JOfe, 
 
 m& 
 
 mm 
 
 W*"^ 
 
 lb*:3c 
 
 iggjt 
 
 6D3 S> 
 
 S3QI5 
 
 DC*3a 
 
 re»» 
 
 
 .■>!§)- 
 
 .3 ;» 
 
 lit >> 
 
 - "ifc^- 
 
 
 
 5W 
 
 
 vaemmm 
 
 
 2^>»j» 55 ^ 
 mvi>^> >5^> 
 
 
 ►»5^>> )y> 
 
 
 sssr --v. 3S;3» 
 
 
 3T> «\ 
 
 - 
 
 5u» 
 
 :> 
 
 J> 
 
 
 DO 
 
 
 >» 
 
 _.; 
 
 >;> 
 
 m 
 
 >*' 
 
 : 
 
 D 
 
 M 
 
 a ! 
 
 HP 
 
 m 
 
 ._> 
 
 »> 
 
 »0 
 
 
 ») 
 
 
 >r 
 
 5fci 
 
 3H 
 
^J* *3ST' 
 
 wgm 
 
 d. :> 
 
 2>22> 
 
 
 
 US 
 
 2>i3^ 
 
 
 > X» 
 
 
 No. - _J^&X~ 
 
 HiI-BR^AJRY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 DEPARTMENT OF STATE. 
 
 Alcove, 
 
 Shelf, - — 
 
 Book A S^r 
 
,J» ■} 
 
 ■;s> : 
 
 ■«--- : ^3! 
 
 > '3^ 
 
 ~2X>. 
 
 3 Ol5 
 
 
 » ' J 3> 
 
 I3> ; 
 
 >J X> 
 
 ' •■--=^ 
 
 *15_> 
 
 Z£2> 
 
 3 ) "IT 
 
 , ' """^ 
 
 > !£> 
 
 TZ3D 
 
 Sg 3* 
 
 -^ 
 
 > WS 
 
 HI3E> 
 
 5> "IT 
 
 > ~ 
 
 > 3I> 
 
 H3B> 
 
 ^^: 
 
 * 2 
 
 > ; t> 
 
 II3R> 
 
 » .y 
 
 
 >rr> 
 
 J6> : 
 
 v. 3" 
 
 . ™_ 
 
 > 33> 
 
 ^^ 
 
 3V3 
 
 ■> ^ 
 
 > £> 
 
 ^m> 
 
 >> "2 
 
 & ; 
 
 3>3> * 
 
 -8> 
 
 >- ~ ; 
 
 >7> 
 
 3> 3> 
 
 
 ^""f 
 
 23 
 
 
 "^ZS^ 
 
 » = 
 
 33 
 
 ^3>3> 
 
 £-^^ 
 
 rar 
 
 3>3 
 
 ->^> 
 
 J2B& . 
 
 :s> 
 
 :>3 
 
 
 ~Z2^ 
 
 :»~ 
 
 > j 
 
 > 3 
 
 JBt* '. 
 
 3-5 
 
 33 
 
 3>3> 
 
 38* ■ 
 
 33 ■ 
 
 33 
 
 3ESX- 
 
 3^ 
 
 :>y 
 
 13 
 
 33 
 
 3^ 
 
 ^> 
 
 "J3 
 
 33 
 
 S^ 
 
 3) 
 
 : r 3> 
 
 33 
 
 ^ 
 
 32> 
 
 33 
 
 3> " 
 
 ^ , 
 
 » 
 
 13* 
 
 33" 
 
 » 
 
 X> . 
 
 3> 
 
 3> - 
 
 ► 
 
 X> 
 
 :» 
 
 WH 
 
 ■ :^>- 
 
 > 
 
 >> 
 
 ?2>~m 
 
 3 
 
 > 
 
 3:> 
 
 
 J> 
 
 ) 
 
 >.> 
 
 &~m* 
 
 5S3» 
 
 ■ j; 
 
 )"> J 
 
 i>~~j& 
 
 O 3> 
 
 ~"~3 
 
 & >z 
 
 *H^8* ' 
 
 I» 
 
 3 
 
 :.-> ■ 3 
 
 l33^' 
 
 3 J> 
 
 
 o rS 
 
 r:^ 
 
 ► >3> 
 5> 
 

 I 
 
 + 
 
 \ 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE 
 
 AND 
 
 JOTTINGS FROM BOOKS. 
 
 W. H. C. NATION, 
 
 H 
 
 AUTHOR OF " TRIFLES," " CYPRESS LEAVES," ETC. 
 
 **■ A chiel's amang you takin' notes,"- Burns. 
 
 f onto : 
 
 T. CAUTLEY NEWBY, PUBLISHEK, 
 
 30, WELBECK STREET, CAVENDISH SQUARE, 
 
 1864. 
 
 [THE RIGHT OF TRANSLATION IS RESERVED.] 
 

 By Transfer 
 Dept. of State 
 
 3 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. — Waiting for the Train 1 
 
 II.— A Book of Instruction Two Hundred Years Ago . 14 
 
 III. — Bathing a la mode 49 
 
 IV.— Two Feasts 60 
 
 V. — Fairs and Fairing 76 
 
 VI, — A Provincial Pantomime . . . . . . 89 
 
 YII — Arcades Ambo 105 
 
 YIIL— Only a Poor Player 118 
 
 IX.— An Artful Dodger 139 
 
 X. — A very Unfashionable Promenade .... 172 
 
 XL— Do you Object to Smoking? 182 
 
 XII.— At the General Post Office 194 
 
 XIII. — How to be a Gentleman for Sixpence .... 206 
 
 XIV.— Comparing Notes with an Old Traveller . . . 222 
 
 XV.— Flowers that Blush Unseen 238 
 
 XVI. — Gatherings from Grave-stones . . . . . 260 
 
 XVII. — Awake on Christmas Morning 270 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE, 
 
 WAITING FOE THE TEAIN. 
 
 Perhaps there is only- one thing more disa- 
 greeable than being too late for the train, 
 and that is, being too soon. Let me put a 
 case. I wish, let us say, to start by the early 
 morning train for Commerceton. Aware 
 that trains share the peculiarity of tides in 
 waiting for no man, I duly consulted my 
 Bradshaw on the previous night, and having 
 solved its mysteries to my intense satisfaction 
 I go to rest in the full determination of being 
 punctual to a second. I am called nearly an 
 hour earlier that I am wont ; I get up, feel- 
 ing very sleepy, and perhaps not in that 
 state of mental equanimity for which I am 
 
 B 
 
Z SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 usually distingushed. I wash, shave, and 
 dress in what is figuratively termed 'less 
 than no time ; ' but in time enough, never- 
 theless, to gash my chin and burst three suc- 
 cessive buttons off my shirt-collar. I drive 
 off in a hansom^ and having paid the fellow- 
 three times his fare in order to ensure rapi- 
 dity — discover to my infinite dismay that 
 either I or my Bradshaw was in error, and 
 that I have an hour to wait. 
 
 The world, or rather the station, is before 
 me — where to choose ! What am I to do ? 
 How am I to pass the dreary time. Spare 
 hours of all kinds when they come upon one 
 unexpected are intensely hard to occupy. 
 There is that dreadful hour which elapses 
 at a dinner party between your arrival and 
 the commencement of the soup, during which 
 everybody looks unutterably wretched, but is 
 too well-bred to say so — there is that miser- 
 able hour which you are condemned to waste 
 while your wife is just "putting on her 
 bonnet " for the afternoon's drive ; there is 
 
SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 6 
 
 that agonizing hour which you, with a face 
 swelled to twice its size, are requested to wait 
 until the dentist is ready to receive you. 
 You know the old adage, ho tvever ; u what 
 can't be cured must be endured," and when 
 you have an hour, on your hands the only 
 way is to let it slip off your hands in the 
 pleasantest manner possible. 
 
 Firstly — then I must get my ticket; 
 secondly, I must look after my luggage^ 
 Those desirable objects being attained, it 
 may be worth while to wile away some mi- 
 nutes over the advertisements, with which 
 the station is so nicely stored. These adver- 
 tisements have always afforded me food for 
 the gravest contemplation. I speculate for 
 instance on the properties of Mrs. Lazenby's 
 fish-sauce, warranted to be genuine only if 
 made by her, and I am immediately seized 
 with the desire of knowing if the copper-plate 
 signature which follows be genuine too. I 
 turn from thence to Heal's patent bedsteads, 
 from which by a natural inference my eyes 
 
 B 2 
 
4 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 are directed towards Mr. Harper Twelve- 
 trees' never-mind-what destroying pow- 
 der. Herrings' magnetic brushes may next 
 arrest my attention, and I wonder whether 
 that beautiful young lady in the charming 
 deshabille who has been so perseveringly 
 applying one to her luxuriant curls any time 
 these five years has found it answer yet. 
 Then there is Thorley's food for cattle — a 
 sublime work of art ; to which the attention 
 of every one who keeps a horse, pig, or cow 
 is respectfully claimed, and in which, in 
 order that not only he who runs may read, 
 but he who can't read may understand, the 
 ingenious device has been adopted of repre- 
 senting the animals alluded to, pictorially. 
 Close to Thorley's Food I observe Parr's 
 life pills — warranted, I think, to cure 
 every disease under the sun, speaking gene- 
 rally, and indigestion more particularly. 
 Professor Holloway's, in the next placard, 
 profess to do the same, and Mr. Page Wood- 
 cock's promise similar results, until I begin to 
 
SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 5 
 
 feel the greatest surprise that the invalid 
 world should be so blind to its own interests 
 as not to buy up every pill on these esta- 
 blishments as quickly as they are manufac- 
 tured. 
 
 The word u digestion " recals me to my 
 own. It occurs to me that as the journey 
 I am about to make is a long one, and the 
 chances of getting dinner are somewhat dis- 
 tant, it may be as well to make a little pro- 
 vision for the future. With this resolve, I 
 enter the buffet. It is a handsome well 
 furnished apartment enough, the waiters are 
 smug and dapper, the waitresses neat and 
 tidy ; but somehow or other, one cannot 
 help feeling a sense of depression. I never 
 in my life saw any man who eu joyed what 
 he ate at a buffet. I have seen plenty who 
 have execrated what they ate, many more 
 whom sheer necessity had driven to devour un- 
 complainingly whatever they could lay hold of, 
 and a greater number still who have brought 
 homecut sandwiches with them in order to 
 
D SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 avoid that necessity. Not that there is any 
 lack of " refreshment v — but like the instruc- 
 tion imparted by Cornelia Blimber, the qua- 
 lity is far too often submerged in the quantity. 
 There are buns in profusion — shining, glisten- 
 ing buns — which look tempting enough, but 
 which, on closer inspection, you perceive to 
 have been polished up to hide their age. 
 There are sandwiches, too, dainty and trim — 
 painfully trim — but with a stale flavour about 
 them which puts you in mind of middle-aged 
 belles, the flower of whose youth has long 
 since run to seed. And chiefest of all there 
 are the a pork-pies! " a name which, as you 
 know, does duty at our stations, for masses of 
 a whitish grease reposing in a circle of clay- 
 coloured paste. Of what ingredients this 
 dainty may be composed, it may be as well 
 not to inquire, but we may, without going far 
 wrong, adopt poor Frank Fowler's suggestion, 
 that " the pigs that feed the pork are usually 
 fed on the stale pies, so that it is impossible 
 to tell through how many generations the 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 7 
 
 contents of a pasty may indirectly have 
 passed." 
 
 Having refreshed my inner man with as 
 many of the sandwiches as are eatable, and 
 taking a smile from the syren who presides, 
 as compensation for the rest, I bethink me 
 that my mind may also feel the need of sus- 
 tenance, and I sally forth in search of the 
 book-stall. Surely here is mental pabulum 
 enough! Here is something to suit every 
 palate ! Newspapers — of every opinion — 
 theologic or political. Times for you, sir, if 
 you be a Ministerialist ; Standard, if you sup- 
 port the Opposition ; Star, if you think with 
 Mr. Bright ; Telegraph, if it is your wish to be 
 " independent/' Novels, too— tales, sketches, 
 gorgeous in their bright red, green, or yellow 
 bindings ; of every conceivable size and of 
 every conceivable colour. The blood-curdling 
 romances of an Ainsworth ; the side-splitting 
 yarns of a Marryat ; the metaphysical mys- 
 teries of a Bulwer ; the soul-thrilling adven- 
 tures of a Grant ; the hair-stand-on-end sen- 
 
8 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 sations of you, oh, Miss Braddon, with your 
 bewitching, . fascinating, little murderesses, 
 who hold our bachelor hearts in a sweet 
 captivity through two volumes of their lives 
 only to make us ashamed of finding ourselves 
 " accessories before the fact," in the third. 
 Que voulez vous ? You like something 
 quieter, simpler? I do. I am positively 
 afraid to read those terrible stories in the 
 train. 1 am carried away by the excite- 
 ment. My brain gets confused. I fancy all 
 sorts of horrors — that the boiler will burst — 
 that the engine will run off the line — that we 
 shall meet the down express ! There, there I 
 hear it coming now, quicker, quicker yet — how 
 my pulse beats! Now I see its glaring lights 
 — now I hear its awful shriek — and now — 
 there is a crash, a scream — and I find myself 
 lying a mangled heap upon the rails ! ! With 
 a view to something less trying to the nerves, 
 I look over the books upon the counter. 
 What is this ? " After Office Hours" clever 
 sketches which I have read before in a All 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 9 
 
 the Year Bound. " Trifles ; " I think I have 
 read this book before, also. Despairing of 
 finding what I want, I address myself to the 
 proprietor. 
 
 " What can you recommend as nice light 
 reading ?" 
 
 "Nice light reading, sir, yes, sir. Eead 
 Lady Audley, sir — capital tale ? It contains 
 a fire, a murder, and a bigamy ! " 
 
 I shudder palpably, and rejoin — " No, no ; 
 I don't want anything of that kind just at 
 present. I want something new that is quiet 
 and amusing." 
 
 44 Yes, sir, certainly. Now here's Lyell, 
 4 On the antiquity of Man J quite new." 
 
 I growl forth a joke about that being old 
 enough at any rate, and look out for myself. 
 I discover that my friend has an unlucky 
 knack of mistaking the tastes of his customers, 
 for soon after an elderly gentleman, of an un- 
 mistakeably clerical cut, comes up and asks 
 for the Guardian. 
 
 u Guardian, sir," returns my friend, " not 
 
 b 5 
 
10 
 
 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 got one left, sir ; but Here's this week's Punch 
 if you like." Whereupon the clerical gentle- 
 man evaporates, in disgust. 
 
 Meanwhile the platform has been rapidly 
 filling. Having purchased a book after my 
 own heart, I deposit it carefully in my pocket 
 and proceed to look about me. w The various 
 expressions of the human countenance," says 
 Charles Dickens, " afford a beautiful and 
 interesting study," and perhaps there is 
 nowhere where the expressions are more 
 various or more worthy of observation than 
 m a crowd at a railway station. Let me 
 note a few as they pass : — 
 
 See that grim-visaged old prude — you can 
 tell she is a prude—by all that is hard and 
 angular, and out of joint. How she is pes- 
 tering that unlucky porter — and what about? 
 One would think the crown at least was in 
 danger to hear her talk. Heaven bless the 
 woman ! it is only to ensure herself and her 
 maid (a little half-starved creature, who is 
 staggering under the weight of a bonnet-box) 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 11 
 
 a compartment to themselves, as she does 
 not like travelling in the society of gentlemen ! 
 May her request be complied with, and 
 happy the men who travel as far out of her 
 reach as they possibly can ! 
 
 Yonder is a poor widow with her little boy 
 whom she has seen the last of ere he returns 
 to school. Poor little fellow ! he is crying 
 bitterly ! 
 
 How tenderly she bends over him as if to 
 reassure him with her loving words. And 
 he tries to bear up for her sake ; he has only 
 lately lost his father, and, young as he is, he 
 knows he must do all he can to fill the void in 
 his mother's heart. He will not add to her suf- 
 ferings, and yet it is hard, very hard, to check 
 the rising tear. For school is a dreary place 
 for the young, at the ' best — it is not the 
 Paradise that their coldblooded seniors would 
 have them believe. Near them is a young 
 spark, got up in the height of fashion, who 
 looks down upon the scene just depicted 
 with profound contempt. He seems to have a 
 
12 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 good opinion of himself, however, which 
 must be extremely gratifying to his feelings, 
 since no one else has. Not far off is a hunts- 
 man, sprucely equipped in tops and in scarlet, 
 who is wrapt in earnest conversation with 
 another of his kin. The twain look very 
 knowing indeed, and ever and anon throw out 
 mysterious hints about " cover,' ' the meaning 
 whereof I have altogether failed to dis-cover, 
 since, as Dickens observes, " following my 
 own inclinations, I have never followed the 
 hounds. " 
 
 There are many other varieties of character 
 to be found, which will afford interest. And 
 in this I speak generally — I make no dis- 
 tinctions of persons — I include all alike — 
 first classes, second classes, third classes, for 
 in the matter of welcoming or bidding fare- 
 well, such distinctions are forgotten, and then 
 alone is it that we feel the truth of the great 
 poet's words : 
 
 "One touch of Nature makes the whole world kin.'' 
 
 Thus, there are sisters "seeing their brotheis 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 13 
 
 off" for college ; soldiers and sailors taking 
 leave of their " own Mary Anns," whose 
 honest faces speak plainer than words, that 
 they will never be unfaithful to their troth ; 
 barristers — law in their eyes, law in their bags 
 going on circuit ; jolly agriculturists on their 
 way to the Beefleigh Cattle Show ; gover- 
 nesses going for the first time into a situation, 
 and timidly doubtful of the happiness or 
 misery, poor souls, that awaits them ; testy 
 old gentlemen who are always intending to 
 write bo the Times about the negligence of 
 the directors, and who never carry out their 
 intentions, and many others too numerous to 
 mention. For lo ! even as I write, the great 
 bell sounds — the way is cleared — trucksfull 
 of luggage are hurried about — u by your 
 leave" is shouted, and French leave is taken, 
 everybody stumbles up against everybody 
 else, and with a mighty roar the train comes 
 thundering into the station. 
 
14 SKETCHES FROM LIFE, 
 
 A BOOK OF INSTRUCTION— TWO 
 HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 We do not boast half enough of our 
 intellectual progress. We are well aware of 
 the advances which we have made, but it is 
 only when comparing the present with the 
 past that we begin to feel duly and properly 
 grateful for them. In days like these, days of 
 competitive examinations, and middle-class 
 training schools, and Baliol scholarships — 
 days when mighty tomes are being written 
 for the exposition of mighty subjects, great 
 books for the exposition of small subjects, 
 and small books for the exposition of every 
 subject — days when the schoolmaster is 
 abroad, and at home, and everywhere else 
 with a ubiquity which is alarming — days 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 15 
 
 when we are geologized for a shilling, and 
 astronomized " in a nutshell/ 7 astrologized by 
 Zadkiel for sixpence a year, and theologized 
 by Mr. Spurgeon at a penny a week,")" we can 
 hardly realize the state of the literary wilder- 
 ness in which our forefathers were condemned 
 to wander. We can hardly realize the fact 
 of a book having been published some two 
 hundred years ago, which embraces almost 
 every conceivable branch of education, and 
 professes to afford the fullest information on 
 each and all respectively. Yet such a book 
 I have before me now, and have considered 
 not altogether unworthy a place in my 
 " Jottings." The book is but small-— con- 
 sisting in all of four hundred pages, duo- 
 decimo ; but the title, as will be seen, is com- 
 prehensive enough — a A Help to Discourse ; 
 or, More Merriment mixt with serious 
 matters; consisting of witty Philosophicall, 
 Grammatical!, Physicall, Astronomicall 
 
 * Zadkiel's Almanac ; annual, 6d. G-. Berger, Holywell Street, 
 f The Penny Pulpit ; by the Rev. C. Spurgeon ; weekly. 
 
16 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 Questions and Answers, as also, Epigrams, 
 Epitaphs, Eiddles, Jests, Poesies, Love-Toyes, 
 &c, re-added, and plentifully dispersed. 
 Together with the Countryman's Counsellor, 
 and his yearly Oracle and Prognostication, 
 with additions; or, a Help to Preserve his 
 Health ; never before printed." The author 
 of the book is anonymous, but the printer, 
 in an excess of modesty, which is not quite 
 so prevalent just now, has consented to appear 
 by initials only, thus, u London : Printed by 
 E.T., for Andrew Crooke, at the Signe of the 
 Green Dragon, in Paul's Churchyard." The 
 date of its publication is 1654 ; and although 
 modern readers may have been hitherto 
 unaware of its existence, the fact of its 
 having " fourteenth edition" on its title-page, 
 affords ample proof of its having enjoyed a 
 considerable popularity in its day. 
 
 Theology, taking the term in its widest 
 sense, forms the staple of the first portion of 
 the " Help to Discourse." Two things will 
 be observed at the outset, first, that instruc- 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 17 
 
 tion is imparted a la Mangnall, by way of 
 question and answer, and second, that the 
 questions are as enigmatical as the answers 
 are quaint. Thus, we are asked, " Whether 
 did the cross bear Christ, or Christ bear the 
 cross ?" and we are answered, " It doth both, 
 and both at once, and in bearing him, it bore 
 all our iniquities, of which thus further : 
 
 Between two thieves the Just condemned to dye 
 Did hang, where all like punishment did try, 
 Though for a cause unlike they both death try'd, 
 For sinnes i'th World, he for the World's sinnes d'yd. 
 
 Of which one wittily adds that if ever 
 goodnesse was in the midst of evill — then it 
 was." 
 
 Again, u What wicked man was that, that 
 for a most vile price sold to others what he 
 had not in his power, and yet what was more 
 precious than all the world ?'' 
 
 Answer : " Judas, that sold Christ." 
 And, " A certain godly man from a wicked 
 required a gift that was far more excellent 
 than all the world, and yet he gave it, and 
 what was that ?" 
 
18 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 Ans. "Joseph of Arimathea, when he 
 begged of Pilate Christ's body." 
 
 Here are some more of a similar 
 character : — 
 
 " Who were those that once lived on the 
 earth and never dyed?" 
 
 Ans. " Henoch (sic) and Elias." 
 
 " Who was he that died and was never 
 born?" 
 
 Ans. "Adam." 
 
 "Who was he that was but once born, 
 and dyed twice ?" 
 
 Ans. " Lazarus." 
 
 " Who was he that spoke after death ?" 
 
 Ans. "Abraham to the rich glutton." 
 
 "Who was he that prophesied before he was 
 born?" 
 
 Ans. " John the Baptist, in the wombe of 
 his mother." 
 
 " What issue was that which was elder 
 than his mother?" 
 
 Ans. " Christ, to which purpose the poet 
 wittily folio weth it — 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 19 
 
 " Behold, the Father is the Daughter's Sonne, 
 The bird that built the nest is hatched therein : 
 The old of time, an houre hath not out-run, 
 Eternal life to live doth now begin." 
 
 These are very clever : — 
 
 "Whether were the heathen gods or heathen 
 men more ancient ?" 
 
 Ans. "Certainely the men that made the 
 gods." 
 
 "In what place was it that the voyce of 
 one creature pierced all the ears in the 
 world r 
 
 Ans. "In Noa's Arke." 
 
 The two following witticisms are worthy 
 of a Spurgeon : — 
 
 " Who are those that cannot, will not, may 
 not doe, nor rightly understand ?" 
 
 1. " There are certain that neither under- 
 stand God nor can understand Him, and those 
 are dead men. 2. There are others that may 
 understand, but care not, and they are 
 wicked men. 3. There are another sort that 
 desire to understand^ but cannot, and these 
 are fools. 4. There are a fourth sort that do 
 
20 SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 
 
 both understand and make use, and these are 
 godly." 
 
 And " "Who is the best Arithmetician of all 
 others?" 
 
 Ans. u God, for he made all things in 
 number, weight, and measure ; likewise he 
 numbers the stars, our teares, the haires of 
 our heads, our dayes, our bones." 
 
 Part the second is devoted to " certain 
 mixt Philosophicall Questions, more various, 
 and of greater liberty." Of great liberty are 
 they indeed, the philosophy including much 
 that is altogether beneath the notice of a 
 Dugald Stewart or a Whewell. I am sorry 
 to find that my author's philosophy (such as 
 it is) does not lead him to think over well of 
 the other sex. In answer to a question — a 
 question, by the way, which has puzzled phy- 
 siologists from the Creation until now — 
 
 u How is it that there be many more 
 women in the world than men ?" 
 
 We are informed that, " Some think be- 
 cause women are exempted from the warres, 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 21 
 
 from the seas, imprisonments (things must 
 have altered since then), and many other 
 troubles and dangers of the land, to be a reason 
 sufficient. So others likewise there are that 
 think this may be the reason, because in the 
 whole course of Nature the worst things are 
 ever most plentiful." 
 
 Again, we are informed " That of all waters, 
 the most deceitful are of the tears of a 
 woman;" that " of all creatures the most 
 wanton are insatiate women." 
 
 We are reminded that Sir Thomas More 
 (who deserved decapitation for that, if for 
 nothing else), was wont to say, that "the 
 choosing of wives was fitly compared unto 
 the plucking eeles out of a bag, wherein for 
 every eele are twenty snakes ;" and, that con- 
 cerning u imperious women," the terrible The- 
 mistocles thus observed to his own wife : — 
 
 " wife, the Athenians rule the Grecians, 
 I the Athenians, thou me, thy sonne thee ; 
 therefore in my opinion he spake not amisse 
 
22 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 who said lie never knew Commonwealth, nor 
 private family well governed, where the hen 
 crew, and the cock held his peace *, for though 
 it be said of women that they are so able of 
 tongue, that three of their clappers will make 
 a reasonable noyse for a market ; yet, though 
 they talk, they should not command, or at 
 least, should not govern." 
 
 At the tongue of a woman — that univer- 
 sal mark for the arrows of the wit from 
 Shakespeare down to the creator of the 
 caudles — our author lets fly this little dart : 
 44 When a man dyes, which is the last part of 
 him that stirs, and which of a woman?" 
 
 Ans : 44 The last part of a man that stirs 
 is his heart, but of a woman her tongue." 
 
 Further on, Cato is quoted as having re- 
 pented himself of three things only, the first 
 of which was, 44 that he ever believed a 
 woman." 
 
 At page 96 we are asked, " What is Death 
 very fitly resembled unto ?" to which is the 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 23 
 
 reply, " To a woman ; for seek her, and she 
 flyes you ; fly her, and she seeks you." 
 According to the poet : — 
 
 Follow a shadow it still flyes you ; 
 Seem to fly it will pursue you. 
 So court a woman she denies you ; 
 Let her alone, she will court you. 
 
 Our modern satirist, Thackeray, in an 
 amusing article on u Child's Parties," simi- 
 larly observes — u The women, by rights, 
 ought to court the men, and they would if we 
 but left them alone." In another place a 
 woman is compared to a ship because these 
 are " two things that cannot be too much 
 trimmed;" and again, M a ship, is turned and 
 guided by the stern, a little piece of wood, so 
 must the wife in this be like, being willing to 
 be guided by the direction of the husband ; 
 and as it fails not but by deliberation, sound- 
 ing, and compasse, so must not she walke bat 
 by discretion and judgment. But herein 
 she must be unlike, for as one ship may be- 
 long to many merchants, and many mer- 
 chants may be owners of one ship, so must 
 
24 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 not the wife. She must be property but to 
 one, and lastly, a ship may be painted, but a 
 woman should not/' 
 
 There, dear ladies, what do you say to that 
 application of the lash ? Have you had 
 enough, or a la Oliver Twist, do you ask 
 for more ? 
 
 Our author is not less severe on Popes and 
 Papists. Here are two bitter pills for his 
 Holiness to swallow. 
 
 a Who is the greatest opposer of truth?" 
 
 Ans. u The Pope, who, as Baleus recites, is 
 so opposite, that commonly whatsoever he 
 praises is worthy of dispraise ; for whatsoever 
 he thinkes is vain ; whatsoever he speakes is 
 false; whatsoever he dislikes is good; what- 
 soever he approves is evill ; and whatsoever 
 he extols is infamous." 
 
 " What seats are ordained for Popes after 
 
 this life r 
 
 Ans, u Heaven they continually sell, and 
 daily offer for sale ; and, therefore, Hell is 
 their place in reversion." 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 25 
 
 The author, it will be observed, is some- 
 what censorious, but we must remember the 
 temper of the times in which he lived. It 
 was in the year of grace, 1654, and but five 
 years since the execution of a certain king, 
 whose lady's openly avowed Eoman Catholic 
 tendencies had been the cause of the greatest 
 alarm. The following is pleasanter, because 
 kindlier in tone ; and, moreover, the shaft is 
 aimed at other game as well. 
 
 " Who are the most merry, most free, most 
 mad, and most blessed in the world?" 
 
 u The most merry are Popish priests that 
 sing when others weep, both before they dye, 
 and after they are dead. The most free are 
 physicians, that are licensed to kill without 
 punishment, so that what is death to others 
 is gain to them. The most mad are nice gram- 
 marians, that fight about vowels, and for air 
 and sound. The fourth are the poor that are 
 blessed ; though with Agar I pray to give me 
 neither poverty nor riches, but contented- 
 
 c 
 
26 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 nesse," to which, however, he slily appends 
 Ovid's lines — ■ 
 
 Non tamen hoec tanti est, pauper ut esse velim — 
 Though blessings be for them in store 
 To be their heir Td not be poor 1 1 1 
 
 There are three properties which our author 
 considers necessary to a good chirurgeon — 
 " A hawke's eye, a lion's heart, and a lady's 
 hand." 
 
 Do they think the same at "Bartholomew's," 
 I wonder ? 
 
 And it is in these three forms that he ap- 
 pears to his patient ; " in the forme of a skillful 
 man, when he promiseth helpe; in the shape 
 of an angel when he performes it ; in the 
 forme of a devill when he asketh his reward " 
 — a compliment which the Faculty will, 
 doubtless, appreciate. Here is a special bit of 
 "philosophy" which is worth quoting, as af- 
 fording a solution of what has long been a 
 vexata quoestio in the science of ethics. 
 
 " Is Faith to be kept with an enemy? " 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 27 
 
 Ans. " It is ; for we are not so much, to 
 consider to whom as by whom we have 
 sworn, and therefore he is found much faith - 
 fuller than thou which believing thee, hav- 
 ing sworne by the name of God, hath been 
 deceived, than thou, that by that means hast 
 deceived him." 
 
 The rest of his moral philosophy may be 
 summed up in the following, " Wherefore is 
 the World round ?" " Because that it, and 
 all therein, should not fill the heart of man, 
 being a triangle receptable for the holy 
 trinity." 
 
 And " what may the world most fitly be 
 compared unto ?" u To a deceitful nut, which, 
 if it be opened with the knife of Truth, 
 nothing is found in it but vacuity and vanity," 
 which latter sentiment may have been origi- 
 nal at the time at which it was written, but, 
 if so, it has been sadly plagiarized since. 
 Touching the Mysteries of Life and Death 
 we are asked, " How is death proved to be 
 nothing to us ?" 
 
 c 2 
 
28 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 Ans. " Thus — when death is— we are not; 
 and, when we are — then death is not ; and, 
 therefore, death is nothing to us," which is 
 logical, if not convincing. 
 
 And, again, " How is our death proved to 
 be something almost depending upon 
 nothing?" 
 
 Ans. " Thus — the years that are past, are 
 gone, and those we have not ; the future we 
 are not certain of, and therefore boast not of ; 
 the time present is but a moment — and that 
 is the brittle, thread it depends upon. And, 
 therefore, to this I adde with a Father— 
 Happy is he, that in this, his short minute, 
 lays hold upon Christ's mercies, and even 
 whilst it is called to-day, and he may be 
 found that bore all our infirmities upon his 
 Crosse." A curious rhyme follows : 
 
 " ]STo fruitfull field am I, no blessed wheat, 
 But cursed Cockle (sic.) to weed out or eat, 
 Yet though I am thus cast out, lost and sold 
 To Sin, yet Lord, reduce me to that fold." 
 
 The term u cursed cockle " is, I think, as 
 novel as it is expressive. The ensuing question 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 29 
 
 and answer are worthy of note. u Where- 
 fore have all the Jews a ranke smell or 
 savour? Some think because they are of 
 a bad digestion. Some think the wrath of 
 God upon them the immediate cause; howso- 
 ever they have been a people strangely dis- 
 persed over the earth, slaughtered and tor- 
 mented in all countries. — France, Spain, 
 Portugal, Germany, and England. In King 
 John's time they were fined at 1,000 marks 
 a man, upon penalty of not payment to lose 
 their teeth. An old Jew of Bristol had six 
 of his teeth pulled out because he refused to 
 pay the fine. Many thousands of them were 
 slaughtered in divers kingdoms, upon a ru- 
 mour being spread that they had poisoned 
 all the wells in those countries ; and when- 
 ever they live at this day among christians, 
 they live in subjection and slavery to them 
 they most hate." It is worthy of note that 
 even so early as 1654, the intolerance against 
 Judaism had shown signs of decrease, and 
 that a writer could be found bold enough to 
 
30 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 speak of them as a persecuted and " tormen- 
 ted " race, albeit " of a rank smell or savour." 
 What would he have said had he foreseen 
 that two hundred years later they would be 
 admitted as representatives into the British 
 House of Parliament ? Our author was not 
 particularly partial to the a chase, 7 ' if we may 
 judge from the following : " What kind of 
 men are they which, being as beasts, them- 
 selves sit upon beasts, carry beasts on their 
 hands, have beasts running about them, and 
 all to pursue and kill beasts ? " Ans : " un- 
 lettered huntsmen." 
 
 What would our author have said to Mr. 
 Kingsley's panegerics on that " noble sport ?" 
 A clergyman, too ! Surely he would have 
 been sent to the same limbo as the Pope — 
 recorded above. One or two more original 
 remarks which defy classification are worth 
 mentioning. We are asked, conundrum-wise, 
 wherefore have we two ears and but one 
 tongue, to which there is this terse and 
 pithy answer : u That we should hear twice 
 
SKETCHES FEOM LTFE. 31 
 
 as much as we speak." It would be a good 
 thing sometimes, if not only u little boys," 
 but " great men and women," were " seen 
 and not heard." But I am sorry to say that 
 two centuries have not improved us as much 
 in this respect as our author might have 
 wished. Next I would quote the solution of 
 a problem over which I have sorely puzzled. 
 " How comes it that the husband seeks the 
 wife, and not the contrary, the wife the 
 husband?" 
 
 Ans. : " Because the man seeks that which 
 he formerly lost ; that is, his rib, which was 
 taken from him in the forming of the woman 
 out of his side, and therefore, when a man 
 marries a wife, what doth he but fetch back 
 the rib which he first lost?" There is some- 
 thing, to my mind, too tender and touching 
 in the following idea to warrant its omission. 
 a What waters of all others ascend highest? " 
 
 Ans. : u The teares of the faithfull, which 
 God gathers into his bottle." 
 
 After this u philosophy mixt " come u cer- 
 
32 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 taine grammaticall questions." These would 
 seem to be of " greater liberty " than even 
 the " philosophy mixt," since, after a few 
 preliminary observations on the construction 
 of sentences, they tear off at a canter to the 
 lives of Hermogenes and Archimede and 
 thence to a chronicle of the kings of England. 
 It will be sufficient to quote a few of the 
 more special. 
 
 The following, to begin w T ith, may be 
 considered " a sell." The question is put: 
 11 Wherefore have grammarians formed three 
 genders in art, seeing there are but two in 
 nature ; or why doth not nature bring forth 
 things of the neuter gender, as well as of the 
 masculine and the feminine ? " and it is an- 
 swered: u Let him tell the cause of that who 
 can ; or if he cannot, let him seek another 
 Palemon that can unty this knot, for (please 
 to observe the elegance of the expression) 
 my heifer shall not plow this." The other 
 questions are classical to a degree, though 
 whether the answers would pass one for a 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 33 
 
 degree is another matter. " What is the 
 difference between os, oris, for the mouth, 
 and os, ossis, for a bone?" 
 
 Ans. u Whatsoever is gotton by os, ossis, 
 the bone, is devoured of os, oris, the mouth." 
 
 Question the second. " Why is honos, for 
 honour, written with h, an aspiration; and 
 onus, for a burden, without?" 
 
