READING A POEM V/ILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY Class _lEE_5X_ir( Bnolc 7 R g 5 COPyRIGHT DEPOSIT. 14: This is one of an edition of Two Hundred Copies, printed August, 1903, of which this is READING A POEM \A/VA./jkc,J-^^' .--! READING A POEM BY WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY NEW YORK A. WESSELS COMPANY 1903 7 / i 4 « ■ Copyrighted, 1903 A. Wessbls Company New York Printed August, 1903 DNIVERSITT PRESS • JOHN WILSON AND SON • CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A. NOTE ON the first of May, 1841, " Reading a Poem " began its appearance in the pages of " The Britannia," a weekly paper long since come to an end. It was issued under the title of " Loose Sketches," which was probably intended to apply to a series of similar tales. It was first reprinted by Charles Plumptre Johnson, among the Opuscula of " The Sette of Odd Volumes," London, May, 1891, fifty years after its first publication, and a limited edition was re- printed in 1897 by Mr. De Vinne. It is certain that this characteristic sketch had never been reprinted until its issue in the Opuscula of " The Sette of Odd Volumes," and that its orig- inal appearance has never been recorded, though it was specifically stated to be by " Mr. Michael An- gelo Titmarsh." Having regard to this, to the characteristic style and subject, to the familiar references to " Sir Edward " and Dickens, and the reappear- ance of the ever-welcome Yellowplush, and to Thackeray's rising popularity at that time, — when " The Paris Sketch Book " and " Comic Tales and NOTE Sketches " had both appeared in volume form, — it seems inexplicable that the sketch should have been so completely lost sight of. It is from a copy of " The Odd Volumes " re- print that the text for this issue is taken. The Opuscula of " The Sette of Odd Volumes," which now number nearly one hundred, dealing with as many different subjects, are among the rarest treasures of the collector of English pri- vately printed books. It is the prototype of the Club of Odd Volumes of Boston, the publications of which are as eagerly coveted by the collector of American privately printed books. It may not, therefore, be out of place, since we owe the resuscitation of Thackeray's jeu d'esprit to " The Sette," to give here a brief account of this unique Society. It was founded a quarter of a century ago when the late Bernard Quaritch, "the first Bookseller of Europe," as he was called, gathered about him a few congenial souls, all of them "born with the book-mark." They were in the habit of meeting informally at lunch every day in a quaint, old-fash- ioned London chop-house, and it was Quaritch who first suggested their forming the nucleus of a club. With twenty-one members, all of them be- lievers in the doctrine that "what the Publisher vi NOTE hath joined together no man should put asunder," the club was formed — the number of twenty-one being decided on because that is the number of tlie volumes in The Variorum Shakspere of 1821. The " Odd Volumes were to be united once a month to make a perfect Sette," the purpose of the union being conviviality and mutual admiration. But it has not degenerated into a merely convivial gathering, for at every meeting some member makes a literary, scientific, or artistic contribution to it, and these are privately printed for distribu- tion among the members and their friends in an attractive and artistic formdU which, although common to all, admits of distinctiveness and indi- viduality in the characteristics of each. They in- clude several important original contributions, as well as many re-presentations of forgotten works of merit or of curiosity. The rules and the procedure of the club are original and amusing. The Horatian motto, " Dulce est desipere en loco," is thus construed : Dulce — Delightful says the poet. Est — Is it ; right well we know it. Desipere — To play the fool. In loco — When we 're out of school. " Each odd volume pays on admission three- odd pounds and three-odd shillings ; the future annual subscription to be one-odd pound, eleven- odd shillings and sixpence, to be paid in advance. vii NOTE " No odd volume is allowed to talk unasked on any subject he understands. Discussions about anthropology, religion, and politics shall be put down by the president at liis pleasure. " Any odd volume losing his temper and failing to recover it is to be fined by the president the sum of five shillings. " No odd volume's speech shall last longer than three minutes ; if, however, the inspired 0. V. has any more to say, he may proceed until his voice is drowned in the general applause." Another rule is : " Any O. V. giving to another unasked advice shall be fined five shillings." Every odd volume wears a badge and the officers quite an imposing regalia at the monthly dinners, which are charming and stimulating combinations of the grave and gay, the lively and severe. A collection of the menus of the dinners eaten by the O. V.'s, as they call themselves, would be a valuable art gallery, nearly every artist of note having fur- nished designs for them ; and much wit is often displayed in the quotations and allusions which are interspersed. When dinner is served the president raps on the table with his gavel, and gravely pro- nounces the words, " Incipit felicita coena." When it is over he as gravely says, " Explicit coenum." During dinner there is much ceremonious health- drinking, and all the wit and wisdom of the Sette has unbounded play. The reading of the minutes viii NOTE of the last meeting, which are always conceived in a strain of " pretty wit," and the introduction of the guests give plenty of opportunity for fun and banter. When the reading of the paper of the evening, contributed by one of the members, to a liberal accompaniment of pipes and cigars and other digestives is over music and