Full text of "Household words"

he University of

BUCKINGHAM
LIBRARY

UNIVERSITY OF BUCKINGHAM

8113264

"Familiar in their Mouths as HOUSEHOLD Tr

HOUSEHOLD WORDS

SEceRlg SournaL

CONDUCTED BY

CHARLES DICKENS.

VOLUME VII.

FROM THE STH OF MARCH TO THE 27TH OF AUGUST.
Being from No. 154 to No. 179-

LONDON:
OFFICE, 16, WELLINGTON STREET NORTH.

1853.

I.OSDOX :
BRADBURr AXD EVANS, PRIXTF.ES, \VniTEFRIAHS.

AA, the Paver . .... 293
Abd el-Kader on Horseback . . 190

CONTENTS.

PASR

Cats of Australia . . . . 210
Cattle, Diffusion of Knowledge

PAG*

Exeter Arcade .... 378
Exploring Expedition to the Isle

: Advertisements, Australian . . 85
; Advertisements, Provincial . . 426
Advertisers Wanting Places . 601
After the Boars . . . . 118
, Aground up the Ganges . . 165
Albert Park, Finsbury . . . 107
Alphabets for the Blind . . 422
Apartments Furnished . . . 457
Arabian Horses .... 190
: Arcadia . . . . . 376
Ascension Day in France . . 329
Ashton, The Black Knight of . 206
Assay of Gold and Silver . . . 17
Assay of Silk .... 129
Asylum for Idiots at Highgate . 316

Cause and Effect .... 437
Cellar Habitations in Dunkerque 359
Century of Inventions . . . 367
Character, A Reference to . . 390
Charivari, The English . . . 404
Charterhouse Charity ... 97
Child's History of England, A 45, 139,
261, 332, 382, 477, 526, 597
ChimneyPots 328
Chips . . 107,285,356,425,511
Chloroform 179
Chobham after a Review . . . 471
Chobham before the Encampment 541
Choristers of St. Vorax . . . 454
Colza Oil 115

FACES in a Civic Fire . . . 512
Fern-seed, Receipt of ... 138
Fire at the Moscow Theatre . 419
Fi<st of Streams . . . . 293
Fisher's Ghost i . . . 6
Fishing for Tunny . . . . 499
Fishing Public-house ... 73
Flags to Furl 529
Flowers of History, by Roger de
Wendover 305
Flying Squirrel, The . . . 211
Folly and Love, A Dispute between 215
Foundling Hospital, The . . 49

Australia, Two Fortunate Sailors in 524
Australia, The Quadrupeds of . 208
! Australian Digger's Diary . . 125
' Australian Dgger's Wedding . 511
Australian Lite, a Fragment of . 105
Austria, The Emperor Joseph the
Second of, in England . . . 160
Autobiography of a Shepherd . 309
; Auzoux's Anatomical Models . 855
Aztecs, The 573

BALLOON Ascents .... 486
Bankrupt Registry Office, The . 391
Bat, The 568

Communications from Spirits . 218
Convent of Trappists . . . 3SG
Coombe in Dublin . ... 617
Corinth . ...... 473
Count Dnrin's Model Man . . 356
Country News .... 426
Coram, Captain Thomas . . . 49
Corkscrew Company, The Patent . 446
Corporation Dreams . . . 512
Covent Garden Market . . . 505
Cranford, Stopped Payment at . 108
Cranford, Friends in need at . 220
Cranford, A happy Return to . 277
Crawley's Railway Signals . . 44

France, St. Nicholas's Day in . 331
French Arcades .... 376
French Audience . ... 349
French Games '. 538
Fresh Air in Finsbury . . . 107
t riends in Need at Cranford . 220
Frogs of the Aa . . . . 297
Funerals in Canvas Town . , 366

GABRIEL'S Marriage . . . 149, 1S1
Ganges, Aground up the . . 165
Ganges Inundation . . , . 53
Garden Games .... 538

Bavarian Poachers . " . . . 227
Bear, The 577
Beautiful Naples . . . , 302
Ben Close of Baggenham . . 370
Bengal, An Inundation in . . 53
Bethnal Gret-n, The House Tops of 326
Black Lad, The . . . .206
Blackball 276
Blissford, The Deluge at . . 80
Boar Hunt, A 118

Croquenoix 250
Crusader, The last ... 13
Curwen, an American Refugee 1,157

DAY after Battle Fair, A . . 469
Deluge at Blissford ... 80
Diets of Gold and Silver . . . 17
Diffusion of Knowledge among
Cattle ^85

Gentleman Cadet . . . .121
Gentlemen in History . . . 394
German Account of the English . 402
(ilnss Head Manufactory . . 353
Glass Bottle. Manufactory . . 177
Gold and Silver, Assay of . .17
Gold Fields, Lost and Found in 84
Golden Coppersmith, A . . 419
Gone Astray 553
Good Lac . . 463

Board of Health, Opponents to . 266
Books for the Blind . . . 421
Bookstalls 289
Boots and Shoes .... 77
Borderland between France and

Digger's Diary . . . .123
Digger's Wedding, A ... 511
Digging Sailors . . . 425
Diago, The 213

Gore House 589
Gravelines 296
Great Do, The C7 j
Green's Ship Yard . . .276

Flanders .... 358

Borrowed Book, The . . . 317
Bottle-glass Manufactory . . . 177
Bowl of Punch . . . .346
Brother Bruin . . . . 577
Bucharest, The Legend of . . 503
Bull's (Mr.) Haunted House . 481
Bunyup, The 214
Bniliugton Arcade .... 376
Burton-on-Trent Pale Ale Brewery 490
Bushmen, The 337

CADET, The Gentleman . . . 121
Camp at Chobham, The . . 542
Cannibals, Six Years among . . 134
Canter with Polychronopulos . 472
Canvas Town 361
Capri, The Island of . . 448

Dispute of Foliy and Love, by
Louise Labe 215
Doct >r Josiali Tucker . . . liil
Dolls 3.V.2
Domestic Pets .... 218
Dormice 250
Down Whitechapel, Far Away . 569
Drawing-room Day Seventy-eight
Years ago ..... 1
Dreamland . . . . . 102
Dublin Quavs . . . 5^-'
Duel in Carlsruhe, A . . . 439
Dimkerque, S?. Martin's Day at . 331
Dunkerque Tovex .... 357

EAST India Company, The . . 516

HAPPY Return to Cranford, A . 277
Haunted House, A . . . . 481
Heath's Patent . . . .230
Hermit Island S8
Hill on Crime . . . .241
Hogarth's House . , . . 65
Holiday Times . . . .329
Home for Homeless Women . . 169
Honourable John .... 51S
Horse, The 611
House Tops . ' . . ' . .324
How to Kill Labourers . . . 97
11. W 145

I GIVE and Bequeath ... 22
Idiots 313

Carlsruhe, A Riot in ... 437
Cartwright, the Inventor of the
Power Loom .... 440
Cat's Mount 3S5

Echidna, The 212
English Maimprs, by a German 402
English Milords . . . .270
Equine Analogies . . . . 611

Impossibilities, The Kingdom of 102
In ar.d out of Jail . .. . 241
In Presence of the Sword . . 492
India Pale Ala 490

CONTENTS.

India, The Government of . .

616

On. of Colza .

FASK

115

Ships Vnseaworthy . . . .

P 2H6

India Rubber ....

Old Uaih-y Criminal Court, The .

498

SIMM-making ....

India, Starting a Paper in . .

Opossums . . . . . .

211

Shops

405

Indian Courts of Justice . 397,

4:i5

Our Last Paroebiul War

866

Sick Grapes .....

608

Indian Janissaries

375

Our Voluntary Correspondents .

145

Silken Chemistry . . .

129

Inn, A Bed at tin . . . .

550

Over the Water .

4s:-!

Sir John Barleycorn at Home .

48S

Inundation in Bengal . ,

Oysters

849

Si! 1 Joshua Reynolds' s House

Inventions, A Century of . .

367

Six Years among Cannibals . .

134

Irish Stew, An ....

617

Snakes Magical and Mythologi-

Isle of Dogs . . . .

273

PARIS, The Theatres of

350

Park House Asylum for Idiots

816

Something Divine

557

Patent Corkscrew Company, A .

446

Something to Drink . . .

430

JOSEPH Train

475

Patent Wrongs

229

Spirit Business, The

217

Justice for Natives

397

Perfidious Patmos

Starting a Paper in India . .

Perry's bankrupt Registry Office

891

Steam-boat, Tim First .

444

KANGAROOS . .

209
533

Peru, Travelling in

202
54

Stopped Payment at Cranford . .

108
OS.-T

Kingdom of Impossibilities

102

Platypus, The .

212

A\>t

Kitchen Gardening . . . .

410

Poacher of Baggenham, The . .

370

Knowledge among Cattle .

285

Poachers of Bavaria . . .

227

TEX Years Old ....

245-

Police. Public-house . . . .

430

Tents, A Town of, in Australia .

3(53

Poor Jack, The Life of .

286

Teonge's Love of Punch

348

Poplar . . . . . .

274

Thatched Roofs

307

La (lalite, the Islanti of

Poses Plastiques .

Theatres of Pans ....

860

Labourers, How to Kill Them

Powder Dick and bis Train . .

235

Theatrical French Audiences

850

Lac Factory, A ....

464

Power Loom, The .

440

Tower of Dunkerqne

357

Last Crusader, The . . . .

Pieserved Meat . . . .

356

Train and Sir Walter Scott . .

475

Last Emotion, A . . . .

498

Printing H. W

147

Trial by Battle, A ...

468

Launai, Mademoiselle de . . .

513

Private Bridoon . . . .

541

Tunny Fishing . . . .

609

Law of Settlement

Provisionally Registered

445

Twenty Guinea Diplomas .

881

Leaves from Lima . . . .

202

Public-house, The Legal . . .

253

Two Old Saints ....

Legal Houses of Call .

858

Publications on Spirit Manifesta-

Legend of Bucharest, The . .

503

tions

217

Leicester House ....

Puff of Smoke .

234

UNDERGROUND Habitations, .

359

Leicester Square . . . .

Pull at the Pagoda Tree . . .

433

Length of the Quays .

582

Punch, A Bowl of .

346

Licensed to Juggle . . . .

593

VAUOAVSOX'S Duck . . . .

355

Life of Poor Jack ....

286

Vine Malady, The

60S

Lilliput in London . . . .

573

QITAILS

448

Voluntary Correspondents . .

lio

Limehouse Hole ....

274

Quicksilver

615

Literary Lady's Maid, A . .

513

Lit tie Bits

586

WALK through a Mountain .

Lodgings at Melbourne . . .

301

RAILWAY Signals, Mr. Crawley's .

Want Places

601

London Patmos, The

Hats

567

Waterside Publichonse, The

235

Lost and Found at the Diggings .

Receipt of Fern-Seed .

138

West India Docks, The

274

Lost in London ....

553

Received, A Blank Child . .

What Mushrooms Cost . . .

594

Louise Labe

214

Reconciled Impossibilities .

102

Whip and Spur ....

545

Lounging -through Kensington .

533

Red-hot Bubble Blowii.g . .

175

Whispering Tree . . . .

Lowther Arcade . . . .

378

Reference to Character, A .

390

Whitebait. Fishing

275

Reform, Lamenters of . .

530

Whitechapel, in Liverpool . .

570

Refugees in London . .

Why Shave? . . . .

560

MA Sceur

River Aa, the ... .

293

Wilkes, Alderman . ...

537

Macintosh Cloaks . . . .

Hiver of Yesterday, The

450

Wombat Bear of Australia, The .

aoa

Magazines of Meat . .

356

Roger the Monk . . . .

305

Worcester, Inventions of the Mar-

339

257

S67

Malmot Cocquiel ....

466

Ropemaker's Wife, The . . .

214

Marie's Fever

518

Roving Englishman

Market Gardens ....

409

Monsieur le Cure' . . .

YARMOUTH Beachmen . . .

164

Marquis of Worcester's "Century

Ma Soeur, The Governess . .

Yeomanry Cavalry Week .

4'^S

of Inventions" . . . .

367

The Great Do .

Marquesas Natives

134

After the Boars . . .

118

Marseilles Route, The . . .

Beautiful Naples . .

302

ZEBRA Wolf, The ....

210

Meerschaum Pipes

234

Diplomacy . . . .

373

Zulu Kaffirs, The ....

33S

Merchant Ships . . . .

287

Pol y chronopulos

472

Midsummer Night's Lodging

548

Royal Military Academy . .

122

Military Academy

122

Russian Heroism, .

420

POETRY.

Milord Anglais . . . .

270

Mind of Brutes ....

564

Asn he took a Child

229

Mississippi Exploring Expedition

451

SAILOR-FISHERS, A Colony of

358

Ballad of the Gold Digger .

Mole The

565

Sailors at the Diggings . . .

425

Poy Mahomet, The . . . .

492

Monsieur le Curd . . . .

Saint Crispin . . . .

Choosing a Field-flower

884

Monks of La Trappe .

387

Saint Louis, The Last Crusader .

Dirge . . . . . .

157

Monk, Roger of Wendover . .

305

Saint Martin's Day at Uunkerque

881

Eleusinia

349

Mont des Cats ....

3S5

Saint Nicholas's Day in France .

Express

398

Mont Casscl, The View from

359

Saint Kiquier .

Feast of Life .....

108

More Modern Munchausens . .

402

Saint Vorax's Singing Birds . .

454

Friend Sorrow

Mosaic Work ....

586

Saint Wulphy . . . .

Grains of Gold .

589

594

S-ilt Mines \ Descent into

1 1

SOI

Music Measure ....

297

Salt Miners in Austria

Hush

253

Musical Snuff Box, A . .

297

Sanitary Agitation in our Parish

265

Jane Markland . . . .

131

Myself and my Family . .

193

Savage Lile

337

Lighten the Boat ....

66$

Saville House .

Listening Angels . . . .

516

Sculptor, Story of a Female . .
Sea-Anemones .

557
250

Lover and Birds ....
School and Summer . . . .

372
421

302

Self-Acting Railway Signals

Secret of the Stream

181

Native Devil of Australia, The .

210

Sensitive Mother, The . . .

414

Settlers, The

277

Newspaper from the Country

426

Seventy-eight Years Ago . ]

, 157

Sir Graelent

609

Newspaper in India . . . .
Noble Savage, The

94
337

Shaving ......
Shepherd's Autobiography, A

560
309

Test of Time

Windlass Song, The .

205
469

Norfolk Gridiron, The . . .

163 Shepherd's Gas Works at Rome .

260 Wondrous Well, The . . .

445

"Familiar in their Mouths as HOUSEHOLD WORDS" S

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

A WEEKLY JOUENAL,
CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS.

SATURDAY, MARCH 5, 1853.

[PRICE 2d.

SEVENTY-EIGHT YEAES AGO.

As late as eight-and-twenty years since,
across the open road at the great western
entrance into London, between the triple
archway and screen of the Park and the tri-
umphal gateway of Constitution Hill, there
stretched a turnpike with double lodges. To
that turnpike, half a century earlier, I wish
the reader to accompany me. An unusual
number of people are collected (it is Thurs-
day, the 3rd of August, 1775) to see the king
and queen returning from the drawing-room.
It is not much of a show. Not even a gilt
coach figures in it, or a prancing horse, or a
company of lancers or dragoons. Only a stir
is perceived at the further end of the crowd,
two lines are formed, and through them come
two sedan chairs, each surmounted by a crown
and borne by two men in the royal liveries
majesty in the one exhibiting itself in very
light cloth with silver buttons ; and in the
other wearing lemon-coloured flowered silk
on a light creani-coloured ground. And so,
between the two lines, observing, smiling, and
bowing as they pass, George the Third and
Queen Charlotte move away and the sight
is over.

But even then, for one person in the crowd,
the scene appears not to lose all its interest.
He is a small, thin, precise-looking man, in a
dress of grave square cut, with a large bush
wig, very sharp features, long nose and chin,
a keen restless eye, a step as active and firm
as though it carried sixteen instead of sixty
winters, and a complexion certainly not
tanned by an English sun. But he speaks
English ; and, asking of one who stands near
what that noble red-brick house is that bears
the look of having sprung up quite recently
at the gate of Hyde Park, is told that it has
just been built by the Lord Chancellor
Apsley, on ground taken out of the park, and
given him for the purpose by the king.

The stranger had probably more interest in
the answer than he expected when he put the
question. Within that house, he could hardly
fail then to remember, there lived with Chan-
cellor Apsley his father Lord Bathurst, the
celebrated friend of Pope and Swift ; from
whose life, wanting now but nine years to
complete its cycle of a century, Burke had
drawn the happy illustration which he had

thrown out six months ago in the House of
Commons, in a speech already admired of all
men, but to the man now standing by Apsley
Gate more than commonly impressive. Hav-
ing to move certain resolutions for a basis of
conciliation with our American colonies in
the dispute at this time raging, the great
orator had pointed to Lord Bathurst's vene-
rable age, for proof that within the short
period of the life of man our commercial and
colonial prosperity had risen, and for warning
that the same brief space might suffice for its
not less rapid fall. Here was one, said Burke,
who had lived in days when America served
for little more than to amuse Dutch William's
subjects with stories of savage men and un-
couth manners ; who had survived to days
when as much as England had won through
the civilizing conquests and settlements of
seventeen hundred years, had been added to
her by that very America in the course of half a
century ; and who yet might be spared to see
these fruits of man's energy blasted by man's
folly, and all this glorious prosperity
withered and passed away. As merely a
burst of eloquence, this was a thing to be re-
membered ; but to the stranger of whom I
speak, it possessed a nearer, interest. For if
the resolutions with which it closed had not
been contemptuously rejected, the revolution
which had driven him here into exile might
not in his days have begun. If concession
to those American colonies of the right of
taxing themselves, of the right of trial in
places where offences were committed, and of
the privilege of juries in Admiralty courts,
had found more than seventy-eight supporters
in a house of three hundred and forty-eight
members, the peal of musketry which had
broken over Lexington might not have been
heard by that generation ; and Mr. Samuel
Curwen, prosperous merchant and Judge of
Admiralty at Salem in New England, would
not have found himself, a sudden fugitive
from home, standing before Apsley House
that August afternoon.

Two days after the Lexington affair he had
taken flight from the port of Boston. His
little native town of Salem was then in a
flame. Some weeks earlier he had been
pointed at and denounced for an ardent loyal-
ist ; but when the new militia bands had once
crossed arms with the king's troops, this feeling

VOt. VII,

154

HOUSEHOLD WORDS

[Conducted by

broke all bounds. Everywhere men who had
claimed the right to uphold opinions adverse
to those of the majority of their fellow citizens,
were driven forth with ignominy. We are
told to forgive our enemies, was the fierce cry
which rose on all sides, but we are not told to
forgive our friends. Mr. Cur wen thought he
might possibly escape unmolested in Phila-
delphia ; but on arriving there, in his pre-
cipitate flight from Boston, he found the
militia as eager to put shoulder to shoulder
in peaceful Pennsylvania, as he had left them
in puritan Massachusetts ; drums were beat-
ing, colours flying ; and he saw two companies
of armed quakers, commanded by Friend
Samuel Marshall, and Friend Thomas Miffin,
parading the streets of the drab-coated city.
So there was nothing left for this poor ex-
colonialJudge of Admiralty, but to put himself
on board a schooner bound for England, and
try to find with us the liberty of opinion
which America was then too bent on seizing
for herself to have time to concede to her off-
spring. He was at sea nearly two months ;
and long before he landed at Dover, in July,
the battle of Bunker's Hill had been fought,
and all hopes of peaceful accommodation
closed.

When Judge Curwen fled from the rebel-
lious colonies he was sixty years old, when he
went back to the triumphant young republic
he was sixty-nine ; and of the eventful years
which formed the interval all of them passed
in England, and all with the usual penalties
of exile, though some with more than its
usual enjoyments he left a curious record in
a diary which his surviving representatives
printed in New York a dozen years ago,* and
in which those past days with all their pains
and pleasures, their hopes and their mis-
givings, still live for us with a vivid and
singular reality. For the record was honest
and genuine, as in the main the diarist
himself was. He does not appear, indeed, to
have been of the heroic stuff of martyrs. If
the liberty of opinion he craved had been con-
ceded to him, it would probably have involved
nothing graver than the liberty to change his
opinion ; for he was clearly a man impressible
by events, and would probably have saved him-
self a very long voyage, and very great incon-
venience, if he could only have held his tongue
till after the first few blows were struck in the
war of his fellow- citizens for independence.
Not that he was a time-server far from that ;
his views within his line of sight were steady
and unwavering ; but in politics this line
stretched but a little way, . and took also a
subsequent not dishonourable bias from his
avowed liking for his native land. In
other respects he was a man of fair learning,
and more than average accomplishment ; not

* It wa^ printed in 1842 with the title of Journal and
Letters of the late Samuel Curwcn , Judge of Admiralty, <&c.:
an American refugee in England; under the Editorship of
Mr. George Atkinson Ward, ' Mefnber of the New York
Historical Society, and Honorary Member of the Massa-
chusetts Historical Society."

at all intolerant of opinions at issue with his
own ; in religion a dissenter of the class still
most prevalent in New England, in his tastes
scholarly and refined, . not ill-read in general
literature, prone to social enjoyments, a
reasonably good critic of what he saw, alto-
gether an excellent example of the class ot
men out of whom the Fathers and Founders
of that great republic sprang ; and a com-
panion not less pleasant than instructive to
pass a few hours with, as I hope the reader
will find.

If he also finds, as he moves in such com-
pany through some memorable scenes long
past, that on all sides views are entertained
of the probable results of this quarrel between
Great Britain and her Colonies, which at
the present day appear almost too monstrous
for belief, he will not be less kindly disposed
to the elderly New Englander who felt that
he could only resolve by headlong flight the
many awful doubts that were besetting him of
what must follow a contest so unnatural. With
its only practicable issue, Separation, staring
every one in the face at the period his diary
begins no one is bold enough to confront it.
The idea is not more abhorrent to Lords North
and George Germaine than it is to Chatham
and to Burke. It will appear not less to the
credit of Mr. Curwen's sagacity than of his
humanity that he constantly urged concilia-
tion, because he held steadily to the belief
that America never would be conquered by
arms ; but not for an instant, till the very
last, did he doubt that the downfall of both
countries would follow fasten the heels of what
was called " Independence." And all around
him, whether favourable or not to the claims
of the insurgent colonists, are not less firmly
of that opinion. It was not till Mr. Curwen
had been living more than two years in
England, that (on the night of the 3rd
September, 1777) he met one man at
Bristol who held quite different views. This
eccentric person will appear in our second
chapter.

But whatever errors in political science
might be prevalent did the great mass of
the people even on this side the Atlantic,
though much ill-blood had been violently
stirred, desire other than a speedy and
amicable close to this breaking out of
quarrel ? Mr. Curwen tells us, no. The
experience of his first two months in London
sufficed to prove to him that though the
upper ranks, most of the capital stockholders,
and the principal nobility, were for forcing at
all hazards supremacy of Parliament over the
insurgent colonies, yet from the middle ranks
downward the people were decidedly opposed
to it. He went into all kinds of coffee-houses
(a better index of public opinion in those days
than the club-houses since have been), and
though he found the resistance of America
the standing topic of dispute, and the
dispute " something warm," yet it was always
" without abuse or ill-nature." Indeed in one

Charles Dickens.]

SEVENTY-EIGHT YEAES AGO.

of the very first letters he had to write out
after his arrival, when he had not been five
weeks in London, he mentions the surprise
with which he had found " a tenderness in the
minds of many here for America, even of those
who disapprove of the principles of an entire
independence of the British legislature, and
ardently wish an effort may be made to
accommodate." He went hardly anywhere into
English middle class society that he did not,
at the outset of this wretched quarrel, find a
manly tolerance expressed for that of which
he confesses he had himself in America been
very far from equally tolerant. There was one
house indeed, where with the noblest echo of
this better feeling, he might also have heard
a noisier and more violent majority eager to
welcome extremities from which the bulk of
the nation recoiled ; but he could not find his
way into it. In the fourth month after his
arrival, Burke w;is upholding with unabated
and unrivalled eloquence another motion in
that house " to compose the present troubles
and quiet the minds of His Majesty's subjects
in America," but Mr. Curwen in vain exerted
himself to obtain admission. After another
month, Lord North in a very different spirit
was urging there, amid Hear hims ! of greater
triumph and with a success of numbers more
potent than Burke's reasoning or wit, his bill
for absolutely prohibiting all future commer-
cial intercourse with America ; and still Mr.
Curwen knocked at the gallery door in vain.
He remonstrated at last ; he spoke to Mr.
George Hayley, M. P., whom he met in the
Strand ; and Mr. Hayley, an active and
bustling City member in those days, now
faded out of human memory, could only
assure the respected ex-judge that really all
strangers for the present time must be
excluded, for the attendances were great, the
floor of the House too small, and positively
the members themselves could not get on
without the gallery.

But if he must wait (it is only for a time)
the unbarring of those inhospitable doors,
many more genial ones have been meanwhile,
and still are, opening to him. Let us go back
a little, and retrace what amusements or
occupations they were that relieved the first
months of his exile. For this agitated time
offered no exception to the law which prevails
at every other, and which, in presence of the
most trivial interests that can engage the
individual attention, seems to dwarf the
mightiest that affect the welfare of the world.
It is of course not really so, as a very little re-
flection teaches us. We perceive it to be the
result of one of the wisest of providential ar-
rangements, that when we penetrate beneath
the surface of the most wide-spread cala-
mities that absorb the attention of history, we
should find the ordinary currents of human
life moving on with little suffering or distur-
bance ; and we can afford to leave entirely
to the use of jaded men of fashion such
regrets as Horace Walpole was at this par-

ticular hour indulging, that so little grief
should be felt by the public for the public
misfortunes, and that theatres, operas, par-
ties, dinings, merry-makings, fashionable
preachings, and Sunday evening prome-
nadings, should still be in progress just as
usual, though armies were surrendering,
fleets showing the white feather, and an
incapable ministry despoiling the Crown of
what Horace protests is "its brightest jewel"
the Colonies of North America !

Judge Curwen has only been one day in
London when he is to be discovered strolling
about Westminster Hall, remarking it as
something odd that the Master of the .Rolls
(then Sir Thomas Sewell) should be sitting
in court with his hat on ; finding the noise
" much greater than would be allowed in our
American courts ; " thinking it unbecoming
the dignity of a judge that, in place of
peremptorily checking the noise and con-
fusion, Mr. Justice Nares should actually
submit to rise out of his seat, step forward,
and lean down to hear ; and giving other inti-
mations of an old-world formality and love of
grave precision which a modern visitor from
the New World would hardly be expected to
display. He saw, of course, on this and on
other occasions the Chief Justice, and thought
his manner very like " the late Judge Dudley
of Massachusetts ; " all but those peering
eyes of his, which denoted a penetration and
comprehension peculiarly his own. After
that hard look at Mansfield, the man whose
eloquence was ever loudest against his
countrymen, and whose politics, admired in his
Tory days in America, now appear to him far
less palatable in these days of exile (an " ex-
cellent judge and mischievous politician " is
the character he gives of him) he is most
anxious to get sight of Wedderburn, who
only last year had flung in Benjamin Franklin's
face the grossest insult that language could
frame ; and in Mansfield's court he discovers
the indiscreet and fiery little Serjeant, but not
saying anything that was worthy of re-
membrance. In the Common Pleas he sees
Blackstone, already famous across the Atlantic
as the author of the Commentaries ; and,
before leaving Westminster Hall, he enter-
tains himself in the committee chamber of
the House of Commons at the examination
of the witnesses in the case of the Worcester
election, observing the M.P.s sitting on an
elevated bench looking like a court of ses-
sions, and noting that the examination is
carried on by advocates " with regularity and
decency."

From the law courts to the theatres is no
violent step, reflecting as they do in pretty
equal proportions the passions and humours
of life, alike dealing largely in fictitious
pathos and purchased buffoonery, and differ-
ing mainly in the fact that the law court beats
the theatre in the reality of the catastrophes
witnessed or inflicted in it. Mr. Curwen
being a man of some taste, of course his first

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

attempt was to see Garrick ; and on a night
when he was acting Hamlet, he forced his way
into Drury Lane. He found him in all respects
greatly above the standard of the performers
who surrounded him, yet thought him even
more perfect in the expression of his face,
than in the accent and pronunciation of his
voice. But it is to be remembered that the
great actor, now in his sixtieth year, was
arrived at his last season, and after this was
to be seen no more ; a fact of which Mr.
Curwen had no very agreeable evidence in
attempting to get into Drury Lane a few
months later to see him play Archer in
Farquhar's delightful comedy, when, so
enormous was the crowd, that after " suffer-
ing thumps, squeezes, and almost suffocation
for two hours," he was obliged to "retire
without effecting it." He attempted it with
no better success a few weeks later, when the
dazzling performance of Richard, which had
first startled London five-and-thirty years
before, was given for the last time ; when
their Majesties both were present, the theatre
was again crammed to suffocation, and Mr.
Curwen again turned back a disappointed
man. He had to console himself as he might
with Mrs. Barry at Covent Garden, where he
saw and admired her fine person in Constance ;
where also he saw a lady play Macheath,
thinking it " a great impropriety, not to say
indecency " ; where he thought Quick a good
actor, too ; and discreetly singled out Moody
for praise before the merits of that performer
were publicly acknowledged. On the whole,
though, this particular time was but a dull
time for theatres, as the interval between the
sinking of a great star and the rising of any
other generally is ; and there seems no reason
to attribute to anything but the correctness
of his taste the formal complaint of our
American critic, that he has no wish to in-
dulge a cynical or surly disposition, yet cannot
help declaring that he finds great disappoint-
ment at the London theatrical performances.
The bulk of the actors fell below his idea of
just imitation. To his seeming they over-
acted, underacted, or contradicted nature ;
the nicest art of the stage, which is to mark
the lines of separation between humours or
passions bearing to each other only general
resemblances, appeared to be lost altogether ;
the hero was a bully, the gentleman a coxcomb,
the coxcomb a fool, the fine lady affected,
insipid, or pert ; and nothing but the lower
grades of character, the gamesters, chamber-
maids, or footmen, were represented to the
mark of what was true. As a reward to this
well-informed lover of the theatre, however,
for reaching London so late as the last season
of Garrick, it so befell that he did not quit
London till he had assisted at the first success
of Mrs. Siddons, and saw the stage as it
were re-awaken at the inspiration of her
genius.

Nor was he, meanwhile, without other
resources. He went to Vauxhall Gardens,

a " most enchanting spot " in those days, with
glorious gravelled walks, shrubberies, illu-
minated alcoves, and everywhere such myriads
of variegated lamps, that the lord of Straw-
berry Hill was wont to protest he should never
again care a button for trees that hadn't red
or green lamps to light themselves up with. He
took boat at Temple Stairs and went to
Ranelagh, where he found infinite numbers of
well dressed people, and rubbed up against
the Duke of Gloucester and the French
Ambassador. At an exhibition, silly enough
in itself, called Les Ombres Chinoises, a badly
arranged puppet-show, he saw, among several
well dressed people of fashion, an elderly
gentleman with a star on his coat, who was
pointed out to him as Lord Temple and
" supposed author of Junius" a notion which
seems strangely to have slept from that hour
till an examination of the Stowe papers re-
awakened it not many months ago. He went
to the Royal Academy Exhibition in Pall
Mall (it was its last year there), and was yet
more struck by it in the year next following
its first in Somerset House. In a very
full house at the Haymarket he heard the
humorous George Alexander Stevens's Lec-
ture on Heads ; and saw subsequently (of
course) an imitation and attempted improve-
ment of the same, where the heads shone forth
in transparency, Captain Cooke's calling forth
elaborate eulogium, and Lawrence Sterne's
the accompaniment of a pathetic apostrophe ;
the exhibitor passing afterwards to very
surprising tricks with cards, and winding up
the whole with marvellous imitations of the
thrush, blackbird, skylark, nightingale, wood-
lark, and quail. But songs more wondrous
than these, the good new Englander heard on
another occasion at Covent Garden Theatre,
where, in honour of Handel (the musical
saint of England, he exclaims, whose per-
formances are as much read and studied
as Romish manuals of devotion by their
admirers), a performance of the oratorio of
Messiah was given, with an effect he can
only describe by heaping epithet on epithet, as
noble, grand, full, sonorous, awfully majestic.
" The whole assembly as one, rising," con-
tinues the earnest old man, "added a solemnity
which swelled and filled my soul with an
I know not what, that exalted it beyond
itself, bringing to my raised imagination a,
full view of that sacred assembly of blessed
spirits which surround the throne of God."

Such was the character of the amusements
that our great-grandfathers and great-grand-
mothers patronised, and incident to which,
not seldom, other sights more grave were
intruded. Thus, when our American holiday
maker was crossing Clerkenwell Green one
day in the hope of passing a pleasant evening
in company with a fellow-refugee from New
England, " Mr. Copley the limner" and his
family (among whom played a sprightly child
of two years old, who was destined to become
Lord High Chancellor of England), he was

Charlei Dickenn.

SEVENTY-EIGHT YEAES AGO.

startled by the sight of five couple of boys
chained together, going under care of tipstaves
to Bridewell an exhibition, we grieve to say,
which remained common and familiar in the
same quarter for more than half a century
afterwards. On another occasion, in that
same neighbourhood, he was led by an awful
curiosity, having heard that it was "no-
torious for its constant supply of Tyburn,"
into a court called Blueberry Alley, which
he found to be, precisely what to our disgrace
such courts remain at the present hour, " filled
with small huttish kind of houses, the habita-
tions of filth and vice." Having occasion to
cross Hounslow Heath, his attention is arrested
by "three monuments of human folly and divine
justice " as many gibbets with the remains
of so many wretches, hanging in chains. At
Tyburn itself, he sees thirteen executed in one
day ; in connection with which he has to note
the melancholy consideration that robberies
are nevertheless greatly increasing, as indeed
is thieving of all kinds in the metropolis. Not
long after, he beheld a similar exhibition of
ten suffering in one day on the same scaffold.
Quietly walking up Holborn on another day,
shortly after having seen two pickpockets
publicly whipped at the Old Bailey (when
the assembled mob expressed much dissatis-
faction with the very moderate lashing in-
flicted on the oldest offender, and loudly
swore " he had bought off Jack Ketch "), he
found a throng of ordinary people crowding
round a chaise filled with young children of
about seven years of age, and, inquiring what
it meant, learnt to his horror that so many
infants, " capable of being trained to useful
employments, and becoming blessings to so-
ciety," were already known for hardened
young sinners, and at that instant were on
their way to Newgate. "What was his amaze-
ment, too, to find a clergyman of the Church
of England suddenly carried off to Poultry
Compter on a charge of forgery, his real
name Dodd, but better known by the
name of the Maccaroni Doctor ; and to
remember that this was the same reverend
divine whom, not many months before, he
liad heard at the Magdalen preaching from
the text These things 1 command you, that ye
love one another "a most elegant, sensible,
serious, and pathetic discourse, enough to
have warmed a heart not callous to the im-
pressions of pity," and which did indeed warm
his, until his eyes " flowed with tears of com-
passion."

The tears of compassion due to Doctor
Dodd in the pulpit, however, were certainly
not due to him in his more proper place, the
prison ; and Mr. Curwen's feeling, when he
heard what his previous career had been, took
the very different and more natural direction
of surprise that such a man should have been
permitted to mount the pulpit at all. But
without dwelling upon this, or seeking to
account for the mdifferentism which at
that time had crept into the Church, and

which the vigorous preachings of Wesley
and Whitfield were rapidly driving out ot
it, let us accompany our New England
visitor to one of those fashionable Sunday
promenades at which it was then no unusual
or indecorous thing to find yourself, in the
evening, crowding and pushing past the
parson under whose pulpit, in the morning,
you had been sitting with reverent attention,
and of which the Doctor of Divinity so
unexpectedly committed to the Poultry was
a noted and constant visitor.

The Sunday evening promenade, says Mr.
Curwen (and the remark may be not unworthy
of attention with such a question as the Sunday
admission to the Sydenham Palace still unde-
termined), had been invented because less ob-
jectionable places of amusement were closed
by enactment. In lieu of such, the promenade
had been instituted " to compensate for twelve
tedious hours' interval laid under an interdict
by the laws of the country, as yet unrepealed
formally by the legislature, though effectually
so in the houses of the great and wealthy,
from whence religion and charity are but
too generally banished." It was held at the
house (now D'Almaine's) in Soho Square,
which the Lords Carlisle occupied to within
twenty years of this date, which Mrs. Cornelys
had afterwards hired for her celebrated balls
and masquerades, and which on that inge-
nious but unsuccessful lady's retreat from it,
to vend asses' milk at Knightsbridge was
fitted up with rooms d, la Chinois, with varie-
gated lamp-lit galleries, with grottoes of
natural evergreens, with wildernesses of
flowering moss and grass, with dimly-lighted
caves of spar and stalactite, with Egyptian
recesses mysterious in hieroglyphic panellings,
and with tea-rooms and tea-tables for accom-
modation of a thousand promenaders. The
employment of the company was simply
walking through the rooms, and drinking
(when they could get it) tea, or coffee, or choco-
late, or negus, or lemonade ; for which privi-
lege tickets were purchased at the doors costing
three shillings each. What such a place would
degenerate into, the reader can easily imagine.
" Though it is also resorted to by persons of
irreproachable character," says our grave and
elderly friend, "among the wheat will be
tares ; the ladies were rigged out in gaudy
attire, and attended by bucks, bloods, and
macaronies." Full dress he found not requi-
site ; but respectable habiliments absolutely
so ; and on the night he attended, the spurs of
one promenader caught carelessly in a lady's
flounce, whereupon the booted individual was
obliged to apologise, and take them off. Yet
very difficult it must have been for anybody,
spurred or not, to keep clear of the flounces,
seeing that the ladies appear to have come
uniformly in two divisions, of which the first
swept their track by long trails, and the other
by enormous hoops and petticoats. A good
thousand thronged the rooms on the night
when Mr. Curwen was there ; and such was

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

the jostling, interfering, and elbowing, that
for his own part, he tells us, being old and
small, he received more than a score of full
butt rencounters with dames in full sweep,
and had to admire the greater experience
with which the yet more ancient Duke of
Queensbery piloted his perilous way. Of the
accommodation in other respects, he also
enables us to judge. He made fifteen vain
attempts to get a dish of tea ; and when
served at last, it w;is in a slovenly manner,
on a dirty tea-stand. Of all the commoner
tea resorts he had already had experience ;
he knew Bagnigge Wells, White Conduit
House was not strange to him, nor was he
unfamiliar with the Dog and Duck; but
never, in the humblest of such places of
public resort, had he seen the company
treated with so little respect by servants, as
here. With Ranelagh, whose vacation it pre-
tended to supply, it was not in that respect
comparable ; Vauxhall was a thousand times
more agreeable ; and taking himself off at the
early hour of twelve, it was with no small
content Mr. Curwen found himself once more
safe in his own lodgings.

