My dear Sir</span>,—<i>The Trial of Shakespeare</i> was, I think,
-published by Bentley. I have only read extracts from it in
-reviews; and though therein I recognised <i>nothing similar to my
-little sketch</i>, nevertheless the publication of the book does, on
-consideration, seem to preoccupy the subject. I concluded
-that you had seen something of the volume, or should
-before have pointed it out to you. If you please—for I
-confess myself somewhat thin-skinned under any charge
-of plagiary, the more especially when unmerited—you may
-omit the first legend.</p>
-
-<p class='c015'>“For the second, it has never yet seen the light; nor am
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_xvi'>xvi</span>I aware of the existence of any essay to which even the
-uncharitableness of criticism might imagine a resemblance.</p>
-
-<p class='c015'>“It struck me, on reading it, that were it broken up
-more into paragraphs—as new objects are introduced—it
-would be more effective. As it is the images crowding
-so closely upon each other—(whilst the spirit of the essay
-depends upon the distinctness with which they represent
-the several plays)—may confuse, and thus fail to satisfy
-the reader. If you think with me, and will again favour
-me with the proof, I will make the alterations with as
-little trouble as possible to the printer. There being now
-only one legend, I should call the paper <i>Shakespeare at
-Bank-side</i>.—I am, my dear Sir, yours truly,</p>
-<div class='c014'>“<span class='sc'>Douglas Jerrold</span>.”</div>
-
-<p class='c015'>“<span class='sc'>W. H. Harrison</span>, Esq.”</p>
-
-<p class='c012'>Beyond the fact that they both deal with the tradition of
-Shakespeare’s deer-stealing escapade and departure from
-Stratford-on-Avon, there is but little similarity between
-Douglas Jerrold’s brief essay and Landor’s much longer
-work. With reference to <i>Shakespeare in China</i> it may be
-of interest to point out—the author in satirising his fellow
-countryman later used the fiction of describing English
-characters from the Chinese point of view in <i>Punch</i> of May
-25th, 1844.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>If the first few essays testify to the author’s loving
-homage to Shakespeare, others in no uncertain voice proclaim
-his political radicalism, his detestation of war, and his
-sense of the truth that man’s inhumanity to man makes
-countless thousands mourn. In <i>Recollections of Guy Fawkes</i>
-the references to the Isle of Sheppy “some five and twenty
-years ago” are reminiscences of Jerrold’s boyhood at
-Sheerness. The pleasant little homily on human consistency,
-<i>The Manager’s Pig</i>, is said to have been founded
-in fact; the manager in question being Davidge of the
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_xvii'>xvii</span>Coburg Theatre, to whom Jerrold was for a time “household
-author” at a weekly salary. The series of <i>Cat-and-Fiddle
-Moralities</i> so auspiciously begun with <i>The Tale of a
-Tiger</i> was not pursued any further. <i>The Drill Sergeant</i> and <i>The
-Greenwich Pensioner</i> formed part of a series of <i>Full Lengths</i>,
-contributed to the <i>Monthly Magazine</i> in 1826-7; there
-were at least six of them, but as I have not been able to consult
-a complete set of the magazine, I have only been able to
-trace three—the two given and one on <i>The Ship Clergyman</i>.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>In the closing item of this collection we have a satiric
-essay of a sort, which seems to have been in the air at the
-time; it was published originally in 1839 with illustrations
-by Phiz, at the same time that Thackeray by contributing
-his <i>Catherine</i> to <i>Fraser’s</i> was also seeking to discredit “the
-Newgate school” of fiction. Later, in <i>Punch</i>, Douglas
-Jerrold reverted to the “Newgate novel-mongers,” mentioning
-them as still a power, and showing that satire had not
-stopped the demand for their productions; and in one of
-the most popular of his comedies a character is made to say,
-“When I was young, girls used to read <i>Pilgrim’s Progress</i>,
-<i>Jeremy Taylor</i>, and such books of innocence; now, young
-ladies know the ways of Newgate as well as the turnkeys.
-Then, books gave girls hearty, healthy food; now, silly
-things, like larks in cages, they live upon hemp-seed.”</p>
-<div class='c016'>W. J.</div>
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c002' />
-</div>
-<div id='i001'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_1'>1</span>
-<img src='images/i001.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-  <h2 class='c006'>SHAKESPEARE AT CHARLECOTE PARK</h2>
-</div>
-<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>It</span> was a fine May morning when the bailiff of Sir Thomas
-Lucy, of Charlecote, attended by some half-dozen serving
-men, rode quickly through the streets of Stratford, and
-halted at the abode of his worship the Mayor. The
-children in the street stood mute, and stared; gossips
-ran to door and casement; Thrums, the tailor, mechanically
-twitched off his cap, and for a moment forgot the new
-bridal jerkin of Martin Lapworth, the turner, of Henley
-Street; John-a-Combe, the thrifty money-scrivener, startled
-from a sum of arithmetic, watched the horsemen with
-peering eyes and open mouth; and every face expressed
-astonishment and surmise as the horses’ hoofs tore up the
-road, and the arms of the riders rang and clattered; and
-their visages, burly and glowing, showed as of men bearing
-mighty tidings. Had a thunderbolt fallen in the market-place,
-it could not more suddenly have broken the tranquillity
-of Stratford than had the sudden visit of Sir Thomas
-Lucy’s retainers. Every one pressed to the Mayor’s house
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_2'>2</span>to learn the tidings, and in a brief time one, taking up the
-fears of his neighbour for the truth, told an inquiring third
-that the swarthy Spaniard, with a thousand ships, had
-entered the Thames; that her gracious highness the Queen
-was a close prisoner in the Tower, and that the damnable
-papists had carried the host through the city, and had
-performed High Mass in the Abbey of Westminster. This
-rumour was opposed by another, averring that the Queen
-had drunk poison in a quart of sherris (a beverage much
-loved by her highness)—whilst a fourth story told of her
-private marriage with the Master of the Horse. Great
-wonderment followed on each tale. Some vowed they
-would never be brought to speak Spanish, others religiously
-called for fire upon all Catholics—whilst more than one
-good housewife hoped that in all reasonable time her
-Majesty would bring forth a prince. Stratford was the
-very court-place for rumour; old, yellow Avon paused in
-his course, astonished at the hum and buzz that came with
-every wind.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>At length the truth became manifest. No Spanish
-bottom poisoned the Thames; no Spanish flag blasted
-the air of England. Elizabeth yet gripped her sceptre—yet
-indulged in undrugged sack and cold virginity. Still
-it was no mean event that could thrust seven of Sir Thomas
-Lucy’s men into their saddles, and send them galloping,
-like so many St Georges, to the Mayor of Stratford. Thus
-it was then; the park of Sir Thomas had been entered on
-the over-night, and one fine head of fallow deer stolen from
-the pasturage, whilst another was found sorely maimed,
-sobbing out its life among the underwood. The marauders
-were known, and Sir Thomas had sent to his worship to
-apprehend the evil-doers, and despatch them under a safe
-guard to the hall of Charlecote. This simple story mightily
-disappointed the worthy denizens of Stratford, and, for the
-most part, sent them back to their various business. Many,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_3'>3</span>however, lingered about his worship’s dwelling to catch a
-view of the culprits—for they were soon in custody—and
-many a head was thrust from the windows to look at the
-offenders, as, mounted on horseback, and well guarded on
-all sides by Sir Thomas Lucy’s servants and the constables
-of Stratford, they took their way through the town, and,
-crossing the Avon, turned on the left to Charlecote.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>There were four criminals, and all in the first flush of
-manhood; they rode as gaily among their guards as though
-each carried a hawk upon his fist and were ambling to the
-sound of Milan bells. One of the culprits was specially
-distinguished from his companions, more by the perfect
-beauty of his face than by the laughing unconcern that
-shone in it. He seemed about twenty-two years of age, of
-somewhat more than ordinary stature, his limbs combining
-gracefulness of form with manly strength. He sat upon
-his saddle as though he grew there. His countenance was
-of extraordinary sweetness. He had an eye, at once so
-brilliant and so deep, so various in its expression, so keenly
-piercing, yet so meltingly soft—an eye so wonderful and
-instant in its power as though it could read the whole
-world at a glance—such an eye as hardly ever shone within
-the face of man; it was not an eye of flesh—it was a living
-soul. His nose and chin were shaped as with a chisel
-from the fairest marble; his mouth looked instinct with
-thought, yet as sweet and gentle in its expression as
-is an infant’s when it dreams and smiles. And as he
-doffed his hat to a fair head that looked mournfully at
-him from an upper casement, his broad forehead bared out
-from his dark curls in surpassing power and amplitude. It
-seemed a tablet writ with a new world.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The townspeople gazed at the young man, and some of
-them said, “Poor Will Shakespeare!” Others said, “’Twas
-a sore thing to get a child for the gallows!” and one old
-crone lifted up her lean hands and cried, “God help poor
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_4'>4</span>Anne Hathaway, she had better married the tailor!”
-Some prophesied a world of trouble for the young man’s
-parents; many railed him as a scapegrace given to loose
-companions, a mischievous varlet, a midnight roysterer;
-but the greater number only cried, “Poor Will Shakespeare!”
-It was but a short ride to the hall, yet ere the
-escort had arrived there Sir Thomas Lucy with some choice
-guests were seated at dinner.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Hereupon the constables were ordered to take especial
-care of the culprits, who were forthwith consigned to the
-darkest and strongest cellar at Charlecote. Here, at least,
-it was thought that Will Shakespeare would abate somewhat
-of his unseemly hardihood, for all the way to the
-mansion he had laughed and jested and made riddles on
-the constables’ beards, and sang snatches of profane songs,
-and kissed his fingers to the damsels on the road, and, indeed,
-“showed himself,” as a discreet, observing nun declared,
-“little better than a child of Satan.” In the cellar he and
-his co-mates, it was thought, would mend their manners.
-“As they do not learn to respect God, and worship Sir
-Thomas, and honour deer’s flesh, as good Christians ought—and
-they learn not these things in the dark—’tis to waste
-God’s gifts upon ’em to let ’em see the light of day.” Thus
-spoke Ralph Elder, constable of Stratford, to one of the
-grooms of Charlecote. “I tell you, John,” continued the
-functionary, “Will Shakespeare’s horse didn’t stumble
-for nothing at the field of hemp. God saves poor babes
-born to be hanged, for ’tis no constable’s affair——Hush!
-mercy on us, they laugh—laugh like lords!”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>To the shame of the prisoners be it spoken, the discourse
-of Ralph was broken by a loud shout from the cellar. To
-add to the abomination, the captives trolled forth in full
-concert a song—“a scornful thing,” as Ralph afterwards
-declared it, “against the might and authority of Sir Thomas
-Lucy.” The men, the maids—all flocked to the cellar door,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_5'>5</span>while the dungeon of the prisoners rang with their shouting
-voices. “It was thus they glorified,” as Ralph avowed,
-“in their past iniquities”:—</p>
-
-<div class='lg-container-b c011'>
-  <div class='linegroup'>
-    <div class='group'>
-      <div class='line'>“’Twas yester morning, as I walked adown by Charlecote Meads,</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>And counting o’er my wicked sins, as friars count their beads;</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>I halted just beside a deer—a deer with speaking face,</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>That seem’d to say, ‘In God’s name come and take me from this place!’</div>
-    </div>
-    <div class='group'>
-      <div class='line'>“And then it ’gan to tell its tale—and said its babe forlorn</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>Had butcher’d been for Lucy’s dish soon after it was born;</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>‘I know ’tis right!’ exclaimed the dam, ‘my child should form a feast,</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>But what I most complain of is, that beast should dine off beast!’</div>
-    </div>
-    <div class='group'>
-      <div class='line'>“And still the creature mourn’d its fate, and how it came to pass</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>That Lucy here a scarecrow is, in London town an ass!<a id='r1' /><a href='#f1' class='c017'><sup>[1]</sup></a></div>
-      <div class='line in1'>And ended still its sad complaints with offers of its life,</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>twenty hundred times exclaimed, ‘Oh! haven’t you a knife?’</div>
-    </div>
-    <div class='group'>
-      <div class='line'>“There’s brawny limbs in Stratford town, there’s hearts without a fear,</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>There’s tender souls who really have compassion on a deer;</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>And last night was without a moon, a night of nights to give</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>Fit dying consolation to a deer that may not live.</div>
-    </div>
-    <div class='group'>
-      <div class='line'>“The dappled brute lay on the grass, a knife was in its side;</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>Another from its yearning throat let forth its vital tide.</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>It said, as tho’ escaping from the worst that could befall,</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>‘Now, thank my stars, I shall not smoke on board at Charlecote Hall!’</div>
-    </div>
-    <div class='group'>
-      <div class='line'>“Oh, happy deer! Above your friends exalted high by fate,</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>You’re not condemned like all the herds to Lucy’s glutton plate;</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>But every morsel of your flesh, from shoulder to the haunch,</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>Tho’ bred and killed in Charlecote Park, hath lined an honest paunch.”</div>
-    </div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<div class='footnote c018' id='f1'>
-<p class='c019'><span class='label'><a href='#r1'>1</a>.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>“In the country a scarecrow, in London an ass!”—<i>Shakespeare’s
-Satire on Sir Thomas Lucy.</i></p>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c010'>The household were truly scandalised at this bravado.
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_6'>6</span>The night came on, and still the prisoners sang and laughed.
-In the morning Sir Thomas took his chair of state, and
-ordered the culprits to his presence. The servants hurried
-to the cellar—but the birds were flown. How they effected
-their escape remaineth to this day a mystery, though it
-cannot be disguised that heavy suspicion fell upon four of
-the maids. The story went that Shakespeare was a day or
-two afterwards passed on the London road.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>This tale was corroborated by John-a-Combes. For,
-many years afterwards, a townsman of Stratford, who had
-quitted his native place for the Indies just at the time that
-Warwickshire rang with the deeds of the deer-stealers,
-returned home, and amongst other gossip was heard to ask
-the thrifty money-getter what became of that rare spark,
-Will Shakespeare, him who entered Sir Thomas’s park at
-Charlecote. “Marry, sir,” replied John; “the worst has
-become of him, for after that robbery he went to London,
-where he turned stage actor, and writ plays, <i>King Lear</i>,
-<i>Hamlet</i>, <i>Macbeth</i>, <i>Othello</i>, and such things.”</p>
-<div id='i006'  class='figcenter id003'>
-<img src='images/i006.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c002' />
-</div>
-<div id='i007'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_7'>7</span>
-<img src='images/i007.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-  <h2 class='c006'>SHAKESPEARE AT “BANK-SIDE”<a id='r2' /><a href='#f2' class='c017'><sup>[2]</sup></a></h2>
-</div>
-<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The</span> bell of St Mary Overy had struck three; the flag was
-just displayed from the Rose play-house; and, rustling in the
-wind, was like, in the words of the pious Philip Stubbes,
-“unto a false harlot, flaunting the unwary onward to
-destruction and to death.” Barges and boats, filled with
-the flower of the court-end and the city, crowded to the
-bridge. Gallants, in the pride of new cloak and doublet,
-leaped to the shore, making rich the strand with many a
-fair gentlewoman lifted all tenderly from the craft; horses
-pranced along Bank-side, spurred by their riders to the door
-of the tiring-room; nay, there was no man, woman, or
-child who did not seem beckoned by the Rose flag to the
-play,—whose ears did not drink in the music of the trumpets,
-as though it was the most ravishing sound of the earth. At
-length the trumpets ceased, and the play began.</p>
-
-<div class='footnote c020' id='f2'>
-<p class='c019'><span class='label'><a href='#r2'>2</a>.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>According to Rowe’s story, related to Pope, Shakespeare’s first
-employment in London was to wait at the door of the play-house
-and hold the horses of those that had no servants, that they might
-be ready after the performance. “But I cannot,” says Mr
-Steevens, “dismiss this anecdote without observing, that it seems
-to want every mark of probability.”</p>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_8'>8</span>The Rose was crammed. In the penny gallery was many
-an apprentice unlawfully dispensing his master’s time—it
-might be, his master’s penny too. Many a husband, slunk
-from a shrew’s pipe and hands, was there, to list and shake
-the head at the player’s tale of wedded love. Nor here and
-there was wanting, peeping from a nook, with cap pulled
-over the brow, and ruff huddled about the neck, the sly,
-happy face of one, who yesterday gave an assenting groan to
-the charitable wonder of a godly neighbour—of one who
-marvelled that the Rose flag should flout the heavens, yet
-call not down the penal fire. The yard was thronged; and
-on the stage was many a bird of courtly feather, perched on
-his sixpenny stool; whilst the late comer lay at length upon
-the rushes, his thoughts wrested from his hose and points
-by the mystery of the play.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Happy, thrice happy wights, thus fenced and rounded in
-from the leprous, eating cares of life! Happy ye, who, even
-with a penny piece, can transport yourselves into a land of
-fairy—can lull the pains of flesh with the music of high
-thoughts! The play goes on, with all its influences. Where
-is the courtier? Ten thousand miles from the glassy floor of
-a palace, lying on a bank, listening to a reed piping in Arcady.
-Where the man of thrift? He hath shuffled off his trading
-suit, and dreams himself a shepherd of the golden time.
-Where the wife-ridden husband, doubtful of a natural right
-to his own soul? He is an Indian emperor, flushed with the
-mastery of ten thousand slaves! Where is the poor apprentice—he
-who hath weals upon his back for twopence lost
-on Wednesday? He is in El Dorado, strutting upon gold.
-Thus works the play—let it go on. Our business calls us
-to the outside.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>There is scarcely a passenger to be seen on Bank-side.
-Three or four boys loiter about the theatre, some trying,
-through a deceitful crevice, to catch a glimpse of the play—some
-tending horses, until the show be done. Apart from
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_9'>9</span>these, his arms crossed, leaning against a post, his eyes
-fixed on the Rose flag,—stands a youth, whose face, though
-perfect in its beauty, has yet a troubled air. As he stands,
-watching the rustling beacon, it almost seems—so fixed is
-his look—as though he held some converse with it; as
-though the fortunes of his future life were woven in its web
-in mystic characters, and he, with his spirit straining from
-his eyes, were seeking to decipher them. Now—so would
-imagination work—there seemed voluble speech in its flapping
-folds, and now a visible face. The youth turned from
-gazing on the flag to the open river. Some spirit was upon
-him; and, through his eyes, gave to vulgar objects a new and
-startling form. He was in a day-dream of wonder and
-beauty; and as it is told that those doomed to the ocean with
-hearts yearning for the land see fields and pleasant gardens
-in the heaving wave,—so our hero, tricked by his errant
-fancy, gazed breathless at new wonders sweeping before
-him. A golden mist shrouded the mansions and warehouses
-on the strand. Each common thing of earth glowed
-and dilated under the creative spirit of the dreamer. The
-Thames seemed fixed—whilst a thousand forms moved along
-the silver pavement. The sky shone brighter—harmony
-was in the air! The shades move on.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>First passes one bearing in his hand a skull: wisdom is in
-his eyes, music on his tongue—the soul of contemplation in
-the flesh of an Apollo: the greatest wonder and the deepest
-truth—the type of great thought and sickly fancies—the
-arm of clay, wrestling with and holding down the angel.
-He looks at the skull, as though death had written on it
-the history of man. In the distance one white arm is
-seen above the tide, clutching at the branches of a willow
-“growing askant a brook.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Now there are sweet, fitful noises in the air: a shaggy
-monster, his lips glued to a bottle—his eyes scarlet with
-wine—wine throbbing in the very soles of his feet—heaves
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_10'>10</span>and rolls along, mocked at by a sparkling creature couched
-in a cowslip’s bell.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>And now a maiden and a youth, an eternity of love in
-their passionate looks, with death as a hooded priest joining
-their hands: a gay gallant follows them, led on by Queen
-Mab, twisting and sporting as a porker’s tail.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The horns sound—all, all is sylvan! Philosophy in
-hunter’s suit, stretched beneath an oak, moralises on a
-wounded deer, festering, neglected, and alone: and now
-the bells of folly jingle in the breeze, and the suit of motley
-glances among the greenwood.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The earth is blasted—the air seems full of spells: the
-shadows of the Fates darken the march of the conqueror:
-the hero is stabbed with air-drawn steel.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The waves roar like lions round the cliff: the winds are
-up, and howling; yet there is a voice, louder than theirs—a
-voice made high and piercing by intensest agony!
-The singer comes, his white head “crowned with rank
-fumitor”—madness, tended by truth, speaking through
-folly!</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The Adriatic basks in the sun: there is a street in
-Venice; “a merry bargain” is struck—the Jew slinks like
-a balked tiger from the court.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Enter a pair of legs, marvellously cross-gartered.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>And hark! to a sound of piping, comes one with an ass’s
-head wreathed with musk roses and a spirit playing around
-it like a wildfire.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>A handkerchief, with “magic in the web,” comes like a
-trail of light, and disappears.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>A leek—a leek of immortal green shoots up!</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Behold! like to the <i>San Trinidad</i>, swims in a buck-basket
-labelled “to Datchet Meads.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>There gleam two roses, red and white—a Roman cloak
-stabbed through and through—a lantern of the watch of
-Messina!</p>
-
-<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_11'>11</span>A thousand images of power and beauty pass along.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The glorious pageant is over—no! fancy is yet at
-work.—</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Yonder ship, laden with sherris, canary, and spice—see
-how her masts and rigging fall and melt, like metal in a
-furnace! Her huge hold, stowed to the deck with wine,
-swells and distends, and takes another form. We see no
-ship, but a man mountain, with a belly that “would sink a
-navy.” One butt of red wine is sinking in the Thames:
-no; it moves and shapes itself into something like a nose,
-which, rising like a comet, fiery red, before him of the
-abdomen, seems as ’twere purposed for a torch to light him
-“’twixt tavern and tavern.” And see——</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>But the day-dream of the youth is broken. A visitor,
-mounted, has just arrived, and would fain enter the play-house;
-but there is none bold or strong enough to hold his
-steed. At least a dozen men—it was remarkable that each
-had in his bosom a roll of paper, it might be the draft
-of a play—rushing from the Rose, strove to hold the bridle:
-but some the horse trod down—some he struck paralytic
-with his flashing eye—some ran away, half distraught at his
-terrible neighing. At length our dreamer approached the
-steed, which, as it had been suddenly turned to stone,
-stood still. The rider dismounted and entered the play-house,
-leaving his horse tended by our hero. The animal
-ate from out his hand—answered with its proud head the
-caresses of its feeder—and, as it pranced and curveted, a
-sound of music, as from the horny hoofs of dancing satyrs,
-rose from the earth. All stood amazed at the sudden
-taming of the horse.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The play ended—the audience issued from the doors.
-The story had run from mouth to mouth, touching the
-new-comer and his horse. All hurried about the stranger,
-to see him mount. He, with some difficulty, such was the
-crowd, leaped on his steed, when, inclining his face, radiant
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_12'>12</span>with smiles, towards the youth who had performed the
-office of his groom, he flashed like a sunbeam out of
-sight. All stood marble with astonishment. At length
-the immortal quality of the visitor was made manifest, for,
-in the press and hurry, a feather had fallen from one of his
-wings—albeit, concealed and guarded by a long cloak.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The youth who had taken charge of the horse seized, as
-his rightful wages, on this relic of Phœbus, and, taking his
-way, he fashioned it into a pen, and with it from time to
-time gave to the “airy nothings” of his day-dream “a
-local habitation and a name.”</p>
-
-<hr class='c021' />
-
-<p class='c010'>It is modestly hoped that this well-authenticated story
-will wholly silence the sceptical objections of Mr Steevens.</p>
-<div id='i012'  class='figcenter id003'>
-<img src='images/i012.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c002' />
-</div>
-<div id='i013'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_13'>13</span>
-<img src='images/i013.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-<div class='ic001'>
-<p>“Hearing little John Fenton lisp his Berkshire Latin”</p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-  <h2 class='c006'>THE EPITAPH OF SIR HUGH EVANS</h2>
-</div>
-<p class='c022'>“<span class='sc'>There’s</span> pippins and cheese to come!”</p>
-<p class='c010'>Such are the hopeful words of an old divine—of one Sir
-Hugh Evans—a preacher distinguished in the latter part of
-the reign of Henry the Fourth, not so much for the ascetic
-asperity of his speech and bearing as for a certain household
-wisdom that ran like threads of gold through his most
-familiar sentences, enhanced and recommended by a blithe
-look and a chirping voice; all of which excellent gifts made
-him the oracle and friend of the yeomen and goodwives of
-Windsor. These inestimable qualities—to say nothing of
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_14'>14</span>his miraculous hand at bowls, and his marvellous sagacity
-as a brewer of sack—had, as we have already inferred,
-endeared him to his flock: and, living, and preaching, and
-gossiping in a neighbourhood of love and good fellowship,
-the parson grew old, his cheek mellowing to the last; when,
-in the year——, he fell, like an over-ripe plum from the
-tree, into his grave—all the singing men and maids and little
-children of mournful Windsor following their teacher to his
-couch of earth, and chanting around it the hymn best loved
-by him when living.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>In sooth, the funeral of the poor knight was most bravely
-attended. Six stout morrice-men carried the corpse from
-a cottage, the property of the burly, roystering Host of the
-“Garter”—a pretty rustic nook, near Datchet Meads,
-whither the worn-out parson had, for six months before his
-death, retired from the stir and bustle of Windsor—and
-where, on a summer evening, he might be seen seated in the
-porch, patiently hearing little John Fenton lisp his Berkshire
-Latin,—the said John being the youngest grandson of old
-Master Page, and godchild of the grey-headed, big-bellied
-landlord of the “Garter.” Poor Sir Hugh had long been
-afflicted with a vexing asthma; and, though in his gayer
-times he would still brew sack for younger revellers, telling
-them rare tales of “poor dear Sir John and the Prince,”
-he had, for seven years before his death, eschewed his
-former sports, and was never known to hear of a match
-of bowls that he did not shake his head and sigh,—and
-then, like a stout-hearted Christian as he was, soothe his
-discomfited spirit with the snatch of an old song. Doctor
-Caius had, on his death-bed, bequeathed to Sir Hugh an
-inestimable treasure; nothing less than a prescription—a
-very charm—to take away a winter cough: for three years
-had it been to Sir Hugh as the best gift of King Oberon;
-but the fourth winter the amulet cast its virtue, and from
-year to year the parson grew worse and worse,—when, in
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_15'>15</span>the sixty-eighth year of his age, on a bright May morning, in
-the arms of his gossip and friend, staid, sober Master Slender,
-with the Host of the “Garter” seated (for he was too fat
-to stand) in an arm-chair at the bedside, and Master Page and
-Master Ford at the foot, Sir Hugh Evans, knight and priest,
-passed into death, as into a sweet, sound sleep. His wits
-had wandered somewhat during the night,—for he talked of
-“Herne the hunter” and “a boy in white”; and then he
-tried to chirrup a song,—and Masters Page and Ford
-smiled sadly in each other’s face as the dying man, chuckling
-as he carolled, trolled forth—</p>
-
-<div class='lg-container-b c011'>
-  <div class='linegroup'>
-    <div class='group'>
-      <div class='line'>“Pinch him, and burn him, and turn him about,</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>Till candles, and starlight, and moonshine be out.”</div>
-    </div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c012'>As the day advanced, the dying man became more calm;
-and at length, conscious of his state, he passed away at
-half-past nine in the morning, with a look of serenest happiness—and
-“God be with you!” were the last words that
-fluttered from his lips.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The personal property of the dead parson was shared
-among his friends and servants. Master Slender inherited
-his “Book of Songs and Posies”; the Host of the “Garter”
-the sword with which Sir Hugh had dared Doctor Caius to
-mortal combat; and all his wardrobe, consisting of two
-entire suits and four shirts, somewhat softened the grief of
-Francis Simple—son of Simple, former retainer of Master
-Slender, and for three years body-servant of dead Sir Hugh.
-A sum of two shillings and fourpence, discovered among the
-effects of the deceased, was faithfully distributed to the
-parish poor.</p>
-<div id='i017'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<img src='images/i017.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-<div class='ic001'>
-<p>“One ... who would have added weight and dignity to the ceremony”</p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p class='c009'>There was sadness in Windsor streets as the funeral procession
-moved slowly towards the church. Old men and
-women talked of the frolics of Sir Hugh; and though they
-said he had been in his day something of the merriest for a
-parson, yet more than one gossip declared it to be her belief
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_16'>16</span>that “worse men had been made bishops.” A long train
-of friends and old acquaintance followed the body. First,
-came worthy Master Slender—chief mourner. He was a
-bachelor, a little past his prime of life, with a sad and sober
-brow, and a belly inclining to portliness. The severe censors
-of Windsor had called him woman-hater, for that in his
-songs and in his speech he would bear too hardly on the
-frailties and fickleness of the delicate sex; for which unjust
-severity older people might perchance, and they would, have
-found some small apology. For, in truth, Master Slender
-was a man of softest heart; and though he studiously avoided
-the company of women, he was the friend of all the children
-of Datchet and Windsor. He always carried apples in his
-pocket for little John Fenton, youngest child of Anne
-Fenton, formerly Anne Page; and was once found sitting
-in Windsor Park, with little John upon his knees,—Master
-Slender crying like a chidden maid. Of this enough. Let
-it now suffice to say that Master Slender—for the Host
-was too heavy to walk—was chief mourner. Then followed
-Ford and his wife; next, Mr Page and his son William,—poor
-Mrs Page being dead two years at Christmas, from a
-cold caught with over dancing, and then obstinately walking
-through the snow from her old gossip Ford’s. Next in the
-procession were Master Fenton and his wife, and then
-followed their eight children in couples; then Robin—now
-a prosperous vintner, once page to Sir John,—with Francis
-Simple; and then a score of little ones, to whom the poor
-dead parson would give teaching in reading and writing,—and,
-where he marked an apter wit among his free disciples,
-something of the Latin accidence. These were all that
-followed Sir Hugh Evans to his rest—for death had thinned
-the thick file of his old acquaintance. One was wanting,
-who would have added weight and dignity to the ceremony—who,
-had he not some few years before been called to
-fill the widest grave that was ever dug for flesh, would
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_17'>17</span>have cast from his broad and valiant face a lustrous sorrow
-on the manes of the dead churchman,—who would have
-wept tears, rich as wine, upon the coffin of his old friend; for
-to him, in the convenient greatness of his heart, all men,
-from the prince of the blood to the nimming knave who
-stole the “handle of Mrs Bridget’s fan,” were, by turns,
-friends and good fellows; who, at the supper at the
-“Garter” (for the Host gave a solemn feast in celebration
-of the mournful event), would have moralised on death and
-mortal accidents, and, between his tankards, talked fine
-philosophy—true divinity; would have caroused to the
-memory of the dead in the most religious spirit of sack,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_18'>18</span>and have sent round whole flagons of surest consolation.
-Alas! this great, this seeming invincible spirit, this mighty
-wit, with jests all but rich enough to laugh Death from his
-purpose—to put him civilly aside with a quip, bidding him
-to pass on and strike at leaner bosoms,—he himself, though
-with “three fingers on the ribs,” had been hit; and he, who
-seemed made to live for ever, an embodied principle of
-fleshly enjoyment,—he, the great Sir John—</p>
-
-<div class='nf-center-c0'>
-  <div class='nf-center'>
-    <div>“He was dead and nailèd in his chest.”</div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c010'>Others, too, passed away with their great dominator, were
-wanting at the ceremonial. Where was he, with nose
-enshrining jests richer to us than rubies? Truly liberal, yet
-most unfortunate spirit, hapless Bardolph; where, when Sir
-Hugh was laid upon the lap of his mother earth, oh! where
-wert thou? Where was that glorious feature that, had the
-burying been at the dead time of night, would have outshone
-the torches? Where was that all-rich—all-lovely
-nose? Alack! it may be in the maws of French falcons;
-its luckless owner throttled on the plains of Agincourt for
-almost the smallest theft; hung up by fellest order of the
-Fifth Henry—of his old boon companion, his brother robber
-on the field of Gadshill. And could Harry march from the
-plain with laurel on his brow and leave the comrade of his
-youth—his fellow-footpad—with neck mortally cut “with
-edge of penny cord”? Should such a chaplet have been
-intertwined with such hemp? The death of Bardolph is a
-blot—a foul, foul blot on the ’scutcheon of Agincourt. But
-let us pass the ingratitude and tyranny of kings, to dwell
-wholly upon the burial of Sir Hugh.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Who shall say that all the spirits with whom the parson
-was wont to recreate himself,—to counsel, to quarrel,—who
-shall say that they did not all mingle in the procession, all
-once again pass through the streets of ancient Windsor?
-The broad shadow of Sir John, arm-in-arm with the spirit
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_19'>19</span>of Mrs Page,—Bardolph and Nym, descended from their
-gibbets, new from the plains of France, to make melancholy
-holiday in Berkshire,—learned Dr Caius, babbling Quickly,
-and Pistol, her broken, war-worn husband, kicked down the
-tavern stairs, where in his old days he served as drawer, and
-was killed,—and Shallow, immortal Shallow, his lean ghost
-fluttering with a sense of office,—who shall say that all these
-did not crowd about the coffin of good Sir Hugh, and, as
-he was laid in the grave, give him a smiling welcome to his
-everlasting habitation? Let us not, in this day of light, be
-charged with superstition, if in these pages—perpetual as
-adamant—we register our belief, a belief mingling in our very
-blood, that all these illustrious ghosts followed, and, with their
-dim majesty, ennobled the procession,—albeit, to the eyes of
-the uninitiate, none but the living did service to the dead.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Sir Hugh Evans was laid by the side of his old friend
-and old antagonist, Doctor Caius; and, for many years,
-there was a story among the good wives of Windsor, that
-the fairies, once a year, danced round the grave of Sir Hugh,
-the turf upon it growing as bright as emeralds; and, in a
-hawthorn bush, but a few paces from the spot, “melodious
-birds” did, at certain seasons, “sing madrigals.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>We have now to speak of the epitaph of the good Sir
-Hugh. More than four hundred years have passed away
-since the mortal part of that most worthy piece of Welsh
-divinity was consigned to dust. It may be a lesson to
-ambition to learn that the exact spot where he was buried
-cannot, at the present time, be verified: the ablest antiquarians
-are at odds about it. Proud, however,—and, we
-trust, not unbecomingly so,—are we to be the means of
-publishing to the world the epitaph of Sir Hugh, copied
-from his tombstone, in the possession of a gentleman in
-Berkshire, who has resisted our most earnest supplications
-that he would suffer us to make known his name. This
-favour he has resolutely refused; but has, in the most
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_20'>20</span>handsome manner, presented us with the use of the tombstone,
-together with a most voluminous, and no less satisfactory,
-account of its genuineness. Happy should we
-have been could we have found room for the history of
-the relic at full. Leaving it, however, for the archives of
-the Antiquarian Society, we must content ourselves with
-stating that the document fully proves that the tombstone
-was erected from the private munificence of Master Slender,
-and that the pithy and most touching epitaph inscribed
-upon it was selected by his happy taste, as combining all
-the excellences of an epitaph in the fewest words—these
-words having the further recommendation of being uttered,
-on a memorable occasion, by the deceased himself. The
-words were repeated to Master Slender by his servant
-Simple, despatched, on a certain day, by Sir Hugh with a
-letter touching the wooing of Anne Page. After long
-pondering, reviewing every circumstance of his ancient
-friendship with the dead Sir Hugh,—seated, one sunny
-afternoon, on the bench outside the “Garter,” the words
-came jump again into the mind of Slender; and quickly
-raising and emptying his tankard, he marched, like a man
-resolved, to the stone-cutter, and—for he cared not for
-Latin—bade the workman cut on the stone—(the inscription,
-considering its age, is in a wonderful state of preservation)—the
-words that follow:—</p>
-
-<div class='nf-center-c0'>
-<div class='nf-center c002'>
-    <div>HUGH EVANS</div>
-    <div><span class='sc'>Prieste</span></div>
-    <div><span class="blackletter">Dyed atte Datchette</span></div>
-    <div><span class='sc'>May—anno Domi 14—</span></div>
-    <div><span class='sc'>Aged—</span></div>
-    <div><span class='sc'>“There’s Pippins and Cheese—to Come.”</span></div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c022'>How simply, yet how beautifully, does this epitaph shadow
-forth the fruitfulness of the future! How delicate, and yet
-how sufficing, its note of promise!—</p>
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c000' />
-</div>
-
-<div class='nf-center-c1'>
-<div class='nf-center c002'>
-    <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_21'>21</span><span class='small'>“THERE’S PIPPINS AND CHEESE—TO COME.”</span></div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c010'>Pippins! Does not the word, upon a tombstone, conjure
-up thoughts of Hesperian gardens—of immortal trees, laden
-with golden fruit; with delicious produce, the growth of a
-soil where not one useless weed takes root, where no
-baneful snake rustles among the grass, where no blight
-descends, no canker withers? Where we may pluck from
-the consenting boughs, and eat, and eat—and never, as in
-earthly things, find a worm at the core, a rottenness at the
-heart, where outside beauty tempted us to taste? “There’s
-pippins <i>to come</i>!” The evil and misery gathered with the
-apple of death will be destroyed—forgotten—by the
-ambrosial fruit to be plucked for ever in immortal
-orchards!—</p>
-
-<div class='nf-center-c0'>
-<div class='nf-center c002'>
-    <div><span class='small'>“THERE’S PIPPINS AND CHEESE—TO COME!”</span></div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c010'>What a picture of plenty in its most beneficent aspect—what
-a prospect of pastoral abundance!</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Think of it, ye oppressed of the earth! Ye, who are
-bowed and pinched by want—ye, who are scourged by the
-hands of persecution—ye, crushed with misery—ye, doomed
-to the bitterness of broken faith; take this consolation to
-your wearied souls—apply this balsam to your bruised
-hearts.—Though all earth be to you as barren as the
-sands—</p>
-
-<div class='nf-center-c0'>
-<div class='nf-center c002'>
-    <div><span class='small'>“THERE’S PIPPINS AND CHEESE—TO COME!”</span></div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c002' />
-</div>
-<div id='i022'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_22'>22</span>
-<img src='images/i022.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-  <h2 class='c006'>BULLY BOTTOM’S BABES</h2>
-</div>
-<p class='c022'><span class='sc'>The</span> immortal weaver of Athens hath a host of descendants.
-They are scattered throughout every country of the world,
-their moral likeness to their sage ancestor becoming stronger
-in the land of wealth and luxury. They are a race marked
-and distinguished by the characteristics of their first parent—omnivorous
-selfishness and invulnerable self-complacency.
-They wear the ass’s head, yet know it not; and heedless
-of the devotion, have the Titania fortune still to round their
-temples “with coronets of fresh and fragrant flowers.”
-They sleep to the watching of an enamoured fairy, and
-wake only to new experiences of her tenderness and beauty.</p>
-
-<div class='lg-container-b c011'>
-  <div class='linegroup'>
-    <div class='group'>
-      <div class='line'>“Be kind and courteous to this gentleman;</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>Hop in his walks, and gambol in his eyes;</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>Feed him with apricocks and dewberries;</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>The honey-bags steal from the humble-bees,</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>And for night-tapers crop their waxen thighs,</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>And light them at the fiery glow-worm’s eyes,</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>To have my love to bed and to arise:</div>
-      <div class='line in1'><span class='pageno' id='Page_23'>23</span>And pluck the wings from painted butterflies,</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes:</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies.”</div>
-    </div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c012'>Have we not here the adjuration of the fairy fortune to
-all her ministering delights and pleasures of the world, to
-render service and to do homage to the dull-brained creature
-of her passion? Extract the poetry, the delicious fancy,
-from the injunction of the Queen of Fairies, and what is it
-but the command of worldly luck to her many servitors, to
-seek all imaginable delights for the sordid lump of earth,
-the mere animal with an “ass’s head” her diseased and
-wayward affections have made an idol of? Is not the
-world thronged with these Bottoms? In shape, in
-lineament, in every moral feature, are they not the veritable
-descendants of the swaggering homespun Athenian? They
-are the very nurslings of fortune, the monstrous and uncouth
-objects of her blind and fickle passion; yet do they
-submit to her endearments with no distrust, no passing
-suspicion of their own worthiness. They receive her
-blandishments as nothing more than a just and rightful
-reward for excellence. They cannot conceive how it
-could have been otherwise. Their imagination, vassal to
-their self-complacency, will not allow them to change
-places for an instant with their less prosperous fellow. No;
-Fortune dotes upon them, and how can she help it? Her extravagant
-fondness is not excused, but justified, made inevitable
-by the excelling worthiness of their parts. Hence, with
-what serenity they issue mandates to the retainers of their
-fond mistress—with what lordly self-conviction of their
-own merits they accept their service! How they order
-Cobweb, Peaseblossom, and Mustardseed to do their fantastic
-bidding, as though their bondmaster, created with natural
-and inalienable right to their feudality. Nothing in the way
-of greatness surprises them—no flattery startles them.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful!” cries Titania
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_24'>24</span>to her ass-headed lover, and he by no syllable disclaims the
-truth, the justice of the eulogy. He swallows the praise
-as his natural food, takes the sweet sound of his doting
-goddess as rightful, every-day applause. He is loved by a
-goddess, for the goddess—we have said it—cannot help it.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The insensibility of the sons of Bottom is one of their
-grand, their unerring characteristics. It is this profitable
-faculty that would make them task the daintiest spirits for
-their own poorest, vilest wants, and dream of nothing
-monstrous or extravagant in such application.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“I shall desire you of more acquaintance, good Master
-Cobweb: if I cut my finger, I shall make bold with you.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Scratch my head, Peaseblossom.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Monsieur Cobweb; good mounsieur, get you your
-weapons in your hand, and kill me a red-hipped bumble-bee
-on the top of a thistle; and, good mounsieur, bring me
-the honey-bag.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Thus spoke the great progenitor, Bottom; and of a
-verity his children are not more shame-faced task-masters.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Next, let us contrast the power and beauty of delights
-placed by Queen Titania at his will, with the mean, the
-sordid wretchedness of Bottom’s appetite and tastes.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“<i>Tit.</i> What, wilt thou hear some music, my sweet love?</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“<i>Bot.</i> I have a reasonable good ear in music. Let’s
-have the tongs and bones.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“<i>Tit.</i> Or say, sweet love, what thou desir’st to eat.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“<i>Bot.</i> Truly a peck of provender: I could munch your
-good dry oats. Methinks I have a great desire to a bottle
-of hay: good hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“<i>Tit.</i> I have a venturous fairy that shall seek<br />
-&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The squirrel’s hoard, and fetch thee new nuts.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“<i>Bot.</i> I had rather have a handful or two of dried peas.
-But, I pray you, let none of your people stir me: I have an
-exposition of sleep come upon me.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“<i>Tit.</i> Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms.<br />
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_25'>25</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Fairies, be gone, and be always away.<br />
-&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;So doth the woodbine the sweet honeysuckle<br />
-&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Gently entwist; the female ivy so<br />
-&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Enrings the barky fingers of the elm.<br />
-&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<i>Oh, how I love thee! how I dote on thee!</i>”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Is this a scene of mere fairy-land? No; but a thing of
-hard, every-day prosaic life. Have we not about us the
-children, the thick-headed descendants of Bottom, with the
-Titania fortune tempting them to the enjoyments of the
-rarest and sweetest delights? and yet the coarse animal
-craving of</p>
-
-<div class='nf-center-c0'>
-  <div class='nf-center'>
-    <div>“The shallowest thick-skin of that barren sort,”</div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c019'>make answer to her dainty invitations with the poorest,
-coarsest desires! A goddess bids them choose music, and
-they are for nothing but “tongs and bones.” Fortune
-prays them to the banquet on immortal food, and, with asinine
-stubbornness, they bray for “a handful or two of dried
-peas.” They are warbled to by a goddess, and, unconscious
-of the homage, they make answer with the sense of an ass.
-We ask it, did Bottom die childless?</p>
-<p class='c010'>Bottom’s babes flourish in twenty paths of life. We
-meet his children in the stock-market; we see them sleek
-and smug behind the counter; we catch their faces through
-carriage windows; we hear their tuneful voices from the
-county-bench, the city-court, yea, in nobler convocations
-still. Sometimes, too, like their Athenian father, they are
-“translated.” No matter for the difference of calling, the
-influence of education, there is the family face—the family
-voice; the expression of self-blessed insensibility, the note
-of self-complacent gratulation. Throughout the life-teeming
-page of Shakespeare there is not a finer poetic rendering
-of a commonplace, vulgar class than Bottom.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The very heart of their mystery beats in the bosom of
-the weaver. His eagerness to be all things, from an assured
-conviction of his fitness for everything, is only their daily
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_26'>26</span>conceit dramatically developed. In that brief scene, what
-a picture have we, what a history of the ten thousand incidents
-of prose life! What an exhibition of the profound
-busy-bodies who clamorously desire to be Wall, Lion,
-Moonshine, and Pyramus too, not from an acquired belief, but
-as it would seem from a natural instinct of their own fitness
-for the combined charges! How triumphantly does Bottom
-swagger down his fellows! How small, mean, degenerate—what
-nobodies are they, before that giant conceit, the
-thick-skulled weaver!<a id='r3' /><a href='#f3' class='c017'><sup>[3]</sup></a> And in all this there is nothing
-that is not the severest transcript of human life. We laugh
-at it; and the next moment we are touched into gravity by
-a reflection of its serious meaning—its philosophic comments
-on the vulgar pretence of the every-day world.</p>
-
-<div class='footnote c020' id='f3'>
-<p class='c019'><span class='label'><a href='#r3'>3</a>.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>It is impossible, we think, for the reader, if he witnessed <i>A
-Midsummer Night’s Dream</i> at Covent Garden last season (1840) to
-banish from his memory the <i>Flute</i> of Keeley in this scene. How
-meekly, how resignedly he gave place to the burly consequence
-of <i>Bottom</i>. It was not imbecility, but a mute absorbing sense of
-homage to the greatness of the weaver, one of those subtle touches
-that show the sympathy of the actor with the profoundest meanings
-of the poet.</p>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c010'>The finer part of the picture, in which as we receive it,
-Shakespeare, with immortal tints, has shadowed forth the
-souls of a herd of men, is Bottom doted upon by the Queen
-of Fairies. It is here we have the true lineaments of a
-vulgar nature emblazoned by luck. It is here we recognise
-the self-sufficient creature of worldly success—the ignorant
-bashaw of life wearing his bravery as an ordained and
-necessary part of himself. He has the riches, the sweets
-of the earth, at his command, and he pauses not in passing
-wonder at his prosperity. To him there is no such power
-as a Providence. It is a part of the world’s destiny that
-he should be precisely what he is; he is the begotten of
-fate, and owes no obligation to vulgar fortune.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Nor are Bottom’s Babes less like their putative sire, if
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_27'>27</span>they have suffered no transformation. There are those who
-come into the world with the ass’s head, and live and die
-wound in the arms of doting wealth. The hard task-masters
-of life are often of these. The foolish, arrogant censors of
-the faults and backslippings of penury are to be found
-among them—the full fleshed moralists who shake their
-shaggy ears at the small delinquencies of struggling men.
-They eat, drink, sport, and sleep in fairyland; their lightest
-wish evokes a minister to do their bidding; and in their
-most fantastic, foolish moods, still Fortune—weak, besotted
-quean!—cries, with silverest voice:—</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Oh, how I love ye! How I dote on ye!”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Bottom as we opine, considered in his truthfulness, in his
-reflective powers of worldly semblance, awakens our pensiveness,
-not our mirth. We think of the thousands of his
-children, and the smile that would break at the mere words
-of the weaver, is chequered by the thought of his prosaic
-offspring. Yes; his offspring. It matters not that you
-point to—in his carriage, that you run through his accredited
-genealogy, that you show his armorial bearings. We answer—if
-he receive the goods of fortune as his <i>right</i>, with no
-thankfulness for the gifts, no gratitude displayed by constant
-sympathy with the wants and weaknesses of suffering man,
-though you call him marquis, we say he is the Babe of
-Bottom; and for his quarterings, though they date from
-the Conquest, the eye of our philosophy sees nought on his
-carriage panels but an ass’s head in a field, proper; and in
-the motto reads—“A bottle of hay!”</p>
-<div id='i027'  class='figcenter id003'>
-<img src='images/i027.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-<div class='ic001'>
-<p>A bottle of hay.</p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c002' />
-</div>
-<div id='i028'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_28'>28</span>
-<img src='images/i028.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-  <h2 class='c006'>SHAKESPEARE IN CHINA</h2>
-</div>
-<p class='c023'>“I cannot tell that the wisest Mandarin now living in China
-is not indebted for part of his energy and sagacity to Shakespeare
-and Milton, even though it should happen that he never heard of
-their names.”</p>
-<div class='c024'>—Godwin’s <i>Essay on Sepulchres</i>.</div>
-<p class='c022'><span class='sc'>We</span> do great injustice to the College of Mandarins, if we
-think that body at the present time ignorant of the marvels
-of Shakespeare. No: Canton has produced its commentator,
-and, by means of his explanatory genius, it is hoped
-that in a few years the whole Celestial Empire will, in the
-fulness of its knowledge, bow to the majesty of the poet.
-At this moment we have before us a radiant evidence of
-the admission of the great teacher into the Sacred City:
-believe it, astounded reader, Shakespeare has gone farther
-than Nieuhoff. England, however—that England who has
-shown herself such an idolatress of her darling son—who
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_29'>29</span>has encircled the house in which he first drew breath with
-a golden rail—who has secured it from possible destruction
-at the hands of the bigot, by making it the property of the
-State—that England who, when the tree planted by the
-bard was felled by the axe, wept as she turned the timber
-into ’bacco-stoppers<a id='r4' /><a href='#f4' class='c017'><sup>[4]</sup></a>—that England who, even at the
-present time, only a little more than two centuries after his
-death, has already begun to think of the propriety of
-erecting, at some future day, a national monument to her
-poet—that England cannot, after the many and affecting
-instances of her deep and maternal love towards her most
-illustrious child, refuse to aid in the dissemination of
-Shakespearanity in any corner of the world, but at the
-present interesting crisis, more particularly in the empire
-of China.</p>
-<div class='footnote c020' id='f4'>
-<p class='c019'><span class='label'><a href='#r4'>4</a>.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>The Mulberry-tree was cut down; and the race of Gastrels
-is not extinct.</p>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c010'>The cry that the Chinese are not yet fit for Shakespeare—a
-cry raised in the same acute spirit in which people in
-chains have been said not to be fit for freedom—can, we
-think, have no bad effect on even moderately liberal men,
-after the production of papers now beneath our hands. All
-we ask of the Foreign Minister is a company, to act either
-on board Chinese junks or on shore, as the intellectual
-wants of his Majesty may require; nay, if under the direction
-of their own stage-manager, to exhibit themselves at
-any distance in the interior. The company to be paid and
-clothed by the government for whose benefit they act, with
-this condition, that they be subject to the laws and customs
-of the Chinese, obediently shaving their eyebrows and
-letting their tails grow. For the passing difficulty of the
-language, that, we have no doubt, will soon be overcome;
-many of the actors, we religiously believe it, speaking and
-playing equally well in English or in Chinese. We now
-come to the proofs of the fit condition of the people for
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_30'>30</span>Shakespeare—for that which they will “hail as a boon,”
-and which we shall part with as a drug.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Some months since, it was our fortune to be present
-at an auction of curiosities from the East—shells, parrots,
-rice-paper, chop-sticks, japanned cabinets, and cut-throat
-sparrows. Our friend Peregrine—he had just arrived from
-the Great Pyramid, from the top of which, and by means of a
-most excellent glass, he had discovered, and afterwards made
-captive, three giraffes—bade money for a picture. As it was
-a scene from Shakespeare, there were of course no opposing
-bidders, and he became the owner of what proved to be an
-exquisite evidence of Chinese art and imitation; in brief,
-no other than a copy faithfully drawn, and most brilliantly
-coloured by an artist at Canton of the Boydell picture of
-Falstaff in the Buck-basket, and the Merry Wives. The
-picture, however, proved in itself to be of little value compared
-to the essay found to be inserted at the back between
-the picture and the frame; being written on paper, half a
-quire of which would not exceed the thickness of a butterfly’s
-wing, it is no wonder that the treasure escaped even the
-meritorious vigilance of an auctioneer. It is this essay that
-we now propose to submit to the reader, in evidence of the
-condition of China for an instant export of a company of
-fine Shakespearian actors. When we state that the essay has
-been printed by its author in at least one of the Canton
-journals, the dissemination and adoption of the principles
-comprised in it, over the whole of China, cannot for half a
-moment be a matter of doubt.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>We regret that we cannot wholly acquit our intelligent
-Mandarin of the taint of ingratitude. It is evident that his
-views of English history—at least of that portion in which
-Falstaff conspicuously appears, for the writer suffers no
-subject to escape in any way involved in the character of
-the immortal knight—have been gathered from one of our
-fellow countrymen; he has, if we may be allowed to say
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_31'>31</span>it, sucked the brain, as a “weasel sucks eggs,” of some
-enlightened but obscure supercargo whom he has left unhonoured
-and unthanked. How different, in a similar case,
-was the conduct of an Englishman: our deep veneration of
-the national character will not, at this happy moment, suffer
-us to be silent on the grateful magnanimity of Mr Nahum
-Tate, who, in his preface to his improved version of <i>King
-Lear</i>, returns his “thanks to an <i>ingenious friend</i> who first
-pointed out the tragedy” to his condescending notice!
