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diff --git a/old/69868-h/69868-h.htm b/old/69868-h/69868-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index d27aa15..0000000 --- a/old/69868-h/69868-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9211 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html> -<html lang="en"> -<head> - <meta charset="UTF-8"> - <title> - The Barber’s Chair and The Hedgehog Letters, by Douglas Jerrold—A Project Gutenberg eBook - </title> - <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> - <style> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; -} - -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} - -div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} -h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} - -table { - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; -} -table.autotable { border-collapse: collapse; } -table.autotable td, -table.autotable th { padding: 4px; } - -table.basic td {padding: .5em;} - -.tdl {text-align: left;} -.tdr {text-align: right;} -.tdc {text-align: center;} - -.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ - /* visibility: hidden; */ - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: small; - text-align: right; - font-style: normal; - font-weight: normal; - font-variant: normal; - text-indent: 0; -} /* page numbers */ - -.blockquot { - margin-left: 5%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps; - font-style: normal;} - -.allsmcap {font-variant: small-caps; text-transform: lowercase;} - -.caption {font-weight: bold;} - -/* Images */ - -img { - max-width: 100%; - height: auto; -} -img.w100 {width: 100%;} - - -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; - page-break-inside: avoid; - max-width: 100%; -} - -/* Footnotes */ -.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} - -.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} - -.fnanchor { - vertical-align: super; - font-size: .8em; - text-decoration: - none; -} - -/* Poetry */ -/* uncomment the next line for centered poetry */ -/* .poetry-container {display: flex; justify-content: center;} */ -.poetry-container {text-align: center;} -.poetry {text-align: left; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} -.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} -.poetry .verse {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} - -/* Transcriber's notes */ -.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; - color: black; - font-size:small; - padding:0.5em; - margin-bottom:5em; - font-family:sans-serif, serif; -} - - -/* indent paragraphs by default */ -p { text-indent: 1.5em;} - -.footnote { - padding-left: 1.5em; - text-indent: -1.5em;} - - -.noindent {text-indent: 0em} - -.center {text-align: center; - text-indent: 0;} - -.hang { padding-left:1.5em; text-indent:-1.5em; } - -x-ebookmaker table {width: 95%} - - -/* comment the next line for non-centered poetry in browsers */ -.poetry {display: inline-block;} - -.x-ebookmaker .poetry {display: block;} - - -/* Fonts */ -.cursive {font-family: "Brush Script MT", cursive; } - -.xbig {font-size: 2em;} -.big {font-size: 1.2em;} -.small {font-size: 0.8em;} - -/* Poetry indents */ -.poetry .indent2 {text-indent: -2em;} -.poetry .indent26 {text-indent: 10em;} - -/* Illustration classes */ -.illowp100 {width: 100%;} -.illowp30 {width: 15%;} -.illowp53 {width: 53%;} -.illowp80 {width: 80%;} - - - </style> -</head> -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Barber's Chair, and the Hedgehog Letters, by Douglas William Jerrold</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -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> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Barber's Chair, and the Hedgehog Letters</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Douglas William Jerrold</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Editor: William Blanchard Jerrold</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: January 24, 2023 [eBook #69868]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: MFR, Krista Zaleski and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BARBER'S CHAIR, AND THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS ***</div> - - - - - -<h1> THE BARBER’S CHAIR,<br> - - AND<br> - -THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. -</h1> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp53" id="i_000frontis" style="max-width: 31.0625em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_000frontis.png" alt=""> - <figcaption class="caption"><span class="small">Engraved by W. H. Mote</span><br> - -DOUGLAS JERROLD.<br> - -<span class="cursive">Taken from the Marble Bust by E. H. Bailey, R.A.F.R.S.</span></figcaption> -</figure> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> -<div class="chapter"> - -<p class="center xbig"> <span class="smcap">The Barber’s Chair</span>,</p> - -<p class="center small"> AND</p> - -<p class="center big"> <span class="smcap">The Hedgehog Letters</span>.</p> - -<p class="center small"> BY</p> - -<p class="center"> DOUGLAS JERROLD.</p> - -<p class="center small"> EDITED, WITH AN INTRODUCTION, BY HIS SON,</p> - -<p class="center"> BLANCHARD JERROLD.</p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp30" id="i_000title" style="max-width: 33.375em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_000title.png" alt=""> -</figure> - -<p class="center"> <span class="cursive big">London</span>:<br> - CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY.<br> - 1874. -</p> -</div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i_000v" style="max-width: 72.875em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_000v.png" alt=""> -</figure> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Contents"><span class="smcap">Contents.</span></h2> -</div> - - - -<table class="autotable"> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"></td> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdr"> PAGE</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl" colspan="2"> <span class="smcap">Introduction</span>,</td> -<td class="tdr"> <a href="#Page_vii">vii</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl" colspan="2"> <span class="smcap">The Barber’s Chair</span>,</td> -<td class="tdr"> <a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl" colspan="2"> <span class="smcap">The Hedgehog Letters</span>—</td> -<td class="tdr"></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> 1.</td> -<td class="tdl">To Peter Hedgehog, at Sydney,</td> -<td class="tdr"> <a href="#Letter_I-To_Peter_Hedgehog_at_Sydney">211</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> 2.</td> -<td class="tdl">To Mrs Hedgehog of New York,</td> -<td class="tdr"> <a href="#Letter_II-To_Mrs_Hedgehog_of_New_York">216</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> 3.</td> -<td class="tdl">To Mrs Hedgehog of New York,</td> -<td class="tdr"> <a href="#Letter_III-To_Mrs_Hedgehog_of_New_York">222</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> 4.</td> -<td class="tdl">To Michael Hedgehog, at Hong-Kong,</td> -<td class="tdr"> <a href="#Letter_IV-To_Michael_Hedgehog_at_Hong-Kong">228</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> 5.</td> -<td class="tdl">To Mrs Barbara Wilcox, at Philadelphia,</td> -<td class="tdr"> <a href="#Letter_V-To_Mrs_Barbara_Wilcox_at_Philadelphia">231</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> 6.</td> -<td class="tdl">To Mr Jonas Wilcox, Philadelphia,</td> -<td class="tdr"> <a href="#Letter_VI-To_Mr_Jonas_Wilcox_Philadelphia">234</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> 7.</td> -<td class="tdl">To John Squalid, Weaver, Stockton,</td> -<td class="tdr"> <a href="#Letter_VII-To_John_Squalid_Weaver_Stockton">239</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> 8.</td> -<td class="tdl">To —— ——, Naples,</td> -<td class="tdr"> <a href="#Letter_VIII-To_-_-_Naples">244</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> 9.</td> -<td class="tdl">To Mrs Hedgehog of New York,</td> -<td class="tdr"> <a href="#Letter_IX-To_Mrs_Hedgehog_of_New_York">247</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> 10.</td> -<td class="tdl"> To Samuel Hedgehog, Galantee Showman, Ratcliffe Highway,</td> -<td class="tdr"> <a href="#Letter_X-To_Samuel_Hedgehog_Galantee_Showman_Ratcliffe">252</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> 11.</td> -<td class="tdl"> To Chickweed, Widow, Penzance,</td> -<td class="tdr"> <a href="#Letter_XI-To_Chickweed_Widow_Penzance">257</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> 12.</td> -<td class="tdl"> To Isaac Moss, Slop-seller, Portsmouth,</td> -<td class="tdr"> <a href="#Letter_XII-To_Isaac_Moss_Slop-seller_Portsmouth">260</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> 13.</td> -<td class="tdl"> To Mrs Hedgehog of New York,</td> -<td class="tdr"> <a href="#Letter_XIII-To_Mrs_Hedgehog_of_New_York">263</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> 14.</td> -<td class="tdl"> To Mrs Hedgehog of New York,</td> -<td class="tdr"> <a href="#Letter_XIV-To_Mrs_Hedgehog_of_New_York">272</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> 15.</td> -<td class="tdl"> To Miss Kitty Hedgehog, Milliner, Philadelphia,</td> -<td class="tdr"> <a href="#Letter_XV-To_Miss_Kitty_Hedgehog_Milliner">279</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> 16.</td> -<td class="tdl"> To Mrs Hedgehog, New York,</td> -<td class="tdr"> <a href="#Letter_XVI-To_Mrs_Hedgehog_New_York">285</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> 17.</td> -<td class="tdl"> To Michael Hedgehog, Hong-Kong,</td> -<td class="tdr"> <a href="#Letter_XVII-To_Michael_Hedgehog_Hong-Kong">290</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> 18.</td> -<td class="tdl"> To Richard Monckton Milnes, Esq., M.P.,</td> -<td class="tdr"> <a href="#Letter_XVIII-To_Richard_Monckton_Milnes_Esq_MP">293</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> 19.</td> -<td class="tdl"> To Isaac Moss, Slop-seller, Portsmouth,</td> -<td class="tdr"> <a href="#Letter_XIX-To_Isaac_Moss_Slop-seller_Portsmouth">297</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> 20.</td> -<td class="tdl"> To Mrs Hedgehog, New York,</td> -<td class="tdr"> <a href="#Letter_XX">300</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> 21.</td> -<td class="tdl"> To Sir J. B. Tyrell, Bart., M.P. for North Essex,</td> -<td class="tdr"> <a href="#Letter_XXI-To_Sir_J_B_Tyrell_Bart_MP_for_North">308</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> 22.</td> -<td class="tdl"> To Mrs Hedgehog, New York,</td> -<td class="tdr"> <a href="#Letter_XXII-To_Mrs_Hedgehog_New_York">312</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> 23.</td> -<td class="tdl"> To Mrs Hedgehog, New York,</td> -<td class="tdr"> <a href="#Letter_XXIII-To_Mrs_Hedgehog_New_York">319</a></td> -</tr> -</table> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp30" id="i_000vi" style="max-width: 23.1875em; padding-top: 10em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_000vi.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</span></p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i_000vii" style="max-width: 72.375em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_000vii.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Introduction"><span class="smcap">Introduction.</span></h2> -</div> - - -<p>These dialogues on passing events appeared in Douglas Jerrold’s Weekly -Newspaper, a journal started by my father in 1846. They became at once -very popular. The idea was a fresh and happy one that, like “Caudle’s -Lectures,” went home to all classes of readers. Indeed, in Mrs Nutts we -have indications of Mrs Caudle’s vein: Mrs Nutts might have been a poor -relation of the Caudle family. Nutts is such a barber as the Gossip -was, who for many years occupied a little shop against Temple Bar—with -one door in the City and the other in Middlesex. He was the most -talkative, the most knowing, the most confident of barbers. His mind -had possibly been sharpened by the distinguished men from the Temple, -and from the Fleet Street newspaper offices, whom he had shaved. He -had more than<span class="pagenum" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</span> a smattering of literary and forensic gossip: he was -something of a humourist, and, like Mr Nutts, it took very much in the -way of news to surprise him. Mr Nutts observes that he has had so much -news in his time, that he has lost the flavour of it. He could relish -nothing weaker than a battle of Waterloo. To this state of satiety had -the Temple Bar barber shaved and talked himself.</p> - -<p>Indeed it is my firm belief that the “Barber’s Chair,” which in 1847 -was set up in the offices of Douglas Jerrold’s Weekly Newspaper, next -door to the Strand Theatre, was the chair taken from Temple Bar; and -that the most loquacious and original of barbers sat for Mr Nutts.</p> - -<p>These weekly humorous commentaries on passing events, made by Mr Nutts -and his customers, carry me back to the bright time when they were -written. It was about the happiest epoch of my father’s life. He had -won his place; he had troops of friends; he could gather Dickens, Leigh -Hunt, Maclise, Macready, Mark Lemon, Lord Nugent, and other merry -companions, to dine under his great tent by the mulberry-tree at West -Lodge; he was in good health—a rare enjoyment in his case; and his own -newspaper and magazine were<span class="pagenum" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</span> prospering. On the stage, in the volumes -of <i>Punch</i>, and in his own organs, he was addressing the public. -All his intellectual forces were at their brightest. With Dickens, Mr -Forster, Leech, and Lemon he had recently delighted picked audiences -as Master Stephen in “Every Man in his Humour.” He wrote about this -time to Dickens that his newspaper was a substantial success; and -that henceforth he was beyond the reach of stern Fortune, who had -treated him roughly for many a weary year. Dickens, in reply, said, -“Two numbers of the ‘Barber’s Chair’ have reached me. It is a capital -idea, and capable of the best and readiest adaptation to things as they -arise.”</p> - -<p>Suddenly the glowing lights of the picture faded. A daughter who was -living in Guernsey fell dangerously ill; and he was called away from -the editorial chair, and from the “Barber’s Chair.” He was so affected -by the danger in which he found my sister that he could not write a -line. Douglas Jerrold’s Weekly Newspaper began to appear without Mr -Nutts and his customers; and each week the newsboys would ask, “Any -Barber?”</p> - -<p>Answered in the negative, they would take a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</span> less number of copies. -Week after week, while my father remained away, the circulation of -the paper fell. Not only was his pen absent, but he had weighted it -with heavy contributors, who were possibly sound, but unquestionably -dull. He could not say nay to a friend; and directly he had installed -himself as editor of a weekly journal, he was besieged. He would take -a series, thinking rather of the pleasure he was giving the writer -than of the way in which the public would receive it. Thus he became -entangled in a currency series of interminable length, that tried the -patience of readers to the utmost. In Angus Reach he had a lively and -spirited colleague, and Frederick Guest Tomlins was a fair manager; but -these could not make way, in his absence, against the dull men, and -the decline of circulation continued. My father returned to London to -find a newspaper which he had left a handsome property, dwindled to a -concern that hardly paid its expenses.</p> - -<p>The “Barber’s Chair” was resumed, and with it the flagging paper -revived. Messrs Nutts, Nosebag, Tickle, Bleak, Slowgoe, and the rest -of the authorities of the barber’s shop, talked about the events<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</span> -of the week in the old sprightly manner. Nutts and his wife cross -to France, and the lady is rudely treated at the Customhouse. They -were searched, said Nutts, as though they had brought a cutler’s shop -and a cotton-mill in every one of their pockets. Slowgoe reproaches -the barber as the advocate of universal peace, “and all that sort of -stuff;” and defends war on the ground that “there’s nothing so little -as doesn’t eat up something as is smaller than itself.”</p> - -<p>One week, a poor babe is picked up in a basket, on a doorstep: the same -week the papers have an account of the betrothal of the young Queen -of Spain to a man whom she loathed. She sobbed as she was forced to -plight her troth to him. The two cases are contrasted in the barber’s -shop. On the one hand we have Betsy of Bermondsey, and on the other -Isabella of Spain. Betsy gets on in life “as a football gets on by all -sorts o’ kicks and knocks.” Betsy has the humblest fortune, but she -gives her heart away, and is all the lighter and rosier for the gift. -And “she marries the baker, and in as quick a time as possible she’s -in a little shop, with three precious babbies, selling penny rolls, -and almost making ’em twopennies by the good nature<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</span> she throws about -’em.” Then comes the case of the Queen of Spain—a “poor little merino -lamb!” Next week Mr Bleak reads glorious news—the Duke of Marlborough -intends shortly to take up his permanent residence at Blenheim Palace. -Whereupon Nosebag observes, “Well, that’s somethin’ to comfort us for -the ’tato blight;” and he wonders why the papers that tell the people -when dukes and lords change their houses, don’t also tell them when -they change their coats. Nutts supplies an instance: “We are delighted -to inform our enlightened public that the Marquis of Londonderry -appeared yesterday in a bran-new patent paletot. He will wear it for -the next fortnight, and then return to his usual blue for the season.” -Gilbert à Beckett had ridiculed the Court newsman and the Jenkinses -of the period, years before. One bit was especially good: “Her Royal -Highness the Princess Victoria walked yesterday morning in Kensington -Gardens. We are given to understand that her Royal Highness used both -legs.”</p> - -<p>Farther on there is a conversation in the shop on the possibility of -contemplating such a social revolution as the marriage of a princess -with a commoner. “What!” cries Slowgoe, “marry a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xiii">[Pg xiii]</span> princess to a -husband with no royal blood! do you know the consequence? What would -you think if the eagle was to marry the dove?” Nutts replies, “Why, -I certainly shouldn’t think much of the eggs.” They were, for the -most part, “dreadful Radicals” in Mr Nutts’ shop. They said many good -things, however. Mr Tickle remarks, “Married people grin the most -at a wedding, ’cause other folks can get into a scrape as well as -themselves.” Slowgoe opines that “the world isn’t worth fifty years’ -purchase,” because the railway people are using up all the iron, which -“we may look upon as the bones of the world.” Nutts says, “The real -gun-cotton’s in petticoats.” Again, “Family pride, and national pride, -to be worth anything, should be like a tree: taking root years ago, but -having apples every year.” He describes Justice as keeping a chandler’s -shop in the Old Bailey, to “serve out penn’orths to poor people.”</p> - -<p>In due course the dialogues of Mr Nutts and his customers were brought -to a close. The sage reflections of Mr Tickle were left unreported, -albeit at the very last he was at his best. “How often,” he remarked -to loyal Mr Slowgoe, “has Fortune crowned where she ought to have -bonneted.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xiv">[Pg xiv]</span></p> - -<p>Other series were essayed in the newspaper. In 1848 my father went to -Paris, well furnished with letters of introduction to Lamartine and the -prominent men of the Republican Government, to write a number of papers -on the aspects of the French capital. He would never speak about that -journey afterwards. He was not at home by the banks of the Seine. He -hated turmoil. He could never write in a hurry, nor under uncomfortable -circumstances. He felt directly he had reached the hotel that he had -made a mistake, and that descriptive reporting was no gift of his. His -secretary was sent abroad to gather bits of information, and brought -back a budget of peculiar and exclusive news in the evening—but it -was left unused. Even the letters of introduction remained upon the -writing-table; and they were never delivered. Only a few columns of -writing ever reached the newspaper; and “Douglas Jerrold in Paris” had -been advertised far and wide!</p> - -<p>In brief, Douglas Jerrold had tired of his newspaper. He could not -work up against the tide. The break in the “Barber’s Chair,” and the -consequent loss of circulation, had never been recovered; whereas the -Currency series, signed Aladdin, was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xv">[Pg xv]</span> interminable, and its dulness -provoked protests and wearied out subscribers. The papers were perhaps -admirable. They were written by a very clever man. But they should -have been in the <i>Banker’s Magazine</i>, or the <i>Economist</i>, -and not in the columns of a popular newspaper. The end was a heavy -loss, which might have been substantial fortune. It was a bitter -result, brought about by the editor’s inability to sustain a continuous -effort; and by his easy-going friendship, that led him to open his -columns to incompetent writers. This latter editorial defect harmed the -<i>Illuminated Magazine</i>, and hastened the death of the <i>Shilling -Magazine</i>. Both were suffocated by importunate dullards, who would -besiege the editor in his study, and never leave him till they had -obtained his consent to print a score of articles from their fatally -facile pens.</p> - -<p>Of Douglas Jerrold’s Weekly Newspaper there remains only—“The Barber’s -Chair.” It is a bright remnant, however; and this, I trust, the reader -will fully admit.</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Blanchard Jerrold.</span><br> -</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p><span class="smcap">Reform Club</span>, <i>June 1874</i>.</p> -</div> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</span> -<div class="chapter"> -<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i_001" style="max-width: 72em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_001.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_BARBERS_CHAIR"><i>THE BARBER’S CHAIR.</i></h2> - - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_I"><span class="smcap">Chapter I.</span></h2> -</div> - - -<p class="hang">SCENE.—<i>A Barber’s Shop in Seven Dials. <span class="smcap">Nutts</span> (the -Barber) shaving <span class="smcap">Nosebag</span>. <span class="smcap">Pucker</span>, <span class="smcap">Bleak</span>, -<span class="smcap">Tickle</span>, <span class="smcap">Slowgoe</span>, <span class="smcap">Nightflit</span>, <span class="smcap">Limpy</span>, -and other customers, come in and go out.</i></p> - - -<p><i>Nightflit.</i> Any news, Mr Nutts? Nothin’ in the paper?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Nothing.</p> - -<p><i>Nightflit.</i> Well, I’m blest if, according to you, there ever -is. If an earthquake was to swallow up London to-morrow, you’d say, -“There’s nothin’ in the paper: only the earthquake.”</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> The fact is, Mr Nightflit, I’ve had so much news in my -time, I’ve lost the flavour of it. ’Couldn’t relish anything weaker -than a battle of Waterloo now. Even murders don’t move me. No; not even -the pictures of ’em in the newspapers, with the murderer’s hair in full -curl, and a dresscoat<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</span> on him: as if blood, like prime Twankay, was to -be recommended to the use of families.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> There you go agin, Nutts: always biting at human nature. -It’s only that we’re used to you, else I don’t know who’d trust you to -shave him.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Tell me—Is it true what I have heard? Are the Whigs -really in?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> In! Been in so long that they’re half out by this time. -As you’re always so long after everybody else, I wonder you ain’t in -with ’em.</p> - -<p><i>Bleak.</i> Come now! I was born a Whig, and won’t stand it. In the -battle of Constitution aren’t the Whigs always the foremost?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Why, as in other battles, that sometimes depends upon how -many are pushing ’em behind.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> There’s another bite! Why, Nutts, you don’t believe good -of nobody. What a cannibal you are! It’s my belief you’d live on human -arts.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Why not? It’s what half the world lives upon. Whigs -and Tories. Tell you what; you see them two cats. One of them I call -Whig, and t’ other Tory; they are so like the two-legged ones. You see -Whig there, a-wiping his whiskers. Well, if he in the night kills the -smallest mouse that ever squeaked, what a clatter he does kick up! He -keeps my wife and me awake for hours; and sometimes—now this is so -like Whig—to catch a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span> mouse not worth a fardin’, he’ll bring down a -row of plates or a teapot or a punch-bowl worth half-a-guinea. And -in the morning when he shows us the measly little mouse, doesn’t he -put up his back and purr as loud as a bagpipe, and walk in and out my -legs, for all the world as if the mouse was a dead rhinoceros. Doesn’t -he make the most of a mouse, that’s hardly worth lifting with a pair -of tongs and throwing in the gutter? Well, that’s Whig all over. Now -there’s Tory lying all along the hearth, and looking as innocent as -though you might shut him up in a dairy with nothin’ but his word and -honour. Well, when he kills a mouse, he makes hardly any noise about -it. But this I will say, he’s a <i>little</i> greedier than Whig; he’ll -eat the varmint up, tail and all. No conscience for the matter. Bless -you, I’ve known him make away with rats that he must have lived in the -same house with for years.</p> - -<p><i>Bleak.</i> Well, I hate a man that has no party. Every man that is a -man ought to have a side.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Then I’m not a man; for I’m all round like a ninepin. -That will do, Mr Nosebag. Now, Mr Slowgoe, I believe you are next. -(<i><span class="smcap">Slowgoe</span> takes the chair.</i>)</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Is it true what I have heard, that the Duke of -Wellington (a great man the Duke; only Catholic ’Mancipation is -a little spick upon him)—is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span> it true that the Duke’s to have a -’questrian statue on the Hyde Park arch?</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Why, it <i>was</i> true, only the cab and bus men have -petitioned Parliament against it. They said it was such bad taste -’twould frighten their horses.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Shouldn’t wonder. And what’s become of it?</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Why, it’s been at livery in the Harrow Road, eating its -head off, these two months. Sent up the iron trade wonderful. Tenpenny -nails are worth a shilling now.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Dear me, how trade fluctuates! And what <i>will</i> -Government do with it?</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Why, Mr Hume’s going to cut down the army -estimates—going to reduce ’em—our Life Guardsmen; one of the two that -always stands at the Horse Guards; and vote the statue of the Duke -there instead. Next to being on the top of a arch, the best thing, -they say, is to be under it. Besides, there’s economy. For Mr Hume has -summed it up; and in two hundred years, five weeks, two days, and three -hours, the statue—bought at cost price, for the horse is going to the -dogs—will be cheaper by five and twopence than a Life-Guardsman’s pay -for the same time.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> The Duke’s a great man, and it’s my opinion——</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span></p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Never have an opinion when you’re being shaved. If you -whobble your tongue about in that way, I shall nick you. Sorry to do -it; but can’t wait for your opinion. Have a family, and must go on with -my business. Anything doing at the playhouses, Mr Nosebag?</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Well, I don’t know; not much. I go on sticking their -bills in course, as a matter of business; but I never goes. Fash’nable -hours—for now I always teas at seven—won’t let me. As I say, I stick -their posters, but I haven’t the pride in ’em I used to have.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> How’s that, Nosey?</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Why, seriously, they have so much gammon. I’ve stuck -“Overflowing Houses” so often, I wonder I haven’t been washed off -my feet. And then the “Tremendous Hits” I’ve contin’ally had in my -eye—Oh, for a lover of the real drama—you don’t know my feelings!</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> The actors do certainly bang away in large type now.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> And the worst of it is, Mr Nutts, there seems a fate in -it; for the bigger the type the smaller the player. I could show you a -playbill with Mr Garrick’s name in it not the eighth of an inch. And -now, if you want to measure on the wall “Mr Snooks as Hamlet,” why, you -must take a three-foot rule to do it. Don’t talk on it. The<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span> players -break my heart; but I go on sticking ’em of course.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> To be sure. Business before feelings. Have you seen Miss -Rayshall, the French actress at the St James’s?</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Not yet. I’m waiting till she goes to the ’Aymarket.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> But she isn’t a-going there.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Isn’t she? How can she help it? Being of the French -stage, somebody’s safe to translate her.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Ha, so I thought. But all the French players have -been put on their guard; and there isn’t one of ’em will go near the -Draymatic Authors’ Society without two policemen.</p> - -<p><i>Pucker.</i> Well, I’m not partic’lar; but really, gen’l’men, to talk -in this way about plays and players, on a Sunday morning too, is a -shocking waste of human life. I was about to say——</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Clean as a whistle, Mr Slowgoe. Mr Tickle, now for you. -(<i><span class="smcap">Tickle</span> takes the chair.</i>)</p> - -<p><i>Pucker.</i> I was about to say, it’s nice encouragement to go -a-soldiering—this flogging at Hounslow.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Yes, it’s glory turned a little inside out. For my part, -I shall never see the ribbands in the hat of a recruiting soldier -again—the bright blue and red—that I shan’t think of the weals and -cuts in poor White’s back.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span></p> - -<p><i>Pucker.</i> Or his broken heart-strings.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> What a very fine thing a soldier is, isn’t he? See him -in all his feathers, and with his sword at his side, a sword to cut -laurels with—and in my ’pinion, all the laurels in the world was -never worth a bunch of wholesome watercresses. See him, I say, dressed -and pipeclayed and polished, and turned out as if a soldier was far -above a working man, as a working man’s above his dog—see him in all -his parade furbelows, and what a splendid cretur he is, isn’t he? How -stupid ’prentices gape at him, and feel their foolish hearts thump at -the drum parchment, as if it was played upon by an angel out of heaven! -And how their blood—if it was as poor as London milk before—burns in -their bodies, and they feel for the time—and all for glory—as if they -could kill their own brothers! And how the women——</p> - -<p><i>Female voice.</i> (<i>From the back.</i>) What are you talking about -the women, Mr Nutts? Better go on with your shaving, like a husband and -a father of a family, and leave the women to themselves.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Yes, my dear. (<i>Confidentially.</i>) You know my wife? -Strong-minded cretur.</p> - -<p><i>Pucker.</i> For my part, to say nothin’ against Mrs Nutts, I hate -women of strong minds. To me they always seem as if they wanted to be -men, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span> couldn’t. I love women as women love babies, all the better -for their weakness.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Go on about the sojer.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> (<i>In a low voice.</i>) As for women, isn’t it -dreadful to think how they <i>do</i> run after the pipeclay? See ’em -in the Park—if they don’t stare at rank and file, and fall in love -with hollow squares by the heap. It is so nice, they think, to walk -arm-in-arm with a bayonet. Poor gals! I do pity ’em. I never see a nice -young woman courtin’ a soldier—or the soldier courtin’ her—as it -may be, that I don’t say to myself, “Ha! it’s very well, my dear. You -think him a sweet cretur, no doubt; and you walk along with him as if -you thought the world ought to shake with the sound of his spurs and -the rattling of his sword, and you hold on to his arm as if he was a -giant that was born to take the wall of everybody as wasn’t sweetened -with pipeclay. Poor gal! You little think that that fine fellow—that -tremendous giant—that noble cretur with mustarshis to frighten a -dragon, may to-morrow morning be stript to his skin, and tied up, and -lashed till his blood—his blood, dearer to you than the blood in -your own good-natured heart—till his blood runs, and the skin’s cut -from him;—and his officer, who has been, so he says, ‘devilishly’ -well-whipt at schools perhaps, and therefore thinks flogging very -gentlemanly—and his officer looks on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span> with his arms crossed, as if -he was looking at the twisting of an opera-dancer, and not at the -struggling and shivering of one of God’s mangled creturs—and the -doctor never feels the poor soul’s pulse (because there is no pulse -among privates), and the man’s taken to the hospital to live or to die, -according to the farriers that lashed him. You don’t think, poor gal, -when you look upon your sweetheart, or your husband, as it may be, that -your sweetheart, or the father of your children, may be tied and cut up -this way to-morrow morning, and only for saying ‘Hollo’ in the dark, -without putting a ‘sir’ at the tail of it. No: you never think of this, -young woman; or a red coat, though with ever so much gold-lace upon it, -would look like so much raw flesh to you.”</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> I wonder the women don’t get up a Anti-Bayonet -’Sociation—take a sort of pledge not to have a sweetheart that lives -in fear of a cat.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Doesn’t the song say, “None but the brave deserve the -fair”?</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Well, can’t the brave deserve the fair without -deserving the cat-o’-nine-tails?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> It’s sartinly a pity they should go together. I only know -they shouldn’t have the chance in my case, if I was a woman.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> (<i>From within.</i>) I think, Mr Nutts, you’d better -leave the women alone, and——</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span></p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Certainly, my dear. (<i>Again confidentially.</i>) She’s -not at all jealous; but she can’t bear to hear me say anything about -the women. She has such a strong mind! Well, I was going to say, if I -was a sojer, and was flogged——</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Don’t talk any more about it, or I shan’t eat no -dinner. Talk o’ somethin’ else.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Tell me—Is it true what I have heard? Have they -christened the last little Princess? And what’s the poppet’s name?</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Her name? Why, Hél-ena Augusta Victoria.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Bless me! Helleena——</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Nonsense! You must sound it Hél—there’s a-goin’ to be -a Act of Parliament about it. Hél—with a haccent on the first synnable.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> What’s a accent?</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Why, like as if you stamped upon it. Here’s a good deal -about this christening in this here newspaper; printed, they do say, -by the ’thority of the Palace. The man that writes it wears the royal -livery; scarlet run up and down with gold. He says (<i>reads</i>), “The -particulars of this interesting event are subjoined; and they will be -perused by the readers with all the attention which the <i>holy rite as -well</i> as the lofty ranks of the parties present must command.”</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Humph! “Holy rite” and “lofty<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span> rank,” as if a little -Christian was any more a Christian for being baptized by a archbishop! -Go on.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Moreover, he says (<i>reads</i>), “The ceremony was of -the <i>loftiest and most magnificent character, befitting</i> in that -respect at once the service of that all-powerful God who commanded His -creatures to worship Him in pomp and glory <i>under the old law</i>.”</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Hallo! Stop there. What have we to do with the “old law” -in christening? I thought the “old law” was only for the Jews. Isn’t -the “old law” repealed for Christians?</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Be quiet. (<i>Reads.</i>) “The vase which contained the -water was brought from the river of Jordan”——</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Well, when folks was christened then, I think there was -no talk about magnificence; not a word about the pomp of the “old law.” -Don’t read it through. Give us the little nice bits here and there.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Well, here’s a procession with field-marshals in it, -and major-generals, and generals.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> There wasn’t so much as a full private on the banks of -the Jordan.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> And “the whole of the costumes of both ladies and -gentlemen were very elegant and magnificent; those of the former were -uniformly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span> white, of valuable lace, and the richest satins or silks. -The gentlemen were either in uniform or full Court dress.”</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Very handsome indeed; much handsomer than any coat of -camel’s hair.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> The Master of the Royal Buckhounds was present——</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> With his dogs?</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Don’t be wicked,—and “the infant Princess was dressed -in a rich robe of Honiton lace over white satin.”</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Stop. What does the parson say? “Dost thou in the name of -this child renounce the devil and all his works, the <i>vain pomp and -glory</i> of this world?”</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> (<i>Reads.</i>) “The Duke of Norfolk appeared in his -uniform as Master of the Horse. The Duke of Cambridge wore the Orders -of the Garter, the Bath, St Michael, and St George. Earl Granville -appeared”——</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> That will do. There was no “vain pomp,” and not a bit of -“glory.”</p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp30" id="i_012" style="max-width: 25.3125em; padding-top: 5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_012.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span></p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i_013" style="max-width: 72.375em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_013.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_II"><span class="smcap">Chapter II.</span></h2> -</div> - - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Now, Mr Slowgoe, when you’ve gone through the alphabet of -that paper, I’m ready.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Just one minute.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Minutes, Mr Slowgoe, are the small-change of life. Can’t wait -for nobody. I’ll take you then, Mr Limpy. (<i><span class="smcap">Limpy</span> takes the -chair</i>.) It makes my flesh crawl to see some folks with a newspaper. -They go through it for all the world like a caterpillar through a -cabbage leaf.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Well, for my part, I like to chew my news. I think a -newspaper’s like a dinner; doesn’t do you half the good if it’s bolted. -Haven’t come to it yet; but tell me—Is it true that the Duke of -Wellington’s going to repeal flogging?</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Why, yes; they do say so; but the Duke does nothin’ in -a hurry. Always likes to take his time. You know at Waterloo he would -wait for the Prussians; and only because if he’d<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span> licked the French -afore, he didn’t know how else to spend the evening.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> I never heard that; but it’s very like the Duke. And -there’s to be no flogging.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> No; it’s to be repealed by degrees, like the corn-laws. -In nine years’ time there won’t be a single cat in the British army.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Why should they wait nine years?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Nothin’ but reg’lar. You see the cat-o’-nine-tails is one -of the institutions of the country, and therefore must be handled very -delicate.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent2">When cat’s away</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Sojers play.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">That’s been the old notion. And folks—that is, the folks with -gold-lace that’s never flogged—think to ’bolish the cat at once would -bring a blight upon laurels. They think sojers like eels—none the -worse for fire for being well skinned.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> There you are; biting the ’thorities of your country -agin. But since you’ve taken the story out of my mouth, go on, though -every word you speak’s a bitter almond.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Well, it isn’t a thing to talk sugar-plums about, is it? -I’m not a young lady, am I?</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> (<i>From back parlour.</i>) I wish you’d remember -you’ve a wife and children, Mr Nutts, and never mind young ladies. You -can’t shave and talk of young ladies too, I’m sure.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span></p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> (<i>In a low voice.</i>) It’s very odd; she’s one of the -strongest-minded women, and yet she can never hear me speak of one of -the sex without fizzing like a squib.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> (<i>Solemnly.</i>) Same with ’em all. I suppose it’s -love.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Why, it is; that is, it’s jealousy, which is only love -with its claws out.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Well, claws brings you to the cat again; so go on.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> To be sure. Well, as I was saying——(<i>To Limpy.</i>) -What’s the matter? I’m sure this razor would shave a new-born baby; -but for a poor man I don’t know where you got such a delicate skin. I -will say this, Mr Limpy, for one of the swinish multitude, you are the -tenderest pork I ever shaved.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> But the Duke of Wellington——</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Don’t hurry me; I’m going to his Grace. Well, they do say -that he’s going to get rid of the cat by little and little. He knows -the worth of knotted cords to the British soldier, and, like a dowager -with false curls, can’t give ’em all up at once. So there’s to be a law -that the cat is still to be used upon the British Lion in regimentals, -only that the cat is to lose a tail every year.<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">1</a></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span></p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Is it true?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Certain. So you see, with the loss of one tail per annum, -in only nine years’ time, or in <i>anno Domino</i> 1855, every tail -will be ’bolished; that is, the cat with its nine tails will have lost -its nine lives, and be defunct and dead.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> I don’t like to give an opinion, but that seems a very -slow reform.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Why, yes: when folks have a tooth that pains ’em, they -don’t get cured in that fashion. But then, again, it’s wonderful with -what patience we can bear the toothache of other people.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> What horrid things there’s been all the week in the -papers. Officers of all sorts writing what they’ve seen done with the -cat. Well, if I was a sojer, my red coat would burn like red-hot iron -in me; I should think all the world looked at me, as if they was asking -themselves, “I wonder how often <i>you’ve</i> been flayed.”</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Bless your heart! and here’s a dreadful matter. James -Sayer, a marine on board the <i>Queen</i>, sentenced to be hanged for -assaulting two sergeants—to be hanged by the neck. And the President -says, “James Sayer, I am sorry indeed that I cannot offer you hope -that the sentence of this court will not be fully carried out, and I -recommend you to prepare yourself to meet your doom.”</p> - -<p><i>Bleak.</i> What a difference is made by salt water!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span> Frederick -White, private soldier, is sentenced to be flogged for giving a blow -to his sergeant. James Sayer, marine, is to be hanged for the same -offence. So a blow afloat and a blow ashore isn’t the same thing.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> But there’ll be no hanging in the case; they say as much -in Parliament, don’t they?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> But it says here the President was “much affected.” Why -pass sentence, why give no hope?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Why now, I suppose that’s what they’d call a fiction of -the law; and when we think what a dry matter all law is, can we wonder -that the ’torneys and such folks spice it up with a few lies? Bless -you, if all law was all true, nobody would go on swallowing it. It’s -the precious fibs that’s in it that gives it a flavour, and makes men -live, and grow fat upon it.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> It can’t be.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Tell you ’tis. Was you never on a jury? La! bless you, -when one of the gen’lemen of the long robe, as they call ’em—one -of the conjurors in horse-hair—get hold of a fib, or a flaw, or a -something to bring a blush into the face of Common-sense, and so put -her out of court at once—doesn’t he enjoy it? Doesn’t he relish the -fiction, as it’s called, as if it was his first “Goody Two Shoes”? -He relishes it; all the bar—’xcept, perhaps,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span> the conjuror against -him—relishes it, and the judge himself. Oh! haven’t I seen him with -the wrinkles about his eyes like the map of England; haven’t I seen -him relish it too, for all the world like an old sporting dog that had -given up hunting himself, but still did so love the smell of the game!</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> I tell you what it is, Nutts, I feel my blood a-gettin’ -vinegar all the while I hear you. I feel a-changing from a man to a -cruet; and I won’t have it. You are so sour, you’d pickle salmon to -look at it. Nosebag, tell us something pleasant. What have they done at -the playhouse this week?</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Why, there’s been Miss Faucit at the Hayma’ket, but -only for one night. Your very great players now, they’re like the new -aloe at the Colossyum; they only blossom once in a hundred years, or -somethin’ of that sort. London’s gettin’ low for ’em, I s’pose. I have -heard—though I know nothin’ about what you call the currency—I have -heard that there isn’t, for any long time, ready gold enough in the -country to pay ’em.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Couldn’t they take ’Chequer bills?</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Why, I believe they was offered to a singer last week; -but he wouldn’t have ’em, ’cause he’d no faith in the Government.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Well, and how did the young lady go off?</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Never go to a benefit, for fear I should<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span> be taken for -a private friend of the actors. But I’m told the—the—what is it?—the -<i>fibula</i> was another tremendous hit.</p> - -<p><i>Limpy.</i> (<i>Rising.</i>) That will do, Mr Nutts. What’s the -<i>fibular</i>?</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Why, a emerald buckle that the Irish House of Commons -give to Miss Faucit last year for playing in <i>Antigony</i>. -It was very well to put it in the playbill, ’cause of course it -drew so many folks who’d never seen a buckle. Nevertheless, if Mr -Webster—and I don’t mean to say anything against Mr Webster, not by no -means—nevertheless, if he’d known his own interest he would have had -five hundred posters with a bold woodcut of that <i>fibula</i>. And I -should have stuck ’em.</p> - -<p><i>Limpy.</i> And you didn’t go to see it?</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> No; but I shall go next week, if I never go agin. For -they do say that Mrs Humby—dear cretur!—is goin’ to appear in a -thimble presented to her by the ladies’-maids of London. And if anybody -ever deserved a bit of plate, Mrs Humby deserves that thimble.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Now, Mr Slowgoe. (<i><span class="smcap">Slowgoe</span> takes the chair</i>.) -There’s quite enough discourse of the playhouses, let’s talk of serious -matters. Have you heard? They’ve been proposin’ in Parliament to make -nineteen more bishops, and one of ’em a Bishop of Melton Mowbray.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span></p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Ha! a sportin’ bishop; for the morals of the -neighbourhood. And I shouldn’t wonder if we’ve a Bishop of Epsom, and a -Bishop of Newmarket, and a Bishop of Ascot, and a Bishop of Doncaster. -And very proper. Black aprons may reform blacklegs. Seein’ the bishops -do so much good, in course they’re most wanted in the worst places. -They’re to be sent in holes and corners of wickedness; jist as my wife -hangs bags of camphor about the necks of the little ones when she hears -of fevers. Now a bishop—the Bishop of Exeter, for instance (by the -way, he’s been havin’ another row in the House of Lords—he’s always at -it)—the Bishop of Exeter, what is he, I should like to know, but a big -lump of camphor in a bag of black silk hung about the whole neck of the -West of England? Why, the good he does nobody knows.</p> - -<p><i>Bleak.</i> (<i>With newspaper.</i>) ’Pon my word, when I read these -things I do feel ashamed that I’m a man.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Daresay; but ’tisn’t your fault. What is it?</p> - -<p><i>Bleak.</i> That a good quiet gen’lewoman can’t go by herself in a -railway carriage without having to scream out for the police! Insulted -by a coward with a good coat on him. Thinks himself, I daresay, one of -the lords of the creation. Lords!—I call ’em apes.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span></p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> My wife—and I’d advise every lady to do the like—my -wife never travels by rail without a pair of scissors. But then she’s a -woman of sich strong mind!</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> So, I see they’ve been givin’ a dinner at Lynn to Lord -George Bentinck. He’s a great man, Lord George; and they’ve had him -all the way from London to tell him. Made a beautiful speech, I see. -Here’s a touch after my own heart. He’s a-talkin’ about the corn-laws, -and he says, “When some foreign ship, some Swede or Norwegian or Dane, -with an outlandish name for herself and her captain, which neither you -nor I could pronounce (<i>cheers and laughter</i>), comes into port -(<i>cheers</i>), I ask you how much this foreigner pays out of his -wages to support the trade of your town?” Well, I say, that’s what I -call talking like a true Briton.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> To be sure it is; no argument like that. The argument -is—the argument that the Norfolk farmers cheer at is, that the Swede -and the Norwegian and the Dane have outlandish names; that in fact they -aren’t called, like the boys in the spelling-book, Jones, Brown, and -Robinson. That’s the way t’ appeal to British bosoms, and Lord George -knows it. Bless you! shouldn’t wonder, when the farmers went home, if -they didn’t kill their wives’ and daughters’ canary-birds<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span> ’cause they -were all outlandish, and not true-born British linnets. Nothin’ like -calling names; every fool can understand mud.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Still Lord George is a wonderful man. Here he says, -in this very speech, “he was eighteen years silent in the House of -Commons.”</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> That reminds me of a pantomine I once saw, where there -was a wild man that said nothin’ all through the piece, and then at -last somebody came for’ard, and held up a scroll in gold letters, that -said, “<i>Orson is endowed with reason!</i>”</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> The worst of them members of Parliament is that, like -children when they’re backward in their speech, they more than make -up for it when they do begin. Like the Thames froze up, when once -they’ve a quick thaw, they threaten to wash the speaker off his legs, -and overflow the whole House of Parliament. Great pity some of these -members aren’t like the Paddington Canal—with locks.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> There you are agin, ’busin’ of the ’thorities. I’ve read -the whole of it, and it was a very pretty bit of speechifying at Lynn. -Didn’t the Duke of Richmond, too, talk of the battle of Waterloo? I’ve -no doubt——</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> In course he did. He talks of it when he’s asleep. The -battle of Waterloo to the Duke<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span> of Richmond is like a wax doll to -a little gal. He always will be showing it to company—opening and -shutting its eyes, pointing out its red morocco shoes, and white frock, -and cherry-coloured sash. I wish the Duke of Wellington would take the -battle of Waterloo from him, and lock it up, and only let him bring it -in at Apsley House once a year with the dessert.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Ha! Nutts, you haven’t a good word for nobody. I’m sure -it’s quite cutting to read what Lord Bentinck and Mr Disraeli say of -themselves: each of ’em trying to be smaller than the other one.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Jist like boys at leap-frog. Each in his turn “tucks in -his twopenny,” that the other may go clean over his head. But then, you -see, Mr Slowgoe, like leap-frog, it’s only make-game after all.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> I won’t have it. The member for S’rewsbury’s a great -man. What a tongue he has!</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Very great; measure tongue and all, and he’s very great, -to be sure. He reminds me of a—a—dear me!—that thing that lives on -wind, that I once saw at Mr Tyler’s Zologicul Gardens—a—a——</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Lives on wind! It can’t be nothing but a bagpipe or a -chameleon.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> That’s it: a chameleon. Well, that has<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span> a tongue as long -as his body; but for all that, he can only catch flies with it. And -that’s the case, I take it, with the member for S’rewsbury. I know it’s -said he talked for loaves and fishes. And acause Sir Robert wouldn’t -give him so much as a penny roll, not so much as the smallest sprat -that swims in the Treasury, why then——</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Sir Robert! Hear what he does to Sir Robert, accordin’ -to Sir John Tyrrel, who was at Lynn. He says the member for S’rewsbury -“tears off Sir Robert Peel’s flesh, then polishes his bones, and sends -’em to the British Museum.”</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Well, that’s a nice compliment for a -gen’l’man—bone-polisher to Sir Robert Peel! But certainly Sir John -Tyrrel is a good one at a compliment. Didn’t he once say that the Duke -of Wellington was the greatest man since our blessed Saviour? He did, -as I’m a sinner. And if Sir John is very red in the face, which he -ought to be, it is because he hasn’t done blushing ever since.</p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp30" id="i_024" style="max-width: 24.0625em; padding-top: 5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_024.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span></p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i_025" style="max-width: 72.5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_025.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_III"><span class="smcap">Chapter III.</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="center"> -<i><span class="smcap">Nutts</span> lathering a customer; others waiting. Enter</i> Little Girl.<br> -</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Now, my little dear, what’s for you?</p> - -<p><i>Girl.</i> Please, Mr Nutts, my mother says you’ve sent the wrong -front. This is a red un, and mother’s is a light brown.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Oh! if she says it’s red, I know it isn’t hers. Now the -lady as that belongs to calls it auburn. Not that I should like to walk -with her into a powder-magazine with her wearing it.</p> - -<p><i>Girl.</i> And please, my mother says she hopes the curls are a -little tighter than——</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Tighter! You tell that blessed widow, your mother, that -they’re just what she wants—tight enough to hold a second husband. -I know the man; and though I’ve no grudge agin him, I curled ’em -a-purpose.</p> - -<p><i>Limpy.</i> Why, isn’t that Mrs Trodsam’s little<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span> girl? And the woman -going to be married agin?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> In course. When her husband died she vowed she’d go into -weeds and her own grey hairs for life. That’s barely a twelvemonth ago; -and now the weeds are gone, and she wears marigolds in her cap, to -catch the milkman. I don’t know who’d have a widder! Seven times have I -curled that front in three weeks.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> (<i>With newspaper.</i>) Well, this is a pretty -bus’ness, this Religious ’Pinions Bill. Going to make friends with the -Pope! Going to let him send his bulls into the country, as many as he -likes. Well, I don’t know; but I should think the British Lion—if he’s -got a war life in him—won’t stand that.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> That’s nothin’. They say we’re goin’ to send a ’bassador -to Rome, and Sir Randrews Agnew’s to be ’pinted to the post. Oh, isn’t -the Pope a—a-gammin’ us! He’s a-goin’ to buy down railroads right and -left. Now what do you think the rails are for?