And now, week had crept on after week,
month after month, and he was in the second
year of his exile. The war that had driven
him here was raging more furiously than ever ;
his wife Abigail, who had refused to accom-
pany him on his flight, had been obliged to
pay ten pounds in Salem to find a man for
the American army in his stead ; George
Washington was proclaimed Lord Protector
of the thirteen independent States ; the hope,
which even Jefferson once entertained, that
England and her Colonies might have been
a free and a great people together, was for
ever gone ; and nothing remained for such as
held the ex-judge's moderate opinions but
to prepare for a lengthened exile. Exactly
twelve months were passed since he landed
at Dover, and here was a letter just come
from a friend at Salem " filled with American
fancies," Heaven help them ! Nothing was
dwelt upon in it but their power, strength,
grandeur, and prowess, by land and sea ; their
policy, patriotism, industry ; their progress in
the useful arts, and their fixed determination to
withstand the attacks of tyranny " etcetera,
etcetera, etcetera," adds Mr. Curwen, impa-
tient of his correspondent's extravagance.
For he feels, alas ! that too soon, to their
sorrow, these fanciful notions, like Ephraim's
goodness, will " vanish as the morning cloud
and early dew " into the land whither all such
fatal delusions sooner or later pass. But
meanwhile he may not shrink from the con-
clusion such letters put before him. He
must no longer hope to measure his residence
in England by the probabilities of weeks or
months, but by the sad certainty of years.

London, then, can be no place for his con-
tinued abode. It is too expensive for the
narrow means to which the necessities attend-
ant on his flight restrict him. He must visit

some of the leading country towns to ascer-
tain whether without the cost of London, yet
not wholly apart from the cultivated society
to which he has been accustomed, his mode of
life may be able to adapt itself to his altered
circumstances. And perhaps, at some early
I day, the reader will not object to accompany
1 him on this proposed ramble through the
leading towns of Old England, and mark how
little or how much they may still retain of
what their visitor from New England observed
in them Seventy-Eight Years Ago.

FISHER'S GHOST.

IN the colony of New South Wales, at <a
place called Penrith, distant from Sydney
about thirty-seven miles, lived a farmer named
Fisher. He had been, originally, transported,
but had become free by servitude. Unceasing
toil, and great steadiness of character, had ac-
quired for him a considerable property, for a
person in his station of life. His lands and
stock were not worth less than four thousand
pounds. He was unmarried, and was about
forty-five years old.

Suddenly Fisher disappeared ; and one of his
neighbours a man named Smith gave out
that he had gone to England, but would re-
turn in two or three years. Smith produced
a document, purporting to be executed
by Fisher ; and, according to this document,
Fisher had appointed Smith to act as his
agent during his absence. Fisher was a man
of very singular habits and eccentric character,
and his silence about his departure, instead
of creating surprise, was declared to be
" exactly like him."

About six months after Fisher's disappear-
ance, an old man called Ben Weir, who had a
small farm near Penrith, and who always drove
his own cart to market, was returning from
Sydney, one night, when he beheld, seated on a
rail which bounded the road Fisher. The
night was very dark, and the distance of the
fence from the middle of the road was, at
least, twelve yards. Weir, nevertheless, saw
Fisher's figure seated on the rail. He pulled
his old mare up, and called out, " Fisher, is
that you ? " No answer was returned ; but
there, still on the rail, sat the form of the man
with whom he had been on the most intimate
terms. Weir who was not drunk, though
he had taken several glasses of strong liquor
on the road jumped off his cart, and ap-
proached the rail. To his surprise, the form
vanished.

" Well," exclaimed old Weir, " this is very
curious, anyhow ; " and, breaking several
branches of a sapling so as to mark the exact
spot, he remounted his cart, put his old mare
into a jog-trot, and soon reached his home.

Ben was not likely to keep this vision a
secret from his old woman. All that he had
seen he faithfully related to her.

" Hold your nonsense, Ben ! " was old
Betty's reply. " You know you have been a

Charles Dickens.]

FISHEE'S GHOST.

drinking and disturbing of your imagination.
Ain't Fisher agone to England ? And if he
had a come back, do you think we shouldn't a
heard on it ? "

" Ay, Betty ! " said old Ben, " but he'd a
cruel gash in his forehead, and the blood was
all fresh like. Faith, it makes me shudder
to think on't. It were his ghost."

" How can you talk so foolish, Ben ? " said
the old woman. " You must be drunk sure-ly
to get "on about ghosteses."

" I tell thee I am not drunk," rejoined old
Ben, angrily. " There's been foul play, Betty ;
I'm sure on't. There sat Fisher on the rail
not more than a matter of two mile from
this. Egad, it were on his own fence that he
sat. There he was, in his shirt-sleeves, with
his arms a folded ; just as he used to sit when
he was a waiting for anybody coming up the
road. Bless you, Betty, I seed 'im till I was
as close as I am to thee ; when, all on a
sudden, he vanished, like smoke."

" Nonsense, Ben : don't talk of it," said old
Betty, " or the neighbours will only laugh at
you. Come to bed, and you'll forget all about
it before to-morrow morning."

Old Ben went to bed ; but he did not next
morning forget all about what he had seen on
the previous night : on the contrary, he was
more positive than before. However, at the
earnest, and often repeated request of the old
woman, he promised not to mention having
seen Fisher's ghost, for fear that it might
expose him to ridicule.

On the following Thursday night, when old
Ben was returning from market again in
his cart he saw, seated upon the same rail,
the identical apparition. He had purposely
' abstained from drinking that day, and was in
the full possession of all his senses. On this
occasion old Ben was too much alarmed to
stop. He urged the old mare on, and got home
as speedily as possible. As soon as he had
unharnessed and fed the mare, and taken his
purchases out of the cart, he entered his
cottage, lighted his pipe, sat over the fire
with his better half, and gave her an account
of how he had disposed of his produce, and
what he had brought back from Sydney in
return. After this he said to her, " Well,
Betty, I'm not drunk to-night, anyhow,
am I ? "

" No," said Betty. <: You are quite sober,
sensible like, to-night, Ben ; and therefore you
have come home without any ghost in your
head. Ghosts ! Don't believe there is such
things."

" Well, you are satisfied I am not drunk ;
but perfectly sober," said the old man.

" Yes, Ben," said Betty.

" Well, then," said Ben, " I tell thee what,
Betty. I saw Fisher to-night agin ! "

" Stuff ! " cried old Betty.

" You may say stuff" said the old farmer ;
a but I tell you what I saw him as plainly
as I did last Thursday night. Smith is a bad
'un ! Do you think Fisher would ever have

left this country without coming to bid you
and me good bye 1 "

" It's all fancy ! " said old Betty. Now
drink your grog and smoke your pipe, and
think no more about the ghost. I wont hear
on't."

" I'm as fond of my grog and my pipe as
most men," said old Ben ; "but I'm not going
to drink anything to-night. It may be all
fancy, as you call it, but I am now going to
tell Mr. Grafton all I saw, and what I think ;"
and with these words he got up, and left the
house.

Mr. Grafton was a gentleman who lived
about a mile from old Weir's farm. He had
been formerly a lieutenant in the navy, but
was now on half pay, and was a settler in the
new colony ; he was, men-cover, in the com-
mission of the peace.

When old Ben arrived at Mr. Grafton's
house, Mr. Grafton was about to retire to
bed ; but he requested old Ben might be
shown in. He desired the farmer to take
a seat by the fire, and then inquired what
was the latest news in Sydney.

" The news in Sydney, sir, is very small,"
said old Ben ; " wheat is falling, but maize
still keeps its price seven and sixpence a
bushel : but I want to tell you, sir, something
that will astonish you."

" What is it, Ben ? " asked Mr. Grafton.

" Why, sir," resumed old Ben, " you know I
am not a weak-minded man, nor a fool,
exactly ; for I was born and bred in York-
shire."

" No, Ben, I don't believe you to be weak-
minded, nor do I think you a fool," said Mr.
Grafton ; " but what can you have to say that
you come at this late hour, and that you
require such a preface 1 "

" That I have seen the ghost of Fisher, sir,"
said the old man ; and he detailed the par-
ticulars of which the reader is already in
possession.

Mr. Grafton was at first disposed to think
with old Betty, that Ben had seen Fisher's
Ghost through an extra glass or two of rum
on the first night ; and that on the second
night, when perfectly sober, he was unable to
divest himself of the idea previously enter-
tained. But after a little consideration the
words " How very singular ! " involuntarily
escaped him.

" Go home, Ben," said Mr. Grafton, " and
let me see you to-morrow at sunrise. We
will go together to the place where you say
you saw the ghost."

Mr. Grafton used to encourage the abori-
ginal natives of New South Wales (that race
which has been very aptly described ''the
last link in the human chain ") to remain
about his premises. At the head of a little
tribe then encamped on Mr. Grafton's estate,
was a sharp young man named Johnny Crook.
The peculiar faculty of the aboriginal natives
of New South Wales, of tracking the human
foot not only over grass but over the hardest

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

rock ; and of tracking the whereabouts of
runaways by signs imperceptible to civilized
eyes, is well known ; and this man, Johnny
Crook, was famous for his skill in this par-
ticular art of tracking. He had recently been
instrumental in the apprehension of several
desperate bushrangers whom he had tracked
over twenty-seven miles of rocky country and
fields, which they had crossed bare-footed, in
the hope of checking the black fellow in the
progress of his keen pursuit with the horse
police.

"When old Ben Weir made his appearance
in the morning at Mr. Grafton's house, the
black chief, Johnny Crook, was summoned
to attend. He came and brought with him
several of his subjects. The party set out,
old Weir showing the way. The leaves on
the branches of the saplings which he had
broken on the first night of seeing the
ghost were withered, and sufficiently pointed
out the exact rail on which the phantom was
represented to have sat. There were stains
upon the rail. Johnny Crook, who had then
no idea of what he was required for, pro-
nounced these stains to be "White man's
blood ; " and, after searching about for some
time, he pointed to a spot whereon he said a
human body had been laid.

In New South Wales long droughts are not
very uncommon ; and not a single shower of
rain had fallen for seven months previously
not sufficient even to lay the dust upon the
roads.

In consequence of the time that had elapsed,
Crook had no small difficulty to contend
with ; but in about two hours he suc-
ceeded in tracking the footsteps of one man
to the unfrequented side of a pond at some
distance. He gave it as his opinion that
another man had been dragged thither.
The savage walked round and round the
pond, eagerly examining its borders and the
sedges and weeds springing up around it.
At first he seemed baffled. No clue had
been washed ashore to show that any-
thing unusual had been sunk in the pond ;
but, having finished this examination, he laid
himself down on his face and looked keenly
along the surface of the smooth and stagnant
water. Presently he jumped up, uttered a
cry peculiar to the natives when gratified by
finding some long-sought object, clapped his
hands, and, pointing to the middle of the pond
to where the decomposition of some sunken
substance had produced a slimy coating
streaked with prismatic colours, he exclaimed,
" White man's fat ! " The pond was immedi-
I ately searched ; and, below the spot indicated,
the remains of a body were discovered. A
large stone and a rotted silk handkerchief
were found near the body ; these had been
used to sink it.

That it was the body of Fisher there could
be no question. It might have been identified
by the teeth ; but on the waistcoat there
were some large brass buttons which were 1

immediately recognised, both by Mr. Grafton
and by old Ben Weir, as Fisher's property.
He had worn those buttons on his waistcoat
for several years.

Leaving the body by the side of the pond,
and old Ben and the blacks to guard it, Mr.
Grafton cantered up to Fisher's house. Smith
was not only in possession of all the missing
man's property, but had removed to Fisher's
house. It was about a mile and a half
distant. They inquired for Mr. Smith. Mr.
Smith, who was at breakfast, came out, and
invited Mr. Grafton to alight ; Mr. Grafton
accepted the invitation, and after a few
desultory observations said, "Mr. Smith, I
am anxious to purchase a piece of land on the
other side of the road, belonging to this
estate, and I would give a fair price for it.
Have you the power to sell ? "

" Oh yes, sir," replied Smith. " The power
which I hold from Fisher is a general power ; "
and he forthwith produced a document pur-
porting to be signed by Fisher, but which
was not witnessed.

" If you are not very busy, I should like to
show you the piece of land I allude to," said
Mr. Grafton.

" Oh certainly, sir. I am quite at your
service," said Smith ; and he then ordered his
horse to be saddled.

It was necessary to pass the pond where
the remains of Fisher's body were then
exposed. When they came near to the spot,
Mr. Grafton, looking Smith full in the face,
said, " Mr. Smith, I wish to show you some-
thing. Look here ! " He pointed to the
decomposed body, and narrowly watching
Mr. Smith's countenance, remarked : "These
are the remains of Fisher. How do you
account for their being found in this pond ? "

Smith, with the greatest coolness, got off
his horse, minutely examined the remains,
and then admitted that there was no doubt
they were Fisher's. He confessed himself at
a loss to account for their discovery, unless it
could be (he said) that somebody had waylaid
him on the road when he left his home for
Sydney ; had murdered him for the gold and
bank-notes which he had about his person,
and had then thrown him into the pond.
"My hands, thank Heaven !" he concluded,
" are clean. If my old friend could come to
life again, he would tell you that / had no
hand in his horrible murder."

Mr. Grafton knew not what to think. He
was not a believer in ghosts. Could it be
possible, he began to ask himself, that old
Weir had committed this crime, and finding
it weigh heavily on his conscience, and fearing
that he might be detected had trumped up
the story about the ghost had pretended that
he was led to the spot by supernatural agency
and thus by bringing the murder volunta-
rily to light, hoped to stifle all suspicion 1 But
then he considered Weir's excellent charac-
ter, his kind disposition, and good-nature.
These at once put to flight his suspicion of

Charles Dickens.]

A WALK THEOtJGH A MOUNTAIN.

Weir ; but still he was by no means satisfied
of Smith's guilt, much as appearances were
against him.

Fisher's servants were examined, and stated
that their master had often talked of going
to England on a visit to his friends, and of
leaving Mr. Smith to manage his farm ; and
that though they were surprised when Mr.
Smith came, and said he had " gone at last,"
they did not think it at all unlikely that he
had done so. An inquest was held, and a
verdict of wilful murder found against Thomas
Smith. He was thereupon transmitted to
Sydney for trial, at the ensuing sessions, in
the supreme court. The case naturally excited
great interest in the colony ; and public opinion
respecting Smith's guilt was evenly balanced.

The day of trial came ; and the court was
crowded almost to suffocation. The Attorney-
General very truly remarked that there were
circumstances connected with the case which
were without any precedent in the annals of
jurisprudence. The only witnesses were old
Weir and Mr. Grafton. Smith, who defended
himsel f with great composure and ability, cross-
examined them at considerable length, and
with consummate skill. The prosecution
having closed, Smith addressed the jury,
(which consisted of military officers) in
his defence. He admitted that the circum-
stances were strong against him ; but he
most ingeniously proceeded to explain them.
The power of attorney, which he produced,
he contended had been regularly granted
by Fisher, and he called several witnesses,
who swore that they believed the signa-
ture to be that of the deceased. He, fur-
ther, produced a will, which had been drawn
up by Fisher's attorney, and by that will
Fisher had appointed Smith his sole executor,
in the event of his death. He declined, he
said, to throw any suspicion on Weir ; but
he would appeal to the common sense of the
jury whether the ghost story was entitled to
any credit ; and, if it were not, to ask them-
selves why it had been invented ? He alluded
to the fact which in cross-examination Mr.
Grafton swore to that when the remains
were first shown to him, he did not
conduct himself as a guilty man would
have been likely to do, although he was
horror-stricken on beholding the hideous
spectacle. He concluded by invoking the
Almighty to bear witness that he was in-
nocent of the diabolical crime for which he
had been arraigned. The judge (the late Sir
Francis Forbes) recapitulated the evidence.
It was no easy matter to deal with that part
of it which had reference to the apparition :
and if the charge of the judge had any leaning
one way or the other, it was decidedly in
favour of an acquittal. The jury retired ;
but, after deliberating for seven hours, they re-
turned to the court, with a verdict of Guilty.

The judge then sentenced the prisoner to be
hanged on the following Monday. It was on
a Thursday night that he was convicted. On

the Sunday, Smith expressed a wish to see a
clergyman. His wish was instantly attended
to, when he confessed that he, and he alone,
committed the murder ; and that it was upon
the very rail where Weir swore that he had
seen Fisher's ghost sitting, that he had
knocked out Fisher's brains with a tomahawk.
The power of attorney he likewise confessed
was a forgery, but declared that the will was
genuine.

This is very extraordinary, but is, never-
theless, true in substance, if not in every parti-
cular. Most persons who have visited Sydney
for any length of time will no doubt have had
it narrated to them.

A WALK THROUGH A MOUNTAIN 1 .

I TOOK a walk last year through the sub-
stance of a mountain, entering at the top, and
corning out at the bottom, after a two or three
mile journey underground. Perhaps the story
of this trip is worth narrating. The moun-
tain was part of an extensive property be-
longing to the Emperor of Austria, in his
character of salt merchant, and contained the
famous salt mine of Hallein.

The whole salt district of Upper Austria,
called the Salzkammergut, forms part of a
range of rocks that extends from Halle in the
Tyrol, passes through Reichenthal in Bavaria,
and continues by way of Hallein in Salzburg,
to end at Ausse in Styria. The Austrian part
of the range is now included in what is called
the district of Salzburg, and that district
abounds, as might be expected, in salt springs,
hot and cold, which form in fact the baths of
Gastein, Ischl, and some other places. The
names of Salzburg (Saltborough), the capital,
and of the Salzack (Saltbrook), on the left bank
of which that pleasant city stands, indicate
clearly enough the character of the surround-
ing country. Hallein is a small town eight
miles to the south east of Salzburg, and it
was to the mine of Hallein, as before said,
that I paid my visit.

On the way thither I passed through much
delightful rock and water scenery. From
Linz, the capital of Upper Austria, I got
through Wells and Laimbach to the river
Traun, and trudged afoot beside its winding
waters till I reached the point of its junction
with the Traunsee, or Lake of Traun. From
the village on the opposite shore, I followed
the same stream again upon its wanderings
by mountain steep, and wooded bank, along
the valley called after the river's name, until
I came to Gmunden, where the Traun flows
through another lake. At Gmunden I stopped
to look over the Imperial Salt Warehouses.
The Emperor of Austria, as most people
know, is the only dealer in salt and tobacco
with whom his subjects are allowed to trade.
His salt warehouses, therefore, must needs be
extensive. They are situated at Gmunden to
the left of the landing-place, from which a
little steamer plies across the lake ; and they

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

are so built as to afford every facility for the
unloading of boats that bring salt barrels
from the mine by the highway of the Trauii.
The warehouses consisted simply of a large
number of sheds piled with the salt in barrels,
a- few offices, and a low but spacious haK,
filled, in a confused way, with dusty models.
There were models of river-boats and salt
moulds, mining tools, and tram ways, hy-
draulic models of all kinds, miniature furnaces,
wooden troughs, and seething pans. I looked
through these until the bell from the adjacent
pier warned me, at five o'clock in the evening,
to go on board the steamer that was quite
ready to puff and splash its way across the
beautiful green lake. We went under the
shadow of the black and lofty Traunstein, and
among pine-covered rocks, of which the reflec-
tions were mingled in the water with a ruddy
glow, that streamed across a low shore from
some fires towards which we were steering.

The glow proceeded from the fires of the
Imperial Saltern, erected at Ebensee. I paid
a short visit to the works, which have been
erected at great cost ; and display all the most
recent improvements in the art of getting the
best marketable, salt from saline water. I
found that the water, heavily impregnated, is
conducted from the distant mines by wooden
troughs into the drying pan. The pan is a
large shallow vessel of metal, supported by
small piles of brick, and a low brick wall
about three feet high, extending round two-
thirds of its circumference, and leaving one-
third, as the mouth of the furnace, open to
the air. Among the brick columns, and
within the wall, the fire flashed and curled
under the seething pan. Ascending next
into the house over the great pan, and looking
down upon the surface and its contents
through sliding doors upon the floor, I saw
the white salt crusting like a coat of snow
over the boiling water, and being raked as it
is formed by workmen stationed at each of
the trap doors in the floor above me. As the
water evaporated, the salt was stirred and
turned from rake to rake ; and finally, when
quite dry, raked into the neighbourhood of a
long-handled spade, with which one workman
was shovelling among the dried salt, and
filling a long row of wooden moulds, placed
ready to his hand. These moulds are sugar-
loaf shaped, and perforated at the bottom
like a sugar mould, in order that any remain-
ing moisture may drain out of them. The
moulds will be placed finally in a heated room
before the salt will be considered dry enough
for storeage as a manufactured article.

The brine that pours with an equable flow
into the seething pan at Ebeusee, is brought
by wooden troughs from the salt mine at
Hallein, a distance of thirty miles in a direct
line. It comes by way of mountains and
along a portion of the valley of the Traun,
through which I continued my journey the
same evening from Ebensee, until the dark-
ness compelled me to rest for the night at a

small inn on a hill side. The next day I went
through Ischl and Wolfgang, and spent three
hours of afternoon in climbing up the Scharf-
berg, which is more than a thousand feet
higher than Snowdon, to see the sunset and the
sunrise. There was sleeping accommodation
on the top : so there is on the top of Snowdon.
On the Scharfberg I had a hay-litter in a
wooden shed and ate goat's cheese and bread
and butter. I saw no sunset or sunrise, but
had a night of wind and rain, and came down
in the morning through white mist within a
rugged gully ploughed up by the rain, to get
a wholesome breakfast at St. Gilgen on the
lake. More I need not say about the journey
than that, on the fifth day after leaving
Ebensee, having rested a little in the very
beautiful city of Salzburg, I marched into the
town of Hallein, at the foot of the Diirrnberg,
the famous salt mountain, called Tumal by old
chroniclers, and known for a salt mountain
seven hundi-ed and thirty years ago.

After a night's rest in the town, I was astir
by five o'clock in the morning, and went for-
ward on my visit to the mines. In the case of
the Diirrnberg salt mine, as I have already
said, the miner enters at the top and comes out
at the bottom. My first business, therefore,
was to walk up the mountain, the approach
to which is by a long slope of about four
English miles.

I met few miners by the way, and
noticed in them few peculiarities of manners
or costume. The national dress about these
regions is a sort of cross between the Swiss
Alpine costume and a common peasant dress
of the lowlands. I saw indications of the
sugar-loafed hat ; jackets were worn almost
by all, with knee-breeches and coloured
leggings. The clothing was always neat and
sound, and the clothed bodies looked reason-
ably healthy, except that they had all re-
markably pale faces. The miners did not
seem bodily to suffer from their occupation.

As I approached the summit of the Diirrn-
berg, the dry brownish limestone showed its
bare front to the morning sun. I entered the
offices, partly contained in the rock, and
applied for admission into the dominion of the
gnomes. My arrival was quite in the nick of
time, for I had not to be kept waiting, as I
happened to complete the party of twelve,
without which the two guides do not start.
It was a Tower of London business ; and, as
at the Tower, the demand upon our purses
was not very heavy. One gulden-schein
about tenpeuce is the regulated fee. Our
full titles having been duly put down in the
register, each of us was furnished with a
miner's costume, and, so habited, off we set.

We started from a point that is called the
Obersteinberghauptstollen ; our guides only
having candles, one in advance, the other in
the rear.

We were sensible of a pleasant coldness in
the air when we had gone a little way into
the sloping tunnel. The tunnel was lofty,

A WALK THEOUGH A MOUNTAIN.

wide, and dry. Having walked downwards
on a gentle decline for a distance of nearly
three thousand feet through the half gloom
and among the echoes, we arrived at the
mouth of the first shaft, named Freudenberg.
The method of descent is called the " Eolle."
It is both simple and efficacious. Down the
steep slope of the shaft, and at an angle, in
this case, of forty-one and a half degrees, run
two smooth railways parallel with each other,
and each of about the thickness of a scaffold
pole ; they are twelve inches apart, and run
together down the shaft like two sides of a
thick ladder without the intervening rounds.
Following the directions and example of the
foremost guide, we sat astride one behind the
other on this wooden tramway, and slid very
comfortably to the bottom, regulating our
speed with our hands. The shaft itself was
only of the width necessary to allow room for
our passage. In this way we descended to
the next chamber in the mountain, at a depth
of a hundred and forty feet (perpendicular)
from the top of the long slide.

We then stood in a low-roofed chamber,
small enough to be lighted throughout by the
dusky glare of our two candles. The walls
and roof sparkled with brown and purple
colours, showing the unworked stratum of
rock-salt. We stood then at the head of the
Untersteinberghauptstulm, and after a glance
back at the narrow slit in the solid limestone
through which we had just descended, we
pursued our way along a narrow gallery of
irregular level for a further distance of six
hundred and sixty feet. A second shaft there
opened us a passage into the deeper regions
of the mine. With a boyish pleasure we all
seated ourselves again upon a " Rolle " this
time upon the Johann-Jacob-berg-rolle, which
is laid at an angle of forty- five and a half
degrees and away we slipped to the next
level, which is at the perpendicular depth of
another couple of hundred feet.

We alighted in another chamber where our
candles made the same half gloom, with their
ruddy glare into the darkness, where there
was the same sombre glittering upon the
walls and ceiling. We pursued our track
along a devious cutting, haunted' by confused
and giant shadows, suddenly passing black
cavernous sideways that startled us as we came
upon them, and I began to expect mummies,
for I thought myself for one minute within
an old Egyptian catacomb. After traversing
a further distance of two thousand seven
hundred feet we halted at the top of the third
slide, the Kouigs-rolle. That shot us fifty-
four feet deeper into the heart of the moun-
tain. We had become quite expert at our
exercise, and had left off considering, amid
all these descents and traverses, what might
be our real position in the bowels of the earth.
Perhaps we might get down to Aladdin's gar-
den ajid find trees loaded with emerald and
ruby fruits. It was quite possible, for there
was something very cabalistic, very strong of

enchantment in the word Kouhauserankehr-
schachtricht, the name given to the portion
of the mine which we were then descending.
Konhauser-return-shaft is, I think, however,
about the meaning of that compound word.

So far I had felt nothing like real cold,
although I had been promised a wintry
atmosphere. Possibly with a miner's dress
over my ordinary clothing, and with plenty
of exercise, there was enough to counteract
the effects of the chill air. But our eyes began
to ache at the uncertain light, and we all
straggled irregularly along the smooth cut
shaft level for another sixty feet, and so
reached the Konhauser-rolle, the fourth slide
we had encountered in our progress.

That cheered us up a little, as it shot us
down another one hundred and eight feet
perpendicular depth to the Soolererzeugungs-
werk-Konhauser surely a place nearer than
ever to the magic regions of Abracadabra.
If not Aladdin's garden, something wonderful
ought surely by this time to have been
reached. I was alive to any sight or sound,
and was excited by the earnest whispering of
my fellow adventurers, and the careful direc-
tions as to our progress given by the guides
and light-bearers.

With eager rapidity we flitted among the
black shadows of the cavern, till we reached
a winding flight of giant steps. We mounted
them with desperate excitement, and at the
summit halted, for we felt that there was
space before our faces, and had been told that
those stairs led to a mid-mountain lake, nine
hundred and sixty feet below the mountain's
top ; two hundred and forty feet above its
base. Presently, through the darkness, we
perceived at an apparently interminable dis-
tance a few dots of light, that shed no lustre,
and could help us in no way to pierce the
pitchy gloom of the great cavern. The lights
were not interminably distant, for they were
upon the other shore, and this gnome lake
is but a mere drop of water in the mountain
mass, its length being three hundred and
thirty, and its breadth one hundred and
sixty feet.

Our guides lighted more candles, and we
began to see their rays reflected from the
water ; we could hear too the dull splashing
of the boat, which we could not see, as old
Charon slowly ferried to our shore. More lights
were used ; they flashed and flickered from
the opposite ferry station, and we began to
have an indistinct sense of a spangled dome,
and of an undulating surface of thick, black
water, through which the coining boat loomed
darkly. More candles were lighted on both
sides of the Konhauser lake, a very Styx,
defying all the illuminating force of candles,
dead and dark in its dim cave, even the limits
of which all our lights did not serve to define.
The boat reached the place of embarcation,
and we, wandering ghosts, half walked and
were half carried into its broad clumsy hulk,
and took each his allotted seat in ghostly

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

silence. There was something really terrible
in it all ; in the slow funereal pace at which we
floated across the subterranean lake ; in the
dead quiet among us, only interrupted by the
slow plunge of the oar into the sickly waters.
In spite of all the lights that had been kindled
we were still in a thick vapour of darkness, and
could form but a dreamy notion of the beauty
and the grandeur of the crystal dome within
which we men from the upper earth were hid-
den from our fellows. The lights were flared
aloft as we crept sluggishly across the lake, and
now and then were flashed back from a hanging
stalactite, but that was all. The misty dark-
ness about us brought to the fancy at the
same time fearful images, and none of us were
sorry when we reached the other shore in
safety. There a rich glow of light awaited
us, and there we were told a famous tale
about the last Arch-ducal visit to these salt
mines, when some thousands of lighted tapers
glittered and flashed about him, and exhibited
the vaulted roof and spangled lake in all their
beauty. As we were not Archdukes, we had
our Hades lighted only by a pound of short
six teens.

We left the lake behind us, and then, tra-
versing a further distance of seventy feet
along the Wehrschachtricht, arrived at the
mouth of the Konhauser Stiege. Another
rapid descent of forty-five feet at an angle of
fifty degrees, and we then reached Rupert-
schachtricht, a long cavern of the extent of
five hundred and sixty feet, through which
we toiled with a growing sense of weariness.
We had now come to the top of the last and
longest " slide " in the whole Diirrnberg. It
is called the Wolfdietrichberg-rolle, and
is four hundred and sixty-eight feet long,
carrying us two hundred and forty feet lower
down into the mountain. We went down this
" slide " with the alacrity of school-boys, one
after another keeping the pot boiling, and all
regulating our movements with great cir-
cumspection, for we knew that we had far to
go and we could never see more than a few
yards before us.

Having gained the ground beneath in
safety, our attention was drawn to a fresh
water well or spring, sunk in this spot at great
cost by order of the Archduke, and blessed
among miners. Amid all the stone and salt
and brine, a gush of pure fresh water at our
feet was very welcome to us all. The well
was sunk, however, to get water that was
necessary for the mining operations. We did
not see any of those operations underground,
for they are not exhibited ; the show-trip
underground is only among the ventilating
shafts and galleries. Through the dark open-
ings by which we had passed, we should have
found our way (had we been permitted) to the
miners. I have seen them working in the
Tyrol, and their labours are extremely simple.
Some of the rock-salt is quarried in transparent
crystals, that undergo only the process of
crushing before thev are sent into the market

as an article of commerce. Very little of this
grain salt is seen in England, but on the con-
tinent it may be found in some of the first
hotels, and on the table of most families. It
is cheaper than the loaf salt, and is known in-
Germany under the title of salzkorn, and in
France, as selle de cuisine. In order to obtain
a finer grained and better salt, it is necessary
that the original salt-crystals should be dis-
solved, and for this purpose parallel galleries
are run into the rock, and there is dug in each of
them a dyke or cistern. These dykes are then
flushed with water, which is allowed to remain
in them undisturbed for the space of from
five to twelve months, according to the rich-
ness of the soil ; and, being then thoroughly
saturated with the salt that it has taken up,
the brine is drawn off through wooden pipes
from Hallein over hill and dale into the
evaporating pans.

We had traversed the last level, and had:
reached what is generally called the end of the
salt-mine ; but we were still a long way distant
from the pure air and the sunshine. We had
travelled through seven galleries of an aggre-
gate length of nearly two miles ; we had
floated across an earthy piece of water ; had
followed one another down six slides, and
had penetrated to the depth of twelve hun-
dred feet into the substance of the mountain
limestone, gypsum, and marl. Having done
all this, there we were in the very heart of
the Diirrnberg, left by our guides, and en-
trusted to the care of two lank lads with hag-
gard faces. We stood together in a spacious
cavern, poorly lighted by our candles ; there
was a line of tram-rail running through the
middle of it, and we soon saw the carriage that
was to take us out of the mountain emerging
from a dark nook in the distance. It was a
truck with seats upon it, economically ar-
ranged after the fashion of an Irish jaunting
car. The two lads were to be our horses, and
our way lay through a black hollow in one side-
of the cavern, into which the tram-rail ran.

We took our seats, instructed to sit per-
fectly still, and to restrain our legs and arms
from any straggling. There was no room to
spare in the shaft we were about to traverse.
Our car was run on to the tram-line, and the
two lads, with a sickly smile, and a broad
hint at their expected gratuity, began to pull,
and promised us a rapid journey. In another
minute, and we were whirring down an in-
cline with a rush and a rattle, through the-
subterranean passage tunnelled into solid
limestone which runs to the outer edge of
the Diirrnberg. The length of this tunnel is
considerably more than an English mile.

The reverberation and the want of light
were nothing, but we were disagreeably
sensible of a cloud of fine stone dust, and
knew well that we should come out not only
stone deaf, but as white as millers. Clinging
to our seats with a cowardly instinct, down
we went through, a hurricane of sound and
dust. At length we were sensible of a

Charles Dickens.]

THE LAST CRUSADER.

diminution in our speed, and the confusion o
noises so far ceased, that we could hear the
panting of our biped cattle. Then, straighl
before us, shining in the centre of the pitchy
darkness, there was a bright blue star sud-
denly apparent. One of the poor lads in
the whisper of exhaustion, and between hii
broken pantings for breath, told us that they
always know when they have got half way
by the blue star, for that is the daylight
shining in.

A little necessary rest, and we were off again,
the blue star before us growing gradually
paler, and expanding and still growing whiter,
till with an uncontrollable dash, and a con-
cussion, we are thrown within a few feet oi
the broad incomparable daylight. With how
much contempt of candles did I look up at
the noonday sun ! The two lads, streaming
with perspiration, who had dragged us down
the long incline, were made happy by the
payment we all gladly offered for their
services. Then, as we passed out of the mouth
of the shaft, by a rude chamber cut out of the
rock, we were induced to pause and purchase
from a family of miners who reside there a
little box of salt crystals, as a memento of our
visit. Truly we must have been among the
gnomes, for when I had reached the inn I
spread the brilliant crystals I had brought
home with me on my bedroom window sill,
and there they sparkled in the sun and
twinkled rainbows, changing and shifting
their bright colours as though there were a
living imp at work within. But when I got
up next morning and looked for my crystals,
in the place where each had stood, I found
only a little slop of brine. That fact may,
I have no doubt, be accounted for by the
philosophers ; but I prefer to think that it
was something wondrous strange, and that I
fared marvellously like people of whom I had
read in German tales, how they received gifts
from the good people who live in the bowels
of the earth, and what became of them. I
have had my experiences, and I do not choose
to be sure whether those tales are altogether
founded upon fancy.

FRIEND SORROW.

Do not cheat thy Heart and tell her,

Grief will pass away
" Hope for fairer times iu future,

And forget to-day."
Tell her, if you will, that sorrow

Need not coine iu vain ;
Tell her that the lesson taught her

Far outweighs the pain.

Cheat her not with the old comfort,

" Soon she will forget "
Bitter truth, alas, but matter

Bather for regret ;
Bid her not " Seek other pleasures,

Turn to other things :"
Bather nurse her cag^d sorrow

'Till the captive sings.

Ruther bid her go forth bravely,

And the stranger greet :
Not as foe, with shield and buckler,

But as dear Mends meet;
Bid her with a strong clasp hold her,

By her dusky wings ;
And she '11 whisper low and geutly

Blessings that she brings.

THE LAST CRUSADER.