-The silence of the Mandarin towards his instructor is the
-more strange, as ingratitude is not the vice of the barbarian.
-An ingenious friend points out a skulking, unarmed straggler
-to a Cossack; the soldier makes him prisoner, cuts off his
-ears, slits his nose, bores his tongue, and having mounted the
-captive behind him, in the cordial spirit of Nahum Tate,
-“thanks his ingenious friend” for his information! But it
-is so; in this particular our mandarin fails in comparison
-with the Cossack and with Nahum Tate.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>We now lay before the reader the Essay of Ching the
-Mandarin, who, it will be seen, in his orders to the painter
-employed to copy the original picture—by whom taken to
-China remains unknown—has, with national exactness, given
-the birth and education not only of the author of Falstaff,
-but of Falstaff himself, together with glancing notices of—Windsor
-wives and Windsor soap.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>It is, perhaps, only due to the translator, to state that by
-our express solicitation he has a little lowered the orientalism
-of the original, whilst he has at the same time endeavoured
-to preserve the easy, conversational tone of the educated
-Chinese.</p>
-
-<div class='nf-center-c0'>
-<div class='nf-center c002'>
-    <div><span class='c025'>“CHING TO TING.</span></div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c009'>“I send, O Ting, from the barbarian ship, a picture of
-barbarians. Make one for your friend, like unto it; in
-size, in shape, and colour, even the same. But why should
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_32'>32</span>I waste words with Ting, whose pencil is true as the tongue
-of Confutzee? No; I will straightway deliver to him all
-my studies have made known to me of the barbarians written
-on the canvas before him: for how can even Ting paint the
-faces of barbarians in their very truth, if he knows not the
-history not only of themselves but of their fathers?</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“The he barbarian with the big belly was called Forlstoff,
-and in time was known as Surgeon Forlstoff: from which,
-there is no doubt, he was a skilful leech in the army of the
-barbarian king, more of whom in good season. Forlstoff’s
-father was one Shak or Shake, Speare or Spear; for there
-have been great tumults among the barbarians about the e.
-In nothing does the ignorance of the English barbarians
-more lamentably discover itself than in the origin they
-obstinately give to their Shakespeare; who, according to
-them, was, like the great Brahme, hatched in an egg on the
-bank of a river, as may be seen in a thousand idle books in
-which he is called the ‘Swan of Haveone.’ And this conceit
-was further manifested in the building of a place called
-‘the Swan Theatre,’ where the barbarians were wont to
-worship. There is little known of Shakespeare’s wife, Forlstoff’s
-mother, and that little proves her to have been an
-idle person, given to great sleep and sloth, as is shown by
-her getting nothing at the death of her husband but his
-‘second-best bed!’</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“If Forlstoff would not, at a later time of life, leave off
-stealing, there is little doubt that he owed the fault to his
-father, Shakespeare, who was forced to fly to London,
-which is a sacred city for all thieves, for having stolen an
-antelope, an animal consecrated to the higher kinds of
-barbarians, and which it is death for the poor to touch.
-Indeed, the flesh of the antelope is to be eaten with safety
-by very few of the barbarians, it having killed even many of
-the Eldermen immediately after dinner.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“When Shakespeare came to London he was poor and
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_33'>33</span>without friends, and he held the horses of the rich
-barbarians who came to worship at a temple on the banks
-of the river. In time he learned to make shoes for the
-horses; and in such esteem are the shoes still held by the
-barbarians, that they are bought at any price, and nailed at
-the threshold of their houses and barns; for where they
-are nailed, the foolish natives think no fire, no pestilence
-will come, and no evil thing have any strength. Such is
-the silly idolatry of the barbarians.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“At length Shakespeare got admitted into the temple;
-and there he showed himself master of the greatest arts;
-and he wrote charms upon paper which, it is said, will
-make a man weep or laugh with very happiness,—will bring
-spirits from the sky and devils from the water,—will open
-the heart of a man and show what creeps within it,—will
-now snatch a crown from a king, and now put wings to the
-back of a beggar. And all this they say Shakespeare did,
-and studied not. No, beloved Ting, he was not like Sing,
-who, though but a poor cowherd, became wise by poring
-on his book spread between the horns of his cow, he
-travelling on her back.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“And Shakespeare proceeded in his marvels, and he
-became rich; and even the queen of the barbarians was
-seen to smile at him, and once, with a burning look, to
-throw her glove at him; but Shakespeare, it is said, to the
-discomfiture of the queen, returned the glove, taking no
-further notice of the amatory invitation.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“In a ripe season of his life Shakespeare gave up conjuring,
-and returned to the village on the banks of the river
-Haveone, where, as it is ignorantly believed, he was hatched,
-and where he lived in the fulness of fortune. He had laid
-down his conjuring-rod and taken off his gown, and passed
-for nothing more than a man, and, it is said—though you,
-beloved Ting, who see the haughty eyes and curling noses
-of the lesser man mandarins, can, after what I have writ of
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_34'>34</span>Shakespeare, hardly believe it—thought himself nothing
-more.</p>
-<div id='i034'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<img src='images/i034.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-<div class='ic001'>
-<p>“Became wise by poring on his book”</p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p class='c009'>“Shakespeare built himself a house and planted a tree.
-The house is gone, but the barbarians preserve bricks of it
-in their inner chambers, even—I tremble as I pen it—as
-we preserve the altars of our gods.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“The tree was cut down by a fakir in a brain fever, but
-the wood is still worshipped. And this, O Ting! I would
-not ask you to believe had not your own eyes witnessed
-that wonderful tree,<a id='r5' /><a href='#f5' class='c017'><sup>[5]</sup></a> the leaves whereof, falling to the
-ground, become mice! Hence learn that the leaves of
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_35'>35</span>Shakespeare’s mulberry have become men, and on a
-certain day every year, with mulberry boughs about their
-heads, their bodies clothed in their richest garments, they
-chant praises to the memory of Shakespeare, and drink
-wine to his name.</p>
-
-<div class='footnote c020' id='f5'>
-<p class='c019'><span class='label'><a href='#r5'>5</a>.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>See Navarrete’s <i>China</i> for the account of this tree; underneath
-which, we humbly suggest, it would be as well to keep a cat.</p>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Shakespeare—Forlstoff’s father, and the father of a
-hundred lusty sons and daughters, such as until that time
-had never been born, Shakespeare—died! He was buried
-in a chest of cedar, set about with plates of gold. On one
-of these plates was writ some magic words; for thieves,
-breaking into the grave, were fixed and changed to stone;
-and are now to be seen even as they were first struck by the
-charm of the magician. And so much, beloved Ting, of
-Shakespeare, Forlstoff’s father.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>That our Mandarin has herein displayed very popular
-abilities for the difficult task of a commentator, no one
-who has read many volumes of Shakespearian commentaries
-will, we believe, deny. It is observable that in many
-instances he makes his facts; a custom of particular
-advantage to the indulgence of the most peculiar opinions
-and conclusions. We have read some writers who, deprived
-of this privilege, would really have nothing to work upon.
-The pleasure of making a giant, great as it possibly may
-be, cannot be comparable to the delight of killing him,
-our own handiwork. If, however, our reader will bear with
-us, we will proceed with the labours of Ching on the
-character of Falstaff, and on those personages and events,
-directly and indirectly, associated with his glorious name.
-Falstaff in China! Jack Falstaff on a regimen of rice!</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Forlstoff was born in the third hour of the morning;
-and at his birth the roundness of his belly and the whiteness
-of his head betokened his future greatness. But little
-is known of his early life; save that he assisted in the
-temples of the barbarians, where his voice, once remarkable
-for its sweetness, became broken with the zeal of the singer.
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_36'>36</span>He then travelled with a juggler, and—if lying were not the
-especial vice of the barbarians—did greater wonders than
-even our own Yiyi. The Eldermen of London—so named
-because chosen from the oldest inhabitants—are known by
-a ring upon the thumb; this ring Forlstoff, to the admiration
-of the barbarian court, crept through and through like
-any worm, and was promoted by the king therefore. I
-should, however, do evil unto truth did I not advise you,
-O Ting, that this feat of Forlstoff seems greater than
-it really is: for a tame eagle being kept at the court of
-the king, it was afterwards discovered that a talon of
-the bird was something thicker than the waist of the said
-Forlstoff.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“It is certain that Forlstoff, a short time after his feat
-with the ring, became a student in a place called Clemency
-Inn; which, as its name implies, is a temple wherein
-youths study to become meek and merciful, to love all men
-as brothers of their own flesh, and to despise the allurements
-of wealth. There was with him another student, called
-Robert Shaller, who afterwards became a mandarin, or, in
-the barbarian tongue, a justice of the peace, being promoted
-to that office because he was like a double radish, and
-had his head carved with a knife. He was, when at
-Clemency Inn, dressed in an eel-skin, and used to sleep
-in a lute-case. He lent Forlstoff what the barbarians
-call a thousand pounds, which Forlstoff was honest enough
-to—acknowledge.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“I next find Forlstoff in company with one Princeal,
-the son of the barbarian king, and several thieves. Forlstoff—and
-here the vice of his father, Shakespeare, breaks
-out in the child—tempts the king’s son to turn robber.
-He is, however, so ashamed of the wickedness, that he
-goes about it with a mask on his face, as a king’s son
-ought.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Forlstoff falls into disgrace with Princeal, and is sent by
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_37'>37</span>him with soldiers to Coventry; that being a place in the
-barbarian country where no man speaks to his neighbour.
-After some delay Forlstoff marches through Coventry to
-fight one Pursy, who can ride up a straight hill, and is
-therefore called Hotspur. Forlstoff fights with him by—that
-is, near a clock, and kills him, Princeal, the king’s
-son, meanly endeavouring to deprive Forlstoff of the
-honour.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“After the battle Forlstoff goes to dine with the king at
-Wincer, which is the royal manufactory for soap. Forlstoff
-pretends to love two wives at the same time, and is put by
-them in what is called by the barbarians a <i>buck</i>-basket—that
-is a basket for the finer sort of barbarians, their word
-<i>buck</i> answering to our <i>push</i>, and meaning high, handsome,
-grand. He is flung into the river, and saves himself by
-swimming to a garter. He is afterwards punished by being
-turned into the royal forest, with horns upon his head and
-chains upon his hands. Princeal, in time, becomes king,
-and discards Forlstoff, who goes home—goes to bed—does
-nothing but look at the ends of his fingers, talks of the
-green fields about Wincer, and dies.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“For the habits of Forlstoff, if they were not quite as
-virtuous as those of Fo, it was perhaps the fault of his
-times; for we have his own words to prove that they were
-once those of the best barbarians. He swore but few oaths—gambled
-but once a day—paid his debts four times—and
-took recreation only when he cared for it. He loved
-sack—a liquor that has puzzled the heads of the learned—without
-eggs, and was extraordinarily temperate in
-bread.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“His companions were thieves of the highest repute—but
-all, unhappily, died and left no sons!</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“You will now, oh wise and virtuous Ting, directed by
-these few and feeble words, paint me the picture of Forlstoff
-and his two wives.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_38'>38</span>We put it to the impartial reader whether Ching, in
-the above estimate of the character of Falstaff, has not
-entitled himself to take rank with many Shakespearian
-commentators; and whether, if the Foreign Minister will
-not consent to ship a company of English actors to Canton,
-Ching should not be invited by the patrons of the British
-drama to preside in a London theatre.</p>
-<div id='i038'  class='figcenter id003'>
-<img src='images/i038.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c002' />
-</div>
-<div id='i039'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_39'>39</span>
-<img src='images/i039.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-  <h2 class='c006'>SOLOMON’S APE</h2>
-</div>
-<p class='c023'>“For the king had at sea a navy of Tharshish with the navy
-of Hiram: once in three years came the navy of Tharshish,
-bringing gold, and silver, ivory, and apes, and peacocks.”—<i>Kings.</i></p>
-<p class='c022'><span class='sc'>A learned</span> rabbi, Ben Eli, had filled three thick MS.
-folios with the adventures of a certain ape, a sojourner at
-the court of the wisest of kings. Though the work has
-hitherto been withheld from the world, it seems not unlikely
-that it has long been the acknowledged model of
-many biographies. We conceive there is internal evidence
-in the history of thousands of courtiers, that the writers
-were aware how much the erudite Ben Eli could make of
-an ape. They who have gravely registered the slightest
-formality, the most evanescent word or gesture of certain
-heroes, must have had in their memory the first chronicler
-of monkey tricks. There was a time when it would have
-been the simplest and safest course to publish the entire
-folio: in former days, readers were like hogs, whose
-master had the right of pannage: they were turned into
-the literary forest to root, and grub up, and become as fat
-as they might. Now, it is not enough to show them the
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_40'>40</span>tree of knowledge; but it is compulsory on those who
-drive the “dreadful trade,” to clamber the branches, and
-gather the fruit. Nay, and when gathered, the apple serves
-not the epicure of our day, if it be not carefully pared and
-sliced; and, in some instances, presented on a fork of
-standard gold or silver. Moreover, cases have happened
-wherein the quality of the fork hath been cavilled for, more
-than that of the apple: thus, an embossed implement hath
-at times passed off a sorry crab. Once it was enough for
-wisdom to point out the wood where grew the nuts: now
-must she gather and crack them.</p>
-<p class='c010'>Thus much by way of feeble apology for the licence we
-have taken with the folios of the venerable Ben Eli. We
-have wandered through their forest of leaves; we have
-picked all we could lay our hands upon; we have torn
-away the husk—have broken the shell—and for the few
-kernels—gentle feeder, some of them are before you.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“And the ape became a favourite with the servants of
-Solomon. And the women smiled upon him, and the men
-laughed at his grimace; and the ape was puffed with pride,
-and became a proverb to the wise. And the ape forgot the
-mother that bore him, and the father that begat him, and the
-wood which, in the days of his youth, did give him shadow.
-And—brief be the words—the ape forgot he was an ape.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“There was a strange woman in the court of King Solomon.
-She was beautiful as light; and many men did try for the love
-of the strange woman; for she was a princess in her own
-country.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“And it fell, that the woman looked from her window,
-and beheld in the court below the ape stretched, sleeping
-in the sun: for it was high noon, and there was silence on
-all things. But in the heart of the strange woman there
-was no peace, for she thought of her father’s tents.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“And the ape awoke, and, looking upward, beheld the
-strange woman. And there was vanity in his heart, and
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_41'>41</span>he still looked upward. And the captive woman had compassion
-on the creature, and, believing that he hungered,
-cast him down a ripe pomegranate. And the ape did eat
-the pomegranate, and did lick his lips, and did say in his
-heart, ‘Of a truth, the strange woman doth love me.’</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“And the next day, at the same hour, the ape watched
-under the window of the strange woman, and again she did
-throw him fruit, which he did eat, and again did cry, ‘Nay,
-it is certain she doth love me.’</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“And the same thing came to pass on the third and
-fourth day.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“And in the stillness of the fifth day, when sleep lay
-upon the lids of the household, the ape did clamber the
-wall which did shut in the strange woman. And as he
-clomb, a voice still cried in his heart, ‘She doth love me.’</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“And the ape clambered up to the window of the
-strange woman; and when she saw the monster, she filled
-the chamber with her screams, and shrieked for help.
-And the servants of the chamber came to her aid; and
-the court was filled with a multitude.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“And the woman entreated to be saved from the ape;
-but the ape understood not her words, for still he said to
-himself, ‘She doth love me.’</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“And the men took staves, and did beat and bruise the ape,
-but the ape was not convinced; for yet he said, ‘It is plain she
-doth love me.’ And the ape fell wounded into the court beneath.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“And when they inquired of the matter, the woman
-said, ‘I thought the ape did hunger, and I took compassion
-on his misery, and threw to him a pomegranate.’</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Then a wise man said to the woman—‘Daughter, let
-not beauty give gifts unto fools; for out of the kindness of
-her heart do they misinterpret; and in the very offerings of
-her compassion do they breed an ill report.’</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“And even as the wise man said these things, the ape
-lay in the court beneath, and did lick his sore, and did blow
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_42'>42</span>the pouches of his cheeks, and cried, ‘It is manifest, the
-strange woman doth love me.’</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“There were two jugglers in the train of the Queen of Sheba.
-And they played, each with a serpent, before King Solomon.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Now the queen sought to prove the knowledge of the
-king, and said,—‘Oh, Solomon, thou who hast spoken of
-trees, from the cedar to the hyssop—also of beasts, and of
-fowls, and of creeping things, and of fishes;</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“‘Declare unto thy servant, which of the two is the true
-serpent (for one was cunningly fashioned like unto a living
-snake, and did move and writhe in the hands of the juggler);
-for, of a truth, there is but one of the two that hath life.’</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“And the jugglers played with the snakes before the seat
-of King Solomon.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Then the king did privily send for the ape; and when
-he was brought in, the king caused him to be led near unto
-the jugglers.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“And the ape passed one of the men who played with
-a snake, and took no note thereof; but as he approached
-the fellow who held the second snake, the ape did shake,
-and his hair did rise upon his skin, and he trembled exceedingly;
-wherefore King Solomon discovered the true
-snake, and all men praised the wisdom of the king.<a id='r6' /><a href='#f6' class='c017'><sup>[6]</sup></a></p>
-
-<div class='footnote c020' id='f6'>
-<p class='c019'><span class='label'><a href='#r6'>6</a>.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>See Rabbinical stories for a parallel case.</p>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Now the ape discovered that he had been made the judge
-between the true and the false snake, and his head did swell
-with the shouting, and he was puffed up with vain glory.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“And after some days a multitude stood before the
-judgment porch. And a strife had arisen between two
-carvers—skilful workmen were they both.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Palm-trees, and open flowers, and every manner of
-curious carving had they carved.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“And they both claimed certain carvings of cherubim.
-And when they had spoken and called their witnesses, King
-Solomon paused to consider before he delivered judgment.</p>
-<div id='i043'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<img src='images/i043.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-<div class='ic001'>
-<p>“Cast him down a ripe pomegranate”</p>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_45'>45</span>“It so chanced that the ape had crept among the multitude,
-and had listened to the story of the carvers; and when he saw
-the king pause, he said to himself, ‘Solomon is perplexed.’</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“And the ape brake through the multitude, and ran to the
-porch, and did motion that he would judge between the carvers.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“And the ape did leap upon the shoulders of the one,
-and did caress him; but at the other he did scream, and
-grind his teeth. And Solomon understood the folly of the
-ape, and cried:—</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“‘It is ever so with the fool. Allow him the wisdom
-that perceiveth and shunneth a serpent, and straightway he
-will believe he hath understanding to judge even between
-the cherubim.’”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>At present we must end our extracts from the pages of
-Ben Eli; though we cannot close without appending the
-final reflection of the learned rabbi, who, having narrated a
-thousand other instances of the folly of the ape—how he
-pilfered from the treasury, how he stole jewels to hang
-about him, and how he plucked bare divers peacocks to
-make himself a glory from their plumes, observes:—</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“<i>An ape will ever be an ape, though compassed with gold,
-and silver, and ivory, and though his dwelling-place be even the
-court of King Solomon.</i>”</p>
-<div id='i045'  class='figcenter id003'>
-<img src='images/i045.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c002' />
-</div>
-<div id='i046'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_46'>46</span>
-<img src='images/i046.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-  <h2 class='c006'>THE CASTLE BUILDERS OF PADUA</h2>
-</div>
-<p class='c022'><span class='sc'>Giulio</span> and Ippolito were sons of a farmer living near
-Padua. The old man was of a quiet and placable temper,
-rarely suffering any mischance to ruffle him, but, in the
-firm and placid hope of the future, tranquillising himself
-under the evil of the present. If blight came upon his corn
-one year, he would say ’twere a rare thing to have blights in
-two successive seasons; and so he would hope that the next
-harvest, in its abundance, might more than compensate for
-the scarcity of the last. Thus he lived from boyhood to
-age, and retained in the features of the old man a something
-of the lightness and vivacity of youth. His sons,
-however, bore no resemblance to their father. Instead of
-labouring on the farm they wasted their time in idly wishing
-that fortune had made them, in lieu of healthy, honest sons
-of a farmer, the children of some rich magnifico, that so they
-might have passed their days in all the sports of the times,
-in jousting, hunting, and in studying the fashions of brave
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_47'>47</span>apparel. They were of a humour at once impetuous and
-sulky, and would either idly mope about the farm, or
-violently abuse and ill-treat whomsoever accident might
-throw in their way. The old man was inly grieved at the
-wilfulness and disobedience of his sons, but, with his usual
-disposition, hoped that time might remedy the evil; and so,
-but rarely reproving them, they were left sole masters of
-their hours and actions.</p>
-<p class='c010'>One night, after supper, the brothers walked into the
-garden to give loose to their idle fancies, always yearning
-after matters visionary and improbable. It was a glorious
-night, the moon was at the full, and myriads of stars glowed
-in the deep blue firmament. The air stirred among the
-trees and flowers, wafting abroad their sweetness; the dew
-glittered on the leaves, and a deep-voiced nightingale,
-perched in a citron tree, poured forth a torrent of song
-upon the air. It was an hour for good thoughts and holy
-aspirations. Giulio threw himself upon a bank, and, after
-gazing with intentness at the sky, exclaimed:—</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Would that I had fields ample as the heavens above
-us!”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“I would,” rejoined Ippolito, “I had as many sheep as
-there are stars.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“And what,” asked Giulio, with a sarcastic smile, “would
-your wisdom do with them?”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Marry,” replied Ippolito, “I would pasture them in
-your sageship’s fields.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“What!” exclaimed Giulio, suddenly raising himself upon
-his elbow, and looking with an eye of fire upon his brother;
-“whether I would or not?”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Truly, ay,” said Ippolito, with a stubborn significance
-of manner.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Have a care,” cried Giulio, “have a care, Ippolito;
-do not thwart me. Am I not your elder brother?”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Yes; and marry, what of that? Though you came first
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_48'>48</span>into the world, I trow you left some manhood for him who
-followed after.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“You do not mean to insist that, despite my will, despite
-the determination of your elder brother, you will pasture
-your sheep in my grounds?”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“In truth but I do.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“And that,” rejoined Giulio, his cheek flushing, and his
-lip tremulous, “and that without fee or recompense?”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Assuredly.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Giulio leaped to his feet, and, dashing his clenched hand
-against a tree, with a face full of passion, and in a voice made
-terrible by rage, he screamed, rather than said, “By the
-Blessed Virgin but you do not!”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“And by St Ursula and her eleven thousand virgins I
-protest I will.” This was uttered by Ippolito in a tone of
-banter and bravado that for a moment made the excited
-frame of Giulio quiver from head to foot. He gazed at the
-features of Ippolito, all drawn into a sneer, and for a
-moment gnashed his teeth. He was hastily approaching
-the scoffer, when, by an apparently strong effort, he arrested
-himself, and, turning upon his heel, struck hastily down
-another path, where he might be seen pacing with short,
-quick steps, whilst Ippolito, leaning against a tree, carelessly
-sang a few lines of a serenata. This indifference was too
-much for Giulio; he stopped short, turned, and then rapidly
-came up to Ippolito, and with a manner of attempted tranquillity,
-said, “Ippolito, I do not wish to quarrel with you;
-I am your elder brother; then give up the point.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Not I,” replied Ippolito, with the same immovable
-smile.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“What, then, you are determined that your sheep shall,
-in very despite of me, pasture in my fields?”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“They shall.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Villain!” raved Giulio; and ere the word was well
-uttered he had dashed his clenched hand in his brother’s
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_49'>49</span>face. Ippolito sprang like a wild beast at Giulio, and for a
-moment they stood with a hand at each other’s throat, and
-their eyes, in the words of the Psalmist, were “whetted”
-on one another. They stood but to gain breath, then
-grappled closer. Ippolito threw his brother to the earth,
-huddling his knees upon him, furious blows were exchanged,
-but scarce a sound was uttered, save at intervals a blasphemous
-oath or a half-strangled groan. Giulio was completely
-overpowered by the superior strength and cooler
-temper of his brother; but, lying prostrate and conquered,
-his hands pinioned to his breast, and Ippolito glaring at
-him with malicious triumph, he cursed and spat at him.
-Ippolito removed his hand from his brother’s throat, and
-ere his pulse could beat, Giulio’s poniard was in his brother’s
-heart. He gave a loud shriek, and fell a streaming corpse
-upon his murderer. The father, roused by the sound, came
-hurrying to the garden; Giulio, leaping from under the dead
-body, rushed by the old man, who was all too speedily
-bending over his murdered child. From that hour hope
-and tranquillity forsook the father; he became a brain-sick,
-querulous creature, and in a few months died almost an
-idiot. Giulio joined a party of robbers, and, after a brief
-but dark career of crime, was shot by the sbirri.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Ye who would build castles in the air—who would slay
-your hours with foolish and unprofitable longings—ponder
-on the visionary fields, the ideal sheep of Giulio and
-Ippolito.</p>
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c002' />
-</div>
-<div id='i050'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_50'>50</span>
-<img src='images/i050.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-  <h2 class='c006'>THE TAPESTRY WEAVER OF BEAUVAIS</h2>
-</div>
-<p class='c022'><span class='sc'>The</span> oldest people of Beauvais remembered Schatten the
-tapestry weaver. Some vowed he was threescore, some a
-hundred years old; and ever as the subject was touched
-upon, Schatten would widen his huge mouth, and cry with
-a low chuckle, “Ay, ay, a thousand—more or less. I shall
-live to see wrinkles in the sun.” None knew from what
-stock he sprang—from what land he came. Such questions
-he would ever parry with some extravagance. “I was born
-of felspar and quartz, and my home was the Hartz Mountains
-when they were no bigger than mole-hills.” And
-thus Schatten lived on. He saw the child rise into manhood—wed—become
-a parent—a grey-headed man—a
-corpse; and so with the child’s child, and yet no change
-came upon Schatten. He stood, a flinty image gazing on
-dying generations.</p>
-<p class='c010'>A hovel in an obscure part of Beauvais was the dwelling
-of the weaver. There was his tapestry loom; and there,
-day after day, and night after night, would he work, at times
-droning a song to cheer what seemed the monotony of
-an eternal employment. Notwithstanding the inexplicable
-mystery about the man, he was, on the whole, a favourite
-with his fellow-townsmen. There was something so meek
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_51'>51</span>in his demeanour, so placid, so unassuming, and his speech
-was so soft and gentle, that although his name had been
-mingled in strange recitals, he had never been molested,
-but, on the contrary, was generally considered a harmless,
-well-meaning creature; one who, far from sneering at the
-pleasures of youth, looked upon them with seeming satisfaction.
-No one more frequently witnessed the bacchanal
-revelries of the topers of Beauvais; for, though Schatten
-was no drinker himself, he beheld with unaffected pleasure
-the loose jollity of others. The like at feasts: although
-he was temperate as a chameleon, he would most readily
-carve huge collops for others. He seemed to hold in
-peculiar admiration a purple, bloated face and swagging
-paunch, though his own sharp visage was as yellow as
-saffron, and his figure lank as a thread-paper. This urbanity
-towards the failings of others was, it will be conceded,
-the secret of his popularity. Though he himself abstained
-from all animal indulgence, he not only did not gloomily
-lecture on the lawlessness of appetite, but, on the contrary,
-smiled on its achievements. This charity hath served many
-besides old Schatten.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>But there was another circumstance that greatly assisted
-the goodly reputation of the weaver: it was the character
-of his many visitors and pupils. His hovel was the resort
-of the loveliest girls—the most beautiful youths, not only of
-the town of Beauvais, but from the great city itself—from
-elegant, voluptuous Paris; for even at the period of which
-we write it was distinguished for the refinement and luxuries
-of life.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Schatten, in his capacity of tapestry weaver, had pictures
-of every variety of subject; and it was his good fortune that
-those professors who excelled in the beautiful art seemed
-by common consent to seek old Schatten, that he might
-immortalise their radiant sketches in his still more exquisite
-tapestry. There was no subject which painting could
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_52'>52</span>portray, no imagination which it could robe in life and
-colour, that was not ready for the loom of Schatten. If a
-battle were the theme, there might be seen contending
-heroes, with stern rapture in their faces, glory about their
-heads—their every limb glowing as with Mars’ own fire—their
-swords like sunbeams, and the smoking blood more
-like libations to purple Liber, than torrents in which the
-human life gushed forth. Thus a battle woven by old
-Schatten was a grand and glorious thing—each combatant
-was an excited god; whilst the drained and pallid carcass—the
-dreadful wounds, with jagged and gaping mouths—the
-rigid muscle straining against death—the fixed and
-stone-like eye, and clotted hair—all the gross, substantial
-horrors of systematic slaughter, were thrown into the shade:
-they were not to expose that common liar—Glory. If the
-subject were beauty, there might be seen—as erst was chosen
-by the antique master—one charm from twenty different
-faces, making a miracle of perfection. All that was voluptuous
-and entrancing shone in the dewy light of woman’s
-eye; there was an eternal youth in her red lip, a tenderness
-in her warm cheek: too pure for the earth, too exquisitely
-fragile, she seemed of a sisterhood ’twixt humanity and
-angels. The same masterly hand was displayed though
-the subject was the banquet of the glutton—the supper
-was still spread “in the Apollo.” The same power shown
-in the golden heaps of the miser: the food, the wine,
-seemed ambrosia and nectar, bestowing immortality on
-the lip that tasted: the gold glittered like something
-dropped from the skies, to be worn as amulets against
-calamity.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>A man so potent in his handicraft as Schatten might have
-surrounded himself with all the symbols of wealth; and,
-had he been ambitious, have successfully contended for the
-highest honours of citizenship. But, it was plain, he valued
-gold as ashes; and for the trappings of state and place, the
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_53'>53</span>most regal shows, the pomp and blazonry of kings, were
-with him matter for a jest.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Alack!” cried Michel Sous, a withered money-scrivener
-of Beauvais—“I hear ’twas a brave sight; and plague on
-my shanks! I have missed it. Which way went the
-procession?” The man of bonds and pieces remained
-gaping for the answer of the tapestry weaver, who stood,
-cross-legged, leaning on his staff, with a face immovable as
-granite. It was a day of triumph, a time of holiday, and
-Michel had for once quitted his bags and desk to sun
-himself in the glory of his fellow-townsmen. “Weaver, I
-say, which way went the procession, and where shall I
-find it?”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“It went, after some turnings, into the churchyard.
-Take up a handful of mould, and, in truth, you clutch a
-part of what you seek.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Why, thou art drunk, merry, or mad! The churchyard
-and mould! I ask you where went, where <i>is</i>, the
-procession?”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Where I tell you. I saw it pass by me, and after some
-windings and shiftings, I saw each brave puppet—that
-strutted as though the angels were looking at it—I saw it
-shrink, and bend, and totter, and the yellowness of age
-crept over it, and its eye faded, and its hair whitened, and
-it crawled into the earth as the fox slinks beneath his cover.
-The trumpets lay dumb and cankering in the soil—the
-rustling flags dropped tinder at the breeze—the rust-eaten
-sword crumbled beneath the mattock of the digger, and
-rank grass grows above the pomp of the last hour.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Why, Schatten, thou art dreaming. Blessed St Mary!
-thou surely didst not see the sight, else thou hadst told me
-a truer story of its progress.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Not so: trust me, I saw the revel—but I beheld it from
-the pinnacle of time; and I tell you again, all the men who
-passed me I watched into the churchyard. Their haughty
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_54'>54</span>eyes—their trophies, flags, and clamorous pipes—I say to
-you, they are dust! The shout of triumph hath died in the
-distance, and <i>hic jacet</i> is now the only tongue.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“So, so—a riddle,” crowed the scrivener; and he hobbled
-on to seek a less perplexing respondent.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Such were, at times, the answers of old Schatten, who,
-when he pleased, could be as grave and oracular as a father
-confessor. Such were his reflections on pageants which, to
-many thoughtless and happy minds, were the symbols of all
-earthly greatness. It was his pastime to analyse appearance—to
-unravel the glossy web of policy—to unfold the swathings
-of vain pomp and ceremony, and point to the foul
-mummy they encased. Yet would he vary this custom with
-smiles and laughter, and witty sayings, which gave a savour
-to the wine they honoured. He would, with his thin voice
-troll a song in praise of beauty, and, with quick conceits,
-prick on lusty youth to deeds of jollity and wild adventure;
-nay, he would often mingle in the revelry. Many a time
-have the townsfolk of Beauvais laughed at the gambols of
-old Schatten, who, pranked in his best, would trip it with
-some blue-eyed fair one, who, seemingly unconscious of
-the deformity of her partner, would glide through the dance
-all smiles and sweetness, as though mortal youth were
-wedded to immortality, and wrinkles and grey hairs were
-not the inheritance of the children of earth. Alas! but a
-few months, or weeks, and the poor maiden—she who
-seemed the embodied principle of beauty and motion—was
-as the “clods of the valley,” a mass of blank insensibility.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Various were the ways by which old Schatten had
-insinuated himself into the good graces of the people of
-Beauvais. To please them he would, when in the humour,
-act twenty different parts—now he would be a learned
-doctor, and now a mountebank; at times he would utter
-the wisdom of sages—at times play a hundred antic tricks,
-making his audience shout with merriment. For one long
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_55'>55</span>winter did Schatten profoundly lecture upon laurels, crowns,
-swords, and money-bags; and, like a skilful chemist, would
-he analyse their component parts.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“This,” cried Schatten, producing a semblance of the
-wreath, “this is the laurel crown of one of the Cæsars.
-How fresh and green the leaves remain! Ha! there is no
-such preservative as innocent blood—it embalms the names
-of mighty potentates, who else had never been heard of:
-steeped in it, deformity becomes loveliness—fame colours
-her most lasting pictures with its paint! The fields that
-grew this branch were richly manured: tens of thousands
-of hearts lay rotting there; the light of thousands of eyes
-was quenched; palaces and hovels, in undistinguished
-heaps, were strewn about the soil; there lay the hoary
-and the unborn; the murdered wife and the outraged
-virgin—and showers of tears falling on this garden of agony
-and horror, it was miraculously fertile—for lo! it gave
-forth this one branch, to deck the forehead of one man! In
-the veins that seam its leaves are the heart strings of
-murdered nations; it is the plant of fire and blood, reaped
-by the sword!—Such is the conqueror’s laurel.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“And here is the despot’s diadem!—Many a time, like
-glowing iron, hath it seared the brows it circled. Of what
-is it composed? What wonderful ingredients meet in this
-quintessence of worldly wealth? See, the passions and the
-feelings that helped to make it still haunt their handiwork.
-Their shadows live in its glittering metal and its flashing
-gems. Full-blooded power, with a demon’s eye, glares
-from this ruby—leprous fear trembles in these pearls—in
-every diamond, care or compunction weeps a tear! Throughout
-the gold I see a thousand forms, dawning and fading
-like hues in heated steel:—there, fancy detects the assassin
-with his knife;—there, the bondsman snaps his chain;—there,
-is the headsman;—there, the civil war! These are
-the shades that haunt the despot’s crown; that wear him
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_56'>56</span>waking, and screech to him in his sleep. A nation’s groan
-is pent up in its round. It is a living thing that eats into
-the brain of the possessor, making him mad and drunk for
-blood and power!</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“The miser’s money-bag!—Another monster—all throat.
-Could its owner have put the sun itself within this bag, the
-world for him had been in darkness—perpetual night had
-cast a pall upon creation—the fruits of earth had withered
-in the bud, and want and misery been universal; whilst he,
-the thrifty villain! smugly lived in bloom, and in his very
-baseness found felicity! And yet, what was the worth of
-all this bag contained? Though it was stuffed with wealth,
-it was hung about with fears. As its owner slid his palm
-into the heap, he would start as though he felt the hand of
-death were hidden there to grasp him. He was almost
-blind within a world of beauty. His eye saw no images
-save those painted by gold; his ears heard not, save when
-the metal tinkled; his tongue was dumb, if it spoke not of
-wealth; the glittering pieces were to him the children of his
-heart and soul—dull offspring of the foulest appetites; yet
-he hugged them to his bosom—he hugged them, and in his
-dying hour they turned to snakes, and stung him in the
-embrace! This is the miser’s money-bag—the abode of
-reptiles, the sepulchre of the soul!</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“The sword!—Ceremony sanctifies it. Some kingly
-words are spoken—a trumpet is blown; straightway the
-sword is <i>ennobled</i>!</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“The lawyer’s gown!—the masquerading dress of common-sense.
-There is a living instinct in its web: let golden
-villainy come under it, and with a thought it flows and
-spreads, and gives an ample shelter to the thing it covers;
-let poor knavery seek it, and it shrinks and curtains up,
-and leaves the trembling victim naked to the court!”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Thus, in his graver moments, would old Schatten preach
-to his hearers; then, with a thought, he would break from
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_57'>57</span>the solemn discourse, and make merriment with the self-same
-objects. Thus, like a skilful juggler, he would hold
-the conqueror’s laurel, that hardy plant, to his lips, and
-with a puff blow it into dust; he would change the tiara
-into a huge snake, monstrous and ugly, and make the
-beholders start at its contortions. The long purse he
-would ravel into a shroud; he would melt the sword into
-drops of blood, and turn the lawyer’s gown into a net of
-steel. Whilst these tricks made him a favourite with the
-young and gay, his learning, and the thousand stories he
-had of men of all ages and of all ranks, rendered him an
-oracle of wisdom to the studious. It was observed that
-Schatten, whilst narrating any history, always spoke as
-though he had been an eye-witness of the circumstance
-he detailed; nay, as though he had known their most
-secret thoughts.</p>
-
-<hr class='c021' />
-
-<p class='c010'>And who is Schatten, whose history is yet unfinished?
-Who is this mysterious Weaver, whose deeds, if chronicled,
-would fill thousands of folios? He is everywhere about us:
-in the solitude of our chamber, in the press and throng of
-the street, in the wilderness and in the city.</p>
-
-<div class='nf-center-c0'>
-  <div class='nf-center'>
-    <div>—“<span class='sc'>My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle.</span>”</div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<div id='i057'  class='figcenter id003'>
-<img src='images/i057.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c002' />
-</div>
-<div id='i058'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_58'>58</span>
-<img src='images/i058.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-  <h2 class='c006'>THE WINE CELLAR<br /><i>A “MORALITY”</i></h2>
-</div>
-<p class='c022'><span class='sc'>Stephen Curlew</span> was a thrifty goldsmith in the reign of
-the Second Charles. His shop was a mine of metal: he
-worked for the Court, although, we fear, his name is not to
-be found in any record in the State-Paper Office. Stephen
-was a bachelor, and, what is strange, he never felt—that is,
-he never complained of—his loneliness. His chased ewers,
-his embossed goblets, his gold in bars, were to him wife and
-children. Midas was his only kinsman. He would creep
-among his treasures, like an old grey rat, and rub his hands,
-and smile, as if communing with the wealth about him.
-He had so long hugged gold to his heart that it beat for
-nothing else. Stephen was a practical philosopher; for he
-would meekly take the order—nay, consult the caprice—of
-the veriest popinjay with the humility of a pauper, when, at
-a word, he might have out-blazoned lords and earls. If this
-be not real philosophy, thought Stephen, as he walked
-slipshod at the heels of his customers, what is?</p>
-<p class='c010'>Stephen was a man of temperance; he was content to see
-venison carved on his hunting-cups; he cared not to have
-it in his larder. His eyes would melt at clustering grapes
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_59'>59</span>chased on banquet goblets, but no drop of the living juice
-passed the goldsmith’s lips. Stephen only gave audience to
-Bacchus when introduced by Plutus. Such was the frugality
-of Stephen to his sixty-fifth year; and then, or his name
-had not been eternised in this our page, temptation fell
-upon him.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>It was eight o’clock on a raw spring evening, and Stephen
-sat alone in his back-room. There was no more fire upon
-the hearth than might have lain in a tinder-box, but Stephen
-held his parchment hands above it, and would not be cold.
-A small silver lamp, with a short wick—for the keen
-observation of Stephen had taught him the scientific truth,
-that the less the wick, the less the waste of oil—glowed, a
-yellow speck in the darkness. On the table lay a book,
-a treatise on precious stones; and on Stephen’s knee,
-<i>Hermes, the True Philosopher</i>. Stephen was startled from
-a waking dream by a loud and hasty knocking at the door.
-Mike, the boy, was out; but it could not be he. Stephen
-took up the lamp, and was creeping to the door, when his
-eye caught the silver, and he again placed it upon the table,
-and felt his way through the shop. Unbolting the five
-bolts of the door, but keeping fast the chain, Stephen
-demanded “who was there?”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“I bear a commission from Sir William Brouncker, and
-I’m in haste.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Stay you a minute—but a minute,” and Stephen hurried
-back for the lamp, then hastily returned, opened the door,
-and the visitor passed the threshold.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Tis not Charles!” cried Stephen, alarmed at his
-mistake, for he believed he had heard the voice of Sir
-William’s man.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“No matter for that, Stephen; you work for men, and
-not for Christian names. Come, I have a job for you”; and
-the visitor, with the easy, assured air of a gallant, lounged
-into the back-parlour, followed by the tremulous Stephen.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_60'>60</span>“Sir William——” began the goldsmith.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“He bade me use his name; the work I’d have you do
-is for myself. Fear not: here’s money in advance,” and
-the stranger plucked from his pocket a purse, which in its
-ample length lay like a bloated snake upon the table.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Stephen smiled, and said, “Your business, sir?”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“See here,” and the stranger moved the lamp immediately
-between them, when, for the first time, Stephen clearly saw
-the countenance of his customer. His face was red as
-brick, and his eyes looked deep as the sea, and glowed
-with good humour. His mouth was large and frank, and
-his voice came as from the well of truth. His hair fell in
-curls behind his ears, and his moustache, black as coal,
-made a perfect crescent on his lip, the points upwards.
-Other men may be merely good fellows, the stranger
-seemed the best. “See here,” he repeated, and produced
-a drawing on a small piece of paper, “can you cut me this
-in a seal ring?”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Humph!” and Stephen put on his spectacles; “the
-subject is——”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Bacchus squeezing grape-juice into the cup of Death,”
-said the stranger.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“An odd conceit,” cried the goldsmith.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“We all have our whims, or woe to the sellers,” said the
-customer. “Well, can it be done?”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Surely, sir, surely. On what shall it be cut?”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“An emerald, nothing less. It is the drinker’s stone.
-In a week, Master Curlew?”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“This day week, sir, if I live in health.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The day came. Stephen was a tradesman of his word,
-and the stranger sat in the back-parlour, looking curiously
-into the ring.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“<i>Per Bacco!</i> Rarely done. Why, Master Curlew, thou
-hast caught the very chops of glorious Liber, his swimming
-eyes, and blessed mouth. Ha! ha! thou hast put thy
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_61'>61</span>heart into the work, Master Curlew; and how cunningly
-hast thou all but hid the dart of death behind the thyrsus
-of the god! How his life-giving hand clutches the pulpy
-cluster, and with what a gush comes down the purple rain,
-plashing into rubies in the cup of Mors!”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“It was my wish to satisfy, most noble sir,” said
-Stephen, meekly, somewhat confounded by the loud praises
-of the speaker.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“May you never be choked with a grape-stone, Master
-Curlew, for this goodly work. Ha!” and the speaker
-looked archly at the withered goldsmith; “it hath cost thee
-many a headache ere thou couldst do this.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“If I may say it, I have laboured hard at the craft—have
-been a thrifty, sober man,” said Stephen.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Sober! Ha! ha! ha!” shouted the speaker, and
-his face glowed redder, and his eyes melted; “sober!
-why, thou wast begot in a wine cask, and suckled by a
-bottle, or thou hadst never done this. By the thigh of
-Jupiter! he who touched this,” and the stranger held
-up the ring to his eye, and laughed again, “he who touched
-this hath never known water. Tut! man, were I to pink
-thee with a sword thou’dst bleed wine!”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“I,” cried Stephen, “I bleed,” and he glanced fearfully
-towards the door, and then at the stranger, who continued
-to look at the ring.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“The skin of the sorriest goat shall sometimes hold the
-choicest liquor,” said the stranger, looking into the dry
-face of the goldsmith. “Come, confess, art thou not a
-sly roysterer? Or art thou a hermit over thy drops, and
-dost count flasks alone? Ay! ay! well, to thy cellar,
-man; and—yes—thine arms are long enough—bring up
-ten bottles of thy choicest Malaga.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“I!—my cellar!—Malaga!” stammered Stephen.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Surely thou hast a cellar?” and the stranger put his
-hat upon the table with the air of a man set in for a carouse.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_62'>62</span>“For forty years, but it hath never known wine,” cried
-the goldsmith. “I—I have never known wine.” The
-stranger said nothing; but, turning full upon Stephen, and,
-placing his hands upon his knees, he blew out his flushing
-cheeks like a bagpipe, and sat with his eyes blazing upon
-the heretic. “No, never!” gasped Stephen, terrified, for
-a sense of his wickedness began to possess him.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“And thou dost repent?” asked the stranger, with a
-touch of mercy towards the sinner.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“I—humph! I’m a poor man,” cried Curlew; “yes,
-though I’m a goldsmith, and seem rich, I—I’m poor!
-poor!”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Well, ’tis lucky I come provided,” and the stranger
-placed upon the table a couple of flasks. Whether he took
-them from under his cloak, or evoked them through the
-floor, Stephen knew not; but he started at them as they stood
-rebukingly upon his table, as if they had been two sheeted
-ghosts. “Come, glasses,” cried the giver of the wine.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Glasses!” echoed Stephen, “in my house!”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Right, glasses! No—cups, and let them be gold
-ones!” and the bacchanal, for it was plain he was such, waved
-his arm with an authority which Stephen attempted not to
-dispute, but rose and hobbled into the shop, and returned
-with two cups just as the first cork was drawn. “Come,
-there’s sunlight in that, eh?” cried the stranger, as he
-poured the wine into the vessels. “So, thou hast never
-drunk wine? Well, here’s to the baptism of thy heart!”
-And the stranger emptied the cup, and his lips smacked
-like a whip.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>And Stephen Curlew tasted the wine, and looked around,
-below, above; and the oaken wainscot did not split in
-twain, nor did the floor yawn, nor the ceiling gape.
-Stephen tasted a second time; thrice did he drink, and he
-licked his mouth as a cat licks the cream from her whiskers,
-and, putting his left hand upon his belly, softly sighed.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_63'>63</span>“Ha! ha! another cup! I know thou wilt,” and
-Stephen took another, and another; and the two flasks
-were in brief time emptied. They were, however, speedily
-followed by two more, placed by the stranger on the table,
-Stephen opening his eyes and mouth at their mysterious
-appearance. The contents of these were duly swallowed,
-and lo! another two stood before the goldsmith, or, as he
-then thought, four.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“There never was such a Bacchus!” cried Stephen’s
-customer, eyeing the ring. “Why, a man may see his
-stomach fairly heave, and his cheek ripen with wine: yet,
-till this night, thou hadst never tasted the juice! What—what
-could have taught thee to carve the god so capitally?”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Instinct—instinct,” called out the goldsmith, his lips
-turned to clay by too much wine.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“And yet,” said the stranger, “I care not so much
-for—— How old art thou, Stephen?”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Sixty-five,” and Stephen hiccupped.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“I care not so much for thy Death, Stephen; instinct
-should have made thee a better hand at Death.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Tis a good Death,” cried the goldsmith, with unusual
-boldness, “a most sweet Death.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Tis too broad—the skeleton of an alderman with the
-flesh dried upon him. He hath not the true desolation,
-the ghastly nothingness, of the big bugbear. No matter;
-I’m content; but this I’ll say, though thou hast shown
-thyself a professor at Bacchus, thou art yet but a poor
-apprentice at Death.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Stephen Curlew answered not with words, but he snored
-very audibly. How long he slept he could not well discover,
-but when he awoke he found himself alone; no, not alone,
-there stood upon the table an unopened flask of wine. In
-a moment the mystery broke upon him—and he sprang to
-his feet with a shriek, and rushed into the shop. No—he
-had not been drugged by thieves—all was as it should be.
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_64'>64</span>The stranger, like an honest and courteous man, had taken
-but his own; and, without disturbing the sleeper, had
-quitted the house. And Stephen Curlew, the wine glowing
-in his heart—yea, down to his very nails, stood and smiled
-at the unopened flask before him.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Stephen continued to eye the flask; and though its donor
-had shared with him he knew not how many bottles,
-Stephen was resolved that not one drop of the luscious
-juice before him should wet an alien throat. But how—where
-to secure it? For, in the new passion which seized
-upon the goldsmith, the one flask seemed to him more
-precious than the costly treasure in his shop—a thing to be
-guarded with more scrupulous affection—more jealous love.
-In what nook of his house to hide the glorious wealth—what
-corner, where it might escape the profane glances and
-itching fingers of his workmen? The thought fell in a
-golden flash upon him—the cellar—ay, the cellar! Who
-of his household ever thought of approaching the cellar?
-Stephen seized the flask and lamp, and paused. The
-cellar had no lock! No matter; he had a bag of three-inch
-nails and a stout hammer.</p>
-
-<hr class='c021' />
-
-<p class='c010'>The next morning neighbours met at the closed door and
-windows of the goldsmith, and knocked and shouted,
-shouted and knocked. They were, however, reduced to a
-crowbar, and, at length, burst into the house. Every place
-was searched, but there was nowhere visible old Stephen
-Curlew. Days passed on, and strange stories filled the ears
-of men. One neighbour vowed that he had had a dream
-or a vision, he knew not which, wherein he saw the goldsmith
-whirled down the Strand in a chariot drawn by a lion
-and a tiger, and driven by a half-naked young man, wearing
-a panther skin, and on his head vine-leaves and ivy. An
-old woman swore that she had seen Stephen carried away
-by a dozen devils (very much in liquor), with red faces and
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_65'>65</span>goat legs. However, in less than a month, the goldsmith’s
-nephew, a scrivener’s clerk, took possession of Curlew’s
-wealth, and became a new-made butterfly with golden
-wings. As for Stephen, after various speculations, it was
-concluded, to the satisfaction of all parties, that he must
-have been carried away by Satan himself, and the nephew
-cared not to combat popular opinions. But such, in truth,
-was not the end of the goldsmith. Hear it.</p>
-
-<hr class='c021' />
-
-<p class='c010'>Stephen, possessed by the thought of the cellar, with the
-one flask, a lamp, nails, and hammer, proceeded to the
-sacred crypt. He arrived in the vault, and having kissed
-the flask, reverently put it down, and straightway addressed
-himself to the work. Closing the door, he drove the first
-nail, the second, third; and borrowing new strength from
-the greatness of his purpose, he struck each nail upon the
-head with the force and precision of a Cyclops, burying it
-deep in the oak. With this new-found might he drove
-eleven nails; the twelfth was between his thumb and
-finger, when looking round—oh! sad mishap, heavy mischance!