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Why, for steam-ingines.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Not a bit on it. I know somebody as knows Colonel -Sibthorpe’s footman as knows all about it. The Pope intends to get up a -fancy fair in Rome for the conversion of the Jews. Well, this will fill -Rome with English dowagers, taking<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span> all their pincushions ready-made -with them. And when they get there, the rails (<i>they’re made o’ -purpose</i>) will be taken up and turned into gridirons; and won’t the -Papishes roast us agin, as they did in Smithfield?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> No doubt on it. This comes of giving up good old names. -I always thought what would come of it when we left off calling the -Pope the Scarlet——</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Mr Slowgoe, allow me to say that my wife—Mrs Nutts—is -only in the next room.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> When we left off calling the Pope an improper person in -a scarlet garment. It’s the growin’ evil of the times, Mr Tickle, that -we don’t respect old names.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> We don’t. And yet Colonel Sibthorpe says the Pope—that -is, his Scarletness—is as scarlet as ever he was.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> It’s a great comfort to see that the Colonel spoke -against the bill; but it passed the second reading for all that.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> That’s the worst of it, and just reminds me of what I -saw last Sunday. There was a nice old animal eating his thistle upon a -common—as nice a cretur as ever drew a cart. Well, the Kingston train -came smoking, whizzing, rumbling along; when, suddenly, the animal -left his thistle, and, stretching his legs to take firmer<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span> hold of the -ground, brayed and brayed at the train, as if he would bring the sky -right down upon it; but, as you say of the bill, it passed for all that.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> You’ve heard of the Pertection Peers o’ course? Heard -what they’ve come to a resolution to do?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> No—what?</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Why, they’ve all met in the first-pair front of the -<i>Morning Post</i>; and feelin’ that the country is ruined, they’ve -resolved like patryots, as they are, to do nothin’.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Shouldn’t wonder if they succeed. It’s a dreadful -thing, though, for peers and lords, when they know a country’s done up -for ever, to be obliged to live in the ruins. I wonder they don’t move.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Bless you! they can’t. The more rickety the country gets, -the more they like it. Just as a woman loves her bandiest baby all the -best. In their hearts they never was so fond of the British Lion as -now, though Mr Tyler of the Zologicul Gardens wouldn’t give no price -for him unless the Unicorn was thrown in with the bargain. Providence -is very good to dukes and lords, for they do say this season grouse is -perdigious plentiful.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> I’m glad on it. For it’s my ’pinion that grouse and -pheasants, and in fact all<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span> sorts of game, was only sent into the world -for superior people.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Shouldn’t wonder; only it’s a pity they warn’t somehow -ticketed. ’Twould have hindered much squabblin’. Agin; when Adam give -their names to all the birds and beasts, he might have ’lotted ’em out -into partic’lar folks that was to eat ’em—ven’son for lords, mutton -for commons.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Might ha’ gone further than that, and have marked the -very joints—sirlines for them as is respectable, and stickings for the -poor.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> I tell you what, Mr Nutts, if you talk of Adam in that -way, you don’t shave me. I’ll not trust my throat to an infidel.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> And that’s the way, Mr Nutts, you’ll drive everybody -from the shop. At this time of day, what’s Adam to you? Look after your -own family—Adam did, I’ve no doubt.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Talkin’ o’ the Pertectionists—I see they’ve had -another dinner.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Yes. The country’s done for; but it’s a comfort to -think that, though their hearts are broke, they can dine still. If an -earthquake were to gulp England to-morrow, they’d manage to meet and -dine somehow among the rubbish, just to celebrate the event.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Dinner to the Marquis of Granby.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span></p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Ha! seen him at a good many public-houses in my time.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Dinner at Walsham. Chairman something like a chairman; -drank the Queen; and this is what I call real speaking (<i>reads</i>): -“They must have observed <i>what benignant smiles</i> were upon her -countenance and how she appreciated their loyalty. Her Consort, too, -was in the fields of sport, and he rode with <i>courage</i> and -<i>brilliancy</i> with the hounds till night closed the chase.”</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> I’m not intimate with his Royal Highness, but the paper -always says he goes home to the castle to luncheon. And then to praise -a gen’lewoman for smilin’! I s’pose they think that a compliment, as -if it warn’t at all easy for a queen to look pleasant. Again, if it’s -sich a recommendation to state affairs to be in the “fields of sport,” -I wonder they don’t make a foxhound a prime minister!</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> The Duke of Richmond says (<i>reads</i>), “I never had -a fancy to ride upon the whirlwind and direct the storm.”</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> So far a very sensible old gentleman. A whirlwind isn’t -made for every man’s hobby.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> And doesn’t Mr Disreally give it to Manchester a -little? Makes it a nothin’. Puts, as I may say, his crush hat over all -the tall chimneys, and kivers ’em quite. He says, “Magna<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span> Charta was -not procured by Manchester; Manchester was not known then!”</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> And is that really Benjamin? Well! And if only two years -ago, at a Manchester sworry, if he didn’t stand up in the ’Theneum, and -butter the youths of Manchester as if they was so many muffins! And he -talked to ’em too—I recollect it well—as familiarly about Jacob’s -ladder as if it had been placed in the Minories, and he’d been used to -run right up it and slide down it from a boy.</p> - -<p><i>Nightflit.</i> Well, this is good news, isn’t it? Here’s Mr Jones -has brought up a report to the Common Council of London; and we are -to have a house, as he says—“the heart of St Giles’”—built for poor -people.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> The heart of St Giles’! Well, it’s the way to put a heart -into it, anyhow.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> What, goin’ to do away with all the cellars? Well, all -I hope is this, I hope they’re not goin’ too fast.</p> - -<p><i>Nightflit.</i> How can they go too fast? when the report says -(<i>reads</i>), “They propose to build a house, giving clean and -wholesome lodging to one hundred single labourers, at a rent not -greater than they are now forced to pay for accommodation in houses -filled with dirt, vermin, unwholesome air, bad society, and many other -evil circumstances.”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span> Can’t get rid of dirt and varmint too soon, can -we?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> I won’t be sure of that; when people have been born and -reared among ’em, dirt and varmin are as second nature.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> And aren’t comfort and cleanliness?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> It’s all very well, but I’m the friend of order, I am. -I only hope the Government won’t find it out. Make poor people clean -and spruce, and you don’t know what they’ll want next. All too fast, -too fast.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Well, I wonder you ever use your legs. I wonder you don’t -go upon all fours by choice, acause it’s slower.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Look here; keep people in dirt accordin’ to their -station, and you’ll keep ’em quiet. A man as lives in a cellar, or in -a house, for the matter of that, with ten or twelve in a room, without -any talk of water, and air, and gas, and such stuff as was never talked -of in St Giles’ afore—why, he never thinks o’ nothin’ but his drop o’ -wholesome gin. All he wants is, like a wild beast, some place to hide -his head in for the night, that he may go to the public-house the next -mornin’. Well, he goes; and he gets his glass, and his glass; and every -glass seems to put new clothes on his back, and drop new shillings into -his pocket, and all about him looks gold and purple—a sort of glory.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span> -And though his wife is bone and skin, and kivered with rags; when he’s -comfortable drunk, she looks like any queen in a silver petticoat. And -if his children with their thin chalk faces do make a hullabaloo for -bread, why, when he’s as drunk as he ought to be, they seem to him -nothin’ more than crying cherrybims.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Well, but where’s the man’s heart all the while?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Heart! Nonsense: doesn’t feel no heart. If he takes gin -enough, it’s all gone; burnt up like a bit o’ sponge in the burning -spirits o’ wine. Water, and gas, and air, and wholesome lodging! Why, -isn’t gin cheapest, when it makes a man do without ’em?</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Not a bit on it. Gin never made a man respectable; now, -water, air, and all that does.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> I’ve said I’m a friend to order——</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Order! Well, if ever they make a Order of the Pigsty—and -there is, I believe, a Order of the Sheep-pen, or Fleece, or something -of the sort—you ought to have it.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Nonsense. ’Thusyism is puttin’ the poor out o’ their -proper places. I’ll just take the other tack. A poor man gets out of -dirt and foul air, and all that. Gets raised in the scale, as the story -of it goes. Why, there must be always somebody at the bottom of the -steps, mustn’t there?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span></p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Why, yes. But then the steps themselves needn’t be in -muck, need they? Why shouldn’t the lowest of us have plenty of sweet -water, and God’s sweet air, and all be raised together?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> ’Thusyism, as I say, is very well; but you know nothin’ -of political economy. Look here. A man gets used to all the Common -Council talks about; to wholesome lodging, and all that. Well, he -doesn’t go to the gin-shop. Then, how, I ask you, is the revenoo to be -kept up? Where’s taxes to come from? I was only readin’ it yesterday. -It seems that the publican alone pays money enough to build all the -ships, pay all the sailors, fit out all the sojers with their cannons -and bayonets, and what not. Well, the man who’s a good stiff drinker -ought to feel pride in this. Every sojer he sees, every musket that’s -made, every ball-cartridge that goes into the warm bowels of an enemy, -he helps with every blessed drop of gin he swallows, to pay for. Isn’t -it, or oughtn’t it to be, a comfort to a man, if he hasn’t a bit of -liver left, to know that it’s gone to help to load bullets, and sharpen -swords, and pipeclay cross-belts? I say it: a man with no liver, his -tongue like shoe-leather, his nose no better than a stale strawberry, -and every limb on him shaking like leaves upon the aspling-tree, sich -a man, thinkin’ what the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span> publican pays through him, may still go into -the Parks, and seeing the sojers on parade, take a pride in ’em.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Well, and suppose the man is taken out of the muck that’s -helped to make him drink? What then?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> What then? Why, then comes the danger to Government. -The man doesn’t go to the public-house. No: he gets used to a clean -place and a clean shirt; and has light about him, and doesn’t live like -a two-legged bat, and has water enough to swim in. Well, he begins to -read and to think, and to trouble his head about his vote, and all such -stuff, that with the gin-glass at his mouth, he never dreamt on. Well, -the end on it is, such will be the presumption of the poorer sort, when -you take ’em from dirt and darkness, which, in my ’pinion, is their -nat’ral elyment—such is their conceit, that I’m blest if they soon -won’t talk of having a stake in the country!</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Well, and every man as has muscles and bones, and is -willing to work with ’em, has a stake, hasn’t he?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Where is it? You can’t see it!</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Why, suppose his muscles and his bones helps to build a -house for a man?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Well, it’s the man’s stake it’s built for, and not -his’n that builds it. And that’s perlitical<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span> economy. But I was goin’ -to say when you put me out, that the Government doesn’t know what it’s -after encouragin’ cleanliness, and temperance, and such new-fangled -stuff. It’s all revolution in disguise. We’ve had gunpowder revolution, -and moral revolutions; but they’re nothing to what’s coming, for -they’ll be the revolutions of water and soap. No government upon the -’versal earth can stand with everybody clean and sober. Do away with -the swinish multitude, and I ask you, what becomes of the guinea-pigs -o’ society? Tell me that.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Why, we shall all be guinea-pigs together.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Impossible! The likes o’ you a guinea-pig! ’Tisn’t -in nature. All I ask is, where will you get your taxes? Last week -at the great meetin’ o’ the waters, as I call it, at Common Garden -Theatre—last week, I stood in Bow Street, and watched mobs o’ people -goin’ in, all on ’em conspiring against the revenoo of the country. -There wasn’t one there, man or ’oman—and very pretty women some on -’em was, bloomin’ like fresh flowers in fresh water—that wasn’t a -conspirator aginst the taxes that pays the sojers and the sailors, -and the salaries in Woolwich Dockyard, and the Government never sent -the p’lice to take ’em, but let ’em all sport away like the fountain -in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span> Temple Gardens. Temperance and cleanliness! I’ve lived to see -somethin’! I’ve heard of the age of iron, the age of gold, and the age -of silver, and I should like to know what age we are to call this?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Why, by your own account, the best of all on ’em—the Age -of Soap and Water.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> (<i>With newspaper.</i>) This must have been a -beautiful sight, gen’lemen, a beautiful sight, at Portsmouth. Quite -makes a man’s heart beat to read about it.</p> - -<p><i>Nightflit.</i> What’s the perdicament?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Quite a solemn thing. Field-Marshal Prince Albert has -given a spick-and-span new set of flags to the 13th Foot, or what is -called his own Light Infantry. The old ones had been so singed by fire, -and torn to bits by bullets in Afghanistan, wheresomever that may be.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Doesn’t say who ’broidered the colours, does it?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Not as I see.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> That’s a pity. But I s’pose it was some o’ the women. -Fine ladies, as wouldn’t so much as take up a stitch in a silk stocking -acause they’d think it low and beneath ’em—fine ladies work at flags, -and, I really do believe, like the work better than if it was their own -baby-linen.</p> - -<p><i>Limpy.</i> How d’ ye account for that, Mr Nutts?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span></p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Why, you see, it’s a part of the finery of sojering; and -that always takes the women. And so they’ll stitch and stitch away at -colours, and, for what I know, work their own precious locks of hair in -’em, acause they’re to be carried by smart young gen’lemen covered with -red and daubed with gold, and the drums and the fifes and the trumpets -will play about ’em; and they think that’s glory, poor souls! Silly -creturs! if they only thought of the blood, and groans, and mashed -limbs, and burning houses, and trodden-down babies, and screeching -women, suffering worse than death—if they only thought that their -needlework was to be waved and fluttered above such horrors as these, -it’s my ’pinion they’d as soon do sewing and stitching for Beelzebub.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Don’t be profane, Mr Nutts.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Never was, Mr Slowgoe. But I will say it, I do think -there’s a devil sleeping in every trumpet; and he wakes up and bellows -out every time the brass is blown.</p> - -<p><i>Nightflit.</i> And the account goes on to say (<i>reads</i>), “The -colours were consecrated by the Chaplain of the Forces.”</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Never heard of one of the apostles with such a post—did -you? Consecrated! I s’pose dipped in blood, and then fumigated with -gunpowder.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span></p> - -<p><i>Limpy.</i> Is that the way, Mr Nutts?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Can’t tell for certain, as I never read the recipe in the -New Testament.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> I once heard how it was done. The beadle o’ St Giles’ -told me all about it. The colours are taken into the church, and the -parson or the bishop, as it may be, who’s to bless ’em, stays in the -church, fasting all night with ’em, praying that every bullet as is -fired off under ’em shall be directed by an angel; that every sword -drawn beneath ’em, and cutting through the skull of a man, shall have -the edge of it sharpened by Christian love; and that every bayonet -thrust into the bowels of a man shall be pushed home with a blessing. -And he prays that wherever them colours may wave, all the gunpowder may -be kept dry under the wings of angels; and the firelocks be continually -oiled by the tears of Christian spirits. After all, it must be a -great comfort to a man—shot down, mangled, and mashed like a crushed -frog—to turn his dying eyes to them colours and remember there’s a -parson’s blessing on ’em. It must give him some pleasure to think of -it when he’s screeching for water, it may be, all night, and the moon -with her cold, white, unpitying face looking down upon him. Consecrated -colours! Well, if the flags are consecrated, in course they fire with -sacred gunpowder and holy<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span> bullets. And then the bombshells! They can’t -be s’posed to carry death and destruction when they drop; but, being -blessed, must fall like manna in the streets and on the roofs of houses.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> None o’ your sedition, Mr Tickle, none o’ your -sedition. Noble regiment the 13th Foot, and nobly rewarded! Why, it -seems as long ago as 1776, when they were commanded by the Duke of -Cumberland——</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> What! Billy the Butcher, as they called him?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> As long ago as 1776 (<i>reads</i>), “as a mark of -distinction for their gallant conduct, the sashes of the officers and -sergeants were ordered to be tied on the <i>right</i> side instead -<i>of the left.</i>”</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> The officers and sergeants only! Then the privates did -nothing in the way of fighting? And what a mark of distinction, to be -sure! Why didn’t they at the same time order ’em to change the gaiters -of the regiment, wearing the right on the left leg, and the left on -the right; or to turn their hats the hind part afore, or their shirts -inside out?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> And now the brave 13th, for fighting in India like any -dragons, come in for more luck. For “her Majesty has been pleased to -order the facings of the regiment from <i>yellow</i> to <i>blue</i>, -and the regiment to be called Prince Albert’s Regiment”!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span></p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> What a comfort—what a consolation for a man in -a hailstorm of bullets—what a pleasure after marching and -counter-marching, and living through the pains of fifty deaths,—to -think that the yellow serge of his cuffs and collars shall be turned -to blue! What a blessing to leave his children! Well, there’s glory in -colours, isn’t there? Shouldn’t wonder that when some regiment some -day does some wonderful thing never heard of afore, if her Majesty -isn’t pleased to order that the same be dressed all over with harlequin -patches. From yellow to blue! Well, that’s a great change in life, -isn’t it?</p> - -<p><i>Nightflit.</i> Talking of soldiers, I see they haven’t got -Field-Marshal Duke of Wellington on the top of his arch yet.</p> - -<p><i>Bleak.</i> Why, no. They say in Parliament—I’ve jest been readin’ -on it—that they’re goin’ to wait till the people return to town, till -they come back from raffling at the watering-places, and suchlike; and -then when the statu’s up they’re to give their ’pinions.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Ha! So I see. But won’t it be a little difficult to get -to the feelin’ o’ the public?</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Not at all. Yon Colonel Trench, who says the arch was -made for the statue, and the statue for the arch, just as they say of -two people afore they marry——</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span></p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Go on. Say what you like about marriage. My wife’s out.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Just as they say of folks afore they marry; who, when -married, turn the worst match as can be. Colonel Trench is going to -manage the whole matter. When all London comes back to town, and is -gathered together under the arch, the Colonel will go round and toss -for the Duke—the best two out of three—with every man, woman, and -child upon the ground. The Colonel’s taken odds that he’ll win, and the -Duke keep the arch.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> But I see they’re going to try the effect with a sort -of dummy, a Wooden Duke for the Iron one.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Very disrespectful. Now I’ve a notion they might try it -much better and cheaper. Why not hire one of the folks and a horse from -Ashley’s Amphitheatre? They might hoist the animal a-top of the arch, -and there he might be mounted by the player as is used to him.</p> - -<p><i>Nightflit.</i> But the horse and the rider would only be the size of -life. How could folks judge then?</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Why, very well. Let all the House of Commons go into the -Park with telescopes magnifying four-horse power, and spying through -them; why, in course they would see the ’fect, and no mistake.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span></p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> I see Lord John Russell’s withdrawn the Irish Arms Bill.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> I said he would. That’s the first Whig blunderbuss as is -missed fire.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Or rayther, the blunderbuss was so high charged, Lord -John didn’t like to pull the trigger. ’Fraid it would kick a little too -strong, and crack the Cabinet like chaney.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Talking about model dukes and dummy horses, isn’t it a -pity there isn’t a sort o’ model Parliament afore which the Whigs might -try their bills? They find so many split when they come to prove ’em -afore the real house. One night Lord John holds fast to his Arms Bill, -like a child to a new drum; and the next he gives it up as if it was of -no use, somebody having knocked a hole in it.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Tell you it’s the old Whig cowardice. They’re so often -afraid o’ their own blunderbuss. Howsumever, this is a fault of the -right sort, only hope they’ll do no worse.</p> - -<p><i>Nightflit.</i> Any news about Young Ireland? What’s he done with the -“sword” that he took from ’Ciliation Hall?</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Why, they do say he’s swallowed it, like the Injun -juggler; only—not like him—they do say he’ll never be allowed to -bring it up agin. Old Daniel offers to take O’Brien back to his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span> busum -if he’ll promise never more to smell of gunpowder.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> I’ve heard that O’Connell’s going to write up in -’Ciliation Hall somethin’ like what they print in the playbills.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> What’s that?</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Why, “Young Ireland in arms not admitted.”</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> And he <i>might</i> add, “No money returned.”</p> - -<p><i>Bleak.</i> So I see Mr Hume’s lost his motion for opening -skittle-grounds on Sundays.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Skittle-grounds—I thought ’twas to open the British -Museum, the National Gallery, and suchlike.</p> - -<p><i>Bleak.</i> Well, it seems to be all the same, for Lord John Russell -won’t have it nohow. He says (<i>reading</i>), “As to the admission on -Sundays to the British Museum and National Gallery, he thought it was -better not to lay down any <i>positive rule</i>, or for that House to -interfere by a resolution. There were some places where a single porter -at the door would be sufficient as a protection. Such places he thought -it was quite right to have open on the Sundays; but if they went -further, he did not see why they might not ask to have the theatres -open on a Sunday. Listening to a play of Shakespeare, it might be said, -would divert<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span> people from habits of drunkenness. Then as to opening -such places as the Museum and National Gallery on Sundays, it would -tend to deprive a great many persons of their only day of rest; and -they could not well supply their places with others who were not in the -daily habit of taking care of rooms.” Well, for my part, it does seem -to me that what holds good with “many persons” ought to hold good with -a “single porter.”</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Agin. Why don’t they ’bolish steamboats on the -river; Sunday rail-travelling; Sunday coach and cab stands; Sunday -tea-gardens? These things and places—all of ’em—deprive a great many -persons of their only day of rest! So do Sunday public-houses. And -then, as if taking care of the pictures at the National Gallery, that -folks don’t run their walking-sticks through ’em—and keeping a sharp -eye upon the mummies at the Museum, for fear they should be run away -with—was such delicate work that people must serve a ’prenticeship to -learn it.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> And ’specially, too, when Mr Wakby said there was so -many Jews who’d be delighted to take the post o’ Sundays, and be -’specially delighted to take the money for it.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span></p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i_046" style="max-width: 72.25em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_046.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_IV"><span class="smcap">Chapter IV.</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="center"> -<i>Enter <span class="smcap">Peabody</span> (Policeman).</i><br> -</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Well, I’m glad somebody’s come. Thought all the beards -had gone out of town. Just as you come, was thinking of shuttin’ up -shop and goin’ myself. Never saw the Dials so dull, Mr Peabody. There -isn’t a back pair that isn’t at a watering-place.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> (<i>With newspaper.</i>) Watering-place! Pretty goings -on there, I think. Here’s a letter taken from the <i>Times</i>, when -the gentleman as writes says, “Ramsgate’s shocking. Ladies bathing with -no more thought than if they was mermaids; and chairs let out at a -penny a piece, for an enlightened public to sit—as if they was in the -opera stalls—to look at ’em.”</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Bless my soul! Where did you say?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> At Ramsgate.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> You may go on. Mrs Nutts is at Margate.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span></p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> And the gen’leman says in his letter that the young -ladies dance polkas and waltzes in their bathing-gowns; and dance and -scream the more for the people looking at ’em.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> Where’s the police?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> That’s what the gen’leman asks. Where’s the police to -put ’em down? Where’s the police to warn ’em back to the machines?</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Why not have a coast-guard with indy-rubber uniforms, to -run into the water, and take the ladies up, and make an example of the -ring-leaders?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> I don’t know how it is, I’ve often thought of it; but -somehow—I’ve observed the circumstance to Mrs Nutts—somehow the -female mind seems to gain courage at watering-places. A young thing -that won’t raise a eyelid in London, will meet you like the full moon -at the seaside.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Well, I’ve often thought of that too. Somehow or -other the sea air does harden ’em. Now, Mr Peabody, you who was -a schoolmaster afore you was a policeman, can you, who knows -everything—can you explain it?</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> Why, the female mind is naturally susceptible——</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> That’s what Mrs Nutts said, when on one occasion she -<i>would</i> have a pint of peas at five shillings.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span></p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> And sympathises with external nature. The female mind, -too, often confined to the limits of a slop-basin, feels itself grow -and expand in presence of the universal deep. A woman who may be no -better than a doll in London, shall be a first-rate philosopher at -Broadstairs.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Humph! Like young ducks; don’t know all their strength -till they take to the water.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> But it all goes off with the season.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> I’m glad of that. Mrs Nutts, as you know, is a woman of -strong mind; nevertheless, she must come back to the slop-basin.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> So I see <i>that</i> Cobden has been in France. Wanting -to stir up a free trade in frogs, I s’pose. But they’re not such fools; -they won’t give up pertecting their native produce like us. He says in -his speech to the Frenchmen, “I am not a propagandist.” Now what does -he mean by that?</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> Why, that he doesn’t want to preach free trade to the -French.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> But the best on it is, he can’t help it. Mr Nutts and I -was talking about that afore, warn’t we, Nutts.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> The very fact, says I, of Cobden being received as he -is by Frenchmen, makes him a propagandist. There he is, with every -syllable he says, preaching free trade for the wine-growers,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span> though -he doesn’t say a word about it. There he is in the city of Paris ten -thousand times bigger conq’ror than Marshal Blucher. Lor’ bless you! -the soldiers, poor fellows! never thought of it; but Cobden will prove -the worst English general for them. He’s opened the campaign that will -knock up their trade. There wasn’t a French soldier, whilst Cobden -was talking and the Frenchmen were cheering, that oughtn’t to have -felt his musket crumbling away in his arms like dust, and his bayonet -melting like in its scabbard. There wasn’t a single French cannon, if -it had had any sense at all, that oughtn’t to have groaned as with -the bellyache, knowing that, as condemned old iron, it would go to -the melting-pot. Then for the Gallic cock—the cock of glory!—the -cock that, unlike any decent barndoor fowl, is always for picking out -the eyes of nations—the cock that only lives upon a morning feed of -bullets—why, after Cobden had made his speech, the poor thing felt -his appetite get weaker and weaker for the garbage of glory, and in -the end, depend on’t, he’ll live upon corn, without a drop o’ blood -mixed in it, like a decent respectable bird, and never think of -cock-a-doodle-dooing above all his neighbours.</p> - -<p><i>Nightflit.</i> Shouldn’t wonder. Why, doesn’t the French paper -itself—the <i>Journal des—des</i>——</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span></p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> The <i>Journal des Débats</i>—the Government organ.</p> - -<p><i>Nightflit.</i> Doesn’t it, here, in what it says about Cobden, -talk as if it was ashamed of the business of the customhouse officers -rumpling and tousling everybody as steps into the country, for smuggled -goods? Turning people upside down, and shaking ’em like so many -pickpockets.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Don’t talk of it. Shall I ever forget when Mrs Nutts and -me crossed to Calais to see France? Shall I ever forget how fellows -in blue uniforms, with swords by their sides, searched us over and -over, as if we’d brought a cutler’s shop and a cotton-mill in every -one of our pockets? Isn’t it dreadful to think that men should be such -fools to themselves as to pay soldiers and customhouse officers to -prevent one country bringing its blessings to another, as if heaven -only intended the best iron for England, and the best claret wines -for France? Well, isn’t it a comfortable thing to think of, that Mr -Cobden has spoken the dying speech of all them customhouse officers? -They mayn’t believe it just yet, but it’s sure to come. They’ve got -consumption in ’em, and sooner or later they must go. Only I <i>do</i> -hope that on both sides they’ll save one or two specimens for their -museums, just to show the children that come arter us what fools their -fathers was afore ’em.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span></p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Well, there’s one comfort left for me, I shan’t live to -see it. You’re for universal peace, and all that sort of stuff. Very -well in story-books, but never was intended. War and all <i>that</i> -was meant from the first. War runs through our nature. Everything wars -upon everything. There’s nothing so little as doesn’t eat up something -as is smaller than itself. Look here now; here’s a paragraph from an -Injy paper, the <i>Agra Chronicle</i>, about the battle-field in the -Sutlej. It says: “We came <i>viâ</i> Loodianah and Firozepore, and -on our way encamped on the fields of Alrival and Ferozeshah. Alrival -was a beautiful green plain, the only one I saw between Meerut and -this, <i>and seemed intended by nature for a battle-field</i>. A -few skeletons were strewed over it, and of the wells one was just -drinkable, and the other was so impregnated with gunpowder as to be -wholly unfit for use.”</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> I can’t have that. “Intended by nature for a -battle-field.” And do you think when nature made this beautiful world, -and filled it with fruits and flowers, and sent down blessed light upon -it—made it, as I may say, a paradise for folks to live in—do you -for a moment think that nature made certain “beautiful green plains” -for slaughterhouses? You might as well say that when nature made iron, -she made it not for carpenters’ tools, but a-purpose for swords and -bayonets; and that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span> the sea would have all been fresh water only that -we wanted the salt for gunpowder. That’s the shabby part of man. -Whenever he does wickedness upon a large scale, he always lays it upon -nature. If Cain had been a general, he’d have put all his bloodshed upon -nature.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Then never mind nature; let’s talk of the Court. So the -Queen’s a-goin’ to have another palace. Isn’t it an odd thing that kings -and queens in our country never do get properly suited with houses? All -their palaces—like their clothes—seem misfits when they leave ’em to -them who comes after ’m. There was George the Fourth, he could no more -live in his old father’s palace than he could get into his coat; so he -had Buckingham Palace built, with a fine archway that always looks jest -whitewashed. And now that’s so little that the present Royal Family -fill it all up, like a cucumber in a bottle. And so we’re to have -another building.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Never mind that. It won’t cost a farthing. For doesn’t -Sir F. Trench say in his motion—here it is—“That while this House -feels confident that Parliament would willingly supply any reasonable -amount of expense for the attainment of so desirable an object, -it has great pleasure in expressing its belief, that <i>by proper -management</i> of the means at the disposal of her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span> Majesty and her -Government (in aid of the £150,000 voted for alterations at Buckingham -Palace), this great and desirable national object may be obtained -without <i>adding one shilling</i> to the burthens of the people.” What -do you think of that? Not one shilling, says Sir Frederick.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Bless you! in the matter of money, who’d trust to -bricks and mortar? But we’ll say the palace is built without a shilling -from the people—we’ll say it’s built. How about the furniture? Why, -afore the thing’s well up, the Minister will come down to the House -and ask for about half a million of money to buy rolling-pins and -tinder-boxes.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> But he won’t get it.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Won’t he? Every farden on it; while all the House, and -the Speaker into the bargain, will weep with pleasure while they put -their hands in their pockets.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> And what will Mr Hume be about?</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> He’ll oppose it, o’ course; and so will Mr Wakley and -Mr Williams. And what o’ that? Why, the Minister will draw himself up -upon his toes, and, looking as tragic as if they’d killed his dearest -relations, ask the honourable members if they know what they’re -opposin’. Put it to ’em as men, whether her Majesty ever before asked -a single farden for rolling-pins—whether above all<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span> sovereigns that -ever went afore her—or that’ll come after her—she hasn’t been -most scrupulous, most ekonomick in the article of tinder-boxes? He -will ask what surrounding nations will think of us—higgling about -rolling-pins—disputing on royal tinder-boxes; and then the House will -get up, and hurray—and, as I say, weeping tears of gratitude, vote the -money, as though with all their hearts and our pockets they wished it -twice as much.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Ha! you’re a cuss-of-liberty man, you are, Mr Tickle, -and don’t know what befits the royal prerogative. They won’t want a -shilling, sir—not a shilling. There’s the Pavilion at Brighton. I -understand that the loyal people of that loyal town, out of love, -and affection, and veneration for their monarch as a king, a man, a -husband, a father, and—let me see—yes, a practical moralist, intend -to purchase the Pavilion, and let it off in shops for jewellers, -wig-makers, and tailors, and all as a monument to the memory of that -great and good man George the Fourth.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Well, to make the monument complete, I hope they won’t -forget a wine and brandy vaults.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> But how about the Duke’s statue? I thought it was to be -put up upon the gate, that the Queen might see it when she drove out. -Now, if the Queen has a new house on Buckbeen Hill——</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Why, all the houses ’tween that and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span> Rutland Gate will -be pulled down, that the statue may be brought near to the new palace -with a telescope.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> I’m very happy to see that her Majesty, and the Prince, -and the children are taking such pleasure on the sea.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Yes. Parson M’Neile—he isn’t yet a bishop, I hear——</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Why, no; but as they say there’s going to be a bishop -made for Manchester, and as he’s at Liverpool, so very near the spot, -he keeps himself prepared for the best. They do say he sleeps with his -carpet-bag and shovel-hat by his bedside, all in readiness for an early -train.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> A very provident parson. Well, they say he preached -another sermon last Sunday about the Prince and his doings. In fact, it -is reported that he intends to follow up his Royal Highness through the -<i>Court Circular</i>. Last Sunday he compared him to Noah.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> As how?</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Why, because his Royal Highness was afloat in the royal -yacht. Bless you! he showed how the Prince was Noah, and how the -<i>Victoria and Albert</i> was nothing more than the ark, holding the -hopes of the world; and how the precious children were Ham, Shem, and -Japheth, and how the ark held two of every living thing.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span></p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Well, I can’t say about that; but if Parson M’Neile told -men all the beasts in the ark was, St Jude’s could answer for one of -the “creeping things.”</p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp30" id="i_056" style="max-width: 23.125em; padding-top: 5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_056.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span></p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i_057" style="max-width: 72.875em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_057.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_V"><span class="smcap">Chapter V.</span></h2> -</div> - - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> (<i>With newspaper.</i>) Well, it’s a shocking thing, -isn’t it, when we read of babbies, left by things as call themselves -their mothers, on highways and door-steps, and in all sort of places, -exposed, I b’lieve they call it, to the elements and the severity of -the season. It’s a little bad o’ such parents, isn’t it, Mr Nutts?</p> - -<p><i>Mr Nutts.</i> Bad! that isn’t the word, Mr Tickle; and the worst of -it is, we can’t make a word bad enough for it.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> To put a sweet little child—a innocent little gal, for -instance—in a box, or a basket, or what not, and leave her in the wide -world, for the wolves that walk about it. As I say, it is a little bad; -and it’s very proper, when the mother as does it is found out, that -she’s sent to prison, and made to pick oakum; and try to learn feelings -from the gaol clergyman. It’s a shockin’ matter<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span> this, to think of a -little gal so left—a poor little soul, as innocent as the daisies.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Is it so very shockin’? Then read it.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> What I mean is taken out of the <i>Times</i>, and is all -about the Queen of Spain’s marriage with her cousin. Here it is:—</p> - -<p>“Don Francisco de Assis was summoned at Madrid, and for the reasons -as stated to you at the time, refused to come. He was again summoned, -though there was no decision taken, as the feeling of dislike to his -person was as strong as before, and rendered his chances, even then, -of a very trifling nature. That dislike was strongly and deeply felt -by the young Queen herself, and participated in by her mother; it was -<i>with tears in her eyes, and her bosom heaving with sobs, that she -was forced to plight her troth to him</i>. She had to be told that—I -use the expression employed—‘if she did not instantly consent to marry -her cousin, Don Francisco de Assis, she should marry no one.’ When I -again assure you that the feeling of dislike, amounting to repugnance, -was shared in by the Queen-mother, it is not difficult to guess from -what quarter this force proceeded to compel a child, not yet sixteen -years old, to consent to marry a man from whom she recoiled with -loathing.”</p> - -<p>A nice beginning, that, of the marriage state.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> There, Mrs Nutts, aren’t you happy that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span> you was born in -Seven Dials, and have a husband who you love, as shaves for a penny? -Don’t you bless yourself that you aren’t the Queen of Spain?</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> It’s all shockin’ enough; but it isn’t what Mr Tickle -begun talking about. His story was about a little gal as was left in a -basket in the wide world, with nothin’ but chance to look after her.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> I know that; but isn’t that little gal, with her bit o’ -wretched flannin, in her miserable bit o’ basket, with the midnight -wind singing about her, at last picked up by letter Q, No. 45, -policeman, and carried to the workhouse—isn’t that little gal, with -the taste of its mother’s milk not yet out of its mouth, a happier -soul than the poor little wretch, born in a Spanish palace, wrapt in -velvet, and fed with a golden spoon? Now, take the two babbies. Here’s -Betsy of Bermondsey, we’ll say, and Isabella o’ Spain. Betsy was taken -up in a wicker basket, at the door of a very respectable tanner, a -man as had served as churchwarden a dozen times, and not being owned -by nobody, was packed off to the workhouse. She’s called Betsy, after -one of the misses as does her the first compliment she ever had in -life, by consentin’ to do her that honour. Well, Betsy grows up a -strong, flourishing workhouse thing, a bit of parish duckweed, and -does credit to her keeper.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span> She is thumped and bumped, but between -whiles somehow learns to write and read and keep accounts, as far as -two and two make half-a-dozen. Well, at ten years old she’s sent out -as parish ’prentice, to look after the five children of Mrs Chip, the -bonnet-builder, as has too much to do in her own bus’ness to attend to -her own family. And she’s the maid-of-all-work, without the wages, up -early and abed late; for as Mr Chip is a first-rate bagatelle-player, -he doesn’t sometimes come home till two, and Mrs Chip will have -the kittle bilin’ at six. Howsumever, Betsy gets on in life, as a -football gets on by all sorts o’ kicks and knocks, and at last she’s -out of her ’prenticeship, and sets up housemaid on her own account. -She’s a independent young ’oman, with eight pounds a year besides -tea and sugar, and nobody knows how many caps, and how many yards o’ -cherry-coloured riband in her deal box.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> What nonsense you talk, Mr Tickle! No woman has so -many yards of riband of one colour. It only shows what a little you -know of the human ’art.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> My dear Mrs Nutts, talking about the human heart, is the -pie made?</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Mr Nutts, just attend to your beards, and leave the -pies to me.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> (<i>Aside to <span class="smcap">Slowgoe</span>, who points</i>.) A<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span> woman of -very strong mind. Go on, Mr Tickle. You left the gal with the caps and -the riband.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Well, Betsy Bermondsey has all sorts of sweethearts; -and the <i>Morning Post</i> never troubles what head it has about the -matter. Whether she marries the butcher, the baker, the milkman, or the -policeman (as has a partic’lar weakness o’ the stomach for roast duck -and inions), not one of the young Englanders in the <i>Post</i>, or any -other paper, cares the vally of its own leaders.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> What’s leaders made of, Mr Tickle?</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Made o’ different things. Sometimes o’ steel-filings, -sometimes o’ soap-and-water. But, as I say, Betsy Bermondsey has -sweethearts; and the different parishes about her don’t send their -churchwardens, some to speak for the butcher; some for the baker; some -for the milkman; some for the police; and some for a cobbler that she’d -never seen in all her days; and what’s worse, some from the cats’-meat -man that she never looked at without shivering. No, Betsy gives away -her heart, and is all the lighter and rosier for the gift. And she -marries the baker, and in as quick a time as possible she’s in a little -shop, with three precious babbies, selling penny rolls, and almost -making ’em twopennies by the good nature she throws about ’em.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span></p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> What do you say to that, Mrs Nutts?</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Well, I should say Betsy were a happy woman. Every -poor soul hasn’t her luck.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> You may say that. For only think of Isabella, Queen of -Spain. Poor little merino lamb! With half-a-dozen ’bassadors prowling -about her, and licking their lips, like tigers about a sheep-pen, to -snatch her up—and at last it’s done. At last she’s laid hold of, and -her very heart’s torn out of her, that she may be made a wife of a ——.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> It makes a man’s blood bile to think of it.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> And acause she’s a queen she’s to be turned into a -horrid slave for life, and the link of the chain that holds her is -to be a wedding-ring. Now, when some foreign prince’s grandmother’s -aunt’s husband’s sister’s son or daughter dies, all the Courts go into -mourning for three or four days or hours, I forget which, to show to -this world and the next their respect for the calamity. Now it’s my -opinion, if there was any real truth in Court mourning, that all the -royal folks in Christendom ought to put on sackcloth, with a good -sprinkling of the best Wallsend ashes, when Queen Isabella marries her -cousin. Charming matrimony, when one of the parties, and that one the -poor woman<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span> too, as the <i>Times</i> says, recoils from the other “with -loathing.”</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Don’t talk of it, Mr Tickle, it’s more than my head -can bear.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> All very fine and very sentimental; but what’s to -become of state affairs, if kings and queens think of their hearts? -Hearts warn’t made for ’em. Royal folks have always married in one way, -and therefore always must. It’s quite right there should have been all -this dodging about Isabella’s husband.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Well, I haven’t said anything about the matter as -yet; but after all, what a deal we men, as rational criturs of the -universe—lords of the earth—angels in our worldly apprenticeship, -as we think ourselves, have to brag about, when it’s made a matter of -consequence to millions of rational souls <i>who</i> a little gal of -sixteen marries—whether one man or another!</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> None of your atheism, Mr Nutts; or, as I’ve told you a -hundred times, you shan’t shave me. Politics is a mysterious thing.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> You’re right. So is picking pockets. Now honesty, as the -old spelling-books say, is adapted to the meanest understanding.</p> - -<p><i>Nightflit.</i> Very rum letters, these, from the Earl of Ripon and -his parson! All, I see, taken from the <i>Standard</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span></p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> What—about the Earl, the donkey, and the curate? I must -say the Earl doesn’t shine quite like a new fourpenny in the business.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Nonsense! give me the paper. What does his -Lordship—mind I’m not a Whig, so no admirer of his’n—what does his -Lordship say to Mr Crowther, who’s made the curate of Nocton, that Lord -Bentinck made all the row about? The Earl, looking upon the curate -as a livery servant—only the livery’s a surplice, and not drab with -mustard facings—desires him and his wife not to have no dealings with -a Mr and Mrs Newton, simply because the Earl doesn’t like ’em. The -Earl says: “Lord Ripon is confident that if they were aware of the -course pursued by Mrs Newton towards the Dean of Windsor, Mr Granville -and Mr Kempe (the two previous curates of Dunston), as well as to -Lord Ripon himself, they would not receive any apparent civilities -from Mrs Newton, or have any communication with her. Lord Ripon has -written to Mr Howse to desire that Mr Crowther <i>may have the use -of the pony</i>, and Mrs Crowther <i>of the donkey <span class="smcap">OR</span> covered -cart</i>, whenever he applies to him for them.” Think of that. Isn’t -it condescension? What I call Christian kindness? To lend a pony to a -parson, and an ass with a covered cart to the parson’s wife. What would -revolutionists have?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Very right. The donkey is a touching<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span> bit. The loan of it -shows in what respect the Earl held the clergyman. There’s something -what I call magnanimous in that jackass.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Again listen to this: “If Mr Crowther has need of -anything being done for him in any way, it is to <i>Mr Howse</i> alone -to whom Lord Ripon would wish him to apply. Lord Ripon is confident Mr -Crowther will meet with every attention from Mr Howse.”</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> And who is Mr Howse? A near and dear relation to Earl -Ripon?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> No: Mr Howse is Earl Ripon’s cook; and therefore, as -knowing best his Lordship’s heart through his stomach, could best -talk to Mr Crowther. And now think of the ingratitude of this parson. -He won’t give the cold shoulder to Mr and Mrs Newton in return for -the pony and donkey, but says: “The duties of this situation dictate -to me great impartiality, and that I should think no evil, but as -much as in me lieth, live peaceably with all men. In the humble -hope of accomplishing this course, it must be my care to avoid even -the appearance of partisanship in any unhappy differences of the -parishioners.” Don’t you call <i>that</i> flying in the face of a -nobleman?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Yes; and capital flying too.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Like your revolutionist ways. But his Lordship knows -what belongs to the true dignity<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span> of a nobleman. He won’t let Mr -Crowther wind up his watch by Nocton Hall. That’s sweet revenge. For -the parson writes: “I was in the habit of regulating my watch by the -clock in the tower of Nocton Hall, and every Saturday evening went up -to the Hall for that purpose, having learnt that it was by that time -the inhabitants of the two villages regulated theirs. On Saturday -evening the policeman on the grounds came up to me and said ‘he was -very sorry to be compelled to act so to a gentleman, but he had been -directed to warn me off the grounds, and of course he must obey his -orders.’” Now isn’t that spirit on the part of his Lordship? Won’t let -the clergyman set his watch by Nocton clock. Won’t the parson be sorry -for that?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> I can’t say; but all I know is this, if his Lordship’s -clock goes at all like his manners to his curates, it’s the last -timepiece I should like to wind myself up by, anyhow.</p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp30" id="i_066" style="max-width: 16.8125em; padding-top: 5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_066.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span></p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i_067" style="max-width: 72.375em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_067.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_VI"><span class="smcap">Chapter VI.</span></h2> -</div> - - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Now, Mr Bleak, I b’lieve the shave’s with you. -(<i><span class="smcap">Bleak</span> takes the chair</i>.) Mustn’t complain; but dreadful -weather this for business. Not a soul in town. Had nothing to do but -improve my mind all the week. Now, folks who pay rent and taxes can’t -afford that. Everybody still at the seaside.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Humph! For my part I can’t think where the ’noxial -gales are gone to: they <i>ought</i> to blow people back to London by -this time. But nothing is as it was.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Rum thing this at Margate. And quite a warning to young -women.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> What’s that, Mr Tickle?</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Young lady of most respectable family—father in the -Excise—turned to a mermaid.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Nonsense! it can’t be. What for?</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Because she would dance the polka close<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span> inshore, and -make so many people write to the <i>Times</i>. Now she’s punished; now -she’s enough o’ bathing. Now she does nothing but sing songs, comb her -hair, and stare at herself in a looking-glass.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Well, for a young woman that can be no punishment.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Mr Nutts, you’re a fool. (<i>Retires.</i>)</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> As you’re all family men, gentlemen, you understand that. -And yet I never could make it out why the tenderest of wives have the -greatest knack of calling their husbands fools.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Bless you! it’s only too much love speaking out. Just as -a saucepan, when too hot, boils over.