RAFAKLLE, the Angel-limner ; Guido with
his heavenward turned visages ; the ghost
stalwart, grim, awful of Michael AngeloBuo-
narotti, pointing with a giant hand* from the
midst of the gemmed raiment and rich carna-
tions of Sebastiano del Piombo ; with these
the grand old white-bearded man Tiziano
Vecelli, so affectionatery called by his country-
men the Titian, with hues as gorgeous as his
own Venice. Such are my glorious company
in one of the shabby suite of shabby rooms
near Charing Cross, called (in a spirit of polite
irony, I presume,) the National Gallery.
Shabby, paltry, iu bad taste, miserably in-
efficient as these rooms may be for the pur-
poses they were intended to fulfil, while I
have these great masters of Art around me I
can forgive and forget the ugly hive that holds
so many sweets : the barn-like frontage, the
mustard-pot dome, and pepper-box cupolas.
I am not alone. The Grenadier Barracks
may be close behind me, with most unroman-
tic fifing and drumming in the yard thereof,
for ever calling discordant echoes from the
purlieus of Leicester Square ; with inartistical-
looking privates lolling out of monotonous
windows, with doors, jamb-studded by lance
corporals returning from the fatigue duty of
carrying home their better-halves basket of
newly mangled linen. The neighbouring sky
may be obscured by puffy steam issuing from
the work-a-day baths and wash-houses. There
may be little charity children, hard by, dron-
ing forth spelling - lessons in St. Martin's
Schools. Sallow paupers may be uncomfort-
ably stone-breaking, oakum-picking, bone-
crushing, handmill-grinding, all in direct
opposition to good taste and the advance-
ment of the Fine Arts, in the inner yards of
St. Martin's workhouse ; but I can condone
all their common-place delinquencies, and all
the short-comings of the locality, the entou~
rage, the population, Cockspur Street with its
iideous statue, St. Martin's Lane, the ginger-
Deer fountains, the post they have stuck
Nelson on. Here, in the one-pair front of the
National Gallery, I can walk with the peacocks
in the rainbow-marbled palace of Dido ; good
master Steenwyck my gentleman usher. I can
side under the trees with Pater ^Eneas in the

* It is matter of artistical tradition that the figures in
iebastiano del Piombo's great picture of the Raising of
azarus were drawn by Michael Angelo, who wished to pit
he Venetian painter against Rafaelle, and knowing the pro-
iciency of Sebastiano as a colourist and his weakness as a
Iraughtsman, designed his picture for him.

HOUSEHOLD WOEDS.

[Conducted by

storm. I can tremble when Lazarus rises, and
weep when the Angel lifts His auburn tresses
in pious Francia's canvass. I can fondle the
little lamb that Saint John is leading in the
desert, can wipe the moisture from the
swimming eyes of the Gevartiua of Vandyck,
can count the furrows in the forty per cent,
face of Rembrandt's Jewish Rabbi.

But not for these is my admiration, sir,
to-day. My frying-pan (to be vulgar) is for
other fish. I am spell-bound by the canvasses
of another painter, newly gone to his reward
taken too soon (though his years had come to
those that can be coxmted but as labour and
sorrow) from us and Art whose birth and
death were both of modern date ; but who is
surely as old a master as any of the Sampsons
of the brush as any strong Gyas or strong
Cloanthus of the easel and maulstick here
present. Proximate fib where Claude Lor-
raine is toying with the Queen of Sheba, stands
Joseph William Mallard Turner a-building of
Carthage with bricks of gold and silver and
jewels. And that builder against the French-
man for any stake you like to mention !

Few of us there be but have laughed, long
and loudly, at the monstrous splodges of
colour the marvellous man sent of late years
to the Royal Academy exhibitions, and bade
us, authoritatively, reverence as pictures.
What jokes we made ! what humorous cen-
sures we passed upon those eccentric perform-
ances ! Now that the Master is dead, the evil
that he did lies buried with him. For all his
faults, and eccentricities, and madnesses (if
you will) we will proudly and lovingly re-
member our Englishman as the greatest
landscape-painter the world ever saw. Such,
at least, be my remembrance of Joseph Turner,
the barber's son, who was the Milton of his
art who painted the "Shipwreck" and the
"Building of Carthage," who sleeps the great
sound sleep now in the Cathedral Church of
Saint Paul, but who lives, and holds his own
against all comers among the greatest of the
ancient masters in our Gallery.

And, filling mine eyes with the Building of
Carthage, the nascent palaces, and growing
terraces, and embryo fountains, I turn, in
thought, from Carthage built to Carthage
ruined. Musing upon the delended city,
slowly, sadly rise before me the shadows of
its greatness visions of its magnificence, its
decadence, its various fortunes and woes, its
headlong fall, its utter erasure and blotting
out from the roll of cities.

Stand, Pilgrim, on the summit of Byrsa, and
gaze upon the ruins of Carthage, for it hath
its ruins yet : yea, to this day, in spite of
railroads and submarine telegraphs and
tourists from Peekham Rye poking about the
Levant in the steam-boats of the Peninsular
and Oriental Steam Navigation Company.
The ruins of Carthage resemble those of
Sparta : meagre in data, too shattered to con-
firm, too dilapidated to elucidate, they yet
cover a considerable space. Gaze, Pilgrim

(shading thine eyes from the hot African sun,
though the year is yet no older than its
second month), fig-trees and olive-trees
spread forth their earliest leaves ; the
haughty angelica, the scrolled acanthus, form
tufts of verdure scattered among starred and
shapeless masses rocks almost of feverish
marble, that once were temples, palaces,
columns, amphitheatres. Far away in the dis-
tance gaze upon the Isthmus, upon the double
sea, upon the hazy islands, upon smiling plains,
blue lakes and delicately rose-and-purpled
mountains, upon fields, forests, ships, aque-
ducts, Moorish villages, Moslem hermitages,
minarets, and the white houses of Tunis the
whilom piratical. Silent as are these hot
plains (for the sun is high in the heaven, and
few Tunisians care to stir abroad in the day-
heat), legions of shadows of the men and
women who have lived their course of life in
Carthage flit solemnly across the landscape :
Dido, Sophronisba, and the noble spouse of
Asdrubal ; Hannibal and Marius ; the Roman
revenge, and the Carthaginian women weav-
ing their hair into bow-strings. These broad
Afric lands stand no need of sowing with
dragon's teeth for an army of recollections to
start up armed and appointed. Come the
mailed men the serried legions that fought
at Scipio's bidding. Comes the shadow of
Utica and of Gate's house. Alas ! that it
should be but a shadow. Caprrea yet can
show the ruins of the palace of Tiberius ; but
of Cato's dwelling there remains nor stock,
nor stone, nor vestige. Come the days of
the barbarians come rapine and slaughter,
and ruined houses and choked-up fountains
come the Vandals, the terrible Vandals ; and,
no less terrible though more polished, Beli-
sarius and his Byzantine hordes. Come the
cruel Moors with their Sultan, and where his
horse's hoof has touched the earth there grows
no more grass. Lastly comes, Pilgrim, raven-
ing for Saracen blood, hot upon their track,
Louis of France, called the Saint, the LAST
CRUSADER. An you would know how it
sped with him in his last crusade, and how
the Angel of Death struck him amid the
ruins of Carthage, you shall hear in this my

In God's year 1269, Louis the Twelfth of
France is no longer young. Cares of state
and private sorrows, fierce wars and pious
vigils, have combined, too, with years to en-
feeble his health and bow his erst stalwart
frame. He cannot sit his charger for any
length of time. His two-handed sword and
massive triangular shield are burdens to him.
His casque weighs heavily on his brow. Weari-
some are the strong shirt of mail, the massive

Ereaves, and cuissons, and jamb-plates. Saint
ouis grows old and weak. But his soul is
strong, and yearns as vigorously as ever (piety
prompting) for the redemption of the Holy
Land from the miscreant Paynims. His will
is, now, in the November of his life, to go
beyond sea once more, and do battle for

Charles Dickens.]

THE LAST CRUSADER.

the Cross. The great ones of the kingdom,
hatighty holders of ducal fiefs, mailed barons
and belted knights are summoned to Paris,
and the King paints to them, in colours as
vivid as he may, of the Christian woes in
Palestine of the perils of the Sepulchre and
of the Holy Places. And not only of the
dolours of Palestine, but of the Christians of
that Egypt and of that Alexandria of which
St. Cyril once was pastor. of that Africa in
whose burning deserts good Saint Jerome
awed the savage lions with the Word. And
he declares his fixed resolution to go, armed,
to succour his afflicted brethren in the East,
and to slaughter (parenthetically) those other
brethren of his who wear turbans and scimi-
tars. They are to be remorselessly extirpated
for the greater glory of Heaven. So
saying, he takes the cross from the hands
of the Pope's legate, and gives it to his two
sons.

The ducal fioffers, mailed barons, and
belted knights take the cross also in great
numbers, directly their lord the King has set
the example. Piety becomes fashionable.
Takes the cross a brother-king and king-
brother of Louis, to wit, Charles of Sicily.
Takes it furthermore Edward Longshanks,
Prince Royal of England, with as little
scruple as he will take Wales and Scotland
some of these days. Takes it Gaston of
Beam, and the Kings of Navarre and Aragon.
The fair dames of Europe, undaunted by the
grim reports of Paynim fevers and Paynim
swords, prepare to follow their lords. The
lady of Poitiers, the Countess of Brittanny,
Jolande of Burgundy, Jeanne of Toulouse,
Isabella of France, Amicia de Courtenay ;
youth and beauty of blood-royal these quit
the distaff which queens are not too proud to
handle in 1269 and follow their husbands
beyond the salt sea. Their white hands are
not satisfied with buckling on the armour, or
lacing the morions, or knotting the scarves of
their true knights. The taper fingers long
to be unbuckling the armour-straps after
victory albeit, perchance, there shall be
other work found, ere long, for the pretty
digits : unguents and bandages to be prepared
for the wounded ; orisons to be said, with
clasped hands, for the souls of the dying.

Saint Louis makes his will. To Agnes,
his youngest daughter, he leaves ten thousand
francs as her wedding portion. To his Queen
Margaret, he leaves four thousand francs.
Then he appoints two Regents to rule over
the kingdom during his absence : Mathew,
Abbot of St. Denis, and Simon, Sire of
Nesle. After which he will go take the
oriflamme.

Now the oriflamme, as you should know,
is a standard of silk, attached to the end of
a lance. Now its colours are " Samite ver-
million, cut to the guise of a pennon, with
three peaks, and having round it hoops of
green silk." In times of peace, over the
high altar in the abbey of Saint Denis,

sheltering the tombs of the Kings of France ;
in times of war it is oorne before them in the
front of the battle, where the King's place
should be. From the hands of Abbot Mathew
Louis receives the sacred standard. At the
same time they gird his loins with the
escarcelle (a girdle), and put into his hand the
bourdon (a stick), which are called the con-
solation and sign of journey. And the de-
livery of these is so ancient in the Frankish
monarchy, that it is patent that Charlemagne
sits on his throne in his tomb beneath the
dome of Aix-la-Chapelle, girt with the golden
girdle, and armed with the jewelled staff he
was wont to carry in Italy.

The morrow, after praying at the tombs of
the martyrs, and placing his kingdom beneath
the protection of the patron of France, he
proceeds in great state and ceremony, but
with bare feet (as also his two sons), from the
Palais de Justice to the church of Notre
Dame. The evening of the same day he
leaves for Vincennes, where he bids adieu to
his Queen Margaret, " gentle, good queen,
full of great simplicity," says Robert of
Sainceriaux ; afterwards he quits for ever the
old oaks of the forest of Vincennes, the
venerable witnesses of his justice and of his
virtue.

" Many and many a time," writes the good
Sire de Joinville, " have I seen the holy king-
man (saint homine roy) sitting at the foot of
an oak in the wood of Vincennes, and making
us all sit down over against him on the green
grass ; and all who had matters concerning
which they desired speech with him, were
suffered to address him without any sergeant
or usher offering them hindrance. Many
times, so, in the time that is gone, have I
seen the good king come to his garden that is
in Paris, vestured in a coat of camlet, a sur-
coat of tiretaine without sleeves, a mantle
above of black sandalette ; and there have
his carpet spread for us and for him to sit
round about among the flowers, and there did
despatch for his people, both high and low,
as he did in the bygone at Vincennes."

There is a gloomy, gothic, silent, fever-
stricken seaport down in the dusky South of
France, called Aigues-mortes ; and from here,
on the 1st July in God's year 1270, Saint
Louis sets sail he and his warriors, on his
last crusade. Three schemes had been mooted
in the King's councils : to disembark at Saint
Jean-d'Acre ; to attack Egypt ; or to make a
descent on Tunis ; there being Paynims to be
slaughtered, and Christian laurels to be won,
at each of these three points. Unhappily,
Saint Louis takes the last of the three courses,
for a reason you are to hear.

Tunis is now governed by a prince whom
Geoffrey of Boileau and William of Nangis
call Omar-el-Muley-Moztanca. The historians
of the period do not state why this prince
should have feigned a desire to embrace the
Christian creed ; but it is probable enough
that having heard of the strong crusading

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

armaments preparing in the ports of the
Mediterranean, he thought it worth while to
send ambassadors to the court of King Louis,
flattering the holy king with hopes of an
exemplary conversion, on his (Muley's) part
illusive and improbable. This he has done
on the King of France first taking up the
cross not knowing probably wYiere the
storm would fall. His deceit brings the
storm right upon his own head ; for King
Louis, being in doubt as to the sincerity or
hypocrisy of this Mussulman neophyte, re-
solves to unriddle the pious enigma with a
solution of glaives and hauberks, and steers
direct for Tunis to convert Muley, bon gr6 if
he can, mal gre if he cannot.

Perhaps a little political reason lurking
beneath this pious resolve : The Tunisians
have infested the seas for years ; their rovers
intercept the succours that are sent to the
Christian princes in Palestine ; they furnish
neighing steeds, bright weapons, and strong
soldiers to the Sultans of Egypt ; there are
the centre of the intrigues that Boudoc-Dari
keeps up with the Moors of Morocco and the
Moors of Spain. So that, besides his anxiety
for Holy Cross, Saint Louis may wish to clear
out a nest of pirates and brigands.

Saint Louis sails gallantly into the Bay of
Tunis at the end of July. About this time
a Moorish prince has undertaken the task of
rebuilding Carthage ; some new houses
already begin to show their heads among the
blocks of ruins, a freshly built castle crowns
the summit of the hill of Byrsa. The
Crusaders are struck by the beauty of the
country, covered as it is for miles with olive
trees. Omar el-Muley's conversion has already
vanished into air. To the Christian saluta-
tions of King Louis he responds by a savage
menace, that if one single Crusader lands,
every single Christian subject of his in Tunis
shall be momentarily massacred. But this
menace has no effect on Saint Louis and his
host. They land incontinent ; they encamp
in the Isthmus of Carthage, and the French
King's almoner takes possession of the country
of Hannibal, saying these words : " I say to
you the ban of our Lord and of Louis, King
of France, his sergeant." This same country
and spot has heard spoken Getulian, Syrian,
Vandal, Greek, and Arabic, and always ex-
pressing the same passions, couched in different
tongues.

Saint Louis resolves to take Carthage before
besieging Tunis ; for Tunis is rich and strongly
fortified. He drives the Saracens from a
tower, which defends the cisterns of Carthage ;
he rases the new castle ; in fancied security
the stores of the expedition are disembarked,
ultimately also the noble dames ; and, by one
of the revolutions that centuries bring round,
the great ladies of France establish themselves
among the ruins of the palace of Dido.

But fortune is fleeting, and fate is remorse-
less, and prosperity evanescent. Carthage is
taken ; but Tunis yet remains to be subdued,

and Tunis cannot be taken without succours
being received from Louis's brother the King
of Sicily. Sweltering, perforce, on the sandy
isthmus, the army is attacked by a contagious
malady which, in a few days, diminishes its
strength by one-half. The fierce African sun
literally devours men accustomed to dwell
beneath a mild and equably temperate sky.
In order to augment the misery of the Cru-
saders, the Moors fill the air, by means ot
machines, with burning sand ; in their infernal
ingenuity they imitate the effect of the famous
khan-sim or wind of the desert an ingenuity
worthy of the awful solitudes in which it has
been engendered, showing to what pitch men
can carry the genius of destruction. Con-
tinual combats and skirmishes weaken the
forces of the army ; the living no longer
suffice to bury the dead ; the corpses are
thrown into the ditches that form the en-
trenchments of the camp : these soon over-
flow with the stream of death.

Already the Counts of Nemours, Montmo-
rency, and Vendfime, are dead ; the king has
seen expire in his arms his best beloved son
the Count of Nevers. Then the arrow strikes
him ; and from that moment he knows that
its wound is mortal, that the blow is sufficient
to prostrate a frame already half-worn out
by fatigue, mental and physical. Yet sincere
in all other things loving the truth above all
Saint Louis dissimulates now. He hides
his illness from his courtiers and his people ; he
feigns vigour and cheerfulness while the hand of
Death is weighing him down. Still struggling,
and fighting Death with bold front and reso-
lute mien, he goes daily and nightly the round
of the hospitals. From holy works he passes
to royal duties. The safety of the camp has
to be looked after ; an intrepid front has to
be made to the Paynims ; justice has to be
rendered to the King's lieges, beneath the
shadow of the King's tent-curtains, as in the
old days beneath the oaks of Vincennes.

For days, Prince Philip, the eldest born
and heir of Louis, has not quitted his royal
father. He is at last obliged to keep his
tent ; then, thinking that the hours of his
utility to his people are numbered, but that it
behoves him to provide for their well-being
even after his death, he writes his will.
Ducange, the antiquary, has seen the manu-
script in the saintly King's own writing. The
characters are large, yet feebly traced ; they
are the weak expressions of a strong soul, for
the will is full of wisdom, and goodness, and
simple-mindedness, and sage advice to his son,
Philip for the well governing of the kingdom
and people that are soon to be his.

On the Monday morning, the twenty-fifth
of August, Saint Louis of France, being in
extremity, demands and receives extreme
unction ; then he causes himself to be stretched
on a bed of cinders, and crossing his arms
over his breast, and raising his eyes to
Heaven waits for death.

The sight has been seen but once, and

Charles Uiekent.]

DIETS OF GOLD AND SILVER.

never will be seen again. The horizon be-
comes dotted with black specks these specks
are ships these ships are the fleet of Charles
of Anjou, King of Sicily, laden with arms and
men and munitions of Avar for the Crusaders.
The hills and plains around Tunis are swarm-
ing with the Moorish hosts ; but in the camp
of the Crusaders there is a dead silence ; the
only figures to be seen are wasted, emaciated,
death-stricken soldiers slowly and painfully
dragging themselves to the tent of their
expiring king. Within that tent, towards
the third hour of the afternoon, Saint Louis
giving one sigh says, clearly and distinctly,
these words, " Lord, I shall go into thine
house and enter into thy temple ! " and
dies.

So ran my reverie of the Last Crusader.
He was a Christian and a King worthy of
better times and better deeds. Long the old
knights and gentlemen who followed him
were proud to say that they had been cru-
sading with SAINT Louis ; " and I have had
made," writes the honest Sire de Joinville,
" an altar in honour of God and of ' Mon-
seigneur Saint Loys.' "

DIETS OF GOLD AND SILVEE.

THOSE among us who are sufficiently in the
sunshine of fortune to possess golden luxuries
whether in the forms of plates or dish-
covers, candlesticks or candelabra, racing cups
or presentation plates, watch-cases or watch-
chains, ear-rings or finger rings are not fully
aware of the solicitude with which Her Ma-
jesty's Parliament supervises the gold ; to see
that it is of the right quality ; to see not,
perhaps, that all that glitters shall be gold
but that all which is called gold shall have
some sort of claim to that designation.

It is of old standing, this supervising autho-
rity over the goldsmiths. So long back as the
reign of Edward the First, an Act was passed
.to settle this matter : to determine which,
between two kinds of jewellery, shall be
deemed the real Simon Pure. No article of
gold or silver was to be made with a baser
alloy than those named in the Act ; and none
should pass into the market until its quality
had been assayed, and a leopard's head stamped
upon it. The wardens of the Goldsmiths'
Company were empowered to go from shop to
shop among the goldsmiths, to ascertain that
the gold employed was of the right " touch,"
or alloy. Then, Henry the Sixth's parliament
enacted, among things relating to silver, that
all silver articles should be at least as fine as
" sterling ; " that every workman or maker
should stamp his mark on every article ; and
that every maker's private mark should be
made known to the Goldsmiths' Company.
Several early charters gave to this powerful
Company a general control over the gold
and silver trade ; the wardens were constituted
judges of the standards of the precious
metals ; and they were empowered to search

out and destroy all specimens of " deceitful
work" that is, work made of gold or silver
below the standard. It was towards the
close of the fifteenth century that they were
entrusted with the privilege of stamping ma-
nufactured goods. In the time of Elizabeth
a statute declared the well-known " twenty-
two carats" fine to be the standard quality
which all gold manufactures must reach ;
that is, an alloy of twenty-two parts of gold
to two of silver ; while the standard for silver
was to be eleven ounces two pennyweights of
fine silver in twelve ounces, the rest being
copper. The wardens had no bed of roses, it
would seem ; for an Act passed in 1665
recited, " that the wardens of the said Com-
pany, in punishing defaults in the said trade,
had been at great charges, and at the peril of
their bodies as well as at the loss of their
goods ; so that the wardens then late, on
account of the menaces and assaults from the
workers, could not put into execution the
authorities given to them by former charters."
The Kings, and Queens, and Parliaments
laboured hard to ensure the goodness of the
precious wares ; for in 1738 a new statute
strengthened the provisions of all the old
ones, especially as to the standards for gold and
silver. There was, however, an exemption in
favour of jewellers using gold in certain of the
trinkets made by them : the gold might in
such cases be lower than the standard. All
the goods, when found to be of the proper
standard, were to be stamped with the initials
of the worker, the arms of the Company, and
a distinct variable letter to denote the year ;
but in mercy to the fragile structure of the
tender family of pencil-cases, tweezer-cases,
necklace beads, rings, buttons, thimbles, fila-
gree work, toothpicks, chains, and such-like
they were exempted from the rude visitations
of the stamping process.

The Government made use of the Company
as a means of insuring the payment of a duty
imposed (in 1719) on plate ; this duty was
sixpence per ounce. The Company kept a
sharp eye on the makers, and the Excise
on the Company ; and assay-papers and re-
ceipts were planned with all due formality.
The Company were of course not expected to
do their work for nothing ; they were to
receive tenpence for assaying and stamping a
gold watch-case, fivepence for a gold buckle,
fifteen-pence for a gold snuff-box, haif-a-crown
for any piece of gold plate under thirty
ounces, and so on. There is a curious use
of the word diet in the Act just named ; it
being enacted that, from every piece of silver
plate, weighing above four pounds troy, sent
to be assayed and stamped, the wardens are
empowered to take out or detain a diet not
exceeding ten grains per pound.

Thus did Parliament, reign after reign,
throw its protective shield over these luxuries.
The Goldsmiths' Company had at first control
over all the kingdom ; but similar guilds were
afterwards established at Exeter, Bristol,

. HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

Newcastle, and a few other towns. About
the year 1773, the towns of Birmingham and
Sheffield, having become somewhat conspi-
cuous for their works in gold and silver, and
feeling the annoyance attending the sending
of their wares for assay and stamping to
distant towns, obtained powers to establish
companies under the title of ' Guardians of
the standard of wrought plate.' These bodies
were to choose wardens, assayers, and other
officers ; and we now learn what is the meaning
of the diet of those towns. The assayer for
each town (Birmingham for instance), is em-
powered to scrape eight grains from every troy
pound of the silver plate or other article sent
to the Company's office to be assayed and
stamped ; this he equally divides into two
little parcels, one of which is immediately
locked up in the assayer's box, while the other
is operated upon. After the assay, the article
is broken in pieces if below the proper stan-
. dard, and the owner has to pay sixpence per
ounce for the assay ; but, if it be standard as
above, the article is stamped, and a fee paid
according to a certain graduated scale. If the
four grains per pound be more than enough
for the assay, the overplus goes as a perquisite
to the Company. But now for the assayer's box
and its contents. If the standard of each piece
of plate be right and proper, the remaining
little parcel of four grains per pound is taken
out of the assayer's box, and with due forma-
lity deposited in a more honored receptacle
called the diet-box. By the end of a year, this
box contains diets or samples of all the plate
found by assay during the year to be proper
in standard. Once a year, the officers of the
Company send up this box to the Mint in
London ; where the Assay-master tries the
little bits or diets, in order to see that the Bir-
mingham assayer has not departed from the
true standard : if he has, his pocket is made
to suffer.

These Birmingham and Sheffield guilds,
like those of London, York, Exeter, Bristol,
Chester, Norwich, and Newcastle, were made
a kind of cat's-paw for the Government, in
respect to an increased duty of 85. per ounce
on gold manufactures and 6d. per ounce on
those of silver, imposed in 1784. The war-
dens, after assaying and stamping, were to
receive the duty before returning the articles ;
the Excise demanded it of them whether they
had received it or not ; so we may be pretty
sure that the wardens of the respective Com-
panies did not let the owners escape scot-free.
The owners paid the duty to the Companies ;
the Companies handed it over to the Excise ;
and the Excise gave them 6d. in the pound
for their trouble.

As there is no good reason why all the world
should agree about these standards of purity,
it is no wonder that manufacturers should have
occasionally tried to obtain some variation.
The legislature settled this question, in 1798,
by allowing two standards for manufactured
gold, one of "twenty-two carats," and the other

of "eighteen carats ; " the same Companies were
to assay and stamp both kinds ; and the same
stamps were to be employed all excepting the
" lion passant," which royal animal was to be
exclusively appropriated to the finer kind of
gold. So recently as 1844 these little peddlings
with industry (for such they are apt to appear
in these our free-trade days) were further
modified. It had been found that, by stam-
ping gold and silver with the same dies, a
little hocus-pocus might possibly enable a
dishonest person to pass off a silver gilt article
for gold ; it was therefore enacted that all
the gold articles of "twenty-two carats fine "
should be stamped with the mark of a Crown
and the figures 22.

All these curious statutes, with a few
curious exceptions, are still in force ; and
form a body of industrial law which is more
likely to diminish than increase in future. The
great City Companies have in many cases
outlived their duties, though by no means
outlived their wealth ; but the Goldsmiths'
Company has still both duties and wealth.
The following is pretty nearly the relation, at
the present day, between the four parties
interested in gold and silver manufactures
the Crown, the Goldsmiths' Company, and the
manufacturers, and the public.

Every article made in or near London of
gold or silver, except certain trinkets and
small wares, must be sent to the Goldsmiths'
Hall near Cheapside. The maker must pre-
viously stamp his mark upon it, which mark
must be known and approved by the Company.
It is assayed at the Hall ; it is broken up and
returned if below the proper standard, but
stamped and returned if of due quality. The
Company employ persons to scrape a few
fragments from every article, for the purpose
of assay ; and these persons, to ensure their
thorough knowledge, must have served a
seven years' apprenticeship to a goldsmith.
There being many gold and silversmiths, and
manufacturers of watch-cases and chains,
living in and near Clerkenwell, the Gold-
smiths' Company, when they rebuilt their
Hall some years ago, determined to build it
on its present central site, rather than remove
it nearer to the Mint. There is a constant
running to and fro between the workshops and
the Hall ; and many losses might occur if the
Hall were too far distant. Clerkenwell and
Foster Lane are the two poles of an electric
chain, having links of silver and gold a
figure, by the way, which we fear is not quite
faultless ; for these two metals, though electric
in a moral sense, are not much so according
to lecture-room philosophy.

When the wardens and assayers of the
Company are examining the articles sent to
them, they have power to reject any in which,
according to their judgment, there may have
been too much solder employed ; because solder
being less valuable than the metal soldered,
the standard of the whole biilk may perchance
be reduced too much. The duties of the

Charles Dickens.]

DIETS OF GOLD AND SILVER.

Company, therefore, may be said to be five-
fold, in respect to the principal articles of gold
and silver sent to them viz., to see that the
gold or silver is of the proper standard ; to see
that the silver is not plated silver, or the gold
silver-gilt ; to see that the solder employed
has not been too much in relative weight ; to
stamp the article when approved ; and to re-
ceive money when the article is returned to
the owner. This money consists of a small
sum for the stamping-fee, and a much larger
sum for the Government. The present duty
seventeen shillings per ounce for gold, and
one shilling and sixpence for silver is practi-
cally reduced to fourteen shillings and two-
pence, and one shilling and threepence, an
allowance of one-sixth being made to the
manufacturer for a slight reduction in the
weight of each article during the finishing
processes ; this finishing being always con-
ducted after the assaying and stamping have
taken place. The Company pay these duties
into the Bank- of England, where they are
placed to the account of the Receiver of Stamps
and Taxes ; and the Company, having thus
acted as tax-gatherers, are paid for so doing
at the rate of two-and-a-half per cent. The
Company receives about four thousand a year
from the manufacturers for assaying and
stamping, and about two thousand a year from
the Government for collecting the tax. There
is one deputy-warden appointed by the Com-
pany, with a salary, te superintend especially
these matters ; and under him are an engraver
of punches, three assayers, two weighers,
three drawers, and a cupel-maker.

Boys carry the articles of plate between
Clerkenwell and Foster Lane. Let us sup-
pose that young Tom Simmons, a Clerken-
well apprentice, arrived or arriving at years
of discretion sufficiently to be trusted,
takes a piece of unfinished plate to Gold-
smiths' Hall. The weighers ascertain the
weight, calculate the duty at so much per
ounce, set down the fee required for assaying
and stamping, and enter the items in due
form. The drawers or scrapers then take the
piece of plate in hand. They examine it to see
that the several parts all belong properly to
each other, and that it is not charged with a
suspiciously large amount of solder. This
examination being satisfactorily concluded,
they draw or scrape a few fragments from
the surface of the article, just sufficient for
the purposes of assay ; and if there be a
shadow of suspicion that there are different
qualities of metal in different parts of the
article, the sci-aper is applied to all those
parts, and a fair average made of the
whole. Then comes the third stage in the
history : the drawers hand over the little
fragments to the assayers, who proceed to
determine whether the metal be up to the
standard. If all be right up to this time, the
drawers again take the piece of plate, and
stamp it with the requisite marks. If all be
not right, if the metal be lower than

standard, the article is retained until the fol-
lowing day ; it is again tried, and if again
found wanting, it is broken up ; but if the
manufacturer, willing to save his poor bant-
ling, should ask for a third trial, and should
be willing to pay another shilling for it, he
can do so : the third verdict is final, there
being no appeal against it ; and the broken
piece of glitter is sent home in disgrace. But
our piece of plate we of course assume to be
standard. After the assayers have reported
well of it, and the drawers have stamped it,
the weighers re-weigh it ; and then there is
very little else to be done before Tom takes
home the piece of plate to his master's.

The principle of adulteration (pity that we
should have to use such a term) sometimes
creeps into these golden products. The
maker of a watch-case may, if he be less
honest than his compeers, make some of the
tiny bits of less than perfect metal ; but the
drawers baffle him ; they scrape from all the
parts, good and bad ; and if there happen to
be former peccadillos attached to his name,
the scrapings are made yet more carefully ;
and he must abide by the average result of
the whole. The assayers are not allowed to
know to whom the several little packets of
scrapings belong ; these are wrapped up se-
parately by the drawers, with certain private
marks and numbers, and are placed in boxes ;
and the assayers take them from the boxes,
assay them, and report the results, without
knowing who are the parties affected by their
decision. Thus are there one or two hundred
assays, more or less, made every day at the
Hall : one assayer confining his attention to
gold, and two others to silver.

The Company, in order to have some test
that their servants have properly performed
the duties entrusted to them, hold a kind of
annual scrutiny an assay of a more formal
nature. Portions of the scrapings resulting
from the assays made during the year,
amounting possibly to fifty thousand, are
kept, sufficient to form a judgment on the
whole. The practical members of the Com-
pany are convened leaving out the noble
lords and right honourable gentlemen who
somehow become members of this as of the
other great City Companies and the parlia-
ment, or jury, or judges, or arbitrators, or
scrutineers (call them which we may) melt
down the scrapings, and make a very careful
assay of them ; the result of this assay shows
whether or not the three assayers have done
their year's work well. But the diet of the
Birmingham and Sheffield assay is more offi-
cial and more imperative ; we must briefly
notice it.

The golden doings of Birmingham have
undergone very considerable change within
the last few years. Time was when the
" toy-shop of Europe " produced immense
quantities of gilt toys, which occupied some
thousands of hands ; the buckles, the snaps,
the the clasps, the earrings, the bracelets, the rings.

HOUSEHOLD WOKDS.

[Conducted by

the brooches as well as other articles which
we may designate toys, or trinkets, or sham-
jewellery were thrown upon the market
most unsparingly. Such is not now the case ;
and many causes have led to the change.
Fashion has, in many instances, refused to
sanction that which she formerly applauded ;
the gold became thinner and thinner upon the
toys, until people began to be ashamed to call
it gold at all ; the French showed that they
could make gilt-toys presenting more graceful
designs than our own ; while the designation
of" Brummagem goods" became rather hum-
bling to those who decked themselves there-
with. Thus the gilt-toy trade has declined
in that town ; but others have arisen which
place the golden labours of the townsmen on a
better footing. The manufacture of good
jewellery has increased ; while the rise and
spread of the remarkable electro-plating pro-
cess have given an immense impetus to the
employment of the precious metals at Bir-
mingham. How the Birmingham men use
their gold and silver, it is not our province
here to describe : our fourth volume (at pages
113 and 456) has already done this. Suffice
it here to speak of the official inspection of the
gold and silver work produced.

The diets or small parcels of scrapings, as
mentioned in a former page, are sent up to
London from Birmingham in the diet-box,
and placed in the hands of the Queen's Assay-
master. Here they are examined and assayed,
and tested with certain gold and silver trial
plates made expressly for this purpose. If
the quality be below standard, the Birming-
ham Assay-master is fined ; but if it be equal
or superior to standard, a certificate is re-
turned, which is an acquittal for a whole
year's labours. A certificate for the Birming-
ham gold assays takes somewhat the following
form : " These are to certify that, having this
day duly assayed and tried the gold Diet
from Birmingham, of twenty-two carats of fine
gold, and two carats of alloy, and also the
gold Diet of eighteen carats of fine gold, and
six carats of alloy, pursuant to Act of Parlia-
ment 5 Geo. 4, sess. 1824, and having made

such trials in presence of , especially

appointed by the Lords Commissioners of
Her Majesty's Treasury to attend the same ;
I find, in comparison with the respective gold
trial plates made for that purpose, that the

Diet of twenty-two carats fine is , and the

Diet of eighteen carats fine is the said

trial plates, and do therefore report that the
said Diets are sufficiently fine, and fully con-
formable to the true intent and meaning of
the Act aforesaid." The Queen's Assay-
master signs this certificate, in which there
are blanks left for indicating whether the
gold is "equal to" or "superior to" the stand-
ards respectively referred to.

Query : If the Government duty were
abandoned on the one hand, and the Com-
panies' privileges on the other if manufac-
turers and purchasers were allowed to make

their own bargains uninfluenced by all this
official parade would it not be better and
cheaper in the end that these diets should die
away ? Are they not relics of the same anti-
quated system which at one time gave curfew
laws, and at another sumptuary laws ? When
trades are too young to run alone they are pro-
tected ; but they are all getting out of leading-
strings now-a-days, one by one. Gold and
silver working is certainly an old trade ; but (we
wish to leave room for correction) it may just
possibly not be old enough to be left to itself.

THE EOVING ENGLISHMAN.

MONSIEUR LE CURE.

MONSIEUR LE CURE is a good man, and I am
glad to make his acquaintance. He is about
forty, with a dark open countenance and a
pleasant smile ; by the way, I never saw a
fair Cur6. He is rather inclined to be fat, but
has nothing sensual about him, and is so full
of amusing harmless stories .that he might
have been the companion of ladies and
children all his life perhaps he was once
for the story of M. le Curb's life is rather a
strange one, that is, strange to us; but common
enough in France. M. le Cur6 began life in
a regiment of dragoons, and served with great
distinction in Africa. Suddenly, however, he
took a disgust to the world ; a woman he had
loved long and well, married his friend ; his
trusted, intimate friend. He was no common
man who could either give or take back his
affection lightly ; and he did one of those
touchingly generous things that seem more to
belong to romance than to real life. To punish
the woman who had jilted him (and let us
hope it did punish her) he gave her every franc
he possessed in the world ; and then, taking
her faithlessness and his friend's treason to
heart, he retired from society, became a village
pastor, and never let them hear of him again.
That young man's grief is long healed now,
and M. le Cure is a happy man ; as indeed he
ought to be. Having suffered, he can cheer ;
and he knows the world and how to deal
with those who are not yet weaned from it.
M. le Cur6 likes sometimes to speak of his
early life, and he is fond of saying, " I entered
life by the great gate : I was wealthy and
high born, and I had ten years of every
pleasure that the world has to give, but to
have those ten years over again, I would not
give a single day of my present life."

M. le Cure makes no pretence of needless
austerity, and eats and drinks as honestly
as, I dare say, he does everything else. He
has asked me to pay him a visit before I go,
and I shall do so.

It is not long before I redeem my promise
to M. le Cure and pay him a visit. I am ad-
mitted by a decent-looking body, with her grey
hair modestly arranged under one of those
charming snowy caps, for the making of which
French countrywomen have quite a mission.
I take the liberty to mention that M. le Cui-e's

Charles Dickens.]

THE EOVING ENGLISHMAN.

solitary servant has grey hair, because it is as
well that a scandalous public should learn
that M. le Cure" is not allowed to keep any
female servant under forty years of age.