-awful error!—he had driven the nails from the
-wrong side! In a word—and we tremble while we write
-it—he had nailed himself in! There he stood, and there
-stood the flask. He gasped with horror; his foot stumbled,
-struck the lamp, it fell over, and the light went out.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Shall we write further on the agony of Stephen Curlew?
-Shall we describe how he clawed and struck at the door,
-now in the hope to wrench a nail, and now to alarm the
-breathing men above? No; we will not dwell upon the
-horror; it is enough that the fate of the goldsmith was
-dimly shadowed forth in the following paragraph of last
-Saturday:—</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Some labourers, digging a foundation near”—no, we
-will not name the place, for the family of the Curlews is not
-yet extinct, and there may be descendants in the neighbourhood—“near——,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_66'>66</span>found a skeleton. A hammer was beside
-it, with several long nails: a small wine flask was also found
-near the remains, which, it is considered, could not have
-been in the vault in which they were discovered less than a
-century and three-quarters!”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Oh, ye heads of families! and oh, ye thrifty, middle-aged
-bachelors, boarding with families, or growing mouldy by
-yourselves, never, while ye live, forget the terrible end of
-Stephen Curlew. And oh, ye heads of families—and oh,
-ye aforesaid bachelors, albeit ye have only one bottle left,
-never, <span class='fss'>NEVER NAIL UP THE WINE CELLAR</span>!</p>
-<div id='i066'  class='figcenter id003'>
-<img src='images/i066.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c002' />
-</div>
-<div id='i067'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_67'>67</span>
-<img src='images/i067.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-  <h2 class='c006'>RECOLLECTIONS OF GUY FAWKES</h2>
-</div>
-<p class='c023'>“When a man has once been very famous for jests and merry
-adventures, he is made to adopt all the jests that want a father,
-and many times such as are unworthy of him.”—Motteux’s <i>Life
-of Rabelais</i>.</p>
-<p class='c022'><span class='sc'>At</span> midnight, on the fifth of November, in the year of grace
-one thousand six hundred and five, Guido Fawkes, “gentleman,”
-was discovered, “booted and spurred,” in the vicinity
-of St Stephen’s Chapel, having on his person “three matches,
-a tinder-box, and a dark lantern”; and purposing by means
-of gunpowder to blow up, says King James, “the whole
-nobility, the most part of the knights and gentry, besides the
-whole judges of the land, with <i>most of the lawyers</i> and the
-whole clerks!” For the one indiscretion Guido Fawkes
-forfeited his gentility, and became a proverb of wickedness.
-In boyhood we looked upon Guido Fawkes, gentleman, as
-one little lower than the devil; he had four horns, and a
-dozen tails. “Years that bring the philosophic mind” have
-divested him of these excrescences and appendages, and
-Guido Fawkes now appears to matured charities merely a
-person of a singularly eccentric disposition.</p>
-<p class='c010'>Some five and twenty years ago it was the patriotic
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_68'>68</span>custom of the authorities of an Isle of Sheppy dockyard
-to bestow upon their apprentices a few waggon-loads of
-resinous timber, that a bonfire worthy of the cause it
-celebrated might be kindled from the public purse—that
-the effigy of the arch-fiend Guy might be consumed
-in a fire three times hotter than the fire of a furnace. Such
-fierce liberality was not lost upon the townspeople; their
-ardour in the burning business smouldered not; every man
-subscribed his plank or log; and, from the commissioner
-in his uniform, to Bobby in his pinafore, the fifth of
-November glowed, in the calendar of their minds, a pillar
-of fire. For a month before that day, the coming anniversary
-busied the thoughts of boyish executioners, resolved
-to show their patriotism in the appointments of the Guy—in
-the grotesque iniquity of his face—in the cumbrous state
-of his huge arm-chair. To beg clothes from door to door
-was the business of every lover of Church and State. To
-ask for a coat—a pair of breeches—a shirt (the frill could
-be made of paper)—hose and hat, was not mendicity, but
-the fulfilment of a high social duty.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Guy Fawkes would at length be dressed. A philosopher
-might have found good matter in his eleemosynary suit. In
-the coat of the bloodthirsty wretch he might have recognised
-the habit of Scum, the slop-seller, a quiet trader afloat
-of twenty thousand pounds—in the vest of the villainous
-ruffian the discarded waistcoat of Smallgrog, the honest
-landlord of a little house for sailors—in the stockings of
-the atrocious miscreant the hose of the equitable Weevil,
-biscuit-contractor to his Majesty’s fleet—whilst for the
-leather of the fiend-like effigy, Guy Fawkes was to be
-exhibited, and afterwards burnt in, the broad-toed shoes of
-that best of men, Trap, the town attorney.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The chair, too, in which Guy Fawkes sat, might it not
-have some day enshrined a justice of the peace? and the
-lantern fixed in the hand of the diabolical, lynx-eyed
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_69'>69</span>monster, might it not have been the property of the most
-amiable and most somnolent of all the Blue Town watchmen?
-A mask was fixed upon the effigy, or the lump of
-clay kneaded into human features, and horribly or delicately
-expressed, according to the benevolent art of the makers!—might
-not the same visor have been worn by a perfect
-gentleman, with considerable advantage, at a masquerade?—might
-not the clay nose and mouth of the loathsome
-traitor have borne an accidental likeness to the very pink
-of patriots? Let philosophy ponder well on Guy Fawkes.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>We will now attempt our childish recollections of the
-great Guy. We have waked at midnight, perhaps dreaming
-of the bonfire about to blaze, and thinking we heard the
-distant chorus sounding to the advent of the Mighty Terror.
-No, it was the sea booming across the marsh, the wind
-rising or falling. There was nothing for it but to go to
-sleep and dream of unextinguishable squibs and crackers.
-At length four o’clock arrives; the cocks crow—the boys
-can’t be long now. There—hark!—how the chant comes
-up the street, like one voice—the voice of a solitary droning
-witch! We lie breathless, and shape to ourselves Guy
-Fawkes in the dark! Our hearts beat quicker and quicker
-as the chant becomes louder; and we sit up in bed, as the
-boys approach the door, and, oh! how we wish to be with
-them! There—there they are in full chorus! Hark:—</p>
-
-<div class='lg-container-b c011'>
-  <div class='linegroup'>
-    <div class='group'>
-      <div class='line'>“The fifth of November, as I can remember,</div>
-      <div class='line in2'>Is gunpowder treason and plot,</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>I know no reason, why gunpowder treason</div>
-      <div class='line in2'>Should ever be forgot.”</div>
-    </div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c012'>We feel an unutterable pang, for loudest among the loud,
-we hear the shrill voice of Jack Tarleton. “Ha!” we
-sigh, “<i>his</i> mother lets <i>him</i> out.” The bitterness passes
-away with the—</p>
-
-<div class='lg-container-b c011'>
-  <div class='linegroup'>
-    <div class='group'>
-      <div class='line'>“Hallo, boys! Hallo, boys! make a round ring,</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>Hallo, boys! Hallo, boys! God save the king!”</div>
-    </div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<div id='i070'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_70'>70</span>
-<img src='images/i070.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-<div class='ic001'>
-<p>“Rejoicing in the captivity of a suit of clothes stuffed with hay”</p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p class='c009'>And now the procession moves on, and the voices die in
-the distance, and we feel we are left alone; and, in a few
-minutes, we hear new revellers, rejoicing in the captivity of
-a suit of clothes stuffed with hay, and called Guy Fawkes.
-Guy Fawkes! Guy Fawkes! who—what <i>is</i> Guy Fawkes?
-We had been told that he had been caught with a lantern,
-tinder-box and matches, ready to blow up thousands of
-barrels of gunpowder, and so to destroy the king, bishops,
-and members of Parliament. It must be shocking—very
-shocking; still, we could not perfectly envisage the atrocity—we
-could not make out the full horror. We had the
-undefined sense of the greatness of a king, though we
-hardly dared to hope we should ever see one. We had
-a less remote notion of the nature of a bishop, having been
-helped somewhat in our speculations by the person of the
-curate at the garrison church. “Curates may come to be
-bishops, only bishops are very much greater; and curates
-have nothing upon their heads, whereas certain bishops might
-wear mitres.” On learning this we thought that bishops
-were merely full-grown curates; in the same way that we
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_71'>71</span>had seen Poland hens with their topknots of feathers only
-the spring before bare-headed little chicks. It was thus,
-in the irreverence of childhood, we disposed of the whole
-bench of bishops. But now came we to the difficulty—what,
-what could be a member of Parliament? Was it
-a living thing? If so, had it a voice? Could it speak?
-Could it sit? Could it say yes and no? Could it walk?
-Could it turn? Or was it merely an image? Was it pulled
-by wires, like sister Jenny’s doll? We had been told that
-members of Parliament made laws. What <i>were</i> laws?
-Were they the lions and unicorns on the king’s arms?
-Were they a better sort of cake, too dear for everybody to buy?
-Little boys ate parliament-cakes—were law-cakes for men?
-If so, were they gilt or plain?—with comfits or without?</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>It is no matter, we thought, being unable to satisfy ourselves:
-it is no matter. Guy Fawkes—that shadowy,
-terrible mystery—had once lived and tried to kill the
-king, the full-grown curates, and those undivined riddles—members
-of Parliament. We again went to our first
-question. Who <i>was</i> Guy Fawkes? Did he have a
-father and mother? Was Guy Fawkes ever a little boy?
-and did he fly a kite and play at marbles? If so, how
-could he have ever thought it worth his while to trouble
-himself with other matters? There was something terrifying
-in the idea of having played with Guy Fawkes. We
-fancied him at taw—we saw him <i>knuckle down</i>. No—it
-could not be; the imagination of the child could not dwell
-upon such an impossibility. Guy Fawkes a boy!—a baby!
-now shaking a rattle—now murmuring as he fed, his
-mother smiling down upon him! No, no—it was impossible;
-Guy Fawkes was never born—he was from the
-first a man—he never could have been a baby. He seemed
-to us a part of the things that had always been, and always
-would be—a piece of grim eternity; a principle of everlasting
-wickedness.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_72'>72</span>Is it in childhood alone—is it only in the dim imaginings
-of infancy—in the wandering guesses of babyhood, that we
-manifest this ignorance? When the full-grown thief is
-hanged, do we not sometimes forget that he was the child
-of misery and vice—born for the gallows—nursed for the
-halter? Did we legislate a little more for the cradle, might
-we not be spared some pains for the hulks?</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>And then we had been told that Guy Fawkes came from
-Spain. Where was Spain? Was it a million miles away,
-and what distance was a million miles? Were there little
-boys in Spain, or were they all like Guy Fawkes? How
-strange, and yet how delightful to us did it seem to feel
-that we were a part of the wonderful things about us! To
-be at all upon this world—to be one at the great <i>show</i> of
-men and women—to feel that when we grew bigger we
-should know everything of kings, bishops, members of
-Parliament, and Guy Fawkes! What a golden glory
-hung about the undiscovered!</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>And Guy Fawkes, we had heard, had his head cut off,
-and his body cut into quarters! Could this be true?
-Could men do to men what we had seen Fulk the butcher
-do to sheep? How much, we thought, had little boys to
-grow out of before they could agree to this! And then,
-when done, what was the good of it—what <i>could</i> be the
-good of it? Was Guy Fawkes eaten—if not, <i>why</i> cut
-him up?</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Had Guy Fawkes a wife, and little boys and girls? Did
-he love his children, and buy them toys and apples—or,
-like Sawney Bean, did he devour them? Did Guy Fawkes
-say his prayers?</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Had Guy Fawkes a friend? Did he ever laugh—did
-he ever tell a droll story? Did Guy Fawkes ever sing
-a song? Like Frampton, the Blue Town Barber, did
-Guy Fawkes ever get drunk? At length we put to
-ourselves the question of questions:—</p>
-
-<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_73'>73</span><i>Was there ever such a man as Guy Fawkes? Did Guy
-Fawkes ever live?</i></p>
-
-<p class='c010'>This query annoyed us with the doubt that we had been
-tricked into a hate, a fear, a loathing, a wonder—and a
-mixture of these passions and emotions, for a fib. We
-felt disappointed when we felt the reality of Guy Fawkes
-to be doubtful. We had heard of griffins and unicorns,
-of dragons that had eaten men like apples, and had then
-been told that there never had been any such thing. If
-we were not to believe in a dragon, why should we believe
-in Guy Fawkes? After all, was the whole story but
-make-game?</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The child passively accepts a story of the future, he can
-bring his mind up to a thing promised, but wants faith in
-the past. The cause is obvious; he recollects few things
-gone, but is full of things to come. Hence Guy Fawkes
-was with us the ogre of a nursery; we could have readily
-believed, especially after the Story of Beauty and the Beast,
-that he married Goody Two Shoes, and was the father of
-Little Red Riding Hood.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>But Guy Fawkes grows with us from boyhood to youth.
-He gets flesh and blood with every November; he is no
-longer the stuffed plaything of a schoolboy or the grotesque
-excuse for begging vagabonds, but the veritable Guy Fawkes,
-“gentleman.” We see him, “Thomas Percy’s alleged
-man,” at the door of the vault, “booted and spurred”; we
-behold that “very tall and desperate fellow,” lurking in the
-deep of night, with looks of deadly resolution, pounced upon
-by that vigilant gentleman of the privy-chamber, Sir Thomas
-Knevit! We go with Guido, “the new Mutius Scævola,
-born in England,” before the council, where “he often
-smiles in scornful manner, not only avowing the fact, but
-repenting only, with the said Scævola, his failing in the
-execution thereof.” We think of him “answering quickly
-to every man’s objection, scoffing at any idle questions which
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_74'>74</span>were propounded to him, and jesting with such as he thought
-had no authority to examine him.” And then we think
-of the thanksgiving of the great James, who gave praise
-that, had the intent of the wicked prevailed, he should not
-have “died ingloriously in an ale-house, a stew, or such
-vile place,” but with “the best and most honourable
-company.”<a id='r7' /><a href='#f7' class='c017'><sup>[7]</sup></a></p>
-
-<div class='footnote c020' id='f7'>
-<p class='c019'><span class='label'><a href='#r7'>7</a>.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>See “His Majesty’s Speech concerning the Gunpowder Plot,”
-etc., in the <i>Harleian Miscellany</i>.</p>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c010'>Guy Fawkes is, in our baby thoughts, a mysterious vision,
-one of the shadows of evil advancing on the path of childhood.
-We grow older, and the substances of evil come
-close upon us—we see their dark lantern, and snuff the
-brimstone.</p>
-<div id='i074'  class='figcenter id003'>
-<img src='images/i074.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c002' />
-</div>
-<div id='i075'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_75'>75</span>
-<img src='images/i075.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-  <h2 class='c006'>ELIZABETH AND VICTORIA.</h2>
-</div>
-<p class='c022'><span class='sc'>Every</span> generation compared to the age it immediately
-succeeds is but a further lapse from Paradise. Every
-grandfather is of necessity a wiser, kinder, nobler being
-that the grandson doomed to follow him—every grandmother
-chaster, gentler, more self-denying, more devoted
-to the beauty of goodness, than the giddy, vain, thoughtless
-creature, who in her time is sentenced to be grandmother
-to somebody, whose still increased defects will only serve
-to bring out the little lustre of the gentlewoman who preceded
-her. Man, undoubtedly, had at the first a fixed
-amount of goodness bestowed upon him; but this goodness,
-by being passed from generation to generation, has, like
-a very handsome piece of coin, with arms and legend in
-bold relief, become so worn by continual transit, that it
-demands the greatest activity of faith to believe that which
-is now current in the world, to be any portion of the
-identical goodness with which the human race was originally
-endowed. Hapless creatures are we! Moral paupers
-of the nineteenth century, turning a shining cheek upon one
-another, and by the potent force of swagger, passing off our
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_76'>76</span>thin, worn, illegible pieces of coin—how often, no thicker,
-no weightier than a spangle on a player’s robe!—when our
-glorious ancestors, in the grandeur of their goodness, could
-ring down musical shekels! Nay, as we go back, we find
-the coin of excellence so heavy, so abounding, that how any
-man—Samson perhaps excepted—had strength enough to
-carry his own virtues about him, puzzles the effeminacy of
-present thought. Folks then were doubtless made grave,
-majestic in their movements by the very weight of their
-excellence. Whilst we, poor anatomies—skipjacks of the
-nineteenth century—we carry all our ready virtue in either
-corner of our waistcoat pocket, and from its very lightness,
-are unhappily enabled to act all sorts of unhallowed capers—to
-forget the true majesty of man in the antics of the
-mountebank. Forlorn degradation of the human race!</p>
-<p class='c010'>But the tears of the reader—for if he have a heart of
-flesh, it is by this time melting in his eyes—are not confidently
-demanded for only the one generation whereof
-(seeing he is our reader) he is certainly not the worst
-unit: but we here require of him to weep for posterity;
-yes, to subscribe a rivulet of tears for the generations to
-come. The coinage of the virtues at present in circulation
-among us is so thin, so defaced, so battered, so clipt, that
-it appears to us wholly impossible that any portion of the
-currency can descend a couple of generations lower. What,
-then, is to become of our grandchildren? Without one
-particle of golden truth and goodness left to them, for we
-cannot take into account the two or three pieces hoarded—as
-old ladies have hoarded silver pennies—what remains,
-what alternative for our descendants but to become a
-generation of coiners? Can any man withstand the terror
-of this picture, wherein all the world are shown as so many
-passers of pocket-pieces, lacquered over with something that
-seems like gold and silver, but which, indeed, is only seeming?
-A picture wherein he who is the ablest hypocrite—passing
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_77'>77</span>off the greatest amount of false coin upon his neighbor—shall
-appear the most virtuous person! Is not this
-an appalling scene to contemplate? Yet, if there be
-any truth in a common theory, if there be any veracity in
-the words written in a thousand pages, uttered at every
-fireside, dropt in the casual meeting of man and man at
-door-steps, in by-lanes, highways, and market-places—the
-picture we have shadowed forth must become an iron
-present.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“We shall never see such times again!”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“The world isn’t what it used to be.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“When I was a boy, things hadn’t come to this pass.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“The world gets wickeder and wickeder.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Since the builders of Babel were scattered, these thoughts
-have been voiced in every tongue. From the very discontent
-and fantasticalness of his nature, man looks backward
-at the lost Paradise of another age. He affects to
-snuff the odour of its fruits and flowers, and with a
-melancholy shaking of the head, sees, or thinks he sees,
-the flashing of the fiery swords that guard them. And
-then, in the restlessness of his heart, in the peevishness
-and discontent of his soul, he says all sorts of bitter things
-of the generations he has fallen among; and, from the
-vanished glory of the past, predicts increasing darkness for
-the future. Happily, the prophesying cannot be true; and
-happily, too, for the condition of the prophet, he knows it
-will not. But then there is a sort of comfort in the waywardness
-of discontent; at times, a soothing music to the
-restlessness of the soul in the deep bass of hearty
-grumbling.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The ingratitude of the act is entirely forgotten in the
-pleasure. “Ha! those were the merry days—the golden
-times of England they were!” May not this be heard
-from the tradesman, the mechanic, as he is borne past
-Tilbury Fort, and the thoughts of Queen Elizabeth, of her
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_78'>78</span>“golden days,” ring in his brain; and living only in the
-nineteenth century, he has some vague, perplexing notion
-that he has missed an Eden, only by a hundred years or two?
-He thinks not—why should he?—of the luxury he now
-purchases for a shilling; a luxury, not compassable in those
-golden days by all the power and wealth of all the combining
-sovereigns of the earth, for he is a passenger of a
-Gravesend steamboat, the fare twelvepence.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>We would not forget that wonder of Elizabeth’s navy,
-the <i>Great Harry</i>. No; we would especially remember it,
-to compare the marvel, with all its terrors, to the agent of
-our day, which, wrought and directed from a few gallons of
-water, makes the winged ship but as a log—a dead leviathan
-upon the deep; which, in the certainty and intensity of its
-power of destruction must, in the fulness of time, make
-blood-spilling war bankrupt, preaching peace with all men,
-even from “the cannon’s mouth.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>We are, however, a degenerate race. In our maudlin
-sensibility, we have taken under our protection the very
-brutes of the earth—the fowls of the air—the fish of the
-sea. We have cast the majesty of the law around the
-asses of the reign of Victoria—have assured to live geese a
-property in their own feathers—have, with a touch of tenderness,
-denounced the wood-plugged claws of the lobsters of
-Billingsgate. We have a society, whose motto, spiritually,
-is—</p>
-
-<div class='lg-container-b c011'>
-  <div class='linegroup'>
-    <div class='group'>
-      <div class='line'>“Never to link our pleasure or our pride</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>With suffering of the meanest thing that lives.”</div>
-    </div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c012'>Very different, indeed, was the spirit of the English
-people, when their good and gracious Queen Elizabeth
-smiled sweetly upon bull dogs, and found national music
-in the growl, the roar, and the yell of a bear-garden;
-whereto, in all the courtesy of a nobler and more virtuous
-age, the sovereign led the French ambassador; that, as
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_79'>79</span>chroniclers tell us, Monsieur might arrive at a sort of
-comparative knowledge of English bravery, judging the
-courage of the people by the stubborn daring of their
-dogs.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Then we had no Epsom, with its high moralities—no
-Ascot, with its splendour and wealth. Great, indeed, was
-the distance—deep the abyss—between the sovereign and
-the sovereign people.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>And in those merry, golden days of good Queen Bess, rank
-was something; it had its brave outside, and preached its
-high prerogative from externals. The nobleman declared
-his nobility by his cloak, doublet and jerkin; by the plumes
-in his hat; by the jewels flashing in his shoes. Society, in
-all its gradations, was inexorably marked by the tailor and
-goldsmith.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>But what is the tailor of the nineteenth century? What
-doth he for nobility? Alas! next to nothing. The gentleman
-is no longer the creature of the tailor’s hands—the
-being of his shop-board. The gentleman must dress himself
-in ease, in affability, in the gentler and calmer courtesies of
-life, to make distinguishable the nobility of his nature from
-the homeliness, the vulgarity of the very man who, it may
-be, finds nobility in shoe-leather. Thus, gentility of blood,
-deprived by innovation of its external livery—denied the
-outward marks of supremacy—is thrown upon its bare self
-to make good its prerogative. Manner must now do the
-former duty of fine clothes.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>State, too, was in the blessed times of Elizabeth a most
-majestic matter. The queen’s carriage, unlike Victoria’s,
-was a vehicle wondrous in the eyes of men as the chariot
-of King Pharaoh. Now, does every poor man keep his
-coach—price sixpence! How does the economy of luxury
-vulgarise the indulgence?</p>
-<div id='i080'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<img src='images/i080.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-<div class='ic001'>
-<p>“Rank preached its high prerogative from externals”</p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p class='c009'>Travelling was then a grave and serious adventure. The
-horse-litter was certainly a more dignified means of transit
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_80'>80</span>than the fuming, boiling, roaring steam-engine, that rushes
-forward with a man as though the human anatomy was no
-more than a woolpack. In the good old times of Queen
-Bess, a man might take his five long days and more for a
-hundred miles, putting up, after a week’s jolting, at his
-hostelry, the Queen’s Head of Islington, for one good
-night’s rest, ere he should gird up his loins to enter
-London. Now is man taught to lose all respect for the
-hoariness of time by the quickness of motion. Now may
-he pass over two hundred miles in some seven or eight hours
-if he will, taking his first meal in the heart of Lancashire,
-and his good-night glass at a Geneva palace in London.
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_81'>81</span>Is it wonderful that our present days should abound more
-in sinful levity than the days of the good Queen Elizabeth,
-seeing that we may, in the same space of time, crowd so
-much more iniquity? The truth is, science has thrown so
-many hours upon our hands, that we are compelled to kill
-them with all sorts of arrows—which, as moralists declare,
-have mortal poison at the barb, however gay and brilliant
-may be the feathers that carry it home. Dreadful will be
-the time when that subtle fiend, science, shall perform
-nearly all human drudgery; for then men in their very
-idleness will have nought else to destroy save their own souls;
-and the destruction will, of course, be quicker, and, to the
-father of all mischief, much more satisfactory.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Again, in the good times of Elizabeth, humanity was
-blessed with a modesty, a deference—in these days of
-bronze, to be vainly sought for—towards the awfulness of
-power, the grim majesty of authority. And if, indeed, it
-happened that some outrageous wretch, forgetful of the
-purpose of nature in creating him the Queen’s liegeman,
-and therefore her property—if, for a moment, he should
-cease to remember the fealty which, by the principle of the
-divine right of kings, should be vital to him as the blood
-in his veins—why, was there not provided for him, by the
-benignity of custom and the law, a salutary remedy? If he
-advanced a new opinion, had he not ears wherewith, by
-hangman’s surgery, he might be cured of such disease?
-If he took a mistaken view of the rights of his fellow-subjects,
-might he not be taught to consider them from a
-higher point of elevation, and so be instructed?</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Booksellers, in the merry time of Elizabeth, were enabled
-to vindicate a higher claim to moral and physical daring than
-is permitted to them in these dull and drivelling days. He
-who published a book, questioning—though never so gently—the
-prerogative of her Majesty to do just as the spirit
-should move her, might have his right hand chopped off,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_82'>82</span>and afterwards—there have been examples of such devotion—wave
-his bloody stump, with a loyal shout of “God save
-the Queen!” But these were merry days—golden days—in
-which the royal prerogative was more majestic, more
-awful than in the nineteenth century. And wherefore?
-The reason is plain as the Queen’s arms.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The king of beasts lives on flesh. His carnivorousness
-is one of the great elements of his Majesty. So was it in
-the times of Elizabeth, with the Queen’s prerogative. It
-was for the most part fed upon flesh. It would be a curious
-and instructive calculation could we arrive at the precise
-number of noses, and arms, and hands, and human heads,
-and quarters of human carcases, which—during the merry,
-golden reign of Elizabeth, of those days we shall never see
-again—were required by law to keep strong and lusty the
-prerogative of the Virgin Queen! How, as the human
-head festered and rotted above the city gates, was the prerogative
-sweetened by the putrefaction! And then the
-daily lessons preached by the mute horror of the dead man’s
-mouth, to the human life daily passing beneath it! What
-precepts of love and gentleness towards all men fell from
-the shrivelled lips—what Christianity gleamed from the
-withered eye-balls! How admirably were the every-day
-thoughts of men associated with prerogative, its majesty for
-ever preached by dead men’s tongues—its beauty visible in
-dead men’s flesh. Those were the golden days—the merry
-days—we shall never see such times again. Now, a poor
-and frivolous race, we pass beneath Temple Bar, untaught
-by the grim moralities that from its height were wont to
-instruct our forefathers. In the days of Elizabeth we
-might have lounged at the door of the city shopkeeper, and
-whilst chaffering for a commodity of this world, have had
-our thoughts elevated by a consideration of the ghastly
-skull—grinning a comment upon all earthly vanities—above
-us. Those days are gone—passed for ever. We
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_85'>85</span>have now plate-glass and dainty painting, and precious
-woods, in the shops of our tradesmen, but nought to take
-us from the vanity of life—no prerogative of a Virgin
-Queen, in the useful semblance of a <i>memento mori</i>.</p>
-<div id='i083'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<img src='images/i083.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-<div class='ic001'>
-<p>“Hangman’s surgery”</p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p class='c009'>It is to the want of such stern yet wholesome monitors
-we are doubtless to attribute the decay of the national
-character. We are sunk in effeminacy, withered by the
-fond ministerings of science. The road of life—which,
-by its ruggedness, was wont to try the sinews of our
-Elizabethan ancestors—we, their degenerate children, have
-spread as with a carpet, and hung the walls around us with
-radiant tapestry. The veriest household drudge of our
-time is a Sardanapalus compared to the lackey of the
-Virgin Queen. The tatterdemalion, who lives on highway
-alms, may look down upon the beggar of Elizabeth; for
-the mendicant of Victoria may, with his prayed-for pence,
-purchase luxuries unknown to the Dives of former days.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>And what—if we listen to complaining patriotism—what
-is the evil born of this? A loss of moral energy; a wasting
-away of national fibre. Believe this melancholy philosophy,
-and national weakness came in (a moral moth in the commodity)
-with silk stockings. Ere then was the bearing of
-man more majestic in the eyes of angels! For then was
-the sword the type of station, a gentleman no more
-appearing abroad without his rapier than a wasp without
-its sting. Human life could not but lose part of its dignity
-with its cold steel. What a fine comment on the charity,
-the gentleness, the humanity of his fellow-men, did every
-gentleman wear at his side! He was, in a manner, his own
-law-maker, his own executioner. In the judgment of later
-philosophy, we are prone to believe that the said gentlemen
-may appear, at the best, ferocious simpletons—creatures
-swaggering “between heaven and earth,” with their hands
-upon their hilts, ready and yearning for a thrust at those
-who took the wall of their gentility. Ha! those, indeed,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_86'>86</span>were the good old days! And then came a whining, curd-complexioned
-benevolence, and in progress of time, its thin,
-white, womanly fingers unbuckled the sword-belt of the
-bully, and organised police. Sword-makers were bankrupt,
-and human nature lost a grace!</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Thus, it appears, the world has been from age to age
-declining in virtue, and can only escape the very profound
-of iniquity by a speedy dissolution. Every half dozen
-years or so, a prophet growls from a cellar, or cries from
-the altitude of a garret, the advent of the last day. An
-earthquake, or some other convulsion (the particulars of
-which are only vouchsafed to the prophet) is to destroy
-the earth or London at least; whereupon old gentlemen
-remove to Gravesend, and careful housewives take stock
-of their plate. Now, every such prophecy, instead of
-bewildering honest people with all sorts of fears, and all
-sorts of anxieties for their personal property, ought to
-make them sing thanksgiving songs for the promised
-blessing. It being the creed of these people that the world
-gets worse and worse, they would at least have the comfort
-to know that they had seen the last of its wickedness.
-For a moment, reader, we will suppose you one of these.
-Consider, upon your own faith, what a terrible wretch will
-necessarily be your great-great-great-great-great-grandson!
-Well, would it not be satisfaction to you that this dragon
-(we believe dragons are oviparous) should be crushed in
-the egg of the future? How would you like your own
-flesh and blood inevitably changed by the course of time
-into the anatomy of something very like a demon? You
-are bad enough as you are; that dismal truth your own
-humility preaches to you; to say nothing of the plain
-speaking of your neighbours. No; out of pure love and
-pity for humanity, you ought to wish all the world to stop
-with your own pulse. It is hard enough now, even for
-the best of us, to keep on the respectable side of the
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_87'>87</span>statutes; but, with the growing wickedness of the world,
-we should like to know what sort of metal will the laws
-be made of. The great social link must inevitably be a
-fetter.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>How often have we stood, with the unseen tears in our
-eyes, watching the nobility of the land, in nobility’s best
-bib and tucker, winding in golden line to the drawing-room
-of Queen Victoria! Alas! degenerate dukes—faded
-duchesses. Marquises fallen upon evil times—marchionesses
-very dim indeed! What are you to the
-nobility of Elizabeth? What to the grandees of those
-merry days, the golden shadow of which is brightness
-itself to the cold, grey glimmering of the present? We
-have yet one thought to comfort us; and that is, a half
-belief that the court of Elizabeth was held as nothing to
-all courts preceding; and so back, until Englishmen
-mourned over the abomination of cloaks and vests,
-sorrowing for those golden days, those good old times
-of the painted Britons! Great was the virtue abounding
-in <i>woad</i>; grievous the wilful iniquity woven in broad-cloth.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Queen Elizabeth died—fair, regal bud!—in the sweetness
-of virginity; and though the sun (by some despairing
-effort) managed to rise the next morning, it has never
-been wholly itself since. She died, and was brought to
-Whitehall, to the great calamity of the fish then swimming
-in the river; for a poet of the day, quoted by Camden,
-has eternised the evil that in the hour fell upon Thames
-flounders:—</p>
-
-<div class='lg-container-b c011'>
-  <div class='linegroup'>
-    <div class='group'>
-      <div class='line'>“The Queene was brought by water to Whitehall;</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>At every stroke the oares teares let fall;</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>More clung about the barge; fish under water</div>
-      <div class='line in1'><i>Wept out their eyes of pearle, and swame blinde after</i>,</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>I think the bargemen might with easier thighes</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>Have rowed her thither in her people’s eyes.</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>Yet, howsoere, thus much my thoughts have scann’d,</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>She’d come by water, had she come by land.”</div>
-    </div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c012'><span class='pageno' id='Page_88'>88</span>So closed the golden days of Queen Elizabeth; leaving
-us, in all the virtues and comforts of the world, the bankrupt
-children of Queen Victoria!</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Unworthy is he of the balmy sweetness of this blessed
-May who can think so! A churlish, foolish, moody
-traitor to the spirit of goodness and beauty that, as with
-the bounty of the sun and air, calls up forms of loveliness
-in his path, and surrounds him with ten thousand household
-blessings! With active presences, which the poet of
-Elizabeth, in even <i>his</i> large love for man could scarce
-have dreamed of; or, dreaming, seen them as a part of
-fairy fantasy—a cloud-woven pageant!</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Let the man who lives by his daily sweat pause in his
-toil, and, with his foot upon his spade, watch the white
-smoke that floats in the distance; listen to the lessening
-thunder of the engine that, instinct with Vulcanic life, has
-rushed, devouring space, before it. That little curl of
-smoke hangs in the air a thing of blessed promise—that
-roar of the engine is the melody of hope to unborn generations.
-But now, the digger of the soil looks moodily at
-that vapour, and his heart is festering with the curse upon
-the devil Steam; that fiend that grinds his bones beneath
-the wheels of British Juggernaut. Poor creature! The
-seeming demon is a beneficent presence that, in the ripeness
-of time, will work regeneration of the hopes of men.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Let the poor man—the mechanic of a town—look
-around him. Let him in his own house, humble though
-it be, acknowledge the presence of a thousand comforts
-which, had he lived two centuries ago, he could not with
-a baron’s wealth have purchased. Not mere creature
-enjoyments; but humanizing, refining pleasures, drawing
-man nearer to man, expanding the human heart, and
-imparting to humanity the truest greatness in the greatest
-gentleness.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“What!” it may be asked, “can you have the hardihood,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_89'>89</span>or the ignorance, to vaunt these days above the
-days of Elizabeth? These days with famine throwing
-the shuttle—with ignorance, wholly brutish, digging in the
-pit—with gold, a monster all brain, and so the very worst
-of monsters—dominating throughout the land, and crushing
-the pulses of thousands within its hard, relentless grasp?
-Would you not rather pray for a return of those merry,
-merry days, when men were whipped, imprisoned, branded,
-burnt, at little more than the mere will of Majesty, for
-mere opinion—but who had, nevertheless, bacon and bread
-and ale sufficient to the day?”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>No; we would go no step backward, but many in advance;
-our faith still increasing in the enlarged sympathies of men;
-in the reverence which man has learned and is still learning
-to pay towards the nature of his fellow-men; in the deep
-belief that whatever change may and <i>must</i> take place in the
-social fabric—we have that spirit of wisdom and tolerance
-(certainly <i>not</i> a social creature of the golden days) waxing
-strong among us,—so strong that the fabric will be altered
-and repaired brick by brick, and stone by stone. Meanwhile,
-the scaffolding is fast growing up about it.</p>
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c002' />
-</div>
-<div id='i090'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_90'>90</span>
-<img src='images/i090.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-  <h2 class='c006'>THE LITTLE GREAT AND THE GREAT LITTLE</h2>
-</div>
-<p class='c022'><span class='sc'>Extraordinary</span> is the mind of man! He sails in mid-air;
-he compasseth the globe; he blunts the lightning; he
-writeth <i>Hamlet</i>, <i>Paradise Lost</i>, the <i>Principia</i>, and he chaineth
-a flea by the leg. He maketh the strong elephant to bend
-his joints, and he subdueth a flea, if not to “hew wood,”
-at least to draw water. These, the later triumphs of the
-human essence, are now on exhibition somewhere in that
-long ark for modern monsters, Regent Street! Yes, the
-“Industrious Fleas” at once delight and shame fashionable
-idlers, sending them to their beds to ruminate on the sagacity
-of the living world about them.</p>
-<p class='c010'>We love a monster as much as ever did <i>Trinculo</i>; hence
-we have been bitten; that is, we have made acquaintance
-with the “Industrious Fleas.” Let us shortly enumerate
-their separate capabilities. One flea, a fine muscular fellow,
-worthy, did fairies die, to be mourning coach horse at the
-funeral of Queen Titania (how long since the fairies had a
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_91'>91</span>coronation!), draws a very splendid carriage, constructed
-from the pith of elder. He curvets, and bounds, and
-shows his blood (he must have been fed in some royal
-stable—he has surely fattened on kings) with the proudest
-royal coach-horse, on—as they say at public dinners—“the
-proudest day of its life.” Having seen its legs,
-we shall think more seriously of the kick of a flea ever
-after. Then, to talk of a “flea bite,” as a proverb for
-a wife—a mere nothing; let those who speak thus vainly
-contemplate the terrible proboscis of the aforesaid chariot
-flea, and then think of the formidable weapon, plunged
-through one’s tender skin, and sucking up by quarts (we
-saw, we looked through a microscope) our hearts’ best
-blood! To go to bed appears no wonder, but to be
-able to rise again after what we have beheld, seems to
-us a daily miracle! To proceed. Another of the “industrious”
-takes the air with a chain and a weight to his
-leg, the wonder consisting in its resignation to its destiny.
-A third flea, also manacled, draws water. A fourth
-flea has a more awful duty—to bear Napoleon Bonaparte,
-late of France, but now of St Helena—there he is, the
-victor of a hundred fights, majestically seated on flea back.
-An enthusiastic Frenchman may, if he have good eyes, see
-in the miniature emperor, the sallow, thoughtful face, the
-“brassy eye” (<i>vide</i> Haydon’s account) of the original
-despot—could the figure take snuff, the illusion would be
-perfect. Two other fleas, soldiers, fight a desperate combat,
-affording in their proper persons a triumphant refutation
-to the celebrated dogma of the philosopher, that “fleas are
-not lobsters.” We understood from the <i>Cicerone</i> that their
-deadly enmity was excited towards each other by a mutual
-tickling. We were also informed that one of the fleas
-(“epicurean animal!”) had the honour to sup off the hand
-of the Princess Augusta. This fact was shamefully hushed
-up by the magas of the <i>Court Circular</i>, else how would it
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_92'>92</span>have astonished the world to have read that “last night Her
-Royal Highness the Princess Augusta gave a supper to the
-fleas!” Certain it is, the document contains at times news
-of less interest.<a id='r8' /><a href='#f8' class='c017'><sup>[8]</sup></a> This condescension on the part of her
-Highness, though it speaks much for her affability, has been
-the cause of grievous heartburnings and bickerings among
-the society. It is extraordinary the airs that every flea
-gives himself about “his blood.” However, it is to be
-hoped that a herald will be appointed to settle the claims of
-each disputant, and to favour the whole with a genealogical
-tree. Who knows whether one of these fleas’ ancestors
-did not bite Sancho Panza, or the Dulcinea del Toboso, or
-the <i>Carters</i>, who were “bitten like a tench”? Speaking
-on our own responsibility, we are afraid that each of these
-little creatures, after all its vanity about pure blood, has been
-somewhat capricious in its appetite; a fault, by the by, which
-often puzzles the heralds in their labours, for certain other
-little animals are very angry, when they speak of blood,
-too.</p>
-
-<div class='footnote c020' id='f8'>
-<p class='c019'><span class='label'><a href='#r8'>8</a>.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>Her Majesty the Queen, and Prince George of Cumberland,
-stood the whole of the sermon!!—<i>Court Circular</i>, April 8,
-1832.</p>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c010'>We quitted the exhibition, and walking at a melancholy
-pace, with our long, lean visage bent towards the earth, we
-were accosted by a man—an odd-looking person, with a
-box at his back—who begged we would stop and see his
-show. We were in a sight-seeing humour, and at once
-consented. The box was placed on a trestle, our eye was
-at the glass, and our ears open, when the man commenced
-his description:—</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“The first view presents you with a grand state coach of
-the Great Mogul; it is drawn by a thousand curious
-animals; they are, as you will perceive, very finely dressed
-in rich harness, tall feathers, and flying ribbons; they come
-and tie themselves to the coach, and feel it an honour to be
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_93'>93</span>bridled; they snort, and caper, and kick mud into the eyes
-of the bystanders.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“The next view shows you one of these animals with a
-long chain and a heavy log. This chain was fixed upon
-his leg when he was born; and though he has sometimes
-tried to file away the links, he has had his knuckles so
-smartly rapped, and been called so many names—been so
-preached to that the chain and log were for his own good,
-and that it would ruin him to take them from him—that
-’tis likely he will, for the public benefit, be made to wear
-them to the end of his days.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“The animal in the next view, that is chained and draws
-water, is one of the Great Mogul’s million of slaves. Although
-he draws bucket after bucketful for the Mogul’s
-house and his household, for his horses and his dogs, and
-his kitchen, and his flower garden, he is often perishing
-himself for one half mouthful; his lips are blistered, and
-his tongue black, with the water drawn by his own hands,
-running about him.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“The fourth animal is mounted on a fiery dragon, that,
-belching flames, kindles forests, fires towns, dries rivers,
-blasts harvests, and swallows men, women, and sucking babes.
-Look to the left, and the dragon is turned to a something
-no bigger than a mouse, and with its stinted rations of
-butter and cheese.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“In the fifth and last view you see ten thousand of these
-animals ferociously killing, biting, tearing another ten
-thousand, whom they never saw till a few minutes ago, and
-with whom they have no quarrel. But they kill one another
-because they are tickled to do so. That is, certain animals
-go about with tickling wands called ‘glory,’ ‘deathless
-renown,’ ‘laurel,’ and other titillating syllables, poking in
-the ribs of the poor benighted creatures.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>I took my eye from the glass: “My good man, what
-have you shown me?”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_94'>94</span>“Fleas, sir.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Fleas!—nonsense; the fleas are shown above.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Yes, sir; but mine are the fleas with two legs; though,
-<i>if</i> I must be honest, I can’t say I see any difference between
-the fleas in my show-box and the fleas above.”</p>
-<div id='i094'  class='figcenter id003'>
-<img src='images/i094.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c002' />
-</div>
-<div id='i095'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_95'>95</span>
-<img src='images/i095.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-  <h2 class='c006'>THE MANAGER’S PIG</h2>
-</div>
-<p class='c023'>“Some people are not to be persuaded to taste of any creatures
-they have daily seen and been acquainted with whilst they were
-alive.... In this behaviour, methinks there appears something
-like a consciousness of guilt; it looks as if they endeavoured
-to save themselves from the imputation of a crime (which they
-know sticks somewhere) by removing the cause of it as far as
-they can from themselves.”—<span class='sc'>Mandeville.</span></p>
-<p class='c022'><span class='sc'>Aristides Tinfoil</span>, it is our fixed belief, was intended by
-nature either for lawn sleeves or ermined robes; he was,
-we doubt it not, sent into this world an embryo bishop, or
-a lord-chief-justice <i>in posse</i>. Such, we are convinced, was
-the benignant purpose of nature; but the cruel despotism of
-worldly circumstance relentlessly crossed the fair design;
-and Tinfoil, with a heart of honey and a head of iron, was
-only a player—or, we should rather say, a master among
-players. Tinfoil might have preached charity-sermons till
-tears should have overflowed the pews; no matter, he acted
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_96'>96</span>the benevolent old men to the sobs and spasms of a crowded
-audience: he might, with singular efficacy, have passed
-sentence of death on coiners and sheep-stealers; circumstances,
-however, confined his mild reproofs to scene-shifters,
-bill-stickers, Cupids at one shilling per night, and
-white muslin Graces.</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>“Where is Mr Moriturus?” asked Tinfoil, chagrined
-at the untoward absence of his retainer. “Where is he?”</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>“Ill, Sir,” was the melancholy answer, “very ill.”</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>“Ill!” exclaimed Tinfoil, in a tone of anger, quickly
-subsiding into mild remonstrance. “Ill!—why—why
-doesn’t the good man <i>die at once</i>?”</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>A pretty budding girl had, unhappily, listened to the
-silvery tongue of a rival manager. “Take her from the
-villain!” exclaimed Tinfoil to the sorrowing parent; “bring
-her here, and then—then I’ll tell you what I’ll do.”</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>“Dear, kind Mr Tinfoil, what will you do!”</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>“I’ll bring her out, Sir—bring her out in—” and here
-the manager named a play in which the horrors of seduction
-are painted in bold colours for the indignant virtuous. “I’ll
-bring her out in that, Sir, as a particular favour to you, and
-sympathising as I must with the affliction you suffer, I—I
-myself will play the injured father, Sir.”</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>These, however, are but faint lines in the strongly-marked
-character of Tinfoil, and merely displaying them
-to awaken the attention of the reader to what we consider a
-most triumphant piece of casuistry on the part of our hero—to
-an incident which admits of so many hundred worldly
-illustrations—we shall proceed to the pig. The subject,
-we own, may appear unpromising from its extreme homeliness;
-yet, as the precious bezoar is sought for in deer and
-goats, so may a pearl of price be found even in a pig.</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>It is our fervent wish to be most exact in every point of
-this little history; yet cannot we remember the exact year
-in which Tinfoil, revolving in his managerial mind the
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_97'>97</span>very many experiments made under his government on the
-curiosity and sensibilities of the public, determined in a
-golden moment, upon the introduction of a pig, in a drama
-to be expressly written for the animal’s capacities. In the
-slang of the craft, the pig was to be measured for his part.</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>We cannot take it upon ourselves to avow, that an accident
-of late occurrence to a brother actor, did not, at least
-remotely, influence the choice of Tinfoil. The mishap
-was this. A few miles from London—for the sake of
-unborn generations we conceal the name of the town—the
-dullard denizens had manifested an extraordinary apathy to
-the delights of the drama. In the despairing words of one
-of the sufferers, “nothing could move ’em.” However,
-another of more sanguine temperament resolved to make a
-last bold effort on their stubborn souls, and to such high
-end, set a pig at them. Mingling the blandishments of the
-lottery with the witcheries of the drama, he caused it to be
-printed in boldest type to the townspeople of ——, that a
-shower of little bits of paper would take place between
-the play and farce, and amidst this shower a prize would
-descend, conveying to the lucky possessor the entire property
-of a real China-bred porker! Inconceivable as to us it is
-the scheme failed—the pig remained live stock upon the
-hands of the projector, who, the next morning, walked to
-town; and recounting his adverse fortune to the calculating
-Tinfoil, supplicated any employment.</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>“And you still possess the pig? Humph!” mused Tinfoil;
-“perhaps we may come to some arrangement.”</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>In few words the applicant was admitted among Tinfoil’s
-troop; the pig, at a nominal price, passing into the hands
-of the manager.</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>The pig was no sooner a member of the company than
-the household author was summoned by Tinfoil, who, introducing
-the man of letters to the porker, shortly intimated
-that “he must write a part for him.”</p>
-
-<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_98'>98</span>“For a pig, Sir?” exclaimed the author.</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>“Measure him,” said Tinfoil, not condescending to
-notice the astonishment of the dramatist.</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>“But, my dear Sir, it is impossible that——”</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>“Sir! impossible is a word which I cannot allow in my
-establishment. By this time, Sir, you ought to know that
-my will, Sir, is sufficient for all things, Sir—that, in a
-word, Sir, there is a great deal of Napoleon about me, Sir.”</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>We must admit that the dramatist ought not to have
-forgotten this last interesting circumstance, Mr Tinfoil
-himself very frequently recurring to it. Indeed, it was
-only an hour before that he had censured the charwoman
-for having squandered a whole sack of sawdust on the hall
-floor, when half a sack was the allotted quantity. “He, Mr
-Tinfoil, had said half a sack; and the woman knew, or
-ought to know, there was a good deal of Napoleon about
-him!” To return to the pig.</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>“Measure him, Sir,” cried Mr Tinfoil, the deepening
-tones growling through his teeth, and his finger pointing
-still more emphatically downwards to the pig.</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>“Why,” observed the author, “if it could be measured,
-perhaps——”</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>“<i>If</i> it could! Sir,” and Mr Tinfoil, when at all excited,
-trolled the monosyllable with peculiar energy—“Sir,
-I wouldn’t give a straw for a dramatist who couldn’t
-measure the cholera-morbus.”</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>“Much may be done for an actor by measuring,” remarked
-the dramatist, gradually falling into the opinion of
-his employer.</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>“Everything, Sir! Good God! what might I not
-have been had I condescended to be measured? Human
-nature, Sir—the divine and glorious characteristic of our
-common being, Sir—that is the thing, Sir—by heavens!
-Sir, when I think of that great creature, Shakespeare, Sir,
-and think that he never measured actors—no, Sir——”</p>
-
-<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_99'>99</span>“No, Sir,” acquiesced the dramatist.</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>“Notwithstanding, Sir, we live in other times, Sir,
-and you must write a part for the pig, Sir.”</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>“Very well, Sir; if he must be measured, Sir, he
-must,” said the author.</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>“It is a melancholy thing to be obliged to succumb to
-the folly of the day,” remarked Mr Tinfoil, “and yet,
-Sir, I could name certain people, Sir, who, by heavens!
-Sir, would not have a part to their backs, Sir, if they had
-not been measured for it, Sir. Let me see: it is not
-three o’clock—well, some time to-night you’ll let me
-have the piece for the pig, Sir.”</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>Now whether the writer addressed was by his “so
-potent art” enabled to measure a pig—to write a perfect
-swinish drama in a few hours—or whether, knowing the
-Buonapartean self-will of the manager, the dramatist
-thought it wise to make no remonstrance, we cannot truly
-discover: certain it is, with no objection made, he took his
-leave.</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>“An extraordinary young man, Sir—I have brought
-him out, Sir—a wonderful young man, Sir,” observed Mr
-Tinfoil to a friend and neighbour, a dealer in marine-stores.
-“Only wants working, Sir—requires nothing but being
-kept at it, Sir.”</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>“Well, it must be a puzzling trade,” remarked the dealer.</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>“Puzzling, Sir! By heavens! Sir, my heart bleeds
-for men of letters, Sir—they are great creatures, Sir—wonderful
-natures, Sir—we cannot think too highly of
-them, Sir—cannot sufficiently reward them, Sir! Now,
-Sir, it is perfectly unknown my liberality towards that
-young man! But then, Sir—it is my delight, Sir, when
-I find real genius, Sir—when I meet with a man of
-original mind, Sir—by heavens! Sir,” again cried Mr
-Tinfoil, resorting to the exclamation as an outlet for his
-overcharged feelings.</p>
-
-<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_100'>100</span>The pig was duly measured—the piece prepared—and,
-having been produced at enormous expense, was sealed with
-the unqualified approbation of a discerning public.</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>The pig-drama had been represented about twenty nights,
-when the author of the piece, in friendly converse with his
-patron manager, remarked “that the porker had been a
-most profitable venture.”</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>“Why, Sir,” replied Mr Tinfoil, “tolerably well; but
-the fact is, I am obliged to bolster him. He has had the
-advantage of three new afterpieces, and therefore can’t
-complain that he has been let down. Still, the pig has
-done very well, and perhaps may run a fortnight more.”