 Ans. u Because to the one all men aspire, 
 the other few men doe desire." 
 
 Hereupon ensueth " a Discourse of wonders 
 Domesticall and Forraigne," among which we 
 are regaled with the chronicles of such won- 
 ders as these : — 
 
 "An. Dom. 1571, at Knivaston, in Here- 
 ford, the ground sunke, and an hill with a 
 rock of stones at the foot of it lifted itselfe 
 up with a great noyse, and ascended to a 
 higher place, leaving a deep pit behind it ; 
 carrying with it trees growing, sheep-coats, 
 and flockes of sheep, of the trees, some say, 
 covered with earth, others growing fast in 
 the hill as it went stood upright. Thus, 
 
 c 5 
 
34 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 having walked from Saturday evening till 
 Munday noone it rested." The above is inter- 
 esting from the fact of our having recently 
 (September, 1863) been startled by the shock 
 of an earthquake. At the Isle of Sheppey, 
 the cat of Dick Whittington seems to have 
 been in request, for we read of a u multitude 
 of mice that could not be driven away till a 
 flight of owles came and devoured them." 
 
 Another 4t domesticall " wonder was an in- 
 dustrious flea, which "drew a chaine of 
 twenty -four links with lock and key," and a 
 still greater marvel was the remarkably thick- 
 skinned sleeper " that slept in the Tower 
 three days and three nights, and could not be 
 wakened during that space by any noyse or 
 violence, by pricking with needles, or other- 
 wise." 
 
 This "forraigne wonder" may, for its gro- 
 tesque improbability, claim a place by the 
 side of any other pseudo " miracle" you may 
 like to name : — 
 
 " A poore begger woman laden with chil- 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 35 
 
 dren came to the door of a certain Dutch, 
 countesse, and craved an almes, which the 
 Countess not only denyed, but called her foul 
 names, telling her withall it was impossible 
 she should have so many by one man ; which 
 this begger hearing besought God who knew 
 her innocent to manifest it unto her by giving 
 her so many at one birth by her husband as 
 there are days in the year, which fell out 
 accordingly ! ! ! " 
 
 There is one more which is almost as 
 racy. u In what part of the world is it that 
 trees breed living creatures? " 
 
 Ans. : u In the lies of orchades in Scotland, 
 wherein growes a tree neare the sea-side that 
 bears fruit like unto a fowl, which dropping 
 downe into the water becomes a living crea- 
 ture like a ducke." 
 
 Our author, however, constantly shows 
 himself to be in advance of his age — and 
 here he adds, with just a tinge of scepti- 
 cism, " But this reported rather by history 
 than by the people of that country." 
 
36 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 The next portion of our book embraces a 
 couple of stories u contentive to read, and 
 necessary to be known/' and containing 
 respectively the histories of Saint George 
 and Saint Christopher. Concerning Saint 
 George it is recorded how that he, passing 
 through Lybia, discovered that the princess 
 of that country was about to be offered up as 
 a sacrifice to a terrible dragon. This insa- 
 tiate Moloch, it appears, had been in the 
 habit of preying first upon the Lybian sheep, 
 then upon the Lybian men, then upon the Ly- 
 bian children, and now, as a last resource, had 
 come for the daughter of the Lybian King. 
 Perceiving matters in this predicament, or, as 
 our author has it, " espying this forlorn wight," 
 Saint George valiantly resolved to fight the 
 dragon. This he accordingly did, and after 
 a severe encounter " wounded him sore," and 
 leads him conquered and captive in triumph 
 to the city, where the inhabitants, with a 
 bravery which did them credit, proceeded to 
 slaughter him. The same saint, we are in- 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 37 
 
 formed, helped the Christians, by means of a 
 " spectral illusion," in which " a white arm " 
 and " a red cross " played a conspicuous part, 
 to take the city of Jerusalem. Concerning 
 Saint Chrysostom, it is recorded how that 
 he, being in search of the greatest prince in 
 the world, was one day entreated by a child 
 to carry him across a river. He complied, 
 but ere he had crossed halfway the child 
 grew so heavy, and the water swelled so 
 high, that he was in danger of drowning. 
 However, he got over in safety, and then the 
 Saint says to the child : — " Thou, childe, 
 weighest almost as heavy as if I had carried 
 all the world upon my back." 
 
 Quoth the childe : — " Thou hast borne all the 
 world upon thy back and HIM that created 
 it. And to make sure thereof set thy staff in 
 the ground, and to-morrow it shall bud and 
 bring forth fruit/' The next day it did bud 
 and bring forth fruit, and the result, we are 
 told, was his own conversion and the conver- 
 sion of thousands. It is a queer old legend, 
 
38 SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 
 
 and though we may disbelieve it, there is a 
 quaint beauty in it which is very attractive. 
 
 A collection of epigrams and epitaphs come 
 next in order, of the former of which the 
 following may be taken as specimens : 
 
 I. 
 
 Health is a jewel true, which when we buy 
 Physicians value it accordingly. 
 
 II. 
 
 A beggar ask'd a penny once and swore 
 Give him but that, and he would ne'er ask more ; 
 With that I op'd and what he ask'd I gave, 
 But deeply vow'd he never more should have : 
 Not long from thence he ask*d again, and wept 
 So that I gave, yet both our Oaths were kept. 
 
 And of the latter 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF THE ELDEST SON OF ONE MASTER HUTCHING. 
 
 Here lies one in the flowre of youth 
 
 Once his friends' joy now his parent's ruth : 
 
 If Kitching be his name, as I have found, 
 
 Then death now keeps his kitching under ground, 
 
 And hungry worms that late of flesh did eat 
 
 Devour their kitching in the stead of meat. 
 
 This was his lot, and, Reader, this must be, 
 
 Ere long thy mine, and the end of me. 
 
 Kiddles too find favour with our author, of 
 which I will extract a few of the best. Here 
 is a pretty trifle for the ladies : 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 39 
 
 Sweet Lady, such a boon I crave 
 As being gone again you have : 
 Nay, if you surfeit my request 
 Your gift returns with interest : 
 'Tis not so wanton as may show 
 A Venus blush, a Cupid's bow ; 
 Such as your beauties sympathize 
 When Cupid's quiver is in your eyes : 
 
 That blisse which answers my desire 
 
 May parallel Diana's fire : 
 
 'Tis such as in a moment's stay 
 
 Is given and is gone away : 
 
 Yet if you grant, you grant a bliss ; 
 
 Sweet Lady, tell me what it is ? 
 
 And the " sweet lady " of course has the 
 answer on the tip of her— lips. Here are 
 two more in rhyme : 
 
 There is a body without a heart 
 That hath a tongue and yet no head, 
 Buried it was ere it was made, 
 And loud doth speak and yet is dead. 
 
 Eesolution: A bell which when cast is 
 founded in the ground. 
 
 One evening as cold as cold might be 
 With frost and hail and pinching weather 
 Companions about three times three 
 Lay close all in a pound together : 
 Yet one after other they took a heat 
 And dyed that night all in a sweat. 
 
 Eesolution : A pound of candles. 
 
40 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 Among those in prose we have: "First 
 my mother brought me forth, when shortly 
 after I the daughter bring forth my mother 
 again ? " the resolution whereof is " Ice — ■ 
 which is first made of water, afterwards melts 
 and brings forth water again ;" and ct What is 
 that which produceth tears without sorrow, 
 takes his journey to heaven, but dyes by the 
 way, is begot by another, yet that other is not 
 begot without it," the resolution whereof 
 is " smoke." The following u catches " I 
 think exceedingly good. " What one man 
 was that, that slew at once the fourth part of 
 the world ? " 
 
 Ans. u Cain ; that slew his brother when 
 there were but four persons in the world." 
 
 u What is that that stands still on one foot 
 and on the other walks round ?" 
 
 Ans. " A pair of compasses." In the 
 matter of jests I grieve to say that our author 
 is somewhat indecent. But then I plead in 
 extenuation the times in which he lived. If 
 this is to be deemed a valid excuse for the 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 41 
 
 coarseness which occasionally defames the 
 manifold beauties of the immortal Shakspeare 
 — surely it will be considered sufficient for 
 the author of " the Help to Discourse." It 
 is unfortunate in this case certainly, as some 
 of the smartest jokes are also the filthiest. 
 Two pearls from the dung-heap may, 
 however, safely be extracted. u A cardinall 
 on a time, for his exceeding pomp and pride, 
 was rebuked by the French king and told 
 that it was not their manner of old to be so. 
 So, quoth the caidinall, in times past king's 
 were shepheards, and keepers of cattell." 
 
 u A foolish scholar, hearing a crow would 
 live a hundred yeares, went and bought one 
 to try the conclusion." 
 
 " A fellow poor and improvident compelled 
 to take up his lodging on the ground, where 
 tumbling and tossing all night long on his 
 hard couch he could not sleep ; in the morn- 
 ing rising up he cast down his eye on the 
 place where he lay, and espyed a feather: 
 Oh, quoth he, now I see the cause of my 
 
42 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 trouble that all this night I could not rest : I 
 wonder, if one feather can trouble me so 
 much, how do they do that lye upon thou- 
 sands ? " This last may call to our re- 
 collection the story (I think I quote it aright) 
 of the wife who was chosen from among a 
 number of others, because she alone was sen- 
 sitive enough to have her night's rest de- 
 stroyed by a pea which had been placed 
 under the mattress on which she lay. 
 
 After this digression to lighter matters our 
 author becomes fearfully learned, and dis- 
 courseth knowingly about Epacts and Equi- 
 noctials, Rainbows and Planets, but as the 
 spread of science has tolerably popularized 
 the knowledge of those interesting matters I 
 will not record his opinions here. Then he 
 gets superstitious again, and points out cer- 
 tain days of a man's life which are to be con- 
 sidered "dangerous," or — here follows a word 
 of the gravest import — u clymactericall (! ! !) " 
 He has however the advantage of our modern 
 soothsayer in one respect ; he volunteers 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 43 
 
 reasons, odd enough though they be, for the 
 avoidance of his u clymacfericall" days. 
 Thus we are to beware of the u first Monday 
 in April," because " on that day Cain was 
 born and his brother Abel slain," the "second 
 Monday in August," because " on that day 
 Sodom and Gomorrah were destroyed," and 
 the " 31st of December," because on that 
 day Judas was born that betrayed Christ. 
 Whether he is correct in his facts or not I 
 will not stop to inquire. 
 
 In like manner he is an interpreter of 
 dreams. To dream of eagles' flying over our 
 heads, of marriages, or of dancing, and ban- 
 queting foretels that " some of our Kinsfolk 
 are departed." Who shall decide when the 
 oracles disagree ? According to a dream- 
 book which was written by the lamented 
 u Mother Shipton," to dream of " marriage," 
 portendeth " sickness," of " dancing," " wea- 
 riness and langour ;" of a banqueting," 
 u that we shall be disappointed !" In another f 
 
 * Mother Shipton' a Dream-book; A. Park, Leonard St., Finsbury. 
 f Published by S. & J. Keys, Devonport. 
 
44 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 dream-book, " Dancing" denoteth " Joyful 
 news from an absent friend, and unexpected 
 good fortune," which, to be sure, to an ex- 
 pectant heir, might be regarded as one and 
 the same thing with the loss of his kinsfolk ! 
 To dream of u gold, is good fortune," of 
 " silver,' ; according to our author, " if thou 
 hast given it to thyself, is sorrow/' though, 
 according to Mother Sliipton, it is " success 
 in trade, and every other undertaking !" To 
 dream of " losing an axal- tooth, or an eye," 
 is a u friend's death ;" but, according to Mother 
 Ship ton, " to dream our teeth fall out is 
 good," though it must be owned that my 
 other dream-book coincides with our author 
 in both particulars. To dream of u bloody 
 teeth, is the dreamer's own death ;" of 
 u seeing one's face in the water," or of 
 u seeing the dead — long life," though as to 
 the latter, a third * dream-book maintains 
 that it meaneth, " ill-usage from friends," 
 while both of the others hold to its signifying 
 
 * Raphael's Dream-book. Fairburn, Featherstone St., City Rd. 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 45 
 
 " a wedding !" To dream of " birds, is a 
 sign of ill-luck," with which Mother Shipton 
 appears to agree, though Eaphael considers 
 them as signs of " Joy, success in business ;" 
 and, "if we are married, advantage to our 
 family ;" though, to be sure, " wounds from 
 birds of prey are powerful enemies." To 
 dream of " handling lead," or of "seeing a 
 hare, is death," though Mother Shipton doesn't 
 go so far as that, believing " lead" merely to 
 imply " sickness," and " hares, pain ;" 
 whereas, if we should happen to be sports- 
 men, and "shoot" them, the omen is entirely 
 reversed, and we are to expect the enjoyment 
 of "long life!" 
 
 Arithmetical matters next engage our 
 author's attention, and we are treated to a 
 number of Tables of Usury, Laws of Ex- 
 change, "fit to be regarded by all those that 
 out of a wary disposition intend to thrive." 
 An Essay in Rhyme, and an Essay in Prose, 
 are also given upon the rules of Purchase 
 
46 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 and Sales, which might have been useful in 
 their day, but are utterly valueless now, from 
 the fact of an unkind Legislature having 
 entirely altered their nature and properties. 
 
 Our author next turns doctor, and writes 
 out a few prescriptions " for the better pre- 
 servation of our health." These, it must be 
 owned, are not remarkable for novelty, and 
 indeed are such as we might be thought to 
 have known before. Thus, we are to live in 
 a healthy climate, to eat meats that are easy 
 of digestion, such as capons, chicken, or mut- 
 ton, not to eat too much or of too many 
 different dishes, to drink wine in moderation, 
 to take exercise in the open air, not to go to 
 bed too late, not to lie on our backs in sleep, 
 to rise early — with other guinea's worths of 
 advice given free, gratis, and for nothing. 
 
 After this there follow a few more of the 
 " quips and cranks," none of which merit 
 special quotation, though among them I am 
 rejoiced to find that our author, cold-blooded 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 47 
 
 misogynist as he is, has so far recovered him- 
 self as to dole out this meagre tribute to the 
 darlings of our hearths and homes — 
 
 " Question : Three things should be always 
 at home, and what are they ?" 
 
 Ans. " The Hen-roost, a Cat, and a 
 Beautiful Wife." 
 
 And then the book is brought to a con- 
 clusion with " certaine briefe observations on 
 Secrets in Nature and Art not impertinent to 
 our former subject/' a few of which I hope 
 it will not be thought impertinent in me to 
 extract. It appears to be a " Secret in Nature" 
 that " a fowle hung up in a fig-tree becometh 
 marvellous tender, though otherwise harsh 
 and tough before ; and that likewise a Bull, 
 or other wild beast, tyed thereunto, becometh 
 tame ;" it is also a " Secret in Nature," 
 that "if a man be the first that a woman 
 meets with, after she, being newly churched, 
 comes out of the churchdoore, it signifies that 
 the next child will be a boy ; it a woman, 
 that it will be a girle ; but this," says our 
 
48 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 ever sceptical instructor, u we rather take to 
 be opinion than probability ;" it is likewise 
 a " Secret in Nature" that " though it is a 
 maxime that what is once dead cannot be 
 recovered, yet a Fly, that worthless creature, 
 being drowned and dead, will be recovered 
 again by laying her in warm ashes," all of 
 which, I am inclined to think, are " secrets " 
 the revelation of which would be of the most 
 material service to mankind, were it not 
 utterly preposterous to suppose that they are 
 founded upon fact. 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 49 
 
 BATHING A LA MODE. 
 
 You crossed over, last evening, you say, 
 and had a wretched passage which was but 
 partially redeemed by a good night's rest in 
 one of the nattiest little bedrooms of the 
 Hotel des Bains ; and now having interchanged 
 Anglo-Gallic grimaces with the garcons 
 and made mute love to the grisettes, and 
 finally, having digested a petit dejeuner, con- 
 sisting of omelette aux fines heroes, melon, 
 soles f rites, fricandeau, cotelette a la jardiniere, 
 volaille roti, pommes de terre a le maitre d hotel, 
 peches, pain et beurre, and cafe au lait, you 
 want to know what to do with yourself until 
 dinner time. It is too long a walk to the 
 Cathedral, it is too hot to scale the heights 
 
 D 
 
50 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 of Caligula's Tower, the reminiscences of the 
 past evening are too vividly impressed upon 
 your memory to admit of your tempting the 
 elements in a cruise. Come with me, theu, 
 make me thy cicerone and I will show thee 
 a sight. Come, having first purchased a 
 " Punch " of Mr. Merridew as a symbol of 
 your nationality, and a cigar of the pretty 
 girl on the quay as a mark of your condes- 
 cension, and hie to the beach, where with 
 our lazy limbs out-stretched upon the sand 
 we will watch and take note of the bathing 
 at Boulogne. As we leave the pier we pass 
 a sturdy old mendicant who sits grinding 
 upon an organ a series of tunes which would 
 as certainly send to an untimely end a whole 
 cattle-show of cows as they would drive mad 
 a square full of Babbages. Attached to the 
 top of this diabolical instrument is a tin tube 
 shaped like a coffee-strainer and so construc- 
 ted that the pence which may be dropped 
 into it can only be taken out from a drawer 
 behind. He must make a profitable trade 
 
SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 51 
 
 of it, I should think, for judging by the ful- 
 ness of the strainer hardly a person passes 
 who does not contribute a sou to the exche- 
 quer of the pauvre aveugle. 
 
 We are in excellent time. Performances 
 have not yet begun. There is no one in the 
 water as yet, though the machines are most 
 of them drawn out, and the sturdy hacks re- 
 lieved of their burdens are being ridden lei- 
 surely back from the sea. The sea itself is 
 very beautiful. There is hardly a wave to 
 be seen upon its placid bosom. Smooth and 
 glassy as a lake, it glitters and sparkles in 
 the noonday sun, and ripples musically to 
 and fro, and breaks in gentle murmurs on 
 the shore. 
 
 There is a motley crowd upon the beach. 
 Young men, ruddy faced and light whiskered, 
 equipped in peg-top trouser and pork-pie hat, 
 afford a fair representation of the u strangers." 
 Young men, sallow-faced and moustachioed, 
 and wearing straw hats of a colossal size, 
 make a good show as the u natives." While 
 
 d 2 
 
52 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 in the case of the ladies, of whom there is no 
 lack, gallantry forbids us to make compari- 
 sons or to draw distinctions. 
 
 Strolling by us are a band of bonnie bare- 
 legged fish-wives, their scarlet hoods setting 
 off their pretty brown cheeks and sparkling 
 eyes to the greatest advantage. And yet 
 they are little conscious of it. Hard work 
 and coarse fare, and a life inured to labour, 
 leave them little time for coquetry, poor 
 things. Here are a knot of shabbily dressed 
 individuals, whose thread-bare appearance 
 unmistakeably betokens the object of their 
 visit to Boulogne, and who ever and anon 
 cast wistful glances at the white cliffs which 
 they have left behind, and which frown at 
 them, like angry creditors, across the sea. 
 
 Everywhere are groups of children, some 
 floating tiny boats in the puddles, some 
 making ducks and drakes — ornithological 
 curiosities whose genus would have sadly 
 puzzled Cuvier ; others digging with their 
 spades or raising towers and forts of sand, 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 53 
 
 and little heeding that in a moment the re- 
 morseless wave will come and level them to 
 the ground. " The child is father to the 
 man," and whenever I look upon children at 
 these futile labours I cannot help thinking of 
 all the mighty works on which man wastes 
 his strength and hopes and fortunes — all how 
 soon to be obliterated in the great sea of 
 time. 
 
 " Holloa ! I say ; missus, voolay voo ? " 
 shouts a fussy old Englishman — utterly obli- 
 vious to the fact of his being at u Bolong " as 
 he calls it, and not at Rainsgate. " Where 
 is a machine — here ! " But Mr. Jones does 
 not comprehend. 
 
 Though he is an estimable stockbroker ; a 
 great authority on 'Change; has the reputa- 
 tion of being a knowing card and up in the 
 mysteries of the Three per Cents. ; Mr Jones 
 himself undoubtedly is " at a discount" on 
 this side of the Channel. 
 
 Everything is systematic here — en regie- 
 merit ': " They manage these things better in 
 
54 SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 
 
 France." Each bather has a number given 
 hirn at the establishment which we passed, 
 and he must wait in patience till his number 
 is announced. The duty of announcing these 
 numbers devolves upon a very old woman, 
 who looks considerably over ninety, upon 
 whose constitution salt water and iodine have 
 had a most beneficial effect. The old lady 
 will holloa lustily enough when Jones, other- 
 wise " Numero Vingt-uris" turn arrives ; but 
 until then, being rather deaf as well as unac- 
 quainted with the English language, she will 
 pay him not the slightest attention. 
 
 Lo ! at this moment the door of a machine 
 is swung back, and splash — splash; two 
 lively girls plunge headlong into the water. 
 Both are got up in the most recherche of 
 costumes, the one in a blue the other in a red 
 serge dress, cut short at the knees and having 
 drawers to match. There is a pretty belt for 
 the waist, and the whole is profusely adorned 
 with ribbons and streamers. Sweet little 
 ducks ! How merry they are ! How tho- 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 55 
 
 roughly they enjoy themselves ! And above 
 all, how well they know the secret of a really 
 enjoyable bath. For be it known that they 
 are masters, or rather mistresses, of an accom- 
 plishment unknown, unlearnt by the majority 
 of our own countrywomen. They can swim. 
 Not for them the miserable jack-in-the-box 
 movement which seems to constitute the sole 
 delight of our English fair, when with the 
 sea up to their knees, and clinging tight to 
 the rope of the machine, they take their 
 morning dip at Seacliff. 
 
 No — the French lasses strike boldly out, 
 hands well together, arms slightly bent, head 
 well up, and altogether perform a succession 
 of aquatic feats which would ensure them a 
 ready "pass" from the swimming-masters at 
 Eton. From another machine issues a 
 grissly old Frenchman. He, like the young 
 ladies is habited en costume, which, in his 
 case, consists simply of a very well-fitting 
 striped jacket and trousers. Splash ! in he 
 goes head foremost, and turning up again the 
 
56 SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 
 
 next moment exhibits his dripping beard, and 
 grinning teeth, the very picture of self-com- 
 placency. " C 'est delicieux, parole dhonneur" 
 shouts the old fellow, addressing some com- 
 rade in the machine. And the invisible 
 gentleman seems disposed to test the truth of 
 his assertion, for a moment has hardly elapsed 
 before he splashes in after him. 
 
 Out of the next machine step a young 
 couple newly married — she somewhat 
 coyly at first, but gaining courage as she 
 looks up at the kind, earnest eyes that are 
 bent on hers and speak such tender love. 
 Out of another comes an elderly lady with 
 her pet dog — one of that horrid woolly-headed 
 bare-backed breed yclept French poodle — 
 whom she has brought down for a dip. 
 
 The creature regards the water dubiously, 
 and utters a piteous whine as the first wave 
 breaks over him; but his mistress, the void in 
 whose spinster heart Fido evidently fills, ad- 
 dresses him encouragingly, and tells him it is 
 for his good, all of which, of course, the ani- 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 57 
 
 mal thoroughly understands and appreciates. 
 From another issues a middle-aged mother 
 with her pet, a child, who proves even more 
 refractory than the dog, and dismal are 
 the howlings with which he regales the 
 maternal ears while he is undergoing the 
 miseries of a ducking. From two others 
 there burst at the same moment a genuine 
 English party. 
 
 From the one, paterfamilias, son, and 
 nephew; from the other, materfamilias, 
 daughters twain, and niece. And as pleasing 
 a group are they as artist could desire. 
 There is old pater — old in years, as his 
 wrinkled brow and silvered hair most surely 
 attest, but young in the buoyancy, the elasti- 
 city, the honest heartiness of youth. Eadiant 
 and smiling is mater in her sprucely-decked 
 garments, which, she thinks, become her 
 admirably, and judging by the admiring gaze 
 of old pater, perhaps she is not far in the 
 wrong. Sisters twain are buxom likewise 
 and up to all sorts of mischief, as that good- 
 
 D 5 
 
58 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 humoured fellow of a cousin can tell you who 
 is enduring a terrible splashing at their hands. 
 Niece is lissom, golden-haired, and has a fresh 
 English colour upon her cheek not yet ruined 
 by that foreign sun which, golden and glorious 
 though it be, plays the very devil with a fair 
 complexion. Pater's son regards her tenderly, 
 and it may be nurses a secret attachment. 
 There is a little flirtation going on between 
 them already. Well, and why not ? For all 
 I know to the contrary proposals may be 
 made, and hands and hearts may be offered — • 
 and troth may be plighted — en costume des 
 bains — in the water. As fitting a place surely 
 as a public promenade or a ball-room, where 
 offers have been made and are made daily. 
 As fitting — more fit, for it is less noticeable, 
 and the roar of the sea is an effectual security 
 from eavesdroppers. But lo ! as we speak 
 they have formed themselves into a ring, each 
 linking his hand to that of the other. And 
 so, splashing, and laughing, and flirting, they 
 take their fill of merriment, and dance round 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 59 
 
 an imaginary mulberry tree to their heart's 
 content. 
 
 They manage these things better in France. 
 Laurence Sterne's maxim has been oft quoted 
 and applied to a great many institutions of 
 the sister country. Can it be applied to the 
 system of bathing which is practised at Bou- 
 logne ? Or, on the other hand, do you think 
 that that system is an outrage to every sense 
 of decency ? Everyone has a right to his 
 own opinion — I am inclined to think not. I 
 am inclined to think that it is not half as in- 
 decent as that system which permits ladies to 
 appear in public with nothing on but a loose 
 gown of oilskin which the lightest gust of 
 wind may disarrange, and permits members 
 of the other sex to exhibit themselves within 
 a distance of fifty yards literally and entirely 
 in a state of nature. 
 
60 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 TWO FEASTS. 
 
 I am one of a large party assembled to wit- 
 ness a fashionable wedding. There, by the 
 altar rails, stands the bride, pale and pensive, 
 but very happy — 
 
 Happy in this, she is not yet so old 
 But she may learn ; happier in this 
 She is not bred so dull but she can learn ; 
 Happiest of all in that her gentle spirit 
 Commits itself to his to be directed, 
 As from her lord, her governor, her king. 
 
 There, on the other side, stands the bride- 
 groom — proud and confident in the love that 
 is reposed upon him. Behind him stand the 
 groomsmen trim and jaunty in their fawn- 
 coloured waistcoats and wedding favours, and 
 gazing sweetly across upon the bridesmaids ; 
 behind her stand the bridesmaids, gaily 
 equipped in laces and satins, and taking note, 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 61 
 
 I suspect, of how they are to act when their 
 turn comes. u It is still customary," says the 
 learned Mr. Brand, " in most parts of 
 England, for the young men present at the 
 marriage ceremony to salute the bride one by 
 one the moment it is concluded." 
 
 We dispense with that ceremony on this 
 occasion, but there is another which we 
 studiously observe. 
 
 As we come out of church we are met by a 
 band of school-children, who strew flowers in 
 the path of the bride. It is a pretty old 
 custom that, I think, of strewing flowers in a 
 young bride's path. 
 
 Glide by the banks of virgins then and passe 
 The showers of roses, lucky foure-leaved grasse ; 
 
 by which it will be seen that the custom was 
 known to old Herrick. On our return from 
 church we were shown into a room wherein 
 are displayed the wedding presents. " In 
 old times," I again quote from Mr. Brand, " it 
 was the custom for all the friends invited to 
 the breakfast to bring or send some contribu- 
 
62 SKETCHES FROM LIFE, 
 
 tion, from a cow or a calf down to a half crown 
 or a shilling. " I do not notice any cows or 
 calves among the gifts, nor even half-crowns 
 and shillings, but there is a great deal of what 
 is choice, rich, and costly. We stare at the 
 presents for some time, and remark that this is 
 very handsome, and that very beautiful, and 
 that nothing in the world is more exquisite 
 than the other, until we are well nigh tired 
 out. At length our cuisinier — Mr. Cookbest- 
 son, who for to-day at least is invested with 
 an almost despotic authority — sends word to 
 say that the breakfast is ready. Whereupon 
 we pair off, two and two, like the animals in 
 Noah's ark, and make for the breakfast room. 
 Truly here is a sumptuous repast ! Here is 
 enough to satiate a Lucullus — here is enough 
 for appetites the most dainty — palates the 
 most Epicurean. Game and poultry, hams 
 and tongues, beef and veal (by way of com- 
 pensation for the absence of the living animals) 
 cooked, dressed, and done up into every con- 
 ceivable form and every conceivable shape. 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 63 
 
 And in the middle — towering aloft on its 
 classic pillars, frosted over like the summit of 
 a Pyrenean mountain, stands the mighty cake 
 itself. Well, we get through the breakfast, 
 we eat and drink and talk — 
 
 "We laugh and quaff, and drink cold sherry — " 
 
 And drain bumpers in sparkling champagne, 
 and we are all very gay, and very merry, and 
 very talkative. At length there is a general 
 bush. The speeches are about to begin. 
 Somebody, whose part in our little play has 
 been that of the " heavy father," rises to pro- 
 pose the health of the bride and bridegroom. 
 He begins by observing (if my memory serve 
 me right), that no young couple could have 
 been better suited to each other than this 
 young couple ; that on the one side there is 
 faithfulness and love — on the other there is 
 tenderness and affection ; and that, all things 
 considered, there is every prospect of their 
 leading a happy life together. 
 
 But in my humble opinion that part of his 
 
64 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 speech was the best in which he admonished 
 them not to hope for, not to wish for — per- 
 petual happiness. 
 
 We must all have our sorrows (he said) ; 
 we must all have our cares, our bitter griefs, 
 our hours of agony. But ought we to wish 
 it otherwise ? Is it not out of our greatest 
 sorrows that our greatest joys are born ? 
 
 " Is it not the sweetest rose that's washed 
 in morning dew ? Is not love loveliest when 
 embalmed in tears?" 
 
 Oh ! sacred sorrow, he who knows not thee, 
 Knows not the best emotions of the heart — 
 Those tender tears that humanize the soul, 
 The sigh that charms, the pangs that give delight. 
 
 I know all this has been said before ; bu f , 
 can it be said too often ? God forbid ! Never, 
 while there is one tear left to wipe away ! 
 Never, while there is one poor aching heart 
 to comfort and console ! 
 
 The toast being enthusiastically drunk, 
 Mr. Bridegroom stands forth from behind the 
 cake, and u would like to say a few words in 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 65 
 
 return for the kind manner in which the com- 
 pany have drunk his health." 
 
 Mr. Bridegroom's part is undoubtedly that 
 of the u leading tragedian.' ' He might be 
 likened unto Hamlet, but that that gentleman 
 was invariably addicted to melancholy — and 
 this I am sure cannot be said of Mr. Bride- 
 groom. He might better be compared 
 unto u Othello " in the earlier stage of his 
 wedded life, and before that miscreant Iago 
 had poisoned his mind, and made him, 
 
 Like the base Judean, throw away a pearl, 
 Richer than all his tribe. 
 
 God defend you, my friend, from such caitiff 
 slanderers — there are far too many of them 
 in the world. 
 
 Be she as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, 
 She shall not escape calumny. 
 
 God fnield your honest heart against their 
 viperous lies. 
 
 Meanwhile I am forgetting Mr. Bride- 
 groom's speech. It is neat, effective, and to 
 the purpose. He speaks kindly and honour- 
 
66 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 ably of his bride — modestly and becomingly 
 of himself, and he earnestly trusts that they 
 may both live to show themselves worthy of 
 the kind wishes that have been expressed for 
 their welfare. In conclusion he would pro- 
 pose the health of those twelve young ladies 
 who have so kindly given up so much of 
 their valuable time in order to be present 
 upon this occasion, and to act in the capacity 
 of bridesmaids. Whereupon up gets Mr. 
 Bridegroom's brother — " the first comic man" 
 I will call him — and humourously observes, 
 that to distribute oneself into twelve portions 
 is a task which, under any circumstances, is, 
 to say the least of it, difficult, but that when 
 those portions are ladies, the task becomes 
 almost superhuman. He further expresses 
 the hope that all the young ladies whom he 
 has the honour to represent, will follow the 
 example which has been set them as speedily 
 as possible, (whereupon all the young ladies 
 titter) ; he had used the word a hope " — he 
 would beg leave to correct himself, and say 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 67 
 
 that lie is certain that they will (whereupon 
 all the young ladies blush, but don't look at 
 all inclined to deny the assertion notwith- 
 standing). 
 
 Several other toasts are then proposed and 
 acknowledged by other members of the com- 
 pany, the " walking/' or rather " talking gen- 
 tlemen," let us say, and then the happy pair 
 prepare for their departure. As they take 
 leave a cry is raised for an old shoe, which is 
 to be thrown at their carriage u for good luck." 
 In olden times it was a stocking, in fact, the 
 bride's stocking, which was thrown, and the 
 great art seems to have been u to hit the 
 bridegroom on the nose." Mais nous avons 
 change tout cela. We are grown so uncom- 
 monly proper now, that we prefer " a shoe." 
 The last part of the ceremony, however, we 
 carry cfut to the letter, and all I hope is that 
 the shoe isn't a hard one. 
 
 On the following evening I was present at 
 another feast — a feast given in honour of the 
 marriage to some three hundred poor school- 
 
68 SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 
 
 children. Not so grand a feast this by any 
 manner of means. There are no raised pies, 
 or spicy meats, or dainty jellies ; but there is 
 cake, not so rich perhaps as the cake of the 
 previous day. There is no frosted sugar upon 
 it, or almond paste. The plums it must be 
 admitted are but few and far between, and I 
 don't perceive any citron. But it is pure and 
 white enough, and is doubtless very much 
 more wholesome. Champagne too there is 
 not, but there is tea, brewed with a due re- 
 gard to nervous temperaments, to be had in 
 abundance. Our company are not very ele- 
 gantly dressed ; they haven't followed cut the 
 precepts of Le Follet, they don't patronize 
 tulle flounces, or Honiton lace, or wreaths of 
 orange blossom. These young ladies, too, 
 they don't look so well as the other young 
 ladies. Their figures are not so graceful, 
 but then they have no " dress " to " set them 
 off;" their complexions are not so delicate, but 
 then they can't afford Eowland's Kalydor, 
 and (don't deny it, my dears) Kalydor 
 
SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 69 
 
 and crinoline are very great aids to Madam. 
 Venus after all. But then, on the other 
 hand, they are ruddy and hearty, and enjoy 
 the blessing of health, and, ah, my poorer 
 brethren, if you have that blessing, you have 
 that for which many a rich man would sell 
 his birthright. 
 
 Watch them now, ranged in rows down the 
 long deal tables. Each child has a mug and 
 a hunk of cake, or those that haven't are 
 clamorously demanding them, They manage 
 to do without knifes or plates, and as to spoons 
 and saucers they are regarded as quite super- 
 fluous. How they eat ! how they drink ! 
 Hunk after hunk of the cake, mug after mug 
 of the tea disappear before their capacious 
 appetites. It amuses me much to watch the 
 efforts of a little usher to keep them within 
 bounds. 
 
 '■ You musn't have any more — youVe had 
 twelve pieces already," cries she to one, and 
 to an unconscionable little swiller, " Oh, you 
 bad boy ! that's your twenty-first cup of tea !" 
 
70 SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 
 
 Doubtless the little usher is right and fore- 
 sees the consequences of a too great gorging. 
 And yet I cannot help wishing that on this 
 occasion at least they may be allowed to stuff 
 and stuff until they give in of themselves out 
 of sheer exhaustion. After tea the school- 
 mistress regales them with a speech, the first 
 and only one of the evening, and it is to the 
 effect that if anyone misbehaves himself he 
 will be summarily ejected there and then. 
 To conclude, she says, " You know you can 
 behave yourselves if you like, so of course 
 you'll do so." 
 
 The conclusion strikes me as somewhat 
 illogical, but it has its effect, for I don't Jiear 
 of one case of misbehaviour throughout the 
 evening. Unfortunately it is ascertained at 
 the last moment, that a magic lantern which 
 has been engaged is out of repair, and it is 
 agreed therefore to supply its place by a round 
 game. This, owing to the number that are 
 present, is found rather difficult of accomplish- 
 ment, and the only thing is to divide them 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 71 
 
 into batches, and to provide each batch with 
 a separate game. Thus in one corner of the 
 room some fifty are set to " Earth, air, and 
 water." 
 