M. le Cure" is attending to his school when
I arrive, but I am informed, in a patois that
rings homely and pleasant on the ear, that he
will return in about a quarter of an hour, and
I am shewn into his room meanwhile. There
q,re no nice easy reading-chairs ; no snug
sofas ; no tea and toast air about the place.
It contains but two hard wooden chairs,
a painted deal writing table worn white at
the edges by the rubbing of M. le Curb's
serge gown against it, a bed, three drawers
with brass fittings, a clock, and a small
(too small) book-shelf. On the writing table
is a manuscript which looks like a half finished
sermon, and from which I turn away my eyes
respectfully. 1

With M. le Cure's books, however, it is a
different question, and not knowing what to
do with myself till he comes, I pass my time
in trifling with their leaves. Let us see, what
have we here ? " Eeports of the Society for
the Propagation of the Faith." Very good ;
and here "Statistics of Crime in the Pro-
vinces;" better still. Here is an illuminated
Missal, evidently prized highly by its owner,
and doubtless the work of many a lonely hour
of the quaint-minded imaginative old monk
who spent his time over it. What a i-ecord
of time wasted, yet what volumes of thought
and poetry we can puzzle out ; sometimes
veiled, and but thinly veiled after all, in those
odd devices and uncouth figures ! What
smothered satire, what keen, strong, hitman
feelings that could find no vent but this for
their deep silent current ! What sad lives of
struggle against the flesh, and battling with
a world that had too many charms !

But here comes M. le Cure himself, with
his pleasant thoughtful smile and kindly
greeting. He says, simply, he is glad to see us,
without set phrase or compliments, but we
feel that he is speaking the truth, and I am
grateful for it. He has a good deal to say for
himself, and says it pleasantly. He offers us,
also, some refreshment, which we do not take ;
in the first place because we think that the
800 francs a year and promiscuous hospitality
hardly go well together, and also because we
have not long breakfasted, and do not want it.

HA SCEUR, THE GOVERNESS.

MA Soeur and I are great friends. She is
the nursery governess of my host's daughter ;
who is a fresh little daisy of a girl some
five years old, with pretty surprised eyes, and
hair of rich French brown, and rosy cheeks,
and cherry lips which put one in mind of
summer to look at them were they not so
fresh and so cold. What a decent homely
worthy body she seems, Ma soeur, in her black
dress and sivawy coal-scuttle cap that would
look so abominable on anyone else ; with her
rosary round l>er iieck, her busy hands always

at some task, yet always so clean and nicely
kept. I could fall in love with Ma soeur if
we were both twenty years younger ; and if I
were a little boy under her care I should love
her very dearly. Any other love, Ma soeur
is not exactly the sort of person to inspire or
to feel ; although who knows what a deep
romance, what a wealth of broken hopes those
quiet hearts often conceal ?

Ma soeur may be forty or perhaps forty-five,
but time has dealt kindly with her, and she
has one of the most beautiful and healthy com-
plexions I ever saw. I am sure Ma soeur has
a good conscience, though I have not known
her a week. Her clear blue eye, calm and
well opened, a pleasant tone of decision in her
voice (as if she always knew the right thing
to do and no consideration would make her
do the wrong one), convince me of this.
I should say that Ma soeur would be the
veiy providence of a sick bed : so active,
so quiet, so watchful, so full of resolute-
common sense.

Ma soeur dines and breakfasts with us, and 1
at other times retires into the nursery a
pleasant room, with a fine prospect over river
and woodland where she can hear the birds
sing and can scent the odour of the flowers
through the open window in summer-time ;
while double casements keep out the cold in
winter, and give an agreeable air of warmth
and comfort to the room. She is always
cheerful and unembarrassed, let us come in
when we will ; and although the room is
tolerably full of furniture, and has by no-
means the usual appearance of that bare
prison with bars to the windows which is
called a nursery in England ; and though she
has the charge of as merry a little romp as may
be, I do not i-emember ever to have seen a chair
that did not seem well placed, or a curtain torn.

The fact is Ma sceur respects herself:
she knows her position in the family is one-
generally esteemed and looked up to. She
considers therefore, I'll be bound, that it is
part of her duty to support its credit, and
would not have her room caught in disarray
by Monsieur le Comte or his guests on any
account. She does not, therefore, straighten-
her waist and play with her chatelaine like a
heroine of romance under unfavorable cir-
cumstances as I have seen some young ladies'
governesses do perhaps because she has
neither waist nor chatelaine visible to the eye ;
neither does she scuttle into the next room
pushing her charge before her and leaving part
of her dress as the door slams behind her,
because she has a wrinkled stocking, and the
child has not had its hair " done." She does
not bristle up like a porcupine all accidence
of grammar, and 'ology and wonder why
strangers are brought into the nursery ; bwfe
Ma soeur gets up when we come in and smiles
pleasantly, thanks us for our visit. Made-
moiselle is caught up in papa's arms the
strong man and the little child a pretty picture,
he clinging to her as the very hope that

HOUSEHOLD WOEDS.

[Conducted by

bound him to life and down we all sit for a
quarter of an hour's conversation about all
sorts of nice little subjects Ma soaur can talk
upon.

I GIVE AND BEQUEATH.

IT would appear, from the long list of eccen-
tricities we are about to extract from the
Government report on the local charities of
the country, that as soon as a man sits before
the form of a " last will and testament," his
ideas begin to run riot. He sees all sorts of
odd cranky ways of purchasing a snug local
immortality by the investment of twenty
pounds, to be called the Wiggins charity ; he
dreams of the far-off years when the grateful
recipients of his perennial bounty will demand
to know who was Wiggins, and whether
Wiggins was duly honoured and recognised
in the century to which he belonged. Another
gentleman sits before his "last will and
testament," and has a mind to make a noise
after his death but a noise on the lowest
possible terms. If immortality is to be
purchased in Appledom for the small charge
of seven shillings and sixpence per annum,
he is not the man to leave eight shillings for
the purpose : therefore he bequeaths a leg
of pork to the parish bell-ringers, to be dis-
cussed on New Year's morning, after the
bell-ringing. He feels that this bequest will
lead annually to the question, who was
Chapenier the munificent donor of the leg
of pork. Thus, for the small charge of seven
shillings and sixpence, Chapenier feels that
he can place himself before the parish for
ever. He determines to go down to posterity
on a leg of pork.

" A maid deceased " figures on the papers
of the parish of Hampstead, as the donor of
forty pounds, to be distributed by the church-
wardens in a halfpenny loaf to every soul,
rich and poor, in the parish. This is a happy
way of spreading a little bounty over a large
surface. The parish of Paddington is also
endowed with an eccentric gift from "two
maiden gentlewomen," in the shape of a piece
of land, the rental of which (forty pounds
eighteen shillings per annum) is applied in
the purchase of bread and cheese for the poor
which refreshments were formerly thrown
down from the parish church, to be scrambled
for by the people congregated in the church-
yard. In the same spirit of eccentricity, one
William Clapham made a will in the year
1603, by which he bequeathed the yearly sum
of four shillings and fourpence, to be laid out
in figs, bread and ale, for the poor scholars of
the free-school in Giggleswick, Yorkshire :
and to this time these poor scholars, on one
day in the year, enjoy a feast of bread and
figs to the glory of William Clapham.
When a lady, who wished to be nameless,
wrote, " I give and bequeath one hundred
pounds, the interest of which shall be applied
by the authorities of St. Andrew, Hqlborn,

to the relief of six poor lying-in women,
the wives of Irishmen, living within the
Saffron Hill Liberty of the parish," she
taught a lesson to all future donors of tigs.

Contrast this with the bequest of one Thomas
Mosely* who, it is thought, many years ago
bequeathed a dole of one penny to every person
in Walsall. When the commissioners went
their round, they found that the Walsall cor-
poration employed three persons to make the
distribution. These began their operations on
New Year's Day, and went gradually through
the parishes, giving to every inmate of every
house the dole of one penny. In this manner
they threw away sixty pounds. The yearly
bull bequeathed in 1661 by George Staverton
to the poor of the township of Wokingham,
Berks, to be baited and then to be sold ; the
proceeds to be distributed among the poor
children of the township in the shape of shoes
and stockings led to a riot in 1835, when the
people broke into the place where the bull
was yoked, and, in defiance of the authorities,
revived the barbarous custom of baiting.
Thus for six pounds a year George Staverton
contrived to purchase local notoriety for his
name, and about one hundred and seventy
years after his death to provoke a riot.

Eccentric testators have spread their eccen-
tricities all over the country. There is hardly
a parish that does not enjoy the fruits of
testatory eccentricity. 1 think I see Matthew
Wall, who, in 1595, wrote " I give and
bequeath," and appended to these words the
following provisions for the perpetuation of
his name on the smallest possible terms : To
the sexton to make up the testator's grave
yearly, and to ring the bell, one shilling and
tenpence : To sweep the path from the tes-
tator's house to the church-gate every year,
one shilling : To the vicar of Stortford, to
make proclamation yearly, on Ascension and
Michaelmas Day, that the testator left his
estate to a Matthew, or William Wall, as long
as the world should endure, eightpence : To the
parish clerk at Hallingbury for the same,
eightpence ; and to the minister and church-
wardens, to see the testator's will carried out,
five shillings. Matthew Wall also gave twenty
groats to twenty boys, and ten threepences to
ten aged and infirm persons. The general
intention of Matthew in this document is a
little too obvious : he bungled in his bargain
for local immortality. Edward Strode, who
wrote " I give and bequeath " about one
century after Wall, did not exhibit any re-
markable advantage over the little hero of
Stortford. Strode fixed vipon Shepton Mallet,
in Somersetshire, as the abode of his immor-
tality ; and caught the happy idea of founding
almshouses to be called by his name. More
he determined that the recipients of his bounty
should wear the badge of his charity upon
them : that the letter E should " be cut large
in blue cloth, and well sewed on the right
sleeve, and the letter S on the left sleeve,
plain to be seen." Thus Strode contrived

Charles Dickens.]

I GIYE AND BEQUEATH.

that four poor old men of his parish should
wear his livery, and carry the initials of his
name about the country for ever. I can
picture Strode to myself also : a weak man
anxious to make a bargain for his soul and a
salve for his vanity at the same time. Let
me also recall the pompous bequest of the
merest pittance made by William Norrice in
1611, to the parish of All Saints, Leicester,
" in consideration of the love which he bore "
to it and to himself. He granted fifteen
shillings, "issuing out of certain garden-
ground in or near Soar Lane, upon the con-
ditions that the minister and churchwardens
should yearly, upon the Sunday next before
the feast of St. Bartholomew the Apostle, in
the afternoon, meet and elect forty-one of the
poorest people inhabiting in the parish of All
Saints, and deliver a list of their names in
writing to the clerk of the parish, and cause
him to give notice that all persons whose
names were contained in that note should
personally attend evening prayer on St.
Bartholomew's Day, and that the minister
should, on the said feast day, after the second
lesson at evening prayer, exhort the people to
praise God for his mercy in providing for the
poor, and should make choice of some fit
psalm for that purpose, desiring the people to
sing that psalm with him ; and after evening
prayer the minister and churchwardens
should cause the clerk to call the said forty-
one people into some convenient place in the
church, calling each by his name, and in a
loud voice, and to give each fourpence, and
the minister and churchwardens, and clerk
were to have fourpence each ; all which being
satisfied, the said poor should depart, glorify-
ing God (and William Norrice) : and default
of all this formality, the annuity should cease."
And all for fifteen shillings !

It is not certain, however, that we might not
reasonably prefer the will of William Norrice
to one of those documents where reckless
munificence is recorded. It is difficult to give
well. In 1790 George Jarvis, Esq., of Stanton
upon Wye, Herefordshire, left thirty thousand
pounds to be invested in Government securities,
the interest to be distributed in money, pro-
visions, clothes, or medicine amongst the poor
people "of this parish of Bredwardine and
Litten." In 1822 this fund amounted to
ninety-two thousand four hundred and ninety-
six pounds, seventeen shillings, and ninepence,
the interest of which was to be distributed
amongst the poor of three parishes, the united
population of which did not exceed eleven
hundred and eighty persons. The yearly
fund distributable amounted to three thousand
pounds. This was a source of great attraction
to the country people round about, and en-
couraged the idle and dissolute to come and
plant themselves within the genial influence
of Mr. Jarvis's bounty. Thus George Jarvis,
Esq., did not effect much good by his munifi-
cence ; it is more than probable, on the con-
trary, that he contrived to do much evil by it.

We run over innumerable bequests oi
money to preach sermons about the Armada ;
to return thanks that the fire of London was no
worse ; to encourage servants to remain with
their employers ; to invigorate " the inner
man " of bellringers ; to tempt " poor
maidens " into matrimony ; to console the
weary hours of single ladies who have arrived
" at a certain age " ; to reward labourers who
have reared infinitely large families on
infinitely low wages ; to give clean gloves to
churchwardens, and targets to local sports-
men ; to apprentice deserving little boys, and
sing doggrel verse to condemned murderers ;
to encourage loyalty, and promote education.
Two objects are curiously associated by John
Perram of Newmarket, who, after the im-
portant words " I give and bequeath," wrote
to the effect that a marriage portion of twenty-
one pounds was to be given out of his estate
yearly to a parishioner, or, in default of
a marrying parishioner (who must not be
worth twenty pounds), to the winner of the
next town plate !

The ingenious eccentricities of testators
are, in fact, endless. They have tacked sums
to churches for the most curious purposes ;
in the olden time, to strew the sacred edifices
with rushes or new hay ; and, comparatively
in modern times, to reward men who will
undertake to wake those who sleep during a
dull sermon and "to whip dogs out of the
church." These bequests have been made to
many country churches, and zealous men
have been found to do these offices for the
yearly sum of eight shillings. Even the in-
attention of boys during divine service long
ago attracted the attention of testators. Much
money has also been given and bequeathed to
sextons and pew-openers, and to the guardians
of churchyards, and enormous sums have
been set aside to decorate testators' graves :
to plant them with rose-trees, or cover them
with flying angels.

These vault ; s and pomps are however
relieved, as we run through the list, by tender
touches of goodness and piety. Here and
there we feel that a good soul has dictated
the words that follow " I give and bequeath" ;
that here the bountiful hand was opened
not to be seen by a staring world, but for
the love of doing good ; that strong affection,
regardless of the applause that may follow
the deed, made its noble offering to its object.
In a history of bequests the curious reader
may find touches of pathos that must move
him deeply; traces of quiet goodness that
make the vulgar ways of the coarser part
of the world sweet again ; revelations of an
inner spirit which redeem the harsh appear-
ances of social life. The sternest men have
softened before a last will and testament ; the
most abandoned profligates have paused
before this solemn document, to do an act of
redeeming goodness.

That is a touching pillar planted on the
road between Penrith and Appleby, in the year

HOUSEHOLD WOEDS.

1656, by Anne, Countess Dowager of Pembroke,
to commemorate her final parting with her
mother on this spot, on the second of April,
1616. The inscription declares that Anne oi
Pembroke gave four pounds to be annually dis-
tributed " upon the stone hereby " amongst
the poor within the parish of Brougham.
Well, after forty years of troubles and
troubles that must have cost the " pious Pem-
broke " many a bitter hour it is pleasant
to think of the daughter returning to this spot
to consecrate it. Four pounds a year could
not do much good, you may say, to the people
of Brougham ; but it may consecrate the spot
i in years of scarcity by the thanks of people
sorely pressed ; and the spirit of tenderness
which dictated the bounty is something to
think of every year.

Bequests to promote the friendly inter-
course of neighbours are not rare ; but that of
Church Street, Kidderminster, is not the least
remarkable of these. The original bequest is
said to have originated with a maiden woman
who left two pounds to be put out to interest,
the proceeds to be divided, in the shape of
farthing loaves, to all the children born or
living in the street, in the presence of all the
male inhabitants of the street who might
choose to attend the ceremony. Later, John
Brecknell, of this street, bequeathed one
hundred and fifty pounds to be put out to
interest ; and the interest to be applied in
giving to every child and unmarried person
born or living in the street a twopenny plum-
cake on Midsummer Eve to furnish tobacco
and ale to the male inhabitants and the
balance to be divided amongst the poorest
people of the street.

We may now pass rapidly long lists of
bequests in gratitude for escapes from immi-
nent danger ; for hired prayers for the repose
of testators' souls ; and other equally pious
and unselfish objects. Yet should I wish to
trace in faint outline the general plan of a
great and glorious bequest one in no way
eccentric, save for its utterly unselfish cha-
racter. Let the testator be a bishop, and by
birth a nobleman, and so combine with the
Christianity of a Churchman the hereditary
wealth of a peer. His sphere of action lies
to the north say some hundred and sixty
miles from London. He has a great estate,
and an observing eye. He sees within his
spiritual jurisdiction many conflicting social
elements, many injustices, many hard and
appalling battles. He sees colleges where
deficiencies of income make worthy scholars
ridiculous ; curacies where good men are
starving ; nooks and corners where forlorn
children are growing into ignorant brutes ;
and other phases of social life which he cannot
quietly contemplate. With these matters
vividly before him, he sits at his desk, takes
the form of a last will and testament, and after
the words "I give and bequeath," writes, my
castle and my lands, to lessen all these evils.
In a few years, in the hands of honest trustees,

scholars find themselves on a fair equality
with their companions ; curates are able to
live decently ; schools are founded here and
there ; poor boys are apprenticed ; and the
castle becomes the home of shipwrecked
seamen. For hereabouts the coast is very
dangerous, and the shipwrecks are frequent.
The castle stands on a lordly eminence, and
commands the coast for many miles : it has
been a border citadel, but is now to bear
friendly warnings to the ships that pass on
their way. Within its great walls much pom-
pous revelry has been held ; now it is fitted
up to receive shipwrecked men ; to accom-
modate the children round about with school
room ; to husband medicines and supply
medical skill for the benefit of the needy
peasantry ; and to fire minute guns, as friendly
warnings to ships at sea on foggy nights, when
men tremble at the helm, and look up in vain
for the stars, or aside fruitlessly for guiding
lights. Near at hand is a harbour, and
round about a fishery ; the first is improved
and the last developed and the people are
prosperous arid happy.

The vast sums that have been scattered
over the country to accomplish foolish and
miserable ends, by vain and stupid testators,
may fairly suggest a warning. There is some-
thing very magnificent about Bamborough
Castle (the castle we have just described),
and something very good about the Lord
Crewe, Bishop of Durham, who turned it
into a seamen's hospital ; but, in the long list
of bequests buried in 'Parliamentary blue
books, it is easy to find many we are afraid
to say a majority in which vanity has guided
the testator's hand. We do not envy the
maids of a certain village their eleemosynary
petticoat ; we cast no longing glances at the
twopenny plum-cakes of Church Street, Kid-
derminster ; we have not the slightest wisli
to cut a single slice from the pork bequeathed
to the bell-ringers of Harlington ; but these
bequests may be pertinently submitted to the
calm and dispassionate consideration of all
persons who are in a position to append any
words to the well-known form "I give and
bequeath." A.nd all such persons will do
well to remember before they gratify, not
to say Vanity, but even what would be com-
monly (often erroneously) called Charity,
whether they are neglecting claims of Justice.
Think of this, will-makers ! I may " give
and bequeath " my soul to everlasting sorrow
and remorse, if 1 neglect those paramount
claims, for any consideration.

On the 7th of March will be published, price S3. Sd. t
neatly bound in Cloth,

THE SIXTH VOLUME

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

lonteining the Numbers issued between September llth,
1852, and February 2Gth, 1853; including the extra
Christinas number, entitlud, "A Kouxo OF STOEIES Br

THB CUIilSTMAS FlE "

J'uV.ithed at the Office, No. 16, Wellington Street North, Strand. Printed by BRADBURY & EVANK, VVhitefriars, London.

" Familiar in their Mouths as HOUSEHOLD WORDS." SHAKESPEARE.

HOUSEHOLD WORDS,

A WEEKLY JOUKNAL,
CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS.

- 155.]

SATURDAY, MARCH 12, 1853.

PERFIDIOUS PATHOS.

THE natural place of refuge for a hunted man
is an islaud. None but those who have known
what it is to be pursued from place to place,
who have been aware of such and such blood-
hounds upon their track, of such and such
scouts waiting at given points to lead them
down to death or captivity, can form an idea
of the feeling of security engendered by the
knowledge that there is between them and
their enemies a bulwark far more impreg-
nable than any gabion, glacis, bastion, or
counterscarp, that Vauban ever dreamed of,
in the shape of a ring of blue water. So
islands have been, in all ages and circum-
stances, the chosen places of refuge to men
who could find no rest elsewhere for the soles
of their feet. Patmos was the elected asylum of
St. John the Apostle. In Malta, the last
Christian knights of Palestine, driven from
their first island refuge Rhodes found a
haven of safety, and founded a c'ty of strength
against the infidels. The expiring embers of
the Druidical priesthood smouldered away in
the impenetrable groves of the island of
Anglesey. The isles of Greece were the eyries
of poetry, and art, and liberty, when the
mainland groaned beneath the despotism of
the thirty tyrants. The Greeks located their
paradise in the islands of the blest. Madeira
spread forth pitying, protecting arms to two
fugitive lovei*s. Charles Edward hid in Skye.
Once within the pleasant valleys of Pitcairn's
Island, Jack Adams and the mutineers of the
Bounty felt secure and safe from courts-
martial and yard-arms. There is a hiding-place
for the pursued of sheriffs in the island of
Jersey and in the Isle of Man ; in which latter
insular refuge Charlotte de la Tremouille,
Countess of Derby, sheltered the last rem-
nants of the cause of the Stuarts against
Oliver Cromwell. The dogs of Constantinople
found protection from the sticks and stones
of the men of Stamboul, in an island in the
Bosphorus. The last of the London marshes
staunchly defy drainage from the strongholds
of the Isle of Dogs ; and there is a wall of
strength for the choicest London fevers, and
the dirtiest London lodging-houses, against
Inspectors Reason and Humanity and their
whole force, in and about the mud embank-
ments of Jacob's Island.

But, chief and pre-elect of islands on which
camps of refuge have been built, is the one we
are happy enough to live in, the Island of
England. There are other islands in the world,
far more isolated, geographically speaking, far
more distant from hostile continents, far more
remote from the shores of despotism. Yet to
these chalky cliffs of Albion, to this Refuge
misnamed the perfidious, come refugees from
all quarters of the world, and of characters,
antecedents, and opinions, pointing to every
quarter of the political compass. The op-
pressor and the oppressed, the absolutist and
the patriot, the butcher and the victim, the
wolf and the lamb, the legitimist as white as
snow and the montagnard as red as blood, the
doctrinaire and the socialist men of views
so dissimilar that they would (and do) tear
each other to pieces in their own lands, find a
common refuge in this country, and live in
common harmony here. The very climate
seems to have a soothing and mollifying in-
fluence on the most savage foreign natures.
South American dictators, who have shot,
slaughtered, and outraged hecatombs of their
countrymen in the parched-up plains of
Buenos Ayres and Montevideo, roar you as
mildly as any sucking doves as soon as they
are in the Southampton water make pets of
their physicians, and give their barbers silver
shaving dishes ; pachas of three tails, terrible
fellows for bowstriuging, impaling, and basti-
nadoing in their Asiatic dominions, here
caper nimbly in ladies' chambers to the
twangling of lutes ; hangers of men and
scourgers of women forego blood-thirstiness ;
demagogues forget to howl for heads ; and
red republicans, who were as roaring lions in
the lands they came from, submit to have
their claws cut, and their manes trimmed,
drink penny cups of coffee, and deliver pacific
lectures in Mechanics' Institutes.

England, then, is the Patmos of foreign
fugitives a collection of Patmoses, rather ;
almost every seaport and provincial town of
any note having a little inland island of refuge
of its own ; but London being the great
champ d'asile, the monster isle of safety, a
Cave of Adullam for the whole world. It is
with this Patmos that I have principally
to do.

Years ago, Doctor Johnson called Lon-
don "the common sewer of Paris and ol

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted t>r

Borne ;'* but at the present day it is a reservoir,
a giant vat, into which flow countless streams
of continental immigration. More so than
Paris, where the English only go for pleasure ;
the Germans to become tailors and boot-
makers ; and the Swiss, valets, house-por-
ters, and waiters. More so than the United
States, whose only considerable feed-pipes of
emigration are Irish, English, and Germans.
There is in London the foreign artistic popu-
lation, among which I will comprise French,
and Swiss, and German governesses, French
painters, actors, singers, and cooks ; Italian
singers and musicians ; French hairdressers,
milliners, dressmakers, clear-starchers and
professors of legerdemain, with countless
teachers of every known language, and pro-
fessors of every imaginable musical instru-
ment. There is the immense foreign servile
population : French and Italian valets and
shopmen, and German nurses and nursery-
maids. There is the foreign commercial po-
pulation, a whole colony of Greek merchants
in Finsbury, of Germans in the Minories, of
Frenchmen round Austin Friars, of Moorish
Jews in Whitechapel, and of foreign shop-
keepers at the west end of the town. There
is the foreign mechanical, or labouring popu-
lation : French, Swiss, and German watch-
makers, French and German lithographers,
Italian plaster-cast makers and German
sugar-bakers, brewers, and leather-dressers.
There is the foreign mendicant population :
German and Alsatian buy-a-broom girls,
Italian hurdy-gurdy grinders, French beg-
ging-letter writers (of whose astonishing
numbers, those good associations "La Society
Frangaise de Bienfaisance d Londres" and
" The Friends of Foreigners in Distress," could
tell some curious tales may be), Lascar street-
sweepers and tom-tom pounders. There is
the foreign maritime population : ^n enor-
mous one, as all men who have seen Jack
alive in London can vouch for. There is the
foreign respectable population, composed of
strangers well to do, who prefer English
living and English customs to those of their
own country. There is the foreign swindling
population : aliens who live on their own
wits and on the want thereof in their neigh-
bours : sham counts, barons, and chevaliers ;
farmers of German lotteries, speculators in
German university degrees, forgers of Russian
bank-notes, bonnets at gaming-houses, touts
and spungers to foreign hotels and on foreign
visitors, bilkers of English taverns and board-
ing-houses, and getters-up of fictitious con-
certs and exhibitions. There is the foreign
visiting or sight-seeing population, who come
from Dover to the Hotel de 1'Europe, and go
from thence, with a cicerone, to St. Paul's,
Windsor, and Richmond, and thence back
ii'.i'ain to France, Germany, or Spain. Lastly,
there is the refugee population ; and these be
mine to descant upon.

The Patmos of London I may describe as
an island bounded by four squares ; on the

north by that of Soho, on the south by that of
Leicester, on the east by the quadrangle of
Lincoln's Inn Fields (for the purlieus of Long
Acre and Seven Dials are all Patmos), and on
the west by Golden Square.

The trapezium of streets enclosed within
this boundary are not, by any means, of an
aristocratic description. A maze of sorry
thoroughfares, a second-rate butcher's meat
and vegetable market, two model lodging
houses, a dingy parish church, and some
"brick barns" of dissent are within its
boundaries. No lords or squires of high
degree live in this political Alsatia. The
houses are distinguished by a plurality of
bell-pulls inserted in the door-jambs, and by
a plurality of little brass name-plates, bearing
the names of in-dwelling artisans. Every-
body (of nubile age and English) seems to be
married, and to have a great many children,
whose education seems to be conducted chiefly
on the extra-domal or out-door principle.

As an uninterested stranger, and without
a, guide, you might, perambulating these
shabby genteel streets, see in them nothing
which would peculiarly distinguish them
from that class of London streets known
inelegantly, but expressively, as " back
slums." At the first glance you see nothing
but dingy houses teeming with that sallow,
cabbage-stalk and fried fish sort of po-
pulation, indigenous to back slums. The
pinafored children are squabbling or playing
in the gutters ; while from distant courts
come faintly and fitfully threats of Jane to
tell Ann's mother ; together with that un-
meaning monotonous chant or dirge which
street-children sing, why, or with what object,
I know not. Grave dogs sit on door-steps
their heads patiently cocked on one side,
waiting for the door to be opened, as in this
region of perpetual beer-fetching they know
must soon be the case. The beer itself, in
vases of strangely diversified patterns, and'
borne by Ganymedes of as diversified appear-
ance, is incessantly threading the needle
through narrow courts and alleys. The
public-house doors are always on the swing ;
the bakers' shops (they mostly sell " seconds ")
are always full ; so are the cookshops, so are
the coffee-shops : step into one, and you shall
have a phase of Patmos before you incon-
tinent.

Albrecht Lurleibeg, who keeps this humble
little DeutscJie Caffee und Gast/tof, as he calls
it, commenced business five years ago with a
single coffee-pot and two cups and saucers.
That was a little before February, 1848.
Some few foreigners dropt in to visit him
occasionally ; but he was fain to eke out his
slender earnings by selling sweetstuff, penny
dolls, and cheap Sunday newspapers. After
the first three months' saturnalia of revolution
in '48, however, exiles began to populate
Patmos pretty thickly. First, BarbeV and
Albert's unsuccessful riot ; then the escapade
of Ledru-Rollin and Louis Blanc j then the

Charles Dickens.]

PERFIDIOUS PATMOS.

wholesale proscriptions of Hungary, Italy,

civil war. Here are German philosophic

Austria, Russia, and Baden all these con-

democrats scientific conspirators who be-

tributed to swell the number of Herr Lurlei-

tween Greek roots and algebraical quantities,

beg's customers a hundred fold, and to fill

tobacco smoke and heavy folios in German

Patmos to overflowing. The svveetstuff and

text upon international law, have somehow

dolls disappeared "right away," and the

found themselves upon barricades and in

coffee-pots and cups and saucers multiplied

danger of the fate of Robert Blum. Here are

exceedingly. In addition to this, the Hen-

simple-minded German workmen such

caused to be stretched across the single

honest-faced, tawny-bearded young fellows as

window a canvas blind, on which his name,

you see in the beer cellars of Berlin who have

and the style and title of his establish-

shaken off their dreams of German unity to

ment, were painted in painfully attenuated

find themselves in this back slum Patmos far

letters, with which not yet content, he incited

away from home and friends. Here are

young Fritz Schif'tmahl, the artist, with

swarthy Italians, eying the Tedeschi (though

dazzling prospects of a carte-blanche for

friendly ones) askance; cursing Radetzky and

coifee and tobacco, to depict beneath, in real

Gyulay, and telling with wild gesticulations

oil colours, the counterfeit presentments of a

how Novara was fought and Rome defended.

Pole, a Hungarian, and a German embracing

Here, and in great numbers, are the poor,

each other in a fraternal accolade, all smoking

betrayed, cozened Hungarians, with glossy

like volcanos ; the legend setting forth

beards, and small embroidered caps and

that true, universal, and political brother-

braided coats. They are more woe-begoue,

hood are only to be found at Albrecht

more scared and wild-looking than the ivst,

Lurleibeg's.

for they are come from the uttermost corners

In the Herr's back parlour he once

of Europe, and have little fellowship save

designed in the flush of increased business to

that of misfortune with their continental

enlarge it by knocking it into the back yard,

neighbours. Lastly, here are the Poles, those

till warned, by a wary neighbour, of the

historical exiles who have been so long fugi-

horrible pains and penalties (only second to

tives from ' their country that they have

premunire) incurred by meddling with a wall in

adopted Patmos with a will, have many of

England in this dirty back parlour with rings

them entered into and succeeded in business,

made by coffee-cups on the ricketty Pembroke

but would, I think, succeed better if the

tables, on the coarsely papered, slatternly

persons with whom they have commercial

printed foreign newspapers and periodicals,

transactions were able to pronounce their

and moustache and head-dress, in every
imaginable phase of attire more or less dirty
and picturesque. Figures such as, were you
to see them in the drawings of Leech,
or Daumier, or Gavarni, you would pro-
nounce exaggerated and untrue to nature ;
hooded, tasselled, and braided garments of
unheard of fashion ; hats of shapes to make
you wonder to what a stage the art of squee-
zability had arrived ; trousers with unnum-
bered plaits; boots made as boots were never
made before ; finger and thumb-rings of fan-
tastic fashion ; marvellous gestures, Babel-like
tongues ; voices anything but (Englishly)
human ; the smoke as of a thousand brick-
kilns ; the clatter as of a thousand spoons : such
are the characteristics of this in-door Patmos.
Here are Frenchmen ex-representatives of
the people, ex-ministers, prefects and repub-
lican commissaries, Prole tai res, Fourierists,
Phalansterians, disciples of Proudhon, Pierre
le Roux and Cahagnet, professors of barricade
building ; men yet young, but two-thirds of
whose lives have been spent in prison or in
exile. Here are political gaol-birds who have
been caged in every state prison of Europe ;
the citadels of France, the cachots of Mont
St. Michel, the secrets of the Conciergerie, the
piombi of Venice, the gloomy fastnesses of
Ehrenbreitstein and Broslau aud Pilnitz, the
oubliettes of the Spielberg and Salzburg. Here
are young men boys almost of good fami-
lies and high hopes, blasted by the sirocco of

sonant letters in which the vowels are so few
that the consonants seem to have compassed
them round about, like fortifications, to
prevent their slipping out.

(I speak of them in general) who sit in coffee-
shops similar to Herr Lurleibeg's, from early
morning till late at night, to save the modi-
cum of fire and candle they would otherwise
be compelled to consume at home (if home
their garrets can be called), and which God
knows they can ill spare. About one o'clock
in the day, those who are rich enough con-
gregate in the English cook-shops, and regale
themselves with the cheap cag-mag there
offered for sale. Towards four or five the
foreign eating-houses, of which there are
many in Patmos of a fifth or sixth rate order
of excellence, are resorted to by those who yet
adhere to the gastronomic traditions of the
land they have been driven from ; and there
they vainly attempt to delude themselves into
the belief that they are consuming the fri-
cassees and ragouts, the suet puddings and
sauerkraut, the maccaroni and stuffato of
France or Germany or Italy all the delight-
ful messes on which foreigners feed with suck
extreme gusto and satisfaction. But alas !
these dishes, though compounded from foreign
recipes and cooked by foreign hands, are not,
or, at least, do not taste by any means like
foreign dishes. Cookery, like the amor patrice,
is indigenous. It cannot be transplanted. It

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted >;r

cannot flourish on a foreign soil. I question
if the black broth of Sparta would have agreed
with the Lacedtemonian palate if consumed in
an English a la mode beef shop.

Patuios is likewise studded with small
foreign tobacco shops. Limited to the sale of
tobacco mostly, for the cigar is a luxury in
most cases beyond the reach of the exile.
You must remember that abroad you may
obtain a cigar as large as an Eppiug sausage
(and as damp), as strong as brandy and as fiery
as a red hot poker for a matter of two sous :
in some parts of Belgium and Germany for one
sous ; and that in England the smallest Cuba,
of Minories manufacture, smoked in a minute
and of no particular flavour, costs three half-
pence : a sum ! There is, to be sure, a
harmless milk-mild little roll of dark brown
colour, the component parts of which, I be-
lieve, are brown paper, hay, and aromatic
herbs, vended at the charge of one penny.
But what would be the use of one of those
smoke toys to an exile who is accustomed to
wrap himself in smoke as in a mantle ; to
smoke by the apertures of his mouth, nostrils,
eyes and ears ; to eat cigars, so to speak ?
Thus Patmos solaces itself with cut tobacco
(which is good and cheap in England), which
it puffs from meerschaums or short clays, or
rolls up into fragments of foreign newspapers
and makes cigarettes of.

If there exist a peculiarity of Patmos
which I could not, without injustice, avoid
adverting to, it is the pleasure its inhabitants
seem to feel in reading letters. See, as we
saunter down one of Patmos's back streets a
German exile, in a pair of trousers like a bi-
furcated carpet bag, stops a braided Hun-
garian with a half quartern loaf under his
arm. A sallow Italian (one of Garibaldi's men)
enters speedily unto them, and the three fall
greedily to the perusal of a large sheet of
tissue paper, crossed and re-crossed in red,
and black, and blue ink, patchworked outside
with postage marks of continental frontiers
and Government stamps. Few of these
missives reach their destination without some
curious little scissor marks about the seal,
some suspicious little hot-water blisters about
the wafers, hinting that glazed cocked hats,
and jack-boots, and police spies have had
something to do with their letters between
their postage and their delivery. Indeed, so
well is this paternal solicitude on the part of
foreign governments to know whether their
corresponding subjects write and spell cor-
rectly, known among the refugees, that some
wary exiles have their letters from abroad
addressed to " Mr. Simpson Brown," or " Mr.
Thomas Williams," such and such a street,
London ; and as foreign governments are
rather cautious as to how they meddle with
the families of the Browns and the Williams's
who grow refractory sometimes and post
their letters in the paddle-boxes of war
steamers the Brown and Williams letters
reach London untampered with.

More exiles reading letters. One nearly
falls over a dog's-meat cart, so absorbed is he
in his correspondence ; another, bearded like
the pard, and with a fur cap like an Armenian
Calpack, is shedding hot tears on his out-
stretched paper, utterly unconscious of the
astonishment of two town-made little boys,
who have stopped in the very middle of a
" cartwheel " to stare at the " furriner a
crying." Poor fellows ! poor broken men !
poor hunted wayfarers ! If you, brother
Briton, well clothed, well fed, well cared for
with X 99 well paid to guard you with
houses for the sale of law by retail on every
side, where you can call for your half-pint of
habeas corpus, or your Magna Charta, cold
without, at any hour in the day if you were
in a strange land, pi'oscribed, attainted, poor,
unfriended, dogged even in your Patmos by
spies ; would you warrant yourself not to shed
some scalding tears, even in a fierce fur cap,
over a letter from the home you are never to
see more ?

My pencil may limn a few individual
portraits in the perfidious refuge, and then
I must needs row my bark away to other
shores. Stop at forty-six, Levant Street, if
you please, over against Leg-bail Court.