revelry are the order of the night. This quaint and curious dining club has enter- tained at its monthly dinners all the men famous in literature, science, and art by the attraction of cohesion — for its members are each of them men who are entitled to distinction in one or the other. To mention a tithe of these guests whose names are household words would fill a small volume, and prominent men from every quarter of the globe have been entertained by '* The Sette of Odd Volumes." Some very famous dinners have been given by the Sette. On one occasion the entire menu was in Chinese, in honor of some distin- guished visitors from the Celestial City. Then was heard a Chinaman replying to a toast in per- fect English, and an Englishman scarcely able to speak in his own tongue, having lived so long in a remote district in China. But to return to the constitution of the Sette. Each odd volume has a title which bears some re- lation either to his occupation, his profession or to his favorite hobby. Quaritch was perpetual libra- ix NOTE lian to the Sette, which has its herald, historio- grapher, typographer, attorney general, stationer, antiquary, alchemist, art critic, necromancer, chap- man, bard, parodist, bibliographer, rhymer, pilgrim, leech, apothecary, etc. The membership of twenty-one was speedily completed, and the Sette now consists of twenty- one volumes and twenty-one supplemental volumes. As death creates a vacancy in the former, the oldest su2:)plemental becomes an original, and thus the way is made for the admission of new blood into the Sette. EEADING A POEM By MR. MICHAEL ANGELO TITMARSH IN TWO PARTS List of Characters LoBD Daudley, the Earl of Bagwig^s eldest son, a worshipper of the Muses ; in a dressing-gown, with his shirt collars turned down. Mb. Bogle, the celebrated publisher; in a pub- lisher's costume of deep black. Mr. Bludyer, an English gentleman of the press ; Editor of the " Weekly Bravo'' ; green coat, red velvet waistcoat, dirty blue satin cravat, dirty trousers, dirty boots} 1 This actor should smell very much of stale smoke, and need not shave for two or three days before performing the part. 1 1 LIST OF CHARACTERS Mr. Dishwash, an English gentleman of the press ; Editor of the " Oastalian Magazine" ; very neaty in black, and a diamond pin. Mr. Yellowplush, my lord's body servant; in an elegant livery. Voices without. The door-bell. Nicholas, my lord's tiger. The Scene is Lord Daudley's drawing-room in the Albany. PART ONE The door-hell (timidly). Ting, ting. YELLOWPLUSH (in an arm-chair before the fire reading the " Morn- ing Post^^). "Yesterday, at St. George's Church, Hanover Square, by the Lord Bishop of Lawn, the Lord John Fitzwhiskers, to Amelia Frances Annabel, the lovely and accomplished daughter of Samuel Botts, Esq., of Port- land Place. After an elegant dejeune at Lord Tuf ton's mansion in Cavendish Square, the happy pair set off — " The door-hell. Ring, ting, ting. Yellowplush. Where 's that hidle Nicholas ? The bell 's been going it these ten minutes, and distubbing me at my studies. — "The happy pair set READING A POEM off for a tour on the continent, and in- tend, we hear, to pass the carivan — no, the carnival at Naples." And a pretty junny they'll have of it! Winter — iniondations at Lyons ; four mortial days on board the steamboat! I've been the trip myself, and was half froze on the rumble. Luckily Madamselle Leocadie, my lady's maid, was with me, and so we kep' warm, but — The door-hell. Ring-aring-ring-ring. Yellowplush {in a voice of thunder). Nicholas, you lazy young raggymuffian! do you hear the bell? Do you want to wake my lord? Nicholas {without). This way, sir, if you please. DiSHWASH {entering) . Thank you, Nich- olas ; I am afraid I disturbed you. Never mind, I 've not been there long. Thank you; just put my galoshes to the fire, will you, like a good lad? for it's bad wet weather. 4 READING A POEM Yellowplush. 0! it's only one of them littery chaps; I wonder how my lord can have to do with such. Let us go on with the news. — " On Thursday, Mr. F. Hogawn, of Peckham Rye, to Mary Jane, daughter of John Rudge, Esq., of the same place." Why can they put such stuff in a genteel newspaper? Is that you, Mr. Dish wash? Pray do you come by appointment? My lord ain't up yet, but you may as well set down. There 's yesterday's paper some- where about. DiSHWASH. Thank you, Yellowplush; and how goes it, my fine fellow; any more memoirs, eh? Send me the proofs, nay boy, and you shan't want for a good word, you know. Yellowplush {pacified). Thank you, in return; and here's to-day's "Post." I 've quite done with it; indeed, my lord has kep' me here this half hour a por- ing over it. I took him his pens, ink, and chocklate at eleven; and I b'lieve 5 BEADING A POEM he's composing something in his warm bath. DiSHWASH. Up late, I suppose? There were three great parties, I know, last night. Yellowplush {aside). How the juice should he know I DiSHWASH. Where was he, now? Come, tell me. Was it at Lord Doldrum's or the Duke's? Lady Smigsmag had a small conversazione, and very select, too, where I had the honour to pass the even- ing, and all the world was on the lookout for the famous Lord Daudley, who had promised to come and read us some of his poems. Yellowplush. His poems! his gam- min! Since Lord Byrom's time, cuss me if the whole aristoxy has not gone poetry-mad, and writes away like so many common press men. What the juice do they write for? they can't do it half so well as the reg'lar hacks at the business. 6 READING A POEM DiSHWASH. 