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> (<i>With paper.</i>) Great season for the vineyards. -It seems there never was such a promise for champagne. Glorious news -this for the poor. In course nobody here understands it; but according -to perlitical economy, when champagne’s plentiful it must bring down -ginger-beer.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Well, all I know is, pineapples haven’t cheapened -potatoes.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Don’t talk of potatoes in that heathen way, Mr Nutts; -if you’d any decency, any religion, you wouldn’t talk of a potato with -a smile. I suppose you haven’t seen what Lord George Bentinck—that’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span> -a pious soul, that is—says upon potatoes? I thought not. Here it is. -His Lordship as <i>will</i> be Prime Minister—it’s at Mr Newdegate’s -dinner—his Lordship says (<i>reads</i>): “They would recollect that -at the close of the last year there was <i>a sham cry got up</i>, -respecting the failure in the potato crop, <i>to serve the purpose of -an administration</i>; he was now sorry to say that that feint had -become a reality; that the potato failure had spread from one end -of the kingdom to the other—from the Land’s End to John o’ Groats, -throughout the whole of Ireland, and throughout the whole of the -countries bordering upon the Atlantic. (Hear.) He was fain to confess, -and <i>he did so with sorrow, that this time there was no sham</i>, -but he <i>greatly feared</i> that this sad reality <i>was the just -vengeance of Providence for the</i> great ingratitude we had displayed -in needlessly complaining of His bounty.” And all the people cried -“Hear, hear,” and with the wind in their faces, no doubt, looked very -believing, very solemn. So you see, ’cording to Lord George, it’s -Peel, and nobody but Peel, as has brought the potato rot upon us. Peel -cried “Wolf” to pass the corn-laws; and now for his wickedness, and -his alone, the wild beast is really come—has been sent, as dear Lord -George says, by Providence, to tear the bowels of hundreds o’ thousands -of innocent people; and, moreover——</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span></p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Don’t—don’t go on in that way, or I must lay down the -razor. Well, I hope I’m a religious man—I haven’t cut you, Mr Bleak, I -trust?—and I love a bit o’ politics, nobody better; but if I shouldn’t -blush redder than that blacking-bill, to think for a minute of making -Providence Whig or Tory, and counting the angels on my side of the -question; whether it was for all the world as they count a majority -in the House of Commons. If there is a presumption that shows what -an impudent worm upon two legs a man is—and I don’t care a button -whether the worm is a worm with stars and ribands, or a worm with no -more nobility of flesh in him than a worm in a pauper burial-ground—if -there is a presumption in this world, it is, I say, when a man will -take religion into partnership with him, and whatever he may do, make -himself and his little dirty doings the special pets of Providence. And -yet, I daresay, Lord George thinks this the Christianity for gentlemen! -Well, there’s no knowing what use a man may make of his religion. -Hearing what I have heard, I won’t swear that a member of the Jockey -Club mayn’t bind his betting-book up with his Bible.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> I’ve often threatened it, Mr Nutts; but if you go on in -this infidel manner, I must take my chin to another shop.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span></p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Why, look here: truth isn’t like a penny-piece with two -different sides to it; and a flum is not less a flum for coming after -dinner. Either Lord George meant what he said, or he didn’t. Now, if he -meant it, he meant to make Sir Robert Peel answerable for what he calls -“the vengeance of Providence;” he meant to lay at Sir Robert’s door the -misery and starvation—and it makes one’s heart sick and one’s blood -cold to think of it—of thousands and thousands of suffering creaturs; -he meant——</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Nonsense! you’re such a violent man: he meant nothing -of the sort. When a man bids for Minister, everything’s fair: public -men——</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Oh yes; men blacken one another as they like, they means -nothing. They do it, I s’pose, just as last Tuesday we blackened Bill -Simpson’s face when he was asleep—for a joke, and nothing more.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Ha! and his Lordship having dined, I s’pose you’ll have -it, there was a greater allowance for burnt cork? Don’t tell me. They -take up poor fortin-tellers—hocus-pocus fellows that cast nativities -and suchlike, and tell servant-gals what every star means when it winks -upon ’em. But when a lord—and a lord, too, that would be a prime -minister—would trade upon Providence, and, thinking he knows all its -doings, would lay the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span> misery of millions upon the head of one man, -they never send for the constable, oh no; but fine gentlemen, full of -piousness and port wine, stamp their feet and whobble out “Hear! hear!” -Such religion’s like olives to ’em, and gives quite a relish to their -drink.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> I say again, you’re a violent man, Mr Nutts. There is -no doubt that the potato disease is brought about by something; and -until that something is discovered, we—I mean us of true Conservative -principles—may as well lay it upon the treason of Sir Robert Peel as -upon anything else. When the true cause is found out, why, then, as -gentlemen, we can shift it.</p> - -<p><i>Nightflit.</i> Here’s a bit from the <i>Dublin Record</i> that says -it’s Popery as has brought about the blight. It’s nothing but giving -money to Maynooth that’s ruined the ’taters.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> No doubt on it. In the same way that when sheep die -of the rot, it’s only because there’s the Pope’s eye in every leg of -mutton. Now as for Lord George——</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Don’t talk about him. Poor fellow! Now I’m a little cool, -although he’s a lord and I’m only a penny barber, I do from the very -bottom of my heart pity him! Anything pleasant in the paper?</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Lord Wrothesley’s going to make<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span> second-class carriages -pop’lar on King Hudson’s lines, and won’t pay his Majesty’s first -fares. A good move this. For if lords would only ride with the sheep -and bullocks, there’s lots of people who’d directly think sheep and -bullocks the best of company. Howsomever, in this matter his Lordship’s -right. But King Hudson has made a long speech at the York and Newcastle -meeting, and, like all kings, cracking his own generosity to the skies; -and then he began abusing the <i>Times</i>, but somehow his heart -failed him; and the Iron King talked as if his tongue was suddenly -turned to butter, and every bit of metal was drawn out of him.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> (<i>With paper.</i>) Have you heard this? -(<i>Reads.</i>) “Mr Wakby, M.P., has received several letters from -ladies, many of them of rank and title, offering to co-operate in -purchasing the discharge of Cork, Mathewson, and any other witnesses -examined at the inquest.” And this is taken from the <i>Morning -Post</i>.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Oh, it’s all right; the women will see the true beauty -of soldiering at last. Poor things! At present they think man never so -pretty as when in uniform; never so complete a thing to love as when he -smells of gunpowder. And beauty smiles on soldiering, and soldiering -toasts beauty; and that’s how for hundreds of years<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span> they’ve diddled -one another. But it says something when ladies club their pounds to -take the finery off men’s backs, and the swords from their hands, and -turn them from parade heroes into peaceful nobodies. Once Mrs Nutts -used to dote upon a drum; and now—though she hates the law, like a -woman, ever since I was served with a writ—now she thinks a drum the -wickedest of parchment.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Glorious news! The Duke’s going up at last. He’ll be on -Rutland Gate in a day or two, the—the “envy of surrounding nations, -and the—the”—I forget the rest, but there he’ll be.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> It must be a great relief to him to have it over. Let -a man be as great as he may, and as iron as he may, he must feel in -a bit of a pucker to have his bronze lightness so talked and writ -about. They do say that for the last month the Duke’s suffered nothing -but nightmare: every night thinking in his sleep that Mr Cubitt was -hoisting up, now one of his legs to the arch, now one of his arms, and -now his head. It must be a great comfort to him when he’s up altogether.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> The thing will look ugly enough, no doubt—a disgrace to -the metropolis, as the newspapers say, and all that; but for my part, -and after a proper consideration of my power of holding out, even if -the statue when up never comes<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span> down again—I—I speak timidly, to be -sure, as a penny barber ought—but I don’t think I shall sink under it.</p> - -<p><i>Nightflit.</i> A pleasant marriage this for the French Duke as is -going to have the Infant of Spain.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Humph! it reminds me of the old story of the eagle and -the child, only instead of the eagle it’s that old Gallic cock Louis -Philippe. How he’ll pounce upon the little wench, and carry her off -to his nest in Paris, there to make the most of her! Quite a case of -child-stealing, only, you see, there’s no police-van—no Newgate for -kings.</p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp30" id="i_075" style="max-width: 23.1875em; padding-top: 5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_075.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span></p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i_076" style="max-width: 72em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_076.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_VII"><span class="smcap">Chapter VII.</span></h2> -</div> - - -<p><i>Limpy.</i> (<i>With newspaper.</i>) It isn’t a bad notion of Mr -O’Connell’s, nohow.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> I haven’t read it; but I can guess what it is. Seein’ -the state Ireland’s in, he’s buttoned up his pockets and taken another -vow.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> I know; a vow to turn every day into eight-and-forty -hours, and work every minute of ’em for Ireland.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> No; it’s a newer vow than that, for that vow’s a -week old. It’s a vow that his pockets, so long as the folk are -starving—shall fast too. That they shan’t know the taste of rent—not -so much as the copper taste of a farthing—till the peasantry have -every day a bellyful. He’s buttoned up his pocket with that vow; and -he’ll defy a troop of horse with drawn swords to open it again.</p> - -<p><i>Limpy.</i> Nothin’ o’ the sort. Quite another notion. Mr O’Connell’s -too modest a man to say<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span> anything about his own pockets: no, the hon. -gentleman, as they say in the Commons, knows his place, and confines -himself to the pockets of other people; and here in his letter to -“dear Mr Ray” he says, “How delighted I should be to be able with -any prospect of success, to propose that the gentry in each locality -in Ireland <i>should appoint a delegation</i> of their number to -meet together in Dublin without delay, in order to organise the best -plans for obtaining Government and local relief during the impending -calamities of famine and pestilence, and to embody in practical form -their suggestions to Parliament for laws suited to the emergency.” Now -isn’t this the liberal thing? To give such advice as this, to bring all -the cream of the gentry together?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> It might be called the Parliament of Famine. A tremendous -gathering, to be sure! And if only all the landlords as live away, -taking their change out of Ireland, would for once be brought together -in Dublin, wouldn’t it be an awful meeting? To only consider what many -of such members would for the time represent! There’s a good many of -’em the best of men, to be sure; but again, supposin’ it, as I say, to -be a Parliament of Famine, wouldn’t there be the hon. member for Filth -and Rags, the hon. member for the Houseless, the hon. member for the -Fevered and Naked, the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span> hon. member for Despair, the hon. member for -Midnight Housebreaking, and the hon. member for Midday Murder?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> What mad stuff are you preaching, Mr Nutts?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Nothin’ mad, Mr Slowgoe, but every word of it terrible -meaning—dreadful sense. Do you mean to say that if you got such a -meetin’ as Mr O’Connell speaks of, you wouldn’t have in the people -coming together, the representatives, as it were, of all the miseries -that make the wretchedness and the crimes I talk about? What do we call -the English Parliament? Why, the wisdom of England. All the sense of -the country skimmed and strained.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> But you never believe it.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Never mind that. Now, in the delegation of Mr O’Connell, -we should have all the sufferings, and horrors, and crimes of Ireland -represented, as I may say—brought naked before the world. And then if -these gentry could be got together, and specially the absent gentry, -the graceless babes that suck Ireland’s breasts, and never look upon -Ireland’s starving face—if all these could meet—“meet together in -Dublin”—and be made by a miracle to do what Ireland wants, how we -should find hon. members change their constituencies! The member for -Filth and Rags would be ashamed of what he represented, and resolve to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span> -stand for Cleanliness and Clothing; and Houseless, and Nakedness, and -Despair, and Burglary, and Murder, would all of ’em, as I may say, be -disfranchised—wiped off the national schedule—and Comfort and Health, -and Peace and Plenty, and Security, all of ’em for once send their -Irish members to Parliament.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Very odd this talk about Ireland, and quite makes out a -dream I had last night. I thought the Queen drove up in a special train -to London, and went down to Parliament with all her cream-coloured -horses, and with two golden keys, and the crown on her head, insisted -upon opening both the Houses herself. And then she took her seat upon -the throne and read her speech, and I thought it wasn’t her Majesty -I heard, but a silver trumpet; and I thought she talked about the -distresses in such a way that everybody wept, and even Lord Brougham -wiped his eyes with a roll of parchment; and her Majesty said that the -time was come for everybody to make a sacrifice—yes, sacrifice was -the word—for the folks in Ireland. And then I thought I heard another -flourish of trumpets, and I saw the Queen-Dowager come in with a large -bag of money marked £50,000. And with the surliest look in the world -she went up to the Lord Chancellor, and gave him the bag, telling him -that she, a lone woman, had £100,000 a year out<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span> of the taxes; she was -only too happy to give up half for as long a time as Parliament should -think fit, and the country should want it. And then there was such a -cheer, and I thought I saw the Queen-Dowager go floating out of the -House upon a purple cloud, and looking so happy that she looked thirty -years younger for it——</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Only shows what your waking thoughts must be, to have -an infamous dream like that. In the good old times they wouldn’t -have let you dream in that manner—not a bit on it. Yea, if things -only was as they was, you’d have Mister Attorney-General with a -<i>’x-officio</i> ’bout your ears for that dream.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Well, hear me out. When the Queen-Dowager went, I -thought all the bishops ran with money-bags to the table.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> (<i>Rising.</i>) I won’t hear another word. If you’ll -dream anything that’s possible, I don’t mind listening to you; but no -such balderdash as that.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Talking about bishops, it seems that Manchester has -a good chance now. There’ll be a mitre, after all, among the tall -chimneys.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Wonder if they’ll smoke the less for it.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Hope the roof’s safe, Mr Tickle; but you do talk a -little like an atheist. If Manchester<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span> is really to have a bishop, I -do hope they’ll send an early train to Liverpool for the Rev. Hugh -M’Neile. Why, here’s a letter from the <i>Albion</i>, a Liverpool -paper—a letter written by a “Churchman” about his Reverence, who’s -going to be removed, it seems; whereupon the writer says, “But how -will the cause be served by his removal from St Jude’s to St Paul’s? -What the one gains the other loses. And what is the reason of this -removal? The only one I have ever yet heard advanced on the subject is, -<i>that he has preached himself threadbare</i> (in his ideas, I mean) -where he now is, and wants to start with it all new again for another -congregation.”</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Very odd he should leave because his ideas are -threadbare. Why can’t he turn ’em and go on again? Others have.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Well, this is a good ’un. It’s an account of the Leger -running, taken from the <i>Morning Post</i> of Wednesday, about the -horse “Sir Tatton Sykes” and his jockey Bill Scott. “The appearance -of Sir Tatton Sykes infused fresh hopes into the minds of those who -had not seen him since Epsom, while the quiet earnestness of ‘Bill’s’ -manner assured them that the advice given him at Epsom had not been -thrown away upon him, and that he was fully impressed with the -importance of the charge committed to him. <i>Singular to say, <span class="smcap">HIS<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span> -CONSTANT GUARDIAN</span> was a clergyman of the Established Church. A -jockey under such guidance could hardly fail behaving himself.</i>”</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Should like to know the name of the clergyman. Odd, -isn’t it, that the black coat should match over the blacklegs? The -’Stablished Church will get a lift, eh? if every jockey’s to have his -chaplain. As there’s a talk of making more bishops, if Lord George -comes in, shouldn’t wonder if we’ve a Bishop of Tattersall’s; jist to -ordain young clergymen for all the race-courses. Don’t see too, if -clergymen are to be constant guardians of jockeys, why they shouldn’t -have a pulpit set up for ’em on the grand stand. Well, after this I -shan’t be surprised to hear hymns sung at a dog-fight.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> I see nothing to sneer at, nothing whatever. If Mr -Scott is fond of a glass, who better than a clergyman could be, as the -words go, his constant guardian? But it’s like you levellers. If you -can’t have good done after your own way, you’d rather it shouldn’t be -done at all.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Good done! Why, it’s right that a horse shouldn’t be -hocussed, certainly; but for that reason should a clergyman of the -Established Church sleep with the beast in the stable? It’s right that -dice shouldn’t be loaded or cards marked; but would it be right that a -clergyman should see fair play in every gaming-house?<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span> If parsons are -to wait upon jockeys, what’s to prevent ’em—if their patrons require -it—what’s to prevent ’em turning bottle-holders to prize-fighters?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> So I see Mr Newton’s writ to Lord Ripon to know what -his Lordship means by setting on his attorney to sneer at him, and -of course his Lordship won’t answer him; he knows the dignity of a -nobleman better.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> To be sure; that’s what’s called the privilege of the -peerage: to pelt a common man with mud, and then silently wonder at his -impudence when he complains of the dirt.</p> - -<p><i>Bleak.</i> Here’s great news, glorious news! (<i>Reading.</i>) “It -is said that the Duke of Marlborough intends shortly to take up his -permanent residence at Blenheim Palace.”—<i>Oxford Chronicle.</i></p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Well, that’s somethin’ to comfort us for the ’tato -blight. When the newspapers is ringin’ with all sorts of horrors, it is -a real bit of pleasure to come upon a piece of news like that. I wonder -that the papers that tell us when dukes and lords change their houses, -don’t also tell us when they change their coats.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Very true. After this fashion: “We are delighted to -inform our enlightened public that the Marquis of Londonderry appeared -yesterday in a bran-new patent paletot. He will wear it for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span> the next -fortnight, and then return to his usual blue for the season.”</p> - -<p><i>Bleak.</i> Here’s another bit. (<i>Reads.</i>) “Viscount”—well, -never mind the name—“Viscount —— has gone on a visit to his noble -relatives, where the Viscountess is expected to join his Lordship at -the expiration of her duties as lady-in-waiting to the Queen.”</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> I never could make that out, how ladies, with husbands -and families, could go and be ladies’-maids and chambermaids even to a -queen.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Easily accounted for, bless you! It’s all their -humbleness. They go to know what service really is, that they may be -all the kinder and gentler to their own ladies’-maids and chambermaids -at home.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> So the Spanish match is going on.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> And real match it will be too, with brimstone at both -ends.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> I see the Duke Montpensier leaves Paris on the 27th, -his baggage-waggon’s gone before him.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Wonder what artillery he’ll take, for there never was -a marriage that will smell so much of gunpowder. Daresay they’ll -marry him in a hollow square of soldiers, with charged bayonets; and, -moreover, that he’ll have a suit of armour under<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span> his marriage clothes, -and cannon with lighted fusees at the church door.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> The Spanish Parliament, I see, has addressed the Queen, -and wished her joy. And the Queen says (<i>reads</i>), “I receive with -profound emotion the felicitations which you address to me on the -occasion of my marriage with my august cousin, and that of my dear -sister with the noble (<i>esclareido</i>) Duke de Montpensier. I have -not only consulted <i>my own domestic happiness</i>, but also the -welfare and prosperity of the nation.”</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> (<i>After a long whistle.</i>) I wonder what would come -of state affairs, if it wasn’t for the lying that holds ’em together! -Why, lies to some governments seem like mortar to houses of bricks; -couldn’t, it seems, stand at all without ’em. Consulted her own -domestic happiness! poor soul! Consulted her parrot, perhaps.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> That’s a nice old gentleman, Louis Philippe, isn’t he? -Well, my blood as a Briton does bile a little to think that he has, so -to speak, gammoned our gracious Sovereign, after all his embracing and -kissing her at <i>Yow</i>,<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">2</a> and at Windsor Castle, and I don’t know -where; and all the time, when he know’d that he meant to jockey us, -and marry his son to that precious Infant. I do repeat it, my blood -biles——</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span></p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> It was shabby, certainly, and like a king. Nevertheless, -think as I will upon the matter, my blood’s as mild as mutton broth. -To be sure, I do think the little gal had better have married a -Spaniard, ’specially as there’s a prince or two in the family. And if -there hadn’t been a prince, at all events she ought to have married a -countryman.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> What! marry a princess to a husband with no royal -blood! Do you know the consequence? What would you think if the eagle -was to marry the dove?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Why, I certainly shouldn’t think much of the eggs.</p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp30" id="i_086" style="max-width: 18.625em; padding-top: 5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_086.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span></p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i_087" style="max-width: 72.375em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_087.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_VIII"><span class="smcap">Chapter VIII.</span></h2> -</div> - - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> (<i>Laying down newspaper and taking up razor.</i>) It’s -a great blessing it’s all over, and no signs yet of a revolution. -Wonderful, isn’t it? Come, Mr Limpy, here’s a razor that ’ud take off -the beard of a thistle. (<i><span class="smcap">Limpy</span> sits</i>.) Wonderful, isn’t -it, what a deal o’ bad taste, as it’s called, Englishmen will stand, -and quietly sleep upon, after all? Didn’t folks prophesy a riot at only -the notion of putting the Wellington Idol—as I’m bold to call it—upon -the top of the arch, and what’s the end of it? There’s Mrs Nutts, my -wife, had made her mind up to a revolution, made her mind up to it as -if it was a new gown, and no woman was ever more disappointed.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Well, I’m nothin’ to Mrs Biggleswade opposite. She -expected nothin’ but the people a-fightin’ with the soldiers; and so -moved her chest o’ drawers agin the door, and her feather bed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span> behind -the shop windows, to stop the bullets and cannon-balls. Now, whatever -my feelings was, bating filling my bottle with hartshorn, I took no -other trouble.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> And there’s one comfort; wherever there’s a woman, -hartshorn’s sure not to be wasted.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> (<i>With paper.</i>) A magnificent ceremony! What I -call a holiday for a whole people.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Quite a holiday for all the statues anyhow. Not one of -’em, I’m told, but felt it so. They say Queen Anne at St Paul’s, shook -her petticoats and stood an inch higher. George the Third in Corkspur -Street, raised himself in his stirrups. George the Fourth in Trafalgar -Square, stroked up the bustus of his wig. And the Duke of York, perched -on that very high pillar, out of the way of the sheriff, for once left -off thinking of his debts as quite beneath him, and looked like a -gentleman in easy circumstances.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> I don’t believe a word of it. Statues do this? ’Tisn’t -likely. What for?</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> What for? Jest as married people—ask your pardon, Mrs -Nutts—grin the most at a wedding, ’cause other folks have got into a -scrape as well as themselves.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Have you heard how the waxwork at Madame Tussaud’s took -it?</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Better than was expected. In course<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span> the Iron Duke will -be a great opposition, a great pull agin ’em for two or three weeks; -but as November comes in, and the shine’s taken out of his Grace, the -waxwork has hope that folks will come back to somethin’ like nature agin.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> You saw all the show, I b’lieve, Mr Tickle?</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Pretty well, only——</p> - -<p class="center"> -<i>Enter <span class="smcap">Cannikin</span>, a drayman.</i><br> -</p> - -<p>Well, isn’t this droll? Here’s the very man as is one of Mr Goding’s, -the brewer’s, gen’lemen, as assisted at the ceremony.</p> - -<p><i>Cannikin.</i> Jest did, then. Great day for the brewery. Not a ’oss -that drawed the Duke as isn’t twenty pound the better for it. Fetch it -at the ’ammer.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> No doubt. More than that if advertised: “Warranted to -carry twenty stone; quiet in harness; and never shied at the Duke of -Wellington.”</p> - -<p><i>Cannikin.</i> And didn’t the ’osses—the whole team on ’em—look a -credit to their grains? All on ’em—with laurel in their heads?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Considering where they come from, wouldn’t hops have been -properer? Well, and when the people saw the statue, how did they take -it?</p> - -<p><i>Cannikin.</i> They opened their mouths, and hooraed as if they would -ha’ swallowed it. If instead o’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span> bright brass it had been made o’ gilt -gingerbread, and the mob had been schoolboys, they couldn’t ha’ shouted -and smacked their lips more.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Well, I don’t wonder—it did somehow look good to eat. -It hadn’t so much a goolden as a custard look about it; seemed to my -eye as if it had been smeared with yolk o’ eggs. But go on; tell Nutts, -Mr Cannikin.</p> - -<p><i>Cannikin.</i> When we’d got the Dook well on the dray, off we -went—the ’osses mindin’ it no more than if they’d drawn dooks, -instead of beer, all their life. Off we went—and very grand it was. -Yet, somehow, when I looked at the cocked-hat—for I’d never seen a -cocked-hat in brass afore—I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t help -thinking o’ the Fifth of November. And then the brass cock’s feathers -in the hat—didn’t they rattle a bit?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Rattle! What, was they loose?</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> What they’d call in the playhouse, property -feathers—made o’ hammered metal. For my part, I should ha’ thought -they’d been cast solid.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Bless you! Mr Wyatt knows what he’s about. He made ’em -to rattle in the wind a-purpose to frighten the birds, and preserve the -Duke’s face, otherwise it was feared the swallows might build their -nests under his Grace’s eyebrows.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Impossible! they wouldn’t dare to do it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span></p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Why not? Must be plenty o’ room; for they do say -fourteen gentlemen took a sociable glass in the Duke’s inside.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Pooh! What for?</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> I s’pose to show, as I once heard <i>Othello</i> say, -that the Duke “had stomach for ’em all.”</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Never was—never will be—so great a man. Proceed. The -dray-horses—noble animals!—went on——</p> - -<p><i>Cannikin.</i> And when they turned Park Lane—and how they -<i>did</i> turn! as if they know’d the whole business quite as well as -we Christians—and got into Pickydilly, and the statue—as I thought -to myself—begun to smile, tho’ p’r’aps it was only the sun as broke -out upon it—as the Dook seemed to know he was gettin’ near home—then -didn’t the people shout agin, and didn’t the band blow their brass -trumpets, and didn’t the Dook’s brass feathers rattle agin? Oh, didn’t -they!</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Quite affecting to hear of it. And I’m told the Duke’s -balcony was full o’ nobility.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Bless you! full as the Red Book. There was the -Queen-Dowager, and a good many o’ the rest o’ the Royal Family.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> (<i>In a low voice, aside.</i>) Worshipping the graven -image.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> But, bless your heart! you should ha’ seen Sir Frederick -Trench and the Duke o’ Rutland<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span> upon Mr Wyatt’s stand. Didn’t they -laugh at the statue—and rub their hands—and wink at one another—and -put their tongues in their cheeks, as much as to say to the mountain o’ -brass afore ’em, “Well, it’s all right; we’ve got you so far, and we’ll -have you up: and when you’re well up, there you’ll stand; for we know a -’lightened people won’t trouble their heads a pin about the matter to -pull you down agin.” And that’s the way they sarve the British Public!</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Sarve it right. What does the public know—what does -the press, as it’s called, know in comparison with a committee of -noblemen? Talk about taste. Nobility comes into the world with it; it’s -only the sham sort that comes to the other people. The voice of the -press, indeed! what is it, at best, but bow-wow?</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> That’s what the Statue Committee think it. And they -do say, just to show what they care for it, that afore the Duke’s -head was soldered on, they put copies of the <i>Times</i> and the -<i>Chronicle</i>—as writ agin it—in the Duke’s inside.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> With a spicy cut of Leech’s from <i>Punch</i>, jest to -keep the cold from the Duke’s stomach. Well, it will be a bad thing for -some time for the playhouses. Mr Webster—I always sticks his bills for -him, like a gen’leman as he is—has got a new farce at the ’Aymarket. I -don’t care<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span> how droll it is—but it must feel the ’fect of the Duke’s -cocked-hat. Painful to think of, isn’t it, to one who sticks the -legitimate drayma—painful to think of, how, whether dead or alive, the -nobility is agin the English stage!</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> This talk about the drama, and such rubbish, Mr Nutts, -it’s enough to drive every respectable person from the shop.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Well, it is bad. But we must allow for early edication. -Mr Nosebag was, we may say, brought up on paste, and so talks like -a billsticker. And the Duke’s up, after all! Nevertheless, it’s my -’pinion, it had never been if a soul had been in town. Folks at the -watering-places, and folks abroad—in France, and in Germany, and in -Swisserland——</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> I pity ’em, poor wretches! out o’ London on such a day! -Every absent Englishman as thinks on it, ought to go into a shirt o’ -cinders-and-water. But go on, sir (<i>to Cannikin</i>), tell us the -rest o’ the ceremony.</p> - -<p><i>Cannikin.</i> Oh, it was all hoorain’—nothing but hoorain’.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Well, altogether, I’m disappointed. As the people was -for the time in such high spirits, and took the thing so kindly, I -don’t think they went far enough. Seein’ what a idol they’ve made o’ -the thing—sticking it up agin common sense—and,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span> by the way, the -sufferings of common sense under them as is got the upper hand, there’s -nobody can tell—seein’ what a idol they’ve made of it, the Committee -might ha’ gone further, and made the show, as I may say, complete.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> What do you mean, Mr Nutts? To my poor thinking, the -ceremony seems to have been magnificent—perfect!</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Not half. See what they do in Indy. Don’t the folks, when -they bring <i>their</i> dray, the dray of Juggernought—don’t they go -and throw themselves right down, as if upon a feather bed, right down -under its wheels?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Mr Nutts! You don’t dare to insinuate that free-born -Britons, men that never stoop to nothin’, should have cast -themselves——</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> What?—right down under the wheels of the Wellington -Idol? Why, no; not quite. That would ha’ been a little too serious. But -when we hear some folks talk as they do about the statue, and about -the Duke, as if he was the first man born, and would certainly be the -last—when these folks are for settin’ up brass and bronze to the glory -of gunpowder, and never heeding the glory of the goose-quill, or——</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Ha! there’s Shakespeare, and——</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Now, none of your low company, Mr Nosebag: I won’t have -it. Go on, Mr<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span> Nutts; you was speaking of the admirers of the Duke.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> No, I warn’t. I was speaking of the ’dolators. I like -admiration; but I hate ’dolatry of any man. I can hear the word -Waterloo, and not go down upon my knees to it. Well, I shouldn’t ha’ -liked these folks to ha’ gone under the wheels, theirselves; but since -last Tuesday was Michaelmas-day, a good many on ’em might ha’ found -very proper proxies.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> They might have drew a flock of the birds under, to be -sure.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> In course. And it would have been so in keeping, wouldn’t -it? Crushing the goose-quills under the iron wheels of war! Now I think -of it, that’s not a bad notion. Eh?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> (<i>Jumping up.</i>) Good-morning, Mr Nutts. Never -again do I enter your shop. A man who can speak thus of a statue of -all we love, a man who can talk in such an infidel way of Waterloo, -and—but, good-morning!—I think I’ve had a lucky escape, seeing how -often I’ve been shaved by an atheist. (<i>Exit.</i>)</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> See what it is, Nutts, to have principles. A customer -gone for life!</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Not a bit on it. He only wanted to go off, like a squib, -with a bang—and he thinks he’s done it. Didn’t like the touch of the -geese; thought<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span> it a little too hard upon himself, perhaps. Now, what -do you say to my notion, Mr Peabody? You ought to know—you’ve been a -schoolmaster.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> Before I entered the police, I had that melancholy -honour. Certainly there is something in your notion of the geese that -might be improved. Michaelmas-day might be made still more memorable by -a yearly sacrifice, after the old Pagan manner, at the Hyde Park arch, -under the statue. Recollecting classical instances—and on my beat at -night, it is now and then a comfort to me to rub up my rusty Latin; -indeed, I sometimes catch myself crying, “<i>I præ sequor</i>,” instead -of “Move on, I’ll be after you”—well, as I say, recollecting classical -instances, there might every Michaelmas be performed at Hyde Park, in -honour and memory of the Statue Committee, the Great Goose Sacrifice.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> It sounds promising: go on. How—in your classical -manner—would you manage it?</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> Why, I propose to have an equal number—that is, a -goose for every committee-man, whose name, for the nonce, the goose -should bear. And the goose should have fillets of sage about its head, -and a rope of onions circled about its neck and body; and its throat -should be cut to the tune of the “British Grenadiers,” played on the -brassiest band to be had; and it should be drawn, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span> stuffed and -roasted, and its savoury, smoking body be divided amongst the populace.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> And so with every committee-man—that is, so with every -goose?</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> So with every goose. And so should the glory of the -Committee endure to all time, and the names of a Rutland and a Trench -be odorous in the land!</p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp30" id="i_097" style="max-width: 23.125em; padding-top: 5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_097.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span></p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i_098" style="max-width: 72.5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_098.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_IX"><span class="smcap">Chapter IX.</span></h2> -</div> - - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> (<i>Opening door for child carrying hare in a dish.</i>) -Now, Adelgitha, you’ll tell Dobbs the baker to be very partic’lar with -that hare. ’Tisn’t pleasant to send meat to the oven, and have back a -cinder. (<i>Exit child.</i>)</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Specially arter the trouble of gettin’ a hare. Hares -aren’t wired every day.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Wired, Mr Nosebag? No sich thing. That hare died happy, -knowing it died according to Act of Parliament: goin’ to eat him with -currant-jelly, and all the honours.</p> - -<p class="center"> -<i>Enter <span class="smcap">Slowgoe</span>.</i><br> -</p> - -<p>What, Mr Slowgoe! Well, at first if I didn’t think it was a he-goat. -Can’t afford it—can’t, indeed; if you will go with your beard for a -fortnight, I can’t lose by it. No; that must be twopenn’orth;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span> not a -farthin’ less. Soap and razor can’t do it.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Never again, Mr Nutts, am I shaved by an infidel. Never -again should I have come into your shop, only, I—I think I left my -’bacco-stopper.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Never thought you smoked; but I do. (<i>Calling.</i>) Mrs -Nutts, you haven’t seen Mr Slowgoe’s ’bacco-stopper?—a little boot o’ -virgin gold with a diamond heel-top. If the child’s swallowed it, put -the poor man out of his misery, and say so.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> (<i>From the back.</i>) Mind your business, Nutts; -and go along with your rubbish.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> (<i>In a low voice.</i>) That’s like the women, isn’t -it, Mr Slowgoe? All our little pleasures in which they take no part -is rubbish. What do they care for ’bacco-stoppers? Not a jot: nothin’ -below a broken heart’s worth their notice. You won’t take a stool, Mr -Slowgoe?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Just while I wait. The thing will be found; for Mrs -Nutts is a charming woman, and——</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Mr Slowgoe, excuse me; I never say anything o’ the -sort myself, and can suffer no other man to take that freedom. -(<i>Calling.</i>) Mrs Nutts—partner of my bosom—apple of my -eye—don’t forget the currant-jelly. You see, gentlemen,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span> when it’s -a matter of dinner, a little kindness is allowable. Exalt man as you -will, still he’s a thing of stomach.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Stomach! I only wish Mr Slowgoe had seen that hare. -Poached, Mr Slowgoe, poached, as I’m a sinful billsticker. If Mr -Peabody here had done his duty as a policeman, he’d ha’ taken that hare -to Bow Street.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Ha! it’s no business of mine, of course—I’ll take -the paper after you, Mr Nosebag, just while I stay—no business; but -I know’d what it would come to when they disgraced pheasants down to -poultry, and sold hares with low rabbits.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Nothin’s surprising now; I shouldn’t wonder to see the -British Lion sold for bull-beef, and the Unicorn himself turned into -ewe-mutton. Wonder what Mr Grantley Berkeley would say, if he heard -that a penny barber dined off hare and currant-jelly!</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Why, he’d write another letter to the <i>Morning -Post</i>, of course. Great man Mr Berkeley! We’ve got a Keeper of the -Woods and Forests, why shouldn’t we have a Government officer, a Keeper -of the Hares and Pheasants?</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> With a seat in the Cabinet?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> And a right to raise a body of men, to be called -“Punchers on the Head”—punching<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span> everybody as ever looked at anything -above a weasel or a sparrow? But I always said it: once sell game—once -let the lower orders taste it, and, like tigers that once eat men, -they’re too conceited to eat anything under it.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Talking about Grantley Berkeley—here’s a letter from -him, that says he’s had warning from Lord Fitzhardinge not to think any -more of his seat for the “Western Division of the County of Gloucester”!</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> I see. An order to take off his Lordship’s livery and -look out for another place. That’s how they discharge valets, and -footmen, and——</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Independent members of Parliament!</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> I can’t stop a minute; but this is interesting: just -one look at the paper. (<i>Takes it.</i>) Ha! I see: a very long letter.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Yes; by what I can make out, it goes more for length -than depth.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> I’ve no doubt—whatever it is—it’s quite right. -(<i>Reads.</i>) “I have a letter bearing date the 31st August 1846, -in which Lord Fitzhardinge for the first time informs me that <i>he -shall discontinue the support</i> he had for so many years given to -my representation of the county. You will, I am sure, pardon me for -not touching on all <i>the wild passages</i> of that angry letter, -and permit me to bring under your notice the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span> only strictly public -accusation it contains. In the sincerest sorrow, I assure you, that -were I in the present instance to deem it worth my while to allude -to other objectionable portions of that remarkable communication, I -could do myself justice in refutation of them, without touching with -a <i>tenfold deeper tint</i> certain and mischievously ruling or -<i>predominant shadows</i>, that unhappily are already too well known -as <i>imperiously existing</i> in the quarter from whence the aspersion -comes.” “Shadows imperiously existing!” That’s fine writing, that is! -Real pen-and-ink work!</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> But why should the servant be discharged? What has the -unhappy man done that he should be commanded to strip himself of the -coat of the family—to take off his plush—to undo the Fitzhardinge -gold-band from his hat—and leave Parliament in a plain suit?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Why, he’s accused of “abusing Government patronage.”</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Well, that isn’t much—there’s so many to keep him in -countenance. But what’s he done? ’Pointed himself to be Master of the -Royal Poultry-yard?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> A mere nothing. All he’s done, poor fellow! is this. -He got a cadetship from Government for a youth some years ago, and -he’s just asked for another. Now, what’s in that, I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span> should like to -know? And yet on the 15th September, Lord Fitzhardinge—but here’s -the resolution (<i>reads</i>): “A meeting of some of the influential -supporters of the Liberal interest of the Western Division of -Gloucestershire having taken place at Gloucester on the 15th September -1846, and a statement having been made by Earl Fitzhardinge <i>as to -his future intentions with regard to the representation</i> of the -Division, it was unanimously decided to support, in every possible -way, <i>the views and intentions of Lord Fitzhardinge</i> as detailed -to-day, and as a necessary consequence to deprecate every attempt which -may be made to foil the Liberal interest in this Division.” And this is -signed by a batch of the independent electors.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Poor fellow! And what does Grantley say to that?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Doesn’t like it at all—and doesn’t mean to put up -with it. He says (<i>reads</i>): “On the field of politics, I stand -<i>precisely on the spot</i> whereon <i>he</i> (Lord Fitzhardinge) -<i>placed me</i>: I am so far and no further, <i>by his immediate -desire</i>, and with his personal concurrence; and at present it is -fair to presume that in his unexplained desertion of me, he either -contemplates a retrograde movement, or he means to jump beyond me, -leave me at a spot to which my obedience to his wishes<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span> led me, and -to join the Free Traders to the widest extent of their wishes. At all -events, by every law of courtesy and justice, he ought to give me -<i>the option</i> of taking <i>either step by his side</i>.”</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Well, there’s a good deal of truth in that. If I was able -to keep a footman, and he wasn’t to brush my clothes, or clean the -plate, or to bring Mrs Nutts’ lapdog into the room in a manner I liked, -I think I should first say to him, “Is that the way, Jeames, you take -the dirt off my trousers? is that the style you have your forks in? is -that the manner to lift a pug or a spaniel bitch (as the case might be) -worth forty pounds—is that the way to do it?” I should say at first -that he might try again, and not, no, not at once without a warning -word, discharge him, but give him, as the unfortunate Mr Berkeley says, -“the option” of trying his hand again. But so it is. Whether in a House -of Commons, or a house of call for tailors, people have no pity on -their servants.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> But Mr Berkeley intends to call a meeting in November -next; for, speaking of the county, he says (<i>reads</i>): “I am ready -to sacrifice myself, <i>as I have long done</i>, for her <i>real -interests</i>, but not to an unworthy conspiracy, if one exists. I am -in no way inclined to commit a <i>political suicide</i>, or to allow my -public life to die by the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span> hand of undiscovered assassination.” That’s -noble—and like a sportsman!</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Poor gentleman! And he has long sacrificed himself—and -nobody’s known it! Just as I’ve read of folks carrying iron spikes -about their waists, when people have thought they wore nothing harder -than fleecy hosiery. What a shame there shouldn’t be a House of -Commons’ “Book of Martyrs”! Then we should know our real sufferers.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> And a Berkeley go down to posterity with “a punch -on the head” (I wonder how <i>he</i> likes it?) from his noble -relation—for all the world as old Fox sends down <i>his</i> -martyrs—in a copperplate picture.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> No notion, I suppose, of the next independent member for -the equally independent voters of Western Gloucester? Not known yet -who’s to wear the gold-band, the plush, and the family facings?</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> That’s in the bosom of the Most Noble Lord Fitzhardinge! -He’ll do what’s right, I daresay.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> But isn’t there a law against peers of England -dirtying their precious white hands with making—just as children make -dirt-pies—members of Parliament?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> To be sure. But peers never do make<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span> ’em; they only say, -Let ’em be made; and their journeymen see to that. A good deal of it’s -quite the same as doll-making; and there’s dolls in my house that -open their eyes and shut ’em—and speak to notes that go for “no” and -“yes”—and with these dolls I make all the profit I can. Only there’s -this difference: the dolls never pretend to be anything but dolls; -they are faithful to their wires, and when they speak, they never -for a moment try to say—that very difficult word for a doll of any -sort—“Independent.”</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Talking about dolls, I see they’ve married them little -girls in Spain. Mr Lewis Philips has got another daughter.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Seem to have made quite a ballet-dance of it. Seem to -have danced the princes from town to town—as if the holy state of -wedlock was to lead to nothing better than a jig. When the princes got -to Tolosa (<i>reads</i>), “a lively and original symphony announced the -approach of the dancers; at the head of these marched a choir of little -boys, arrayed in white dresses, all bespangled with gold, with diadems -on their heads, and guitars or lutes in their hands. Then advanced, in -double line, the male and female dancers—the latter in blue and white -dresses, the former in white pantaloons and pink waistcoats.”</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> I see: the little boys “with diadems on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span> their heads” is -a capital touch; and means the lot of little princes that’s to be born -in Paris, to be ready for the Spanish throne.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> And what does this mean? I mean this about “the -fireworks”?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> The fireworks means the war that’s to be lighted for the -glory of France, when the King of the French is in the busum of his -partic’lar saint, and, gone from this world, has left to it the benefit -of bullets, bayonets, and saltpetre, besides the new diskiveries -that’s to beat Warner, and to blow up Maltar and Gibraltar by way of -experiment like.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Well, he’s married all his sons now—that’s a comfort.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Not a bit on it; for hasn’t he got relays of -grandchildren? Now I don’t want this to be known all over the Dials, -but the fact is, at this very moment—I have the news from a Moor -that sweeps the crossing in Broad Street—at this moment he’s sent -to Mr Besson, his journeyman lucifer-match maker, to go off at once -to Morocco, and ask the Emperor to let any one of his hundred little -daughters marry the Count of Paris, and to keep all the benefit of her -gold-dust and di’monds, and the M’ometan religion. And, moreover, his -Majesty promises to build a mosque for the young lady in the ’Lysian -Fields, I believe they call ’em,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span> with a mufty on the top of it, to -call her every morning to prayers.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Humph! we must mind what we’re arter in the -Mediterranean. Not that I think the Emperor of Morocco will consent to -the matter; in which case Louis Philippe——</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Doesn’t care a pin; acause he then intends to apply for -a daughter to Mr Abdel Kader. And when the Count of Paris has married -her, his little brother is to have a wife from Ireland.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Why, there’s no princesses there!</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Isn’t there? Louis Philippe knows better than that. -So he’s sent over to invite any of the five hundred gentlemen with -daughters, all undeniably come from Irish kings; and when he’s picked -out a bride, he’ll marry his grandson to the child, and in her right -take possession o’ the Emerald Isle! Queen Victoria doesn’t know it; -but never was a young woman robbed by a nice-looking old gentleman in -any omnibus as she’s been rifled by Louis Philippe.</p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp30" id="i_108" style="max-width: 25.3125em; padding-top: 5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_108.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span></p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i_109" style="max-width: 72.25em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_109.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_X"><span class="smcap">Chapter X.</span></h2> -</div> - - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> (<i>Stropping razor.</i>) Can’t think what’s come to my -razor. Won’t cut nohow.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> I’ve often told you, Mr Nutts, nothing is as it was. -The world’s gettin’ old; and the iron, which we may look upon as the -bones of the world, is going first. But what was to be expected from so -many railroads? The earth’s exhausted, sir, by the persumption of man. -I’ve been readin’ all about it, and I should say, as a man of business, -the world isn’t worth fifty years’ purchase.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Like my wife—looks very well for age, for all that.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> (<i>From parlour.</i>) Better let your wife alone, Mr -Nutts, and provide for your family.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> But if, Mr Slowgoe, we aren’t to get any more iron, what -are we to do for swords and armour in the next Spanish war? You know -as the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span> happy couple’s married—the Prince and the Infant lady, I -mean—who can say how soon the fighting may begin?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> (<i>Very solemnly.</i>) Nobody!</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Artful work, isn’t it, when a little petticoat like -that stirs up a war, sets armies in motion and ships a-sailing, and -fortifies batteries, and cuts down, and blows up, and brings, as I may -say, Beelzebub himself upon the world, like an old showman, to play -the pipes and beat the drum whilst the fun’s a-doing? I wonder, in the -course o’ time, how many thousand will be cut and blown to bits, and -all along of the Infanta’s marriage. Well, they may talk as they like, -but the real gun-cotton’s in petticoats.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> (<i>With paper.</i>) I perceive that the Queen of Spain -has ennobled the French Ambassador’s baby. Not weaned yet, and made a -grandee of Spain!</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> And not the worst of the lot for that, I daresay.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Make a darling baby a grandee, Mr Slowgoe. Dear -child! what good will that do it? better have given it a silver mug.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Only just hear, Mrs Nutts, and——</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> I think, Mrs Nutts, you’d better look to your pudding, -and never listen about babies.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Not listen about babies! Well, I’m<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span> sure—dear -creturs!—we’re troubled enough with ’em. Never mind Nutts, Mr -Tickle—he never deserved the babies he’s got.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> No! but how rewards do rain upon some men! Well, make -haste; read all about the baby, Tickle, or—well, it is odd—but you -never can even start a baby without bringing a woman about with you.