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diff --git a/914-0.txt b/914-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bb310e1 --- /dev/null +++ b/914-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,13848 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Uncommercial Traveller, by Charles Dickens + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: The Uncommercial Traveller + +Author: Charles Dickens + +Illustrator: Harry Furniss + +Release Date: May 20, 1997 [eBook #914] +[Most recently updated: June 8, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: David Price + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE UNCOMMERCIAL TRAVELLER *** + + [Picture: Book cover] + + [Picture: Time and his Wife] + + + + + + THE UNCOMMERCIAL + TRAVELLER + + + * * * * * + + By CHARLES DICKENS + + * * * * * + + _With Illustrations by Harry Furniss and A. J. Goodman_ + + * * * * * + + LONDON: CHAPMAN & HALL, LD. + NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS + 1905 + + CONTENTS + +CHAPTER I. His General Line of Business +CHAPTER II. The Shipwreck +CHAPTER III. Wapping Workhouse +CHAPTER IV. Two Views of a Cheap Theatre +CHAPTER V. Poor Mercantile Jack +CHAPTER VI. Refreshments for Travellers +CHAPTER VII. Travelling Abroad +CHAPTER VIII. The Great Tasmania’s Cargo +CHAPTER IX. City of London Churches +CHAPTER X. Shy Neighbourhoods +CHAPTER XI. Tramps +CHAPTER XII. Dullborough Town +CHAPTER XIII. Night Walks +CHAPTER XIV. Chambers +CHAPTER XV. Nurse’s Stories +CHAPTER XVI. Arcadian London +CHAPTER XVII. The Italian Prisoner +CHAPTER XVIII. The Calais Night Mail +CHAPTER XIX. Some Recollections of Mortality +CHAPTER XX. Birthday Celebrations +CHAPTER XXI. The Short-Timers +CHAPTER XXII. Bound for the Great Salt Lake +CHAPTER XXIII. The City of the Absent +CHAPTER XXIV. An Old Stage-coaching House +CHAPTER XXV. The Boiled Beef of New England +CHAPTER XXVI. Chatham Dockyard +CHAPTER XXVII. In the French-Flemish Country +CHAPTER XXVIII. Medicine Men of Civilisation +CHAPTER XXIX. Titbull’s Alms-Houses +CHAPTER XXX. The Ruffian +CHAPTER XXXI. Aboard Ship +CHAPTER XXXII. A Small Star in the East +CHAPTER XXXIII. A Little Dinner in an Hour +CHAPTER XXXIV. Mr. Barlow +CHAPTER XXXV. On an Amateur Beat +CHAPTER XXXVI. A Fly-Leaf in a Life +CHAPTER XXXVII. A Plea for Total Abstinence + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + +_Time and his Wife_ +_A Cheap Theatre_ +_The City Personage_ +_Titbull’s Alms-Houses_ + + + + +I +HIS GENERAL LINE OF BUSINESS + + +ALLOW me to introduce myself—first negatively. + +No landlord is my friend and brother, no chambermaid loves me, no waiter +worships me, no boots admires and envies me. No round of beef or tongue +or ham is expressly cooked for me, no pigeon-pie is especially made for +me, no hotel-advertisement is personally addressed to me, no hotel-room +tapestried with great-coats and railway wrappers is set apart for me, no +house of public entertainment in the United Kingdom greatly cares for my +opinion of its brandy or sherry. When I go upon my journeys, I am not +usually rated at a low figure in the bill; when I come home from my +journeys, I never get any commission. I know nothing about prices, and +should have no idea, if I were put to it, how to wheedle a man into +ordering something he doesn’t want. As a town traveller, I am never to +be seen driving a vehicle externally like a young and volatile pianoforte +van, and internally like an oven in which a number of flat boxes are +baking in layers. As a country traveller, I am rarely to be found in a +gig, and am never to be encountered by a pleasure train, waiting on the +platform of a branch station, quite a Druid in the midst of a light +Stonehenge of samples. + +And yet—proceeding now, to introduce myself positively—I am both a town +traveller and a country traveller, and am always on the road. +Figuratively speaking, I travel for the great house of Human Interest +Brothers, and have rather a large connection in the fancy goods way. +Literally speaking, I am always wandering here and there from my rooms in +Covent-garden, London—now about the city streets: now, about the country +by-roads—seeing many little things, and some great things, which, because +they interest me, I think may interest others. + +These are my chief credentials as the Uncommercial Traveller. + + + + +II +THE SHIPWRECK + + +NEVER had I seen a year going out, or going on, under quieter +circumstances. Eighteen hundred and fifty-nine had but another day to +live, and truly its end was Peace on that sea-shore that morning. + +So settled and orderly was everything seaward, in the bright light of the +sun and under the transparent shadows of the clouds, that it was hard to +imagine the bay otherwise, for years past or to come, than it was that +very day. The Tug-steamer lying a little off the shore, the Lighter +lying still nearer to the shore, the boat alongside the Lighter, the +regularly-turning windlass aboard the Lighter, the methodical figures at +work, all slowly and regularly heaving up and down with the breathing of +the sea, all seemed as much a part of the nature of the place as the tide +itself. The tide was on the flow, and had been for some two hours and a +half; there was a slight obstruction in the sea within a few yards of my +feet: as if the stump of a tree, with earth enough about it to keep it +from lying horizontally on the water, had slipped a little from the +land—and as I stood upon the beach and observed it dimpling the light +swell that was coming in, I cast a stone over it. + +So orderly, so quiet, so regular—the rising and falling of the +Tug-steamer, the Lighter, and the boat—the turning of the windlass—the +coming in of the tide—that I myself seemed, to my own thinking, anything +but new to the spot. Yet, I had never seen it in my life, a minute +before, and had traversed two hundred miles to get at it. That very +morning I had come bowling down, and struggling up, hill-country roads; +looking back at snowy summits; meeting courteous peasants well to do, +driving fat pigs and cattle to market: noting the neat and thrifty +dwellings, with their unusual quantity of clean white linen, drying on +the bushes; having windy weather suggested by every cotter’s little rick, +with its thatch straw-ridged and extra straw-ridged into overlapping +compartments like the back of a rhinoceros. Had I not given a lift of +fourteen miles to the Coast-guardsman (kit and all), who was coming to +his spell of duty there, and had we not just now parted company? So it +was; but the journey seemed to glide down into the placid sea, with other +chafe and trouble, and for the moment nothing was so calmly and +monotonously real under the sunlight as the gentle rising and falling of +the water with its freight, the regular turning of the windlass aboard +the Lighter, and the slight obstruction so very near my feet. + +O reader, haply turning this page by the fireside at Home, and hearing +the night wind rumble in the chimney, that slight obstruction was the +uppermost fragment of the Wreck of the Royal Charter, Australian trader +and passenger ship, Homeward bound, that struck here on the terrible +morning of the twenty-sixth of this October, broke into three parts, went +down with her treasure of at least five hundred human lives, and has +never stirred since! + +From which point, or from which, she drove ashore, stern foremost; on +which side, or on which, she passed the little Island in the bay, for +ages henceforth to be aground certain yards outside her; these are +rendered bootless questions by the darkness of that night and the +darkness of death. Here she went down. + +Even as I stood on the beach with the words ‘Here she went down!’ in my +ears, a diver in his grotesque dress, dipped heavily over the side of the +boat alongside the Lighter, and dropped to the bottom. On the shore by +the water’s edge, was a rough tent, made of fragments of wreck, where +other divers and workmen sheltered themselves, and where they had kept +Christmas-day with rum and roast beef, to the destruction of their frail +chimney. Cast up among the stones and boulders of the beach, were great +spars of the lost vessel, and masses of iron twisted by the fury of the +sea into the strangest forms. The timber was already bleached and iron +rusted, and even these objects did no violence to the prevailing air the +whole scene wore, of having been exactly the same for years and years. + +Yet, only two short months had gone, since a man, living on the nearest +hill-top overlooking the sea, being blown out of bed at about daybreak by +the wind that had begun to strip his roof off, and getting upon a ladder +with his nearest neighbour to construct some temporary device for keeping +his house over his head, saw from the ladder’s elevation as he looked +down by chance towards the shore, some dark troubled object close in with +the land. And he and the other, descending to the beach, and finding the +sea mercilessly beating over a great broken ship, had clambered up the +stony ways, like staircases without stairs, on which the wild village +hangs in little clusters, as fruit hangs on boughs, and had given the +alarm. And so, over the hill-slopes, and past the waterfall, and down +the gullies where the land drains off into the ocean, the scattered +quarrymen and fishermen inhabiting that part of Wales had come running to +the dismal sight—their clergyman among them. And as they stood in the +leaden morning, stricken with pity, leaning hard against the wind, their +breath and vision often failing as the sleet and spray rushed at them +from the ever forming and dissolving mountains of sea, and as the wool +which was a part of the vessel’s cargo blew in with the salt foam and +remained upon the land when the foam melted, they saw the ship’s +life-boat put off from one of the heaps of wreck; and first, there were +three men in her, and in a moment she capsized, and there were but two; +and again, she was struck by a vast mass of water, and there was but one; +and again, she was thrown bottom upward, and that one, with his arm +struck through the broken planks and waving as if for the help that could +never reach him, went down into the deep. + +It was the clergyman himself from whom I heard this, while I stood on the +shore, looking in his kind wholesome face as it turned to the spot where +the boat had been. The divers were down then, and busy. They were +‘lifting’ to-day the gold found yesterday—some five-and-twenty thousand +pounds. Of three hundred and fifty thousand pounds’ worth of gold, three +hundred thousand pounds’ worth, in round numbers, was at that time +recovered. The great bulk of the remainder was surely and steadily +coming up. Some loss of sovereigns there would be, of course; indeed, at +first sovereigns had drifted in with the sand, and been scattered far and +wide over the beach, like sea-shells; but most other golden treasure +would be found. As it was brought up, it went aboard the Tug-steamer, +where good account was taken of it. So tremendous had the force of the +sea been when it broke the ship, that it had beaten one great ingot of +gold, deep into a strong and heavy piece of her solid iron-work: in +which, also, several loose sovereigns that the ingot had swept in before +it, had been found, as firmly embedded as though the iron had been liquid +when they were forced there. It had been remarked of such bodies come +ashore, too, as had been seen by scientific men, that they had been +stunned to death, and not suffocated. Observation, both of the internal +change that had been wrought in them, and of their external expression, +showed death to have been thus merciful and easy. The report was +brought, while I was holding such discourse on the beach, that no more +bodies had come ashore since last night. It began to be very doubtful +whether many more would be thrown up, until the north-east winds of the +early spring set in. Moreover, a great number of the passengers, and +particularly the second-class women-passengers, were known to have been +in the middle of the ship when she parted, and thus the collapsing wreck +would have fallen upon them after yawning open, and would keep them down. +A diver made known, even then, that he had come upon the body of a man, +and had sought to release it from a great superincumbent weight; but +that, finding he could not do so without mutilating the remains, he had +left it where it was. + +It was the kind and wholesome face I have made mention of as being then +beside me, that I had purposed to myself to see, when I left home for +Wales. I had heard of that clergyman, as having buried many scores of +the shipwrecked people; of his having opened his house and heart to their +agonised friends; of his having used a most sweet and patient diligence +for weeks and weeks, in the performance of the forlornest offices that +Man can render to his kind; of his having most tenderly and thoroughly +devoted himself to the dead, and to those who were sorrowing for the +dead. I had said to myself, ‘In the Christmas season of the year, I +should like to see that man!’ And he had swung the gate of his little +garden in coming out to meet me, not half an hour ago. + +So cheerful of spirit and guiltless of affectation, as true practical +Christianity ever is! I read more of the New Testament in the fresh +frank face going up the village beside me, in five minutes, than I have +read in anathematising discourses (albeit put to press with enormous +flourishing of trumpets), in all my life. I heard more of the Sacred +Book in the cordial voice that had nothing to say about its owner, than +in all the would-be celestial pairs of bellows that have ever blown +conceit at me. + +We climbed towards the little church, at a cheery pace, among the loose +stones, the deep mud, the wet coarse grass, the outlying water, and other +obstructions from which frost and snow had lately thawed. It was a +mistake (my friend was glad to tell me, on the way) to suppose that the +peasantry had shown any superstitious avoidance of the drowned; on the +whole, they had done very well, and had assisted readily. Ten shillings +had been paid for the bringing of each body up to the church, but the way +was steep, and a horse and cart (in which it was wrapped in a sheet) were +necessary, and three or four men, and, all things considered, it was not +a great price. The people were none the richer for the wreck, for it was +the season of the herring-shoal—and who could cast nets for fish, and +find dead men and women in the draught? + +He had the church keys in his hand, and opened the churchyard gate, and +opened the church door; and we went in. + +It is a little church of great antiquity; there is reason to believe that +some church has occupied the spot, these thousand years or more. The +pulpit was gone, and other things usually belonging to the church were +gone, owing to its living congregation having deserted it for the +neighbouring school-room, and yielded it up to the dead. The very +Commandments had been shouldered out of their places, in the bringing in +of the dead; the black wooden tables on which they were painted, were +askew, and on the stone pavement below them, and on the stone pavement +all over the church, were the marks and stains where the drowned had been +laid down. The eye, with little or no aid from the imagination, could +yet see how the bodies had been turned, and where the head had been and +where the feet. Some faded traces of the wreck of the Australian ship +may be discernible on the stone pavement of this little church, hundreds +of years hence, when the digging for gold in Australia shall have long +and long ceased out of the land. + +Forty-four shipwrecked men and women lay here at one time, awaiting +burial. Here, with weeping and wailing in every room of his house, my +companion worked alone for hours, solemnly surrounded by eyes that could +not see him, and by lips that could not speak to him, patiently examining +the tattered clothing, cutting off buttons, hair, marks from linen, +anything that might lead to subsequent identification, studying faces, +looking for a scar, a bent finger, a crooked toe, comparing letters sent +to him with the ruin about him. ‘My dearest brother had bright grey eyes +and a pleasant smile,’ one sister wrote. O poor sister! well for you to +be far from here, and keep that as your last remembrance of him! + +The ladies of the clergyman’s family, his wife and two sisters-in-law, +came in among the bodies often. It grew to be the business of their +lives to do so. Any new arrival of a bereaved woman would stimulate +their pity to compare the description brought, with the dread realities. +Sometimes, they would go back able to say, ‘I have found him,’ or, ‘I +think she lies there.’ Perhaps, the mourner, unable to bear the sight of +all that lay in the church, would be led in blindfold. Conducted to the +spot with many compassionate words, and encouraged to look, she would +say, with a piercing cry, ‘This is my boy!’ and drop insensible on the +insensible figure. + +He soon observed that in some cases of women, the identification of +persons, though complete, was quite at variance with the marks upon the +linen; this led him to notice that even the marks upon the linen were +sometimes inconsistent with one another; and thus he came to understand +that they had dressed in great haste and agitation, and that their +clothes had become mixed together. The identification of men by their +dress, was rendered extremely difficult, in consequence of a large +proportion of them being dressed alike—in clothes of one kind, that is to +say, supplied by slopsellers and outfitters, and not made by single +garments but by hundreds. Many of the men were bringing over parrots, +and had receipts upon them for the price of the birds; others had bills +of exchange in their pockets, or in belts. Some of these documents, +carefully unwrinkled and dried, were little less fresh in appearance that +day, than the present page will be under ordinary circumstances, after +having been opened three or four times. + +In that lonely place, it had not been easy to obtain even such common +commodities in towns, as ordinary disinfectants. Pitch had been burnt in +the church, as the readiest thing at hand, and the frying-pan in which it +had bubbled over a brazier of coals was still there, with its ashes. +Hard by the Communion-Table, were some boots that had been taken off the +drowned and preserved—a gold-digger’s boot, cut down the leg for its +removal—a trodden-down man’s ankle-boot with a buff cloth top—and +others—soaked and sandy, weedy and salt. + +From the church, we passed out into the churchyard. Here, there lay, at +that time, one hundred and forty-five bodies, that had come ashore from +the wreck. He had buried them, when not identified, in graves containing +four each. He had numbered each body in a register describing it, and +had placed a corresponding number on each coffin, and over each grave. +Identified bodies he had buried singly, in private graves, in another +part of the church-yard. Several bodies had been exhumed from the graves +of four, as relatives had come from a distance and seen his register; +and, when recognised, these have been reburied in private graves, so that +the mourners might erect separate headstones over the remains. In all +such cases he had performed the funeral service a second time, and the +ladies of his house had attended. There had been no offence in the poor +ashes when they were brought again to the light of day; the beneficent +Earth had already absorbed it. The drowned were buried in their clothes. +To supply the great sudden demand for coffins, he had got all the +neighbouring people handy at tools, to work the livelong day, and Sunday +likewise. The coffins were neatly formed;—I had seen two, waiting for +occupants, under the lee of the ruined walls of a stone hut on the beach, +within call of the tent where the Christmas Feast was held. Similarly, +one of the graves for four was lying open and ready, here, in the +churchyard. So much of the scanty space was already devoted to the +wrecked people, that the villagers had begun to express uneasy doubts +whether they themselves could lie in their own ground, with their +forefathers and descendants, by-and-by. The churchyard being but a step +from the clergyman’s dwelling-house, we crossed to the latter; the white +surplice was hanging up near the door ready to be put on at any time, for +a funeral service. + +The cheerful earnestness of this good Christian minister was as +consolatory, as the circumstances out of which it shone were sad. I +never have seen anything more delightfully genuine than the calm +dismissal by himself and his household of all they had undergone, as a +simple duty that was quietly done and ended. In speaking of it, they +spoke of it with great compassion for the bereaved; but laid no stress +upon their own hard share in those weary weeks, except as it had attached +many people to them as friends, and elicited many touching expressions of +gratitude. This clergyman’s brother—himself the clergyman of two +adjoining parishes, who had buried thirty-four of the bodies in his own +churchyard, and who had done to them all that his brother had done as to +the larger number—must be understood as included in the family. He was +there, with his neatly arranged papers, and made no more account of his +trouble than anybody else did. Down to yesterday’s post outward, my +clergyman alone had written one thousand and seventy-five letters to +relatives and friends of the lost people. In the absence of +self-assertion, it was only through my now and then delicately putting a +question as the occasion arose, that I became informed of these things. +It was only when I had remarked again and again, in the church, on the +awful nature of the scene of death he had been required so closely to +familiarise himself with for the soothing of the living, that he had +casually said, without the least abatement of his cheerfulness, ‘indeed, +it had rendered him unable for a time to eat or drink more than a little +coffee now and then, and a piece of bread.’ + +In this noble modesty, in this beautiful simplicity, in this serene +avoidance of the least attempt to ‘improve’ an occasion which might be +supposed to have sunk of its own weight into my heart, I seemed to have +happily come, in a few steps, from the churchyard with its open grave, +which was the type of Death, to the Christian dwelling side by side with +it, which was the type of Resurrection. I never shall think of the +former, without the latter. The two will always rest side by side in my +memory. If I had lost any one dear to me in this unfortunate ship, if I +had made a voyage from Australia to look at the grave in the churchyard, +I should go away, thankful to GOD that that house was so close to it, and +that its shadow by day and its domestic lights by night fell upon the +earth in which its Master had so tenderly laid my dear one’s head. + +The references that naturally arose out of our conversation, to the +descriptions sent down of shipwrecked persons, and to the gratitude of +relations and friends, made me very anxious to see some of those letters. +I was presently seated before a shipwreck of papers, all bordered with +black, and from them I made the following few extracts. + +A mother writes: + + REVEREND SIR. Amongst the many who perished on your shore was + numbered my beloved son. I was only just recovering from a severe + illness, and this fearful affliction has caused a relapse, so that I + am unable at present to go to identify the remains of the loved and + lost. My darling son would have been sixteen on Christmas-day next. + He was a most amiable and obedient child, early taught the way of + salvation. We fondly hoped that as a British seaman he might be an + ornament to his profession, but, ‘it is well;’ I feel assured my dear + boy is now with the redeemed. Oh, he did not wish to go this last + voyage! On the fifteenth of October, I received a letter from him + from Melbourne, date August twelfth; he wrote in high spirits, and in + conclusion he says: ‘Pray for a fair breeze, dear mamma, and I’ll not + forget to whistle for it! and, God permitting, I shall see you and + all my little pets again. Good-bye, dear mother—good-bye, dearest + parents. Good-bye, dear brother.’ Oh, it was indeed an eternal + farewell. I do not apologise for thus writing you, for oh, my heart + is so very sorrowful. + +A husband writes: + + MY DEAR KIND SIR. Will you kindly inform me whether there are any + initials upon the ring and guard you have in possession, found, as + the Standard says, last Tuesday? Believe me, my dear sir, when I say + that I cannot express my deep gratitude in words sufficiently for + your kindness to me on that fearful and appalling day. Will you tell + me what I can do for you, and will you write me a consoling letter to + prevent my mind from going astray? + +A widow writes: + + Left in such a state as I am, my friends and I thought it best that + my dear husband should be buried where he lies, and, much as I should + have liked to have had it otherwise, I must submit. I feel, from all + I have heard of you, that you will see it done decently and in order. + Little does it signify to us, when the soul has departed, where this + poor body lies, but we who are left behind would do all we can to + show how we loved them. This is denied me, but it is God’s hand that + afflicts us, and I try to submit. Some day I may be able to visit + the spot, and see where he lies, and erect a simple stone to his + memory. Oh! it will be long, long before I forget that dreadful + night! Is there such a thing in the vicinity, or any shop in Bangor, + to which I could send for a small picture of Moelfra or Llanallgo + church, a spot now sacred to me? + +Another widow writes: + + I have received your letter this morning, and do thank you most + kindly for the interest you have taken about my dear husband, as well + for the sentiments yours contains, evincing the spirit of a Christian + who can sympathise with those who, like myself, are broken down with + grief. + + May God bless and sustain you, and all in connection with you, in + this great trial. Time may roll on and bear all its sons away, but + your name as a disinterested person will stand in history, and, as + successive years pass, many a widow will think of your noble conduct, + and the tears of gratitude flow down many a cheek, the tribute of a + thankful heart, when other things are forgotten for ever. + +A father writes: + + I am at a loss to find words to sufficiently express my gratitude to + you for your kindness to my son Richard upon the melancholy occasion + of his visit to his dear brother’s body, and also for your ready + attention in pronouncing our beautiful burial service over my poor + unfortunate son’s remains. God grant that your prayers over him may + reach the Mercy Seat, and that his soul may be received (through + Christ’s intercession) into heaven! + + His dear mother begs me to convey to you her heartfelt thanks. + +Those who were received at the clergyman’s house, write thus, after +leaving it: + + DEAR AND NEVER-TO-BE-FORGOTTEN FRIENDS. I arrived here yesterday + morning without accident, and am about to proceed to my home by + railway. + + I am overpowered when I think of you and your hospitable home. No + words could speak language suited to my heart. I refrain. God + reward you with the same measure you have meted with! + + I enumerate no names, but embrace you all. + +MY BELOVED FRIENDS. This is the first day that I have been able to leave +my bedroom since I returned, which will explain the reason of my not +writing sooner. + +If I could only have had my last melancholy hope realised in recovering +the body of my beloved and lamented son, I should have returned home +somewhat comforted, and I think I could then have been comparatively +resigned. + +I fear now there is but little prospect, and I mourn as one without hope. + +The only consolation to my distressed mind is in having been so feelingly +allowed by you to leave the matter in your hands, by whom I well know +that everything will be done that can be, according to arrangements made +before I left the scene of the awful catastrophe, both as to the +identification of my dear son, and also his interment. + +I feel most anxious to hear whether anything fresh has transpired since I +left you; will you add another to the many deep obligations I am under to +you by writing to me? And should the body of my dear and unfortunate son +be identified, let me hear from you immediately, and I will come again. + +Words cannot express the gratitude I feel I owe to you all for your +benevolent aid, your kindness, and your sympathy. + + * * * * * + +MY DEARLY BELOVED FRIENDS. I arrived in safety at my house yesterday, +and a night’s rest has restored and tranquillised me. I must again +repeat, that language has no words by which I can express my sense of +obligation to you. You are enshrined in my heart of hearts. + +I have seen him! and can now realise my misfortune more than I have +hitherto been able to do. Oh, the bitterness of the cup I drink! But I +bow submissive. God _must_ have done right. I do not want to feel less, +but to acquiesce more simply. + + * * * * * + +There were some Jewish passengers on board the Royal Charter, and the +gratitude of the Jewish people is feelingly expressed in the following +letter bearing date from ‘the office of the Chief Rabbi:’ + + REVEREND SIR. I cannot refrain from expressing to you my heartfelt + thanks on behalf of those of my flock whose relatives have + unfortunately been among those who perished at the late wreck of the + Royal Charter. You have, indeed, like Boaz, ‘not left off your + kindness to the living and the dead.’ + + You have not alone acted kindly towards the living by receiving them + hospitably at your house, and energetically assisting them in their + mournful duty, but also towards the dead, by exerting yourself to + have our co-religionists buried in our ground, and according to our + rites. May our heavenly Father reward you for your acts of humanity + and true philanthropy! + +The ‘Old Hebrew congregation of Liverpool’ thus express themselves +through their secretary: + + REVEREND SIR. The wardens of this congregation have learned with + great pleasure that, in addition to those indefatigable exertions, at + the scene of the late disaster to the Royal Charter, which have + received universal recognition, you have very benevolently employed + your valuable efforts to assist such members of our faith as have + sought the bodies of lost friends to give them burial in our + consecrated grounds, with the observances and rites prescribed by the + ordinances of our religion. + +The wardens desire me to take the earliest available opportunity to offer +to you, on behalf of our community, the expression of their warm +acknowledgments and grateful thanks, and their sincere wishes for your +continued welfare and prosperity. + +A Jewish gentleman writes: + + REVEREND AND DEAR SIR. I take the opportunity of thanking you right + earnestly for the promptness you displayed in answering my note with + full particulars concerning my much lamented brother, and I also + herein beg to express my sincere regard for the willingness you + displayed and for the facility you afforded for getting the remains + of my poor brother exhumed. It has been to us a most sorrowful and + painful event, but when we meet with such friends as yourself, it in + a measure, somehow or other, abates that mental anguish, and makes + the suffering so much easier to be borne. Considering the + circumstances connected with my poor brother’s fate, it does, indeed, + appear a hard one. He had been away in all seven years; he returned + four years ago to see his family. He was then engaged to a very + amiable young lady. He had been very successful abroad, and was now + returning to fulfil his sacred vow; he brought all his property with + him in gold uninsured. We heard from him when the ship stopped at + Queenstown, when he was in the highest of hope, and in a few short + hours afterwards all was washed away. + +Mournful in the deepest degree, but too sacred for quotation here, were +the numerous references to those miniatures of women worn round the necks +of rough men (and found there after death), those locks of hair, those +scraps of letters, those many many slight memorials of hidden tenderness. +One man cast up by the sea bore about him, printed on a perforated lace +card, the following singular (and unavailing) charm: + + A BLESSING. + + May the blessing of God await thee. May the sun of glory shine + around thy bed; and may the gates of plenty, honour, and happiness be + ever open to thee. May no sorrow distress thy days; may no grief + disturb thy nights. May the pillow of peace kiss thy cheek, and the + pleasures of imagination attend thy dreams; and when length of years + makes thee tired of earthly joys, and the curtain of death gently + closes around thy last sleep of human existence, may the Angel of God + attend thy bed, and take care that the expiring lamp of life shall + not receive one rude blast to hasten on its extinction. + +A sailor had these devices on his right arm. ‘Our Saviour on the Cross, +the forehead of the Crucifix and the vesture stained red; on the lower +part of the arm, a man and woman; on one side of the Cross, the +appearance of a half moon, with a face; on the other side, the sun; on +the top of the Cross, the letters I.H.S.; on the left arm, a man and +woman dancing, with an effort to delineate the female’s dress; under +which, initials.’ Another seaman ‘had, on the lower part of the right +arm, the device of a sailor and a female; the man holding the Union Jack +with a streamer, the folds of which waved over her head, and the end of +it was held in her hand. On the upper part of the arm, a device of Our +Lord on the Cross, with stars surrounding the head of the Cross, and one +large star on the side in Indian Ink. On the left arm, a flag, a true +lover’s knot, a face, and initials.’ This tattooing was found still +plain, below the discoloured outer surface of a mutilated arm, when such +surface was carefully scraped away with a knife. It is not improbable +that the perpetuation of this marking custom among seamen, may be +referred back to their desire to be identified, if drowned and flung +ashore. + +It was some time before I could sever myself from the many interesting +papers on the table, and then I broke bread and drank wine with the kind +family before I left them. As I brought the Coast-guard down, so I took +the Postman back, with his leathern wallet, walking-stick, bugle, and +terrier dog. Many a heart-broken letter had he brought to the Rectory +House within two months many; a benignantly painstaking answer had he +carried back. + +As I rode along, I thought of the many people, inhabitants of this mother +country, who would make pilgrimages to the little churchyard in the years +to come; I thought of the many people in Australia, who would have an +interest in such a shipwreck, and would find their way here when they +visit the Old World; I thought of the writers of all the wreck of letters +I had left upon the table; and I resolved to place this little record +where it stands. Convocations, Conferences, Diocesan Epistles, and the +like, will do a great deal for Religion, I dare say, and Heaven send they +may! but I doubt if they will ever do their Master’s service half so +well, in all the time they last, as the Heavens have seen it done in this +bleak spot upon the rugged coast of Wales. + +Had I lost the friend of my life, in the wreck of the Royal Charter; had +I lost my betrothed, the more than friend of my life; had I lost my +maiden daughter, had I lost my hopeful boy, had I lost my little child; I +would kiss the hands that worked so busily and gently in the church, and +say, ‘None better could have touched the form, though it had lain at +home.’ I could be sure of it, I could be thankful for it: I could be +content to leave the grave near the house the good family pass in and out +of every day, undisturbed, in the little churchyard where so many are so +strangely brought together. + +Without the name of the clergyman to whom—I hope, not without carrying +comfort to some heart at some time—I have referred, my reference would be +as nothing. He is the Reverend Stephen Roose Hughes, of Llanallgo, near +Moelfra, Anglesey. His brother is the Reverend Hugh Robert Hughes, of +Penrhos, Alligwy. + + + + +III +WAPPING WORKHOUSE + + +MY day’s no-business beckoning me to the East-end of London, I had turned +my face to that point of the metropolitan compass on leaving +Covent-garden, and had got past the India House, thinking in my idle +manner of Tippoo-Sahib and Charles Lamb, and had got past my little +wooden midshipman, after affectionately patting him on one leg of his +knee-shorts for old acquaintance’ sake, and had got past Aldgate Pump, +and had got past the Saracen’s Head (with an ignominious rash of posting +bills disfiguring his swarthy countenance), and had strolled up the empty +yard of his ancient neighbour the Black or Blue Boar, or Bull, who +departed this life I don’t know when, and whose coaches are all gone I +don’t know where; and I had come out again into the age of railways, and +I had got past Whitechapel Church, and was—rather inappropriately for an +Uncommercial Traveller—in the Commercial Road. Pleasantly wallowing in +the abundant mud of that thoroughfare, and greatly enjoying the huge +piles of building belonging to the sugar refiners, the little masts and +vanes in small back gardens in back streets, the neighbouring canals and +docks, the India vans lumbering along their stone tramway, and the +pawnbrokers’ shops where hard-up Mates had pawned so many sextants and +quadrants, that I should have bought a few cheap if I had the least +notion how to use them, I at last began to file off to the right, towards +Wapping. + +Not that I intended to take boat at Wapping Old Stairs, or that I was +going to look at the locality, because I believe (for I don’t) in the +constancy of the young woman who told her sea-going lover, to such a +beautiful old tune, that she had ever continued the same, since she gave +him the ’baccer-box marked with his name; I am afraid he usually got the +worst of those transactions, and was frightfully taken in. No, I was +going to Wapping, because an Eastern police magistrate had said, through +the morning papers, that there was no classification at the Wapping +workhouse for women, and that it was a disgrace and a shame, and divers +other hard names, and because I wished to see how the fact really stood. +For, that Eastern police magistrates are not always the wisest men of the +East, may be inferred from their course of procedure respecting the +fancy-dressing and pantomime-posturing at St. George’s in that quarter: +which is usually, to discuss the matter at issue, in a state of mind +betokening the weakest perplexity, with all parties concerned and +unconcerned, and, for a final expedient, to consult the complainant as to +what he thinks ought to be done with the defendant, and take the +defendant’s opinion as to what he would recommend to be done with +himself. + +Long before I reached Wapping, I gave myself up as having lost my way, +and, abandoning myself to the narrow streets in a Turkish frame of mind, +relied on predestination to bring me somehow or other to the place I +wanted if I were ever to get there. When I had ceased for an hour or so +to take any trouble about the matter, I found myself on a swing-bridge +looking down at some dark locks in some dirty water. Over against me, +stood a creature remotely in the likeness of a young man, with a puffed +sallow face, and a figure all dirty and shiny and slimy, who may have +been the youngest son of his filthy old father, Thames, or the drowned +man about whom there was a placard on the granite post like a large +thimble, that stood between us. + +I asked this apparition what it called the place? Unto which, it +replied, with a ghastly grin and a sound like gurgling water in its +throat: + +‘Mr. Baker’s trap.’ + +As it is a point of great sensitiveness with me on such occasions to be +equal to the intellectual pressure of the conversation, I deeply +considered the meaning of this speech, while I eyed the apparition—then +engaged in hugging and sucking a horizontal iron bar at the top of the +locks. Inspiration suggested to me that Mr. Baker was the acting coroner +of that neighbourhood. + +‘A common place for suicide,’ said I, looking down at the locks. + +‘Sue?’ returned the ghost, with a stare. ‘Yes! And Poll. Likewise +Emily. And Nancy. And Jane;’ he sucked the iron between each name; ‘and +all the bileing. Ketches off their bonnets or shorls, takes a run, and +headers down here, they doos. Always a headerin’ down here, they is. +Like one o’clock.’ + +‘And at about that hour of the morning, I suppose?’ + +‘Ah!’ said the apparition. ‘_They_ an’t partickler. Two ’ull do for +_them_. Three. All times o’ night. On’y mind you!’ Here the +apparition rested his profile on the bar, and gurgled in a sarcastic +manner. ‘There must be somebody comin’. They don’t go a headerin’ down +here, wen there an’t no Bobby nor gen’ral Cove, fur to hear the splash.’ + +According to my interpretation of these words, I was myself a General +Cove, or member of the miscellaneous public. In which modest character I +remarked: + +‘They are often taken out, are they, and restored?’ + +‘I dunno about restored,’ said the apparition, who, for some occult +reason, very much objected to that word; ‘they’re carried into the +werkiss and put into a ’ot bath, and brought round. But I dunno about +restored,’ said the apparition; ‘blow _that_!’—and vanished. + +As it had shown a desire to become offensive, I was not sorry to find +myself alone, especially as the ‘werkiss’ it had indicated with a twist +of its matted head, was close at hand. So I left Mr. Baker’s terrible +trap (baited with a scum that was like the soapy rinsing of sooty +chimneys), and made bold to ring at the workhouse gate, where I was +wholly unexpected and quite unknown. + +A very bright and nimble little matron, with a bunch of keys in her hand, +responded to my request to see the House. I began to doubt whether the +police magistrate was quite right in his facts, when I noticed her quick, +active little figure and her intelligent eyes. + +The Traveller (the matron intimated) should see the worst first. He was +welcome to see everything. Such as it was, there it all was. + +This was the only preparation for our entering ‘the Foul wards.’ They +were in an old building squeezed away in a corner of a paved yard, quite +detached from the more modern and spacious main body of the workhouse. +They were in a building most monstrously behind the time—a mere series of +garrets or lofts, with every inconvenient and objectionable circumstance +in their construction, and only accessible by steep and narrow +staircases, infamously ill-adapted for the passage up-stairs of the sick +or down-stairs of the dead. + +A-bed in these miserable rooms, here on bedsteads, there (for a change, +as I understood it) on the floor, were women in every stage of distress +and disease. None but those who have attentively observed such scenes, +can conceive the extraordinary variety of expression still latent under +the general monotony and uniformity of colour, attitude, and condition. +The form a little coiled up and turned away, as though it had turned its +back on this world for ever; the uninterested face at once lead-coloured +and yellow, looking passively upward from the pillow; the haggard mouth a +little dropped, the hand outside the coverlet, so dull and indifferent, +so light, and yet so heavy; these were on every pallet; but when I +stopped beside a bed, and said ever so slight a word to the figure lying +there, the ghost of the old character came into the face, and made the +Foul ward as various as the fair world. No one appeared to care to live, +but no one complained; all who could speak, said that as much was done +for them as could be done there, that the attendance was kind and +patient, that their suffering was very heavy, but they had nothing to ask +for. The wretched rooms were as clean and sweet as it is possible for +such rooms to be; they would become a pest-house in a single week, if +they were ill-kept. + +I accompanied the brisk matron up another barbarous staircase, into a +better kind of loft devoted to the idiotic and imbecile. There was at +least Light in it, whereas the windows in the former wards had been like +sides of school-boys’ bird-cages. There was a strong grating over the +fire here, and, holding a kind of state on either side of the hearth, +separated by the breadth of this grating, were two old ladies in a +condition of feeble dignity, which was surely the very last and lowest +reduction of self-complacency to be found in this wonderful humanity of +ours. They were evidently jealous of each other, and passed their whole +time (as some people do, whose fires are not grated) in mentally +disparaging each other, and contemptuously watching their neighbours. +One of these parodies on provincial gentlewomen was extremely talkative, +and expressed a strong desire to attend the service on Sundays, from +which she represented herself to have derived the greatest interest and +consolation when allowed that privilege. She gossiped so well, and +looked altogether so cheery and harmless, that I began to think this a +case for the Eastern magistrate, until I found that on the last occasion +of her attending chapel she had secreted a small stick, and had caused +some confusion in the responses by suddenly producing it and belabouring +the congregation. + +So, these two old ladies, separated by the breadth of the +grating—otherwise they would fly at one another’s caps—sat all day long, +suspecting one another, and contemplating a world of fits. For everybody +else in the room had fits, except the wards-woman; an elderly, +able-bodied pauperess, with a large upper lip, and an air of repressing +and saving her strength, as she stood with her hands folded before her, +and her eyes slowly rolling, biding her time for catching or holding +somebody. This civil personage (in whom I regretted to identify a +reduced member of my honourable friend Mrs. Gamp’s family) said, ‘They +has ’em continiwal, sir. They drops without no more notice than if they +was coach-horses dropped from the moon, sir. And when one drops, another +drops, and sometimes there’ll be as many as four or five on ’em at once, +dear me, a rolling and a tearin’, bless you!—this young woman, now, has +’em dreadful bad.’ + +She turned up this young woman’s face with her hand as she said it. This +young woman was seated on the floor, pondering in the foreground of the +afflicted. There was nothing repellent either in her face or head. +Many, apparently worse, varieties of epilepsy and hysteria were about +her, but she was said to be the worst here. When I had spoken to her a +little, she still sat with her face turned up, pondering, and a gleam of +the mid-day sun shone in upon her. + +—Whether this young woman, and the rest of these so sorely troubled, as +they sit or lie pondering in their confused dull way, ever get mental +glimpses among the motes in the sunlight, of healthy people and healthy +things? Whether this young woman, brooding like this in the summer +season, ever thinks that somewhere there are trees and flowers, even +mountains and the great sea? Whether, not to go so far, this young woman +ever has any dim revelation of that young woman—that young woman who is +not here and never will come here; who is courted, and caressed, and +loved, and has a husband, and bears children, and lives in a home, and +who never knows what it is to have this lashing and tearing coming upon +her? And whether this young woman, God help her, gives herself up then +and drops like a coach-horse from the moon? + +I hardly knew whether the voices of infant children, penetrating into so +hopeless a place, made a sound that was pleasant or painful to me. It +was something to be reminded that the weary world was not all aweary, and +was ever renewing itself; but, this young woman was a child not long ago, +and a child not long hence might be such as she. Howbeit, the active +step and eye of the vigilant matron conducted me past the two provincial +gentlewomen (whose dignity was ruffled by the children), and into the +adjacent nursery. + +There were many babies here, and more than one handsome young mother. +There were ugly young mothers also, and sullen young mothers, and callous +young mothers. But, the babies had not appropriated to themselves any +bad expression yet, and might have been, for anything that appeared to +the contrary in their soft faces, Princes Imperial, and Princesses Royal. +I had the pleasure of giving a poetical commission to the baker’s man to +make a cake with all despatch and toss it into the oven for one +red-headed young pauper and myself, and felt much the better for it. +Without that refreshment, I doubt if I should have been in a condition +for ‘the Refractories,’ towards whom my quick little matron—for whose +adaptation to her office I had by this time conceived a genuine +respect—drew me next, and marshalled me the way that I was going. + +The Refractories were picking oakum, in a small room giving on a yard. +They sat in line on a form, with their backs to a window; before them, a +table, and their work. The oldest Refractory was, say twenty; youngest +Refractory, say sixteen. I have never yet ascertained in the course of +my uncommercial travels, why a Refractory habit should affect the tonsils +and uvula; but, I have always observed that Refractories of both sexes +and every grade, between a Ragged School and the Old Bailey, have one +voice, in which the tonsils and uvula gain a diseased ascendency. + +‘Five pound indeed! I hain’t a going fur to pick five pound,’ said the +Chief of the Refractories, keeping time to herself with her head and +chin. ‘More than enough to pick what we picks now, in sich a place as +this, and on wot we gets here!’ + +(This was in acknowledgment of a delicate intimation that the amount of +work was likely to be increased. It certainly was not heavy then, for +one Refractory had already done her day’s task—it was barely two +o’clock—and was sitting behind it, with a head exactly matching it.) + +‘A pretty Ouse this is, matron, ain’t it?’ said Refractory Two, ‘where a +pleeseman’s called in, if a gal says a word!’ + +‘And wen you’re sent to prison for nothink or less!’ said the Chief, +tugging at her oakum as if it were the matron’s hair. ‘But any place is +better than this; that’s one thing, and be thankful!’ + +A laugh of Refractories led by Oakum Head with folded arms—who originated +nothing, but who was in command of the skirmishers outside the +conversation. + +‘If any place is better than this,’ said my brisk guide, in the calmest +manner, ‘it is a pity you left a good place when you had one.’ + +‘Ho, no, I didn’t, matron,’ returned the Chief, with another pull at her +oakum, and a very expressive look at the enemy’s forehead. ‘Don’t say +that, matron, cos it’s lies!’ + +Oakum Head brought up the skirmishers again, skirmished, and retired. + +‘And _I_ warn’t a going,’ exclaimed Refractory Two, ‘though I was in one +place for as long as four year—_I_ warn’t a going fur to stop in a place +that warn’t fit for me—there! And where the family warn’t ’spectable +characters—there! And where I fortunately or hunfort’nately, found that +the people warn’t what they pretended to make theirselves out to +be—there! And where it wasn’t their faults, by chalks, if I warn’t made +bad and ruinated—Hah!’ + +During this speech, Oakum Head had again made a diversion with the +skirmishers, and had again withdrawn. + +The Uncommercial Traveller ventured to remark that he supposed Chief +Refractory and Number One, to be the two young women who had been taken +before the magistrate? + +‘Yes!’ said the Chief, ‘we har! and the wonder is, that a pleeseman an’t +’ad in now, and we took off agen. You can’t open your lips here, without +a pleeseman.’ + +Number Two laughed (very uvularly), and the skirmishers followed suit. + +‘I’m sure I’d be thankful,’ protested the Chief, looking sideways at the +Uncommercial, ‘if I could be got into a place, or got abroad. I’m sick +and tired of this precious Ouse, I am, with reason.’ + +So would be, and so was, Number Two. So would be, and so was, Oakum +Head. So would be, and so were, Skirmishers. + +The Uncommercial took the liberty of hinting that he hardly thought it +probable that any lady or gentleman in want of a likely young domestic of +retiring manners, would be tempted into the engagement of either of the +two leading Refractories, on her own presentation of herself as per +sample. + +‘It ain’t no good being nothink else here,’ said the Chief. + +The Uncommercial thought it might be worth trying. + +‘Oh no it ain’t,’ said the Chief. + +‘Not a bit of good,’ said Number Two. + +‘And I’m sure I’d be very thankful to be got into a place, or got +abroad,’ said the Chief. + +‘And so should I,’ said Number Two. ‘Truly thankful, I should.’ + +Oakum Head then rose, and announced as an entirely new idea, the mention +of which profound novelty might be naturally expected to startle her +unprepared hearers, that she would be very thankful to be got into a +place, or got abroad. And, as if she had then said, ‘Chorus, ladies!’ +all the Skirmishers struck up to the same purpose. We left them, +thereupon, and began a long walk among the women who were simply old and +infirm; but whenever, in the course of this same walk, I looked out of +any high window that commanded the yard, I saw Oakum Head and all the +other Refractories looking out at their low window for me, and never +failing to catch me, the moment I showed my head. + +In ten minutes I had ceased to believe in such fables of a golden time as +youth, the prime of life, or a hale old age. In ten minutes, all the +lights of womankind seemed to have been blown out, and nothing in that +way to be left this vault to brag of, but the flickering and expiring +snuffs. + +And what was very curious, was, that these dim old women had one company +notion which was the fashion of the place. Every old woman who became +aware of a visitor and was not in bed hobbled over a form into her +accustomed seat, and became one of a line of dim old women confronting +another line of dim old women across a narrow table. There was no +obligation whatever upon them to range themselves in this way; it was +their manner of ‘receiving.’ As a rule, they made no attempt to talk to +one another, or to look at the visitor, or to look at anything, but sat +silently working their mouths, like a sort of poor old Cows. In some of +these wards, it was good to see a few green plants; in others, an +isolated Refractory acting as nurse, who did well enough in that +capacity, when separated from her compeers; every one of these wards, day +room, night room, or both combined, was scrupulously clean and fresh. I +have seen as many such places as most travellers in my line, and I never +saw one such, better kept. + +Among the bedridden there was great patience, great reliance on the books +under the pillow, great faith in GOD. All cared for sympathy, but none +much cared to be encouraged with hope of recovery; on the whole, I should +say, it was considered rather a distinction to have a complication of +disorders, and to be in a worse way than the rest. From some of the +windows, the river could be seen with all its life and movement; the day +was bright, but I came upon no one who was looking out. + +In one large ward, sitting by the fire in arm-chairs of distinction, like +the President and Vice of the good company, were two old women, upwards +of ninety years of age. The younger of the two, just turned ninety, was +deaf, but not very, and could easily be made to hear. In her early time +she had nursed a child, who was now another old woman, more infirm than +herself, inhabiting the very same chamber. She perfectly understood this +when the matron told it, and, with sundry nods and motions of her +forefinger, pointed out the woman in question. The elder of this pair, +ninety-three, seated before an illustrated newspaper (but not reading +it), was a bright-eyed old soul, really not deaf, wonderfully preserved, +and amazingly conversational. She had not long lost her husband, and had +been in that place little more than a year. At Boston, in the State of +Massachusetts, this poor creature would have been individually addressed, +would have been tended in her own room, and would have had her life +gently assimilated to a comfortable life out of doors. Would that be +much to do in England for a woman who has kept herself out of a workhouse +more than ninety rough long years? When Britain first, at Heaven’s +command, arose, with a great deal of allegorical confusion, from out the +azure main, did her guardian angels positively forbid it in the Charter +which has been so much besung? + +The object of my journey was accomplished when the nimble matron had no +more to show me. As I shook hands with her at the gate, I told her that +I thought justice had not used her very well, and that the wise men of +the East were not infallible. + +Now, I reasoned with myself, as I made my journey home again, concerning +those Foul wards. They ought not to exist; no person of common decency +and humanity can see them and doubt it. But what is this Union to do? +The necessary alteration would cost several thousands of pounds; it has +already to support three workhouses; its inhabitants work hard for their +bare lives, and are already rated for the relief of the Poor to the +utmost extent of reasonable endurance. One poor parish in this very +Union is rated to the amount of FIVE AND SIXPENCE in the pound, at the +very same time when the rich parish of Saint George’s, Hanover-square, is +rated at about SEVENPENCE in the pound, Paddington at about FOURPENCE, +Saint James’s, Westminster, at about TENPENCE! It is only through the +equalisation of Poor Rates that what is left undone in this wise, can be +done. Much more is left undone, or is ill-done, than I have space to +suggest in these notes of a single uncommercial journey; but, the wise +men of the East, before they can reasonably hold forth about it, must +look to the North and South and West; let them also, any morning before +taking the seat of Solomon, look into the shops and dwellings all around +the Temple, and first ask themselves ‘how much more can these poor +people—many of whom keep themselves with difficulty enough out of the +workhouse—bear?’ + +I had yet other matter for reflection as I journeyed home, inasmuch as, +before I altogether departed from the neighbourhood of Mr. Baker’s trap, +I had knocked at the gate of the workhouse of St. George’s-in-the-East, +and had found it to be an establishment highly creditable to those parts, +and thoroughly well administered by a most intelligent master. I +remarked in it, an instance of the collateral harm that obstinate vanity +and folly can do. ‘This was the Hall where those old paupers, male and +female, whom I had just seen, met for the Church service, was +it?’—‘Yes.’—‘Did they sing the Psalms to any instrument?’—‘They would +like to, very much; they would have an extraordinary interest in doing +so.’—‘And could none be got?’—‘Well, a piano could even have been got for +nothing, but these unfortunate dissensions—’ Ah! better, far better, my +Christian friend in the beautiful garment, to have let the singing boys +alone, and left the multitude to sing for themselves! You should know +better than I, but I think I have read that they did so, once upon a +time, and that ‘when they had sung an hymn,’ Some one (not in a beautiful +garment) went up into the Mount of Olives. + +It made my heart ache to think of this miserable trifling, in the streets +of a city where every stone seemed to call to me, as I walked along, +‘Turn this way, man, and see what waits to be done!’ So I decoyed myself +into another train of thought to ease my heart. But, I don’t know that I +did it, for I was so full of paupers, that it was, after all, only a +change to a single pauper, who took possession of my remembrance instead +of a thousand. + +‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ he had said, in a confidential manner, on +another occasion, taking me aside; ‘but I have seen better days.’ + +‘I am very sorry to hear it.’ + +‘Sir, I have a complaint to make against the master.’ + +‘I have no power here, I assure you. And if I had—’ + +‘But, allow me, sir, to mention it, as between yourself and a man who has +seen better days, sir. The master and myself are both masons, sir, and I +make him the sign continually; but, because I am in this unfortunate +position, sir, he won’t give me the counter-sign!’ + + + + +IV +TWO VIEWS OF A CHEAP THEATRE + + +AS I shut the door of my lodging behind me, and came out into the streets +at six on a drizzling Saturday evening in the last past month of January, +all that neighbourhood of Covent-garden looked very desolate. It is so +essentially a neighbourhood which has seen better days, that bad weather +affects it sooner than another place which has not come down in the +World. In its present reduced condition it bears a thaw almost worse +than any place I know. It gets so dreadfully low-spirited when damp +breaks forth. Those wonderful houses about Drury-lane Theatre, which in +the palmy days of theatres were prosperous and long-settled places of +business, and which now change hands every week, but never change their +character of being divided and sub-divided on the ground floor into +mouldy dens of shops where an orange and half-a-dozen nuts, or a +pomatum-pot, one cake of fancy soap, and a cigar box, are offered for +sale and never sold, were most ruefully contemplated that evening, by the +statue of Shakespeare, with the rain-drops coursing one another down its +innocent nose. Those inscrutable pigeon-hole offices, with nothing in +them (not so much as an inkstand) but a model of a theatre before the +curtain, where, in the Italian Opera season, tickets at reduced prices +are kept on sale by nomadic gentlemen in smeary hats too tall for them, +whom one occasionally seems to have seen on race-courses, not wholly +unconnected with strips of cloth of various colours and a rolling +ball—those Bedouin establishments, deserted by the tribe, and tenantless, +except when sheltering in one corner an irregular row of ginger-beer +bottles, which would have made one shudder on such a night, but for its +being plain that they had nothing in them, shrunk from the shrill cries +of the news-boys at their Exchange in the kennel of Catherine-street, +like guilty things upon a fearful summons. At the pipe-shop in Great +Russell-street, the Death’s-head pipes were like theatrical memento mori, +admonishing beholders of the decline of the playhouse as an Institution. +I walked up Bow-street, disposed to be angry with the shops there, that +were letting out theatrical secrets by exhibiting to work-a-day humanity +the stuff of which diadems and robes of kings are made. I noticed that +some shops which had once been in the dramatic line, and had struggled +out of it, were not getting on prosperously—like some actors I have +known, who took to business and failed to make it answer. In a word, +those streets looked so dull, and, considered as theatrical streets, so +broken and bankrupt, that the FOUND DEAD on the black board at the police +station might have announced the decease of the Drama, and the pools of +water outside the fire-engine maker’s at the corner of Long-acre might +have been occasioned by his having brought out the whole of his stock to +play upon its last smouldering ashes. + +And yet, on such a night in so degenerate a time, the object of my +journey was theatrical. And yet within half an hour I was in an immense +theatre, capable of holding nearly five thousand people. + +What Theatre? Her Majesty’s? Far better. Royal Italian Opera? Far +better. Infinitely superior to the latter for hearing in; infinitely +superior to both, for seeing in. To every part of this Theatre, spacious +fire-proof ways of ingress and egress. For every part of it, convenient +places of refreshment and retiring rooms. Everything to eat and drink +carefully supervised as to quality, and sold at an appointed price; +respectable female attendants ready for the commonest women in the +audience; a general air of consideration, decorum, and supervision, most +commendable; an unquestionably humanising influence in all the social +arrangements of the place. + +Surely a dear Theatre, then? Because there were in London (not very long +ago) Theatres with entrance-prices up to half-a-guinea a head, whose +arrangements were not half so civilised. Surely, therefore, a dear +Theatre? Not very dear. A gallery at three-pence, another gallery at +fourpence, a pit at sixpence, boxes and pit-stalls at a shilling, and a +few private boxes at half-a-crown. + +My uncommercial curiosity induced me to go into every nook of this great +place, and among every class of the audience assembled in it—amounting +that evening, as I calculated, to about two thousand and odd hundreds. +Magnificently lighted by a firmament of sparkling chandeliers, the +building was ventilated to perfection. My sense of smell, without being +particularly delicate, has been so offended in some of the commoner +places of public resort, that I have often been obliged to leave them +when I have made an uncommercial journey expressly to look on. The air +of this Theatre was fresh, cool, and wholesome. To help towards this +end, very sensible precautions had been used, ingeniously combining the +experience of hospitals and railway stations. Asphalt pavements +substituted for wooden floors, honest bare walls of glazed brick and +tile—even at the back of the boxes—for plaster and paper, no benches +stuffed, and no carpeting or baize used; a cool material with a light +glazed surface, being the covering of the seats. + + [Picture: A Cheap Theatre] + +These various contrivances are as well considered in the place in +question as if it were a Fever Hospital; the result is, that it is sweet +and healthful. It has been constructed from the ground to the roof, with +a careful reference to sight and sound in every corner; the result is, +that its form is beautiful, and that the appearance of the audience, as +seen from the proscenium—with every face in it commanding the stage, and +the whole so admirably raked and turned to that centre, that a hand can +scarcely move in the great assemblage without the movement being seen +from thence—is highly remarkable in its union of vastness with +compactness. The stage itself, and all its appurtenances of machinery, +cellarage, height and breadth, are on a scale more like the Scala at +Milan, or the San Carlo at Naples, or the Grand Opera at Paris, than any +notion a stranger would be likely to form of the Britannia Theatre at +Hoxton, a mile north of St. Luke’s Hospital in the Old-street-road, +London. The Forty Thieves might be played here, and every thief ride his +real horse, and the disguised captain bring in his oil jars on a train of +real camels, and nobody be put out of the way. This really extraordinary +place is the achievement of one man’s enterprise, and was erected on the +ruins of an inconvenient old building in less than five months, at a +round cost of five-and-twenty thousand pounds. To dismiss this part of +my subject, and still to render to the proprietor the credit that is +strictly his due, I must add that his sense of the responsibility upon +him to make the best of his audience, and to do his best for them, is a +highly agreeable sign of these times. + +As the spectators at this theatre, for a reason I will presently show, +were the object of my journey, I entered on the play of the night as one +of the two thousand and odd hundreds, by looking about me at my +neighbours. We were a motley assemblage of people, and we had a good +many boys and young men among us; we had also many girls and young women. +To represent, however, that we did not include a very great number, and a +very fair proportion of family groups, would be to make a gross +mis-statement. Such groups were to be seen in all parts of the house; in +the boxes and stalls particularly, they were composed of persons of very +decent appearance, who had many children with them. Among our dresses +there were most kinds of shabby and greasy wear, and much fustian and +corduroy that was neither sound nor fragrant. The caps of our young men +were mostly of a limp character, and we who wore them, slouched, +high-shouldered, into our places with our hands in our pockets, and +occasionally twisted our cravats about our necks like eels, and +occasionally tied them down our breasts like links of sausages, and +occasionally had a screw in our hair over each cheek-bone with a slight +Thief-flavour in it. Besides prowlers and idlers, we were mechanics, +dock-labourers, costermongers, petty tradesmen, small clerks, milliners, +stay-makers, shoe-binders, slop-workers, poor workers in a hundred +highways and byways. Many of us—on the whole, the majority—were not at +all clean, and not at all choice in our lives or conversation. But we +had all come together in a place where our convenience was well +consulted, and where we were well looked after, to enjoy an evening’s +entertainment in common. We were not going to lose any part of what we +had paid for through anybody’s caprice, and as a community we had a +character to lose. So, we were closely attentive, and kept excellent +order; and let the man or boy who did otherwise instantly get out from +this place, or we would put him out with the greatest expedition. + +We began at half-past six with a pantomime—with a pantomime so long, that +before it was over I felt as if I had been travelling for six weeks—going +to India, say, by the Overland Mail. The Spirit of Liberty was the +principal personage in the Introduction, and the Four Quarters of the +World came out of the globe, glittering, and discoursed with the Spirit, +who sang charmingly. We were delighted to understand that there was no +liberty anywhere but among ourselves, and we highly applauded the +agreeable fact. In an allegorical way, which did as well as any other +way, we and the Spirit of Liberty got into a kingdom of Needles and Pins, +and found them at war with a potentate who called in to his aid their old +arch enemy Rust, and who would have got the better of them if the Spirit +of Liberty had not in the nick of time transformed the leaders into +Clown, Pantaloon, Harlequin, Columbine, Harlequina, and a whole family of +Sprites, consisting of a remarkably stout father and three spineless +sons. We all knew what was coming when the Spirit of Liberty addressed +the king with a big face, and His Majesty backed to the side-scenes and +began untying himself behind, with his big face all on one side. Our +excitement at that crisis was great, and our delight unbounded. After +this era in our existence, we went through all the incidents of a +pantomime; it was not by any means a savage pantomime, in the way of +burning or boiling people, or throwing them out of window, or cutting +them up; was often very droll; was always liberally got up, and cleverly +presented. I noticed that the people who kept the shops, and who +represented the passengers in the thoroughfares, and so forth, had no +conventionality in them, but were unusually like the real thing—from +which I infer that you may take that audience in (if you wish to) +concerning Knights and Ladies, Fairies, Angels, or such like, but they +are not to be done as to anything in the streets. I noticed, also, that +when two young men, dressed in exact imitation of the +eel-and-sausage-cravated portion of the audience, were chased by +policemen, and, finding themselves in danger of being caught, dropped so +suddenly as to oblige the policemen to tumble over them, there was great +rejoicing among the caps—as though it were a delicate reference to +something they had heard of before. + +The Pantomime was succeeded by a Melo-Drama. Throughout the evening I +was pleased to observe Virtue quite as triumphant as she usually is out +of doors, and indeed I thought rather more so. We all agreed (for the +time) that honesty was the best policy, and we were as hard as iron upon +Vice, and we wouldn’t hear of Villainy getting on in the world—no, not on +any consideration whatever. + +Between the pieces, we almost all of us went out and refreshed. Many of +us went the length of drinking beer at the bar of the neighbouring +public-house, some of us drank spirits, crowds of us had sandwiches and +ginger-beer at the refreshment-bars established for us in the Theatre. +The sandwich—as substantial as was consistent with portability, and as +cheap as possible—we hailed as one of our greatest institutions. It +forced its way among us at all stages of the entertainment, and we were +always delighted to see it; its adaptability to the varying moods of our +nature was surprising; we could never weep so comfortably as when our +tears fell on our sandwich; we could never laugh so heartily as when we +choked with sandwich; Virtue never looked so beautiful or Vice so +deformed as when we paused, sandwich in hand, to consider what would come +of that resolution of Wickedness in boots, to sever Innocence in flowered +chintz from Honest Industry in striped stockings. When the curtain fell +for the night, we still fell back upon sandwich, to help us through the +rain and mire, and home to bed. + +This, as I have mentioned, was Saturday night. Being Saturday night, I +had accomplished but the half of my uncommercial journey; for, its object +was to compare the play on Saturday evening with the preaching in the +same Theatre on Sunday evening. + +Therefore, at the same hour of half-past six on the similarly damp and +muddy Sunday evening, I returned to this Theatre. I drove up to the +entrance (fearful of being late, or I should have come on foot), and +found myself in a large crowd of people who, I am happy to state, were +put into excellent spirits by my arrival. Having nothing to look at but +the mud and the closed doors, they looked at me, and highly enjoyed the +comic spectacle. My modesty inducing me to draw off, some hundreds of +yards, into a dark corner, they at once forgot me, and applied themselves +to their former occupation of looking at the mud and looking in at the +closed doors: which, being of grated ironwork, allowed the lighted +passage within to be seen. They were chiefly people of respectable +appearance, odd and impulsive as most crowds are, and making a joke of +being there as most crowds do. + +In the dark corner I might have sat a long while, but that a very +obliging passer-by informed me that the Theatre was already full, and +that the people whom I saw in the street were all shut out for want of +room. After that, I lost no time in worming myself into the building, +and creeping to a place in a Proscenium box that had been kept for me. + +There must have been full four thousand people present. Carefully +estimating the pit alone, I could bring it out as holding little less +than fourteen hundred. Every part of the house was well filled, and I +had not found it easy to make my way along the back of the boxes to where +I sat. The chandeliers in the ceiling were lighted; there was no light +on the stage; the orchestra was empty. The green curtain was down, and, +packed pretty closely on chairs on the small space of stage before it, +were some thirty gentlemen, and two or three ladies. In the centre of +these, in a desk or pulpit covered with red baize, was the presiding +minister. The kind of rostrum he occupied will be very well understood, +if I liken it to a boarded-up fireplace turned towards the audience, with +a gentleman in a black surtout standing in the stove and leaning forward +over the mantelpiece. + +A portion of Scripture was being read when I went in. It was followed by +a discourse, to which the congregation listened with most exemplary +attention and uninterrupted silence and decorum. My own attention +comprehended both the auditory and the speaker, and shall turn to both in +this recalling of the scene, exactly as it did at the time. + +‘A very difficult thing,’ I thought, when the discourse began, ‘to speak +appropriately to so large an audience, and to speak with tact. Without +it, better not to speak at all. Infinitely better, to read the New +Testament well, and to let _that_ speak. In this congregation there is +indubitably one pulse; but I doubt if any power short of genius can touch +it as one, and make it answer as one.’ + +I could not possibly say to myself as the discourse proceeded, that the +minister was a good speaker. I could not possibly say to myself that he +expressed an understanding of the general mind and character of his +audience. There was a supposititious working-man introduced into the +homily, to make supposititious objections to our Christian religion and +be reasoned down, who was not only a very disagreeable person, but +remarkably unlike life—very much more unlike it than anything I had seen +in the pantomime. The native independence of character this artisan was +supposed to possess, was represented by a suggestion of a dialect that I +certainly never heard in my uncommercial travels, and with a coarse swing +of voice and manner anything but agreeable to his feelings, I should +conceive, considered in the light of a portrait, and as far away from the +fact as a Chinese Tartar. There was a model pauper introduced in like +manner, who appeared to me to be the most intolerably arrogant pauper +ever relieved, and to show himself in absolute want and dire necessity of +a course of Stone Yard. For, how did this pauper testify to his having +received the gospel of humility? A gentleman met him in the workhouse, +and said (which I myself really thought good-natured of him), ‘Ah, John? +I am sorry to see you here. I am sorry to see you so poor.’ ‘Poor, +sir!’ replied that man, drawing himself up, ‘I am the son of a Prince! +_My_ father is the King of Kings. _My_ father is the Lord of Lords. +_My_ father is the ruler of all the Princes of the Earth!’ &c. And this +was what all the preacher’s fellow-sinners might come to, if they would +embrace this blessed book—which I must say it did some violence to my own +feelings of reverence, to see held out at arm’s length at frequent +intervals and soundingly slapped, like a slow lot at a sale. Now, could +I help asking myself the question, whether the mechanic before me, who +must detect the preacher as being wrong about the visible manner of +himself and the like of himself, and about such a noisy lip-server as +that pauper, might not, most unhappily for the usefulness of the +occasion, doubt that preacher’s being right about things not visible to +human senses? + +Again. Is it necessary or advisable to address such an audience +continually as ‘fellow-sinners’? Is it not enough to be +fellow-creatures, born yesterday, suffering and striving to-day, dying +to-morrow? By our common humanity, my brothers and sisters, by our +common capacities for pain and pleasure, by our common laughter and our +common tears, by our common aspiration to reach something better than +ourselves, by our common tendency to believe in something good, and to +invest whatever we love or whatever we lose with some qualities that are +superior to our own failings and weaknesses as we know them in our own +poor hearts—by these, Hear me!—Surely, it is enough to be +fellow-creatures. Surely, it includes the other designation, and some +touching meanings over and above. + +Again. There was a personage introduced into the discourse (not an +absolute novelty, to the best of my remembrance of my reading), who had +been personally known to the preacher, and had been quite a Crichton in +all the ways of philosophy, but had been an infidel. Many a time had the +preacher talked with him on that subject, and many a time had he failed +to convince that intelligent man. But he fell ill, and died, and before +he died he recorded his conversion—in words which the preacher had taken +down, my fellow-sinners, and would read to you from this piece of paper. +I must confess that to me, as one of an uninstructed audience, they did +not appear particularly edifying. I thought their tone extremely +selfish, and I thought they had a spiritual vanity in them which was of +the before-mentioned refractory pauper’s family. + +All slangs and twangs are objectionable everywhere, but the slang and +twang of the conventicle—as bad in its way as that of the House of +Commons, and nothing worse can be said of it—should be studiously avoided +under such circumstances as I describe. The avoidance was not complete +on this occasion. Nor was it quite agreeable to see the preacher +addressing his pet ‘points’ to his backers on the stage, as if appealing +to those disciples to show him up, and testify to the multitude that each +of those points was a clincher. + +But, in respect of the large Christianity of his general tone; of his +renunciation of all priestly authority; of his earnest and reiterated +assurance to the people that the commonest among them could work out +their own salvation if they would, by simply, lovingly, and dutifully +following Our Saviour, and that they needed the mediation of no erring +man; in these particulars, this gentleman deserved all praise. Nothing +could be better than the spirit, or the plain emphatic words of his +discourse in these respects. And it was a most significant and +encouraging circumstance that whenever he struck that chord, or whenever +he described anything which Christ himself had done, the array of faces +before him was very much more earnest, and very much more expressive of +emotion, than at any other time. + +And now, I am brought to the fact, that the lowest part of the audience +of the previous night, _was not there_. There is no doubt about it. +There was no such thing in that building, that Sunday evening. I have +been told since, that the lowest part of the audience of the Victoria +Theatre has been attracted to its Sunday services. I have been very glad +to hear it, but on this occasion of which I write, the lowest part of the +usual audience of the Britannia Theatre, decidedly and unquestionably +stayed away. When I first took my seat and looked at the house, my +surprise at the change in its occupants was as great as my +disappointment. To the most respectable class of the previous evening, +was added a great number of respectable strangers attracted by curiosity, +and drafts from the regular congregations of various chapels. It was +impossible to fail in identifying the character of these last, and they +were very numerous. I came out in a strong, slow tide of them setting +from the boxes. Indeed, while the discourse was in progress, the +respectable character of the auditory was so manifest in their +appearance, that when the minister addressed a supposititious ‘outcast,’ +one really felt a little impatient of it, as a figure of speech not +justified by anything the eye could discover. + +The time appointed for the conclusion of the proceedings was eight +o’clock. The address having lasted until full that time, and it being +the custom to conclude with a hymn, the preacher intimated in a few +sensible words that the clock had struck the hour, and that those who +desired to go before the hymn was sung, could go now, without giving +offence. No one stirred. The hymn was then sung, in good time and tune +and unison, and its effect was very striking. A comprehensive benevolent +prayer dismissed the throng, and in seven or eight minutes there was +nothing left in the Theatre but a light cloud of dust. + +That these Sunday meetings in Theatres are good things, I do not doubt. +Nor do I doubt that they will work lower and lower down in the social +scale, if those who preside over them will be very careful on two heads: +firstly, not to disparage the places in which they speak, or the +intelligence of their hearers; secondly, not to set themselves in +antagonism to the natural inborn desire of the mass of mankind to +recreate themselves and to be amused. + +There is a third head, taking precedence of all others, to which my +remarks on the discourse I heard, have tended. In the New Testament +there is the most beautiful and affecting history conceivable by man, and +there are the terse models for all prayer and for all preaching. As to +the models, imitate them, Sunday preachers—else why are they there, +consider? As to the history, tell it. Some people cannot read, some +people will not read, many people (this especially holds among the young +and ignorant) find it hard to pursue the verse-form in which the book is +presented to them, and imagine that those breaks imply gaps and want of +continuity. Help them over that first stumbling-block, by setting forth +the history in narrative, with no fear of exhausting it. You will never +preach so well, you will never move them so profoundly, you will never +send them away with half so much to think of. Which is the better +interest: Christ’s choice of twelve poor men to help in those merciful +wonders among the poor and rejected; or the pious bullying of a whole +Union-full of paupers? What is your changed philosopher to wretched me, +peeping in at the door out of the mud of the streets and of my life, when +you have the widow’s son to tell me about, the ruler’s daughter, the +other figure at the door when the brother of the two sisters was dead, +and one of the two ran to the mourner, crying, ‘The Master is come and +calleth for thee’?—Let the preacher who will thoroughly forget himself +and remember no individuality but one, and no eloquence but one, stand up +before four thousand men and women at the Britannia Theatre any Sunday +night, recounting that narrative to them as fellow creatures, and he +shall see a sight! + + + + +V +POOR MERCANTILE JACK + + +Is the sweet little cherub who sits smiling aloft and keeps watch on +the life of poor Jack, commissioned to take charge of Mercantile Jack, +as well as Jack of the national navy? If not, who is? What is the +cherub about, and what are we all about, when poor Mercantile Jack is +having his brains slowly knocked out by penny-weights, aboard the brig +Beelzebub, or the barque Bowie-knife—when he looks his last at that +infernal craft, with the first officer’s iron boot-heel in his +remaining eye, or with his dying body towed overboard in the ship’s +wake, while the cruel wounds in it do ‘the multitudinous seas +incarnadine’? + +Is it unreasonable to entertain a belief that if, aboard the brig +Beelzebub or the barque Bowie-knife, the first officer did half the +damage to cotton that he does to men, there would presently arise from +both sides of the Atlantic so vociferous an invocation of the sweet +little cherub who sits calculating aloft, keeping watch on the markets +that pay, that such vigilant cherub would, with a winged sword, have that +gallant officer’s organ of destructiveness out of his head in the space +of a flash of lightning? + +If it be unreasonable, then am I the most unreasonable of men, for I +believe it with all my soul. + +This was my thought as I walked the dock-quays at Liverpool, keeping +watch on poor Mercantile Jack. Alas for me! I have long outgrown the +state of sweet little cherub; but there I was, and there Mercantile Jack +was, and very busy he was, and very cold he was: the snow yet lying in +the frozen furrows of the land, and the north-east winds snipping off the +tops of the little waves in the Mersey, and rolling them into hailstones +to pelt him with. Mercantile Jack was hard at it, in the hard weather: +as he mostly is in all weathers, poor Jack. He was girded to ships’ +masts and funnels of steamers, like a forester to a great oak, scraping +and painting; he was lying out on yards, furling sails that tried to beat +him off; he was dimly discernible up in a world of giant cobwebs, reefing +and splicing; he was faintly audible down in holds, stowing and +unshipping cargo; he was winding round and round at capstans melodious, +monotonous, and drunk; he was of a diabolical aspect, with coaling for +the Antipodes; he was washing decks barefoot, with the breast of his red +shirt open to the blast, though it was sharper than the knife in his +leathern girdle; he was looking over bulwarks, all eyes and hair; he was +standing by at the shoot of the Cunard steamer, off to-morrow, as the +stocks in trade of several butchers, poulterers, and fishmongers, poured +down into the ice-house; he was coming aboard of other vessels, with his +kit in a tarpaulin bag, attended by plunderers to the very last moment of +his shore-going existence. As though his senses, when released from the +uproar of the elements, were under obligation to be confused by other +turmoil, there was a rattling of wheels, a clattering of hoofs, a +clashing of iron, a jolting of cotton and hides and casks and timber, an +incessant deafening disturbance on the quays, that was the very madness +of sound. And as, in the midst of it, he stood swaying about, with his +hair blown all manner of wild ways, rather crazedly taking leave of his +plunderers, all the rigging in the docks was shrill in the wind, and +every little steamer coming and going across the Mersey was sharp in its +blowing off, and every buoy in the river bobbed spitefully up and down, +as if there were a general taunting chorus of ‘Come along, Mercantile +Jack! Ill-lodged, ill-fed, ill-used, hocussed, entrapped, anticipated, +cleaned out. Come along, Poor Mercantile Jack, and be tempest-tossed +till you are drowned!’ + +The uncommercial transaction which had brought me and Jack together, was +this:—I had entered the Liverpool police force, that I might have a look +at the various unlawful traps which are every night set for Jack. As my +term of service in that distinguished corps was short, and as my personal +bias in the capacity of one of its members has ceased, no suspicion will +attach to my evidence that it is an admirable force. Besides that it is +composed, without favour, of the best men that can be picked, it is +directed by an unusual intelligence. Its organisation against Fires, I +take to be much better than the metropolitan system, and in all respects +it tempers its remarkable vigilance with a still more remarkable +discretion. + +Jack had knocked off work in the docks some hours, and I had taken, for +purposes of identification, a photograph-likeness of a thief, in the +portrait-room at our head police office (on the whole, he seemed rather +complimented by the proceeding), and I had been on police parade, and the +small hand of the clock was moving on to ten, when I took up my lantern +to follow Mr. Superintendent to the traps that were set for Jack. In Mr. +Superintendent I saw, as anybody might, a tall, well-looking, well-set-up +man of a soldierly bearing, with a cavalry air, a good chest, and a +resolute but not by any means ungentle face. He carried in his hand a +plain black walking-stick of hard wood; and whenever and wherever, at any +after-time of the night, he struck it on the pavement with a ringing +sound, it instantly produced a whistle out of the darkness, and a +policeman. To this remarkable stick, I refer an air of mystery and magic +which pervaded the whole of my perquisition among the traps that were set +for Jack. + +We began by diving into the obscurest streets and lanes of the port. +Suddenly pausing in a flow of cheerful discourse, before a dead wall, +apparently some ten miles long, Mr. Superintendent struck upon the +ground, and the wall opened and shot out, with military salute of hand to +temple, two policemen—not in the least surprised themselves, not in the +least surprising Mr. Superintendent. + +‘All right, Sharpeye?’ + +‘All right, sir.’ + +‘All right, Trampfoot?’ + +‘All right, sir.’ + +‘Is Quickear there?’ + +‘Here am I, sir.’ + +‘Come with us.’ + +‘Yes, sir.’ + +So, Sharpeye went before, and Mr. Superintendent and I went next, and +Trampfoot and Quickear marched as rear-guard. Sharp-eye, I soon had +occasion to remark, had a skilful and quite professional way of opening +doors—touched latches delicately, as if they were keys of musical +instruments—opened every door he touched, as if he were perfectly +confident that there was stolen property behind it—instantly insinuated +himself, to prevent its being shut. + +Sharpeye opened several doors of traps that were set for Jack, but Jack +did not happen to be in any of them. They were all such miserable places +that really, Jack, if I were you, I would give them a wider berth. In +every trap, somebody was sitting over a fire, waiting for Jack. Now, it +was a crouching old woman, like the picture of the Norwood Gipsy in the +old sixpenny dream-books; now, it was a crimp of the male sex, in a +checked shirt and without a coat, reading a newspaper; now, it was a man +crimp and a woman crimp, who always introduced themselves as united in +holy matrimony; now, it was Jack’s delight, his (un)lovely Nan; but they +were all waiting for Jack, and were all frightfully disappointed to see +us. + +‘Who have you got up-stairs here?’ says Sharpeye, generally. (In the +Move-on tone.) + +‘Nobody, surr; sure not a blessed sowl!’ (Irish feminine reply.) + +‘What do you mean by nobody? Didn’t I hear a woman’s step go up-stairs +when my hand was on the latch?’ + +‘Ah! sure thin you’re right, surr, I forgot her! ’Tis on’y Betsy White, +surr. Ah! you know Betsy, surr. Come down, Betsy darlin’, and say the +gintlemin.’ + +Generally, Betsy looks over the banisters (the steep staircase is in the +room) with a forcible expression in her protesting face, of an intention +to compensate herself for the present trial by grinding Jack finer than +usual when he does come. Generally, Sharpeye turns to Mr. +Superintendent, and says, as if the subjects of his remarks were +wax-work: + +‘One of the worst, sir, this house is. This woman has been indicted +three times. This man’s a regular bad one likewise. His real name is +Pegg. Gives himself out as Waterhouse.’ + +‘Never had sitch a name as Pegg near me back, thin, since I was in this +house, bee the good Lard!’ says the woman. + +Generally, the man says nothing at all, but becomes exceedingly +round-shouldered, and pretends to read his paper with rapt attention. +Generally, Sharpeye directs our observation with a look, to the prints +and pictures that are invariably numerous on the walls. Always, +Trampfoot and Quickear are taking notice on the doorstep. In default of +Sharpeye being acquainted with the exact individuality of any gentleman +encountered, one of these two is sure to proclaim from the outer air, +like a gruff spectre, that Jackson is not Jackson, but knows himself to +be Fogle; or that Canlon is Walker’s brother, against whom there was not +sufficient evidence; or that the man who says he never was at sea since +he was a boy, came ashore from a voyage last Thursday, or sails to-morrow +morning. ‘And that is a bad class of man, you see,’ says Mr. +Superintendent, when he got out into the dark again, ‘and very difficult +to deal with, who, when he has made this place too hot to hold him, +enters himself for a voyage as steward or cook, and is out of knowledge +for months, and then turns up again worse than ever.’ + +When we had gone into many such houses, and had come out (always leaving +everybody relapsing into waiting for Jack), we started off to a +singing-house where Jack was expected to muster strong. + +The vocalisation was taking place in a long low room up-stairs; at one +end, an orchestra of two performers, and a small platform; across the +room, a series of open pews for Jack, with an aisle down the middle; at +the other end a larger pew than the rest, entitled SNUG, and reserved for +mates and similar good company. About the room, some amazing +coffee-coloured pictures varnished an inch deep, and some stuffed +creatures in cases; dotted among the audience, in Snug and out of Snug, +the ‘Professionals;’ among them, the celebrated comic favourite Mr. Banjo +Bones, looking very hideous with his blackened face and limp sugar-loaf +hat; beside him, sipping rum-and-water, Mrs. Banjo Bones, in her natural +colours—a little heightened. + +It was a Friday night, and Friday night was considered not a good night +for Jack. At any rate, Jack did not show in very great force even here, +though the house was one to which he much resorts, and where a good deal +of money is taken. There was British Jack, a little maudlin and sleepy, +lolling over his empty glass, as if he were trying to read his fortune at +the bottom; there was Loafing Jack of the Stars and Stripes, rather an +unpromising customer, with his long nose, lank cheek, high cheek-bones, +and nothing soft about him but his cabbage-leaf hat; there was Spanish +Jack, with curls of black hair, rings in his ears, and a knife not far +from his hand, if you got into trouble with him; there were Maltese Jack, +and Jack of Sweden, and Jack the Finn, looming through the smoke of their +pipes, and turning faces that looked as if they were carved out of dark +wood, towards the young lady dancing the hornpipe: who found the platform +so exceedingly small for it, that I had a nervous expectation of seeing +her, in the backward steps, disappear through the window. Still, if all +hands had been got together, they would not have more than half-filled +the room. Observe, however, said Mr. Licensed Victualler, the host, that +it was Friday night, and, besides, it was getting on for twelve, and Jack +had gone aboard. A sharp and watchful man, Mr. Licensed Victualler, the +host, with tight lips and a complete edition of Cocker’s arithmetic in +each eye. Attended to his business himself, he said. Always on the +spot. When he heard of talent, trusted nobody’s account of it, but went +off by rail to see it. If true talent, engaged it. Pounds a week for +talent—four pound—five pound. Banjo Bones was undoubted talent. Hear +this instrument that was going to play—it was real talent! In truth it +was very good; a kind of piano-accordion, played by a young girl of a +delicate prettiness of face, figure, and dress, that made the audience +look coarser. She sang to the instrument, too; first, a song about +village bells, and how they chimed; then a song about how I went to sea; +winding up with an imitation of the bagpipes, which Mercantile Jack +seemed to understand much the best. A good girl, said Mr. Licensed +Victualler. Kept herself select. Sat in Snug, not listening to the +blandishments of Mates. Lived with mother. Father dead. Once a +merchant well to do, but over-speculated himself. On delicate inquiry as +to salary paid for item of talent under consideration, Mr. Victualler’s +pounds dropped suddenly to shillings—still it was a very comfortable +thing for a young person like that, you know; she only went on six times +a night, and was only required to be there from six at night to twelve. +What was more conclusive was, Mr. Victualler’s assurance that he ‘never +allowed any language, and never suffered any disturbance.’ Sharpeye +confirmed the statement, and the order that prevailed was the best proof +of it that could have been cited. So, I came to the conclusion that poor +Mercantile Jack might do (as I am afraid he does) much worse than trust +himself to Mr. Victualler, and pass his evenings here. + +But we had not yet looked, Mr. Superintendent—said Trampfoot, receiving +us in the street again with military salute—for Dark Jack. True, +Trampfoot. Ring the wonderful stick, rub the wonderful lantern, and +cause the spirits of the stick and lantern to convey us to the Darkies. + +There was no disappointment in the matter of Dark Jack; _he_ was +producible. The Genii set us down in the little first floor of a little +public-house, and there, in a stiflingly close atmosphere, were Dark +Jack, and Dark Jack’s delight, his _white_ unlovely Nan, sitting against +the wall all round the room. More than that: Dark Jack’s delight was the +least unlovely Nan, both morally and physically, that I saw that night. + +As a fiddle and tambourine band were sitting among the company, Quickear +suggested why not strike up? ‘Ah, la’ads!’ said a negro sitting by the +door, ‘gib the jebblem a darnse. Tak’ yah pardlers, jebblem, for ’um +QUAD-rill.’ + +This was the landlord, in a Greek cap, and a dress half Greek and half +English. As master of the ceremonies, he called all the figures, and +occasionally addressed himself parenthetically—after this manner. When +he was very loud, I use capitals. + +‘Now den! Hoy! ONE. Right and left. (Put a steam on, gib ’um powder.) +LA-dies’ chail. BAL-loon say. Lemonade! TWO. AD-warnse and go back +(gib ’ell a breakdown, shake it out o’ yerselbs, keep a movil). +SWING-corners, BAL-loon say, and Lemonade! (Hoy!) THREE. GENT come +for’ard with a lady and go back, hoppersite come for’ard and do what yer +can. (Aeiohoy!) BAL-loon say, and leetle lemonade. (Dat hair nigger by +’um fireplace ’hind a’ time, shake it out o’ yerselbs, gib ’ell a +breakdown.) Now den! Hoy! FOUR! Lemonade. BAL-loon say, and swing. +FOUR ladies meet in ’um middle, FOUR gents goes round ’um ladies, FOUR +gents passes out under ’um ladies’ arms, SWING—and Lemonade till ’a +moosic can’t play no more! (Hoy, Hoy!)’ + +The male dancers were all blacks, and one was an unusually powerful man +of six feet three or four. The sound of their flat feet on the floor was +as unlike the sound of white feet as their faces were unlike white faces. +They toed and heeled, shuffled, double-shuffled, double-double-shuffled, +covered the buckle, and beat the time out, rarely, dancing with a great +show of teeth, and with a childish good-humoured enjoyment that was very +prepossessing. They generally kept together, these poor fellows, said +Mr. Superintendent, because they were at a disadvantage singly, and +liable to slights in the neighbouring streets. But, if I were Light +Jack, I should be very slow to interfere oppressively with Dark Jack, +for, whenever I have had to do with him I have found him a simple and a +gentle fellow. Bearing this in mind, I asked his friendly permission to +leave him restoration of beer, in wishing him good night, and thus it +fell out that the last words I heard him say as I blundered down the worn +stairs, were, ‘Jebblem’s elth! Ladies drinks fust!’ + +The night was now well on into the morning, but, for miles and hours we +explored a strange world, where nobody ever goes to bed, but everybody is +eternally sitting up, waiting for Jack. This exploration was among a +labyrinth of dismal courts and blind alleys, called Entries, kept in +wonderful order by the police, and in much better order than by the +corporation: the want of gaslight in the most dangerous and infamous of +these places being quite unworthy of so spirited a town. I need describe +but two or three of the houses in which Jack was waited for as specimens +of the rest. Many we attained by noisome passages so profoundly dark +that we felt our way with our hands. Not one of the whole number we +visited, was without its show of prints and ornamental crockery; the +quantity of the latter set forth on little shelves and in little cases, +in otherwise wretched rooms, indicating that Mercantile Jack must have an +extraordinary fondness for crockery, to necessitate so much of that bait +in his traps. + +Among such garniture, in one front parlour in the dead of the night, four +women were sitting by a fire. One of them had a male child in her arms. +On a stool among them was a swarthy youth with a guitar, who had +evidently stopped playing when our footsteps were heard. + +‘Well! how do _you_ do?’ says Mr. Superintendent, looking about him. + +‘Pretty well, sir, and hope you gentlemen are going to treat us ladies, +now you have come to see us.’ + +‘Order there!’ says Sharpeye. + +‘None of that!’ says Quickear. + +Trampfoot, outside, is heard to confide to himself, ‘Meggisson’s lot this +is. And a bad ’un!’ + +‘Well!’ says Mr. Superintendent, laying his hand on the shoulder of the +swarthy youth, ‘and who’s this?’ + +‘Antonio, sir.’ + +‘And what does _he_ do here?’ + +‘Come to give us a bit of music. No harm in that, I suppose?’ + +‘A young foreign sailor?’ + +‘Yes. He’s a Spaniard. You’re a Spaniard, ain’t you, Antonio?’ + +‘Me Spanish.’ + +‘And he don’t know a word you say, not he; not if you was to talk to him +till doomsday.’ (Triumphantly, as if it redounded to the credit of the +house.) + +‘Will he play something?’ + +‘Oh, yes, if you like. Play something, Antonio. _You_ ain’t ashamed to +play something; are you?’ + +The cracked guitar raises the feeblest ghost of a tune, and three of the +women keep time to it with their heads, and the fourth with the child. +If Antonio has brought any money in with him, I am afraid he will never +take it out, and it even strikes me that his jacket and guitar may be in +a bad way. But, the look of the young man and the tinkling of the +instrument so change the place in a moment to a leaf out of Don Quixote, +that I wonder where his mule is stabled, until he leaves off. + +I am bound to acknowledge (as it tends rather to my uncommercial +confusion), that I occasioned a difficulty in this establishment, by +having taken the child in my arms. For, on my offering to restore it to +a ferocious joker not unstimulated by rum, who claimed to be its mother, +that unnatural parent put her hands behind her, and declined to accept +it; backing into the fireplace, and very shrilly declaring, regardless of +remonstrance from her friends, that she knowed it to be Law, that whoever +took a child from its mother of his own will, was bound to stick to it. +The uncommercial sense of being in a rather ridiculous position with the +poor little child beginning to be frightened, was relieved by my worthy +friend and fellow-constable, Trampfoot; who, laying hands on the article +as if it were a Bottle, passed it on to the nearest woman, and bade her +‘take hold of that.’ As we came out the Bottle was passed to the +ferocious joker, and they all sat down as before, including Antonio and +the guitar. It was clear that there was no such thing as a nightcap to +this baby’s head, and that even he never went to bed, but was always kept +up—and would grow up, kept up—waiting for Jack. + +Later still in the night, we came (by the court ‘where the man was +murdered,’ and by the other court across the street, into which his body +was dragged) to another parlour in another Entry, where several people +were sitting round a fire in just the same way. It was a dirty and +offensive place, with some ragged clothes drying in it; but there was a +high shelf over the entrance-door (to be out of the reach of marauding +hands, possibly) with two large white loaves on it, and a great piece of +Cheshire cheese. + +‘Well!’ says Mr. Superintendent, with a comprehensive look all round. +‘How do _you_ do?’ + +‘Not much to boast of, sir.’ From the curtseying woman of the house. +‘This is my good man, sir.’ + +‘You are not registered as a common Lodging House?’ + +‘No, sir.’ + +Sharpeye (in the Move-on tone) puts in the pertinent inquiry, ‘Then why +ain’t you?’ + +‘Ain’t got no one here, Mr. Sharpeye,’ rejoin the woman and my good man +together, ‘but our own family.’ + +‘How many are you in family?’ + +The woman takes time to count, under pretence of coughing, and adds, as +one scant of breath, ‘Seven, sir.’ + +But she has missed one, so Sharpeye, who knows all about it, says: + +‘Here’s a young man here makes eight, who ain’t of your family?’ + +‘No, Mr. Sharpeye, he’s a weekly lodger.’ + +‘What does he do for a living?’ + +The young man here, takes the reply upon himself, and shortly answers, +‘Ain’t got nothing to do.’ + +The young man here, is modestly brooding behind a damp apron pendent from +a clothes-line. As I glance at him I become—but I don’t know why—vaguely +reminded of Woolwich, Chatham, Portsmouth, and Dover. When we get out, +my respected fellow-constable Sharpeye, addressing Mr. Superintendent, +says: + +‘You noticed that young man, sir, in at Darby’s?’ + +‘Yes. What is he?’ + +‘Deserter, sir.’ + +Mr. Sharpeye further intimates that when we have done with his services, +he will step back and take that young man. Which in course of time he +does: feeling at perfect ease about finding him, and knowing for a moral +certainty that nobody in that region will be gone to bed. + +Later still in the night, we came to another parlour up a step or two +from the street, which was very cleanly, neatly, even tastefully, kept, +and in which, set forth on a draped chest of drawers masking the +staircase, was such a profusion of ornamental crockery, that it would +have furnished forth a handsome sale-booth at a fair. It backed up a +stout old lady—HOGARTH drew her exact likeness more than once—and a boy +who was carefully writing a copy in a copy-book. + +‘Well, ma’am, how do _you_ do?’ + +Sweetly, she can assure the dear gentlemen, sweetly. Charmingly, +charmingly. And overjoyed to see us! + +‘Why, this is a strange time for this boy to be writing his copy. In the +middle of the night!’ + +‘So it is, dear gentlemen, Heaven bless your welcome faces and send ye +prosperous, but he has been to the Play with a young friend for his +diversion, and he combinates his improvement with entertainment, by doing +his school-writing afterwards, God be good to ye!’ + +The copy admonished human nature to subjugate the fire of every fierce +desire. One might have thought it recommended stirring the fire, the old +lady so approved it. There she sat, rosily beaming at the copy-book and +the boy, and invoking showers of blessings on our heads, when we left her +in the middle of the night, waiting for Jack. + +Later still in the night, we came to a nauseous room with an earth floor, +into which the refuse scum of an alley trickled. The stench of this +habitation was abominable; the seeming poverty of it, diseased and dire. +Yet, here again, was visitor or lodger—a man sitting before the fire, +like the rest of them elsewhere, and apparently not distasteful to the +mistress’s niece, who was also before the fire. The mistress herself had +the misfortune of being in jail. + +Three weird old women of transcendent ghastliness, were at needlework at +a table in this room. Says Trampfoot to First Witch, ‘What are you +making?’ Says she, ‘Money-bags.’ + +‘_What_ are you making?’ retorts Trampfoot, a little off his balance. + +‘Bags to hold your money,’ says the witch, shaking her head, and setting +her teeth; ‘you as has got it.’ + +She holds up a common cash-bag, and on the table is a heap of such bags. +Witch Two laughs at us. Witch Three scowls at us. Witch sisterhood all, +stitch, stitch. First Witch has a circle round each eye. I fancy it +like the beginning of the development of a perverted diabolical halo, and +that when it spreads all round her head, she will die in the odour of +devilry. + +Trampfoot wishes to be informed what First Witch has got behind the +table, down by the side of her, there? Witches Two and Three croak +angrily, ‘Show him the child!’ + +She drags out a skinny little arm from a brown dustheap on the ground. +Adjured not to disturb the child, she lets it drop again. Thus we find +at last that there is one child in the world of Entries who goes to +bed—if this be bed. + +Mr. Superintendent asks how long are they going to work at those bags? + +How long? First Witch repeats. Going to have supper presently. See the +cups and saucers, and the plates. + +‘Late? Ay! But we has to ’arn our supper afore we eats it!’ Both the +other witches repeat this after First Witch, and take the Uncommercial +measurement with their eyes, as for a charmed winding-sheet. Some grim +discourse ensues, referring to the mistress of the cave, who will be +released from jail to-morrow. Witches pronounce Trampfoot ‘right there,’ +when he deems it a trying distance for the old lady to walk; she shall be +fetched by niece in a spring-cart. + +As I took a parting look at First Witch in turning away, the red marks +round her eyes seemed to have already grown larger, and she hungrily and +thirstily looked out beyond me into the dark doorway, to see if Jack was +there. For, Jack came even here, and the mistress had got into jail +through deluding Jack. + +When I at last ended this night of travel and got to bed, I failed to +keep my mind on comfortable thoughts of Seaman’s Homes (not overdone with +strictness), and improved dock regulations giving Jack greater benefit of +fire and candle aboard ship, through my mind’s wandering among the vermin +I had seen. Afterwards the same vermin ran all over my sleep. Evermore, +when on a breezy day I see Poor Mercantile Jack running into port with a +fair wind under all sail, I shall think of the unsleeping host of +devourers who never go to bed, and are always in their set traps waiting +for him. + + + + +VI +REFRESHMENTS FOR TRAVELLERS + + +IN the late high winds I was blown to a great many places—and indeed, +wind or no wind, I generally have extensive transactions on hand in the +article of Air—but I have not been blown to any English place lately, and +I very seldom have blown to any English place in my life, where I could +get anything good to eat and drink in five minutes, or where, if I sought +it, I was received with a welcome. + +This is a curious thing to consider. But before (stimulated by my own +experiences and the representations of many fellow-travellers of every +uncommercial and commercial degree) I consider it further, I must utter a +passing word of wonder concerning high winds. + +I wonder why metropolitan gales always blow so hard at Walworth. I +cannot imagine what Walworth has done, to bring such windy punishment +upon itself, as I never fail to find recorded in the newspapers when the +wind has blown at all hard. Brixton seems to have something on its +conscience; Peckham suffers more than a virtuous Peckham might be +supposed to deserve; the howling neighbourhood of Deptford figures +largely in the accounts of the ingenious gentlemen who are out in every +wind that blows, and to whom it is an ill high wind that blows no good; +but, there can hardly be any Walworth left by this time. It must surely +be blown away. I have read of more chimney-stacks and house-copings +coming down with terrific smashes at Walworth, and of more sacred +edifices being nearly (not quite) blown out to sea from the same accursed +locality, than I have read of practised thieves with the appearance and +manners of gentlemen—a popular phenomenon which never existed on earth +out of fiction and a police report. Again: I wonder why people are +always blown into the Surrey Canal, and into no other piece of water! +Why do people get up early and go out in groups, to be blown into the +Surrey Canal? Do they say to one another, ‘Welcome death, so that we get +into the newspapers’? Even that would be an insufficient explanation, +because even then they might sometimes put themselves in the way of being +blown into the Regent’s Canal, instead of always saddling Surrey for the +field. Some nameless policeman, too, is constantly, on the slightest +provocation, getting himself blown into this same Surrey Canal. Will SIR +RICHARD MAYNE see to it, and restrain that weak-minded and feeble-bodied +constable? + +To resume the consideration of the curious question of Refreshment. I am +a Briton, and, as such, I am aware that I never will be a slave—and yet I +have latent suspicion that there must be some slavery of wrong custom in +this matter. + +I travel by railroad. I start from home at seven or eight in the +morning, after breakfasting hurriedly. What with skimming over the open +landscape, what with mining in the damp bowels of the earth, what with +banging, booming and shrieking the scores of miles away, I am hungry when +I arrive at the ‘Refreshment’ station where I am expected. Please to +observe, expected. I have said, I am hungry; perhaps I might say, with +greater point and force, that I am to some extent exhausted, and that I +need—in the expressive French sense of the word—to be restored. What is +provided for my restoration? The apartment that is to restore me is a +wind-trap, cunningly set to inveigle all the draughts in that +country-side, and to communicate a special intensity and velocity to them +as they rotate in two hurricanes: one, about my wretched head: one, about +my wretched legs. The training of the young ladies behind the counter +who are to restore me, has been from their infancy directed to the +assumption of a defiant dramatic show that I am _not_ expected. It is in +vain for me to represent to them by my humble and conciliatory manners, +that I wish to be liberal. It is in vain for me to represent to myself, +for the encouragement of my sinking soul, that the young ladies have a +pecuniary interest in my arrival. Neither my reason nor my feelings can +make head against the cold glazed glare of eye with which I am assured +that I am not expected, and not wanted. The solitary man among the +bottles would sometimes take pity on me, if he dared, but he is powerless +against the rights and mights of Woman. (Of the page I make no account, +for, he is a boy, and therefore the natural enemy of Creation.) Chilling +fast, in the deadly tornadoes to which my upper and lower extremities are +exposed, and subdued by the moral disadvantage at which I stand, I turn +my disconsolate eyes on the refreshments that are to restore me. I find +that I must either scald my throat by insanely ladling into it, against +time and for no wager, brown hot water stiffened with flour; or I must +make myself flaky and sick with Banbury cake; or, I must stuff into my +delicate organisation, a currant pincushion which I know will swell into +immeasurable dimensions when it has got there; or, I must extort from an +iron-bound quarry, with a fork, as if I were farming an inhospitable +soil, some glutinous lumps of gristle and grease, called pork-pie. While +thus forlornly occupied, I find that the depressing banquet on the table +is, in every phase of its profoundly unsatisfactory character, so like +the banquet at the meanest and shabbiest of evening parties, that I begin +to think I must have ‘brought down’ to supper, the old lady unknown, blue +with cold, who is setting her teeth on edge with a cool orange at my +elbow—that the pastrycook who has compounded for the company on the +lowest terms per head, is a fraudulent bankrupt, redeeming his contract +with the stale stock from his window—that, for some unexplained reason, +the family giving the party have become my mortal foes, and have given it +on purpose to affront me. Or, I fancy that I am ‘breaking up’ again, at +the evening conversazione at school, charged two-and-sixpence in the +half-year’s bill; or breaking down again at that celebrated evening party +given at Mrs. Bogles’s boarding-house when I was a boarder there, on +which occasion Mrs. Bogles was taken in execution by a branch of the +legal profession who got in as the harp, and was removed (with the keys +and subscribed capital) to a place of durance, half an hour prior to the +commencement of the festivities. + +Take another case. + +Mr. Grazinglands, of the Midland Counties, came to London by railroad one +morning last week, accompanied by the amiable and fascinating Mrs. +Grazinglands. Mr. G. is a gentleman of a comfortable property, and had a +little business to transact at the Bank of England, which required the +concurrence and signature of Mrs. G. Their business disposed of, Mr. and +Mrs. Grazinglands viewed the Royal Exchange, and the exterior of St. +Paul’s Cathedral. The spirits of Mrs. Grazinglands then gradually +beginning to flag, Mr. Grazinglands (who is the tenderest of husbands) +remarked with sympathy, ‘Arabella’, my dear, ‘fear you are faint.’ Mrs. +Grazing-lands replied, ‘Alexander, I am rather faint; but don’t mind me, +I shall be better presently.’ Touched by the feminine meekness of this +answer, Mr. Grazinglands looked in at a pastrycook’s window, hesitating +as to the expediency of lunching at that establishment. He beheld +nothing to eat, but butter in various forms, slightly charged with jam, +and languidly frizzling over tepid water. Two ancient turtle-shells, on +which was inscribed the legend, ‘SOUPS,’ decorated a glass partition +within, enclosing a stuffy alcove, from which a ghastly mockery of a +marriage-breakfast spread on a rickety table, warned the terrified +traveller. An oblong box of stale and broken pastry at reduced prices, +mounted on a stool, ornamented the doorway; and two high chairs that +looked as if they were performing on stilts, embellished the counter. +Over the whole, a young lady presided, whose gloomy haughtiness as she +surveyed the street, announced a deep-seated grievance against society, +and an implacable determination to be avenged. From a beetle-haunted +kitchen below this institution, fumes arose, suggestive of a class of +soup which Mr. Grazinglands knew, from painful experience, enfeebles the +mind, distends the stomach, forces itself into the complexion, and tries +to ooze out at the eyes. As he decided against entering, and turned +away, Mrs. Grazinglands becoming perceptibly weaker, repeated, ‘I am +rather faint, Alexander, but don’t mind me.’ Urged to new efforts by +these words of resignation, Mr. Grazinglands looked in at a cold and +floury baker’s shop, where utilitarian buns unrelieved by a currant, +consorted with hard biscuits, a stone filter of cold water, a hard pale +clock, and a hard little old woman with flaxen hair, of an +undeveloped-farinaceous aspect, as if she had been fed upon seeds. He +might have entered even here, but for the timely remembrance coming upon +him that Jairing’s was but round the corner. + +Now, Jairing’s being an hotel for families and gentlemen, in high repute +among the midland counties, Mr. Grazinglands plucked up a great spirit +when he told Mrs. Grazinglands she should have a chop there. That lady, +likewise felt that she was going to see Life. Arriving on that gay and +festive scene, they found the second waiter, in a flabby undress, +cleaning the windows of the empty coffee-room; and the first waiter, +denuded of his white tie, making up his cruets behind the Post-Office +Directory. The latter (who took them in hand) was greatly put out by +their patronage, and showed his mind to be troubled by a sense of the +pressing necessity of instantly smuggling Mrs. Grazinglands into the +obscurest corner of the building. This slighted lady (who is the pride +of her division of the county) was immediately conveyed, by several dark +passages, and up and down several steps, into a penitential apartment at +the back of the house, where five invalided old plate-warmers leaned up +against one another under a discarded old melancholy sideboard, and where +the wintry leaves of all the dining-tables in the house lay thick. Also, +a sofa, of incomprehensible form regarded from any sofane point of view, +murmured ‘Bed;’ while an air of mingled fluffiness and heeltaps, added, +‘Second Waiter’s.’ Secreted in this dismal hold, objects of a mysterious +distrust and suspicion, Mr. Grazinglands and his charming partner waited +twenty minutes for the smoke (for it never came to a fire), twenty-five +minutes for the sherry, half an hour for the tablecloth, forty minutes +for the knives and forks, three-quarters of an hour for the chops, and an +hour for the potatoes. On settling the little bill—which was not much +more than the day’s pay of a Lieutenant in the navy—Mr. Grazinglands took +heart to remonstrate against the general quality and cost of his +reception. To whom the waiter replied, substantially, that Jairing’s +made it a merit to have accepted him on any terms: ‘for,’ added the +waiter (unmistakably coughing at Mrs. Grazinglands, the pride of her +division of the county), ‘when indiwiduals is not staying in the ’Ouse, +their favours is not as a rule looked upon as making it worth Mr. +Jairing’s while; nor is it, indeed, a style of business Mr. Jairing +wishes.’ Finally, Mr. and Mrs. Grazinglands passed out of Jairing’s +hotel for Families and Gentlemen, in a state of the greatest depression, +scorned by the bar; and did not recover their self-respect for several +days. + +Or take another case. Take your own case. + +You are going off by railway, from any Terminus. You have twenty minutes +for dinner, before you go. You want your dinner, and like Dr. Johnson, +Sir, you like to dine. You present to your mind, a picture of the +refreshment-table at that terminus. The conventional shabby +evening-party supper—accepted as the model for all termini and all +refreshment stations, because it is the last repast known to this state +of existence of which any human creature would partake, but in the direst +extremity—sickens your contemplation, and your words are these: ‘I cannot +dine on stale sponge-cakes that turn to sand in the mouth. I cannot dine +on shining brown patties, composed of unknown animals within, and +offering to my view the device of an indigestible star-fish in leaden +pie-crust without. I cannot dine on a sandwich that has long been pining +under an exhausted receiver. I cannot dine on barley-sugar. I cannot +dine on Toffee.’ You repair to the nearest hotel, and arrive, agitated, +in the coffee-room. + +It is a most astonishing fact that the waiter is very cold to you. +Account for it how you may, smooth it over how you will, you cannot deny +that he is cold to you. He is not glad to see you, he does not want you, +he would much rather you hadn’t come. He opposes to your flushed +condition, an immovable composure. As if this were not enough, another +waiter, born, as it would seem, expressly to look at you in this passage +of your life, stands at a little distance, with his napkin under his arm +and his hands folded, looking at you with all his might. You impress on +your waiter that you have ten minutes for dinner, and he proposes that +you shall begin with a bit of fish which will be ready in twenty. That +proposal declined, he suggests—as a neat originality—‘a weal or mutton +cutlet.’ You close with either cutlet, any cutlet, anything. He goes, +leisurely, behind a door and calls down some unseen shaft. A +ventriloquial dialogue ensues, tending finally to the effect that weal +only, is available on the spur of the moment. You anxiously call out, +‘Veal, then!’ Your waiter having settled that point, returns to array +your tablecloth, with a table napkin folded cocked-hat-wise (slowly, for +something out of window engages his eye), a white wine-glass, a green +wine-glass, a blue finger-glass, a tumbler, and a powerful field battery +of fourteen casters with nothing in them; or at all events—which is +enough for your purpose—with nothing in them that will come out. All +this time, the other waiter looks at you—with an air of mental comparison +and curiosity, now, as if it had occurred to him that you are rather like +his brother. Half your time gone, and nothing come but the jug of ale +and the bread, you implore your waiter to ‘see after that cutlet, waiter; +pray do!’ He cannot go at once, for he is carrying in seventeen pounds +of American cheese for you to finish with, and a small Landed Estate of +celery and water-cresses. The other waiter changes his leg, and takes a +new view of you, doubtfully, now, as if he had rejected the resemblance +to his brother, and had begun to think you more like his aunt or his +grandmother. Again you beseech your waiter with pathetic indignation, to +‘see after that cutlet!’ He steps out to see after it, and by-and-by, +when you are going away without it, comes back with it. Even then, he +will not take the sham silver cover off, without a pause for a flourish, +and a look at the musty cutlet as if he were surprised to see it—which +cannot possibly be the case, he must have seen it so often before. A +sort of fur has been produced upon its surface by the cook’s art, and in +a sham silver vessel staggering on two feet instead of three, is a +cutaneous kind of sauce of brown pimples and pickled cucumber. You order +the bill, but your waiter cannot bring your bill yet, because he is +bringing, instead, three flinty-hearted potatoes and two grim head of +broccoli, like the occasional ornaments on area railings, badly boiled. +You know that you will never come to this pass, any more than to the +cheese and celery, and you imperatively demand your bill; but, it takes +time to get, even when gone for, because your waiter has to communicate +with a lady who lives behind a sash-window in a corner, and who appears +to have to refer to several Ledgers before she can make it out—as if you +had been staying there a year. You become distracted to get away, and +the other waiter, once more changing his leg, still looks at you—but +suspiciously, now, as if you had begun to remind him of the party who +took the great-coats last winter. Your bill at last brought and paid, at +the rate of sixpence a mouthful, your waiter reproachfully reminds you +that ‘attendance is not charged for a single meal,’ and you have to +search in all your pockets for sixpence more. He has a worse opinion of +you than ever, when you have given it to him, and lets you out into the +street with the air of one saying to himself, as you cannot again doubt +he is, ‘I hope we shall never see _you_ here again!’ + +Or, take any other of the numerous travelling instances in which, with +more time at your disposal, you are, have been, or may be, equally ill +served. Take the old-established Bull’s Head with its old-established +knife-boxes on its old-established sideboards, its old-established flue +under its old-established four-post bedsteads in its old-established +airless rooms, its old-established frouziness up-stairs and down-stairs, +its old-established cookery, and its old-established principles of +plunder. Count up your injuries, in its side-dishes of ailing +sweetbreads in white poultices, of apothecaries’ powders in rice for +curry, of pale stewed bits of calf ineffectually relying for an +adventitious interest on forcemeat balls. You have had experience of the +old-established Bull’s Head stringy fowls, with lower extremities like +wooden legs, sticking up out of the dish; of its cannibalic boiled +mutton, gushing horribly among its capers, when carved; of its little +dishes of pastry—roofs of spermaceti ointment, erected over half an apple +or four gooseberries. Well for you if you have yet forgotten the +old-established Bull’s Head fruity port: whose reputation was gained +solely by the old-established price the Bull’s Head put upon it, and by +the old-established air with which the Bull’s Head set the glasses and +D’Oyleys on, and held that Liquid Gout to the three-and-sixpenny +wax-candle, as if its old-established colour hadn’t come from the dyer’s. + +Or lastly, take to finish with, two cases that we all know, every day. + +We all know the new hotel near the station, where it is always gusty, +going up the lane which is always muddy, where we are sure to arrive at +night, and where we make the gas start awfully when we open the front +door. We all know the flooring of the passages and staircases that is +too new, and the walls that are too new, and the house that is haunted by +the ghost of mortar. We all know the doors that have cracked, and the +cracked shutters through which we get a glimpse of the disconsolate moon. +We all know the new people, who have come to keep the new hotel, and who +wish they had never come, and who (inevitable result) wish _we_ had never +come. We all know how much too scant and smooth and bright the new +furniture is, and how it has never settled down, and cannot fit itself +into right places, and will get into wrong places. We all know how the +gas, being lighted, shows maps of Damp upon the walls. We all know how +the ghost of mortar passes into our sandwich, stirs our negus, goes up to +bed with us, ascends the pale bedroom chimney, and prevents the smoke +from following. We all know how a leg of our chair comes off at +breakfast in the morning, and how the dejected waiter attributes the +accident to a general greenness pervading the establishment, and informs +us, in reply to a local inquiry, that he is thankful to say he is an +entire stranger in that part of the country and is going back to his own +connexion on Saturday. + +We all know, on the other hand, the great station hotel belonging to the +company of proprietors, which has suddenly sprung up in the back +outskirts of any place we like to name, and where we look out of our +palatial windows at little back yards and gardens, old summer-houses, +fowl-houses, pigeon-traps, and pigsties. We all know this hotel in which +we can get anything we want, after its kind, for money; but where nobody +is glad to see us, or sorry to see us, or minds (our bill paid) whether +we come or go, or how, or when, or why, or cares about us. We all know +this hotel, where we have no individuality, but put ourselves into the +general post, as it were, and are sorted and disposed of according to our +division. We all know that we can get on very well indeed at such a +place, but still not perfectly well; and this may be, because the place +is largely wholesale, and there is a lingering personal retail interest +within us that asks to be satisfied. + +To sum up. My uncommercial travelling has not yet brought me to the +conclusion that we are close to perfection in these matters. And just as +I do not believe that the end of the world will ever be near at hand, so +long as any of the very tiresome and arrogant people who constantly +predict that catastrophe are left in it, so, I shall have small faith in +the Hotel Millennium, while any of the uncomfortable superstitions I have +glanced at remain in existence. + + + + +VII +TRAVELLING ABROAD + + +I GOT into the travelling chariot—it was of German make, roomy, heavy, +and unvarnished—I got into the travelling chariot, pulled up the steps +after me, shut myself in with a smart bang of the door, and gave the +word, ‘Go on!’ + +Immediately, all that W. and S.W. division of London began to slide away +at a pace so lively, that I was over the river, and past the Old Kent +Road, and out on Blackheath, and even ascending Shooter’s Hill, before I +had had time to look about me in the carriage, like a collected +traveller. + +I had two ample Imperials on the roof, other fitted storage for luggage +in front, and other up behind; I had a net for books overhead, great +pockets to all the windows, a leathern pouch or two hung up for odds and +ends, and a reading lamp fixed in the back of the chariot, in case I +should be benighted. I was amply provided in all respects, and had no +idea where I was going (which was delightful), except that I was going +abroad. + +So smooth was the old high road, and so fresh were the horses, and so +fast went I, that it was midway between Gravesend and Rochester, and the +widening river was bearing the ships, white sailed or black-smoked, out +to sea, when I noticed by the wayside a very queer small boy. + +‘Holloa!’ said I, to the very queer small boy, ‘where do you live?’ + +‘At Chatham,’ says he. + +‘What do you do there?’ says I. + +‘I go to school,’ says he. + +I took him up in a moment, and we went on. Presently, the very queer +small boy says, ‘This is Gads-hill we are coming to, where Falstaff went +out to rob those travellers, and ran away.’ + +‘You know something about Falstaff, eh?’ said I. + +‘All about him,’ said the very queer small boy. ‘I am old (I am nine), +and I read all sorts of books. But _do_ let us stop at the top of the +hill, and look at the house there, if you please!’ + +‘You admire that house?’ said I. + +‘Bless you, sir,’ said the very queer small boy, ‘when I was not more +than half as old as nine, it used to be a treat for me to be brought to +look at it. And now, I am nine, I come by myself to look at it. And +ever since I can recollect, my father, seeing me so fond of it, has often +said to me, “If you were to be very persevering and were to work hard, +you might some day come to live in it.” Though that’s impossible!’ said +the very queer small boy, drawing a low breath, and now staring at the +house out of window with all his might. + +I was rather amazed to be told this by the very queer small boy; for that +house happens to be _my_ house, and I have reason to believe that what he +said was true. + +Well! I made no halt there, and I soon dropped the very queer small boy +and went on. Over the road where the old Romans used to march, over the +road where the old Canterbury pilgrims used to go, over the road where +the travelling trains of the old imperious priests and princes used to +jingle on horseback between the continent and this Island through the mud +and water, over the road where Shakespeare hummed to himself, ‘Blow, +blow, thou winter wind,’ as he sat in the saddle at the gate of the inn +yard noticing the carriers; all among the cherry orchards, apple +orchards, corn-fields, and hop-gardens; so went I, by Canterbury to +Dover. There, the sea was tumbling in, with deep sounds, after dark, and +the revolving French light on Cape Grinez was seen regularly bursting out +and becoming obscured, as if the head of a gigantic light-keeper in an +anxious state of mind were interposed every half-minute, to look how it +was burning. + +Early in the morning I was on the deck of the steam-packet, and we were +aiming at the bar in the usual intolerable manner, and the bar was aiming +at us in the usual intolerable manner, and the bar got by far the best of +it, and we got by far the worst—all in the usual intolerable manner. + +But, when I was clear of the Custom House on the other side, and when I +began to make the dust fly on the thirsty French roads, and when the +twigsome trees by the wayside (which, I suppose, never will grow leafy, +for they never did) guarded here and there a dusty soldier, or field +labourer, baking on a heap of broken stones, sound asleep in a fiction of +shade, I began to recover my travelling spirits. Coming upon the breaker +of the broken stones, in a hard, hot, shining hat, on which the sun +played at a distance as on a burning-glass, I felt that now, indeed, I +was in the dear old France of my affections. I should have known it, +without the well-remembered bottle of rough ordinary wine, the cold roast +fowl, the loaf, and the pinch of salt, on which I lunched with +unspeakable satisfaction, from one of the stuffed pockets of the chariot. + +I must have fallen asleep after lunch, for when a bright face looked in +at the window, I started, and said: + +‘Good God, Louis, I dreamed you were dead!’ + +My cheerful servant laughed, and answered: + +‘Me? Not at all, sir.’ + +‘How glad I am to wake! What are we doing Louis?’ + +‘We go to take relay of horses. Will you walk up the hill?’ + +‘Certainly.’ + +Welcome the old French hill, with the old French lunatic (not in the most +distant degree related to Sterne’s Maria) living in a thatched dog-kennel +half-way up, and flying out with his crutch and his big head and extended +nightcap, to be beforehand with the old men and women exhibiting crippled +children, and with the children exhibiting old men and women, ugly and +blind, who always seemed by resurrectionary process to be recalled out of +the elements for the sudden peopling of the solitude! + +‘It is well,’ said I, scattering among them what small coin I had; ‘here +comes Louis, and I am quite roused from my nap.’ + +We journeyed on again, and I welcomed every new assurance that France +stood where I had left it. There were the posting-houses, with their +archways, dirty stable-yards, and clean post-masters’ wives, bright women +of business, looking on at the putting-to of the horses; there were the +postilions counting what money they got, into their hats, and never +making enough of it; there were the standard population of grey horses of +Flanders descent, invariably biting one another when they got a chance; +there were the fleecy sheepskins, looped on over their uniforms by the +postilions, like bibbed aprons when it blew and rained; there were their +Jack-boots, and their cracking whips; there were the cathedrals that I +got out to see, as under some cruel bondage, in no wise desiring to see +them; there were the little towns that appeared to have no reason for +being towns, since most of their houses were to let and nobody could be +induced to look at them, except the people who couldn’t let them and had +nothing else to do but look at them all day. I lay a night upon the road +and enjoyed delectable cookery of potatoes, and some other sensible +things, adoption of which at home would inevitably be shown to be fraught +with ruin, somehow or other, to that rickety national blessing, the +British farmer; and at last I was rattled, like a single pill in a box, +over leagues of stones, until—madly cracking, plunging, and flourishing +two grey tails about—I made my triumphal entry into Paris. + +At Paris, I took an upper apartment for a few days in one of the hotels +of the Rue de Rivoli; my front windows looking into the garden of the +Tuileries (where the principal difference between the nursemaids and the +flowers seemed to be that the former were locomotive and the latter not): +my back windows looking at all the other back windows in the hotel, and +deep down into a paved yard, where my German chariot had retired under a +tight-fitting archway, to all appearance for life, and where bells rang +all day without anybody’s minding them but certain chamberlains with +feather brooms and green baize caps, who here and there leaned out of +some high window placidly looking down, and where neat waiters with trays +on their left shoulders passed and repassed from morning to night. + +Whenever I am at Paris, I am dragged by invisible force into the Morgue. +I never want to go there, but am always pulled there. One Christmas Day, +when I would rather have been anywhere else, I was attracted in, to see +an old grey man lying all alone on his cold bed, with a tap of water +turned on over his grey hair, and running, drip, drip, drip, down his +wretched face until it got to the corner of his mouth, where it took a +turn, and made him look sly. One New Year’s Morning (by the same token, +the sun was shining outside, and there was a mountebank balancing a +feather on his nose, within a yard of the gate), I was pulled in again to +look at a flaxen-haired boy of eighteen, with a heart hanging on his +breast—‘from his mother,’ was engraven on it—who had come into the net +across the river, with a bullet wound in his fair forehead and his hands +cut with a knife, but whence or how was a blank mystery. This time, I +was forced into the same dread place, to see a large dark man whose +disfigurement by water was in a frightful manner comic, and whose +expression was that of a prize-fighter who had closed his eyelids under a +heavy blow, but was going immediately to open them, shake his head, and +‘come up smiling.’ Oh what this large dark man cost me in that bright +city! + +It was very hot weather, and he was none the better for that, and I was +much the worse. Indeed, a very neat and pleasant little woman with the +key of her lodging on her forefinger, who had been showing him to her +little girl while she and the child ate sweetmeats, observed monsieur +looking poorly as we came out together, and asked monsieur, with her +wondering little eyebrows prettily raised, if there were anything the +matter? Faintly replying in the negative, monsieur crossed the road to a +wine-shop, got some brandy, and resolved to freshen himself with a dip in +the great floating bath on the river. + +The bath was crowded in the usual airy manner, by a male population in +striped drawers of various gay colours, who walked up and down arm in +arm, drank coffee, smoked cigars, sat at little tables, conversed +politely with the damsels who dispensed the towels, and every now and +then pitched themselves into the river head foremost, and came out again +to repeat this social routine. I made haste to participate in the water +part of the entertainments, and was in the full enjoyment of a delightful +bath, when all in a moment I was seized with an unreasonable idea that +the large dark body was floating straight at me. + +I was out of the river, and dressing instantly. In the shock I had taken +some water into my mouth, and it turned me sick, for I fancied that the +contamination of the creature was in it. I had got back to my cool +darkened room in the hotel, and was lying on a sofa there, before I began +to reason with myself. + +Of course, I knew perfectly well that the large dark creature was stone +dead, and that I should no more come upon him out of the place where I +had seen him dead, than I should come upon the cathedral of Notre-Dame in +an entirely new situation. What troubled me was the picture of the +creature; and that had so curiously and strongly painted itself upon my +brain, that I could not get rid of it until it was worn out. + +I noticed the peculiarities of this possession, while it was a real +discomfort to me. That very day, at dinner, some morsel on my plate +looked like a piece of him, and I was glad to get up and go out. Later +in the evening, I was walking along the Rue St. Honoré, when I saw a bill +at a public room there, announcing small-sword exercise, broad-sword +exercise, wrestling, and other such feats. I went in, and some of the +sword-play being very skilful, remained. A specimen of our own national +sport, The British Boaxe, was announced to be given at the close of the +evening. In an evil hour, I determined to wait for this Boaxe, as became +a Briton. It was a clumsy specimen (executed by two English grooms out +of place), but one of the combatants, receiving a straight right-hander +with the glove between his eyes, did exactly what the large dark creature +in the Morgue had seemed going to do—and finished me for that night. + +There was rather a sickly smell (not at all an unusual fragrance in +Paris) in the little ante-room of my apartment at the hotel. The large +dark creature in the Morgue was by no direct experience associated with +my sense of smell, because, when I came to the knowledge of him, he lay +behind a wall of thick plate-glass as good as a wall of steel or marble +for that matter. Yet the whiff of the room never failed to reproduce +him. What was more curious, was the capriciousness with which his +portrait seemed to light itself up in my mind, elsewhere. I might be +walking in the Palais Royal, lazily enjoying the shop windows, and might +be regaling myself with one of the ready-made clothes shops that are set +out there. My eyes, wandering over impossible-waisted dressing-gowns and +luminous waistcoats, would fall upon the master, or the shopman, or even +the very dummy at the door, and would suggest to me, ‘Something like +him!’—and instantly I was sickened again. + +This would happen at the theatre, in the same manner. Often it would +happen in the street, when I certainly was not looking for the likeness, +and when probably there was no likeness there. It was not because the +creature was dead that I was so haunted, because I know that I might have +been (and I know it because I have been) equally attended by the image of +a living aversion. This lasted about a week. The picture did not fade +by degrees, in the sense that it became a whit less forcible and +distinct, but in the sense that it obtruded itself less and less +frequently. The experience may be worth considering by some who have the +care of children. It would be difficult to overstate the intensity and +accuracy of an intelligent child’s observation. At that impressible time +of life, it must sometimes produce a fixed impression. If the fixed +impression be of an object terrible to the child, it will be (for want of +reasoning upon) inseparable from great fear. Force the child at such a +time, be Spartan with it, send it into the dark against its will, leave +it in a lonely bedroom against its will, and you had better murder it. + +On a bright morning I rattled away from Paris, in the German chariot, and +left the large dark creature behind me for good. I ought to confess, +though, that I had been drawn back to the Morgue, after he was put +underground, to look at his clothes, and that I found them frightfully +like him—particularly his boots. However, I rattled away for +Switzerland, looking forward and not backward, and so we parted company. + +Welcome again, the long, long spell of France, with the queer country +inns, full of vases of flowers and clocks, in the dull little town, and +with the little population not at all dull on the little Boulevard in the +evening, under the little trees! Welcome Monsieur the Curé, walking +alone in the early morning a short way out of the town, reading that +eternal Breviary of yours, which surely might be almost read, without +book, by this time! Welcome Monsieur the Curé, later in the day, jolting +through the highway dust (as if you had already ascended to the cloudy +region), in a very big-headed cabriolet, with the dried mud of a dozen +winters on it. Welcome again Monsieur the Curé, as we exchange +salutations; you, straightening your back to look at the German chariot, +while picking in your little village garden a vegetable or two for the +day’s soup: I, looking out of the German chariot window in that delicious +traveller’s trance which knows no cares, no yesterdays, no to-morrows, +nothing but the passing objects and the passing scents and sounds! And +so I came, in due course of delight, to Strasbourg, where I passed a wet +Sunday evening at a window, while an idle trifle of a vaudeville was +played for me at the opposite house. + +How such a large house came to have only three people living in it, was +its own affair. There were at least a score of windows in its high roof +alone; how many in its grotesque front, I soon gave up counting. The +owner was a shopkeeper, by name Straudenheim; by trade—I couldn’t make +out what by trade, for he had forborne to write that up, and his shop was +shut. + +At first, as I looked at Straudenheim’s, through the steadily falling +rain, I set him up in business in the goose-liver line. But, inspection +of Straudenheim, who became visible at a window on the second floor, +convinced me that there was something more precious than liver in the +case. He wore a black velvet skull-cap, and looked usurious and rich. A +large-lipped, pear-nosed old man, with white hair, and keen eyes, though +near-sighted. He was writing at a desk, was Straudenheim, and ever and +again left off writing, put his pen in his mouth, and went through +actions with his right hand, like a man steadying piles of cash. +Five-franc pieces, Straudenheim, or golden Napoleons? A jeweller, +Straudenheim, a dealer in money, a diamond merchant, or what? + +Below Straudenheim, at a window on the first floor, sat his +housekeeper—far from young, but of a comely presence, suggestive of a +well-matured foot and ankle. She was cheerily dressed, had a fan in her +hand, and wore large gold earrings and a large gold cross. She would +have been out holiday-making (as I settled it) but for the pestilent +rain. Strasbourg had given up holiday-making for that once, as a bad +job, because the rain was jerking in gushes out of the old roof-spouts, +and running in a brook down the middle of the street. The housekeeper, +her arms folded on her bosom and her fan tapping her chin, was bright and +smiling at her open window, but otherwise Straudenheim’s house front was +very dreary. The housekeeper’s was the only open window in it; +Straudenheim kept himself close, though it was a sultry evening when air +is pleasant, and though the rain had brought into the town that vague +refreshing smell of grass which rain does bring in the summer-time. + +The dim appearance of a man at Straudenheim’s shoulder, inspired me with +a misgiving that somebody had come to murder that flourishing merchant +for the wealth with which I had handsomely endowed him: the rather, as it +was an excited man, lean and long of figure, and evidently stealthy of +foot. But, he conferred with Straudenheim instead of doing him a mortal +injury, and then they both softly opened the other window of that +room—which was immediately over the housekeeper’s—and tried to see her by +looking down. And my opinion of Straudenheim was much lowered when I saw +that eminent citizen spit out of window, clearly with the hope of +spitting on the housekeeper. + +The unconscious housekeeper fanned herself, tossed her head, and laughed. +Though unconscious of Straudenheim, she was conscious of somebody else—of +me?—there was nobody else. + +After leaning so far out of the window, that I confidently expected to +see their heels tilt up, Straudenheim and the lean man drew their heads +in and shut the window. Presently, the house door secretly opened, and +they slowly and spitefully crept forth into the pouring rain. They were +coming over to me (I thought) to demand satisfaction for my looking at +the housekeeper, when they plunged into a recess in the architecture +under my window and dragged out the puniest of little soldiers, begirt +with the most innocent of little swords. The tall glazed head-dress of +this warrior, Straudenheim instantly knocked off, and out of it fell two +sugar-sticks, and three or four large lumps of sugar. + +The warrior made no effort to recover his property or to pick up his +shako, but looked with an expression of attention at Straudenheim when he +kicked him five times, and also at the lean man when _he_ kicked him five +times, and again at Straudenheim when he tore the breast of his (the +warrior’s) little coat open, and shook all his ten fingers in his face, +as if they were ten thousand. When these outrages had been committed, +Straudenheim and his man went into the house again and barred the door. +A wonderful circumstance was, that the housekeeper who saw it all (and +who could have taken six such warriors to her buxom bosom at once), only +fanned herself and laughed as she had laughed before, and seemed to have +no opinion about it, one way or other. + +But, the chief effect of the drama was the remarkable vengeance taken by +the little warrior. Left alone in the rain, he picked up his shako; put +it on, all wet and dirty as it was; retired into a court, of which +Straudenheim’s house formed the corner; wheeled about; and bringing his +two forefingers close to the top of his nose, rubbed them over one +another, cross-wise, in derision, defiance, and contempt of Straudenheim. +Although Straudenheim could not possibly be supposed to be conscious of +this strange proceeding, it so inflated and comforted the little +warrior’s soul, that twice he went away, and twice came back into the +court to repeat it, as though it must goad his enemy to madness. Not +only that, but he afterwards came back with two other small warriors, and +they all three did it together. Not only that—as I live to tell the +tale!—but just as it was falling quite dark, the three came back, +bringing with them a huge bearded Sapper, whom they moved, by recital of +the original wrong, to go through the same performance, with the same +complete absence of all possible knowledge of it on the part of +Straudenheim. And then they all went away, arm in arm, singing. + +I went away too, in the German chariot at sunrise, and rattled on, day +after day, like one in a sweet dream; with so many clear little bells on +the harness of the horses, that the nursery rhyme about Banbury Cross and +the venerable lady who rode in state there, was always in my ears. And +now I came to the land of wooden houses, innocent cakes, thin butter +soup, and spotless little inn bedrooms with a family likeness to Dairies. +And now the Swiss marksmen were for ever rifle-shooting at marks across +gorges, so exceedingly near my ear, that I felt like a new Gesler in a +Canton of Tells, and went in highly-deserved danger of my tyrannical +life. The prizes at these shootings, were watches, smart handkerchiefs, +hats, spoons, and (above all) tea-trays; and at these contests I came +upon a more than usually accomplished and amiable countryman of my own, +who had shot himself deaf in whole years of competition, and had won so +many tea-trays that he went about the country with his carriage full of +them, like a glorified Cheap-Jack. + +In the mountain-country into which I had now travelled, a yoke of oxen +were sometimes hooked on before the post-horses, and I went lumbering up, +up, up, through mist and rain, with the roar of falling water for change +of music. Of a sudden, mist and rain would clear away, and I would come +down into picturesque little towns with gleaming spires and odd towers; +and would stroll afoot into market-places in steep winding streets, where +a hundred women in bodices, sold eggs and honey, butter and fruit, and +suckled their children as they sat by their clean baskets, and had such +enormous goîtres (or glandular swellings in the throat) that it became a +science to know where the nurse ended and the child began. About this +time, I deserted my German chariot for the back of a mule (in colour and +consistency so very like a dusty old hair trunk I once had at school, +that I half expected to see my initials in brass-headed nails on his +backbone), and went up a thousand rugged ways, and looked down at a +thousand woods of fir and pine, and would on the whole have preferred my +mule’s keeping a little nearer to the inside, and not usually travelling +with a hoof or two over the precipice—though much consoled by explanation +that this was to be attributed to his great sagacity, by reason of his +carrying broad loads of wood at other times, and not being clear but that +I myself belonged to that station of life, and required as much room as +they. He brought me safely, in his own wise way, among the passes of the +Alps, and here I enjoyed a dozen climates a day; being now (like Don +Quixote on the back of the wooden horse) in the region of wind, now in +the region of fire, now in the region of unmelting ice and snow. Here, I +passed over trembling domes of ice, beneath which the cataract was +roaring; and here was received under arches of icicles, of unspeakable +beauty; and here the sweet air was so bracing and so light, that at +halting-times I rolled in the snow when I saw my mule do it, thinking +that he must know best. At this part of the journey we would come, at +mid-day, into half an hour’s thaw: when the rough mountain inn would be +found on an island of deep mud in a sea of snow, while the baiting +strings of mules, and the carts full of casks and bales, which had been +in an Arctic condition a mile off, would steam again. By such ways and +means, I would come to the cluster of châlets where I had to turn out of +the track to see the waterfall; and then, uttering a howl like a young +giant, on espying a traveller—in other words, something to eat—coming up +the steep, the idiot lying on the wood-pile who sunned himself and nursed +his goître, would rouse the woman-guide within the hut, who would stream +out hastily, throwing her child over one of her shoulders and her goître +over the other, as she came along. I slept at religious houses, and +bleak refuges of many kinds, on this journey, and by the stove at night +heard stories of travellers who had perished within call, in wreaths and +drifts of snow. One night the stove within, and the cold outside, +awakened childish associations long forgotten, and I dreamed I was in +Russia—the identical serf out of a picture-book I had, before I could +read it for myself—and that I was going to be knouted by a noble +personage in a fur cap, boots, and earrings, who, I think, must have come +out of some melodrama. + +Commend me to the beautiful waters among these mountains! Though I was +not of their mind: they, being inveterately bent on getting down into the +level country, and I ardently desiring to linger where I was. What +desperate leaps they took, what dark abysses they plunged into, what +rocks they wore away, what echoes they invoked! In one part where I +went, they were pressed into the service of carrying wood down, to be +burnt next winter, as costly fuel, in Italy. But, their fierce savage +nature was not to be easily constrained, and they fought with every limb +of the wood; whirling it round and round, stripping its bark away, +dashing it against pointed corners, driving it out of the course, and +roaring and flying at the peasants who steered it back again from the +bank with long stout poles. Alas! concurrent streams of time and water +carried _me_ down fast, and I came, on an exquisitely clear day, to the +Lausanne shore of the Lake of Geneva, where I stood looking at the bright +blue water, the flushed white mountains opposite, and the boats at my +feet with their furled Mediterranean sails, showing like enormous +magnifications of this goose-quill pen that is now in my hand. + +—The sky became overcast without any notice; a wind very like the March +east wind of England, blew across me; and a voice said, ‘How do you like +it? Will it do?’ + +I had merely shut myself, for half a minute, in a German travelling +chariot that stood for sale in the Carriage Department of the London +Pantechnicon. I had a commission to buy it, for a friend who was going +abroad; and the look and manner of the chariot, as I tried the cushions +and the springs, brought all these hints of travelling remembrance before +me. + +‘It will do very well,’ said I, rather sorrowfully, as I got out at the +other door, and shut the carriage up. + + + + +VIII +THE GREAT TASMANIA’S CARGO + + +I TRAVEL constantly, up and down a certain line of railway that has a +terminus in London. It is the railway for a large military depôt, and +for other large barracks. To the best of my serious belief, I have never +been on that railway by daylight, without seeing some handcuffed +deserters in the train. + +It is in the nature of things that such an institution as our English +army should have many bad and troublesome characters in it. But, this is +a reason for, and not against, its being made as acceptable as possible +to well-disposed men of decent behaviour. Such men are assuredly not +tempted into the ranks, by the beastly inversion of natural laws, and the +compulsion to live in worse than swinish foulness. Accordingly, when any +such Circumlocutional embellishments of the soldier’s condition have of +late been brought to notice, we civilians, seated in outer darkness +cheerfully meditating on an Income Tax, have considered the matter as +being our business, and have shown a tendency to declare that we would +rather not have it misregulated, if such declaration may, without +violence to the Church Catechism, be hinted to those who are put in +authority over us. + +Any animated description of a modern battle, any private soldier’s letter +published in the newspapers, any page of the records of the Victoria +Cross, will show that in the ranks of the army, there exists under all +disadvantages as fine a sense of duty as is to be found in any station on +earth. Who doubts that if we all did our duty as faithfully as the +soldier does his, this world would be a better place? There may be +greater difficulties in our way than in the soldier’s. Not disputed. +But, let us at least do our duty towards _him_. + +I had got back again to that rich and beautiful port where I had looked +after Mercantile Jack, and I was walking up a hill there, on a wild March +morning. My conversation with my official friend Pangloss, by whom I was +accidentally accompanied, took this direction as we took the up-hill +direction, because the object of my uncommercial journey was to see some +discharged soldiers who had recently come home from India. There were +men of HAVELOCK’S among them; there were men who had been in many of the +great battles of the great Indian campaign, among them; and I was curious +to note what our discharged soldiers looked like, when they were done +with. + +I was not the less interested (as I mentioned to my official friend +Pangloss) because these men had claimed to be discharged, when their +right to be discharged was not admitted. They had behaved with +unblemished fidelity and bravery; but, a change of circumstances had +arisen, which, as they considered, put an end to their compact and +entitled them to enter on a new one. Their demand had been blunderingly +resisted by the authorities in India: but, it is to be presumed that the +men were not far wrong, inasmuch as the bungle had ended in their being +sent home discharged, in pursuance of orders from home. (There was an +immense waste of money, of course.) + +Under these circumstances—thought I, as I walked up the hill, on which I +accidentally encountered my official friend—under these circumstances of +the men having successfully opposed themselves to the Pagoda Department +of that great Circumlocution Office on which the sun never sets and the +light of reason never rises, the Pagoda Department will have been +particularly careful of the national honour. It will have shown these +men, in the scrupulous good faith, not to say the generosity, of its +dealing with them, that great national authorities can have no small +retaliations and revenges. It will have made every provision for their +health on the passage home, and will have landed them, restored from +their campaigning fatigues by a sea-voyage, pure air, sound food, and +good medicines. And I pleased myself with dwelling beforehand, on the +great accounts of their personal treatment which these men would carry +into their various towns and villages, and on the increasing popularity +of the service that would insensibly follow. I almost began to hope that +the hitherto-never-failing deserters on my railroad would by-and-by +become a phenomenon. + +In this agreeable frame of mind I entered the workhouse of +Liverpool.—For, the cultivation of laurels in a sandy soil, had brought +the soldiers in question to _that_ abode of Glory. + +Before going into their wards to visit them, I inquired how they had made +their triumphant entry there? They had been brought through the rain in +carts it seemed, from the landing-place to the gate, and had then been +carried up-stairs on the backs of paupers. Their groans and pains during +the performance of this glorious pageant, had been so distressing, as to +bring tears into the eyes of spectators but too well accustomed to scenes +of suffering. The men were so dreadfully cold, that those who could get +near the fires were hard to be restrained from thrusting their feet in +among the blazing coals. They were so horribly reduced, that they were +awful to look upon. Racked with dysentery and blackened with scurvy, one +hundred and forty wretched soldiers had been revived with brandy and laid +in bed. + +My official friend Pangloss is lineally descended from a learned doctor +of that name, who was once tutor to Candide, an ingenious young gentleman +of some celebrity. In his personal character, he is as humane and worthy +a gentleman as any I know; in his official capacity, he unfortunately +preaches the doctrines of his renowned ancestor, by demonstrating on all +occasions that we live in the best of all possible official worlds. + +‘In the name of Humanity,’ said I, ‘how did the men fall into this +deplorable state? Was the ship well found in stores?’ + +‘I am not here to asseverate that I know the fact, of my own knowledge,’ +answered Pangloss, ‘but I have grounds for asserting that the stores were +the best of all possible stores.’ + +A medical officer laid before us, a handful of rotten biscuit, and a +handful of split peas. The biscuit was a honeycombed heap of maggots, +and the excrement of maggots. The peas were even harder than this filth. +A similar handful had been experimentally boiled six hours, and had shown +no signs of softening. These were the stores on which the soldiers had +been fed. + +‘The beef—’ I began, when Pangloss cut me short. + +‘Was the best of all possible beef,’ said he. + +But, behold, there was laid before us certain evidence given at the +Coroner’s Inquest, holden on some of the men (who had obstinately died of +their treatment), and from that evidence it appeared that the beef was +the worst of possible beef! + +‘Then I lay my hand upon my heart, and take my stand,’ said Pangloss, ‘by +the pork, which was the best of all possible pork.’ + +‘But look at this food before our eyes, if one may so misuse the word,’ +said I. ‘Would any Inspector who did his duty, pass such abomination?’ + +‘It ought not to have been passed,’ Pangloss admitted. + +‘Then the authorities out there—’ I began, when Pangloss cut me short +again. + +‘There would certainly seem to have been something wrong somewhere,’ said +he; ‘but I am prepared to prove that the authorities out there, are the +best of all possible authorities.’ + +I never heard of any impeached public authority in my life, who was not +the best public authority in existence. + +‘We are told of these unfortunate men being laid low by scurvy,’ said I. +‘Since lime-juice has been regularly stored and served out in our navy, +surely that disease, which used to devastate it, has almost disappeared? +Was there lime-juice aboard this transport?’ + +My official friend was beginning ‘the best of all possible—’ when an +inconvenient medical forefinger pointed out another passage in the +evidence, from which it appeared that the lime-juice had been bad too. +Not to mention that the vinegar had been bad too, the vegetables bad too, +the cooking accommodation insufficient (if there had been anything worth +mentioning to cook), the water supply exceedingly inadequate, and the +beer sour. + +‘Then the men,’ said Pangloss, a little irritated, ‘Were the worst of all +possible men.’ + +‘In what respect?’ I asked. + +‘Oh! Habitual drunkards,’ said Pangloss. + +But, again the same incorrigible medical forefinger pointed out another +passage in the evidence, showing that the dead men had been examined +after death, and that they, at least, could not possibly have been +habitual drunkards, because the organs within them which must have shown +traces of that habit, were perfectly sound. + +‘And besides,’ said the three doctors present, ‘one and all, habitual +drunkards brought as low as these men have been, could not recover under +care and food, as the great majority of these men are recovering. They +would not have strength of constitution to do it.’ + +‘Reckless and improvident dogs, then,’ said Pangloss. ‘Always are—nine +times out of ten.’ + +I turned to the master of the workhouse, and asked him whether the men +had any money? + +‘Money?’ said he. ‘I have in my iron safe, nearly four hundred pounds of +theirs; the agents have nearly a hundred pounds more and many of them +have left money in Indian banks besides.’ + +‘Hah!’ said I to myself, as we went up-stairs, ‘this is not the best of +all possible stories, I doubt!’ + +We went into a large ward, containing some twenty or five-and-twenty +beds. We went into several such wards, one after another. I find it +very difficult to indicate what a shocking sight I saw in them, without +frightening the reader from the perusal of these lines, and defeating my +object of making it known. + +O the sunken eyes that turned to me as I walked between the rows of beds, +or—worse still—that glazedly looked at the white ceiling, and saw nothing +and cared for nothing! Here, lay the skeleton of a man, so lightly +covered with a thin unwholesome skin, that not a bone in the anatomy was +clothed, and I could clasp the arm above the elbow, in my finger and +thumb. Here, lay a man with the black scurvy eating his legs away, his +gums gone, and his teeth all gaunt and bare. This bed was empty, because +gangrene had set in, and the patient had died but yesterday. That bed +was a hopeless one, because its occupant was sinking fast, and could only +be roused to turn the poor pinched mask of face upon the pillow, with a +feeble moan. The awful thinness of the fallen cheeks, the awful +brightness of the deep set eyes, the lips of lead, the hands of ivory, +the recumbent human images lying in the shadow of death with a kind of +solemn twilight on them, like the sixty who had died aboard the ship and +were lying at the bottom of the sea, O Pangloss, GOD forgive you! + +In one bed, lay a man whose life had been saved (as it was hoped) by deep +incisions in the feet and legs. While I was speaking to him, a nurse +came up to change the poultices which this operation had rendered +necessary, and I had an instinctive feeling that it was not well to turn +away, merely to spare myself. He was sorely wasted and keenly +susceptible, but the efforts he made to subdue any expression of +impatience or suffering, were quite heroic. It was easy to see, in the +shrinking of the figure, and the drawing of the bed-clothes over the +head, how acute the endurance was, and it made me shrink too, as if I +were in pain; but, when the new bandages were on, and the poor feet were +composed again, he made an apology for himself (though he had not uttered +a word), and said plaintively, ‘I am so tender and weak, you see, sir!’ +Neither from him nor from any one sufferer of the whole ghastly number, +did I hear a complaint. Of thankfulness for present solicitude and care, +I heard much; of complaint, not a word. + +I think I could have recognised in the dismalest skeleton there, the +ghost of a soldier. Something of the old air was still latent in the +palest shadow of life I talked to. One emaciated creature, in the +strictest literality worn to the bone, lay stretched on his back, looking +so like death that I asked one of the doctors if he were not dying, or +dead? A few kind words from the doctor, in his ear, and he opened his +eyes, and smiled—looked, in a moment, as if he would have made a salute, +if he could. ‘We shall pull him through, please God,’ said the Doctor. +‘Plase God, surr, and thankye,’ said the patient. ‘You are much better +to-day; are you not?’ said the Doctor. ‘Plase God, surr; ’tis the slape +I want, surr; ’tis my breathin’ makes the nights so long.’ ‘He is a +careful fellow this, you must know,’ said the Doctor, cheerfully; ‘it was +raining hard when they put him in the open cart to bring him here, and he +had the presence of mind to ask to have a sovereign taken out of his +pocket that he had there, and a cab engaged. Probably it saved his +life.’ The patient rattled out the skeleton of a laugh, and said, proud +of the story, ‘’Deed, surr, an open cairt was a comical means o’ bringin’ +a dyin’ man here, and a clever way to kill him.’ You might have sworn to +him for a soldier when he said it. + +One thing had perplexed me very much in going from bed to bed. A very +significant and cruel thing. I could find no young man but one. He had +attracted my notice, by having got up and dressed himself in his +soldier’s jacket and trousers, with the intention of sitting by the fire; +but he had found himself too weak, and had crept back to his bed and laid +himself down on the outside of it. I could have pronounced him, alone, +to be a young man aged by famine and sickness. As we were standing by +the Irish soldier’s bed, I mentioned my perplexity to the Doctor. He +took a board with an inscription on it from the head of the Irishman’s +bed, and asked me what age I supposed that man to be? I had observed him +with attention while talking to him, and answered, confidently, ‘Fifty.’ +The Doctor, with a pitying glance at the patient, who had dropped into a +stupor again, put the board back, and said, ‘Twenty-four.’ + +All the arrangements of the wards were excellent. They could not have +been more humane, sympathising, gentle, attentive, or wholesome. The +owners of the ship, too, had done all they could, liberally. There were +bright fires in every room, and the convalescent men were sitting round +them, reading various papers and periodicals. I took the liberty of +inviting my official friend Pangloss to look at those convalescent men, +and to tell me whether their faces and bearing were or were not, +generally, the faces and bearing of steady respectable soldiers? The +master of the workhouse, overhearing me, said he had had a pretty large +experience of troops, and that better conducted men than these, he had +never had to do with. They were always (he added) as we saw them. And +of us visitors (I add) they knew nothing whatever, except that we were +there. + +It was audacious in me, but I took another liberty with Pangloss. +Prefacing it with the observation that, of course, I knew beforehand that +there was not the faintest desire, anywhere, to hush up any part of this +dreadful business, and that the Inquest was the fairest of all possible +Inquests, I besought four things of Pangloss. Firstly, to observe that +the Inquest _was not held in that place_, but at some distance off. +Secondly, to look round upon those helpless spectres in their beds. +Thirdly, to remember that the witnesses produced from among them before +that Inquest, could not have been selected because they were the men who +had the most to tell it, but because they happened to be in a state +admitting of their safe removal. Fourthly, to say whether the coroner +and jury could have come there, to those pillows, and taken a little +evidence? My official friend declined to commit himself to a reply. + +There was a sergeant, reading, in one of the fireside groups. As he was +a man of very intelligent countenance, and as I have a great respect for +non-commissioned officers as a class, I sat down on the nearest bed, to +have some talk with him. (It was the bed of one of the grisliest of the +poor skeletons, and he died soon afterwards.) + +‘I was glad to see, in the evidence of an officer at the Inquest, +sergeant, that he never saw men behave better on board ship than these +men.’ + +‘They did behave very well, sir.’ + +‘I was glad to see, too, that every man had a hammock.’ The sergeant +gravely shook his head. ‘There must be some mistake, sir. The men of my +own mess had no hammocks. There were not hammocks enough on board, and +the men of the two next messes laid hold of hammocks for themselves as +soon as they got on board, and squeezed my men out, as I may say.’ + +‘Had the squeezed-out men none then?’ + +‘None, sir. As men died, their hammocks were used by other men, who +wanted hammocks; but many men had none at all.’ + +‘Then you don’t agree with the evidence on that point?’ + +‘Certainly not, sir. A man can’t, when he knows to the contrary.’ + +‘Did any of the men sell their bedding for drink?’ + +‘There is some mistake on that point too, sir. Men were under the +impression—I knew it for a fact at the time—that it was not allowed to +take blankets or bedding on board, and so men who had things of that sort +came to sell them purposely.’ + +‘Did any of the men sell their clothes for drink?’ + +‘They did, sir.’ (I believe there never was a more truthful witness than +the sergeant. He had no inclination to make out a case.) + +‘Many?’ + +‘Some, sir’ (considering the question). ‘Soldier-like. They had been +long marching in the rainy season, by bad roads—no roads at all, in +short—and when they got to Calcutta, men turned to and drank, before +taking a last look at it. Soldier-like.’ + +‘Do you see any men in this ward, for example, who sold clothes for drink +at that time?’ + +The sergeant’s wan eye, happily just beginning to rekindle with health, +travelled round the place and came back to me. ‘Certainly, sir.’ + +‘The marching to Calcutta in the rainy season must have been severe?’ + +‘It was very severe, sir.’ + +‘Yet what with the rest and the sea air, I should have thought that the +men (even the men who got drunk) would have soon begun to recover on +board ship?’ + +‘So they might; but the bad food told upon them, and when we got into a +cold latitude, it began to tell more, and the men dropped.’ + +‘The sick had a general disinclination for food, I am told, sergeant?’ + +‘Have you seen the food, sir?’ + +‘Some of it.’ + +‘Have you seen the state of their mouths, sir?’ + +If the sergeant, who was a man of a few orderly words, had spoken the +amount of this volume, he could not have settled that question better. I +believe the sick could as soon have eaten the ship, as the ship’s +provisions. + +I took the additional liberty with my friend Pangloss, when I had left +the sergeant with good wishes, of asking Pangloss whether he had ever +heard of biscuit getting drunk and bartering its nutritious qualities for +putrefaction and vermin; of peas becoming hardened in liquor; of hammocks +drinking themselves off the face of the earth; of lime-juice, vegetables, +vinegar, cooking accommodation, water supply, and beer, all taking to +drinking together and going to ruin? ‘If not (I asked him), what did he +say in defence of the officers condemned by the Coroner’s jury, who, by +signing the General Inspection report relative to the ship Great +Tasmania, chartered for these troops, had deliberately asserted all that +bad and poisonous dunghill refuse, to be good and wholesome food?’ My +official friend replied that it was a remarkable fact, that whereas some +officers were only positively good, and other officers only comparatively +better, those particular officers were superlatively the very best of all +possible officers. + +My hand and my heart fail me, in writing my record of this journey. The +spectacle of the soldiers in the hospital-beds of that Liverpool +workhouse (a very good workhouse, indeed, be it understood), was so +shocking and so shameful, that as an Englishman I blush to remember it. +It would have been simply unbearable at the time, but for the +consideration and pity with which they were soothed in their sufferings. + +No punishment that our inefficient laws provide, is worthy of the name +when set against the guilt of this transaction. But, if the memory of it +die out unavenged, and if it do not result in the inexorable dismissal +and disgrace of those who are responsible for it, their escape will be +infamous to the Government (no matter of what party) that so neglects its +duty, and infamous to the nation that tamely suffers such intolerable +wrong to be done in its name. + + + + +IX +CITY OF LONDON CHURCHES + + +IF the confession that I have often travelled from this Covent Garden +lodging of mine on Sundays, should give offence to those who never travel +on Sundays, they will be satisfied (I hope) by my adding that the +journeys in question were made to churches. + +Not that I have any curiosity to hear powerful preachers. Time was, when +I was dragged by the hair of my head, as one may say, to hear too many. +On summer evenings, when every flower, and tree, and bird, might have +better addressed my soft young heart, I have in my day been caught in the +palm of a female hand by the crown, have been violently scrubbed from the +neck to the roots of the hair as a purification for the Temple, and have +then been carried off highly charged with saponaceous electricity, to be +steamed like a potato in the unventilated breath of the powerful +Boanerges Boiler and his congregation, until what small mind I had, was +quite steamed out of me. In which pitiable plight I have been haled out +of the place of meeting, at the conclusion of the exercises, and +catechised respecting Boanerges Boiler, his fifthly, his sixthly, and his +seventhly, until I have regarded that reverend person in the light of a +most dismal and oppressive Charade. Time was, when I was carried off to +platform assemblages at which no human child, whether of wrath or grace, +could possibly keep its eyes open, and when I felt the fatal sleep +stealing, stealing over me, and when I gradually heard the orator in +possession, spinning and humming like a great top, until he rolled, +collapsed, and tumbled over, and I discovered to my burning shame and +fear, that as to that last stage it was not he, but I. I have sat under +Boanerges when he has specifically addressed himself to us—us, the +infants—and at this present writing I hear his lumbering jocularity +(which never amused us, though we basely pretended that it did), and I +behold his big round face, and I look up the inside of his outstretched +coat-sleeve as if it were a telescope with the stopper on, and I hate him +with an unwholesome hatred for two hours. Through such means did it come +to pass that I knew the powerful preacher from beginning to end, all over +and all through, while I was very young, and that I left him behind at an +early period of life. Peace be with him! More peace than he brought to +me! + +Now, I have heard many preachers since that time—not powerful; merely +Christian, unaffected, and reverential—and I have had many such preachers +on my roll of friends. But, it was not to hear these, any more than the +powerful class, that I made my Sunday journeys. They were journeys of +curiosity to the numerous churches in the City of London. It came into +my head one day, here had I been cultivating a familiarity with all the +churches of Rome, and I knew nothing of the insides of the old churches +of London! This befell on a Sunday morning. I began my expeditions that +very same day, and they lasted me a year. + +I never wanted to know the names of the churches to which I went, and to +this hour I am profoundly ignorant in that particular of at least +nine-tenths of them. Indeed, saying that I know the church of old +GOWER’S tomb (he lies in effigy with his head upon his books) to be the +church of Saint Saviour’s, Southwark; and the church of MILTON’S tomb to +be the church of Cripplegate; and the church on Cornhill with the great +golden keys to be the church of Saint Peter; I doubt if I could pass a +competitive examination in any of the names. No question did I ever ask +of living creature concerning these churches, and no answer to any +antiquarian question on the subject that I ever put to books, shall +harass the reader’s soul. A full half of my pleasure in them arose out +of their mystery; mysterious I found them; mysterious they shall remain +for me. + +Where shall I begin my round of hidden and forgotten old churches in the +City of London? + +It is twenty minutes short of eleven on a Sunday morning, when I stroll +down one of the many narrow hilly streets in the City that tend due south +to the Thames. It is my first experiment, and I have come to the region +of Whittington in an omnibus, and we have put down a fierce-eyed, spare +old woman, whose slate-coloured gown smells of herbs, and who walked up +Aldersgate-street to some chapel where she comforts herself with +brimstone doctrine, I warrant. We have also put down a stouter and +sweeter old lady, with a pretty large prayer-book in an unfolded +pocket-handkerchief, who got out at a corner of a court near Stationers’ +Hall, and who I think must go to church there, because she is the widow +of some deceased old Company’s Beadle. The rest of our freight were mere +chance pleasure-seekers and rural walkers, and went on to the Blackwall +railway. So many bells are ringing, when I stand undecided at a street +corner, that every sheep in the ecclesiastical fold might be a +bell-wether. The discordance is fearful. My state of indecision is +referable to, and about equally divisible among, four great churches, +which are all within sight and sound, all within the space of a few +square yards. + +As I stand at the street corner, I don’t see as many as four people at +once going to church, though I see as many as four churches with their +steeples clamouring for people. I choose my church, and go up the flight +of steps to the great entrance in the tower. A mouldy tower within, and +like a neglected washhouse. A rope comes through the beamed roof, and a +man in the corner pulls it and clashes the bell—a whity-brown man, whose +clothes were once black—a man with flue on him, and cobweb. He stares at +me, wondering how I come there, and I stare at him, wondering how he +comes there. Through a screen of wood and glass, I peep into the dim +church. About twenty people are discernible, waiting to begin. +Christening would seem to have faded out of this church long ago, for the +font has the dust of desuetude thick upon it, and its wooden cover +(shaped like an old-fashioned tureen-cover) looks as if it wouldn’t come +off, upon requirement. I perceive the altar to be rickety and the +Commandments damp. Entering after this survey, I jostle the clergyman in +his canonicals, who is entering too from a dark lane behind a pew of +state with curtains, where nobody sits. The pew is ornamented with four +blue wands, once carried by four somebodys, I suppose, before somebody +else, but which there is nobody now to hold or receive honour from. I +open the door of a family pew, and shut myself in; if I could occupy +twenty family pews at once I might have them. The clerk, a brisk young +man (how does _he_ come here?), glances at me knowingly, as who should +say, ‘You have done it now; you must stop.’ Organ plays. Organ-loft is +in a small gallery across the church; gallery congregation, two girls. I +wonder within myself what will happen when we are required to sing. + +There is a pale heap of books in the corner of my pew, and while the +organ, which is hoarse and sleepy, plays in such fashion that I can hear +more of the rusty working of the stops than of any music, I look at the +books, which are mostly bound in faded baize and stuff. They belonged in +1754, to the Dowgate family; and who were they? Jane Comport must have +married Young Dowgate, and come into the family that way; Young Dowgate +was courting Jane Comport when he gave her her prayer-book, and recorded +the presentation in the fly-leaf; if Jane were fond of Young Dowgate, why +did she die and leave the book here? Perhaps at the rickety altar, and +before the damp Commandments, she, Comport, had taken him, Dowgate, in a +flush of youthful hope and joy, and perhaps it had not turned out in the +long run as great a success as was expected? + +The opening of the service recalls my wandering thoughts. I then find, +to my astonishment, that I have been, and still am, taking a strong kind +of invisible snuff, up my nose, into my eyes, and down my throat. I +wink, sneeze, and cough. The clerk sneezes; the clergyman winks; the +unseen organist sneezes and coughs (and probably winks); all our little +party wink, sneeze, and cough. The snuff seems to be made of the decay +of matting, wood, cloth, stone, iron, earth, and something else. Is the +something else, the decay of dead citizens in the vaults below? As sure +as Death it is! Not only in the cold, damp February day, do we cough and +sneeze dead citizens, all through the service, but dead citizens have got +into the very bellows of the organ, and half choked the same. We stamp +our feet to warm them, and dead citizens arise in heavy clouds. Dead +citizens stick upon the walls, and lie pulverised on the sounding-board +over the clergyman’s head, and, when a gust of air comes, tumble down +upon him. + +In this first experience I was so nauseated by too much snuff, made of +the Dowgate family, the Comport branch, and other families and branches, +that I gave but little heed to our dull manner of ambling through the +service; to the brisk clerk’s manner of encouraging us to try a note or +two at psalm time; to the gallery-congregation’s manner of enjoying a +shrill duet, without a notion of time or tune; to the whity-brown man’s +manner of shutting the minister into the pulpit, and being very +particular with the lock of the door, as if he were a dangerous animal. +But, I tried again next Sunday, and soon accustomed myself to the dead +citizens when I found that I could not possibly get on without them among +the City churches. + +Another Sunday. + +After being again rung for by conflicting bells, like a leg of mutton or +a laced hat a hundred years ago, I make selection of a church oddly put +away in a corner among a number of lanes—a smaller church than the last, +and an ugly: of about the date of Queen Anne. As a congregation, we are +fourteen strong: not counting an exhausted charity school in a gallery, +which has dwindled away to four boys, and two girls. In the porch, is a +benefaction of loaves of bread, which there would seem to be nobody left +in the exhausted congregation to claim, and which I saw an exhausted +beadle, long faded out of uniform, eating with his eyes for self and +family when I passed in. There is also an exhausted clerk in a brown +wig, and two or three exhausted doors and windows have been bricked up, +and the service books are musty, and the pulpit cushions are threadbare, +and the whole of the church furniture is in a very advanced stage of +exhaustion. We are three old women (habitual), two young lovers +(accidental), two tradesmen, one with a wife and one alone, an aunt and +nephew, again two girls (these two girls dressed out for church with +everything about them limp that should be stiff, and _vice versâ_, are an +invariable experience), and three sniggering boys. The clergyman is, +perhaps, the chaplain of a civic company; he has the moist and vinous +look, and eke the bulbous boots, of one acquainted with ’Twenty port, and +comet vintages. + +We are so quiet in our dulness that the three sniggering boys, who have +got away into a corner by the altar-railing, give us a start, like +crackers, whenever they laugh. And this reminds me of my own village +church where, during sermon-time on bright Sundays when the birds are +very musical indeed, farmers’ boys patter out over the stone pavement, +and the clerk steps out from his desk after them, and is distinctly heard +in the summer repose to pursue and punch them in the churchyard, and is +seen to return with a meditative countenance, making believe that nothing +of the sort has happened. The aunt and nephew in this City church are +much disturbed by the sniggering boys. The nephew is himself a boy, and +the sniggerers tempt him to secular thoughts of marbles and string, by +secretly offering such commodities to his distant contemplation. This +young Saint Anthony for a while resists, but presently becomes a +backslider, and in dumb show defies the sniggerers to ‘heave’ a marble or +two in his direction. Here in he is detected by the aunt (a rigorous +reduced gentlewoman who has the charge of offices), and I perceive that +worthy relative to poke him in the side, with the corrugated hooked +handle of an ancient umbrella. The nephew revenges himself for this, by +holding his breath and terrifying his kinswoman with the dread belief +that he has made up his mind to burst. Regardless of whispers and +shakes, he swells and becomes discoloured, and yet again swells and +becomes discoloured, until the aunt can bear it no longer, but leads him +out, with no visible neck, and with his eyes going before him like a +prawn’s. This causes the sniggerers to regard flight as an eligible +move, and I know which of them will go out first, because of the +over-devout attention that he suddenly concentrates on the clergyman. In +a little while, this hypocrite, with an elaborate demonstration of +hushing his footsteps, and with a face generally expressive of having +until now forgotten a religious appointment elsewhere, is gone. Number +two gets out in the same way, but rather quicker. Number three getting +safely to the door, there turns reckless, and banging it open, flies +forth with a Whoop! that vibrates to the top of the tower above us. + +The clergyman, who is of a prandial presence and a muffled voice, may be +scant of hearing as well as of breath, but he only glances up, as having +an idea that somebody has said Amen in a wrong place, and continues his +steady jog-trot, like a farmer’s wife going to market. He does all he +has to do, in the same easy way, and gives us a concise sermon, still +like the jog-trot of the farmer’s wife on a level road. Its drowsy +cadence soon lulls the three old women asleep, and the unmarried +tradesman sits looking out at window, and the married tradesman sits +looking at his wife’s bonnet, and the lovers sit looking at one another, +so superlatively happy, that I mind when I, turned of eighteen, went with +my Angelica to a City church on account of a shower (by this special +coincidence that it was in Huggin-lane), and when I said to my Angelica, +‘Let the blessed event, Angelica, occur at no altar but this!’ and when +my Angelica consented that it should occur at no other—which it certainly +never did, for it never occurred anywhere. And O, Angelica, what has +become of you, this present Sunday morning when I can’t attend to the +sermon; and, more difficult question than that, what has become of Me as +I was when I sat by your side! + +But, we receive the signal to make that unanimous dive which surely is a +little conventional—like the strange rustlings and settlings and +clearings of throats and noses, which are never dispensed with, at +certain points of the Church service, and are never held to be necessary +under any other circumstances. In a minute more it is all over, and the +organ expresses itself to be as glad of it as it can be of anything in +its rheumatic state, and in another minute we are all of us out of the +church, and Whity-brown has locked it up. Another minute or little more, +and, in the neighbouring churchyard—not the yard of that church, but of +another—a churchyard like a great shabby old mignonette box, with two +trees in it and one tomb—I meet Whity-brown, in his private capacity, +fetching a pint of beer for his dinner from the public-house in the +corner, where the keys of the rotting fire-ladders are kept and were +never asked for, and where there is a ragged, white-seamed, +out-at-elbowed bagatelle board on the first floor. + +In one of these City churches, and only in one, I found an individual who +might have been claimed as expressly a City personage. I remember the +church, by the feature that the clergyman couldn’t get to his own desk +without going through the clerk’s, or couldn’t get to the pulpit without +going through the reading-desk—I forget which, and it is no matter—and by +the presence of this personage among the exceedingly sparse congregation. +I doubt if we were a dozen, and we had no exhausted charity school to +help us out. The personage was dressed in black of square cut, and was +stricken in years, and wore a black velvet cap, and cloth shoes. He was +of a staid, wealthy, and dissatisfied aspect. In his hand, he conducted +to church a mysterious child: a child of the feminine gender. The child +had a beaver hat, with a stiff drab plume that surely never belonged to +any bird of the air. The child was further attired in a nankeen frock +and spencer, brown boxing-gloves, and a veil. It had a blemish, in the +nature of currant jelly, on its chin; and was a thirsty child. Insomuch +that the personage carried in his pocket a green bottle, from which, when +the first psalm was given out, the child was openly refreshed. At all +other times throughout the service it was motionless, and stood on the +seat of the large pew, closely fitted into the corner, like a rain-water +pipe. + + [Picture: The City Personage] + +The personage never opened his book, and never looked at the clergyman. +He never sat down either, but stood with his arms leaning on the top of +the pew, and his forehead sometimes shaded with his right hand, always +looking at the church door. It was a long church for a church of its +size, and he was at the upper end, but he always looked at the door. +That he was an old bookkeeper, or an old trader who had kept his own +books, and that he might be seen at the Bank of England about Dividend +times, no doubt. That he had lived in the City all his life and was +disdainful of other localities, no doubt. Why he looked at the door, I +never absolutely proved, but it is my belief that he lived in expectation +of the time when the citizens would come back to live in the City, and +its ancient glories would be renewed. He appeared to expect that this +would occur on a Sunday, and that the wanderers would first appear, in +the deserted churches, penitent and humbled. Hence, he looked at the +door which they never darkened. Whose child the child was, whether the +child of a disinherited daughter, or some parish orphan whom the +personage had adopted, there was nothing to lead up to. It never played, +or skipped, or smiled. Once, the idea occurred to me that it was an +automaton, and that the personage had made it; but following the strange +couple out one Sunday, I heard the personage say to it, ‘Thirteen +thousand pounds;’ to which it added in a weak human voice, ‘Seventeen and +fourpence.’ Four Sundays I followed them out, and this is all I ever +heard or saw them say. One Sunday, I followed them home. They lived +behind a pump, and the personage opened their abode with an exceeding +large key. The one solitary inscription on their house related to a +fire-plug. The house was partly undermined by a deserted and closed +gateway; its windows were blind with dirt; and it stood with its face +disconsolately turned to a wall. Five great churches and two small ones +rang their Sunday bells between this house and the church the couple +frequented, so they must have had some special reason for going a quarter +of a mile to it. The last time I saw them, was on this wise. I had been +to explore another church at a distance, and happened to pass the church +they frequented, at about two of the afternoon when that edifice was +closed. But, a little side-door, which I had never observed before, +stood open, and disclosed certain cellarous steps. Methought ‘They are +airing the vaults to-day,’ when the personage and the child silently +arrived at the steps, and silently descended. Of course, I came to the +conclusion that the personage had at last despaired of the looked-for +return of the penitent citizens, and that he and the child went down to +get themselves buried. + +In the course of my pilgrimages I came upon one obscure church which had +broken out in the melodramatic style, and was got up with various tawdry +decorations, much after the manner of the extinct London may-poles. +These attractions had induced several young priests or deacons in black +bibs for waistcoats, and several young ladies interested in that holy +order (the proportion being, as I estimated, seventeen young ladies to a +deacon), to come into the City as a new and odd excitement. It was +wonderful to see how these young people played out their little play in +the heart of the City, all among themselves, without the deserted City’s +knowing anything about it. It was as if you should take an empty +counting-house on a Sunday, and act one of the old Mysteries there. They +had impressed a small school (from what neighbourhood I don’t know) to +assist in the performances, and it was pleasant to notice frantic +garlands of inscription on the walls, especially addressing those poor +innocents in characters impossible for them to decipher. There was a +remarkably agreeable smell of pomatum in this congregation. + +But, in other cases, rot and mildew and dead citizens formed the +uppermost scent, while, infused into it in a dreamy way not at all +displeasing, was the staple character of the neighbourhood. In the +churches about Mark-lane, for example, there was a dry whiff of wheat; +and I accidentally struck an airy sample of barley out of an aged hassock +in one of them. From Rood-lane to Tower-street, and thereabouts, there +was often a subtle flavour of wine: sometimes, of tea. One church near +Mincing-lane smelt like a druggist’s drawer. Behind the Monument the +service had a flavour of damaged oranges, which, a little further down +towards the river, tempered into herrings, and gradually toned into a +cosmopolitan blast of fish. In one church, the exact counterpart of the +church in the Rake’s Progress where the hero is being married to the +horrible old lady, there was no speciality of atmosphere, until the organ +shook a perfume of hides all over us from some adjacent warehouse. + +Be the scent what it would, however, there was no speciality in the +people. There were never enough of them to represent any calling or +neighbourhood. They had all gone elsewhere over-night, and the few +stragglers in the many churches languished there inexpressively. + +Among the Uncommercial travels in which I have engaged, this year of +Sunday travel occupies its own place, apart from all the rest. Whether I +think of the church where the sails of the oyster-boats in the river +almost flapped against the windows, or of the church where the railroad +made the bells hum as the train rushed by above the roof, I recall a +curious experience. On summer Sundays, in the gentle rain or the bright +sunshine—either, deepening the idleness of the idle City—I have sat, in +that singular silence which belongs to resting-places usually astir, in +scores of buildings at the heart of the world’s metropolis, unknown to +far greater numbers of people speaking the English tongue, than the +ancient edifices of the Eternal City, or the Pyramids of Egypt. The dark +vestries and registries into which I have peeped, and the little +hemmed-in churchyards that have echoed to my feet, have left impressions +on my memory as distinct and quaint as any it has in that way received. +In all those dusty registers that the worms are eating, there is not a +line but made some hearts leap, or some tears flow, in their day. Still +and dry now, still and dry! and the old tree at the window with no room +for its branches, has seen them all out. So with the tomb of the old +Master of the old Company, on which it drips. His son restored it and +died, his daughter restored it and died, and then he had been remembered +long enough, and the tree took possession of him, and his name cracked +out. + +There are few more striking indications of the changes of manners and +customs that two or three hundred years have brought about, than these +deserted churches. Many of them are handsome and costly structures, +several of them were designed by WREN, many of them arose from the ashes +of the great fire, others of them outlived the plague and the fire too, +to die a slow death in these later days. No one can be sure of the +coming time; but it is not too much to say of it that it has no sign in +its outsetting tides, of the reflux to these churches of their +congregations and uses. They remain like the tombs of the old citizens +who lie beneath them and around them, Monuments of another age. They are +worth a Sunday-exploration, now and then, for they yet echo, not +unharmoniously, to the time when the City of London really was London; +when the ’Prentices and Trained Bands were of mark in the state; when +even the Lord Mayor himself was a Reality—not a Fiction conventionally +be-puffed on one day in the year by illustrious friends, who no less +conventionally laugh at him on the remaining three hundred and sixty-four +days. + + + + +X +SHY NEIGHBOURHOODS + + +SO much of my travelling is done on foot, that if I cherished betting +propensities, I should probably be found registered in sporting +newspapers under some such title as the Elastic Novice, challenging all +eleven stone mankind to competition in walking. My last special feat was +turning out of bed at two, after a hard day, pedestrian and otherwise, +and walking thirty miles into the country to breakfast. The road was so +lonely in the night, that I fell asleep to the monotonous sound of my own +feet, doing their regular four miles an hour. Mile after mile I walked, +without the slightest sense of exertion, dozing heavily and dreaming +constantly. It was only when I made a stumble like a drunken man, or +struck out into the road to avoid a horseman close upon me on the +path—who had no existence—that I came to myself and looked about. The +day broke mistily (it was autumn time), and I could not disembarrass +myself of the idea that I had to climb those heights and banks of cloud, +and that there was an Alpine Convent somewhere behind the sun, where I +was going to breakfast. This sleepy notion was so much stronger than +such substantial objects as villages and haystacks, that, after the sun +was up and bright, and when I was sufficiently awake to have a sense of +pleasure in the prospect, I still occasionally caught myself looking +about for wooden arms to point the right track up the mountain, and +wondering there was no snow yet. It is a curiosity of broken sleep that +I made immense quantities of verses on that pedestrian occasion (of +course I never make any when I am in my right senses), and that I spoke a +certain language once pretty familiar to me, but which I have nearly +forgotten from disuse, with fluency. Of both these phenomena I have such +frequent experience in the state between sleeping and waking, that I +sometimes argue with myself that I know I cannot be awake, for, if I +were, I should not be half so ready. The readiness is not imaginary, +because I often recall long strings of the verses, and many turns of the +fluent speech, after I am broad awake. + +My walking is of two kinds: one, straight on end to a definite goal at a +round pace; one, objectless, loitering, and purely vagabond. In the +latter state, no gipsy on earth is a greater vagabond than myself; it is +so natural to me, and strong with me, that I think I must be the +descendant, at no great distance, of some irreclaimable tramp. + +One of the pleasantest things I have lately met with, in a vagabond +course of shy metropolitan neighbourhoods and small shops, is the fancy +of a humble artist, as exemplified in two portraits representing Mr. +Thomas Sayers, of Great Britain, and Mr. John Heenan, of the United +States of America. These illustrious men are highly coloured in fighting +trim, and fighting attitude. To suggest the pastoral and meditative +nature of their peaceful calling, Mr. Heenan is represented on emerald +sward, with primroses and other modest flowers springing up under the +heels of his half-boots; while Mr. Sayers is impelled to the +administration of his favourite blow, the Auctioneer, by the silent +eloquence of a village church. The humble homes of England, with their +domestic virtues and honeysuckle porches, urge both heroes to go in and +win; and the lark and other singing birds are observable in the upper +air, ecstatically carolling their thanks to Heaven for a fight. On the +whole, the associations entwined with the pugilistic art by this artist +are much in the manner of Izaak Walton. + +But, it is with the lower animals of back streets and by-ways that my +present purpose rests. For human notes we may return to such +neighbourhoods when leisure and opportunity serve. + +Nothing in shy neighbourhoods perplexes my mind more, than the bad +company birds keep. Foreign birds often get into good society, but +British birds are inseparable from low associates. There is a whole +street of them in St. Giles’s; and I always find them in poor and immoral +neighbourhoods, convenient to the public-house and the pawnbroker’s. +They seem to lead people into drinking, and even the man who makes their +cages usually gets into a chronic state of black eye. Why is this? +Also, they will do things for people in short-skirted velveteen coats +with bone buttons, or in sleeved waistcoats and fur caps, which they +cannot be persuaded by the respectable orders of society to undertake. +In a dirty court in Spitalfields, once, I found a goldfinch drawing his +own water, and drawing as much of it as if he were in a consuming fever. +That goldfinch lived at a bird-shop, and offered, in writing, to barter +himself against old clothes, empty bottles, or even kitchen stuff. +Surely a low thing and a depraved taste in any finch! I bought that +goldfinch for money. He was sent home, and hung upon a nail over against +my table. He lived outside a counterfeit dwelling-house, supposed (as I +argued) to be a dyer’s; otherwise it would have been impossible to +account for his perch sticking out of the garret window. From the time +of his appearance in my room, either he left off being thirsty—which was +not in the bond—or he could not make up his mind to hear his little +bucket drop back into his well when he let it go: a shock which in the +best of times had made him tremble. He drew no water but by stealth and +under the cloak of night. After an interval of futile and at length +hopeless expectation, the merchant who had educated him was appealed to. +The merchant was a bow-legged character, with a flat and cushiony nose, +like the last new strawberry. He wore a fur cap, and shorts, and was of +the velveteen race, velveteeny. He sent word that he would ‘look round.’ +He looked round, appeared in the doorway of the room, and slightly cocked +up his evil eye at the goldfinch. Instantly a raging thirst beset that +bird; when it was appeased, he still drew several unnecessary buckets of +water; and finally, leaped about his perch and sharpened his bill, as if +he had been to the nearest wine vaults and got drunk. + +Donkeys again. I know shy neighbourhoods where the Donkey goes in at the +street door, and appears to live up-stairs, for I have examined the +back-yard from over the palings, and have been unable to make him out. +Gentility, nobility, Royalty, would appeal to that donkey in vain to do +what he does for a costermonger. Feed him with oats at the highest +price, put an infant prince and princess in a pair of panniers on his +back, adjust his delicate trappings to a nicety, take him to the softest +slopes at Windsor, and try what pace you can get out of him. Then, +starve him, harness him anyhow to a truck with a flat tray on it, and see +him bowl from Whitechapel to Bayswater. There appears to be no +particular private understanding between birds and donkeys, in a state of +nature; but in the shy neighbourhood state, you shall see them always in +the same hands and always developing their very best energies for the +very worst company. I have known a donkey—by sight; we were not on +speaking terms—who lived over on the Surrey side of London-bridge, among +the fastnesses of Jacob’s Island and Dockhead. It was the habit of that +animal, when his services were not in immediate requisition, to go out +alone, idling. I have met him a mile from his place of residence, +loitering about the streets; and the expression of his countenance at +such times was most degraded. He was attached to the establishment of an +elderly lady who sold periwinkles, and he used to stand on Saturday +nights with a cartful of those delicacies outside a gin-shop, pricking up +his ears when a customer came to the cart, and too evidently deriving +satisfaction from the knowledge that they got bad measure. His mistress +was sometimes overtaken by inebriety. The last time I ever saw him +(about five years ago) he was in circumstances of difficulty, caused by +this failing. Having been left alone with the cart of periwinkles, and +forgotten, he went off idling. He prowled among his usual low haunts for +some time, gratifying his depraved tastes, until, not taking the cart +into his calculations, he endeavoured to turn up a narrow alley, and +became greatly involved. He was taken into custody by the police, and, +the Green Yard of the district being near at hand, was backed into that +place of durance. At that crisis, I encountered him; the stubborn sense +he evinced of being—not to compromise the expression—a blackguard, I +never saw exceeded in the human subject. A flaring candle in a paper +shade, stuck in among his periwinkles, showed him, with his ragged +harness broken and his cart extensively shattered, twitching his mouth +and shaking his hanging head, a picture of disgrace and obduracy. I have +seen boys being taken to station-houses, who were as like him as his own +brother. + +The dogs of shy neighbourhoods, I observe to avoid play, and to be +conscious of poverty. They avoid work, too, if they can, of course; that +is in the nature of all animals. I have the pleasure to know a dog in a +back street in the neighbourhood of Walworth, who has greatly +distinguished himself in the minor drama, and who takes his portrait with +him when he makes an engagement, for the illustration of the play-bill. +His portrait (which is not at all like him) represents him in the act of +dragging to the earth a recreant Indian, who is supposed to have +tomahawked, or essayed to tomahawk, a British officer. The design is +pure poetry, for there is no such Indian in the piece, and no such +incident. He is a dog of the Newfoundland breed, for whose honesty I +would be bail to any amount; but whose intellectual qualities in +association with dramatic fiction, I cannot rate high. Indeed, he is too +honest for the profession he has entered. Being at a town in Yorkshire +last summer, and seeing him posted in the bill of the night, I attended +the performance. His first scene was eminently successful; but, as it +occupied a second in its representation (and five lines in the bill), it +scarcely afforded ground for a cool and deliberate judgment of his +powers. He had merely to bark, run on, and jump through an inn window, +after a comic fugitive. The next scene of importance to the fable was a +little marred in its interest by his over-anxiety; forasmuch as while his +master (a belated soldier in a den of robbers on a tempestuous night) was +feelingly lamenting the absence of his faithful dog, and laying great +stress on the fact that he was thirty leagues away, the faithful dog was +barking furiously in the prompter’s box, and clearly choking himself +against his collar. But it was in his greatest scene of all, that his +honesty got the better of him. He had to enter a dense and trackless +forest, on the trail of the murderer, and there to fly at the murderer +when he found him resting at the foot of a tree, with his victim bound +ready for slaughter. It was a hot night, and he came into the forest +from an altogether unexpected direction, in the sweetest temper, at a +very deliberate trot, not in the least excited; trotted to the +foot-lights with his tongue out; and there sat down, panting, and amiably +surveying the audience, with his tail beating on the boards, like a Dutch +clock. Meanwhile the murderer, impatient to receive his doom, was +audibly calling to him ‘CO-O-OME here!’ while the victim, struggling with +his bonds, assailed him with the most injurious expressions. It happened +through these means, that when he was in course of time persuaded to trot +up and rend the murderer limb from limb, he made it (for dramatic +purposes) a little too obvious that he worked out that awful retribution +by licking butter off his blood-stained hands. + +In a shy street, behind Long-acre, two honest dogs live, who perform in +Punch’s shows. I may venture to say that I am on terms of intimacy with +both, and that I never saw either guilty of the falsehood of failing to +look down at the man inside the show, during the whole performance. The +difficulty other dogs have in satisfying their minds about these dogs, +appears to be never overcome by time. The same dogs must encounter them +over and over again, as they trudge along in their off-minutes behind the +legs of the show and beside the drum; but all dogs seem to suspect their +frills and jackets, and to sniff at them as if they thought those +articles of personal adornment, an eruption—a something in the nature of +mange, perhaps. From this Covent-garden window of mine I noticed a +country dog, only the other day, who had come up to Covent-garden Market +under a cart, and had broken his cord, an end of which he still trailed +along with him. He loitered about the corners of the four streets +commanded by my window; and bad London dogs came up, and told him lies +that he didn’t believe; and worse London dogs came up, and made proposals +to him to go and steal in the market, which his principles rejected; and +the ways of the town confused him, and he crept aside and lay down in a +doorway. He had scarcely got a wink of sleep, when up comes Punch with +Toby. He was darting to Toby for consolation and advice, when he saw the +frill, and stopped, in the middle of the street, appalled. The show was +pitched, Toby retired behind the drapery, the audience formed, the drum +and pipes struck up. My country dog remained immovable, intently staring +at these strange appearances, until Toby opened the drama by appearing on +his ledge, and to him entered Punch, who put a tobacco-pipe into Toby’s +mouth. At this spectacle, the country dog threw up his head, gave one +terrible howl, and fled due west. + +We talk of men keeping dogs, but we might often talk more expressively of +dogs keeping men. I know a bull-dog in a shy corner of Hammersmith who +keeps a man. He keeps him up a yard, and makes him go to public-houses +and lay wagers on him, and obliges him to lean against posts and look at +him, and forces him to neglect work for him, and keeps him under rigid +coercion. I once knew a fancy terrier who kept a gentleman—a gentleman +who had been brought up at Oxford, too. The dog kept the gentleman +entirely for his glorification, and the gentleman never talked about +anything but the terrier. This, however, was not in a shy neighbourhood, +and is a digression consequently. + +There are a great many dogs in shy neighbourhoods, who keep boys. I have +my eye on a mongrel in Somerstown who keeps three boys. He feigns that +he can bring down sparrows, and unburrow rats (he can do neither), and he +takes the boys out on sporting pretences into all sorts of suburban +fields. He has likewise made them believe that he possesses some +mysterious knowledge of the art of fishing, and they consider themselves +incompletely equipped for the Hampstead ponds, with a pickle-jar and +wide-mouthed bottle, unless he is with them and barking tremendously. +There is a dog residing in the Borough of Southwark who keeps a blind +man. He may be seen, most days, in Oxford-street, haling the blind man +away on expeditions wholly uncontemplated by, and unintelligible to, the +man: wholly of the dog’s conception and execution. Contrariwise, when +the man has projects, the dog will sit down in a crowded thoroughfare and +meditate. I saw him yesterday, wearing the money-tray like an easy +collar, instead of offering it to the public, taking the man against his +will, on the invitation of a disreputable cur, apparently to visit a dog +at Harrow—he was so intent on that direction. The north wall of +Burlington House Gardens, between the Arcade and the Albany, offers a shy +spot for appointments among blind men at about two or three o’clock in +the afternoon. They sit (very uncomfortably) on a sloping stone there, +and compare notes. Their dogs may always be observed at the same time, +openly disparaging the men they keep, to one another, and settling where +they shall respectively take their men when they begin to move again. At +a small butcher’s, in a shy neighbourhood (there is no reason for +suppressing the name; it is by Notting-hill, and gives upon the district +called the Potteries), I know a shaggy black and white dog who keeps a +drover. He is a dog of an easy disposition, and too frequently allows +this drover to get drunk. On these occasions, it is the dog’s custom to +sit outside the public-house, keeping his eye on a few sheep, and +thinking. I have seen him with six sheep, plainly casting up in his mind +how many he began with when he left the market, and at what places he has +left the rest. I have seen him perplexed by not being able to account to +himself for certain particular sheep. A light has gradually broken on +him, he has remembered at what butcher’s he left them, and in a burst of +grave satisfaction has caught a fly off his nose, and shown himself much +relieved. If I could at any time have doubted the fact that it was he +who kept the drover, and not the drover who kept him, it would have been +abundantly proved by his way of taking undivided charge of the six sheep, +when the drover came out besmeared with red ochre and beer, and gave him +wrong directions, which he calmly disregarded. He has taken the sheep +entirely into his own hands, has merely remarked with respectful +firmness, ‘That instruction would place them under an omnibus; you had +better confine your attention to yourself—you will want it all;’ and has +driven his charge away, with an intelligence of ears and tail, and a +knowledge of business, that has left his lout of a man very, very far +behind. + +As the dogs of shy neighbourhoods usually betray a slinking consciousness +of being in poor circumstances—for the most part manifested in an aspect +of anxiety, an awkwardness in their play, and a misgiving that somebody +is going to harness them to something, to pick up a living—so the cats of +shy neighbourhoods exhibit a strong tendency to relapse into barbarism. +Not only are they made selfishly ferocious by ruminating on the surplus +population around them, and on the densely crowded state of all the +avenues to cat’s meat; not only is there a moral and politico-economical +haggardness in them, traceable to these reflections; but they evince a +physical deterioration. Their linen is not clean, and is wretchedly got +up; their black turns rusty, like old mourning; they wear very +indifferent fur; and take to the shabbiest cotton velvet, instead of silk +velvet. I am on terms of recognition with several small streets of cats, +about the Obelisk in Saint George’s Fields, and also in the vicinity of +Clerkenwell-green, and also in the back settlements of Drury-lane. In +appearance, they are very like the women among whom they live. They seem +to turn out of their unwholesome beds into the street, without any +preparation. They leave their young families to stagger about the +gutters, unassisted, while they frouzily quarrel and swear and scratch +and spit, at street corners. In particular, I remark that when they are +about to increase their families (an event of frequent recurrence) the +resemblance is strongly expressed in a certain dusty dowdiness, +down-at-heel self-neglect, and general giving up of things. I cannot +honestly report that I have ever seen a feline matron of this class +washing her face when in an interesting condition. + +Not to prolong these notes of uncommercial travel among the lower animals +of shy neighbourhoods, by dwelling at length upon the exasperated +moodiness of the tom-cats, and their resemblance in many respects to a +man and a brother, I will come to a close with a word on the fowls of the +same localities. + +That anything born of an egg and invested with wings, should have got to +the pass that it hops contentedly down a ladder into a cellar, and calls +_that_ going home, is a circumstance so amazing as to leave one nothing +more in this connexion to wonder at. Otherwise I might wonder at the +completeness with which these fowls have become separated from all the +birds of the air—have taken to grovelling in bricks and mortar and +mud—have forgotten all about live trees, and make roosting-places of +shop-boards, barrows, oyster-tubs, bulk-heads, and door-scrapers. I +wonder at nothing concerning them, and take them as they are. I accept +as products of Nature and things of course, a reduced Bantam family of my +acquaintance in the Hackney-road, who are incessantly at the +pawnbroker’s. I cannot say that they enjoy themselves, for they are of a +melancholy temperament; but what enjoyment they are capable of, they +derive from crowding together in the pawnbroker’s side-entry. Here, they +are always to be found in a feeble flutter, as if they were newly come +down in the world, and were afraid of being identified. I know a low +fellow, originally of a good family from Dorking, who takes his whole +establishment of wives, in single file, in at the door of the jug +Department of a disorderly tavern near the Haymarket, manœuvres them +among the company’s legs, emerges with them at the Bottle Entrance, and +so passes his life: seldom, in the season, going to bed before two in the +morning. Over Waterloo-bridge, there is a shabby old speckled couple +(they belong to the wooden French-bedstead, washing-stand, and +towel-horse-making trade), who are always trying to get in at the door of +a chapel. Whether the old lady, under a delusion reminding one of Mrs. +Southcott, has an idea of entrusting an egg to that particular +denomination, or merely understands that she has no business in the +building and is consequently frantic to enter it, I cannot determine; but +she is constantly endeavouring to undermine the principal door: while her +partner, who is infirm upon his legs, walks up and down, encouraging her +and defying the Universe. But, the family I have been best acquainted +with, since the removal from this trying sphere of a Chinese circle at +Brentford, reside in the densest part of Bethnal-green. Their +abstraction from the objects among which they live, or rather their +conviction that those objects have all come into existence in express +subservience to fowls, has so enchanted me, that I have made them the +subject of many journeys at divers hours. After careful observation of +the two lords and the ten ladies of whom this family consists, I have +come to the conclusion that their opinions are represented by the leading +lord and leading lady: the latter, as I judge, an aged personage, +afflicted with a paucity of feather and visibility of quill, that gives +her the appearance of a bundle of office pens. When a railway goods van +that would crush an elephant comes round the corner, tearing over these +fowls, they emerge unharmed from under the horses, perfectly satisfied +that the whole rush was a passing property in the air, which may have +left something to eat behind it. They look upon old shoes, wrecks of +kettles and saucepans, and fragments of bonnets, as a kind of meteoric +discharge, for fowls to peck at. Peg-tops and hoops they account, I +think, as a sort of hail; shuttlecocks, as rain, or dew. Gaslight comes +quite as natural to them as any other light; and I have more than a +suspicion that, in the minds of the two lords, the early public-house at +the corner has superseded the sun. I have established it as a certain +fact, that they always begin to crow when the public-house shutters begin +to be taken down, and that they salute the potboy, the instant he appears +to perform that duty, as if he were Phoebus in person. + + + + +XI +TRAMPS + + +THE chance use of the word ‘Tramp’ in my last paper, brought that +numerous fraternity so vividly before my mind’s eye, that I had no sooner +laid down my pen than a compulsion was upon me to take it up again, and +make notes of the Tramps whom I perceived on all the summer roads in all +directions. + +Whenever a tramp sits down to rest by the wayside, he sits with his legs +in a dry ditch; and whenever he goes to sleep (which is very often +indeed), he goes to sleep on his back. Yonder, by the high road, glaring +white in the bright sunshine, lies, on the dusty bit of turf under the +bramble-bush that fences the coppice from the highway, the tramp of the +order savage, fast asleep. He lies on the broad of his back, with his +face turned up to the sky, and one of his ragged arms loosely thrown +across his face. His bundle (what can be the contents of that mysterious +bundle, to make it worth his while to carry it about?) is thrown down +beside him, and the waking woman with him sits with her legs in the +ditch, and her back to the road. She wears her bonnet rakishly perched +on the front of her head, to shade her face from the sun in walking, and +she ties her skirts round her in conventionally tight tramp-fashion with +a sort of apron. You can seldom catch sight of her, resting thus, +without seeing her in a despondently defiant manner doing something to +her hair or her bonnet, and glancing at you between her fingers. She +does not often go to sleep herself in the daytime, but will sit for any +length of time beside the man. And his slumberous propensities would not +seem to be referable to the fatigue of carrying the bundle, for she +carries it much oftener and further than he. When they are afoot, you +will mostly find him slouching on ahead, in a gruff temper, while she +lags heavily behind with the burden. He is given to personally +correcting her, too—which phase of his character develops itself +oftenest, on benches outside alehouse doors—and she appears to become +strongly attached to him for these reasons; it may usually be noticed +that when the poor creature has a bruised face, she is the most +affectionate. He has no occupation whatever, this order of tramp, and +has no object whatever in going anywhere. He will sometimes call himself +a brickmaker, or a sawyer, but only when he takes an imaginary flight. +He generally represents himself, in a vague way, as looking out for a job +of work; but he never did work, he never does, and he never will. It is +a favourite fiction with him, however (as if he were the most industrious +character on earth), that _you_ never work; and as he goes past your +garden and sees you looking at your flowers, you will overhear him growl +with a strong sense of contrast, ‘_You_ are a lucky hidle devil, _you_ +are!’ + +The slinking tramp is of the same hopeless order, and has the same +injured conviction on him that you were born to whatever you possess, and +never did anything to get it: but he is of a less audacious disposition. +He will stop before your gate, and say to his female companion with an +air of constitutional humility and propitiation—to edify any one who may +be within hearing behind a blind or a bush—‘This is a sweet spot, ain’t +it? A lovelly spot! And I wonder if they’d give two poor footsore +travellers like me and you, a drop of fresh water out of such a pretty +gen-teel crib? We’d take it wery koind on ’em, wouldn’t us? Wery koind, +upon my word, us would?’ He has a quick sense of a dog in the vicinity, +and will extend his modestly-injured propitiation to the dog chained up +in your yard; remarking, as he slinks at the yard gate, ‘Ah! You are a +foine breed o’ dog, too, and _you_ ain’t kep for nothink! I’d take it +wery koind o’ your master if he’d elp a traveller and his woife as envies +no gentlefolk their good fortun, wi’ a bit o’ your broken wittles. He’d +never know the want of it, nor more would you. Don’t bark like that, at +poor persons as never done you no arm; the poor is down-trodden and broke +enough without that; O DON’T!’ He generally heaves a prodigious sigh in +moving away, and always looks up the lane and down the lane, and up the +road and down the road, before going on. + +Both of these orders of tramp are of a very robust habit; let the +hard-working labourer at whose cottage-door they prowl and beg, have the +ague never so badly, these tramps are sure to be in good health. + +There is another kind of tramp, whom you encounter this bright summer +day—say, on a road with the sea-breeze making its dust lively, and sails +of ships in the blue distance beyond the slope of Down. As you walk +enjoyingly on, you descry in the perspective at the bottom of a steep +hill up which your way lies, a figure that appears to be sitting airily +on a gate, whistling in a cheerful and disengaged manner. As you +approach nearer to it, you observe the figure to slide down from the +gate, to desist from whistling, to uncock its hat, to become tender of +foot, to depress its head and elevate its shoulders, and to present all +the characteristics of profound despondency. Arriving at the bottom of +the hill and coming close to the figure, you observe it to be the figure +of a shabby young man. He is moving painfully forward, in the direction +in which you are going, and his mind is so preoccupied with his +misfortunes that he is not aware of your approach until you are close +upon him at the hill-foot. When he is aware of you, you discover him to +be a remarkably well-behaved young man, and a remarkably well-spoken +young man. You know him to be well-behaved, by his respectful manner of +touching his hat: you know him to be well-spoken, by his smooth manner of +expressing himself. He says in a flowing confidential voice, and without +punctuation, ‘I ask your pardon sir but if you would excuse the liberty +of being so addressed upon the public Iway by one who is almost reduced +to rags though it as not always been so and by no fault of his own but +through ill elth in his family and many unmerited sufferings it would be +a great obligation sir to know the time.’ You give the well-spoken young +man the time. The well-spoken young man, keeping well up with you, +resumes: ‘I am aware sir that it is a liberty to intrude a further +question on a gentleman walking for his entertainment but might I make so +bold as ask the favour of the way to Dover sir and about the distance?’ +You inform the well-spoken young man that the way to Dover is straight +on, and the distance some eighteen miles. The well-spoken young man +becomes greatly agitated. ‘In the condition to which I am reduced,’ says +he, ‘I could not ope to reach Dover before dark even if my shoes were in +a state to take me there or my feet were in a state to old out over the +flinty road and were not on the bare ground of which any gentleman has +the means to satisfy himself by looking Sir may I take the liberty of +speaking to you?’ As the well-spoken young man keeps so well up with you +that you can’t prevent his taking the liberty of speaking to you, he goes +on, with fluency: ‘Sir it is not begging that is my intention for I was +brought up by the best of mothers and begging is not my trade I should +not know sir how to follow it as a trade if such were my shameful wishes +for the best of mothers long taught otherwise and in the best of omes +though now reduced to take the present liberty on the Iway Sir my +business was the law-stationering and I was favourably known to the +Solicitor-General the Attorney-General the majority of the judges and the +ole of the legal profession but through ill elth in my family and the +treachery of a friend for whom I became security and he no other than my +own wife’s brother the brother of my own wife I was cast forth with my +tender partner and three young children not to beg for I will sooner die +of deprivation but to make my way to the sea-port town of Dover where I +have a relative i in respect not only that will assist me but that would +trust me with untold gold Sir in appier times and hare this calamity fell +upon me I made for my amusement when I little thought that I should ever +need it excepting for my air this’—here the well-spoken young man put his +hand into his breast—‘this comb! Sir I implore you in the name of +charity to purchase a tortoiseshell comb which is a genuine article at +any price that your humanity may put upon it and may the blessings of a +ouseless family awaiting with beating arts the return of a husband and a +father from Dover upon the cold stone seats of London-bridge ever attend +you Sir may I take the liberty of speaking to you I implore you to buy +this comb!’ By this time, being a reasonably good walker, you will have +been too much for the well-spoken young man, who will stop short and +express his disgust and his want of breath, in a long expectoration, as +you leave him behind. + +Towards the end of the same walk, on the same bright summer day, at the +corner of the next little town or village, you may find another kind of +tramp, embodied in the persons of a most exemplary couple whose only +improvidence appears to have been, that they spent the last of their +little All on soap. They are a man and woman, spotless to behold—John +Anderson, with the frost on his short smock-frock instead of his ‘pow,’ +attended by Mrs. Anderson. John is over-ostentatious of the frost upon +his raiment, and wears a curious and, you would say, an almost +unnecessary demonstration of girdle of white linen wound about his +waist—a girdle, snowy as Mrs. Anderson’s apron. This cleanliness was the +expiring effort of the respectable couple, and nothing then remained to +Mr. Anderson but to get chalked upon his spade in snow-white copy-book +characters, HUNGRY! and to sit down here. Yes; one thing more remained +to Mr. Anderson—his character; Monarchs could not deprive him of his +hard-earned character. Accordingly, as you come up with this spectacle +of virtue in distress, Mrs. Anderson rises, and with a decent curtsey +presents for your consideration a certificate from a Doctor of Divinity, +the reverend the Vicar of Upper Dodgington, who informs his Christian +friends and all whom it may concern that the bearers, John Anderson and +lawful wife, are persons to whom you cannot be too liberal. This +benevolent pastor omitted no work of his hands to fit the good couple +out, for with half an eye you can recognise his autograph on the spade. + +Another class of tramp is a man, the most valuable part of whose +stock-in-trade is a highly perplexed demeanour. He is got up like a +countryman, and you will often come upon the poor fellow, while he is +endeavouring to decipher the inscription on a milestone—quite a fruitless +endeavour, for he cannot read. He asks your pardon, he truly does (he is +very slow of speech, this tramp, and he looks in a bewildered way all +round the prospect while he talks to you), but all of us shold do as we +wold be done by, and he’ll take it kind, if you’ll put a power man in the +right road fur to jine his eldest son as has broke his leg bad in the +masoning, and is in this heere Orspit’l as is wrote down by Squire +Pouncerby’s own hand as wold not tell a lie fur no man. He then produces +from under his dark frock (being always very slow and perplexed) a neat +but worn old leathern purse, from which he takes a scrap of paper. On +this scrap of paper is written, by Squire Pouncerby, of The Grove, +‘Please to direct the Bearer, a poor but very worthy man, to the Sussex +County Hospital, near Brighton’—a matter of some difficulty at the +moment, seeing that the request comes suddenly upon you in the depths of +Hertfordshire. The more you endeavour to indicate where Brighton is—when +you have with the greatest difficulty remembered—the less the devoted +father can be made to comprehend, and the more obtusely he stares at the +prospect; whereby, being reduced to extremity, you recommend the faithful +parent to begin by going to St. Albans, and present him with +half-a-crown. It does him good, no doubt, but scarcely helps him +forward, since you find him lying drunk that same evening in the +wheelwright’s sawpit under the shed where the felled trees are, opposite +the sign of the Three Jolly Hedgers. + +But, the most vicious, by far, of all the idle tramps, is the tramp who +pretends to have been a gentleman. ‘Educated,’ he writes, from the +village beer-shop in pale ink of a ferruginous complexion; ‘educated at +Trin. Coll. Cam.—nursed in the lap of affluence—once in my small way the +pattron of the Muses,’ &c. &c. &c.—surely a sympathetic mind will not +withhold a trifle, to help him on to the market-town where he thinks of +giving a Lecture to the _fruges consumere nati_, on things in general? +This shameful creature lolling about hedge tap-rooms in his ragged +clothes, now so far from being black that they look as if they never can +have been black, is more selfish and insolent than even the savage tramp. +He would sponge on the poorest boy for a farthing, and spurn him when he +had got it; he would interpose (if he could get anything by it) between +the baby and the mother’s breast. So much lower than the company he +keeps, for his maudlin assumption of being higher, this pitiless rascal +blights the summer road as he maunders on between the luxuriant hedges; +where (to my thinking) even the wild convolvulus and rose and +sweet-briar, are the worse for his going by, and need time to recover +from the taint of him in the air. + +The young fellows who trudge along barefoot, five or six together, their +boots slung over their shoulders, their shabby bundles under their arms, +their sticks newly cut from some roadside wood, are not eminently +prepossessing, but are much less objectionable. There is a +tramp-fellowship among them. They pick one another up at resting +stations, and go on in companies. They always go at a fast swing—though +they generally limp too—and there is invariably one of the company who +has much ado to keep up with the rest. They generally talk about horses, +and any other means of locomotion than walking: or, one of the company +relates some recent experiences of the road—which are always disputes and +difficulties. As for example. ‘So as I’m a standing at the pump in the +market, blest if there don’t come up a Beadle, and he ses, “Mustn’t stand +here,” he ses. “Why not?” I ses. “No beggars allowed in this town,” he +ses. “Who’s a beggar?” I ses. “You are,” he ses. “Who ever see _me_ +beg? Did _you_?” I ses. “Then you’re a tramp,” he ses. “I’d rather be +that than a Beadle,” I ses.’ (The company express great approval.) +‘“Would you?” he ses to me. “Yes, I would,” I ses to him. “Well,” he +ses, “anyhow, get out of this town.” “Why, blow your little town!” I +ses, “who wants to be in it? Wot does your dirty little town mean by +comin’ and stickin’ itself in the road to anywhere? Why don’t you get a +shovel and a barrer, and clear your town out o’ people’s way?”’ (The +company expressing the highest approval and laughing aloud, they all go +down the hill.) + +Then, there are the tramp handicraft men. Are they not all over England, +in this Midsummer time? Where does the lark sing, the corn grow, the +mill turn, the river run, and they are not among the lights and shadows, +tinkering, chair-mending, umbrella-mending, clock-mending, +knife-grinding? Surely, a pleasant thing, if we were in that condition +of life, to grind our way through Kent, Sussex, and Surrey. For the +worst six weeks or so, we should see the sparks we ground off, fiery +bright against a background of green wheat and green leaves. A little +later, and the ripe harvest would pale our sparks from red to yellow, +until we got the dark newly-turned land for a background again, and they +were red once more. By that time, we should have ground our way to the +sea cliffs, and the whirr of our wheel would be lost in the breaking of +the waves. Our next variety in sparks would be derived from contrast +with the gorgeous medley of colours in the autumn woods, and, by the time +we had ground our way round to the heathy lands between Reigate and +Croydon, doing a prosperous stroke of business all along, we should show +like a little firework in the light frosty air, and be the next best +thing to the blacksmith’s forge. Very agreeable, too, to go on a +chair-mending tour. What judges we should be of rushes, and how +knowingly (with a sheaf and a bottomless chair at our back) we should +lounge on bridges, looking over at osier-beds! Among all the innumerable +occupations that cannot possibly be transacted without the assistance of +lookers-on, chair-mending may take a station in the first rank. When we +sat down with our backs against the barn or the public-house, and began +to mend, what a sense of popularity would grow upon us! When all the +children came to look at us, and the tailor, and the general dealer, and +the farmer who had been giving a small order at the little saddler’s, and +the groom from the great house, and the publican, and even the two +skittle-players (and here note that, howsoever busy all the rest of +village human-kind may be, there will always be two people with leisure +to play at skittles, wherever village skittles are), what encouragement +would be on us to plait and weave! No one looks at us while we plait and +weave these words. Clock-mending again. Except for the slight +inconvenience of carrying a clock under our arm, and the monotony of +making the bell go, whenever we came to a human habitation, what a +pleasant privilege to give a voice to the dumb cottage-clock, and set it +talking to the cottage family again! Likewise we foresee great interest +in going round by the park plantations, under the overhanging boughs +(hares, rabbits, partridges, and pheasants, scudding like mad across and +across the chequered ground before us), and so over the park ladder, and +through the wood, until we came to the Keeper’s lodge. Then, would the +Keeper be discoverable at his door, in a deep nest of leaves, smoking his +pipe. Then, on our accosting him in the way of our trade, would he call +to Mrs. Keeper, respecting ‘t’ould clock’ in the kitchen. Then, would +Mrs. Keeper ask us into the lodge, and on due examination we should offer +to make a good job of it for eighteenpence; which offer, being accepted, +would set us tinkling and clinking among the chubby, awe-struck little +Keepers for an hour and more. So completely to the family’s satisfaction +would we achieve our work, that the Keeper would mention how that there +was something wrong with the bell of the turret stable-clock up at the +Hall, and that if we thought good of going up to the housekeeper on the +chance of that job too, why he would take us. Then, should we go, among +the branching oaks and the deep fern, by silent ways of mystery known to +the Keeper, seeing the herd glancing here and there as we went along, +until we came to the old Hall, solemn and grand. Under the Terrace +Flower Garden, and round by the stables, would the Keeper take us in, and +as we passed we should observe how spacious and stately the stables, and +how fine the painting of the horses’ names over their stalls, and how +solitary all: the family being in London. Then, should we find ourselves +presented to the housekeeper, sitting, in hushed state, at needlework, in +a bay-window looking out upon a mighty grim red-brick quadrangle, guarded +by stone lions disrespectfully throwing somersaults over the escutcheons +of the noble family. Then, our services accepted and we insinuated with +a candle into the stable-turret, we should find it to be a mere question +of pendulum, but one that would hold us until dark. Then, should we fall +to work, with a general impression of Ghosts being about, and of pictures +indoors that of a certainty came out of their frames and ‘walked,’ if the +family would only own it. Then, should we work and work, until the day +gradually turned to dusk, and even until the dusk gradually turned to +dark. Our task at length accomplished, we should be taken into an +enormous servants’ hall, and there regaled with beef and bread, and +powerful ale. Then, paid freely, we should be at liberty to go, and +should be told by a pointing helper to keep round over yinder by the +blasted ash, and so straight through the woods, till we should see the +town-lights right afore us. Then, feeling lonesome, should we desire +upon the whole, that the ash had not been blasted, or that the helper had +had the manners not to mention it. However, we should keep on, all +right, till suddenly the stable bell would strike ten in the dolefullest +way, quite chilling our blood, though we had so lately taught him how to +acquit himself. Then, as we went on, should we recall old stories, and +dimly consider what it would be most advisable to do, in the event of a +tall figure, all in white, with saucer eyes, coming up and saying, ‘I +want you to come to a churchyard and mend a church clock. Follow me!’ +Then, should we make a burst to get clear of the trees, and should soon +find ourselves in the open, with the town-lights bright ahead of us. So +should we lie that night at the ancient sign of the Crispin and +Crispanus, and rise early next morning to be betimes on tramp again. + +Bricklayers often tramp, in twos and threes, lying by night at their +‘lodges,’ which are scattered all over the country. Bricklaying is +another of the occupations that can by no means be transacted in rural +parts, without the assistance of spectators—of as many as can be +convened. In thinly-peopled spots, I have known brick-layers on tramp, +coming up with bricklayers at work, to be so sensible of the +indispensability of lookers-on, that they themselves have sat up in that +capacity, and have been unable to subside into the acceptance of a +proffered share in the job, for two or three days together. Sometimes, +the ‘navvy,’ on tramp, with an extra pair of half-boots over his +shoulder, a bag, a bottle, and a can, will take a similar part in a job +of excavation, and will look at it without engaging in it, until all his +money is gone. The current of my uncommercial pursuits caused me only +last summer to want a little body of workmen for a certain spell of work +in a pleasant part of the country; and I was at one time honoured with +the attendance of as many as seven-and-twenty, who were looking at six. + +Who can be familiar with any rustic highway in summer-time, without +storing up knowledge of the many tramps who go from one oasis of town or +village to another, to sell a stock in trade, apparently not worth a +shilling when sold? Shrimps are a favourite commodity for this kind of +speculation, and so are cakes of a soft and spongy character, coupled +with Spanish nuts and brandy balls. The stock is carried on the head in +a basket, and, between the head and the basket, are the trestles on which +the stock is displayed at trading times. Fleet of foot, but a careworn +class of tramp this, mostly; with a certain stiffness of neck, occasioned +by much anxious balancing of baskets; and also with a long, Chinese sort +of eye, which an overweighted forehead would seem to have squeezed into +that form. + +On the hot dusty roads near seaport towns and great rivers, behold the +tramping Soldier. And if you should happen never to have asked yourself +whether his uniform is suited to his work, perhaps the poor fellow’s +appearance as he comes distressfully towards you, with his absurdly tight +jacket unbuttoned, his neck-gear in his hand, and his legs well chafed by +his trousers of baize, may suggest the personal inquiry, how you think +_you_ would like it. Much better the tramping Sailor, although his cloth +is somewhat too thick for land service. But, why the tramping +merchant-mate should put on a black velvet waistcoat, for a chalky +country in the dog-days, is one of the great secrets of nature that will +never be discovered. + +I have my eye upon a piece of Kentish road, bordered on either side by a +wood, and having on one hand, between the road-dust and the trees, a +skirting patch of grass. Wild flowers grow in abundance on this spot, +and it lies high and airy, with a distant river stealing steadily away to +the ocean, like a man’s life. To gain the milestone here, which the +moss, primroses, violets, blue-bells, and wild roses, would soon render +illegible but for peering travellers pushing them aside with their +sticks, you must come up a steep hill, come which way you may. So, all +the tramps with carts or caravans—the Gipsy-tramp, the Show-tramp, the +Cheap Jack—find it impossible to resist the temptations of the place, and +all turn the horse loose when they come to it, and boil the pot. Bless +the place, I love the ashes of the vagabond fires that have scorched its +grass! What tramp children do I see here, attired in a handful of rags, +making a gymnasium of the shafts of the cart, making a feather-bed of the +flints and brambles, making a toy of the hobbled old horse who is not +much more like a horse than any cheap toy would be! Here, do I encounter +the cart of mats and brooms and baskets—with all thoughts of business +given to the evening wind—with the stew made and being served out—with +Cheap Jack and Dear Jill striking soft music out of the plates that are +rattled like warlike cymbals when put up for auction at fairs and +markets—their minds so influenced (no doubt) by the melody of the +nightingales as they begin to sing in the woods behind them, that if I +were to propose to deal, they would sell me anything at cost price. On +this hallowed ground has it been my happy privilege (let me whisper it), +to behold the White-haired Lady with the pink eyes, eating meat-pie with +the Giant: while, by the hedge-side, on the box of blankets which I knew +contained the snakes, were set forth the cups and saucers and the teapot. +It was on an evening in August, that I chanced upon this ravishing +spectacle, and I noticed that, whereas the Giant reclined half concealed +beneath the overhanging boughs and seemed indifferent to Nature, the +white hair of the gracious Lady streamed free in the breath of evening, +and her pink eyes found pleasure in the landscape. I heard only a single +sentence of her uttering, yet it bespoke a talent for modest repartee. +The ill-mannered Giant—accursed be his evil race!—had interrupted the +Lady in some remark, and, as I passed that enchanted corner of the wood, +she gently reproved him, with the words, ‘Now, Cobby;’—Cobby! so short a +name!—‘ain’t one fool enough to talk at a time?’ + +Within appropriate distance of this magic ground, though not so near it +as that the song trolled from tap or bench at door, can invade its +woodland silence, is a little hostelry which no man possessed of a penny +was ever known to pass in warm weather. Before its entrance, are certain +pleasant, trimmed limes; likewise, a cool well, with so musical a +bucket-handle that its fall upon the bucket rim will make a horse prick +up his ears and neigh, upon the droughty road half a mile off. This is a +house of great resort for haymaking tramps and harvest tramps, insomuch +that as they sit within, drinking their mugs of beer, their relinquished +scythes and reaping-hooks glare out of the open windows, as if the whole +establishment were a family war-coach of Ancient Britons. Later in the +season, the whole country-side, for miles and miles, will swarm with +hopping tramps. They come in families, men, women, and children, every +family provided with a bundle of bedding, an iron pot, a number of +babies, and too often with some poor sick creature quite unfit for the +rough life, for whom they suppose the smell of the fresh hop to be a +sovereign remedy. Many of these hoppers are Irish, but many come from +London. They crowd all the roads, and camp under all the hedges and on +all the scraps of common-land, and live among and upon the hops until +they are all picked, and the hop-gardens, so beautiful through the +summer, look as if they had been laid waste by an invading army. Then, +there is a vast exodus of tramps out of the country; and if you ride or +drive round any turn of any road, at more than a foot pace, you will be +bewildered to find that you have charged into the bosom of fifty +families, and that there are splashing up all around you, in the utmost +prodigality of confusion, bundles of bedding, babies, iron pots, and a +good-humoured multitude of both sexes and all ages, equally divided +between perspiration and intoxication. + + + + +XII +DULLBOROUGH TOWN + + +IT lately happened that I found myself rambling about the scenes among +which my earliest days were passed; scenes from which I departed when I +was a child, and which I did not revisit until I was a man. This is no +uncommon chance, but one that befalls some of us any day; perhaps it may +not be quite uninteresting to compare notes with the reader respecting an +experience so familiar and a journey so uncommercial. + +I call my boyhood’s home (and I feel like a Tenor in an English Opera +when I mention it) Dullborough. Most of us come from Dullborough who +come from a country town. + +As I left Dullborough in the days when there were no railroads in the +land, I left it in a stage-coach. Through all the years that have since +passed, have I ever lost the smell of the damp straw in which I was +packed—like game—and forwarded, carriage paid, to the Cross Keys, +Wood-street, Cheapside, London? There was no other inside passenger, and +I consumed my sandwiches in solitude and dreariness, and it rained hard +all the way, and I thought life sloppier than I had expected to find it. + +With this tender remembrance upon me, I was cavalierly shunted back into +Dullborough the other day, by train. My ticket had been previously +collected, like my taxes, and my shining new portmanteau had had a great +plaster stuck upon it, and I had been defied by Act of Parliament to +offer an objection to anything that was done to it, or me, under a +penalty of not less than forty shillings or more than five pounds, +compoundable for a term of imprisonment. When I had sent my disfigured +property on to the hotel, I began to look about me; and the first +discovery I made, was, that the Station had swallowed up the +playing-field. + +It was gone. The two beautiful hawthorn-trees, the hedge, the turf, and +all those buttercups and daisies, had given place to the stoniest of +jolting roads: while, beyond the Station, an ugly dark monster of a +tunnel kept its jaws open, as if it had swallowed them and were ravenous +for more destruction. The coach that had carried me away, was +melodiously called Timpson’s Blue-Eyed Maid, and belonged to Timpson, at +the coach-office up-street; the locomotive engine that had brought me +back, was called severely No. 97, and belonged to S.E.R., and was +spitting ashes and hot water over the blighted ground. + +When I had been let out at the platform-door, like a prisoner whom his +turnkey grudgingly released, I looked in again over the low wall, at the +scene of departed glories. Here, in the haymaking time, had I been +delivered from the dungeons of Seringapatam, an immense pile (of +haycock), by my own countrymen, the victorious British (boy next door and +his two cousins), and had been recognised with ecstasy by my affianced +one (Miss Green), who had come all the way from England (second house in +the terrace) to ransom me, and marry me. Here, had I first heard in +confidence, from one whose father was greatly connected, being under +Government, of the existence of a terrible banditti, called ‘The +Radicals,’ whose principles were, that the Prince Regent wore stays, and +that nobody had a right to any salary, and that the army and navy ought +to be put down—horrors at which I trembled in my bed, after supplicating +that the Radicals might be speedily taken and hanged. Here, too, had we, +the small boys of Boles’s, had that cricket match against the small boys +of Coles’s, when Boles and Coles had actually met upon the ground, and +when, instead of instantly hitting out at one another with the utmost +fury, as we had all hoped and expected, those sneaks had said +respectively, ‘I hope Mrs. Boles is well,’ and ‘I hope Mrs. Coles and the +baby are doing charmingly.’ Could it be that, after all this, and much +more, the Playing-field was a Station, and No. 97 expectorated boiling +water and redhot cinders on it, and the whole belonged by Act of +Parliament to S.E.R.? + +As it could be, and was, I left the place with a heavy heart for a walk +all over the town. And first of Timpson’s up-street. When I departed +from Dullborough in the strawy arms of Timpson’s Blue-Eyed Maid, +Timpson’s was a moderate-sized coach-office (in fact, a little +coach-office), with an oval transparency in the window, which looked +beautiful by night, representing one of Timpson’s coaches in the act of +passing a milestone on the London road with great velocity, completely +full inside and out, and all the passengers dressed in the first style of +fashion, and enjoying themselves tremendously. I found no such place as +Timpson’s now—no such bricks and rafters, not to mention the name—no such +edifice on the teeming earth. Pickford had come and knocked Timpson’s +down. Pickford had not only knocked Timpson’s down, but had knocked two +or three houses down on each side of Timpson’s, and then had knocked the +whole into one great establishment with a pair of big gates, in and out +of which, his (Pickford’s) waggons are, in these days, always rattling, +with their drivers sitting up so high, that they look in at the +second-floor windows of the old-fashioned houses in the High-street as +they shake the town. I have not the honour of Pickford’s acquaintance, +but I felt that he had done me an injury, not to say committed an act of +boyslaughter, in running over my Childhood in this rough manner; and if +ever I meet Pickford driving one of his own monsters, and smoking a pipe +the while (which is the custom of his men), he shall know by the +expression of my eye, if it catches his, that there is something wrong +between us. + +Moreover, I felt that Pickford had no right to come rushing into +Dullborough and deprive the town of a public picture. He is not Napoleon +Bonaparte. When he took down the transparent stage-coach, he ought to +have given the town a transparent van. With a gloomy conviction that +Pickford is wholly utilitarian and unimaginative, I proceeded on my way. + +It is a mercy I have not a red and green lamp and a night-bell at my +door, for in my very young days I was taken to so many lyings-in that I +wonder I escaped becoming a professional martyr to them in after-life. I +suppose I had a very sympathetic nurse, with a large circle of married +acquaintance. However that was, as I continued my walk through +Dullborough, I found many houses to be solely associated in my mind with +this particular interest. At one little greengrocer’s shop, down certain +steps from the street, I remember to have waited on a lady who had had +four children (I am afraid to write five, though I fully believe it was +five) at a birth. This meritorious woman held quite a reception in her +room on the morning when I was introduced there, and the sight of the +house brought vividly to my mind how the four (five) deceased young +people lay, side by side, on a clean cloth on a chest of drawers; +reminding me by a homely association, which I suspect their complexion to +have assisted, of pigs’ feet as they are usually displayed at a neat +tripe-shop. Hot candle was handed round on the occasion, and I further +remembered as I stood contemplating the greengrocer’s, that a +subscription was entered into among the company, which became extremely +alarming to my consciousness of having pocket-money on my person. This +fact being known to my conductress, whoever she was, I was earnestly +exhorted to contribute, but resolutely declined: therein disgusting the +company, who gave me to understand that I must dismiss all expectations +of going to Heaven. + +How does it happen that when all else is change wherever one goes, there +yet seem, in every place, to be some few people who never alter? As the +sight of the greengrocer’s house recalled these trivial incidents of long +ago, the identical greengrocer appeared on the steps, with his hands in +his pockets, and leaning his shoulder against the door-post, as my +childish eyes had seen him many a time; indeed, there was his old mark on +the door-post yet, as if his shadow had become a fixture there. It was +he himself; he might formerly have been an old-looking young man, or he +might now be a young-looking old man, but there he was. In walking along +the street, I had as yet looked in vain for a familiar face, or even a +transmitted face; here was the very greengrocer who had been weighing and +handling baskets on the morning of the reception. As he brought with him +a dawning remembrance that he had had no proprietary interest in those +babies, I crossed the road, and accosted him on the subject. He was not +in the least excited or gratified, or in any way roused, by the accuracy +of my recollection, but said, Yes, summut out of the common—he didn’t +remember how many it was (as if half-a-dozen babes either way made no +difference)—had happened to a Mrs. What’s-her-name, as once lodged +there—but he didn’t call it to mind, particular. Nettled by this +phlegmatic conduct, I informed him that I had left the town when I was a +child. He slowly returned, quite unsoftened, and not without a sarcastic +kind of complacency, _Had_ I? Ah! And did I find it had got on +tolerably well without me? Such is the difference (I thought, when I had +left him a few hundred yards behind, and was by so much in a better +temper) between going away from a place and remaining in it. I had no +right, I reflected, to be angry with the greengrocer for his want of +interest, I was nothing to him: whereas he was the town, the cathedral, +the bridge, the river, my childhood, and a large slice of my life, to me. + +Of course the town had shrunk fearfully, since I was a child there. I +had entertained the impression that the High-street was at least as wide +as Regent-street, London, or the Italian Boulevard at Paris. I found it +little better than a lane. There was a public clock in it, which I had +supposed to be the finest clock in the world: whereas it now turned out +to be as inexpressive, moon-faced, and weak a clock as ever I saw. It +belonged to a Town Hall, where I had seen an Indian (who I now suppose +wasn’t an Indian) swallow a sword (which I now suppose he didn’t). The +edifice had appeared to me in those days so glorious a structure, that I +had set it up in my mind as the model on which the Genie of the Lamp +built the palace for Aladdin. A mean little brick heap, like a demented +chapel, with a few yawning persons in leather gaiters, and in the last +extremity for something to do, lounging at the door with their hands in +their pockets, and calling themselves a Corn Exchange! + +The Theatre was in existence, I found, on asking the fishmonger, who had +a compact show of stock in his window, consisting of a sole and a quart +of shrimps—and I resolved to comfort my mind by going to look at it. +Richard the Third, in a very uncomfortable cloak, had first appeared to +me there, and had made my heart leap with terror by backing up against +the stage-box in which I was posted, while struggling for life against +the virtuous Richmond. It was within those walls that I had learnt as +from a page of English history, how that wicked King slept in war-time on +a sofa much too short for him, and how fearfully his conscience troubled +his boots. There, too, had I first seen the funny countryman, but +countryman of noble principles, in a flowered waistcoat, crunch up his +little hat and throw it on the ground, and pull off his coat, saying, +‘Dom thee, squire, coom on with thy fistes then!’ At which the lovely +young woman who kept company with him (and who went out gleaning, in a +narrow white muslin apron with five beautiful bars of five +different-coloured ribbons across it) was so frightened for his sake, +that she fainted away. Many wondrous secrets of Nature had I come to the +knowledge of in that sanctuary: of which not the least terrific were, +that the witches in Macbeth bore an awful resemblance to the Thanes and +other proper inhabitants of Scotland; and that the good King Duncan +couldn’t rest in his grave, but was constantly coming out of it and +calling himself somebody else. To the Theatre, therefore, I repaired for +consolation. But I found very little, for it was in a bad and declining +way. A dealer in wine and bottled beer had already squeezed his trade +into the box-office, and the theatrical money was taken—when it came—in a +kind of meat-safe in the passage. The dealer in wine and bottled beer +must have insinuated himself under the stage too; for he announced that +he had various descriptions of alcoholic drinks ‘in the wood,’ and there +was no possible stowage for the wood anywhere else. Evidently, he was by +degrees eating the establishment away to the core, and would soon have +sole possession of it. It was To Let, and hopelessly so, for its old +purposes; and there had been no entertainment within its walls for a long +time except a Panorama; and even that had been announced as ‘pleasingly +instructive,’ and I know too well the fatal meaning and the leaden import +of those terrible expressions. No, there was no comfort in the Theatre. +It was mysteriously gone, like my own youth. Unlike my own youth, it +might be coming back some day; but there was little promise of it. + +As the town was placarded with references to the Dullborough Mechanics’ +Institution, I thought I would go and look at that establishment next. +There had been no such thing in the town, in my young day, and it +occurred to me that its extreme prosperity might have brought adversity +upon the Drama. I found the Institution with some difficulty, and should +scarcely have known that I had found it if I had judged from its external +appearance only; but this was attributable to its never having been +finished, and having no front: consequently, it led a modest and retired +existence up a stable-yard. It was (as I learnt, on inquiry) a most +flourishing Institution, and of the highest benefit to the town: two +triumphs which I was glad to understand were not at all impaired by the +seeming drawbacks that no mechanics belonged to it, and that it was +steeped in debt to the chimney-pots. It had a large room, which was +approached by an infirm step-ladder: the builder having declined to +construct the intended staircase, without a present payment in cash, +which Dullborough (though profoundly appreciative of the Institution) +seemed unaccountably bashful about subscribing. The large room had +cost—or would, when paid for—five hundred pounds; and it had more mortar +in it and more echoes, than one might have expected to get for the money. +It was fitted up with a platform, and the usual lecturing tools, +including a large black board of a menacing appearance. On referring to +lists of the courses of lectures that had been given in this thriving +Hall, I fancied I detected a shyness in admitting that human nature when +at leisure has any desire whatever to be relieved and diverted; and a +furtive sliding in of any poor make-weight piece of amusement, +shame-facedly and edgewise. Thus, I observed that it was necessary for +the members to be knocked on the head with Gas, Air, Water, Food, the +Solar System, the Geological periods, Criticism on Milton, the +Steam-engine, John Bunyan, and Arrow-Headed Inscriptions, before they +might be tickled by those unaccountable choristers, the negro singers in +the court costume of the reign of George the Second. Likewise, that they +must be stunned by a weighty inquiry whether there was internal evidence +in Shakespeare’s works, to prove that his uncle by the mother’s side +lived for some years at Stoke Newington, before they were brought-to by a +Miscellaneous Concert. But, indeed, the masking of entertainment, and +pretending it was something else—as people mask bedsteads when they are +obliged to have them in sitting-rooms, and make believe that they are +book-cases, sofas, chests of drawers, anything rather than bedsteads—was +manifest even in the pretence of dreariness that the unfortunate +entertainers themselves felt obliged in decency to put forth when they +came here. One very agreeable professional singer, who travelled with +two professional ladies, knew better than to introduce either of those +ladies to sing the ballad ‘Comin’ through the Rye’ without prefacing it +himself, with some general remarks on wheat and clover; and even then, he +dared not for his life call the song, a song, but disguised it in the +bill as an ‘Illustration.’ In the library, also—fitted with shelves for +three thousand books, and containing upwards of one hundred and seventy +(presented copies mostly), seething their edges in damp plaster—there was +such a painfully apologetic return of 62 offenders who had read Travels, +Popular Biography, and mere Fiction descriptive of the aspirations of the +hearts and souls of mere human creatures like themselves; and such an +elaborate parade of 2 bright examples who had had down Euclid after the +day’s occupation and confinement; and 3 who had had down Metaphysics +after ditto; and I who had had down Theology after ditto; and 4 who had +worried Grammar, Political Economy, Botany, and Logarithms all at once +after ditto; that I suspected the boasted class to be one man, who had +been hired to do it. + +Emerging from the Mechanics’ Institution and continuing my walk about the +town, I still noticed everywhere the prevalence, to an extraordinary +degree, of this custom of putting the natural demand for amusement out of +sight, as some untidy housekeepers put dust, and pretending that it was +swept away. And yet it was ministered to, in a dull and abortive manner, +by all who made this feint. Looking in at what is called in Dullborough +‘the serious bookseller’s,’ where, in my childhood, I had studied the +faces of numbers of gentlemen depicted in rostrums with a gaslight on +each side of them, and casting my eyes over the open pages of certain +printed discourses there, I found a vast deal of aiming at jocosity and +dramatic effect, even in them—yes, verily, even on the part of one very +wrathful expounder who bitterly anathematised a poor little Circus. +Similarly, in the reading provided for the young people enrolled in the +Lasso of Love, and other excellent unions, I found the writers generally +under a distressing sense that they must start (at all events) like +story-tellers, and delude the young persons into the belief that they +were going to be interesting. As I looked in at this window for twenty +minutes by the clock, I am in a position to offer a friendly +remonstrance—not bearing on this particular point—to the designers and +engravers of the pictures in those publications. Have they considered +the awful consequences likely to flow from their representations of +Virtue? Have they asked themselves the question, whether the terrific +prospect of acquiring that fearful chubbiness of head, unwieldiness of +arm, feeble dislocation of leg, crispiness of hair, and enormity of +shirt-collar, which they represent as inseparable from Goodness, may not +tend to confirm sensitive waverers, in Evil? A most impressive example +(if I had believed it) of what a Dustman and a Sailor may come to, when +they mend their ways, was presented to me in this same shop-window. When +they were leaning (they were intimate friends) against a post, drunk and +reckless, with surpassingly bad hats on, and their hair over their +foreheads, they were rather picturesque, and looked as if they might be +agreeable men, if they would not be beasts. But, when they had got over +their bad propensities, and when, as a consequence, their heads had +swelled alarmingly, their hair had got so curly that it lifted their +blown-out cheeks up, their coat-cuffs were so long that they never could +do any work, and their eyes were so wide open that they never could do +any sleep, they presented a spectacle calculated to plunge a timid nature +into the depths of Infamy. + +But, the clock that had so degenerated since I saw it last, admonished me +that I had stayed here long enough; and I resumed my walk. + +I had not gone fifty paces along the street when I was suddenly brought +up by the sight of a man who got out of a little phaeton at the doctor’s +door, and went into the doctor’s house. Immediately, the air was filled +with the scent of trodden grass, and the perspective of years opened, and +at the end of it was a little likeness of this man keeping a wicket, and +I said, ‘God bless my soul! Joe Specks!’ + +Through many changes and much work, I had preserved a tenderness for the +memory of Joe, forasmuch as we had made the acquaintance of Roderick +Random together, and had believed him to be no ruffian, but an ingenuous +and engaging hero. Scorning to ask the boy left in the phaeton whether +it was really Joe, and scorning even to read the brass plate on the +door—so sure was I—I rang the bell and informed the servant maid that a +stranger sought audience of Mr. Specks. Into a room, half surgery, half +study, I was shown to await his coming, and I found it, by a series of +elaborate accidents, bestrewn with testimonies to Joe. Portrait of Mr. +Specks, bust of Mr. Specks, silver cup from grateful patient to Mr. +Specks, presentation sermon from local clergyman, dedication poem from +local poet, dinner-card from local nobleman, tract on balance of power +from local refugee, inscribed _Hommage de l’auteur à Specks_. + +When my old schoolfellow came in, and I informed him with a smile that I +was not a patient, he seemed rather at a loss to perceive any reason for +smiling in connexion with that fact, and inquired to what was he to +attribute the honour? I asked him with another smile, could he remember +me at all? He had not (he said) that pleasure. I was beginning to have +but a poor opinion of Mr. Specks, when he said reflectively, ‘And yet +there’s a something too.’ Upon that, I saw a boyish light in his eyes +that looked well, and I asked him if he could inform me, as a stranger +who desired to know and had not the means of reference at hand, what the +name of the young lady was, who married Mr. Random? Upon that, he said +‘Narcissa,’ and, after staring for a moment, called me by my name, shook +me by the hand, and melted into a roar of laughter. ‘Why, of course, +you’ll remember Lucy Green,’ he said, after we had talked a little. ‘Of +course,’ said I. ‘Whom do you think she married?’ said he. ‘You?’ I +hazarded. ‘Me,’ said Specks, ‘and you shall see her.’ So I saw her, and +she was fat, and if all the hay in the world had been heaped upon her, it +could scarcely have altered her face more than Time had altered it from +my remembrance of the face that had once looked down upon me into the +fragrant dungeons of Seringapatam. But when her youngest child came in +after dinner (for I dined with them, and we had no other company than +Specks, Junior, Barrister-at-law, who went away as soon as the cloth was +removed, to look after the young lady to whom he was going to be married +next week), I saw again, in that little daughter, the little face of the +hayfield, unchanged, and it quite touched my foolish heart. We talked +immensely, Specks and Mrs. Specks, and I, and we spoke of our old selves +as though our old selves were dead and gone, and indeed, indeed they +were—dead and gone as the playing-field that had become a wilderness of +rusty iron, and the property of S.E.R. + +Specks, however, illuminated Dullborough with the rays of interest that I +wanted and should otherwise have missed in it, and linked its present to +its past, with a highly agreeable chain. And in Specks’s society I had +new occasion to observe what I had before noticed in similar +communications among other men. All the schoolfellows and others of old, +whom I inquired about, had either done superlatively well or +superlatively ill—had either become uncertificated bankrupts, or been +felonious and got themselves transported; or had made great hits in life, +and done wonders. And this is so commonly the case, that I never can +imagine what becomes of all the mediocre people of people’s +youth—especially considering that we find no lack of the species in our +maturity. But, I did not propound this difficulty to Specks, for no +pause in the conversation gave me an occasion. Nor, could I discover one +single flaw in the good doctor—when he reads this, he will receive in a +friendly spirit the pleasantly meant record—except that he had forgotten +his Roderick Random, and that he confounded Strap with Lieutenant +Hatchway; who never knew Random, howsoever intimate with Pickle. + +When I went alone to the Railway to catch my train at night (Specks had +meant to go with me, but was inopportunely called out), I was in a more +charitable mood with Dullborough than I had been all day; and yet in my +heart I had loved it all day too. Ah! who was I that I should quarrel +with the town for being changed to me, when I myself had come back, so +changed, to it! All my early readings and early imaginations dated from +this place, and I took them away so full of innocent construction and +guileless belief, and I brought them back so worn and torn, so much the +wiser and so much the worse! + + + + +XIII +NIGHT WALKS + + +SOME years ago, a temporary inability to sleep, referable to a +distressing impression, caused me to walk about the streets all night, +for a series of several nights. The disorder might have taken a long +time to conquer, if it had been faintly experimented on in bed; but, it +was soon defeated by the brisk treatment of getting up directly after +lying down, and going out, and coming home tired at sunrise. + +In the course of those nights, I finished my education in a fair amateur +experience of houselessness. My principal object being to get through +the night, the pursuit of it brought me into sympathetic relations with +people who have no other object every night in the year. + +The month was March, and the weather damp, cloudy, and cold. The sun not +rising before half-past five, the night perspective looked sufficiently +long at half-past twelve: which was about my time for confronting it. + +The restlessness of a great city, and the way in which it tumbles and +tosses before it can get to sleep, formed one of the first entertainments +offered to the contemplation of us houseless people. It lasted about two +hours. We lost a great deal of companionship when the late public-houses +turned their lamps out, and when the potmen thrust the last brawling +drunkards into the street; but stray vehicles and stray people were left +us, after that. If we were very lucky, a policeman’s rattle sprang and a +fray turned up; but, in general, surprisingly little of this diversion +was provided. Except in the Haymarket, which is the worst kept part of +London, and about Kent-street in the Borough, and along a portion of the +line of the Old Kent-road, the peace was seldom violently broken. But, +it was always the case that London, as if in imitation of individual +citizens belonging to it, had expiring fits and starts of restlessness. +After all seemed quiet, if one cab rattled by, half-a-dozen would surely +follow; and Houselessness even observed that intoxicated people appeared +to be magnetically attracted towards each other; so that we knew when we +saw one drunken object staggering against the shutters of a shop, that +another drunken object would stagger up before five minutes were out, to +fraternise or fight with it. When we made a divergence from the regular +species of drunkard, the thin-armed, puff-faced, leaden-lipped +gin-drinker, and encountered a rarer specimen of a more decent +appearance, fifty to one but that specimen was dressed in soiled +mourning. As the street experience in the night, so the street +experience in the day; the common folk who come unexpectedly into a +little property, come unexpectedly into a deal of liquor. + +At length these flickering sparks would die away, worn out—the last +veritable sparks of waking life trailed from some late pieman or +hot-potato man—and London would sink to rest. And then the yearning of +the houseless mind would be for any sign of company, any lighted place, +any movement, anything suggestive of any one being up—nay, even so much +as awake, for the houseless eye looked out for lights in windows. + +Walking the streets under the pattering rain, Houselessness would walk +and walk and walk, seeing nothing but the interminable tangle of streets, +save at a corner, here and there, two policemen in conversation, or the +sergeant or inspector looking after his men. Now and then in the +night—but rarely—Houselessness would become aware of a furtive head +peering out of a doorway a few yards before him, and, coming up with the +head, would find a man standing bolt upright to keep within the doorway’s +shadow, and evidently intent upon no particular service to society. +Under a kind of fascination, and in a ghostly silence suitable to the +time, Houselessness and this gentleman would eye one another from head to +foot, and so, without exchange of speech, part, mutually suspicious. +Drip, drip, drip, from ledge and coping, splash from pipes and +water-spouts, and by-and-by the houseless shadow would fall upon the +stones that pave the way to Waterloo-bridge; it being in the houseless +mind to have a halfpenny worth of excuse for saying ‘Good-night’ to the +toll-keeper, and catching a glimpse of his fire. A good fire and a good +great-coat and a good woollen neck-shawl, were comfortable things to see +in conjunction with the toll-keeper; also his brisk wakefulness was +excellent company when he rattled the change of halfpence down upon that +metal table of his, like a man who defied the night, with all its +sorrowful thoughts, and didn’t care for the coming of dawn. There was +need of encouragement on the threshold of the bridge, for the bridge was +dreary. The chopped-up murdered man, had not been lowered with a rope +over the parapet when those nights were; he was alive, and slept then +quietly enough most likely, and undisturbed by any dream of where he was +to come. But the river had an awful look, the buildings on the banks +were muffled in black shrouds, and the reflected lights seemed to +originate deep in the water, as if the spectres of suicides were holding +them to show where they went down. The wild moon and clouds were as +restless as an evil conscience in a tumbled bed, and the very shadow of +the immensity of London seemed to lie oppressively upon the river. + +Between the bridge and the two great theatres, there was but the distance +of a few hundred paces, so the theatres came next. Grim and black +within, at night, those great dry Wells, and lonesome to imagine, with +the rows of faces faded out, the lights extinguished, and the seats all +empty. One would think that nothing in them knew itself at such a time +but Yorick’s skull. In one of my night walks, as the church steeples +were shaking the March winds and rain with the strokes of Four, I passed +the outer boundary of one of these great deserts, and entered it. With a +dim lantern in my hand, I groped my well-known way to the stage and +looked over the orchestra—which was like a great grave dug for a time of +pestilence—into the void beyond. A dismal cavern of an immense aspect, +with the chandelier gone dead like everything else, and nothing visible +through mist and fog and space, but tiers of winding-sheets. The ground +at my feet where, when last there, I had seen the peasantry of Naples +dancing among the vines, reckless of the burning mountain which +threatened to overwhelm them, was now in possession of a strong serpent +of engine-hose, watchfully lying in wait for the serpent Fire, and ready +to fly at it if it showed its forked tongue. A ghost of a watchman, +carrying a faint corpse candle, haunted the distant upper gallery and +flitted away. Retiring within the proscenium, and holding my light above +my head towards the rolled-up curtain—green no more, but black as +ebony—my sight lost itself in a gloomy vault, showing faint indications +in it of a shipwreck of canvas and cordage. Methought I felt much as a +diver might, at the bottom of the sea. + +In those small hours when there was no movement in the streets, it +afforded matter for reflection to take Newgate in the way, and, touching +its rough stone, to think of the prisoners in their sleep, and then to +glance in at the lodge over the spiked wicket, and see the fire and light +of the watching turnkeys, on the white wall. Not an inappropriate time +either, to linger by that wicked little Debtors’ Door—shutting tighter +than any other door one ever saw—which has been Death’s Door to so many. +In the days of the uttering of forged one-pound notes by people tempted +up from the country, how many hundreds of wretched creatures of both +sexes—many quite innocent—swung out of a pitiless and inconsistent world, +with the tower of yonder Christian church of Saint Sepulchre monstrously +before their eyes! Is there any haunting of the Bank Parlour, by the +remorseful souls of old directors, in the nights of these later days, I +wonder, or is it as quiet as this degenerate Aceldama of an Old Bailey? + +To walk on to the Bank, lamenting the good old times and bemoaning the +present evil period, would be an easy next step, so I would take it, and +would make my houseless circuit of the Bank, and give a thought to the +treasure within; likewise to the guard of soldiers passing the night +there, and nodding over the fire. Next, I went to Billingsgate, in some +hope of market-people, but it proving as yet too early, crossed +London-bridge and got down by the water-side on the Surrey shore among +the buildings of the great brewery. There was plenty going on at the +brewery; and the reek, and the smell of grains, and the rattling of the +plump dray horses at their mangers, were capital company. Quite +refreshed by having mingled with this good society, I made a new start +with a new heart, setting the old King’s Bench prison before me for my +next object, and resolving, when I should come to the wall, to think of +poor Horace Kinch, and the Dry Rot in men. + +A very curious disease the Dry Rot in men, and difficult to detect the +beginning of. It had carried Horace Kinch inside the wall of the old +King’s Bench prison, and it had carried him out with his feet foremost. +He was a likely man to look at, in the prime of life, well to do, as +clever as he needed to be, and popular among many friends. He was +suitably married, and had healthy and pretty children. But, like some +fair-looking houses or fair-looking ships, he took the Dry Rot. The +first strong external revelation of the Dry Rot in men, is a tendency to +lurk and lounge; to be at street-corners without intelligible reason; to +be going anywhere when met; to be about many places rather than at any; +to do nothing tangible, but to have an intention of performing a variety +of intangible duties to-morrow or the day after. When this manifestation +of the disease is observed, the observer will usually connect it with a +vague impression once formed or received, that the patient was living a +little too hard. He will scarcely have had leisure to turn it over in +his mind and form the terrible suspicion ‘Dry Rot,’ when he will notice a +change for the worse in the patient’s appearance: a certain slovenliness +and deterioration, which is not poverty, nor dirt, nor intoxication, nor +ill-health, but simply Dry Rot. To this, succeeds a smell as of strong +waters, in the morning; to that, a looseness respecting money; to that, a +stronger smell as of strong waters, at all times; to that, a looseness +respecting everything; to that, a trembling of the limbs, somnolency, +misery, and crumbling to pieces. As it is in wood, so it is in men. Dry +Rot advances at a compound usury quite incalculable. A plank is found +infected with it, and the whole structure is devoted. Thus it had been +with the unhappy Horace Kinch, lately buried by a small subscription. +Those who knew him had not nigh done saying, ‘So well off, so comfortably +established, with such hope before him—and yet, it is feared, with a +slight touch of Dry Rot!’ when lo! the man was all Dry Rot and dust. + +From the dead wall associated on those houseless nights with this too +common story, I chose next to wander by Bethlehem Hospital; partly, +because it lay on my road round to Westminster; partly, because I had a +night fancy in my head which could be best pursued within sight of its +walls and dome. And the fancy was this: Are not the sane and the insane +equal at night as the sane lie a dreaming? Are not all of us outside +this hospital, who dream, more or less in the condition of those inside +it, every night of our lives? Are we not nightly persuaded, as they +daily are, that we associate preposterously with kings and queens, +emperors and empresses, and notabilities of all sorts? Do we not nightly +jumble events and personages and times and places, as these do daily? +Are we not sometimes troubled by our own sleeping inconsistencies, and do +we not vexedly try to account for them or excuse them, just as these do +sometimes in respect of their waking delusions? Said an afflicted man to +me, when I was last in a hospital like this, ‘Sir, I can frequently fly.’ +I was half ashamed to reflect that so could I—by night. Said a woman to +me on the same occasion, ‘Queen Victoria frequently comes to dine with +me, and her Majesty and I dine off peaches and maccaroni in our +night-gowns, and his Royal Highness the Prince Consort does us the honour +to make a third on horseback in a Field-Marshal’s uniform.’ Could I +refrain from reddening with consciousness when I remembered the amazing +royal parties I myself had given (at night), the unaccountable viands I +had put on table, and my extraordinary manner of conducting myself on +those distinguished occasions? I wonder that the great master who knew +everything, when he called Sleep the death of each day’s life, did not +call Dreams the insanity of each day’s sanity. + +By this time I had left the Hospital behind me, and was again setting +towards the river; and in a short breathing space I was on +Westminster-bridge, regaling my houseless eyes with the external walls of +the British Parliament—the perfection of a stupendous institution, I +know, and the admiration of all surrounding nations and succeeding ages, +I do not doubt, but perhaps a little the better now and then for being +pricked up to its work. Turning off into Old Palace-yard, the Courts of +Law kept me company for a quarter of an hour; hinting in low whispers +what numbers of people they were keeping awake, and how intensely +wretched and horrible they were rendering the small hours to unfortunate +suitors. Westminster Abbey was fine gloomy society for another quarter +of an hour; suggesting a wonderful procession of its dead among the dark +arches and pillars, each century more amazed by the century following it +than by all the centuries going before. And indeed in those houseless +night walks—which even included cemeteries where watchmen went round +among the graves at stated times, and moved the tell-tale handle of an +index which recorded that they had touched it at such an hour—it was a +solemn consideration what enormous hosts of dead belong to one old great +city, and how, if they were raised while the living slept, there would +not be the space of a pin’s point in all the streets and ways for the +living to come out into. Not only that, but the vast armies of dead +would overflow the hills and valleys beyond the city, and would stretch +away all round it, God knows how far. + +When a church clock strikes, on houseless ears in the dead of the night, +it may be at first mistaken for company and hailed as such. But, as the +spreading circles of vibration, which you may perceive at such a time +with great clearness, go opening out, for ever and ever afterwards +widening perhaps (as the philosopher has suggested) in eternal space, the +mistake is rectified and the sense of loneliness is profounder. Once—it +was after leaving the Abbey and turning my face north—I came to the great +steps of St. Martin’s church as the clock was striking Three. Suddenly, +a thing that in a moment more I should have trodden upon without seeing, +rose up at my feet with a cry of loneliness and houselessness, struck out +of it by the bell, the like of which I never heard. We then stood face +to face looking at one another, frightened by one another. The creature +was like a beetle-browed hair-lipped youth of twenty, and it had a loose +bundle of rags on, which it held together with one of its hands. It +shivered from head to foot, and its teeth chattered, and as it stared at +me—persecutor, devil, ghost, whatever it thought me—it made with its +whining mouth as if it were snapping at me, like a worried dog. +Intending to give this ugly object money, I put out my hand to stay +it—for it recoiled as it whined and snapped—and laid my hand upon its +shoulder. Instantly, it twisted out of its garment, like the young man +in the New Testament, and left me standing alone with its rags in my +hands. + +Covent-garden Market, when it was market morning, was wonderful company. +The great waggons of cabbages, with growers’ men and boys lying asleep +under them, and with sharp dogs from market-garden neighbourhoods looking +after the whole, were as good as a party. But one of the worst night +sights I know in London, is to be found in the children who prowl about +this place; who sleep in the baskets, fight for the offal, dart at any +object they think they can lay their thieving hands on, dive under the +carts and barrows, dodge the constables, and are perpetually making a +blunt pattering on the pavement of the Piazza with the rain of their +naked feet. A painful and unnatural result comes of the comparison one +is forced to institute between the growth of corruption as displayed in +the so much improved and cared for fruits of the earth, and the growth of +corruption as displayed in these all uncared for (except inasmuch as +ever-hunted) savages. + +There was early coffee to be got about Covent-garden Market, and that was +more company—warm company, too, which was better. Toast of a very +substantial quality, was likewise procurable: though the towzled-headed +man who made it, in an inner chamber within the coffee-room, hadn’t got +his coat on yet, and was so heavy with sleep that in every interval of +toast and coffee he went off anew behind the partition into complicated +cross-roads of choke and snore, and lost his way directly. Into one of +these establishments (among the earliest) near Bow-street, there came one +morning as I sat over my houseless cup, pondering where to go next, a man +in a high and long snuff-coloured coat, and shoes, and, to the best of my +belief, nothing else but a hat, who took out of his hat a large cold meat +pudding; a meat pudding so large that it was a very tight fit, and +brought the lining of the hat out with it. This mysterious man was known +by his pudding, for on his entering, the man of sleep brought him a pint +of hot tea, a small loaf, and a large knife and fork and plate. Left to +himself in his box, he stood the pudding on the bare table, and, instead +of cutting it, stabbed it, overhand, with the knife, like a mortal enemy; +then took the knife out, wiped it on his sleeve, tore the pudding asunder +with his fingers, and ate it all up. The remembrance of this man with +the pudding remains with me as the remembrance of the most spectral +person my houselessness encountered. Twice only was I in that +establishment, and twice I saw him stalk in (as I should say, just out of +bed, and presently going back to bed), take out his pudding, stab his +pudding, wipe the dagger, and eat his pudding all up. He was a man whose +figure promised cadaverousness, but who had an excessively red face, +though shaped like a horse’s. On the second occasion of my seeing him, +he said huskily to the man of sleep, ‘Am I red to-night?’ ‘You are,’ he +uncompromisingly answered. ‘My mother,’ said the spectre, ‘was a +red-faced woman that liked drink, and I looked at her hard when she laid +in her coffin, and I took the complexion.’ Somehow, the pudding seemed +an unwholesome pudding after that, and I put myself in its way no more. + +When there was no market, or when I wanted variety, a railway terminus +with the morning mails coming in, was remunerative company. But like +most of the company to be had in this world, it lasted only a very short +time. The station lamps would burst out ablaze, the porters would emerge +from places of concealment, the cabs and trucks would rattle to their +places (the post-office carts were already in theirs), and, finally, the +bell would strike up, and the train would come banging in. But there +were few passengers and little luggage, and everything scuttled away with +the greatest expedition. The locomotive post-offices, with their great +nets—as if they had been dragging the country for bodies—would fly open +as to their doors, and would disgorge a smell of lamp, an exhausted +clerk, a guard in a red coat, and their bags of letters; the engine would +blow and heave and perspire, like an engine wiping its forehead and +saying what a run it had had; and within ten minutes the lamps were out, +and I was houseless and alone again. + +But now, there were driven cattle on the high road near, wanting (as +cattle always do) to turn into the midst of stone walls, and squeeze +themselves through six inches’ width of iron railing, and getting their +heads down (also as cattle always do) for tossing-purchase at quite +imaginary dogs, and giving themselves and every devoted creature +associated with them a most extraordinary amount of unnecessary trouble. +Now, too, the conscious gas began to grow pale with the knowledge that +daylight was coming, and straggling workpeople were already in the +streets, and, as waking life had become extinguished with the last +pieman’s sparks, so it began to be rekindled with the fires of the first +street-corner breakfast-sellers. And so by faster and faster degrees, +until the last degrees were very fast, the day came, and I was tired and +could sleep. And it is not, as I used to think, going home at such +times, the least wonderful thing in London, that in the real desert +region of the night, the houseless wanderer is alone there. I knew well +enough where to find Vice and Misfortune of all kinds, if I had chosen; +but they were put out of sight, and my houselessness had many miles upon +miles of streets in which it could, and did, have its own solitary way. + + + + +XIV +CHAMBERS + + +HAVING occasion to transact some business with a solicitor who occupies a +highly suicidal set of chambers in Gray’s Inn, I afterwards took a turn +in the large square of that stronghold of Melancholy, reviewing, with +congenial surroundings, my experiences of Chambers. + +I began, as was natural, with the Chambers I had just left. They were an +upper set on a rotten staircase, with a mysterious bunk or bulkhead on +the landing outside them, of a rather nautical and Screw Collier-like +appearance than otherwise, and painted an intense black. Many dusty +years have passed since the appropriation of this Davy Jones’s locker to +any purpose, and during the whole period within the memory of living man, +it has been hasped and padlocked. I cannot quite satisfy my mind whether +it was originally meant for the reception of coals, or bodies, or as a +place of temporary security for the plunder ‘looted’ by laundresses; but +I incline to the last opinion. It is about breast high, and usually +serves as a bulk for defendants in reduced circumstances to lean against +and ponder at, when they come on the hopeful errand of trying to make an +arrangement without money—under which auspicious circumstances it mostly +happens that the legal gentleman they want to see, is much engaged, and +they pervade the staircase for a considerable period. Against this +opposing bulk, in the absurdest manner, the tomb-like outer door of the +solicitor’s chambers (which is also of an intense black) stands in dark +ambush, half open, and half shut, all day. The solicitor’s apartments +are three in number; consisting of a slice, a cell, and a wedge. The +slice is assigned to the two clerks, the cell is occupied by the +principal, and the wedge is devoted to stray papers, old game baskets +from the country, a washing-stand, and a model of a patent Ship’s Caboose +which was exhibited in Chancery at the commencement of the present +century on an application for an injunction to restrain infringement. At +about half-past nine on every week-day morning, the younger of the two +clerks (who, I have reason to believe, leads the fashion at Pentonville +in the articles of pipes and shirts) may be found knocking the dust out +of his official door-key on the bunk or locker before mentioned; and so +exceedingly subject to dust is his key, and so very retentive of that +superfluity, that in exceptional summer weather when a ray of sunlight +has fallen on the locker in my presence, I have noticed its inexpressive +countenance to be deeply marked by a kind of Bramah erysipelas or +small-pox. + +This set of chambers (as I have gradually discovered, when I have had +restless occasion to make inquiries or leave messages, after office +hours) is under the charge of a lady named Sweeney, in figure extremely +like an old family-umbrella: whose dwelling confronts a dead wall in a +court off Gray’s Inn-lane, and who is usually fetched into the passage of +that bower, when wanted, from some neighbouring home of industry, which +has the curious property of imparting an inflammatory appearance to her +visage. Mrs. Sweeney is one of the race of professed laundresses, and is +the compiler of a remarkable manuscript volume entitled ‘Mrs. Sweeney’s +Book,’ from which much curious statistical information may be gathered +respecting the high prices and small uses of soda, soap, sand, firewood, +and other such articles. I have created a legend in my mind—and +consequently I believe it with the utmost pertinacity—that the late Mr. +Sweeney was a ticket-porter under the Honourable Society of Gray’s Inn, +and that, in consideration of his long and valuable services, Mrs. +Sweeney was appointed to her present post. For, though devoid of +personal charms, I have observed this lady to exercise a fascination over +the elderly ticker-porter mind (particularly under the gateway, and in +corners and entries), which I can only refer to her being one of the +fraternity, yet not competing with it. All that need be said concerning +this set of chambers, is said, when I have added that it is in a large +double house in Gray’s Inn-square, very much out of repair, and that the +outer portal is ornamented in a hideous manner with certain stone +remains, which have the appearance of the dismembered bust, torso, and +limbs of a petrified bencher. + +Indeed, I look upon Gray’s Inn generally as one of the most depressing +institutions in brick and mortar, known to the children of men. Can +anything be more dreary than its arid Square, Sahara Desert of the law, +with the ugly old tiled-topped tenements, the dirty windows, the bills To +Let, To Let, the door-posts inscribed like gravestones, the crazy gateway +giving upon the filthy Lane, the scowling, iron-barred prison-like +passage into Verulam-buildings, the mouldy red-nosed ticket-porters with +little coffin plates, and why with aprons, the dry, hard, atomy-like +appearance of the whole dust-heap? When my uncommercial travels tend to +this dismal spot, my comfort is its rickety state. Imagination gloats +over the fulness of time when the staircases shall have quite tumbled +down—they are daily wearing into an ill-savoured powder, but have not +quite tumbled down yet—when the last old prolix bencher all of the olden +time, shall have been got out of an upper window by means of a Fire +Ladder, and carried off to the Holborn Union; when the last clerk shall +have engrossed the last parchment behind the last splash on the last of +the mud-stained windows, which, all through the miry year, are pilloried +out of recognition in Gray’s Inn-lane. Then, shall a squalid little +trench, with rank grass and a pump in it, lying between the coffee-house +and South-square, be wholly given up to cats and rats, and not, as now, +have its empire divided between those animals and a few briefless +bipeds—surely called to the Bar by voices of deceiving spirits, seeing +that they are wanted there by no mortal—who glance down, with eyes better +glazed than their casements, from their dreary and lacklustre rooms. +Then shall the way Nor’ Westward, now lying under a short grim colonnade +where in summer-time pounce flies from law-stationering windows into the +eyes of laymen, be choked with rubbish and happily become impassable. +Then shall the gardens where turf, trees, and gravel wear a legal livery +of black, run rank, and pilgrims go to Gorhambury to see Bacon’s effigy +as he sat, and not come here (which in truth they seldom do) to see where +he walked. Then, in a word, shall the old-established vendor of +periodicals sit alone in his little crib of a shop behind the Holborn +Gate, like that lumbering Marius among the ruins of Carthage, who has sat +heavy on a thousand million of similes. + +At one period of my uncommercial career I much frequented another set of +chambers in Gray’s Inn-square. They were what is familiarly called ‘a +top set,’ and all the eatables and drinkables introduced into them +acquired a flavour of Cockloft. I have known an unopened Strasbourg pâté +fresh from Fortnum and Mason’s, to draw in this cockloft tone through its +crockery dish, and become penetrated with cockloft to the core of its +inmost truffle in three-quarters of an hour. This, however, was not the +most curious feature of those chambers; that, consisted in the profound +conviction entertained by my esteemed friend Parkle (their tenant) that +they were clean. Whether it was an inborn hallucination, or whether it +was imparted to him by Mrs. Miggot the laundress, I never could +ascertain. But, I believe he would have gone to the stake upon the +question. Now, they were so dirty that I could take off the distinctest +impression of my figure on any article of furniture by merely lounging +upon it for a few moments; and it used to be a private amusement of mine +to print myself off—if I may use the expression—all over the rooms. It +was the first large circulation I had. At other times I have +accidentally shaken a window curtain while in animated conversation with +Parkle, and struggling insects which were certainly red, and were +certainly not ladybirds, have dropped on the back of my hand. Yet Parkle +lived in that top set years, bound body and soul to the superstition that +they were clean. He used to say, when congratulated upon them, ‘Well, +they are not like chambers in one respect, you know; they are clean.’ +Concurrently, he had an idea which he could never explain, that Mrs. +Miggot was in some way connected with the Church. When he was in +particularly good spirits, he used to believe that a deceased uncle of +hers had been a Dean; when he was poorly and low, he believed that her +brother had been a Curate. I and Mrs. Miggot (she was a genteel woman) +were on confidential terms, but I never knew her to commit herself to any +distinct assertion on the subject; she merely claimed a proprietorship in +the Church, by looking when it was mentioned, as if the reference +awakened the slumbering Past, and were personal. It may have been his +amiable confidence in Mrs. Miggot’s better days that inspired my friend +with his delusion respecting the chambers, but he never wavered in his +fidelity to it for a moment, though he wallowed in dirt seven years. + +Two of the windows of these chambers looked down into the garden; and we +have sat up there together many a summer evening, saying how pleasant it +was, and talking of many things. To my intimacy with that top set, I am +indebted for three of my liveliest personal impressions of the loneliness +of life in chambers. They shall follow here, in order; first, second, +and third. + +First. My Gray’s Inn friend, on a time, hurt one of his legs, and it +became seriously inflamed. Not knowing of his indisposition, I was on my +way to visit him as usual, one summer evening, when I was much surprised +by meeting a lively leech in Field-court, Gray’s Inn, seemingly on his +way to the West End of London. As the leech was alone, and was of course +unable to explain his position, even if he had been inclined to do so +(which he had not the appearance of being), I passed him and went on. +Turning the corner of Gray’s Inn-square, I was beyond expression amazed +by meeting another leech—also entirely alone, and also proceeding in a +westerly direction, though with less decision of purpose. Ruminating on +this extraordinary circumstance, and endeavouring to remember whether I +had ever read, in the Philosophical Transactions or any work on Natural +History, of a migration of Leeches, I ascended to the top set, past the +dreary series of closed outer doors of offices and an empty set or two, +which intervened between that lofty region and the surface. Entering my +friend’s rooms, I found him stretched upon his back, like Prometheus +Bound, with a perfectly demented ticket-porter in attendance on him +instead of the Vulture: which helpless individual, who was feeble and +frightened, and had (my friend explained to me, in great choler) been +endeavouring for some hours to apply leeches to his leg, and as yet had +only got on two out of twenty. To this Unfortunate’s distraction between +a damp cloth on which he had placed the leeches to freshen them, and the +wrathful adjurations of my friend to ‘Stick ’em on, sir!’ I referred the +phenomenon I had encountered: the rather as two fine specimens were at +that moment going out at the door, while a general insurrection of the +rest was in progress on the table. After a while our united efforts +prevailed, and, when the leeches came off and had recovered their +spirits, we carefully tied them up in a decanter. But I never heard more +of them than that they were all gone next morning, and that the +Out-of-door young man of Bickle, Bush and Bodger, on the ground floor, +had been bitten and blooded by some creature not identified. They never +‘took’ on Mrs. Miggot, the laundress; but, I have always preserved fresh, +the belief that she unconsciously carried several about her, until they +gradually found openings in life. + +Second. On the same staircase with my friend Parkle, and on the same +floor, there lived a man of law who pursued his business elsewhere, and +used those chambers as his place of residence. For three or four years, +Parkle rather knew of him than knew him, but after that—for +Englishmen—short pause of consideration, they began to speak. Parkle +exchanged words with him in his private character only, and knew nothing +of his business ways, or means. He was a man a good deal about town, but +always alone. We used to remark to one another, that although we often +encountered him in theatres, concert-rooms, and similar public places, he +was always alone. Yet he was not a gloomy man, and was of a decidedly +conversational turn; insomuch that he would sometimes of an evening +lounge with a cigar in his mouth, half in and half out of Parkle’s rooms, +and discuss the topics of the day by the hour. He used to hint on these +occasions that he had four faults to find with life; firstly, that it +obliged a man to be always winding up his watch; secondly, that London +was too small; thirdly, that it therefore wanted variety; fourthly, that +there was too much dust in it. There was so much dust in his own faded +chambers, certainly, that they reminded me of a sepulchre, furnished in +prophetic anticipation of the present time, which had newly been brought +to light, after having remained buried a few thousand years. One dry, +hot autumn evening at twilight, this man, being then five years turned of +fifty, looked in upon Parkle in his usual lounging way, with his cigar in +his mouth as usual, and said, ‘I am going out of town.’ As he never went +out of town, Parkle said, ‘Oh indeed! At last?’ ‘Yes,’ says he, ‘at +last. For what is a man to do? London is so small! If you go West, you +come to Hounslow. If you go East, you come to Bow. If you go South, +there’s Brixton or Norwood. If you go North, you can’t get rid of +Barnet. Then, the monotony of all the streets, streets, streets—and of +all the roads, roads, roads—and the dust, dust, dust!’ When he had said +this, he wished Parkle a good evening, but came back again and said, with +his watch in his hand, ‘Oh, I really cannot go on winding up this watch +over and over again; I wish you would take care of it.’ So, Parkle +laughed and consented, and the man went out of town. The man remained +out of town so long, that his letter-box became choked, and no more +letters could be got into it, and they began to be left at the lodge and +to accumulate there. At last the head-porter decided, on conference with +the steward, to use his master-key and look into the chambers, and give +them the benefit of a whiff of air. Then, it was found that he had +hanged himself to his bedstead, and had left this written memorandum: ‘I +should prefer to be cut down by my neighbour and friend (if he will allow +me to call him so), H. Parkle, Esq.’ This was an end of Parkle’s +occupancy of chambers. He went into lodgings immediately. + +Third. While Parkle lived in Gray’s Inn, and I myself was uncommercially +preparing for the Bar—which is done, as everybody knows, by having a +frayed old gown put on in a pantry by an old woman in a chronic state of +Saint Anthony’s fire and dropsy, and, so decorated, bolting a bad dinner +in a party of four, whereof each individual mistrusts the other three—I +say, while these things were, there was a certain elderly gentleman who +lived in a court of the Temple, and was a great judge and lover of port +wine. Every day he dined at his club and drank his bottle or two of port +wine, and every night came home to the Temple and went to bed in his +lonely chambers. This had gone on many years without variation, when one +night he had a fit on coming home, and fell and cut his head deep, but +partly recovered and groped about in the dark to find the door. When he +was afterwards discovered, dead, it was clearly established by the marks +of his hands about the room that he must have done so. Now, this chanced +on the night of Christmas Eve, and over him lived a young fellow who had +sisters and young country friends, and who gave them a little party that +night, in the course of which they played at Blindman’s Buff. They +played that game, for their greater sport, by the light of the fire only; +and once, when they were all quietly rustling and stealing about, and the +blindman was trying to pick out the prettiest sister (for which I am far +from blaming him), somebody cried, Hark! The man below must be playing +Blindman’s Buff by himself to-night! They listened, and they heard +sounds of some one falling about and stumbling against furniture, and +they all laughed at the conceit, and went on with their play, more +light-hearted and merry than ever. Thus, those two so different games of +life and death were played out together, blindfolded, in the two sets of +chambers. + +Such are the occurrences, which, coming to my knowledge, imbued me long +ago with a strong sense of the loneliness of chambers. There was a +fantastic illustration to much the same purpose implicitly believed by a +strange sort of man now dead, whom I knew when I had not quite arrived at +legal years of discretion, though I was already in the uncommercial line. + +This was a man who, though not more than thirty, had seen the world in +divers irreconcilable capacities—had been an officer in a South American +regiment among other odd things—but had not achieved much in any way of +life, and was in debt, and in hiding. He occupied chambers of the +dreariest nature in Lyons Inn; his name, however, was not up on the door, +or door-post, but in lieu of it stood the name of a friend who had died +in the chambers, and had given him the furniture. The story arose out of +the furniture, and was to this effect:—Let the former holder of the +chambers, whose name was still upon the door and door-post, be Mr. +Testator. + +Mr. Testator took a set of chambers in Lyons Inn when he had but very +scanty furniture for his bedroom, and none for his sitting-room. He had +lived some wintry months in this condition, and had found it very bare +and cold. One night, past midnight, when he sat writing and still had +writing to do that must be done before he went to bed, he found himself +out of coals. He had coals down-stairs, but had never been to his +cellar; however the cellar-key was on his mantelshelf, and if he went +down and opened the cellar it fitted, he might fairly assume the coals in +that cellar to be his. As to his laundress, she lived among the +coal-waggons and Thames watermen—for there were Thames watermen at that +time—in some unknown rat-hole by the river, down lanes and alleys on the +other side of the Strand. As to any other person to meet him or obstruct +him, Lyons Inn was dreaming, drunk, maudlin, moody, betting, brooding +over bill-discounting or renewing—asleep or awake, minding its own +affairs. Mr. Testator took his coal-scuttle in one hand, his candle and +key in the other, and descended to the dismallest underground dens of +Lyons Inn, where the late vehicles in the streets became thunderous, and +all the water-pipes in the neighbourhood seemed to have Macbeth’s Amen +sticking in their throats, and to be trying to get it out. After groping +here and there among low doors to no purpose, Mr. Testator at length came +to a door with a rusty padlock which his key fitted. Getting the door +open with much trouble, and looking in, he found, no coals, but a +confused pile of furniture. Alarmed by this intrusion on another man’s +property, he locked the door again, found his own cellar, filled his +scuttle, and returned up-stairs. + +But the furniture he had seen, ran on castors across and across Mr. +Testator’s mind incessantly, when, in the chill hour of five in the +morning, he got to bed. He particularly wanted a table to write at, and +a table expressly made to be written at, had been the piece of furniture +in the foreground of the heap. When his laundress emerged from her +burrow in the morning to make his kettle boil, he artfully led up to the +subject of cellars and furniture; but the two ideas had evidently no +connexion in her mind. When she left him, and he sat at his breakfast, +thinking about the furniture, he recalled the rusty state of the padlock, +and inferred that the furniture must have been stored in the cellars for +a long time—was perhaps forgotten—owner dead, perhaps? After thinking it +over, a few days, in the course of which he could pump nothing out of +Lyons Inn about the furniture, he became desperate, and resolved to +borrow that table. He did so, that night. He had not had the table +long, when he determined to borrow an easy-chair; he had not had that +long, when he made up his mind to borrow a bookcase; then, a couch; then, +a carpet and rug. By that time, he felt he was ‘in furniture stepped in +so far,’ as that it could be no worse to borrow it all. Consequently, he +borrowed it all, and locked up the cellar for good. He had always locked +it, after every visit. He had carried up every separate article in the +dead of the night, and, at the best, had felt as wicked as a Resurrection +Man. Every article was blue and furry when brought into his rooms, and +he had had, in a murderous and guilty sort of way, to polish it up while +London slept. + +Mr. Testator lived in his furnished chambers two or three years, or more, +and gradually lulled himself into the opinion that the furniture was his +own. This was his convenient state of mind when, late one night, a step +came up the stairs, and a hand passed over his door feeling for his +knocker, and then one deep and solemn rap was rapped that might have been +a spring in Mr. Testator’s easy-chair to shoot him out of it; so promptly +was it attended with that effect. + +With a candle in his hand, Mr. Testator went to the door, and found +there, a very pale and very tall man; a man who stooped; a man with very +high shoulders, a very narrow chest, and a very red nose; a +shabby-genteel man. He was wrapped in a long thread-bare black coat, +fastened up the front with more pins than buttons, and under his arm he +squeezed an umbrella without a handle, as if he were playing bagpipes. +He said, ‘I ask your pardon, but can you tell me—’ and stopped; his eyes +resting on some object within the chambers. + +‘Can I tell you what?’ asked Mr. Testator, noting his stoppage with quick +alarm. + +‘I ask your pardon,’ said the stranger, ‘but—this is not the inquiry I +was going to make—_do_ I see in there, any small article of property +belonging to _me_?’ + +Mr. Testator was beginning to stammer that he was not aware—when the +visitor slipped past him, into the chambers. There, in a goblin way +which froze Mr. Testator to the marrow, he examined, first, the +writing-table, and said, ‘Mine;’ then, the easy-chair, and said, ‘Mine;’ +then, the bookcase, and said, ‘Mine;’ then, turned up a corner of the +carpet, and said, ‘Mine!’ in a word, inspected every item of furniture +from the cellar, in succession, and said, ‘Mine!’ Towards the end of +this investigation, Mr. Testator perceived that he was sodden with +liquor, and that the liquor was gin. He was not unsteady with gin, +either in his speech or carriage; but he was stiff with gin in both +particulars. + +Mr. Testator was in a dreadful state, for (according to his making out of +the story) the possible consequences of what he had done in recklessness +and hardihood, flashed upon him in their fulness for the first time. +When they had stood gazing at one another for a little while, he +tremulously began: + +‘Sir, I am conscious that the fullest explanation, compensation, and +restitution, are your due. They shall be yours. Allow me to entreat +that, without temper, without even natural irritation on your part, we +may have a little—’ + +‘Drop of something to drink,’ interposed the stranger. ‘I am agreeable.’ + +Mr. Testator had intended to say, ‘a little quiet conversation,’ but with +great relief of mind adopted the amendment. He produced a decanter of +gin, and was bustling about for hot water and sugar, when he found that +his visitor had already drunk half of the decanter’s contents. With hot +water and sugar the visitor drank the remainder before he had been an +hour in the chambers by the chimes of the church of St. Mary in the +Strand; and during the process he frequently whispered to himself, +‘Mine!’ + +The gin gone, and Mr. Testator wondering what was to follow it, the +visitor rose and said, with increased stiffness, ‘At what hour of the +morning, sir, will it be convenient?’ Mr. Testator hazarded, ‘At ten?’ +‘Sir,’ said the visitor, ‘at ten, to the moment, I shall be here.’ He +then contemplated Mr. Testator somewhat at leisure, and said, ‘God bless +you! How is your wife?’ Mr. Testator (who never had a wife) replied +with much feeling, ‘Deeply anxious, poor soul, but otherwise well.’ The +visitor thereupon turned and went away, and fell twice in going +down-stairs. From that hour he was never heard of. Whether he was a +ghost, or a spectral illusion of conscience, or a drunken man who had no +business there, or the drunken rightful owner of the furniture, with a +transitory gleam of memory; whether he got safe home, or had no time to +get to; whether he died of liquor on the way, or lived in liquor ever +afterwards; he never was heard of more. This was the story, received +with the furniture and held to be as substantial, by its second possessor +in an upper set of chambers in grim Lyons Inn. + +It is to be remarked of chambers in general, that they must have been +built for chambers, to have the right kind of loneliness. You may make a +great dwelling-house very lonely, by isolating suites of rooms and +calling them chambers, but you cannot make the true kind of loneliness. +In dwelling-houses, there have been family festivals; children have grown +in them, girls have bloomed into women in them, courtships and marriages +have taken place in them. True chambers never were young, childish, +maidenly; never had dolls in them, or rocking-horses, or christenings, or +betrothals, or little coffins. Let Gray’s Inn identify the child who +first touched hands and hearts with Robinson Crusoe, in any one of its +many ‘sets,’ and that child’s little statue, in white marble with a +golden inscription, shall be at its service, at my cost and charge, as a +drinking fountain for the spirit, to freshen its thirsty square. Let +Lincoln’s produce from all its houses, a twentieth of the procession +derivable from any dwelling-house one-twentieth of its age, of fair young +brides who married for love and hope, not settlements, and all the +Vice-Chancellors shall thenceforward be kept in nosegays for nothing, on +application to the writer hereof. It is not denied that on the terrace +of the Adelphi, or in any of the streets of that +subterranean-stable-haunted spot, or about Bedford-row, or James-street +of that ilk (a grewsome place), or anywhere among the neighbourhoods that +have done flowering and have run to seed, you may find Chambers replete +with the accommodations of Solitude, Closeness, and Darkness, where you +may be as low-spirited as in the genuine article, and might be as easily +murdered, with the placid reputation of having merely gone down to the +sea-side. But, the many waters of life did run musical in those dry +channels once;—among the Inns, never. The only popular legend known in +relation to any one of the dull family of Inns, is a dark Old Bailey +whisper concerning Clement’s, and importing how the black creature who +holds the sun-dial there, was a negro who slew his master and built the +dismal pile out of the contents of his strong box—for which architectural +offence alone he ought to have been condemned to live in it. But, what +populace would waste fancy upon such a place, or on New Inn, Staple Inn, +Barnard’s Inn, or any of the shabby crew? + +The genuine laundress, too, is an institution not to be had in its +entirety out of and away from the genuine Chambers. Again, it is not +denied that you may be robbed elsewhere. Elsewhere you may have—for +money—dishonesty, drunkenness, dirt, laziness, and profound incapacity. +But the veritable shining-red-faced shameless laundress; the true Mrs. +Sweeney—in figure, colour, texture, and smell, like the old damp family +umbrella; the tip-top complicated abomination of stockings, spirits, +bonnet, limpness, looseness, and larceny; is only to be drawn at the +fountain-head. Mrs. Sweeney is beyond the reach of individual art. It +requires the united efforts of several men to ensure that great result, +and it is only developed in perfection under an Honourable Society and in +an Inn of Court. + + + + +XV +NURSE’S STORIES + + +THERE are not many places that I find it more agreeable to revisit when I +am in an idle mood, than some places to which I have never been. For, my +acquaintance with those spots is of such long standing, and has ripened +into an intimacy of so affectionate a nature, that I take a particular +interest in assuring myself that they are unchanged. + +I never was in Robinson Crusoe’s Island, yet I frequently return there. +The colony he established on it soon faded away, and it is uninhabited by +any descendants of the grave and courteous Spaniards, or of Will Atkins +and the other mutineers, and has relapsed into its original condition. +Not a twig of its wicker houses remains, its goats have long run wild +again, its screaming parrots would darken the sun with a cloud of many +flaming colours if a gun were fired there, no face is ever reflected in +the waters of the little creek which Friday swam across when pursued by +his two brother cannibals with sharpened stomachs. After comparing notes +with other travellers who have similarly revisited the Island and +conscientiously inspected it, I have satisfied myself that it contains no +vestige of Mr. Atkins’s domesticity or theology, though his track on the +memorable evening of his landing to set his captain ashore, when he was +decoyed about and round about until it was dark, and his boat was stove, +and his strength and spirits failed him, is yet plainly to be traced. So +is the hill-top on which Robinson was struck dumb with joy when the +reinstated captain pointed to the ship, riding within half a mile of the +shore, that was to bear him away, in the nine-and-twentieth year of his +seclusion in that lonely place. So is the sandy beach on which the +memorable footstep was impressed, and where the savages hauled up their +canoes when they came ashore for those dreadful public dinners, which led +to a dancing worse than speech-making. So is the cave where the flaring +eyes of the old goat made such a goblin appearance in the dark. So is +the site of the hut where Robinson lived with the dog and the parrot and +the cat, and where he endured those first agonies of solitude, +which—strange to say—never involved any ghostly fancies; a circumstance +so very remarkable, that perhaps he left out something in writing his +record? Round hundreds of such objects, hidden in the dense tropical +foliage, the tropical sea breaks evermore; and over them the tropical +sky, saving in the short rainy season, shines bright and cloudless. + +Neither, was I ever belated among wolves, on the borders of France and +Spain; nor, did I ever, when night was closing in and the ground was +covered with snow, draw up my little company among some felled trees +which served as a breastwork, and there fire a train of gunpowder so +dexterously that suddenly we had three or four score blazing wolves +illuminating the darkness around us. Nevertheless, I occasionally go +back to that dismal region and perform the feat again; when indeed to +smell the singeing and the frying of the wolves afire, and to see them +setting one another alight as they rush and tumble, and to behold them +rolling in the snow vainly attempting to put themselves out, and to hear +their howlings taken up by all the echoes as well as by all the unseen +wolves within the woods, makes me tremble. + +I was never in the robbers’ cave, where Gil Blas lived, but I often go +back there and find the trap-door just as heavy to raise as it used to +be, while that wicked old disabled Black lies everlastingly cursing in +bed. I was never in Don Quixote’s study, where he read his books of +chivalry until he rose and hacked at imaginary giants, and then refreshed +himself with great draughts of water, yet you couldn’t move a book in it +without my knowledge, or with my consent. I was never (thank Heaven) in +company with the little old woman who hobbled out of the chest and told +the merchant Abudah to go in search of the Talisman of Oromanes, yet I +make it my business to know that she is well preserved and as intolerable +as ever. I was never at the school where the boy Horatio Nelson got out +of bed to steal the pears: not because he wanted any, but because every +other boy was afraid: yet I have several times been back to this Academy, +to see him let down out of window with a sheet. So with Damascus, and +Bagdad, and Brobingnag (which has the curious fate of being usually +misspelt when written), and Lilliput, and Laputa, and the Nile, and +Abyssinia, and the Ganges, and the North Pole, and many hundreds of +places—I was never at them, yet it is an affair of my life to keep them +intact, and I am always going back to them. + +But, when I was in Dullborough one day, revisiting the associations of my +childhood as recorded in previous pages of these notes, my experience in +this wise was made quite inconsiderable and of no account, by the +quantity of places and people—utterly impossible places and people, but +none the less alarmingly real—that I found I had been introduced to by my +nurse before I was six years old, and used to be forced to go back to at +night without at all wanting to go. If we all knew our own minds (in a +more enlarged sense than the popular acceptation of that phrase), I +suspect we should find our nurses responsible for most of the dark +corners we are forced to go back to, against our wills. + +The first diabolical character who intruded himself on my peaceful youth +(as I called to mind that day at Dullborough), was a certain Captain +Murderer. This wretch must have been an off-shoot of the Blue Beard +family, but I had no suspicion of the consanguinity in those times. His +warning name would seem to have awakened no general prejudice against +him, for he was admitted into the best society and possessed immense +wealth. Captain Murderer’s mission was matrimony, and the gratification +of a cannibal appetite with tender brides. On his marriage morning, he +always caused both sides of the way to church to be planted with curious +flowers; and when his bride said, ‘Dear Captain Murderer, I ever saw +flowers like these before: what are they called?’ he answered, ‘They are +called Garnish for house-lamb,’ and laughed at his ferocious practical +joke in a horrid manner, disquieting the minds of the noble bridal +company, with a very sharp show of teeth, then displayed for the first +time. He made love in a coach and six, and married in a coach and +twelve, and all his horses were milk-white horses with one red spot on +the back which he caused to be hidden by the harness. For, the spot +_would_ come there, though every horse was milk-white when Captain +Murderer bought him. And the spot was young bride’s blood. (To this +terrific point I am indebted for my first personal experience of a +shudder and cold beads on the forehead.) When Captain Murderer had made +an end of feasting and revelry, and had dismissed the noble guests, and +was alone with his wife on the day month after their marriage, it was his +whimsical custom to produce a golden rolling-pin and a silver pie-board. +Now, there was this special feature in the Captain’s courtships, that he +always asked if the young lady could make pie-crust; and if she couldn’t +by nature or education, she was taught. Well. When the bride saw +Captain Murderer produce the golden rolling-pin and silver pie-board, she +remembered this, and turned up her laced-silk sleeves to make a pie. The +Captain brought out a silver pie-dish of immense capacity, and the +Captain brought out flour and butter and eggs and all things needful, +except the inside of the pie; of materials for the staple of the pie +itself, the Captain brought out none. Then said the lovely bride, ‘Dear +Captain Murderer, what pie is this to be?’ He replied, ‘A meat pie.’ +Then said the lovely bride, ‘Dear Captain Murderer, I see no meat.’ The +Captain humorously retorted, ‘Look in the glass.’ She looked in the +glass, but still she saw no meat, and then the Captain roared with +laughter, and suddenly frowning and drawing his sword, bade her roll out +the crust. So she rolled out the crust, dropping large tears upon it all +the time because he was so cross, and when she had lined the dish with +crust and had cut the crust all ready to fit the top, the Captain called +out, ‘I see the meat in the glass!’ And the bride looked up at the +glass, just in time to see the Captain cutting her head off; and he +chopped her in pieces, and peppered her, and salted her, and put her in +the pie, and sent it to the baker’s, and ate it all, and picked the +bones. + +Captain Murderer went on in this way, prospering exceedingly, until he +came to choose a bride from two twin sisters, and at first didn’t know +which to choose. For, though one was fair and the other dark, they were +both equally beautiful. But the fair twin loved him, and the dark twin +hated him, so he chose the fair one. The dark twin would have prevented +the marriage if she could, but she couldn’t; however, on the night before +it, much suspecting Captain Murderer, she stole out and climbed his +garden wall, and looked in at his window through a chink in the shutter, +and saw him having his teeth filed sharp. Next day she listened all day, +and heard him make his joke about the house-lamb. And that day month, he +had the paste rolled out, and cut the fair twin’s head off, and chopped +her in pieces, and peppered her, and salted her, and put her in the pie, +and sent it to the baker’s, and ate it all, and picked the bones. + +Now, the dark twin had had her suspicions much increased by the filing of +the Captain’s teeth, and again by the house-lamb joke. Putting all +things together when he gave out that her sister was dead, she divined +the truth, and determined to be revenged. So, she went up to Captain +Murderer’s house, and knocked at the knocker and pulled at the bell, and +when the Captain came to the door, said: ‘Dear Captain Murderer, marry me +next, for I always loved you and was jealous of my sister.’ The Captain +took it as a compliment, and made a polite answer, and the marriage was +quickly arranged. On the night before it, the bride again climbed to his +window, and again saw him having his teeth filed sharp. At this sight +she laughed such a terrible laugh at the chink in the shutter, that the +Captain’s blood curdled, and he said: ‘I hope nothing has disagreed with +me!’ At that, she laughed again, a still more terrible laugh, and the +shutter was opened and search made, but she was nimbly gone, and there +was no one. Next day they went to church in a coach and twelve, and were +married. And that day month, she rolled the pie-crust out, and Captain +Murderer cut her head off, and chopped her in pieces, and peppered her, +and salted her, and put her in the pie, and sent it to the baker’s, and +ate it all, and picked the bones. + +But before she began to roll out the paste she had taken a deadly poison +of a most awful character, distilled from toads’ eyes and spiders’ knees; +and Captain Murderer had hardly picked her last bone, when he began to +swell, and to turn blue, and to be all over spots, and to scream. And he +went on swelling and turning bluer, and being more all over spots and +screaming, until he reached from floor to ceiling and from wall to wall; +and then, at one o’clock in the morning, he blew up with a loud +explosion. At the sound of it, all the milk-white horses in the stables +broke their halters and went mad, and then they galloped over everybody +in Captain Murderer’s house (beginning with the family blacksmith who had +filed his teeth) until the whole were dead, and then they galloped away. + +Hundreds of times did I hear this legend of Captain Murderer, in my early +youth, and added hundreds of times was there a mental compulsion upon me +in bed, to peep in at his window as the dark twin peeped, and to revisit +his horrible house, and look at him in his blue and spotty and screaming +stage, as he reached from floor to ceiling and from wall to wall. The +young woman who brought me acquainted with Captain Murderer had a +fiendish enjoyment of my terrors, and used to begin, I remember—as a sort +of introductory overture—by clawing the air with both hands, and uttering +a long low hollow groan. So acutely did I suffer from this ceremony in +combination with this infernal Captain, that I sometimes used to plead I +thought I was hardly strong enough and old enough to hear the story again +just yet. But, she never spared me one word of it, and indeed commanded +the awful chalice to my lips as the only preservative known to science +against ‘The Black Cat’—a weird and glaring-eyed supernatural Tom, who +was reputed to prowl about the world by night, sucking the breath of +infancy, and who was endowed with a special thirst (as I was given to +understand) for mine. + +This female bard—may she have been repaid my debt of obligation to her in +the matter of nightmares and perspirations!—reappears in my memory as the +daughter of a shipwright. Her name was Mercy, though she had none on me. +There was something of a shipbuilding flavour in the following story. As +it always recurs to me in a vague association with calomel pills, I +believe it to have been reserved for dull nights when I was low with +medicine. + +There was once a shipwright, and he wrought in a Government Yard, and his +name was Chips. And his father’s name before him was Chips, and _his_ +father’s name before _him_ was Chips, and they were all Chipses. And +Chips the father had sold himself to the Devil for an iron pot and a +bushel of tenpenny nails and half a ton of copper and a rat that could +speak; and Chips the grandfather had sold himself to the Devil for an +iron pot and a bushel of tenpenny nails and half a ton of copper and a +rat that could speak; and Chips the great-grandfather had disposed of +himself in the same direction on the same terms; and the bargain had run +in the family for a long, long time. So, one day, when young Chips was +at work in the Dock Slip all alone, down in the dark hold of an old +Seventy-four that was haled up for repairs, the Devil presented himself, +and remarked: + + ‘A Lemon has pips, + And a Yard has ships, + And _I_’ll have Chips!’ + +(I don’t know why, but this fact of the Devil’s expressing himself in +rhyme was peculiarly trying to me.) Chips looked up when he heard the +words, and there he saw the Devil with saucer eyes that squinted on a +terrible great scale, and that struck out sparks of blue fire +continually. And whenever he winked his eyes, showers of blue sparks +came out, and his eyelashes made a clattering like flints and steels +striking lights. And hanging over one of his arms by the handle was an +iron pot, and under that arm was a bushel of tenpenny nails, and under +his other arm was half a ton of copper, and sitting on one of his +shoulders was a rat that could speak. So, the Devil said again: + + ‘A Lemon has pips, + And a Yard has ships, + And _I_’ll have Chips!’ + +(The invariable effect of this alarming tautology on the part of the Evil +Spirit was to deprive me of my senses for some moments.) So, Chips +answered never a word, but went on with his work. ‘What are you doing, +Chips?’ said the rat that could speak. ‘I am putting in new planks where +you and your gang have eaten old away,’ said Chips. ‘But we’ll eat them +too,’ said the rat that could speak; ‘and we’ll let in the water and +drown the crew, and we’ll eat them too.’ Chips, being only a shipwright, +and not a Man-of-war’s man, said, ‘You are welcome to it.’ But he +couldn’t keep his eyes off the half a ton of copper or the bushel of +tenpenny nails; for nails and copper are a shipwright’s sweethearts, and +shipwrights will run away with them whenever they can. So, the Devil +said, ‘I see what you are looking at, Chips. You had better strike the +bargain. You know the terms. Your father before you was well acquainted +with them, and so were your grandfather and great-grandfather before +him.’ Says Chips, ‘I like the copper, and I like the nails, and I don’t +mind the pot, but I don’t like the rat.’ Says the Devil, fiercely, ‘You +can’t have the metal without him—and _he’s_ a curiosity. I’m going.’ +Chips, afraid of losing the half a ton of copper and the bushel of nails, +then said, ‘Give us hold!’ So, he got the copper and the nails and the +pot and the rat that could speak, and the Devil vanished. Chips sold the +copper, and he sold the nails, and he would have sold the pot; but +whenever he offered it for sale, the rat was in it, and the dealers +dropped it, and would have nothing to say to the bargain. So, Chips +resolved to kill the rat, and, being at work in the Yard one day with a +great kettle of hot pitch on one side of him and the iron pot with the +rat in it on the other, he turned the scalding pitch into the pot, and +filled it full. Then, he kept his eye upon it till it cooled and +hardened, and then he let it stand for twenty days, and then he heated +the pitch again and turned it back into the kettle, and then he sank the +pot in water for twenty days more, and then he got the smelters to put it +in the furnace for twenty days more, and then they gave it him out, red +hot, and looking like red-hot glass instead of iron-yet there was the rat +in it, just the same as ever! And the moment it caught his eye, it said +with a jeer: + + ‘A Lemon has pips, + And a Yard has ships, + And _I_’ll have Chips!’ + +(For this Refrain I had waited since its last appearance, with +inexpressible horror, which now culminated.) Chips now felt certain in +his own mind that the rat would stick to him; the rat, answering his +thought, said, ‘I will—like pitch!’ + +Now, as the rat leaped out of the pot when it had spoken, and made off, +Chips began to hope that it wouldn’t keep its word. But, a terrible +thing happened next day. For, when dinner-time came, and the Dock-bell +rang to strike work, he put his rule into the long pocket at the side of +his trousers, and there he found a rat—not that rat, but another rat. +And in his hat, he found another; and in his pocket-handkerchief, +another; and in the sleeves of his coat, when he pulled it on to go to +dinner, two more. And from that time he found himself so frightfully +intimate with all the rats in the Yard, that they climbed up his legs +when he was at work, and sat on his tools while he used them. And they +could all speak to one another, and he understood what they said. And +they got into his lodging, and into his bed, and into his teapot, and +into his beer, and into his boots. And he was going to be married to a +corn-chandler’s daughter; and when he gave her a workbox he had himself +made for her, a rat jumped out of it; and when he put his arm round her +waist, a rat clung about her; so the marriage was broken off, though the +banns were already twice put up—which the parish clerk well remembers, +for, as he handed the book to the clergyman for the second time of +asking, a large fat rat ran over the leaf. (By this time a special +cascade of rats was rolling down my back, and the whole of my small +listening person was overrun with them. At intervals ever since, I have +been morbidly afraid of my own pocket, lest my exploring hand should find +a specimen or two of those vermin in it.) + +You may believe that all this was very terrible to Chips; but even all +this was not the worst. He knew besides, what the rats were doing, +wherever they were. So, sometimes he would cry aloud, when he was at his +club at night, ‘Oh! Keep the rats out of the convicts’ burying-ground! +Don’t let them do that!’ Or, ‘There’s one of them at the cheese +down-stairs!’ Or, ‘There’s two of them smelling at the baby in the +garret!’ Or, other things of that sort. At last, he was voted mad, and +lost his work in the Yard, and could get no other work. But, King George +wanted men, so before very long he got pressed for a sailor. And so he +was taken off in a boat one evening to his ship, lying at Spithead, ready +to sail. And so the first thing he made out in her as he got near her, +was the figure-head of the old Seventy-four, where he had seen the Devil. +She was called the Argonaut, and they rowed right under the bowsprit +where the figure-head of the Argonaut, with a sheepskin in his hand and a +blue gown on, was looking out to sea; and sitting staring on his forehead +was the rat who could speak, and his exact words were these: ‘Chips ahoy! +Old boy! We’ve pretty well eat them too, and we’ll drown the crew, and +will eat them too!’ (Here I always became exceedingly faint, and would +have asked for water, but that I was speechless.) + +The ship was bound for the Indies; and if you don’t know where that is, +you ought to it, and angels will never love you. (Here I felt myself an +outcast from a future state.) The ship set sail that very night, and she +sailed, and sailed, and sailed. Chips’s feelings were dreadful. Nothing +ever equalled his terrors. No wonder. At last, one day he asked leave +to speak to the Admiral. The Admiral giv’ leave. Chips went down on his +knees in the Great State Cabin. ‘Your Honour, unless your Honour, +without a moment’s loss of time, makes sail for the nearest shore, this +is a doomed ship, and her name is the Coffin!’ ‘Young man, your words +are a madman’s words.’ ‘Your Honour no; they are nibbling us away.’ +‘They?’ ‘Your Honour, them dreadful rats. Dust and hollowness where +solid oak ought to be! Rats nibbling a grave for every man on board! +Oh! Does your Honour love your Lady and your pretty children?’ ‘Yes, my +man, to be sure.’ ‘Then, for God’s sake, make for the nearest shore, for +at this present moment the rats are all stopping in their work, and are +all looking straight towards you with bare teeth, and are all saying to +one another that you shall never, never, never, never, see your Lady and +your children more.’ ‘My poor fellow, you are a case for the doctor. +Sentry, take care of this man!’ + +So, he was bled and he was blistered, and he was this and that, for six +whole days and nights. So, then he again asked leave to speak to the +Admiral. The Admiral giv’ leave. He went down on his knees in the Great +State Cabin. ‘Now, Admiral, you must die! You took no warning; you must +die! The rats are never wrong in their calculations, and they make out +that they’ll be through, at twelve to-night. So, you must die!—With me +and all the rest!’ And so at twelve o’clock there was a great leak +reported in the ship, and a torrent of water rushed in and nothing could +stop it, and they all went down, every living soul. And what the +rats—being water-rats—left of Chips, at last floated to shore, and +sitting on him was an immense overgrown rat, laughing, that dived when +the corpse touched the beach and never came up. And there was a deal of +seaweed on the remains. And if you get thirteen bits of seaweed, and dry +them and burn them in the fire, they will go off like in these thirteen +words as plain as plain can be: + + ‘A Lemon has pips, + And a Yard has ships, + And _I_’ve got Chips!’ + +The same female bard—descended, possibly, from those terrible old Scalds +who seem to have existed for the express purpose of addling the brains of +mankind when they begin to investigate languages—made a standing pretence +which greatly assisted in forcing me back to a number of hideous places +that I would by all means have avoided. This pretence was, that all her +ghost stories had occurred to her own relations. Politeness towards a +meritorious family, therefore, forbade my doubting them, and they +acquired an air of authentication that impaired my digestive powers for +life. There was a narrative concerning an unearthly animal foreboding +death, which appeared in the open street to a parlour-maid who ‘went to +fetch the beer’ for supper: first (as I now recall it) assuming the +likeness of a black dog, and gradually rising on its hind-legs and +swelling into the semblance of some quadruped greatly surpassing a +hippopotamus: which apparition—not because I deemed it in the least +improbable, but because I felt it to be really too large to bear—I feebly +endeavoured to explain away. But, on Mercy’s retorting with wounded +dignity that the parlour-maid was her own sister-in-law, I perceived +there was no hope, and resigned myself to this zoological phenomenon as +one of my many pursuers. There was another narrative describing the +apparition of a young woman who came out of a glass-case and haunted +another young woman until the other young woman questioned it and +elicited that its bones (Lord! To think of its being so particular about +its bones!) were buried under the glass-case, whereas she required them +to be interred, with every Undertaking solemnity up to twenty-four pound +ten, in another particular place. This narrative I considered—I had a +personal interest in disproving, because we had glass-cases at home, and +how, otherwise, was I to be guaranteed from the intrusion of young women +requiring _me_ to bury them up to twenty-four pound ten, when I had only +twopence a week? But my remorseless nurse cut the ground from under my +tender feet, by informing me that She was the other young woman; and I +couldn’t say ‘I don’t believe you;’ it was not possible. + +Such are a few of the uncommercial journeys that I was forced to make, +against my will, when I was very young and unreasoning. And really, as +to the latter part of them, it is not so very long ago—now I come to +think of it—that I was asked to undertake them once again, with a steady +countenance. + + + + +XVI +ARCADIAN LONDON + + +BEING in a humour for complete solitude and uninterrupted meditation this +autumn, I have taken a lodging for six weeks in the most unfrequented +part of England—in a word, in London. + +The retreat into which I have withdrawn myself, is Bond-street. From +this lonely spot I make pilgrimages into the surrounding wilderness, and +traverse extensive tracts of the Great Desert. The first solemn feeling +of isolation overcome, the first oppressive consciousness of profound +retirement conquered, I enjoy that sense of freedom, and feel reviving +within me that latent wildness of the original savage, which has been +(upon the whole somewhat frequently) noticed by Travellers. + +My lodgings are at a hatter’s—my own hatter’s. After exhibiting no +articles in his window for some weeks, but sea-side wide-awakes, +shooting-caps, and a choice of rough waterproof head-gear for the moors +and mountains, he has put upon the heads of his family as much of this +stock as they could carry, and has taken them off to the Isle of Thanet. +His young man alone remains—and remains alone in the shop. The young man +has let out the fire at which the irons are heated, and, saving his +strong sense of duty, I see no reason why he should take the shutters +down. + +Happily for himself and for his country the young man is a Volunteer; +most happily for himself, or I think he would become the prey of a +settled melancholy. For, to live surrounded by human hats, and alienated +from human heads to fit them on, is surely a great endurance. But, the +young man, sustained by practising his exercise, and by constantly +furbishing up his regulation plume (it is unnecessary to observe that, as +a hatter, he is in a cock’s-feather corps), is resigned, and +uncomplaining. On a Saturday, when he closes early and gets his +Knickerbockers on, he is even cheerful. I am gratefully particular in +this reference to him, because he is my companion through many peaceful +hours. + +My hatter has a desk up certain steps behind his counter, enclosed like +the clerk’s desk at Church. I shut myself into this place of seclusion, +after breakfast, and meditate. At such times, I observe the young man +loading an imaginary rifle with the greatest precision, and maintaining a +most galling and destructive fire upon the national enemy. I thank him +publicly for his companionship and his patriotism. + +The simple character of my life, and the calm nature of the scenes by +which I am surrounded, occasion me to rise early. I go forth in my +slippers, and promenade the pavement. It is pastoral to feel the +freshness of the air in the uninhabited town, and to appreciate the +shepherdess character of the few milkwomen who purvey so little milk that +it would be worth nobody’s while to adulterate it, if anybody were left +to undertake the task. On the crowded sea-shore, the great demand for +milk, combined with the strong local temptation of chalk, would betray +itself in the lowered quality of the article. In Arcadian London I +derive it from the cow. + +The Arcadian simplicity of the metropolis altogether, and the primitive +ways into which it has fallen in this autumnal Golden Age, make it +entirely new to me. Within a few hundred yards of my retreat, is the +house of a friend who maintains a most sumptuous butler. I never, until +yesterday, saw that butler out of superfine black broadcloth. Until +yesterday, I never saw him off duty, never saw him (he is the best of +butlers) with the appearance of having any mind for anything but the +glory of his master and his master’s friends. Yesterday morning, walking +in my slippers near the house of which he is the prop and ornament—a +house now a waste of shutters—I encountered that butler, also in his +slippers, and in a shooting suit of one colour, and in a low-crowned +straw-hat, smoking an early cigar. He felt that we had formerly met in +another state of existence, and that we were translated into a new +sphere. Wisely and well, he passed me without recognition. Under his +arm he carried the morning paper, and shortly afterwards I saw him +sitting on a rail in the pleasant open landscape of Regent-street, +perusing it at his ease under the ripening sun. + +My landlord having taken his whole establishment to be salted down, I am +waited on by an elderly woman labouring under a chronic sniff, who, at +the shadowy hour of half-past nine o’clock of every evening, gives +admittance at the street door to a meagre and mouldy old man whom I have +never yet seen detached from a flat pint of beer in a pewter pot. The +meagre and mouldy old man is her husband, and the pair have a dejected +consciousness that they are not justified in appearing on the surface of +the earth. They come out of some hole when London empties itself, and go +in again when it fills. I saw them arrive on the evening when I myself +took possession, and they arrived with the flat pint of beer, and their +bed in a bundle. The old man is a weak old man, and appeared to me to +get the bed down the kitchen stairs by tumbling down with and upon it. +They make their bed in the lowest and remotest corner of the basement, +and they smell of bed, and have no possession but bed: unless it be +(which I rather infer from an under-current of flavour in them) cheese. +I know their name, through the chance of having called the wife’s +attention, at half-past nine on the second evening of our acquaintance, +to the circumstance of there being some one at the house door; when she +apologetically explained, ‘It’s only Mr. Klem.’ What becomes of Mr. Klem +all day, or when he goes out, or why, is a mystery I cannot penetrate; +but at half-past nine he never fails to turn up on the door-step with the +flat pint of beer. And the pint of beer, flat as it is, is so much more +important than himself, that it always seems to my fancy as if it had +found him drivelling in the street and had humanely brought him home. In +making his way below, Mr. Klem never goes down the middle of the passage, +like another Christian, but shuffles against the wall as if entreating me +to take notice that he is occupying as little space as possible in the +house; and whenever I come upon him face to face, he backs from me in +fascinated confusion. The most extraordinary circumstance I have traced +in connexion with this aged couple, is, that there is a Miss Klem, their +daughter, apparently ten years older than either of them, who has also a +bed and smells of it, and carries it about the earth at dusk and hides it +in deserted houses. I came into this piece of knowledge through Mrs. +Klem’s beseeching me to sanction the sheltering of Miss Klem under that +roof for a single night, ‘between her takin’ care of the upper part in +Pall Mall which the family of his back, and a ’ouse in Serjameses-street, +which the family of leaves towng ter-morrer.’ I gave my gracious consent +(having nothing that I know of to do with it), and in the shadowy hours +Miss Klem became perceptible on the door-step, wrestling with a bed in a +bundle. Where she made it up for the night I cannot positively state, +but, I think, in a sink. I know that with the instinct of a reptile or +an insect, she stowed it and herself away in deep obscurity. In the Klem +family, I have noticed another remarkable gift of nature, and that is a +power they possess of converting everything into flue. Such broken +victuals as they take by stealth, appear (whatever the nature of the +viands) invariably to generate flue; and even the nightly pint of beer, +instead of assimilating naturally, strikes me as breaking out in that +form, equally on the shabby gown of Mrs. Klem, and the threadbare coat of +her husband. + +Mrs. Klem has no idea of my name—as to Mr. Klem he has no idea of +anything—and only knows me as her good gentleman. Thus, if doubtful +whether I am in my room or no, Mrs. Klem taps at the door and says, ‘Is +my good gentleman here?’ Or, if a messenger desiring to see me were +consistent with my solitude, she would show him in with ‘Here is my good +gentleman.’ I find this to be a generic custom. For, I meant to have +observed before now, that in its Arcadian time all my part of London is +indistinctly pervaded by the Klem species. They creep about with beds, +and go to bed in miles of deserted houses. They hold no companionship +except that sometimes, after dark, two of them will emerge from opposite +houses, and meet in the middle of the road as on neutral ground, or will +peep from adjoining houses over an interposing barrier of area railings, +and compare a few reserved mistrustful notes respecting their good ladies +or good gentlemen. This I have discovered in the course of various +solitary rambles I have taken Northward from my retirement, along the +awful perspectives of Wimpole-street, Harley-street, and similar frowning +regions. Their effect would be scarcely distinguishable from that of the +primeval forests, but for the Klem stragglers; these may be dimly +observed, when the heavy shadows fall, flitting to and fro, putting up +the door-chain, taking in the pint of beer, lowering like phantoms at the +dark parlour windows, or secretly consorting underground with the +dust-bin and the water-cistern. + +In the Burlington Arcade, I observe, with peculiar pleasure, a primitive +state of manners to have superseded the baneful influences of ultra +civilisation. Nothing can surpass the innocence of the ladies’ +shoe-shops, the artificial-flower repositories, and the head-dress +depots. They are in strange hands at this time of year—hands of +unaccustomed persons, who are imperfectly acquainted with the prices of +the goods, and contemplate them with unsophisticated delight and wonder. +The children of these virtuous people exchange familiarities in the +Arcade, and temper the asperity of the two tall beadles. Their youthful +prattle blends in an unwonted manner with the harmonious shade of the +scene, and the general effect is, as of the voices of birds in a grove. +In this happy restoration of the golden time, it has been my privilege +even to see the bigger beadle’s wife. She brought him his dinner in a +basin, and he ate it in his arm-chair, and afterwards fell asleep like a +satiated child. At Mr. Truefitt’s, the excellent hairdresser’s, they are +learning French to beguile the time; and even the few solitaries left on +guard at Mr. Atkinson’s, the perfumer’s round the corner (generally the +most inexorable gentleman in London, and the most scornful of +three-and-sixpence), condescend a little, as they drowsily bide or recall +their turn for chasing the ebbing Neptune on the ribbed sea-sand. From +Messrs. Hunt and Roskell’s, the jewellers, all things are absent but the +precious stones, and the gold and silver, and the soldierly pensioner at +the door with his decorated breast. I might stand night and day for a +month to come, in Saville-row, with my tongue out, yet not find a doctor +to look at it for love or money. The dentists’ instruments are rusting +in their drawers, and their horrible cool parlours, where people pretend +to read the Every-Day Book and not to be afraid, are doing penance for +their grimness in white sheets. The light-weight of shrewd appearance, +with one eye always shut up, as if he were eating a sharp gooseberry in +all seasons, who usually stands at the gateway of the livery-stables on +very little legs under a very large waistcoat, has gone to Doncaster. Of +such undesigning aspect is his guileless yard now, with its gravel and +scarlet beans, and the yellow Break housed under a glass roof in a +corner, that I almost believe I could not be taken in there, if I tried. +In the places of business of the great tailors, the cheval-glasses are +dim and dusty for lack of being looked into. Ranges of brown paper coat +and waistcoat bodies look as funereal as if they were the hatchments of +the customers with whose names they are inscribed; the measuring tapes +hang idle on the wall; the order-taker, left on the hopeless chance of +some one looking in, yawns in the last extremity over the book of +patterns, as if he were trying to read that entertaining library. The +hotels in Brook-street have no one in them, and the staffs of servants +stare disconsolately for next season out of all the windows. The very +man who goes about like an erect Turtle, between two boards +recommendatory of the Sixteen Shilling Trousers, is aware of himself as a +hollow mockery, and eats filberts while he leans his hinder shell against +a wall. + +Among these tranquillising objects, it is my delight to walk and +meditate. Soothed by the repose around me, I wander insensibly to +considerable distances, and guide myself back by the stars. Thus, I +enjoy the contrast of a few still partially inhabited and busy spots +where all the lights are not fled, where all the garlands are not dead, +whence all but I have not departed. Then, does it appear to me that in +this age three things are clamorously required of Man in the +miscellaneous thoroughfares of the metropolis. Firstly, that he have his +boots cleaned. Secondly, that he eat a penny ice. Thirdly, that he get +himself photographed. Then do I speculate, What have those seam-worn +artists been who stand at the photograph doors in Greek caps, sample in +hand, and mysteriously salute the public—the female public with a +pressing tenderness—to come in and be ‘took’? What did they do with +their greasy blandishments, before the era of cheap photography? Of what +class were their previous victims, and how victimised? And how did they +get, and how did they pay for, that large collection of likenesses, all +purporting to have been taken inside, with the taking of none of which +had that establishment any more to do than with the taking of Delhi? + +But, these are small oases, and I am soon back again in metropolitan +Arcadia. It is my impression that much of its serene and peaceful +character is attributable to the absence of customary Talk. How do I +know but there may be subtle influences in Talk, to vex the souls of men +who don’t hear it? How do I know but that Talk, five, ten, twenty miles +off, may get into the air and disagree with me? If I rise from my bed, +vaguely troubled and wearied and sick of my life, in the session of +Parliament, who shall say that my noble friend, my right reverend friend, +my right honourable friend, my honourable friend, my honourable and +learned friend, or my honourable and gallant friend, may not be +responsible for that effect upon my nervous system? Too much Ozone in +the air, I am informed and fully believe (though I have no idea what it +is), would affect me in a marvellously disagreeable way; why may not too +much Talk? I don’t see or hear the Ozone; I don’t see or hear the Talk. +And there is so much Talk; so much too much; such loud cry, and such +scant supply of wool; such a deal of fleecing, and so little fleece! +Hence, in the Arcadian season, I find it a delicious triumph to walk down +to deserted Westminster, and see the Courts shut up; to walk a little +further and see the Two Houses shut up; to stand in the Abbey Yard, like +the New Zealander of the grand English History (concerning which +unfortunate man, a whole rookery of mares’ nests is generally being +discovered), and gloat upon the ruins of Talk. Returning to my primitive +solitude and lying down to sleep, my grateful heart expands with the +consciousness that there is no adjourned Debate, no ministerial +explanation, nobody to give notice of intention to ask the noble Lord at +the head of her Majesty’s Government five-and-twenty bootless questions +in one, no term time with legal argument, no Nisi Prius with eloquent +appeal to British Jury; that the air will to-morrow, and to-morrow, and +to-morrow, remain untroubled by this superabundant generating of Talk. +In a minor degree it is a delicious triumph to me to go into the club, +and see the carpets up, and the Bores and the other dust dispersed to the +four winds. Again, New Zealander-like, I stand on the cold hearth, and +say in the solitude, ‘Here I watched Bore A 1, with voice always +mysteriously low and head always mysteriously drooped, whispering +political secrets into the ears of Adam’s confiding children. Accursed +be his memory for ever and a day!’ + +But, I have all this time been coming to the point, that the happy nature +of my retirement is most sweetly expressed in its being the abode of +Love. It is, as it were, an inexpensive Agapemone: nobody’s speculation: +everybody’s profit. The one great result of the resumption of primitive +habits, and (convertible terms) the not having much to do, is, the +abounding of Love. + +The Klem species are incapable of the softer emotions; probably, in that +low nomadic race, the softer emotions have all degenerated into flue. +But, with this exception, all the sharers of my retreat make love. + +I have mentioned Saville-row. We all know the Doctor’s servant. We all +know what a respectable man he is, what a hard dry man, what a firm man, +what a confidential man: how he lets us into the waiting-room, like a man +who knows minutely what is the matter with us, but from whom the rack +should not wring the secret. In the prosaic “season,” he has distinctly +the appearance of a man conscious of money in the savings bank, and +taking his stand on his respectability with both feet. At that time it +is as impossible to associate him with relaxation, or any human weakness, +as it is to meet his eye without feeling guilty of indisposition. In the +blest Arcadian time, how changed! I have seen him, in a pepper-and-salt +jacket—jacket—and drab trousers, with his arm round the waist of a +bootmaker’s housemaid, smiling in open day. I have seen him at the pump +by the Albany, unsolicitedly pumping for two fair young creatures, whose +figures as they bent over their cans, were—if I may be allowed an +original expression—a model for the sculptor. I have seen him trying the +piano in the Doctor’s drawing-room with his forefinger, and have heard +him humming tunes in praise of lovely woman. I have seen him seated on a +fire-engine, and going (obviously in search of excitement) to a fire. I +saw him, one moonlight evening when the peace and purity of our Arcadian +west were at their height, polk with the lovely daughter of a cleaner of +gloves, from the door-steps of his own residence, across Saville-row, +round by Clifford-street and Old Burlington-street, back to +Burlington-gardens. Is this the Golden Age revived, or Iron London? + +The Dentist’s servant. Is that man no mystery to us, no type of +invisible power? The tremendous individual knows (who else does?) what +is done with the extracted teeth; he knows what goes on in the little +room where something is always being washed or filed; he knows what warm +spicy infusion is put into the comfortable tumbler from which we rinse +our wounded mouth, with a gap in it that feels a foot wide; he knows +whether the thing we spit into is a fixture communicating with the +Thames, or could be cleared away for a dance; he sees the horrible +parlour where there are no patients in it, and he could reveal, if he +would, what becomes of the Every-Day Book then. The conviction of my +coward conscience when I see that man in a professional light, is, that +he knows all the statistics of my teeth and gums, my double teeth, my +single teeth, my stopped teeth, and my sound. In this Arcadian rest, I +am fearless of him as of a harmless, powerless creature in a Scotch cap, +who adores a young lady in a voluminous crinoline, at a neighbouring +billiard-room, and whose passion would be uninfluenced if every one of +her teeth were false. They may be. He takes them all on trust. + +In secluded corners of the place of my seclusion, there are little shops +withdrawn from public curiosity, and never two together, where servants’ +perquisites are bought. The cook may dispose of grease at these modest +and convenient marts; the butler, of bottles; the valet and lady’s maid, +of clothes; most servants, indeed, of most things they may happen to lay +hold of. I have been told that in sterner times loving correspondence, +otherwise interdicted, may be maintained by letter through the agency of +some of these useful establishments. In the Arcadian autumn, no such +device is necessary. Everybody loves, and openly and blamelessly loves. +My landlord’s young man loves the whole of one side of the way of Old +Bond-street, and is beloved several doors up New Bond-street besides. I +never look out of window but I see kissing of hands going on all around +me. It is the morning custom to glide from shop to shop and exchange +tender sentiments; it is the evening custom for couples to stand hand in +hand at house doors, or roam, linked in that flowery manner, through the +unpeopled streets. There is nothing else to do but love; and what there +is to do, is done. + +In unison with this pursuit, a chaste simplicity obtains in the domestic +habits of Arcadia. Its few scattered people dine early, live moderately, +sup socially, and sleep soundly. It is rumoured that the Beadles of the +Arcade, from being the mortal enemies of boys, have signed with tears an +address to Lord Shaftesbury, and subscribed to a ragged school. No +wonder! For, they might turn their heavy maces into crooks and tend +sheep in the Arcade, to the purling of the water-carts as they give the +thirsty streets much more to drink than they can carry. + +A happy Golden Age, and a serene tranquillity. Charming picture, but it +will fade. The iron age will return, London will come back to town, if I +show my tongue then in Saville-row for half a minute I shall be +prescribed for, the Doctor’s man and the Dentist’s man will then pretend +that these days of unprofessional innocence never existed. Where Mr. and +Mrs. Klem and their bed will be at that time, passes human knowledge; but +my hatter hermitage will then know them no more, nor will it then know +me. The desk at which I have written these meditations will +retributively assist at the making out of my account, and the wheels of +gorgeous carriages and the hoofs of high-stepping horses will crush the +silence out of Bond-street—will grind Arcadia away, and give it to the +elements in granite powder. + + + + +XVII +THE ITALIAN PRISONER + + +THE rising of the Italian people from under their unutterable wrongs, and +the tardy burst of day upon them after the long long night of oppression +that has darkened their beautiful country, have naturally caused my mind +to dwell often of late on my own small wanderings in Italy. Connected +with them, is a curious little drama, in which the character I myself +sustained was so very subordinate that I may relate its story without any +fear of being suspected of self-display. It is strictly a true story. + +I am newly arrived one summer evening, in a certain small town on the +Mediterranean. I have had my dinner at the inn, and I and the mosquitoes +are coming out into the streets together. It is far from Naples; but a +bright, brown, plump little woman-servant at the inn, is a Neapolitan, +and is so vivaciously expert in panto-mimic action, that in the single +moment of answering my request to have a pair of shoes cleaned which I +have left up-stairs, she plies imaginary brushes, and goes completely +through the motions of polishing the shoes up, and laying them at my +feet. I smile at the brisk little woman in perfect satisfaction with her +briskness; and the brisk little woman, amiably pleased with me because I +am pleased with her, claps her hands and laughs delightfully. We are in +the inn yard. As the little woman’s bright eyes sparkle on the cigarette +I am smoking, I make bold to offer her one; she accepts it none the less +merrily, because I touch a most charming little dimple in her fat cheek, +with its light paper end. Glancing up at the many green lattices to +assure herself that the mistress is not looking on, the little woman then +puts her two little dimple arms a-kimbo, and stands on tiptoe to light +her cigarette at mine. ‘And now, dear little sir,’ says she, puffing out +smoke in a most innocent and cherubic manner, ‘keep quite straight on, +take the first to the right and probably you will see him standing at his +door.’ + +I gave a commission to ‘him,’ and I have been inquiring about him. I +have carried the commission about Italy several months. Before I left +England, there came to me one night a certain generous and gentle English +nobleman (he is dead in these days when I relate the story, and exiles +have lost their best British friend), with this request: ‘Whenever you +come to such a town, will you seek out one Giovanni Carlavero, who keeps +a little wine-shop there, mention my name to him suddenly, and observe +how it affects him?’ I accepted the trust, and am on my way to discharge +it. + +The sirocco has been blowing all day, and it is a hot unwholesome evening +with no cool sea-breeze. Mosquitoes and fire-flies are lively enough, +but most other creatures are faint. The coquettish airs of pretty young +women in the tiniest and wickedest of dolls’ straw hats, who lean out at +opened lattice blinds, are almost the only airs stirring. Very ugly and +haggard old women with distaffs, and with a grey tow upon them that looks +as if they were spinning out their own hair (I suppose they were once +pretty, too, but it is very difficult to believe so), sit on the footway +leaning against house walls. Everybody who has come for water to the +fountain, stays there, and seems incapable of any such energetic idea as +going home. Vespers are over, though not so long but that I can smell +the heavy resinous incense as I pass the church. No man seems to be at +work, save the coppersmith. In an Italian town he is always at work, and +always thumping in the deadliest manner. + +I keep straight on, and come in due time to the first on the right: a +narrow dull street, where I see a well-favoured man of good stature and +military bearing, in a great cloak, standing at a door. Drawing nearer +to this threshold, I see it is the threshold of a small wine-shop; and I +can just make out, in the dim light, the inscription that it is kept by +Giovanni Carlavero. + +I touch my hat to the figure in the cloak, and pass in, and draw a stool +to a little table. The lamp (just such another as they dig out of +Pompeii) is lighted, but the place is empty. The figure in the cloak has +followed me in, and stands before me. + +‘The master?’ + +‘At your service, sir.’ + +‘Please to give me a glass of the wine of the country.’ + +He turns to a little counter, to get it. As his striking face is pale, +and his action is evidently that of an enfeebled man, I remark that I +fear he has been ill. It is not much, he courteously and gravely +answers, though bad while it lasts: the fever. + +As he sets the wine on the little table, to his manifest surprise I lay +my hand on the back of his, look him in the face, and say in a low voice: +‘I am an Englishman, and you are acquainted with a friend of mine. Do +you recollect—?’ and I mentioned the name of my generous countryman. + +Instantly, he utters a loud cry, bursts into tears, and falls on his +knees at my feet, clasping my legs in both his arms and bowing his head +to the ground. + +Some years ago, this man at my feet, whose over-fraught heart is heaving +as if it would burst from his breast, and whose tears are wet upon the +dress I wear, was a galley-slave in the North of Italy. He was a +political offender, having been concerned in the then last rising, and +was sentenced to imprisonment for life. That he would have died in his +chains, is certain, but for the circumstance that the Englishman happened +to visit his prison. + +It was one of the vile old prisons of Italy, and a part of it was below +the waters of the harbour. The place of his confinement was an arched +under-ground and under-water gallery, with a grill-gate at the entrance, +through which it received such light and air as it got. Its condition +was insufferably foul, and a stranger could hardly breathe in it, or see +in it with the aid of a torch. At the upper end of this dungeon, and +consequently in the worst position, as being the furthest removed from +light and air, the Englishman first beheld him, sitting on an iron +bedstead to which he was chained by a heavy chain. His countenance +impressed the Englishmen as having nothing in common with the faces of +the malefactors with whom he was associated, and he talked with him, and +learnt how he came to be there. + +When the Englishman emerged from the dreadful den into the light of day, +he asked his conductor, the governor of the jail, why Giovanni Carlavero +was put into the worst place? + +‘Because he is particularly recommended,’ was the stringent answer. + +‘Recommended, that is to say, for death?’ + +‘Excuse me; particularly recommended,’ was again the answer. + +‘He has a bad tumour in his neck, no doubt occasioned by the hardship of +his miserable life. If he continues to be neglected, and he remains +where he is, it will kill him.’ + +‘Excuse me, I can do nothing. He is particularly recommended.’ The +Englishman was staying in that town, and he went to his home there; but +the figure of this man chained to the bedstead made it no home, and +destroyed his rest and peace. He was an Englishman of an extraordinarily +tender heart, and he could not bear the picture. He went back to the +prison grate; went back again and again, and talked to the man and +cheered him. He used his utmost influence to get the man unchained from +the bedstead, were it only for ever so short a time in the day, and +permitted to come to the grate. It look a long time, but the +Englishman’s station, personal character, and steadiness of purpose, wore +out opposition so far, and that grace was at last accorded. Through the +bars, when he could thus get light upon the tumour, the Englishman lanced +it, and it did well, and healed. His strong interest in the prisoner had +greatly increased by this time, and he formed the desperate resolution +that he would exert his utmost self-devotion and use his utmost efforts, +to get Carlavero pardoned. + +If the prisoner had been a brigand and a murderer, if he had committed +every non-political crime in the Newgate Calendar and out of it, nothing +would have been easier than for a man of any court or priestly influence +to obtain his release. As it was, nothing could have been more +difficult. Italian authorities, and English authorities who had interest +with them, alike assured the Englishman that his object was hopeless. He +met with nothing but evasion, refusal, and ridicule. His political +prisoner became a joke in the place. It was especially observable that +English Circumlocution, and English Society on its travels, were as +humorous on the subject as Circumlocution and Society may be on any +subject without loss of caste. But, the Englishman possessed (and proved +it well in his life) a courage very uncommon among us: he had not the +least fear of being considered a bore, in a good humane cause. So he +went on persistently trying, and trying, and trying, to get Giovanni +Carlavero out. That prisoner had been rigorously re-chained, after the +tumour operation, and it was not likely that his miserable life could +last very long. + +One day, when all the town knew about the Englishman and his political +prisoner, there came to the Englishman, a certain sprightly Italian +Advocate of whom he had some knowledge; and he made this strange +proposal. ‘Give me a hundred pounds to obtain Carlavero’s release. I +think I can get him a pardon, with that money. But I cannot tell you +what I am going to do with the money, nor must you ever ask me the +question if I succeed, nor must you ever ask me for an account of the +money if I fail.’ The Englishman decided to hazard the hundred pounds. +He did so, and heard not another word of the matter. For half a year and +more, the Advocate made no sign, and never once ‘took on’ in any way, to +have the subject on his mind. The Englishman was then obliged to change +his residence to another and more famous town in the North of Italy. He +parted from the poor prisoner with a sorrowful heart, as from a doomed +man for whom there was no release but Death. + +The Englishman lived in his new place of abode another half-year and +more, and had no tidings of the wretched prisoner. At length, one day, +he received from the Advocate a cool, concise, mysterious note, to this +effect. ‘If you still wish to bestow that benefit upon the man in whom +you were once interested, send me fifty pounds more, and I think it can +be ensured.’ Now, the Englishman had long settled in his mind that the +Advocate was a heartless sharper, who had preyed upon his credulity and +his interest in an unfortunate sufferer. So, he sat down and wrote a dry +answer, giving the Advocate to understand that he was wiser now than he +had been formerly, and that no more money was extractable from his +pocket. + +He lived outside the city gates, some mile or two from the post-office, +and was accustomed to walk into the city with his letters and post them +himself. On a lovely spring day, when the sky was exquisitely blue, and +the sea Divinely beautiful, he took his usual walk, carrying this letter +to the Advocate in his pocket. As he went along, his gentle heart was +much moved by the loveliness of the prospect, and by the thought of the +slowly dying prisoner chained to the bedstead, for whom the universe had +no delights. As he drew nearer and nearer to the city where he was to +post the letter, he became very uneasy in his mind. He debated with +himself, was it remotely possible, after all, that this sum of fifty +pounds could restore the fellow-creature whom he pitied so much, and for +whom he had striven so hard, to liberty? He was not a conventionally +rich Englishman—very far from that—but, he had a spare fifty pounds at +the banker’s. He resolved to risk it. Without doubt, GOD has +recompensed him for the resolution. + +He went to the banker’s, and got a bill for the amount, and enclosed it +in a letter to the Advocate that I wish I could have seen. He simply +told the Advocate that he was quite a poor man, and that he was sensible +it might be a great weakness in him to part with so much money on the +faith of so vague a communication; but, that there it was, and that he +prayed the Advocate to make a good use of it. If he did otherwise no +good could ever come of it, and it would lie heavy on his soul one day. + +Within a week, the Englishman was sitting at his breakfast, when he heard +some suppressed sounds of agitation on the staircase, and Giovanni +Carlavero leaped into the room and fell upon his breast, a free man! + +Conscious of having wronged the Advocate in his own thoughts, the +Englishman wrote him an earnest and grateful letter, avowing the fact, +and entreating him to confide by what means and through what agency he +had succeeded so well. The Advocate returned for answer through the +post, ‘There are many things, as you know, in this Italy of ours, that +are safest and best not even spoken of—far less written of. We may meet +some day, and then I may tell you what you want to know; not here, and +now.’ But, the two never did meet again. The Advocate was dead when the +Englishman gave me my trust; and how the man had been set free, remained +as great a mystery to the Englishman, and to the man himself, as it was +to me. + +But, I knew this:—here was the man, this sultry night, on his knees at my +feet, because I was the Englishman’s friend; here were his tears upon my +dress; here were his sobs choking his utterance; here were his kisses on +my hands, because they had touched the hands that had worked out his +release. He had no need to tell me it would be happiness to him to die +for his benefactor; I doubt if I ever saw real, sterling, fervent +gratitude of soul, before or since. + +He was much watched and suspected, he said, and had had enough to do to +keep himself out of trouble. This, and his not having prospered in his +worldly affairs, had led to his having failed in his usual communications +to the Englishman for—as I now remember the period—some two or three +years. But, his prospects were brighter, and his wife who had been very +ill had recovered, and his fever had left him, and he had bought a little +vineyard, and would I carry to his benefactor the first of its wine? Ay, +that I would (I told him with enthusiasm), and not a drop of it should be +spilled or lost! + +He had cautiously closed the door before speaking of himself, and had +talked with such excess of emotion, and in a provincial Italian so +difficult to understand, that I had more than once been obliged to stop +him, and beg him to have compassion on me and be slower and calmer. By +degrees he became so, and tranquilly walked back with me to the hotel. +There, I sat down before I went to bed and wrote a faithful account of +him to the Englishman: which I concluded by saying that I would bring the +wine home, against any difficulties, every drop. + +Early next morning, when I came out at the hotel door to pursue my +journey, I found my friend waiting with one of those immense bottles in +which the Italian peasants store their wine—a bottle holding some +half-dozen gallons—bound round with basket-work for greater safety on the +journey. I see him now, in the bright sunshine, tears of gratitude in +his eyes, proudly inviting my attention to this corpulent bottle. (At +the street-comer hard by, two high-flavoured, able-bodied +monks—pretending to talk together, but keeping their four evil eyes upon +us.) + +How the bottle had been got there, did not appear; but the difficulty of +getting it into the ramshackle vetturino carriage in which I was +departing, was so great, and it took up so much room when it was got in, +that I elected to sit outside. The last I saw of Giovanni Carlavero was +his running through the town by the side of the jingling wheels, clasping +my hand as I stretched it down from the box, charging me with a thousand +last loving and dutiful messages to his dear patron, and finally looking +in at the bottle as it reposed inside, with an admiration of its +honourable way of travelling that was beyond measure delightful. + +And now, what disquiet of mind this dearly-beloved and highly-treasured +Bottle began to cost me, no man knows. It was my precious charge through +a long tour, and, for hundreds of miles, I never had it off my mind by +day or by night. Over bad roads—and they were many—I clung to it with +affectionate desperation. Up mountains, I looked in at it and saw it +helplessly tilting over on its back, with terror. At innumerable inn +doors when the weather was bad, I was obliged to be put into my vehicle +before the Bottle could be got in, and was obliged to have the Bottle +lifted out before human aid could come near me. The Imp of the same +name, except that his associations were all evil and these associations +were all good, would have been a less troublesome travelling companion. +I might have served Mr. Cruikshank as a subject for a new illustration of +the miseries of the Bottle. The National Temperance Society might have +made a powerful Tract of me. + +The suspicions that attached to this innocent Bottle, greatly aggravated +my difficulties. It was like the apple-pie in the child’s book. Parma +pouted at it, Modena mocked it, Tuscany tackled it, Naples nibbled it, +Rome refused it, Austria accused it, Soldiers suspected it, Jesuits +jobbed it. I composed a neat Oration, developing my inoffensive +intentions in connexion with this Bottle, and delivered it in an infinity +of guard-houses, at a multitude of town gates, and on every drawbridge, +angle, and rampart, of a complete system of fortifications. Fifty times +a day, I got down to harangue an infuriated soldiery about the Bottle. +Through the filthy degradation of the abject and vile Roman States, I had +as much difficulty in working my way with the Bottle, as if it had +bottled up a complete system of heretical theology. In the Neapolitan +country, where everybody was a spy, a soldier, a priest, or a lazzarone, +the shameless beggars of all four denominations incessantly pounced on +the Bottle and made it a pretext for extorting money from me. +Quires—quires do I say? Reams—of forms illegibly printed on whity-brown +paper were filled up about the Bottle, and it was the subject of more +stamping and sanding than I had ever seen before. In consequence of +which haze of sand, perhaps, it was always irregular, and always latent +with dismal penalties of going back or not going forward, which were only +to be abated by the silver crossing of a base hand, poked shirtless out +of a ragged uniform sleeve. Under all discouragements, however, I stuck +to my Bottle, and held firm to my resolution that every drop of its +contents should reach the Bottle’s destination. + +The latter refinement cost me a separate heap of troubles on its own +separate account. What corkscrews did I see the military power bring out +against that Bottle; what gimlets, spikes, divining rods, gauges, and +unknown tests and instruments! At some places, they persisted in +declaring that the wine must not be passed, without being opened and +tasted; I, pleading to the contrary, used then to argue the question +seated on the Bottle lest they should open it in spite of me. In the +southern parts of Italy more violent shrieking, face-making, and +gesticulating, greater vehemence of speech and countenance and action, +went on about that Bottle than would attend fifty murders in a northern +latitude. It raised important functionaries out of their beds, in the +dead of night. I have known half-a-dozen military lanterns to disperse +themselves at all points of a great sleeping Piazza, each lantern +summoning some official creature to get up, put on his cocked-hat +instantly, and come and stop the Bottle. It was characteristic that +while this innocent Bottle had such immense difficulty in getting from +little town to town, Signor Mazzini and the fiery cross were traversing +Italy from end to end. + +Still, I stuck to my Bottle, like any fine old English gentleman all of +the olden time. The more the Bottle was interfered with, the stauncher I +became (if possible) in my first determination that my countryman should +have it delivered to him intact, as the man whom he had so nobly restored +to life and liberty had delivered it to me. If ever I had been obstinate +in my days—and I may have been, say, once or twice—I was obstinate about +the Bottle. But, I made it a rule always to keep a pocket full of small +coin at its service, and never to be out of temper in its cause. Thus, I +and the Bottle made our way. Once we had a break-down; rather a bad +break-down, on a steep high place with the sea below us, on a tempestuous +evening when it blew great guns. We were driving four wild horses +abreast, Southern fashion, and there was some little difficulty in +stopping them. I was outside, and not thrown off; but no words can +describe my feelings when I saw the Bottle—travelling inside, as +usual—burst the door open, and roll obesely out into the road. A blessed +Bottle with a charmed existence, he took no hurt, and we repaired damage, +and went on triumphant. + +A thousand representations were made to me that the Bottle must be left +at this place, or that, and called for again. I never yielded to one of +them, and never parted from the Bottle, on any pretence, consideration, +threat, or entreaty. I had no faith in any official receipt for the +Bottle, and nothing would induce me to accept one. These unmanageable +politics at last brought me and the Bottle, still triumphant, to Genoa. +There, I took a tender and reluctant leave of him for a few weeks, and +consigned him to a trusty English captain, to be conveyed to the Port of +London by sea. + +While the Bottle was on his voyage to England, I read the Shipping +Intelligence as anxiously as if I had been an underwriter. There was +some stormy weather after I myself had got to England by way of +Switzerland and France, and my mind greatly misgave me that the Bottle +might be wrecked. At last to my great joy, I received notice of his safe +arrival, and immediately went down to Saint Katharine’s Docks, and found +him in a state of honourable captivity in the Custom House. + +The wine was mere vinegar when I set it down before the generous +Englishman—probably it had been something like vinegar when I took it up +from Giovanni Carlavero—but not a drop of it was spilled or gone. And +the Englishman told me, with much emotion in his face and voice, that he +had never tasted wine that seemed to him so sweet and sound. And long +afterwards, the Bottle graced his table. And the last time I saw him in +this world that misses him, he took me aside in a crowd, to say, with his +amiable smile: ‘We were talking of you only to-day at dinner, and I +wished you had been there, for I had some Claret up in Carlavero’s +Bottle.’ + + + + +XVIII +THE CALAIS NIGHT MAIL + + +IT is an unsettled question with me whether I shall leave Calais +something handsome in my will, or whether I shall leave it my +malediction. I hate it so much, and yet I am always so very glad to see +it, that I am in a state of constant indecision on this subject. When I +first made acquaintance with Calais, it was as a maundering young wretch +in a clammy perspiration and dripping saline particles, who was conscious +of no extremities but the one great extremity, sea-sickness—who was a +mere bilious torso, with a mislaid headache somewhere in its stomach—who +had been put into a horrible swing in Dover Harbour, and had tumbled +giddily out of it on the French coast, or the Isle of Man, or anywhere. +Times have changed, and now I enter Calais self-reliant and rational. I +know where it is beforehand, I keep a look out for it, I recognise its +landmarks when I see any of them, I am acquainted with its ways, and I +know—and I can bear—its worst behaviour. + +Malignant Calais! Low-lying alligator, evading the eyesight and +discouraging hope! Dodging flat streak, now on this bow, now on that, +now anywhere, now everywhere, now nowhere! In vain Cape Grinez, coming +frankly forth into the sea, exhorts the failing to be stout of heart and +stomach: sneaking Calais, prone behind its bar, invites emetically to +despair. Even when it can no longer quite conceal itself in its muddy +dock, it has an evil way of falling off, has Calais, which is more +hopeless than its invisibility. The pier is all but on the bowsprit, and +you think you are there—roll, roar, wash!