s> %> 
 
 
 
 &<& 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 O- 
 
 V 
 
 ^„ ^ 
 
 ./ ^ •, 
 
 
 c 
 
 
 
 
 V ^ 
 
 V " « K - \ 
 
 y ^ 
 
 k v <*> 
 
 <2*> v 
 
 
 s s A 6 ' , ^ " < ♦ * s 1 
 
 1 z 
 
 k V ^ 
 
 V v ^^r-:%;° 
 
 V 
 
 
 w 
 
 \ V -Q^ * * x ' \V 
 
 V * * * , -^ \> ^ -t * G 
 
 
 G - ****** A G 
 
 • ^ 
 
 ^^ 
 
 ^^ 
 

 ".% 
 
 W** ^^^/ 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 <f ' / * * s *> A G ^ ' ' <, * S s A 
 
 \n^ * 
 
 
 v ^ 
 
 
 7- 
 
 c5> ■^ 
 
 
 <. 
 
 ■^ & 
 
 
 £*-% 
 
 ^ 
 
 
UNDER BOW BELLS 
 
 A CITY BOOK FOR ALL READERS. 
 
 EY 
 
 JOHN HOLLINGSHEAD. 
 
 LONDON : 
 GEOOMBEIDGE AND SONS, 
 
-HIS" 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 THOMAS HAEBILD, P^J^Rj SALISBURY SQUi 
 FLEET STEEET. 
 
TO 
 
 WILLIAM MOT THOMAS, ESQ. 
 
 DEAR WILLIAM, 
 
 Dedications are somewhat out op fashion ; 
 but while something op the custom still remains, i 
 would not willingly let this, my piest book, go out 
 without your name. 
 
 Take it, then, in token of our long friendship 
 and constant companionship — a friendship which, though 
 stretching back far into our time of caps and jackets, 
 has not had one cloudy day. 
 
 Believe me, 
 Yours sincerely and affectionately, 
 
 JOHN HOLLINGSHEAD. 
 
 London, October, 1859. 
 
v/3 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The twenty-five stories and sketches which compose 
 this book are selected from certain papers written and 
 published by me, during the last two years, in the 
 cc Household Words," They have been popular with 
 the public and the press in a periodical form ; and I 
 hope they will not lose any of their popularity or 
 readable quality in the form of a book. They have 
 been placed together because they all deal with, or 
 revolve round, one centre — the City; and being 
 written with this design of future united republica- 
 tion, they fall naturally into their appointed places, 
 without any elaborate introduction, any material 
 alteration, or any laboured connecting link. This 
 gives them their claim to their first title of " Under 
 Bow Bells." Their second title of ( ' A City book for 
 all Readers" is given to them because, in accordance 
 with the leading principle of the journal in which 
 they originally appeared, they have endeavoured to 
 retain some degree of fancy and imagination, while 
 touching upon the driest subjects. 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 In narrating the different stories and sketches, I 
 am always speaking through the mouth of imaginary 
 persons, except in the paper called Ci All Night on 
 the Monument." 
 
 Of course I am personally responsible for all 
 opinions contained in the book ; but the paper in ques- 
 tion is a descriptive record of my actual experience. 
 
 In conclusion, I have to thank Mr. Charles 
 Dickens for the permission to republish. 
 
 John Hollingshead. 
 
 London, October, 1859. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. — The City op Unlimited Papee . . 1 
 
 II. — My Lost Home . . . . .16 
 
 III. — Too Weak poe the Place ... 37 
 
 IV.— All Night on the Monument . . .44 
 
 V. — Beistles and Flint .... 58 
 
 VI. — The End op Eoedyce Beothees . . 78 
 
 VII. — Passing the Time .... 105 
 
 VIII. — Railway Nightmaees .... 112 
 
 IX. — HOW I PELL AMONGST MONSTEES . . 126 ' 
 
 X. — Wanted, a Seceetaey .... 133 
 
 XL — My Two Paetnees .... 146 
 
 XII.— Pooe Tom.— A City Weed . . .163 
 
 XIII. — Vestiges op Peotection . . . 177 
 
 XIV.— Domestic Castle-Building . . . 185 
 
 XV.— Debt 203 
 
 XVI. — Bankeuptcy in Six Easy Lessons . . 210 
 
 XVII. — White Washeeton .... 216 
 
 XVIII. — Buying in the Cheapest Maeket . . 224 
 
 XIX. — Twenty Shillings in the Pound . . 233 
 
 XX. — The Applicted Duke op Spindles . . 242 
 
 XXL— Good-Will ..... 257 
 
 XXII. — Debtoe and Ceeditoe .... 265 
 
 XXIII. — The Innocent Holdee Business . . 277 
 
 XXIV.— An Executoe . . . . .291 
 
 XXV.— New Puppets poe Old Ones . . 303 
 
UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 THE CITY OF UNLIMITED PAPER. 
 
 Within a certain circle, of which Bow Church is 
 the centre, lie the ruins of a great paper city. Its 
 rulers — solid and substantial as they appear to the 
 eye — are made of paper. They ride in paper car- 
 riages; they marry paper wives, and unto them are 
 born paper children; their food is paper, their 
 thoughts are paper, and all they touch is trans- 
 formed to paper. They buy paper and they sell 
 paper ; they borrow paper, and they lend paper — 
 a paper that shrinks and withers in the grasp like 
 the leaves of the sensitive plant; and the stately- 
 looking palaces in which they live and trade are 
 built of paper — small oblong pieces of paper, which, 
 like the cardboard houses of our childhood, fall with 
 a single breath. That breath has overtaken them, 
 and they lie in the dust. Let me collect the scat- 
 tered pieces, and build them up into such another 
 variety of trembling structures as they formed be- 
 fore ; as they form now ; or as, in a few years, they 
 will undoubtedly form again. 
 
A UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 Our first paper-house is the firm of Collaps, 
 Vortex, Docket, and Company, general merchants. 
 It is quiet and unobtrusive in appearance, being in 
 Tobacco Lane, Fenchurch Street ; and its small office 
 has not had its windows cleaned for thirty years, 
 which gives it a favourable appearance of solidity. 
 The leading peculiarity of this firm is ramification ; 
 and it is remarkable for the harmony and beauty of 
 its complex machinery. The senior partner, Mr. 
 Collaps, is a merchant of the old school. There is a 
 fund of credit in his shoe-buckles, and in the heavy 
 yellow family coach that comes to fetch him of an 
 afternoon. Mr. Vortex affects an almost Quakerish 
 severity of attire; he attends to the discounting 
 department, and the chairmanships and director- 
 ships of those important and choice public companies 
 which he finds so useful in consolidating the credit 
 of the house. Mr. Docket is a copy of Mr. Vortex, 
 some fifteen years younger ; he attends to the work- 
 ing part of the business, whatever that may 
 be; superintends the clerks, answers troublesome 
 inquiries, and is supposed to buy and sell all the 
 merchandise. The ramifications of the house ex- 
 tend to most cities of importance in England, 
 abroad, and the colonies. In Glasgow there is the 
 branch firm of M f Vortex and Company, who have 
 established friendly relations with all the leading 
 "banks, and whose paper, drawn upon the substantial 
 firm of O'Docket and Company of Dublin, is <( done " 
 
THE CITY OF UNLIMITED PAPEK. 6 
 
 without a whisper, at the minimum rate. The sub- 
 stantial firm of 0' Docket and Company of Dublin 
 enjoys the highest credit that can be obtained by a 
 long course of regular trading in the land of gene- 
 rous sympathies and impulsive genius; and their 
 paper, upon the highly respectable firm of M 'Vortex 
 and Company, of Glasgow, is much in demand, at 
 very low rates of discount indeed. Then there is 
 Alphonse Collaps and Company of Paris ; the great 
 house of Collaps Brothers, at Calcutta; Vortex, 
 Collaps, and Docket, of San Francisco; Docket 
 Brothers and Collaps, of New York; Collaps, Collaps, 
 and Company, of the Cape of Good Hope; Vortex, 
 Docket, and Vortex, of Melbourne, Australia ; and 
 Vortex Brothers and Docket, of Montreal, Canada. 
 These all draw and feed upon each other as their 
 necessities require ; and the parent firm of Collaps, 
 Vortex, Docket, and Company, of Tobacco Lane, 
 London, watches over its obedient children with a 
 more than fatherly interest, and trades upon their 
 acceptances to the extent of millions. Formerly the 
 great London house used to stop payment during 
 every commercial panic, — their credit preventing the 
 necessity of their doing so at any other time. Now, 
 they have grown too wise and important to do that. 
 It is not that their trade has become in any degree 
 sounder or more legitimate, but the accumulated 
 liabilities of many years have swelled their transac- 
 tions into such gigantic proportions, that the mere 
 
4 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 whisper of any difficulty to the Governor and Com- 
 pany of the Bank of England causes a representa- 
 tion to be made to our paternal government, whose 
 mission it is to foster, protect, and accommodate 
 trade ; and it is agreed that such a public calamity 
 as the suspension of Messrs. Collaps, Vortex, Docket, 
 and Company must be prevented at any cost. It is 
 prevented by the suspension of the Bank Charter 
 Act instead; an extra issue of Bank of England 
 notes is authorized, with a government guarantee in 
 case there should not be gold to exchange for them ; 
 and commerce — ill-used commerce — breathes again. 
 My next house is the firm of Messrs. Ignes, Eatui, 
 and Company, the extensive and eccentric shippers, 
 of Skye Chambers, Old Broad Street, who are always 
 on the search for new markets, and who have very 
 peculiar notions of the requirements of distant 
 countries. They are constantly sending large cargoes 
 of damask tablecloths and silver toothpicks to the 
 Sandwich Islands; or-molu clocks to Tierra del 
 Euego ; and pianos, articles of vertu, and Birmingham 
 idols to the southern coast of Africa. They import, 
 in return, for the London market, tomahawks, 
 heathen gods and goddesses carved out of stumps of 
 trees, with occasionally a Holy Eamily, painted by 
 some intelligent native Baffaele of Mozambique, in 
 which the mother and child, with very thick lips and 
 sable skins, are evidently doing well. Messrs. Ignes, 
 Fatui, and Company are not so particular as they 
 
THE CITY OF UNLIMITED PAPER. 
 
 might be about the nature of their shipments, 
 because they find great facilities in obtaining loans 
 upon paper, called bills of lading — a system of 
 pawning ships' cargoes — and if the goods should be 
 returned unsaleable a year hence, injured by time, 
 sea-water, and with the accumulated charges of 
 freight and interest upon their backs, what matter ? 
 The loan has supplied funds to send out other and 
 equally well-assorted cargoes ; so that, as fast as one 
 payment falls due another loan is obtained, and the 
 whole system is kept up like the brass balls which 
 the juggler tosses in the air. Whenever a vessel is 
 lost without being properly insured; whenever an 
 Australian mail brings intelligence that heaps of 
 costly rubbish are rotting on the wet, glutted wharves 
 of Melbourne, we may guess in a moment that both 
 the vessel and the goods are the property of Messrs. 
 Ignes, Fatui, and Company, and look for a suspension 
 of the firm that will set all things right, and furnish 
 gossip for the Money Market for about four-and- 
 twenty hours. 
 
 Another well-known paper-house is the house of 
 Strawboy and Rag, the Manchester warehousemen, 
 of Fustian Lane, Wood Street. Strawboy had been 
 a buyer in a large City establishment, where he 
 learned to regard returns as of more importance than 
 either the quality of the business done, or the profits 
 derived from it. Strawboy therefore went in for 
 large returns. Rag had been chief-clerk in the same 
 
D UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 establishment; and finding, after deeply studying the 
 theory of trade, that the accommodation-bill entered 
 so largely into every transaction, he had come at last 
 to regard it— like some eminent financiers do the in- 
 convertible bank-note — as the basis of all wealth, and 
 had started the extensive business of Strawboy and 
 Rag, with nothing but his own ingenuity, Strawboy's 
 broad chest, double-breasted waistcoat, and reputed 
 energy, and a pile of bill-stamps of all denomina- 
 tions. Mr. Rag's calculations were based upon a 
 knowledge of how many small traders in the out- 
 skirts of London, in London itself, and throughout 
 the country, were maintaining a position that was not 
 required by the existing demands of trade, or that 
 they were not qualified to fill, either by ability or 
 capital. It was with these small over-traders that 
 Messrs. Strawboy and Rag opened negotiations, and, 
 in consideration of reviving their languishing credit, 
 founded about one hundred and twenty drawing- 
 posts or bill- stations, with power to manufacture 
 bills upon them to an unlimited extent. The de- 
 mands of such a business of course consumed whole 
 mountains of goods, and the manufacturers were 
 delighted ; the discounts of such a business of course 
 required whole mines of monej^, and the bankers were 
 delighted. Strawboy — who always affected a rough, 
 hearty character — used to refer with pride at public 
 dinners to the excessive lowness of his origin. He 
 worked in a brick-field when a boy, for twopence a- 
 
THE CITY OF UNLIMITED PAPER. 7 
 
 day, and lie dated his prosperity from the time when 
 he became an errand-boy and drudge in a City ware- 
 house at half-a-crown a-week. Mr. Rag was more 
 reserved — the gentleman of the firm — and he put his 
 views upon the currency in the shape of a pamphlet, 
 called Is Money to be the Master or the Slave of the 
 People ? It is a pity that such a promising state of 
 things was not destined to endure. The crash came 
 at last; and, although they very nearly persuaded 
 the National Bank to render them assistance, 
 Messrs. Strawboy and Hag were obliged to submit to 
 the fall. 
 
 The next house that rises before me is that of 
 Messrs. Bibb and Tucker, of Consol Court, Thread- 
 needle Street. It is not easy to say what the exact 
 business of Messrs. Bibb and Tucker is. I have 
 known and watched them for many years, and I 
 profess myself totally unable to form an opinion, 
 unless I decide that they are merchants who exist for 
 the purpose of failing every three years, under cir- 
 cumstances that command the general sympathy of 
 their creditors. Bibb is a man who gives you the 
 impression of being a remarkably simple and straight- 
 forward man ■ in fact, so general is this impression, 
 that he is known in the money market as ( ' honest 
 George Bibb." Tucker is a man who, according to 
 his own account, if his inclinations had been con- 
 sulted, would rather have been in the church ; but as 
 his father desired to see him enrolled in the ranks of 
 
8 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 commerce, he obeyed his father, and took his place 
 amongst the merchants of the city, where he hopes 
 he always endeavours to do his duty. 
 
 When the periodical failures of Bibb and Tucker 
 take place, there is generally, for such apparently 
 quiet people, a rather large amount of debts, and a 
 very large amount of liabilities ; but although a con- 
 siderable quantity of property is always unaccountably 
 sucked up, the dividend proposed never falls below 
 twelve shillings and sixpence in the pound ; and, as 
 their transactions are always rigidly confined to cre- 
 ditors who belong to the old-fashioned class of mer- 
 chants, who look upon a man's word as his bond — 
 and a very good bond, too — there is never any scru- 
 tiny demanded, or any troublesome questions asked, 
 and the very respectable dividend always carries them 
 through triumphantly, with the presentation of a 
 piece of plate. Once — and once only — they broke 
 the uniformity of their composition by paying eleven 
 shillings in the pound ; but they restored the balance 
 the next time, by increasing the dividend to fourteen 
 shillings. 
 
 The next house is the well-known manufacturing 
 house of Lacker, Crane, and Company, of Packing- 
 case Yard, Lower Thames Street, and Dunmist Mills, 
 near old Humdrum, Inverness-shire. The premises 
 in Packingcase Yard are modest enough, and would 
 not seem to indicate a business of a very extensive 
 character; but, in this instance, the art of the en- 
 
THE CITY OF UNLIMITED PAPER. 9 
 
 graver is called in, and we are presented upon invoices 
 and bill-stamps with a nattering and highly sugges- 
 tive view of the important and busy Dunmist Mills 
 of which the small office in London is only one of 
 the numerous agencies. There are water-power and 
 steam-power; high chimneys sending forth volumes 
 of smoke ; long ranges of out-buildings with groups 
 of busy work-people, and large, solid bales of mer- 
 chandise ; bridges and tramways, and waggons loaded 
 with raw material, drawn by struggling horses of 
 the Flemish breed, towards the crowded gates of 
 this industrious settlement. The whole is a work of 
 imagination of the highest order, alike creditable 
 to the designer and the engraver. When, in the 
 usual course of things, the house of Lacker, Crane, 
 and Company is compelled to call its creditors 
 together, and an inspection of the magnificent factory, 
 outworks, and plant takes place by the order of the 
 assignees, the dissolving view of the industrial hive, 
 with its active work-people and its din and clatter of 
 machinery, gradually recedes, and in its place stands 
 the pastoral simplicity of a couple of barns, and a 
 kilted shepherd tending his flocks. 
 
 My next paper-house is that of Baggs and Com- 
 pany, of Nabob Buildings, Leadenhall Street, in the 
 East India trade. Baggs and Company would have 
 been commercially defunct many years since, but for 
 a most fortunate occurrence — they were joined at 
 their last gasp by young Mr. Curry, the only son of 
 
10 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 the great East Indian director of that name. The firm 
 of Curry, Baggs, and Company was a very different 
 concern from the languishing firm of Baggs and 
 Company. Its credit was good to any amount ; for 
 many persons confounded the name of Curry with 
 old Curry, and they did not stay to undeceive them- 
 selves. Others spoke about the great wealth of old 
 Curry — wealth that he must have; spoke about 
 young Curry being the only son and a great favourite 
 — a very great favourite; spoke about the praise- 
 worthy care of a father desirous of seeing his son 
 comfortably settled in commerce before he finally 
 retired from the busy scene. Old Baggs made hay 
 while the sun shone* One morning old Curry com- 
 mitted suicide. Upon inquiry it was found that he 
 was not only very much behind the world, but that 
 he had a large number of forged bills in the hands of 
 Helter, Spelter, and Company, who rather prefer that 
 exceptional branch of the trade in paper, because they 
 have found, from a long experience, that forged docu- 
 ments, as a rule, while they yield the highest rate 
 of interest, furnish the greatest amount of security. 
 Young Curry, instead of taking any capital into the 
 tottering firm had, on the contrary, drawn a few 
 thousands out of it as a premium for the use of his 
 valuable financial name. 
 
 My next structure is the old historical banking- 
 house of Fossil, Ingot, and Bagstock, in Bullion 
 Alley. It was founded in the time of Charles II. 
 
THE CITY OF UNLIMITED PAPER. 11 
 
 Take up any book upon the Antiquities of London, 
 and you will always find a chapter devoted to the 
 house in which the business is carried on. Take 
 up any collection of commercial anecdotes, and you 
 will find how, in periods of financial panic, the 
 great house of Fossil alone stood unshaken. You 
 will read how the stout-hearted, cool-headed Fossil, 
 when his bank was subjected to a severe pressure, 
 during the reaction of the South Sea scheme, stood 
 at his door and shovelled the guineas into baskets 
 out of a dust-cart. You will read how he went to a 
 neighbouring banker, who was in sore distress, and, 
 slapping him on the back, said, " Centum, my boy, 
 I have placed a couple of millions to your credit, and 
 if you want any more, you know where to send for 
 it." When it was announced, the other day, that 
 Fossil, Ingot, and Bagstock had closed their doors, 
 the public could not credit it. Although the fact was 
 too plain to be denied, they fell back upon the asser- 
 tion that the suspension could only be temporary, as 
 old Fossil's property alone would pay everybody, and 
 yield an enormous surplus. This flattering supposi- 
 tion had also to be given up ; for, to the general con- 
 sternation, it was found, upon inquiry, that old 
 Fossil — in fact, all the Fossils — had been dead sixty- 
 five years, and that there had been none of their 
 capital in the bank for more than half a century. 
 
 Unlike his predecessors, who were all striving to 
 make something out of nothing, John Taster was 
 
 
12 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 equally energetic in trying to make nothing out of 
 something. By a long course of industry and care 
 in the wholesale cheese trade, John had amassed a 
 fortune of about one hundred thousand pounds. His 
 life, dull and monotonous enough, had been passed 
 in that very mouldy warehouse on the ground-floor 
 of one of the dampest houses in Lower Thames Street, 
 posting a greasy ledger in a small box, called a 
 counting-house, which was lighted with gas the whole 
 of the livelong day. There was not much about John 
 which indicated a poetic temperament ; he was fat and 
 florid, and his voice was thick, coming through the 
 nose. Yet was he, perhaps, one of the most imagi- 
 native men that ever breathed. His imagination 
 was active not passive ; it did not take the form of 
 dreams; it developed itself in a practical business 
 way. John Taster threw himself and his capital into 
 the Garden of Eden Eailway Company (Limited), 
 Some people say he originated the scheme ; but this 
 I cannot believe : one thing, however, is certain, the 
 company professed to be limited, and it was limited^ 
 I am sorry to say, to John, and John's capital. The 
 mind that for so many years had been devoted to the 
 uncongenial, but profitable, pursuit of selecting and 
 selling cheese, was now feeding upon honey-dew, and 
 drinking the milk of Paradise. He gave up the 
 business in Lower Thames Street, and fixed his eyes 
 with the intensity and steadiness of an Indian fakir 
 upon the East. His fortune was lost ; but his faith 
 
THE CITY OF UNLIMITED PAPER. 13 
 
 was firm, and, as he cannot now feed his darling 
 scheme with gold, he has become, like the rest, a 
 man of paper. 
 
 My next house is compounded of the Etna and 
 Vesuvius Joint Stock Bank, Filch Lane, London, 
 and the great builders and contractors, Messrs. 
 Chaos, Rotbill, and Clay, of Bankside. Mr. M f Va- 
 cuum, who was installed as sole manager of the Etna 
 and Vesuvius Bank, with an enormous salary, is one 
 of those extraordinary men which the City creates ; 
 men of wide experience, large grasp of intellect, and 
 great decision of character. As a proof of his great 
 influence in the City, and the respect which was paid 
 to him by the commercial community, before the 
 doors had been opened for business two months, the 
 Bank numbered amongst its clients the names of 
 Messrs. Collaps, Vortex, and Docket ; Ignes, Fatui, 
 and Company; Strawboy and Bag; Bibb and 
 Tucker; Lacker, Crane, and Company; Curry and 
 Baggs — and, greater even still, the leviathan house 
 of Chaos, Rotbill, and Clay. M'Vacuum being a 
 man of a discerning mind, soon discovered the 
 peculiar ability of the latter firm, and the result 
 was an arrangement by which, in consideration of 
 M 'Vacuum granting the use of the Bank for unli- 
 mited facilities, Messrs. Chaos, Rotbill, and Clay 
 were to begin the well-known building settlement of 
 New Babylonia, granting M' Vacuum a secret share 
 in the profits. Suddenly the great marsh of East 
 
14 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 Babel sprang into life. Suddenly upon the dismal 
 swamp arose the plan of New Babylonia. Suddenly 
 shoals of bills of exchange appeared in the Money 
 Market — and especially in the accounts of the Etna 
 and Vesuvius Bank — drawn upon hodmen, car- 
 penters, bricklayers, carters, and labourers, whose 
 names became as familiar to capitalists as those of 
 Messrs. Fossil, Ingot, and Bagstock themselves. 
 Suddenly came the general crash, and paralysed 
 enterprise left New Babylonia — the hideous night- 
 mare — the paper monster — which it remains at the 
 present time. There are the long streets of carcases, 
 with awful gulfs and pitfalls of cellars ; there is the 
 outline of a grand square filled with heaps of gravel, 
 rubbish, old broken bricks, pieces of iron, and slabs of 
 paving-stone half hidden in the yielding clay ; there 
 are large rafters of timber, round which the long 
 damp grass has grown; and there is a deep pool of 
 rain-water, in which float rotten planks that venture- 
 some urchins have formed into a raft ; there is the 
 fragment of a church, and a frontage that might have 
 been intended for a chapel or a literary institution ; 
 there are large ghastly shells of mansions, some with 
 broken, weather-beaten stucco fronts, some with 
 ruined porticoes half completed, some with cloud- 
 capped garret window holes, staring far away across 
 the misty country; and there are frameworks of 
 shops through Tvhich the distant fields are seen as in 
 a picture. It is the home of the rag-picker and the 
 
THE CITY OF UNLIMITED PAPER. iO 
 
 tramp ; silent and awful as a city of the dead ; silent 
 as the grave of sunken capital should be ; silent and 
 undisturbed as when, in the middle of a summer's 
 day, three thousand workmen streamed slowly from 
 the place, never to return. 
 
16 
 
 MY LOST HOME. 
 
 In the still hours of the night ; in the evening rest 
 from labour — when the twilight shadows darken my 
 solitary room, and oftentimes in the broad glare of 
 day, amongst the eager, busy merchants upon 'Change 
 — it comes before me : the picture of my lost shadowy 
 home. So dim and indistinct at times seems the 
 line that separates my past from my present self; so 
 dream-like seem the events that have made me the 
 hunted outcast which I am, that, painful as my his- 
 tory is, it is a mental relief to me to go over it step 
 by step, and dwell upon the faces of those who are 
 now lost to me for evermore. 
 
 It seems but yesterday — although many years 
 have passed away — that I was in a position of trust in 
 the counting-house of Askew, Dobell, and Picard. A 
 quaint, old, red-brick house it was; standing in a 
 court-yard, up a gateway, in a lane in the City, lead- 
 ing down to the river. I see it as plainly as if it 
 stood before me now, with the old cherubim carving 
 over^the door- way; the green mossy stones in the 
 yard ; the twelve half-gallon fire-buckets hanging up, 
 all painted with the City arms; the long, narrow 
 windows, with their broad, flat wooden frames ; the 
 dark oaken rooms, especially the one where I used to 
 
MY LOST HOME. 17 
 
 sit, looking out into the small, square burial-ground 
 of a church, with half-a-dozen decayed, illegible 
 tombstones; frail memorials of old Turkey merchants, 
 who were born, who lived, and who died under the 
 shadow of the one melancholy tree that waved before 
 my window ; the long dark passages, with more fire- 
 buckets ; and the large fireplaces, with their elaborate 
 fluted marble mantel- shelves and pilasters. 
 
 I entered the service of those old merchants about 
 the age of sixteen, fresh from the Blue-Coat School ; 
 a raw, ungainly lad, with no knowledge or experience 
 of the world, and with a strong letter of recommen- 
 dation from the head master, which procured me a 
 junior clerkship. Our business was conducted with 
 a steady tranquillity — an almost holy calm — in har- 
 mony with the place, which had the air of a sacred 
 temple dedicated to commerce. I rose step by step ; 
 till at last, about the age of thirty, I attained the 
 position of a first-class clerk. My advance was not 
 due to any remarkable ability that I had displayed ; 
 nor because I had excited the interest of any member 
 of the firm, for I seldom saw the faces of my em- 
 ployers. It was purely the result of a system which 
 ordained a general rise throughout the house when 
 any old clerk died, or was pensioned off. Old Mr. 
 Askew, the founder of the house — a man, so tradition 
 said, who had once been a porter at the doorway 
 which now owned him for master — had practically 
 retired from business to a similar quaint old mansion 
 
 c 
 
18 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 at Stoke Newington. He never came to the City more 
 than twelve times a-year, to inspect the monthly ba- 
 lances ; and then he only remained about an hour. 
 He did not even know the names of half the people in 
 his employment. Mr. Dobell, the second partner, was 
 twenty years younger than Mr. Askew; active, de- 
 cisive, and retiring : a man whose whole mind was 
 devoted to his business, and who looked upon us all as 
 only so many parts of a machine for carrying out his 
 objects. The third partner in the firm, Mr. Picard, 
 was a man of a very different stamp from the other 
 two. At one period he had been our managing clerk, 
 and he obtained his share in the business in the same 
 year that I entered the house. He was of French 
 extraction; thin, sallow, with small gray eyes, and 
 light sandy hair. His age, at the time I am writing 
 of, must have been near fifty. Although his origin was 
 very obscure — some of our old clerks remembering 
 him walking about the docks in an almost shoeless 
 state — his pride was very great, and his harshness, 
 sternness, and uneasy, fretful, and ever-conscious 
 attempts at dignity, were a painful contrast to the 
 quiet, off-hand manner of Mr. Dobell, or the vene- 
 rable and dreamy calmness of old Mr. Askew. He 
 was a bad-hearted, cold, calculating man — a man 
 with a strong, reckless will ; who allowed nothing to 
 stand between him and his self-interest. When he 
 came into authority, and had his name put up as one 
 of the firm, his humble relations were removed to a 
 
MY LOST HOME. 19 
 
 distance; and a poor old Irishwoman, who had kept 
 a fruit- stall upon sufferance under our gateway for 
 many years, was swept away, because he felt that she 
 remembered him in the days of his poverty. 
 
 My position and duties required me to live in the 
 house, and to take charge of the place. When I 
 married, I took my wife, Esther, to our old City 
 home, and our one child, little Margaret, was born 
 there. The child was a little blue -eyed, fair-haired 
 thing ; and it was a pleasing sight to see her, between 
 two and three years of age, trotting along the dark 
 passages, and going carefully up the broad oaken 
 stairs. On one occasion she was checked by the 
 order of Mr. Picard for making a noise during 
 business hours; and, from ten to five, she had to 
 confine herself to her little dingy room at the top of 
 the house. She was a great favourite with many of 
 the old childless clerks, who used to bring her pre- 
 sents of fruit in the summer mornings. Scarcely a 
 day passed but what I stole an hour — my dinner 
 hour — to play with her; and, in the long summer 
 evenings, I carried her down to the river to watch 
 the boats. Sometimes, on Sundays, I took her out 
 of the City into the fields about Canonbury, and 
 carried her back again loaded with buttercups. She 
 was a companion to me — oftentimes my only com- 
 panion, with her innocent prattle, and gentle, winning 
 ways — for my wife, Esther, was cold and reserved in 
 her manners, with settled habits, formed before our 
 
20 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 marriage. She was an earnest Baptist, and attended 
 regularly three times a-week, a chapel for that per- 
 suasion, in Finsbury. My home often looked cheer- 
 less enough, when little Margaret had retired to bed, 
 and my wife's empty chair stood before me ; but I 
 did not complain — it would not have been just for 
 me to do so — for I knew Esther's opinions and habits 
 before I married her ; yet I thought I discerned, 
 beneath the hard sectarian crust, signs of a true, 
 womanly, loving heart; signs, amongst the strict 
 faith and stern principles, of an affection equal to my 
 own. I may have been mistaken in her, as she was 
 mistaken — oh, how bitterly mistaken — in me ! Her 
 will was stronger than mine, and it fretted itself 
 silently, but incessantly, in vain endeavours to lead 
 me along the path she had chosen for herself. She 
 may have misunderstood my resistance, as I may 
 have misapprehended her motives for desiring to alter 
 my habits and tone of thinking. There were pro- 
 bably faults and errors on both sides. 
 
 Thus we went on from day to day ; Esther going 
 in her direction and I going in mine, while the child 
 acted as a gentle link that bound us together. 
 
 About this time Mr. Askew finally retired from 
 business, and there was a general step upward 
 throughout the house : Mr. Picard getting one degree 
 nearer absolute authority. The first use that he 
 made of his new power was to introduce an only son 
 into the counting-house who had not been regularly 
 
MY LOST HOME. 21 
 
 brought up to the ranks of trade; but who had 
 received, since his father's entrance as a member of 
 the firm, a loose, hurried, crammed, half-professional 
 education, and who had hovered for some time be- 
 tween the choice of a lawyer's office and a doctor's 
 consulting-room. He was a high-spirited young man, 
 whose training had been of that incomplete character, 
 which had only served to unsteady him. He had his 
 father's fault of a strong, reckless will, unchecked 
 by anything like his father's cold, calculating head ; 
 though tempered by a virtue that his father never 
 possessed — an open-hearted generosity. As he had 
 everything to learn, and was a troublesome pupil, he 
 was assigned to my care. His writing-table was 
 brought into my office, and I had plenty of opportu- 
 nity of judging of his character. With all his errors 
 and shortcomings — not to say vices — it was impossible 
 not to like him. There is always a charm about a 
 free, impulsive nature that carries the heart where 
 the judgment cannot follow. Surrounded, as I had 
 been for so many years, by the restraints imposed by 
 persons who made me feel that they were my masters, 
 and with little congeniality and sympathy in my do- 
 mestic relations, I gave myself up, perhaps too freely 
 and unreservedly, to the influence of young Mr. 
 Picard's society. Although more than ten years his 
 senior, I held and claimed no authority over him ; his 
 more powerful will and bolder spirit holding me in 
 subjection. I screened the fact of his late arrivals, 
 
22 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 and Lis frequent absences, by doing bis work for 
 him ; and, for anything that Mr. Dobell or his father 
 knew, he was the most promising clerk in the house. 
 Little Margaret soon found him out, and took a 
 childish liking to him. He was never tired of play- 
 ing with her ; and seldom a week passed that he did 
 not bring her something new in the shape of toys or 
 sweetmeats. My evenings at home, which used to be 
 solitary, were now solitary no longer : either he came 
 and kept me company, unknown to his father — who 
 would have been indignant at his associating with one 
 of the ordinary clerks — or (which was most fre- 
 quently the case) I accompanied him in his evening 
 rambles about town. The gulf between me and 
 Esther was greatly widened. 
 
 Thus our lives went on in the old City mansion, 
 with little variety, until our child completed her 
 third year. 
 
 Young Mr. Picard had been absent from the 
 office for more than a week, and illness, as usual, was 
 pleaded as the cause. In about four days more, he 
 returned, looking, certainly, much thinner and paler 
 than usual. I did not question him then as to the 
 real cause of his absence ; for there were arrears to 
 work up, and he did not seem in a communicative 
 humour. This was on a Saturday. On the follow- 
 ing Monday, at about two o'clock in the afternoon, 
 he brought in a cheque for five hundred pounds, 
 drawn by the firm upon our bankers, Messrs. Burney, 
 
MY LOST HOME. 23 
 
 Holt, and Burney, of Lombard Street. This, lie 
 told me, was an amount he had got his father and 
 Mr. Dobell to advance him for a short period, to 
 enter upon a little speculation on his own account, 
 and he gave it to me to get changed when I went 
 down to the bankers to pay in money on the same 
 afternoon. In the meantime he induced me to give 
 him two hundred pounds on account, out of the cash 
 that I, as cashier, had received during the day. 
 Shortly afterwards he went away, saying he would 
 receive the other portion in the morning. I went to 
 the bankers that afternoon, cashed the cheque for 
 five hundred pounds, returned the two hundred to my 
 cash charge, paid it in to the credit of the firm, and 
 returned to the office with the three hundred pounds 
 in my possession, in bank-notes, for young Mr. Picard 
 when he came in the morning. I never saw him 
 again, and never shall, in this world. 
 
 As to the cheque — it was a forgery. The bankers 
 had discovered it later in the evening, and I was 
 taken into custody, with the bank notes in my 
 pocket-book, by a Bow Street officer, acting under 
 Mr. Picard senior's orders. My wife was not at 
 home. Casting, therefore, one hurried glance at my 
 poor, unconscious, sleeping child — a glance in which 
 were concentrated the love and agony of a lifetime — 
 I turned my back upon the old house to go with the 
 officer to the appointed prison. 
 
 The next morning, at the preliminary examina- 
 
24 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 tion before a magistrate, the charge was made out. 
 I gave my explanation ; but young Mr. Picard was 
 not to be found, and unsupported as I was by any 
 evidence, with a string of circumstances so strongly 
 against me, what could I expect ? I was fully com- 
 mitted, and removed to Newgate to take my trial at 
 the ensuing sessions. 
 
 Prostrated with grief and shame, I passed the 
 first night in my dismal cell, in stupor rather than 
 sleep ; broken by thoughts of my lost home. My 
 poor dear child seemed to me to be removed to an 
 immeasurable distance — to belong to another world 
 — and even my cold, passionless wife appeared in 
 warmer and more wifely colours, and my heart was 
 softened towards her. I felt as if I had left her, in 
 the morning, full of health and strength, and had 
 returned at nightfall to find her dead. I had gone 
 carefully back through my past life, recalling oppor- 
 tunities that I had purposely avoided for reconcilia- 
 tion; magnifying little tendernesses of hers into acts 
 of great and loving-kindness, and dwelling with self- 
 reproach upon those bitter hours when I resented 
 what I thought was cold indifference. 
 
 In the morning I was fully aroused from my 
 dream to the horrors of my position. I was inno- 
 cent in the eyes of Heaven — innocent in the eyes of 
 the law ; but, for all that, I had met by anticipation 
 the fate of the commonest felon. I was innocent, 
 at present, in the eyes of the law ; but I was herded 
 
MY LOST BOMB. 25 
 
 without discrimination with the vilest outcasts of 
 society. My short diurnal walk was taken in the 
 common prison-yard, with burglars, pickpockets, and 
 all the varied shapes of crime, and I was thankful 
 when I was not dogged by the bloody footsteps of 
 the murderer. Although innocent, at present, in 
 the eyes of the law, I had to take my share in ad- 
 ministering the internal economy of my prison. I 
 had to scrub and wash and keep cleanly a por- 
 tion of the gaol, lest any physical taint should come 
 where there was so much moral pollution. I had to 
 take my turn in sweeping the yard, that the dainty 
 feet of the professional thief might not be soiled 
 with his morning^s promenade. Even now, after the 
 lapse of years, worn down as I am by sorrow and 
 long suffering, when I think of the treatment I re- 
 ceived while awaiting my trial, my blood boils. 
 
 The first morning, at the visiting half-hour al- 
 lowed by the prison regulations, from twelve to half- 
 past, I was stopped in my short impatient walk by 
 hearing my name called by the turnkey : my wife 
 had come to see me. I went to the grating where 
 stood many of my fellow-prisoners talking to their 
 wives and friends, and making room against the bars, 
 I brought myself face to face with Esther. There, 
 outside another barrier, between which and my own 
 walked the officer on duty, she stood with her cold, 
 passionless face looking sterner and paler than usual; 
 her thin lips firmly compressed, and her keen gray 
 
26 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 eyes fixed upon me with a searching, dubious ex- 
 pression. Thinking of the place I was in, and the 
 character of my companions, whose voices, without 
 one tone of sorrow or remorse, were busy around 
 me; feeling cold, dirty, and miserable, and looking 
 from all this upon Esther as she stood there before 
 me in her Quakerish dress, and neat, clean respecta- 
 bility, I wavered for a moment in the belief of my 
 innocence, and felt that there was an impassable gulf 
 between us, which my desponding heart told me 
 would never be bridged over. 
 
 "Esther," I said, "has young Mr. Picard been 
 heard of? Is little Margaret well ? Do my employers 
 really believe me guilty ? " 
 
 " Itandall," she answered, in a calm, clear voice, 
 " your own heart must tell you whether young Mr. 
 Picard will ever be found. Our child, thank God, is 
 well, and too young to know the great grief and 
 shame that have fallen on us. Mr. Dobell has care- 
 fully avoided speaking to me upon the subject of your 
 suspected crime, but Mr. Picard believes you guilty." 
 
 Though I could not clearly see the expression of 
 her face, broken up as it was into isolated features 
 by the double row of intervening bars, I felt that her 
 eyes were fixed curiously upon me, and the tone of her 
 voice, as she said this, told me that I was suspected — 
 suspected even of crime far deeper than forgery ! A 
 cold shudder passed across my heart, and the old 
 feeling of antagonism came back again to harden me. 
 
MY LOST HOME. 27 
 
 " Ptandall/' she continued in the same emotion- 
 less tone, "some money that I had saved for the 
 child, I have devoted to your defence, and to pro- 
 curing you certain comforts which you will sadly 
 need here. If you are guilty pray to be forgiven : 
 if you are innocent, pray — as I and Margaret will 
 pray — that this dark cloud may pass from us." 
 
 Her voice lingered in my ear, although she had 
 left the place. I returned to pace the stone yard of 
 the prison. At night, as I lay awake upon the hard 
 bed, those cold words, so full of duty but so want- 
 ing in love, still rang in my ears, resting like bars 
 of lead upon my heart. In a neighbouring cell 
 were two cheerful rogues, free from all mental care, 
 calmly planning crimes yet unperpetrated. A dark, 
 defiant spirit was on my soul. I thought, perhaps, 
 I should have been as happy, if I had been as guilty 
 as they. I fell into a short, uneasy sleep, in which 
 little Margaret appeared to me standing at the gate- 
 way of the old mansion, with her slight dress flutter- 
 ing in the wind. She was looking up and down the 
 lane, and crying for a missing friend who did not 
 come ; and the faces of the cherubim in the carving 
 over the gate were turned in pity upon her. 
 
 Twice again Esther visited me : still with the 
 same story — for young Mr. Picard had not been 
 found ; still with the same tone ; still with the same 
 look. At length, the day of trial came. As I stood 
 in the dock, the first person my eye fell upon in the 
 
28 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 court was Mr. Picard ; his sallow face looking sallower 
 than ever, his small gray eyes peering quickly and 
 sharply about him. He was there to watch over his 
 family honour ; to obtain a conviction at any cost, 
 and to favour the belief that I had either murdered 
 his son, or had compelled him to keep out of the way. 
 Esther was there, too, following the proceedings with 
 quiet intensity; her face fixed as marble, and her 
 eyes resting upon me the whole time without a tear. 
 It was over at last, the long painful trial, and I was 
 convicted; sentenced to transportation for life. I 
 saw the triumph on Mr. Picard' s features ; and, with 
 glazed eyes I saw Esther leave the court with her 
 dark veil closely drawn over her face. She stooped, 
 and, I thought, sobbed ; but I saw her no more. In 
 a few weeks I was on the high seas, proceeding to a 
 penal settlement. Often in the dead of night the 
 vision of my fatherless child weeping in the gateway 
 of the old mansion passed before me, and sometimes 
 I heard her little gentle voice in the wailing of the 
 wind. The veil had fallen over my lost home never 
 to rise again — never but once — years after. 
 
 Our vessel never reached her destination. She 
 was wrecked in the third month of our voyage, and 
 all on board, except myself and another convict, were 
 lost. We were picked up by an American vessel ; 
 and, keeping our secret as to what we were, we were 
 landed safely in New York. My companion went 
 his way, and I entered the service of a storekeeper, 
 
MY LOST HOME. 29 
 
 and worked steadily for four years — four long years, 
 in which the vision of my lost home was constantly 
 before me. Any feeling of resentment that I may 
 have felt at the suspicions of my wife, and at her 
 seeming indifference to my fate, was now completely 
 obliterated by the operation of time and distance, 
 and the old love I gave to her as a girl, came back in 
 all its tenderness and force. She appeared to me as 
 the guardian and protector of my dear fatherless 
 child, whom I had left sleeping innocently in her 
 little bed on the night when the door of my lost 
 home closed upon me. My dreams by night, my 
 one thought by day, grew in intensity, until I could 
 resist the impulse no longer. Risking the chance 
 of discovery, I procured a passage, and landed in 
 London in the winter of the fifth year from that in 
 which I had left England. 
 
 I took a lodging at a small public-house at Wap- 
 ping, near the river ; and I neglected no means to 
 escape observation. I waited with a beating, anxious 
 heart impatiently for night; and, when it came, I 
 went forth well disguised, keeping along the line of 
 docks and silent warehouses, until I reached the end 
 of the lane in which the old mansion stood. I did 
 not dare to make any inquiry to know if Esther and 
 the child were still at the old home ; but my know- 
 ledge of the character and prospects of my wife, told 
 me that, if the firm had allowed her to stay, she would 
 have accepted the offer, as her principles and determi- 
 
30 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 nation would have sustained her under any feeling of 
 disgrace. I walked slowly up the old familiar lane, 
 until I stood before the gateway. It was near eight 
 o'clock, and the gate was closed, but it looked the 
 same as it did when I first knew it as a boy ; so did 
 the quaint oak carving, and ^the silent court-yard, 
 seen through the small grating. There were no 
 lights in the front, and I went cautiously round, up 
 a side lane, and along a narrow passage that ran 
 between the churchyard and the back of the house. 
 At that moment the church clock struck eight, and 
 the bells chimed the Evening Hymn, slowly and 
 musically, as they had done, perhaps, for centuries ; 
 slowly and musically, as they had done in the days 
 gone by, while I sat at the window with little Mar- 
 garet in my arms, nursing her to sleep. A flood of 
 memories came across my heart. Forgetful of the 
 object that had brought me there I leant against the 
 railings and wept. 
 
 The chimes ceased, acd the spell was broken. I 
 was recalled to the momentous task that lay before 
 me. I approached, with a trembling step, the window 
 of what used to be our sitting-room on the ground- 
 floor. I saw lights through the crevices of the closed 
 shutters. Putting my ear closely against the wall I 
 heard the hum of voices. Faint, confused, and in- 
 distinct as the sound was, something — perhaps the 
 associations of the place — made me feel that I was 
 listening to my wife and child. I was startled by the 
 
MY LOST HOME. 31 
 
 sound of footsteps; and, turning my eyes in the 
 direction of the entrance to the passage (it had but 
 one entrance), I saw approaching, an old man, who 
 had been in the service of the firm, as house porter, 
 for fifty years. He was called blind Stephen ; for, 
 though not totally blind, his eyes had a stony, glazed 
 appearance. He had lived so long in the house that 
 he would have died if he had been removed ; and, in 
 consideration of his lengthened service, he was re- 
 tained, by Mr. Askew's special commands. This 
 was before I left, and I presumed, from finding him 
 there, that he was still at his old duty ; coming 
 round to see, or rather feel, that all was secure before 
 retiring for the night. I shrank against the wall 
 with the hope of avoiding discovery : not that I feared 
 the consequences of being recognized by Stephen — 
 for I had many claims upon his kindness and sym- 
 pathy — but that I dreaded, although I longed, to 
 hear what he might have to tell me. He came 
 directly towards me, as if by instinct; for I was 
 perfectly, breathlessly, still ; and paused immediately 
 opposite to where I was partially hidden, under the 
 shadow of the wall. He seemed to feel that some 
 one was there, and his glazed eyes were directed full 
 upon me, looking now more ghastly than ever, as they 
 glistened in the light of the moon, which just then 
 had passed from behind a cloud. Unable to restrain 
 myself I uttered his name. 
 
 " Good God ! Mr. Randall, is it you ? " he ex- 
 
32 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 claimed, with a start, recognizing my voice. "We 
 thought you were drowned ! " 
 
 " It is, Stephen/ 5 I replied, coming forward. 
 " Tell me, for Mercy's sake, are Esther and the child 
 well?" 
 
 " They are." 
 
 " Are they here ? " 
 
 " In that room, Mr. Randall," he said, pointing 
 to the one at which I had been listening. 
 
 " Thank God ! " 
 
 "They are much changed, Mr. Randall, since 
 you — since you went away," he continued, in a 
 sorrowful tone. 
 
 "Do they ever speak of me in your hearing, 
 Stephen, when you are about the house ? " 
 
 " Never, now, Mr. Randall." 
 
 There was something in the tone of Stephen's 
 voice that weighed upon my heart. He always was 
 a kind old fellow, with a degree of refinement above 
 his class ; but now, his voice was weak, and sad, and 
 tremulous ; more so than what he told me seemed to 
 demand. I conjured him to tell me all. With con- 
 siderable hesitation and emotion, he complied. 
 
 " None of us in the office thought you guilty of 
 the forgery, sir, not one ; and the principal clerks 
 presented a note of sympathy and condolence to your 
 good lady. Mr. Picard became, as he is now, more 
 harsh and disagreeable than ever; and, at one time, 
 we thought Mrs. Randall would leave the place ; but 
 
MY LOST HOME. 33 
 
 Mr. Dobell, we fancy, persuaded her to stay. She 
 was always, you know, sir, of a very serious turn, 
 and she now went more frequently to chapel than 
 ever. She took on a great deal, we fancy, at first ; 
 but she is a lady, sir, of great spirit and firmness, and 
 she concealed her feelings very well, and held herself 
 up as proudly as the best of them." 
 
 "And poor little Margaret, did she miss me 
 much?" 
 
 " Indeed, sir, she did at first. Poor little dear, I 
 often heard her crying after you in the morning ; and, 
 for many weeks, not even the fear of Mr. Picard 
 could keep her from going down in the daytime to 
 the gateway and standing there looking up and down 
 the lane, until she was fetched gently back by me. 
 God forgive me for the many falsehoods I told her, 
 sir, about your coming back ! But I could not bear 
 to see her crying about the great lonely house. And 
 she always asked after you in such a loving, inno- 
 cent, sorrowful way." 
 
 Poor old Stephen's narrative was here stopped 
 by tears ; as for me, I sobbed like a child. 
 
 " Many of the gentlemen, sir, would gladly have 
 taken her to their own homes ; but your good lady 
 would not part with her. I used often to go up to 
 her little room at the top of the house and play with^ 
 her as I had seen you do, sir, in the middle of the 
 day. She was always very glad to see me; and 
 sometimes she would take me to the window when 
 
34 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 the noonday chimes of our old church were playing, 
 and pointing up to the sky above the tower, would 
 fancy she saw you there. By degrees her inquiries 
 after you became less frequent ; and when the intel- 
 ligence of the wreck of your ship arrived, and your 
 good lady put her into mourning, supposing you dead, 
 she had ceased to ask about you." 
 
 " Has she grown much?" 
 
 " Very much, sir. She is a dear, sweet, gentle 
 thing : we all respect your good lady, but we love 
 little Margaret ; and although I lost my sight en- 
 tirely four years ago, and am now stone blind, I 
 know her height to a hair, for there is not a night 
 that she does not kiss me before she goes to bed, and 
 I have had to stoop less for the kiss every week 
 all that time." 
 
 " Has young Mr. Picard ever been heard of?" 
 
 a Oh yes, sir. "We believe he was found murdered 
 in some low house in a remote part of the town ; but 
 Mr. Picard senior hushed the matter up, so that we 
 never clearly knew the facts/' 
 
 " I thought he would never have allowed me to 
 suffer for him," I returned, " if he had been on this 
 side of the grave." 
 
 " No, that he would not," replied Stephen. 
 
 I felt from Stephen's manner that there was yet 
 some disclosure which his nerve was scarcely equal 
 to make. Painful or not, I again conjured him to 
 tell me all. After much entreaty I learoed from him 
 
MY LOST HOME. 35 
 
 the dreadful truth that my wife had married again 
 It was many minutes before I recovered from the 
 shock. My lost home stood before me, and I was 
 an outcast wanderer on the wide earth. 
 
 " They have been married about a twelvemonth/' 
 continued Stephen, {C and although I can only feel 
 what kind of a man he is, I don't think they are 
 happy." 
 
 ' ( Is he kind to the child ? " I inquired, almost 
 sternly. 
 
 " I don't think he is positively unkind ; but he 
 is very strict. He was a member of the chapel that 
 your good lady used to go to, and he tries to mould 
 little Margaret after his own heart. I fear they are 
 not happy. Your good lady is less reserved before 
 me as I am blind, and I feel sometimes that when 
 she is reading, she is thinking of you." 
 
 " Stephen," I replied, sadly and firmly, " I have 
 only one more request to make of you before I leave 
 the country again for ever. Keep my secret, and let 
 me for one minute see Esther and the child." 
 
 " I will," returned Stephen, weeping bitterly, 
 " that I will ; and may Heaven sustain you in your 
 trouble." 
 
 He threw the old wooden shutter back, which 
 was not fastened on the inside, and exposed the long, 
 deep, narrow recess, closed in at the end with red 
 curtains glowing with the fire and light within. 
 
 " I will now go into the room," he said, " and 
 
36 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 deliver my keys ; and while there, I will contrive to 
 hook back the curtain." 
 
 I thanked him with a silent pressure of the hand, 
 and he went. Just then the deep church bell struck 
 nine, and every stroke sounded like a knell upon my 
 beating heart. I watched — oh, how intensely I 
 watched ! — grasping the window-sill with my hands. 
 At length the curtain was drawn back, and the vision 
 of my lost home stood before me. They were en- 
 gaged in evening prayer. My child — my dear lost 
 child — now grown tall and graceful, was kneeling at 
 a chair : her long golden hair falling in clusters over 
 her slender, folded hands. Esther was also kneeling 
 with her face towards me. It looked more aged and 
 careworn than I expected to see it, but it was still 
 the old pale, statue-like face that I had cherished in 
 my dreams, and that had nestled on my shoulder in 
 the days gone by. 
 
 He who now stood in my place as the guardian 
 of my lost home was kneeling where I could not see 
 his face ; but I heard his voice faintly muttering the 
 words of prayer. Did any one in all that supplica- 
 ting group think of the poor, wrecked, convict out- 
 cast? God alone knows. The curtain closed, and 
 shut out my Lost Home from my dimmed sight for 
 evermore. 
 
TOO WEAK FOR THE PLACE. 
 
 The boy was never strong enough for the place. 
 His age must have been about fourteen when he went 
 there. He was inclined to be spiderish about the 
 legs, and his memory was weaker than his body. 
 
 His parent (a mother, his father being, dead) had 
 asked him several times what he would like to be ? 
 She might also have asked him what he would like 
 to do and to suffer? What could he say? They 
 were poor, and he could not be apprenticed to any 
 trade ; and yet it was necessary that he should go to 
 work. He made several inquiries about employment, 
 without success, and in an evil moment he saw a bill 
 stuck up in the window of a city tavern, " A strong, 
 sharp, active lad wanted." He did not quite come 
 up to the description, but he thought he would try. 
 He was always a willing boy. 
 
 They engaged him upon trial at a few shillings a 
 week, much to the delight of himself and his mother. 
 
 He began work on a Monday at seven in the 
 morning; his duty being to assist in preparing the 
 kitchen for the business of the day. It was a busy 
 place, that tavern — a rushing, tumbling, bawling, 
 maddening, busy place—between the hours of twelve 
 and four. Every man in the City of London seemed 
 
38 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 to run in there for luncheon, and to have no time 
 to eat it in. Digestion, and the nourishment of the 
 human body, were seemingly considered to be things 
 of very minor importance by the side of office appoint- 
 ments, transactions, operations, and the saving of a 
 few minutes of time. The marvel is, why they came 
 in at all — why they did not hurry along the streets, 
 cramming pieces of bread into their mouths by the 
 way, and washing them down by drinking from a 
 flask constructed like a pocket-book. But no, they 
 wanted something, and they came into the tavern to 
 get it. When there, their individual tastes were as 
 various as the cut of their coats, or the patterns of 
 their waistcoats. If they had all been content to 
 feed out of a huge bowl, and drink out of a huge mug, 
 the kitchen of the tavern — notwithstanding its large 
 fire in the heat of summer — would have been more 
 like Paradise, instead of its antipodes. But the 
 variety of food and drink which they called for, and 
 which was supplied to them with electric rapidity, 
 was something wonderful : while their combina- 
 tions of eatables were remarkable for ingenuity, and 
 originality. 
 
 The boy's employment at this period of the day 
 was to attend to the sliding shelves which descended 
 from the tavern floor to the kitchen, filled with empty 
 plates, and which ascended from the kitchen to the 
 tavern floor re-filled with the various eatables. He 
 had another, and a more onerous duty to perform ; 
 
TOO WEAK FOR THE PLACE. 39 
 
 his ear was made the responsible repository of the 
 crowd of motley orders which raced with fearful 
 rapidity down a speaking tube. There was no time 
 for though t, no time for repose. The powerful lungs 
 of the master of the establishment were incessantly 
 in action, giving out the mandates* for endless food 
 in a bullying tone, that he. imagined to be absolutely 
 necessary to command attention. He was a bully 
 by nature, this tavern-keeper. Stout, beetle-browed, 
 and perspiring. Paid his way, and did not care for 
 brewer or distiller. Why should he care for cooks, 
 scullions, and stout, active boys ? 
 
 At twelve o' clock mid-day this stern, well-to-do, 
 determined tradesman took up his position ready for 
 anything. Orders were shouted down the tube to be 
 in readiness. He felt like a general directing an 
 army. At the turn of the hour, the avalanche of 
 hunger came down upon the devoted building. 
 Clerks, merchants, stockbrokers — no matter what 
 their relative stations — small balance at bankers, 
 large balance, or no balance — met in the temple of 
 refreshment as on common ground, for the general 
 craving for nourishment had made equals of them 
 all. It is a warm day, and the occasion of the open- 
 ing of a new Corn Exchange. Woe upon the luck- 
 less boy in the kitchen below. The tempest began 
 with a rump-steak pudding and French beans. Large 
 plate of lamb and new potatoes j small plate and old 
 potatoes ; large plate again, and no potatoes — cauli- 
 
40 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 flower instead. Extra beans for the rump-steak 
 pudding. Now, the steam is up, and cooks, scullions, 
 and stout, active boy are in fearful agitation, like the 
 cranks and wheels of a large engine, working to the 
 top of their bent. Stern, perspiring, excited trades- 
 man bawls down the pipe, and demands that his 
 words shall be repeated, to make sure that the order 
 is clearly understood. 
 