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Very proper, too. You see, Mrs Nutts, the ’Bassador’s -baby is made Duke of Santa Isabel. He hasn’t done sucking his thumb -yet; but he’s a duke, for all that. Made a duke because his father got -the Infanta made a wife—a wife at fourteen, Mrs Nutts!</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> At fourteen! Well, where do they expect to go to? And -the baby’s a grandee?</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Of the first water; and as such—I’ve read it all -afore and will tell it you short—as such, he can’t have a single day -out from Spain without the Queen’s leave! And then, agin, he can’t -marry—can’t give his heart away, as you did, Mrs Nutts——</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> There! no rubbish!—go on with the child.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Baby can’t give away his heart and get married, if the -Queen doesn’t like the young ’oman.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Little sufferer!</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> But now comes the honour and glory.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span> Baby may keep his -hat on in the presence of the Sov’ran of Spain!</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> And his head, too? Because ’tisn’t always so certain.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> And further; baby has the right, in honour of the -Sov’ran, at any of the royal bullfights, to rush in among the bulls, -taking any of ’em by the horns he likes——</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Poor little innocent!</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Or taking his chance o’ luck as it comes. In fact, doing -as the boys do with the pie-man—risking a toss for it. And that’s what -it is to be a grandee of Spain, Mrs Nutts!</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Well, I thank my stars none o’ my precious babes -are that. They are not called upon to wear their hats and show their -ill-manners afore their lawful Queen; they are not called upon to——</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> No; and they’re not called upon to eat up the apples and -sugar, but they’re doing it. (<i>Mrs Nutts rushes to back parlour: -squalling heard.</i>) Best children in the world: I know ’em; they -won’t cry above half an hour. Tell me where did they ring the married -couples?</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> At the Church of A-toucher.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> Atocha, my good sir. The Virgin of Atocha is the saint -of all the Queens of Spain.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Ecod, she must have had her hands full in her time! Queen -Christina, I don’t know how it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span> is—I never saw the lady, don’t think I -ever shall—but, somehow, I never read or hear about her that I don’t -think of that beautiful female panther that Mr Tyler’s got in the -’Logical Gardens.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> There you are agin. Flinging at kings and queens! If -you <i>will</i> go on being an infidel, I <i>must</i> leave the shop. -How can a she-panther be like a Queen of Spain?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Not a bit, if you come to reason on it; and yet I can’t -get it out o’ my head. Whenever I hear of Christina, I do think of that -beautiful, soft, velvet-looking beast, so very handsome and so very -treacherous. Then there’s Mr Louis Philippe, he’s like——</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> There now! I won’t stop! I know what you’re arter. In a -minute you’ll be putting all the Continental crowned heads into cages -and ticketing ’em.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Nothin’ o’ the sort. Though, when you speak of cages, -there is certainly some o’ the Continentals, as you call ’em, safest -seen on this side o’ the bars.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> Talking of the Virgin, here is something about her -from the <i>Constitutionnel</i> (<i>reads</i>): “It is said that the -Virgin of Atocha, on the day of the marriage, was covered <i>with a -magnificent chemisette</i>, a present of Ferdinand VII. on his return<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span> -in 1814, and a petticoat, <i>admirably embroidered</i>, by Don Antonio, -the uncle of Ferdinand.”</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> “Admirably embroidered!” Now isn’t it a pity, Mr Slowgoe, -when you see fortin’ taking people out of their proper spear, making -’em kings, when they should ha’ been men-milliners? Carrying swords -and sceptres, and golden—what you call them round things, eh, Mr -Peabody?—you’ve been a schoolmaster.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> The ball—the ball of sovereignty. When a king holds -that ball in his hand, at his coronation, the ball is typical of the -whole earth; the world is in his hand.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> And I’m blessed if some on ’em don’t play worst tricks -with it than an ape plays with a cocoa-nut! But I was going to say, -isn’t it a thing to cry over, to think that fellows like Ferdinand——</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> I <i>must</i> leave the shop. I do not agree with all -the principles of that revere—I mean of that monarch; nevertheless, he -once wore a crown upon his head, and I must respect him.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Well, then, I suppose if all the monkeys in the world was -to go mad, and crown an ourangoutang for their king—I suppose you’d -respect him?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> I can’t answer for myself; but I think I should.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Worked “a magnificent chemisette”!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span> Well, for a king, -that was a precious thimble-rig!</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> You’re an ignorant man, Mr Nosebag; as dead to true -respect as the walls you stick your bills agin. The thimble-rig, as you -call it—mind I’m no Papist—was, he thought, for the good of his soul.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Very careful of his soul, no doubt. For all o’ that, I -shouldn’t ha’ liked to ha’ played his gracious Majesty with a table at -Epsom. He’d have always know’d where the pea was, depend on ’t.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Nevertheless, the Spaniards are a fine people, a proud -people, a very proud people.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Well, I don’t see what they’ve got to be proud on.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Their ancestors were very great men, and therefore -they’re proud.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Now, that reminds me of that lazy varmint Jack Blaze. -He does nothin’ but smoke cigars, play at skittles, borrow money, -and swindle everybody as will trust him. Ask him to work on his own -account, and he talks o’ the pride of the Blazes: only hint to him that -you should like to have the price o’ that pot o’ beer you lent him five -years ago, and he’ll strike his chest, and still—there’s the pride -of the Blazes! And why? The fact is, a hundred years ago, Jack had a -relation as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span> was a full private in the royal dragoons; and he got a -deal of glory, and all that, and Jack can never forget it. Now family -pride’s very well, when it’s kept up by the family working for it. And -I daresay Blaze the dragoon was a very fine fellow in his time; but for -what he did a hundred years ago, I can’t pay his relation, Jack Blaze, -who won’t do nothing for himself now. Family pride, and national pride, -to be worth anything, should be like a tree—taking root years ago, but -having apples every year. Now Spanish pride appears to me a good deal -like a Spanish chestnut—so long in the ground that it’s very near done -bearing.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> You’re so full of prejudice, Mr Nutts, there’s no -talking to you. What’s this? From the <i>Bristol Times</i>, I see. -(<i>Reads.</i>) “The permissions to shoot <i>over the Beaufort -estates</i> in Monmouthshire <i>have been withdrawn by the Duke</i> -from those gentlemen who are known to support Lord G. Somerset, his -brother-in-law.” Very right. The Duke of Beaufort knows what is due -to his own dignity. If he allows to voters the right of shooting -partridges, it’s only fair he should have the run of their votes.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> To be sure. It is but right. The voter, we’ll say, bags a -pheasant, and the Duke bags a conscience. Nothin’ but proper.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Here’s a dreadful case. (<i>Reads.</i>)<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span> “Twelve young -women brought up for breaking windows in St George’s Workhouse.—It -seemed they came to the workhouse, and were informed that they could -not be admitted until the evening, on which they commenced throwing -at the windows. The defendants said that they were starving about the -streets, and they admitted they broke the windows that they might be -sent to gaol, which was preferable to wandering about the streets -destitute and strangers.”</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> A bad case. And surely something must be wrong, when -starving folks are made, in this way, to turn stones into bread.</p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp30" id="i_117" style="max-width: 16.125em; padding-top: 5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_117.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span></p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i_118" style="max-width: 72.875em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_118.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_XI"><span class="smcap">Chapter XI.</span></h2> -</div> - - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> (<i>With paper.</i>) The King of the French seems -giving away crosses like winkin’!</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Hardly surprised at that. If things don’t take a turn, -shouldn’t wonder if he hasn’t a good many to spare. Hasn’t sent you -anything, eh, Nutts?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Not yet; though I’ve kept a sharp eye for the Parcels -Delivery all the week. Considerin’ what a shower of crosses and -snuff-boxes is coming down, I don’t well see how a man’s to miss one of -’em.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> A great man Louis Philippe! He didn’t come at the -crown, certainly, in the reg’lar way; but I’m beginning to be -reconciled to him, he’s getting so like the Emperor of Rushy and the -rest of ’em. Talking about crosses, Mr Nutts, how should you like Louis -Philippe’s pictur?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Why, that would entirely depend upon<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span> the di’monds. I -must say I shouldn’t value it much myself, if the pawnbroker didn’t.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Pawn a crowned head, Mr Nutts! But it’s like your -levelling ways.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Why, it isn’t often we <i>can</i> turn kings to profit, -and one shouldn’t miss a chance. Besides, when the war once began, I -should pawn the enemy’s pictur on principle.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Pooh! There’ll be no war. Things look a little black -at present, but Louis Philippe’s a great man: he’ll smile it all clear -again.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> They do say he can’t get a bit o’ sleep o’ nights for -thinking of the noise in Shee’ness Dockyard: when they’re doing nothing -but calking a whole squadron.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> What for?</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Why, in case anything happens, I suppose, to take the -Queen of England’s kindest regards to the French Fleet. And they do -say, that when the war breaks out, Admiral Joinville has taken a -private oath to captur the <i>Victoria and Albert</i>, with the Queen -and the Prince, and little Wales, and all the royal babbies, and Sir -Jeames Clark and Doctor Locock, and the whole of the crew.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Well, I don’t know, for the babbies’ sake, if I should be -sorry for it.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Why, you traitorous—rebellious!—Mr Peabody, as a -policeman, can you bear this?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span></p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> Yes: anything; I’m not on duty.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Hear me out. Sometimes when I wake o’ nights my heart -bleeds for them babbies. Haven’t you all read what Sir Frederick Trench -says, that in Buckin’ham Palace the royal children have such small -bedrooms that they’re like the little princes smothered in the Tower? -Now, if they was to be taken just for two or three years to France, -while the new palace was building, they wouldn’t, as it’s now very -likely, be stopt in their growth. Only think of a Prince of Wales with -not room enough to stretch himself! Now, the King of the French, I’ve -no doubt on it, would give ’em all nice roomy quarters at Yow.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> Beg your pardon, Mr Nutts; but—Eu! It’s difficult, I -know; but—Eu!</p> - -<p><i>Nightflit.</i> It’s all very well; but if once Louis Philippe caught -hold o’ them babbies, he’d never let ’em go till he’d married every one -on ’em to his grandsons and granddaughters. But there won’t be no war.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> (<i>With paper.</i>) I think not; nevertheless, I see -our ’Bassador, Lord Normandy——</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> A noble gen’l’man that!</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Humph! For a Whig. I see the <i>Réforme</i>—how I -hate that word!—a French paper, says, “Considerable bets were made -yesterday at<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span> the Jockey Club that Lord Normandy would have a fit of -gout, by order of his Government, at the period of the feasts which are -to be given at Versailles on the arrival of the Duchess of Montpensier. -Those bets exceed 2000 louis.” Ha! what we call perlitical gout.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Well, considering the lots o’ children in the palace, I -wouldn’t have gout, if I was his Lordship: no, to make it quite safe, -I’d have nothing less than measles.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> (<i>With paper.</i>) His Lordship may remain in health; -for another paper, I see, says this: “We announced that a grand -theatrical representation was to take place at Versailles on the -occasion of the marriage of the Duke de Montpensier; but the King, -deeply touched with disasters which have fallen on several of the -departments, has countermanded all kinds of rejoicing.” Poor little -Duchess! Her honeymoon hasn’t begun so pleasant, has it? To be sure, -she’s seen a few bulls killed, and, as the accounts say, “the usual -number” of horses gored and slaughtered.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> More than that. I was reading that one of the men that -fought the bulls has since died of his wounds.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> Well, I’m not superstitious myself; but the Greeks and -the Romans wouldn’t have foretold much of a marriage so soon followed -by<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span> death and a deluge. I must say, I <i>do</i> prophesy a war.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Why, there’s no doubt on it. One of our Ministers -has wrote a confidential letter to another advising him to send to -Manchester, to order I don’t know how many tons of gun-cotton; for -powder, you know, is exploded.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe</i>. How do you know this, if the letter was confidential?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> I know it from his Lordship’s footman, who found the -letter in his master’s letter-basket; that footman has a good eye for -a penn’orth, and—but let this be between us—that private letter -will appear to-morrow in the <i>Morning Post</i>! I tell you, tons of -gun-cotton.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> What is all this about gun-cotton? Cotton going off -and blowing up! Well, as I was saying to Mrs Biggleswade over the way, -it’s enough to frighten a woman from ever taking a needle-and-thread in -her hand. I don’t know how it is; but now, somehow, I do dread to go -near my cotton-box.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> That’s not a new complaint with Mrs Slowgoe, by any -means.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> A very fine invention this gun-cotton, no doubt; but it -gives a dreadful power to husbands: no woman’s safe.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Bless my soul, Mr Tickle! Not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span> that I’ve any fear of -Nutts, but do tell me what you mean. How do they make the gun-cotton go -off?</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> That’s it. You take the cotton and you steeps it in what -they call a sirlution of hydrogin and hogsesgin and creamovallygin.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Dreadful!</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> And then you dry it; and then it’s prepared. One woman’s -blow’d to bits already, and the police is after her husband. I see you -haven’t heard about it. Certainly it has been strangely kept out o’ the -newspapers.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Ha! that’s because only men write for the newspapers, -Mr Tickle. If it had been the other way; yes, if a poor woman had only -killed her husband, we should never have heard the last of it. But -of course a wife’s nothing. Go on, Mr Tickle—I’ve made the pudding, -Mr Nutts; you needn’t be looking knives and forks at me in that -manner.—Go on: the poor soul was blown to bits?</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> You see, she would go to the play; and because she’d go, -her husband wouldn’t.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Just like the whole sect: go on.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Well, it is supposed from what followed that her husband -went unbeknown to her drawers, and——</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> What! She never kept ’em locked?<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span> Well, perhaps it’s -wrong for one woman to say it of another; but after that, whatever she -suffered, it served her right. Not lock her drawers! Well, I have been -married to Nutts these seventeen years, and——</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> And I’m as well as could be expected after it. Proceed, -Mr Tickle.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Went unbeknown to her drawers, and got the poor woman’s -cotton gown, and steeped it in all the gins I’ve said: and squeezed -it; and dried it; and put it back again. Well, the poor soul dressed -herself, thinking nothing of the villany of her husband——</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Jest like us; and fools we are for our pains.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> And went away to go to the Surr’y pit. Mr Macready, the -imminent tragedian, was to play, and there was a precious squeezing, -you may be sure. Well, the doomed ’oman, with the gun-cotton gown upon -her——</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Dear soul! But she ought to have locked her drawers.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> With the gun-cotton gown upon her, was standing in -the middle of the crowd. Well, when the doors was opened there was a -general rush and crush—a bang was heard—the people screamed—the -cotton gown had exploded——</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> And the dear woman?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span></p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> A little white smoke went slowly over the heads o’ the -mob, and that was all that was ever seen of her.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Well, what’s gone can’t be brought back; but it’s a -blessed comfort to think of, they’ll hang the husband when they catch -him.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> They can’t, ma’am. By the law of England, Mrs Nutts, -they can do nothing to the man.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> To be sure, not. I’d forgot. He’s only killed his -wife; and what’s a wife? Men make laws, of course; and when they -make ’em, don’t they take care o’ themselves? However, we shall have -our turn. Yes, yes! the world—as I said to Mrs Biggleswade over the -way—the world is going on, and must take us women with it. Of course, -Mr Peabody, though you are a policeman, you’ll take the husband’s part; -of course. Nevertheless, I <i>should</i> like to know why they can’t -hang him? The brute!</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> Now, in the first place, my dear Mrs Nutts——</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Don’t talk to her in that way: I tell you she’s never -been used to it.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> In the first place, there’s no evidence. Gun-cotton -leaves nothing behind it—not a vestige. Certainly there is evidence -to prove that one minute there was a woman, in a certain gown, in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span> a -certain place; that there was a report: and then there was no woman; -nothing more than a little white floating smoke. Now, Mrs Nutts, the -law can’t be satisfied with this. Where is the woman? Where’s her -remains? The majesty of the English law demands the body to sit upon.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Fiddle-dee—nonsense! There’s plenty of people to -swear that the man had a wife, and now he can’t show one: isn’t that -enough?</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> I should say no; because it’s very well known in any -court o’ law that wives do sometimes go off without a bit o’ gun-cotton -in the matter.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> So you see, Mrs Nutts, your life is in my hands. I’ve -only to make you a present of a nice-prepared cotton gown, and——</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Don’t you think it, Mr Nutts; for from this blessed -minute, knowing what I do know—and I hope all women will follow my -example—I’ll never wear nothing but silk.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Gun-cotton! I don’t believe a word about it. All -new-fangled stuff. If we once go to war with gun-cotton, and give up -our honest powder—the powder that won a Nile, and Trafalgar, and -Waterloo—there’s an end of the British Constitution. They’re going to -take the flints out of the muskets, too, and trust to ’cussion-caps. -Well, if a war does come, I hope we shan’t<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span> see the King o’ the French, -not only King of Great Britain, but the Governor of the Bank of England.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Wonderful discoveries, certainly! We make gunpowder of -cotton to make wounds with, and lint out of linen to cure ’em.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> I wonder what Friar Bacon would say if he knew it. -Friar Bacon, Mr Nosebag, was a parson, and invented gunpowder. You knew -that, I suppose?</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> No, I didn’t; but from some parsons I’ve heard and read -about, I can quite believe it.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Well, my ’pinion is, if Friar Bacon was to hear of -this gun-cotton, as you call it, he’d treat it with the contempt it -deserves. I say again, I don’t believe it.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Suppose you was blown up to the Monument by it?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Well, I hate a man who doesn’t stick to his -principles—I wouldn’t believe it then.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Ha! Mr Slowgoe, don’t you in that manner fly in the face -of fortin and your washer-woman. At this very moment, I look upon it, -every man’s life is in the hands of his clear-starcher; for who knows -what they’ll make starch of now? and then for gowns and petticoats, -and——</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> There; hold your tongue, Mr Nutts. I’ll be on my -guard, I assure you. You don’t get rid of me like the poor woman at -the Surr’y, I can<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span> tell you. For if the gun-cotton only wants a good -pressing to go off, I won’t wear a blessed stitch that I don’t first -see well mangled.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> You’re a prudent woman, Mrs Nutts. Nevertheless, you’ve -talked quite enough to-day; and I don’t know that you’ve any partic’lar -business at all in the shop.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Don’t you? Then I have business; and I tell you -what—now little Tommy’s weaned, it’s my intention to come and have a -long talk in the shop every week. You’re not going to have it all your -own way, as you <i>have</i> done, I can assure you.</p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp30" id="i_128" style="max-width: 16.4375em; padding-top: 5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_128.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span></p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i_129" style="max-width: 72.375em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_129.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_XII"><span class="smcap">Chapter XII.</span></h2> -</div> - - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> (<i>With paper.</i>) Oh yes; it’s plain enough: more -danger in the Church of England. Here’s something taken from the -<i>Morning Herald</i> that shows how the cat jumps.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Well, I’m not partic’lar about cats in common, but -<i>how</i> does she jump?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Towards Rome, Mr Nutts; yes, towards the Scarlet——</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Mr Slowgoe, beg your pardon, but Mrs Nutts is in the shop.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Never mind me, Mr Slowgoe, if I am in the shop. The -children’s washed, the meat’s sent to the bakehouse, and I shall just -sit down and enjoy myself. Go on, Mr Slowgoe.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> The <i>Morning Herald</i>, talking of the danger to -the Church, says this much, that English people going to Rome, catch -the Catholic<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span> religion without knowing it. Listen. “Such families -were generally lodged in some portion of a vacant palace or mansion. -Commonly there was soon found dwelling in some adjacent part of the -same building <i>an accomplished and agreeable</i> priest or Jesuit. -This person soon found an opportunity of rendering some service; -obtaining access for the family to some gallery or museum, or an -invitation to some concert.” You see, Mr Nutts, how the thing’s done?</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Taking advantage of pleasure to undermine our -principles! Playing us into Popery with flutes and fiddles!</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Well, but if folks will go to see the shows at -Rome, when they’d better stay at home and be edified at their own -playhouses—what’s to become on ’em?</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Why, it just strikes me that we might fight ’em with -their own weapons. For instance, you say “an agreeable and accomplished -priest or Jesuit” is the disturber of the peace of families. Well, -before the family starts, why don’t they take with ’em—just as they -take cork jackets and life-preservers—“an agreeable and accomplished” -’Stablished chaplain to battle for ’em on the other side?</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Very right, Mr Tickle; and if I was the Queen o’ -England, I’d make a law that should force ’em. I thank my stars I shall -never go to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span> Rome; but if I should, I wouldn’t think myself safe with -anything less than a bishop.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Nor I. Not that I’d think of turning my religion for——</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Tell you what, Slowgoe, some folk’s religion’s like some -folk’s coats—too poor to be worth turning.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Never mind him, Mr Slowgoe. You know the sort o’ -husband I’m blessed with. As for the Papists, I often say to Mrs -Biggleswade over the way, “I wonder you can buy your cat’s-meat o’ -that Biddy Maloney, when you know he’s a Papist and goes to a Catholic -chapel. No wonder, my dear,” says I to Mrs Biggleswade, “that you can’t -keep a linnet or canary from the claws o’ that cat. Think what she’s -fed on, and who brings it her.”</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> As for the Jesoots, Mrs Nutts, they’re swarming in -every house—swarming like fleas, and we don’t know it.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Not at all like our fleas, then! Ecod, you’d soon know -<i>them</i>!</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> A pretty speech, I think, for a husband. I assure -you, Mr Slowgoe, if we’ve a single flea in the house, that is, a flea -to speak of, I’m—but what—you know Mr Nutts!—always likes to make -his wife little before strangers.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> I was speaking of the Jesoots——</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span></p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> I know ’em, Mr Slowgoe. I had the ague once; and -didn’t folks want me to take their bark: but no, said I—I’ll die first.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> And I was going to say that this last blessed -Thursday—fifth o’ November as was—Guy Fox Day, Dunpowder Day—why, -it only proves the Jesoots are everywhere. When I was a boy, Guys was -respected. Where are they now? I didn’t see ten in all Lunnun, Mrs -Nutts; and I made it my business to walk about and count ’em. And what -Guys, too! But it’s the fashion to sneer at and put down the wisdom of -ancestors; and that’s why the fifth o’ November is come to what it is. -The church bells ring, to be sure, but with nothing hearty in ’em; they -ring as if the whole thing was a joke. Oh, when I was a boy, didn’t my -father make squibs and crackers, what I call a moral duty on Bonfire -Day! And didn’t the neighbours club their old coats, and waistcoats, -and breeches, as if they was proud on ’em being made up into Guys: that -was turning out handsome, splendid-looking Popes; things really worth -the burning. And now, what are they? Well, I’ve lived to see something! -When I looked upon the things they called Guys o’ Thursday, things no -bigger than Tom Thumbs, with brown paper faces—I know it’s a little -weak, still I’m not ashamed of it for all that—I could ha’ burst into -crying. As I’m a Christian sinner, and a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span> lover o’ the Constitution, -there wasn’t one on ’em decent for the flames.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Well, now, if you had a bit o’ proper constitutional -respect in you, you should ha’ just put on your Sunday best, and gone -to the flames for ’em.</p> - -<p><i>Nightflit.</i> (<i>With paper.</i>) A dreadful affair this in St -Pancras’ parish! A poor, dear, innocent servant-girl shamefully treated -by a vestryman.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Just like ’em; go on. Shamefully treated! Oh, I wish -they’d just let me take half an hour to myself to make a few laws for -the men! I mean, that is, for ourselves. Laws never will be what they -ought to be till women help to make ’em.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Nonsense! keep to pie-crusts. A pretty light hand you’d -have for a statute. What did the vestryman do to the gal?</p> - -<p><i>Nightflit.</i> Why, one vestryman, Mr Douglas, charges another -vestryman, Mr Pike, with taking a servant-maid and chucking her——</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Into the canal, of course. Just like the men.</p> - -<p><i>Nightflit.</i> Not into the canal, ma’am; certainly not. He chucked -her under the chin!</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> There, Mrs Nutts! Ain’t you sorry you spoke? Chucked her -under the chin! What do you say now?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span></p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Say? Why, what I said afore—that it’s just like the -men. But read all about it. And I’ve no doubt a married man, too!</p> - -<p><i>Nightflit.</i> It all came out at a meeting o’ Pancras’ vestry. Mr -Douglas says that Mr Pike, being upon canvas and asking for a vote, -“chucked” the gal under the chin—as I s’pose for her master’s interest.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Well, where’s the great harm o’ that?</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Mr Nutts! if you go on with such sentiments, I tell -you this, I’ll go up-stairs! I won’t stop and listen to you.</p> - -<p><i>Nightflit.</i> Well, Mr Pike, the culprit as was thought, was called -in——</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> To slow music, o’ course?</p> - -<p><i>Nightflit.</i> Called into the vestry, and put upon his defence. -Poor gentleman! When he said—here it is in the paper (<i>reads</i>): -“It is untrue, upon my honour: in the presence of my God, it is untrue. -I know myself better than to be guilty of <i>so humiliating an act</i>. -I have more respect for myself than to chuck <i>any servant-girl</i> -under the chin, <i>and least of all</i> the servant of a vestryman of -St Pancras’.” This declaration seemed to satisfy the chairman and his -fellow-vestrymen. Very awful business, isn’t it, Mrs Nutts? Poor Mr -Pike, innocent as a lamb!</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Oh yes; to be sure; of course; never<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span> know’d a man -who wasn’t innocent! Don’t see, though, why a servant-gal should be -looked down upon in that way: been in service myself. <i>Any</i> -servant-gal, indeed!</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Wouldn’t chuck nothin’, maybe, under a lady’s-maid.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Very partic’lar tender parish St Pancras’; tender as a -maid’s face, to be sure: and certainly it does become the same parish -to kick up such a hubbub about chucking a girl’s chin, when they don’t -mind chucking a poor pauper wench into the “shed,” as they call it; and -so—when she gets out—driving her to chuck herself into the canal, to -be dragged out for a coroner’s jury to sit upon. It isn’t much, when -they crowd gals and old women into the “shed,” and the “feather-room,” -and places that fond o’ pork wouldn’t keep pigs in; that’s not much—oh -no! Poor Mary Ann Jones may chuck herself into the canal and be -drowned—she’s only a pauper, as the song says, “as nobody owns;” but -to chuck a gal’s chin—ha! that’s something dreadful—and the vestry, -as I’ve read somewhere, “feels it’s man’s first duty to fly to her -succour.”</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> I hope Mr Pike will get over the shock; though I -<i>have</i> heard he’s so taken it to heart, the very thought o’ -chucking the chin of a servant-gal—though where will you see prettier -chins for a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span> red ribbin sometimes?—that he’s gone ill, had his knocker -tied up, and straw laid down afore the door.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> And yet, I believe, it’s quite regular—a courtesy only -expected upon a canvas. Why, there’s hardly a member of the House of -Commons that doesn’t feel it his bounden duty to give a kiss for every -vote.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> And, as I say, many of ’em married men, no doubt? It -really makes one shudder!</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> Now, I take it, the little attention is in a very fair -proportion. If a candidate for the House of Commons kisses, surely a -vestryman may “chuck.”</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> There, Mr Peabody; you’ve been a schoolmaster, I -know, and it’s like you scholars; feelings are nothing in your hands. -You take ’em and twist ’em and turn ’em into as many ways and shapes -as the man that goes about with a sheet o’ writing-paper, and folds it -into everything, from a coal-scuttle to a chest o’ drawers. Just like -scholars, as they’re called: and how I <i>do</i> pity their wives!</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> (<i>With paper.</i>) Here’s another man writes that he -can make gunpowder out of sawdust, another out of paper, another out of -anything.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> I read that about the sawdust myself, and for that -reason I never again grate a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span> nutmeg with my own hands; for the world’s -taken such a turn, who now can say what will happen? As I said to -Mrs Biggleswade over the way, it’s my opinion, since they can find -gunpowder in a cotton gown, and, in fact, gunpowder in everything, why, -we mightn’t know one minute from the t’other when the whole world will -be blown up!</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> And that’s your opinion, Mrs Nutts.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> It just is; and I was thinkin’ of it only yesterday, -just as the tax-gatherer called for the rates. And so—although I’d -the money ready in a cup in the cupboard—so being in the dumps, not -knowing how long the world would last, I just thought it safest to tell -the man to call again.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> When you die, my love, what a deal of prudence you’ll -take out of the world with you!</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> More than enough, Mr Nutts, to keep twenty men -comfortable in it.</p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp30" id="i_137" style="max-width: 16.625em; padding-top: 5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_137.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span></p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i_138" style="max-width: 72em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_138.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_XIII"><span class="smcap">Chapter XIII.</span></h2> -</div> - - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> I don’t wonder we’re poor, Mr Nutts; sitting there -reading the news when you should be minding your bus’ness and your -family.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Bless the woman!</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Yes; bless the man!—but that does no good, one way -or the other.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Can’t I have a bit of quiet news to myself afore the -customers come in?</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Not with your razors in the state they are. ’Twould -be another thing if you was stropped as you ought to be. And I must -tell you this——</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> And I must tell you, Mrs Nutts, that I won’t have you -here in the shop. ’Tisn’t your place.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Don’t you think it? All the years<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span> I’ve been married -to you, I’ve been kept in the background—and you know it, Nutts. Very -well, as I said afore, Tommy’s weaned, and now I shall come for’ard and -enjoy myself. Women, as I said to Mrs Biggleswade over the way—women -have been kept too long under, a good deal too long. But it is my -intention now, Nutts—and I give you fair warnin’—to jine the movement.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> I wish you’d lead it and get out of this. (<i>Mrs Nutts -determinedly drops in a chair.</i>) Well, you are the most aggravating -thing as ever wore petticoats; you are——(<i><span class="smcap">Slowgoe</span>, -<span class="smcap">Peabody</span>, <span class="smcap">Nosebag</span>, <span class="smcap">&c.</span>, drop in</i>.) Mrs Nutts, my -darling, where’s the hot water?</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> On the fire, and minding its business. Biling, as it -ought to do, Mr Nutts.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> I’m first, Nutts; but I’m in no hurry. I haven’t -heard a bit of news this week: feel quite starving. (<i>Takes -paper—sits.</i>) Well, I’ve often thought what Rob’son Crusoe did -without a newspaper. To me, a paper’s meat and drink, and a blanket to -sleep in. Ha! so I see the Duke of Borducks——</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> Beg your pardon—Bordeaux.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> I know; but it’s Borducks in English. He’s got a wife -at last. The Duke of Modena’s sister—aged thirty—with four millions -of money!</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Poor thing! I hope she’s settled<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span> every penny on it -on herself, else a nice life she’ll have of it.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Four millions of money, and got safe to thirty with it! -’Twouldn’t have happened had she been in England! She’d had a swarm o’ -Irish barristers stopping her on the king’s highway, every one with -his heart and weddin’-ring. Four millions! Why, sweethearts would have -swarmed round her like flies round a sugar-cask.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> A very pretty comparison, Mr Nutts, for a husband and -a father.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Well, I don’t know; but to think of a woman with sich a -mountain o’ gold—it seems unnat’ral.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Quite awful to think of! Besides, quite impossible, too, -that any man could love her.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> And I should like to know why not?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> The money, Mrs Nutts, the money; it must distract his -attention. No man’s heart can be big enough to hold four millions o’ -money and a wife at the same time.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Just like you, Nutts. But I know what you’d have done -if you’d have been a dook. Yes; <i>you’d</i> have had room enough in -your heart for all the money; and as for the poor ’oman, she might have -taken her chance and have stayed outside.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span></p> - -<p><i>All.</i> Ha! ha! ha!</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> I see nothing to laugh at. And it’s enough to make a -woman’s flesh creep to hear you men.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> No offence, Mrs Nutts; but the fact is, women have -no bus’ness with sich a lot o’ money. ’Tisn’t giving us men a fair -chance. Woman, as I’ve always said, is fascinatin’ enough without -a penny—always has the odds of us, if she hasn’t a farden; but -when jined to everything else, she comes among us with millions o’ -money—why, it isn’t fair love-making; no, it’s nothing short of -manslaughter.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> How <i>did</i> Louis Philippe overlook her? Why, the -Infanta hasn’t got above a fourth of the sum—only a million.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Poor little thing! And nicely that brute her -father-in-law will snub her for it now, I daresay. A wife, and only -fourteen too! Well, if she’d been my daughter—but I’ll say nothing. -Only as a married woman I <i>will</i> say this, she’s begun her -troubles early enough.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Well, who knows?—she may the sooner get through ’em.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Nutts—but I won’t tell you <i>what</i> you are, now.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Lord Normandy, I see, as ’Bassador for England, didn’t -pay his public compliments to the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span> happy pair; and the Funds, I see, -went down because.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Why, no; but his Lordship went afterwards in private -and took tea and muffins with ’em, and upon that the Funds riz like a -rocket.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> The <i>Times</i> says that Louis Philippe has retained -Lord Brougham to plead his cause in the House of Lords. M. Guizot, they -say, has loaded him with all the papers—rammed him down like a piece -of brass ordnance with all sorts of wadding—and, there’s no doubt of -it, he’ll go off with a considerable bang.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> No doubt on it; and just as sailors do when they -board—get the better of their lordships in the smoke. Wonder what fee -Lewis Philip’s to give Brougham for the job? for, being a lawyer, he -can’t work for nothing.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> Why, they do say it’s to be made up to his Lordship -somehow in his arms. He’s to be allowed to quarter every boar he kills -at Cannes, and put him upon his coach panels; and further, he and his -heirs for ever and ever are to be permitted to land anywhere in France, -and not to have their pockets rummaged inside out by customhouse -officers. It’s further said that Lord Brougham intends to plead the -King of the French’s cause in French, that his Lordship may<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span> seem to be -as little of an Englishman in the matter as possible.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> (<i>With paper.</i>) Well, I hope I’m a lover of the -institutions of my country—but I think this is pulling the rope a -little too tight. I always stand up for the Church, and always will, -like any steeple; but—I’m sorry to own it—but, as a great man has -said afore me, this is too bad.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> What’s the matter? Anybody been sticking posters agin -St Paul’s? As a billsticker, I must say I’ve often looked with an eye -of envy at Queen Anne—often wished to stick her.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Here’s a letter from the <i>Times</i>; from a gentleman -whose wife and party was asked sixpence at St Paul’s on Lord Mayor’s -Day, because “she was told when once in, they might see the Lord -Mayor’s show there, when it came back in three or four hours.”</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Well, Mother Church is now and then a good ’un at a -bargain, for certain. Nice ways that to turn a penny with the men in -armour—nice way of showing a mayor and a mayor’s coach-horses at -threepence a peep.</p> - -<p><i>Limpy.</i> Well, it’s just struck me that if Mr Taylor of the Surrey -’Logical Gardens don’t mind what he’s at, the nobs of St Paul’s will -next summer get quite the better on him.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> I can’t see that. I don’t defend St<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span> Paul’s in the -matter of the show, but I don’t see how that venerable building is to -be opposed to the lions and tigers at feedin’-time.</p> - -<p><i>Limpy.</i> In this way, I mean. At the ’Logical Gardens, you know, -there is always a “grand display of fireworks.” Very well. Admittance -one shilling. Very well. Now if the folks of St Paul’s took it into -their heads, couldn’t they admit the public to the top of the church, -where they might have a comfortable view of the ’ruption and the -rockets, all at half-price?—for a little sixpence?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Humph! I don’t think they’d do that.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Well, I don’t know; when they make a peep-show of a -mayor’s gold coach and liveries, I wouldn’t trust ’em with Wesuvius. -Sorry am I to say it; sorry am I to believe that any church could so -forget itself as to think of making a penny by fireworks.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Don’t talk in that wicked way, Mr Tickle; but you’ve -learnt it all from my husband. And—sorry am I to say it, but though -I’m his wife, he’s no more religion than a tombstone; for, however near -he may be to a church, he’s not a bit the better for it.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> (<i>Solemnly.</i>) Mrs Nutts, it is one of the few -grievances of the marriage state, that a woman<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span> may take away her -husband’s character, and the poor man have no remedy for it.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> None: unless he pays himself heavy damages out of his -own pocket.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> And goes with ’em—which he always may do—to the -public-house.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Oh, you needn’t teach him that. But I was going to -ask, Mr Slowgoe, is it true that they’re going to take the dear Dook -down again from the Park arch?</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Why, they do say he’s received warning. All I know is -he’s beginning to look very black about something.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Well, I don’t know—I was saying so to Mrs -Biggleswade over the way—but after all that had been said, he looked -very nice and comfortable. To be sure the horse does look a little more -concerned about the battle than the Dook himself; but Mrs Biggleswade -assures me that that’s quite as the thing happened, all according to -’istory. But why—I want to know, after all the fuss of lugging him -up—why is he coming down agin?</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Why, the <i>Daily Noose</i> says that the Queen has -done it all. Her Majesty, having a taste, and knowing how a gentleman -ought to look on horseback, won’t have the Dook nohow.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> That’s one story; but I think the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span> other much more -likely. And that is, that it’s aginst the Queen’s perrogative, and -contrary to her state and dignity, to have any subject perched upon so -high a place that her carriage must drive right under him. And now I -think of it—for it never struck me before—there is a sort of a petty -treason in it. Good thing Sir Frederick Trench didn’t live in Queen -Elizabeth’s time. <i>She</i> knew how to use her royal perrogative; -she’d have had his head off to a certain.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Suppose she had. What would she have made o’ that? Why, -nothin’.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> But the poor soul and his horse must go somewhere! -What’s to become of him, can any good Christian tell?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Very like a traveller gone astray, and wanting good -entertainment for man and beast.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Well, I have heard, if nothing better can be done with -it, that it’s to be taken somewhere to the sea-coast, and made a sort -of lighthouse of.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> A lighthouse of! A lighthouse! How?</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Why, by fitting up a revolving light inside the statue’s -head, to warn ships from sands and rocks.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> And after all, I, for one, should have no objection to -it. After all, ’twould be a very<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span> pretty compliment to the aristocracy -o’ the land. (<i>Rising from his chair.</i>) For are they not the -lights and beacons that in time of danger——</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Come, none o’ that nonsense in this place. We’re none of -us Lord Georges here.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Mr Nutts, I have once, remember—<i>once</i> left your -shop.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Well, I never care to balk a customer, not I; so you may -take it even numbers if you like.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Don’t mind him, Mr Slowgoe; he’s a man as hates all -authority. Talks, too, about the perlitical principles! All very well -and very fine for bachelors, but I should very much like to know what -men with wives and families have to do with principles at all—eh, Mr -Peabody? You who’ve been a schoolmaster can answer that, I should think.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> Very true, Mrs Nutts; for the great Lord Bacon—you -have heard of him—eh, Mrs Nutts?</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> No doubt on it; but I can’t bring him to mind just -now.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> The great Lord Bacon was accustomed over his wine to -say, that the man who had a wife and children had given hostages to -fortune.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> And just like a good many of ’em. There’s Nutts -there, for all his fine perlitical principles,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span> I’ve often told -him—and Lord Bacon makes it true—that he wouldn’t mind giving his -wife and children to anybody, so <i>he</i> wasn’t troubled with ’em. -Only he’s not likely to give them to <i>fortune</i>, as the lord tells -of—not he, indeed; more like to force his poor wife to another Union; -well, it can’t be worse than the first.</p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp30" id="i_148" style="max-width: 23.1875em; padding-top: 5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_148.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span></p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i_149" style="max-width: 72.375em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_149.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_XIV"><span class="smcap">Chapter XIV.</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="center"><i><span class="smcap">Slowgoe</span>, <span class="smcap">Tickle</span>, <span class="smcap">Peabody</span>, and others waiting. -<span class="smcap">Mrs Nutts</span> comes from back room.</i></p> - - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Why, Mrs Nutts, where’s the master? Not gone to Brighton -and left you to shave?</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Ha, Mr Tickle! I only wish I could shave. I’ve often -said it ’ud be a nice light business for us poor women. I only wish I -could shave! Anything to get money one’s self; anything rather than -be going to a man’s pocket for every farden. Why—I’ve often asked -it—<i>why</i> shouldn’t women shave?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Nonsense! Taking men by the nose! Men—the rulers of -the world! Pooh! what revolution, I should like to know, next?</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Rulers of the world! Ha, the world never will run -right, Mr Slowgoe, till women put<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span> their hands a little more to it. -And as for taking you rulers by the noses, I don’t think any of you -need turn ’em up for that. I’m sure you men monopolise everything. Very -little you leave us to do; and what we could do, you won’t let us; and -for this reason, in course, to keep us your slaves. I only wish I was -the Queen of England! Wouldn’t I set the example of shaving, that’s all?</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Why, how, Mrs Nutts? how?</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> How? Why, as I say, I’d bring in fashion. I’d make a -Maid of Honour, or something of that sort, shave my own lawful husband; -and I’d see it done, too, every morning; shave him just to set the -thing a-going. That would give employment to lots of poor things that -has nothing now but the needle.</p> - - -<p><i><span class="smcap">Nutts</span> comes in.</i></p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Why, Nutts, you’ve just come in time. In another -minute, and your wife would ha’ taken the business out of your hands.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Yes, I know; jest the persumption of women; think they -can do anything their husbands do. If I was a Horse Guardsman, she’d -think she’d look quite as well as me in boots, helmet, and regimentals. -It’s like all wives; but it’s our own fault—I’ve often said it. We’re -too<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span> free with ’em: it’s the famil’arity breeds contempt. Women shave, -indeed!</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> And why not? A very light, genteel livelihood. Better -than making shirts, I’m sure; for a woman with a razor in her hand -wouldn’t be the unpertected thing she is now.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Now, Mrs Nutts, suppose you go and look to the -apple-sarce, and, for a little while, be quiet with your own. Burns the -baker has promised to do the pig like a pictur; that’s why I took it -myself; brown and crisp, and——</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Well, Nutts, I wouldn’t worship a roast pig as you -do, for its weight in gold; I should think something would happen to -me. You, with a wife and family, to be the slave you are to crackling!</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> If a great man hadn’t one weakness, he wouldn’t be fit -society for the miserable sinners in this world about him. I have one -weakness—jest one—and that is now in the oven. Now, Mr Nosebag, shall -I make you fit for company? (<i>Nosebag takes the chair.</i>)</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Well, I have one comfort, Nutts; if anything should -happen to you, I’ve seen you shave so often, that I’m sure I could keep -the children, and do it quite as well myself, if the customers would -trust me.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> You shall have my custom, Mrs<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span> Nutts. I wouldn’t desert -the widder of my friend.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Nor I.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Gentlemen, allow me for a moment to think myself dead and -buried, and to thank you warmly from the churchyard. Your friendship -for my widder and fatherless babes is quite affectin’.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> (<i>With paper.</i>) There really is no enjoying a -bit of news. Such nonsense! Women shaving men, indeed! They might be -allowed to lather us, and that, I think, is going quite far enough. -But <i>do</i> let us talk of something serious. This, now, is rather -an awful matter. This time—and no mistake—Mother Church really is in -danger.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Well, she’s used to it; by this time, I should think, -must rather like it. What’s the matter?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Oh, the old enemy—the Scarlet Woman of Rome. Here’s -the Surrey Protestant Alliance as meets at the Horns, in Kensington. -It’s all out. Colonel Sir Digby Mackworth says, all the reporters of -the newspapers are all of ’em Papishes.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> La! Never! Well, if that’s true, not a newspaper -comes into this house! If he was to come to life again, I’d jest as -soon let the back attic to Guy Fawkes.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span></p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> All Papishes, and all of ’em—with poisoned pens in -their hands—sworn upon a sheet of foolscap not faithfully to report -the speeches of Captain Gordon and the Rev. Hugh Stowell, and such -great men as speak for the Protestant cause.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> I don’t believe it. My true ’pinion is, that if the -reporters really wanted to hurt the Protestant cause, they’d put down -every syllable—just as it’s said—that such talkers talk about it. -It’s my belief they couldn’t do it worse service.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> Having read a good many of their speeches, I should -certainly say that any alteration would better ’em.