0, you flatter us, Yellow- plush, that you do. Yellowplush. I say they canH do it as well; and why do they go on? TJiey don't want money, as you and I do, Mr. What 's-your-name — Mr. Dish wash. I suppose you only write for money, do you? If you were a gentleman, now, confess, would you ever put pen to paper! I would n't, I know. But there 's my lord's bell, and so you can just look over the junnal till I return. We made a pretty good speech in the House of Commons last night, as you will see. \_Exit. DiSHWASH. Vulgar, low-bred upstart! That creature, now, has all the vices of the aristocracy, without their virtues. He has no idea of the merit, the dignity of a man of letters, and talks of our divine calling as a trade, and dares to treat me, a poet and a man of letters, on a footing of equality. Ah, for the time when men of our profession shall 7 READING A POEM take their rank with the foremost in the land, and the great repubUc of genius shall be established. I feel it in my heart — the world demands a republic; genius will never prosper without it! All men are equal, and we, above all, ought to be the equals of the highest, and here am I spoken to, familiarly, by a lackey! I, who am — Bludyer {ivlio has entered with his hat on during Dishwash's speech^ and slaps the latter on the shoulder) . You are very little better. Confess, now, old buck, was n't your mother a washerwoman, and your father a linendraper's clerk I DiSHWASH. No! It's a calumny, Blud- yer, — a base falsehood. Bludyer. Well, then, what are they! DiSHWASH {sulkily). What's that to you? Bludyer. There, now, you great noodle, you. You calumniate your own parents more than any one else does, by being ashamed of their calling, whatever it 8 READING A POEM may be. Be a man, now, and don't affect this extra gentility, which all the world laughs at. Be a man, and act like me ! Do you suppose / care who knows my birth and parentage? No, hang it; anybody may have the history of Jack Bludyer. He doesn't go sneaking and cringing to tea parties; he^s no milk- sop. Jack Bludyer, I tell you, can drink seven bottles of claret at a sitting, and twice as many glasses of whiskey-and- water. I 've no pride, and no humil- ity, either — I don't care to own it. I back myself, look you, Dishwash, and don't give the wall to the first man in Europe. Dishwash. I wonder what brings you here, then, my good fellow I Bludyer. The same thing that brings you — interest, my fine fellow, and worthy Dishwash; not friendship. I don't care a straw for any man alive ; no more do you, although you are so sentimental. I think you a fool about many matters — 9 READING A P E 31 don't think you such a fool as to admire Daudley's poems. DiSHWASH {loohing round timidly) . He ! he! he! Why, between ourselves, they are not first-rate ; and entre nous, I know who wrote the best part of them. There 's not a single passage in the " Death-knell ; or the Lay to Laura," that 's worth read- ing, but, between ourselves, I wrote it. Don't peach, now; — don't betray me. Bludyee. Betray youf There 's not a single passage in the ' ' Death-knell ; or the Lay to Laura," that's worth two- pence, but /wrote it. You — you 've as much strength as milk-and-water, and as much originality as a looking-glass. You write poetry, indeed! You don't drink a bottle of wine in a year. Hang me if I believe you were ever drunk in your life. DiSHWASH. I don't profess to believe, my good sir, that drunkenness is an essen- tial poetic qualification, or that Helicon is gin-and-water — he, he! and if ever 10 READING A POEM you had read my little book of " Violets," you might have found that out. Bludyee. Violets be hanged! I say juniper-berries. Give me a good vigorous style, and none of your namby-pamby milk-and-water. Do you ever read my paper! If you want to see what power is, look at that. DiSHWASH. Indeed. The fact is, I never do read it. Bludyer. Well, you 're right, you 're right. I never read anything but what I'm forced to read, especially if it's written by my friends. I like to think well of them, Dishwash, and always con- sidered you a clever fellow, till I read that absurd ode of yours about a heliotrope. Dishwash. It 's quite as good as your ballad in last Sunday's "Bravo"; and my poor article in the " Castalian " is, I am sure, as strong as yours. Bludyee. Oh, you Imve read the "Bravo," have you? What a fool I am, Dishwash, — a great, raw, silly fool. 11 READING A POEM Upon my word and honour, I believed you what you said; but it will be a lesson to me, and I won't, my boy, do so again. DisHWASH. Insufferable coarseness ! How goes the "Bravo," Bludyer? Bludyek. We 're at 3,500. 1 don't ask you to credit my word, but look at the stamps. DiSHWASH. Your advertisements pretty good? Bludyer. For six months they made a conspiracy against us in the Row ; but we beat 'em. You of the " Castalian," I know, go on the puffing plan: we are a new paper, and take the tomahawking line. I tell you, sir, we 've beat the book- sellers, and they are all flocking to us. Last week I attacked a new book of Fogle's so severely — a very good book, too, it was — very well and carefully done, by a scholar and a clever man. Well, sir, I belaboured the book so, that Fogle came down to our place with tears 12 READING A POEM in his eyes, and a whole bundle of ad- vertisements, and cried ^^ Peccavi.