 " One sausage ! " 
 
 A feeble echo of sausage comes from the depths 
 of the kitchen up the tube. Again the boy repeats 
 the word to the man presiding over the gridiron : a 
 glowing, dancing being, who, with a long toasting- 
 fork, keeps pricking, goading, and turning small 
 steaks, lamb chops, mutton chops, kidneys, and 
 sausages— about sixty in number, all frizzling to- 
 gether over the same fire. An incessant rumble is 
 caused by the sliding shelves going up and down. 
 
 "Hoast veal and ham; gooseberry tart; small 
 plate of cold beef and horseradish ; a roast fowl ; 
 large plate of boiled mutton, no caper sauce ; rhubarb 
 tart; extra cauliflower; large plate of roast beef, 
 well done ; small plate of roast mutton, underdone, 
 greens, and new potatoes; small plate of veal, no 
 ham; currant and raspberry tart; two rump-steak 
 puddings ; lamb chop and cauliflower ; extra potatoes, 
 new ; mutton chop ; large steak and greens ; small 
 plate of roast fowl; basin of oxtail; extra greens; 
 two sausages; small of boiled mutton and new; 
 
TOO WEAK FOR THE PLACE. 41 
 
 kidney ; four rhubarb puddings ; now then, that roast 
 fowl; small steak instead of oxtail; boiled mutton, 
 lean ; extra greens ; summer cabbage instead of cauli- 
 flower with that lamb chop." 
 
 One after the other, these orders pour down the 
 pipe, coming up executed in half dozens on the 
 shelves. Perfect Babel and pantomimic madness 
 below — fully equalled by the Babel and pantomimic 
 madness above. No one would suppose eating capable 
 of developing the latent talent for sleight of hand 
 which seems to exist amongst the frequenters of this 
 temple of refreshment. No one would suppose that 
 much benefit could be derived from a luncheon or 
 dinner taken in a crowd such as assembles at the pit 
 doors of a theatre, when free admission is given by 
 order of Government on a great public holiday. All 
 standing up — reaching over each other's heads — eat- 
 ing on the corners of counters — tops of casks — 
 balancing plates in one hand, while carving with 
 the other — hustling and jostling — ten times worse 
 than a large rout in a small house in May Fair. 
 Shouting of orders, anxious glances at the clock, 
 goading of excited, perspiring tradesman, who adds 
 fifty per centum to the goading, and shouts it down 
 the pipe. The storm increases ; the call for food 
 becomes louder: the varieties are not distinctly 
 marked. Names of meat and vegetables, fish, flesh, 
 and fowl, pastry and salad, are mixed up together in 
 hopeless confusion. The machinery is going wrong. 
 
42 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 Once the shelves come up with nothing on them, 
 to be hurled down indignantly by stern proprietor. 
 Again they rise to the surface with everything out of 
 order — potatoes standing in the midst of raspberry 
 tart, and gooseberry pudding put in a butter-boat. 
 A barman is ordered to take charge of the position, 
 while the bursting proprietor rushes round to the 
 kitchen to see what is the matter. Once more the 
 shelves go down ; once more they come up, containing 
 a scrubbing-brush, and one pickled onion ! The 
 storm of indignation from hungry customers is over- 
 whelming. Again the stentorian landlord nearly 
 splits the pipe with reiterated orders, sent down in a 
 whirlwind of rage. A sound of faint, w T eak, imbecile 
 singing is heard below. 
 
 The proprietor goes down. He finds the kitchen 
 a wreck. The dancing maniac at the gridiron has 
 fled with two scullions to enlist in the army. 
 
 u Mon Dieu ! the xevy cook is fast asleep, 
 And all that bullock's heart is baking still !" 
 
 The artist of the establishment is lying supinely 
 on his back at an open window. The boy — the 
 stout, active lad — has given way under the pressure ; 
 his mind is a blank ; he sits at his post, but he is an 
 idiot ! 
 
 City men are eccentric, and very exacting where 
 labour is concerned ; but they are kind, humane, and 
 generous, notwithstanding. They felt that they were 
 responsible for this sad state of things underground. 
 
TOO WEAK FOR THE PLACE. 43 
 
 A subscription was raised. The boy wanted repose 
 (the cook had already taken it). He was removed to 
 a lonely fisherman's hut on the Essex coast, far from 
 the sound of everything, except the sailor's song upon 
 the river, and the washing of the water in amongst 
 the sedges on the bank. His mind sometimes 
 wanders, and his tongue babbles of strange and un- 
 known dishes ; but he is progressing favourably. 
 
44 
 
 ALL NIGHT ON THE MONUMENT. 
 
 If a man wishes to become a real unwavering cynic,, 
 cultivating the unamiable quality of a thorough con- 
 tempt for his species; if he wishes to realize, and 
 become a convert to the truth of the common-places 
 of the preacher about the utter nothingness of the 
 things of this world ; if he wishes to enlarge his views 
 of life, and to spring out of his narrow circle of folly, 
 ignorance, and prejudice ; if he wishes to take a calm 
 and dispassionate review of the paths he has been 
 pursuing ; to see how far he has wandered from the 
 right track, or whither his blind, unguided, walled-in 
 steps now lead him ; if he wishes to divest himself, 
 for a few short hours, of the depressing feeling of 
 adoration which the gaudy haberdashery of honour 
 excites in him when it appears to his dazzled eyes 
 surrounding the petted dolls of the earth, let him 
 take up his position upon the misty mountain-tops 
 which frequently shut in great cities, or, if nature 
 fails him, let him labour to the summit of one of 
 those lofty monuments — those light-houses of the 
 land — which dwellers in crowded places have always 
 loved to raise in the centre of their homes. Seen 
 from such a place, the prince's chariot and the 
 huckster's cart, the glossy citizen and the tattered 
 
ALL NIGHT ON THE MONUMENT. 45 
 
 beggar, the marble palace and the tottering rookery, 
 your dearest friend and your bitterest enemy, are all 
 merged in one mass of indistinguishable equality. 
 Heard from such a place, the roar, the accumulated 
 voice of the great city — lifted up in its joy, its labour, 
 its sorrow, its vice, and its suffering — sounds as the 
 sharp cry of agony issuing from the mouths of men 
 who are chained within the hateful bounds, by 
 imaginary wants and artificial desires : yet it fills the 
 heart with no more sense of pity than the united 
 plaint of low-sighing pain coming from the wretched 
 flies on yonder besmeared fly-catcher. It is the curse 
 of excessive smallness to be ill-treated and despised. 
 Men who would shrink with horror from wounding 
 an elephant, will crush ten thousand insects under 
 their heels, and whistle while they do it. Those black 
 dots that hurry and wriggle through the crowded 
 streets that look no wider than the passages of a 
 beehive, what are they ? Men with immortal souls • 
 centres of happy household ; fathers, brothers, and 
 husbands, if you look them in the face ; but, seen 
 from the trifling elevation of a few hundred feet, they 
 sink into the most miserable beetles that ever crawled 
 down a gutter. Drop a paving-stone upon them 
 crushing a dozen at a blow, and even with your own 
 father amongst the group, would you feel, from the 
 evidence of your senses, that you were the perpe- 
 trator and witness of a horrid crime ? You would 
 probably be as one who sees a great battle afar off— 
 
46 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 sees a puff of smoke and the closing together of a few 
 red lines — and who, while ten thousand men are 
 lying dead upon the field, and thirty thousand 
 children are weeping for their fathers, sits with the 
 calm unruffled serenity of an Egyptian sphinx, the 
 vacant placidity of a Nineveh monarch, or the silent 
 contempt of the gods upon Mount Olympus. If the 
 black dots in the deep distant street were to hustle, 
 fight, and destroy each other, like the animalculse in 
 a drop of water, you would probably laugh at them, 
 as you laugh at the insect battle when revealed to 
 you by the powers of the microscope. May all this 
 teach the same lesson to you as it does to me ! — a 
 lesson of humanity to the weak and small. 
 
 It was in some such spirit as this that,, at four 
 o'clock on the afternoon of Thursday, the thirty-first 
 day of December, eighteen hundred and fifty-seven, 
 I became the guest of the Eight Honourable the Cor- 
 poration of the City of London, and ascended their 
 noble monument on Fish Street Hill, coming down 
 to mingle in the world once more — after a period of 
 seventeen hours — at nine o'clock on the morning of 
 the first day of January, eighteen hundred and fifty- 
 eight. I have nothing to urge in complaint of the 
 want of readiness and courtesy displayed by the City 
 authorities in acceding to my wishes. With the same 
 hospitality which distinguishes the Guildhall and the 
 Mansion House, Mr. Bunning, the City Architect, 
 exerted himself, at a very short notice, to welcome 
 
ALL NIGHT ON THE MONUMENT. 47 
 
 me to the bleak column of sixteen hundred and 
 seventy- seven. Mr. John Bleaden, the official keeper 
 of the Monument, also insisted upon his deputy 
 staying up all night. Below there was a fire, in the 
 event of my wanting thawing at any period of the 
 long watch. The deputy came up once (about nine 
 o* clock at night), evidently expecting to find me sunk 
 in a dangerous sleep, as people are supposed to sink 
 when exposed to cold for any long period in elevated 
 positions ; but finding me brisk and lively, and being 
 told by me to go and brew half-a-gallon of egg-hot, he 
 descended the long winding staircase very cheerfully. 
 My object in exposing myself all those hours in 
 such an elevated cage on a winter's night, was not 
 to gratify any lunatic whim (although I pride my- 
 self upon having that slight tinge of insanity which 
 gives a spice and flavour to a man), nor was it for 
 the purpose of scientific experiment; but simply to 
 see the aspects of the night from hour to hour, and, 
 under new circumstances,® far away from convivial 
 atmospheres (of which I have had enough) and my 
 family circle (of which I have not had enough) to 
 witness in a peculiar solitude — in the world but not 
 of the world — the death of that old, rotten, bankrupt 
 swindling year that was just about to pass ; the year 
 upon which we all turned our backs with little sorrow 
 and regret, and to witness the birth of that other new, 
 untried year that we were just about to reach, and 
 which, I fear, we turned our faces to with little hope. 
 
48 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 I am a conscientious man ; and although I know 
 that in a great degree I have my public in my hands 
 (for few men are likely to test my experiences by a 
 similar experiment, and if they were so disposed, no 
 two nights are the same throughout the year), still 
 I will not abuse the trust confided in me ; but will, 
 to the best of my ability, record what I saw and felt 
 on the borders of cloud-land without exaggeration. 
 
 The Monument is not the highest building in 
 London — as every Londoner knows — but it has the 
 advantage of being very central; its outer gallery, 
 or cage, extending over the column all round, gives 
 you the feeling — not an unpleasant one — of being 
 entirely unsupported from below, as if in the car of 
 a balloon ; and while it is high enough to impress you 
 with a firm belief in your immeasurable superiority 
 to your diminutive fellow- worms beneath, it is not so 
 lofty that it quite removes you from all sympathy 
 with the doing3 and movements of those very con- 
 temptible, but very interesting creatures to whom 
 you belong. 
 
 Ascending on this winter's afternoon, at four 
 o'clock, I find the City — from north to west, and 
 from west to south — half encircled by a high, black, 
 dense wall, just above which shines the golden cross 
 which surmounts Saint Paul's Cathedral. Fog and 
 cloud this wall may be ; but what a noble barrier it 
 is ! rising high into those purple heavens, in which the 
 imagination may see more forms of golden palaces, 
 
ALL NIGHT ON THE MONUMENT. 49 
 
 and thrones, and floating forms than ever Martin 
 dreamed of in his sleep, and which, when his feeble 
 pencil endeavoured to put them upon canvas, with all 
 their beauty, height, and breadth, and depth, dege- 
 nerated into an earthly Vauxhall Gardens sticking in 
 the air. Keep all the masterpieces of Turner — or 
 any of the great colourists — down between the close 
 walls of the City, but do not bring them up here to 
 be shamed into insignificance by the glow of Nature. 
 Then, the veil of fog and mist which covers half the 
 City like a- sea, and under which you hear the murmur 
 and feel the throbbing of the teeming life — see it float 
 away like the flowing skirts of an archangel's robe, 
 revealing churches, bridges, mansions, docks, ship- 
 ping, river, streets, and men, and tell me, lover of 
 the picturesque, and dweller in the valley of coughs 
 and respirators, wouldst thou give up this fog with all 
 its ever-changing, glowing, Uembrandt-like effects,for 
 all the brilliant, clear blue monotony of the vaunted 
 Italian sky, and all the sharply defined outline and 
 cleanly insipidity of Italian palaces ? For the love of 
 art and nature, say "Never !" like a man. 
 
 The puppet men now hurry to and fro, lighting 
 up the puppet shops ; which cast a warm, rich glow 
 upon the pavement. A cross of dotted lamps springs 
 into light, the four arms of which are the four great 
 thoroughfares from the City. Red lines of fire come 
 out behind black, solid, sullen masses of building, and 
 spires of churches stand out in strong dark relief at 
 
 E 
 
50 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 the side of busy streets. Up in the house-tops, under 
 green-shaded lamps, you may see the puppet clerks 
 turning quickly over the clean, white fluttering pages 
 of puppet day-books and ledgers ; and from east to 
 west, you see the long silent river, glistening here 
 and there with patches of reddish light, even through 
 the looped steeple of the church of Saint Magnus the 
 Martyr. Then, in a white circle of light round the 
 city, dart out little neublous clusters of homes, some 
 of them high up in the air, mingling in appearance 
 with the stars of heaven ; some with one lamp, some 
 with two or more ; some yellow and some red ; and 
 some looking like bunches of fiery grapes in the con- 
 gress of twinkling suburbs. Then the bridges throw 
 up their arched lines of lamps, like the illuminated 
 garden- walks at Cremorne — like the yellow buttons 
 on the page's jacket, or the round brassheaded nails 
 in a coffin. 
 
 Meantime the roar of the great city goes steadily 
 on — the noise of voices — the rumble of carts — the 
 bells on the land and river — the crash and clinking 
 of chains falling from heavy cranes into paved yards — 
 the distant shriek and whistle of the engines on the 
 railway, and the barking of dogs. Then another 
 sense is regaled with the smell of warm grains from 
 breweries, the roasting of coffee, and the frying of 
 numerous herrings. 
 
 The different clocks have, by this time, struck the 
 hour of eight — not simultaneously, for the City time- 
 
ALL. NIGHT ON THE MONUMENT. 51 
 
 measurers are so far behind each other, that the last 
 chime of eight has hardly fallen on the ear from the 
 last church, when another sprightly clock is ready to 
 commence the hour of nine. Each clock, however, 
 governs, and is believed in by, its immediate neigh- 
 bourhood. The lights are turned out, one by one, 
 in the puppet shops. The glowing pavement before 
 them becomes black. The last account is balanced, 
 or the last item posted in the puppet ledgers. The 
 green-shaded lamps die out, and the puppet clerks 
 and warehousemen join the great human stream that 
 is flowing rapidly along the illuminated roads that 
 lead to home. The city becomes blacker and blacker, 
 and the twinkling suburbs seem to glisten more 
 brightly, as the imagination pictures the faces of 
 expectant wives, mothers, daughters, and sisters, 
 looking out to welcome husbands, sons, fathers, and 
 brothers, in carriage, cab, omnibus, and coach ; or, in 
 the person of the more humble or healthy pedestrian. 
 
 Many of those hurrying men fly from the City as 
 Cain did from the murdered body of Abel; and it 
 would be better that they should smite to the earth, 
 the trusting, loving circles of women and children 
 that meet them at their doors, than whisper in their 
 ears the dark, heavy secrets that are weighing like 
 lead upon their hearts. 
 
 Nine ; ten ; eleven by the church clocks, and the 
 great city, silent as death — save for the occasional 
 rattle of a stray cab or omnibus — with all its treasures, 
 
52 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 its precious metals and its costly fabrics, is like one 
 vast empty workshop left in the charge of a few 
 policemen, a few porters, a few boys, and a few old 
 women. Its dreamers and its workers are at rest — 
 far away from its walls — preparing for that never- 
 ceasing, ever -recurring struggle of to-morrow, and 
 to-morrow, and to-morrow. 
 
 The moon has now increased in power; and, 
 acting on the mist, brings out the surrounding 
 churches, one by one. There they stand in the soft 
 light, a noble army of temples thickly sprinkled 
 amongst the money-changers. Any taste may be 
 suited in structural design. There are high churches, 
 low churches, flat churches, broad churches, narrow 
 churches, square, round, and pointed churches; 
 churches with towers like cubical slabs sunk deeply 
 in between the roofs of houses ; towers like tooth- 
 picks ; like three-pronged forks ; like pepper-castors ; 
 like factory chimneys ; like lime-kilns ; like a sailor's 
 trousers hung up to dry ; like bottles of fish-sauce ; 
 and, like Saint Paul's — a balloon turned topsy-turvy. 
 There they stand, like giant, spectral watchmen 
 guarding the silent city ; whose beating heart still 
 murmurs in its sleep. At the hour of midnight they 
 proclaim with iron tongue, the advent of a new year, 
 mingling a song of joy with a wail for the departed. 
 
 Shortly after midnight, a volume of smoke bursts 
 from the quarter of a great Southwark brewery, dense 
 and vast as the clouds on which stood Polyphemus 
 
ALL NIGHT ON THE MONUMENT. 53 
 
 when derided by Ulysses— stretching away in wreaths 
 across Saint Paul's for miles over the Hampstead 
 hills, — a contravention of Lord Palmerston's act in 
 the dead of night, so sublime and Titanic in its 
 grandeur, that I should be paralysed with fear if I 
 attempted to inform against it. Far from having' any 
 design of the kind, I am profoundly thankful that so 
 much pictorial effect — as in the case of the fog — can 
 be got out of what is generally treated as a nuisance. 
 
 All night long there has been little or no rest 
 upon the river; shouting of names, the passage of 
 small craft, the sound of quarrelling, the throwing 
 down of heavy metal bodies, and now, at one and 
 two o' clock, the iron tug-boats move about, and the 
 large vessel at London Bridge Wharf (probably for 
 Hull) begins to get up her steam. The land on the 
 other side of the water has contributed the shriek 
 of the railway whistle at intervals all through the 
 night; with the discharge of fog signals, like the 
 occasional firing of guns, up to three o'clock, which 
 sounds as if some eccentric military gentleman had 
 chosen this mode of being awakened for an early 
 train. 
 
 About four o'clock I hear the hissing sound of 
 brooms in the streets at the base of my watch-tower, 
 and I gaze over at the early puppet scavengers as 
 they ply their sanitary trade. Looking down upon 
 the dark, gray, quiet roofs beneath me, they present a 
 strange uneven picture ; like a town that has suddenly 
 
54 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 been half swallowed up in the earth, or a large slate- 
 quarry, with masses of the material lying about, in 
 rude plenty, in all directions. By this time Thames 
 Street has become a valley of fire; and, at that 
 gleaming corner by the Custom House, arise the 
 noises of the busy Fishmarket. Towards six o'clock 
 the twinkling suburbs — those red fiery stars of earth 
 — begin to pale, and a narrow strip of dirty orange- 
 coloured sky in the east, heralds the approach of 
 daybreak. When the lamps are put out in the 
 streets below, about seven o'clock, there is, as yet, 
 no daylight to supply their place, and whole thorough- 
 fares seem to sink into the earth, bit by bit ; while 
 London Bridge appears to be chopped away, arch by 
 arch, into the water. Then, a boundless sea of light 
 gray mist covers the house-tops like a deluge ; above 
 which the thin spires of churches struggle upward, 
 and you can almost fancy you see men cling to them 
 in their agony to be saved. As the dirty orange 
 slip in the heavens above becomes longer, broader, 
 and brighter, the sea of mist gradually subsides, 
 revealing a forest of pure slate-white smoke, which 
 floats and curls from ten thousand stirring houses, 
 awakened from their long night trance. "Watch it 
 for an hour — this other London nuisance; this 
 domestic offering which every morning is sent wind- 
 ing up to heaven — and see the forms of unutterable 
 beauty that it takes. Look at it, flowing up to, and 
 wreathing round, yonder spire of Bow Church like 
 
ALL NIGHT ON THE MONUMENT. 55 
 
 a band of supplicating angels with long waving 
 wings.' 
 
 A small circle of steel- coloured sky above my 
 head gradually widens, bringing more light; the 
 mist forms a dense black wall round the city — this 
 time from south to east, and east to north ; and the 
 moon, which started brilliantly from Whitechapel, is 
 now, with diminished lustre, hovering over Black- 
 friars ; helping to develop the sharp, clear form of 
 the upper part of Saint Paul's Cathedral; still 
 nothing more than the half of an inverted balloon. 
 The dark gray churches and houses spring into 
 existence, one by one. The streets come up out of 
 the land, and the bridges come up out of the water. 
 The bustle of commerce, and the roar of the great 
 human ocean — which has never been altogether 
 silent — revive. The distant turrets of the Tower, 
 and the long line of shipping on the river become 
 visible. Clear smoke still flows over the house-tops ; 
 softening their outlines, and turning them into a 
 forest of frosted trees. 
 
 Above all this is a long black mountain-ridge of 
 cloud, tipped with glittering gold ; beyond, float deep 
 orange and light yellow ridges bathed in a faint 
 purple sea. Through the black ridge struggles a 
 full, rich purple sun, the lower half of his disc tinted 
 with gray. Gradually, like blood-red wine running 
 into a round bottle, the purple overcomes the gray, 
 and, at the same time, the black cloud divides the 
 
56 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 face of the sun into two sections like the visor of a 
 harlequin. 
 
 The marked change between night and morning, 
 all takes place within thirty minutes — from half-past 
 seven to eight o'clock. 
 
 At the latter hour the new year is fairly launched 
 The first new day of work commences. New life 
 is infused into the now restless but long silent city. 
 The veil of night is removed from all the joy, and 
 crime, and sorrow that it has covered ; giving place 
 to the mists of day in which the churches, streets, 
 and houses come and go. The crowds of hurrying 
 atoms, who have awakened to a new day and a new 
 year, reluctantly leave the distant suburbs for the 
 dark thoroughfares that now lead from home, and 
 plunge once more into the whirling vortex of work, 
 of speculation, and of trade. Unequal and vastly 
 different they may be to each other, with all their 
 outer and their inner trappings — their wealth and 
 their poverty; their meekness and their severity; 
 their wisdom and their ignorance; their weakness 
 and their strength ; their theories, their dogmatism, 
 their palaces, their jewels, their pictures, and their 
 cherished books — but, to me, they appear only as a 
 set of amusing puppets acting a play, in which the 
 sick man cannot walk so fast as the strong man ; the 
 wise man is one who does not get run over by some- 
 thing larger than himself, and the rich man is one 
 who strides across another something in the road, 
 
ALL NIGHT ON THE MONUMENT. 57 
 
 instead of walking on the pavement. God help them 
 all ! They have struggled on for many weary years, 
 and will struggle for many more, when I, and the 
 structure that supported me so long, shall be num- 
 bered with the things that were. 
 
58 
 
 BRISTLES AND FLINT. 
 
 When the Direct Burygold Railway was opened, 
 nothing met the eye but clean, new masses of brick- 
 work ; gravelled roads, bright rails, iron girders, lines 
 of brilliant carriages, vast stations, solid bridges, 
 armies of porters, luxurious waiting-rooms, palatial 
 entrance-halls, endless corridors, encaustic pavements, 
 and Grecian porticos. What could be grander? 
 What could be more imposing? Every director of 
 the Burygold Railway was a monarch, and the chair- 
 man was the monarch of them all. No troublesome 
 accounts and balance sheets were there to damp the 
 joy of a splendid inauguration. Contractors had not 
 sent in their supplementary charges; lawyers' bills 
 for parliamentary conflicts and the purchase of land 
 were not even copied out, much less delivered. Great 
 George Street was waiting to gather strength for a 
 more effective spring ; and Park Street, for the pre- 
 sent, was perfectly tranquil. 
 
 Burygold was one of the most important manu- 
 facturing towns in the country. Its increase of popu- 
 lation, and industrial development, during the last 
 ten years, had astonished even its most sanguine in- 
 habitants. Old statists stared, and could scarcely 
 believe their eyes when they saw the report of 
 
BRISTLES AND FLINT. 59 
 
 the last census. No equal example of rapid growth 
 and apparent prosperity was recorded in the national 
 annals. Its consumption of raw material was some- 
 thing fabulous ; and its productions were known and 
 appreciated in every corner of the globe. No one 
 could see it — or rather visit it, and try to see it — 
 without being at once impressed with an overwhelm- 
 ing sense of its importance. People upon provincial 
 and metropolitan platforms got up and descanted 
 loudly upon its " mission," and were received with 
 the respect due to inspired unveilers of the future. 
 No town could number so many factory chimneys ; 
 no factory chimneys were so lofty ; no chimneys sent 
 forth such volumes of smoke. You might pass near 
 to it on a sunny day, and, great as it was, be unaware 
 of its existence, because of the self-created cloud 
 that enveloped it. From a quiet country road, a few 
 miles distant, you might observe a black dense mass 
 of vapour in the air above the trees, which any one 
 would tell you was Burygold. Walking through its 
 streets you would be struck with the hard, dry, 
 anxious expression of the men, the absence of women, 
 and the want of everything that betokened amuse- 
 ment and recreation. It was work; nothing but 
 work — one ceaseless round of ever-beginning, never- 
 ending work. Masters and men shared the same lot 
 together. Men had homes; but they were never in 
 them, except for dull, weary, heavy sleep : masters 
 had carriages and mansions, but they only used the 
 
60 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 first to save the precious minutes, and they were 
 never at ease or happy at home. What was all this 
 unceasing labour for ? 
 
 No one could see any solid product springing 
 from this world of labour. Capital was absorbed, 
 and the cry was still for more. More capital not 
 being forthcoming the moment the cry was uttered, 
 the Burygold financiers found fault with the currency 
 system. The whole thing was out of order. The 
 bank charter was a worn-out measure, useful in its 
 time, but not adapted to the wants of a more enter- 
 prising age ; it was time to create a new coinage, 
 with paper and a few strokes of the pen. Some indi- 
 viduals looked calmly on at Burygold during her 
 struggle; watched her galvanic industry; accused 
 her, in company with every town of her kind in the 
 kingdom, of preferring extension to soundness of 
 operations, and were stigmatized as croakers, and 
 men of the past generation. Her manufacturers 
 strove against each other individually for quantity 
 without regard to quality of business; and collec- 
 tively they strove against every rival town of a similar 
 kind. 
 
 Many people wondered there had never been a 
 railroad to Burygold before, and they were not at all 
 surprised when, in a few years, the opening of a 
 second line was announced— the Great Deadlock 
 Railway. The estimates upon which this new line 
 was based were very favourable : perhaps, a trifle 
 
BRISTLES AND FLINT. 61 
 
 more favourable than those which had triumphantly 
 placed the Direct Burygold Railway at the head of 
 its fellow-undertakings in the stock-markets of this 
 country. 
 
 The directors of both companies — the Direct 
 Burygold and the Great Deadlock — were sound, 
 experienced men, with no nonsense or imagination 
 about them. They were practical men : men who 
 had never had a single dream in their lives : men who 
 made their mark in actions ; not in words : men fully 
 up to the level of their time, if not a little in advance 
 of it : men whose names were a guarantee for the 
 plain, common-sense character of what they did : 
 kindred men to those who had promoted Thames 
 Tunnels, Waterloo Bridges, and structures that had 
 created in the country a disappointed and disaffected 
 band of dividendless shareholders, but had increased 
 the number of the recognized wonders of the world. 
 
 Such were the men into whose experienced hands 
 the Great Deadlock and Burygold Railway enter- 
 prises had fallen ; and it cannot be wondered at, that 
 capital flowed in streams of abundance at their feet. 
 Shareholders who were happy in their unbounded 
 faith in names, and their belief in exceptional profits, 
 offered their support even before it was asked. 
 
 Two of the greatest men at their respective 
 boards ; in fact, we may go further, and say two of 
 the greatest men in the whole trading country, were 
 Mr. Jupiter Bristles and Mr. Mercator Flint. Mr. 
 
62 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 Bristles was the chairman of the Direct London and 
 Burygold Railway, and Mr. Flint was the chairman 
 of the Great Deadlock Railway. They were, un- 
 doubtedly, the right men in the right places. 
 
 Mr. Jupiter Bristles was a man who was fully 
 impressed with the importance of his position. He 
 was always at his post ; in fact, as Mrs. Bristles ob- 
 served, in her lonely mansion in one of the squares, 
 ' ' he seemed to live at the railway." He was never 
 so happy as when he was in the board-room, or 
 puffing along the platform of the London terminus, 
 with guards and porters touching their caps to him 
 on every side. He was always upon the spot to be 
 consulted on any emergency, and was never so 
 indignant as when no emergency arose for him to be 
 consulted upon. Traffic-managers and secretaries 
 were all very well — clever, able, and attentive men; 
 but they fully understood that not even the most 
 trifling step was to be taken without the sanction of 
 Mr. Bristles. Far from being annoyed when sum- 
 moned at what many men would consider untimely 
 seasons, it was his pride that he knew of no such 
 seasons ; and his particular instructions were that, at 
 any time ; at any hour of the day or night ; on any 
 day in the week ; in the midst of a dinner-party ; on 
 Sunday, and even in church, if wanted, he was, with- 
 out a moment's hesitation, to be called. 
 
 Mr. Bristles' s reward for all this activity, and at- 
 tention to the interests of the shareholders, was the 
 
BRISTLES AND FLINT. 63 
 
 gratification of his sense of self-importance. He had 
 influence; he had authority; and, without these 
 things, he would have withered away. He was a 
 stout man ; fifty ; and dressed scrupulously after the 
 fashion of the late Sir Robert Peel. In his own 
 dining-room he was represented in oil at full length, 
 with a board-room background; holding a roll of 
 paper in one hand, and with the fore-finger of his 
 other hand pointing to a spot upon a map lying on 
 the table. In his drawing-room he was again re- 
 presented in oil, at full length, with a background of 
 engines, bales of merchandise, a bridge, and a tunnel ; 
 while by his side was a large globe, on which his fore- 
 finger was pointing in much the same manner as it 
 did on the map. The day, he hoped, was not far dis- 
 tant when he should see his statue standing in the 
 great hall of the railway. When he took a party of 
 friends along the line — a right or privilege of which 
 he was very fond of availing himself — he considered 
 Watt a great man, and Stephenson not to be des- 
 pised ; but he knew of a greater than either of these 
 two — Mr. Jupiter Bristles. 
 
 Such attention at all hours, and all seasons, 
 " such a mastery of details, and such power of rapid 
 generali zation," as his particular disciple and sup- 
 porter at the board delighted to say of him, were not 
 without' their effect upon his brother directors. With 
 the exception of the preponderating influence of the 
 great contractors, Messrs. Brimstone, Treacle, and 
 
64i UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 Company, over the affairs of the Direct London 
 and Burygold Railway, Mr. Jupiter Bristles reigned 
 supreme, and there was every chance of his statue 
 being voted by the board. 
 
 Mr. Mercator Flint, the chairman of the Great 
 Deadlock Railway, was a thin, severe man, with a 
 crane-like neck, always enveloped, night and day, in 
 a stiff Brummel tie. He had his weaknesses (he 
 wanted to get into Parliament), but he was careful 
 enough never to show them ; and, without any com- 
 manding power of intellect, he impressed people with 
 a notion of inexhaustible ability, because of his ex- 
 treme caution and reservation. He had the masterly 
 talent of silence. 
 
 Being connected with the Stock Exchange, he 
 passed much of his time at the London terminus ; but 
 he was far above any vulgar gratification arising from 
 the servility of the servants of the company. They 
 touched their caps to him or bowed, as the case might 
 be ; but he took no notice of such useless marks of 
 respect, and passed on. His undoubted application 
 and his presumed abilities gave him a large degree of 
 influence over his brother directors ; and, with the 
 exception of that retained by the great contractors, 
 Messrs. Fiery, Furness, and Company, Mr. Mercator 
 Flint's power was absolute. 
 
 The Direct Burygold, and the Great Deadlock 
 railways could not exist together, running to the 
 same highly important town, without active rivalry. 
 
BRISTLES AND FLINT. 65 
 
 Indeed a silent encounter had been going on for 
 some time, the knowledge of which had not yet 
 reached the general public; for its injurious results 
 had not appeared in the annual accounts. This en- 
 counter took the form of what may be termed the 
 absorption of villages. 
 
 On each side of any main line of railway, will be 
 found a number of small places boasting a church, a 
 single street, a post-office, and a population of about 
 two hundred feeble villagers. These villages may be 
 five miles, or ten miles distant from the line the rail- 
 way may take ; but there they will be, as sure as rivers 
 or Roman roads. Now, the Direct Bury gold and the 
 Great Deadlock lines, both going to Burygold, ran 
 nearly parallel, at about twenty miles' distance from 
 each other all the way; the villages lying between 
 them. Who made the first step towards absorbing 
 a village — whether Mr. Jupiter Bristles, aided by 
 Messrs. Brimstone, Treacle, and Company, or Mr. 
 Mercator Flint, assisted by Messrs. Fiery, Furness, 
 and Company — it is impossible to say; but there 
 was the fact, that both lines always reached one of 
 these favoured outlying spots about the same time. 
 The effect of so much costly branch communication 
 wa3 to impoverish the main lines, without developing 
 the small resources of the hopelessly stagnant places. 
 
 When a village was annexed, the three inhabi- 
 tants who went once a-week to London, were much 
 obliged to the two eminent chairmen for their kind 
 
66 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 attention and annexation. Sometimes a single pas- 
 senger of not very powerful intellect, was rendered 
 so undecided by the equal advantages of the time- 
 tables and fares of the two rival railroads, that he 
 sank down in a helpless condition, unable to choose 
 either. 
 
 Not content with the almost simultaneous ab- 
 sorption of humble villages, the antagonistic feeling 
 of the two great railway chairmen showed itself in 
 no less a struggle than a fight for the sole traffic to 
 and from Burygold. Fares were gradually reduced, 
 day after day, and manifestos covered the walls of 
 their respective railways, signed Jupiter Bristles, and 
 Mercator Flint. The public looked on with wonder 
 and delight at so much directorial spirit; and the 
 time came when the two hundred miles to Burygold 
 and back could be travelled over for the absurd price 
 of eighteen-pence. Strange people came out of me- 
 tropolitan hiding-places — people who had never heard 
 of Burygold before — treating themselves, first to 
 eighteenpennyworth of the Jupiter Bristles' novelty 
 and instruction, and then to eighteenpennyworth 
 from Mr. Mercator Flint. In return, uncouth 
 strangers from Burygold wandered about the fashion- 
 able streets of the metropolis, dressed in an un- 
 known garb, and speaking an unknown tongue. En- 
 gine-drivers and guards of the eighteenpenny trains 
 were nothing more than men, and conducted their 
 charges with a trifle less caution than usual, when 
 
BRISTLES AKE FLINT. 67 
 
 they thought of the absurdity of such minimized 
 fares. The result was that, once or twice, they ran 
 off the line, or into coal-trucks, and both Mr. Jupiter 
 Bristles and Mr. Mercator Flint discovered, to the 
 cost of their respective companies, that eighteen- 
 penuy passengers knew more about Lord Campbell's 
 Compensation Act, and the value of a bruised head, 
 or a broken limb, than aristocratic and regular 
 travellers. 
 
 How long this gigantic struggle, as Mr. Bristles 
 loved to term it, would have lasted, it is impossible 
 to say, if it had not been abruptly brought to a close 
 by the commercial collapse of the important town of 
 Burygold. This produced something like a truce be- 
 tween the two great chairmen ; a reasonable tariff of 
 fares was again resorted to ; and the warriors rested, 
 for the present, upon their laurels and their losses. 
 
 Burygold had over-traded itself. It had been 
 a Burygold boast that a retail trader could not 
 be found within its precincts : everybody was so ex- 
 tremely wholesale that every form of currency was 
 too restricted for Burygold's vast operations. Capi- 
 tal could not be made fast enough. It was time for 
 Burygold to put her shoulder to the wheel, and re- 
 model the whole financial system of the country ; for, 
 its productions had been shipped to every part of the 
 globe, but it had not been paid for them. 
 
 It was a sad thing to see so much energy, 
 so much smoke, so many factory chimneys utterly 
 
68 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 thrown away. The town looked highly practical. 
 In fact, what was it, if it was not practical ? It had 
 no beauty to recommend it ; it did not look like a 
 land of dreams. Mention Bagdad or Constantinople 
 at Bury gold, and everybody laughed. They knew 
 exactly what those places meant ;— oriental indolence, 
 oriental superstition, oriental weakness of mind and 
 body, oriental indifference to gas, main-sewers, water- 
 companies, and railroads. But Bury gold was the 
 type of Anglo-Saxon energy; and its mission was to 
 build iron bridges for insolvent States ; to construct 
 docks for companies that could not pay for them ; to 
 supply foreign armies with swords and fire-arms in 
 exchange for drafts upon tottering treasuries; to 
 tunnel foreign mountains, and to drain foreign bogs, 
 with a very misty prospect of remuneration; and 
 even to take its share in the cost and anxiety of con- 
 ducting a gigantic war for those oriental dreamers, 
 who were too indolent and incapable to conduct it 
 themselves. This was the practical mission which 
 Burygold had claimed for itself; and, while straining 
 undoubted powers to fulfil it to the utmost, it was in 
 danger of perishing almost hopelessly in the attempt. 
 Its chimneys towered upward as they did before, but 
 with no crown of smoky glory round their lofty 
 heads. Its broken-down contractors wandered list- 
 lessly through the mazes of their silent and motion- 
 less machinery, cursing the stillness produced by an 
 arbitrary law that limited the issue of paper-money, 
 
BRISTLES AND FLINT. 69 
 
 by fixing the convertibility of the bank-note. A 
 little more time, and a few more banking facilities, 
 and Burygold would have been as active as ever. 
 Now, her barges were lying still and empty upon her 
 inky canals; her waggons were reposing quietly in her 
 stables ; her workmen were standing in idle whisper- 
 ing groups at the corners of her black and smoky 
 streets, and in growling mobs opposite to her work- 
 house. Her capitalists were biting their nails over 
 melancholy balance-sheets in her dingy counting- 
 houses. They had been practical men ; — men who 
 had not dreamed dreams, but men who had acted 
 them. It was a pity they had failed : but their prin- 
 ciple — extension rather than soundness — led to ruin j 
 and their time had come. 
 
 Six months — twelve months — passed, and Bury- 
 gold, instead of "righting herself," as Mr. Bristles, 
 and also Mr. Flint, had confidently predicted it 
 would, only seemed to sink more helplessly and ir- 
 redeemably into the mire. It became evident that 
 something New must be struck out, to give the Great 
 Deadlock and the Direct Burygold enterprises a lift 
 in the market; — to preserve the chance of Mr. 
 Bristles' statue being voted, and the prospect of 
 the parliamentary membership of Mr. Flint. This 
 something new, after much deliberation, turned out 
 to be nothing more than a plan very familiar to both 
 Messrs. Brimstone and Treacle, and Messrs. Fiery, 
 Furness, and Company, the eminent contractors. It 
 
70 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 was spontaneously discovered, one morning, by Mr. 
 Bristles and Mr. Flint, that of whatever peculiar 
 advantages their respective railways could boast (and 
 it was not necessary — to quote a parenthesis from the 
 new prospectus — to enlarge upon what must be self- 
 evident to the meanest capacity), they both languished 
 for want of marine attractions. They went through 
 an agricultural country, a grazing country, an his- 
 torical country, a coal country, and a manufacturing 
 country; but they commanded no seaport, no coast 
 town, and it was not surprising that their dividends 
 languished. A Direct Burygold and Great Deadlock 
 Branch to the delightful and salubrious coast town of 
 Hookham-in-the-Marsh, was a public and politic de- 
 mand that was not to be resisted. 
 
 Hookham-in-the-Marsh was about fifty miles 
 across the country from Burygold; and, until dis- 
 covered by the railway surveyors, its sands were 
 almost strangers to the foot-prints of civilized man. 
 A flag- staff, a few huts, two fishing smacks, a boat 
 turned upside down, a wide expanse of mud, sand, 
 stones, and sea-weed, composed Hookham-in-the- 
 Marsh. A little out of the mud and water, about 
 two miles inland, was the parent town; sometimes 
 called Great Hookham ; sometimes, from the almost 
 imperceptible slope upward from the coast, called 
 Hookham-on-the-Hill. 
 
 Hookham-on-the-Hill had been a village in the 
 time of William the Conqueror, and a village it yet 
 
BRISTLES AND FLINT. 71 
 
 remained in the middle of the nineteenth century* 
 Its few inhabitants were unambitious and easy-going, 
 passing much of their time upon a bridge chewing 
 straw, and dropping stones into a small river that ran 
 down to the sea. Their staple manufacture was a 
 celebrated, but indigestible cheese, which caused the 
 town to have a faint smell, as if suffering from de- 
 fective sewerage; and their only pride was in a hard 
 cannon-ball kind of dumpling, which had been made 
 at the principal and only hotel — according to a strin- 
 gent proviso in the lease — uninterruptedly, every day, 
 for a period of two hundred years. There was also 
 a small ruin in the neighbourhood ; — the remains of 
 Saint Nettlerash's Abbey, looking very like a large 
 Gothic dust-bin ; and, up a certain stable-yard was a 
 spring, dropping into a stone basin from a rudely 
 carved lion' s head in the wall. "Whoever tasted the 
 waters of this spring, to the extent of half a pint, 
 was immediately confined to his bed with symptoms 
 of aggravated cholera, and excited unholy hopes in 
 the minds of expectant legatees. 
 
 Such were the chief features of Hookham-on-the- 
 Hill; which, added to the large semicircular coast 
 of mud, stones, sand, and sea-weed, that distinguished 
 the port of Hookham-in-the-Marsh, formed, in the 
 opinion of Mr. Bristles and Messrs. Brimstone, 
 Treacle, and Company, on the one hand, Mr. Flint 
 and Messrs. Fiery, Furness, and Company, on the 
 other, a more than usually favourable basis for the 
 
72 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 extension of railway enterprise. A deputation of 
 influential local individuals from Hookham-on-the- 
 Hill, waited privately on Mr. Mercator Flint (under 
 the advice of Messrs. Fiery, Furness, and Company), 
 and as good as told him that his election for that 
 ancient town might be considered as secured, on the 
 very day that the proposed station was opened in the 
 Great Hookham High Street. Messrs. Brimstone, 
 Treacle, and Company, went even further in influen- 
 cing Mr. Bristles ; for, aided by two faithful disciples 
 of that gentleman, they moved and carried at a full 
 meeting of the Direct Burygold Board : " That in 
 consideration of Mr. Bristles' talent and energy, his 
 undeviating attention to business details, and his 
 praiseworthy devotion to the best interests of the 
 Direct London and Burygold Railway, a sum of one 
 thousand pounds be set aside as a testimonial to 
 be presented to him in the form of a full-length 
 statue in stone, to be erected upon a pedestal in the 
 centre of the great entrance-hall at the London ter- 
 minus : such stone statue to be executed by the emi- 
 nent sculptor, Mr. Atticus Mallett." 
 
 These movements had the desired effect. The 
 Great Deadlock Company took a long lease of the 
 stable, yard and spring, obtained a highly scientific 
 and incomprehensible medical certificate of the bene- 
 ficial saline properties of the water, and built a 
 Corinthian pump-room. The Direct Burygold turned 
 its attention to the antiquarian history of Saint Net- 
 
BRISTLES AND FLINT. 73 
 
 tlerash's Abbey, and to looking-up several natural 
 advantages in the outskirts of Hookham-on- the- Hill. 
 Both Mr. Bristles and Mr. Flint, to all outward ap- 
 pearance, sank their individual and official animosi- 
 ties, and worked together for the proper and speedy 
 development of Hookham-in-the Marsh. Mr. Bris- 
 tles, at every possible opportunity, threw himself into 
 his favourite statuesque attitude, with his finger point- 
 ing upon the map, and held forth enthusiastically 
 upon the glowing future of the now obscure fishing- 
 station. 
 
 " No one," he said, " with any commercial dis- 
 cernment, could look at that vast natural bay — semi- 
 circular, and only open to favourable winds — and 
 hesitate to predict that, when brought by railroad 
 within four hours of the metropolis, its inevitable 
 destiny would be not only to ruin Smackborough, 
 Brigtown, and other watering-places, but to com- 
 mand at least fifty per cent, of the shipping business 
 of Great Britain." 
 
 Mr. Flint, in his own peculiar manner, and in 
 his own proper sphere, worked, like Mr. Bristles, 
 for the furtherance of the same object ; but notwith- 
 standing the energy and ability of the two great 
 chairmen, they were unable to prevail upon any in- 
 dependent capitalists to build upon the bleak and 
 muddy shore of their hopeful watering-place. In 
 the course of time, a certain number of monotonous 
 white houses, with green- shaded bow- windows, a 
 
74 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 bath-house, a railed enclosure, and six floating baths, 
 were placed upon the beach of Hcokham-in-the- 
 Marsh ; but placed with the capital of the two rail- 
 ways. Yet the two extensions were looked upon 
 with a large degree of public interest; and, when 
 news came that the Great Deadlock would require 
 a lofty viaduct, and the Direct Burygold a long tun- 
 nel, these things were only regarded as two more 
 great engineering difficulties which nature had raised 
 for Anglo-Saxon energy and capital to overcome. 
 So popular were the Great Hookham viaduct, and 
 the Great Hookham tunnel, that pictures of them 
 were drawn, engraved, and largely purchased by an 
 admiring public. Mr. Jupiter Bristles' statue was 
 immediately put in hand, and the parliamentary 
 membership of Mr. Mercator Mint began to assume 
 the appearance of an accomplished fact. 
 
 Things went on in this way for some months, 
 without any material change. Mr. Jupiter Bristles 
 called very often at the studio of Mr. Atticus Mallett, 
 to watch the progress of his statue, which seemed to 
 him very slow — a fact that he accounted for from 
 the dreamy character of artists, who were not prac- 
 tical men. Mr. Mercator Flint was very busy on 
 the Stock Exchange, and patiently awaited the time 
 when he should be entitled to write M.P. after his 
 name. 
 
 Some profound writer has written, " Alas, for 
 the vanity of human wishes I" One morning intelli- 
 
BRISTLES AND FLINT. 75 
 
 gence came of the downfall of the Great Hookham 
 Viaduct; and close upon it, came a report that 
 the engineer of the tunnel could not, in Bury gold 
 fashion, make both ends meet, and that the Great 
 Hookham Tunnel would have to be entirely recon- 
 structed. 
 
 There was nothing very remarkable in this : at 
 the worst, the result would only be some months' 
 delay, as the loss would fall upon the contractors, 
 Messrs. Fiery, Furness, and Company, and Messrs. 
 Brimstone and Treacle. But, at this period, a large 
 and important class of persons — perhaps the most 
 important — whom, we have scarcely alluded to, be- 
 cause they always persisted in keeping entirely in the 
 background : the people who found the money for 
 all this Anglo-Saxon energy on the part of directors ; 
 the shareholders — the silent, contented, believing, 
 suffering shareholders — began to stand forward for a 
 personal investigation of the condition of their pro- 
 perty ; and it was evident that a long- gathering storm 
 was about to break. Great events have received a 
 wonderful stimulus, if not their origin, from very 
 trifling causes. A French revolution was started by 
 a half-crazy woman tattooing a child's drum in the 
 streets of old Paris; and a great railway reform 
 movement originated with the fall of the Hookham 
 Viaduct, and the misdirection of the Hookham 
 Tunnel. 
 
 Mr. Mercator Mint anticipated the investiga- 
 
76 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 tion; operated to his own advantage on the Stock 
 Exchange, resigned his chairmanship, and disap- 
 peared. Some years afterwards he came forward as 
 one of the most energetic of the railway reformers, and 
 his services were gladly accepted, upon the well-known 
 principle that governs the choice of thief-catchers. 
 
 Mr. Jupiter Bristles, more confident, or less 
 clear-headed, stood his ground, and was formally 
 expelled from the Board-room throne by a committee 
 of investigation. His statue was ruthlessly and un- 
 feelingly countermanded when more than half-way 
 finished. It was left a mass of ungainly stone, with 
 one blank sightless eye; the whole looking like a 
 gigantic wen. 
 
 The two railways were carried sulkily and sul- 
 lenly through Hookham-on-the-Hill, to Hookham-in- 
 the-Marsh, as there appeared to be nothing better left 
 to do. This watering-place still exists for those who 
 are curious to see it ; but it does not thrive. Some 
 people pretend they like its romantic solitude ; but 
 their opinion is not to be relied on. It does very 
 well for young married couples who wish to spend 
 an undisturbed honeymoon ; but, even for these, it 
 is not altogether cheerful, as a melancholy memory 
 clings to it, beyond the power of the muddy waves 
 to wash away — the memory of one visitor-suicide 
 and two visitor-idiots. As a port, it is still inacces- 
 sible to a Dutch lugger. 
 
 One investigation followed upon another, and it 
 
BRISTLES AND FLINT. 77 
 
 was found that there were other sores in the body- 
 politic of the Direct Burygold, and the Great Dead- 
 lock, besides the Hookham-in-the-Marsh extensions ; 
 and that other railways had also sores, and chairmen 
 like the practical Mr. Jupiter Bristles and Mr. Mer- 
 cator Flint. The great and blessed legacy left by 
 the Watts and Stephensons of the past had been 
 made the dice-box ^f sharpers and knaves, and the 
 football of fools and beadles incarnate. Faded wi- 
 dows and helpless orphans came with their withered 
 shares to the gate, . and were sent empty away ; 
 weeping in the present, desponding for the future. 
 
78 
 
 THE END OE EORDYCE, BROTHERS. 
 
 As long as I can remember, I have always loved the 
 City — taking a strange delight in wandering up and 
 down its busy streets, elbowing its merchants in 
 their favourite gathering-places, and listening to the 
 marvellous histories of many of its greatest money- 
 makers. I like these men, perhaps, because I am 
 not of them. I am of that listless, aimless, dreamy 
 nature, which could not make money if it tried. The 
 most promising enterprise would wither under my 
 touch. ~Few are the guineas in my pocket that I 
 can call my own, but I am well content, and no feel- 
 ing of envy arises in my mind as I listen to the 
 musical clinking of coin that comes from the open 
 doors of the rich banking-houses. 
 
 My most frequent haunt is an old nook in the 
 heart of the City, which, although now thrown open 
 as a public thoroughfare, must have been, in former 
 times, the private garden of some wealthy merchant's 
 mansion. The entrance is under a low archway, 
 built with bricks of the deepest purple red, and over 
 the archway, in a white niche, stands a short, weather- 
 beaten figure of a man, cut in stone, in a costume of 
 a former age. Passing over the well-worn pavement 
 through the arch, you find yourself in a small quadran- 
 
THE END OF FORDYCE, BROTHERS. 79 
 
 gle containing that rarest of all tilings in these mo- 
 dern days — a city garden. Small care does it now 
 receive, because no one can claim it as his own. The 
 ground is black and hard — the yellow gravel having 
 long since been trodden out — and the chief vegeta- 
 tion which it boasts are two large chestnut-trees, that 
 seem to gain in breadth and vigour as the years roll 
 on. A few drooping flowers in one corner, show 
 that some town-bred hand is near, fond of the children 
 of the country, though little versed in their nature 
 and their ways. Under the shade of one of the trees 
 stands an old wooden seat, chipped in many places, 
 and rudely carved with names and dates. Sitting 
 on this bench, and looking before you to the other 
 side of the quadrangle, the eye rests upon a short 
 passage running under wooden arches, like an aisle 
 in the old Flemish Exchange of Sir Thomas Gresham. 
 On the face of the brickwork dwelling surmounting 
 these arches (now turned into offices) is fixed a rain- 
 washed sun-dial, and over this is a small weathercock 
 turret that at one time contained a bell. 
 
 Any time between twelve o' clock and four I may 
 be found seated upon that old bench under the tree. 
 Sometimes I bring a book, and read; sometimes 
 I sit in listless repose, repeopling the place with 
 quaintly-dressed shadows of the old stout-hearted 
 merchants of the past. I seldom have more than 
 one companion. Under the archway, and along 
 the passage, busy men pass to and from their work 
 
80 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 the whole day long, but they are too much occupied, 
 or too anxious, to give a moment's glance at the gar- 
 den, or to linger by the way. My only fellow- visi- 
 tor is an old clerk, whose years must have numbered 
 nearly ninety, but whose memory is clear and strong, 
 although his body is bent with age. He is a kind 
 of pensioner connected with the place, and is the 
 owner of the few faded flowers in the corner of the 
 ground, which he tends with his own hands. For 
 eighty long, weary years he has lived in these old 
 buildings, never having been out of the City further 
 than Newington fields. Here he was born, and here, 
 when the appointed time shall come, within sound of 
 the familiar bells, and the familiar footsteps of the 
 money-makers tramping over his head, he will drop 
 into a City grave. 
 
 From the day when I ventured to give him some 
 advice about the management of a lilac bush, appa- 
 rently in a dying state, he came and sat by my side, 
 pouring into my willing ear all the stories that he 
 knew about the old houses that surrounded us. He 
 soon found in me a sympathetic listener, who never 
 interrupted or wearied of his narratives — the" stores 
 of a memory which extends over more than three- 
 fourths of a century of time. 
 
 At one corner of the quadrangle is a part of the 
 building with several long, dark, narrow, dusty win- 
 dows, closely shut up with heavy oaken shutters, 
 scarcely visible through the dirt upon the glass. 
 
THE END OF EORDYCE, BROTH EES. 81 
 
 None of the panes are broken, like those of a house 
 in chancery, but its general gloomy, ruined appear- 
 ance would assuredly have given it up as a prey to 
 destruction, if it had not been in its present secluded 
 position. Its dismal aspect excited my interest, and I 
 obtained from my companion his version of its story. 
 
 I give it in his own person, though not exactly 
 in his own words. 
 
 About the middle of the last century, two bro- 
 thers were in business in these houses as general 
 merchants, whose names were James and Robert 
 Fordyce. They were quiet, middle-aged, amiable 
 gentlemen, tolerably rich, honourable in their deal- 
 ings, affable and benevolent to their servants, as I 
 found during the few years that I was in their em- 
 ployment. Their transactions were large, and their 
 correspondents very numerous; but, although they 
 must have been constantly receiving information, by 
 letter and otherwise, that would have been valuable 
 to them in speculations on the stock-market, they 
 never, to the best of my knowledge, made use of it. 
 for that purpose, but confined their attention strictly 
 to their trade. This building was not divided then 
 as you see it now. In that corner which is closed 
 up were our counting-houses, the private room of the 
 two brothers being on the ground -floor. The rest of 
 the square was used as warehouses, except the side 
 over the arches, and that was set apart as the 
 private residence of the partners, who lived there 
 
82 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 together, one being a bachelor, and the other a 
 widower without children. I was quite a young man 
 at this time, but I remember everything as dis- 
 tinctly as if it was only yesterday that I am speaking 
 about, instead of seventy years ago. I have, perhaps, 
 a strong reason for my sharpened memory — I con- 
 sider myself the innocent cause of the destruction of 
 the firm of Fordyce, Brothers, through an accident 
 resulting from my carelessness. One afternoon I 
 went to the Post-office with a letter directed to a 
 firm in Antwerp with whom we had large dealings. 
 I dropped it on the way. It contained a bank draft 
 for a large amount, and, although every search was 
 made for it that afternoon and evening, it was without 
 success. The next morning, about eleven o'clock, 
 it was brought to our counting-house by a rather 
 short young man of singular though pleasing aspect, 
 named Michael Armstrong. He had a long inter- 
 view with the elder partner, Mr. James Fordyce, in 
 the private room, and what transpired we never 
 exactly knew; but the result was, that from that 
 hour Michael Armstrong took his seat in our office 
 as the junior clerk. 
 
 I had many opportunities of observing our new 
 companion, and I used them to the best of my abi- 
 lity. His appearance was much in his favour, and 
 he had a considerable power of making himself 
 agreeable when he thought proper to use it. It was 
 impossible to judge of his age. He might have been 
 
THE END OE FORDYCE, BROTHERS. 83 
 
 fifteen — lie might have been thirty. His face, at 
 times, looked old and careworn, at others, smiling and 
 young, but there was sometimes a vacant calculating, 
 insincere expression in his eye that was not pleasant. 
 He made no friends in the place — none sought him, 
 none did he seek — and I do not think he was liked 
 enough by any of the clerks to be made the subject 
 of those little pleasantries that are usually indulged 
 in at every office. They had probably detected his 
 ability and ambition, and they already feared him. 
 
 I thought at one time I was prejudiced against 
 him, because I had been the chance instrument of 
 bringing him to the place, and because his presence 
 constantly reminded me of a gross act of carelessness 
 that had brought down upon me the only rebuke I 
 ever received from my employers. But I found out 
 too well afterwards, that my estimate of his character 
 was correct — more correct than that of my fellow- 
 clerks, many of whom were superior to me in edu- 
 cation and position, though not in discernment. 
 