Up four flights of crazy stairs, knocking at
a ricketty door, you enter a suite of three
musty attics. They are very scantily fur-
nished, but crowded with articles of the most
heterogeneous description ; mes marchandises,
as the proprietor calls them. Variegated
shades for lamps, fancy stationery, bon-bon
boxes, lithographic prints, toys, cigar cases,
nicknacks of every description are strewn
upon the chairs and table, and cumber the
very floor ; at one window a dark-eyed mild-
looking lady, in a dark merino dress, is pain-
fully elaborating a drawing on a lithographic
stone ; at another a slender girl is bending
over a tambour frame ; at a desk a round-
headed little boy is copying music, while in
an adjoining apartment even more denuded
of furniture and littered with marchandises
are two or three little children tumbling
among the card-board boxes. All these
moveables, animate and inanimate, belong to
a Roman Marquis the Marchese del Piffe-
rare. He and his have been reared in luxury.
Time was he possessed the most beautiful
villa, the finest equipages, the most valuable
Rafaelles in the Campagua of Rome ; but la
politique, as he tells you with a smile, has
brought him down to the level of a species of
unlicensed hawker, going with his wares (to
sell on commission) from fancy warehouse to
fancy warehouse, often rebutted, often in-
sulted ; yet picking up an honest livelihood
somehow. His wife has turned her artistic
talent, and his eldest daughter her taste for
embroidery to account ; his son Mithridates
copies music for the orchestra in a theatre,
for living is dear in London, and those help-
less little ones among the card-board boxes
must be looked after. He has been an exile

Charles Dickens.]

INDIA-EUBBER.

for five years. The holy father was good
enough to connive at his escape, and to confer
all his confiscated estates on a Dominican
convent. No one knows what the politique,
which has been his ruin, exactly was ; nor, I am
inclined to think, does the good man know
very clearly himself. " We got away from
Borne," he tells you mildly, " with a few-
hundred scudi, and our plate and a picture or
two, and went to Marseilles ; but when we
had ' eaten ' (avevamo mangiati) what we had
"brought with us, we came to England. It
was very hard at first ; for we had no friends,
and could speak nothing but French and
Italian, and the English are a suspicious
people, whose first impulse, when they see a
foreigner for the first time, is to button up
their pockets as if he must necessarily be a
thief." But the marquis went to work man-
fully, forgot his coronet, and is now doing a
very good fancy commission business. He
has an invention (nearly all refugees have
inventions) for curing smoky chimneys, which,
when he has money enough to patent it, he
expects will bring him a fortune. In the
days of his utterest and most dire distress, he
always managed to pay three shillings every
Sunday for the sittings of himself, his wife,
and daughter at a foreign Catholic chapel,
and to wear every day the cleanest of white
neckcloths, fastened no man knows how, for
no man ever saw the tie thereof.

Within these sorry streets these dingy
.slums are swept together the dead leaves,
the rotten branches, the withered fruits from
the tree of European liberty. The autumn
blast of despotism has eddied .them about
from the remotest corners of Europe, has
chased them from land to land, has wafted
them at last into this perfidious Patmos,
where there is liberty to act, and think, and
breathe, but also, alas ! liberty to starve.

O England, happily unconscious of the
oppressions and exasperations that have
driven these men here, try sometimes to
spare some little modicum of substantial
relief, some crumbs of comfort, some fragile
straws of assistance to the poor drowning
exiles ! Their miseries are appalling. They
cannot dig (for few, if any, Englishmen will
call a foreigner's spade into requisition), to
beg they are nobly ashamed. They do not
beg, nor rob, nor extort. They starve in
silence. The French and Hungarian refugees
suffer more, perhaps, than those of other
nations. The former have by no means an
aptitude for acquiring the English language,
and are, besides, men mostly belonging to the
professional classes of society classes wofully
overstocked in England ; the latter seldom
know any language but their own a language
about as useful and appreciated here as Cochin-
Chinese. Only those who have wandered
through Patmos, who have watched the gates
of the London Docks at early morning when
the chance labourers apply for work, who
have sat in night coffee-houses, and explored

dark arches, can know what awful shifts
some of these poor refugees, friendless, food-
less, houseless, are often put to.

INDIA-BUBBER.

SOME few months ago, when our peers and
right honorable members were pushing each
other off their official stools, and discussing the
relative merits of " ins " and " outs," two
among their number had to submit to a
battery of jokes concerning the mottoes
in their armorial bearings. " Flecti non
Frangi " " Frangas non Flectes ; " whether
better to bend than to break, or to break
utterly sooner than bend, is a knotty moral
question which philosophers may fittingly
discuss. But it has occurred to us that if an
India-rubber manufacturer were to set up his
carriage, or emblazon his arms, there ought
to be no doubt as to which motto he would
prefer. To be elastic, to bend rather thau
break, is a good old Anglo-Saxon quality for
India-rubber, and for India-rubber users to
possess. We certainly live in an elastic age.
If we cannot break that which opposes us,
we bounce away from it with great agility,
and feel not much the worse for the encounter.
There is a fair amount of caoutchouc in the
human mind a useful quality; else we
should never bear the knockings and thump-
ings which the struggle through life brings
to us. Look at this little India-rubber gentle-
man, just purchased bran-new from a toy-
shop : you may open his jaws to any extent
you please ; you can make him laugh, cry,
yawn, grin, frown, simper, stare, doze it is
all one to him : he returns into himself again
and to the original expression of his counte-
nance, when the pressure from without is
removed. He is a self-contained man ; a man
sufficient unto himself.

Whatever amount of moral caoutchouc we
have amongst us, our dealings with vegetable
caoutchouc are becoming more curious and
more varied every day. These dealings may
all or nearly all be grouped under two
headings either we wish to yield (without
breaking) to mechanical pressure, or we have
a determination not to yield at all to watery
pj-essure. In either case caoutchouc is at
hand to befriend us. Let us see how this
ready aid manifests itself.

The Indians of South America knew some-
thing of the mechanico-yielding properties
of that singular gum, long before we knew
whence the gum itself was obtained. We
only knew it as a strange blackish substance
which would rub out pencil-markings. This,
combined with the indefinite nationality of
the region from which the gum was imported,
led to the name " India-rubber " a stupid
name as things now are, almost as bad as the
names green copperas and white copperas,
for two substances which neither contain
copper, nor are they produced from copper ;
but it is not easy to get rid of old names.

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Couductcd by

Besides, people do not yet quite know how to
screw up their mouths to pronounce properly
the very odd-looking word caoutchouc ; and
therefore India-rubber will continue to be
talked about. Well, then, these Indians, after
they had collected the gum as it oozed from
the trees, and allowed it to harden, were wont
(among ether purposes) to fashion it into
bouncing balls, and even to shoe their other-
wise naked feet with pieces of it, as a means
of assisting them in ludicrous gambols and
jumpings. The -sharp-sighted French Aca-
demicians who visited South America a
hundred and twenty years ago, and who saw
whence and how the Indians obtained the
gum, had evidence that the gum not only has
great elasticity, but also great power of
resisting the passage of liquids through its sub-
stance.

It was left for modern times to apply those
valuable properties to really valuable pur-
poses. Little do we think, when making use
of the many articles now manufactured in
this substance, how it has to be torn, and
dislocated, and rumpled about before it as-
siunes the proper texture and smoothness.
The Indians who collect the gum. and usually
fashion it into grotesque forms by drying it
upon clay cores modelled according to their
ideas of artistic beauty, do not take much
pains to exclude dirt, or bits of twig, or
fragments of stone ; all which must be re-
moved before the gum is fitted to play its
part iu the world. What torture it under-
goes ! It is cut into minute fragments by a
savage slashing machine ; it is washed in
warm water, to get rid of so much dirt as
chooses to take its departure on such gentle
urging ; and then, in a dry state, it is crushed
and kneaded with appalling severity : it is
rolled over and over, distorted, crippled, pe-
netrated to the heart, sliced, thinned, thumped,
heaped up again into a mass, cut' into lumps,
squeezed again until at length every vestige
of dirt or stone, of water or air, is driven out,
and the mass becomes thoroughly homo-
geneous. In this state it is pressed with
great force into iron moulds, which give to it
the form of cubes, slabs, or cylinders, accord-
ing to the purposes for which it is destined.
And then, when these blocks or other shaped
pieces are to be used, they are cut into sheets,
or are spun into threads, or are melted
for liquid purposes. Great ingenuity is called
for in all these processes ; for India-rubber
has a strong propensity to be wayward : it
becomes hot and angry when meddled with ;
and all the tools and machines employed in
working it speedily assume such a heated
state as to be unfit for use unless plentifully
deluged with cold water.

Among the facts which recent years have
lirought to our notice concerning American
industry, is the untiring perseverance with
which the useful applications of India-rubber
have been studied. A certain Mr. Goodyear,
of Connecticut, who devoted nearly a quarter

of a century to the study of the manufac-
ture of caoutchouc, has brought over-shoes
(those objects of Sam Slick's especial com-
mendation) to greater perfection than any
other enthusiast devoted to that elastic
,t ; and they exhibit but one among
many indications of his success. American
over-shoes may be regarded in two lights,
as both elastic and waterproof productions.
The raw material of Mr. Goodyear's com-
petitors would and did stiffen when cold ; and
it has hence been his object to surmount the
difficulty. In this, it is perhaps no more than
justice to say that he has succeeded. His
shoes resist cold ; they have an extensive and
permanent elasticity ; and two of their sur-
faces may be pressed together without
adhering all valuable qualities. It is said
that there are upwards of twenty large esta-
blishments in the United States, involving a
sunk capital of immense amount, in which
Mr. Goodyear's patented inventions are
worked by license. Among these is the
Hayward Rubber Company, of Connecticut.
Over-shoes are the sum and substance of
these operations ; and 'the Exhibition Jury
writing on this subject tell us that the Hay-
ward Company alone manufacture three
thousand pairs every day. The India-rubber
odds and ends made in those large "factories
are almost endless. Waggon springs, elastic
maps, balloons, sponge bags, tobacco-pouches,
hair-cushions, mattrasses, life-boats, buttons,
knife-handles ; it would not be easy to select
a list more diverse than this.

It is in the combination of India-rubber
with other substances that we may probably
look for the most valuable future addition
to its usefulness. Mr. Hancock of London,
and Mr. Goodyear of Connecticut, it is now
known were busily engaged for many years on
fuch inquiries ; each was ignorant at the time of
the other's doings, and both have rendered a
good account of their labours. Mr. Hancock's
vulcanized India-rubber may be an oddly-
named substance ; but it is not the less useful
for all that. He discovered that when a thin
piece of India rubber is dipped into and im-
pregnated with melted sulphur, and after-
wards heated to about three hundred degrees
Fahrenheit, it acquires new and peculiar
properties, withoutlosing any of the ad vantages
possessed by it in its original state. This was
an important discovery, and he practically
carries it out in the following way. The
India-rubber, while yet soft from the effect of
the kneading process, has sulphur well mixed
up and incorporated with it. So long as the
mixture remains cold, the gum has not
changed its properties ; but, after having been,
heated to three hundred degrees a tempera-
ture sufficient to chemically decompose pure
caoutchouc it puts on many new and striking
qualities ; it is no longer soluble in the
liquids which will dissolve India-rubber ; it
no longer becomes rigid when exposed to
cold ; it no longer adheres when two pieces

Charles Dickens.]

INDIA-EUBBER.

are pressed together ; it bears unharmed a
temperature so high as would convert pure
India-rubber into a sticky mass. Curiously
enough, while Mr. Hancock was bringing his
discoveries to a practical issue, Mr. Goodyear
was making experiments, which led to the
production of a substance possessing all the
properties of vulcanised or sulphurised (a
better term) India-rubber ; and both of their
countries are now reaping the advantages
resulting from the separate investigations of
these ingenious men.

There is another name which we associate
very closely with the subject of India-rubber
the name of Macintosh. The Macintosh cloak
or cape was the result of many and long-con-
tinued inquiries. Such a garment is, in effect,
made of a cotton or flax cloth varnished with
liquid India-rubber ; but the most effectual
s\ibstance for resisting wet is produced by
cohering two thicknesses of cloth together with
the same liquid : the gum acting iii the one
case as a varnish, in the other as a, cement, but
being in both quite impervious to water. The
cloth is stretched out flat, and the India-rubber
is spread over ; formerly the caoutchouc was
dissolved in spirits of turpentine or in coal
tar, and evaporated to the proper degree of
unctuous adhesiveness ; but an improvement
was made by kneading the gum with naphtha
into a pulpy mass, and using it without it
having been actually liquefied. Still, the India-
rubber, as is its wont, stiffened in cold
weather, and a Macintosh cloak became a
most unbending and ungracious companion
as soon as the temperature sank to anything
like freezing point. It was not until the
introduction of the sulphurizing process,
that this inconvenience was surmounted by a
modified use of that operation.

Iii America, and in England, the appli-
cations of this kind of varnished cloth
have become prodigiously numerous. Many
of these kinds of waterproof cloth are strong
in the direction of warp, but weak in that of
the weft. To remedy this defect, the American
inventor has devised a sort of stuff or felt,
formed in successive layers of thread crossing
each other in various directions ; there are
no "long threads" or "cross threads," but
the cloth yields, and resists, equally in
every direction, like a piece of felt. When
this texture has been anointed with a pulpy
coating of India-rubber, it forms a very
remarkable material, a kind of tough paper
quite impervious to moisture. Many persons
will remember the excellently printed India
rubber maps brought over to us by the
American Exhibitors : thin, light, smooth,
but amazingly strong, these maps are sug-
gestive of other useful applications. The
same kind of India-rubber felt is also printed
as a paper-hanging for damp walls, with very
serviceable effect. The felt is itself somewhat
thin ; but means have been invented for
applying it to the surface of a kind of woollen
wadding, thereby producing a thick, warm

waterproof, but light and cheap material
for out-door clothing : we know little of this
in England, but across the Atlantic, many a
cozy garment of the kind may be seen. The
felt, instead of being applied as a coating to
something else, may itself be coated with a
woven material : if this woven material be a
printed cotton, then we have at once a small
table-cover produced. On the other hand, if
a carpet be required on a floor so damp
as to rot an ordinary worsted production
make a layer of thick woollen down or
flock, cover it with a layer of the India-rubber
felt, and we are rewarded with a warm,
cheap carpet. By embracing a strong hempen
canvas between two layers of the felt, a water-
proof sailcloth, or tarpaulin, or rickcloth, or
tent of great strength and toughness is pro-
duced. Of some such redoubtable substance
are made the life-boats, insubmersible boats,
and pontoons, which are much more familiarly
known in America than in England : in the
Mexican War the carriage of the military
equipage was greatly aided by the use of boat-
bridges made of India-rubber canoes, and
inflated with air. The India-rubber shoes,
too, of our transatlantic friends, which are
produced to the number of three or four
millions iu a year, exhibit many curious
modes of applying the gum to the surface of
the woven material.

The real India-rubber shoes are made with
extraordinary quickness by laying on the
liquid gum as a varnish on a last, then
drying it ; then applying a second coating ;
and so on, until the necessary thickness for
a shoe has been obtained. But it is of the
shoes having a woven foundation, that we
here speak. In the cheapest of these, there
is a layer of India- rubber applied to the
surface of a non-elastic woven material. In
the next better kind the woven foundation is
elastic, being a sort of knitted work ; these
yield to the movements of the feet, and to the
lumps and bumps which our unfortunate
pedal extremities too often exhibit. A thin
variety of this last-named substance is much
used in making gloves for domestic wear in
America gloves that will enable the indus-
trious lady of the establishment to do
much household work without endangering
the whiteness of her fair hands.

Those who have worn Macintosh cloaks
and India-rubber shoes will have had fre-
quent and not very pleasant proofs that the
sanitary evil defective ventilation may
visit men's clothing as well as men's dwellings.
The truth is, that in keeping water out we keep
perspiration in ; the same impervious gummy
wall produces the one result as the other.
Among the numerous little matters to which
the ingenious Connecticut inventor has di-
rected his attention, is this affair of non-venti-
lation. How to keep the water out, and yet
leave escape-holes for perspiration 1 Water,
we know, from numerous examples, will not
penetrate through very small holes unless there

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

be a pressure of air greater on one side than
on the other of the permeated medium. Mr.
Goodyear thought of this ; and the result ol
his thoughts was that he devised a machine
for piercing thin sheets of India-rubber with
innumerable holes of very small size : holes
so small that, while they will allow an exit
for perspiration, they allow no entrance for
water : for this additional reason, that when
the perspiration (which is always transuding,
even when we are not conscious of it,) has
risen, it fills these little holes, and being
oleaginous, has the power, equally with the
India-rubber material, of resisting wet. Not
only shoes, therefore, but every other gar-
ment to which the Macintosh process has
been hitherto applied, will doubtless soon be
brought into the range of this ingenious dis-
covery.

It is worthy of notice, that the employment
of India-rubber in its uncombined state is not
very varied or extensive. In most cases the gum
is kneaded with sulphur, or magnesia, or car-
bonate of lead, or some other mineral substance ;
or else is applied to some other woven material.
Of each of these two large groups of applica-
tions we have mentioned instances, and it
would not be difficult to add largely to the
list. The " doctored," or vulcanised, or mine-
ralized India-rubber is used for tubes, hose-
pipes, decanter and bottle stoppers, surgical
and veterinary apparatus, chemical apparatus,
buffers for locomotives, buffer and bearing
springs for carriages, tires for noiseless wheels,
sewer and sink valves, elastic tackle and
pulleys, pistons and washers and packings for
machinery, moulded articles for various pur-
poses of use or ornament, valves and taps
for various hydraulic and chemical purposes,
air-pump valves, inking rollers for printers,
cushions for billiard-tables, joints for pipes ;
indeed, an ever-widening circle of useful pur-
poses. Some of the results are most valu-
able, some curious ; some are both valuable
and curious. "We all know that to keep a pipe
so closed that a liquid shall pass through it
only in one direction, requires a complex
arrangement of valvular apparatus ; but our
India-rubber manufacturers (there ought to
be some short name devised here, equiva-
lent to these three words), effect this object
by simply compressing one end of an India-
rubber pipe so as to form a kind of mouth
or pair of lips : the lips close resolutely ex-
cept when water forces them apart to obtain
a passage in one direction. When the mine-
ralised gum is prepared in moulds, it assumes
and preserves the form of those moulds ; and
tlius, among other things, are produced the
dolls' heads, and animals, and toys, which are
now finding their way into the. nursery and
the play-ground, and which, from their sturdy,
unbreakable disposition, are so justly valued
by mammas and nursemaids.

Among the other applications of, and experi-
ments with, vulcanized India-rubber, its use

The enormous thoroughfare through the
streets of London has given rise to a vast
number of inventions to combine hardness
and durability with sufficient roughness or elas-
ticity to form an easy and effectual "foothold"
for horses and passengers. It was at first
thought that all these conditions could be
combined by the application of India-rubber
submitted to a hardening process something
similar to vulcanizing. But experience proved
that a due amount of proficiency in that art had
not been attained in order to pave our streets
with so pleasant a material as "doctored"
India-rubber. The only relic left of this con-
trivance is the court-yard of the Admiralty.

The second important application of this
most valuable substance is, as we have said,
in the form of a liquid cement, or an unctuous
varnish, on a surface of woven, or, at any rate,
fibrous material. And the great magnitude
of this application, we have by this time
already computed. Who is not familiar with
the cloaks and capes, the wrappers and over-
alls, the sou'westers and leggings, the gloves
and gaiters, the air-beds and air-cushions, the
neat little India-rubber bands or rings, the
maps and prints, the bags and balloons ?
What with our elasticity and our impermea-
bility, we are certainly becoming a redoubt-
able race in this nineteenth century.

But one class of applications of India-
rubber we have left wholly unnoticed in the
above paragraphs ; applications, too, which
curiously enough, depend on the very quality
which was for many years a stumbling-block
in other ways. India-rubber loses nearly all
its elasticity at a temperature a little above
that of freezing ; and this property has been
made available in the manufacture of braids,
and braces, and cords, in infinite variety.
The hosiers, tailors, haberdashers, and mil-
liners, now make use of these little trifles
to a remarkable extent ; and very pretty
trifles they are, in the mode of production.
There are here threads of India-rubber com-
bined with threads of silk, cotton, wool, or
flax. The gum is cut into threads by very
ingeniously arranged knife-points, or cutters ;
they are stretched by a wheel, and kept ex-
tended till nearly deprived of their elasticity ;
they are next put into the braiding machine
a beautiful piece of machinery and have
a sheathing of silk, wool, hair, flax, or cotton,
braided around them ; and when thus
sheathed, the threads are used as warp or
weft, or both, in various kinds of weaving
processes. Thus are made the elastic stay-
laces, braid, upholsterer's cord, and other
articles of a similar character ; but it has
yet to be explained in what way the elasti-
ity of the material is restored. If threads
of India-rubber were woven in their ordinary
state, either with or without other threads,
:hey would be so yielding as to be unfitted
'or the object in view ; but by being kept
stretched for some time at a low temperature,

for street pavements must not be forgotten. I they acquire a rigidity as if stiffened by cold,

Charles Dickens

THE WHISPERING TREE.

and can easily be woven. When woven, and Sind, with many other wonderful places,
however, a friendly warmth dissipates all had resided in Persia and sailed upon the
their rigidity at once ; a hot iron, at a tern- Caspian.

perature of about one hundred and fifty | He would tell to one or two intimate friends,
degrees, is passed over the woven material ; that when afc Ispahan he had loved and been
the India-rubber yields at once, decreasing in ; beloved by a lady, whom he married and
length and increasing in thickness to its former lived with for nearly a year. A child was

dimensions ; but, as it is linked in brother-
hood with the other threads with which it has
been woven, these others silk, wool, &c.
have no resource but to shrink, or pucker, or
wrinkle, or corrugate, to bring them to a lon-
gitudinal equality with their neighboiirs.
Thus does elasticity result : the India-rubber
threads will stretch because it is in their nature
to do so ; and the fibrile threads will stretch
because they are now somewhat shrivelled up,
and the change will be a sort of leg-stretching
relief to them. Herein exists the secret of
our elastic garters, shirt-collar fastenings, um-
brella fastenings, braces, belts, sandals, side-
springs for shoes, corsets and corset-belts,
watch-guards, wristlets, glove-tops, armlets,
bead-threading, and neck-chains.

THE WHISPERING" TREE.

IN the city of Cairo there once dwelt a
Christian merchant, named Hanna, who had
amassed a considerable fortune, so that envy
often turned its glances towards him. As is
usual, however, in this world, Hanna found
cau.se to complain of his condition. It was
true that he had a fine house in the street of
the saddle-makers, that his furniture was
costly, that his slaves, pipes, mules and asses
were of the first quality. One thing was
wanted : a son and heir to inherit his wealth,
and continue his name.

Now, in an Eastern story, no sooner is this
difficulty mentioned than we can, as a general
rule, foresee that in some manner, more or
less ingenious, the much desired addition
to the hero's family is miraculously made.
Sometimes, a pilgrimage is undertaken to the
tomb of a Saint ; sometimes, prayers are
addressed directly to heaven ; sometimes, a
magician makes his appearance and gives two
children, on condition that at a certain age
he shall be allowed to claim one and slay it
for the purpose of some horrible incantation :
it following as a matter of course that he
chooses the favourite, and leaves the discon-
solate parent to cover his head with ashes, to
clothe himself in sackcloth, and to perform all
the heart-breaking ceremonies of an Eastern
mourning. The difficulty in the case of Hanna
was that he had no wife and was determined
never to get married ; and, considering that
he was past his seventieth year, the deter-
mination can scarcely be called unwise.

There was a mystery, however, in the life
of this Christian, which will explain in some
measure why he did not give himself up to
absolute and sullen despair. About half a
century before the period of which we speak,

born to them, a boy. on whom both showered
all the treasures of their affection. But it
happened, one day, that they were in the
gardens in the neighbourhood of the city ;
and Hanna, feeling weary, went under some
trees to sleep, whilst his wife sat with the
child by the side of a streak of water that
danced along through a grass-fringed bed.
The young man's slumber lasted some time.
The shadow which had protected him when
he lay down had moved away when he
awoke. Indeed, it was the sun playing upon
his eye-lids that recalled him from the
land of dreams. He rose from the warm turf
and called languidly for Lisbet ; but, though
he could see all across the meadow where he
had left her under a locust-tree by the side
of the water, his eyes discerned no sign of
life. He went forward slowly, stretching his
arms and yawning, until he came to the spot
where the young mother had been sitting.
Here he saw traces of the trampling of
many feet, both of horses and men ; and a
riband that had adorned the wrist of the
child lay on the ground. Fear of a calamity
came upon him. He gazed more eagerly over
the meadow ; and beheld a track through the
grass as if a body of horse had rushed rapidly
along. One loud cry of " Lisbet ! " a cry
that burst in anguish from his lips, but to
which he did not expect an answer showed
that he understood what disaster had befallen
him. He sprang on the track of the ravishers ;
crossed the meadow ; burst through a little
screen of trees : and saw, on the extreme limit
of the plain, just fading from his view, as it
were a little moving cloud with a cluster of
sparkling rays of light above it. The Turko-
mans were shaking their spears in triumph as
they entered upon the desert with their prey.

Hanna had never obtained any reasonable
information as to the fate of Lisbet. Perhaps
he did not do all that some heroic natures
would to recover her and the child. He sent
messengers with offers of money to the tribes ;
he even undertook a journey to the stronghold
of Jaffir Khan ; but without success. The
Turkomans hinted that perhaps the charms
of Lisbet had smitten some independent chief,
who had carried her far away into the wilder-
ness. After some years of vain waiting, the
extreme manifestations of grief disappeared.
Hanna resumed his commercial enterprises,
and at length became established in Egypt,
where he remained, buying and selling, until
wealth surrounded him. But fifty years
passed away, and he did not take unto himselr
another wife.

So far he easily confided to the few whom

he had been a traveller, had visited Hind I he called his friends ; and when these would

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

condole with him as to his childless position,
he used to smile strangely and insinuate that
there might yet be found an heir to inherit
what he had amassed. Yet he never admitted
that his hopes lay in the child of Lisbet, and
i hat he had some faint reason for believing
that he was not feeding upon a delusion.

The truth is that Ilanna, who was a good,
kind man made better and kinder by all his
misfortunes as he was travelling between
Bagdad and Damascus, several years after
the loss of Lisbet, fell in with a poor man by
the way, a poor, miserable man, who begged
for succour from amidst some bushes ; for he
was totally naked, having been stripped by
robbers. All he asked was a cloak and a
loaf, that he might continue his journey and
reach a neighbouring town. Bat Hanna
stopped his kafila, and clothed and fed him,
and gave him money, and set him upon a
mule his own spare mule, white and fit
for a king and took him all the way to
Damascus, where he set him down in the
street, without so much as asking his name,
his country, or his faith.

This poor stranger was a Jew, who came,
many years afterwards, to Egypt, and recog-
nised his benefactor. He was also a magi-
cian, who discovered the secret thoughts of
those with whom he conversed ; so he said,
one day, to Hanna, " There is a mighty sorrow
within thee ; for I see the signature of regret
upon thy brow, near the right temple."

" I regret not to have a child," replied the
merchant.

" Nay," said the Jew ; " thy grief hath rela-
tion to a thing past. Tell me thy story, and
I may be of service."

Hanna told his story ; and the Jew forth-
with went away, and burned perfumes, and
uttered words, and wrotesymbols, and wrestled
with the keepers of the unknown. When he
came back to the merchant, he said, " I have
not discovered all that I wish to know ; but
they tell me, that if thou canst find the
Whispering Tree, it will speak to thee of
Lisbet and her child."

The Jew could give no further information ;
but Ilanna, who believed, began forthwith
to make cautious inquiries about the Whisper-
ing Tree. He questioned not only the people
of Cairo, but wrote to all his correspondents
in various parts of the globe, asking about
this strange thing. Indeed he went about
catechising the world in general respecting
the mysterious Whispering Tree. But he got
no information. All replied that they were
ignorant. Nobody had heard of a tree that
whispered. Year after year Hanna persisted
in inquiring of every stranger who arrived
from various provinces, whether he knew any-
thing about the Whispering Tree ; until time
pa.-.sed, and strength began to fail. When all
his friends were tired of hearing him ask the
same question, and he became tired of asking
it, despair was a frequent visitor with him.

One day, he was at Gizneh, in a garden

drinking coffee with his friend Malek, and
listening to the bubbling of his water-pipe,
when, along the path leading from the
pyramids, appeared coming a string of laden
camels accompanied by many men. " Is it
the caravan from Mourzuk ? " inquired
Hanna. "Nay," replied Malek ; " that cara-
van came in the week past ; and I know not
from what country this arrival may be."
They went to the garden-gate, moved by
curiosity ; and waited until the forerunners
of the caravan came by.

Their costume was that of the sons of the
desert, except that round the head was a
wrapper which enfolded both the brow and
the mouth, leaving little more than the eyes
exposed.

" They are of the Muthelameen," said
Malek ; " and come from the deserts towards
Beled-es-Soudan ; but of what tribe we shall
only learn by asking." Then he raised his
voice, and suid, " O strangers, merchants ;
from what country, and with what merchan-
dize 1 " The man addressed muttered from
beneath his muffler, " From Agdaz in the
land of Ahir, Avith gold-dust and ivory, and
a remnant of slaves, the strong and the
sturdy, the rest having perished by the way."
So saying, he passed on.

" Hast thou ever heard of this country ? "
inquired Hauna. " But little," said Malek.
" It is not a country of commerce ; and I
cannot xmderstand why they should have
come this way." As he spoke, a youth of
pleasant countenance, riding on a camel, with
his mouth uncovered, came slowly towards
them. " O young man," cried Hanna-. as if
obeying a sudden inspiration, " thou comest
from unknown lands over wonderful regions.
Perchance thou canst tell me of the Whisper-
ing Tree." " It is at Kama," replied the
youth, striking with his heel the neck of his
camel, and causing it to turn out of the line
and stop, " and what, my father, is the reason
of thy curiosity ? " " 'Tis a long story,"
replied Hanna ; " but if thou wilt alight and
repose thyself after thy fatigue, I will relate
it to thee." The young man leaped down,
called to a black man who had followed him
on foot to take care of the camel, and entered
the garden with the two old men.

When he had heard the story of the mer-
chant, the young stranger said : " My story is
similar to thine, O my father. Thou art
seeking what thou hast perhaps never seen.
I am seeking what has only appeared to me
in a vision. I come not of the Muthelameen
of A.gdaz. My father was a merchant of
Egypt, who travelled with me into the land of
Talebs, of wise men and magicians, and dying,
left me there a child. Now it happened a
year ago that I dreamed a dream, and, lo ! a
maiden of surpassing beauty came and bent over
me like a lily over a pool of sleeping water,
bent and bent until her lips swept my temple,
and I awoke tremulous as after a kiss of
love. I stretched my arms in the darkness,

Charles Dickensi]

THE WHISPERING TEEE.

but there was nothing ; I called my slave,
who came with a light and searched the
room ; and there was nothing. Then I knew
that I had dreamed, and turned upon my
pillow again, and sought to return to the
country which I had quitted. Soon I slept
again, and the same maiden appeared but
this time afar off beckoning me to follow. I
endeavoured to rise, but my limbs had lost
their vigour. I struggled ; but in vain. The
earth drew me still closer to it, until I burst
away into consciousness, and found myself
trembling in the bed. From that time I
pined for love of the maiden of my dream,
and nought would content rue. My friends
at first laughed and mocked ; but when I

people in the villages and the encampment
knew them as the strange questioners, and
pitied their case ; and instead of harming
them whenever they met them on the road,
would cry, " Has there any news been heard
by y'e, O melancholy searchers 1 O father !
O brother ! has the unknown place been
made known? Has the secret been revealed ?"
Thus they continued wearying the desert
with constant going to and fro, until Hanna
became a bent shadow, and . the youth grew
to be a bearded man.

It happened one evening, as they were going
through a mountainous country which they
had not hitherto trodden, far on the way to
Bukharia, they came to a small valley locked

became in truth sick and pale, and unable to j in the embraces of rugged rocks. ' Its surface

rise from the bed unable and unworthy ; for
whenever I slumbered, the same form of
beauty appeared when I drew near to the
gates of death, they brought to me a wise
man who inquired into my case, and smiled
when he heard what had befallen, saying

" TJie remedy is not easy ; for the road is
long, and there are dangers by the way. But

O J J

if thou hast courage, thou wilt hear what

was like a green emerald. Grass, and shrubs,
and trees, and flowers, spread to the feet of
perpendicular cliffs. A silver stream wound
here and there, as if unwilling to leave so
pleasant a spot, and at last gathered into a
small lake without apparent issue. The two
wayfarers expected to find a village where

they might pass the night. But there was no
sign of human habitation. The night began.

thou wishest murmuring amidst the leaves of j balmily ; the stars shone warmly ; there
the Whispering Tree." He then told me that ! was scarcely any breeze ; and the little
this tree was situated at a place called Kama, ' that blew was warm and fragrant as the

in Khorassan, beyond Persia. I instantly sold
all my goods, and prepared to depart with a
caravan that was bound for Tripoli ; after we
had travelled a mouth, we came to a country
where there was war ; and we were compelled
to traverse the regions of Thibet, and the
Haronj Mountains, and the Wahs, and to
travel through many disasters to Egypt.

breath of woman. Hanna and Gorges lay
down under the shadow of a tree, and slept
as the travel-weary alone can sleep.

They both dreamed a dream if dream it
was. The tree above their heads began to
wave and wave its boughs ; murmurs seemed
to creep from every leaf ; there was a hum.
and a buzz, as if a swarm of bees was settling

This is the reason why we have met ; and over head ; and by degrees a chorus of small
now it will be better for us both to journey voices seemed to sing: "This is Kama,
together in search of this wonderful tree." | Kama, Kama ! Go no further ; but tarry
When Hanna heard what this young man I here. Rest and peace will find you ; for this
said, that Kama was in the country of Kho- j is Kama, Kama, Kama ! "

rassan beyond Persia, he doubted not but
that he should hear there some news of the
lost Lisbet and her child. He therefore re-
solved to depart in company with the young

All night long the same melody refreshed
their ears ; and an evil spirit, who bent over
them intending to do them wrong, fled away ;
for, on seeing their smile of happiness, he

man, whose name was Gorges, although the ! said to himself " That is the smile of the

prudent Mai ok objected his great age, and
the possibility of danger and death. In a
few days the worthy merchant had closed his
business for that season, and with a purse
of money and a case of jewels, was ready to
accompany the love-lorn Gorges.

The narrative need not trace their itinerary.
Many months elapsed ere the young and the
old traveller the toys of love and parental
affection were wandering, disguised in
humble raiment, through the wilds of Kho-
rassan, asking of the rare people they met
for a place called 'Kama. Nobody seemed
able to give them any intelligence. The place
was a place unknown. They began to think
they were the victims of delusion ; and when
'hey had passed several years in the vain
starch, it is said that they became, as it were,
. They thought and talked of nothing
the Whispering Tree of Kama. The

angels of God ! "

The birds were singing when the old man
and the young awoke. The name of Kama
was still ringing in their ears ; and it seemed
as if the thrush that had come to perch in the
boughs overhead was repeating it. Suddenly
a clear sweet voice sounded over the meadow,
and the wayfarers beheld a maiden with a jar
upon her head, tripping lightly along a path-
way that passed near them and led to the
stream. She was singing, and the burden of
her song was : " Fair is the valley of
Kama ! " Hauna turned up his eyes with
gratitude towards the Whispering Tree ; but
Gorges kept gazing intently at the maiden.
His dream stood before him embodied.

The maiden of Kama was alarmed at first
at the aspect of strangers ; but they soon con-
trived to re-assure her, and bidding them wait
until she returned from the stream, she

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

promised to conduct them to her dwelling.
They waited accordingly, and following her
steps, Avhich she made slow out of respect to
the age of ITanna, passed by a green garden,
in the midst of which were three graves, and
reached a kind of hermitage scooped in the
rock, in front of which, on a sunny bench, sat
an old man with a huge white beard that
swept to his knees. No stranger had pene-
trated into that valley for many a long year ;
but the patriarch was past the age when
surprise is possible, and meekly bade the
travellers to be seated on the bench beside
him.

When they had refreshed themselves with
rest and food, the old hermit bade them tell
their stories, whilst the maiden sat at their feet,
a little nearer to Gorges than to the others,
listening with downcast eyes. Hanna related
what had sent them in search of the Whis-
pering Tree of Kama, omitting nothing, not
even the love of the young man for the
being of his dream. The hermit smiled
in his white beard and said : " I am one hun-
dred years old, and no longer fear the enmity
of man ; for I am in hopes of the mercy of
God. I have sinned, but I have suffered. It
was I, O Hanna, who took away thy wife
Lisbet. I took her to my tents, not far from
this valley ; but she refused her love and
died. Then I desponded and retired to this
hermitage with her child, which I bred as my
own. I called him Kama, which in our
tongue means the Bereaved, and named the
place of our dwelling after him. He grew up
not knowing his origin, and in due time knew
a maiden, and took her and dwelt with her
in happiness until he died, and she died leav-
ing this daughter to my care. There are the
graves of Lisbet, and her son, and her son's
wife," said the old man pointing to the three
mounds of earth. His hand fell, says the
story, with a rattle. Old age had done its
work. He had lived to restore the grand-
daughter of Lisbet to him who had so long
sought for herself ; and was buried in the
little garden before his hermitage.

The worthy gentleman who related this
story to me, after observing that of course
Miriam became the wife of Gorges, and that
they and Hanna returned in safety to Cairo,
endeavoured to play the free-thinker by ex-
plaining that whatever seemed supernatural
in this story was purely ornament ; that the
Tree most probably did not whisper at all ;
and that there was nothing in it incompatible
with the supposition of an extraordinary
coincidence.

I observed, however, that while venturing
on this ticklish ground he had an uneasy
look which reminded me of those philo-
sophical young gentlemen whom one meets
in society, and who observe in a dismal voice
that they believe in nothing they do not
understand.

