pie. \ BS 8 CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY The original of tliis book is in tlie Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013562214 THE BIOGRAPHICAL EDITION THE WORKS OF WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY WITH BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTIONS BY HIS DAUGHTER, ANNE RITCHIE IN THIRTEEN VOLUMES Volume IX. THE CHRISTMAS BOOKS OF MR. M. A. TITMARSH, Etc. THE CHRISTMAS BOOKS OF MR. M. A.TITMARSH FLORE ET ZEPHYR. MRS. PERKINS'S BALL. OUR STREET. DR. BIRCH AND HIS YOUNG FRIENDS. REBECCA AND ROWENA. THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. THE ROSE AND THE RING WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR AND RICHARD DOYLE HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS NEW YORK AND LONDON 1899 A ^Sui-V^9 Copyright, 1898, by Harper & Brothers. All rig-hts reserved. CONTENTS INTRODUCTION ..... FLOEE ET ZEPHYE MRS. Perkins's ball .... OUR STREET DR. BIRCH AND HIS YOUNG FRIENDS . REBECCA AND EOWENA, A ROMANCE UPON EOMANCE THE KICKLEBUEYS ON THE RHINE THE EOSE AND THE RING . page XV To face page Ix JCE page 3 35 73 105 169 217 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS A FAMILY COACH A TKIFLE FROM TITMAESH . TOUE HEALTH . THE M.C. OF SIDMOTTTH THE GENERAL . W. M. T.'S STUDY BLUE PEOCKCOAT AND HOUSE WEIMAR COURT DRESS IN AFTER LIFE MISS ABSALOMS MISS BAGGE MISS C. LEIGH HUNT YOUNG DEBUTANT SELECTIONS FROM A BOYS' SCHOOL GREEN CURTAIN .... SONG AS SUNG BY MADAME VESTRIS BATTLE OF MOHACZ . STAGE SCENE .... EIGHT SKETCHES DRAWN ON A WEIMAR PLAYBILL MR. JOHN REEVE . . . . ix PAQB xvi xvi xvii xviii xviii xix xxiii xxiv xxiv xxiv xxiv xxiv XXV XXV xxvi xxvii xxviii xxviii xxix xxx-i xxxii X LIST OF ILLUSTKATIONS HAWKINS AS Pierre VEDY DANCE OF DEATH STAGE MANAGER REFLECTIVE MAN HEER DONNER-WETTER THE GERMAN BEAHAM AS ,SV?' Huon BRAHAM IN FROCKCOAT ME. BEAHAM M. MIGNOLET ROGER BONTEMPS A CHAEMEE MISTEESS ANNE PAGE . AN AETISTIC FRENCH FAMILY H. WALLACE .... SCENE FEOM " PERINNET LECLERC " NOURRIT AS " EOBERT LE DIABLE ' CHATEAU IN NOEMANDY STUDIES FOE " FLORE ET ZEPHYR " STUDIES FOR " FLORE ET ZEPHYE " MUSICIANS ..... MINNY AT YOUNG ST., KENSINGTON ABOUT '49 LOED METHUSELAH AN APPEAL JENKINS AND MRS. GEUFFANUFF . . To face FACSIMILE OF LETTER FEOM W. M. THACKERAY TO LADY JANE OGILVY PASB xxxii xxxii xxxiii xxxiii xxxiv xxxiv xxxiv XXXV XXXV xxxvi xxxvii xxxvii xxxvii xxxviii xl xl xli xli xlv xlvi xlviii xlix liii Ivi page hiii lix LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS FLORE ET ZEPHYR vignette title ... 1. la danse fait ses opfr andes sue l'autel de l'haemonie 2. JEUX INNOCENS de zephyr ET I'LOEE . 3. FLORE DEPLORE L'aBSENCE DE ZEPHYR . 4. DANS UN PAS-SEUL IL EXPRIME SON EXTREME DESESPOIR . 5. TRISTE ET ABBATTU, LES SEDUCTIONS DES NYMPHES LE TENTENT EN VAIN . 6. ElECONCILIATION DE FLORE ET ZEPHYR . 7. LA EETRAITE DE FLORE 8. LES D:!fiLASSEMENTS DE ZEPHYR To face page Ix MRS. PERKINS'S BALL GRAND POLKA ..... VIGNETTE TITLE . THE MULLIGAN AND MR. M. A. TITMAESH THE MULLIGAN AND MISS FANNY PERKINS MR. FREDERICK MINCHIN . THE BALL-ROOM DOOR LADY BACON, THE MISS BACONS, AND MR FLAM MR. LARK INS MISS BUNION MR. HICKS .... MISS MEGGOT MISS EANVILLE, REV. MR. TOOP, MISS MUL- LINS, AND MR. WINTER MISS JOY, MR. AND MRS. JOY, MR. BOTTER Frontispiece page To face page 1 4 8 8 10 13 12 14 16 16 18 18 xu LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS ME. RANVIIiE RANVILLB AND JACK HUBBARD To face page 20 MRS. TROTTER, MISS TROTTER, MISS TOADY, LORD METHUSELAH .... „ 20 MR. BEAUMORIS, MR. GRIG, MR. FLYNDERS . „ 22 CAVALIER SEUL ... . „ 24 M. CANAILLARD, LIEUTENANT EARON DE BOBWITZ . . . . „ 24 THE BOUDOIR MR. SMITH, MR. BROWN, MISS BUSTLETON ... . . „ 26 GEORGE GRUNDSELL . . . . „ 28 MISS MARTIN AND YOUNG WARD . . „ 30 THE MULLIGAN AND MR. PERKINS . . „ 30 OUR STREET VIGNETTE TITLE .... A STREET COURTSHIP .... CAPTAIN AND MRS. BRAGG OF OUR STREET A STUDIO IN OUR STREET . SOME OF OUR GENTLEMEN . WHY OUR NURSEMAIDS LIKE KENSINGTON GARDENS .... A STREET CEREMONY . THE LADY WHOM NOBODY KNOWS THE MAN IN POSSESSION . THE LION OF THE STREET . THE DOVE OF OUR STREET . VENUS AND CUPID THE SIREN OF OUR STREET THE STREET-DOOR KEY A SCENE OF PASSION . THE HAPPY FAMILY .... page 33 To face page 38 ») 40 J) 42 )J 46 48 J) 48 62 54 58 60 62 63 64 64 66 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS DR. BIRCH AND HIS YOUNG FRIENDS VIGNETTE TITLES A YOUNG RAPHAEL . THE LION AND THE LITTLE CUBS RIVAL FORCES . . . . THE LITTLE SCHOOL-ROOM . THE DEAR BROTHERS . THE LAST BOY OF ALL WHO STOLE THE JAM ? A SERIOUS CASE A HAMPER FOR BRIGGSES . SURE TO SUCCEED IN LIFE THE PIRATE HOME, SWEET HOME . A RESCUE MISS birch's flower GARDEN WANTED A GOVERNESS pages 69 71 To face page 74 76 78 jj 78 )> 80 )) 82 )j 86 jj 86 j> 88 j> 90 )j 93 )j 92 j> 94 )> 96 98 REBECCA AND ROWENA VIGNETTE TITLE A COURT BALL .... KING RICHARD IN MUSICAL MOOD ASSAULT ON THE CASTLE OF CHALUS KING RICHARD IN MURDEROUS MOOD IVANHOE IN THE HALL OF HIS FATHERS IVANHOE RANSOMS A JEW's GRINDERS A GAME AT CHESS IVANHOE SLAYING THE MOORS . page 103 To face page 118 120 126 126 :rs 134 144 148 152 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE VIGNETTE TITLE MY LADY THE COUNTESS . MORE WIND THAN IS PLEASANT "we call THOSE HOODS UGLII HICKS " HIESCH AND THE LUGGAGE AN HEREDITARY LEGISLATOR THE EEINECKS . A SPECIMEN OF A BRITON . THE INTERIOR OF HADES . THE WATER CURE THE GERMAN PEASANT MAIDEN CHARGE OF NOIRBOUEG THE OLD STORY THE PRINCESS OF MOGADOE " SCHLAFBN SIE WOHL " page 159 To face page 176 178 .S ! CAPTAIN ISO 184 188 188 190 192 198 200 • 202 202 208 210 THE ROSE AND THE RING HIS R.H. THE PRINCE OP CEIM TARTARY THE RIVALS . . . . ANGELICA ARRIVES JUST IN TIME TO ARMS ! ...... PEINCE GIGLIO'S SPEECH TO THE ARMY POOR BULBO IS ORDERED FOE EXECUTION . THE TEEEIFIO COMBAT BETWEEN KING 6IGLI0 AND KING PADELLA .... MADAM GEUFFANUFF FINDS A HUSBAND To face page 268 268 )) 282 )j 306 )) 306 5> J' 3) 316 326 338 IISTTEODUCTION TO THE CHRISTMAS BOOKS 1847-1855 WITH A PREFACE CONCERNING MR. FITZGERALd's COLLECTION OF DRAWINGS AND LETTERS, 1829-185O I PKEFACE I HVVE been wondering whereabouts in my father's life the FitzGerald chapter should come in. It lasted from 1829 to 1863, sometimes carried on with words and signs, sometimes in si- lence, but it did not ever break o£E, though at times it passed through the phases to which all that is alive must be subject : it is only the dead friendships which do not vary any more. The two friends first knew each other in early days, in health, in high spirits, in the exuberance of youth. Mr. FitzGerald survived my father for twenty years. It was not till after ray father's death that he put together a book of drawings and quo- tations, of which many are reproduced here. On the first page of the book he has written : " This volume of W. M. Thack- eray's Drawings, Fragments of Letters, &c., from the year 1829 to 1850, bequeathed to Annie Thackeray, his daughter, by his friend, Edward FitzGerald, Woodbridge, December 25, 1864." He sent the album to us soon after my father's death, but it was at a time when our troubles were so near and everything else so far away, that the book seemed less important then than now — coming to tell of the past, as it does, and bringing back xvi CHRISTMAS BOOKS so many kind histories and fidelities, still green and fragrant, gathered together by an old friend's hand. A FAMILY COACH. One little picture in it was drawn a long time after the rest. It represents Mr. Punch making a bow, and hold- ing up a shield with the legend, " A trifle from Tit- marsh." I can remember this sketch being drawn in the Young Street study, and sent ofE with a Christ- mas Book to Woodbridge. On the very first page of the album there is a slip of my father's writing: " There ! I have written such a letter as you never wrote ; take example by it and send me such another." There are also two portraits of himself in George II. costume, and his name, W. M. Thackeray, is signed at length. INTRODUCTION xvii Then follows sketches of every sort — Cambridge scenes, Proctors, bludgeons, demons, stage coaches, hackney carriages crammed with bilious-looking families ; and finally the picture of a family coach, a portrait of my father with his nose in a very large goblet, and the following inscription : " Now I have been making myself a glass of punch, and here is your health." TOUR HEALTH. "My last night's epistle," he writes on October 3, 1831, "is still lying looking me in the face ; but I begin another, and shall put into it some lines from Charles Lamb, taken from your Everyday Book. . . .* * ' Margaret. Wliat sports do you use in the forest ? Simon. Not many ; some few, as thus ; — To see the sun to bed, and to arise, Like some hot amorist with glowing eyes, Bursting the lazy bands of sleep that bound him. With all his fires and travelling glories round him : Sometimes outstretch'd, in very idleness. Nought doing, saying little, thinking less, To view the leaves, thin dancers upon air. Go eddving round ; and small birds, how they fare When mother Autumn fills their beaks with corn, Fileh'd from the careless Amalthea's horn.' xviii CHRISTMAS BOOKS "Here is Spenser's February," the letter continues, "copied from Hone, and very pretty." (Here a drawing.) " And now, as I am in the humour, I shall draw Cowper's summer-house for you from the same book." (Here another drawing.) A little further on we find a sketch of Titania and Bottom. " I have been reading ' Midsummer Night's Dream,' " he writes. " God bless it ! Did you ever sit on a promontory and hear a mermaid on a dolphin's back, uttering such dulcet and harmonious notes, that the rude sea grew civil at her breath, THE M. C OF SIDMOnTH. THE GENERAL. and certain stars shot madly from their spheres, to hear the sea-maid's music ? Or do you ever go in hill, in dale, forest or mead, by paved fountain, or by rushy brook, or on the beached margent of the sea, dancing your ringlets to the whistling winds?" I myself can remember once sitting in the front row of the stalls, and seeing this very play of " Midsummer Night's Dream," with my father ; and as the scenes succeeded one another, and as one after another of the actors stood by the footlights, droning their parts in turn, suddenly he lost all heart and patience. "Don't murder it; oh! don't murder it!" he cried aloud to one of the poor astonished fairies, who stared in amazement. INTRODUCTION To return to tlie scrap-book ; many sketches besides those I have mentioned are preserved in its pages. The M.C. of Sid- mouth is a delightful portrait. " In one hand he holds a dir- tyish white handkerchief, in the other a bine cap vvitii a band of gold, tlie admiration of all the young gentlemen of Sidtnonth. I wish I could give due effect to his immense gold chain. An- other Sidmouth worthy is General . " I don't hate him for being such a coward, but he was the greatest tyrant possible ; he actually tried at the Horse Guards to establish corporal punishment for subaltern officers. A good- natured coward one can pardon, but a bullying wretch like this has neither pity nor pardon." The following extract belongs to 1830 : " By-the-bye, I forgot this was a holiday for loyal peo- ple, till a fellow came to me for a subscription to feast the poor on the occasion of his Majesty's coronation. The slave hath, how- ever, departed without his guer- don. I told him that to com- fort indolent honesty, or to relieve unmerited distress, my purse was always ojjen, and also my heart more ready than my purse ; but to encourage indo- lence in criminal profusion, or to foster unnecessary prodigality, agreed as little with my principles as it did with my means, and that therefore I never would sanction with my support a measure which my poverty showed me was impossible, and my reason convinced me was impolitic. " The man retired, struck by opinions which his good nature led him to deplore, but which his arguments could not contro- vert. (Repeated cheering.)" There is one page with sketches of adventures. A travelling carriage, pulled by two mules, is drawn to the edge of a preci- pice. The sun is setting behind the mountains, where distant cities are perched with towers and battlements. In the fore- ground lie the postilion and a dead brigand. E. F.G. is in the act of running a terrific Spaniard through the body. My fa- w. M. t's study. XX CHRISTMAS BOOKS ther, in a yellow waistcoat and striped trousers, holds a brigand in each hand. " I Lave been thinking of a walking trip for us next year," he writes : " we will go like the German student to Spain or Germany: which shall it be? Fancy a combat of eight in some desolate sierra. " The carriage, of a peculiar construction, is in the background ; the mules are quietly gazing down the precipice ; the faithless postilion (the miserable Pedro) has paid the price of his treach- ery — he is lying with his face cut in two by Captain FitzGerald, who is seen in the act of stamping out the wind of one of the banditti, while he is running another through the chin. Hon the right hofE the picture Mr. Thackeray is to be hobserved ; hafter the manner of a true Englishman he has fastened his fists on the vizzens of two of the robbers, and his a squeadging out liof their miserable souls. In the foreground to the left is a rude cross ! Christian, pray for the wretch who fell at that spot without having the good fortune, like Messrs. FitzG. & T., to save his life, or most likely the bravery to defend it." This letter is dated 1831. Here are some verses from Mr. FitzGerald to my father, written about this time : E. F.G. to W. M. T. " October 1831. " What have I been doing for the last hour? Behold these verses. The wind was blowing hard at the window, and I some- how began to think of Will Thackeray ; so the cockles of my heart were warmed, and up spouted the tale. I have drunk a glass of port, and so sit down to transcribe them : " I cared not for life, for true friend I had none — ■ I had lieard 'twas a blessing not under the sun ; Some figures called friends, hollow, proud, or cold-hearted, Came to me like shadows, like shadows departed ; But a day came that turned all my sorrow to glee, When first I saw Willy, and Willy saw me. The thought of my Willy is always a eheerer, The wine has new flavour, the fire burns cleiirer, The sun ever shines, I am pleased with all things, And the crazy old world seems to go with new springs. . . INTRODUCTION xxi And when we're together — oh soon may it be — The world may go kissing of comets for me; The chair that Will sat in I sit in tlie best, The tobacco is sweetest which Willy hath blessed; And I never found out that my wine tasted ill, When a tear would drop in it for thinking of Will. And now on my windows October blows chilly, But I laugh at blue devils and think of my Willy, And think that our friendship will not drop away, Like the leaves from the trees, or our locks when they're grey ; And I think that old age shall not freeze us until He creeps with Death's warrant to me and my Will. If I get to be fifty may Willy get too. And we'll laugh. Will, at all that grim si.xties can do. Old age! Let him do of what poets complain. We'll tliank him for making us children again; Let him make us grey, gouty, blind, toothless, or silly. Still old Ned shall be Ned, and old Willy be Willy. We may both get so old that our senses expire. And leave us to dose half alive by the flre; Age may chill the warm heart which I think so divine. But what warmth it has, Willy, shall ever be thine, Till Death finds us waiting him patiently still, Willy looking at me, and I looking at Will." W. M. T. toE.F.G. "Cornwall, June 1832. " I passed a very pleasant fortnight at Biiller's place. I found plenty of amusement, a beautiful country, and some kind friends. We canvassed for Charles very assiduously and successfully, pledging him to reform in politics and religion, of which we knew nothing ourselves ; but, nevertheless, the farmers were much impressed by our sagacity and eloquence. . . . " Then we published addresses in the name of Charles Buller, promising to provide for the agricultural and commercial inter- ests, and deprecating that infamous traffic which at present le- galises the misery of the. West Indian slave. " Then we wrote songs, awfully satirical songs. This is a specimen : ALAS FOR THE TORIES, If virtue and genius like 'Soap's' should make slips. What cause had the drivelling drunkard to own The dastardly deeds which, when sober, he'd done. And swear that no Radical rascal should cope With the riches of Eliot, the wisdom of 'Soap.' xxii CHRISTMAS BOOKS " All this, though I dare say you don't see it, is very satirical and personal. Lord Eliot's (the Tory candidate) canvasser is a very shabby fellow, who has done some rascally things when sober, and confessed them when drunk. So now you see the point of it. It goes on for several stanzas. In fact, except 'The other day to our town, a captain of dragoons came down,' I know nothing in the language so severe. " Plymouth. — As to this place, though the most beautiful country I have ever seen, there is only one thing that equals it, and that is the description I have given of it in my journal. There were numbers of nice old churches, mostly of this shape (drawing), and lots of green trees and green fields, all jnst round with the beautiful Dartmoor hills. I don't think I ever had a drive of forty miles before without being tired. This morning I got up at seven of the clock and walked about ; made a sketch out of the window, which you shall see soon. " My dear Teddikin, will you come with me to Paris in a month ? We will first take a walk in Normandy, and then go for a fortnight or so to Paris. I have a strange idea that I shall be in Italy before the autumn is over, and if my dear old Teddibus would but come with me, we will be happy in a paradise of pictures. What say you, O my Teddibus ? " The other day I read one of Irving's orations, which I think the finest piece of eloquence I ever came across. It is a great pity he has altered his opinions, for there they seem very mod- erate and very noble. 1 wish I could recollect a passage against Bible commentaries. He says that if we need commentaries to sustain our faith, why do we object to pictures and statues. Therefore, while the warm fancies of the Southerns have given their idolatry to the ideal forms of noble art, let us Northerns beware lest we give our idolatry to the cold and coarse abstrac- tions of human intellect. ' Ah 1' said a parson to me when I showed him this, ' but the Catholics don't sustain their devo- tion to God by pictures, they worship the pictures themselves.' . . . These fellows in the shovel hats are greater bigots than the Catholics. When you turn parson, dear Teddibus, you won't refuse to see merit even in a Presbyterian. " We had grand fun at Liskeard ; they twice took the horses from C. Buller's carriage and dragged him in ; then there was a INTRODUCTION xxiii grand reform festival : first, we were met by a dozen banners and two dozen young men in wbite trousers, who dragged in the popular candidate ; next came a waggon load of young ladies of all denominations of Christians, who, from their seat, which was covered with laurels, chanted ' The heavens declare the glory of God,' ' Sound the loud timbrel,' and other godly and appropriate airs. Then the assembled multitude was addressed by a Presbyterian parson, who vouched for Charles Buller's sentiments, moral and religious. Buller made a very pretty impromptu speech, addressed chiefly to 600 school boys and girls who had come out to meet him. After all this was over, 800 independent men sat down to dinner, in the rain, it is true, but the water which dribbled down their necks could not cool the warmth of their hearts, or destroy the honest voracity of their appetites. A tea-drinking for the ladies was to have con- cluded the evening, had not the unfortunate state of the weath- er put a stop to the festive scene." There are various sketches of E. F.G. himself in the book. / JiroMiytf "iiv^tt^ 1. BLUE FKOCKCOAT AND HOUSE. as might naturally be expected. " Visions of W. M. T.'s cor- respondent, 1831." 1. Blue frockcoat and house. CHRISTMAS BOOKS 2. In a Weimar court dress. 3. In after life, as docketed by Mr. FitzGerald himself. There are also portraits of Miss A., Miss B., Miss C. " Miss AbsaJoms, one of the pupils at the finishing school. I trust her appearance will explain her ac- quirements. I think her one of my mas- terpieces." 2. WEIMAU CODRT DRESS. 3. IN AFTER LIFE. INTKODUCTION On one page is a sketch labelled by E F.G. " Leigh Hunt." "... Fancy Leon- tius on his balcony at Peckham Rye, or Hox- ton, doffing his bon- net to some literary friend !" Of the next picture my father writes : " I have been writing a bac- chanalian song, admir- ably calculated for this fellow to sing at Of- fley's. The picture as to costume and cut is exactly like the young debutant I met at the Cider Cellar, only it is impossible properly to paint nankeens. They have, when washed, a beggarly look quite beyond my powers." One page con- sists of selections from a boys' school. Perhaps Dr. Birch himself, as a little boy, may have been here repre- sented with the black eye. LEIGH HUNT. YOUNG DEBUTANT. DR. BIRCH. SELECTIONS PROM A DOTS SOHOOI.. INTRODUCTION xxvii W. M. T. to E. F.G. " How I long for the sight of a dear green curtain !" he writes again. " After going three times a weelc to the play for a year, one misses it so. O the delight of seeing the baize slowly ascending, the spangled shoes which first appear, then as it draws up, legs, stomachs, heads, till finally it ends in all the glories of a party of ' rausqueteers ' drinking ; a dance — an inn with an infinite number of bells jingling, or a couple of gay dogs in cocked hats, with pieces of silk dangling out of their pock- ets for handkerchiefs. Yet another month and all this paradise will be in my reach. Really, London is to me only the place where the theatres are. You seem determined to go to Cam- bridge in spite of all I can say; but you will come to London, won't you ? from Cambridge make flying visits of three or four days, and come and live with me." GREEN CDRTAIN. Then comes a view of Venice, of a Venetian dustman ring- ing a bell, and a song as sung by Madame Vestris with tre- mendous applause : " 'Tis pleasant to gliiie at even-tide The moonlight waves along, And pause to hear the gondolier Cliant forth his even song: — Hark, oh liaik ! O'er the waters dark Heavily tolls the boll of St. Mark ! Listen, oh listen, From church and tower The hells they toll the midnight hour. CHRISTMAS BOOKS 1 s-V ■ir a•^JlJi-i1^1^ •It 1 ?^- --^ ^ -i -^ ""J m ^c§ ^i. ^".4 "^"^-4^^ INTEODUCTION xxlx Our gondoliers have no ideas Of singing suoli sweet ditties ; Tliey spit and swear, and slang and swear, lu this most vast o£ cities. Hark, oh hark .' From wharfs and walls Heavily chimeth the bell of St. Paul's ! Listen, oh listen. The waterman's song Dielh away in that deep ding-dong. Bravo, Brayvo ! Ancore ! some men loves Italian, a good Eng- lish ballad for my money." STAGE SCENE. Further on we have two scenes from a Polish melodrama, then a page of theatrical characters : — Devrient as Shylock, Xebel, Junker Kasper, Schelle, Kosa, all drawn on a Weimar playbill, also sketches of " Vedv," in 1831, Mr. John Reeve, and Hawkins as Pierre. 2 CHRISTMAS BOOKS DEVRIENT AS Sliylock. ^uMcT MaJJiei DRAWN ON A WEIMAR PLAYBILL. INTRODUCTION 9lUj. ifc^kJlc. DRAWN ON A WEIMAR PLAYBILL. XXXll CHRISTMAS BOOKS !AiJohn Hi eve .■^IUju4a/>ul tu (PoMAcA Here is a dance of death. Pie made more than one of these gi'im pictures, different representations of the same grim fancy. " Walk up, ladies and gentlemen, and see what you shall see. It costs you nothing, and nobody can see it twice. This exhibi- tion, tho' it is so cheap, is quite the fashion ; last year it was wisited by his Majesty King George the Fourth and several of the nobility and gentry. This year it has been patronized by F. INTRODUCTION i DANCE OF DEATH. STAGE MANAGER. xxxiv CHRISTMAS BOOKS M. Diebelsh and several thousand officers and soldiers of the REFLECTIVE MAN. Russian and Polish army. Ladies and gentlemen, now is your time. A trumpet will sound at the end of the performance." HERR DONNER-WETIER THE GERMAN. BRAHAM AS SIU HOON. A little further on we find a stirring description of a stage manager: "Farley, in a fit of enthusiasm, cried out, 'Now let INTRODUCTION XXXV BBAHAM IN FROCKOOAT. every Tartar man wave every Tartar banner ; those who have got . 1 T> 11.. I "lea ,v _ , . .-,/,.... ..- >■ '.oet ust len two dancers were abusing each other for scandal. It was the most amusing scene ever I saw.' There is the portrait of a reflective man, without a name, watered on to the same page. E. F.G. has named a great many of the pictures. ' Herr Donner-wetter the German.' xxxvi CHRISTMAS BOOKS ' A portrait of Braham as Sir Huon out of Oberon ' will be recognised, and another in a frockcoat is even funnier. For the one in a frame I have to thank Mr. Loder of Woodbridge, to whom the sketch was given by E. F.G. And then we have the delectable Monsieur Mignolet, that son of Adam " Ce rC est pas ma f ante; c'est ma femme qui vrCafourre un tas de choses dans ma poche. Aussi lui dis-je ; Stephanie donne noi quatre malles encore." And here are Roger Bontemps and his wife.* E. F.G. and my father both liked to try their hands at translations from Beranger. ^. t'UyA^^ Letter from A\". M. T. to E. F.G. ''June 1835. " Dear Edward, — Your letter of this morning is a little too sensible to be very welcome. Nevertheless, every line must be welcome which comes from you. I am glad to hear of your * See the Ballad of Roger Bontemps or Jollj' Jack in vol. xii. INTRODUCTION XXXVll ROGER BONTEMPS. MISTRESS ASNK PAGE. xxxviii CHRISTMAS BOOKS happiness at Keswick, and feel not a little vain at Tennyson's message or wish. Write to me a good deal about Stratford-on- Avon. When you go, recollect we had determined to make a journey there together. Do you know that I have applied to the Morning Chronicle for a correspondentship at Constanti- AN ARTISTIC FRENCH FAMILY. nople ? This would give me a handsome income for a year, and fill my sketch-book into the bargain. " I read the other day a review of Tennyson's poems in the Voleur. 1 was glad to see that his name had penetrated so far ; and he will be glad to know that they call him ' Jeune enthou- siaste de I'ecole gracieuse de Thomas Moore.'* "This week I have read a lot of books — three volumes of Thiers's ' Revolution,' M'Farlane's ' Constantinople,' and Wash- * This letter is alluded to in the " Memoir of Lord Tennyson." INTRODUCTION xxxix ington living's new book ; all three were amusing, I think, and Thiers awful. What surprises me in this book is that there is no blague, no humbug about patrie, reconnaissance, and the rest of it, with which he is so liberal in the Chamber: Louis XVI., Danton, Mirabeau, and Dumouriez are the heroes, and most ad- mirably drawn they are. I think I should have turned spouter at the Union had I seen this book in our Cambridge days." " A new play by Alfred de Vigny, called ' Chatterton,' is just out at the Fran^ais," he writes later from Paris. " I have not seen it, but the plot seems very rich. Chatterton kills himself because Lord Beckford, the Lord Mayor, comes to him with several other lords of his acquaintance and offers to make him his valley-de-sham. He is lodging in a cabaret kept by one Kitty and her husband. Kitty falls in love with the poet, and they pop o£E together. " I am just come home from Franconi, where they are doing ' Napoleon ' : the piece is as fine and tedious as the Covent Garden one of last year. I could not sit it out. I saw, how- ever, the battle of Austerlitz, and must give the greatest credit to the troops on both sides ; the costumes were excellent, and the guns, though they smoked and flashed a great deal, made very little noise ; but there was no charge of cavalry, no ' com- bat of six ' as at Astley's, not even a waggish soldier. Don't you love the combats, when the fellows come on with their fio-iifJniT oTOords? Thpy are not up to it here.' The French love at elan-txan is amusing: Lessaix's dying speech was almost Napoleon's remarks, 'Dieu protege la •• Apropos oi ineaiies, there is to be an English one here this winter, with H. Wallack for manager. He will of course do all the genteel comedy parts, and be what they call Le Jeune Premier here. This will be good fun. " The Frenchmen are very anxious to know what a dandy means. A fellow asked me, and I pointed him out a rakish Englishman of the name of C, who was in the orchestra, and with whom I was at school. Now C. had a marvellously dirty shirt, and looked drunk, whereas the man who acted the dandy had a splendid blue coat and black satin pantaloons ; a novelty which will, I am sure, be adopted by Wallack as soon as he comes." xl CHRISTMAS BOOKS white stock. " The English company begin here on Wednesday. Yester- day I was dining at Vefour in cooapany with Wallack. lie blazed with pins, rings, chains, all covered with diamonds, a a lilac satin waistcoat, a blue coat, with buttons of brass and velvet collar — a costume worthy of him and Theodore Hook.'' " Here is a copy of a beautiful scene," he says, "in a play called ' Perinnet Leclerc,' which they are now doing at the Porte St. Martin. It is of course full of horrors and adulteries, but the scenery and cos- tumes are charming. The troops come marching down the long black street in the middle ; there is a row, a man pushed into the river — you see the old heads peeping out of the old windows." One other interesting portrait in the book is that of Nourrit, the celebrated singer, in the character of Robert le Diable. H. WALLACK, SCENE FROSI " PERINNET LECLEKC' Then comes the description of a youthful castle in the air. " Curzon has told me, apropos of castles, that there is a chateau in Normandy, with an excellent garden, a wilderness, and some land, to let for £16 a year. Shall wc take it, and be nothing to INTRODUCTION xli the world for a year ? I have not made my chateau that para- dise which might have been expected from my taste. We would fit it up in the old style, and live in it after the manner of Orestes and Pylades. Good-bye, my dear FitzGerald ; write me a letter soon." " I have been introduced to a charming little woman, a lady from Norfolk, with a dear little Irish accent, and a delightful fresh kind of enthusiasm which charms me. She has an old husband, whom you will know at once when I tell you that the other day at dinner he told us with per- fect gravity how Brummel asked George ' to ring the bell,' and meeting H.R.II. in the Park afterwards, asked his companion, 'Who's your fat friend?' sancta simplicitas ! What a num- ber of Norfolk turkeys must this old boy have eaten to keep him up to the telling of stories like those ! The old fellow is sixty-five years old, and told me that only that night he had a NOnREIT AS "ROBERT LE DIABLK. CHATEAU IN NORMANDY. dream about being flogged at Charterhouse. There is some- thing touching in this, I think, about which Mr. William Words- worth might make a poem if he chose." xlii CHRISTMAS BOOKS E. F.G. to W. M. T. " Whinstead, July 1835. " I was very glad to get your letter last night, for I assure you that I have long been wishing to write to you. But in the let- ter which I received in Cumberland you seem to be not very fixed in your abode, especially as your governor was just com- ing over. And in your packet, which had the drawing in it, and which I only got a month ago, you gave no address, but talked of going to Constantinople. What has become of these Eastern plans ? For my part, I am glad you stay at Paris and work at your art. But you tell me that my letters are rather too sensible, and I know well what that means, so I will write in a looser way. " Marry then, I have got up at seven o'clock of this fine morn- ing to answer your letter, and I am sitting in no other clothes but that ancient red dressing-gown, and inditing of this letter upon that capacious but battered rosewood desk, which you must know by this time. But, by the Lord, I think I am grow- ing hugely sensible. . . . " We are going to leave this place, as my father is determined to inhabit an empty house of his about fourteen miles off, and we are very sorry to leave this really beautiful place. The other house has no great merit ; so there is nothing now but packing up sofas and pictures, and so on. I rather think that I shall be about this part of the world all the winter, for my two sisters in- habit this house alone, and I cannot but wish to add my com- pany to them now and then. I suppose that 1 shall occasionally trip to London and so forth, to see the ancient Johnny and others. " How long are you going to be in Paris ?" he continues. "What have you been doing? The drawing you sent me was very pretty. So you don't like Raphael ? Well, I am his inveterate admirer, and say with as little affectation as I can, that his worst scrap fills my head more than Rubens and Paul Veronese together. The mind, the mind, Master Shallow ! You think this cant, I dare say, but I say it truly indeed. Raphael's are the only pictures that cannot be described. No one can get words to describe their perfection. Next to him I retreat to the Gothic imagination, and love the mysteries of old chairs. Sir Roger, &o., in which thou, my dear boy, shalt be a Raphael. To INTRODUCTION xlili depict the true old English gentleman is as great a work as to depict a St. John ; and I think, in my heart, I would rather have the former than the latter. There are plenty of pictures in Lon- don : some good water-colours by Lewis, Spanish things ; two or three very vulgar portraits by Wilkie at the Exhibition. There is an Eastlake, but I missed it. Etty has boats full of naked backs as usual, but what they mean, I did not stop to inquire. He has one picture, however, of the ' Bridge of Sighs ' in Venice, which is sublime, though, I believe, nobody saw it, or thought about it, but myself. And so farewell, and be a good boy, and let me hear from you soon." It was before my father left Great Coram Street that he saw most of Edward FitzGerald. At that time of great trouble, when, in consequence of my mother's illness, he had broken up his home, it was his friend's extraordinary goodness and friendship that brought help through the saddest days of his life. Mr. FitzGerald gave him orders for drawings to distract him, and also to bring money into his empty purse ; he wrote him long letters to cheer him, and shared his troubles with a liberal heart. Writing to Archdeacon Allen, Mr. FitzGerald says, "Don't you think it would make a very nice book to publish all the papers about Sir Roger de Coverley alone, with illustrations by Thackeray ? It is a thing that is wanted : to bring the standard of the old English gentleman forward, out of the mass of little topics and fashions that oc- cupy the greater part of the Spectator. Thackeray has illus- trated my ' Undine ' in about fourteen little coloured drawings very nicely." All through our own childish days the dear and impression- able friend, so generous and helpful in time of trouble, used to appear and disappear, just as a benevolent supernatural being might be expected to do, whose laws were somewhat different from ours, and for whom commonplace and dull routine scarce- ly existed. Once or twice he came to stay in Young Street, and once in Onslow Square, but at very long intervals, and for a very short time. And indeed we know that he "preferred the fresh air and the fields to the wilderness of monkeys in London." xliv CHEISTMAS BOOKS People marry and make new ties ; they have troubles and overwhelming anxieties; they fall ill, they are busy, they are distracted, they are silent, sometimes — very silent — but there the friendship remains. Edward FitzGerald did not always praise his friends, far from it ; his expectations reached so high for those he loved, that even Tennyson's work and my father's constantly disappointed him. But though he was a fastidious and unexpected critic in literature, he had a true instinct for human beings. My father, writing long after about some school- fellow, exclaims, " Poor old , this battered vulgar man was ray idol in youth ! My dear old Fitz is always right about men, and he said from the first that this was a bad man, and a sham." Mr. FitzGerald used to complain that there were too many other people in my father's life ; that my father did not write to him ; that he was carried away by London life : they were for many years apart from circumstance, but circumstance does not change such men as they were. In reading over the two published volumes of the " FitzGerald Letters," I am not sur- prised to find how constantly my father's name appears in them, for I know how Mr. FitzGerald's name was always an in- tegral part of our home life, though we so rarely saw him. It seems like old days to read of the two together, as I can re- member them once, and I am grateful to Mr. Aldis Wright for quoting something which I told him. In the autumn of 1863 some impulse one day made me ask my father which of his old friends he cared for most. He was standing near the window in the dining-room at Palace Green. He paused a moment, then he said in a gentle sort of way, that of all his friends he had best loved " Old Fitz"— "and Brookfield," he added. The following letter, written on the eve of my father's de- parture for America, will be remembered : — W. M. T. to E. E.G. " October 2T, 1862. " My DEAREST OLD Fribnd, — I mustn't go away without shak- ing your hand, and saying farewell, and God bless you ! If anything happens to me, you by these presents must get ready the 'Book of Ballads' which you like, and which I had not time to prepare before embarking on this voyage. And I INTRODUCTION xlv should like my daughters to remember that you are the best and oldest friend their father ever had, and that you would act as such ; as my literary executor, and so forth. My books would yield a something as copyrights ; and should anything occur, I have commissioned friends in good place to get a pen- sion for my poor little wife. . . . Does not this sound gloomi- ly ? Well, who knows what fate is in store ; and I feel not at all downcast, but very grave and solemn just at the beginning of my voyage. " I shall send you a copy of ' Esmond,' which you shall yawn over vphen you are inclined. But the great comfort I have in STUDIES FOR "FLORE ET ZEPHYR. thinking about my dear old boy is that recollection of our youth when we loved each other, as I do now while I write farewell. " Laurence has done a capital head of me, ordered by Smith the publisher ; and I have ordered a copy, and Lord Ashburton another. If Smith gives me this one, I shall send the copy to you. I care for you, as you know, and always like to think that I am fondly and afiectionately yours, W. M. T. xlvi CHRISTMAS BOOKS " I sail from Liverpool on Saturday morning by the Canada for Boston." Besides all the other drawings, the history of " Flore et Zephyr,'' the ballet-dancers, is also reproduced out of the Fitz- Gerald scrap-book. The lithographs were published in 1836, at Paris, in a small pamphlet signed by Theophile WagstafE, and with a T. W. in the corner of the pictures. The notes are in French. " La danse fait sesoffrandes sur I'autel de FHarmonie. Jeux innocents de Zephyr, et Flore," &c. &c. The most amus- STUDIES FOR " FLORE ET ZEPHTR." ing of them is, perhaps, Flore deploring the absence of Zephyr, standing on one leg and raising the other above her ear. We also have a pencil sketch of two dancers, evidently a study for those under which my father has written "Mademoi- selle Leocadie ; role de Lycoris." Not long ago a paragraph appeared in the Pall Mall Gazette announcing a sale at Sotheby's, in which was to be included a copy of " Flore et Zephyr, Ballet Mythologique," " a unique copy of an almost unique book." The little pamphlet was eventually sold for £90. It may have been published for half- INTRODUCTION II CHEISTMAS BOOKS A GOLD PEN CHAPTER " I am my Master's faithful, old Gold Pen ; I've served him three long years, and drawn since then Thousands of funny women and droll men." My father used to say that from long habit he never could think so well as when he held his pen in his hand. The author's pen is not unlike the wand of a necromancer, and compels the spell to work. I have called this chapter of Christmas Books and Drawing Books the Gold Pen Chapter, because so much of the work was done by his favourite gold pen. My father's gold pen lasted for some six years, and produced the later Christmas Books. The earlier books were drawn with pencil and with etching needle, and with fine point and brush. They reach over eight years, from 1847 to 1855, They began with " Mrs. Perkins's Ball," which was first sketched at Malta, while my father was in quarantine, in 1844. It was published in 1847, the year of " Vanity Fair," and was a great success at once. The reviews of " Mrs. Perkins's Ball " were good and em- phatic. "One touch of nature makes the whole world kin," says the Edinburgh, " but here are touches by the dozen." There is a letter which my father wrote about this time to his mother. He says: " I have had four copies of L" Illustration sent me by friends, indignant at the owdacious piracy. It won't do me any harm, and besides, 1 believe there is no remedy, were it ever so injurious. And this isn't the only evil out of the book. O. swears he is the particular Mulligan, and that he will kill and eat me whenever we meet. There are four other Mulligans in London, though not so warlike ; but I am sorry xlviii CHRISTMAS BOOKS about 0., whose salt I have eaten, and whom I didn't know when I invented Mulligan first. . . ." The Christmas Books used to be announced by little fly- leaves, with pictures on them, which appeared in graver peri- odicals. " Mrs. Perkins's Ball " was advertised as " contain- ing twenty-three gorgeous plates of beauty, rank, and fashion, seventy or eighty select portraits of the friends of Mrs. Perkins. To illustrate the truly festive volume, for the express use of the aristocracy there will be an illuminated edition, in which the plates will he coloured."* My father had other social duties besides his own engage- MUSICIANS. ments to eat salt ; juvenile parties had now begun for him. He took us to many of those very parties which John Leech has so delightfully delineated. "Vanity Fair, January 18, 1848. He writes to a friend, " This is all I have to say in the soli- tude of midnight, with a quiet cigar and the weakest gin and water in the world, ruminating over a child's ball, from which I have just returned, having gone as chaperon to my little girls. * The very next advertisement, is in a different strain, and reads in odd juxtaposition to this one : " ' Tales of Woman's Trials,' by Mrs. S. C. Hall, embellisbp^d jyjtjj ^JJMStrations, elegantly bound and gilt." INTRODUCTION xlix One of them had her hair plaited in two tails, the other had ringlets, and the most fascinating bows of blue ribbon. It was very merry, and likewise sentimental. We went in a fly, quite genteel, and law ! what a comfort it was when it was over." " Our Street " followed " Mrs. Perkins's Ball " in 1848 ; "Dr. Birch" in 1849; "Samuel Titmarsh " was also republished in this year; "Rebecca and Rowena" and "The Kicldeburys on the Rhine " in 1850; " The Rose and the Ring" in 1855. " What a turmoil it is under which I live, laugh, and grow fat however," he wrote, after the publication of " Our Street." " There's no use denying the matter or blinking it, now I am Jlw^Uf^A-^Oiju^ 5. tn<<)u«-tM >U4An(. ^ Hk %J Itf jinJUuM. VLAjfJ^iAA^ 'to -TfetU. ku^^tlA*^ ^ 0aa4- loluu, lyiUtt, W «t tU*iA\cr 0X4. 'i^UnJLMA . "%* dilMUf if juJ <^ff Untif Vcocj «i^^ [UtMUru H itit VU.euiiivJir TtfUui /..^^^. 'L^y&^>A>Ce^6.a!^^<:my igfiHE _ 'mmmM^..