^^ The abuse of that book will be worth £300 a year to the "Bravo." But what is gratitude? If I, who have done our pro- prietors that service, get a five-pound note for my share, it is all I can look for. What rascals publishers are, hey, Dish wash? — Are we to be kept here for ever? How long have you been waiting? DiSHWASH. Why, a quarter of an hour, or may be longer. Bludyee. That's the way with you all. You cringe to these aristocrats. Curse them; take them by the horns, and be a man. You have waited an hour ; see, now, how Daudley will admit me. (Me. Bludyee kicks against the panels of Loed Daudley's bedroom door, and shouts.) Hallo! Daudley — Lord Daudley; don't keep me here all day! I 've got some proofs of the " Bravo " to read to you, and can't wait. 13 READING A POEM Yellowplush {putting his nose out). You can't come in ; my lord 's in his bath. Bludyer (through the door). Well, I 'm off, then ; and, by Jupiter, my lord, look to yourself. Yellowplush. My lord says that, if you don't mind seeing him in his dishybeel, you may come in to him, Mr. Bludyer. Bludyer {to Dishwash). There, spooney! didn't I tell you so? Dishwash. Use a little more gentle- manly language, Mr. Bludyer, if you please. Bludyer. G-entlemanly language? Hang it, sir, do you mean I 'm no gentle- man? Say so again, and I '11 pull your nose. Yellowplush. My lord 's waiting, Mr. Bludyer. [ They go in. Dishwash. I wonder whether he would pull my nose, now — the great, coarse, vulgar, gin-drinking monster ! It is those men who are a disgrace to our profes- 14 READING A POEM sion; and, with all his affectation of in- dependence and bluntness, I know that man to be as servile a sycophant as crawls. Oh, for a little honesty in this world; and oh, that the man of letters would understand the dignity of his pro Nicholas (tvitJiout). Mr. Bogle. Enter Mr. Bogle. Mr. Bogle. My appointment's at eleven, and tell his lordship I must see his lordship soon, if he can make it con- venient. I've fourteen other calls to make on the tip-top people of the town. Ha! Dish., how are you? I've fourteen other calls — fourteen volumes of poems, by fourteen dukes, duchesses, and so on, down to baronets; but they're common now, Dish., quite common. Why, sir, a few years ago I could sell an edition with a baronet's name to it; and now the public won't have anything under an earl. Fact, upon honour ! — and how goes on the " Castilian," hey. Dish wash? READING A POEM DiSHWASH. The " Castalian,^^ Mr. Bogle — he, he ! You sell books, but you don't read them, I fancy I Bogle. No more I do, my boy — no such fool ; I keep a man to read them — one of your fellows. DiSHWASH (sneeringly). O, yes — Did- dle ; I know your man well enough. Bogle. Well, sir! I pay Mr. Diddle three hundred a-year, and you don't fancy I would be such a flat as to read my books when I have a man of his experience in my establishment. Have you anything to say against Mr. Diddle, sir? DiSHWASH. Not a syllable; he is not exactly a genius — he, he ! — but I believe he is a very estimable man. Bogle. Well, I tell you, then, that he has a great deal to say against you. Your magazine is not strong enough in its language, sir. Our books have not their fair chance, sir. You gave Fogle's house three columns last week, and us 16 READING A POEM only two. I '11 withdraw my advertise- ments if this kind of game continues, and carry them over to the " Aperian." DiSHWASH. The " Pierian " ! Why, our sale is double theirs. Bogle. I don't care ! I '11 have my books properly reviewed, or else I'll withdraw my ads. Four hundred a-year, Mr. Dishwash ; take 'em or leave 'em, as you like, sir. But my house is not going to be sacrificed for Fogle's. No, no. Dishwash. My dear good sir, what in conscience can you want now? I said that Lady Laura Lippet's " Grleanings of Fantasy" were gorgeous lucubrations of divine intellect, and that the young poetess had decked her brow with that immortal wreath which Sappho bore of yore. I said that no novelist since the days of Walter Scott had ever produced so divine a composition as Countess Swanquil's " Amarantha." I said that Lord Cutthrust's account of the mili- tary operations at Wormwood Scrubs 2 17 READING A POEM was written with the iron pen of a Tacitus. Bogle. I believe you, it was written well. Diddle himself wrote the whole book. DiSHWASH. And because Fogle's house published a remarkable work, really now a remarkable history, that must have taken the author ten years of labour — Bogle. Don't "remarkable history" me, sir. You praise all Fogle's books. Hark ye, Dishwash, you praise so much and so profusely, that no one cares a straw for your opinions. You must abuse, sir; look at Bludyer, now — the " Bravo '"s the paper for my money. See what he says about the famous his- tory that you talk of {tahes out a paper and reads): "Senseless trash; stupid donkey; absurd ignoramus; disgusting twaddle; " and disposes of the whole in a few lines — that's the way to crush a book, sir. 18 READING A POEM DiSHWASH. Well, well, I will abuse some poor devil to please you. But you know if I am severe on one house, I must be so on another. I can't praise all your books and abuse all Fogle's. Bogle. Of course not, of course not; fair's the word; and I'll give you a list now of some of my books which you may attack to your heart's content. Here — here 's a history, two poems, a volume of travels, and an essay on population. DiSHWASH. He, he, he! I suppose you publish these books on the author^ s account, hey? Bogle. Get along, you sly dog ! What ! you know that do you I You don't sup- pose I am such a fool as to cry out against my own property. No, no ; leave Tom Bogle alone. DiSHWASH. Well, I suppose you are here about Lord Daudley's new volume? Bogle. "Passion-Flowers!" there's a title! there 's no man in England can invent a title like my friend Diddle. 