The fact is ; these Levantines are as credu-

lous as the Muslims ; and, although their
stories are not quite so wild and extravagant
as those of the Arabian Nights' Entertain-
ments, they exact the exercise of nearly as
great an amoxmt of faith. I mentioned this
to the narrator, and observed, instead ot
entering upon a philosophical discussion with
him, that he seemed to lay no stress on the
joy of Hanna at recovering his grand-
daughter, or on that of Gorges at beholding
the lady of his dream.

"As to the latter point," said he, "we can all
imagine the feelings of the young man ; but
T remember that it is usual to say, in telling
this story, that the good old Hanna whilst
the hermit was telling his story put his arms
round the necks of Miriam and Gorges, and
pressing them to his breast tried to speak,
but could only give utterance to a loud cry of
triumph and joy. They say, too, that he
always wandered in his speech a little after-
wards ; and would, now and then, wish that
he were asleep in Kama by the side of
Lisbet."

TWO OLD SAINTS.

TIMES are changed since knights and
abbots, travelling into the interior of the
country from Boulogne towards Amiens, had
so many thick forests to go through and had
such dangers to apprehend in so doing from
the herds of famished wolves which infested
them, that they were forced to be accompanied
by a pack of powerful dogs of a fierce breed,
who, when they had done with the wolves, had
robbers, nearly as dangerous, to defend their
masters from. Not to mention the stags of
enormous size and fabulous strength that
roamed in these vast forests, and fought with
the hunters who dared to intrude upon them,
with almost as much fury as the wolves and
the robbers.

So we lately thought as we sat in the rail-
way carriage, bound from Boulogne on an
antiquarian expedition. We had heard of a
wonderful town, out of the line, only two
leagues from Abbeville, the account of whick
seemed to us as extraordinary as that fabled
African city, only a short day's journey from
the coast, where everything remains as it
existed unknown centuries since, but turned
into stone and seldom visible to the human eye.
Saint Riquier was the name of this enchanted
place. Once imbued with an antiquarian
feeling, all the dreary, marshy country, with
its low sand hills, grew important in our eyes
as we drew pictures of banners floating and
trumpets sounding now English, now Bur-
gundian, now French ; for not fifty years were
allowed to pass on in the turbulent Middle
Ages without a fresh quarrel, more and
more violent contentions, slaughter, pillage,
conquest, defeat, and utter ruin under all cir
cumstances. We had been disturbed in our his-
torical reveries more than once by the an^ry
and lamentable howling of an imprisoned dof

Charles Dickens.]

TWO OLD SAINTS.

belonging to one of the numerous French
sportsmen whom the train was carrying to
the spot where his prowess was to be proved
amongst the rabbits of the sandy plains near
Staples, and just as we had arrived at the
conclusion that Louis the Eleventh had passed
this way when he visited the famous shrine
of Notre Dame de Boulogne, a general shout
and peal of laughter interrupted the argument ;
and, looking from the window as every one
else in the train did at the same moment
we beheld our noisy and desperate canine
fellow-traveller in the act of clearing the rail
and coursing at liberty over the fields, in a
backward direction, leaving his master gun,
gaiters, and all without his valuable assist-
ance, borne on, in spite of his vociferous cries
to " Looloo ! " and frantic entreaties to be let
out. The noise, the laughter, the exclama-
tions that ensued, can only be conceived by
those who have witnessed French excitement,
nor had it subsided when we reached the
Montreuil station ; the distracted master of
the ungrateful companion of his sports having
lost all recollection of his intention to stop
some fifteen miles before, and thus having
allowed himself to be swept on while he re-
counted to interested listeners the escapades
of his dog and his own extraordinary feats,
not only as a sportsman, but in almost every
other capacity. As we had condoled with
him, on his accident, he had become communi-
cative on many subjects, and we found his
vanity extremely amusing. He was a re-
markably little man, with such small hands
and feet as none but Frenchmen own, but he
informed us that his strength was perfectly
miraculous, and he had done things which
the most powerful-looking men had been
unable to accomplish : he had lifted weights ;
he had stopped horses at full gallop ; he had,
by merely pressing his foot against it, kept a
gate against six ; he had invented machines
for stopping a train in an instant, regardless
of consequences ; he knew how to sail a bal-
loon on a principle impossible to fail ; but
with all these achievements he had yet a wish
unaccomplished. " What I desire," said he,
looking lightnings, " above all other things is
to tame a Lion ! "

Meantime we left him at the station, where
having joined a brother of the craft, he ap-
peared, at once, to forget his misfortune ; and,
by his gesticulations, bows, and smiles, we
gathered that he had accepted an invitation
to repair in due course to a certain small
chateau which was pointed to, and whose
bright red trellice was heavy with crowding
clusters of grapes, destined, no doubt, to
furnish part of the dessert on that memorable
day, when the good dinner fitting reward for
manly toil should crown the exertions of the
Little Lion-tamer.

More marshes, more sportsmen, and more
rows of spectre-like trees, brought us to the
station of Rue. There is nothing in the
station or the country round to excite notice,

yet the reiteration of the name, as it sounded
in our ears, awoke many recollections. Rue !
we said the most celebrated spot of pilgrim-
age in all Picardy, possessing a miraculous
crucifix sculptured by the hand of Nicodemus
Rue ! where one has only to go, even at
the present time, to obtain all sorts of Indul-
gences, quite as efficacious now, under the
reign of the Imperial President, as when
Pope Alexander the Third raised money by
selling them to the devout, who travelled
from Lyons by the Roman road (by the bye,
we were then crossing it) which led to the
shrines of Ponthieu.

We scarcely allowed ourselves time to
acknowledge sufficiently the ceremonious
greetings of the antique hostess of our hotel
at Abbeville, before we ordered a vehicle for
Saint Riquier, fearful of losing the fleeting
light of an October day.

By a very dreary road, now and then
enlivened by rows of red apple-trees ; past
swampy fields and trim hedges, through thin
little woods filled with chattering magpies
our driver, a jolly pati'onising character, fond
of gambolling with an ugly little dog, for
whose convenience he occasionally stopped
his horses that it might overtake us we
found ourselves consuming the two leagues
which lie between Abbeville and the hun-
dred-towered region of Saint Riquier. We
had emerged from a rather thick wood, one
of the " fringes " left " upon the petticoat " of
the forest of Crecy, and were eagerly gazing,
in hopes that one of the hundred turrets
would reward our perseverance. A high
square tower presently peered over the dis-
tant trees, and on a bright blue board, fixed
on the gable of a lonely cottage, we read the
name of the town we were in quest of. A
long and thinly-peopled faubourg led us at
last to the main street of this redoubtable
place, once the protection as well as the
oppression of the whole district, and our
vehicle drew up in a wide place before a hugfe
square tower, seated on the declivity of a hill,
up which the rows of apparently uninhabited
houses ran. Not a sound, not a breath, broke
the perfect solitude, except the rattle of our
wheels on the rugged pavement, and our
inquiries of our driver as to the road to the
church. Presently we met a troup of young
students, who all saluted us with studied
courtesy : every peasant we passed, few as
they were, bowed with equal civility, and we
found that this silent city seemed the abode
of the most exemplary politeness.

The truth is, that Saint Riquier is a town
devoted to learning ; that the college founded
by Charlemagne still exists ; and that, though
the monks and students of the abbey are no
longer seen, there are still monastic costumes
and " learned runnagates," as in days of old.

The college, famous for so many centuries,
in spite of the destruction of the year Three,
nourishes at the present moment in great
vigour; more than three hundred students are

HOUSEHOLD WOEDS.

[Conducted by

daily engaged in diligent efforts to conquer
the difficulties of learning : as we peeped
through the large windows of an immense
hall of study, we had an opportunity of
judging of the zeal of the numerous pupils :
not a head was lifted from the desk, not an
eye directed from a book, while the clerical
instructors strode with solemn steps up and
down the chamber, keeping careful watch on
their charges. One side of the enclosure,
where the famous church stands, is taken up
by a long and well-built range of rooms,
forming the kitchen and the dining hall of
the pupils, whose bodily welfare seems as
well attended to as their mental advantages ;
and it was with no inconsiderable pride that
two nuns exhibited to our party, courteously
and cheerfully, the mysteries of the kitchen
in which they ministered, and the comforts
of the dining-hall to which they attended.
The church is still undergoing restoration,
though a great deal has already been accom-
plished, and we were invited to observe some
of the work by a very jolly, lively, good-
tempered priest, who was idly superintending
the laboui-ers, and who hastened to silence
the angry barking of an enormous dog who
was, apparently, set to guard the premises.
Every body in Saint Blquier looked contented
and fat, and idle also, except the students,
and courtesy seemed the general charac-
teristic.

Our guide in the church was an exception
:is to gaiety of demeanour, for, after unlock-
ing the doors, he relapsed into total abstrac-
tion, and to every question asked he replied.
without looking up, " I don't know." Finding
we had no remedy, we resigned ourselves to
make our own discoveries, concluding, as was
probably the case, that this guide, appointed
to assist strangers in their researches, was an
idiot, incapable of other exertion than using
his keys, and extending his palm for gratuities.
Afterwards, when we visited the church of
Saint Wolfran at Abbeville, we had reason to
regret that our conductor was not of the same
genus, for his nervous fidgetting for fear his
' little benefit " should be forgotten, caused
him to insert that clause into every bit of
information he afforded us.

Charlemagne, in the year 800, put the
whole of his imperial treasure at the disposal
of the first Abbot Angilbert for the con-
struction and adornment of the Abbey of
Saint fviquier, called at first, of Centule,
from the hundred towers of the town,
which afterwards was placed under the
dominion of the monks ; it is not therefore sur-
prising if some remains of the fine columns^
which were sent from Italy to beautify the
structure, are still found in the church, which
time and violence have spared. Whether any
of the beautiful pillars which support the
fine roof are amongst those which, tradition
affirms, being broken in the erection were
repaired by angels in the night, we cannot say,
but something more than common taste and

certainly appears in all the details of
this exquisite building.

The first foundation of the abbey was two
centuries before Charlemagne, in the days of
no les.s a psi'sonage than King Dagobert, a
monarch as well known in the nursery rln ;
of France, as that " worthy peer King Stephen"
in reference to the same portion of his apparel
is, or was, in England. King Dagobert seems
to have been fated to continual scolding from
his friends and ministers, and it must be re-
corded to his credit, that while he meekly
agreed to repair that inelegance of his costume
which so much shocked le grand /Saint Eloi "
he was not deaf to the remonstrances of
Saint Pdquier, who reproved him for numerous
errors of more consequence, and who had
the boldness to make a remark to him which
few courtiers, even in these ages of freedom,
would venture to utter.

" A subject is accountable to none but him-
self: but a sovereign is accountable to all."

But Saint Hiquier was a man superior to,
though yet made for, his age. He rose from a
peasant's estate to command princes and dic-
tate to popes ; he lived on barley bread
mixed with ashes, and on water mixed adds
his chronicler mixed with tears. He was
converted from idolatry by an Irish Saint,
whose mission led him to Pouthieu. and his
zeal led him to exert himself for the good of
his country. He ,saw the unprotected state
of the kingdom, and bent all his energies to
resist the barbarian incursions of hordes
from the North, which ravaged the country ;
he employed the wealth placed in his hands to
establish defences, not only for his monastery,
but for the whole province.

Those who behold the single isolated tower
in the centre of the little quiet town, used
only as a belfry, can scarcely conceive the
strength and importance of the Saint Biquier
of ancient times. There are, however, extra-
ordinary remains of enormously high walls
which run along one side of a street for nearly
a quarter of a mile, and impress one with
surprise at their powerful appearance. These
are the last remains of the grandeur of the
town, whose defences were finally destroyed
by order of Louis the Thirteenth, as well as
those of Abbeville, Rue, and other strong
places in the country.

What studies the pupils at the modern
college pursue we know not, but in early days
the monks, who were the most learned of
their class, were celebrated for the manu-
scripts they produced ; and the library pos-
sessed, in Charlemagne's time, no less than
two hundred and fifty-six volumes, some
written in gold letters on purple vellum, one
of which may still be seen at Abbeville, where
it is kept as a great treasure. The mighty
king, who, some impertinent authors assert,
could neither read nor write himself, was ex-
tremely proud of this library.

When the great and powerful abbey was
condemned in 1790, and sold as national

Charles Dicken?.]

TWO OLD SAINTS,

property, a certain master locksmith of Saint
Iliquier bought it for forty thousand francs,
having engaged to preserve the church entire :
a clause which he did not feel himself bound
to respect ; consequently the cloisters were
destroyed, and the whole was allowed to full
into a state of utter degradation, the master
locksmith no doubt having found his ac-
count iii his purchase, and becoming entirely
indifferent to the rest. The whole of the
buildings that remain were only preserved
by the happy idea of establishing a college,
and by degrees the church has been restored
and repaired until it now shines out in all the
glory it is likely to acquire.

Thefapade of the church is extremely beau-
tiful, encrusted with figures in niches, which,
though a good deal defaced, may be recog-
nised -as those of Louis the Twelfth and
Francis the First, besides whicli, an immense
number of Saints hold their places upon the
walls, standing under canopies and on richly
ornamented pedestals. Whole histories of
traditional interest, whole genealogies from
Scripture, grotesque forms and graceful
shapes, flowers, scrolls, and patterns adorn
the face of the church and run up to the very
highest balustrade of the towers and delicate
pinnacles. The interior is very striking from
its grand simplicity and the symmetry of the
whole.

After the taking of Boulogne, four thousand
English entered Saint Iliquier and burnt the
unfortunate town nearly to the ground ; and,
having continued their devastations from
thence to Abbeville, they returned to the
coast. It was to drive them from their strong-
hold that Francis the First had marched
with a large army into Picardy.

Charles of Orleans, the second and favour-
ite son of Francis the First, accompanied his
father when he took up his quarters in the
Abbey of Foret Moutier, close to the forest of
Crecy, which, in the intervals of fighting, he
made his favourite hunting resort. Young Duke
Charles was the most distinguished knight
in all the jousts and tournays which enlivened
the time, which was not allowed to pass with-
out amusement : one evening, he was return-
ing from hunting with a large party, when he
suddenly beheld a comet in the sky and
pointed it out to his friend Gaspard de Saulx-
Tavannes. "Perhaps it is your star," said
Tavannes, " which comes to announce your
death."

" Oh, as for that," replied the lively prince,
" I laugh at such presages, and at my star
too."

At this time the plague was making fearful
ravages in Ponthieu, but Charles, not the
least alarmed at the horrors related of it,
hearing of a house where eight persons had
recently died of the malady, entered it in a
fit of idle folly and cut up the beds with his
sword, making the feathers fly all over him.
Much heated as well as entertained with this
wild sally, lie returned to the camp, drank a

glass of cold water, and a few moments after-
wards, felt himself suddenly ill ; he was
seized with terror and called out, " It is the
plague ; I shall die of it ! "

The fatal symptoms appeared, and all aid
was soon found to be vain ; the unfortunate
i young man was quite aware of his situation,
entreated that the sacrament might be ad-
ministered to him, and that he might see his
father once more. Notwithstanding the
danger, and in spite of every entreaty to the
contrary, the king persisted in visiting his
dying sou, who, when he saw him, called out
" I ana dying, my dear lord, but since I
behold you, I die content." These words
were scarcely uttered when he expired. This
happened on the ninth of September, in the
year 1545. Francis, as his son breathed his
last, uttered a cry of despair and fell senseless.
When he recovered he ordered the court
instantly to leave Foret Montier, and thus
ended all the gaiety he had been enjoying.

While the young prince was lying on his
death-bed, his friend Tavannes, who had been
sent on service to Boulogne, returned in
triumph with four hundred prisoners and
several flags taken from the English. Hoping
to console him, Tavannes had the ensigns
brought to the bed of Charles, and named to
him the prisoners he had taken. "Ah, my
friend," said the prince, embracing him, " it
is all over with me and all our plans : I die
with deep regret at being unable to recom-
pense your bravery."

From the coast, all through the country,
nothing at this time was going on but
slaughter and pillage ; plague, famine, and
desolation spread far abroad ; but, neverthe-
less, the hunting parties would not have
ceased but for the death of the king's son.

Of all the tombs and treasures which made
Saint Iliquier a marvel in the country scarcely
a vestige remains. The carved wooden stalls
of the choir are fine, and there are some iron.
gates of singular beauty. Of course the
priests have managed to discover a few relics,
in spite of the bonfires which were made of
the saints in revolutionary times, and the
whole bodies of Saint Eiquier and a companion
saint are shown to the pious. We escaped
the infliction of hearing of their miraculous
powers, as our idiot continued to say to any
question we might make, "I don't know," an
answer which would not ill become the
finders of these dispersed and calcined bones,
if their whereabout were insisted on.

But the most curious relic in the church is
to be seen in the chapel called the Treasury,
\vhere, on the walls, in fresco, may be traced
a very curious series of paintings representing
the long history of the translation of the body
of Saint Riquier from Montreuil to the church
of his adoption, with all the miracles per-
formed and the circumstances attending
the event. This curious painting is of the
beginning of the sixteenth century, and is
not difficult to make out : under each picture

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

are four lines in quaint verse, the letters
carefully restored and very clear. Besides
this series there are two larger compartments
representing a sort of Dance of Death, known
to antiquarians as " The Three Dead and the
Three Living :" beneath these are other verses,
more curious than musical, but entirely to
the purpose ; a second series of frescoes,
relating to another saint of great renown,
adorns a different portion of the chapel ; and
a curious old picture on wood, lately dis-
covered, is over the altar. The roof of this
chamber, which is approached by a flight of
steps leading from a side aisle, is exceedingly
fine and of original form, the arches inter-
lacing each other in a graceful manner,
a sort of drapery being formed by their
curves.

It was not until the shades of evening pre-
vented us from seeing any more of these dim
records of past ages, that we could make up
our minds to leave this charming and in-
teresting church, and by the time we had
walked to the highest part of the town, and
looked wonderingly at the enormous modern
hospital which replaces an ancient one
established by benevolent monks, who had
always to contend with the jealousy of the
abbots, who had no jurisdiction over their
charity we found it was time to summon
our charioteer and commence our return
journey to Abbeville.

It happened, after our visit to Saint Riquier,
that circumstances threw us into the society
of the identical Lion-tamer with whom our

Earty had travelled. It was with him and
is round, rosy, lively little wife that we
set forth on a second expedition to visit the
chapel of the Saint Esprit at Rue. My new
acquaintance was, this time, bent on a fishing
excursion, and the whole of the way he was
eloquent in description of the extraordinary
success he had met with in this branch of his
amusements. He had caught a pike of incre-
dible length, which had broken lines of in-
credible strength ; he had filled baskets to
overflowing witli trout of fabulous size and
beauty ; carp and tench were his prey with-
out resistance, and his good fortune in eels
was not to be credited. His destination, after
showing me the chapel, was to the neighbour-
ing chateau of Arry, where a friend expected
him after his day's, sport was over ; but his
zeal to exhibit the beautiful gem concealed
in the little village adjoining the railway
station, made his line a secondary consi-
deration on this occasion ; so much is a
desire to amuse and please part of the exist-
ence of a Frenchman who is not a politician,
and who is proud of his province, as most of
them are.

It is impossible to imagine anything so
beautiful as the carved pillars, the walls,
roofs, and doorways that still remain, all
carefully restored, of what was once the
enormous and magnificent church of Saint
Wulphy of Rue. It was not so much battered

during a series of ages, but that much more
of it might still be standing ; but the wisdom
or economy of the citizens of this remarkable
spot caused them to resolve that, as to restore
all was impossible to their finances, it was
better to clear as much as they could away,
and keep the Chapelle du Saint Esprit as a
specimen of their former glory and pride.
When one advances along the straggling high
street of Rue, and observes that on each side
a wide strip of coarse grass is flourishing in
undisturbed rankness ; that the mansions are
all of the least ambitious order of architec-
ture the roofs of thatch, the walls of yellow
washed plaster, with a general appearance of
decay and poverty one can only feel sur-
prised that the wonderful chapel itself, which
required a large sum of money to render it
even discernible, was not swept away too. But
Monsieur le Doyen, as our rosy-faced,
fidgetty female guide assured us, was a great
lover of the Church, and had exerted him-
self to the utmost to preserve it. " Ah," said
she, looking very respectful, as she named
her patron, almost her saint ; " Monsieur le
Doyen is so zealous. Why, I had no place
here when he came, and he got me this to
take care of the church and sweep it and
show visitors the curiosities and the relics.
Oh ! he is a wonderful man, Monsieur le
Doyen, and the best friend I have his
prayers caused my nephew to draw a lucky
number : he does not like people to go into
the chapel for curiosity, you know ; but, of
course, you mean to say a prayer there. It's
a wonderful chapel ! and look, stand up on
this step and peep into this case don't be
afraid, you '11 see it, if you reach over this is
a real piece of the real crucifix of Rue you
see the hand, it is all black ; but look, you
can make out all the fingers isn't it droll !
Monsieur le Doyen ' expects every one to
put something into the box above, for the
poor."

" But," we objected, as obeying her we
peeped into a little square glass case, where
lay, amongst faded silk and tinsel, a block of
wood, " but the real crucifix was burnt in
the year Three of the Republic, many years
ago."

"Ay, but Monsieur le Doyen says this
was preserved by a miracle ; read there 's a
paper telling about it, and attested by the
Bishop with his seal ! M. le Doyen got him
to write it when he was here."

We asked her to tell us if any miracle had
preserved the statue of Isabeau of Portugal,
the chief patroness of the chapel, which for
three centuries the people were in the habit
of calling La Beaubeau de Rue ; but she was
silent on all matters save what concerned
Monsieur le Doyen, and the piece of wood,
which is just beginning to attract pilgrims to
the shrine, and bids fair to succeed admirably,
though it may be some time before it attracts
as many as at the time when the magnificent
Duke Philip of Burgundy, and his pious

Charles Dickens.]

SNAKES MAGICAL AND MYTHOLOGICAL.

Lady Isabeau came, laden with gold and
gems, and poured them out before the shrine
of the Crucifix, carved by Nicodemus, and
miraculously floated from Joppa, up the
little Kiver Maie, to Eue ; and when that
cunning prince, the church-loving Louis the
Eleventh, made one of his pilgrimages to this
place, in hopes of bribing Heaven, with four
thousand crowns of gold, to declare itself on
his side against his sworn enemy, Charlerois.

The front of the church is still one mass of
ornament, and there are numerous figures
in the niches of the pillars which support the
facade, Louis the Eleventh, and Twelfth, and
Thirteenth, Isabeau and her Duke, and one
figure close to them which looks strangely
like their favourite jester. Saint Wulphy
himself is there, he whose life is said to have
been so very extraordinary, that even his
monkish biographer declares that he does not
venture to record all the facts, for fear of not
being believed ; a piece of caution the more
singular, as he tells many histories sufficiently
startling of other saints belonging to this
favoured province of Ponthieu. As, for in-
stance, how Saint Josse, a personage once
much in vogue in these parts, was one day
tending his poultry, when an eagle suddenly
pounced down on the unlucky birds, and
carried off eleven hens one after another, and
at last returned for the cock. The saint,
unable to bear this "unkindest cut of all,"
immediately began to pray, and signing him-
self with the cross, made the eagle descend,
cast itself at his feet, and expire in a state
of remorse, after giving up both cock and
hens safe and sound. The same historian
recounts how Saint Valerj' had only to look
at the vegetables in a certain abbey garden
to destroy the insects which were destroying
them.

As for Saint Biquier, the chronicler makes
no mystery of the fact of his having sat in a
ditch all one night in a violent snow-storm,
without a single flake having touched him.
Saint Wulphy could do far more wonderful
things, but we are left to burst in ignorance
as to what they were, and to guess at his
figure on the wall, not knowing his attributes.

While we were busy gazing at the carved
wonders on the wall of an upper chamber
called La Tresorerie, which we gained by a
narrow winding stair, the doorway to which
was also elaborately ornamented, we had in-
finite difficulty to repress the desire of our
friend the Lion-tamer to detach some portion
of the carving, which he desired that we
should carry away as a relic. In whispered
entreaties we repudiated his proposed gift ;
but we saw by his manner that he had a
purpose, and we dreaded to look his way
while we remained.

There was one piece of ancient oak, the
remains of a cabinet, to which he particularly
attached himself, and to which our rosy-faced
guide directed his attention in an evil hour,
assuring us that M. le Doyen considered it

one of the most curious bits of the old church.
It was a sort of rail, exquisitely cut in a
pattern of leaves, and animals, and grape
clusters, beneath the upper edge of which
the following antique inscription in gold
letters appeared :

En. 1'an. mil. cliinc. cliens et mi
Moy. tresorie. fus. comenlue
Et. je. fus. parfaicte
En. l'an de grace, mil v et xiij.

Our distress far exceeded gratitude when, on
our guide leaving us at the call of her nephew,
who clamoured from below, our officious and
over zealous friend produced in triumph two
leaves which he had abstracted from this
carving.

" I had," said he, unblushingly, " knocked
off a bit of the doorway downstairs, but I
found it was only plaster, which accounted
for its coming off so easily. Oh ! if I had
but one of my instruments I invented them
myself you should have had a whole boss."

With a shudder we besought him to think
of such sacrilege no more ; and, satisfied with
having outwitted M. le Doyen, he consented
to give up further molestation, quietly ob-
serving, '' Ah, dame ! if everybody carried
off as much as I should like to have, there
would not be a great deal of the old church
left."

We were offered medals, of which there
is a large collection struck, bearing the effigies
of the crucifix, and recording the Indulgences
granted to the pilgrim who undertakes a
pious journey to the shrine at the present
day. It is likely to turn out a good specu-
lation, and M. le Doyen neglects no means of
making known the opportunity which sinners
have of getting rid of their little peccadillos
" for a consideration." We fear the piety of our
companion did not induce him to buy one in
the hope of wiping off the sin he had com-
mitted for our sake.

SNAKES MAGICAL AND MYTHO-
LOGICAL.

AMONG the various creatures that figure in
mythus or legend, none are so conspicuous as
the snake and its near kinsman the dragon.
Diving to the very depths of mythological
research, in whatever region we pursue our in-
vestigations, it is ten chances to one, but we find
a snake or a serpent or a dragon at the bottom.
There are serpents good and serpents evil ;
now, the reptile appears as the chief object of
worship ; now, as the foe to be overthrown.
Even in the tales current among peasants
we find snake-stories of opposite morals, some
inculcating the doctrine that the snakes should
be used kindly, others pointing out the expe-
diency of knocking them on the head. With
the ancient Romans and Etrurians the serpent
form was the natural one in which the genius
of an individual or of a place was supposed
to manifest itself, and in some of the Northern

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

nations snakes owed a tribute of milk to a
similar opinion. Under these circumstances,
the snake was a symbol of life, of perpetual
youth, encouraging the belief of his right to
this honour by his habit of changing his
skin.

In Sclavonian tradition the notion of a
snake, as a household genius, is familiar
enough, and is accompanied by the affirmation
that every family lias its male and female
snakes, whose lives are closely connected with
those of the master and mistress of the house.
Of course, in this case, it is no light matter
to kill a snake, and a Pomeranian legend
tells how an avaricious father, grudging the
share of milk to which a snake helped itself
out of his little girl's plate, killed the animal
with a cudgel, but was punished by the early
death of his daughter. The superstitious of
Suabia are no less friendly to the existence
of these reptiles, and the peasant is warned by
the traditions of his village not to resent a
friendly visit, which a snake may happen to
pay. Certainly these snakes, who help them-
selves out of children's bowls, are very good-
natured creatures. They allow the children
to tap them with a spoon, whenever they are
eating too fast, and rather take it as a com-
pliment than otherwise. One young Suabian
damsel, to be sure, had the misfortune to
swallow a small snake accidentally in a
draught of water, which had the effect of
rendering her exceedingly fat, and did not
destroy the snake's propensity for milk.
Whenever the damsel had milked her cows,
she was overpowered with such weariness
that she fell asleep, and the snake crawling
out of her mouth drank the milk from the
pail, and then crawled back to its warm
abode. In this case, the destruction of the
snake, during one of its trips to the pail, was
found serviceable, for the girl lost her
unseemly fatness.

In the exceedingly ugly mythology of the
Prussian aborigines, the snake has a virtuous
aspect. These Prussians worshipped three
strange gods, Perkuu, Potrimpos, and Pi-
collos, whose images stood under a sacred
oak, and were honoured by a iire, which was
kept perpetually burning. Ecclesiastical dis-
cipline was severe, for if the fire went out the
priests were put to death. The oak was six
yards in diameter, and so thick were its leaves,
that the worshippers had not the slightest
chance of being inconvenienced by any incle-
mency of the weather. However, it was not
accessible every day, but was effectually con-
cealed by silk curtains, six yards high, which
were only opened by the priests on grand
occasions. The image of the chief deity Per-
kun stood between the other two, To his
right was Potrimpos, the dispenser of tem-
poral blessings, with a beardless chin and
a head crowned with ears of corn, and to his
left was Picollos, a haggard individual with a
long beard, and a pale face the impersonation
of death.

Now, Picollos was a very terrible deity.
His symbol was a collection of three skulls
one of a man, another of a horse, a third of a
cow. He rejoiced in the sacrifice of life,
without being very particular whether the
victim offered to him was a human being,
an ox, a hare, a goat, or a pig ; though he
had no objection to a pot of tallow. It was
no wonder that the mild deity, Potrimpos,
who scattered blessings around him, 'and
was contented with having wheat-sheaves
as a sacrifice, should be preferred to the evil,
destructive Picollos, nor that tho snake, who
was sacred to him, should be held in especial
esteem. For, according to the creed of the
ancient Prussians, there was 110 more honour-
able service than that of rearing a snake in a
large room, and feeding it with milk, ; to the
glory of the good Potrimpos. W T hen the
Teutonic knights conquered Prussia, the wor-
ship of Potrimpos was destroyed, but the
snake and its taste for milk still exist in
popular legends. ,

Snakes being so high in honour, it is not at
all unnatural that they should wear golden
crowns ; and, indeed, we often find them in
guise of this sort, in the field of German tra-
dition. Not above a hundred years ago, it
is said, a snake with a crown on its head, and
a bunch of keys about its neck, appeared on
the Spitzberg, near Tubingen, and, after care-
fully laying down its crown, washed itself
in the Neckar. A snake, also adorned with a
gold diadem, visited a ropemaker's child at
Stuttgart, calling, according to ancient prac-
tice, at breakfast-time. The moral of this
story, by the way, is very bad, for the rope-
maker killed the snake with a hatchet, took
the crown, and thereby became marvellously
rich.

That the snakes attach great importance to
their golden crowns we learn from a tradition of
the Nagold in Suabia. A man, who saw a snake
take oif its crown in order to bathe, snatched
up the ornament, and fled with it up a tree.
When the snake returned from its bath, and
missed the crown, it uttered a piercing cry,
which brought hundreds of snakes from all
directions. They commenced a vigilant search
for the lost treasure, but as their wisdom did
not lead them to look up into the tree, they
at last gave up this task in despair. As for
the poor snake that had lost its crown, and
appeared to be king of the party, it returned
in the evening to the spot where the theft
had been committed, and died of a broken
heart.

Crowned snakes are ordinary even to pla-
titude in German tales, but a sneezing snake
is more remarkable. Such a snake was once
seen and heard by a Suabian glazier, who v/as
so deeply moved by the unusual talent, that he
consulted the village priest on the subject.
The priest recommended him to answer the
sneeze with the usual civility of " God bless
you ! " and, armed with this counsel, he boldly
set out to visit the phenomenon. Twice did

Charles Dickens.]

SELF-ACTING EAILWAY SIGNALS.

the snake sneeze, and twice did the valorous
glazier respond without any particular result,
but when the third sneeze and the third bene-
diction came, the snake assumed a fiery form,
and looked so terrible, that the investigator
took to his heels. In vain did the snake crawl
after him, and inform him that it meant to do
him no manner of mischief; in vain did it
request him to take a bunch of keys from its
neck, promising a discovery of vast treasures as
his reward. The man still scampered on, re-
gardless of everything but his own safety. As
forthe poor snake, it was doomed to float in the
air till a certain small oak-tree near the spot
should grow to its full size, be cut down, and
be made into a cradle. The first child laid in
that cradle would be the snake's deliverer.

This sort of destiny, it may be observed, is
by no means uncommon in Suabia. A su-
pernatural old woman called Ursula, who lives
in a mountain named after her in the neigh-
bourhood of Pfullingen, and who decks her-
self in a white gown and red stockings, always
having a large bunch of keys at her girdle, is
in the habit of stopping young peasants and
urging them to disenchant her by some
process, which is sure to be beyond the
measure of their courage. Her delivery, how-
ever, seems to be farther off than that of the
sneezing snake, for that at any rate referred
to an existing tree ; while Dame Ursula can
only be rescued when the acorn, which begins
the pedigree of the cradle, is trodden into the
ground by the foot of a stag.

The snake, so far, appears in rather an
amiable capacity than otherwise, but his
kinsman the Dragon, or Lind-worm, takes
a malicious, poisonous aspect, which is
menacing to the general welfare of mankind.
The Sclavonians, who gave to the good prin-
ciple the name of " Biel Bog " or the " White
God," and to the evil principle that of
" Czerny Bog," or the " Black God," use the
word " Drak '' or dragon as synonymous with
the latter. In a popular tradition we hear
of a dragon so voracious, that a hunter, who
rocle on his bade to the infernal regions, was
obliged to feed him with a stock of raw meat
during the whole of his journey, and when
this was exhausted, to apply a portion of his
own foot towards the stoppage of the insa-
tiable appetite. Killing a dragon has always
been deemed a most meritorious act, and our
owa St. George and the Northern Sigurd are
only two among a legion of honoured dragon-
slayers. The sons of the founder of Cracow
exterminated a drag-on in the vicinity of their
father's city by giving him the carcase of an
animal stuffed with combustibles, which lie
had no sooner eaten than he was shattered by
the explosion ; and it was from the cawing of
the ravens over the carcase that the word
" Cracow " according to some learned
authorities wcis derived.

But of all the horrible monsters of the
serpentine class, none equal in horror those
serpents which sprung out of the shoulders i

of the oriental tyrant Zohak, and tortured
him while they remained part of his own
flesh. The powerful description of Zohak,,
in Southey's " Thalaba the Destroyer," which
perfectly sets forth the reason of the especial
misery, may serve as a coda to this snake
fantasia :

" There, where the narrowing chasm

Rose loftier in the hill,
Stooil Zohak, wretched man, eondemn'd to keep

His lair of punishment.

His was the frequent scream
Which when, far off, the prowling jackal heard,

He howl'd in terror back ;

For, from his shoulders grew

Two snakes of monstrous size,

Which ever at his head

Aimed their rapacious teeth
To satiate ravening hunger with his brain.
He in th' eternal conflict oft would seize
Their swelling necks, and in his giant grasp
Bruise them, and rend their flesh with bloody nails,

And howl for agony ;

Feeling the pangs he gave, for of himself
Co-sentient and inseparable parts

The snaky torturers grew."

SELF-ACTING RAILWAY SIGNALS.

LAST winter we ventured in this Journal*
to show some reason for an opinion that
capital punishment need not be inflicted by
the directors upon travellers by railway. We
described an invention which we had seen in
use, and which has since that time upon some
point of some railway line been subjected to,
and has borne the test of, incessant trials.
The adoption of that contrivance, if it were
found to work with real efficiency, would
render nearly impossible all but the very
rarest class of railway accidents. We have
not yet heard that any objection has been
made to it more serious than that it is not
so cheap as Railway Boards could wish,
and that the inventor (Mr. Whitworth) is a
nobody : that is to say, not an engineer. To
ourselves his name was perfectly unknown
before we witnessed for the first time a trial
of his plan. In the interests of the public
we bore testimony to what we then saw, and
we have since made it our business to watch
from time to time for indications of the good
or ill success of the inventor.

It will not take us long to state that he is
labouring as fifteen months ago he had been
labouring for five years against the stream,
accumulating proofs of the efficiency of his
apparatus for tte prevention of collisions, while
the crash of trains and smash of travellers go
on as usual. The cost of only two collisions that
occurred last year on the Brighton line, has
added to the " petty " expenses of that Com-
pany, in the year's account, an item of twelve
thousand pounds for payments made on
account of injury to life and limb.

* Vol. IV., p. 217.

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

On the scene of the great accident at Red
Hill we have beeii examining, within the
last few days, another invention, designed
to lessen this expense of blood-money by
lessening the chances of collision. It does
not aim to effect so much as Mr. Whitworth's
apparatus, but it is cheaper, and it strikes
effectively at a chief source of mishap neglect
of signals. It is a fortunate chance also, and
one likely to secure for the public interests
a little more attention than they sometimes
get, that the author of this last invention,
Mr. Jonathan Crowley, is a gentleman who
treads, without polluting as a trespasser, the
ground tabooed as sacred to the brotherhood
of Railway Engineers.

The great Brighton collision of November
occurred on a Board day. The elder Mr.
Crowley whose name, like that of Mr. Pick-
ford, is well known as belonging to one of the
most useful men in the three kingdoms,
happens to be a director of the line. Tra-
vellers believe that the days of peace and
safety upon railways are to come after a
director has been offered up. Mr. Crowley,
however, being then at Brighton, did not
on the day in question die for his country,
as he might have done had he come up to the
Board meeting. He was a truant, and so
lost an opportunity which, if his son's plans
be adopted, may perhaps never again occur. To
the son, who was on that day at the London
terminus, an hour of terrible suspense followed
the first notice of the accident : " Here's a
horrible ewent, sir, at Red Hill, the express
has been and run smash into a goods ! " Then
when the melancholy train arrived that
brought the wounded, " Are these all ? " was
the general question. " No, there were as
many left behind, too bad to move." By the
aid of the electric telegraph, however, one son
found that his father was not dead, but safe at
dinner in Brighton, and was enabled to go
home, reflecting calmly on the shock he had
received. These accidents, he reasoned to him-
self, are certainly preveutible. Unable to turn
to any other subject, he sat down to work that
evening with a pencil on a piece of paper. He
carried his thoughts with him to bed, and by
the next morning a design was formed, which
he at once prepared to carry into practice.
Models and plans having been made, pro-
visional protection was obtained for the device,
under the name of " Crowley's Safety Switch
and Self -Acting Railway Signals." Leave
was easily obtained to test the invention
at the Red Hill goods station on the Brighton
line.