 My constant occupation — when I was not ac- 
 tively employed in the duties of the office — was 
 watching Michael Armstrong ; and I soon convinced 
 myself, that everything he did was the result of 
 deep, quick, keen, and selfish calculation. I felt 
 that the bringing back of the letter was not the re- 
 sult of any impulse of honesty, but of a conviction 
 that it was safer and more profitable to do so, coupled 
 with a determination to make the most of his seeming 
 
84 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 virtue. What the elder Mr. Fordyce gave him, I 
 never knew ; but I judge from his liberal character 
 that it was something considerable ; and I know that 
 when Michael Armstrong took his place in our 
 counting-house, he was only doing that which he 
 had willed to do from the first moment that he had 
 opened the lost letter, and ascertained the firm from 
 whom it was sent. There was, at times, something 
 fearfully, awfully fascinating in watching the silent, 
 steady working of a will like his, and to see it break- 
 ing down it its progress every barrier opposed against 
 it, whether erected by God or man ; others saw it, 
 and watched it, like me, and were equally dazzled 
 and paralysed. 
 
 Michael Armstrong affected to be somewhat deaf 
 — I said affected, for I have good reason to believe 
 that the infirmity was put on to aid him in deve- 
 loping his many schemes. During the greater part 
 of the day he acted as private secretary of the two 
 brothers, sitting in one corner of their large room, 
 by that window on the ground-floor to the left, 
 which is now closed up, like all the others in that 
 portion of the building. 
 
 I have said before that the firm were often in the 
 receipt of early and valuable intelligence, which they 
 used for the legitimate purposes of their trade, 
 but never for speculations in the stock-market. A 
 good deal of our business lay in corn and sugar, and 
 the information that the brothers got, enabled them 
 
THE END OF FORDYCE, BROTHERS. 85 
 
 to make large purchases and sales with greater ad- 
 vantage. Sometimes special messengers came with 
 letters, sometimes pigeon expresses, as was the custom 
 in those days. Whatever words dropped from the 
 partners' table — (and they dropped with less reserve, 
 as there was only a half-deaf secretary in the room) 
 — were drunk in by that sharp, calm, smiling, deceit- 
 ful face at the window. But, perhaps, his greatest 
 opportunity was during the opening of the morning 
 letters — many of them valuable, as coming from 
 important correspondents abroad. Michael Arm- 
 strong's duty was to receive the key of the strong- 
 room from the partners, w T hen they came to business 
 in the morning, and to prepare the books for the 
 clerks in the outer offices. This strong-room was 
 just at the back of Mr. James Fordyce's chair, and 
 as he opened the most important correspondence, 
 reading it to his brother, who rested on the corner 
 of the table, there must have been a sharp eye and a 
 sharper ear watching through the crevices of the iron 
 door behind them. The next duty that fell to 
 Michael Armstrong, after the letters were read and 
 sorted, was, to take any drafts that might be in 
 them to the bankers, and bring back the cash-box, 
 which was always deposited there for safety over- 
 night. This journey gave him an opportunity of 
 acting upon the information that he had gathered, 
 and he lost no time in doing so. Of course, we 
 never knew exactly what he did, or how he did it ; 
 
86 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 but we guessed that through some agent, with the 
 money that Mr. James Fordyce had given him when 
 he brought back the letter, he made purchases and 
 sales in the stock-market, with more or less success. 
 He never altered in his manner or appearance ; never 
 betrayed by word or signs to any of the clerks, his 
 losses or his gains ; and never neglected his me- 
 chanical duties, although he must have been much 
 troubled in mind at times, by the operations he was 
 conducting secretly out of doors. 
 
 Although not a favourite with the clerks, he be- 
 came a favourite with the partners. There was no 
 undue partiality exhibited towards him, for they 
 were too scrupulously just for that — but his remark- 
 able business aptitude, his care and industry, his 
 manners, and probably his supposed infirmity, 
 brought immediately before them, every hour in the 
 day by his position as private secretary, had a natural 
 influence, and met with adequate reward. 
 
 In this way five years passed, quietly enough, to 
 all outward appearance ; but Michael Armstrong was 
 working actively and desperately beneath the surface, 
 and biding his time. 
 
 In those upper rooms to the right, exactly facing 
 our counting-houses, lived an old clerk, named Bar- 
 nard, with one child, a daughter, named Esther. 
 * The place was a refuge provided for an old and faith- 
 ful, poor, and nearly worn-out servant of the house ; 
 and the salary he received was more like a pension, 
 
THE END OF FORDYCE, BROTHERS. 87 
 
 for his presence was never required in the office, 
 except when he chose to render it. The daughter 
 superintended the home of the two brothers, who, as 
 I have said before, lived upon the premises in those 
 rooms over the arches. 
 
 Esther Barnard, at this time, was not more than 
 twenty years of age; rather short in figure; very 
 pretty and interesting, with large, dark, thoughtful 
 eyes. Her manners were quiet and timid, the 
 natural result of a life spent chiefly within these red- 
 bricked walls, in attendance upon an infirm father, 
 and two old merchants. She went out very seldom, 
 except on Sundays and Wednesday evenings, and 
 then only to that old city church just beyond the 
 gateway, whose bells are ringing even now. In the 
 summer-time, after business hours, she used to bring 
 her work and sit upon this bench, under this tree ; 
 and in winter her favourite place, while her father was 
 dozing over the fire in a deep leathern chair, was in 
 the dark recesses of that long window, in the corner 
 of their sitting-room, overlooking the garden. She 
 was very modest and retiring, never appearing more 
 than was absolutely necessary during the day ; but 
 for all her care, many a busy pen was stopped in the 
 office as her small, light form flitted rapidly under 
 the arched passage ; and many an old heart sighed 
 in remembrance of its bygone youthful days, while 
 many a young heart throbbed with something mere 
 of hope and love. 
 
88 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 The one who saw her most was Michael Arm- 
 strong. His duty, every night, was to lock up 
 the warerooms and counting'houses, rendering the 
 keys to old Barnard, who placed them in the private 
 apartments of the two brothers. Since the old 
 clerk's bodily weakness had increased, this task was 
 confided to his daughter, who executed it timidly at 
 first, gaining courage, however, by degrees, until, at 
 last, she came to consider it a part of the day's 
 labour, even pleasant to look forward to. Whether 
 Michael Armstrong ever really loved Esther Barnard 
 is more than I can say. I have to judge him 
 heavily enough in other and greater matters, and I 
 am, therefore, loth to suspect him in this. He had 
 no faith, no hope, no heart — nothing but brain, 
 brain, ceaseless brain; and small love, that I have 
 found, ever came from a soul like this. "What he 
 thought and meant was always hidden behind the 
 same calm, smiling mask — the same thoughtful, 
 deceptive, even beautiful face. He used his appear- 
 ance as only another instrument to aid him in 
 his designs, and he seldom used it in vain. Esther's 
 love for Michael Armstrong was soon no secret to 
 the whole house, and many, while they envied him, 
 sincerely pitied her, though they could scarcely give 
 a reason for so doing. The partners, however — espe- 
 cially Mr. James Eordyce — looked with favour upon 
 the match; but, from some cause, her father, old 
 Barnard, felt towards it a strange repugnance. It 
 
THE END OF FORDYCE, BROTHERS. 89 
 
 may have been that there was some selfish feeling 
 at the bottom of his opposition — some natural and 
 pardonable disinclination to agree to an union, that 
 threatened to deprive him in his sickness and his old 
 age of an only daughter who was both his companion 
 and his nurse. Be this as it may, he would not fix 
 any definite time for the marriage, although, for his 
 daughter's sake, he did not prohibit the visits of him 
 upon whom her heart was bestowed. Michael Arm- 
 strong did not press just then for a more favourable 
 determination, and, for this reason, I am led to be- 
 lieve that he had obtained his object — an excuse for 
 being upon the premises unsuspected after the busi- 
 ness hours of the day were over. I never knew 
 him to allow his will to be opposed, and I must, 
 therefore, conclude, that in this instance he was 
 satisfied with the ground that had been gained. 
 Esther, too, was happy — happy in her confidence 
 and pure affection — happy in the presence of him 
 she loved — happy in being powerless to penetrate 
 behind the stony, cruel, selfish mask, that in her 
 trusting eyes, seemed always lighted up with love 
 and truth. 
 
 In this way, the daily life went on for several 
 months. Michael Armstrong, by care — unceasing 
 care — perseverance, and talent, rose, day by day, in 
 the respect and estimation of the partners. Much 
 was entrusted to him ; and although he was not visi- 
 bly promoted over the heads of his seniors, he was 
 
90 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 still the confidential clerk ; and the one in whom 
 was centred the management of the banking and 
 financial transactions of the honse. We presumed — 
 for we knew nothing then — that he was still working 
 stealthily on the information that he gathered in the 
 partners' room ; and which his new position, more 
 than ever, gave him opportunities of using. It was 
 a busy time for speculation about this period. For- 
 tunes were made and lost by stock-gambling in a 
 day ; and Michael Armstrong with his active, calcu- 
 lating brain, was not the man to allow the tempting 
 stream to rush by without plunging into it. 
 
 Our firm had an important branch house at 
 Liverpool, through which it conducted its shipping- 
 trade with America. Every six months it was the 
 custom of one of the partners — either Mr. James or 
 Mr. Robert — to go down and pay a visit of inspection 
 to this house, a task that usually occupied ten or 
 twelve days. Mr. James Forclyce, about this time, 
 took his departure one morning for Liverpool, leav- 
 ing his brother Eobert in charge of the London 
 affairs. I can see them even now, shaking hands, 
 outside that old gateway, before Mr. James stepped 
 into the family coach in which the brothers always 
 posted the journey. Michael Armstrong was gliding 
 to and fro with certain required papers — unobtrusive, 
 but keen and watchful. As the coach rolled away 
 up the narrow street, Mr. James looked out of the 
 window just as his brother had turned slowly back 
 
THE END OF FORDYCE, BROTHERS. 91 
 
 under the archway. It was the last he ever saw of 
 him, alive. 
 
 For several days after Mr. James Fordyce' s de- 
 parture, everything went on as before. He started 
 on a Friday, with a view of breaking the long, tedious 
 journey by spending the Sunday with some friends 
 in Staffordshire. On the following Wednesday, to- 
 wards the close of the day, a pigeon-express arrived 
 from Liverpool, bearing a communication in his 
 handwriting, which was taken in to Mr. Robert 
 Fordyce in the private room. No one in the office 
 — except, doubtless, Michael Armstrong — knew for 
 many days what that short letter contained ; but we 
 knew too well what another short letter conveyed, 
 which was placed in melancholy haste and silence the 
 next morning under the pigeon' s wing, and started 
 back to Liverpool. , This was in Michael Armstrong's 
 handwriting. 
 
 Mr. James Fordyce, upon his arrival at Liverpool, 
 had found their manager committed to large pur- 
 chases in American produce without the know- 
 ledge of his principals, in the face of a market that 
 had rapidly and extensively fallen. This gentleman's 
 anxiety to benefit his employers was greater than his 
 prudence; and, while finding that he had made a 
 fearful error, he had not the courage to communicate 
 it to London, although every hour rendered the 
 position more ruinous. Mr. James Fordyce, after a 
 short and anxious investigation, sent a dispatch to 
 
92 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 his brother, for a sum of many thousands of pounds, 
 — an amount as great as the house could command 
 upon so sudden, an emergency. This money was 
 to be forwarded by special messenger, without an 
 hour's delay, in a Bank of England draft : nothing 
 less would serve to extricate the local branch from its 
 pressing difficulty, and save the firm from heavier 
 loss. The letter arrived on the Wednesday, after 
 the bank had closed, and when nothing could be 
 done until the following morning. In the meantime, 
 in all probability, Michael Armstrong received in- 
 structions to prepare a statement of the available 
 resources of the firm. 
 
 That evening, about half-past eight o'clock, when 
 Esther Barnard returned from church, she found 
 Michael Armstrong waiting for her at the gateway. 
 He seemed more thoughtful and absent than usual ; 
 and his face, seen by the flickering light of the street 
 oil-lamp (it was an October night), had the old, pale, 
 anxious expression that I have before alluded to. 
 Esther thought he was ill; but in reply to her 
 gentle inquiries, as they entered the house together, 
 he said he was merely tired with the extra labour he 
 had undergone, consequent upon the receipt of the 
 intelligence from Mr. James Fordyce, and his natural 
 solicitude for the welfare of the firm. 
 
 Mr. Robert Fordyce's habits — as, indeed, the habits 
 of both the brothers — were very simple. He walked 
 for two hours during the evening, from six o'clock to 
 
THE END OF EORDYCE, BROTHERS. 93 
 
 eight, and then read until nine,, at which time he took 
 a light supper, consisting of a small roll and a glass 
 of milk ; which was always brought to him by Esther, 
 who left the little tray upon the table by the side of 
 his book, and wished him good night until the morn- 
 ing. She then returned to Michael Armstrong, on 
 the nights he visited her, to sit until the clock of the 
 neighbouring church struck ten, at which hour she 
 let him out at the gate, and retired to rest. 
 
 On the night in question she had placed the 
 same simple supper ready upon her table; and, 
 after retiring for a few moments to her room, to 
 leave her hat and cloak, she returned, and took the 
 tray to Mr. Robert's apartments. She did not 
 notice Michael Armstrong particularly before she 
 went; but, when she came back, she found him 
 standing by the open doorway, looking wildly and 
 restlessly into the passage. She again asked him 
 anxiously if he was ill, and his answer was as before ; 
 adding, that he thought he had heard her father's 
 voice, calling her name, but he had been mistaken. 
 
 They sat for some little time together over the 
 fire. Michael Armstrong would not take any sup- 
 per, although pressed by Esther to do so. His mind 
 was occupied with some hidden thought, and he ap- 
 peared as if engaged in listening for some expected 
 sound. In this way passed about half an hour, when 
 Esther thought she heard some distant groans, ac- 
 companied by a noise, like that produced by a heavy 
 
94 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 body falling on the ground. Esther started up ; and 
 Michael Armstrong, who had heard the noise too, 
 immediately suggested the probable illness of her 
 father. Esther waited not for another word, but ran 
 to his apartment, to find him sleeping calmly in his 
 bed. On her return, a few minutes afterwards, to 
 the room she had just left, she found Michael Arm- 
 strong entering the doorway with the light. He said 
 he had been along the passages to make a search, but 
 without finding anything. He appeared more com- 
 posed, and advised her to dismiss the matter from her 
 mind. They sat together more cheerfully for the 
 next half hour, until the ten o'clock bell sounded 
 from the neighbouring church, when she went with 
 him across the garden to the gate. The customary 
 kiss was given at the door^ and the customary laugh 
 and good night received from the old private watch- 
 man parading the street ; but Esther Barnard, as she 
 locked the wicket, and walked across the garden 
 again to her own room, felt a heavy-hearted fore- 
 boding of some great sorrow that was about to fall 
 upon her. Her prayers that night were longer than 
 usual, and her eyes were red with weeping before she 
 went to sleep. 
 
 Meantime, the lamp in Mr. Robert Fordyce's 
 apartment (the second window from the sun-dial) 
 burnt dimly through the night, and died out about 
 the break of day. Its master had died some hours 
 before. 
 
THE END OF FORDYCE, BROTHERS. 95 
 
 In the morning the porters opened the place at 
 the usual hour, and the full tide of business again 
 set in. One of the earliest, but not the earliest, to 
 arrive was Michael Armstrong. His first inquiry 
 was for Mr. Robert Eordyce, who was generally in 
 his private room to open the letters, and give out the 
 keys. He had not been seen. An hour passed, and 
 then the inquiry was extended to the dwelling-house, 
 Michael Armstrong saw Esther, and begged her to go 
 and knock at Mr. Robert's door. She went, slowly 
 and fearfully, knocked, and there was no answer. 
 Knocked again with the same result. The alarm 
 now spread, that something serious had happened. 
 Esther retired tremblingly with her forebodings of 
 the night more than half realized, while the clerks 
 came up, and, after a brief consultation, broke open 
 the door. 
 
 A room with a close and slightly chemical smell ; 
 the blinds still down; an oil -lamp that had burnt 
 out; a book half open upon the table; a nearly 
 empty tumbler that contained milk; a roll un- 
 touched; and Mr. Robert Eordyce, lying dead, 
 doubled up on the floor near a couch, the damask 
 covering of which he had torn and bitten. On the 
 table, near the tumbler was a small, screwed-up 
 paper, containing some of the poison from which he 
 had died ; and near to this was a letter directed 
 somewhat tremblingly, in his own handwriting to his 
 brother, Mr. James. 
 
96 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 One of the earliest, but not the earliest, in the 
 room was Michael Armstrong, calm, dignified, and 
 collected. Though far younger than many others, 
 he took the lead naturally and firmly, and no one 
 seemed to have nerve or inclination to dispute his 
 authority. Esther stood anxiously amongst the crowd 
 at the door looking on with her whole soul staring 
 through her eyes. 
 
 Michael Armstrong took up the letter upon the 
 table. It was unsealed. He opened it, and read in 
 a clear, firm voice, the short and painful statement it 
 contained. Mr. Robert Fordyce confessed to his 
 brother that for some time he had largely appropri- 
 ated the funds of the firm to his own use for specula- 
 tions that had turned out unsuccessful in the stock- 
 market. Unable to refund the money to meet the 
 sudden emergency that had fallen upon the house, 
 and fearing to see his brother again after perpetrating 
 such a wrong, he had resolved to die by poison, ad- 
 ministered by his own hand. 
 
 Deep silence, broken by sobs and tears, followed 
 the reading of this letter, for the dead merchant was 
 loved and respected by all. A short summons, 
 written by Michael Armstrong, as I have said before, 
 was tied to the pigeon, and sent to Mr. James Fordyce 
 at Liverpool. 
 
 For the next few days the business of the house 
 was almost at a standstill. The sad event was the 
 gossip of the Exchange, and the commercial coffee- 
 
THE END OF FORDYCE, BROTHERS. 97 
 
 rooms ; and the credit of Fordyce, Brothers, high as 
 their character stood in the City, was, of course, ma- 
 terially and fatally injured by this suddeu calamity. 
 
 It was late on the Friday night when Mr. James 
 Fordyce returned, having started at once upon the 
 receipt of the despatch, and posted the whole way. 
 He spent an hour in silent and sacred communion 
 with his dead brother, and every one read in his tine, 
 open, benevolent face how thoroughly the wrong was 
 forgiven that had shaken the foundations of the firm 
 and sent one of its members to a sudden grave. 
 
 He then devoted himself, night and day to an 
 investigation of their financial position, aided in 
 everything by Michael Armstrong, who was ever at 
 his side. In the course of a few days his determi- 
 nation was known. By closing the branch concern at 
 Liverpool, contracting the operations, and reducing 
 the London house, the capital remaining was suffi- 
 cient to discharge all outstanding obligations, leaving 
 a small balance upon which to re-construct the firm. 
 This was done, and the honour of Fordyce, Brothers 
 was preserved. 
 
 Many of our staff, under the new arrangements, 
 were dismissed, but the thoughtful care of Mr. Fordyce 
 had provided them with other situations in neigh- 
 bouring firms. In other respects our business went 
 on as before, but with one remarkable exception. 
 The confidence hitherto existing between Mr. For- 
 dyce and Michael Armstrong was at an end, and 
 
 H 
 
98 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 although the latter was still retained in his capacity 
 as private secretary, he appeared to feel that he was 
 no longer honoured and trusted. I believe at this 
 time he would gladly have left the place, but some 
 secret power and influence seemed to compel him to 
 remain. 
 
 He had never made friends of any of his fellow- 
 clerks, nor did he seek them now. Old Barnard's 
 repugnance to his marriage with Esther at length 
 took the form of open personal repugnance ; and 
 poor Esther, herself, while her heart was undoubtedly 
 unchanged, became sometimes cold and timid in his 
 presence : at others loving and repentant, as if strug- 
 gling with some great, fearful doubt that she did not 
 dare to confide to him. She was less desirous of 
 seeking his company ; and the roses on her fair 
 young cheeks, that had grown up even within these 
 old city walls, now faded away before the hidden 
 grief of her heart. God bless her ; her love had 
 fallen, indeed, upon stony ground. 
 
 Mr. Fordyee seemed also to be struggling between 
 a variety of contending feelings. Whether he had 
 set a watch upon Michael Armstrong at this period 
 I cannot say; but while he appeared to feel his 
 presence irksome, he seemed always anxious to have 
 him near. Better would it have been for him if he 
 had let him go his ways. 
 
 It was impossible for Michael Armstrong to be 
 ignorant of this state of things, and it only served to 
 
THE END OF EORDYCE, BROTHERS. 99 
 
 make him, if possible, more keen-eyed and watchful. 
 What he thought or did was still only known to 
 himself, but there was occasional evidence upon the 
 surface that seemed to indicate the direction of his 
 silent working. 
 
 Our house had never entirely recovered the shock 
 given to its credit by the violent death of Mr. Robert 
 Fordyce. Rumours of our being in an insolvent 
 position were occasionally bandied about the town, 
 gaining strength with the maturing of a large de- 
 mand; dying away for a time, after it had been 
 promptly satisfied. Our bankers, too, began to look 
 coldly upon us. 
 
 The rumours gradually took a more consistent 
 and connected form ; an unfavourable condition of the 
 money market arose ; the strongest houses cannot 
 always stand against such adverse influences, and we 
 were, at last, compelled to close our transactions. 
 We stopped payment. 
 
 Contrary to general expectation, Mr. Fordyce 
 declined to call in any professional assistance to pre- 
 pare a statement of the affairs of the firm. At a 
 preliminary meeting of his creditors, he took his 
 ground upon his long and dearly-earned character 
 for commercial integrity ; and asked for a fortnight, 
 in which to investigate his books and assets. He 
 obtained it. 
 
 If any one was disappointed at this, it was 
 Michael Armstrong. His will for once was foiled. 
 
100 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 For reasons best known, at that time, to himself, he 
 wished, now that the house was destroyed, to have 
 all books and papers removed out of the reach of 
 Mr. Fordyce. It was not to be. 
 
 Mr. Fordyce, from the hour of the meeting, 
 almost lived in his private office-room. Day after 
 day was he seen arranging papers, and making ex- 
 tracts from the leather-bound ledgers. Night after 
 night his green- shaded office-lamp was lighting him 
 through the same heavy, weary task. He had re- 
 moved his writing-desk from the back of the room 
 to that window on the left of the ground-floor, 
 where Michael Armstrong used to sit. He worked 
 chiefly alone, and seldom called in the help of his 
 secretary, except for some intricate parts of the cash 
 accounts. 
 
 In this way the time went quickly on, and Mr. 
 Fordyce had arrived within a few days of the com- 
 pletion of his labours. 
 
 It was on a Wednesday evening— a winter's 
 evening in the latter part of January — about half- 
 past seven o'clock, that Mr. Fordyce and Michael 
 Armstrong were alone together, after all the clerks 
 had gone, at the window in that room, deeply en- 
 gaged in a mass of papers. There seemed to be an 
 angry discussion between them. Mr. Fordyce was 
 pointing firmly to some white paper leaves, which 
 shone brightly under the condensed glare of the 
 shaded lamp. Both faces were covered with a dark 
 
BROTHERS. 101 
 
 veil of shadow, arising from the reflected covering 
 of the lamp, but Michael Armstrong's keen eye3 
 flashed evilly, even through the mist of that dim 
 light. The next moment he was behind Mr. For- 
 dyce's chair, with his hand firmly twisted in the folds 
 of the old merchant's neckcloth. There was a short 
 and hopeless struggle. Two arms were thrown wildly 
 into the air; a body fell off the chair on to the 
 ground; and Mr. James Fordyce had learnt more 
 in that instant, than all those piles of paper would 
 have taught him, if he had examined them for years. 
 He was dead; — dead, too, without any outward marks 
 of violence upon his body. 
 
 Nor was this all. 
 
 Esther Barnard was sitting without a light in the 
 dark recess of her favourite window ; — sitting spell- 
 bound, paralysed, parched and speechless, gazing 
 upon the old office window and the green- covered 
 lamp, under the shade of which this terrible drama 
 had just passed before her eyes. She could make no 
 sign. The whole fearful past history of Michael 
 Armstrong was made clear to her as in a mirror, 
 although the picture was shattered in a moment, as 
 soon as formed. She must have sat there the whole 
 night through, heedless of the call of her sick father 
 in the adjoining room, to nurse whom she had stayed 
 away that evening from church. They found her 
 in the morning in the same position, with her reason 
 partially gone. 
 
102 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 Michael Armstrong came in the next day, punc- 
 tually at the business hour. He appeared even more 
 collected than usual, for he believed that all evidence 
 against him was now destroyed for ever. A rigid 
 investigation was instituted on the part of the cre- 
 ditors; and the mind wanderings of poor Esther 
 Barnard were of great importance in making out a 
 case against him. It may be that her sad affliction 
 was ordained to bring about his destruction, for I do 
 not believe that if she had retained her reason, she 
 would ever have been induced to speak one word 
 against him. Her heart might have broken, but her 
 tongue would have remained silent. As it was, 
 her accusations were gathered together, bit by 
 bit — gathered, as I gathered much of this story, 
 from her lips in happy intervals, filling up from. 
 imagination and personal knowledge all that seemed 
 unconnected and obscure. 
 
 The investigation never reached the courts of 
 law. Michael Armstrong saw with the old clearness 
 of vision the inevitable result of the chain of evi- 
 dence—saw it traced up from speculation to forgery, 
 from forgery to his poisoning of Mr. Robert Fordyce, 
 from the poisoning to his forgery of the letter trans- 
 ferring the early crime, and from the letter to the 
 destruction of the house and its last surviving repre- 
 sentative. To avoid the expected punishment — 
 prepared as he always was for every emergency — 
 he poisoned himself in that private room, before our 
 
THE END OF FORDYCE, BROTHERS. 103 
 
 eyes. Whether the capital, of which he had sapped 
 the firm, had been productive or not in his hands, 
 we never knew. He was never known to acknowledge 
 any kindred ; and no one ever acknowledged him. 
 He died, and made no sign; silently and sullenly, 
 with his face turned to the wall. 
 
 At one time I indulged in the hope that Esther 
 Barnard might recover, and I had prepared a home 
 for her, even without the selfish desire of being re- 
 warded with her poor, broken heart. Her father 
 died, and I cherished her as a brother. Her melan- 
 choly madness, at times, was relieved with short 
 lucid intervals, during which she thanked me so 
 touchingly and sweetly for supposed kindnesses, that 
 it was more than a reward. It was my pleasure to 
 watch for such happy moments, patiently for days, 
 and weeks, and months. In one of them she died, 
 at last, in these arms, and I buried her in the ground 
 of her old church outside the gateway. Our firm 
 was never, in any form, restored, though I still cling 
 to the old place. I have seen it sink gradually, step 
 by step, until it can scarcely sink lower ; but it is 
 still near Esther. There is little happiness in grow- 
 ing so very old. 
 
 The old clerk told his story truthfully and clearly, 
 and if there was any indistinctness of utterance about 
 it, it was only towards the close. Much of it may 
 have been the phantom of an old man's imagination, 
 
104 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 feeding on the tradition of a few elosed, dusty stut- 
 ters ; but it interested me, because it spoke to me 
 of a bygone time, and of persons and tilings among 
 which I love to live and move. 
 
105 
 
 PASSING THE TIME. 
 
 Every man who in the course of his business exis- 
 tence has had the misfortune to be compelled to seek 
 an interview with Mr. Proviso, the eminent City 
 lawyer, can tell a painful story of monotonous hours 
 passed in the outer office of the great master of the 
 law, awaiting the coveted favour of an interview. 
 Mr. Proviso's business appears to lie amongst a class 
 of people who are doubtless very influential and 
 highly respectable, but who seem either to have no 
 proper sense of the value of time, or who hoard up 
 their legal grievances — their actions and their de- 
 fences — until they assume such gigantic proportions, 
 that half a day passed with their professional adviser 
 is scarcely sufficient to clear oif the accumulation. 
 It may be that in the rank and file of clients who 
 hang upon the wisdom and experience of Mr. Pro- 
 viso, I hold a position rather below the general level, 
 and am, therefore, treated to those broken scraps of 
 time which can be spared from the banquet of more 
 favoured, because more important, individuals. One 
 thing is certain, that go on what day and what hour 
 of that day I will, I am met with the eternal answer 
 from the eternal clerks : " Will you have the kind- 
 ness to take a seat, sir, for Mr. Proviso is engaged V 
 
106 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 When I first heard these now too familiar sounds, I 
 was weak enough to inquire how long the engage- 
 ment was likely to last, and was always met with the 
 reply, intended to be comforting : That a few minutes 
 would certainly be sufficient to finish the business on 
 hand. Sitting patiently upon an old office chair, lis- 
 tening to the measured ticking of the office clock; 
 taking a mental inventory of the faded office furni- 
 ture; reading the not very interesting placards re- 
 garding the sales by auction of houses, leases, and 
 lands, and varying this meagre meal of literature 
 with the titles of blue-books, and the calf-bound 
 treatises of the law, the precious moments of the 
 short business day passed from me one by one, and 
 at last I awoke to a sense of the utterly unreliable 
 nature of the information given me by Mr. Proviso's 
 clerks concerning their master's professional arrange- 
 ments. After the first few visits I became reconciled 
 to the existing order of things, and sank mechanically 
 into my accustomed chair, to await the convenience 
 and the pleasure of the great professor of the art of 
 making a living out of the quarrels of foolish or 
 wicked people. The distant mellowed hum of car- 
 riages in the street, the music of new quills gliding 
 quickly over folio foolscap, the warmth of the office 
 fire, and the general monastic gloom of the place, 
 always produced in me a kind of torpor akin to sleep, 
 in which the imagination was actively engaged in pro- 
 portion as the body was indulged in idleness and rest. 
 
PASSING THE TIME. 107 
 
 It was on these occasions that I always found 
 myself looking at the gaping mouths of the conver- 
 sation tubes, which communicated with Mr. Proviso's 
 private room, and the apartments above stairs ; and, 
 by way of passing the time, allowing my fancy to run 
 riot upon all the probable uses and abuses of these 
 ingenious gutta percha mechanical contrivances of 
 modern times. 
 
 I saw in imagination young Pyramus, the youth- 
 ful cashier of Mr. Proviso's establishment, when 
 the other clerks were fully employed, whispering his 
 tubical tenderness to his Thisbe — the housekeeper's 
 fair daughter — up through intervening reception- 
 rooms, and dusty receptacles of ancient records of 
 folly, spite, and wrong; past the stern, pompous 
 lawyer sitting amongst his wordy deeds; past the 
 copying- clerks' garret, where old men and boys were 
 writing over and over again the same old story of an 
 ejectment, until "whereas, and therefore, and inas- 
 much, and thereof," burnt into their dizzy brains, 
 and nearly drove, them mad ; past all these things, 
 until it reached the bower of the listening damsel, 
 who sat with her needlework high above the house- 
 tops, looking across the river at the pleasant Surrey 
 hills. And then came Thisbe's silvery reply so gently 
 down the tube; past the copying- clerks ; past the 
 dusty records ; past the old lawyer who had left his 
 youth in his law books and his bills of costs ; until 
 it found its resting place in young Pyramus's ear — 
 
108 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 young Pyramus, who waited with a smiling face, like 
 a child who hears the mermaid's song swelling from 
 the hidden purple depths of an ocean shell. Then 
 the dull office shone full of light, and the yellow 
 parchment became pictured with the forms of fields 
 and waving trees, for Pyramus had learned where 
 Thisbe would walk in the sunset of a summer's even- 
 ing outside the city walls. 
 
 Again, in imagination, the scene changes ; and, 
 from the heights of the romantic and the poetical, I 
 sink to the depths of the real and the prosaic. This 
 time the eye of fancy rests upon old Jolly Bacchus in 
 the office, whose face and general appearance give 
 sure indication of a systematic indulgence in the dis- 
 sipation of drink. I see him wandering into the 
 office long after the regulation hour, with his face 
 and hands only partially washed, his shirt dirty, and 
 his clothes unbrushed, his eyes glazed, and his speech 
 thick, and a general sense of offended dignity, min- 
 gled with a determination to be steady, regulating 
 every attitude of his body, every muscle of his face. 
 When he makes his appearance he is received with 
 affected cordiality by his fellow-clerks; and the 
 smiles and winks that are exchanged at his condition 
 are carefully concealed from his jealous observation. 
 He takes his seat at his accustomed desk with some 
 little difficulty; and leaning on his elbows, he re- 
 gards the smiling faces of the clerks immediately op- 
 posite him with a pursed-up mouth and heavy eyes. 
 
PASSING THE TIME. 109 
 
 Such an opportunity for sport, of course, it is not in 
 human nature to throw away; and the jocular clerk 
 (there is always one in every office) commences the 
 fun by a conversation with Jolly Bacchus, calculated 
 to inflame the mind of that individual against his 
 employer, Mr. Proviso. 
 
 " Mr. P., sir, has been inquiring for you half-a- 
 dozen times within the last twenty minutes," remarks 
 the jocular clerk, winking at the company. 
 
 " Wellshir," returns Mr. Jolly Bacchus, u and 
 whatish — thater to you?" 
 
 " Oh, nothing, sir," replies the jocular clerk, 
 "nothing to me; but a great deal to our respected 
 governor, Mr. Proviso." 
 
 "That, shir, for Misher Provishe — o," returns 
 Jolly Bacchus, with an attempt to snap his fingers, 
 which produces no sound. 
 
 " Oh, come," replies the jocular clerk, " while we 
 accept our salaries we must attend to our duties." 
 
 " Shir," exclaims Jolly Bacchus, now working 
 himself into a state of drunken rage, " No man shall 
 dictate me. Who's Misher Provishe — o, Ish like to 
 know? I made him what — is — taught him, shir, all's 
 law — and I can pull him down, shir — pull'm down." 
 "Well, sir," replies the jocular clerk, playing 
 upon the weakness of the intoxicated Bacchus, "you'd 
 better tell him so up the pipe ; he's in his room ; tell 
 him so up the tube, like a man V 9 
 
 It is about twelve o'clock in the day, and Mr. 
 
110 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 Proviso is closely closeted with a most important 
 client, an East Indian Director. Mr. Proviso is stand- 
 ing behind his writing-table, with his thumbs stuck 
 in the arm-holes of his waistcoat, and his fingers 
 tattooing upon his chest, looking like a prime minister 
 receiving a deputation. The important client, a man 
 of severe aspect and unbending exterior, is seated in 
 the large easy-chair, which stands near the mouth of 
 the speaking-tube against the fire-place. The two 
 men are trying to find their way out of the middle of 
 a knotty discussion upon an intricate question of law 
 and business, when a gurgling sound is heard to issue 
 from the mouth of the speaking-tube, followed slowly 
 by this address, the original thick pronunciation of 
 which is considerably increased by the peculiar channel 
 of communication : — 
 
 " Misher Provishe — o, shir, I'm not — going to be 
 dictate — to by you. You're a hum'ug and an im- 
 pos'er, shir, an' you know it. I've more law in my 
 
 lilPe finger, shir, than — you have in whole body, 
 
 shir. I'm" - 
 
 What further abuse from Jolly Bacchus would 
 have come up the tube no one can tell ; for, upon the 
 first sound of the familiar voice, Mr. Proviso, keeping 
 his eye steadily fixed upon the startled East Indian 
 Director, sidled with admirable coolness towards the 
 mouth of the unwelcome oracle, and continuing, with 
 some little incoherence in his tone, maimer, and 
 ideas, to carry on the important business discussion, 
 
PASSING THE TIME. Ill 
 
 as if nothing had interrupted it, he seized the stopper 
 of the pipe, and corked np for ever the intoxicated 
 flow of Jolly Bacchus's eloquence. 
 
 Such are some of the phantoms of imagination 
 that I conjure up to fill that dreary pit of mental 
 vacuity, which deepens and deepens, as I waste the 
 precious mid-day hours, waiting wearily for the leisure 
 moments of the great Mr. Proviso. 
 
112 
 
 RAILWAY NIGHTMARES. 
 
 Some men are born to be madmen ; some to be I 
 idiots ; and some to be hanged ; bnt I was born to 
 be a shareholder. Some men spend their money- 
 like noblemen and princes;' some lose it at the 
 gaming-table; some on the turf; some hide it in 
 gardens, in wells, in brick walls, and die, forgetting 
 to reveal their secret ; but my property is securely 
 sunk for the benefit of my country in the Direct 
 Burygold, and the Great Deadlock Railways. While 
 on one hand, I am lowered to the condition of a 
 beggar ; on the other, I am elevated to the rank of 
 a patriot. What I have done would, in the ancient 
 days, have earned me a statue ; but now, under un- 
 heroic forms of business, it is silently accepted as a 
 matter of course. If I had sunk my property in 
 endowing a hospital, I might have secured the im- 
 mortality of a tablet, and the gratitude of a com- 
 mittee ; but my prodigal generosity has only taken 
 the form of an investment. I sign a deed of settle- 
 ment, pocket my liability, see my name recorded in 
 a ledger of shareholders — and that is all. 
 
 Having no faith in reformers, I have joined no 
 Committee of Investigation ; I have subscribed to no 
 society for improving our -prospects. I have quietly 
 
RAILWAY NIGHTMARES. 113 
 
 accepted my position as a melancholy and accom- 
 plished fact. I have sold my withered shares for the 
 trifle they would fetch j and, having no family or 
 kindred depending upon me for support, I have 
 taken to opium-eating. 
 
 I am surprised that I never turned my attention 
 to this agreeable investment before. Like my former 
 ventures, it pays me no dividends, except in dreams ; 
 but then those dreams are of the most varied and 
 amusing kind. They come to me without effort; 
 they cry to me for no food; they make no calls. 
 When they leave me, I feel no regret ; for I know 
 that a few pence will, at any time, call them back. 
 Beggar as I am, I recline in all the state of kings, 
 with no painful memories of yesterday ; no care for 
 to-day; no thought for to-morrow. Relieved from 
 the dull checks and surroundings of active life, my 
 fancy runs riot in a shadowy world, where all dis- 
 tinctions are reversed ; and those things that were 
 once my sorrow and my dread, have now become 
 my pleasure and my toys. 
 
 The long, silent panorama of the Direct Bury- 
 gold Railway passes before me : the whole line in 
 Chancery ; choked and stiffened by the icy, relent- 
 less hand of legal death. The Burygold station, 
 once so full of life, is now an echoing, deserted 
 cavern; its crystal roof is an arch of broken glass; 
 its rails are torn away ; its rooms and offices are 
 empty, or boarded up ; and its walls are defaced with 
 
 i 
 
114 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 old ghastly time-bills, the mocking records of its 
 former wealth and activity. The long refreshment- 
 corridor is dusty and bare; its fixtures are rudely 
 torn from the walls, its floor is strewn with remnants 
 of placards and broken china; and nothing living 
 is now left, except a wild, half-famished cat, rave- 
 nously gnawing a bone as smooth as glass. 
 
 Passing out of this ruined station to the open 
 line, I find no signs of traffic. Carriages are not to 
 be seen, and the rails in places have been torn up 
 by the roots. Rank grass has spread across the once 
 busy way, and sheep are calmly browsing, with no 
 fear of coming danger. Breaking through a narrow 
 cutting between two lofty hills, whose passage, once 
 open and bare, is now grown over with underwood 
 and brambles, I emerge into a broad amphitheatre of 
 landscape, saddened with ruins, like the plains of 
 ancient Greece. Standing at the extreme verge, 
 upon the ragged edge of what was once a smooth, lofty, 
 curving viaduct, I gaze down far below into a 
 winding stream, whose course is broken and turned 
 by the fallen arches which once spanned the broad, 
 deep valley. Large iron girders, spreading masses 
 of brickwork, and blocks of heavy masonry, lie 
 helplessly in the clear, glassy stream. In the dis- 
 tance another ragged edge of tall, narrow, broken 
 arches, issues from a cleft in the opposite mountain. 
 The blue, misty hills close in the scene on every side ; 
 and the solemn stillness of undisturbed nature reigns 
 
RAILWAY NIGHTMARES. 115 
 
 over all. Struggling down the steep sides of this 
 chasm, I pick my way, across the ruins, to the di- 
 vided limb of the railway on the further side. Here 
 I turn for one final look at the silent valley, and 
 then pursue my course. 
 
 The first sign of life which I meet on the ruined 
 line is a small side-station, once bright, clean, and 
 new, but now damp and mouldy. Seeing smoke 
 ascend from the short chimney of this hut, I look 
 through the window, and find an old woman in dirty 
 rags crouching over a wood fire, formed of parts of 
 the building, rocking her bent body to and fro, and 
 chanting a low wail. Before I can retire from the 
 window, a dwarfed boy, whose huge head, with a long 
 pale oval face and large watery eyes, forms one half 
 of his withered body, rushes to the door of the hut, 
 and draws the attention of the woman to my presence 
 by uncouth gestures, and a wild, babbling noise. The 
 woman rises quickly, and I see from her eyes and 
 manner, that her mind has sunk under the pressure 
 of some heavy affliction. Something tells me they 
 are mother and son, and sufferers by the ruin which 
 is before us, and behind us, and around us. A vague 
 notion enters their minds that I have either come to 
 molest them, or that I am a member of that class 
 which has been the cause of all their misfortunes. 
 Their actions become gradually more frantic and hos- 
 tile ; and their aspect is at once so melancholy and 
 so hideous, that I fairly turn away, and run along the 
 
116 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 line. They do not attempt to follow me ; but their 
 voices, which at first were raised in triumph at my 
 flight, become by degrees fainter and fainter, until 
 at last they are lost in the distance at which I leave 
 them behind. 
 
 Passing along the line, and under many broken 
 arches, I come to more life, of a much more agree- 
 able character. Beneath a lofty iron bridge, which 
 spans the once busy Burygold Railway, I find a group 
 of healthy country children, playing on a swing formed 
 of ropes tied firmly in the open spaces between the 
 girders. Other country children look down from the 
 roadway on the top of the arch, and drop small peb- 
 bles upon the heads of the children beneath ; aiming 
 especially at the child in the swing, as the motion of 
 the ropes sends him beyond the shelter of the arch. 
 Sometimes those above raise a mocking cry of danger 
 from a coming train, which is received with shouts of 
 merriment below. 
 
 I proceed a little further, when I come upon the 
 broken parts of an oid rotten locomotive engine, lying 
 half-embedded in a side embankment. The boiler 
 has been half-eaten away. Rats have made it their 
 home. "While I am gazing at this picture, an old man 
 in mean clothing, leaning on a crutch, has joined me 
 by climbing up the embankment on the other side. 
 
 " Ah ! " he says, with a deep, heavy sigh, " Wenus 
 isn't what she was when you an' me was younger, 
 mate." 
 
RAILWAY NIGHTMARES 117 
 
 " No, indeed/-' I reply, cautiously, not knowing 
 what he refers to, and judging him to be another 
 maniac victim of the surrounding railway ruin. 
 
 " When I ran away with 'er," he continues, ' ( acos 
 they wanted to sell 'er in a sale, more than twenty 
 year ago, she was young an* 'andsome. Look at 
 'er now !" 
 
 " Exactly," I return, thinking he alludes to some 
 romantic elopement. 
 
 " I took 'er hout o' the station at night," he re- 
 sumes, " afore the brokers 'ad put 'er in the hinven- 
 tory ; got up 'er steam, an' bowled 'er here, when she 
 bust her biler, an' sent me flym' into the ditch — a 
 cripple for life." 
 
 Close to this spot is the entrance of a long tunnel, 
 the mouth of which is covered with a dense cobweb, 
 whose threads are thicker than stout twine. In the 
 centre of this cobweb are several huge, overgrown 
 spiders as large as crabs. 
 
 "Is there no passage through this place?" I ask 
 of the old engine-driver. 
 
 " What, the haunted tunnel ? " he answers, with 
 horror and astonishment. " No man's dared to go 
 through that for twenty year ! " 
 
 Curiosity prompts me to advance nearer the great 
 cobweb, and look through its open spaces into the 
 dark cavern beyond. Perhaps the words of the old 
 engine-driver have acted upon my excited imagina- 
 tion; but I think I see the outlines of smoke-coloured 
 
118 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 human monsters, who coil round each other, and 
 seem hungry for prey. There is nothing fierce and 
 active about their savagery, but it has that dreamy, 
 listless, quiet, bone-crushing appearance of destruc- 
 tive power, so fearful to contemplate in bears, and 
 certain monsters of the deep. Perhaps I am gazing 
 upon the spirits of departed directors. 
 
 Declining to go through this passage of horrors, 
 I ascend the sides of the cutting; and leaving the 
 aged engine-driver mourning over the shattered re- 
 mains of his Venus, I pass along the roads on the 
 top of the haunted tunnel, and descend upon the 
 line once more, at the other side. 
 
 Here I again come upon life of a more genial 
 kind. Squatters have taken possession of many side- 
 stations. Some stations that I pass are more neatly 
 kept than others, showing the different character of 
 the tenants. Some are quite unoccupied; and one 
 is in the temporary possession of a band of travelling 
 showmen, whose caravans of wild beasts and curiosi- 
 ties are placed across the line. Pursuing the same 
 route for some hours — always with the same prospect 
 on either side — I pass under rotten bridges, under 
 lines of dangling clothes hung out to dry, and through 
 groups of women and children assembled in the 
 centre of the rails, until at last, day dwindles into 
 twilight, and twilight gives place to a cold, clear sky, 
 and a large moon. I come, after some time, to a 
 deep cutting through a lofty wooded hill, the sides of 
 
RAILWAY NIGHTMARES. 119 
 
 which are rendered more gloomy by dark, overhang- 
 ing fir-trees. Winding along this narrow, artificial 
 valley for a considerable distance, I arrive at a sharp 
 curve round a bend of the hill, and see an exhibition 
 almost as strange as any I have yet met with. In 
 the centre of the valley, between the rails, there is a 
 blazing wood fire, over which is suspended an enor- 
 mous gipsy-kettle. Numbers of men in strange, 
 stable-looking dresses, are seated on each side of the 
 valley; many of them drinking, and nearly all of 
 them smoking. In the distance, beyond the fire, are 
 several four-horse stage-coaches, fully horsed, har- 
 nessed, and appointed; and, round the fire, dancing 
 wildly 'with joined hands to the rough music of some 
 half-dozen Kent bugles, played by old, half-resusci- 
 tated, stage-coach guards, are some dozen aged stage- 
 coachmen, dressed in the familiar garb of former 
 days. I see the meaning of this unusual festival at a 
 glance. It is a midnight picnic from some adjacent 
 country town, met to triumph over the fall, and to 
 dance over the ruins, of a paralysed railway. While 
 I am gazing at the spectacle, a number of fresh 
 roysterers, coming up from behind, sweep me into 
 the middle of the dancing, drinking, shouting group, 
 and I am immediately questioned as to my sudden 
 and uninvited appearance. Almost before I have 
 considered my reply, the fact of my being a ruined 
 shareholder making the melancholy pilgrimage of my 
 sunken property, seems to strike the whole company 
 
120 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 as if by inspiration, and I am welcomed with the 
 loudest mocking laughter, and the heaviest slaps on 
 the back that the boisterous villagers are capable of 
 administering. One dozen of men ask me in sarcastic 
 chorus, what has become of my "foine carriges;" 
 while another dozen ask me, also in chorus, where 
 my " sixty moile a-hour be now?" 
 
 It is the morning of the second day when I reach 
 the grand London terminus : now grand no longer, 
 but showing its decay even more glaringly than the 
 rest of the line. Its interior is vast, naked, and 
 deserted, and its exterior has long been given up to 
 the mercy of the bill-stickers. Its classical portico 
 is a mass of unsightly blistered placards ; its court- 
 yard is silent and untrodden, except by the footsteps 
 of a few old servants of the company, who yet live 
 in the hope of seeing the old busy days revived. 
 
 Turning my back upon the sad remains of the 
 Direct Bury gold E ail way, I proceed at once to the 
 rival Great Deadlock line, which has now been taken 
 under the permanent management of Government. 
 Here at least is life, if not activity; and the great 
 terminus looks very different to what it did when 
 it was simply a public joint-stock undertaking. The 
 familiar policemen and guards are all gone, and, in 
 their places, are many fat porters in leathern chairs, 
 and messengers in rather gaudy liveries. The chief 
 
RAILWAY NIGHTMARES. 121 
 
 booking office, once all bustle and energy, is now as 
 calm and full of dignity as a rich Clapham conven- 
 ticle. Its hours are short, and strictly adhered to, 
 especially as regards the closing. While its work is 
 decreased two-thirds, its clerks are increased one-half, 
 and are dressed in a much more elegant and correct 
 manner than they were during the days of its joint- 
 stock existence. Literature is now more generally 
 patronized ; and the leading newspapers and periodi- 
 cals are not only taken in, but diligently read during 
 three-fourths of the short business hours. 
 
 The forms of application for tickets are much 
 more elaborate than the old rude method of simply 
 paying your money, obtaining a voucher, stamped in- 
 stantaneously, and walking away. Every man who 
 wishes to go to Burygold, or any intermediate station, 
 must apply for a printed form; such application to 
 be countersigned by at least one respectable house- 
 keeper. The form has then to be filled up according 
 to certain ample printed directions, which occupy 
 about a folio page and a-half. The man who wishes 
 to go by rail to Burygold, or any intermediate station, 
 must state his age ; must say whether he is a Dis- 
 senter or a Church of England man; must state 
 whether he is a housekeeper or a lodger ; if the first, 
 how long he has been one ; if the second, of what de- 
 gree; must state whether he has been vaccinated; 
 whether he has had the measles ; whether he has any 
 tendency to lunacy, or whether his parents have ever 
 
122 UNDER BOW BELLS 
 
 exhibited that tendency; must say whether he has 
 ever been to Bury gold, or to any intermediate station, 
 before, and if so, how many times, and upon what 
 dates, and upon what business ; must state what is 
 his present object in going to Burygold, and how long 
 he is likely to stay ; must state the exact weight of 
 luggage he intends to take, and what the nature and 
 contents of such luggage may be; must state the 
 number of his family (if any), and the ages of his wife 
 and children respectively ; and must send this return 
 in, accompanied by a letter of application, written 
 upon folio foolscap with a margin, and addressed 
 to the Right Honourable the Duke of Stokers, 
 Governor- General of the Great Royal Deadlock 
 Railway, Having allowed three clear days, for veri- 
 fication and inquiries, the passenger may attend at 
 
 the chief office of the Great Royal Deadlock Rail- 
 
 i 
 
 way, between the hours of one and three, p.m., and 
 receive his ticket upon payment of the fare autho- 
 rized by Act of Parliament. If there be any in- 
 formality in his return, he is sent back by the 
 unflinching clerks. He has to go through the same 
 form over again, and to wait another three clear 
 days, before he again applies for a ticket. 
 
 With much exertion, the Government managers 
 of the Great Royal Deadlock Railway are enabled 
 to start two trains during their working day, at an 
 annual cost to the country of about eight thousand 
 pounds per mile. 
 
RAILWAY NIGHTMARES. 123 
 
 A number of grants and privileges have been 
 made to many members of tlie governing class, who 
 now hold positions, and reside upon the line. There 
 are the Grand Ranger, the Deputy Grand Ranger, 
 the Secretary to the Deputy Grand Ranger; the 
 Lord Marshal, the Under Marshal; the Lord Ste- 
 ward of the Coke and Coal Department, the De- 
 puty Lord Steward; the Grease Master, Deputy 
 Grease Master, and the Keeper of the Oil Cans. 
 These officers have the privilege (besides grants of 
 land upon the line) of running special trains for 
 themselves and friends, without any formal notice to 
 his Grace the Governor- General. This privilege has 
 at present been sparingly used, and no particular 
 accident has sprung from it, except the smashing of 
 a ploughman who was crossing the line, and the 
 running, on one occasion, through the end wall of 
 the London terminus, into the middle of the public 
 road. 
 
 The Civil Service Staff of the Great Royal Dead- 
 lock Railway is the pride and glory of the country. 
 Compare it now, for efficiency and completeness un- 
 der Government superintendence, with what it was in 
 the days of the late bankrupt Joint-Stock Company. 
 Every man who enters upon even such humble posi- 
 tions as stoker, ticket-taker, or porter must be able 
 to tell the names of the Kings and Queens of Eng- 
 land.? give- a scientific analysis of coal (including the 
 chemistry of coke), and of the theory of combustion, 
 
124 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 and must show some respectable knowledge of conic 
 sections, trigonometry, and the use of the theodolite. 
 The principal appointments are numerous, varied, and 
 complete. There are fourteen Gentlemen Ushers of 
 the Great Board Room, and one Assistant Usher ; 
 eight Grooms of the General Manager's Office, and 
 one Assistant Groom ; fourteen Pages of the Loco- 
 motive Department, and one Assistant Page; one 
 hundred and fifty Inspectors of Stations, and one 
 Assistant Inspector; one hundred and fifty Exa- 
 miners of Bridges, and one Assistant Examiner; 
 one hundred and fifty Surveyors of Tunnels, and one 
 Assistant Surveyor; sixty Regulators of Refreshment 
 Rooms, and one Assistant Regulator; ten Heredi- 
 tary Grand Judges of Iron Girders, and one Assistant 
 Judge ; and fifty-six Gentlemen Lamplighters, with 
 one Assistant Gent. The nameless crowd of minor 
 offices are as numerous in proportion, and as carefully 
 filled, as the posts of trust and honour. The system 
 of the Civil Service is carried into the minutest 
 corners of the railway, and wherever there is a de- 
 partment with thirty or forty clerks, there is always 
 to be found one assistant clerk. Every engine is 
 manufactured on the premises, by a body of work- 
 men, overlooked by another body of surveyors. The 
 cost of every locomotive is about double the price 
 usually charged hj a regular manufacturing engineer. 
 To avoid even the remotest chance of accident by 
 explosions from over- work, no engine is kept in use 
 
RAILWAY NIGHTMARES. 125 
 
 more than three months, and some not even that 
 small number of weeks. So careful are the stoker 
 and driver of the passengers' lives, that where there 
 is the slightest chance of an accident from the ob- 
 stinate refusal of a home-made locomotive engine to 
 move on, rather than irritate it by a dangerous pres- 
 sure of steam, they desert the unruly machine, and 
 the passengers walk with perfect safety to their des- 
 tination along the tranquil and beautifully regulated 
 line. 
 
 Such are some of the railway nightmares that 
 haunt me, and will not pass away. 
 
126 
 
 HOW I FELL AMONG MONSTERS. 
 
 During the time that I was a soap-boiler in Queen- 
 hithe, and alderman of my ward in Lower Thames 
 Street, Her Most Gracious Majesty paid a state visit 
 to the City. I was, of course, by virtue of my 
 position in the Corporation, one of the most promi- 
 nent of the group whose duty it was to receive Her 
 Majesty at the portals of the Guildhall ; and I re- 
 ceived the honour of knighthood. The empty badge 
 of distinction was thrust upon me without any wish 
 expressed or implied on my part. Consequently, 
 when I was duly created one of the sacred throng, I 
 walked about for several weeks in a "moody, rest- 
 less, uncomfortable state of mind. If I had been a 
 single man I should most assuredly have declined 
 the honour ; but my wife, as I called her then ; my 
 lady as I call her now, with an amiable weakness 
 (which she shares with a multitude of important 
 people), begged that I would on no account miss the 
 opportunity; and I, therefore, submitted without 
 a murmur. She endeavoured to fortify me in my 
 new position by picturing to me the behaviour of 
 certain other noble martyrs, who had exhibited 
 great fortitude, and patient endurance under a similar 
 mniction. Some there were, who went steadily on 
 
HOW I FELL AMONG MONSTERS. 127 
 
 in their old round of portrait-painting, or statue- 
 moulding, and still were knights. Some there were, 
 who gave lessons in music, or performed surgical 
 operations in back parlours, and still were knights. 
 Some there were who were skilful with the builder's 
 rule and trowel, or the chemist's retort and blowpipe, 
 and still were knights. All this was very cheering, 
 as far as it went ; but it did not reconcile me to the 
 absurdity of a real knight sitting in a soap-boiler's 
 counting-house in Queenhithe. I fancied that the 
 very porters in my employment laughed at me when 
 I arrived of a morning; and that my chief clerk 
 looked with pity upon me, and the honours which I 
 wore so uneasily. 
 
 I soon made up my mind to a decided course of 
 action, and another week saw my business transferred 
 to a nephew and my chief clerk; my comfortable 
 middle-class family mansion at Peckham advertised 
 for sale, and my domestic circle removed to the 
 neighbourhood most adorned by that aristocracy 
 of whom we were suddenly called upon to form a 
 part. 
 