-Saying this Tinfoil quaffed from a brimming glass of his
-chosen fluid.</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>“At all events,” remarked the author, “the pig
-possesses one advantage not to be found in any other of
-your actors.”</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>“And what, Sir,” asked Mr Tinfoil, “what may
-that be?”</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>“Why, after the pig has done his work, and the piece
-is put by, you may eat the pig.”</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>The manager started from the inhuman man of letters
-with a look of mingled horror, disgust and pity. When
-he had somewhat recovered from his amazement he asked
-with evident loathing, “What did you say, Sir?”</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>“I said,” replied the insensible author, “that when the
-pig had played out his part you might eat him.”</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>Mr Tinfoil, gently stirring his brandy-and-water, fixed
-an eye, like that of death-darting cockatrice, upon the
-author, and after swallowing the liquor, and thereby somewhat
-regaining his self-possession, he addressed the thoughtless
-dramatist in words and tones that, as he has since
-declared, can never cease to vibrate in his memory.</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>“Sir!” thus spoke Mr Tinfoil. “I regret—much
-regret, Sir, that anything in my conduct could have
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_101'>101</span>induced you, Sir, to think so uncharitably of my disposition,
-Sir.”</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>“I assure you, Sir——”</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>“Hear me out, Sir. What, Sir! think me capable of
-feeding upon an animal that I have played with—a creature,
-whose sagacity has almost made it my humble friend—a pig
-that has eaten from my hand—that knows my voice—that
-I—I eat that pig—good heavens, Sir!”</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>“I’m sure I didn’t mean——”</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>“No, Sir,” cried Tinfoil, “not were I starving, Sir—not
-were I famishing, Sir, could I be brought to taste that pig.”</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>Much more did Mr Tinfoil deliver declaratory of his
-horror at the bare idea of setting his teeth in the flesh
-of his quadruped actor, and the rebuked man of letters
-quitted the manager with an exalted notion of his sensibility.</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>The pig-drama continued to be played to the increasing
-satisfaction of the public; the audience, however, only
-being admitted to view the professional abilities of the
-animal; his suppers—from some extraordinary omission of
-Tinfoil—not being eaten before the curtain. Great, however,
-as was the success of the pig, at about the fortieth
-night his prosperity began to wane—he was withdrawn, and
-passed into oblivion.</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>A few weeks had elapsed, and the author was summoned
-to the dwelling of his manager, to write a play for a stud
-of horses. Tinfoil was at dinner, whereto he courteously
-invited his household scribe.</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>“You oughtn’t to refuse,” said one of the diners, “for
-this,” and the speaker pointed to some pickled pork in the
-dish, “this is an old friend of yours.”</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>“Good heavens!” exclaimed the dramatist, looking reproachfully
-at Tinfoil. “Why, not the pig?”</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>Tinfoil somewhat abashed coughed and nodded.</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>“Why, you said that nothing on earth would tempt you
-to eat that pig.”</p>
-
-<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_102'>102</span>“No more it could, Sir,” cried the assured manager, “no,
-Sir—no more it could—<i>unless salted</i>!”</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>Of how many applications is this casuistry of the manager
-susceptible?</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>“When, Sir,” cried the pensioned patriot, “I swore
-that no power in the universal world could make me accept
-a favour at the hands of such men—I meant——”</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>“<i>Unless salted!</i>”</p>
-
-<p class='c019'>How often is it with men’s principles, as with the
-manager’s pig; things inviolable, immutable—<i>unless salted</i>?</p>
-<div id='i102'  class='figcenter id003'>
-<img src='images/i102.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c002' />
-</div>
-<div id='i103'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_103'>103</span>
-<img src='images/i103.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-  <h2 class='c006'>SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL</h2>
-</div>
-<p class='c022'><span class='sc'>The</span> “principle of evil,” as commonly embodied in the
-theatre, has been a sorry affair; the stage devil, in a word,
-a shabby person. From the time of the mysteries at
-Coventry to the melodramas of the phosphoric pen of the
-blue-fire dramatists, the father of iniquity has made his
-appearance in a manner more provocative of contempt than
-of peace; a candidate for our smiles, rather than a thing
-of terrors; we have chuckled where we should have
-shuddered.</p>
-<p class='c010'>That the stage devil should have been so commonplace
-an individual, when there were devils innumerable where-from
-an admirable selection of demons might be “constantly
-on hand,” made it the more inexcusable on the part of
-those gentlemen invested with the power of administering
-to, and in some measure forming, public taste. What a
-catalogue of devils may be found in the Fathers! Let us
-particularise a few from the thousand of demons with
-which the benevolent imaginations of our ancestors have
-peopled the air, the earth, and the flood. Poor humanity
-stands aghast at the fearful odds of spiritual influences
-arrayed against it; for it is the fixed opinion of Paracelsus,
-that “the air is not so full of flies in summer as it is
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_104'>104</span>at all times of invisible devils”; whilst another philosopher
-declares that there is “not so much as an hairbreadth
-empty in earth or in water, above or under the earth!”
-Cornelius Agrippa has carefully classified devils, making
-them of nine orders. The first are the false Gods adored
-at Delphos and elsewhere in various idols, having for their
-captain Beelzebub; the second rank is of “liars and
-equivocators,” as Apollo—poor Apollo!—“and the like”;
-the third are “vessels of anger, inventors of all mischief,”
-and their prince is Belial; the fourth are malicious, revengeful
-devils, their chief being Asmodeus; the fifth
-are cozeners, such as belong to magicians and witches,
-their prince is Satan; the sixth are those aerial devils that
-corrupt the air, and cause plagues, thunder, fire, and
-tempests—Meresin is their prince; the seventh is a destroyer,
-captain of the fairies; the eighth is an accusing
-or calumniating devil; and the ninth are all these in
-several kinds, their commander being Mammon. Of all
-these infernal creatures Cornelius Agrippa writes, with the
-confidence and seeming accuracy of a man favoured with
-their most intimate acquaintance.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>In addition to these we have, on the authority of grave
-philosophers, legions of household devils, from such as
-“commonly work by blazing stars,” fire-drakes, or <i>ignes
-fatui</i>, to those who “counterfeit suns and moons, and
-oftentimes sit on ship masts.” Their common place of
-rendezvous, when unemployed, is Mount Hecla. Cardon,
-with an enviable gravity, declares that “his father had an
-aerial devil bound to him for twenty and eight years.”
-Paracelsus relates many stories, all authenticated, of she-devils,
-“that have lived and been married to mortal men,
-and so continued for certain years with them, and after
-for some dislike have forsaken them.” Olaus Magnus—a
-most delightful liar—has a narrative of “one Hotheius,
-a king of Sweden, that, having lost his company as he
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_105'>105</span>was hunting one day, met with these water-nymphs and
-fairies, and was feasted by them”; and Hector Boethius
-of “Macbeth and Banquo, two Scottish lords, that, as
-they were wandering in the woods, had their fortune told
-them by three strange women!” For the “good people,”
-the wood-nymphs, foliots, fairies, they are, on the best
-authority, to be seen in many places in Germany, “where
-they do usually walk in little coats some two feet long.”
-Subterranean devils are divided by Olaus Magnus into six
-companies; they commonly haunt mines, “and the metal-men
-in many places account it good luck, a sign of treasure
-and rich ore, when they see them.” Georgius Agricola
-(<i>de subterraneis animantibus</i>) reckons two more kinds, “that
-are clothed after the manner of metal-men, and will do
-their work.” Their office, according to the shrewd guess
-of certain philosophers, “is to keep treasure in the earth
-that it be not all at once revealed.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>On the 20th of June 1484, it is upon record that the
-devil appeared “at Hamond, in Saxony,” in the likeness
-of a field-piper, and carried away a hundred and thirty
-children “that were never after seen!” I might fill
-folios with the pranks and malicious mummeries of the
-evil spirit, all, too, duly attested by the most respectable
-witnesses, but shall at once leave the demons of the
-philosophers for the spirits of the playmongers, the devils
-of the world for the devils of the stage.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Why is it that, nine times out of ten, your stage devil
-is a droll rather than a terrible creature? I suspect this
-arises from the bravado of innate wickedness. We endeavour
-to shirk all thoughts, all recollections of his
-horrible attributes, by endowing him with grotesque propensities.
-We strive to laugh ourselves out of our fears:
-we make a mountebank of what is in truth our terror, and
-resolutely strive to grin away our apprehensions. Surely
-some feeling of this kind must be at the bottom of all
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_106'>106</span>our ten thousand jokes at the devil’s expense—of the glee
-and enjoyment with which the devil is received at the
-theatre; where, until the appearance of Mr Wieland, he
-had been but a commonplace absurdity, a dull repetition
-of a most dull joke.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Wieland has evidently studied the attributes of the evil
-principle; with true German profundity, he has taken
-their length, and their depth, and their breadth, he has
-all the devil at his very finger ends, and richly deserves
-the very splendid silver-gilt horns and tail (manufactured
-by Rundell and Bridges) presented to him a few nights
-since by the company at the English Opera-house; presented
-with a speech from the stage-manager, which, or
-I have been grossly misinformed, drew tears from the eyes
-of the very scene-shifters.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Can anybody forget Wieland’s devil in the <i>Daughter
-of the Danube</i>? Never was there a more dainty bit of
-infernal nature. It lives in my mind like one of Hoffman’s
-tales, a realisation of the hero of the nightmare, a thing
-in almost horrible affinity with human passions. How he
-eyed the Naiades, how he laughed and ogled, and faintingly
-approached, then wandered round the object of his
-demoniacal affections! And then how he burst into
-action! How he sprang, and leapt, and whirled, and,
-chuckling at his own invincible nature, spun like a teetotum
-at the sword of his baffled assailant! And then his
-yawn and sneeze! There was absolute poetry in them—the
-very highest poetry of the ludicrous: a fine imagination
-to produce such sounds as part of the strange, wild, grotesque
-phantom—to give it a voice that, when we heard it, we
-felt to be the only voice such a thing could have. There
-is fine truth in the devils of Wieland. We feel that
-they live and have their being in the realms of fancy;
-they are not stereotype commonplaces, but most rare and
-delicate monsters, brought from the air, the earth, or
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_107'>107</span>the flood; and wherever they are from, bearing in them
-the finest characteristics of their mysterious and fantastic
-whereabouts.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Wieland’s last devil, in an opera bearing his fearful name,
-is not altogether so dainty a fellow as his elder brother of
-the Danube, whose melancholy so endeared him to our
-sympathies, whose lackadaisical demeanour so won upon
-our human weakness. In <i>The Devil’s Opera</i> the hero is
-more of the pantomimist than of the thinking creature; he
-is not contemplative, but all for action; he does not, like
-the former fiend, retire into the fastness of his infernal mind
-to brood on love and fate, but is incessantly grinning, leaping,
-tumbling; hence he is less interesting to the meditative
-part of the audience, though, possibly, more attractive to
-the majority of playgoers, who seem to take the “evil
-principle” under their peculiar patronage, laughing, shouting,
-and hurrahing at every scurvy trick played by it on
-poor, undefended humanity; though, with a bold aim of
-genius on the part of the author, the devil, in the opera, is
-made the ally of love and virtue against blind tyranny and
-silly superstition. The devil is changed, bound, the bond-slave
-of the good and respectable part of the <i>dramatis personae</i>,
-to the confusion of the foolish and the wicked. This
-is certainly putting the “evil principle” to the very first
-advantage. The best triumph of the highest benevolence
-is, undoubtedly, to turn the dominating fiend into the toiling
-vassal, and in the new opera this glory is most unequivocally
-achieved.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>To Wieland we are greatly indebted for having reformed
-the “infernal powers” of the theatre; for having rescued
-the imp of the stage from the vulgar commonplace character
-in which he has too long distinguished himself, or, I ought
-rather to say, exposed himself; for there was no mystery
-whatever in him: he was a sign-post devil, a miserable
-daub, with not one of those emanations of profound, unearthly
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_108'>108</span>thought—not the slightest approach to that delicacy
-of colouring, that softening of light into shade, and shade
-into light, that distinguish the devil of Wieland. No: in
-him we have the foul fiend divested of all his vulgar,
-Bartlemy Fair attributes; his horns, and tail, and saucer-eyes,
-and fish-hook nails, are the least part of him; they
-are the mere accidents of his nature, not his nature itself;
-we have the devil in the abstract, and are compelled to
-receive with some consideration the popular and charitable
-proverb that declares him to be not quite so black as
-limners have shadowed him.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>By the rarest accident I have obtained some account of
-the birth and childhood of Wieland. It appears that he is
-a German born, being the youngest of six sons of Hans
-Wieland, a poor and most amiable doll-maker, a citizen
-of Hildesheim. When only four years old the child was
-lost in the Hartz Mountains, whither his father and several
-neighbours had resorted to make holiday. The child had
-from his cradle manifested the greatest propensities towards
-the ludicrous; it was his delight to place his father’s dolls
-in the most preposterous positions, doing this with a seriousness,
-a gravity, in strange contrast with his employment.
-It was plain to Professor Teufelskopf, a frequent visitor at
-the shop of old Wieland, employed by the professor on toys
-that are yet to astound the world—being no other than a
-man and wife and four children, made entirely out of pear-tree,
-and yet so exquisitely constructed, as to be enabled to
-eat and drink, cry, and pay taxes, with a punctuality and
-propriety not surpassed by many machines of flesh and
-blood—I say it was the opinion of Professor Teufelskopf
-that young Wieland was destined to play a great part among
-men, an opinion we are happy to say nightly illustrated by
-the interesting subject of this memoir. We have, however,
-to speak of his adventures when only four years old, in the
-Hartz Mountains. For a whole month was the child
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_109'>109</span>missing, to the agony of its parents, and the deep regret of
-all the citizens of Hildesheim, with whom little George
-was an especial favourite. The mountains were overrun
-by various parties in search of the unfortunate little vagrant,
-but with no success. It was plain that the boy had been
-caught away by some spirit of the mines with which the
-marvellous districts abound, or, it might be, carried to the
-very height of the Brockenberg, by the king of the mountains,
-to be his page and cup-bearer. The gravest folks of
-the Hildesheim shook their heads, and more than two
-declared that they never thought George would grow up
-to be a man—he was so odd, so strange, so fantastic, so
-unlike any other child. The despair of Hans Wieland
-was fast settling into deep melancholy, and he had almost
-given up all hope, when, as he sat brooding at his fireside
-one autumn night, his wife—she had quitted him not a
-minute to go upstairs—uttered a piercing shriek. Hans
-rushed from the fireside, and in an instant joined his wife,
-who, speechless with delight and wonder, pointed to the
-nook in the chamber where little George was wont to sleep,
-and where, at the time, but how brought there was never,
-never known, the boy lay in the profoundest slumber; in
-all things the same plump, good-looking child, save that his
-cheek was more than usually flushed. Hans Wieland and
-his wife fell upon their knees and sobbed thanksgivings.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>I cannot dwell upon the effect produced by this mysterious
-return of the child upon the people of Hildesheim.
-The shop of Hans Wieland was thronged with folks anxious
-to learn from the child himself a full account of his wanderings,
-of how he happened to stray away, of what he had
-seen, and by what means he had been brought back. To
-all these questions, though on other points a most docile
-infant, George maintained the most dogged silence, several
-of the church authorities, half a dozen professors, nay, the
-great Teufelskopf himself, questioned the child; but all in
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_110'>110</span>vain, George was resolutely dumb. It was plain, however,
-that he had been the playfellow, the pet of supernatural
-beings; and though there can be but little doubt that his
-friends and devils as shown upon the stage are no other
-than faithful copies of the grotesque originals at this moment
-sporting in the neighbourhood of the Brockenberg, Mr
-Wieland, as I am credibly informed, though a gentle and
-amiable person in other respects, is apt to be ruffled, nay,
-violent, if impertinently pressed upon the subject of his
-early wanderings. When, however, we reflect upon the
-great advantages obtained by Mr Wieland from what is
-now to be considered the most fortunate accident of his
-childhood, we must admit that there is somewhat less praise
-due to him than if he appeared before us as a great original.
-Since I have commenced this paper, I have been informed
-by Mr Dullandry, of <i>The Wet Blanket</i>, that the goblin in
-<i>The Daughter of the Danube</i>, a touch of acting in which
-Mr Wieland gathered a wreath of red-hot laurels, is by no
-means what it was taken for, a piece of fine invention on
-the part of the actor, but an imitation, a most servile copy
-of the real spirit that carried George away from his father
-and friends, tempting the little truant with a handful of the
-most delicious black cherries, and a draught of kirschen-wasser.
-That every gesture, every movement, nay, that
-the leer of the eye and the “villainous hanging of the nether
-lip,” the sneeze, the cough, the sigh, the lightning speed, the</p>
-
-<div class='lg-container-b c011'>
-  <div class='linegroup'>
-    <div class='group'>
-      <div class='line'>“<i>Infernal</i> beauty, melancholy grace,”</div>
-    </div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c026'>all the attributes of mind and body of that most delicate
-fiend of the Brockenberg, were given in the hobgoblin of
-the Danube. Hence, if Mr Wieland be not, as we thought
-him, a great original, he is most assuredly the first of
-mimics, and has turned a peril of his childhood to a golden
-purpose. Dullandry declares upon the best authority—doubtless
-his own—that the devil of the Brockenberg, when
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_111'>111</span>little George cried to go home to his father and mother,
-his brother and sister, would solace the child by playing
-upon a diabolic fiddle, the strings of wolf’s gut and the
-bow-string from the snowy hair of the witch of the Alps,
-dancing the while, and by the devilish magic of the music
-bringing from every fissure in the rocks, every cleft in the
-earth, and from every stream, their supernatural intelligences
-to caper and make holiday, for the especial delight of the
-poor, kidnapped son of the doll-maker of Hildesheim.
-If this be true, and when Dullandry speaks it is hard to
-doubt, his words being pearls without speck or flaw—if
-this be true, we here beg leave to inform Mr Wieland that
-from this minute we withdraw from him a great part of that
-admiration with which we have always remembered the
-spasmodic twitch of his elbow, the self-complacency about
-his eyes and jaws, the lofty look of conscious power, the
-stamping of the foot, and the inexhaustible energy of <i>bowing</i>
-which marked his <i>Devil on Two Sticks</i>, all such graces
-and qualifications being, as from Dullandry, it now appears,
-the original property of the devil of the Brockenberg. However,
-to return to our narrative, which, as I am prepared to
-show, has in these days of daring speculation the inestimable
-charm of truth to recommend it to the severest attention
-of my readers.</p>
-<p class='c010'>Little George remained a marvel to the good citizens of
-Hildesheim, few of whom, for certain prudential reasons,
-would any longer permit their children to play with him;
-fearing, and reasonably enough, some evil from contact with
-a child who was evidently a favourite with the spirits of the
-Hartz Mountains. However, this resolution had no effect on
-George, who more than ever indulged in solitary rambles, becoming
-day by day more serious and taciturn. His little head—as
-Professor Teufelskopf sagaciously observed—was filled
-with the shapes and shadows haunting the Brockenberg.
-Many were the solicitations made by Teufelskopf and rival
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_112'>112</span>professors to Hans Wieland, to be permitted to take little
-George and educate him for a philosopher, an alchemist, in
-fact for anything and everything, the boy displaying
-capacities, as all declared, only to be found in an infant
-Faust. To all these prayers Hans Wieland was deaf. He
-resolved to bring up his son to the honest and useful employment
-of doll-making; keeping, if possible, his head from
-the cobwebs and dust of the schools, and making him a
-worthy minister to the simple and innocent enjoyments of
-baby girls,<a id='r9' /><a href='#f9' class='c017'><sup>[9]</sup></a> rather than consenting to his elevation as a
-puzzler and riddler among men. Thus our hero, denied to
-the scholastic yearnings of the great Teufelskopf, sat at home,
-articulating the joints of dolls, and helping to make their
-eyes open and shut, when—had his father the true worthy
-ambition in him—the boy would have been inducted into
-knowledge that might have given him supernatural power
-over living flesh and blood, bending and binding it to his
-own high, philosophic purposes. Hans Wieland, however,
-was a simple, honest soul, with a great, and, therefore,
-proper sense of the beauties and uses of the art of doll-making.
-Glad also am I to state that little George, with all
-his dreaminess, remained a most dutiful, sweet-tempered boy;
-and might be seen, seven hours at least out of the twenty-four,
-seated on a three-legged stool fitting the arms and
-legs of the ligneous hopes of the little girls of Hildesheim,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_115'>115</span>his thoughts, it may be, far, far away with the fiddling
-goblin of the Brockenberg, making holiday with the
-multitude of spirits in the Hartz Mountains.</p>
-
-<div class='footnote c020' id='f9'>
-<p class='c019'><span class='label'><a href='#r9'>9</a>.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>One of the most touching instances of the “maternal instinct,”
-as it has been called, in children, came under my notice a few
-months ago. A wretched woman, with an infant in her arms,
-mother and child in very tatters, solicited the alms of a nursery-maid
-passing with a child, clothed in the most luxurious manner,
-hugging a large wax doll. The mother followed the girl, begging
-for relief “to get bread for her child,” whilst the child itself,
-gazing at the treasure in the arms of the baby of prosperity, cried,
-“Mammy, when will you buy me a doll?” I have met with few
-things more affecting than the contrast of the destitute parent
-begging her bread (the misery seemed real) and the beggar’s
-child begging of its mother for a “doll!”</p>
-</div>
-<div id='i113'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<img src='images/i113.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-<div class='ic001'>
-<p>“Would solace the child by playing upon a diabolic fiddle”</p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p class='c009'>This mental abstraction on the part of little George was
-but too often forced upon the observation of the worthy
-Hans, the young doll-maker constantly giving the looks and
-limbs of hobgoblins to the faces and bodies of dolls, intended
-by the father to supply the demand for household dolls of
-the same staid and prudish aspect, of the same proportion of
-members, as the dolls that had for two hundred years
-soothed and delighted the little maidens of Hildesheim.
-It is a fact hitherto unknown in England, that in the
-Museum of Hildesheim—a beautiful, though somewhat
-heavy building of the Saxon order—there are either eleven
-or twelve (I think twelve) demon dolls made by young
-Wieland, and to this day shown to the curious—though the
-circumstance has, strangely enough, remained unnoticed by
-the writers of Guide Books—as faithful portraits of the
-supernatural inhabitants of the Hartz Mountains. I am
-told, however, that within the last three years, one of the
-figures has been removed into a separate chamber, and is
-only to be seen by an express order from the town council,
-in consequence of its lamentable effects on the nerves of a
-certain German princess, who was so overcome by the exhibition,
-that it was very much feared by the whole of the
-principality—extending in territory at least a mile and a
-quarter, and containing no less than three hundred and
-twenty subjects—the territory would pass to a younger
-brother, or, what is worse, be the scene of a frightful revolution,
-an heir direct being wanted to consolidate the dynasty.
-This unfortunate event, though, possibly, fatal to the future
-peace of the said principality, is nevertheless a striking instance
-of the powerful imagination or rather of the retentive
-memory of the young Wieland. The doll, like all the
-others, is a true copy from diabolic life. How the painful
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_116'>116</span>story attached to it should have escaped all the foreign
-correspondents of all the newspapers is a matter of surpassing
-astonishment.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>We have now arrived at an important change in the life
-of our hero. His father had received a munificent order
-for three dolls from Prince Gotheoleog, a great patron of
-the fine arts in all their many branches. The dolls were
-intended by the prince—he was the best and most indulgent
-of fathers—as presents for his daughters; and, therefore,
-no pains, no cost, were to be spared upon them. After a
-lapse of three months the order was completed; and young
-Wieland, then in his seventh year, was dressed in his holiday
-suit, and—the dolls being carried by Peter Shnicht, an
-occasional assistant of Hans Wieland—he took his way to
-the palace of the prince. It was about half-past twelve
-when he arrived there, and the weather being extremely
-sultry, George sat down upon the palace steps to rest and
-compose himself before he ventured to knock at the gate.
-He had remained there but a short time, when he was
-addressed by a tall, majestic-looking person clothed in a
-huntsman’s suit, and carrying a double-barrel gun, a weapon
-used in the neighbourhood of Hildesheim in boar-shooting,
-who, asking our hero his name and business, was struck with
-the extraordinary readiness of the boy’s answers, and, more
-than all, with a certain look of diabolic reverence peeping from
-his eyes, and odd smiles playing about his mouth. The
-stranger knocked at the gate, gave his gun to a servant, and
-bade the little doll-maker follow the domestic, who showed
-him into a sumptuous apartment. The reader is prepared
-to find in the man with the gun no other person than Prince
-Gotheoleog himself, who in a few minutes reappeared to
-George, asked him in the most condescending manner
-various questions respecting his proficiency in reading and
-writing, and finally dismissed him with ten groschen for his
-extraordinary intelligence. Six months after this Prince
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_117'>117</span>Gotheoleog was appointed ambassador to the court of St
-James’s, and young Wieland attended him in the humble,
-yet most honourable capacity of page. This appointment
-Hans Wieland, in his simplicity, believed would effectually
-win his romantic son from his errant habits, would cure him
-of day-dreaming, by plunging his neck deep into the affairs
-of this world. Alas! it had precisely the reverse effect
-upon the diplomatic doll-maker. From the moment that
-he found himself associated, though in the slightest degree,
-with politics, the latent desire to play the devil burst forth
-with inextinguishable ardour. A sense of duty—a filial
-regard for the prejudices of his father—did for a time restrain
-him from throwing up his very lucrative and most
-promising situation in the household of Prince Gotheoleog,
-and kept him to the incessant toil, unmitigated drudgery of
-diplomatic life; but having one luckless night gained admission
-into the gallery of the House of Commons on the
-debate of a certain question, to which I shall not more
-particularly allude, and there having seen and heard a certain
-member, whose name I shall not specify, sway and convulse
-the senate, George resolved from that moment to play the
-devil, and nothing but the devil, to the end of his days.
-He immediately retired to Bellamy’s, and penned his resignation
-to Prince Gotheoleog, trusting, with the confidence
-of true genius, to fortune, to his own force of character,
-or, what is more likely, without once thinking of the means
-or accidents, to obtain the end of his indomitable aspirations—an
-appearance as the devil. Unrivalled as Wieland is
-as the representative of the fiend in all his thousand shapes—to
-be sure the great advantages of our hero’s education in
-the Hartz Mountains are not to be forgotten—it is yet to
-be regretted that he ever</p>
-
-<div class='lg-container-b c011'>
-  <div class='linegroup'>
-    <div class='group'>
-      <div class='line'>“To the playhouse gave up what was meant for mankind.”</div>
-    </div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c026'>It is, and must ever be, a matter of sorrow not only to his
-best wishers, but to the friends of the world at large, that
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_118'>118</span>those high qualifications, those surpassing powers of diabolic
-phlegm, vivacity and impudence, which have made Mr
-Wieland’s devils the <i>beau idéal</i> of the infernal, had not been
-suffered to ripen in the genial clime of diplomacy. In the
-full glow of my admiration of his diabolic beauties—that is,
-since the facts above narrated have been in my possession—I
-have often scarcely suppressed a sigh to think how great
-an ambassador has been sacrificed in a play-house fiend.
-Indeed, nothing can be more truly diplomatic than the
-supernatural shifts of Wieland. Had he acted in France,
-in the days of Napoleon, he had been kidnapped from the
-stage, and, <i>nolens volens</i>, made a plenipotentiary.</p>
-<p class='c010'>It is a painful theme to dwell upon the strugglings of
-modest, and, consequently, unsupported genius. Therefore
-I shall, at least for the present, suppress a very long and
-minute account of the trials that beset our hero in his
-attempts to make known the wonders that were in him.
-I shall not relate how he was flouted by one manager,
-snubbed by another, derisively smiled upon by a third;
-how, at length, he obtained a footing in a theatre, but was
-condemned to act the minor iniquities, less gifted men being
-promoted to play the devil himself. In all these trials,
-however, in all these disappointments and occasional heartburnings,
-the genius of our hero continued to ripen. His
-horns still budded, and his tail gave token of great promise;
-and, at length, he burst upon the town, from top to toe,
-<i>intus et in cute</i>, a perfect and most dainty devil. Great as
-his success has been, I should not have thus lengthily dwelt
-upon it, were I not convinced of its future increase. There
-are grand mysteries in Wieland—part of his infant wanderings
-in the Hartz—yet to be revealed. I feel certain from
-the demoniacal variety of his humour, that there are a legion
-of spirits, fantastic and new, yet to be shown to us; all of
-them the old acquaintance of our hero’s babyhood, all from
-the same genuine source of romance as his <i>Devil on Two</i>
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_119'>119</span><i>Sticks</i>, his <i>Devil of the Danube</i>, and his <i>Devil of the
-Opera</i>.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Having discussed the professional merits of Mr Wieland,
-the reader may probably feel curious respecting the private
-habits of a man so distinguished by his supernatural emotions.
-I am enabled, it is with considerable satisfaction I avow it,
-to satisfy the laudable anxiety of the reader, and from the
-same authentic materials that have supplied the principal
-part of this notice.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Mr Wieland is a gentleman of the most retired and
-simple manners. After the severest rehearsals of a new
-devil he has been known to recreate himself in the enclosure
-of St James’s Park; and further, to illustrate his contemplative
-and benevolent habits, by flinging to the various
-water-fowl in the canal—by-the-way, in imitation of a
-great regal authority—fragments of cake and biscuits. His
-dress is of the plainest kind, being commonly a snuff-coloured
-coat buttoned up to the neck; a white cravat, drab small-clothes,
-and drab knee-gaiters. A gold-headed cane, said
-to have been in the possession of Cornelius Agrippa, is
-sometimes in his hand. He is occasionally induced to take
-a pinch of snuff, but was never seen to smoke. His face is
-as well known at the British Museum as are the Elgin
-Marbles, Mr Wieland having for some years been employed
-on a new edition of the <i>Talmud</i>. Although a German by
-birth, Mr Wieland speaks English with remarkable purity,
-having had the advantage of early instruction in our language
-from a British dramatist, who, driven from the stage by the
-invasion of French pieces, sought to earn his precarious
-bread as a journeyman doll-maker with Mr Wieland,
-senior. We could enter into further particulars, but shall
-commit a violence upon ourselves, and here wind up what
-we trust will henceforth prove a model for all stage
-biographers.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The inquiring reader may possibly desire to learn how
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_120'>120</span>we became possessed of the valuable documents from which
-the above narrative is gathered. To this we boldly make
-answer; we blush not, while we avow, that our dear friend
-Dullandry has a most careless habit of carrying his most
-valuable communications for <i>The Wet Blanket</i> in his coat
-pocket; and that only on Thursday last we overtook him,
-with his papers peeping from their sanctuary, when—when,
-in a word, the temptation was too much for us, and the
-consequence is, that the reader has “some account of a
-stage devil.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Why should all dramatic truths be confined to the impartial
-and original pages of <i>The Wet Blanket</i>?</p>
-<div id='i120'  class='figcenter id003'>
-<img src='images/i120.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c002' />
-</div>
-<div id='i121'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_121'>121</span>
-<img src='images/i121.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-<div class='ic001'>
-<p>Saint Patty</p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-  <h2 class='c006'>FIRESIDE SAINTS</h2>
-</div>
-<h3 class='c003'>ST DOLLY</h3>
-
-<p class='c026'><span class='sc'>At</span> an early age St Dolly showed the sweetness of her
-nature by her tender love for her widowed father, a baker,
-dwelling at Pie Corner, with a large family of little children.
-It chanced that with bad harvests bread became so dear
-that, of course, bakers were ruined by high prices. The
-miller fell upon Dolly’s father, and swept the shop with his
-golden thumb. Not a bed was left for the baker or his
-little ones. St Dolly slept upon a flour sack, having prayed
-that good angels would help her to help her father. Now
-sleeping, she dreamt that the oven was lighted, and she
-felt falling in a shower about her raisins, currants, almonds,
-lemon peel, flour, with heavy drops of brandy. Then in
-her dreams she saw the fairies gather up the things that fell
-and knead them into a cake. They put the cake into the
-oven, and dancing round and round, the fairies vanished,
-crying, “<i>Draw the cake, Dolly—Dolly, draw the cake!</i>”
-And Dolly awoke and drew the cake, and, behold, it was
-the first twelfth cake, sugared at the top, and bearing the
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_122'>122</span>images of Faith, Hope, and Charity. Now this cake, shown
-in the window, came to the king’s ear; and the king bought
-the cake, knighted the baker, and married Dolly to his
-grand falconer, to whom she proved a faithful and loving
-wife, bearing him a baker’s dozen of lovely children.</p>
-<h3 class='c003'>ST PATTY</h3>
-
-<p class='c012'>St Patty was an orphan, and dwelt in a cot with a sour
-old aunt. It chanced, it being bitter cold, that three hunters
-came and craved for meat and drink. “Pack!” said the
-sour aunt, “neither meat nor drink have ye here.”
-“Neither meat nor drink,” said Patty; “but something
-better.” And she ran and brought some milk, some eggs,
-and some flour, and, beating them up, poured the batter in
-the pan. Then she took the pan and tossed the cake over;
-and then a robin alighted at the window, and kept singing
-these words—<i>One good turn deserves another</i>. And Patty
-tossed and tossed the cakes; and the hunters ate their fill and
-departed. And next day the hunter-baron came in state to
-the cot; and trumpets were blown, and the heralds cried—<i>One
-good turn deserves another</i>; in token whereof Patty became
-the baron’s wife, and pancakes were eaten on Shrove
-Tuesday ever after.</p>
-<h3 class='c003'>ST NORAH</h3>
-
-<p class='c012'>St Norah was a poor girl, and came to England to service.
-Sweet-tempered and gentle, she seemed to love everything
-she spoke to. And she prayed to St Patrick that he would
-give her a good gift that would make her not proud but
-useful: and St Patrick, out of his own head, taught
-St Norah <i>how to boil a potato</i>. A sad thing, and to be
-lamented, that the secret has come down to so few.</p>
-<h3 class='c003'>ST BETSY</h3>
-
-<p class='c012'>St Betsy was wedded to a knight who sailed with
-Raleigh and brought home tobacco; and the knight smoked.
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_123'>123</span>But he thought that St Betsy, like other fine ladies of the
-court, would fain that he should smoke out of doors, nor
-taint with ’bacco-smoke the tapestry. Whereupon the
-knight would seek his garden, his orchard, and in any
-weather smoke <i>sub Jove</i>. Now it chanced as the knight
-smoked St Betsy came to him and said, “My lord, pray
-ye come into the house.” And the knight went with St
-Betsy, who took him into a newly-cedared room, and said,
-“I pray, my lord, henceforth smoke here: for is it not a
-shame that you, who are the foundation and the prop of
-your house, should have no place to put your head into
-and smoke?” And St Betsy led him to a chair, and with
-her own fingers filled him a pipe; and from that time the
-knight sat in the cedar chamber and smoked his weed.</p>
-<h3 class='c003'>ST PHILLIS</h3>
-
-<p class='c012'>St Phillis was a virgin of noble parentage, but withal as
-simple as any shepherdess of curds and cream. She
-married a wealthy lord, and had much pin-money. But
-when other ladies wore diamond and pearls, St Phillis only
-wore a red and white rose in her hair. Yet her pin-money
-brought the best of jewellery in the happy eyes of
-the poor about her. St Phillis was rewarded. She lived
-until fourscore, and still carried the red and white rose in
-her face, and left their fragrance in her memory.</p>
-<h3 class='c003'>ST PHŒBE</h3>
-
-<p class='c012'>St Phœbe was married early to a wilful, but withal a
-good-hearted husband. He was a merchant, and would
-come home sour and sullen from ’change. Whereupon,
-after much pondering, St Phœbe in her patience set to
-work and, praying the while, made of dyed lambswool a
-door-mat. And it chanced from that time, that never
-did the husband touch that mat that it didn’t clean his
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_124'>124</span>temper with his shoes, and he sat down by his Phœbe as
-mild as the lamb whose wool he had trod upon. Thus
-gentleness may make miraculous door-mats!</p>
-<h3 class='c003'>ST SALLY</h3>
-
-<p class='c012'>St Sally, from her childhood, was known for her inner-most
-love of truth. It was said of her that her heart was
-in a crystal shrine, and all the world might see it. Moreover,
-when other women denied, or strove to hide their age,
-St Sally said, “I am five-and-thirty.” Whereupon next
-birthday St Sally’s husband, at a feast of all their friends,
-gave her a necklace of six-and-thirty opal beads; and on
-every birthday added a bead, until the beads mounted to
-four-score and one. And the beads seemed to act as a
-charm; for St Sally, wearing the sum of her age about her
-neck, age never appeared in her face. Such, in the olden
-time, was the reward of simplicity and truth.</p>
-<h3 class='c003'>ST BECKY</h3>
-
-<p class='c012'>A very good man was St Becky’s husband, but with his
-heart a little too much in his bottle. Port wine—red port
-wine—was his delight, and his constant cry was—bee’s-wing.
-Now as he sat tipsy in his arbour, a wasp dropped
-into his glass, and the wasp was swallowed, stinging the
-man inwardly. Doctors crowded, and with much ado the
-man’s life was saved. Now St Becky nursed her husband
-tenderly to health, and upbraided him not; but she said
-these words, and they reformed him:—“<i>My dear, take
-wine, and bless your heart with it—but wine in moderation:
-else, never forget that the bee’s wing of to-day becomes the
-wasp’s sting of to-morrow.</i>”</p>
-<h3 class='c003'>ST LILY</h3>
-
-<p class='c012'>St Lily was the wife of a poor man, who tried to support
-his family—and the children were many—by writing books.
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_125'>125</span>But in those days it was not as easy for a man to find a
-publisher as to say his paternoster. Many were the books
-that were written by the husband of St Lily; but to every
-book St Lily gave at least two babes. However, blithe as
-the cricket was the spirit that ruled about the hearth of St
-Lily. And how she helped her helpmate! She smiled
-sunbeams into his ink bottle, and turned his goose pen to
-the quill of a dove! She made the paper he wrote on as
-white as her name, and as fragrant as her soul. And when
-folks wondered how St Lily managed so lightly with fortune’s
-troubles, she always answered, that she never heeded them,
-for <i>troubles were like babies, and only grew the bigger by
-nursing</i>.</p>
-<h3 class='c003'>ST FANNY</h3>
-
-<p class='c012'>St Fanny was a notable housewife. Her house was a
-temple of neatness. Kings might have dined upon her
-staircase! Now her great delight was to provide all things
-comfortable for her husband, a hard-working merchant,
-much abroad, but loving his home. Now one night he
-returned tired and hungry, and, by some mischance, there
-was nothing for supper. Shops were shut; and great was
-the grief of St Fanny. Taking off a bracelet of seed pearl
-she said, “<i>I’d give this ten times over for a supper for my
-husband.</i>” And every pearl straightway became an oyster,
-and St Fanny opened—the husband ate—and lo! in every
-oyster was a pearl as big as a hazel nut; and so was St
-Fanny made rich for life.</p>
-<h3 class='c003'>ST FLORENCE OR ST NIGHTINGALE</h3>
-
-<p class='c012'>St Florence, by her works, had her lips blessed with
-comforting, and her hands touched with healing; and she
-crossed the sea, and built hospitals, and solaced, and
-restored. And so long as English mistletoe gathers
-beneath it truthful hearts, and English holly brightens
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_126'>126</span>happy eyes, so long will Englishmen, at home or abroad,
-on land or on the wave—so long, in memory of that Eastern
-Christmas, will they cry—<i>God bless St Florence! Bless St
-Nightingale!</i></p>
-<h3 class='c003'>ST JENNY</h3>
-
-<p class='c012'>St Jenny was wedded to a very poor man; they had
-scarcely bread to keep them; but Jenny was of so sweet a
-temper that even want bore a bright face, and Jenny always
-smiled. In the worst seasons Jenny would spare crumbs
-for the birds, and sugar for the bees. Now it so happened
-that one autumn a storm rent their cot in twenty places
-apart; when, behold, between the joists, from the basement
-to the roof, there was nothing but honeycomb and honey—a
-little fortune for St Jenny and her husband, in honey.
-Now some said it was the bees, but more declared it was
-the sweet temper of St Jenny that had filled the poor man’s
-house with honey.</p>
-<div id='i126'  class='figcenter id003'>
-<img src='images/i126.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-<div class='ic001'>
-<p>Saint Jenny</p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c002' />
-</div>
-<div id='i127'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_127'>127</span>
-<img src='images/i127.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-  <h2 class='c006'>CAT-AND-FIDDLE MORALITIES<br /> <br />The Tale of a Tiger</h2>
-</div>
-<p class='c022'><span class='sc'>For</span> fifteen years had the large wooden arm-chair of the
-Cat-and-Fiddle been consecrated to the use of Captain
-Bam. He would sit in it as it were a throne; and the
-customary guests of the hostelry paid him affectionate
-loyalty. He had won all hearts by his odd, kind ways;
-he had become the familiar oracle of all by his strange,
-yet wise sayings. He had, too, the rare and happy knack
-of so mixing his wisdom with his drollery, that when men
-laughed and swallowed his jest, they also, like children
-cheated with sweetened physic, swallowed something that
-in proper season would do them hearty good. And then
-there was a mystery about Captain Bam; and, at times,
-mystery is a sort of sauce to human character. It will now
-and then give a strange relish to what without it would be
-insipid commonplace. Not that it was so with Captain Bam.
-Certainly not; but the mystery was this. Fifteen years
-before—on a sharp, wintry afternoon—he crossed the threshold
-of the Cat-and-Fiddle. He carried a small leathern
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_128'>128</span>pack, and appeared otherwise appointed for a long pilgrimage.
-It was, we say, sharp, blighting weather, and Captain Bam
-called hastily for a mug of ale. “A mug of ale, and
-directly,” said Captain Bam, “for I can’t stop a minute.”
-The ale was brought, and the Captain hastily took a long
-draught thereof. He then drew his breath, and a smile as
-from the very roots of his heart broke over his face, and
-his eye strangely glimmered and twinkled upon the landlord.
-“<i>Eureka!</i>” said Captain Bam, and the host looked.
-“<i>Eureka!</i>” again exclaimed the Captain. “Take my
-pack,” he said, in a voice trembling with the fulness of
-satisfaction, “take my pack—I will rest here.”</p>
-<p class='c010'>And Captain Bam—his pack removed—sank in the large
-arm-chair. It seemed that his travels were ended; that, in
-a happy moment, he had accomplished the purpose of his
-life; that all his future existence would be an appointed
-state of rest. There was a little wooden nook—a sort of
-summer-house, at the end of a long garden—which, after
-few words, he hired of the host; whence every night he
-came to bestow his talk upon the guests of the Cat-and-Fiddle.
-“And how he would talk! Ha! better than a
-printed book.” Such was the oft avowed opinion of his
-gladdened hearers. And now the Captain is dead. His
-body lies in the churchyard of the market town, but two
-miles distant from the Cat-and-Fiddle. He had himself
-written his epitaph. It is a model of brief simplicity—enough
-to bring a blush into the cheek of many a stone-faced
-cherub. The epitaph has only one word: it is this:
-“<span class='sc'>Bam.</span>”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The Captain died, but not his stories. No; there sat
-every night in the fireside corner of the Cat-and-Fiddle an
-ardent, passionate lover of the mind of Bam. He was a
-silent Pylades—a mute Pythias. He would sit and store
-himself with the syllables of Bam; then, like the bee,
-would he fly rejoicing home, and ere he slept hive the
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_129'>129</span>wisdom in enduring ink. That wisdom is now before us.
-The little vellum-bound book, its pages finely written as
-with the point of a needle, lies upon our desk. Upon the
-forehead of its title-page there are these words, “<span class='sc'>Cat-and-Fiddle
-Moralities</span>”; touchingly recollectful of the genial
-haunt where their fine wisdom was audible.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>There are—no, we will not tell the number of stories
-enshrined in this little book. But from time to time we
-will lay one before the reader, in what we believe to be the
-very words of Bam.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Yes: we will begin with the first. Here it is—the title
-beautifully engrossed, from which we guess the legal
-yearnings of the chronicler—here it is.</p>
-<h3 class='c003'>THE TALE OF A TIGER</h3>
-
-<p class='c012'>Perhaps, my friends, you have never heard of a place
-called Singapore. Well, it’s no matter if you haven’t. It’s
-a long, long way east, where all sorts of shipping trade, and
-where all sorts of people live—Chinamen, Malays, Javanese,
-Bengalees, English, Dutch, and what not. Well, there was
-at Singapore a certain Dutch family in the pepper trade.
-They were named Vandervermin. They were all rich,
-cautious, heavy people; all save Jacob Vandervermin, who
-when a mere youth was left a poor orphan; left, as it might
-have seemed, on purpose to exercise the loving benevolence
-of prosperous uncles and aunts, and flourishing cousins.
-Alas! the whole body of the Vandervermins considered the
-poverty of Jacob as a blight—a family reproach; a nuisance
-that every one sought to put off upon the other. Jacob
-was the little toe of clay that disgraced the Vandervermin
-body of brass. And what made him worse, he was, for
-one with Dutch blood in his veins, a sprightly, frolicsome
-fellow. He was a beggar, and yet, with a stony hardness of
-heart—as Peter Vandervermin, the head of the family,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_130'>130</span>declared—he would laugh and make offensive jokes upon
-his wretchedness. There are men who cannot understand
-a joke, simply because it is a thing that carries no worth
-with it in a ledger. Now Peter Vandervermin received a
-joke—especially the joke of a poor man—as an offence to
-his judgment and a sidelong sneer at his pocket. His wife,
-Drusilla Vandervermin, was of the same belief; and in this
-goodly creed man and wife had reared a numerous family.
-Jacob Vandervermin was the only outcast of the name who
-had ever disgraced it by a jest. It was plain he would
-come to no good; plain that he would die the death of
-a sinner. When one day his body was found mortally
-mangled by a tiger, not one of the Vandervermins was
-shocked or surprised. No: they had always said that
-something dreadful would happen to him, and it had come
-about. Jacob was buried—handsomely buried. Not one
-of the Vandervermins would have given him when alive
-the value of a coffin nail; but, being dead, the case was
-altered. The pride of the family was concerned in the
-funeral; hence, they respected themselves in their treatment
-of the deceased. Doubtless the ghost of a despised,
-ill-used relation is propitiated by a costly burial;
-and thus many a cousin or half-brother who has glided
-through life in a cobweb coat has superfine cloth upon
-his coffin.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>I had this history of Jacob Vandervermin from a Chinaman.
-He repeated it to me with the eloquence and fervour
-of a believer. The Chinamen—at least the sort that live
-at Singapore—believe that when the tiger kills its first man,
-his ghost becomes its very slave; bound, ordered by fate to
-be a sort of jackal to the tiger; compelled by destiny to
-find the beast its dinners, even among his kith and kin.
-Hence, a tiger having carried off one of a family, not one of
-the survivors is from that moment safe. My Chinaman—he
-passed for a very learned fellow among his tribe—had
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_131'>131</span>the most intimate knowledge of the Vandervermin tragedy,
-which, after his own lofty fashion—painting his story as
-though he was painting his native porcelain—he related to
-me. I shall give it you in plain, cold English; for, my
-good friends all, be it known to you, I scorn the flourish of
-a traveller.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>At the age of eighteen Jacob Vandervermin—having
-been knocked from uncle to uncle, the poor, passive family
-shuttlecock—fell at length into the counting-house of his
-richest, and oldest uncle, Peter. For two years did Jacob
-eat the bread of dependence; for with that bitter word
-was his bread always buttered—when he awakened the
-inextinguishable ire of his rich and orderly relative. Jacob
-had been guilty of a gross wickedness; in fact, of a crime,
-in the eyes of Peter Vandervermin, of the deepest dye.
-He had, in a moment of culpable neglect, let fall a large,
-unsightly blot of ink upon his uncle’s ledger. To the mind
-of Peter Vandervermin, his graceless nephew had thrown
-an indelible stain upon the white reputation of the family;
-at least Peter so avenged the fault, for without a word he
-seized a ruler that lay upon the desk, and with it smote the
-skull of the blotting offender. Jacob uttered no syllable;
-but instantly closing the ledger, and raising it with both his
-hands, he brought down the book of figures with such
-precise vehemence upon the head of his uncle, that the
-principal of the house of Vandervermin &amp; Co. lay stunned
-and prostrate on the floor of his own temple—that is, of
-his own counting-house.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Now Jacob was not a man to give unnecessary trouble.
-He knew that if he remained it would only cause his uncle
-the pain and the perplexity of thrusting him from the house,
-and therefore, with scarcely a penny in his purse, did Jacob
-don his hat and cross his uncle’s threshold.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Vain was it for him to beg the aid of any of the name of
-Vandervermin. What, he—a poor creature, too, a pauper,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_132'>132</span>a beggar, a—no, there was no worse word for him—he smite
-so good, so tender an uncle! No, he might starve, perish;
-it would be to share his wickedness to relieve him. It was
-a secret comfort to the Vandervermins that Jacob, in a
-momentary forgetfulness, had knocked down his uncle. That
-sacrilegious blow had for ever and for ever snapped the
-thousand fine ties that—despite of his previous errors—still
-held him to the family heart. Now he might perish; and
-the sooner the better. The only hope was that he would
-be drowned, or decently starved to death; that, for the
-sake of the family, he would not come to be hanged, however
-richly he deserved it.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>For some weeks Jacob continued to live without money.
-Nothing, perhaps, so eminently shows the superiority, the
-crowning greatness of the human animal—a fact so well
-attested in many cases—as the power of man to subsist for
-a time without cash. He is a self-wonder while he does
-it; nevertheless, the miracle is performed. Tear a plant
-up by the roots—fling it aside—and it perishes. Shut a
-cat up in an empty, mouseless garret, and one by one her
-nine lives will go out. But take money from man—money,
-which is the root of evil, a root upon which man best
-flourishes, thereby proving the wickedness of his nature—and
-still, still he lives. Perhaps, somehow, the
-carnivorous, omnivorous animal becomes an air-plant, and
-so feeds upon the atmosphere about him. I have met
-with many air-plants of the sort. There is not a city,
-a town, without them. Such men get over days, and
-weeks, and months, and wonder how they have so successfully
-travelled thus far to the grave. They must rub their
-hands, that they have cheated what seemed to them a vital
-principle of nature.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>And in this way Jacob Vandervermin lived. Every day
-seemed to him a difficult stepping-stone to get over, and yet
-the night saw him on the other side of it. But it is hard,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_133'>133</span>miserable work, this keeping check against time by meals in
-the bowels: this incessant looking for butcher and baker
-as the allies against death, and wondering and trembling
-from day to day, lest they should not come to the
-rescue. My friends, this is hard, debasing work—I have
-known it.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>One day, with thoughts heavy as lead upon his brain, did
-Jacob Vandervermin wander forth. He wandered and
-wandered, until, weary and spent, he sank upon the stump
-of a tree in a desolate place. “How—how,” cried Jacob,
-“shall I live another day!”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>What a mole-eyed thing is man! How he crucifies himself
-with vain thoughts—how he stands upon tiptoe, straining
-his eyestrings, trying to look into the future, when at that
-moment the play is over—the show is done.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Jacob had scarcely uttered—“How shall I live another
-day!” when a tiger, a royal tiger—wherefore a cruel,
-treacherous, bloodthirsty beast should be called royal, I
-know not—when a royal tiger—fell like a thunderbolt upon
-him.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>As a very large tom-cat snaps in its mouth a very small
-mouse, and looking statelily around seems to say—the mouse
-kicking all the while—“Pooh, pooh; why this is nothing!”