At that place the trial is now being made,
not of the Safety Switch, but (as the directors
wish) of the self-acting signals only. The
management of the switches, therefore, we
describe only in the words of the inventor ; but
of the railway signals which we have seen
working we can give our own account. As
to the switches, we are told that " when a train
has arrived within a distance of, say from six

hundred to seven hundred yards of a station,
the flanges of the wheels, acting on a small
lever in connection with an electro-magnet,
will cause all the switches leading to the line
on which the train is advancing to become
fixed, so that nothing can thoughtlessly
be shunted, through them while the train is
running from the distance signal to the
station. The switches will remain fixed until
the train has passed the station. Should,
however, it be necessary to attach any addi-
tional carriages to a train standing at a sta-
tion, they may be released by turning a small
handle close to the lever-box." Of the cor-
rect working of this part of the contrivance
there can be no doubt, if there be no doubt as
to the right working of the signals. The power
used is in each case the same.

Under the broad clear sky it seemed no very
great thing that we had travelled out to see ; a
small box buried below a rail at the entrance
to a great station. Winter looked fresh and
cheerful on the hills about us, there was a
crisp little wind astir, and the land glittered
with the first snow of the season. The snow
had come so late, and was so welcome, that
we scraped it from the backs of trucks into
our hands, and felt with satisfaction that our
hands were cold enough to finger without
melting it. Then we turned to the small box,
that did not quite contain the whole of the
invention, but was the beginning or the
middle or the end of it. In it ended the
two wires of a galvanic battery. While the
ends of such wires are in contact, the battery
of course being charged, a current of voltaic
electricity travels through the entire circuit
that they form. When the ends are not in
contact, charged or not, the battery is incom-
plete, and practically nothing happens. The
ends of the two wires were in that box so
placed that if undisturbed they were in con-
tact, and the voltaic current was perpetually
flowing through the wires. Action was their
repose. But while the end of one wire in
the box was attached to a fixed point, the end
of the other was attached to a point moveable,
and so moved that (by an arrangement
obvious and simple) the downward pressure
of the flange of a railway wheel, when passing
over a small trap that we saw projecting from
the box beside the iron rail, would separate
the two ends of the wire, interrupt the circuit,
and stop the electric current. And of what
use is that electric current 1 How are its
movements intangible essence as it is made
to produce the movements of the heavy
signals mounted upon poles, one of them too
upon a hill a long way off ? Those questions
we went upon the platform to see answered.
Outside the station door, as if it were a lark's
cage, there was fixed a wooden cage containing
the voltaic battery. We need tell nobody
what that is. There was the moving power ;
thence the two wires started, whose ends met
within the box under the rail. We simply
glanced at that. We were invited more

Charles Dickens.]

A CHILD'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND.

especially to look at the two levers, the levers
by the movement of which to and fro, according
to the usual plan, the danger signals are every
day raised or lowered at all railway stations.
The iron handles of the two levers we found
firmly glued back to the lips of two large
magnets, that projected like two posts out of
the ground beside them. Each lever was
thus fastened back, and in that position each
held down the corresponding danger signal.
The poles telegraphed " All right."

But it is to be noted that the magnets were
electro-magnets, that they were massive plates
of steel, round which the wires that left the
battery were coiled, one wire about each
magnet, coiled in many a fold, upon the way
to the small box under the rail. When the
electric current passed along the wires, as it
was then doing, those bars were magnets strong
enough to hold the levers back and to support
the weight attached to them, which hoists the
danger signal when it is allowed to fall. Let
a train or truck now come into the station :
the flange of the first wheel presses on the
spring that causes the two ends of wire to
separate within the buried box. Instantly
the electric current ceases, the magnetic power
quits the bars of steel, and the levers are
drawn back by the unresisted weights that
do their assigned work : out shoot therefore
the danger signals. Once out only the will
of man can draw them in again.

This is the whole device, and it is one so
beautifully simple that we think enough has
been already said to make it comprehensible.
So long as the battery is kept in working
order, no train can come into or pass a station
without throwing up the danger signals. Once
up, they remain up till a station officer de-
liberately puts them down, by restoring the
lever to the magnet, for the magnet has no
power to draw it back again, though it has
very abundant power to retain it when the
contact is restored. If, however, any rash
attempt be made to put the danger signal
down while there is a train actually at the
station, pressing on the rail and breaking the
voltaic current, the magnet will aid no such
indiscretion, for in such a case it will not act.
What if the battery be neglected, or the wires
be cut in any place ? Luckily, in that case,
the result can only be cessation of the current
and the hoisting of the danger signals. The
self-acting principle is thus in every way cal-
culated to protect the traveller, and as the
apparatus we have been describing is not a
substitute for the old method, but a graft
upon it, in case of necessity the signals may
be worked at any station just as they are now
worked, even after the establishment of the
self-acting system. The cost of adopting the
self-acting railway signals, of the kind we
have described, cannot of course easily be
deduced from the expenses of an isolated first
experiment ; but it is not likely that they
would involve an expense of more than fifteen
pounds a station. The cost of Whitworth's

contrivance, including signal apparatus at the
stations, was, if we remember rightly, esti-
mated at twenty-five pounds to each engine.

Thus, then, there are now two schemes for
the protection of the public against collisions,
offered to the notice of the railway potentates.
We ask again, need railway travellers be
smashed ?

Before we quit this subject we maj r add,
that as we came into the London Bridge
station on our return from Red Hill, there
was pointed out to us a train that had been
fitted up in obedience to the public wish
with means of communication by a bell
between the guard and driver. It was said,
somewhat triumphantly, that " it was a perfect
failure, for the bell did nothing but jingle the
whole way with the motion of the train, and
the driver never could be sure whether or not
the guard was ringing it." Was it a kitchen-
bell, hung on a spring ? It was a bell hung
in some way, we fear, with an eye to failure,
since it is surely notorious that there exist in
these days bells answering to each pull, gong-
fashion, with a single blow upon the metal
that no shaking of a locomotive could pro-
duce, and no state of vibration simulate or
mystify.

When it is asked of a railway director,
or of a railway official, what a railway acci-
dent generally costs, the conventional reply
is, " Oh ! somewhere about ten thousand
pounds." Surely five-and-twenty pounds
per engine for Mr. Whitworth's contrivance,
or fifteen pounds per station for Mr. Jonathan
Crowley's plan instead of being unprofit-
able investments would give an upward
impetus to the value of railway stock, as
a means of economy in superseding costly
repairs and swinging compensations not to
mention the saving of the mere lives of
passengers.

A CHILD'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND.

CHAPTER XXIX.

HENRY THE EIGHTH had made a will, ap-
pointing a council of sixteen to govern the
kingdom for his son, while he was under age
(he was now only ten years old), and
another council of twelve to help them. The
most powerful of the first council was the
EARL OF HERTFORD, the young King's uncle,
who lost no time in bringing his nephew with

at state up to Enfield, and thence to the
Tower. It was considered at the time a
striking proof of virtue in the young King
that he was sorry for his father's death ; but,
as common subjects have that virtue, too,
sometimes, we will say no more about it.

There was a curious part of the late King's
will, requiring his executors to fulfil whatever
promises he had made. Some of the court
wondering what these might be, the Earl of
Hertford and the other noblemen interested,
said that they were promises to advance and
enrich them. So, the Earl of Hertford made

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

himself DUKE OF SOMERSET, and made his
brother EDWARD SEYMOUE a baron ; and there
were various similar promotions, all very
agreeable to the parties concerned, and very
dutiful, no doubt, to the late King's memory.
To be more dutiful still, they made themselves
rich out of the Church lands, and were very
comfortable. The new Duke of Somerset
caused himself to be declared PROTECTOR of
the kingdom, and was, indeed, the king.

As young Edward the Sixth had been
brought up in the principles of the Protestant
religion, evei-ybody knew that they would
be maintained. Bat Cranmer, to whom they
were chiefly entrusted, advanced them steadily
and temperately. Many supei'stitious and ridi-
culous practices were stopped, but those
which were harmless were not interfered
with.

The Duke of Somerset, the Protector, was
anxious to have the young King engaged in
marriage to the young Queen of Scotland, in
order to prevent that princess from making
an alliance with any foreign power ; but, as a
large party in Scotland were unfavourable to
this plan he invaded that country. His
excuse for so doing was, that the Border men
that is, the Scotch who lived in that part of
the country where England and Scotland
joined troubled the English very much. But
there were two sides to this question, for the
English Border men troubled the Scotch too ;
and through many long years there were per-
petual border quarrels which gave rise to
numbers of old tales and songs. However,
the Protector invaded Scotland, and ARRAN,
the Scottish Regent, with an army twice as
large as his, advanced to meet him. They
encountered on the banks of the river Esk,
within a few miles of Edinburgh ; and there,
after a little skirmish, the Protector made such
moderate proposals, in offering to retire if the
Scotch would only engage not to marry their
princess to any foreign prince, that the Re-
gent thought the English were afraid. But
in this he made a horrible mistake ; for the
English soldiers on land, and the English
sailors on the water, so set upon the Scotch,
that they broke and fled, and more than ten
thousand of them were killed. It was a
dreadful battle, for the fugitives were slain
without mercy. The ground for four miles,
all the way to Edinburgh, was strewn with
dead men, and with arms, and legs, and heads.
Some, hid themselves in streams and were
drowned ; some, threw away their armour and
were killed running, almost naked ; but in
this battle of Pinkey the English lost only two
or three hundred men. They were much
better clothed than the Scotch, and were ex-
ceedingly astonished by the poverty of their
appearance and of their country.

A Parliament was called when Somerset
came back, and it repealed the whip with six
strings, and did one or two other good things,
though it unhappily retained the punishment
of burning, for those people who did not

rnaki' believe to believe, in allreligious matter,-*,
what the Government had declared that they
must and should believe. It also made a
foolish law (meant to put down beggars), that
any man who lived idly and loitered about,
for three days together, should be burned
with a hot iron, made a slave, and wear ;m
iron fetter. But this savage absurdity soon
came to an end, and went the way of a great
many other foolish laws.

The Protector was now so proud that he
sat in Parliament, before all the nobles, on the
right hand of the throne. Many other noble-
men, who only wanted to be as proud if they
could get a chance, became his enemies of course,
and it is supposed that he came back suddenly
from Scotland because he had received news
that his brother, LORD SEYMOUR, was be-
coming dangerous to him. This lord was now
High Admiral of England : a very handsome
man, and a great favourite with the Court
ladies even with the young Princess
Elizabeth, who romped with him a little
more than young princesses in these times do
with any one. He had married Catherine
Parr, the late King's widow, who was now
dead ; and to strengthen his power he secretly
supplied the young King with money. He
may even have engaged with some of his
brother's enemies in a plot to carry the boy
off. On these and other accusations, at any
rate, he was confined in the Tower, impeached,
and found guilty ; his own brother's name
being unnatural and sad to tell the first
signed to the warrant for his execution.
He was executed on Tower Hill, and died
denying his treason. One of his last proceed-
ings in this world was to write two letters :
one to the Princess Elizabeth, and one to the
Princess Mary : which a servant of his took
charge of, and concealed in his shoe. These
letters are supposed to have urged them
against his brother, and to revenge his
death. What they truly contained is not
known, but there is no doubt that he had, at
one time, obtained great influence over the
Princess Elizabeth.

All this while, the Protestant religion was
making progress. The images which the
people had gradually come to worship,
were removed from the churches ; the
people were informed that they need not
confess themselves to priests unless they
chose; a common prayer-book was drawn
up in the English language, which all could
understand ; and many other improvements
were made : still moderately, for Cranmer was
a very moderate man, and even restrained the
Protestant clergy from violently abusing the
unreformed religion as they very often did,
and which was not a good example. But
the people were at this time in great distress.
The rapacious nobility who had come into
possession of the Church lands, were very bad
landlords. They enclosed great quantities of
ground for the feeding of sheep, which was
then more profitable th^n the growing of

Charles Dickens.]

A CHILD'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND.

crops ; and this increased the general distress.
So the people, who still understood little of
what was going on about them and still readily
believed what the homeless monks told them
many of whom had 'been their good friends
in their better days took it into their heads,
that all this was owing to the reformed reli-
gion, and therefore rose in many parts of the
country.

The most powerful risings were in Devon-
shire and Norfolk. In Devonshire, the
rebellion was so strong that ten thousand
men united within a few days, and even laid
siege to Exeter. But LORD EUSSELL, coming
to the assistance of the citizens who defended
that town, defeated the rebels, arid not
only hanged the Mayor of one place, but
hanged the vicar of another from his own
church steeple. What with hanging and
killing by the sword, four thousand of the
rebels are supposed to have fallen in that one
county. In Norfolk (where the rising was
more against the inclosure of open lands than
against the reformed religion), the popular
leader was a man named EGBERT KET, a
tanner of Wymondham. The mob were in
the first instance excited against the tanner
by one JOHN FLOWERDEW, a gentleman who
owed him a grudge ; but, the tanner was
more than a match for the gentleman, since
he soon got the people on his side, and esta-
blished himself near Norwich with quite an
army. There was a large oak-tree in that
place, on a spot called Moushoid Hill, which
Ket named the Tree of Eeformation ; and
under its green boughs, he and his men sat,
in the Midsummer weather, holding courts of
justice and debating affairs of state. They
were even impartial enough to allow some
rather tiresome public speakers to get up into
this Tree of Eeformation, and point out their
errors to them, in long discourses, whil^ they
lay listening (not always without some
grumbling and growling) in the shade below.
At last, one sunny July day, a herald ap-
peared below the tree, and proclaimed Ket
and all his men traitors, unless from that
moment they dispersed and went home ; in
which case they were to receive a pardon.
But, Ket and his men made light of the
herald and became Stronger than ever, until
i he Earl of Warwick went after them with
a sufficient force, and cut them all to pieces.
A few were hanged, drawn, and quartered as
traitors, and their limbs were sent into various
country places to be a terror to the people.
Nine of them were hanged upon nine green
branches of the Oak of reformation ; and so,
for the time, that tree may be said to have
withered away.

The Protector, though a haughty man,
had compassion for the real distresses of
the common people, and a sincere desire to
help them. But he was too proud and too
high in degree to hold even their favour
steadily, and many of the nobles always envied
and hated him, because they were as proud and

not as high as he. He was at this time build"
ing a great Palace in the Strand, to get the
stone for which he blew up church steeples
with gunpowder, and pulled down bishops'
houses ; thus making himself still more dis-
liked. At length, his principal enemy, the
Earl of Warwick Dudley by name, and the
son of that Dudley, who had made himself so
odious with Empson, in the reign of Henry
the Seventh -joined with seven other mem-
bers of the Council against him, formed a
separate Council, and becoming stronger in a
few days, sent him to the Tower under
twenty-nine articles of accusation. After
being sentenced by the Council to the for-
feiture of all his offices and lands, he was
liberated and pardoned, on making a very
humble submission. He was even taken back
into the Council again, after having suffered
this fall, and married his daughter, LADY
ANNE SEYMOUR, to Warwick's eldest son.
But such a reconciliation was little likely to
last, and did not outlive a year. Warwick
having got himself madeDuke of Northumber-
land, and having advanced the more important
of his friends, then finished the history by
causing the Duke of Somerset and his friend
LORD GREY, and others, to be arrested for
treason, in having conspired to seize and de-
throne the King. They were also accused of
having intended to seize the new Duke of
Northumberland, with his friends LORD
NORTHAMPTON and LORD PEMBROKE ; to
murder them if they found need ; and to raise
the City to revolt. All this the fallen Protector
positively denied, except that he confessed to
having spoken of the murder of those three
noblemen, but having never designed it. He
was acquitted of the charge of treason, and
found guilty of the other charges ; so when
the people who remembered his having been
their friend, now that he was disgraced and
in danger saw him come out from his trial
with the axe turned from him, they thought
he was altogether acquitted, and set up a
loud shout of joy.

But the Duke of Somerset was ordered to be
beheaded on Tower Hill, at eight o'clock in
the morning, and proclamations were issued
bidding the citizens keep at home until after ten.
They filled the streets, however, and crowded
the place of execution as soon as it was light,
and, with sad faces and sad hearts, saw the
once powerful Protector ascend the scaffold to
lay his head upon the dreadful block. While
he was yet saying his last words to them with
manly courage, and telling them, in particular,
how it comforted him, at that pass, to have
assisted in reforming the national religion, a
member of the council was seen riding up
on horseback. They again thought that
the Duke was saved by his bringing a re-
prieve, and again shouted for joy. But the
Duke himself told them they were mistaken,
and laid down his head and had it struck off
at a blow.

Many of the bystanders rushed forward

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

and steeped their handkerchiefs in his blood,
as a mark of their affection. He had, indeed,
been capable of many good acts, and one of
them was discovered after he was no more.
The Bishop of Durham, a very good man,
had been informed against to the Council
when the Duke was in power, as having
answered a treacherous letter proposing a
rebellion against the reformed religion. As
the answer could not be found, he could not
be declared guilty ; but it was now discovered,
hidden by the Duke himself among some pri-
vate papers, in his regard for that good man.
The Bishop lost his office, and was deprived
of his possessions.

It is not very pleasant to know that Avhile
his uncle lay in prison under sentence of
death, the young King was being vastly
entertained by plays, and dances, and sham
fights ; but there is no doubt of it, for he kept
a journal himself. It is pleasanter to know that
not a single Roman Catholic was burnt in this
reign for holding that religion, though two
wretched victims suffered for heresy. One,
a woman named JOAN BOCHER, for profess-
ing some opinions that even she could
only explain in unintelligible jargon. The
other, a Dutchman, named VON PARIS, who
practised as a surgeon in London. Edward
was, to his credit, exceedingly unwilling to
sign the warrant for the woman's execution :
shedding tears before he did so, and telling
Cranmer, who urged him to it (though Cran-
mer really would have spared the woman at
first, but for her own determined obstinacy)
that the guilt was not his, but that of the
man who so strongly urged the dreadful act.
We shall see too soon, whether the time ever
came when Cranmer is likely to have remem-
bered this with sorrow and remorse.

Cranmer and RIDLEY (at first Bishop of
Rochester, and afterwards Bishop of London)
were the most powerful of the clergy of this
reign. Others were imprisoned and deprived
of their property for still adhering to the un-
reformed religion ; the most important among
whom were GARDINER, Bishop of Winchester,
HEATH. Bishop of Worcester, DAY, Bishop of
Chichester, and BONNER, that Bishop of
London who was superseded by Ridley. The
Princess Mary, who inherited her mother's
gloomy temper, and hated the reformed
religion as connected with her mother's
wrongs and sorrows she knew nothing else
about it, always refusing to read a single book
in which it was truly described held by the
unreformed religion too ; and was the only
person in the kingdom for whom the old
Mass was allowed to be performed ; nor
would the young King have made that ex-
ception even in her favour ; but for the strong
persuasions of Cranmer and Ridley. He
always viewed it with horror ; and when lie
fell into a sickly condition, after having been
very ill, first of the measles and then of the
small-pox, he was greatly troubled in mind
to think that if he died and she the next heir

to the throne succeeded, the Roman Catholic
religion would be set up again.

This uneasiness, the Duke of Northum-
berland was not slow to encourage : for, if the
Princess Mary came to the throne, he who
had taken part with the Protestants was sure
to be disgraced. Now, the Duchess of Suf-
folk was descended from King Henry the
Seventh, and if she resigned what little or no
right she had, in favour of her daughter,
LADY JANE GREY, that would be the succes-
sion to promote the Duke's greatness ; because
LORD GUILFORD DUDLEY, one of his sons,
was, at this very time, newly married to her.
So, he worked upon the King's fears, and per-
suaded him to set aside both the Princess
Mary and the Princess Elizabeth, and assert
his right to appoint his successor. Accord-
ingly the young King handed to the Crown
lawyers a writing signed half-a-dozen times
over by himself, appointing Lady Jane Grey to
succeed to the Crown, and requiring them to
have his will made out according to law. They
were much against it at first and told the
King so ; but the Duke of Northumberland
being so violent about it that the lawyers even
expected him to beat them, and hotly de-
claring that stripped to his shirt he -would
fight any man in such a quarrel, they
yielded. Cranmer, also, at first hesitated,
pleading that he had sworn to maintain the
succession of the Crown to the Princess Mary
but, he was a weak man in his resolutions,
and soon signed the document with the rest
of the council.

It was completed none too soon, for Edward
was now sinking in a rapid decline, and by
way of making him better, they handed him
over to a woman-doctor who pretended to be
able to cure it. He soon got worse. On
the sixth of July, in the year one thousand
five hundred and fifty-three, he died, very
peaceably and piously ; praying God, with
his last breath, to protect the reformed
religion.

This King died in the sixteenth year of his
age, and in the seventh of his reign. It is
difficult to judge what the character of one so
young might afterwards have become, among
so many bad, ambitious, quarrelling nobles.
But, he was an amiable boy, of very good
abilities, and had nothing coarse or cruel
or brutal in his disposition which in the
son of such a father is rather surprising.

Now ready, Price 3s. 6rf.,
THE SECOND VOLUME OF

A CHILD'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND.

BY CHARLES DICKENS.

To l>e completed in three Volumes, of the same size and price.
Collected and revised from " Household Words,"

With a Table of Dates.
The First Volume may also le had of all Booksellers.

BBADBURY AND EVANS, 11, BOUVERIB STREET.

Published at the Office, No. 16, Wellington Street North, Strand. Printed by BRADBOKT & ETANS, Whitefriars, London.

"Familiar in their Mouths as HOUSEHOLD WORDS."

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

A WEEKLY JOURNAL,
CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS.

SATURDAY, MARCH 19, 1853.

[PRICK 2d.

EECEIVED, A BLANK CHILD.

THE blank day of blank, Received a blank
child.

Within a few weeks, this official form,
printed on a piece of parchment, happened to
come in our way. Finding it to be associated
with the histories of more than twenty
thousand blank children, we were led into an
enquiry concerning those little gaps in the
decorous world. Their home and head
quarters whence the document issues, is the
Foundling Hospital, London.

This home of the blank children is by no
means a blank place. It is a commodious
roomy comfortable building, airily situated,
though within advertisement distance of
Temple Bar, which, as everybody knows, is
precisely ten minutes' walk. It stands in its
own grounds, cosily surveying its own shady
arcades, its own turf, and its own high trees.
It has an incredible fishpond behind it, no
curious windows before it, and the wind
(tempered to the shorn lambs within) is free
to blow on either side of it. It preserves
a warm, old fashioned, rich-relation kind of
gravity, strongly indicative of Bank stock.
Its confidential servants have comfortable
places. Its large rooms are wainscoated
with the names of benefactors, set forth in
goodly order like the tables of the law. Its
broad staircases, with balustrades such as
elephants might construct if they took to the
building arts, not only lead to long dining-
rooms, long bedroom galleries, long lavatories,
long schoolrooms and lecture halls, for the
blank children ; but to other rooms, with
listed doors and Turkey carpets, which the
greatest English painters have lent their aid
to adorn. In the halls of the blank children,
the Guards for ever march to Fiuchley, under
General HOGARTH. Deceased patrons come
to life again under the hands of KNELLER,
REYNOLDS, and GAINSBOROUGH. Nay, the good
Duke of Cambridge himself, in full masonic
paraphernalia, condescends to become a
stupendous enigma over the chimney-piece of
the smallest of the blank infants who can sit
at dinner. Under the roof of the blank
children the Royal Academy of Painting and
Sculpture was originated. In the chapel of
the blank children there is a noble organ, the
gift of HANDEL ; from whose great oratorio

The Messiah also his munificent contribution
for their benefit their hospital has received
ten thousand pounds. There, too, the Church
service is every Sunday performed at its best,
with all the assistance of devotional music,
yet free from the stage -playing of any ism,
not forgetting schism. There, likewise, may
be heard at this present time, if we may pre-
sume to say so, one of the least conventional,
most sensible, naturally eloquent and earnest
of preachers.

The knowledge of all these things accumu-
lating in our mind upon the receipt for that
blank child on the blank day of blank, in-
duced us to look more curiously into the
history of the Foundling Hospital.

In or about the Christian year one thousand
seven hundred and twenty-two : a good old
time, when England had had too much to do,
through all the good old times intervening
since the days of Pope Innocent the Third, to
do anything whatever for Foundlings ; in or
about that year there dwelt in London the
gentle sea-captain, THOMAS Co RAM. Although
the captain had made his fortune on the Ameri-
can plantations, and had seen sights in his day,
he came out of it all with a tender heart ;
and" this tender heart of Captain Coram was
so affected by seeing blank children, dead and
alive, habitually exposed by the wayside as
he journeyed from Rotherhithe (where he
had set up his retreat that he might keep a
loving eye on the river) to the Docks and
Royal Exchange, and from the Docks and
Royal Exchange home to Rotherhithe again
to receive the old shipmate, who was generally
coming to dinner, that he could not bear it.
So, the Captain went to work like a man who
had gone down to the sea in ships, and knew
what work was. After conquering innumer-
able thorns and brambles, springing out into
his path from that weedy virtue which is
always observed to flower in a wrong place
when nobody wants to smell it, Captain
Coram found that he had got together sub-
scriptions enough to begin a hospital for poor
foundlings, and to buy an estate of fifty-six
acres ou t in Lamb's Conduit fields then
for five thousand five hundred pounds. Little
did the Captain think that the whole amount
of that purchase-money would ever come to
be annually received back in rents ; but so it
is at this day.

156

HOUSEHOLD WOEDS.

[Conducted by

Nineteen years after good Captain Coram's
heart had been so touched by the exposure of
children, living, dying, and dead, in his daily
walks, one wing of the existing building was
completed, and admission given to the first
score of little blanks. At that time, any
person who brought a child was directed " to
come in at the outward door and ring a bell
at the inward door, and not to go away until
the child is returned (diseased children were
not admitted), or notice given of its reception.
But no questions whatever will be asked of any
person who brings a child, nor shall any servant
of the house presume to discover who such
person is on pain of being discharged." It
was further desired, that each child should
have some distinguishing mark or token by
which it might be afterwards known, if neces-
sary. Most of these tokens were small coins,
or parts of coins ; sometimes, an old silk
purse was substituted ; sometimes, doggrel
verses were pinned to the poor baby's clothes ;
once a lottery ticket was so received. The
Hospital chronicles do not record that it
turned up a prize the blank child was true
to its designation.

As the Hospital became more extensively
known, the numbers of applicants were
enormous. The outward door was besieged
by women who fought and scratched their
way to the bell at the inward door, and
in these disturbances, as in all physical
force proceedings, the strongest were suc-
cessful. To put a stop to such scenes, the
little candidates were then admitted by
ballot.

In fifteen years' time from the opening of
the Hospital, the Governors found it necessary
to apply to Parliament for assistance. It
was conceded in such liberal measure, that
it was thought all comers could henceforth
be received. Nursing establishments were
formed in various parts of the country, a
basket was hung outside the Hospital gate,
and an advertisement publicly announced,
that all children under the age of two months
tendered for admission would be received.
The result was, that on the 2nd of June, 1756,
the first day of such indiscriminate reception,
the basket at the gate was filled and emptied
one hundred and seventeen times. Fraudulent
parish officers, married women who were per-
fectly able to maintain their offspring,
parents of depraved and abandoned character
(unconsciously emulative of Jean Jacques
Rousseau), basketed their babies by thousands.
It is almost incredible, but none the less true,
that a new branch of the Carriers' trade was
commenced. Baby -carriers undertook to
convey infants to the all-embracing basket
from distant parts of the country, at so much
per head. One man who had charge of five
infants in baskets, got drunk ; and, falling
asleep on a bleak common, found when he
awoke that three of the five were dead. Of
eight infants consigned to a country waggoner,
seven died before he got to London ; the

surviving child owing its life solely to its
mother, who followed the waggon on foot
to save it from starvation. Another man,
established in business as a baby- carrier, with
a horse and a pair of panniers, was loud in
his complaints of an opposition man, " who,"
said he, " is a taking the bread out of my
mouth. Before he started, it was eight
guineas a trip per child from Yorkshire.
Now, I've come down a third ; next week I
must come down another third ; that's the
way trades get ruined by over-competi-
tion." At the time when he made this
representation, he had eight children in his
panniers. Many of these amiable carriers
stripped off such poor clothes as the children
wore, and basketed them without a shred of
covering. It is related among the Hospital
legends, as a remarkable instance of change
of fortune, that a few years ago a rich and
aged banker applied to search the register of
the establishment for such information as it
might afford of his own origin, when all he
could learn was, that he had been taken out
of the basket stark naked. That was his whole
previous history.

During the three years and ten months of
the existence of this system, there were
dropped into the hospital-basket fifteen thou-
sand children ; and so great was the difficulty
of providing for such an enormous influx, and
so little were the necessary precautions under-
stood, that only four thousand four hundred
of this large number lived to be apprenticed.
So the practice was discontinued, and Heaven
knows, with reason ! It is melancholy to
think of the regrets and anxieties of the
gentle Captain Thomas Coram under all these
failures, and more melancholy to know that
he died a very old man, so reduced in circum-
stances as to be supported by subscription.
But, though shipwrecked here, the tender-
hearted captain gained a brighter shore, we
will believe, where even foundlings who have
never spoken word on earth, possess their
eloquence.

What genius originated the next idea, we
have not discovered ; but the Hospital being
poor again, as well it might be, some bold
spirit proposed that every child that should be
mysteriously presented with a hundred pound
note attached, should be received. The Go-
vernors adopted the inspiration with success ;
and this most reprehensible practice actually
continued until the beginning of the present
century. In January 1801, it was abolished,
and the existing rules of admission were sub-
stituted. What these are, may be best
described through our own observation of the
admission of two children who happened to
be brought there by two mothers while we
were inspecting the place.

Each of the mothers had previously rung
the porter's bell to obtain a printed form of
petition to the Governors for the admission
of her child. No petition is allowed to be
issued, except from the porter's lodge : no

Charles Uicketis.J

RECEIVED, A BLANK CHILD.

previous communication with any officer of
the Hospital must have been held by the
mother : the child must have been the first-
born, and preference is given to cases in
which some promise of marriage has been
made to the mother, or some other deception
practised upon her. She must never have
lived with the father. The object of these
restrictions (careful personal inquiry being
made into all such points) is as much to effect
the restoration of the mother to society, as to
provide for her child.

The conditions having been favourably
reported on, the two mothers had brought
their children, and had received, "filled up,
the form we quoted at the commencement of
this paper.

" Hospital for the Maintenance and Education of
Exposed and Deserted Young Children. The blank
day of blank, received a blank child. Blank, Secre-
tary. Note Let. this be carefully kept, that it may
be produced whenever an inquiry is made after the
health of the child (which maybe done on Mondays
between the hours of ten and four), and also in case
the child should be claimed."

Then they departed, and we saw the
children.

One was a boy ; the other, a girl. A parch-
ment ticket inscribed with the figures 20,563
was sewn upon the shoulder-strap of the
male infant, and a similar ticket was attached N
to the female infant, denoting that she was
20,564 so numerous were the babies who
had been there before them. To meet these
present babies, a couple of wholesome-looking
Avetnurses had been summoned from one of
the nursing districts in Kent, by whom they
were immediately borne into the chapel to
be baptised. Here, at the altar, we found
awaiting them, the steward, the matron, the
schoolmaster, and the head nurse fit repre-
sentatives of the provision made for their
various wants who were to be their sponsors.
The rite of baptism impressively performed
by the chaplain, gave the children the addi-
tional identity of names.

These names have been a fruitful source of
minor difficulty. At the baptism of the first
twenty, there was present at the ceremony, a
contemporary record states, " a fine appearance
of persons of quality : His Grace the Duke of
Bedford, their Graces the Duke and Duchess
of Richmond, the Countess of Pembroke, and
several others, honouring the children with
their names, and being their sponsors."
Persons of quality not being free from a
certain tendency to play at follow my leader,
which is found to run in vulgar blood, the
early registers of the Hospital swarm with
the most aristocratic names in the land.
When the peerage was exhausted, the names
of historical celebrities were adopted ; it there-
fore behoves a Mark Anthony Lowell, or an
Editor of Notes and Queries, to take this
circumstance into account in " making a note
of" the pedigree of a modern Wickliffe,

Latimer, Chaucer, Shakspeare, Milton, Bacon,
Cromwell, Hampden, Hogarth, or Michael
Angelo. Celebrated real names having, in pro-
cess of time, been exhausted, the authorities
had recourse to novels, and sent into the world,
as serving-maids, innumerable Sophia Wes-
terns, Clarissa Harlowes, and Flora Mac
Ivors ; innumerable hard-handed artisans as
Tom Jones, Edward Waverley, Charles
Grandison, and Humphrey Clinker. Then,
the governors were reduced to their own
names, which they distributed with the
greatest liberality, until some of their name-
sakes on growing up, occasioned inconvenience
(and possibly scandal) by claiming kith and
kin with them. The present practice is for
the treasurer to issue lists of names for
adoption ; in which responsible duty he, no
doubt, derives considerable comfort from the
Post Office London Directory.

The two babies were then borne off into
Kent by their respective nurses (each of
whom gave a receipt for a deserted young
child) with little packets of clothes, a few
sensible admonitions from the matron, and
the following document :

" The Child blank, No. blank, is placed under
your care by the Governors of the FOUNDLING HOS-
PITAL, and it is expected that you will pay such
attention to the said Child as will be satisfactory to
the Inspector. You will receive for the maintenance
of the said Child Sixpence per day, which will be
paid on the first day of each month according to the
number of days in the month preceding-.

" Should you rear the said Child to the end of the
first year, and pay such attention to it as shall be
satisfactory to the Inspector, you will receive a gra-
tuity of Twenty-five Shillings at that period.

" For clothing the said Child (after the first year)
you will receive allowances as follows, viz. :

s. d.

Between the Second and Third Year 14
Third and Fourth Year 017

Fourth and Fifth Year 18

" For your trouble and expenses in coming to
London for a Child you will receive Two Shillings
from the Inspector, your coach-hire being paid by
the Governors of the Hospital.

" You are to be particularly careful in preserving
this parchment, which you must return with the
Child whenever it shall be sent up to the Hospital,
or removed from you, and it is especially required
that you keep the number of the Child always affixed
to its person. If you neglect this, the Child will be
taken from you."

When they should be old enough to walk,
these two children would be returned to the
hospital, and placed in its juvenile depart-
ment. Proceeding to visit the infant school,
which was their future destination, we found
perhaps a hundred tiny boys and girls seated
in hollow squares on the floor, like flower
borders in a garden ; their teachers walking
to and fro in the paths between, sowing little
seeds of alphabet and multiplication table
broadcast among them. The sudden appear-
ance of the secretary and matron whom we

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted V

accompanied, laid waste this little garden, as
if by magic. The young shoots started up
"with their shrill hooray ! twining round and
sprouting out from the legs and arms of the
two officials with a very pleasant familiarity.
Except a few Lilliputian pulls at our coat-
tails ; some curiosity respecting our legs,
evinced in pokes from short fingers, very near
the ground ; and the sudden abstraction of our
hat (with which an infant extinguished him-
self to his great terror, evidently believing
that he was lost to the world for ever) ; but
little notice was taken of our majestic
presence. Indeed it made no sensation at
all.

One end of this apartment being occupied
by a gi-ade of seats for the little inmates, is
used as a convenient orchestra for a band of
wind instruments, consisting of the elder boys.
These young musicians, about thirty in
number, now made their appearance, and
commenced the performance of some difficult
Italian music, executed with so much precision
and spirit, as amply to justify the expressions
of commendation and surprise, which we
found in letters addressed to their music-
master by that admirable artist, Signer
Costa, and by Mr. Godfrey, one of the band-
masters of the Household troops. The ophi-
cleide was made to emit sounds of tremendous
volume and richness, by a boy hardly bigger
than itself. The body of sound emitted in
passages of Handel's Hallelujah chorus was
no less full and sonorous than that we re-
member to have heard produced by the
stalwart lungs of Mr. Strutt's band of black-
smiths at Belper.

A new supply of toys had just been brought
into the room ; and, during this performance,
the juvenile audience were vigorously beating
toy drums, blowing dumb horns and sound-
less trumpets, marching regiments of wooden
infantry, balancing swinging cavalry, depopu-
lating Noah's arks, starting miniature railway
trains, and flourishing wooden swords. They
were all sensibly and comfortably clothed,
and looked healthy and happy. They were
certainly under no undue restraint. The only
hush that came upon the cheerful little up-
roar was when the chaplain entered. He
came to take out the first clarionet (and he
laid his hand on the boy's shoulder in a
friendly manner which was very agreeable),
who had attained the maximum age of four-
teen, and was that day to be apprenticed to
a lithographic printer. They went away to-
gether for some talk about his future duties,
and he would receive, in common witli all the
other foundlings when they go out into the
woiid, the following advice in print and
parchment :

" You are placed out Apprentice by tlie Governors
of this 1 lospital. You were taken into it very young,
quite helpless, forsaken, poor, and deserted. Out of
Charity you have been fed, clothed, and instructed ;
which many have wanted.