 Having supplied ourselves with all the solid ne- 
 cessaries of our position, my wife (or my lady, I 
 mean), began to look round, to see what there was 
 of the ornamental that we had omitted ; and the first 
 thing that came under this class of requirements was 
 a coat of arms. The order was given to a competent 
 person ; and, after the usual family inquiries, and a 
 
128 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 considerable delay, a highly-coloured drawing of our 
 heraldic symbols was forwarded for inspection. I 
 never had much admiration for, or knowledge of 
 heraldry, and my expectations of deriving much sa- 
 tisfaction from the investigations and performances 
 of the learned artist engaged, was very small indeed. 
 I was, however, scarcely prepared for the combi- 
 nation of monstrosities which were presented to me. 
 There was a shield, which looked like a cauldron; 
 on the left side was the drawing of an unwieldy 
 animal, meant for an elephant, leaning with one paw 
 heavily against the shield, and with the other paw 
 directing attention to its face, like a showman exhi- 
 biting the great canvas picture outside a booth at a 
 fair. On the other side was an animal compounded 
 of the turkey, the whale, the flying-dragon, the ban- 
 tam cock, and the mermaid, with a sting coming out 
 of its jaws, looking like a long tobacco-pipe. These 
 were called supporters : the term " supporters " 
 pleased me very much as applied to the elephant, 
 who threatened every moment to overbalance the 
 frail structure, burying the other curious monster in 
 the ruins. On the top of the cauldron, called the 
 crest, were the head of a Hottentot Venus, and a 
 lively boar tripping it gently on the light fantastic 
 paw. In the centre of the shield, or cauldron, were 
 two fat, consequential birds, name unknown, and 
 three small-tooth combs ; for the artist said he found 
 out (an excuse no doubt for the enormous charge he 
 
HOW I FELL AMONG MONSTERS. 129 
 
 made) that our family had been ennobled in the 
 dark ages — dark indeed ! However, this last heraldic 
 freak, caused me to question the artist about the 
 meaning of such highly fanciful, not to say humor- 
 ous hieroglyphics, and I obtained a long account of 
 how I became entitled to each of the supporters, the 
 elephant and the compound animal; the Hottentot 
 Venus and the dancing boar ; the two birds and the 
 three small-tooth combs. Notwithstanding the ex- 
 planation, I had not yet the courage to order the 
 engraving of a seal, before I consulted my lady. 
 
 " Well, my dear," that sensible woman observed, 
 " it does seem odd that we should get such a peculiar 
 coat of arms; but if you look over a Peerage, you 
 will find many things quite as strange, and I have no 
 doubt the artist is quite right." 
 
 Acting upon the suggestion of my lady, I con- 
 sulted a Peerage, and also one or two books upon 
 heraldry, and I soon found myself studying a pecu- 
 liar alphabet, mainly consisting of animals and 
 monsters. There were cockatrices, dragons, mer- 
 maids, lions, wiverns, griffins, griffins' heads, beavers, 
 otters, effigies of men, crabs, lobsters, crevices, sole- 
 fish, salmon, dolphins, eels, flies, bees, parrots, doves, 
 pelicans, martlets, cocks, peacocks, ravens, turkeys, 
 owls, phoenixes, hawks, falcons, spread eagles, heads, 
 wings, feathers, legs, cranes, herons, kingfishers, 
 swans, ducks, adders, snails, scorpions, grasshoppers, 
 toads, tortoises, emmets, spiders, moles, hares, conies, 
 
 K 
 
130 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 greyhounds, dogs, foxes, cats, squirrels, hedgehogs, 
 wolves, wolves' heads, bears, bears' heads, tigers, 
 tigers' heads, lions' heads and paws, unicorns, camels, 
 boars and boars' heads, stags' heads and bucks' heads, 
 bucks, harts, hinds, stags, goats, goats' heads, bulls, 
 whole and in part ; elephants, horses, asses, and 
 death's heads and bones. Then there were angels, 
 spheres and stars, suns and suns' rays, moons, cres- 
 cents, fires and names, sea, fountains, rocks, mullets, 
 nebulae, rainbows, stones, trees, leaves, escarbuncles, 
 escallop shells, and pickaxes. 
 
 Amongst the monsters more rarely used were 
 the nepandis .or ape-hog — half ape, half swine ; the 
 homocane — half child, half spaniel; the hamya — a 
 compound of a woman, a dragon, a lion, a goat, a 
 dog, and a horse ; the dragon-tyger and the dragon- 
 wolf; the lion wyvern or flying-serpent; the winged 
 satyr-fish ; the cat-fish ; the devil-fish ; the ass- 
 bittern; the ram-eagle; the falcon-fish with a 
 hound's ear; and the wonderful pig of the ocean. 
 
 The application of these ample and curious mate- 
 rials is worthy of the science. The crests present 
 every conceivable form of animal and monster in every 
 attitude of repose, defiance, meekness, stupidity, pom- 
 posity, friskiness, rage, and fear. The supporters are 
 sometimes animals and sometimes men, and the for- 
 mer are generally more intellectual in appearance 
 than the latter. Sometimes it is a striding unicorn 
 talking loudly across the cauldron to a frowning lion 
 
HOW I FELL AMONG MONSTERS. 131 
 
 Occasionally it is a conversation between an indignant 
 tiger and a mild-eyed, melancholy pelican. Fre- 
 quently the supporters are two sturdy angels, with 
 fat, solid wings, and short, thick, earthy legs. Some- 
 times it is a pair of indecent giants with clubs, or a 
 couple of snarling tigers, or a pair of large cats with 
 heads like bank- directors and hind -quarters shaved 
 like poodles. Sometimes a brace of respectable mas- 
 ter sweeps do duty at the sides, or a couple of frantic 
 eagles dancing a wild toe-and-heel dance. Then ani- 
 mals of more than doubtful genus point with weak, 
 idiotic smiles to the figures on the shield, which are 
 quite in harmony with the crests and supporters. 
 Moors' heads, ships like sauce-tureens, mallets, bel- 
 lows, horseshoes, salmon standing up like raw re- 
 cruits, helpless dancing-bears, dignified owls, waltz- 
 ing lions, marching blackbirds, pot-bellied doves, 
 acrobatic swine, and a mass of inanimate objects, the 
 pictorial and symbolical meaning of which it is only 
 given to a pursuivant-at-arms to understand. In the 
 crests, besides animals, there are the doll-trick, the 
 army in Bombastes Furioso, the constant arm stick- 
 ing up like the pigeon-leg out of a pie, heads on the 
 points of daggers, men on rocking-horses, fools'- 
 heads, venerable bearded faces looking over the edge 
 of the shield, like Socrates in a warm bath, and legs 
 kicking out right and left, as if the owner had fallen 
 head-first into the heraldic cauldron. 
 
 Looking at the highly refined aristocracy of the 
 
132 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 nineteenth century,, with their art treasures, their 
 pictures, their music, their statues, their love of har- 
 mony and grace in dress and furniture, it is marvel- 
 lous to find them struggling to trace themselves back 
 to a race of men, who could have been nothing but 
 rude, untaught, brutal savages. Still more marvel- 
 lous is it to find them clinging to a set of uncouth 
 symbols, that were invented to convey ideas to a 
 generation of chine-splitting, head-cracking ruffians, 
 who could neither read nor write. 
 
 In deference to my lady, I have followed in the 
 footsteps of my neighbours. The seal to my letters 
 is as large as a raspberry tart. I have had my arms 
 painted on the panels of my carriage ; and, when one 
 of the family dies, I shall hang up, outside the man- 
 sion, a black-bordered escutcheon, as large as a public- 
 house sign-board. Sometimes I fancy that I see a 
 practical man looking at the unwieldy elephant, the 
 compound monster, the head of the Hottentot Venus, 
 the lively boar, the consequential birds, and the three 
 small-tooth combs, with something like contempt, 
 and I feel inclined to rush out and shake him by the 
 hand, telling him that I agree with his sentiments 
 exactly. 
 
133 
 
 WANTED, A SECRETARY. 
 
 I think the first effort I made to obtain any im- 
 portant post was in a parochial direction : I went in 
 for assistant vestry-clerk of the influential parish of 
 Saint Spankus Within. In obedience to a very pro- 
 mising and inviting advertisement, which appeared 
 three times consecutively in the two leading news- 
 papers, I sent in my application, carefully worded 
 and neatly written, sealed, endorsed, and directed, 
 accompanied by numerous and satisfactory testimo- 
 nials, to the chairman of the vestry, and awaited im- 
 patiently the morning appointed for a personal at- 
 tendance. It came at last, and dressed in what I 
 considered the most judicious and becoming style, I 
 proceeded to the vestry-hall. I was twenty years of 
 age, prepossessing in appearance, tolerably well edu- 
 cated, a good penman, a better accountant, a skilful 
 correspondent, and a person who might have been 
 entrusted with the keys of the cellars of the Bank of 
 England. All these qualities — and many more — my 
 testimonials set forth as only testimonials can, and 
 do j and I considered myself extremely well armed 
 for the contest. 
 
 When I arrived at the scene of battle, I found 
 about forty competitors assembled, of all ages, sizes, 
 
131 UNDE& BOW BELLS. 
 
 and appearances. Seme were mere lads, far younger 
 tlian the age specified in the advertisement (between 
 twenty and thirty) ; some were evidently men near 
 forty, perhaps, with families at home, anxiously wait- 
 ing to know their fate; others were jaunty youths 
 who lived with their parents, and who did not care 
 much whether their application turned out a success 
 or a failure. 
 
 There was one man present whose air of carefully 
 prepared respectability, covering his poverty like a 
 thin transparent veil, particularly attracted my atten- 
 tion. I watched his nervous, careworn, despairing 
 countenance, full, even to my inexperienced eye, of a 
 history of wasted energies, want of self-reliance, and 
 a weak dependence upon friends and expected patrons. 
 I met him several times afterwards, under similar 
 circumstances, always the same, hopeless, helpless 
 creature ; applying for everything and getting nothing, 
 a burden upon his friends, and a useless clod upon 
 the earth. 
 
 We were all placed in a waiting-room, into wdiich 
 the vestry-hall opened; and when the messenger 
 passed in and out, we got brief glimpses of the some- 
 what noisy and undignified body of parish senators, 
 who were to decide our fate. Some of us collected 
 in little conversational groups, discussing our different 
 prospects, showing each other the rough drafts of the 
 applications we had sent in, and indulging generally 
 in a good deal of weak, verbal criticism, 
 
WANTED, A SECRETARY. 135 
 
 Suddenly, our consultations were interrupted by 
 the loud voice of a porter from the vestry-hall door, 
 calling the name of "Bates." This was the first ap- 
 plicant called in — an ordinary-looking lad, who had 
 kept aloof from the rest of the company. As soon as 
 he had gone in to be examined, a short young man 
 who stood next to me, whose name I forget, but 
 whom, because of his sharp nose and quick, restless 
 eyes, I shall call the Weasel, hastily examined a paper 
 that he held in his hand, and then said, reflectively — 
 
 " Oh !— oh ! Master Bates— I smell a rat ! " 
 
 I, of course, asked him what supposed discovery 
 had led to this observation. 
 
 " Well," said he, {i look here. Isn't a man named 
 Bates the chairman of the vestry? Isn't a man 
 named Bates the vestry clerk ? Isn't a man named 
 Bates the relieving officer ? And are there not several 
 men of the name of Bates upon the vestry ?" 
 
 I was compelled, looking over the parochial list, 
 to reply in the affirmative. 
 
 " Yes," he returned, n and j^oung Bates is safe 
 for the post, mark my words ! " 
 
 We were called in, one by one, before the vestry : 
 about fifty men, chiefly shopkeepers, sitting at a board 
 covered with green baize and writing materials. Our 
 applications were read, and a few questions put to us, 
 having answered which we were suffered to with- 
 draw. 
 
 After a few hours consumed in this wav, we had 
 
136 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 all been examined in our turn, and it was announced 
 to us that three candidates had been selected, from 
 whom one would be elected to fill the post, at one 
 o' clock precisely, on that day fortnight. The names 
 were Bates, the "Weasel, and myself. 
 
 " I told you so ! " said the Weasel, " I can see it 
 all. I shall come on the day appointed, to see the 
 end of the job; but I shan't take any trouble about 
 it whatever." 
 
 So spake the Weasel, and if I had had faith in 
 his words, I might have saved myself a deal of un- 
 necessary, unproductive labour. But I was young, 
 fresh, and trusting ; and, perhaps, a trifle suspicious 
 that my sharp little friend intended to make herculean 
 efforts, for all his assumed indifference. In an evil 
 moment I procured a list of the vestrymen — with 
 their names and addresses — and went home to arrange 
 an energetic and methodical canvas. 
 
 I wrote upwards of three hundred letters ; all after 
 a form that I had prepared ; and, when I had finished 
 them, I started with a thick pair of boots and a good 
 umbrella to take them round ; leaving them where I 
 could not see the persons required, and obtaining an 
 interview where it was possible. 
 
 I canvassed for ten days in the most active and 
 persevering manner. I saw butchers and butchers' 
 wives in little boxes at the end of greasy shops, both 
 in the calm and soapsuds of an afternoon, and in the 
 hurry and bustle of a killing morning, when infuriated 
 
WANTED, A SECRETARY. 137 
 
 bulls were tearing up the backyard, and heavy sheep 
 were running headlong between people's legs. I saw 
 grocers in large busy shops, and introduced my busi- 
 ness, as well as I could, amidst the grinding clatter 
 of steam coffee-mills in full operation. I saw bakers 
 on the subject, who came up, unwillingly, in the cold 
 out of warm bake-houses, with their shirt-sleeves 
 tucked-up, their naked feet in loose slippers, and look- 
 ing as white as the Pierrot in a pantomime. I went 
 into tallow-chandlers' shops, enduring the combined 
 smell of oil, candles, paint, size, and soap, to obtain 
 an interview with one of the men in power. I went 
 into large upholsterers' warehouses, and after toiling 
 up-stairs and down, in garrets and cellars, and along 
 rooms filled with furniture that I could scarcely thread 
 my way through, found a clerk in authority at last, 
 stuck in a small counting-house, amidst a forest of 
 bedsteads, who kindly informed me that his master 
 was in Paris, and not expected home for six weeks. 
 
 Some shops that I went to were in the charge of 
 dirty boys, who, the moment I entered, rang a bell, 
 bringing down the proprietor, in the middle of his 
 dinner, from an upper story, who did not always receive 
 me very politely, and who cursed the official position 
 that exposed him to such interruptions at such a 
 period of the day. Sometimes it was a public-house 
 that required a visit, and the landlord was brought 
 out of the cellar in the midst of fining or adulterating 
 the beer, to listen to my views uttered across the 
 
138 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 sponge-cakes on the counter inside the bottle-en- 
 trance. Sometimes it was a livery-stable keeper; 
 ancL, if he happened not to be in the very neat, clean 
 house at the entrance to the yard, I had to seek him 
 amongst plunging horses, and whizzing ostlers. 
 
 Then, at private houses, I saw, or tried to see, 
 doctors, lawyers, clergymen, and retired gentlemen ; 
 some I caught just as they were going out in the 
 morning, and took a hurried interview upon the door- 
 step ; some I found, at the moment they were coming 
 home hungry to dinner, in no mood to be trifled with 
 by any man, much less by me. In some instances I 
 had long periods of waiting for an interview, in dingy 
 parlours, looking at a piano, an ornamental book 
 upon a round table, and two awful portraits in oil 
 of the master and mistress of the house. Sometimes 
 I passed about the same period of time in a luxurious 
 dining-room, the brilliant carpet of which, to my 
 horror, bore two muddy footprints of my own boots. 
 Once I was an unwilling auditor of a little do- 
 mestic squabble, which was occurring in a back-par- 
 •lour closed in with folding-doors ; and I don't think 
 I made the impression upon the master of the house 
 that I should have done, if he had been a little 
 calmer, and not quite so red in the face. Many of 
 my interviews were with old ladies of different ages 
 and appearances, who, in their husbands' or brothers' 
 a nee, undertook to transact business for them. 
 Numbers whom I saw, belonged to that section of 
 
WANTED, A SECRETARY. 139 
 
 til e vestry men, who seldom or never went near the hall; 
 arid others must have been that active, public-spirited 
 fifty before whom I went on the day of the examina- 
 tion; and who although, perhaps, they received me 
 more courteously than the rest, had arranged who 
 was to fill the office, weeks and weeks before it was 
 even advertised. 
 
 Peeling assured that my exertion had not been 
 thrown away, I went with some degree of confidence 
 to the vestry-hall on the day of election. Our wait- 
 ing-room was dull enough now, for only the Weasel 
 and myself were there; for some reason, Master 
 Bates did not make his appearance. The "Weasel 
 still adhered to his opinion about the successful can- 
 didate, and a quarter of an hour proved him to be 
 correct. Master Bates was announced as the paro- 
 chial favourite. 
 
 I w r as a little damped in my ardour by my ill 
 success in this first attempt, but I took courage, and 
 did not suffer any advertisements to escape me. I 
 had repeated interviews with a great number of very 
 curious people, engaged, so I presumed, in the get- 
 ting up of public companies. I found that the 
 amount of cash deposit required to insure my honesty 
 and fidelity varied from five to five hundred pounds. 
 In some instances I was invited, not to say required, 
 to take an interest in the undertaking, and place 
 myself in the desirable position of an equal with the 
 chairman and directors. In one case they wanted a 
 
140 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 thousand shares placed upon the market, a phrase at 
 that time totally beyond my comprehension ; in an- 
 other, they required two or more passable men, with 
 good names and addresses, to be introduced, to com- 
 plete the board of directors. 
 
 Sometimes it was a company for supplying opera- 
 glasses in any quantity, at twopence per night, with 
 the option of purchase at eighteenpence ; sometimes, 
 a company for introducing the manly game of skittles 
 in Paris, and throughout continental Europe; some- 
 times for working a copper- mine in a remote part 
 of Cornwall; sometimes for constructing a railway 
 (under government guarantee), whether the inhabit- 
 ants liked it or not, in the interior of China. Some- 
 times it was an inventor, who had got a patent that 
 promised golden harvests, and a little knot of men 
 rallying round him, with quite as much ingenuity, 
 but unfortunately with just as little capital as he; 
 coal-mines, iron-works, slate- quarries, plans for class 
 education, life, fire, water, and loan-offices, and tra- 
 velling panoramic exhibitions, alike wanted a secre- 
 tary, who could do something for them beyond the 
 power of man, or such a man as I was, to perform ; 
 and, of course, my numerous letters and interviews 
 ended in nothing. 
 
 Occasionally, coming out of one door as I was 
 going in. at another, or walking up a street as I was 
 walking down, I thought I caught a passing glimpse 
 of the faded respectability and the careworn face of 
 
WANTED, A SECRETARY. 141 
 
 the man I had particularly noticed at the parish 
 contest. 
 
 I next became one of a body of about fifty candi- 
 dates who answered the invitation of a committee of 
 a public charity about to appoint a second secretary. 
 
 It was called the Society for the Promotion of 
 
 something which I forget now ; but I do not think I 
 should be far wrong if I said for the Promotion of the 
 comfort of its body of officers. The house was in a 
 leading thoroughfare — a substantial mansion, adorned 
 with an imposing front of four Ionic columns. There 
 was an entrance-hall, with a stout porter in a large 
 black leathern chair and a most luxurious livery. 
 There was a waiting-room furnished with the thick- 
 est of Turkey carpets, the solidest of chairs and 
 tables, neat book-cases filled with large richly-bound 
 books, and portraits of heavy men in the costume of 
 a bygone time. We were shown into this comfort- 
 able apartment, supported by charity, by the stout 
 charity porter, and we took our places on the chairs 
 ranged round the walls, and stared at each other in 
 blank silence. Presently the door opened, and the 
 gorgeous porter came in with a paper in his hand, 
 and read the first name in an impressive manner. It 
 was mine. I followed him up a broad stone stair- 
 case, richly carpeted, and across a wide landing-place, 
 ornamented with more pictures, to the board-room, 
 entering which, I found myself in the presence of 
 the governors of the place. They were, as far as I 
 
142 UNDER, BOW BELLS. 
 
 can recollect, without an exception, stout, red-faced, 
 fall-blooded men, in white neckcloths and glossy black 
 coats. The charity they administered was the pro- 
 ceeds of a large amount of public benevolence en- 
 grafted upon an old bequest of some man who had 
 died in the reign of Henry VIII., and whose pro- 
 perty had increased in value from year to year to 
 an extent that the bequeather could never have 
 dreamed of. 
 
 The room below was comfortable, but the board- 
 room was perfectly luxurious. A warm, rich, full, 
 purple glow fell from the walls, the curtains, and 
 carpets, upon the faces of all the committee. They 
 looked as if their charity, as usual, had begun at 
 home,, by taking care of every man who was fortunate 
 enough to be upon that board. I went through the 
 usual examination. The handwriting was mine ; the 
 testimonials were mine ; I had never committed for- 
 gery j I was a member of the Church of England, the 
 right church for the institution. 
 
 I bowed myself out ; and, going down the stairs, 
 I saw standing in the hall, my careworn friend of the 
 parochial contest, looking several shades more faded 
 than ever. I spoke to him kindly, and he asked me 
 to walk with him for a few minutes up the street. I 
 took him to a neighbouring tavern, where I paid for 
 a dinner, of which he seemed in no degree unwilling 
 to partake. He told me that, when he arrived at the 
 institution, and saw upon what a scale of magnifi- 
 
143 
 
 cence everything was conducted, his heart failed him, 
 and he felt that his appearance was not sufficiently 
 respectable to carry weight with the directors, even 
 if he had been bold enough to go amongst us in the 
 waiting-room to take his turn. Lingering undecided 
 in the hall, he got into conversation with an under- 
 porter (not the gorgeous man in livery), who told 
 him, confidentially, that the meeting about the secre- 
 taryship was all humbug, and was merely held to 
 give a colourable pretext for electing a young man — 
 the nephew of the vice-president — who had been 
 filling the office on trial for some months past. The 
 porter volunteered this information because he hated 
 the man who was going to get in ; and he said fur- 
 ther, that the present proceedings were only taken 
 to throw dust in the eyes of a few members of the 
 board, and to appear to comply with certain standing 
 rules of the institution. The experience I had gained 
 during the last few years taught me to believe this, 
 and I went home to await the result of my apparently 
 favourable examination, without the slightest hope 
 or expectation of success. The next day I received 
 a sealed letter appointing another examination in a 
 week. When the time arrived, I went up and found 
 the original fifty candidates reduced to ten ; the man 
 the porter had spoken of, being (of course) one. We 
 were called up separately, as before, and underwent 
 an examination in no respect different from the last. 
 The next day I received another sealed letter an- 
 
144 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 pointing a third examination in a week. I went 
 again mechanically, and found, this time, two candi- 
 dates besides myself: the vice-president's nephew 
 being still one of us. Another examination — more 
 hurried than the last — took place, and we then went 
 away. Of course the vice-president's nephew got 
 the place. 
 
 For a few years I gave up secretaryship hunting, 
 and married Amelia. I shall not describe Amelia ; 
 but merely state that we lived a quiet, happy exist- 
 ence, doing positively nothing. One evening over 
 the dinner-table Amelia spoke as follows : — 
 
 " Do you know, Edgar, that they've made father 
 chairman of that Steam Burial Company ?" 
 
 "I do, Amelia/' I rejoined. 
 
 "Well, don't say anything, but he intends to 
 make you the manager." 
 
 "No I " I exclaimed, and the old war-horse again 
 sniffed the battle afar off. 
 
 This time I remained perfectly passive. I saw 
 advertisements in the papers, headed " A Manager 
 Wanted," and referring to the Golgotha Cemetery 
 and Steam Burial Company. I was instructed — I 
 say instructed — to send in a certain application, and 
 I sent it. I have no hesitation in stating this, 
 because the company has long since been wound up. 
 On the day of examination I went down in my 
 father-in-law's brougham (very different from the 
 days when I used to look upon a chairman as a 
 
WANTED, A SECRETARY. 145 
 
 Hindoo does upon Brahma), and I was personally 
 introduced to one or two of the safe directors. I 
 was ushered into a small side office, where I could 
 see the waiting-room through a curtain. There was 
 the usual number of applicants, standing and sitting 
 — just such a group as I had formed one of, many a 
 time. Amongst them was my poor old, shabby, 
 faded friend, looking many degrees more faded, and 
 careworn, and threadbare than ever. I pitied them 
 all, for I had a fellow feeling with them. One by 
 one they were examined and went away ; hoping, or 
 confident, or desponding, as their natures or their 
 necessities prompted. 
 
 The directors of the late Golgotha Company cer- 
 tainly deserve praise for one thing — they elected me 
 at a single sitting, and spared the sufferings of those 
 other weary watchers who watched them, and who 
 may be watching others still, for those crumbs of 
 bitter patronage that seldom or never fall to the poor 
 stranger, however worthy, from the fulness of a rich 
 board-room table. 
 
146 
 
 MY TWO PARTNERS. 
 
 i. 
 
 Why do men become chimney- sweeps, dust-con- 
 tractors, sausage-makers, meat-salesmen, and soap- 
 manufacturers? Why do men in large orchestras 
 play upon kettle-drums, cymbals, trombones, and 
 serpents, instead of choosing violins, flutes, and 
 clarinets? I cannot make it out. 
 
 ii. 
 
 I awoke one morning, and found myself a man of 
 property. A man of property ( There is a bitter 
 mockery concealed in those words. My uncle had 
 died suddenly, without a will, and I was his heir. 
 Heir to what? Three distinct and gigantic nui- 
 sances ; — a bone-boiling factory, a skin-drying settle- 
 ment, and a patent manure depot. Inscrutable fate ! 
 My mother on her death-bed had exhorted me to be 
 genteel; she had left me a genteel income; and I 
 had lived a genteel life. It was all over now. At 
 the early age of twenty-five, with the romantic name 
 of Edwin Gazelle, I was sucked into the vortex of 
 trade. — And such a trade ! 
 
 in» 
 I went] over my new possessions. It was a hard, 
 
MY TWO PARTNERS. 147 
 
 sad task. I saw in the distance a bleak, bare wharf, 
 which they told me was mine ; but I did not venture 
 personally to measure its extent. I saw several rot- 
 ten-looking barges lying off this wharf, and, in them, 
 several men, who seemed to be dancing and chirrup- 
 ing in the mud. They cheered me vigorously from 
 the depths of their unwholesome craft, and I gave 
 them beer. They were happy ; — happier than their 
 new master, who was obliged to conceal his conflict- 
 ing emotions. 
 
 " Shall I put your name, sir, upon the barge?" 
 asked my late uncle's chief clerk, who was now my 
 managing man. 
 
 "Not at present, Steevens," I replied, with a 
 shudder, "not at present. Oh, certainly not at 
 present." 
 
 The next place to inspect was the skin-drying 
 settlement; a Robinson Crusoe-like collection of 
 huts that were built of twigs and branches. Here 
 were hundreds of thin, flat, spectral forms of animals 
 stretched upon the ground, and swinging upon strings 
 over my head. A child's frock and a few pairs of 
 socks were hung in the centre of these phantoms ; 
 relieving the animal wilderness with a little humanity. 
 
 "What is all this ?" I asked of Steevens. 
 
 " These are your skins," returned my managing 
 man. 
 
 "And the clothes V 
 
 " They belong to the keeper's children." 
 
148 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 We left the place without examining further, 
 although the patent manure depot was at the back of 
 these premises. The aspect was not cheering, and 
 he smell was indescribable. 
 
 Prom the skin-yard we proceeded to the bone- 
 boiling factory ; the chief of my new possessions. I 
 had come into my property, and I was compelled, in 
 common decency, to go over it ; but there are certain 
 things that a man is not equal to, even when interest 
 and curiosity prompt him to undertake the task. 
 The factory was large, busy, and situated near an 
 important main road; and, at the moment I ap- 
 proached it, the least endurable part of its manu- 
 facturing process was in full operation. 
 
 " Steevens," I said, faintly, " where is the chief 
 counting-house ? " 
 
 " In the centre of the factory-yard," replied my 
 managing man. 
 
 u Then, Steevens," I returned, holding my scented 
 handkerchief to my nose, " as I have an appointment 
 now, you shall bring the books and papers to my 
 rooms at six o'clock this evening." 
 
 At the time fixed he came, in company with one 
 Mr. Nickel, a friend of mine of experienced business 
 habits. We employed ourselves till nearly midnight. 
 The examination, as far as I could make out, went to 
 show that the property, if rather repulsive, was de- 
 cidedly lucrative. It was agreed that, to advertise it 
 for sale, was worse than useless ; and, appointing my 
 
MY TWO PARTNERS. 149 
 
 friend as general inspector, to look after my interest, 
 I accepted my destiny. From that hour I was a 
 bone-boiler. 
 
 IV. 
 
 I had command of wealth, but I was not happy. 
 Although I did not alter my style of living, I felt 
 that I was no longer the same individual. I had 
 bartered my soul for worldly goods, and the cold 
 shadow of the eternal factory was always darkening 
 my heart. I still moved in the same circles as I had 
 moved in before. I was still the same eligible single 
 man. I was still five feet five inches in height ; my 
 appearance still preserved its pleasing, if not com- 
 manding expression ; and yet I was not happy. The 
 name of bone-boiler was always hissing in my ears. 
 The horrid effluvium, which had always prevented 
 me from exploring my own premises, seemed to 
 cling to my clothes, and exude from the roots of 
 my hair, 
 
 I was now nervous and diffident; for I was 
 moving in society under false pretences. Carefully 
 sb I had maintained the secret of my connection 
 with the repulsive factory, and its very repulsive 
 adjuncts,, I could not be certain that others had been 
 equally discreet, and, in every sly glance, every 
 whisper, and every titter, I seemed to read the dis- 
 covery of my imposition. The blow might fall at any 
 instant, and I lived in dread. 
 
150 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 V. 
 
 It was near the close of May, when I received 
 my usual invitation for Mrs. Buckram's second annual 
 ball. I was supposed to be the same young, idle 
 lounger with expectations, living in chambers, as I 
 was some months before ; and scores of such invita- 
 tions came to me in the course of the year. I 
 accepted this one gladly, for I knew that she would 
 be there: Emma Sandford, Mrs. Buckram's niece, 
 and the fairest and sweetest of her sex. 
 
 The night of the ball came, and with it all that I 
 had anticipated, even in my fondest dreams. She 
 was fairer and more amiable than ever, and she de- 
 voted so much of her time to me in the dance, that 
 most of the visitors thought we were really engaged. 
 When nearly all the dancers were down in the sup- 
 per-room, we found ourselves upon a balcony, looking 
 into the garden. My lips had long been struggling 
 to disclose my love ; and my honour told me that, 
 at the same moment, I ought to state fully and 
 unhesitatingly who I was — what I was. The situ- 
 ation in which we were unexpectedly placed (was it 
 quite unexpectedly ?) gave eloquence to my tongue. 
 
 " Miss Sandford — Emma — yi I said, " I dare not 
 speak to you upon a subject that is weighing on my 
 heart, until I have made a full and honourable dis- 
 closure. I am not — I am not what I seem ! " 
 
 " Good gracious ! " gasped the blushing and trem- 
 bling Emma. 
 
MY TWO PARTNERS. 151 
 
 " Yes," I continued, " at the same moment in 
 which I tell you that I love you, I tell you that I am 
 — a bone-boiler ! " 
 
 She sank upon a rustic seat, but quickly recovered 
 herself. 
 
 " A bone-boiler ? " she muttered in her sweetest 
 tones, evidently relieved by finding that I was not, as 
 she had seemingly expected, a man of crime — " a 
 bone-boiler, Edwin ! and what is that?" 
 
 Beautiful simplicity ! Troublesome question ! 
 ' { "Well, dearest/' I replied, getting more confident 
 now that I had made the revelation, "I scarcely 
 know, as I go so seldom to the works ; but they boil 
 
 bones" 
 
 "Works? bones?" she interrupted, evidently 
 full of some sudden idea. " Speak, Edwin, tell me, 
 where is this establishment — this factory ? you know 
 what I mean." 
 
 " My property, Emma ? " 
 " Yes." 
 
 " About three miles out of London, on the Down- 
 ham Road." 
 
 ' ' Near the church ? " 
 " Near the church." 
 "Then we are lost!" 
 "Lost?" 
 
 "Yes. Edwin," she returned, in sorrowful tones, "it 
 is within a stone's throw of my father's freehold villa, 
 and it is the one nuisance which embitters his life." 
 
152 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 What reply I might have made to this I can 
 scarcely tell, for, at that moment, Mr. Sandford, a 
 stately man of severe aspect, entered the balcony. 
 
 " Emma ! " he said, sternly to her, as he frowned 
 at me, " I have been searching for you everywhere ; 
 wish your aunt good night." 
 
 Emma gave me one tender, sorrowful glance, and 
 left the place followed by her father. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The next day was a busy one, at least for me. I 
 wrote to my manager at the works to cease operations 
 for several days, and he replied that this could not be 
 done. He would boil as little as possible, but boil 
 he must. My object was to prevent the nuisance 
 being very obtrusive at the exact moment of my 
 visit to Mr. Sandford. 
 
 I went to the Downham Road, about mid-day, 
 and I was shown into Mr. Sandford' s study. There 
 was one large French window which opened upon 
 an extensive ornamental garden ; and, in the distance, 
 just over the glass of a conservatory, I saw the two 
 black, smoking chimneys of my bone-boiling works. 
 Under any circumstances my errand was an excuse 
 for nervousness, and my peculiar adjacent property 
 did not add to my calmness. 
 
 In about five minutes, Mr. Sandford entered the 
 apartment, very stiff and severe in his manner, as 
 he motioned me to a seat. 
 
MY TWO PARTNERS. 153 
 
 " Sir/' he said, " after the conference between 
 you and my daughter, which I interrupted last night, 
 I am not altogether unaware of the object of your 
 visit. Take a chair." 
 
 This opening was chilling, and calculated to in- 
 crease my trepidation. I made no reply. 
 
 " Sir," he continued, in a severe tone, " the first 
 question which a parent very naturally puts to a gen- 
 tleman in your position is, What are his means for 
 supporting a matrimonial establishment ? May I put 
 that question to you, Mr. Gaz — , Gaz " 
 
 ' ' Mr. Gazelle," I answered. 
 
 " Mr. Gazelle?" he inquired. 
 
 I was about to reply to this very troublesome, but 
 fully expected question, when, with fear and horror, 
 I observed a dense volume of smoke issuing from 
 both my factory chimneys, and I was made painfully 
 conscious, at the same moment, of a very disagree- 
 able, not to say sickening effluvium, which floated 
 towards us over the garden and through the open 
 doors. I coughed and moved uneasily in my chair, 
 while Mr. Sandford lit several pastiles on the mantel- 
 shelf, and closed the garden window with a hasty 
 bang. 
 
 " Go on," he said, in an excited manner, " go 
 on; nothing but a Chancery injunction will stop this. 
 Night or day — it's always the same. My chrysan- 
 themums withered with smoke ; my family poisoned 
 with effluvium" 
 
154 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 " It's very annoying/' I said, " but " 
 
 " It's more than annoying, sir/' he interrupted; 
 " it's illegal, sir. They are bound down never to 
 boil bones when the wind is in the south, and I only 
 ask you to look at that weathercock over the conser- 
 vatory. Look at it carefully, sir ; you may be useful 
 as evidence." 
 
 "That, Mr. Sandford/' I said, with attempted 
 firmness, " I am afraid can never be." 
 
 " Sir?" he ejaculated, in astonishment. 
 
 " The law of England, sir," I remarked, M protects 
 a man from incriminating himself." 
 
 "You?" said Mr. Sandford, converting his brow 
 into a tall note of interrogation. 
 
 " Yes, sir, I am the proprietor of those works," 
 I replied, with a nervous gulp, feeling that all was 
 over. 
 
 It was now Mr. Sandford's turn to be discomposed \ 
 but he soon recovered himself. 
 
 "And you come here, sir," he said, red with 
 anger, " to ask my consent to my daughter's union 
 with an illegal and a pestilential nuisance !" 
 
 " Mr. Sandford," I began to reply, deprecia- 
 tingly 
 
 " Go, sir," he interrupted with irritating, though 
 pathetic, dignity ; " go, you have polluted my home. 
 You have made the ark of my declining years unbear- 
 able ; but you shall not rob me of my child ! " 
 
 " You decline my offer ? " I inquired with con- 
 
MY TWO PARTNERS. 155 
 
 siderable spirit; for I now felt indignant and 
 aroused. 
 
 "Good morning, sir!" lie said, with a majestic 
 wave of his hand. " Good morning ! " 
 
 In the passage I came full in the arms of my be- 
 loved and anxious Emma, who had evidently been 
 listening. 
 
 " Oh, Edwin," she exclaimed, "is papa indeed in- 
 exorable — and are we to part thus?" 
 
 I could not trust myself to speak ; but fled from 
 the place. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Scarcely knowing what I did, I rushed to the 
 works. The men were all on duty, with Steevens, 
 the manager, and my friend, the inspector. 
 
 "Boil!" I shouted, in my excitement. "Boil 
 like mad ! " 
 
 My two managers looked at each other, and then 
 looked at me ; but they made no remark. 
 
 " Pile up," I continued, " mountains high, and 
 let no copper in the place be other than a cauldron of 
 bubbling stench." 
 
 " You are aware, sir," replied Steevens," " that 
 we are already threatened by the inhabitants with 
 proceedings for creating a nuisance !" 
 
 "And especially by one Mr. Sandford, "inter- 
 rupted Mr. Nickel. 
 
 " Gentlemen !" I exclaimed, becoming more ex- 
 
156 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 cited on hearing the name of that obdurate parent ; 
 (c you are the managers here ; but I am the master. 
 Boil, I say, to the utmost verge of your power ! " 
 
 The order was obeyed without further remon- 
 strance ; and in half an hour the neighbourhood must 
 have been sickening under our repulsive activity. 
 What was my design ? I hardly knew. Perhaps to 
 storm my enemy Into compliance ? To reach him I 
 was compelled to annoy the innocent ; and, while I 
 gloated in imagination over his sufferings, I was pain- 
 fully conscious that my own Emma must be affected 
 by the same poisonous vapour. 
 
 At this thought a momentary weakness impelled 
 me to stop the busy nuisance ; but I checked it 
 at once, when I remembered the contempt I had 
 met with. The smoke rose higher and higher, and 
 rolled in majestic volumes of effluvium over my 
 enemy's villa. I was amply revenged ; and, as the 
 works became unbearable, I began to feel dizzy, and 
 turned my steps in the direction of home. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The excitement had preyed upon my health, and 
 I was not able to leave my residence for several days. 
 At the end of this time, I went once more into the 
 world, and wandered by a mysterious impulse to- 
 wards the Downham Eoad. I approached Mr. Sand- 
 ford's villa with no definite design. I had not de- 
 termined to call ; but I was curious to see the place. 
 
MY TWO PARTNERS. 157 
 
 A mild flavour of the works still hung over the 
 neighbourhood; and I judged, from this, that my 
 instructions had not been neglected. When I reached 
 the villa, my heart sunk within me ; for I found the 
 shutters of every window closed, except those of the 
 kitchen. A dreadful thought suggested itself. Could 
 I have caused a death in the family ? 
 
 Regardless of everything, I hastily rang the bell ; 
 and it was answered by an old charwoman. 
 
 "Is she — is anyone dead?" I asked, breath- 
 lessly. 
 
 " Lauk-a-daisy, sir," she replied, " you give me 
 quite a turn ! " 
 
 ' ' Is anyone dead in this house ? " I repeated. 
 
 ' ' No, sir," she replied, in a nervous manner. 
 
 " Why are the shutters closed then ? " 
 
 " Well, sir, I don't know who you may be." 
 
 " Why are they closed ? " 
 
 cc Becos the family couldn't stand them stinkin' 
 works, an' they've gone out o' town." 
 
 " Madman!" I muttered to myself; "I have 
 driven them into exile." 
 
 I asked the old woman where they had gone ; 
 but, of course, she could not tell ; for the address, as 
 usual, had been written on a piece of paper which 
 she had lost or mislaid. 
 
 " It's some town as begins with a P," she said. 
 
 " There are five hundred such towns ! " I re- 
 plied. 
 
158 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 IX. 
 
 A day of misery and a night of restlessness were 
 recompensed by an announcement which I read 
 the next morning in the second column of the 
 Times : — 
 
 "Edwin G- — z — ie. — The Chain Pier every morning at nine. 
 The air on the Downs is bracing, but it has no charms for me, 
 Better the smoke of a hundred b — e b — ng factories if thou wert 
 only near. — Emma S." 
 
 I read with eager and dazzled eyes, and I could 
 not doubt that this paragraph was meant for me. 
 The pointed mention of the Chain Pier and the 
 Downs, directed me to Brighton; and, rejecting the 
 old woman's statement, that the town began with a 
 P, I prepared at once to start for that fashionable 
 watering-place. A few minutes before I sent for the 
 cab, a letter without a signature, written in a strange 
 hand, and directed to me, arrived through the post. 
 Its contents were as follows : — 
 
 " Beware of Mr. Sandford, who is nothing but a respectable ad- 
 venturer. Ear from having any objection to your marriage with 
 his daughter, he is only too anxious to bring about the match j but, 
 in such a way that no questions shall be asked concerning his child's 
 prospects or wedding portion. Pause, and reflect. — Your Well- 
 wisher." 
 
 I treated this base missive with the contempt it 
 deserved. If it had contained any libel upon her 
 
MY TWO PARTNERS. 159 
 
 whom I was flying to meet, I would have found out 
 the writer at any cost; but, as it merely confined 
 itself to remarks upon her parent, I put it in my 
 pocket, and thought no more about it. In a few 
 hours I was at Brighton, gazing upon the sad sea 
 waves. 
 
 x. 
 
 The afternoon and evening passed wearily enough; 
 for she was not to be seen. I sought her on the 
 beach, the promenade, the Downs, and in the assem- 
 bly rooms, but without success. I felt that I was 
 rash in betraying my arrival in places where I might 
 be discovered by Mr. Sandford; but I could not 
 control my impatience until the morning. As dusk 
 approached I gave up the search, and settled down 
 to a late and solitary dinner in the melancholy coffee- 
 room of my hotel. The cutlet was tough ; the wine 
 was hot and acid ; the waiter painfully obsequious ; 
 a clock was ticking with maddening regularity, and 
 a fellow-visitor, who ought to have been sociable, 
 was glaring at me, ever and anon, from an opposite 
 table. At times the thought came across me that I 
 might have been deceived by the advertisement, and 
 my only comfort was to stick it before me against 
 the cruet-stand, and read it all through the meal. 
 
 At last the morning came, and, at the appointed 
 time, I hastened to the pier. The direction was 
 Tight. I was not deceived. She stood before me, 
 
160 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 more lovely than ever. I asked, after the first salu- 
 tations were over, at what hotel or lodging they were 
 staying; and was answered, " At neither/' 
 
 ' ' Where then/' I inquired, perceiving some hesi- 
 tation on the part of the lovely Emma, " if not at 
 one of these usual places ?" 
 
 " At an uncle's, Edwin," she replied in a sorrow- 
 ful tone ; " would that it had been otherwise." 
 
 " Tell me more, Emma," I replied, " for there is 
 something which you are concealing from me." 
 ' ' It is a cousin, Edwin." 
 " A cousin, Emma?" 
 
 "Yes. They call him refined; because he does 
 nothing but smoke, play at billiards, and spend half 
 his time in a yacht ; but he is no favourite of mine ; 
 
 and rather than marry him" 
 
 " Marry him, Emma ! Surely your father can 
 have no such design ? " 
 
 " It is too true, Edwin ; and any day I may be 
 compelled to bid adieu to you for ever." 
 
 "This shall not be ! Fly with me, Emma; — fly 
 from this fashionable and detestable place." 
 
 " I cannot, Edwin. Where can I go ? — unless — " 
 " Speak : I will take you anywhere ; but fly, and 
 fly at once." 
 
 " To my aunt Buckram's, then ; she will do any- 
 thing I ask her." 
 
 In a few hours we had reached the desired haven in 
 London ; and the next morning saw us man and wife. 
 
 
MY TWO PARTNERS. 161 
 
 XI. 
 
 My honeymoon was not without its troubles,, 
 though my wife was not the cause of them. My 
 friend, Mr. Nickel (whom I suspected of having 
 written the anonymous letter), departed one morning, 
 from his post as my factory-inspector, with a consi- 
 derable sum of money which he never accounted 
 for. 
 
 On the next day to the one on which he left the 
 country, my father-in-law, Mr. Sandford, made his. 
 appearance, calling upon us suddenly as we were 
 seated at breakfast. 
 
 " I come here," he said, " in no spirit of enmity.. 
 You have acted without my consent ; but I freely 
 forgive you. The portion I might have given my 
 daughter, Emma, if the marriage had been conducted 
 in the regular way, will now remain a secret until 
 after my death." 
 
 After we had thanked him for his kindness, and 
 had wished him a life as long as Methuselah's, he 
 continued : — 
 
 "I am not surprised that your inspector, Mr. 
 Nickel, betrayed his trust, and embezzled your pro- 
 perty. I knew him some years ago, and I never had 
 a favourable opinion of him." 
 
 " Is it possible?" I exclaimed. 
 
 " You are young and inexperienced," he conti- 
 nued, " and I am a man of the world. Go and enjoy 
 yourselves, while you can, and, repugnant as the 
 
 M 
 
162 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 bone-boiling establishment is to me, I will look after 
 your interests — as a father." 
 
 " Mr. Sandford/' I replied, " I cannot allow this 
 generous sacrifice. After all that you have said re- 
 garding this repulsive business" 
 
 "I only do my duty/' he interrupted. "One 
 member of my family has already become your 
 partner for life. I propose to join the firm also. 
 From this hour you will consider me your acting 
 partner." 
 
 And he became a partner ; I scarcely know how. 
 Sometimes I think of the anonymous letter, and 
 suspect his disinterestedness; but one glance at my 
 gentle and amiable wife reconciles me to all. 
 
163 
 
 POOR TOM.— A CITY WEED. 
 
 When I first became acquainted with poor Tom 
 Craddock he was about twenty- five years of age. 
 His appearance never altered. He must have been 
 the same at fifteen as he was at forty. Imagine a 
 short, shambling figure, with large hands and feet, a 
 huge water-on-the-brain looking head, surmounted 
 by rough, stubbly, red hair; eyes that no mortal 
 ever saw; for, suffering from a painful ophthalmic 
 disease, they were always encased, not so much in 
 spectacles as in a perfect bandage of green glass; 
 dress which, though ill-made and of necessity thread- 
 bare, was always clean and respectable. Imagine 
 these things, and you have all that I care to dwell 
 upon of the physical characteristics of poor Tom. 
 He was earning a very scanty pittance as an usher, 
 or, rather, common drudge, at a classical and com- 
 mercial academy at Hackney, where I was sent as a 
 youth to learn the science of book-keeping by single 
 and double entry, and to post up and arrange nume- 
 rous imaginary transactions of great intricacy and 
 enormous magnitude in sugar, hides, and tallow. 
 Tour's intellectual acquirements were on a par with 
 his physical advantages. Being sent out by his 
 parents into the world to shift for himself, as his 
 
164 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 father had done before him, he had shifted himself 
 into a very ill-paid and monotonous occupation. 
 
 Tour's parents were, no doubt, very good people, 
 as the world goes. The father was a quiet plodding 
 man, with no ideas beyond the routine of his office. 
 He had been put into an ordinary government situ- 
 ation in his early youth, and had trudged backward 
 and forward on the same old road for eight and fifty 
 years. The mother was a hard, dry, Calvanist, cram- 
 med to the throat with doctrine, but with neither 
 head nor heart. Her children — and she had eight — 
 were all the same to her; the girls went out and 
 kept schools, and the boys went into the world to 
 sink or swim, as their father had done before them. 
 They had all been decently clothed and fed up to a 
 certain age — they had all had the same meaningless 
 education — they had all sat under the same minister, 
 and had served as teachers in the same Sunday 
 school. They were all — with the exception of Tom 
 — cold, hard, selfish, and calculating; there was no- 
 thing like love amongst them ; its place was supplied 
 by a propriety of regard that was regulated by the 
 principle of duty. 
 
 Though poor Tom, with his half-blind eyes, and 
 general physical disadvantages, merited a treatment 
 a little removed from the rigid equality which go- 
 verned his parents in their family organization, he 
 never met with it ; he was one of the eight, and he 
 had his eighth of attention — neither more nor less. 
 
POOR TOM. A CITY "WEED. 165 
 
 His mental training was even below the level of his 
 brothers and sisters, because the medical attendance, 
 consequent upon his diseased eyes, took from the 
 fund that was methodically set aside for his educa- 
 tion. If, as was the case in the year when he under- 
 went an operation, the surgical expenses swallowed 
 up the educational fund, and something more, his 
 clothes fund was debited with the difference, and he 
 suffered for his bodily failings in a short supply of 
 boots and hats. The father kept a book in which he 
 had opened debtor and creditor accounts with all his 
 children, as if they had been so many mercantile 
 vessels. "When Tom arrived at the same a^e as his 
 brothers had arrived at when they went out before 
 him, he received the same hint that it was time that 
 he sought for a means of obtaining a livelihood ; and, 
 feeling his own short-comings, and w T ant of energy, 
 he accepted the offer of a chapel connection, and 
 quietly sank into the position at the school in which 
 I found him. 
 
 Poor Tom's personal appearance gave rise to all 
 kinds of heartless jokes, such as only self-willed 
 thoughtless schoolboys make. His eye-glasses were 
 always a fruitful source of amusement. Many a lad 
 in all the full glow of health, has tried to break those 
 green coverings, to see what kind of eyes were con- 
 cealed behind them. Tom bore all with wonderful 
 patience and amiability of temper. He had small 
 authoritv over the bovs, for want of force of charac- 
 
166 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 ter, but his uniform kindness did a great deal, and 
 many a little tormentor has shed bitter tears of re- 
 morse, when he found the way in which his annoy- 
 ance was returned. Tom's income was exceedingly 
 small, far under the average of ushers' stipends, but 
 he was very careful and independent with it. Once 
 away from home he sought for no assistance there ; 
 and by great economy and self-denial he was always 
 able to indulge in the luxury of buying little presents 
 for his favourites in the school. One day, shortly 
 after the midsummer holidays, Tom appeared in what 
 looked like a new coat, but which, he told me 
 privately, was a very good second-hand one, that he had 
 been some time raising the purchase-money for. It 
 was the day for cleaning and replenishing all the 
 inkstands and lamps in the school, and this was a 
 duty that Tom had to perform. While occupied in 
 his task, his coat was carefully hung up behind a 
 door, though not so carefully but what it caught the 
 eye of a mischievous lad, whose name I forget now, 
 and who, knowing that it was a new garment belong- 
 ing to Tom, thought it would be capital fun to fill 
 the pockets with oil. When Tom found out the 
 cruel trick that had been played upon him, I 
 observed tears oozing from under his green specta- 
 cles, and for the first time since he had been at the 
 school, he made a complaint to the master. The 
 master, a stout, pompous man, replied in these 
 words, " Mr. Cracldock, sir ; if you had preserved a 
 
POOR TOM. — A CITY WEED. 167 
 
 proper authority over my boys, this event would not 
 have happened. " I shall chastise the offender to 
 preserve the discipline of my school ; but, at the same 
 time, I do not consider you free from blame." 
 
 The chastisement, to do the master justice, was 
 severe enough, and poor Tom, seeing this, blamed 
 himself \evy much for having made the complaint, 
 and could not persuade himself that he had not been 
 actuated by a hasty and unchristian spirit of revenge. 
 
 Tom repaired the damage done to his garment as 
 well as he could with my aid, and would have walked 
 about in it contented enough; but he had been 
 nduced to buy the coat, sooner than he would other- 
 wise have done because the master had told him, that 
 " he wished him to appear a little more gentlemanly 
 for the credit of the school/ 5 and Tom now feared 
 that he should be ordered to purchase another. A 
 favourite relaxation of the tedium of study used to 
 be an excursion of the whole school to the Temple 
 Mills at Tottenham. An excursion of this kind took 
 place about a week after the above occurrence, and 
 Tom was put quite at his ease when we started with- 
 out any remark being made upon his greasy costume. 
 It was the last excursion that we had, for at the close 
 of the day a boy got away from the ranks — the boy 
 who had poured the oil over Tom's coat — and wasfound 
 drowned in the river Lea. Of course, the master — 
 who had done nothing but eat and lounge the whole 
 day — threw all the blame upon Tom, who, poor 
 
168 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 fellow, was nearly worn to death with his day's work, 
 for in a conscientious spirit, that no one might suffer 
 from his bodily defects, he always devoted a double 
 amount of labour to any task that he undertook. 
 He passed a wretched night, grieving for the lost 
 boy, grieving that he had caused him any pain by 
 the punishment that he had procured him a week 
 before, and racking himself with doubts as to whether 
 he might not have prevented the accident by greater 
 care, activity, and thoughtfulness, although I knew 
 that he had borne nearly the whole fatigue of the 
 excursion. As I expected, the master discharged 
 him the next morning, with an impressive censure 
 upon his carelessness, and some cruel remarks upon 
 defects which poor Tom was only too painfully con- 
 scious of. 
 
 It was some ten years after this, that I got poor 
 Tom a situation as junior clerk, under me, in the 
 counting-house of Biddies and Co. — old Biddies — in 
 the West India trade. Tom's father had died shortly 
 after he had left the school at Hackney, and Tom 
 had come into one of a number of small legacies, 
 which his father had left in equal proportions to all 
 his children. Tom received the amount from his 
 eldest brother, the executor, after a deduction of 
 about one-third, for loans and interest, medical 
 attendance, etc., as per account rendered, from the 
 family ledger before alluded to. Small as the sum 
 was, to a person of Tom's humble ideas and inex- 
 
POOR TOM. A CITY WEED. 1G9 
 
 pensive tastes, it was a mine of wealth. By great 
 good management lie contrived to live upon it for 
 nearly ten years, and it was almost drawing to an 
 end when I seized the opportunity that offered of 
 placing him in our counting-house. Tom had not 
 been idle during these ten years. He had inserted 
 advertisements in the papers, he had canvassed 
 friends, he had walked many times wearily and 
 diffidently into offices and warehouses, he had begged 
 to be employed; but his conscientious fidelity, his 
 industrious zeal, his noble and valuable qualities, 
 were sent away as if they had been the veriest 
 drug in the market, because he could not carry 
 his heart upon his sleeve. And yet no sooner 
 had he left the door, than those who spurned him 
 were loudly asking for that which had just been 
 offered to them in vain. It is useless to preach 
 about not judging by appearances; to say that merit 
 will make itself discovered under the most ungainly 
 exterior ; that if the kernel be good it matters little 
 what the shell may be ; I know better ; we all know 
 better. Qualities of the heart, far more valuable 
 than any intellectual gifts, or force of will, embodied 
 in weak and unsightly frames, may hover near us 
 like unseen angels, and be unheeded, trifled with, 
 doubted, and despised. The brazen face and the 
 strong lungs are the practical rulers of the world. 
 During Tour's endeavours to get employment he had 
 lost twenty pounds of his little store by leaving it as 
 
170 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 a "cash deposit/' or " guarantee of fidelity/' with a 
 e \ general merchant/' who left him in charge of a very 
 dull, quiet, ill -furnished office, for about ten days, at 
 the end of which time even Tom became aware, that 
 he had been swindled out of his money. 
 
 I got poor Tom into old Biddies' office in this 
 way. Old B. liked to buy his labour, like everything 
 else, in the cheapest market, and when a new junior 
 clerk was proposed, I introduced Tom to do a man's 
 work at a boy's price, and that way of. putting it so 
 excited the cupidity of the old fellow, that I had the 
 satisfaction of carrying my point at once. Small as 
 the salary was, Tom was grateful, and never did 
 servant serve a master with more honesty and scru- 
 pulous fidelity than Tom did old Biddies. Punc- 
 tual to a second in arriving at his desk, steady and 
 industrious in his application to work, religiously 
 exact in his economy of time (which being paid for 
 employing he did not consider his own), considerate 
 and correct in all matters of office expenditure, treat- 
 ing other people's property as tenderly as if it had 
 been his own — a man with few desires, no debts, and 
 with always a little set aside out of his small store 
 for purposes of charity. What did he gain by all 
 these virtues? Was Tom looked up to with more 
 respect by his fellow-clerks ? I am afraid not. Was 
 he advanced to any position of trust by his employer ? 
 I am sure not. He was treated with even more than 
 the general suspicion that characterized old Biddies' 
 
TOOK TOM. — A CITY WEED. 171 
 
 dealings with everyone in business — friend or foe, 
 clerk or client. Tom did not command admiration 
 by any showy abilities, and his solid virtues were left 
 to rot in neglect. 
 
 Thus poor Tom did his duty nobly, from year to 
 year, without any encouragement, though he needed 
 none ; a poor simple-hearted, honest fellow, he had 
 no idea that he was acting differently from other 
 people. " You know, Robert," he used to say to me, 
 " we are not all gifted with talent ; I feel that I am 
 neither active nor clever, but I do my best, and I 
 hope Mr. Biddies is satisfied, though I sometimes 
 fear that he is not." This remark was generally 
 made after one of those miserable wet, busy, muddy 
 November days, when Tom was kept running about 
 from nine to six, under a short faded macintosh cape, 
 and when old Biddies was more than usually surly. 
 