-so did the royal tiger look and speak, with Jacob
-Vandervermin writhing and screaming in its jaw. Well,
-tigers make short work of men. Almost as short as man
-himself sometimes makes of his fellow biped. Jacob
-Vandervermin—it was his luck to meet with a benevolent
-tiger; he was not played with before he was finally crunched—Jacob
-Vandervermin was soon dead.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>And now, my friends, prepare for a wonder! Long
-before the tiger had picked the bones of Jacob—Jacob’s
-ghost stood, like a waiting footman, meekly behind the
-dining animal. There was Jacob in his wide, parasol-like
-hat of straw—his white jacket and trousers, in all things the
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_134'>134</span>same as when he lived, save that he was so transparent the
-eye could see through him: and then his look was so serene
-and passionless! It was odd to see how meekly the ghost
-looked on the while the tiger gnawed and crunched, and
-then with its rasping tongue cleaned the bones of the ghost’s
-late body. It was plain that the ghost cared no more for
-what he once thought the most valuable thing under
-heaven, than if it were an old threadbare coat, put aside for
-a glorious garment. Thus, after a few minutes, the ghost
-seated itself upon the stump of the tree—where, a short
-time before, it had sat in the flesh—and twiddling its thumbs,
-looked composedly about it. And when the tiger had
-finished Jacob—for the poor animal had not for a week
-before tasted so much as a field mouse—it stalked away to
-its den, the ghost of Jacob following it.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Gorged to the whiskers, almost for two whole days
-did the tiger sleep. And then rising and stretching
-itself—like a Mogul after a debauch—the tiger said,
-“Jacob!”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“What wills my lord?” answered Jacob’s ghost.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Jacob, I must sup: something nice, now—something
-delicate. I don’t like to say it to your face, Jacob, but
-you haven’t quite agreed with me. I could fancy something
-mild and tender to-night.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>For a moment the ghost was thoughtful; then observed,
-“What says my lord to a nice sugar-cane salad?”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The tiger leered somewhat pityingly at the ghost; then
-saying “Look here!” opened its jaws. Even the ghost of
-Jacob shivered—like moonlight upon water—at the dreadful
-array of teeth. “Think you,” said the tiger, “such teeth
-were made for salads?”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Tigers, I have heard, were not always flesh-eaters,” said
-the ghost, a little boldly.</p>
-<div id='i135'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<img src='images/i135.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-<div class='ic001'>
-<p>“Almost for two whole days did the tiger sleep”</p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p class='c009'>“Why, there is a story among tigers,” answered the ingenuous
-brute, “that at one time—but it’s a long time ago—we
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_135'>135</span>used to crop clover and trefoil and wild thyme, for all
-the world like foolish little lambs. And then suddenly—but
-how it came about I never heard—we took to eating
-the kids and lambkins that before we played with. How
-the change began, and who took to killing first, I know
-not: I have only heard it wasn’t tigers; and now, I only
-know that I must sup: that this very night I must have
-another Vandervermin. Have you any babies in the
-house?”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“None: I assure you, my lord, not one,” answered the
-ghost.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“That’s a pity,” said the tiger, “for I feel it, my stomach
-needs something tender and succulent. However, lead on:
-air and exercise may tone my vitals a little. Why do you
-tarry, sirrah?”—and the tiger growled like a stage tyrant—“you
-know your destiny; lead on.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The ghost seemed to feel the truthful force of the
-rebuke, and immediately led the way. As they walked
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_136'>136</span>on, the ghost espied a remarkably fine ox, strayed from
-a neighbouring farm. “See, my lord, see!” cried the
-shadow.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“No, no,” said the tiger, a little contemptuously. “I
-can’t do that sort of thing now: having once tasted the
-goodness of man, I must go on with him. No, no; I thank
-my luck I now know what good living really is.” And then
-the tiger paused, and twisting its tail gracefully about its
-legs, as sometimes an ingenuous maid will twist about a
-gown flounce, the brute observed—“What a lovely night!
-How the air freshens one’s spirits! What a beautiful
-moon—and how the stars shine—and the airs whisper
-among the tamarind trees, like unseen fairies making
-love! You are sure, Jacob, there is not a baby in the
-house?”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Nothing like it, my lord,” answered Jacob.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“What is the best you can promise me?” asked the
-tiger.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“To-night, I’m afraid nothing better than Drusilla, my
-aunt,” said the ghost. The tiger growled dubiously; and
-then said, “Well, we can but look at her. You know the
-safest way—so mind what you’re about.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Cautiously, stealthily, goaded by fate, did the ghost of
-Jacob lead the tiger to the mansion of Peter Vandervermin.
-Leaping a low wall, they gained a garden, and proceeded
-along a winding walk, until they came to a pretty little
-summer pavilion, wherein sat aunt Drusilla, as was her
-wont, knitting, with a large Dutch pug at her feet.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“There’s your supper,” said Jacob, pointing to the
-withered old gentlewoman.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Humph!” growled the tiger, and angrily twitched its
-tail—“humph! It’s against my stomach; I can’t do it.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“What think you,” urged the ghost, “of the pug just
-for a snack?”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The tiger curled its whiskers with a look of disgust, and
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_137'>137</span>growling “dropsical,” turned supperless away. And all the
-next night did the tiger fast. But sweet is the sauce of
-hunger; for on the third evening the tiger rose and
-stretched itself, and its eyes glared with brightening flame
-as it said—“Come along, Jacob: I don’t know that the
-old woman will eat badly after all.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Jacob again conducted the destroyer to the house.
-Again showed Drusilla, unconscious of her fate, knitting,
-knitting. There was a slight growl—a spring—an old
-woman’s scream—a yap, yap from the pug—and then
-the wall was leapt—and Peter Vandervermin was a
-widower.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>I will not follow the tiger to its banquet. Suffice it to
-say, the tiger ate and slept. However, very ill and feverish
-did the tiger awake in the morning. “Jacob,” cried the
-tiger, “what’s the matter with me? Phew! I can hardly
-move.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Perhaps,” said Jacob, “my lord has just a stitch in his
-side.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“No, no,” said the tiger, “I feel ’em now; it’s that
-abominable old woman’s knitting needles.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Every rose has its thorn, my lord,” said the ghost,
-joking as a ghost may be supposed to joke. “You never
-find a woman without pins and needles.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Jacob,” cried the tiger, “either you come of a very bad
-family, or, after all, man-eating is by no means so wholesome—however
-pleasant it may be—as a hearty, simple
-meal off a buffalo, a deer, or anything of that sort.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Then why, my lord,” urged the ghost, “why not
-return to the humbler diet?”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“That’s all very well, Jacob. Why don’t men—with red
-noses and no insides—turn from arrack and new rum, and
-drink only at the diamond spring? I begin to feel myself
-no better than a drunkard: yes, I fear I’m a lost tiger. It’s
-very nice—very delicious to eat a man at night—but it’s
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_138'>138</span>like what I’ve heard of drink—what a headache it leaves in
-the morning! Ha!” cried the beast, “I’m afraid I’m
-making quite a man of myself. Look at my tongue,
-Jacob; it’s as hard and as dry, you might grind an
-axe upon it. Oh, that dreadful old woman!”—and
-the tiger closed its heavy, bloodshot eyes, and tried to
-sleep.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Only three days past, and then the tiger leapt up, and
-licking itself all over—as though it was going out to an
-evening party, and wished to put the very best gloss upon
-its coat—the creature cried—“Come away, Jacob; I must
-have another Vandervermin.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Oh, my lord,” cried the ghost, “think what you’ll
-suffer in the morning.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“<i>That</i> for the morning,” cried the tiger, whisking its
-tail—“I tell you, Jacob, I intend to make a night of it.
-Slave, lead on.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>And thus for three months, conducted by the fate-enforced
-ghost, did the tiger continue to sup off Vandervermins.
-Uncles and aunts, cousins male and female, in
-all eight, had the tiger devoured, when one night the brute
-carried off the ninth and last victim in the person of Justus
-Vandervermin, lawyer and usurer. The tiger—strange to
-say—devoured every bit of him; but it was the brute’s last
-morsel; it never could digest him. Justus Vandervermin
-remained, like so much india-rubber, in the vitals of the
-tiger. Nothing could stir the lawyer.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Jacob,” cried the brute, feeling its last hour approach.
-“I shall die, and your ghost will be at rest. I forgive
-you—but why—why didn’t you tell me that Justus was a
-lawyer?”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>And with these words the tiger died, and the ghost of
-Jacob Vandervermin was instantly at peace.</p>
-
-<hr class='c021' />
-
-<p class='c010'>“And if all this story isn’t true, Captain”—asked one of
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_139'>139</span>the Cat-and-Fiddle company—“what do you get out
-of it?”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Why, true or not, this much,” answered Captain Bam;
-“never to neglect and ill-use a poor relation. For however
-low and helpless he may seem, the day may come when he
-shall have about him the strength of a tiger.”</p>
-<div id='i139'  class='figcenter id003'>
-<img src='images/i139.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c002' />
-</div>
-<div id='i140'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_140'>140</span>
-<img src='images/i140.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-  <h2 class='c006'>A GOSSIP AT RECULVERS</h2>
-</div>
-<p class='c022'><span class='sc'>The</span> spirit of the Saxon seems still to linger along the
-shores of Kent. There is the air of antiquity about
-them; a something breathing of the olden day—an
-influence, surviving all the changes of time, all the
-vicissitudes of politic and social life. The genius of
-the Heptarchy comes closer upon us from the realm
-of shadows; the Wittenagemote is not a convocation
-of ghosts—not a venerable House of Mists; but a living,
-talking, voting Parliament. We feel a something old,
-strong, stubborn, hearty; a something for the intense
-meaning of which we have no other word than “English”
-rising about us from every rood of Kent. And wherefore
-this? England was not made piecemeal. Her
-foundations in the deep—could a sea of molten gold
-purchase the worth of her surrounding ocean?—are of
-the same age. The same sun has risen and set upon
-the whole island. Wherefore, then, is Kent predominant
-in the mind for qualities which the mind denies to other
-counties? Because it is still invested with the poetry
-of action. Because we feel that Kent was the cradle
-of the marrow and bone of England; because we still see,
-ay, as palpably as we behold yonder trail of ebon smoke—the
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_141'>141</span>broad black pennant of that mighty admiral, Steam—the
-sails of Cæsar threatening Kent, and Kent barbarians
-clustering on the shore, defying him. It is thus
-that the spirit of past deeds survives immortally, and
-works upon the future: it is thus we are indissolubly
-linked to the memories of the bygone day by the still
-active soul that once informed it.</p>
-<p class='c010'>How rich in thoughts—how fertile in fancies that
-quicken the brain and dally with the heart, is every footpace
-of the soil! Reader, be with us for a brief time at
-this beautiful village of Herne. The sky is sullen; and
-summer, like a fine yet froward wench, smiles now and
-then, now frowns the blacker for the passing brightness:
-nevertheless, summer in her worst mood cannot spoil the
-beautiful features of this demure, this antique village.
-It seems a very nest—warm and snug, and green—for
-human life; with the twilight haze of time about it,
-almost consecrating it from the aching hopes and feverish
-expectations of the present. Who would think that the
-bray and roar of multitudinous London sounded but some
-sixty miles away? The church stands peacefully, reverently,
-like some old visionary monk, his feet on earth—his
-thoughts with God. And the graves are all about;
-and things of peace and gentleness, like folded sheep, are
-gathered round it.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>There is a stile which man might make the throne of
-solemn thought—his pregnant matter, the peasant bones
-that lie beneath. And on the other side, a park, teeming
-with beauty; with sward green as emeralds, and soft as
-a mole’s back; and trees, with centuries circulating in their
-gnarled massiveness.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>But we must quit the churchyard, and turning to the
-right, we will stroll towards Reculvers. How rich the
-swelling meadows! How their green breasts heave with
-conceived fertility! And on this side corn-fields; the
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_142'>142</span>grain stalk thick as a reed; the crop level and compact
-as a green bank. And here, too, is a field of canary seed:
-of seed grown for London birds in London cages. The
-farmer shoots the sparrow—the little rustic scoundrel—that
-with felonious bill would carry away one grain sown for,
-made sacred to, Portman Square canary! We might,
-perhaps, find a higher parallel to this did we look with
-curious eyes about us. Nevertheless, bumpkin sparrow has
-his world of air to range in; his free loves; and for his
-nest his ivied wall or hawthorn bush. These, say the
-worst, are a happy set-off even against a gilt-wired cage;
-sand like diamond dust; unfailing seed, and sugar from even
-the sweeter lips of lady mistress. Powder and small shot
-may come upon the sparrow like apoplexy upon an alderman,
-with the unbolted morsel in its gullet; yet, consider—hath
-the canary no danger to encounter? Doth not prosperity
-keep a cat?</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Well, this idle gossip has brought us within a short
-distance of Reculvers. Here—so goes the hoary legend—Augustine
-impressed the first Christian foot upon the English
-shore, sent hither by good Pope Gregory; no less good that,
-if the same legend be true, he had a subtle sense of a joke.
-Christianity, unless historians say what is not, owes somewhat
-of its introduction into heathen England to a pun.
-The story is so old that there is not a schoolmaster’s dog
-throughout merry Britain that could not bark it. Nevertheless,
-we will indicate our moral courage by repeating it. Our
-ink turns red with blushes at the thought—no matter—for
-once we will write in our blushes.</p>
-<div id='i143'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<img src='images/i143.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-<div class='ic001'>
-<p>“Sugar from even the sweeter lips of lady mistress”</p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p class='c009'>Pope Gregory, seeing some white-haired, pink-cheeked
-boys for sale in the Roman slave-market, asked who they
-were? <i>Sunt Angli</i>—they are English, was the response.
-<i>Non sunt Angli</i>—<i>sed Angeli</i>; they are not English, but
-angels, was the Papal playfulness. His Holiness then
-inquired from what part of England. <i>Deirii</i>, they are
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_145'>145</span>Deirians, was the answer. Whereupon the pope, following
-up his vein of pleasantry, said, <i>Non Deirii, sed De ira</i>—not
-Deirians, but from the anger of the Lord: snatched, as his
-Holiness indicated, from the vengeance that must always
-light upon heathenism.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>This grey-haired story, like the grey hairs of Nestor, is
-pregnant with practical wisdom. Let us imagine Pope
-Gregory to have been a dull man; even for a pope a dull
-man. Let us allow that his mind had not been sufficiently
-comprehensive to take within its circle the scattered lights
-of intelligence, which, brought into a focus, make a joke.
-Suppose, in a word, that the pope had had no ear for a
-pun? Saint Augustine might still have watched the bubbles
-upon Tiber, and never have been sea-sick on his English
-voyage.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>What does this prove? What does this incident preach
-with a thunder-tongue? Why, the necessity, the vital
-necessity, of advancing no man to any sort of dignity, who
-is not all alive as an eel to a joke. We are convinced of
-it. The world will never be properly ruled, until jests
-entirely supersede the authority of Acts of Parliament.
-As it is, the Acts are too frequently the jests, without the
-fun.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>We are now close to Reculvers. There, reader, there—where
-you see that wave leaping up to kiss that big white
-stone—that is the very spot where Saint Augustine put
-down the sole of his Catholic foot. If it be not, we have
-been misinformed and cheated of our money; we can say
-no more.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Never mind the spot. Is there not a glory lighting up
-the whole beach? Is not every wave of silver—every
-little stone, a shining crystal? Doth not the air vibrate
-with harmonies, strangely winding into the heart, and
-awakening the brain! Are we not under the spell of the
-imagination which makes the present vulgarity melt away
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_146'>146</span>like morning mists, and shows to us the full, uplighted glory
-of the past?</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>There was a landing on the Sussex Coast; a landing of
-a Duke of Normandy, and a horde of armed cut-throats.
-Looking at them even through the distance of some eight
-hundred years, what are they but as a gang of burglars?
-A band of pick-purses—blood-shedders—robbers!</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>What was this landing of a host of men, in the full
-trump and blazonry of war—what all their ships, their
-minstrelsey, and armed power—to the advent of Augustine
-and his fellow-monks, brought hither by the forlornness of
-the soul of man? it is this thought that makes this bit of
-pebbled beach a sacred spot; it is this spirit of meditation
-that hears in every little wave a sweet and solemn music.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>And there, where the ocean tumbles, was in the olden
-day a goodly town, sapped, swallowed by the wearing, the
-voracious sea. At lowest tides the people still discover
-odd, quaint, household relics, which, despite the homely
-breeding of the finders, must carry away their thoughts into
-the mist of time, and make them feel antiquity. The
-very children of the village are hucksters of the spoils of
-dead centuries. They grow up with some small trading
-knowledge of fossils; and are deep, very deep in all sorts
-of petrifactions. They must have strange early sympathies
-towards that mysterious town with all its tradesfolk and
-market-folk sunk below the sea; a place of which they
-have a constant inkling in the petty spoils lashed upwards
-by the tempest. Indeed, it is difficult for the mind to
-conceive the annihilation of a whole town, engulfed in the
-ocean. The tricksy fancy will assert itself; and looking
-over the shining water, with summer basking on it, we are
-apt to dream that the said market-town has only suffered a
-“sea-change”; and that fathoms deep, the town still stands—that
-busy life goes on—that people of an odd, sea-green
-aspect, it may be, still carry on the work of mortal breathing;
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_147'>147</span>make love, beget little ones, and die. But this, indeed,
-is the dream of idleness. Yet, who—if he could change
-his mind at will, would make his mind incapable of such
-poor fantasies? How much of the coarse web of existence
-owes its beauty to the idlest dreams with which we colour it!</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The village of Reculvers is a choice work of antiquity.
-The spirit of King Ethelbert tarries there still, and lives
-enshrined in the sign of a public-house. It would be well
-for all kings could their spirits survive with such genial
-associations. There are some dead royalties too profitless
-even for a public sign. Who, now, with any other choice
-would empty a tankard under the auspices of Bloody Mary,
-as that anointed “femininitie” is called; or take a chop
-even at Nero’s Head? No; inn-keepers know the subtle
-prejudices of man, nor violate the sympathies of life with
-their sign-posts.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Here, on the sanded floor of King Ethelbert’s hostelry,
-do village antiquarians often congregate. Here, at times,
-are stories told—stories not all unworthy of the type of
-Antiquarian <i>Transactions</i>—of <i>fibulæ</i>, talked of as buckles, and
-other tangible bits of Roman history. Here, we have
-heard, how a certain woman—living at this blessed hour,
-and the mother of a family—went out at very low tide, and
-found the branch of a filbert-tree with clustering filberts on
-it, all stone, at least a thousand years old—and more.
-Here, too, have we heard of a wonderful horse-shoe, picked
-up by Joe Squellins; a shoe, as the finder averred, as old
-as the world. Poor Joe! What was his reward?—it may
-be, a pint of ale for that inestimable bit of iron! And yet
-was he a working antiquarian. Joe Squellins had within
-him the unchristened elements of F.S.A.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The sea has spared something of the old churchyard;
-although it has torn open the sad sanctity of the grave, and
-reveals to the day, corpse upon corpse—layers of the dead,
-thickly, closely packed, body upon body. A lateral view
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_148'>148</span>of rows of skeletons, entombed in Christian earth centuries
-since, for a moment staggers the mind, with this inward
-peep of the grave. We at once see the close, dark prison
-of the churchyard, and our breath comes heavily, and we
-shudder. It is only for a moment. There is a lark
-singing, singing over our head—a mile upwards in the
-blue heaven—singing like a freed soul: we look again, and
-smile serenely at the bones of what was man.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Many of our gentle countrymen—fellow-metropolitans—who
-once a year wriggle out their souls from the slit of
-their tills to give the immortal essence sea air, make a
-pilgrimage to Reculvers. This Golgotha, we have noted
-it, has to them especial attractions. Many are the mortal
-relics borne away to decorate a London chimney-piece.
-Many a skeleton gives up its rib, its <i>ulna</i>, two or three odd
-<i>vertebræ</i>, or some such gimcrack to the London visitor, for
-a London ornament. Present the same man with a bone
-from a London hospital, and he would hold the act
-abominable, irreligiously presumptuous. But time has
-“silvered o’er” the bone from Reculvers; has cleansed it
-from the taint of mortality; has merged the loathsomeness
-in the curiosity; for time turns even the worst of horrors
-to the broadest of jests. We have now Guy Fawkes
-about to blow Lords and Commons into eternity—and now
-Guy Fawkes masked for a pantomime.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>One day, wandering near this open graveyard, we met a
-boy, carrying away, with exulting looks, a skull in very
-perfect preservation. He was a London boy, and looked
-rich indeed with his treasure.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“What have you there?” we asked.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“A man’s head—a skull,” was the answer.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“And what can you possibly do with a skull?”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Take it to London.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“And when you have it in London, what then will you
-do with it?”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_149'>149</span>“I know.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“No doubt. But what will you do with it?”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>And to this thrice-repeated question the boy three times
-answered, “I know.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Come, here’s sixpence. Now, what will you do with
-it?”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The boy took the coin—grinned—hugged himself,
-hugging the skull the closer, and said very briskly, “Make
-a money box of it!”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>A strange thought for a child. And yet, mused we as
-we strolled along, how many of us, with nature beneficent and
-smiling on all sides—how many of us think of nothing so
-much as hoarding sixpences—yea, hoarding them even in
-the very jaws of desolate Death!</p>
-<div id='i149'  class='figcenter id003'>
-<img src='images/i149.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c002' />
-</div>
-<div id='i150'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_150'>150</span>
-<img src='images/i150.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-  <h2 class='c006'>THE TWO WINDOWS</h2>
-</div>
-<p class='c022'><span class='sc'>The</span> Union Workhouse of the ancient parish of Herne—how
-calm and pastoral is that little nook of Kent!—has
-two outward windows. The fabric, built by the inspiration
-of the New Poor-law, was a blind, eyeless piece of
-brickwork; a gaol for the iniquity and perseverance of
-poverty; a Newgate for the felony of want. The chiefs
-and elders of Parliament had said, “Let us make abiding-places
-for the poor; let us separate them, lepers as they
-are, from the clean; let us shut them up from the sight
-of the green earth; let them not behold the work of the
-season in the budding trees, in their leafy branches, in their
-red and golden robes of autumn, in the gaunt bareness of
-solemn winter. Let the grass spring and the wild-flower
-blossom; but let not the poor, the unclean of the land,
-look upon the work of God.” After this resolve the
-Union was built; with inner windows looking upon walls,
-and walls turned blank upon the outward world. No
-crevice, no loophole permitted captive poverty a look, a
-glimpse of the fresh face of nature; his soul, like his body,
-was bricked up according to statute; he had by the insolence
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_151'>151</span>of destitution offended the niceness of the world, and
-he was doomed by his judges to a divorce from the
-commonest rights of earth. Hence, the Union Workhouse
-turned its sullen, unbroken wall of brick upon the fields and
-trees, and the pauper was made to look only upon pauperism.
-The freshness and luxuriance of nature—her prodigal loveliness—was
-not for his eyes; he was poor, and even to
-behold the plenteousness of the teeming earth was an enjoyment
-beyond his state—a banned delight—a luxury
-which those who paid for his food could not properly
-vouchsafe him!</p>
-<p class='c010'>At length—when they themselves know it not, men’s
-hearts will work, a sense of right will sometimes steal
-upon their sleep, an instinct of goodness will, like silver
-water from the rock, gush forth—at length it was resolved
-by the guardians of the poor—guardians of the poor! what
-a holiness of purpose should inform those well-worn syllables—that
-the dull, blind, squalid workhouse should have light;
-that its brick walls should be pierced with two windows;
-that the fields and trees should gladden pauper eyes, appealing
-to old recollections; childhood thoughts; daily,
-customary feelings. It was determined that the pauper
-prisoner should, through the iron bars of penury, have
-comforting glimpses of God’s goodness without; that he
-should, though all unconsciously, make offerings upon the
-green altar of the earth; that his heart should commune,
-in its own unknowing way, with those sweet influences,
-which, coming from God, discourse in some manner to
-all men.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>And so it was determined that the Union Workhouse
-should have two outward windows. The guardians of the
-poor appeared with the labourers. “Here,” said the
-guardians, “break through the wall; here pierce one
-window—here, another.” Then turning to the paupers,
-some few age-stricken folks, they said, with smug complacency,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_152'>152</span>“We are going to give you some light.” And
-this, reader, is not a goosequill fiction; it is a thing of
-truth.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“We are going to give you some light.” We cannot
-help it, if this liberal goodness—this gentle philanthropy—drive
-back thought to the first gift of light; if it call up,
-as with an iron tongue, the memory of the holy birth of
-light, word-begotten, of all men. And the nature of man,
-solemnised by such memories—kindled and uplifted, skies
-beyond expression, by the sublime inheritance—is it not a
-hard task to consider with composure even the compunction
-of a guardian of the poor, who pierces with two windows
-the prison-house of the pauper to let God’s light in?
-May not the small authority of man be sometimes as a
-blaspheming burlesque of Almighty Beneficence?</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Let us, for a time forgetful of state philosophy—forgetful
-of the plausibilities of social prosperity that set the poor
-apart from the rich and well-to-do, as creatures somewhat
-different in the real drama of life, although on certain
-occasions, as it were for form’s sake, for Christian ceremony,
-allowed to be made from the clay of the same Eden
-as their masters—let us behold the earth in its freshness,
-and man, its owner, in the vigour of his new birth, the
-heir of an impartial Providence, and the receiver of its
-glories; and then consider him as the task-master of his
-fellow, as the grudging churl that metes out light and air
-to his helpless brother; and for this sole cause—this one
-bitter reason—he <i>is</i> helpless.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>A miserable sight—a hideous testimony of the thankfulness
-of prosperous man—is the rural union, with its blank
-dead wall of brick; a cold, blind thing, the work of human
-perversity and human selfishness, amidst ten thousand thousand
-evidences of Eternal bounty. How beautiful is the
-beauty of God around it! There is not a sapling waving
-its green tresses of June that does not make the heart
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_153'>153</span>yearn with kindliness; not a field-flower that does not,
-with its speaking eye, tell of abundant goodness; the
-brook is musical with the same sweet truth; all sights and
-sounds declare it. The liberal loveliness of nature, turn
-where we will, looks upon and whispers to us. We are
-made the heirs of wealth inexhaustible, of pleasures deep as
-the sea and pure as the joys of Paradise. And our return
-for this, our offering to the wretchedness of our fellow-creatures,
-is yonder prison, with its dead wall turned upon
-the pleasant aspects of nature, lest the pauper captives
-within should behold what God has done for that world,
-in which, according to the world’s justice, they have
-nothing. Hence is the pauper treated, in his blind
-dungeon, as though there was a felonious purpose in his
-eyesight; as though, a prisoner in the union, he would
-commit larceny on the meads and trees, and all the rural
-objects that from babyhood have been familiar to him, to
-the exceeding injury and loss of the free folks, who, by the
-blessing of skill and good luck, have “land and beeves.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>We know not a more fantastic tyranny, a more wilful
-assertion of the arrogance of man, than this needless shutting
-up of his poorer brother in a gaol of poverty—barring
-his eyes of every comforting object, compelling him to
-look only upon that which at every look speaks to his soul
-of his miserable dependence upon his richer fellow; which
-denies to him the innocent, unbought glimpse of out-door
-nature, as though the scene was a land of promise from
-which his beggary had made him alien. Is human want
-so wicked that it should be unblessed with even a glance
-at the pleasant things of creation? Has the pauper—because
-pauper—no further claim upon the earth, save for his
-final bed—the grave? The rustic unions, with their forlorn
-blank walls, cry, yes!</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>If God punish man for crime, as man punishes man for
-poverty, woe to the sons of Adam!</p>
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c002' />
-</div>
-<div id='i154'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_154'>154</span>
-<img src='images/i154.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-  <h2 class='c006'>THE ORDER OF POVERTY</h2>
-</div>
-<p class='c022'><span class='sc'>Why</span> should not Lazarus make to himself an order of
-tatters? Why should not poverty have its patch of honour?
-Wherefore should not the undubbed knights of evil fortune
-carry about them, with a gracious humility, the inevitable
-types of their valorous contest with the Paynim iniquities
-of life? Wherefore may not man wear indigence as proudly
-as nobility flashes its jewels? Is there not a higher heraldry
-than that of the college?</p>
-<p class='c010'>Not a very long time ago the King of Greece awarded
-to an Englishman the Order of the Redeemer. The
-Englishman did not reject the gift; he did not stare
-with wonder, or smile in meek pity at the grave mockery
-of the distinction; but winning the consent of our Sovereign
-Lady Victoria to sport the jewel, the Knight of Christ—knight
-by the handiwork of the King of Greece—hung
-about him the Order of the Redeemer.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>And what may be the gracious discipline of this Order
-of Redemption? Has the new knight sold off all that
-he had, and given the money to the poor? We have
-heard of no such broker’s work; and surely the newspaper
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_155'>155</span>tongue would have given loud utterance to the penitence
-of Mammon. What discipline, then, does this Order of
-Christ compel upon its holy and immaculate brotherhood?
-What glorifying services towards the heart and spirit of
-man what self-martyrdom does it recompense? Is it
-the bright reward of humility—of active loving-kindness
-towards everything that breathes? Is it that the knighted,
-beyond ten thousand men, has proved the divine temper of
-the spiritual follower of Jesus, making his hourly life an
-active goodness, and with every breath drawn drawing
-nearer to rewarding Heaven? Surely the Order of the
-Redeemer—that awful, solemn badge, setting apart its
-wearer from the sordid crowd of earth—could only be
-vouchsafed to some hard Christian service—could only
-reward some triumphant wrestling of the suffering soul—some
-wondrous victory in the forlorn hope of this dark
-struggling life. These are our thoughts—these our passionate
-words; whereupon the herald of the court of Greece—a
-grave, fantastic wizard—with mildly-reproving look
-and most delicate speech, says: “You are wrong: quite
-wrong. The Order of the Redeemer, though by no
-means the first Order, is a very pretty Order in its way.
-Six months since we gave it to Captain Jonquil, from
-Paris; and truly no man more deserved the Order of the
-Redeemer. He taught His Majesty’s infantry the use
-of the bayonet: his howitzer practice, too, is a divine
-thing. Captain Jonquil is a great soldier. Last week
-the Order of the Redeemer was also bestowed upon
-Andreas, a great favourite at court—but, if the naughty
-truth must be told, a pimp.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Alas! is heraldry always innocent of blasphemy?</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>On the 13th of June 1843, a grave masque—a solemn
-ceremony—was held at the court of St James. Heraldry
-again looked smug and pompous. A knight was to be
-made of “the most ancient Order of the Thistle.” Let
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_156'>156</span>us make a clean breast of our ignorance; we assert nothing
-against the antiquity of the Thistle; for what we know,
-it may be as old—ay, as old as asses. But upon the glad
-13th of June a chapter was held, and John, Marquis of
-Bute, and the Right Hon. William, Earl of Mansfield,
-were elected knights. They of course took the oaths to
-protect and succour distressed maidens, orphans and widows;
-to abstain from every sort of wrong, and to do every sort
-of right.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“The Marquis of Bute then kneeling near the Sovereign,
-and Mr Woods on his knee, presenting to the Queen the
-riband and jewel of the Order, Her Majesty was graciously
-pleased to place the same over the noble Marquis’s left
-shoulder. His Lordship rising, kissed the Sovereign’s
-hand, and having received the congratulations of the
-knights brethren, retired.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>From that moment John, Marquis of Bute, looked and
-moved with the aspect and bearing of a man, radiant with
-new honours. He was a Knight of the Thistle, and the
-jewel sparkling at his bosom feebly typified the bright,
-admiring looks of the world—the gaze of mingled love
-and admiration bent upon him. But on this earth—in
-this abiding-place of equity—men do not get even thistles
-for nothing. It may, indeed, happen that desert may
-pant and moan without honour; but in the court of kings,
-where justice weighs with nicest balance, honour never
-with its smiles mocks imbecility, or gilds with outward
-lustre a concealed rottenness. Honour never gives alms,
-but awards justice. Mendicancy, though with liveried
-lackies clustering at its carriage—and there is such
-pauperism—may whine and pray its hardest, yet move
-not the inflexible herald. He awards those jewels to
-virtue, which virtue has sweated, bled for. And it is
-with this belief, yea, in the very bigotry of the creed,
-we ask—what has John, Marquis of Bute, fulfilled to earn
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_157'>157</span>his thistle? What, the Right Hon. William, Earl of
-Mansfield? What dragon wrong has either overcome?
-What giant Untruth stormed in Sophist Castle? What
-necromantic wickedness baffled and confounded? Yet,
-these battles have been fought—these triumphs won; oh!
-who shall doubt them? Be sure of it, ye unbelieving
-demagogues—scoffing plebians, not for nothing nobility
-browses upon thistles.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>We pay all honour to these inventions, these learned
-devices of the Herald. They doubtless clothe, comfort,
-and adorn humanity, which, without them, would be cold,
-naked, shrunk, and squalid. They, moreover, gloriously
-attest the supremacy of the tame, the civilised man, over
-the wild animal. The orders of the Herald are <i>tattoo</i>
-without the pain of puncture. The New Zealander
-carries his knighthood, lined and starred and flowered,
-in his visage. The civilised knight hangs it more conveniently
-on a riband.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>We are such devout believers in the efficacy of Orders,
-that we devote this small essay to an attempt to make
-them, under some phase or other, universal. We will
-not linger in a consideration of the Orders already dead;
-lovely was their life, and as fragrant is their memory.
-There was one Order—Teutonic, if we mistake not, the
-Order of Fools. There was a quaint sincerity in the
-very title of this brotherhood. Its philosophy was out-speaking;
-and more than all, the constitution of such a
-chapter admitted knights against whose worthiness, whose
-peculiar right to wear the badge, no envious demagogue
-could say his bitter saying. Surely, in our reverence for
-the wisdom of antiquity, this Order might have resurrection.
-The Fool might have his bauble newly varnished—his cap
-newly hung with tinkling bells. Some of us chirp and
-cackle of the wisdom of the bygone day; but that is only
-wisdom which jumps with our own cunning; which fortifies
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_158'>158</span>us in the warm and quiet nook of some hallowed prejudice.
-From the mere abstract love of justice, we should be right
-glad to have the Order of Fools revived in the fullest
-splendour of Folly. Such an Order would so beneficently
-provide for many unrewarded public idlers—ay, and public
-workers.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>There was a time when the world in its first childhood
-needed playthings. Then was the Herald the world’s toy-maker,
-and made for it pretty little nick-knacks—golden
-fleeces—stars, ribands and garters; tempting the world
-to follow the kickshaws, as nurse with sugared bread-and-butter
-tempts the yeanling to try its tottering feet. The
-world has grown old—old and wise: yet is not the Herald
-bankrupt, but like a pedlar at a fair, draws the hearts of
-simple men after the shining, silken glories in his box.
-Meanwhile, philosophy in hodden grey, laughs at the
-crowd, who bellow back the laugh and sometimes pelt
-the reverend fool for his irreligious humour: for he who
-believes not in Stars and Garters is unbeliever; to the
-world’s best and brightest faith, atheist and scoffer.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Is it not strange that a man should think the better of
-himself for a few stones glittering in his bosom? That a
-costly band about the leg should make the blood dance
-more swiftly through the arteries? That a man seeing his
-breast set with jewellers’ stars should think them glorious
-as the stars of heaven—himself, little less than an earthly
-god, so deified? If these things be really types and
-emblems of true greatness, what rascal poverty besets the
-man without them! How is he damned in his baseness!
-What mere offal of humanity, the biped without an Order!
-And, therefore, let stars be multiplied; and let nobility—like
-bees—suck honey from Thistles!</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>We are, however, confirmed in our late failing faith.
-We are bigoted to Orders. Men, like watches, must work
-the better upon jewels. Man is, at the best, a puppet;
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_159'>159</span>and is only put into dignified motion when pulled by Blue
-or Red Ribands. Now, as few, indeed, of us can get
-stars, garters or ribands, let us have Orders of our own.
-Let us, with invincible self-complacency, ennoble ourselves.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>In the hopeless ignorance and vulgarity of our first
-prejudice, we might possibly want due veneration for the
-Golden Fleece; an ancient and most noble Order, worn
-by few. Yet with all our worst carelessness towards the
-Order, we never felt for it the same pitying contempt we
-feel towards an Order worn by many—not at their button-holes,
-not outside their breasts, but in the very core of their
-hearts—the Order of the Golden Calf.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Oh! bowelless Plutus, what a host of Knights! What
-a lean-faced, low-browed, thick-jowled, swag-bellied brotherhood!
-Deformity, in all its fantastic variety, meets in the
-chapter. They wear no armour of steel or brass, but are
-cased in the magic mail of impenetrable Bank-paper. They
-have no sword, no spear, no iron mace with spikes; but
-they ride merrily into the fight of life, swinging about gold-gutted
-purses, and levelling with the dust rebellious poverty.
-These are the Knights of the Golden Calf. It is a glorious
-community. What a look of easy triumph they have!
-With what serene self-satisfaction they measure the wide
-distance between mere paupers—the Knights of the Order
-of Nothing—and themselves! How they walk the earth
-as if they alone possessed the patent of walking upright!
-How they dilate in the light of their own gold, like adders
-in the sun!</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>A most fatal honour is this Order of the Golden Calf.
-It is worn unseen, as we have said, in the hearts of men;
-but its effects are visible: the disease speaks out in every
-atom of flesh—poor human worm’s-meat!—and throbs in
-every muscle. It poisons the soul; gives the eye a squint;
-takes from the face of fellow-man its God-gifted dignity,
-and makes him a thing to prey upon; to work, to use up;
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_160'>160</span>to reduce to so much hard cash; then to be put up, with a
-wary look of triumph, into the pocket. This Order damns
-with a leprosy of soul its worshipper. It blinds and deafens
-him to the glories and the harmonies ministrant to poorer
-men. His eye is jaundiced, and in the very stars of God
-he sees nought but twinkling guineas.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>At this moment great is the Order throughout the land!
-Tyrannous its laws, reckless its doings. It is strong, and
-why should it be just? To be of this Order is now the
-one great striving of life. They alone are men who wear
-the jewel—wretches they without it. Man was originally
-made from the dust of the earth: he is now formed of a
-richer substance: the true man is made of gold. Yes, the
-regenerate Adam is struck only at the Mint.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The Knights of the Order of the Golden Calf have no
-formal ceremony of election; yet has brother knight almost
-instinctive knowledge of brother. In the solitude of his
-own thoughts is he made one of the community; in utter
-privacy he kisses the pulseless hand of Plutus, and swears to
-his supremacy. The oath divorces him from pauper-life—from
-its cares, its wants, its sympathies. He is privileged
-from the uneasiness of thought, the wear and tear of anxiety
-for fellow-man; he is compact and self-concentrated in his
-selfishness. Nought ruffles him that touches not that inmost
-jewel of his soul, his knighthood’s Order.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>In the olden day the Knights of the Fleece, the Garter
-and other glories, won their rank upon the battlefield—blood
-and strife being to them the hand-maids of honour.
-The chivalry of the Golden Calf is mild and gentle. It
-splits no brain-pan, spills no blood; yet is it ever fighting.
-We are at the exchange. Look at that easy, peaceful man.
-What a serenity is upon his cheek! What a mild lustre
-in his eye! How plainly is he habited! He wears the
-livery of simplicity and the look of peace. Yet has he in
-his heart the Order of the Golden Calf. He is one of
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_161'>161</span>Mammon’s boldest heroes. A very soldier of fortune.
-He is now fighting—fighting valorously. He has come
-armed with a bran-new lie—a falsehood of surpassing
-temper, which with wondrous quietude he lays about him,
-making huge gashes in the money-bags of those he fights
-with. A good foreign lie, well finished and well mounted,
-is to this Knight of the Golden Calf as the sword of Faery
-to Orlando. With it he sometimes cuts down giant fortunes,
-and after “grinds their bones to make his bread.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>And there are small esquires and pages of the Order;
-men who, with heart-felt veneration, lick their lips at the
-Golden Calf, and with more than bridegroom yearning pant
-for possession. These small folk swarm like summer-gnats;
-and still they drone the praises of the Calf; and looking at
-no other thing, have their eyes bleared and dazzled to all
-beside.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The Knights of the Golden Calf shed no blood; that is,
-the wounds they deal bleed inwardly and give no evidence
-of homicide. They are, too, great consumers of the marrow
-of men; and yet they break no bones, but by a trick known
-to their Order extract without fracture precious nutriment.
-They are great alchemists, too; and turn the sweat of
-unrequited poverty, aye, the tears of childhood, into drops
-of gold.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Much wrong, much violence, much wayward cruelty—if
-the true history of knighthood were indicted—lies upon
-the Fleece, the Garter, yes, upon the Templar’s Lamb;—yet
-all is but as May-day pastime to the voracity, the ignorance,
-the wilful selfishness, the bestial lowings of the Golden
-Calf. And of this Order the oldest of the brotherhood
-are the most gluttonous. There is one whose every fibre is
-blasted with age. To the imagination his face is as a coffin-plate.
-Yet is he all belly. As cruel as a cat though
-toothless as a bird!</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Oh, ye knights, great and small—whether expanding on
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_162'>162</span>the mart, or lying <i>perdu</i> in back parlours—fling from your
-hearts the Order there, and feel for once the warmth of
-kindly blood! The brotherhood chuckle at the adjuration.
-Well, let us fight the Order with an Order.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The Order of Poverty against the Order of the Golden
-Calf!</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Will it not be a merry time, when men, with a blithe
-face and open look, shall confess that they are poor? When
-they shall be to the world what they are to themselves?
-When the lie, the shuffle, the bland, yet anxious hypocrisy
-of seeming, and seeming only, shall be a creed forsworn?
-When Poverty asserts itself, and never blushes and stammers
-at its true name, the Knights of the Calf must give ground.
-Much of their strength, their poor renown, their miserable
-glory, lies in the hypocrisy of those who would imitate
-them. They believe themselves great, because the poor, in
-the very ignorance of the dignity of poverty, would ape
-their magnificence.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The Order of Poverty! How many sub-orders might
-it embrace! As the spirit of Gothic chivalry has its
-fraternities, so might the Order of Poverty have its
-distinct devices.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The Order of the Thistle! That is an order for
-nobility—a glory to glorify marquisate or earldom. Can
-we not, under the rule of Poverty, find as happy a badge?</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Look at this peasant. His face bronzed with midday
-toil. From sunrise to sunset, with cheerful looks and
-uncomplaining words, he turns the primal curse to dignity,
-and manfully earns his bread in the sweat of his brow.
-Look at the fields around! Golden with blessed corn.
-Look at this bloodless soldier of the plough—this hero
-of the sickle. His triumphs are there, piled up in bread-bestowing
-sheaves. Is he not Sir Knight of the Wheat-Ear?
-Surely, as truly dubbed in the heraldry of justice,
-as any Knight of the Thistle.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_163'>163</span>And here is a white-haired shepherd. As a boy, a
-child, playful as the lambs he tended, he laboured. He
-has dreamed away his life upon a hillside—on downs—on
-solitary heaths. The humble, simple, patient watcher
-for fellow-men. Solitude has been his companion: he has
-grown old, wrinkled, bent in the eye of the burning sun.
-His highest wisdom is a guess at the coming weather: he
-may have heard of diamonds, but he knows the evening star.
-He has never sat at a congress of kings: he has never
-helped to commit a felony upon a whole nation. Yet is he
-to our mind a most reverend Knight of the Fleece. If
-the Herald object to this, let us call him Knight of the
-Lamb! In its gentleness and patience, a fitting type of
-the poor old shepherd.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>And here is a pauper, missioned from the workhouse to
-break stones at the road-side. How he strikes and strikes
-at that unyielding bit of flint! Is it not the stony heart
-of the world’s injustice knocked at by poverty? What
-haggardness is in his face! What a blight hangs about
-him! There are more years in his looks than in his bones.
-Time has marked him with an iron pen. He wailed as a
-babe for bread his father was not allowed to earn. He
-can recollect every dinner—they were so few—of his childhood.
-He grew up, and want was with him even as his
-shadow. He has shivered with cold—fainted with hunger.
-His every day of life has been set about by goading
-wretchedness. Around him, too, were the stores of plenty.
-Food, raiment, and money mocked the man made half mad
-with destitution. Yet, with a valorous heart, a proud conquest
-of the shuddering spirit, he walked with honesty and
-starved. His long journey of life hath been through thorny
-places, and now he sits upon a pile of stones on the wayside,
-breaking them for workhouse bread. Could loftiest
-chivalry show greater heroism—nobler self-control, than
-this old man, this weary breaker of flints? Shall he not
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_164'>164</span>be of the Order of Poverty? Is not penury to him even
-as a robe of honour? His grey workhouse coat braver
-than purple and miniver? He shall be Knight of the
-Granite if you will. A workhouse gem, indeed—a
-wretched, highway jewel—yet, to the eye of truth, finer
-than many a ducal diamond.</p>
-<div id='i164'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<img src='images/i164.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-<div class='ic001'>
-<p>“He has dreamed his life upon a hillside—”</p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p class='c009'>This man is a weaver; this a potter. Here, too, is a
-razor-grinder; here an iron-worker. Labour is their lot;
-labour they yearn for, though to some of them labour comes
-with miserable disease and early death. Have we not here
-Knights of the Shuttle, Knights of Clay, and Knights of
-Vulcan, who prepare the carcase of the giant engine for its
-vital flood of steam? Are not these among the noblest of
-the sons of Poverty? Shall they not take high rank in its
-Order?</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>We are at the mouth of a mine. There, many, many
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_165'>165</span>fathoms below us, works the naked, grimed, and sweating
-wretch, oppressed, brutalised, that he may dig us coal for
-our winter’s hearth; where we may gather round, and with
-filled bellies, well-clothed backs, and hearts all lapped in
-self-complacency, talk of the talked-of evils of the world,
-as though they were the fables of ill-natured men, and not
-the verities of bleeding life. That these men, doing the
-foulest offices of the world should still be of the world’s
-poorest, gives dignity to want—the glory of long-suffering
-to poverty.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>And so, indeed, in the mind of wisdom, is poverty
-ennobled. And for the Knights of the Golden Calf,
-how are they outnumbered! Let us, then, revive the
-Order of Poverty. Ponder, reader, on its antiquity.
-For was not Christ Himself Chancellor of the Order,
-and the Apostles Knights Companions?</p>
-<div id='i165'  class='figcenter id003'>
-<img src='images/i165.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c002' />
-</div>
-<div id='i166'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_166'>166</span>
-<img src='images/i166.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-  <h2 class='c006'>THE OLD MAN AT THE GATE</h2>
-</div>
-<p class='c022'><span class='sc'>In</span> Surrey, some three miles from Chertsey, is a quiet, dull,
-sequestered nook, called Shepperton Green. Whether the
-new philanthropy of new pauper laws hath, of late years,
-sought out the spot I know not. At the time whereof I
-write, the olden charity dwelt in an old workhouse—a
-primitive abiding-place for the broken ploughman, the
-palsied shepherd, the old, old peasant, for whom nothing
-more remained in this world but to die. The governor of
-this abode of benevolence dwelt in the lower part of the
-building, and therein, as the village trade might fluctuate,
-made or mended shoes. Let the plain truth be said—the
-governor was a cobbler. Within a stone’s cast of the
-workhouse was a little white gate swung between two
-hedge-banks in the road to Chertsey. Here, pass when
-you would, stood an old man, whose self-imposed office
-it was to open the gate; for the which service the passenger
-would drop some small benevolence in the withered hand of
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_167'>167</span>the aged peasant. This man was a pauper—one of the
-almsmen of the village workhouse.</p>
-<p class='c010'>There was a custom—whether established by the governor
-aforesaid or by predecessors of a vanished century, I know
-not—that made it the privilege of the oldest pauper to stand
-the porter at the gate; his perquisite, by right of years, the
-halfpence of the rare pedestrian. As the senior died, the
-living senior succeeded to the office. Now the gate—and
-now the grave.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>And this is all the history? All. The story is told—it
-will not bear another syllable. The “Old Man” is at
-the gate; the custom which places him there has been
-made known, and with it ends the narrative.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>How few the incidents of life—how multitudinous its
-emotions! How flat, monotonous may be the circumstance
-of daily existence, and yet how various the thoughts which
-spring from it! Look at yonder landscape, broken into
-hill and dale, with trees of every hue and form, and water
-winding in silver threads through velvet fields. How
-beautiful—for how various! Cast your eye over that
-moor; it is flat and desolate—barren as barren rock. Not
-so. Seek the soil, and then, with nearer gaze, contemplate
-the wondrous forms and colours of the thousand mosses
-growing there; give ear to the hum of busy life sounding
-at every root of poorest grass. Listen! Does not the
-heart of the earth beat audibly beneath this seeming barrenness—audibly
-as where the corn grows and the grape
-ripens? Is it not so with the veriest rich and the veriest
-poor—with the most active and with apparently the most
-inert?</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>That “Old Man at the Gate” has eighty years upon
-his head—eighty years, covering it with natural reverence.
-He was once in London—only once. This pilgrimage
-excepted, he has never journeyed twenty miles from the
-cottage in which he was born; of which he became the
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_168'>168</span>master; whereto he brought his wife; where his children
-saw the light, and their children after; where many of
-them died; and whence, having with a stout soul, fought
-against the strengthening ills of poverty and old age, he
-was thrust by want and sickness out, and, with a stung
-heart, he laid his bones upon a workhouse bed.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Life to the “Old Man” has been one long path across
-a moor—a flat, unbroken journey; the eye uncheered,
-the heart unsatisfied. Coldness and sterility have compassed
-him round. Yet, has he been subdued to the blankness
-of his destiny? Has his mind remained the unwrit page
-that schoolmen talk of—has his heart become a clod?
-Has he been made by poverty a moving image—a plough-guiding,
-corn-thrashing instrument? Have not unutterable
-thoughts sometimes stirred within his brain—thoughts
-that elevated, yet confused him with a sense of eternal
-beauty—coming upon him like the spiritual presences to
-the shepherds? Has he not been beset by the inward
-and mysterious yearning of the heart towards the unknown
-and the unseen? He has been a ploughman. In the eye
-of the well-to-do, dignified with the accomplishments of
-reading and writing, is he of little more intelligence than
-the oxen treading the glebe. Yet, who shall say that the
-influence of nature—that the glories of the rising sun—may
-not have called forth harmonies of soul from the rustic
-drudge, the moving statue of a man!</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>That worn-out, threadbare remnant of humanity at the
-gate; age makes it reverend, and the inevitable—shall
-inevitable be said?—injustice of the world invests it with
-majesty, the majesty of suffering meekly borne and meekly
-decaying. “The poor shall never cease out of the land.”