19 READING A POEM " Passion-Flowers, by the Lord Daudley, with twenty illustrations on steel; " let my lord put his name to it, and I'd make my fortune, sir. It 's nothing ; he can get anybody to do the book; you could knock it off yourself, Mr. Dish- wash, in a month, for I Ve heard Diddle say that you 've a real talent that way. DiSHWASH. Did he now, really! that Diddle 's a clever fellow. Bogle {musing). Twenty plates — red velvet binding — four thousand pounds. Yes, I could give my lord eight hundred pounds for that book. I '11 give it him for his name ; I don't want him to write a word of it. DiSHWASH. No, no, of course; you and I know that it must be done by one of us. Well, now, suppose, under the rose, that I undertake the work I Bogle. Well, I have no objection; I told you what Diddle said. DiSHWASH. And about the terms, ay, Bogle I 20 READING A POEM Bogle. Why, though there are half- a-dozen men about my place who could turn out the work famously, yet I should like to employ you, as Diddle says you are a clever man. My terms shall be liberal. Yes, let me see, I '11 give you, for seventy short poems, mere trifles, you know — DiSHWASH. A short poem often re- quires a deal of labour, Mr. Bogle. Look at my " Violets " ; now, there 's a sonnet in that book dedicated to Lady Titterton, whom Sultan Mahmoud fell in love with, which took me six weeks' time. You must remember it; it runs so: — " As 't is his usage in the summer daily, Impelled by fifty Moslemitish oars, With crescent banners floating at the mast, And loyal cannon shouting from the shores, The great Commander of the Faithful past Towards his pleasure-house at Soujout Kal6. Why turns the imperial cheek so ashy pale ? ' ' Bogle. O, never mind your verses. You literary men are always talking of 21 READING A POEM your shop ; nothing is so vulgar, my good fellow, and so listen to me. Will you write the " Passion-Flowers, " or will you not? If you choose to do me seventy- two sets of verses (the time is your look, you know, not mine), I'll give you six- and-thirty guineas. DiSHWASH. Six-and-thirty guineas ! Bogle. In bills at one, two, and three years. There are my terms — take 'em or leave 'em. Yellowplush {entering). Gentlemen, My Lord. Lord Daudley and Bludyer enter. Daudley. Charles, get some soda-water for Mr. Bludyer. Bludyer. And some sherry, Charles. I was as drunk as a lord last night. Daudley. Bludyer, you compliment the aristocracy. DiSHWASH. Ha, ha, ha! Very good, isn't it, Bogle I 22 READING A POEM Bogle. Is it? yes! ha, ha, ha! cap'tal. Bludyer. Not so bad, Daudley: for a lord you are really a clever fellow. I don't say it to flatter you — no, hang me ! I flatter nobody, and hate the aristoc- racy; but you are a clever fellow. DiSHWASH. It is a comfort to have Mr. Bludyer' s word for it, at any rate; he, he ! Bludyer. Well, sir, are you going to doubt Mr. Bludyer's word? Give me leave to tell you that your remark is confoundedly impertinent ! Yellowplush {going out). Oh, these littery people ! What inf urnal coarseness and wulgarity! Daudley. Come, come — no quarrel- ling. You fellows of the what 's-his-name, you know — what we used to say at Oxon, you know, of the genus irritahile, hay! Bludy, you must be a little more plac- able; and Washy, your language was a little too strong. Hay, Bogle, you under- 23 READING A POEM stand % I call these two fellows Bludy and Washy; and as for Dishwash, if I don't call him Washy, I '11 call him Dishy, hay I Bogle. Capital! capital! You '11 kill me with laughing; and I want to talk to your lordship about the " Passion- Flower" business. Daudley. Your rival bookseller, Mr. Fogle, has been with me already about the book. Bogle. What! with my title I The scoundrel ! My lord, it 's a felony. You are not going to lend yourself to such a transaction, I am sure. Fogle publish the "Passion-Flowers"! I'll prosecute the unprincipled ruffian; I will, as sure as my name is Bo Daudley. To a goose. Fogle is not going to publish a book called " Passion- Flowers"; but he has a project of a little work, bound in blue velvet, con- taining twenty-two illustrations on steel, written by the Lord D' Audley, and called " The Primevera." 24 READING A POEM Bogle. The what? It 's a forgery all the same. I '11 prosecute him — by all the gods, I will! Daudley. Well, well, we have come to no bargains. Entre nous, you pub- lishers are deuced stingy fellows. DiSHWASH. He, he, he ! Bludyek. Haw, haw, haw ! Had you there, old Bogle ! Daudley. And that rascal only offers me six hundred pounds. Bogle. I '11 give six-and-fifty. Daudley. No go. Bogle. Seven hundred, then? Daudley. Won't do. Bogle. Well, make it eight hundred, and ruin me at once. Daudley. Mr. Bogle, my worthy man, my terms are a thousand pounds. A thousand pounds, look you, or curse me if you get a single " Passion-Flo wer " out of George Daudley. Yellowplush (entering). Mr. Fogle, my lord, the publisher. READING A POEM Bogle. What? Yellowplush. Mr. Fogle, my lord, according to appointment, he says. Shall I show him in? Daudley. Yes, you may as well. Yes, certainly. {Aside.) Egad, he's come just at the proper moment! Bogle. Stop, my lord ; pray stop one minute. That ruffian follows me like my shadow. Show him into the study. For heaven's sake, let me say a word. Daudley. Show Mr. Fogle into the study, Charles. {Exit Yellowplush.) Well, now, my worthy man, what have you to say? Bogle. Well, then, my lord, just to keep your name upon my lists, I '11 make the money nine hundred. Daudley. Sir, give me leave to tell you that your offer is impertinent. Charles ! Bogle {drawing out a paper). Very good, then ; here 's the agreement Sign this; a thousand pounds, the MSS. to be delivered in three months, half the 26 READING A POEM money on delivery, the rest in bills at three and six months. Will that suit you? No I Say two hundred pounds down. Here's the money. Daudley. Egad, this will do! Here, I '11 sign it, and let our two friends here be witnesses. Bogle. But, my lord, a word with you about — about the writing of the poems. Will you do them, or shall we? There is a capital hand in our house, who could knock them off in a month. Daudley. Upon my word, this sur- passes everything I ever knew. Do you suppose I am an impostor, Mr. Bogle? Take your money and your infernal agreement, and your impertinent self, out of the room. Bogle. A million of pardons, my dear, dear, dear, dear, dear lord; I wouldn't offend your lordship for the world. Come, come, let us sign; you will sign? Here, where the wafer is. I 've made my clerk copy out the agreement; one copy for 97 READING A POEM me and one for your lordship. There, there 's my name " Henry Bogle." And here are the notes, of which your lord- ship will just acknowledge the receipt. Please, gents, to witness this here under- standing between his lordship and me. DiSHWASH (signs). "Percy Dishwash."