 " Now," explains a young lady who offi- 
 ciates as their instructress, u I shall throw this 
 handkerchief at one of you, and as I throw it 
 I shall say - Earth, air, or water V If I say 
 1 Earth/ you must mention the name of some 
 animal ; if I say, ' Air/ of some bird ; if I say 
 ' Water/ of some fish, and in each case before 
 I have time to count ten. If you answer 
 wrong you must pay a forfeit ; if right I must 
 continue throwing it to you till you fail. 
 Now jthen — ' Earth ! ' cries the young lady, 
 flinging her cambric at random. 
 
 u One, two, three, four, five, six, seven — " 
 
 " Goat !" shrieks the boy on whom it falls. 
 
 u Air," cries the young lady, singling out a 
 blue-eyed little girl in the corner. 
 
 " Sparrer," squeaks the little one in reply. 
 
 " Water," however, proves a clincher, every 
 one vociferating u Fish" indiscriminately, 
 
72 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 instead of specifying the genus piscine that 
 they mean. 
 
 In another part of the room, " Oranges and 
 lemons, or the bells of St. Clements," an ex- 
 cellent game, though an abominable rhyme, 
 comes in for a large share of patronage. In 
 another, a game is being played which I 
 never in my life saw played anywhere else. 
 It consists in a ring being formed, in the midst 
 of which stands boy or girl alternately. Those 
 who compose the ring then move sloAvly 
 round, singing certain verses, at the conclu- 
 sion of which they stop. And then it is the 
 privilege of the one in the ring to kiss the 
 lady (or gentleman, as the case may be) who 
 happens to be his vis a vis. Which is highly 
 immoral, dear Miss Prude, isn't it ? And what 
 makes it infinitely worse is that our parish 
 clergyman is here to sanction it ! 
 
 After this there is a dance or two, a con- 
 certina, together with " the voice," serving as 
 the orchestra. When they are thoroughly 
 tired with these exertions it is proposed that 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 73 
 
 they shall bring the evening to a close with 
 some songs. 
 
 Accordingly all take their seats, the girls 
 in front, the boys behind — to present as near 
 a resemblance to the Monday populars as 
 possible. Some of the songs are very sweet 
 and touching — others might be omitted — one 
 in particular is remarkable for possessing two 
 lines only. Thus — 
 
 " Merrily, merrily, scythe the corn, 
 Cheerily, cheerily, greet the morn ; 
 Merrily, merrily, scythe the corn. 
 Cheerily, cheerily, greet the,' morn." 
 
 And so on ad infinitum. I have often laughed 
 over an absurd doggerel which runs — 
 
 " Joe MiiD-gins invited his uncle to dine. 
 
 OO 
 
 Chorus — And his uncle invited Joe Muggins to dine. 
 
 Joe Muggins invited his uncle to dine. 
 Chorus — And his uncle invited Joe Muslins to dine." 
 
 oo 
 
 Which you are at liberty to repeat till you are 
 tired. But this is hardly more ludicrous 
 than the other. 
 
 Altogether the comic element is the most 
 popular, and every now and then, when op- 
 
74 SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 
 
 portunity serves, some wags in the back- 
 ground come out with — 
 
 " I'm a man of nerve, I do declare;" 
 
 Or 
 
 "I'm off to Charlestown, 
 Early in the morning;" 
 
 in a manner that is spirited and enlivening. 
 These eccentric ditties, however, do not find 
 favour with the authorities, and after the boys 
 have successively demanded whether they 
 haven't got a nerve, and failing in getting an 
 answer have sent their love to all the pretty 
 yellow girls ; the school-mistress rises and 
 puts a veto upon anything being sung but 
 what is strictly sentimental. 
 
 Another song — of a different order — is ac- 
 cordingly sung — and then another — and then 
 the Evening Hymn. Ere they go, however, 
 the clergyman stands forth and asks for three 
 cheers for the givers of the feast, the bride 
 and bridegroom ! Hip-hip-hip ! leads the 
 clergyman — Hurr-a-a-ay ! ! ! And then three 
 hundred little voices send up such ringing 
 
SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 75 
 
 cheers — such honest, hearty cheers, as find an 
 echo in the hearts of all, and in none 
 more than those in whose honour they are 
 given. 
 
 And gratifying to their feelings as must 
 have been the kind words spoken at yester- 
 day's feast, and treasured up in their memo- 
 ries as they must always be, I cannot but 
 think that the cheers of these poor children 
 will come home to them, just as much and 
 just as surely, and will be had in their re- 
 membrance even to the end. 
 
 e 2 
 
76 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 FAIRS AND FAIBING. 
 
 Thackeray has an amusing anecdote some- 
 where of a precocious young gentleman, who 
 sat next him at dinner, and who professed his 
 repugnance to the tart. Quoth he to his 
 neighbour, "with rather a fatuous air," — "I 
 never eat sweets." — " Not eat sweets, and do 
 you know why ?" says Mr. Thackeray. — " Be- 
 cause I am past that kind of thing," says the 
 young gentleman. — "Becauseyou are a glutton 
 and a sot," was the stinging retort. Where- 
 upon a plate of raspberries and cream disap- 
 peared before the philosopher. With due 
 deference to so high an authority, I must 
 frankly and candidly avow that I also do not 
 care for sweets. " Sweets to the sweet " they 
 say, and perhaps it is that there is a little of 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 77 
 
 the amari aliquid in my nature ; but, be that 
 as it may, I do not care for sweets. By 
 u sweets," I do not mean necessarily any- 
 thing that is sweet — such, for instance, as the 
 fruits of the earth, pare and simple ; but I 
 do mean those suspicious-looking and highly 
 objectionable compounds which are ordinarily 
 to be had at a confectioner's, but which ap- 
 pear in the greatest quantity and under the 
 most repulsive forms at a country fair. 
 
 There are some generous girls of my ac- 
 quaintance, who are profuse in. their offers — 
 I mean, of course, of those deleterious com- 
 pounds. They entreat me to partake of their 
 a fairing/' and bring me a little paper packet 
 containing, let us say, a whity red cube, 
 known as Albert Eock, a mysterious almond 
 which, chameleon-like, changes its colour at 
 every suck, and a few indigestible comfits. 
 u Thank you, my dears, I would really 
 much rather not. It is very kind of you 
 ■ — and I feel it very hard to refuse, but the 
 truth is — I don't like sweets." They look 
 
78 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 disappointed, and suggest "a little tony.'' 
 Now if there is one specimen of the genus 
 " sweets " which I positively abhor and 
 abominate above all others it is " toffy !" I 
 admit to having eaten some once, which a fair 
 lady had been at some trouble to make, and I 
 remember, though gallantry forbade me to 
 say so at the time, that I didn't recover the 
 effects for a week ! Oh ! the odious black 
 mess, with its greasy, slimy coils, sticking to 
 your hands, plugging up your teeth, or 
 slobbering clown the sides of your mouth. 
 Ugh ! I would as lief let Mrs. Squeers dose 
 me with the brimstone- and-treacle dainty of 
 Dotheboy's Hall. 
 
 My distaste for fairing, however, does not 
 extend to fairs themselves. I have been a 
 great frequenter of fairs in my time, and 
 I have derived from them no small enjoyment. 
 Fairs at rejoicings, fairs at regattas, fairs at 
 Windsor (yes, Dr. Goodfcrd, I don't mind 
 confessing to the "soft impeachment" now), 
 fairs at Easter, fairs at Michaelmas, fairs at 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 79 
 
 any available time, in every available spot, 
 anrl at every available festival, has it been my 
 lot to witness. Ex uno disce omnes — let us 
 take one as a sample of the rest, and like the 
 dramatists entirely renouncing all ideas of 
 time and space let us transport ourselves into 
 the very heart and centre of an Easter-fair. 
 Immediately before us you will perceive stalls 
 whereon comestibles of every conceivable 
 nastiness are going — going — going dirt cheap 
 ■ — and they couldn't go like anything more 
 appropriate. 
 
 A little further on are to be sold penny 
 trumpets, half-penny rattles and whistles, 
 which are recommended by the vendor as 
 "hadmirible himitations of a bird.'' You 
 buy the whistle, and discover that the birds 
 imitated are of the " rarce aves in terns " 
 species mentioned in the syntax of your Latin 
 Grammar. 
 
 At other stalls are procurable crackers, 
 squibs, and hangups, or combustible pellets 
 which explode upon everything they touch, 
 
80 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 with other toys of a similarly interesting 
 and intellectual nature. Others there be to 
 which targets are affixed, and at which, on 
 payment of a penny, you have the especial 
 privilege of shooting for two pennorth of 
 nuts — a game which has this one draw- 
 back only — that you invariably lose both 
 your penny and your nuts. 
 
 Then there are song-vendors, who jell 
 forth : u Here you air, here you air — five 
 and twenty songs for a'apny — sentimental, 
 comical, or sensational — Far away where 
 Angels dwell — In the Strand, in the Strand — 
 Let me kiss him for his Mother — Old Aunt 
 Sally — So early in the morning — Sweet love 
 arise, and Kiss me quick — Who shall be 
 fairest — Rosalie, the Prairee Flower, or the 
 Perfect Cure — De big white moon am shining, 
 love — and, Hoop de-dooden-do ! Only a 
 penny for a'arf a'undred !" 
 
 Then there are whir] i-go-rounds, wherein, if 
 you have never been to sea, you may experience 
 in five minutes all the sensations incidental 
 
SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 81 
 
 to a voyage — there are nigger melodists, who 
 " wish they were with Nancy," in voices so 
 abominably cracked and with such a ma- 
 niacal accompaniment of bones and banjo as 
 to induce one to wish they were, devoutly. 
 There are fortune-tellers, who for a trifling bit 
 of silver will predict for you a million a year, 
 and then there are sharpers, who will wheedle 
 you out of the greatest part of it long before 
 the prediction is fulfilled. 
 
 Then there is a pony (who must be own 
 cousin to the learned pig) who possesses an 
 intuitive insight into the peculiarities of any- 
 one whom his master may name and who 
 accordingly singles out married men as " the 
 gentlemen in love" and small boys as "those 
 who are about to become fathers," in a 
 manner which is diverting to behold. 
 
 Here is a booth — with the Union Jack fly- 
 ing above it, and with the word " Eoyal 
 Waxwork" emblazoned on red calico in 
 front. 
 
 "Walk in, ladies and gentlemen, walk 
 
 e 5 
 
82 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 in," roars the proprietor, ct only one penny ! 
 the celebrated and original wax-work as 
 patronized by the Queen, the Prince Consort, 
 and all the Eoyal Family, down to little 
 Prince Arthur, whom God preserve ! here 
 you will see wax-figures — modelled the size 
 of life ; enacting scenes from the page of 
 history — you will see them in every attitude 
 and in appropriate costume — you will like- 
 wise see that by a mechanical effect which 
 was interdoosed especially for me by a 
 learned Perfessor, whose modesty compels 
 him to be nameless, these figures will actu- 
 ally breathe — breathe, [ say, just as if they 
 were living — breathe, I repeat, more nater- 
 ally than if they were living ! ! ! " 
 
 The force of fancy can no further go, and 
 with a command to his orchestra to "strike 
 up " he re-enters the tent in order to exhibit 
 the Perfessor's Mechanical Effects to those 
 already assembled. 
 
 u This/' says our friend, as he uncovers case 
 the first and reveals the figure of a bilious- 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 83 
 
 looking man seated between two animals 
 who are remarkable for being singularly un- 
 like lions — " this, ladies and gentlemen, is a 
 representation of Daniel in the Lion's Den. 
 Please to observe the fearless attitude with 
 which he regards his ferocious foes. Hark 
 to the terrible roar with which they greet 
 him." He touches a wire at the side, and a 
 dismal sound issuing from the stomachs of 
 the lions is the result. 
 
 u Now watch the spring which they 
 make upon their intended victim/' and with 
 another touch of the wire the animals make a 
 sort of rocking-horse movement in the direc- 
 tion of Daniel. The Perfessor's Mechanical 
 Effects having been exhibited with similar 
 success in Tableaus Two and Three bring 
 the first part of the entertainment to a close. 
 
 u Only one penny more," says the pro- 
 prietor, "to see the Chamber of Horrors." The 
 Chamber of Horrors has a sounding title, and 
 there is no one present who is not willing to 
 pay his admission fee over again in order to 
 
84 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 see it. " That," says our friend, pointing to 
 the figure of a jolly well whiskered man — " is 
 the immortal Rush; that" to another in black, 
 who looks quite the gentleman ; " the no less 
 undying Manning. Them," pointing to the 
 former's inexpressibles u is the trousers in 
 which he was hung — observe the pattern ! ! 
 They were bought of the executioner at a 
 price which you'd hardly believe, if I was to 
 tell you." This last assertion being proba- 
 bly true he leaves us in our happy ignorance. 
 Mrs. Manning, the wife of the " undying " 
 one — is represented in a rich veil of Honiton 
 lace, likewise Mr. Courvoisier in a plum 
 coloured waistcoat, and Mr. William Palmer 
 in his Sunday best, together with other meri- 
 torious individuals whose fame a certain part 
 of posterity seem never inclined to let die. 
 
 Opposite the Royal Wax-works stand the 
 " Theatre," a faithful copy of the ever me- 
 morable Richardson. The performances here 
 are sensational to a degree, and the plots 
 and counter-plots are so numerous, and in 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 85 
 
 fact become at the denouement so inexplica- 
 bly intermixed the one with the other, that 
 it would be impossible to follow them. 
 
 There is, I believe, a blood-thirsty baron 
 in highlows who is for ever quarrelling with 
 a virtuous peasant in knee-breeches. The 
 cause of the dispute is a beauteous maiden in 
 chintz, whom the virtuous peasant loves to 
 distraction, and whom the blood-thirsty baron 
 doesn't love but wants to jnarry. The 
 Wood-thirsty baron is triumphant for a time 
 (extending eight minutes perhaps out of the 
 twelve which the play lasts), but is van- 
 quished in the end. 
 
 This happy result is attained by means of 
 a Ghost — the ghost of his former bride ; who 
 having an unaccountable habit of bobbing 
 up whenever she is wanted, succeeds in frus- 
 trating a variety of murders, including that 
 of the virtuous peasant which the baron is 
 on the point of committing ; and so the cur- 
 tain falls upon the Discomfiture of the Baron 
 
86 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 and the Wedded Happiness of the Peasant 
 and the Maiden ! 
 
 The next booth affords an entertainment 
 of a more general character. " First and 
 foremost we have to present to your 
 notice the Northumberland Giant and the 
 Cumberland Dwarf — two of the most 
 remarkable phenomena ever seen ! ! 
 Heighteen years of age," says the keeper, 
 alluding to the Giant (who, it should be 
 observed, is a tall slim man a little over six 
 feet and whose hair is gray.) " Honly heigh- 
 teen ! The dwarf, Miss Clara De Courcy, 
 was five-and-forty last July as ever wos ! " The 
 lady certainly doesn't look half that age ; but 
 it seems that, unlike ladies of an ordinary 
 stature, she isn't ambitious of being considered 
 young. These "phenomena" having been 
 sufficiently admired, our friend directs our 
 attention to a cradle, in which lies an un- 
 happy infant with a preternaturally large 
 head. 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 87 
 
 "Extraordinary dewelopment of the cerebral 
 horgans," he exclaims complacently; " that 
 'ere's one o' the most wonderful freaks o'Na- 
 tur' you ever seed — you won't see the like 
 o'that if you travel the country round from 
 John o' Groats to Lands End and back again 
 — and yet wonderful as it is — I've some- 
 thin' ere which is more wonderful still." 
 
 As he speaks he produces from behind 
 him what at first seems to be a hermetically- 
 sealed pickle jar full of dirty water. On 
 closer inspection we perceive that in this 
 liquid there is floating a most awful mon- 
 strosity consisting of two discolored half- 
 formed infants stuck tight together. 
 
 14 There," says the showman, " there's a 
 walluable curiosity — twins born in that con- 
 dition as you now be' old them— -there an't 
 the like o' that 'ere anyveres. Why, it was 
 only last Toosday that the Eoyal College o' 
 Surgeons offered me — never mind how many 
 sovs, money down, for that 'ere ; but I sent 
 my respecs to the president, and told him, 
 
88 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 sorry as T wos to disappoint so happreciative a 
 inind, that I wouldn't part with it at no price 
 at all." 
 
 This accumulation of horrors is too much, 
 and we emerge again into the open air. 
 
 The shades of night are falling fast and 
 with their fall the crowd has considerably 
 lessened. The theatre is closed, the " niggers " 
 have disappeared, the trade at the stalls has 
 grown slack, the orator of the waxworks ap- 
 peals to unheeding ears. In an hour more 
 the place will be quite deserted, for amusers 
 and amused will alike be locked in the arms 
 of Morpheus. 
 
SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 89 
 
 A PROVINCIAL PANTOMIME. 
 
 The inhabitants of Commerceton may be a 
 very good people (as they ought to be, con- 
 sidering that theirs is a cathedral town, and 
 that nearly every other house is a church), 
 and they may be a very industrious people 
 (as there is no doubt they are), but certain it 
 is that taken in the aggregate their tastes are 
 not dramatic. It is not that they object on 
 principle to public amusements. They will 
 flock in crowds to hear a Madame Basso or a 
 Signor Treblini pour forth unintelligible 
 sonatas from Italian operas ; they will spend 
 hours listening to the melodies of a band of 
 Ethiopian Serenaders, or in wondering at the 
 dexterous arts of a Wizard of the North. Mr. 
 Charles Dickens meets, and deservedly meets, 
 
90 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 with a warm and enthusiastic reception when 
 he comes down to instruct them in the legal 
 technicalities of Pickwick and Bardell, or to 
 melt their hearts over the beautiful pathos of 
 his " Little Dcmbey." Nay, what is stranger 
 still, whenever my excellent friend George 
 Duncan volunteers a reading from the Great 
 Bard himself, the very genius of the stage, the 
 immortal Shakespeare, he invariably manages 
 to secure a large and appreciative audience. 
 But the drama, pure and legitimate, meets with 
 a very different fate. Thalia or Melpomene 
 in every-day dress at the lecture-room may 
 find some favour, but directly they assume the 
 mask and buskin, and appear at the foot-lights, 
 they find themselves preaching to an empty 
 house. In my recollection nearly a dozen 
 speculators have successively undertaken the 
 management of the Commerceton Theatre, 
 and as successively failed. To say that the 
 pieces are badly chosen, that the acting is 
 below par, and that the actors themselves are 
 of an inferior caste, may have been an excuse 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 91 
 
 in former days. It is none now. The last 
 gentleman who was venturesome enough to 
 enter upon this hazardous undertaking, com- 
 bines the two qualities of an enterprising man 
 of business and a versatile and accomplished 
 actor. He has annually expended a consider- 
 able sum on the decorations of the house ; he 
 gets up his plays with spirit, and is invariably 
 supported by a commendable company. Still, 
 if you turn into the pretty little theatre any 
 night during the season, you will at once be 
 struck by a blighting sense of the desolation 
 which is around. You will perceive that, in 
 addition to a half-filled pit and gallery, the 
 box audience comprises a couple of gentle- 
 men who are really lovers of the drama, one 
 or two more who having nothing to do with 
 themselves do it accordingly in a side-box, 
 and perhaps two or three more who are ad- 
 mitted free in virtue of some ancient right 
 which I could never bring myself thoroughly 
 to comprehend. 
 
 Once a year, however, things theatrical 
 
92 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 assume a brighter aspect. Once a year — it 
 may be oftener, but I am fearful of committ- 
 ing myself — at genial Christmas time, enter- 
 prising Mr. Thespis puts himself to some 
 expense in order to regale the good folks with 
 a Christmas pantomime. In order to start fair 
 he is anxious to secure the bespeak of some 
 great gun at an afternoon performance. Per- 
 haps it is Sir Habeas Corpus, M.P., who is 
 solicited for that honour, or perhaps it is 
 Vavasour Broadlands, Esquire, High Sheriff 
 for the county. The High Sheriff having 
 children of an age which is of all the most 
 enjoyable, seems the choicest of the twain, 
 and he is accordingly selected. The great 
 man consents, and for full a fortnight previous 
 it is announced in blazing letters upon gor- 
 geous bills that on the afternoon of Friday, the 
 First of January, will be presented the ad- 
 mirable, beautiful, comical, delectable, en- 
 chanting, facetious, grotesque, and-so-forth- 
 to-the-end-of-the-alphabet pantomime of Jack 
 the Giant Killer, under the immediate patron- 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 93 
 
 age and presence of the High Sheriff of the 
 county. 
 
 It is further announced that the hour at 
 which performances commence will be Two, 
 p.m., that carriages (mark the plural number) 
 may be ordered at four precisely. Of course 
 this announcement has its effect,and some time 
 before the eventful day arrives, the box-office 
 is besieged by crowd after crowd of fashionable 
 and well-dressed persons who want to take 
 their seats in advance, until the bewildered 
 check-taker, whose post has hitherto been an 
 undoubted sinecure, begins to think of 
 demanding an increase of salary forthwith. 
 It may be that all this excitement is to be 
 attributed, not to the fact of there being an 
 " Admirable, Beautiful, Comical Pantomime,' 7 
 to be seen, but simply to the fact of its being 
 graced by the High Sheriff's immediate 
 patronage and presence. It may be a little 
 humiliating, this, I admit, but after all, Mr. 
 Thespis, as long as we get what we want 
 
94 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 honestly and lawfully, it won't do to take it 
 too much to heart how we get it. 
 
 It wants but a quarter to two, and the 
 house is already full. As befits my character 
 of a quiet observer, I take my seat in a dis- 
 tant corner of the left-hand side-box, and 
 therefrom take note of the proceedings. The 
 appearance of the dress circle is really quite 
 exhilarating. In the centre, bland and 
 beaming, and looking serenely conscious of 
 his important position, sits Squire Broadlands, 
 the High Sheriff. A mild-faced, matronly- 
 lady at his side is Mrs. High Sheriff, and the 
 three or four ruddy-cheeked little cherubs, 
 who sit under her maternal eye in a state of 
 the most feverish anticipation, are the young 
 High Sheriffs — the eldest boy (who knows ?) 
 a future candidate for the Shrievalty, when 
 papa is under the turf. Around — forming a 
 perfect ring of bright satellites round the major 
 planet — are row after row of pretty girls all 
 busily engaged in rustling their playbills, or 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 95 
 
 smelling their bouquets, or talking soft non- 
 sense to the smart young fellows at their 
 sides. In the pit are a goodly assemblage of 
 the " Baron's retainers, blithe and gay," with 
 their children, while in the gallery two whole 
 charity-schools, admitted gratuitously by the 
 kind-hearted manager, show to considerable 
 advantage. It is a touching sight to see so 
 many children present at a time ; how happy 
 and innocent they all look — all, from the 
 squireens in the boxes to the paupers in the 
 galleries — and what little difference, saving 
 their dress, there is between them ! 
 
 Meanwhile, the orchestra having brought 
 a preparatory tuning to a conclusion (they 
 have been u tuning," in sooth, for a whole 
 week in advance, but it wouldn't do to look 
 as if they had), have, in deference to some 
 earnestly-expressed wishes from the gallery, 
 " struck up" in good earnest, and to a 
 thoroughly original, if slightly erratic, over- 
 ture, the curtain rises upon scene the first. 
 In this scene, Master Jack (represented by a 
 
96 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 lissom, active young lady) appears inter- 
 changing some bitter words with his mamma, 
 in consequence, it would appear, of that 
 venerable party's prosaic temperament not 
 duly appreciating his high-souled and more 
 romantic nature. This domestic episode is 
 interrupted by the appearance of an old 
 beggar, who humbly sues a crust of bread. 
 Jack's mother, with a due regard to the house- 
 hold economy, pleads her own poverty, and 
 her inability to meet such pressing demands, 
 &c. Jack, more generous, offers the poor 
 creature his own breakfast, who, at Jack's 
 particularly-expressed desire to behold a 
 fairy, casts off her disguise, and causes him 
 to "behold one" in herself. And a remark- 
 ably pretty one, too, as not only your humble 
 servant, but boxes, pit, and gallery testify in 
 one tremendous round of applause. Having 
 obtained a magic sword, a magic cap, and a 
 blessing at the hands of this enchanting 
 creature, Jack sallies forth in search of ad- 
 venture. He is not long in finding it. In 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 97 
 
 the mountains of Wales there dwells a 
 terrible giant, who is the scourge of the 
 country for miles round, and whom it will be 
 Jack's especial pleasure to exterminate from 
 the face of the earth. We are introduced, to 
 this unhappy country in scene the third, 
 where, it would appear, the peasants are in 
 the habit of performing an eccentric dance 
 round a maypole, the sole aim and object of 
 which seems to be the due entanglement of 
 the ribbons which dangle from the top. It 
 is under the especial sanction of their king, 
 who appears in the foreground as a red- 
 nosed caricature of the Bound Tabled and 
 Tennysonian Arthur. King Arthur enters 
 into familiar colloquy with his " knights," 
 however, and, indeed, what with the back- 
 handers, and digs in the stomach, with which 
 he intersperses his remarks, affords to the 
 rising generation a pleasing idea of the 
 intimate relations which existed in the good 
 old times between a monarch and his subjects. 
 The conversation turns, of course, on the 
 
 F 
 
98 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 terrible giant, each individual having some 
 especial grievance to lay at his door. One 
 in particular having suggested that, not con- 
 tent with devastating their flocks, he had even 
 taken to abducting their wives, meets from 
 another the retort that u that might do some 
 good, for though he hadn't stolen his, he wish 
 he would f 1 a sally which, of course, brings 
 down the house. 
 
 Everyone, however, is seized with the 
 panic, and it is not until the arrival of Master 
 Jack that tranquillity is restored. That young 
 gentleman having solved an arithmetical pro- 
 blem about a herring and a-half, to the 
 entire satisfaction of the king and court, is 
 forthwith invested with the order of the 
 garter, and full power to waylay, draw, and 
 quarter the giant, if he can. At this moment 
 a mighty roar is heard — the court fly off in 
 trepidation, and enter an awful monster — ten 
 feet high at least, with monstrous face and 
 feet, but with an uncommonly weak voice- — 
 for a giant. It is quite strong enough, how- 
 
SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 99 
 
 ever, for the little children, who cower back 
 with a look of terror as he tramps across the 
 stage, and growls forth mysterious hints of 
 smelling Englishmen's breath and of pounding 
 their bones to make his bread. Still more 
 terrified are they when he actually drags a 
 screaming female to the front, and then and 
 there, with fearful threats, declares his hopeless 
 passion. His doom is fast approaching, how- 
 ever. 
 
 Scene the next reveals to us a room in his 
 castle, where, upon a colossal table, are laid 
 out colossal knives and forks, and a colossal 
 pie — a human pie, who knows — deliciously 
 spiced for the Titan's supper. It reveals 
 likewise a half-starved menial of the giant's, 
 who takes advantage of his master's absence 
 to relate his woes, which consist chiefly in 
 being kept on the starvation system, in a song, 
 each verse of which terminates in a ghastly 
 Tiddledyoodle — um! sort of chorus, which 
 sends a palpable shudder through every frame. 
 Into this pandemonium the giant brings his 
 
 f 2 
 
100 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 luckless victim, but notwithstanding all the 
 soft speeches he pours into her ear, and ten- 
 der bits he places in her mouth, he fails to 
 make the slightest impression. 
 
 At this crisis enters Jack, who, with a deceit 
 which is pardonable, entreats Mr. Poly- 
 pheme's hospitality. That worthy, smacking 
 his lips, and surveying Jack with the eye of 
 an epicure, consents, and returns to his sup- 
 per. After supper, Master Jack, having first 
 reassured the poor girl of his intentions, 
 creeps into bed, not as Hamlet would have 
 said — " To sleep, perchance to dream I" but 
 to watch for an opportunity of escape. The 
 opportunity soon arrives, while Polypheme is 
 snoring, and the fugitives are not slow to take 
 advantage of it. Unluckily, however, the cook 
 — a flame of our half- starved friend, both of 
 whom have also resolved on flight — has con- 
 tracted an awkward habit of dropping her 
 pattens, her basket 3 and her umbrella, the 
 combined effects of which arouse the giant 
 from his torpor. Things look glum enough 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 101 
 
 now ; but, nothing daunted, Jack unsheaths 
 his sword, and after a terrible encounter, in 
 which he is vastly assisted by the umbrella 
 of the cook, succeeds like a second David in 
 laying the mighty Goliath prostrate on the 
 ground. Everything being thus satisfactorily 
 settled, the fairy — who, like a policeman, 
 isn't to be found until the row is over — 
 suddenly appears, and transforms us to the 
 Halls of Dazzling Delight — where, amid a 
 blaze of red fire, and a whirl of revolving 
 wheels, young ladies in gauze stand, in atti- 
 tudes which, for their own personal comfort, 
 it is hoped are not permanent in the Dazzling 
 Halls. 
 
 And then begins the harlequinade — Jack, 
 of course, becomes harlequin — the giant, who 
 talks for several minutes after he is dead, 
 revives sufficiently to walk off L, and give 
 place to the clown. 
 
 " Here we are again, how are you to-mor- 
 row r 
 
102 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 Slap-bang — holloa, Joey, Is that you? or 
 somebody else? 
 
 Slap-bang — harlequin hits clown — clown 
 thinks it was pantaloon, and retaliates, with 
 interest. But old Joey is of a forgiving 
 nature, and makes it up again. And then, 
 all joining hands, go round and round, and 
 round, at a rate which makes one giddy to 
 look at. And then in good earnest begins 
 the fun. The fun may be rather stale, per- 
 haps — the jokes not remarkable for novelty, 
 but what of that ? It is honest, hearty fun, 
 and it makes the children laugh, and gladdens 
 more than one young heart, and there is some- 
 thing in being able to do that after all. 
 There is a baby (of rags), which the panta- 
 loon throws into a dust-bin, while the clown 
 kisses its nurse. There is an unhappy shop- 
 keeper, who is always being invited outside 
 his shop on the most frivolous pretences, and 
 who is always vowing vengeance, which he 
 never executes. There is a fop, who is 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 103 
 
 shaved, and a policeman, who is bonneted. 
 There is an old maid, who is hustled, and a 
 u green " who is cheated. There are won- 
 derful riots, and street rows innumerable, 
 until a general scrimmage, in which sausages, 
 babies, bricks, carrots, fish, brooms, and, in 
 fact, anything that comes handy, flying about 
 in chaotic confusion, play a conspicuous part, 
 bring us triumphantly to the Golden Glories 
 of the sparkling waters. 
 
 And so, amid a perfect hurricane of ap- 
 plause, the pantomime comes to an end. And 
 as " God save the Queen " strikes up, and the 
 crowd disperse, we may gather from the 
 general remarks that it has been by no means 
 unfavourably received. 
 
 u Not at all badly got up," observes Squire 
 Broadlands, as he emerges into the open air. 
 
 " Not at all," rejoins a friend, and there are 
 others who echo his sentiments. 
 
 Let us hope that the favourable opinion 
 which they have formed may induce them to 
 pay it a second visit. At any rate, let us 
 
104 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 rejoice that the result of the day's entertain- 
 ment has been to give the worthy manager, 
 what he so well deserves, a balance at his 
 bankers. 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 105 
 
 ARCADES AMBO. 
 
 Indeed, I beg your pardon, I am very sorry, 
 but like Miss Lydia Thompson in the play, 
 "I really couldn't help it 1" I am conscious 
 of having perpetrated an abominable and an 
 execrable pun, and I hereto breathe a solemn 
 vow that I will be more careful for the future. 
 For be it known to you — oh, much outraged 
 and indignant reader — that this paper has 
 nothing to do with things either pastoral or 
 poetical, it is not intended as a learned pane- 
 gyric on the Eclogues of Virgil, or the Bucolics 
 of Theocritus ; it has no connection whatever 
 with buxom Chloes in wide- flapping hats and 
 high-heeled shoes, with looped-up petticoats, 
 and episcopal crooks, with curly-headed 
 ploughboys, who whistle o'er the lea, and 
 
 f 5 
 
106 SKETCHES FROM LIFE, 
 
 tootle on the flute, with absurdly white lamb- 
 kins begirt in blue neckties and tinkling bells. 
 It is simply a little gossip on a couple of 
 metropolitan thoroughfares — on both the 
 arcades, in short; — Arcades Ambo (ah ! 
 wretched punster that I am !), the Lowther 
 and the Burlington. 
 
 The arcades, I maintain, are peculiar to 
 London, as peculiar to London as its statues 
 or its cabmen. There are certain attempts of 
 the same to be met with in Paris, and for that 
 matter the Eue de Eivoli may be regarded as 
 one gigantic arcade, with one side omitted. 
 There is one, to the best of my recollection, 
 to be groped for amid the smoke of Bristol, 
 and at Boulogne, over the water, there is a 
 feeble pretence, a miserable abortion of an 
 arcade, which is positively beneath contempt. 
 It is not that our London arcades are respec- 
 tively from 200 to 245 feet in length, and 35 
 in breadth ; there may be others, for aught I 
 know to the contrary, which may be just as 
 high and just as broad. And yet, I shall 
 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 107 
 
 assert without fear of contradiction that it is 
 in London alone, and in the regions about 
 Piccadilly and the Strand, that the genus 
 arcade is to be seen to perfection. 
 
 Such wares that are sold there. Wares 
 that couldn't possibly be found anywhere else 
 — fragile, fantastic, gorgeous, glittering, and 
 somewhat unusable wares. Totally differ- 
 ent from anything in the streets — utterly dis- 
 similar to anything at the bazaars. Most of 
 them are imported from France and Germany, 
 I am told. I am not so sure of that. I have 
 stared at the shops in the Palais Royal, and 
 meandered among the itinerant marchands at 
 the Baths of Bigorre. I have lounged about 
 the promenades of both the Badens, and pot- 
 tered over those wonderful shops of Frankfort 
 on the Maine, city of Jews and of staghorn 
 brooches. Yet never saw I the likes — never 
 have these eyes detected a trace of the foreign 
 importation. 
 
 41 A sublimate of superfluities," exclaims 
 Mr. Sala, writing of the Burlington in one of 
 
108 
 
 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 his amusing essays. Perhaps so. Let us pro- 
 ceed to examine into the justice of the charge 
 44 Marriage/' sings an old poet — 
 
 " Marriage, rightly understood, 
 Is to the virtuous and the good 
 A paradise on earth." 
 
 But no marriage can be considered to be 
 44 rightly understood " unless it is inaugurated 
 by a number of wedding presents. It has 
 long been a custom with the friends of a 
 44 happy pair " to present them with some 
 token of their regard and affection. But there 
 has always been a great difficulty in deciding 
 as to the nature of the gift. 44 Volo non 
 valeo," the motto of the Earl of Carlisle, has 
 been the motto also of the intending donor. I 
 want to give something, but I don't know 
 what. Aware of this fact an enterp rising 
 tradesman has amassed together a number of 
 articles, and has ticketed them together under 
 the title of wedding presents. 
 
 The extreme suitability of all of them will, 
 I am sure, be obvious at a glance. To begin 
 
SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 109 
 
 with, I find some ivory tablets ! on which, 
 of course, the happy Benedict may note down 
 the adventures of his honeymoon ; or, treating 
 the matter from a more practical point of 
 view, the lovely Beatrice may construct ima- 
 ginary sums by way of initiating herself 
 into the mysteries of housekeeping. Scotch 
 plaid needlecases, which, by a delicate infer- 
 ence, will suggest to Beatrice the possibility 
 of a missing button from the shirt of her 
 Benedict, and the necessity of replacing it 
 forthwith. A needle-threader — a remark- 
 able invention — which will save the lovely 
 Beatrice from the loss of both time and 
 temper. An ivory foot-rule, at two-and-six, 
 which being eminently useful to the bachelor 
 will be equally adapted to the Benedict — and 
 a lucifer match-box at three-and-six, with the 
 contents of which the happy pair can 
 strike the light that shows them to their 
 nuptial bed. 
 
 A little further on is a jeweller's shop. In 
 this will be observed brooches — the designs 
 
110 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 of which are curiously unique — over-ripe 
 grapes, whity-brown cloves soaring aloft in 
 an sether of pink, comical birds w ith ridicu- 
 lously long necks, supposed to be swans — 
 rarce aves in terns nigrisque dissimilce cygnis. 
 The plate properly so called, affords a goodly 
 show. The ingenuity of the manufacturer 
 has been taxed to its utmost. He has dis- 
 covered that the prandial civilization of the 
 age requires something more than the ordi- 
 nary knives, forks, spoons, &c, to which we 
 have been accustomed, and accordingly pre- 
 sents to our notice two other instruments of 
 torture designed respectively as a " pickle- 
 fork," and " crumb-scoop." 
 