-This text the self-complacency of competence loveth to
-quote: it hath a melody in it, a lulling sweetness to the
-selfishness of our nature. Hunger, and cold, and nakedness,
-are the hard portion of man; there is no help for it;
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_169'>169</span>rags must flutter about us; man, yes, even the strong man,
-his only wealth (the wealth of Adam) wasting in his bones,
-must hold his pauper hand to his brother of four meals
-<i>per diem</i>; it is a necessity of nature, and there is no help
-for it. And thus some men send their consciences to
-sleep by the chinking of their own purses. Necessity of evil
-is an excellent philosophy applied to everybody but—ourselves.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>These easy souls will see nothing in our “Old Man at
-the Gate” but a pauper, let out of the workhouse for
-the chance of a few halfpence. Surely, he is something
-more? He is old; very old. Every day, every hour,
-earth has less claim in him. He is so old, so feeble, that
-even as you look he seems sinking. At sunset he is
-scarcely the man who opened the gate to you in the
-morning. Yet there is no disease in him—none. He is
-dying of old age. He is working out that most awful
-problem of life—slowly, solemnly. He is now the badged
-pauper—and now in the unknown country with Solomon!</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Can man look upon a more touching solemnity? There
-stands the old man, passive as a stone, nearer every moment
-to churchyard clay! It was only yesterday that he took
-his station at the gate. His predecessor held the post for
-two years; he too daily, daily dying:—</p>
-
-<div class='lg-container-b c011'>
-  <div class='linegroup'>
-    <div class='group'>
-      <div class='line'>“Till like a clock, worn out with eating time,</div>
-      <div class='line in1'>The weary wheels of life at length stood still.”</div>
-    </div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c012'>How long will the present watcher survive? In that
-very uncertainty—in the very hoariness of age which
-brings home to us that uncertainty—there is something that
-makes the old man sacred; for, in the course of nature,
-is not the oldest man the nearest to the angels?</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Yet, away from these thoughts, there is reverence due
-to that old man. What has been his life? A war with
-suffering. What a beautiful world is this!  How rich
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_170'>170</span>and glorious! How abundant in blessings—great and
-little—to thousands! What a lovely place hath God made
-it; and how have God’s creatures darkened and outraged
-it to the wrong of one another! Well, what had this man
-of the world? What stake, as the effrontery of selfishness
-has it? The wild fox was better cared for. Though
-preserved some day to be killed, it <i>was</i> preserved until
-then. What did this old man inherit? Toil, incessant
-toil, with no holiday of the heart: he came into the world
-a badged animal of labour; the property of animals. What
-was the earth to him?—a place to die in.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“The poor shall never cease out of the land.” Shall
-we then, accommodating our sympathies to this hard
-necessity, look serenely down upon the wretched? Shall
-we preach only comfort to ourselves from the doomed
-condition of others? It is an easy philosophy; so easy
-there is but little wonder it is so well exercised.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>But “The Old Man at the Gate” has, for seventy
-years, worked and worked; and what his closing
-reward? The workhouse. Shall we not, some of us,
-blush crimson at our own world-successes, considering the
-destitution of our worthy, single-hearted fellows? Should
-not affluence touch its hat to “The Old Man at the Gate”
-with a reverence for the years upon him; he—the born
-soldier of poverty, doomed for life to lead life’s forlorn hope?
-Thus considered, surely Dives may unbonnet to Lazarus.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>To our mind the venerableness of age made “The Old
-Man at the Gate” something like a spiritual presence. He
-was so old, who could say how few the pulsations of his
-heart between him and the grave! But there he was with
-a meek happiness upon him; gentle, cheerful. He was not
-built up in bricks and mortar; but was still in the open air,
-with the sweetest influences about him; the sky—the
-trees—the green sward—and flowers with the breath of
-God in them!</p>
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c002' />
-</div>
-<div id='i171'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_171'>171</span>
-<img src='images/i171.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-<div class='ic001'>
-<p>The fifes and drums of her Majesty’s Grenadiers</p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-  <h2 class='c006'>THE FOLLY OF THE SWORD</h2>
-</div>
-<p class='c022'><span class='sc'>May</span> we ask the reader to behold with us a melancholy
-show—a saddening, miserable spectacle? We will not take
-him to a prison, a workhouse, a Bedlam, where human
-nature expiates its guiltiness, its lack of worldly goods, its
-most desolate perplexity; but we will take him to a
-wretchedness, first contrived by wrong and perpetrated by
-folly. We will show him the embryo mischief that in due
-season shall be born in the completion of its terror, and
-shall be christened with a sounding name,—Folly and
-wickedness standing its sponsors.</p>
-<p class='c010'>We are in St James’s Park. The royal standard of
-England burns in the summer air—the Queen is in London.
-We pass the Palace, and in a few paces are in Birdcage
-Walk. There, reader, is the miserable show we promised
-you. There are some fifty recruits, drilled by a sergeant to
-do homicide, killingly, handsomely. In Birdcage Walk
-Glory sits upon her eggs, and hatches eagles!</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>How very beautiful is the sky above us! What a blessing
-comes with the fresh, quick air! The trees, drawing their
-green beauty from the earth, quicken our thoughts of the
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_172'>172</span>bounteousness of this teeming world. Here in this nook,
-this patch, where we yet feel the vibrations of surrounding
-London—even here Nature, constant in her beauty, blooms
-and smiles, uplifting the heart of man—if the heart be his
-to own her.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Now, look aside and contemplate God’s image with a
-musket. Your bosom duly expanding with gratitude to
-nature for the blessings she has heaped about you, behold
-the crowning glory of God’s work managed, like a machine,
-to slay the image of God—to stain the teeming earth with
-homicidal blood—to fill the air with howling anguish! Is
-not yonder row of clowns a melancholy sight? Yet are they
-the sucklings of Glory—the baby mighty ones of a future
-<i>Gazette</i>. Reason beholds them with a deep pity. Imagination
-magnifies them into fiends of wickedness. There is
-carnage about them—carnage, and the pestilential vapour of
-the slaughtered. What a fine-looking thing is war! Yet
-dress it as we may, dress and feather it, daub it with gold,
-huzza it and sing swaggering songs about it—what is it, nine
-times out of ten—but murder in uniform? Cain, taken the
-sergeant’s shilling?</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>And now we hear the fifes and drums of her Majesty’s
-Grenadiers. They pass on the other side; and a crowd of
-idlers, their hearts jumping to the music, their eyes dazzled,
-and their feelings perverted, hang about the march and catch
-the infection—the love of glory! And true wisdom thinks
-of the world’s age, and sighs at its slow advance in all that
-really dignifies man—the truest dignity being the truest love
-for his fellow. And then hope, and faith in human progress,
-contemplate the pageant, its real ghastliness disguised by
-outward glare and frippery, and know the day will come
-when the symbols of war will be as the sacred beasts of
-old Egypt—things to mark the barbarism of bygone war;
-melancholy records of the past perversity of human nature.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>We can imagine the deep-chested laughter—the look of
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_173'>173</span>scorn which would annihilate, and then the smile of compassion—of
-the man of war at this, the dream of folly and
-the wanderings of an inflamed brain. Yet, oh, man of war!
-at this very moment are you shrinking, withering like an
-aged giant. The fingers of Opinion have been busy at
-your plume—you are not the feathered thing you were;
-and then that little tube, the goose quill, has sent its silent
-shot into your huge anatomy; and the corroding <span class='small'>INK</span>, even
-whilst you look at it, and think it shines so brightly, is
-eating with a tooth of rust into your sword.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>That a man should kill a man and rejoice in the deed—nay,
-gather glory from it—is the act of a wild animal. The
-force of muscle and the dexterity of limb which make the
-wild man a conqueror are deemed, in savage life, man’s
-highest attributes. The creature whom, in the pride of our
-Christianity, we call heathen and spiritually desolate, has
-some personal feeling in the strife—he kills his enemy, and
-then, making an oven of hot stones, bakes his dead body,
-and, for crowning satisfaction, eats it. His enemy becomes
-a part of him; his glory is turned to nutriment; and he is
-content. What barbarism! Field-marshals sicken at the
-horror; nay, troopers shudder at the tale, like a fine lady at
-a toad.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>In what, then, consists the prime evil? In the murder,
-or in the meal? Which is the most hideous deed—to kill
-a man, or to cook and eat the man when killed?</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>But, softly, there is no murder in the case. The craft of
-man has made a splendid ceremony of homicide—has
-invested it with dignity. He slaughters with flags flying,
-drums beating, trumpets braying. He kills according to
-method, and has worldly honours for his grim handiwork.
-He does not, like the unchristian savage, carry away with
-him mortal trophies from the skulls of his enemies. No,
-the alchemy and magic of authority turns his well-won
-scalps into epaulets, or hangs them in stars and crosses at
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_174'>174</span>his button-hole; and then, the battle over, the dead not
-eaten, but carefully buried—and the maimed and mangled
-howling and blaspheming in hospitals—the meek Christian
-warrior marches to church, and reverently folding his sweet
-and spotless hands, sings <i>Te Deum</i>. Angels wave his
-fervent thanks to God, to whose footstool—in his own faith—he
-has so lately sent his shuddering thousands. And this
-spirit of destruction working within him is canonised by the
-craft and ignorance of man and worshipped as glory!</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>And this religion of the sword—this dazzling heathenism,
-that makes a pomp of wickedness—seizes and distracts us
-even on the threshold of life. Swords and drums are our
-baby playthings; the types of violence and destruction are
-made the pretty pastimes of our childhood; and as we grow
-older, the outward magnificence of the ogre Glory—his trappings
-and his trumpets, his privileges, and the songs that
-are shouted in his praise—ensnare the bigger baby to his
-sacrifice. Hence slaughter becomes an exalted profession;
-the marked, distinguished employment of what in the jargon
-of the world is called a gentleman.</p>
-<div id='i175'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<img src='images/i175.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-<div class='ic001'>
-<p>“Hodge, poor fellow, enlists”</p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p class='c009'>But for this craft operating upon this ignorance, who—in
-the name of outraged God—would become the hireling of
-the Sword? Hodge, poor fellow, enlists. He wants work;
-or he is idle, dissolute. Kept, by the injustice of the world,
-as ignorant as the farmyard swine, he is the better instrument
-for the world’s craft. His ear is tickled with the fife
-and drum; or he is drunk; or the sergeant—the lying
-valet of glory—tells a good tale, and already Hodge is a
-warrior in the rough. In a fornight’s time you may see
-him at Chatham; or indeed he was one of those we marked
-in Birdcage Walk. Day by day the sergeant works at the
-block ploughman, and, chipping and chipping, at length
-carves out a true, handsome soldier of the line. What
-knew Hodge of the responsibility of man? What dreams
-had he of the self-accountability of the human spirit? He
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_177'>177</span>is become the lackey of carnage, the liveried footman, at a
-few pence per day, of fire and blood. The musket stock,
-which for many an hour he hugs—hugs in sulks and weariness—was
-no more a party to its present use than was Hodge.
-That piece of walnut is the fragment of a tree that might
-have given shade and fruit for another century; homely,
-rustic people gathering under it. Now it is the instrument
-of wrong and violence; the working tool of slaughter.
-Tree and man, are not their destinies as one?</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>And is Hodge alone of benighted mind? Is he alone
-deficient of that knowledge of moral right and wrong, which
-really and truly crowns the man king of himself? When
-he surrenders up his nature, a mere machine with human
-pulses to do the bidding of war, has he taken counsel with
-his own reflection—does he know the limit of the sacrifice?
-He has taken his shilling, and knows the facings of his
-uniform!</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>When the born and bred gentleman, to keep to coined
-and current terms, pays down his thousand pounds or so
-for his commission, what incites to the purchase? It may
-be the elegant idleness of the calling: it may be the bullion
-and glitter of the regimentals; or, devout worshipper, it
-may be an unquenchable thirst for glory. From the
-moment when his name stars the <i>Gazette</i>, what does he
-become? The bond-servant of war! Instantly he ceases
-to be a judge between moral right and moral injury. It is
-his duty not to think, but to obey. He has given up,
-surrendered to another the freedom of his soul: he has
-dethroned the majesty of his own will. He must be active
-in wrong, and see not the injustice: shed blood for craft
-and usurpation, calling bloodshed valour. He may be
-made, by the iniquity of those who use him, a burglar and
-a brigand; but glory calls him pretty names for his prowess,
-and the wicked weakness of the world shouts and acknowledges
-him. And is this the true condition of reasonable
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_178'>178</span>man? Is it by such means that he best vindicates the greatness
-of his mission here? Is he when he most gives up the
-free motions of his own soul—is he then most glorious?</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>A few months ago chance showed us a band of ruffians
-who, as it afterwards appeared, were intent upon most
-desperate mischief. They spread themselves over the
-country, attacking, robbing, and murdering all who fell
-into their hands. Men, women, and children all suffered
-alike. Nor were the villains satisfied with this. In their
-wanton ruthlessness they set fire to cottages, and tore up
-and destroyed plantations. Every footpace of their march
-was marked with blood and desolation.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Who were these wretches? you ask. What place did
-they ravage? Were they not caught and punished?</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>They were a part of the army of Africa; valorous Frenchmen,
-bound for Algiers to cut Arab throats; and, in the
-name of glory, and for the everlasting glory of France, to
-burn, pillage, and despoil; and all for national honour—all
-for glory!</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>But Glory cannot dazzle Truth. Does it not at times
-appear no otherwise than a highwayman with a pistol at
-a nation’s breast? a burglar with a crowbar entering a
-kingdom? Alas! in this world there is no Old Bailey for
-nations, otherwise where would have been the crowned
-heads that divided Poland? Those felon monarchs
-anointed to—steal? It is true the historian claps the
-cutpurse conqueror in the dock, and he is tried by the
-jury of posterity. <i>He</i> is past the verdict, yet is not its
-damnatory voice lost upon generations? For thus is the
-world taught—albeit slowly taught—true glory; when that
-which passed for virtue is truly tested to be vile; when the
-hero is hauled from the car and fixed for ever in the
-pillory.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>But war brings forth the heroism of the soul: war tests
-the magnanimity of man.  Sweet is the humanity that
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_179'>179</span>spares a fallen foe; gracious the compassion that tends
-his wounds, that brings even a cup of water to his burning
-lips. Granted. But is there not a heroism of a grander
-mould—the heroism of forbearance? Is not the humanity
-that refuses to strike a nobler virtue than the late pity born
-of violence? Pretty is it to see the victor with salve and
-lint kneeling at his bloody trophy—a maimed and agonised
-fellow-man; but surely it had been better to withhold the
-blow than to have been first mischievous, to be afterwards
-humane.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>That nations professing a belief in Christ should couple
-glory with war is monstrous blasphemy. Their faith, their
-professing faith, is—“Love one another”; their practice is
-to—cut throats; and more, to bribe and hoodwink men to
-the wickedness, the trade of blood is magnified into a
-virtue. We pray against battle, and glorify the deeds of
-death. We say beautiful are the ways of peace, and then
-cocker ourselves upon our perfect doings in the art of
-man-slaying. Let us then cease to pay the sacrifice of
-admiration to the demon—War; let us not acknowledge
-him as a mighty and majestic principle, but, at the very
-best, a grim and melancholy necessity.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>But there always has been—there always will be—war.
-It is inevitable; it is a part of the condition of human
-society. Man has always made glory to himself from the
-destruction of his fellow; so it will continue. It may be
-very pitiable; would it were otherwise! But so it is, and
-there is no helping it.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Happily we are slowly killing this destructive fallacy. A
-long breathing time of peace has been fatal to the dread
-magnificence of glory. Science and philosophy—<i>povera e
-nuda filosofia!</i>—have made good their claims, inducing
-man to believe that he may vindicate the divinity of his
-nature otherwise than by perpetrating destruction. He
-begins to think there is a better glory in the communication
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_180'>180</span>of triumphs of the mind, than in the clash of steel and the
-roar of artillery. At the present moment a society, embracing
-men of distant nations—“natural enemies,” as the
-old wicked cant of the old patriotism had it—is at work
-plucking the plumes from Glory, unbracing his armour,
-and divesting the ogre of all that dazzled foolish and
-unthinking men, showing the rascal in his natural hideousness,
-in all his base deformity. Some, too, are calculating
-the cost of Glory’s table: some showing what an appetite
-the demon has, devouring at a meal the substance of these
-thousand sons of industry—yea, eating up the wealth of
-kingdoms. And thus by degrees are men beginning to
-look upon this god Glory as no more than a finely-trapped
-Sawney Bean—a monster and a destroyer—a nuisance—a
-noisy lie.</p>
-<div id='i180'  class='figcenter id003'>
-<img src='images/i180.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c002' />
-</div>
-<div id='i181'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_181'>181</span>
-<img src='images/i181.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-  <h2 class='c006'>THE GREENWICH PENSIONER</h2>
-</div>
-<p class='c022'><span class='sc'>A Greenwich</span> pensioner! Did any of my readers ever
-ponder on that strange composition of battered humanity
-and blue serge? Did they never feel a something approaching
-very near gratitude on passing, in the metropolis, a
-Greenwich pensioner, who, with his honest, carved out,
-unabashed front, looks as bluntly and as wonderingly at the
-bustle and splendour around him as does an unsophisticated
-wether suddenly removed from South Downs to Cheapside,
-whilst shaking his woollen coat beneath the whip of the
-coachman to the Lord Mayor. What a mixture of gravity
-and wonderment is in the poor brute’s countenance! how
-with its meek, uplifted head it stares at the effulgent vehicle,—runs
-leaping at the coach-wheels, mistaking them for
-hurdles,—falls, awe-struck, back, at the gilt and beavered
-greatness of the footman’s cocked hat,—then, suddenly
-awakened from its amazement by the lurcher’s teeth, or
-the driver’s stick, makes an unlucky spring of some three
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_182'>182</span>feet into the air, catches a glance of its figure in the
-mirrored walls of a silk mercer, and, startled at the sight,
-dashes through the first court,—carrying perhaps a few
-yards upon its back some red-faced, nankeen-gaitered little
-stockbroker, whose spattered small clothes are for a time
-unregarded in the mighty rush of drovers, butchers, dogs,
-and idlers.</p>
-<p class='c010'>Now such is the real Greenwich pensioner. When I say
-<i>real</i>, I mean one who abhors London worse than he does a
-Frenchman; who thinks there is nothing to be seen in it,
-unless, indeed, it be Nelson’s tomb, in St Paul’s, or the
-“Ship” public-house, in Tooley Street. London is to
-him a never-failing source of merriment; that is, whilst he
-is out of it. He sits at Greenwich, and looking as sagely
-as a starling ere he snaps at a fly, at the piled-up clouds
-of smoke hanging over the metropolis, or, indeed, almost
-propped upon its chimney-pots, and, stretching forth his
-stick, significantly points them out to his former shipmates,
-asking them if they do not think “there is something dark
-over there—something of an ‘ox-eye’ to the west?” He,
-indeed, never ventures to London, unless it be for a fresh
-supply of tobacco, or to pay a quarterly visit to his grand-daughter,
-the upper housemaid in a gentleman’s family,—and
-who, indeed, thinks with horror upon his call, because
-the neighbours laugh at the cocked hat and the shoe-buckles
-of her relative; but principally because Richard,
-the baker’s young man, declares he hates all sailors. The
-visit is never a very lengthened one, especially if the girl
-lives far to the west; for her grandfather has to call upon
-Will Somebody, who set up, with his prize-money, a
-public-house in Wapping. So off he starts, hurries up the
-Strand, touches his hat from a point of principle as he
-nears Somerset House; puts out more canvas, and away
-for Temple Bar. The pensioner has not yet, however, sat
-for his picture.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_183'>183</span>We have all read of crabs being despoiled of their claws,
-locusts of their entrails, and turtles of their brains, receiving
-in lieu thereof a pellet of cotton, and yet retaining life, and
-appearing, in the words of the experimentalising and soft-hearted
-naturalist, “very lively and comfortable.”<a id='r10' /><a href='#f10' class='c017'><sup>[10]</sup></a> Now,
-the real Greenwich pensioner distances all these; he is,
-indeed, an enigma: nature knows not what to make of
-him. He hath been suspended, like a school-boy’s bob-cherry,
-a hundred times over the chaps of death, and yet
-still been snatched away by the hand of Providence—to
-whom, indeed, his many hurts and dangers have especially
-endeared him. Ye of the “<i>land</i> interest,” ye soft-faced
-young sparks, who think with terror upon a razor on a
-frosty morning,—ye suffering old gentlemen, who pause at
-a linen-draper’s, and pass the flannel between your fingers,
-as time verges towards October—ye martyrs to a winter
-cough, ye racked with a quarterly toothache—all ye of
-household ailings, look upon this hacked, shivered piece of
-clay, this Greenwich pensioner:—consider of how many of
-his powers he is despoiled—see where the cutlass and the
-boarding-spike have ploughed up and pierced his flesh; see
-where the bullet has glanced, singeing by; and when you
-have reckoned up—if they are to be reckoned—his many
-scars, above all, look at his hard, contented, weather-barnacled
-face, and then, gentle spectators, complain of
-your rheums, your joint-twitchings, and your corns!</p>
-
-<div class='footnote c020' id='f10'>
-<p class='c019'><span class='label'><a href='#r10'>10</a>.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>See <i>Vaillant</i> and <i>Redi</i>.</p>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c010'>Why, this Greenwich pensioner is in himself a record
-of the last forty years’ war. He is a breathing volume of
-naval history: not an event but is somewhere indented in
-him with steel or lead: he has been the stick in which
-the English Mars has notched his cricket matches, when
-twenty-four pounders were balls, and mainmasts wickets.
-See, in his blinded eye is Howe’s victory on the glorious
-First of June; that stump of what was once an arm is Nile;
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_184'>184</span>and in his wooden leg read Trafalgar. As to his scars, a
-gallant action, or a desperate cutting out is noted in every
-one of them. And what was the old fellow’s only wish,
-as with a shattered knee he lay in the cock-pit under the
-surgeon’s hand—what was his earnest supplication to the
-wet-eyed messmate who bore him down the hatchway?
-Simply that he would save him one of the splinters of the
-mainmast of the <i>Victory</i>, to make of it a leg for Sundays!
-His wish was granted; and at Greenwich, always on the
-seventh day, and also on the 21st of October, is he to be
-seen, propped upon the inestimable splinter, which from
-labour, time, and beeswax, has taken the dark glossiness of
-mahogany. What a face he has! What a certain consciousness
-of his superiority on his own element at times puffs out
-his lip, and gives a sudden twitch to his head! But ask
-him in what quarter sets the wind—and note, how with his
-one eye he will glance at you from top to toe; and, without
-ever raising his head or hand to make a self-inquiry,
-answers you at once, as though it was a question he was
-already prepared for! And so, indeed, he is; it being his
-first business, on rising, to consult the weather. The only
-way to gain his entire confidence, is at once frankly to avow
-your utter ignorance, and his superiority; and then, after he
-has leered at you with an eye in which there is a meeting of
-contempt, good-humour, and self-importance, he is wholly
-your own; and will straightway launch into the South Seas,
-coast along the shores of Guinea,—where, by-the-bye, he
-will tell you he once fell in love with a negress, who, however,
-jilted him for the cook—and then he will launch out
-about Admiral Duncan—take you a voyage with him round
-Cape Horn, where a mermaid appeared, and sang a song to
-the ship’s crew; and who, indeed, blew aside all the musket
-shots that were ungallantly fired at her in requital of her
-melody. But our pensioner has one particular story; hear
-him through that, suffer yourself to be wholly astounded at
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_185'>185</span>its recital, and, if you were not a landsman, he would
-instantly greet you as his dearest friend. The heroes of
-this same story are, our pensioner and a shark: a tremendous
-shark that used to be the terror of the harbour of St
-Thomas’s. Upon this shark, and the piece of the mainmast
-of the <i>Victory</i>, is our pensioner content to rest all his
-importance during his life, and his fame with posterity. He
-will tell you that he, being caterer of the mess, let fall a
-piece of beef out at the port-hole, which this terrible shark
-received into its jaws, and twisted its body most provokingly
-at the delicious mouthful. Hereupon our pensioner—it
-was before, he reminds you, he had lost a limb—asks
-leave of the first lieutenant (for the captain was ashore) to
-have a bout with the shark: leave being granted, all the
-crew are quickly in the shrouds, and upon the hammock
-netting, to see Tom “tackle the shark.” Our pensioner
-now enters into a minute detail of how, having armed himself
-with a long knife, he jumped overboard, dived under
-the shark, whom he saw approaching with distended jaws,
-and inflicted a tremendous wound with the knife in the belly
-of the fish; this is repeated thrice, when the shark turns
-itself upon its back—a boat is let down, and both the conqueror
-and the conquered are quickly received upon deck.
-You are doubtless astonished at this; he, however, adds to
-your surprise by telling you that the mess regaled off the
-piece of beef recovered from the fish; be more astounded
-at this, although mingle no doubt in your astonishment, and
-he will straightway promise some day to treat your eyes
-with a sight of a set of chequer men, cut from the very
-dorsal bone of the immolated shark! To be the hearer of
-a sailor’s tale is something like undergoing the ancient
-ordeal of red-hot ploughshares; be innocent of unbelief,
-and you may, as was held, journey in safety; doubt the
-smallest point, and you are quickly withered into nought.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>What an odd contrast to his early life is the state of a
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_186'>186</span>Greenwich pensioner! It is as though a part of the angry
-and foaming sea should lie stagnant in a bathing tub. All
-his business is to recount his former adventures—to plod
-about, and look with a disdainful eye at trees and bricks and
-mortar; or, when he would indulge in a serious fit of spleen,
-to walk down to the river’s side, and let his gall feed upon
-the mishaps of London apprentices, who, fearless of consequences,
-may have ventured some five miles from home in
-<i>not</i> a “trim-built wherry.” A Greenwich pensioner fresh
-from sea is a most preposterous creature; he gets up
-every morning for a week, a month, and still finds himself
-in the same place; he knows not what to make of it—he
-feels the strangeness of his situation, and would, had he
-the patience and the wit, liken himself to a hundred
-unsettled things. Compare him to a hippopotamus in a
-gentleman’s park, and he would tell you he had in his day
-seen a hippopotamus, and then, with a good-natured grunt,
-acquiesce in the resemblance; or to a jolly-boat in a flower
-garden; or to a sea-gull in the cage of a canary; or to a
-porpoise upon a hearthrug; or to a boatswain’s whistle in a
-nursery; or to a marling-spike in a milliner’s workroom; or
-a tar-barrel in a confectioner’s; with any one or all of these
-misplaced articles would our unsettled pensioner sympathise,
-until time shall have reconciled him to his asylum; and
-even then his fancy, like the shells upon our mantelpiece,
-will sound of the distant and the dangerous ocean. At
-Greenwich, however, the mutilated old sailor has time
-enough to indulge in the recollection of his early days, and,
-with what wisdom he may, to make up his mind to meet in
-another world those whom his arm may have sent thither
-long before. Death, at length, gently lays the veteran upon
-his back—his last words, as the sailor puts his withered
-hand upon his heart, are “All’s well,” and sea and earth
-have passed away. His body, which had been for forty
-years a bulwark to the land, now demands of it but “two
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_187'>187</span>paces of the vilest earth”; and if aught could spring from
-the tomb characteristic of its inmate, from the grave of the
-pensioner would arise the stout, unbending oak—it would
-be his fitting monument; and the carolling of the birds in
-its branches would be his loud, his artless epitaph.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The Greenwich pensioner, wherever we meet with him,
-is a fine, quaint memento of our national greatness, and our
-fortunate locality. We should look upon him as the representative
-of Neptune, and bend our spirit towards him
-accordingly. But that is not sufficient; we have individual
-acknowledgments to make to him for the comforts of a long
-safety. Let us but consider, as we look at his wooden supporter,
-that if it had not been for his leg the cannon-ball
-might have scattered us in our tea parlour—the bullet which
-deprived him of his orb of vision might have stricken <i>Our
-Village</i> from our hand whilst ensconced in our study; the
-cutlass which cleaved his shoulder might have demolished
-our china vase, or our globe of golden fish:—instead of
-which, hemmed round by such walls of stout and honest
-flesh, we have lived securely, participating in every peaceful
-and domestic comfort, and neither heard the roar of the
-cannon nor seen its smoke. Shakespeare has compared
-England to “a swan’s nest” in the “world’s pool”: let us
-be nautical in our similes, and liken her to a single lemon
-kernel in a huge bowl of punch: who is it that has prevented
-the kernel from being ladled down the throat of despotism,
-from becoming but an atom of the great, loathsome mass?—our
-Greenwich pensioner. Who has kept our houses from
-being transformed into barracks and our cabbage markets
-into parades?—again, and again, let it be answered, the
-Greenwich pensioner. Reader, if the next time you see
-the tar, you should perchance have with you your wife and
-smiling family, think that if their tenderness has never been
-shocked by scenes of blood and terror, you owe such
-quietude to a Greenwich pensioner. Indeed, I know not
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_188'>188</span>if a triennial progress of the Greenwich establishment
-through the whole kingdom would not be attended with
-the most beneficial effects—fathers would teach their little
-ones to lisp thanksgivings unto God that they were born in
-England, as reminded of their happy superiority by the
-withered form of every Greenwich pensioner.</p>
-<div id='i188'  class='figcenter id003'>
-<img src='images/i188.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c002' />
-</div>
-<div id='i189'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_189'>189</span>
-<img src='images/i189.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-  <h2 class='c006'>THE DRILL SERGEANT</h2>
-</div>
-<p class='c022'><span class='sc'>Shall</span> we view our subject through the glasses of philosophy?
-Precious microscopic glasses, by which we look
-into the exquisite order of a bee’s weapon, which shames
-the ruggedness of that vaunted wonder of man’s hands—a
-Whitechapel needle. By which the superfine coat of the
-unworthy appears but as a vile complication of coarse hemp-strings;
-by which we look into the heart that to the naked
-eye displays a tenanted cherub, with voice of music and
-wings of light, but find a weak-eyed little monster, with
-squeak of mouse and pinions of leather. O, glorious spectacles!
-which show palaces not entirely as resting-places
-for divinities—many laurels as nettles, stinging what they
-are fancied to adorn—Fame’s trumpet, a penny whistle
-blown by Asthma—the awful person of Ceremony, a
-Merry-Andrew stricken grave—a grand review-day, a
-game at ninepins on an extensive scale—a levee, a triumph
-of the laceman and jeweller—a court ode, a verbose receipt
-for wages—“honourable gentleman,” convicted scoundrel—“learned
-friend,” stupid opponent—a prison, a temporary
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_190'>190</span>retirement from noise—a glass of spring water, a “cup of
-sack”—an ugly face, God’s own handiwork—a handsome
-one, nothing more—noble blood, of the same hue as a
-carter’s—a black parish coffin, a couch of crystal—a grave,
-a place of rest—consecrated earth, the whole globe—a
-tombstone, work for the mason—a pompous epitaph, the
-toil of a liar! This transformation—or rather, this showing
-of reality—is the result of using the glasses of philosophy.
-Without the common microscope we could not know how
-certain insects respired, whether at the mouth or shoulders;
-wanting philosophy’s optic, we should be in like ignorance
-of the source of being in some men—for all exist not by
-the same laws. To the naked eye, indeed, there appears
-no difference; but to the spectacled orb of philosophy it is
-shown that many men respire, not by inward organisation,
-but by external and adventitious instruments. Let those
-who are sceptical on this position consider for a moment
-the bearing of a thorough-paced coxcomb: does he breathe
-from his lungs? No; but from his habiliments. His coat,
-cravat, boots—yea, his spurs, are the sources of his being,
-his dignity, his action. Nay, some men take all their life
-from a riband at their button-hole, or a garter at their leg.—Our
-Drill Sergeant takes it from his rattan.</p>
-<p class='c010'>I know that much of this may be deemed foreign to the
-purpose. To those who so conclude, I say—A common
-wire-dancer gives not his grand feat without many little
-nick-nack preparations. When we visit the Egyptian
-Hall, that grand emporium of monsters, we do not step
-from the pavement into the show-room, but are wisely
-made to thread two or three passages for the better excitation
-of our feelings. And shall my Drill Sergeant have
-not the common observance paid to a mermaid? I trust I
-have more respect for my subject, and the army in general.
-If any one of my readers, when he glanced at the title,
-thought to meet with the Sergeant standing bolt upright at
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_191'>191</span>the beginning of the line, like the sentinel at Buckingham
-Gate, I luxuriate in his disappointment.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>To be candid: I had laid down no form for my beginning;
-so I thought a caper or two upon philosophy would
-not be amiss, trusting eventually to drop upon my subject.
-This is a trick frequently played by ——. However, to
-business.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>We must contemplate the Drill Sergeant at a distance:
-there is no closing with him. A painter would decline a
-chair in the tiger’s den, asserting that he could take the
-animal’s stripes equally well through the bars. Even so
-will I take the stripes of our Sergeant. First, to consider
-his appearance, or rather the discipline by which his “thews
-and muscles” deport themselves. He has a vile, cat-like
-leer of the eye, that makes us retreat back a few paces, and
-rub our palms, to be assured the knave has not secretly
-placed in one of them a shilling. We tremble, and for
-once are afraid to meet the king’s countenance—(I am
-adding to the awful attributes of the Drill Sergeant the
-fearful privilege of recruiting). We shrink, lest he has
-mentally approved of us as being worthy of ball cartridge.
-He glances towards our leg, and we cannot but feel that he
-is thinking how it would look in a black gaiter. At this
-moment we take courage, and, valiantly lifting off our hat,
-pass our luxuriant curls through our four fingers—we are
-petrified; for we see by his chuckle that he has already
-doomed our tresses to the scissors of the barrack-barber.
-We are at once about to take to our legs, when, turning
-round, we see something under a middle-sized man, looking
-over our head. On this we feel our safety, and triumph
-in the glory of five feet one. Something must always be
-allowed for weakness—something for vanity; which, indeed,
-philosophers denominate the greatest weakness.
-Hence all these cogitations, foolishly attributed by the
-little individual to the Sergeant, arise from the civil man’s
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_192'>192</span>self-conceit; the Sergeant always treating with ineffable
-contempt persons of a certain size. And here may be
-remarked the astonishing capacity of our Sergeant in judging
-of human altitude. Ere George Bidder can enumerate the
-virtues of King Ferdinand, our Sergeant will sum up the
-exact height of a man, duly allowing for his pumps and
-silk stockings. Strive to mystify the question, and the
-ability of the Sergeant mocks the endeavour; for, he will,
-on a minute’s notice, resolve how many feet of martial flesh
-are in a complete square, after including the triangle, fife,
-and drummer lads, and deducting some of the boy officers.
-Thus, five-feet-eight reader, if thou wouldst enjoy the
-pranks of the Sergeant, unmolested by his eye, teach thy
-leg to mimic lameness: or, if easier, cough consumptively.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>I would wish to convey a striking resemblance of our
-Drill Sergeant on duty, when you would swear by his gait
-that this glorious earth was wholly composed of spring
-wires, so elastic are his soles. It is a motion unparalleled
-either in the natural or artificial world; it is a movement
-by itself—like the swoop of the eagle, the waddle of the
-duck, the fleetness of the greyhound, or the hop of the frog.
-And yet, on intense consideration, I think I have seen
-something approximating to the bearing of our Drill
-Sergeant. What think you of the manner of a pug dog
-in a dropsy, exposed for air on a nipping December
-morning, his black nose turning almost white with indignation
-at the coldness of the flags?—There certainly is a
-resemblance; there is dignity in both animals, albeit to the
-daring eye of a grotesque character. It must, however,
-be owned, that on great occasions our Sergeant can alter his
-deportment. It is not in the nature of things to be always
-strained to the highest: the distended skin of the serpent
-at times falls into amiable and social wrinkles; an arrant
-shrew may sometimes be caught singing “<i>Sweet Home!</i>”
-the bow-string of a William Tell may be doubtless as relaxed
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_193'>193</span>and tuneless as the instrument of a Haymarket fiddler;—and
-shall not our Sergeant unbend? He does break
-himself up from the stiffness of parade; for see him when
-the draughts of mine hostess hath diluted some portion of
-military starch, and he no longer holds his head like a
-game-cock, taking his morning’s potation; see him then,
-and own that even a Sergeant may be amiable. Is he not
-the very model of elegant ease? He is, indeed, unbent;
-for his limbs swing loosely as hung ramrods. Our Sergeant
-can now talk; his tongue hath overleapt the two barriers,
-“Attention!” and “Stand at ease!” and rambles wildly
-from Egypt to Waterloo. And if it should happen that the
-pretty barmaid be niece to the landlady, mark how the
-Sergeant probes for her feelings with charged bayonets—how
-he will try to smite her gentle ear with a discharge of
-artillery—swear that he hath had twenty wounds under his
-coat, although very politically adding that they have left
-him not a bit the worse man. Then, if the damsel still
-continue untouched, taking orders with a calm air, our
-Sergeant hints in a whisper, audible to the dozing watchman
-at the door, something about a Spanish widow at
-Saragossa; adding very loudly, “But no—I was always
-for true love!” adorning the beautiful edifice of principle
-with a flowery oath. He then begins a sentiment, and, at
-a loss, dives for the conclusion to it in a pot of ale. If
-there happen to be four or five privates in the room, our
-Sergeant increases in importance from the circumstance—just
-as a cat becomes great from the introduction of a litter
-of puppies. Our Sergeant is more than ever the leading
-gander of the flock—the king-herring of the shoal—the
-blue-bottle of the swarm—the pebble of the sand—the G
-of the gamut. He has now additional hearers of the tales
-of his prowess, and, if he but give the wink, companions
-who saw him face the breach and spike the cannon. His
-rank next becomes the subject of discussion; and looking
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_194'>194</span>very complacently at his arm, he tells of some dreadful
-exploit in which he earned his stripes. “And doubtless,
-Sergeant, not before you deserved them,” ventures a small,
-quiet wight in the corner, who will have his fling, though at
-the expense of his liquor; for ere he concludes his remark
-he gives the Sergeant his glass—just as a schoolboy, who
-twitches the trunk of an elephant, throws to the animal a
-peace-offering of apples—whilst the privates inwardly laugh
-at the joke, and get rebuked for again enjoying it on parade
-to-morrow morning. Just as the Sergeant’s opponents are
-nearly all slaughtered, a little Italian boy, bearing a tortoise,
-adroitly glides into the room to display the testaceous
-wonder; or he has with him a bust of Napoleon, at which
-our Sergeant bristles up, looking, indeed, seriously fierce at
-plaster of Paris. Here he utters some half-audible wish
-that he had not received a bullet in the last charge, and
-then——Now, however, our Sergeant takes an opportunity
-to pour forth his learning—he mangles five words of
-French; the Italian shakes his head, and holds forth his
-hand; the Sergeant swears at him for an impostor, ignorant
-of his own language. It drawing late, our Sergeant calls
-for his reckoning, and, learning the amount, with an affected
-air of destitution avows he has no money; he has not a
-piece of silver about him, unless it be that at his breast—and
-here he carelessly lifts up with one finger a Waterloo
-medal;—then he draws out a watch, once the property of a
-French general slain by our Sergeant, and asks if that will
-serve for the amount? At length, however, the money
-being shaken from a yellow silk purse, our Sergeant, after a
-salutary admonition to the privates, goes off, as he says, to
-visit a friend in the Ordnance.</p>
-<div id='i195'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<img src='images/i195.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-<div class='ic001'>
-<p>He is, indeed, unbent.</p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p class='c009'>Now this is the utmost stretch of our Sergeant’s amiability;
-and he departs with a consciousness of having made
-himself remarkably agreeable, at the same time that he has
-maintained the proper dignity of the army. To-morrow he
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_197'>197</span>is stiff and stately again, performing his old duty of setting
-up in due order men for the sport of War, that fearful
-skittle-player. And, indeed, how great must be the satisfaction
-of the Drill Sergeant when he thinks that, by
-his kindly solicitude, his Majesty’s subjects will “die
-with decency” and “in close order.” Soothing reflection!</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>We may liken a Recruiting Sergeant to a sturdy woodman—a
-Drill Sergeant to a carpenter. Let us take a dozen
-vigorous young elms, with the same number of bluff-cheeked,
-straddling rustics. How picturesque and inviting do the
-green waving elms appear! Whilst we look at them our
-love and admiration of the natural so wholly possess us that
-we cannot for a moment bring ourselves to imagine the
-most beautiful offspring of teeming earth cut up into boot-jacks
-or broom-handles: in the very idea there is sacrilege to
-the sylvan deities. The woodman, however, lays the axe to
-the elms (the forest groans at the slaughter); the carpenter
-comes up with his basket of tools across his shoulder; and
-at a Christmas dinner we may by chance admire the extraordinary
-polish of our eating knife, little thinking it owes its
-lustre to the elm which shadowed us at midsummer. Now
-for our rustics. We meet them in green lanes, striding like
-young ogres—carelessness in their very hat-buckles—a scorn
-of ceremony in the significant tuck-up of their smock-frock.
-The Recruiting Sergeant spirits them away from fields to
-which they were the chief adornment, and the Drill Sergeant
-begins his labour.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>And now, reader, behold some martial carpentry and
-joinery. Our Drill Sergeant hath but few implements: as
-eye, voice, hand, leg, rattan. These few tools serve him for
-every purpose, and with them he brings down a human
-carcass, though at first as unwieldy as a bull, to the slimness
-and elegance of the roe. There are the dozen misshapen
-logs before him; the foliage of their heads gone with the
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_198'>198</span>elm leaves, as also their bark—their “rough pash,”—the
-frocks and wide breeches.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Mercy on us! there was a stroke of handiwork! the
-Sergeant with but one word has driven a wedge into the
-very breast of that pale-looking youngster, whose eyelid
-shakes as though it would dam up a tear! Perhaps the
-poor wretch is now thinking of yellow corn and harvest
-home. Another skilful touch, and the Sergeant hath fairly
-chiselled away some inches off the shoulder of that flaxen-headed
-tyro: and see how he is rounding off that mottled
-set of knuckles, whilst the owner redly, but dumbly, sympathises
-with their sufferings. There is no part left
-untouched by our Sergeant; he by turns, saws, planes,
-pierces, and thumps every limb and every joint; applies
-scouring paper to any little knot or ruggedness, until man,
-glorious man, the “paragon of animals,” fears no competition
-in stateliness of march, or glibness of movement, from
-either peacock or Punch.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The Drill Sergeant hath but little complacency in him;
-he is a thing to be reverenced, not doted upon; we fear
-him and his mysteries; even his good humour startles, for
-it is at once as blustering and as insignificant as a report of
-a blank cartridge. Again, I say, the Drill Sergeant is to be
-approached with awe; smirking flies the majesty of his
-rattan. He is the despot of joints; and we rub our hands
-with glee, and our very toes glow again, when we reflect
-they are not of his dominions.</p>
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c002' />
-</div>
-<div id='i199'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_199'>199</span>
-<img src='images/i199.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-<div class='ic001'>
-<p>The HANDBOOK of SWINDLING</p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-  <h2 class='c006'>CHAPTER I</h2>
-</div>
-<p class='c027'>By the late Captain Barabbas Whitefeather. Late of
-the body-guard of his Majesty, King Carlos;
-Treasurer of the British Wine and Vinegar
-Company; Trustee for the protection of the
-River Thames from incendiaries; principal inventor
-of Poyais stock; Ranger of St
-George’s Fields; original Patentee of the
-Parachute Conveyance Association; Knight of
-every order of the fleece; Scamp and Cur.</p>
-<p class='c028'>“A man he was to all the country <i>dear</i>.”—<span class='sc'>Goldsmith.</span></p>
-
-<div class='nf-center-c0'>
-  <div class='nf-center'>
-    <div>Edited by John Jackdaw.</div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c022'><span class='sc'>The</span> editor has disciplined himself to receive with becoming
-moderation the tremendous expression of national gratitude
-consequent on the publication of this valuable work—the
-production of the late estimable Captain Barabbas Whitefeather.
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_200'>200</span>It was discovered among many other papers
-accidentally left at the lodgings of the deceased, and placed
-in the hands of the editor by the executors of the lamented
-and—if a novel epithet may be applied to him—talented
-author.</p>
-<p class='c010'>When “handbooks” devoted to the lighter elegancies,
-nay, to the frivolities, of life are every day poured down
-upon a thankful generation, it would indeed be to incur the
-charge of poltroonery to doubt the brilliant success of the
-present essay.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The philosophical observer who has witnessed the fervent
-welcome accorded by a British public to “The Handbook
-of Skittles,” “The Handbook of Cheese-Toasting,” “The
-Handbook of Eel-Skinning,” “The Handbook of Nutmeg-Grating,”
-“The Handbook of Corn-Cutting,” “The Handbook
-of Kitten-Drowning,” and other productions of lesser
-pith and purpose,—the philosophic observer cannot but
-glow with the sweetest and liveliest feelings of anticipated
-pleasure at the outburst of national gratitude acknowledging
-and rejoicing in the publication of</p>
-
-<div class='nf-center-c0'>
-<div class='nf-center c002'>
-    <div>“<span class='sc'>The Handbook of Swindling.</span>”</div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c010'>Let us for a moment consider the comprehensiveness of
-the subject. Other handbooks have their merits and their
-uses: far be it from the editor to detract one iota from their
-claims upon a thoughtful people; yet it must be conceded
-that their different subjects apply rather to the wants of
-sections of the public than to the public in its integrity.
-For instance, how few rejoice in the masculine exercise of
-skittles! Toasted cheese, albeit the favourite diet of many
-of Cyclopean digestion, is sedulously shunned by dyspeptic
-hundreds of thousands. The class of the eel-skinning
-public is indeed most limited; nutmeg is never dreamt of
-by at least a million of our fellow-subjects; a million more,
-it is our cheerful hope, know not the visitation of corns;
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_201'>201</span>whilst, could a census be taken of the number of kittens
-annually sacrificed by drowning, it would possibly be
-discovered that not one British subject out of five hundred
-is ever called upon to perform that painful, yet necessary
-and most domestic operation. It must then be acknowledged
-that all handbooks hitherto published are more or
-less limited in their application; but for “The Handbook
-of Swindling,”—why, it is a national work; a <i>vade mecum</i>
-for a whole people!</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>It was the intention of the editor to dedicate this work to
-some illustrious individual worthy of the distinction. But
-so many candidates—all equally deserving of the honour—with
-claims so nicely balanced, rose before him, that the
-editor, considering it would be invidious to many to select
-one alone, dedicates the book to the nation at large. Yes,
-he gives it to his country; but too well repaid if he shall
-be the means of calling from the working day road of life
-one simple traveller to the pleasant “primrose path” made
-easier and laid more open to him by this golden volume.</p>
-<p class='c029'><span class='sc'>Breakneck Steps,</span></p>
-<p class='c030'><span class='sc'>Old Bailey.</span></p>
-<div class='chapter'>
-  <h2 class='c006'>CHAPTER I</h2>
-</div>
-
-<div class='nf-center-c0'>
-<div class='nf-center c002'>
-    <div><span class='sc'>the reader is introduced to Captain Whitefeather’s relations</span></div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c022'><span class='sc'>It</span> was a favourite conviction of my late respected uncle
-and godfather, Barabbas Whitefeather—he fell in the very
-flower of his age, at only forty-five, a premature victim to
-the insalubrity of Bermuda, where he was stationed in a
-very public capacity by the British Government—it was,
-I say, a pet belief of the sagacious Barabbas that every
-man had within him what I think heathen philosophers
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_202'>202</span>have called a particle of divine gold; but which my uncle,
-in the fine simplicity of his nature, and at the same time
-humanely accommodating his language to the lowest understanding
-of his species, denominated “a bit of the swindler.”</p>
-<p class='c010'>Discriminating reader, Barabbas Whitefeather was a man
-of homespun wit, who chewed not his words until they had
-lost all their original form and vigour; no, he flung them
-from him with the air of a man who knows he is laying
-down a guinea of the best mint gold, and not timidly and
-sneakingly, like a passer of gilt copper.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Every man has within him a bit of the swindler!”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The sentence fell upon me in the days of my earliest
-childhood; yes, it was in that ductile, happy, and susceptible
-season of life that the words of my uncle Barabbas—precious
-seed!—dropped into my infant heart, where—but
-let me not boast, let me rather indulge in the luxury of
-memory—yes, suffer me, complying reader, to carry you
-into the presence of my sainted uncle: bear with me whilst
-with affectionate reverence I call up from the abyss of time
-the interesting shadow of Barabbas Whitefeather.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>It was my birthday—I was six years old. I had been
-promised that that day should be distinguished by a circumstance
-which, as we advance in life and become involved
-in the meshes of the world, is apt to be forgotten, albeit of
-the first importance at the time—I was to be breeched.
-<i>I was not.</i> I can only remember that a cloud seemed
-suddenly to have fallen upon our house—that my father
-would come home long after the lamb had lain down to
-rest, and would still leave the domestic roof before the
-rising of the lark, that his temper, generally rough, became
-much rougher; and that, only a few days before my birthday,
-on expressing my infantine delights at the trumpets
-blown before the newly-arrived judges, he rebuked me
-with unwonted emphasis, at the same time wishing the
-trumpets and the judges, as I then conceived, very oddly
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_203'>203</span>incorporated with one another. I was then within a few
-days of six years old—I was a fine, tall, plump child, and
-on my birthday was to have been breeched. The neighbourhood
-called for it. I repeat it, my birthday came and
-passed, and found and left me still in coats.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>That day, however, was ordained to be the most eventful
-of my life. It is that day which, if the world shall
-continue to remember the deeds of Captain Barabbas
-Whitefeather, must be held by posterity in especial respect.
-It is to that day that I owe everything; and what I owe,
-it would be the worst of affectation in the world to deny
-or to forget. To proceed with my history.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Brab,”—it was thus my father was wont to tamper
-with the euphony of Barabbas,—“Brab, nunkey wants to
-see you; so you must toddle with me.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Some weeks had elapsed since I had seen uncle
-Barabbas; and at his name visions of cakes and apples,
-peg-tops and whipping-tops, rose before me. Like
-Agesilaus, Socrates, Yorick, and other men whom I do
-not hesitate to call of his kidney, my uncle would chequer
-and ameliorate the labour of public life by sporting with
-little children. “He hath borne me on his back a thousand
-times.” I was of course delighted at the prospect of
-visiting my uncle; but was at the same time made to wonder
-at the preparation of my father, who carefully bound up
-one of his eyes, glued large whiskers on his cheeks, and
-otherwise so disguised himself that, although I saw him do
-it, I could scarcely believe it was he. However, I thought
-it was all to have some game with Uncle Barabbas—and in
-my childishness crowed with laughter at anticipation of the
-sport.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>I walked with my father, and in about half-an-hour came
-to a very large house, a place I had never seen before: for
-my dear mother, always fuming about fevers and measles,
-kept me close at home. My father, suddenly walking very
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_204'>204</span>lame, knocked at the door, and through a cold that had
-come on him all in a minute, asked hoarsely enough for my
-uncle. The man let us in, and then another man went
-before us; and then I knew I was in a place where there
-were heaps of gold and diamonds, for the man unlocked
-and locked again at least a dozen doors. I give my
-childish impressions, which I entreat the reader not to
-smile at, but to remember the simplicity and ingenuousness
-of my age. Well, after a time, we were led into an open
-court, where some gentlemen were throwing up halfpence,
-and two on a bench were pushing straws; and there was
-one dancing, and one or two singing, and all as happy as
-birds.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>I looked round the place and saw uncle Barabbas smoking
-in a corner. I was about to call him when my father gave
-my arm such a pull I thought it was broken; and so I
-resolved to say nothing, but to wait and see the fun that
-father would play off upon uncle. Sure enough Barabbas
-never knew him; and though my uncle patted me upon the
-head, he had, I thought, forgotten me, for he gave me
-nothing. My father and my uncle talked together for a
-long time; when—I see my uncle now—Barabbas suddenly
-brought himself up, and raising his head, and extending his
-right arm, the palm open, he said in a solemn voice:—</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Depend upon it, every man has within him a bit of the
-swindler.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>My father shook his head; whereupon my uncle, for he
-was very scholarly, and could talk for an hour without
-stopping, proceeded as follows:—I am perfectly certain as
-to the words, having subsequently found the whole written
-speech among other of my uncle’s papers; Barabbas, like
-some other wits and orators, carefully putting in pen and
-ink any brilliant thought that struck him—any argument
-that was a hobby with him, that he might at proper season
-extemporaneously bring it forth to the delight and astonishment
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_205'>205</span>of his hearers. My father shook his head at the
-dogma of my uncle, who, without stop, continued:—</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Are you so ignorant as to believe in the deficiency
-of mankind in general—to imagine that nature is so partial
-a mother as to dower with her best gifts only a few of her
-children, leaving the multitude defenceless, unarmed? My
-dear sir,”—here my uncle lowered his voice,—“amend
-your ignorance—be just to nature. Do you see tigers
-whelped without claws—elephants calved that never have
-tusks—rattlesnakes hatched with no stings? Is nature so
-niggard—so partial—so unjust? No—philosophers and
-conquerors have made their marks, and signed their names
-to the fact—to swindle is to exhibit the peculiar attribute
-of the human animal; it is at once the triumph and distinguishing
-faculty of the race. But you will say, do all
-men swindle? and I ask, do all snakes sting—all elephants
-gore? There is, however, an unanswerable argument which
-proves that men, when gregarious, are inevitably swindlers;
-at least, if they are not, let not the failing be placed to their
-account; they would be, if they might. Let me put a
-case. You recollect Gloss, the retired merchant?