^ « THE MULLIGAN {OF BALLYMULLIGAN), AND HOW WE WENT TO MRS. PERKINS'S BALL I DO not know where Ballymulligan is, and never knew anybody who did. Once I asked the Mulligan the question, when that chieftain assumed a look of dignity so ferocious, and spoke of "Saxon curia wsi tee" in a tone of such evident displeasure, that, as after all it can matter very little to me whereabouts lies the Celtic principality in question, I have never pressed the inquiry any farther. I don't know even the Mulligan's town residence. One night, as he bade us adieu in Oxford Street, — " I live there," says he, pointing down towards Uxbridge, with the big stick he carries : — so his abode is in that direction at any rate. He has his letters addressed to several of his friends' houses, and his parcels, &c., are left for him at various taverns which he frequents. That pair of checked trousers, in which you see him attired, he did me the favour of ordering from my own tailor, who is quite as anxious as anybody to know the address of the wearer. In like manner my hatter asked me, " Oo was the Hirish gent as 'ad ordered four 'ats and a sable boar to be sent to my lodgings 1" As I did not know (however I might guess), the articles have never been sent, and the Mulligan has withdrawn his custom from the "infernal four-and-nine-penny scoundthrel," as he calls him. The hatter has not shut up shop in consequence. I became acquainted with the Mulligan through a distinguished countryman of his, who, strange to say, did not know the chieftain himself. But dining with my friend Fred Clancy, of the Irish bar, at Greenwich, the Mulligan came up, " inthrojuiced " himself 4 MRS. PERKINS'S BALL to Clancy as he said, claimed relationship with him on the side of Brian Boroo, and drawing his chair to our table, quickly became intimate with us. He took a great liking to me, was good enough to find out my address and pay me a visit : since which period often and often on coming to Ijreakfast in the morning I have found him in my sitting-room on the sofa engaged with the rolls and morning papers : and many a time, on returning home at night for an evening's quiet reading, I have discovered this honest fellow in the arm-chair before the fire, perfuming the apartment with my cigars and trying the quality of such liquors as might be found on the sideboard. The way in which he pokes fun at Betsy, the maid of the lodgings, is prodigious. She begins to laugh whenever he comes ; if he calls her a duck, a diwle, a darlin', it is all one. He is just as much a master of the premises as the individual who rents them at fifteen shillings a week ; and as for handkerchiefs, shirt-collars, and the like articles of fugitive haberdashery, the loss since I have known him is unaccountable. I suspect he is like the cat in some houses : for, suppose the whisky, the cigars, the sugar, the tea-caddy, the pickles, and other groceries disappear, all is laid upon that edax-rerum of a Mulligan. The gravest offence that can be offered to him is to call him J/c. Mulligan. "Would you deprive nie, sir," says he, "of the title which was bawrun be me princelee ancestors in a hundred thousand battles 1 In our own green valleys and fawrests, in the American savannahs, in the sierras of Speen and the flats of riandthers, the Saxon has quailed before me war-cry of Mulligan Aboo ! Ml-. jMulligan ! I'll pitch anybody out of the window who calls me J/r. Mulligan." He said this, and uttered the slogan of the Mulligans with a shriek so terrific, that my uncle (the Rev. W. Gruels, of the Independent Congregation, Bungay), who had happened to address him in the above obnoxious manner, while sitting at my apartments drinking tea after the May meetings, instantly quitted the room, and has never taken the least notice of me since, except to state to the rest of the family that I am doomed irrevocably to perdition. Well, one day last season, I had received from my kind and most estimable friend, Mrs. Perkins of Pocklington Square (to whose amiable family I have had the honour of giving lessons in drawing, French, and the German flute), an invitation couched in the usual terms, on satin gilt-edged notepaper, to her evening- party; or, as I call it, "Ball." Besides the engraved note sent to all her friends, my kind patroness had addressed me privately as follows : — THE MULLIGAN AND MR. M. A. TITMARSH. MRS. PERKINS'S BALL 5 " My dear Me. Titmaesh, — If you know any very eligible young man, we give you leave to bring him. You gentlemen love your clubs so much now, and care so little for dancing, that it is really quite a scandal. Come early, and before everybody, and give us the benefit of all your taste and continental skill. — Your sincere Emily Peekins." " Whom shall I bring 1 " mused I, highly flattered by this mark of confidence; and I thought of Bob Trippett; and little Fred Spring, of the Navy Pay OflBce ; Hulker, who is rich, and I knew took lessons in Paris ; and a half score of other bachelor friends, who might be considered as very eligible — when I was roused from my meditation by the slap of a hand on my shoulder ; and looking up, there was the Mulligan, who began, as usual, reading the papers on my desk. " Hwhat's this V says he. " Who's Perkins ? Is it a supper- ball, or only a tay-ball 1 " "The Perkinses of Pocklington Square, Mulligan, are tiptop people," says I, with a tone of dignity. "Mr. Perkins's sister is married to a baronet, Sir Giles Bacon, of Hogwash, Norfolk. Mr. Perkins's uncle was Lord Mayor of London ; and he was himself in Parliament, and may be again any day. The family are my most particular friends. A tay-ball indeed ! why, Gunter * * * " Here I stopped : I felt I was committing myself. " Gunter ! " says the Mulligan, with another confounded slap on the shoulder. " Don't say another word : I'll go widg you, my boy." " You go, Mulligan'!" says I: "why, really — I — it's not my party." "Your hwhawt? hwhat's this letter 1 a'n't I an eligible young man 1 — Is the descendant of a thousand kings unfit company for a miserable tallow-chandthlering cockney'? Are ye joking wid met for, let me tell ye, I don't like them jokes. D'ye suppose I'm not as well bawrun and bred as yourself, or any Saxon friend ye ever had 1 " " I never said you weren't. Mulligan,'' says I. " Ye don't mean seriously that a Mulligan is not fit company for a Perkins ? " "My dear fellow, how could you think I could so far insult you 1 " says I. "Well then," says he, "that's a matter settled, and we go." What the deuce was I to do 1 I wrote to Mrs. Perkins ; and that kind lady replied, that she would receive the Mulligan, or any other of my friends, with the gi-eatest cordiality. " Fancy a party all Mulligans ! " thought I, with a secret terror. MR. AND MRS. PERKINS, THEIR HOUSE, AND THEIR YOUNG PEOPLE FOLLOWING Mrs. Perkins's orders, the present writer made his appearance very early at Pocklington Square : where the tastiness of all the decorations elicited my warmest admira- tion. Supper of course was in the dining-room, superbly arranged by Messrs. Grigs and Spooner, the confectioners of the neighbour- hood. I assisted my respected friend Mr. Perkins and his butler in decanting the shen-jf, and saw, not without satisfaction, a large bath for wine under the sideboard, in which were already placed very many bottles of champagne. The Back Dining-eoom, Mr. P.'s study (where the venerable man goes to sleep after dinner), was arranged on this occasion as a tea-room, Mrs. Flouncey (Miss Fanny's maid) officiating in a cap and pink ribbons, which became her exceedingly. Long, long before the arrival of the company, I remarked Master Thomas Perkins and Master Giles Bacon, his cousin (son of Sir Giles Bacon, Bart.), in this apartment, busy among the macaroons. Mr. Gregory the butler, besides John the footman and Sir Giles's large man in the Bacon livery, and honest Grundsell, carpet- beater and greengrocer, of Little PockUngton Buildings, had at least half-a-dozen of aides-de-camp in black with white neckcloths, like doctors of divinity. The Back Deawing-eoom door on the landing being taken off the hinges (and placed upstairs under Mr. Perkins's bed), the orifice was covered with nmslin, and festooned with elegant wreaths of flowers. This was the Dancing Saloon. A linen was spread over the carpet; and a band — consisting of Mr. Clapperton, piano, Mr. Pinch, harp, and Herr Spoff, cornet-k-piston — arrived at a pretty early hovir, and were accommodated with some comfortable negus in the tea-room, previous to the commencement of their delightful labours. The boudoir to the left was fitted up as a card-room ; the drawing-room was of course for the reception of the company, — the chandeliers and yellow damask being displayed MRS. PERKINS'S- BALL 7 this night in all their splendour; and the charming conservatory over the landing was ornamented by a few moon-like lamps, and the flowers arranged so that it had the appearance of a fairy bower. And Miss Perkins (as I took the liberty of stating to her mamma) looked like the fairy of that bower. It is this young creature's first year in public life : she has been educated, regard- less of expense, at Hammersmith ; and a simple white muslin dress and blue ceinture set off charms of which I beg to speak with respectful admiration. My distinguished friend the Mulligan of BallymuUigan was good enough to come the very first of the party. By the way, how awkward it is to be the first of the party : and yet you know somebody must ; but for my part, being timid, I always wait at the corner of the street in the cab, and watch until some other carriage comes up. Well, as we were arranging the sherry in the decanters down the supper-tables, my friend arrived : " Hwhares me friend Mr. Titmarsh 1 " I heard him bawling out to Gregory in the passage, and presently he rushed into the supper-room, where Mr. and Mrs. Perkins and myself were, and as the waiter was announcing " Mr. Mulligan," "THE Mulligan of BallymuUigan, ye blackguard!" roared he, and stalked into the apartment, "apologoising," as he said, for introducing himself. Mr. and Mrs. Perkins did not perhaps wish to be seen in this room, which was for the present only lighted by a couple of candles ; but he was not at all abashed by the circumstance, and grasping them both warmly by the hands, he instantly made himself at home. "As friends of my dear and talented friend Mick," so he is pleased to call me, " I'm deloighted, madam, to be made known to ye. Don't consider me in the light of a mere acquaintance ! As for you, my dear madam, you put me so much in moind of my own blessed mother, now resoiding at BallymuUigan Castle, that I begin to love ye at first soight." At which speech Mr. Perkins getting rather alarmed, asked the Mulligan whether he would take some wine, or go upstairs. "Faix," says Mulligan, "it's never too soon for good dhrink.'' And (although he smelt very much of whisky already) he drank a tumbler of wine "to the improvement of an acqueentence which comminces in a manner so deloightful." " Let's go upstairs. Mulligan," says I, and led the noble Irish- man to the upper apartments, which were in a profound gloom, the candles not being yet illuminated, and where we surprised Miss Fanny, seated in the twilight at the piano, timidly trying the tunes of the polka which she danced so exquisitely that evening. She 8 MRS. PERKINS'S BALL did not perceive the stranger at first ; but how she started when the Mulligan loomed upon her ! " Heavenlee enchantress ! " says Mulligan, " don't floy at the approach of the humblest of your sleeves ! Reshewm your pleece at that insthruraent, which weeps harmonious, or smoils melojious, as you charrum it ! Are you acqueented with the Oirish Melodies "i Can ye play, ' Who fears to talk of Nointy-eight ' ? the ' Shan Van Voght"! or the 'Dirge of OUam Fodhkh'?" "Who's this mad chap that Titmarsh has brought?" I hoard Master Bacon exclaim to Master Perkins. " Look ! how frightened Fanny looks ! " " poo ! gals are always frightened," Fanny's brother replied ; but Giles Bacon, more violent, said, " I'll tell you what, Tom : if this goes on, we must pitch into him." And so I have no doubt they would, when another thundering knock coming, Gregory rushed into the room anil began lighting all the candles, so as to pro- duce an amazing brilliancy, Miss Fanny sprang up and ran to her mamma, and the young gentlemen slid down the banisters to receive the company in the hall. THE MtriUGAN AND MISS FAMT PERKINS. " What name shall I enounce ?" "Don't hurry the gentleman — don't you see he ain't buttoned his strap yet?" "Say Mr. Frederick Minohin." (This is spoken with much dignity.) EVERYBODY BEGINS TO COME, BUT ESPECIALLY MR. MINCHIN IT'S only me and my sisters," Master Bacon said ; though " only " meant eight in this instance. All the young ladies had fresh cheeks and purple elbows ; all had white frocks, with hair more or less auburn : and so a party was already made of this blooming and numerous family, before the rest of the company began to arrive. The three Miss Meggots next came in their fly : Mr. Blades and his niece from 19 in the square: Captain and Mrs. Struther, and Miss Struther : Doctor Toddy's two daughters and tlieir mamma ; but where were the gentlemen ? The Mulligan, great and active as he was, could not suffice among so many beauties. At last came a brisk neat little knock, and looking into the hall, I saw a gentleman taking off his clogs there, whilst Sir Giles Bacon's big footman was looking on with rather a con- temptuous air. " What name shall I enounce ? " says he, with a wink at Gregory on the stair. The gentleman in clogs said, with quiet dignity — "me. FEEDEEICK MINCHIN." " Pump Court, Temple,'' is printed on his cards in very small type : and he is a rising barrister of the Western Circuit. He is to be found at home of mornings : afterwards " at Westminster," as you read on his back door. " Binks and Minchin's Reports " are probably known to my legal friends : this is the Minchin in question. He is decidedly genteel, and is rather in request at the balls of the Judges' and Serjeants' ladies : for he dances irreproachably, and goes out to dinner as much as ever he can. He mostly dines at the Oxford and Cambridge Club, of which you can easily see by his appearance that he is a member ; he takes the joint and his half-pint of wine, for Minchin does everything like a gentleman. He is rather of a literary turn ; still makes Latin 9 - B 10 MRS. PERKINS'S BALL verses with some neatness ; and before he was called, was remark- ably fond of the flute. When Mr. Minchin goes out in the evening, his clerk brings his bag to the Club, to dress ; and if it is at all muddy, he turns up his trousers, so that he may come in without a speck. For such a party as this, he will have new gloves ; otherwise Frederick, his clerk, is chiefly employed in cleaning them with india-rubber. He has a number of pleasant stories about the Circuit and the University, which he tells with a simper to his neighbour at dinner ; and has always the last joke of Mr. Baron Maule. He has a private fortune of five thousand pounds ; he is a dutiful son ; he has a sister married, in Harley Street ; and Lady Jane Ranville has the best opinion of him, and says he is a most excellent and highly principled young man. Her ladyship and daughter arrived just as Mr. Minchin had popped his clogs into the umbrella-stand ; and the rank of that respected person, and the dignified manner in which he led her upstairs, caused all sneering on the part of the domestics to disappear. THE BALL-BOOM DOOR. THE BALL-ROOM DOOR AHUNDEED of knocks follow Frederick Minchin's : in half- an-hour Messrs. Spoff, Pinch, and Clapperton have begun their music, and Mulligan, with one of the Miss Bacons, is dancing majestically in the first quadrille. My young friends Giles and Tom prefer the landing-place to the drawing-rooms, where they stop all night, robbing the refreshment-trays as they come up or down. Giles has eaten fourteen ices : he will have a dreadful stomach-ache to-morrow. Tom has eaten twelve, but he has had four more glasses of negus than Giles. Grundsell, the occasional waiter, from whom Master Tom buys quantities of ginger-beer, can of course deny him nothing. That is Grundsell, in the tights, with the tray. Meanwhile direct your attention to the three gentlemen at the door : they are conversing. Is* Gent. — Who's the man of the house — the bald man? 2'nd Gent. — Of course. The man of the house is always bald. He's a stockbroker, I believe. Snooks brought me. I St Gent. — Have you been to the tea-room? There's a pretty girl in the tea-room : blue eyes, pink ribbons, that kind of thing. 2nd Gent. — Who the deuce is that girl with those tremendous shoulders ? Gad ! I do wish somebody would smack 'em. 3rd Gent. — Sir — that young lady is my niece, sir, — my niece — my name is Blades, sir. 2nd Gent. — Well, Blades ! smack your niece's shoulders : she deserves it, begad ! she does. Gome in, Jinks, present me to the Perkinses. — Hullo ! here's an old country acquaintance — Lady Bacon, as I live ! with all the piglings ; she never goes out without the whole litter. (Exeunt 1st and 2nd Gents.) LADY BACON-, THE MISS BACONS, MR. FLAM Lady B. — Leonora 1 Maria ! Amelia ! here is tlie gentleman we met at Sir John Porkington's. [7%e JI18SES Bacon, expecting to be ashed to dance, smile si nndtaneoihsly, and begin to smooth their tuckers.^ Mr. Flam. — Lady Bacon ! I couldn't be mistaken in i/ou ! Won't you dance, Lady Bacon 1 Lady B. — Go away, you droll creature ! Mr. Flam. — And these are your ladyship's seven lovely sisters, to judge from their likenesses to the charming Lady Bacon 1 Lady B. — My sisters, he ! he ! my daughters, Mr. Flam, and they dance ; don't you, girls 1 The Misses Bacon. — Oh yes ! Mr. Flam. — Gad ! how I wish I was a dancing man ! [Fxit Flam. ,.:,0Himj |,i^i*--^4;jiLi:i/-^'-\ LADY BACON, THE MISS BACONS, AND MR. FLAM, MB. LABEINS. MR. LARKINS 1HAVE not been able to do justice (only a Lawrence could do that) to my respected friend Mrs. Perkins, in this picture ; but Larkins's portrait is considered very like. Adolphus Larkins has been long connected with Mr. Perkins's City establishment, and is asked to dine twice or thrice per annum. Evening-parties are the great enjoyment of this simple youth, who, after he has Walked from Kentish Town to Thames Street, and passed twelve hours in severe labour there, and walked back again to Kentish Town, finds no greater pleasure than to attire his lean person in that elegant evening costume which you see, to walk into town again, and to dance at anybody's house who will invite him. Islington, Pentonville, Somers Town, are the scenes of many of his exploits ; and I have seen this good-natured fellow per- forming figure-dances at Netting Hill, at a house where I am ashamed to say there was no supper, no negus even to .?peak of, nothing but the bare merits of the polka in which Adolphus revels. To describe this gentleman's infatuation for dancing, let me say, in a word, that he will even frequent boarding-house hops, rather than not go. He has clogs, too, like Minchin : but nobody laughs at him. He gives himself no airs ; but walks into a house with a knock and a demeanour so tremulous and humble, that the servants rather patronise him. He does not speak, or have any particular opinions, but when the time comes, begins to dance. He bleats out a word or two to his partner during this operation, seems very weak and sad during the whole performance ; and, of course, is set to dance with the ugliest women everywhere. The gentle, kind spirit ! when I think of him night after night, hopping and jigging, and trudging off to Kentish Town, so gently, through the fogs, and mud, and darkness : I do not know whether I ought to admire him, because his enjoyments are so simple, and his dispositions so kindly ; or laugh at him, because he draws his 14 MRS. PERKINS'S BALL life so exquisitely mild. Well, well, we can't be all roaring lions in this world; there must be some lambs, and harmless, kindly, gregarious creatures for eating and shearing. See ! even good- natured Mrs. Perkins is leading up the trembling Larkins to the tremendous Miss Bunion ! MISS BUNION. MISS BUNION THE Poetess, author of " Heartstrings," " The Deadly Night- shade," " Passion Flowers," &c. Though her poems breathe only of love. Miss B. has never been married. She is nearly six feet high ; she loves waltzing beyond even poesy ; and I think lobster-salad as much as either. She confesses to twenty-eight ; in which case her first volume, " The Orphan of Gozo " (cut up by Mr. Rigby, in the Quarterly, with his usual kindness), must have been published when she was three years old. For a woman all soul, she certainly eats as much as any woman I ever saw. The sufferings she has had to endure, are, she says, beyond compare ; the poems which she writes breathe a withering passion, a smouldering despair, an agony of spirit that would melt the soul of a drayman, were he to read them. Well, it is a comfort to see that she can dance of nights, and to know (for the habits of illustrious literary persons are always worth knowing) that she eats a hot mutton-chop for breakfast every morning of her blighted existence. She lives in a boarding-house at Brompton, and comes to the party in a fly. MR. HICKS IT is worth twopence to see Miss Bunion and Poseidon Hicks, the great poet, conversing with one another, and to talk of one to the other afterwards. How they hate each other ! I (in my wicked way) have sent Hicks almost raving mad, by praising Bunion to him in confidence ; and you can drive Bunion out of the room by a few judicious panegyrics of Hicks. Hieks first burst upon the astonished world with poems, in the Byronic manner : " The Death -Shriek," " The Bastard of Lara," " The Atabal," " The Fire-Ship of Botzaris," and other works. His " Love Lays," in Mr. Moore's early style, were pronounced to be wonderfully precocious for a young gentleman then only thirteen, and in a commercial academy, at Tooting. Subsequently, this great bard became less passionate and more thoughtful ; and, at the age of twenty, wrote " Idiosyncracy " (in forty books, 4to) : " Ararat," " a stupendous epic," as the reviews said; and "The Megatheria," "a magnificent contribution to our pre- Adamite literature," according to the same authorities. Not having read these works, it would ill become me to judge them ; but I know that poor Jingle, the publisher, always attributed his insolvency to the latter epic, which was magnificently printed in elephant folio. Hicks has now taken a classical turn, and has brought out " Poseidon," " lacchus," " Hephaestus," and I dare say is going through the mythology. But I should not like to try him at a passage of the Greek Delectus, any more than twenty thousand others of us who have had a "classical education." Hicks was taken in an inspired attitude, regarding the chandelier, and pretending he didn't know that Miss Pettifer was looking at him. Her name is Anna Maria (daughter of Higgs and Pettifer, solicitors, Bedford Row) ; but Hicks calls her " lanthe " in his album verses, and is himself an eminent drysalter in tlje City. UB. BICKS, MISS MEGQOT. MISS MEGGOT POOR Miss Meggot is not so lucky as Miss Bunion. Nobody comes to dance with he?; though she has a new frock on, as she calls it, and rather a pretty foot, which she always manages to stick out. She is forty-seven, the youngest of three sisters, who live in a mouldy old house, near Middlesex Hospital, where they have lived for I don't know how many score of years ; but this is certain : the eldest Miss Meggot saw the Gordon Riots out of that same parlour window, and tells the story how her father (physician to George III.) was robbed of his queue in the streets on that occasion. The two old ladies have taken the brevet rank, and are addressed as Mrs. Jane and Mrs. Betsy : one of them is at whist in the back drawing-room. But the youngest is still called Miss Nancy, and is considered quite a baby by her sisters. She was going to be married once to a brave young officer, Ensign Angus Macquirk, of the Whistlebinkie Fencibles ; but he fell at Quatre Bras, by the side of the gallant Snuffmull, his com- mander. Deeply, deeply did Miss Nancy deplore him. But time has cicatrised the wounded heart. She is gay now, and would sing or dance, ay, or marry if anybody asked her. Do go, my dear friend — I don't mean to ask her to marry, but to ask her to dance. — Never mind the looks of the thing. It will make her happy ; and what does it cost you ? Ah, my dear fellow ! take this counsel : always dance with the old ladies — always dance with the governesses. It is a comfort to the poor things when they get up in their garret that somebody has had mercy on them. And such a handsome feUow as you too ! MISS RANVILLE, REV. MR. TOOP, MISS MULLINS, MR. WINTER Mr. W. — Miss Miillins, look at Miss Eanville : what a picture of good humour ! Miss M. — Oh, you satirical creature ! Mr. W. — Do you know why she is so angry ? she expected to dance witli Captain Grig, and by some mistake, the Cambridge Professor got hold of her : isn't he a handsome man 1 Miss M. — Oh, you droll wretch ! Mr. W. — Yes, he's a fellow of college — fellows mayn't marry, Miss Mullins — poor fellows, ay. Miss Mullins ? Miss M. — La ! Mr. W. — And Professor of Phlebotomy in the University. He flatters himself he is a man of the world. Miss Mullins, and always dances in the long vacation. Miss M. — You malicious, wicked monster! Mr. W. — Do you know Lady Jane Eanville] Miss Eanville's mamma. A ball once a year ; footmen in canary-coloured livery : Baker Street ; six dinners in the season ; starves all the year round ; pride and poverty, you know ; I've been to her ball once. Eanville Eanville's her brother; and between you and me — but this, dear Miss Mullins, is a profound secret, — I think he's a greater fool than his sister. Miss M. — Oh, you satirical, droll, malicious, wicked thing you ! Mr. W. — You do me injustice, Miss Mullins, indeed you do. [_Chaine Anglaise.J MISS KANVILLB, EKV. MH. TOOP, MISS MULLINS, AND MR. WINTER MBS JOY, MR. AND MRS. JOT, MR, BOTTEB. 3IISS JOY, MR. AND MRS. JOY, MR. BOTTER Mr. B. — What spirits that girl has, Mrs. Joy ! Mr. J. — She's a sunshine in a house, Botter, a regular sunshine. When Mrs. J. here's in a bad humour, I * * * Mrs. J. — Don't talk nonsense, Mr. Joy. 2Ir. B. — There's a hop, skip, and jump for you ! Why, it beats Elssler ! Upon my conscience it does ! It's her fourteenth quadrille too. There she goes ! She's a jewel of a girl, though I say it that shouldn't. 2Irs. J. {laughing). — Why don't you marry her, Botter 1 Shall I speak to her % I daresay she'd have you. You're not so very old. Mr. B. — Don't aggravate me, Mrs. J. You know when I lost my heart in the year 1817, at the opening of Waterloo Bridge, to a young lady who wouldn't have me, and left me to die in despair, and married Joy, of the Stock Exchange. Mrs. J. — Get away, you foolish old creature. [Me. Joy looks on in ecstasies at Miss Joy's agility. Lady Jaije Eanville, of Baker Street, pronounces her to be an exceedingly forward person. Captain Dobbs lihes a girl who has plenty of go in her ; and as for Feed Spaeks, he is over head and ears in love with her.^ MISS JOY, MR. AND MRS. JOY, MR. BOTTER Mr. B. — What spirits that girl has, Mrs. Joy ! Mf. J. — She's a sunshine in a house, Botter, a regular sunshine. When Mrs. J. here's in a bad humour, I * * * Mrs. J. — Don't talk nonsense, Mr. Joy. Mr. B. — There's a hop, skip, and jump for you ! Why, it beats Elssler ! Upon my conscience it does ! It's her fourteenth quadrille too. There she goes ! She's a jewel of a girl, though I say it that shouldn't. J/rs. J. {laughing). — Why don't you marry her, Botter ? Shall I speak to her 1 I daresay she'd have you. You're not so veri/ old. J/r. B. — Don't aggravate me, Mrs. J. You know when I lost my heart in the year 1817, at the opening of Waterloo Bridge, to a young lady who wouldn't have me, and left me to die in despair, and married Joy, of the Stock Exchange. Mrs. J. — Get away, you foolish old creature. [Me. Joy looks on in ecstasies at Miss Joy's agility. Lady jAiTE Ranville, of Baker Street, pronounces her to be an exceedingly forward person. Captain Dobbs likes a girl who has plenty of go in her ; and as for Feed Sparks, he is over head and ears in love with her.] MR. RANVILLE RANVILLE AND JACK HUBBARD THIS is Miss Ranville Ranville's brother, Mr. Ranville Ranville, of the Foreign Office, faithfully designed as he was playing at whist in the card-room. Talleyrand used to play at whist at the " Travellers'," that is why Eanville Eanville indulges in that diplomatic recreation. It is not his fault if he be not the greatest man in the room. If you speak to him, he smiles sternly, and answers in mono- syllables ; he would rather die than commit himself. He never has committed himself in his life. He was the first at school, and dis- tinguished at Oxford. He is growing prematurely bald now, like Canning, and is quite proud of it. He rides in St. James's Park of a morning before brealdast. He dockets his tailor's bills, and nicks off his dinner-notes in diplomatic paragraphs, and keeps precis of them all. If he ever makes a joke, it is a quotation from Horace, like Sir Eobert Peel. The only relaxation he permits himself, is to read Thucydides in the holidays. Everybody asks him out to dinner, on account of his brass- buttons with the Queen's cipher, and to have the air of being well with the Foreign Office. " Where I dine," he says solemnly, " I think it is my duty to go to evening parties." That is why he is here. He never dances, never sups, never drinks. He has gruel when he goes home to bed. I think it is in his brains. He is such an ass and so respectable, that one wonders he has not succeeded in the world ; and yet somehow they laugh at him ; and you and I shall be Ministers as soon as he wUl. Yonder, making believe to look over the print-books, is that merry rogue. Jack Hubbard. See how jovial he looks ! He is the life and soul of every party, and his impromptu singing after supper will make you die of laugh- ing. He is meditating an impromptu now, and at the same time thinking about a biU that is coming due next Thursday. Happy dog] MR. RANVILLE BANVILLE AND JACK HUBBARD. MBS. TROTTER, MISS TROTTEE, MISS TOADT, LORD METHUSELAH. 2IRS. TROTTER, MISS TROTTER, MISS TOADY, LORD METHUSELAH DEAR Emma Trotter has been silent and rather ill-humoured all the evening until now her pretty face lights up with smiles. Cannot you guess why 1 Pity the simple and affectionate creature ! Lord Methuselah has not arrived until this moment : and see how the artless girl steps forward to greet him ! In the midst of all the selfishness and turmoil of the world, how charming it is to find virgin hearts quite unsullied, and to look on at little romantic pictures of mutual love ! Lord Methuselah, though you know his age by the peerage — though he is old, wigged, gouty, rouged, wicked, has lighted up a pure flame in that gentle bosom. There was a talk about Tom Willoughby last year ; and then, for a time, young Hawbuck (Sir John Hawbuck's youngest son) seemed the favoured man ; but Emma never knew her mind until she met the dear creature before you in a Khine steamboat. " Why are you so late, Edward ? " says she. Dear artless child ! Her mother looks on with tender satisfaction. One can ap- preciate the joys of such an admirable parent ! " Look at them ! " says Miss Toady. " I vow and protest they're the handsomest couple in the room ! " Methuselah's grandchildren are rather jealous and angry, and Mademoiselle Ariane, of the French theatre, is furious. But there's no accounting for the mercenary envy of some people ; and it is impossible to satisfy everybody. MR. BEAUMORIS, MR. GRIG, MR. FLYNDERS THOSE three young men are described in a twinkling : Captain Grig of the Heavies ; Mr. Beaumoris, the handsome young man ; Tom Flinders (Flynders Flynders he now calls himself), the fat gentleman who dresses after Beaumoris. Beaumoris is in the Treasury : he has a salary of eighty pounds a year, on which he maintains the best cab and horses of the season ; and out of which he pays seventy guineas merely for his subscriptions to clubs. He hunts in Leicestershire, where great men mount him ; he is a prodigious favourite behind the scenes at the theatres ; you may get glimpses of him at Richmond, with all sorts of pink bonnets ; and he is the sworn friend of half the most famous routes about town, such as Old Methuselah, Lord Billygoat, Lord Tarquin, and the rest : a respectable race. It is to oblige the former that the good-natured young fellow is here to-night ; though it must not be imagined that he gives himself any airs of superiority. Dandy as he is, he is quite affable, and would borrow ten guineas from any man in the room in the most jovial way possible. It is neither Beau's birth, which is doubtful ; nor his money, which is entirely negative ; nor his honesty, which goes along witli his money-qualification ; nor his wit, for he can barely spell, — which recommend him to the fashionable world : but a sort of Grand Seigneur splendour and dandified je ue S9ais quoi, which make the man he is of him. The way in which his boots and gloves fit him is a wonder which no other man can achieve ; and though he has not an atom of principle, it must be confessed that he invented the Taglioni shirt. When I see these magnificent dandies yawning out of " White's," or caracoling in the Park on shining chargers, I like to think that Brummel was the greatest of them all, and that Brummel's father was a footman. Flynders is Beaumoris's toady : lends him money : buys horses through his recommendation ; dresses after him ; clings to him in MB. BEAUMOBIS, MB. QBIO, MB. FLTNDBES. MES. PERKINS'S BALL 23 Pall Mall, and on the steps of the club ; and talks about " Bo " in all societies. It is his drag which carries down Bo's friends to the Derby, and his cheques pay for dinners to the pink bonnets. I don't believe the Perkinses know what a rogue it is, but fancy him a decent, reputable City man, like his father before him. As for Captain Grig, what is there to tell about him 1 He performs the duties of his calling with perfect gravity. He is faultless on parade ; excellent across country ; amiable when drunk, rather slow when sober. He has not two ideas, and is a most good- natured, irreproachable, gallant, and stupid young officer. CAVALIER SEUL THIS is my friend Bob Hely, performing the Cavalier seul in a quadrille. Remark the good-humoured pleasure depicted in his countenance. Has he any secret grief? Has he a pain anywhere ? No, dear Miss Jones, he is dancing like a true Briton, and with all the charming gaiety and abandon of our race. When Ganaillard performs that Cavalier seul operation, does he Hinch. No : he puts on his most vainqueur look, he sticks his thumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat, and advances, retreats, pirouettes, and otherwise gambadoes, as though to say, " Regarde moi, monde ! Veuez, femmes, venez voir danser Canaillard ! " When De Bobwitz executes the same measure, he does it with smiling agility, and graceful ease. But poor Hely, if he were advancing to a dentist, his face would not be more cheerful. All the eyes of the room are upon him, he thinks ; and he thinks he looks like a fool. Upon my word, if you press the point with me, dear Miss Jones, I think he is not very far from right. I think that while French- men and Germans may dance, as it is their nature to do, there is a natural dignity about us Britons, which debars us from that enjoy- ment. I am rather of the Turkish opinion, that this should be done for us. I think * * * "Good-bye, you envious old fox-and-the-grapes," says Miss Jones, and the next moment I see her whirling by in a polka with Tom Tozer, at a pace which makes me shrink back with terror into the little boudoir. CAVALIEK SEUL, M. CANAILLAED, LIEUTENANT BARON DE BOBWITZ. M. GANAILLARD, CHEVALIER OF THE LEGION OF HONOUR LIEUTENANT BARON DE BOBWITZ Canaillard. — Oh, ces Anglais ! quels hommes, mon Dieu ! Comme ils sont habilMs, comme ils dansent ! Bobwitz. — Ce sont de beaux hommes bourtant ; point de tenue militaire, mais de grands gaillards ; si je les avals dans ma com- pagnie de la Garde, j'en ferai de bons soldats. Canaillnrd. — Est-il bite, cet AUemand ! Les grands hommes ne font pas toujours de bons soldats, Monsieur. II me semble que les soldats de France qui sont de ma taille. Monsieur, valent un peu mieux * * * Bobwitz. — Vous croyez? Canaillard. — Comment! je le crois, Monsieur? J'en suis sto ! II me semble, Monsieur, que nous I'avons prouv^. Bobwitz (impatiently). — Je m'en vais danser la Bolka. Ser- viteur. Monsieur. Canaillard. — Butor ! (He goes and looks at himself in the glass, when he is seized by Mrs. Perkins for the Polka.) TEE BOUDOIR MR. SMITH, MR. BROWN, MISS BUSTLETON Mr. Broion. — You polk, Miss Bustleton ? I'm so delaighted. 2Iiss Bustleton. — \Stniles and prepares to rise.^ Mr. Smith. — D puppy. {Poor Smith donH polk.) THE BOCBOIR— MR. SMITH, ME, BEOWN, MISS BUSTLETON. GRAND POLKA THOUGH a quadrille seems to me as dreary as a funeral, yet to look at a polka, I own, is pleasant. See ! Brown and Emily Bustleton are whirling round as light as two pigeons over a dovecot ; Tozer, with that wicked whisking little Jones, spins along as merrily as a May-day sweep ; Miss Joy is the partner of the happy Fred Sparks ; and even Miss Eanville is pleased, for the faultless Captain Grig is toe and heel with her. Beaumoris, with rather a nonchalant air, takes a turn with Miss Trotter, at which Lord Methuselah's wrinkled chops quiver un- easily. See ! how the big Baron de Bobwitz spins lightly, and gravely, and gracefully round ; and lo ! the Frenchman staggering under the weight of Miss Bunion, who tramps and kicks like a young cart-horse. But the most awful sight which met my view in this dance was the unfortunate Miss Little, to whom fate had assigned The Mulligan as a partner. Like a pavid kid in the talons of an eagle, that young creature trembled in his huge Milesian grasp. Disdaining the recognised form of the dance, the Irish chieftain accommodated the music to the dance of his own green land, and performed a double shuffle jig, carrying Miss Little along with him. Miss Eanville and her Captain shrank back amazed ; Miss Trotter skirried out of his way into the protection of the astonished Lord Methuselah ; Fred Sparks could hardly move for laughing ; while, on the contrary. Miss Joy was quite in pain for poor Sophy Little. As Canaillard and the Poetess came up. The Mulligan, in the height of his enthusiasm, lunged out a kick which sent Miss Bunion howling ; and concluded with a tremendous Hiu-roo ! — a war-cry which caused every Saxon heart to shudder and quail. " Oh that the earth would open and kindly take me in ! " I ex- claimeil mentally ; and slunk off into the lower regions, where by this time half the company were at supper. THE SUPPER THE supper is going on behind the screen. There is no need to draw the supper. We all know that sort of transaction : the squabbling, and gobbling, and popping of champagne ; the smeU of musk and lobster salad ; the dowagers chumping away at plates of raised pie ; the young lassies nibbling at little titbits, which the dexterous young gentlemen procure. Three large men, like doctors of divinity, wait behind the table, and furnish every- thing that appetite can ask for. I never, for my part, can eat any supper for wondering at those men. I believe if you were to ask them for mashed turnips, or a slice of crocodile, those astonishing people would serve you. What a contempt they must have for the guttling crowd to whom they minister — those solemn pastrycook's men ! How they must hate jellies, and game-pies, and champagne, in their hearts ! How they must scorn my poor friend Grundsell behind the screen, who is sucking at a bottle ! GEORQE GRUNDSELL, GREEN-GROCER AND SALESMAN, 9, LITTLE POCKLINGTON BUILDINGS, LATE CONFIDENTIAL SERVANT IN THE FAMILY OF THE LORD MAYOR OF LONDON. g^ Carpets Beat. — Knives and Boots cleaned per contract. — Errands faithfully performed. — G. G. attends Ball and Dinner parties, and from his knowledge of the most distinguished Families in London, confi- dently recommends his services to the distinguished neighbourhood of Pocklington Square. This disguised greengrocer is a very well-known character in the neighbourhood of Pocklington Square. He waits at the parties of the gentry in the neighbourhood, and though, of course, despised aEOBGE QSDNDSELL. MKS. PERKINS'S BALL 29 in families where a footman is kept, is a person of much import- ance in female establishments. Miss Jonas always employs him at her parties, and says to her page, "Vincent, send the butler, or send Desborough to me;" by which name she chooses to designate G. G. When the Miss Frumps have post-horses to their carriage, and pay visits, Grundsell always goes behind. Those ladies have the greatest confidence in him, have been godmothers to fourteen of his children, and leave their house in his charge when they go to Bognor for the summer. He attended those ladies when they were presented at the last drawing-room of her Majesty Queen Charlotte. Mr. Grundsell's state costume is a blue coat and copper buttons, a white waistcoat, and an immense frill and shirt-collar. He was for many years a private watchman, and once canvassed for the oflBce of parish clerk of St. Peter's Pocklington. He can be entrusted with untold spoons ; with anything in fact, but liquor ; and it was he who brought round the cards for Mes. Perkins's Ball. AFTER SUPPER I DO not intend to say any more about it. After the people hart supped, they went back and danced. Some supped again. I gave Miss Bunion, with my own hands, four bumpers of cham- pagne : and such a quantity of goose-liver and truffles, that I don't wonder she took a glass of cherry-brandy afterwards. The grey morning was in Pocklington Square as she drove away in her fly. So did the other people go away. How green and sallow some of the girls looked, and how awfully clear Mrs. Colonel Bludyer's rouge was ! Lady Jane Ranville's great coach had roared away down the streets long before. Fred Minchin pattered off in his clogs : it was I who covered up Miss Meggot, and conducted her, with her two old sisters, to the carriage. Good old soids ! They have shown their gratitude by asking nie to tea next Tuesday. Methuselah is gone to finish the night at the Club. " Mind to- morrow," Miss Trotter says, kissing her hand out of the carriage. Canaillard departs, asking the way to "Lesterre Squar." They all go away — life goes away. Look at Miss Martin and young Ward ! How tenderly the rogue is wrapping her up ! how kindly she looks at him ! The old folks are whispering behind as they wait for their carriage. What is their talk, think you? and when shall that pair make a match? When you see those pretty little creatures with their smiles and their blushes, and their pretty ways, would you like to be the Grand Bashaw ? " Mind and send me a large piece of cake," I go up and whisper archly to old Mr. Ward : and we look on rather sentimentally at the couple, almost the last in the rooms (there, I declare, go the musicians, and the clock is at five) — when Grundsell, with an air effare, rushes up to me and says, " For eV'n sake, sir, go into the supper-room : there's that Hirish gent a-pitohin' into Mr. P." i( ftt' H_-- '>l'ft- i c — ^ 'l^ ^ »^ I . 1 MISS MARTIN AND tOUNO WABD. THE MULMQAN AND MB. PERKINS. THE MULLIGAN AND MR. PERKINS IT was too true. I had taken him away after supper (he ran after Miss Little's carriage, who was dying in love with him as he fancied), but the brute had come back again. The doctors of divinity were putting up their condiments : everybody was gone ; but the abominable Mulligan sat swinging his legs at the lonely supper-table ! Perkins was opposite, gasping at him. The Mulligan. — I tell ye, ye are the butler, ye big fat man. Go get me some more champagne : it's good at this house. Mr. Perkins {with dignity). — It is good at this house ; but The Mulligan.— Bhi hwhat, ye goggling, bow-windowed jack- ass ? Go get the wine, and we'll dthrink it together, my old buck. J/r. Perkins. — My name, sir, is Peekins. The Mulligan. — Well, that rhymes with jerkins, ray man of firkins; so don't let us have any more shirkings and lurkings, Mr. Perkins. Mr. Perkins {with apoplectic energy). — Sir, I am the master of this house : and I order you to quit it. I'll not be insulted, sir. I'll send for a policeman, sir. What do you mean, Mr. Titmarsh, sir, by bringing this — this beast into my house, sir t. At this, witli a scream like that of a Hyrcanian tiger, Mulligan of the hundred battles sprang forward at his prey ; but we were beforehand with him. Mr. Gregory, Mr. Grundsell, Sir Giles Bacon's large man, the young gentlemen, and myself, rushed simul- taneously upon the tipsy chieftain, and confined him. The doctors of divinity looked on with perfect indifference. That Mr. Perkins did not go off' in a fit is a wonder. He was led away heaving and snorting frightfully. Somebody smashed Mulligan's hat over his eyes, and I led him forth into the silent morning. The chirrup of the birds, the fresh- ness of the rosy air, and a penn'orth of coffee that I got for him at a stall in the Eegent Circus, revived him somewhat. When I quitted him, he was not angry but sad. He was desirous, it is 32 MRS. PERKINS'S BALL true, of avenging the wrongs of Erin in battle line ; he wished also to share the grave of Sarsfield and Hugh O'Neill ; but he was sure that Miss Perkins, as well as Miss Little, was desperately in love with him ; and I left him on a doorstep in tears. " Is it best to be laughing-mad, or crying-mad, in the world f " says I moodily, coming into my street. Betsy the maid was already up and at work, on her knees, scouring the steps, and cheerfully beginning her honest daily labour. OUE STEEET By Mr. M. a. TITMARSH OUR STREET OUR STREET, from the little nook which I occupy in it, and whence I and a fellow-lodger and .friend of mine cynically observe it, presents a strange motley scene. We are in a state of transition. We are not as yet in the town, and we have left the country, where we were when I came to lodge with Mrs. Cammysole, my excellent landlady. I then took second-floor apart- ments at No. 17 Waddilove Street, and since, although I have never moved (having various little comforts about me), I find myself living at No. 46a Pocklington Gardens. Why is this 1 Why am I to pay eighteen shillings instead of fifteen ] I was quite as happy in Waddilove Street ; but the fact is, a great portion of that venerable old district has passed away, and we are being absorbed into the splendid new white-stuccoed Doric-porticoed genteel Pocklington quarter. Sir Thomas Gibbs Pocklington, M.P. for the borough of Lathanplaster, is the founder of the district and his own fortune. The Pocklington Estate Ofiice is in the Square, on a line with Waddil — with Pocklington Gardens I mean. The old inn, the " Ram and Magpie," where the market- gardeners used to bait, came out this year with a new white face and title, the shield, &c., of the " Pocklington Arms." Such a shield it is ! Such quarterings ! Howard, Cavendish, De Eos, De la Zouche, all mingled together. Even our house, 46a, which Mrs. Cammysole has had painted white in compliment to the Gardens of which it now forms part, is a sort of impostor, and has no business to be called Gardens at all. Mr. Gibbs, Sir Thomas's agent and nephew, is furious at our daring to take the title which belongs to our betters. The very next door (No. 46, the Honourable Mrs. Mountnoddy) is a house of five storeys, shooting up proudly into the air, thirty feet above our high-roofed low-roomed old tenement. Our house belongs to Captain Bragg, not only the landlord but the son-in-law of Mrs. Cammysole, who lives a couple of hundred yards down the street, at " The Bungalow." He was the commander of the Bam Chunder 36 OUR STREET East Indiaman, and has quarrelled with the Pocklingtons ever since he bought houses in the parish. He it is who will not sell or alter his houses to suit the spirit of the times. . He it is who, though he made the widow Cammysole change the name of her street, will not pull down the house next door, nor the baker's next, nor the iron-bedstead and feather ware- house ensuing, nor the little barber's with the pole, nor, I am ashamed to say, the tripe-shop, still standing. The barber powders the heads of the great footmen from Pocklington Gardens; they are so big that they can scarcely sit in his little premises. And the old tavern, the "East Indiaman," is kept by Bragg's ship- steward, and protests against the " Pocklington Arms." Down the road is Pocklington Chapel, Rev. Oldham Slocum — in brick, with arched windows and a wooden belfry : sober, dingy, and hideous. In the centre of Pocklington Gardens rises St. Waltheofs, the Rev. Cyril Thuryfer and assistants — a splendid Anglo-Norman edifice, vast, rich, elaborate, bran new, and intensely old. Down Avemary Lane you may hear the clink of the little Romish chapel bell. And hard by is a large broad-shouldered Ebenezer (Rev. Jonas Gronow), out of the windows of which the hymns come booming all Sunday long. Going westward along the line, we come presently to Comandine House (on a part of the gardens of which Comandine Gardens is about to be erected by his lordship) ; farther on, " The Pineries," Mr. and Lady Mary Mango : and so we get into the country, and out of Our Street altogether, as I may say. But in the half mile, over which it may be said to extend, we find all sorts and condi- tions of people — from the Right Honourable Lord Comandine down to the present topographer ; who being of no rank as it were, has the fortune to be treated on almost friendly footing by all, from his lordship down to the tradesman. OUR HOUSE IN OUR STREET WE must begin our little descriptions where they say charity should begin — at home. Mrs. Cammysole, my landlady, will be rather surprised when she reads this, and finds that a good-natured tenant, who has never complained of her imposi- tions for fifteen years, understands every one of her tricks, and treats them, not with anger, but with scorn — with silent scorn. On the 18th of December 1837, for instance, coming gently downstairs, and before my usual wont, I saw you seated in my arm-chair, peeping into a letter that came from my aunt in the country, just as if it had been addressed to you, and not to "M. A. Titmarsh, Esq." Did I make any disturbance? far from it : I slunk back to my bedroom (being enabled to walk silently in the beautiful pair of worsted slippers Miss Penelope J s worked for me : they are worn out now, dear Penelope !) and then rattling open the door with a great noise, descended the stairs, singing " Son vergin vezzosa " at the top of my voice. You were not in my sitting-room, Mrs. Cammysole, when I entered that apartment. You have been reading all my letters, papers, manuscripts, brouillons of verses, inchoate articles for the Morning Post and Morning Chronicle, invitations to dinner and tea — all my family letters, all Eliza Townley's letters, from the first, in which she declared that to be the bride of her beloved Michelagnolo was the fondest wish of her maiden heart, to the last, in which she announced that her Thomas was the best of husbands, and signed herself "Eliza Slogger"; all Mary Parmer's letters, all Emily Delamere's ; all that poor foolish old Miss MacWhirter's, whom I would as soon marry as : in a word, I know that you, you hawk-beaked, keen-eyed, sleepless, indefatigable old Mrs. Cammysole, have read all my papers for these fifteen years. I know that you cast your curious old eyes over all the manuscripts which you find in my coat-pockets and those of my pantaloons, as they hang in a drapery over the door-handle of my bedroom. 