 A step or so beyond, and we come to a 
 milliner's. In her windows flaunt almost 
 everything that pertains to the feminine 
 wardrobe. Ladies' hats, pork-pie, wide-a- 
 wake, mushroom, Spanish — whatever may 
 be the prevailing caprice of that august lady 
 who presides over the millinery department 
 of the French empire. Bonnets, too — light 
 
SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. Ill 
 
 and gossamer — or weighty with flowers and 
 with fruit ; bonnets to be worn off the head, or 
 over the face, according as the " deformed 
 thief, Fashion' ' wills — mouchoirs, which are of 
 no practical use whatever, and sashes which 
 are seemingly of less — dainty little gloves for 
 riding in, for driving in, or (c y est possible) 
 for "showing off" the dainty little hands 
 which they contain. There are a few more 
 articles of ladies' dress, which perhaps I had 
 better not mention. 
 
 44 Certainly not, sir," whispers the voice of 
 a phantom female. 
 
 May be, I ought not to reveal the fact that 
 stockings and — 
 
 44 Will you hold your tongue, sir ! ! " 
 
 Let us pass on to the next shop. This is 
 a stationer's, whose stock-in-trade, to judge 
 from a stray engraving or two from a bygone 
 annual, appears once to have been in legitimate 
 art, but who has succumbed to the influence 
 of photography, and whose window is radiant 
 
112 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 with the cartes-de-visite of our popular 
 favourites. Koyalty, theology, and the 
 drama come under his especial patronage, 
 and the delightful disarrangement with which, 
 by a slight stretch of the imagination, their 
 several representatives may be grouped to- 
 gether, will afford a spectacle which is highly 
 amusing. Thus — His Eoyal Highness the 
 Prince of Wales appears, with a charming 
 condescension, side by side with the illus- 
 trious Leotard, ready girt for the trapeze. 
 Stella Colas looks sentimentally down from 
 a balcony upon the venerable pate of the 
 Bishop of Exeter, who however turns his 
 back on her and looks uncommonly grim 
 under the operation. Miss Lydia Thompson 
 — attired as a sailor — is shooting one of her 
 brightest glances at his lordship of Oxon, 
 which he, judging by the ever present smile 
 upon his mouth, seems by no means disposed 
 to resent ; while the flirtation which appears 
 to have been going on between kindly-fea- 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 113 
 
 tured Archdeacon Denison and Miss Adelina 
 Patti, of the E. I. 0., has reached a pass 
 which is positively desperate. 
 
 But of all the wares vendable at the 
 Arcades the most attractive are undoubtedly 
 the toys. Perhaps it is through old associa- 
 tions — perhaps it is that they remind us of 
 our childhood — 
 
 Scenes of our childhood, whose loved recollection 
 Embitters the present, compared with the past — 
 
 and the days when we delighted in toys our- 
 selves. 
 
 Most of us have played with toys in our 
 time. Some of us never leave off playing 
 with them. We blow our bubbles, and 
 shake our rattles, and wear our baby-masks, 
 till the sands run down, and our prime is 
 past, and it is too late to " put away childish 
 things/ ' Toys, like everything else, have 
 undergone a great change. They are more 
 elaborately made, more scientifically con- 
 structed than they were. Drums and trum- 
 
114 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 pets, shields and swords, guns — the extent of 
 whose " charge " was a dried pea, and whose 
 triggers were constructed on principles which 
 set Mr. Busk u on the rifles" at defiance — these 
 are here in abundance. But in addition 
 thereto, I take note of a pistol which is to be 
 loaded with a real amorce of gunpowder — 
 to the damage of nobody in truth, but to the 
 total destruction of an old maid's nerve. I 
 note, too, another interesting and instructive 
 toy. It represents a French school, in the 
 middle of which figures Mons. le Cure, stick 
 in hand (by the way, I thought that corporal 
 punishment had been abandoned by the 
 Gallic pedagogues), while the scholars cower 
 tremblingly around him, Such a spectacle of 
 scholastic discipline cannot fail to have a most 
 salutary effect. I shall purchase that toy for 
 master Tom, next time he misbehaves him- 
 self. 
 
 But in the matter of toys, I think the Low- 
 ther bears the palm. Therein 1 recognize 
 my old friends the nine-pins — dignified, for- 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 115 
 
 sooth, by the name of " skittles." I renew 
 acquaintance also with my Noah's Ark, the 
 four patriarchs and their wives attired as of 
 yore, in the primitive costume of Jim Grow 
 hats and flannel dressing-gowns. I revisit 
 my farm, which only cost ninepence to begin 
 with, and, unlike those in which I have 
 since become interested, was never known to 
 be out of repair. My regiment too is here, 
 with their under-standings terminating to a 
 man in one gigantic clubfoot, a deformity 
 which one would have thought would have 
 effectually prevented their admission into the 
 army. My fiery charger also, with his scarlet 
 nose and luxuriant tail, and with his saddle 
 nailed remorselessly into his back, and my 
 horrible flagellum wherewith to urge him on; 
 a seemingly unnecessary weapon, since he is 
 already in a most alarming state of canter. 
 
 For the gentler sex in ringlets and frilled 
 trousers, there are dolls in profusion. Dolls 
 blue-eyed and black-eyed — dolls dark-haired 
 and flaxen-haired, dolls with waxen necks and 
 
116 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 trunks of bran and extremities of wood ; and 
 remarkable dolls, whom the proprietor recom- 
 mends as possessing such valuable attributes 
 as " real hair ! " and " moving eyes ! u 
 
 Having brought our examination to a close, 
 let us revert to our orignal proposition. 
 Ought either of the Arcades to be regarded 
 as a " Sublimate of superfluities ?'' Not for 
 the children ! Oh ! no ! I am sure that Mr. 
 Sala does not mean that. Nothing that can 
 give a young child rational and innocent enjoy- 
 ment can be superfluous. To that dictum 
 will I stick in the face of every Pipchin 
 and Murdstone in the universe. To that dic- 
 tum will I stick in spite of all the old spin- 
 sters who, having no children of their own, 
 think to revenge themselves upon Nature 
 by bullying other people's. But for the 
 adults ? Peut-itre — it may be. That portly 
 matron, for instance, what can she want, at 
 her time of life, with a whole pheasant on 
 the top of her hat ? That young man with 
 the rubicund nose and the velveteen coat, 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 117 
 
 what does lie want with the shilling paste-pin 
 which he has got stuck so ostentatiously into 
 his neckerchief? We know there was a little 
 boy once who cried for the moon. Not that 
 the moon would have been of the slightest 
 use to him when he had got it. It is in 
 human nature to want a great deal more than 
 we need, to desire what is vain and unprofi- 
 table, and it is for the supplying of this 
 want of human nature that the Arcades are 
 designed. 
 
118 SKETCHES FROM LIFE, 
 
 ONLY A POOR PLAYER. 
 
 There are few spots in all this memory- 
 haunted London so fraught with pleasant 
 associations as the centre house of the Adelphi 
 Terrace. The Adelphi Terrace is not by any 
 means a desirable locality ; its look-out is 
 gloomy and unattractive, embracing a full 
 view of the unsavoury Thames, the penny 
 steamboats, and the Waterloo Bridge Station ; 
 its houses are yellow and dingy, and alto- 
 gether devoid of architectural beauty; its 
 inhabitants are composed of such prosaic and 
 practical people as surveyors and civil- 
 engineers. And yet if walls had tongues 
 (and as they are proverbially supposed to 
 have ears, I see no reason why they should 
 be bereft of the other organ), they would re- 
 
SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 119 
 
 veal the reason of my attachment to this 
 unprepossessing locality, for they would say 
 that this was the residence of David Garrick. 
 
 David Garrick proved himself a votary of 
 Thespis at a very early age. In vain was he 
 set to study classics under Johnson, and 
 mathematics under Colson ; his passion for 
 the drama engrossed the whole of his atten- 
 tion. When his masters expected a copy of 
 Tambics or a demonstration of the " Asses 
 Bridge," he would show them a comedy 
 which he had composed in their stead. He 
 had the first opportunity of gratifying his 
 passion at Ipswich. The part that he played 
 was that of Oboan in u Oronooko." He was 
 so favourably received on this occasion that 
 he resolved to try his fortunes in London. 
 
 Party spirit ran very high just then, and 
 managers were not so ready to encourage 
 rising talent as they are now-a-days. Con- 
 sequently the young aspirant was fain to 
 make his debut at a minor theatre, then 
 situate in Goodman's Fields. The part which 
 
120 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 he selected was that of Bichard III., chosen, 
 it is understood, because of its suitability to 
 his stature. He was greeted at first by but a 
 very " limited audience," but ere he had 
 been there six nights his success became un- 
 equivocal. Crowds flocked from all parts to 
 hear him. Goodman's fields was filled with 
 the splendor of the West End ; aristocratic 
 carriages blocked up the road between 
 Temple Bar and Whitechapel ; the houses of 
 Drury Lane and Covent Gardens were com- 
 pletely deserted ; Garrick had become, in 
 fact, the " sensation " of the day. The 
 secret of this success lay in the thoroughly 
 natural style of his acting. He borrowed all 
 his lessons from nature. The public had 
 been long accustomed to players who, as 
 Hamlet says, " neither having the accent of 
 christians, nor the gait of christians, pagan, 
 nor mussulmen, have so strutted and bellowed 
 I have thought some of nature's journeymen 
 had made them, and not made them well, 
 they imitated humanity so abominably." He 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 121 
 
 disdained to resort any such artifices. His style 
 was easy and familiar, yet thoroughly forcible. 
 He " suited the action to the word, the word 
 to the action." He seemed to be, rather than 
 to act, the character which he personated. So 
 true to the life were his representations that 
 it is recorded that on one occasion when he 
 was playing King Lear, one of the soldiers 
 who stood on the stage blubbered 
 like a child.* Another instance of this is 
 to be found in a scene which occurred 
 at a hotel in Paris during his stay 
 in that city. At this hotel Mr. Garrick was 
 induced to relate and exhibit by action a cer- 
 tain fact of which he had just been an eye 
 witness. 
 
 u A father," he said, u was engaged in 
 fondling his child at the window ; as he was 
 thus engaged the child sprang from the 
 father's arms, fell upon the ground, and died 
 on the spot." Whereupon he threw himself 
 
 * A Book for a Rainy Day, by J. T. Smith, Author of " Nollekens and 
 his Times." London : Bentley, New Burlington, Street. 
 
122 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 into the attitude in which the father appeared 
 the moment the child sprang from his arms. 
 The effect of this representation was perfectly 
 magical. Every one was in tears, and 
 Madme. Clarion, a French actress of con- 
 siderable repute, with the impulsive spirit 
 which characterizes her nation, rushed over 
 to Mr. Garrick and kissed him, at the same 
 time apologising to Mrs. Garrick, and saying 
 that it was an involuntary mark of her ap- 
 plause. 
 
 His fame spread so rapidly that a deputa- 
 tion was sent expressly from Dublin to invite 
 him to act there during the summer season. 
 The enthusiastic reception which he met with 
 from the warm-hearted natives exceeded all his 
 anticipations. The theatre was nightly 
 crowded with persons of rank and fashion, 
 and this, too, at a time when the heat was in- 
 tense. So intense, that ere long an epidemic 
 distemper arose, and carried off large numbers 
 of the audience, which was in consequence 
 nick-named the " Garrick fever." In the en- 
 
SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 123 
 
 suing year he was engaged by Mr. Fleet- 
 wood, of the T. D. E. It was about this time 
 that he first gave proof of the versatility of 
 his genius. Tragedy, comedy, or farce seemed 
 equally easy to him. All alike were open to his 
 imitation, and all alike did honour to his exe- 
 cution. One night he was the aged Lear, 
 abandoned by his children ; on another the 
 youthful Hamlet, tracking out the murderers 
 of his father ; on one night he was the love- 
 sick Eomeo, and on another the happy 
 Benedict. On some occasions, after calling 
 down the loudest applause in the tragedy by 
 his powerful rendering of the deepest passions, 
 he would re-appear as a dancing harlequin in 
 the pantomime. 
 
 This versatility, however, cost him dear 
 anon, and was the means of his losing a 
 wealthy wife. It appears that a young lady 
 of great beauty and fortune having witnessed 
 his performance of the gay Lothario, was so 
 smitten with him that she sent him by deputy 
 an offer of her hand and — portion. The 
 
 g 2 
 
124 
 
 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 deputy promised to call again in a fortnight 
 and fix a day of meeting. The appointed 
 day arrived, but no lady appeared. Some 
 time after he met her in the street and de- 
 manded the reason of this delay. 
 
 u Oh, dear !" said she, "it is all over; the 
 young lady has seen you play Abel Drugger, 
 and her love is all gone." 
 
 At the conclusion of his term at Drury 
 Lane he entered into a three years' partnership 
 with Sheridan, the manager of Smock- Alley 
 Theatre, Dublin, and then returned to fulfil a 
 short engagement with Eich, of Covent Gar- 
 den. At this theatre he acted in company 
 with his former rival, Quin. The pieces were 
 so judiciously arranged that they might ap- 
 pear together to advantage, and in some cases 
 where this was impracticable they were to 
 appear on alternate nights. When it 
 became known that both these great actors 
 were on the boards together the house 
 was nightly filled. In fact such was the 
 success of Mr. Kich's speculation that the 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 125 
 
 profits arising from the plays in eight months 
 (Sept., 1746, to May, 1747), amounted to 
 nearly £9,000. This was Garrick' s last ap- 
 pearance as a hired actor. Lacy, the rival 
 manager at Drury Lane, perceiving how great 
 were his attractions, determined on securing 
 his services himself. With this view he 
 offered him the moiety of the Drury Lane 
 patent, which had just been renewed. 
 Garrick was much pleased with the offer, and 
 in April, 1747, the agreement was drawn up 
 to the satisfaction of both. In his managerial 
 capacity Garrick instituted many important 
 reforms. He revised several of Shakspeare's 
 plays, only nine of which were then in 
 possession of the stage. Among these was 
 Eomeo and Juliet — which had been neglected 
 for upwards of eighty years ; and which — 
 fortunately for the fame of Stella Colas — he 
 now completely resuscitated. 
 
 But there was a still greater evil which 
 he had to encounter. It had been the 
 
126 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 custom for many years to admit noble- 
 men behind the scenes during the per- 
 formance, and this privilege had been so 
 shamefully abused that they were now to be 
 seen not only behind the scenes, but on the 
 stage and mingling with the performers, so 
 that at last one could hardly tell the repre- 
 sented Marquis from the real one. Baron, in- 
 deed, to shame the people out of this idle 
 custom, was wont to turn his back upon the 
 pit and play to the audience on the stage. 
 On one occasion while Garrick was acting 
 the part of King Lear, at Dublin, with pretty 
 Peg Woffington as Cordelia, a young man 
 rushed from behind the scenes upon the stage 
 and threw his arms around her waist. Such 
 an outrage to common decency could not 
 escape the great actor's notice, and as soon 
 as he became a manager himself he took care 
 that few but the performers should be allowed 
 to visit behind the scenes of his " house." 
 In 1763, a certain Miss Brent having at- 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 127 
 
 tracted the people to the rival theatre on 
 the strength of her voice, legitimate tragedy 
 had for a time to succumb to opera. 
 
 Garrick embraced this opportunity of 
 taking a trip to Italy, a journey which he had 
 often meditated. On his return from abroad 
 he abandoned acting for awhile, and betook 
 himself to authorship. It was then that he 
 produced many of his best, and most brilliant 
 pieces — as instances of which Cymon, The 
 Christmas Tale, and Bon Ton may be fairly 
 cited. 
 
 In 1 769, he took part in the Stratford Ju- 
 bilee, a pageant produced in honour of Shaks- 
 peare. 
 
 The entertainment was conducted on the 
 grandest scale — many persons of the highest 
 rank, the most celebrated beauties and the 
 most distingushed geniuses thinking them- 
 selves happy to be present and to hear the 
 ode which Mr. Garrick had composed on the 
 occasion. 
 
 In 1776 — being then in the sixtieth year 
 
128 SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 
 
 of his age, and having for some time past 
 been the victim of a dreadful disease, he an- 
 nounced his intention of quitting the stage. 
 
 The piece which he selected for his final 
 appearance was entitled u The Wonder — a 
 Woman keeps a Secret." 
 
 When it was concluded he advanced to- 
 wards the audience to address them for the 
 last time. 
 
 The scene in the theatre is described as 
 having been most affecting — there was not a 
 dry eye to be seen. His own emotion was 
 very great, and he was unable to proceed 
 with his speech till relieved by a flood of 
 tears. 
 
 After a life of hard work spent in the ser- 
 vice of a noble Art, he might naturally have 
 looked forward to an old age of ease and 
 affluence. But it was not to be. 
 
 In Christmas, 1778, while enjoying the 
 pleasures of a rural retirement under the hos- 
 pitable roof of Lord Spencer, he was seized 
 with a sudden attack of his old complaint. 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 129 
 
 He hurried back to London, and sent for 
 his doctors — but they saw at once that it was 
 too late — and that there was no hope. 
 
 Many physicians attended on him without 
 any desire of reward and solely from a desire 
 to give him relief and prolong a life so valuable 
 to the public, so dear to all who knew and 
 loved him. 
 
 When Dr. Schomby approached, Garrick 
 with a placid smile upon his countenance 
 took his hand saying, " Though last, not least 
 in love." 
 
 He died on the twentieth of January, 1777, 
 and was buried at Westminster Abbey, under 
 the monument of his beloved Shakspeare. 
 
 It must not be thought that there were no 
 thorns in the cushion — no hyssop in the cup 
 of David Garrick. Like most men, and espe- 
 cially men who are successful, he had his full 
 share of envy, malice, hatred, and all un- 
 charitableness to live down. He found little 
 favour to begin with, from Royalty. The 
 foolish old king who couldn't see the fun of 
 
 G 5 
 
130 SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 
 
 Hogarth's "March to Finchley," and who 
 didn't care for u boetry and bainting," regar- 
 ded the sister art with still greater abhor- 
 rence. He couldn't conceive, he said, that a 
 man capable of acting the crookback monster 
 Eichard the Third could be an honest man ! ! 
 Foote, the buffoon, was so addicted to 
 satire and raillery, sparing neither friends nor 
 foes, neither father, mother, body, soul, nor 
 muse, in his unceasing ridicule, that one can 
 hardly wonder at so public a man as Garrick 
 coming in for his share. Yet when one con- 
 siders that they met each other every day on 
 terms of the greatest intimacy, that they dined 
 in each other's society, that they visited at each 
 other's house, one cannot but feel that the 
 jests in which the wit indulged at the expense 
 of his friend were highly indecorous and im- 
 proper. And yet Garrick returned this un- 
 generous conduct by every act of kindness and 
 friendship. When there was a talk of sup- 
 pressing his puppet show, Garrick exerted 
 all his interest to prevent it, and again when 
 
SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 131 
 
 lie laboured under a charge of the vilest 
 nature, Garrick was one of the first to avow 
 his belief in his innocence. 
 
 Even Churchill, the bosom friend of Jack 
 Wilkes, who in his stinging Eosciad had 
 attacked every actor of note, except 
 Garrick — took care in his " Apology " to 
 insert some bitter lines on the great trage- 
 dian himself. The cause of this was to be attri- 
 buted to his having looked coldly on his pane- 
 gyrist, for, to his honor be it said, he scorned 
 to have a " Colossus raised to him on the 
 broken statues of his coternporaries." 
 
 But it was from the rejected candidates for 
 histrionic honours, from the incompetent 
 dramatists, composers of tragedy, comedy, or 
 farce, that the unhappy manager received the 
 foulest blows. There was Mr. James Ealph 
 who after much importunity had prevailed 
 on Garrick to act his play of u the Astrologer." 
 The play was brought out and unequivocally 
 damned. 
 
 Garrick endeavoured to dissuade him from 
 
132 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 devoting his time to a branch of literature 
 for which he was wholly unfit and at the 
 same time generously obtained for him a 
 pension of £200. In return for which kindness 
 Mr. Ealph wrote a portly pamphlet teeming 
 with abuse of his benefactor. 
 
 Then there was Mr. Shirley, who waxed 
 exceeding wroth because Garrick had advised 
 him to let his tragedy of u Electra " be acted 
 in the summer instead of the winter season. 
 Soon afterwards there appeared a terrible 
 tract yclept u Hecate's Prophecy" — in which 
 Garrick was charged with encouraging pan- 
 tomimes and farces to the neglect of the legi- 
 timate drama ; an accusation which was 
 utterly unjust and untrue. 
 
 Ere very long, it is recorded, they were re- 
 conciled to each other, but solely through 
 Garrick's good nature. 
 
 The motives which induced Dr. Hiffernan 
 to concoct a foul slander, as devoid of wit as 
 of truth against the peace and happiness of 
 the prosperous manager, have ever been 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 133 
 
 buried in obscurity. Some say that be was 
 offended because Garrick bad only given bim 
 a guinea in aid of certain lectures wbicb be 
 purposed delivering (and never delivered) ; 
 others, tbat be was enraged botb witb tbis 
 gentleman, and Mr. Rich, for rejecting bis 
 piece, u Tbe Wishes of a Free People,"— a 
 piece " without plan, without poetry, or any 
 tolerable language to attract the attention of 
 the reader" — which, when acted, was uni- 
 versally condemned. Be the motives, how- 
 ever, what they may, the slander had such 
 an effect on the unhappy victim that be was 
 fain to hush it up, and buy off tbe slanderer. 
 One can hardly conceive a man like Tobias 
 Smollett descending to such pitiful ebulitions 
 of wounded vanity. Yet, in u Eoderic 
 Random," will be found severe strictures on 
 both Garrick and Quin, because they had 
 rejected a crude play of his, written in early 
 youth, and entitled " The Regicide." Not- 
 withstanding this, be bad no sooner published 
 
134 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 his famous comedy of "The Tars," than 
 Garrick, oblivious to his attacks, accepted it, 
 and brought it out in a most liberal manner. 
 Smollett was so struck with the manager's 
 kindness, that he could not rest until he had 
 atoned for his own injustice, and accordingly, 
 in the preface to his edition of u The Winter's 
 Tale/' he stated that, u he thought it his duty 
 to make public atonement in a work of truth, 
 for the wrongs he had done him in a work of 
 fiction." 
 
 Unfortunately the great actor was of a 
 very sensitive nature ; a false report would 
 alarm him greatly, a spiteful letter, an un- 
 generous review, a scurrilous pamphlet, would 
 affect him for many days afterwards. He 
 lent a ready ear to every idle tale that was 
 brought to him ; he never took thought of 
 the wilfulness of gossips, of the worthlessness 
 of scandal-mongers. He never reflected with 
 the witty old Dean of St. Patrick's that "it 
 is the worthiest people who are the most 
 
SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 135 
 
 assailed by slander, as we usually find that 
 to be the best fruit which the birds have 
 been pecking at." 
 
 But it is not of his faults that T would 
 speak. In comparison with his virtues, they 
 are but as drops in the ocean. Above all, 
 we must remember that he had that quality 
 which the apostle assures us will cover a 
 multitude of sins — he was profusely generous 
 and charitable to the poor. He was once 
 asked to give a trifle to a poor widow. He 
 enquired how much he should give. His 
 petitioner suggested a couple of guineas. 
 " No/' said Garrick, " I will not," and im- 
 mediately presented him with a bank note of 
 £30. On another occasion, a gentleman of 
 fashion borrowed of him £500, for which 
 sum he gave his note of hand. Through 
 misfortune, the gentleman's affairs became 
 greatly embarrassed; his friends thereupon 
 determined to satisfy his creditors at once, 
 and free him from debt. Garrick, on hearing 
 of this, instead of putting in his claim, sent 
 
136 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 him a £500 note, at the same time desiring 
 he would consign the note he had in his pos- 
 session, to the flames. While sojourning in 
 Venice, he fell in with a poor English artist, 
 whose desire it was to get a sight of the 
 paintings and sculptures of the Eternal City, 
 but who wanted the wherewithal to make 
 the journey. Garrick assured him he need 
 not distress himself, and forthwith advanced 
 him £50. It was his annual custom, on May 
 day, to invite all the poor children of Hamp- 
 ton into his garden, where he feasted them 
 royally, and then sent them home with 
 heavier purses and with lighter hearts than 
 they had ever known before. 
 
 In addition to these private acts of benevo- 
 lence, it must ever be remembered that it 
 was Garrick who founded and supported 
 both by his talents and his wealth, the 
 " Drury Lane Play House Fund for the relief 
 of decayed actors" — the precursor, I believe, 
 of the noble institution which now exists 
 under the name of the Theatrical Fund. To 
 
SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 137 
 
 this fund he gave a house in Druiy Lane, and 
 having afterwards bought it back again, he 
 generously bequeathed the purchase money to 
 the fund. It is computed that by his acting, 
 and by donations combined, he was a bene- 
 factor to this admirable institution of a capital 
 of near £4,500 sterling. If one wanted the 
 testimony of contemporaries to the excellence 
 of this great and good man, one might find 
 it in the glowing eloquence of Sheridan, or 
 the brilliant verse of Churchill ; but let us 
 take it rather from the rough, bearish, but 
 withal, kindly-hearted Dr. Samuel Johnson. 
 Bozzy had one day smirkingly suggested 
 u Garrick is a very good man, a charitable 
 man." u Sir !" thundered the doctor, 
 u Garrick is a liberal man; he has given 
 away more money than any man in England;" 
 and, of his acting — " Garrick, sir, has advanced 
 the dignity of his profession ; he has made 
 the player a higher character." 
 
 It is a queer contrast : this great, good man 
 — so pure of heart — so free from guile — so 
 
138 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 honest of intent — so faithful to his friends — 
 so generous to his foes — so neglectful of self 
 — so ready to promote the happiness of others 
 — and his contemporary — that foppish fribble 
 — Philip Dormer Stanhope, Earl of Chester- 
 field ! 
 
 Philip Stanhope wrote a book of letters to 
 his bastard son — a book which honest old 
 Johnson stigmatized as " inculcating the 
 morals of a loose woman with the manners of 
 a dancing master." Philip Stanhope was too 
 grand a man to take notice of David Garrick. 
 When he waited upon him on the night of 
 his benefit, we are told that he did not even 
 return his salute ! But then, Philip Stanhope, 
 Earl of Chesterfield, had been High Steward 
 of the Household, Knight of the Garter, and 
 was then Lord Lieutenant of Ireland ! 
 And David Garrick was " only a poor 
 player." 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 139 
 
 AN ARTFUL DODGER. 
 
 Did you ever hear of Major Clancie ? I think 
 not. You won't find his name in the Army 
 List of this year, or any other year that I am 
 aware of. He never held a commission 
 (though he was frequently being "committed"), 
 and though he was often seen in court, it was 
 never at a court martial. In short, Major 
 Clancie wasn't a major at all — he wasn't a 
 soldier at all — he was simply about the most 
 consummate swindler that ever trod the face 
 of the earth. It would be a pity in an age 
 which has produced such eminent professors 
 of the art as Sir John Dean Paul, as Messrs. 
 Robson and Redpath, or as William Roupell, 
 that the career of so great a master as the 
 Major should be wholly forgotten, and more 
 
140 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 especially when we consider that his biogra- 
 phy was " undertaken " some two centuries 
 since, at the u express command " and un- 
 der the especial patronage of the distinguished 
 Countess of Marlborough. 
 
 For the main facts of the Major's u strange, 
 eventful history," I am indebted to a curious 
 old book, which is dated 1680, and is thus 
 intituled — 
 
 The 
 
 LIFE 
 
 and 
 
 DEATH 
 
 Of 
 
 Major Clancie, 
 
 The Grandest Cheat 
 
 of this 
 
 Age, 
 
 Wherein 
 
 Is set forth many of his Villanous Projects (Real matter of 
 
 Fact), both in England, Ireland, France, Spain, and Italy. 
 
 " The reading of which," the biographer 
 assures us "will give the reader great satis- 
 faction." In the hope that they may also give 
 my readers great satisfaction, I shall proceed 
 to make a summary of the most diverting of 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 141 
 
 these adventures, at the same time adding 
 with our author in his preface, "if it please, 
 I have my wish, if not, I can but be sorry 
 that what was so well intended should have 
 so ill success. It is impossible to please all, 
 and, therefore, I content myself if I am so 
 fortunate as to please any." 
 
 When we are first introduced to our hero 
 he is serving as a page to one Monsieur Monery, 
 a French gentleman, on a visit to Ireland. 
 Young Clancie accompanied his master back 
 to Paris, and there became so great a favourite 
 that Monsieur " could not conceal from his 
 friends how precious a jewel he had in his 
 boy, and that there was not a thing in the 
 world he could not trust him with." By 
 and bye Mons. Monery had occasion to travel 
 and the precious jewel was left in charge of 
 his house and chattels. Now Clancie, we are 
 told, very diligently came to discharge his 
 trust by airing the clothes, &c, and sometimes 
 " fingering the money," but only, we are as- 
 
142 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 sured, to wonder at the greatness of the sum 
 which had been left in his keeping. 
 
 One day, however — a bright sunshiny day 
 it was — the temptation proved too strong for 
 him. While engaged in his usual business of 
 brushing and airing his master's clothes, it 
 comes into his head to try on a suit just to see 
 how they became him. On surveying himself 
 in the glass, he was so startled that he hardly 
 knew u who that was in such a habit." A 
 moment's reflection convinces him that it is 
 no other than Master Clancie, and a moment 
 more, what a lucky dog he would be to pos- 
 sess all this finery. How to effect this ? He 
 has it. He will tell the people of the house 
 to remove the boxes to his master's country 
 house, " where he is commanded to wait his 
 coming." 
 
 The people believing that such was the case, 
 for of course the precious jewel would not lie, 
 help him to pack up, provide him with carts, 
 and see him out of compliment half-way upon 
 
SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 143 
 
 his journey. And then, no sooner are their 
 backs turned than Master Clancie u steers his 
 course another way," makes for the sea-side, 
 and em-barks on board a ship that is bound 
 for Wexford. 
 
 At Wexford he was received with great state, 
 "the show he made by his equipage and the 
 liberality with which he dispensed (his mas- 
 ter's) money among the sailors having won 
 him golden opinions, and convinced them 
 that he must be a great man." At Wexford 
 he became quite the lion, his society was 
 everywhere courted, his discourse very taking, 
 u especially among the ladies and the better 
 sort." He had not been here long before a 
 certain Earl of Crafford, a Scotch nobleman, 
 arrived from Spain. The Wexfordians anxious 
 to do him honour, entreat Major Clancie (as 
 he appears now to have dubbed himself) to 
 " countenance them in this interest." The 
 Major would desire nothing better, and acted 
 as their spokesman so satisfactorily that they 
 " looked on it as an addition to the many 
 
144 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 former favours he had conferred upon them." 
 My lord is much pleased with his reception, 
 and is especially delighted with Major Clancie 
 whom he invites next day to a magnificent 
 banquet. At this banquet he falls in with a 
 Mr. Cheevers, whose delight in the Major's 
 conversation is, like that of every one else 
 with whom he had come into contact, un- 
 bounded. 
 
 To Mr. Cheevers' house he is invited forth- 
 with. Here, however, it is observed by the 
 other guests that the major is paying very 
 marked attentions to Miss Katherine, the 
 eldest daughter of his host. Mr. Cheevers, 
 getting scent of this, determines to sound her 
 on the point, and — like the rich merchant in 
 u Villikins " — has an interview with her in the 
 garden. Some words pass between them, and 
 the scene closes on the fond parient admonish- 
 ing his daughter to beware, lest she fall into 
 the hands of one who might prove "a coun- 
 terfeit." 
 
 This polite inuendo on the character of her 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 145 
 
 lover the dutiful daughter immediately con- 
 veys to him. The major fires up tremen- 
 dously, talks of wounded honour, base asper- 
 sions, reparation, and the like, until softened 
 down a little by the tears and entreaties of 
 his mistress. Meanwhile he bethinks himself 
 of a safer mode of vindicating his outraged 
 honour. At dinner he is observed to be less 
 talkative than usual, whereupon the company 
 entreat to know the reason. Mr. Cheevers in 
 particular is most anxious to learn the cause 
 of his guest's depression. Then the Major 
 turns upon him, and accuses him point blank 
 of calling him a u counterfeit," threatening to 
 quit his roof at once, as u after such an affront 
 he could think no better of himself than a 
 Bedlam if he were to stay." That night he 
 returned to Wexford in company with his 
 friend, Lord Crafford. 
 
 The major, finding that suspicion is aroused, 
 and dreading lest other discoveries should be 
 made, bethinks himself of some method of 
 escape. Accordingly, he entreats the favour 
 
 H 
 
146 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 of his friend Lord Crafford's company to din- 
 ner, on which occasion he will give him proof 
 positive that he is no counterfeit, as has been 
 vainly imagined, but the true son of his father. 
 Ere dinner is served the major dispatches his 
 servant to Eoss with all his luggage " where 
 he is commanded to take lodgings and await 
 his master's coming.' ' 
 
 After dinner dice-boxes are brought, and 
 the major calls for his servant to bring him 
 some money. To this, of course, there is no 
 response. My lord, nothing loth, offers his 
 friend the loan of £40, and the game begins. 
 Suddenly the major starts up as if called upon 
 in haste, and quits the room. Meanwhile, 
 play goes on, and healths are drunk, and songs 
 are sung, " till at last the company grow 
 weary, and call for their servants to attend 
 them to their several homes — some to lead, 
 and some to carry." 
 
 But, and here is the climax, before they part, 
 in comes the master of the house with a long 
 bill of fare in his hand. Every one is as- 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 147 
 
 tounded, and asks what lie means. To which 
 the poor fellow replies that the major is gone 
 without ever paying him a penny, and that he 
 hoped that the gentlemen will not let him be 
 ruined. 
 
 " The gentlemen looking on one another 
 are all struck dumb," but my lord, in the 
 simplicity of his heart, assures them that u his 
 friend the major could not do an unhandsome 
 thing, that doubtless it would all be cleared 
 up in time," and so— -pays the bill himself. 
 
 The major soon returns to my lord and 
 makes his apologies. In exchange whereof, 
 he begs the loan of some horses and servants, 
 for that he has formed the design of abduct- 
 ing his lady-love from the home of her father. 
 My lord is only too ready to oblige his friend, 
 and the party set out. The lady is taken 
 and is "interchanging lovelooks " with the 
 major, when they find to their horror that 
 they are pursued. A terrible scuffle ensues, 
 in the course of which Miss Katherine is 
 recovered, Lord Crafford taken prisoner, 
 
 h 2 
 
148 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 but the major — with his usual luck, though 
 wounded, contrives to make his escape. 
 Another plan is devised, in which our hero 
 does not come off so easily. Miss Kate, it 
 appears, dispatched a letter to her lover by 
 her foster sister, imploring him to meet her 
 privately, at a certain appointed time. The 
 foster sister turns traitor, and shows the 
 letter to Mr. Cheevers, the result of which is, 
 that when poor Clancie arrives at his ren- 
 dezvous, got up in his best, and prepared for 
 " sweet kisses/' he is met by a company of 
 Clubbatiers, who pay him with " buffets and 
 crab-sticks in such a pickle as never was any 
 poor man before in such a posture." 
 
 At Eoss he makes himself as popular as 
 ever — feasting at the houses of the great, and 
 giving feasts in return. 
 
 At one of these entertainments he calls 
 aside " one of those with whom he had con- 
 tracted the greatest friendship" — a certain Mr. 
 White — and entreats of him the loan of 
 £C0, in consideration whereof, he promises 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 149 
 
 him a farm of £50 a year, rent free for his 
 life, and offers to leave him one of his trunks 
 as a security. 
 
 This gentleman, who had married " with- 
 out either his wife's parents' consent or his 
 own," and who appears to have been rather 
 hen-pecked, sallies forth to ask the opinion of 
 his wife. 
 
 " The wife made many excuses at first, but 
 at last being by her husband importuned 
 with so much earnestness, consented," and 
 handed up the required sum. 
 