 We passed in this way something like five years 
 together, until I had a serious attack of illness that 
 kept me away from my office many weeks. Tom, 
 after the labour of the day, seldom missed calling 
 to inquire about me, long as the distance was, and 
 very often brought me little delicacies suited for an 
 invalid. I could not prevent his bringing them, 
 although I felt that their purchase must have pinched 
 him in various ways. The nature of my complaint 
 made it necessary for me to take a holiday of a couple 
 of months ; and so great was poor Tom's fear that 
 such a long absence would lead to my dismissal by 
 
172 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 old Biddies — although even in this anxiety there was 
 not a particle of selfishness — that I was compelled to 
 tell him that my engagement was under articles that 
 could not he broken. 
 
 When I returned re-invigorated to my duties, I 
 found, to my surprise, a marked change in Tom. 
 His manner was evidently embarrassed, and in his 
 appearance there was a feeble and clumsy attempt to 
 be buckish. When a man returns to an office after 
 an absence of some months everything seems to him 
 cold and strange ; he does not fit into his accustomed 
 corners, his papers look spectral, he hardly knows 
 where to put his coat, and his hat tumbles down from 
 its peg. If the place has been repainted and fur- 
 nished (as mine had been), this makes matters worse. 
 I did not question Tom the first or second day, as I 
 thought much of his altered appearance might have 
 been a partial delusion of my disordered imagination. 
 On the third day I fancied from his nervous beha- 
 viour that he was about to make some explanatory 
 disclosure, and I was not disappointed. After much 
 hesitation and preamble, which he, poor fellow, was 
 little adept in, it came out at last : Tom was in love 
 — deeply, earnestly in love. When he had secured 
 me as his confidant a load seemed to have departed 
 from his mind, and he was happier and gayer than I 
 had ever known him before. As to myself, I was 
 lost in various reflections. I laughed the first and 
 last unkind laugh at Tom's expense, when I thought 
 
POOR TOM. A CITY WEED. 1/3 
 
 of him ogling his chosen one through those eternal 
 green glasses. I wondered if the strong olive tint 
 which her face of necessity bore, stood to Tom as the 
 rose upon the damask cheek of beauty seen through 
 the naked eye. Did he kiss those taper-fingers which 
 must have appeared to him as if they were fresh 
 from the dye-tub. or the task of walnut-picking? 
 Did nature, which had appeared to his faint vision, 
 for so many years, a gloomy picture clad in one solemn 
 tint, brighten up with a more cheerful glow, now that 
 this new light had fallen on his heart ? Poor Tom, 
 when I looked at him sitting there before me, his 
 awkward shape and disfigured countenance, I dreaded 
 lest his choice should have fallen upon some thought- 
 less, selfish girl, and felt a foreboding that his passion 
 would only end in misery and bitter disappoint- 
 ment. 
 
 Tom was too happy to notice my abstraction, 
 and his only desire was to consult me about the 
 capabilities of his scanty income to support a wife. 
 Here, with hard figures to deal with, I was obliged 
 to reason severely, but every objection that I started 
 was overruled by Tour's explanation of the personal 
 privations he could undergo for the attainment of 
 domestic happiness. It was needless for him to enter 
 into details with me, who knew his qualities so well, 
 to prove what a considerate, devoted husband he 
 would be. I knew that his income was inadequate, 
 and the tone of my advice was to dissuade him from 
 
174 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 nourishing an affection that, I felt assured,, must be 
 hopeless. 
 
 The next morning, poor Tom appeared with a 
 long list of figures, with which he had been working 
 out a problem over-night, and had arrived at the con- 
 clusion, that if he could obtain another twenty pounds 
 a-year from old Biddies, he might attempt the step 
 he was anxious to take, with perfect propriety. "When 
 he consulted me as to whether I thought he would 
 get the advance, I felt that his mind was made up, 
 and knowing that his long and faithful services 
 merited even a greater reward, I told him to go 
 boldly to old Biddies and ask at once. It was Satur- 
 day morning; old Biddies was very late, and when he 
 came, he was very busy ; he went out several times, 
 a very unusual thing with him, and when he returned, 
 many people were waiting to see him. All this 
 threw poor Tom into a fever of excitement ; he kept 
 running in and out of Biddies' private room in such 
 an unceremonious manner, and upon such frivolous 
 pretexts, that at last the old fellow asked him if he 
 was ill? This brought Tom to a stand, and he 
 timidly made his proposal. Old Biddies took time 
 to consider. Tom augured favourably from this, and 
 the next day, Sunday, he prevailed upon me to join 
 him in a visit to the family of his intended wife. 
 
 She was much younger than Tom, stout, florid, 
 and rather vulgar-looking. I watched her closely, 
 and her treatment of him, though at times flighty 
 
POOR TOM. A CITY WEED. 175 
 
 and inconsiderate, did not appear unkind. Tom was 
 so absorbed in the contemplation of his happiness, 
 that I was left pretty much to my own resources, 
 and conversation with a sister. When the visit 
 closed, although I had my doubts, I was unable to 
 form a conclusion whether the affection on the part 
 of the girl was real or simulated. Monday passed 
 over in silence; on Tuesday the blow fell. About 
 ten o'clock a letter was delivered to Tom, which told 
 him that she for whom he was ready to give up all 
 the comforts he so much needed, for whom he was 
 even then planning out some little, thoughtful pre- 
 sent, and to whom he had given all the great affec- 
 tion of his kind and noble heart, had encouraged his 
 passion like a cruel, wayward girl, and now threw it 
 aside without pity or remorse. 
 
 Close upon this shock followed a formal discharge 
 from old Biddies. He had weighed Tom's proposal. 
 Virtue and fidelity which were endurable at fifty 
 pounds a-year, were not to be tolerated at seventy. 
 The supply was greater than the demand. Biddies 
 was a practical, business man. 
 
 Some few years afterwards, when poor Tom's 
 shattered frame and broken heart were lying peace- 
 ably in the grave, and his clerkly successor at forty 
 pounds a-year had embezzled money to a considerable 
 extent, old Biddies felt that for once he had made a 
 mistake, and thought of an awkward, green-spec- 
 
176 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 tacled clerk who used to sit in his office, and who, if 
 not brilliant, was trustworthy. 
 
 " Do you know Craddock's address?" he asked, 
 one morning, as I entered his room. 
 
 " He has been dead some time," I replied. 
 
 " Hum ! Put an advertisement in the Times for 
 somebody like him." 
 
 We did put an advertisement in the Times for 
 somebody like him ; but old Biddies found he could 
 not get another Tom Craddock merely by drawing a 
 cheque for him. 
 
177 
 
 VESTIGES OF PROTECTION. 
 
 I am a stern, unflinching, thorough-going free-trader. 
 "Whenever I use a cab, I give a cabman whatever he 
 thinks proper to demand ; and when any regulation 
 comes out about omnibus fares, I shall pay no more 
 regard to it than I do to the orders of the Trinity 
 Board. That's my character — firm and consistent. 
 
 I like clean boots. I may be stout and puffy as 
 regards figure ; but my feet are always neat. Much, 
 however, as I covet clean boots, I will not have them 
 polished by a gaudy little Protestant ruffian, clad in 
 red sackcloth, like a drummer in the Spanish legion, 
 or another gaudy little Catholic ruffian, clad in yel- 
 low or blue sackcloth, like a badly-dressed jockey at 
 Newmarket. I hate a Protestant shoeblack as I hate 
 a Protestant champion at a parliamentary election ; 
 and I hate a Catholic shoeblack in the same pro- 
 portion. I do not deal with a Protestant baker, I do 
 not employ a Protestant sweep, I do not patronize a 
 Protestant butcher, and I will not encourage a Protes- 
 tant shoeblack. I am not clothed by a Catholic tailor, 
 I am not shaved by a Catholic barber, my dustbin 
 is not emptied by a Catholic dustman, and I will not 
 have my boots cleaned by a Catholic shoeblack. 
 
 I will not allow the police to be the sole judges 
 
 N 
 
178 UNDER, BOW BELLS. 
 
 of markets. I will not, without protest, give them 
 the power to determine when any street trade is 
 overstocked, and to say, " So far shall you go, and 
 no farther." If there is such a demand for good 
 boot-cleaning, let it be fully supplied, until four 
 stockbrockers are polished off for a penny instead of 
 one. Let the plinth of every column, the base of 
 every statue, the recess of every archway, bristle with 
 unfettered shoeblacks, plying their useful trade in 
 sublime indifference to the periodical passing to and 
 fro of the hateful obstructive officer of the law. Why 
 should I, in a free country — a tax-payer of thirty 
 years' standing — be left in the front of Bow Church, 
 in the broad glare of a summer's day, in the ridicu- 
 lous position of having one trouser-leg tucked up, and 
 the other not — with one boot polished and the other 
 not ; or, which is equally annoying, with one boot 
 shining like a mirror, and the other presenting a 
 dead, dull surface of wet blacking that has gradually 
 got dry, because I have employed a shoeblack unla- 
 beled as Protestant or Catholic ? Why should I, for 
 the same reason, be subject to the indignity of having 
 a boy with a foot-box, blacking-bottle, and shoe- 
 brushes slung over his shoulders, beckoning me round 
 the corner of a banking-house, as if I was playing 
 touchorhi-bob-ree, or taking a part in some nefarious 
 proceeding ? Why, administrative reformer, should 
 I be condemned to a weary pilgrimage about town, 
 with one boot muddy and the other polished, to find 
 
VESTIGES OF PROTECTION. 179 
 
 a legally qualified Protestant or Catholic shoeblack to 
 restore the ornamental balance under the protection 
 of the police ? I say again, Why ? 
 
 Why am I interrupted in the middle of a purchase 
 of a few ribstone pippins, because my unfortunate 
 fruiterer stands behind an old basket in the street, 
 instead of a massive mahogany counter inside a mag- 
 nificent plate-glass shop ? Why do I see her flying 
 across the road at the approach of a policeman, scat- 
 tering her wares in the frightful hurry of the transit ? 
 Why am I ordered into a flashy depot, to give six- 
 pence for a peach, paying for all the gorgeous fittings 
 which I do not want, and which I detest, when I can 
 buy the same, if not a better article outside, if the 
 law would only allow me, for one penny ? Why are 
 humble traders to be prevented from supplying me 
 with the exact thing that I want, at the exact time 
 that I want it, and at the lowest possible price, be- 
 cause their capital will not allow them, or their trade 
 does not require them, to stand anywhere else than in 
 the gutter ? I ask again, Why ? 
 
 I hate shams ; and I ask why my place of dissi- 
 pation is sometimes called a Casino, and sometimes 
 a Dancing Academy ? I want to know why a thing 
 that is considered to be rotten, utterly bad, and to be 
 exterminated at any cost in the parish of Saint Strait- 
 lace the Martyr, can be immediately transplanted, to 
 flourish in the adjoining parish of All Serene? I 
 want to know what earthly good a licensing system 
 
180 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 is, which merely alters the title of a place from Casino 
 to Dancing Academy, the thing itself remaining the 
 same? 
 
 I cannot imagine, for a moment, why any public- 
 house, which has already got fall permission to sell 
 any quantity of the fiery, maddening liquors which 
 eat into mind, and body, and soul, should be refused 
 the power of tempering that permission with a little 
 harmless music. I may sit for hours on a tub in front 
 of a glittering bar, drinking the awful poisOn, in the 
 company of half-palsied juniper idiots, and no one 
 will interfere with me in the name of the law j but if 
 I go into a spacious, well-lighted building, at the rear 
 of the house, and join a large and comparatively well- 
 conducted audience of common people who have 
 learned to drink less, and to seek harmless amuse- 
 ment more, and if the man who is singing on the 
 small stage, and the little orchestra which accom- 
 panies him are not licensed pursuant to the twenty- 
 fifth of King George the Second, I stand a chance of 
 spending my night in the comfortless cell of a police- 
 station for taking part in an illegal entertainment. 
 
 I want to know what purpose that part of the 
 licensing system serves, which is applied to the regu- 
 lation of the sale of intoxicating drinks? I am sure 
 of one great fact, that supplied how, when, or where 
 it is, a certain quantity of gin, for example, will be 
 used in this country at a certain price within a certain 
 time. If the licensing system has any effect, it dete- 
 
VESTIGES OF PROTECTIOX. 181 
 
 riorates tlie quality of all tlie gin sold in the given 
 time, without decreasing the quantity directly, or 
 through the operation of an increase in price. Sup- 
 ply and demand will fit into each other in spite of 
 supposed legislative restrictions. The licensing sys- 
 tem, by increasing the cost of supply, in this case, 
 has given the consumer turpentine instead of gin, 
 for the consumer will not have his quantity lessened 
 or his price raised, and the supplier meets the diffi- 
 culty by adulteration. 
 
 If gin was sold to-morrow at every apple-stall, if 
 rum-punch was manufactured and ladled out at street- 
 corners like stewed eels, and if beer was hawked about 
 in cans from house to house, like milk, does any reflect- 
 ing mind suppose that our workhouses, our prisons, 
 and our lunatic asylums, would be overrun with 
 paupers, thieves, and madmen, more than they are 
 now ? When men resort to those very convenient 
 and unmolested dens of vice, whose outward shell of 
 apparent virtue consists of a tea-pot, a French roll, 
 two stale eggs, and the word Coffee written in pro- 
 minent letters upon the shop-window blind, they find 
 a strange charm in drinking the forbidden fire-water 
 in a tea-cup, long after midnight, purely because they 
 are engaged in something which the law, in its wis- 
 dom, has thought proper to prohibit. "When the 
 night- cabman goes over to the very early breakfast- 
 stall, and behind the friendly shelter of the bacon, 
 the coffee-cups, and the quartern-loaves, asks the 
 
182 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 guileless proprietor, with a wink, for a drop of 
 "physic," he does so, in many cases, for no other 
 reason than because the <e physic" is a little more 
 difficult to get at than coffee. When once the great 
 intoxicating drink-selling monopoly is broken up, and 
 the trade is not confined to a number of metropolitan 
 licensed palaces, dram- drinking, divested of all its 
 meretricious and alluring adjuncts^, is likely to de- 
 crease in proportion as it descends to the common- 
 place level of the oyster-stall and the baked potato- 
 can. 
 
 So much for trade restrictions ; now for certain 
 branches of commerce that are more free than wel- 
 come. 
 
 Why do I find stall-keepers limited, and hetero- 
 dox shoeblacks forbidden, under the pretext that they 
 interfere with the street traffic, when I cannot walk 
 down any large trading thoroughfare without being 
 compelled to pass under groves of cabbages, groves 
 of carpet brooms, groves of blucher-boots, and groves 
 of legs of mutton ? Why should I be edged into the 
 gutter because little Reels, the haberdasher, has 
 once, during a long trading career, received an enor- 
 mous truss full of some stuff or another from the 
 country, and he likes to keep it on the pathway in 
 front of his shop the whole day long, that his neigh- 
 bours may see what a gigantic trade he is doing, and 
 that his rival over the way may be driven mad with 
 envy ? Why should I be edged into the gutter be- 
 
VESTIGES OF PROTECTION. 183 
 
 cause old Yoicks, the saddler, or young Strawbottom, 
 the upholsterer, has positively packed up ten wooden 
 cases, the size of egg-chests, which he places across 
 the pavement for several days, that the public may 
 see they are directed to no less a person than " His 
 Excellency the Right Honourable Lord Peppercraffc, 
 Ramihumbug, East Indies ? *' 
 
 Why am I, in the heat of a summer's day, con- 
 demned to walk under long avenues of meat ; sirloins 
 of beef, far from fresh, melting loins of mutton, and 
 sheep slung up by their legs, with their bleeding 
 noses and cracked crowns dangling at my feet, be- 
 cause a little knot of butchers have found it profitable 
 and convenient to extend their trade from the narrow 
 limits of their shops, under awnings carried across 
 the pathway, flush with the gutter? Why am I 
 hustled under the unwelcome shade by greasy bullies, 
 who ask me in stentorian tones to buy, intimidating 
 me all the while with knives of fearful aspect ? 
 
 Why am I brought to a dead stand under a simi- 
 lar awning, because an enterprising greengrocer has 
 blocked up the way with greens and carrots, four or 
 five sacks of coals, and half-a-dozen large baskets of 
 potatoes ? 
 
 Why am I compelled to wend my weary way 
 under large tin baths and warming-pans, gent's 
 Wellingtons at seven- and- six, firkins of butter, and 
 second-hand perambulators, intermixed with easy 
 chairs and fenders ? 
 
184 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 If the policeman is to be left the sole arbiter of 
 the destinies of trade, I do not think he should be 
 allowed to compound for undue leniency to a com- 
 pact phalanx of encroaching shopkeepers, by excessive 
 severity to a body of weak, poor, disunited, struggling, 
 houseless traders. 
 
 If law-making is to be anything but an inflated 
 sham, it will be well for our legislators to see that 
 they do not put down names, but realities. 
 
 If we are to guide ourselves by the great principle 
 of free trade, let us carry it into the very smallest 
 nooks and crevices of commerce. There is no reason 
 why we should have a penny fixed arbitrarily as the 
 price for boot- cleaning, when a halfpenny might suf- 
 fice; and there is certainly no reason why a lad 
 should be subject to an examination in one of the 
 two great schools of theological doctrine, before he is 
 considered worthy to be entrusted with a blacking- 
 bottle. 
 
185 
 
 DOMESTIC CASTLE-BUILDING. 
 
 If ever I allow my husband, Mr. Popjoy, to have his 
 own way, I always make a mistake. Mr. Popjoy is 
 very well in his business,, as a clerk in the City ; but, 
 take him out of that, and he knows no more of the 
 world than a babe unborn. If I trust him to select 
 our Sunday's dinner from one of the City markets, 
 he brings home a huge watery fish ; a side of meat 
 sufficient for a barrack-full of soldiers ; or a goose, as 
 large and fluffy as a child's feather-bed, and no sweeter 
 than it should be. Mr. Popjoy (though I am grieved 
 to say it of my own husband) is frequently taken in 
 by designing persons, who ought to be picking oakum 
 at the Old Bailey, or some other penal settlement. 
 Whenever I see him pass the parlour window at 
 exactly half-past six in the evening (his usual time of 
 returning from business) with a peculiar smirk of 
 satisfaction upon his face, I know that something is 
 wrong. When, after delaying a little, to excite my 
 curiosity, he proudly places a brace of pheasants upon 
 the table, which he has bought for one and sixpence, 
 of a man in the street, dressed in a smock-frock, I 
 know, before I examine the birds, that they are 
 stuffed with sand, and that one half of them will go 
 to feed the cat, and the other half to the dust-bin. 
 
186 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 When Mr. Popjoy brings home a pair of patent boots 
 as an unexpected present for one of the children, I 
 know, before I put my hands upon them, they are 
 made of brown paper ; and when the soles burst clean 
 away from the upper leather in trying them on the 
 child, I can only say, " It's just as I expected." Mr. 
 Popjoy buys stationery of men who stand in the 
 gutter, and we are, consequently, always well stocked 
 with note-paper upon which no one can write, because 
 it sucks up the ink like a piece of shirting. We have 
 a dozen umbrellas in the house, none of which would 
 shelter a dog, Mr. Popjoy having bought them of 
 people who were selling off under prime cost, because 
 their premises were coming down for a new street, 
 or a new chapel. Sometimes Mr. Popjoy 's bargain- 
 hunting propensities get him into serious difficulties, 
 out of which he expects me to extricate him. 
 
 On one occasion, he strayed into a nest of swin- 
 dlers — a mock auction- mart — and before he had been 
 there twenty minutes, he had nodded himself into 
 two cart-loads of trashy furniture, at prices six times 
 higher than their proper value. When the. rascals 
 came after him with the goods in vans, I refused, of 
 course, to take them in, and as Mr. Popjoy solemnly 
 assured me that he had only bid for a dressing-case 
 as a present to me on my approaching birth-day, of 
 course I believed my husband, snatched the dressing- 
 case from the hands of one of the men, put the money 
 upon the door-step, and slammed the door in their 
 
DOMESTIC CASTLE-BUILDING. 187 
 
 faces, after telling them to do their best and to do 
 their worst. Mr. Popjoy would never have had spirit 
 to do this, bnt I had ; and, as I never heard any more 
 of the wretches from that clay to this, I feel that, as 
 usual, I did what was right. 
 
 Mr. Popjoy's failing for bargain-hunting at one 
 period extended to houses ; and, during the time we 
 hare been married (about fifteen years), if we have 
 moved once we have moved a dozen times. Mr. Pop- 
 joy usually employs his holidays in searching for new 
 dwellings, and new neighbourhoods, although we have 
 taken a long lease of the house in which we now re- 
 side ; and I have positively resolved never to move 
 again, unless compelled by utter necessity, until I am 
 carried to my grave. 
 
 Mr. Popjoy, as I have said before, moves in City 
 circles, and very often, I am sorry to say, becomes 
 acquainted with persons who do him no good, and 
 only cause him to injure his family. More than once 
 he has made himself surety, and has had to pay sums 
 of money for. worthless scamps, which I have had to 
 provide out of a legacy securely settled upon me by 
 an aunt. He is always coming home with a story of 
 how he could make a little fortune if he only had a 
 hundred pounds to play with for three months ; but 
 I have turned a deaf ear to him, or I know very well 
 where poor aunt's little property would be, and what 
 would be left for the dear children when they grew up. 
 
 One evening Mr. Popjoy came home about his 
 
188 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 usual time to tea, and brought with him a person 
 whom he introduced to me as Mr. Gasper. I never 
 take kindly to strangers, because I believe they have 
 designs upon Mr. Popjoy, and I am generally right. 
 I consider my own and my husband's family, and our 
 old friends quite as large as we can afford to keep up 
 with and entertain, without adding fresh faces con- 
 tinually to the number. I did not like Mr. Gasper, 
 the moment he came into the room, and my un- 
 favourable impression did not alter upon further 
 acquaintance. He was much too polite to please me ; 
 inquiring after my health and the children's, as if he 
 had known us twenty years. He was younger than 
 my husband — perhaps about forty years of age — and 
 had a sneaking expression upon his countenance. 
 When he spoke, he lifted up his head, half-opened 
 his mouth, and half- closed his eyes, as if very short- 
 sighted, and made much use of a double eye-glass. I 
 believe he was a good deal sharper in his sight than 
 either Mr. Popjoy or myself. 
 
 When we were seated at the tea-table, Mr. Gasper 
 opened the conversation, my husband remaining 
 very quiet, and appearing more nervous than usual, 
 as if he had something upon his mind. 
 
 " Mrs. Popjoy," said Mr. Gasper, " I am indebted 
 to a very unexpected circumstance for the pleasure of 
 your esteemed acquaintance : Mr. Popjoy has this 
 day expressed a wish — in fact, I may say, has made 
 arrangements — to participate in the many advantages 
 
DOMESTIC CASTLE-BUILDING. 189 
 
 to be derived from the General Freehold Society of 
 the Banded Brothers of Freedom." 
 
 I hate to be addressed with anything like an ora- 
 tion; it shows me plainly that the speaker is not 
 straightforward. 
 
 " Mr. Gasper," I said, " my husband, Mr. Pop- 
 joy, has joined many absurd societies in his time, to 
 his children's cost. He has walked in a procession 
 with a band of music in front of him, and a ridicu- 
 lous sash round his waist, to dine with his company 
 at Hornsey Wood, or some other remote tavern ; but 
 I never yet knew him want to join any society that 
 sounded so much like a family of acrobats as the one 
 you mention." 
 
 " It's a very beneficial investment, my dear," 
 broke in Mr. Popjoy. 
 
 "My dear madam," returned Mr. Gasper, laugh- 
 ing in a forced manner, " Mr. Popjoy very properly 
 does not like to do anything without consulting you, 
 and hence my present visit. The Banded Brothers 
 of Freedom is not in any way a convivial society. We 
 never had such a thing as a public dinner, and we 
 never shall. We exist only for plain and profitable 
 business purposes." 
 
 " Fm very glad to hear it," I replied, " for your 
 own sakes; but profitable business, on his own ac- 
 count, is what my husband is least fitted for. He 
 makes an excellent servant, but a very bad master." 
 
 " My dear," said Mr. Popjoy, meekly, " you 
 
190 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 know I never failed in anything but for want of 
 capital/'' 
 
 "My dear Mrs. Popjoy," continued Mr. Gasper, 
 becoming more bland and familiar every moment, " I 
 need not point out to yon, as a woman of the world, 
 the necessity of providing for a rising family, by 
 seeking the most favourable investment for any little 
 money it may have pleased fortune, in its bounty, to 
 bestow upon us." 
 
 " I don't believe in anything but the funds," I 
 replied, shortly. 
 
 li You will pardon me for saying that is a very 
 great mistake. Suppose, for example, you have five 
 hundred pounds in consols. It brings you in fifteen 
 pounds a-year — safe, it is true, but what is it?" 
 
 ". A comfortable little sum," I replied, " and one 
 which some people find very convenient at times." 
 
 I said this rather warmly and pointedly to my 
 husband, for I now began to see the object of Mr. 
 Gasper's visit. 
 
 Mr. Popjoy, wanting the courage himself, had 
 doubtless brought home his new friend to persuade 
 me into supplying the funds for shares in the Banded 
 Brothers' Society, of which, I afterwards learned, 
 Mr. Gasper was the manager. 
 
 Mr. Popjoy winced under my remark, and said 
 nothing ; but Mr. Gasper continued his argument. 
 
 " There are other duties which we owe to society, 
 Mrs, Popjoy, and, through that, to our families, be- 
 
DOMESTIC CASTLE-BUILDING. 191 
 
 sides seeking for large dividends. Your esteemed 
 husband lias now lived in the world for five-and-forty 
 years, without knowing what it is to enjoy a vote in 
 the government of his country." 
 
 " He's none the worse for that," I returned. 
 
 " Pardon me," replied Mr. Gasper, " a vote is 
 money; and even if it was not, no,. intelligent man 
 should be without it." 
 
 "I quite feel that," echoed Mr. Popjoy. 
 
 (( The General Freehold Society of the Banded 
 Brothers of Freedom," continued Mr. Gasper, " gives 
 you that vote in the proportion of one to every five 
 shares, besides creating in you that ennobling feeling 
 of satisfaction and independence which every man 
 must experience who digs in his own garden, and 
 lives in his own house." 
 
 ' : That depends very much," I replied, ' ' upon the 
 character of the house and garden, and where they 
 are situated." 
 
 c Y er y true, Mrs. Popjoy," said Mr. Gasper, 
 1 ' very true, and in that remark I at once recognize 
 the woman of experience. The position and prospects 
 of the property belonging to the Banded Brothers of 
 Freedom (whom I have the honour to represent), I 
 am happy to say, cannot be assailed by any man 
 with justice, and are only attacked by those who 
 envy our social and political advantages." 
 
 Mr. Popjoy nodded approval at this speech, but I 
 said nothing, allowing Mr. Gasper to enlarge upon 
 
192 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 the details of his society without further interrup- 
 tion. Mr. Popjoy was evidently bitten with the idea 
 of becoming a small freeholder. It seemed to him 
 to be the very thing he had been in search of for so 
 many years without success. We had moved rest- 
 lessly from house to house, taking no permanent root 
 anywhere ; but now we had come within sight of the 
 promised land, and there seemed to be rest and hap- 
 piness for us in the future. 
 
 This was Mr. Popjoy 's feeling, fostered by the 
 judicious statements of the plausible Mr. Gasper. I 
 listened to the explanation of the complicated system 
 under which the Banded Brothers of Freedom worked, 
 without understanding half of what I heard j and I 
 am afraid that my husband was no wiser than myself, 
 although he nodded assent to every assertion, and 
 seemed to be highly delighted with the whole scheme. 
 A plan of the Banded Brothers' Estate was laid upon 
 the table, after the tea-things were removed ; and it 
 looked, to me, very much like a large chess-board. 
 Mr. Gasper pointed to little square patches upon the 
 paper, and told us how five shares purchased one 
 patch, ten shares another patch, and fifteen shares a 
 third; how A was a church, and B a dissenting 
 chapel, C a projected park, D a row of shops, E an 
 Artesian well of the purest spring water ; how the 
 broad lines were roads, the narrow line along the top 
 the railway, and another line, close to it, the canal ; 
 and how the whole was twenty miles from London, 
 
DOMESTIC CASTLE-BUILDING. 193 
 
 in a salubrious part of a southern county, perfectly 
 sheltered from the north winds, and to be reached in 
 one hour by the railway. Then with regard to the 
 financial system of the society, he told us how rent 
 became capital, and the more we paid, the richer we 
 became ; how interest charged to the fathers was a 
 benefit to the children ; how every time we painted a 
 water-butt, we added a value to the heir-looms of our 
 family ; how the old snarling relations of landlord 
 and tenant, creditor and debtor, were utterly de- 
 stroyed, to be replaced by a mutual- advantage state 
 of existence. Then he drew a glowing picture of the 
 toil-worn clerk, flying every evening from his city 
 labour on the wings of steam to his happy country 
 retreat, proud in the consciousness of being a free 
 and independent burgess, who had, by prudence ?nd 
 co-operation, wrenched an acre of his birth-right from 
 the grasping usurpation of the aristocracy. Such was 
 the discourse of Mr. Gasper until a late hour of the 
 evening. His advocacy had no eifect upon me, 
 although it was conclusive with my husband, and I 
 set my face resolutely against becoming a freeholder 
 in the Banded Brothers' Estate. 
 
 Some few days after Mr. Gasper's visit, I was 
 attacked with a severe illness, which lasted for some 
 weeks. "When I recovered, I was ordered to Worth- 
 ing for the benefit of one or two months' sea-air. Mr. 
 Popjoy came down every Saturday evening, and stayed 
 until Monday morning. His mind still ran upon the 
 
 o 
 
194 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 idea of becoming a small freeholder — for lie talked of 
 little else during his visits. He enlarged very much 
 upon the permanent benefit I should derive from a 
 southern air, and he backed his arguments with a 
 corroborative letter from my doctor, which I am com- 
 pelled to believe he had obtained by connivance. I 
 saw that there was little chance of domestic peace 
 unless I consented to become a Banded Sister of 
 Freedom, and, in a moment of bodily weakness, I 
 gave him authority to sell out one hundred pounds of 
 stock, and invest the money in any form he desired. 
 I had a very slight hope that the Banded Brothers' 
 Estate might turn out better than I had expected. 
 
 I had no hand in the moving — that was agreed 
 between us — Mr. Popjoy gladly superintending the 
 whole of the arrangements. What things were broken, 
 what things were lost, what the dear children suffered, 
 is more than I need tell. My poor sister (she is now 
 dead and gone), who came up from the country to 
 assist my husband, told me afterwards she had seen 
 many movings in her time, but nothing to equal this. 
 It was worse than government emigration. It took 
 them from six o'clock in the morning until eight 
 o'clock at night to reach the Freehold Society's 
 settlement. There were three vans and six men, who 
 did just as they thought proper with Mr. Popjoy, 
 stopping at every roadside ale-house, until at last 
 they got almost unmanageable. The way they threw 
 the things from the van into the road was awful and 
 
DOMESTIC CASTLE-BUILDING. 195 
 
 heartrending j and my poor sister said it was a mercy 
 that everything was not shivered to atoms. As it 
 was, the loo-table, which poor mother gave me when 
 I was married, was so injured that it would never 
 stand upright again ; and her portrait in oil, painted 
 by a gentleman who might have been a Royal Aca- 
 demician if he had thought proper, had the legs of a 
 kitchen-chair thrust through its face and neck in no 
 less than three places. 
 
 At last the place was got into what Mr. Popjoy 
 considered something like order ; and I left Worthing 
 to return to my new home. It was late at night 
 when I arrived, and very dark, and I noticed nothing 
 until I reached the house, carefully guided by my 
 husband. 
 
 "•My dear/' said Mr. Popjoy, "I am afraid you 
 will not find the place everything you could wish ; 
 but Home, you know, was not built in a day." 
 
 I did not like the tone of this remark. It fore- 
 boded no good ; but I made a cheerful reply, without 
 leading him to suppose that I suspected anything. 
 
 When I entered our dwelling, I noticed a smell of 
 earth, damp mortar, and new wood, and I thought I 
 saw traces of shavings in the passage. Further ac- 
 quaintance with the premises showed me many other 
 shortcomings and peculiarities. There were no banis- 
 ters up the stairs, and no paper upon the walls ; which 
 were ornamented with fantastic figures formed by the 
 wet upon the plaster. The children's bed-room and 
 
196 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 nursery were like stable-lofts, and the roof was only 
 lathed over, without a ceiling. Luckily, the weather 
 had been fine and dry for several weeks, or the poor 
 creatures might have been washed down the stairs. 
 The back parlour was closed up ; and, for some time, 
 Mr. Popjoy hesitated when I spoke to him about this 
 apartment. At last he admitted that it was in a very 
 unfinished state. In fact, it had scarcely been com- 
 menced ; there was nothing but a brick skeleton ; 
 there was no window, the hole being boarded over ; 
 and there was no floor, but a deep gulf half filled with 
 rubbish, which, when cleared out, would form a very 
 commodious back-kitchen. Mr. Popjoy had prudently 
 nailed up the door in the passage, and the two fold- 
 ing-doors in the front parlour which communicated 
 with this rude outline of an apartment, because one 
 of the children had accidentally fallen into the gulf, 
 and had been lost to his brothers and sisters for 
 several hours. This state of things required some 
 explanation, and Mr. Popjoy reluctantly and timidly 
 proceeded to give it. 
 
 " Mr. Gasper " he began. 
 
 61 1 thought so," I could not help interrupting. 
 
 ** Well, my dear," he continued, meekly ; " I did 
 all for the best, and it would have been better, no 
 doubt, if Fd been governed by you." 
 
 " It ought to teach you a lesson," I said, " for 
 the future." 
 
 " Mr. Gasper," he resumed, " gave me five shares 
 
DOMESTIC CASTLE-BUILDING. 197 
 
 in the society of Banded Brothers of Freedom in ex- 
 change for the money received from the Consols you 
 authorised me to sell out. These five shares entitled 
 me to a plot of land and the bare skeleton of a house ; 
 the society undertaking to finish the dwelling in the 
 best style within two months, in consideration of my 
 taking ten other shares (value two hundred pounds) 
 which were to remain in the hands of the manager 
 and committee until I had paid them up by quarterly 
 instalments in the form of rent ; when they would be 
 delivered to me, constituting me the proprietor of the 
 land and premises, to have and to hold for ever." 
 
 " And you took the other shares? " I inquired. 
 
 " My dear," replied my husband, " I am sorry to 
 say I did, under an arrangement by which, if the 
 quarterly instalments were not kept up, the amount 
 was to stand over indefinitely at ten per cent, per 
 annum ; one half of which interest went to pay work- 
 ing expenses, salaries, et cetera, and the other half 
 formed a benefit fund for the relief of sick Banded 
 Brothers of Freedom, or the support of their widows 
 and orphans remaining on the estate." 
 
 " A very pretty scheme," I said — " upon paper." 
 
 " The finishing of the house," he continued, 
 " went on very slowly, even over our heads, and I 
 begged your sister not to write to you about it, as I 
 thought it would only worry you in the weak state 
 you were in." 
 
 " Well, Mr. Popjoy," I replied, when my husband 
 
198 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 had concluded, " your restlessness has brought us to 
 a cheerful dwelling, at last ; but I suppose we must 
 make the best of it. One thing I wish to have dis- 
 tinctly understood : I shall not associate with any of 
 the Banded Brothers' wives, and I hope that you will 
 keep equally aloof from any of the husbands." 
 
 " Yes, my dear," replied Mr. Popjoy, much re- 
 lieved by my tone and manner, " I don't think you 
 will be much troubled with either." 
 
 It was not until the next day that I fully under- 
 stood the meaning of this last remark ; for I found 
 that, with the exception of two other families, we 
 were the only settlers upon the freehold estate. 
 
 The morning did not improve the aspect of the 
 place. There was no washhouse at the back of the 
 premises ; nothing but a vast wild desert of gravel- 
 pits. In the front of the house there were no area 
 railings, although there was a deep area, and there 
 was clay enough to make bricks for a hundred settle- 
 ments. I found, upon looking over the children's 
 wardrobe, that it had much suffered by this clay ; 
 and, when I inquired about several pairs of boots 
 that were missing, the clay was still the only answer 
 I could get in explanation. Mr. Popjoy had departed 
 at an early hour, before I was up ; for it was three 
 miles to the station, four- and- twenty miles by rail- 
 way to London, nearly two miles more into the City, 
 and my husband had to be at business by half-past 
 nine in the morning. After breakfast, I started to 
 
DOMESTIC CASTLE-BUILDING. 199 
 
 walk round and survey the settlement ; but I had 
 not gone far when I was stopped by more soft clay, 
 large ponds of water, and impassable gravel-pits. 
 There was no sign of life in my immediate neigh- 
 bourhood ; but I saw some children in the distance 
 fishing with what appeared to be a small clothes-prop 
 in one of the ponds, and I correctly supposed them 
 to be members of the two other unfortunate settler 
 families. There were several houses like our own in 
 a very unfinished state; about a dozen half-raised 
 carcases ; a few scaffold-poles lying amongst gravel- 
 heaps, rubbish, and old bricks; and this, as far as I 
 could see, comprised all that was visible of the Great 
 Estate of the Banded Brothers of Freedom. A, B, 
 C, D, E — churches, chapels, projected parks, Artesian 
 wells, canals, and even roads, were no more visible 
 than Mr. Gasper ; but, instead, many ponds of water 
 in which that plausible villain ought to have been 
 soaking. 
 
 I returned to the house, and was astonished to see 
 no workmen engaged in completing the building. I 
 found upon inquiry from the children, that no one 
 had been there for a week. The servant-girl, per- 
 haps, might have given me more information ; but, 
 when I put any questions to her, she burst into vio- 
 lent fits of laughter, and seemed so thoroughly to 
 enjoy the fun of living in such a wilderness, that I 
 lost my patience, and gave her a month's warning 
 upon the spot. When dinner-time arrived, I found 
 
200 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 there was no provision in the house, and no chance 
 of getting any within eight miles. I then learned 
 that Mr. Popjoy was in the habit of bringing home 
 supplies from town (with his usual judgment as to 
 selection) about twice a-week, and that the last supply 
 had been exhausted a day sooner than was expected. 
 I waited impatiently for the approach of evening, 
 sitting at the window, watching the road along which 
 I was told Mr. Popjoy would arrive, and preparing a 
 severe attack upon his carelessness and stupidity in 
 taking such a place, without a thorough investigation 
 of Mr. Gasper's flowery statements. 
 
 About half-past eight, one of the children (my 
 little girl) ran out of the door, and by the window, 
 and shortly afterwards I saw Mr. Popjoy coming 
 over the gravel heaps, looking very tired, with a great 
 carpet-bag in one hand, and a basket in the other. 
 He put these things down to kiss the child, who 
 bounded towards him, delighted at his return ; and, 
 for some reason, at that moment I forgot all my 
 indignation — the damp walls, the nailed-up parlour, 
 the ponds, and the Banded Brothers of Freedom — 
 and went to the door to give him a welcome, as our 
 little child had gone before me. 
 
 The bag and basket, as I expected, contained a 
 curious mixture of food, all thrown together — meat, 
 grocery, and fruit, with one or two toys, and some 
 pastry-cooks' pies for the children. Those children 
 who had gone to bed seemed to be aware of the 
 
DOMESTIC CASTLE-BUILDING. 201 
 
 arrival, and there was a commotion up in the loft (I 
 cannot call it a bed-room), until the expected pur- 
 chases were taken up and shown, with a promise 
 that they should be punctually delivered in the 
 morning. 
 
 I learned from my husband, by degrees, over the 
 supper table, that the General Freehold Society of 
 the Banded Brothers of Freedom had turned out to 
 be nothing but a well-organised swindle, Mr. Gasper, 
 the leading rascal, having disappeared, and the offices 
 in town (where Mr. P. had called that very day to 
 ascertain why the workmen were not completing our 
 premises) being cleared of everything except a dusty 
 fixture-desk, and a few shreds of paper thrown into 
 the fireplace. My husband admitted he had made a 
 great mistake ; bat he did not tell me he had drawn 
 fifty pounds from his employers, by Mr. Gasper's 
 pressing request, the whole of which had been handed 
 over to that crafty manager, with the idea of keeping 
 the carpenters and bricklayers in motion. I did not 
 find this out until some time afterwards, when he got 
 very shabby in his dress, and I then discovered he 
 was paying it off by degrees out of his savings. 
 
 The next day I went to town with Mr. P., and 
 finding the house we had left a few weeks before still 
 vacant, I took a lease of it for one-and-twenty years. 
 As we were moving away from the Freehold Land 
 settlement, a few days afterwards, just as I had locked 
 up the empty house, and was turning to follow the 
 
202 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 vans, I saw three gentlemen standing by Mr. Popjoy, 
 the eldest of whom, a fat, red-faced man, seemed to 
 be the spokesman. 
 
 " My dear," said my husband, as I came up, ' ' will 
 you see to this ? There appears to be a little difficulty." 
 
 "We are here," said the fat gentleman pom- 
 pously, " to demand possession of those premises." 
 
 " Which," I replied, " I must respectfully decline 
 to give, without compensation." 
 
 "Compensation!" shouted the fat gentleman. 
 " Compensation ! Are you aware that you are 
 squatters ? " 
 
 " I am aware that my husband," I answered, 
 "has sunk between one and two hundred pounds 
 upon those premises, which I intend to have back 
 before I give up the key." 
 
 " Very well," returned the stout gentleman, "very 
 well ; the whole thing — the whole place — is a swin- 
 dling, squatting settlement, from beginning to end, 
 and ought to have been nipped in the bud. Jones, 
 serve notice of ejectment." 
 
 My husband received from one of the other 
 gentlemen a piece of paper, which we have carefully 
 kept for many years. We still retain the property 
 at the gravel-pits, which we visit for amusement now 
 and then ; and the memory of the fat, testy gentle- 
 man with the red face, has almost died away. Per- 
 haps he has died away also, and his successors have 
 lost my husband's address. 
 
203 
 
 DEBT. 
 
 If debt had no other attractions to recommend it, 
 it would always be welcome to a certain class of 
 people, because of the importance that it gives a man, 
 and the interest that it causes others to take in his 
 welfare, By debt, of course I 'do not mean that 
 miserable blot upon our social system — that beggarly 
 degree of involvement which is akin to pauperism — 
 that wretched existence made up of small loans, 
 obtained with difficulty, even when scrupulously 
 refunded — that debt for whose victims the black 
 jaws of a Mammon prison are always gaping with 
 hungry voracity. The debt I speak of is that of the 
 large operator — the merchant prince, whose dainty 
 pampered palate revolts at capital proffered with 
 blind confidence, if it is at a fraction above the 
 market price; whose courage and enterprise give a 
 sublimity even to bankruptcy. The debt I speak of 
 is that of the dweller in marble palaces — the dignified 
 receiver of the unsolicited offerings of usury and 
 trade, the patron of art, of literature, and the drama, 
 the noble scion of a noble house, whose mission it 
 has been to raise insolvency from the dirt and mire 
 of the squalid streets, and place it in a fitting temple 
 where men will fall down and worship it. Oh ! thou 
 
204 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 poor blind reader of the book of human nature — 
 thou abject wretch — thou miserable starveling — thou 
 nervous, timid, hungry applicant for half- a- crown : 
 is that a coat in which to effect a loan ? is that a hat 
 to inspire confidence in the breast of a friend or a 
 capitalist ? For mercy's sake, go either to the far west, 
 and take a lesson from Tatter salFs, the Clubs, Hyde 
 Park, or the grand Opera house ; or direct thy steps 
 Citywards, and watch the frequenters of banks and 
 discount houses, the Stock Exchange, and places 
 where merchants most do congregate, and tell me if 
 thou seest any man as abject in appearance as thou 
 art (even when in reality, a greater beggar), except 
 a few poor City pensioners, and humble, meek, and 
 plodding clerks, who have worn themselves out in a 
 thankless, hopeless servitude for bankrupt masters. 
 Hast thou no friend among all the thriving throng, who 
 instead of stopping this pressing need with a few 
 fleeting shillings, will teach thee a little of his wis- 
 dom, so that thou mayst in time reach a position 
 similar to that which he occupies ? Far better will 
 it be for thee to get a few grains of that knowledge 
 which is power, rather than a few grains of that patron- 
 age, assistance, or charity, which power is able to give. 
 The moment that a man becomes largely in debt, 
 he blossoms out into a respectable and responsible 
 member of society. It is not, as many suppose, 
 that he has earned this character before he became 
 entrusted with the property of others. A very little 
 
DEBT. 205 
 
 ability, a certain degree of boldness and assurance, 
 a taking exterior, and a willingness to contract to 
 pay the market rate of interest and a little more, 
 will place him in possession of capital beyond the 
 dreams of avarice. Once master of the position, 
 he is invested with all the qualities and virtues that 
 inspire admiration, confidence, and respect. If he 
 wants raw produce, he has merely to hold up his 
 finger, and a dozen ships are loaded for him in the 
 ports of the world. If he wants the fabricated 
 article, he has merely to breathe a wish, and 
 mountainous waggons hasten to unload their heavy 
 treasures at his gate. If he covets that precious 
 metal (or its representatives) which divines call filthy 
 lucre, and economists circulating medium, he has 
 but to send in his card to any banker, and have a 
 sack of it shovelled to him as if it was dirt. These 
 are the gross and material advantages of being in 
 debt — serving as the basis for a superstructure of 
 higher things. 
 
 First, there is the immense advance in social po- 
 sition. What doors are closed to the large and noble 
 debtor ? What dinner parties would be considered 
 perfect without him ? How many needy men are 
 anxious to sit near him at the table, in the hope of 
 learning something useful to guide them in the path 
 which he has seemingly followed with such distin- 
 guished success ? Who would think of a public meet- 
 ing without the gigantic debtor in the chair? If a 
 
206 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 trustee is wanted for a charitable fund, who so fit and 
 proper to be appointed as the leviathan debtor ? 
 
 If a public company or a joint-stock enterprise is 
 flagging for various reasons, what is wanted to put it 
 firmly and flourishingly upon its legs ? — The chair- 
 manship of the enterprising debtor ! Did any wild 
 scheme ever commend itself to popular notice, or 
 endeavour to strike root, without sending one of its 
 earliest prospectuses to the energetic and prosperous 
 debtor ? — Never ! 
 
 Is a cellar of choice wine — a rare work of art — a 
 palatial mansion standing upon one of the finest sites 
 in the metropolis — advertised for sale without an eye 
 to the daring debtor ? — I am afraid not. If a seat in 
 Parliament is vacant, who so fit a man to fill it as the 
 active, practical debtor? — as to minor offices— com- 
 mon-councillorships, churchwardenships, director- 
 ships, etc., etc., how many of these are humbly and 
 diffidently proffered to the massive debtor ? Would 
 he like to enter into a more tender and interesting 
 engagement, how many high and delicate ladies are 
 waiting the commands of their parents, to be sold 
 like cattle to the all- conquering debtor? 
 
 Then there is the almost affectionate interest 
 taken in nearly everything that happens to the pam- 
 pered debtor. If he falls ill, what crowds of people 
 — chiefly creditors — are day after day anxiously con- 
 sulting his physician, and inquiring after his health. 
 If he meets with an accident, what a number of per- 
 
DEBT. 207 
 
 sons — chiefly creditors — come hurriedly forward with 
 pressing kindness to know if it is likely to be fatal. 
 Many of these kind creatures — chiefly creditors — 
 even go to the length of insuring the life of the im- 
 portant debtor for a considerable sum ; so strongly does 
 their interest in him develop itself. If the mammoth 
 debtor goes upon a continental tour for a lengthened 
 period, how many persons — chiefly creditors — are 
 waiting anxiously to give him a joyous welcome back. 
 If his house, or warehouse, is accidentally burnt 
 down, what a number of persons — chiefly creditors — 
 are at once upon the spot to render assistance, and 
 ascertain, if possible, what insurances there are — 
 what amounts, and in what offices. 
 
 If the bloated debtor by any chance becomes a 
 defendant in a lawsuit, what a number of persons — 
 chiefly creditors — wish themselves on the jury to try 
 the cause. If it happens to be a Chancery suit, how 
 they watch for every manifestation and decision, as 
 if the spoiled debtor was their only child, going up 
 for some momentous examination. If he gets in a 
 position to require heavy bail, the difficulty is not so 
 much in procuring one satisfactory surety, as in pick- 
 ing from the number offering their services and their 
 bonds. If by any possible combination of circum- 
 stances a Titanic debtor could be accused of robbery, 
 or even murder, what a number of trusting indivi- 
 duals — chiefly creditors — with a faith quite touching 
 in its constancy, would believe in his innocence to the 
 
208 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 very last. When the farce is over and the curtain 
 dropped ; when the giant debtor has ceased to bor- 
 row or to lend ; when the springs that moved him are 
 found to be an inextricable web of confusion, the 
 guide to which is lost ; although the whole glittering 
 fabric of apparent prosperity melts like an icicle in 
 the sun, and many persons — chiefly creditors— find 
 that they have been gilding a gingerbread king, still 
 the semblance of wealth, and the confidence that it 
 excites, will cling to him to the last, as he makes a 
 triumphal entry into the grave. 
 
 Seeing that no particular or extraordinary talent 
 is required for debt ; seeing that one man is as well 
 adapted for it as another ; I am surprised more per- 
 sons do not adopt this very easy and agreeable mode 
 of getting a living. The ice once broken, every suc- 
 ceeding step is easier than the last. Increase the 
 amount to be borrowed, and the power of borrowing 
 increases in an equal ratio. Under certain conditions, 
 you shall find more difficulty in procuring half-a- 
 crown than fifty thousand pounds ; although the secu- 
 rity offered in both cases may bear an equal value in 
 relation to the loan required ; but having obtained pos- 
 session of one fifty thousand pounds, you may com- 
 mand a second and a third with ever-increasing ease, 
 rolling your borrowed capital over and over like a 
 ball of snow, and causing more loans to stick to it 
 wherever it moves. Bear in mind, that in the great 
 world of debt, the small debtor is governed by his 
 
DEBT. 209 
 
 creditor ; the large creditor is governed by his debtor. 
 Large creditors are quiet and tractable, like dancing 
 elephants ; small creditors are spiteful and uncertain, 
 like wasps — wasps with a sting. 
 
210 
 
 BANKRUPTCY IN SIX EASY LESSONS. 
 
 INTRODUCTION, 
 
 As the whole liuman race must range themselves 
 under two classes, viz,, debtors and creditors, it is of 
 vital importance that a man should make himself ac- 
 quainted, as fully as possible, with at least the chief 
 tribunal whose special function it is to deal with 
 those who cannot or will not pay : — the Bankruptcy 
 Court. 
 
 Four men out of five go into business, and two of 
 that number fail as a matter of course ; the wonder 
 is, that this prolific and useful subject has not been 
 taken up scientifically before. 
 
 LESSON THE FIRST. THE BUSINESS. 
 
 The first thing to do, my young friend, when you 
 start in life, is to settle everything you possess upon 
 your wife. Having done this legally and securely, 
 take a warehouse in a good situation, and begin to 
 buy. That you may be under no alarm about your 
 power to do this, I will explain in a few words, the 
 theory of trade. The greater part of the goods ma- 
 nufactured are made by persons with little capital, 
 and they are compelled to force sales, to get bills of 
 
BANKRUPTCY IN SIX EASY LESSONS. 211 
 
 exchange for discount to pay for the raw material. 
 The warehousemen who buy them are men of little 
 or no capital, and they are compelled to hurry sales, 
 to get bills for discount to pay the bills drawn -by the 
 manufacturers. And so trade moves, one class con- 
 tinually pushing on another. The necessity to sell is 
 behind every man's back; you, therefore, need be 
 under no concern about your ability to buy. Before 
 you have opened your doors a week, you will scarcely 
 be able to keep the commercial travellers out. Let 
 it be hinted abroad — although it is not abso- 
 lutely necessary for your success in failure — that 
 your father-in-law is a person of property. It 
 means nothing, but it will be useful in a variety of 
 ways. 
 
 LESSON THE SECOND. THE BANK. 
 
 In the choice of a bank for discount (which you 
 will not want for a few months), you will find little 
 difficulty. As a rule, perhaps, you will pick out one 
 of the young concerns ; but all of them, bear in mind, 
 are urged on by the same necessity to trade, as the 
 merchants and traders. Be easy, bold, and confident 
 in your manner, and careful in your dress. One style 
 does for one kind of bank, another style for another. 
 Judge of this from the names of the directors ; and 
 give as a reference your principal creditor, who 
 by this time will take quite a fatherly interest in 
 your welfare. By all means keep a good balance, 
 
212 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 if it is done by the discount of accommodation 
 bills. 
 
 LESSON THE THIRD. THE ACCOUNT BOOKS. 
 
 Make this branch of your business your especial 
 study, and keep it in your own hands. Many men 
 understand the true art of figures, viz., to conceal 
 the truth ; few are able to practise it. See that you 
 are not ignorant and unskilful in this useful science. 
 Raise a fictitious capital at the commencement of 
 your business by a stroke of the pen, and enter at the 
 beginning of your cash book, on the left hand side, 
 a respectable, but not a very large sum— -say two 
 thousand pounds — the disposal of which imaginary 
 item you can account for amongst your imaginary 
 bad debts. These are fabulous transactions with per- 
 sons who are supposed to have failed, or exaggerated 
 dealings with persons who really have failed ; and the 
 property represented by the figures entered in the 
 books you — take care of. Keep your personal ex- 
 penses in appearance small, and throw the burden 
 upon the trade expenses. Fail in the third or fourth 
 year, if you are quite prepared for action, and go to 
 the Bankruptcy Court at once, without hesitation. 
 Shun deeds of inspection and assignment, because 
 they place„you in the hands of those dissatisfied credi- 
 tors, who in the Court are made to feel their proper 
 position, and are taught that the man who fails, and 
 renders an account of his failure (if he has not run 
 
BANKRUPTCY IN SIX EASY LESSONS. 213 
 
 the estate too close for the expenses of the 
 Court), is a very meritorious member of society. 
 These are chiefly matters of pen and ink, but 
 they are important, and do not let them be ne- 
 glected. 
 
 LESSON THE FOURTH. THE OFFICIAL ASSIGNEE. 
 
 You will now be within the power of the Bank- 
 ruptcy Court, a position not by any means so dis- 
 agreeable as many persons suppose. As your pri- 
 vate property is settled on your wife, you will not be 
 troubled at home with the Messenger, as he is called, 
 and the first person of any importance that you will 
 see is your Official Assignee — a very gentlemanly man 
 to you, as your estate will be large, and so prepared 
 as to give little trouble. You will hand over to him 
 in cash, et cetera, a sum more than sufficient to pay 
 all the expenses of the Court (about sixty per cent, 
 of your assets), and this will place matters on a very 
 amicable footing. He loves you like a brother. You 
 help to pay his salary, or commission — about two 
 thousand a-year — the salaries of the Commissioner, 
 with all the officers in and about the Court, and a good 
 many far away from it — pensioners to the extent of 
 sixteen thousand pounds per annum. It is absurd to 
 suppose that there can be any ill-feeling between you. 
 He goes over your books with you. You began with 
 a capital — good ; your books have been well kept — 
 good; your personal expenses are light (light for a 
 
214 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 person in yonr position in society) — good ; you have 
 given the estate* every attention — better; you have 
 handed over property sufficient to pay all expenses, 
 and declare a dividend of one shilling in the pound 
 before the matter has been in the energetic hands of 
 Mr. Official Assignee six weeks — best. Who dares 
 to say that the Court is tardy in collecting and 
 distributing assets ? You may sleep, and dream of 
 a first-class certificate. 
 
 LESSON THE FIFTH. THE COMMISSIONER. 
 
 The Commissioner is obliged, for his salary (about 
 two thousand per annum), to make a show of doing 
 something; and for his judicial dignity, to make 
 an appearance of discouraging bankrupts. But he 
 loves them for the same reason as the Official As- 
 signee — loves them because they pay him ; and he 
 loves them more if they give him no trouble. 
 Knowing little or nothing of figures — although hav- 
 ing to decide upon them more than upon law — he is, 
 practically, in the hands of the Official Assignee, 
 and is governed by his report in the choice and 
 granting of a certificate. 
 
 LESSON THE SIXTH. THE SOLICITOR. 
 
 There are not more than two solicitors plead- 
 ing in Basin ghall Street, who have what is called 
 the ear of the Court. You will retain one of 
 these, more for display and respectability than be- 
 
BANKRUPTCY IN SIX EASY LESSONS. 215 
 
 cause you require him. He goes over the favour- 
 able points of your trading career, lighting them 
 up with a glow of approbation. The sympathis- 
 ing Commissioner, prepared by the very favour- 
 able report of the Official Assignee, is glad to have 
 it in his power to reward you for bringing so 
 good an estate to the Court, by granting an im- 
 mediate first-class certificate. 
 
216 
 
 WHITE WASHERTON. 
 