-What an excellent man was Gloss! A pattern man
-to make a whole generation by! Nobody could surpass
-him in what is called honesty, rectitude, moral propriety,
-and other gibberish. Well, Gloss joins a ‘Board’; he
-becomes one of a community; and, immediately, the
-latent feeling asserts itself: he is a backbone man with the
-rest of his brotherhood; and though as simple Gloss, and
-not a member of the ‘board,’ he is the same as ever, yet
-when acting with his fellows, when one of the body corporate,
-when he merges the man Gloss in the board member,
-the inherent faculty becomes active, and he gratifies the
-instinct, or the refined reason, or whatever men agree to
-call it—and complacently swindles with the rest. He
-cannot do otherwise: human nature is tested by the
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_206'>206</span>occasion; and if, under the circumstances, he refuse to
-swindle, he ceases to be a man. Swindling, my dear sir”—and
-here my uncle spoke in a tremulous voice, and my
-father seemed touched by the emotion—“Swindling, my
-dear sir, has indeed a far more comprehensive meaning
-than that superficially awarded to it by, possibly, very
-respectable people. Good soldiers may fight, pillage, and
-violate under a banner, and yet, in truth, shall not be able
-to read and interpret the legend emblazoned on it.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>I could perceive that my father did not perfectly understand
-this. He, therefore, nodded assentingly, and my
-uncle, with new animation, proceeded:—</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“When I reflect on the extensive and subtle operation of
-the faculty—when I perceive that, in this our best possible
-social state, it is, so to speak, the cement that keeps society
-together; the bond of union; the very salt of human government—it
-does, I confess it, irk me to find men ungraciously
-deny its existence, putting off its triumphs upon other
-motives, and depriving swindling of the glory of its deeds.
-Strange perversion of human intellect—laughable contradiction
-of moral purposes! Thus, the politician flutters at
-the very breath of swindler; thus, the stockbroker struts
-and swells, and lays his hand upon his waistcoat with a blank
-look of wondering innocence at the slightest allusion to the
-faculty that makes a man of him—to which he owes his
-carriage and country house, his conservatories and his
-pineries; and above all, the flattering hope of calling Lord
-Giggleton son-in-law; his lordship being over head, and,
-what is more, over ears in love with Arabella’s guineas.
-And yet, such is the base, the black ingratitude of human
-nature, that this man, this most adroit and lucky stockbroker,
-starts even at the name of swindler! He indignantly denies
-the slightest obligation to the higher faculty—the <i>mens
-divinior</i> of the cabinet, the mart, and the counting-house.
-Look at Sir Godfrey Measles, the illustrious pork contractor,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_207'>207</span>in whom our brave and magnanimous sailors confide
-for dinners. Did he not in the most handsome way forfeit
-a fine to his king and country for having failed to supply
-swine’s flesh at so much per stone? And then, having paid
-his fine like a patriot and a man,—did he not, having before
-bought up all the pork to be had—did he not, with the
-gushing feelings of a philanthropist, offer it at three times the
-contract price? Now what was this? Men who veil their
-meaning in allegory may say that Sir Godfrey Measles
-‘drove his pigs to a fine market.’ For myself, I elevate
-the homely phrase of pig-driver into the more ennobling
-name of swindler. Others may say that Sir Godfrey only
-traded—I stick to my belief; I say he swindled. More:
-I reverence him for the act; my only deep regret is, that
-he should have failed in an ingenuous gratitude, and denied
-the action of the higher principle. I have long looked upon
-the world, and, with sorrow, I say it, in nothing do the
-generations of successful men show so much cold and callous
-ingratitude as in their treatment of their guardian genius,
-that prettiest of Pucks, that best of Robin Goodfellows, that
-deftest of household fairies, hight Swindling!”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>My father cast his one eye towards his eloquent brother
-with a look of speaking admiration; and, although there
-was a pause, did not presume to make any rejoinder. My
-uncle proceeded:—</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“But why number examples? Why attempt to prove
-that which every man, if he would but consult the recesses
-of his own bosom, must truly know? Ask all the professions;
-demand of the lawyer, with yellow, studious cheek,
-wherefore he should coin gold out of little strips of paper,
-written over by youthful scribes at two or three shillings
-per diem. Request him to give you the philosophy of
-costs—the exquisite meaning of appearance and declaration,
-and reply and rejoinder, and all the thousand terms invented
-by the most cunning class of labourers, the overlookers at
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_208'>208</span>the building of Babel. Ask the sleek practitioner to what
-he owes his fortune. To common-sense—to justice—to
-the fair and rational barter of labour for shillings? If
-he be a hypocrite—if he be resolved to clap in with the
-world, and carry on a profitable duplicity, he will swell like
-a bull-frog at the query, and, forgetful of his knuckles, will
-strike his heart, answering with the big-mouthed ‘Yes!’
-But if at the end of a long practice there should by miracle
-remain in that attorney’s bosom a throb of truth, he will
-blandly, yet significantly smile at the words—the counters
-men play with—common-sense and justice, and magnanimously
-and unblushingly declare his debt to—swindling!</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Is it otherwise with the physician, who sells his guesses
-for truth, and doubts and doubts a patient into the grave,
-whilst his medicinal palm is open for the guinea? When
-the apothecary vends cinnamon and peppermint water for
-<i>elixir vitæ</i>, doth he practise a noble art? Yea; for, safely
-and successfully, he—swindles.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“When the tradesman—his housemaid at the time
-perhaps in Bridewell for petty larceny committed on
-the greasepot—when he, smiling across the counter at
-his victim, puts off knowingly the poorest commodity at
-the highest price, how stands he in relation to his
-captive handmaid? Why, Rebecca has robbed, but the
-tradesman has only driven his trade: the slut has for ever
-and for ever lost her character, with it seven pounds <i>per
-annum</i>, and, it may be, tea and sugar included—but for Mr
-Jackson, her master, he has turned the profit penny; he has—but
-all in the way of business—swindled.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“It is very true,” exclaimed my father with an oath, “it
-is very true. When what is swindling isn’t swindling
-according to law, it’s a fortune to a man; but when it’s
-agin law, and found out——”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“The result I know,” cried my uncle, a slight tint of red
-suffusing his manly cheek. “All mankind may be divided
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_209'>209</span>into two classes: the swindlers according to custom and
-to law, and the swindlers according to the bent of their
-natural genius.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“True agin,” cried my father, slapping his thigh.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Still, the propensity,” said my uncle, “is universal:
-men only want temptation. It is extraordinary how, like a
-chain, the feeling runs from breast to breast. Jack Smasher
-was one of the prettiest hands at coining; and more, he was
-blessed with a wife born, I should say, with a genius for
-passing bad money. She took a crown—one of her
-husband’s base-begotten offspring—purchased with it three
-pennyworth of rhubarb from a Quaker chemist, who—undone
-man!—handed over four-and-ninepence change.
-Aminadab Straightback was, even among his brethren,
-the brightest child of truth. In due season Aminadab
-detected the guileful crown, and in his own clear breast
-resolved to destroy it. However, it remained by the
-strangest accident in his till, and by an accident still
-more extraordinary, was given in part of change for a
-guinea to a gentleman a little the worse for liquor, who
-on his way home to bed took the precaution of dropping
-into Straightback’s for a box of—his own patent—anti-bacchic
-pills. In the morning the vinous gentleman discovered
-the pocket-piece, but as he had changed more
-than one guinea, could not with certainty detect the giver
-of the counterfeit. No matter. It remained loose with
-other money in his pocket, and one day, to his own
-surprise, he found he had passed it. He had taken a
-journey, and it was very dark when, in the handsomest
-manner, he fee’d the coachman. The poor man who
-drove the Tally-ho did not realise more than £400 per
-annum, and could not afford to lose five shillings; hence
-Smasher’s crown became at a fitting opportunity the
-property of a sand-blind old gentlewoman, who, her loss
-discovered, lifted up her hands at the iniquity of the
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_210'>210</span>world, and put aside the brassy wickedness. The good
-old soul never missed a charity sermon. The Reverend
-Mr Sulphurtongue made a sweet discourse in favour of
-the conversion of the Jews, and the churchwardens condescended
-to hold each a plate. To the great disgust
-of the discoverers, a bad crown was detected amongst
-the subscribed half-crowns and shillings. The beadle
-was directed to destroy it. He intended to do so, but,
-in pure forgetfulness, passed it one day for purl; the
-landlady of the ‘George’ having, as she said ‘taken it,
-was resolved not to lose it,’ and by some accident it was
-given to a pedlar, who, after a walk of twenty miles, entered
-an ale-house, took his supper of bread and cheese, went
-to bed, rose, and proffered for his account Jack Smasher’s
-pocket-piece. The pedlar was immediately given into the
-hands of a constable, taken before a magistrate, and ordered
-to be imprisoned and whipped as a passer of counterfeit
-coin.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“See what luck is!” cried my father; “it’s the Quaker
-<i>what</i> should have lost the dollar.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“He couldn’t do it; for though he was a most respectable
-person, and lived and died with that character, he was
-but a man. He had been swindled—the link of the chain
-was touched, and it vibrated—you perceive, it vibrated?”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Again my father nodded.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Yes,” exclaimed Barabbas Whitefeather, “I repeat it—the
-sympathy is universal. All men can, do, or might,
-swindle. Though with many the propensity be latent, it
-surely exists, and needs but the happy moment to be
-awakened into life. The proof is easy: take ten, twenty,
-thirty men—creatures of light; admirable, estimable,
-conscientious persons; by-words of excellence, proverbs
-of truth in their individual dealings; and yet, make of
-them a ‘board’—a ‘committee’—a ‘council’—a ‘company’—no
-matter what may be the collective name by
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_211'>211</span>which they may be known—and immediately every member
-will acknowledge the quickening of a feeling—a sudden
-growth of an indomitable lust to—swindle. What is
-this but a proof of the faculty—as I have said—dormant,
-but requiring only the necessary agent to awaken it?
-Oh! let no man perk himself up in the pride of his
-innocence—strut and pout, big with the prejudice of
-respectability! He knows not the mystery of his own
-nature; for though to his own eyes he shall be a saint,
-he will, when time and purpose shall see fit to call his better
-feelings into life, he will, he must, he cannot do otherwise
-than—swindle.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>My father, though a strong man, was much affected.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“As for you, my dear child,” said my uncle, taking me
-by the hand, kissing me, and looking benevolently upon
-me, “as for you, remember the words of Barabbas Whitefeather.
-At present you know not their worth, but a
-time will come when better than pearls or gold will be
-this my parting council to you. Throughout your life
-do nought but swindle. If you can, swindle on the
-right side of the statute, but at all events, my dear child,”—even
-now I feel the pressure of that wise man’s lip,
-the warm tear trickling down my cheeks,—“at all events,
-Barabbas, swindle!”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>I am now in my nine-and-thirtieth year; and from
-my first day of discretion until this, the season of ripest
-manhood, I can, laying my hand upon my heart, most
-conscientiously declare that never for a moment have I
-forgotten the last injunction of the best of uncles. But
-why should I speak on this head? The world will do me
-justice.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>My uncle shook my parent by the hand. “Good-bye,”
-he said; “we may never meet again, for I am now two-and-forty,
-and you know”—this I could <i>not</i> understand—“you
-know <i>it’s fourteen penn’orth</i>.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_212'>212</span>My father, choking with emotion, cried, “D—n ’em!”
-We quitted my uncle; and I trust I shall not be accused
-of adopting the language of hyperbole, when I state that we
-quitted him with feelings far more easy of conception than
-description.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Only a twelvemonth after this, I lost my excellent father.
-It may prove to the giddy and the vain the uncertainty of
-life, when I state that my worthy parent was in robust
-health one minute and dead the next. It may also prove
-that he had held some place in the world, when I assure
-the reader that crowds of people flocked to our house to
-pay honour to his cold remains; which, for the benefit of
-his widow and son, were exhibited at sixpence a head to
-grown persons, and half-price for children. I should be
-unjust to my parent’s memory were I to withhold another
-circumstance illustrative of the consequence of my father to
-the world at large: the night-cap in which he died was
-purchased by a gentleman, a lover of the fine arts, after a
-severe contest with other bidders, for two guineas.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>And so much for my uncle and my father, both worthy
-of the name of Whitefeather.</p>
-<div class='chapter'>
-  <h2 class='c006'>CHAPTER II</h2>
-</div>
-
-<div class='nf-center-c0'>
-<div class='nf-center c002'>
-    <div>CAPTAIN WHITEFEATHER TAKES AN ENLARGED VIEW OF SWINDLING. SOCIAL EVILS AND THEIR REMEDY</div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c022'><span class='sc'>No</span>—the theme is too pregnant with circumstance; too
-vast—too voluminous. Let me then subdue the vain,
-though laudable, ambition—let me repress the fond, the
-wild desire of such distinction. Is it for a single pen to
-write the History of Swindling? Is it for one man to
-chronicle, with scrupulous fidelity, the rise and progress of
-the exquisite art (for I must call it so)? Is it for one
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_213'>213</span>curious pair of eyes—one toilsome hand—to pore over and
-put down the many million facts to be registered in a complete
-body of the Science? Could the life of a patriarch,
-even though he worked the hours of a cotton-spinner,
-suffice for the labour? Consider, Barabbas, what running
-to and fro—what fetching and carrying of truths—what
-sifting and winnowing of chaff and husk—what gold-washing—what
-pearl-diving! Now picking up stray matter
-for your work in Egypt—now, with a thought, among the
-sages in India—now off, it may be, upon a wild-goose
-chase to Arabia Petræa—now among the Scandinavians—and
-now, cold as a snowball, to be called away to the
-opium-sellers at the walls of the Tartars! Is it possible for
-one man, though with ribs of brass and soles of adamant,
-to go through the toil and travel? And this, be it remarked,
-will only take in the first thousand years or so of the
-age of our dear, ill-used mother earth. How much remains
-to be done—what crooked ways to thread—what dirt and
-rust to scratch away—what inscriptions to guess at—what
-monuments to measure—even before you come to Semiramis!
-And when, reeling like a porter under a thousand-weight of
-facts—for a very few facts make a pound—you arrive at
-Semiramis, have you disciplined yourself to bear the
-indifference of a superficial generation—to be asked
-by listless ignorance, “Who the devil is Semiramis?”
-Dear Barabbas, your yearnings are indeed most noble;
-but there is a limit to human action—there is a point
-where man must stop. The task is not earthly; or, if
-indeed it be a mortal labour, it is only to be achieved by the
-united heads and hands of many. A band of hard-working
-encyclopædists—temperate labourers living upon bread and
-water and figs—might possibly, in the course of a few
-lustres, produce some hundred volumes of the work; but a
-complete body of swindling from the birth of time to its
-present lustihood, it is a thing only to be dreamed of—a
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_214'>214</span>glorious phantasm—a magnificent but most deceitful
-vision!</p>
-<p class='c010'>But grant it done. Say that the last proof—the ten
-millionth sheet—lies before you, the smooth-faced devil
-waiting at your garret door to carry off the corrected matter
-for the press. Say that it is printed, published, and the
-whole five hundred volumes folio scrupulously conned, as
-they doubtless would be, by the critics—alack! alack!—what
-a melancholy book hath the press groaned with—what
-a ghastly chronicle, what a blood-dyed, tear-stained
-record!</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“A complete body of swindling!” Let us turn a few of
-the leaves. They creak like dungeon hinges! Are not
-the pictures terrible? Whole generations of men, thin-chapped,
-hollow-eyed, scourged and in bonds; fainting in
-midday; stark with the dews of night. Tens of thousands,
-living carcasses, in mines—thousands and thousands writhing
-in blood and agony upon the field—with the vassals of
-glory, a cloud of vultures, hovering to pick their bones.
-Next let us peep through prison bars, and—no; close the
-book—it is too shocking—one’s marrow freezes, and the
-brain reels at it.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“Methinks,” says the reader, “the Captain takes a too
-comprehensive view of his subject.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Right, sagacious reader; and yet, were the history of
-swindling in all its ramifications to be duly chronicled, the
-work would be no less voluminous, no jot less tragical.
-The present is, after all, not an auspicious age for folios;
-neither is it the best of all possible eras for the publication
-of disagreeable truths. Lazarus himself, to touch worldly
-sympathy, should in these days be a Lazarus in superfine
-cloth—the best cambric and the glossiest beaver; nay, he
-would be something the gainer by a waistcoat of gold-smeared
-velvet, and, at least, a chain of silver. To make
-iniquity or sorrow bearable, it is highly necessary that it
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_215'>215</span>should be properly dressed. Hence, reader, I, Barabbas
-Whitefeather, instructed by the better spirit of the age,
-forego my first Utopian purpose, and leaving the full history
-of swindling to be written by a future college of sages, shall
-confine myself more immediately to the existing wants of
-the world—shall attend to the crying necessities of the
-present generation. Controlled by my better genius, I
-renounce folios.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>After all, the world has not, as I at first superficially
-believed, so keen a want of a complete history of swindling:
-for how many books have been written which,
-although not professedly treating of the theme, are, by their
-very subject, works of reference and authority in the matter!
-What, for instance, is much of <i>Ancient History</i>? What
-<i>The Lives of the Roman Emperors</i>? What <i>The History of
-Conquests</i>? What <i>The History of Discovery</i>—from the
-first finding of Mesopotamia to the last providential flight
-upon New Zealand? If men will read not with their eyes
-alone, but with understanding hearts, how much is there in
-all these works, in all these narratives, that is indeed no
-other than materials for a complete body of swindling?
-Loose pearls that need stringing—scattered lights to be
-brought to one point? Indeed, to a contemplative mind,
-to a reader properly prepared for the perusal of history
-and biography, it is almost impossible for him to open a
-volume from which he should not gather knowledge of a
-swindling kind. It is often the very staple of a book,
-though to the shame of many writers, I grieve to say it,
-the subject is most ungenerously disguised under foreign
-trappings—passed off under a false name. Hence, reflecting
-that if men will look round them, they are not wholly
-destitute of works containing the philosophy of swindling on
-a grand historical scale—on an enlarged and transcendental
-plan—I shall endeavour to prevail upon myself to become
-merely useful, leaving it to the poorly ambitious to glitter
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_216'>216</span>and to soar. Let other men make pedestals to themselves
-of unopened folios; they have their veneration—they are
-talked of, never read. I—I will descend among the crowd—will
-mix with my fellow-creatures—will right and left
-scatter among the children of innocence a “Handbook”—a
-veritable tome to be carried between the thumbs and
-fingers of men in their paths by day, and like a guardian
-and protecting genius to nestle in their bosoms at night.
-Yes, it shall be no large carcass of a book; no literary
-mammoth of a bygone time; a load for a shelf; but a light
-and dainty fairy for the palm. A “Handbook!”—Yes,
-there is a freshness, a beauty, a truthfulness in the name;
-it shall be “<span class='sc'>The Handbook of Swindling</span>!” Uncut
-folios, avaunt! and, thick as humming-birds in tropic
-groves, “Handbooks,” in green and gold, trim your glowing
-winglets and flutter among men.<a id='r11' /><a href='#f11' class='c017'><sup>[11]</sup></a></p>
-
-<div class='footnote c020' id='f11'>
-<p class='c019'><span class='label'><a href='#r11'>11</a>.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>The reader will perceive from the self-complacency with
-which the author talks of “Handbook,” that he would pass
-the compound as purely one of his own invention. The editor,
-however, conceives it to be a part of his stern duty to state that
-a book printed at Baden-Baden, where the Captain was wont to
-retire in autumn for the benefit of the waters and other benefits—a
-book entitled (we give the English) “The Handbook of
-Cogging,” was found among the Captain’s other literary effects.
-He had, doubtless, forgotten that Handbook was from <i>Handbuch</i>.—[<span class='sc'>John
-Jackdaw</span>, Ed.]</p>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c010'>Having resolved upon the mode in which I shall benefit
-humanity, having come to the determination to contract
-myself into the smallest possible size, that I may the more
-deftly make my way among the crowd, it is but due to myself—it
-is but just to my readers—to make known in a few
-words the extent and range of my purpose. That purpose
-is, I am proud to feel it, of the best wisdom, of the noblest
-benevolence; it is to make every man—at least every thinking,
-reasonable man, for I write not to blockheads—a
-<span class='sc'>Swindler</span>. Yes; it is my aim to render him, at all
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_217'>217</span>points, armed for the contest of life—to prepare him for
-the cutting and thrusting and picking and stealing of this
-eventful passage. It is my purpose to make known a few
-golden rules—the result of a long and various experience—by
-which the attentive and quick-witted student may learn
-to play with men as he would play with pieces of chess, by
-which every move on the board of life may be his own, to
-the utter discomfiture of a plodding and merely painstaking
-opponent. And in all this there shall be nothing legally
-forbidden; nothing that shall suddenly shock your delicate
-nostrils, reader, with the smell of hemp: no, no; though
-turnkeys and the hangman walk about you, if you are an
-apt scholar, you shall snap your fingers at them, and swindle
-securely.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>“And now,” thinks the reader,—for I know his thoughts
-as well as I know my own whiskers,—“now the book begins
-to open; now the work warms up.” Be not impatient.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Impressed as I am with the purpose of this inestimable
-little work, it befits the dignity of that purpose that there
-should be no unseemly haste, no helter-skelter in the communication
-of ideas. Were I writing the “<span class='sc'>Handbook of
-Egg-Sucking</span>,” or any such domestic treatise, I might jump
-into my subject; but “<span class='sc'>Swindling</span>” is not to be approached
-irreverently.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Its influence on the happiness of society is to be duly
-considered, that the maxims by which it is the hope of the
-author to recommend it may have their due weight upon
-the disciple; who, when he shall learn that swindling is,
-indeed, synonymous with self-preservation, will brush up
-his hair, take breath, and then, unless he have no more
-sensibility than a stock or stone, lapse into a state of the
-profoundest and most admiring attention. Yes; I was right—the
-pupil is now all ears.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Philanthropists and philosophers have come to the comfortable
-conclusion that there are in England too many
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_218'>218</span>Englishmen. John Bull has played the Sultan, and has
-an alarmingly numerous family. Unhappily, however, he
-has not the Sultan’s wealth—neither has he the Sultan’s
-prerogative: he cannot feed all his sons and daughters; he
-must not choke or drown them. The bow-string and the
-Bosphorus are not for John. What then is to become of
-the family of Bull? Shall they tear each other piecemeal?
-Forgetful of their origin, shall they destroy one another in
-civil fight? <i>Amor patriæ</i>—humanity—all the finer and
-nobler feelings of the human heart revolt at the very
-thought. “What,” the philanthropist will inquire with
-tears in his eyes—“what, then, is to be done with a
-superabundant population?” My reply is as brief as, I
-flatter myself, it is conclusive—they must swindle. We
-have been gradually adopting what I believe to be the only
-remedy for the national disease; we have for some years
-in many instances applied what I conceive to be the only
-cure for the social malady; but it is only when it shall be
-applied upon a grand scale, when, in fact, a curative science
-shall be professed and practised by men cognisant of all its
-subtle and most bountiful capabilities—for it is yet in its
-infancy—that the greatness of its social value will be
-thoroughly manifested and acknowledged.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>It is allowed that all the professions are full to running
-over. The Church is crammed to suffocation with applicants
-for deaneries, prebends, vicarages; to say nothing of
-the thousands with their hearts fixed upon mitres. There
-is hardly standing room among the candidates for lawn and
-silk aprons.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>In the Courts of Law there are wigs as thick as cauliflowers
-in Battersea Gardens. Besides, the sneaking spirit
-of the times has so enervated the British character, that
-Englishmen lack somewhat of that generous pugnacity
-which, in the days of our fathers, would precipitate them
-into the arena of the law to feed with their own flesh
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_219'>219</span>the lions therein prowling. And when it happens that a
-gentleman with the true English blood in him shall resolve
-upon such noble sacrifice, why, so numerous are the
-animals awaiting him, that many a term shall pass, and
-not one of the <i>carnivora</i> shall have so much as a mouthful
-of the honest gentleman’s flesh—shall not even make their
-mark in him. Consider it well, reader; count, if you can,
-the hundreds of excellent, watchful, well-disposed persons
-who, every morning during term, come down to the Courts
-to prey; and who, nevertheless, return to their homes all
-innocent of strife. Is not this a discouraging prospect for
-thousands of young men, most of them very willing to
-become Chancellor? But so it is; the profession has a
-greater supply than demand. In fifty years it will be
-thought great luck in a man to die Lord Chief Justice or
-Attorney-General.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>In the Army, a profession that I have followed with
-an ardour peculiarly my own, can anything be more
-barren? Here am I, at the age of nine-and-thirty—I,
-who have—but no, the dignity of my subject, the national
-importance of this treatise, shall not be lessened or
-neglected by aught personal. Hence, I disdain to speak
-of a deep bayonet wound inflicted in the most dastardly
-manner in the small of my back, during my first campaign
-in Biscay—of a gash across my nose, from an enemy’s
-sickle, when bivouacking in a hen-roost—of an imaginary
-fracture of the <i>os</i>—but no; I have said it, I will not
-mingle my private griefs, were I chicken-hearted enough
-to think them so, with matters of national interest. Besides,
-every man’s country is proverbially ungrateful to
-him. Hence, I should despise myself did I more than
-allude, in the most evanescent way, to my heavy pecuniary
-losses in the service of Mexico, Chili, Peru, and other
-places too numerous to mention. But so it is; and what,
-I ask—what cares the commander-in-chief, sitting in his
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_220'>220</span>pride of place at the Horse Guards—what cares he for my
-superb plum-pudding spotted charger, shot whilst grazing—it
-was only the day before I had been on him—by an
-enemy’s vidette? What cares he for the loss of my three
-saddles, generously given up to be converted into highlows
-for my barefooted comrades? Yes, what—I must, I will
-ask it—cares the said commander-in-chief for the subsequent
-ignominy endured in consequence of that gallant
-steed—that by me devoted leather? Would it affect him,
-even for half-an-hour, to know that on my return to
-England—my beloved land!—after three years’ absence, I
-was, at half-past six on a December morning, summoned
-by my landlady to see a Mr Jones, the said Mr Jones and a
-friend at the same time entering my apartment to remind
-me of my lost barb, my long-forgotten saddles? On that
-morning the commander-in-chief was, I doubt it not, snoring
-ingloriously in bed; little dreaming—it may be, little caring—that
-at that hour a brother soldier, placed between two
-big men in a small gig, was being conveyed at the rate of
-three miles an hour through fog and frost to Chancery
-Lane. I remember the Tyburn-like pace; for, let me do
-his benevolence justice, Mr Levi in the handsomest way
-apologised for not having had the horse <i>roughed</i>; adding
-that, as he had no other call to make that morning, “he
-was not in no ’urry.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Friendly reader, as an officer and a gentleman, I protest
-to you that I would not have even thus casually alluded to
-personal adventures did they not in the most striking, and
-I may add in the most pathetic manner illustrate the condition
-of a man who, with a military flame burning in his
-breast, generously offers his fire in the cause of nations. I
-might proceed; but the same modesty that has hitherto
-confined me to the rank of captain—and I may here allude
-to an infamous conspiracy on the part of the publisher and
-printers of the <i>Army List</i>, my name, as I have been informed,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_221'>221</span>having been maliciously omitted from that miscellany—the
-same modesty ties up my tongue on my own
-sufferings, my own deserts; or at most but lets it move in
-fitful murmurings. I have done! To proceed.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>In the Army what are the hopes for superabundant young
-gentlemen, too spirited to starve, and too nice to dig?
-What, I ask, can be their hopes when a hypocritic sentimentality
-is gaining ground amongst those who are pleased
-to call themselves thinking men—a whining, sneaking
-abuse of glory and all its mighty purposes? There is a
-whimpering, white-faced cowardice that would extract all the
-stern immortal beauty from the battlefield, showing it to be
-no other than a place of butchery; that would display the
-valiant soldier with his throat cut, his bowels gloriously protruding,
-as a horrible sight—a piece of sacrilege done by man
-upon his fellow. And more than this, the same cant lifts up
-its face of turnip pallor, and pointing to where ten or twelve
-thousand stalwart fellows lie magnificently dead in blood
-and mire, has the effrontery to ask <i>cui bono</i>, as my old schoolmaster
-used to say—to put the impudent “<i>What’s the good
-of it?</i>” I should abuse the ingenuousness of the young
-martial spirit were I to be silent on the innovation of this
-wicked principle; a principle which, with the infamous
-invention of the steam gun and the unhallowed introduction
-of the rocket brigade, will go far, or Captain Whitefeather
-is no prophet, to utterly destroy what I was once proud to
-think the instinct for war in the “paragon of animals.”
-There is something inconceivably cowardly in the steam
-gun. Possessed of such engines, neither party will fight;
-and thus, nations always prepared for war, will hold continual
-peace. They will, so to speak, treat and deliberate
-at “full cock”; and being always ready, will never fire. Is
-not this, I ask, a lamentable state of the world for a man to
-be born in? Let us, however, unflinchingly look truth in
-the face; by so doing we shall be the better prepared for
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_222'>222</span>the evil days at hand, which to enable men to meet with
-some serenity of mind is the high purpose of this essay.
-Such days are nearer, much nearer, than those who have
-capital in powder mills like to dream of. We shall, of course,
-continue to keep a small standing army; but blank cartridges
-for birthdays will be the only order from the Horse
-Guards: bullets will become as rare as brilliants; whole
-tons of the death-dealing lead being sold to the type-founders.
-Laurel, “the meed of mighty conquerors”—why
-a whole grove of it will in the coming time be held of no
-more account, nay, of not so much, as a handful of dried marjoram.
-Have I dreamt it, or did I at a late philosophical
-meeting see a grave, pragmatic man rise from his seat, and
-when up, did I or did I not hear him seriously put it as a
-motion—that the planet Mars should be no longer called
-Mars, but be known to all future generations as <span class='sc'>James Watt</span>?</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The Army, then, affords no refuge for the tens of thousands
-up to within these few years begotten, christened,
-suckled, nursed, fondled, schooled, petted, sported with,
-wept over by fathers and mothers, uncles and aunts, grandfathers
-and grandmothers, for the glorious purposes of war.
-In such case is it not, I ask, the highest purpose of the
-philanthropist to find employment for men, who in happier
-times might have been usefully employed in burning the
-cottages of our enemies, lessening the numbers of our
-enemies’ children (thus nipping a foe in the bud) on lances
-and bayonets, tearing up olive groves, carrying away the
-vanity of plate and pictures from enemies’ churches, and in
-fire, and blood, and terror, planting the immortal bay? Since
-the British Lion is no longer to be fed upon Frenchmen’s
-flesh, since he is henceforth to have a regimen of bread
-and milk and dates, it behoves us to see that he be gradually
-and duly prepared for the change in his diet, lest consumption
-fall upon him; or, a still greater point, lest he break
-all bonds and spread dismay around.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_223'>223</span>I have now, I trust, convincingly proved that the many
-asylums hitherto open to the pious, the wise, and the brave,
-are most inconveniently crammed; and that with less room
-for an increasing generation, the crowds will consequently
-become more dense, more clamorous, and in a word, more
-revolutionary. What is the remedy in this great natural
-crisis?</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>In one word make I answer—“Swindling!”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The philosophy of the present time is remarkable for its
-contempt—nay, for its wholesome abhorrence of poverty.
-A want of the luxuries of life is not merely inconvenient, it
-is positively ignominious. Hence what wrigglings, and
-smugglings, and heartburnings are every day acted and
-endured, to stand well with the world; that is, to stand without
-a hole in our hat or a damning rent in our small clothes!
-The modern man is wonderfully spiritualised by this philosophy;
-so much so that if he can secure to himself a
-display of the collar he is almost wholly unconscious of the
-absence of the shirt. Indeed so deep and so widely spread
-is this sentiment that the present time might be denominated
-the Age of Collars.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>This spirit is on the advance; and it is the consciousness
-of this truth that impresses upon me the necessity of
-publishing a system by the adoption of which the country
-may be saved from a desolating revolution, and tens of
-thousands of future generations be secured those benefits
-and enjoyments which, as the sons of Adam, they are
-justified in expecting from the fulness of time.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>I have proved, at least to my own satisfaction—a great
-sustaining point with an author—proved that by the natural
-course of things multitudes of generous spirits, before
-devoted to the professions, will be thrown upon their own
-resources—a dreadful condition for most men. What is
-to become of them? They cannot sink down into petty
-hucksters; railroads have destroyed the race of pedlars;
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_224'>224</span>they must not, even if they had sufficient moral courage,
-hold forth their white hands as medicants; and if, stung
-by the injustice of society, they should in a moment of
-exasperation take to the road, why, highwaymen, save
-and except the highwaymen of fifty years ago, cease to be
-picturesque; and there is another heavy discouragement—the
-barbarous institution of a rural police. These fiery souls—the
-unemployed, superabundant young gentlemen—must,
-then, become knight-errants; that is, they must institute an
-order of chivalry peculiar to the age, and the best calculated
-to meet the wants of the sufferers. Let us take a single knight.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Here is Peter Muddleton, son of Jonah Muddleton,
-greengrocer, Houndsditch. Jonah Muddleton dies, leaving
-Peter heir to the goodwill of his shop, with seven hundred
-pounds in the three per cents. Well, had Peter fallen upon
-a less ambitious age, he would have tied his apron around
-him, walked behind the counter, and, saving a new coat
-of red and yellow paint bestowed upon the outside of the
-shop, and the substitution of “Peter” for “Jonah,” things
-would have gone on even as when Muddleton senior was
-in the flesh. Peter, however, has a spirit above ha’porths
-of starch and pen’orths of pepper; and having, as he most
-potently believes, a gentlemanly taste, resolves to do anything
-that may become a gentleman, but certainly not
-keep to a shop. The seven hundred pounds, to Peter’s real
-astonishment, become in a brief time about eight hundred
-shillings. A little month and Peter is penniless. What
-is to be done? Is Peter to be blamed for the spirit of the
-age? Could he, the hapless son of a vulgar sire, stultify
-himself to the fascinating and exalting appeals of an
-advancing era? No; he is, in the first instance, the victim
-of over refinement, and his moral perceptions having been
-rendered painfully acute to the degradation of a shop, and
-his physical man far too thin-skinned for the labour of
-Adam—and, moreover, having not a sixpence, and seeing
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_225'>225</span>no gentlemanly mode of obtaining that much-abused yet
-most necessary little coin—he magnanimously resolves to
-eat and drink the best, and to wear the costliest, and all—without
-it. This is the determination of a genius: but
-even the most consummate wit may be assisted by the
-experience of others, and it would be a sorry affectation in
-me—it would be worse, it would be a gross injustice to my
-fellow-creatures—to deny that from my own observation
-of life I am incapable of the dearest services to young
-gentlemen so curiously placed as Peter Muddleton.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>I have taken a single case; I have adduced one of the
-humblest examples; I already see a hundred thousand,
-many varying in their original rank in life; but all, at
-length, compelled by the spirit of the age to take their
-stand upon the broad ground of—<span class='sc'>Swindling</span>.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>All commercial operations of the present, and certainly
-of the future age, do and will tend to place the whole wealth
-of the country in a few hands. I am not vain enough to
-suppose that this book will enjoy a large daily sale for more
-than a hundred years; with all the partiality of an author, I
-cannot bring myself to expect that the state of society—whose
-wants the work is to meet—will endure above another
-century. However, I shall have done my duty, and I may
-safely leave the year 2000 to the active philanthropy of
-other <span class='sc'>Whitefeathers</span>. For more than the next hundred
-years there must, if my previous hypotheses are allowed, be
-an enormous amount of intelligence unemployed by the
-professions; the tangible fat of the land becoming every
-year engrossed by a smaller number. Now, to prevent any
-violent partition of property, it is—I can lay my hand on
-my heart and vow it—it is my purpose to make the few
-contribute in the easiest and pleasantest way to the wants
-of the many. Briefly, it is my object to show to the elegant
-unemployed how they may successfully and safely swindle
-the shopkeeping minority. The whole system is reduced
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_226'>226</span>into a trial of wit; and if the swindler be a man of real
-genius, and the man swindled have a touch of generous
-feeling in him, he will forget what might be vulgarly called
-a loss in admiration of his conqueror. I have seen much
-of shopkeeping nature; and I am convinced that a man
-properly, wholly, and withal delicately swindled—where there
-have been no rubs or hitches in the work—that a man who,
-with all his eyes and ears about him, has nevertheless,
-without his knowing it, been turned, “like a cheveril glove,”
-inside out by the professor—that such a man, after the first
-burst of disappointment, feels but little of the bitterness of
-resentment; the small drop of gall in his heart is speedily
-taken up, and by a process delightful for the benevolent mind
-to consider, is assimilated to the milk of human kindness
-still running in the ventricles of the swindled; who—I
-have known such an instance—after a moody, savage look,
-will burst into a laugh, slap his leg, and with a confident,
-yea, with an exulting voice, declare that “no less a swindler
-could ever have swindled <i>him</i>.” Here is a homage—an
-irresistible token of admiration—paid to one man; and if
-we consider, in proportion to the possessions of the others,
-how small, how trivial has been the tribute levied upon
-him, a positive enjoyment afforded to another! Believe
-it, reader, the swindled, if well swindled, is not without his
-joy.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>This maxim is never to be lost sight of by the pupil. If
-he would disarm a man of the natural ferocity of the animal
-when fobbed, he must fob him blandly, graciously, completely.
-Humanity—a consideration of the feelings of
-others—demands this. How often have we seen a worthy
-man in a very tempest of passion—his face like copper—his
-eyes starting—his tongue stammering his wrongs:—“The—the—the—infamous
-scoundrel!—the barefaced villain!
-Did he think I was to be done in that way? Did he think
-me a fool?”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_227'>227</span>There it is, take the good man’s goods; but, in the
-taking, see you never wound his self-love.</p>
-<div class='chapter'>
-  <h2 class='c006'>CHAPTER III</h2>
-</div>
-<p class='c027'>OF THE FACE NECESSARY TO A SWINDLER—(AN INCIDENTAL
-SPECULATION ON THE “DIVISION OF PROPERTY”)—AND
-OF THE USE AND ABUSE OF MUSTACHIOS</p>
-<p class='c022'><span class='sc'>It</span> is a homely expression, often used in reply to a sarcasm
-on a personal deformity, “that we did not make ourselves.”
-Not even a Professor of Political Economy can
-argue away this conviction, rooted as it is in the depths
-of the human heart. Much, however, can be done with the
-rude lump—if indeed it be rude—whereof man finds himself
-the ill-starred possessor. Hence, let no one moderately
-deformed despair of his fitness to join our brotherhood
-Hump backs, club feet, and bow shins have, it must
-be owned, their disadvantages for the service—notwithstanding,
-the genius of their owners may triumph over such
-outward obstacles. A fine face tastefully set in hair may
-be considered a blessing for the profession; yet it would be
-to inflict a great injustice on the higher uses of the science
-to suppose a mere face so framed all-sufficient. No; “we
-work by wit and not by whiskers.” The outward man goes
-far, but he must depend upon the ethereal spark—upon the
-inward intelligence—for self-distinction.</p>
-<p class='c010'>And first for the <span class='sc'>Face of a Swindler</span>. Men who set
-themselves up as judges of character—I have heard the
-sciolists—sometimes marvel that the sons of commerce
-should so frequently fall victims to some individual swindler;
-when he, the party swindling, is one of the most ingenuous
-creatures breathing; looking, in fact, the swindler that he
-is,—when from his eyebrows to the corners of his lips there
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_228'>228</span>is painted in the largest human capitals the calling of the
-professor. The truth is, the unsuspecting men accustomed
-to pore over day-books and ledgers have not had sufficient
-time to learn to read human faces. They can on the
-instant, if put to the test, tell a good guinea from a bad
-one; but though they shall stare in the features of a
-human counterfeit for an hour or more, they cannot, one in
-a hundred, discover the washed brass from the true gold.
-More; though they shall hear the counterfeit—though the
-ring of its voice shall be the truest Brummagem—the
-trading man shall complacently rub his hands, satisfied that
-he is hearing the sweetest sound of the mint.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>I confess it, to the honour of the trading community of
-this commercial country, I confess it; the success of some
-faces of my brotherhood upon men behind counters has
-been to me startling evidence of the unsophisticated
-character of the tradesman. For instance; there is
-Nobrowns, Scarceamag, Fleeceington, and others I could
-name—shall I own it?—I have sometimes felt myself
-humiliated by their prosperity. I have felt the science
-lowered by the facility with which they have ingratiated
-themselves into the favour of the jeweller, the coachmaker,
-the tailor. Had <i>I</i> kept shop, I have thought I should
-have shown Nobrowns to the door at the first glance of his
-eye; and without looking at Scarceamag, but simply hearing
-his base-metal voice, I should have told him I had nothing
-in his way, and straightway ordered him across the threshold.
-And yet these men have flourished for a score of
-years; and, at this moment, are prosperous swindlers. How
-is the enigma to be explained—how the more than Arcadian
-innocency of the dwellers in Bond Street and Regent
-Street to be philosophically accounted for? Is it, that
-men immersed in the profound abstraction of £ s. d.
-lose somewhat of the sagacity inherited and often improved
-by poorer souls; that, too much rapt by the splendid
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_229'>229</span>visions of the future profits, they are less vigilant as to
-the danger of present credit? Providence, however, hath
-wisely partitioned its benefits. If it be given to Scarceamag,
-with <i>his</i> face, to swindle and be poor—it is also
-allotted to Puddingtête, the tradesman, to be swindled
-and grow rich. Take this, then, my dear pupil, for an
-axiom: you may—since you cannot help it—look the
-greatest swindler in life; but if you shall hold your own
-counsel, your face shall, at least to the acute men behind
-counters, never reveal it. Tradesmen can read anything
-but customers’ faces.<a id='r12' /><a href='#f12' class='c017'><sup>[12]</sup></a> This truth is every day borne out
-by the success of fellows whose features have gone far to
-vulgarise the science. Ragamuffins who ought never to have
-aspired beyond the pea-and-thimble board at a country fair—knaves
-marked and impressed by the truthful hand of
-nature for the lowest offices of legerdemain have, trusting to
-the simplicity, the unsuspecting ingenuousness of a money-getting
-generation, to the marvellous innocency of the commercial
-body, made for themselves a reputation of the
-first class, or of very nearly the first class of the highest
-profession. Ultimately, in the advancement of society, these
-vulgar upstarts will be met by a greater number of competitors,
-elevated and accomplished with the graces of life,
-and the term swindler will be, as it ought to be, synonymous
-with gentleman. The commercial faculty will, on the other
-hand, be rendered more acute in its observation of human
-character; hence it will require a greater delicacy of style—more
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_230'>230</span>imposing and a more winning manner to arrive at
-any distinction—indeed, even to make a clear paltry five
-hundred a year as a swindler, than in these times will suffice
-to ensure to a tolerably industrious man an income of a
-thousand. This is inevitable. When the tens of thousands
-of noble spirits, heretofore absorbed by the professions, are
-left to trade upon their wits—when all society is more
-strongly marked, more arbitrarily divided into two classes,
-the swindlers and the swindled—when, instead of a violent
-and ruthless division of property, as infamously as ignorantly
-insisted upon by certain firebrands—there is a graceful
-exchange of elegant patronage on the one side, and a profound
-expression of thanksgiving respect on the other, the
-character of the successful swindler will rise to its ordained
-and natural elevation, and a Whitefeather (pardon the
-honest vanity) take his place with many illustrious names
-sufficiently obvious to the philosophical reader. The time
-is happily passing away when brute violence is to achieve
-national good—when the price of bread is to be beaten
-down by a bludgeon, or wages raised upon a pike. It is
-therefore a matter of deep regret to the contemplative man,
-and such I am not ashamed to confess myself, to perceive
-how many gifted persons are, by a premature nativity, ill-placed.
-How many men at the present day breathing
-national arson and patriotic pillage—men who have so
-profoundly studied the <i>meum</i>, that they are entirely ignorant
-of that of <i>tuum</i>—would, born a few years hence, have shed a
-lustre, have conferred a dignity upon even an illustrious and
-dignified profession. Let me not be asked to enumerate
-examples—I eschew the personal for the general. It is
-enough that the eye of the philosopher can perceive in
-many a sulphureous patriot the indefatigable swindler; that
-the sage, pondering on the inevitable changes of society,
-can detect in a present Bull-ring Brutus all the misapplied
-qualities of a future Isaac Solomons!</p>
-
-<div class='footnote c020' id='f12'>
-<p class='c019'><span class='label'><a href='#r12'>12</a>.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>I can scarcely believe that Captain Whitefeather was a reader
-of the Essays of David Hume; and yet a similar opinion—a friend
-of mine, a poor curate to whom I showed the Captain’s MS.,
-pointed it out to me—is expressed by the sceptic philosopher, who,
-in his Essay on “Delicacy of Taste,” says:—“You will seldom
-find that mere men of the world, whatever strong sense they may
-be endowed with, are very nice in distinguishing characters, or in
-marking those insensible differences and gradations which make
-one man preferable to another.”—[<span class='sc'>John Jackdaw</span>, Ed.]</p>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_231'>231</span>Blissful time—glorious return of the golden age—when
-rapine and fire, and cutting and maiming shall no longer be
-the evils adopted by comprehensive minds to work out, as
-they conceive, a great good; but when one half of the people
-shall live peaceably upon the other; when the whole aim and
-end of every two men out of four shall be to possess themselves
-of their daily bread—(philosophers will receive the
-phrase in its more enlarged meaning)—by an art demanding
-in its exercise the highest and most chastened faculties of the
-moral creature. The two halves of society will then be fairly
-arrayed against each other; and for ruthless weapons—for
-sword, dagger, and pistol on one side, and bayonet, sabre,
-and carbine on the other—we shall have the more peaceful
-and courteous instruments, silvery words, blandest smiles,
-and the happiest self-possession, opposed by cautious interrogation,
-wary looks and silent heavy doubtings. Here
-then is a contest worthy of intellectual beings! This is
-indeed a duello of the immortal principle! How poor,
-how savage, how unworthy of a rational creature to break
-into the peaceful dwelling of an honest silversmith—to fire
-his bed-curtains—to bruise and batter his ornate cream-jugs,
-his chased candlesticks, and embossed tankards,—or, the
-spoil carried off amidst the exulting howl of barbarians, to
-fling it into the hospitable melting-pot—how loathsome,
-how degrading this brutal mode of a division of property, to
-that refined and gracious system, the cunning birth of better
-times—the fruit of a loftier and truer consideration of man’s
-dignity towards his fellow!</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Let us consider the two pictures; let us contemplate the
-working of the different principles. How revolting the
-scene of violence! How debasing to our common nature
-to witness a mob of denaturalised creatures bursting in the
-good man’s door! How they scamper upstairs! Like
-festal savages they wave firebrands and torches about their
-heads as they rush into the sacred bedroom. The worthy
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_232'>232</span>man says a short prayer, and thinks of his stock—his wife
-and daughters, trembling for their lives, are horrified at
-being seen in nightcaps with their hair in paper! All the
-house is in consternation; and, a touch of humanity softening
-the mob, they benevolently suffer the silversmith and
-his family to escape, in their night-clothes, over the roof,
-and descend, like cats, into the gutter of their neighbour.
-The shop is ransacked of everything; and now a sanguinary
-fight is going on behind the counter between two of the
-ruffians for the plated top of a pepper-castor. This—this
-is one principle of a division of property; as if property
-was only to be divided by the blaze of torches and the
-crackling of rafters! Turn we to the ennobling contrast.</p>
-<div id='i233'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<img src='images/i233.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-<div class='ic001'>
-<p>“Politely receives his destroyer”</p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p class='c009'>Mark the swindler! How graciously he descends from
-his chariot—for the swindler of first-rate genius rarely
-marauds on foot—and with what a composed elegance, with
-what a perfect self-possession he enters the shop! There
-is something inexpressibly taking in his manner. Surveying
-him from head to foot, we cannot repress the opinion that
-the “age of chivalry” is <i>not</i> past. He is the knight of
-later times—the Chevalier Bayard in a round hat. <i>Sans
-peur</i> glows in his eyeball, and the whiteness of his kid
-gloves is <i>sans reproche</i>! Two or three centuries ago he
-had, with mailed hand, “shaken the bags of hoarding
-abbots,” and now comes he, with a condescending smile at
-his mouth, to deal with a silversmith. See! he crosses
-the threshold—treads the shop. It is impossible to resist
-the fascination of his lofty courtesy. The tradesman, wary
-as he is—suspicious as loss after loss has made him—despite
-of himself, confesses the supremacy of the stranger, and,
-with a smiling lip, a twinkling eye, folded palms, and
-inclined back, politely receives his destroyer. A conversation
-ensues; and the swindler—I am of course putting the
-case of a man of genius—fastens upon the tradesman, who
-every moment becomes more deeply impressed with the
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_235'>235</span>consequence of his patron; and therefore, having flung to
-the winds all low suspicion, is the most obsequious, the most
-humble servant of the swindler. There is nothing too
-costly for him—nothing too curious; no order too difficult
-to be met—no time too short for the accomplishment of
-his wishes. The swindler is evidently a man of the very
-highest consequence; and the silversmith, if I may adopt a
-homely expression, is inevitably <i>done</i>, ay, done—</p>
-
-<div class='lg-container-b c011'>
-  <div class='linegroup'>
-    <div class='group'>
-      <div class='line'>“—as brown as a berry.”<a id='r13' /><a href='#f13' class='c017'><sup>[13]</sup></a></div>
-    </div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<div class='footnote c018' id='f13'>
-<p class='c019'><span class='label'><a href='#r13'>13</a>.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>It will be seen that the Captain had some knowledge of
-Chaucer.—[<span class='sc'>John Jackdaw</span>, Ed.]</p>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c010'>The swindler whirls away from the tradesman, who has
-attended him, bareheaded, to the kerbstone, and then the
-man of precious metals returns to his shop in that delightful
-serenity of mind, apt, I am told, to possess people with
-profits ranging from fifty to seventy-five in the hundred.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>What—it will be asked—what, does Mr Giltspur, the
-silversmith, without further questions put, trust his service
-of plate, besides a magnificent suite of amethysts (for which
-the honourable Mr Thug expressed a sudden liking), to
-the honour of his customer? To be sure he does; and his
-blood simmering with a sense of profit, he orders them to be
-delivered at “——— Hotel,” where Mr Thug is staying;
-but which delightful and convenient hostelry he, shortly
-afterwards, suddenly leaves on the most imperative business.