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> To be sure: I’d forgot I was talking to some folks no -better than infidels. People who won’t believe any wickedness of the -Pope! For my part, I don’t know where the religion’s gone to. When I -think of these reporters let loose about London—reporters, every one -on ’em, as Mr Stowell would say, hatched from a cockatrice’s egg, set -upon in Trinity College for the purpose—every one full of quills as a -porkipine, going to Exeter Hall and the Horns Tavern, and, for what I -know, the Bull and Mouth, and the Belle Savage——</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> Beg your pardon—<i>Belle Sauvage</i>.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> I know that; but who’d stop for pronunciation when -the Church is in danger? When,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span> I say, I see ’em all with their drawn -quills at such meetings, they do seem to me no better than ’sassins -with daggers ready to stick at nothing but Protestant ’Scendancy.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> My stars! and——</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Mrs Nutts, stars will do.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Well, I can’t speak without being taken up! I was -only going to ask what was to be done against such creturs—going with -drawn daggers among peaceable people?</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Why, nothing. (<i>Feeling his chin and rising.</i>) A -very clean shave, indeed; got a chin like white satin. Why, nothing can -be done—nothing.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> No; because we want a minister with wigour. But I’d -stop it, I would. Yes; for I wouldn’t let a single reporter into any -meeting ’somever that didn’t—as members of Parliament used to do when -England was worth living in—that didn’t renounce the Pope and all his -works; and Captain James Gordon, with two drawn swords at the door, -should ’minister the oath.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Well, I don’t know. I’m not a Papish myself—never -shall be—but——</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Just as I said to Mrs Biggleswade over the way—“My -dear,” says I, “they might tear me to bits with wild Arabian horses, -and they wouldn’t get my religion out of me.”</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Very proper, ma’am; I’m delighted to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span> hear you. I will -say this, you’re worthy of Smithfield in its best days.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> But I was going to say, this new Pope seems a fine old -chap. Doing all sorts of good. I’ve heard that he’s set up a <i>Penny -Roman Magazine</i>—and has, with his own hands, turned I don’t know -how many sods for railways—and let perlitical people out of prison, -and——</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Yes, yes; we know Rome before this. All a blind. People -who know anything, know that very well. Why, there isn’t an Italian -boy that sells images—and I suppose you’ve heard that Dr Pusey and -Dr Newman are coming out in Roman cement, at sixpence a-head, for -mantelpieces?—there isn’t, I say, an Italian image-boy as doesn’t -expect to hear the Pope say High Mass in Westminster Abbey.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Not possible!</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Mrs Nutts, though I honour you for what you’ve said -about the Arab horses, nevertheless you don’t know Rome. Why, the Pope -will come to England, just as Ibraham Parker did, to see—that’ll be -the excuse—our works and manufactures. He’ll be asked to take a snack -at Oxford, in course. And then when he’s seen all the sights—and -p’r’aps given Madame Tussaud a sittin’ for her waxwork—he’ll just go -off softly in a cab to Westminster Abbey, pay his money at<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span> the door, -as if nothing was the matter, and then quietly walk in. Now I’m not -an alarmist—I should be sorry if I was—but with the Pope once well -inside Westminster Abbey, who do you think is to get him out agin?</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> To be sure. And for what I know, he’d turn us all -into nuns; but I know what I’d do—I’d die first!</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> No doubt on it, Mrs Nutts. But what a comfort, my love, -that they’d allow you the preference. Shouldn’t wonder, Slowgoe, if -they didn’t make you a cardinal.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> Yes; Cardinale Lentopasso. Rome has certainly seen her -Slowgoes in her day. The Lentopasso——</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Now, Mr Peabody, none of your Greek, if you have been -a schoolmaster.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> The Lentopasso is a very old name in the Church. The -family crest is a snail proper chewing opium.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> The nasty creturs! But just like ’em.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> (<i>With paper.</i>) So they’re going to make the -Duchess of Marlborough pay a fine for shooting her husband’s pheasants. -Rather hard, isn’t it; a wife not allowed to kill her husband’s game?</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> But it’s all done to lower marriage—all done to make -little of the weddin’-ring. I’m sure I wonder they don’t alter the -marriage service.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span> Talking about flesh of flesh, and bones of bones, -and a lawful married woman is to take out a stamp to shoot at what -belongs to her! What do you say to that, Mr Slowgoe?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Why, really, Mrs Nutts, I’ve a great respect for any -duchess—nevertheless, the game-laws is, I must say it, a solemn -matter; mustn’t be tampered with because of the vulgar. If duchesses -will insist upon using powder—I mean, in course, gunpowder—they must -be properly authenticated so to do.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> But if ladies will shoot—if the taste’s coming up that -way—why don’t they shirk the licence, and sport with poultry? Aren’t -there hens, and ducks, and geese to be killed for the kitchen? I don’t -see why the fashion shouldn’t go up from chickens to bullocks.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Talking about shooting, I see Prince Albert shot a whole -swarm of rabbits at Virginny Water on Monday—rabbits that was sent -(<i>reads paper</i>) “to Mr Humphries of Egham, the contractor for the -purchase of all rabbits killed in the home and great parks.” Isn’t that -droll?—for the Queen’s husband to sell rabbits?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> There you go with your sneering disloyalty agin. Not -at all droll, for there isn’t one of them rabbits that won’t be turned -into a beef-steak or a mutton-chop.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span></p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> La! how do you mean?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Why, in this way. The money that Mr Humphries gives for -’em will, of course, be laid out upon butcher’s-meat, and at Christmas -be distributed to the Windsor poor!</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Shouldn’t have any objection to all the game in the -world, if it could be so transmogrified. A pheasant shan’t be disgraced -with ribs of beef for a proxy.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> So the Court, I see, is gone to Osborne House, in the -Isle of Wight.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> As a loyal subject, that Isle of Wight makes me very -uneasy. To be sure, it’s rather near to Portsmouth; nevertheless, when -the war breaks out——</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> And I’m told it’s whizzing up in France like a -gingerbeer-cork with the string cut.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> When it goes off, ’twouldn’t at all surprise me if that -Joynveal was to ’tack the Isle of Wight, and Osborne House in ’special. -I must say it, I should sleep easier with the thoughts of a handful of -forty-pounders there. A battery or two would help to set my mind at -rest.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> The Queen and the Prince, they do say, have gone down to -see about the planting, and not the guarding, of the place—planting it -with trees.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> What a very pretty picture! Her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span> Gracious Majesty -dropping acorns in the earth. Britannia sowing her own oaks.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Dear soul! And let us hope she’ll live to see a -flourishing crop of three-deckers.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> There goes one o’clock. Pig’s ready. Can’t shave another -hair. (<i>Runs out.</i>)</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> There! I told you all so. A man with a wife and -family, and yet sich a headstrong cretur of crackling!</p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp30" id="i_159" style="max-width: 23.125em; padding-top: 5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_159.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span></p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i_160" style="max-width: 72.5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_160.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_XV"><span class="smcap">Chapter XV.</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="center"><i><span class="smcap">Nutts.</span> In his circle.</i></p> - - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> (<i>With newspaper.</i>) Pretty quiet, I see, about -this Cracow business.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Why, yes; when kings choose to break into towns, it’s -what we may ’nominate burglary made easy. Heads may do anything, if -they happen to be anointed, as you call it; for then they’ve been made -so slippery, Justice can’t catch hold of ’em.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Mr Nutts, you’re incurable. Justice is very well for -people like us; but when it comes to emperors and kings—why, then, you -see the scales of Justice——</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> I know; not big enough for royal transactions. Justice -may keep a chandler’s shop in the Old Bailey, to serve out penn’orths -to poor people——</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> And sometimes cruel hard penn’orths, too.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span></p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> But she hasn’t weights heavy enough for wholesale work. -She can’t weigh cities and towns, and thousands of men, women, and -children, for royal customers. There’s no place sufficiently large in -this world for her to set up her scales in.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> Why, no; perhaps not in this world. But heaven’s big -enough, Mr Nutts; and there’s a destiny, they tell us, that weighs -mountains.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Now none of your irreligion, Mr Peabody. If the King of -Prussia and the Emperor of Austria and of Russia——</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Well, I’d a droll dream about them a night or two ago. -I’d been reading a police case and fell asleep, and I dreamt that I -saw the three of ’em, with their crowns upon their heads, put into a -police-van. And then I thought I saw a policeman in a coat of blue -fire—no reflections on you, Mr Peabody—jump upon the steps, and heard -him bang to the door, and cry out with a jolly loud voice, “<i>All -right, <span class="smcap">Newgate</span>!</i>”</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Well, I’m not a cruel person; but if order’s to be at -all respected, I’d hang any man for dreaming a dream like that.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> And then I thought the three crowned heads—and how -often has Fortin crowned where she ought to have bonneted!—the three -crowned heads was put upon a cast-iron treadmill; and as they went up -and up, it grew warmer and warmer, till at last it was red-hot.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span></p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> If this conversation is continued I must leave the shop.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> And then, after a little while, I thought I saw the -crowned heads put upon a bench pickin’ oakum—no; it was a lot of -little snakes in knots which the crowned heads couldn’t separate; and -which the more they was picked the more they stung—and didn’t the -crowned heads all blow and blow, as if they’d well burnt their precious -fingers!</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Don’t talk in that way, Mr Tickle; it isn’t like a -Christian; ’specially with such company as kings. For after all, poor -things! they mayn’t know better.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> And after all—I do confess it—since I’ve seen Prince -Albert’s pigs at the cattle-show, I do feel a greater respect for all -sorts of royalty.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Well, I must say it, and I don’t mean any joke, but in -the respect that’s got from prize pigs there must be a good deal of -gammon.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Here’s the account (<i>reads</i>): “Pigs of any breed, -above twenty-six and under fifty-two weeks old.—H.R.H. Prince Albert, -of Windsor Castle, a pair of three forty-one-weeks-old Bedfordshire -pigs, bred by H.R.H. and fed on corn, meal, milk, and potatoes.—Second -prize, £5.”</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> And you can’t think it, Mr Slowgoe, such loves! I -could have nursed ’em!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span></p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> I own it; loyalty seemed to steal all over me as I looked -at ’em. I confess the weakness, but had my country been on one side, -and them pigs on the other, I should have been a traitor in the cause -of pork.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> As I said to Mrs Biggleswade over the way—for she -went with us; the poor soul! like me, it isn’t often she gets out from -that brute her—but never mind—as I said to Mrs Biggleswade, “My dear, -this is the Prince’s pork, and they don’t look like common vulgar pigs, -do they?” And they didn’t; they looked as white as if they’d been -washed with the best scented Windsor soap, and dried upon damask. “My -dear,” whispered Mrs Biggleswade to me, and I could see something was -passing in her mind—“My dear, them’s the Prince’s pigs! Well, I feel -so affected, I could kiss ’em.”</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Not bad things, I daresay, to put your lips to, when -roasted.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Ha! There was something in ’em. They wasn’t at all -common pigs, I tell you. Fed on corn, and milk, and potatoes! Under -the Prince’s own eye, too! only think, wasn’t that something to -consider, as the sweet things lay grunting—for they was too fat to -stand—grunting afore you?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Mrs Nutts, I must honour your principles. To a loyal -mind, it must be impossible to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span> look upon those pigs, and not feel -there was a perfume, as it were, of royalty about ’em.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> I can’t say about that: when I looked at ’em, I seemed to -smell nothin’ but sage and onions.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Don’t talk in that way, Nutts. It appears to me -wicked to think of eating ’em: all the while I looked at ’em, they -seemed to take me nearer to his Royal Highness. And so it seemed with a -good many other ladies; I’m sure there wasn’t one of us that would have -begrudged her golden ear-rings to put in their precious noses.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Women are such devoted creturs—specially when there’s -princes in the way. To throw ear-rings to pigs! Well, what next?</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Ha! but they wasn’t at all like common pigs, I tell -you—so genteel; not at all like other pork. In a minute you could see -they were pigs of high breedin’; for they lay upon their sides, with -their noses a-restin’ on the troughs, doing nothin’. They wouldn’t try -to take the trouble to look at us; they was so fat they couldn’t open -their eyes theirselves, when a young man—to oblige us—with his finger -and thumb opened ’em for ’em. And Mrs Biggleswade and me both agreed, -that for pig’s eyes, they were the sweetest blue we ever see.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Ha! This comes o’ being fattened on royal milk, and -filled with royal potatoes. Jest<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span> like you women. If a great man was to -bring up a prize donkey, you’d swear it was the finest zebra; and, for -what I know, wear thistles in your caps and bonnets in honour of the -animal. If the Prince’s pigs were to be bled into black puddings, what -a scramble there would be to buy the delicacy!</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> There now, Mr Tickle, I don’t want to hear your -heathen discourse. If I was to look upon such puddin’s—coming from -the Prince’s sty—as the blood royal, what’s that to you? And if Mr -Nutts was like any other man—which he isn’t—he’d hardly hear his -wife talked to in this manner. And then, Mr Slowgoe—not but what the -pigs carry away the bell with me—then you should have only seen the -Prince’s heifer!</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Here it is, I see (<i>reads</i>): “<span class="smcap">Extra -Stock</span>.—Cattle.—H. R. H. Prince Albert, of Windsor Castle, a -two-years-and-eleven-months-old Highland Scot and Durham heifer, -bred by Mr Milnes, Downham, Norfolk, and fed on cake, meal, hay, -<i>Swedes</i>, and mangold-wurzel! travelled to the show on foot nine -miles, and by railway twenty-two miles.—Silver medal.” Now, does the -medal, I wonder, go to the Prince or to Mr Milnes?</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> To Mr Milnes, indeed! Like his impudence! To Prince -Albert, of course; and I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span> should hope on state days and drawing-rooms, -and so forth, he’ll wear it.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> No objection to that at all. As there’s the Order of -the Golden Fleece, and the Order of the Elephant, and suchlike—given -to statesmen and soldiers, very often for swindling and killing one -another—eh, Mr Peabody? you’re a scholar, and know all about it—I -don’t see why at these cattle-shows there shouldn’t be the Order of -the Ox—the Order of the Steer—the Order of the Ram—the Order of the -Wether Sheep—the Order of the China Pig—and the Order of the Pig of -Any Breed.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> Why not? With Knights Companions of Oilcake, -Mangold-Wurzel, Buckwheat, and Barleymeal? I don’t see why a very -pretty sort of heraldry might not be got up of prize cattle; much wiser -and more serviceable, after all, to mankind, than the prize Unicorns -and prize Griffins won upon battle-fields. Then, as for the shedding of -blood, I don’t think that’s the best sort that grows us laurels; but -that <i>that</i> runs to black puddings.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Well, of the two, I know which does the least mischief, -and gives the wholesomest bellyful. And as there’s a good many of the -aristocracy—by-the-by, you can’t think what a while I was mustering -that word, but I’ve got hold of him at last—as the aristocracy go in -every year for a show<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span> of fat, I shouldn’t wonder to see the day come -when medals for killing men, and, as Mr Tickle says, for swindling ’em -in cabinets, haven’t all the shine taken out of ’em by the medals of -cattle-shows.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> Very true, Mr Nutts. Put a case now. There is M. -Bresson: I believe he has had bestowed upon him the Order of the Golden -Fleece.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> What was the beginnin’ of that Order?</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> To reward the flaying of a whole people! Well, -Mons. Bresson has the Fleece because he kidnapped that little -girl—the Infanta—as a daughter-in-law for Louis Philippe. Poor -little Merino Lamb! the Fleece had a meaning in it, as payment for -such work. Nevertheless, when the Frenchman walks with it about his -neck—as though he carried a star out of heaven under his chin—do -you think, all matters considered, the Order is as honest a looking -thing—as honourable to him who carries it, and as serviceable to -the world, as the gold medal given to—here it is (<i>reads</i>)—to -“Mr J. Painter of Burley, near Oakham, Rutland” for “a pen of three -twenty-one-months-old new Leicester wethers”? Tell me that, Mr Slowgoe.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> I should think not: that’s something like Fleece, that -is; and the wethers were fed upon good honest corn, and meal, and -pulse, I’ll be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span> bound—while for the poor little Spanish girl, I wonder -what sort of promise the Frenchman crammed her with, that made her a -Prize Bride, and so rewarded him with the Prize Order.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> But after all—though I’ve stuck the bills, as I may -say, taken money of the cattle—after all, it does seem to me a flying -in the face of plenty, to fatten ’em, not for the food of Christians, -but for soap and candles. I’m sartin on it—for I walked round and -looked at all on ’em—there was half-a-dozen oxen there that was so -fat they seemed quite disconcerned o’ themselves. And the poor creturs -seemed to look at some o’ their owners as much as to say, “We wonder -you ain’t ashamed o’ yourselves to spile our figures in this fashion; to -pad us—and all in the wrong places—with tallowy fat; and to take all -the shape and make out of us innocent unsuspecting oxen, as if we was -nothin’ more than churchwardens or city aldermen.”</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Nonsense! I’m sure the poor creturs had no such stuff -in their heads. And for the royal pigs—if they’d been emperors, they -couldn’t have sprawled about more at their ease, and seemed more full -and happy. They knew what was what, and never had their noses out of -the troughs.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> I should like to know who’ll buy ’em. Nobody can call me -a worshipper of rank and fortin,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span> and that sort of thing, but I should -like to know who’ll buy them pigs, and when they’ll cook ’em.</p> - -<p><i>Limpy.</i> What can it matter to you, Nutts, who’ll cook the -Prince’s pigs?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> ’Twould be a satisfaction, that’s all. Them pigs have -taken such a hold on me, I’d go ten mile to walk up and down by the -kitchen window to smell ’em roastin’.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> Well, the pigs—for they’ve been spoilt, as things very -often are, brought up in their walk of life—the pigs are sensible -creatures, for all that; and if you’d have heard them really talk as I -did on Tuesday night——</p> - -<p><i>All.</i> Talk!</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> Talk. I’ll tell you how it was. I was on duty at the -show, walking about among the cattle all night—at least nearly all -night; for I sat down on a bench at about twelve—for a minute after I -heard the church clock strike. At that very moment, who should I see -rise up out of a heap of straw but a short thick-set man, with a large -head bossed like a huge potato. I knew him at once by his looks and his -garment—it was Æsop.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> I don’t believe a syllable about it; but who is Æsop?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Well, Mr Nosebag! I never did hear such ignorance; if I -don’t feel ashamed of myself<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span> that ever I shaved you. Did you never see -a spellin’-book? Wasn’t he the intimate friend of the birds, and the -beasts, and the fishes, and hasn’t he told us all they talked about? -Didn’t he write the story of the Lion and the Mouse?</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> And Cock Robin? But go on, Mr Peabody—never mind -Nosebag. Some people are so wicked they won’t believe nothin’! Go on. -Wasn’t you afeard?</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> Just at first. But there was such a look of true -good-nature—and true wisdom, Mrs Nutts, is always good-natured—in -Æsop’s face; such a look, I may say, of pleasant benignity, that in a -moment I ceased to be afraid of the thing as a ghost, and stood bolt -upright, and took my hat off—though it’s not required by the rules of -the “force”—as to a teacher and a friend.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Well, I shall begin to have some hopes of you, after -all. I didn’t think you’d show such a respect for ghosts. I’m glad -you’re not quite lost to the wisdom of our ancestors. I have lived -to hear the ghosts of Cock Lane doubted; but—I confess it—it’s -positively comforting to hear you talk as you do of Æsop. A great -man! I should like to know what wisdom we’ve had since he lived? Why, -nothing new: it’s been the old thing served up, like a cold joint -hashed with ketchup, and kayenne, and all that.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span></p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> And very good eatin’, too, Mr Slowgoe; but go on, Mr -Peabody. What did Æsop say when he saw you?</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> Nothing to me at all; he merely smiled and nodded, and -kept all his discourse for the cattle. Well, it was very odd, but in -a minute every four-footed thing seemed to know the presence of their -great interpreter, Æsop.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> How could they see him? Was the gas burning?</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Not at all. But don’t you know it’s a rule with ghosts -always to appear with their own lights?</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> All’s one for that. I tell you they all knew him: and -the heaviest oxen there, though wellnigh broken-backed with fat, rose -upon its four legs; and its loose velvety skin seemed to quiver and -wrinkle with pleasure; and its eyes glowed with a mild and almost human -light; and it bent its head in token of veneration and acknowledgment -of the immortal Æsop. And the sheep—those packs of breathing -wool—they softly baaed, and shook their tails; and——</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> And the pigs?—the Prince’s pigs?</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> They couldn’t fail to support the dignity of their -breeding, and made more noise to welcome even the ghost of genius than -all the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span> rest; indeed it was delightful, wonderful, to see how the -great master was acknowledged.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> And didn’t he say a syllable to you?</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> Not a word: there was better company for him. But he -walked from class to class, and from pen to pen; and as he looked upon -the misshapen mountains of vitality, he shook his head, and, with a -mild melancholy upon his face, heaved a frequent sigh.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Not to be wondered at; he was always such a friend to -pigs.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> At last the ghost paused close beside a four-year-old -Hereford steer. It had won the first prize and a silver medal. “How are -you?” said Æsop, laying his hand upon the beast. “Choking; wellnigh -gone,” answered the steer. “Did you ever see such a beast as I am in -all your days? And this is what the stupidity and vaingloriousness of -man have brought me to!” “Foolish wretch!” cried Æsop, “how was it you -gorged so much? Couldn’t you restrain your appetite?” “Impossible!” -said the steer. “I had taken no temperance pledge against oil-cake: I -hadn’t vowed to keep to grass, with now and then a mouthful of turnips; -no. And so when they put the cake, and the mangold-wurzel, and the -Swedes, and the meal, and the cabbages<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span> before me, I did no more than -what men do with port and sherry, and brandy and gin, upon the table: -I took all I could swallow, though I felt I was making a greater beast -of myself every minute.” “Poor wretch!” said Æsop again; “however, I’m -glad you feel the degradation. Still, there’s one comfort for you—yes, -one consolation; like a glutton and wine-drinker with gout in his -stomach, you’ll die a prize beast.” “As for dying,” said the steer, in -a small asthmatic voice—“As for dying—but I beg your pardon, great -Æsop!—would you allow me to lie down in your presence? for I feel my -legs are cracking under my fat.” Æsop, with his old benevolence, nodded -assent; and the poor beast, after much wheezing and groaning laid -itself down again, and resumed its talk. “As for dying, life’s a burden -to me; and I’m sure of it, I shall smile at the butcher. You can’t -think I’ve any comfort in the gluttony that’s been forced upon me. As -for this stalling and over-feeding, what is it all to a sweet rational -mouthful of summer grass, with now and then a cabbage or two, a gentle -walk about the pastures, and at the heat of noon a foot-bath in the -pond, away from the flies under the shade of a willow? That’s wholesome -life; and makes good, honest beef—beef that’s a credit to the -plum-pudding and horse-radish. And now I’ve a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span> whole tallow-chandler’s -stock upon my ribs and back, and the taste of unprofitable fat in my -mouth. Look at me,” and the animal languidly flourished its tail—“Look -at me, you who know what steers and oxen ought to be, and say if nature -isn’t outraged and violated in my person. I’m at the best a filthy -unnatural curiosity—a monster fattened by the conceit of man—and not -a decent beast fit for a decent table. I’m a mountain, and not a comely -animal.”</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Well, upon my life! a very sensible beast indeed.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> Don’t interrupt me. “Well,” says Æsop, shaking his -head, “I’m not given to compliments; and I must say it, you are a -fat, filthy, nasty-looking beast indeed. And then, again, how much -respectable beef might have been bred and properly fattened with the -food that has been thrown away—for it’s no better—upon you!”</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> And I should like to know what the brute had to answer -to that.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody</i>. Why, though its heart was in walls of fat, the reproach -of Æsop went right through to it. It rolled, and kicked, and lowed, -and at last, somehow, the tears running out of its eyes, it cried, -“Don’t, don’t; there’s my remorse. I knew that there were whole herds -of beasts somewhere that would have been bettered by the superfluity<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span> -that was crammed down my throat; but the fact is, I had lived so long -and intimately with man, that I had fallen into his greatest vice, and -over-gorged myself with what would have comforted others.” And then -again the prize beast lowed, and its compunction seemed terrible; and -in this way Æsop went from prize beast to prize beast—to steers, to -oxen and heifers, and sheep.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> And pigs?</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> And pigs.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> And tell me, what did the Prince’s pigs say? Surely -they didn’t bewail their fat to Æsop.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> All in the same manner as the steer; and one of the -pigs in special said this, “They’ve over-fattened me, made my life a -burden, and now they’ll kill me. Still I have this revenge; for be -assured, whoever eats a morsel of me—if it’s hours afterwards—I’ll do -nothing but rise upon him.”</p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp30" id="i_175" style="max-width: 24.0625em; padding-top: 5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_175.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span></p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i_176" style="max-width: 72.25em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_176.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_XVI"><span class="smcap">Chapter XVI.</span></h2> -</div> - - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> (<i>Stropping razor.</i>) Happy new year to ye, my -friends.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Hallo, Nutts! Why, what’s the matter with the shop? -As fine and as shiny, and smelling as sweet as Covent Garden! Well, -I’m sure! If you haven’t brought a bit of Bond Street to Seven Dials! -What’s it all about?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Nothing. Merely treating the new year like a gentleman. -That’s all. I’ve turned over a new leaf.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> That’s the old story, Mr Tickle. For these ten years -and more, Nutts has always turned over a new leaf. Mighty fine. But -afore the year’s a week old, see if he doesn’t turn the new leaf back -again. All his new leaves are very soon old dog’s-ears. Just like the -men.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Shouldn’t ha’ known the shop agin. New rush-bottoms to -the chairs, all the cracked<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span> windows mended, and what—remarkable—nice -sand upon the floor!</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Why, you see, when Time’s brushing up all the world for a -new beginning, it’s nothin’ more than right to treat him with a little -ceremony, when Time himself starts with a clean shave on the first of -January.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Well, for my part, I thought Time never shaved.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Quite a vulgar error, sir. As the clock strikes twelve on -the thirty-first of December, he takes up his scythe, which is Time’s -razor—and what that’s stropped upon ’twould make a man’s fortin to -find out, for what cuts like it, I should wish to know?—well, he takes -up his scythe, and holding himself by the nose, begins the operation.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> What! in the dark? and without a glass?</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> Not at all. His glass is the Frozen Ocean, and he -shaves by the Northern Lights.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> (<i>Aside to Peabody.</i>) Thank’ee, Mr P. You’ve helped -me well out of <i>that</i>, like a gentleman with a scholar. Consider -that I owe you a shave. Why, at this moment, 1847—like a new-born -babby—Time hasn’t a hair on his chin. No; I consider him a nice smart -young chap, with a very clean face—a very straight back—a merry -twinkle in his eye—a sprig of green holly in his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span> mouth—and quite -ready to draw, wherever he’s invited, for Twelfth-cake—and dance with -all women afterwards.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Yes, that’s your notion of Time; and a married man, -too! All very well; but I don’t see that Time’s any reason to look so -smart, and go dancing about with anybody but his own wife—and that, -too, when his bills for last year ain’t paid.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> (<i>Aside to Peabody.</i>) Now isn’t that like ’em, Mr -P.? The worst of a wife is she always goes for realities. It isn’t an -opinion to put forth to the world, but my notion is that romance—like -brandy—was only made for man. Sometimes when I’m up in the clouds, -a-going here and a-flying there, and doing I don’t know what—well, -at that moment, that good woman there—the wife of my busum—says -somethin’, and down I drop in a lump, like a dead eagle with a bullet -in his belly.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Not very good manners, Mr Nutts, I think, to the -rest of your customers—to keep a-muttering there to Mr Peabody. But I -suppose <i>that’s</i> one of your new leaves.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Was only asking him, my dear, if Time—like some of the -linen-drapers—didn’t sometimes shave the ladies. And Mr Peabody said -there could be no doubt on ’t, you did look this new year so fresh and -blooming.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span></p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Mr Peabody, though disgised as a policeman, as I may -say, <i>is</i> a gentleman.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Always was, from a child. Heyday! Why, Nutts, how smart -the cats look, too!—both on ’em, Whig and Tory. Spick-and-span new -collars!</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Yes; poor brutes! Couldn’t do less, you see. Parliament -meets on the nineteenth, and out o’ special compliment to what’s called -its wisdom—and considerin’ it’s the new year—I’ve given ’em collars. -Whig looks rather serous, doesn’t he?</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Well, I must say there is a sort of thoughtful look -about his whiskers. He <i>does</i> get very like Lord John, somehow.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Poor fellow! There is rayther a few mice to catch for -him, isn’t there?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Well, Tory’s the cretur for my money. Really a -beautiful animal, and a credit to any house.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Why, she has been, to say the hard and serous truth, -a very devil in her time. But she’s old, very old, and wheezy now. -Teeth’s nearly gone, and claws worn to the stumps. Here, Tory, Tory! -Look at her, poor old cretur! All she can do now is to purr; she hasn’t -strength enough in her for a good squall of the good old times. Talking -of the likeness of Whig and Lord John—do now just observe that Tory; -all in a lump of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span> cosy fur, with her eyes half-shut, and her head a -leetle on one side, is she not the very spit of the late lamented Lord -Eldon?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> (<i>Rising.</i>) So early in the year I should not like -to quarrel. No; I should not like to be forced out of the shop. But -I cannot, as an Englishman who sticks to his institutions, hear that -animal compared to a reverend Lord Chancellor. What! liken catskin to -the spotless ermine?</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Ecod! Considering what ermine’s sometimes done, there -hasn’t been much difference between ’em.</p> - -<p><i>Limpy.</i> What, Nutts! Got more cats? A big ’un and, yes, five -kittens!</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Yes; that’s Charter and the Five Pints. My wife—jest -like the Whigs—wanted to drown all the five afore they could see. -They’re not very strong; a little back’ard, it must be owned, jest yet; -but shouldn’t wonder if some on ’em don’t catch mice some day. Here—as -Parliament’s going to begin, I bought another, what I call, a party, -yesterday. Here—here! (<i>Whistles.</i>)</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Why, it’s a dog, a turnspit; and, I declare, quite a -puppy.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Yes; that’s Young England.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> A most intelligent, beautiful little animal. That’s the -only dog I care for, for that’s a dog that reminds me of what England -was in her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span> good old times of hospitality: in those happy days when -there were no smoke-jacks, or any such new-fangled inventions to roast -good honest English beef with; nothing but a national animal like -that to sit upon his faithful hind legs, and turn and turn the noble -surloin. Ha! there’s no such beef now.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> But I say, Nutts, you don’t make Young England there -turn your spit, do you?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Lor’ bless you! no. Still, somehow, the thing’s bred in -the cretur; for whenever missus hangs down a jint to roast, doesn’t -Young England get as close as he can to it? and then sitting up and -begging like, doesn’t he look with one eye upon the meat as it browns, -and the other on the sops in the pan?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> A very clever dog, no doubt.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Why, yes; he can understand sops in the pan as well as -any on ’em.</p> - -<p><i>Limpy.</i> And how does he and the cats agree?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Why, middlin’. Whig spits and sets up her back at him, -and won’t be friends nohow. Poor old Tory dozes away, and rayther -likes him; whilst Charter seems to treat him with silent contempt; and -the little Five Pints play with his tail as if it was no more than my -wife’s thread-paper.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Just like the lower orders. No respect for real rank.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span></p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> I haven’t thought much of any of the creturs lately; but -I assure you, when Parliament ’sembles I shall keep my eye as sharp -as a needle’s pint upon ’em. In the meanwhile, gentlemen, considerin’ -this is the new year, if you will take so short a notice, I shall be -proud to see you, your wives and sweethearts, to a dance in the shop -to-morrow night, which, somehow or the other, we’ll manage to enlarge -for the occasion.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> I’ve no objection, for one. But mind, none of your -fangled brass stuff, your <i>cornets-a-piston</i>, and all that. Let’s -have a good English fiddle and a constitutional clarionet. And none of -your quodrilling, and polkys; but a straightforward country-dance, and -a legitimate four-handed reel. And mind, none of your fellars from the -orchestra of the opera: if there’s a foreigner here with moustachers, I -take my hat.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> No objection, I hope, to a Scotch bagpipe and an Irish -harp?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Why, no.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Very well, you shall have ’em; and more than that, a -hornpipe danced to ’em in character, by a young gentleman who lives at -Mrs Biggleswade’s over the way, and goes on in one of the pantomimes as -the “British Lion.”</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> He’s promised me to come in his skin, and I’m sure it -will be beautiful.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span></p> - -<p>And for awhile turning from the fierceness of politics, raging all -the year round in Nutts’ shaving-shop, it <i>was</i> beautiful to see -how Nutts and the customers, with wives and sweethearts, danced on -New-Year’s night. Mr Nutts led off Mrs Biggleswade from over the way; -the hornpipe of the “British Lion” was danced to admiration;—and, -in the full flush of the festivity, it is said that Mr Peabody, -the scholarly policeman, furtively saluted Mrs Nutts, when that -unsuspecting woman stood immediately beneath the mistletoe. This, -however, could hardly be, since the very next morning Mrs Nutts herself -declared to Mrs Biggleswade over the way, “that that Mr Peabody was too -good for the police; he was such a gentleman.”</p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp30" id="i_183" style="max-width: 16.8125em; padding-top: 5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_183.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span></p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i_184" style="max-width: 72.875em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_184.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_XVII"><span class="smcap">Chapter XVII.</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="center"><i><span class="smcap">NUTTS</span>, with his usual customers.</i></p> - - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> (<i>With newspaper.</i>) So Parliament’s at it in -earnest now.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Yes; they’ve opened Solomon’s brass kettle at last.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> What do you mean by Solomon’s kettle?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> And did you never read the “’Rabian Nights,” where they -fish up from the sea the brass kettle with Solomon’s seal upon it? A -kettle thought to be crammed with wisdom, and when it was opened there -came out of it clouds and clouds of smoke?</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> La! Nutts, how can you go on in that heathen way -about Parliament, after what you saw on Tuesday? I’m a sinful woman, -Mr Slowgoe, if he didn’t keep me awake half the night talking of the -Queen’s stomacher and crown of diamonds. He talked on ’em in such a -way, I almost thought I saw ’em in the room.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span></p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Well, there’d have been no want of the rushlight if you -had.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> (<i>Solemnly.</i>) Why, you never mean to say, Mr -Nutts, that you saw her Gracious Majesty on last Tuesday, with her -crown upon her head, in the House of Lords?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Saw all of it—heard all of it; but how I got into the -House, why, that’s a secret that even my tombstone shall tell to -nobody. Splendid sight! I can tell you. I haven’t got the light of the -diamonds out of my eyes yet.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Perhaps, then, you’ll tell us a little about it?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Well, then, you see, having got my ticket from my friend -the Minister—ha! you don’t know the private interest mixed up with -shaving, after all—having got my ticket, I say, I drove down in a -patent safety to the House of Lords, jest no more than if it was any -other public-house I was in the habit of going to.</p> - -<p><i>Limpy.</i> The Bag o’ Nails, or the Cat and Whistle?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Just so. Human nature’s weak, and—I confess it—as I -went rolling along atween the rows of people waiting in the street, -with their feet freezing to the flags, to catch a glance of the Queen -through her carriage windows—I confess it, I did a little pity ’em. -Well, I went to the lobby, and there<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</span> was such a crowd! If I trod -upon the toes of many peeresses, I hope I shall be forgiven for it. I -squeezed into the House—and wasn’t there a scramblin’ for seats! You -see, there was some benches that the ladies wanted to storm; but they -wouldn’t let ’em; they were kept for the Lords.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> No doubt on it. Jest like ’em.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> And how the ladies’ voices did ring! You would have -thought you heard all at once twenty thousand canary-birds. I expected -every minute they’d charge through the officers and carry the benches; -indeed, I’m pretty sure they’d have done it, when the sound of a -trumpet tore through the House, and on a sudden they were as mute as -mice.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> The trumpet meant her Gracious Majesty, of course?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Not a bit on it: it only meant the Duke of Cambridge. -Well, when he came in, he shook hands with a lot of lords, and seemed -as happy as if he was at a prize cattle-show.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> If you’re going to be profane, much as I want to hear -the rest, I shall leave the shop. Tell your tale, and no revolutionary -comparisons. Who else did you see?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Why, all the ’bassadors; and among ’em the French -Ambassador, looking as if nothing had happened, and the Spanish -Princess was still a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</span> spinster. But, bless your heart! it’s only folks -that can look anything, that are chose for ’bassadors. And then there -was such clouds of lawn!</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> What do you mean by clouds of lawn?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Why, bishops, to be sure. They looked very noble, very -fine, for certain; and yet, somehow, to my mind, their robes didn’t -seem to fit well in with the scarlet and gold, and velvet and other -finery. To my mind, the pictur would have been quite as well without -’em.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> You’re determined that I shall leave the shop.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> That’s optional, of course. And then there was the -judges, kivered so with ermine as if they’d come wild into the -world with the fur upon ’em. And then there was their long wigs of -justice—though why justice, like an armchair, should be always covered -with horse-hair, I never could find out. And then, again, there was -such a heap of lords.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Ha! the flowers of the world! The lilies that neither -toil nor spin!</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Oh! don’t they though? If you’d have heard some of ’em, -as I did, afterwards, you’d own they did spin, and precious long yarns, -too.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> I hope nothing will happen to you, Mr Nutts; but go on.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</span></p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> On a sudden the Park guns banged, and the peeresses -jumped, and the colour came to their cheeks, and their eyes sparkled, -and they looked at their bibs and tuckers to see that all was -right—nothin’ rumpled about ’em—for they know’d by the gunpowder that -the Queen was comin’.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> That must have been a minute!</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> It was more than a minute—seven or eight, perhaps; and -then I don’t know how many trumpets went off with such flourishes, as -if they wound in and out every corner of you—and everybody seemed to -say to everybody, “Hush! she’s comin’.”</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> I’m sure I should have fainted.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Not unlikely; you’re weak enough for anything. But don’t -interrupt me. Well, in a minute the procession begins. The Earl of -Zetland comes in first, carrying what’s called the Cup of Maintenance.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> What’s the meaning of that?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Why, it means taxes to maintain the Government. After -him comes the Duke of Wellington with the Sword of State. And when I -saw it, I couldn’t help it, but I thought to myself, “Well, we human -creturs are a rum lot, when we make the thing that sheds blood the sign -of human glory.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</span></p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> (<i>Jumping up.</i>) No; I’m determined! I will not -stay in the shop.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Don’t; but don’t interrupt me. Then comes Lord Lansdowne, -carrying the Crown on a cushion—like a baby on a pillow—very careful -and steady, as it was right to be, for fear of spillin’ it. Then comes -the Queen herself, glistening with diamonds, as if she’d walked out of -the centre of the sun——</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Oh! them diamonds!</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Along with Prince Albert. And then they took their seats -in two chairs of state—and an empty one that’s waiting till he grows -to fill it, was beside the Queen to signify the Prince of Wales. And -then the Queen in the politest way desired the Peers to take their -seats and make themselves comfortable, which they know’d how to do -directly. And then the House of Commons came scramblin’ to the bar, a -good many of ’em like very big schoolboys. And then the Queen read the -Speech, and read it beautiful; for her voice seems as sweet and clear -as melted sugar-candy. For my part, I never before heard such a voice.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> There, that will do, Mr Nutts. Of course; everybody -before your own wife.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> And when the Queen read about Ireland, she read it -out as if there was tears in her throat;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</span> but when she came to the -Spanish match and the Cracow burglary, she spoke up, and her lip shook -a little, and there was the smallest tint, no bigger than a single -rose-leaf, in both of her cheeks.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Very proper. It does me good to hear it.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> And when the ceremony was all over, what now was your -thoughts about it?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Well, I’ll tell you. For one moment afore the Queen -arose, when I looked about me, and saw the officers of state, and the -judges, and the bishops, and, above all, the beautiful women, all -sparkle and all smiles, seeming angels, only with feathers in their -heads and not at their backs—this thought dropped sudden on me, and -all for the moment fell into shadow, for I thought, “What a thing is -this to think of—<i>that all of you must die</i>!”</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> There you are again! Always something bad to say of -people above you!</p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp30" id="i_190" style="max-width: 25.3125em; padding-top: 5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_190.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</span></p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i_191" style="max-width: 72.375em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_191.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center"><i><span class="smcap">NUTTS</span> reading newspaper; customers drop in.</i></p> - - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Now, Mr Nutts; will you drag yourself out of that -newspaper? I wish there wasn’t such a thing in the world. I’m sure a -man with his wife and family oughtn’t to waste his time with newspapers.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> (<i>Laying down paper.</i>) Mrs Nutts—but I’m too -melancholy to make a noise. Be quiet, my dear, can’t you, and let me -enjoy my wretchedness? How d’ye do, Slowgoe? Servant, Mr Peabody. If I -should cut you all round to-day, let it go for nothing; for the fact -is, the Chancellor’s “Budget’s” quite put my hand out of order.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Well, I haven’t read it, but I’ve heard the pints. I -did think to have a little more light in my back room, but now the -’tatoes have made it impossible. We’re to have the window-tax still.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> I must confess it; not that I ever<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</span> expect anything -from the Whigs—still I did look for some fall in soap. I thought -washing might be made a little cheaper; but, as you say, Mr Nutts, the -taxes keep us still in our dirt.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> And then in the matter of tea——</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> What’s that about tea?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Of course. Put politics in a teapot, and you women will -listen to ’em directly. Why, the tea won’t come down a halfpenny. And -why not? Because of the ’tatoes. The potato’s the real root of evil.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> And the first is—eight millions of money for Ireland. -Eight millions more of debt to be laid upon the innocent shoulders of -unborn babes.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Dear little creturs!</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Still it can’t be helped. As a policeman and once a -schoolmaster, you must own this, Mr Peabody, the famishing must be fed.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> He’s no better than a stone that denies it. -Nevertheless, it is a little hard that for so many years there -should be a running account of misery and profit between tenants and -landlords; and at the last, when misery sinks to famine, we should -be called on to make up the balance, pocketed years ago by others. -There’s a passage, I remember, in Mr Disraeli’s—I don’t mean young -Benjamin’s—“Curiosities,” that’s taken from a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</span> sermon, and it runs -somehow so: “If you ladies and gentlemen who are fattening on your -pleasures, and wear scarlet clothes—I believe, if you were put in a -good press, we should see the blood of the poor gush out with which -your scarlet is dyed.” Now, if a good many Irish landlords were -squeezed after this fashion, their pockets would run scarlet too.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Didn’t Sir Walter Rawley bring potatoes from the New -World? I thought so. ’Pon my life! when I think of it, they almost seem -as if they’d been sent from the New World to revenge the wickedness -she’d suffered from the Old. We made slaves with whips and chains; and -the New World, waiting her time—for the wheel of right and wrong comes -round, let it turn ever so slowly—makes slaves with potatoes. What do -you think of that, Mr Peabody?</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> Why, I think that Mr M’Neile, or any other of the -illustrators of Providence—and pretty fiery pictures they’ve painted -about it lately—wouldn’t grudge half-a-crown for that thought. -Why, he’d beat it into a discourse of an hour and a half long, and -print and publish it for a shilling afterwards. <i>The Potato in -its Iniquity!</i> Depend on it, Mr M’Neile would make a grand thing -of it; showing that Irish landlords had nothing to do with the -famine, but that the whole of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</span> potato blight was nothing more -than the wickedness of Cortez and such fellows—all Catholics, be it -remembered—coming up more than two hundred years afterwards. The -rottenness of present potatoes no other than the whips and chains of -bygone centuries coming to a head! There would be something grand in -this. Whereas, to lay the blight upon the Maynooth Grant isn’t worthy -of the old woman who cursed the Pope for inventing the scarlet fever.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Whatever brought the blight, I hope they’ll never trust -to ’tatoes again. For my part, I shall never again think of fields of -’em in Ireland, without thinking every root a human slave: fields of -misery, and want, and death. I’ve read somewhere of a certain root, -that when men eat it they are turned to brutes: well, the potato’s very -like it; for, living upon nothing else, it takes the best part of a -man clean out of him: it takes away his respect from himself; and when -that’s the case, a man’s lost, and may as well go upon all fours at -once. And then for the landlords——</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> I will not sit any longer in the shop, and hear those -worthy and most unfortunate gentlemen abused. As for the National Debt, -as a lover of the institutions of my country, I’m bound to think it’s a -blessing.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> What! you don’t think it a burden?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</span></p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Not at all. The National Debt is like the hump on a -camel—it makes the State carry what it has to carry with greater -convenience. (<i>Looking at paper.</i>) So they’re going to make Prince -Albert Chancellor of Cambridge. Mr Peabody, though you are now in the -police, I believe last week you said you had a vote? Who do you give it -to?</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> <i>Nobody.