 No man loves the metropolis more than I do. I can- 
 not go so far in my admiration of Fleet Street as 
 certain eminent literary authorities, nor can I alto- 
 gether admit that beyond Hyde Park it is a desert ; 
 but I will support any man who boldly asserts that 
 you can get everything in London that you can get 
 in the country ; and get it a hundred-fold better. 
 Yet, I must reserve one peculiar and important 
 exception ; and that is, the metropolitan organi- 
 zation for the relief of insolvent debtors. Against 
 Basinghall Street, I have nothing to say, nor do I 
 mean to assert that the judges of Portugal Street 
 are hard upon the embarrassed tradesman, or the 
 involved young gentleman whose ignorance of the 
 world and refined tastes have led him into tempo- 
 rary pecuniary difficulties : common "gratitude, if no 
 higher feeling, restrains me from spreading such an 
 erroneous and unjust impression. Portugal Street 
 is good, but — and I speak from experience, for I have 
 tried both — White Washerton is better. I should 
 not recommend Harrogate for medicinal waters ; I 
 should not recommend Melton Mowbray for pork 
 pies — Banbury for tarts — Epping for sausages — or 
 Chichester for rumpsteak puddings ; but, for a 
 
WHITE WASHERTON. 217 
 
 perfect, easy, and rapid relief from a mass of in- 
 volvent debt, combined with rural life, field sports, 
 and the advantages of neighbouring marine bathing, 
 I know of no place like White Washerton under the 
 sun. To call the judge who presides over White 
 Washerton insolvents, kind, gentlemanly, and lenient, 
 is to use terms too weak to convey the proper idea 
 of his treatment of them. He is thoughtful for the 
 debtor ; sympathising for the debtor ; and fatherly 
 to the debtor. It may be — and report say it is — that 
 he has himself suffered from the obtrusive compe- 
 tition of trade, and knows how difficult it is to resist 
 the overwhelming flood of wines, clothes, jewels, and 
 cash, that sweeps over the young man of position. 
 In every dashing young insolvent who comes before 
 him, he sees a reflected picture of his own youth ; in 
 every opposing creditor, a copy of the two-faced 
 harpies — fawning on one side, snarling on the other 
 — who alternately wheedled and threatened him when 
 he was a petitioner in a similar court to that in 
 which he now presides as a judge. It may be, that 
 the receipt of a large annual salary for little work, 
 develops the benevolent side of a man's character, and 
 causes him to serve out large quantities of that un- 
 strained mercy which blesses the giver, without 
 taking anything Out of his pocket. Any way, explain 
 it how we will, or leave it unexplained, White Wash- 
 erton, in addition to all its various local advantages, 
 possesses an insolvent commissioner whose Christian 
 
218 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 charity requires only to be fully known, to leave 
 Portugal Street a barren waste, and the metropolitan 
 Dracos biting their solitary nails in the awful silence 
 of a deserted law-court. I may be unwise in com- 
 municating my knowledge to the indebted public in 
 general; but a strong desire to benefit my fellow- 
 creatures has overcome every selfish consideration, 
 and I record my experiences regardless of the results. 
 At ten, thirty, -a.m., this morning, I stood in the 
 streets of White Washerton a debtor to the extent of 
 from forty to fifty thousand pounds. At six, thirty, 
 p.m., this evening, I am sitting waiting for dinner, in 
 a tavern not far from Bow Church, as free from debt 
 as the crossing-sweeper before the door. There has 
 been no personal annoyance from the idle curiosity of 
 friends ; there is no irritating report in the copy of 
 the evening newspaper which I hold in my hand : 
 I have drunk the legal waters of oblivion, far from 
 the prying eyes of obtruding witnesses, in the tree- 
 % shadowed Court of the rural city of White Washerton ; 
 and as I left an altered man, in a first-class express 
 carriage in the middle of the day, I saw in an over- 
 due Parliamentary train, the stern faces of some of 
 my dilatory creditors, who had made up their minds 
 to oppose at the eleventh hour, when my examination 
 had closed soon after the tenth. The way in which 
 all this was arranged shall be immediately explained. 
 When I was in a most embarrassing position, 
 with so many writs served upon me, that I could not 
 
WHITE WASHERTON. 219 
 
 distinguish the several suits — those for wine, from 
 those for jewels; those for money debts of my own, 
 from liabilities entered into to oblige obliging friends 
 — my eye rested, one morning at breakfast, upon 
 the following advertisement in the columns of a lead- 
 ing paper : — 
 
 " To the Embaeeassed. — How many a noble-hearted young 
 man has sunk into an early grave under the oppressive load of accu- 
 mulated debt, and all for the want of a little timely advice and 
 assistance! Let all those who are suffering from pecuniary em- 
 barrassments, and who wish to be relieved without publicity or 
 personal annoyance, apply at once to Mr. Ledger, negotiator, No. 2, 
 Paradise Gfardens, Gfray's Inn Lane." 
 
 I need scarcely say that I applied at once to Mr. 
 Ledger, and found him a very shrewd, affable, agree- 
 able, comforting, business man. I laid a plain state- 
 ment of my affairs before him, and we soon found 
 that everything was on what he called the debit, and 
 nothing (except just enough to pay expenses) on what 
 he also called the credit side. That night (this is 
 only ten days ago) I went down by arrangement to 
 White Washerton, and took prepared lodgings at the 
 house of a brother of Mr. Ledger's — Mr. Erasmus 
 Ledger, Solicitor, Augustine Square. I found every- 
 thing very elegant and comfortable. Miss Ledger 
 sang Italian songs, and played German sonatas to 
 amuse us of an evening; and, in the day, I took 
 exercise with the cricket-club, or joined pic-nic parties 
 with the young lady and her friends. How different 
 
220 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 was all this from the gloomy Jewish sponging-houses 
 of Chancery Lane, or the prison in Whitecross Street ! 
 I had all the comforts of society and a home, while I 
 was acquiring by residence the rights of a White 
 Washerton citizen. 
 
 Two days of this agreeable life was sufficient to 
 complete the first stage in the Ledger process ; and, 
 at the end of this time, it was necessary that I should 
 be arrested. I was arrested at the hands of an inti- 
 mate friend, and lodged in the clean, well-ventilated 
 gaol of White Washerton for five days ; which period 
 I chiefly passed in smoking my cigar on the roof of 
 the prison, enjoying a splendid view of the surrounding 
 country. At the end of this time bail was provided 
 by the thoughtful and systematic Ledgers, and I re- 
 turned once more to the refinement and luxuries of 
 Augustine Square. 
 
 In driving or riding about the town and the out- 
 skirts during the next three days, I saw a number of 
 men, whose gay, easy dashing manners and town 
 dress made me suspect that they were on a visit to 
 White Washerton, for the same purpose as myself; 
 and I found, upon inquiry, that my suspicions were 
 correct. They were all clients and lodgers of Mr. 
 Erasmus Ledger, sent down from London by his 
 energetic brother, and parcelled off into other lodging- 
 houses belonging to the solicitor, because they were 
 second and third-class insolvents, while I ranked 
 with, and paid for, the accommodation of the first. 
 
WHITE WASHERTON. 221 
 
 They enjoyed the excursion as much as I did; joined 
 in the field sports ; hired open carriages to visit local 
 spots of beauty or interest ; examined the architec- 
 tural and antiquarian features of the city ; and even 
 made short journeys to the neighbouring sea-coast, 
 They dropped up to town, one by one, as their exa- 
 minations came off, healthy in body, relieved in mind ; 
 and making room for others visitors, who arrived to 
 take their vacated places. 
 
 Three more days of this easy life carried me to 
 the morning of my examination, and I went before 
 the fatherly judge, with no assets, but an elaborate 
 schedule accounting for the disposal of the property 
 I had consumed. I was supported by Mr. Erasmus 
 Ledger, who had got the ear and the confidence of 
 the Court. I was opposed by only two creditors — 
 one for wine, the other for accommodation-bills. 
 Mr. Ledger laid my plain, well- varnished, candid 
 statement before the judge. He admitted that I 
 had been imprudent — perhaps extravagant; but it 
 was less my fault than the fault of the London 
 tradesmen ; who will tempt young men with credit, 
 with a perseverance that sweeps all resistance away. 
 I had not had sufficient moral strength to resist ; few 
 of us have (nod of approval from the bench) ; I had 
 sunk under a weight of temptation and debt; chance 
 had brought me to that Court for relief; blood could 
 not be had out of a stone. 
 
 Mr. Ledger knew that this last common-place 
 
222 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 never failed in its effect upon the judge. There is 
 something so simple, yet conclusive about it. Blood 
 could not be had out of a stone. What a world of 
 argument and mental exertion this axiom saved ! 
 It was not inscribed as the regulating maxim over 
 the facade of the Court ; but the judge had it always 
 in his mind, always before his eyes, always ringing 
 in his ears, and every judgment that he gave was 
 governed by it. 
 
 My wine creditor attempted a feeble opposition ; 
 but the inferior quality of his wines, and the exor- 
 bitant prices charged for them, were properly placed 
 before the judge, and that tradesman received a 
 severe judicial rebuke for attempting to ruin the 
 constitutions of young men, by selling them a 
 wretched, poisonous, fiery port, at five pounds the 
 dozen. 
 
 The accommodation-bill holder next made an 
 attempt at opposition, much damaged by the ill- 
 success of his companion, the wine-merchant. The 
 first question that he was asked from the bench was, 
 what were his rates of discount? His reply was, 
 that they varied according to circumstances. This 
 answer was not satisfactory. What were his average 
 charges? What were his charges in this particular 
 instance ? Sixty per cent, (the judge was indignant) ; 
 that is, sixty per cent, per annum. He was called 
 a usurer ; a discounting vampire, sucking the blood 
 of the unwary and inexperienced ; he was not allowed 
 
WHITE WASHERTON. 223 
 
 to explain that, notwithstanding his high rate of 
 interest, he was a loser of several thousand pounds ; 
 he had no right to stand in a court, the judge of 
 which could never allow himself to listen to any man 
 who exacted sixty per cent. 
 
 I passed gently and smoothly though the painless 
 ordeal. It was, however, sufficiently trying to keep 
 up a wholesome excitement in the nervous system. 
 As I shook hands, a free man, with Mr. Erasmus 
 Ledger, before stepping into the carriage which 
 drove me to the railway station, I whispered in his 
 ear that I hoped it would soon become as fashionable 
 to visit White Washerton for the Benefit of the Act, 
 as it used to be to visit Cheltenham for the benefit 
 of the waters. 
 
224 
 
 BUYING IN THE CHEAPEST MARKET. 
 
 I was born and nourished under the wing of political 
 economy : not the theory, but the science reduced 
 to practice. I have known many men in my time 
 whose principles were without a flaw that the keenest 
 logician could detect — who had Smith, Bentham, 
 Mill, supply, and demand, at their fingers' ends — who 
 could discourse most eloquent music about markets, 
 population, capital, rent, profits, but who in them- 
 selves were imprudent members of society, impro- 
 vident centres of enormous families, borrowers of 
 money at usurious interest, and strugglers up to 
 their necks in seas of debt. My principles may not 
 have been as sound, my reasoning powers not as 
 perfect as those of my friends, but I floated harm- 
 lessly over the ocean of debt — I was a lender, and 
 not a borrower of money at usurious interest, and I 
 did not enter upon a matrimonial engagement until 
 I had carefully examined the ratio which capital at 
 that period bore to population. 
 
 One of the earliest pieces of practical wisdom 
 drawn from the science of political economy, and in- 
 stilled into me by a thoughtful and far-seeing parent, 
 was the well-known maxim about buying in the 
 
BUYING IN THE CHEAPEST MARKET. 225 
 
 cheapest market. I say well-known, but I am sorry 
 to have also to state, that it is better known than 
 trusted. Of all who hear it, and comprehend what it 
 means, how many have the moral courage and in- 
 dustry to act up to it ? Who amongst those who 
 have the ability to find, will take the trouble to find 
 the cheapest market ? I would address my present 
 observations to persons about to marry ; but I know 
 that it is useless to do so. They are too young, too 
 ill taught, too gushing, too generous, too believing, 
 too romantic, too imprudent, too much wanting in 
 that cold but very valuable quality of calculation to 
 listen to my words, and to benefit by the utterances 
 of my experience. I turn from them with hopeless 
 contempt to that other class comprised under the 
 general title of parents and guardians ; people who, 
 if they have not learned wisdom, have at least lived 
 long enough to test the emptiness of the wild romance 
 of life. 
 
 When the preliminaries for my wedding were 
 fixed, the first necessity of my position was to furnish 
 a house ; and the first duty of my position was to find 
 the cheapest market for doing so. This important 
 undertaking rarely falls to the lot of a man more than 
 once in the course of his natural life, and it is incum- 
 bent upon him, therefore, to be careful how he per- 
 forms it. There are two modes of setting about the 
 task which naturally suggest themselves to the minds 
 of the unthinking. The first is to contract with a 
 
 Q 
 
226 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 fashionable upholsterer, who will supply all the regu- 
 lar elegancies of life, give you no trouble about selec- 
 tion, even in the number and subjects of the volumes 
 for your library, and by the time you find you have 
 got everything together very pretty and correct, like 
 some thousands of your neighbours in the same posi- 
 tion in society, he will send in a heavy bill, which 
 you will duly pay, as your neighbours have done 
 before you. 
 
 The second mode of furnishing a house is the one 
 usually considered economical, and is performed by 
 attending sales and depots for second-hand furniture, 
 in the hope of finding bargains. People buy at such 
 places articles of inferior workmanship, manufactured 
 expressly for the peculiar market, showy to the eye, 
 weak in structure, with every fault carefully varnished 
 over. They are proud of their purchases for a few 
 weeks — after which time the articles disappear, and 
 the song of triumph is heard no more. 
 
 I need scarcely say, that neither of these plans 
 was my plan. I had a certain sum of money at my 
 disposal, and I knew that amongst the tradesmen to 
 whom I must apply for the articles I required, there 
 must be a large number to whom that money would 
 ' be more than ordinarily welcome. I knew that in 
 the ranks of trade there is always a large number of 
 shopkeepers struggling to maintain a position without 
 capital— -embarrassed with writs, judges' orders, bills 
 of sale, and county court judgments, and exposed to 
 
BUYING IN THE CHEAPEST MARKET. 227 
 
 all the temptations which such a state of things must 
 necessarily produce. The first step was to discover 
 the names and addresses of these people : possessing 
 which, I should then be on the high road to the 
 cheapest market. 
 
 In the City of London, conducted by a gentleman 
 of the name of Perry, is an organization established, 
 I believe, for the protection of trade, called the 
 Bankrupt and Insolvent Registry Office. One part 
 of Mr. Perry's system is to send to subscribers of a 
 small annual sum a printed list, about once each 
 week, of the names and addresses of all persons whose 
 trading difficulties have compelled them to give either 
 a judge's order, a bill of sale, or to sign a county 
 court judgment. The date of the execution of these 
 instruments is carefully given, and every information 
 that will enable you to form a judgment as to the 
 pecuniary position and struggles of a large number 
 of the traders of the country. I became a subscriber 
 to Mr. Perry's office, and received my list every 
 week, which told me all, and more than I required 
 to know. In about two months, with a little trouble 
 and diplomatic skill, aided by the all-powerful money 
 that I had at my command — I furnished a large 
 house from top to bottom in a style far above the 
 average, and at less than one-fourth of the usual cost. 
 A couple of examples will explain sufficiently how this 
 was done. 
 
 Looking down my Trade Protection List one 
 
228 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 morning carelessly, over the breakfast table, my eye 
 rested, amongst other things, upon the following 
 record of commercial distress : 
 
 "Judge's Oedees. 
 
 " Enoch Baxter, Cabinet-maker, 58, Great Carcass Street, Sussex 
 Town. Judge's Order for £22 to Robert Dunham and Co. ; dated 
 April 14th, 1857." 
 
 After breakfast, I walked out, and a Sussex Town 
 omnibus passing me at the moment, I took my place 
 outside, and in half an hour's time I found myself 
 walking leisurely up Great Carcass Street. I stopped 
 before the window of number fifty- eight, a small un- 
 pretending shop, with no appearance of abundance 
 in the interior, and no appearance of scarcity. There 
 was a small display of fire-screens, couches, card- 
 tables, easy-chairs, loo-tables, and a splendid marble- 
 topped sideboard, which particularly struck my taste, 
 and which I have now in my possession, placed in the 
 post of honour in my luxurious dining-room. I opened 
 the door which clicked a small bell, and entered the 
 shop, when I was immediately waited upon by a tall, 
 quiet-looking, timid man, who turned out to be the 
 proprietor, Mr. Enoch Baxter. It is impossible for me 
 to explain why I did so, but at the moment when he 
 advanced towards me, by a kind of impulse, I rattled 
 loudly some loose gold that I had in my trousers' 
 pocket, and the sound seemed to have an electrical 
 effect upon Mr. Baxter's nerv r es. I asked to look at 
 his Post Office London Directory, and as he informed 
 
BUYING IN THE CHEAPEST MARKET. 229 
 
 me that he did not possess one, I observed his coun- 
 tenance assume a desponding expression of extreme 
 disappointment. I asked the price of a music-stool, 
 and his face brightened instantly with the hopeful 
 expectation of a customer. These little surface indica- 
 tions taught me that Mr. Baxter was an easily- 
 managed, impressible man, and I proceeded to 
 manage him accordingly. 
 
 "Noble piece of furniture," I observed, alluding 
 to the marble-topped sideboard. 
 
 " Yes, sir/' he replied quickly, with great anima- 
 tion, " one of the most finished things we ever turned 
 out, and only sixty guineas." 
 
 "Ah," I returned in a desponding tone, "such 
 sums are rarely spent upon single articles of furniture 
 now, especially in these days of commercial distress." 
 The proprietor gave vent to a heavy sigh. 
 
 " I should think," I continued in a sympathising 
 tone, " that the neighbourhood you find yourself in 
 is scarcely adapted to the class of articles you seem 
 to produce?" 
 
 "It is not, sir," replied the proprietor; "there is 
 no local gentry, and our trade is cut up by the cheap, 
 advertising, rubbish shops in other parts of the town." 
 
 "Walnut?" I inquired, again directing my at- 
 tention to the sideboard. 
 
 " No, sir ; pollard oak." 
 
 " Several large failures in the City again this morn- 
 ing," I remarked, " and the Bank rate of discount I 
 
230 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 am told, is likely to go up to twelve per cent." The 
 gold, somehow, again clinked in my pocket. 
 
 " Where will it all end?" sighed the proprietor. 
 
 "Where?" I responded walking round the 
 sideboard. 
 
 u Sir," said the proprietor, in an almost affec- 
 tionate manner, u if you would really like that splendid 
 article, I will knock off ten guineas, and put it in to 
 you at fifty." 
 
 "These things," I replied, "are all regulated by 
 the law of supply and demand, and the state of 
 the money-market; if I offered you twenty-two 
 pounds " 
 
 The mention of that peculiar sum (the amount 
 of the judge's order) seemed to strike him with a 
 sudden pang ; and I think he staggered as he gasped 
 out faintly — 
 
 il No, sir, no ; it would not pay the cost of the 
 raw material." 
 
 The time, I considered, had now arrived for me 
 to take the decisive step. I calmly took one of my 
 address- cards from my pocket-book, and wrote upon 
 it my maximum amount, five-and- twenty pounds. 
 
 " There/' said I, as I placed it in the open hand 
 of the hesitating proprietor, " five-and-twenty pounds, 
 send the article home to that address, and there is 
 your money, cash on delivery." 
 
 Late at night I found the sideboard standing in 
 my dining-room, and a receipt for twenty-five 
 
BUYING IN THE CHEAPEST MARKET. 231 
 
 pounds lying on the table, signed in a somewhat 
 tremulous hand, "Enoch Baxter." 
 
 Encouraged by my success with the embarrassed 
 cabinet-maker, I next experimented upon a piano- 
 forte merchant, who I found from my list was suffer- 
 ing from a county court judgment for fifteen pounds 
 eighteen shillings. He was a common, cunning- 
 looking man, with a good deal of the mechanic in 
 his appearance ; and he gave me the idea of a work- 
 ing carpenter, dressed in a pianoforte -tuner's clothes- 
 He was fetched, I presume, from a public-house to 
 attend upon me; for he came in, smelling very 
 strongly of tobacco-smoke. 
 
 There was an instrument, noble in exterior, with 
 all the latest improvements, delicacy of touch, metallic 
 sounding-board, etc., upon which I fixed my atten- 
 tion, while the proprietor rattled over the keys with 
 short, thick, grubby fingers, performing one of those 
 brilliant flourishes peculiar to people who undertake 
 to exhibit the capabilities of a piano for the purpose 
 of effecting a sale. 
 
 I quietly inquired the price. 
 
 u Well, sir," said he, discontinuing his harmony, 
 and looking up at me with his small, sharp eyes, " we 
 couldn't make a hinstrument of that kind to horder 
 under seventy pund ; but we bought it on the quiet 
 from a man who shut up his shop and bolted to Hos- 
 tralia, and we can say fifty pund for it." 
 
 I saw the kind of man I had to deal with, 
 
232 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 and I did not indulge in any unnecessary nego- 
 tiation. 
 
 " Eighteen pounds/' I said, after examining the 
 instrument, " is what I can give for that piano." 
 
 " Make more for firewood," returned the pro- 
 prietor, shortly, closing the lid of the case. 
 
 " That's my card," I replied, giving him my 
 address, "eighteen pounds; at home any evening 
 this week after eight." 
 
 I was right in my calculations. The next night, 
 about half-past ten, I received a visit from the piano- 
 forte merchant, who had a cart with the instrument 
 waiting at the door. 
 
 "Say twenty pund," said he, "and Fm your 
 man." 
 
 " You have my bidding," I replied, with dignity. 
 
 " You warn't born yesterday," he returned, with 
 a wink ; and, coming closer to me, in a confidential 
 manner, he continued, "keep it dark, you know; 
 keep it dark." 
 
 Whether he paid off the county court judgment 
 with the money I cannot tell, but I saw his name in 
 the list of bankrupts a few weeks after this transac- 
 tion; and at the examination before the commis- 
 sioner, there was a judicial rebuke about reckless 
 trading and making away with stock, which I, of 
 course, could not help, as I was only carrying out 
 the law of supply and demand, and acting upon the 
 maxim of buying in the cheapest market. 
 
233 
 
 i TWENTY SHILLINGS IN THE POUND. 
 
 The firm of Petty, Larceny, and Co., the great ha- 
 berdashers, is a monument of remarkable trading 
 skill. It has been established more than a century. 
 Old Petty retired with a colossal fortune, and young 
 Petty, the old Petty of the present firm, was mem- 
 ber of Parliament for a cotton district. Some of the 
 Larcenies have been at the bar, and one is a very high 
 dignitary in the Church, while he who stands in the 
 place of the old original Larceny, and manages the 
 business, has the reputation of being one of the 
 smartest traders in the City of London. The first 
 stone of their prosperity was laid by the purchase of 
 job-lots, or goods sold at a sacrifice. They found a 
 mine of wealth under their feet, and they did not 
 neglect to work it. They got a double reputation : 
 one for always being ready with cash for goods to any 
 extent, the other for always selling goods thirty per 
 cent, under the market-price. They always paid 
 twenty shillings in the pound, but it was for forty 
 shillings' worth of goods, and that, my simple friend, 
 is a very different thing from buying forty shillings 5 
 worth of goods, and paying twenty shillings for them. 
 In the first instance, you are a keen trader, buying 
 
234 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 at a discount of fifty per cent. ; in the second, you 
 are a worthless, broken scamp, paying ten shillings 
 in the pound. You, who possess a mathematical 
 head, cannot probably find much difference in the 
 two things, but act upon your conviction, and see the 
 result. You, as the payer of the despised ten shil- 
 lings in the pound, the payer of one pound for two, 
 shall enter one of our palatial receptacles of mer- 
 chandise in company with Mr. Larceny, the payer of 
 twenty shillings in the pound, the buyer of two 
 pounds for one. Not an assistant in the place, not 
 a head of a department, but what will be at once at 
 the humble service of Mr. Larceny, ready to throw 
 at his feet the rich cashmeres of India, the soft sables 
 of the North, the costly fabrics of the South, per- 
 fumes of Araby the blest, jasper, onyx, and all pre- 
 cious stones. Let him take them at his own price, 
 and upon his own terms. Now comes your turn, my 
 simple friend, and the rich, fall stream of commerce 
 does not flow so freely at your feet. Will you be 
 kind enough to give your name ? They cannot find 
 exactly what you want, although your desires are not 
 extravagant. You fancy you heard your name going 
 down a pipe, and you were right. Will you have the 
 goodness to step down to the counting-house? You 
 step down, and see a managing clerk. Another time 
 they will be most happy, etc. You have learnt the dif- 
 ference, my simple friend, between paying ten shillings 
 for a pound, and buying a pound for ten shillings. 
 
TWENTY SHILLINGS IN THE POUND. 235 
 
 Messrs. Petty, Larceny, and Co. thrive apace, and 
 suck up in their vortex many spiritless businesses of 
 the same kind in the neighbourhood. They buy up 
 a pile of buildings ; they cover with their warehouses 
 half a street. Sometimes it happens in the course 
 of trade that complications arise between principal 
 and agent, consignor and consignee, buyer and sel- 
 ler ; the money-market is tight, cash is scarce, and a 
 few thousand pounds' worth of goods is sold in con- 
 sequence, at a sacrifice much more alarming than 
 usual. What makes matters worse is, that Messrs. 
 Petty, Larceny's cheque — which though dishonour- 
 able was never dishonoured — does not find its way 
 to the rightful owner, the agent employed in the 
 matter having put a finish to dishonest proceedings 
 by an act of embezzlement. This brings the trans- 
 action into open court, and some virtuous counsel, 
 whose wholesome indignation has been paid for as 
 per brief delivered, does not hesitate to stigmatise 
 the conduct of Messrs. Petty, Larceny, and Co. as 
 immoral and dishonest ; to call a sacrifice a down- 
 right robbery; job-lots nothing but stolen goods, 
 and to say that the receiver is as bad as the thief. 
 Poor fellow ! he knows when he utters the last senti- 
 ment, that his law is the reverse of sound, and that 
 he is the veriest stump-orator that ever stood in a 
 Court of Justice. Perhaps he is thinking of some 
 miserable fence, or marine-store dealer, whose limited 
 capital, want of enterprise, and wretched habitation, 
 
236 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 under the constant surveillance of the police, render 
 him in the eyes of the law a receiver in every respect 
 as bad as the thief; but the splendid pile of ware- 
 houses that bears the name of Messrs. Petty, Lar- 
 ceny, and Co. can never be the receptacle of any 
 goods, but what have been bought in a respectable 
 manner, and under the laws of supply and demand. 
 When Mr. Larceny leaves his business, about five in 
 the afternoon, the policeman on the beat runs to open 
 the door of his carriage, which he certainly would 
 not do for a man that was obnoxious to the law. 
 
 Some people there may be, who gossip about the 
 story in the City, and, like good members of society 
 as they are, profess a moral repugnance to any man 
 who stoops to make money by such dishonest prac- 
 tices ; but their words lose something of their weight 
 when we find them, in a few days afterwards, in Mr. 
 Larceny's private counting-house, with a piece of 
 coloured paper in their hands, evidently torn from a 
 banker's cheque-book. Sundry old ladies and highly 
 respectable mothers of families profess to be greatly 
 shocked when they read the account in the news- 
 papers, and exclaim, " What an immoral place Messrs. 
 Petty, Larceny's shop must be for the young men !" 
 But if we lounge towards the shop in question, about 
 three o'clock on a July afternoon, we shall find the 
 same ladies in great force, seated on the short-backed 
 chairs, and asking the attendants to shew them 
 " some of those stolen — ahem, that is, remarkably 
 
TWENTY SHILLINGS IN THE POUND. 237 
 
 cheap goods that they have to sell." When Mr. 
 Larceny goes into the markets on the next occasion, 
 his friends cluster round him more attentive than 
 ever, probably from joy that so dear a friend has not 
 been rudely snatched from them. Society does not 
 turn its back upon Mr. Larceny ; far from it, its doors 
 are always open to any man who can send his own 
 footman to knock at them. Prisons* of all kinds, 
 Houses of Correction, Silent Systems, Penal Ser- 
 vitudes, Hulks, Queen's Benches, Old Baileys, 
 Bankruptcy Courts, and lastly, Workhouses, were 
 never built or organised for men like Mr. Larceny. 
 It is the fools who suffer, while the rogues thrive. 
 
 Third-class bankrupts, with certificates suspended 
 for two years, with protection refused for six months; 
 transported felons and oakum-pickers of various de- 
 grees, become what they are, that Larceny House 
 may have its much-admired stone facade, designed 
 by Bubble Walling, Esq., F.S.A., that Mr. Larceny's 
 mansion in Huckaback Square may be adorned with 
 the latest Rubenses, Baffaelles, and Correggios, and 
 that Larceny Park, Richmond, Surrey, may be one 
 of the great landscape features of the county. 
 
 Such is the brazen image of twenty shillings in 
 the pound, before which men fall down and worship. 
 If auy one doubts how much better it is to sin than 
 to be sinned against, let him look at a commercial 
 adventurer of a different stamp. 
 
 We have heard a good deal of the fraudulent 
 
238 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 debtor. We know his picture pretty well by this 
 time. He never keeps a cash-book. He makes away 
 with stock in a mysterious manner, and his furni- 
 ture is always settled on his wife. He has been in- 
 solvent once — a bankrupt once, and he has com- 
 pounded with his creditors several times. He is, of 
 course, a great scamp, because — he cannot pay 
 twenty shillings in the pound. But has ever any one 
 looked calmly and dispassionately into his conduct, 
 to see whether there is any substratum of honesty 
 underlying the surface of his character ? Has any- 
 one ever tried to discover the original character of 
 his misfortunes — I beg pardon, his rogueries ? Are 
 his creditors aware, when they are so loud in their 
 complaints against him, that in many cases his nu- 
 merous failures spring out of the one original insol- 
 vency ; because he was weak and considerate enough 
 to grant fraudulent preferences and renew old debts ? 
 Are they aware that they have been supplying him 
 with goods and money, for many years, at an enor- 
 mous profit and interest that act as an insurance 
 against risk, and make ten shillings in the pound a 
 remunerative dividend ? I am afraid not. He may 
 walk about in a leaky shoe and a battered hat, but 
 he is always assumed to have a snug competency put 
 on one side in a quiet way. If he is really fraudu- 
 lent, the law has provided for his punishment in a 
 very peculiar manner. He goes before a Bankruptcy 
 Commissioner With a balance-sheet, and a variety of 
 
TWENTY SHILLINGS IN THE POUND. 239 
 
 accounts which, as far as totals are concerned, are 
 made to agree with each other with wonderful accu- 
 racy; and the said commissioner, knowing nothing 
 of figures, and ascertaining from the official assig- 
 nee, that he has not been too fraudulent to provide 
 for the expenses of the court, does not see any good 
 that can arise to the estate from further delay, and 
 grants a common certificate or licence to trade, as a 
 matter of course. If, on the other hand, he is not 
 fraudulent but unfortunate, and flies to the sanctuary 
 of the court, under the pressure of unavoidable loss and 
 misfortune, having allowed the commercial whirlwind 
 to overtake him before providing payment for the 
 shelter as the act directs, he will find surly officials, 
 a severe Draconian judge, and, in all probability, a 
 suspension of certificate. Woe upon him, if at any 
 time, under the influence of pressure, a sense of ho- 
 nour, or for increased facilities of trade, he has given 
 what the law calls a fraudulent preference; he will then 
 find to his cost how much more culpable it is in the 
 eye of j ustice to give than to receive. He will suffer for 
 his ill-advised, though well-intentioned act, while the 
 receiver of the benefit — the fraudulent creditor — will 
 walk away respected and unscathed in all the immacu- 
 late invulnerability of twenty shillings in the pound. 
 
 The fraudulent creditor is a person that does 
 not come so prominently before us ; he does not stink 
 in the nostrils of commerce, for his cheques are 
 always paid, and he never had a bill sent back in his 
 
240 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 life. He is an oily man, who has made many bad 
 debts during his commercial life, and who always 
 seems to extract nourishment from them. He has 
 generally been very badly treated by the fraudulent 
 debtor, but while the latter has scarcely a bed to lie 
 down upon, the fraudulent creditor manages to keep 
 a good balance at his banker's. He seldom attends, 
 and will never take the chair at a meeting of credi- 
 tors. When an arrangement is proposed, he always 
 declines, at present, to come in. He has scruples and 
 objections, and he takes time to consider. He likes 
 to be treated with individually. God forbid that he 
 should be the means of carrying the affair to the 
 Bankruptcy Court, and injuring others; but he does 
 not think that there has been a fair statement ren- 
 dered, and he would rather lose the whole of his 
 debt — ill as he can afford it — than accept a dividend 
 less than the estate ought to pay. He holds out 
 firmly, and when others get ten shillings, he gets 
 fifteen; when others get fifteen, he gets twenty. 
 Failing this, he stands over until the debtor begins 
 trade again, and then he advances his claim upon the 
 new estate, to the injury of the new creditors. He is 
 one of the most obstructive and dishonest men in 
 trade, and yet who would refuse his acceptance for 
 five thousand pounds ? It may be that the twenty 
 shillings in the pound, with which the bill will be 
 paid, will be very dirty shillings — shillings that ought 
 to have been in the pockets of other people, but they 
 
TWENTY SHILLINGS IN THE POUND. 241 
 
 fulfil the commercial requirements as to weight, and 
 the code of trading morality exacts no other con- 
 dition. 
 
 If I have shocked the political economist by ex- 
 hibiting any irreverence for the laws which regulate 
 the operations of commerce, the theory of trade, ex- 
 change, markets, supply and demand, I humbly apo- 
 logise. My purpose was not to question the dogmas 
 of economical science, but to put my finger upon 
 some of the moral blots in commerce, and to ask 
 that those who are always crying out aloud for puri- 
 fication, should not strain at a bankrupt gnat, and 
 swallow a felonious camel. 
 
242 
 
 THE AFFLICTED DUKE OF SPINDLES. 
 
 Know thyself; examine thyself; keep a strict watch 
 over thyself; for thy body is a frail machine that will 
 soon fall to pieces, if not carefully preserved. From 
 the head downwards, or the feet upwards, thou art 
 subject to disease, deformity, and decay. Thy hair 
 will drop off, — will change colour, — will turn grey. 
 Thy teeth will become unsightly, black, hollow, ach- 
 ing. Thy back will become round shouldered, and 
 thy elbows will stick outwards instead of inwards. 
 Thy hands will become coarse, red, short, thick ; thy 
 nails grubby. Thy stomach will protrude beyond the 
 natural space allotted to man, and thy waist will 
 assume unwieldy dimensions. Thy legs, unable to 
 support unyieldingly the superincumbent weight, will 
 bow out at the calves, or bend inwards at the knees. 
 Thy feet will become painfully fruitful in corns and 
 bunions, and thy face at one extremity of thy miser- 
 able body will fall into graceless contortions in sym- 
 pathy with the pain which thou art suffering at the 
 other extremity. Thy complexion will lose its bril- 
 liant purity under sun, and rain, and hail, and snow, 
 and frost, and those darting eyes of which thou art 
 so justly — but, alas ! so vainly — proud, will become, 
 under the combined effects of dust and east wind, a 
 
THE AFFLICTED DUKE OF SPINDLES. 243 
 
 couple of weak and watery organs, encompassed by a 
 rim of inflammatory cuticle. As to thy heart, thy 
 liver, and all the other sacred mysteries ever closely 
 hidden within the perishable casket, are they not 
 more delicate and wonderful in their silent retire- 
 ment — more prone to suffer derangement and decay 
 — than those ruder portions of the same weak ma- 
 chine, whose place it is to come in immediate contact 
 with the rough elements of the outer world ? 
 
 Such were my thoughts, a curious mixture of the 
 styles of philosophical reflection peculiar to the pul- 
 pit and the advertising nostrum vendor, in the early 
 part of a dull, melancholy October day. I was that 
 Pariah of society, the man about city and town, 
 when city and town were nothing but a lifeless 
 desert. The hard necessities of the law required 
 my presence for an uncertain period to sign deeds, 
 and perform other acts connected with the con- 
 veyance of a large business property, and I was 
 chained by this legal spell within sight and call of 
 Mr. Proviso, the lawyer, at a period of the year 
 when every other living creature of my class was 
 disporting himself upon mountain and river, lake and 
 sandy beach. I wandered moodily up the once gay 
 and busy thoroughfares, now gay and busy no longer 
 with the rolling carriages and the brilliant members 
 of the promenade. I passed my once comfortable, 
 exclusive tavern, and found it in the hands of brick- 
 lay ers' labourers, with huge white- washing ladders 
 
244 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 standing in the principal rooms, and planks project- 
 ing from the open windows into the street. I looked 
 in the newspapers for topics of interest, and found 
 them not. I wandered with a strange fascination to- 
 wards those large, dark, silent houses, whose hospit- 
 able doors had once been open to me at all hours of 
 the day. I saw, for one fleeting moment, the beam- 
 ing face of a young male friend within the hooded 
 recesses of a Hansom cab. I rushed forward to stay 
 his progress, but my eye quickly detected the too ex- 
 pressive rug and portmanteau upon the top under the 
 driver's elbows, and I drew back, suffering the vehicle 
 to go unmolested on its joyous way, leaving me in a 
 solitude more depressing than ever. Listless and 
 aimless, as I sauntered up one dull street and down 
 another, I became painfully conscious, perhaps for 
 he first time, of my very limited power of self-de- 
 pendence. I began to commune with myself, and 
 see how helpless and wretched a thing I was, when 
 society was suddenly and completely taken from me. 
 I began to know myself, and I did not appear to im- 
 prove upon acquaintance. The more I carried on 
 this self-examination, the more contemptible did I 
 appear in my own eyes. For years I had gone pla- 
 cidly on in ignorance of my mental and moral weak- 
 ness; what if my physical condition had been silently 
 deteriorating ? This idea led me into the reflections 
 before recorded, and partly from fear, partly from 
 curiosity, and partly for occupation, I resolved to get 
 
THE AFFLICTED DUKE OF SPINDLES. 245 
 
 as much information about myself as talent could 
 furnish and money purchase. 
 
 The first step that I took with the view of know- 
 ing myself, was to ring at the door of an eminent 
 chiropodist. He was within, of course, as it was his 
 business to be. I was conducted by a footman in a 
 splendid livery, up a noble staircase into a drawing- 
 room, furnished with all — and a little more of — the 
 glass and satin that taste has ordained to be ne- 
 cessary for the proper fitting up of such an apart- 
 ment. A luxurious easy- chair was placed for me 
 near the table in the centre of the room, and I was 
 mildly and deferentially told that the professor would 
 be with me in a few minutes. In the meantime I 
 was left to contemplate his portraits as he appeared 
 while extracting the corns of three crowned heads — 
 or rather six crowned feet — of Europe, and those of 
 an Eastern monarch, who, from his undoubted Arab 
 origin, ought never to have been troubled with shoes, 
 much less with corns. When these works of art had 
 had their proper destined effect upon my mind, jthe 
 professor — a coarse, fat man — entered, arrayed in a 
 crimson velvet dressing-gown, with a smoking-cap to 
 match. I rose to greet him, but he bounded forward 
 with an air of what was meant to be charming amia- 
 bility and consideration for my bodily sufferings, and 
 begged that I would on no account disturb myself. 
 
 "My dear sir/' he began, "I have seen too many 
 cases of your kind not to know how extremely grate- 
 
246 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 ful a little rest must be. Allow me to take off your 
 boots and socks." 
 
 He placed a small black velvet cushion for me to 
 rest my feet upon, and, in a few seconds, those sup- 
 posed suffering members were exposed to his view. 
 
 "Ah," he exclaimed, "the very thing I expected; 
 exactly the same as the young Duke of Spindles, who 
 was here the other day ! Do you know his grace ?" 
 
 I replied that I did not. 
 
 " A very affable young nobleman," he continued, 
 pinching my toes with his fore-finger and thumb, 
 " extraordinarily so, when we consider -what his grace 
 must have suffered with his feet before his grace came 
 to me. I think, sir, that I extracted from his grace's 
 right foot, alone, in a single morning, no less than 
 live and forty corns of different degrees of magni- 
 tude!" 
 
 I exhibited a polite degree of astonishment. 
 
 " Yes, sir," he resumed, " and I did more than 
 that. I cured his grace of one of the most awful 
 bunions that has ever come under my notice during 
 a long and active professional career. ' Cure me of 
 that bunion/ said his grace, ' and you will earn my 
 everlasting gratitude. It embitters my youth, it 
 darkens the festive board, it gnaws me like a vul- 
 ture, it comes between me and the legitimate plea- 
 sures of the ball-room, which I am so well fitted by 
 age, appearance, and position to enjoy/ I put out 
 my talent, sir, and his grace w r ent away another man. 
 
THE AFFLICTED DUKE OF SPINDLES. 247 
 
 The hundred guineas that his grace presented me 
 with were soon spent, but the diamond-ring that he 
 gave me I shall preserve and wear, by his grace's de- 
 sire, to the last day of my life." 
 
 He displayed a ring. 
 
 " His grace must have been peculiarly afflicted," 
 I observed. 
 
 " Not at all, sir ; not at all. In fact, between 
 ourselves, corns and bunions are the great curse of 
 our aristocracy. Not one of that illustrious body is 
 free from them, male or female. It is an infallible 
 sign of blood." 
 
 While this conversation, or rather broken mono- 
 logy was going on, the manipulation of my feet con- 
 tinued, and small pea-looking lumps of some drab 
 material were, from time to time, placed upon a sil- 
 ver salver standing on the table. 
 
 "You must be a person of extraordinary forti- 
 tude," he resumed, "to have endured what you must 
 have endured, for so long a period. Are you aware 
 that I have already extracted thirty-two corns from 
 your feet ? " 
 
 I was not aware of the fact. 
 
 ' f This," he observed, taking one of the peas from 
 the salver, "is what causes the pain in the foot. It 
 is the seed, or needle of the corn, which, being pres- 
 sed down by the boot, enters that portion of the flesh 
 which is not benumbed or hardened, and produces 
 that sharp, pricking pain, popularly known as 'shoot- 
 ing.' " 
 
248 UNDER' BOW BELLS. 
 
 The professor rose with a look of triumphant sa- 
 tisfaction, and I replaced my socks and boots. 
 
 " There/' he exclaimed, as I stood np once more, 
 " you feel another man now, and. will walk down- 
 stairs very differently from the way in which you 
 walked up them/'' 
 
 I certainly did walk away differently, for I was 
 thirty-two pounds lighter. Each corn or pea was 
 charged a sovereign, and thirty-two pounds was the 
 cost of my first lesson in the difficult art of knowing 
 myself. 
 
 The next place that I found myself in was the 
 depot for the sale of the celebrated boot ; where I 
 must have wandered, though unconsciously, thinking 
 of my feet. I was received by the master of the shop 
 with tenderness almost approaching to affection, and 
 I marvelled much that any mere money-payment 
 could purchase so much real and unaffected kind- 
 ness. My feet were handled with considerate care, 
 and their measure was taken as if they had been 
 made of the most delicate glass. 
 
 "Dear, dear/' exclaimed the proprietor and in- 
 ventor — a short, puffy man, whose face was now very 
 red from his stooping position — ' ' you ought to have 
 come to me before ; if you had gone another month, 
 sir, under the old system of boots — only another 
 month, sir, you would have been a hopeless crip- 
 ple ! " 
 
 " Indeed/' I replied. 
 
THE AFFLICTED DUKE OF SPINDLES. 249 
 
 1 c It was only the other day that the young Duke 
 of Spindles " 
 
 " I beg your pardon," I interrupted, <c what 
 name?" 
 
 "The young Duke of Spindles/' he returned. 
 " It was only the other day that he came to me in 
 such a condition, that if I had not known my busi- 
 ness, sir, his grace would have hobbled on crutches 
 for the remainder of his life." 
 
 ' c Was he grateful ? " I inquired. 
 
 " Sir," said the proprietor and inventor rather 
 pompously, " his grace presented me with that letter 
 of acknowledgment hanging over your head, and this 
 diamond ring, which he begged me to wear for his 
 sake." 
 
 As I paid my money — no inconsiderable sum — 
 and left the place, my benefactor begged that I 
 would not walk too much for the next month, and 
 that I would take a bran foot-bath at least three 
 times a- week. I had learned and paid for lesson 
 number two, and, in trying to know myself, I was 
 beginning to understand my neighbours. 
 
 I next found myself in the studio of a photogra- 
 phic artist, whose portraits were celebrated for their 
 happy fidelity. He prided himself on being a re- 
 markably plain-speaking man — a man who never 
 flattered anyone, no matter what his rank and influ- 
 ence might be. After spending some time in arrang- 
 ing my posture, he expressed his dissatisfaction with 
 me in these terms : 
 
250 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 " Your face, sir, is quite out of drawing ; your 
 nose inclines considerably to the left side; and,, to 
 make matters worse, your right cheek is half as large 
 again as the left." 
 
 " You're not very compliment ary," I replied. 
 
 " Sir/' said he, " I always give my visitors a can- 
 did opinion. It was only the other day that I nearly 
 offended the young Duke of Spindles -" 
 
 « The Duke of ?" 
 
 " Spindles, sir. The Duke of Spindles was not 
 offended, sir, by the bluntness of my remarks, in 
 telling him that if his head was only as well-propor- 
 tioned as his legs and feet, he would have been a 
 perfect Apollo Belvidere. His grace, however, after 
 a little while, had the good sense to admit the justice 
 of my criticism, and he is now one of the firmest 
 patrons that I have." 
 
 This was another stage gained in self-knowledge. 
 The next step carried me to the shop of an artist 
 celebrated for his skill in adorning the human frame 
 with clothes. 
 
 " May I inquire," asked the artist, mildly, ( ' who 
 made your last garments?" 
 
 " Certainly," I replied, and I gave him the re- 
 quired information. 
 
 " I thought so," he returned, addressing himself 
 to a prim man who was cutting out cloth behind a 
 counter ; " some more of their failures, Jenkins ! u 
 
 " Yes, sir," was the mechanical response. 
 
THE AFFLICTED DUKE OF SPINDLES. 251 
 
 " Scarcely a day passes, sir," lie said, turning to 
 me, " but what I have a customer from that quarter. 
 My best patron — the young Duke of " {" Spin- 
 dles/-' I could not help interpolating) — " came to me 
 in that way, didn't he, Jenkins ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir/* replied the prim cutter. 
 
 " We must pad your coat considerably behind," 
 resumed the master artist; "for, although you may 
 not be aware of it, your shoulder blades are very 
 prominent; so much so as almost to reach a de- 
 formity, which it is our business to hide. As you 
 have a decided tendency to corpulence, your waist- 
 coats must be single-breasted, and your trowsers 
 must be made full, to conceal a little inclination 
 inwards at the knees. But" (he continued, rising 
 into enthusiasm with his subject), "as I said to his 
 grace the young Duke of Spindles, the other day, 
 if it was not for these little deflections of the human 
 frame, where would be our Art ? We might as well, 
 sir, be common slop- sellers ! " 
 
 Still endeavouring to acquire the power of know- 
 ing myself, another half-hour found me closeted with 
 the renowned Doctor Grumpus, who had evidently 
 formed himself on the traditional model of the 
 equally renowned Doctor Abernethy. The doctor 
 — who was the consulting physician of several life 
 assurance offices — in addition to his gruffness, had 
 acquired a habit of treating patients as if they were 
 under an examination for a policy. 
 
252 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 "Now, sir!" said he, "what's the matter with 
 you ? Pork chops ?" 
 
 I explained to him briefly the object of my visit, 
 which was to gain a general knowledge of my health 
 and bodily prospects. 
 
 " Was your father ever mad ?" he inquired. 
 
 "'Never." 
 
 "Mother?" 
 
 " Never." 
 
 "Both dead?" 
 
 " Both." 
 
 "Age?" 
 
 " Between fifty and sixty." 
 
 "Both?" 
 
 "Both." 
 
 " Good ! Had the measles ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Come here !" 
 
 I went as requested, and received a sharp punch in 
 the stomach from the fist of the doctor, whose head 
 was immediately stuck against my waistband, lis- 
 tening, as it appeared to me, to the ticking of my 
 watch. 
 
 " Breathe !" he said, and I obeyed. 
 
 "You'll do," he continued, "if you don't drink 
 too much. Five guineas ! — Come in." 
 
 Although I had heard no sound, a footman entered, 
 in obedience to the last summons, and announced 
 the young Duke of Spindles. 
 
THE AFFLICTED DUKE OF SPINDLES. 253 
 
 "Back surgery/' replied the concise doctor. As 
 I bowed myself out I saw no signs of a ducal pre- 
 sence, although I looked curiously — and thus ended 
 my fifth lesson. 
 
 I next rang the bell at a door on which was a large 
 brass plate with " Madame Dubois, epileuse," upon 
 it in prominent characters. I was ushered into a 
 room in many respects like the chiropodist's, where 
 I was received by a middle-aged female, who desired 
 me to take a seat while she prepared the necessary 
 implements to extract my grey hairs. She com- 
 menced her operations with two pairs of pincers. 
 
 " Milor's hair was vara fine — vara charming — 
 much like de air of de young Due de " 
 
 " Don't mention his name. I know it already." 
 
 "Monsieur?" 
 
 "Spindles. Am I right?" 
 
 " Parfaitement. Milor le young Due is just a 
 leetle — a vara leetle — grey ; but he had taken it in 
 time, and it would not spread — O no !" 
 
 Half an hour passed in this way, at the end of 
 which time some twenty hairs were displayed upon a 
 white cloth on the table. Two were visibly grey, the 
 others were said to be in a state of transition — dan- 
 gerous companions, likely to corrupt the remainder 
 of the flock if suffered to remain. I paid the fee 
 cheerfully— three guineas and a half — and went direct 
 to a barber's to pursue my investigations in the same 
 direction. 
 
254 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 The barber's was not a vulgar barber's; not a 
 place with a pole sticking out, and an old copy of a 
 Sunday paper to amuse the customers, but an es- 
 tablishment that had kept pace with the times, if it 
 had not shot a-head of them. It was a series of 
 saloons, replete with every luxury of the toilet ; ar- 
 tists of rare manipulative skill ; baths of every kind, 
 even warm sea-water baths. I placed myself before 
 a pier-glass, and was immediately waited on by the 
 leading man in the house, who prepared a sham- 
 pooing mixture, not unlike the materials for a pan- 
 cake. There were eggs, and rum and water, and a 
 thing like a milking-pail, in which the composition 
 was to drip as it ran off my head. When the wash- 
 ing was finished, the usual remarks began on the 
 part of my operator. 
 
 " Hair is greyer than it ought to be, sir, for a 
 gentleman of your age. Falling off a little at the 
 top, too. You should try our warm sea-water baths. 
 Did you ever try our pediluvium, fragrant vapour, 
 and siesta to follow ?" 
 
 "Never," I replied, "but as you recommend the 
 warm sea-water baths, I'll try one." 
 
 "Yes, sir; thank you, sir. Thomas!" (this was 
 shouted down a pipe) "warm sea- water." 
 
 I was conducted to a dark apartment in the base- 
 ment — probably what Tvas once the cellar, now lighted 
 with gas — and in the corner I observed a large trough 
 filled with the invigorating spring. When I was 
 
THE AFFLICTED DUKE OF SPINDLES. 255 
 
 thoroughly immersed, I was left to my reflections, 
 and very melancholy they were. I compared my 
 condition, confined in a dirty tank, in a gloomy coal- 
 cellar, with that of my friends, who were taking their 
 sea-water under the chalk cliffs, on the free, open, 
 pebbly beach. I audibly cursed the delays of the 
 law which kept me in town, and I became an ardent 
 legal reformer from that hour, As these thoughts 
 were passing through my mind, I became suddenly 
 conscious of an intense feeling of disgust at my 
 bath, and the whole truth at once dawned upon me, I 
 was soaking in a mess of pot-liquor. Sea- water it was 
 certainly, but it had been several days — perhaps 
 weeks — in the wood, and several hours — perhaps 
 days — in the boiler. Its whole history passed be- 
 fore me ; its transfer to a cask on the coast of Kent 
 or Sussex; its journey to London in the luggage- 
 van of the railway ; its period of delay in the com- 
 pany's store-houses; its jolting voyage in one of 
 Pickford's vans; its second delay at the carrier's 
 warehouses; finally, its delivery at the door of the 
 hair-dresser. Ten legs of pork, stewed for six 
 hours in ten gallons of water, would have made a 
 bath as wholesome and inviting. I leaped with a 
 shudder from the greasy pool, and lost no time in 
 making my way to the upper apartments. I had 
 spent the whole day, and nearly fifty pounds, in 
 learning to know myself; and in the effort I had but 
 extended my knowledge of a certain class of my 
 
256 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 fellow- creatures. As I passed through the saloons 
 where the "pediluvium, fragant vapour, and siesta 
 to follow" were administered, I heard the voice of 
 one who was evidently indulging in these Eastern 
 luxuries, crying aloud in a decided tone — evidently 
 under the impression that there was something which 
 the waiter had omitted to bring : 
 
 ' ' Now, then ! That siesta ! » 
 
 Could that voice have belonged to the young, 
 shadowy, afflicted Duke of Spindles ? 
 
257 
 
 GOOD-WILL. 
 
 I live in a free country ; I cannot be pressed into 
 the Queen's service; I cannot be kept in prison 
 more than twenty-four hours without a preliminary 
 trial ; I am not the born thrall of any Cedric the 
 Saxon ; I cannot be sold into slavery. Rule Britan- 
 nia, Magna Charta, Habeas Corpus, and the Bill of 
 Rights ! 
 
 So much for my public liberty ; but how about 
 my private freedom of action ? 
 
 Between me and my country, the balance is pretty 
 fairly struck. I pay my taxes, and I enjoy my pri- 
 vileges ; but between me and a certain class of my 
 fellow-creatures, called my neighbours, there is a 
 long account to settle, in which I stand, not as a 
 debtor, but as a creditor. "While I sit ruminating in 
 the learned seclusion of my study, while I sit mas- 
 ticating in the social communion of my dining- 
 room, while I lounge in the elegant luxuriance of my 
 drawing-room, or slumber in the comfortable silence 
 of my bed-chamber, I am bought and sold; my 
 wants, my fancies, my ailings, and weaknesses, are 
 weighed, and measured, and hawked about the town 
 to find a purchaser. I am not even the miserable 
 shadow of a free agent. I live under Bow Bells, in a 
 
258 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 neighbourhood that is like a little village within the 
 City. I am parcelled out amongst a baker, a tailor, a 
 bootmaker, a butcher, a publican, a doctor, a green- 
 grocer, a fishmonger, and a sweep. If there were 
 but two of each, I would not complain, as that would 
 secure me something like competition • but my street 
 with its ramifications, notwithstanding the adjacent 
 markets, is given up to the tender mercies of these 
 small individual monopolists, and I am bound hand 
 and foot with it. I see an " eligible business in this 
 street with good-will," etc., advertised in the columns 
 of the leading organ, and I feel a cold chill run 
 through my frame, as if I was a South Carolina 
 slave reading an account of his good qualities in a 
 local newspaper : I am part of that good- will, myself 
 and my family. Our capacity for consuming food 
 is calculated to a loaf, a herring, a mutton-chop, a 
 pint of beer, a cabbage, even to a single potato. My 
 requirements in the way of garments, made or re- 
 paired, are put upon paper, and made the basis of a 
 selfish calculation. My sweep looks upon my chim- 
 neys as his property, not mine, and gets sullen and 
 discontented if he is not called in with periodical 
 regularity. On one occasion, when a stupid cook 
 tilted a pan of dripping on the fire, and set the whole 
 flue in a blaze, this black and heartless scoundrel was 
 heard to observe, "that it was a great pity, but it 
 made good for trade." I am not sure that the chance 
 of such a casualty happening, say once a-year, does 
 
GOOD-WILL. 259 
 
 not enter into his calculations for obtaining a liveli- 
 hood. 
 
 The doctor, who, as a man of some education and 
 refinement, ought to be free from such mercenary 
 feelings, is, I am confident, even worse than the 
 others. When I go out every morning to my busi- 
 ness, looking a trifle paler than usual, this speculator 
 upon human infirmities is glaring at me through 
 the coloured bottles, weighing my symptoms, and 
 gloating over the prospect of a patient. Although I 
 do not hear him, I feel that he says to himself, in 
 that horrid back-parlour, amongst the instruments, 
 the grinning teeth, and the sickening smell of cam- 
 phor : " When will those rude, healthy children at 
 Number Twelve have the measles, like other 
 children ?" 
 