38 OUR STREET I know that you count the money in my green and gold purse, which Lucy Netterville gave me, and speculate on the manner in which I have laid out the difference between to-day and yesterday. I know that you have an understanding with the laundress (to whom you say that you are all-powerful with me), threatening to take away my practice from her, unless she gets up gratis some of your fine linen. I know that we both have a pennyworth of cream for breakfast, which is brought in in the same little can ; and I know who has the most for her share. I know how many lumps of sugar you take from each pound as it arrives. I have counted the lumps, you old thief, and for years have never said a word, except to Miss Clapperclaw, the fir.st-floor lodger. Once I put a bottle of pale brandy into that cupboard, of which you and I only have keys, and the liquor wasted and wasted away until it was all gone. You drank the whole of it, you wicked old woman. You a lady, indeed ! I know your rage when they did me the honour to elect me a member of the " Poluphloisboiothalasses Club," and I ceased con- sequently to dine at home. When I did dine at home, — on a beef-steak let us say, — I should like to know what you had for supper. You first amputated portions of the meat when raw ; you abstracted more when cooked. Do you think / was taken in by your flimsy pretences ^ I wonder how you could dare to do such things before your maids (you a clergyman's daughter and widow, indeed !), whom you yourself were always charging with roguery. Yes, the insolence of the old woman is unbearable, and I must break out at last. If she goes off in a fit at reading this, I am sure I shan't mind. She has two unhappy wenches, against whom her old tongue is clacking from morning till night : she pounces on them at all hours. It was but this morning at eight when poor Molly was brooming the steps, and the baker paying her by no means unmerited compliments, that my landlady came whirling out of the ground-floor front, and sent the poor girl whimpering into the kitchen. Were it but for her conduct to her maids I was determined publicly to denounce her. These poor wretches she causes to lead the lives of demons ; and not content with bullying them all day, she sleeps at night in the same room with them, so that she may have them up before daybreak, and scold them while they are dressing. Certain it is, that between her and Miss Clapperclaw, on the first floor, the poor wenches lead a dismal life. My dear Miss A STREET COURTSHIP. Baker.— Row them curl-papers do become you, Miss Molly ! Miss Molly.— Get 'long now, Baker, do. OUR STREET 39 Clapperclaw, I hope you will excuse me for having placed you in the title-page of my little book, looking out of your accustomed window, and having your eye-glasses ready to spy the whole street, which you know better than any inhabitant of it. It is to you that I owe most of my knowledge of our neigh- bours ; from you it is that most of the facts and observations con- tained in these brief pages are taken. Many a night, over our tea, have we talked amiably about our neighbours and their little fail- ings ; and as I know that you speak of mine pretty freely, why, let me say, my dear Bessy, that if we have not built up Our Street between us, at least we have pulled it to pieces. THE BUNGALOW— CAPTAIN AND MRS. BRAGG LONG, long ago, when Our Street was the country — a stage-coach between uia and London passing four times a day — I do not ■' care to own tliat it was a sight of Flora Cammysole's face, under the card of her mamma's " Lodgings to Let," which first caused me to become a tenant of Our Street. A fine good-humoured lass she wa.s then ; and I gave her lessons (part out of the rent) in French and flower-painting. She has made a fine rich marriage since, although her eyes have often seemed to me to say, " Ah, Mr. T., why didn't you, when there was yet time, and we both of us were free, propose — you know what?" " Psha 1 Where was the money, my dear madam ? " Captain Bragg, then occupied in building Bungalow Lodge — Bragg, I say, living on the first-floor, and entertaining sea-captains, merchants, and East Indian friends with his grand ship's plate, being disappointed in a project of marrying a director's daughter, who was also a second cousin once removed of a peer, — sent in a fury for Mrs. Cammysole, his landlady, and proposed to marry Flora off-hand, and settle four hundred a year upon her. Flora was ordered from the back-parlour (the ground-floor occupies the second-floor bedroom), and was on the spot made acquainted with the splendid offer which the first-floor had made her. She has been Mrs. Captain Bragg these twelve years. You see her portrait, and that of the brute her husband, on the opposite side of the page. Bragg to this day wears anchor-buttons, and has a dress-coat with a gold strap for epaulets, in case he should have a fancy to sport them. His house is covered with portraits, busts, and minia- tures of himself. His wife is made to wear one of the latter. On his sideboard are pieces of plate, presented by the passengers of the Bam Chunder to Captain Bragg : " The Ram Chunder East Indiaman, in a gale, off Table Bay ; " " The Outward-bound Fleet, CAPTAIN AND MRS. BnAOG OF OUB STREET. OUE STREET 41 under convoy of her Majesty's frigate Loblollyboy, Captain Gutch, beating off tlie Frencli squadron, under Commodore Leloup (the Ram Chunder, S.E. by E., is represented engaged with the Mirliton corvette) ; " " The Ram Chunder standing into the Hooghly, with Captain Bragg, his telescope and speaking-trumpet, on the poop ; " " Captain Bragg presenting the Officers of the Ram Chunder to General Bonaparte at St. Helena — Titmarsh " (this fine piece was painted by me when I was in favour with Bragg) ; in a word, Bragg and the Ram, Chunder are all over the house. Although I have eaten scores of dinners at Captain Bragg's charge, yet his hospitality, is so insolent, that none of us who frequent his mahogany feel any obligation to our braggart en- tertainer. After he has given one of his great heavy dinners he always takes an opportunity to tell you, in the most public way, how many bottles of wine were drunk. His pleasure is to make his guests tipsy, and to tell everybody how and when the period of inebriation arose. And Miss Clapperclaw tells me that he often comes over laughing and giggling to her, and pretending that he has brought me into this condition — a calumny which I fling contemptuously in his face. He scarcely gives any but men's parties,'and invites the whole club home to dinner. What is the compliment of being asked, when the whole club is asked too, I should like to know 1 Men's parties are only good for boys. I hate a dinner where there are no women. Bragg sits at the head of his table, and bullies the solitary Mrs. Bragg. He entertains us with stories of storms which he, Bragg, en- countered — of dinners which he, Bragg, has received from the Governor-General of India — of jokes which he, Bragg, has heard; and however stale and odious they may be, poor Mrs. B. is always expected to laugh. Woe be to her if she doesn't, or if she laughs at anybody else's jokes. I have seen Bragg go up to her and squeeze her arm with a savage grind of his teeth, and say, with an oath, " Hang it, madam, how dare you laugh when any man but your husband speaks to you ? I forbid you to grin in that way. I forbid you to look sulky. I forbid you to look happy, or to look up, or to keep your eyes down to the ground. I desire you wiU not be trapesing through the rooms. I order you not to sit as still as a stone." He curses her if the wine is corked, or if the dinner is spoiled, or if she comes a minute too soon to the club for him, or arrives a minute too late. He forbids her to walk, except upon his arm. And the conse- quence of his ill treatment is, that Mrs. Cammysole and Mrs. Bragg 42 OUR STREET respect him beyond measure, and think him the first of human beings. "I never knew a woman who was constantly bullied by her husband who did not like him the better for it,'' Miss Clapper- claw says. And though this speech has some of Clapp's usual sardonic humour in it, I can't but think there is some truth in the remark. A STUDIO IN OUR STREET, LEVANT HOUSE CHAMBERS MR. RUMBOLB, A.R.A., ANB MISS RUMBOLB WHEN Lord Levant quitted the country and this neighbour- hood, in which the tradesmen still deplore him, No. 56, known as Levantine House, was let to the " Pococurante Club,'' which was speedily bankrupt (for we are too far from the centre of town to support a club of our own) ; it was subsequently hired by the West Diddlesex Railroad ; and is now divided into sets of chambers, superintended by an acrimonious housekeeper, and by a porter in a sham livery : whom, if you don't find him at the door, you may as well seek at the " Grapes " public-house, in the little lane round the comer. He varnishes the japan-boots of the dandy lodgers ; reads Mr. Pinkney's Morning Post before he lets him have it ; and neglects the letters of the inmates of the chambers generally. The great rooms, which were occupied as the salons of the noble Levant, the coffee-rooms of the " Pococurante " (a club where the play was furious, as I am told), and the board-room and raanager's-room of the West Diddlesex, are tenanted now by a couple of artists ; young Pinkney the miniaturist, and George Rumbold the historical painter. Miss Rumbold, his sister, lives with him, by the way; but with that young lady of course we have nothing to do. I knew both these gentlemen at Rome, where George wore a velvet doublet and a beard down to his chest, and used to talk about high art at the " Cafffe Greco." How it smelled of smoke, that velveteen doublet of his, with which his stringy red beard was likewise perfumed ! It was in his studio that I had the honour to be introduced to his sister, the fair Miss Clara; she had a large casque with a red horse-hair plume (I thought it had been a wisp of her brother's beard at first), and held a tin-headed spear in her hand, representing a Roman warrior in the great picture of "Caractacus" George was painting — a piece sixty-four feet by eighteen. The Roman warrior blushed to be discovered in that 44 OUR STREET attitude : the tin-headed spear trembled in the whitest arm in the world. So she put it down, and taking off the helmet also, went and sat in a far corner of the studio, mending George's stockings ; whilst we smoked a couple of pipes, and talked about Raphael being a good deal overrated. I think he is ; and have never disguised my opinion about the " Transfiguration." And all the time we talked, there were Clara's eyes looking lucidly out from the dark corner in which she was sitting, working away at the stockings. The lucky fellow ! They were in a dreadful state of bad repair when she came out to him at Rome, after the death of their father, the Reverend Miles Rumbold. George, while at Rome, painted " Caractacus " ; a picture of " Non Angli sed Angeli " of course ; a picture of " Alfred in the Neatherd's Cottage," seventy-two feet by forty-eight — (an idea of the gigantic size and Michel-Angelesque proportions of this picture may be formed, when I state that the mere muffin, of which the outcast king is spoiling the baking, is two feet three in diameter) ; and the deaths of Socrates, of Remus, and of the Christians under Nero respectively. I shall never forget how lovely Clara looked in white muslin, with her hair down, in this latter picture, giving herself up to a ferocious Carnifex (for which Bob Gaunter the architect sat), and refusing to listen to the mild suggestions of an insinuating Flamen : which character was a gross caricature of myself. None of George's pictures sold. He has enough to tapestry Trafalgar Square. He has painted, since he came back to England, " The Flaying of Marsyas," " The Smothering of the Little Boys in the Tower," " A Plague Scene during the Great Pestilence," " Ugo- lino on the Seventh Day after he was deprived of Victuals," &c. For although these pictures have great merit, and the writhings of Marsyas, the convulsions of the little princes, the look of agony of St. Lawrence on the gridiron, &c., are quite true to nature, yet the subjects somehow are not agreeable ; and if he hadn't a small patrimony, my friend George would starve. Fondness for art leads me a great deal to his studio. George is a gentleman, and has very good friends, and good pluck too. When we were at Rome, there was a great row between him and young Heeltap, Lord Boxmoor's son, who was uncivil to Miss Rumbold ; (the young scoundrel — had I been a fighting man, I should like to have shot him myself !). Lady Betty Bulbul is very fond of Clara ; and Tom Bulbul, who took George's message to Heeltap, is always hanging about the studio. At least I know that I find the young jackanapes there almost every day, bringing a new novel, or some poisonous French poetry, or a basket of OUK STREET 45 flowers, or grapes, with Lady Betty's love to her dear Clara — a young rascal with white kids, and his hair curled every morning. What business has he to be dangling about George Rumbold's premises, and sticking up his ugly pug-face as a model for all George's pictiu-es % Miss Clapperclaw says Bulbul is evidently smitten, and Clara too. What ! would she put up with such a little fribble as that, when there is a man of intellect and taste who — but I won't believe it. It is all the jealousy of women. SOME OF THE SERVANTS IN OUR STREET THESE gentlemen have two clubs in our quarter — for the butlers at the " Indiaman," and for the gents in livery at the " Pocklington Arms " — of either of which societies I should like to be a member. I am sure they could not be so dull as our club at the " Poluphloisboio," where one meets the same neat, clean, respectable old fogies every day. But with the best wishes, it is impossible for the present writer to join either the " Plate Club " or the " Uniform Club " (as these reunions are designated) ; for one could not shake hands with a friend who was standing behind your chair, or nod a How-d'ye do 1 to the butler who was pouring you out a glass of wine ; — so that what I know about the gents in our neighbourhood is from mere casual observation. For instance, I have a slight acquaintance with (1) Thomas Spavin, who commonly wears the above air of injured innocence, and is groom to Mr. Joseph Green, of Our Street. " / tell why the brougham 'oss is out of condition, and why Desperation broke out all in a lather ! 'Osses will, this 'eavy weather ; and Desperation was always the most mystest hoss I ever see. — / take him out with Mr. Anderson's 'ounds — I'm above it. I allis was too timid to ride to 'ounds by natur ; and Colonel Sprigs' groom as says he saw me, is a liar," &c. &c. Such is the tenor of Mr. Spavin's remarks to his master. Whereas all the world in Our Street knows that Mr. Spavin spends at least a hundred a year in beer ; that he keeps a betting-book ; that he has lent Mr. Green's black brougham horse to the omnibus driver ; and, at a time when Mr. G. supposed him at the veterinary surgeon's, has lent him to a livery stable, which has let him out to that gentleman himself, and actually driven him to dinner behind his own horse. This conduct I can understand, but I cannot excuse — Mr. Spavin may ; and I leave the matter to be settled betwixt himself and Mr. Green. The second is Monsieur Sinbad, Mr. Clarence Bulbul's man, whom we all hate Clarence for keeping. SOME OF OUB GENTLEMEN, OUR STREET 47 Mr. Sinbad is a foreigner, speaking no known language, but a mixture of every European — dialect so that he may be an Italian brigand, or a Tyrolese minstrel, or a Spanish smuggler, for what we know. I have heard say that he is neither of these, but an Irish Jew. He wears studs, hair-oil, jewellery, and linen shirt-fronts, very finely embroidered, but not particular for whiteness. He generally appears in faded velvet waistcoats of a morning, and is always perfumed with stale tobacco. He wears large rings on his hands, which look as if he kept them up the chimney. He does not appear to do anything earthly for Clarence Bulbul, except to smoke his cigars, and to practise on his guitar. He will not answer a bell, nor fetch a glass of water, nor go of an errand : on which, au reste, Clarence dares not send him, being entirely afraid of his servant, and not daring to use him, or to abuse him, or to send him away. 3. Adams — Mr. Champignon's man — a good old man in an old livery coat with old worsted lace — so very old, deaf, surly, and faithful, that you wonder how he should have got into the family at all ; who never kept a footman till last year, when they came into the street. Miss Clapperclaw says she believes Adams to be Mrs. Cham- pignon's father, and he certainly has a look of that lady ; as Miss C. pointed out to me at dinner one night, whilst old Adams was blundering about amongst the hired men from Gunter's, and falling over the silver dishes. 4. Fipps, the buttoniest page in all the street : walks behind Mrs. Grimsby with her prayer-book, and protects her. " If that woman wants a protector " (a female acquaintance remarks), " Heaven be good to us ! She is as big as an ogress, and has an upper lip which many a cornet of the Lifeguards might envy. Her poor dear Imsband was a big man, and she could beat him easily ; and did too. Mrs. Grimsby indeed ! Why, my dear Mr. Titmarsh, it is Glumdalca walking with Tom Thumb.'' This observation of Miss C.'s is very true, and Mrs. Grimsby might carry her prayer-book to church herself. But Miss Clapper- claw, who is pretty well able to take care of herself too, was glad enough to have the protection of the page when she went out in the fly to pay visits, and before Mrs. Grimsby and she quarrelled at whist at Lady Pocklington's. After this merely parenthetic observation, we come to (5) one of her ladyship's large men, Mr. Jeames — a gentleman of vast stature and proportions, who is almost nose to nose with us as we pass her ladyship's door on the outside of the omnibus. I think 9 6 48 OUK STREET Jeames has a contempt for a man whom he witnesses in that position. I have fancied something like that feeling showed itself (as far its it may in a well-bred gentleman accustomed to society) in his behaviour, while waiting behind my chair at dinner. But I take Jeames to be, like most giants, good-natured, lazy, stupid, soft-hearted and extremely fond of drink. One night, his lady being engaged to dinner at Nightingale House, I saw Mr. Jeames resting himself on a bench at the " Pocklington Arms " : where, as he had no liquor before him, he had probably exhausted his credit. Little Spitfire, Mr. Clarence Bulbul's boy, the wickedest little varlet that ever hung on to a cab, was "chaffing" Mr. Jeames, holding up to his face a pot of porter almost as big as the young potifer himself "Vill you now, Big'un, or von't you?" Spitfire said. "If you're thirsty, vy don't you say so and squench it, old boy 1 " "Don't ago on making fun of me — I can't abear chaffin'," was the reply of Mr. Jeames, and tears actually stood in his fine eyes as he looked at the porter and the screeching little imp before him. Spitfire (real name unkno-\vn) gave him some of the drink : I am happy to say Jeames's face wore quite a dift'erent look when it rose gasping out of the porter ; and I judge of his dispositions from the above trivial incident. The last boy in the sketch (6) need scarcely be particularised. Doctor's boy ; was a charity-boy ; stripes evidently added on to a pair of the doctor's clothes of last year — Miss Clapperclaw pointed this out to me with a giggle. Nothing escapes that old woman. As we were walking in Kensington Gardens, she pointed me out BIi-s, Bragg's nursery-maid, who sings so loud at church, engaged with a Lifc;,'uardsman, whom she was trying to convert probably. My virtuous friend rose indignant at the sight. " That's why these minxes like Kensington Gardens," she cried. " Look at the woman : she leaves the baby on the grass, for the giant to trample upon ; and that little wretch of a Hastings Bragg is riding on the monster's cane." Miss C. flew up and seized the infant, waking it out of its sleep, and causing all the Gardens to echo with its squalling. " I'll teach you to be impudent to me," she said to the nursery-maid, with- whom my vivacious old friend, I suppose, has had a difference ; and she would not release the infant until she had rung the bell of Bungalow Lodge, where she gave it up to the footman. The giant in scarlet had slunk down towards Knightsbridge meanwhile. The big rogues are always crossing the Park and the Gardens, and hankering about Our Street, WHT OnB NURSEMAIDS LIKE KENSINGTON GARDENS. A STREET CEREMONY. WHAT SOMETIMES HAPPENS IN OUR STREET IT was before old Hunkiiigton's house that the mutes were standing, as I passed and saw this group at the door. The charity-boy with the hoop is the son of the jolly-looking mute ; he admires his father, who admires himself too, in those bran-new sables. The other infants are the spawn of the alleys about Our Street. Only the parson and the typhus fever visit those mysterious haunts, which lie crouched about our splendid houses like Lazarus at the threshold of Dives. Those little ones come crawling abroad in the sunshine, to the annoyance of the beadles, and the horror of a number of good people in the street. They will bring up the rear of the procession anon, when the grand omnibus with the feathers, and the fine coaches with the long-tailed black horses, and the gentlemen's private carriages with the shutters up, pass along to Saint Waltheof's. You can hear the slow bell tolling clear in the sunshine already, mingling with the crowing of " Punch," who is passing down the street with his show ; and the two musics make a queer medley. Not near so many people, I remark, engage " Punch " now as in the good old times. I suppose our quarter is growing too genteel for him. Miss Bridget Jones, a poor curate's daughter in Wales, comes into all Hunkington's property, and will take his name, as I am told. Nobody ever heard of her before. I am sure Captain Hunkington, and his brother Barnwell Hunkington, must wish that the lucky young lady had never been heard of to the present day. But they will have the consolation of thinking that they did their duty by their uncle, and consoled his declining years. It wa? but last month that Millwood Hunkington (the Captain) sent the old gentleman a service of plate ; and Mrs. Barnwell got a reclining carriage at a great expense from Hobbs and Dobbs's, in which the old gentleman went out only once. "It is a punishment on those Hunkingtons," Miss Cla]i])erclaw 50 OUE STREET remarks : "upon those people who have been always living beyond their little incomes, and always speculating upon what the old man would leave them, and always coaxing him with presents which they could not aflford, and he did not want. It is a punishment upon those Hunldngtons to be so disappointed." "Think of giving him plate," Miss C. justly says, "who had chestsfuU ; and sending him a carriage, who could afford to buy all Long Acre. And everything goes to Miss Jones Hunkington. I wonder will she give the things back?" Miss Clapperclaw asks. "I wouldn't." And indeed I don't tliink Miss Clapperclaw would. SOMEBODY WHOM NOBODY KNOWS THAT pretty little house, the last in Pocklington Square, was lately occupied by a young widow lady who wore a pink bonnet, a short silk dress, sustained by a crinoline, and a light-blue mantle, or over-jacket (Miss 0. is not here to tell me the name of the garment) ; or else a black velvet pelisse, a yellow shawl, and a white bonnet ; or else — but never mind the dress, which seemed to be of the handsomest sort money could buy — and who had very long glossy black ringlets, and a peculiarly brilliant com- plexion, — No. 96 Pocklington Square, I say, was lately occupied by a widow lady named Mrs. Stafford Molyneux. The very first day on which an intimate and valued female friend of mine saw Mrs. Stafford Molyneux stepping into a brougham, with a splendid bay horse, and without a footman (mark, if you please, that delicate sign of respectability), and after a moment's examination of Mrs. S. M.'s toilette, her manners, little dog, carnation-coloured parasol, &c., Miss Elizabeth Clapperclaw clapped to the opera-glass with which she had been regarding the new inhabitant of Our Street, came away from the window in a great flurry, and began poking her fire in a fit of virtuous indignation. " She's very pretty," said I, who had been looking over Miss C.'s shoulder at the widow with the flashing eyes and drooping ringlets. " Hold your tongue, sir," said Miss Clapperclaw, tossing up her virgin head with an indignant blush on her nose. " It's a sin and a shame that such a creature should be riding in her carriage, forsooth, when honest people must go on foot." Subsequent observations confirmed my revered fellow-lodger's anger and opinion. We have watched hansom cabs standing before that lady's house for hours ; we have seen broughams, with great flaring eyes, keeping watch there in the darkness; we have seen the vans from the comestible-shops drive up and discharge loads of wines, groceries, French plums, and other articles of luxurious horror. We have seen Count Wowski's drag. Lord Martingale's carriage, Mr. Deuceace's cab drive up there time after time ; and (having remarked previously the pastrycook's men arrive with the 52 OUR STREET trays and entrees), wc have known that this widow was giving dinners at the little house in Pocklington Square — dinners such as decent people could not hope to enjoy. My excellent friend has been in a perfect fury when Mrs. Stafford Molyneux, in a black velvet riding-habit, with a hat and feather, has come out and mounted an odious grey horse, and has cantered down the street, followed by her groom upon a bay. "It won't last long — it must end in shame and humiliation,'' my dear Miss 0. has remarked, disappointed that the tiles and chimney-pots did not fall down upon Mrs. Stafford Molyneux's head, and crush that cantering, audacious woman. But it was a consolation to see her when she walked out with a French maid, a couple of children, and a httle dog hanging on to her by a blue ribbon. She always held down her head then — her head with the drooping black ringlets. The virtuous and well-disposed avoided her. I have seen the Square-keeper himself look puzzled as she passed ; and Lady Kicklcbury walking by with Miss K., her daughter, turn away from Mrs. Stafford Molyneux, and fling back at her a ruthless Parthian glance that ought to have killed any woman of decent sensibility. That wretched woman, meanwhile, with her rouged cheeks (for rouge it is, Miss Clapperclaw swears, and who is a better judged) has walked on conscious, and yet somehow braving out the Street. You could read pride of her beauty, pride of her fine clothes, shame of her position, in her downcast black eyes. As for Mademoiselle Trampoline, her French maid, she would stare the sun itself out of countenance. One day she tossed up her head as she passed under our windows witli a look of scorn that drove Jliss Clapperclaw back to the fireplace again. It was Mrs. Stafford Molyneux's children, however, whom I pitied the most. Once lier boy, in a flaring tartan, went up to speak to Master Roderick Lacy, whose maid was engaged ogling a policeman ; and the cliildren were going to make friends, being united with a hoop which Master Molyneux had, when Master Roderick's maid, rushing up, clutched her charge to her arms, and luu-ried away, leaving little Molyneux sad and wondering. " Why won't he play with me, mamma ? " Master Molyneux asked — and his mother's face blushed purple as she walked away. " Ah — Heaven help us and forgive us ! " said I ; but Miss 0. can never forgive the mother or child ; and she clapped her hands for joy one day when we saw the shutters up, bills in the windows, a carpet hanging out over the balcony, and a crowd of shabby Jews about the steps — giving token that the reign of Mrs. Stafford Molyneux was over. The pastrycooks and their trays, the bay ff^' '" ■ tr^TiiUl THE tADT WHOM NOeODy KNOWS, OUR STREET 53 and the grey, the brougham and the groom, the noblemen and their cabs, were all gone ; and the tradesmen in the neighbourhood were crying out that they were done. " Serve the odious minx right ! " says Miss 0. ; and she played at piquet that night with more vigour than I have known her manifest for these last ten years. What is it that makes certain old ladies so savage upon certain subjects '! Miss 0. is a good woman ; pays her rent and her trades- men ; gives plenty to the poor ; is brisk with her tongue — kind- hearted in the main ; but if Mrs. Stafford Molyueux and her children were plunged into a caldron of boiling vinegar, I think my revered friend would not take them out. THE MAN IN POSSESSION FOR another misfortune which occurred in Our Street vre were much more compassionate. We liked Danby Dixon, and his wife Fanny Dixon still more. Miss C. had a paper of biscuits and a box of preserved apricots always in the cupboard, ready for Dixon's children — provisions by the way which she locked up under Mrs. Cammysole's nose, so that our landlady could by no possibility lay a hand on them. Dixon and his wife had the neatest little house possible (No. IG, opposite 96), and were liked and respected by the whole street. He was called Dandy Dixon when he was in the Dragoons, and was a light weight, and rather famous as a gentleman rider. On his marriage, he sold out and got fat ; and was indeed a florid, con- tented, and jovial gentleman. His little wife was charming — to see her in pink with some miniature Dixons, in pink too, round about her, or in that beautiful grey dress, with the deep black lace flounces, which she wore at my Lord Comandiue's on the night of the private theatricals, would have done any man good. To hear her sing any of my little ballads, "Knowest Thou the Willow-tree 1 " for instance, or "The Eose upon my Balcony," or " The Humming of the Honey-bee " (far superior in my judgment, and in that of some good judges likewise, to that humbug Clarence Bulbul's ballads), — to hear her, I say, sing these, was to be in a sort of small Elysium. Dear, dear little Fanny Dixon ! she was like a little chirping bird of Paradise. It was a shame that storms should ever ruffle such a tender plumage. Well, never mind about sentiment. Danby Dixon, the owner of this little treasure, an ex-captain of Dragoons, and having nothing to do, and a small income, wisely thought he would employ his spare time, and increase his revenue. He became a director of the Cornaro Life Insurance Company, of the Tregulpho Tin-mines, and of four or five railroad companies. It was amusing to see him swaggering about the City in his chnking boots, and with his high and mighty dragoon manners. For a time his talk about shares after dinner was perfectly intolerable; and I for one was always THE MAN IN POSSESSION. OUR STREET 55 glad to leave him in the company of sundry very dubious capitalists who frequented his house, and walk up to hear Mrs. Fanny warbling at the piano with her little children about her knees. It was only last season that they set up a carriage — the modestest little vehicle conceivable — driven by Kirby, who had been in Dixon's troop in the regiment, and had followed him into private life as coachman, footman, and page. One day lately I went into Dixon's house, hearing that some calamities had befallen him, the particulars of which Miss Clapper- claw was desirous to know. The creditors of the Tregulpho Mines had got a verdict against him as one of the directors of that company ; the engineer of the Little Diddlesex Junction had sued him for two thousand three hundred pounds — the charges of that scientific man for six weeks' labour in surveying the line. His brother directors were to be discovered nowhere : Windham, Dodgin, Mizzlingtou, and the rest, were all gone long ago. AVhen I entered, the door was open ; there was a smell of smoke in the dining-room, where a gentleman at noonday was seated with a pipe and a pot of beer : a man in possession indeed, in that com- fortable pretty parlour, by that snug round table where I have so often seen Fanny Dixon's smiling face. Kirby, the ex-dragoon, was scowling at the fellow, who lay upon a little settee reading the newspaper, with an evident desire to kill him. Mrs. Kirby, his wife, held little Danby, poor Dixon's son and heir. Dixon's portrait smiled over the sideboard still, and his wife was upstairs in an agony of fear, with the poor little daughters of this bankrupt, broken family. This poor soul had actually come down and paid a visit to tlie man in possession. She had sent wine and dinner to " the gentle- man downstairs," as she called him in her terror. She had tried to move his heart, by representing to him how innocent Captain Dixon was, and how he had always paid, and always remained at home when everybody else had fled. As if her tears and simple tales and entreaties could move that man in possession out of the house, or induce him to pay the costs of the action which her husband had lost. Danby meanwhile was at Boulogne, sickening after his wife and children. They sold everything in his house — all his smart furniture and neat little stock of plate ; his wardrobe and his linen, " the property of a gentleman gone abroad ; " his carriage by the best maker ; and his wine selected without regard to expense. His house was shut up as completely as his opposite neighbour's ; and a new tenant is just having it fresh painted inside and out, as if poor Dixon had left an infection beliind. 56 OUE STREET Kirby and his wife went across the water with the children and Mrs. Fanny — she has a small settlement ; and I am bound to say that our mutual friend Miss Elizabeth 0. went down with Mrs. Dixon in the fly to the Tower stairs, and stopped in Lombard Street by the way. So it is that the world wags : that honest men and knaves alike are always having ups and downs of fortune, and that we are perpetually changing tenants in Our Street. THE LION OF THE STREET WHAT people can find in Clarence Bulbul, who has lately taken upon himself the rank and dignity of Lion of Our Street, I have always been at a loss to conjecture. " He has written an Eastern book of considerable merit," Miss Clapperclaw says ; but hang it, has not everybody written an Eastern book 1 I should like to meet anybody in society now who has not been up to the second cataract. An Eastern book forsooth ! My Lord Castleroyal has done one — an honest one ; my Lord Youngent another — an amusing one ; my Lord Woolsey another — a pious one ; there is "The Cutlet and the Oabob" — a sentimental one; " Timbuctoothen " — a humorous one, all ludicrously overrated, in my opinion : not including my own little book, of which a copy or two is still to be had, by the way. Well, then, Clarence Bulbul, because he has made part of the little tour that all of us know, comes back and gives himself airs, forsooth, and howls as if lie were just out of the great Libyan desert. When we go and see him, that Irish Jew courier, whom I have before had the honom- to describe, looks up from the novel which he is reading in the ante-room, and says, " Mon maitre est au divan," or, " Monsieur trouvera Monsieur dans son sdrail," and relapses into the Comte de Montecristo again. Yes, the impudent wretch has actually a room in his apartments on the ground-floor of his mother's house, which he calls his harem. When Lady Betty Bulbul (they are of the Nightingale family) or Miss Blanche comes down to visit him, their slippers are placed at the door, and he receives them on an ottoman, and these infatuated women will actually light his pipe for him. Little Spitfire, the groom, hangs about the drawing-room, out- side the harem forsooth ! so that he may be ready when Clarence Bulbul claps hands for him to bring the pipes and coffee. He has coffee and pipes for everybody. I should like you to have seen the face of old Bowly, his college-tutor, called upon to sit cross-legged on a divan, a little cup of bitter black Mocha put into 58 OUR STEEET his hand, and a large amber-muzzled pipe stuck into his mouth by Spitfire, before he could so much as say it was a fine day ! Bowly almost thought he had compromised his principles by consenting so far to this Turkish manner. Bulbul's dinners are, I own, very good ; his pilaff's and curries excellent. He tried to make us eat rice with our fingers, it is true ; but he scalded his own hands in the business, and invariably bediz- ened his shirt ; so he has left off the Turkish practice, for dinner at least, and uses a fork like a Christian. But it is in society that he is most remarkable ; and here he would, I own, be odious, but he becomes delightful, because all the men hate him so. A perfect chorus of abuse is raised round about him. " Confounded impostor," says one ; " Impudent jackass," says another ; " Miserable puppy," cries a third ; " I'd like to wring his neck," says Bruff, scowling over his shoulder at him. Clarence meanwhile nods, winks, smiles, and patronises them all with the easiest good-humour. He is a felloAV who would poke an archbishop in the apron, or clap a duke on the shoulder, as coolly as he would address you and me. I saw him the other night at Mrs. Bumpsher's grand let off. He flung himself down cross-legged upon a pink satin sofa, so that you could see Mrs. Bumpsher quiver with rage in the distance, Bruff growl with fury from the further room, and Miss Pim, on whose frock Bulbul's feet rested, look up like a timid fawn. " Fan me. Miss Pim," said he of the cushion. "You look hke a perfect Peri to-night. You remind me of a girl I once knew in Circassia — Ameena, the sister of Schamyl Bey. Do you know. Miss Pim, that you would fetch twenty thousand piastres in the market at Constantinople ? " " Law, Mr. Bulbul ! " is all Miss Pim can ejaculate ; and having talked over Miss Pim, Clarence goes off to another houri, whom he fascinates in a similar manner. He charmed Mrs. Waddy by telling her that she was the exact figure of the Pasha of Egypt's second wife. He gave Miss Tokely a piece of the sack in which Zuleika was drowned ; and he actually persuaded that poor little silly Miss Vain to turn Mahometan, and sent her up to the Turkish Ambas- sador's to look out for a mufti. THE LION OF THE STREET, THE DOVE OF OUR STREET IF Bulbul is our Lion, Young Oriel may be described as The Dove of our colony. He is almost as great a pasha among the ladies as Bulbul. They crowd in flocks to see him at Saint Waltheof s, where the immense height of his forehead, the rigid asceticism of his surplice, the twang wth which he intones the service, and the namby-pamby mysticism of his sermons, have turned all the dear girls' heads for some time past. While we were having a rubber at Mrs. Ohauntry's, whose daughters are following the new mode, I heard the following talk (which made me revoke by the way) going on, in what was formerly called the young ladies' room, but is now styled the Oratory : — THE OKATOKY. MISS CH.\UNTRr. MISS ISABEL CHAUNTRY. MISS DE L'AISLE. MISS PYX. REV. L. OEIEL. REV. 0. SLOCUM— [!» (7ie/Mri!7ier room.] Miss Chauntry {sighing). — Is it wrong to be in the Guards, dear Mr. Oriel ? Miss Pyx. — She will make Frank de Boots sell out when he marries. Mr. Oriel. — To be in the Guards, dear sister? The Church has always encouraged the army. Saint Martin of Tours was in the army ; Saint Louis was in the army ■. Saint Waltheof, our patron. Saint Witikind of Aldermanbury, Saint Wamba, and Saint Walloff were in the army. Saint Wapshot was captain of the guard of Queen Boadicea ; and Saint Werewolf was a major in the Danish cavalry. The holy Saint Ignatius of Loyola carried a pike, as we know; and Miss De V Aisle. — Will you take some tea, dear Mr. Oriel ? Oriel. — This is not one of my feast days. Sister Emma. It is the feast of Saint WagstafF of Walthamstow. The Young Ladies. — And we must not even take tea ] 60 OUR STREET Oriel. — Dear sisters, I said not so. You may do as you list ; but I am strong {with a heart-hroken sigh) ; don't ply me {he reels). I took a little water and a parched pea after matins. To- morrow is a flesh day, and — and I shall be better then. Rev. 0. Slocum {from within). — Madam, I take your heart with my small trump. Oriel. — Yes, better ! dear sister ; it is only a passing — a — weakness. Miss I. Ghauntry. — He's dying of fever. Miss Chauntry. — I'm so glad De Boots need not leave the Blues. Miss Pyx. — He wears sackcloth and cinders inside his waistcoat. Miss De I'Aisle. — He's told me to-night he's going to — to — Ro-o-ome. [J/('ss De I'Aisle bursts into tears.