\ BijUBYKB (signs). " John Bludyer." J Of course, you give us a dinner, Bogle? Bogle. Oh, certainly, some day. Bless my soul! twelve o'clock, and I have an appointment with Lady Man- trap at half -past eleven! Good-bye, my lord, my dear lord. Good-bye, Dish. Bludyer, you owe me ten pounds, re- member, and our magazine wants your article very much. Good-bye, good-bye. good-b — [Here the door shuts on Me. Bogle. DiSHWASH. Well, the bargain is not a bad one. Do you know, my lord, that Bogle had the conscience to offer me six- and-thirty guineas for the book which will bring you a thousand! 28 READING A POEM Daudley. Very possibly, my good fel- low, but the name's everything. I have not the vanity to suppose that I can write much better than you, or Bludyer here. DiSHWASH. Oh, my lord ! my lord ! Daudley. No, indeed, really now, I don't think so. But if the public chooses to buy Lord Daudley' s verses, and not to care — DiSHWASH. For poor, humble Percy Dish wash — heigho! you were in the right to make the best bargain you can, as I should be the last to deny. [Mr. Yellowplush here enters tvith Mr. Bludyer's soda-water. P-f-f-f-f-f-f-op whizz. Mr. Bludyer drinks. DiSHWASH. But where is Fogle all this while! You should have had him in and pitted him against his rival. Daudley (archly). Ask Charles. Charles, you rogue, why do you keep Mr. Fogle waiting! 29 READING A POEM Yellowplxjsh. Mr. Fogle 's non inwen- tuSy my lord. He never was there at all, gentlemen ; it was only a de ruse of mine, which I hope your lordship will igscuse, but happening to be at the door — Bludyer. And happening to be listen- ing! Yellowplush. Well, sir ! I confess I was listening — in my lord's interest, in course; and 1 am sure my stepping in at that moment caused Mr. Bogle to sign the agreement. My lord won't forget it, I trust, and cumsider that, without that sackimstans, he might n't have made near such a good barging. [Exit Yellowplush. Daudley. No, I won't forget it, you may be sure. Master Charles. And, egad, as soon as I have paid the fellow his wages, I'll send him off. He's a great deal too clever for me ; the rogue writes, gentlemen, would you believe it? and has just had the impudence to republish his works. 30 READING A POEM DiSHWASH. Never mind him, my dear lord; but do now let us hear some of yours. What were you meditating this morning? Confess now — some delight- ful poem, I am sure. 31 READING A POEM D PART TWO AUDLEY. Well, then, if you must know the truth, I was scrib- bling a little something — just a trifling thought that came into my head this morning, as I was looking out at the mignonette-pot in my bedroom window. You know it was Lady Blanche Blue- nose that gave it me, and I promised her a little copy of verses in return. " Well," says I, thinking over my bargain with that fellow Bogle, " as I have agreed to write something about flowers, my little poem for Lady Blanche's album will answer for my volume too, and so I shall kill two birds with one stone." That's the very thing I said; not bad, was it! Bludyer. Not bad'? devilish good, by the immortal Jove. Hang me, my lord, but you 're a regular Joe Miller. READING A POEM DiSHWASH. Really now, Lord Daudley, you should write a comic novel. Some- thing in the Dickens style. Daudley. I should n't wonder if I did ; I've thought of it, Dishwater, often. " The New Novel of Low Life, by Lord Daudley," hay I forty illustrations by Whiz; it wouldn't sound badly. But to return to the " Passion-Flowers." DiSHWASH. We are all ear. Bludyer. Not all ear. Dish.; a good deal of you is nose. Daudley. Mr. Bludyer, for heaven's sake, a truce to these personalities, if you have a mind to listen to me. I told you I was thinking in bed this morning about Lady Blanche's present, and the poem I had promised her. " Egad ! " says I, starting up in bed, and flinging my green velvet night-cap very nearly out of the window, " why should I not write about that flower-pot?" Bludyer. And a devilish good idea, too. 3 33 READING A POEM DiSHWASH {aside. Toad-eater!) Oh, leave Lord Daudley alone for ideas. Daudley. Well, sir, I instantly rung my body-fellow, Charles; had my bath; ordered my chocolate; and, with the water exactly at ninety-two, began my poem. Bludyer. Oh, you practise the hot- water stimulus, do you, my lord? And so do I; but I always have mine at Fahrenheit — boiling, my lord, as near as possible. Daudley. Gad now! you don't say so? Bludyer. Boiling, yes, with a glass of brandy in it — do you take? Once, when I wrote for the Whigs — you know I am Radical now — I wrote eight-and- thirty stanzas at a sitting. And how do you think I did it? By nineteen glasses of brandy-and-water. That's your true Castalian, ay, Dishwash? But I beg your pardon for interrupting you in your account of your brilliant idea ; tell 34 READING A POEM us more about the "Flower-Pot," my lord. DiSHWASH. The verses, the verses, my lord, by all means — positively, now, I am dying to know them. Daudley. Oh, ah, the verses — yes — that is — why, egad ! I 've not written down any yet ; but I have them here in my brain — all the ideas, at least, and that 's the chief thing. Bludyer. Why, I don't know ; I don't think it 's of any use to have ideas, or too many of them, in a set of verses. Daudley. You are satirical, you rogue Bludyer, you — dev'lish satirical, by Jove. But the fact is I can't help having ideas, and a deuced many of them too. My first idea was to say that that humble flower- pot of mignonette was more precious to me than, egad! all the flowers in a conservatory. Bludyer. Very good and ingenious. DiSHWASH. Very pretty and pastoral; and how, my lord, did it begin? 