 Yes, I am known as Number Twelve. I do not 
 require a name ; but like a Siberian convict, I am 
 distinguished by a numeral. I have no domestic 
 privacy, in one sense, for a dozen eager eyes are 
 always turned upon me and my household. The 
 bootmaker knows how many pair of boots I have ; 
 he sees them ranged in a row in my dressing-room, 
 as plainly as if he was amongst them, and he waits 
 and watches for the decay which, he knows, must 
 come to boots as to everything else. If I order more 
 than I want, I am ' ' liberal — a patron of trade — a real 
 gentleman — a man who likes to live and let live." 
 If I exercise a careful economy, and wear them 
 
260 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 thoroughly and fairly, I am " an old hunks, mean, 
 close, and shabby genteel." If I do not choose to 
 have fish for dinner, the fishmonger is aware of the 
 fact, without knowing the cause, and he and his wife 
 settle, that we are not so well off as we appear to be. 
 If our consumption of meat falls off from any cause, 
 I know the butcher thinks that we are pinching 
 our domestics. The plumber and house-decorator 
 wonder, " how much longer we are going to leave 
 our front in its present disgraceful condition. If our 
 regard for health does not impel us to re-paint and 
 paper the interior of our castle, we might at least 
 consult the harmonious elegance of the neighbour- 
 hood, and adorn the exterior." The tailor looks with 
 ill-concealed disgust upon a certain great-coat, that 
 I believe I have now worn for three seasons. His 
 artistic eye may see in it an antiquated style, a 
 threadbare face, and a generally diminished lustre; 
 but, to my untrained gaze, it looks very little the 
 worse for the long, but not severe struggle it has 
 gone through. My grocer, I know, complains that 
 we do not have puddings enough in the course of the 
 year, and that our consumption of tea bears no ade- 
 quate proportion to our consumption of sugar ; while 
 our cheesemonger thinks we are remarkably niggardly 
 in the way of eggs, and absurdly liberal in the matter 
 of lard. 
 
 So is every detail of our domestic expenditure 
 registered, examined, compared, and criticised. Our 
 
GOOD-WILL. 261 
 
 house, to the passer-by, looks solid, opaque, detached, 
 snug, and private, but to this little band of hungry 
 traders it is as a glass pavilion, easy of access, under 
 the thin transparent covering of which the move- 
 ments of the small family-circle within are distinctly 
 visible. 
 
 Nor is this knowledge (so interesting to them, 
 but so embarrassing to me) confined within their 
 own bosoms. Our neighbourhood advertises one of 
 its eligible businesses for sale nearly every week, and 
 the immense value of the " good will " is more than 
 sufficiently dwelt upon. I am trotted out before the 
 vulgar, inquiring eyes of all that motley tribe of small 
 capitalists who are ever looking for a profitable in- 
 vestment. I watch the little groups as they arrive 
 one after the other ; and, I fancy, that I know them 
 all. There is the couple of middle-aged, spinster 
 sisters, who having received a small legacy, are search- 
 ing for a genteel business, combining the lending 
 library and the fancy trade — a mixture of literature 
 and Berlin wool. They make several visits before 
 they get to that decisive stage when the man of 
 affairs is called in to confer upon the valuation. 
 There is the stout, well-fed, gentleman's servant, 
 who wishes to exchange the elegancies of May Fair 
 for the sanded tap-room ; and, with the assistance of 
 the brewer, make an effort to manage the thriving 
 public-house at the corner. There is the young couple, 
 just married, or going to be married, who make inquiry 
 
262 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 about the returns and prospects of the bread and 
 fancy biscuit establishment. There is the mother 
 who brings her son, a fat blood-thirsty boy, to inquire 
 about the butcher's business which he has taken a 
 strong fancy to. There is the omnibus conductor 
 who wishes to take the greengrocer's shop for his 
 wife to manage, while he attends to it in the in- 
 tervals of his journeys from Paddington to the Bank. 
 I know that the two spinster sisters inquire about 
 me, and are told to what extent I patronise literature 
 and the domestic fine arts. I know that the gentle- 
 man's servant is duly informed of the consumption 
 of my family in intoxicating liquors; and what I 
 consider shameful dissipation on their part, he looks 
 upon as showing a disregard for the interests of my 
 neighbours, and a disinclination to " do another a 
 turn." I feel that the young couple are deluded 
 with grossly exaggerated accounts of the quantity of 
 bread and flour consumed by "Number Twelve;" 
 and I almost feel disposed to stop the negotiations 
 by a disclosure. I see the mother and the blood- 
 thirsty son in the butcher's shop, looking towards me 
 with unmistakeable interest as I pass by, while they 
 are pursuing their investigations. I see them again, 
 the next day, looking over the book in which my 
 name, or rather my number stands registered ; and 
 in the evening, in the little greasy room behind the 
 shop, where the transfer is about to be formally 
 concluded, I know that I form a prominent topic of 
 
GOOD-WILL. 263 
 
 discussion when the question of "good- will" comes 
 to be decided upon. 
 
 Sometimes I fancy the interests of the little knot 
 of traders clash; the fishmonger becomes jealous of 
 the butcher, or the butcher of the fishmonger ; the 
 tailor thinks that I patronise the bootmaker more 
 than I do him, or the bootmaker becomes discon- 
 tented when he sees me with a new coat. The doctor 
 grumbles that there is not enough stale fish and 
 doubtful meat sold, to enable him to keep his family 
 in a respectable manner ; and since they erected the 
 gymnasium at the school at Islington for the boys, 
 the demand for pills and black- draughts has sensibly 
 fallen off. Although there is now an occasional dis- 
 location, or a broken leg, it does not benefit him, as 
 he has no surgical knowledge. 
 
 If I dare to rebel against the right of property 
 which these traders claim in me and my household, 
 I am very soon brought to a proper sense of the 
 duties of my position. When I forbade the grocer 
 the house for a few days, in consequence of the un- 
 bearable character of the articles he sold ; he waited 
 upon me in the most confident manner, and coolly 
 said, "that he would endeavour, if possible, to do 
 better in future ; but begged respectfully and firmly 
 to state that he had paid about thirty pounds for me 
 in the good-will, and he certainly intended to have 
 me ! " 
 
 And so it is with them all. I may be weak, 
 
264 
 
 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 imaginative, and morbidly sensitive, but I am morally 
 certain that the very undertaker is looking towards 
 me with longing eyes, waiting for the time, perhaps 
 not far distant, when I shall slip through the greedy 
 fingers of his fellow-tradesmen, and drop helplessly 
 into his willing arms. I am sure that at the little 
 evening gatherings in the tavern parlour, feeling that 
 his chances of employment come few and far between, 
 and utterly forgetful of the peculiar nature of his 
 calling, he is one of the first to join in the universally 
 popular tradesman's maxim of " live and let live." 
 When the curtains are drawn close and the knocker 
 is muflled, I know that his card will be dropped 
 gently into my letter-box to remind me of his claims 
 and his existence. 
 
265 
 
 DEBTOR AND CREDITOR. 
 
 I suppose we are all born with a mission. Those 
 who do not find one ready-made to their hands, are 
 never happy until they have created one ; and there- 
 fore it comes to the same thing in the end, whether 
 we are born with a mission or without one. My 
 mission has been to give credit. I am the successor 
 of the late John Smirker. In whatever books of 
 accounts my name stands, you will always find it on 
 the right side, with a balance in my favour. My 
 father thought the best thing he could do to settle 
 me in life was to buy the good-will of the business 
 of the late John Smirker, a business not only esta- 
 blished for fifty years in the City of London, but 
 possessing flourishing branches in the cities of Oxford 
 and Cambridge at the same time. I entered upon 
 my new sphere in a calm and dutiful manner ; neither 
 desponding nor enthusiastic. I am naturally of a 
 quiet and meditative turn of mind ; given to inquiry, 
 and, perhaps, rather quick in perceiving necessary 
 reforms, though the last man in the world to have 
 the robust energy to carry them out. My prede- 
 cessor, the late John Smirker, in giving over the long 
 list of book-debts that my father had purchased, 
 dilated very warmly upon the immense value of 
 
266 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 customers who never took less than five years' credit. 
 "What is a business," he inquired, (C without book- 
 debts ? A thing without root, sir, — wholly without 
 root. You have no hold upon your connection. In 
 fact, you have no connection. Without book-debts, 
 they come to-day, and they go to-morrow." I did 
 not dispute this position, for I never argue. He was 
 the born tradesman, and acted upon his precepts. 
 
 A man need not leave the world for the church 
 or a monkish seclusion to learn patience and to mor- 
 tify the passions, while the ranks of trade are open 
 to him. Neither need a man who wishes to see the 
 world, as it is called, and study his fellow-men, spend 
 his money in travelling through Europe, and his 
 nights in the streets, while the ranks of trade are 
 open to him. Neither need a reflective law-reformer 
 retire with his ponderous tomes to some eremitical 
 and inaccessible nook in the innermost of all Inner 
 Temples, there to perfect principles which, when 
 forced upon the world, shall promote the greatest 
 happiness of the greatest number, while the ranks of 
 trade are open to him. Christian recluse, student of 
 the world, and ardent Benthamite, may all take 
 their places behind the glass of my countinghouse- 
 door, and find their time not unprofitably expended. 
 
 The greatest difficulty that I labour under is 
 infants — sturdy infants. They bristle up in every 
 other page of my costly ledger (costly, I call it, because 
 it is nearly all I got for my ten thousand pounds) ; 
 
DEBTOR AND CREDITOR. 267 
 
 they are more costly under the head of Cambridge 
 than London j and more fruitful under the head of 
 Oxford than Cambridge. Physically they seem to be 
 a very fine family of robust responsible young men ; 
 legally they are held to be weak, and irresponsible 
 idiots. Visually they stand before me as a race of 
 palpable, moustaehed, solid giants ; but when I try to 
 touch them with the strong arm of the law, like the 
 spectres of the Brocken, they melt into thin air, 
 and the strong arm of the law becomes strangely 
 paralysed. Young Lord Merthyr Tydvil (at pre- 
 sent at College) is a fair average specimen of the 
 infant debtor. Let him sit for his portrait under 
 two phases, — out of court and in court. Out of court, 
 then, he rides a fine, high-spirited horse, which he 
 manages with the ease and grace of an old/patrician 
 horseman. In the cricket-field he bats like a young 
 Hercules, and bowls with the velocity of the cata- 
 pult. On the river it is a sight to see him pull the 
 stroke-oar against wind and tide ; and he is the re- 
 verse of contemptible when he puts on the gloves 
 with a bargeman of the Cam. He wrestles and does 
 the back-fall better than any man in all Illyria. His 
 age is twenty years and nine months. His muscles 
 are well set, and he looks older. He handles a skil- 
 ful cue at the billiard-table, and makes an occasional 
 bet upon horse-races with a good deal of judgment. 
 Intellectually he seems to know pretty well what he 
 is about. I don't think his name is across any ac- 
 
268 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 commodation bills, but what lie has received half the 
 cash for. As to the amusements and vices of the 
 metropolis, he is one of the best judges of them upon 
 town, and acts as mentor to many others infants. 
 His taste in wine is considered good, and his verdict on 
 the merits of a new ballet-dancer is held to be final. 
 
 In court, Lord Merthyr present a very different 
 appearance. That collar, which used to stand up 
 with such unbending parchment-like stiffness, the 
 admiration and envy of his companions, is now, in 
 the eyes of the law, turned down over each shoulder 
 with infantine grace, and fastened with a ribbon of 
 most becoming simplicity. That Chesterfield, poncho, 
 sack, outer garment, coat, cloak, or whatever it is 
 called, which had such a mature, distinguished, Tat- 
 tersall, club-like air from Hyde Park corner to Black- 
 wall, is now, in the eyes of the law, converted into a 
 juvenile pinafore, fastened round the waist with a 
 school-boy's belt, and conferring on its wearer the 
 much- coveted gift of perpetual youth. That embroi- 
 dered cigar-case — suspicious gift — filled with the 
 choicest products of Havannah, at costly price, va- 
 nishes, in the eye of the law, or becomes transformed 
 into a box of sweetmeats, provided by the thoughtful 
 care of a mother or a sister. That onyx -handled 
 bamboo-cane, which taps the neatest of boots, is now, 
 in the eyes of the law, a mere rounder stick, or an 
 implement used in guiding a hoop. 
 
 Those rooms at College, decorated with pictures 
 
DEBTOR AND CREDITOR. 269 
 
 in the chastest taste, and littered with boxing-gloves, 
 broken-pipes, and champagne corks, are, in the eyes 
 of the law, the cradle of a child — a child who pos- 
 sesses a charmed life, invulnerable to the shafts of 
 the hateful sheriff. Poor, young, innocent, neglected, 
 infant nobleman — type of some hundreds of children 
 that I find upon my books, or rather the books of the 
 late John Smirker, my predecessor — when I hear 
 that thy aristocratic father, Earl Merthyr Tydvil, is 
 
 in Italy, with no matter, I will not dwell upon 
 
 the painful subject, and that the paternal acres are 
 safely lodged in a dingy office in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, 
 I feel a sense of pity for thee springing up in my 
 snobbish, tradesman's heart. I have fed thee, and I 
 have clothed thee, and I look upon thee as my own. 
 Even if the law did not throw its protecting shield 
 before thee, I would not touch a hair of thy patrician, 
 infant head -, although thy ingratitude were ten times 
 greater than it is. I am not unreasonable, and can 
 make allowance for the feelings of a boy whose an- 
 cestors were descended from the earliest Normans ; 
 I do not ask for positive affection, but only for a 
 slight diminution of contempt. Spoiled child of 
 trade, and chosen one of the law, let thy commercial 
 father know thy wants and wishes, and he is con- 
 tent. 
 
 But Shadrach, junior, when you stand up in 
 court, pleading infancy with all the childish grace of 
 an Israelite that knows no guile, I am amused at so 
 
270 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 clever an adaptation of Christian customs, but I am 
 astonished at the learned credulity of the Bench. It 
 is true that your people have no registry of baptisms, 
 and everything, therefore, depends upon your own 
 assertion ; but I have known you so many years about 
 town, I have watched your fully developed frame 
 standing out prominently in most places of public 
 resort; I have witnessed your intellectual keenness 
 in places where keenness was no rare quality, that, 
 in my eyes, your back is beginning to bend, and your 
 hair becoming silvered with gray, and I marvel much 
 that a paternal law gathers you as a trusting, trusted 
 innocent in the folds of its sheltering arms. There 
 are many octogenarian debtors upon my books, or 
 rather the books of the late John Smirker, my be- 
 loved Shadrach, who are more in need of legal pro- 
 tection than your youthful self. 
 
 The next rose which the law has planted in the 
 path of debt — the next thorn which it has planted in 
 the path of credit — is the Statute of Limitations. A 
 man of untutored reasoning powers, whose faculties 
 had not been sharpened into an unnatural state of 
 acuteness by legal study, would suppose that the 
 longer a debt stood unpaid, the more would the obli- 
 gation be increased. He would be astonished, there- 
 fore, to find that just at the moment when he was 
 about to claim an old debt with interest, simple and 
 compound, and was probably going to reproach the 
 debtor with keeping out of the way so long — that 
 
DEBTOR AND CREDITOR. 271 
 
 what he considered to be a moral crime was an act of 
 well- calculated thriftiness, having the effect of annul- 
 ling the claim according to act of parliament. It 
 would be difficult to explain to such a man upon what 
 principle an act was framed, that allowed every debtor 
 to go free who contrived to keep out of the way of 
 his creditor six years. The wonderful doctrine that 
 the more you wrong a man in trade the more you 
 may, being embodied in a statute having legal force, 
 is encouraging to that class that I call debtors ; but 
 is not so encouraging to that other large, and very 
 useful, tax-paying class that I call creditors. The 
 inference is, that the State wishes to cultivate the 
 first at the expense of the second. Or, perhaps, it is 
 only a masked movement intended by discouraging 
 the second to destroy the first ? When the Right 
 Honourable Lord Battleaxe, K.C.B., takes as a rule, 
 from his tradesmen, five years' credit, he has only to 
 stretch the period one year more to carry it into 
 eternity. 
 
 I certainly was delighted to find the Reverend 
 Origen Bilk, M.A., whom I — or rather the late John 
 Smirker — had nursed through the different stages of 
 fighting Oxonian, plucked undergraduate, crammed 
 B.A., down to the living of St. Vitus- in-the-Fens, 
 pleading " statute-run," and declining to pay for the 
 college extravagances which he had indulged in with 
 such vigorous prodigality. It is a good sign when a 
 man — especially a clergyman — so far reforms the 
 
272 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 errors of his youth as to turn his back upon his early- 
 dissipations, even to the extent of repudiating pay- 
 ment for them. If ever the protecting shield of legal 
 mercy was righteously extended over the prostrate 
 form of the suffering debtor, it is in the case of the 
 Reverend Origen Bilk, M.A. He has suffered much 
 from the ruthless hands of the importunate creditor, 
 who insisted upon clothing him with the richest 
 purple and the finest linen, feeding him with the 
 daintiest viands, and nourishing him with the rarest 
 wines, and who now would seek him out in the calm 
 seclusion of his clerical hermitage, and who — did not 
 a considerate law most benevolently interfere — would 
 destroy the unruffled serenity of that meditative 
 mind, which now dwells upon things that are higher 
 than the tailor's bill which perisheth. 
 
 The same tenderness to debtors who keep out of 
 the way, distinguishes even some of the severest laws 
 which have been the product of our recent legisla- 
 tion. The debtor is the darling of the law, and it 
 cannot find it in its heart to deal harshly with him. 
 The new Bills of Exchange Act, which allows me the 
 tyranny of a judgment in the short period of twelve 
 days, supposing that my victim has no valid plea or 
 answer that he is not indebted to me, breaks down 
 entirely if my victim keeps out of the way for six 
 clear months ; and my thirst for vengeance is tan- 
 talised with the tortures of the old, tardy, and expen- 
 sive mode of proceeding. If I apply for the more 
 
DEBTOR AND CREDITOR. 273 
 
 humble assistance of the County Court, I find I have 
 still many weeks to wait before the pressure of busi- 
 ness will allow of my obtaining a hearing. When 
 my victim comes up and tells a plaintive story of his 
 inability to pay in less than a given time of very long 
 duration, the judge, imbued with the proper spirit of 
 the law, inclines his ear to the dictates of mercy, 
 checks the eager tyranny of the heartless creditor, 
 and grants an order to pay, in twelve easy instal- 
 ments. When the time for the first and second pay- 
 ment has long passed without my victim making any 
 attempt to keep to his bond, I have then the option 
 of procuring what is called a judgment summons, 
 which, if I am fortunate enough to get it served per- 
 sonally upon my victim, within a certain time, will 
 fix another remote day for a new trial, when my vic- 
 tim will have to show cause why he failed in his con- 
 tract. If the claim should be under twenty pounds, 
 and my victim be a single young man victim, residing 
 in furnished lodgings, with no estate, properly so 
 called, he has merely to state this fact to the willing 
 ear of the court, and leave me, like a baffled tiger, 
 howling for my prey. If my victim thinks proper to 
 set sail for the Cocos Islands, or some other land, 
 where creditors cease from troubling, and the debtor 
 is at rest, I can watch him go on board his bounding 
 bark, and, like Calypso, mourn for the departure of 
 my Ulysses ; but, alas ! I can do no more, for he only 
 owes me nineteen pounds nineteen shillings and 
 
 T 
 
274 UNDER BOW BELXS. 
 
 elevenpence. Twopence more, and — shades of Solon 
 and Lycurgus — I am avenged ! 
 
 When I turn over the old unpaid bills of exchange 
 of my predecessor, the late John Smirker, and find 
 amongst them many under five pounds, I am re- 
 minded of an old act passed in the time of George 
 the Third, and never yet repealed, that is a perfect 
 triumph of protective legislation. The bill of ex- 
 change — the pride and glory of modern commerce — 
 is looked upon as a luxury intended only for the en- 
 joyment of the wholesale trade, and only granted to 
 the retail under the most praiseworthy precautions. 
 Poor Smirker's bills, I need not say, are so much 
 waste paper ; for he had no idea of the requirements 
 of the law touching the implements he was dealing 
 with. A bill of exchange, according to George the 
 Third — I say according to him, because he was any- 
 thing but a royal nonentity in the state — if under five 
 pounds, must not be drawn at a longer period than 
 twenty-one days ; it must be paid away on the same 
 day as that on which it is drawn ; its endorsement 
 must set forth the name and address of the person to 
 whom it is endorsed, and such endorsement, with 
 every name upon it but the acceptors', must bear the 
 signature of an attesting witness ! If any one of 
 these requirements is neglected, it is fatal to the vali- 
 dity of the instrument. When this cautious clause 
 was perfected, the old king must have felt that, 
 although he had entrusted a dangerous squib in the 
 
DEBTOR AND CREDITOR. 275 
 
 hands of the small ignorant traders of the country, 
 he had taken every precaution to issue directions for 
 letting it off, so that the case might not burst and 
 injure their fingers. Our present rulers must be of 
 the same way of thinking, as they allow the clause to 
 remain unexpunged from the statute-book, and deny 
 the benefits of bills of exchange as proofs of debts 
 and negotiable instruments, to all transactions under 
 five pounds. 
 
 The next thing that troubles me is a lingering 
 remnant of feudality. The haughty baron of the 
 nineteenth century does not despoil his humble re- 
 tainer, the tradesman, but he takes credit, which is 
 nearly the same thing. If the haughty baron is a 
 member of the royal household, the feudal element 
 is increased. The haughty baron rides rough-shod 
 over all human feelings, and wears out patience of 
 the most endurable kind. The haughty baron keeps 
 me at bay to the very verge of the Statute of Limita- 
 tions, and, in self-defence, I am obliged to have re- 
 course to the law. The law informs me that I can 
 do nothing without the written sanction of the lord 
 steward of her Majesty's household. I go to Buck- 
 ingham Palace, and after the usual delay and trouble, 
 I obtain an interview with an under-secretary, who 
 tells me that my application for permission to sue 
 must be made in writing, accompanied with full par- 
 ticulars of my claim ; and he kindly advises me to 
 make it upon folio foolscap, with a margin. I send 
 
276 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 in my claim upon the haughty baron in the required 
 form, and in a few days I receive a reply from the 
 lord steward, stating that if the money be not paid 
 within a certain liberal specified time from the date 
 of the lord steward's communication, I have the lord 
 steward's permission to take legal proceedings against 
 the haughty baron. It is amusing to find a royal 
 palace converted into a sanctuary for haughty but 
 insolvent barons. It is possible that if the rude 
 emissary of the law was allowed free entrance to the 
 sacred precincts of the household, the royal banquet 
 in the evening would be graced with at least one gold 
 stick in waiting less than the royal eyes had whilome 
 been accustomed to look upon. 
 
 I believe that the best authorities on government 
 hold that taxes are paid for protection to person and 
 property. I will admit that my person is fairly pro- 
 tected ; but if my heroic statesmen can spare a little 
 time from those brilliant employments of ornamental 
 government — Indian annexations, colonial extensions, 
 military campaigns, diplomatic subtleties, and foreign 
 legations — for the more homely task of protecting 
 my property, by looking into the relations of debtor 
 and creditor, the successor of the late John Smirker, 
 the next time the collector calls, will pay his taxes 
 with a more cheerful countenance. 
 
77 
 
 THE INNOCENT HOLDER BUSINESS. 
 
 My father was a baker, not far from Bow Church — 
 at least so the world believed — though a good many 
 more watches and jewels came into our bakehouse 
 than sacks of flour. The general public could never 
 understand why our bread was so much dearer than 
 any other baker's, nor why we were so independent 
 in our mode of transacting business. If the general 
 public had seen the inside of some of the pies which 
 were brought into our shop on the pretence of being 
 baked, the general public would have been a good 
 deal wiser. 
 
 My father was, in fact, a receiver of stolen goods ; 
 and a thriving, because a prudent and accomplished 
 man, at his business. He kept good faith with his 
 customers, and they, in return, were faithful to him. 
 What he said he would pay, he paid; and what he 
 received in the middle of watch and jewel pies, he 
 settled for, as the money was wanted, in the middle 
 of golden-penny-loaves, and silver-half- quarterns. 
 The only mistake he made was that of sticking too 
 close to his occupation ! The result was, that he died 
 suddenly one night. 
 
 My mother (she was only my stepmother) took 
 care of herself, and swept up the whole of my father's 
 
278 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 property. When I returned from the funeral, I found 
 the place in the possession of strangers, and that my 
 mother had quietly left her mourning coach for a 
 hackney-cab, at an early part of the return journey. 
 I never saw her again ; and when I heard, some years 
 afterwards, that she had repented of the errors of her 
 youth, and had devoted all my father's wealth (for he 
 died very rich) to building a chapel, and endowing a 
 clergyman to serve in it, I took the liberty of doubt- 
 ing the correctness of the story. 
 
 I was thus suddenly thrown upon the world at 
 the age of nineteen, with no capital to speak of, and 
 compelled to seek my living. Regular employment, 
 with its small, certain gains, and its irksome confine- 
 ment, was decidedly unsuited to my taste and habits, 
 and I had been brought up in too good a school to 
 rush headlong into any criminal enterprise that in- 
 volved much labour and risk. I was too young to 
 start in opposition to the new occupants of my late 
 father's premises ; although I might have commanded 
 the whole of that excellent criminal connection ; so I 
 went forth to learn wisdom, and to seek my fortune. 
 
 After several years, many rebuffs, and some pri- 
 vations, I found myself the marker at a noted West- 
 end billiard-room. Our house was a very late house, 
 where the young gentlemen, and sometimes the old 
 gentlemen, played very high at pool, and I thus be- 
 came acquainted with the names, the manners, the 
 wants,, and the habits of the minor aristocracy. My 
 
THE INNOCENT HOLDER BUSINESS. 279 
 
 City education had given me much information upon 
 loans, loan-offices, discounting, and bills of exchange ; 
 and, while I acquired a certain mechanical dexterity 
 in handling the cue, my mind was devoted to far 
 higher things. 
 
 One evening towards dusk, when the afternoon 
 play in the public- room had ceased, and before the 
 evening play had begun, old Major Fobbs entered 
 into very amicable conversation with me, as he was 
 lazily practising some difficult cushion cannons. 
 
 " Pendragon," he said, " are you any relation to 
 the late governor of the Bank of England?" 
 
 " Not that I am aware of," I replied, thinking 
 that the major was amusing himself at my expense. 
 
 "It's the same name, exactly," he answered, 
 making a double hazard. 
 
 " Indeed," I said, with affected apathy, waiting 
 to hear further. 
 
 "Has it never struck you, Pendragon," he con- 
 tinued, " that, with that name, you might do much 
 better for yourself than sticking here ? " 
 
 " I should be glad to better my position," I said, 
 meekly, " though I do not exactly see how." 
 
 " Then I can show you," he returned, throwing 
 down the cue, and speaking confidentially ; " become 
 a director of a public company ! " 
 
 This remark at once opened my eyes to a new 
 field of enterprise ; and, a little further conversation 
 with the major enlightened me still more. He was 
 
280 U NDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 about to open an office— or, as lie described it, to get 
 up an association — to be called " The Peace and 
 Concord Loan and Discount Company ;" and lie 
 wanted, as lie phrased it, to strengthen his Board. I 
 knew something, before this, of the major's mode of 
 life. The major had a small half-pay, as a retired 
 member of some Indian military service, and he now 
 traded on his position as a director of public com- 
 panies. He belonged to the Chutnee Club, which 
 gave him an aristocratic address that looked well in 
 prospectuses. He was a director of two assurance 
 companies, and the chairman of a trading company 
 for providing the public with something they did not 
 want, at a price rather higher than that of the regular 
 tradespeople. These occupations procured him fees 
 for each sitting (and the boards took care to sit 
 pretty frequently), and he filled up his time and his 
 income by playing at pool with unfledged youths 
 about town at our public and private billiard tables. 
 
 At the time when Major Fobbs first spoke to me, 
 the trading company had nearly sat out the whole of 
 its subscribed capital ; one assurance office was already 
 undergoing the pleasing process of winding-up under 
 the Acts for that purpose made and provided ; and 
 the other office — so rumour said — was waiting anxi- 
 ously to be served with the legal notice of dis- 
 solution. 
 
 I knew all these things concerning the major, 
 and yet I listened to his proposals; for they pro- 
 
THE INNOCENT HOLDER BUSINESS. 281 
 
 raised to enlarge my experience of the world, and to 
 afford me an agreeable change of employment. In a 
 few days I was transformed into Stanley Pendragon, 
 Esquire, of Aurora Chambers, Mayfair, and Marsh 
 Mallows Hall, near Fenny-Yokel, Lincolnshire. The 
 first of these places was a metropolitan attic, the 
 second a rural barn; and as they both belonged to 
 the major, all letters, messages, and inquiries were 
 properly received, and properly and carefully an- 
 swered. 
 
 The Peace and Concord Loan and Discount Office 
 was speedily opened, and fully advertised. There 
 were only two directors besides myself, the major 
 and a gentleman from the Stock Exchange, or rather 
 from the immediate neighbourhood. His name was 
 Owen Griffiths, and he was described as belonging to 
 the Cwmgwyrdyr Slate Quarries, near Gywrcmw 
 Vale, Caernarvon. 
 
 We made no bad debts, for we neither lent money 
 upon personal security nor did we discount bills, and 
 we existed entirely upon the inquiry fees which we 
 extracted from the applicants. We charged ten shil- 
 lings a mile (paid in advance) for investigating the 
 character of the borrower and his referee, and we 
 were so fastidious in our choice (as our terms were 
 unusually easy and our rate of interest very low), 
 that we could never find any one worthy of being 
 entrusted with a portion of our capital. When we 
 told the expectants, after the expiration of the third 
 
282 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 day, that our information was satisfactory, but not 
 sufficiently so, and for several reasons we must 
 decline to make the loan, we were, in some cases, 
 loaded with strong epithets, which we received 
 calmly, because we knew they were undeserved. 
 
 After the first year, notwithstanding constant and 
 judicious advertising, our business began to show 
 palpable symptoms of dry-rot, and we began to look 
 for some other employment suitable to our talents 
 and our energies. The major becoming involved in 
 some troublesome Chancery proceedings connected 
 with his former companies (in which he had been 
 indiscreet enough to accept shares), transferred all his 
 interest in Aurora Chambers, Mayfair, and Marsh 
 Mallows Hall, to me, and his eminent financial ability 
 to the region of the Himalayas. 
 
 I had amassed, I can scarcely tell how, the sub- 
 stantial sum of eight hundred pounds. I was quite 
 a capitalist, and I behaved like one. I opened a 
 banking account with the old and respectable house 
 of Croupy, Dross, and Croupy, and I prepared to 
 commence a business on my own account, that had 
 hitherto been very rudely organized — if organized at 
 all — the business of An Innocent Holder. 
 
 Owen Griffiths, of the Slate Quarry, had not been 
 so fortunate as myself in his position as Director of 
 the Peace and Concord Loan Office. In the first 
 place, he had not received so large a share of the 
 gains; in the second, he was not of a prudent and 
 
THE INNOCENT HOLDER BUSINESS. 283 
 
 economical turn of mind ; and, just as I was about 
 to propose to him some mutual arrangement, he saved 
 me a world of trouble by begging me to devise a 
 scheme that would keep him from going back to 
 Capel Court, and give him congenial employment. 
 After some little apparent hesitation, I developed my 
 plans, and he fell into them with enthusiastic eager- 
 ness. A third person was wanted to complete the 
 secret association, and this person Owen Griffiths 
 immediately provided. His name was Affy Davit, a 
 professional witness, who had lingered about the 
 courts of law for many years, attesting deeds, proving 
 alibis, and swearing to identities, births, deaths, and 
 marriages, in a prompt and unwavering manner. 
 His gains had been precarious, his habits had been 
 loose, and his indulgence had been gin, and was so 
 still, whenever he could get it. By degrees his repu- 
 tation for nerve to stand a cross-examination faded 
 away, and he found himself passed by for newer and, 
 as it was supposed, more reliable men. In this con- 
 dition he was sent to me, and I approved of Owen 
 Griffith's choice. His idea of payment was humble, 
 while his powers of impersonation and disguise still 
 remained ; and in the event of his ever proving un- 
 faithful, his testimony was too notoriously valueless 
 to be feared. 
 
 In a few days Affy was established, under the 
 name of Mr. Barking, in a small but comfortable 
 office, on the borders of the City, as a gentleman of 
 
284 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 some capital, who discounted bills ; while Mr. Owen 
 Griffiths, acting nnder my directions, moved about in 
 billiard-rooms and other fashionable circles, in search 
 of young gentlemen and others who had expectations, 
 and wanted bills done. From that hour I held no 
 visible communication with these two men, but lived 
 in such a manner that my respectability increased 
 day by day, while all my payments, large or small, 
 being made through such old established bankers as 
 Messrs. Croupy and Company, helped to foster the 
 delusion of my being a good member of society. I 
 was the Innocent Holder, and I did nothing that 
 might destroy the belief in my innocence. Owen 
 Griffiths was the agent, Any Davit was the dis- 
 counter, and I was the person who finally held the 
 bill for which I had given full and valuable conside- 
 ration. When the young gentleman of full age was 
 found — a very easy task — who wished to anticipate 
 his property by a loan, a bill negotiation was sug- 
 gested; and if no companion could be found silly 
 enough to join his friend and write his name across 
 a stamp, Owen Griffiths volunteered to draw and 
 indorse the document for a handsome ready-money 
 present. When the bill was properly manufactured 
 it was taken to Mr. Barking to be turned into cash, 
 and that cautious gentleman always required it to be 
 left with him for at least two days that he might 
 make inquiry about the stability of the drawer and 
 the acceptor. Much against Mr. Griffith's wish, but 
 
THE INNOCENT HOLDER BUSINESS. 285 
 
 with the full consent of the young gentleman, this 
 was done, and no more was ever heard of the transac- 
 tion until Mr. Barking had, in a few hours, changed 
 his name, his office, and his wig, and I was in quiet 
 and legal possession of the stamped document. When 
 it arrived at maturity in the course of one month or 
 two, as the case might be, I took steps to recover 
 my property as an Innocent Holder. So careful 
 were Mr. Griffiths and Mr. Barking (who sometimes 
 changed /places as discounter and agent) in selecting 
 their dupes, that the amounts were always consider- 
 able and tolerably secure, and the position of the 
 men such that they could not defend any action for 
 fear of an exposure. A crafty advertisement in a 
 clerical journal procnred a plentiful batch of curates 
 and rectors, who dared not brave a trial when they 
 found they had been deceived, and who made the best 
 terms they could with me rather than risk their 
 gowns, their characters, and their livings. Expect- 
 ants, on the other hand, were equally tongue-tied, 
 for fear that in contesting the payment of a thousand 
 or fifteen hundred pounds, they might lay bare their 
 lives, their hopes, and their associates, and lose, in 
 the process, a sum of fifty times the value. Nor 
 would their obstinacy have defeated me, for my mea- 
 sures were too carefully prepared. There might have 
 been abundant suspicion as to my moral claim to the 
 bill, but I was its possessor ; there would have been 
 no proof that I obtained it without giving full consi- 
 
286 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 deration, while my cheque-books (arranged by myself) 
 would have testified in my favour, and the jury would 
 have been directed by the judge to pronounce me an 
 Innocent Holder. I was not harsh — not unreason- 
 able to my unfortunate debtors. I was always to be 
 spoken to; and many a time I have taken some- 
 thing considerably less than the law entitled me to 
 demand. 
 
 My banker's balance rapidly increased, and with 
 it my outward respectability and my motive force. I 
 was scarcely forty years of age, but I was beginning 
 to get pursy and to feel warm. There is no saying 
 how long I might have remained in the business of 
 an Innocent Holder, if it had not been for the noto- 
 rious case of Pendragon and Fitzhobbledehoy. This 
 sprang out of a stroke of genius — clever, but danger- 
 ous — on the part of the unscrupulous Owen Griffiths 
 and Any Davit, Esquire, alias Mr. Barking, and 
 many other names too numerous to specify. 
 
 The Honourable Algernon Fitzhobbledehoy was a 
 young man about town of very expensive habits, with 
 considerable property in possession, and more consi- 
 derable property in expectation. He was a long per- 
 son fall six feet in height ; long in the legs, which 
 inclined inwards a little at the knees; long and 
 crane-like in the neck; with a long nose, a long 
 upper jaw, and a low retreating forehead, He had 
 gone the regular round of education — private tutor, 
 university, and so forth ; but it had not added much 
 
THE INNOCENT HOLDER BUSINESS. 287 
 
 strength to a naturally weak intellect. He had gone 
 the regular round of idleness and dissipation; and 
 experience seemed to have left him younger and more 
 gushing than ever. His heart was soft, impression- 
 able, and sentimental ; and he fell desperately in love 
 with a ballet-dancer. She was ten years his senior, 
 saw her advantage ; and in a few weeks, but for an 
 unlucky volume of poetry, the Honourable Algernon 
 Eitzhobbledehoy would have been a married man. 
 
 Mademoiselle Celestina Pomade, as she styled 
 herself, had been to Paris, where she had acquired a 
 French accent, and a foreign fascination of manner ; 
 but her birth-place was Ludlow, her name was 
 Griffiths, and she was a niece to Owen Griffiths, my 
 faithful ally. Amongst other presents which the 
 enamoured Algernon had given his Celestina was a 
 volume of miscellaneous verses, on the clear, white 
 fly-leaf of which he had written "to my beloved 
 Celestina Pomade, from her ever affectionate and de- 
 voted Algernon Fitzhobbledehoy." The signature was 
 bold, rather below the other writing, and full across 
 the centre of the sheet. 
 
 Owen Griffiths called upon his niece one morning 
 at her lodgings, and was shown into a handsomely- 
 fur uished sitting-room, where he was left for some 
 time ; as the young lady had not yet come down from 
 her chamber. To amuse himself, he took up some of 
 the books upon the table, and amongst the rest the 
 volume of poetry, when his eye soon rested upon the 
 
288 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 signature of the young man about town. Knowing 
 the writer, and having no scruples of conscience, he 
 conveyed the book to the broad pocket of his coat, 
 and took his leave at the earliest possible moment 
 after his unsuspecting relative thought proper to make 
 her appearance. In a very short time the valuable 
 counsels of Affy Davit were called in, and with a 
 chemical preparation which that useful friend and 
 companion had often used in his younger days, the 
 words of affection on the leaf of the book were obli- 
 terated, for ever, without a mark, and nothing left 
 but the bold signature of Algernon Fitzhobbledehoy 
 across the blank page. The paper was torn out, cut, 
 trimmed, filled up in the form of a bill of exchange 
 for two thousand five hundred pounds, payable one 
 month after date (the date being thrown back 
 eighteen days), and then both Owen Griffiths and 
 Billy Affy Davit, thoroughly disguised, went boldly 
 before the Stamp Commissioners at Somerset House, 
 told their story, paid the ten pounds penalty, and the 
 cost of the stamp, and in one of those many moments 
 of official indolence, just before the termination of 
 office hours, they got their instrument made legally 
 complete. 
 
 Of course I knew nothing of these proceedings 
 until some time afterwards, and of course the bill 
 came regularly to me. At the expiration of the short 
 time the bill had to run I made application to the 
 astonished Algernon Eitzhobbledehoy for payment, 
 
THE INNOCENT HOLDER BUSINESS. 289 
 
 and the unexpected demand almost deprived him 
 of the little wit he ever had at command. He was, 
 without exception, the weakest man I ever had to deal 
 with ; but your very weak men are not the best sub- 
 jects for an Innocent Holder's trade. They want too 
 much propping up, they consult too many friends and 
 legal advisers, and the result is that they go to law, 
 when your stronger debtor or victim arranges for 
 himself. 
 
 This was the case with the Honourable Algernon 
 Fitzhobbledehoy, and hence the celebrated civil cause 
 wherein I was the plaintiff and he was the defendant. 
 Of course I gained the day — the Innocent Holder 
 always does and must — though the jury winced a little 
 when told by the judge what form their decision 
 must take. The Honourable Algernon could not 
 deny his handwriting; I obtained an order for prin- 
 cipal, costs, and interest, and the impartial justice of 
 the law was vindicated. The case was so notorious at 
 the time, that I retired, at once, from business, and 
 the Honourable Algernon Fitzhobbledehoy, though he 
 retired from the court under the strong impression 
 that he was a deeply injured man, had had full value 
 for his money, in my belief, in being saved (as he 
 was) from a weak and imprudent marriage. 
 
 Though I am no longer an Innocent Holder, 
 there are plenty of my trade left, and men of the Affy 
 Davit and Owen Griffiths class have not to go far in 
 search of a receiver. Many men, whose early days 
 
 v 
 
290 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 were brighter than mine, are found with capital to 
 buy acceptances, asking no questions from the seller 
 as long as the article is cheap. With something of 
 the pride of an old conjuror exposing his tricks, I 
 record my plans and operations, in the hope of again 
 warning those who have been often warned before to 
 little purpose. If people will shut their eyes, and 
 close their ears they must not complain if they fall, 
 for the law reformer has no power to help them 5 and 
 they can only save themselves. 
 
291 
 
 AN EXECUTOR. 
 
 Silas Nestegg, Esquire, having died suddenly, ap- 
 pointed me his executor, in conjunction with a gentle- 
 man whom I had never before heard of. I did not 
 refuse the trust, as it was forced upon me by friend- 
 ship, although I had no recollection of ever being 
 consulted on the subject. Silas Nestegg was always 
 extremely uncommunicative upon matters connected 
 with his property, and I was always very unwilling 
 to ask him any questions. 
 
 My deceased friend was one of those quiet, rest- 
 less speculators, who are very common amongst mid- 
 dle-aged gentlemen of leisure commanding a certain 
 amount of floating capital. He was always running 
 about the City for the purpose of selling out of some- 
 thing, buying into something else, and spreading his 
 money over the greatest possible area. He was part 
 of the tank in a large water- works ; he was a station 
 or an engine on a Canadian railway ; he was twenty 
 yards of road-pipes in a leading gas factory ; he was 
 half of a fishing-smack, and two-thirds of a steam tug- 
 boat; he was so many tons of French bread that 
 went into the mouths of French soldiers, and so many 
 pounds of Austrian lead that went into those soldiers' 
 hearts; he was a blind-alley in a Welsh coal mine; 
 
292 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 a dozen yards of electric cable at the bottom of the 
 Atlantic Ocean; another dozen yards of the same 
 material about to be flung into the Red Sea ; lie was 
 two omnibuses and six pairs of horses ; he was five 
 hundred sovereigns shovelled about on a banker's 
 counter ; he was eighty gallons of the finest gin turned 
 out of a London joint-stock distillery; he was ready 
 to carry the post-office mails; to provide for the 
 widow on the death of her husband ; to compensate 
 the railway traveller for a smashed nose, or a wooden 
 leg ; to put out a fire, or to make good the loss ; 
 to build a theatre to annoy a chapel, or to build 
 a chapel to fulminate against a theatre. In short, 
 he was that machine of universal adaptability — a 
 capitalist who dabbled a little in almost every in- 
 vestment. 
 
 Some of these shares and undertakings I was not 
 surprised to find, as I heard of them, at different 
 times, from my late friend's own mouth ; but most 
 of them came upon me quite unexpectedly. 
 
 Those I had heard of turned out to be the safe 
 and profitable investments, while those I had never 
 heard of were the dead leaves of the capitalist's cash- 
 box. The late Silas Nestegg, Esquire, was never 
 known to admit that his judgment had led him into 
 anything like a failure. 
 
 Some of the unavoidable detail of this sudden 
 trust duty was attended to by my late friend's so- 
 licitors; but much more — and that, perhaps, the 
 
AN EXECUTOR. 293 
 
 most troublesome and responsible portion — fell upon 
 me and my co-executor. 
 
 My co-executor was ,the mildest of all existing 
 business men. He bad no opinion of his own, and 
 no voice to enforce it. He was small in body, 
 weak in spirit, and feeble in mind. He was thin, 
 fair, fifty-six, always scrupulously clean, and always 
 dressed in old-fashioned tied shoes, that were like 
 dancing-pumps. 
 
 He left everything to me ; he listened atten- 
 tively to everything I said, and he merely repeated 
 a few of the last words I had uttered, which he 
 looked upon as an answer. His name was Ebenezer 
 Nutmeg, and he was very particular in informing me 
 that he was no relation of the deceased, in case I 
 should think so from the similarity of surname. 
 
 The difficulties attendant upon winding up a com- 
 plicated estate were increased, in the present instance, 
 by the character of the people amongst whom we had 
 to divide the property. 
 
 The chief legatee was a nephew of the late Silas 
 Nestegg, Esquire (who died a bachelor), a muscular 
 ruffian about thirty-five, who had been to sea; who 
 had tried a digger's life, or something of that kind, 
 in California, without success; who had left the 
 country after nearly killing a man in San Francisco 
 over a game of dominoes ; and who was found, upon 
 being advertised for, as a private soldier in a regiment 
 of the line, with a very bad character, a love of raw 
 
294 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 brandy, and a tendency to delirium tremens. His 
 commanding officers candidly told us, after we had 
 paid the regulation amount to buy him off, that they 
 would gladly have parted with him for half the 
 money. 
 
 Besides this hopeful ward, whose interests we 
 were bound to attend to, under the strictest penal- 
 ties of the law, we were brought into contact with 
 a number of small legatees, of different degrees 
 of relationship to the deceased capitalist. The 
 smaller their claims under the will, the more impor- 
 tunate the claimants, the more suspicious of our legal 
 authority over the property, and the more indignant 
 at our alleged slowness in proceeding to realise and 
 divide. There was one thin, middle-aged lady, whose 
 legacy was something less than a hundred pounds, 
 who was always waiting to see me when I came down- 
 stairs in the morning, and who wrote me plaintive 
 letters — not unlike begging-letters — when any busi- 
 ness or pleasure took me out of town for a few days. 
 She was pinched and shabby in appearance ; she took 
 snuff; she carried an umbrella and wore pattens; 
 she always sat on the extreme edge of a chair, till she 
 seemed in momentary danger of slipping off; and she 
 held a glass of wine or a cup of tea mincingly in her 
 hands, which were always encased in long, claw-like, 
 faded, and darned black gloves. She had lived for 
 many years without requiring parochial assistance, or 
 without being taken to jail for debt i but the prospect 
 
AN EXECUTOR. 295 
 
 of this small legacy seemed, all at once, to overwhelm 
 her with misfortune. The broker's man had just that 
 morning been put into possession of her apartments 
 for one quarter's rent, and could I advance her five or 
 ten pounds, on account ? I must know how extremely 
 inconvenient it was for a maiden lady like herself 
 to lodge in the same rooms with a broker's man ; and 
 if it had not been for a sympathetic female in the 
 same house, who lent her half a bed, she would have 
 been compelled to walk about the streets all night, 
 as she had no money to procure another lodging. 
 My refusals only brought her back again, morning 
 after morning, to rate me loudly, at last, upon my 
 hard-hearted conduct. 
 
 "It's all very well for you," she said, glancing 
 round my breakfast parlour, " who recline in the lap 
 of luxury, but how would you like all your things to 
 be standing on a truck in the street ? " 
 
 "Not at all/' I replied; "but that has nothing 
 to do with my duties as a trustee." 
 
 " That's where my little hard-earned property 
 will be then in a few minutes," she continued, not 
 heeding my last remark, and bursting into tears. " I 
 left them cording up the boxes, and throwing the 
 crockery about, as I came away." 
 
 I was compelled to advance her five-and -twenty 
 pounds out of my own pocket before I could get rid 
 of her, although I had no idea whether the property, 
 spread about as it was, would realise any of the lega- 
 
296 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 cies after the sales were effected and the debts were 
 paid. 
 
 My co-executor fared even worse than I did : for 
 the rampant nephew had found him out, and had 
 favoured him with several unseasonable visits in a 
 triumphant state of drink. 
 
 This hopeful legatee had already placed himself in 
 funds, by means of a small bill transaction with a 
 trusting friend ; and as the bill had arrived at matu- 
 rity without being paid, and the trusting friend be- 
 gan to get anxious for his capital and interest, the 
 hopeful legatee was easily prevailed upon to make a 
 demonstration against his tardy, self-interested trus- 
 tees, especially as he was naturally inclined for such 
 a hostile proceeding. 
 
 c: Look here," he said. " I'm not a-going to be 
 kept out o' my property in this way. Hand over the 
 stuff." 
 
 " Hand over the stuff ! Exactly," answered my 
 timid co-executor. " Pray, sir, let me beg of you, 
 sir, not to make such a noise, as you see I'm only in 
 lodgings." 
 
 "I don't know anything about lodgings," re- 
 turned the hopeful legatee, even more noisily than 
 before, and striding about the apartment, which was 
 on the first floor. " I can't live upon air, can I ? 
 D'ye want me to beg in the streets?" 
 
 (c Not exactly," replied my timid co-executor, in 
 his way ; " you can't live upon air, can you ? You 
 
AN EXECUTOR. 297 
 
 don't want to beg in the streets ? Pray, sir, let me 
 implore you, sir ; my landlady's very particular, 
 and I think she's alarmed at the noise." 
 
 " Noise be jiggered !" continued the hopeful lega- 
 tee, " she'll be alarmed at more than that, if I don't 
 get fifty pound. There's no Court o' Chancery 
 about me; I can take care o' myself without any 
 law." 
 
 " Without any law, exactly, sir ; pray, sir, don't 
 strike the table, sir, because it's not mine." 
 
 Of course my timid co-executor was worked upon 
 by these violent actions to advance various sums of 
 money to the hopeful legatee, at different times, until 
 the amount had reached something like two hundred 
 pounds. He complained to me that this was not the 
 worst effect of the legatee's visits, as his landlady — 
 by whom he seemed to be governed, although he was 
 never back in his rent — had already begun to suspect 
 that the noisy visitor had some mysterious claim upon 
 him, as an illegitimate or discarded son. 
 
 In all cases of sale and payment I had to consult 
 my co-executor, although his character rendered this 
 ceremony a purely formal matter. 
 
 " I think," I have often said, when one of the 
 knotty points arose, which were constantly presenting 
 themselves during the progress of our trusteeship, 
 " we had better not incur any further responsibility 
 without the advice of our solicitor ? " 
 
 " Without the advice of our solicitor ? exactly," 
 
298 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 he always replied ; " we had better not go any further 
 without the advice of our solicitor." 
 
 The advice of our solicitor was not worth much 
 when obtained, except that it gave a legal sanction to 
 our proceedings. On all occasions, when a question 
 of extraordinary responsibility was involved, our soli- 
 citor flew for safety to counsel's opinion. By these 
 means the risk (if any) was transferred from the 
 shoulders of the attorney, who would have been 
 responsible, to the shoulders of the barrister, who was 
 not responsible, and so it came back in due course to 
 us, that is, to me, being burdened through its journey 
 with much writing, much talking, and much expense. 
 
 Time and industry enabled us, at last, to realise 
 every variety of eccentric security, without much loss 
 to the estate, except a positively inconvertible share 
 in a joint-stock government annuity, called a Tontine. 
 
 A Tontine is, I believe, a scheme by which a 
 number of persons subscribe a certain sum each to 
 a fund, under Treasury management, in consideration 
 of which payment, they each receive a certain an- 
 nuity up to the period of their respective deaths, 
 when the whole of their lapsed interest is transferred 
 to the credit of the survivors. The one who lives 
 the longest thus becomes the recipient of all the an- 
 nuities of his dead partners, and when he dies, in 
 his turn, the yearly payment ceases. His claim, as 
 long as he lives, may be transferred to any assignee, 
 the only condition of payment being that he shall be 
 
AN EXECUTOR. 299 
 
 produced personally at the office, except in cases of 
 certified illness, et cetera, when satisfactory evidence 
 of his existence must be tendered. 
 
 The late Silas Nestegg, Esquire, at the time of 
 his death, was the holder and assignee of a share of 
 this kind for a considerable sum, which had been 
 transferred to him as consideration for a debt by the 
 original owner, who was now the sole survivor — the 
 last man — of this particular Tontine. The annuity 
 payable upon this share became due twice a-year, in 
 two equal amounts, and continued fruitful of labour 
 and trouble long after all the other duties of our 
 trust had been discharged and almost forgotten. The 
 faded female legatee had disappeared, having got 
 some one to marry her on the strength of her pro- 
 perty (the hundred pounds, less money drawn on ac- 
 count) and her excellent expectations : the hopeful 
 legatee, who had never been sober since the day of 
 his coming into his property, had killed himself by 
 tumbling head first from the top of an omnibus : my 
 feeble co-executor had married his landlady, which 
 produced such a marked change in his character, 
 that on one occasion (probably stimulated by his 
 wife) he positively refused to sign a necessary docu- 
 ment, for fear of getting into trouble, and hinted to 
 our solicitor, before retiring in disgust from active 
 co-executorship, that I had not consulted him upon 
 important points of business in a respectful and pro- 
 per manner. All these things, and many others had 
 
300 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 occurred, and still I was left to collect the half-yearly 
 payments of the Tontine annuity. 
 
 It was no easy task. The annuitant was a rather 
 vulgar, restless man who was always alive — and kick- 
 ing. The annuity had been purchased for him when 
 young, by a thoughtful relative, and he might now 
 have been in the quiet enjoyment of it, but for an 
 unfortunate tendency to insolvency. If the late Silas 
 Nestegg, Esquire, was always ready to invest in any 
 undertaking, without much investigation, the Ton- 
 tine annuitant was always ready to conduct any un- 
 dertaking, without any special knowledge or expe- 
 rience. This affinity of character may have been 
 the cause of bringing the two men — the dead and 
 the living — together in the relation of creditor and 
 debtor. 
 
 The Tontine annuitant, at the time when I 
 wanted him, could never be found. He had no longer 
 any interest in obtaining the payment of the annuity, 
 and he, therefore, never presented himself to prove 
 his existence till he was sought out and fetched. He 
 had always forgotten all about it. When I proposed 
 to give him a per centage upon the receipts, in order 
 to secure his attendance, our solicitor — or rather my 
 solicitor, as I was now compelled to move individually 
 — consulted counsel, as usual, who told the attorney, 
 as usual, who then told me, that the law gave me no 
 power whatever to act in such a sensible manner. 
 There was no course left open but to use all due dili- 
 
AN EXECUTOR. 301 
 
 gence in finding the Tontine annuitant when he was 
 wanted, which I was bound to do in my capacity of 
 trustee, under penalty of all the terrors of the Court 
 of Chancery. My plan was to watch the published 
 insolvents' list, which saved me a good deal of useless 
 labour. To go to any shop or house that had been 
 in the possession of the Tontine annuitant on the 
 last day of payment, was only to find it empty and 
 closed, or with another name on the door-plate or 
 over the window front. The explanation of this 
 peculiar restlessness on the part of the Tontine 
 annuitant was found in his description when he came 
 before the commissioner. He had always been 
 trading under the firm of Inkstand and Co., as 
 general merchants ; he had always been first of one 
 street, then of another street, and afterwards renting 
 furnished apartments in another street, while he 
 followed no trade or occupation ; he had always been 
 a director of a loan- office, a manager of a gold mining 
 company, and auditor of some provident tradesmen's 
 association, an accountant, a photographic artist, a 
 temperance lecturer, or speaking convert, a chorus 
 singer, a dealer in pictures, an author, a public reader 
 of plays, a traveller on commission, and a keeper of a 
 servants' registry-office. He had always been acting 
 part of the time as a house-agent at the new marine 
 settlement of Stillwater, and during the whole of the 
 time had given lessons in animal magnetism and the 
 art of clairvoyance. 
 
302 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 All this apparent industry and activity never 
 seemed to meet with a substantial reward, and he 
 went as regularly to Portugal Street, for the benefit of 
 the Act, as some people do to the Bank of England, 
 for the benefit of the dividends. He knew all the 
 Commissioners of Insolvency, with their tempers, 
 their prejudices, their weaknesses, and their peculiar 
 interpretations of the law, and he was almost as much 
 interested in the death or retirement of one of these 
 judges as the crowd of rising old barristers who hoped 
 to get the appointment. 
 
 So far my Tontine annuitant was always to be 
 found ; but the trouble of searching for him in the 
 particularly stifling atmosphere of a Portugal Street 
 law court, or the equally unsavoury atmosphere of a 
 Portugal Street tavern, had soon too little of novelty 
 about it to make it any longer agreeable. I had 
 seriously begun to consider what course I could adopt 
 to secure him in one spot, and had even written to a 
 friend who had some interest about procuring him a 
 government appointment, when,, to my great relief, I 
 heard that he had suddenly sailed for British Co- 
 lumbia to introduce a new system of fire and life in- 
 surance. I have used all due diligence as a trustee 
 to find him out, by writing a few letters to the 
 colony, without obtaining any reply; and I consider 
 my labours as an executor finally closed. I never 
 expect to see my Tontine annuitant again, and I shall 
 certainly never blindly accept another similar trust, 
 
303 
 
 NEW PUPPETS FOR OLD ONES. 
 
 I have now cried out pretty loudly against adultera- 
 tions and shams j but then the shams and adultera- 
 tions have always been in a different trade from my 
 own. It is not without a struggle that I denounce 
 the obsolete puppets used in my own literary craft ; 
 but it is time that their fluttering rags should be 
 given to the winds. 
 