</i> In the first place, I don’t see how the -Earl of Powis, being, on his own confession, not so wise a man as the -Duke of Northumberland, can have the face to ask for it. And secondly, -Prince Albert’s intentions, should he be elected, are too military.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> What do you mean?—going to turn the students into -soldiers?</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> Not all at once; but it’s generally reported, that -if he’s made Chancellor, he intends to abolish the trencher-cap at -Cambridge University and bring in the Albert hat. I shouldn’t wish -it talked about, because it might lose the poor girl her place; -nevertheless, the housemaid at Fulham told me of the fact, that on -Thursday last she saw her master, the Bishop of London, trying on the -Albert hat before the looking-glass.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> That’s nothing; he might only be doing that as an -officer—and I suppose a bishop would rank as lieutenant-colonel—in -the Army of Martyrs.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</span> Talking of the Duke of Northumberland, I see he’s -been lying in state.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Very right. Even in death people should respect their -proper rank, and not come down to the vulgar. I see here’s the account -taken from the <i>Morning Herald</i>. Hark! (<i>Reads.</i>) “The -noblest and most conspicuous town mansion of the nobility of this -country is that which now bears the aspect of desolation, and betokens -the chill presence of death. <i>The busy throng without pursue their -wonted avocations around the princely pile</i> ‘regardless of the -dead:’ within, all is darkness and pompous gloom.” Beautiful, isn’t it?</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> Very good, hearselike literature, written with a black -plume. But why shouldn’t “the busy throng” go about their business? -Would the gentleman have ’em stop and throng about the house? If so, -and I’d been on duty, I am sure I should have said “Move on.”</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Don’t be profane, Mr Peabody. The gentleman is -now in the chamber. (<i>Reads.</i>) “Eight enormous altar candles -<i>vainly</i> attempted to dispel the gloom that <i>thickened</i> -around the unconscious object of all this pomp, which was supported -upon trestles, within an ebony railing, surmounted by eight <i>enormous -plumes</i> of black ostrich feathers. The pall, of rich Genoa velvet, -thrown partially aside, disclosed the coffin, <i>an<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</span> unparalleled piece -of art</i>, covered with crimson velvet, and sumptuously mounted with -massive gold ornaments, and a plate inscribed with the style and title -of the Duke at great length.” And this, the writer goes on beautifully -to say, is all that remained of the “illustrious object.”</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Well, he was a very decent man, I believe; but I never -knew anything illustrious that he did. What made him illustrious—does -anybody know?</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Why, the same thing that makes a weathercock -illustrious—gold.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> And they call this “lying in state.” “Ostrich -feathers—Genoa velvet—and an unparalleled coffin.” Well, when we -think what coffins hold at the best, such a show is rightly named; it -is “<i>Lying</i> in State,” and nothing better.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Of course you’ll sneer, Mr Nutts; anything against the -aristocracy. But I’m happy to say that the funeral was of corresponding -splendour, and went off remarkably well. A great many of the -ambassadors and nobility—though they didn’t go themselves—in the very -handsomest manner sent their carriages.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Well, that’s making woe easy, isn’t it, when—poor -things!—it’s put upon the horses?</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> (<i>With newspaper.</i>) I’m the veriest varmint, if the -Church isn’t really in danger now.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</span></p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> What do you mean? How so?</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Why, here’s Lord John Russell’s word for it; he’s going -to make three more bishops. Manchester’s to be the smallest; I suppose -not exactly a fine lawn bishop, but a cotton one.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Three more? I wish it was thirty.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> All the worse for the Church, then, I say again. Don’t -tell me. Poor old soul! When we think of the money her sons, the -bishops, do get through—when we think of their palaces and their -coaches—and their bankers’ books—and their coal-mines and their -sulphur-mines, for what I know—when we think of all this, and remember -the precepts—I think they’re so called—of Lady Church herself, I -think her sons can’t be called the most dutiful of children. On the -contrary, I do believe they’re getting the old lady every day into -greater discredit; and where it will end, who shall say? Thus, it’s my -opinion—the more bishops, the more danger.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> I wonder if Mr Barry’s had orders in the House of Lords -to make seats for ’em.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle</i>. Oh, they’re not to go to Parliament, says Lord John, -“except as vacancies in the bench of bishops occur.”</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe</i>. I don’t quite understand that. And I must confess -it—whenever I see a Whig meddling with the Church, I feel as if I -was looking at a cat<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</span> in a china-closet; nobody can say what precious -article mayn’t be smashed.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Perhaps his Lordship means that the bishops, like the -soldiers, should take the House of Lords in turn; mounting guard in the -Church one after t’other.</p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp30" id="i_199opy" style="max-width: 23.1875em; padding-top: 5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_199.png" alt=""> -</figure> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</span></p> -<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i_200" style="max-width: 72em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_200.png" alt=""> -</figure> - - - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_XIX"><span class="smcap">Chapter XIX.</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="center"> -<i><span class="smcap">NOSEBAG</span> comes in; at intervals, other customers.</i><br> -</p> - - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Servant, Mrs Nutts. Where’s the master?</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> If you mean Mr Nutts, he’s jest run with the pie to -the bakehouse. I don’t know how it is, but the older he grows, the -more partic’lar he gets with his dinners. I am sorry to say it of my -own husband, but I don’t think an angel could make a crust to suit him -now—for I try, I’m sure.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> Well, nor I don’t know how it is; but as we lose, as I -heard a player say the other night—as we lose “the finer feelings of -the ’art,” we seem to think more and more of wittles. Twenty years ago, -when I was first married, I could have dined three days in the week on -periwinkles; but I own it—I couldn’t be happy on periwinkles now.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</span></p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Oh, in course not. I’m sure I don’t know who’d -be a poor woman, put upon as we are! Not a bit of power in our own -hands—not so much as pie-crust left us.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> (<i>With newspaper.</i>) Well, really, Mrs Nutts—axing -your pardon—I do sometimes think you have a little the whip-hand of us.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> I don’t see how—I wish we had. We should know how to -use it—<i>we</i> should.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Why, see here now. Haven’t you heard all about the -Spanish dancer Donna Lola Montes and the old King of Bavaria?</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> I don’t want to hear anything about such creturs. -What is it?</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Why, she’s doin’ wonders. Taking the whole kingdom and -whippin’ it round like a top.</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> A most charmin’ woman. She was here at the opera—don’t -I remember the bills? When the other lady dancers wouldn’t dance with -her—and screamed when they come nigh her—and when she went away, -insisted upon having the house whitewashed, and vinegar and brown paper -burnt in every corner. And then she went to Poland, where she stabbed -the Emperor’s own policeman; for she wears a dagger for a busk in her -stays—don’t you call ’em busks, Mrs Nutts?—in——</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> There, go along; how should I know?<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</span> Stabbed him with -a dagger, eh? Poor soul! and I daresay served him right. Well?</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Now she’s got to Bavaria; and she makes no more -of the King’s crown than a thimble. And they do say that the old -gen’l’man—that is, the King—though he’s got a snow-white beard a foot -long, is gone so raving mad about her that the unfortunate old man -doesn’t know the Queen, his own lawful wife.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Nothing more likely.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> And more than that, Mrs Nutts; she’s kicked over the -Cabinet like a tea-table, and smashed the Ministry as if they was so -many cups and sarcers. Besides which, the paper here says, she walks -about Munich with a bulldog to pertect her innocence.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Innocence! I’m not cruel—no, I should hope not; but, -as I’m a living woman, if I was the Queen, I’d gullyteen her!</p> - -<p class="center"> -<i><span class="smcap">NUTTS</span> comes in.</i><br> -</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Hallo! Mrs Nutts! Talking about bloodshed in that -horrible manner?</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Oh, of course; you’ll take her part. It’s such -creturs that are most cared for; but I only wish I was Queen, that’s -all. I’m not cruel, as I said afore; but as sure as I’d a palace gate, -her head should be a-top of it; yes, if she’d a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</span> thousand bayonets -for busks, that it should. And you ought to be ashamed of yourself, -Nutts—you, the father of a family—to stand there taking the cretur’s -part. Dormalolez, indeed!</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Oh, that’s what it is, eh? Now, Mr Nosebag, will you take -the chair? I’ve read all about that.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Of course you have; I saw you laughing and enjoying -yourself, and I knew by the way of you there could be no good in it. Go -on, Mr Tickle; of course the cretur has turned the poor Queen out of -her palace, and is at this moment walking about the town with her crown -upon her head—a minx—jest like ’em.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> Not at all. For here’s a letter from Munich of the -22d ult. that says (<i>reads</i>): “The exasperation of the populace -of our city against Mlle. Lola Montes has become so great that the -authorities, in order to prevent disturbances, have required the young -lady to quit the town.”</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> “Young lady!” Such creturs! Well—if pisoning can -ever be lawful—but go on.</p> - -<p><i>Tickle.</i> (<i>Reads.</i>) “This she did last night, going to the -village of Sturemberg, situated at about five leagues from Munich. -Her carriage was escorted by a strong detachment of dragoons from the -garrison.”</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> At the village of Sturemberg? Ha! like<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</span> a letter at the -post-office, I s’pose—“to be left till called for.”</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Well, Nutts, I wonder how you can joke at such a -matter. As a husband and father of a family, it ought to make your -blood run cold. It does <i>me</i>.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> Well, I’ve heard of Venus drawn by doves——</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> I have it in a valentine; and then, like a foolish -girl, believed in it.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> But I don’t fancy Venus with her bulldog. However, they -say the King’s mad—don’t they?</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> No doubt on it. For isn’t he the same King that’s writ -poems and started a newspaper? If I was on a jury, that would be enough -for me. I’d send him to a lunatic asylum for life.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> Very right, Mr Slowgoe; any man who can serve his -Queen as he’s done, I’d put him in a straight jacket for the rest of -his days, with only one arm out on Sundays.</p> - -<p><i>Limpy.</i> Never mind them foreigners; let’s think of the wirtues of -our own homes. You’ve a vote for Vestminster, haven’t you, Mr Nutts?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> I have, sir. A vote—though I say it—as pure as drifted -snow.</p> - -<p><i>Mrs Nutts.</i> And quite as uncomfortable. Often when the children -want things, Nutts will have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</span> the money for the taxes to preserve what -he calls his independent vote. And for years and years—no matter how -I’ve been pinched—he has preserved it. And what’s the good on it? -Independence! I don’t blame anybody for being independent when they can -afford it; then it’s right and respectable. Otherwise it’s a piece of -extravagance beyond poor people.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Now, my dear, if you’ll let alone my politics, I’ll -promise not to interfere with your turnip-tops; and I’m sure, if -turnip-tops can speak, I heard ’em just now crying out for you to -come and pick ’em in the kitchen. A cleverer woman at greens never -lived; but for all that, my dear, you are not quite up in the House of -Commons. (<i>Mrs Nutts looks an unspoken repartee, and whisks out.</i>) -Yes, gentlemen, as I said, I <i>have</i> a vote.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> Well, is it promised?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Why, I’m taken a little aback. I rayther like the address -of Mr Cochrane; but, as I once heerd a feller say at the play—“His -highness is discovered.”</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> Well, I’m not surprised—not at all. When a man -promises liberty by the bushel—universal suffrage and all that—I know -what to expect. I haven’t read the partic’lars; but it’s true, isn’t -it, that he went about the country as a wandering minstrel?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</span></p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> Why, I understand that, blushing like a gentleman, he -has owned as much.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> As I say, I haven’t heard the partic’lars; but he went -about, didn’t he, with a hurdy-gurdy and white mice?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Oh dear, no; went with guitar, and twangled the wires. -But I don’t care so much about that—no, and I could have forgiven the -mice, for mice out of Parliament aren’t so bad as rats in; but the -unfortunate young youth—I mean Don Juan de Vega Cochrane—writ a book -that, though it was all about soft-hearted ladies, wasn’t quite a book -of beauty. Now, the worst of black used in all this blackening world is -the black that’s put upon the name of a kind, unsuspecting woman. It’s -a hard job for a man to get his hands clean after using it—it will -stick worse than the real “Tyrian dye.”</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> And so this patriot—this hurdy-gurdy politician—this -minstrel boy of Westminster—won’t stand, eh, for Parl’ment?</p> - -<p><i>Nosebag.</i> P’r’aps he may sing, then. Shouldn’t wonder if he was -to canvass the voters’ wives with his guitar, with pink ribbons about -’is neck, dust like Mr James Wallack, for the Brigand, with a new -sort of song—“Gentle Electors;” or, “The Minstrel Boy to the Poll is -gone.” If he was only to try that dodge, and the women had votes,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</span> I’m -blest if, in my opinion, he wouldn’t chant plumpers out of all of ’em. -I’m certain on it, a man with one of them twangling guitars is a more -dangerous cretur about a house than with a double-loaded blunderbuss.</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> And so I’ve been reading Mr Charles Lushington’s speech, -and my mind’s made up; if he sticks to what he says, I shall prime him -with my vote for Parl’ment.</p> - -<p><i>Slowgoe.</i> I’m very happy—very proud to see—that his Royal -Highness Prince Albert consents to be the Chancellor for Cambridge. -Here it is from the <i>Post</i>. The deputation went to the palace -on Tuesday. (<i>Reads.</i>) “His Royal Highness expressed himself in -the warmest terms for the distinguished honour conferred upon him by -the University of Cambridge, and the sincere gratification he felt in -accepting it. His Royal Highness conversed with the deputation on the -subject of English university discipline, <i>and evinced considerable -knowledge</i> of the Oxford and Cambridge systems.” What do you think -of that, eh?</p> - -<p><i>Nutts.</i> Why, nothing; princes always do “evince considerable -knowledge” on the very shortest notice upon anything.</p> - -<p><i>Peabody.</i> Quite true, Mr Nutts. If they’d made the Prince the -King of M. Leverrier’s new<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</span> planet just discovered, his Royal Highness -would have evinced “considerable knowledge” of all its plains and -mountains, besides a very intimate acquaintance with some of the -principal inhabitants.</p> -<figure class="figcenter illowp30" id="i_208.png" style="max-width: 23.1875em; padding-top: 5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_208.png" alt=""> -</figure> - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_211" style="max-width: 72.375em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_211.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_HEDGEHOG_LETTERS"><i>THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS.</i></h2> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p class="hang"><i>Containing the opinions and adventures of <span class="smcap">Juniper -Hedgehog</span>, cabman, London; and written to his relatives and -acquaintance in various parts of the world.</i></p> -</div> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Letter_I-To_Peter_Hedgehog_at_Sydney"><span class="smcap">Letter I.</span>—<i>To Peter Hedgehog, at Sydney.</i></h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Peter</span>,—at last I’m settled at my heart’s content. -For fifteen years and more, I’ve been fighting, and punching, and -screwing, and doing—the Lord forgive me!—all sorts of mean tricks -to be respectable; and now I’m happy, for I’ve given the thing up. -I’ve got rid of every bit of the gentleman, and drive a cab. Ha! you -don’t know—you can’t think—what a blessing it is to get rid of all -cares about what’s genteel. It’s like taking off fine tight boots, and -stretching yourself in comfortable old slippers. How respectability -did pinch, and gall, and rub the skin off me, to be sure; but I’ve -done with it. I’ve given<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</span> up the trumpery, for the good, stout, -weather-proof character of cabman.</p> - -<p>Respectability is all very well for folks who can have it for ready -money; but to be obliged to run in debt for it—oh, it’s enough to -break the heart of an angel. Well, I’ve gone a good round, and it’s -nothing but right that I should be comfortable at last. Wasn’t all -the sweetness of my little boyhood lost in an attorney’s office? At a -time of life when I ought to have been bird’s-nesting, shoeing cats -with walnut-shells, spinning cock-chafers on pins, and enjoying myself -like any other child of my age—there I was half the day wearing out -a wooden desk with my young breast-bone, and the other half running -about, like a young cannibal, to serve writs: sneaking and shuffling, -and lying worse than any playbill, and feeling as happy as a devil’s -imp on a holiday whenever I “served” my man. Yes, Peter, that I’ve any -more heart than an oyster left me, is a special favour of Providence; -for what a varmint I was! If it hadn’t been for the playhouse, I should -have been ruined. Yes, Peter, but for the Coburg Theatre, I have no -doubt that at this time I should have been a sharp attorney, not able -to smell as much as a lucifer-match without the horrors. ’Tis a great -place for morals, the playhouse, Peter. As I say, it quite drew me back -into the paths of virtue.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</span> Old Simcox, my master, to keep me active, -used to give me a shilling for every writ I served. He used to say -there was nothing like rubbing a young dog’s nose in the blood, to make -him sharp after the game.</p> - -<p>Well, with these shillings I used to go to the Coburg gallery. That -gallery was my salvation. When I used to see the villain, who’d been -so lucky all through the piece, chopped down like chopped wood at the -last, my conscience used to stir worse than the stomach-ache. And so -by degrees I liked the playhouse more, and the writs less. And one day -when Simcox told me to go and serve a writ upon the very actor who -used to do me so much good—for he was always the cock of the walk as -far as virtue went—I gave him such a speech about “tremble, villain, -for there is an eye,” that the old fellow gasped again. When he had -recovered himself enough to fling a ruler at my head, I put on my cap -and turned my back upon the law. After this, I sold playbills at the -Coburg doors, and that ’s how I picked up the deal I know about the -stage.</p> - -<p>And so I went scrambling on till twenty, and how I lived I don’t know. -Indeed, when I look back, I often think money’s of no use at all; folks -do quite as well, or better, without it. Money’s a habit—nothing more. -At twenty—how it happened<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</span> I can’t tell—I found myself a tradesman. -Yes; I sold baked ’tatoes, and—on nipping winter days—used to feel -myself a sort of benefactor to what is called our species. I had read -a little at book-stalls and so on; and many a time have I, with a -sort of pride, asked myself if many of the Roman emperors ever sold -’tatoes, salt, and a bit of butter for a penny? I should think not. -Well, at three-and-twenty down came that bit of money on me! Whether -it was really a relation who left it or not, or whether it was all a -mistake, I never asked—I took the money. And that bit of money made -me swell not a little. Yes; I swelled like a toad—full of poison with -it. Then I went to make no end of a fortune. I thought luck had fallen -deep in love with me, and I couldn’t go too far. There was a gentleman -who always came with an order to the Coburg. A few years ago I should -have said he was a Jew; but now I know manners, and so call him a -gentleman of the Hebrew persuasion. Well; if he couldn’t talk melted -butter! We were both to make our fortunes, but I was to find the money -for the couple. We went upon ’Change; and, as he said, both of us were -ruined. Ruin, however, could have been nothing strange to him, for he -never seemed the worse for it. From that time, Peter, I was flung upon -the hard stones of London. I had too much pride to go to the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</span> ’tatoes -again, and so took to billiards. Ha! Peter, it’s dirty bread; it’s -bread with the headache and the heartache in it. That wouldn’t do long; -though how I did shuffle, and hedge, and make the most of the innocent, -and all to try and keep myself respectable.</p> - -<p>I tell you, for fifteen years I fought it out like a man. I didn’t -care what came of it, what folks said of me—I would be respectable. -A superfine coat and a prime dinner I would have; but ha, Peter! it’s -all been taken out of me. I’ve given it up, I tell you, and I’m a happy -cabman. Bless your soul! you can’t think what a happy life it is. -Always seeing something new, and always riding with somebody. For you -must know my cab isn’t one of the new concerns that divide the drive -and his fare. That wouldn’t suit me nohow. No; I like to ride upon what -I call an equality, and talk and learn life as I go; you can’t believe -the sort of people that I sometimes drive about, and the things I get -out of ’em. But I intend to write it all down, and to save the bother -of posting, and all that, to print my letters at once. Then if my dear -relations and acquaintance that are scattered in all the corners of the -world don’t know anything about me, ’twill be their fault, not mine.</p> - -<p>I couldn’t have thought that a cabman’s life could have so improved -the mind. But when we<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</span> meet at the Spotted Lion—that’s our -watering-house—there’s something to be heard, I can tell you. I never -troubled my head with politics before I drove a cab: no, I was little -better than an animal; but I should think that now I know something of -the Bill of Rights, and all that, and all from the newspapers. When the -nosebag’s on the old mare, don’t I read the debates in Parliament!</p> - -<p>I was going to write you a bit upon the Sugar Question, but old -Lumpy—he’s our waterman—has called me for a job. So at present no -more from your cousin and wellwisher,</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Juniper Hedgehog</span>.<br> -</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Letter_II-To_Mrs_Hedgehog_of_New_York"><span class="smcap">Letter II.</span>—<i>To Mrs Hedgehog of New York.</i></h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">My dear old Grandmother</span>,—Thank all your stars and two garters -that you’re out of England! We’re all going to be made Catholics. It’s -a settled thing. You ought henceforth never to cook a supper of sprats -without looking at the gridiron, thinking of Smithfield, and being -special grateful for your deliverance. Nobody can tell what’s come to -half the bishops, and three parts of the clergy.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</span> Such a noise about -surplices and gowns! The old story again. The old fight—as far as I -can tell—about white and black: one party vowing that the real thing’s -white, whilst the other will have it that the true white’s black. Yes, -grandmother, it’s the old battle of black and white that, as far as my -learning goes, has for hundreds of years filled this nice sort of world -of ours with all kinds of trouble. Nobody can tell what’s set these -ministers of peace—as they call themselves—all of a sudden in such a -pucker; but I think I’ve hit upon the cause, and here it is.</p> - -<p>All this noise in the Church has begun in the playhouse. I’m sure of -it. Foolish people say and write that we English folks don’t care about -plays. There never was such a mistake. In our hearts, all of us, and -especially many of the bishops and clergy, dote upon the playhouse; but -then, you see, it isn’t thought quite the thing for the clergy to go -there. The Bishop of Exeter—I’m cocksure of it—has a consuming love -for a pantomime; but then he wouldn’t like to be seen in the boxes of -Drury Lane, giving his countenance to the clown, that takes his tithe -of all sorts of things that come under his nose. The Bishop of London -too—he, I’ve heard it said, got made a bishop of by some intimate -acquaintance of his that wrote plays in Greek. Well, he can’t go and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</span> -enjoy his laugh at the Haymarket, or have his feelings warmed, till -they boil over at his eyes, at the Victoria (that was once the Coburg); -so you see, as the bishops can’t decently stir from the Church to the -playhouse, they’ve set their heads together to bring the playhouse to -the Church. And this accounts for all their fuss in the Church about -what the playhouse people call the “dresses and decorations.” They seem -to think that religion isn’t enough of itself, unless it’s “splendidly -got up.” Whereupon they want to go back to the old properties of -crosses and candlesticks, and so forth, to fill the pews. Well, when -the bishops—the grey, sober men, the fathers of the Church—have -this hankering after a bit of show, it isn’t to be expected that the -young fellows will refuse the finery. Certainly not. Whereupon they’re -bringing in all sorts of fashions, it seems. They don’t think it -enough to belong to the Army of Martyrs, unless they’ve very handsome -regimentals.</p> - -<p>In some of the churches they’ve revived what they call the offertory. -It’s this. At a certain part of the service, they send round a bag -or a pocket at the end of a stick to all the people, to put money -in. I have seen the same sort of thing used in the streets to reach -to the first-floors, when the tumblers go about. Well, this money is -gathered for a-many things; but John Bull doesn’t like it.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</span> They say -the crocodile has his tender part somewhere about his belly—John’s -vital part is his breeches-pocket. Nevertheless, there’s no doubt that -the Bishop of Exeter—for he’s very strong upon the offertory—has -introduced it to make religion, what is so very much liked in England, -select and respectable. You see the people who can’t afford to drop -their Sunday shillings and sixpences, won’t have the face to go to -worship at all—or they may turn Dissenters, and so the Established -Church, like the Opera-house, will be made a place for what the -<i>Standard</i> (I can tell you <i>that</i> is a religious paper, -though you may never hear of it) calls the “better classes.” Poor -people may turn Anabaptists, or anything of that sort that’s very -cheap. Purple and fine linen a’n’t for everybody; no, isn’t there good -stout sound cloth, and striped cotton?</p> - -<p>The Bishop of London has been in very hot water with the folks at -Tottenham about the Sunday silver, which they won’t pay at all. Well, -he says they needn’t pay it for a twelvemonth. So it seems that a truth -isn’t a truth all at once, it takes a year to grow. According to the -Bishop, it would seem that truth was born like a tadpole, that wanted -time afore it came to be a perfect frog.</p> - -<p>Well, then, there’s another notion about. It’s said that the wants -of the people are so many that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</span> it’s quite out of the power of the -labouring clergy to attend to ’em. It would be worse than drayman’s -work. And so it has been recommended that there should be a sort of -Church militia raised in addition to the regulars. It was only last -night that I drove down to Fulham a very chatty sort of man—I think -the under-butler of the Bishop of London. Well, he talked a good deal -about this militia; they’re to be called Deacons, I think, and are to -be considered a sort of a parson; like young ravens not yet come to -their full black.</p> - -<p>Well, it was quite plain that he hoped to be one of ’em, for he said -the places would be open to anybody, really pious, of the humblest -parts. He was very talkative, and said these deacons would have all the -comforts of the monks, without any of their vows; going to people’s -houses; worming themselves into their families, and learning all their -business carnal—yes, I think carnal was his word—and spiritual. When -I asked him if, like the monks, they were to wear gowns and hoods -(as I’d seen ’em at the Coburg), he winked very knowingly, and said, -with the blessing of Providence, that might come. At all events, they -might begin with letters and numbers worked in gold or silver in their -collars; and, something after the new police, have a pink or purple -strap about their cuffs when upon spiritual duty.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</span></p> - -<p>Folks are in a mighty stir about the matter; but I think Exeter and -London might bring all the people of their own minds, if they only knew -how to go about the business. I’ve just been reading Miss Martineau -about mesmerism, and she says this: “It is almost an established -opinion among some of the wisest students of mesmerism, that the mind -of the somnambule [you must ask somebody about these words] mirrors -that of the mesmerist.” And then she goes on to say, “It certainly is -true to a considerable extent, as is pretty clearly proved when an -ignorant child—ignorant, especially, of the Bible—<i>discourses of -the Scriptures and divinity when mesmerised by a clergyman</i>.”</p> - -<p>Now the bishops have nothing to do but to mesmerise the people—I’m -sure I’ve known parsons who’ve done wonders with sleepy -congregations—have only to get ’em “to mirror <i>their</i> minds,” and -they may do as they please with crosses, and surplices, and saints, -and offertory, and all that. In a word, the Bishops of Exeter and -London have only to send all their flocks well to sleep, to shear ’em -after what fashion they like. As yet, my dear grandmother, I haven’t -given nothing to the offertory, and I won’t agree to the move about -the surplice. But flesh is weak. I can’t tell how long I may hold out. -Fashion’s a strong thing, and always strongest when it sets towards<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</span> -the Church. The day may come when I may take my grey mare—as I’m told -they take all the animals in Italy—to be blessed and sprinkled on the -feast of St Anthony, and the Bishop of London may do the job for her. -But I’ll hold out as long as I can. In the mean time, let me have your -prayers, and believe me your affectionate grandson,</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Juniper Hedgehog</span>.<br> -</p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—I did intend to write to cousin Bridget, but Lumpy’s -called me away for a long job.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Letter_III-To_Mrs_Hedgehog_of_New_York"><span class="smcap">Letter III.</span>—<i>To Mrs Hedgehog of New York.</i></h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">My dear Grandmother</span>,—We’re all safe for a time; the Pope -hasn’t quite got hold of us yet. You recollect when I was a boy, how -I would fling stones, and call names, and go among other boys pelting -’em right and left, and swearing I didn’t mean to hurt ’em, but played -off my pranks only for their good? And then, when I used to get into -a terrible fight, you remember how you used to come in at the last -minute, and carry me off home just as I was nearly giving in? And then, -how afterwards I used to brag that if grandmother hadn’t<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</span> taken me -away, I’d have licked twenty boys; one down, another come on! Well, -well; the more I see of life, the more I’m sure men only play over -their boys’ tricks; only they do it with graver faces and worse words.</p> - -<p>What you did for me, the Archbishop of Canterbury has done for the -Bishop of Exeter. Almost at the last minute he has wrapped his apron -about the Bishop and carried him out of the squabble. And now the -Bishop writes a letter as long as a church bell-rope, in which he -says he only gives up fighting to show that he’s obedient—more than -hinting, that if he’d been allowed to go on, he’d have beaten all -comers, with one hand tied behind him. At all events, he’s very glad -there’s been a rumpus, as it proves there’s pluck on both sides.</p> - -<p>Yes; he says, “Whatever may have been the temporary results, <i>I -do not and cannot regret</i> that I deemed it necessary publicly to -assert those principles of Church authority, which it is alike the -duty of all of us to recognise and to inculcate. The very vehemence -with which the assertion of them has been resisted <i>proves</i>, if -proof were necessary, <i>the necessity of their being asserted</i>, -and of our never suffering them to fall into oblivion.” If this isn’t -talking in the dark, I don’t know what a rushlight is. You might as -well<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</span> say that the “vehemence” with which a man resists a kicking, -“proves the necessity” of kicking him. Because folks wouldn’t at any -price have surplices forced down their throats, and offertory-bags -poked into their pews, why, that’s the very reason you should try to -push both surplice and bag upon ’em. As I say, it shows there’s blood -on both sides; and it’s a comfort to know that both parties are ready -for a tussle. Well, I’ve heard this sort of preaching from a Tipperary -cabman, and never wondered; but it <i>does</i> sound droll from a -bishop. I’ve read something somewhere about the thunder of the Church, -and have now no doubt that it must be very serviceable; it must so -clear the air after a certain time. Here, for months, has Exeter been -thundering in the newspapers—crack, crack, crack! it’s gone almost -every morning, till people wondered if the steeple of their own parish -church was safe; and now, at last, he sits himself down, and smiling as -if his face was smeared with honey, folds his hands and softly says, -“Thank heaven! we’ve had a lovely storm.” Talking about thunder, I once -read a poem—one of those strange, odd things that give your brain a -twist—called “Festus.” There was a passage in it that certainly did -bother me; but now I can perfectly understand it. Somebody says to -another—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent26">“Why, how now!</div> - <div class="verse indent2">You look as though you fed on <i>buttered thunder</i>.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Now, the Bishop of Exeter—I say it with all respect, grandmother, -for you know you always taught me to love the bishops—is this very -man. You’ve only to read his letters, really so noisy, and yet, as -he declares, meaning to be so soft—to be sure that what he lives -and thrives upon is <i>buttered thunder</i>. The Bishop, of course, -isn’t alone in his happiness at the row. One of his best friends, the -<i>Morning Post</i>, believes it will do a deal of good. True piety, -like physic, wants shaking to have its proper effect. The <i>Post</i> -talked a little while ago about “the means which have made the Church -arise from its slumbers <i>like a giant refreshed</i>;” that is, -getting up in a white surplice, to be refreshed with ready money from -the pews. I don’t know how it is, but I don’t think the Church ought to -be compared to a giant. All the giants I know are people of very queer -character. The best of ’em gluttonous, swaggering, overbearing chaps, -with nothing too hot or too heavy for ’em to carry off: now, these are -not at all the sort of creatures that we are likely to think of when -we’re reading the Bishop of Exeter’s letters. No; they rather remind us -of a shepherd playing on his pipe—I’ve only read of these things—to -his sheep and lambkins. The <i>Morning Post</i> further says:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</span></p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“We are not among those who feel alarm at the present state of -the Church. <i>The fermentation</i> will throw off the scum, -and what is good will remain.”</p> -</div> - -<p>Now, grandmother, you know enough of boiling to know that “the scum” -always floats on the top. Now, is anything on the top to be thrown -off? Don’t flurry yourself; the <i>Post</i> doesn’t mean that. What it -means is, that a whole lot of the vulgar members of the Established -Church will be so fermented by the surplice, the offertory, and -other Popish ingredients—grains of Paradise, as they tell us—that -they’ll be thrown clean out of it. You know how Bill Wiggins once -poisoned the pond, so that the fish was floated dead ashore. In the -same way the Church may get rid of its small fry, and “what is good -will remain.” Then the Church will be something like. Now, it’s old -and weather-stained, with time blotches and cracks about it. But how -fine it will look with crucifixes and pictures of the Virgin inside—a -clean white surplice always in the upper pulpit—and the whole building -beautifully and thickly faced with <i>Roman</i> cement!</p> - -<p>But at this present writing, it isn’t all over in the city of Exeter. -The Bishop, having had his fling, one of his journeymen, the Rev. -Mr Courtenay, minister of St Sidwell’s, comes in for a little more<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</span> -than his share of the performance. Don’t think I’m profane, dear -grandmother—no, quite the reverse. But you <i>have</i> in your time -been to Astley’s, and seen the riding in the ring. Well, the principal -rider comes, and does all manner of wonders whilst cantering and -galloping, and going all kind of paces. When he’s done, he makes his -bow and goes off. And then after him comes the clown. Well, he’s -determined to outdo all that’s been done before him, and for this -purpose goes on with all sorts of manœuvres. Now the Bishop of -Exeter has made his bow, and the Rev. Mr Courtenay is, at the time I -write, before the public. He <i>will</i> preach in a surplice; and -that he may do so with safety—for all the folks in Exeter are in a -pretty pucker about it—he goes to and from church, as I may say, in -the bosom of the police. Oh dear! isn’t it sad work, grandmother? this -noise about black and white gowns, when Churchmen ought to think of -nothing but black and white souls? Black and white! as if there was a -pattern-book of colours for heaven! However, how it will end nobody -knows; but if the matter goes on as it promises, it is thought the Rev. -Mr Courtenay will call to his aid the yeomanry, and be escorted to St -Sidwell’s by a body-guard armed with ball-cartridge. It is said he has -bespoken two howitzers to keep off the mob from the church doors.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</span></p> - -<p>I’ve hardly time to save the packet; so remain, your affectionate -grandson,</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Juniper Hedgehog</span>.<br> -</p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—They do say that Mr Courtenay wants to be made a martyr -of. But the days for burning are all gone by. Besides, other folks -declare that the parson of St Sidwell’s would have been too green to -burn at any time.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Letter_IV-To_Michael_Hedgehog_at_Hong-Kong"><span class="smcap">Letter IV.</span>—<i>To Michael Hedgehog, at Hong-Kong.</i></h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Michael</span>,—When you quitted England, in the Hong-Kong -division of police, I promised to write you all the news I could; -at least, such news as I knew you’d like. The crimes and evils of -population were, I know, always a favourite matter with you. I’m sorry -to say the evil’s getting worse every day; and no wonder. You’ll -hardly believe it, Michael, seeing what a surplus of pauper flesh and -blood respectable people have upon their hands, that there’s a set of -ignoramuses who absolutely offer a premium for babies; for all the -world, as they give away gold and silver medals for prize pigs. I take -the bit of news I send you from the <i>Times</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</span></p> - -<p>You must know that a few weeks ago a “Mrs Clements of 21 Hunt Street, -Mile-end, Newtown,” had at once “three children, two girls and a boy,” -all, too, impudent enough to live. Well, the <i>Times</i> published an -account of the misdemeanour, and—would you believe it?—some “generous -individuals,” as they are stupidly called, sent, among ’em, £38 for the -mother and little ones.</p> - -<p>Now, what is this, as you’d say, but fostering a superabundance of -population? It’s no other than offering bribes to bring people into the -country, already as full as a cask of herrings; and when every trade is -eating part of its members up, for all the world as melancholy monkeys -eat their own tails! Isn’t it shocking to encourage the lower classes -to add to themselves? There’s nothing that money won’t do; and I’ve no -doubt whatever that, for some years to come, all children at Mile-end -will be born by threes and fours. A shrewd fellow like you must have -remarked how people imitate one another. You never yet heard of an odd -act of suicide, or any kind of horror with originality in it, that -it didn’t for a little time become the fashion, as if it was a new -bonnet or a new boot. And so, among the lower orders, it will be in the -matter of babies. Now, if Mrs Clements had been sent to prison for the -offence, then the evil might have been nipped in the bud; but to reward -her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</span> for her three babies, who could show no honest means of providing -for themselves, why, it’s flying in the face of all political economy. -Three babies at once at Mile-end is monstrous. Even twins should be -confined to the higher ranks.</p> - -<p>You’ll be glad to hear that we’ve been giving a round of dinners to -your Chinese hero, Sir Henry Pottinger. At Manchester he was hailed -as the very hero of cotton prints. They dined him very handsomely, -and you may be sure there was a good deal of after-dinner speaking. -A Rev. Canon Wray answered the toast for the Clergy. I once read of -a melancholy man, who thought all his body was turned into a glass -bottle, and so wouldn’t move for fear of going to pieces. Now, I’m -certain of it, that there’s a sort of clergyman who, after some such -humour, thinks himself a forty-two pounder; for he is never heard at a -public meeting that he doesn’t fire away shot and gunpowder. The Rev. -Canon said (or rather fired) his thanks, that Sir H. Pottinger “had -opened a way for the march of the gospel.” Now, Michael, I never heard -of any artillery in the New Testament. And he further said:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“British arms seem scarcely ever to know a defeat. In the east, -west, north, and south, our soldiers and sailors are, in the -end, ever victorious. I cannot but think that, as great Britain -holds the tenets of the gospel<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</span> in greater purity than any -other nation, so she is intended by the Divine will to carry -inestimable blessings to all distant benighted climes.”</p> -</div> - -<p>Well, Michael, I’ve heard of a settler in mistake sowing gunpowder -for onions; but the Rev. Canon Wray, with his best knowledge about -him, thinks there’s nothing like sowing gunpowder for the “scriptural -mustard-seed.” I suppose he’s right, because he’s a canon; and -therefore not to be disputed with by your ignorant, but affectionate -brother,</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Juniper Hedgehog</span>.<br> -</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Letter_V-To_Mrs_Barbara_Wilcox_at_Philadelphia"><span class="smcap">Letter V.</span>—<i>To Mrs Barbara Wilcox, at Philadelphia.</i></h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Sister</span>,—It gave me much pleasure to learn from your -letter that yourself, husband, and baby got safe and sound to your -present home. You ask me to send you my portrait. It isn’t in my -power to do so at present; but if I should be unfortunate enough to -kill anybody, or set a dockyard a-fire, or bamboozle the Bank—or, in -short, do anything splashy to get a front place in the dock at the Old -Bailey—you may then have my portrait at next to nothing. Then, I can -tell you, it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</span> will be drawn in capital style—at full length, three -quarters, half length, and I know not what.</p> - -<p>I’ve read somewhere, that in what people call the good old times—as -times always get worse, what a pretty state the world will be in a -thousand years hence!—when there were dead men’s heads on the top of -Temple Bar, grinning down, what people call an example, on the folks -below, that there used to be fellows with spyglasses; and, at a penny a -peep, they showed to the curious all the horror of the aforesaid heads, -not to be discovered by the naked eye. Well, the heads are gone, and -the spyglass traders too; but for all that, there’s the same sort of -show going on, and a good scramble to turn the penny by it, only after -a different fashion. Murderers are now shown in newspapers. They are -no longer gibbeted in irons; no, that was found to be shocking, and of -no use: they are now nicely cut in wood, and so insinuated into the -bosoms of families. The more dreadful the murder, the greater value the -portrait; which, for a time, is made a sort of personal acquaintance -to thousands of respectable folks who pay the newspaper owner—the -spyglass-man of our time—so much to stare at it as long as they like. -I am certain that the shortest cut to popularity of some sort is to cut -somebody’s throat. A dull, stupid fellow, that pays his way and does -harm to nobody, why,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</span> he may die off like a fly in November and be no -more thought of. But only let him do some devil’s deed—do a bit of -murder as coolly as he’d pare a turnip—and what he says, whether he -takes coffee, or brandy-and-water “cold without;” when he sleeps, and -when he wakes; and when he smiles, and when he grinds his teeth,—all -of this is put down as if all the world went upon his movements, and -couldn’t go on without knowing ’em. To a man who wants to make a noise, -he doesn’t care how, all this is very tempting. I hope I mayn’t come -to be cut in wood, but still one would like to make a rumpus some way -before one died.</p> - -<p>There’s commonly an Old Bailey fashion, the same as a St James’s -fashion. Just now—as you want to know all the domestic news—poison’s -carrying everything before it. ’Twould seem as if people suddenly -thought their relations rats, and treated ’em accordingly. I never yet -tried my hand upon a book, but I do think that I could throw off a -nice little story with lots of arsenic in it—a sort of genteel guide -to Newgate. I’ve been reading about a lady, one Tofana, who made a -great stir some years ago. She could give arsenic in such a manner -that she set people for death as you’d set an alarum. She got a good -many pupils, young married ladies, about her, who all of ’em put their -husbands aside like an old-fashioned gown. Now, I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</span> do think that a -novel called “The Ladies’ Poisoning Club,” or “Widowhood at Will,” -would just now make a bit of a stir. I don’t mean to say that I could -write a book, that is, what folks call <i>write</i>; but I’ve a knack: -I know I could imitate writing, just as an ape imitates a man. The -subject grows upon me. I certainly think I shall make a beginning. -However, of this you shall hear more by the next packet. I do think -I could make a hit in what I call arsenicated literature. There’s -arsenicated candles, why shouldn’t there be arsenicated books?—In -haste, your affectionate brother,</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Juniper Hedgehog</span>.<br> -</p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—If I do the book, I shall follow it up with a sort of -moral continuation, to be called “The Stomach-Pump.”</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Letter_VI-To_Mr_Jonas_Wilcox_Philadelphia"><span class="smcap">Letter VI.</span>—<i>To Mr Jonas Wilcox, Philadelphia.</i></h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Brother-in-law</span>,—As my last letter was to sister, it is -but fair that you should have the next dose of ink. Well, Parliament’s -opened; and Sir Robert’s made a clean breast of it—that is, if a -Prime Minister can do such a thing. There never was such harmony in -the House of Commons!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</span> After Sir Robert had spoken out, you might have -thought all the House was holding nothing but a love-feast. I was in -the gallery—I won’t tell you how I got in—and never saw such a sight -in all my life. All the papers, I can’t tell why, have oddly suppressed -an account of the matter; therefore, what you get from me will be -exclusive—from your “own” correspondent. Treasure it accordingly.</p> - -<p>When Sir Robert said he should keep on the income-tax for three years -longer, almost the whole House fell into fits of delight at his -goodness. You might have seen Whig embracing Tory, Radical throwing -his arms about the neck of Conservative, and Young England with tears -of gratitude rolling like butter-milk down upon his white waistcoat. -When Sir Robert had quite finished his speech, there was a shower of -nosegays flung upon him from the Treasury benches, just in the same -way as now and then you pelt the actors at the playhouses! Sir Robert -picked ’em all up, and pressed ’em to his heart, and from the corners -of his mouth smiled the thousand thanks. Then sitting down, he very -handsomely gave a flower apiece to what he calls his colleagues. He -insisted—amidst the cheers of the House—on putting a forget-me-not -in the button-hole of Mr Gladstone (who sobbed audibly at the touch -of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</span> friendship); and then he handed a lily—as an emblem of the Home -Secretary’s reputation—to Sir James Graham. At this, I needn’t tell -you, there were “roars of laughter.” To be sure, at this season of the -year these flowers were artificial; but for which reason, it was said -by somebody, they were more in keeping with Sir Robert’s measures. -Two or three members—for form’s sake—abused the income-tax, but -nevertheless said they would vote for it. Lord John Russell called it a -shameful, infamous, ignominious, tyrannical, prying impost: he would, -however, support it. This is as if a man should denounce another as a -coward, a ruffian, and a thief, and then—fold him to his bosom! But -they do odd things in Parliament. Sir Robert says we are to have the -income-tax for only three years longer. Nonsense! He intends that we -should grow with it upon us. He’ll no more take it off than a Chinese -mother will take off the little shoe that, for the beauty of the -full-grown woman, she puts upon the foot of her baby girl. The child -may twist, and wriggle, and squall; and the mother may now and then say -pretty things—make pretty promises to it to keep it quiet—but the -shoe’s there for the sufferer’s life. Now John Bull—thinks Sir Robert -Peel—will move all the better with his foot in the income-tax: all the -better too,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</span> because it most galls and crushes a lower member. However, -we are to have the duty off glass; which, says Sir Robert, is much -better than if the duty were taken off light. It is not for such as me -to dispute with a minister, but I can’t see how, if I’m to get my house -glazed duty free, it’s quite as good as if there was no window-tax. To -be sure, if a man, as a householder, were to new glaze himself from -top to bottom once a quarter, it might be another thing; he might save -upon the glass what he now pays for the sun that, in London, tries to -come through it. He may certainly afford to have more windows, but -will, I say, the saving on the glass pay for the light? Besides, not -light alone, but air is paid for. There is at the present time a secret -agitation going on among the cats of England. The grievance is this: A -man can’t make a hole in his house for the cat to pass in and out to -mouse or visit, without the said hole being surcharged as a window. -This is a wrong done upon the cats of the country; but whether done out -of sympathy with the rats or not, let Sir James Graham answer. However, -one comfort will come of cheap glass: folks who choose to visit museums -and such public places, may break what they like of the material at a -decreased cost, for the pleasure. Before it was bad enough, nothing, -according to the law, being worth more than five<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</span> pounds; so any -malicious or morbid scoundrel (or both) might smash any rare piece of -antiquity, and handing to the magistrate any sum over five pounds, -bid him take the change out of that. I think a club might be formed -for certain young chaps about town, to be called “The Independent -Smashers.” They might subscribe to a common fund to pay fines; and each -in turn draw for the pleasure of a bit of destruction. With the duty -taken off the article, it would be remarkably cheap sport. However, -there is no doubt of it, that Peel has got great glory by taking off -this tax. A good deal of his reputation as a minister will be looked -upon as glass; such side of his reputation in the eyes of an admiring -country to be always “kept upwards.”</p> - -<p>We are to have sugar, too, at about three-halfpence a pound cheaper; -which Mrs Hedgehog tells me will allow us to save at least sixpence a -week: however, what we shall have to pay to protect the West Indians, -she, poor soul, never dreams of, and I should be a brute to tell her. -Therefore—poor thing!—she may now and then toast Sir Robert in her -Twankay, without thinking of the £140,000 we lose in the other way. -Then again, what we shall save in cotton is wonderful!</p> - -<p>The auctioneers, too, are all right. They are to knock down at so much -for life, instead of taking<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</span> out a yearly licence. It is thought that -this enlarged piece of statesmanship came about out of compliment to -George Robins, who, in one of his familiar letters to the Premier, said -he’d rather have it so.</p> - -<p>However, everybody says Sir Robert Peel’s in for life. He’s married -Downing Street, and nothing but death can them part. One thing’s -certain, he’s got a thumping surplus. And when any man in England gets -that, folks are not very particular how he’s come by it.</p> - -<p>So no more at present from your affectionate brother-in-law,</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Juniper Hedgehog</span>.<br> -</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Letter_VII-To_John_Squalid_Weaver_Stockton"><span class="smcap">Letter VII.</span>—<i>To John Squalid, Weaver, Stockton.</i></h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear John</span>,—I’m afraid you don’t go the right way to make -both ends meet. Your letter is full of complaints of poverty, and all -that sort of disagreeable thing. I very much fear that you’ve got into -expensive habits, or your sixteen shillings a week would be sure to go -further. Why don’t you be economical? why don’t you copy the prudence -shown you by high people? Look here, now. Just read this from Sir -Robert Peel’s speech.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</span> He is speaking of the marriage (and economy) of -Queen Victoria:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“It has pleased God to bless that union with the birth of four -children, and this, of course, caused a considerable additional -demand upon the civil list. In the course of the last year -three sovereigns have visited this country; amongst them were -the sovereigns of two of the most powerful countries in the -habitable globe—the Emperor of Russia and the King of the -French.”</p> -</div> - -<p>I hope you blush now. Four children: and when—if you will only -consider upon it—you come to think how much it costs for babies—how -much in tops-and-bottoms alone—how much in short coating, worsted -shoes, and all that,—can you, as a loyal subject, forbear to cast up -your eyes and close your hands in wonderment at Sir Robert’s picture -of royal economy? There have been four children and three kings come -to Windsor Castle, and yet John Bull has never been asked for an extra -shilling. If you owe anything anywhere, you are, after this, lost to -all sense of self-respect. I give you up. Consider the expense borne by -royalty for royal visitors! The extra night-candles—the extra clean -sheets and pillow-cases,—and yet not a farthing more, <i>as yet</i>, -demanded! To be sure, it wouldn’t have been very gracious towards -the three sovereigns, if the bill for their entertainment<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</span> had been -immediately sent down to Parliament: they might, as gentlemen, have -felt inclined to send over their cheques for the amount: but—no matter -for that.