35 READING A POEM Daudley. Why, I begin — quite mod- estly you know — "My little humble flower-pot " — and there, egad! I stuck fast — for my bell began a cursed ringing; and pres- ently this monster of a Bludyer came and kicked down my dressing-room door almost, and drove poetry out of my head. So as you served me so, why, gentle- men, you must help me in my ode. I want to say how it looks out into Picca- dilly, you know, and on St. James's Church, and all that. Bludyee. Excuse me, that will never do; say it looks out on your park in Yorkshire. Mrs. Grange the pastrycook's window looks into Piccadilly just as well as your lordship's. You must have some- thing more aristocratic. Daudley. Egad ! yes, not bad. Well, it shall look into my park at Daudley. I thought so myself ; do you like the idea, ay gentlemen? You do like it, I thought 36 READING A POEM you would. Well, then, my flower-pot stands in a window, and the window is in a tower, and the tower is in Daudley Park, and I begin — My little humble flower-pot, My little hum DiSHWASH. Upon my turret flaunting free, — flaunting free ! there 's an expres- sion! — there's a kind of laisser oiler about it. Bludyer. My little humble flower-pot, Upon my turret flaunting free, Thou art more loved by me I wot, Than all the sweets of Araby. Daudley. Stop, stop! — by Gad, the very thing I was going to say ; I thought of "I wot" and "Araby," at once, only Bludyer interrupted me. It was n't a bad notion, was it I {Reads) Hum, hum, — ' ' flower-po^ — flaunting free — by me I ivot — Araby. ''^ Well, I've done for that idea, at any rate, — now let 's see for another. 37 READING A POEM Bludyer. Done with that already? Good Heavens, Daudley, you had need to be a lord, and a rich one, to fling about your wealth in that careless kind of way, — a commoner can't afford to be so prodi- gal; and, if you will take my advice in the making of poems, — whenever you get an idea, make a point of repeating it two or three times, thus : — Not all the sweets of Eastern bower — Daudley. Egad, the very words out of my own mouth — {writes) "Eastern bower " — Bludyer. Are half so dearly prized by me, As is the little gentle flower — Daudley. " Pot, in my turret flaunting free." That 's the thing. DiSHWASH. Why no, my dear lord ; if I might advise, it's well to repeat the 38 READING A POEM same sentiment twice or three times over, as Mr. Bludyer says. In one of Sir Edward's tragedies, I counted the same simile fourteen times, but at intervals of two or three pages or so. Suppose, now, instead of your admirable line — Bludyeb. Which divides the pot from the flower, you see. DiSHWASH. We say — As is the little gentle flower, The mignonette that blooms in thee I Daudley. Bravo ! — eight lines already. Egad, gentlemen, I 'm in the vein. Bludyee. There 's nothing like back- ing your luck in these cases, my lord, and so let us throw in another stanza, — My little dewy moss-grown vase Forth from its turret looks and sees, Wide stretched around the park and chase, The dappled deer beneath the trees. Ha! what do you say to that? There 's nothing like the use of venison in a 39 READING A POEM poem — it has a liberal air ; now let 's give them a little mutton. I presume you feed sheep in your park, Lord Daud- ley, as well as deer I Daudley. O, yes, 'gad! and cows too — hundreds of them. Bludyek. Beside the river bask the kine, The sheep go browsing o'er the sward ; And kine, and sheep, and deer are mine, And all the park calls Daudley lord. Daudley. It does nH, my dear fellow — egad, I wish it did — but, till my father's death, you know — DiSHWASH. Bagwig is a sad unromantic name for a poem. Daudley. Well, well, I '11 yield to my friends, and sacrifice my own convictions. I '11 say Daudley, then, and not Bagwig. And, Dishwash, you may say everywhere, that in my poem of the "Flower-Pot" you suggested that alteration. ( Writes) " And all the park calls Daudley lord." 40 READING A POEM Bludyee. Safe sheltered in thy turret nook, My gentle flower-pot, 't is thine Upon this peaceful scene to look. The lordship of My ancient line ! Rich are my lands and wide they range — Daudley {ivlio twites altvays as Blud- YER dictates). "Eich are my lands, and wide they range." Egad, they 're devil- ishly mortgaged though, Master Blud- yer; but I won't say anything about that. DiSHWASH. Bravo ! Capital ! Bludyer. Rich are my lands and wide they range, And yet I do esteem them not, And lightly would my lordships change Against my little flower-pot. DiSHWASH. Whew ! Daudley. Come, come, Bludyer, that 's too much. Bludyer. Not a whit, as you shall see — 11 READING A POEM By wide estates I set no store, No store on sparkling coronet ; The poet's heart can value more This fragrant plant of mignonette. And as he fondly thinks of her, Who once the little treasure owned, The lover may the gift prefer To mines of gold and diamond. Isn't that, now, perfectly satisfactory! You are a lover, and your mistress's gift is more precious to you than Potosi; a poet (and that you know you are), and a little flower provokes in you — DiSHWASH. Hopes, feelings, passionate aspirations, thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. Holy memories of bygone times, pure as the innocent dew that twinkles in the cup of the flower; fra- grant, mysterious, stealing on the senses as — as — Daudley. Exactly so. You are per- fectly right, egad ; though I never thought that I had those feelings before. DiSHWASH. Oh, it 's astonishing how the merest trifle serves to arouse the vast- 42 READING A POEM est thoughts: and, in such a way, my hint might aid your lordship. Suppose we continue: — My mild and winsome flower-pot I Bludyer (aside). Mild and winsome ! there's affectation! but let the epi- thets pass, they 're good enough for a lord. DiSHWASH (continuing). My mild and winsome flower-pot, As — let me see — as on thy dewy buds I gaze, I think how different is my lot Unto my sire's in ancient days. Where softly droops my bonny flower, My free and feathery mignonette, Upon its lofty, ancient tower, The banner of my race was set. Daudley. "Race was set." Bravo! we'^'re getting on, — hay, Bludyer? But you are no hand at an impromptu, like Dishwash and myself; he 's quite beaten, I declare, and has not another rhyme for the dear life. 43 READING A POEM Bludyee. Not another rhyme ! my dear lord, a dozen; as thus: — Where peaceful roam the kine and sheep, Were men-at-arms with bow and bill ; Where blooms my flower upon the keep, A warder blew his clarion shrill. And now for the moral : — Dark memories of blood and crime, Away ! the poet loves you not. Ah me ! the chieftains of that time, Had never seen a flower-pot.