-A thousand instances bear out the probability of Thug’s
-success and Giltspur’s discomfiture. People may talk about
-the innocence of a pastoral age: I am, from long experience,
-convinced of it, that the most innocent, the most unsuspecting,
-the most easily-taken biped on the face of the earth is—your
-London shopkeeper. Armed with proper weapons,
-it is almost impossible that he can escape you. The poor
-creature is weakness, imbecility itself; “Wear your eye
-thus,” and as surely as the fluttering bird drops into the
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_236'>236</span>mouth of the snake, as surely fall the tribe of Giltspurs into
-the folds of the Thugs.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Well, and is it not delightful that it should be so? Here
-is Giltspur, for a certain number of days at least, made very
-happy; he has delivered his goods, and has already calculated
-to the odd sevenpence-halfpenny the amount of
-profit. Thug has conferred upon him a great pleasure—passing,
-it must be owned—but sweet, very sweet, whilst it
-endures.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Does the reader still remember the picture of violence
-drawn in a former page? Does he still behold the pallid
-silversmith—his fainting wife—and blushing daughters?
-Does he yet hear the roar of the flames, as they come up
-the staircase—the fury of pillage in the shop below?</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The same effect is produced by the swindler, but how
-different the cause! The “division of property” is just
-as complete—the fine, deep philosophy that preaches it
-equally well honoured; and yet, what grace on one side—what
-civility on the other; and, to one party at least, what
-tangible, enduring satisfaction! Who, then, with the
-smallest spark of human dignity within him would stoop
-to violence when he may “divide” with ease? The
-“multiplication” of the human animal is, indeed, according
-to the modern school-men, “vexation”; but the “division”
-of property—unless divided on the bland principles of swindling—would
-be infinitely worse. In the progress of society,
-then, it is by swindling, and by swindling only, that we shall
-escape the most grievous revolution.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>To proceed with the personal qualifications necessary to
-a Swindler. He must have a face of purest brass. If
-handsome, all the better; yet, perhaps, expression is of
-greater importance than the mere proportion of feature.
-If, however, he <i>look</i> a Swindler—if to the contemplative
-men who peruse human lines, printed in the blackest ink on
-some human faces, he look his profession—his success with
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_237'>237</span>the sages of trade is certain. It is, however, of the first
-importance that there should be no alloy in the face. It
-should, for instance, be as incapable of emotion as the bull
-hide on the shield of Ajax.<a id='r14' /><a href='#f14' class='c017'><sup>[14]</sup></a> This, youthful Swindler, is
-the besetting danger; hence, bend all your energies to
-obtain a stony look of self-possession. Though a constable
-should put his “dead hand” upon your shoulder, and your
-very marrow should thrill at the touch—your face must
-remain motionless as the face of the Apollo Belvidere—your
-eye unquenched—your voice with not a crack in it.
-I will not disguise the difficulties of arriving at this super-human
-placidity. Talk of the self-possession of a Cæsar—the
-coolness of a Napoleon—quackery all! What is there
-in the composure of a man who takes snuff whilst hundreds
-of other men’s limbs are being blown into the air (to be
-wept over by the spirits of glory), with at the most a <i>sauve
-qui peut</i> for it; whilst, in the scale of advantage, there is a
-laurel wreath and a triumphant entry and civic addresses,—what
-is all this to the quiet dignity demanded of a swindler
-in a perilous situation—his splendid cabriolet, perhaps,
-waiting at the shop—whilst, sneaked out at the back
-door, Bob the apprentice has run for Police Officer
-Snatchem, F. No. 20, to attend immediately to our hero,
-who at his approach beholds a no dim vision of the very
-handsome police omnibus—the prison barber with his
-ignominious shears—and hears, or thinks he hears, the
-pathetic, admonitory address of Common Sergeant or
-Recorder? It may, according to a worn metaphor, take
-nerves of iron to direct an army; but they must be brass,
-and of the finest brass too, to swindle. Fighting is, indeed,
-a mechanic trade; millions can fight,—but how few can
-gracefully swindle! We know that the result of both
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_238'>238</span>operations is often the same, but how inferior one to the
-other! Bonaparte brought a <i>few</i> pictures from Italy,
-which the world—Heaven knows!—made noise enough
-about. In warlike phrase he “took them” from a
-vanquished people: a poor, shabby act to brag of; but
-had he, unassisted by squadrons and battalions, and parks
-of artillery—had he, by the unassisted efforts of his own
-mind, with no other masked battery, no other weapon than
-his own hand and his own tongue,—had he robbed one
-dealer of a Correggio—another of a Raphael—a third of a
-Titian—a fourth of a Murillo—and so on,—it had indeed
-been an achievement to boast of; but to crack of the
-incident as one of the trophies of the army of Italy was
-the sublime of gasconading! My late friend Featherfinger—he
-died, poor fellow, having burst a blood-vessel from
-intense study at Macquarrie Harbour—had a magnificent
-bronze clock; a superb thing! a thing to make a man
-value time. Had I not pledged my honour to secrecy, I
-could write a history touching his possession of that clock,
-which, of itself, is enough to immortalise any one man.
-My honour, however, is sacred; and my lips are hushed.
-This much, probably, I may be permitted to observe: The
-industry—nay, that is a poor, unworthy term—the genius
-manifested by the indefatigable Featherfinger to possess
-that clock—methinks I see him now; poor fellow! seated
-with his Greek cap, his black satin morning gown figured
-with pink poppies—an Indian shawl (the <i>gage d’amour</i>
-of an Italian countess) about his waist—his feet in bead-embroidered
-slippers, the work, as he protested, of some
-heart-devoted heiress—his meerschaum in his mouth—in
-his hand a book, <i>Satan</i> or the <i>Lives of Highwaymen</i> (for he
-was passionately fond of light literature)—his tiger page,
-only three feet high, and warranted to grow no taller, in
-green and gold, with a breast-plate of best double gilt
-buttons, standing at a reverential distance—whilst the
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_239'>239</span>bronze clock on the mantelpiece vibrated with its monitory,
-moralising—yes, moralising—<i>tick, tick!</i> Methinks I see
-him as I enter raise one eye from the page, nod, smile—and
-such a smile!—there was only one shopkeeper, and
-he was a philosophical member of the Society of Friends
-and dealer in <i>virtu</i>, that ever stood against it—smile, and
-then cast the other eye towards the clock itself with a look
-of touching reproach at my delay, or with a glance of
-approving pleasure at my punctuality. Methinks I see him—Gracious
-powers! That such a man should die at
-Macquarrie Harbour, taxed beyond his strength of study,
-a victim to—but no; loyalty to the Ministry was ever
-a virtue of the Whitefeathers, and I breathe no word
-against the Whigs! To hurry from the theme. Much
-has been said about the boldness, the fine contempt
-of public opinion shown by Napoleon when he took
-the horses of St Mark from Venice to place them on
-his own palace gate in Paris. Well, the act was not
-without its merit, but did I dare to write the story of
-Featherfinger’s clock, the theft of Napoleon would, in
-comparison to the genius manifested by my friend, sink
-to the petty larceny committed by schoolboys upon
-apple stalls. But so it is; the finest history remains,
-and ever will remain, unwritten. The Venice horses
-have been celebrated by poets and historians, but posterity
-is left to bewilder itself with guesses on Featherfinger’s
-clock. Yet—and I am prepared to meet the
-consequences of such an assertion—I am convinced that
-great as the conqueror was in all the varieties of the
-science, Buonaparte’s horses must pass from the recollection
-of the earth; whereas Featherfinger’s clock, duly chronicled,
-was a thing for time! It may be cited as an illustration of
-the injustice of Fortune—of the tricks she plays with the
-noble and the man—when the reader is informed that the
-tiger page of my dear friend—of him whose bones are
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_240'>240</span>mouldering (for he <i>was</i> buried) in a foreign earth—of him
-born, as the poet says—</p>
-
-<div class='lg-container-b c011'>
-  <div class='linegroup'>
-    <div class='group'>
-      <div class='line'>“To steal a grace beyond the reach of art”—</div>
-    </div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c026'>that that little cab-page—that tiger-moth fluttering as I
-have seen him with <i>billet-doux</i> about the carriage-lamps
-and round the torches of an opera night,—that he has
-at this moment a country-seat and grounds at Hackney,
-purchased and supported by the precarious profits of a
-night-house—that is, of a mansion hospitably open in the
-vicinity of Drury Lane, for the refreshment of travellers
-with beer, beef and oysters, from eleven at night until six
-in the morning. But so it is; a genius, like my departed
-friend, dies beggared at the last; whilst mere industry at
-forty-five grows his own pine apples!</p>
-
-<div class='footnote c020' id='f14'>
-<p class='c019'><span class='label'><a href='#r14'>14</a>.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>I may, by the way, observe that the Captain, whose education
-was not equal to his parts, is indebted for a few of his classical
-allusions to another pen.—[<span class='sc'>John Jackdaw</span>, Ed.]</p>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c010'>I have, I trust, been sufficiently minute in my description
-of the face requisite to be put upon Swindling. In conclusion,
-I have only to enforce the necessity of the most rigid
-self-discipline to prevent even the most evanescent exhibition
-of what is conveniently called modesty; for the swindler who
-can blush is lost. His must be a brow whereon</p>
-
-<div class='lg-container-b c011'>
-  <div class='linegroup'>
-    <div class='group'>
-      <div class='line'>“Shame is ashamed to sit.”</div>
-    </div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c012'>A money-lender, a courtier, steeped to the lips in broken
-promises—a pick-pocket caught in the act, all of these may,
-if they can, blush and not be ruined; but woe to the
-swindler whose cheek admits the self-accusing tint! His
-face, like the face of the man in the moon, must look down
-upon all sorts of acted abominations, yet blench not.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'><span class='sc'>Mustachios.</span>—These <i>were</i> pretty things for the profession;
-but I grieve to say it, lawyers’ clerks, linen-drapers’
-apprentices, players out of place, and even pedestrian
-vendors of lucifer matches, have detracted from their
-exclusive importance; hence, I would counsel the youthful,
-sanguine swindler to eschew what indeed vulgar usage has
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_241'>241</span>rendered a very questionable advantage, and to swindle
-with clean lips. It is enough to break the heart of a rabbi
-to see how one of “Heaven’s best gifts,” the human beard,
-is in these hirsute days cut and notched according to the
-impudence or ignorance of the wearer. It is said of the
-French that they have a thousand ways of cooking an
-egg: let it be our boast that we have as many modes of
-dressing the chin. I have, I hope, a love of the picturesque,
-as the world will one day know from a work of mine still,
-unhappily, in manuscript.<a id='r15' /><a href='#f15' class='c017'><sup>[15]</sup></a> I, therefore, am a passionate
-admirer of the beard of patriarchal growth; but for your
-nasty, stunted, straggly, ragged, edgy things—now like the
-skin of a dog with the mange, now like the end of a skein
-of whitey-brown thread, now as if culled from chopped
-hay, and now as if cut from a singed blanket—pah!—were
-I caliph for a day—but no matter, let me not wander to
-legislation, but stick to my higher subject—Swindling. I
-say, then, to my disciple, eschew mustachios. At best they
-are a doubtful good. If, however, you are determined to
-wear them, let me hope that their hue is black as death.
-If, on the contrary, Heaven has awarded you a pair of pale
-gold or deep carrot colour, tamper not with them, but
-shave. Never, like Richard, think to stand “the hazard
-of the <i>die</i>”; if so, your case is desperate. I knew three
-promising young fellows, all of whom laid their ruin at the
-door of Mr Rowland. But—for I like to anticipate—it
-may be asked, Do you always, Captain Whitefeather, walk
-abroad with unrazored lips? To this I boldly answer that—for
-I was justified in the vanity—I did wear an adorned
-mouth; more, that a lady, who shall be nameless, was in
-hysterics (of course at intervals) for three days, when my
-mustachios fell; but no, I could not condescend to wear
-them when I saw—yes, I confess it—even a better pair
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_242'>242</span>than my own upon the face of a fellow in the Surrey gallery,
-selling play-bills, Spanish nuts, and ginger beer. What the
-revolution of society may in time produce it would of
-course be impudence in me, who am not a Paternoster Row
-astrologer, to declare; but, for the next five-and-twenty
-years, mustachios will, I think, be a dangerous decoration
-for the swindler. So much business has been done with
-them that suspicion will have scarcely subsided under at
-least another quarter of a century. The horse-tails of Ibrahim
-Pacha have not been more triumphant; but victory will not
-always perch upon the same banner.</p>
-
-<div class='footnote c020' id='f15'>
-<p class='c019'><span class='label'><a href='#r15'>15</a>.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span><i>The Handbook of Ratcliffe Highway</i>, an inestimable work (when
-printed) for the stranger in London.—[<span class='sc'>John Jackdaw</span>, Ed.]</p>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c010'>The swindler should not at the present day hope to take
-the Philistines by the strength of his hair. No; let him
-shave, and put the barest face upon the dignity of his
-profession—it cannot be <i>too</i> bare.</p>
-<div class='chapter'>
-  <h2 class='c006'>CHAPTER IV</h2>
-</div>
-
-<div class='nf-center-c0'>
-<div class='nf-center c002'>
-    <div>OF THE PARENTAGE AND NAME OF A SWINDLER—OF HIS EQUIPAGE—OF HIS MORAL PHILOSOPHY</div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c022'><span class='sc'>The</span> professor of our distinguished art has, it must be
-conceded, this peculiar and most grateful advantage—he
-may choose his ancestors. With the <i>Peerage</i> or the <i>Red
-Book</i> open before him, it lies within his own breast to decide
-whether he shall have come from the loins of a Norman
-baron—of one of the boldest of that invincible band of
-marauders and thieves who jumped on Hastings beach—or
-whether he shall be the last of a collateral branch of the
-Strozzi, or Frangepani, or of any other Italian house whose
-beginning, in the opinion of divers heralds, dates from
-beyond Numa. Here is a glorious prerogative! The
-swindler may make his own coat-of-arms, although his
-immediate father walked the earth without a shirt. Show
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_243'>243</span>me any other man possessing so delicious a privilege. With
-long rolls of knights and barons, and earls and princes
-before him, how the swindler may play the epicure with the
-mighty dead! How loftily, yet how serenely, may he
-contemplate the titled dust of bygone generations! Even as
-your dainty snuff-taker coquets with a dozen samples of the
-odoriferous tobacco, so may the swindler, pondering on a
-choice of father and mother, taste with his moral sense the
-various claims of buried greatness. Now, he likes this
-Prince’s mixture—and now this. He is puzzled, perplexed
-by the hundred appeals to his filial affection. He is one
-minute determined to have come from the Montmorencys—the
-next, he feels a yearning towards the Talbots—and in a
-few seconds, lo! he will make a kindred to himself from
-the golden line of D’Este. If the reader possess imagination—and
-if he do not I tremble for my book—he must
-sympathise with the delightful tumult in the swindler’s
-brain and breast, or rather brain alone—(for with your
-true swindler the brain must have played the Aaron’s rod
-with the heart, swallowing it whole; a miracle very often
-performed in the anatomy of great public men)—he must
-feel more than commonly interested in the contest which is
-to decide the parentage of our hero. With this allusion to
-the delicacy of the juncture, we leave the swindler at his
-books, merely impressing upon him the necessity of choosing
-a long way back—of electing an ancestor from some by-way
-catacomb—some seldom visited cemetery—some
-“untrod on corner i’ the earth.” Nor let him despair;
-there are at least a round thousand or two of dukes and
-princes sufficiently obscure in their winding-sheets, albeit
-possibly brave and blatant enough when in the flesh, from
-whom the swindler may scratch out a great progenitor. All
-that is necessary is that the beginner of the family shall
-have lived in the dim twilight of civilisation—that he shall
-be so far away that all the Herald’s Colleges, with all their
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_244'>244</span>spectacles upon their collective noses, shall not be able to
-perceive whether the disentombed thing be flesh or phantom.
-Very satisfactory progenitors have been found, with arms to
-match, of thew and sinew just as questionable. If, however,
-the swindler <i>will</i> have a mighty ancestor, let him, I repeat,
-go far enough for him: when a man wants a marquis, or
-an earl, or a count, for his great-grandfather, he should not
-grudge a long walk—even though he walk blindfold and
-backwards—for the commodity. So much for the ambitious
-swindler.</p>
-<p class='c010'>The swindler, however, who trusts to his unassisted genius,
-and disdains the lustre of any specious trophies from the
-churchyard, may with a very laudable pride refuse to make
-to himself a grandfather, being possibly contented with the
-grandsire selected by his grandmother for him. Some men—and
-let me do all homage to their simplicity—turn up
-their noses at the genealogical tree, even though its roots
-were struck at Tyburn: the swindler of sanguine spirit may
-be of this proud kidney; and all the better: I augur more
-of his ultimate triumph. However, though he shall refuse
-a herald-begotten progenitor, it may be highly necessary for
-him that he shall choose a name. His own may have become
-celebrated for family achievements wide away of his purpose;
-and therefore, whilst with filial affection he sticks to his
-own father and mother, disdaining the blood of Norman,
-Guelph, or Ghibelline—it may be imperative upon him to
-assume a nominal device not hitherto borne by any of his
-kin. The swindler wants a name. Here, then, we approach
-a delicate, yes, a difficult point. Let me, however, set out
-with a solemn injunction to the swindler, that in the choice
-of a name “he throw away ambition.” Considerable nicety
-is required in the selection of a good title for swindling; a
-number of fine young fellows having—if I may lighten the
-solemnity of this essay with a familiar phrase—“let the cat
-out of the bag” by the incautious assumption of a high-sounding,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_245'>245</span>flowery, no-meaning patronymic. The truth is,
-the detestable rage for novels has so familiarised the world
-with a set of sugar-and-water heroes—of exquisite gentlemen,
-all of them worthy of a glass case lest the flies should
-soil them—that their very excess of virtue has put them on
-the hue and cry of suspicion. Hence “<i>Delacour</i>,” “<i>Erpingham</i>,”
-“<i>Rosenthorp</i>,” “<i>Millefleur</i>,” and a thousand others
-of the courtly and sweet-smelling class, all in their time
-excellent names for swindling (that is, for swindling in the
-higher sense of the term, for in “fine wire wove” they
-swindle still), are now no other than brands, <i>stigmata</i>, by
-which the calling of the professor is instantly suspected.
-Hence, my dear pupil, take no sweet, pastry-cook name from
-a novel; cull no flower from a play-bill; but look, as either
-a poet or a member of Parliament says, I forget which, “look
-abroad into universality” for the thing desired. As you
-walk the street cast your eyes above the door of the worthy
-shopkeeper. A thousand to one that in a day’s saunter you
-will possess yourself, and from such a source, of a name in
-every respect unexceptionable. Yes, from the board of
-the thriving, honest, painstaking, till-respecting tradesman.
-And if so, how ingenious, how pleasant withal, to obtain
-one of your best weapons from, so to speak, the armoury of
-the enemy, to be fleshed immediately upon him! It is
-perhaps unnecessary to warn the young swindler that he
-must not be too homely in his choice. There is a class of
-names which, from their very abundance, makes it a matter
-of constructive ignominy to swindle under them. And some
-of these are Jones, Walsh, Welsh, Thomson, Johnson,
-Dobson, White, Brown, Williams, Simpson, Smithson, and
-that multitudinous monosyllable, Smith! If, in a moment
-of hilarity you break a lamp, wrench off a knocker, or snap
-a bell wire, why any one of these names may be, as of course
-every gentleman well knows, confidently given in to the night
-constable; but to attempt to swindle under them betrays a
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_246'>246</span>petty larceny spirit in the professor, from which my experience
-looks for little present gain or future reputation. No;
-the name of a swindler should be like the wardrobe of the
-true gentleman—a thing not challenging vulgar attention;
-but, if examined, found to be of the very best material and
-of the choicest workmanship. Hence let the swindler choose
-between a <i>clinquant</i> (I do believe this is almost the first
-bit of French appearing in the essay, for the which I
-confess myself deficient in the graces of modern literature<a id='r16' /><a href='#f16' class='c017'><sup>[16]</sup></a>),
-between the <i>clinquant</i> of novel heroes and the homeliness
-of “base mechanics”—let his name be a solid, substantial,
-downright English name.</p>
-
-<div class='footnote c020' id='f16'>
-<p class='c019'><span class='label'><a href='#r16'>16</a>.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>The Captain is in error. Though his essay is, assuredly, barren
-of “the tongues,” the author knows more of bookmaking than
-he apparently chooses to confess.—[<span class='sc'>John Jackdaw</span>, Ed.]</p>
-</div>
-<div id='i246'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<img src='images/i246.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-<div class='ic001'>
-<p>“Any one of these names maybe confidently given to the night constable”</p>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_247'>247</span>I say English, for I think we have had too long a peace to
-render the assumption of a foreign title and a foreign accent
-worth the trouble, the incessant watchfulness, the continual
-stretch of a man’s intellects: the call upon his faculties to
-keep up the character should be well rewarded, for the hazard
-of self-discovery is very great. I know a remarkable instance
-of the danger. There was Thaddeus Ballynamuck—he once,
-with merely a backward touch of his hand, broke the jaw of
-the manager of a minor theatre who dared to offer him terms
-to bring him out as a Patagonian giant—there was Thaddeus,
-who had made a splendid six weeks’ campaign at the West-end
-as an Italian count; how admirably did he with the
-<i>lingua Toscana</i> flavour his native Connaught! The Duke
-of Tuscany was his dear friend; and not without reason;
-for Thaddeus at a boar hunt had stood between the boar
-and the duke, receiving the tusks of the beast in his hunting
-jacket, for the which he had obtained a great many Italian
-orders, and on the strength of which he gave a great many
-English ones. Well, Thaddeus, though considered as true
-an Italian as the poet Asso,<a id='r17' /><a href='#f17' class='c017'><sup>[17]</sup></a> was one morning driven to the
-necessity of shaving himself, changing his southern name,
-and retiring for a few weeks to the privacy of Southend.
-He was betrayed into self-discovery by an excess of benevolence—the
-more was the pity. Thus it was. He always
-carried in his cab a beautiful dove-coloured Italian greyhound,
-its legs not much thicker than goose quills, and its
-tail like bent wire—the gift of the Marchesa di Lungabarba.
-The dog had leaped from the cab and followed its master
-into the office of Finings, the wine merchant. Thaddeus
-had before very considerably patronised Finings, and was
-about to give him a splendid order for some choice port to
-be shipped to his friend the duke—and how the eyes of
-Finings twinkled at the title of his highness!—when the
-cellarman, a brawny, heavy fellow from Somerset, shambled
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_248'>248</span>into the office and trod, with all his fourteen stone, upon the
-delicate toes of Angelo the greyhound: the dog howled with
-agony piercing enough to crack the parchment heart of an
-old maid, when the Captain—he was, at the moment, with
-the greatest difficulty endeavouring to make himself understood
-to the wine merchant—turned round, and, to the
-astonishment of Finings, fulminating a string of oaths in
-the very purest Connaught, dealt a blow on the breast of
-the cellarman that sent him prostrate on three dozen of
-choice brandy—picked samples for the dowager Lady
-Drinkwater—to their utter destruction, and to the exceeding
-surprise of the wine merchant, who had never in all his
-life heard an Italian count vituperate such beautiful, such
-unadulterate Irish. I will not continue the story: Thaddeus
-Ballynamuck, though an admirable artist, fell a victim to
-the exuberance of his feelings; as a swindler he was
-professionally killed by Angelo, the late Marchesa di
-Lungabarba’s greyhound.</p>
-
-<div class='footnote c020' id='f17'>
-<p class='c019'><span class='label'><a href='#r17'>17</a>.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>The Captain doubtless means Tasso—[<span class='sc'>John Jackdaw</span>, Ed.].</p>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c010'>I have narrated this little history that it may serve as an
-illustration of the perils besetting an honest, simple, guileless
-Englishman who might wish to swindle as an exotic. There
-is, it must be allowed, unnecessary peril in the experiment;
-besides I question if it be not unpatriotic. Why defraud
-our mother country of the advantage of our reputation?
-Why, with ungrateful, with unfilial hand add a leaf to the
-laurel of Germany—of France—of Italy—of Russia? No;
-for a true born Briton to swindle as a noble from the Hartz
-mountains—as a count from Paris—a Roman count—or a
-prince from St Petersburg—is poor, shuffling, shabby, or,
-if I may use a term which I am proud to find of late very
-current among politicians and political writers (for the classes
-are more distinct than people are prone to imagine)—it is
-<i>Un-English</i>.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>America, however, has her claims upon us. The swindler
-may, and with profit, prove his recollection of the ties that
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_249'>249</span>once bound Columbia to Britain—may gratefully acknowledge
-a sense of the relationship between the mother and the
-daughter country, by swindling as a gentleman with enormous
-possessions in New York, or, what is still better, in Virginia.
-Here the many-sided philosopher cannot fail to recognise
-a new advantage in a community of language. The
-<i>soi-disant</i> (hem! French again!), the <i>soi-disant</i> American
-swindler may avenge the injuries of a greyhound on the
-person of a cellarman, yet run no risk of discovery. He
-may still run up and down the gamut of execration and not
-betray himself. Think of this, youthful swindler. Besides,
-there is another great temptation to offer this passing honour
-to America. Her unsettled currency affords the swindler a
-hundred plausible excuses if—for such improprieties do occur
-at the London Hotel, Grillon’s, the Clarendon, all the very
-best of houses—if rudely pressed to show those credentials of
-gentility which even the rudest and the most illiterate never
-fail to acknowledge. Thus the swindler may for a time
-throw himself upon the banks: and this the more safely if
-he have displayed a handful of letters of introduction (a
-few to the royal household), all easily manufactured, and
-all, for the time, as good as letters of credit. There is
-another very practicable deceit. He may, on the night of his
-arrival in London, have his pocket picked of certain Government
-securities, and, having made the keeper of the hotel
-the depository of his secret, straightway advertise the
-loss in all the papers. This, I confess, is a ticklish experiment,
-demanding the finest self-possession, the greatest
-delicacy to carry it into successful operation; and if the
-youthful swindler have any doubts of himself, I charge him
-by his hopes of future profit and reputation not to think of
-hazarding it. Should he, however, succeed, and the landlord
-advance liberally, he may condescend to express his
-best wishes for the prosperity of his host, and more, may
-invite himself to dine with him. Great caution, however,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_250'>250</span>is to be used before there be any advance to such familiarity;
-and yet I once knew a gentleman from Natchez who obtained
-unlimited credit from his host—the pot-house keeper
-was musical—by insisting upon it that he made Dibdin’s
-“Lovely Nan” by the very force of expression remarkably
-like Rossini. So far, all was well; but, forgetful of what
-was due to himself as a swindler,—in the genial atmosphere
-of a domestic hearth letting himself down to the level of
-his host—the foolish fellow suffered himself to play at cribbage
-with his landlord; a man who had spent at least half of
-his long and useful life, pegging. Game after game the
-landlord’s doubts increased: and at length he rose from the
-table with a blank in his face, and all the swindler’s bill in
-his heart. “I’m done—I know I’m done!” cried the host
-with a groan. “I must be done, for no true gentleman could
-ever beat me at cribbage.” At least one month’s board and
-lodging, besides the greatest of all advantages, the first-rate
-reference to shopkeepers, did my friend from Natchez
-lose by his skill at cribbage. It is true when hard pressed
-he talked a great deal about the last failure of the cotton
-crop—an excellent theme, by the way—but in this case he
-talked to the winds, or, what was much worse, to a man
-obstinate upon his bill. My friend had to make an
-ignominious retreat, leaving behind him all his goods generously
-subscribed for him by the ingenuous West-end
-shopkeepers.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Notwithstanding this, the swindler may for a time take
-America for his country. The trick is by no means over-done.
-If, however, the swindler make the election—if he
-resolve upon becoming a gentleman of enormous fortune
-from the United States—he had better choose the South,
-and, above all things, he must not forget the cotton crop.
-As it once happened at New Orleans, much execution may,
-even in London, be done upon the enemy from behind
-cotton bags. As for his rank, the swindler should not
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_251'>251</span>venture beyond that of colonel—yes, a colonel and a great
-grower of cotton.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>We next come to a most important subject—the dress of
-the swindler. The present age judges of the condition of
-men as we judge of the condition of cats—by the sleekness,
-the gloss of their coats. Hence, in even what is called a
-respectable walk of life, with men of shallow pockets and
-deep principles, it is of the first importance to their success
-that, if they would obtain three hundred per annum, they
-must at least look as if they were in receipt of seven. Very
-many stoical privations are endured for this great purpose.
-How many a fine hungry fellow carries his dinner upon his
-back—his breakfast in his beaver—his supper in his boots!
-The Hottentot is not the only human animal that clothes
-itself with the cost of bowels. The swindler, however, is
-not—fate forbid that it should be so!—called upon to make
-the same sacrifice required every day in London of the poor,
-friendless student—of the miserable, unknown artist—the
-juvenile surgeon, panting for a practice—the barrister, without
-a fee—the curate, with lips hungering for even locusts and
-wild honey—the thousands of God’s most helpless creatures,
-gentlemen, born with a silver spoon, but left by fortune at
-their maturity without any employment for knife and fork—no,
-no, it is the purpose, the triumph of swindling to put
-its professors in purple and fine linen, and to make “their
-eyes red with wine and their teeth white with milk.” They
-have to dress well, not to keep up the barren name of
-gentleman, but to flourish as swindlers. Poor Dactyl, the
-poet—astonishing truth!—is too proud to take credit for a
-hat—too poor to buy one—and too high-spirited to nod to
-his old college friends in a rusty beaver. Will the reader
-listen to a fact? What does Dactyl? Why, he makes a
-compromise with his magnanimity—he over-persuades
-himself that his beaver is as yet tolerably jetty, since all
-the summer he has once a day sponged it with a damp
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_252'>252</span>sponge, and kept religiously upon the shady side of the
-pavement. I mention this wretched shift of a pusillanimous
-spirit to show to the young swindler what might be his
-fate if, with a pertinacity only found in simpletons of
-the very first class, he would resolve to live the gentleman
-upon the revenue of the chameleon; and, with not a sixpence
-in his pocket, would be sufficiently mad to rave about
-honour in his bosom. What is the reward of such obstinacy—what
-the goal of men so honourably idle—so perversely
-pure? What the end? Go,—ask it of the Thames! Put
-the question to the Serpentine—the New River—the
-canals! Mutter the query as you pause at the gunsmith’s—as
-you linger at the chemist’s! Ask, as you see
-whisk by you the chariot of the coroner!</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>I had not touched upon this mean-spirited class of
-bipeds—of the species, many of whom die off in honourable
-poverty, and many in a dishonourable horse-pond—did not
-swindling save a third portion of the body from a life of
-starvation and an end of vulgar misery. The good,
-indulgent parents who, in submission, as they conceive,
-to the high civilisation of the day, will rather let their
-sons be nothing if they cannot put them in a fair way to
-become archbishops, chancellors, and commanders-in-chief,
-owe much to swindling, for—urbane goddess!—how often
-does she take the pet of the fireside—the darling of the
-chimney corner—the pretty prodigal, when plucked of
-every feather by the jackdaws<a id='r18' /><a href='#f18' class='c017'><sup>[18]</sup></a> of the town, and make of
-him again a bird of finest plumage. Yes, thousands and
-thousands of young gentlemen, shamefully deserted by
-their parents when they had not a farthing more to leave
-them, and—wanting a calling—with nothing to do, have
-been received with open arms by the tenderest of foster-mothers;
-and not only once more set upon their legs, but,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_253'>253</span>perhaps, for the first time in their lives, put into their
-own cabriolets! Little thinks the plodding tradesman,
-determined upon making Tom a gentleman, that his dear
-boy may owe all the external appearances of that character
-to nought but swindling. But I have wandered.</p>
-
-<div class='footnote c020' id='f18'>
-<p class='c019'><span class='label'><a href='#r18'>18</a>.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>I persuade myself that Captain Whitefeather here meant
-nothing personal.—[<span class='sc'>John Jackdaw</span>, Ed.]</p>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c010'>The swindler must dress well—very well; nay, he must
-be rather over-dressed than under-dressed. If his means be
-scanty, he must on the outset, if I may use the phrase of a
-celebrated bill discounter, late of the New Cut—he must
-“spend his money superficially”; that is, as the before-named
-fiscal authority condescended to explain, he must
-expend a little in such a way that the outlay may appear
-very considerable. He must, however, continually bear this
-in mind, that in this our beloved country—in England—the
-empress of nations—the queen of reason—the genius of
-toleration—and the benefactress of the oppressed—nearly
-everything depends upon a man’s coat. Great and rich
-is he indeed who can afford to confront the midday sun in
-threadbare cloth. It matters not what may be your genius—what
-your worth; you must make the success of that
-genius apparent—you must publish the reward of that
-worth; you must assure men’s eyes that you are a fine
-gentleman, or you will, with all your glorious aspiration, be
-passed, confounded with the mob. The triumphs of mind
-are to the trading million too subtle, too abstract, to
-be easily grasped; but the quality of a man’s coat—the
-gorgeousness of his vest—the chain of finest carat—the ring
-of brightest sparkle—all of these are so many indisputable
-evidences of worldly success, and are, therefore, to be continually
-carried about by a man as universal vouchers for
-his character. John Bull has certainly the largest eyes of
-any of the nations. Hence, if it be imperative upon men
-with even a known calling to exhibit an outward sign of the
-prosperity of that craft, how much more is it incumbent on
-us—the minions of Mercury, with nothing but the vivacity
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_254'>254</span>of our wits “to feed and clothe” us—to put a splendid outside
-upon swindling, and since the world ducks to appearance,
-to assure ourselves of its very, very lowest stooping!
-I have never yet known an instance of a successful swindler
-in a shabby coat. Who, indeed, would trust a man with a
-hole in his hat? Read the Police Reports—those “short
-and simple annals”—how, nineteen times out of twenty, do
-they commence? Why, thus—“Algernon Mountedgecomb,
-a young man dressed in the highest style of fashion,” etc.,
-etc. Such is always the strain; for can the reader point
-out any case with any verbal similarity to the following:—“Yesterday,
-John Snooks, a wretchedly attired fellow, was
-brought up charged with obtaining under false pretences a
-diamond ring, a gold repeater, and a suit of pearls from the
-house of——?” Has ever such a case been chronicled?
-Certainly not: hence, the tailor is indispensable to the
-swindler, who is on no account to spare him. The swindler
-may, in the weakness of his nature, have some qualms
-towards any one except a tailor; but the swindler who deals
-mercifully with a tailor had better seek another profession—such
-chicken-heartedness is not for our art. The benevolence
-is so much goodness lost—wasted—flung to the winds;
-for you are to bear with you this recollection: it is an axiom
-in his trade, that the tailor never loses. “Them as does
-pay”—such was the confession of an eminent coatmaker
-after his second bottle of Burgundy drank at Button Park,
-his country seat—“them as does pay,” said the good man,
-“pays for them as doesn’t.” Can there be a finer provision
-for the protection of trade, and the satisfaction of the non-paying?
-Hence, if possible, flay your tailor. Should he
-discount—for there are such philanthropists—let him have
-a few bills by all means. In his vast profits what are two
-or three thousands more or less in a twelvemonth’s balance?
-<i>If</i>, however, he will not discount the paper of your friends—“accommodate”
-is a good word—he cannot refuse your
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_255'>255</span>own bill. Great is the satisfaction of a bill! What serenity
-comes upon a man’s soul when he hath writ “accepted”!
-What a load he feels lifted from his lightened heart! How
-airily, how joyously he looks around him, elevated with a
-sense of duty done to his neighbour and to himself! Sweet,
-most sweet, the satisfaction! Such I am sure was the feeling
-of my late lamented friend, Captain Judas Gammon;
-for that excellent fellow never accepted a bill that he did
-not clasp his hands and, raising his eyes with a devout look
-of thanksgiving, exclaim, “There now—thank heaven—!
-that’s paid!”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>There is, however, one objection to a bill—it puts another
-pair of wings to the back of Time. Hence, get a long
-day. He was a philosopher and knew human nature, and
-more than all, those profound workings of the human
-heart set going by the machinery of bills,—he <i>was</i> a
-sage who, at the Old Bailey bar,—what men of wit and
-genius have made that nook all classic ground!—having
-received sentence of seven years’ retirement from the bustling
-world, thus, with smiling face, addressed the judge:—“I
-beg your pardon, my lord, but have you a stamp about
-you? if so, permit me to accept a bill at seven years, for
-then they’ll pass like one.”</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Next for equipage. A swindler, like a physician, can
-scarcely hope to prosper on foot. He must <i>ride</i> to fame
-and fortune: hence a cab is of the first consequence to
-him. This, however, is too obvious to call for further
-disquisition. The effect of a magnificent cab—a grey blood—and
-a diminutive fancy tiger—upon the sensibilities of the
-shopkeeping world are every day made manifest by the
-Police Reports. Jonathan Wild, Richard Turpin, and
-other worthies laboured on horseback—civilisation adds to
-their less bloodthirsty descendants the comforts and the
-graces of a cab.</p>
-<div id='i256'  class='figcenter id002'>
-<img src='images/i256.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-<div class='ic001'>
-<p>Other worthies laboured on horseback</p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p class='c009'>And now, come we to the moral bearing of the swindler.
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_256'>256</span>Destiny has marked him to play a very various character.
-He is, I will not attempt to disguise it, beset by difficulties.
-There are men, assuredly, born with a genius for the profession;
-who, as it would seem, instinctively adapt themselves
-to all its peculiarities; men who would have been lost,
-sacrificed, utterly unknown in any other calling. I do
-not address myself to them—this luminous work is not
-written for their instruction; but to the thousands of the
-rising generation, induced, tempted, by the spirit of the
-times—a spirit of the most tyrannic gentility—to live without
-means; to eat the fat of the land without once greasing
-their delicate fingers in search of it. Let these, however,
-not conclude that our path lies over flowers: by no means;
-there are very many rubs to be endured on the way—rubs
-calling for at once the greatest self-possession and the
-most admired meekness. Indeed, I should not discharge a
-great public duty did I not state it as my conviction that
-very far less powers of mind, and ingenuity of a much
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_257'>257</span>lower scale, are found sufficient to make a fortune in any
-of the low mechanic arts of life than are required by even
-the humblest swindler. However, the ardour of youth is
-not to be withstood; hence our best choice is to instruct
-and fortify it.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>And now, neophyte swindler, let me put a few questions
-to you. And ere you answer, submit to a most rigorous
-self-examination—search every hole and corner of your
-heart; and then hold up your head and reply unblushingly.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Can you bear what is called public contempt? Are you
-clothed with a moral armour, more impenetrable than the
-scales of the dragon—from which the glances of reproach,
-the scoffs, the sneers, the hard abuse of vulgar minds—the
-mere pity of those prigs who call themselves philanthropists—shall
-fall aside unfelt and unremembered?</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Can you school yourself to look in all human faces—for
-this trial <i>will</i> come—and find them blank?</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Have you sufficient fortitude to witness unrepiningly the
-good fortune of some early companion—a dullard, yet
-plodding, and what the world calls honest—surrounded
-with all the luxuries of life, the fruits of lowly huckstering,
-when, possibly, you yourself are yearning for a tester?</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Can you bear with the nerves of a martyr the visitation
-of a horse-whip—for I will not shirk any of the probabilities
-that wait upon the profession—or the vindictive and un-Christianlike
-application of a pointed boot to the <i>os sacrum</i>?<a id='r19' /><a href='#f19' class='c017'><sup>[19]</sup></a></p>
-
-<div class='footnote c020' id='f19'>
-<p class='c019'><span class='label'><a href='#r19'>19</a>.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>“It is very strange,” remarks Captain Whitefeather in one
-of his unpublished essays, “On Personal Satisfaction,” “how
-very few men know what is due to themselves and to the second
-party, in inflicting what they call personal chastisement. I have,”
-continues the Captain, with that delightful ingenuousness which
-made him the soul of his circle, “I have been kicked, horsewhipped,
-cudgelled, tossed in a blanket, pumped upon and flung
-into a horse-pond, yet I never, but in one instance, met with a
-man who thrashed me <i>like a gentleman</i>?”—[<span class='sc'>John Jackdaw</span>, Ed.]</p>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c010'>Can you, at proper time and season, bear your nose pulled?
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_258'>258</span>I am aware that this is perhaps the most difficult, the most
-trying ordeal for the weakness of human nature to withstand;
-and therefore, I repeat the question—Can you bear
-your nose pulled?</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Can you, with no qualms at your throat, behold in rags
-or in a gaol the simple gull who has trusted you, or who—more
-exquisitely simple still—has become your surety?</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Can you, when old age approaches, and your place in the
-world is filled up by more active, more youthful professors—can
-you, with your hand upon your heart, retire like a
-philosopher to a corner, and with not an eye to look comfort
-to you, not a lip to breathe hope to you, not a hand to
-grasp your hand—can you breathe your last breath with the
-conviction that you have done no injury to the dead, will
-leave no wounds in the living—and that having passed a
-life in heroic defiance of human prejudices, you meet
-death with the magnanimous indifference of a roasted
-Indian?</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>Consider, my dear pupil, whether you are so happily
-organised that you can support these trials—too often
-attendant on our chivalrous profession—and answer.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The pupil laughs at the impossibility of such evils, and,
-chuckling at the fun, says—I can.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>And Swindling takes him to her arms and makes him all
-her own!</p>
-<div class='chapter'>
-  <h2 class='c006'>CHAPTER V.</h2>
-</div>
-
-<div class='nf-center-c0'>
-<div class='nf-center c002'>
-    <div><span class='sc'>A Brief Summary of the Advantages of Swindling</span></div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c022'><span class='sc'>I have</span>, I hope, made it sufficiently plain to the plainest
-understanding that the faculty, the desire to swindle, is born
-with us, and that it is entirely owing to the force of circumstance
-whether we swindle or not; and that, however nice, and
-moral, and exemplary, we may be in our individual capacity,
-swindle we must and do, when we congregate together, even
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_259'>259</span>with what are termed and considered the very best intentions.
-This being granted, let every man with all possible speed
-enroll himself as one of a body corporate. He may be a
-most rigid member of a Temperance Society, considering
-the parish pump the only source of all human enjoyment;
-and yet, as one of a body, he may drive a very pretty trade
-in opium. He may, to his great self-exaltation, hold a plate
-in aid of the funds for the dissemination of the true faith;
-and yet the diamond on his finger may have been purchased
-with an odd balance of the profits which, as one of a company,
-he receives from a Hindoo idol. What the superficial
-world denominates and brands as swindling in the individual
-it applauds as spirited speculation, wisdom, foresight, a
-fine knowledge of business in a number. Hence, if a man
-would swindle safely, steadily, and above all, respectably,
-let him become one of a public company, and his dearest
-wish is straight fulfilled. What a profound liar he may be
-on the Stock Exchange, and yet what an oracle of truth
-at his own fireside! How he is permitted to rob his
-neighbour by means of false intelligence, and what a roaring
-he is justified in setting up should some famishing,
-unprincipled scoundrel lessen by one the numerous tenants
-of the good man’s hen-roost! Reader, if you are not
-already enrolled, become one of a body. Though you may
-be only able to edge yourself into a vestry, it shall be something.
-And what a relief it is for the individual man, compelled
-to walk half his time through the world in tight moral
-lacing, to be allowed to sit at his ease at the Board! If
-morality sigh for leisure, where can it be enjoyed if not in
-a company! Once in a company, how many Catos become
-Antonys!</p>
-<p class='c010'>To the rising generation the advantages of swindling are
-incalculable. The term swindling is, at present, an ugly one;
-but with the advancement of the world it will be considered as
-another and a better system of ethics. To obtain all things
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_260'>260</span>needful for the refined man, by the exercise of the moral
-faculties, is, doubtless, the greatest triumph of human
-intellect, and this is inevitably achieved by the successful
-practice of swindling.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>There is another advantage—another consolation—that
-I have purposely left for consideration in this place.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>When the plodding, sober, thrifty man quits this noisy
-world—made noisy by the incessant rattling of pounds,
-shillings, and pence—it is ten to one that he makes what is
-generally called an irreparable gap in a large circle of the
-most affectionate of friends. He leaves a widow broken-hearted—daughters
-inconsolable—sons in the deepest
-affliction—nieces and nephews very much concerned—and
-innumerable acquaintances all ready, with very little
-further excitement, to burst into tears. Now here is a
-woe inflicted upon fifty people by the decease of one man—yes,
-here are fifty people made more or less miserable by
-a very natural event, the decease of a worthy soul, who
-would not willingly inflict a moment’s pain upon any
-living thing.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>How different the death of the swindler! He makes no
-irreparable gap in society—not he! he agonises neither
-man, nor woman, nor child; not a tear is dropped at his
-grave—not a sigh rises at the earth rattling on his coffin!
-Must not the conviction of this be the sweetest consolation
-to the dying swindler? Think of his end, and——</p>
-
-<hr class='c021' />
-
-<p class='c010'>[It may be thought that the work ends abruptly. It does
-so: the author had not leisure to finish it. The following
-letter will, perhaps, throw some light upon the matter. It
-was addressed by the Captain to an intimate friend:—</p>
-
-<div class='c013'>“H.M. Transport, <i>Barrington</i>.</div>
-
-<p class='c015'>“<span class='sc'>Dear Tom</span>,—We are off for blue water. Some papers of mine
-are in a deal box in the two-pair back of the Bag-o-Nails. If you
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_261'>261</span>love me, see I’m in print. I learn from a fellow-shipmate—whose
-only misfortune is that his handwriting was very similar to another
-gentleman’s—that the papers will make a very pretty book, there
-being a great call nowadays for the greatest information in the
-smallest compass. You can pay in for me what you get through
-the Home Office. Be wide awake, and believe me, under all
-convictions,</p>
-<p class='c031'>“Yours truly,</p>
-<p class='c032'>“<span class='sc'>Barabbas Whitefeather</span>.</p>
-
-<p class='c015'>“P.S.—You know I never liked shaving; the chin’s bad
-enough—but when it comes to the head, it’s ‘regular cruelty to
-animals.’”</p>
-
-<p class='c012'>The above is (“errors excepted”) a true copy of the
-Captain’s letter. He died in—I regret to say I cannot
-give the exact latitude: suffice it to say he died; but left
-behind him what, I trust, will prove an imperishable
-monument of his social worth and his exalted genius.—<span class='sc'>John
-Jackdaw</span>, Ed.]</p>
-<div class='chapter'>
-  <h2 class='c006'>THE EDITOR’S CHAPTER TO THE READER</h2>
-</div>
-<p class='c022'><span class='sc'>The</span> reader has, probably, marked a variety of style in the
-foregoing pages. The Editor feels it to be due as much to
-the lamented Captain Whitefeather as to himself to state
-that he, John Jackdaw, is solely responsible for the manner
-in which this work is presented to all the eyes of the
-British public.</p>
-<p class='c010'>Nature had been very prodigal to the Captain; but
-whether from the extreme vivacity of his genius, or whether
-from a more hidden cause, it is vain to search, the Captain,
-with all his debts, owed nothing to art. Even his orthography
-was of the happiest originality.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The Editor, therefore, felt the peculiar delicacy of his
-task. Had he printed the MS. as it came, with the bloom
-upon it, from the Captain’s hand, it was to be feared that in
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_262'>262</span>this age of light reading—which reading, like pills, is made
-to be bolted, not, like bread, to be carefully chewed—not
-one out of a hundred would have had the necessary patience
-to go through with it. To suppress the work for any defect
-of style would have been to sacrifice, as the Editor considered,
-a great national good. After much deliberation
-there appeared to him a golden mean. It struck the Editor
-that he might, in very many instances, give the style of
-Whitefeather, whilst in very many more he might heighten,
-and adorn, and vary it from his own poor resources. Still,
-be it understood, all the <i>facts</i> are Whitefeather’s; the
-Editor only lays claim to certain tropes, and metaphors,
-and inimitable felicities of expression, to which, probably,
-it might be considered indelicate were he more emphatically
-to allude. Indeed, he has only touched upon the theme
-in the way of business; as there may be, even at this
-moment, many noble and distinguished authors who, “wanting
-the accomplishment” of grammar, are yet desirous of
-appearing in print. (To these, in parenthesis, the author
-addresses himself; assuring the tadpole <i>literati</i> that he
-finishes tales, histories, biographies, poems, etc., with all
-despatch, and with the most inviolable secrecy. His
-address is in a former page, and Breakneck Steps is too
-well known to all who would mount Parnassus.)</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>To the publishers of the remains of Captain Whitefeather
-the Editor has to express his warmest gratitude. The
-Editor blushes for the intelligence of the trade, when he
-states that this national work, like the hitherto inimitable
-<i>Robinson Crusoe</i>, was offered in the humblest manner to
-twenty houses, and, sometimes coldly, sometimes sulkily,
-sometimes indignantly refused.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>One was tickled by the title, but looked blank when he
-understood that there was no murderer—no highwayman in
-it. He declared that the only way to keep a reader awake
-was to commit at least one murder in every page; that the
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_263'>263</span>gallows was now the only bay tree, and that even the youthful
-generation sucked intelligence and morals from tales of
-the gibbet, with the same eagerness and the same advantage
-that they sucked liquorice root! “Season it, sir—season
-it,” said one bland gentleman, “with a handful of murders—a
-terrific storm on the New River—and a miraculous
-escape from Marylebone watchhouse, and there may be
-some hopes of it.” A second asked me to change the
-title into “The Handbook of the Money Markets,” adding,
-to my astonishment, that he had no doubt the staple of the
-matter would serve equally well. A third—but why
-should I enumerate the rebuffs endured? No; let me
-rather, in the name of an obliged generation, register a
-gratitude to the enlightened spirit under whose auspices the
-book appears—a work destined, as the Editor with all
-diffidence declares, to work a good as incalculable as,
-perhaps, unknown!</p>
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c002' />
-</div>
-
-<div class='nf-center-c0'>
-<div class='nf-center c001'>
-    <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_264'>264</span><span class='small'>PRINTED BY</span></div>
-    <div><span class='small'>TURNBULL AND SPEARS</span></div>
-    <div><span class='small'>EDINBURGH</span></div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c001' />
-</div>
-<p class='c010'>&nbsp;</p>
-<div class='tnbox'>
-
- <ul class='ul_1 c002'>
-    <li>Transcriber’s Notes:
-      <ul  class='ul_2'>
-        <li>After the chapter “THE DRILL SERGEANT,” there is a second book included in this text 
-        entitled “The HANDBOOK of SWINDLING”, which begins on page <a href='#Page_199'>199</a>. There is no explanation 
-        of this. It is formatted a bit differently from “The Essays,” with no page breaks between 
-        chapters and two chapters are numbered “I”—one on page <a href='#Page_199'>199</a> and the other on page <a href='#Page_201'>201</a>.
-        </li>
-        <li>There is a final chapter on page <a href='#Page_261'>261</a> that does not appear in the Table of contents.
-        </li>
-        <li>Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.
-        </li>
-        <li>Typographical errors were silently corrected.
-        </li>
-        <li>Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only when a predominant 
-        form was found in this book.
-        </li>
-      </ul>
-    </li>
-  </ul>
-
-</div>
-<p class='c010'>&nbsp;</p>
-
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author	nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org>	2025-01-23 02:43:47 -0800
committer	nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org>	2025-01-23 02:43:47 -0800
commit	51f0f11ed4ed37abdb88f62832cb8a329c6c7efa (patch)
tree	23c60d9705e2e7e27e4dc4b63ed8c42b327e27cc
parent	b0ef1b66aefb0e073dc92e0cae3b23e8acc4f3e5 (diff)