\ Rev. 0. !ilocu,m. — My lord, I have the highest club, which gives the trick and two by honours. Thus, you see, we have a variety of clergymen in Our Street. Mr. Oriel is of the pointed Gothic school, while old Slocum is of the good old tawny port-wine school ; and it must be confessed that Mr. Gronow, at Ebenezer, has a hearty abhorrence for both. As for Gronow, I pity him, if his future lot should fall where Mr. Oriel supposes that it wiU. And as for Oriel, he has not even the benefit of purgatory, which he would accord to his neighbour Ebenezer ; while old Slocum pro- nounces both to be a couple of humbugs ; and Mr. Mole, the demure little beetle-browed chaplain of the little church of Avemary Lane, keeps his sly eyes down to the ground when he passes any one of his black-coated brethren. There is only one point on which my friends seem agreed. Slocum likes port, but who ever heard that he neglected his poor? Gronow, if he comminates his neighbour's congregation, is the affec- tionate father of his own. Oriel, if he loves pointed Gothic and parched peas for breakfast, has a prodigious soup-kitchen for his poor ; and as for little Father Mole, who never lifts his eyes from the ground, ask our doctor at what bedsides he finds him, and how he soothes poverty, and braves misery and infection. THE DOVE OF ODK STREET. THE BUMPSHER8 NO. 6 Pocklington Gardens (the house with the quantity of flowers in the windows, and the awning over the entrance), George Bumpsher, Esquire, M.P. for Humborough (and tlie Beanstalks, Kent). For some time after this gorgeous family came into our quarter, I mistook a bald-headed, stout person, whom I used to see looking through the flowers on the upper windows, for Bumpsher himself, or for the butler of the family ; whereas it was no other than Mrs. Bumpsher, without her chestnut wig, and who is at least three times the size of her husband. The Bumpshers and the house of Mango at the Pineries vie together in their desire to dominate over the neighbourhood ; and each votes the other a vulgar and purse-proud family. The fact is, both are City people. Bumpsher, in his mercantile capacity, is a wholesale stationer in Thames Street ; and his wife was daughter of an eminent bill-broking firm, not a thousand miles from Lombard Street. He does not sport a coronet and supporters upon his London plate and carriages ; but his country-house is emblazoned all over with those heraldic decorations. He puts on an order when he goes abroad, and is Count Bumpsher of the Eoman States — which title he purchased from the late Pope (through Prince Polonia the banker) for a couple of thousand scudi. It is as good as a coronation to see him and Mrs. Bumpsher go to Court. I wonder the carriage can hold them both. On those days Mrs. Bumpsher holds her own drawing-room before her Majesty's ; and we are invited to come and see her sitting in state, upon the largest sofa in her rooms. She has need of a stout one, I promise you. Her very feathers must weigh something considerable. The diamonds on her stomacher would embroider a full-sized carpet-bag. She has rubies, ribbons, cameos, emeralds, gold serpents, opals, and Valenciennes lace, as if she were an immense sample out of Howell and James's shop. She took up with little Pinkney at Rome, where he made a 62 OUR STREET charming picture of her, representing her as about eighteen, with a cherub in her lap, who has some likeness to Bryanstone Bumpsher, her enormous, vulgar son ; now a cornet in the Blues, and anything but a cherub, as those would say who saw him in his uniform jacket. I remember Pinkney when he was painting the picture, Bryanstone being then a youth in what they call a skeleton suit (as if such a pig of a child could ever have been dressed in anything resembling a skeleton) — I remember, I say, Mrs. B. sitting to Pinkney in a sort of Egerian costume, her boy by her side, whose head the artist turned round and directed it towards a piece of gingerbread, which he was to have at the end of the sitting. Pinkney, indeed, a painter ! — a contemptible little humbug, and parasite of the great ! He has painted Mrs. Bumpsher younger every year for these last ten years — and you see in the advertise- ments of all her parties his odious little name stuck in at the end of the list. I'm sure, for my part, I'd scorn to enter her doors, or be the toady of any woman. VENUS AND CUPID. Vi^ I I 1, 11% II THE SIBEN OF OUB STREET. JOLLY NEWBOY, ESQ., M.P. HOW different it is with the Newboys, now, where I have an entree (having indeed had the honour in former days to give lessons to both the ladies) — and where such a quack as Pinkney would never be allowed to enter ! A merrier house the whole quarter cannot furnish. It is there you meet people of all ranks and degrees, not only from our quarter, but from the rest of the town. It is there that our great man, the Eight Honourable Lord Comandine, came up and spoke to me in so encouraging a manner that I hope to be invited to one of his lordship's excellent dinners (of which I shall not fail to give a very flattering description) before the season is over. It is there you find yourself talking to statesmen, poets, and artists — not sham poets like Bulbul, or quack artists like that Pinkney — but to the best members of all society. It is there I made this sketch, while Miss Chesterforth was singing a deep-toned tragic ballad, and her mother scowling behind her. What a buzz and clack and chatter there was in the room to be sure ! When Miss Chesterforth sings, everybody begins to talk. Hicks and old Fogy were on Ireland : Bass was roaring into old Pump's ears (or into his horn rather) about the Navigation Laws ; I was engaged talking to the charming Mrs. Short ; while Charley Bonham (a mere prig, in whom I am surprised that the women can see anything), was pouring out his fulsome rhapsodies in the ears of Diana White. Lovely, lovely Diana White ! were it not for three or four other engagements, I know a heart that would suit you to a T. Newboy's I pronounce to be the jolliest house in the street. He has only of late had a rush of prosperity, and turned Parliament man ; for his distant cousin, of the ancient house of Newboy of shire, dying, Fred — then making believe to practise at the bar, and living with the utmost modesty in Gray's Inn Road — • found himself master of a fortune, and a great house in the country ; of which getting tired, as in the course of nature he should, he came up to London, and took that fine mansion in our Gardens. He represents Mumborough in Parliament, a seat which has been time out of mind occupied by a Newboy. 9 I 64 OUE STEEET Thougli he does not speak, being a great deal too rich, sensible, and lazy, ho someliow occupies himself with reading blue-books, and indeed talks a great deal too much good sense of late over his dinner-table, where there is always a cover for the present writer. He falls asleep pretty assiduously too after that meal — a practice which I can well pardon in him — for, between ourselves, his wife, Maria Newboy, and his sister, Clarissa, are the loveliest and kindest of their sex, and I would rather hear their innocent prattle, and lively talk about their neighbours, than the best wisdom from the wisest man that ever wore a beard. Like a wise and good man, he leaves the question of his house- hold entirely to the women. They like going to the play. They like going to Greenwich. They like coming to a party at Bachelor's Hall. They are up to all sorts of fun, in a word ; iu which taste the good-natured Newboy acquiesces, provided he is left to follow his own. It was only on the 17th of the month, that, liaving had the honour to dine at the house, when, after dinner, which took place at eight, we left Newboy to his blue-books, and went upstairs and sang a little to the guitar afterwards — it was only on the 17th December, the night of Lady Sowerby's party, that the following dialogue took place in the boudoir, whither Newboy, blue-books in hand, had ascended. He was curled up with his House of Commons boots on his wife's arm-chair, reading his eternal blue-books, when Mrs. N. entered from her apartment, dressed for the evening. J/rs. X — Frederick, won't you come? Mr. iT.— Where? Mrs. N. — To Lady Sowerby's. Mr. N. — I'd rather go to the Black Hole in Calcutta. Besides, this Sanitary Report is really the most interesting — [he begins to read.^ Mrs. N. {piqued) — -Well, Mr. Titmarsh will go with us. Mr. N. — Will he ? I wish him joy. At this juncture Miss Clarissa Newboy enters in a pink palet6t trimmed with swansdown — looking like an angel — and we exchange glances of — what shall I say? — of sympathy on both parts, and consummate rapture on mine. But this is by-play. Mrs. N. — Good-night, Frederick. I think we shall be late. Mr. N. — You won't wake me, I daresay ; and you don't expect a public man to sit up. Mrs. N. — It's not you, it's the servants. Cooker sleeps very heavily. The maids are best in bed, and are all ill with the IBB STBEET-DOOE KEY, SCENE OP PASSION, OUR STREET 65 influenza. I say, Frederick dear, don't you think you had better give me youe chubb key ? This astonishing proposal, which violates every recognised law of society — this demand which alters all the existing state of things — this fact of a woman asking for a door-key, struck me with a terror which I cannot describe, and impressed me with the fact of the vast progress of Our Street. The door-key ! What would our grandmothers, who dwelt in this place when it was a rustic suburb, think of its condition now, when husbands stay at home, and wives go abroad with the latch-key ? The evening at Lady Sowerby's was the most delicious we have spent for long, long days. Thus it will be seen that everybody of any consideration in Our Street takes a line. Mrs. Minimy (34) takes the homoepathic line, and has soirees of doctors of that faith. Lady Pocklington takes the capitalist line ; and those stupid and splendid dinners of hers are devoured by loan-contractors and railroad princes. Mrs. Trimmer (38) comes out in the scientific line, and indulges us in rational evenings, where history is the lightest subject admitted, and geology and the sanitary condition of the metropolis form the general themes of conversation. Mrs. Brumby plays finely on the bassoon, and has evenings dedicated to Sebastian Bach, and en- livened with Handel. At Mrs. Maskelyn's they are mad for charades and theatricals. They performed last Christmas in a French piece, by Alexandre Dumas, I believe — " La Duchesse de Montefiasco," of which I forget the plot, but everybody was in love with everybody else's wife, except the hero, Don Alonzo, who was ardently attached to the Duchess, who turned out to be his grandmother. The piece was translated by Lord Fiddle-faddle, Tom Bulbul being the Don Alonzo ; and Mrs. Roland Calidore (who never misses an oppor- tunity of acting in a piece in which she can let down her hair) was the Duchess. Alonzo. You know how well he loves you, and you wonder To see Alonzo suffer, Cunegunda ? — Ask if the chamois suffer when they feel Plunged in their panting sides the hunter's steel ? Or when the soaring heron or eagle proud, Pierced by my shaft, comes tumbling from the cloud, Ask if the royal birds no anguish know, The victims of Alonzo's twanging bow ? Then ask him if he suffers — him who dies. Pierced by the poisoned glance that glitters from your eyes ! [Be staggers from the effect of the poison. 66 OUR STREET The Duchess. Alonzo loves — Alonzo loves ! and whom ? His grandmother ! Oh, hide me, gracious tomb ! [Her Grace faints away. Such acting as Tom Bulbul's I never saw. Tom lisps atro- ciously, and uttered the passage, "You athk me if I thuffer," in the most absurd way. Miss Clapperclaw says he acted pretty well, and that I only joke about him because I am envious, and wanted to act a part myself. — I envious indeed ! But of all the assemblies, feastings, junketings, dejeuners, soirfes, conversaziones, dinner-parties, in Our Street, I knew of none pleasanter than the banquets at Tom Fairfax's ; one of which this enormous provision-consumer gives seven times a week. He lives in one of the little houses of the old Waddilove Street quarter, built long before Pocklington Square and Pocklington Gardens and the Pocklington family itself had made their appearance in this world. Tom, though he has a small income, and lives in a small house, yet sits down one of a party of twelve to dinner every day of his life ; these twelve consisting of Mrs. Fairfax, the nine Misses Fairfax, and Master Thomas Fairfax — the son and heir to twopence halfpenny a year. It is awkward just now to go and beg pot-luck from such a family as this ; because, though a guest is always welcome, we are thirteen at table — an unlucky number, it is said. This evil is only temporary, and will be remedied presently, when the family will be thirteen without the occasional guest, to judge from all appearances. Early in the morning Mrs. Fairfax rises, and cuts bread and butter from six o'clock till eight; during which time the nursery operations upon the nine little graces are going on. We only see a half-dozen of them at this present moment, and in the present authentic picture, the remainder dwindling oflf upon little chairs by their mamma. The two on either side of Fairfax are twins — awarded to him by singular good fortune ; and he only knows Nancy from Fanny by having a piece of tape round the former's arm. Tliere is no need to give you the catalogue of the others. She in the pinafore in front is Ehzabeth, goddaughter to Miss Clapperclaw, who has been very kind to the whole family; that young lady with the ringlets is engaged by the most solemn ties to the present writer, and it is agreed that we are to be married as soon as she is as tall as my stick. THE HAPPI FAMIIiT. OUR STREET 67 If his wife has to rise early to cut the bread and butter, I warrant Fairfax must be up betimes to earn it. He is a clerk in a Government office ; to which duty he trudges daily, refusing even twopenny omnibuses. Every time he goes to the shoemaker's he has to order eleven pairs of shoes, and so can't afford to spare his own. He teaches the children Latin every morning, and is already thinking when Tom shall be inducted into that language. He works in his garden for an hour before breakfast. His work over by three o'clock, he tramps home at four, and exchanges his dapper coat for that dressing-gown in which he appears before you, — a ragged but honourable garment in which he stood (unconsciously) to the present designer. Which is the best, his old coat or Sir John's brand-new one? Which is the most comfortable and becoming, Mrs. Fairfax's black velvet gown (which she has worn at the Pocklington Square parties these twelve years, and in which I protest she looks like a queen), or that new robe which the milliner has just brought home to Mrs. Bumpsher's, and into which she will squeeze herself on Christmas- day ? Miss Clapperclaw says that we are all so charmingly contented with ourselves that not one of us would change with his neighbour ; and so, rich and poor, high and low, one person is about as happy as another in Our Street. eJC . JL.A . JjJ&mAWvp DOCTOE BIRCH HIS YOUNG FEIENDS By Mr. M. a. TITMARSH DOCTOE BIRCH THE DOCTOR AND HIS STAFF THERE is no need to say why I became assistant-master and professor of the English and French languages, flower-painting, and the German flute, in Doctor Birch's Academy, at Rodwell Regis. Good folks may depend on this, that it was not for choice that I left lodgings near London, and a genteel society, for an under- master's desk in that old school. I promise you the fare at the ushers' table, the getting up at five o'clock in the morning, the walking out with little boys in the fields (who used to play me tricks, and never could be got to respect my awful and responsible character as teacher in the school), Miss Birch's vulgar insolence, Jack Birch's glum condescension, and the poor old Doctor's patron- age, were not matters in themselves pleasurable : and that that patronage and those dinners were sometimes cruel hard to swallow. Never mind — my connection with the place is over now, and I hope they have got a more efiicient under-master. Jack Birch (Rev. J. Birch, of St. Neot's Hall, Oxford) is partner with his father the Doctor, and takes some of the classes. About his Greek I can't say much ; but I will construe him in Latin any ilay. A more supercilious little prig (giving himself airs, too, about his cousin. Miss Raby, who lives with the Doctor), a more empty, pompous little coxcomb I never saw. His white neckcloth looked as if it choked him. He used to try and look over that starch upon me and Prince the assistant, as if we were a couple of footmen. He didn't do much business in the school ; but occupied his time in writing sanctified letters to the boys' parents, and in composing dreary sermons to preach to them. The real master of the school is Prince ; an Oxford man too : shy, haughty, and learned ; crammed with Greek and a quantity of useless learning ; uncommonly kind to the small boys ; pitiless with the fools and the braggarts ; respected of all for his honesty, his 74 DR. BIROH AND HIS YOUNG FRIENDS learning, his bravery (for he hit out once in a boat-row in a way which astonished the boys and the bargemen), and for a latent power about him, which all saw and confessed somehow. Jack Birch could never look him in the face. Old Miss Z. dared not put off any of her airs upon him. Miss Rosa made him the lowest of curtsies. Miss Raby said she was afraid of him. Good old Prince ! we have sat many a night smoking in the Doctor's harness- room, whither we retired when our boys were gone to bed, and our cares and caues put by. After Jack Birch had taken his degree at Oxford — a process which he effected with great difficulty — this place, which used to be called "Birch's," "Dr. Birch's Academy," and what not, became suddenly " Archbishop Wigsby's College of Rodwell Regis." They took down the old blue board with the gold letters, which has been used to mend the pigsty since. Birch had a large school-room run up in the Gothic taste, with statuettes, and a little belfry, and a bust of Archbishop Wigsby in the middle of the school. He put the six senior boys into caps and gowns, which had rather a good effect as the lads sauntered down the street of the town, but which certainly provoked the contempt and hostility of the bargemen ; and so great was his rage for academic costumes and ordinances, that he would have put me myself into a lay gown, with red knots and fringes, but that I flatly resisted, and said that a writing-master had no business with such paraphernalia. By the way, I have forgotten to mention the Doctor himself And what shall I say of him ? Well, he has a very crisp gown and bands, a solemn aspect, a tremendous loud voice, and a grand air with the boys' parents ; whom he receives in a study covered round with the best-bound books, which imposes upon many — upon the women especially — and makes them fancy that this is a Doctor indeed. But law bless you ! He never reads the books, or opens one of then ; except that in which he keeps his bands — a Dugdale's " Monasticon," which looks like a book, but is in reality a cupboard, where he has his port, almond-cakes, and decanter of wine. He gets up his classics with translations, or what the boys call cribs : they pass wicked tricks upon him when he hears the forms. The elder wags go to his study and ask him to help them in hard bits of Herodotus or Thucydides : he says he will look over the passage, and flies for refuge to Mr. Prince, or to the crib. He keeps the flogging department in his own hands ; finding that his son was too savage. He has awful brows and a big voice. But his roar frightens nobody. It is only a lion's skin ; or, so to say, a muff. Little Mordant made a picture of him with large ears, like a ^^ A\^^m«$#^^V v v"-- K^'.y. A TOUNQ EAPHABL. DK. BIRCH AND HIS YOUNG FRIENDS 75 well-known domestic animal, and had his own justly boxed for the caricature. The Doctor discovered him in the fact, and was in a flaming rage, and threatened whipping at first; but in the course of the day an opportune basket of game arriving from Mordant's father, the Doctor became mollified, and has burnt the picture with the ears. However, I have one wafered up in my desk by the hand of the same little rascal : and the frontispiece of this very book is drawn from it. THE COCK OF THE SCHOOL I AM growing an old fellow, and have seen many great folks in the course of my travels and time : Louis Philippe coming out of the Tuileries ; his Majesty the King of Prussia and the Keichsverweser aocolading each other at Cologne at my elbow ; Admiral Sir Charles Napier (in an omnibus once), the Duke of Wellington, the immortal Goethe at Weimar, the late benevolent Pope Gregory XVI., and a score more of the famous in this world — the whom whenever one looks at, one has a mild shock of awe and tremor. I like this feeling of decent fear and trembling with which a modest spirit salutes a Great Man. Well, I have seen generals capering on horseback at the head of their crimson battalions ; bishops sailing down cathedral aisles, with downcast eyes, pressing their trencher caps to their hearts with their fat white hands ; college heads when her Majesty is on a visit ; the Doctor in all his glory at the head of his school on speech-day : a great sight and all great men these. I have never met the late Mr. Thomas Cribb, but I have no doubt should have regarded him with the same feeling of awe with which I look every day at George Champion, the Cock of Doctor Birch's school. When, I say, I reflect as I go up and set him a sum, that he could whop me in two minutes, double up Prince and the other assistant, and pitch the Doctor out of window, I can't but think how great, how generous, how magnanimous a creature this is, that sits quite quiet and good-natured, and works his equation, and ponders through his Greek play. He might take the school-room pillars and pull the house down if he liked. He might close the door, and demolish every one of us, like Antar the lover of Ibla ; but he lets us live. He never thrashes anybody without a cause ; when woe betide the tyrant or the sneak ! I think that to be strong, and able to whop everybody — (not to do it, mind you, but to feel that you were able to do it) — would be the greatest of all gifts. There is a serene good-humour which plays about George Champion's broad face, which shows the THE LION AND THE LITTLE CUBS, DR. BIRCH AND HIS YOUNG FRIENDS 77 consciousness of this power, and lights up his honest blue eyes with a magnanimous calm. He is invictus. Even when a cub there was no beating this lion. Six years ago the undaunted little warrior actually stood up to Frank Davison — (the Indian officer now — poor little Charley's brother, whom Miss Raby nursed so affectionately), — then seventeen years old, and the Cock of Birch's. They were obbged to drag off the boy, and Frank, with admiration and regard for him, prophesied the great things he would do. Legends of combats are preserved fondly in schools ; they have stories of such at Rodwell Regis, performed in the old Doctor's time, forty years ago. Champion's affair with the Young Tutbury Pet, who was down here in training, — with Black the bargeman, — with the three head boys of Doctor Wapshot's academy, whom he caught maltreating an outlying day-boy of ours, &c., — are known to all the Rodwell Regis men. He was always victorious. He is modest and kind, hke all great men. He has a good, brave, honest understanding. He cannot make verses like young Finder, or read Greek like Wells the Prefect, who is a perfect young abyss of learning, and knows enough. Prince says, to furnish any six first-class men ; but he does his work in a sound downright way, and he is made to be the bravest of soldiers, the best of country parsons, an honest English gentleman wherever he may go. Old Champion's chief friend and attendant is Young Jack Hall, whom he saved, when drowning, out of the Miller's Pool. The attachment of the two is curious to witness. The smaller lad gambolling, playing tricks round the bigger one, and perpetually making fun of his protector. They are never far apart, and of holidays you may meet them miles away from the school, — George sauntering heavily down the lanes with his big stick, and little Jack larking with the pretty girls in the cottage-windows. George has a boat on the river, in which, however, he commonly lies smoking, whilst Jack sculls him. He does not play at cricket, except when the school plays the county, or at Lord's in the hohdays. The boys can't stand his bowling, and when he hits, it is like trying to catch a cannon-baU. I have seen him at tennis. It is a splendid sight to behold the young fellow bounding over the court with streaming yellow hair, like young Apollo in a flannel- jacket. The other head boys are Lawrence the captain, Bunce, famous chiefly for his magnificent appetite, and Pitman, surnamed Roscius, for his love of the drama. Add to these Swanky, called Macassar, from his partiality to that condiment, and who has varnished boots, wears white gloves on Sundays, and looks out for Miss Pinkerton's 78 DR. BIECH AND HIS YOUNG FRIENDS school (transferred from Chiswick to Rodwell Regis, and conducted by the nieces of the late Miss Barbara Pinkerton, the friend of our great lexicographer, upon the principles approved by him, and practised by that admirable woman), as it passes into church. Representations have been made concerning Mr. Horace Swanky's behaviour ; rumours have been uttered about notes in verse, con- veyed in three-cornered puffs, by Mrs. Ruggles, who serves Miss Pinkerton's young ladies on Fridays, — and how Miss Didow, to whom the tart and enclosure were addressed, tried to make away with herself by swallowing a ball of cotton. But I pass over these absurd reports, as likely to affect the reputation of an admirable seminary conducted by irreproachable females. As they go into church, Miss P. driving in her flock of lambkins with the crook of her parasol, how can it be helped if her forces and ours sometimes collide, as the boys are on their way up to the organ-loft ? And I don't believe a word about the three-eoniered puff', but rather that it was the invention of that jealous Miss Birch, who is jealous of Miss Raby, jealous of everybody who is good and handsome, and who has her own ends in view, or I am very much in error. BIVAL rOK02S. THE LITTLE BCHOOL-ROOM. THE LITTLE SCHOOL-ROOM WHAT they call the little school-room is a small room at the other end of the great school ; through which you go to the Doctor's private house, and where Miss Eaby sits with her pupils. She has a half-dozen very small ones over whom she presides and teaches them in her simple way, until they are big or learned enough to face the great school-room. Many of them are in a hurry for promotion, the graceless little simpletons, and know no more than their elders when they are well off. She keeps the accounts, writes out the bills, superintends the linen, and sews on the general shirt-buttons. Think of having such a woman at home to sew on one's shirt-buttons ! But peace, peace, thou foolish heart ! Miss Eaby is the Doctor's niece. Her mother was a beauty (quite unlike old Zoe therefore) ; and she married a pupil in the old Doctor's time, who was killed afterwards, a captain in the East India service, at the siege of Bhurtpore. Hence a number of Indian children come to the Doctor's ; for Eaby was very much liked, and the uncle's kind reception of the orphan has been a good speculation for the school-keeper. It is wonderful how brightly and gaily that little quick creature does her duty. She is the first to rise, and the last to sleep, if any business is to be done. She sees the other two women go off to parties in the town without even so much as wishing to join them. It is Cinderella, only contented to stay at home — content to bear Zoe's scorn and to admit Eosa's superior charms, — and to do her utmost to repay her uncle for his great kindness in housing her. So you see she works as much as three maid-servants for the wages of one. She is as thankful when the Doctor gives her a new gown as if he had presented her with a fortune ; laughs at his stories most good-humouredly, listens to Zoe's scolding most meekly, admires Eosa with all her heart, and only goes out of the way when Jack Birch shows his sallow face : for she can't bear him, and always finds work when he comes near. How different she is when some folks approach her ! I won't 80 DK. BIRCH AND HIS YOUNG FRIENDS be presumptuous ; but I thint, I think, I have made a not unfavourable impression in some quarters. However, let us be mum on this subject. I like to see her, because she always looks good-humoured ; because she is always kind, because she is always modest, because she is fond of those poor little brats, — orphans some of them — because she is rather pretty, I daresay, or because I think so, which comes to the same thing. Though she is kind to all, it must be owned she shows the most gross favouritism towards the amiable children. She brings them cakes from dessert, and regales them with Zoe's preserves ; spends many of her little shillings in presents for her favourites, and will tell them stories by the hour. She has one very sad story about a little boy, who died long ago : the younger children are never weary of hearing about him ; and Miss Raby has shown to one of them a lock of the little chap's hair, which she keeps in her work-box to this day. THE DEAR BROTHERS. THE DEAR BROTHERS % JfileloUtama in Several SounBa The Doctor. Mr. Tipper, Uncle to the Masters Boxall. BoxALL Major, Boxall Minor, Brown, Jones, Smith, Robinson, Tiffin Minimus. B. Go it, old Boxall ! J. Give it him, young Boxall ! R. Pitch into him, old Boxall ! S. Two to one on young Boxall ! [^Enter Tiffin Minimus running. Tiffin Minimus. — Boxalls ! you're wanted. {The Doctor to Mr. Tipper.) — Every boy in the school loves them, my dear sir ; your nephews are a credit to my establishment. They are orderly, well-conducted, gentleman-like boys. Let us enter and find them at their studies. \_Enter The Doctor and Mr. Tipper. GEAND TABLEAU A HOPELESS CASE LET us, people who are so uncommonly clever and learned, have a great tenderness and pity for the poor folks who are not •^ endowed with the prodigious talents which we have. I have always had a regard for dunces ; — those of my own schooldays were amongst the pleasantest of the fellows, and have turned out by no means the dullest in life ; whereas many a youth who could turn off Latin hexameters by the yard, and construe Greek quite glibly, is no better than a feeble prig now, with not a pennyworth more brains than were in his head before his beard grew. Those poor dunces ! Talk of being the last man, ah ! what a pang it must be to be the last boy — huge, misshapen, fourteen years of age, and " taken up " by a chap who is but six years old, and can't speak quite plain yet ! Master Hulker is in that condition at Birch's. He is the most honest, kind, active, plucky, generous creature. He can do many things better than most boys. He can go up a tree, jump, play at cricket, drive and swim perfectly — he can eat twice as much as almost any boy (as Miss Birch well knows), he has a pretty talent at carving figures with his hack-knife, he makes and paints little coaches, he can take a watch to pieces and put it together again. He can do everything but leam his lesson ; and then he sticks at the bottom of the school hopeless. As the little boys are drafted in from Miss Raby's class (it is true she is one of the best instruc- tresses in the world), they enter and hop over poor Hulker. He would be handed over to the governess, only he is too big. Some- times I used to think that this desperate stupidity was a stratagem of the poor rascal's, and that he shammed dulness, so that he might be degraded into Miss Raby's class — if she would teach me, I know, before George, I would put on a pinafore and a little jacket — but no, it is a natural incapacity for the Latin Grammar. If you could see his grammar, it is a perfect curiosity of dog's ears. The leaves and cover are all curled and ragged. Many of the pages are worn away with the rubbing of his elbows as he sits poring over the hopeless volume, with the blows of his fists as he THE tAST BOY OF M.1' DE. BIRCH AND HIS YOUNG FRIENDS 83 thumps it madly, or with the poor fellow's tears. You see him wiping them away with the back of his hand, as he tries and tries, and can't do it. When I think of that Latin Grammar, and that infernal As in prsesenti, and of other things which I was made to learn in my , youth ; upon my conscience, I am surprised that we ever survived it. When one thinks of the boys who have been caned because they could not master that intolerable jargon ! Good Lord, what a pitiful chorus these poor little creatures send up ! Be gentle with them, ye schoolmasters, and only whop those who won't learn. The Doctor has operated upon Hulker (between ourselves), but the boy was so little affected you would have thought he had taken chloroform. Birch is weary of whipping now, and leaves the boy to go his own gait. Prince, when he hears the lesson, and who cannot help making fun of a fool, adopts the sarcastic manner with Master Hulker, and says, '' Mr. Hulker, may I take the liberty to inquire if your brilliant intellect has enabled you to perceive the diflference between those words which grammarians have defined as substantive and adjective nouns 1 — if not, perhaps Mr. Ferdinand Timmins will instruct you." And Tinimins hops over Hulker's head. I wish Prince would leave off girding at the poor lad. He is a boy, and his mother is a widow woman, who loves him with aU her might. There is a famous sneer about the suckling of fools and the chronicling of small beer; but remember it was a rascal who uttered it. A WORD ABOUT MISS BIRCH THE gentlemen, and especially the younger and more tender of these pupils, will have the advantage of the constant superintendence and affectionate care of Miss Zoe Birch, sister of the principal : whose dearest aim will be to supply (as far as may he) the absent maternal friend." — Prospectus of Rodwell Regis School. This is all very well in the Doctor's prospectus, and Miss Zoe Birch — (a pretty blossom it is, fifty-five years old, during two score of which she has dosed herself with pills ; with a nose as red and a face as sour as a crab-apple) — this is all mighty well in a prospectus. But I should like to know who would take Miss Zoe for a mother, or would have her for one 1 The only persons in the house who are not afraid of her are Miss Rosa and I — no, I am afraid of her, though I do know the story about the French usher in 1830 — but all the rest tremble before the woman, from the Doctor down to poor Francis the knife- boy, whom she bullies into his miserable blacking-hole. The Doctor is a pompous and outwardly severe man — but inwardly weak and easy ; loving a joke and a glass of port-wine. I get on with him, therefore, much better than Mr. Prince, who scorns him for an ass, and under whose keen eyes the worthy Doctor writhes like a convicted impostor ; and many a sunshiny afternoon would he have said, " Mr. T., sir, shall we try another glass of that yellow sealed wine which you seem to like 1 " (and which he likes even better than I do), had not the old harridan of a Zoe been down upon us, and insisted on turning me out with her abominable weak coffee. She a mother indeed ! A sour-milk generation she would have nursed. She is always croaking, scolding, buUjang — yowling at the housemaids, snarling at Miss Raby, bowwowing after the little boys, barking after the big ones. She knows how much every boy eats to an ounce ; and her delight is to ply with fat the little ones who can't bear it, and with raw meat those who DR. BIRCH AND HIS YOUNG FRIENDS 85 hate underdone. It was she who caused the Doctor to be eaten out three times ; and nearly created a rebellion in the school because she insisted on his flogging Goliath Longman. The only time that woman is happy is when she comes in of a morning to the little boys' dormitories with a cup of hot Epsom salts, and a sippet of bread. Boo ! — the very notion makes me quiver. She stands over them. I saw her do it to young Byles only a few days since ; and her presence makes the abomination doubly abominable. As for attending them in real illness, do you suppose that she would watch a single night for any one of them 1 Not she. When poor little Charley Davison (that child a lock of whose soft hair I have said how Miss Raby still keeps) lay ill of scarlet fever in the holidays — for the Colonel, the father of these boys, was in India — it was Anne Raby who attended the child, who watched him all through the fever, who never left him while it lasted, or until she had closed the little eyes that were never to brighten or moisten more. Anny watched and deplored him ; but it was Miss Birch who wrote the letter announcing his demise, and got the gold chain and locket which the Colonel ordered as a memento of his gratitude. It was through a row with Miss Birch that Frank Davison ran away. I promise you that after he joined his regi- ment in India, the Ahmednuggur Irregulars, which his gallant father commands, there came over no more annual shawls and presents to Doctor and Miss Birch ; and that if she fancied the Colonel was coming home to marry her (on account of her tender- ness to his motherless children, which he was always writing about), that notion was very soon given up. But these affairs are of early date, seven years back, and I only heard of them in a very con- fijsed manner from Miss Raby, who was a girl, and had just come to Rodwell Regis. She is always very much moved when she speaks about those boys ; which is but seldom. I take it the death of the little one still grieves her tender heart. Yes, it is Miss Birch, who has turned away seventeen ushers and second-masters in eleven years, and half as many French masters, I suppose, since the departure of her favourite, M. Griuche, with her gold watch, &c. ; but this is only surmise — that is, from hear- say, and from Miss Rosa taunting her aunt, as she does sometimes, in her graceful way : but besides this, I have another way of keeping her in order. Whenever she is particularly odious or insolent to Miss Raby, I have but to introduce raspberry jam into the conversation, and the woman holds her tongue. She will understand me. I need not say more. 86 DR. BIRCH AND HIS YOUNG FRIENDS Note, 12th December. — I may speak now. I have left the place and don't mind. I say then at once, and without caring twopence for the consequences, that I saw this woman, this mother of the boys, eating jam with a spoon out of Master Wiggins' TRUNK in the BOX-ROOM ; and of this I am ready to take an affidavit any day. WHO STOLE THE JAM ( A SERIOUS CASE. A TRAGEDY THE DRAMA OUGHT TO BE REPRESENTED IN ABOUT SIX ACTS [The school is hushed. Lawrence the Prefect, and Gustos of the rods, is marching after the Doctor into the operating-room. Master Backhouse is about to folloiv.'\ Master Backhouse. — It's all very well, but you see if I don't pay you out after school — you sneak you ! Master Lurcher. — If you do I'll tell again. [Exit Backhouse. [The rod is heard from the adjoining apartment. Hivhish — hwhish — hwish — hwish — hwish — hwish — hwish ! [Re-enter Backhouse. BRIGGS IN LUCK Enter the Knife-boy. — Hamper for Briggses ! Master Brown. — Hurray, Tom Briggs ! I'll lend you my knife. IF this story does not carry its own moral, what fable does, I wonder 1 Before the arrival of that hamper, Master Briggs was in no better repute than any other young gentleman of the lower school ; and in fact I had occasion myself, only lately, to correct Master Brown for kicking his friend's shins during the writing-lesson. But how this basket, directed by his mother's housekeeper and marked " Glass with care " (whence I conclude that it contains some jam and some bottles of wine, probably, as well as the usual cake and game-pie, and half a sovereign for the elder Master B., and five new shillings for Master Decimus Briggs) — how, I say, the arrival of this basket alters all Master Briggs's circumstances in life, and the estimation in which many persons regard him ! If he is a good-hearted boy, as I have reason to think, the very first thing he will do, before inspecting the contents of the hamper, or cutting into them with the knife which Master Brown has so considerately lent him, will be to read over the letter from home which lies on the top of the parcel. He does so, as I remark to Miss Eaby (for whom I happened to be mending pens when the little circumstance arose), with a flushed face and winking eyes. Look how the other boys are peering into the basket as he reads. — I say to her, " Isn't it a pretty picture 1 " Part of the letter is in a very large hand. This is from his little sister. And I would wager that she netted the little purse which he has just taken out of it, and which Master Lynx is eyeing. "You are a droll man, and remark all sorts of queer things,'' Miss Raby says, smiling, and plying her swift needle and fingers as quick as possible. " I am glad we are both on the spot, and that the little fellow A HAMFER FOR BKIGGSES. DR. BIROH AND HIS YOUNG FRIENDS 89 lies under our guns as it were, and so is protected from some such brutal school-pirate as young Duval for instance, who would rob him, probably, of some of those good things ; good in themselves, and better because fresh from home. See, there is a pie as I said, and which I daresay is better than those which are served at our table (but you never take any notice of such kind of things. Miss Raby), a cake of course, a bottle of currant-wine, jam-pots, and no end of pears in the straw. With their money little Briggs will be able to pay the tick which that imprudent child has run up with Mrs. Ruggles ; and I shall let Briggs Major pay for the pencil-case which Bullock sold to him. — It will be a lesson to the young prodigal for the future. But, I say, what a change there will be in his life for some time to come, and at least until his present wealth is spent ! The boys who bully him will mollify towards him, and accept his pie and sweetmeats. They will have feasts in the bedroom ; and that wine will taste more delicious to them than the best out of the Doctor's cellar. The cronies will be invited. Young Master Wagg will tell his most dreadful story and sing his best song for a slice of that pie. What a jolly night they will have ! When we go the rounds at night, Mr. Prince and I will take care to make a noise before we come to Briggs's room, so that the boys may have time to put the light out, to push the things away, and to scud into bed. Doctor Spry may be put in requisition the next morning." " Nonsense ! you absurd creature," cries out Miss Raby, laugh- ing ; and I lay down the twelfth pen very nicely mended. " Yes ; after luxury comes the doctor, I say ; after extravagance a hole in the breeches-pocket. To judge from his disposition, Briggs Major will not be much better off a couple of days hence than he is now; and, if I am not mistaken, will end life a poor man. Brown will be kicking his shins before a week is over, depend upon it. There are boys and men of all sorts. Miss R. — There are selfish sneaks who hoard until the store they daren't use grows mouldy — there are spendthrifts who fling away, parasites who flatter and lick its shoes, and snarling curs who hate and envy, good fortune." I put down the last of the pens, brushing away with it the quill-chips from her desk first, and she looked at me with a kind, wondering face. I brushed them away, clicked the penknife into my pocket, made her a bow, and walked off — for the bell was ringing for school. A YOUNG FELLOW WHO LS PRETTY SURE TO SUCCEED IF Master Briggs is destined in all probability to be a poor man, the chances are that Mr. Bullock will have a very different lot. He is a son of a partner of the eminent banking firm of Bullock and Hulker, Lombard Street, and very high in the upper school — ■ quite out of my jurisdiction, consequently. He writes the most beautiful current-hand ever seen ; and the way in which he mastered arithmetic (going away into recondite and wonderful rules in the Tutor's Assistant, which some masters even dare not approach), is described by the Doctor in terms ol admiration. He is Mr. Prince's best algebra pupil; and a very fair classic, too ; doing everything well for which he has a mind. He does not busy himself with the sports of his comrades, and holds a cricket-bat no better than Miss Kaby would. He employs the play-hours in improving his mind, and reading the newspaper ; he is a profound politician, and, it must be owned, on the Liberal side. The elder boys despise him rather; and when Champion Major passes, he turns his head, and looks down. I don't like the expression of Bullock's narrow, green eyes, as they follow the elder Champion, who does not seem to know or care how much the other hates him. No. Mr. Bullock, though perhaps the cleverest and most accomplished boy in the school, associates with the quite little boys when he is minded for society. To these he is quite affable, courteous, and winning. He never fagged or thrashed one of them. He has done the verses and corrected the exercises of many, and many is the little lad to whom he has lent a little money. It is true he charges at the rate of a penny a week for every sixpence lent out ; but many a fellow to whom tarts are a present necessity is happy to pay this interest for the loan. These transac- tions are kept secret. Mr. Bullock, in rather a whining tone, when he takes Master Green aside and does the requisite business for him, says, " You know you'll go and talk about it everywhere. I don't :*,-i«fs55-,. .^jfc; • SURE TO SUCCEED IN LIFE. DK. BIRCH AND HIS YOUNG FRIENDS 91 want to lend you the money, I want to buy something with it. It's only to oblige you ; and yet I am sure you will go and make fun of me." Whereon, of course, Green, eager for the money, vows solemnly that the transaction shall be confidential, and only speaks when the payment of the interest becomes oppressive. Thus it is that Mr. Bullock's practices are at all known. At a very early period, indeed, his commercial genius manifested itself; and by happy speculations in tofiey ; by composing a sweet drink made of stick-liquorice and brown sugar, and selling it at a profit to the younger children ; by purchasing a series of novels, which he let out at an adequate remuneration ; by doing boys' exercises for a penny, and other processes, he showed the bent of his mind. At the end of the half-year he always went home richer than when he arrived at school, with his purse full of money. Nobody knows how much he brought : but the accounts are fabulous. Twenty, thirty, fifty — it is impossible to say how many sovereigns. When joked about his money, he turns pale and swears he has not a shilling : whereas he has had a banker's account ever since he was thirteen. At the present moment he is employed in negotiating the sale of a knife with Master Green, and is pointing out to the latter the beauty of the six blades, and that he need not pay until after the holidays. Champion Major has sworn that he will break every bone in his skin the next time that he cheats a little boy, and is bearing down upon him. Let us come away. It is frightful to see that big peaceful clever coward moaning under well-deserved blows and whining for mercy. DUVAL THE PIRATE Jones Minimus passes, laden with tarts. Duval. — Hullo ! you small boy with the tarts ! Come here, sir. Jones Minimus. — Please, Duval, they ain't mine. Duval. — Oh, you abominable young story-teller. [He confiscates the goods. I think I like young Duval's mode of levying contributions better than Bullock's. The former's, at least, has the merit of more candour. Duval is the pirate of Birch's, and lies in wait for small boys laden with money or provender. He scents plunder from afar off : and pounces out on it. Woe betide the little fellow when Duval boards him ! There was a youth here whose money I used to keep, as he was of an extravagant and weak taste : and I doled it out to him in weekly shillings, sutficient for the purchase of the necessary tarts. This boy came to me one day for half a sovereign, for a very parti- cular purpose, he said. I afterwards found he wanted to lend the money to Duval. The young ogre burst out laughing, when in a great wrath and fury I ordered him to refund to the little boy : and proposed a bill of exchange at three months. It is true Duval's father does not pay the Doctor, and the lad never has a shilling, save that which he levies ; and though he is always bragging about the splendour of Freenystown, Co. Cork, and the foxhounds his father keeps, and the claret they drink there — there comes no remittance from Castle Freeny in these bad times to the honest Doctor ; who is a kindly man enough, and never yet turned an insolvent boy out of doors. THE PIRATE. iiililll^il 1. «L W^^^^^^??