^ Daudley. Bravo, bravissimo! Six stanzas, by the immortal gods! Upon my word, you were right, Bludyer, and I was in the vein. Why, this will fill a couple of pages, and we may get the " Pas- sion-Flo wers " out in a month. Come and see me often, my lads, hay I and, egad! yes, I'll read you some more poems. 1 A poem very much of this sort, from which the writer con- fesses he has borrowed the idea and all the principal epithets, such as " free and feathery," " mild and winsome," etc., is to be found in the " Keepsake," nor is it by any means the worst ditty in the collection. ^l.cfC. 44 READING A POEM DiSHWASH. Two o'clock, heaven bless me ! My lord, I really must be off to my office, I have several columns of the " Castalian " to get ready before to-night. As I shall be very much pressed for time and copy, might I ask, as the greatest favour in the world, permission to insert into the paper a part of that charming little poem which you have just done us the favour to read to us. Daudley. Well, I don't mind, my good fellow. You will say, of course, that it is from Lord Daudley' s forthcom- ing volume of " Passion-Flo wars " ; and, I am sure, will add something, something good-natured, you know, in your way, about the projected book. DiSHWASH. Oh, certainly, with the greatest pleasure. Farewell, my dear lord, I must tear myself away, though I could stay and listen to your poetry for hours; there is nothing more delightful than to sit by a great artist, and watch the progress of his work. Good-bye, 45 \ READING A POEM good-bye. Don't ring, I shall find the way quite easily myself, and I hope you will not be on any ceremony with me. Daudley. Good-bye, Dishwash. And I say, come in sometimes of a morning, like a worthy fellow as you are, and per- haps I may read you some more of my compositions. {Exit Dishwash, hoiving profusely.) A good useful creature, that, ay, Bludyer I but no power, no readiness, no vis. The fellow scarcely helped us with a line or a rhyme in my poem. Bludyee. a good-natured milksop of a creature, and very useful, as you say. He will give you a famous puff in the "Castalian," be sure. Daudley. As you will, I am certain, in the " Bravo." Bludyek. Perhaps, perhaps; but we are, as you are aware, in the satirical vein, and I don't know whether our proprietors will allow me to be complimentary even to my own — I mean, to your works. 46 READING A POEM However, between ourselves there is a way of mollifying them. Daudley. As howl Bludyee. By a bribe, to be sure. To be plain with you, my lord, suppose you send through me a five-pound note to be laid out in paragraphs in the " Bravo." I will take care to write them all myself, and that they shall be well worth the money. Daudley. Nonsense ! you do not mean that your people at the " Bravo " are so unprincipled as that I Bludyer. Unprincipled I the word is rather strong, my lord : but do exactly as you please. Nobody forces you to adver- tise with us ; only do not, for the future, ask me to assist at the reading of your poems any more, that 's all. Daudley {aside. Unconscionable scoun- drel ! ). Come, come, Bludyer, here 's the five-pound note ; you are very welcome to take it — Bludyer. To my proprietors, of course. You do not fancy it is for mef 47 READING A POEM Daudley. Not in the least degree; pray take it and lay it out for me. Bludyee. Entre nous, I wish it were for me; for between ourselves, I am sadly pressed for money ; and if you could, out of our friend Bogle's heap, lend me five pounds for myself — indeed, now, you would be conferring a very great obliga- tion upon me. I will pay you, you know, upon my honour as a gentleman. Daudley. Not a word more; here is the money, and pray pay me or not, as it suits you. Bludyee. Thank you, Daudley; the turn shall not be lost, depend upon it; and if ever you are in want of a friend in the press, count upon Jack Bludyer, and no mistake. {Exit Bludyee, with Ms hat very much on one side.) Enter Yellowplush. Daudley. Well, Charles, you scoun- drel, you are a literary man, and know the difficulty of composition. 48 READING A POEM Chaeles. I b' leave you, my lord. Daudley. Well, sir, what do you think of my having written a poem of fifty lines, while those fellows were here all the time chattering and talking to me? Chaeles. Is it posbil? Daudley. Possible? Egad, you shall hear it — just listen. (Reads.) " The Song of the Flower-Pot. (The ' Flower-pot ' was presented to the writer by the Lady Blanche Bluenose.) My little gentle flower-pot, Upon my turret flaunting free — " [As Ms lordship is reading his poem, the mirtain drops. The ' ' Castalian Maga- zine " of the next iveek contains a flaming 2mff tipon LoED Daudley' s ^'Passion- Flowers'' ; hut the " Weekly Bravo'' has a furious attack tipon the tvork, be- cause LoED Daudley refused to ad- vance a third five-potmd note to the 4 49 READING A POEM celebrated Bludyer. After the crit- ique, his lordship advances the five- pound note. And, at a great public dinner, where my Lord Daudley is called upo7i to speah to a toast, he dis- courses upon the tvell-Jcnoiim sentiment — Tlie independence of the press! It is like the air tve breathe : Without it we die.~\ m