</p> - -<p>I clearly see what lies before you—it’s the union, and nothing less. -And you don’t know what <i>that</i>—under the benevolence of Sir -James Graham—is to be yet. He has just brought in a bill for another -experiment upon the poor. Indeed Graham, in his bills for the treatment -of the poor, may be likened to one Dr Majendie, a French surgeon, in -his treatment of rabbits. He would take a live rabbit and cut its -nerves here and there to make some great discovery—to learn what -point of agony the rabbit could bear—and still keep a sort of life -within it, eat and drink. Graham is the Poor-Law Majendie! He’s brought -in something like a Settlement Bill; a bill which is to take the -poor—to cut their nerves and heart-strings from their parishes—and -settle them, when they need, what he in his droll manner calls relief, -into unions, melting three-and-twenty parishes into one union! Old -feelings—old affections for old places are to be nothing—ties of -kindred nothing, nothing. Sir James will sever all these, and will then -triumphantly show the world how well the human rabbit can exist with -them cut through and through.</p> - -<p>When in the fulness of years and reputation it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</span> may please Providence -to remove Sir James from this vale of tears—and certainly it’s no -fault of <i>his</i> measures if the vale is very dry—there ought to be -a monument raised to his memory, made of paupers’ bones.</p> - -<p>However, history will be sure to do this for him. As the poor are to -cease to have what is called any associations of place—why should -they have any associations of particular names? Why should they not -be lettered and numbered like the police? Such a plan would go far to -take the conceit out of them, by reminding them most forcibly of the -difference between themselves and the luckier people who bear Christian -and surnames. More, that there should be no mistake, no shuffling in -the matter, the pauper babe, instead of being christened, might be -indelibly tattooed both with letter and number. If at any time of its -future life it should by some strange accident realise sufficient money -to make it respectable, it might then be allowed to be baptized; in the -same way that now a man, on coming to immense wealth, is allowed by the -<i>Gazette</i> to slough the vulgarity of Wiggins into the aristocracy -of Mosmancourt of Godolphin. I hope Sir James will think of this.</p> - -<p>But the poor man was always a culprit. You heard I was once a lawyer’s -clerk, and so, John, respect my Latin. The poor were <i>adscripti -glebæ</i>—that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</span> is, bound to the soil, a bit of the earth, a lump of -the clay, with no more power to remove themselves than a bramble-bush; -if they did, see what came to ’em. I’ve only just picked up the matter, -but here it is—let it be a warning to you. In the time of Richard the -Second—what a very pauper he’d been if born one!—if any poor man left -his home without a justice’s leave, and was taken in the crime, why, he -was put in the stocks for his rascality. Henry the Eighth—a real tiger -of the royal menagerie—made a law that whipped any beggar begging from -his native place. Another of his laws—some of ’em were written in -the best blood of the country—only whipped the beggar for his first -offence, but cut off his right ear for the second, and blackened him -from head to heel a felon for the third. Well, Edward the Sixth, or -his ministers, branded the vagabond on the shoulder, and gave him as a -slave to anybody who’d be troubled with him, to be beaten, chained, and -otherwise remonstrated with for being poor. He might also, for further -ill-manners of running away, be branded in the cheek, and made a slave -for life. Another running away, and—here really came a bit of summary -humanity—he might be hanged! Queen Elizabeth punished the beggar by -ordering his ear to be “burned through the gristle with a hot iron, of -a compass of an inch about”—that is, not much thicker.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</span></p> - -<p>Now, John, I hope you lay these things to your heart: I hope you will -at once acknowledge the wickedness that has very properly been put upon -poverty for hundreds of years, and don’t disgrace yourself and your -relations by becoming a pauper. I have a great regard for you—a very -great regard; nevertheless, if you come to want, I give you up for -ever, and renounce you. I hope, therefore, you will take this warning -in good part, and believe me, your affectionate cousin,</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Juniper Hedgehog</span>.<br> -</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Letter_VIII-To_-_-_Naples"><span class="smcap">Letter VIII.</span>—<i>To —— ——, Naples.</i></h2> -</div> - - -<p>Thank heaven and the printer that there are such things as —— ——! -You, my dear friend, will know to whom they apply, and may therefore -receive this letter without its bringing down upon you the Government -of Naples. However, don’t venture to write me any answer, for I’m in -Sir James Graham’s books; I’m down—a marked man. Unhappily for me, a -Polish refugee lives in our garret, and the eye of Russia is upon me. -Nevertheless, there has been, I find, some good-luck in this. I’ve now -discovered that the two gentlemen with beards, who used to hire me -when the Emperor Nicholas was here, to drive them from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</span> one end of the -town to the other, did so to come at the plot which was hatching in -our attic. However, they got nothing out of me but, as old Lumpy says, -<i>wicey-warsy</i>. Still I’m not comfortable. As a cabman, I’ve been -boxed up with Spaniards, Italians, Sardinians, Austrians—men of all -countries and colours. Well, I don’t know at this moment that every -letter to Juniper Hedgehog—that is, every copy—isn’t in the office of -Sir James Graham. A nice thing this to go to bed and sleep upon! When I -think of the sort of letters—full of delicate and tender matters—that -has come to me, I own it does make me burn and fluster to think that I -may not have a single secret to myself: no, Sir James—the Post-Office -burglar—has broken into my affairs, and at this moment he knows all -my poverty, all my little strugglings with little debts—in fact, all -my inner man. I seem to myself to walk about the world turned inside -out! And this evil, be it remembered, may be the fate of thousands, -although, poor wretches, they may not know it. Who shall tell how many -men’s souls are at the Home Office, under the Graham lock and key? -Still, says Sir James, the whole security, not only of <i>this</i> -country, but, in truth, of the whole world, depends upon wax and wafers.</p> - -<p>There is no doubt that last summer a few<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</span> Italians were denounced to -the Government of Naples, and duly shot, in consequence of seals broken -at Downing Street. This is comfortable to reflect upon. Though if Sir -James was a squeamish man—which he is not, for no man ever braved the -pillory with all its unsavoury accidents with a stronger stomach—then -would he never again behold the Queen’s head upon the red post-stamp -without thinking of human blood!</p> - -<p>Sir James, however, has two natures, or rather two parts. Like the -picture of Death and the Lady, Sir James is only corrupt on one side. -Thus spoke Tom Duncombe to the foolscap burglar—the sealing-wax Jack -Sheppard: “He has had the meanness, ay, and the baseness, to conceal -his act and has not had the courage to avow it.”</p> - -<p>Upon this, the Speaker, in one of his conciliatory moods, observed that -“such observations were very personal. Would the honourable gentleman -withdraw them?” Whereupon Mr Duncombe answered: “Sir, I applied those -observations to the right honourable gentleman in his ministerial -capacity: to those observations and to those topics I adhere; so they -<i>must and shall remain</i>.”</p> - -<p>And they <i>do</i> remain. And Sir James remains “as a minister,” a -“mean,” “base,” cowardly agent! How strange is the distinction between -the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</span> minister and the man!—they’re quite two different things, like -the calipee and calipash of a turtle.</p> - -<p>Sir James Graham rose to answer, with a confidence that would have -honoured the Old Bailey. He said, “Mr Duncombe was a person quite -indifferent to him.” This reminds me of the chap who, after he’d been -flogged half a mile and more at the cart’s tail, with all the world -looking on, said to the man that had flayed him, “Sir, you’re beneath -my notice.” I could write more, but Lumpy’s called me for a fare. The -fun, however, is not yet over; and you may hear more of Sir James in my -next. Meantime, if you write, don’t either use wax or wafers; it’s only -wasting property. Send your letters open, and believe me, your faithful -friend,</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Juniper Hedgehog</span>.<br> -</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Letter_IX-To_Mrs_Hedgehog_of_New_York"><span class="smcap">Letter IX.</span>—<i>To Mrs Hedgehog of New York.</i></h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Grandmother</span>,—It was very kind of you, though away from -Old England, to have prayers put up for the Bishops of Exeter and -London, and Mr Courtenay and Mr Ward, with all the unfortunate young -clergymen who’ve been frightening<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</span> their good Mother Church, for all -the world like young ducklings that, hatched by a hen, would take -water. The bishops, you will be glad to learn, are much better; and -now, Sunday after Sunday, the young parsons are taking off their white -surplices and putting on their old gowns, just like idle, flashy, young -dogs, who’ve been making a noise at a masquerade, but are once more -prepared to go back to their serious counters. Mr Courtenay and two or -three of his kidney did think of putting on chain-armour under their -surplices, like the Templars that you once saw in the play of Ivanhoe; -but whether the Bishop of Exeter has interfered or not, I can’t say: -the thing’s given up.</p> - -<p>Mr Ward, who has been turned out of Oxford for his ideal of a Christian -Church—which means a Church with censers and candlesticks, and -pictures of the Virgin, and martyrs’ bones, and other properties—is -going to be married, if the business isn’t done already. I shouldn’t -have written upon the matter, only Mr W. has printed a letter in all -the papers, giving <i>his</i> notions of the holy state. They certainly -are very sweet and complimentary to the lady chosen by Mr Ward, for he -says—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“First, I hold it most firmly as a truth even of <i>natural -religion</i> that celibacy <i>is a higher condition of life</i> -than marriage.”</p> -</div> - -<p>Now, if celibacy is the highest condition of life,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</span> how is it that Adam -and Eve came together while they were yet in Paradise? Their union, -according to Mr Ward, ought to have taken place after they both fell. -Matrimony should have followed as a punishment for the apple. And then, -when it was commanded, “Increase and multiply,” was it supposed that -those who obeyed the command would not be in so “high a condition” -as those who neglected it? But men read their Bibles through strange -spectacles!</p> - -<p>However, grandmother, as you like to hear all the chat about the -Church, you must know that last week I took up a fare near the -oyster-shop in Covent Garden—a very respectable sort of person—in -fact, I’m sure one of the Established Church. When he had left the -cab, I found that the <i>Ecclesiastical Gazette</i> (No. 18) had -dropt from his pocket. I’ve gone through it, and found parts of it—I -mean the Church advertisements—very odd indeed. You can’t think how -strange they read after the New Testament. If you wouldn’t think the -pulpit-cushion was a counter, after reading ’em. Look here, now:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“A curate wanted in a large market-town forty miles from -London, near a railroad, population <i>five thousand</i>, -where the incumbent resides and takes his full share of the -duty. He must be in Priest’s Orders, have a voice sufficiently -<i>loud</i> for a very large church, and whilst holding<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</span> -<i>moderately High Church views</i>, be chiefly anxious to -<i>seek and save the lost</i> by preaching Christ and Him -crucified. Stipend <i>one hundred pounds</i> a year. The -advertiser does not pledge himself to answer every letter.”</p> -</div> - -<p>All of ’em bargain for a loud “voice:” you’d think, grandmother, -the advertisements were for chorus-singers and not clergymen. And, -grandmother, can you tell me what “a <i>moderate</i> High Church view” -is? Is it moderate virtue—moderate honesty—moderate <i>truth</i>? -Pray, tell me. Another advertiser wants “a pious and active curate,” -who will double his duty with “the tuition of the incumbent’s sons.” -That incumbent has a good eye for a good pennyworth, depend upon it. -At Bishops Lydeard a curate is tempted with “a neat little cottage,” -and “<i>almost</i> certainly the chaplaincy of an adjoining union,” -with “other considerations” (what can <i>they</i> be, grandmother?) -which will make the salary “equivalent to £100 per annum.” And for -this he must be orthodox and married. Another curate is wanted in -a “small parish in Berks,” where “the duty is very light.” What -would the apostles have said to such an offer? A beneficed clergyman -advertising from Camberwell, wishes for duty “in some agricultural -and <i>picturesque part</i> of the north of England.” A picturesque -part! You see, it isn’t every one who would like to preach<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</span> in the -wilderness. Another curate required in Nottinghamshire: salary, £100 -per annum. He must have the highest references for “gentlemanly -manners,” <i>as</i> “the vicar is resident.” I suppose if the vicar -was away, a second or third rate style would do well enough for the -parishioners.</p> - -<p>However, you’ll be glad to learn that several of the advertisers -profess to be “void of Tractarianism and <i>other</i> novelties.” Just -in the same way as they write up somewhere in Piccadilly, “The original -brown bear.”</p> - -<p>Another clergyman “is desirous of meeting with an early appointment in -town;” and, grandmother, you may judge of the lengths this gentleman -will go to preach Christianity and save human souls, when he adds, “No -objection to the Surrey side.” Isn’t this good of him? Because, you -know, grandmother, the opera, and the clubhouses, and the divans, and -so forth, are none of ’em on the Surrey side. To be sure, there’s the -Victoria and Astley’s—but they’re low.</p> - -<p>Now, grandmother, don’t all these advertisements smell a little too -much of trade—don’t they, for your notions of the right thing, jingle -a little too much with gold and silver? As I’m an honest cabman, though -I knew I was reading all about the Church and her pious sons, yet -somehow the advertisements did put me in mind of “Rowland’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</span> Macassar,” -“Mechi’s Magic Strops,” and “Good stout Cobs to be disposed of.”</p> - -<p>I am, dear grandmother, your affectionate grandson,</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Juniper Hedgehog</span>.<br> -</p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—I open my letter to tell you that the Bishop of Exeter has -broken out again. A Mr Blunt of Helston <i>will</i> wear the surplice; -and the Bishop, like a bottle-holder at a fight, backs him in his -doings. Do have more prayers put up for the Bishop.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Letter_X-To_Samuel_Hedgehog_Galantee_Showman_Ratcliffe"><span class="smcap">Letter X.</span>—<i>To Samuel Hedgehog, Galantee Showman, Ratcliffe -Highway.</i></h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Sam</span>,—I’m just come home from Hampstead, and so, while -the matter’s fresh in my mind, I sit down to write you a few lines. You -have heard of the awful murder, of course. Well, I don’t know: murder’s -a shocking thing, to be sure; nobody can say it isn’t; and yet, after -what I’ve seen to-day—Sunday, mind—it does almost seem to me as if -people took a sort of pleasure in it. Bless you! if you’d only seen the -hundreds and hundreds of folks figged out in their very best to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</span> enjoy -a sight of the place where a man had been butchered, you’d have thought -Haverstock Field—stained and cursed as it is with blood—a second -Vauxhall at the least. I’m sure I’ve seen people going to Greenwich -Fair with not half the pleasure in their faces. However, I’ll tell you -all about it.</p> - -<p>I was called off the stand about eight this morning by a gentleman -and lady, dressed, as I thought, for church. They’re a little early, -thought I, but that’s their business. “Take us to Hampstead,” said -the gentleman; “and mind, as near to the murder as possible.” “Do, my -good man,” said the lady. Bless you! to have looked at her you’d have -thought she’d have fainted at the sound of murder. “Do, my good man,” -said she; “and make haste, for I wouldn’t be too late for anything. -Take care of these,” said she to the gentleman, giving him a basket, -“and mind you don’t break it.” Well, it’s my business to drive a cab; -so I said nothing, but started for Hampstead. Bless you! before I’d got -half up Tottenham Court Road, it was no easy driving, I can tell you. -The road swarmed! Up and down the New Road, through Camden Town, and -right to Haverstock Hill—I never saw anything like it, except perhaps -on the day they run for the Derby. Everybody seemed turned out to enjoy -themselves—determined to have a holiday and no mistake.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</span></p> - -<p>Well, I drove as near as I could to the place, and then I got a boy -to hold the horse, and got down and went along with my fare. If -it didn’t make me quite savage and sick, Sam, to see hundreds of -fellows—well-dressed gentry, mind you—gaping and lounging about, and -now poking the grass with their sticks, as if it was something precious -because blood had been shed upon it, and now breaking bits of the trees -about the place, I suppose to make toothpicks and cribbage-pegs of. -And then there were fathers—precious fools!—bringing their children -with them, boys and girls, as though they’d brought ’em to a stall of -gingerbread nuts, where they might fill their bellies and be happy! -But the worst of all, Sam, was to see the women. Lots of ’em nice, -young, fair creatures, tender as if they were made of best wax—there -they were running along and looking at the bushes and the grass, and -talking of the blood and the death-struggle, just as if they were -looking at and talking of the monkeys at the ’Logical Gardens. Well, -the handsomest of ’em after a time looked to me no better than young -witches—and that’s the truth. Every minute I expected some of ’em to -do a polka, they did after a time seem to enjoy themselves.</p> - -<p>Well, all of a sudden I missed my fare. Looking about, I saw my -gentleman go up to the brick<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</span> wall. Then he took a heavy hammer out -of his pocket, and knocking away, split a brick, and then knocked it -out of the wall. “This is something like,” said he to me, twinkling -his eye; “something to remember the murder by.” And then he carefully -wrapt the pieces of brick in a silk handkerchief, and put ’em in his -breast-pocket, as if they’d been lumps of diamonds. I said nothing—but -I could have kicked him. However, he hadn’t done yet, for going to a -part of the field, he said to his wife—for so she proved to be—“This -is the place, Arabella; the very place: where’s the pots?” Then the -lady took three garden-pots from a basket, and then her husband, -dropping upon his knees, turned up the earth with a large clasp-knife, -and when he’d filled the pots, he dug up two or three daisy roots, -and set ’em; his wife smiling and looking as happy all the while as -if she’d got a new gown, or a new bonnet, or both. “Come,” said the -gentleman, squinting at the daisy roots, and twisting one of the pots -in his hand, “this is what I call worth coming for. As I say, this -is something to recollect a murder by. Humph!” and then he paused a -bit, and looked very wishfully at the stile—“Humph! I should like -a walking-stick out of that; but the police are so particular, I -suppose they wouldn’t suffer it. Come along, Arabella;” and securing -the broken brick and the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</span> daisy roots in the pots, my gentleman went -back to the cab. “Now drive as fast as you can to the church,” he -said; “I wouldn’t but be there for any money.” Well, I never did drive -through such a crowd, but at last I managed it; and at last—but -no; I haven’t patience enough to write any more upon this part of -it. There was nothing wanted in and about the churchyard to make it -a fair, except a few stalls and suchlike. It made me sick, Sam, to -look upon this murder’s holiday. I wish you’d have seen the Yorkshire -Grey public-house! No sooner did they open the doors than there was -as much scrambling as at any playhouse on boxing-night. Well, the -landlord didn’t make a little by his gin that day! Murder proved a good -customer to him! And then to see the hundreds and hundreds struggling -and pushing to get to the bar—to hear ’em laughing and shouting—and -seeing ’em tossing off their liquor,—upon my life, Sam, there was a -mob of well-dressed, well-to-do Englishmen, that, considering what had -brought them there, wasn’t half so decent as a crowd of Zealand savages.</p> - -<p>Cricketing’s an English sport—so is single-stick—so are bowls—and so -are nine-pins—and after what I’ve seen to-day, so, I’m sure of it, is -murder. For my part, it does seem a little hard to hang the murderer -himself, when it appears that he gives by<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</span> his wickedness so much -enjoyment to his fellow-subjects.</p> - -<p>Well, Sam, I’m now come to the marrow of my letter, and it’s this. I -do think, if you will only take pains, and have all the murders of the -year nicely got up, you may make a capital penn’orth of the lot with -your show at Christmas. Well, lords and ladies make a scrimmage for it -at police-courts; and respectable, pious people take in newspapers for -the very best likenesses of prisoners and cut-throats. I’m sure you’d -get custom—if the thing was well done—ay, “of the nobility, gentry, -and public in general.”</p> - -<p>Now do, Sam, take my advice. Depend upon it, the pop’lar taste sets in -for blood; and so, instead on winter’s nights a-going about with your -old-fashioned cry of “Gallantee Show!” sing out “Mur-der!” and your -fortune’s made. And so no more from your cousin and wellwisher,</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Juniper Hedgehog</span>.<br> -</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Letter_XI-To_Chickweed_Widow_Penzance"><span class="smcap">Letter XI.</span>—<i>To Chickweed, Widow, Penzance.</i></h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs Chickweed</span>,—It has given me a vast deal of concern -that you should have been frightened by the ignorant reports in the -newspapers.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</span> Don’t believe a word they say on the matter. It isn’t -true that the churchyard where you laid Solomon Chickweed before you -went back to your native place, is to be shut up—the tombstone to -be taken down—and all future burials forbidden. It’s very true that -St Clement’s Churchyard is in the middle of the Strand; but that’s -no reason why folks shouldn’t be buried there, twenty deep, if the -sexton can only as much as sprinkle ’em with a little grave-dust. -Parliament knows better than to interfere in the matter. To be sure, -there’s a great hubbub about public health; but what’s public health in -comparison with church fees? Some meddlesome people have been writing -a report about the burying at St Clement’s, and the report says, “Thus -a diluted poison is given in exchange from the dead to the living in -one of the most frequented thoroughfares in the metropolis.” So, you -see, your late husband—poor fellow! he’d have been sorry to think -it—may at this moment be helping to kill some of his oldest and best -neighbours.</p> - -<p>But what of that? Look at what is called the moral good these -churchyards do in the middle of London. What wicked people we cockneys -should be without ’em! Isn’t it plain that they keep a check upon us? -that they make us think of life and death? that they often give us,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</span> -so to speak, a pull up when we are about to stumble? Look at the state -of all the tradespeople in the neighbourhood of such churchyards as St -Giles’ and St Clement’s and St Bride’s, and a hundred others, within a -few yards of shop counters. Why, they’re all pattern folks. They have -all so constantly death in their eyes, that it makes ’em honest to -their own disadvantage. Think, too, what it is for folks from the tops -of omnibuses now and then to see funerals going on in the highways of -London. Do you suppose that it doesn’t do them a world of good? To be -sure; and that’s the reason the rectors and so forth of the churches -in London have set their faces against the new-fangled cemeteries, -where people are buried in quiet, with nobody but the mourners to see -the ceremony. Don’t, Mrs Chickweed, think it’s for the fees: certainly -not; it’s all for the sake of the souls of the giddy, sinful people -of London. It’s true enough that what is called the “effluvia” from -these churchyards may poison the bodies of the living, but what of -that when it helps to keep the soul so sweet? I’m called away, and so -for the present can add no more. If, however, at any time they think -of disturbing Solomon, depend upon it, for old acquaintance’ sake, you -will hear from me. Till then, I am your wellwisher,</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Juniper Hedgehog</span>.<br> -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Letter_XII-To_Isaac_Moss_Slop-seller_Portsmouth"><span class="smcap">Letter XII.</span>—<i>To Isaac Moss, Slop-seller, Portsmouth.</i></h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Isaac</span>,—I don’t know whether Portsmouth has any aldermen, -but if it has, I hope you’ll get into a gown outright. The thing’s as -good as done. What poor George the Third, Lord Eldon, and such folk -think of it, there’s no saying, but in a twinkling a Jew may be an -alderman! Even the Bishop of London swallows the measure, although -shuddering at it, as if it was a black draught. However, Isaac, what -I write to you about is this. Mr Ashurst, in the common council of -London, spoke about the Jews; and after him the Duke of Cambridge in -the House of Lords. Both of ’em gave their reasons for what is called -Hebrew emancipation; and droll it is to consider ’em one with the -other. Here they are:—</p> - -<table class="basic"> -<tr> -<th class="tdc"> -<span class="smcap">Mr Ashurst.</span> -</th> -<th class="tdc"> -<span class="smcap">Duke of Cambridge.</span> -</th> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"> - -<p>“No man was consulted as to who should be his parents; what -constitution, organisation, or temperament he should receive; -what should be his climate, his colour, or country; what should -be his language; what literature should influence him; what -education he should receive; nor as to what general external -circumstances should surround him. They saw and knew as a fact -<i>that religion was geographical</i>. If a man was born in -Turkey, he was a Mahometan; in Africa, a pagan; in India, he -was one of the multitudinous castes of sects which prevailed -there; and in a Christian country a Christian. Why, then, for a -matter <i>which was independent to himself</i>, should man lose -in civil rights? That religion which was true would ultimately -prevail, but not by persecution.”</p> - -</td> -<td class="tdl"> - -<p>“I have had occasion for some time to know the good which -persons professing the Jewish religion have done; and -particularly with reference to the different charities to which -I belong; and I can certainly say that it is to them that we -owe a great deal, <i>and that they contribute</i> a very large -portion to <i>the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</span> funds</i> of the charities over which I have -the honour of presiding. Two of the individuals whose names -were mentioned in the speech of my noble and learned friend, -on a former occasion, are personally known to myself. One was -formerly the High Sheriff of the county of Kent—Mr Solomons; -and I can bear witness to the good he has done. Also there -Sir Moses Montefiore, ... learning what was the object of the -meeting I was about to attend, <i>he gave me a very handsome -sum</i>, which he desired me to present. I will not mention -what the sum was, for it would be a violation of good taste to -do so.”</p> -</td> -</tr> -</table> -<p>Observe this, Isaac: Mr Ashurst argues upon what are called broad, -wide, and benevolent principles. He would give liberty to the Jew -because the man was born a Jew; because he couldn’t choose his father -and mother, his creed or colour. It is his fortune to be a Jew, as it -may be the fortune of the Bishop of London to be a Christian. Therefore -the common councilman would give him equal freedom with the rest. Now, -the royal Duke would emancipate the Jew because “he contributes a large -portion” to the funds of Christian charities. With the Duke, the Jew -buys the favour with hard cash! Sir Moses ought to be an alderman,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</span> -because he gave the Duke “a very handsome sum” for a charitable meeting!</p> - -<p>The Jew touches the common councilman through his reason, his sense -of justice; but the Hebrew moves the royal Duke purely through his -breeches-pocket. “We owe a great deal to the Jews,” says Cambridge; -“and <i>therefore</i> they ought to be freed.” Now suppose, Isaac, that -the Jews had been poor; that they had never subscribed handsome sums; -could the Duke, according to his own logic, have lifted up his voice in -their behalf? I fear not.</p> - -<p>Thus, then, it is, Isaac, Mr Ashurst and men of his school give liberty -as a right—the Duke of Cambridge and such reasoners sell it.</p> - -<p>There’s a good deal, Isaac, to think of in what Mr Ashurst says; that -no man chose his colour or his country. Only suppose now, if Sir Robert -Peel had been born one of the—what d’ye call ’em?—the spinning -dervishes, whose whole religion is said to be in doing nothing but -going round, and round, and round! Why, one can’t help thinking that -Sir Robert would have gone round with any of ’em.</p> - -<p>Just suppose, too, Sir James Graham born a Chinaman. Instead of dining -off Christian beef and mutton, don’t you think he’d have eaten rats -glazed with rice? and now, all the world knows,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</span> a rat’s a thing he -can’t abide to think of. Only think, Isaac, how many white-skinned -public folks, if they’d been only born in Africa, would have been -<i>born</i> as black—yes, quite as black—as if they could now be -turned inside out. Is it any merit of Lord Brougham’s that he wasn’t -born to play with knives and balls like Ramo Samee? On the other hand, -is poor Ramo to be despised because he hasn’t the salary of a shelved -chancellor? I should think not.</p> - -<p>There’s capital wisdom in what Mr Ashurst says—the best of wisdom. -And let us hope that even lords and bishops will by-and-by come to -understand it.</p> - -<p>And so no more from your old friend,</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Juniper Hedgehog</span>.<br> -</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Letter_XIII-To_Mrs_Hedgehog_of_New_York"><span class="smcap">Letter XIII.</span>—<i>To Mrs Hedgehog of New York.</i></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Grandmother</span>,—You ought to be in England just now, we’re -in such a pleasant pucker. The Church is in danger again! I have myself -known her twenty times in peril, but now she really is at the very edge -of destruction.</p> - -<p>You know there’s a place called Maynooth College, where they bring up -Roman Catholic<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</span> priests for the use of Ireland. Well, there’s a lot -of folks who will have it that this college is not a bit better than -certain tanks I’ve read of in India, where they breed young crocodiles -to be worshipped by people who know no better. Sir Robert Peel intends -to give £26,000 a year to this place—it used to have an annual grant -of £9000—that the scholars may be increased in number, and that they -may be better taught and more comfortably boarded and lodged. Well, -the members of the Church of England—although here and there they -have grumbled at the matter, and have called the Pope names that pass -in small-change at Billingsgate—have been mute as fish compared to -the Dissenters. It is they who have fought the fight; it is they who -have raised the price of parchment by darkening the House of Commons -with clouds of petitions. It is they who have risen to a man, and have -patted the British Lion, and twisted his tail, and goaded him—as you’d -set a bulldog on a cat—to tear Popery to pieces.</p> - -<p>But, dear grandmother, don’t be afraid. Before you get my next letter, -with all this noise and bouncing, we shall have settled down as quiet -as stale sodawater. And then for the Church being in danger—bless you! -the very folks who are now holding up their hands, thinking it will -drop to pieces (from its very richness, I suppose, like<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</span> some of your -plum-puddings)—why, they’ll sleep quietly in their beds, and take -their glass of wine and chicken with their usual appetite, until the -Church shall be once more in trouble, once more to give ’em a pleasant, -healthful shaking,—and then once more to let ’em easily down again. -I’ve known some girls who’ve thought they best showed how tender they -were by always going into fits: well, I do think that, just like ’em, -some people believe they best show their religion when they scream and -foam at the mouth about it.</p> - -<p>It’s a settled belief with a good many pious people, who are as careful -of their religion as of their best service of china—only using it -on holiday occasions, for fear it should be chipped or flawed in -working-day wear—it’s a belief with them that a Papist is a sort of -human toad, an abomination in the form of man. Dr Croly has surely -a notion of this sort. A few days ago he appeared on Covent Garden -stage (I think his first appearance there since his comedy of “Pride -shall have a Fall”), and called upon the Lord, with thunder and -lightning and the sword, to kill His enemies—meaning Roman Catholics! -And then the Doctor showed how Providence had punished all naughty -kings who had cast an eye of favour on the Pope. Capping this, the -Doctor more than hinted that George the Fourth, the first gentleman<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</span> -in Europe—for he had a greater number of coats than all the rest of -the kings put together—was somewhat suddenly called from his loving -people because he had passed the bill that ’mancipated the Catholics. -Well, when we think how many Catholics there are in the world—when -we remember the millions of ’em scattered about the earth—it does -appear to me a little bold in a worm of a man (whether the said worm -wears clergyman’s black or not) praying to the Lord to destroy, crush, -burn, whole nations of men and women because he wasn’t born to think -as they do. But so it is with some folks very proud indeed of their -Christianity. Hear them talk and pray, and you would think that Satan -himself, the father of wickedness, had been the creator of ninety-nine -men out of a hundred, and it was the pure, elect, and lucky hundredth -that religiously begged for the destruction of the ninety-nine. But -all the noise is about the largeness of the sum—the £26,000. The -£9000 was every year quietly voted—for I call the cackling of two -or three Parliament geese as nothing—and still the Church stands -unshaken on her foundation. By this it would seem that with some folks -it is the money that wrong costs, and not the wrong itself, that is -objectionable. Thinking after this fashion, drunkenness is not to be -thought a vice if it be drunkenness gratis; it, however, increases in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</span> -enormity with the increase of its price: thus gin-drunkenness is merely -wrong, but burgundy-drunkenness is infamous to the last degree. Haven’t -I read somewhere of an old Greek philosopher—if some of these chaps -had lived in these times, they’d now and then have found themselves at -the police-office—who felt mightily disposed for what was immoral, -and only held back at the purchase-money! I think he said he wouldn’t -“buy repentance at so dear a price.” Now, if he could have had the sin -at a cheap pennyworth, the sin itself had been light, indeed. It’s the -weight of money that makes the weight of crime.</p> - -<p>But I suppose Dr Croly, Mr M’Neile, and such folks—who seem to read -their Bibles by the blue light of brimstone—believe that the extra -money given to the Roman Catholic priests of Ireland will only be so -much powder and shot with which they may bring down Protestants. Well, -if money is to make converts, what has the Irish Protestant Church been -about, that has always had a full money-bag at her girdle, and more -than that—plenty of leisure to reclaim the fallen? She has always had -a golden crook whereby to bring stray lambs into the fold, and yet has -added nothing to her flock.</p> - -<p>Now, according to my opinion, the folks who abuse Maynooth ought rather -to feel glad that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</span> money is to be given to her priests, seeing what -an abundance of money, and good things purchased by money, have done -for the Irish Protestant Church. It has become slow as it has become -fat. Stuff even a pulpit-cushion with bank-notes, and it is strange -to see how religion will sleep upon it. And therefore people ought to -rejoice that the Catholic is to be made a little comfortable in worldly -matters! Excellent, worthy Churchmen, who can command the sports of the -field and all the pleasures of the table, are not the busy, troublesome -folks to go about converting their benighted neighbours! And though the -Maynooth pupils may not—like their beneficed rivals—keep fox-hounds, -and enjoy the dearest turtle, pineapples, and all that, they will not, -I think, be in after-life more dangerous to the Protestant Church, -because when at college they slept not more than two in a bed.</p> - -<p>But there’s a sort of people in the world that can’t bear making any -progress. I wonder they even walk, unless they walk backwards! I -wonder they don’t refuse to go out when there’s a full moon, and all -out of love and respect for that “ancient institution,” the old one. -But there always were such people, grandmother—always will be. When -lucifers first came in, how many old women, stanch old souls—many of -’em worthy<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</span> to be members of Parliament—stood by their matches and -tinder-boxes, and cried out “No surrender!” And how many of these old -women, disguised in male attire, every day go about at public meetings -professing to be ready to die for any tinder-box question that may come -up! Yes, ready, quite ready to die for it; all the readier, perhaps, -because dying for anything of the sort’s quite gone out of fashion.</p> - -<p>Even Sir James Graham says the time is gone by for ill-using Ireland. -“The time is gone by!” And yet how many men before Sir James, have -stood up and declared <i>their</i> time—the time “gone by”—was the -best time possible for Ireland, that what was doing for her could not -be improved; and having thundered this, have sat down, secure in a -majority that has voted for the evil to continue! What a long time it -is before men in power will learn to call things by their proper names! -What a time it takes to teach ministers to call evil, evil—and lies, -lies!</p> - -<p>Sir Robert Peel has behaved in the handsomest manner in the matter. He -says it is by no means his wish to rob the Whigs of the gratitude of -Ireland for the Maynooth measure. Certainly not: they, no doubt, could -have carried it had he joined them; this, however, he would not do: he -has, however, no objection that they should join<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</span> <i>him</i>. And so -they may have the gratitude, and he the patronage and power. They have -helped him to open the oyster; he swallows the fish, and they are quite -welcome to the shells.</p> - -<p>It is quite a delight to read Sir Robert’s Parliament speeches. Did -you ever talk to a man who seemed never to hear what you said, but -only thought what he should say to pass for an answer? who seemed as -though none of your words entered his ears, but all slid down his -cheeks? I’ve met with such people, and Sir Robert Peel—when I read his -Maynooth speeches—does remind me of ’em. What a way he has of talking -<i>down the side</i> of a speech, and never answering it direct! I -hardly wonder that the playhouses don’t flourish, when there’s such -capital actors of all sorts in the Houses of Parliament. I had just -been reading an account of two or three more Maynooth meetings, where -some of the speakers talked about the true and the false religion, -as though themselves had a sole and certain knowledge of what was -true—what false: I had just been reading all this, when my eye fell -upon a paragraph headed “Lord Rosse’s Telescope.” Lord Rosse, you must -know, is one of those noblemen who do not pull off knockers, knock -down cabmen, and always take a front seat at the Old Bailey on a trial -for murder. No: he has been making an enormous telescope;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</span> and the -paragraph I write of says: “Marvellous rumours are afloat respecting -the astronomical discoveries made by Lord Rosse’s monster telescope. It -is said that Regulus, instead of being a sphere, is ascertained to be -a disc; and stranger still, that the nebula in the belt of Orion is a -universal system—a sun with planets moving round it, as the earth and -her fellow-orbs move round our glorious luminary.”</p> - -<p>Now, at one time, a man might have been burnt alive for taking it upon -himself to say that Regulus was not a sphere but a disc; and that Orion -(I know nothing about him, save and except that a marvellously fine -poem, price one farthing, was lately published with his name) did not -wear in his belt any nebula, but a universal system! La, grandmother! -when I read of these things, I feel a mixture of pain and pity for -men that, instead of having their hearts and spirits tuned by the -harmony that God is always playing to them (and they won’t hear it, the -leathern-eared sinners!) think of nothing but swearing that one thing’s -a disc, and the other a nebula—when they only look through small -glasses, wanting the great telescope to show ’em the real truth!—And -so no more from your affectionate grandson,</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Juniper Hedgehog</span>.<br> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</span></p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—I blush for myself, that I had almost forgotten to tell -you that Dr Wolff has come back safe and sound from the innermost part -of India, where he went to try to save the lives of two Englishmen, -Stoddart and Conolly. It was like going into a tiger’s den to take -the flesh from the wild beast. And yet the stout-hearted man went! -Such an act makes us forget the meanness and folly of a whole -generation! Captain Grover—a heart of gold that—has published a -book on the matter called “The Bokhara Victims.” As no doubt the New -York publishers—in their anxiety to diffuse knowledge—have already -published it for some five cents, do not fail to read it. As for Dr -Wolff, I wonder what Englishmen will do for him? If he’d come back -from India after cutting twenty thousand throats, why, he might have -had a round of dinners, diamond-hilted swords, wine-coolers as big as -buckets, and so on; as it is, I fear nothing <i>can</i> be done for -him. However, we shall see.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Letter_XIV-To_Mrs_Hedgehog_of_New_York"><span class="smcap">Letter XIV.</span>—<i>To Mrs Hedgehog of New York.</i></h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Grandmother</span>,—England’s still above water: the sea -doesn’t yet roll over Dover cliffs;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</span> nevertheless, the Maynooth Grant -that I wrote to you about, is gone through the House of Commons, and -in a very few weeks the Papists, as you love to call them, will have -the money. Sir Culling Eardley Smith, Mr Plumptre, and others of their -kidney, may possibly for a month or two appear in the streets in -sackcloth and ashes, and with beards like Jew rabbis—first to show -their respect for the departed constitution; but after a decent time -of mourning, they will, no doubt, be open to consolation, and take -their dinners with their usual appetite. I shouldn’t wonder if in six -months the Rev. Mr M’Neile (of sulphurous principles) consents to -eat and drink like anybody else; and shall be by no means surprised -if Dr Croly is found to have regained, at least, all the flesh that -anxiety and grief for the Church in danger have so deplorably deprived -him of. It’s wonderful to think how certain saints and patriots get -lean and fat as sudden as rabbits! Wonderful to think, when the whole -world, according to their declaration, has gone to bits, how well and -contentedly they still continue to live upon the pieces! But, dear -grandmother, what a blessing is Exeter Hall! What a safety-valve it is -for the patriotism, and indignation, and scorn, and hatred—and all -other sorts of public virtues—that but for it, or some such place, -would fairly burst so many excellent folks, if they couldn’t go<span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</span> and -relieve their swelling souls in a bit of talk! As it is, they speechify -and are saved! Only suppose there had been no place whereat worthy -people could have abused the Maynooth Grant—no place wherein to air -their own particular Christianity to the condemnation of the religion -of everybody else—what would have been the consequence? Why, they -must have exploded—burst like the frog in the fable. Day after day Mr -Wakley and his brother coroners would have been sitting on the body -of some respectable saint and patriot—day after day we should have -read the verdict, “Died by retention of abuse!” Happily, while we have -Exeter Hall, we are spared these national calamities.</p> - -<p>As I know, grandmother, your natural tenderness for all that concerns -the bishops, I must—at the risk of bringing on your cholic—inform -you that they are again in danger. Even the <i>Morning Post</i> is -beginning to neglect ’em! Some newspaper—I don’t know which—has -proposed, as the only true remedy for the distress of the country, -that there should be a greater number of bishops. Now this, at the -first blush, seems a capital notion. But only mark what follows. -The writer would multiply episcopal blessings, by “distributing the -revenues of the present sees, as they fall vacant, among a greater -number of bishops.” And the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</span> <i>Morning Post</i> doesn’t at once put -down this infamous proposal. Only imagine the Bishop of London slit -into half-a-dozen bishops—one Henry of Exeter made twenty Henrys—just -as you make bundles of small wood from one large piece! After giving -utterance to this wickedness, the writer goes on to think “it -impossible that the spiritual Lords should continue to be members of -the Legislature after ceasing to be rich men.” And this the <i>Post</i> -calls “no singular opinion. For such is the habitual association of -power and station in this country with wealth, that perhaps nine out of -every ten persons that one might meet walking along the Strand, would -say with this writer that unless a prelate had his thousands a year, -and his carriage, and his servants, and his grandeur of accessories, -he could not properly take a part in counselling the Government, or -assisting to make laws in the Upper House of Parliament!” And if the -people think so, I’ve heard it said that the bishops have themselves -to thank for such belief, seeing that the world often hears more of -their carriages and servants than of the humility and tenderness that -were shown by the apostles. The <i>Post</i>, however, to my amazement, -is for stripping Lambeth and Fulham of much of their finery. Yes: the -<i>Post</i> absolutely says: “We protest against the opinion that, -without the wealth, the worth of the bishops in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</span> House of Lords -would be nought. Nay, we can conceive the possibility of the influence -of learning, and eloquence, and venerable earnestness, being <i>even -greater when disassociated</i> from wealth and worldly interests!” -Only imagine, grandmother, the Bishop of London walking down to the -House of Lords leaning on a horn-tipped staff, and not rolled along -in his cushioned carriage, with servant in purple livery to let down -the steps for him! Isn’t the picture terrible? Isn’t it what they call -revolutionary? And yet the <i>Morning Post</i>—as coldly as this -present month of May—can see the possibility of a Bishop of Exeter -being cut into ten or twenty bishoplings, and never swoon, or even as -much as call out for the hartshorn! Who is the revolutionist now?</p> - -<p>The month has been a dull month: politics, and all that, have been as -stupid as the weather. The trees and bushes have come out, to be sure; -but only, as it would seem, from a matter of habit—because it’s May by -the almanac. However, the Duke of Newcastle has very kindly tried to -give us a fillip, as I’ve heard somebody say in some play or the other, -“Orson is endowed with reason!” We’ve had two letters from Clumber! -You must know that in the British Museum there are two or three -mummies of Egyptian kings, they say, who lived I don’t know how many -thousand years ago.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</span> Now just suppose, grandmother, that one of these -mummies—with his brains out, be it remembered—should have suddenly -got up, and written a letter or two to Mehemet Ali and his Egyptians, -thinking ’em the self-same Egyptians that used to worship crocodiles -and ibises, and make gods of the leeks and onions that grew in their -gardens,—suppose the British Museum mummy had done this—well, the -thing would have done no more than the political mummy of Clumber; -would have made just the same mistake as his well-meaning Grace the -Duke of Newcastle. “Forget all you’ve been learning for the last -thirty years, at least; give up the wickedness of steam, forego the -iniquity of railroads, be content with sailing-smacks and stagecoaches, -repeal the Reform Bill, repeal Catholic Emancipation—in a word, wipe -everything from your minds, gathered there since the good old times -when George the Third was King!—come out again in the pig-tails and -shoe-buckles of that blissful reign—and I, Duke of Newcastle, am ready -to march with you! I am prepared, at every risk, to be hero of the -back-step!”</p> - -<p>As yet, I have heard of nobody who has joined the Duke’s standard; but -if recruits should come in, I’ll let you know.</p> - -<p>It is not unlikely, grandmother, that you may have a few Highland -families sent over to America,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</span> as they are now being carefully “weeded -out” from their native places by certain landlords, who think it better -and more Christian-like to turn their lands into sheep-walks than to -suffer them to be tenanted by mere men, women, and children. “Weeding” -is a nice word, isn’t it? it so capitally describes the worth of the -thing rooted out. The poor man is, of course, the “weed;” the rich is -the “lily,” that “neither toils nor spins.” And just now, it seems, -certain places in the Highlands are overgrown with this rank, foul -weed—this encumbrance to the soil—this one human thing, worse than -thistle or nettle. What a beautiful world this would be, wouldn’t -it?—if this weed of poverty was cut up, burnt, destroyed, got rid -of any way! It’s a dreadful nuisance; and yet it <i>will</i> spring -up, like groundsel or any other worthless thing! And strange to say, -the sun will shine upon it, and the dews of heaven descend upon it, -all the same as if it was one of the aforesaid lilies, full of light -and breathing sweetness. Odd, isn’t it, that the sky should shine so -impartially on both?—Your affectionate grandson,</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Juniper Hedgehog</span>.<br> -</p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp30" id="i_278" style="max-width: 25.3125em; padding-top: 5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_278.png" alt=""> -</figure> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Letter_XV-To_Miss_Kitty_Hedgehog_Milliner"><span class="smcap">Letter XV.</span>—<i>To Miss Kitty Hedgehog, Milliner, -Philadelphia.</i></h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Kitty</span>,—If I haven’t written before this, it is because -I’ve had nothing worth ink and paper to send you. I know that you’ve a -mind above politics, and—may you be pardoned for the lightness!—can -sleep like a cat in the sun, no matter how much the Church may be -in danger. When, however, there’s anything stirring among silks and -satins, why, then your woman’s spirit is up, and all the milliner is -roused within you. Knowing this, Kitty, I shall treat you with a few -lines about a Powdered Ball we’ve lately had at Court; when everybody, -out of compliment, I suppose, to what is called the wisdom of their -ancestors, went dressed like their great grandfathers and grandmothers. -A huge comfort this to great people in the shades! Dear Queen Charlotte -was once again at Court, very flatteringly represented by a fine piece -of point-lace worn by the blessed Victoria herself. And dukes, and -lords, and generals—all of ’em sleeping in family lead—were once more -walking minuets and dancing “Sir Roger de Coverly.” Everybody, for a -time, lived more than a hundred years ago; and, as I’m told, felt very -happy at going backward even for one night. To go back is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</span> with many -high folks the greatest proof of wisdom; and therefore, among such -people, the Powdered Ball was considered a glorious stride in the right -direction. Only imagine the rapture of a Duke of Newcastle, living, -even in fancy, for a few hours, at any time from 1715 to 1745; a time -when there was no Reform Bill, no steam-engines, no railways, no cheap -books! Think of the delight of many old gentlemen believing themselves -their own grandfathers; quite away from these revolutionary days, and -living again in “good old times”! I’ve heard—though I don’t answer -for it—that two or three of ’em were so carried away by the thought, -that, to keep up the happiness as long as they could, they went to bed -in their clothes, high-heeled shoes and all. At this very moment, they -<i>do</i> say Lord —— is still in his embroidered coat and smalls, -with a wig like a white cloud upon him. He declares 1715 is such a -“good old time” that nothing shall make him go on again to 1845. He has -ordered flambeaux for his servants, and now and then talks about going -to Ranelagh. Moreover, by people quite worthy of belief, it is feared -his delusion, as they call it, is spreading, as they call it, amongst -certain high folks; many of ’em thinking themselves a hundred years -back, and wanting to make Acts of Parliament in the spirit of that -good old time. See, Kitty, how a Powdered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</span> Ball may turn the highest -heads—even the nobs of the country!</p> - -<p>The ladies were, of course, all jewelled, and very fine. Oh, what -a fortune some of ’em would have been to a poor man—with their -stomachers! But, Kitty, there is one odd thing at these masks -and balls: how is it that young ladies—with names as white as -snow—sometimes take the character, fly-spotted and damaged as they -are, of sinful love-birds? You, Kitty, being a woman, can explain -this; but to me, one of the ignorant rough sex, it does seem odd that -a pure young lady should dress herself as Nelly Gwynne, or any other -person of the sort, when the aforesaid pure lady would squeak—and, no -doubt, very proper—at the living creature as if it was a toad. Can -you explain this, Kitty? Do they take such characters, just as they -put black patches on their cheeks, to bring out their own white all -the stronger? Or is it that there’s a sort of idle daring in it, just -as children play with fire, though they never mean to burn themselves? -I can’t make it out; but how should I expect it—I, a poor, weak, -ignorant man—how should I unriddle a creature that’s puzzled Solomon? -Of course there was an account of the dresses. Well, when I opened the -<i>Morning Post</i>, and saw whole columns built o’ nothing but velvets -and satins, and all that, if I didn’t grin—like a clown<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</span> through a -collar for a new hat—at the vanity of life.</p> - -<p>“Look here,” says I to Bill Fisher, that was sitting in the Spotted -Lion—“look at the conceit of these folks,” says I, “who think that all -the world’s to stand still a-reading about their ‘gimp Brandenburghs -and buttons’—their ‘buttons and frogs’—their ‘blue facings and -turnback’—and such mountebankery.” “It is quite beneath us as men,” -says Bill; “not at all like lords of the creation. Now, I can forgive -the women—poor little souls!—for having all their flounces and -puffings put in the paper. It’s nat’ral for them.” “Why nat’ral?” says -I. “Why,” says Bill, “because they know it makes one another savage. -Bless you, that’s what they do it for—and nothin’ else.” And then -you should have heard how he laughed as he spelt out the paper. “Look -here, now,” says he, “here was a lady with a dress looped with bouquets -of pink roses; skirt of rich green satin, trimmed with flounces of -point-lace and bouquets of roses; white satin shoes with high heels, -green rosettes, with diamonds in the centre. Hair powdered, and -ornamented with roses and diamonds. Now, isn’t it dreadful, Juniper, -that people are to be stopped over their honest pint of porter with -stuff like this? What’s ‘satin shoes with high heels’ to all the -’versal world? But then, as I say, the women do it to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</span> make one another -savage. I’ve often thought, since they like so to print in the papers -what clothes they wear, that at the same time they might let the world -know what books they read, what pictures they look at—in fact, what -sort of dresses they put on their minds. But, to be sure, this would -make nobody savage.” This is what Bill Fisher says; but mark, Kitty, -I’m not quite of his way of thinking; though, after all, it does seem -odd that a young lady should think it worth while to put all her -clothes in print for the world to spell over.</p> - -<p>But the Ball will have done a great deal of good in making us look a -hundred years back. How I should like to see the thing tried upon a -grand scale! Suppose that everybody in London, just for four-and-twenty -hours, out of compliment to the great example set by the Court, should -live as if it was 1745. Wouldn’t it be droll? Droll to have the gas -out, and set up oil-twinklers! Droll to make the new police put on drab -coats, and call the hours like that “venerable institution,” the watch! -Droll to have all the rail-trains stopt, and only book passengers -for York by the waggon! Droll to stop the steamboats on the river, -the omnibuses in the streets; making folks move about in nothing but -wherries, hackney-coaches, and sedan-chairs! Droll, too,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</span> would it be, -to start for Gravesend in the tilt-boat on a two days’ voyage! Well, -I hope that all this will be brought about; for if all the folks in -London were made to live only four-and-twenty hours of a hundred years -ago, I do think that for the rest of their lives they’d shut their -mouths about those precious good old times, that some people do now so -like to cackle about.