 Eirst, there is the miser — a pure creation of 
 fancy — an old and faithful puppet, who has amused 
 the crowd for many centuries, though he is like no- 
 thing in the known world. I never saw his living 
 model, nor any authentic account of its past exist- 
 ence; but a certain school of art required such a 
 puppet, and he was dressed up to fill the vacant place. 
 We gave him long, gray hair, sharp features, and 
 eager eyes ; we made him very thin, and we caused 
 him to have a nervous twitching of the hands. We 
 raised our patchwork idol in the market-place, and 
 we laughed with pity and scorn at the number of its 
 worshippers. We told him to hide his money in 
 coal-cellars and in dust-bins ; told him to visit his 
 store with extreme caution in the dead of night ; and 
 we told him to howl like a dog when he fancied that 
 his secret was discovered. All these things he faith- 
 
304 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 fully did, not wisely, but too well; and those who 
 looked upon him thought that avarice stood before 
 them. No one seemed to inquire why his face was 
 so dirty, when water and comfort were so cheap ; or 
 where he got the guinea (as he never appeared to 
 work) which he was always adding to his store. No 
 one ever doubted his acknowledged powers of calcula- 
 tion, though they saw him losing interest on his 
 capital every hour, by hiding a small fortune in a 
 summer-house, or a sewer. 
 
 By adding a little more dirt to his face, and 
 making a very slight alteration in his dress, we trans- 
 formed him at once to a bone-picker ; and no one 
 seemed to be aware that the same puppet still moved 
 before their eyes. Again, when we caused him to 
 spend his money in pictures and statues, and to gloat 
 over these things instead of the cash which had 
 bought them, we succeeded in deceiving ourselves, 
 and we fully believed that the miser-puppet had given 
 place to the enlightened patron of art. 
 
 All this time the real miser has been walking 
 about the great world, unnoticed and undepicted. 
 Sometimes he takes the form of a small fundholder, 
 living in an inaccessible lodging, upon a very small 
 portion of his annual dividends. His face is not 
 dirty; nor are his clothes ragged; for he finds it far 
 more profitable to be decent, like his fellow-men. He 
 is not thin, but plump ; not nervous, but remarkably 
 cool. He is a bachelor, of course, as families are ex- 
 
NEW PUPPETS FOE, OLD ONES. 305 
 
 pensive things ; but he keeps a carefully brushed suit 
 for evening dress, his plan being to dine very often 
 at the expense of his friends. Five pounds invested 
 with his tailor, some three years ago, have paid him a 
 very respectable interest ever since. His omnibus- 
 hire is not much ; his cab-fare even less ; for in wet 
 weather he generally manages to secure a friendly lift. 
 His amusements are selected from the national free 
 list ; and he has none of the small vices which eat 
 into the heart of wealth. He is called a mean and 
 shabby hunks by those who fancy they have caught 
 a glimpse of his inner-life. His name was never seen 
 as a subscriber to a charitable fund ; but he is a bene- 
 factor to his country, for all that. His savings are 
 poured into the great ocean of capital, which alone 
 gives food and employment to the labouring mass. 
 
 Such is more like the actual miser — (sometimes 
 male, sometimes female) — than the wild, old, moping 
 idiot, that we literary craftsmen have clung to so 
 long. If we are to claim any credit as depicters of 
 human nature as it is, it is time that we drove out 
 the old puppet, and welcomed in the new. 
 
 The next puppet to be sacrificed is that favourite 
 variation of the miser — the old money-lender. We 
 put him into a dingy office that we never saw; gave 
 him parchments and mouldy furniture that he did 
 not want ; and we made him aged, weird, and grasp- 
 ing, which he never was. We caused him to affect a 
 disregard for that business, by which he hoped to 
 
 x 
 
306 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 live, as if the trade of selling money was different 
 from the trade of selling goods. We made the shop- 
 keeper-puppet cringing and obsequious; but the 
 money-lender puppet must be retiring and severe. 
 We told him to say that he had no money himself, 
 but he knew a friend in the City who had. If a 
 wine-merchant had given such an answer to a cus- 
 tomer, we should at once have perceived the ab- 
 surdity of that. It was the old economical mistake 
 of regarding gold as a commodity different from 
 everything else. 
 
 We called our old money-lender puppet Sixty per 
 Cent. • a singular name that was based upon some 
 vague tradition of his rates for accommodation. We 
 were told that the usury laws had been long abo- 
 lished; but we scarcely understood what our in- 
 formants meant. We had been accustomed for so 
 long to connect money with old, withered puppets, 
 who ground down the needy for their own selfish ad- 
 vantage, that we forgot all about the law of supply 
 and demand, and the freedom which was open to the 
 borrower of looking for a cheaper market. 
 
 While we have been hoisting this miserable cari- 
 cature on high, the real money-lender has been plying 
 his trade, unconscious that any banded brothers of 
 genius have been trying to gibbet him in effigy. 
 There is nothing very remarkable in this, when the 
 old puppet is compared with the living model. The 
 latter is stout, jolly, polite,, a man of the world, and 
 
NEW PUPPETS POR OLD ONES. 307 
 
 not a retiring, morose hermit. He is a father of a 
 family, an affectionate son, and a most exemplary 
 husband. He is always anxious to do business at the 
 market-price ; properly shaved, in a clean shirt with 
 diamond studs, and generally in a comfortable man- 
 sion. Far from being tender about asking sixty per 
 cent., he has often demanded a hundred; and he 
 has sometimes, on the other hand, lent money at 
 four and- a -half. It all resolves itself into a question 
 of security j and the lowest rates are found to pay the 
 best in the end. He sometimes makes a show of 
 plate upon his dinner-table, and jewellery upon his 
 wife and daughters at the opera, which have been left 
 with him as substantial security for equally sub- 
 stantial loans. This is a weakness, not a crime ; and 
 is allowed for in the bill. Some traces of the old 
 persecuting stigma still hang about him which have 
 come down from the bad, dark days of the early Eng- 
 lish Jews. If he makes his mistakes — like other 
 traders — and falls into bankruptcy, never to rise 
 again, the old name will cling to him as he shuffles 
 in shabby clothes along the streets, and he will be 
 known as "that cursed money-lender " to the end 
 of his days. 
 
 Take him with all his virtues, and with all his 
 faults, he is still the money-lender of the world ; and 
 the old false puppet must be again driven out, to 
 make way for the new one, and the true. 
 
 The next puppet to be destroyed is one that we 
 
308 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 ingeniously made by mixing the miser and the 
 money-lender. "We boldly called it a Capitalist ; and 
 the imposition was never discovered beyond the nar- 
 row limits of the class so falsely and imperfectly por- 
 trayed. Yv r e made him thin and parchment-faced, 
 exact, methodical, cold, cautious, gloomy, and curt ; 
 tyrannical to work-people and inferiors ; a grinder- 
 down of labour; a circumventer of his brother men. 
 
 We gave him no imagination, no courage, no 
 sympathy, and, above all, no heart. We sent him 
 crawling about the City streets, bent double with 
 anxiety and age. We peopled exchanges and market- 
 places with such melancholy shadows, until they 
 became, in appearance, the abodes of the damned. 
 We made him pace his small, dingy, counting- 
 house, waiting for an important post, like a hungry 
 tiger in his cage. We made his life one never-ending 
 rack, his capital a curse, his occupation a round of 
 torment, risk, and loss. We made the line that 
 divided him from the gambler-puppet so narrow, that 
 a few slight touches sent him over the barrier ; while 
 a few heavier touches converted him into the forger, 
 the felon, and the suicide ! 
 
 All this time the real capitalist — an open-hearted, 
 bold, cheerful, dashing creature — has been devour- 
 ing his mid- day pastry at a popular City bun- shop, or 
 slapping his commercial connections on the back, in 
 places where merchants most do congregate. He is 
 not thin, he is not parchment-faced, he is scarcely 
 
NEW PUPPETS FOR OLD ONES. 309 
 
 cautious, and he is certainly not cold. Let him hear 
 of a thoroughly new and adventurous investment, 
 and it stirs his heart — for he has one — like a trumpet, 
 He is in no way dependent on a bundle of flimsy 
 letters, for the telegraph and other advanced contriv- 
 ances supply him with the broad facts of intelligence ; 
 and his business is conducted on insurances and sys- 
 tems that secure him from much anxiety with regard 
 to his ventures. His capital is only a curse to him 
 when it lies idle at his banker's ; and the occupation 
 that gives it activity is at once to him a pleasure and 
 a profit. His imagination is far too rich, far too active, 
 far too practical, as he often finds to his cost, when 
 the palace of enterprise he has raised with his wealth 
 often sinks before his eyes, leaving no trace but a 
 bleak dry desert of barren sand. Then it is that his 
 ground-clown work-people pass gaily over to another 
 master, without a thought of unselfish sympathy for 
 their late unfortunate employer. 
 
 Such is the real, living, breathing capitalist that 
 we may see any hour of the day, any day of our 
 lives; and it is time that his puppet-caricature should 
 be consigned to the limbo of nightmares, monstrosi- 
 ties, and walking lies. 
 
 The next puppet requiring decent burial is that 
 well-known comic puppet, the fat alderman. We 
 made him wheezy and short-breathed; we gave him 
 small, pigs' eyes, and a stomach like a feather-bed ; 
 we made his life a perpetual succession of feasts ; we 
 
310 UNDER BOW BELLS. 
 
 told him his decision on turtle was final; and we 
 called him by the funny names of Waddle or Gobble. 
 He was the only puppet in the world who ever dined 
 or thought of dining, and the only one who ever 
 reached the weight of eighteen stone. We made his 
 face as purple as a winter's sun seen through a fog ; 
 and we always gave him three chins, and sometimes 
 four. We forgot, when we displayed him sleeping 
 after a city banquet in his brougham, which he 
 almost filled, that he was only an alderman in his 
 public capacity, while in private he was necessarily a 
 capitalist (and perhaps a money-lender), whom we 
 had only just represented as excessively lean. Our 
 audience, luckily for us, had short memories, as well 
 as weak observation, and the contradiction passed 
 without discovery or comment. We gave him the 
 gout, and then he was excessively amusing, for gout 
 is essentially a comic disease. The more testy, the 
 more red-faced, the more helpless we made him; the 
 more tea-urns we made to drip boiling water upon 
 his legs, and the more unruly boys we made to stamp 
 upon his agonised toes, the more was our strong 
 sense of humour relished by our patrons, and ex- 
 tolled by the critical beadles who guard the Temple 
 of Fame. A few almost imperceptible touches con- 
 verted him into the chairman of a vestry; or some 
 eminent parochial representative of the people, and 
 the old high-tory, obstructive, freedom-hating sneer- 
 ers at municipal liberty, and oppOsers of free govern- 
 
NEW PUPPETS FOIl OLD ONES. 311 
 
 ment, laughed loudly at our amusing power of comic 
 characterisation, and secretly blessed us for aiding 
 their designs. Every blow that we dealt to the City, 
 which in the old days had been the stout and unflinch- 
 ing champion of right against dishonesty and might, 
 every shaft of shallow ridicule which we aimed at the 
 parish — a copy of the City — were joy and satisfaction 
 to their reactionary hearts. 
 
 All this time the real alderman has been walking 
 briskly about under Bow Bells, unconscious of the 
 load of fat with which we have invested him. He 
 has been working officially and mercantilely his good 
 twelve hours every day, unoppressed by the sense of 
 drowsiness that accompanies a multitude of chins. 
 He is more ignorant of the qualities of turtle, and 
 less solicitous about his dinner, than many a Grub 
 Street author of the present day, whose puppet repre- 
 sentative, by the way, requires quite as much altera- 
 tion as that of the alderman, the capitalist, the 
 money-lender, and the miser. 
 
 We look upon ourselves as guides and instructors 
 of the people, and we have dazzled and deceived 
 them with a set of unnatural scarecrows. We have 
 held up a puppet spy and a puppet Jesuit, with sneak 
 and villain written on their faces, and while our 
 believers have been gazing upon these deceptive pic- 
 tures, the real spy and the real Jesuit have worked 
 laughingly in the broad light of day, indebted to us 
 for the shelter of an effective disguise. 
 
312 UNDER BOW BELJ,S. 
 
 These, with many other monsters of our hands, 
 have gone abroad into the world, and the world still 
 believes them to be solid gods, though they are more 
 empty than the air. It is our duty, as their creators, 
 to stand upon the edge of that narrow stream which 
 divides the present from the past, and as they, one 
 by one, attempt to cross, to smite them down, and 
 bury them for ever from the light. * 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Thomas Harrild, Printer, Salisbury Square, FleeJ; Street, Londou. 
 
NEW BOOKS & NEW EDITIONS 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 GRGOMBRIDGE AND SONS. 
 
 Post Svo, illustrated with. Seven full-page Plates in Tints, and 
 Sixty-five Engravings on Wood, price 5s., 
 
 MARVELS OF POND-LIFE; 
 
 A year's microscopic recreations among the polyps, 
 
 INFUSORIA, ROTIFERS, WATER BEARS, AND POLYZOA. 
 
 By HENRY J. SLACK, F.G.S. 
 
 NOTICES OP THE PRESS : 
 
 "Messrs. Groornbridge have already issued many popular and excellent 
 treatises on some most interesting points of science. Mr. Slack's 'Marvels of 
 Pond-Life' will take a worthy place in the series." — London Review. 
 
 "We recommend Mr. Slack's volume, and express our welcome at the hearti- 
 ness with which he enters into microscopical work, and the interest he has 
 succeeded in throwing into his researches." — Quarterly Journal of Microsco- 
 pical Science. 
 
 " All such books as Mr. Slack's are now among our most cherished pro- 
 ductions. The illustrations are very clear and well done."— Spectator. 
 
 "We are desirous of recommending his book on account of the beauty of its 
 illustrations, the study to which it may prove a help, and the interesting cha- 
 racteristics of its contents." — Athenaeum. 
 
 " Mr. Slack's plan is, to give a chapter to each month in the year. The idea 
 is a good one. The illustrations are good, and the instructions such as begin- 
 ners prize." — Saturday Revieic. 
 
 " His descriptions of the Infusoria, fresh and vivid as they are, and aided by 
 a succession of admirable engravings, tend to create the keenest longings in his 
 readers to emulate his research."— Literary Budget. 
 
 " ' Marvels of Pond-Life ' is an excellent book, valuable as the work of a 
 practical observer of Nature."— Neivcastle Chronicle. 
 
 "As a specimen of Mr. Slack's lively and pleasant narrative we cannot do 
 better than quote his description of ' the Floscularia Ornata,' a tubicolor rotifer, 
 which may be found in the London ponds." — Critic. 
 
 GROOMBRIDGE AND SONS, 5, PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
BIRDS. 
 
 Elegantly bound, Illustrated with Seventy Engravings, Price 3s. 6i., 
 suitable for Presentation, 
 
 NATURAL HISTORY OE CAGE BIRDS ; 
 
 Their Management, Habits, Pood, Diseases, Treatment, Breeding, 
 
 and the Methods of Catching them. 
 
 By J. M. BECHSTEIN, M.D. 
 
 "This beautifully illustrated edition of Dr. Bechstein's well-known work will 
 
 be welcomed by every lover of natural history, and is remarkable for the fidelity 
 
 and beauty of the engravings, no less than for its general elegant appearance. 
 
 A copious alphabetical index is appended to the volume, which will enable the- 
 
 reader instantly to find the birds whose history and management are required." 
 
 %* Order Groombridge's Edition, toith Seventy Illustrations, price 3s. 6d. 
 
 BEES. 
 
 Sixth Edition, Illustrated with One Hundred Engravings, price 4s., cloth gilt,, 
 
 THE BEE-KEEPER'S MANUAL; 
 
 Practical Hints on the Management and complete Preservation of the 
 
 Honey Bee. 
 
 By HENEY TAYLOK. 
 
 AQUARIA, 
 
 New Edition, revised and additionally Illustrated, price 3s. Qd., cloth gilt, 
 
 THE BOOK OE THE AQUARIUM; 
 
 Instructions on the Eormation, Stocking, and Management in all Seasons of 
 
 Collections of Marine and Eiver Animals and Plants. 
 
 By SHIELEY HIBBEKD, 
 
 Author of " Eustic Adornments for Homes of Taste," etc. 
 
 CITY GARDENS, 
 
 Second Edition, price 3s. 6d., with Hlustrations, cloth gilt, 
 
 THE TOWN GARDEN; 
 
 A Manual for the Successful Management of City and Suburban Gardens. 
 
 By SHIELEY HIBBEED, 
 
 Author of" Garden Favourites," etc. etc. 
 
 Eifth Edition, much enlarged, price 2s. 6d., cloth gilt, 
 
 THE GARDENER'S RECEIPT-BOOK; 
 
 A Treasury of Interesting Facts and Practical Information useful in Horticul- 
 ture; comprising the most effectual Methods for the Destruction or Eemoval 
 of Everything injurious to the Garden, with Preventives and Cures for the 
 various Diseases of Plants, and perfect Directions for the Preservation of 
 Trees, Fruits, and Flowers. 
 
 By WILLIAM JONES. 
 New Edition, fcap. 8vo, cloth, price 4s., 
 
 DICTIONARY OE BOTANICAL TERMS; 
 
 Illustrated by nearly Two Hundred Woodcuts. 
 
 By the Eev. J. S. HENSLOW, 
 
 Late Professor of Botany in the University of Cambridge. 
 
 OROOMBKLDaE AND SOjS t S, 5, PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
GRACE AGUILAR'S WORKS. 
 
 NEW EDITIONS, ILLUSTRATED. 
 
 i. 
 HOME INFLUENCE. 
 
 A TALE FOR MOTHERS AND DAUGHTERS. 
 
 Tcap. 8vo, Illustrated, Price 5s. 
 
 THE MOTHER'S RECOMPENSE. 
 
 A SEQUEL TO "HOME INFLUENCE." 
 
 Fcap. 8yo, Illustrated, Price 6s. 
 
 III. 
 
 WOMAN'S FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 A STORY OF DOMESTIC LIFE. 
 
 Fcap. 8vo, Illustrated, Price 5s. 
 IT. 
 
 THE VALE OF CEDARS. 
 
 A STOKY OF SPAIN IN THE 15th CENTUKY. 
 
 Fcap. 8vo, Illustrated, Price 5s. 
 T. 
 
 THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 
 
 A STORY FROM SCOTTISH HISTORY. 
 
 Fcap. Syo, Illustrated, Price 6s. 
 VI. 
 
 HOME SCENES AND HEART STUDIES. 
 
 TALES. 
 
 Fcap. 8vo, Illustrated, Trice 5s. 
 VII. 
 
 THE WOMEN OF ISRAEL. 
 
 Two Vols. fcap. 8vo, Price 10s. 
 
 G-ROOMBRLDGKE AND SONS, 5, PATERNOSTER RO^Y. 
 
CABINET CLASSICS. 
 
 Illustrated with Vignette Engravings, appropriately hound, 
 for Presents. 
 
 COWPEE'S POETICAL WORKS, 6s. 
 MILTON'S POETICAL WORKS, 5*. 
 THOMSON'S SEASONS, 2s. 
 GOLDSMITH'S POEMS and ESSAYS, 2*. 
 ADVENTURES of ULYSSES, by CHARLES LAMB, Is. 6d. 
 SCOTT'S MARMION, 1*. 6d. 
 
 ■ LADY of the LAKE, Is. 6d. 
 
 LAY of the LAST MINSTREL, Is. 6d. 
 
 ROKEBY, Is. 6d. 
 
 ROMANTIC TALES, by M. G. LEWIS, 2s, 
 ELIZABETH ; or, The Exiles oe Siberia, Is. 6d. 
 PAUL and VIRGINIA, and the INDIAN COTTAGE, 1*. 6d. 
 VICAR of WAKEEIELD, 2s. 
 
 * # * Order Groombridge's Editions. 
 
 MINIATURE CLASSICS. 
 
 Imperial 32mo, nicely oound, each with Frontispiece. 
 
 1. BACON'S ESSAYS, Is. 6d. 
 
 2. JOHNSON'S RASSELAS, Is. 6d. 
 
 3. GOLDSMITH'S ESSAYS, Is. 6d. 
 
 4. GOLDSMITH'S VICAR of WAKEFIELD, Is. 6d. 
 
 5. BEATTIE'S MINSTREL, 1*. 6d. 
 
 6. WALTON and COTTON'S ANGLER, 2 vols., each Is. 6d. 
 
 7. YOUNG'S NIGHT THOUGHTS, 2s. 6d. 
 
 8. CHANNING'S ESSAYS, 2s 6d. 
 
 9. FALCONER'S SHIPWRECK, Is. 6d. 
 
 10. CHAPONE'S LETTERS, Is. 6d. 
 
 11. MASON'S SELF-KNOWLEDGE, Is. 6d. 
 
 12. SCOTT'S (Sir W.) BALLADS and LYRICS, Is. 6d. 
 
 13. COLERIDGE'S ANCIENT MARINER, Is. 6d. 
 
 14. LAMB'S TALES from SHAKESPEARE, 2s. 6d. 
 
 15. WASHINGTON IRVING'S ESSAYS and SKETCHES, 
 
 Is. 6d. 
 
 16. COWPER'S POETICAL WORKS, 3s. 
 
 17. MILTON'S PARADISE LOST, 2s. 6d. 
 
 18. THE COTTAGERS of GLENBURNIE, Is. 6d. 
 
 19. MORE'S PRACTICAL PIETY, 2s. 6d. 
 
 20. GRAY'S POETICAL WORKS, Is. 6d. 
 
 21. GILES'S DOMESTIC HAPPINESS, Is. 6d. 
 
 22. GREGORY'S LEGACY TO HIS DAUGHTERS, Is. 6d. 
 
 23. LAMB'S ROSAMUND GRAY, Is. 6d. 
 
 The above series, uniform in size, comprises Twenty-four 
 elegant Pocket Volumes, eminently adapted for Presents, the 
 formation of Village Libraries, and also for Book-hawking 
 Associations. 
 
 GROOMBRIDGE AND SONS, 5, PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
CHEAP SERIES OF POPULAR BOOKS, 
 
 Price 2s. 6d. each. 
 UNDER BOW BELLS: a City Book for all 
 
 Readers. By John Hollingshead. Price Half-a-Cro\vn. 
 
 ODD JOURNEYS. By John Hollingshead. 
 
 Price Half-a-Crown. 
 
 WAYS OF LIFE. By John Hollingshead. 
 
 Price Half-a-Crown. 
 
 UNDERGROUND LONDON. By John Hollings- 
 
 head. Price Half-a-Crown. 
 
 SELF AND SELF-SACRIFICE; or, Nelly's Story. 
 
 By Anna Lisle. Price Half-a-Crown. 
 
 ALMOST; or, Crooked Ways. By Anna Lisle. 
 
 Price Half-a-Crown. 
 
 QUICKSANDS. A Tale by Anna Lisle. Price 
 
 Half-a-Crown. 
 
 PICTURES IN A MIRROR. By W. Mot Thomas. 
 
 Price Half-a-Crown. 
 
 LYDIA: A Woman's Book. By Mrs. Newton 
 
 Cbosland. Price Half-a-Crown. 
 
 A FEW OUT OF THOUSANDS: their Sayings 
 
 and Doings. By Augusta Johnstone. Price Half-a-Crown. 
 
 FOOTSTEPS TO FAME : a Book to Open Other 
 
 Books. By Hain Feiswell. Price Half-a-Crown. 
 
 LEAVES FROM A FAMILY JOURNAL. By 
 
 EiiiLE Souvestbe. Price Half-a-Crown. 
 
 ONE HUNDRED AND ONE STORIES FOR 
 
 CHILDREN, known as BUDS AND BLOSSOMS, and ST0EIES FOR 
 SUMMER DAYS AND WINTER NIGHTS. 
 
 These well-written and beautiful Stories are progressive in design, adapted 
 to the comprehension of children from the ages of four to ten or twelve years. 
 They are lively, instructive, and moral; their endeavour is to teach: to enter- 
 tain while they improve — to inform the mind and educate the heart. Each 
 Story is illustrated with well-executed Engravings. They are among the best 
 and cheapest books for young people published. 
 
 Buds and Blossoms may be had in elegant Packets, price Sixpence each. 
 
 Stoeies foe Summeb Days and "VVinteb N^fetTS, in Volumes, price One 
 Shilling each ; or, in Double Volumes, elegantly bound, price Two Shillings 
 each — forming very acceptable Presents, Birthday, and Christmas Gifts. 
 
 The entire Series, comprising One Hundbed and One Instructive and 
 Entertaining Stories, supplied for Sixteen Shillings and Sixpence, forming 
 A Family; Packet of Books foe Home, Seaside, and Holiday Reading. 
 
 GEOOMBRIDOE AXD SOXS. 5, PATERXOSTER, ROW. 
 
Illustrated with Thirty Engravings, bound in Magenta cloth, price 2s, 6d. t 
 
 THE MAGNET STORIES. 
 
 EIEST VOLUME. 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 WHEN WE WERE YOUNG. By the Author of a "Trap to Catch a Sun- 
 
 beam." 
 LOTTIE'S HALF-SOVEREIGN. By Mrs. Russell Gray. 
 MAMMA MILLY. By Mrs. S. C. Hall. 
 HAVERING HALL. By G. E. Sargent. 
 BLIND URSULA. By Mrs. Webb (Author of " Naomi"). 
 THE CLOCKMAKER OF LYONS. By E. M. Piper. 
 THE MICE AT PLAY. By the Author of " The Heir of Redclyffe." 
 
 Illustrated with Thirty Engravings, bound in Magenta cloth, price 2s. 6d.< 
 
 THE MAGNET STOBIES. 
 
 [SECOND VOLUME. 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 UNION JACK. By Mrs. S. C. Hall. 
 
 THE CAPTIVE'S DAUGHTER. By W. Heard Hillyard. 
 DEAR CHARLOTTE'S BOYS. By Emily Taylor. 
 THE TOWN OF TOYS. By Sara Wood. 
 NOT CLEVER. By Frances M. Wilbbaham. 
 SEA-SHELL ISLAND. By G. E. Sargent. 
 THE PEDLAR'S HOARD. By Mark Lemon. 
 
 Illustrated with Thirty Engravings, bound in Magenta cloth, price 2s.Qd. t 
 
 THE MAGNET STORIES. 
 
 THIED VOLUME. 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 THE STORY OF NELSON. By W. H. G. Kingston. 
 
 LOST IN THE WOOD. By Mrs. Alex. Gilchrist. 
 
 THE SHEPHERD LORD. By Julia Corner. 
 
 COUSIN DAVIS'S WARE&. By Margaret Howitt. 
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. By Sara Wood. 
 
 WHICH WAS THE BRAVEST ? By L. A. Hall. 
 
 THE STRAYED FALCON. By the Author of " The Heir of Redclyffe," etc. 
 
 GEOOMBEIDaE AND SONS, 5, PATEENOSTEE EOW. 
 
GIFT BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG.; 
 
 Illustrated with more than One Hundred Engravings, cloth gilt, price 3*., 
 
 THE HISTORY OF A SHIP 
 
 FROM HER CRADLE TO HER GRAVE. 
 
 By GRANDPA BEN". 
 
 \* A most attractive book for boys is "The History of a Ship from Her 
 Cradle to Her Grave." A perfect description of a Ship in all her parts, from 
 the keel to the topsail— a book to be read and remembered, written by an 
 author skilled in nautical matters, well read in nautical history, and deeply 
 acquainted with the life of a sailor. 
 
 With Illustrations by George Cruikshank. Cloth gilt, 3s. 6d., 
 
 OUT AND AB OUT; 
 
 A BOY'S ADVENTURES. 
 By HAIN FRISWELL. 
 
 Illustrated, cloth, gilt edges, 3s. 6d., 
 
 CHRONICLES OF AN OLD OAK. 
 
 By EMILY TAYLOR, Author of « The Boy and the Birds," etc. 
 
 Illustrated cloth, gilt edges, 3s. 6c?., 
 
 CHILDREN OF OTHER LANDS. 
 
 By SARA WOOD, Author of "The Amyott's Home," "Older and 
 Wiser," etc. 
 
 Imperial 16mo, cloth gilt, with Illustrations in Colours, price 7s. Qd., 
 
 TELESCOPE TEACHINGS : 
 
 A Familiar Sketch of Astronomial Discovery, combining a Special Notice of 
 
 Objects coming within the Range of a Small Telescope. 
 
 By the HON. MRS. WARD. 
 
 Dedicated by Permission to the Earl of Rosse. 
 
 Imperial 16mo, cloth gilt, price 3s. 6d., 
 
 A WORLD OF WONDERS REVEALED 
 BY THE MICROSCOPE. 
 
 Illustrated with Coloured Plates, delineating 130 Microscopic Objects. 
 By the HON. MRS. WARD. 
 
 With a coloured Frontispiece and other Illustrations, gilt edges, Is., 
 
 THE KING AND THE TROUBADOUR. 
 
 A PLAY FOR HOME ACTING AND YOUNG PERFORMERS. 
 By JULIA CORNER. 
 
 With a coloured Frontispiece and other Illustrations, gilt edges, Is., 
 
 SLEEPING BEAUTY. 
 
 A PLAY FOR HOME ACTING AND YOUNG PERFORMERS. 
 By JULIA CORNER. 
 
 GROOMBRIDGE & SONS, 5, PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
 * * 
 
Dedicated by Permission to H.E.H. the Duke of Cambridge. 
 Tcap. 8vo, cloth, price 5s., 
 
 CURIOSITIES OP WAR 
 
 AND 
 
 MILITARY STUDIES. 
 
 By THOMAS CARTER, 
 
 Author of " Medals of the British Army." 
 
 This Soldiers' Book and Military Compendium is full of the most interest- 
 ing anecdotes and incidents relating to various regiments, and contains the 
 origin of every infantry corps, together with names and heroic deeds of the 
 recipients of the Victoria Cross, arranged regimentally. 
 
 Complete in Three Volumes 8vo, price 7s. 6cl. each, cloth gilt, with Fae-simile 
 Illustrations of the Medals and Ribbons, in Colours, 
 
 MEDALS OF THE BRITISH ARMY 
 
 AND 
 
 HOW THEY WEBE WOK 
 
 By THOMAS CARTER, 
 Author of " Curiosities of War and Military Studies." 
 
 FIRST YOLUME.— THE CRIMEAN CAMPAIGN. 
 
 Dedicated to Major-General the Hon. Sir James Yorke Scarlett, K.C.B., 
 Adjutant-General of Her Majesty's Forces. 
 
 With Eac-simile Illustrations in Colours of 
 
 The Crimean Medal. I Turkish War Medal. 
 
 French War Medal. Medal for Distinguished .Conduct in 
 
 Sardinian War Medal. | Victoria Cross. [the Field. 
 
 SECOND VOLUME.— EGYPT, PENINSULA, WATERLOO,. 
 AND SOUTH AFRICA. 
 
 Dedicated to His Grace the Duke of Richmond, E.G., etc., etc. 
 With Fac-simile Illustrations in Colours of 
 
 The Gold Cross. 
 The War Medal. 
 Turkish Medal for Egypt. 
 Talavera Medal. 
 
 Waterloo Medal. 
 
 Medal for Meritorious Service. 
 
 The Cape Medal. 
 
 THIRD YOLUME.— INDIA, CHINA, AND PERSIA. 
 
 Dedicated to General Lord Clyde, G.C.B., etc., etc. 
 With Eac-simile Illustrations in Colours of 
 The Indian War Medal. 
 Seringapatam Medal. 
 The Sutlej and Punjab Medals. 
 The Ghuznee Medal. 
 
 The China Medal. 
 
 The Second Jellalabad Medal. 
 
 The Maharajpoor Star. 
 
 Medal for the Second Burmese War^ 
 
 And other Illustrations. 
 
 Indian Mutiny Medal. 
 
 Either of the Volumes may be had separately, or in Eighteen Numbers 
 price Is. each, a Medal in Colours illustrating each Number. 
 
 GROOMBRIDGKE & SONS, 5, PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
ILLUSTRATED GIFT BOOKS. 
 
 Imperial 8vo, arabesque binding, price One Guinea, 
 
 GEMS FROM THE POETS, 
 
 Illustrated with Twenty-eight Plates on toned paper, in colours, 
 selected from Poems by 
 
 Subjects 
 
 Moore. 
 Byron. 
 Rogers. 
 Milton. 
 Longfellow. 
 
 Wilson. 
 
 Hemans. 
 
 Emerson. 
 
 Cowper. 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 Scott. 
 
 Burns. 
 
 Bryant. 
 
 Gray. 
 
 Campbell. 
 
 Thomson. 
 Goldsmith. 
 Croly. 
 Falconer. 
 
 Illustrated with Portrait and Sixteen Vignette Engravings, price 6s., 
 
 THE POETICAL WORKS OF BURNS, 
 
 With Memoir and Copious G-lossary. 
 List of the Illustrations. 
 
 10. Dumfries. 
 
 1. Portrait, with Autograph. 
 
 2. Birthplace of Burns. 
 
 3. Monument to Burns (Doon). 
 
 4. Mausoleum of Burns (Dumfries) 
 
 5. Birks of Aberfeldy. 
 
 6. The Field of Bannockburn. 
 
 7. Lincluden College. 
 
 8. Braes of Ballochmyle. 
 
 9. Town and Harbour of Ayr. 
 
 11. Nithsdale. 
 
 12. Ayr. 
 
 13. The Pier of Leith. 
 
 14. Coilsfield. 
 
 15. Colzean Castle. 
 
 16. Taymouth Castle. 
 
 17. The Vision. 
 
 Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, price 14s., illustrated with Plates plain and coloured, 
 
 RUSTIC ADORNMENTS 
 
 HOMES OF TASTE, 
 
 And Eecreations for Town Folk in the Study and Imitation of Nature. 
 
 By SHIRLEY HIBBERD, Author of "The Book of the Aquarium," etc., etc. 
 Contents. 
 
 I Floral Ornaments. 
 The Aviary. 
 I The Apiary. 
 I Flower Garden. 
 | Garden Aquarium; 
 
 The Home of Taste. 
 Marine Aquarium. 
 Fresh Water Aquarium. 
 The Wardian Case. 
 Waltonian Case. 
 
 Water Scenery. 
 Eockery and Wilderness. 
 Fernery. 
 Rustic Work. 
 Grottoes. 
 
 Tree Stumps, Summer Houses, Wire-work, and other Embellishments. 
 
 Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, illustrated with Thirteen coloured Plates of choice Flowers, 
 and other Engravings, price 8s. 6d., 
 
 GARDEN FAVOURITES; 
 
 Their History, Properties, Cultivation, and Management in all Seasons. 
 By SHIRLEY HIBBERD, Author of "The Town Garden," etc., etc. 
 
 Royal 8vo, illustrated with Sixty coloured Plates and other Engravings, cloth 
 gilt, price One Guinea, 
 
 BEAUTIFUL LEAVED PLANTS. 
 
 A Description of the most Beautiful Leaved Plants in Cultivation. 
 By E. J. LOWE, F.L.S., and W. HOWARD, F.H.S. 
 
 GROOMBRIDGE & SONS, 5, PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
THE YOUNG NATURALIST'S LIBRARY. 
 
 EDITED BY H. G. ADAMS. 
 16mo, sewed, price Is. ; or in cloth, Is. 6d. each volume, 
 
 THE NESTS AND EGGS OE MILIAR BIEDS. 
 
 First and Second Series, each Illustrated with Eight Plates, delineating Eighty- 
 six Figures of Eggs, Drawn and Coloured from Nature. 
 16mo, sewed, price Is. 5 or in cloth, Is. 6d., 
 
 BEAUTIFUL BUTTERFLIES. 
 
 Containing the History of a Butterfly through all its changes and transforma- 
 tions. "With Eight Coloured Plates. 
 16mo, sewed, price Is. ; or in cloth, Is. 6d., 
 
 BEAUTIFUL SHELLS. 
 
 Their Nature, Structure, and Uses familiarly explained. With Eight Coloured 
 
 Plates and numerous Wood Engravings. 
 
 16mo, sewed, price Is. ; or in cloth, Is. 6d., 
 
 HUMMING BIRDS. 
 
 Described and Illustrated ; and an Introductory Sketch on their Structure, 
 Plumage, etc. With Eight Coloured Plates and Woodcuts. 
 
 Fcap. 8vo, cloth, price 3s. 6^., • 
 
 FAVOURITE SONG BIRDS. 
 
 A Description of the Feathered Songsters of Britain, with an Account of their 
 Habits, Haunts, and Characteristic Traits. By H. G-. Adams. Illustrated 
 with Twelve Coloured Illustrations. 
 
 Eight Coloured Plates, in Portfolio, price Is. Qd. t 
 
 BEAUTIFUL BIRDS. 
 
 Eight Coloured Plates, in Portfolio, price Is. 6d., 
 
 WONDERFUL INSECTS. 
 
 Eight Coloured Plates, in Portfolio, price Is. 6d., 
 
 COMPARATIVE SIZES OF BIRDS. 
 
 A VOLUME FOR FAMILY READING-. 
 
 Elegantly bound Royal 8vo, 750 pages, choicely Illustrated with 80 Engravings, 
 price 7s. 6d., 
 
 GOOD WORDS.— 1861. 
 
 EDITED BY NOEMAN MACLEOD, D.D. 
 In this Volume, among other interesting subjects, icill be found 
 THEEELIGIONOFLIFE. Illustrated and applied. By Thomas Guthrie.D.D. 
 THE OLD LIEUTENANT AND HIS SON. By Nobman Macleod, D.D. 
 OUR SUNDAY EVENINGS. A Series of Papers for Family Beading. 
 ILLUSTRATIONS OF SCRIPTURE. By J. B. 
 
 MEMOIRS OP AN UNKNOWN LIFE. By Air Unknowk Authoe. 
 SHORT PAPERS FOR THE TIMES. By Archbishop Whateley. 
 
 Also, Original Papers by 
 The Author of "John Halifax"— The Countess de Gasparin— P. H. Gosse— 
 Principal Tulloch— John Hollingshead— The Rev. J.Erskine Clarke— The Author 
 of "The Patience of Hope"— The Rev. A. Bushnell— Archibald Geikie— Dr. 
 John Brown— Principal Leitch— John Stuart BlacMe— Margaret Maria Gordon, 
 etc., etc. 
 
 The Illustrations to " Good Wobds" are from Designs by 
 J. B. Clarence Dobell. J. B. Zwecker. . T. Morten. 
 
 J.D.Watson. H. H. Armstead. W. Q. Orchardson. John Macwhirter. 
 
 J. Wolf. Alfred Yf ". Cooper. F. Walker. Thomas Graham. 
 
 John Pettie. George du Maurier. G. H. Bennet. 
 
 GKOOMBKIDGKE & SONS, 5, PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
RECREATIVE SCIENCE. 
 
 A RECORD AND REMEMBRANCER OF INTELLECTUAL 
 
 OBSERVATION. 
 First Volume, with Illustrations, price Is. 6d. 
 Second Volume, with Illustrations, price 7s. 6d. 
 Third Volume, with Illustrations, price 7s. 6d. 
 Containing original contributions by writers of the highest eminence on 
 Natural History, Botany, Geology, Astronomy, Mechanics, Archaeology, Photo- 
 graphy, Chemistry, Meteorology, the Results of Microscopic Study, etc. 
 
 NATURAL HISTOEY. 
 
 WORKS BT THE REV. F. 0. MORRIS, B.A. 
 Six Vols., royal 8vo, cloth gilt, price £5., 
 
 A HISTOEY OF BRITISH BIRDS. 
 
 With an Illustration of each Species, comprising in all Three Hundred and 
 Sixty coloured Plates. 
 
 Three Vols, royal 8vo, cloth gilt, price £3 3s., 
 
 THE NESTS AND EGGS OF BRITISH 
 BIRDS. 
 
 With Illustrations, comprising in all Two Hundred and Twenty -three coloured 
 Plates. 
 
 Royal 8vo, cloth gilt, price £1., 
 
 BRITISH BUTTERFLIES. 
 
 With coloured Illustrations of each Species, and separate figures of the Male 
 and Female. 
 
 Vols. 1 and 2 ready, Vol. 3 in the Press, royal 8vo, cloth gilt, price 17s. each, 
 
 THE BIEDS OF EITBOPE 
 
 NOT OBSERVED IN THE BRITISH ISLES. 
 
 Illustrated with coloured Plates. 
 By C. R. BREE, M.D. 
 
 Royal Svo, cloth gilt, price 17s., Vol. 1, illustrated with' Fifty-seven coloured 
 Plates and other Engravings, from Drawings by the Author, 
 
 A HISTORY OF THE FISHES 
 
 OP 
 
 THE BRITISH ISLANDS. 
 
 By Jonathan couch, f.l.s. 
 
 In One Volume, 4to, half -bound in crimson morocco, gilt edges, price £2 5s., 
 
 BRITISH GAME BIRDS AND WILD 
 FOWL. 
 
 Illustrated with Sixty coloured Plates, from original Drawings after Nature. 
 By BEVERLEY R. MORRIS, M.D. 
 
 GROOMBRIDGE & SONS, 5, PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
BOTANY AND GENERAL SCIENCE, 
 
 4 vols. 8vo, cloth gilt, £3 10s. ; or with the Plates coloured, price £», 
 
 FLORIGRAPHIA BRITANNICA. 
 
 Engravings and Descriptions of the Flowering Plants and Ferns of Britain, 
 
 comprising One Thousand Six Hundred and Twenty-five Illustrations. 
 
 Bx EICHAED DEAKIN, M.D. 
 
 Fcap. 8vo, cloth gilt, with coloured Illustrations, price 7s. Qd., 
 
 THE FLORA OF THE COLOSSEUM. 
 
 Descriptions of Four Hundred and Twenty Plants growing spontaneously upon 
 
 the Euins of the Colosseum of Eome. 
 
 'By EICHAED DEAKIN, M.D. 
 
 FERNS. 
 
 8 vols, royal 8vo, cloth, price Six Guineas, illustrated with Four Hundred and 
 Seventy -nine coloured Plates and other Engravings, 
 
 BRITISH AND EXOTIC FERNS. 
 
 Scientific and Popular Descriptions of all the Cultivated Species, with Instructions 
 
 for their Management. 
 
 Bx E. J. LOWE, F.L.S. 
 
 Eoyal 8vo, cloth, illustrated with Seventy -four coloured Plates and other 
 Engravings, price One Guinea, 
 
 A NATURAL HISTORY OF BRITISH 
 
 GRASSES. 
 
 Bx B. 3. 10WE, F.E.A.S. 
 Crown 8vo, cloth, Illustrated, price 5s., 
 
 FIRST TRACES OF LIFE ON" THE 
 EARTH ; 
 
 OR, THE FOSSILS OF THE BOTTOM ROCKS. 
 Bx S. J. MACKIE, F.G.S., etc. 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Nature of Fossils. 
 
 Value of Fossils. 
 Order of the Rocks, 
 The Rock Strata. 
 Their Teachings. 
 
 What we know of the Earth's 
 
 Crust. 
 Eemnants of the First Lands. 
 The Bottom Eocks. 
 First Traces of Life. 
 
 Post 8vo, cloth, price 3s. Qd., 
 
 SPECIES NOT TRANSMUTABLE, 
 
 NOR THE RESULT OF SECONDARY CAUSES, 
 
 Being a critical examination of Mr. Darwin's work upon "The Origin and 
 
 Variation of Species." 
 
 Bx C. E. BEEE, M.D., Author of "The Birds of Europe," etc. etc. 
 
 THE EYE. 
 
 Crown 8vo, cloth, Illustrated with One Hundred Engravings, price 7s. 6d., 
 
 THE STRUCTURE AND FUNCTIONS 
 OF THE EYE. • 
 
 Illustrative of the Power, Wisdom, and Goodness of God. 
 Bx SPENCER THOMSON, M.D. 
 
 aROOMBRIDGE^SONS, 5, PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
APPROVED SCHOOL BOOKS. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS IN THE FRENCH LANGUAGE, 
 
 •with a Series of Exercises. By C. J. Delille. 12mo, cloth, price Is. 6d. 
 ELEMENTARY LATIN EXERCISES. Intended to illustrate 
 
 by easy and appropriate Examples the Accidence of the Eton Grammar, 
 and the more common Rules of Syntax. , By M. Thobnborrow. 12mo, 
 cloth, price Is. 6d. 
 
 THE GERMAN FIRST BOOK. Conversations and Dialogues 
 for the use of Schools. By Morris Miehnaur. 12mo, cloth, price Is. 6d. 
 
 ENGLISH HISTORY. A Half-yearly Course of Reading Lessons 
 in English History (three per week). By Richard Btthell. 18mo, 
 cloth, price Is. 
 
 SPELLING TAUGHT by Transcribing and Dictation, in a Series 
 of Exercises especially adapted for Home Work. By Richard Bithiell. 
 18mo, sewed, price 4d. 
 
 LESSONS AND EXERCISES IN SINGING, for Primary 
 Schools of eTery grade. By Richard Bithell. 12mo, sewed, price Is. 
 
 COMMON THINGS MADE PLAIN : A Lesson Book on Sub- 
 jects familiar to Every-day Life. By James Menztes. 18mo, cloth, 
 price Is. id. 
 
 MEMORY LESSONS EOR HOME WORK. Arranged for a 
 Course of Six Months. By T. R. Mabrison and Henrx Wash. 18mo, 
 sewed, price 4d. 
 
 EXAMPLES IN ARITHMETIC and Mensuration. Chiefly in- 
 . tended for the Upper Classes of Elementary Schools. By William Easton. 
 18mo, cloth, price Is. 
 
 THE BEGINNER'S ALGEBRA. Containing nearly Twelve 
 Hundred Examples. By John Reynolds, L.C. P. 12nio, cloth, price 2s. 
 
 GEOGRAPHICAL READING BOOKS. By Thomas Ceampton 
 and Thomas Turner. 
 
 Part 1. — Instructive Lessons. 16mo, cloth, price 8^. 
 Part 2.— The British Empire. 16mo, cloth, price M. 
 Part 3. — Europe. 16mo, cloth, price 8d. 
 
 ENGLISH READING BOOKS. By Thomas Ceampton and 
 Thomas Turner. 
 
 Book 1.— Progressive Lessons. 16mo, cloth, price 8c?. 
 Book 2.— On Common Things. 16mo, cloth, price 8d. 
 
 TABLET READING LESSONS. Price for set 3*. ; frame to 
 Ditto 3s. each. 
 
 SCHOOL TABLETS FOR LARGE CLASSES. By W. B. 
 
 Tegetmeier. Price Is. the set. 
 
 1. — Specific Gravities. 
 
 2. — Temperatures. 
 
 3. — Diagram of Thermometer. 
 
 OUTLINE MAPS AND BLANK PROJECTIONS. 
 
 Outline Maps. A Series of Seventeen, price 2s. the set. 
 Blank Projections. A Series of Seventeen, price 2s. the set. 
 
 SCHOOL BOOKS AND MAPS, Published by Authority of the 
 Irish National Board of Education. Lists, at reduced prices, gratis on 
 application. 
 
 GROOMBRIDGE AND SONS, 5, PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
ELEMENTAKY CATECHISMS FOR HOME 
 AND SCHOOL. 
 
 1. SANITATION THE MEANS OF HEALTH. 18mo, 4cL 
 
 2. HISTOEY OP ENGLAND. 18mo, 4d. 
 
 3. GAEDENING. 18 mo , 4d. 
 
 4. GEOGEAPHY. First Lessons. 18mo, 4d. 
 
 5. ENGLISH GEAMMAE. 18mo, 4d. 
 
 6. COTTAGE EAEMING. 18nio, 4d. 
 
 7. DOMESTIC ECONOMY. Double size. 18mo, 8d- 
 
 8. BEITISH EMPIEE. 18mo, 4d. 
 
 9. PHYSICAL GEOGEAPHY. Double Size. 18mo, 8d. 
 
 10. EIEST STEPS TO KNOWLEDGE. 18mo, 4d. 
 
 11. BIBLE GEOGEAPHY. 18mo, 4d. 
 
 12. SACEED HISTOEY. 18mo, 4d. 
 
 A CATECHISM ON THE MAP OF THE HOLY LAND. 
 
 18mo, sewed, price 4<d. 
 
 AIDS TO EEPOETING; or, The Student's Guide to Press 
 Occupation. By A Parliamentary Veteran. Imp. 32mo, cloth, 
 price Is. 
 
 ODELL'S SYSTEM OF SHOET-HAND. By which the nature 
 of taking down Sermons, Lectures, Trials, Speeches, etc., may he acquired 
 in a few Hours, without the Aid of a Master. 16mo, price 8d. 
 
 SUPPLEMENT TO ODELL'S SYSTEM ; containing Exercises 
 and other useful Information, for the use of those who wish to further 
 perfect themselves in the Art of Short-hand "Writing. 16mo, price 8d. 
 
 PEECEPTOE'S MANUAL of Questions and Exercises in 
 Arithmetic, for Collective Teaching, or for the Examination of Classes. 
 By Kichard C. Driver, L.C.P. 12mo, cloth, price 3s. 6d. 
 
 HINTS ON AEITHMETIC, addressed to a Young Governess. 
 By Lady Verney. 18mo, cloth, price Qd. 
 
 THE TEACHEE'S MANUAL for Infant Schools and Preparatory 
 Classes. By Thomas Urry Young. 12mo, cloth, price 3s. 
 
 MODEL SCHOOLS ; A Sketch of their Nature and Objects. 
 By P. J. Keenan, Head Inspector of National Schools (Ireland). 12mo, 
 sewed, price Is. 
 
 VILLAGE LIBEAEIES AND EEADING EOOMS. By the 
 Hon. and Kev. Samuel Best. 12mo. sewed, price Qd. 
 
 THE TEACHEE'S MISSION AND EEWAED. By the Eev. 
 
 H. W. Bellairs. 12mo, sewed, price 4d. 
 
 WOEK ; The Law of God, the Lot of Man. By the Eey. H. 
 
 W. Bellairs. 12mo, sewed, price Is. 
 THE TEACHEE'S DIFFICULTIES. By the Eey. J. P. 
 
 Worris. 12mo, sewed, price 4c?. 
 
 PLAIN INSTRUCTIONS FOE CHILDEEN IN DAY- 
 SCHOOLS. Printed on a large sheet in bold type, price 2d. 
 MECHANICS' INSTITUTES AND POPULAE EDUCATION. 
 
 By Kichard Dawes, Dean of Hereford. 12mo, sewed, price 6^. 
 SCHOOLS AND OTHEE SIMILAE INSTITUTIONS for the 
 Industrial Classes. By Eichaed Dawes, Dean of Hereford. 12mo, sewed, 
 price 4d. 
 
 GEOOMBEIDGE AND SONS, 5, PATEENOSTEE ROW. 
 
8vo, cloth, price 7s. 
 
 DRAWING FROM OBJECTS. 
 
 An Abstract of Lessons on Linear Drawing, given at the Home and Colonial 
 Training Schools. By Hannah Bolton. With 240 Illustrations, and plain 
 rules in relation to Sketching in general, forming a Handbook upon Drawing, 
 equally adapted for the Teacher, the Parent, and the Artizan. 
 Folio, cloth, price 7s. M. 
 
 A FIRST DRAWING-BOOK. 
 
 A Walk through a House, shown by Scenes in the Journey. Consisting of 
 Twenty bold outline copies of Objects familiar to Every-day Life. By Hannah 
 Bolton. 
 
 12mo, cloth, price Is. 6d. 
 
 PRACTICAL GEOMETRY 
 FOR SCHOOLS AND WORKMEN. 
 
 With Illustrative Diagrams. By Hoeace Geant. 
 
 Eighth Edition, 12mo, cloth, price 2s. 3c?., 
 
 SUGGESTIVE HINTS 
 
 TOWARDS IMPROVED SECULAR INSTRUCTION. 
 
 MAKING IT BEAR UPON PRACTICAL LIFE. 
 Intended for the use of Schoolmasters and Teachers in our Elementary Schools, 
 for those engaged in the Private Instruction of Children at Home, and for others 
 taking an interest in National Education. 
 
 By EICHAED DAWES, A.M., Dean op Heeepobd. 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Introduction — Grammar — Poetry. 
 
 Questions on Materials of Food, Clothing, etc., etc. 
 
 Exercises for Children to write on their Slates at School, and on Paper in the 
 
 Geography — Physical Geography — Natural History — Geology. [evening. 
 
 English History- Arithmetic — Algebraic formula. 
 
 Questions on the Economic Purposes of Life. 
 
 Geometry — Diagrams — Land-measuring — Words ending in ometry and ology. 
 
 Elementary Drawing — Mechanics — Natural Philosophy. 
 
 Experiments— Barometer— Specific Gravity— Metals— Light. 
 
 Table of the Velocity and Force of the Wind. 
 
 Astronomy— Eclipses — Chemistry— A Knowledge of Common Things. 
 
 Sources of Domestic Health and Comfort — Wages. 
 
 Knowledge of Mechanic's and Labourer's Work. 
 
 Explanation of Natural Phenomena. 
 
 Statistics — Value of Labour in Manufactured Products. 
 
 Conversational Lectures — A Loaf of Bread — The Cottage Fire. 
 
 Observations on the Duties of a Schoolmaster. 
 
 State of the Cottages of the Poor — Ignorance of the Eural Districts. 
 
 Tables — Numerical Constants — Time of Light Travelling. 
 
 Specific Gravity — Barometrical Height and corresponding Temperature at which 
 
 Water Boils. 
 Melting Points of different Substances— Boiling Points of different Liquids. 
 Freezing Points of Liquids — Linear Dilation of Solids and Liquids by Heat. 
 Latitude and Longitude of different places, and Mean Temperature of the Seasons. 
 List of Philosophical and other Apparatus for use in Schools. 
 Third Edition, 12mo, cloth, price 2s., 
 
 LESSONS ON THE PHENOMENA 
 
 OP 
 
 INDUSTRIAL LIFE, 
 
 AND THE CONDITIONS OF INDUSTRIAL SUCCESS. 
 Edited by EICHAED DAWES, A.M., Dean op Hbbefobd. 
 
 Contents.— Industry— Knowledge and Skill— Economy— Wealth— Capital 
 — Profit— Wages — Property — Eent— Division of Labour— Value — Measures and 
 Weights— Money— Precious Metals— Credit and Bills— Banking— Bates of Ex- 
 change—Paper Money— Insurance — Price— Interest and Annuities— Industrial 
 Progress— Emigration— Base Money— Eestrictions— Industrial Derangement- 
 Combinations — Strikes and Lock Outs— Taxation— Prooerty vacant by Death. 
 
 GROOMBRIDGKE & SONS, 5, PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
PRIZE ESSAY— SOCIETY OF ARTS. 
 
 Crown 8vo, cloth, price 7s. 6d., 
 
 THE NATIONAL DEBT FINANCIALLY 
 CONSIDERED. 
 
 By EDWAED CAPPS. 
 To this Essay the Prize of Two Hundred Guineas was unanimously awarded 
 by the adjudicators appointed by the Society of Arts, July, 1858. 
 
 Second Edition, 12mo, cloth, price 2s. 6d. t 
 
 A HANDY GUIDE TO SAFE INVEST- 
 MENTS. 
 
 Forming a Popular and Practical Treatise upon the Nature and Character of 
 Public Securities ; showing the several Descriptions, with the Mode of 
 Transacting Business at the Stock Exchange, etc. 
 
 By GRESHAM OMNIUM. 
 
 8vo, cloth, 
 
 THE HISTORY OF THE COMMERCIAL 
 CRISIS 
 
 OP 1857 AND 1858. 
 By D. MORIER EVAN'S. 
 
 Crown 8vo, cloth, 
 
 FACTS, FAILURES, AND FRAUDS. 
 
 REVELATIONS : 
 
 FINANCIAL, MERCANTILE, CRIMINAL. 
 
 By D. MORIER EVANS. 
 
 Second Edition, 8vo, cloth, price 3s. 6d. t 
 
 THE PRINCIPLES OF CURRENCY AND 
 • BANKING. 
 
 Being Five Lectures delivered in the Queen's College, Cork, to the Students in 
 
 Arts of the Third Year. 
 
 By EICHAED HORNER MILLS, A.M., 
 
 Barrister at Law, Professor of Jurisprudence and Political Economy in 
 
 Queen's College, Cork. 
 
 8vo, cloth, price 9s. Gd., 
 
 A SKETCH OF THE HISTORY OF THE 
 CURRENCY. 
 
 Comprising a Brief Review of the most Eminent Writers on the subject. 
 By JAMES MACLAREN. 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Period of a Metallic Currency. 
 
 First Period of a Mixed Currency of Gold and Bank Notes Convertible for Gold. 
 
 Period of Inconvertible Bank Notes. 
 
 Second Period of a Mixed Currency of Bank Notes and Gold. 
 
 The New Gold— The Crisis of 1857. 
 
 GROOMBRID&E & SONS, 5, PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
7~ i <^?'h? 
 
 1 
 

 
 ^ * o , % V ■, + Y * ° * ^ 
 
 0\ 
 
 ' 4^ 
 
 
 <- 
 
 
 
 oV ^S %^ 
 
 3 ^ 
 
 
 1 
 
 <* 
 
 
 ^ ^ ° 
 
 & °<« 
 
 ^-o 'o*l^\* v c 6/ y o«-x-* ^ 9x y o,^ \V 
 
 O, ♦ x ^ ^ * ^ ^ ^ , * H^ \> ^ 
 
 c?V s ^% *v^V -cp\^>* 
 
V * Y * ° /• -% \> «■ t * o 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 <S J **^^ 
 
 *%