^ HOME SWEET HOME. THE DORMITORIES Master Hewlett and Master Nightingale {Rather a cold winter night.) Hewlett (Jlinging a shoe at Master Nightingale's bed, with which he hits that young gentleman). — Hullo, you ! Get up and bring me that shoe ! Nightingale. — Yes, Hewlett. {He gets up.) Hewlett. — Don't drop it, and be very careful of it, sir. Nightingale. — Yes, Hewlett. Hewlett. — Silence in the dormitory ! Any boy who opens his mouth, I'll murder him. Now, sir, are not you the boy what can sing? Nightingale. — Yes, Hewlett. Hewlett. — Chaunt, then, till I go to sleep, and if I wake when you stop, you'll have this at your head. [Master Hewlett lays his Bluchers on the bed, ready to shy at Master Nightingale's head in the case contemplated.^ Nightingale {timidly). — Please, Hewlett 1 Hewlett. — Well, sir? Nightingale. — May I put on my trousers, please 1 Hewlett. — No, sir ! Go on, or I'll Nightingale. — "Through pleasures and palaces Though we may roam, Be it ever so humble, There's no place like home." M' A CAPTURE AND A RESCUE ■ Y young friend, Patrick Champion, George's younger brother, is a late arrival among us ; has much of the family quality and good-nature ; is not in the least a tyrant to the small boys, but is as eager as Amadis to fight. He is boxing his way up the school, emulating his great brother. He fixes his eye on a boy above him in strength or size, and you hear somehow that a difference has arisen between them at football, and they have their coats off presently. He has thrashed himself over the heads of many youtlis in this manner : for instance, if Champion can lick Dobson, who can thrash Hobson, how much more, then, can he thrash Hobson 1 Thus he works up and establishes his position in the school. Nor does Mr. Prince think it advisable that we ushers should walk much in the way when these little differences are being settled, unless there is some gross disparity, or danger is apprehended. For instance, I own to having seen the row depicted here as I was shaving at my bedroom window. I did not hasten down to prevent its consequences. Fogle had confiscated a top, the pro- perty of Snivins ; the which, as the little wretch was always pegging it at my toes, I did not regret. Snivins whimpered ; and young Champion came up, lusting for battle. Directly he made out Fogle, he steered for him, pulling up his coat sleeves, and clearing for action. "Who spoke to you, young Champion?" Fogle said, and he flung down the top to Master Snivins. I knew there would be no fight ; and perhaps Champion, too, was disappointed. i. RESCUE, THE GARDEN WHERE THE PAELOUR-BOAEDEES GO NOBLEMEN have been rather scarce at Birch's — but the heir of a great Prince has been living with the Doctor for some years. — He is Lord George Gaunt's eldest son, the noble Plantagenet Gaunt Gaunt, and nephew of the Most Honourable the Marquis of Steyne. They are very proud of him at the Doctor's — and the two Misses and Papa, whenever a stranger comes down whom they want to dazzle, are pretty sure to bring Lord Steyne into the conversation, mention the last party at Gaunt House, and cursorily to remark that they have with them a young friend who will be, in all human probability, Marquis of Steyne and Earl of Gaunt, &c. Plantagenet does not care much about these future honours : provided he can get some brown sugar on his bread-and-butter, or sit with three chairs and play at coach-and-horses quite quietly by himself, he is tfolerably happy. He saunters in and out of school when he likes, and looks at the masters and other boys with a listless grin. He used to be taken to church, but he laughed and talked in odd places, so they are forced to leave him at home now. He will sit with a bit of string and play cat's-cradle for many hours. He likes to go and join the very small children at their games. Some are frightened at him ; but they soon cease to fear, audi order him about. I have seen him go and fetch tarts firom Mrs. Buggies for a boy of eight years old ; and cry bitterly if he did not get a piece. He cannot speak quite plain, but very nearly; and is not more, I suppose, than three-and-twenty. Of course at home they know his age, though they never come and see him. But they forget that Miss Eosa Birch is no longer a young chit as she was ten years ago, when Gaunt was brought to the school. On the contrary, she has had no small experience in the tender passion, and is at this moment smitten with a dis- interested affection for Plantagenet Gaunt. Next to a little doll with a burnt nose, which he hides away 9 N 96 DR. BIRCH AND HIS YOUNG FRIENDS in cunning places, Mr. Gaunt is very fond of Miss Rosa too. What a pretty match it would make ! and how pleased they would be at Gaunt House, if the grandson and heir of the great Marquis of Steyne, the descendant of a hundred Gaunts and Tudors, should marry Miss Birch, the schoolmaster's daughter ! It is true she has the sense on her side, and poor Plantagenet is only an idiot : but there he is, a zany, with such expectations and such a pedigree ! If Miss Rosa would run away with Mr. Gaunt, she would leave off bullying her cousin, Miss Anny Raby. Shall I put her up to the notion, and offer to lend her the money to run away? Mr. Gaunt is not allowed money. He had some once, but Bullock took him into a corner, and got it from him. He has a moderate tick opened at a tart-woman's. He stops at Rodwell Regis through the year : school-time and holiday-time, it is all the same to him. Nobody asks about him, or thinks about him, save twice a year, when the Doctor goes to Gaunt House, and gets the amount of his bills, and a glass of wine in the steward's room. And yet you see somehow that he is a gentleman. His manner is different to that of the owners of that coarse table and parlour at which he is a boarder (I do not speak of Miss R. of course, for her manners are as good as those of a duchess). When he caught Miss Rosa boxing little Fiddes's ears, his face grew red, and he broke into a fierce inarticulate rage. After that, and for some days, he used to shrink from her ; but they are reconciled now. I saw them this afternoon in the garden where only the parlour- boarders walk. He was playful, and touched her with his stick. She raised her handsome eyes in surprise, and smiled on him very kindly. The thing was so clear, that I thought it my duty to speak to old Zoe about it. The wicked old catamaran told me she wished that some people would mind their own business, and hold their tongues — that some persons were paid to teach writing, and not to tell tales and make mischief: and I have since been thinking wliether I ought to communicate with the Doctor. MISS BIRCH S PLOWBE QABDEN. THE OLD PUPIL AS I came into the playgrounds this morning, I saw a dashing young fellow, with a tanned face and a blonde moustache, ' who was walking up and down the green arm-in-arm with Champion Major, and followed by a little crowd of boys. They were talking of old times evidently. " What had become of Irvine and Smith?" — "Where was Bill Harris and Jones: not Squinny Jones, but Cocky Jones ? " — and so forth. The gentleman was no stranger; he was an old pupil evidently, come to see if any of his old comrades remained, and revisit the cari luoghi of his youth. Champion was evidently proud of his arm-fellow. He espied his brother, young Champion, and introduced him. " Come here, sir," he called. " The young 'un wasn't here in your time, Davison." "Pat, sir," said he, "this is Captain Davison, one of Birch's boys. Ask him who was among the first in the lines at Sobrapn ? " Pat's face kindled up as he looked Davison full in the face, and held out his hand. Old Champion and Davison both blushed. The infantry set up a " Hurray, hurray, hurray," Champion leading, and waving his wide-awake. I protest that the scene did one good to witness. Here was the hero and cock of the school come back to see his old haunts and cronies. He had always remembered them. Since he had seen them last, he had faced death and achieved honour. But for my dignity I would have shied up my hat too. With a resolute step, and his arm still linked in Champion's, Captain Davison now advanced, followed by a wake of little boys, to that corner of the green where Mrs. Ruggles has her tar<>stand. " Hullo, Mother Ruggles ! don't you remember me % " he said, and shook her by the hand. " Lor', if it ain't Davison Major ! " she said. " Well, Davison Major, you owe me fourpenee for two sausage-rolls from when you went away." Davison laughed, and all the little crew of boys set up a similar chorus. 98 DR. BIRCH AND HIS YOUNG FRIENDS "I buy the whole shop,'' he said. "Now, young 'uns — eat away ! " Then there was such a "Hurray! hurray!" as surpassed the former cheer in loudness. Everybody engaged in it except Piggy Duff, who made an instant dash at the three-cornered puffs, but was stopped by Champion, who said there should be a fair dis- tribution. And so there was, and no one lacked, neither of rasp- berry, open tarts, nor of mellifluous buUs'-eyes, nor of polonies, beautiful to the sight and taste. The hurraying brought out the old Doctor himself, who put his hand up to his spectacles and started when he saw the old pupil. Each blushed when he recognised the other ; for seven years ago they had parted not good friends. " What — Davison ? " the Doctor said, with a tremulous voice. " God bless you, my dear fellow I " — and they shook hands. " A half-holiday, of course, boys," he added, and there was another hurray : there was to be no end to the cheering that day. " How's — how's the family, sir 1 " Captain Davison asked. " Come in and see. Rosa's grown quite a lady. Dine with us, of course. Champion Major, come to dine at five. Mr. Titmarsh, the pleasure of your company'?" The Doctor swung open the garden-gate : the old master and pupil entered the house reconciled. I thought I would first peep into Miss Raby's room, and tell her of this event. She was working away at her linen there, as usual quiet and cheerful. "You should put up," I said with a smile; "the Doctor has given us a half-holiday." " I never have holidays," Miss Raby replied. Then I told her of the scene I had just witnessed, of the arrival of the old pupil, the purchase of the tarts, the proclamation of the holiday, and the shouts of the boys of " Hurray, Davison ! " " Who is it 1 " cried out Miss Raby, starting and turning as white as a sheet. I told her it was Captain Davison from India ; and described the appearance and behaviour of the Captain. When I had finished speaking, she asked me to go and get her a glass of water ; she felt unwell. But she was gone when I came back with the water. I know all now. After sitting for a quarter of an hour with the Doctor, who attributed his guest's uneasiness no doubt to his desire to see Miss Rosa Birch, Davison started up and said he WANTED A GOVERNESS. DR. BIRCH AND HIS YOUNG FRIENDS 99 wanted to see Miss Raby. "You remember, sir, how kind she was to my little brother, sirl" he said. Whereupon the Doctor, with a look of surprise that anybody should want to see Miss Raby, said she was in the little school-room ; whither the Captain went, knowing the way from old times. A few minutes afterwards. Miss B. and Miss Z. returned from a drive with Plantagenet Gaunt in their one-horse fly, and being informed of Davison's arrival, and that he was closeted with Miss Raby in the little school-room, of course made for that apartment at once. I was coming into it from the other door. I wanted to know whether she had drunk the water. This is what both parties saw. The two were in this very attitude. "Well, upon my word!" cries out Miss Zoe; but Davison did not let go his hold; and Miss Raby's head only sank down on his hand. "You must get another governess, sir, for the little boys," Frank Davison said to the Doctor. " Anny Raby has promised to come with me." You may suppose I shut to the door on my side. And when I returned to the little school-room, it was black and empty. Every- body was gone. I could hear the boys shouting at play on the green outside. The glass of water was on the table where I had placed it. I took it and drank it myself to the health of Anny Raby and her husband. It was rather a choker. But of course I wasn't going to stop on at Birch's. When his young friends reassemble on the 1st of February next, they will have two new masters. Prince resigned too, and is at present living with me at my old lodgings at Mrs. Cammysole's. If any nobleman or gentleman wants a private tutor for his son, a note to the Rev. F. Prince will find him there. Miss Clapperclaw says we are both a couple of old fools ; and that she knew when I set off last year to Rodwell Regis, after meeting the two young ladies at a party at General Champion's house in our street, that I was going on a goose's errand. I shall dine there on Christmas-day ; and so I wish a merry Christmas to all young and old boys. EPILOGUE THE play is done ; the curtain drops, Slow falling, to the prompter's bell : A moment yet the actor stops, And looks around, to say farewell, It is an irksome word and task ; And when he's laughed and said his say, He shows, as he removes the mask, A face that's anything but gay. One word, ere yet the evening ends, Let's close it with a parting rhyme. And pledge a hand to all young friends. As fits the merry Christmas time. On life's wide scene you, too, have parts, That Fate ere long shall bid you play ; Good night ! with honest gentle hearts A kindly greeting go alway ! Good night ! I'd say the griefs, the joys. Just hinted in this mimic page. The triumphs and defeats of boys. Are but repeated in our age. I'd say, your woes were not less keen. Your hopes more vain, than those of men ; Your pangs or pleasures of fifteen. At forty-five played o'er again. I'd say, we sufier and we strive Not less nor more as men than boys ; With grizzled beards at forty-five. As erst at twelve, in corduroys. And if, in time of sacred youth. We learned at home to love and pray, Pray heaven, that early love and truth May never wholly pass away. DE. BIRCH AND HIS YOUNG FRIENDS 101 And in the world, as in the school, I'd say, how fate may change and shift ; The prize be sometimes with the fool, The race not always to the swift. The strong may yield, the good may fall. The great man be a vidgar clown. The knave be lifted over all, The kind cast pitilessly down. Who knows the inscrutable design ? Blessed be He who took and gave ; Why should your mother, Charles, not mine, Be weeping at her darling's grave 1 * We bow to heaven that will'd it so, That darkly rules the fate of all. That sends the respite or the blow. That's free to give or to recall. This crowns his feast with wine and wit : Who brought him to that mirth and state ? His betters, see, below him sit. Or hunger hopeless at the gate. Who bade the mud from Dives' wheel To spurn the rags of Lazarus ? Come, brother, in that dust we'U kneel, Confessing heaven that ruled it thus. So each shall mourn in life's advance. Dear hopes, dear friends, untimely killed ; Shall grieve for many a forfeit chance, A longing passion unfulfilled. Amen : whatever Fate be sent, — Pray God the heart may kindly glow, Although the head with cares be bent, And whitened with the winter snow. Come wealth or want, come good or ill, Let young and old accept their part. And bow before the Awful Will, And bear it with an honest heart. C. B., ob. Dec. 1843, set. 42. 102 DR. BIRCH AND HIS YOUNG FRIENDS Who misses, or who wins the prize 1 Go, lose or conquer as you can : But if you fail, or if you rise, Be each, pray God, a gentleman. A gentleman, or old or young : (Bear kindly with my humble lays), The sacred chorus first was sung Upon the first of Christmas days. The shepherds heard it overhead — The joyful angels raised it then : Glory to heaven on high, it said, And peace on earth to gentle men. My song, save this, is little worth ; I lay the weary pen aside. And wish you health, and love, and mirth, As fits the solemn Christmas tide. As fits the holy Christmas birth. Be this, good friends, our carol still — Be peace on earth, be peace on earth, To men of gentle will. Illustrated, by, ^charpJ^oyle . RoWEMA. .^^ feigner ^^^u "^maHoje CHAPTER I THE OVERTURE—COMMENCEMENT OF THE BUSINESS ELL-BELOVED novel-readers and gentle patronesses of romance, assuredly it has often occurred to every one of you, that the books we delight in have very unsatisfactory con- clusions, and end quite prematurely with page 320 of the third volume. At that epoch of the history it is well known that the hero is seldom more than thirty years old, and the heroine by consequence some 106 REBECCA AND ROWENA seven or eight years younger ; and I would ask any of you whether it is fair to suppose that people after the above age have nothing worthy of note in their lives, and cease to exist as they drive away from Saint George's, Hanover Square? You, dear young ladies, who get your knowledge of life from the circulating library, may be led to imagine that when the marriage business is done, and Emilia is whisked off in the new travelling-carriage, by the side of the enraptured Earl; or Belinda, breaking away from the tearful embraces of her excellent mother, dries her own lovely eyes upon the throbbing waistcoat of her bridegroom — you may be apt, I say, to suppose that all is over then ; that Emilia and the Earl are going to be happy for the rest of their lives in his lordship's romantic castle in the North, and Belinda and her young clergyman to enjoy uninterrupted bliss in their rose-treUised parson- age in the West of England : but some there be among the novel- reading classes — old experienced folks — who know better than this. Some there be who have been married, and found that they have still something to see and to do, and to suffer mayhap ; and that adventures, and pains, and pleasures, and taxes, and sunrises and settings, and the business and joys and griefs of life go on after, as before the nuptial ceremony. Therefore I say, it is an unfair advantage which the novelist takes of hero and heroine, as of his inexperienced reader, to say good-bye to the two former, as soon as ever they are made husband and wife ; and I have often wished that additions should be made to all works of fiction which have been brought to abrupt termina- tions in the manner described ; and that we should hear what occurs to the sober married man, as well as to the ardent bachelor ; to the matron, as well as to the blushing spinster. And in this respect I admire (and would desire to imitate), the noble and prolific French author, Alexandre Dumas, who carries his heroes from early youth down to the most venerable old age ; and does not let them rest until they are so old, that it is full time the poor fellows should get a little peace and quiet. A hero is much too valuable a gentleman to be put upon the retired list, in the prime and vigour of his youth ; and I wish to know what lady among us would like to be put on the shelf, and thought no longer interesting, because she has a family growing up, and is four or five and thirty years of age? I have known ladies at sixty, with hearts as tender and ideas as romantic as any young misses of sixteen. Let us have middle-aged novels then, as well as your extremely juvenile legends : let the young ones be warned that the old folks have a right to be interesting : and that a lady may continue to have a heart, although she is somewhat stouter than she was when a COMMENCEMENT OF THE BUSINESS 107 school-girl, and a man his feelings, although he gets his hair from Truefitt's. Thus I would desire that the biographies of many of our most illustrious personages of romance should be continued by fitting hands, and that they should be heard of, until at least a decent age. — Look at Mr. James's heroes : they invariably marry young. Look at Mr. Dickens's : they disappear from the scene when they are mere chits. I trust these authors, who are still alive, will see the propriety of telling us something more about people in whom we took a considerable interest, and who must be at present strong and hearty, and in the fidl vigour of health and intellect. And in the tales of the great Sir Walter (may honour be to his name), I am sure there are a number of people who are untimely carried away from us, and of whom we ought to hear more. My dear Kebecca, daughter of Isaac of York, has always, in my mind, been one of these ; nor can I ever believe that such a woman, so admirable, so tender, so heroic, so beautiful, could disappear altogether before such another woman as Eowena, that vapid, flaxen- headed creature, who is, in my humble opinion, unworthy of Ivan- hoe, and unworthy of her place as heroine. Had both of them got their rights, it ever seemed to me that Rebecca would have had the husband, and Rowena would have gone off to a convent and shut herself up, where I, for one, would never have taken the trouble of inquiring for her. But after all she married Ivanhoe. What is to be done? There is no help for it. There it is in black and white at the end of the third volume of Sir Walter Scott's chronicle, that the couple were joined together in matrimony. And must the Disinherited Knight, whose blood has been fired by the suns of Palestine, and whose heart has been warmed in the company of the tender and beautiful Rebecca, sit down contented for life by the side of such a frigid piece of propriety as that icy, faultless, prim, niminy-piminy Rowena ? Forbid it fate, forbid it poetical justice ! There is a simple plan for setting matters right, and giving all parties their due, which is here submitted to the novel-reader. Ivanhoe's history must have had a continuation ; and it is this which ensues. I may be wrong in some particulars of the narrative, — as what writer will not be ? — but of the main incidents of the history, I have in my own mind no sort of doubt, and confidently submit them to that generous public which likes to see virtue righted, true love rewarded, and the brilliant Fairy descend out of the blazing chariot at the end of the pantomime, and make Harlequin and Columbine happy. What, if reality be not so, gentlemen and ladies ; and if, after dancing a variety of jigs and antics, and jumping in and out ol 108 KEBEOOA AND EOWENA endless trap-doors and windows, through life's shifting scenes, no fairy comes down to make us comfortable at the close of the per- formance ■? Ah ! let us give our honest novel-folks the benefit of their position, and not be envious of their good luck. No person who has read the preceding volumes of this history, as the famous chronicler of Abbotsford has recorded them, can doubt for a moment what was the result of the marriage between Sir Wilfrid of Ivanhoe and Lady Eowena. Those who have marked her conduct during her maidenhood, her distinguished politeness, her spotless modesty of demeanour, her unalterable coolness under all circumstances, and her lofty and gentlewomanlike bearing, must be sure that her married conduct would equal her spinster behaviour, and that Rowena the wife would be a pattern of correctness for all the matrons of England. Such was the fact. For mUes around Rotherwood her character for piety was known. Her castle was a rendezvous for all the clergy and monks of the district, whom she fed with the richest viands, while she pinched herself upon pulse and water. There was not an invalid in the three Ridings, Saxon or Norman, but the palfrey of the Lady Rowena might be seen journeying to his door, in company with Father Glauber, her almoner, and Brother Thomas of Epsom, her leech. She lighted up all the churches in Yorkshire with wax-candles, the offerings of her piety. The bells of her chapel began to ring at two o'clock in the morning ; and all the domestics of Rotherwood were called upon to attend at matins, at compline, at nones, at vespers, and at sermon. I need not say that fasting was observed with all the rigours of the Church ; and that those of the servants of the Lady Rowena were looked upon with most favour whose hair-shirts were the roughest, and who flagellated themselves with the most becoming perseverance. Whether it was that this discipline cleared poor Wamba's wits or cooled his humour, it is certain that he became the most melancholy fool in England, and if ever he ventured upon a pun to the shuddering poor servitors, who were mumbling their dry crusts below the salt, it was such a faint and stale joke that nobody dared to laugh at the innuendoes of the unfortunate wag, and a sickly smile was the best applause he could muster. Once, indeed, when Gruffo, the goose-boy (a half-witted poor wretch), laughed outright at a lamentably stale pun which Wamba palmed upon him at supper-time (it was dark, and the torches being brought in, Wamba said, "Gufib, they can't see their way in the argument, and are going to throw a little light upon the subject "), the Lady Rowena, being disturbed in a theological controversy with Father Willibald (afterwards canonised as St. Willibald, of Bareacres, hermit and COMMENCEMENT OF THE BUSINESS 109 confessor), called out to know what was the cause of the unseemly interruption, and Guffo and Wamba being pointed out as the culprits, ordered them straightway into the courtyard, and three dozen to be administered to each of them. " I got you out of Front-de-Boeuf's castle," said poor Wamba piteously, appealing to Sir Wilfrid of Ivanhoe, " and canst thou not save me from the lash ? " " Yes, from Front-de-Boeuf's castle, where you were locked up with the Jeivess in the tower ! " said Eowena, haughtily replying to the timid appeal of her husband. " Gurth, give him four dozen ! " And this was all poor Wamba got by applying for the mediation of his master. In fact, Kowena knew her own dignity so well as a princess of the royal blood of England, that Sir Wilfrid of Ivanhoe, her consort, could scarcely call his life his own, and was made, in all things, to feel the inferiority of his station. And which of us is there acquainted with the sex that has not remarked this propensity in lovely woman, and how often the wisest in the council are made to be as fools at her board, and the boldest in the battle-field are craven when facing her distaff! " Where you were locked up with the Jewess in the tower,'' was a remark, too, of which Wilfrid keenly felt, and perhaps the reader will understand, the signiflcancy. When the daughter of Isaac of York brought her diamonds and rubies — the poor, gentle victim ! — and, meekly laying them at the feet of the conquering Eowena, departed into foreign lands to tend the sick of her people, and to brood over the bootless passion which consumed her own pure heart, one would have thought that the heart of the royal lady would have melted before such beauty and humility, and that she would have been generous in the moment of her victory. But did you ever know a right-minded woman pardon another for being handsome and more love-worthy than herself? The Lady Rowena did certainly say with mighty magnanimity to the Jewish maiden, " Come and live with me as a sister," as the former part of this history shows ; but Rebecca knew in her heart that her lady- ship's proposition was what is called hosh (in that noble Eastern language with which Wilfrid the Crusader was familiar), or fudge, in plain Saxon ; and retired with a broken, gentle spirit, neither able to bear the sight of her rival's happiness, nor willing to disturb it by the contrast of her own wretchedness. Rowena, hke the most high-bred and virtuous of women, never forgave Isaac's daughter her beauty, nor her flirtation with Wilfrid (as the Saxon lady chose to term it) ; nor, above all, her admirable diamonds and jewels, although Rowena was actually in possession of them. no REBECCA AND ROWENA In a word, she was always flinging Rebecca into Ivanhoe's teeth. There was not a day in his life but that unhappy warrior was made to remember that a Hebrew damsel had been in love with him, and that a Christian lady of fashion could never forgive the insult. For instance, if Gurth, the swineherd, who was now promoted to be a gamekeeper and verderer, brought the account of a famous wild-boar in the wood, and proposed a hunt, Rowena would say, " Do, Sir Wilfrid, persecute these poor pigs : you know your friends the Jews can't ai)ide them ! " Or when, as it oft would happen, our lion- hearted monarch, Richard, in order to get a loan or a benevolence from the Jews, would roast a few of the Hebrew capitalists, or extract some of the principal rabbis' teeth, Rowena would exult and say, " Serve them right, the misbelieving wretches ! England can never be a happy country untQ every one of these monsters is exterminated ! " — or else, adopting a strain of still more savage sarcasm, would exclaim, " Ivanhoe, my dear, more persecution for the Jews ! Hadn't you better interfere, my love 1 His Majesty would do anything for you ; and, you know, the Jews were always such favourites of yours," or words to that effect. But, neverthe- less, her ladyship never lost an opportunity of wearing Rebecca's jewels at court, whenever the Queen held a drawing-room ; or at the York assizes and ball, when she appeared there : not of course because she took any interest in such things, but because she con- sidered it her duty to attend, as one of the chief ladies of the county. Thus Sir Wilfrid of Ivanhoe, having attained the height of his wishes, was, like many a man when he has reached that dangerous elevation, disappointed. Ah, dear friends, it is but too often so in life ! Many a garden, seen from a distance, looks fresh and green, which, when beheld closely, is dismal and weedy ; the shady walks melancholy and grass-grown ; the bowers you would fain repose in, cushioned with stinging-nettles. I have ridden in a caique upon the waters of the Bosphorus, and looked upon the capital of the Soldan of Turkey. As seen from those blue waters, with palace and pinnacle, with gilded dome and towering cypress, it seemeth a very Paradise of Mahound : but, enter the city, and it is but a beggarly labyrinth of rickety huts and dirty alleys, where the ways are steep and the smells are foul, tenanted by mangy dogs and ragged beggars — a dismal illusion ! Life is such, ah, well-a-day ! It is only hope which is real, and reality is a bitterness and a deceit. Perhaps a man with Ivanhoe's high principles would never bring himself to acknowledge this fact ; but others did for him. He grew thin, and pined away as much as if he had been in a fever under COMMENCEMENT OF THE BUSINESS 111 the scorching sun of Ascalon. He had no appetite for his meals ; he slept ill, though he was yawning all day. The jangling of the doctors and friars whom Eowena brought together did not in the least enliven him, and he would sometimes give proofs of somno- lency during their disputes, greatly to the consternation of his lady. He hunted a good deal, and, I very much fear, as Rowena rightly remarked, that he might have an excuse for being absent from home. He began to like wine, too, who had been as sober as a hermit; and when he came back from Athelstane's (whither he would repair not unfrequently), the unsteadiness of his gait and the unnatural brilliancy of his' eye were remarked by his lady : who, you may be sure, was sitting up for him. As for Athelstane, he swore by St. Wulfstan that he was glad to have escaped a marriage with such a pattern of propriety ; and honest Cedric the Saxon (who had been very speedily driven out of his daughter-in-law's castle) vowed by St. Waltheof that his son had bought a dear bargain. So Sir Wilfrid of Ivanhoe became almost as tired of England as his royal master Richard was (who always quitted the country when he had squeezed from his loyal nobles, commons, clergy, and Jews, all the money which he could get), and when the lion-hearted Prince began to make war against the French King, in Normandy and Guienne, Sir Wilfrid pined like a true servant to be in company of the good champion, alongside of whom he had shivered so many lances, and dealt such woundy blows of sword and battle-axe on the plains of Jaffa or the breaches of Acre. Travellers were welcome at Rotherwood that brought news from the camp of the good King : and I warrant me that the knight listened with all his might when Father Drono, the chaplain, read in the St. James's ChronyTcyll (which was the paper of news he of Ivanhoe took in) of " another glorious triumph " — " Defeat of the French near Blois " — " Splendid victory at Epte, and narrow escape of the French King : " the which deeds of arms the learned scribes had to narrate. However such tales might excite him during the reading, they left the Knight of Ivanhoe only the more melancholy after listening : and the more moody as he sat in his great hall silently draining his Gascony wine. Silently sat he and looked at his coats-of-mail hang- ing vacant on the wall, his banner covered with spider-webs, and his sword and axe rusting there. " Ah, dear axe," sighed he (into his drinking-horn) — "ah, gentle steel ! that was a merry time when I sent thee crashing into the pate of the Emir Abdul Melik as he rode on the right of Saladin. Ah, my sword, my dainty headsman ! my sweet split-rib ! my razor of infidel beards ! is the rust to eat thine edge off, and am I never more to wield thee in battle 1 What 112 REBECCA AND ROWENA is the use of a shield on a wall, or a lance that has a cobweb for a pennon 1 Richard, ray good king, would I could hear once more thy voice in the front of the onset ! Bones of Brian the Templar ! would ye could rise from your grave at Templestowe, and that we might break another spear for honour and — and " * * * "And Rebecca," he would have said; but the knight paused here in rather a guilty panic : and her Royal Highness the Princess Rowena (as she chose to style herself at home) looked so hard at him out of her china-blue eyes, that Sir Wilfrid felt as if she were reading his thoughts, and was fain to drop his own eyes into his flagon. In a word, his life was intolerable. The dinner-hour of the twelfth century, it is known, was very early ; in fact, people dined at ten o'clock in the morning : and after dinner Rowena sat mum under her canopy, embroidered with the arms of Edward the Con- fessor, working with her maidens at the most hideous pieces of tapestry, representing the tortures and martyrdoms of her favourite saints, and not allowing a soul to speak above his breath, except when she chose to cry out in her own shrill voice when a hand-maid made a wrong stitch, or let fall a ball of worsted. It was a dreary life. Wamba, we have said, never ventured to crack a joke, save in a whisper, when he was ten miles from home ; and then Sir Wilfrid Ivanhoe was too weary and blue-devilled to laugh ; but hunted in silence, moodily bringing down deer and wild-boar with shaft and quarrel. Then he besought Robin of Huntingdon, the jolly outlaw, nath- less, to join him, and go to the help of their fair sire King Richard, with a score or two of lances. But the Earl of Huntingdon was a very different character from Robin Hood the forester. There. was no more conscientious magistrate in all the county than his lord- ship : he was never known to miss church or quarter-sessions ; he was the strictest game-proprietor in all the Riding, and sent scores of poachers to Botany Bay. "A man who has a stake in the country, my good Sir Wilfrid," Lord Huntingdon said, with rather a patronising air (his lordship had grown immensely fat since the King had taken him into grace, and required a horse as strong as an elephant to mount him) — " a man with a stake in the country ought to stay in the country. Property has its duties as well as its privileges, and a person of my rank is bound to live on the land from which he gets his living." "Amen!" sang out the Reverend Tuck, his lordship's domestic chaplain, who had also grown as sleek as the Abbot of Jorvaulx, who was as prim as a lady in his dress, wore bergamot la his handkerchief, and had his poll shaved and his beard curled COMMENCEMENT OF THE BUSINESS 113 every day. And so sanctified was his Reverence grown, that he thought it was a shame to kill the pretty deer (though he ate of them still hugely, both in pasties and with French beans and currant-jelly), and being shown a quarter-staff upon a certain occasion, handled it curiously, and asked "what that ugly great stick was ? " Lady Huntingdon, late Maid Marian, had still some of her old fun and spirits, and poor Ivanhoe begged and prayed that she would come and stay at Rotherwood occasionally, and igayer the general dulness of that castle. But her ladyship said that Rowena gave herself such airs, and bored her so intolerably with stories of King Edward the Confessor, that she preferred any place rather than Rotherwood, which was as dull as if it had been at the top of Mount Athos. The only person who visited it was Athelstane. " His Royal Highness the Prince '' Rowena of course called him, whom the lady received with royal honours. She had the guns fired, and the foot- men turned out with presented arms when he arrived ; helped him to all Ivanhoe's favourite cuts of the mutton or the turkey, and forced her poor husband to light him to the state bedroom, walking backwards, holding a pair of wax-candles. At this hour of bed-time the Thane used to be in such a condition, that he saw two pair of candles and two Ivanhoes reeling before him. Let us hope it was not Ivanhoe that was reeling, but only his kinsman's brains muddled with the quantities of drink which it was his daily custom to con- sume. Rowena said it was the crack which the wicked Bois Guilbert, " the Jewess's other lover, Wilfrid my dear," gave him on his royal skull, which caused the Prince to be disturbed so easily ; but added, that drinking became a person of royal blood, and was but one of the duties of his station. Sir Wilfrid of Ivanhoe saw it would be of no avail to ask this man to bear him company on his projected tour abroad ; but still he himself was every day more and more bent upon going, and he long cast about for some means of breaking to his Rowena his firm resolution to join the King. He thought she would certainly fall ill if he communicated the news too abruptly to her : he would pre- tend a journey to York to attend a grand jury ; then a call to London on law business or to buy stock ; then he would slip over to Calais by the packet, by degrees as it were ; and so be with the King before his wife knew that he was out of sight of West- minster Hall. " Suppose your honour says you are going as your honour would say Bo ! to a goose, plump, short, and to the point," said Wamba the Jester — who was Sir Wilfrid's chief counsellor and attendant^ 114 REBECCA AND ROWENA " depend on't her Highness would bear the news like a Christian woman." "Tush, malapert ! I will give thee the strap," said Sir Wilfrid, in a fine tone of high- tragedy indignation. " Thou knowest not the delicacy of the nerves of high-bom ladies. An she faint not, write me down Hollander." "I will wager my bauble against an Irish bUlet of exchange that she will let your honour go off readily : that is, if you press not the matter too strongly," Wamba answered knowingly. And this Ivanhoe found to his discomfiture : for one morning at breakfast, adopting a degagi air, as he sipped his tea, he said, " My love, I was thinking of going over to pay his Majesty a visit in Normandy." Upon which, laying down her muflSn (which, since the royal Alfred baked those cakes, had been the chosen breakfast cate of noble Anglo-Saxons, and which a kneehng page tendered to her on a salver, chased by the Florentine, Benvenuto Cellini), — "When do you think of going, Wilfrid my dearV the lady said; and the moment the tea-things were removed, and the tables and their trestles put away, she set about mending his linen, and getting ready his carpet-bag. So Sir Wilfrid was as disgusted at her readiness to part with him as he had been weary of staying at home, which caused Wamba the Pool to say, " Marry, gossip, thou art like the man on ship- board, who, when the boatswain flogged him, did cry out ' Oh ! ' wherever the rope's-end fell on him : which caused Master Boatswain to say, ' Plague on thee, fellow, and a pize on thee, knave, wherever I hit thee there is no pleasing thee.' " " And truly there are some backs which Fortune is always be- labouring," thought Sir Wilfrid with a groan, "and mine is one that is ever sore." So, with a moderate retinue, whereof the knave Wamba made one, and a large woollen comforter round his neck, which his wife's own white fingers had woven, Sir Wilfrid of Ivanhoe left home to join the King his master. Rowena, standing on the steps, poured out a series of prayers and blessings, most edifying to hear, as her lord mounted his charger, which his squires led to the door. " It was the duty of the British female of rank," she said, " to suffer all — all in the cause of her sovereign. She would not fear loneli- ness during the campaign : she would bear up against widowhood, desertion, and an unprotected situation." "My cousin Athelstane will protect thee,'' said Ivanhoe, with profound emotion, as the tears trickled down his basenet ; and bestowing a chaste salute upon the steel-clad warrior, Rowena modestly said " she hoped his Highness would be so kind." COMMENCEMENT OF THE BUSINESS 115 Then Ivanhoe's trumpet blew : then Rowena waved her pocket- handkerchief : then the household gave a shout : then the pursuivant of the good Knight, Sir Wilfrid the Crusader, flung out his banner (which was argent, a gules cramoisy with three Moors impaled sable) : then Wamba gave a lash on his mule's haunch, and Ivanhoe, heaving a great sigh, turned the tail of his war-horse upon the castle of his fathers. As they rode along the forest, they met Athelstane the Thane pounding along the road in the direction of Eotherwood on his great dray-horse of a charger. " Good-bye, good luck to you, old brick," cried the Prince, using the vernacular Saxon. " Pitch into those Frenchmen ; give it 'em over the face and eyes ; and I'll stop at home and take care of Mrs. I." " Thank you, kinsman," said Ivanhoe — looking, however, not particularly well pleased ; and the chiefs shaking hands, the train of each took its different way — Athelstane's to Eotherwood, Ivanhoe's towards his place of embarkation. The poor knight had his wish, and yet his face was a yard long and as yellow as a lawyer's parchment ; and having longed to quit home any time these three years past, he found himself envying Athelstane, because, forsooth, he was going to Eotherwood: which symptoms of discontent being observed by the witless Wamba, caused that absurd madman to bring his rebeck over his shoulder from his back, and to sing — "ATRA CUBA. " Before I lost my five poor wits, I mind me of a Romisli clerk, Who sang how Care, the phantom dark, Beside the belted horseman sits. Methought I saw the griesly sprite Jump up "but now behind my Knight." " Perhaps thou didst, knave," said Ivanhoe, looking over his shoulder ; and the knave went on with his jingle : " And though he gallop as he may, I mark that cursed monster black Still sits behind his honour's back, Tight squeezing of his heart alway. Like two black Templars sit they there, Beside one crupper, Knight and Care. No knight am I with pennoned spear. To prance upon a bold destrere : 116 EEBEOCA AND ROWENA I will not have black Care prevail Upon my long-eared charger's tail. For lo, I am a witless fool, And laugh at Grief and ride a mule." And his bells rattled as he kicked his mule's sides. " Silence, fool ! " said Sir Wilfrid of Ivanhoe, in a voice both majestic and wrathful. " If thou knowest not care and grief, it is because thou knowest not love, whereof they are the companions. Who can love without an anxious heart ? How shall there be joy at meeting, without tears at parting ? " (" I did not see that his honour or my lady shed many anon," thought Wamba the Fool ; but he was only a zany, and his mind was not right.) " I would not exchange my very sorrows for thine indifference," the knight continued. " Where there is a sun, there must be a shadow. If the shadow offend me, shall I put out my eyes and live in the dark ? No ! I am content with my fate, even such as it is. The Care of which thou speakest, hard though it may vex him, never yet rode down an honest man. I can bear him on my shoulders, and make my way through the world's press in spite of him ; for my arm is strong, and my sword is keen, and my shield has no stain on it ; and my heart, though it is sad, knows no guile." And here, taking a locket out of his waistcoat (which was made of chain- mail), the knight kissed the token, put it back under the waistcoat again, heaved a profound sigh, and stuck spurs into his horse. As for Wamba, he was munching a black pudding whilst Sir Wilfrid was making the above speech (which implied some secret grief on the knight's part, that must have been perfectly unintel- ligible to the fool), and so did not listen to a single word of Ivanhoe'a pompous remarks. They travelled on by slow stages through the whole kingdom, until they came to Dover, whence they took shipping for Calais. And in this little voyage, being exceedingly sea-sick, and besides elated at the thought of meeting his sovereign, the good knight cast away that profound melancholy which had accompanied him during the whole of his land journey. CHAPTER II THE LAST DAYS OF THE LION FEOM Calais Sir Wilfrid of Ivanhoe took the diligence across country to Limoges, sending on Gurth, his squire, with the horses and the rest of his attendants : with the exception of Wamha, who travelled not only as the knight's fool, but as his valet, and who, perched on the roof of the carriage, amused himself by blowing tunes upon the conducteur's French horn. The good King Eichard was, as Ivanhoe learned, in the Limousin, encamped before a little place called Chalus ; the lord whereof, though a vassal of the King's, was holding the castle against his sovereign with a resolution and valour which caused a great fury and annoyance on the part of the Monarch with the Lion Heart. For brave and magnanimous as he was, the Lion-hearted one did not love to be baulked any more than another ; and, like the royal animal whom he was said to resemble, he commonly tore his adversary to pieces, and then, perchance, had leisure to think how brave the latter had been. The Count of Chalus had found, it was said, a pot of money; the royal Eichard wanted it. As the count denied that he had it, why did he not open the gates of his castle at once ? It was a clear proof that he was guilty ; and the King was determined to punish this rebel, and have his money and his life too. He had naturally brought no breaching guns with him, because those instruments were not yet invented ; and though he had as- saulted the place a score of times with the utmost fury, his Majesty had been beaten back on every occasion, until he was so savage that it was dangerous to approach the British Lion. The Lion's wife, the lovely Berengaria, scarcely ventured to come near him. He flung the joint-stools in his tent at the heads of the oflScers of state, and kicked his aides-de-camp round his pavilion ; and, in fact, a maid of honoiu:, who brought a sack -posset in to his Majesty from the Queen, after he came in from the assault, came spinning like a football out of the royal tent just as Ivanhoe entered it. " Send me my drum-major to flog that woman ! " roared out the infuriate King. " By the bones of St. Barnabas she has burned the sack ! By St. Wittikind, I will have her flayed alive. Ha, St. 118 REBECCA AND ROWENA George ! ha, St. Richard ! whom have we here 1 " And he lifted up his demi-oulverin, or curtal-axe — a weapon weighing about thirteen hundredweight — and was about to fling it at the intruder's head, when the latter, kneeling gracefully on one knee, said calmly, " It is I, my good liege, Wilfrid of Ivanhoe." "What, Wilfrid of Templestowe, Wilfrid the married man, Wilfrid the henpecked ! " cried the King with a sudden burst of good- humour, flinging away the culverin from him, as though it had been a reed (it lighted three hundred yards off, on the foot of Hugo de Bunyon, who was smoking a cigar at the door of his tent, and caused that redoubted warrior to limp for some days after). "What, Wilfrid my gossip? Art come to see the lion's den? There are bones in it, man, bones and carcases, and the lion is angry," said the King, with a terrific glare of his eyes. " But tush ! we will talk of that anon. Ho ! bring two gallons of hypocras for the King and tlie good Knight, Wilfrid of Ivanhoe. Thou art come in time, Wilfrid, for, by St. Richard and St. George, we will give a grand assault to-morrow. There wiU be bones broken, ha ! " " I care not, my liege,'' said Ivanhoe, pledging the sovereign respectfully, and tossing off tlie whole contents of the bowl of hypocras to his Highness's good health. And he at once appeared to be taken into high favour : not a little to the envy of inany of the persons surrounding the King. As his Majesty said, there was fighting and feasting in plenty before Chains. Day after day the besiegers made assaults upon the castle, but it was held so stoutly by the Count of Chains and his gallant garrison, that each afternoon beheld the attacking-parties returning disconsolately to their tents, leaving behind them many of their own slain, and bringing back with them store of broken heads and maimed limbs, received in the unsuccessful onset. The valour displayed by Ivanhoe in all these contests was prodigious ; and the way in which he escaped death from the discharges of mangonels, catapults, battering-rams, twenty-four-ponnders, boiling oil, and other artillery, with which the besieged received their enemies, was remarkable. After a day's fighting, Gurth and Wamba used to pick the arrows out of their intrepid master's coat-of-mail, as if they had been so many almonds in a pudding. 