 Meanwhile the "jollity " continued, healths 
 were drunk, and the company got " very 
 elevated." Clancie, who had waited for this, 
 quietly leaves the room, turns his steps to 
 the harbour, and there bargains with the 
 captain of a vessel to take him to Kilkenny. 
 Very soon afterwards, Mrs. White, who, like 
 most of her sex, was of a curious tempera- 
 ment, was seized with an irrepressible desire 
 of examining into the contents of the major's 
 trunk. Her husband, at first, will not hear 
 
150 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 of its being opened ; but " being much 
 pressed," consents, on condition of its being 
 done in the presence of the Mayor and Cor- 
 poration ! Accordingly the Mayor arrives 
 with his retinue u to witness this great ex- 
 ploit." The smith is sent for — the tools are 
 applied — the box is broken open, and then ! 
 " the first thing met with is a piece of satin 
 with which all the rest was covered, which 
 you may believe were better so than seen : for 
 from that piece of satin, to the bottom of the 
 trunk, there was nothing but brick-bats, and 
 clods of earth ! ! ! " 
 
 But, alas ! what followed ? a The wife 
 seeing herself cheated without any hope of 
 being relieved, falls a railing at her husband. 
 From railing she falls to fighting of him ; so 
 that the Mayor had enough to do to part man 
 and wife, whose best pastime is to scold, im- 
 puting the blame of all misfortunes to each 
 other" (whereunto the author adds a philo- 
 sophical reflection, the logic of which may be 
 questioned ; ) "a fate that attends stolen 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 151 
 
 matches, so made without the privity or 
 consent of parents ! " 
 
 Our hero next turns up at Towmond, where 
 he becomes the constant guest of Mr. Mac- 
 nemarroe. One day, as he is riding in the 
 neighbourhood, he falls in with a gentleman, 
 whom he ascertains to be the son of Lord 
 Mountgarrot, and to whom he coolly intro- 
 duces himself. He pleads in excuse for such 
 conduct, his position as the affianced of Mr. 
 Butler's relative— Miss Oheevers — that upon 
 further acquaintance Mr. Butler will be able 
 to convince his — the major's — father-in-law 
 of his error in supposing him a counterfeit. 
 With a view to such further acquaintance, he 
 persuades Mr. Butler to spend the night at 
 the house of his friend, Macnemarroe. On 
 that gentleman's return, civilities are inter- 
 changed, and the mutual relationship of the 
 major and my lord are thoroughly explained. 
 Next morning Mr. Butler sets off for Lime- 
 rick, with his friend the major duly mounted 
 on one of Macnemarroe's horses, the owner of 
 
152 SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 
 
 which " was ashamed to deny him in the 
 presence of Mr. Butler, before whom he had 
 been so kind." 
 
 At Limerick they stayed, till one morning 
 at breakfast, in comes a servant of the major 
 (according to that worthy's previous instruc- 
 tions), with a doleful complaint from his 
 honour's tenants. The major goes out, as if 
 to pacify them, first, however, borrowing his 
 friend Butler's cloak, belt, and rapier, and, as 
 usual, rides quite another way altogether. 
 He takes the road to Galway, and is congra- 
 tulating himself on the success of his ruse, 
 when who should he meet but his " very 
 good friend," Macnemarroe ! That gentleman 
 immediately seizes him and has him com- 
 mitted to the county jail. But not, it seems, 
 for long. The Earl of Insiquin and suite 
 being quartered at Farmbridge, near Cashel, 
 are surprised one morning by the appearance 
 of a man u almost stark-naked, without cloak 
 or coat, only a pair of breeches with many 
 patches, and a shirt suitable to be worn with 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 153 
 
 such breeches." This individual reveals him- 
 self to be Major Clancie, on hearing which, 
 we are told, my lords and gentlemen were 
 seized with u such a fit of merriment and 
 laughter that some were obliged to leave the 
 room." When their laughter had subsided, 
 the object of it presented a petition, in 
 which it was plausibly set forth, how that 
 he had come "to wait upon his lordship," 
 but had been robbed on the way ; how that 
 if his lordship would "give him a pass to 
 Limerick where he means to recruit himself, 
 he would return to wait upon his lordship in 
 this expedition." His lordship, whose ignor- 
 ance as to the character of his visitor, was 
 bliss, indeed, believed every word of his tale, 
 and readily acceded to his request. Where- 
 upon the major rode into Limerick in triumph, 
 and those who would have apprehended him, 
 on seeing his pass, " were glad to let him 
 alone." 
 
 Our hero now adopted a dodge which has 
 served the purpose of many a scoundrel both 
 
 h 5 
 
154 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 before and since. He pretended to be pious ! 
 He is a regular attendant at church ; he re- 
 solves to shun all occasions of temptation lest 
 (poor fellow !) u his frailty might be wrought 
 upon." 
 
 A certain Mr. Fanning a commissioner of 
 the revenue, is so taken with him, that he 
 asks him to his house — that house — where 
 u he should have the absolute command of 
 all ! ! ! " Now it chanced that Mr. Fanning 
 owed £100 to a Mr. O'Brien — a neighbour of 
 his — but such is his fondness for the major, 
 that he must needs be present at the payment 
 to see that all is fair. A servant mean- 
 while, is ordered to follow them with the 
 hundred pounds. As they ride along the 
 major observes that the servant is delaying 
 on the road. Accordingly, he slackens his 
 pace, and waits for him, and telling him that 
 Mr. Fanning has sent him (the major) back, 
 with orders for him to return to Limerick at 
 once, and then to search in his closet for 
 twenty pounds in gold, which were to be 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 155 
 
 brought back for Mr. O'Brien ; that he was 
 likewise to deliver to him (the major) the 
 hundred pounds which he had " that he may 
 come the sooner to Mr. O'Brien's house 
 where they all expect him." The servant 
 u being very well satisfied that all is true that 
 comes from the Major," does as he is bid; 
 rides back as hard as he can, goes upstairs to 
 his master's room, and finds the cupboard 
 empty ! Back again he rides in hot haste to 
 Mr. O'Brien, where the following scene 
 occurs: — 
 
 " Where is my hundred pounds ?" asks 
 Mr. Fanning. 
 
 u Truly, sir, I gave it to Major Clancie, 
 according to the orders he brought me." 
 
 " But where is the Major with the money ?" 
 asks Mr. Fanning. 
 
 " How can I tell, sir, that never saw him 
 since ? but sure I am, my heart is broke." 
 
 u Thy heart broke, villain ; where is my 
 money," thunders his angry master, to which 
 he could have no other answer but " that the 
 
156 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 Major had it who, it seems, is gone about his 
 own affairs." 
 
 Six months after this Mr. Fanning spied 
 the Major coming along the road to Cork and 
 gave him chase. He was successful, and in 
 spite of the major's urgent entreaties had him 
 safely lodged in the Limerick prison. Here 
 his treatment was rigorous enough. " Hard- 
 ships and pain reduced him to the most 
 lamentable spectacle in the world; nothing 
 but skin and bones ; his eyes sunk, his lips 
 dried up, his jaw bone ready to pierce the 
 skin ; a direct anatomy or perfect ghost." 
 The Uriah Heep and Littimer dodge served 
 him admirably now. The chaplain was 
 charmed with him, and told the Commissioners 
 that he had seen one M of the wonders of the 
 world ;" one who had not his fellow for true 
 penitency and perfect devotion. The Com- 
 missioners requested to see this paragon. 
 Clancie was accordingly brought before them, 
 and on that occasion he regaled their ears with 
 a speech which even Uriah Heep could never 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 157 
 
 have surpassed. His eloquence procured him 
 a ticket-of-leave. Once out of prison he is 
 taken under the wing of the credulous chap- 
 lain, by whom he is placed in a monastery. 
 Here his devotion knows no bounds. He re- 
 gularly observes the fasts — he is for ever 
 doing penance — to such an extent, indeed, 
 that " Father Guardian is sometimes dis- 
 appointed of his rest by the continual exercise 
 of mortification practised by Brother Clancie, 
 who every night pulls off his habit and rolls 
 himself on the cold ground, and whenever he 
 hears the cock crow falls a whipping his 
 naked body," until the good father is fain 
 to assure him that " to preserve himself were 
 it but for example would do much more 
 acceptable service to God than to make him- 
 self away." By this time the penitent Major 
 began to have some little knowledge of his 
 whereabouts. He had observed, among other 
 things, that there was a small stock of money 
 in the keeping of Brother Spencer, which had 
 been amassed together for the use of the monas- 
 
158 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 tery. With this knowledge he goes to Brother 
 Spencer while his patron (Father Delahyde) 
 is absent, and tells him that " Father Dela- 
 hyde being with the Commissioners they had 
 promised to do them a service, which was to 
 employ their own servants to the fair of 
 Mollengare to buy lean cattle for the winter 
 provision, and to give them grass till they 
 were fit to be eaten ; to which end the father 
 has sent him for the money to deliver to the 
 Commissioners. Brother Spencer believing 
 this to be true, delivers the money (some three- 
 score pounds) into his hands, which he no 
 sooner has than he carries it to a private 
 lodging, puts on his other clothes, and " bids 
 adieu to Father Delahyde and all the rest of 
 his dearly beloved brother-friars." By-and- 
 by back comes Father Delahyde and inquires 
 for Clancie. Brother Spencer replies that he 
 has not seen him since he gave him the money 
 for the cattle. 
 
 "What cattle ?" asks Father Delahyde. 
 
 The brother explains. 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 159 
 
 cc And do you not know where he is ?" 
 
 " No, in good faith, not I." 
 
 a Why, then, I am afraid we are all un- 
 done," cries the father. Which indeed they 
 were. 
 
 Our hero conceiving it " not safe for him 
 to make any stay in them parts (sic) where he 
 lately played so many pranks," adjourned to 
 Cork. Here we find him beseeching a friend 
 4t with whom he had some small acquaintance/ ' 
 to ask the governor for an order to transport 
 him, the Major, and certain gentlemen who 
 dwelt in the adjacent mountains, and who, he 
 said, could not but be troublesome to the 
 governor and his quarters. Clancie obtains 
 an interview with the governor, and under- 
 takes to promise that his men will give no 
 further trouble on condition of receiving " a 
 free quarter during their stay, a good ship, 
 manned and victualled, and money in their 
 purses." Having obtained these he is off to 
 the mountains. He meets with some op- 
 position at first, but on presenting a the 
 
160 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 articles " the mountaineers salute Him " cap- 
 tain/* and agree to follow him wheresoever 
 he list. Thus things went on smoothly enough 
 till they got to Flanders. Then it is that 
 some of them demand their share of the 
 money which had been given for their use. 
 Whereupon the a captain " coolly tells them 
 that " it is given for his own use and not 
 theirs.'' u But they, not satisfied with this 
 answer, resolved to have it out of his bones, 
 so that he was glad to get from them by 
 stealth and leave his troops to shift for their 
 living." 
 
 The Major's next adventure was based on 
 une affaire du cceur with a very rich widow. 
 This lady he addressed with his usual elo- 
 quence, but she, with becoming modesty, told 
 him that she u never doubted nor disbelieved 
 him, but that she had no inclination to change 
 her condition." With a perception which 
 did him credit, the Major took this answer 
 for an " encouragement to come again," 
 " which he often did," we are informed, 
 
SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 161 
 
 " without invitation." Falling in with some 
 Irish acquaintances he lets them into the 
 secret and borrows of them £40 — for his 
 wedding trousseaux. Whereupon he quits 
 his lodgings, his widow, and his Irish ac- 
 quaintances, and comes straight to London. 
 u At a place called Nell's Ordinary, which 
 there was a great resort to," he overhears a 
 gentleman ask his friend if he knew of any- 
 one to whom he might safely entrust his 
 money while he was in France. The daunt- 
 less Major forthwith invites them to dinner, 
 and as they warm over the wine, offers him- 
 self for the post of trustee, u for," says he, 
 " the Earl of Insiquin will pay you on sight 
 of my bill." And with a charming naivete 
 the gentleman pays up his £200. Unfor- 
 tunately the Major is not quite quick enough 
 this time. This gentleman goes off to Lord 
 Insiquin, finds out the hoax, and, riding post 
 haste back to town, delivers the unconscious 
 sharper into the hands of the Bailiffs. Dur- 
 ing his imprisonment he writes to the 
 
162 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 daughter of the Earl of Towmond, and en- 
 treats permission to see her ladyship's con- 
 fessor, " it being the greatest concern of his 
 soul." No sooner does the poor priest arrive 
 than he turns his " confession " into a threat 
 of informing against him (his presence being 
 contrary to prison rules) if he did not supply 
 him with money. By which means he got 
 £50 out of her ladyship's exchequer. 
 
 We next hear of the Major u at a place 
 called Viena," in Italy. At his hotel in 
 Viena he becomes acquainted with a gen- 
 tleman named Gerardo — a gentleman's u gen- 
 tleman," in short, of the Prince of Tuskaine. 
 In the course of their conversation, Clancie 
 happens to ask him if he had " lately heard 
 of the King of England, or knew any one of 
 that court." Gerardo replies by an allusion 
 to the " constancy, loyalty, and fidelity," of 
 the Lord of Ormond, " of whom," says he, 
 M my master has given such characters as are 
 not to be parallelled." Upon which, the 
 Major, with an assumption of the greatest 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 163 
 
 humility, avows himself the Lord of Ormond, 
 though " a little pincht " in circumstances, 
 and entreats his friend to acquaint the prince 
 that he begs it as a favour he will not trouble 
 himself to see him. Of course, Gerardo ac- 
 quaints the prince with everything. And the 
 prince thereunto commands Gerardo to " go 
 back to my lord, and carry him three hundred 
 pounds, and tell him he shall have as much 
 more as he pleases, and that there was not 
 that thing in the world within the reach of 
 the prince but he should command." 
 
 Gerardo returns to the supposed Lord of 
 Ormond, who receives him with a great deal 
 of cheerfulness and large promises of reward, 
 " engaging him to express to the prince how 
 feelingly sensible he is of this great favour 
 thus so seasonably placed upon him." And 
 on the major's leaving the hotel, the landlord 
 " appears with a sad countenance, to think of 
 parting with the best guest that ever he had. " 
 
 Our hero returns to England just in time to 
 celebrate the restoration of King Charles II. 
 
164 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 He appears " richly aparrelled, and very well 
 attended," and proceeds to take some 
 rooms in the most fashionable part of the 
 town. He has not been very long in these 
 quarters before his landlord becomes terribly 
 jealous of his attentions to the landlady. 
 Boniface is determined, however, to make sure 
 whether his wife keeps the major in counten- 
 ance, and accordingly informs her of his resolu- 
 tion. That resolution is to find out the major's 
 new haunts, for he has left their house, having 
 numerous debts still standing in his name, 
 and arrest him that very night. Like a true 
 woman she applauds her spouse's intentions — 
 to his face, and directly his back is turned 
 writes off a timely warning to the major. The 
 bailiffs execute their orders to the letter, and 
 finding their intended victim (as they suppose) 
 in bed, they proceed to administer to him the 
 soundest thrashing that a man ever received. 
 The noise arouses the neighbours, and among 
 them the landlord himself, who, on coming up, 
 perceives to his horror that his victim is " not 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 165 
 
 Clancie, but Birmingham." Then ensues a 
 scene. The landlord begs pardon for the mistake . 
 Mr. B. is not so easily satisfied — " To break 
 my head and face, to tear my hair and clothes, 
 to thrust my bedclothes through with naked 
 swords, and piercing my skin, and all this for 
 nothing, but under colour of mistake!" So 
 that the landlord is obliged to heal his wounds 
 with a salve of fifty pounds. In the meantime 
 the major had been safely ensconced in the 
 room of Mrs. Landlord, from which he only 
 emerged, when the husband returned, u to 
 make himself merry with his friend Birming- 
 ham.'' 
 
 Some of the major's subsequent adventures 
 with the bailiffs are very amusing. " One day 
 espying a bailiff from his window, seated on 
 the stall of a cutler's shop, he sends a 
 message to the boy in the shop, who happens to 
 be knocking in some nails, to knock a nail or 
 two (by mistake ?) into the coat-tails of 
 the bailiff. This, on receipt of a crown- 
 piece, the boy proceeded to do. As soon as 
 
166 SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 
 
 the last nail is driven in, the major, who had 
 been watching the sport from above, comes 
 down to take the coach. Up starts the 
 bailiff simultaneously, and then, down come 
 stall, hammer, nail-boxes, making such a 
 clatter that the fellow was frightened out of 
 his wits, thinking the devil had been at his 
 back." 
 
 Another time he meets a creditor who begs 
 of him to name a day when he shall discharge 
 a debt of some months' standing. To which 
 the major makes answer that he shall be 
 able to do so very soon, as he expects a sup- 
 ply from his uncle — the Bishop of London ! 
 Curiously enough, the bishop's coach happens 
 to be passing at the same moment. Per- 
 ceiving this, the major rushes up to the coach, 
 bidding his friend keep a little distance off. 
 The major then explains to the bishop how 
 that he has a sceptical friend whose wish it 
 is to have his doubts cleared up (if possible) 
 by so eminent a Defender of the Faith as his 
 lordship. The bishop gladly undertakes the 
 
SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 167 
 
 task, and beckoning to the friend to come 
 up, assures him that " if he would call at his 
 residence at ten o'clock on the morrow, he 
 would satisfy him.'' So delighted is the 
 creditor at this intelligence that he forthwith 
 lends the major £50 more, in hopes to have 
 it repaid with the other fifty by the bishop 
 next day. On the following morning the 
 creditor comes by appointment. The bishop 
 receives him very courteously, and bids him 
 u speak his mind and conceal nothing that 
 troubled him ;" which he did, and giving his 
 thanks to the bishop, falls a telling a long 
 story how that he had lent his nephew fifty 
 pounds some months since, and yesterday, 
 fifty more, on his lordship's promise to satisfy 
 that debt by the hour of ten of the clock. 
 Whereto the bishop, astounded beyond 
 measure, replies, " 'Twas not for payment of 
 money, but to endeavour your satisfaction 
 another way, by removing doubts of con- 
 science in points of religion — that was my 
 promise, and that I am still ready to perform, 
 
168 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 and nothing else. And," says the bishop, 
 adding insult to injury, " I believe it to be a 
 contrivance between the other man and you, 
 to cheat me out of my money." At which 
 the creditor waxes very wrath, and resolves 
 to petition the king as to how he should 
 obtain reparation. The king appoints the 
 Duke of Ormonde arbitrator, and the duke's 
 decision is to the effect that the first fifty is 
 irrecoverable, but that the second fifty must 
 be paid by his lordship the bishop — a decision 
 which seems to have had the misfortune of 
 being equally offensive to both parties. Our 
 hero now begins to feel how, by his long- 
 continued mal-practices, he has brought him- 
 self to that pass that few or none will anear 
 him. He determines therefore on seeking 
 the distant city of Chester, but is wind-driven 
 into Beaumoris, in Wales. He has not been 
 here long ere there arrives a lady from 
 London who is bound for Ireland. The gal- 
 lant major sends her word by one of his 
 servants that there is the ship he came in at 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 169 
 
 her disposal if she liked to make use of it. 
 The lady desires that the major will come to 
 her room and " enter more into particulars." 
 You may easily believe the major would lose 
 no time to obey the commands of a fair lady, 
 and so he went, and, from all accounts, a very 
 pleasant evening they spent together. Next 
 day, " the wind being cross," the lady did not 
 start, nor the day after that. But though the 
 wind continued cross, the major became very 
 agreeable, and many more pleasant evenings 
 were accordingly spent. At length the major 
 came to the point, and declared his love. 
 The lady blushed and simpered a little at 
 first, but the major had such a wheedling 
 way that the tender-hearted lady was forced 
 to yield. And, to cut a long story short, 
 " marriage was consummated to the unspeak- 
 able comfort and consolation of both." But 
 then, as the biographer adds, with some 
 degree of sarcasm, u This siege held about 
 six days, to the expense of many bottles at 
 the charge of the major, whose whole study 
 
170 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 is how to reimburse himself by the help of 
 his lady, whose little stock of money, with a 
 considerable parcel of jewels, are most wil- 
 lingly delivered as a marriage-portion to the 
 major." Having secured the " dust," the 
 major next devises a plan for ridding himself 
 of his wife. One day he concocts a letter 
 from the Earl of Car bury desiring him to 
 make all haste thither, " for the prevention of 
 his own harm, which must unavoidably 
 follow if he delay." And this letter he has 
 brought to him as if it were genuine. 
 Amidst the tears of his wife " he takes his 
 leave," giving her all the assurance imagina- 
 ble, as well of his constancy as of his speedy 
 return. In the interim he leaves her the 
 box where her jewels (once) lay, "making 
 her believe he had removed none— when, in 
 truth, he had left none." 
 
 It is needless to say that the poor woman 
 never saw either her husband or her jewels 
 afterwards. 
 
 After this redoubtable exploit we hear little 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 171 
 
 more of Major Clancie. His end, like that of 
 most of your rollicking blades, was crowned 
 with ignominy. He perceived that " most 
 men began to forsake him, being in a low 
 condition, whereby he was necessitated to play 
 at small games.' ' Having contracted an alli- 
 ance with a " very ordinary plain woman," he 
 one day entreated her to give him some token 
 of her affection. 
 
 " I have nothing in the world but this 
 ring," says she, and immediately pulls it off. 
 Which he had no sooner secured than " he 
 conveys himself away, leaving his wife to pay 
 the reckoning, which she was forced to pawn 
 her clothes for." 
 
 Shortly after he was apprehended, and at 
 the instance of his lady conveyed to Newgate, 
 from which sweet seclusion we are informed 
 that he did not emerge until called upon to 
 take a prominent part in a highly interesting 
 ceremony which was to be performed at 
 Tyburn. 
 
172 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 A VERY UNFASHIONABLE 
 PROMENADE. 
 
 It is, in point of fact, a very unfashionable 
 promenade, You see, it is such a long way 
 off from everything else. So far removed from 
 Buckingham Palace, from the Horse Guards, 
 from the clubs, from the squares, from Rotten 
 Row, from the Pantheon Bazaar, from the 
 Italian Opera House, from St. George's 
 Church, from Almack's, from Verrey's Res- 
 taurant, from Madame Rachel's Enamelling 
 Rooms, from all that savoureth of the beau 
 monde, of Jiaut ton, and of " good society." 
 Postally considered it is situated not in the 
 district W., not in the stately S.W., not even 
 in the less pretentious N.W. In fact it isn't 
 westward ho ! at ail. It is right at the other 
 end of the compass. Supposing you take a 
 
SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 173 
 
 cab, let us say at the General Post Office, you 
 rattle down Aldersgate Street, dash along that 
 of Goswell, turning smartly round into Old 
 Street. You pass Bunhill Row, with its 
 burial ground, sacred to the memories of 
 Bunyan — under whose guidance we have so 
 often followed the Christian pilgrim's steps; 
 Defoe, biographer of those well-remembered 
 friends of our boyhood, Crusoe and his faith- 
 ful Friday ; Watts, with whom we became 
 acquainted even earlier; and many other 
 gentle and pious souls gone from among us to 
 their last long home. Continuing your course 
 along the Old Street Road, you pass Shore- 
 ditch Church. Here too " God's acre " is 
 fraught with fruitful recollections, but this 
 time not of preachers, not of novelists, but of 
 "poor players;" Will Somers, Jester to bluff 
 King Hal, Tarlton Clown in the days of 
 Shakspeare, and anent whose mirth-provok- 
 ing visage the epitaph is written — 
 
 *' Hsec situs est cujus poterat vox, actio, vultus, 
 Ex Heraclito reddere Democritum;" 
 
174 SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 
 
 Burbage and others who were among the first 
 to personate the great bard's creations. 
 
 On again, through the seemingly intermin- 
 able Hackney Eoad, by Prospect Eoad, 
 through Bishop's Eoad, and then — then it is 
 that we arrive at that most unfashionable of 
 promenades — the Victoria Park. On entering 
 this park you will observe that it is extensive 
 — not perhaps so extensive as its more aristo- 
 cratic sisters of the west — and that it is laid 
 out with consummate taste. Winding paths 
 surrounded on either side by beds of vari- 
 coloured and sweet-scented flowers intersect 
 the turf in every direction, and in the midst 
 there is a sheet of water, spanned by a hand- 
 some bridge, and filled with water-fowl of the 
 rarest kinds. The habitues of this park are 
 numerous if not select. They are not much 
 given to equestrianism, certainly, still less are 
 they in the habit of being borne luxuriously 
 along in carriages richly padded within and 
 gorgeously emblazoned without. They are of 
 the unfashionable classes — don't you under- 
 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 175 
 
 stand — they are of that class which doesn't 
 buy its coats at Pool's or its bonnets at 
 Brandon's, which has to live from hand to 
 mouth — by the sweat of the brow ; weavers 
 from the neighbouring looms of Spitalfields 
 and of Bethnal Green — grim and sooty 
 artiz ans — seamp stresses 
 
 " Lean and weary and wan 
 With only their ghosts of garments on, 
 Every soul — child, woman, or man, 
 That lives or dies by labour " — 
 
 who have left the dingy work-rooms, and 
 their own much dingier, drearier homes, and 
 come to have a look at the bright flowers, and 
 stretch their cramped limbs a bit, and refresh 
 their weary bodies with a breath of God's 
 pure air. 
 
 On one of the seats, beneath a shady tree, 
 an old man rests his weary frame. He is a 
 very old man, his hair is quite white, and his 
 eyes are weak and dim. Yet there are hope 
 and faith, love, and tenderness stamped on 
 every feature of his venerable countenance. 
 
176 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 " And blest is he o'er whose decline, 
 The smiles of hope may soothing shine, 
 And light him down the steep of years." 
 
 His earthly course is nearly run — his 
 labours are fast drawing to a close. He has 
 served a long and weary time of it ; but he has 
 been truthful and honest through it all. He 
 has never swerved from the paths of virtue. 
 The end will soon come, but he looks to it 
 humbly, resignedly, and without fear. In 
 pious resignation he awaits the day when he 
 shall be summoned hence to that brighter and 
 better land u where, the wicked cease from 
 troubling, and the weary are at rest." 
 
 Passing by me at this moment are a young 
 married couple. A poorly clad young couple 
 enough, and yet how cheerful and contented. 
 True, they have their sorrows — bitter sorrows 
 — true, they find life a hard and uphill 
 struggle. But then methinks it is this mutual 
 participation in each other's sorrows which 
 endears them one to the other — which lightens 
 their heaviest burdens, and consoles them 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 177 
 
 under their deepest and bitterest afflictions. 
 Watch them now ! How tenderly he bends 
 over her as he points out the beauty of some 
 flower, or directs her attention to the glow of 
 the sunset on the mighty city. How pleased 
 he looks when a smile irradiates her wan pale 
 cheek, and recals for an instant, though only 
 for an instant, some faint trace of her former 
 beauty — the beauty of her earlier years and 
 before starvation had done its deadly work. 
 
 What a lesson may we learn from the pa- 
 tient endurance, the cheerful content of these 
 poor people ! What though there are 
 many who are gone astray, many who are 
 outcasts, reprobate, and degraded. Think of 
 the temptations "to which ours are as 
 breezes which woo to storms which tumble 
 towers/' which they have undergone, of the 
 close unwholesome dens in which they drag 
 out their wretched lives, of the fierce hunger 
 which prey, upon them daily, of the cares and 
 sicknesses and anxieties to which they are 
 exposed, of the hope of better days which 
 
 i 5 
 
178 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 lights up their poor lives with its delusive 
 glare, and of the dull and blank despair 
 succeeding it. 
 
 And, oh, my brothers, my brothers, which 
 of us shall stand forth in his untried virtue 
 and say that under like disadvantages he 
 would not have fallen too ? 
 
 Children are to be found in the park in. 
 abundance. They are not rosy cheeked chil- 
 dren by any means — not the bright-eyed, 
 laughing cherubs that form the especial 
 delight of young ladies of twenty or there- 
 abouts, and the particular aversion of young 
 gentlemen of ten or thereabouts — that we 
 read of in Mr. W. Bennett's graceful lyrics 
 and see personified blowing trumpets on an- 
 tiquated tombstones. 
 
 These children have sickly little faces, at- 
 tenuated little bodies. Some of them, alas ! 
 crooked, stunted, crippled little limbs. Some 
 of them have got old before their time, and 
 have acquired an old man's expression upon 
 their countenances, which would be irresisti- 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 179 
 
 bly comical were it not, alas ! most painful to 
 behold. The sturdiest of them, however, 
 make great use of their play -ground. They 
 drive their hoops, they chase one another in 
 and out the avenues, or play hide and seek 
 behind the trees, or u Touchwood " (is not 
 that the name of the game which delighted 
 the infancy of the mature individual who 
 pens these lines — and which he believes to 
 be still existing) or in short — anything else 
 that affords scope for shouting and romping 
 and getting out of breath. 
 
 The feebler children take great delight in 
 feeding the ducks. They will stand behind 
 the railings in front of the pond and throw 
 in tempting morsels of bread, or biscuit, or 
 apple (for all these dainties are procurable at 
 a stall in the park) — sometimes the birds will 
 turn contemptuously from the proffered gifts, 
 and then the disappointment is great, but 
 when this is not the case, and they come 
 quacking to the pond's edge and open their 
 
180 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 wide bills as if mutely " asking for more," 
 there is such a crowing of delight, and such 
 a clapping of little hands, and a stamping of 
 little feet as does one good to hear. 
 
 At five o'clock the park-keeper, a splendid 
 creature in laces and what-nots, and quite 
 equal in appearance to his brethren of the 
 west, sallies forth from his lodge and gives 
 notice to everyone whom he meets that it is 
 time to withdraw. His seems a task of no 
 small difficulty at first, for the attractions are 
 great here and little enough elsewhere, God 
 knows ; but at length the stragglers are ga- 
 thered in, the park is cleared, and the ducks 
 are left once more to their undisturbed- seclu- 
 sion. 
 
 By the latest statistics I am informed 
 firstly, that this park has added to the health 
 of over 500,000 people ; and secondly, that 
 Parliament granted no less than £100,000 to 
 defray its expenses. We are aware that that 
 august assembly is in the habit of expending 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 181 
 
 the public monies pretty freely ; but never, 
 in my opinion, was any grant applied to a 
 better purpose than this, and shame say I be 
 to that economist who would have grudged a 
 penny. 
 
182 SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 
 
 DO YOU OBJECT TO SMOKING? 
 
 Perhaps few men have ever attained to a 
 greater notoriety than Sir Walter Kaleigh. 
 And this not so much by his " History of the 
 World," instructive, as no doubt that porten- 
 tous volume may be to those who live long 
 enough to get through it, as by his introduc- 
 tion into this country of the practice of smok- 
 ing. It was in vain that he got soused by his 
 own domestic while indulging in a dreamy 
 reverie amid the fumes. It was in vain that 
 his royal master, James, of pedantic memory, 
 blew out an awful " counterblast " and 
 branded the finest brands with the classic 
 appellation of u a precious stink." It is to 
 little purpose that sage and sapient doctors 
 put in their veto on the noxious plant, and 
 
SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 183 
 
 throw out mysterious hints about its nicotine 
 and its empyreumatic oil, and poisoned sys- 
 tems, and the retention of alkaloid in the 
 tissues, or threaten us with the encouraging 
 prospect of nausea, tremulousness of the 
 muscles, excessive perspiration, palpitation of 
 the heart, and angina pectoris, if we continue 
 in its use. It is to little purpose that a worthy 
 ecclesiastic has been found to anathematize it 
 as a u gorging fiend ; " that excellent gentle- 
 men write tracts, with the alarming titles of 
 " The Murderer and his Meerschaum, " or, 
 "Hell and Havannahs;" that ladies hurl 
 their fulminations at what they are pleased to 
 call " that filthy habit ; " that university 
 dons have concocted a statute solely and 
 entirely to forbid the use of the " herba 
 nicotiana sive " tobacco — as they add, for fear 
 (alas ! for the confession), that their Latinity 
 should be unintelligible ! Spite of doctors, 
 ecclesiastics, dons, and ladies, patients will be 
 rebellious, congregations sceptical, lords 
 and masters claim their right of supremacy, 
 
184 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 and naughty undergrads will laugh statutes 
 to scorn. The weed will not be " put down." 
 It defies the Alderman Cutes of the opposi- 
 tion, and rears its head — its "negro head," 
 let us say — and, like the mythologic monster 
 of old, comes out the stronger under every 
 blow. It is in the nature of man to go on 
 smoking, and chewing, and snuffing. " It 
 clears the brain and makes me think," is the 
 excuse of one, a mathematician, who is intent 
 on the integral calculus. " It soothes the 
 nerves, and induces sleep," says another, a 
 commercial clerk, as he returns home after a 
 long day's grind over the Stocks and the 
 Three per Cents. 
 
 " It is something to do," mutters a third. 
 
 Not a very valid reason, this, I think. 
 
 " It cures the toothache," pleads a fourth 
 — -which has more in it certainly, though, 
 crede exjgerto^ I have found it a decided 
 failure. Be the reasons, however, what they 
 may, there is no doubt that the practice is 
 universally prevalent ; that there is not the 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 185 
 
 smallest chance of its being on the decline, 
 and that it is one in which all classes alike 
 are interested — all from the dandy, with his 
 perfumed cigarette, to the workman with his 
 humble " clay." 
 
 For these reasons, if for no other, the manu- 
 facture of tobacco is a subject which deserves 
 a very considerable share of our attention. 
 
 Nor is this weed-worship confined to our 
 country alone. It is cosmopolitan, and various 
 are the ways in which its votaries offer up 
 their adoration. 
 
 What Paddy could exist without that par- 
 ticular snuff to which he has affixed a name 
 more expressive than polite ? And as for 
 our Northern neighbours there is a story cur- 
 rent of a sermon to which certain of a clan 
 were patient listeners enow up to the time 
 that their mulls became empty. 
 
 The German student makes quite a friend 
 of his pipe, with its long cherry-wood stem 
 and deep china bowl. He is wont, I believe, 
 to employ its agency in his metaphysical 
 
186 SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 
 
 pursuits, though the blooming young lady 
 (not too much dressed) who invariably adorns 
 the bowl looks material enough in all con- 
 science and is anything but an "abstraction." 
 Then there is the American who chews 
 the weed — a custom upon which with its 
 expectorating accompaniment the Author of 
 the " Notes/' is especially severe ; and then 
 there are the Turks who luxuriously inhale it 
 lolling on a cushion in the midst of their 
 admiring Sultanas. Perhaps, however, there 
 is no nation in the world which is so addicted 
 to its use as the French. At the cafe" in 
 the morning, on the Boulevards at noon, in 
 the casino at night you will hardly ever see 
 a Frenchman without a cigar in his mouth. 
 Whether or not this has a deteriorating effect, 
 or whether or not it leads to drinking (though 
 for that matter our neighbours seldom indulge 
 in anything stronger than lemonade), are be- 
 side the question. There is no doubt of the 
 fact — that the French are prodigious smokers. 
 And therefore it is that there is scarcely any 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 187 
 
 place where the manufacture of tobacco is 
 carried on on a greater scale than at the Im- 
 perial Manufactory of Paris. 
 