—Calais has retired miles +inland, and Dover has burst out to look for it. It has a last dip and +slide in its character, has Calais, to be especially commanded to the +infernal gods. Thrice accursed be that garrison-town, when it dives +under the boat’s keel, and comes up a league or two to the right, with +the packet shivering and spluttering and staring about for it! + +Not but what I have my animosities towards Dover. I particularly detest +Dover for the self-complacency with which it goes to bed. It always goes +to bed (when I am going to Calais) with a more brilliant display of lamp +and candle than any other town. Mr. and Mrs. Birmingham, host and +hostess of the Lord Warden Hotel, are my much esteemed friends, but they +are too conceited about the comforts of that establishment when the Night +Mail is starting. I know it is a good house to stay at, and I don’t want +the fact insisted upon in all its warm bright windows at such an hour. I +know the Warden is a stationary edifice that never rolls or pitches, and +I object to its big outline seeming to insist upon that circumstance, +and, as it were, to come over me with it, when I am reeling on the deck +of the boat. Beshrew the Warden likewise, for obstructing that corner, +and making the wind so angry as it rushes round. Shall I not know that +it blows quite soon enough, without the officious Warden’s interference? + +As I wait here on board the night packet, for the South-Eastern Train to +come down with the Mail, Dover appears to me to be illuminated for some +intensely aggravating festivity in my personal dishonour. All its noises +smack of taunting praises of the land, and dispraises of the gloomy sea, +and of me for going on it. The drums upon the heights have gone to bed, +or I know they would rattle taunts against me for having my unsteady +footing on this slippery deck. The many gas eyes of the Marine Parade +twinkle in an offensive manner, as if with derision. The distant dogs of +Dover bark at me in my misshapen wrappers, as if I were Richard the +Third. + +A screech, a bell, and two red eyes come gliding down the Admiralty Pier +with a smoothness of motion rendered more smooth by the heaving of the +boat. The sea makes noises against the pier, as if several hippopotami +were lapping at it, and were prevented by circumstances over which they +had no control from drinking peaceably. We, the boat, become violently +agitated—rumble, hum, scream, roar, and establish an immense family +washing-day at each paddle-box. Bright patches break out in the train as +the doors of the post-office vans are opened, and instantly stooping +figures with sacks upon their backs begin to be beheld among the piles, +descending as it would seem in ghostly procession to Davy Jones’s Locker. +The passengers come on board; a few shadowy Frenchmen, with hatboxes +shaped like the stoppers of gigantic case-bottles; a few shadowy Germans +in immense fur coats and boots; a few shadowy Englishmen prepared for the +worst and pretending not to expect it. I cannot disguise from my +uncommercial mind the miserable fact that we are a body of outcasts; that +the attendants on us are as scant in number as may serve to get rid of us +with the least possible delay; that there are no night-loungers +interested in us; that the unwilling lamps shiver and shudder at us; that +the sole object is to commit us to the deep and abandon us. Lo, the two +red eyes glaring in increasing distance, and then the very train itself +has gone to bed before we are off! + +What is the moral support derived by some sea-going amateurs from an +umbrella? Why do certain voyagers across the Channel always put up that +article, and hold it up with a grim and fierce tenacity? A +fellow-creature near me—whom I only know to _be_ a fellow-creature, +because of his umbrella: without which he might be a dark bit of cliff, +pier, or bulkbead—clutches that instrument with a desperate grasp, that +will not relax until he lands at Calais. Is there any analogy, in +certain constitutions, between keeping an umbrella up, and keeping the +spirits up? A hawser thrown on board with a flop replies ‘Stand by!’ +‘Stand by, below!’ ‘Half a turn a head!’ ‘Half a turn a head!’ ‘Half +speed!’ ‘Half speed!’ ‘Port!’ ‘Port!’ ‘Steady!’ ‘Steady!’ ‘Go on!’ +‘Go on!’ + +A stout wooden wedge driven in at my right temple and out at my left, a +floating deposit of lukewarm oil in my throat, and a compression of the +bridge of my nose in a blunt pair of pincers,—these are the personal +sensations by which I know we are off, and by which I shall continue to +know it until I am on the soil of France. My symptoms have scarcely +established themselves comfortably, when two or three skating shadows +that have been trying to walk or stand, get flung together, and other two +or three shadows in tarpaulin slide with them into corners and cover them +up. Then the South Foreland lights begin to hiccup at us in a way that +bodes no good. + +It is at about this period that my detestation of Calais knows no bounds. +Inwardly I resolve afresh that I never will forgive that hated town. I +have done so before, many times, but that is past. Let me register a +vow. Implacable animosity to Calais everm— that was an awkward sea, and +the funnel seems of my opinion, for it gives a complaining roar. + +The wind blows stiffly from the Nor-East, the sea runs high, we ship a +deal of water, the night is dark and cold, and the shapeless passengers +lie about in melancholy bundles, as if they were sorted out for the +laundress; but for my own uncommercial part I cannot pretend that I am +much inconvenienced by any of these things. A general howling, +whistling, flopping, gurgling, and scooping, I am aware of, and a general +knocking about of Nature; but the impressions I receive are very vague. +In a sweet faint temper, something like the smell of damaged oranges, I +think I should feel languidly benevolent if I had time. I have not time, +because I am under a curious compulsion to occupy myself with the Irish +melodies. ‘Rich and rare were the gems she wore,’ is the particular +melody to which I find myself devoted. I sing it to myself in the most +charming manner and with the greatest expression. Now and then, I raise +my head (I am sitting on the hardest of wet seats, in the most +uncomfortable of wet attitudes, but I don’t mind it,) and notice that I +am a whirling shuttlecock between a fiery battledore of a lighthouse on +the French coast and a fiery battledore of a lighthouse on the English +coast; but I don’t notice it particularly, except to feel envenomed in my +hatred of Calais. Then I go on again, ‘Rich and rare were the ge-ems +she-e-e-e wore, And a bright gold ring on her wa-and she bo-ore, But O +her beauty was fa-a-a-a-r beyond’—I am particularly proud of my execution +here, when I become aware of another awkward shock from the sea, and +another protest from the funnel, and a fellow-creature at the paddle-box +more audibly indisposed than I think he need be—‘Her sparkling gems, or +snow-white wand, But O her beauty was fa-a-a-a-a-r beyond’—another +awkward one here, and the fellow-creature with the umbrella down and +picked up—‘Her spa-a-rkling ge-ems, or her Port! port! steady! steady! +snow-white fellow-creature at the paddle-box very selfishly audible, +bump, roar, wash, white wand.’ + +As my execution of the Irish melodies partakes of my imperfect +perceptions of what is going on around me, so what is going on around me +becomes something else than what it is. The stokers open the furnace +doors below, to feed the fires, and I am again on the box of the old +Exeter Telegraph fast coach, and that is the light of the for ever +extinguished coach-lamps, and the gleam on the hatches and paddle-boxes +is _their_ gleam on cottages and haystacks, and the monotonous noise of +the engines is the steady jingle of the splendid team. Anon, the +intermittent funnel roar of protest at every violent roll, becomes the +regular blast of a high pressure engine, and I recognise the exceedingly +explosive steamer in which I ascended the Mississippi when the American +civil war was not, and when only its causes were. A fragment of mast on +which the light of a lantern falls, an end of rope, and a jerking block +or so, become suggestive of Franconi’s Circus at Paris where I shall be +this very night mayhap (for it must be morning now), and they dance to +the self-same time and tune as the trained steed, Black Raven. What may +be the speciality of these waves as they come rushing on, I cannot desert +the pressing demands made upon me by the gems she wore, to inquire, but +they are charged with something about Robinson Crusoe, and I think it was +in Yarmouth Roads that he first went a seafaring and was near foundering +(what a terrific sound that word had for me when I was a boy!) in his +first gale of wind. Still, through all this, I must ask her (who _was_ +she I wonder!) for the fiftieth time, and without ever stopping, Does she +not fear to stray, So lone and lovely through this bleak way, And are +Erin’s sons so good or so cold, As not to be tempted by more +fellow-creatures at the paddle-box or gold? Sir Knight I feel not the +least alarm, No son of Erin will offer me harm, For though they love +fellow-creature with umbrella down again and golden store, Sir Knight +they what a tremendous one love honour and virtue more: For though they +love Stewards with a bull’s eye bright, they’ll trouble you for your +ticket, sir-rough passage to-night! + +I freely admit it to be a miserable piece of human weakness and +inconsistency, but I no sooner become conscious of those last words from +the steward than I begin to soften towards Calais. Whereas I have been +vindictively wishing that those Calais burghers who came out of their +town by a short cut into the History of England, with those fatal ropes +round their necks by which they have since been towed into so many +cartoons, had all been hanged on the spot, I now begin to regard them as +highly respectable and virtuous tradesmen. Looking about me, I see the +light of Cape Grinez well astern of the boat on the davits to leeward, +and the light of Calais Harbour undeniably at its old tricks, but still +ahead and shining. Sentiments of forgiveness of Calais, not to say of +attachment to Calais, begin to expand my bosom. I have weak notions that +I will stay there a day or two on my way back. A faded and recumbent +stranger pausing in a profound reverie over the rim of a basin, asks me +what kind of place Calais is? I tell him (Heaven forgive me!) a very +agreeable place indeed—rather hilly than otherwise. + +So strangely goes the time, and on the whole so quickly—though still I +seem to have been on board a week—that I am bumped, rolled, gurgled, +washed and pitched into Calais Harbour before her maiden smile has +finally lighted her through the Green Isle, When blest for ever is she +who relied, On entering Calais at the top of the tide. For we have not +to land to-night down among those slimy timbers—covered with green hair +as if it were the mermaids’ favourite combing-place—where one crawls to +the surface of the jetty, like a stranded shrimp, but we go steaming up +the harbour to the Railway Station Quay. And as we go, the sea washes in +and out among piles and planks, with dead heavy beats and in quite a +furious manner (whereof we are proud), and the lamps shake in the wind, +and the bells of Calais striking One seem to send their vibrations +struggling against troubled air, as we have come struggling against +troubled water. And now, in the sudden relief and wiping of faces, +everybody on board seems to have had a prodigious double-tooth out, and +to be this very instant free of the Dentist’s hands. And now we all know +for the first time how wet and cold we are, and how salt we are; and now +I love Calais with my heart of hearts! + +‘Hôtel Dessin!’ (but in this one case it is not a vocal cry; it is but a +bright lustre in the eyes of the cheery representative of that best of +inns). ‘Hôtel Meurice!’ ‘Hôtel de France!’ ‘Hôtel de Calais!’ ‘The +Royal Hotel, Sir, Angaishe ouse!’ ‘You going to Parry, Sir?’ ‘Your +baggage, registair froo, Sir?’ Bless ye, my Touters, bless ye, my +commissionaires, bless ye, my hungry-eyed mysteries in caps of a military +form, who are always here, day or night, fair weather or foul, seeking +inscrutable jobs which I never see you get! Bless ye, my Custom House +officers in green and grey; permit me to grasp the welcome hands that +descend into my travelling-bag, one on each side, and meet at the bottom +to give my change of linen a peculiar shake up, as if it were a measure +of chaff or grain! I have nothing to declare, Monsieur le Douanier, +except that when I cease to breathe, Calais will be found written on my +heart. No article liable to local duty have I with me, Monsieur +l’Officier de l’Octroi, unless the overflowing of a breast devoted to +your charming town should be in that wise chargeable. Ah! see at the +gangway by the twinkling lantern, my dearest brother and friend, he once +of the Passport Office, he who collects the names! May he be for ever +changeless in his buttoned black surtout, with his note-book in his hand, +and his tall black hat, surmounting his round, smiling, patient face! +Let us embrace, my dearest brother. I am yours à tout jamais—for the +whole of ever. + +Calais up and doing at the railway station, and Calais down and dreaming +in its bed; Calais with something of ‘an ancient and fish-like smell’ +about it, and Calais blown and sea-washed pure; Calais represented at the +Buffet by savoury roast fowls, hot coffee, cognac, and Bordeaux; and +Calais represented everywhere by flitting persons with a monomania for +changing money—though I never shall be able to understand in my present +state of existence how they live by it, but I suppose I should, if I +understood the currency question—Calais _en gros_, and Calais _en +détail_, forgive one who has deeply wronged you.—I was not fully aware of +it on the other side, but I meant Dover. + +Ding, ding! To the carriages, gentlemen the travellers. Ascend then, +gentlemen the travellers, for Hazebroucke, Lille, Douai, Bruxelles, +Arras, Amiens, and Paris! I, humble representative of the uncommercial +interest, ascend with the rest. The train is light to-night, and I share +my compartment with but two fellow-travellers; one, a compatriot in an +obsolete cravat, who thinks it a quite unaccountable thing that they +don’t keep ‘London time’ on a French railway, and who is made angry by my +modestly suggesting the possibility of Paris time being more in their +way; the other, a young priest, with a very small bird in a very small +cage, who feeds the small bird with a quill, and then puts him up in the +network above his head, where he advances twittering, to his front wires, +and seems to address me in an electioneering manner. The compatriot (who +crossed in the boat, and whom I judge to be some person of distinction, +as he was shut up, like a stately species of rabbit, in a private hutch +on deck) and the young priest (who joined us at Calais) are soon asleep, +and then the bird and I have it all to ourselves. + +A stormy night still; a night that sweeps the wires of the electric +telegraph with a wild and fitful hand; a night so very stormy, with the +added storm of the train-progress through it, that when the Guard comes +clambering round to mark the tickets while we are at full speed (a really +horrible performance in an express train, though he holds on to the open +window by his elbows in the most deliberate manner), he stands in such a +whirlwind that I grip him fast by the collar, and feel it next to +manslaughter to let him go. Still, when he is gone, the small, small +bird remains at his front wires feebly twittering to me—twittering and +twittering, until, leaning back in my place and looking at him in drowsy +fascination, I find that he seems to jog my memory as we rush along. + +Uncommercial travels (thus the small, small bird) have lain in their idle +thriftless way through all this range of swamp and dyke, as through many +other odd places; and about here, as you very well know, are the queer +old stone farm-houses, approached by drawbridges, and the windmills that +you get at by boats. Here, are the lands where the women hoe and dig, +paddling canoe-wise from field to field, and here are the cabarets and +other peasant-houses where the stone dove-cotes in the littered yards are +as strong as warders’ towers in old castles. Here, are the long +monotonous miles of canal, with the great Dutch-built barges garishly +painted, and the towing girls, sometimes harnessed by the forehead, +sometimes by the girdle and the shoulders, not a pleasant sight to see. +Scattered through this country are mighty works of VAUBAN, whom you know +about, and regiments of such corporals as you heard of once upon a time, +and many a blue-eyed Bebelle. Through these flat districts, in the +shining summer days, walk those long, grotesque files of young novices in +enormous shovel-hats, whom you remember blackening the ground checkered +by the avenues of leafy trees. And now that Hazebroucke slumbers certain +kilometres ahead, recall the summer evening when your dusty feet +strolling up from the station tended hap-hazard to a Fair there, where +the oldest inhabitants were circling round and round a barrel-organ on +hobby-horses, with the greatest gravity, and where the principal show in +the Fair was a Religious Richardson’s—literally, on its own announcement +in great letters, THEATRE RELIGIEUX. In which improving Temple, the +dramatic representation was of ‘all the interesting events in the life of +our Lord, from the Manger to the Tomb;’ the principal female character, +without any reservation or exception, being at the moment of your +arrival, engaged in trimming the external Moderators (as it was growing +dusk), while the next principal female character took the money, and the +Young Saint John disported himself upside down on the platform. + +Looking up at this point to confirm the small, small bird in every +particular he has mentioned, I find he has ceased to twitter, and has put +his head under his wing. Therefore, in my different way I follow the +good example. + + + + +XIX +SOME RECOLLECTIONS OF MORTALITY + + +I HAD parted from the small bird at somewhere about four o’clock in the +morning, when he had got out at Arras, and had been received by two +shovel-hats in waiting at the station, who presented an appropriately +ornithological and crow-like appearance. My compatriot and I had gone on +to Paris; my compatriot enlightening me occasionally with a long list of +the enormous grievances of French railway travelling: every one of which, +as I am a sinner, was perfectly new to me, though I have as much +experience of French railways as most uncommercials. I had left him at +the terminus (through his conviction, against all explanation and +remonstrance, that his baggage-ticket was his passenger-ticket), +insisting in a very high temper to the functionary on duty, that in his +own personal identity he was four packages weighing so many +kilogrammes—as if he had been Cassim Baba! I had bathed and breakfasted, +and was strolling on the bright quays. The subject of my meditations was +the question whether it is positively in the essence and nature of +things, as a certain school of Britons would seem to think it, that a +Capital must be ensnared and enslaved before it can be made beautiful: +when I lifted up my eyes and found that my feet, straying like my mind, +had brought me to Notre-Dame. + +That is to say, Notre-Dame was before me, but there was a large open +space between us. A very little while gone, I had left that space +covered with buildings densely crowded; and now it was cleared for some +new wonder in the way of public Street, Place, Garden, Fountain, or all +four. Only the obscene little Morgue, slinking on the brink of the river +and soon to come down, was left there, looking mortally ashamed of +itself, and supremely wicked. I had but glanced at this old +acquaintance, when I beheld an airy procession coming round in front of +Notre-Dame, past the great hospital. It had something of a Masaniello +look, with fluttering striped curtains in the midst of it, and it came +dancing round the cathedral in the liveliest manner. + +I was speculating on a marriage in Blouse-life, or a Christening, or some +other domestic festivity which I would see out, when I found, from the +talk of a quick rush of Blouses past me, that it was a Body coming to the +Morgue. Having never before chanced upon this initiation, I constituted +myself a Blouse likewise, and ran into the Morgue with the rest. It was +a very muddy day, and we took in a quantity of mire with us, and the +procession coming in upon our heels brought a quantity more. The +procession was in the highest spirits, and consisted of idlers who had +come with the curtained litter from its starting-place, and of all the +reinforcements it had picked up by the way. It set the litter down in +the midst of the Morgue, and then two Custodians proclaimed aloud that we +were all ‘invited’ to go out. This invitation was rendered the more +pressing, if not the more flattering, by our being shoved out, and the +folding-gates being barred upon us. + +Those who have never seen the Morgue, may see it perfectly, by presenting +to themselves on indifferently paved coach-house accessible from the +street by a pair of folding-gates; on the left of the coach-house, +occupying its width, any large London tailor’s or linendraper’s +plate-glass window reaching to the ground; within the window, on two rows +of inclined plane, what the coach-house has to show; hanging above, like +irregular stalactites from the roof of a cave, a quantity of clothes—the +clothes of the dead and buried shows of the coach-house. + +We had been excited in the highest degree by seeing the Custodians pull +off their coats and tuck up their shirt-sleeves, as the procession came +along. It looked so interestingly like business. Shut out in the muddy +street, we now became quite ravenous to know all about it. Was it river, +pistol, knife, love, gambling, robbery, hatred, how many stabs, how many +bullets, fresh or decomposed, suicide or murder? All wedged together, +and all staring at one another with our heads thrust forward, we +propounded these inquiries and a hundred more such. Imperceptibly, it +came to be known that Monsieur the tall and sallow mason yonder, was +acquainted with the facts. Would Monsieur the tall and sallow mason, +surged at by a new wave of us, have the goodness to impart? It was but a +poor old man, passing along the street under one of the new buildings, on +whom a stone had fallen, and who had tumbled dead. His age? Another +wave surged up against the tall and sallow mason, and our wave swept on +and broke, and he was any age from sixty-five to ninety. + +An old man was not much: moreover, we could have wished he had been +killed by human agency—his own, or somebody else’s: the latter, +preferable—but our comfort was, that he had nothing about him to lead to +his identification, and that his people must seek him here. Perhaps they +were waiting dinner for him even now? We liked that. Such of us as had +pocket-handkerchiefs took a slow, intense, protracted wipe at our noses, +and then crammed our handkerchiefs into the breast of our blouses. +Others of us who had no handkerchiefs administered a similar relief to +our overwrought minds, by means of prolonged smears or wipes of our +mouths on our sleeves. One man with a gloomy malformation of brow—a +homicidal worker in white-lead, to judge from his blue tone of colour, +and a certain flavour of paralysis pervading him—got his coat-collar +between his teeth, and bit at it with an appetite. Several decent women +arrived upon the outskirts of the crowd, and prepared to launch +themselves into the dismal coach-house when opportunity should come; +among them, a pretty young mother, pretending to bite the forefinger of +her baby-boy, kept it between her rosy lips that it might be handy for +guiding to point at the show. Meantime, all faces were turned towards +the building, and we men waited with a fixed and stern resolution:—for +the most part with folded arms. Surely, it was the only public French +sight these uncommercial eyes had seen, at which the expectant people did +not form _en queue_. But there was no such order of arrangement here; +nothing but a general determination to make a rush for it, and a +disposition to object to some boys who had mounted on the two stone posts +by the hinges of the gates, with the design of swooping in when the +hinges should turn. + +Now, they turned, and we rushed! Great pressure, and a scream or two +from the front. Then a laugh or two, some expressions of disappointment, +and a slackening of the pressure and subsidence of the struggle.—Old man +not there. + +‘But what would you have?’ the Custodian reasonably argues, as he looks +out at his little door. ‘Patience, patience! We make his toilette, +gentlemen. He will be exposed presently. It is necessary to proceed +according to rule. His toilette is not made all at a blow. He will be +exposed in good time, gentlemen, in good time.’ And so retires, smoking, +with a wave of his sleeveless arm towards the window, importing, +‘Entertain yourselves in the meanwhile with the other curiosities. +Fortunately the Museum is not empty to-day.’ + +Who would have thought of public fickleness even at the Morgue? But +there it was, on that occasion. Three lately popular articles that had +been attracting greatly when the litter was first descried coming dancing +round the corner by the great cathedral, were so completely deposed now, +that nobody save two little girls (one showing them to a doll) would look +at them. Yet the chief of the three, the article in the front row, had +received jagged injury of the left temple; and the other two in the back +row, the drowned two lying side by side with their heads very slightly +turned towards each other, seemed to be comparing notes about it. +Indeed, those two of the back row were so furtive of appearance, and so +(in their puffed way) assassinatingly knowing as to the one of the front, +that it was hard to think the three had never come together in their +lives, and were only chance companions after death. Whether or no this +was the general, as it was the uncommercial, fancy, it is not to be +disputed that the group had drawn exceedingly within ten minutes. Yet +now, the inconstant public turned its back upon them, and even leaned its +elbows carelessly against the bar outside the window and shook off the +mud from its shoes, and also lent and borrowed fire for pipes. + +Custodian re-enters from his door. ‘Again once, gentlemen, you are +invited—’ No further invitation necessary. Ready dash into the street. +Toilette finished. Old man coming out. + +This time, the interest was grown too hot to admit of toleration of the +boys on the stone posts. The homicidal white-lead worker made a pounce +upon one boy who was hoisting himself up, and brought him to earth amidst +general commendation. Closely stowed as we were, we yet formed into +groups—groups of conversation, without separation from the mass—to +discuss the old man. Rivals of the tall and sallow mason sprang into +being, and here again was popular inconstancy. These rivals attracted +audiences, and were greedily listened to; and whereas they had derived +their information solely from the tall and sallow one, officious members +of the crowd now sought to enlighten _him_ on their authority. Changed +by this social experience into an iron-visaged and inveterate +misanthrope, the mason glared at mankind, and evidently cherished in his +breast the wish that the whole of the present company could change places +with the deceased old man. And now listeners became inattentive, and +people made a start forward at a slight sound, and an unholy fire kindled +in the public eye, and those next the gates beat at them impatiently, as +if they were of the cannibal species and hungry. + +Again the hinges creaked, and we rushed. Disorderly pressure for some +time ensued before the uncommercial unit got figured into the front row +of the sum. It was strange to see so much heat and uproar seething about +one poor spare, white-haired old man, quiet for evermore. He was calm of +feature and undisfigured, as he lay on his back—having been struck upon +the hinder part of his head, and thrown forward—and something like a tear +or two had started from the closed eyes, and lay wet upon the face. The +uncommercial interest, sated at a glance, directed itself upon the +striving crowd on either side and behind: wondering whether one might +have guessed, from the expression of those faces merely, what kind of +sight they were looking at. The differences of expression were not many. +There was a little pity, but not much, and that mostly with a selfish +touch in it—as who would say, ‘Shall I, poor I, look like that, when the +time comes!’ There was more of a secretly brooding contemplation and +curiosity, as ‘That man I don’t like, and have the grudge against; would +such be his appearance, if some one—not to mention names—by any chance +gave him an knock?’ There was a wolfish stare at the object, in which +homicidal white-lead worker shone conspicuous. And there was a much more +general, purposeless, vacant staring at it—like looking at waxwork, +without a catalogue, and not knowing what to make of it. But all these +expressions concurred in possessing the one underlying expression of +_looking at something that could not return a look_. The uncommercial +notice had established this as very remarkable, when a new pressure all +at once coming up from the street pinioned him ignominiously, and hurried +him into the arms (now sleeved again) of the Custodian smoking at his +door, and answering questions, between puffs, with a certain placid +meritorious air of not being proud, though high in office. And +mentioning pride, it may be observed, by the way, that one could not well +help investing the original sole occupant of the front row with an air +depreciatory of the legitimate attraction of the poor old man: while the +two in the second row seemed to exult at this superseded popularity. + +Pacing presently round the garden of the Tower of St. Jacques de la +Boucherie, and presently again in front of the Hôtel de Ville, I called +to mind a certain desolate open-air Morgue that I happened to light upon +in London, one day in the hard winter of 1861, and which seemed as +strange to me, at the time of seeing it, as if I had found it in China. +Towards that hour of a winter’s afternoon when the lamp-lighters are +beginning to light the lamps in the streets a little before they are +wanted, because the darkness thickens fast and soon, I was walking in +from the country on the northern side of the Regent’s Park—hard frozen +and deserted—when I saw an empty Hansom cab drive up to the lodge at +Gloucester-gate, and the driver with great agitation call to the man +there: who quickly reached a long pole from a tree, and, deftly collared +by the driver, jumped to the step of his little seat, and so the Hansom +rattled out at the gate, galloping over the iron-bound road. I followed +running, though not so fast but that when I came to the right-hand Canal +Bridge, near the cross-path to Chalk Farm, the Hansom was stationary, the +horse was smoking hot, the long pole was idle on the ground, and the +driver and the park-keeper were looking over the bridge parapet. Looking +over too, I saw, lying on the towing-path with her face turned up towards +us, a woman, dead a day or two, and under thirty, as I guessed, poorly +dressed in black. The feet were lightly crossed at the ankles, and the +dark hair, all pushed back from the face, as though that had been the +last action of her desperate hands, streamed over the ground. Dabbled +all about her, was the water and the broken ice that had dropped from her +dress, and had splashed as she was got out. The policeman who had just +got her out, and the passing costermonger who had helped him, were +standing near the body; the latter with that stare at it which I have +likened to being at a waxwork exhibition without a catalogue; the former, +looking over his stock, with professional stiffness and coolness, in the +direction in which the bearers he had sent for were expected. So +dreadfully forlorn, so dreadfully sad, so dreadfully mysterious, this +spectacle of our dear sister here departed! A barge came up, breaking +the floating ice and the silence, and a woman steered it. The man with +the horse that towed it, cared so little for the body, that the stumbling +hoofs had been among the hair, and the tow-rope had caught and turned the +head, before our cry of horror took him to the bridle. At which sound +the steering woman looked up at us on the bridge, with contempt +unutterable, and then looking down at the body with a similar +expression—as if it were made in another likeness from herself, had been +informed with other passions, had been lost by other chances, had had +another nature dragged down to perdition—steered a spurning streak of mud +at it, and passed on. + +A better experience, but also of the Morgue kind, in which chance happily +made me useful in a slight degree, arose to my remembrance as I took my +way by the Boulevard de Sébastopol to the brighter scenes of Paris. + +The thing happened, say five-and-twenty years ago. I was a modest young +uncommercial then, and timid and inexperienced. Many suns and winds have +browned me in the line, but those were my pale days. Having newly taken +the lease of a house in a certain distinguished metropolitan parish—a +house which then appeared to me to be a frightfully first-class Family +Mansion, involving awful responsibilities—I became the prey of a Beadle. +I think the Beadle must have seen me going in or coming out, and must +have observed that I tottered under the weight of my grandeur. Or he may +have been in hiding under straw when I bought my first horse (in the +desirable stable-yard attached to the first-class Family Mansion), and +when the vendor remarked to me, in an original manner, on bringing him +for approval, taking his cloth off and smacking him, ‘There, Sir! +_There’s_ a Orse!’ And when I said gallantly, ‘How much do you want for +him?’ and when the vendor said, ‘No more than sixty guineas, from you,’ +and when I said smartly, ‘Why not more than sixty from _me_?’ And when +he said crushingly, ‘Because upon my soul and body he’d be considered +cheap at seventy, by one who understood the subject—but you don’t.’—I +say, the Beadle may have been in hiding under straw, when this disgrace +befell me, or he may have noted that I was too raw and young an Atlas to +carry the first-class Family Mansion in a knowing manner. Be this as it +may, the Beadle did what Melancholy did to the youth in Gray’s Elegy—he +marked me for his own. And the way in which the Beadle did it, was this: +he summoned me as a Juryman on his Coroner’s Inquests. + +In my first feverish alarm I repaired ‘for safety and for succour’—like +those sagacious Northern shepherds who, having had no previous reason +whatever to believe in young Norval, very prudently did not originate the +hazardous idea of believing in him—to a deep householder. This profound +man informed me that the Beadle counted on my buying him off; on my +bribing him not to summon me; and that if I would attend an Inquest with +a cheerful countenance, and profess alacrity in that branch of my +country’s service, the Beadle would be disheartened, and would give up +the game. + +I roused my energies, and the next time the wily Beadle summoned me, I +went. The Beadle was the blankest Beadle I have ever looked on when I +answered to my name; and his discomfiture gave me courage to go through +with it. + +We were impanelled to inquire concerning the death of a very little mite +of a child. It was the old miserable story. Whether the mother had +committed the minor offence of concealing the birth, or whether she had +committed the major offence of killing the child, was the question on +which we were wanted. We must commit her on one of the two issues. + +The Inquest came off in the parish workhouse, and I have yet a lively +impression that I was unanimously received by my brother Jurymen as a +brother of the utmost conceivable insignificance. Also, that before we +began, a broker who had lately cheated me fearfully in the matter of a +pair of card-tables, was for the utmost rigour of the law. I remember +that we sat in a sort of board-room, on such very large square horse-hair +chairs that I wondered what race of Patagonians they were made for; and +further, that an undertaker gave me his card when we were in the full +moral freshness of having just been sworn, as ‘an inhabitant that was +newly come into the parish, and was likely to have a young family.’ The +case was then stated to us by the Coroner, and then we went +down-stairs—led by the plotting Beadle—to view the body. From that day +to this, the poor little figure, on which that sounding legal appellation +was bestowed, has lain in the same place and with the same surroundings, +to my thinking. In a kind of crypt devoted to the warehousing of the +parochial coffins, and in the midst of a perfect Panorama of coffins of +all sizes, it was stretched on a box; the mother had put it in her +box—this box—almost as soon as it was born, and it had been presently +found there. It had been opened, and neatly sewn up, and regarded from +that point of view, it looked like a stuffed creature. It rested on a +clean white cloth, with a surgical instrument or so at hand, and regarded +from that point of view, it looked as if the cloth were ‘laid,’ and the +Giant were coming to dinner. There was nothing repellent about the poor +piece of innocence, and it demanded a mere form of looking at. So, we +looked at an old pauper who was going about among the coffins with a foot +rule, as if he were a case of Self-Measurement; and we looked at one +another; and we said the place was well whitewashed anyhow; and then our +conversational powers as a British Jury flagged, and the foreman said, +‘All right, gentlemen? Back again, Mr. Beadle!’ + +The miserable young creature who had given birth to this child within a +very few days, and who had cleaned the cold wet door-steps immediately +afterwards, was brought before us when we resumed our horse-hair chairs, +and was present during the proceedings. She had a horse-hair chair +herself, being very weak and ill; and I remember how she turned to the +unsympathetic nurse who attended her, and who might have been the +figure-head of a pauper-ship, and how she hid her face and sobs and tears +upon that wooden shoulder. I remember, too, how hard her mistress was +upon her (she was a servant-of-all-work), and with what a cruel +pertinacity that piece of Virtue spun her thread of evidence double, by +intertwisting it with the sternest thread of construction. Smitten hard +by the terrible low wail from the utterly friendless orphan girl, which +never ceased during the whole inquiry, I took heart to ask this witness a +question or two, which hopefully admitted of an answer that might give a +favourable turn to the case. She made the turn as little favourable as +it could be, but it did some good, and the Coroner, who was nobly patient +and humane (he was the late Mr. Wakley), cast a look of strong +encouragement in my direction. Then, we had the doctor who had made the +examination, and the usual tests as to whether the child was born alive; +but he was a timid, muddle-headed doctor, and got confused and +contradictory, and wouldn’t say this, and couldn’t answer for that, and +the immaculate broker was too much for him, and our side slid back again. +However, I tried again, and the Coroner backed me again, for which I ever +afterwards felt grateful to him as I do now to his memory; and we got +another favourable turn, out of some other witness, some member of the +family with a strong prepossession against the sinner; and I think we had +the doctor back again; and I know that the Coroner summed up for our +side, and that I and my British brothers turned round to discuss our +verdict, and get ourselves into great difficulties with our large chairs +and the broker. At that stage of the case I tried hard again, being +convinced that I had cause for it; and at last we found for the minor +offence of only concealing the birth; and the poor desolate creature, who +had been taken out during our deliberation, being brought in again to be +told of the verdict, then dropped upon her knees before us, with +protestations that we were right—protestations among the most affecting +that I have ever heard in my life—and was carried away insensible. + +(In private conversation after this was all over, the Coroner showed me +his reasons as a trained surgeon, for perceiving it to be impossible that +the child could, under the most favourable circumstances, have drawn many +breaths, in the very doubtful case of its having ever breathed at all; +this, owing to the discovery of some foreign matter in the windpipe, +quite irreconcilable with many moments of life.) + +When the agonised girl had made those final protestations, I had seen her +face, and it was in unison with her distracted heartbroken voice, and it +was very moving. It certainly did not impress me by any beauty that it +had, and if I ever see it again in another world I shall only know it by +the help of some new sense or intelligence. But it came to me in my +sleep that night, and I selfishly dismissed it in the most efficient way +I could think of. I caused some extra care to be taken of her in the +prison, and counsel to be retained for her defence when she was tried at +the Old Bailey; and her sentence was lenient, and her history and conduct +proved that it was right. In doing the little I did for her, I remember +to have had the kind help of some gentle-hearted functionary to whom I +addressed myself—but what functionary I have long forgotten—who I suppose +was officially present at the Inquest. + +I regard this as a very notable uncommercial experience, because this +good came of a Beadle. And to the best of my knowledge, information, and +belief, it is the only good that ever did come of a Beadle since the +first Beadle put on his cocked-hat. + + + + +XX +BIRTHDAY CELEBRATIONS + + +IT came into my mind that I would recall in these notes a few of the many +hostelries I have rested at in the course of my journeys; and, indeed, I +had taken up my pen for the purpose, when I was baffled by an accidental +circumstance. It was the having to leave off, to wish the owner of a +certain bright face that looked in at my door, ‘many happy returns of the +day.’ Thereupon a new thought came into my mind, driving its predecessor +out, and I began to recall—instead of Inns—the birthdays that I have put +up at, on my way to this present sheet of paper. + +I can very well remember being taken out to visit some peach-faced +creature in a blue sash, and shoes to correspond, whose life I supposed +to consist entirely of birthdays. Upon seed-cake, sweet wine, and +shining presents, that glorified young person seemed to me to be +exclusively reared. At so early a stage of my travels did I assist at +the anniversary of her nativity (and become enamoured of her), that I had +not yet acquired the recondite knowledge that a birthday is the common +property of all who are born, but supposed it to be a special gift +bestowed by the favouring Heavens on that one distinguished infant. +There was no other company, and we sat in a shady bower—under a table, as +my better (or worse) knowledge leads me to believe—and were regaled with +saccharine substances and liquids, until it was time to part. A bitter +powder was administered to me next morning, and I was wretched. On the +whole, a pretty accurate foreshadowing of my more mature experiences in +such wise! + +Then came the time when, inseparable from one’s own birthday, was a +certain sense of merit, a consciousness of well-earned distinction. When +I regarded my birthday as a graceful achievement of my own, a monument of +my perseverance, independence, and good sense, redounding greatly to my +honour. This was at about the period when Olympia Squires became +involved in the anniversary. Olympia was most beautiful (of course), and +I loved her to that degree, that I used to be obliged to get out of my +little bed in the night, expressly to exclaim to Solitude, ‘O, Olympia +Squires!’ Visions of Olympia, clothed entirely in sage-green, from which +I infer a defectively educated taste on the part of her respected +parents, who were necessarily unacquainted with the South Kensington +Museum, still arise before me. Truth is sacred, and the visions are +crowned by a shining white beaver bonnet, impossibly suggestive of a +little feminine postboy. My memory presents a birthday when Olympia and +I were taken by an unfeeling relative—some cruel uncle, or the like—to a +slow torture called an Orrery. The terrible instrument was set up at the +local Theatre, and I had expressed a profane wish in the morning that it +was a Play: for which a serious aunt had probed my conscience deep, and +my pocket deeper, by reclaiming a bestowed half-crown. It was a +venerable and a shabby Orrery, at least one thousand stars and +twenty-five comets behind the age. Nevertheless, it was awful. When the +low-spirited gentleman with a wand said, ‘Ladies and gentlemen’ (meaning +particularly Olympia and me), ‘the lights are about to be put out, but +there is not the slightest cause for alarm,’ it was very alarming. Then +the planets and stars began. Sometimes they wouldn’t come on, sometimes +they wouldn’t go off, sometimes they had holes in them, and mostly they +didn’t seem to be good likenesses. All this time the gentleman with the +wand was going on in the dark (tapping away at the heavenly bodies +between whiles, like a wearisome woodpecker), about a sphere revolving on +its own axis eight hundred and ninety-seven thousand millions of times—or +miles—in two hundred and sixty-three thousand five hundred and +twenty-four millions of something elses, until I thought if this was a +birthday it were better never to have been born. Olympia, also, became +much depressed, and we both slumbered and woke cross, and still the +gentleman was going on in the dark—whether up in the stars, or down on +the stage, it would have been hard to make out, if it had been worth +trying—cyphering away about planes of orbits, to such an infamous extent +that Olympia, stung to madness, actually kicked me. A pretty birthday +spectacle, when the lights were turned up again, and all the schools in +the town (including the National, who had come in for nothing, and serve +them right, for they were always throwing stones) were discovered with +exhausted countenances, screwing their knuckles into their eyes, or +clutching their heads of hair. A pretty birthday speech when Dr. Sleek +of the City-Free bobbed up his powdered head in the stage-box, and said +that before this assembly dispersed he really must beg to express his +entire approval of a lecture as improving, as informing, as devoid of +anything that could call a blush into the cheek of youth, as any it had +ever been his lot to hear delivered. A pretty birthday altogether, when +Astronomy couldn’t leave poor Small Olympia Squires and me alone, but +must put an end to our loves! For, we never got over it; the threadbare +Orrery outwore our mutual tenderness; the man with the wand was too much +for the boy with the bow. + +When shall I disconnect the combined smells of oranges, brown paper, and +straw, from those other birthdays at school, when the coming hamper casts +its shadow before, and when a week of social harmony—shall I add of +admiring and affectionate popularity—led up to that Institution? What +noble sentiments were expressed to me in the days before the hamper, what +vows of friendship were sworn to me, what exceedingly old knives were +given me, what generous avowals of having been in the wrong emanated from +else obstinate spirits once enrolled among my enemies! The birthday of +the potted game and guava jelly, is still made special to me by the noble +conduct of Bully Globson. Letters from home had mysteriously inquired +whether I should be much surprised and disappointed if among the +treasures in the coming hamper I discovered potted game, and guava jelly +from the Western Indies. I had mentioned those hints in confidence to a +few friends, and had promised to give away, as I now see reason to +believe, a handsome covey of partridges potted, and about a hundredweight +of guava jelly. It was now that Globson, Bully no more, sought me out in +the playground. He was a big fat boy, with a big fat head and a big fat +fist, and at the beginning of that Half had raised such a bump on my +forehead that I couldn’t get my hat of state on, to go to church. He +said that after an interval of cool reflection (four months) he now felt +this blow to have been an error of judgment, and that he wished to +apologise for the same. Not only that, but holding down his big head +between his two big hands in order that I might reach it conveniently, he +requested me, as an act of justice which would appease his awakened +conscience, to raise a retributive bump upon it, in the presence of +witnesses. This handsome proposal I modestly declined, and he then +embraced me, and we walked away conversing. We conversed respecting the +West India Islands, and, in the pursuit of knowledge he asked me with +much interest whether in the course of my reading I had met with any +reliable description of the mode of manufacturing guava jelly; or whether +I had ever happened to taste that conserve, which he had been given to +understand was of rare excellence. + +Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty; and then with the waning months +came an ever augmenting sense of the dignity of twenty-one. Heaven knows +I had nothing to ‘come into,’ save the bare birthday, and yet I esteemed +it as a great possession. I now and then paved the way to my state of +dignity, by beginning a proposition with the casual words, ‘say that a +man of twenty-one,’ or by the incidental assumption of a fact that could +not sanely be disputed, as, ‘for when a fellow comes to be a man of +twenty-one.’ I gave a party on the occasion. She was there. It is +unnecessary to name Her, more particularly; She was older than I, and had +pervaded every chink and crevice of my mind for three or four years. I +had held volumes of Imaginary Conversations with her mother on the +subject of our union, and I had written letters more in number than +Horace Walpole’s, to that discreet woman, soliciting her daughter’s hand +in marriage. I had never had the remotest intention of sending any of +those letters; but to write them, and after a few days tear them up, had +been a sublime occupation. Sometimes, I had begun ‘Honoured Madam. I +think that a lady gifted with those powers of observation which I know +you to possess, and endowed with those womanly sympathies with the young +and ardent which it were more than heresy to doubt, can scarcely have +failed to discover that I love your adorable daughter, deeply, +devotedly.’ In less buoyant states of mind I had begun, ‘Bear with me, +Dear Madam, bear with a daring wretch who is about to make a surprising +confession to you, wholly unanticipated by yourself, and which he +beseeches you to commit to the flames as soon as you have become aware to +what a towering height his mad ambition soars.’ At other times—periods +of profound mental depression, when She had gone out to balls where I was +not—the draft took the affecting form of a paper to be left on my table +after my departure to the confines of the globe. As thus: ‘For Mrs. +Onowenever, these lines when the hand that traces them shall be far away. +I could not bear the daily torture of hopelessly loving the dear one whom +I will not name. Broiling on the coast of Africa, or congealing on the +shores of Greenland, I am far far better there than here.’ (In this +sentiment my cooler judgment perceives that the family of the beloved +object would have most completely concurred.) ‘If I ever emerge from +obscurity, and my name is ever heralded by Fame, it will be for her dear +sake. If I ever amass Gold, it will be to pour it at her feet. Should I +on the other hand become the prey of Ravens—’ I doubt if I ever quite +made up my mind what was to be done in that affecting case; I tried ‘then +it is better so;’ but not feeling convinced that it would be better so, I +vacillated between leaving all else blank, which looked expressive and +bleak, or winding up with ‘Farewell!’ + +This fictitious correspondence of mine is to blame for the foregoing +digression. I was about to pursue the statement that on my twenty-first +birthday I gave a party, and She was there. It was a beautiful party. +There was not a single animate or inanimate object connected with it +(except the company and myself) that I had ever seen before. Everything +was hired, and the mercenaries in attendance were profound strangers to +me. Behind a door, in the crumby part of the night when wine-glasses +were to be found in unexpected spots, I spoke to Her—spoke out to Her. +What passed, I cannot as a man of honour reveal. She was all angelical +gentleness, but a word was mentioned—a short and dreadful word of three +letters, beginning with a B— which, as I remarked at the moment, +‘scorched my brain.’ She went away soon afterwards, and when the hollow +throng (though to be sure it was no fault of theirs) dispersed, I issued +forth, with a dissipated scorner, and, as I mentioned expressly to him, +‘sought oblivion.’ It was found, with a dreadful headache in it, but it +didn’t last; for, in the shaming light of next day’s noon, I raised my +heavy head in bed, looking back to the birthdays behind me, and tracking +the circle by which I had got round, after all, to the bitter powder and +the wretchedness again. + +This reactionary powder (taken so largely by the human race I am inclined +to regard it as the Universal Medicine once sought for in Laboratories) +is capable of being made up in another form for birthday use. Anybody’s +long-lost brother will do ill to turn up on a birthday. If I had a +long-lost brother I should know beforehand that he would prove a +tremendous fraternal failure if he appointed to rush into my arms on my +birthday. The first Magic Lantern I ever saw, was secretly and +elaborately planned to be the great effect of a very juvenile birthday; +but it wouldn’t act, and its images were dim. My experience of adult +birthday Magic Lanterns may possibly have been unfortunate, but has +certainly been similar. I have an illustrative birthday in my eye: a +birthday of my friend Flipfield, whose birthdays had long been remarkable +as social successes. There had been nothing set or formal about them; +Flipfield having been accustomed merely to say, two or three days before, +‘Don’t forget to come and dine, old boy, according to custom;’—I don’t +know what he said to the ladies he invited, but I may safely assume it +_not_ to have been ‘old girl.’ Those were delightful gatherings, and +were enjoyed by all participators. In an evil hour, a long-lost brother +of Flipfield’s came to light in foreign parts. Where he had been hidden, +or what he had been doing, I don’t know, for Flipfield vaguely informed +me that he had turned up ‘on the banks of the Ganges’—speaking of him as +if he had been washed ashore. The Long-lost was coming home, and +Flipfield made an unfortunate calculation, based on the well-known +regularity of the P. and O. Steamers, that matters might be so contrived +as that the Long-lost should appear in the nick of time on his +(Flipfield’s) birthday. Delicacy commanded that I should repress the +gloomy anticipations with which my soul became fraught when I heard of +this plan. The fatal day arrived, and we assembled in force. Mrs. +Flipfield senior formed an interesting feature in the group, with a +blue-veined miniature of the late Mr. Flipfield round her neck, in an +oval, resembling a tart from the pastrycook’s: his hair powdered, and the +bright buttons on his coat, evidently very like. She was accompanied by +Miss Flipfield, the eldest of her numerous family, who held her +pocket-handkerchief to her bosom in a majestic manner, and spoke to all +of us (none of us had ever seen her before), in pious and condoning +tones, of all the quarrels that had taken place in the family, from her +infancy—which must have been a long time ago—down to that hour. The +Long-lost did not appear. Dinner, half an hour later than usual, was +announced, and still no Long-lost. We sat down to table. The knife and +fork of the Long-lost made a vacuum in Nature, and when the champagne +came round for the first time, Flipfield gave him up for the day, and had +them removed. It was then that the Long-lost gained the height of his +popularity with the company; for my own part, I felt convinced that I +loved him dearly. Flipfield’s dinners are perfect, and he is the easiest +and best of entertainers. Dinner went on brilliantly, and the more the +Long-lost didn’t come, the more comfortable we grew, and the more highly +we thought of him. Flipfield’s own man (who has a regard for me) was in +the act of struggling with an ignorant stipendiary, to wrest from him the +wooden leg of a Guinea-fowl which he was pressing on my acceptance, and +to substitute a slice of the breast, when a ringing at the door-bell +suspended the strife. I looked round me, and perceived the sudden pallor +which I knew my own visage revealed, reflected in the faces of the +company. Flipfield hurriedly excused himself, went out, was absent for +about a minute or two, and then re-entered with the Long-lost. + +I beg to say distinctly that if the stranger had brought Mont Blanc with +him, or had come attended by a retinue of eternal snows, he could not +have chilled the circle to the marrow in a more efficient manner. +Embodied Failure sat enthroned upon the Long-lost’s brow, and pervaded +him to his Long-lost boots. In vain Mrs. Flipfield senior, opening her +arms, exclaimed, ‘My Tom!’ and pressed his nose against the counterfeit +presentment of his other parent. In vain Miss Flipfield, in the first +transports of this re-union, showed him a dint upon her maidenly cheek, +and asked him if he remembered when he did that with the bellows? We, +the bystanders, were overcome, but overcome by the palpable, +undisguisable, utter, and total break-down of the Long-lost. Nothing he +could have done would have set him right with us but his instant return +to the Ganges. In the very same moments it became established that the +feeling was reciprocal, and that the Long-lost detested us. When a +friend of the family (not myself, upon my honour), wishing to set things +going again, asked him, while he partook of soup—asked him with an +amiability of intention beyond all praise, but with a weakness of +execution open to defeat—what kind of river he considered the Ganges, the +Long-lost, scowling at the friend of the family over his spoon, as one of +an abhorrent race, replied, ‘Why, a river of water, I suppose,’ and +spooned his soup into himself with a malignancy of hand and eye that +blighted the amiable questioner. Not an opinion could be elicited from +the Long-lost, in unison with the sentiments of any individual present. +He contradicted Flipfield dead, before he had eaten his salmon. He had +no idea—or affected to have no idea—that it was his brother’s birthday, +and on the communication of that interesting fact to him, merely wanted +to make him out four years older than he was. He was an antipathetical +being, with a peculiar power and gift of treading on everybody’s +tenderest place. They talk in America of a man’s ‘Platform.’ I should +describe the Platform of the Long-lost as a Platform composed of other +people’s corns, on which he had stumped his way, with all his might and +main, to his present position. It is needless to add that Flipfield’s +great birthday went by the board, and that he was a wreck when I +pretended at parting to wish him many happy returns of it. + +There is another class of birthdays at which I have so frequently +assisted, that I may assume such birthdays to be pretty well known to the +human race. My friend Mayday’s birthday is an example. The guests have +no knowledge of one another except on that one day in the year, and are +annually terrified for a week by the prospect of meeting one another +again. There is a fiction among us that we have uncommon reasons for +being particularly lively and spirited on the occasion, whereas deep +despondency is no phrase for the expression of our feelings. But the +wonderful feature of the case is, that we are in tacit accordance to +avoid the subject—to keep it as far off as possible, as long as +possible—and to talk about anything else, rather than the joyful event. +I may even go so far as to assert that there is a dumb compact among us +that we will pretend that it is NOT Mayday’s birthday. A mysterious and +gloomy Being, who is said to have gone to school with Mayday, and who is +so lank and lean that he seriously impugns the Dietary of the +establishment at which they were jointly educated, always leads us, as I +may say, to the block, by laying his grisly hand on a decanter and +begging us to fill our glasses. The devices and pretences that I have +seen put in practice to defer the fatal moment, and to interpose between +this man and his purpose, are innumerable. I have known desperate +guests, when they saw the grisly hand approaching the decanter, wildly to +begin, without any antecedent whatsoever, ‘That reminds me—’ and to +plunge into long stories. When at last the hand and the decanter come +together, a shudder, a palpable perceptible shudder, goes round the +table. We receive the reminder that it is Mayday’s birthday, as if it +were the anniversary of some profound disgrace he had undergone, and we +sought to comfort him. And when we have drunk Mayday’s health, and +wished him many happy returns, we are seized for some moments with a +ghastly blitheness, an unnatural levity, as if we were in the first +flushed reaction of having undergone a surgical operation. + +Birthdays of this species have a public as well as a private phase. My +‘boyhood’s home,’ Dullborough, presents a case in point. An Immortal +Somebody was wanted in Dullborough, to dimple for a day the stagnant face +of the waters; he was rather wanted by Dullborough generally, and much +wanted by the principal hotel-keeper. The County history was looked up +for a locally Immortal Somebody, but the registered Dullborough worthies +were all Nobodies. In this state of things, it is hardly necessary to +record that Dullborough did what every man does when he wants to write a +book or deliver a lecture, and is provided with all the materials except +a subject. It fell back upon Shakespeare. + +No sooner was it resolved to celebrate Shakespeare’s birthday in +Dullborough, than the popularity of the immortal bard became surprising. +You might have supposed the first edition of his works to have been +published last week, and enthusiastic Dullborough to have got half +through them. (I doubt, by the way, whether it had ever done half that, +but that is a private opinion.) A young gentleman with a sonnet, the +retention of which for two years had enfeebled his mind and undermined +his knees, got the sonnet into the Dullborough Warden, and gained flesh. +Portraits of Shakespeare broke out in the bookshop windows, and our +principal artist painted a large original portrait in oils for the +decoration of the dining-room. It was not in the least like any of the +other Portraits, and was exceedingly admired, the head being much +swollen. At the Institution, the Debating Society discussed the new +question, Was there sufficient ground for supposing that the Immortal +Shakespeare ever stole deer? This was indignantly decided by an +overwhelming majority in the negative; indeed, there was but one vote on +the Poaching side, and that was the vote of the orator who had undertaken +to advocate it, and who became quite an obnoxious character—particularly +to the Dullborough ‘roughs,’ who were about as well informed on the +matter as most other people. Distinguished speakers were invited down, +and very nearly came (but not quite). Subscriptions were opened, and +committees sat, and it would have been far from a popular measure in the +height of the excitement, to have told Dullborough that it wasn’t +Stratford-upon-Avon. Yet, after all these preparations, when the great +festivity took place, and the portrait, elevated aloft, surveyed the +company as if it were in danger of springing a mine of intellect and +blowing itself up, it did undoubtedly happen, according to the +inscrutable mysteries of things, that nobody could be induced, not to say +to touch upon Shakespeare, but to come within a mile of him, until the +crack speaker of Dullborough rose to propose the immortal memory. Which +he did with the perplexing and astonishing result that before he had +repeated the great name half-a-dozen times, or had been upon his legs as +many minutes, he was assailed with a general shout of ‘Question.’ + + + + +XXI +THE SHORT-TIMERS + + +‘WITHIN so many yards of this Covent-garden lodging of mine, as within so +many yards of Westminster Abbey, Saint Paul’s Cathedral, the Houses of +Parliament, the Prisons, the Courts of Justice, all the Institutions that +govern the land, I can find—_must_ find, whether I will or no—in the open +streets, shameful instances of neglect of children, intolerable +toleration of the engenderment of paupers, idlers, thieves, races of +wretched and destructive cripples both in body and mind, a misery to +themselves, a misery to the community, a disgrace to civilisation, and an +outrage on Christianity.—I know it to be a fact as easy of demonstration +as any sum in any of the elementary rules of arithmetic, that if the +State would begin its work and duty at the beginning, and would with the +strong hand take those children out of the streets, while they are yet +children, and wisely train them, it would make them a part of England’s +glory, not its shame—of England’s strength, not its weakness—would raise +good soldiers and sailors, and good citizens, and many great men, out of +the seeds of its criminal population. Yet I go on bearing with the +enormity as if it were nothing, and I go on reading the Parliamentary +Debates as if they were something, and I concern myself far more about +one railway-bridge across a public thoroughfare, than about a dozen +generations of scrofula, ignorance, wickedness, prostitution, poverty, +and felony. I can slip out at my door, in the small hours after any +midnight, and, in one circuit of the purlieus of Covent-garden Market, +can behold a state of infancy and youth, as vile as if a Bourbon sat upon +the English throne; a great police force looking on with authority to do +no more than worry and hunt the dreadful vermin into corners, and there +leave them. Within the length of a few streets I can find a workhouse, +mismanaged with that dull short-sighted obstinacy that its greatest +opportunities as to the children it receives are lost, and yet not a +farthing saved to any one. But the wheel goes round, and round, and +round; and because it goes round—so I am told by the politest +authorities—it goes well.’ + +Thus I reflected, one day in the Whitsun week last past, as I floated +down the Thames among the bridges, looking—not inappropriately—at the +drags that were hanging up at certain dirty stairs to hook the drowned +out, and at the numerous conveniences provided to facilitate their +tumbling in. My object in that uncommercial journey called up another +train of thought, and it ran as follows: + +‘When I was at school, one of seventy boys, I wonder by what secret +understanding our attention began to wander when we had pored over our +books for some hours. I wonder by what ingenuity we brought on that +confused state of mind when sense became nonsense, when figures wouldn’t +work, when dead languages wouldn’t construe, when live languages wouldn’t +be spoken, when memory wouldn’t come, when dulness and vacancy wouldn’t +go. I cannot remember that we ever conspired to be sleepy after dinner, +or that we ever particularly wanted to be stupid, and to have flushed +faces and hot beating heads, or to find blank hopelessness and obscurity +this afternoon in what would become perfectly clear and bright in the +freshness of to-morrow morning. We suffered for these things, and they +made us miserable enough. Neither do I remember that we ever bound +ourselves by any secret oath or other solemn obligation, to find the +seats getting too hard to be sat upon after a certain time; or to have +intolerable twitches in our legs, rendering us aggressive and malicious +with those members; or to be troubled with a similar uneasiness in our +elbows, attended with fistic consequences to our neighbours; or to carry +two pounds of lead in the chest, four pounds in the head, and several +active blue-bottles in each ear. Yet, for certain, we suffered under +those distresses, and were always charged at for labouring under them, as +if we had brought them on, of our own deliberate act and deed. As to the +mental portion of them being my own fault in my own case—I should like to +ask any well-trained and experienced teacher, not to say psychologist. +And as to the physical portion—I should like to ask PROFESSOR OWEN.’ + +It happened that I had a small bundle of papers with me, on what is +called ‘The Half-Time System’ in schools. Referring to one of those +papers I found that the indefatigable MR. CHADWICK had been beforehand +with me, and had already asked Professor Owen: who had handsomely replied +that I was not to blame, but that, being troubled with a skeleton, and +having been constituted according to certain natural laws, I and my +skeleton were unfortunately bound by those laws even in school—and had +comported ourselves accordingly. Much comforted by the good Professor’s +being on my side, I read on to discover whether the indefatigable Mr. +Chadwick had taken up the mental part of my afflictions. I found that he +had, and that he had gained on my behalf, SIR BENJAMIN BRODIE, SIR DAVID +WILKIE, SIR WALTER SCOTT, and the common sense of mankind. For which I +beg Mr. Chadwick, if this should meet his eye, to accept my warm +acknowledgments. + +Up to that time I had retained a misgiving that the seventy unfortunates +of whom I was one, must have been, without knowing it, leagued together +by the spirit of evil in a sort of perpetual Guy Fawkes Plot, to grope +about in vaults with dark lanterns after a certain period of continuous +study. But now the misgiving vanished, and I floated on with a quieted +mind to see the Half-Time System in action. For that was the purpose of +my journey, both by steamboat on the Thames, and by very dirty railway on +the shore. To which last institution, I beg to recommend the legal use +of coke as engine-fuel, rather than the illegal use of coal; the +recommendation is quite disinterested, for I was most liberally supplied +with small coal on the journey, for which no charge was made. I had not +only my eyes, nose, and ears filled, but my hat, and all my pockets, and +my pocket-book, and my watch. + +The V.D.S.C.R.C. (or Very Dirty and Small Coal Railway Company) delivered +me close to my destination, and I soon found the Half-Time System +established in spacious premises, and freely placed at my convenience and +disposal. + +What would I see first of the Half-Time System? I chose Military Drill. +‘Atten-tion!’ Instantly a hundred boys stood forth in the paved yard as +one boy; bright, quick, eager, steady, watchful for the look of command, +instant and ready for the word. Not only was there complete +precision—complete accord to the eye and to the ear—but an alertness in +the doing of the thing which deprived it, curiously, of its monotonous or +mechanical character. There was perfect uniformity, and yet an +individual spirit and emulation. No spectator could doubt that the boys +liked it. With non-commissioned officers varying from a yard to a yard +and a half high, the result could not possibly have been attained +otherwise. They marched, and counter-marched, and formed in line and +square, and company, and single file and double file, and performed a +variety of evolutions; all most admirably. In respect of an air of +enjoyable understanding of what they were about, which seems to be +forbidden to English soldiers, the boys might have been small French +troops. When they were dismissed and the broadsword exercise, limited to +a much smaller number, succeeded, the boys who had no part in that new +drill, either looked on attentively, or disported themselves in a +gymnasium hard by. The steadiness of the broadsword boys on their short +legs, and the firmness with which they sustained the different positions, +was truly remarkable. + +The broadsword exercise over, suddenly there was great excitement and a +rush. Naval Drill! + +In the corner of the ground stood a decked mimic ship, with real masts, +yards, and sails—mainmast seventy feet high. At the word of command from +the Skipper of this ship—a mahogany-faced Old Salt, with the +indispensable quid in his cheek, the true nautical roll, and all +wonderfully complete—the rigging was covered with a swarm of boys: one, +the first to spring into the shrouds, outstripping all the others, and +resting on the truck of the main-topmast in no time. + +And now we stood out to sea, in a most amazing manner; the Skipper +himself, the whole crew, the Uncommercial, and all hands present, +implicitly believing that there was not a moment to lose, that the wind +had that instant chopped round and sprung up fair, and that we were away +on a voyage round the world. Get all sail upon her! With a will, my +lads! Lay out upon the main-yard there! Look alive at the weather +earring! Cheery, my boys! Let go the sheet, now! Stand by at the +braces, you! With a will, aloft there! Belay, starboard watch! Fifer! +Come aft, fifer, and give ’em a tune! Forthwith, springs up fifer, fife +in hand—smallest boy ever seen—big lump on temple, having lately fallen +down on a paving-stone—gives ’em a tune with all his might and main. +Hoo-roar, fifer! With a will, my lads! Tip ’em a livelier one, fifer! +Fifer tips ’em a livelier one, and excitement increases. Shake ’em out, +my lads! Well done! There you have her! Pretty, pretty! Every rag +upon her she can carry, wind right astarn, and ship cutting through the +water fifteen knots an hour! + +At this favourable moment of her voyage, I gave the alarm ‘A man +overboard!’ (on the gravel), but he was immediately recovered, none the +worse. Presently, I observed the Skipper overboard, but forbore to +mention it, as he seemed in no wise disconcerted by the accident. +Indeed, I soon came to regard the Skipper as an amphibious creature, for +he was so perpetually plunging overboard to look up at the hands aloft, +that he was oftener in the bosom of the ocean than on deck. His pride in +his crew on those occasions was delightful, and the conventional +unintelligibility of his orders in the ears of uncommercial landlubbers +and loblolly boys, though they were always intelligible to the crew, was +hardly less pleasant. But we couldn’t expect to go on in this way for +ever; dirty weather came on, and then worse weather, and when we least +expected it we got into tremendous difficulties. Screw loose in the +chart perhaps—something certainly wrong somewhere—but here we were with +breakers ahead, my lads, driving head on, slap on a lee shore! The +Skipper broached this terrific announcement in such great agitation, that +the small fifer, not fifeing now, but standing looking on near the wheel +with his fife under his arm, seemed for the moment quite unboyed, though +he speedily recovered his presence of mind. In the trying circumstances +that ensued, the Skipper and the crew proved worthy of one another. The +Skipper got dreadfully hoarse, but otherwise was master of the situation. +The man at the wheel did wonders; all hands (except the fifer) were +turned up to wear ship; and I observed the fifer, when we were at our +greatest extremity, to refer to some document in his waistcoat-pocket, +which I conceived to be his will. I think she struck. I was not myself +conscious of any collision, but I saw the Skipper so very often washed +overboard and back again, that I could only impute it to the beating of +the ship. I am not enough of a seaman to describe the manœuvres by which +we were saved, but they made the Skipper very hot (French polishing his +mahogany face) and the crew very nimble, and succeeded to a marvel; for, +within a few minutes of the first alarm, we had wore ship and got her +off, and were all a-tauto—which I felt very grateful for: not that I knew +what it was, but that I perceived that we had not been all a-tauto +lately. Land now appeared on our weather-bow, and we shaped our course +for it, having the wind abeam, and frequently changing the man at the +helm, in order that every man might have his spell. We worked into +harbour under prosperous circumstances, and furled our sails, and squared +our yards, and made all ship-shape and handsome, and so our voyage ended. +When I complimented the Skipper at parting on his exertions and those of +his gallant crew, he informed me that the latter were provided for the +worst, all hands being taught to swim and dive; and he added that the +able seaman at the main-topmast truck especially, could dive as deep as +he could go high. + +The next adventure that befell me in my visit to the Short-Timers, was +the sudden apparition of a military band. I had been inspecting the +hammocks of the crew of the good ship, when I saw with astonishment that +several musical instruments, brazen and of great size, appeared to have +suddenly developed two legs each, and to be trotting about a yard. And +my astonishment was heightened when I observed a large drum, that had +previously been leaning helpless against a wall, taking up a stout +position on four legs. Approaching this drum and looking over it, I +found two boys behind it (it was too much for one), and then I found that +each of the brazen instruments had brought out a boy, and was going to +discourse sweet sounds. The boys—not omitting the fifer, now playing a +new instrument—were dressed in neat uniform, and stood up in a circle at +their music-stands, like any other Military Band. They played a march or +two, and then we had Cheer boys, Cheer, and then we had Yankee Doodle, +and we finished, as in loyal duty bound, with God save the Queen. The +band’s proficiency was perfectly wonderful, and it was not at all +wonderful that the whole body corporate of Short-Timers listened with +faces of the liveliest interest and pleasure. + +What happened next among the Short-Timers? As if the band had blown me +into a great class-room out of their brazen tubes, _in_ a great +class-room I found myself now, with the whole choral force of +Short-Timers singing the praises of a summer’s day to the harmonium, and +my small but highly respected friend the fifer blazing away vocally, as +if he had been saving up his wind for the last twelvemonth; also the +whole crew of the good ship Nameless swarming up and down the scale as if +they had never swarmed up and down the rigging. This done, we threw our +whole power into God bless the Prince of Wales, and blessed his Royal +Highness to such an extent that, for my own Uncommercial part, I gasped +again when it was over. The moment this was done, we formed, with +surpassing freshness, into hollow squares, and fell to work at oral +lessons as if we never did, and had never thought of doing, anything +else. + +Let a veil be drawn over the self-committals into which the Uncommercial +Traveller would have been betrayed but for a discreet reticence, coupled +with an air of absolute wisdom on the part of that artful personage. +Take the square of five, multiply it by fifteen, divide it by three, +deduct eight from it, add four dozen to it, give me the result in pence, +and tell me how many eggs I could get for it at three farthings apiece. +The problem is hardly stated, when a dozen small boys pour out answers. +Some wide, some very nearly right, some worked as far as they go with +such accuracy, as at once to show what link of the chain has been dropped +in the hurry. For the moment, none are quite right; but behold a +labouring spirit beating the buttons on its corporeal waistcoat, in a +process of internal calculation, and knitting an accidental bump on its +corporeal forehead in a concentration of mental arithmetic! It is my +honourable friend (if he will allow me to call him so) the fifer. With +right arm eagerly extended in token of being inspired with an answer, and +with right leg foremost, the fifer solves the mystery: then recalls both +arm and leg, and with bump in ambush awaits the next poser. Take the +square of three, multiply it by seven, divide it by four, add fifty to +it, take thirteen from it, multiply it by two, double it, give me the +result in pence, and say how many halfpence. Wise as the serpent is the +four feet of performer on the nearest approach to that instrument, whose +right arm instantly appears, and quenches this arithmetical fire. Tell +me something about Great Britain, tell me something about its principal +productions, tell me something about its ports, tell me something about +its seas and rivers, tell me something about coal, iron, cotton, timber, +tin, and turpentine. The hollow square bristles with extended right +arms; but ever faithful to fact is the fifer, ever wise as the serpent is +the performer on that instrument, ever prominently buoyant and brilliant +are all members of the band. I observe the player of the cymbals to dash +at a sounding answer now and then rather than not cut in at all; but I +take that to be in the way of his instrument. All these questions, and +many such, are put on the spur of the moment, and by one who has never +examined these boys. The Uncommercial, invited to add another, +falteringly demands how many birthdays a man born on the twenty-ninth of +February will have had on completing his fiftieth year? A general +perception of trap and pitfall instantly arises, and the fifer is seen to +retire behind the corduroys of his next neighbours, as perceiving special +necessity for collecting himself and communing with his mind. Meanwhile, +the wisdom of the serpent suggests that the man will have had only one +birthday in all that time, for how can any man have more than one, seeing +that he is born once and dies once? The blushing Uncommercial stands +corrected, and amends the formula. Pondering ensues, two or three wrong +answers are offered, and Cymbals strikes up ‘Six!’ but doesn’t know why. +Then modestly emerging from his Academic Grove of corduroys appears the +fifer, right arm extended, right leg foremost, bump irradiated. ‘Twelve, +and two over!’ + +The feminine Short-Timers passed a similar examination, and very +creditably too. Would have done better perhaps, with a little more +geniality on the part of their pupil-teacher; for a cold eye, my young +friend, and a hard, abrupt manner, are not by any means the powerful +engines that your innocence supposes them to be. Both girls and boys +wrote excellently, from copy and dictation; both could cook; both could +mend their own clothes; both could clean up everything about them in an +orderly and skilful way, the girls having womanly household knowledge +superadded. Order and method began in the songs of the Infant School +which I visited likewise, and they were even in their dwarf degree to be +found in the Nursery, where the Uncommercial walking-stick was carried +off with acclamations, and where ‘the Doctor’—a medical gentleman of two, +who took his degree on the night when he was found at an apothecary’s +door—did the honours of the establishment with great urbanity and gaiety. + +These have long been excellent schools; long before the days of the +Short-Time. I first saw them, twelve or fifteen years ago. But since +the introduction of the Short-Time system it has been proved here that +eighteen hours a week of book-learning are more profitable than +thirty-six, and that the pupils are far quicker and brighter than of +yore. The good influences of music on the whole body of children have +likewise been surprisingly proved. Obviously another of the immense +advantages of the Short-Time system to the cause of good education is the +great diminution of its cost, and of the period of time over which it +extends. The last is a most important consideration, as poor parents are +always impatient to profit by their children’s labour. + +It will be objected: Firstly, that this is all very well, but special +local advantages and special selection of children must be necessary to +such success. Secondly, that this is all very well, but must be very +expensive. Thirdly, that this is all very well, but we have no proof of +the results, sir, no proof. + +On the first head of local advantages and special selection. Would +Limehouse Hole be picked out for the site of a Children’s Paradise? Or +would the legitimate and illegitimate pauper children of the long-shore +population of such a riverside district, be regarded as unusually +favourable specimens to work with? Yet these schools are at Limehouse, +and are the Pauper Schools of the Stepney Pauper Union. + +On the second head of expense. Would sixpence a week be considered a +very large cost for the education of each pupil, including all salaries +of teachers and rations of teachers? But supposing the cost were not +sixpence a week, not fivepence? it is FOURPENCE-HALFPENNY. + +On the third head of no proof, sir, no proof. Is there any proof in the +facts that Pupil Teachers more in number, and more highly qualified, have +been produced here under the Short-Time system than under the Long-Time +system? That the Short-Timers, in a writing competition, beat the +Long-Timers of a first-class National School? That the sailor-boys are +in such demand for merchant ships, that whereas, before they were +trained, 10_l._ premium used to be given with each boy—too often to some +greedy brute of a drunken skipper, who disappeared before the term of +apprenticeship was out, if the ill-used boy didn’t—captains of the best +character now take these boys more than willingly, with no premium at +all? That they are also much esteemed in the Royal Navy, which they +prefer, ‘because everything is so neat and clean and orderly’? Or, is +there any proof in Naval captains writing ‘Your little fellows are all +that I can desire’? Or, is there any proof in such testimony as this: +‘The owner of a vessel called at the school, and said that as his ship +was going down Channel on her last voyage, with one of the boys from the +school on board, the pilot said, “It would be as well if the royal were +lowered; I wish it were down.” Without waiting for any orders, and +unobserved by the pilot, the lad, whom they had taken on board from the +school, instantly mounted the mast and lowered the royal, and at the next +glance of the pilot to the masthead, he perceived that the sail had been +let down. He exclaimed, “Who’s done that job?” The owner, who was on +board, said, “That was the little fellow whom I put on board two days +ago.” The pilot immediately said, “Why, where could he have been brought +up?” The boy had never seen the sea or been on a real ship before’? Or, +is there any proof in these boys being in greater demand for Regimental +Bands than the Union can meet? Or, in ninety-eight of them having gone +into Regimental Bands in three years? Or, in twelve of them being in the +band of one regiment? Or, in the colonel of that regiment writing, ‘We +want six more boys; they are excellent lads’? Or, in one of the boys +having risen to be band-corporal in the same regiment? Or, in employers +of all kinds chorusing, ‘Give us drilled boys, for they are prompt, +obedient, and punctual’? Other proofs I have myself beheld with these +Uncommercial eyes, though I do not regard myself as having a right to +relate in what social positions they have seen respected men and women +who were once pauper children of the Stepney Union. + +Into what admirable soldiers others of these boys have the capabilities +for being turned, I need not point out. Many of them are always +ambitious of military service; and once upon a time when an old boy came +back to see the old place, a cavalry soldier all complete, _with his +spurs on_, such a yearning broke out to get into cavalry regiments and +wear those sublime appendages, that it was one of the greatest +excitements ever known in the school. The girls make excellent domestic +servants, and at certain periods come back, a score or two at a time, to +see the old building, and to take tea with the old teachers, and to hear +the old band, and to see the old ship with her masts towering up above +the neighbouring roofs and chimneys. As to the physical health of these +schools, it is so exceptionally remarkable (simply because the sanitary +regulations are as good as the other educational arrangements), that when +Mr. TUFNELL, the Inspector, first stated it in a report, he was supposed, +in spite of his high character, to have been betrayed into some +extraordinary mistake or exaggeration. In the moral health of these +schools—where corporal punishment is unknown—Truthfulness stands high. +When the ship was first erected, the boys were forbidden to go aloft, +until the nets, which are now always there, were stretched as a +precaution against accidents. Certain boys, in their eagerness, +disobeyed the injunction, got out of window in the early daylight, and +climbed to the masthead. One boy unfortunately fell, and was killed. +There was no clue to the others; but all the boys were assembled, and the +chairman of the Board addressed them. ‘I promise nothing; you see what a +dreadful thing has happened; you know what a grave offence it is that has +led to such a consequence; I cannot say what will be done with the +offenders; but, boys, you have been trained here, above all things, to +respect the truth. I want the truth. Who are the delinquents?’ +Instantly, the whole number of boys concerned, separated from the rest, +and stood out. + +Now, the head and heart of that gentleman (it is needless to say, a good +head and a good heart) have been deeply interested in these schools for +many years, and are so still; and the establishment is very fortunate in +a most admirable master, and moreover the schools of the Stepney Union +cannot have got to be what they are, without the Stepney Board of +Guardians having been earnest and humane men strongly imbued with a sense +of their responsibility. But what one set of men can do in this wise, +another set of men can do; and this is a noble example to all other +Bodies and Unions, and a noble example to the State. Followed, and +enlarged upon by its enforcement on bad parents, it would clear London +streets of the most terrible objects they smite the sight with—myriads of +little children who awfully reverse Our Saviour’s words, and are not of +the Kingdom of Heaven, but of the Kingdom of Hell. + +Clear the public streets of such shame, and the public conscience of such +reproach? Ah! Almost prophetic, surely, the child’s jingle: + + When will that be, + Say the bells of Step-ney! + + + + +XXII +BOUND FOR THE GREAT SALT LAKE + + +BEHOLD me on my way to an Emigrant Ship, on a hot morning early in June. +My road lies through that part of London generally known to the initiated +as ‘Down by the Docks.’ Down by the Docks, is home to a good many +people—to too many, if I may judge from the overflow of local population +in the streets—but my nose insinuates that the number to whom it is Sweet +Home might be easily counted. Down by the Docks, is a region I would +choose as my point of embarkation aboard ship if I were an emigrant. It +would present my intention to me in such a sensible light; it would show +me so many things to be run away from. + +Down by the Docks, they eat the largest oysters and scatter the roughest +oyster-shells, known to the descendants of Saint George and the Dragon. +Down by the Docks, they consume the slimiest of shell-fish, which seem to +have been scraped off the copper bottoms of ships. Down by the Docks, +the vegetables at green-grocers’ doors acquire a saline and a scaly look, +as if they had been crossed with fish and seaweed. Down by the Docks, +they ‘board seamen’ at the eating-houses, the public-houses, the +slop-shops, the coffee-shops, the tally-shops, all kinds of shops +mentionable and unmentionable—board them, as it were, in the piratical +sense, making them bleed terribly, and giving no quarter. Down by the +Docks, the seamen roam in mid-street and mid-day, their pockets inside +out, and their heads no better. Down by the Docks, the daughters of +wave-ruling Britannia also rove, clad in silken attire, with uncovered +tresses streaming in the breeze, bandanna kerchiefs floating from their +shoulders, and crinoline not wanting. Down by the Docks, you may hear +the Incomparable Joe Jackson sing the Standard of England, with a +hornpipe, any night; or any day may see at the waxwork, for a penny and +no waiting, him as killed the policeman at Acton and suffered for it. +Down by the Docks, you may buy polonies, saveloys, and sausage +preparations various, if you are not particular what they are made of +besides seasoning. Down by the Docks, the children of Israel creep into +any gloomy cribs and entries they can hire, and hang slops there—pewter +watches, sou’-wester hats, waterproof overalls—‘firtht rate articleth, +Thjack.’ Down by the Docks, such dealers exhibiting on a frame a +complete nautical suit without the refinement of a waxen visage in the +hat, present the imaginary wearer as drooping at the yard-arm, with his +seafaring and earthfaring troubles over. Down by the Docks, the placards +in the shops apostrophise the customer, knowing him familiarly +beforehand, as, ‘Look here, Jack!’ ‘Here’s your sort, my lad!’ ‘Try our +sea-going mixed, at two and nine!’ ‘The right kit for the British tar!’ +‘Ship ahoy!’ ‘Splice the main-brace, brother!’ ‘Come, cheer up, my +lads. We’ve the best liquors here, And you’ll find something new In our +wonderful Beer!’ Down by the Docks, the pawnbroker lends money on +Union-Jack pocket-handkerchiefs, on watches with little ships pitching +fore and aft on the dial, on telescopes, nautical instruments in cases, +and such-like. Down by the Docks, the apothecary sets up in business on +the wretchedest scale—chiefly on lint and plaster for the strapping of +wounds—and with no bright bottles, and with no little drawers. Down by +the Docks, the shabby undertaker’s shop will bury you for next to +nothing, after the Malay or Chinaman has stabbed you for nothing at all: +so you can hardly hope to make a cheaper end. Down by the Docks, anybody +drunk will quarrel with anybody drunk or sober, and everybody else will +have a hand in it, and on the shortest notice you may revolve in a +whirlpool of red shirts, shaggy beards, wild heads of hair, bare tattooed +arms, Britannia’s daughters, malice, mud, maundering, and madness. Down +by the Docks, scraping fiddles go in the public-houses all day long, and, +shrill above their din and all the din, rises the screeching of +innumerable parrots brought from foreign parts, who appear to be very +much astonished by what they find on these native shores of ours. +Possibly the parrots don’t know, possibly they do, that Down by the Docks +is the road to the Pacific Ocean, with its lovely islands, where the +savage girls plait flowers, and the savage boys carve cocoa-nut shells, +and the grim blind idols muse in their shady groves to exactly the same +purpose as the priests and chiefs. And possibly the parrots don’t know, +possibly they do, that the noble savage is a wearisome impostor wherever +he is, and has five hundred thousand volumes of indifferent rhyme, and no +reason, to answer for. + +Shadwell church! Pleasant whispers of there being a fresher air down the +river than down by the Docks, go pursuing one another, playfully, in and +out of the openings in its spire. Gigantic in the basin just beyond the +church, looms my Emigrant Ship: her name, the Amazon. Her figure-head is +not disfigured as those beauteous founders of the race of strong-minded +women are fabled to have been, for the convenience of drawing the bow; +but I sympathise with the carver: + + A flattering carver who made it his care + To carve busts as they ought to be—not as they were. + +My Emigrant Ship lies broadside-on to the wharf. Two great gangways made +of spars and planks connect her with the wharf; and up and down these +gangways, perpetually crowding to and fro and in and out, like ants, are +the Emigrants who are going to sail in my Emigrant Ship. Some with +cabbages, some with loaves of bread, some with cheese and butter, some +with milk and beer, some with boxes, beds, and bundles, some with +babies—nearly all with children—nearly all with bran-new tin cans for +their daily allowance of water, uncomfortably suggestive of a tin flavour +in the drink. To and fro, up and down, aboard and ashore, swarming here +and there and everywhere, my Emigrants. And still as the Dock-Gate +swings upon its hinges, cabs appear, and carts appear, and vans appear, +bringing more of my Emigrants, with more cabbages, more loaves, more +cheese and butter, more milk and beer, more boxes, beds, and bundles, +more tin cans, and on those shipping investments accumulated compound +interest of children. + +I go aboard my Emigrant Ship. I go first to the great cabin, and find it +in the usual condition of a Cabin at that pass. Perspiring landsmen, +with loose papers, and with pens and inkstands, pervade it; and the +general appearance of things is as if the late Mr. Amazon’s funeral had +just come home from the cemetery, and the disconsolate Mrs. Amazon’s +trustees found the affairs in great disorder, and were looking high and +low for the will. I go out on the poop-deck, for air, and surveying the +emigrants on the deck below (indeed they are crowded all about me, up +there too), find more pens and inkstands in action, and more papers, and +interminable complication respecting accounts with individuals for tin +cans and what not. But nobody is in an ill-temper, nobody is the worse +for drink, nobody swears an oath or uses a coarse word, nobody appears +depressed, nobody is weeping, and down upon the deck in every corner +where it is possible to find a few square feet to kneel, crouch, or lie +in, people, in every unsuitable attitude for writing, are writing +letters. + +Now, I have seen emigrant ships before this day in June. And these +people are so strikingly different from all other people in like +circumstances whom I have ever seen, that I wonder aloud, ‘What _would_ a +stranger suppose these emigrants to be!’ + +The vigilant, bright face of the weather-browned captain of the Amazon is +at my shoulder, and he says, ‘What, indeed! The most of these came +aboard yesterday evening. They came from various parts of England in +small parties that had never seen one another before. Yet they had not +been a couple of hours on board, when they established their own police, +made their own regulations, and set their own watches at all the +hatchways. Before nine o’clock, the ship was as orderly and as quiet as +a man-of-war.’ + +I looked about me again, and saw the letter-writing going on with the +most curious composure. Perfectly abstracted in the midst of the crowd; +while great casks were swinging aloft, and being lowered into the hold; +while hot agents were hurrying up and down, adjusting the interminable +accounts; while two hundred strangers were searching everywhere for two +hundred other strangers, and were asking questions about them of two +hundred more; while the children played up and down all the steps, and in +and out among all the people’s legs, and were beheld, to the general +dismay, toppling over all the dangerous places; the letter-writers wrote +on calmly. On the starboard side of the ship, a grizzled man dictated a +long letter to another grizzled man in an immense fur cap: which letter +was of so profound a quality, that it became necessary for the amanuensis +at intervals to take off his fur cap in both his hands, for the +ventilation of his brain, and stare at him who dictated, as a man of many +mysteries who was worth looking at. On the lar-board side, a woman had +covered a belaying-pin with a white cloth to make a neat desk of it, and +was sitting on a little box, writing with the deliberation of a +bookkeeper. Down, upon her breast on the planks of the deck at this +woman’s feet, with her head diving in under a beam of the bulwarks on +that side, as an eligible place of refuge for her sheet of paper, a neat +and pretty girl wrote for a good hour (she fainted at last), only rising +to the surface occasionally for a dip of ink. Alongside the boat, close +to me on the poop-deck, another girl, a fresh, well-grown country girl, +was writing another letter on the bare deck. Later in the day, when this +self-same boat was filled with a choir who sang glees and catches for a +long time, one of the singers, a girl, sang her part mechanically all the +while, and wrote a letter in the bottom of the boat while doing so. + +‘A stranger would be puzzled to guess the right name for these people, +Mr. Uncommercial,’ says the captain. + +‘Indeed he would.’ + +‘If you hadn’t known, could you ever have supposed—?’ + +‘How could I! I should have said they were in their degree, the pick and +flower of England.’ + +‘So should I,’ says the captain. + +‘How many are they?’ + +‘Eight hundred in round numbers.’ + +I went between-decks, where the families with children swarmed in the +dark, where unavoidable confusion had been caused by the last arrivals, +and where the confusion was increased by the little preparations for +dinner that were going on in each group. A few women here and there, had +got lost, and were laughing at it, and asking their way to their own +people, or out on deck again. A few of the poor children were crying; +but otherwise the universal cheerfulness was amazing. ‘We shall shake +down by to-morrow.’ ‘We shall come all right in a day or so.’ ‘We shall +have more light at sea.’ Such phrases I heard everywhere, as I groped my +way among chests and barrels and beams and unstowed cargo and ring-bolts +and Emigrants, down to the lower-deck, and thence up to the light of day +again, and to my former station. + +Surely, an extraordinary people in their power of self-abstraction! All +the former letter-writers were still writing calmly, and many more +letter-writers had broken out in my absence. A boy with a bag of books +in his hand and a slate under his arm, emerged from below, concentrated +himself in my neighbourhood (espying a convenient skylight for his +purpose), and went to work at a sum as if he were stone deaf. A father +and mother and several young children, on the main deck below me, had +formed a family circle close to the foot of the crowded restless gangway, +where the children made a nest for themselves in a coil of rope, and the +father and mother, she suckling the youngest, discussed family affairs as +peaceably as if they were in perfect retirement. I think the most +noticeable characteristic in the eight hundred as a mass, was their +exemption from hurry. + +Eight hundred what? ‘Geese, villain?’ EIGHT HUNDRED MORMONS. I, +Uncommercial Traveller for the firm of Human Interest Brothers, had come +aboard this Emigrant Ship to see what Eight hundred Latter-day Saints +were like, and I found them (to the rout and overthrow of all my +expectations) like what I now describe with scrupulous exactness. + +The Mormon Agent who had been active in getting them together, and in +making the contract with my friends the owners of the ship to take them +as far as New York on their way to the Great Salt Lake, was pointed out +to me. A compactly-made handsome man in black, rather short, with rich +brown hair and beard, and clear bright eyes. From his speech, I should +set him down as American. Probably, a man who had ‘knocked about the +world’ pretty much. A man with a frank open manner, and unshrinking +look; withal a man of great quickness. I believe he was wholly ignorant +of my Uncommercial individuality, and consequently of my immense +Uncommercial importance. + +UNCOMMERCIAL. These are a very fine set of people you have brought +together here. + +MORMON AGENT. Yes, sir, they are a _very_ fine set of people. + +UNCOMMERCIAL (looking about). Indeed, I think it would be difficult to +find Eight hundred people together anywhere else, and find so much beauty +and so much strength and capacity for work among them. + +MORMON AGENT (not looking about, but looking steadily at Uncommercial). +I think so.—We sent out about a thousand more, yes’day, from Liverpool. + +UNCOMMERCIAL. You are not going with these emigrants? + +MORMON AGENT. No, sir. I remain. + +UNCOMMERCIAL. But you have been in the Mormon Territory? + +MORMON AGENT. Yes; I left Utah about three years ago. + +UNCOMMERCIAL. It is surprising to me that these people are all so +cheery, and make so little of the immense distance before them. + +MORMON AGENT. Well, you see; many of ’em have friends out at Utah, and +many of ’em look forward to meeting friends on the way. + +UNCOMMERCIAL. On the way? + +MORMON AGENT. This way ’tis. This ship lands ’em in New York City. +Then they go on by rail right away beyond St. Louis, to that part of the +Banks of the Missouri where they strike the Plains. There, waggons from +the settlement meet ’em to bear ’em company on their journey +’cross-twelve hundred miles about. Industrious people who come out to +the settlement soon get waggons of their own, and so the friends of some +of these will come down in their own waggons to meet ’em. They look +forward to that, greatly. + +UNCOMMERCIAL. On their long journey across the Desert, do you arm them? + +MORMON AGENT. Mostly you would find they have arms of some kind or +another already with them. Such as had not arms we should arm across the +Plains, for the general protection and defence. + +UNCOMMERCIAL. Will these waggons bring down any produce to the Missouri? + +MORMON AGENT. Well, since the war broke out, we’ve taken to growing +cotton, and they’ll likely bring down cotton to be exchanged for +machinery. We want machinery. Also we have taken to growing indigo, +which is a fine commodity for profit. It has been found that the climate +on the further side of the Great Salt Lake suits well for raising indigo. + +UNCOMMERCIAL. I am told that these people now on board are principally +from the South of England? + +MORMON AGENT. And from Wales. That’s true. + +UNCOMMERCIAL. Do you get many Scotch? + +MORMON AGENT. Not many. + +UNCOMMERCIAL. Highlanders, for instance? + +MORMON AGENT. No, not Highlanders. They ain’t interested enough in +universal brotherhood and peace and good will. + +UNCOMMERCIAL. The old fighting blood is strong in them? + +MORMON AGENT. Well, yes. And besides; they’ve no faith. + +UNCOMMERCIAL (who has been burning to get at the Prophet Joe Smith, and +seems to discover an opening). Faith in—! + +MORMON AGENT (far too many for Uncommercial). Well.—In anything! + +Similarly on this same head, the Uncommercial underwent discomfiture from +a Wiltshire labourer: a simple, fresh-coloured farm-labourer, of +eight-and-thirty, who at one time stood beside him looking on at new +arrivals, and with whom he held this dialogue: + +UNCOMMERCIAL. Would you mind my asking you what part of the country you +come from? + +WILTSHIRE. Not a bit. Theer! (exultingly) I’ve worked all my life o’ +Salisbury Plain, right under the shadder o’ Stonehenge. You mightn’t +think it, but I haive. + +UNCOMMERCIAL. And a pleasant country too. + +WILTSHIRE. Ah! ’Tis a pleasant country. + +UNCOMMERCIAL. Have you any family on board? + +WILTSHIRE. Two children, boy and gal. I am a widderer, _I_ am, and I’m +going out alonger my boy and gal. That’s my gal, and she’s a fine gal o’ +sixteen (pointing out the girl who is writing by the boat). I’ll go and +fetch my boy. I’d like to show you my boy. (Here Wiltshire disappears, +and presently comes back with a big, shy boy of twelve, in a +superabundance of boots, who is not at all glad to be presented.) He is +a fine boy too, and a boy fur to work! (Boy having undutifully bolted, +Wiltshire drops him.) + +UNCOMMERCIAL. It must cost you a great deal of money to go so far, three +strong. + +WILTSHIRE. A power of money. Theer! Eight shillen a week, eight +shillen a week, eight shillen a week, put by out of the week’s wages for +ever so long. + +UNCOMMERCIAL. I wonder how you did it. + +WILTSHIRE (recognising in this a kindred spirit). See theer now! I +wonder how I done it! But what with a bit o’ subscription heer, and what +with a bit o’ help theer, it were done at last, though I don’t hardly +know how. Then it were unfort’net for us, you see, as we got kep’ in +Bristol so long—nigh a fortnight, it were—on accounts of a mistake wi’ +Brother Halliday. Swaller’d up money, it did, when we might have come +straight on. + +UNCOMMERCIAL (delicately approaching Joe Smith). You are of the Mormon +religion, of course? + +WILTSHIRE (confidently). O yes, I’m a Mormon. (Then reflectively.) I’m +a Mormon. (Then, looking round the ship, feigns to descry a particular +friend in an empty spot, and evades the Uncommercial for evermore.) + +After a noontide pause for dinner, during which my Emigrants were nearly +all between-decks, and the Amazon looked deserted, a general muster took +place. The muster was for the ceremony of passing the Government +Inspector and the Doctor. Those authorities held their temporary state +amidships, by a cask or two; and, knowing that the whole Eight hundred +emigrants must come face to face with them, I took my station behind the +two. They knew nothing whatever of me, I believe, and my testimony to +the unpretending gentleness and good nature with which they discharged +their duty, may be of the greater worth. There was not the slightest +flavour of the Circumlocution Office about their proceedings. + +The emigrants were now all on deck. They were densely crowded aft, and +swarmed upon the poop-deck like bees. Two or three Mormon agents stood +ready to hand them on to the Inspector, and to hand them forward when +they had passed. By what successful means, a special aptitude for +organisation had been infused into these people, I am, of course, unable +to report. But I know that, even now, there was no disorder, hurry, or +difficulty. + +All being ready, the first group are handed on. That member of the party +who is entrusted with the passenger-ticket for the whole, has been warned +by one of the agents to have it ready, and here it is in his hand. In +every instance through the whole eight hundred, without an exception, +this paper is always ready. + +INSPECTOR (reading the ticket). Jessie Jobson, Sophronia Jobson, Jessie +Jobson again, Matilda Jobson, William Jobson, Jane Jobson, Matilda Jobson +again, Brigham Jobson, Leonardo Jobson, and Orson Jobson. Are you all +here? (glancing at the party, over his spectacles). + +JESSIE JOBSON NUMBER TWO. All here, sir. + +This group is composed of an old grandfather and grandmother, their +married son and his wife, and _their_ family of children. Orson Jobson +is a little child asleep in his mother’s arms. The Doctor, with a kind +word or so, lifts up the corner of the mother’s shawl, looks at the +child’s face, and touches the little clenched hand. If we were all as +well as Orson Jobson, doctoring would be a poor profession. + +INSPECTOR. Quite right, Jessie Jobson. Take your ticket, Jessie, and +pass on. + +And away they go. Mormon agent, skilful and quiet, hands them on. +Mormon agent, skilful and quiet, hands next party up. + +INSPECTOR (reading ticket again). Susannah Cleverly and William +Cleverly. Brother and sister, eh? + +SISTER (young woman of business, hustling slow brother). Yes, sir. + +INSPECTOR. Very good, Susannah Cleverly. Take your ticket, Susannah, +and take care of it. + +And away they go. + +INSPECTOR (taking ticket again). Sampson Dibble and Dorothy Dibble +(surveying a very old couple over his spectacles, with some surprise). +Your husband quite blind, Mrs. Dibble? + +MRS. DIBBLE. Yes, sir, he be stone-blind. + +MR. DIBBLE (addressing the mast). Yes, sir, I be stone-blind. + +INSPECTOR. That’s a bad job. Take your ticket, Mrs. Dibble, and don’t +lose it, and pass on. + +Doctor taps Mr. Dibble on the eyebrow with his forefinger, and away they +go. + +INSPECTOR (taking ticket again). Anastatia Weedle. + +ANASTATIA (a pretty girl, in a bright Garibaldi, this morning elected by +universal suffrage the Beauty of the Ship). That is me, sir. + +INSPECTOR. Going alone, Anastatia? + +ANASTATIA (shaking her curls). I am with Mrs. Jobson, sir, but I’ve got +separated for the moment. + +INSPECTOR. Oh! You are with the Jobsons? Quite right. That’ll do, +Miss Weedle. Don’t lose your ticket. + +Away she goes, and joins the Jobsons who are waiting for her, and stoops +and kisses Brigham Jobson—who appears to be considered too young for the +purpose, by several Mormons rising twenty, who are looking on. Before +her extensive skirts have departed from the casks, a decent widow stands +there with four children, and so the roll goes. + +The faces of some of the Welsh people, among whom there were many old +persons, were certainly the least intelligent. Some of these emigrants +would have bungled sorely, but for the directing hand that was always +ready. The intelligence here was unquestionably of a low order, and the +heads were of a poor type. Generally the case was the reverse. There +were many worn faces bearing traces of patient poverty and hard work, and +there was great steadiness of purpose and much undemonstrative +self-respect among this class. A few young men were going singly. +Several girls were going, two or three together. These latter I found it +very difficult to refer back, in my mind, to their relinquished homes and +pursuits. Perhaps they were more like country milliners, and pupil +teachers rather tawdrily dressed, than any other classes of young women. +I noticed, among many little ornaments worn, more than one +photograph-brooch of the Princess of Wales, and also of the late Prince +Consort. Some single women of from thirty to forty, whom one might +suppose to be embroiderers, or straw-bonnet-makers, were obviously going +out in quest of husbands, as finer ladies go to India. That they had any +distinct notions of a plurality of husbands or wives, I do not believe. +To suppose the family groups of whom the majority of emigrants were +composed, polygamically possessed, would be to suppose an absurdity, +manifest to any one who saw the fathers and mothers. + +I should say (I had no means of ascertaining the fact) that most familiar +kinds of handicraft trades were represented here. Farm-labourers, +shepherds, and the like, had their full share of representation, but I +doubt if they preponderated. It was interesting to see how the leading +spirit in the family circle never failed to show itself, even in the +simple process of answering to the names as they were called, and +checking off the owners of the names. Sometimes it was the father, much +oftener the mother, sometimes a quick little girl second or third in +order of seniority. It seemed to occur for the first time to some heavy +fathers, what large families they had; and their eyes rolled about, +during the calling of the list, as if they half misdoubted some other +family to have been smuggled into their own. Among all the fine handsome +children, I observed but two with marks upon their necks that were +probably scrofulous. Out of the whole number of emigrants, but one old +woman was temporarily set aside by the doctor, on suspicion of fever; but +even she afterwards obtained a clean bill of health. + +When all had ‘passed,’ and the afternoon began to wear on, a black box +became visible on deck, which box was in charge of certain personages +also in black, of whom only one had the conventional air of an itinerant +preacher. This box contained a supply of hymn-books, neatly printed and +got up, published at Liverpool, and also in London at the ‘Latter-Day +Saints’ Book Depôt, 30, Florence-street.’ Some copies were handsomely +bound; the plainer were the more in request, and many were bought. The +title ran: ‘Sacred Hymns and Spiritual Songs for the Church of Jesus +Church of Latter-Day Saints.’ The Preface, dated Manchester, 1840, ran +thus:—‘The Saints in this country have been very desirous for a Hymn Book +adapted to their faith and worship, that they might sing the truth with +an understanding heart, and express their praise, joy, and gratitude in +songs adapted to the New and Everlasting Covenant. In accordance with +their wishes, we have selected the following volume, which we hope will +prove acceptable until a greater variety can be added. With sentiments +of high consideration and esteem, we subscribe ourselves your brethren in +the New and Everlasting Covenant, BRIGHAM YOUNG, PARLEY P. PRATT, JOHN +TAYLOR.’ From this book—by no means explanatory to myself of the New and +Everlasting Covenant, and not at all making my heart an understanding one +on the subject of that mystery—a hymn was sung, which did not attract any +great amount of attention, and was supported by a rather select circle. +But the choir in the boat was very popular and pleasant; and there was to +have been a Band, only the Cornet was late in coming on board. In the +course of the afternoon, a mother appeared from shore, in search of her +daughter, ‘who had run away with the Mormons.’ She received every +assistance from the Inspector, but her daughter was not found to be on +board. The saints did not seem to me, particularly interested in finding +her. + +Towards five o’clock, the galley became full of tea-kettles, and an +agreeable fragrance of tea pervaded the ship. There was no scrambling or +jostling for the hot water, no ill humour, no quarrelling. As the Amazon +was to sail with the next tide, and as it would not be high water before +two o’clock in the morning, I left her with her tea in full action, and +her idle Steam Tug lying by, deputing steam and smoke for the time being +to the Tea-kettles. + +I afterwards learned that a Despatch was sent home by the captain before +he struck out into the wide Atlantic, highly extolling the behaviour of +these Emigrants, and the perfect order and propriety of all their social +arrangements. What is in store for the poor people on the shores of the +Great Salt Lake, what happy delusions they are labouring under now, on +what miserable blindness their eyes may be opened then, I do not pretend +to say. But I went on board their ship to bear testimony against them if +they deserved it, as I fully believed they would; to my great +astonishment they did not deserve it; and my predispositions and +tendencies must not affect me as an honest witness. I went over the +Amazon’s side, feeling it impossible to deny that, so far, some +remarkable influence had produced a remarkable result, which better known +influences have often missed. {188} + + + + +XXIII +THE CITY OF THE ABSENT + + +WHEN I think I deserve particularly well of myself, and have earned the +right to enjoy a little treat, I stroll from Covent-garden into the City +of London, after business-hours there, on a Saturday, or—better yet—on a +Sunday, and roam about its deserted nooks and corners. It is necessary +to the full enjoyment of these journeys that they should be made in +summer-time, for then the retired spots that I love to haunt, are at +their idlest and dullest. A gentle fall of rain is not objectionable, +and a warm mist sets off my favourite retreats to decided advantage. + +Among these, City Churchyards hold a high place. Such strange +churchyards hide in the City of London; churchyards sometimes so entirely +detached from churches, always so pressed upon by houses; so small, so +rank, so silent, so forgotten, except by the few people who ever look +down into them from their smoky windows. As I stand peeping in through +the iron gates and rails, I can peel the rusty metal off, like bark from +an old tree. The illegible tombstones are all lop-sided, the +grave-mounds lost their shape in the rains of a hundred years ago, the +Lombardy Poplar or Plane-Tree that was once a drysalter’s daughter and +several common-councilmen, has withered like those worthies, and its +departed leaves are dust beneath it. Contagion of slow ruin overhangs +the place. The discoloured tiled roofs of the environing buildings stand +so awry, that they can hardly be proof against any stress of weather. +Old crazy stacks of chimneys seem to look down as they overhang, +dubiously calculating how far they will have to fall. In an angle of the +walls, what was once the tool-house of the grave-digger rots away, +encrusted with toadstools. Pipes and spouts for carrying off the rain +from the encompassing gables, broken or feloniously cut for old lead long +ago, now let the rain drip and splash as it list, upon the weedy earth. +Sometimes there is a rusty pump somewhere near, and, as I look in at the +rails and meditate, I hear it working under an unknown hand with a +creaking protest: as though the departed in the churchyard urged, ‘Let us +lie here in peace; don’t suck us up and drink us!’ + +One of my best beloved churchyards, I call the churchyard of Saint +Ghastly Grim; touching what men in general call it, I have no +information. It lies at the heart of the City, and the Blackwall Railway +shrieks at it daily. It is a small small churchyard, with a ferocious, +strong, spiked iron gate, like a jail. This gate is ornamented with +skulls and cross-bones, larger than the life, wrought in stone; but it +likewise came into the mind of Saint Ghastly Grim, that to stick iron +spikes a-top of the stone skulls, as though they were impaled, would be a +pleasant device. Therefore the skulls grin aloft horribly, thrust +through and through with iron spears. Hence, there is attraction of +repulsion for me in Saint Ghastly Grim, and, having often contemplated it +in the daylight and the dark, I once felt drawn towards it in a +thunderstorm at midnight. ‘Why not?’ I said, in self-excuse. ‘I have +been to see the Colosseum by the light of the moon; is it worse to go to +see Saint Ghastly Grim by the light of the lightning?’ I repaired to the +Saint in a hackney cab, and found the skulls most effective, having the +air of a public execution, and seeming, as the lightning flashed, to wink +and grin with the pain of the spikes. Having no other person to whom to +impart my satisfaction, I communicated it to the driver. So far from +being responsive, he surveyed me—he was naturally a bottled-nosed, +red-faced man—with a blanched countenance. And as he drove me back, he +ever and again glanced in over his shoulder through the little front +window of his carriage, as mistrusting that I was a fare originally from +a grave in the churchyard of Saint Ghastly Grim, who might have flitted +home again without paying. + +Sometimes, the queer Hall of some queer Company gives upon a churchyard +such as this, and, when the Livery dine, you may hear them (if you are +looking in through the iron rails, which you never are when I am) +toasting their own Worshipful prosperity. Sometimes, a wholesale house +of business, requiring much room for stowage, will occupy one or two or +even all three sides of the enclosing space, and the backs of bales of +goods will lumber up the windows, as if they were holding some crowded +trade-meeting of themselves within. Sometimes, the commanding windows +are all blank, and show no more sign of life than the graves below—not so +much, for _they_ tell of what once upon a time was life undoubtedly. +Such was the surrounding of one City churchyard that I saw last summer, +on a Volunteering Saturday evening towards eight of the clock, when with +astonishment I beheld an old old man and an old old woman in it, making +hay. Yes, of all occupations in this world, making hay! It was a very +confined patch of churchyard lying between Gracechurch-street and the +Tower, capable of yielding, say an apronful of hay. By what means the +old old man and woman had got into it, with an almost toothless +hay-making rake, I could not fathom. No open window was within view; no +window at all was within view, sufficiently near the ground to have +enabled their old legs to descend from it; the rusty churchyard-gate was +locked, the mouldy church was locked. Gravely among the graves, they +made hay, all alone by themselves. They looked like Time and his wife. +There was but the one rake between them, and they both had hold of it in +a pastorally-loving manner, and there was hay on the old woman’s black +bonnet, as if the old man had recently been playful. The old man was +quite an obsolete old man, in knee-breeches and coarse grey stockings, +and the old woman wore mittens like unto his stockings in texture and in +colour. They took no heed of me as I looked on, unable to account for +them. The old woman was much too bright for a pew-opener, the old man +much too meek for a beadle. On an old tombstone in the foreground +between me and them, were two cherubim; but for those celestial +embellishments being represented as having no possible use for +knee-breeches, stockings, or mittens, I should have compared them with +the hay-makers, and sought a likeness. I coughed and awoke the echoes, +but the hay-makers never looked at me. They used the rake with a +measured action, drawing the scanty crop towards them; and so I was fain +to leave them under three yards and a half of darkening sky, gravely +making hay among the graves, all alone by themselves. Perhaps they were +Spectres, and I wanted a Medium. + +In another City churchyard of similar cramped dimensions, I saw, that +selfsame summer, two comfortable charity children. They were making +love—tremendous proof of the vigour of that immortal article, for they +were in the graceful uniform under which English Charity delights to hide +herself—and they were overgrown, and their legs (his legs at least, for I +am modestly incompetent to speak of hers) were as much in the wrong as +mere passive weakness of character can render legs. O it was a leaden +churchyard, but no doubt a golden ground to those young persons! I first +saw them on a Saturday evening, and, perceiving from their occupation +that Saturday evening was their trysting-time, I returned that evening +se’nnight, and renewed the contemplation of them. They came there to +shake the bits of matting which were spread in the church aisles, and +they afterwards rolled them up, he rolling his end, she rolling hers, +until they met, and over the two once divided now united rolls—sweet +emblem!—gave and received a chaste salute. It was so refreshing to find +one of my faded churchyards blooming into flower thus, that I returned a +second time, and a third, and ultimately this befell:—They had left the +church door open, in their dusting and arranging. Walking in to look at +the church, I became aware, by the dim light, of him in the pulpit, of +her in the reading-desk, of him looking down, of her looking up, +exchanging tender discourse. Immediately both dived, and became as it +were non-existent on this sphere. With an assumption of innocence I +turned to leave the sacred edifice, when an obese form stood in the +portal, puffily demanding Joseph, or in default of Joseph, Celia. Taking +this monster by the sleeve, and luring him forth on pretence of showing +him whom he sought, I gave time for the emergence of Joseph and Celia, +who presently came towards us in the churchyard, bending under dusty +matting, a picture of thriving and unconscious industry. It would be +superfluous to hint that I have ever since deemed this the proudest +passage in my life. + +But such instances, or any tokens of vitality, are rare indeed in my City +churchyards. A few sparrows occasionally try to raise a lively chirrup +in their solitary tree—perhaps, as taking a different view of worms from +that entertained by humanity—but they are flat and hoarse of voice, like +the clerk, the organ, the bell, the clergyman, and all the rest of the +Church-works when they are wound up for Sunday. Caged larks, thrushes, +or blackbirds, hanging in neighbouring courts, pour forth their strains +passionately, as scenting the tree, trying to break out, and see leaves +again before they die, but their song is Willow, Willow—of a churchyard +cast. So little light lives inside the churches of my churchyards, when +the two are co-existent, that it is often only by an accident and after +long acquaintance that I discover their having stained glass in some odd +window. The westering sun slants into the churchyard by some unwonted +entry, a few prismatic tears drop on an old tombstone, and a window that +I thought was only dirty, is for the moment all bejewelled. Then the +light passes and the colours die. Though even then, if there be room +enough for me to fall back so far as that I can gaze up to the top of the +Church Tower, I see the rusty vane new burnished, and seeming to look out +with a joyful flash over the sea of smoke at the distant shore of +country. + +Blinking old men who are let out of workhouses by the hour, have a +tendency to sit on bits of coping stone in these churchyards, leaning +with both hands on their sticks and asthmatically gasping. The more +depressed class of beggars too, bring hither broken meats, and munch. I +am on nodding terms with a meditative turncock who lingers in one of +them, and whom I suspect of a turn for poetry; the rather, as he looks +out of temper when he gives the fire-plug a disparaging wrench with that +large tuning-fork of his which would wear out the shoulder of his coat, +but for a precautionary piece of inlaid leather. Fire-ladders, which I +am satisfied nobody knows anything about, and the keys of which were lost +in ancient times, moulder away in the larger churchyards, under eaves +like wooden eyebrows; and so removed are those corners from the haunts of +men and boys, that once on a fifth of November I found a ‘Guy’ trusted to +take care of himself there, while his proprietors had gone to dinner. Of +the expression of his face I cannot report, because it was turned to the +wall; but his shrugged shoulders and his ten extended fingers, appeared +to denote that he had moralised in his little straw chair on the mystery +of mortality until he gave it up as a bad job. + +You do not come upon these churchyards violently; there are shapes of +transition in the neighbourhood. An antiquated news shop, or barber’s +shop, apparently bereft of customers in the earlier days of George the +Third, would warn me to look out for one, if any discoveries in this +respect were left for me to make. A very quiet court, in combination +with an unaccountable dyer’s and scourer’s, would prepare me for a +churchyard. An exceedingly retiring public-house, with a bagatelle-board +shadily visible in a sawdusty parlour shaped like an omnibus, and with a +shelf of punch-bowls in the bar, would apprise me that I stood near +consecrated ground. A ‘Dairy,’ exhibiting in its modest window one very +little milk-can and three eggs, would suggest to me the certainty of +finding the poultry hard by, pecking at my forefathers. I first inferred +the vicinity of Saint Ghastly Grim, from a certain air of extra repose +and gloom pervading a vast stack of warehouses. + +From the hush of these places, it is congenial to pass into the hushed +resorts of business. Down the lanes I like to see the carts and waggons +huddled together in repose, the cranes idle, and the warehouses shut. +Pausing in the alleys behind the closed Banks of mighty Lombard-street, +it gives one as good as a rich feeling to think of the broad counters +with a rim along the edge, made for telling money out on, the scales for +weighing precious metals, the ponderous ledgers, and, above all, the +bright copper shovels for shovelling gold. When I draw money, it never +seems so much money as when it is shovelled at me out of a bright copper +shovel. I like to say, ‘In gold,’ and to see seven pounds musically +pouring out of the shovel, like seventy; the Bank appearing to remark to +me—I italicise _appearing_—‘if you want more of this yellow earth, we +keep it in barrows at your service.’ To think of the banker’s clerk with +his deft finger turning the crisp edges of the Hundred-Pound Notes he has +taken in a fat roll out of a drawer, is again to hear the rustling of +that delicious south-cash wind. ‘How will you have it?’ I once heard +this usual question asked at a Bank Counter of an elderly female, habited +in mourning and steeped in simplicity, who answered, open-eyed, +crook-fingered, laughing with expectation, ‘Anyhow!’ Calling these +things to mind as I stroll among the Banks, I wonder whether the other +solitary Sunday man I pass, has designs upon the Banks. For the interest +and mystery of the matter, I almost hope he may have, and that his +confederate may be at this moment taking impressions of the keys of the +iron closets in wax, and that a delightful robbery may be in course of +transaction. About College-hill, Mark-lane, and so on towards the Tower, +and Dockward, the deserted wine-merchants’ cellars are fine subjects for +consideration; but the deserted money-cellars of the Bankers, and their +plate-cellars, and their jewel-cellars, what subterranean regions of the +Wonderful Lamp are these! And again: possibly some shoeless boy in rags, +passed through this street yesterday, for whom it is reserved to be a +Banker in the fulness of time, and to be surpassing rich. Such reverses +have been, since the days of Whittington; and were, long before. I want +to know whether the boy has any foreglittering of that glittering fortune +now, when he treads these stones, hungry. Much as I also want to know +whether the next man to be hanged at Newgate yonder, had any suspicion +upon him that he was moving steadily towards that fate, when he talked so +much about the last man who paid the same great debt at the same small +Debtors’ Door. + +Where are all the people who on busy working-days pervade these scenes? +The locomotive banker’s clerk, who carries a black portfolio chained to +him by a chain of steel, where is he? Does he go to bed with his chain +on—to church with his chain on—or does he lay it by? And if he lays it +by, what becomes of his portfolio when he is unchained for a holiday? +The wastepaper baskets of these closed counting-houses would let me into +many hints of business matters if I had the exploration of them; and what +secrets of the heart should I discover on the ‘pads’ of the young +clerks—the sheets of cartridge-paper and blotting-paper interposed +between their writing and their desks! Pads are taken into confidence on +the tenderest occasions, and oftentimes when I have made a business +visit, and have sent in my name from the outer office, have I had it +forced on my discursive notice that the officiating young gentleman has +over and over again inscribed AMELIA, in ink of various dates, on corners +of his pad. Indeed, the pad may be regarded as the legitimate modern +successor of the old forest-tree: whereon these young knights (having no +attainable forest nearer than Epping) engrave the names of their +mistresses. After all, it is a more satisfactory process than carving, +and can be oftener repeated. So these courts in their Sunday rest are +courts of Love Omnipotent (I rejoice to bethink myself), dry as they +look. And here is Garraway’s, bolted and shuttered hard and fast! It is +possible to imagine the man who cuts the sandwiches, on his back in a +hayfield; it is possible to imagine his desk, like the desk of a clerk at +church, without him; but imagination is unable to pursue the men who wait +at Garraway’s all the week for the men who never come. When they are +forcibly put out of Garraway’s on Saturday night—which they must be, for +they never would go out of their own accord—where do they vanish until +Monday morning? On the first Sunday that I ever strayed here, I expected +to find them hovering about these lanes, like restless ghosts, and trying +to peep into Garraway’s through chinks in the shutters, if not +endeavouring to turn the lock of the door with false keys, picks, and +screw-drivers. But the wonder is, that they go clean away! And now I +think of it, the wonder is, that every working-day pervader of these +scenes goes clean away. The man who sells the dogs’ collars and the +little toy coal-scuttles, feels under as great an obligation to go afar +off, as Glyn and Co., or Smith, Payne, and Smith. There is an old +monastery-crypt under Garraway’s (I have been in it among the port wine), +and perhaps Garraway’s, taking pity on the mouldy men who wait in its +public-room all their lives, gives them cool house-room down there over +Sundays; but the catacombs of Paris would not be large enough to hold the +rest of the missing. This characteristic of London City greatly helps +its being the quaint place it is in the weekly pause of business, and +greatly helps my Sunday sensation in it of being the Last Man. In my +solitude, the ticket-porters being all gone with the rest, I venture to +breathe to the quiet bricks and stones my confidential wonderment why a +ticket-porter, who never does any work with his hands, is bound to wear a +white apron, and why a great Ecclesiastical Dignitary, who never does any +work with his hands either, is equally bound to wear a black one. + + + + +XXIV +AN OLD STAGE-COACHING HOUSE + + +BEFORE the waitress had shut the door, I had forgotten how many +stage-coaches she said used to change horses in the town every day. But +it was of little moment; any high number would do as well as another. It +had been a great stage-coaching town in the great stage-coaching times, +and the ruthless railways had killed and buried it. + +The sign of the house was the Dolphin’s Head. Why only head, I don’t +know; for the Dolphin’s effigy at full length, and upside down—as a +Dolphin is always bound to be when artistically treated, though I suppose +he is sometimes right side upward in his natural condition—graced the +sign-board. The sign-board chafed its rusty hooks outside the bow-window +of my room, and was a shabby work. No visitor could have denied that the +Dolphin was dying by inches, but he showed no bright colours. He had +once served another master; there was a newer streak of paint below him, +displaying with inconsistent freshness the legend, By J. MELLOWS. + +My door opened again, and J. Mellows’s representative came back. I had +asked her what I could have for dinner, and she now returned with the +counter question, what would I like? As the Dolphin stood possessed of +nothing that I do like, I was fain to yield to the suggestion of a duck, +which I don’t like. J. Mellows’s representative was a mournful young +woman with eye susceptible of guidance, and one uncontrollable eye; which +latter, seeming to wander in quest of stage-coaches, deepened the +melancholy in which the Dolphin was steeped. + +This young woman had but shut the door on retiring again when I bethought +me of adding to my order, the words, ‘with nice vegetables.’ Looking out +at the door to give them emphatic utterance, I found her already in a +state of pensive catalepsy in the deserted gallery, picking her teeth +with a pin. + +At the Railway Station seven miles off, I had been the subject of wonder +when I ordered a fly in which to come here. And when I gave the +direction ‘To the Dolphin’s Head,’ I had observed an ominous stare on the +countenance of the strong young man in velveteen, who was the platform +servant of the Company. He had also called to my driver at parting, ‘All +ri-ight! Don’t hang yourself when you get there, Geo-o-rge!’ in a +sarcastic tone, for which I had entertained some transitory thoughts of +reporting him to the General Manager. + +I had no business in the town—I never have any business in any town—but I +had been caught by the fancy that I would come and look at it in its +degeneracy. My purpose was fitly inaugurated by the Dolphin’s Head, +which everywhere expressed past coachfulness and present coachlessness. +Coloured prints of coaches, starting, arriving, changing horses, coaches +in the sunshine, coaches in the snow, coaches in the wind, coaches in the +mist and rain, coaches on the King’s birthday, coaches in all +circumstances compatible with their triumph and victory, but never in the +act of breaking down or overturning, pervaded the house. Of these works +of art, some, framed and not glazed, had holes in them; the varnish of +others had become so brown and cracked, that they looked like overdone +pie-crust; the designs of others were almost obliterated by the flies of +many summers. Broken glasses, damaged frames, lop-sided hanging, and +consignment of incurable cripples to places of refuge in dark corners, +attested the desolation of the rest. The old room on the ground floor +where the passengers of the Highflyer used to dine, had nothing in it but +a wretched show of twigs and flower-pots in the broad window to hide the +nakedness of the land, and in a corner little Mellows’s perambulator, +with even its parasol-head turned despondently to the wall. The other +room, where post-horse company used to wait while relays were getting +ready down the yard, still held its ground, but was as airless as I +conceive a hearse to be: insomuch that Mr. Pitt, hanging high against the +partition (with spots on him like port wine, though it is mysterious how +port wine ever got squirted up there), had good reason for perking his +nose and sniffing. The stopperless cruets on the spindle-shanked +sideboard were in a miserably dejected state: the anchovy sauce having +turned blue some years ago, and the cayenne pepper (with a scoop in it +like a small model of a wooden leg) having turned solid. The old +fraudulent candles which were always being paid for and never used, were +burnt out at last; but their tall stilts of candlesticks still lingered, +and still outraged the human intellect by pretending to be silver. The +mouldy old unreformed Borough Member, with his right hand buttoned up in +the breast of his coat, and his back characteristically turned on bales +of petitions from his constituents, was there too; and the poker which +never had been among the fire-irons, lest post-horse company should +overstir the fire, was _not_ there, as of old. + +Pursuing my researches in the Dolphin’s Head, I found it sorely shrunken. +When J. Mellows came into possession, he had walled off half the bar, +which was now a tobacco-shop with its own entrance in the yard—the once +glorious yard where the postboys, whip in hand and always buttoning their +waistcoats at the last moment, used to come running forth to mount and +away. A ‘Scientific Shoeing—Smith and Veterinary Surgeon,’ had further +encroached upon the yard; and a grimly satirical jobber, who announced +himself as having to Let ‘A neat one-horse fly, and a one-horse cart,’ +had established his business, himself, and his family, in a part of the +extensive stables. Another part was lopped clean off from the Dolphin’s +Head, and now comprised a chapel, a wheelwright’s, and a Young Men’s +Mutual Improvement and Discussion Society (in a loft): the whole forming +a back lane. No audacious hand had plucked down the vane from the +central cupola of the stables, but it had grown rusty and stuck at N-Nil: +while the score or two of pigeons that remained true to their ancestral +traditions and the place, had collected in a row on the roof-ridge of the +only outhouse retained by the Dolphin, where all the inside pigeons tried +to push the outside pigeon off. This I accepted as emblematical of the +struggle for post and place in railway times. + +Sauntering forth into the town, by way of the covered and pillared +entrance to the Dolphin’s Yard, once redolent of soup and stable-litter, +now redolent of musty disuse, I paced the street. It was a hot day, and +the little sun-blinds of the shops were all drawn down, and the more +enterprising tradesmen had caused their ’Prentices to trickle water on +the pavement appertaining to their frontage. It looked as if they had +been shedding tears for the stage-coaches, and drying their ineffectual +pocket-handkerchiefs. Such weakness would have been excusable; for +business was—as one dejected porkman who kept a shop which refused to +reciprocate the compliment by keeping him, informed me—‘bitter bad.’ +Most of the harness-makers and corn-dealers were gone the way of the +coaches, but it was a pleasant recognition of the eternal procession of +Children down that old original steep Incline, the Valley of the Shadow, +that those tradesmen were mostly succeeded by vendors of sweetmeats and +cheap toys. The opposition house to the Dolphin, once famous as the New +White Hart, had long collapsed. In a fit of abject depression, it had +cast whitewash on its windows, and boarded up its front door, and reduced +itself to a side entrance; but even that had proved a world too wide for +the Literary Institution which had been its last phase; for the +Institution had collapsed too, and of the ambitious letters of its +inscription on the White Hart’s front, all had fallen off but these: + + L Y INS T + +—suggestive of Lamentably Insolvent. As to the neighbouring +market-place, it seemed to have wholly relinquished marketing, to the +dealer in crockery whose pots and pans straggled half across it, and to +the Cheap Jack who sat with folded arms on the shafts of his cart, +superciliously gazing around; his velveteen waistcoat, evidently +harbouring grave doubts whether it was worth his while to stay a night in +such a place. + +The church bells began to ring as I left this spot, but they by no means +improved the case, for they said, in a petulant way, and speaking with +some difficulty in their irritation, WHAT’S-be-come-of-THE-coach-ES!’ +Nor would they (I found on listening) ever vary their emphasis, save in +respect of growing more sharp and vexed, but invariably went on, +‘WHAT’S-be-come-of-THE-coach-ES!’—always beginning the inquiry with an +unpolite abruptness. Perhaps from their elevation they saw the railway, +and it aggravated them. + +Coming upon a coachmaker’s workshop, I began to look about me with a +revived spirit, thinking that perchance I might behold there some remains +of the old times of the town’s greatness. There was only one man at +work—a dry man, grizzled, and far advanced in years, but tall and +upright, who, becoming aware of me looking on, straightened his back, +pushed up his spectacles against his brown-paper cap, and appeared +inclined to defy me. To whom I pacifically said: + +‘Good day, sir!’ + +‘What?’ said he. + +‘Good day, sir.’ + +He seemed to consider about that, and not to agree with me.—‘Was you a +looking for anything?’ he then asked, in a pointed manner. + +‘I was wondering whether there happened to be any fragment of an old +stage-coach here.’ + +‘Is that all?’ + +‘That’s all.’ + +‘No, there ain’t.’ + +It was now my turn to say ‘Oh!’ and I said it. Not another word did the +dry and grizzled man say, but bent to his work again. In the +coach-making days, the coach-painters had tried their brushes on a post +beside him; and quite a Calendar of departed glories was to be read upon +it, in blue and yellow and red and green, some inches thick. Presently +he looked up again. + +‘You seem to have a deal of time on your hands,’ was his querulous +remark. + +I admitted the fact. + +‘I think it’s a pity you was not brought up to something,’ said he. + +I said I thought so too. + +Appearing to be informed with an idea, he laid down his plane (for it was +a plane he was at work with), pushed up his spectacles again, and came to +the door. + +‘Would a po-shay do for you?’ he asked. + +‘I am not sure that I understand what you mean.’ + +‘Would a po-shay,’ said the coachmaker, standing close before me, and +folding his arms in the manner of a cross-examining counsel—‘would a +po-shay meet the views you have expressed? Yes, or no?’ + +‘Yes.’ + +‘Then you keep straight along down there till you see one. _You’ll_ see +one if you go fur enough.’ + +With that, he turned me by the shoulder in the direction I was to take, +and went in and resumed his work against a background of leaves and +grapes. For, although he was a soured man and a discontented, his +workshop was that agreeable mixture of town and country, street and +garden, which is often to be seen in a small English town. + +I went the way he had turned me, and I came to the Beer-shop with the +sign of The First and Last, and was out of the town on the old London +road. I came to the Turnpike, and I found it, in its silent way, +eloquent respecting the change that had fallen on the road. The +Turnpike-house was all overgrown with ivy; and the Turnpike-keeper, +unable to get a living out of the tolls, plied the trade of a cobbler. +Not only that, but his wife sold ginger-beer, and, in the very window of +espial through which the Toll-takers of old times used with awe to behold +the grand London coaches coming on at a gallop, exhibited for sale little +barber’s-poles of sweetstuff in a sticky lantern. + +The political economy of the master of the turnpike thus expressed +itself. + +‘How goes turnpike business, master?’ said I to him, as he sat in his +little porch, repairing a shoe. + +‘It don’t go at all, master,’ said he to me. ‘It’s stopped.’ + +‘That’s bad,’ said I. + +‘Bad?’ he repeated. And he pointed to one of his sunburnt dusty children +who was climbing the turnpike-gate, and said, extending his open right +hand in remonstrance with Universal Nature. ‘Five on ’em!’ + +‘But how to improve Turnpike business?’ said I. + +‘There’s a way, master,’ said he, with the air of one who had thought +deeply on the subject. + +‘I should like to know it.’ + +‘Lay a toll on everything as comes through; lay a toll on walkers. Lay +another toll on everything as don’t come through; lay a toll on them as +stops at home.’ + +‘Would the last remedy be fair?’ + +‘Fair? Them as stops at home, could come through if they liked; couldn’t +they?’ + +‘Say they could.’ + +‘Toll ’em. If they don’t come through, it’s _their_ look out. +Anyways,—Toll ’em!’ + +Finding it was as impossible to argue with this financial genius as if he +had been Chancellor of the Exchequer, and consequently the right man in +the right place, I passed on meekly. + +My mind now began to misgive me that the disappointed coach-maker had +sent me on a wild-goose errand, and that there was no post-chaise in +those parts. But coming within view of certain allotment-gardens by the +roadside, I retracted the suspicion, and confessed that I had done him an +injustice. For, there I saw, surely, the poorest superannuated +post-chaise left on earth. + +It was a post-chaise taken off its axletree and wheels, and plumped down +on the clayey soil among a ragged growth of vegetables. It was a +post-chaise not even set straight upon the ground, but tilted over, as if +it had fallen out of a balloon. It was a post-chaise that had been a +long time in those decayed circumstances, and against which scarlet beans +were trained. It was a post-chaise patched and mended with old +tea-trays, or with scraps of iron that looked like them, and boarded up +as to the windows, but having A KNOCKER on the off-side door. Whether it +was a post-chaise used as tool-house, summer-house, or dwelling-house, I +could not discover, for there was nobody at home at the post-chaise when +I knocked, but it was certainly used for something, and locked up. In +the wonder of this discovery, I walked round and round the post-chaise +many times, and sat down by the post-chaise, waiting for further +elucidation. None came. At last, I made my way back to the old London +road by the further end of the allotment-gardens, and consequently at a +point beyond that from which I had diverged. I had to scramble through a +hedge and down a steep bank, and I nearly came down a-top of a little +spare man who sat breaking stones by the roadside. + +He stayed his hammer, and said, regarding me mysteriously through his +dark goggles of wire: + +‘Are you aware, sir, that you’ve been trespassing?’ + +‘I turned out of the way,’ said I, in explanation, ‘to look at that odd +post-chaise. Do you happen to know anything about it?’ + +‘I know it was many a year upon the road,’ said he. + +‘So I supposed. Do you know to whom it belongs?’ + +The stone-breaker bent his brows and goggles over his heap of stones, as +if he were considering whether he should answer the question or not. +Then, raising his barred eyes to my features as before, he said: + +‘To me.’ + +Being quite unprepared for the reply, I received it with a sufficiently +awkward ‘Indeed! Dear me!’ Presently I added, ‘Do you—’ I was going to +say ‘live there,’ but it seemed so absurd a question, that I substituted +‘live near here?’ + +The stone-breaker, who had not broken a fragment since we began to +converse, then did as follows. He raised himself by poising his finger +on his hammer, and took his coat, on which he had been seated, over his +arm. He then backed to an easier part of the bank than that by which I +had come down, keeping his dark goggles silently upon me all the time, +and then shouldered his hammer, suddenly turned, ascended, and was gone. +His face was so small, and his goggles were so large, that he left me +wholly uninformed as to his countenance; but he left me a profound +impression that the curved legs I had seen from behind as he vanished, +were the legs of an old postboy. It was not until then that I noticed he +had been working by a grass-grown milestone, which looked like a +tombstone erected over the grave of the London road. + +My dinner-hour being close at hand, I had no leisure to pursue the +goggles or the subject then, but made my way back to the Dolphin’s Head. +In the gateway I found J. Mellows, looking at nothing, and apparently +experiencing that it failed to raise his spirits. + +‘_I_ don’t care for the town,’ said J. Mellows, when I complimented him +on the sanitary advantages it may or may not possess; ‘I wish I had never +seen the town!’ + +‘You don’t belong to it, Mr. Mellows?’ + +‘Belong to it!’ repeated Mellows. ‘If I didn’t belong to a better style +of town than this, I’d take and drown myself in a pail.’ It then +occurred to me that Mellows, having so little to do, was habitually +thrown back on his internal resources—by which I mean the Dolphin’s +cellar. + +‘What we want,’ said Mellows, pulling off his hat, and making as if he +emptied it of the last load of Disgust that had exuded from his brain, +before he put it on again for another load; ‘what we want, is a Branch. +The Petition for the Branch Bill is in the coffee-room. Would you put +your name to it? Every little helps.’ + +I found the document in question stretched out flat on the coffee-room +table by the aid of certain weights from the kitchen, and I gave it the +additional weight of my uncommercial signature. To the best of my +belief, I bound myself to the modest statement that universal traffic, +happiness, prosperity, and civilisation, together with unbounded national +triumph in competition with the foreigner, would infallibly flow from the +Branch. + +Having achieved this constitutional feat, I asked Mr. Mellows if he could +grace my dinner with a pint of good wine? Mr. Mellows thus replied. + +‘If I couldn’t give you a pint of good wine, I’d—there!—I’d take and +drown myself in a pail. But I was deceived when I bought this business, +and the stock was higgledy-piggledy, and I haven’t yet tasted my way +quite through it with a view to sorting it. Therefore, if you order one +kind and get another, change till it comes right. For what,’ said +Mellows, unloading his hat as before, ‘what would you or any gentleman +do, if you ordered one kind of wine and was required to drink another? +Why, you’d (and naturally and properly, having the feelings of a +gentleman), you’d take and drown yourself in a pail!’ + + + + +XXV +THE BOILED BEEF OF NEW ENGLAND + + +THE shabbiness of our English capital, as compared with Paris, Bordeaux, +Frankfort, Milan, Geneva—almost any important town on the continent of +Europe—I find very striking after an absence of any duration in foreign +parts. London is shabby in contrast with Edinburgh, with Aberdeen, with +Exeter, with Liverpool, with a bright little town like Bury St. Edmunds. +London is shabby in contrast with New York, with Boston, with +Philadelphia. In detail, one would say it can rarely fail to be a +disappointing piece of shabbiness, to a stranger from any of those +places. There is nothing shabbier than Drury-lane, in Rome itself. The +meanness of Regent-street, set against the great line of Boulevards in +Paris, is as striking as the abortive ugliness of Trafalgar-square, set +against the gallant beauty of the Place de la Concorde. London is shabby +by daylight, and shabbier by gaslight. No Englishman knows what gaslight +is, until he sees the Rue de Rivoli and the Palais Royal after dark. + +The mass of London people are shabby. The absence of distinctive dress +has, no doubt, something to do with it. The porters of the Vintners’ +Company, the draymen, and the butchers, are about the only people who +wear distinctive dresses; and even these do not wear them on holidays. +We have nothing which for cheapness, cleanliness, convenience, or +picturesqueness, can compare with the belted blouse. As to our +women;—next Easter or Whitsuntide, look at the bonnets at the British +Museum or the National Gallery, and think of the pretty white French cap, +the Spanish mantilla, or the Genoese mezzero. + +Probably there are not more second-hand clothes sold in London than in +Paris, and yet the mass of the London population have a second-hand look +which is not to be detected on the mass of the Parisian population. I +think this is mainly because a Parisian workman does not in the least +trouble himself about what is worn by a Parisian idler, but dresses in +the way of his own class, and for his own comfort. In London, on the +contrary, the fashions descend; and you never fully know how inconvenient +or ridiculous a fashion is, until you see it in its last descent. It was +but the other day, on a race-course, that I observed four people in a +barouche deriving great entertainment from the contemplation of four +people on foot. The four people on foot were two young men and two young +women; the four people in the barouche were two young men and two young +women. The four young women were dressed in exactly the same style; the +four young men were dressed in exactly the same style. Yet the two +couples on wheels were as much amused by the two couples on foot, as if +they were quite unconscious of having themselves set those fashions, or +of being at that very moment engaged in the display of them. + +Is it only in the matter of clothes that fashion descends here in +London—and consequently in England—and thence shabbiness arises? Let us +think a little, and be just. The ‘Black Country’ round about Birmingham, +is a very black country; but is it quite as black as it has been lately +painted? An appalling accident happened at the People’s Park near +Birmingham, this last July, when it was crowded with people from the +Black Country—an appalling accident consequent on a shamefully dangerous +exhibition. Did the shamefully dangerous exhibition originate in the +moral blackness of the Black Country, and in the Black People’s peculiar +love of the excitement attendant on great personal hazard, which they +looked on at, but in which they did not participate? Light is much +wanted in the Black Country. O we are all agreed on that. But, we must +not quite forget the crowds of gentlefolks who set the shamefully +dangerous fashion, either. We must not quite forget the enterprising +Directors of an Institution vaunting mighty educational pretences, who +made the low sensation as strong as they possibly could make it, by +hanging the Blondin rope as high as they possibly could hang it. All +this must not be eclipsed in the Blackness of the Black Country. The +reserved seats high up by the rope, the cleared space below it, so that +no one should be smashed but the performer, the pretence of slipping and +falling off, the baskets for the feet and the sack for the head, the +photographs everywhere, and the virtuous indignation nowhere—all this +must not be wholly swallowed up in the blackness of the jet-black +country. + +Whatsoever fashion is set in England, is certain to descend. This is a +text for a perpetual sermon on care in setting fashions. When you find a +fashion low down, look back for the time (it will never be far off) when +it was the fashion high up. This is the text for a perpetual sermon on +social justice. From imitations of Ethiopian Serenaders, to imitations +of Prince’s coats and waistcoats, you will find the original model in St. +James’s Parish. When the Serenaders become tiresome, trace them beyond +the Black Country; when the coats and waistcoats become insupportable, +refer them to their source in the Upper Toady Regions. + +Gentlemen’s clubs were once maintained for purposes of savage party +warfare; working men’s clubs of the same day assumed the same character. +Gentlemen’s clubs became places of quiet inoffensive recreation; working +men’s clubs began to follow suit. If working men have seemed rather slow +to appreciate advantages of combination which have saved the pockets of +gentlemen, and enhanced their comforts, it is because working men could +scarcely, for want of capital, originate such combinations without help; +and because help has not been separable from that great impertinence, +Patronage. The instinctive revolt of his spirit against patronage, is a +quality much to be respected in the English working man. It is the base +of the base of his best qualities. Nor is it surprising that he should +be unduly suspicious of patronage, and sometimes resentful of it even +where it is not, seeing what a flood of washy talk has been let loose on +his devoted head, or with what complacent condescension the same devoted +head has been smoothed and patted. It is a proof to me of his +self-control that he never strikes out pugilistically, right and left, +when addressed as one of ‘My friends,’ or ‘My assembled friends;’ that he +does not become inappeasable, and run amuck like a Malay, whenever he +sees a biped in broadcloth getting on a platform to talk to him; that any +pretence of improving his mind, does not instantly drive him out of his +mind, and cause him to toss his obliging patron like a mad bull. + +For, how often have I heard the unfortunate working man lectured, as if +he were a little charity-child, humid as to his nasal development, +strictly literal as to his Catechism, and called by Providence to walk +all his days in a station in life represented on festive occasions by a +mug of warm milk-and-water and a bun! What popguns of jokes have these +ears tingled to hear let off at him, what asinine sentiments, what +impotent conclusions, what spelling-book moralities, what adaptations of +the orator’s insufferable tediousness to the assumed level of his +understanding! If his sledge-hammers, his spades and pick-axes, his saws +and chisels, his paint-pots and brushes, his forges, furnaces, and +engines, the horses that he drove at his work, and the machines that +drove him at his work, were all toys in one little paper box, and he the +baby who played with them, he could not have been discoursed to, more +impertinently and absurdly than I have heard him discoursed to times +innumerable. Consequently, not being a fool or a fawner, he has come to +acknowledge his patronage by virtually saying: ‘Let me alone. If you +understand me no better than _that_, sir and madam, let me alone. You +mean very well, I dare say, but I don’t like it, and I won’t come here +again to have any more of it.’ + +Whatever is done for the comfort and advancement of the working man must +be so far done by himself as that it is maintained by himself. And there +must be in it no touch of condescension, no shadow of patronage. In the +great working districts, this truth is studied and understood. When the +American civil war rendered it necessary, first in Glasgow, and +afterwards in Manchester, that the working people should be shown how to +avail themselves of the advantages derivable from system, and from the +combination of numbers, in the purchase and the cooking of their food, +this truth was above all things borne in mind. The quick consequence +was, that suspicion and reluctance were vanquished, and that the effort +resulted in an astonishing and a complete success. + +Such thoughts passed through my mind on a July morning of this summer, as +I walked towards Commercial Street (not Uncommercial Street), +Whitechapel. The Glasgow and Manchester system had been lately set +a-going there, by certain gentlemen who felt an interest in its +diffusion, and I had been attracted by the following hand-bill printed on +rose-coloured paper: + + SELF-SUPPORTING + COOKING DEPÔT + FOR THE WORKING CLASSES + + Commercial-street, Whitechapel, + + Where Accommodation is provided for Dining comfortably + 300 Persons at a time. + + Open from 7 A.M. till 7 P.M. + + PRICES. + + All Articles of the BEST QUALITY. + +Cup of Tea or Coffee One Penny +Bread and Butter One Penny +Bread and Cheese One Penny +Slice of bread One half-penny or One Penny +Boiled Egg One Penny +Ginger Beer One Penny + The above Articles always ready. +Besides the above may be had, from 12 to 3 +o’clock, +Bowl of Scotch Broth One Penny +Bowl of Soup One Penny +Plate of Potatoes One Penny +Plate of Minced Beef Twopence +Plate of Cold Beef Twopence +Plate of Cold Ham Twopence +Plate of Plum Pudding or Rice One Penny + +As the Economy of Cooking depends greatly upon the simplicity of the +arrangements with which a great number of persons can be served at one +time, the Upper Room of this Establishment will be especially set apart +for a + + PUBLIC DINNER EVERY DAY + + From 12 till 3 o’clock, + + _Consisting of the following Dishes_: + + Bowl of Broth, or Soup, + Plate of Cold Beef or Ham, + Plate of Potatoes, + Plum Pudding, or Rice. + + FIXED CHARGE 4½_d._ + + THE DAILY PAPERS PROVIDED. + +N.B.—This Establishment is conducted on the strictest business +principles, with the full intention of making it self-supporting, so that +every one may frequent it with a feeling of perfect independence. + +The assistance of all frequenting the Depôt is confidently expected in +checking anything interfering with the comfort, quiet, and regularity of +the establishment. + +Please do not destroy this Hand Bill, but hand it to some other person +whom it may interest. + + * * * * * + +The Self-Supporting Cooking Depôt (not a very good name, and one would +rather give it an English one) had hired a newly-built warehouse that it +found to let; therefore it was not established in premises specially +designed for the purpose. But, at a small cost they were exceedingly +well adapted to the purpose: being light, well ventilated, clean, and +cheerful. They consisted of three large rooms. That on the basement +story was the kitchen; that on the ground floor was the general +dining-room; that on the floor above was the Upper Room referred to in +the hand-bill, where the Public Dinner at fourpence-halfpenny a head was +provided every day. The cooking was done, with much economy of space and +fuel, by American cooking-stoves, and by young women not previously, +brought up as cooks; the walls and pillars of the two dining-rooms were +agreeably brightened with ornamental colours; the tables were capable of +accommodating six or eight persons each; the attendants were all young +women, becomingly and neatly dressed, and dressed alike. I think the +whole staff was female, with the exception of the steward or manager. + +My first inquiries were directed to the wages of this staff; because, if +any establishment claiming to be self-supporting, live upon the +spoliation of anybody or anything, or eke out a feeble existence by poor +mouths and beggarly resources (as too many so-called Mechanics’ +Institutions do), I make bold to express my Uncommercial opinion that it +has no business to live, and had better die. It was made clear to me by +the account books, that every person employed was properly paid. My next +inquiries were directed to the quality of the provisions purchased, and +to the terms on which they were bought. It was made equally clear to me +that the quality was the very best, and that all bills were paid weekly. +My next inquiries were directed to the balance-sheet for the last two +weeks—only the third and fourth of the establishment’s career. It was +made equally clear to me, that after everything bought was paid for, and +after each week was charged with its full share of wages, rent and taxes, +depreciation of plant in use, and interest on capital at the rate of four +per cent. per annum, the last week had yielded a profit of (in round +numbers) one pound ten; and the previous week a profit of six pounds ten. +By this time I felt that I had a healthy appetite for the dinners. + +It had just struck twelve, and a quick succession of faces had already +begun to appear at a little window in the wall of the partitioned space +where I sat looking over the books. Within this little window, like a +pay-box at a theatre, a neat and brisk young woman presided to take money +and issue tickets. Every one coming in must take a ticket. Either the +fourpence-halfpenny ticket for the upper room (the most popular ticket, I +think), or a penny ticket for a bowl of soup, or as many penny tickets as +he or she choose to buy. For three penny tickets one had quite a wide +range of choice. A plate of cold boiled beef and potatoes; or a plate of +cold ham and potatoes; or a plate of hot minced beef and potatoes; or a +bowl of soup, bread and cheese, and a plate of plum-pudding. Touching +what they should have, some customers on taking their seats fell into a +reverie—became mildly distracted—postponed decision, and said in +bewilderment, they would think of it. One old man I noticed when I sat +among the tables in the lower room, who was startled by the bill of fare, +and sat contemplating it as if it were something of a ghostly nature. +The decision of the boys was as rapid as their execution, and always +included pudding. + +There were several women among the diners, and several clerks and +shopmen. There were carpenters and painters from the neighbouring +buildings under repair, and there were nautical men, and there were, as +one diner observed to me, ‘some of most sorts.’ Some were solitary, some +came two together, some dined in parties of three or four, or six. The +latter talked together, but assuredly no one was louder than at my club +in Pall-Mall. One young fellow whistled in rather a shrill manner while +he waited for his dinner, but I was gratified to observe that he did so +in evident defiance of my Uncommercial individuality. Quite agreeing +with him, on consideration, that I had no business to be there, unless I +dined like the rest, ‘I went in,’ as the phrase is, for +fourpence-halfpenny. + +The room of the fourpence-halfpenny banquet had, like the lower room, a +counter in it, on which were ranged a great number of cold portions ready +for distribution. Behind this counter, the fragrant soup was steaming in +deep cans, and the best-cooked of potatoes were fished out of similar +receptacles. Nothing to eat was touched with his hand. Every waitress +had her own tables to attend to. As soon as she saw a new customer seat +himself at one of her tables, she took from the counter all his +dinner—his soup, potatoes, meat, and pudding—piled it up dexterously in +her two hands, set it before him, and took his ticket. This serving of +the whole dinner at once, had been found greatly to simplify the business +of attendance, and was also popular with the customers: who were thus +enabled to vary the meal by varying the routine of dishes: beginning with +soup-to-day, putting soup in the middle to-morrow, putting soup at the +end the day after to-morrow, and ringing similar changes on meat and +pudding. The rapidity with which every new-comer got served, was +remarkable; and the dexterity with which the waitresses (quite new to the +art a month before) discharged their duty, was as agreeable to see, as +the neat smartness with which they wore their dress and had dressed their +hair. + +If I seldom saw better waiting, so I certainly never ate better meat, +potatoes, or pudding. And the soup was an honest and stout soup, with +rice and barley in it, and ‘little matters for the teeth to touch,’ as +had been observed to me by my friend below stairs already quoted. The +dinner-service, too, was neither conspicuously hideous for High Art nor +for Low Art, but was of a pleasant and pure appearance. Concerning the +viands and their cookery, one last remark. I dined at my club in +Pall-Mall aforesaid, a few days afterwards, for exactly twelve times the +money, and not half as well. + +The company thickened after one o’clock struck, and changed pretty +quickly. Although experience of the place had been so recently +attainable, and although there was still considerable curiosity out in +the street and about the entrance, the general tone was as good as could +be, and the customers fell easily into the ways of the place. It was +clear to me, however, that they were there to have what they paid for, +and to be on an independent footing. To the best of my judgment, they +might be patronised out of the building in a month. With judicious +visiting, and by dint of being questioned, read to, and talked at, they +might even be got rid of (for the next quarter of a century) in half the +time. + +This disinterested and wise movement is fraught with so many wholesome +changes in the lives of the working people, and with so much good in the +way of overcoming that suspicion which our own unconscious impertinence +has engendered, that it is scarcely gracious to criticise details as yet; +the rather, because it is indisputable that the managers of the +Whitechapel establishment most thoroughly feel that they are upon their +honour with the customers, as to the minutest points of administration. +But, although the American stoves cannot roast, they can surely boil one +kind of meat as well as another, and need not always circumscribe their +boiling talents within the limits of ham and beef. The most enthusiastic +admirer of those substantials, would probably not object to occasional +inconstancy in respect of pork and mutton: or, especially in cold +weather, to a little innocent trifling with Irish stews, meat pies, and +toads in holes. Another drawback on the Whitechapel establishment, is +the absence of beer. Regarded merely as a question of policy, it is very +impolitic, as having a tendency to send the working men to the +public-house, where gin is reported to be sold. But, there is a much +higher ground on which this absence of beer is objectionable. It +expresses distrust of the working man. It is a fragment of that old +mantle of patronage in which so many estimable Thugs, so darkly wandering +up and down the moral world, are sworn to muffle him. Good beer is a +good thing for him, he says, and he likes it; the Depôt could give it him +good, and he now gets it bad. Why does the Depôt not give it him good? +Because he would get drunk. Why does the Depôt not let him have a pint +with his dinner, which would not make him drunk? Because he might have +had another pint, or another two pints, before he came. Now, this +distrust is an affront, is exceedingly inconsistent with the confidence +the managers express in their hand-bills, and is a timid stopping-short +upon the straight highway. It is unjust and unreasonable, also. It is +unjust, because it punishes the sober man for the vice of the drunken +man. It is unreasonable, because any one at all experienced in such +things knows that the drunken workman does not get drunk where he goes to +eat and drink, but where he goes to drink—expressly to drink. To suppose +that the working man cannot state this question to himself quite as +plainly as I state it here, is to suppose that he is a baby, and is again +to tell him in the old wearisome, condescending, patronising way that he +must be goody-poody, and do as he is toldy-poldy, and not be a +manny-panny or a voter-poter, but fold his handy-pandys, and be a +childy-pildy. + +I found from the accounts of the Whitechapel Self-Supporting Cooking +Depôt, that every article sold in it, even at the prices I have quoted, +yields a certain small profit! Individual speculators are of course +already in the field, and are of course already appropriating the name. +The classes for whose benefit the real depôts are designed, will +distinguish between the two kinds of enterprise. + + + + +XXVI +CHATHAM DOCKYARD + + +THERE are some small out-of-the-way landing places on the Thames and the +Medway, where I do much of my summer idling. Running water is favourable +to day-dreams, and a strong tidal river is the best of running water for +mine. I like to watch the great ships standing out to sea or coming home +richly laden, the active little steam-tugs confidently puffing with them +to and from the sea-horizon, the fleet of barges that seem to have +plucked their brown and russet sails from the ripe trees in the +landscape, the heavy old colliers, light in ballast, floundering down +before the tide, the light screw barks and schooners imperiously holding +a straight course while the others patiently tack and go about, the +yachts with their tiny hulls and great white sheets of canvas, the little +sailing-boats bobbing to and fro on their errands of pleasure or +business, and—as it is the nature of little people to do—making a +prodigious fuss about their small affairs. Watching these objects, I +still am under no obligation to think about them, or even so much as to +see them, unless it perfectly suits my humour. As little am I obliged to +hear the plash and flop of the tide, the ripple at my feet, the clinking +windlass afar off, or the humming steam-ship paddles further away yet. +These, with the creaking little jetty on which I sit, and the gaunt +high-water marks and low-water marks in the mud, and the broken causeway, +and the broken bank, and the broken stakes and piles leaning forward as +if they were vain of their personal appearance and looking for their +reflection in the water, will melt into any train of fancy. Equally +adaptable to any purpose or to none, are the posturing sheep and kine +upon the marshes, the gulls that wheel and dip around me, the crows (well +out of gunshot) going home from the rich harvest-fields, the heron that +has been out a-fishing and looks as melancholy, up there in the sky, as +if it hadn’t agreed with him. Everything within the range of the senses +will, by the aid of the running water, lend itself to everything beyond +that range, and work into a drowsy whole, not unlike a kind of tune, but +for which there is no exact definition. + +One of these landing-places is near an old fort (I can see the Nore Light +from it with my pocket-glass), from which fort mysteriously emerges a +boy, to whom I am much indebted for additions to my scanty stock of +knowledge. He is a young boy, with an intelligent face burnt to a dust +colour by the summer sun, and with crisp hair of the same hue. He is a +boy in whom I have perceived nothing incompatible with habits of studious +inquiry and meditation, unless an evanescent black eye (I was delicate of +inquiring how occasioned) should be so considered. To him am I indebted +for ability to identify a Custom-house boat at any distance, and for +acquaintance with all the forms and ceremonies observed by a +homeward-bound Indiaman coming up the river, when the Custom-house +officers go aboard her. But for him, I might never have heard of ‘the +dumb-ague,’ respecting which malady I am now learned. Had I never sat at +his feet, I might have finished my mortal career and never known that +when I see a white horse on a barge’s sail, that barge is a lime barge. +For precious secrets in reference to beer, am I likewise beholden to him, +involving warning against the beer of a certain establishment, by reason +of its having turned sour through failure in point of demand: though my +young sage is not of opinion that similar deterioration has befallen the +ale. He has also enlightened me touching the mushrooms of the marshes, +and has gently reproved my ignorance in having supposed them to be +impregnated with salt. His manner of imparting information, is +thoughtful, and appropriate to the scene. As he reclines beside me, he +pitches into the river, a little stone or piece of grit, and then +delivers himself oracularly, as though he spoke out of the centre of the +spreading circle that it makes in the water. He never improves my mind +without observing this formula. + +With the wise boy—whom I know by no other name than the Spirit of the +Fort—I recently consorted on a breezy day when the river leaped about us +and was full of life. I had seen the sheaved corn carrying in the golden +fields as I came down to the river; and the rosy farmer, watching his +labouring-men in the saddle on his cob, had told me how he had reaped his +two hundred and sixty acres of long-strawed corn last week, and how a +better week’s work he had never done in all his days. Peace and +abundance were on the country-side in beautiful forms and beautiful +colours, and the harvest seemed even to be sailing out to grace the +never-reaped sea in the yellow-laden barges that mellowed the distance. + +It was on this occasion that the Spirit of the Fort, directing his +remarks to a certain floating iron battery lately lying in that reach of +the river, enriched my mind with his opinions on naval architecture, and +informed me that he would like to be an engineer. I found him up to +everything that is done in the contracting line by Messrs. Peto and +Brassey—cunning in the article of concrete—mellow in the matter of +iron—great on the subject of gunnery. When he spoke of pile-driving and +sluice-making, he left me not a leg to stand on, and I can never +sufficiently acknowledge his forbearance with me in my disabled state. +While he thus discoursed, he several times directed his eyes to one +distant quarter of the landscape, and spoke with vague mysterious awe of +‘the Yard.’ Pondering his lessons after we had parted, I bethought me +that the Yard was one of our large public Dockyards, and that it lay +hidden among the crops down in the dip behind the windmills, as if it +modestly kept itself out of view in peaceful times, and sought to trouble +no man. Taken with this modesty on the part of the Yard, I resolved to +improve the Yard’s acquaintance. + +My good opinion of the Yard’s retiring character was not dashed by nearer +approach. It resounded with the noise of hammers beating upon iron; and +the great sheds or slips under which the mighty men-of-war are built, +loomed business-like when contemplated from the opposite side of the +river. For all that, however, the Yard made no display, but kept itself +snug under hill-sides of corn-fields, hop-gardens, and orchards; its +great chimneys smoking with a quiet—almost a lazy—air, like giants +smoking tobacco; and the great Shears moored off it, looking meekly and +inoffensively out of proportion, like the Giraffe of the machinery +creation. The store of cannon on the neighbouring gun-wharf, had an +innocent toy-like appearance, and the one red-coated sentry on duty over +them was a mere toy figure, with a clock-work movement. As the hot +sunlight sparkled on him he might have passed for the identical little +man who had the little gun, and whose bullets they were made of lead, +lead, lead. + +Crossing the river and landing at the Stairs, where a drift of chips and +weed had been trying to land before me and had not succeeded, but had got +into a corner instead, I found the very street posts to be cannon, and +the architectural ornaments to be shells. And so I came to the Yard, +which was shut up tight and strong with great folded gates, like an +enormous patent safe. These gates devouring me, I became digested into +the Yard; and it had, at first, a clean-swept holiday air, as if it had +given over work until next war-time. Though indeed a quantity of hemp +for rope was tumbling out of store-houses, even there, which would hardly +be lying like so much hay on the white stones if the Yard were as placid +as it pretended. + +Ding, Clash, Dong, BANG, Boom, Rattle, Clash, BANG, Clink, BANG, Dong, +BANG, Clatter, BANG BANG BANG! What on earth is this! This is, or soon +will be, the Achilles, iron armour-plated ship. Twelve hundred men are +working at her now; twelve hundred men working on stages over her sides, +over her bows, over her stern, under her keel, between her decks, down in +her hold, within her and without, crawling and creeping into the finest +curves of her lines wherever it is possible for men to twist. Twelve +hundred hammerers, measurers, caulkers, armourers, forgers, smiths, +shipwrights; twelve hundred dingers, clashers, dongers, rattlers, +clinkers, bangers bangers bangers! Yet all this stupendous uproar around +the rising Achilles is as nothing to the reverberations with which the +perfected Achilles shall resound upon the dreadful day when the full work +is in hand for which this is but note of preparation—the day when the +scuppers that are now fitting like great, dry, thirsty conduit-pipes, +shall run red. All these busy figures between decks, dimly seen bending +at their work in smoke and fire, are as nothing to the figures that shall +do work here of another kind in smoke and fire, that day. These +steam-worked engines alongside, helping the ship by travelling to and +fro, and wafting tons of iron plates about, as though they were so many +leaves of trees, would be rent limb from limb if they stood by her for a +minute then. To think that this Achilles, monstrous compound of iron +tank and oaken chest, can ever swim or roll! To think that any force of +wind and wave could ever break her! To think that wherever I see a +glowing red-hot iron point thrust out of her side from within—as I do +now, there, and there, and there!—and two watching men on a stage +without, with bared arms and sledge-hammers, strike at it fiercely, and +repeat their blows until it is black and flat, I see a rivet being driven +home, of which there are many in every iron plate, and thousands upon +thousands in the ship! To think that the difficulty I experience in +appreciating the ship’s size when I am on board, arises from her being a +series of iron tanks and oaken chests, so that internally she is ever +finishing and ever beginning, and half of her might be smashed, and yet +the remaining half suffice and be sound. Then, to go over the side again +and down among the ooze and wet to the bottom of the dock, in the depths +of the subterranean forest of dog-shores and stays that hold her up, and +to see the immense mass bulging out against the upper light, and tapering +down towards me, is, with great pains and much clambering, to arrive at +an impossibility of realising that this is a ship at all, and to become +possessed by the fancy that it is an enormous immovable edifice set up in +an ancient amphitheatre (say, that at Verona), and almost filling it! Yet +what would even these things be, without the tributary workshops and the +mechanical powers for piercing the iron plates—four inches and a half +thick—for rivets, shaping them under hydraulic pressure to the finest +tapering turns of the ship’s lines, and paring them away, with knives +shaped like the beaks of strong and cruel birds, to the nicest +requirements of the design! These machines of tremendous force, so +easily directed by one attentive face and presiding hand, seem to me to +have in them something of the retiring character of the Yard. ‘Obedient +monster, please to bite this mass of iron through and through, at equal +distances, where these regular chalk-marks are, all round.’ Monster +looks at its work, and lifting its ponderous head, replies, ‘I don’t +particularly want to do it; but if it must be done—!’ The solid metal +wriggles out, hot from the monster’s crunching tooth, and it _is_ done. +‘Dutiful monster, observe this other mass of iron. It is required to be +pared away, according to this delicately lessening and arbitrary line, +which please to look at.’ Monster (who has been in a reverie) brings +down its blunt head, and, much in the manner of Doctor Johnson, closely +looks along the line—very closely, being somewhat near-sighted. ‘I don’t +particularly want to do it; but if it must be done—!’ Monster takes +another near-sighted look, takes aim, and the tortured piece writhes off, +and falls, a hot, tight-twisted snake, among the ashes. The making of +the rivets is merely a pretty round game, played by a man and a boy, who +put red-hot barley sugar in a Pope Joan board, and immediately rivets +fall out of window; but the tone of the great machines is the tone of the +great Yard and the great country: ‘We don’t particularly want to do it; +but if it must be done—!’ + +How such a prodigious mass as the Achilles can ever be held by such +comparatively little anchors as those intended for her and lying near her +here, is a mystery of seamanship which I will refer to the wise boy. For +my own part, I should as soon have thought of tethering an elephant to a +tent-peg, or the larger hippopotamus in the Zoological Gardens to my +shirt-pin. Yonder in the river, alongside a hulk, lie two of this ship’s +hollow iron masts. _They_ are large enough for the eye, I find, and so +are all her other appliances. I wonder why only her anchors look small. + +I have no present time to think about it, for I am going to see the +workshops where they make all the oars used in the British Navy. A +pretty large pile of building, I opine, and a pretty long job! As to the +building, I am soon disappointed, because the work is all done in one +loft. And as to a long job—what is this? Two rather large mangles with +a swarm of butterflies hovering over them? What can there be in the +mangles that attracts butterflies? + +Drawing nearer, I discern that these are not mangles, but intricate +machines, set with knives and saws and planes, which cut smooth and +straight here, and slantwise there, and now cut such a depth, and now +miss cutting altogether, according to the predestined requirements of the +pieces of wood that are pushed on below them: each of which pieces is to +be an oar, and is roughly adapted to that purpose before it takes its +final leave of far-off forests, and sails for England. Likewise I +discern that the butterflies are not true butterflies, but wooden +shavings, which, being spirted up from the wood by the violence of the +machinery, and kept in rapid and not equal movement by the impulse of its +rotation on the air, flutter and play, and rise and fall, and conduct +themselves as like butterflies as heart could wish. Suddenly the noise +and motion cease, and the butterflies drop dead. An oar has been made +since I came in, wanting the shaped handle. As quickly as I can follow +it with my eye and thought, the same oar is carried to a turning lathe. +A whirl and a Nick! Handle made. Oar finished. + +The exquisite beauty and efficiency of this machinery need no +illustration, but happen to have a pointed illustration to-day. A pair +of oars of unusual size chance to be wanted for a special purpose, and +they have to be made by hand. Side by side with the subtle and facile +machine, and side by side with the fast-growing pile of oars on the +floor, a man shapes out these special oars with an axe. Attended by no +butterflies, and chipping and dinting, by comparison as leisurely as if +he were a labouring Pagan getting them ready against his decease at +threescore and ten, to take with him as a present to Charon for his boat, +the man (aged about thirty) plies his task. The machine would make a +regulation oar while the man wipes his forehead. The man might be buried +in a mound made of the strips of thin, broad, wooden ribbon torn from the +wood whirled into oars as the minutes fall from the clock, before he had +done a forenoon’s work with his axe. + +Passing from this wonderful sight to the Ships again—for my heart, as to +the Yard, is where the ships are—I notice certain unfinished wooden walls +left seasoning on the stocks, pending the solution of the merits of the +wood and iron question, and having an air of biding their time with surly +confidence. The names of these worthies are set up beside them, together +with their capacity in guns—a custom highly conducive to ease and +satisfaction in social intercourse, if it could be adapted to mankind. +By a plank more gracefully pendulous than substantial, I make bold to go +aboard a transport ship (iron screw) just sent in from the contractor’s +yard to be inspected and passed. She is a very gratifying experience, in +the simplicity and humanity of her arrangements for troops, in her +provision for light and air and cleanliness, and in her care for women +and children. It occurs to me, as I explore her, that I would require a +handsome sum of money to go aboard her, at midnight by the Dockyard bell, +and stay aboard alone till morning; for surely she must be haunted by a +crowd of ghosts of obstinate old martinets, mournfully flapping their +cherubic epaulettes over the changed times. Though still we may learn +from the astounding ways and means in our Yards now, more highly than +ever to respect the forefathers who got to sea, and fought the sea, and +held the sea, without them. This remembrance putting me in the best of +tempers with an old hulk, very green as to her copper, and generally dim +and patched, I pull off my hat to her. Which salutation a callow and +downy-faced young officer of Engineers, going by at the moment, +perceiving, appropriates—and to which he is most heartily welcome, I am +sure. + +Having been torn to pieces (in imagination) by the steam circular saws, +perpendicular saws, horizontal saws, and saws of eccentric action, I come +to the sauntering part of my expedition, and consequently to the core of +my Uncommercial pursuits. + +Everywhere, as I saunter up and down the Yard, I meet with tokens of its +quiet and retiring character. There is a gravity upon its red brick +offices and houses, a staid pretence of having nothing worth mentioning +to do, an avoidance of display, which I never saw out of England. The +white stones of the pavement present no other trace of Achilles and his +twelve hundred banging men (not one of whom strikes an attitude) than a +few occasional echoes. But for a whisper in the air suggestive of +sawdust and shavings, the oar-making and the saws of many movements might +be miles away. Down below here, is the great reservoir of water where +timber is steeped in various temperatures, as a part of its seasoning +process. Above it, on a tramroad supported by pillars, is a Chinese +Enchanter’s Car, which fishes the logs up, when sufficiently steeped, and +rolls smoothly away with them to stack them. When I was a child (the +Yard being then familiar to me) I used to think that I should like to +play at Chinese Enchanter, and to have that apparatus placed at my +disposal for the purpose by a beneficent country. I still think that I +should rather like to try the effect of writing a book in it. Its +retirement is complete, and to go gliding to and fro among the stacks of +timber would be a convenient kind of travelling in foreign +countries—among the forests of North America, the sodden Honduras swamps, +the dark pine woods, the Norwegian frosts, and the tropical heats, rainy +seasons, and thunderstorms. The costly store of timber is stacked and +stowed away in sequestered places, with the pervading avoidance of +flourish or effect. It makes as little of itself as possible, and calls +to no one ‘Come and look at me!’ And yet it is picked out from the trees +of the world; picked out for length, picked out for breadth, picked out +for straightness, picked out for crookedness, chosen with an eye to every +need of ship and boat. Strangely twisted pieces lie about, precious in +the sight of shipwrights. Sauntering through these groves, I come upon +an open glade where workmen are examining some timber recently delivered. +Quite a pastoral scene, with a background of river and windmill! and no +more like War than the American States are at present like an Union. + +Sauntering among the ropemaking, I am spun into a state of blissful +indolence, wherein my rope of life seems to be so untwisted by the +process as that I can see back to very early days indeed, when my bad +dreams—they were frightful, though my more mature understanding has never +made out why—were of an interminable sort of ropemaking, with long minute +filaments for strands, which, when they were spun home together close to +my eyes, occasioned screaming. Next, I walk among the quiet lofts of +stores—of sails, spars, rigging, ships’ boats—determined to believe that +somebody in authority wears a girdle and bends beneath the weight of a +massive bunch of keys, and that, when such a thing is wanted, he comes +telling his keys like Blue Beard, and opens such a door. Impassive as +the long lofts look, let the electric battery send down the word, and the +shutters and doors shall fly open, and such a fleet of armed ships, under +steam and under sail, shall burst forth as will charge the old +Medway—where the merry Stuart let the Dutch come, while his not so merry +sailors starved in the streets—with something worth looking at to carry +to the sea. Thus I idle round to the Medway again, where it is now flood +tide; and I find the river evincing a strong solicitude to force a way +into the dry dock where Achilles is waited on by the twelve hundred +bangers, with intent to bear the whole away before they are ready. + +To the last, the Yard puts a quiet face upon it; for I make my way to the +gates through a little quiet grove of trees, shading the quaintest of +Dutch landing-places, where the leaf-speckled shadow of a shipwright just +passing away at the further end might be the shadow of Russian Peter +himself. So, the doors of the great patent safe at last close upon me, +and I take boat again: somehow, thinking as the oars dip, of braggart +Pistol and his brood, and of the quiet monsters of the Yard, with their +‘We don’t particularly want to do it; but if it must be done—!’ Scrunch. + + + + +XXVII +IN THE FRENCH-FLEMISH COUNTRY + + +‘IT is neither a bold nor a diversified country,’ said I to myself, ‘this +country which is three-quarters Flemish, and a quarter French; yet it has +its attractions too. Though great lines of railway traverse it, the +trains leave it behind, and go puffing off to Paris and the South, to +Belgium and Germany, to the Northern Sea-Coast of France, and to England, +and merely smoke it a little in passing. Then I don’t know it, and that +is a good reason for being here; and I can’t pronounce half the long +queer names I see inscribed over the shops, and that is another good +reason for being here, since I surely ought to learn how.’ In short, I +was ‘here,’ and I wanted an excuse for not going away from here, and I +made it to my satisfaction, and stayed here. + +What part in my decision was borne by Monsieur P. Salcy, is of no moment, +though I own to encountering that gentleman’s name on a red bill on the +wall, before I made up my mind. Monsieur P. Salcy, ‘par permission de M. +le Maire,’ had established his theatre in the whitewashed Hôtel de Ville, +on the steps of which illustrious edifice I stood. And Monsieur P. +Salcy, privileged director of such theatre, situate in ‘the first +theatrical arrondissement of the department of the North,’ invited +French-Flemish mankind to come and partake of the intellectual banquet +provided by his family of dramatic artists, fifteen subjects in number. +‘La Famille P. SALCY, composée d’artistes dramatiques, au nombre de 15 +sujets.’ + +Neither a bold nor a diversified country, I say again, and withal an +untidy country, but pleasant enough to ride in, when the paved roads over +the flats and through the hollows, are not too deep in black mud. A +country so sparely inhabited, that I wonder where the peasants who till +and sow and reap the ground, can possibly dwell, and also by what +invisible balloons they are conveyed from their distant homes into the +fields at sunrise and back again at sunset. The occasional few poor +cottages and farms in this region, surely cannot afford shelter to the +numbers necessary to the cultivation, albeit the work is done so very +deliberately, that on one long harvest day I have seen, in twelve miles, +about twice as many men and women (all told) reaping and binding. Yet +have I seen more cattle, more sheep, more pigs, and all in better case, +than where there is purer French spoken, and also better ricks—round +swelling peg-top ricks, well thatched; not a shapeless brown heap, like +the toast of a Giant’s toast-and-water, pinned to the earth with one of +the skewers out of his kitchen. A good custom they have about here, +likewise, of prolonging the sloping tiled roof of farm or cottage, so +that it overhangs three or four feet, carrying off the wet, and making a +good drying-place wherein to hang up herbs, or implements, or what not. +A better custom than the popular one of keeping the refuse-heap and +puddle close before the house door: which, although I paint my dwelling +never so brightly blue (and it cannot be too blue for me, hereabouts), +will bring fever inside my door. Wonderful poultry of the French-Flemish +country, why take the trouble to _be_ poultry? Why not stop short at +eggs in the rising generation, and die out and have done with it? +Parents of chickens have I seen this day, followed by their wretched +young families, scratching nothing out of the mud with an air—tottering +about on legs so scraggy and weak, that the valiant word drumsticks +becomes a mockery when applied to them, and the crow of the lord and +master has been a mere dejected case of croup. Carts have I seen, and +other agricultural instruments, unwieldy, dislocated, monstrous. +Poplar-trees by the thousand fringe the fields and fringe the end of the +flat landscape, so that I feel, looking straight on before me, as if, +when I pass the extremest fringe on the low horizon, I shall tumble over +into space. Little whitewashed black holes of chapels, with barred doors +and Flemish inscriptions, abound at roadside corners, and often they are +garnished with a sheaf of wooden crosses, like children’s swords; or, in +their default, some hollow old tree with a saint roosting in it, is +similarly decorated, or a pole with a very diminutive saint enshrined +aloft in a sort of sacred pigeon-house. Not that we are deficient in +such decoration in the town here, for, over at the church yonder, outside +the building, is a scenic representation of the Crucifixion, built up +with old bricks and stones, and made out with painted canvas and wooden +figures: the whole surmounting the dusty skull of some holy personage +(perhaps), shut up behind a little ashy iron grate, as if it were +originally put there to be cooked, and the fire had long gone out. A +windmilly country this, though the windmills are so damp and rickety, +that they nearly knock themselves off their legs at every turn of their +sails, and creak in loud complaint. A weaving country, too, for in the +wayside cottages the loom goes wearily—rattle and click, rattle and +click—and, looking in, I see the poor weaving peasant, man or woman, +bending at the work, while the child, working too, turns a little +hand-wheel put upon the ground to suit its height. An unconscionable +monster, the loom in a small dwelling, asserting himself ungenerously as +the bread-winner, straddling over the children’s straw beds, cramping the +family in space and air, and making himself generally objectionable and +tyrannical. He is tributary, too, to ugly mills and factories and +bleaching-grounds, rising out of the sluiced fields in an abrupt bare +way, disdaining, like himself, to be ornamental or accommodating. +Surrounded by these things, here I stood on the steps of the Hôtel de +Ville, persuaded to remain by the P. Salcy family, fifteen dramatic +subjects strong. + +There was a Fair besides. The double persuasion being irresistible, and +my sponge being left behind at the last Hotel, I made the tour of the +little town to buy another. In the small sunny shops—mercers, opticians, +and druggist-grocers, with here and there an emporium of religious +images—the gravest of old spectacled Flemish husbands and wives sat +contemplating one another across bare counters, while the wasps, who +seemed to have taken military possession of the town, and to have placed +it under wasp-martial law, executed warlike manœuvres in the windows. +Other shops the wasps had entirely to themselves, and nobody cared and +nobody came when I beat with a five-franc piece upon the board of custom. +What I sought was no more to be found than if I had sought a nugget of +Californian gold: so I went, spongeless, to pass the evening with the +Family P. Salcy. + +The members of the Family P. Salcy were so fat and so like one +another—fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, uncles, and aunts—that I +think the local audience were much confused about the plot of the piece +under representation, and to the last expected that everybody must turn +out to be the long-lost relative of everybody else. The Theatre was +established on the top story of the Hôtel de Ville, and was approached by +a long bare staircase, whereon, in an airy situation, one of the P. Salcy +Family—a stout gentleman imperfectly repressed by a belt—took the money. +This occasioned the greatest excitement of the evening; for, no sooner +did the curtain rise on the introductory Vaudeville, and reveal in the +person of the young lover (singing a very short song with his eyebrows) +apparently the very same identical stout gentleman imperfectly repressed +by a belt, than everybody rushed out to the paying-place, to ascertain +whether he could possibly have put on that dress-coat, that clear +complexion, and those arched black vocal eyebrows, in so short a space of +time. It then became manifest that this was another stout gentleman +imperfectly repressed by a belt: to whom, before the spectators had +recovered their presence of mind, entered a third stout gentleman +imperfectly repressed by a belt, exactly like him. These two ‘subjects,’ +making with the money-taker three of the announced fifteen, fell into +conversation touching a charming young widow: who, presently appearing, +proved to be a stout lady altogether irrepressible by any means—quite a +parallel case to the American Negro—fourth of the fifteen subjects, and +sister of the fifth who presided over the check-department. In good time +the whole of the fifteen subjects were dramatically presented, and we had +the inevitable Ma Mère, Ma Mère! and also the inevitable malédiction d’un +père, and likewise the inevitable Marquis, and also the inevitable +provincial young man, weak-minded but faithful, who followed Julie to +Paris, and cried and laughed and choked all at once. The story was +wrought out with the help of a virtuous spinning-wheel in the beginning, +a vicious set of diamonds in the middle, and a rheumatic blessing (which +arrived by post) from Ma Mère towards the end; the whole resulting in a +small sword in the body of one of the stout gentlemen imperfectly +repressed by a belt, fifty thousand francs per annum and a decoration to +the other stout gentleman imperfectly repressed by a belt, and an +assurance from everybody to the provincial young man that if he were not +supremely happy—which he seemed to have no reason whatever for being—he +ought to be. This afforded him a final opportunity of crying and +laughing and choking all at once, and sent the audience home +sentimentally delighted. Audience more attentive or better behaved there +could not possibly be, though the places of second rank in the Theatre of +the Family P. Salcy were sixpence each in English money, and the places +of first rank a shilling. How the fifteen subjects ever got so fat upon +it, the kind Heavens know. + +What gorgeous china figures of knights and ladies, gilded till they +gleamed again, I might have bought at the Fair for the garniture of my +home, if I had been a French-Flemish peasant, and had had the money! +What shining coffee-cups and saucers I might have won at the turntables, +if I had had the luck! Ravishing perfumery also, and sweetmeats, I might +have speculated in, or I might have fired for prizes at a multitude of +little dolls in niches, and might have hit the doll of dolls, and won +francs and fame. Or, being a French-Flemish youth, I might have been +drawn in a hand-cart by my compeers, to tilt for municipal rewards at the +water-quintain; which, unless I sent my lance clean through the ring, +emptied a full bucket over me; to fend off which, the competitors wore +grotesque old scarecrow hats. Or, being French-Flemish man or woman, boy +or girl, I might have circled all night on my hobby-horse in a stately +cavalcade of hobby-horses four abreast, interspersed with triumphal cars, +going round and round and round and round, we the goodly company singing +a ceaseless chorus to the music of the barrel-organ, drum, and cymbals. +On the whole, not more monotonous than the Ring in Hyde Park, London, and +much merrier; for when do the circling company sing chorus, _there_, to +the barrel-organ, when do the ladies embrace their horses round the neck +with both arms, when do the gentlemen fan the ladies with the tails of +their gallant steeds? On all these revolving delights, and on their own +especial lamps and Chinese lanterns revolving with them, the thoughtful +weaver-face brightens, and the Hôtel de Ville sheds an illuminated line +of gaslight: while above it, the Eagle of France, gas-outlined and +apparently afflicted with the prevailing infirmities that have lighted on +the poultry, is in a very undecided state of policy, and as a bird +moulting. Flags flutter all around. Such is the prevailing gaiety that +the keeper of the prison sits on the stone steps outside the prison-door, +to have a look at the world that is not locked up; while that agreeable +retreat, the wine-shop opposite to the prison in the prison-alley (its +sign La Tranquillité, because of its charming situation), resounds with +the voices of the shepherds and shepherdesses who resort there this +festive night. And it reminds me that only this afternoon, I saw a +shepherd in trouble, tending this way, over the jagged stones of a +neighbouring street. A magnificent sight it was, to behold him in his +blouse, a feeble little jog-trot rustic, swept along by the wind of two +immense gendarmes, in cocked-hats for which the street was hardly wide +enough, each carrying a bundle of stolen property that would not have +held his shoulder-knot, and clanking a sabre that dwarfed the prisoner. + +‘Messieurs et Mesdames, I present to you at this Fair, as a mark of my +confidence in the people of this so-renowned town, and as an act of +homage to their good sense and fine taste, the Ventriloquist, the +Ventriloquist! Further, Messieurs et Mesdames, I present to you the +Face-Maker, the Physiognomist, the great Changer of Countenances, who +transforms the features that Heaven has bestowed upon him into an endless +succession of surprising and extraordinary visages, comprehending, +Messieurs et Mesdames, all the contortions, energetic and expressive, of +which the human face is capable, and all the passions of the human heart, +as Love, Jealousy, Revenge, Hatred, Avarice, Despair! Hi hi! Ho ho! Lu +lu! Come in!’ To this effect, with an occasional smite upon a sonorous +kind of tambourine—bestowed with a will, as if it represented the people +who won’t come in—holds forth a man of lofty and severe demeanour; a man +in stately uniform, gloomy with the knowledge he possesses of the inner +secrets of the booth. ‘Come in, come in! Your opportunity presents +itself to-night; to-morrow it will be gone for ever. To-morrow morning +by the Express Train the railroad will reclaim the Ventriloquist and the +Face-Maker! Algeria will reclaim the Ventriloquist and the Face-Maker! +Yes! For the honour of their country they have accepted propositions of +a magnitude incredible, to appear in Algeria. See them for the last time +before their departure! We go to commence on the instant. Hi hi! Ho +ho! Lu lu! Come in! Take the money that now ascends, Madame; but after +that, no more, for we commence! Come in!’ + +Nevertheless, the eyes both of the gloomy Speaker and of Madame receiving +sous in a muslin bower, survey the crowd pretty sharply after the +ascending money has ascended, to detect any lingering sous at the +turning-point. ‘Come in, come in! Is there any more money, Madame, on +the point of ascending? If so, we wait for it. If not, we commence!’ +The orator looks back over his shoulder to say it, lashing the spectators +with the conviction that he beholds through the folds of the drapery into +which he is about to plunge, the Ventriloquist and the Face-Maker. +Several sous burst out of pockets, and ascend. ‘Come up, then, +Messieurs!’ exclaims Madame in a shrill voice, and beckoning with a +bejewelled finger. ‘Come up! This presses. Monsieur has commanded that +they commence!’ Monsieur dives into his Interior, and the last +half-dozen of us follow. His Interior is comparatively severe; his +Exterior also. A true Temple of Art needs nothing but seats, drapery, a +small table with two moderator lamps hanging over it, and an ornamental +looking-glass let into the wall. Monsieur in uniform gets behind the +table and surveys us with disdain, his forehead becoming diabolically +intellectual under the moderators. ‘Messieurs et Mesdames, I present to +you the Ventriloquist. He will commence with the celebrated Experience +of the bee in the window. The bee, apparently the veritable bee of +Nature, will hover in the window, and about the room. He will be with +difficulty caught in the hand of Monsieur the Ventriloquist—he will +escape—he will again hover—at length he will be recaptured by Monsieur +the Ventriloquist, and will be with difficulty put into a bottle. +Achieve then, Monsieur!’ Here the proprietor is replaced behind the +table by the Ventriloquist, who is thin and sallow, and of a weakly +aspect. While the bee is in progress, Monsieur the Proprietor sits apart +on a stool, immersed in dark and remote thought. The moment the bee is +bottled, he stalks forward, eyes us gloomily as we applaud, and then +announces, sternly waving his hand: ‘The magnificent Experience of the +child with the whooping-cough!’ The child disposed of, he starts up as +before. ‘The superb and extraordinary Experience of the dialogue between +Monsieur Tatambour in his dining-room, and his domestic, Jerome, in the +cellar; concluding with the songsters of the grove, and the Concert of +domestic Farm-yard animals.’ All this done, and well done, Monsieur the +Ventriloquist withdraws, and Monsieur the Face-Maker bursts in, as if his +retiring-room were a mile long instead of a yard. A corpulent little man +in a large white waistcoat, with a comic countenance, and with a wig in +his hand. Irreverent disposition to laugh, instantly checked by the +tremendous gravity of the Face-Maker, who intimates in his bow that if we +expect that sort of thing we are mistaken. A very little shaving-glass +with a leg behind it is handed in, and placed on the table before the +Face-Maker. ‘Messieurs et Mesdames, with no other assistance than this +mirror and this wig, I shall have the honour of showing you a thousand +characters.’ As a preparation, the Face-Maker with both hands gouges +himself, and turns his mouth inside out. He then becomes frightfully +grave again, and says to the Proprietor, ‘I am ready!’ Proprietor stalks +forth from baleful reverie, and announces ‘The Young Conscript!’ +Face-Maker claps his wig on, hind side before, looks in the glass, and +appears above it as a conscript so very imbecile, and squinting so +extremely hard, that I should think the State would never get any good of +him. Thunders of applause. Face-Maker dips behind the looking-glass, +brings his own hair forward, is himself again, is awfully grave. ‘A +distinguished inhabitant of the Faubourg St. Germain.’ Face-Maker dips, +rises, is supposed to be aged, blear-eyed, toothless, slightly palsied, +supernaturally polite, evidently of noble birth. ‘The oldest member of +the Corps of Invalides on the fête-day of his master.’ Face-Maker dips, +rises, wears the wig on one side, has become the feeblest military bore +in existence, and (it is clear) would lie frightfully about his past +achievements, if he were not confined to pantomime. ‘The Miser!’ +Face-Maker dips, rises, clutches a bag, and every hair of the wig is on +end to express that he lives in continual dread of thieves. ‘The Genius +of France!’ Face-Maker dips, rises, wig pushed back and smoothed flat, +little cocked-hat (artfully concealed till now) put a-top of it, +Face-Maker’s white waistcoat much advanced, Face-Maker’s left hand in +bosom of white waistcoat, Face-Maker’s right hand behind his back. +Thunders. This is the first of three positions of the Genius of France. +In the second position, the Face-Maker takes snuff; in the third, rolls +up his fight hand, and surveys illimitable armies through that +pocket-glass. The Face-Maker then, by putting out his tongue, and +wearing the wig nohow in particular, becomes the Village Idiot. The most +remarkable feature in the whole of his ingenious performance, is, that +whatever he does to disguise himself, has the effect of rendering him +rather more like himself than he was at first. + +There were peep-shows in this Fair, and I had the pleasure of recognising +several fields of glory with which I became well acquainted a year or two +ago as Crimean battles, now doing duty as Mexican victories. The change +was neatly effected by some extra smoking of the Russians, and by +permitting the camp followers free range in the foreground to despoil the +enemy of their uniforms. As no British troops had ever happened to be +within sight when the artist took his original sketches, it followed +fortunately that none were in the way now. + +The Fair wound up with a ball. Respecting the particular night of the +week on which the ball took place, I decline to commit myself; merely +mentioning that it was held in a stable-yard so very close to the +railway, that it was a mercy the locomotive did not set fire to it. (In +Scotland, I suppose, it would have done so.) There, in a tent prettily +decorated with looking-glasses and a myriad of toy flags, the people +danced all night. It was not an expensive recreation, the price of a +double ticket for a cavalier and lady being one and threepence in English +money, and even of that small sum fivepence was reclaimable for +‘consommation:’ which word I venture to translate into refreshments of no +greater strength, at the strongest, than ordinary wine made hot, with +sugar and lemon in it. It was a ball of great good humour and of great +enjoyment, though very many of the dancers must have been as poor as the +fifteen subjects of the P. Salcy Family. + +In short, not having taken my own pet national pint pot with me to this +Fair, I was very well satisfied with the measure of simple enjoyment that +it poured into the dull French-Flemish country life. How dull that is, I +had an opportunity of considering—when the Fair was over—when the +tri-coloured flags were withdrawn from the windows of the houses on the +Place where the Fair was held—when the windows were close shut, +apparently until next Fair-time—when the Hôtel de Ville had cut off its +gas and put away its eagle—when the two paviours, whom I take to form the +entire paving population of the town, were ramming down the stones which +had been pulled up for the erection of decorative poles—when the jailer +had slammed his gate, and sulkily locked himself in with his charges. +But then, as I paced the ring which marked the track of the departed +hobby-horses on the market-place, pondering in my mind how long some +hobby-horses do leave their tracks in public ways, and how difficult they +are to erase, my eyes were greeted with a goodly sight. I beheld four +male personages thoughtfully pacing the Place together, in the sunlight, +evidently not belonging to the town, and having upon them a certain loose +cosmopolitan air of not belonging to any town. One was clad in a suit of +white canvas, another in a cap and blouse, the third in an old military +frock, the fourth in a shapeless dress that looked as if it had been made +out of old umbrellas. All wore dust-coloured shoes. My heart beat high; +for, in those four male personages, although complexionless and +eyebrowless, I beheld four subjects of the Family P. Salcy. Blue-bearded +though they were, and bereft of the youthful smoothness of cheek which is +imparted by what is termed in Albion a ‘Whitechapel shave’ (and which is, +in fact, whitening, judiciously applied to the jaws with the palm of the +hand), I recognised them. As I stood admiring, there emerged from the +yard of a lowly Cabaret, the excellent Ma Mère, Ma Mère, with the words, +‘The soup is served;’ words which so elated the subject in the canvas +suit, that when they all ran in to partake, he went last, dancing with +his hands stuck angularly into the pockets of his canvas trousers, after +the Pierrot manner. Glancing down the Yard, the last I saw of him was, +that he looked in through a window (at the soup, no doubt) on one leg. + +Full of this pleasure, I shortly afterwards departed from the town, +little dreaming of an addition to my good fortune. But more was in +reserve. I went by a train which was heavy with third-class carriages, +full of young fellows (well guarded) who had drawn unlucky numbers in the +last conscription, and were on their way to a famous French garrison town +where much of the raw military material is worked up into soldiery. At +the station they had been sitting about, in their threadbare homespun +blue garments, with their poor little bundles under their arms, covered +with dust and clay, and the various soils of France; sad enough at heart, +most of them, but putting a good face upon it, and slapping their breasts +and singing choruses on the smallest provocation; the gayest spirits +shouldering half loaves of black bread speared upon their walking-sticks. +As we went along, they were audible at every station, chorusing wildly +out of tune, and feigning the highest hilarity. After a while, however, +they began to leave off singing, and to laugh naturally, while at +intervals there mingled with their laughter the barking of a dog. Now, I +had to alight short of their destination, and, as that stoppage of the +train was attended with a quantity of horn blowing, bell ringing, and +proclamation of what Messieurs les Voyageurs were to do, and were not to +do, in order to reach their respective destinations, I had ample leisure +to go forward on the platform to take a parting look at my recruits, +whose heads were all out at window, and who were laughing like delighted +children. Then I perceived that a large poodle with a pink nose, who had +been their travelling companion and the cause of their mirth, stood on +his hind-legs presenting arms on the extreme verge of the platform, ready +to salute them as the train went off. This poodle wore a military shako +(it is unnecessary to add, very much on one side over one eye), a little +military coat, and the regulation white gaiters. He was armed with a +little musket and a little sword-bayonet, and he stood presenting arms in +perfect attitude, with his unobscured eye on his master or superior +officer, who stood by him. So admirable was his discipline, that, when +the train moved, and he was greeted with the parting cheers of the +recruits, and also with a shower of centimes, several of which struck his +shako, and had a tendency to discompose him, he remained staunch on his +post, until the train was gone. He then resigned his arms to his +officer, took off his shako by rubbing his paw over it, dropped on four +legs, bringing his uniform coat into the absurdest relations with the +overarching skies, and ran about the platform in his white gaiters, +waging his tail to an exceeding great extent. It struck me that there +was more waggery than this in the poodle, and that he knew that the +recruits would neither get through their exercises, nor get rid of their +uniforms, as easily as he; revolving which in my thoughts, and seeking in +my pockets some small money to bestow upon him, I casually directed my +eyes to the face of his superior officer, and in him beheld the +Face-Maker! Though it was not the way to Algeria, but quite the reverse, +the military poodle’s Colonel was the Face-Maker in a dark blouse, with a +small bundle dangling over his shoulder at the end of an umbrella, and +taking a pipe from his breast to smoke as he and the poodle went their +mysterious way. + + + + +XXVIII +MEDICINE MEN OF CIVILISATION + + +MY voyages (in paper boats) among savages often yield me matter for +reflection at home. It is curious to trace the savage in the civilised +man, and to detect the hold of some savage customs on conditions of +society rather boastful of being high above them. + +I wonder, is the Medicine Man of the North American Indians never to be +got rid of, out of the North American country? He comes into my Wigwam +on all manner of occasions, and with the absurdest ‘Medicine.’ I always +find it extremely difficult, and I often find it simply impossible, to +keep him out of my Wigwam. For his legal ‘Medicine’ he sticks upon his +head the hair of quadrupeds, and plasters the same with fat, and dirty +white powder, and talks a gibberish quite unknown to the men and squaws +of his tribe. For his religious ‘Medicine’ he puts on puffy white +sleeves, little black aprons, large black waistcoats of a peculiar cut, +collarless coats with Medicine button-holes, Medicine stockings and +gaiters and shoes, and tops the whole with a highly grotesque Medicinal +hat. In one respect, to be sure, I am quite free from him. On occasions +when the Medicine Men in general, together with a large number of the +miscellaneous inhabitants of his village, both male and female, are +presented to the principal Chief, his native ‘Medicine’ is a comical +mixture of old odds and ends (hired of traders) and new things in +antiquated shapes, and pieces of red cloth (of which he is particularly +fond), and white and red and blue paint for the face. The irrationality +of this particular Medicine culminates in a mock battle-rush, from which +many of the squaws are borne out, much dilapidated. I need not observe +how unlike this is to a Drawing Room at St. James’s Palace. + +The African magician I find it very difficult to exclude from my Wigwam +too. This creature takes cases of death and mourning under his +supervision, and will frequently impoverish a whole family by his +preposterous enchantments. He is a great eater and drinker, and always +conceals a rejoicing stomach under a grieving exterior. His charms +consist of an infinite quantity of worthless scraps, for which he charges +very high. He impresses on the poor bereaved natives, that the more of +his followers they pay to exhibit such scraps on their persons for an +hour or two (though they never saw the deceased in their lives, and are +put in high spirits by his decease), the more honourably and piously they +grieve for the dead. The poor people submitting themselves to this +conjurer, an expensive procession is formed, in which bits of stick, +feathers of birds, and a quantity of other unmeaning objects besmeared +with black paint, are carried in a certain ghastly order of which no one +understands the meaning, if it ever had any, to the brink of the grave, +and are then brought back again. + +In the Tonga Islands everything is supposed to have a soul, so that when +a hatchet is irreparably broken, they say, ‘His immortal part has +departed; he is gone to the happy hunting-plains.’ This belief leads to +the logical sequence that when a man is buried, some of his eating and +drinking vessels, and some of his warlike implements, must be broken and +buried with him. Superstitious and wrong, but surely a more respectable +superstition than the hire of antic scraps for a show that has no meaning +based on any sincere belief. + +Let me halt on my Uncommercial road, to throw a passing glance on some +funeral solemnities that I have seen where North American Indians, +African Magicians, and Tonga Islanders, are supposed not to be. + +Once, I dwelt in an Italian city, where there dwelt with me for a while, +an Englishman of an amiable nature, great enthusiasm, and no discretion. +This friend discovered a desolate stranger, mourning over the unexpected +death of one very dear to him, in a solitary cottage among the vineyards +of an outlying village. The circumstances of the bereavement were +unusually distressing; and the survivor, new to the peasants and the +country, sorely needed help, being alone with the remains. With some +difficulty, but with the strong influence of a purpose at once gentle, +disinterested, and determined, my friend—Mr. Kindheart—obtained access to +the mourner, and undertook to arrange the burial. + +There was a small Protestant cemetery near the city walls, and as Mr. +Kindheart came back to me, he turned into it and chose the spot. He was +always highly flushed when rendering a service unaided, and I knew that +to make him happy I must keep aloof from his ministration. But when at +dinner he warmed with the good action of the day, and conceived the +brilliant idea of comforting the mourner with ‘an English funeral,’ I +ventured to intimate that I thought that institution, which was not +absolutely sublime at home, might prove a failure in Italian hands. +However, Mr. Kindheart was so enraptured with his conception, that he +presently wrote down into the town requesting the attendance with +to-morrow’s earliest light of a certain little upholsterer. This +upholsterer was famous for speaking the unintelligible local dialect (his +own) in a far more unintelligible manner than any other man alive. + +When from my bath next morning I overheard Mr. Kindheart and the +upholsterer in conference on the top of an echoing staircase; and when I +overheard Mr. Kindheart rendering English Undertaking phrases into very +choice Italian, and the upholsterer replying in the unknown Tongues; and +when I furthermore remembered that the local funerals had no resemblance +to English funerals; I became in my secret bosom apprehensive. But Mr. +Kindheart informed me at breakfast that measures had been taken to ensure +a signal success. + +As the funeral was to take place at sunset, and as I knew to which of the +city gates it must tend, I went out at that gate as the sun descended, +and walked along the dusty, dusty road. I had not walked far, when I +encountered this procession: + +1. Mr. Kindheart, much abashed, on an immense grey horse. + +2. A bright yellow coach and pair, driven by a coachman in bright red +velvet knee-breeches and waistcoat. (This was the established local idea +of State.) Both coach doors kept open by the coffin, which was on its +side within, and sticking out at each. + +3. Behind the coach, the mourner, for whom the coach was intended, +walking in the dust. + +4. Concealed behind a roadside well for the irrigation of a garden, the +unintelligible Upholsterer, admiring. + +It matters little now. Coaches of all colours are alike to poor +Kindheart, and he rests far North of the little cemetery with the +cypress-trees, by the city walls where the Mediterranean is so beautiful. + +My first funeral, a fair representative funeral after its kind, was that +of the husband of a married servant, once my nurse. She married for +money. Sally Flanders, after a year or two of matrimony, became the +relict of Flanders, a small master builder; and either she or Flanders +had done me the honour to express a desire that I should ‘follow.’ I may +have been seven or eight years old;—young enough, certainly, to feel +rather alarmed by the expression, as not knowing where the invitation was +held to terminate, and how far I was expected to follow the deceased +Flanders. Consent being given by the heads of houses, I was jobbed up +into what was pronounced at home decent mourning (comprehending somebody +else’s shirt, unless my memory deceives me), and was admonished that if, +when the funeral was in action, I put my hands in my pockets, or took my +eyes out of my pocket-handkerchief, I was personally lost, and my family +disgraced. On the eventful day, having tried to get myself into a +disastrous frame of mind, and having formed a very poor opinion of myself +because I couldn’t cry, I repaired to Sally’s. Sally was an excellent +creature, and had been a good wife to old Flanders, but the moment I saw +her I knew that she was not in her own real natural state. She formed a +sort of Coat of Arms, grouped with a smelling-bottle, a handkerchief, an +orange, a bottle of vinegar, Flanders’s sister, her own sister, +Flanders’s brother’s wife, and two neighbouring gossips—all in mourning, +and all ready to hold her whenever she fainted. At sight of poor little +me she became much agitated (agitating me much more), and having +exclaimed, ‘O here’s dear Master Uncommercial!’ became hysterical, and +swooned as if I had been the death of her. An affecting scene followed, +during which I was handed about and poked at her by various people, as if +I were the bottle of salts. Reviving a little, she embraced me, said, +‘You knew him well, dear Master Uncommercial, and he knew you!’ and +fainted again: which, as the rest of the Coat of Arms soothingly said, +‘done her credit.’ Now, I knew that she needn’t have fainted unless she +liked, and that she wouldn’t have fainted unless it had been expected of +her, quite as well as I know it at this day. It made me feel +uncomfortable and hypocritical besides. I was not sure but that it might +be manners in _me_ to faint next, and I resolved to keep my eye on +Flanders’s uncle, and if I saw any signs of his going in that direction, +to go too, politely. But Flanders’s uncle (who was a weak little old +retail grocer) had only one idea, which was that we all wanted tea; and +he handed us cups of tea all round, incessantly, whether we refused or +not. There was a young nephew of Flanders’s present, to whom Flanders, +it was rumoured, had left nineteen guineas. He drank all the tea that +was offered him, this nephew—amounting, I should say, to several +quarts—and ate as much plum-cake as he could possibly come by; but he +felt it to be decent mourning that he should now and then stop in the +midst of a lump of cake, and appear to forget that his mouth was full, in +the contemplation of his uncle’s memory. I felt all this to be the fault +of the undertaker, who was handing us gloves on a tea-tray as if they +were muffins, and tying us into cloaks (mine had to be pinned up all +round, it was so long for me), because I knew that he was making game. +So, when we got out into the streets, and I constantly disarranged the +procession by tumbling on the people before me because my handkerchief +blinded my eyes, and tripping up the people behind me because my cloak +was so long, I felt that we were all making game. I was truly sorry for +Flanders, but I knew that it was no reason why we should be trying (the +women with their heads in hoods like coal-scuttles with the black side +outward) to keep step with a man in a scarf, carrying a thing like a +mourning spy-glass, which he was going to open presently and sweep the +horizon with. I knew that we should not all have been speaking in one +particular key-note struck by the undertaker, if we had not been making +game. Even in our faces we were every one of us as like the undertaker +as if we had been his own family, and I perceived that this could not +have happened unless we had been making game. When we returned to +Sally’s, it was all of a piece. The continued impossibility of getting +on without plum-cake; the ceremonious apparition of a pair of decanters +containing port and sherry and cork; Sally’s sister at the tea-table, +clinking the best crockery and shaking her head mournfully every time she +looked down into the teapot, as if it were the tomb; the Coat of Arms +again, and Sally as before; lastly, the words of consolation administered +to Sally when it was considered right that she should ‘come round +nicely:’ which were, that the deceased had had ‘as com-for-ta-ble a +fu-ne-ral as comfortable could be!’ + +Other funerals have I seen with grown-up eyes, since that day, of which +the burden has been the same childish burden. Making game. Real +affliction, real grief and solemnity, have been outraged, and the funeral +has been ‘performed.’ The waste for which the funeral customs of many +tribes of savages are conspicuous, has attended these civilised +obsequies; and once, and twice, have I wished in my soul that if the +waste must be, they would let the undertaker bury the money, and let me +bury the friend. + +In France, upon the whole, these ceremonies are more sensibly regulated, +because they are upon the whole less expensively regulated. I cannot say +that I have ever been much edified by the custom of tying a bib and apron +on the front of the house of mourning, or that I would myself +particularly care to be driven to my grave in a nodding and bobbing car, +like an infirm four-post bedstead, by an inky fellow-creature in a +cocked-hat. But it may be that I am constitutionally insensible to the +virtues of a cocked-hat. In provincial France, the solemnities are +sufficiently hideous, but are few and cheap. The friends and townsmen of +the departed, in their own dresses and not masquerading under the +auspices of the African Conjurer, surround the hand-bier, and often carry +it. It is not considered indispensable to stifle the bearers, or even to +elevate the burden on their shoulders; consequently it is easily taken +up, and easily set down, and is carried through the streets without the +distressing floundering and shuffling that we see at home. A dirty +priest or two, and a dirtier acolyte or two, do not lend any especial +grace to the proceedings; and I regard with personal animosity the +bassoon, which is blown at intervals by the big-legged priest (it is +always a big-legged priest who blows the bassoon), when his fellows +combine in a lugubrious stalwart drawl. But there is far less of the +Conjurer and the Medicine Man in the business than under like +circumstances here. The grim coaches that we reserve expressly for such +shows, are non-existent; if the cemetery be far out of the town, the +coaches that are hired for other purposes of life are hired for this +purpose; and although the honest vehicles make no pretence of being +overcome, I have never noticed that the people in them were the worse for +it. In Italy, the hooded Members of Confraternities who attend on +funerals, are dismal and ugly to look upon; but the services they render +are at least voluntarily rendered, and impoverish no one, and cost +nothing. Why should high civilisation and low savagery ever come +together on the point of making them a wantonly wasteful and contemptible +set of forms? + +Once I lost a friend by death, who had been troubled in his time by the +Medicine Man and the Conjurer, and upon whose limited resources there +were abundant claims. The Conjurer assured me that I must positively +‘follow,’ and both he and the Medicine Man entertained no doubt that I +must go in a black carriage, and must wear ‘fittings.’ I objected to +fittings as having nothing to do with my friendship, and I objected to +the black carriage as being in more senses than one a job. So, it came +into my mind to try what would happen if I quietly walked, in my own way, +from my own house to my friend’s burial-place, and stood beside his open +grave in my own dress and person, reverently listening to the best of +Services. It satisfied my mind, I found, quite as well as if I had been +disguised in a hired hatband and scarf both trailing to my very heels, +and as if I had cost the orphan children, in their greatest need, ten +guineas. + +Can any one who ever beheld the stupendous absurdities attendant on ‘A +message from the Lords’ in the House of Commons, turn upon the Medicine +Man of the poor Indians? Has he any ‘Medicine’ in that dried skin pouch +of his, so supremely ludicrous as the two Masters in Chancery holding up +their black petticoats and butting their ridiculous wigs at Mr. Speaker? +Yet there are authorities innumerable to tell me—as there are authorities +innumerable among the Indians to tell them—that the nonsense is +indispensable, and that its abrogation would involve most awful +consequences. What would any rational creature who had never heard of +judicial and forensic ‘fittings,’ think of the Court of Common Pleas on +the first day of Term? Or with what an awakened sense of humour would +LIVINGSTONE’S account of a similar scene be perused, if the fur and red +cloth and goats’ hair and horse hair and powdered chalk and black patches +on the top of the head, were all at Tala Mungongo instead of Westminster? +That model missionary and good brave man found at least one tribe of +blacks with a very strong sense of the ridiculous, insomuch that although +an amiable and docile people, they never could see the Missionaries +dispose of their legs in the attitude of kneeling, or hear them begin a +hymn in chorus, without bursting into roars of irrepressible laughter. +It is much to be hoped that no member of this facetious tribe may ever +find his way to England and get committed for contempt of Court. + +In the Tonga Island already mentioned, there are a set of personages +called Mataboos—or some such name—who are the masters of all the public +ceremonies, and who know the exact place in which every chief must sit +down when a solemn public meeting takes place: a meeting which bears a +family resemblance to our own Public Dinner, in respect of its being a +main part of the proceedings that every gentleman present is required to +drink something nasty. These Mataboos are a privileged order, so +important is their avocation, and they make the most of their high +functions. A long way out of the Tonga Islands, indeed, rather near the +British Islands, was there no calling in of the Mataboos the other day to +settle an earth-convulsing question of precedence; and was there no +weighty opinion delivered on the part of the Mataboos which, being +interpreted to that unlucky tribe of blacks with the sense of the +ridiculous, would infallibly set the whole population screaming with +laughter? + +My sense of justice demands the admission, however, that this is not +quite a one-sided question. If we submit ourselves meekly to the +Medicine Man and the Conjurer, and are not exalted by it, the savages may +retort upon us that we act more unwisely than they in other matters +wherein we fail to imitate them. It is a widely diffused custom among +savage tribes, when they meet to discuss any affair of public importance, +to sit up all night making a horrible noise, dancing, blowing shells, and +(in cases where they are familiar with fire-arms) flying out into open +places and letting off guns. It is questionable whether our legislative +assemblies might not take a hint from this. A shell is not a melodious +wind-instrument, and it is monotonous; but it is as musical as, and not +more monotonous than, my Honourable friend’s own trumpet, or the trumpet +that he blows so hard for the Minister. The uselessness of arguing with +any supporter of a Government or of an Opposition, is well known. Try +dancing. It is a better exercise, and has the unspeakable recommendation +that it couldn’t be reported. The honourable and savage member who has a +loaded gun, and has grown impatient of debate, plunges out of doors, +fires in the air, and returns calm and silent to the Palaver. Let the +honourable and civilised member similarly charged with a speech, dart +into the cloisters of Westminster Abbey in the silence of night, let his +speech off, and come back harmless. It is not at first sight a very +rational custom to paint a broad blue stripe across one’s nose and both +cheeks, and a broad red stripe from the forehead to the chin, to attach a +few pounds of wood to one’s under lip, to stick fish-bones in one’s ears +and a brass curtain-ring in one’s nose, and to rub one’s body all over +with rancid oil, as a preliminary to entering on business. But this is a +question of taste and ceremony, and so is the Windsor Uniform. The +manner of entering on the business itself is another question. A council +of six hundred savage gentlemen entirely independent of tailors, sitting +on their hams in a ring, smoking, and occasionally grunting, seem to me, +according to the experience I have gathered in my voyages and travels, +somehow to do what they come together for; whereas that is not at all the +general experience of a council of six hundred civilised gentlemen very +dependent on tailors and sitting on mechanical contrivances. It is +better that an Assembly should do its utmost to envelop itself in smoke, +than that it should direct its endeavours to enveloping the public in +smoke; and I would rather it buried half a hundred hatchets than buried +one subject demanding attention. + + + + +XXIX +TITBULL’S ALMS-HOUSES + + +BY the side of most railways out of London, one may see Alms-Houses and +Retreats (generally with a Wing or a Centre wanting, and ambitious of +being much bigger than they are), some of which are newly-founded +Institutions, and some old establishments transplanted. There is a +tendency in these pieces of architecture to shoot upward unexpectedly, +like Jack’s bean-stalk, and to be ornate in spires of Chapels and +lanterns of Halls, which might lead to the embellishment of the air with +many castles of questionable beauty but for the restraining consideration +of expense. However, the manners, being always of a sanguine +temperament, comfort themselves with plans and elevations of Loomings in +the future, and are influenced in the present by philanthropy towards the +railway passengers. For, the question how prosperous and promising the +buildings can be made to look in their eyes, usually supersedes the +lesser question how they can be turned to the best account for the +inmates. + +Why none of the people who reside in these places ever look out of +window, or take an airing in the piece of ground which is going to be a +garden by-and-by, is one of the wonders I have added to my +always-lengthening list of the wonders of the world. I have got it into +my mind that they live in a state of chronic injury and resentment, and +on that account refuse to decorate the building with a human interest. +As I have known legatees deeply injured by a bequest of five hundred +pounds because it was not five thousand, and as I was once acquainted +with a pensioner on the Public to the extent of two hundred a year, who +perpetually anathematised his Country because he was not in the receipt +of four, having no claim whatever to sixpence: so perhaps it usually +happens, within certain limits, that to get a little help is to get a +notion of being defrauded of more. ‘How do they pass their lives in this +beautiful and peaceful place!’ was the subject of my speculation with a +visitor who once accompanied me to a charming rustic retreat for old men +and women: a quaint ancient foundation in a pleasant English country, +behind a picturesque church and among rich old convent gardens. There +were but some dozen or so of houses, and we agreed that we would talk +with the inhabitants, as they sat in their groined rooms between the +light of their fires and the light shining in at their latticed windows, +and would find out. They passed their lives in considering themselves +mulcted of certain ounces of tea by a deaf old steward who lived among +them in the quadrangle. There was no reason to suppose that any such +ounces of tea had ever been in existence, or that the old steward so much +as knew what was the matter;—he passed _his_ life in considering himself +periodically defrauded of a birch-broom by the beadle. + +But it is neither to old Alms-Houses in the country, nor to new +Alms-Houses by the railroad, that these present Uncommercial notes +relate. They refer back to journeys made among those common-place, +smoky-fronted London Alms-Houses, with a little paved court-yard in front +enclosed by iron railings, which have got snowed up, as it were, by +bricks and mortar; which were once in a suburb, but are now in the +densely populated town; gaps in the busy life around them, parentheses in +the close and blotted texts of the streets. + +Sometimes, these Alms-Houses belong to a Company or Society. Sometimes, +they were established by individuals, and are maintained out of private +funds bequeathed in perpetuity long ago. My favourite among them is +Titbull’s, which establishment is a picture of many. Of Titbull I know +no more than that he deceased in 1723, that his Christian name was +Sampson, and his social designation Esquire, and that he founded these +Alms-Houses as Dwellings for Nine Poor Women and Six Poor Men by his Will +and Testament. I should not know even this much, but for its being +inscribed on a grim stone very difficult to read, let into the front of +the centre house of Titbull’s Alms-Houses, and which stone is ornamented +a-top with a piece of sculptured drapery resembling the effigy of +Titbull’s bath-towel. + +Titbull’s Alms-Houses are in the east of London, in a great highway, in a +poor, busy, and thronged neighbourhood. Old iron and fried fish, cough +drops and artificial flowers, boiled pigs’-feet and household furniture +that looks as if it were polished up with lip-salve, umbrellas full of +vocal literature and saucers full of shell-fish in a green juice which I +hope is natural to them when their health is good, garnish the paved +sideways as you go to Titbull’s. I take the ground to have risen in +those parts since Titbull’s time, and you drop into his domain by three +stone steps. So did I first drop into it, very nearly striking my brows +against Titbull’s pump, which stands with its back to the thoroughfare +just inside the gate, and has a conceited air of reviewing Titbull’s +pensioners. + +‘And a worse one,’ said a virulent old man with a pitcher, ‘there isn’t +nowhere. A harder one to work, nor a grudginer one to yield, there isn’t +nowhere!’ This old man wore a long coat, such as we see Hogarth’s +Chairmen represented with, and it was of that peculiar green-pea hue +without the green, which seems to come of poverty. It had also that +peculiar smell of cupboard which seems to come of poverty. + +‘The pump is rusty, perhaps,’ said I. + +‘Not _it_,’ said the old man, regarding it with undiluted virulence in +his watery eye. ‘It never were fit to be termed a pump. That’s what’s +the matter with _it_.’ + +‘Whose fault is that?’ said I. + +The old man, who had a working mouth which seemed to be trying to +masticate his anger and to find that it was too hard and there was too +much of it, replied, ‘Them gentlemen.’ + +‘What gentlemen?’ + +‘Maybe you’re one of ’em?’ said the old man, suspiciously. + +‘The trustees?’ + +‘I wouldn’t trust ’em myself,’ said the virulent old man. + +‘If you mean the gentlemen who administer this place, no, I am not one of +them; nor have I ever so much as heard of them.’ + +‘I wish _I_ never heard of them,’ gasped the old man: ‘at my time of +life—with the rheumatics—drawing water-from that thing!’ Not to be +deluded into calling it a Pump, the old man gave it another virulent +look, took up his pitcher, and carried it into a corner dwelling-house, +shutting the door after him. + +Looking around and seeing that each little house was a house of two +little rooms; and seeing that the little oblong court-yard in front was +like a graveyard for the inhabitants, saving that no word was engraven on +its flat dry stones; and seeing that the currents of life and noise ran +to and fro outside, having no more to do with the place than if it were a +sort of low-water mark on a lively beach; I say, seeing this and nothing +else, I was going out at the gate when one of the doors opened. + +‘Was you looking for anything, sir?’ asked a tidy, well-favoured woman. + +Really, no; I couldn’t say I was. + +‘Not wanting any one, sir?’ + +‘No—at least I—pray what is the name of the elderly gentleman who lives +in the corner there?’ + +The tidy woman stepped out to be sure of the door I indicated, and she +and the pump and I stood all three in a row with our backs to the +thoroughfare. + +‘Oh! _His_ name is Mr. Battens,’ said the tidy woman, dropping her +voice. + +‘I have just been talking with him.’ + +‘Indeed?’ said the tidy woman. ‘Ho! I wonder Mr. Battens talked!’ + +‘Is he usually so silent?’ + +‘Well, Mr. Battens is the oldest here—that is to say, the oldest of the +old gentlemen—in point of residence.’ + +She had a way of passing her hands over and under one another as she +spoke, that was not only tidy but propitiatory; so I asked her if I might +look at her little sitting-room? She willingly replied Yes, and we went +into it together: she leaving the door open, with an eye as I understood +to the social proprieties. The door opening at once into the room +without any intervening entry, even scandal must have been silenced by +the precaution. + +It was a gloomy little chamber, but clean, and with a mug of wallflower +in the window. On the chimney-piece were two peacock’s feathers, a +carved ship, a few shells, and a black profile with one eyelash; whether +this portrait purported to be male or female passed my comprehension, +until my hostess informed me that it was her only son, and ‘quite a +speaking one.’ + +‘He is alive, I hope?’ + +‘No, sir,’ said the widow, ‘he were cast away in China.’ This was said +with a modest sense of its reflecting a certain geographical distinction +on his mother. + +‘If the old gentlemen here are not given to talking,’ said I, ‘I hope the +old ladies are?—not that you are one.’ + +She shook her head. ‘You see they get so cross.’ + +‘How is that?’ + +‘Well, whether the gentlemen really do deprive us of any little matters +which ought to be ours by rights, I cannot say for certain; but the +opinion of the old ones is they do. And Mr. Battens he do even go so far +as to doubt whether credit is due to the Founder. For Mr. Battens he do +say, anyhow he got his name up by it and he done it cheap.’ + +‘I am afraid the pump has soured Mr. Battens.’ + +‘It may be so,’ returned the tidy widow, ‘but the handle does go very +hard. Still, what I say to myself is, the gentlemen _may_ not pocket the +difference between a good pump and a bad one, and I would wish to think +well of them. And the dwellings,’ said my hostess, glancing round her +room; ‘perhaps they were convenient dwellings in the Founder’s time, +considered _as_ his time, and therefore he should not be blamed. But +Mrs. Saggers is very hard upon them.’ + +‘Mrs. Saggers is the oldest here?’ + +‘The oldest but one. Mrs. Quinch being the oldest, and have totally lost +her head.’ + +‘And you?’ + +‘I am the youngest in residence, and consequently am not looked up to. +But when Mrs. Quinch makes a happy release, there will be one below me. +Nor is it to be expected that Mrs. Saggers will prove herself immortal.’ + +‘True. Nor Mr. Battens.’ + +‘Regarding the old gentlemen,’ said my widow slightingly, ‘they count +among themselves. They do not count among us. Mr. Battens is that +exceptional that he have written to the gentlemen many times and have +worked the case against them. Therefore he have took a higher ground. +But we do not, as a rule, greatly reckon the old gentlemen.’ + +Pursuing the subject, I found it to be traditionally settled among the +poor ladies that the poor gentlemen, whatever their ages, were all very +old indeed, and in a state of dotage. I also discovered that the juniors +and newcomers preserved, for a time, a waning disposition to believe in +Titbull and his trustees, but that as they gained social standing they +lost this faith, and disparaged Titbull and all his works. + +Improving my acquaintance subsequently with this respected lady, whose +name was Mrs. Mitts, and occasionally dropping in upon her with a little +offering of sound Family Hyson in my pocket, I gradually became familiar +with the inner politics and ways of Titbull’s Alms-Houses. But I never +could find out who the trustees were, or where they were: it being one of +the fixed ideas of the place that those authorities must be vaguely and +mysteriously mentioned as ‘the gentlemen’ only. The secretary of ‘the +gentlemen’ was once pointed out to me, evidently engaged in championing +the obnoxious pump against the attacks of the discontented Mr. Battens; +but I am not in a condition to report further of him than that he had the +sprightly bearing of a lawyer’s clerk. I had it from Mrs. Mitts’s lips +in a very confidential moment, that Mr. Battens was once ‘had up before +the gentlemen’ to stand or fall by his accusations, and that an old shoe +was thrown after him on his departure from the building on this dread +errand;—not ineffectually, for, the interview resulting in a plumber, was +considered to have encircled the temples of Mr. Battens with the wreath +of victory. + +In Titbull’s Alms-Houses, the local society is not regarded as good +society. A gentleman or lady receiving visitors from without, or going +out to tea, counts, as it were, accordingly; but visitings or +tea-drinkings interchanged among Titbullians do not score. Such +interchanges, however, are rare, in consequence of internal dissensions +occasioned by Mrs. Saggers’s pail: which household article has split +Titbull’s into almost as many parties as there are dwellings in that +precinct. The extremely complicated nature of the conflicting articles +of belief on the subject prevents my stating them here with my usual +perspicuity, but I think they have all branched off from the +root-and-trunk question, Has Mrs. Saggers any right to stand her pail +outside her dwelling? The question has been much refined upon, but +roughly stated may be stated in those terms. + +There are two old men in Titbull’s Alms-Houses who, I have been given to +understand, knew each other in the world beyond its pump and iron +railings, when they were both ‘in trade.’ They make the best of their +reverses, and are looked upon with great contempt. They are little, +stooping, blear-eyed old men of cheerful countenance, and they hobble up +and down the court-yard wagging their chins and talking together quite +gaily. This has given offence, and has, moreover, raised the question +whether they are justified in passing any other windows than their own. +Mr. Battens, however, permitting them to pass _his_ windows, on the +disdainful ground that their imbecility almost amounts to +irresponsibility, they are allowed to take their walk in peace. They +live next door to one another, and take it by turns to read the newspaper +aloud (that is to say, the newest newspaper they can get), and they play +cribbage at night. On warm and sunny days they have been known to go so +far as to bring out two chairs and sit by the iron railings, looking +forth; but this low conduct, being much remarked upon throughout +Titbull’s, they were deterred by an outraged public opinion from +repeating it. There is a rumour—but it may be malicious—that they hold +the memory of Titbull in some weak sort of veneration, and that they once +set off together on a pilgrimage to the parish churchyard to find his +tomb. To this, perhaps, might be traced a general suspicion that they +are spies of ‘the gentlemen:’ to which they were supposed to have given +colour in my own presence on the occasion of the weak attempt at +justification of the pump by the gentlemen’s clerk; when they emerged +bare-headed from the doors of their dwellings, as if their dwellings and +themselves constituted an old-fashioned weather-glass of double action +with two figures of old ladies inside, and deferentially bowed to him at +intervals until he took his departure. They are understood to be +perfectly friendless and relationless. Unquestionably the two poor +fellows make the very best of their lives in Titbull’s Alms-Houses, and +unquestionably they are (as before mentioned) the subjects of unmitigated +contempt there. + +On Saturday nights, when there is a greater stir than usual outside, and +when itinerant vendors of miscellaneous wares even take their stations +and light up their smoky lamps before the iron railings, Titbull’s +becomes flurried. Mrs. Saggers has her celebrated palpitations of the +heart, for the most part, on Saturday nights. But Titbull’s is unfit to +strive with the uproar of the streets in any of its phases. It is +religiously believed at Titbull’s that people push more than they used, +and likewise that the foremost object of the population of England and +Wales is to get you down and trample on you. Even of railroads they +know, at Titbull’s, little more than the shriek (which Mrs. Saggers says +goes through her, and ought to be taken up by Government); and the penny +postage may even yet be unknown there, for I have never seen a letter +delivered to any inhabitant. But there is a tall, straight, sallow lady +resident in Number Seven, Titbull’s, who never speaks to anybody, who is +surrounded by a superstitious halo of lost wealth, who does her household +work in housemaid’s gloves, and who is secretly much deferred to, though +openly cavilled at; and it has obscurely leaked out that this old lady +has a son, grandson, nephew, or other relative, who is ‘a Contractor,’ +and who would think it nothing of a job to knock down Titbull’s, pack it +off into Cornwall, and knock it together again. An immense sensation was +made by a gipsy-party calling in a spring-van, to take this old lady up +to go for a day’s pleasure into Epping Forest, and notes were compared as +to which of the company was the son, grandson, nephew, or other relative, +the Contractor. A thick-set personage with a white hat and a cigar in +his mouth, was the favourite: though as Titbull’s had no other reason to +believe that the Contractor was there at all, than that this man was +supposed to eye the chimney stacks as if he would like to knock them down +and cart them off, the general mind was much unsettled in arriving at a +conclusion. As a way out of this difficulty, it concentrated itself on +the acknowledged Beauty of the party, every stitch in whose dress was +verbally unripped by the old ladies then and there, and whose ‘goings on’ +with another and a thinner personage in a white hat might have suffused +the pump (where they were principally discussed) with blushes, for months +afterwards. Herein Titbull’s was to Titbull’s true, for it has a +constitutional dislike of all strangers. As concerning innovations and +improvements, it is always of opinion that what it doesn’t want itself, +nobody ought to want. But I think I have met with this opinion outside +Titbull’s. + +Of the humble treasures of furniture brought into Titbull’s by the +inmates when they establish themselves in that place of contemplation for +the rest of their days, by far the greater and more valuable part belongs +to the ladies. I may claim the honour of having either crossed the +threshold, or looked in at the door, of every one of the nine ladies, and +I have noticed that they are all particular in the article of bedsteads, +and maintain favourite and long-established bedsteads and bedding as a +regular part of their rest. Generally an antiquated chest of drawers is +among their cherished possessions; a tea-tray always is. I know of at +least two rooms in which a little tea-kettle of genuine burnished copper, +vies with the cat in winking at the fire; and one old lady has a tea-urn +set forth in state on the top of her chest of drawers, which urn is used +as her library, and contains four duodecimo volumes, and a black-bordered +newspaper giving an account of the funeral of Her Royal Highness the +Princess Charlotte. Among the poor old gentlemen there are no such +niceties. Their furniture has the air of being contributed, like some +obsolete Literary Miscellany, ‘by several hands;’ their few chairs never +match; old patchwork coverlets linger among them; and they have an untidy +habit of keeping their wardrobes in hat-boxes. When I recall one old +gentleman who is rather choice in his shoe-brushes and blacking-bottle, I +have summed up the domestic elegances of that side of the building. + +On the occurrence of a death in Titbull’s, it is invariably agreed among +the survivors—and it is the only subject on which they do agree—that the +departed did something ‘to bring it on.’ Judging by Titbull’s, I should +say the human race need never die, if they took care. But they don’t +take care, and they do die, and when they die in Titbull’s they are +buried at the cost of the Foundation. Some provision has been made for +the purpose, in virtue of which (I record this on the strength of having +seen the funeral of Mrs. Quinch) a lively neighbouring undertaker dresses +up four of the old men, and four of the old women, hustles them into a +procession of four couples, and leads off with a large black bow at the +back of his hat, looking over his shoulder at them airily from time to +time to see that no member of the party has got lost, or has tumbled +down; as if they were a company of dim old dolls. + +Resignation of a dwelling is of very rare occurrence in Titbull’s. A +story does obtain there, how an old lady’s son once drew a prize of +Thirty Thousand Pounds in the Lottery, and presently drove to the gate in +his own carriage, with French Horns playing up behind, and whisked his +mother away, and left ten guineas for a Feast. But I have been unable to +substantiate it by any evidence, and regard it as an Alms-House Fairy +Tale. It is curious that the only proved case of resignation happened +within my knowledge. + +It happened on this wise. There is a sharp competition among the ladies +respecting the gentility of their visitors, and I have so often observed +visitors to be dressed as for a holiday occasion, that I suppose the +ladies to have besought them to make all possible display when they come. +In these circumstances much excitement was one day occasioned by Mrs. +Mitts receiving a visit from a Greenwich Pensioner. He was a Pensioner +of a bluff and warlike appearance, with an empty coat-sleeve, and he was +got up with unusual care; his coat-buttons were extremely bright, he wore +his empty coat-sleeve in a graceful festoon, and he had a walking-stick +in his hand that must have cost money. When, with the head of his +walking-stick, he knocked at Mrs. Mitts’s door—there are no knockers in +Titbull’s—Mrs. Mitts was overheard by a next-door neighbour to utter a +cry of surprise expressing much agitation; and the same neighbour did +afterwards solemnly affirm that when he was admitted into Mrs. Mitts’s +room, she heard a smack. Heard a smack which was not a blow. + +There was an air about this Greenwich Pensioner when he took his +departure, which imbued all Titbull’s with the conviction that he was +coming again. He was eagerly looked for, and Mrs. Mitts was closely +watched. In the meantime, if anything could have placed the unfortunate +six old gentlemen at a greater disadvantage than that at which they +chronically stood, it would have been the apparition of this Greenwich +Pensioner. They were well shrunken already, but they shrunk to nothing +in comparison with the Pensioner. Even the poor old gentlemen themselves +seemed conscious of their inferiority, and to know submissively that they +could never hope to hold their own against the Pensioner with his warlike +and maritime experience in the past, and his tobacco money in the +present: his chequered career of blue water, black gunpowder, and red +bloodshed for England, home, and beauty. + +Before three weeks were out, the Pensioner reappeared. Again he knocked +at Mrs. Mitts’s door with the handle of his stick, and again was he +admitted. But not again did he depart alone; for Mrs. Mitts, in a bonnet +identified as having been re-embellished, went out walking with him, and +stayed out till the ten o’clock beer, Greenwich time. + +There was now a truce, even as to the troubled waters of Mrs. Saggers’s +pail; nothing was spoken of among the ladies but the conduct of Mrs. +Mitts and its blighting influence on the reputation of Titbull’s. It was +agreed that Mr. Battens ‘ought to take it up,’ and Mr. Battens was +communicated with on the subject. That unsatisfactory individual replied +‘that he didn’t see his way yet,’ and it was unanimously voted by the +ladies that aggravation was in his nature. + +How it came to pass, with some appearance of inconsistency, that Mrs. +Mitts was cut by all the ladies and the Pensioner admired by all the +ladies, matters not. Before another week was out, Titbull’s was startled +by another phenomenon. At ten o’clock in the forenoon appeared a cab, +containing not only the Greenwich Pensioner with one arm, but, to boot, a +Chelsea Pensioner with one leg. Both dismounting to assist Mrs. Mitts +into the cab, the Greenwich Pensioner bore her company inside, and the +Chelsea Pensioner mounted the box by the driver: his wooden leg sticking +out after the manner of a bowsprit, as if in jocular homage to his +friend’s sea-going career. Thus the equipage drove away. No Mrs. Mitts +returned that night. + + [Picture: Titbull’s Alms-Houses] + +What Mr. Battens might have done in the matter of taking it up, goaded by +the infuriated state of public feeling next morning, was anticipated by +another phenomenon. A Truck, propelled by the Greenwich Pensioner and +the Chelsea Pensioner, each placidly smoking a pipe, and pushing his +warrior breast against the handle. + +The display on the part of the Greenwich Pensioner of his +‘marriage-lines,’ and his announcement that himself and friend had looked +in for the furniture of Mrs. G. Pensioner, late Mitts, by no means +reconciled the ladies to the conduct of their sister; on the contrary, it +is said that they appeared more than ever exasperated. Nevertheless, my +stray visits to Titbull’s since the date of this occurrence, have +confirmed me in an impression that it was a wholesome fillip. The nine +ladies are smarter, both in mind and dress, than they used to be, though +it must be admitted that they despise the six gentlemen to the last +extent. They have a much greater interest in the external thoroughfare +too, than they had when I first knew Titbull’s. And whenever I chance to +be leaning my back against the pump or the iron railings, and to be +talking to one of the junior ladies, and to see that a flush has passed +over her face, I immediately know without looking round that a Greenwich +Pensioner has gone past. + + + + +XXX +THE RUFFIAN + + +I ENTERTAIN so strong an objection to the euphonious softening of Ruffian +into Rough, which has lately become popular, that I restore the right +word to the heading of this paper; the rather, as my object is to dwell +upon the fact that the Ruffian is tolerated among us to an extent that +goes beyond all unruffianly endurance. I take the liberty to believe +that if the Ruffian besets my life, a professional Ruffian at large in +the open streets of a great city, notoriously having no other calling +than that of Ruffian, and of disquieting and despoiling me as I go +peacefully about my lawful business, interfering with no one, then the +Government under which I have the great constitutional privilege, supreme +honour and happiness, and all the rest of it, to exist, breaks down in +the discharge of any Government’s most simple elementary duty. + +What did I read in the London daily papers, in the early days of this +last September? That the Police had ‘AT LENGTH SUCCEEDED IN CAPTURING +TWO OF THE NOTORIOUS GANG THAT HAVE SO LONG INVESTED THE WATERLOO ROAD.’ +Is it possible? What a wonderful Police! Here is a straight, broad, +public thoroughfare of immense resort; half a mile long; gas-lighted by +night; with a great gas-lighted railway station in it, extra the street +lamps; full of shops; traversed by two popular cross thoroughfares of +considerable traffic; itself the main road to the South of London; and +the admirable Police have, after long infestment of this dark and lonely +spot by a gang of Ruffians, actually got hold of two of them. Why, can +it be doubted that any man of fair London knowledge and common +resolution, armed with the powers of the Law, could have captured the +whole confederacy in a week? + +It is to the saving up of the Ruffian class by the Magistracy and +Police—to the conventional preserving of them, as if they were +Partridges—that their number and audacity must be in great part referred. +Why is a notorious Thief and Ruffian ever left at large? He never turns +his liberty to any account but violence and plunder, he never did a day’s +work out of gaol, he never will do a day’s work out of gaol. As a proved +notorious Thief he is always consignable to prison for three months. +When he comes out, he is surely as notorious a Thief as he was when he +went in. Then send him back again. ‘Just Heaven!’ cries the Society for +the protection of remonstrant Ruffians. ‘This is equivalent to a +sentence of perpetual imprisonment!’ Precisely for that reason it has my +advocacy. I demand to have the Ruffian kept out of my way, and out of +the way of all decent people. I demand to have the Ruffian employed, +perforce, in hewing wood and drawing water somewhere for the general +service, instead of hewing at her Majesty’s subjects and drawing their +watches out of their pockets. If this be termed an unreasonable demand, +then the tax-gatherer’s demand on me must be far more unreasonable, and +cannot be otherwise than extortionate and unjust. + +It will be seen that I treat of the Thief and Ruffian as one. I do so, +because I know the two characters to be one, in the vast majority of +cases, just as well as the Police know it. (As to the Magistracy, with a +few exceptions, they know nothing about it but what the Police choose to +tell them.) There are disorderly classes of men who are not thieves; as +railway-navigators, brickmakers, wood-sawyers, costermongers. These +classes are often disorderly and troublesome; but it is mostly among +themselves, and at any rate they have their industrious avocations, they +work early and late, and work hard. The generic Ruffian—honourable +member for what is tenderly called the Rough Element—is either a Thief, +or the companion of Thieves. When he infamously molests women coming out +of chapel on Sunday evenings (for which I would have his back scarified +often and deep) it is not only for the gratification of his pleasant +instincts, but that there may be a confusion raised by which either he or +his friends may profit, in the commission of highway robberies or in +picking pockets. When he gets a police-constable down and kicks him +helpless for life, it is because that constable once did his duty in +bringing him to justice. When he rushes into the bar of a public-house +and scoops an eye out of one of the company there, or bites his ear off, +it is because the man he maims gave evidence against him. When he and a +line of comrades extending across the footway—say of that solitary +mountain-spur of the Abruzzi, the Waterloo Road—advance towards me +‘skylarking’ among themselves, my purse or shirt-pin is in predestined +peril from his playfulness. Always a Ruffian, always a Thief. Always a +Thief, always a Ruffian. + +Now, when I, who am not paid to know these things, know them daily on the +evidence of my senses and experience; when I know that the Ruffian never +jostles a lady in the streets, or knocks a hat off, but in order that the +Thief may profit, is it surprising that I should require from those who +_are_ paid to know these things, prevention of them? + +Look at this group at a street corner. Number one is a shirking fellow +of five-and-twenty, in an ill-favoured and ill-savoured suit, his +trousers of corduroy, his coat of some indiscernible groundwork for the +deposition of grease, his neckerchief like an eel, his complexion like +dirty dough, his mangy fur cap pulled low upon his beetle brows to hide +the prison cut of his hair. His hands are in his pockets. He puts them +there when they are idle, as naturally as in other people’s pockets when +they are busy, for he knows that they are not roughened by work, and that +they tell a tale. Hence, whenever he takes one out to draw a sleeve +across his nose—which is often, for he has weak eyes and a constitutional +cold in his head—he restores it to its pocket immediately afterwards. +Number two is a burly brute of five-and-thirty, in a tall stiff hat; is a +composite as to his clothes of betting-man and fighting-man; is +whiskered; has a staring pin in his breast, along with his right hand; +has insolent and cruel eyes: large shoulders; strong legs booted and +tipped for kicking. Number three is forty years of age; is short, +thick-set, strong, and bow-legged; wears knee cords and white stockings, +a very long-sleeved waistcoat, a very large neckerchief doubled or +trebled round his throat, and a crumpled white hat crowns his ghastly +parchment face. This fellow looks like an executed postboy of other +days, cut down from the gallows too soon, and restored and preserved by +express diabolical agency. Numbers five, six, and seven, are hulking, +idle, slouching young men, patched and shabby, too short in the sleeves +and too tight in the legs, slimily clothed, foul-spoken, repulsive +wretches inside and out. In all the party there obtains a certain +twitching character of mouth and furtiveness of eye, that hint how the +coward is lurking under the bully. The hint is quite correct, for they +are a slinking sneaking set, far more prone to lie down on their backs +and kick out, when in difficulty, than to make a stand for it. (This may +account for the street mud on the backs of Numbers five, six, and seven, +being much fresher than the stale splashes on their legs.) + +These engaging gentry a Police-constable stands contemplating. His +Station, with a Reserve of assistance, is very near at hand. They cannot +pretend to any trade, not even to be porters or messengers. It would be +idle if they did, for he knows them, and they know that he knows them, to +be nothing but professed Thieves and Ruffians. He knows where they +resort, knows by what slang names they call one another, knows how often +they have been in prison, and how long, and for what. All this is known +at his Station, too, and is (or ought to be) known at Scotland Yard, too. +But does he know, or does his Station know, or does Scotland Yard know, +or does anybody know, why these fellows should be here at liberty, when, +as reputed Thieves to whom a whole Division of Police could swear, they +might all be under lock and key at hard labour? Not he; truly he would +be a wise man if he did! He only knows that these are members of the +‘notorious gang,’ which, according to the newspaper Police-office reports +of this last past September, ‘have so long infested’ the awful solitudes +of the Waterloo Road, and out of which almost impregnable fastnesses the +Police have at length dragged Two, to the unspeakable admiration of all +good civilians. + +The consequences of this contemplative habit on the part of the +Executive—a habit to be looked for in a hermit, but not in a Police +System—are familiar to us all. The Ruffian becomes one of the +established orders of the body politic. Under the playful name of Rough +(as if he were merely a practical joker) his movements and successes are +recorded on public occasions. Whether he mustered in large numbers, or +small; whether he was in good spirits, or depressed; whether he turned +his generous exertions to very prosperous account, or Fortune was against +him; whether he was in a sanguinary mood, or robbed with amiable +horse-play and a gracious consideration for life and limb; all this is +chronicled as if he were an Institution. Is there any city in Europe, +out of England, in which these terms are held with the pests of Society? +Or in which, at this day, such violent robberies from the person are +constantly committed as in London? + +The Preparatory Schools of Ruffianism are similarly borne with. The +young Ruffians of London—not Thieves yet, but training for scholarships +and fellowships in the Criminal Court Universities—molest quiet people +and their property, to an extent that is hardly credible. The throwing +of stones in the streets has become a dangerous and destructive offence, +which surely could have got to no greater height though we had had no +Police but our own riding-whips and walking-sticks—the Police to which I +myself appeal on these occasions. The throwing of stones at the windows +of railway carriages in motion—an act of wanton wickedness with the very +Arch-Fiend’s hand in it—had become a crying evil, when the railway +companies forced it on Police notice. Constabular contemplation had +until then been the order of the day. + +Within these twelve months, there arose among the young gentlemen of +London aspiring to Ruffianism, and cultivating that much-encouraged +social art, a facetious cry of ‘I’ll have this!’ accompanied with a +clutch at some article of a passing lady’s dress. I have known a lady’s +veil to be thus humorously torn from her face and carried off in the open +streets at noon; and I have had the honour of myself giving chase, on +Westminster Bridge, to another young Ruffian, who, in full daylight early +on a summer evening, had nearly thrown a modest young woman into a swoon +of indignation and confusion, by his shameful manner of attacking her +with this cry as she harmlessly passed along before me. Mr. CARLYLE, +some time since, awakened a little pleasantry by writing of his own +experience of the Ruffian of the streets. I have seen the Ruffian act in +exact accordance with Mr. Carlyle’s description, innumerable times, and I +never saw him checked. + +The blaring use of the very worst language possible, in our public +thoroughfares—especially in those set apart for recreation—is another +disgrace to us, and another result of constabular contemplation, the like +of which I have never heard in any other country to which my uncommercial +travels have extended. Years ago, when I had a near interest in certain +children who were sent with their nurses, for air and exercise, into the +Regent’s Park, I found this evil to be so abhorrent and horrible there, +that I called public attention to it, and also to its contemplative +reception by the Police. Looking afterwards into the newest Police Act, +and finding that the offence was punishable under it, I resolved, when +striking occasion should arise, to try my hand as prosecutor. The +occasion arose soon enough, and I ran the following gauntlet. + +The utterer of the base coin in question was a girl of seventeen or +eighteen, who, with a suitable attendance of blackguards, youths, and +boys, was flaunting along the streets, returning from an Irish funeral, +in a Progress interspersed with singing and dancing. She had turned +round to me and expressed herself in the most audible manner, to the +great delight of that select circle. I attended the party, on the +opposite side of the way, for a mile further, and then encountered a +Police-constable. The party had made themselves merry at my expense +until now, but seeing me speak to the constable, its male members +instantly took to their heels, leaving the girl alone. I asked the +constable did he know my name? Yes, he did. ‘Take that girl into +custody, on my charge, for using bad language in the streets.’ He had +never heard of such a charge. I had. Would he take my word that he +should get into no trouble? Yes, sir, he would do that. So he took the +girl, and I went home for my Police Act. + +With this potent instrument in my pocket, I literally as well as +figuratively ‘returned to the charge,’ and presented myself at the Police +Station of the district. There, I found on duty a very intelligent +Inspector (they are all intelligent men), who, likewise, had never heard +of such a charge. I showed him my clause, and we went over it together +twice or thrice. It was plain, and I engaged to wait upon the suburban +Magistrate to-morrow morning at ten o’clock. + +In the morning I put my Police Act in my pocket again, and waited on the +suburban Magistrate. I was not quite so courteously received by him as I +should have been by The Lord Chancellor or The Lord Chief Justice, but +that was a question of good breeding on the suburban Magistrate’s part, +and I had my clause ready with its leaf turned down. Which was enough +for _me_. + +Conference took place between the Magistrate and clerk respecting the +charge. During conference I was evidently regarded as a much more +objectionable person than the prisoner;—one giving trouble by coming +there voluntarily, which the prisoner could not be accused of doing. The +prisoner had been got up, since I last had the pleasure of seeing her, +with a great effect of white apron and straw bonnet. She reminded me of +an elder sister of Red Riding Hood, and I seemed to remind the +sympathising Chimney Sweep by whom she was attended, of the Wolf. + +The Magistrate was doubtful, Mr. Uncommercial Traveller, whether this +charge could be entertained. It was not known. Mr. Uncommercial +Traveller replied that he wished it were better known, and that, if he +could afford the leisure, he would use his endeavours to make it so. +There was no question about it, however, he contended. Here was the +clause. + +The clause was handed in, and more conference resulted. After which I +was asked the extraordinary question: ‘Mr. Uncommercial, do you really +wish this girl to be sent to prison?’ To which I grimly answered, +staring: ‘If I didn’t, why should I take the trouble to come here?’ +Finally, I was sworn, and gave my agreeable evidence in detail, and White +Riding Hood was fined ten shillings, under the clause, or sent to prison +for so many days. ‘Why, Lord bless you, sir,’ said the Police-officer, +who showed me out, with a great enjoyment of the jest of her having been +got up so effectively, and caused so much hesitation: ‘if she goes to +prison, that will be nothing new to _her_. She comes from Charles +Street, Drury Lane!’ + +The Police, all things considered, are an excellent force, and I have +borne my small testimony to their merits. Constabular contemplation is +the result of a bad system; a system which is administered, not invented, +by the man in constable’s uniform, employed at twenty shillings a week. +He has his orders, and would be marked for discouragement if he +overstepped them. That the system is bad, there needs no lengthened +argument to prove, because the fact is self-evident. If it were anything +else, the results that have attended it could not possibly have come to +pass. Who will say that under a good system, our streets could have got +into their present state? + +The objection to the whole Police system, as concerning the Ruffian, may +be stated, and its failure exemplified, as follows. It is well known +that on all great occasions, when they come together in numbers, the mass +of the English people are their own trustworthy Police. It is well known +that wheresoever there is collected together any fair general +representation of the people, a respect for law and order, and a +determination to discountenance lawlessness and disorder, may be relied +upon. As to one another, the people are a very good Police, and yet are +quite willing in their good-nature that the stipendiary Police should +have the credit of the people’s moderation. But we are all of us +powerless against the Ruffian, because we submit to the law, and it is +his only trade, by superior force and by violence, to defy it. Moreover, +we are constantly admonished from high places (like so many Sunday-school +children out for a holiday of buns and milk-and-water) that we are not to +take the law into our own hands, but are to hand our defence over to it. +It is clear that the common enemy to be punished and exterminated first +of all is the Ruffian. It is clear that he is, of all others, _the_ +offender for whose repressal we maintain a costly system of Police. Him, +therefore, we expressly present to the Police to deal with, conscious +that, on the whole, we can, and do, deal reasonably well with one +another. Him the Police deal with so inefficiently and absurdly that he +flourishes, and multiplies, and, with all his evil deeds upon his head as +notoriously as his hat is, pervades the streets with no more let or +hindrance than ourselves. + + + + +XXXI +ABOARD SHIP + + +MY journeys as Uncommercial Traveller for the firm of Human-Interest +Brothers have not slackened since I last reported of them, but have kept +me continually on the move. I remain in the same idle employment. I +never solicit an order, I never get any commission, I am the rolling +stone that gathers no moss,—unless any should by chance be found among +these samples. + +Some half a year ago, I found myself in my idlest, dreamiest, and least +accountable condition altogether, on board ship, in the harbour of the +city of New York, in the United States of America. Of all the good ships +afloat, mine was the good steamship ‘RUSSIA,’ CAPT. COOK, Cunard Line, +bound for Liverpool. What more could I wish for? + +I had nothing to wish for but a prosperous passage. My salad-days, when +I was green of visage and sea-sick, being gone with better things (and no +worse), no coming event cast its shadow before. + +I might but a few moments previously have imitated Sterne, and said, +‘“And yet, methinks, Eugenius,”—laying my forefinger wistfully on his +coat-sleeve, thus,—“and yet, methinks, Eugenius, ’tis but sorry work to +part with thee, for what fresh fields, . . . my dear Eugenius, . . . can +be fresher than thou art, and in what pastures new shall I find Eliza, or +call her, Eugenius, if thou wilt, Annie?”’—I say I might have done this; +but Eugenius was gone, and I hadn’t done it. + +I was resting on a skylight on the hurricane-deck, watching the working +of the ship very slowly about, that she might head for England. It was +high noon on a most brilliant day in April, and the beautiful bay was +glorious and glowing. Full many a time, on shore there, had I seen the +snow come down, down, down (itself like down), until it lay deep in all +the ways of men, and particularly, as it seemed, in my way, for I had not +gone dry-shod many hours for months. Within two or three days last past +had I watched the feathery fall setting in with the ardour of a new idea, +instead of dragging at the skirts of a worn-out winter, and permitting +glimpses of a fresh young spring. But a bright sun and a clear sky had +melted the snow in the great crucible of nature; and it had been poured +out again that morning over sea and land, transformed into myriads of +gold and silver sparkles. + +The ship was fragrant with flowers. Something of the old Mexican passion +for flowers may have gradually passed into North America, where flowers +are luxuriously grown, and tastefully combined in the richest profusion; +but, be that as it may, such gorgeous farewells in flowers had come on +board, that the small officer’s cabin on deck, which I tenanted, bloomed +over into the adjacent scuppers, and banks of other flowers that it +couldn’t hold made a garden of the unoccupied tables in the passengers’ +saloon. These delicious scents of the shore, mingling with the fresh +airs of the sea, made the atmosphere a dreamy, an enchanting one. And +so, with the watch aloft setting all the sails, and with the screw below +revolving at a mighty rate, and occasionally giving the ship an angry +shake for resisting, I fell into my idlest ways, and lost myself. + +As, for instance, whether it was I lying there, or some other entity even +more mysterious, was a matter I was far too lazy to look into. What did +it signify to me if it were I? or to the more mysterious entity, if it +were he? Equally as to the remembrances that drowsily floated by me, or +by him, why ask when or where the things happened? Was it not enough +that they befell at some time, somewhere? + +There was that assisting at the church service on board another +steamship, one Sunday, in a stiff breeze. Perhaps on the passage out. +No matter. Pleasant to hear the ship’s bells go as like church-bells as +they could; pleasant to see the watch off duty mustered and come in: best +hats, best Guernseys, washed hands and faces, smoothed heads. But then +arose a set of circumstances so rampantly comical, that no check which +the gravest intentions could put upon them would hold them in hand. Thus +the scene. Some seventy passengers assembled at the saloon tables. +Prayer-books on tables. Ship rolling heavily. Pause. No minister. +Rumour has related that a modest young clergyman on board has responded +to the captain’s request that he will officiate. Pause again, and very +heavy rolling. + +Closed double doors suddenly burst open, and two strong stewards skate +in, supporting minister between them. General appearance as of somebody +picked up drunk and incapable, and under conveyance to station-house. +Stoppage, pause, and particularly heavy rolling. Stewards watch their +opportunity, and balance themselves, but cannot balance minister; who, +struggling with a drooping head and a backward tendency, seems determined +to return below, while they are as determined that he shall be got to the +reading-desk in mid-saloon. Desk portable, sliding away down a long +table, and aiming itself at the breasts of various members of the +congregation. Here the double doors, which have been carefully closed by +other stewards, fly open again, and worldly passenger tumbles in, +seemingly with pale-ale designs: who, seeking friend, says ‘Joe!’ +Perceiving incongruity, says, ‘Hullo! Beg yer pardon!’ and tumbles out +again. All this time the congregation have been breaking up into +sects,—as the manner of congregations often is, each sect sliding away by +itself, and all pounding the weakest sect which slid first into the +corner. Utmost point of dissent soon attained in every corner, and +violent rolling. Stewards at length make a dash; conduct minister to the +mast in the centre of the saloon, which he embraces with both arms; skate +out; and leave him in that condition to arrange affairs with flock. + +There was another Sunday, when an officer of the ship read the service. +It was quiet and impressive, until we fell upon the dangerous and +perfectly unnecessary experiment of striking up a hymn. After it was +given out, we all rose, but everybody left it to somebody else to begin. +Silence resulting, the officer (no singer himself) rather reproachfully +gave us the first line again, upon which a rosy pippin of an old +gentleman, remarkable throughout the passage for his cheerful politeness, +gave a little stamp with his boot (as if he were leading off a country +dance), and blithely warbled us into a show of joining. At the end of +the first verse we became, through these tactics, so much refreshed and +encouraged, that none of us, howsoever unmelodious, would submit to be +left out of the second verse; while as to the third we lifted up our +voices in a sacred howl that left it doubtful whether we were the more +boastful of the sentiments we united in professing, or of professing them +with a most discordant defiance of time and tune. + +‘Lord bless us!’ thought I, when the fresh remembrance of these things +made me laugh heartily alone in the dead water-gurgling waste of the +night, what time I was wedged into my berth by a wooden bar, or I must +have rolled out of it, ‘what errand was I then upon, and to what +Abyssinian point had public events then marched? No matter as to me. +And as to them, if the wonderful popular rage for a plaything (utterly +confounding in its inscrutable unreason) I had not then lighted on a poor +young savage boy, and a poor old screw of a horse, and hauled the first +off by the hair of his princely head to “inspect” the British volunteers, +and hauled the second off by the hair of his equine tail to the Crystal +Palace, why so much the better for all of us outside Bedlam!’ + +So, sticking to the ship, I was at the trouble of asking myself would I +like to show the grog distribution in ‘the fiddle’ at noon to the Grand +United Amalgamated Total Abstinence Society? Yes, I think I should. I +think it would do them good to smell the rum, under the circumstances. +Over the grog, mixed in a bucket, presides the boatswain’s mate, small +tin can in hand. Enter the crew, the guilty consumers, the grown-up +brood of Giant Despair, in contradistinction to the band of youthful +angel Hope. Some in boots, some in leggings, some in tarpaulin overalls, +some in frocks, some in pea-coats, a very few in jackets, most with +sou’wester hats, all with something rough and rugged round the throat; +all, dripping salt water where they stand; all pelted by weather, +besmeared with grease, and blackened by the sooty rigging. + +Each man’s knife in its sheath in his girdle, loosened for dinner. As +the first man, with a knowingly kindled eye, watches the filling of the +poisoned chalice (truly but a very small tin mug, to be prosaic), and, +tossing back his head, tosses the contents into himself, and passes the +empty chalice and passes on, so the second man with an anticipatory wipe +of his mouth on sleeve or handkerchief, bides his turn, and drinks and +hands and passes on, in whom, and in each as his turn approaches, beams a +knowingly kindled eye, a brighter temper, and a suddenly awakened +tendency to be jocose with some shipmate. Nor do I even observe that the +man in charge of the ship’s lamps, who in right of his office has a +double allowance of poisoned chalices, seems thereby vastly degraded, +even though he empties the chalices into himself, one after the other, +much as if he were delivering their contents at some absorbent +establishment in which he had no personal interest. But vastly +comforted, I note them all to be, on deck presently, even to the +circulation of redder blood in their cold blue knuckles; and when I look +up at them lying out on the yards, and holding on for life among the +beating sails, I cannot for _my_ life see the justice of visiting on +them—or on me—the drunken crimes of any number of criminals arraigned at +the heaviest of assizes. + +Abetting myself in my idle humour, I closed my eyes, and recalled life on +board of one of those mail-packets, as I lay, part of that day, in the +Bay of New York, O! The regular life began—mine always did, for I never +got to sleep afterwards—with the rigging of the pump while it was yet +dark, and washing down of decks. Any enormous giant at a prodigious +hydropathic establishment, conscientiously undergoing the water-cure in +all its departments, and extremely particular about cleaning his teeth, +would make those noises. Swash, splash, scrub, rub, toothbrush, bubble, +swash, splash, bubble, toothbrush, splash, splash, bubble, rub. Then the +day would break, and, descending from my berth by a graceful ladder +composed of half-opened drawers beneath it, I would reopen my outer +dead-light and my inner sliding window (closed by a watchman during the +water-cure), and would look out at the long-rolling, lead-coloured, white +topped waves over which the dawn, on a cold winter morning, cast a level, +lonely glance, and through which the ship fought her melancholy way at a +terrific rate. And now, lying down again, awaiting the season for +broiled ham and tea, I would be compelled to listen to the voice of +conscience,—the screw. + +It might be, in some cases, no more than the voice of stomach; but I +called it in my fancy by the higher name. Because it seemed to me that +we were all of us, all day long, endeavouring to stifle the voice. +Because it was under everybody’s pillow, everybody’s plate, everybody’s +camp-stool, everybody’s book, everybody’s occupation. Because we +pretended not to hear it, especially at meal-times, evening whist, and +morning conversation on deck; but it was always among us in an under +monotone, not to be drowned in pea-soup, not to be shuffled with cards, +not to be diverted by books, not to be knitted into any pattern, not to +be walked away from. It was smoked in the weediest cigar, and drunk in +the strongest cocktail; it was conveyed on deck at noon with limp ladies, +who lay there in their wrappers until the stars shone; it waited at table +with the stewards; nobody could put it out with the lights. It was +considered (as on shore) ill-bred to acknowledge the voice of conscience. +It was not polite to mention it. One squally day an amiable gentleman in +love gave much offence to a surrounding circle, including the object of +his attachment, by saying of it, after it had goaded him over two +easy-chairs and a skylight, ‘Screw!’ + +Sometimes it would appear subdued. In fleeting moments, when bubbles of +champagne pervaded the nose, or when there was ‘hot pot’ in the bill of +fare, or when an old dish we had had regularly every day was described in +that official document by a new name,—under such excitements, one would +almost believe it hushed. The ceremony of washing plates on deck, +performed after every meal by a circle as of ringers of crockery +triple-bob majors for a prize, would keep it down. Hauling the reel, +taking the sun at noon, posting the twenty-four hours’ run, altering the +ship’s time by the meridian, casting the waste food overboard, and +attracting the eager gulls that followed in our wake,—these events would +suppress it for a while. But the instant any break or pause took place +in any such diversion, the voice would be at it again, importuning us to +the last extent. A newly married young pair, who walked the deck +affectionately some twenty miles per day, would, in the full flush of +their exercise, suddenly become stricken by it, and stand trembling, but +otherwise immovable, under its reproaches. + +When this terrible monitor was most severe with us was when the time +approached for our retiring to our dens for the night; when the lighted +candles in the saloon grew fewer and fewer; when the deserted glasses +with spoons in them grew more and more numerous; when waifs of toasted +cheese and strays of sardines fried in batter slid languidly to and fro +in the table-racks; when the man who always read had shut up his book, +and blown out his candle; when the man who always talked had ceased from +troubling; when the man who was always medically reported as going to +have delirium tremens had put it off till to-morrow; when the man who +every night devoted himself to a midnight smoke on deck two hours in +length, and who every night was in bed within ten minutes afterwards, was +buttoning himself up in his third coat for his hardy vigil: for then, as +we fell off one by one, and, entering our several hutches, came into a +peculiar atmosphere of bilge-water and Windsor soap, the voice would +shake us to the centre. Woe to us when we sat down on our sofa, watching +the swinging candle for ever trying and retrying to stand upon his head! +or our coat upon its peg, imitating us as we appeared in our gymnastic +days by sustaining itself horizontally from the wall, in emulation of the +lighter and more facile towels! Then would the voice especially claim us +for its prey, and rend us all to pieces. + +Lights out, we in our berths, and the wind rising, the voice grows +angrier and deeper. Under the mattress and under the pillow, under the +sofa and under the washing-stand, under the ship and under the sea, +seeming to rise from the foundations under the earth with every scoop of +the great Atlantic (and oh! why scoop so?), always the voice. Vain to +deny its existence in the night season; impossible to be hard of hearing; +screw, screw, screw! Sometimes it lifts out of the water, and revolves +with a whirr, like a ferocious firework,—except that it never expends +itself, but is always ready to go off again; sometimes it seems to be in +anguish, and shivers; sometimes it seems to be terrified by its last +plunge, and has a fit which causes it to struggle, quiver, and for an +instant stop. And now the ship sets in rolling, as only ships so +fiercely screwed through time and space, day and night, fair weather and +foul, _can_ roll. + +Did she ever take a roll before like that last? Did she ever take a roll +before like this worse one that is coming now? Here is the partition at +my ear down in the deep on the lee side. Are we ever coming up again +together? I think not; the partition and I are so long about it that I +really do believe we have overdone it this time. Heavens, what a scoop! +What a deep scoop, what a hollow scoop, what a long scoop! Will it ever +end, and can we bear the heavy mass of water we have taken on board, and +which has let loose all the table furniture in the officers’ mess, and +has beaten open the door of the little passage between the purser and me, +and is swashing about, even there and even here? The purser snores +reassuringly, and the ship’s bells striking, I hear the cheerful ‘All’s +well!’ of the watch musically given back the length of the deck, as the +lately diving partition, now high in air, tries (unsoftened by what we +have gone through together) to force me out of bed and berth. + +‘All’s well!’ Comforting to know, though surely all might be better. +Put aside the rolling and the rush of water, and think of darting through +such darkness with such velocity. Think of any other similar object +coming in the opposite direction! + +Whether there may be an attraction in two such moving bodies out at sea, +which may help accident to bring them into collision? Thoughts, too, +arise (the voice never silent all the while, but marvellously suggestive) +of the gulf below; of the strange, unfruitful mountain ranges and deep +valleys over which we are passing; of monstrous fish midway; of the +ship’s suddenly altering her course on her own account, and with a wild +plunge settling down, and making _that_ voyage with a crew of dead +discoverers. Now, too, one recalls an almost universal tendency on the +part of passengers to stumble, at some time or other in the day, on the +topic of a certain large steamer making this same run, which was lost at +sea, and never heard of more. Everybody has seemed under a spell, +compelling approach to the threshold of the grim subject, stoppage, +discomfiture, and pretence of never having been near it. The boatswain’s +whistle sounds! A change in the wind, hoarse orders issuing, and the +watch very busy. Sails come crashing home overhead, ropes (that seem all +knot) ditto; every man engaged appears to have twenty feet, with twenty +times the average amount of stamping power in each. Gradually the noise +slackens, the hoarse cries die away, the boatswain’s whistle softens into +the soothing and contented notes, which rather reluctantly admit that the +job is done for the time, and the voice sets in again. + +Thus come unintelligible dreams of up hill and down, and swinging and +swaying, until consciousness revives of atmospherical Windsor soap and +bilge-water, and the voice announces that the giant has come for the +water-cure again. + +Such were my fanciful reminiscences as I lay, part of that day, in the +Bay of New York, O! Also as we passed clear of the Narrows, and got out +to sea; also in many an idle hour at sea in sunny weather! At length the +observations and computations showed that we should make the coast of +Ireland to-night. So I stood watch on deck all night to-night, to see +how we made the coast of Ireland. + +Very dark, and the sea most brilliantly phosphorescent. Great way on the +ship, and double look-out kept. Vigilant captain on the bridge, vigilant +first officer looking over the port side, vigilant second officer +standing by the quarter-master at the compass, vigilant third officer +posted at the stern rail with a lantern. No passengers on the quiet +decks, but expectation everywhere nevertheless. The two men at the wheel +very steady, very serious, and very prompt to answer orders. An order +issued sharply now and then, and echoed back; otherwise the night drags +slowly, silently, with no change. + +All of a sudden, at the blank hour of two in the morning, a vague +movement of relief from a long strain expresses itself in all hands; the +third officer’s lantern tinkles, and he fires a rocket, and another +rocket. A sullen solitary light is pointed out to me in the black sky +yonder. A change is expected in the light, but none takes place. ‘Give +them two more rockets, Mr. Vigilant.’ Two more, and a blue-light burnt. +All eyes watch the light again. At last a little toy sky-rocket is +flashed up from it; and, even as that small streak in the darkness dies +away, we are telegraphed to Queenstown, Liverpool, and London, and back +again under the ocean to America. + +Then up come the half-dozen passengers who are going ashore at Queenstown +and up comes the mail-agent in charge of the bags, and up come the men +who are to carry the bags into the mail-tender that will come off for +them out of the harbour. Lamps and lanterns gleam here and there about +the decks, and impeding bulks are knocked away with handspikes; and the +port-side bulwark, barren but a moment ago, bursts into a crop of heads +of seamen, stewards, and engineers. + +The light begins to be gained upon, begins to be alongside, begins to be +left astern. More rockets, and, between us and the land, steams +beautifully the Inman steamship City of Paris, for New York, outward +bound. We observe with complacency that the wind is dead against her (it +being _with_ us), and that she rolls and pitches. (The sickest passenger +on board is the most delighted by this circumstance.) Time rushes by as +we rush on; and now we see the light in Queenstown Harbour, and now the +lights of the mail-tender coming out to us. What vagaries the +mail-tender performs on the way, in every point of the compass, +especially in those where she has no business, and why she performs them, +Heaven only knows! At length she is seen plunging within a cable’s +length of our port broadside, and is being roared at through our +speaking-trumpets to do this thing, and not to do that, and to stand by +the other, as if she were a very demented tender indeed. Then, we +slackening amidst a deafening roar of steam, this much-abused tender is +made fast to us by hawsers, and the men in readiness carry the bags +aboard, and return for more, bending under their burdens, and looking +just like the pasteboard figures of the miller and his men in the theatre +of our boyhood, and comporting themselves almost as unsteadily. All the +while the unfortunate tender plunges high and low, and is roared at. +Then the Queenstown passengers are put on board of her, with infinite +plunging and roaring, and the tender gets heaved up on the sea to that +surprising extent that she looks within an ace of washing aboard of us, +high and dry. Roared at with contumely to the last, this wretched tender +is at length let go, with a final plunge of great ignominy, and falls +spinning into our wake. + +The voice of conscience resumed its dominion as the day climbed up the +sky, and kept by all of us passengers into port; kept by us as we passed +other lighthouses, and dangerous islands off the coast, where some of the +officers, with whom I stood my watch, had gone ashore in sailing-ships in +fogs (and of which by that token they seemed to have quite an +affectionate remembrance), and past the Welsh coast, and past the +Cheshire coast, and past everything and everywhere lying between our ship +and her own special dock in the Mersey. Off which, at last, at nine of +the clock, on a fair evening early in May, we stopped, and the voice +ceased. A very curious sensation, not unlike having my own ears stopped, +ensued upon that silence; and it was with a no less curious sensation +that I went over the side of the good Cunard ship ‘Russia’ (whom +prosperity attend through all her voyages!) and surveyed the outer hull +of the gracious monster that the voice had inhabited. So, perhaps, shall +we all, in the spirit, one day survey the frame that held the busier +voice from which my vagrant fancy derived this similitude. + + + + +XXXII +A SMALL STAR IN THE EAST + + +I HAD been looking, yesternight, through the famous ‘Dance of Death,’ and +to-day the grim old woodcuts arose in my mind with the new significance +of a ghastly monotony not to be found in the original. The weird +skeleton rattled along the streets before me, and struck fiercely; but it +was never at the pains of assuming a disguise. It played on no dulcimer +here, was crowned with no flowers, waved no plume, minced in no flowing +robe or train, lifted no wine-cup, sat at no feast, cast no dice, counted +no gold. It was simply a bare, gaunt, famished skeleton, slaying his way +along. + +The borders of Ratcliff and Stepney, eastward of London, and giving on +the impure river, were the scene of this uncompromising dance of death, +upon a drizzling November day. A squalid maze of streets, courts, and +alleys of miserable houses let out in single rooms. A wilderness of +dirt, rags, and hunger. A mud-desert, chiefly inhabited by a tribe from +whom employment has departed, or to whom it comes but fitfully and +rarely. They are not skilled mechanics in any wise. They are but +labourers,—dock-labourers, water-side labourers, coal-porters, +ballast-heavers, such-like hewers of wood and drawers of water. But they +have come into existence, and they propagate their wretched race. + +One grisly joke alone, methought, the skeleton seemed to play off here. +It had stuck election-bills on the walls, which the wind and rain had +deteriorated into suitable rags. It had even summed up the state of the +poll, in chalk, on the shutters of one ruined house. It adjured the free +and independent starvers to vote for Thisman and vote for Thatman; not to +plump, as they valued the state of parties and the national prosperity +(both of great importance to them, I think); but, by returning Thisman +and Thatman, each naught without the other, to compound a glorious and +immortal whole. Surely the skeleton is nowhere more cruelly ironical in +the original monkish idea! + +Pondering in my mind the far-seeing schemes of Thisman and Thatman, and +of the public blessing called Party, for staying the degeneracy, physical +and moral, of many thousands (who shall say how many?) of the English +race; for devising employment useful to the community for those who want +but to work and live; for equalising rates, cultivating waste lands, +facilitating emigration, and, above all things, saving and utilising the +oncoming generations, and thereby changing ever-growing national weakness +into strength: pondering in my mind, I say, these hopeful exertions, I +turned down a narrow street to look into a house or two. + +It was a dark street with a dead wall on one side. Nearly all the outer +doors of the houses stood open. I took the first entry, and knocked at a +parlour-door. Might I come in? I might, if I plased, sur. + +The woman of the room (Irish) had picked up some long strips of wood, +about some wharf or barge; and they had just now been thrust into the +otherwise empty grate to make two iron pots boil. There was some fish in +one, and there were some potatoes in the other. The flare of the burning +wood enabled me to see a table, and a broken chair or so, and some old +cheap crockery ornaments about the chimney-piece. It was not until I had +spoken with the woman a few minutes, that I saw a horrible brown heap on +the floor in a corner, which, but for previous experience in this dismal +wise, I might not have suspected to be ‘the bed.’ There was something +thrown upon it; and I asked what that was. + +‘’Tis the poor craythur that stays here, sur; and ’tis very bad she is, +and ’tis very bad she’s been this long time, and ’tis better she’ll never +be, and ’tis slape she does all day, and ’tis wake she does all night, +and ’tis the lead, sur.’ + +‘The what?’ + +‘The lead, sur. Sure ’tis the lead-mills, where the women gets took on +at eighteen-pence a day, sur, when they makes application early enough, +and is lucky and wanted; and ’tis lead-pisoned she is, sur, and some of +them gets lead-pisoned soon, and some of them gets lead-pisoned later, +and some, but not many, niver; and ’tis all according to the +constitooshun, sur, and some constitooshuns is strong, and some is weak; +and her constitooshun is lead-pisoned, bad as can be, sur; and her brain +is coming out at her ear, and it hurts her dreadful; and that’s what it +is, and niver no more, and niver no less, sur.’ + +The sick young woman moaning here, the speaker bent over her, took a +bandage from her head, and threw open a back door to let in the daylight +upon it, from the smallest and most miserable backyard I ever saw. + +‘That’s what cooms from her, sur, being lead-pisoned; and it cooms from +her night and day, the poor, sick craythur; and the pain of it is +dreadful; and God he knows that my husband has walked the sthreets these +four days, being a labourer, and is walking them now, and is ready to +work, and no work for him, and no fire and no food but the bit in the +pot, and no more than ten shillings in a fortnight; God be good to us! +and it is poor we are, and dark it is and could it is indeed.’ + +Knowing that I could compensate myself thereafter for my self-denial, if +I saw fit, I had resolved that I would give nothing in the course of +these visits. I did this to try the people. I may state at once that my +closest observation could not detect any indication whatever of an +expectation that I would give money: they were grateful to be talked to +about their miserable affairs, and sympathy was plainly a comfort to +them; but they neither asked for money in any case, nor showed the least +trace of surprise or disappointment or resentment at my giving none. + +The woman’s married daughter had by this time come down from her room on +the floor above, to join in the conversation. She herself had been to +the lead-mills very early that morning to be ‘took on,’ but had not +succeeded. She had four children; and her husband, also a water-side +labourer, and then out seeking work, seemed in no better case as to +finding it than her father. She was English, and by nature, of a buxom +figure and cheerful. Both in her poor dress and in her mother’s there +was an effort to keep up some appearance of neatness. She knew all about +the sufferings of the unfortunate invalid, and all about the +lead-poisoning, and how the symptoms came on, and how they grew,—having +often seen them. The very smell when you stood inside the door of the +works was enough to knock you down, she said: yet she was going back +again to get ‘took on.’ What could she do? Better be ulcerated and +paralysed for eighteen-pence a day, while it lasted, than see the +children starve. + +A dark and squalid cupboard in this room, touching the back door and all +manner of offence, had been for some time the sleeping-place of the sick +young woman. But the nights being now wintry, and the blankets and +coverlets ‘gone to the leaving shop,’ she lay all night where she lay all +day, and was lying then. The woman of the room, her husband, this most +miserable patient, and two others, lay on the one brown heap together for +warmth. + +‘God bless you, sir, and thank you!’ were the parting words from these +people,—gratefully spoken too,—with which I left this place. + +Some streets away, I tapped at another parlour-door on another +ground-floor. Looking in, I found a man, his wife, and four children, +sitting at a washing-stool by way of table, at their dinner of bread and +infused tea-leaves. There was a very scanty cinderous fire in the grate +by which they sat; and there was a tent bedstead in the room with a bed +upon it and a coverlet. The man did not rise when I went in, nor during +my stay, but civilly inclined his head on my pulling off my hat, and, in +answer to my inquiry whether I might ask him a question or two, said, +‘Certainly.’ There being a window at each end of this room, back and +front, it might have been ventilated; but it was shut up tight, to keep +the cold out, and was very sickening. + +The wife, an intelligent, quick woman, rose and stood at her husband’s +elbow; and he glanced up at her as if for help. It soon appeared that he +was rather deaf. He was a slow, simple fellow of about thirty. + +‘What was he by trade?’ + +‘Gentleman asks what are you by trade, John?’ + +‘I am a boilermaker;’ looking about him with an exceedingly perplexed +air, as if for a boiler that had unaccountably vanished. + +‘He ain’t a mechanic, you understand, sir,’ the wife put in: ‘he’s only a +labourer.’ + +‘Are you in work?’ + +He looked up at his wife again. ‘Gentleman says are you in work, John?’ + +‘In work!’ cried this forlorn boilermaker, staring aghast at his wife, +and then working his vision’s way very slowly round to me: ‘Lord, no!’ + +‘Ah, he ain’t indeed!’ said the poor woman, shaking her head, as she +looked at the four children in succession, and then at him. + +‘Work!’ said the boilermaker, still seeking that evaporated boiler, first +in my countenance, then in the air, and then in the features of his +second son at his knee: ‘I wish I _was_ in work! I haven’t had more than +a day’s work to do this three weeks.’ + +‘How have you lived?’ + +A faint gleam of admiration lighted up the face of the would-be +boilermaker, as he stretched out the short sleeve of his thread-bare +canvas jacket, and replied, pointing her out, ‘On the work of the wife.’ + +I forget where boilermaking had gone to, or where he supposed it had gone +to; but he added some resigned information on that head, coupled with an +expression of his belief that it was never coming back. + +The cheery helpfulness of the wife was very remarkable. She did +slop-work; made pea-jackets. She produced the pea-jacket then in hand, +and spread it out upon the bed,—the only piece of furniture in the room +on which to spread it. She showed how much of it she made, and how much +was afterwards finished off by the machine. According to her calculation +at the moment, deducting what her trimming cost her, she got for making a +pea-jacket tenpence half-penny, and she could make one in something less +than two days. + +But, you see, it come to her through two hands, and of course it didn’t +come through the second hand for nothing. Why did it come through the +second hand at all? Why, this way. The second hand took the risk of the +given-out work, you see. If she had money enough to pay the security +deposit,—call it two pound,—she could get the work from the first hand, +and so the second would not have to be deducted for. But, having no +money at all, the second hand come in and took its profit, and so the +whole worked down to tenpence half-penny. Having explained all this with +great intelligence, even with some little pride, and without a whine or +murmur, she folded her work again, sat down by her husband’s side at the +washing-stool, and resumed her dinner of dry bread. Mean as the meal +was, on the bare board, with its old gallipots for cups, and what not +other sordid makeshifts; shabby as the woman was in dress, and toning +done towards the Bosjesman colour, with want of nutriment and +washing,—there was positively a dignity in her, as the family anchor just +holding the poor ship-wrecked boilermaker’s bark. When I left the room, +the boiler-maker’s eyes were slowly turned towards her, as if his last +hope of ever again seeing that vanished boiler lay in her direction. + +These people had never applied for parish relief but once; and that was +when the husband met with a disabling accident at his work. + +Not many doors from here, I went into a room on the first floor. The +woman apologised for its being in ‘an untidy mess.’ The day was +Saturday, and she was boiling the children’s clothes in a saucepan on the +hearth. There was nothing else into which she could have put them. +There was no crockery, or tinware, or tub, or bucket. There was an old +gallipot or two, and there was a broken bottle or so, and there were some +broken boxes for seats. The last small scraping of coals left was raked +together in a corner of the floor. There were some rags in an open +cupboard, also on the floor. In a corner of the room was a crazy old +French bed-stead, with a man lying on his back upon it in a ragged pilot +jacket, and rough oil-skin fantail hat. The room was perfectly black. +It was difficult to believe, at first, that it was not purposely coloured +black, the walls were so begrimed. + +As I stood opposite the woman boiling the children’s clothes,—she had not +even a piece of soap to wash them with,—and apologising for her +occupation, I could take in all these things without appearing to notice +them, and could even correct my inventory. I had missed, at the first +glance, some half a pound of bread in the otherwise empty safe, an old +red ragged crinoline hanging on the handle of the door by which I had +entered, and certain fragments of rusty iron scattered on the floor, +which looked like broken tools and a piece of stove-pipe. A child stood +looking on. On the box nearest to the fire sat two younger children; one +a delicate and pretty little creature, whom the other sometimes kissed. + +This woman, like the last, was wofully shabby, and was degenerating to +the Bosjesman complexion. But her figure, and the ghost of a certain +vivacity about her, and the spectre of a dimple in her cheek, carried my +memory strangely back to the old days of the Adelphi Theatre, London, +when Mrs. Fitzwilliam was the friend of Victorine. + +‘May I ask you what your husband is?’ + +‘He’s a coal-porter, sir,’—with a glance and a sigh towards the bed. + +‘Is he out of work?’ + +‘Oh, yes, sir! and work’s at all times very, very scanty with him; and +now he’s laid up.’ + +‘It’s my legs,’ said the man upon the bed. ‘I’ll unroll ’em.’ And +immediately began. + +‘Have you any older children?’ + +‘I have a daughter that does the needle-work, and I have a son that does +what he can. She’s at her work now, and he’s trying for work.’ + +‘Do they live here?’ + +‘They sleep here. They can’t afford to pay more rent, and so they come +here at night. The rent is very hard upon us. It’s rose upon us too, +now,—sixpence a week,—on account of these new changes in the law, about +the rates. We are a week behind; the landlord’s been shaking and +rattling at that door frightfully; he says he’ll turn us out. I don’t +know what’s to come of it.’ + +The man upon the bed ruefully interposed, ‘Here’s my legs. The skin’s +broke, besides the swelling. I have had a many kicks, working, one way +and another.’ + +He looked at his legs (which were much discoloured and misshapen) for a +while, and then appearing to remember that they were not popular with his +family, rolled them up again, as if they were something in the nature of +maps or plans that were not wanted to be referred to, lay hopelessly down +on his back once more with his fantail hat over his face, and stirred +not. + +‘Do your eldest son and daughter sleep in that cupboard?’ + +‘Yes,’ replied the woman. + +‘With the children?’ + +‘Yes. We have to get together for warmth. We have little to cover us.’ + +‘Have you nothing by you to eat but the piece of bread I see there?’ + +‘Nothing. And we had the rest of the loaf for our breakfast, with water. +I don’t know what’s to come of it.’ + +‘Have you no prospect of improvement?’ + +‘If my eldest son earns anything to-day, he’ll bring it home. Then we +shall have something to eat to-night, and may be able to do something +towards the rent. If not, I don’t know what’s to come of it.’ + +‘This is a sad state of things.’ + +‘Yes, sir; it’s a hard, hard life. Take care of the stairs as you go, +sir,—they’re broken,—and good day, sir!’ + +These people had a mortal dread of entering the workhouse, and received +no out-of-door relief. + +In another room, in still another tenement, I found a very decent woman +with five children,—the last a baby, and she herself a patient of the +parish doctor,—to whom, her husband being in the hospital, the Union +allowed for the support of herself and family, four shillings a week and +five loaves. I suppose when Thisman, M.P., and Thatman, M.P., and the +Public-blessing Party, lay their heads together in course of time, and +come to an equalization of rating, she may go down to the dance of death +to the tune of sixpence more. + +I could enter no other houses for that one while, for I could not bear +the contemplation of the children. Such heart as I had summoned to +sustain me against the miseries of the adults failed me when I looked at +the children. I saw how young they were, how hungry, how serious and +still. I thought of them, sick and dying in those lairs. I think of +them dead without anguish; but to think of them so suffering and so dying +quite unmanned me. + +Down by the river’s bank in Ratcliff, I was turning upward by a +side-street, therefore, to regain the railway, when my eyes rested on the +inscription across the road, ‘East London Children’s Hospital.’ I could +scarcely have seen an inscription better suited to my frame of mind; and +I went across and went straight in. + +I found the children’s hospital established in an old sail-loft or +storehouse, of the roughest nature, and on the simplest means. There +were trap-doors in the floors, where goods had been hoisted up and down; +heavy feet and heavy weights had started every knot in the well-trodden +planking: inconvenient bulks and beams and awkward staircases perplexed +my passage through the wards. But I found it airy, sweet, and clean. In +its seven and thirty beds I saw but little beauty; for starvation in the +second or third generation takes a pinched look: but I saw the sufferings +both of infancy and childhood tenderly assuaged; I heard the little +patients answering to pet playful names, the light touch of a delicate +lady laid bare the wasted sticks of arms for me to pity; and the +claw-like little hands, as she did so, twined themselves lovingly around +her wedding-ring. + +One baby mite there was as pretty as any of Raphael’s angels. The tiny +head was bandaged for water on the brain; and it was suffering with acute +bronchitis too, and made from time to time a plaintive, though not +impatient or complaining, little sound. The smooth curve of the cheeks +and of the chin was faultless in its condensation of infantine beauty, +and the large bright eyes were most lovely. It happened as I stopped at +the foot of the bed, that these eyes rested upon mine with that wistful +expression of wondering thoughtfulness which we all know sometimes in +very little children. They remained fixed on mine, and never turned from +me while I stood there. When the utterance of that plaintive sound shook +the little form, the gaze still remained unchanged. I felt as though the +child implored me to tell the story of the little hospital in which it +was sheltered to any gentle heart I could address. Laying my world-worn +hand upon the little unmarked clasped hand at the chin, I gave it a +silent promise that I would do so. + +A gentleman and lady, a young husband and wife, have bought and fitted up +this building for its present noble use, and have quietly settled +themselves in it as its medical officers and directors. Both have had +considerable practical experience of medicine and surgery; he as +house-surgeon of a great London hospital; she as a very earnest student, +tested by severe examination, and also as a nurse of the sick poor during +the prevalence of cholera. + +With every qualification to lure them away, with youth and +accomplishments and tastes and habits that can have no response in any +breast near them, close begirt by every repulsive circumstance +inseparable from such a neighbourhood, there they dwell. They live in +the hospital itself, and their rooms are on its first floor. Sitting at +their dinner-table, they could hear the cry of one of the children in +pain. The lady’s piano, drawing-materials, books, and other such +evidences of refinement are as much a part of the rough place as the iron +bedsteads of the little patients. They are put to shifts for room, like +passengers on board ship. The dispenser of medicines (attracted to them +not by self-interest, but by their own magnetism and that of their cause) +sleeps in a recess in the dining-room, and has his washing apparatus in +the sideboard. + +Their contented manner of making the best of the things around them, I +found so pleasantly inseparable from their usefulness! Their pride in +this partition that we put up ourselves, or in that partition that we +took down, or in that other partition that we moved, or in the stove that +was given us for the waiting-room, or in our nightly conversion of the +little consulting-room into a smoking-room! Their admiration of the +situation, if we could only get rid of its one objectionable incident, +the coal-yard at the back! ‘Our hospital carriage, presented by a +friend, and very useful.’ That was my presentation to a perambulator, +for which a coach-house had been discovered in a corner down-stairs, just +large enough to hold it. Coloured prints, in all stages of preparation +for being added to those already decorating the wards, were plentiful; a +charming wooden phenomenon of a bird, with an impossible top-knot, who +ducked his head when you set a counter weight going, had been inaugurated +as a public statue that very morning; and trotting about among the beds, +on familiar terms with all the patients, was a comical mongrel dog, +called Poodles. This comical dog (quite a tonic in himself) was found +characteristically starving at the door of the institution, and was taken +in and fed, and has lived here ever since. An admirer of his mental +endowments has presented him with a collar bearing the legend, ‘Judge not +Poodles by external appearances.’ He was merrily wagging his tail on a +boy’s pillow when he made this modest appeal to me. + +When this hospital was first opened, in January of the present year, the +people could not possibly conceive but that somebody paid for the +services rendered there; and were disposed to claim them as a right, and +to find fault if out of temper. They soon came to understand the case +better, and have much increased in gratitude. The mothers of the +patients avail themselves very freely of the visiting rules; the fathers +often on Sundays. There is an unreasonable (but still, I think, touching +and intelligible) tendency in the parents to take a child away to its +wretched home, if on the point of death. One boy who had been thus +carried off on a rainy night, when in a violent state of inflammation, +and who had been afterwards brought back, had been recovered with +exceeding difficulty; but he was a jolly boy, with a specially strong +interest in his dinner, when I saw him. + +Insufficient food and unwholesome living are the main causes of disease +among these small patients. So nourishment, cleanliness, and ventilation +are the main remedies. Discharged patients are looked after, and invited +to come and dine now and then; so are certain famishing creatures who +were never patients. Both the lady and the gentleman are well +acquainted, not only with the histories of the patients and their +families, but with the characters and circumstances of great numbers of +their neighbours—of these they keep a register. It is their common +experience, that people, sinking down by inches into deeper and deeper +poverty, will conceal it, even from them, if possible, unto the very last +extremity. + +The nurses of this hospital are all young,—ranging, say, from nineteen to +four and twenty. They have even within these narrow limits, what many +well-endowed hospitals would not give them, a comfortable room of their +own in which to take their meals. It is a beautiful truth, that interest +in the children and sympathy with their sorrows bind these young women to +their places far more strongly than any other consideration could. The +best skilled of the nurses came originally from a kindred neighbourhood, +almost as poor; and she knew how much the work was needed. She is a fair +dressmaker. The hospital cannot pay her as many pounds in the year as +there are months in it; and one day the lady regarded it as a duty to +speak to her about her improving her prospects and following her trade. +‘No,’ she said: she could never be so useful or so happy elsewhere any +more; she must stay among the children. + +And she stays. One of the nurses, as I passed her, was washing a +baby-boy. Liking her pleasant face, I stopped to speak to her charge,—a +common, bullet-headed, frowning charge enough, laying hold of his own +nose with a slippery grasp, and staring very solemnly out of a blanket. +The melting of the pleasant face into delighted smiles, as this young +gentleman gave an unexpected kick, and laughed at me, was almost worth my +previous pain. + +An affecting play was acted in Paris years ago, called ‘The Children’s +Doctor.’ As I parted from my children’s doctor, now in question, I saw +in his easy black necktie, in his loose buttoned black frock-coat, in his +pensive face, in the flow of his dark hair, in his eyelashes, in the very +turn of his moustache, the exact realisation of the Paris artist’s ideal +as it was presented on the stage. But no romancer that I know of has had +the boldness to prefigure the life and home of this young husband and +young wife in the Children’s Hospital in the east of London. + +I came away from Ratcliff by the Stepney railway station to the terminus +at Fenchurch Street. Any one who will reverse that route may retrace my +steps. + + + + +XXXIII +A LITTLE DINNER IN AN HOUR + + +IT fell out on a day in this last autumn, that I had to go down from +London to a place of seaside resort, on an hour’s business, accompanied +by my esteemed friend Bullfinch. Let the place of seaside resort be, for +the nonce, called Namelesston. + +I had been loitering about Paris in very hot weather, pleasantly +breakfasting in the open air in the garden of the Palais Royal or the +Tuileries, pleasantly dining in the open air in the Elysian Fields, +pleasantly taking my cigar and lemonade in the open air on the Italian +Boulevard towards the small hours after midnight. Bullfinch—an excellent +man of business—has summoned me back across the Channel, to transact this +said hour’s business at Namelesston; and thus it fell out that Bullfinch +and I were in a railway carriage together on our way to Namelesston, each +with his return-ticket in his waistcoat-pocket. + +Says Bullfinch, ‘I have a proposal to make. Let us dine at the +Temeraire.’ + +I asked Bullfinch, did he recommend the Temeraire? inasmuch as I had not +been rated on the books of the Temeraire for many years. + +Bullfinch declined to accept the responsibility of recommending the +Temeraire, but on the whole was rather sanguine about it. He ‘seemed to +remember,’ Bullfinch said, that he had dined well there. A plain dinner, +but good. Certainly not like a Parisian dinner (here Bullfinch obviously +became the prey of want of confidence), but of its kind very fair. + +I appeal to Bullfinch’s intimate knowledge of my wants and ways to decide +whether I was usually ready to be pleased with any dinner, or—for the +matter of that—with anything that was fair of its kind and really what it +claimed to be. Bullfinch doing me the honour to respond in the +affirmative, I agreed to ship myself as an able trencherman on board the +Temeraire. + +‘Now, our plan shall be this,’ says Bullfinch, with his forefinger at his +nose. ‘As soon as we get to Namelesston, we’ll drive straight to the +Temeraire, and order a little dinner in an hour. And as we shall not +have more than enough time in which to dispose of it comfortably, what do +you say to giving the house the best opportunities of serving it hot and +quickly by dining in the coffee-room?’ + +What I had to say was, Certainly. Bullfinch (who is by nature of a +hopeful constitution) then began to babble of green geese. But I checked +him in that Falstaffian vein, urging considerations of time and cookery. + +In due sequence of events we drove up to the Temeraire, and alighted. A +youth in livery received us on the door-step. ‘Looks well,’ said +Bullfinch confidentially. And then aloud, ‘Coffee-room!’ + +The youth in livery (now perceived to be mouldy) conducted us to the +desired haven, and was enjoined by Bullfinch to send the waiter at once, +as we wished to order a little dinner in an hour. Then Bullfinch and I +waited for the waiter, until, the waiter continuing to wait in some +unknown and invisible sphere of action, we rang for the waiter; which +ring produced the waiter, who announced himself as not the waiter who +ought to wait upon us, and who didn’t wait a moment longer. + +So Bullfinch approached the coffee-room door, and melodiously pitching +his voice into a bar where two young ladies were keeping the books of the +Temeraire, apologetically explained that we wished to order a little +dinner in an hour, and that we were debarred from the execution of our +inoffensive purpose by consignment to solitude. + +Hereupon one of the young ladies ran a bell, which reproduced—at the bar +this time—the waiter who was not the waiter who ought to wait upon us; +that extraordinary man, whose life seemed consumed in waiting upon people +to say that he wouldn’t wait upon them, repeated his former protest with +great indignation, and retired. + +Bullfinch, with a fallen countenance, was about to say to me, ‘This won’t +do,’ when the waiter who ought to wait upon us left off keeping us +waiting at last. ‘Waiter,’ said Bullfinch piteously, ‘we have been a +long time waiting.’ The waiter who ought to wait upon us laid the blame +upon the waiter who ought not to wait upon us, and said it was all that +waiter’s fault. + +‘We wish,’ said Bullfinch, much depressed, ‘to order a little dinner in +an hour. What can we have?’ + +‘What would you like to have, gentlemen?’ + +Bullfinch, with extreme mournfulness of speech and action, and with a +forlorn old fly-blown bill of fare in his hand which the waiter had given +him, and which was a sort of general manuscript index to any cookery-book +you please, moved the previous question. + +We could have mock-turtle soup, a sole, curry, and roast duck. Agreed. +At this table by this window. Punctually in an hour. + +I had been feigning to look out of this window; but I had been taking +note of the crumbs on all the tables, the dirty table-cloths, the stuffy, +soupy, airless atmosphere, the stale leavings everywhere about, the deep +gloom of the waiter who ought to wait upon us, and the stomach-ache with +which a lonely traveller at a distant table in a corner was too evidently +afflicted. I now pointed out to Bullfinch the alarming circumstance that +this traveller had _dined_. We hurriedly debated whether, without +infringement of good breeding, we could ask him to disclose if he had +partaken of mock-turtle, sole, curry, or roast duck? We decided that the +thing could not be politely done, and we had set our own stomachs on a +cast, and they must stand the hazard of the die. + +I hold phrenology, within certain limits, to be true; I am much of the +same mind as to the subtler expressions of the hand; I hold physiognomy +to be infallible; though all these sciences demand rare qualities in the +student. But I also hold that there is no more certain index to personal +character than the condition of a set of casters is to the character of +any hotel. Knowing, and having often tested this theory of mine, +Bullfinch resigned himself to the worst, when, laying aside any remaining +veil of disguise, I held up before him in succession the cloudy oil and +furry vinegar, the clogged cayenne, the dirty salt, the obscene dregs of +soy, and the anchovy sauce in a flannel waistcoat of decomposition. + +We went out to transact our business. So inspiriting was the relief of +passing into the clean and windy streets of Namelesston from the heavy +and vapid closeness of the coffee-room of the Temeraire, that hope began +to revive within us. We began to consider that perhaps the lonely +traveller had taken physic, or done something injudicious to bring his +complaint on. Bullfinch remarked that he thought the waiter who ought to +wait upon us had brightened a little when suggesting curry; and although +I knew him to have been at that moment the express image of despair, I +allowed myself to become elevated in spirits. As we walked by the +softly-lapping sea, all the notabilities of Namelesston, who are for ever +going up and down with the changelessness of the tides, passed to and fro +in procession. Pretty girls on horseback, and with detested +riding-masters; pretty girls on foot; mature ladies in hats,—spectacled, +strong-minded, and glaring at the opposite or weaker sex. The Stock +Exchange was strongly represented, Jerusalem was strongly represented, +the bores of the prosier London clubs were strongly represented. +Fortune-hunters of all denominations were there, from hirsute insolvency, +in a curricle, to closely-buttoned swindlery in doubtful boots, on the +sharp look-out for any likely young gentleman disposed to play a game at +billiards round the corner. Masters of languages, their lessons finished +for the day, were going to their homes out of sight of the sea; +mistresses of accomplishments, carrying small portfolios, likewise +tripped homeward; pairs of scholastic pupils, two and two, went languidly +along the beach, surveying the face of the waters as if waiting for some +Ark to come and take them off. Spectres of the George the Fourth days +flitted unsteadily among the crowd, bearing the outward semblance of +ancient dandies, of every one of whom it might be said, not that he had +one leg in the grave, or both legs, but that he was steeped in grave to +the summit of his high shirt-collar, and had nothing real about him but +his bones. Alone stationary in the midst of all the movements, the +Namelesston boatmen leaned against the railings and yawned, and looked +out to sea, or looked at the moored fishing-boats and at nothing. Such +is the unchanging manner of life with this nursery of our hardy seamen; +and very dry nurses they are, and always wanting something to drink. The +only two nautical personages detached from the railing were the two +fortunate possessors of the celebrated monstrous unknown barking-fish, +just caught (frequently just caught off Namelesston), who carried him +about in a hamper, and pressed the scientific to look in at the lid. + +The sands of the hour had all run out when we got back to the Temeraire. +Says Bullfinch, then, to the youth in livery, with boldness, ‘Lavatory!’ + +When we arrived at the family vault with a skylight, which the youth in +livery presented as the institution sought, we had already whisked off +our cravats and coats; but finding ourselves in the presence of an evil +smell, and no linen but two crumpled towels newly damp from the +countenances of two somebody elses, we put on our cravats and coats +again, and fled unwashed to the coffee-room. + +There the waiter who ought to wait upon us had set forth our knives and +forks and glasses, on the cloth whose dirty acquaintance we had already +had the pleasure of making, and which we were pleased to recognise by the +familiar expression of its stains. And now there occurred the truly +surprising phenomenon, that the waiter who ought not to wait upon us +swooped down upon us, clutched our loaf of bread, and vanished with the +same. + +Bullfinch, with distracted eyes, was following this unaccountable figure +‘out at the portal,’ like the ghost in Hamlet, when the waiter who ought +to wait upon us jostled against it, carrying a tureen. + +‘Waiter!’ said a severe diner, lately finished, perusing his bill +fiercely through his eye-glass. + +The waiter put down our tureen on a remote side-table, and went to see +what was amiss in this new direction. + +‘This is not right, you know, waiter. Look here! here’s yesterday’s +sherry, one and eightpence, and here we are again, two shillings. And +what does sixpence mean?’ + +So far from knowing what sixpence meant, the waiter protested that he +didn’t know what anything meant. He wiped the perspiration from his +clammy brow, and said it was impossible to do it,—not particularising +what,—and the kitchen was so far off. + +‘Take the bill to the bar, and get it altered,’ said Mr. Indignation +Cocker, so to call him. + +The waiter took it, looked intensely at it, didn’t seem to like the idea +of taking it to the bar, and submitted, as a new light upon the case, +that perhaps sixpence meant sixpence. + +‘I tell you again,’ said Mr. Indignation Cocker, ‘here’s yesterday’s +sherry—can’t you see it?—one and eightpence, and here we are again, two +shillings. What do you make of one and eightpence and two shillings?’ + +Totally unable to make anything of one and eightpence and two shillings, +the waiter went out to try if anybody else could; merely casting a +helpless backward glance at Bullfinch, in acknowledgement of his pathetic +entreaties for our soup-tureen. After a pause, during which Mr. +Indignation Cocker read a newspaper and coughed defiant coughs, Bullfinch +arose to get the tureen, when the waiter reappeared and brought +it,—dropping Mr. Indignation Cocker’s altered bill on Mr. Indignation +Cocker’s table as he came along. + +‘It’s quite impossible to do it, gentlemen,’ murmured the waiter; ‘and +the kitchen is so far off.’ + +‘Well, you don’t keep the house; it’s not your fault, we suppose. Bring +some sherry.’ + +‘Waiter!’ from Mr. Indignation Cocker, with a new and burning sense of +injury upon him. + +The waiter, arrested on his way to our sherry, stopped short, and came +back to see what was wrong now. + +‘Will you look here? This is worse than before. _Do_ you understand? +Here’s yesterday’s sherry, one and eightpence, and here we are again two +shillings. And what the devil does ninepence mean?’ + +This new portent utterly confounded the waiter. He wrung his napkin, and +mutely appealed to the ceiling. + +‘Waiter, fetch that sherry,’ says Bullfinch, in open wrath and revolt. + +‘I want to know,’ persisted Mr. Indignation Cocker, ‘the meaning of +ninepence. I want to know the meaning of sherry one and eightpence +yesterday, and of here we are again two shillings. Send somebody.’ + +The distracted waiter got out of the room on pretext of sending somebody, +and by that means got our wine. But the instant he appeared with our +decanter, Mr. Indignation Cocker descended on him again. + +‘Waiter!’ + +‘You will now have the goodness to attend to our dinner, waiter,’ said +Bullfinch, sternly. + +‘I am very sorry, but it’s quite impossible to do it, gentlemen,’ pleaded +the waiter; ‘and the kitchen—’ + +‘Waiter!’ said Mr. Indignation Cocker. + +‘—Is,’ resumed the waiter, ‘so far off, that—’ + +‘Waiter!’ persisted Mr. Indignation Cocker, ‘send somebody.’ + +We were not without our fears that the waiter rushed out to hang himself; +and we were much relieved by his fetching somebody,—in graceful, flowing +skirts and with a waist,—who very soon settled Mr. Indignation Cocker’s +business. + +‘Oh!’ said Mr. Cocker, with his fire surprisingly quenched by this +apparition; ‘I wished to ask about this bill of mine, because it appears +to me that there’s a little mistake here. Let me show you. Here’s +yesterday’s sherry one and eightpence, and here we are again two +shillings. And how do you explain ninepence?’ + +However it was explained, in tones too soft to be overheard. Mr. Cocker +was heard to say nothing more than ‘Ah-h-h! Indeed; thank you! Yes,’ +and shortly afterwards went out, a milder man. + +The lonely traveller with the stomach-ache had all this time suffered +severely, drawing up a leg now and then, and sipping hot brandy-and-water +with grated ginger in it. When we tasted our (very) mock-turtle soup, +and were instantly seized with symptoms of some disorder simulating +apoplexy, and occasioned by the surcharge of nose and brain with lukewarm +dish-water holding in solution sour flour, poisonous condiments, and +(say) seventy-five per cent. of miscellaneous kitchen stuff rolled into +balls, we were inclined to trace his disorder to that source. On the +other hand, there was a silent anguish upon him too strongly resembling +the results established within ourselves by the sherry, to be discarded +from alarmed consideration. Again, we observed him, with terror, to be +much overcome by our sole’s being aired in a temporary retreat close to +him, while the waiter went out (as we conceived) to see his friends. And +when the curry made its appearance he suddenly retired in great disorder. + +In fine, for the uneatable part of this little dinner (as +contradistinguished from the undrinkable) we paid only seven shillings +and sixpence each. And Bullfinch and I agreed unanimously, that no such +ill-served, ill-appointed, ill-cooked, nasty little dinner could be got +for the money anywhere else under the sun. With that comfort to our +backs, we turned them on the dear old Temeraire, the charging Temeraire, +and resolved (in the Scotch dialect) to gang nae mair to the flabby +Temeraire. + + + + +XXXIV +MR. BARLOW + + +A GREAT reader of good fiction at an unusually early age, it seems to me +as though I had been born under the superintendence of the estimable but +terrific gentleman whose name stands at the head of my present +reflections. The instructive monomaniac, Mr. Barlow, will be remembered +as the tutor of Master Harry Sandford and Master Tommy Merton. He knew +everything, and didactically improved all sorts of occasions, from the +consumption of a plate of cherries to the contemplation of a starlight +night. What youth came to without Mr. Barlow was displayed in the +history of Sandford and Merton, by the example of a certain awful Master +Mash. This young wretch wore buckles and powder, conducted himself with +insupportable levity at the theatre, had no idea of facing a mad bull +single-handed (in which I think him less reprehensible, as remotely +reflecting my own character), and was a frightful instance of the +enervating effects of luxury upon the human race. + +Strange destiny on the part of Mr. Barlow, to go down to posterity as +childhood’s experience of a bore! Immortal Mr. Barlow, boring his way +through the verdant freshness of ages! + +My personal indictment against Mr. Barlow is one of many counts. I will +proceed to set forth a few of the injuries he has done me. + +In the first place, he never made or took a joke. This insensibility on +Mr. Barlow’s part not only cast its own gloom over my boyhood, but +blighted even the sixpenny jest-books of the time; for, groaning under a +moral spell constraining me to refer all things to Mr. Barlow, I could +not choose but ask myself in a whisper when tickled by a printed jest, +‘What would _he_ think of it? What would _he_ see in it?’ The point of +the jest immediately became a sting, and stung my conscience. For my +mind’s eye saw him stolid, frigid, perchance taking from its shelf some +dreary Greek book, and translating at full length what some dismal sage +said (and touched up afterwards, perhaps, for publication), when he +banished some unlucky joker from Athens. + +The incompatibility of Mr. Barlow with all other portions of my young +life but himself, the adamantine inadaptability of the man to my +favourite fancies and amusements, is the thing for which I hate him most. +What right had he to bore his way into my Arabian Nights? Yet he did. +He was always hinting doubts of the veracity of Sindbad the Sailor. If +he could have got hold of the Wonderful Lamp, I knew he would have +trimmed it and lighted it, and delivered a lecture over it on the +qualities of sperm-oil, with a glance at the whale fisheries. He would +so soon have found out—on mechanical principles—the peg in the neck of +the Enchanted Horse, and would have turned it the right way in so +workmanlike a manner, that the horse could never have got any height into +the air, and the story couldn’t have been. He would have proved, by map +and compass, that there was no such kingdom as the delightful kingdom of +Casgar, on the frontiers of Tartary. He would have caused that +hypocritical young prig Harry to make an experiment,—with the aid of a +temporary building in the garden and a dummy,—demonstrating that you +couldn’t let a choked hunchback down an Eastern chimney with a cord, and +leave him upright on the hearth to terrify the sultan’s purveyor. + +The golden sounds of the overture to the first metropolitan pantomime, I +remember, were alloyed by Mr. Barlow. Click click, ting ting, bang bang, +weedle weedle weedle, bang! I recall the chilling air that ran across my +frame and cooled my hot delight, as the thought occurred to me, ‘This +would never do for Mr. Barlow!’ After the curtain drew up, dreadful +doubts of Mr. Barlow’s considering the costumes of the Nymphs of the +Nebula as being sufficiently opaque, obtruded themselves on my enjoyment. +In the clown I perceived two persons; one a fascinating unaccountable +creature of a hectic complexion, joyous in spirits though feeble in +intellect, with flashes of brilliancy; the other a pupil for Mr. Barlow. +I thought how Mr. Barlow would secretly rise early in the morning, and +butter the pavement for _him_, and, when he had brought him down, would +look severely out of his study window and ask _him_ how he enjoyed the +fun. + +I thought how Mr. Barlow would heat all the pokers in the house, and +singe him with the whole collection, to bring him better acquainted with +the properties of incandescent iron, on which he (Barlow) would fully +expatiate. I pictured Mr. Barlow’s instituting a comparison between the +clown’s conduct at his studies,—drinking up the ink, licking his +copy-book, and using his head for blotting-paper,—and that of the already +mentioned young prig of prigs, Harry, sitting at the Barlovian feet, +sneakingly pretending to be in a rapture of youthful knowledge. I +thought how soon Mr. Barlow would smooth the clown’s hair down, instead +of letting it stand erect in three tall tufts; and how, after a couple of +years or so with Mr. Barlow, he would keep his legs close together when +he walked, and would take his hands out of his big loose pockets, and +wouldn’t have a jump left in him. + +That I am particularly ignorant what most things in the universe are made +of, and how they are made, is another of my charges against Mr. Barlow. +With the dread upon me of developing into a Harry, and with a further +dread upon me of being Barlowed if I made inquiries, by bringing down +upon myself a cold shower-bath of explanations and experiments, I forbore +enlightenment in my youth, and became, as they say in melodramas, ‘the +wreck you now behold.’ That I consorted with idlers and dunces is +another of the melancholy facts for which I hold Mr. Barlow responsible. +That pragmatical prig, Harry, became so detestable in my sight, that, he +being reported studious in the South, I would have fled idle to the +extremest North. Better to learn misconduct from a Master Mash than +science and statistics from a Sandford! So I took the path, which, but +for Mr. Barlow, I might never have trodden. Thought I, with a shudder, +‘Mr. Barlow is a bore, with an immense constructive power of making +bores. His prize specimen is a bore. He seeks to make a bore of me. +That knowledge is power I am not prepared to gainsay; but, with Mr. +Barlow, knowledge is power to bore.’ Therefore I took refuge in the +caves of ignorance, wherein I have resided ever since, and which are +still my private address. + +But the weightiest charge of all my charges against Mr. Barlow is, that +he still walks the earth in various disguises, seeking to make a Tommy of +me, even in my maturity. Irrepressible, instructive monomaniac, Mr. +Barlow fills my life with pitfalls, and lies hiding at the bottom to +burst out upon me when I least expect him. + +A few of these dismal experiences of mine shall suffice. + +Knowing Mr. Barlow to have invested largely in the moving panorama trade, +and having on various occasions identified him in the dark with a long +wand in his hand, holding forth in his old way (made more appalling in +this connection by his sometimes cracking a piece of Mr. Carlyle’s own +Dead-Sea fruit in mistake for a joke), I systematically shun pictorial +entertainment on rollers. Similarly, I should demand responsible bail +and guaranty against the appearance of Mr. Barlow, before committing +myself to attendance at any assemblage of my fellow-creatures where a +bottle of water and a note-book were conspicuous objects; for in either +of those associations, I should expressly expect him. But such is the +designing nature of the man, that he steals in where no reasoning +precaution or provision could expect him. As in the following case:— + +Adjoining the Caves of Ignorance is a country town. In this country town +the Mississippi Momuses, nine in number, were announced to appear in the +town-hall, for the general delectation, this last Christmas week. +Knowing Mr. Barlow to be unconnected with the Mississippi, though holding +republican opinions, and deeming myself secure, I took a stall. My +object was to hear and see the Mississippi Momuses in what the bills +described as their ‘National ballads, plantation break-downs, nigger +part-songs, choice conundrums, sparkling repartees, &c.’ I found the +nine dressed alike, in the black coat and trousers, white waistcoat, very +large shirt-front, very large shirt-collar, and very large white tie and +wristbands, which constitute the dress of the mass of the African race, +and which has been observed by travellers to prevail over a vast number +of degrees of latitude. All the nine rolled their eyes exceedingly, and +had very red lips. At the extremities of the curve they formed, seated +in their chairs, were the performers on the tambourine and bones. The +centre Momus, a black of melancholy aspect (who inspired me with a vague +uneasiness for which I could not then account), performed on a +Mississippi instrument closely resembling what was once called in this +island a hurdy-gurdy. The Momuses on either side of him had each another +instrument peculiar to the Father of Waters, which may be likened to a +stringed weather-glass held upside down. There were likewise a little +flute and a violin. All went well for awhile, and we had had several +sparkling repartees exchanged between the performers on the tambourine +and bones, when the black of melancholy aspect, turning to the latter, +and addressing him in a deep and improving voice as ‘Bones, sir,’ +delivered certain grave remarks to him concerning the juveniles present, +and the season of the year; whereon I perceived that I was in the +presence of Mr. Barlow—corked! + +Another night—and this was in London—I attended the representation of a +little comedy. As the characters were lifelike (and consequently not +improving), and as they went upon their several ways and designs without +personally addressing themselves to me, I felt rather confident of coming +through it without being regarded as Tommy, the more so, as we were +clearly getting close to the end. But I deceived myself. All of a +sudden, Apropos of nothing, everybody concerned came to a check and halt, +advanced to the foot-lights in a general rally to take dead aim at me, +and brought me down with a moral homily, in which I detected the dread +hand of Barlow. + +Nay, so intricate and subtle are the toils of this hunter, that on the +very next night after that, I was again entrapped, where no vestige of a +spring could have been apprehended by the timidest. It was a burlesque +that I saw performed; an uncompromising burlesque, where everybody +concerned, but especially the ladies, carried on at a very considerable +rate indeed. Most prominent and active among the corps of performers was +what I took to be (and she really gave me very fair opportunities of +coming to a right conclusion) a young lady of a pretty figure. She was +dressed as a picturesque young gentleman, whose pantaloons had been cut +off in their infancy; and she had very neat knees and very neat satin +boots. Immediately after singing a slang song and dancing a slang dance, +this engaging figure approached the fatal lamps, and, bending over them, +delivered in a thrilling voice a random eulogium on, and exhortation to +pursue, the virtues. ‘Great Heaven!’ was my exclamation; ‘Barlow!’ + +There is still another aspect in which Mr. Barlow perpetually insists on +my sustaining the character of Tommy, which is more unendurable yet, on +account of its extreme aggressiveness. For the purposes of a review or +newspaper, he will get up an abstruse subject with definite pains, will +Barlow, utterly regardless of the price of midnight oil, and indeed of +everything else, save cramming himself to the eyes. + +But mark. When Mr. Barlow blows his information off, he is not contented +with having rammed it home, and discharged it upon me, Tommy, his target, +but he pretends that he was always in possession of it, and made nothing +of it,—that he imbibed it with mother’s milk,—and that I, the wretched +Tommy, am most abjectly behindhand in not having done the same. I ask, +why is Tommy to be always the foil of Mr. Barlow to this extent? What +Mr. Barlow had not the slightest notion of himself, a week ago, it surely +cannot be any very heavy backsliding in me not to have at my fingers’ +ends to-day! And yet Mr. Barlow systematically carries it over me with a +high hand, and will tauntingly ask me, in his articles, whether it is +possible that I am not aware that every school-boy knows that the +fourteenth turning on the left in the steppes of Russia will conduct to +such and such a wandering tribe? with other disparaging questions of like +nature. So, when Mr. Barlow addresses a letter to any journal as a +volunteer correspondent (which I frequently find him doing), he will +previously have gotten somebody to tell him some tremendous technicality, +and will write in the coolest manner, ‘Now, sir, I may assume that every +reader of your columns, possessing average information and intelligence, +knows as well as I do that’—say that the draught from the touch-hole of a +cannon of such a calibre bears such a proportion in the nicest fractions +to the draught from the muzzle; or some equally familiar little fact. +But whatever it is, be certain that it always tends to the exaltation of +Mr. Barlow, and the depression of his enforced and enslaved pupil. + +Mr. Barlow’s knowledge of my own pursuits I find to be so profound, that +my own knowledge of them becomes as nothing. Mr. Barlow (disguised and +bearing a feigned name, but detected by me) has occasionally taught me, +in a sonorous voice, from end to end of a long dinner-table, trifles that +I took the liberty of teaching him five-and-twenty years ago. My closing +article of impeachment against Mr. Barlow is, that he goes out to +breakfast, goes out to dinner, goes out everywhere, high and low, and +that he WILL preach to me, and that I CAN’T get rid of him. He makes me +a Promethean Tommy, bound; and he is the vulture that gorges itself upon +the liver of my uninstructed mind. + + + + +XXXV +ON AN AMATEUR BEAT + + +IT is one of my fancies, that even my idlest walk must always have its +appointed destination. I set myself a task before I leave my lodging in +Covent-garden on a street expedition, and should no more think of +altering my route by the way, or turning back and leaving a part of it +unachieved, than I should think of fraudulently violating an agreement +entered into with somebody else. The other day, finding myself under +this kind of obligation to proceed to Limehouse, I started punctually at +noon, in compliance with the terms of the contract with myself to which +my good faith was pledged. + +On such an occasion, it is my habit to regard my walk as my beat, and +myself as a higher sort of police-constable doing duty on the same. +There is many a ruffian in the streets whom I mentally collar and clear +out of them, who would see mighty little of London, I can tell him, if I +could deal with him physically. + +Issuing forth upon this very beat, and following with my eyes three +hulking garrotters on their way home,—which home I could confidently +swear to be within so many yards of Drury-lane, in such a narrow and +restricted direction (though they live in their lodging quite as +undisturbed as I in mine),—I went on duty with a consideration which I +respectfully offer to the new Chief Commissioner,—in whom I thoroughly +confide as a tried and efficient public servant. How often (thought I) +have I been forced to swallow, in police-reports, the intolerable +stereotyped pill of nonsense, how that the police-constable informed the +worthy magistrate how that the associates of the prisoner did, at that +present speaking, dwell in a street or court which no man dared go down, +and how that the worthy magistrate had heard of the dark reputation of +such street or court, and how that our readers would doubtless remember +that it was always the same street or court which was thus edifyingly +discoursed about, say once a fortnight. + +Now, suppose that a Chief Commissioner sent round a circular to every +division of police employed in London, requiring instantly the names in +all districts of all such much-puffed streets or courts which no man +durst go down; and suppose that in such circular he gave plain warning, +‘If those places really exist, they are a proof of police inefficiency +which I mean to punish; and if they do not exist, but are a conventional +fiction, then they are a proof of lazy tacit police connivance with +professional crime, which I also mean to punish’—what then? Fictions or +realities, could they survive the touchstone of this atom of common +sense? To tell us in open court, until it has become as trite a feature +of news as the great gooseberry, that a costly police-system such as was +never before heard of, has left in London, in the days of steam and gas +and photographs of thieves and electric telegraphs, the sanctuaries and +stews of the Stuarts! Why, a parity of practice, in all departments, +would bring back the Plague in two summers, and the Druids in a century! + +Walking faster under my share of this public injury, I overturned a +wretched little creature, who, clutching at the rags of a pair of +trousers with one of its claws, and at its ragged hair with the other, +pattered with bare feet over the muddy stones. I stopped to raise and +succour this poor weeping wretch, and fifty like it, but of both sexes, +were about me in a moment, begging, tumbling, fighting, clamouring, +yelling, shivering in their nakedness and hunger. The piece of money I +had put into the claw of the child I had over-turned was clawed out of +it, and was again clawed out of that wolfish gripe, and again out of +that, and soon I had no notion in what part of the obscene scuffle in the +mud, of rags and legs and arms and dirt, the money might be. In raising +the child, I had drawn it aside out of the main thoroughfare, and this +took place among some wooden hoardings and barriers and ruins of +demolished buildings, hard by Temple Bar. + +Unexpectedly, from among them emerged a genuine police-constable, before +whom the dreadful brood dispersed in various directions, he making feints +and darts in this direction and in that, and catching nothing. When all +were frightened away, he took off his hat, pulled out a handkerchief from +it, wiped his heated brow, and restored the handkerchief and hat to their +places, with the air of a man who had discharged a great moral duty,—as +indeed he had, in doing what was set down for him. I looked at him, and +I looked about at the disorderly traces in the mud, and I thought of the +drops of rain and the footprints of an extinct creature, hoary ages upon +ages old, that geologists have identified on the face of a cliff; and +this speculation came over me: If this mud could petrify at this moment, +and could lie concealed here for ten thousand years, I wonder whether the +race of men then to be our successors on the earth could, from these or +any marks, by the utmost force of the human intellect, unassisted by +tradition, deduce such an astounding inference as the existence of a +polished state of society that bore with the public savagery of neglected +children in the streets of its capital city, and was proud of its power +by sea and land, and never used its power to seize and save them! + +After this, when I came to the Old Bailey and glanced up it towards +Newgate, I found that the prison had an inconsistent look. There seemed +to be some unlucky inconsistency in the atmosphere that day; for though +the proportions of St. Paul’s Cathedral are very beautiful, it had an air +of being somewhat out of drawing, in my eyes. I felt as though the cross +were too high up, and perched upon the intervening golden ball too far +away. + +Facing eastward, I left behind me Smithfield and Old Bailey,—fire and +faggot, condemned hold, public hanging, whipping through the city at the +cart-tail, pillory, branding-iron, and other beautiful ancestral +landmarks, which rude hands have rooted up, without bringing the stars +quite down upon us as yet,—and went my way upon my beat, noting how oddly +characteristic neighbourhoods are divided from one another, hereabout, as +though by an invisible line across the way. Here shall cease the bankers +and the money-changers; here shall begin the shipping interest and the +nautical-instrument shops; here shall follow a scarcely perceptible +flavouring of groceries and drugs; here shall come a strong infusion of +butchers; now, small hosiers shall be in the ascendant; henceforth, +everything exposed for sale shall have its ticketed price attached. All +this as if specially ordered and appointed. + +A single stride at Houndsditch Church, no wider than sufficed to cross +the kennel at the bottom of the Canon-gate, which the debtors in Holyrood +sanctuary were wont to relieve their minds by skipping over, as Scott +relates, and standing in delightful daring of catchpoles on the free +side,—a single stride, and everything is entirely changed in grain and +character. West of the stride, a table, or a chest of drawers on sale, +shall be of mahogany and French-polished; east of the stride, it shall be +of deal, smeared with a cheap counterfeit resembling lip-salve. West of +the stride, a penny loaf or bun shall be compact and self-contained; east +of the stride, it shall be of a sprawling and splay-footed character, as +seeking to make more of itself for the money. My beat lying round by +Whitechapel Church, and the adjacent sugar-refineries,—great buildings, +tier upon tier, that have the appearance of being nearly related to the +dock-warehouses at Liverpool,—I turned off to my right, and, passing +round the awkward corner on my left, came suddenly on an apparition +familiar to London streets afar off. + +What London peripatetic of these times has not seen the woman who has +fallen forward, double, through some affection of the spine, and whose +head has of late taken a turn to one side, so that it now droops over the +back of one of her arms at about the wrist? Who does not know her staff, +and her shawl, and her basket, as she gropes her way along, capable of +seeing nothing but the pavement, never begging, never stopping, for ever +going somewhere on no business? How does she live, whence does she come, +whither does she go, and why? I mind the time when her yellow arms were +naught but bone and parchment. Slight changes steal over her; for there +is a shadowy suggestion of human skin on them now. The Strand may be +taken as the central point about which she revolves in a half-mile orbit. +How comes she so far east as this? And coming back too! Having been how +much farther? She is a rare spectacle in this neighbourhood. I receive +intelligent information to this effect from a dog—a lop-sided mongrel +with a foolish tail, plodding along with his tail up, and his ears +pricked, and displaying an amiable interest in the ways of his +fellow-men,—if I may be allowed the expression. After pausing at a +pork-shop, he is jogging eastward like myself, with a benevolent +countenance and a watery mouth, as though musing on the many excellences +of pork, when he beholds this doubled-up bundle approaching. He is not +so much astonished at the bundle (though amazed by that), as the +circumstance that it has within itself the means of locomotion. He +stops, pricks his ears higher, makes a slight point, stares, utters a +short, low growl, and glistens at the nose,—as I conceive with terror. +The bundle continuing to approach, he barks, turns tail, and is about to +fly, when, arguing with himself that flight is not becoming in a dog, he +turns, and once more faces the advancing heap of clothes. After much +hesitation, it occurs to him that there may be a face in it somewhere. +Desperately resolving to undertake the adventure, and pursue the inquiry, +he goes slowly up to the bundle, goes slowly round it, and coming at +length upon the human countenance down there where never human +countenance should be, gives a yelp of horror, and flies for the East +India Docks. + +Being now in the Commercial Road district of my beat, and bethinking +myself that Stepney Station is near, I quicken my pace that I may turn +out of the road at that point, and see how my small eastern star is +shining. + +The Children’s Hospital, to which I gave that name, is in full force. +All its beds are occupied. There is a new face on the bed where my +pretty baby lay, and that sweet little child is now at rest for ever. +Much kind sympathy has been here since my former visit, and it is good to +see the walls profusely garnished with dolls. I wonder what Poodles may +think of them, as they stretch out their arms above the beds, and stare, +and display their splendid dresses. Poodles has a greater interest in +the patients. I find him making the round of the beds, like a +house-surgeon, attended by another dog,—a friend,—who appears to trot +about with him in the character of his pupil dresser. Poodles is anxious +to make me known to a pretty little girl looking wonderfully healthy, who +had had a leg taken off for cancer of the knee. A difficult operation, +Poodles intimates, wagging his tail on the counterpane, but perfectly +successful, as you see, dear sir! The patient, patting Poodles, adds +with a smile, ‘The leg was so much trouble to me, that I am glad it’s +gone.’ I never saw anything in doggery finer than the deportment of +Poodles, when another little girl opens her mouth to show a peculiar +enlargement of the tongue. Poodles (at that time on a table, to be on a +level with the occasion) looks at the tongue (with his own +sympathetically out) so very gravely and knowingly, that I feel inclined +to put my hand in my waistcoat-pocket, and give him a guinea, wrapped in +paper. + +On my beat again, and close to Limehouse Church, its termination, I found +myself near to certain ‘Lead-Mills.’ Struck by the name, which was fresh +in my memory, and finding, on inquiry, that these same lead-mills were +identified with those same lead-mills of which I made mention when I +first visited the East London Children’s Hospital and its neighbourhood +as Uncommercial Traveller, I resolved to have a look at them. + +Received by two very intelligent gentlemen, brothers, and partners with +their father in the concern, and who testified every desire to show their +works to me freely, I went over the lead-mills. The purport of such +works is the conversion of pig-lead into white-lead. This conversion is +brought about by the slow and gradual effecting of certain successive +chemical changes in the lead itself. The processes are picturesque and +interesting,—the most so, being the burying of the lead, at a certain +stage of preparation, in pots, each pot containing a certain quantity of +acid besides, and all the pots being buried in vast numbers, in layers, +under tan, for some ten weeks. + +Hopping up ladders, and across planks, and on elevated perches, until I +was uncertain whether to liken myself to a bird or a brick-layer, I +became conscious of standing on nothing particular, looking down into one +of a series of large cocklofts, with the outer day peeping in through the +chinks in the tiled roof above. A number of women were ascending to, and +descending from, this cockloft, each carrying on the upward journey a pot +of prepared lead and acid, for deposition under the smoking tan. When +one layer of pots was completely filled, it was carefully covered in with +planks, and those were carefully covered with tan again, and then another +layer of pots was begun above; sufficient means of ventilation being +preserved through wooden tubes. Going down into the cockloft then +filling, I found the heat of the tan to be surprisingly great, and also +the odour of the lead and acid to be not absolutely exquisite, though I +believe not noxious at that stage. In other cocklofts, where the pots +were being exhumed, the heat of the steaming tan was much greater, and +the smell was penetrating and peculiar. There were cocklofts in all +stages; full and empty, half filled and half emptied; strong, active +women were clambering about them busily; and the whole thing had rather +the air of the upper part of the house of some immensely rich old Turk, +whose faithful seraglio were hiding his money because the sultan or the +pasha was coming. + +As is the case with most pulps or pigments, so in the instance of this +white-lead, processes of stirring, separating, washing, grinding, +rolling, and pressing succeed. Some of these are unquestionably inimical +to health, the danger arising from inhalation of particles of lead, or +from contact between the lead and the touch, or both. Against these +dangers, I found good respirators provided (simply made of flannel and +muslin, so as to be inexpensively renewed, and in some instances washed +with scented soap), and gauntlet gloves, and loose gowns. Everywhere, +there was as much fresh air as windows, well placed and opened, could +possibly admit. And it was explained that the precaution of frequently +changing the women employed in the worst parts of the work (a precaution +originating in their own experience or apprehension of its ill effects) +was found salutary. They had a mysterious and singular appearance, with +the mouth and nose covered, and the loose gown on, and yet bore out the +simile of the old Turk and the seraglio all the better for the disguise. + +At last this vexed white-lead, having been buried and resuscitated, and +heated and cooled and stirred, and separated and washed and ground, and +rolled and pressed, is subjected to the action of intense fiery heat. A +row of women, dressed as above described, stood, let us say, in a large +stone bakehouse, passing on the baking-dishes as they were given out by +the cooks, from hand to hand, into the ovens. The oven, or stove, cold +as yet, looked as high as an ordinary house, and was full of men and +women on temporary footholds, briskly passing up and stowing away the +dishes. The door of another oven, or stove, about to be cooled and +emptied, was opened from above, for the uncommercial countenance to peer +down into. The uncommercial countenance withdrew itself, with expedition +and a sense of suffocation, from the dull-glowing heat and the +overpowering smell. On the whole, perhaps the going into these stoves to +work, when they are freshly opened, may be the worst part of the +occupation. + +But I made it out to be indubitable that the owners of these lead-mills +honestly and sedulously try to reduce the dangers of the occupation to +the lowest point. + +A washing-place is provided for the women (I thought there might have +been more towels), and a room in which they hang their clothes, and take +their meals, and where they have a good fire-range and fire, and a female +attendant to help them, and to watch that they do not neglect the +cleansing of their hands before touching their food. An experienced +medical attendant is provided for them, and any premonitory symptoms of +lead-poisoning are carefully treated. Their teapots and such things were +set out on tables ready for their afternoon meal, when I saw their room; +and it had a homely look. It is found that they bear the work much +better than men: some few of them have been at it for years, and the +great majority of those I observed were strong and active. On the other +hand, it should be remembered that most of them are very capricious and +irregular in their attendance. + +American inventiveness would seem to indicate that before very long +white-lead may be made entirely by machinery. The sooner, the better. +In the meantime, I parted from my two frank conductors over the mills, by +telling them that they had nothing there to be concealed, and nothing to +be blamed for. As to the rest, the philosophy of the matter of +lead-poisoning and workpeople seems to me to have been pretty fairly +summed up by the Irishwoman whom I quoted in my former paper: ‘Some of +them gets lead-pisoned soon, and some of them gets lead-pisoned later, +and some, but not many, niver; and ’tis all according to the +constitooshun, sur; and some constitooshuns is strong and some is weak.’ +Retracing my footsteps over my beat, I went off duty. + + + + +XXXVI +A FLY-LEAF IN A LIFE + + +ONCE upon a time (no matter when), I was engaged in a pursuit (no matter +what), which could be transacted by myself alone; in which I could have +no help; which imposed a constant strain on the attention, memory, +observation, and physical powers; and which involved an almost fabulous +amount of change of place and rapid railway travelling. I had followed +this pursuit through an exceptionally trying winter in an always trying +climate, and had resumed it in England after but a brief repose. Thus it +came to be prolonged until, at length—and, as it seemed, all of a +sudden—it so wore me out that I could not rely, with my usual cheerful +confidence, upon myself to achieve the constantly recurring task, and +began to feel (for the first time in my life) giddy, jarred, shaken, +faint, uncertain of voice and sight and tread and touch, and dull of +spirit. The medical advice I sought within a few hours, was given in two +words: ‘instant rest.’ Being accustomed to observe myself as curiously +as if I were another man, and knowing the advice to meet my only need, I +instantly halted in the pursuit of which I speak, and rested. + +My intention was, to interpose, as it were, a fly-leaf in the book of my +life, in which nothing should be written from without for a brief season +of a few weeks. But some very singular experiences recorded themselves +on this same fly-leaf, and I am going to relate them literally. I repeat +the word: literally. + +My first odd experience was of the remarkable coincidence between my +case, in the general mind, and one Mr. Merdle’s as I find it recorded in +a work of fiction called LITTLE DORRIT. To be sure, Mr. Merdle was a +swindler, forger, and thief, and my calling had been of a less harmful +(and less remunerative) nature; but it was all one for that. + +Here is Mr. Merdle’s case: + +‘At first, he was dead of all the diseases that ever were known, and of +several bran-new maladies invented with the speed of Light to meet the +demand of the occasion. He had concealed a dropsy from infancy, he had +inherited a large estate of water on the chest from his grandfather, he +had had an operation performed upon him every morning of his life for +eighteen years, he had been subject to the explosion of important veins +in his body after the manner of fireworks, he had had something the +matter with his lungs, he had had something the matter with his heart, he +had had something the matter with his brain. Five hundred people who sat +down to breakfast entirely uninformed on the whole subject, believed +before they had done breakfast, that they privately and personally knew +Physician to have said to Mr. Merdle, “You must expect to go out, some +day, like the snuff of a candle;” and that they knew Mr. Merdle to have +said to Physician, “A man can die but once.” By about eleven o’clock in +the forenoon, something the matter with the brain, became the favourite +theory against the field; and by twelve the something had been distinctly +ascertained to be “Pressure.” + +‘Pressure was so entirely satisfactory to the public mind, and seemed to +make every one so comfortable, that it might have lasted all day but for +Bar’s having taken the real state of the case into Court at half-past +nine. Pressure, however, so far from being overthrown by the discovery, +became a greater favourite than ever. There was a general moralising +upon Pressure, in every street. All the people who had tried to make +money and had not been able to do it, said, There you were! You no +sooner began to devote yourself to the pursuit of wealth, than you got +Pressure. The idle people improved the occasion in a similar manner. +See, said they, what you brought yourself to by work, work, work! You +persisted in working, you overdid it, Pressure came on, and you were done +for! This consideration was very potent in many quarters, but nowhere +more so than among the young clerks and partners who had never been in +the slightest danger of overdoing it. These, one and all declared, quite +piously, that they hoped they would never forget the warning as long as +they lived, and that their conduct might be so regulated as to keep off +Pressure, and preserve them, a comfort to their friends, for many years.’ + +Just my case—if I had only known it—when I was quietly basking in the +sunshine in my Kentish meadow! + +But while I so rested, thankfully recovering every hour, I had +experiences more odd than this. I had experiences of spiritual conceit, +for which, as giving me a new warning against that curse of mankind, I +shall always feel grateful to the supposition that I was too far gone to +protest against playing sick lion to any stray donkey with an itching +hoof. All sorts of people seemed to become vicariously religious at my +expense. I received the most uncompromising warning that I was a +Heathen: on the conclusive authority of a field preacher, who, like the +most of his ignorant and vain and daring class, could not construct a +tolerable sentence in his native tongue or pen a fair letter. This +inspired individual called me to order roundly, and knew in the freest +and easiest way where I was going to, and what would become of me if I +failed to fashion myself on his bright example, and was on terms of +blasphemous confidence with the Heavenly Host. He was in the secrets of +my heart, and in the lowest soundings of my soul—he!—and could read the +depths of my nature better than his A B C, and could turn me inside out, +like his own clammy glove. But what is far more extraordinary than +this—for such dirty water as this could alone be drawn from such a +shallow and muddy source—I found from the information of a beneficed +clergyman, of whom I never heard and whom I never saw, that I had not, as +I rather supposed I had, lived a life of some reading, contemplation, and +inquiry; that I had not studied, as I rather supposed I had, to inculcate +some Christian lessons in books; that I had never tried, as I rather +supposed I had, to turn a child or two tenderly towards the knowledge and +love of our Saviour; that I had never had, as I rather supposed I had +had, departed friends, or stood beside open graves; but that I had lived +a life of ‘uninterrupted prosperity,’ and that I needed this ‘check, +overmuch,’ and that the way to turn it to account was to read these +sermons and these poems, enclosed, and written and issued by my +correspondent! I beg it may be understood that I relate facts of my own +uncommercial experience, and no vain imaginings. The documents in proof +lie near my hand. + +Another odd entry on the fly-leaf, of a more entertaining character, was +the wonderful persistency with which kind sympathisers assumed that I had +injuriously coupled with the so suddenly relinquished pursuit, those +personal habits of mine most obviously incompatible with it, and most +plainly impossible of being maintained, along with it. As, all that +exercise, all that cold bathing, all that wind and weather, all that +uphill training—all that everything else, say, which is usually carried +about by express trains in a portmanteau and hat-box, and partaken of +under a flaming row of gas-lights in the company of two thousand people. +This assuming of a whole case against all fact and likelihood, struck me +as particularly droll, and was an oddity of which I certainly had had no +adequate experience in life until I turned that curious fly-leaf. + +My old acquaintances the begging-letter writers came out on the fly-leaf, +very piously indeed. They were glad, at such a serious crisis, to afford +me another opportunity of sending that Post-office order. I needn’t make +it a pound, as previously insisted on; ten shillings might ease my mind. +And Heaven forbid that they should refuse, at such an insignificant +figure, to take a weight off the memory of an erring fellow-creature! +One gentleman, of an artistic turn (and copiously illustrating the books +of the Mendicity Society), thought it might soothe my conscience, in the +tender respect of gifts misused, if I would immediately cash up in aid of +his lowly talent for original design—as a specimen of which he enclosed +me a work of art which I recognized as a tracing from a woodcut +originally published in the late Mrs. Trollope’s book on America, forty +or fifty years ago. The number of people who were prepared to live long +years after me, untiring benefactors to their species, for fifty pounds +apiece down, was astonishing. Also, of those who wanted bank-notes for +stiff penitential amounts, to give away:—not to keep, on any account. + +Divers wonderful medicines and machines insinuated recommendations of +themselves into the fly-leaf that was to have been so blank. It was +specially observable that every prescriber, whether in a moral or +physical direction, knew me thoroughly—knew me from head to heel, in and +out, through and through, upside down. I was a glass piece of general +property, and everybody was on the most surprisingly intimate terms with +me. A few public institutions had complimentary perceptions of corners +in my mind, of which, after considerable self-examination, I have not +discovered any indication. Neat little printed forms were addressed to +those corners, beginning with the words: ‘I give and bequeath.’ + +Will it seem exaggerative to state my belief that the most honest, the +most modest, and the least vain-glorious of all the records upon this +strange fly-leaf, was a letter from the self-deceived discoverer of the +recondite secret ‘how to live four or five hundred years’? Doubtless it +will seem so, yet the statement is not exaggerative by any means, but is +made in my serious and sincere conviction. With this, and with a laugh +at the rest that shall not be cynical, I turn the Fly-leaf, and go on +again. + + + + +XXXVII +A PLEA FOR TOTAL ABSTINENCE + + +ONE day this last Whitsuntide, at precisely eleven o’clock in the +forenoon, there suddenly rode into the field of view commanded by the +windows of my lodging an equestrian phenomenon. It was a fellow-creature +on horseback, dressed in the absurdest manner. The fellow-creature wore +high boots; some other (and much larger) fellow-creature’s breeches, of a +slack-baked doughy colour and a baggy form; a blue shirt, whereof the +skirt, or tail, was puffily tucked into the waist-band of the said +breeches; no coat; a red shoulder-belt; and a demi-semi-military scarlet +hat, with a feathered ornament in front, which, to the uninstructed human +vision, had the appearance of a moulting shuttlecock. I laid down the +newspaper with which I had been occupied, and surveyed the fellow-man in +question with astonishment. Whether he had been sitting to any painter +as a frontispiece for a new edition of ‘Sartor Resartus;’ whether ‘the +husk or shell of him,’ as the esteemed Herr Teufelsdroch might put it, +were founded on a jockey, on a circus, on General Garibaldi, on cheap +porcelain, on a toy shop, on Guy Fawkes, on waxwork, on gold-digging, on +Bedlam, or on all,—were doubts that greatly exercised my mind. +Meanwhile, my fellow-man stumbled and slided, excessively against his +will, on the slippery stones of my Covent-garden street, and elicited +shrieks from several sympathetic females, by convulsively restraining +himself from pitching over his horse’s head. In the very crisis of these +evolutions, and indeed at the trying moment when his charger’s tail was +in a tobacconist’s shop, and his head anywhere about town, this cavalier +was joined by two similar portents, who, likewise stumbling and sliding, +caused him to stumble and slide the more distressingly. At length this +Gilpinian triumvirate effected a halt, and, looking northward, waved +their three right hands as commanding unseen troops, to ‘Up, guards! and +at ’em.’ Hereupon a brazen band burst forth, which caused them to be +instantly bolted with to some remote spot of earth in the direction of +the Surrey Hills. + +Judging from these appearances that a procession was under way, I threw +up my window, and, craning out, had the satisfaction of beholding it +advancing along the streets. It was a Teetotal procession, as I learnt +from its banners, and was long enough to consume twenty minutes in +passing. There were a great number of children in it, some of them so +very young in their mothers’ arms as to be in the act of practically +exemplifying their abstinence from fermented liquors, and attachment to +an unintoxicating drink, while the procession defiled. The display was, +on the whole, pleasant to see, as any good-humoured holiday assemblage of +clean, cheerful, and well-conducted people should be. It was bright with +ribbons, tinsel, and shoulder-belts, and abounded in flowers, as if those +latter trophies had come up in profusion under much watering. The day +being breezy, the insubordination of the large banners was very +reprehensible. Each of these being borne aloft on two poles and stayed +with some half-dozen lines, was carried, as polite books in the last +century used to be written, by ‘various hands,’ and the anxiety expressed +in the upturned faces of those officers,—something between the anxiety +attendant on the balancing art, and that inseparable from the pastime of +kite-flying, with a touch of the angler’s quality in landing his scaly +prey,—much impressed me. Suddenly, too, a banner would shiver in the +wind, and go about in the most inconvenient manner. This always happened +oftenest with such gorgeous standards as those representing a gentleman +in black, corpulent with tea and water, in the laudable act of summarily +reforming a family, feeble and pinched with beer. The gentleman in black +distended by wind would then conduct himself with the most unbecoming +levity, while the beery family, growing beerier, would frantically try to +tear themselves away from his ministration. Some of the inscriptions +accompanying the banners were of a highly determined character, as ‘We +never, never will give up the temperance cause,’ with similar sound +resolutions rather suggestive to the profane mind of Mrs. Micawber’s ‘I +never will desert Mr. Micawber,’ and of Mr. Micawber’s retort, ‘Really, +my dear, I am not aware that you were ever required by any human being to +do anything of the sort.’ + +At intervals, a gloom would fall on the passing members of the +procession, for which I was at first unable to account. But this I +discovered, after a little observation, to be occasioned by the coming on +of the executioners,—the terrible official beings who were to make the +speeches by-and-by,—who were distributed in open carriages at various +points of the cavalcade. A dark cloud and a sensation of dampness, as +from many wet blankets, invariably preceded the rolling on of the +dreadful cars containing these headsmen; and I noticed that the wretched +people who closely followed them, and who were in a manner forced to +contemplate their folded arms, complacent countenances, and threatening +lips, were more overshadowed by the cloud and damp than those in front. +Indeed, I perceived in some of these so moody an implacability towards +the magnates of the scaffold, and so plain a desire to tear them limb +from limb, that I would respectfully suggest to the managers the +expediency of conveying the executioners to the scene of their dismal +labours by unfrequented ways, and in closely-tilted carts, next +Whitsuntide. + +The procession was composed of a series of smaller processions, which had +come together, each from its own metropolitan district. An infusion of +allegory became perceptible when patriotic Peckham advanced. So I +judged, from the circumstance of Peckham’s unfurling a silken banner that +fanned heaven and earth with the words, ‘The Peckham Lifeboat.’ No boat +being in attendance, though life, in the likeness of ‘a gallant, gallant +crew,’ in nautical uniform, followed the flag, I was led to meditate on +the fact that Peckham is described by geographers as an inland +settlement, with no larger or nearer shore-line than the towing-path of +the Surrey Canal, on which stormy station I had been given to understand +no lifeboat exists. Thus I deduced an allegorical meaning, and came to +the conclusion, that if patriotic Peckham picked a peck of pickled +poetry, this _was_ the peck of pickled poetry which patriotic Peckham +picked. + +I have observed that the aggregate procession was on the whole pleasant +to see. I made use of that qualified expression with a direct meaning, +which I will now explain. It involves the title of this paper, and a +little fair trying of teetotalism by its own tests. There were many +people on foot, and many people in vehicles of various kinds. The former +were pleasant to see, and the latter were not pleasant to see; for the +reason that I never, on any occasion or under any circumstances, have +beheld heavier overloading of horses than in this public show. Unless +the imposition of a great van laden with from ten to twenty people on a +single horse be a moderate tasking of the poor creature, then the +temperate use of horses was immoderate and cruel. From the smallest and +lightest horse to the largest and heaviest, there were many instances in +which the beast of burden was so shamefully overladen, that the Society +for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals have frequently interposed in +less gross cases. + +Now, I have always held that there may be, and that there unquestionably +is, such a thing as use without abuse, and that therefore the total +abolitionists are irrational and wrong-headed. But the procession +completely converted me. For so large a number of the people using +draught-horses in it were so clearly unable to use them without abusing +them, that I perceived total abstinence from horseflesh to be the only +remedy of which the case admitted. As it is all one to teetotalers +whether you take half a pint of beer or half a gallon, so it was all one +here whether the beast of burden were a pony or a cart-horse. Indeed, my +case had the special strength that the half-pint quadruped underwent as +much suffering as the half-gallon quadruped. Moral: total abstinence +from horseflesh through the whole length and breadth of the scale. This +pledge will be in course of administration to all teetotal +processionists, not pedestrians, at the publishing office of ‘All the +Year Round,’ on the 1st day of April, 1870. + +Observe a point for consideration. This procession comprised many +persons in their gigs, broughams, tax-carts, barouches, chaises, and what +not, who were merciful to the dumb beasts that drew them, and did not +overcharge their strength. What is to be done with those unoffending +persons? I will not run amuck and vilify and defame them, as teetotal +tracts and platforms would most assuredly do, if the question were one of +drinking instead of driving: I merely ask what is to be done with them! +The reply admits of no dispute whatever. Manifestly, in strict +accordance with teetotal doctrines, THEY must come in too, and take the +total abstinence from horseflesh pledge. It is not pretended that those +members of the procession misused certain auxiliaries which in most +countries and all ages have been bestowed upon man for his use, but it is +undeniable that other members of the procession did. Teetotal +mathematics demonstrate that the less includes the greater; that the +guilty include the innocent, the blind the seeing, the deaf the hearing, +the dumb the speaking, the drunken the sober. If any of the moderate +users of draught-cattle in question should deem that there is any gentle +violence done to their reason by these elements of logic, they are +invited to come out of the procession next Whitsuntide, and look at it +from my window. + + + + +FOOTNOTES. + + +{188} After this Uncommercial Journey was printed, I happened to mention +the experience it describes to Lord Houghton. That gentleman then showed +me an article of his writing, in _The Edinburgh Review_ for January, +1862, which is highly remarkable for its philosophical and literary +research concerning these Latter-Day Saints. I find in it the following +sentences:—‘The Select Committee of the House of Commons on emigrant +ships for 1854 summoned the Mormon agent and passenger-broker before it, +and came to the conclusion that no ships under the provisions of the +“Passengers Act” could be depended upon for comfort and security in the +same degree as those under his administration. The Mormon ship is a +Family under strong and accepted discipline, with every provision for +comfort, decorum and internal peace.’ + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE UNCOMMERCIAL TRAVELLER *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. 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