'Twas well for the good knight, that under his first coat-of-armour he wore a choice suit of Toledan steel, perfectly impervious to arrow-shots, and given to him by a certain Jew, named Isaac of York, to whom he had done some considerable services a few years back. If King Richard had not been in such a rage at the repeated failures of his attacks upon the castle, that all sense of justice was i, OOUBT BALt, THE LAST DAYS OF THE LION 119 blinded in the lion-hearted monarch, he would have been the first to acknowledge the valour of Sir Wilfrid of Ivanhoe, and would have given him a Peerage and the Grand Cross of the Bath at least a dozen times in the covu-se of the siege : for Ivanhoe led more than a dozen storming-parties, and with his own hand killed as many men (viz., two thousand three hundred and fifty-one) within six, as were slain by the lion-hearted monarch himself. But his Majesty was rather disgusted than pleased by his faithful servant's prowess ; and all the courtiers, who hated Ivanhoe for his superior valour and dexterity (for he would kill you off a couple of hundred of them of Chains, whilst the strongest champions of the King's host could not finish more than their two dozen of a day), poisoned the royal mind against Sir Wilfrid, and made the King look upon his feats of arms with an evil eye. Eoger de Backbite sneeringly told the King that Sir Wilfrid had offered to bet an equal bet that he would kill more men than Eichard himself in the next assault : Peter de Toadhole said that Ivanhoe stated everywhere, that his Majesty was not the man he used to be ; that pleasures and drink had enervated him ; that he could neither ride, nor strike a blow with sword or axe, as he had been enabled to do in the old times in Palestine : and finally, in the twenty-fifth assault, in which they had very nearly carried the place, and in which onset Ivanhoe slew seven, and his Majesty six, of the sons of the Count de Chalus, its defender, Ivanhoe almost did for himself, by planting his banner before the King's upon the wall; and only rescued himself from utter disgrace by saving his Majesty's life several times in the course of this most desperate onslaught. Then the luckless knight's very virtues (as, no doubt, my respected readers know) made him enemies amongst the men — nor was Ivanhoe liked by the women frequenting the camp of the gay King Eichard. His young Queen, and a brilliant court of ladies, attended the pleasure-loving monarch. His Majesty would transact business in the morning, then fight severely from after breakfast till about three o'clock in the afternoon ; from which time, until after midnight, there was nothing but jigging and singing, feasting and revelry, in the royal tents. Ivanhoe, who was asked as a matter of ceremony, and forced to attend these entertainments, not caring about the blandishments of any of the ladies present, looked on at their ogling and dancing with a countenance as glum as an under- taker's, and was a perfect wet-blanket in the midst of the festivities. His favourite resort and conversation were with a remarkably austere hermit, who lived in the neighbourhood of Chalus, and with whom Ivanhoe loved to talk about Palestine, and the Jews, and other grave matters of import, better than to mingle in the 120 REBECCA AND ROWENA gayest amusements of the court of King Richard. Many a night, when the Queen and the ladies were dancing quadrilles and polkas (in which his Majesty, who was enormously stout as well as tall, insisted upon figuring, and in which he was about as graceful as an elephant dancing a hornpipe), Ivanhoe would steal away from the ball, and come and have a night's chat under the moon with his reverend friend. It pained him to see a man of the King's age and size dancing about with the young folks. They laughed at his Majesty whilst they flattered him : the pages and maids of honour mimicked the royal mountebank almost to his face ; and, if Ivanhoe ever could have laughed, he certainly would one night, when the King, in light-blue satin inexpressibles, with his hair in powder, chose to dance the minuet de la cour with the little Queen Berengaria. Then, after dancing, his Majesty must needs order a guitar, and begin to sing. He was said to compose his own songs — words and music— but those who have read Lord Campobello's " Lives of the Lord Chancellors," are aware that there was a person by the name of Blondel, who, in fact, did all the musical part of the King's performances ; and as for the words, when a King writes verses, we may be sure there will be plenty of people to admire his poetry. His Majesty would sing you a ballad, of which he had stolen every idea, to an air that was ringing on all the barrel-organs of Christen- dom, and, turning round to his courtiers, would say, " How do you like that 1 I dashed it off this morning." Or, " Blondel, what do you think of this movement in B flat ? " or what not ; and the courtiers and Blondel, you may be sure, would applaud with all their might, like hypocrites as they were. One evening — it was the evening of the 27th March 1199, indeed — his Majesty, who was in the musical mood, treated the court with a quantity of his so-called composition, until the people were fairly tired of clapping with their hands and laughing in their sleeves. First he sang an original air and poem, beginning " Cherries nice, cherries nice, nice, come choose, Fresh and fair ones, who'll refuse ? " &c. The which he was ready to take his affidavit he had composed the day before yesterday. Then he sang an equally original heroic melody, of which the chorus was " Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the sea, For Britons never, never, never slaves shall be," &c. The courtiers applauded this song as they did the other, all except Ivanhoe, who sat without changing a muscle of his features, until / / ''SM, KING KICHARD IN MUSICAL MOOD. THE LAST DAYS OF THE LION 121 the King questioned him, when the knight with a bow said " he thought he had heard something very like the air and the words elsewhere." His Majesty scowled at him a savage glance from under his red bushy eyebrows ; but Ivanhoe had saved the royal life that day, and the King, therefore, with diificulty controlled his indignation. "Well," said he, "by St. Eichard and St. George, but ye never heard this song, for I composed it this very afternoon as I took my bath after the mel^e. Did I not, Blondel '? " Blondel, of course, was ready to take an aflSdavit that his Majesty had done as he said, and the King, thrumming on his ^guitar with liis great red fingers and thumbs, began to sing out of tune, and as follows : — "COMMANDERS OF THE FAITHFUL. " The Pope he is a happy man, His Palace is the Vatican, And there he sits and drains his can : The Pope he is a happy man. I often say when I'm at home, I'd like to be the Pope of Rome, And then there's Sultan Saladin, That Turkish Soldan full of sin ; He has a hundred wives at least, By which his pleasure is increased : I've often wished, I hope no sin, That I were Sultan Saladin. But no, the Pope no wife may choose, And so I would not wear his shoes ; No wine may drink the proud Paynim, And so I'd rather not be him : My wife, my wine, I love I hope. And would be neither Turk nor Pope." " Encore ! Encore ! Bravo ! Bis ! " Everybody applauded the King's song with all his might : everybody except Ivanhoe, who pre- served his abominable gravity ; and when asked aloud by Roger de Backbite whether he had heard that too, said firmly, " Yes, Roger de Backbite ; and so hast thou if thou darest but tell the truth." " Now, by St. Cicely, may I never touch gittern again," bawled the King in a fury, " if every note, word, and thought be not mine ; may I die in to-morrow's onslaught if the song be not my song. Sing thyself, Wilfrid of the Lanthorn Jaws ; thou could'st sing a 122 EEBEOCA AND KOWEKA good song in old times." And with all his might, and "with a forced laugh, the King, who loved brutal practical jests, iiung his guitar at the head of Ivanhoe. Sir Wilfrid caught it gracefully with one hand, and making an elegant bow to the sovereign, began to chant as follows : — "KING CANUTE. " King Canute was weary-hearted ; he had reigned for years a score, Battling, struggling, pushing, fighting, killing much and robbing more ; And he thought upon his actions, walking by the wild sea-shore. *' 'Twixt the Chancellor and Bishop walked the King with steps sedate. Chamberlains and grooms came after, silversticks and goldsticks great, Chaplains, aides-de-camp, and pages, — all the officers of state. " Sliding after like his shadow, pausing when he chose to pause. If a fi'own his face contracted, straight the courtiers dropped their jaws ; If to laugh the King was minded, out they burst in loud hee-haws. " Bat that day a something vexed him, that was clear to old and young : Thrice his Grace had yawned at table, when his favourite gleemen sung, Once the Queen would have consoled him, but he bade her hold her tongue. *' ' Something ails my gracious master,' cried the Keeper of the Seal. 'Sure, my lord, it is the lampreys served at dinner, or the veal?' ' Psha ! ' exclaimed the angry monarch. ' Keeper, 'tis not that I feel. " "Tis the heart, and not the dinner, fool, that doth my rest impair : Can a king be great as I am, prithee, and yet know no care ? Oh, I'm sick, and tired, and weary." — Some one cried, *The King's arm-chair \ ' " Then towards the lackeys turning, quick my Lord the Keeper nodded. Straight the King's great chair was brought him, by two footmen able-bodied ; Languidly he sank into it : it was comfortably wadded. " ' Leading on my fierce companions,' cried he, ' over storm and brine, I have fought and I have conquered ! Where was glory like to mine ? ' Loudly all the courtiers echoed : * Where is glory like to thine ? ' '* ' What avail me all my kingdoms ? Weary am I now, and old ; Those fair sons I have begotten, long to see me dead and cold ; Would I were, and quiet buried, underneath the silent mould ! " * Oh, remorse, the writhing serpent ! at my bosom tears and bites ; Horrid, horrid things I look on, though I put out all the lights; Ghosts of ghastly recollections troop about my bed of nights. '* * Cities burning, convents blazing, red with sacrilegious fires ; Mothers weeping, virgins screaming, vainly for their slaughtered sires.' — ' Such a tender conscience,' cries the Bishop, ' every one admires. THE LAST DAYS OF THE LION 123 " ' But for such unpleasant bygones, cease, my gracious lord, to search, They're forgotten and forgiven by our Holy Mother Church ; Never, never does she leave her benefactors in the lurch. '''Look! the land is crowned with minsters, which your Grace's bounty raised ; Abbeys filled with holy men, where you and Heaven are daily praised : Ftiti, my lord, to think of dying ! on my conscience I'm amazed ! ' " ' Nay, I feel,' replied King Canute, ' that my end is drawing near.' ' Don't say so,' exclaimed the courtiers (striving each to squeeze a tear}. ' Sure your Grace is strong and lusty, and may live this fifty year.' " ' live these fifty years ! ' the Bishop roared, with actions made to suit. ' Are you mad, my good Lord Keeper, thus to speak of King Canute ? Men have lived a thousand years, and sure his Majesty will do't. " ' Adam, Enoch, Lamech, Cainan, Mahaleel, Methusela, Lived nine hundred years apiece, and mayn't the King as well as they ? ' ' Fervently,' exclaimed the Keeper, * fervently I trust he may.' " ' He to die ? ' resumed the Bishop.' * He a mortal like to tis f Death was not for him intended, though communis omnibus : Keeper, you are irreligious, for to talk and cavil thus. " ' With his wondrous skill in healing ne'er a doctor can compete. Loathsome lepers, if he touch them, start up clean upon their feet ; Surely he could raise the dead up, did his Highness think it meet. " *Did not once the Jewish captain stay the sun upon the hill. And, the while he slew the foemen, bid the silver moon stand still ? So, no doubt, could gracious Canute, if it were his sacred will.' " ' Might I stay the sun above us, good Sir Bishop ? ' Canute cried ; ' Could I bid the silver moon to pause upon her heavenly ride ? If the moon obeys my orders, sure T can command the tide. " 'Will the advancing waves obey me. Bishop, if I make the sign? Said the Bishop, bowing lowly, ' Land and sea, my lord, are thine.' Canute turned towards the ocean — ' Back ! ' he said, 'thou foaming brine. " 'From the sacred shore I stand on, I command thee to retreat ; Venture not, thou stormy rebel, to approach thy master's seat : Ocean, be thou still ! I bid thee come not nearer to my feet ! ' " But the sullen ocean answered with a louder, deeper roar. And the rapid waves drew nearer, falling sounding on the shore ; Baclc the Keeper and the Bishop, back the King and courtiers bore. " And he sternly bade them never more to kneel to human clay. But alone to praise and worship That which earth and seas obey : And his golden crown of empire never wore he from that day. King Canute is dead and gone : Parasites exist alway." 124 REBECCA AND ROWENA At this ballad, which, to be sure, was awfully long, and as grave as a sermon, some of the courtiers tittered, some yawned, and some affected to be asleep and snore outright. But Roger de Backbite, thinking to curry favour with the King by this piece of vulgarity, his Majesty fetched him a knock on the nose and a buffet on the ear, which, I warrant me, wakened Master Roger ; to whom the King said, " Listen and be civil, slave ; Wilfrid is singing about thee. — Wilfrid, thy ballad is long, but it is to the purpose, and I have grown cool during thy homily. Give me thy hand, honest friend. Ladies, good-night. Gentlemen, we give the grand assault to-morrow ; when I promise tiiee, Wilfrid, thy banner shall not be before mine." — And the King, giving his arm to her Majesty, retired into the private pavilion. CHAPTER 111 ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND WHILST the royal Richard and his court were feasting in the camp outside the walls of Chalus, they of the castle were in the most miserable plight that may be conceived. Hunger, as well as the fierce assaults of the besiegers, had made dire ravages in the place. The garrison's provisions of corn and cattle, their very horses, dogs, and donkeys had been eaten up — so that it might well be said by Wamba " that famine, as well as slaughter, had thinned the garrison." When the men of Chalus came on the walls to defend it against the scaling parties of King Richard, they were like so many skeletons in armour ; they could hardly pull their bow-strings at last, or pitch down stones on the heads of his Majesty's party, so weak had their arms become ; and the gigantic Count of Chalus — a warrior as redoubtable for his size and strength as Richard Plantagenet himself — was scarcely able to lift up his battle-axe upon the day of that last assault, when Sir AVilfrid of Ivanhoe ran him through the- but we are advancing matters. What should prevent me from describing the agonies of hunger which the Count (a man of large appetite) suifered in company with his heroic sons and garrison 1 — Nothing, but that Dante has already done the business in the notorious history of Count Ugolino ; so that my efforts may be considered as mere imitations. Why should I not, if I were minded to revel in horrifying details, show you how the famished garrison drew lots, and ate themselves during the siege ; and how the unlucky lot falling upon the Countess of Chalus, that heroic woman, taking an affectionate leave of her family, caused her large cauldron in the castle kitchen to be set a-boiling, had onions, carrots and herbs, pepper and salt made ready, to make a savoury soup, as the French like it ; and when all things were quite completed, kissed her children, jumped into the cauldron from oflf a kitchen stool, and so was stewed down in her flannel bed-gown ? Dear friends, it is not from want of imagination, or from having no turn for the terrible or pathetic, that I spare you these details. I could give you some description 126 REBECCA AND ROWENA that would spsil your dinner and night's rest, and make your hair stand on end. But why harrow your feelings'? Fancy all the tortures and horrors that possibly can occur in a beleaguered and famished castle : fancy the feelings of men who know that no more quarter will be given them than they would get if they were peaceful Hungarian citizens kidnapped and brought to trial by his Majesty the Emperor of Austria; and then let us rush on to the breach and prepare once more to meet the assault of dreadful King Richard and his men. On the 29th of March in the year 1199, the good King, having copiously partaken of breakfast, caused his trumpets to blow, and advanced with his host upon the breach of the castle of Chalus. Arthur de Pendennis bore his banner ; Wilfrid of Ivanhoe fought on the King's right hand. Molyneux, Bishop of BuUocksmithy, doffed crosier and mitre for that day, and though fat and pursy, panted up the breach with the most resolute spirit, roaring out war-cries and curses, and wielding a prodigious mace of iron, with which he did good execution. Roger de Backbite was forced to come in attendance upon the sovereign, but took care to keep in the rear of his august master, and to shelter behind his huge triangular shield as much as possible. Many lords of note followed the King and bore the ladders ; and as they were placed against the wall, the air was perfectly dark with the shower of arrows which the French archers poured out at the besiegers, and the cataract of stones, kettles, bootjacks, chests of drawers, crockery, umbrellas, congreve-rockets, bombshells, bolts and arrows and other missiles which the desperate garrison flung out on the storming- party. The King received a copper coal-scuttle right over his eye, and a mahogany wardrobe was discharged at his morion, which would have felled an ox, and would have done for the King had not Ivanhoe warded it off skilfully. Still they advanced, the warriors falling around them like grass beneath the scythe of the mower. The ladders were placed in spite of the hail of death raining round : and the King and Ivanhoe were, of course, the first to mount them. Chalus stood in the breach, borrowing strength from despair ; and roaring out, " Ha ! Plantagenet, Saint Barbacue for Chalus ! " he dealt the King a crack across the helmet with his battle-axe, which shore off the gilt lion and crown that surmounted the steel cap. The King bent and reeled back ; the besiegers were dismayed ; the garrison and the Court of Chalus set up a shout of triumph : but it was premature. As quick as thought Ivanhoe was into the Count with a thrust in tierce, which took him just at the joint of the armour, and ran Mr A3SADLT ON THE CASTLE OF 0HALU3. KINO RICHARD IN MURDEROUS MOOD. J ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND 127 him through as clean as a spit does a partridge. Uttering a horrid shriek, he fell back writhing ; the King recovering staggered up the parapet ; the rush of knights followed, and the union-jack was planted triumphantly on the walls, just as Ivanhoe, — but we must leave him for a moment. " Ha, St. Richard ! — ha, St. George ! " the tremendous voice of the Lion-king was heard over the loudest roar of the onset. At every sweep of his blade a severed head flew over the parapet, a spouting trunk tumbled, bleeding, on the flags of the bartizan. The world hath never seen a warrior equal to that Lion-hearted Plantagenet, as he raged over the keep, his eyes flashing fire through the bars of his morion, snorting and chafing with the hot lust of battle. One by one les enfans de Chains had fallen : there was only one left at last of all the brave race that had fought round the gallant Count : — only one, and but a boy, a fair-haired boy, a blue-eyed boy ! he had been gathering pansies in the fields but yesterday — it was but a few years, and he was a baby in his mother's arms ! What could his puny sword do against the most redoubted blade in Christendom? — and yet Bohemond faced the great champion of England, and met him foot to foot ! Turn away, turn away, my dear young friends and kind-hearted ladies ! Do not look at that ill-fated poor boy ! his blade is crushed into splinters under the axe of the conqueror, and the poor child is beaten to his knee ! . . . " Now, by St. Barbacue of Limoges," said Bertrand de Gourdon, " the butcher will never strike down yonder lambling ! Hold thy hand, Sir King, or, by St. Barbacue " Swift as thought the veteran archer raised his arblast to his shoulder, the whizzing bolt fled from the ringing string, and the next moment crashed quivering into the corselet of Plantagenet. 'Twas a luckless shot, Bertrand of Gourdon ! Maddened by the pain of the wound, the brute nature of Richard was aroused : his fiendish appetite for blood rose to madness, and grinding his teeth, and with a curse too horrible to mention, the flashing axe of the royal butcher fell down on the blonde ringlets of the child, and the children of Chains were no more ! . . . I just throw this off by way of description, and to show what might be done if I chose to indulge in this style of composition , but as in the battles which are described by the kindly chronicler, of one of whose works this present masterpiece is professedly a continuation, everything passes off agreeably — the people are slain, but without any unpleasant sensation to the reader ; nay, some of the most savage and blood-stained characters of history, such is the 128 REBECCA AND EOWENA indomitable good-humour of the gi'eat novelist, become amiable, jovial companions, for whom one has a hearty sympathy — so, if you please, we will have this fighting business at Chalus, and the garrison and honest Bertrand of Gourdon, disposed of; the former, according to the usage of the good old times, having been hung up or murdered to a man, and the latter killed in the manner described by the late Dr. Goldsmith in his History. As for the Lion-hearted, we all very well know that the shaft of Bertrand de Gourdon put an end to the royal hero — and that from that 29th of March he never robbed nor murdered any more. And we have legends in recondite books of the manner of the King's death. " You must die, my son,'' said the venerable Walter of Rouen, as Berengaria was carried shrieking from the King's tent. " Re- pent, Sir King, and separate yourself from your children ! " " It is ill jesting with a dying man," replied the King. " Children have I none, my good lord bishop, to inherit after me." " Richard of England," said the archbishop, turning up his fine eyes, "your vices are your children. Ambition is your eldest child, Cruelty is your second child. Luxury is your third child ; and you have nourished them from your youth up. Separate yourself from these sinful ones, and prepare your soul, for the hour of departure draweth nigh." Violent, wicked, sinful, as he might have been, Richard of England met his death like a Christian man. Peace be to the soul of the brave ! When the news came to King Philip of France, he sternly forbade his courtiers to rejoice at the death of his enemy. " It is no matter of joy but of dolour," he said, " that the bulwark of Christendom and the bravest king of Europe is no more." Meanwhile what has become of Sir Wilfrid of Ivanhoe, whom we left in the act of rescuing his sovereign by running the Count of Chalus through the body f As the good knight stooped down to pick his sword out of the corpse of his fallen foe, some one coming behind him suddenly thrust a dagger into his back at a place where his shirt-of-mail was open (for Sir Wilfrid had armed that morning in a hurry, and it was his breast, not his back, that he was accustomed ordinarily to protect) ; and when poor Wamba came up on the rampart, which he did when the fighting was over, — being such a fool that he could not be got to thrust his head into danger for glory's sake — he found his dear knight with the dagger in his back lying without life upon the body of the Count de Chalus whom he had anon slain. ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND 129 Ah, what a howl poor Wamba set up when he found his master killed ! How he lamented over the corpse of that noble knight and friend ! What mattered it to him that Richard the King was borne wounded to his tent, and that Bertrand de Gourdon was flayed alive ^ At another time the sight of this spectacle might have amused the simple knave ; but now all his thoughts were of his lord : so good, so gentle, so kind, so loyal, so frank with the great, so tender to the poor, so truthful of speech, so modest re- garding his own merit, so true a gentleman, in a word, that any- body might, with reason, deplore him. As Wamba opened the dear knight's corselet, he found a locket round his neck, in which there was some hair ; not flaxen like that of my Lady Rowena, who was almost as fair as an Albino, but as black, Wamba thought, as the locks of the Jewish maiden whom the knight had rescued in the lists of Templestowe. A bit of Rowena's hair was in Sir Wilfrid's possession, too ; but that was in his purse along with his seal of arms, and a couple of groats ; for the good knight never kept any money, so generous was he of his largesses when money came in. Wamba took the purse, and seal, and groats, but he left the locket of hair round his master's neck, and when he returned to England never said a word about the circumstance. After all, how should he know whose hair it was? It might have been the knight's grandmother's hair for aught the fool knew; so he kept his counsel when he brought back the sad news and tokens to the disconsolate widow at Rotherwood. The poor fellow would never have left the body at all, and in- deed sat by it all night, and until the grey of the morning ; when, seeing two suspicious-looking characters advancing towards him, he fled in dismay, supposing that they were marauders who were out searching for booty among the dead bodies ; and having not the least courage, he fled from these, and tumbled down the breach, and never stopped running as fast as his legs would carry him, until he reached the tent of his late beloved master. The news of the knight's demise, it appeared, had been known at his quarters long before ; for his servants were gone, and had ridden ofi' on his horses ; his chests were plundered : there was not so much as a shirt-collar left in his drawers, and the very bed and blankets had been carried away by these faithful attendants. Who had slain Ivanhoe % That remains a mystery to the present day ; but Roger de Backbite, whose nose he had pulled for defamation, and who was behind him in the assault at Chalus, was seen two years afterwards at the court of King John in an embroidered velvet waistcoat which Rowena could have eworn she had worked 130 REBECCA AND ROWENA for Ivanhoe, and about which the widow would have made some little noise, but that — but that she was no longer a widow. That she truly deplored the death of her lord cannot be questioned, for she ordered the deepest mourning which any milliner in York could supply, and erected a monument to his memory as big as a minster. But she was a lady of such fine principles, that she did not allow her grief to overmaster her ; and an opportunity speedily arising for uniting the two best Saxon families in Eng- land, by an alliance between herself and the gentleman who offered himself to her, Rowena sacrificed her inclination to remain single, to her sense of duty ; and contracted a second matrimonial engagement. That Athelstane was the man, I suppose no reader familiar with life, and novels which are a rescript of Mfe, and are all strictly natural and edifying, can for a moment doubt. Cardinal Pandulfo tied the knot for them : and lest there should be any doubt about Ivanhoe's death (for his body was never sent home after all, nor seen after Wamba ran away from it), his Eminence procured a Papal decree annulling the former marriage, so that Rowena be- came Mrs. Athelstane with a clear conscience. And who shall be surprised, if she was happier with the stupid and boozy Thane than with the gentle and melancholy Wilfrid? Did women never have a predilection for fools, I should like to know ; or fall in love with donkeys, before the time of the amours of Bottom and Titania] Ah ! Mary, had you not preferred an ass to a man, would you have married Jack Bray, when a Michael Angelo offered ? Ah ! Fanny, were you not a woman, would you persist in adoring Tom Hiccups, who beats you, and comes home tipsy from the Club? Yes, Rowena cared a hundred times more about tipsy Athelstane than ever she had done for gentle Ivanhoe, and so great was her infatua- tion about the former, that she would sit upon his knee in the presence of all her maidens, and let him smoke his cigars in the very drawing-room. This is the epitaph she caused to be written by Father Drono (who piqued himself upon his Latinity) on the stone commemo- rating the death of her late lord : — Mt eat (SuitfiiBua, belli Bum tijcit abitiua t Cum clanio et lancca, ii^ormannia et quoqiue jFtancia Uerbcra Dura Habat : pet ®utcoa multum equitabat : (Sutlbertum occiBit : atquj !;&iEtoBOlHma biBtt. l&eu ! nunc sub foasa aunt tanti militia oaaa, Ja;cot atfjelatani cat conjuf caatiaaima ^ijani. ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND 131 And this is the translation which the doggerel knave Wamba made of the Latin lines : "REQUIESCAT. *' Under the stone you behold, Buried, and coffined, and cold, Lieth Sir Wilfrid the Bold. Always he marched in advance, Warring in Flanders and France, Doughty with sword and with lance. Famous in Saracen fight, Rode in his youth the good knight, Scattering Paynims in flight. Brian the Templar untrue, Fairly in tourney he slew, Saw Hierusalem too. Now he is buried and gone, Lying beneath the grey stone : Where shall you find such a one? Long time his widow deplored, Weeping the fate of her lord, Sadly cut off by the sword. When she was eased of her pain, Came the good Lord Athelstane, When her ladyship married again." Athelstane burst into a loud laugh, when he heard it, at the last line, but Rowena would have had the fool whipped, had not the Thane interceded j and to him, she said, she could refuse nothing. CHAPTER IV IVANHOE REDIVIVUS I TRUST nobody will suppose, from the events described in the last chapter, that our friend Ivanhoe is really dead. Because we have given him an epitaph or two and a monument, are these any reasons that he should be really gone out of the world 1 No : as in the pantomime, when we see Clown and Pantaloon lay out Harlequin and cry over him, we are always sure that Master Harlequin wiU be up at the next minute alert and shining in his glistening coat ; and, after giving a box on the ears to the pair of them, will be taking a dance with Columbine, or leaping gaily through the clock-face, or into the three-pair-of-stairs' window : — so Sir Wilfrid, the Harlequin of our Christmas piece, may be run through a little, or may make believe to be dead, but will assuredly rise up again when he is wanted, and show himself at the right moment. The suspicious-looking characters from whom Wamba ran away were no cut-throats and plunderers, as the poor knave imagined, but no other than Ivanhoe's friend, the hermit, and a reverend brother of his, who visited the scene of the late battle in order to see if any Christians still survived there, whom they might shrive and get ready for heaven, or to whom they might possibly offer the benefit of their skill as leeches. Both were prodigiously learned in the healing art ; and had about them those precious elixirs which so often occur in romances, and with which patients are so miracu- lously restored. Abruptly dropping his master's head from his lap as he fled, poor Wamba caused the knight's pate to fall with rather a heavy thump to the ground, and if the knave had but stayed a minute longer, he would have heard Sir Wilfrid utter a deep groan. But though the fool heard him not, the holy hermits did ; and to recognise the gallant Wilfrid, to withdraw the enormous dagger still sticking out of his back, to wash the wound with a portion of the precious elixir, anrri^ IVANHOE IN THE HALL OP HIS FATHERS, IVANHOE REDIVIVUS 135 have heard there was none better in Christendom. He lay in our convent after his wounds, and it was there we tended him till he died. He was buried in our north cloister." " And there's an end of him," said Athelstane. " But come, this is dismal talk. Where's Wamba the jester 1 Let us have a song. Stir up, Wamba, and don't lie Hke a dog in the fire ! Sing us a song, thou crack-brained jester, and leave off whimpering for bygones. Tush, man ! There be many good fellows left in this world." " There be buzzards in eagles' nests," Wamba said, who was lying stretched before the fire, sharing the hearth with the Thane's dogs. " There be dead men alive, and live men dead. There be merry songs and dismal songs. Marry, and the merriest are the saddest sometimes. I will leave off motley and wear black, gossip Athelstane. I will turn howler at funerals, and then, perhaps, I shall be merry. Motley is fit for mutes, and black for fools. Give me some drink, gossip, for my voice is as cracked as my brain." "Drink and sing, thou beast, and cease prating," the Thane said. And Wamba, touching his rebeck wildly, sat up in the chimney- side and curled his lean shanks together and began : — "LOVE AT TWO SCORE. " Ho ! pretty page, with dimpled chin. That never has known the barber's shear, All your aim is woman to win — This is the way that boys begin — Wait till you've come to forty year ! Curly gold locks cover foolish brains, Billing and cooing is all your cheer, Sighing and singing of midnight strains Under Bonnybells' window-panes. Wait till you've come to forty year. Forty times over let Michaelmas pass, Grizzling hair the brain doth clear ; Then yon know a boy is an ass. Then you know the worth of a lass, Once you have come to forty year. Pledge me round, I bid ye declare, All good fellows whose beards are grey : Did not the fairest of the fair Common grow, and wearisome, ere Ever a month was passed away ? 136 REBECCA AND ROWENA The reddest lips that ever have kissed, The brightest eyes that ever have shone, May pray and whisper and we not list. Or look away and never be missed, Ere yet ever a month was gone, Gillian's dead, Heaven rest her bier, How I loved her twenty years syne ! Marian's married, but I sit here, Alive and merry at forty year, Dipping my nose in the Gascon wine." "Who taught thee that merry lay, Wamba, thou son of Witless?" roared Athelstane, clattering his cup on the table and shouting the chorus. "It was a good and holy hermit, sir, the pious clerk of Copmanhurst, that you wot of, who played many a prank with us in the days that we knew King Richard. Ah, noble sir, that was a jovial time and a good priest." "They say the holy priest is sure of the next bishopric, my love," said Rowena. " His Majesty hath taken him into much favour. My Lord of Huntingdon looked very well at the last ball ; but I never could see any beauty in the Countess — a freckled, blowsy thing, whom they used to call Maid Marian : though, for the matter of that, what between her flirtations with Major Little- john and Captain Scarlett, really " "Jealous again — haw ! haw ! " laughed Athelstane. "I am above jealousy, and scorn it," Rowena answered, drawing herself up very majestically. " Well, well, Wamba's was a good song," Athelstane said. " Nay, a wicked song," said Rowena, turning up her eyes as usual. " What ! rail at woman's love 1 Prefer a filthy wine-cup to a true wife ? Woman's love is eternal, my Athelstane. He who questions it would be a blasphemer were he not a fool. The well- born and well-nurtured gentlewoman loves once and once only." " I pray you, madam, pardon me, I — I am not well," said the grey friar, rising abruptly from his settle, and tottering down the steps of the dais. Wamba sprang after him, his bells jingling as he rose, and casting his arms round the apparently fainting man, he led him away into the court. " There be dead men alive and live men dead," whispered he. " There be coffins to laugh at and marriages to cry over. Said I not sooth, holy friar ? " And when they had got out into the solitary court, which was deserted by all the followers of the Thane, who were mingling in the drunken revelry in the hall, Wamba, seeing that none were by, knelt down, IVANHOE REDIVIVUS 137 and kissing the friar's garment, said, " I knew thee, I knew thee, my lord and iny liege ! " " Get up," said Wilfrid of Ivanhoe, scarcely able to articulate : " only fools are faithful." And he passed on, and into the little chapel where his father lay buried. All night long the friar spent there : and Wamba the Jester lay outside watching as mute as the saint over the porch. When the morning came, Wamba was gone; and the knave being in the habit of wandering hither and thither as he chose, little notice was taken of his absence by a master and mistress who had not much sense of humour. As for Sir Wilfrid, a gentleman of his delicacy of feelings could not be expected to remain in a house where things so naturally disagreeable to him were occurring, and he quitted Rotherwood incontinently, after paying a dutiful visit to the tomb where his old father, Cedric, was buried ; and hastened on to York, at which city he made himself known to the family attorney, a most respectable man, in whose hands his ready money was deposited, and took up a sum sufficient to fit himself out with credit, and a handsome retinue, as became a knight of consideration. But he changed his name, wore a wig and spectacles, and disguised himself entirely, so that it was impossible his friends or the public should know him, and thus metamorphosed, went about whitherso ever his fancy led him. He was present at a public ball at York, which the lord mayor gave, danced Sir Roger de Coverley in the very same set with Rowena — (who was disgusted that Maid Marian took precedence of her) — he saw little Athelstane overeat himself at the supper and pledge his big father in a cup of sack ; he met the Reverend Mr. Tuck at a missionary meeting, where he seconded a resolution proposed by that eminent divine ; — in fine, he saw a score of his old acquaintances, none of whom recognised in him the warrior of Palestine and Templestowe. Having a large fortune and nothing to do, he went about this country performing charities, slaying robbers, rescuing the distressed, and achieving noble feats of arms. Dragons and giants existed in his day no more, or be sure he would have had a fling at them : for the truth is. Sir Wilfrid of Ivanhoe was somewhat sick of the life which the hermits of Chains had restored to him, and felt himself so friendless and solitary that he would not have been sorry to come to an end of it. Ah, my dear friends and intelligent British public, are there not others who are melancholy under a mask of gaiety, and who, in the midst of crowds, are lonely 1 Listen was a most melancholy man ; Grimaldi had feelings; and there are others I wot of: — but psha ! — let us have the next chapter. CHAPTER V IVANHOE TO THE RESCUE THE rascally manner in -n-hich the chicken-livered successor of Eichard of the Lion-heart conducted himself to all parties, to his relatives, his nobles, and his people, is a matter notorious, and set forth clearly in the Historic Page : hence, although nothing, except perhaps success, can, in my opinion, excuse disaffection to the sovereign, or appearance in armed rebellion against him, the loyal reader will make allowance for two of the principal personages of this narrative, who will have to appear in the present chapter in the odious character of rebels to their lord and king. It must be remembered, in partial exculpation of the fault of Athelstane and Rowena (a fault for which they were bitterly punished, as you shall presently hear), that the monarch exasperated his subjects in a variety of ways, — that before he murdered his royal nephew. Prince Arthur, there was a great question whether he was the rightful King of England at all, — that his behaviour as an uncle, and a family man, was likely to womid the feelings of any lady and mother, — finally, that there were palliations for the conduct of Rowena and Ivanhoe, which it now becomes our duty to relate. When his Majesty destroyed Prince Arthur, the Lady Rowena, who was one of the ladies of honour to the Queen, gave up her place at court at once, and retired to her castle of Rotherwood. Expres- sions made use of by her, and derogatory to the character of the sovereign, were carried to the monarch's ears, by some of those para- sites, doubtless, by whom it is the curse of kings to be attended ; and John swore by St. Peter's teeth, that he would be revenged upon the haughty Saxon lady, — a kind of oath which, though he did not trouble himself about all other oaths, he was never known to break. It was not for some years after he had registered this vow, that he was enabled to keep it. Had Ivanhoe been present at Rouen when the King meditated his horrid designs against his nephew, there is little doubt that Sir Wilfrid would have prevented them, and rescued the boy : for Ivanhoe was, we need scarcely say, a hero of romance ; and it is the custom and duty of all gentlemen of that profession to be IVANHOE TO THE RESCUE 139 present on all occasions of historic interest, to be engaged in all conspiracies, royal interviews, and remarkable occurrences : and hence Sir Wilfrid would certainly have rescued the young prince, had he been anywhere in the neighbourhood of Rouen, where the foul tragedy occurred. But he was a couple of hundred leagues off, at Chains, when the circumstance happened ; tied down in his bed as cr I cried the Queen the „■ , ■.