 The plant, it should be observed, is ex- 
 tremely delicate and has to be treated as an 
 exotic. A single frost would destroy a whole 
 crop. A fine plant, it is said, should have 
 nearly a dozen leaves and a stem nearly six 
 feet high ; their colour at the time of gather- 
 ing should be yellow and their appearance 
 rough. They are then left to dry for a day, 
 then covered up to sweat for three or four, 
 and then dried again. When quite dry this 
 process is repeated. Apparently it cannot 
 be repeated too often, as a medical authority 
 has stated in the following opinion : " The 
 great superiority/ ' he observes, " of the best 
 Havannah cigars depends not only upon the 
 fine quality of the leaf used to make them, 
 but also on the perfection of the rolling ; but, 
 above all, on the completeness of the drying. 
 The best of these cigars are those which have 
 been kept for some time in a sufficiently warm 
 
188 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 temperature to dry them very completely."* 
 When this end is attained they are tied toge- 
 ther in bundles of a dozen each, placed in 
 casks, pressed in by a powerful lever, and so 
 transported to their destination. The first 
 court into which we are ushered in the Pari- 
 sian Manufactory is devoted to the purposes 
 of undoing, laying out, and moistening of the 
 leaf. This moisture is effected by means of 
 a solution of salt applied for the two-fold 
 purpose of assisting fermentation and pre- 
 venting putrescence. The leaves that have 
 been soaking for a day are denuded of their 
 stalks and the blades separated. This branch 
 of the business is carried on by women, who 
 here, as in the railway stations, are provided 
 with a profitable employment in a manner 
 which would rejoice the heart of Miss Faith- 
 full herself. The engine-room comes next in 
 order. The engine — a mighty implement 
 of 140 horse power — acts upon the whole of 
 
 * This extract is taken from an article in the Cornhill Magazine 
 (for November, 1862), Volume VI, number 35, page 610. 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 189 
 
 the adjacent machinery. Near at hand are 
 a series of cutting-machines so contrived as 
 to shave off into very thin sheets the leaves 
 which men have been pressing into it from 
 behind, and disgorge each, as it cuts, into a 
 trough below. The produce is tobacco — but 
 tobacco that is moist and unwholesome. To 
 remedy this it is brought over to a drying 
 machine. This consists of a number of heated 
 brass channels, the warmth being equally 
 distributed over the whole surface. From 
 thence it is taken to another machine formed of 
 linen screens—the whole operation of drying 
 lasting about half-an-hour. Tobacco in this 
 condition is ready for smoking, The manu- 
 facture of snuff appears to be more compli- 
 cated. We find a series of mills fed by gullets 
 from above, and depending wholly on the 
 movement of a main horizontal shaft. This 
 shaft turns a number of "excentrics" which 
 are attached by straps to levers, and so pro- 
 motes an alternate circular motion of the 
 mill-shafts. The snuff thus made is ejected 
 
190 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 upon a canvass moving on rollers, borne on 
 to sieves, sifted, and cast into the troughs 
 below. This is snuff de la premiere qualitL 
 This is for the pouncet-box of Monseigneur, 
 laced and ruffled, in the gardens of Versailles. 
 In the meanwhile that of a coarser nature is 
 carried away to a pit and on through flannels 
 connected with the gullets whence it first 
 passed to the mills beneath. And all this 
 by a wondrous piece of mechanism, all this 
 laborious process for the mortification or de- 
 lectation of our sensitive nostrils. The cigars 
 are made — as Pip was brought up — u by 
 hand," and oh ! ye gallant gentlemen ! by 
 the hand of lovely woman. The poet Gold- 
 smith bewails the occasions on which lovely 
 woman stoops to folly. Let us hope 
 that he didn't include the making of 
 cigars as one of them. To be sure, these 
 women are not very lovely — they are 
 pale and careworn —their eyes are dim — 
 they stoop, and their hands are large and 
 hard. And how should it be otherwise? 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 191 
 
 Bough, work will roughen the smoothest skin, 
 and close rooms make havoc with the best 
 complexions ! And there they sit, patient 
 creatures, day after day, some five hundred 
 of them, rolling the leaf, cutting it into 
 orthodox form, and finally screwing up the 
 end with the assistance of a little grease, into 
 that elegant sugar-loaf point which con- 
 noisseurs prize so highly. So quickly done, 
 and so nattily ! Nimble fingers always 
 plying ; now pulling out the tangled shreds, 
 now rolling, now plastering, now cutting off 
 the jaggs, now putting the final touch; quick 
 and rapid work, in truth, but so dull and 
 dreary and monotonous, as a few minutes 
 inspection may show the most unobservant. 
 Again, and a coarser business greets the 
 eye — the manufacture of the roll tobacco, the 
 stuff that is supplied to seamen — the a quids," 
 without which a Jolly Jack tar would not be 
 jolly at all, and bereft of which Mr. T. P. 
 Cooke would infallibly have failed to u draw 
 a house." In the centre of the two rooms in 
 
192 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 which this part of the business is conducted 
 are a number of wheels to all intents and 
 purposes similar to those used for spinning. 
 Attached to these wheels are benches upon 
 which men place the leaves smooth and open ; 
 these are followed up by others who roll 
 them up into the form of a cord, and as each 
 tail is finished, it is wound upon the wheels. 
 Subsequently it is twisted into a ball and 
 darkened by a dye of tobacco water. Around 
 these rooms are coil upon coil of these rolls, 
 stamped and labelled, and looking for all the 
 world like colossal cheeses. The wonderful 
 agility with which the workmen force the 
 required amount of tobacco into its due com- 
 pass, pack, and label them, excited my 
 greatest admiration. 
 
 How profitable such an establishment must 
 be, may be gathered from the fact that nearly 
 two thousand persons are employed, consis- 
 ting of men, women, and boys, the former 
 earning from three francs to three-and-a-half 
 per diem, the latter from two to two-and-a- 
 
SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 193 
 
 half; that there are no less than ten establish- 
 ments of the kind in France, all of them 
 dependant on this, that the value of this alone 
 is set down at one hundred and ninety-one 
 thousand pounds, in which estimate the plant 
 (including machinery and tools) represents 
 over one eighth, and that, with these ex- 
 penses to meet, an annual increase is added 
 to the revenue of more than three million 
 English pounds ! 
 
 Such being the admitted facts, it may be 
 worth while considering how far discussion 
 will avail. At any rate it will be worth 
 while reflecting whether it would not be 
 wiser for those who do not chew Cavendish 
 to eschew controversy, and for the disputants 
 in general to smoke the pipe of peace over a 
 pipe of bird's-eye. 
 
194 SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 
 
 AT THE GENERAL POST OFFICE. 
 
 I am not a graphiologist. I don't profess 
 to be able to tell the character by hand- 
 writing, though for that matter I have had 
 my own told and have, in consequence, con- 
 sidered myself a better if not a wiser man than 
 I ever thought myself before. Still less am 
 I a phrenologist. I have read little or 
 nothing of Lavater. I couldn't for the life 
 of me say whether a man was a murderer or 
 a philosopher, a Shakspeare or the Lancashire 
 Idiot, by merely observing his pericranium. 
 Yet there is a study to which I am given, which 
 is to my mind equally as interesting and quite 
 as satisfactory as either of the former. The 
 scene of my speculations is the General Post 
 Office, in St. Martin' s-le-Grand, the subjects 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 195 
 
 thereof are the people who make use of its 
 letter-boxes, and the results will be duly made 
 known in the following paper. As I was 
 engaged in these pursuits the other evening 
 one of the first persons who passed me was 
 an old lady — attired rather flashily than ele- 
 gantly — and bearing a monster umbrella, but 
 with a merry round face withal that atoned 
 for everything. This old lady is evidently a 
 country cousin, and has come up to town by 
 a cheap excursion in order to see as much of 
 it as she can in ten days. I told you so, she 
 has just dropped a portly missive into the 
 u letters " for the country department. That 
 letter is addressed to her niece in Muddleshire, 
 and contains a flaming account of her first 
 day's exploits. For she has made the most 
 of her time, depend upon it ; of course she 
 has eaten buns in the middle of the Strand, 
 of course she has had her pocket picked while 
 staring at " Punch," and of course she went 
 a mile out of the way in a fruitless search for 
 a policeman. But besides this she has " done " 
 
 k 2 
 
196 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 a variety of things, things which people who 
 live in London never think of " doing." She 
 has been for instance to the Tower, " where 
 them dear little princes was murdered and 
 where that nasty beast, Clarence, drowned 
 himself in a butt, of wine, and where lots 
 o'things happened besides, but lawk o'mercy, 
 my dear, your old aunt can't remember 'em, 
 for she never was no schollard, thank good- 
 ness ! ! !" She was particularly struck too 
 with Queen Victoria's crown, " which, reely, 
 now, looked so evvy that she felt thankful 
 she warn't the Queen to wear it." From the 
 Tower in all probability she adjourned to the 
 Thames Tunnel, where her surprise at not 
 getting wet was unbounded. From the Tun- 
 nel, she took a 'bus to St. Paul's — there she 
 inspected the clock which, from its size, she 
 thought must be very inconvenient — the 
 whispering gallery, which she disapproved of, 
 as calculated to encourage talking in church, 
 and all the other lions, though she was some- 
 what scandalized, as well she might be, at 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 197 
 
 having to pay three-arid-twopence for the 
 sight. Her clay's adventures were brought 
 to a close by a visit to the monument on Fish 
 Street hill — having reached the summit of 
 which in an exhausted state, it seemed such 
 a way up she thought she never could get 
 down again, " and reely, when the guide told 
 her that it was a hawful place for suicides it 
 put her in such a twitter that she didn't 
 recover herself till she got home and had 
 taken a wee drop of her ' patent medicine/ 
 my dear." 
 
 The old lady is followed up by a servant 
 in gorgeous livery. The letter he bears is 
 encased in a pink envelope and is strongly 
 scented with patchouli. It is addressed to 
 Miss Mary Turniptop, of Turniptop Hall, 
 Yorkshire, and it comes from her sister 
 Bessie, now on a visit to their cousin Lord 
 Lofty, in Grosvenor Square. 
 
 It is Miss Bessie's first visit to town, and 
 she has been " gathering the rose-buds while 
 she may " with no niggard hand. She has 
 
198 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 been to " such a charming ball at Almacks 
 (she writes), and to such a delightful opera 
 at her Majesty's, and she has had such plea- 
 sant rides in Rotten Row, and such delicious 
 
 flirtations with dear Captain , and she 
 
 likes London so much." 
 
 Ah ! dear young lady, you behold London 
 Life through a West-end telescope — through 
 rose-coloured glasses. You look on one side 
 of the picture only — you know nothing of 
 the other side — and perhaps it is as well you 
 never should. 
 
 After the footman comes a young gen- 
 tleman dilapidated as to his dress and some- 
 what rakish as to his general appearance. I 
 fancy that my friend is a medical student. 
 He has been " studying," I think, during the 
 past year, and appears to have " studied " so 
 uncommonly hard that he has forgotten to 
 have his coat mended. I can easily tell what 
 his letter is about. It is addressed to his 
 father, a venerable old clergyman in Nor- 
 folk. It probably states that " the nature of 
 
SKETCHES FROxM LIFE. 199 
 
 his avocations" (one must gammon the 
 governor a bit, as he observed to Tom Lar- 
 ky ns the other day — or he'll never stump up) 
 " having materially increased his expenditure, 
 may he ask the favour of a farther remit- 
 tance." 
 
 No sooner is the young gentleman gone 
 than a Frenchman pops a letter into the box 
 labelled, u Foreign and Colonial." His 
 epistle is addressed to his " cher ami Alphonse, 
 of the Rue St. Honore," and is dated, you 
 may be sure, from Leicester Square. Having 
 spent some six weeks in that fashionable 
 locality, he is, of course, fully competent to 
 give his ami a pretty veracious account 
 of les Anglais chez eux. " For, mon ami," 
 saith his letter — " this is the square par 
 excellence. There are other streets and 
 squares, certainement, but it is here alone, 
 vous comprenez, that you have the public 
 buildings, the cafes, the restaurants, — it is 
 here alone that all the world goes to prome- 
 nade. Here is situate their grand theatre de 
 
200 SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 
 
 1'Alhambra. At this theatre they have 
 operatic performances, and ballets all the 
 nights except Sundays — mais, mon ami, I 
 cannot express to you how inferior, how very 
 inferior they are to our own. Here, too, is 
 locate one of their grand salons — clubs they 
 call them — of whose grandeur you have heard 
 so much. It is true the price of admission is 
 reasonable, very reasonable ; for one penny 
 deux sous — it is permitted you to read not 
 only the journals of this country but also 
 those of our own. But mon Dieu, the edifice 
 is not grand ; it is not magnifique ; it is 
 not sumptuous. Ah ! no, no ; you may take 
 my word for it that in this, as in everything 
 else, Jean Boule is one great big boastare I" 
 
 To the same box comes a poor navvy with 
 a letter to some old friend in Australia. His 
 friend left the old country many years since, 
 when wages were low and work was scarce. 
 He sought his fortunes in the new world — 
 the golden land — u the land flowing with milk 
 and honey — the great, young,free, new world.'' 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 201 
 
 He "grappled with his evil star" — he made 
 his way, and he is a richer man now. Per- 
 haps it would have been better for him to 
 have taken his friend's advice and emigrated 
 too. And yet, to some of us, "home is 
 home, however homely," and there is an 
 innate love of old associations, for the loss 
 of which there is nothing which can fully 
 compensate. 
 
 The offerings at the " Town Department " 
 are so numerous as to plunge one into the 
 wildest speculation as to their contents. 
 Hither comes a smart little page with an 
 invitation- note from Miss Letitia Lightfoot, 
 wherein u the pleasure of Miss Honoria Hop- 
 pleton's company is requested to an evening 
 party, on Thursday next, when the hour will 
 be half-past eight, and the object will be — 
 tom-foolery — I beg pardon, I mean torn- 
 pke — mats c'est tout le meme chose, rHest pas ? 
 Immediately following him is a messenger 
 with some weighty despatch, on which per- 
 haps depend matters of the gravest import. 
 
 k 5 
 
202 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 There are letters and letters— various in pur- 
 pose as in form. Who shall guess the histo- 
 ries that are there — a histories," as witty 
 Jerrold observed, " more deep, more touch- 
 ing, than many on the shelves of libraries V 
 Letters, silver-edged, bearing the glad tidings 
 of a joyful marriage — a union of two happy 
 beings — 
 
 " Whom gentler stars unite and in one fate 
 
 Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings blend," 
 
 to one house ; letters, black-edged, about to 
 fill a neighbouring hearth with woe and deso- 
 lation. Then there are begging letters, writ- 
 ten too often by scurvy impostors to entrap 
 the weak-minded, crammed with fulsome flat- 
 tery, or stuffed with sickening cant about the 
 responsibilities of the person to whom they 
 are addressed ; love letters, teeming with 
 sighs and darts, and broken hearts, and all the 
 other poetical absurdities of which the wisest 
 men are guilty at certain periods of their 
 lives; letters having the Royal Arms showily 
 stamped on their envelopes, and which you 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 203 
 
 find to be nothing more than invitations from 
 Messrs. Cheaplot, Brothers, to visit their ex- 
 tensive assortment of etcetera, etceteras; let- 
 ters from grand ladies to poor governesses, 
 stating not a whit too squeamishly the terms, 
 salary, &c, which they are prepared to offer ; 
 letters from the poor governesses to the grand 
 ladies, signing in all humility the contract of 
 their degradation ; letters from editors of 
 magazines to the paid contributors, furiously 
 demanding " copy ;" letters from the same to 
 the voluntary contributors respectfully declin- 
 ing their effusions (i.e., putting them into the 
 fire), for want of space. Then there are 
 Chesterfieldian letters, pompous and artificial 
 both in style and matter; and then, as a 
 sweet contrast, there are letters "gushing from 
 the heart, simple, natural, and unstudied;" let- 
 ters, too, from creditors, politely intimating 
 that the day of payment has arrived ; and let- 
 ters from debtors as politely rejoining that 
 u they wish they may get it." 
 
 Letters from " Victoria, greeting," to 
 
204 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 gentlemen, who (alas ! for their disloyalty) 
 would far rather Victoria kept her " greet- 
 ings" for her own family ; angry letters from 
 individuals who address each other in terms 
 of the bitterest hate, and yet, strange to say, 
 have the honour to remain each other's most 
 obedient servant. 
 
 Another class of letters, and how numerous 
 they are, are the slanderous letters. Foul 
 lies, indited in the neatest of " hands," and on 
 the creamiest of paper — by spiteful enemies, 
 or 
 
 Worse than foe, 
 An alienated friend ; 
 
 too frequently by those who are our own 
 kith and kin — by those who should have been 
 the last to attack us — the first to defend us 
 from the breath of calumny. Letters in which, 
 by a simple hint, by a trumpery insinuation, 
 by the mere stroke of a pen, the purest char- 
 acters, the noblest reputations have been and 
 daily are irretrievably branded with an 
 eternal infamy ! 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 205 
 
 What will be the destiny of all these 
 letters, I wonder? Statistically speaking, it is 
 said that the average amount of letters deli- 
 vered in a year amounts to 593,000,000. 
 
 It is impossible that all these letters can 
 reach their destination. We know that letters 
 do miscarry even in the best regulated 
 post offices ; but I think that if I could 
 have my way, I would have all the bad 
 ones sent to the dead letter office and there 
 buried, with the evil thoughts that gave 
 them birth. 
 
206 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 HOW TO BE A GENTLEMAN FOR 
 SIXPENCE. 
 
 What is a gentleman ? Of all questions 
 that have been asked since the beginning 
 of the world, none has been found so hard to 
 answer as this. What is a gentleman ? I 
 am aware that some five hundred years back 
 one Wat Tyler was in the habit of asking 
 
 "When Adam delved and Eve span — 
 Who was then the gentleman ? 
 
 But then he was a rude and rebellious black- 
 smith, and, of course, knew nothing at all 
 about the matter. 
 
 We are taught in the syntax of our Latin 
 grammar. 
 
 Ingenuas didicisse fideliter artes 
 Emollit mores nee sinit esse feros — 
 
 But that gives us no idea of what the 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 207 
 
 44 ingenuas artes " may be. The 4C first 
 gentleman in Europe " undoubtedly con- 
 sidered that, among other things, the inven- 
 tion of a shoe-buckle ought to be classed under 
 this heading. Perhaps he might have thought 
 that the cutting of old friends was not alto- 
 gether inconsistent with the idea. Beau 
 Brummell probably held opinions very 
 similar to those of his royal master, until he 
 was cut himself, and then he didn't seem to 
 think that a little personality levelled at the 
 head of his former patron was entirely out of 
 place. In 44 Bleak House," to be sure, there 
 is a " Model of gentlemanly deportment," 
 who felt relieved that even 44 in these dege- 
 nerate days, deportment was not wholly 
 trodden under foot by mechanics." 
 
 But then Mr. Turveydrop is a fictitious 
 character. And I hardly know how far he is to 
 be taken as an authority. Else I might be in- 
 clined to attribute to him the authorship of a 
 little book which lies before me, and which 
 is in every way worthy of his gifted pen. 
 
208 SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 
 
 This little book has the two-fold merit of 
 being small and cheap. It has a title — 
 though the author is anonymous — but I shall 
 take leave to re-christen it, and to affix to it 
 a designation which will, in my humble 
 opinion, be infinitely more appropriate. I 
 shall call it " How to be a Gentleman for 
 Sixpence.' ' Yes, reader, for that infinitesimal 
 coin has this benefactor of the world conde- 
 scended to come down from the high position 
 which he undoubtedly occupies in the 
 fashionable sphere, in order to instruct us 
 barbarians in all the arts and graces which 
 go to make up a finished " gentleman.' • 
 
 I should mention at the outset that the 
 author has embellished his work with two 
 remarkable illustrations — from a philanthropic 
 desire, perhaps, that even the most illiterate 
 might at least derive pictorial instruction as 
 to the all important subject of which he 
 treats. The first of these represents a gen- 
 tleman standing on a balustrade, about ten 
 yards off a lady, to whom he is bowing ob- 
 
SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 209 
 
 sequiously. Both are attired in the costume 
 of the sixteenth century, and both are looking 
 equally sheepish. The scene of the other is 
 laid in a modern drawing-room. It depicts a 
 young gentleman in a dresscoat, and with his 
 hat in his hand, stepping back to allow a 
 young lady in her bonnet to pass him, while 
 an elderly lady in weeds extends her right 
 arm between the two benignantly. Whether 
 the gentleman has been calling on the lady, 
 and why, if so, he should have worn his dress- 
 coat, or whether the lady in the bonnet has 
 been calling on the gentleman and why, 
 if so, he should have his hat in his hand, or 
 whether they are husband and wife and have 
 both been calling on the lady in weeds, 
 and why, if so, they should bow to one 
 another, and why the old lady should bless 
 them in the act, are problems which I am 
 totally unable to solve. 
 
 Our author commences his book with a 
 terrible picture of the plights in which an 
 awkward person, i. e. one who has not studied 
 
210 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 these pages, finds himself on entering society 
 for the first time. " Such a person at dinner 
 seats himself on the edge of a chair, at so 
 great a distance from the table that he fre- 
 quently drops what he is about to take while 
 conveying it to his mouth." 
 
 At tea, we are told, he places his hand- 
 kerchief on his lap, scalds his mouth, drops 
 his cup or saucer, &c, and are assured that 
 u a due observance of the following hints," 
 i. e. again, a perusal of the book, will suffice 
 to prevent such unhappy catastrophes. But, 
 it appears, these are not the only ways in 
 which we may sin against the laws of Eti- 
 quette. We are warned especially against 
 " forgetting names," by which it is incontes- 
 tably shown that no man who is cursed with 
 a bad memory can be a " gentleman." We 
 are " never to begin a story which we cannot 
 finish," and we are to be very particular 
 never, no never, to answer only " Yes or 
 No, without adding Sir, or Madam." Up to 
 the time of reading this sentence it had been, 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 211 
 
 I confess, my opinion that it was only usual 
 for servants, shopmen, and school-boys thus 
 to address their employers, customers, and 
 masters respectively. I had imagined at 
 any rate that it was rather an affectation to 
 be continually introducing these distinctions 
 among our ordinary acquaintance. But of 
 course the Author of u How to be a Gen- 
 tleman for Sixpence " must know best, and 
 I bow to his superior judgment. 
 
 Let us see what else there is for us to 
 avoid. We are to avoid u standing with our 
 back to the fire " (though the glass is at 5 
 and the Serpentine frozen ;) we are to avoid 
 " humming tunes," which convinces me how 
 much less of a " gentleman " Mr. Chick was 
 than his brother-in-law Mr. Dombev ; we are 
 to avoid " drawing figures on the table," 
 which, being an act so frequently indulged 
 in by the uninitiated in the manners of polite 
 society, it was of course highly necessary to 
 warn us against. u For either of these," adds 
 
212 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 our mentor, in his moral, " shows a contempt 
 for the persons who are present." 
 
 So much for General Principles — we are 
 now offered something more specific. And 
 first as to dinners, for even "gentlemen" 
 must eat, or as our author more elegantly 
 expresses it, u eating and drinking are natur- 
 ally indispensable, but, as we have those pro- 
 pensities in common with inferior animals, 
 Man has a natural desire to assert the supe- 
 rior dignity of his nature by aiming at a higher 
 degree of perfection." You must first catch 
 your hare before you can cook it, and you 
 must necessarily receive an invitation to 
 dinner before you can accept it. We will 
 suppose that these preliminaries have been 
 settled. When the day arrives, we are told to 
 be punctual to the exact time " stated in our 
 invite," as inattention in this particular will 
 cause us to appear u ignorant of the usages of 
 society." There is some sound sense in this 
 advice, but even I, in my semi-ignorance, can 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 213 
 
 hardly admit it to be in strict accordance 
 with the rules of Etiquette. 
 
 If my memory does not deceive me, it has 
 generally been thought haut ton, at whatever 
 parties I have been, to arrive considerably 
 after the appointed time. Mr. Punch, fro.n 
 whose opinion on such subjects there can be 
 no appeal, has a capital hit at one of these 
 intensely gentlemanly young gentlemen. 
 
 The young man has been invited to dinner 
 at seven o'clock and accordingly makes his 
 appearance at a little past the half-hour. To 
 his great surprise he is being ushered into the 
 dining-room where to his still greater surprise 
 he is greeted by the hostess in these words, 
 
 " Oh, Mr. , we are delighted to see you — 
 
 though you're a little late. You see the 
 meat has just gone down, so shall I give you 
 a little tart ? " 
 
 But to continue. u When all the guests 
 are assembled we shall probably be intro- 
 duced to a lady to conduct to the dining-room. 
 But if the hostess fails to provide us with a 
 
214 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 partner, it is our duty," we are told, a to select 
 one to whom our attentions appear likely to 
 prove agreeable." At the same time we are 
 warned that u though we are bound to pay 
 the greatest attention to the lady we have 
 escorted to the table, we are carefully to 
 avoid an appearance of too marked atten- 
 tion/' This is really a most timely admoni- 
 tion. Let us take it to heart. Matches have 
 been made up in dining-rooms ere now and 
 on the most trivial pretexts. Who knows, 
 for instance, to what dire results the question 
 (simple as it is) of " Will you take a little, 
 Duck,' 7 might lead if put in a hesitating man- 
 ner ? or what a too tender reference to the 
 "chops" or "tomatoes" might engender? 
 Let us profit by the example of the lamen- 
 ted Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 To proceed, " when once we are seated at 
 table," we are warned above all things " not 
 to cough or blow our nose ! ! " I should 
 have thought on the first blush of it that to 
 carry out the first of these pieces of advice 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 215 
 
 was impossible, and to carry out the second 
 disgusting. But of course Etiquette is superior 
 to bodily ailments. What though through 
 the suppression of a natural impulse the vic- 
 tim got choked to death ? He would have 
 the satisfaction of knowing that he died a 
 " gentleman." 
 
 "We are not to bend over our plates," 
 (query, not even to say Grace) nor are we 
 to " spill the sauce on the cloth " (which, of 
 course, we should be certain to do if our 
 author hadn't told us not) ; we are " not to 
 dip our knives into the salt-cellar" (which is 
 a death-blow to the French who have always 
 piqued themselves on their u politesse ") ; and 
 we are to u avoid mixing different kinds of 
 meat upon the same plate." Alas ! alas ! I 
 have ever had a penchant for taking tongue 
 with my chicken, sausages with my turkey, 
 and bacon with my veal, but I find I must 
 indulge in that vulgar habit no longer or for- 
 feit for ever the title of a True Gentleman ! 
 
 We are now brought to the dessert and 
 
216 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 with it to the wine. " If we are invited to 
 take wine," we are told u never to refuse, as 
 this would be considered a mark of great 
 rudeness.'' But supposing we are disciples of 
 George Cruikshank ? Supposing we look 
 upon every drop of alcohol as one more mile- 
 stone on the road to ruin ? Are we to turn 
 apostates and disown the pledge ? Are we to 
 lay conscience, honour, and principle in one 
 almighty sacrifice at the altar of Etiquette ? 
 
 This brings the dinner to a close, and we are 
 now treated to certain rules and regulations 
 for our guidance out of doors. Thus: In 
 walking we are u not to proceed at too rapid 
 a pace." What, then, it may be asked, if we 
 are in a hurry to catch the last express? 
 
 Trains, we know, equally with Time and 
 Tide, wait for no man ; that is to say, for 
 no ordinary man. It is possible that 
 they may wait for the followers of this book 
 of Etiquette. In meeting a friend out of 
 doors we are u not to accost him loudly— 
 in a manner to attract the passers-by, but 
 
SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 217 
 
 quietly, taking care that, if we address him by 
 name, we may not be overheard by strangers.'' 
 The hearty way in which Smith claps Jones 
 on the shoulder, as the friends meet in 
 Piccadilly after a ten years' absence, and the 
 cheery voice with which he bids him u come 
 and take a chop at one, old boy, in remem- 
 brance of a Auld Lang Syne," won't do for the 
 Student of Gentlemanly Deportment. Such 
 familiarity in public is low — decidedly low. 
 Jones should control his emotions until they 
 are out of hearing. Friendship, affection, and 
 so forth, may be all very well in their way, 
 but they should always be subservient to the 
 rules of Etiquette. But these observations 
 seem to apply more particularly to the 
 rougher sex. " Should the friend we meet be 
 a lady, the recognition should first proceed 
 from her, unless, indeed, we are on very inti- 
 mate terms ; but even in this case it is better 
 to follow the strict etiquette, for it may so 
 happen by chance, to be inconvenient for the 
 lady to acknowledge us." To my mind there 
 
 L 
 
218 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 is something rather suspicious in the above in- 
 timation. It being inconvenient for a lady to 
 acknowledge a gentleman with whom she is 
 acquainted, must imply that she is either too 
 proud to acknowledge him, or else — if the 
 truth must be said — that their relative posi- 
 tions are somewhat equivocal. In the former 
 case I should feel inclined not to notice the 
 lady the next time she found it convenient to 
 notice me, and, as to the latter, why, 1 can 
 only say, which of course shows my extreme 
 vulgarity, that I have never been placed in 
 such an unfortunate situation. 
 
 These then, are some of the precepts put 
 forth in this remarkable work. Mr. Montagu 
 Chambers humorously observed in one of his 
 speeches that a clod might go in at Moses and 
 Sons' well-known emporium, and come out 
 in his own estimation a perfect gentleman. 
 What Moses and Son do for the dress of the 
 clod, this book apparently does for his man- 
 ners, and there are, doubtless, persons who 
 will go in for the perusal of it, and come 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 219 
 
 away under the comfortable conviction that 
 they are finished to a T. Far be it from me 
 to wish to dispel their illusion. As for my- 
 self, I can only confess to being somewhat 
 sceptical. "Manners makyth Man," says 
 the quaint old distich over the gateway at 
 New College, Oxford, but I do not think that 
 they are the "manners" which are recom- 
 mended in this book. Eather do I hold with 
 the great and good Earl of Chatham, when he 
 wrote : — 
 
 "Bowing, ceremonies, formal compliments 
 will never be politeness. That must be easy, 
 natural, and unstudied." 
 
 Or, to take a more modern writer, as 
 Kingsley says in one of the noblest of his 
 sermons — 
 
 " The right to be called 4 Gentlemen ' and 
 4 Ladies/ is something which the world did 
 not give, and cannot take away. But St. 
 Paul and the Lord Jesus explain what this is*" 
 They tell us how every one of us, down to the 
 poorest and most ignorant man or woman, 
 
 l 2 
 
220 SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 
 
 may become true gentlemen and ladies in the 
 sight of God, and of all reasonable men; 
 and that not only in this world, but after 
 death, for ever, and ever, and ever. And that 
 is : 4 By Charity— By Love !' " 
 
 Or again, as Thackeray puts it — 
 
 u Which of us can point out many gentle- 
 men in his circle ? men whose aims are ge- 
 nerous, whose truth is constant, and not only 
 constant in its kind, but elevated to a degree ; 
 whose want of meanness makes them simple, 
 who can look the world honestly in the 
 face with an equal manly sympathy, for small 
 and great? We all know a hundred whose 
 coats are very well made, and a score who 
 have excellent manners — but of gentlemen, 
 how many?" 
 
 Ere concluding, I would do my author the 
 justice of quoting his last sentence, which has 
 the singular merit of being entirely at variance 
 with almost everything that goes before — 
 
 " Nature " (he writes) u does not stand in 
 need of ornaments, and we are never so ridi- 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 221 
 
 culous by the qualities we really possess, as by 
 the affectation of those we have not." 
 
 If the author had only acted up to these 
 sentiments throughout his book, he would 
 have been the wiser, and his readers none the 
 worse. 
 
222 SKETCHES FROM LIFE, 
 
 COMPARING NOTES WITH AN OLD 
 TRAVELLER. 
 
 About the year 1702, one M. Veryard, M.D., 
 published an account of his travels in France. 
 It may be as well to remember the date — and 
 for these reasons. There are certain wags who, 
 whenever they wish to ridicule us for inform- 
 ing them of anything with which they are 
 already acquainted, are in the habit of 
 inquiring if we are aware that Queen Anne 
 is dead — a piece of irony which is irresistible. 
 Now if the death of that good lady whom 
 historians all agree to call "good," by way 
 of comparison, I presume, to her predecessors 
 — Mary and Elizabeth — in 1714, is to be 
 regarded as a thing of the past, much more 
 then (to quote Euclid) shall her accession in 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 223 
 
 1702 be considered in that light. It was at 
 least ten years before the appearance of u the 
 Spectator," before Addison had written that 
 scathing satire of his (in No. 45) anent 
 " French Fashions, " it was full sixty years 
 before Mr. Sterne commenced his sentimental 
 potterings between Dover and Paris. 
 
 Dr. Veryard had therefore comparatively 
 an open field for his lucubrations. It may 
 be worth while for one who has lately been 
 over the same ground to compare notes with 
 him, with the view of ascertaining a little 
 about the sister country a hundred and sixty 
 years ago. I do not anticipate that his 
 observations will be found very deep, but at 
 any rate they are original ; he had no Murray 
 to crib from. Of course his first night in 
 Paris is disturbed by a ghost ; that is to say, 
 -he didn't see the ghost himself, but he had 
 no sooner got into bed, than the gentleman 
 with whom he shared his bedroom proceeded 
 to inform him that the night before, about mid- 
 night, " something went and threw itself on 
 
224 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 the bed in which he lay, giving three of the 
 most hideous groans he ever heard." This, 
 he u was very confident, was some unquiet 
 spirit, for as it grew light he found the door 
 fastened with two bolts as he had left it." 
 And, says Dr. Veryard, " I could not attribute 
 this to an effect of melancholy in the gentle- 
 man, he being of a quite different temper ; 
 nor to the phantom of a brain distempered 
 by immoderate drink, it being a thing he 
 wholly declined." The gentleman appears 
 to have thought that some one had been 
 murdered in the place, and staid there two or 
 three nights more, but he heard no more of it. 
 " For my part," adds the doctor, u I shifted 
 lodgings next morning without making any 
 inquiry about it." 
 
 As soon as he was lodged in safer quarters 
 he began his survey of the city. He found, 
 to begin with, that " Paris, though not quite 
 as big as London, was no less populous ! " 
 Truly, we " cockneys" have increased and 
 multiplied since then, with a vengeance ! 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 225 
 
 u Among the most considerable places," he 
 remarked, a was the Bastille, whither all such 
 as have been any ways obnoxious to the 
 government are sent, where their examination, 
 trial, and execution is commonly managed 
 with so much secrecy that their friends and 
 relations seldom hear more of them. The 
 keepers tell such as inquire after them, that 
 they are in health, or dead of a natural death ; 
 when, perhaps, they were beheaded, or 
 hanged, twenty years before.' ' 
 
 Thank God ! that loathsome den has fallen, 
 and nought but a lofty column stands to mark 
 its site. At Paris he had a view of the 
 famous Madame de Maintenon, about whom 
 he observes, u The people fancy her married 
 to the king ; but on what grounds I know 
 not. Her age and features are not so charm- 
 ing, but her parts are so extraordinary that 
 she passes for the wisest of her sex." Yet, 
 in spite of Dr. Veryard, I think I am justified 
 in affirming that Madame de Maintenon was 
 privately married to the king in the year 
 
 l 5 
 
226 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 1685, by the Archbishop of Paris, and in the 
 presence of Pere la Chaise, and two other 
 witnesses. 
 
 At Chartres, about whose magnificent cathe- 
 dral he cared but little, he speaks of a temple 
 erected long before the birth of Christ, in 
 honour of a Virgin who was to conceive. 
 " The altar," he continues, u which St. Paul 
 found at Athens, dedicated to the unknown 
 Gods, shows that the Pagans had a greater 
 idea of the Divinity than they could well ex- 
 press, but here they seem to have had a pro- 
 phetic spirit too." 
 
 From Tours he made the usual excursion to 
 the Abbey of Marmoustier, where he inspected 
 the a vessel of oil brought from heaven, as 
 they say, by Severus Sulpitius, to cure St. 
 Martin's wounds.' 7 The abbey, though it still 
 retains the name, is now quite a ruin. The oil, 
 too, has disappeared. Unluckily, as some 
 think, for King Henry, the same oil which 
 had cured the saintly sores was used for 
 anointing the regal head. 
 
• SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 227 
 
 In the quainl, dirty, tumble-down city of 
 Poictiers, Dr. Veryard detected a marvel 
 which escaped my observation. It consisted 
 in a stone 25 feet high, 60 in compass, and 
 supported by 5 small ones. " Some will needs 
 have S. Aldegonde to have brought it hither on 
 her shoulders with the five supporters in her 
 apron, and that, letting one fall by the way, 
 the devil took it up, and following her to the 
 place where she erected the stone on four 
 pillars, set the fifth in the middle ; but as cun- 
 ning artificer as he is he could not make it 
 touch the great stone by an inch, nor does it 
 to this day. 17 
 
 Of the many venerable old churches with 
 which Poictiers abounds, such, par example, as 
 St. Eadegonde with its wonderful relics, its 
 empty coffin, which once contained the saint's 
 body and which is still guaranteed to cure the 
 diseases of the faithful to the utter discomfiture 
 of the Poictiers physicians, oar traveller has 
 nothing to say. 
 