</p> - -<p>There’s no doubt that the Powdered Ball has been a very fine affair; -but the Ball of next season will be the grand thing. A nobleman’s -footman, as I last night drove, told me that at the Ball of next -year all true folks will wear supposed dresses from the time of 1915 -to 1954—that is, about a hundred years ahead. There’s a good many -opinions as to what they’d be. Some folks declare they’ll be as plain -as drab, and some that we shall have all gone back again to the fashion -of the painted Britons, as you see ’em in the “History of England.” -By that time, it’s thought, soldiers’ uniforms will have gone quite -out—the electric gun and such nick-nacks having killed War, body and -bones. Howsomever, ’twill be odd to see how people’s fancy will dress -themselves for a hundred years on; there’ll be more cleverness in that, -if well done, than in wearing the precise coat and petticoat of your -grandfather and grandmother.—Your loving brother,</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Juniper Hedgehog</span>.<br> -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Letter_XVI-To_Mrs_Hedgehog_New_York"><span class="smcap">Letter XVI.</span>—<i>To Mrs Hedgehog, New York.</i></h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Grandmother</span>,—The Maynooth Grant is granted, and the -British Lion has once more gone to sleep. When either Sir Culling -Smith, Mr M’Neile, or Dr Croly shall pinch his tail and make him roar -again, you shall have due notice of the danger. I think, however, that -the Lion is safe to sleep until next May, when, of course, he’ll again -be stirred up for the folks at Exeter Hall. In the meantime he must be -tired, very drowsy, after the speeches that have been made at him; so -let him sleep on.</p> - -<p>Yes, Maynooth College has got the new grant; nevertheless, to the -astonishment of the Duke of Newcastle and company, the sun rises -every morning as if nothing had happened; and, so hard does the love -of shillings make men’s hearts, London tradesmen still smile behind -their counters, never thinking that their tills are threatened with an -earthquake. Newcastle and other peers—just out of consolation to their -shades—have written what’s called a “Protest” against the grant; and -a hundred years hence, when England is blown to atoms by the measure, -very comfortable it will be to their ghosts, as they walk among the -ruins, to see men<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</span> reading the aforesaid “Protest,” and hear them -crying, “A prophet!” “a prophet!”</p> - -<p>And now, grandmother, comes the Roman Catholic Bishops. They won’t -have Peel’s plan of education unless all the masters are to be of -their own faith. For they say “the Roman Catholic pupils could not -attend the lectures on history, logic, metaphysics, moral philosophy, -geology, or anatomy, without exposing their faith or morals to imminent -danger—<i>unless a Roman Catholic professor</i> shall be appointed -for each of those chairs.” You see, the lecturer on history, if a -Protestant, might be making Queen Mary—Bloody Mary, as I was taught to -call her at day-school—a very cruel wretch, indeed; whereas the Queen -Mary of the Catholic might be a very nice woman, who never could abide -fagots, and never knew where Smithfield was. And then for logic (you -must, as I’ve said before, look dictionary for hard words); logic, it -seems, is a matter of religion. What’s logic to a Protestant isn’t to -a Catholic, or a Mahometan, or a Chinese! In the same way, I suppose, -that a straight line in London would be what they call a curve in -Dublin, and perhaps a whole circle at Canton. And then for “geology” -and “anatomy,” why, we all know that there’s nothing certain in -anatomy; that it’s all a matter of faith. Thus, if a Catholic anatomist -lectured, we’ll say, upon<span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</span> the body of a Protestant pluralist, he -might, out of blindness, declare that the said body never had a single -atom of heart; that such pluralists always lived without the article. -While on the other side, the real Protestant lecturer, discussing on -the self-same <i>corcup</i>, might declare that it was all heart, like -a summer cabbage! “Professors’ chairs!” when I read these things, I -somehow do think of the baby-chair that I used to be set up in to take -my meals, with a stick run through the arms to keep me from tumbling -out, the talk is so childish!</p> - -<p>You ask me about your pet, the Bishop of Exeter. Well, the clergy of -his diocese have just suffered what’s called his “charge;” a charge, -grandmother, in which the Bishop generally contrives to put in a -lot of small-shot to pepper about him right and left. As usual, he -talked a good deal about himself; making Exeter out such a soft gentle -person—such a lump of Christian butter—that in this hot weather it’s -wonderful he hasn’t melted long ago. Ha, grandmother! what a lawyer -was spoiled in that bishop! what a brain he has for cobwebs! How he -drags you along through sentence after sentence—every one a dark -passage—until your head swims, and you can’t see your finger close -to your nose! He talked about this Puseyite stuff—this play-acting -of the Church—for I don’t know how long; but whether he very<span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</span> much -likes it or very much hates it, it’s more than any cabman’s brains can -make out. I never read one of Exeter’s charges, that I don’t think of -a sharp lawyer quite spoiled; but this last is a greater tangle than -all. He talked a great deal about “the apostolical succession,” the -truth of which he would defend. How I should like to hear him trace -himself—Henry of Exeter—<i>upwards</i>! He then came to the new Bill -that was to take the right of divorce out of the hands of the Church. -He said, “Let the <i>Liberalism</i> of the age be content with what it -had already achieved. It was enough for one generation that men and -women might be coupled together in a Registrar’s Office, with as total -an absence of all religious sanction as if one huckster were coupled -up in partnership with another.” Here the Bishop’s right enough, no -doubt. For if the Bishops’ Court loses cases of divorce, what lots of -fees go from them to the mere lawyers! A wedding-ring and a licence are -things almost dog-cheap; but, O grandmother! what a lot of money it -takes to break that ring!—what a heap of cash to tear up the licence! -and that’s the reason that divorce, like green peas at Christmas, can -only be afforded by the rich. Next, the Bishop had a fling at what -he called “the unhappy beings who went to mechanics’ institutes and -lecture-rooms.” He said they wanted “the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</span> discipline of the heart, and -the chastening influence of true religion.” I’m an ignorant cabman, -grandmother; but if so many “millions,” as the Bishop said, want -this, I must ask, What do we pay the Church for? If so many of us -are no better, as Exeter said, than “any of the wildest savages who -devoured one another in New Zealand,” for what, in the name of pounds, -shillings, and pence, do we pay church-rates? Why don’t the bishops -and the high preachers of the Church come more among us? Why, thinking -of “the apostolical succession,” don’t they copy more than they do the -fishermen and tentmakers who are their forefathers? I can’t help asking -this, though, as I said, I know I’m an ignorant cabman.</p> - -<p>The Bishop, however, after scolding a good deal, tried to end mildly -and like a Christian. I’ve read at some bookstall of an Indian leaf. -One side of it acts as a blister; then take it off, turn it, and the -other side serves for the salve. The Bishop of Exeter, to my mind, -always tries to make his charge a leaf of this sort; though I must -say it, one side is generally stronger than the other—better for -blistering than healing.—So no more from your affectionate grandson,</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Juniper Hedgehog</span>.<br> -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Letter_XVII-To_Michael_Hedgehog_Hong-Kong"><span class="smcap">Letter XVII.</span>—<i>To Michael Hedgehog, Hong-Kong.</i></h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Brother</span>,—You’ll be glad to hear that at last Ministers -have remembered there’s such a man in the world as Sir Henry Pottinger. -The Queen has sent her compliments to Parliament, commanding a pension -for him. We’ve given him £1500 a year for life; to my mind a shabby -sum. La! Michael, only think how those six clerks of Chancery Lane, -with their thousands a year—the chaps who had nothing to do but to -play tricks with what they call equity—only think of them retired with -a pension, every one of ’em living like a pot-bellied mouse in a ripe -Stilton! How they must turn up their noses at poor Sir Henry! He has -opened, I may say, a new world, for rivers of gold to flow out of it -into the banks of Birmingham, Manchester, Glasgow—I can’t tell where. -And he gets £1500 a year! I think we gave something more than that to -Lord Keane for blowing up a pair of gates. But then folks turn a better -penny upon war than peace. Blood and fire, and misery of all kinds, -are more profitable than treaties of trade, no matter how glorious. -The sword—the bloodier the better, too—weighs down the goose-quill; -however, Sir Henry has a reward of some sort, and I’m heartily glad of -it. May he live a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</span> hundred years—and his heart be as green as laurel -when his head’s as white as cotton!!</p> - -<p>But I’m coming to another part of the business. Sir J. C. Hobhouse, -who, after all, has not lost his speech, as was for a long time -supposed, lifted up his voice for Sir Henry. What do you think he -said? “If he” (Sir Henry, mind) “were refused the reward now asked, -the result would be this: he was only a lieutenant-colonel, although -he had the brevet of major-general, and he would be obliged to leave -England; <i>he could not live here</i>.” At this the House cheered, and -I’m afraid, Mike, Hobhouse spoke the truth. As I’m an honest cabman -who never takes less than his fare, if I didn’t blush like a poppy -when I read this. Why, what a shabby, mean, outside set of folks we -must be! Supposing Sir Henry had not got this pension—supposing that, -wanting to stay in England, he had lived in a smallish house, had not -given grand parties, but, content with the thoughts of the great things -he had done, he had jogged on plainly and humbly, would folks have -looked down upon him? Would the hicky do-nothings, born to their tens -of thousands a year, have forgotten all about the Chinese peace and -ransom, and tremendous trade opened by Sir Henry, unless they saw him -in a crack carriage, and knew that he lived in a first-rate mansion? -Wouldn’t it have been enough for them to know<span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</span> that a great and good -head—one of the heads that rule the world, though the world won’t -acknowledge it, at least until the aforesaid head may be rolled about -by boys in the churchyard—that such a head had all its laurels about -it, even though sometimes it went under a cotton umbrella? Wouldn’t -they have acknowledged this? No, Michael; no, no, no! The great man, in -the eyes of our English world, would have been lost in the smallness of -his income.</p> - -<p>Pull down Apsley House, deprive the Duke of Wellington of his fortune, -let him for three months be seen as a general living at a club upon -nothing but his half-pay, and it’s my belief that in three months after -that some folks would more than doubt whether he ever won Waterloo. -I once read of a Roman who was called from his turnips to save his -country. What a small fellow he’d have seemed among us! We never could -have understood a hero upon turnips alone. No; with us Cincinnatus must -have had a fine leg of Southdown to his vegetables, butter and capers, -and above all things, a silver fork. I’m called for a fare, so yours in -haste,</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Juniper Hedgehog</span>.<br> -</p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—I don’t know whether you’ll care much about the news at -Hong-Kong, but we shall have a tidy hay season.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Letter_XVIII-To_Richard_Monckton_Milnes_Esq_MP"><span class="smcap">Letter XVIII.</span>—<i>To Richard Monckton Milnes, Esq., M.P.</i></h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—As I once had the honour to drive you down to -Parliament, and as I found you such an affable gentleman, with no -pride at all in you (I say nothing about the sixpence you gave me over -your fare), I make no bones at all in writing these few lines to you, -about your motion for private hanging. I see by the newspapers that -you want to make a law to hang inside of the gaol, in a snug and quiet -way; and not to have the show in the open street. Pardon a cabman’s -boldness, but really, Mr Milnes, you can’t have thought of the shocking -consequence of your measure, if so be it had been carried out. What! -make a law for private hanging! With one bit of parchment destroy what -I’ll be bold enough to call one of the chief amusements of the people! -Sir James Graham knows better than this; for he generally contrives -to have an execution on Easter and Whit-Monday, just by the way of an -early whet to the appetites of the holiday-makers. First the Old Bailey -and then Greenwich; Mr Calcraft, the hangman—and then the fire-eater -and the clown. Your bill, sir—do forgive my boldness—was very rash, -and not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</span> at all just. They’ve taken away bear-baiting and duck-hunting -and dog-fighting from what they call the lower orders, and now you’d -deprive ’em of their last and dearest privilege—you’d, with one dash -of the pen, rob ’em of their own public gallows! And you call yourself -a friend of them people, Mr Milnes—a stickler for their ancient sports -and pastimes? I don’t wonder that for once something like shame came -over Parliament—that not forty conscientious members stopped to listen -to you—and that, in a word, you were “counted out.”</p> - -<p>I have said your bill was unjust, shamefully unjust, unless you can -prove to me that there was a clause in it to what they call indemnify -the housekeepers in the Old Bailey for their loss of vested interests, -seeing that they make no end of money by letting their windows at a -popular hanging. Why, a Hocker’s worth any money to ’em; for it’s odd -how hanging brings down the pride of some of the upper classes, many of -the nobs enjoying it quite as much as the lower orders, only that they -give one or two guineas—according to the beauty of the murder—for -comfortable sitting room. If the men they call the six clerks were -indemnified, surely you would not rob the tradesmen of the Old Bailey.</p> - -<p>But it really is shocking to see how a mere<span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</span> member of Parliament will -set himself up against a clergyman of Newgate! Didn’t the Rev. Mr -Davis preach that the whole use and beauty of hanging was to be found -in making it public? According to him, if it was possible to hang a -man where all England might see him strangled, why, all England would -certainly be the better for it. I’ve no doubt that the cause of so much -crime is in the smallness of the Old Bailey, that will only accommodate -such a few! Why shouldn’t the gallows be erected on Salisbury Plain, -with cheap railway excursions from all parts on hanging days?</p> - -<p>Pardon me, sir, but there never was such a mistake as to think to -do away with the wickedness of hanging by making it private. In the -first place, if to see a hanging is no warning to the beholder, do -you think that to hear or read of a hanging would do all the good of -an example? Does what men see, or what they hear, stir ’em the most? -But let us suppose that a man is to be hanged inside of Newgate. Why, -the penny-liners that get their sops in the pan out of the condemned -cell, why, they would write all sorts of pretty things, all kinds of -interesting stories about the last minutes of the criminal, and so -the curiosity of the town would be more agog than ever. The picture -newspapers that publish the murderers’ portraits—those family<span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</span> papers -for the instruction and amusement of the younger branches—would give -half-a-dozen pictures where they now give one. The secrecy of the thing -would give a flavour to the whole matter.</p> - -<p>And now, suppose that a rich man was to be privately hanged: a banker, -we’ll say, or, saving your presence, even a member of Parliament. Well, -we know how unbelieving is man. There’s thousands of people who would -never sleep quietly in their beds, for the thought that the said banker -or member was never hanged at all, but was smuggled out alive in a -coffin, and shipped abroad. Every year or so, there’d be a letter in -the newspapers from somebody who had seen the banker somewhere in the -Backwoods, where he had married one of the Chactaws, and got a family -of ten children. No, Mr Milnes, private hanging won’t do; the people -aren’t to be cheated out of their pleasure after that fashion. Besides, -Mr Milnes, all hanging’s a bungle. The gallows is condemned, marked to -come down; timber by timber it’s loosening, and it’s no use trying to -keep it together with small corking-pins. No, Mr Milnes, it will better -become you, be more like your kind good-natured self, to give a pull -to the planks, to bring the whole machine to the ground, to make it a -thing of the past, like the bonfires that burnt witches,—and for the -hangman thrown out of work, why, small<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</span> retiring allowances have been -given to worse public servants.—Hoping, sir, that you’ll excuse my -boldness, I remain, your obedient servant,</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Juniper Hedgehog</span>.<br> -</p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—You know my number, sir, and I’m always in Palace Yard.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Letter_XIX-To_Isaac_Moss_Slop-seller_Portsmouth"><span class="smcap">Letter XIX.</span>—<i>To Isaac Moss, Slop-seller, Portsmouth.</i></h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Isaac</span>,—Sir Robert Peel has stood your friend; and if -you’ve only the money, and the freedom, and the luck, you may be Lord -Mayor of London as soon as you like. You can’t, as a Jew, sit in -Parliament as yet; but time goes round, Isaac, and I shouldn’t wonder -if some day that was to come. Only think if a Jew—an hon. member -for Whitechapel—was some day to find himself alongside of a Colonel -Sibthorpe; for every Parliament has its Sibthorpe, just as every spring -has its green geese.</p> - -<p>Sir Robert Inglis, of course, stood up for Mother Church, who, in -faith, must have a tremendous constitution, seeing how the dear -creature has been ill-treated by all sorts of infidel politicians. I -really do believe that Sibthorpe<span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</span> wouldn’t now trust Sir Robert with -the church-plate; no, not even with the taking of the twopences at the -door of St Paul’s, for fear he should cheat in his accounts.</p> - -<p>Mr Plumptre would have nothing to do with the bill, because, he said, -“every Christian man, who was sensible of his religious obligation, -should consider what would be <i>for the honour</i> of the Most High.” -Ah, Isaac, there it is! What a lot of wickedness has been done in this -pretty world of ours—and all with a conscience—for what Christians -thought would be “for the honour of the Most High”! For such honour -men have roasted one another, as they wouldn’t roast live beasts, at a -stake; for such honour they have done all sorts of wrong, shutting up -their fellow-creatures in dungeons, and tearing and torturing them all -manner of ways, as if they thought, when they did most wrong to mortal -creatures, they did most honour to the good God that made them.</p> - -<p>Well, Isaac, I’m only a cabman, but when I sometimes read the debates, -I do now and then thank my stars that I’m out of Parliament. And then -the conceit of them that’s in it. When they’ve done anything that’s -good, what do they do? Why, they only walk about like the bird in -the fable, in feathers of better people. They never do nothing of -themselves. No good seed is ever<span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</span> grown in Parliament: not a bit of it; -the thing’s grown outside of the place, and then transplanted. Talk -of the wisdom of Parliament, Isaac! why, they get their wisdom from -people who’ve never set their eyes upon Mr Speaker. What did Parliament -ever <i>begin</i>, I should like to know? That is, understand me, what -that’s good? No, good laws—wise laws—are begun outside; thought of, -invented by quiet folks, who never think to put M.P. to their names; -and whose great trouble it is to get the good acknowledged. And when at -last, after wasting I don’t know how much of heaven’s good time—after -the rumpus of many, many years—Parliament consents to take the good -thing, I’m hanged if the goose doesn’t hatch the swan’s egg, as if it -was a thing laid by itself, and not put into its nest by other people.</p> - -<p>“The honour of the Most High!” Surely, Isaac, the best way to show such -honour is to love your fellow-creatures as the greatest work—so far -as we know—of the Most High; and not, poor small things as we are, to -walk about the earth, and when we poke up our noses highest in the face -of heaven, think we have then the best right to tread the hardest on -the necks of everybody that don’t agree with us. To hear a few folks -talk in Parliament, you’d think that they’d assured to themselves all -Paradise as a freehold, and standing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</span> upon their rights, would set -up in it man-traps and spring-guns against all intruders. However, -never mind, Isaac. There was a time when a King of England would -have drawn a tooth a day out of your jaws, if you didn’t undraw your -purse-strings; and now—so do this wicked world roll on—you may wear a -Lord Mayor’s chain, and, as a magistrate, commit vagrants to gaol like -any Christian.—Your friend,</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Juniper Hedgehog</span>.<br> -</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Letter_XX"><span class="smcap">Letter XX.</span>—<i>To Mrs Hedgehog, New York.</i></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Grandmother</span>,—September’s so near we can almost put -our hand upon it, and yet I’m in London. It’s a dreadful confession -of poverty, but I can’t help it. If I’m not ashamed to be seen on my -stand, I’m not a licensed cabman. The only comfort there is, everybody -that stays in town must be as poor as myself, and that, according -to some folk’s notions, is a blessing to think of. A purse that was -dropped on the pavement of Regent Street lay there a week, and was at -last picked up by a policeman. London never looked so poor and dull; -for all the world like a fine lady in an undress gown, with all her -paint wiped off. The opera is shut up, and the manager has<span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</span> had a -silver bed-candlestick given him by lords and dukes, because he has -been so full of public spirit as to make his own fortune. By the way, -grandmother, I don’t know how it is with the player-folks in New York; -but here with us, if a man or woman want a bit of plate they’ve only to -take a theatre. A playhouse is a short cut to a silversmith’s. There -isn’t a London manager who isn’t plated after this fashion, which shows -there is no place for true gratitude like the green-room; but I ask -your pardon for talking of such matters, knowing what a low place you -think the theatre. Parliament, like a goose that has been set upon -too many eggs, has risen with half of ’em come to nothing. But this, -grandmother, is the old trick. When the Parliament first opens, and -Ministers come down with new law after law, why, what busy, bustling -folks they seem! What a look of business it gives to the whole thing! -But half of ’em is only for show; just so many dummies to take in -what shopkeepers call “an enlightened public.” You know the bottles -of red and blue that they have in apothecaries’ shops? Well, half the -folks think ’em physic, when they’re nothing in the world but coloured -water. Sir James Graham’s Medical Bill was just one of these things: -nothing real in it; but something made up for show; just to give a -colouring to business. Talking of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</span> Parliament, a dreadful accident -happened at the prorogation. You know it’s the privilege of the Duke -of Argyll to bear the royal crown before the Queen. Certain folks came -into the world with certain privileges of the kind. One has a right to -stir the royal tea-cup on the day of the coronation, another to put -on the Queen’s pattens whenever she shall walk in the city, another -to present the monarch with a pint of periwinkles when he shall visit -Billingsgate; and so forth: all customs of the good old times, when -people thought kings and queens were angels in disguise, who had kindly -left heaven just to give poor mortals here a lift—in fact, to make -the world endurable. Well, the Duke of Argyll, walking backwards with -the crown—going straightforwards not being at all the thing in the -Court—fell, poor old gentleman, down some steps, and falling, dropt -the crown! Pheugh! There was a shower of pearls and diamonds; for all -the precious stones came rattling on the floor, just as if the Queen, -like the little girl in the fairy story, had been talking jewels. There -were thoughts, I’m told, of calling in the police to keep off the mob -of peers; but altogether they behaved themselves very well, and not a -precious stone was found missing. The accident, however, caused a great -fuss; and I’m told, in order to prevent its happening again, Madame -Tussaud has offered to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</span> make a Duke of Argyll in wax, that, fitted up -with proper wheels and springs, may be made to go backwards with no -fear of a tumble. Should the thing succeed—and I don’t see why it -shouldn’t—it would be a great saving in the way of salaries to the -country, if a good many other Court officers were manufactured after -the like fashion.</p> - -<p>I’d almost forgotten to say that the King of the Dutch has been on a -visit to us—and, as I’ve heard, a very decent sort of king he is. Of -course he played while here at a little bit of soldiering; guards and -grenadiers were turned out in Hyde Park, that he might review their -helmets and bearskin caps. Isn’t it odd, grandmother, that the first -show kings and princes, when they come to us, want to stare at is a -show of soldiers? just to see how nicely men are armed and mounted -to kill men! They don’t mean any harm by it, of course; but still—I -can’t help thinking it—it does appear to me, if Beelzebub was to go -into a strange country—if, indeed, there is any country he’s not -yet visited—the sight he’d first like to see would be the sight of -men taught the best way of cutting men’s throats. And then (if he -came here to London) he’d go down to Woolwich Marshes, to see what -they call rocket-practice, and wouldn’t he rub his hands, and switch -about his tail, to see how rockets and shells split, break, tear away -everything<span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</span> before ’em, showing what pretty work they’d make of a solid -square of living flesh, standing for so many pence a day to be made a -target of? You’d think it would be some wicked spirit that would enjoy -this fun; but no, grandmother, it isn’t so; quite the contrary; it’s -kings and princes. And yet I should like to have some king come over -here who wouldn’t care to go a-soldiering in Hyde Park; who wouldn’t -think of rocket-practice; but who, on the contrary, would go about to -our schools and our hospitals, and our asylums, and all places where -man does what he can to help man; to assist and comfort him like a -fellow-creature, and not to tear him limb from limb like a devil.</p> - -<p>Our Queen has gone to Germany to see where Prince Albert was born. -Well, there’s something pretty and wife-like in the thought of this, -and I like this. There was a dreadful fear among some of the nobs in -Parliament, that while the Queen was away the kingdom would drop to -pieces. But it isn’t so: the tax-gatherer calls just the same as ever. -The Queen took ship, and landed at Antwerp—at the Quai Vandyke; now, -Vandyke, you must know, was a famous painter; and abroad, they’ve -a fashion of naming streets and places after folks that’s called -geniuses. We haven’t come to that yet. Only think of our<span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</span> having a -Hogarth Square, or a Shakspere instead of a Waterloo Bridge! And then -for statues in the streets, we don’t give them to authors and painters, -but only to kings and dukes that don’t pay their debts.</p> - -<p>Still, I do feel for her Gracious Majesty. Dear soul! Isn’t it dreadful -that a gentlewoman can’t step abroad—can’t take boat, but what there’s -a hundred guns blazing, firing away at her,—as if the noise of cannon -and the smell of gunpowder was like the songs of nightingales and the -scent of roses! How royalty keeps its hearing, I can’t tell. When the -dear lady got upon the Rhine, there were the guns blazing away as -though heaven and earth were come together. It’s odd enough that people -will think a great noise is a great respect; and that the heartiest -welcome can only be given by gunpowder. It seems that the folks were -putting up a statue to a musician named Beethoven, and the Queen of -England and the Prince were just in time to pay their respects to the -bronze. Mr Beethoven while alive was nobody; but it’s odd how a man’s -worth is raked up from his coffin! And so it’s a great comfort to great -men who, when in this world, are thought very small indeed, to think -how big they’ll be upon earth after they’ve gone to heaven; a comfort -for ’em, when they may happen to want a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</span> coat, to think of the suit of -bronze or marble that kings and queens will afterwards give ’em. If, -now, there’s any English composer, any man with a mind in him, forced, -for want of better employment—forced to give young ladies lessons on -the piano when he should be doing sonatas and sinfonias, and that sort -of thing,—why, I say, it must be a comfort to him to know that folks -can honour genius when it’s put up by way of statue in the market-place.</p> - -<p>One of the prettiest stories I’ve heard of the jaunt is this, that -the Queen and Albert went in a quiet way to visit the Prince’s old -schoolmaster—if this isn’t enough to make all schoolmasters in England -hold their heads up half a yard higher! Besides, it mayn’t show a bad -example to high folks who keep tutors and governesses.</p> - -<p>Altogether the Queen must be pleased with her trip, and I should think -not the less pleased where the folks made the least noise; although, -from what I read in one of the papers, everybody doesn’t think so; for -the writer complains that there was “no shouting or noise, only that -<i>eternal bowing</i> which so strikes a traveller, and which would -make one believe that beings across the Channel were formed with some -natural affinity between their right hands and their hats.” Really, -to my mind there’s something more pleasing,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</span> more rational-like, in -one human creature quietly bowing to another, than in shouting and -hallooing at him like a wild Indian. But, then, people do so like noise!</p> - -<p>You’ll be sorry to hear, grandmother, that your pets, the bishops, -are again in trouble. I’m sure of it, bishops were never intended to -have anything to do with money: they always tumble into such mistakes -whenever they touch it. How is it to be expected that they should -know the mystery of pounds, shillings, and pence,—they who can’t -abide earthly vanities—they who are always above this world, though -they never go up, as I hear, with Mr Green in his balloon? Well, it -seems that the bishops have had a mint of money put into their hands -that they may build new churches for their fellow-sinners, whom they -call spiritually destitute. Well, would you think it?—in a moment of -strange forgetfulness, they’ve laid out so much money upon palaces -for themselves, that they can’t build the proper number of churches -for the poor? The bishops have taken care of the bishops—and for the -spiritually destitute, why, they may worship in highways and byways, in -fields and on commons. Of course the bishops never meant this. No; it -has all come about from their knowing nothing of the value of money. -Still, what’s called the lower orders won’t believe<span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</span> this. And isn’t -it a shocking thing to consider that the poor man may look at Bishop -So-and-so with a grudge in his eye, saying to himself, “Yes, you’ve -built yourself a fine house—you’ve got your fine cedars, and all that -King Solomon talks about, in your own palace; but where’s my sittings -in the church?—where, bishop, is my bench in the middle aisle?”</p> - -<p>This is so dreadful to think of, that I can’t write any further upon -it—and so no more from your affectionate grandson,</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Juniper Hedgehog</span>.<br> -</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Letter_XXI-To_Sir_J_B_Tyrell_Bart_MP_for_North"><span class="smcap">Letter XXI.</span>—<i>To Sir J. B. Tyrell, Bart., M.P. for North -Essex.</i></h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—As I consider every gentleman that I have had the -pleasure, or the honour, or the ill-luck as it may be, of driving, a -sort of acquaintance—for where money passes, it in a manner binds -men—I make no difficulty in sending you these few lines.</p> - -<p>You have been dining with the Conservative Maldon True Blue Club. -True Blue, I suppose, means heaven’s blue—that is, blue as true as -heaven. All the speeches were printed in the <i>Essex Standard</i>, -and afterwards, where I saw ’em,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</span> in the <i>Morning Post</i>. Your -speech, Sir James, or Sir John (for, upon my life, I forget which it -is, so I’ll call you Sir James upon chance)—your speech drenched me, -as a Christian cabman, quite over. You rose to drink the health of -the Duke of Wellington. Well, I don’t object to that. But, I’m sure -of it,—never once thinking of your Testament, you went on in this -manner—and mind, it was only just <i>after</i> dinner—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“It had been said of the noble Duke, that he was <i>not -only</i> the conqueror of Bonaparte—<i>but the greatest -man</i> <span class="smcap">since the time of the Saviour</span>!”</p> -</div> - -<p>You thought <i>if</i> that language was “too strong to apply to him -as a man, his claims upon the country could not be overrated.” Now, -Sir James, <span class="allsmcap">IF</span> the language was too strong (for you said -“<i>if</i>”), why did you use it? Why make any comparison between the -Saviour of the world and the colonel of a Grenadier Guards? The Duke, -no doubt, has claims upon the country; though some of these claims, -by-the-by, are regularly settled by the country every pay-day, and come -in regularly with his rents of Strathfieldsaye. Nevertheless, whatever -claims he may have outstanding against us, I don’t think he can enforce -any of ’em in the spirit of Him who said, “Love your enemies; bless -them that curse you; do good to them that hate<span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</span> you; and pray for them -which despitefully use you, and persecute you.” The Duke of Wellington -never talks in this way in the House of Lords; but do we expect that -he should? His business of life, Sir James, has been to fight; and -though I think the trade a very bad one, nevertheless he made the best -of the wickedness. But, Sir James, you, it seems, would bind up the -Sermon on the Mount with the “Wellington Despatches;” and seem to think -the battle of Waterloo a finer acted thing than that small incident -rehearsed at the words, “Take up thy bed and walk.”</p> - -<p>Sometime ago, the son of a Christian judge, passing through a London -street, saw, as he thought, a blasphemous representation of the Deity -exposed in a window. In a trice he smashed the glass and tore up the -offensive picture. Right glad am I, for the sake of the convivial True -Blues, that young Mr Bruce was not at the Maldon dinner; otherwise, -where the chairman found a companion picture for Jesus in the Grenadier -tenant of Apsley House, Mr Bruce might have forgotten Sir James Tyrell -in what he might have thought the blasphemer.</p> - -<p>“Our Saviour” <i>and</i> the Duke of Wellington! And among the company, -“which was upwards of seventy in number,” were members of Parliament, -captains, esquires, and—my ink turns almost red<span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</span> with shame as I -write it—<i>and</i> clergymen! There were pious Christians, teachers -of Christian flocks, “their eyes red with wine, and their teeth white -with milk,” who sat quietly upon their seats, and heard the British -Grenadier paralleled with Jesus Christ! Answer, Reverends Leigh, -Williams, Bruce, and Henshawe—was it not so? O Conservative clergymen! -O True Blue disciples of beeswing port! O knife-and-fork apostles! -when, mute as fish, you consented to the speech of Tyrell, and so -forgot your Master, did you not, in your souls, hear “the cock crow”?</p> - -<p>Well, Sir James, I do recollect what my old grandmother taught me of -the New Testament; and although I’m but a cabman, I hope I do feel, if -I’d ever had the presumption to compare anybody to the blessed Saviour, -I couldn’t have gone to the barracks for him.</p> - -<p>I think the Duke of Wellington has said that “no man who’s nice about -religion should be a soldier!” Perhaps you never heard of this, and -thought that to hunt the French out of Spain was almost quite as great -as to cast out devils.</p> - -<p>“The greatest man since the time of our Saviour!” And there have -been no other men, Sir James, sent into the world to pick their -fellow-creatures, as I may say, out of the mud? There have been no -Shakspere? No Newton? No<span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</span> Howard? No! Ball-cartridge has been the true -manna of life; and the words “Feed my sheep” are nothing to “Make -ready, present, fire!”</p> - -<p>But, Sir James, I’ve done. I know you didn’t mean what you said. -No: the truth is, you’re a regular Conservative, and so—like other -darkened folks—you must make an idol out of something. Rather than -have none at all, you’d set up the Duke of Wellington’s bootjack. -Still, among the True Blues, you overshot the mark, and must be by this -time perfectly ashamed of yourself. Nevertheless, your wickedness ought -not to go unpunished: and because, in a port-wine moment, you compared -the Iron Duke to the Lamb of the world, I’d make you undergo a month’s -penance. You should be covered all over with pipeclay, and eat parched -peas off a drum-head.</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Juniper Hedgehog.</span><br> -</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Letter_XXII-To_Mrs_Hedgehog_New_York"><span class="smcap">Letter XXII.</span>—<i>To Mrs Hedgehog, New York.</i></h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Grandmother</span>,—As I don’t think you have any liking for -railways—being, like Colonel Sibthorpe, one of those folks loving the -good old times when travelling was as sober a thing as a waggon and -four horses could make it—I really<span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</span> don’t see how I’m to write you -anything of a letter. There’s nobody in town, and nothing in the papers -but plans of railways, that in a little time will cover all England -like a large spider’s net; and, as in the net, there will be a good -many flies caught and gobbled up by those who spin it. Nevertheless, -though I know you don’t agree with me any more than Colonel Sibthorpe -does, it is a fine sight to open the newspapers and see the railway -schemes. What mountains of money they bring to the mind! And then for -the wonders they’re big with—why, properly considered, aren’t they a -thousand times more wonderful than anything in the “Arabian Nights’ -Entertainments”? There we have a flying carriage to be brought to every -man’s door! All England made to shake hands with itself in a few hours! -And when London can in an hour or so go to the Land’s End for a gulp of -sea air, and the Land’s End in the same time come to see the shows of -London, shan’t all of us the better understand one another? shan’t we -all be brought together, and made, as we ought to be, one family of? -It’s coming fast, grandmother. Now pigs can travel, I don’t know how -far, at a halfpenny a head, we don’t hear the talk that used to be of -“the swinish multitude.” And isn’t it a fine thing—I know you don’t -think so, but isn’t it—to know that all that’s been done,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</span> and all -that’s to do, will be done because Englishmen have left off cutting -other men’s throats? That peace has done it all! If they oughtn’t to -set up a dove with an olive branch at every railway terminus, I’m an -impostor and no true cabman! Yes, grandmother, peace has done it all! -Only think of the iron that had been melted into cannon, and round-shot -and chain-shot, and all other sorts of shot, that the devils on a -holiday play at bowls with!—if the war had gone on—all the very -same iron that’s now peaceably laid upon sleepers! Think of the iron -that had been fired into the sea, and banged through quiet people’s -houses, and sent smashing squares and squares of men—God’s likenesses -in red, blue, and green coats, hired to be killed at so many pence -a day,—only think what would have been this wicked, I will say it, -this blasphemous waste of metal—that, as it is, has been made into -steam-engines! Very fine, indeed, they say, is the roar of artillery; -but what is it to the roar of steam? I never see an engine, with -red-hot coals and its clouds of steam and smoke, that it doesn’t seem -to me like a tremendous dragon that has been tamed by man to carry -all the blessings of civilisation to his fellow-creatures. I’ve read -about knights going through the skies on fiery monsters—but what are -they to the engineers, at two pound five a week? What is any squire<span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</span> -among ’em all to the humblest stoker? And then I’ve read about martial -trumpets, why, they haven’t, to my ears, half the silver in their sound -as the railway whistle! Well, I should like the ghost of Bonaparte to -get up some morning, and take the <i>Times</i> in his thin hands. If -he wouldn’t turn yellower than ever he was at St Helena! There he’d -see plans for railways in France—<i>belly France</i>, as I believe -they call it—to be carried out by Frenchmen and Englishmen. Yes; he -wouldn’t see ’em mixing bayonets, trying to poke ’em in one another’s -bowels, that a few tons of blood might, as they call it, water his -laurels (how any man can wear laurels at all, I can’t tell, they must -smell so of the slaughter-house!)—he wouldn’t see ’em charging one -another on the battle-field, but quietly ranged cheek by jowl, in the -list of directors! Not exchanging bullets, but clubbing together their -hard cash.</p> - -<p>Consider it, grandmother, isn’t it droll! Here, in these very lists, -you see English captains and colonels in company with French viscounts -and barons, and I don’t know what, planning to lay iron down in -France—to civilise and add to the prosperity of Frenchmen! The very -captains and colonels who—but for the peace—would be blowing French -ships out of water, knocking down French houses, and all the while -swearing it, and believing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</span> it, too, that Frenchmen were only sent into -this world to be killed by Englishmen, just as boys think frogs were -spawned only to be pelted at! Ah, only give her time, and Peace—timid -dove as she is—will coo down to the trumpet.</p> - -<p>Now, grandmother, only to think of Lord Nelson as a railway director -on the Boulogne line to Paris! Well, I know you’ll say it, the world’s -going to be turned upside down. Perhaps it is; and after all, it -mightn’t be the worse now and then for a little wholesome shaking. They -do say there’s to be a rail from Waterloo to Brussels, and the Duke of -Wellington, the Iron Duke, with, I’ve no doubt, iron enough in him for -the whole line, is to be chairman of the directors.</p> - -<p>The Prince Joinville is now and then looking about our coasts to find -out, it is said, which is the softest part of us, in the case of a -war, to put his foot upon us. Poor fellow! he’s got the disease of -glory; only, as it sometimes happens with the smallpox, it has struck -inward—it can’t come out upon him. When we’ve railways laid down, as -I say, like a spider’s web all over the country, won’t it be a little -hard to catch us asleep? For, you see, just like the spider’s web, the -electric telegraph (inquire what sort of a thing it is, for I haven’t -time to tell you)—the electric telegraph will touch a line of the -web, when down will come a tremendous<span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</span> spider in a red coat with all -sorts of murder about him! Mind, grandmother, let us hope it never will -happen; but when folks who’d molest us, know it <i>can</i> come about, -won’t they let us alone? Depend upon it, we’re binding war over to keep -the peace, and the bonds are made of railway iron!</p> - -<p>You’d hardly think it—you who used to talk to me about the beauty -of glory (I know you meant nothing but the red coats and the fine -epaulets; for that so often is woman’s notion of glory, though, bless -’em! they’re among the first to make lint, and cry over the sons -of glory, with gashes spoiling all their fine feathers)—and you’d -hardly think it, but they’re going to put up a statue to the man who -first made boiling water to run upon a rail. It’s quite true: I read -it only a day or two ago. They’re going to fix up a statue to George -Stephenson at Newcastle. How you will cast up your dear old eyes when -you hear of this! you, who’ve only thought that statues should be put -up to Queen Anne, and George the Third, and his nice son, George the -Fourth, and such people! I should only like a good many of the statues -here in London, to be made to take a cheap train down to Newcastle, to -see it. If, dirty as they are—and dirty as they were—they wouldn’t -blush as red as a new copper halfpenny! Why, those statues—especially -when they’ve queens and kings in ’em—are<span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</span> the most unfeelingest of -metal! What a lot of mangled bodies, and misery, and housebreaking, and -wickedness of all sorts, carried on and made quite lawful by a uniform, -may we see—if we choose to see at all—about the statue of what is -called a conqueror! What a firing of houses, what shame—that, because -you’re a woman, I won’t more particularly write about—we might look -upon under the statue, that is only so high, because it has so much -wickedness to stand upon! If the statue could feel at all, wouldn’t it -put up its hands, and hide its face, although it was made of the best -of bronze? But Mr Stephenson will look kindly and sweetly about him; he -will know that he has carried comfort, and knowledge, and happiness to -the doors of millions!—that, that he has brought men together, that -they might know and love one another. This is something like having a -statue! I’m sure of it—when George the Fourth is made to hear the news -(for kings are so very long before the truth comes to ’em), he’d like -to gallop off to the first melter’s and go at once into the nothing -that men think him.</p> - -<p>And besides all this, the railways have got a king! When you hear of a -king in England, I know your old thoughts go down to Westminster Abbey, -and you think of nothing but bishops and peers, and all that sort of -thing, kissing the king’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</span> cheeks, and the holy oil put upon the royal -head, that the crown, I suppose, may sit the more comfortably upon it; -but this is another sort of king, Mr King Hudson the First. I have read -somewhere at a bookstall, that Napoleon was crowned with the Iron Crown -of Italy. Well, King Hudson has been crowned with the Iron Crown of -England!—a crown melted out of pig-iron, and made in a railway furnace.</p> - -<p>I’ve somewhere seen the picture of the River Nile, that with the -lifting of his finger made the river flow over barren land, and leave -there all sorts of blessings. Well, King Hudson is of this sort; he -has made the molten iron flow over all sorts of places, and so bring -forth good fruits wherever it went.—So no more, from your affectionate -grandson,</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Juniper Hedgehog</span>.<br> -</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Letter_XXIII-To_Mrs_Hedgehog_New_York"><span class="smcap">Letter XXIII.</span>—<i>To Mrs Hedgehog, New York.</i></h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Grandmother</span>,—Of course you must have heard of the potato -blight. There are some subjects that women don’t want newspapers to -teach ’em about, and “potatoes is one.” I can’t tell how your red Yorks -and Kidneys may be in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</span> your part of the world: with us, they’re things -to weep over. But, of course, your potatoes are all right: you’ve done -nothing to bring down rot upon ’em from heaven. But it’s very different -with us, grandmother. Our potato blight was got up by her Majesty’s -Ministers, and—would you think it?—consented to by her blessed -Majesty! It is now as plain as light that the great Maynooth has done -it all! One William Ferrie—who writes in a hair shirt, with a girdle -of tenpenny nails next his skin—has let out the terrible secret in the -<i>Witness</i>, an Edinburgh paper (Nov. 8). He groans as follows:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“Had <i>we set ourselves to consider</i> by what display -of His sovereignty the Lord could most thoroughly and very -severely have distressed Ireland, whilst He in some degree -afflicted also both England and Scotland, <i>in token of His -indignation</i> at the sin of their joint rulers in enacting -that which, <i>whilst it insulted Him</i>, was justified on the -plea that it would benefit Ireland, could we have conceived -<i>a more effectual</i> one than the blasting of the potato -crop!”</p> -</div> - -<p>Now, grandmother, this, I know, is stuff after your own heart. -Popery is at the root of the root! The Lord has been insulted; and -His terrible vengeance is a blight upon potatoes! There can be no -doubt that this is the fact—a fact so after<span class="pagenum" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</span> the good old times! -Nevertheless, for my part, I think it rather hard that Protestant -potatoes—potatoes that, if they could talk, would cry, “No -surrender!”—should suffer equally with potatoes of Roman Catholic -principles. I know it’s very conceited in me to give an opinion against -men like William Ferrie—men who always bawl and scribble (I’ve heard -’em in their pulpits, as well as read their stuff in print) as if they -were nothing less than livery servants to Providence, and knew all the -household secrets! And Willy Ferrie, depend on ’t, is flunky after this -fashion.</p> - -<p>A rotten potato is a rotten potato—at least so I should have thought -it afore I’d been taught better by ranting Willy; but now, I can see -into the thing just as well as if Erasmus Wilson—the magician of the -microscope—had lent me his glass, and his eyes and brains into the -bargain. I can see into the decayed parts, for I won’t bother your dear -head with hard words (though when a man’s got ’em for the first time, -he likes to sport ’em), and can behold nothing but what you used to -call “the murdering Papishes.” I’ve a ’tato before me, as rotten as -the heart of any talking ’tato that ever spouted blarney in the face -of starvation. Well, with the microscope, I can see the Old Woman in -Scarlet, with her toe polished with holy<span class="pagenum" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</span> kisses—cardinals and abbots, -and friars and priests, in white and red and gold—and canopies, and -dolls of the Virgin, and saints, and little boys swinging censers. -I can see all this by the assistance of Willie Ferrie—all of it in -one potato—as plainly as once I saw all sorts of sharks in a drop of -New River water. I shall write this blessed night to Sir Andrew Agnew -(by the way, dear grandmother, it was said that Sir Andrew was lately -caught in a Sunday train—but it isn’t true: it’s now proved to be -somebody I won’t mention to you, who sometimes, out of spite to the -Baronet, goes about in his likeness)—I’ll write to Sir Andrew, and get -him to give a Potato Lecture, after this fashion, at Exeter Hall. If -with one potato he wouldn’t make the women cry, then there’s no weeping -to be got out of an onion! Sir Andrew with one rotten potato, like -David with a smooth pebble, would kill Goliath Peel as dead as Tamworth -mutton.</p> - -<p>And yet when it’s plain that it’s the Maynooth Grant, and not the -wet—certainly not the wet—that’s rotted the potato, we find big-wig -doctors sent to Ireland (a further insult to Providence, grandmother) -to inquire, as it is presumptuously said, into the cause of the -disease. Why, I know what you or any other good old woman would<span class="pagenum" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</span> have -done; after you’d tasted the Maynooth Grant—and there’s no mistaking -the flavour—in your early kidneys, you’d at once have stopped the -rot;—and how would you have done it? Why, you’d have got the Queen to -send a message to Parliament, to order a repeal of the Maynooth Grant. -Of course you would. But no: sinful men are made foolhardy by success. -Because, when they granted Catholic ’Mancipation, the fly spared our -turnips, it was thought we could give money to Maynooth College, and -yet save our ’tatoes! Ha! Dear grandmother, when you take your kidney -baked, steamed, or mashed, think of us sinners, and say a short prayer -for us.</p> - -<p>I’d forgotten to tell you that the potatoes in Belgium are as bad, or -even worse, than ours. Besides the wet, I can’t precisely tell the -cause of this; because there’s been no Maynooth Grant there, nearly all -the wicked people being Catholics,—but then, I suppose, that’s it. Mr -Flunky Ferrie declares that “the present judgment is connected with -Popery.” There’s no doubt of it:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“The blight being general over three kingdoms, points out -<i>the rulers of the land</i> as the persons whose sin has -secured it; and the blight being in the potato crop, directs -attention to their dealings with Ireland as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</span> the particular -sins which have immediately called it down.”</p> -</div> - -<p>This is, doubtless, true enough, and no less true because the whole -people must suffer for the dozen rulers. Now, had the blight fallen -only upon Tamworth, or Strathfieldsaye, or all the ’tatoes of all the -Ministers, the disease would doubtless have been hushed up. Yes,—it -was necessary that every man should suffer in his potatoes; not only -the sinful Protestant who consented to the Grant, but the lucky -Catholics who accepted it. The judgment fell upon all tribes alike—the -tribes of the Established Church and of the Church of Babylon. The -Bishop of London’s ’tatoes are in as forlorn a way as the ’tatoes of -the Irish Lion of Judah: that’s some comfort, grandmother.</p> - -<p>Well, and what does this blight say to the Catholics—what does every -potato cry (with the little voice that what they call tubercular -consumption has left it)—what does it cry to the “Papishes,” but, -“Change your religion, and henceforth be happy in your ’tatoes!” At -first, I thought this change of religion a ticklish matter; but when -I see how easily the nobs—the bright examples of the world—do it, -why, it’s only conceit in smaller people to hesitate: for I’ve just -read a long story about the Emperor Nicholas, who’s in Italy<span class="pagenum" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</span> with his -poor dying wife. (By the way, it seems that the Emperor, like many -other folks, is such a good-tempered, jolly fellow when he’s out, that -it’s a pity he should ever go home again.) The Emperor’s daughter, the -Duchess Olga (a good playbill name, isn’t it?) was to marry an Austrian -Archduke; but her father wouldn’t let her alter her religion from the -Greek to the Catholic Church. Now, however, Nicholas has thought better -of it,—and his daughter may change her religion for a husband, just -as she’ll put on a new gown to be married in. When emperors and kings -play at hustle-cap with creeds, isn’t it downright impudence in mere -nobodies to be nice!</p> - -<p>When I think, though, that the Maynooth Grant has brought the rot in -potatoes, I can’t help looking round about the world, and fearing what -may by-and-by become of us for our friendship with heathens. We take -tea of the Chinese—a people, evidently an insult to heaven—though -long put up with, and mustering hundreds of millions. Doesn’t Mr Ferrie -fear that some day all us men may rise in the morning with pig-tails, -and the women get up with a little foot apiece? We buy rhubarb from -the wicked Turk. A time may come when—for a visitation—the drug may -deceive all the doctors, and Old Gooseberry only know<span class="pagenum" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</span> what mischief -may happen! We get tallow from Russia. How do I know that I mayn’t in -every six to a pound, without thinking of it, set up a candle to the -Greek Church! Will Flunky Ferrie think of these things?—for there are -many of his kidney who’d like to be enlightened.</p> - -<p>But, O grandmother! perhaps the worst is to come. The Church is really -now in danger! I’ve not had a fare up Ludgate Hill lately, but I’ve -no doubt St Paul’s is cracked from top to bottom. Would you believe -it? David Salomons, the late Sheriff (who was sweetly cheated out of -his gown as Alderman, the said gown being now on the shoulders of -Church-and-State Moon, Esq.)—David Salomons, a Jew, has given £1666, -13s. 4d. to buy a scholarship of £50 a year for the city of London, and -the city—Gog and Magog quivered as with ague—has been mean enough to -take it. Oh for the good old times, when they used to spit upon Jews -in the Exchange! And now we take their money from ’em! I know you’ll -think it a blow at the Church. The scholarship is said to be “open to -members of every religious persuasion;” this is a flam-blind. The gift -is a sly attack on the Established Church. It is the evident intention -of the Minories to turn us all Jews. Never has there been such a blow -struck at the vested interests<span class="pagenum" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</span> of Smithfield Pig-market. Sir Robert -Inglis—whom I took up at Exeter Hall a night or two ago—says, in two -years there’ll be a grand Rabbi in Lambeth Palace.—Your affectionate -grandson,</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Juniper Hedgehog</span>.<br> -</p> - - -<p class="center">THE END.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="FOOTNOTES">FOOTNOTES</h2> -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">1</a> The Duke has, doubtless to the astonishment of Mr Nutts -when he shall learn it, suggested a more rapid reformation. - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">2</a> Eu. - -</div> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<div class="transnote"> - -<h2>Transcriber’s Notes</h2> - -<p>Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. 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