-, { Pnnce Bulbo?' > Prmcess, and ( Prince Giglio ? " ) Countess. " Give her the rags she wore when she came into the house, and turn her out of it ! " cries the Queen. "Mind she does not go with my shoes on, which I lent her so kindly," says the Princess ; and indeed the Princess's shoes were a great deal too big for Betsinda. " Come with me, you filthy hussy ! " and taking up the Queen's poker, the cruel Gruffanuff drove Betsinda into her room. The Countess went to the glass box in which she had kept Betsinda's old cloak and shoe this ever so loni,', and said, " Take those rags, you little beggar creature, and strip off everything 28a SEE! HOW WOMAN'S ANGER FLIES OUT, belonging to honest people, and go about your business ; " and she actually tore off the poor little delicate thing's back almost all her things, and told her to be ofif out of the house. Poor Betsinda huddled the cloak round her back, on which were embroidered the letters pein .... eosal . . . and then came a great rent. As for the shoe, what was she to do with one poor little tootsey sandal ? the string was still to it, so she hung it round her neck. SURE THEY'LL TEAR BETSINDA'S EYES OUT 281 "Won't you give me a pair of shoes to go out in the snow, mum, if you please, mum 1 " cried the poor child. " No, you wicked beast ! " says Gruiianuflf', driving her along with the poker — driving her down the cold stairs — driving her through the cold hall — flinging her out into the cold street, so that the knocker itself shed tears to see her ! But a kind fairy made the soft snow warm for her little feet, and she wrapped herself up in the ermine of her mantle, and was gone ! " And now let us think about breakfast," says the greedy Queen. " What dress shall I put on, mamma 1 " the pink or the pea- green 1" says Angelica. "Which do you think the dear Prince will like best?" " Mrs. V. ! " sings out the King from his dressing-room, " let us have sausages for breakfast ! Remember we have Prince Bulbo staying with us ! " And they all went to get ready. Nine o'clock came, and they were aU in the breakfast-room, and no Prince Bulbo as yet. The urn was hissing and humming : the muifins were smoking — such a heap of muffins ! the eggs were done, there was a pot of raspberry jam, and cofiee, and a beautiful chicken and tongue on the side-table. Marmitonio the cook brought in the sausages. Oh, how nice they smelt ! "Where is Bulbo?" said the King. "John, where is his Royal Highness t " John said he had a took up his Roilighnessesses shaving-water, and his clothes and things, and he wasn't in his room, which he sposed his Royliness was just stepped hout. " Stepped out before breakfast in the snow ! Impossible ! " says the King, sticking his fork into a sausage. " My dear, take one. Angelica, won't you have a saveloy?" The Princess took one, being very fond of them ; and at this moment Glumboso entered with Captain Hedzoff, both looking very much disturbed. " I am afraid your Majesty — " cries Glumboso. " No business before breakfast, Glum ! " says the King. "Breakfast first, business next. Mrs. V., some more sugar ! " " Sire, I am afraid if we wait till after breakfast it will be too late," says Glumboso. "He — he — he'll be hanged at half-past nine." " Don't talk about hanging and spoil my breakfast, you unkind vulgar man you," cries the Princess. " John, some mustard. Pray who is to be hanged ? " "Sire, it is the Prince," whispers Glumboso to the King. 282 HERE, UPON THE VERY SCAFFOLD, " Talk about business after breakfast, I tell you ! " says his Majesty, quite sulky. " We shall have a -war. Sire, depend on it," says the Minister. " His father. King Padella . . . ." "His father. King whoV says the King. "King Padella is not Griglio's father. My brother, King Savio, was Gigho's father." " It's Prince Bulbo they are hanging, Sire, not Prince Giglio," says the Prime Minister. " You told me to hang the Prince, and I took the ugly one," says Hedzoff. " I didn't, of course, think your Majesty intended to murder your own flesh and blood ! " The King for all reply flung the plate of sausages at Hedzoflfs head. The Princess cried out " Hee-karee-karee ! " and fell down in a fainting fit. " Turn the cock of the urn upon her Royal Highness,'' said the King, and the boihng water gradually revived her. His Majesty looked at his watch, compared it by the clock in the parlour, and by that of the church in the square opposite ; then he wound it up ; then he looked at it again. " The great question is," says he, "am I fast or am I slow? If I'm slow, we may as well go on with breakfast. If I'm fast, why, there is just the possibility of saving Prince Bulbo. " It's a doosid awkward mistake, and upon my word, Hedzoflf, I have the greatest mind to have you hanged too." " Sire, I did but my duty ; a soldier has but his orders. I didn't expect after forty-seven years of faithful service that my sovereign would think of putting me to a felon's death ! " " A hundred thousand plagues upon you ! Can't you see that while you are talking my Bulbo is being hanged 1 " screamed the Princess. " By Jove ! she's always right, that girl, and I'm so absent,'' says the King, looking at his watch again. " Ha ! Hark, there go the drums ! What a doosid awkward thing though ! " " papa, you goose ! Write the reprieve, and let me run with it," cries the Princess — and she got a sheet of paper, and pen and ink, and laid them before the King. "Confound it! where are my spectacles?" the Monarch ex- claimed. " Angelica ! Go up into my bedroom, look under my pillow, not your mamma's ; there you'll see my keys. Bring them down to me, and — Well, well ! what impetuous things these girls are ! " Angelica was gone, and had run up panting to the bedroom, and found the keys, and was back again before the King had finished a muffin. " Now, love," says he, " you must go all the way back AMQBLIOA ARWVES JUST IN TIME. THANK OUR STARS! JACK KETOH IS BAFFLED 283 for my desk, in which my spectacles are. If you would but have heard me out ... Be hanged to her ! There she is off again. Angelica ! Angelica ! " When his Majesty called in his lovd voice, she knew she must obey, and came back. " My dear, when you go out of a room, how often have I told you, shut the door. That's a darling. That's all." At last the keys and the desk and the spectacles were got, and the King mended his pen, and signed his name to a reprieve, and Angelica ran with it as swift as the wind. " You'd better stay, my love, and finish the muflSns. There's no use going. Be sure it's too late. Hand me over that raspberry jam, please," said the Monarch. " Bong ! Bawong ! There goes the half-hour. I knew it was.' Angelica ran, and ran, and ran, and ran. She ran up Fore Street, and down High Street, and through the Market-place, and down to the left, and over the bridge, and up the blind alley, and back again, and round by the Castle, and so along by the Haber- dasher's on the right, opposite the lamp-post, and round the square, and she came — she came to the Execution place, where she saw Bulbo laying his head on the block ! ! ! The executioner raised his axe, but at that moment the Princess came panting up and cried " Reprieve ! " " Reprieve ! " screamed the Princess. " Reprieve ! " shouted all the people. Up the scaffold stairs she sprang, with the agility of a lighter of lamps ; and flinging herself in Bulbo's arms, regardless of all ceremony, she cried out, " my Prince ! my lord ! my love ! my Bulbo ! Thine Angelica has been in time to save thy precious existence, sweet rosebud ; to prevent thy being nipped in thy young bloom ! Had aught befallen thee, Angelica too had died, and welcomed death that joined her to her Bulbo." " H'm ! there's no accounting for tastes," said Bulbo, looking so very much puzzled and uncomfortable, that the Princess, in tones of tenderest strain, asked the cause of his disquiet. "I tell you what it is, Angelica," said he: "since I came here yesterday, there has been such a row, and disturbance, and quarrelling, and fighting, and chopping of heads off, and the deuce to pay, that I am inclined to go back to Crim Tartary." " But with me as thy bride, my Bulbo ! Though wherever thou art is Crim Tartary to me, my bold, my beautiful, my Bulbo ! " " Well, well, I suppose we must be married," says Bulbo. " Doctor, you came to read the Funeral Service — read the Marriage Service, will you? What must be, must. That will satisfy Angelica, and then, in the name of peace and quietness, do let us go back to breakfast." 284 BULBO AND HIS BRIDE ARE MARRIED, Bulbo had carried a rose in his mouth all the time of the dismal ceremony. It was a fairy rose, and he was told by his mother that he ought never to part with it. So he had kept it between his teeth, even when he laid his poor head upon the block, hoping vaguely that some chance would turn up in his favour. As he began to speak to Angelica, he forgot about the rose, and of course it dropped out of his mouth. The romantic Princess instantly stooped and seized it. " Sweet rose ! " she exclaimed, " that bloomed upon my Bulbo's lip, never, never will I part from thee ! " and she placed it in her bosom. And you know Bulbo couldn't ask her to give the rose back again. And they went to breakfast ; and as they walked, it appeared to Bulbo that Angelica became more exquisitely lovely every moment. He was frantic until they were married ; and now, strange to say, it was Angelica who didn't care about him ! He knelt down, he kissed her hand, he prayed and begged ; he cried with admira- tion ; while she for her part said she really thought they might wait ; it seemed to her he was not handsome any more — no, not at all, quite the reverse ; and not clever, no, very stupid ; and not well bred, like Giglio ; no, on the contrary, dreadfully vul What, I cannot say, for King Valoroso roared out "Pooh, stuflf ! " in a terrible voice. " We will have no more of this shilly- shallying ! Call the Archbishop, and let the Prince and Princess be married offhand ! " So, married they were, and I am sure for my part I trust they will be happy. yMjMj!ii''M'' XII HOIV BETSINDA FLED, AND IfHAT BECAME OF HER BETSINDA wandered on and on, till she passed through the town gates, and so on the great Crim Tartary road, the very way on which Giglio too was going. " Ah ! " thought she, as the dUigence passed her, of which the conductor was blowing a delightful tune on his horn, " how I should like to be on that coach ! " But the coach and the jingling horses were very soon 286 TO A HUT SHE GAINS ADMISSION gone. She little knew who was in it, though very likely she was thinking of him all the time. Then came an empty cart, returning from market; and the driver being a kind man, and seeing such a very pretty girl trudg- ing along the road with bare feet, most good-naturedly gave her a seat. He said he lived on the confines of the forest, where his old father was a woodman, and, if she liked, he would take her 80 far on her road. All roads were the same to little Betsinda, so she very thankfully took this one. And the carter put a cloth round her bare feet, and gave her some bread and cold bacon, and was very kind to her. For all that she was very cold and melancholy. When after travelling on and on, evening came, and all the black pines were bending with snow, and there, at last, was the comfortable light beaming WHAT A TOUCHING RECOGNITION! 287 in the woodman's windows ; and so they arrived, and went into his cottage. He was an old man, and had a number of children, who were just at supper, with nice hot bread-and-milk, when their elder brother arrived with the cart. And they jumped and clapped their hands ; for they were good children ; and he had brought them toys from the town. And when they saw the pretty stranger, they ran to her, and brought her to the fire, and rubbed her poor little feet, and brought her bread-and-milk. "Look, father!" they said to the old woodman, "look at this poor girl, and see what pretty cold feet she has. They are as white as our milk ! And look and see what an odd cloak she has, just like the bit of velvet that hangs up in our cupboard, and which you found that day the little cubs were killed by King Padella, in the forest ! And look, why, bless us all ! she has got round her neck just such another little shoe as that you brought home, and have shown us so often — a little blue velvet shoe ! " "What,"' said the old woodman, "what is all this about a shoe and a cloak 1 " And Betsinda explained that she had been left, when quite a little child, at the town with this cloak and this shoe. And the persons who had taken care of her had — had been angry with her, for no fault, she hoped, of her own. And they had sent her away with her old clothes — and here, in fact, she was. She remem- bered having been in a forest — and perhaps it was a dream — it was so very odd and strange — having lived in a cave with lions there; and, before that, having lived in a very, very fine house, as fine as the King's, in the town. 288 CHAMPION BOLD OF RIGHT AND BEAUTY, When the woodman heard this, he was so astonished, it was quite curious to see how astonished he was. He went to his cupboard, and took out of a stocking a five-shilling piece of King Cavolfiore, and vowed it was exactly like tlie young woman. And then he produced the shoe and the piece of velvet which he had kept so long, and compared them with the things which Betsinda wore. In Betsinda's little shoe was written, " Hopkins, maker to the Royal Family " ; so in the other shoe was written, " Hopkins, maker to the Royal Family." In the inside of Betsinda's piece of cloak was embroidered, " pein eosal ; " in the other piece of cloak was embroidered " cess ba. No. 246." So that when put together you read, "peincess eosalba. No. 246." On seeing this, the dear old woodman fell down on his knee, saying: "0 my princess, my gracious royal lady,.0 my rightful Queen of Grim Tartary, — I hail thee — I acknowledge thee — I do thee homage ! " And in token of his fealty, he rubbed his venerable nose three times on the ground, and put the Princess's foot on his head. "Why," said she, "my good woodman, you must be a noble- man of my royal father's Gourt ! " For in her lowly retreat, and under the name of Betsinda, Hee Majesty Rosalba, Queen of Grim Tartary, had read of the customs of all foreign courts and nations. " Marry, indeed am I, my gracious liege — the poor Lord Spinachi, once — the humble woodman these fifteen years syne. Ever since the tyrant Padella (may ruin overtake the treacherous knave !) dismissed me from my post of First Lord." " First Lord of the Toothpick and Joint Keeper of the Snufi'- box ? I mind me ! Thou heldest these posts under our royal Sire. They are restored to thee. Lord Spinachi ! I make thee knight of the second class of our Order of the Pumpkin (the first class being reserved for crowned heads alone). Rise, Marquis of Spinachi ! " And with indescribable majesty, the Queen, who had no sword handy, waved the pewter spoon with which she had been taking her bread-and-milk, over the bald head of the old nobleman, whose tears absolutely made a puddle on the ground, and whose dear children went to bed that night Lords and Ladies Bartolomeo, Ubaldo, Catarina, and Ottavia degli Spinachi ! The acquaintance Hee Majesty showed with the history, and noble families of her empire, was wonderful. " The House of Broccoli should remain faithful to us," she said ; " they were ever welcome at our Court. Have the Articiocchi, as was their wont, turned to the Rising Sun ? The family of Sauerkraut must sure be with us — they were ever welcome in the halls of King Gavol- TO EOSALBA PAY YOUK DUTY! 289 fiore." And so she went on enumerating quite a list of the nobility and gentry of Crim Tartary, so admirably had her Majesty profited by her studies while in exile. The old Marquis of Spinachi Said he could answer for them all ; that the whole country groaned under Padella's tyranny, and longed to return to its rightful sovereign ; and late as it was, he sent his children, who knew the forest well, to summon this nobleman and that ; and when his eldest son, who had been rubbing the horse down and giving him his supper, came into the house for his own, the Marquis told him to put his boots on, and a saddle on the mare, and ride hither and thither to such and such people. When the young man heard who his companion in the cart had been, he too tnelt down and put her royal foot on his head ; he too bedewed the ground with his tears ; he was frantically in love with her, as everybody now was who saw her : so were the young Lords Bartolomeo and Ubaldo, who punched each other's little heads out of jealousy ; and so, when they came from east and west at the 290 YOU, WHO WITH SUCCESS WOULD FIGHT, summons of the Marquis degli Spinachi, were the Crim Tartar Lords who still remained faithful to the House of Cavolfiore. They were such very old gentlemen for the most part, that her Majesty never suspected their absurd passion, and went among them quite unaware of the havoc her beauty was causing, until an old blind Lord who had joined her party, told her what the truth was ; after which, for fear of making the people too much in love with her, she always wore a veil. She went about privately, from one nobleman's castle to another : and they visited among themselves again, and had meetings, and composed proclamations and counter-proclamations, and distributed all the best places of the kingdom amongst one another, and selected who of the opposition party should be executed when the Queen came to her own. And so in about a year they were ready to move. The party of Fidelity was in truth composed of very feeble old fogeys for the most part ; they went about the country waving their old swords and flags, and calling " God save the Queen ! " and King Padella happening to be absent upon an invasion, they had their own way for a little, and to be sure the people were very en- thusiastic whenever they saw the Queen ; otherwise the vulgar took matters very quietly, for they said, as far as they could recollect, they were pretty well as much taxed in Cavolfiore's time, as now in Padella's. XIII HOIf QUEEN ROSALBA CAME TO THE CASTLE OF THE BOLD COUNT HOGGINARMO HER MAJESTY, having indeed nothing else to give, made all her followers Knights of the Pumpkin, and Marquises, Earls, and Baronets ; and they had a little court for her, and made her a little crown of gilt paper, and a robe of cotton velvet; and they quarrelled about the places to be given away in her court, and about rank and precedence and dignities ; — you can't think how they quarrelled ! The poor Queen was very tired of her honours before she had had them a month, and I daresay sighed sometimes even to be a lady's-maid again. But we must all do our duty in our respective stations, so the Queen resigned herself to perform hers. We have said how it happened that none of the Usurper's troops came out to oppose this Army of Fidelity : it pottered along as nimbly as the gout of the principal commanders allowed : it consisted of twice as many officers as soldiers : and at length passed near the estates of one of the most powerful noblemen of the country, who had not declared for the Queen, but of whom her party had hopes, as he was always quarrelling with King Padella. When they came close to his park gates, this nobleman sent to say he would wait upon her Majesty : he was a most powerful warrior, and his name was Count Hogginarmo, whose helmet it took two strong negroes to carry. He knelt down before her and said, " Madam and liege lady ! it becomes the great nobles of the Crimean realm to show every outward sign of respect to the wearer of the Crown, whoever that may be. We testify to our own 292 HOW COUNT HOGGINARMO WOO'D HER, nobility in acknowledging yours. The bold Hogginarmo bends the knee to the first of the aristocracy of his country." Eosalba said, " The bold Count of Hogginarmo was uncommonly kind." But she felt afraid of him, even while he was kneeling, and his eyes scowled at her from between his whiskers, which grew up to them. "The first Count of the Empire, madam," he went on, "salutes the Sovereign. The Prince addresses himself to the not more SURELY NOTHING COULD BE RUDER 293 noble lady ! Madam, my hand is free, and I offer it, and my heart and my sword to your service ! My three wives lie buried in my ancestral vaults. The third perished but a year since ; and this heart pines for a consort ! Deign to be mine, and I swear to bring to your bridal table the head of King Padella, the eyes and nose of his son Prince Bulbo, the right hand and ears of the usurp- ing Sovereign of Paiiagonia, which country shall thenceforth be an appanage to your — to cmr Crown ! Say yes ; Hogginarmo is not accustomed to be denied. Indeed I cannot contemplate the possibility of a refusal ; for frightful will be the result ; dreadful the murders ; furious the devastations ; horrible the tyranny ; tremendous the tortures, misery, taxation, which the people of this realm will endure, if Hogginarmo's wrath be aroused ! I see consent in your Majesty's lovely eyes — their glances fill my soul with rapture ! " " sir ! " Rosalba said, withdrawing her hand in great fright. " Your Lordship is exceedingly kind ; but I am sorry to tell you that I have a prior attachment to a young gentleman by the name of — Prince — Giglio — and never — never can marry any one but him." Who can describe Hogginarmo's wrath at this remark? Rising up from the ground, he ground his teeth so that fire flashed out of his mouth, from which at the same time issued remarks and language, so lovd, violent, and improper, that this pen shall never repeat them ! " R-r-r-r-r-r — Rejected ! Fiends and perdition ! The bold Hogginarmo rejected! All the world shall hear of my rage ; and you, madam, you above all shall rue it ! " And kicking the two negroes before him, he rushed away, his whiskers streaming in the wind. Her Majesty's Privy Council was in a dreadful panic when they saw Hogginarmo issue from the royal presence in such a towering rage, making footballs of the poor negroes — a panic which the events justified. They marched off from Hogginarmo's park very crest- fallen ; and in another half-hour they were met by that rapacious chieftain with a few of his followers, who cut, slashed, charged, whacked, banged, and pommelled amongst them, took the Queen prisoner, and drove the Army of Fidelity to I don't know where. Poor Queen ! Hogginarmo, her conqueror, would not condescend to see her. " Get a horse-van ! " he said to his grooms, " clap the hussy into it, and send her, with my compliments, to his Majesty King Padella." Along with his lovely prisoner, Hogginarmo sent a letter full of servile compliments and loathsome flatteries to King Padella, for whose life, and that of his royal family, the hypocritical humbug pretended to offer the most fulsome prayers. And Hogginarmo 294 MUCH I FEAR YOUR REIGN IS OVER, promised speedily to pay his humble homage at his august master's throne, of which he begged leave to be counted the most loyal and constant defender. Such a wary old hird as King Padella was not to be caught by Master Hogginarmo's chaff, and we shall hear presently how the tyrant treated his upstart vassal. No, no ; depend on't, two such rogues do not trust one another. So this poor Queen was laid in the straw like Margery Daw, and driven along in the dark ever so many miles to the Court, where King Padella had now arrived, having vanquished all his enemies, murdered most of them, and brought some of the richest into captivity with him for the purpose of torturing them and finding out where they had hidden their money. POOR ROSALBA! WHERE'S YOUR LOVER 295 Rosalba heard their shrieks and groans in the dungeon in which she was thrust; a most awful black hole, full of bats, rats, mice, toads, frogs, mosquitoes, bugs, fleas, serpents, and every kind of horror. No light was let into it, otherwise the gaolers might have seen her and fallen in love with her, as an owl that lived up in the roof of the tower did, and a cat, you know, who can see in the dark, and having set its green eyes on Rosalba, never could be got to go back to the turnkey's wife to whom it belonged. And the toads in the 296 KING PADELLA COMES A WOOING dungeon came and kissed her feet, and the vipers wound round her neck and arms, and never hurt her, so charming was this poor Princess in the midst of her misfortunes. At last, after she had been kept in this place ever so long, the door of the dungeon opened, and the terrible King Padella came in. But what he said and did must be reserved for another chapter, as we must now go back to Prince Giglio. XIV lyHAT BECAME OF GIGLIO THE idea of marrjdng such an old creature as Gruffanuff, frightened Prince Giglio so, that he ran up to his room, packed his trunks, fetched in a couple of porters, and was off to the diligence office in a twinkling. It was well that he was so quick in his operations, did not dawdle over his luggage, and took the early coach, for as soon as the mistake about Prince Bulbo was found out, that cruel Glumboso sent up a couple of policemen to Prince Giglio's room, with orders that he should be carried to Newgate, and his head taken off be- fore twelve o'clock. But the coach was out of the Paflagonian dominions before two o'clock ; and I daresay the express that was sent after Prince Giglio did not ride very quick, for many people in Paflagonia had a regard for Giglio, as the son of their old sovereign ; a Prince who, with all his weaknesses, was very much better than his brother, the usurping, lazy, careless, passionate, tyrannical, reigning monarch. That Prince busied himself with the balls, fStes, masquerades, hunting-parties, and so forth, which he thought proper to give on occasion of his daughter's marriage to Prince Bulbo ; and let us trust was not sorry in his own heart that his brother's son had escaped the scaffold. It was very cold weather, and the snow was on the ground, and Giglio, who gave his name as simple Mr. Giles, was very glad to get a comfortable place on the coup^ of the diligence, where he sat with the conductor and another gentleman. At the first stage from Blombodinga, as they stopped to change horses, there came up to the diligence a very ordinary, vulgar-looking woman, with a bag under her arm, who asked for a place. All the inside places were 9 2f 298 AS BECOMES HIS LINEAGE KNIGHTLY taken, and the young woman was informed that if she wished to travel, she must go upon the roof; and the passenger inside with Giglio (a rude person, I should think), put his head out of the window, and said, " Nice weather for travelling outside ! I wish you a pleasant journey, my dear." The poor woman coughed very much, and Giglio pitied her. " I will give up my place to her," says he, "rather than she should travel in the cold air with that horrid cough." On which the vulgar traveller said, " You'd keep her warm, I am sure, if it's a muff she wants." On which Giglio MASTER GIGLIO ACTS POLITELY 299 pulled his nose, boxed his ears, hit him in the eye, and gave this vulgar person a warning never to call him muff again. Then he sprang up gaily on to the roof of the diligence, and made himself very comfortable in the straw. The vulgar traveller got down at the next station, and Giglio took his place again, and talked to the person next to him. She appeared to be a most agreeable, well-informed, and entertaining female. They travelled together till night, and she gave Giglio all sorts of things out of the bag which she carried, and which indeed seemed to contain the most wonderful collection of articles. He was thirsty — out there came a pint bottle of Bass's pale ale, and a silver mug ! Hungry — she took out a cold fowl, some slices of ham, bread. salt, and a most delicious piece of cold plum-pudding, and a little glass of brandy afterwards. As they travelled, this plain-looking, queer woman talked to Giglio on a variety of subjects, in which the poor Prince showed his ignorance as much as she did her capacity. He oivned, with many blushes, how ignorant he was ; on which the lady said, "My dear Gigl — my good Mr. Giles, you are a young man, and have plenty of time before you. You have nothing to do but to improve yourself. Who knows but that you may find use for your knowledge some day? When — when you may be wanted at home, as some people may be." " Good heavens, madam ! " says he, " do you know me ? " "I know a number of funny things," says the lady. "I have 300 OF THE BAG, AND HOW SHE GAVE IT been at some people's christenings, and turned away from other folks' doors. I have seen some people spoilt by good fortune, and others, as I hope, improved by hardship. I advise you to stay at the town where the coach stops for the night. Stay there and study, and remember your old friend to whom you were kind." " And who is my old friend ? " asked Giglio. " When you want anything," says the lady, "look in this bag, which I leave to you as a present, and be grateful to " " To whom, madam ? " says he. "To the Fairy Blackstick," says the lady, flying out of the window. And when GigKo asked the conductor if he knew where the lady was ? " What lady ? " says the man ; " there has been no lady in this coach, except the old woman, who got out at the last stage." And Giglio thought he had been dreaming. But there was the bag which Blackstick had given him lying on his lap ; and when he came to the town he took it in his hand and went into the inn. They gave him a very bad bedroom, and Giglio, when he woke in the morning, fancying himself in the Koyal Palace at home, called, " John, Charles, Thomas ! My chocolate — my dressing- gown — my sKppers ; " but nobody came. There was no bell, so he went and bawled out for the waiter on the top of the stairs. The landlady came up, looking — looking like this — " What are you a hollering and a bellaring for here, young man 1 " says she. OH! HOW I SHOULD LIKE TO HAVE IT 301 " There's no warm water — uo servants : my boots are not even cleaned." " He, he ! Clean 'em yourself," says the landlady. " You young students give yourselves pretty airs. I never heard such impudence." " I'll quit the house this instant," says Giglio. "The sooner the tetter, young man. Pay your bill and be otf. All my rooms is wanted for gentlefolks, and not for such as you." " You may well keep the Bear Inn," said Giglio. " You should have yourself painted as the sign." The landlady of the Bear went away growling. And Giglio returned to his room, where the first thing he saw was the fairy bag lying on the table, which seemed to give a little hop as he came in. " I hope it has some breakfast in it," says Giglio, " for I have only a very little money left." But on opening the bag, what do you think was there ? A blacking-brush and a pot of Warren's jet, and on the pot was written — '* Poor young men their boots must black : Use me and cork me and put me back." So Giglio laughed and blacked his boots, and put back the brush and the bottle into the bag. When he had done dressing himself, the bag gave another little hop, and he went to it and took out — 1. A tablecloth and a napkin. 2. A sugar-basin full of the best loaf-sugar. 4, 6, 8, 10. Two forks, two teaspoons, two knives, and a pair of sugar-tongs, and a butter knife, aU marked G. 11, 12, 13. A teacup, saucer, and slop-basin. 14. A jug fiill of delicious cream. 15. A canister with black tea and green. 16. A large tea-um and boiling water. 17. A saucepan, containing three eggs nicely done. 18. A quarter of a pound of best Epping butter. 1 9. A brown loaf. And if he hadn't enough now for a good breakfast, I should like to know who ever had one 1 Giglio, having had his breakfast, popped all the things back into the bag, and went out looking for lodgings. I forgot to say that this celebrated university town was called Bosforo. 302 HUMBLE PIE IS WHOLESOME MEAT, He took a modest lodging opposite the Schools, paid his bill at the inn, and went to his apartment with his trunk, carpet-bag, and not forgetting, we may be sure, his other bag. When he opened his trunk, which the day before he had filled witli his best clothes, he found it contained only books. And in the first of them which he opened there was written — " Clothes for the back, books for the head ; Read, and remember them when they are read. ' And in his bag, when Giglio looked in it, he found a student's cap GOOD FOR ALL OF US TO EAT 303 and gown, a writing-book full of paper, an inkstand, pens, and a Johnson's dictionary, which was very useftd to him, as his spelling had been sadly neglected. So he sat down and worked away, very, very hard for a whole year, during which " Mr. Giles " was quite an example to all the students in the University of Bosforo. He never got into any riots or disturbances. The Professors all spoke well of him, and the students liked him too; so that, when at Examina- tions he took all the prizes, viz. : — iThe Spelling Prize fThe French Prize The Writing Prize J The Arithmetic Prize The History Prize j The Latin Prize The Catechism Prize [The Good Conduct Prize, aU his fellow-students said, " Hurray ! Hurray for Giles ! Giles is the boy — the student's joy ! Hurray for Giles ! " And he brought quite a quantity of medals, crowns, books, and tokens of distinction home to his lodgings. One day after the Examinations, as he was diverting him- self at a coffee-house with two friends — (Did I tell you that in his bag, every Saturday night, he found just enough to pay his bills, with a guinea over, for pocket-money? Didn't I tell you? Well, he did, as sure as twice twenty makes forty-five) — he chanced to look in the Bosforo Chronicle, and read off quite easily (for he could spell, read, and write the longest words now) the following : — "Romantic Ciecumstance. — One of the most extraordinary adventures that we have ever heard has set the neighbouring country of Crim Tartary in a state of great excitement. "It will be remembered that when the present revered sovereign of Crim Tartary, his Majesty King Padella, took possession of the throne, after having vanquished, in the terrific battle of Blunderbusco, the late King Cavolfiore, that Prince's only child, the Princess Rosalba, was not found in the royal palace, of which King Padella took possession, and, it was said, had strayed into the forest (being abandoned by all her attendants), where she had been eaten up by those ferocious lions, the last pair of which were captured some time since, and brought to the Tower, after killing several hundred persons. "His Majesty King Padella, who has the kindest heart in 9 7 304. IN THE PAPERS HERE WE READ the world, was grieved at the accident, which had occurred to the harmless little Princess, for whom his Majesty's known benevolence would certainly have provided a fitting establishment. But her death seemed to be certain. The mangled remains of a cloak, and a little shoe, were found in the forest, during a hunting-party, in which the intrepid sovereign of Crim Tartary slew two of the lions' cubs with his own spear. And these interesting relics of an innocent little creature were carried home and kept by their finder, the Baron Spinachi, formerly an officer in Cavolfiore's house- hold. The Baron was disgraced in consequence of his known legitimist opinions, and has lived for some time in the humble capacity of a woodcutter, in a forest on the outskirts of the King- dom of Crim Tartary. " Last Tuesday week Baron Spinachi and a number of gentlemen attached to the former dynasty, appeared in arms, crying, ' G-od save Rosalba, the First Queen of Grim Tartary ! ' and surrounding a lady whom report describes as beautiful exceedingly. Her history may be authentic, is certainly most romantic. " The personage calling herself Rosalba states that she was brought out of the forest, fifteen years since, by a lady in a car drawn by dragons (this account is certainly improbable), that she was left in the Palace Garden of Blombodinga, where her Royal Highness the Princess Angelica, now married to his Royal Highness Bulbo, Crown Prince of Crim Tartary, found the child, and, with that elegant benevolence which has always distinguished the heiress of the throne of Paflagonia, gave the little outcast a shelter and a home ! Her parentage not being known, and her garb very humble, the foundling was educated in the Palace in a menial capacity, under the name of Betsinda. " She did not give satisfaction, and was dismissed, carrying with her, certainly, part of a mantle and a shoe, which she had on when first found. According to her statement she quitted Blombodinga about a year ago, since which time she has been with the Spinachi family. On the very same morning the Prince Giglio, nephew to the Bang of Pafiagonia, a young Prince whose character for talent and order were, to say truth, none of the highest, also quitted Blombodinga, and has not been since heard of ! ' " What an extraordinary story ! " said Smith and Jones, two young students, Giglio's especial friends. " Ha ! what is this ? " Giglio went on, reading : MOST IMPORTANT NEWS INDEED 303 "Second Edition, Express. — We hear that the troop under Baron Spinachi has been surrounded, and utterly routed, by General Count Hogginarmo, and the soi-distant Princess is sent a prisoner to the capital. "University News. — Yesterday, at the Schools, the dis- tinguished young student, Mr. Giles, read a Latin oration, and was complimented by the Chancellor of Bosforo, Doctor Prugnaro, with the highest University honour — the wooden spoon." " Never mind that stuff," says Giles, greatly disturbed. " Come home with me, my friends. Gallant Smith ! intrepid Jones ! friends of my studies — partakers of my academic toils — I have that to tell shall astonish your honest minds." " Go it, old boy ! " cried the impetuous Smith. " Talk away, my buck ! " says Jones, a lively fellow. With an air of indescribable dignity, Giglio checked their natural, but no more seemly, familiarity. " Jones, Smith, my good friends," said the Prince, " disguise is henceforth useless ; I am no more the humble student GUes, I am the descendant of a royal line." " Atavis edite regihus, I know, old co ," cried Jones. He was going to say old cock, but a flash from the royal eye again awed him. " Friends," continued the Prince, " I am that Giglio, I am in fa,ct Paflagonia. Rise, Smith, and kneel not in the public street. Jones, thou true heart ! My faithless uncle, when I was a baby, filched from me that brave crown my father left me, bred me, all young and careless of my rights, like unto hapless Hamlet, Prince of Denmark ; and had I any thoughts about my wrongs, soothed me with promises of near redress. I should espouse his daughter, young Angelica; we two indeed should reign in Paflagonia. His words were false — false as Angelica's heart ! — false as Angelica's hair, colour, front teeth ! She looked with her skew eyes upon young Bulbo, Crim Tar- tary's stupid heir, and she preferred him. 'Twas then I turned my eyes upon Betsinda — Rosalba, as she now is. And I saw in her the blushing sum of all perfection ; the pink of maiden modesty ; the nymph that my fond heart had ever woo'd in dreams," &c. &c. (I don't give this speech, which was very fine, but very long ; and though Smith and Jones knew nothing about the circumstances, my dear reader does, so I go on.) 306 NOW GOOD-BYE TO BOOK AND PEN, The Prince and his young friends hastened home to his apart- ment, highly excited by the intelligence, as no doubt by the royal narrator's admirable manner of recounting it ; and they ran up to his room where he had worked so hard at his books. On his writing-table was his bag, grown so long that the Prince could not help remarking it. He went to it, opened it, and what do you think he found in it ? A splendid long, gold-handled, red-velvet-scabbarded, cut-and- thrust sword, and on the sheath was embroidered " Rosalba for Ever ! " He drew out the sword, which flashed and illuminated the whole room, and called out " Rosalba for ever ! " Smith and Jones following him, but quite respectfully this time, and taking the time from his Royal Highness. And now his trunk opened with a sudden pong, and out there came three ostrich feathers in a gold crown, surrounding a beautiful shining steel helmet, a cuirass, a pair of spurs, finally a complete suit of armour. The books on Giglio's shelves were all gone. Where there had been some great dictionaries, Giglio's friends found two pairs of jack-boots labelled, " Lieutenant Smith," " Jones, Esq.," which fitted them to a nicety. Besides, there were helmets, back- and breast-plates, swords, &c., just like in Mr. G. P. R. James's novels ; and that evening three cavaliers might have been seen issuing from the gates of Bosforo, in whom the porters, proctors, &c., never thought of recognising the young Prince and his friends. They got horses at a Kvery stable-keeper's, and never drew bridle until they reached the last town on the frontier before you come to Grim Tartary. Here, as their animals were tired, and the cavaHers hungry, they stopped and refreshed at an hostel. I could make a chapter of this if I were like some writers, but I like to cram my measure tight down, you see, and give you a great deal for your money, and, in a word, they had some bread and cheese and ale upstairs on the balcony of the inn. As they were drinking, drums and trumpets sounded nearer and nearer, the market-place was filled with soldiers, and his Royal Highness looking forth, recognised the Paflagonian banners, and the Pafla- gonian national air which the bands were playing. The troops all made for the tavern at once, and as they came up Giglio exclaimed, on beholding their leader, "Whom do I see % Yes ! No ! It is, it is ! Phoo ! No, it can't be ! Yes ! it is my friend, my gallant faithful veteran, Captain Hedzofl'! PRINCE OIOLIO'S SPEECH TO THE ARMY. FOLLOW GIGLIO, GENTLEMEN! 