228 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 At the picturesque though scorching town 
 of Angouleme, he has this story — " Near this 
 city was fought a battle between Clovis, the 
 first Christian King of France, and Aiaric, 
 King of the ^Yest Goths, in which the latter 
 was killed by the hands of the former, and the 
 country soon after cleared of those barbarians. 
 But Angouleme obstinately standing out after 
 the defeat, the walls of the town are said to 
 have fallen by a miracle, whereupon the in- 
 habitants were obliged to quit their preten- 
 sions." 
 
 At the little town of Libourne he mentions 
 a phenomenon in the shape of a " rowling 
 wave of the bigness of a tun, which overturns 
 all ships, or whatever lies in its way, which is 
 heard at three leagues distance, and at sound 
 of which not only do mariners secure their 
 ships in the middle of the channel, but swans, 
 geese, and ducks, by more than ordinary in^ 
 stinct, leave the water I" This, however, he 
 warns us, " he did not see himself," so that 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 229 
 
 readers are permitted to believe as much of it 
 as they like, which I imagine will not be 
 an " ower big bit." 
 
 At Bordeaux, he visited the church of St. 
 Severin, where he saw u divers ancient tombs, 
 amongst which there is an hollow one sup- 
 ported by four small pillars, in which the 
 water is said to increase and decrease with the 
 moon ;" but, unfortunately, in this case " his 
 short stay hindered him from making the ob- 
 servation." This church appears to be rich in 
 marvels. Children, I was informed, are fre- 
 quently brought here in order to acquire cor- 
 poreal vigour, which, it is said, the bones of 
 some saint (some u muscular Christian," it is 
 presumed), must be able to impart. 
 
 Toulouse, as all Pyrenean pilgrims know, is 
 the last place from which they can gaze upon 
 the shadowy outline of the mighty peaks and 
 ridges they 'have left behind. It is a quiet, 
 sober-looking town enough in all conscience, 
 possessing one of the best museums in France, 
 and, according to the Catholics, containing 
 
230 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 the holiest place in the whole world. " Non 
 est in toto sanctior orbe locus "■ — quam, the 
 crypt of St. Sernin's church. Yet, here is a 
 horrible affair which transpired during our 
 traveller's stay in the town. " A company of 
 thieves designing to break into a certain shop 
 in the night-time, opened a hole in the side of 
 a brick wall big enough for one to enter ; but 
 as they were at work, the noise alarmed the 
 people within, who, perceiving whereabout 
 they were opening their passage, expected 
 them in the shop. The hole being finished, the 
 man came in with his legs foremost, whom the 
 people within seized when his body was about 
 half through, and held him fast in the hole, 
 and the passage being quite stopped up, the 
 others without could by no means set him at 
 liberty. Meanwhile, one of the servants 
 called the watch, but before they could get 
 thither the rogues were all fled, excepting him 
 in the hole, whom they found without a 
 head ! for, it seems, his companions finding it 
 impossible to get him thence had cut it off and 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 231 
 
 carried it away with them, that lie might not 
 be known, nor drawn by threats or promises 
 to discover the rest." 
 
 4t The climate of Montpellier," Dr. Veryard 
 foand " extremely serene and temperate." To 
 this proposition, I do not feel at all inclined 
 to assent. Two more wretched, dreary, rainy 
 days than those which I have spent there, I 
 cannot remember. I am aware that the gay 
 and glittering Torquay — resort alike of those 
 who are addicted to debility and those who 
 are addicted to balls — has been compared 
 unto Montpellier. But this is an insult which 
 in the name of the Torquayians I stand forth 
 to resent. Be it observed, however, that our 
 traveller is an M.D., and probably the number 
 of catarrhs, colds, and consumptions, which 
 the united agency of wind and rain must in- 
 duce, enabled him, from a professional point 
 of view, to consider Montpellier favoured 
 with the very best of climates. The climate, 
 however, serene as it was, did not improve 
 his opinion of the lady inhabitants. " The 
 
232 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 women of this city," he says, " are generally of 
 very free and open conversation, and withal, 
 so very wanton that it passes into a proverb — 
 
 " ' Les femmes de Montpellier sont si savantes 
 qu'elles n ' apprennent rien de nouveau lejour de 
 leurs noces! " 
 
 The Ecole de Medecin which contains the 
 robe with which Rabelais was installed had 
 far greater charms for him. Concerning that 
 jolly, filthy, philosophical, comical, satirical, 
 medical, theological, mirth-provoking, care- 
 dispelling monk-author, he gives us the fol- 
 lowing anecdote — • 
 
 " No one can commence Doctor (at the 
 Ecole) till he has seven times received and 
 worn the gown and cap of Eabelais. This 
 ceremony is performed in memory of that 
 zealous asserter of the privileges of the King, 
 on the account of some disorders committed 
 by the scholars. Eabelais espousing their cause 
 takes a journey to Paris, and going to the 
 chancellor's house salutes the porter at the 
 gate in Latin, who, taking him for a fool, or 
 
SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 233 
 
 a madman, calls one of the domestics, who 
 understood that language — but Babelais hear- 
 ing him speak Latin answered him in Greek; 
 whereupon they brought another that spoke 
 Greek, whom he answered in Hebrew, and a 
 third that understood Hebrew he accosts in 
 Syriac, Arabic, and Chaldee. Having thus 
 sported with the inferior officers, and drained all 
 the science at the house, he was brought before 
 the chancellor, where having made a learned 
 speech in favour of the students, their privi- 
 leges were all restored, to the great satisfac- 
 tion of all concerned.' ' Upon his tomb it is 
 said the following epitaph is engraven — 
 
 Pluto, prince o' the dark abyss, 
 Where laughter a mere stranger is ; 
 Take Rabelais and waft him off, 
 Believe me, you'll have cause to laugh. 
 
 That which chiefly attracted our traveller's 
 notice at Avignon was the " Jew's quarter,'' 
 easily found out, he tells us, " by the smell, 
 being the most sordid, nasty part of the city, 
 and, indeed, a meer Jakes (! ! !) nor is it their 
 
234 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 streets alone that are filled with dirt, their 
 houses within are as filthy and ill house- 
 wived, and that" (oh! most bigoted Dr. 
 Veryard !) not only here but in most other 
 parts where Jews reside." What, alack ! and 
 is this true ? Tell me, oh ! ye who dine with 
 David Salomons ; inform me, oh! ye visitors 
 at 148, Piccadilly. 
 
 In the eyes of John Murray, or whoever 
 the accomplished gentleman may be who 
 writes travels in his name, in the eyes of 
 Charles Dickens, and in the eyes of your very 
 humble servant, the ancient palace of the 
 popes is an edifice rich in associations. But 
 not in the eyes of Dr. Veryard. u It had little 
 worth our curiosity," he writes, a but a silver 
 bell which is never rung but at the death or 
 election of a pope." 
 
 It is true that that awful massacre of 1791, 
 when sixty miserable persons — men and 
 women — alike fell a sacrifice to the blinded 
 fury of a mob — did not occur till long after 
 our traveller's death. But why had he 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 235 
 
 nothing to say of those gloomy dungeons, 
 those winding labyrinths, that dreadful salle, 
 cunningly contrived to stifle the cries of 
 its wretched inmates— that ruined furnace, 
 where the instruments of their torture were 
 heated — those stones, which echoed to their 
 footsteps, all bearing trace of the once ter- 
 rible, once powerful inquisition ? 
 
 Dr. Veryard sums up his book with an 
 account of the " present state of France, the 
 temper, manners, and customs of its people." 
 And first of the Government — " the Govern- 
 ment is at present wholly arbitrary and un- 
 limited, for sic volo, sic jubeo, is the usual 
 reasoning of state, and all procedures of the 
 civil magistrate pre-suppose an ultima ratio 
 regum. The people seem well enough satis- 
 fied, at least, dare not for their lives murmur; 
 for he that has taught them to obey has the 
 whole power in his own hands to keep them 
 within the bounds prescribed." One might 
 easily imagine that this description of the 
 French Government was dated 1863. For it 
 
236 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 would hold equally good at the present time. 
 Of the people themselves he writes : — " The 
 French are, generally speaking, very curious, 
 confident, inquisitive, credulous, facetious, 
 rather witty than wise, eternal babblers ; and, 
 in a word, they are at all times what an 
 Englishman is when he is half drunk ( ! !) ,: 
 Then, we are told, " if they invite you to a 
 dinner or collation, they do it with all the cere- 
 mony and seeming freeheartedness imaginable, 
 though all the while it's no more than a piece 
 of complaisance, and esteemed mere rudeness 
 and ill-breeding to accept of the invitation, ,, 
 Notwithstanding this, Dr. Veryard is sorely 
 afraid that his countrymen are " strangely 
 infatuated with, and fond of, whatever bears 
 the name of French. My lord's peruque 
 sits not well till monsieur has had a hand in 
 it, and my lady relishes not her victuals till 
 they are served with a French sauce. The 
 ribands, lace, perfumes, paints, and ladies' 
 dresses, with an infinity of other trifles, turn 
 to their incredible benefit, insomuch that 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 237 
 
 divers persons at Paris that deal in these 
 toyish commodities have been known to have 
 got an hundred thousand pounds sterling in 
 less than ten years time," which, he assures us 
 dolefully, " is a convincing argument of their 
 neighbour's dementation, and their own dex- 
 terity, in taking them on the blind side and 
 putting a high value on their goods." 
 
 Even the " language " of our gay neigh- 
 bours sticks in Dr. Veryard's throat. " It is a 
 corruption of the Latin, soft, effeminate, and 
 better becoming a woman than a man." 
 
 Ah ! my good doctor, pity you didn't live 
 a hundred and fifty years later. A short 
 course of study under Tarver, or Nugent, or 
 De Porquet, or even the anonymous adver- 
 tiser of u Parlez-vous-Francais," or u French 
 in Half-a-Lesson," might have made you more 
 proficient in the lingo, or, at any rate, would 
 have opened your heart towards those who 
 speak it. 
 
238 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 FLOWERS THAT BLUSH UNSEEN. 
 
 41 Full many a flower is born to blush un- 
 seen, and waste its sweetness on the desert 
 air," singeth Thomas Gray. Let me cull 
 you a bouquet of these blushing beauties. 
 Though the flowers which compose it are 
 two hundred years old and the vases which 
 embalm them are battered and broken, let us 
 hope that their hues are not faded, and that the 
 "scent of the roses will cling to them still." 
 
 To drop metaphor permit me to extract, 
 from a few shabby old volumes with broken 
 backs and yellow pages, some of the choicest 
 effusions of the minor minstrels of the seven- 
 teenth century. 
 
 Let us begin with Mr. Thomas Randolph, 
 
 * Poems by Tho. Randolph, M. A., and late Fellow of Trinity Col.— 
 in Cambridge. London, Printed in the yeere, 1643. 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 239 
 
 Master of Arts. This gentleman was the 
 author of " The Muses' Looking-Glasse " 
 and other Comedies of more or less celebrity, 
 but it is with his poems chiefly with which I 
 am concerned. Mr. Randolph appears, from 
 his title-page, to have been a fellow of Trinity 
 College, Cambridge, but he is not disposed 
 to attribute his poetical acquirements to the 
 teaching of his Alma Mater. 
 
 " Would you commence a poet, sir, and be 
 A graduate in the threadbare mystery, 
 The Oxes-ford will no man thither bring, 
 Where the horse-hoofe raised the Pegasian spring. 
 Nor will the bridge through which low Cham doth run 
 Direct you to the banks of Helicon ; 
 If in that art you mean to take degrees 
 Bedlam's the best of Universities." 
 
 It has been said that u poeta nascitur nonfit" 
 but it seems that there is a " royal road " to 
 Parnassus though the wards of a madhouse. 
 Like many other poets, both ancient and 
 modern, he appears to have experienced the 
 pangs of poverty. He treats the matter in a 
 philosophical spirit, however, and observes 
 with grim humour 
 
240 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 " Hexameter's no sterling, and I fear 
 
 What the brain coins goes scarce for current there." 
 
 and again 
 
 " Or, if I now were hurrying to the Jail, 
 
 Are the nine muses held sufficient bail ? " 
 
 As a natural consequence he is pestered with 
 duns, whose pressing demands rouse his bit- 
 terest ire. 
 
 " These evil spirits haunt me every day 
 And will not let me eat, study, or pray ; 
 I am so much in their books that 'tis known, 
 I am too seldome frequent in my owne : 
 What damage given to my doors might be, 
 If doors might actions have of battery." 
 
 And after invoking all sorts of horrors on 
 their heads, he brings them to a climax 
 with 
 
 " But my last Imprecation this shall be 
 May they more Debtors have like me ! " 
 
 But his poems are not all egotistic. Place 
 aux dames, and here is something very touch- 
 ing and tender in honour of " the Ladies." 
 
 " He is a parricide to his mother's name, 
 And with an impious hand murders her fame 
 That wrongs the praise of woman, that dares write 
 Libels on Saints, or with foule ink requite 
 The milk they lent us ; Better sex command 
 To your defence my more religious hand." 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 241 
 
 This is perhaps meant a little ironically. 
 
 " Boast we of knowledge ? You have more than we 
 You were the first ventured to pluck the tree, 
 And that more Rhetorick in your tongues doth ly, 
 Let him dispute against that dares deny 
 Your least commands ; " 
 
 But he atones for it afterwards. 
 
 " Thus, perfect creatures, if detraction rise 
 Against your sex dispute but with your eyes 
 Your hand, your lip, your brow, there will be sent 
 So subtile and so strong an argument, 
 Will teach the Stoic his affection too 
 And call the Cinick from his tub to woo." 
 
 That he has an eye for the lovely in nature 
 will be seen from this blithesome ditty written 
 to a friend in the country. 
 
 Come, spurre away, 
 I have no patience for a longer stay, 
 
 But must go down, 
 And leave the chargeable noise of this great town. 
 I will the country see 
 Where old simplicity, 
 Though hid in gray, 
 Doth look more gay 
 Than foppery in plush and scarlet clad. 
 
 Farewell, you city witts, that are 
 Almost at civill warre, 
 'Tis time that I grew wise when all the world grows mad, 
 
 More of my dayes 
 I will not spend to gain an idiot's praise, 
 
 Or to make sport 
 With some slight puny of the Innes of Court. 
 
 M 
 
242 SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 
 
 Then, worthy Stafford, say- 
 How shall we spend the day, 
 With what delights 
 Shorten the nights ? 
 When from this tumult we are got secure 
 
 Where mirth with all her freedom goes, 
 Yet shall no longer lose 
 Where every word is thought, and every thought is pure. 
 
 There from the tree 
 We'll cherries pluck, and pick the strawberry, 
 
 And every day 
 Go see the wholesome countrey girls make hay, 
 Whose brown hath lovelier grace 
 Than any painted face 
 That I do know 
 Hide Park can show, 
 Where I had rather gain a kisse than meet 
 (Though some of them in greater state 
 Might court my love with plate), 
 The beauties of the cheap and wives of Lumbard Street 
 
 A pleasant picture, is it not ? Happy poet, 
 plucking cherries, and picking strawberries, 
 and flirting with " wholesome countrey girls," 
 albeit you are a little severe on the (oh, 
 pudor!) painted belles of Hyde Park and 
 Lombard Street. I shall conclude my ex- 
 tracts from Mr. Eandolph with quotations 
 from two graceful eulogies. The first is upon 
 11 The Lady Venetia Digby "— 
 
 " Beauty itself lies here, in whom alone 
 Each part enjoyed the same perfection. 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 213 
 
 In some the eyes we praise, in some the hair, 
 
 In her the lips, in her the cheeks are fair, 
 
 That Nymph 1 s fine feet ; her hands we beauteous call 
 
 But in this form we praise no part, but all. 
 
 The ages past have many beauties shown, 
 
 And I more plenty in our time have known ; 
 
 But in the age to come I look for none ; 
 
 Nature despairs because her pattern's gone." 
 
 the next to " M. Endymion Porter " — 
 
 " Goe, bashful muse, thy message is to one 
 That drinks and fills thy Helicon, 
 
 Sing of his faith to the bright soul that's fled, 
 
 And left you all poor girls struck dead, 
 
 With j ust despair of any future men, 
 
 T' employ or to reward a pen, 
 
 A soul that staying would have wonders wrought 
 
 High as himsel f or his great thought, 
 
 And full of days and honours (with our prayers 
 
 Instead of beads summed up with tears), 
 
 Might of her own free flight to Heavn have gone 
 
 Offer what's heart, his hand, his sword had done. 
 
 But sing not thou a tale of discontent 
 
 To him whose joy is to lament. 
 
 Say to him, Cupid being once too kinde, 
 Wept out his eyes, and so grew blinde, 
 For dead Adonis, grief being paid her due, 
 He turned love's wanton God, and so do you." 
 
 Mr. John Cleavland seems to have been a 
 poet of consummate modesty. Not only are 
 
 K 2 
 
244 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 his own name and that of his printer absent 
 from the title-page, but the plaee of publica- 
 tion also, and his effusions accordingly appear 
 as " Poems by J. C. Printed in the year 
 1651/' None of the poems, indeed, exhibit 
 signs of power, but there are few of which the 
 author need have been ashamed — 
 
 " Never durst poet touch a pen to write, 
 Until his ink were tempered with love's sighs," 
 
 sang the Swan of Avon, some fifty years 
 before, and it is in amatory matters that our 
 poet excels. 
 
 Here is an extract from a dashing love- 
 song which would have rejoiced the heart of 
 Tom Moore, — 
 
 Come hither Apollo's bouncing girle, 
 
 And in a whole Hippocrene of sherry 
 Let's drink around till our brains do whirle, 
 
 Tuning our pipes to make ourselves merry. 
 A Cambridge lass, Venus- like born of the froth, 
 Of an old half-filled jug of barley broth, 
 She, she's my mistress, her suitors are many, 
 But sheell have a square-cap if ere she have any. 
 
 And first for the Plush sake the Monmouth cap corns, 
 Shaking his head like an empty bottle, 
 
 When his new-fangled oath, by Jupiter's thumbs, 
 That to her health hee'll begin a pottle, 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 245 
 
 He tells her that after the death of his grannam 
 He shall have God knows what per annum, 
 But still, she replies, ' Good Sir Labee, 
 If ever I have a man, square- cap for me.' 
 
 Then Calot Leather Cap strongly pleads, 
 
 And fain would derive the pedigree of Fashion, 
 The Antipodes wear their shoes on their heads, 
 
 And why may not we in their imitation ? 
 Oh, how this football noddle would please, 
 If it were but well tost on St. Thomas his lees, 
 But still, she replied, ' Good Sir Labee, 
 If ever I have a man, Square-cap for me.' 
 
 Next comes a Puritan in a wrought cap, 
 
 With a long-wasted conscience towards a sister, 
 And making a Chappel of Ease of her lap, 
 First he said grace, and then he kist her, 
 Belov'd, quoth he, thou art my text, 
 Then falls he to use and application next. 
 But then, she replied, ' Your text, sir, I'll be, 
 For then I'm sure you'll ne'er handle me.' 
 
 But see, where Sattain-cap scouts about, 
 
 And fain would this wench in his fellowship marry, 
 He told her how such a man was not put out, 
 
 Because his wedding he closely did carry. 
 Heel purchase Induction by Simony, 
 And offer her money her incombent to be, 
 But still, she replied, ' Good Sir Labee, 
 If ever I have a man Square-cap for me. 
 
 The lawyer's a sophister by his round cap. 
 Nor in their fallacies are they divided ; 
 
 The one milks the pocket, the other the tap, 
 And yet this wench he fain would have brided. 
 
 Come, leave these thread-bare schollers, quoth he, 
 
 And give me livery and seison of thee ; 
 
246 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 But peace, John-o Nokes, * and leave your oration, 
 
 For I never will be your impropriation. 
 
 I pray you, therefore, good sir, Labee, 
 
 If ever I have a man, Square cap for me.'' 
 
 Kisses have been fertile subjects for the 
 erotic poets. Amorous old Herrick wrote 
 some delicious verses on " Love's sweetest 
 language ;" Secundus composed a whole book 
 in Latin, in honour of the "Basia; " Aphra 
 Behn considered them as " breezes breathed 
 amid the groves of ripening spices on the 
 height of day ; " with Dryden they were 
 " like drops of honey ; " and with Moore, 
 u ruin's sweet, when they undid him." But 
 of all sweet little trifles ever penned in honour 
 of a kiss, commend me to the following, to 
 Mrs. K. T., who asked him why he was dumb : 
 
 "I'll tell you how I did become 
 
 So strangely (as you hear me) dumb. 
 
 "As soon as blest with your salute 
 My manners taught me to be mute ; 
 For, less they cancel all the bliss, 
 You signed with so divine a kiss, 
 The lips you seal must needs consent 
 Unto the tongue's imprisonment. 
 
 * John-o-Nokes — a fictitious name used in law proceedings. Grose's 
 Glossary. 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 247 
 
 " Oh ! listen with attentive sight, 
 To what my prattling eyes indite ; 
 Or (lady) since 'tis in your choice 
 To give or to suspend my voice 
 With the same key, let ope the door 
 Wherewith you lock'd it fast before ; 
 Kiss once again, and when you thus 
 Have doubly been miraculous, 
 My muse shall write with Handmaid's duty, 
 The golden legend of your beauty." 
 
 Eichard Wild, doctor of divinity, presents 
 us with a tasty little volume, containing all 
 his poems " hitherto extant, and some added 
 in the year 1671." From among them I 
 would select a stanza or two from a 
 smart jeu-d'esprit on " the gross mistake of 
 a reverend son of the Church, in bowing at 
 the name of Judas at St. Paul's, November 
 5, 1663." 
 
 " You, the present Lord Mayor 
 And brethren repair 
 
 With the several corporations, 
 To St. Paul's church to pray, 
 And solemnize the day 
 
 That so seasonably saved the three nations. 
 
 * Poems, being an exact collection of all hitherto extant, and some 
 added : never printed before this year, 1671. The author, R. Wild, D.D., 
 London ; printed for R. R. and W C, and are to be sold in St. Paul's 
 Churchyard, and at the Exchange. 
 
248 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 " But good doctor 
 
 When he came before ye 
 
 The sacred gospel to read ; 
 At Judas, his name, 
 (O, horrible shame) 
 
 He bowed his reverend head. 
 
 " Some say that his sight 
 (Poor man) is not right, 
 
 I wish that it be no worse ; 
 But others think he, 
 To Judas bowed the knee, 
 
 For love that he bears to the purse. 
 
 " What, then, shall we say ; 
 Can he preach, can he pray, 
 
 Or put to rebuke the gainsayer, 
 Who, in reading the word, 
 Discerns not our Lord, 
 From him that was his betrayer." 
 
 Let us hope that the squib took effect, and 
 
 that Dr. was not u caught napping" again. 
 
 The following epitaphs are quaint enough. 
 
 AN EPITAPH FOK A GODLY MAn's TOMB. 
 
 "Here lies a piece of Christ, a star in dust, 
 
 A vein of Gold, a China Dish that must 
 
 Be used in Heav'n, when God shall feast the just." 
 
 AN EPITAPH FOR A WICKED MAN'S TOMB. 
 
 "Here lies the Carkase of a Cursed Sinner 
 Doom'd to be roasted for the Devil's Dinner." 
 
 There is much genuine pathos evinced in this 
 

 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 249 
 
 tribute to the memory of an old country 
 Squire. I am the more happy to quote it, as 
 I believe that there are those still alive who 
 bear his name. 
 
 UPON THE DEATH OF DENNIS BOND, ESQ. 
 WHO DIED FOUR DAYES BEFORE THE LORD-PROTECTOR. 
 
 " While Grief doth chime All-in, and every Tube 
 Eycleped, Mayor and Aldermen, subscribe 
 (Or make their Marks at least) how full of sadness 
 That Oliver is dead, and eke of gladness 
 
 That Richard reigns 
 
 . . I by that Great Ghost's leave, am well content 
 To wait upon a meaner monument. 
 
 Yet fit to stand by this if not above 
 As having, though less Pomp, yet no less love ; 
 'Tis Dennis Bond, that true bred English Squire 
 Whose worth, if my rude Fancy should aspire 
 To reach the sinews : just, pious, valiant, wise 
 Able for councel or for enterprize ; 
 
 " Atlas of State ! oh ! if king Charles that's gone, 
 Instead of Digby and old Cottington, 
 Had had one Dennis : he had stood till now, 
 And kept the crown fast on his royal brow. 
 Cromwell could not outlive him ; So our State 
 In one week lost their Pilot, and his Mate. 
 
 "Adieu ! brave Bond 1 My aged muse shall burn 
 Her with 'red Laurels at thy Sacred Urn. 
 Live thine own Monument, and scorn a stone ; 
 Marbles themselves have flaws, thy Name has none.' 
 
 M 5 
 
250 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 The low opinion which Mr. Thomas Flat- 
 man, appears to entertain of his own powers 
 disarms all criticism. He is not content with 
 placing on his title-page the lines from 
 Virgil. 
 
 " Me quoque Vatem 
 Dicunt pastores, sed non ego credulus illis;" 
 
 which for the benefit of my lady readers may 
 be thus Anglicized: The shepherds call me 
 also a poet, but I dorUt believe them. 
 
 He actually goes out of his way to depre- 
 ciate the Art to which he is devoted. In his 
 " poor opinion " it is but " an innocent help 
 to pass a man's time when it lies on his 
 hands, and his fancy can relish nothing else." 
 His utmost end in writing verse was for his 
 " own diversion, and that of a few friends 
 u whom he very well loved.' 7 If he is asked 
 "why these productions are exposed" he 
 "may truly say " he u could not help it ; one 
 unlucky copy, like a Bell-weather, stole into 
 the Common, and the rest of the flock took 
 
 * Poems and Songs By Thomas Flatman, London : Printed for 
 Benjamin Tookjk, at the Ship, in St. Paul's Churchyard, 1682. 
 

 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 251 
 
 the opportunity to leave the Enclosure." His 
 friends however appear to have thought 
 differently, for in certain odes addressed to 
 him on the publication of his book, I find 
 that he is spoken of in such terms as u a 
 happy wit," u the darling son of Heaven," 
 that u Ovid might have seen in his verse the 
 style of which his precepts should have been," 
 that " he is to have infallible eternity," and 
 next unto Cowley u immortally shall shine." 
 Presuming, therefore, that his friends knew 
 him better than he knew himself, we will 
 treat him as one who had not only attempted 
 but had actually made some progress up the 
 heights of Parnassus. Let us commence 
 with some lines a in memory of the incompa- 
 rable Orinda," 
 
 They show much feeling and some of the 
 expressions are very beautiful : 
 
 " A long Adieu to all that's bright, 
 
 Noble, or brave in Woman-kind ; 
 To all the Wonders of their wit, 
 
 And Trophies of their Mind : 
 
252 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 " The glowing heat of t'holy fire is gone 
 To th' Altar whence 'twas kindled, flown ; 
 
 There's nought on earth but ashes left behind : 
 E'er since the amazing sound was spread — 
 Orinda's dead. 
 
 *' Every soft and fragrant word, 
 All that language can afford, 
 Every high and lofty thing, 
 That's wont to set the soul on wing, 
 No longer with this worthless world would stay. 
 
 " Thus, when the death of the great Pan was told, 
 Along the shore the dismal tidings roll'd 
 The lesser gods their fanes forsook, 
 Confounded with the mighty stroke, 
 They could not overlive that fatal day, 
 But sighed and groaned their gasping oracles away." 
 
 The poet next laments that death is com- 
 mon to us all — learned and unlearned alike — 
 and that even when he himself " his artless 
 breath resigns," his dust will have as much 
 poetry as hers. " Sons of War" are then ad- 
 monished to throw " their swords and gaunt- 
 lets by "now that she who "guilded their 
 bayes," who " burnisht their victorious arms," 
 and " wrote their praise in heroic numbers," 
 lies " cold and dead." 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 253 
 
 " With her the soul of poesie is gone, 
 
 Gone, while our expectations flew 
 As high a pitch as she has done, 
 
 Exhal'd to Heav'n like early dew, 
 Betimes the little shining drops are flown, 
 Ere the drowsy world perceived that Manna was 
 
 come down." 
 
 Is this the u Orinda " mentioned by Leigh 
 Hunt, * under the name of " Katherine 
 Phillips/' and to whom are attributed the 
 well-known verses — 
 
 " Opinion is the rate of things 
 
 From hence our peace doth flow ; 
 I have a better fate than kings, 
 Because I think it so." 
 
 Here is a mournful, melancholy song, about 
 the " old, old fashion, that came in with our 
 forefathers, and will last unchanged until this 
 world has run its course, and the great firma- 
 ment is rolled up like a scroll." 
 
 " Oh ! the sad day 
 When friends shall shake their heads and say, 
 
 Of miserable me, 
 Hark how he groans, look how he pants for brqath, 
 See how he struggles with the pangs of death ; 
 
 * Vide " Specimens of British Poetesses." Page 117, Vol. n. of 
 " Men, Women, and Books." By Leigh Hunt. London : Smith and 
 Elder, 1847. 
 
254 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 When they shall say of these poor eyes, 
 How hollow, and how dim they be, 
 
 Mark how his breast does swell and rise 
 Against his potent enemy ! 
 
 When some old friend shall step to my bedside, 
 
 Touch my chill face, and thence shall gently slide, 
 
 And when his next companions say, 
 
 How does he do ? What hopes ? shall turn away, 
 
 Answering only with a lift up hand, 
 
 Who can his fate withstand ? - 
 
 Then shall a gasp or two do more 
 
 Than e'er my Rhetorick could before, 
 
 Persuade the peevish world to trouble me no more." 
 
 I like a " Thought on Death," also, albeit 
 the metre is somewhat affected. 
 
 "When on my sick bed I languish, 
 
 Full of sorrow, full of anguish, 
 
 Fainting, gasping, trembling, crying, 
 
 Panting, groaning, speechless, dying, 
 My soul just now about to take her flight, 
 Into the regions of eternal night. 
 
 Oh ! tell me you, 
 
 That have been long below, 
 
 What shall I do ? 
 What shall I think when cruel death appears, 
 
 That may extenuate my fears ! 
 Methinks I hear some gentle spirit say, 
 
 Be not fearful, come away. 
 Think with thyself that now thou shalt be free, 
 And find thy long expected liberty, 
 Better thou mayest, but worse thou canst not be, 
 Than in this Vale of Tears and Misery, 
 Like Caesar with assurance that came on 
 And unamazed, attempt the Laurel Crown 
 That lyes on th' other side Death's Rubicon." 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 255 
 
 Turn we from grave to gay, from the 
 cypress to the myrtle, from Penseroso to 
 Allegro. Here is a fantastic pastoral on 
 " Coricftm Converted" — 
 
 When Coridon a slave did lie 
 
 Entangled in his Phillis' eye : 
 
 How did he sigh ! how did he grone, 
 
 How melancholy was his tone ! 
 
 He told his story to the woods, 
 
 And wept his passion by the floods ; 
 But Phillis, cruel Phillis, too, too blame, 
 Regarded not his sufferings, nor his flame. 
 
 Then Coridon resolved no more 
 
 His Mistress' mercy to implore ; 
 
 How did he laugh, how did he sing ! 
 
 How did he make the forests ring ; 
 
 He told his conquests to the woods, 
 
 And drown' d his passions in the floods ; 
 Then Phillis, cruel Phillis, less severe, 
 Would have had him, but he would none of her. 
 
 The last two lines may be recommended to 
 the attention of all love-lorn (and rejected) 
 suitors ; Coridon in this case appears to have 
 acted up to the admonition of Sir John 
 Suckling — 
 
 " Quit, quit, for shame this will not move : 
 
 This cannot take her ; 
 
 If of herself she will not love, 
 
 Nought can make her — 
 
 The DEVIL TAKE HER ! ! ! " 
 
256 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 Doubtless he would have sympathised with 
 Charles Mackay, when he wrote — 
 
 " If her cold indifference move thee, 
 There are other hearts to love thee ; 
 Be no longer weary, weary — 
 Weary, weary, of the world.'' 
 
 Do any of my readers remember Tommy 
 Moore's merry rhymes, commencing — 
 
 " Come, send round the glass, and leave points of belief 
 
 To simpleton sages, and reasoning fools ; 
 This moment's a flower too rare and too brief 
 
 To be withered and stained by the dust of the schools." 
 
 Here are a couple of rattling, rollicking 
 ditties, dashed off in the same spirit — 
 
 " Now that the World is all in amaze, 
 
 Drums and trumpets rending heaven, 
 Wounds a bleeding, mortals dying, 
 
 Widows and orphans piteously crying ; 
 Armies marching, towns in a blaze, 
 
 Kingdoms and States at sixes and sevens, 
 What should an honest fellow do, 
 Whose courage and fortunes run equally low ? 
 Let him live, say I, till his glass be run, 
 
 As easily as he may. 
 Let the wine and the sand of his glass flow together, 
 For Life's but a Winter's day ; 
 
 Alas, from Sun to Sun, 
 The Time's very short — very dirty the weather, 
 And we silently creep away. 
 Let him nothing do he would wish undone, 
 
 And sleep himself safe from the noise of the gun." 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 257 
 
 II. 
 
 " Why so serious, why so grave ? 
 
 Man of business, why so muddy 
 Thyself from chance thou can'st not save 
 
 With all thy care and study — 
 Look merrily then and take thy repose, 
 For 'tis to no purpose to look so forlorn ; 
 Since the world was as bad before thou wert born 
 
 And when it will mend who knows ? 
 
 And a thousand years hence 'tis all one 
 If thou lay'st on a dunghill, or satest on a throne. 
 
 " To be troubled, to be sad 
 
 Carking Mortal 'tis a folly, 
 For a pound of pleasure's not so bad 
 
 As an ounce of melancholy : 
 Since all our lives long we travel towards death 
 Let us rest us sometimes, and bait by the way, 
 'Tis but dying at last ; in our race let us stay 
 
 And we shan't be so soon out of breath. 
 
 Sit the Comedy out, and that done, 
 When the play's at an end, let the curtain fall down." 
 
 Here is another rap on the knuckles for co- 
 quettes, which without comment I will leave 
 to the (it must be confessed) fascinating little 
 ladies who belong to that class. 
 
 " Prithee confess for my sake and your own 
 
 Am I the Man or no ? 
 If I am he, thou cans't not do't too soon, 
 If not, thou cans't not be too slow ; 
 If Woman cannot love, Man's folly's great 
 Your sex with so much zeal to treat ; 
 
258 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 But, if we freely proffer to pursue 
 
 Our tender thoughts and spotless love 
 Which nothing shall remove, 
 
 And you despise all this, pray what are you f " 
 
 There is some cleverness shown in the lines to 
 a Professor of Music. 
 
 " For poets can but say, Thou maks't them Sing 
 And th' Embryo words dost to perfection bring. 
 
 Our naked lines drest and adorned by thee 
 
 Assume a beauty, pomp, and bravery ; 
 
 So awful and majestick they appear 
 
 They need not blush to reach a Prince's ear ; 
 
 Princes tho' to poor poets seldom kind, 
 
 Their numbers turned to air, with pleasure mind, 
 
 Studied, and laboured tho' our poems be, 
 
 Alas ! they die, unheeded, without thee. 
 
 Thy dextrous Notes with all our Thoughts comply, 
 Can creep on Earth, can up to heaven fly ; 
 In Heights, and Cadences, so sweet, so strong, 
 They suit a Shepherd's reed — and Angel's tongue. 
 
 Here is a pretty little bit on a lady in a 
 bath. 
 
 ON MRS. E. MONTAGUE'S 
 BLUSHING IN THE BATH. 
 
 " Amidst the Nymphs (the glory of the flood) 
 Thus once the beauteous iEgle stood, 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 259 
 
 So sweet a tincture, ere the Sun appears, 
 The bashful ruddy morning wears ; 
 Thus thro' a Crystal wave the Coral glows 
 And such a Blush sits on the Virgin Rose." 
 
 With which u Virgin Kose," gentle reader, 
 I will, 'an it please you, complete my nosegay, 
 in the hope that you are not altogether dis- 
 pleased with the flowers that blush unseen. 
 
 
260 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 GATHERINGS FROM GRAVE STONES. 
 