307 Ho ! Hedzoff ! Knowest thou not thy Prince, thy Giglio ? Good Corporal, methinks we once were friends. Ha, sergeant, an my memory serves me right, we have had many a bout at singlestick." "I' faith, we have, a many, good my lord," says the ser- geant. " Tell me, what means this mighty armament," continued his Eoyal Highness from the balcony, "and whither march my Paflagonians ? " Hedzofifs head fell. " My lord," he said, " we march as the allies of great Padella, Grim Tartary's monarch.'' " Crim Tartary's usurper, gallant HedzoflF ! Orim Tartary's grim tyrant, honest Hedzoff ! " said the Prince, on the balcony, quite sarcastically. " A soldier. Prince, must needs obey his orders : mine are to help his Majesty Padella. And also (though alack that I should say it !) to seize wherever I should light upon him " " First catch your hare ! ha, Hedzoflf ! " exclaimed his Eoyal Highness. " — On the body of Giglio, whilome Prince of Paflagonia," Hedzoff went on, with indescribable emotion. "My Prince, give up your sword without ado. Look ! we are thirty thousand men to one!" " Give up my sword ! Giglio give up his sword ! " cried the Prince ; and stepping well forward on to the balcony, the royal youth, without preparation, delivered a speech so magnificent, that no report can do justice to it. It was all in blank verse (in which, from this time, he invariably spoke, as more becoming his majestic station). It lasted for three days and three nights, during which not a single person who heard him was tired, or remarked the difference between daylight and dark. The soldiers only cheering tremendously, when occasionally, once in nine hours, the Prince paused to suck an orange, which Jones took out of the bag. He explained, in terms which we say we shall not attempt to convey, the whole history of the previous transaction, and his determination not only not to give up his sword, but to assume his rightful crown ; and at the end of this extraordinary, this truly gigantic effort. Captain Hedzoff flung up his helmet, and cried, " Hurray ! Hurrav ! Long live King Giglio ! " Such were the consequences of having employed his time well at College ! When the excitement had ceased, beer was ordered out for the army, and their sovereign himself did not disdain a little ! And 308 HASTEN, KESCUE ! GIGLIO RUN! FOR now it was with some alarm that Captain Hedzoff told him his division was only the advanced guard of the Paflagonian contingent, hastening to King Padella's aid. The main force being a day's march in the rear under his Royal Highness Prince Bulbo. "We will wait here, good friend, to beat the Prince," his Majesty said, "and then will make his royal Father wince." XV WE RETURN TO ROSALBA KING PADELLA made very similar proposals to Rosalba to those which she had received from the various Princes who, as we have seen, had fallen in love with her. His Majesty was a widower, and offered to marry his fair captive that instant, but she declined his invitation in her usual polite gentle manner, stating that Prince Giglio was her love, and that any other union was out of the question. Having tried tears and supplications in vain, this violent-tempered monarch menaced her with threats and tortures ; but she declared she would rather suffer all these than accept the hand of her father's murderer, who left her finally, uttering the most awful imprecations, and bidding her prepare for death on the following morning. Ail night long the King spent in advising how he should get rid of this obdurate young creature. Cutting off her head was much too easy a death for her; hanging was so common in his Majesty's dominions that it no longer afforded him any sport : finally, he bethought himself of a pair of fierce lions which had lately been sent to him as presents, and he determined, with these ferocious brutes, to hunt poor Eosalba down. Adjoining his castle was an amphitheatre where the Prince indulged in bull-baiting, rat-hunting, and other ferocious sports. The two lions were kept in a cage under this place ; their roaring might be heard over the whole city, the inhabitants of which, I am sorry to say, thronged in numbers to see a poor young lady gobbled up by two wild beasts. The King took his place in the royal box, having the ofllcers of the Court around and the Count Hogginarmo by his side, upon 9 2 G 310 LITTLE SUFFERING VICTIM TENDER! whom his Majesty was observed to look very fiercely ; the fact is, royal spies had told the monarch of Hogginarmo's behaviour, his proposals to Rosalba, and his oflfer to fight for the crown. Black as thunder looked King Padella at this proud noble, as they sat in the front seats of the theatre waiting to see the tragedy whereof poor Rosalba was to be the heroine. At length that Princess was brought out in her night-gown, with all her beautiful hair falling down her back, and looking so pretty that even the beef-eaters and keepers of the wild animals FROM THESE LIONS HEAVEN DEFEND HER! 311 wept plentifully at seeing her. And she walked with her poor little feet (only luckily the arena was covered with sawdust), and went and leaned up against a great stone in the centre of the amphitheatre, round which the Court and the people were seated in boxes, with bars before them, for fear of the great, fierce, red- maned, black-throated, long-tailed, roaring, bellowing, rushing lions. And now the gates were opened, and with a wurrawarrurawarar two great lean, hungry, roaring lions rushed out of their den, where they had been kept for three weeks on nothing but a little toast-and-water, and dashed straight up to the stone where poor Rosalba was waiting. Commend her to your patron saints, all you kind people, for she is in a dreadful state. There was a hum and a buzz all through the circus, and the fierce King Padella even felt a little compassion. But Count Hogginarmo seated by his Majesty, roared out " Hurray ! Now for it ! Soo-soo-soo ! " that nobleman being uncommonly angry still at Rosalba's refusal of him. But strange event ! remarkable circumstance ! ex- traordinary coincidence, which I am sure none of you could hy any possibility have divined ! When the lions came to Rosalba, instead 312 I'LL KEEP CLEAR WHEN LIONS. SUP: of deyouring her with their great teeth, it was with kisses they gobbled her up ! They licked her pretty feet, they nuzzled their noses in her lap, they moo'd, they seemed to say, " Dear, dear sister, don't you recollect your brothers in the forest?" And she put her pretty white arms round their tawny necks, and kissed them. King Padella was immensely astonished. The Count Hoggi- narmo was extremely disgusted. " Pooh ! " the Count cried. " Grammon ! " exclaimed his lordship. " These lions are tame beasts come from Wombwell's or Astley's. It is a shame to put people oflf in this way. I believe they are little boys dressed up in door-mats. They are no lions at all." "Ha!" said the King, "you dare to say 'gammon' to your sovereign, do you t These lions are no lions at all, aren't they ? Ho, my beef-eaters ! Ho ! my bodyguard ! Take this Count Hogginarmo and fling him into the circus ! Give him a sword and buckler, let him keep his armour on, and his weather-eye out, and fight these lions." The haughty Hogginarmo laid down his opera-glass, and looked scowling round at the King and his attendants. " Touch me not, dogs ! " he said, " or by St. Nicholas the Elder, I will gore you ! Your Majesty thinks Hogginarmo is afraid ? No, not of a hundred thousand lions ! Follow me down into the circus, King Padella, and match thyself against one of yon brutes. Thou darest not. Let them both come on, then ! " And opening a grating of the box, he jumped lightly down into the circus. Wurra wurra wurra wur-aw-aw-aw II! In about two minutes The Count Hogginarmo was GOBBLED UP by those lions, bones, boots, and all, and There was an End of him. At this, the King said, " Serve him right, the rebellious ruffian ! And now, as those lions won't eat that young woman " THESE ATE HOGGINARMO UP 313 " Let her off! — let her off! " cried the crowd. " NO ! " roared the King. " Let the beef-eaters go down and chop her into small pieces. If the lions defend her, let the archers shoot them to death. That hussy shall die in tortures ! " " A-a-ah ! " cried the crowd. " Shame ! shame ! " " Who dai-es cry out shame?" cried the furious potentate (so little can tyrants command their passions). " Fling any scoundrel who says a word down among the lions ! " I warrant you there was a dead silence then, which was broken by a Pang arang pang pangkarangpang ; and a Knight and a Herald rode in at the farther end of the circus. The Knight, in full armour, with his vizor up, and bearing a letter on the point of his lance. "Ha!" exclaimed the King, "by my fay, 'tis Elephant and Castle, pursuivant of my brother of Paflagonia; and the Knight, an my memory serves me, is the gallant Captain Hedzoff ! What news from Paflagonia, gallant Hedzoff? Elephant and Castle, beshrew me, thy trumpeting must have made thee thirsty. What will my trusty herald like to drink ? " " Bespeaking first safe conduct, from your Lordship," said Captain Hedzoff', " before we take a drink of anything, permit us to deliver our King's message.'' " My lordship, ha ! " said Crim Tartary, frowning terri- fically. " That title soundeth strange in the anointed ears of a crowned King. Straightway speak out your message. Knight and Herald ! " Reining up his charger in a most elegant manner close under the King's balcony, Hedzoff turned to the herald, and bade him begin. Elephant and Castle, dropping his trumpet over his shoulder, took a large sheet of paper out of his hat, and began to read : — " Yes ! Yes ! Yes ! Know all men by these presents, that we, Oiglio, King of Paflagonia, Grand Duke of Cappadocia, Sovereign Prince of Turkey and the Sausage Islands, having assumed owr rightful throne and title, long tim,e falsely borne by our usurping Uncle, styling himself King of Paflagonia " " Ha ! " growled Padella. " Hereby summwn the false traitor, Padella, calling himself King of Crim Tartary " 314. YET THE TERRIBLE CRlM TARTAR The King's curses were dreadful. " Go on, Elephant and Castle ! " said the intrepid Hedzoff. " — To release from cowardly imprisonment his liege lady and rightful Sovereign, RoSALBA, Queen of Crim Tartary, and restore her to her royal throne : in default of which, I, Giglio, proclaim, the said Padella, sneah, traitor, humbug, usurper, and coward. I challenge him. to meet me, with fists or with pistols, with battle-axe or sword, with blunder- buss or singlestick, alone or at the head of his army, on foot or on horseback ; and will prove my words upon his wicked ugly body ! " " God save the King ! " said Captain Hedzoff, executing a demivolte, two semiUmes, and three caracols. "Is that ain" said Padella, with the terrific calm of concen- trated fury. " That, sir, is all my royal master's message. Here is his Majesty's letter in autograph, and here is his glove, and if any gentleman of Crim Tartary chooses to find fault with his Majesty's expressions, I, Kutasoff Hedzoff, Captain of the Guard, am very much at his service," and he waved his lance, and looked at the assembly all round. " And what says my good brother of Paflagonia, my dear son's father-in-law, to this rubbish 1 " asked the King. " The King's uncle hath been deprived of the crown he unjustly wore," said Hedzoff gravely. " He and his ex-minister, Glumboso, are now in prison waiting the sentence of my royal master. After the battle of Bombardaro " " Of what V asked the surprised Padella. " Of Bombardaro, where my liege, his present Majesty, would have performed prodigies of valour, but that the whole of his uncle's army came over to our side, with the exception of Prince Bulbo." "Ah! my boy, my boy, my Bulbo was no traitor!" cried Padella. " Prince Bulbo, far from coming over to us, ran away, sir ; but I caught him. The Prince is a prisoner in our army, and the most terrific tortures await him if a hair of the Princess Rosalba's head is injm-ed." " Do they ? " exclaimed the furious Padella, who was now perfectly livid with rage. " Do they indeed f So much the worse for Bulbo. I've twenty sons as lovely each as Bulbo. Not one but STILL WOULD POOR ROSALBA MARTYR 315 is as fit to reign as Bulbo. Whip, whack, flog, starve, rack, punish, torture Bulbo — break all his bones — roast him or flay him alive — pull all his pretty teeth out one by one ! but justly dear as Bulbo is to me, — Joy of my eyes, fond treasure of my soul ! — Ha, ha, ha, ha ! revenge is dearer still. Ho ! torturers, rack-men, executioners — light up the fires and make the pincers hot ! get lots of boiling lead ! — Bring out Rosalba ! " XVI HOir HEDZOFF RODE BACK AGAIN TO KING GIGLIO CAPTAIN HEDZOFF rode away when King Padella uttered this cruel command, having done his duty in delivering the message with which his royal master had entrusted him. Of course he was very sorry for Eosalba, but what could he do ? So he retiuned to King Giglio's camp, and found the young monarch in a disturbed state of mind, smoking cigars in the royal POOR BULBO IS OEDEEED FOB EXECUTION, OUT, AS USUAL, FOE A VICTIM 317 tent. His Majesty's agitation was not appeased by the news that was brouglit by his ambassador. " The brutal ruthless ruffian royal wretch ! " Giglio exclaimed. " As England's poesy has well re- marked, ' The man that lays his hand upon a woman, save in the way of kindness, is a villain.' Ha, Hedzoff?" " That he is, your Majesty," said the attendant. " And didst thou see her flung into the oil ? and didn't the soothing oil — the emollient oil, refuse to boil, good Hedzofl' — and to spoil the fairest lady ever eyes did look on t " " Faith, good my liege, I had no heart to look and see a beauteous lady boiling down ; I took your royal message to Padella, and bore his back to you. I told him you would hold Prince Bulbo answerable. He only said that he had twenty sons as good as Bulbo, and forthwith he bade the ruthless executioners proceed." " cruel father — unhappy son ! " cried the King. " Go, some of you, and bring Prince Bulbo hither." Bulbo was brought in chains, looking very uncomfortable. Though a prisoner, he had been tolerably happy, perhaps because his mind was at rest, and all the fighting was over, and he was playing at marbles with his guards, when the King sent for him. " Oh, my poor Bulbo," said his Majesty, with looks of infinite compassion, "hast thou heard the news?" (for you see Giglio wanted to break the thing gently to the Prince), "thy brutal father has condemned Eosalba — p-p-p-ut her to death, P-p-p-prince Bulbo ! " " What, killed Betsinda ! Boo-hoo-hoo," cried out Bulbo. " Betsinda ! pretty Betsinda ! dear Betsinda ! She was the dearest little girl in the world. I love her better twenty thousand times even than Angelica," and he went on expressing his grief in so hearty and unafiected a manner, that the King was quite touched by it, and said, shaking Bulbo's hand, that he wished he had known Bulbo sooner. Bulbo, quite unconsciously, and meaning for the best, offered to come and sit with his Majesty, and smoke a cigar with him, and console him. The ro?/al kindness supplied Bulbo with a cigar ; he had not had one, he said, since he was taken prisoner. And now think what must have been the feelings of the most merciful of monarchs, when he informed his prisoner that, in consequence of King PadeUa's cruel and dastardly hehaviour to Eosalba, Prince Bulbo must instantly be executed ! The noble Giglio could not restrain his tears, nor could the Grenadiers, nor the officers, nor could Bulbo himself, when the matter was explained to him and he was brought to understand that his Majesty's promise, 318 MAY WE NE'ER BE THUS BEFRIENDED of course, was above every thing, and Bulbo must submit. So poor Bulbo was led out, Hedzoff trying to console him, by pointing out that if he had won the battle of Bombardaro, he might have hanged Prince Giglio. " Yes ! But that is no comfort to me now ! " said poor Bulbo ; nor indeed was it, poor fellow ! He was told the business would be done the next morning at eight, and was taken back to his dungeon, where every attention was paid to him. The gaoler's wife sent him tea, and the turnkey's daughter begged him to write his name in her album, where a many gentlemen had wrote it on like occasions ! " Bother your album ! " says Bulbo. The Undertaker came and measured him for the handsomest coffin which money could buy : even this didn't console Bulbo. The Cook brought him dishes which he once used to like ; but he wouldn't touch them : he sat down and began writing an BULBO'S PAINS SEEM WELL-NIGH ENDED 319 adieu to Angelica, as the clock kept always ticking, and the hands drawing nearer to next morning. The Barber came in at night, and oflfered to shave him for the next day. Prince Bulbo kicked him away, and went on writing a few words to Princess Angelica, as the clock kept always ticking, and the hands hopping nearer and nearer to next morning. He got up on the top of a hat-box, on the top of a chair, on tlie top of his bed, on the top of his table, and looked out to see whether he might escape as the clock kept always ticking and the hands drawing nearer, and nearer, and nearer. But looking out of the window was one thing, and jumping another : and the town clock struck seven. So he got into bed for a little sleep, but the gaoler came and woke him, and said, " Git up, your Koyal Ighness, if you please, it's ten minutes to eight." So poor Bulbo got up : he had gone to bed in his clothes (the 320 HARK! THEY PLAY THE MARCH IN SAUL! lazy boy), and he shook himself, and said he didn't mind about dressing, or having any breakfast, thank you ; and he saw the soldiers who had come for him. " Lead on ! " he said ; and they led the way, deeply affected; and they came into the courtyard, and out into the square, and there was King Giglio come to take leave of him, anrl his Majesty most kindly shook hands with him, and the gloomy procession marched on : — when hark ! Haw — wurraw — wurraw — aworr ! A roar of wild beasts was heard. And who should come riding into the town, frightening away the boys, and even the beadle and policemen, but Rosalba ! The fact is, that when Captain Hedzoff entered into the court of Snapdragon Castle, and was discoursing with King Padella, the Lions made a dash at the open gate, gobbled up the six beef-eaters BUT THE YOUNG QUEEN RESCUES ALL 321 in a jifiy, and away they went with Rosalba on the back of one of them, and they carried her, turn and turn about, till they came to the city where Prince Giglio's army was encamped. When the King heard of the Queen's arrival, you may think how he rushed out of his breakfast-room to hand her Majesty off her Lion ! The Lions were grown as fat as Pigs now, having eatea Hogginarmo and all those beef-eaters, and were so tame, anybody might pat them. While Giglio knelt (most gracefully) and helped the Princess, Bulbo, for his part, rushed up and kissed the Lion. He iiung his arms round the forest monarch ; he hugged him, and laughed and 322 EISSINGS, HUGGINGS, BILLINGS, COOINGS cried for joy. " you darling old beast, oh, how glad I am to see you, and the dear, dear Bets — that is, Eosalba." " What, is it you 1 poor Bulbo ! " said the Queen. " Oh, how- glad I am to see you ! " and she gave him her hand to kiss. King Giglio slapped him most kindly on the back, and said, " Bulbo, my boy, I am delighted, for your sake, that her Majesty has arrived." "So am I," said Bulbo; "and you hww why." Captain Hedzoflf here came up. " Sire, it is half-past eight : shall we proceed with the execution ? " "Execution ! what for?" asked Bulbo. "An oflficer only knows his orders," replied Captain Hedzoff, showing his warrant, on which his Majesty King Giglio smilingly said, "Prince Bulbo is reprieved this time," and most graciously invited him to breakfast. XVII HOIV A TREMENDOUS BATTLE TOOK PLACE, AND WHO WON IT AS soon as King Padella heard, what we know already, that his victim, the lovely Rosalba, had escaped him, his Majesty's ■ fury knew no bounds, and he pitched the Lord Chancellor, Lord Chamberlain, and every officer of the Crown whom he could set eyes on, into the caldron of boiling oil prepared for the Princess. Then he ordered out his whole army, horse, foot, and artillery ; and set forth at the head of an innumerable host, and I should think twenty thousand drummers, trumpeters, and flfers. King Giglio's advanced guard, you may be sure, kept that monarch acquainted with the enemy's dealings, and he was in no wise disconcerted. He was much too polite to alarm the Princess, his lovely guest, with any unnecessary rumours of battles impend- ing ; on the contrary, he did everything to amuse and divert her ; gave her a most elegant breakfast, dinner, lunch, and got up a ball for her that evening, when he danced with her every single dance. Poor Bulbo was taken into favour again, and allowed to go quite free now. He had new clothes given him, was called " My good cousin " by his Majesty, and was treated with the greatest distinction by everybody. But it was easy to see he was very melancholy. The fact is, the sight of Betsinda, who looked per- fectly lovely in an elegant new dress, set poor Bulbo frantic in love with her again. And he never thought about Angelica, now Princess Bulbo, whom he had left at home, and who, as we know, did not care much about him. The King, dancing the twenty-fifth polka with Rosalba, re- 9 2 H 324. AFTER KISSING, BILLING, COOING, marked with wonder the ring she wore ; and then Rosalba told him how she had got it from Gruffanuff, who no doubt had picked it up when Angelica flung it away. " Yes," says the Fairy Blackstick, who had come to see the young people, and who had very likely certain plans regard- ing them. " That ring I gave the Queen, Giglio's mother, who was not, saving your presence, a very wise woman • it is enchanted, and whoever wears it looks beautiful in the eyes of the world. I made poor Prince Bulbo, when he was christened, the present of a rose which made him look hand- some while he had it ; but he gave it to Angelica, who instantly looked beautiful again, whilst Bulbo relapsed into his natural plainness." " Rosalba needs no ring, I'm sure," says Giglio, with a low bow. " She is beautiful enough, in my eyes, without any en- chanted aid." "0 sir ! " said Rosalba. " Take off the ring and try," said the King, and resolutely drew the ring off her finger. In his eyes she looked just as handsome as before ! The King was thinking of throwing the ring away, as it was so dangerous and made all the people so mad about Rosalba; but being a Prince of great humour, and good-humour too, he cast eyes upon a poor youth who happened to be looking on very dis- consolately, and said — " Bulbo, my poor lad ! come and try on this ring. The Princess Rosalba makes it a present to you." The magic properties of this ring were uncommonly strong, for no sooner had Bulbo put it on, but lo and behold, he appeared a personable, agreeable young Prince enough — with a fine complexion, fair hair, rather stout, and with bandy legs; but these were encased in such a beautiful pair of yellow morocco boots that nobody remarked them. And Bulbo's spirits rose up almost immediately after he had looked in the glass, and he talked to their Majesties in the most lively, agreeable manner, and danced opposite the Queen with one of the prettiest maids of honour, and after looking at her Majesty, could not help saying — " How very odd ! she is very pretty, but not so extraordinarily handsome." " Oh no, by no means ! " says the Maid of Honour. " But what care I, dear sir," says the Queen, who overheard them, "it you think I am good-looking enough 1" Up, sir KING! FOR MISCHIEF'S BREWING ^ 325 His Majesty's glance in reply to this aflfectionate speech was such that no painter could draw it. And the Fairy Blackstick said, " Bless you, my darling chil- dren ! Now you are united and happy ; and now you see what I said from the first, that a little misfortune has done you both good. You, Giglio, had you been bred in prosperity, would scarcely have learned to read or write — you would have been idle and extravagant, and could not have been a good King, as you now will be. You, Rosalba, would have been so flattered, that your little head might have been turned like Angelica's, who thought herself too good for Giglio." "As if anybody could be good enough for him," cried Rosalba. " Oh, you, you darling ! " says Giglio. And so she was ; and he was just holding out his arms in order to give her a hug before the whole company, when a messenger came rushing in, and said, " My lord, the enemy ! " " To arms ! " cries Giglio. " Oh, mercy ! " says Rosalba, and fainted of course. He snatched one kiss from her lips, and rushed forth to the field of battle ! The Fairy had provided King Giglio with a suit of armour, which was not only embroidered all over with jewels, and blinding to your eyes to look at, but was water-proof, gun-proof, and sword-proof; so that in the midst of the very hottest battles his Majesty rode about as calmly as if he had been a British Grenadier at Alma. Were I engaged in fighting for my country, / should like such a suit of armour as Prince Giglio wore ; but, you know, he was a Prince of a fairy tale, and they always have these wonderful things. Besides the fairy armour, the Prince had a fairy horse, which would gallop at any pace you please; and a fairy sword, which would lengthen and run through a whole regiment of enemies at once. With such a weapon at command, I wonder, for my part, he thought of ordering his army out ; but forth they all came, in magnificent new uniforms; Hedzoff and the Prince's two college friends each commanding a division, and his Majesty prancing in person at the head of them all. Ah ! if I had the pen of a Sir Archibald Alison, my dear friends, would I not now entertain you with the account of a most tremendous shindy? Should not fine blows be struck' dreadful wounds be delivered? arrows darken the air? cannon balls crash through the battalions 1 cavalry charge infantry ? infantry pitch into cavalry ? bugles blow j drums beat ; horses 326 TRUMPETS PEALING, CHARGERS PRANCING, neigh ; fifes sing ; soldiers roar, swear, hurray ; officers shout out " Forward, my men ! " " This way, lads ! " " Give it 'em, boys ! " " Fight for King Giglio, and the cause of right ! " " King Padella for ever ! " Would I not describe all this, I say, and in the very finest language too ? But this humble pen does not possess the skiU necessary for the description of combats. In a word, the overthrow of King Padella's army was so complete, that if they had been Russians you could not have wished them to be more utterly smashed and confounded. As for that usurping monarch, having performed acts of valour much more considerable than could be expected of a royal ruffian and usurper, who had such a bad cause, and who was so cruel to women, — as for King Padella, I say, when his army ran away, the King ran away too, kicking his first general. Prince Punchikoff, from his saddle, and galloping away on the Prince's horse, having, indeed, had twenty-five or twenty-six of his own shot under him. Hedzoff coming up, and finding Punchikofi' down, as you may imagine, very speedily disposed of him. Meanwhile King Padella was scampering off as hard as his horse could lay legs to ground. Fast as he scampered, I promise you somebody else galloped faster ; and that individual, as no doubt you are aware, was the royal Giglio, who kept bawling out, " Stay, traitor ! Turn, miscreant, and defend thyself ! Stand, tyrant, coward, ruffian, royal wretch, tOl I cut thy ugly head from thy usurping shoulders ! " And, with his fairy sword, which elongated itself at will, his Majesty kept poking and prodding Padella in the back, until that wicked monarch roared with anguish. When he was fairly brought to bay, Padella turned and dealt Prince Giglio a prodigious crack over the sconce with his battle- axe, a most enormous weapon, which had cut down I don't know how many regiments in the course of the afternoon. But, law bless you ! though the blow fell right down on his Majesty's helmet, it made no more impression than if Padella had struck him with a pat of butter : his battle-axe crumpled up in Padella's hand, and the Royal Giglio laughed for very scorn at the impotent efforts of that atrocious usurper. At the ill success of his blow the Crim Tartar monarch was justly irritated. " If," says he to Giglio, " you ride a fairy horse, and wear fairy armour, what on earth is the use of my hitting you 1 I may as well give myself up a prisoner at once. Your Majesty won't, I suppose, be so mean as to strike a poor fellow who can't strike again ? " STABBING, SLASHING, AXING, LANCING 327 The justice of Padella's remark struck the magnanimous Giglio. "Do you yield yourself a prisoner, Padella?" says he. " Of course I do," says Padella. " Do you acknowledge Rosalba as your rightful Queen, and give up the crown and all your treasures to your rightful mistress ? " "If I must, I must," says Padella, who was naturally very sulky. By this time King Giglio's aides-de-camp had come up, whom his Majesty ordered to bind the prisoner. And they tied his hands behind him, and bound his legs tight under his horse, having set him with his face to the tail ; and in this fashion he was led back to King Giglio's quarters, and thrust into the very dungeon where young Bulbo had been confined. 328 NOW THE DREADFUL BATTLE'S OVER, Padella (who was a very different person in the depth of his distress, to Padella, the proud wearer of the Crira Tartar Crown), now most affectionately and earnestly asked to see his son — his dear eldest boy — his darling Bulbo ; and that good-natured young man never once reproached his haughty parent for his unkind conduct the day before, when he would have left Bulbo to be shot without any pity, but came to see his father, and spoke to him through the grating of the door, beyond which he was not allowed to go ; and brought him some sandwiches from the grand supper which his Majesty was giving above stairs, in honour of the brilliant victory which had just been achieved. " I cannot stay with you long, sir,'' says Bulbo, who was in his best ball dress, as he handed his father in the prog, " I am engaged to dance the next quadrille with her Majesty Queen Rosalba, and I hear the fiddles playing at this very moment." So Bulbo went back to the ball-room, and the wretched Padella ate his solitary supper in silence and tears. All was now joy in King Giglio's circle. Dancing, feasting, fun, illuminations, and jollifications of all sorts ensued. The people through whose villages they passed were ordered to illu- minate their cottages at night, and scatter flowers on the roads during the day. They were requested, and I promise you they did not like to refuse, to serve the troops liberally with eat- ables and wine ; besides, the army was enriched by the immense quantity of plunder which was found in King Padella's camp, and taken from his soldiers ; who (after they had given up everything) were allowed to fraternise with the conquerors ; and the united forces marched back by easy stages towards King Giglio's capital, his royal banner and that of Queen Rosalba being carried in front of the troops. Hedzoff was made a Duke and a Field-Marshal. Smith and Jones were promoted to be Earls; the Grim Tartar Order of the Pumpkin and the Pafla- gonian decoration of the Cucumber were freely distributed by their Majesties to the army. Queen Rosalba wore the Pafla- gonian Riband of the Cucumber across her riding-habit, whilst King Giglio never appeared without the grand Cordon of the Pumpkin. How the people cheered them as they rode along side by side ! They were pronounced to be the handsomest couple ever seen : that was a matter of course ; but they really were very handsome, and, had they been otherwise, would have looked so, they were so happy ! Their Majesties were never separated during the whole day, but breakfasted, dined, and supped ONWARD RIDE THEY, MAID AND LOVER 329 together always, and rode side by side, interchanging elegant com- pliments, and indulging in the most delightful conversation. At night, her Majesty's ladies of honour (who had all rallied round her the day after King Padella's defeat) came and conducted her to the apartments prepared for her ; whilst King Giglio, surrounded by his gentlemen, withdrew to his own Royal quarters. It was agreed they should be married as soon as they reached the capital, and orders were despatched to the Archbishop of Blombodinga, to hold himself in readiness to perform the interesting ceremony. Duke HedzoflF carried the message, and gave instructions to have the Royal Castle splendidly refurnished and painted afresh. The Duke seized Glumboso the Ex-Prime Minister, and made him refund that considerable sum of money which the old scoundrel had secreted out of the late King's treasure. He also clapped Valoroso into prison (who, by the way, had been dethroned for some considerable period past), and when the Ex-Monarch weakly remonstrated, Hedzoff said, "A soldier, sir, knows but his duty; my orders are to lock you up along with the Ex-King Padella, whom I have 330 HERE'S A PEETTY PAIR OF KNAVES brought hither a prisoner under guard." So these two Ex-Royal personages were sent for a year to the House of Correction, and thereafter were obliged to become monks of the severest Order of Flagellants, in which state, by fasting, by vigils, by flogging (which they administered to one another, humbly but resolutely), no doubt they exhibited a repentance for their past misdeeds, usurpations, and private and public crimes. As for Glumboso, that rogue was sent to the galleys, and never had an opportunity to steal any more. XVIII HOIF THEY ALL JOURNEYED BACK TO THE CAPITAL THE Fairy Blackstick, by whose means this young King and Queen had certainly won their respective crowns back, would come not unfrequently, to pay them a little visit — as they were riding in their triumphal progress towards Giglio's capital — change her wand into a pony, and travel by their Majesties' side, giving them the very best advice. I am not sure that King Giglio did not think the Fairy and her advice rather a bore, fancying it was his own valour and merits which had put him on his throne, and conquered Padella : and, in fine, I fear he rather gave himself airs towards his best friend and patroness. She exhorted him to deal justly by his subjects, to draw mildly on the taxes, never to break his promise when he had once given it — and in all respects to be a good King. " A good King, my dear Fairy ! " cries Kosalba. " Of course he will. Ereak his promise ! can you fancy my Giglio would ever do anything so improper, so imlike him 1 No ! never ! " And she looked fondly towards Giglio, whom she thought a pattern of perfection. " Why is Fairy Blackstick always advising me, and telling me how to manage my government, and warning me to keep my word ? Does she suppose that I am not a man of sense, and a man of honour?" asks Giglio testily. "Methinks she rather presumes upon her position." " Hush ! dear Giglio," says Rosalba. " You know Blackstick has been very kind to us, and we must not offend her." But the Fairy was not listening to Giglio's testy observations, she had 332 BULBO NOW IS HAPPY QUITE fallen back, and was trotting on her pony now, by Master Bulbo's side — who rode a donkey, and made himself generally beloved in the army by his cheerfulness, kindness, and good-humour to every- body. He was eager to see his darling Angelica. He thought there never was such a charming being. Blackstick did not tell him it was the possession of the magic rose that made Angelica so lovely in his eyes. She brought him the very best accounts of his little wife, whose misfortunes and humiliations had indeed very greatly improved her; and you see, she could whisk off on MADAME GRUFF DEMANDS HER RIGHT 333 her wand a hundred miles in a minute, and be back in no time, and so carry polite messages from Bulbo to Angelica, and from Angelica to Bulbo, and comfort that young man upon his journey. When the Royal party arrived at the last stage before you reach Blombodinga, who should be in waiting, in her carriage there with her lady of honour by her side, but the Princess Angelica ! She rushed into her husband's arms, scarcely stopping to make a passing curtsey to the King and Queen. She had no eyes but for Bulbo, who appeared perfectly lovely to her on account of the fairy ring which he wore ; whilst she herself, wear- ing the magic rose in her bonnet, seemed entirely beautiful to the enraptured Bulbo. A splendid luncheon was served to the Royal party, of which the Archbishop, the Chancellor, the Duke Hedzoif, Countess Gruff- anuff, and all our friends partook. The Fairy Blackstick being seated on the left of King Giglio, with Bulbo and Angelica beside. You could hear the joy-bells ringing in the capital, and the guns which the citizens were firing off in honour of their Majesties. " What can have induced that hideous old Gruffanuff to dress herself up in such an absurd way 1 Did you ask her to be your bridesmaid, my dear'!" says Giglio to Rosalba. "What a figure of fun Gruffy is ! " Grufi'y was seated opposite their Majesties, between the Arch- bishop and the Lord Chancellor, and a figure of fun she certainly was, for she was dressed in a low white silk dress, with lace over, a wreath of white roses on her wig, a splendid lace veil, and her yellow old neck was covered with diamonds. She ogled the King in such a manner, that his Majesty burst out laughing. " Eleven o'clock ! " cries Giglio, as the great Cathedral bell of Blombodinga tolled that hour. "Gentlemen and ladies, we must be starting. Archbishop, you must be at church I think before twelve 1 " " We must be at church before twelve," sighs out Gruffanuff in a languishing voice, hiding her old face behind her fan. "And then I shall be the happiest man in my dominions," cries Giglio, with an elegant bow to the blushing Rosalba. "0 my Giglio! my dear Majesty!" exclaims Gruffanuff; " and can it be that this happy moment at length has arrived " " Of course it has arrived," says the King. — "And that I am about to become the enraptured bride of my adored Giglio ! " continues Gruffanuff. " Lend me a smelling- bottle, somebody. I certainly shall faint with joy." 334 GIGLIO SHOWS EXTREME DISGUST " You my bride ? " roars out Giglio. " Yoii marry my Prince ?" cries poor little Rosalba. " Pooh ! Nonsense ! The woman's mad ! " exclaims the King. And all the courtiers exhibited by their countenances and expressions, marks of surprise, or ridicule, or incredulity, or wonder. " I should like to know who else is going to be married, if I am not?" shrieks out Gruifanuff. "I should like to know if King Giglio is a gentleman, and if there is such a thing as justice in Paflagonia 1 Lord Chancellor ! my Lord Archbishop ! will your Lordships sit by and see a poor, fond, confiding, tender creature put upon? Has not Prince Giglio promised to marry his Barbara? Is not this Giglio's signature? Does not this paper declare that he is mine, and only mine?" And she handed to his Grace the Archbishop the document which the Prince signed that evening when she wore the magic ring, and Giglio drank so much champagne. And the old Archbishop, taking out his eye- glasses, read — " ' This is to give notice, that I, Giglio, only son of Savio, King of Paflagonia, hereby promise to marry the charming Barbara Griselda, Countess Oruffannff, and widow of the late Jenkins Grvffanuff, Esq.' " H'm,'' says the Archbishop, " the document is certainly a — a document." " Phoo ! " says the Lord Chancellor, " the signature is not in his Majesty's handwriting." Indeed, since his studies at Bosforo, Giglio had made an immense improvement in caligraphy. " Is it your handwriting, Giglio ? " cries the Fairy Blackstick, with an awful severity of countenance. " Y — y — y — es," poor Giglio gasps out, " I had quite forgotten the confounded paper : she can't mean to hold me by it. You old wretch, what wiU you take to let me off? Help the Queen, some one — her Majesty has fainted." " Chop her head off ! " j exclaim the impetuous Hed- " Smother the old witch ! " v zoff, the ardent Smith, and " Pitch her into the river ! " ) the faithful Jones. But Gruffanuff flung her arms round the Archbishop's neck, and bellowed out, " Justice, justice, my Lord Chancellor ! " so loudly, that her piercing shrieks caused everybody to pause. As for Rosalba, she was borne away lifeless by her ladies ; and you SAYS HE WON'T, BUT KNOWS HE MUST 335 may imagine the look of agony which Giglio cast towards that lovely being, as his hope, his joy, his darling, his all in all, was thus removed, and in her place the horrid old Gruffanuff rushed up to his side, and once more shrieked out, " Justice, justice ! " " Won't you take that sum of money which Glumboso hid ? " says Gigho : " two hundred and eighteen thousand millions, or thereabouts. It's a handsome sum." " I will have that and you too ! " says GrufifanufF. " Let us throw the crown jewels into the bargain," gasps out Giglio. " I will wear them by my Giglio's side ! " says GrufianufiF. "Will half, three-quarters, five-sixths, nineteen-twentieths, of my kingdom do, Countess ? " asks the trembling monarch. " What were all Europe to me without ymi, my Giglio ? " cries Gruff, kissing his hand. " I won't, I can't, I shan't, — I'll resign the crown first," shouts Giglio, tearing away his hand ; but Gruff clung to it. "I have a competency, my love," she says, "and with thee and a cottage thy Barbara will Ije happy." Giglio was half mad with rage by this time. "I will not marry her," says he. " Fairy, Fairy, give me counsel ? " And as he spoke he looked wildly round at the severe face of the Fairy Blackstick. " ' Why is Fairy Blackstick always advising me, and warning me to keep my word % Does she suppose that I am not a man of honour ? ' " said the Fairy, quoting Giglio's own haughty words. He quailed under the brightness of her eyes ; he felt that there was no escape for him from that awful inquisition. "Well, Archbishop," said he, in a dreadful voice that made his Grace start, "since this Fairy has led me to the height of happiness but to dash me down into the depths of despair, since I am to lose Rosalba, let me at least keep my honour. Get up. Countess, and let us be married ; I can keep my word, but I can die afterwards." " dear Giglio,'' cries Gruffanuff, skipping up, "I knew, I knew I could trust thee — I knew that my prince was the soul of honour. Jump into yoiu: carriages, ladies and gentlemen, and let us go to church at once; and as for dying, dear Giglio, no, no : — thou wUt forget that insignificant little chambermaid of a queen — thou wilt live to be consoled by thy Barbara ! She wishes to be a Queen, and not a Queen Dowager, my gracious Lord ! " And hanging upon poor Giglio's arm, and leering and grinning in his face in the most disgusting manner, this old wretch tripped off in her white satin shoes, and jumped into 336 GRUFFY! 'TWIXT THE CUP AND THE LIP, the very carriage which had been got ready to convey Giglio and Rosalba to church. The cannons roared again, the bells pealed triple-bobmajors, the people came out flinging flowers upon the path of the royal bride and bridegroom, and Gruff looked out of the gilt coach window and bowed and grinned to them. Phoo ! the horrid old wretch ! XIX AND NOir WE COME TO THE LAST SCENE IN THE PANTOMIME THE many ups and downs of her life had given the Princess Rosalba prodigious strength of mind, and that highly prin- cipled young woman presently recovered from her fainting- fit, out of which Fairy Blackstick, by a precious essence which the Fairy always carried in her pocket, awakened her. Instead of tearing her hair, crying, and bemoaning herself, and fainting again, as many young women would have done, Rosalba remembered that she owed an example of firmness to her subjects ; and though she loved Giglio more than her life, was determined, as she told the Fairy, not to interfere between him and justice, or to cause him to break his royal word. " I cannot marry him, but I shall love him always, says she to Blackstick ; " I will go and be present at his marriage with the Countess, and sign the book, and wish them happy with all my heart I wiU see, when I get home, whether I cannot make the new Queen some handsome presents. The Grim Tartary crown diamonds are uncommonly fine, and I shall never have any use for them. I will live and die unmarried like Queen Elizabeth, and, of course, I shaU leave my crown to Giglio when I quit this world. Let us go and see them married, my dear Fairy, let me say one last fareweU to him; and then, if you please, I will return to my own dominions." 338 PLANS OF ROGUES ARE OFTEN CROST, So the Fairy kissed Rosalba with peculiar tenderness, and at once changed her wand into a very comfortable coach-and-four, with a steady coachman, and two respectable footmen behind, and the Fairy and Rosalba got into the coach, which Angelica and Bulbo entered after them. As for honest Bulbo, he was blubbering in the most pathetic manner, quite overcome by Rosalba's misfortune. She was touched by the honest fellow's sympathy, promised to restore to him the confiscated estates of Duke Padella his father, and created him, as he sat there in the coach. Prince, Highness, and First Grandee of the Crim Tartar Empire. The coach moved on, and, being a fairy coach, soon came up with the bridal procession. Before the ceremony at church it was the custom in Pafla- gonia, as it is in other countries, for the bride and bridegroom to sign the Contract of Marriage, which was to be witnessed by the Chancellor, Minister, Lord Mayor, and principal officers of state. Now, as the royal palace was being painted and furnished anew, it was not ready for the reception of the King and his bride, who proposed at first to take up their residence at the Prince's palace, that one which Valoroso occupied when Angelica was bom, and before he usurped the throne. So the marriage party drove up to the palace : the dignitaries got out of their carriages and stood aside : poor Rosalba stepped out of her coach, supported by Bulbo, and stood almost fainting up against the railings so as to have a last look of her dear GigKo. As for Blackstick, she, according to her custom, had flown out of the coach window in some inscrutable manner, and was now standing at the palace door. Giglio came up the steps with his horrible bride on his arm, looking as pale as if he was going to execution. He only frowned at the Fairy Blackstick — he was angry with her, and thought she came to insult his misery. " Get out of the way, pray," says Gruffanuff haughtUy. " I wonder why you are always poking your nose into other people's affairs?" " Are you determined to make this poor young man unhappy ? " says Blackstick. " To marry him, yes ! What business is it of yours 1 Pray, madam, don't say 'you' to a Queen," cries Gruffanuff. GEUFFY'S HUSBAND'S WON AND LOST .'J39 " You won't take the money he offered you ? " " No." "You won't let him off his bargain, though you know you cheated him when you made hira sign the paper 1" " Impudence ! Policemen, remove this woman ! " cries Gruff- anuff. And the policemen were rushing forward, but with a wave of her wand, the Fairy struck them all like so many statues in their places. "You won't take anything in exchange for your bond, Mrs. Gruffanuff," cries the Fairy, with awful severity. "I speak for the last time." " No ! " shrieks Gruflfanuff, stamping with her foot. " I'll have my hu.sband, my husband, my husband ! " " You Shall have youe Husbaijd ! " the Fairy Blackstick cried ; and advancing a step, laid her hand upon the nose of the Knocker. As she touched it, the brass nose seemed to elongate, the open mouth opened still wider, and uttered a roar which made everybody start. The eyes rolled wildly; the arms and legs uncurled themselves, writhed about, and seemed to lengthen with each twist ; the knocker expanded into a figure in yellow livery, six feet high ; the screws by which it was fixed to the door unloosed themselves, and Jenkins Gruffanuff once more trod the threshold off which he had been lifted more than twenty years ago ! " Master's not at home,'' says Jenkins, just in his old voice ; and Mrs. Jenkins, giving a dreadful youp^ fell down in a fit, in which nobody minded her. For everybody was shouting, " Huzzay ! huzzay ! " " Hip, hip, hurray ! " " Long live the King and Queen ! " " Were such things ever seen ? " " No, never, never, never ! " " The Fairy Blackstick for ever ! " The bells were ringing double peals, the guns roaring and banging most prodigiously. Bulbo was embracing everybody ; the Lord Chancellor was flinging up his vrig and shouting like a madman ; Hedzoff had got the Archbishop round the waist, and they were dancing a jig for Joy ; and as for Giglio, I leave you to imagine what he was doing, and if he kissed Rosalba once, twice — twenty thousand timxs, I'm sure I don't think he was wrong. 340 SO OUR LITTLE STORY ENDS MERRY CHRISTMAS, GOOD MY FRIENDS So Gruflfanuff opened the hall door with a low bow, just as hei had been accustomed to do, and they all went in and signed the book, and then they went to church and were married, and the Fairy Blackstick sailed away on her cane, and was never more heard of in Paflagonia. AND HERE ENDS THE FIRESIDE PANTOMIME Cornell University Library PR5611.C55 1898 The Christmas books of Mr. M.A. Titcnarsh 3 1924 013 562 214 "tin c^ "^ #t^ ''^^^ 4?^ '"T 0-' '^^ il ' I ilk I #1^^ «