 There is a great sameness observable in our 
 modern epitaphs. They almost invariably 
 commence with recording the name, pro- 
 fession, and age of the person deceased, and 
 then proceed to enumerate his manifold 
 virtues — virtues, of which, generally speak- 
 ing, the world was in happy ignorance as 
 long as he was alive. But in former days 
 they abounded in a great variety. A perusal of 
 them in any old country churchyard will still 
 afford food for the contemplative, and will 
 give them cause for joy or sorrow according 
 as their humour is to " laugh or weep over the 
 follies of mankind. " It would be impossible 
 in the limits of one paper to give very copious 
 extracts from these eccentric compositions. I 
 have therefore thought it best, from a number 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 261 
 
 wliich I have in my possession, to make a 
 selection of the choicest and the rarest. 
 Even among these there will, doubtless, be 
 found some with which my readers are already 
 acquainted, in which case I must ask them to 
 take their repetition in good part, and believe 
 that I have not thus offended •intentionally. 
 Very frequently the ancient epitaph took 
 the form of a pun. Here is a pun philoso- 
 phic, which I would commend to the notice of 
 Professor Pepper — 
 
 On Mr. Aire (St. Giles's, Cripplegate) — 
 
 "Methinks it was a wondrous death, 
 That Aire should die for want of breath." 
 
 Here is something more elaborate dis- 
 covered in a Cornish Churchyard — 
 
 On Maria Arundel (the letters of whose 
 name form the anagram u a dry laurel ") — 
 
 " Man to the marigold compared may be, 
 Man may be likened to the laurel tree ; 
 Both feed the eye, both please the optic sense, 
 Both soon decay, both suddenly fleet hence ; 
 What then infer you from her name but this — 
 Man lades away, man a dry laurel is ?' 
 
262 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 We have heard of Sermons in Stones, but 
 it is not often that one comes across such 
 poignant satires on a tombstone as the 
 following — 
 
 " My grandfather was buried here, 
 
 My cousin Jane, and two uncles dear ; 
 My father perished from a mortification in his thighs, 
 
 My sister dropt down dead in the Minories ; 
 But the reason I'm interred here, according to my thinking, 
 
 Is owing to my good living and hard drinking ; 
 If, therefore, good Christians, you wish to live long, 
 Beware of drinking brandy, gin, or anything strong." 
 
 The next, translated from the Latin inscrip- 
 tion over Samuel Ruttee, Bishop of Sodor 
 and Man, is, I opine, well known to many of 
 my readers — 
 
 In this house 
 
 Which I have borrowed from 
 
 My brethren, the worms, 
 
 Lie I, 
 
 Samuel, by Divine permission, 
 
 Bishop of this Island. 
 
 Stop, reader, 
 
 Behold, and smile at 
 
 The Palace of a Bishop !" 
 
 One would imagine Mr. and Mrs. Peitchard 
 
SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 263 
 
 to have been the happiest couple alive, from 
 reading the first four lines inscribed to their 
 memory — 
 
 " Here lies the man Richard, 
 
 And Mary his wife, 
 Their surname was Pritchard, 
 
 They lived without strife. 
 
 But the sting of the satire is yet to come — 
 
 " The reason was plain, 
 
 They abounded in riches, 
 They had no care or pain, 
 
 And the wife wore the breeches." 
 
 Those good-natured but weak-minded gen- 
 tlemen who (figuratively) permit their wives 
 to don the — the inexpressibles — have ever been 
 the objects of my sincerest compassion. As a 
 pleasing contrast to the character of Mrs. 
 Pritchard, let us look at that of the excellent 
 Mrs. Marshall as depicted on her tombstone 
 at Olney — 
 
 " She was 
 
 But words are wanting to say what, 
 Think what a wife should be, 
 
 And she was that 1 " 
 
 Or of Mrs. Moody, who had an additional re- 
 commendation — 
 
264 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 " Here lies Betty Moody, 
 
 And she was what ! 
 
 Think what a wife — and mother— should be, 
 And she was that !" 
 
 It is wonderful what a regard some people 
 pay to their dress. In circles where riches 
 or rank fail in making the slightest impres- 
 sion, a well-dressed man will carry all before 
 him. And yet one would have thought that 
 when we were dead such foolish distinctions 
 would be forgotten — one would have supposed 
 that it would not matter then whether we once 
 dressed in the fashion or out of the fashion, 
 then, when we are robed in that last white 
 dress which all must wear — whose fashion 
 never changes. Not so, however, the church- 
 yard poet of Matheme, near Chepstowe. 
 Thus of Mr. John Lee, defunct, he writeth — 
 
 " John Lee is dead, that good old man, 
 We ne'er shall see him more, 
 He used to wear a long brown coat, 
 All buttoned up before." 
 
 The poet evidently considered that a man's 
 virtues are to be cut according to his cloth. 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 265 
 
 Brevity is the soul of wit, wrote William 
 Shakespeare, but the bard of the burial-ground 
 at Ulverstone seems to have regarded it as the 
 soul of pathos too, if we may judge by the 
 following : — 
 
 " Here lies my wife, 
 Here lies she, 
 Hallelujah ! 
 Hallelujee ! ! " 
 
 The writer of an epitaph at Littleham, in 
 Devonshire, seems to have had the wish to 
 treat his subject in a more becoming manner, 
 and to have lacked the power of putting this 
 wish into execution. Nevertheless, there is 
 no doubt that, rude as is the attempt, it is very 
 far above the average. 
 
 " Farewell, sweet babe, short was thy stay, 
 Thou turn'st about and goest thy way, 
 When th' angels thy face did see 
 They set up a shout, and welcomed thee." 
 
 De mortuis nil nisibonum, and here is a 
 pompous eulogium on a flower which bloomed 
 and withered in the garden of England. 
 
 N 
 
266 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 On Dame Selby, in Igtham Church, Kent. 
 
 " In heart a Lydia, and in tongue a Hannah, 
 In zeal a Ruth, in wedlock a Susannah, 
 Prudently wise, and providently wary, 
 For earth a Martha, and for Heaven a Mary." 
 
 From this egregious bit of puffery it is a 
 relief to turn to a quainter and more unassum- 
 ing inscription to be found in the neighbour- 
 ing county of Hertford. I am sorry that I 
 am not able to give the name of the worthy 
 in whose honour it was written. 
 
 " The King Immortal gave the sudden stroke, 
 He heav'd a sigh, and a blood-vessel broke ; 
 He was an honest and an upright man ; 
 Boast more, ye great ones, if ye can." 
 
 The following, from the pretty village of 
 Kenton, in Devonshire, is suggestive enough : 
 
 Christ our Saviour knew what inn was best 
 To ease our pain, and take our souls to rest. 
 
 It would seem to have been composed in 
 honour of the landlord of a hostel. Acting 
 upon this supposition, there are those who 
 maintain that pain is to be understood in its 
 French signification, and read souls as if they 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 267 
 
 were spelt soles. But this suggestion seems 
 to me to be too outrageous to admit of belief. 
 I shall conclude my extracts with some 
 that are really written with much better taste 
 than any of the foregoing. This on a fox- 
 hunter, one Thomas Johnson, buried at 
 Singleton, in Essex, is very ingenious : 
 
 Here Johnson lies. What hunter can deny 
 Old honest Tom the tribute of a sigh ! 
 Deaf is that ear that caught the opening sound, 
 Dumb is that tongue that cheered the hills around. 
 Unpleasing truth ! Death hunts us from our birth 
 In view — and men, like foxes, take to earth. 
 
 Do you remember that famous epitaph 
 which the great American philospher, Franklin, 
 composed upon himself ? It will bear being 
 repeated : 
 
 The body of 
 
 B. Franklin 
 
 Printer 
 
 Like the cover of an old book 
 
 Its contents torn out 
 
 And stripped of its lettering and gilding 
 
 Lies here, food for worms. 
 
 But the work shall not be wholly lost 
 
 For it will (as he believed) appear once more 
 
 In a new and more perfect edition 
 
 Corrected and amended 
 
 By the Author. 
 
 N 2 
 
268 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 This, from Lidford, on a watchmaker, is 
 couched in a similar spirit : 
 
 " Here lies, in a horizontal position, the 
 outside case of a watchmaker, whose abilities 
 in that line were an honour to his profession. 
 Integrity was the mainspring, and prudence 
 the regulator of all the actions of his life. 
 Humane, generous, and liberal, his hands 
 never stopped till he had relieved distress. 
 So nicely regulated were all his motions, that 
 he never went wrong unless when he was set 
 a-going by people who did not know his key. 
 Even then, he was easily set to rights again. 
 He had the art of disposing his time so well, 
 that his hours glided away in one continual 
 round of pleasure and delight, till an unlucky 
 minute put a period to his existence. He 
 departed this life, A.D. 1802, wound up in 
 hopes of being taken in hand by his Maker, 
 and of being thoroughly cleansed, repaired, 
 and set a going in the world to come,'' 
 
 I have already quoted three from the 
 smiling land of Devon — a county in which, 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 263 
 
 for divers reasons, I happen to be rather 
 interested. But there is one at St. Thomas' 
 church, Exeter, which I have reserved for the 
 last, not only because it is the best, but 
 because it contains a shorter and a better 
 sermon than I have ever yet had the good 
 fortune to hear delivered from the pulpit: 
 
 Our life is but a winter's day — 
 Some only breakfast— then away ; 
 Others to dinner stay, and are full fed — 
 The oldest man but sups, and goes to bed. 
 Long is his bill who lingers out the day ! 
 Who goes the soonest has the least to pay. 
 
 There, dear brethren, what better homily 
 would you wish than that ? Let us take it 
 to heart while there is still time, so that when, 
 our day of reckoning comes we at least may 
 u not be found wanting." 
 
270 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 AWAKE ON CHEISTMAS MOENING. 
 
 A merry Christmas to you ! Bad luck to 
 the churl who would not wish thee that ! 
 Unhappy the wretch for whom the wish is 
 uttered in vain. For a jovial, jocund time is 
 this. A time when the butcher's stalls are 
 laden with fat and juicy meat, and are crowded 
 with fatter men, who regard it with as critical 
 an eye as a Times reviewer the Eoyal Academy 
 pictures. When the grocer's shops are filled 
 with citrons, and raisins, and figs, 
 
 Sugar and spice, 
 And all that's nice, 
 
 the shadowy emblems of substantial plum- 
 puddings, and luscious mince-pies. When 
 illuminated gift-books blazon forth from the 
 bookseller's windows. When children's 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 271 
 
 story-books appear in smarter guise, and in 
 newer editions. When Baron Munchausen, 
 or Sinbad the Sailor, go through stranger and 
 more surprising adventures than ever. When 
 poets tune their lyres to blither measures. 
 When Mr. Punch cracks his raciest jokes, and 
 Mr. Leech pourtrays his prettiest girls. When 
 Mr. Dickens gives us for a few pence a very 
 treasure-house of sweet and touching stories. 
 When bunches of holly and sprigs of mistle- 
 toe are in as great request as Covent Garden 
 bouquets at a royal levee, when bills begin 
 to pour in on nn lucky householders, and 
 when other and more agreeable bills an- 
 nounce that the pantomimes are doing a roar- 
 ing trade at the theatres, that Mr. Phelps is 
 for a time completely nonplussed by Harry 
 Boleno, and that fair Juliet has to succumb to 
 the greater charms of u Little Eed Riding 
 Hood " — a time, in fact, when every one is 
 cheerful at himself, and is striving his utmost 
 according to his lights to cheer the hearts of 
 his fellow-creatures. A kindly, genial time ! 
 
272 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 A time when discords and jealousy are for- 
 gotten, when strifes and quarrels are hushed 
 — when friends who have parted in anger 
 meet again in love — when faithful hearts re- 
 new vows of constancy made years and years 
 ago, and kept, through evil report and good 
 report, unbroken through them all — when 
 penitents are forgiven — when enemies are re- 
 conciled — when the sick forget their pains, 
 and mourners their sorrows — when kindly 
 feelings are aroused and generous emotions 
 are awakened — when the poor are made glad 
 by the bounty of the rich, and the wealthy 
 rejoice in their powers of doing good — when 
 human nature seems better, nobler, purer, 
 than it ever does at any other season through- 
 out the year. 
 
 Oh ! how should Christmas not be merry ? 
 Perchance you have lost one who was very 
 near and dear to you — one who was your all 
 in all — one who shared your every sorrow — 
 one to whom you looked for sympathy in all 
 your troubles — from whom you sought coun- 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 273 
 
 sel in all your difficulties. And he is gone — 
 snatched from you by the hand of the great 
 destroyer. What then ? Have you hot his 
 memory left, and is it not some consolation — 
 some soothing balm to your poor bleeding 
 heart to reflect though he himself is lost to 
 you — this sweet remembrance will never die, 
 but will be with you always, sustaining and 
 comforting you through all the trials of your 
 after life ? Oh ! is not this a happy thought 
 — is it not a holy thought. How much 
 better this than if you had been cold and 
 indifferent ? How much better this than if 
 you had never loved him half as much ? 
 
 I hold it true, whate'er befal, 
 I feel it when I sorrow most, 
 'Tis better to have loved and lost, 
 
 Than never to have loved at all. 
 
 And then, if you have suffered, have you not 
 rejoiced? If you have had afflictions, have 
 you not also had blessings ? And, if so, does 
 it not behove you to be humbly grateful to 
 Him who gave them ? I have had my sor- 
 rows, God knows, and yet Christmas has ever 
 
 N 5 
 
271 
 
 SKETCHES FROM LIFE, 
 
 come to me fraught with the happiest associa- 
 tions. Lying awake this cold Christmas 
 morning — with the Waits playing their sim- 
 ple strains under my window — the scenes of 
 past Christmasses come vividly before me. 
 I am a child over whose head scarce seven 
 winters have passed. I am arrayed in a smart 
 plaid frock, cut low at the shoulders, frilled 
 drawers, and I wear a toy drum suspended to 
 my neck. Before me stand the household 
 generally — from the head thereof down to the 
 newest domestic — each and all being armed 
 with a musical instrument. No. 1 has a 
 penny trumpet, perhaps ; Nos. 2 and 3, flutes ; 
 No. 4 a fiddle, which, although pounds of 
 resin are expended in its service, never will 
 get into tune ; and the rest a miscellaneous 
 assortment of "bones " and castanets. At a 
 given signal from myself they all strike up to 
 whatever tune may come into their heads, and 
 to this discordant music march around me. 
 After they have repeated this interesting cere- 
 mony three or four times, I cease playing, 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 275 
 
 and it then becomes the duty of the houris 
 of the band to place themselves under the 
 mistletoe and there receive from their august 
 Sultan the honour of a kiss. It was a simple 
 pleasure I admit, and perhaps it was hardly 
 worth recording. But, Dulce est desipere ; oh ! 
 my critic, it is good to be childish some- 
 times, and I plead Christmas-day as my ex- 
 cuse. 
 
 The scene changes, and I am a boy elated 
 with the dignity of round jackets and cloth 
 unmentionables. Christmas must be spent 
 in a grander way now. Juvenile parties are 
 the order of the day. Oh ! those juvenile 
 parties ! How anxiously were they expected! 
 Into what a fever of anticipation was I plunged 
 for days, weeks, months beforehand. And 
 then, if bright in imagination, how gorgeous 
 was the reality ? How dazzling the lights in 
 the great hall, how ambrosial the weak tea 
 served up on our arrival, how godlike the 
 weaker negus, imbibed on our departure — 
 how ethereal the little goddesses to whom I 
 
276 SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 
 
 made frantic love, and to whom, to my shame 
 be it said, I broke my plighted troth over and 
 over again. Then during the evening there 
 was the magic lanthorn with its marvellous 
 slides depicting the Tower of Pisa, St. Peters 
 at Eome, the Bridge of Sighs by moonlight, 
 the Sphynx, the Pyramids, the eruption of 
 Vesuvius, and the Falls of Niagara in rapid 
 and alternate succession. The resemblance 
 to the originals in each case was not at all 
 striking; but in those days we thought it was 
 — and that, as they say, is " half the battle." 
 Then there was the snap-dragon — in which 
 we of the rougher sex had an opportunity 
 of displaying our bravery, and of putting Mr. 
 John Dryden's adage — 
 
 None but the brave 
 Deserve the fair, 
 
 to something like a test. For a cruel rapa- 
 cious beast is this same dragon — a raging > 
 fiery, beast — and occasionally the fingers of 
 the little St. Georges will get terribly 
 scorched in the encounter. 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 277 
 
 Then come the games— blind man's buff 
 or, hunt the slipper — or post — in which the 
 mail, in the persons of the players, went with 
 astonishing speed to all sorts of impossible 
 places — being among the favorites. But 
 above all these was " Drop the handkerchief. " 
 This diverting game consists in a ring being 
 formed of all the players except one. The 
 omitted young lady or gentleman (it is imma- 
 terial which)makes the circuit of the ring — 
 bearing a hankerchief, and at the same time 
 repeating this choice effusion — 
 
 I sent a letter to my love, 
 And by the way I dropt it ; 
 I dropt it. I dropt it. 
 
 And as the last words are uttered she drops 
 the handkerchief at the heels of a member of 
 the opposite sex, and endeavours to regain 
 her place before her " love " can overtake 
 her. If she succeeds well and good, if not, 
 he is privileged if he can manage it, to kiss 
 her. I was always a great hand (and I say 
 it with becoming modesty) at securing these 
 
278 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 favours from the fair sex. I call to mind a 
 terrible encounter which I once had with a 
 confirmed little coquette. I had caught her 
 fairly and honestly before she reached her 
 destination, and I was fully entitled to claim my 
 reward. Like a practised little flirt as she was 
 
 Who can't say "No,'' 
 And won't say "Yes " and keeps you on and offing. 
 
 she was determined not to give in without a 
 struggle. And a hard struggle it was, I can 
 assure you. She had got her hands clasped 
 across her rosy cheeks so that there was no 
 more possibility of getting at them than at 
 the apples of the Hesperides. But all things 
 must have an end, and at last fearing perhaps 
 that she had concealed her beauties too long, 
 and knowing that I was iirmly resolved on as- 
 serting my rights, she (literally) laid down her 
 arms and surrendered herself into mine. And 
 then with a gallantry which conquerors would 
 do well to imitate — I sealed my victory in — 
 a sounding kiss, amid the applause of the as- 
 sembled multitude. Ah, well ! 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 279 
 
 Eheu fugaces, posthume, posthume, 
 Labuntur anni. 
 
 There were high jinks in those days I war- 
 rant you — I was a lively, active little urchin 
 then — And now ? 
 
 Well, I am not averse to Christmas parties 
 even now. Charles Dickens — whose honoured 
 name the mention of Christmas will ever 
 recall — has a stern rebuke for a young man 
 just home from the university — who had 
 grown so uncommonly fast that he had out- 
 grown Christmas. I also am but a young 
 man •, it is not so very long since I was my- 
 self in the bosom (and clutches) of a certain 
 Alma Mater, and yet I can feel for Mr. Horace 
 De Lisle nothing but the most unmitigated 
 scorn and contempt. To my mind there is 
 nothing so hearty and enjoyable as your honest 
 Christmas gathering. The party that I mean 
 takes place in a large room richly bedecked 
 with holly and with evergreens, with a bright 
 fire blazing merrily on the hearth, and diffu- 
 sing its genial warmth throughout the house, 
 
280 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 and yet not making it half as warm as the 
 hearts of the host and hostess. The guests 
 are not asked to such a party, because they 
 are rich or titled — because they u visit in the 
 county " and " will give a tone to the pro- 
 ceedings," as the phrase goes, and which 
 simply means that they will be too proud to 
 take notice of any one else and too disagreea- 
 ble to be taken notice of themselves —they 
 are invited because they are good-natured 
 and benevolent, and will contribute each in 
 his degree to the general hilarity of the eve- 
 ning. If they will do that, no matter what 
 their age, sex, dignities, or profession, they 
 will be certain to receive a cordial greeting. 
 ]\Iy old friend, the amusing man, is here you 
 may be sure among the first arrivals. After 
 him — a jovial lawyer or two, jaded and worn 
 with eternally arguing that the prisoner at 
 the bar is the greatest scoundrel on the face 
 of the earth, or, vice versa, is next door to an 
 angel — a doctor prepared to swallow ever so 
 much delicious indigestions in direct defiance 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 281 
 
 of his own "advice" — a gallant soldier 
 bronzed by the heat of a tropical sun — an 
 honest true-hearted clergyman who does more 
 for the furtherance of real Christianity by his 
 earnest practical life than by all the sermons 
 that he ever preached — and many others who, 
 as the newspapers say of the belles at a ball, 
 it would be invidious to particularize. 
 
 At such a party u charms " and " incanta- 
 tions " are occasionally introduced. Any 
 young lady who wishes to know the initial 
 letter of her intended's name may acquire 
 that information by throwing the peal of an 
 apple over her left shoulder. The result is 
 invariably no letter at all, but a sort of Egyp- 
 tian hieroglyphic, but this of course, being so 
 much the more mysterious, makes the efficacy 
 of the charm indubitably certain. After this 
 we assemble round the table for a game o 
 a consequences." The " consequences " in- 
 volved in this game are sometimes novel, not 
 to say startling. At the end of the first 
 u round " it becomes revealed that Simperton 
 
282 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 Blush — that is the meek-eyed young man in 
 green spectacles and pepper-and-salt inex- 
 pressibles — met Fanny Flirt — the bright- 
 eyed little rogue in crinoline — on the back- 
 stair-case, at an evening party, last Christmas 
 - — that the lady said to the gentleman, " Will 
 you kiss me ? " and that the gentleman re- 
 joined, " I will," and that the consequence 
 was that they became engaged forthwith. 
 And though poor Simperton enters a protest 
 and solemnly disclaims all knowledge of the 
 transaction, all the rest (who are of course in 
 the plot) avow that it is useless for him to 
 deny it, he looks so terribly guilty ! ! 
 
 Consequences are followed up by a dance. 
 Generally a country dance — Sir Eoger de 
 Coverly, for instance. Who does not know 
 that rare old dance ? Who does not remem- 
 ber Dickens' admirable description thereof? 
 " Twenty couple at a time — hands half round 
 and back again the other way — down the 
 middle and up again ; round and round in 
 various stages of affectionate grouping — -old 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 283 
 
 top couple always turning up in the wrong 
 places — new top couple starting as soon as 
 they get there — all top couples at last — and 
 not a bottom one to help them ! 1" I am not 
 much of a dancer myself. Those young 
 ladies who value a man for his legs rather 
 than for his head have long ago set me down 
 at no price at all. But, according to Mr. Sala, 
 no man is a dancer. He may take lessons of 
 Leonora Geary, or of Mrs. Henderson, or of 
 Terpsichore herself — if he only knows her 
 address; but he will never be more than a 
 u capering elephant, or an ambling hippo- 
 potamus. " However this may be I know 
 not — I shall leave my friend Charlie Footit, 
 who, I am told, is a very Vestris on the 
 u light fantastic," to refute the charge as best 
 he may. For my own part I should wish 
 it to be understood that it is your solemn, 
 stately dances, your formal minuets, your 
 prim quadrilles — in which you saunter through 
 the steps like mourners following a hearse — 
 
284 SKETCHES FROM LIFE* 
 
 to which I am'opposed — to which I cry, parce, 
 parce — I pray thee have me excused. Give me 
 such dances as honest old " Sir Soger," and 
 you will find, young women, that I can figure 
 it away with the best of you. 
 
 Plenty of flirtation goes on now, depend 
 upon it ! Look at that young couple — he of 
 the Dundreary whiskers, and she of the 
 golden curls. Captain Smart and Miss 
 Hoppleton — as I live ! They have been danc- 
 ing together six times consecutively in direct 
 defiance of mamma Hoppleton's injunctions 
 and the laws of etiquette. " Shocking ! " 
 groans the prude, turning up the whites of 
 her eyes. u Clearly a match," cries the gossip, 
 and immediately informs the whole room (in 
 confidence) when it is to come off ! 
 
 At supper the amusing man shines forth to 
 considerable advantage. What with taking 
 wine with the host and complimenting the 
 hostess, and chaffing the young men, and 
 frightening the young ladies with crackers, 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 285 
 
 and cracking jokes innumerable, he has hardly 
 a moment to himself. He finds time enough, 
 however, to do ample justice to the viands 
 before him, to quaff bumpers of wine, and 
 even to say " a few words " on a toast which 
 he has the honour to propose. The 
 toast is one which he feels the greatest plea- 
 sure in proposing, and which he is sure that 
 every gentleman present who has a heart 
 (here the young gentlemen apply their right 
 hands to their left sides to make sure that 
 the article alluded to is quite safe) will have 
 an equal pleasure in drinking. He could 
 have wished that the toast had fallen into 
 abler hands than his — (cries of no, no) — he 
 cannot but feel how incompetent he is to do 
 it the justice it deserves (reiterated cries of no, 
 no). It is not for him to paint the rose — it 
 is not for him to gild gold — it is not for him 
 to expatiate on the elegances, the accomplish- 
 ments and the virtues of by far the better 
 half of Creation (lond applause.) He will let 
 them speak for themselves. What he should 
 
286 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 like to know would the world be without 
 woman ? A barren desert. What would 
 man be, bereft of the society of women ? A 
 frumpy old bachelor! (cheers and laughter). 
 Is it not woman who should tend him in his 
 sickness, is it not woman who should share 
 with him his comforts, is it not woman who 
 should make him his tea ? (great applause). 
 In the words of a poet who knew More about 
 the fair sex than almost any other — he 
 would say : — 
 
 Oh, woman, whose form and whose soul 
 Are the spell and the light of each path we pursue 
 
 Whether sunned at the tropics, or chilled at the pole 
 If woman be there — there is happiness too ! ! 
 
 He begs them to drain a bumper to "the 
 Ladies/' and a merry Christmas to them this 
 year and many of them for the future ! ! 
 
 This toast is received with prolonged accla- 
 mation. Somebody gets up to return thanks 
 — other speeches are made, and shortly after- 
 wards the guests disperse. 
 
 And is all this merriment wrong ? There 
 
SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 287 
 
 are persons who will tell you so — there are 
 persons who will tell you that it is sinful to 
 be gay when others are so wretched, that it 
 is heartless to laugh when there are so many 
 who must weep. Hark ! to the bells pealing 
 forth their joyous strains. Do they say so ? 
 Do they forbid us to rejoice ? Do they not 
 rather tell us of hope rekindled, and charity 
 revived, and truth triumphant, of purer 
 thoughts and of holier aspirations, of a brigh- 
 ter, happier day dawning, dawning surely on 
 the poor and afflicted of God's own people. 
 King out then, old bells, ring out your glad- 
 some melody, and tell your glorious tale 
 throughout the world. 
 
 King out the grief that saps the mind, 
 For those that here we see no more ; 
 Ring out the feud of rich and poor, 
 
 Ring in redress to all mankind. 
 
 Ring out false pride in place and blood, 
 
 The civic slander and the spite ; 
 
 Ring in the love of truth and right, 
 Ring in the common love of good. 
 
 Ring out old shapes of foul disease, 
 
 Ring out the narrowing lust of gold ; 
 Ring out the thousand wars of old, 
 
 Ring in the thousand years of peace. 
 
288 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 
 
 Ring in the valiant men and free 
 
 The larger heart, the kindlier hand ; 
 Ring out the darkness of the land, 
 
 Ring in the Christ that is to be ! 
 
 THE END, 
 
 T. C. Newby, 30, Welbeck Street, Cavendish Square, London. 
 
CCC: <C 
 
 *C c d 
 «3X?c « 
 
 ■ " c 
 
 «c 
 
 c -V *&< 
 
 . < 
 
 1 ' c 
 
 «" JF 
 
 C > v ^ CC 
 
 L 4 
 
 
 ^S~ 
 
 i V ^ <^ 
 
 c 
 
 ■ ,. •' \. 
 
 SF* 
 
 £ r e ^ W<z 
 
 <r 
 
 
 ^^ 
 
 c r S- <^C 
 
 c: 
 
 
 : -5F 
 
 c 5 & CC 
 
 t 
 
 
 ^F 
 
 5 5- ^ cc 
 
 c" 
 
 
 ^ c 
 
 - r c ^ cc 
 
 c; 
 
 
 ^""r 
 
 c ci cc 
 
 
 V e?^ 
 
 f^r 
 
 < fZ cc « 
 
 c^ 
 
 fj 
 
 K--5 
 
 •> c , CL etc m 
 
 m 
 
 M-9 
 
 S d cc 
 
 < 
 
 E S 
 
 c 5: c^ 
 
 F; 
 
 ^= - ,z=- 
 
 -z=- ^— v_v^ 
 
 3K 
 
 c 
 
 c C CdCd c 
 
 
 „ c 
 
 ^ Clcd*< 
 
 z c 
 
 ! 
 
 C ' d cdc* 
 
 J C d.Cdi 
 
 c < 
 
 ic~ 
 
 c « 
 
 ^ -£ 
 
 - C d cc* 
 
 *z 
 
 l_; < € 
 
 L- c 
 
 J" c ccc^ 
 
 d « 
 
 ■XL 
 
 d 
 
 C CCGflt 
 
 r< 
 
 d 
 
 , CO 
 
 c c cc c 
 
 : C 
 
 : d 
 
 ■■■ cj 
 cl.< 
 
 d'' 
 
 % CCCC 
 
 S cccd 
 
 C C(CC 
 
 j d 
 
 : d 
 
 CI 
 
 d 
 
 c < 
 
 c crcctc: 
 
 C CCGC 
 C C CC <7 
 
 d 
 
 2 C 
 
 e£ 
 
 CI d 
 
 d C 
 c c 
 
 fe 
 
 C d 
 
 M 
 
 d 
 
 i 
 
 C cce< 
 
 :c cccc 
 a c<Cv cod 
 
 o. «C CJ ' d 
 
 C* c<c 0<,d 
 C C cd 
 
 ,:<<. cc c««c<c 
 
 d c i C 
 
 c: c c: 
 
 d CT'-c/.d 
 
 d,c d 
 
 d 
 
 I 
 
 C C 
 
 ^x 
 
 d«dd <C 
 
 
 CC 
 
 die ' 
 
 ^ ^c.c «b 
 
 ^gj; 
 
 c c 
 
 f ,^x 
 
 C_.C d 
 
 <r 
 
 c c 
 
 dc 
 
 c*< *;.d- c ; d 
 
 <^ 
 
 : c c 
 
 c<CC 
 
 d c d 
 
 ^: 
 
 _c c 
 
 
 CC vd 
 
 <X 
 
 cc c 
 
 /4B^[ 
 
 <' ■ cca< 
 
 <x 
 
 CC c 
 
 "'-^C 
 
 -■•■ •■■ . CdCCd 
 
 :c^ 
 
 dec 
 
 "" ■ ^K^ 
 
 , c-x_ CCCC 
 
 I C< 
 
 — Cd 
 p- Cd 
 
 S ccz ^ 
 
 d CC : • -- 
 d cc . 
 CCCC 
 
 c cc c 
 = dcc> 
 
 ^c^c 
 
 =:cocc 
 
 C/dC 
 
 : cicc 
 
 ^ CCCC 
 
 ^ ccc 
 _ cccc 
 — cccc 
 ^ ccc 
 - Cdc 
 te ccc 
 ^ ccc 
 _ ccc 
 _ ccc 
 ^ ccc 
 _ ccc 
 _ccc 
 ^ x cc 
 
 _C(X 
 
 Iccc 
 
 TCCC 
 _ ccc 
 Tdcc 
 
 Z.Cid. 
 _ ecc 
 
 c ■ c 
 
^_ 
 
 -': «3CC - 
 
 
 <C 
 
 <SCc , 
 
 
 KL 
 
 <SCC c 
 
 ^ 4 
 
 cc • 
 
 " OCGr-i 
 
 < 
 
 K 
 
 OCcC < 
 
 c cc< 1 
 
 - CC 4 
 
 C; CC 6 C< 
 
 cc < 
 
 c cc . U5 
 
 c ^ < 
 
 c cc C - '<: 
 
 cr c 
 
 CC CC «..' 
 
 cc-c< <; 
 
 CSTCC ■ . « 
 
 ■•c ■ «c 
 
 C« CC': - 
 
 < < . <r 
 
 -'." -C C 
 
 c 
 
 ' < «c 
 
 ■ • c <c 
 
 c c; c 
 
 < 
 
 - < c. 
 
 c C 
 
 c cc 
 
 <g < 
 
 < < cc 
 
 c: <: 
 
 c c c 
 
 r 
 
 f c 
 
 <C 
 
 C c c 
 
 C f 
 
 •• < c: 
 
 C <c' 
 
 Z c c 
 
 r .. 
 
 c 
 
 Cc <C 
 
 cc 
 
 C.'. 
 
 c 
 
 <i ■ <Z 
 
 c c 
 
 C c 
 
 < " C" < 
 
 e --<l 
 
 C C 
 
 C ( 
 
 c < 
 
 3 C 
 
 c 
 
 <Q r «r ' 
 
 -d c 
 
 
 c 
 
 c< ^^ 
 
 <: <: 
 
 < 
 
 -' c 
 
 
 c: c 
 
 r 
 
 c 
 
 C' j «r — 
 
 c <r 
 
 C ( 
 
 c ,< 
 
 
 «wy? v_ 
 
 
 1 C C 
 
 .( u 4^ 
 
 c: <c 
 
 c «■ 
 
 « <I 
 
 1 ,; ^C 
 
 c c 
 
 C r 
 
 C C 
 
 E <L 
 
 cc <C 
 
 C ( 
 
 ( CL <r 
 
 ieQ - «^7 
 
 CC «C 
 
 <■„ I 
 
 c C <k 
 
 "i^- 
 
 < < 
 
 & <C 
 
 C ' 
 
 C C Cc 
 
 < <c c 
 
 ; ? '< «ci- 
 
 ( 
 
 C C 
 
 <cv «CZ 
 
 OS <L 
 
 c 
 
 ■■■' .<c . <s 
 
 <cc «r~ 
 
 C5§C«C 
 
 c 
 : c 
 
 c c 
 
 C-cxc «fc 
 
 c c 
 
 «fi «^ 
 
 S^S * 
 
 ^ c 
 
 c c 
 
 < <c< <c 
 
 «C^<L4 
 
 E < 
 
 c. c 
 
 ! 'CC' 4K 
 
 CCC «i 
 
 P c 
 
 <r c 
 
 <cr S 
 
 C r ;<I «l 
 
 C C 
 
 c c 
 
 «IL <C 
 
 C r "<s < 
 
 B. C 
 
 c cc 
 
 <^ <: 
 
 c<c < 
 
 te, c: 
 
 5 5 r 
 
 ^i ^ 
 
 ( C u < 
 
 ^_ c 
 
 c <r 
 
 
 cc < 
 
 - 9 
 
 c c 
 
 ■ i C< *5 
 
 3 c 
 
 < c^ 
 
 c ^ ^ 
 
 I 
 
 d c 
 
 < c 
 
 ^<s ^ 
 
 
 5c * 
 
 C o 
 
 
 c c< 
 
 cc < < 
 
 <c;' 
 
 C C Cc 
 
 cere 
 
 C C O 
 
 ccc 
 
 ■£ * c 
 
 <<c^ 
 
 < c c 
 
 C c 
 
 r c c 
 
 ^cr_ ' 
 
 C C <c 
 
 C C 
 
 - ■ C rV c 
 
 «C Co c 
 ^« <C c C 
 _cc <5c; o c 
 
 <^ *3T C C 
 
 . <' <3C c C 
 
 <C <C^ C C 
 
 <C <C C C' 
 
 S <C c < 
 
 *. «c c C 
 
 t ^ < '.%■ 
 
 ^ -«^ cC V\ 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 CC 
 td<r C 
 
 ^«^ 
 
 ^™£S=i 
 
 SV-. 
 
 cc 
 
 <m&& 
 
 -C<S 
 
 cc4 
 
 : r«H 
 
 c 
 
 CC - k 
 
 F: "CZk 
 
 ; -1: 
 
 
 r^gf^ 
 
 K. 
 
 r'r' 
 
 : fl 
 
 
 
 014 526 196 A m 
 
 \, ; C- C_ 
 
 
 vC.-.'C C 
 
 cc 
 
 ^- *- — 
 
 
 *■ -<T C 
 
 
 R"^ C3c 
 
 
 " CC;' 
 
 % cc< 
 
 4W «SfeSfc : ; I 
 
 
 
 
 d 
 
 c <mK<& 
 
 <*Pc 
 
 : 
 
 tcktcc 
 
 r <cr<: cc 
 
 T cc<r 
 
 m 
 
 
 ^ ; IF# 
 
 d OCT*' 
 
 c 
 c 
 
 (3 
 
 JJ^C 
 
 ^CC! 
 WCjCi]