" You have been taught to fear God; to love him,

to be honest, careful, laborious, and diligent. As.
you hope for Success in this World, and Happiness
in the next, you are to be mindful of what has boeu
taught you. You are to behave honestly, justly,
soberly, and carefully, in every thing, to every body,
and especially towards your Master and his Family ;
and to execute all lawful commands with Industry,
Cheerfulness, and good Manners.

" You may find many temptations to do wickedly,
when you are in the world; but by all moans fly
from them. Always speak the Truth. Though you
may have done a wrong thing, you will, by sincere
Confession, more easily obtain Forgiveness, than it
by an obstinate Lie you make the fault the greater,
and thereby deserve a far greater Punishment. Lying
is the beginning of every Thing that is bad ; and a
Person used to it is never believed, esteemed, or
trusted.

" Be not ashamed that you were bred in this Hos-
pital. Own it : and say, that it was through the
good Providence of Almighty God, that you were
taken Care of. Bless him for it.

" Be constant in your Prayers, and going to.
Church ; and avoid Gaming, Swearing, and all evil
Discourses. By this means the Blessing of God will
follow your honest Labours, and you may be happy ;,
otherwise you will bring upon yourself Misery
Shame, and Want.

" NOTE. At Easter of every year, upon producing
a testimonial of good conduct for the previous twelve
mouths to the satisfaction of the Committee, you will
receive a pecuniary reward proportioned to the length
of time you have been apprenticed, and at the termi
nation of your Apprenticeship, upon producing a
like testimonial for the whole term thereof, the further
sum of Five Guineas, or such smaller sum as the
Committee shall consider you entitled to."

Although we inspected the school-rooms, the
dormitories, the kitchen, the laundries, the
pantries, the infirmary, and saw the four hun-
dred boys and girls go through the ceremony
of dining (a sort of military evolution in this-
asylum), and glanced at their school-life, we
saw nothing so different from the best con-
ducted charities in the general management,
as to warrant our detaining the reader by
describing them.

We thought, when the male pupils were
summoned by trumpet to' the play -ground
to go through their military exercises which
they did, their drill master assured us confi-
dentially, in a manner that would not
disgrace the Foot-Guards we had traced
the entire history of the connection of a
blank child with the hospital. But, as we
were leaving the building, a decently dressed
woman made her appearance from the lodge,,
to announce to the secretary, that " Joe "
had arrived at the Diggings ; that Joe had
sent her a ten pound note, and expected
to be able to transmit to the Institution a.
similar token of his regard in a very few
weeks ; that in a short time Joe intended to
remit enough money to take herself (this
was Joe's wife), their son, and their two
daughters, over to join him, but that their
eldest daughter being of age, and having a
will of her own, refused to promise to go to
Joe, because of another promise of a tender

Charles Dickens. J

INUNDATION IN BENGAL.

description which she had made to a worthy
young ivory turner whose name was not Joe.
All of which we heard with a growing curios-
ity to know who Joe was : more especially
as Mrs. Joe was in a state of great excitement
and joy about Joe.

The explanation of this little family history
was, that out of a separate fund established in
connection with the Hospital, Joe, an old
foundling although he had left the hospital
when very young to volunteer as a cabin boy
in Lord Nelson's fleet had, in common with
some other of his school-fellows, been assisted
through life with temporary loans of money,
the latest of which loans had enabled Joe to
seek another fortune (Joe, in the course of his
career, had found and lost many fortunes) in
Australia. This put us in an excellent humour
for participating in the joy that there was
over Joe. And we devoutly wished, and do
wish, that Joe may find gold enough to
provide for himself, Mrs. Joe, their son, their
two daughters, and the ivory turner ; and
that with love and gold to spare for the
gentle memory of Captain Thomas Coram, he
may have this line to himself among the
donors on the wall of the boys' dining-room

JOE

500

Such is the home of the blank children,
where they are trained out of their blank state
to be useful entities in life. It is rich, and it is
likely enough that it has its blemishes. It
certainly had once, when its chief officer was
a Master in Chancery ; which animal is a suffi-
ciently absurd monster for human reason to
reflect upon, without being associated with
blank children and a by no means blank
salary. But from what we have seen of this
establishment we have derived much satis-
faction, and the good that is in it seems to us
to have grown with its growth. Of the
appearance, food, and lodging of the children
any of our readers may judge for themselves
after morning service any Sunday ; when we
think their objections will be limited to the
respectable functionary who presides over the
boys' dinner, presenting such a very inflexible
figure-head to so many young digestions, and
smiting the table with his hammer with such
prodigious emphasis : wherein it rather
resembles the knock of the marble statue
at Don Juan's door, than the call of a human
schoolmaster to grace after meat.

We happen to have had our personal means
of knowing that in one respect the Governors
of this charity are a model to all others.
That is, in holding themselves strictly aloof
from any canvassing for an office connected
with it, or a benefit derivable from it. Can-
vassing and electioneering are the disgrace of
many public charities of this time ; and, in all
such cases, but particularly where the candi-
dates are persons of education who have known
a. happier and better estate, we view the preli-
minary solicitation and humiliation as far
outweighing the subsequent advantages, and

believe that there is something very rotten in
the state of any Denmark that does not apply
itself to find a better system for its govern-
ment.

AN INUNDATION IN BENGAL.

IN August 1845 I had occasion to visit
Tirhoot ; and, as time was an object, I deter-
mined on going by land, instead of taking the
steamer from Calcutta.

The reader is aware that in India we travel
in a palankeen, which is carried on men's
shoulders. In the dry season you are borne
along the road, merrily enough, at the rate
of four miles an hour ; but in the rains, that
is to say, in July, August, and September,
the country is partially covered with water,
and the road, in many places, is lost sight of
for several miles together. Even in the rainy
season it is dangerous to travel during the
day ; for the sun, though obscured by clouds,
has very great power, and the heat, after nine
or ten o'clock, becomes intense ; often suffo-
cating.

Picture to yourself a man shut up in a
black box, seven feet long by three wide, and
jolted forwards, feet first, by human beings
almost naked. On a dark night a native
runs on, a few paces in advance, with a
huge torch in his hand to show the bearers
of , the palankeen the way ; and, being up
to their knees in water, they cry aloud to
each other at every step, " Khubendar! khuben-
darl " which means, " Take care ! Take care ! "
Sometimes you come to a nullah, or deep
ditch, in which the water is eight, nine, or ten
feet deep. Here it becomes necessary to pro-
cure a number of earthen vessels at the
nearest village. These are tied together ; and
the palankeen, in which the passenger is
seated, is placed on the top of them, and floated
across. It often makes one feel nervous, but
accidents rarely or never occur.

Two days after leaving Calcutta, it was evi-
dent that the Ganges had overflowed its
banks ; for there was not a dry spot to be
found in any direction. In this way I travelled
for six days, and the further I proceeded the
more awful appeared the deluge. I was within
ninety miles of Tirhoot, when the palankeen
bearers assured me that it was utterly impos-
sible to go any further ; and that the only
thing to be done was to hire a boat and to
make for Moughur, or Bhayapore ; whither
all the unfortunate people were flocking to
save their lives their cattle, sheep, and all
that they possessed having been swept
away. There was no food of any sort or
kind to be had, not even an egg or a
piece of bread. The natives were subsisting
on green corn-cobs, which they call boota,
Fortunately I had some biscuits in my
palankeen, or I should have died of starva-
tion.

I had determined on taking the advice of the
bearers, and to hire a boat ; but could only

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

i'e a place on one of the many boats that
were carrying cargoes of people to the various
places of safety ; and most of those places were
at least thirty or forty miles distant. To
my great joy a large white sail hove in sight ;
I knew it to be the sail of some European
boat, and I made a signal by tying a red
pocket-handkerchief to a bamboo and waving
it aloft. The signal was answered, and the
boat bore down upon us. A French gentle-
man, an indigo planter, who was sailing to
Patna across the country, came out of his
cabin and spoke to me. I explained to him
the difficulty of my position, and he very
kindly invited me to come on board his craft
and to bring my palkee, bearers, and traps
along with rue.

We were twelve miles from the banks of
the Ganges, sailing northward with a strong
wind, over, or rather through, the tops of tall
trees. The scene in itself would have been
beautiful, but the horrors which met our
view on all sides gave it a most melancholy
and deplorable aspect ; boats containing dense
crowds of poor wretches men, women, and
children all huddled together, and howling
over the losses they had sustained by the flood.
Here and there you would see bullocks
struggling to keep afloat, and endeavouring
to follow the boats ; but sinking from sheer
exhaustion. Dead goats, sheep, pigs, fowls,
ducks, and geese, roofs of houses, clothes,
boxes, baskets, cooking vessels, ricks of hay
and straw these were strewed upon the
surface of the water near every village which
the inundation had destroyed. At night,
when it was impossible to thread our way
through the trees, we made a rope fast to a
strong bough ; and thus, instead of anchoring,
tied ourselves up till daylight. The French-
man's boat was commodious, and very com-
fortably furnished. There were an abundance
of supplies on board ; so that, as far as we
were personally concerned, we did not expe-
rience any pinching want ; but it was
otherwise with our native companions, who
were forced to keep body and soul together
by chewing dry grain, for even the green corn
was now unprocurable.

We were obliged to keep in the country at
a distance from the river, for the stream was
running so rapidly in and near the Ganges,
that it would have been impossible to make
headway against it. We knew not where
we were exactly ; although we could guess at
the spot after consulting the map. At last we
came to some high ground, on which there
was a village ; and from the villagers who
told us they were starving and were about
to take boat for Dulsing Serai, an indigo fac-
tory in Tirhoot we learnt that we were not
very far from Dulsing. It was of the greatest
importance to me to be present in Tirhoot
on a certain day ; and I, therefore, resolved on
bidding my French friend adieu, and accom-

Smying the natives ; who assured me that after
ulsiug Serai I could travel in my palankeen ;

which luckily pi-oved to be true. After a very
tedious journey of two days and a night, 1
found myself in luxurious quarters at the
pleasant station of Mozufterpore.

A famine in India is an awful spectacle ;
but, while it lasts, an inundation is even more
horrible. The wretched people do not beg,
while they weep. Money can procure nothing
when there is no single article to be sold. It
is not until the dangers are over that they ask
for assistance. There had not been known
for forty years such an inundation as the one
I have briefly and feebly described. Even
from the south of Bengal thousands upon
thousands crowded to Calcutta, for a pit-
tance whereon to subsist. So rapid was the rise
of the water in many places that before the in-
digo planters could bring their boats to remove
the plant which had been cut, it was carried
away and lost. Native women who were
living in upper roomed houses women who
had never before shown themselves to any but
their own families were forced to desert
their dwellings, and to sell their gold ornaments
to buy food for themselves and their children,
after escaping narrowly with their lives. In
obedience to Lord Hardinge's orders, boats
laden with rice -were despatched to several
districts ; and, by these means many thousands
were rescued from death. But the number
that perished in that awful visitation was
much greater than the reader, perhaps, would
credit. It is one thing for a mass of rich
people to aiford charity to a destitute few ;
it is another thing for a few, who have to
work for their own living, to feed millions of
despairing mendicants thrown suddenly on
the world. The scene, when the waters rapidly
surround a village, is heart-rending in the
extreme.

PHOTOGEAPHY.

WE have been ringing artists' bells. We
have been haunting the dark chambers of
photographers. We have found those gentle-
men our modern high priests of Apollo, the
old sun god very courteous, and not at all
desirous to forbid to the world's curiosity a
knowledge of their inmost mysteries.

We rang a bell in Regent Street which was
not all a bell, for it responded to our pull not
with a clatter ; but with one magical stroke
and instantly, as though we had been sound-
ing an enchanted horn, the bolts were drawn
by unseen hands, and the door turned upon
its hinges. Being well read in old romance,
we knew how to go on with the adventure.
There were stairs before us which we mounted ;
swords we had none to draw. In a few
seconds we reached another open door, that
led into a chamber, of which the walls and
tables were in great part overlaid with metal
curiously wrought. A thousand images of
human creatures of each sex and of eveiy
age such as no painter ever has produced
glanced at us from all sides, as if they would

Churles Dickens.]

PHOTOGEAPHY.

i,ve spoken to us out of the hard silver.

hard contrasts will be made still harder.

ere a face was invisible : there it burst sucl-

Lumpy shadows haunt the chambers of all

snly into view, and seemed to peep at us.

bad photographers.

sautiful women smiled out of metal as

He who would not be vexed by them and

>lished and as hard as a knight's armour on

would produce a portrait in which the features

e eve of battle. Young chevaliers regarded

shall be represented with the necessary soft-

with faces tied and fastened down so that,

ness, finds it generally advantageous not only

it seemed, they could by no struggle get

to let the shades be cast upon the face in a room

eir features loose out of the very twist aud

full of diffused rays that is to say, under a

airk they chanced to wear when they were

skylight but also by the waving of large

ptured and fixed. Here a grave man was

black velvet screens over the head to moderate

ading on for ever, with his eyes upon the

and stint the quantity of light that falls on

me line of his book ; and there a soldier

features not thrown into shadow. For this

owned with brow inanely fierce over a

reason few very good photographic pictures

mpart of moustachios.

can be taken from objects illuminated only

The innumerable people whose eyes seemed

by a side light, as in a room with ordinary

speak at us, but all whose tongues

windows. The diffused light of cloudy

ere silent ; all whose limbs were fixed

weather, if the air be free from fog, hinders

Ithough their faces seemed in a mysterious

the process of photography only by lengthen-

ay to come and go as the lights shifted on

ing the time occupied in taking impressions.

e silver wall) what people were these ?

Light, when it is jaundiced by a fog, is quite

ad they all trodden the steps by which we

as liable as jaundiced men to give erroneous

id ourselves ascended 1 Had they all

views of mankind.

eathed and moved, perhaps, about that very

Photography, out of England, has made its

oni. " They have," answered the genius of

most rapid advances, and produced its best

e room, " they have all been executed here.

results in the United States and in France ; but,

you mount farther up you also may be

although both the French and the Americans

ken."

have the advantage of a much purer and

The figures in the room were not all figures

more certain supply of sunlight, it is satis-

enchantment. There were present four

factory to know that the English photogra-

imetarnorphosed people ; three of them

phers have thrown as much light of their

ere ladies, of whom of course it would be

own on the new science as any of their

ide flatly to say that there was nothing of

neighbours.

ichantment in their figures ; but the fourth

Led by the military gentleman, whose cocked

as a belted soldier with a red coat, a large

hat elevated him in our civilians' eyes to

eked hat, and a heavy sword. Imprudently

something like the dignity of general, we

e had come out without even so much

mounted to the door ;, through which we poured

eapon as an umbrella.

our forces into the room under the skylight,

The taker of men himself came down to us,

where we found several defences thrown

fable enough ; but smiling faces have been

up in the shape of folding screens, and faced

ng connected with mysterious designs. The

an unusually heavy fire from a round tower

Idier was, in fact, a man of peace, a lamb in

of a stove. To maintain a high and dry

olfs clothing ; an army doctor, by whose

temperature is customary in the room used

de, if 'army regulations suffered it, there

by the daguerreotypist for his operations ;

lould have hung a scalpel, not a sword.

partly in order to protect more thoroughly

nd the expert photographer the magic of

the delicate surface of the plates carried

hose art is fostered by no Worse feeling

about in it, partly to ensure to the sitter so

tan vanity, or by a hundred purer sentiments

much warmth as shall make perfect repose

-was followed very willingly upstairs. It

of all the features, in the most natural way,

was all wholesome latter-day magic that we quite easy. For while the work of the pho-

went up to see practised under a London
skylight.

Light from the sky is, in fact, the chief part
of the stock-in-trade of a photographer.
Other light than the sun's can be employed ;
but, while the sun continues to pour down to
us a daily flow of light of the best quality, as
cheap as health (we will not say as cheap as
dirt, for dirt is a dear article), sunlight will
be consumed by the photographers in pre-
ference to any other. A diffused, mellow light
from the sky, which moderates the darkness
of all shadows, is much better suited to the
purpose of photography than a direct sun-
beam ; which creates hard contrasts of light
and shade. For in the picture formed by
light, whether on metal, glass, or paper, such

tographer is done with an astonishing rapidity,
he is one of the few men who especially
desire of those with whom they have to deal
that they should not look sharp.

A group was to be made of Doctor
Sword, and one lady, his wife. Another
lady, probably his mother-in-law, declared
candidly that when her turn came she must
be held in some way, for she was too nervous
to sit still. A younger lady, a friend to
Mrs. Doctor S., looked interested. The group
of two was to be first

the lady's dress was not

executed. Now
at all ill chosen

for a photographic sitting or a masquerade.
It included extensive scalp-fixings of a savage
style introduced lately into this country,
consisting of a ragged tuft of streamers,

HOUSEHOLD WOKDS.

[Conducted by

knotted with Birmingham pearls nearly as
large as coat buttons ; a great deal of gauze,
wonderfully snipped about and overlaid with
divers patterns ; with a border of large thick
white lilies round the cape. The lady was
placed on a chair before the camera, though at
some distance from it. The gentleman leaned
over the back of the chair ; symbolically to ex-
press the inclination that he had towards his
wife : he was her leaning tower, he was her oak
and she the nymph who sat secure under his
shade. Under the point of the gentleman's
sword the Pilgrim's Progress by John Bunyan
was placed to prop it up ; and one or two trifling
distortions were made at the extremity of
the proposed picture to neutralise the con-
trary distortions that would be produced on
that portion of the image in the camera.
We then peeped under a black pall into the
machine itself, where we beheld the gentle-
man and lady on a piece of ground-glass,
standing on their heads. Leaving Doctor
and Mrs. Sword to stand at ease and talk to
one another, we, Messieurs Pen, departed
from the camera for a few minutes and ac-
companied the artist to his den behind the
scenes.

The den of the photographer, in which
he goes through those mysterious operations
which are not submitted to the observation
of the sitter, is a small room lighted by a
window, and communicating into a dark
closet, veiled with heavy curtains. Our sense
of the supernatural, always associated with
dark closets, was excited strongly in this
chamber, by the sound of a loud rumbling in
the bowels of the house, and the visible
departure of a portion of the wall to lower
regions. We thought instinctively of bandits
who wind victims up and down in moveable
rooms or turn them up in treacherous screw
bedsteads. But, of course, there was no
danger to be apprehended. What we saw
was, of course, only a contrivance to save
labour in conveying pictures up or down for
colouring or framing. Our consciences having
been satisfied on this point, the expert magi-
cian took a plate of the prescribed size, made
ready to his hand. Such plates consist of
a thin layer of silver fixed upon copper, and
are provided to the artist highly polished ;
but a final and superlative polish is given to
each plate, with a " buff" or pad like a double
handled razor strop, tinged with a fine mineral
powder. Simple as it appears, the final
polishing of the plate is an operation that can
only succeed well under a practised pair of
hands, that regulate their pressure by a re-
fined sense of touch. The plate thus polished
was brushed over finally and very lightly, as
with the touch of a cat's paw, with a warm
pad of black velvet freshly taken from an
oven.

To witness the next process we went into the
dark closet itself, the very head quarters of
Bpectredom. There, having carefully excluded
daylight, the operator lifted up the lid of a

small bin, rapidly fixed the plate, silver side
downwards, in a place made underneath for
its reception, shut down the lid, and began to
measure seconds by counting, talking between
whiles, thus : " One that box two con-
tains three chloride of iodine four
strewn five six at the bottom. Now ! "
(Presto, out came the plate in a twinkling,
and was held against a sheet of white paper,
upon which it reflected a ghastly straw colour
by the light of a small jet of gas.) " Ah, tint
not deep enough ! " The plate was popped
into its vapour bath again with magic quick-
ness. " Seven the action of the iodine "
(continued the operator, counting seconds,
and teaching us our lesson in the same breath)
" rising in vapour upon the surface eleven
of the plate twelve causes it to take
in succession thirteen fourteen fifteen
all the colours of the spectrum sixteen
seventeen ; and deposits upon it a film." As
he went on solemnly counting, we asked
how long he exposed the plate to the visit-
ation of that potent vapour. " A very
short time," he replied ; " but it varies
thirty thirty-one according to the light
in the next room thirty-five thirty-six
thirty-seven. Adjusting the plate to the
weather, thirty-eight is the result of an ac-
quired instinct thirty-nine forty. Now it
is ready." The plate was out, and its change
to a deeper straw colour was shown. The lid
of an adjoining bin was lifted, and the iodized
plate was hung in the same way over another
vapour ; that of the chloride of bromine, that
the wraiths of the two vapours might mingle,
mingle, mingle as black spirits with white,
blue spirits with gray. In this position it
remained but a very short time, while we
stood watching by in the dark cupboard.
The plate having had its temper worked
upon by these mysterious agencies was ren-
dered so extremely sensitive, that it was re-
quisite to confine it at once, in a dark hole
or solitary cell, made ready for it in a wooden
frame ; a wooden slide was let down over
it, and it was ready to be carried to the
camera.

Before quitting this part of the subject, we
must add to the preceding description two or
three external facts. We have been dis-
cussing hitherto the kernel without touching
the nutshell in which these, like all other
reasonable matters in this country, may be
(and usually are) said to lie. The nutshell is
in fact as important to a discussion in this
country as the small end of the wedge
or the British Lion : In the action of light
upon surfaces prepared in a certain manner
lies the whole idea of photography. The
camera-obscura is an old friend ; how to fix
chemically the illuminated images formed in
the camera by light, was a problem at which
Sir Humphrey Davy, half a century ago, was
one of the first men who worked. Sir
Humphrey succeeded no farther than in the
imprinting of a faint image, but as he could

Charles Dickens. I

PHOTOGEAPHY.

not discover how to fix it, the whole subject
was laid aside. Between the years 1814 and
1828, two Frenchmen, M. Daguerre and
M. Niepce, were at work upon the problem.
In 1827 M. Niepce produced before the Royal
Society what he then called heliographs, sun-
pictures, formed and fixed upon glass, copper
plated with silver, and well-polished tin. But,
as he kept the secret of his processes, no
scientific use was made of his discovery.
M. Daguerre, working at the same problem,
succeeded about the same time in fixing sun-
pictures on paper impregnated with nitrate
of silver. M. Daguerre and M. Niepce having
combined their knowledge to increase the
value of their art, the French government
in the year 1839 acting nobly, as it has often
acted iu the interests of science, bought for
the free use of the world the details of the
new discovery. For the full disclosure of their
secrets there was granted to M. Daguerre a
life pension of two hundred and forty pounds
(he died not many months ago), and a pension
of one hundred and sixty pounds to the son
of M. Niepce, with the reversion of one half
to their widows.

Six months before the disclosure of the
processes in France, Mr. Fox Talbot in
England had discovered a process leading to
a like result the fixing of sun-pictures upon
paper. As the English parliament buys little
for science, nothing unfortunately hindered
the patenting of Mr. Talbot's method. That
patent in certain respects very much obstructed
the advance of photography in this country,
and great credit is due to Mr. Talbot for
having recently and voluntarily abandoned
his exclusive rights, and given his process to
the public for all purposes and uses, except
that of the portrait-taker. By so doing he
acted in the spirit of a liberal art born in our
own days, and peculiarly marked with the
character of our own time. It does one good
to think how photographers, even while exer-
cising the new art for money, have pursued
it with a generous ardour for its own sake,
and emulate each other in the magnanimity
with which they throw their own discoveries
into the common heap, and scorn to check the
progress of their art for any selfish motive.
After the completion of the French dis-
covery two daguerreotype establishments were
formed in London armed with patent rights,
and their proprietors, Messrs. Claudet and
Beard, do in fact still hold those rights, of
which they have long cheerfully permitted
the infringement. Mr. Beard tried to enforce
them only once, we believe ; and M. Claudet,
with distinguished liberality, never.

At first the sitting was a long one, for the
original daguerreotype plate was prepared
only with iodine. We see it stated in the
jury reports of the Great Exhibition, that to
procure daguerreotype portraits, it was then
" required that a person should sit without
moving for twenty-five minutes in a glaring
sunshine." That is a glaring impossibility,

and in fact the statement is wrong. It is
to M. Claudet that the public is indebted
for the greater ease we now enjoy in photo-
graphic sittings, and it is the same gentle-
man who informs us that five minutes not
five-and-twenty was the time required for
the formation of a good picture on the plates
prepared in the old way.

The discovery of the accelerating process,
by the use of the two chlorides of iodine and
bromine, was at once given to all photograph-
ers by M. Claudet ; it having been made public
by him, in England, through the Royal Society,
and in France, through the Academie des
Sciences. By the use of this double applica-
tion, plates are made so sensitive that por-
traits may be taken in a period varying,
according to the measure of the light, between
a second and a minute. We have said some-
thing about varying the degree of sensitive-
ness in the plate according to the weather.
In the account just given of our visit to a
photographic studio, it win be seen that a very
skilful artist (Mr. Mayall) lessens at times the
sensitiveness of the plate, but in this respect
the practice is not uniform. In illustration
of the extreme sensitiveness that can be com-
municated to the prepared plate, reference
has often been made to an experiment per-
formed at a meeting of the Royal Society, the
account of which we quote from Dr. Lardner.
" A printed paper was fastened upon the face
of a wheel, which was put in revolution with
such rapidity that the characters on the paper
ceased to be visible. The camera, with the
prepared photographic surface, being placed
opposite the wheel and properly adjusted, the
room was darkened. The room and wheel
were then illuminated, for an instant, by a
strong spark taken from the conductor of a
powerful electric machine. This instan-
taneous appearance of the wheel before the
camera was sufficient to produce a perfect
picture." In reading of this experiment we
are not to direct our attention to the sensitive-
ness of the plate so much as to the power of
the light. Such a spark as was taken for the
purpose produced an instantaneous light,
greatly surpassing in intensity the ordinary sun-
light used by the photographers. M. Claudet,
in reply to our questions about the adjust-
ment of the sensitiveness of his plates, replied
simply, " I always try to make my plates as
sensitive as possible." A walk through his
gallery satisfied us that if, by so doing, he
increases the demand on his dexterity in
sunny weather, the demand is met. His results
fully j ustify his practice.

We may say the same for Mr. Mayall, the
photographer whose operations led us into
the preceding digression. From the dark
cupboard, cleared by a strong up draught of
escaping fumes, we brought the prepared plate
in its frame, carefully excluded from the
light by a protecting slide. The frame was
made to fit into the camera, but before placing
it, the final adjustment of the sitters had to

HOUSEHOLD WOEDS.

[Conducted by

it is in the choice
likeness taken. A

be made. The Doctor and his lady having
resumed their positions, we again observed,
upon the ground glass of the camera, the
artistic effect of the group in an inverted
miniature, coloured of course. This observa-
tion was made with the head thrust under a
black velvet pall. Upon the ground glass we
saw drawn four squares, one within another,
and we remembered well what pictures we
had seen of trines and squares and houses of
the planets drawn by Albertus Magnus and
Agrippa. These were, however, squares, the
adept told us, corresponding respectively in
size to the plates, differing in price, on which
of the sitter to have a
frame corresponding to
each size has the plate so fixed in it that,
when placed in the camera, it occupies pre-
cisely the position of the square marked on
the glass. Our picture was to be of the third
size the third square was to be the house
of Mars and Venus and the object of the
operator was to arrange the sitters and the
camera in such a way as to procure a telling
group within the boundaries of that third
square upon the glass. This having been
done, and a fixed point supplied, on which the
eyes should feast, the velvet pall was thrown
over the back of the camera to exclude the
light, and a black stopper (the obturator) was
clapped over the glass in front, making
the chamber of the box quite dark. The
frame was then inserted in its place, the slide
removed, and the prepared silver reposing in
the darkness was laid open to receive the medi-
tated shock upon its sensibility. The sitters
were requested then to close their eyes for a
minute, that the eyelids might be rested,
then to look fixedly in the direction indicated
by a little picture pinned against a screen.
Then " Now, quite still ; try to look pleasant
a little pleasauter ! " The cap was off, and
the two figures, fixed as statues, shone upon
the magic mirror in the camera, rigidly
pleasant. In half a minute, counted accu-
rately by the operator suddenly, the stopper
was again clapped over the glass in front ;
the slide was let down over the tablet, upon
which light, having done its work, must
shine no more until the plate was light-proof.
Mars and Venus in conjunction having
entered the third house, we retired into the
necromancer's den to observe what would
follow.

The necromancer there addressed us in
manner following: "The chemical action of
light has decomposed the delicate compound
formed upon this tablet between the silver
and the chlorides of iodine and bromine.
The

course, where the light has been most intense,
and its action has been manifested every-
where by the piercing of the sensitive surface
with minute holes. Where the light has
been the strongest, the number of these
microscopic holes, contained upon a space
equal to the area of a pin's head, is greater

than in those parts on which the chemical
action of the light has not been so intense.
The portrait is thus minutely and delicately
dotted out, dots signifying light. That is the
sun picture which I now hold in my hand."
After this brief parliamentary address the
adept went on with his labour.

Still hiding his dark deeds from the face

quicksilver, from which a subtle vapour
slowly ascended, the quicksilver being placed
over the faint blue flame of a spirit-lamp.
Suspended over this bath it received upon its
polished surface the fine vapour ; which,
penetrating into the minute holes formed by
light upon the plate, and there condensing
into microscopic drops, tinged out with its
own substance the surface on which light
had fallen more abundant where its action
had been greatest, and less marked where
the decomposition had been less. When this
process was complete, the picture was com-
plete ; all the lights being expressed and
graduated by a white metal, and the shadows
by the darker ground. There were the allied
images of gentleman and lady revealed sud-
denty before us with a startling accuracy,
only unnaturally sensitive and altogether
wanting in stability of character.

Nothing remained then but to fix the
picture ; to destroy the sensitiveness of the
surface. This was done by pouring over it
some dilute pyrogallic acid, and finally sub-
mitting it to the action of a salt of gold ;
of which a solution was washed over the plate,
and warmed upon it for one or two minutes.
The portrait was in this way perfectly spell-
bound. It might be carried about loose in the
pocket and indiscriminately handled, without
suffering more hurt to its charms than can
be worked by those ugly disenchanters, grease
and dirt and scratches. For protection, how-
ever, against these, and for the better setting
off of the picture, it will be delivered to its
owner as a well known imp was once sold, in
a bottle under glass ; and as the Moors were
arch magicians, with traditions of Bagdad
about them, it will very fitly be enclosed in
a morocco case.

Truly, a fine picture it is. The lady's dress
suggests upon the plate as much delicate
workmanship as would have given labour for
a month to the most skilful of painters. The
lilies that we did not like upon the cape,
how exquisite they look here in the picture !
But as this group was destined to be coloured,
we were courteously invited to the colouring
room, a tiny closet in which two damsels
were busily at work, one upon a lady's dress,

decomposition has been greatest, of the other upon the forehead of a gentleman,

putting in the yellow rather lavishly, but
with a good effect. " The faces," she informed
us, " must be coloured strongly, or they will
be put out by the bright blue sky." We
pointed to a small box labelled " Sky," re-
marking that the fair painters were magicians,
to carry the sky in a wafer-box. To which one

Charles IMckens.]

PHOTOGRAPHY.

of them promptly answered " Yes ; and Ogres,
too, for that pill-box contains gentlemen's
and ladies' ' Flesh.' "

These terrific creatures who had quite the
ways of damsels able to eat rice pudding
in an honest manner then made us ac-
quainted with a few dry facts. The colours
used by them were all dry minerals, and
were laid on with the fine point of a dry
brush ; pointed between the lips, and left to
become dry before using. A little rubbing
caused these tints to adhere to the minute pores
upon the plate. Each colour was of course
rubbed on with its own brush, and so expertly,
that a large plate very elaborately painted,
with a great deal of unquestionable taste, had
been, as we were told, the work only of an
hour. On a subsequent occasion, we saw in
the same room our picture of the Doctor
under the painter's hands, and undergoing
flattery. We admired the subdued tone
which the artist had, as we thought, taken
the wise liberty of giving to the glare of the
red coat. " Yes," she replied, " but I must
make it redder presently ; when we don't
paint coats bright enough, people complain.
They tell us that we make them look as if
they wore old clothes."

And we may observe here that another
illustration of our vanities was furnished to
us on a different occasion. Daguerreotype
plates commonly present faces as they would
be seen iu a looking-glass, that is to say,
reversed : the left side of the face, in nature,
appearing upon the light side of the minia-
ture. That is the ordinary aspect in which
every one sees his own face, for it is only pos-
sible for him to behold it reflected in a mirror.
This reversing, of course, alters in the slightest
degree the similitude. The sitter himself is
generally satisfied. But M. Claudet has
taken up the parable of the poet ; and has
undertaken to be the kind soul who, by
virtue of a scientific notion, " Wad

the giftie gie us
To see ourselves as others see us."

Few of us would thank him for it morally,
and it is a curious fact that few of us are
content to have even our faces shown to us as
others see them. The non-inverted daguerreo-
types differ too much from the dear images of
self that we are used to learn by heart out of
our looking-glasses. They invariably please
the friend to whom they are to be given,
but they frequently displease the sitter.
For this reason, though M. Claudet has of
course made public the secret of his " giftie,"
we are not aware that any other photographer
has thought it profitable for his use.

Somebody asks, " how are those non-in-
verted images produced?" The question
causes us again to drop the kernel of our
story, and apply ourselves to a discussion of
the nutshell. A daguerreotype formed in the
usual way and inverted, if held before a
lookiug-glass, becomes again inverted, and

shows therefore a non-inverted picture of the
person whom it represents. If the picture in
the camera fell, by a previous reflection,
inverted on the plate, it would in the same
way be restored by a second inversion to its
first position. This object could not be
attained by any arrangement of glass mirror
in the camera, because a piece of looking-glass
reflects both from its outer surface and from
the quicksilver behind, and this, though un-
important for all ordinary purposes, would
make it perfectly unfit for photographic use.
A piece of polished metal would have but a
single surface ; but the exquisite polish
necessary would make the preparation of it
difficult and costly, and its liability to damage
great. The first reflection is made, therefore,
by turning the side of the camera to the sitter
and causing his image to fall upon one face of
a large prism placed before the glasses other-
wise in use : an image is then deflected into
the camera, which falls in the required
manner on the plate.

In the present state of photographic art,
no miniature can be utterly free from distor-
tion ; but distortion can be modified and
corrected by the skilful pose of the sitter, and
by the management of the artist. The lens
of the camera being convex (in order to
diminish the object, and to concentrate the
rays of light upon the silver plate) the most
prominent parts of the figure to be trans-
ferred those parts, indeed, nearest to the
apex of the lens will appear disproportion-
ately large. If you look through a diminish-
ing glass at a friend who holds his fist before
his face, you will find the face very much
diminished in proportion to the appearance
of the fist. The clever artist, therefore, so
disposes his sitter, that hands, nose, lips, &c.,
shall be all as neai'ly as possible on the same
plane in apposition to the lens. In a sitting
figure hands placed on the knees would seem
prodigious placed on or near hips, no more
prominent than the tip of the nose, they
would seem of a natural size. It is for this
reason that daguerreotypes taken from pic-
tures instead of living figures, are never dis-
torted, because they are actually on a flat
surface.

Concerning the action of light in the
formation of the picture on the iodized
plate within the camera, one or two facts
are curious. Light contains rays that are
not luminous. In the dark spaces above
and below the solar spectrum some of the
most decided chemical effects of light are
manifested. It is probable that the chemical
rays of light are, to our eyes, perfectly dark.
Cover a picture with a piece of yellow glass, and
you can see it very well. But place it before
the camera, and you will get no photographic
copy. Cover a picture with a piece of dark-
blue glass, and it is totally invisible ; but,
placed before the camera, the chemical rays
pass through and imprint a photographic
image as distinct and clear as if there

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted h>

had been no blue glass -whatever. The
distinct properties of the yellow and blue
rays are manifested as strongly in the ger-
mination of plants. Germination is prevented
by the action of the yellow ray, while to the
blue ray it is mainly indebted.

The rays that have passed through to form
the picture, have been called the photogenic
rays : they refract not quite in the same way
as the luminous or colorific rays, and there-
fore the focus of the photogenic picture and
that of the picture thrown on the ground
glass will not exactly coincide. For this,
allowance has to be made in practice, and
accurate instruments for ascertaining the
true photogenic focus have been invented,
one by M. Claudet, and another by Mr.
G. Knight. They are called Focimeters.
There are hidden mysteries, however, con-
nected with this portion of the subject.
Means have been alreadj r here and there
discovered, by which the colours of the
spectrum may be printed at once on photo-
graphic tablets, and the sun most brilliant
of artists may paint his pictures at the same
time that he is engraving them. The process
is not yet disclosed. Mr. A. Hill, of New
York, affirms that he has taken many pictures
from Nature, having all the beauty of natural
colouring upon them. A new material is
said to have been introduced in aid of this
effect. When all mechanical details have
been perfected, we may therefore expect this
new step to be made publicly, by which
Apollo will be raised above Apelles in the
world of art.

The application of photography to the
stereoscope produces an extremely pretty
toy, that is of no use except as an elegant
and valuable illustration of a train of scien-
tific reasoning. The instrument itself was
invented some years since by Professor
Wheatstone, to illustrate his discovery of
the principles of binocular vision. In 1849
Sir David Brewster exhibited to the British
Association at Birmingham a stereoscope
adapted to the inspection of daguerreotype
pictures. Afterwards he happened to des-
cribe the instrument to an optician in Paris,
M. Duboscq Soleil, who being an enterprising
man, constructed a number of such instru-
ments on speculation. At the beginning of
1851 some of these were exhibited at one of
the soir6es of Lord Rosse ; they excited atten-
tion, and the photographers of London,
seizing the notion, very soon began to take
stereoscopic portraits. In the stereoscope
two exactly similar pictures are placed side
by side under a pair of prisms, which are
so adjusted, that one image falls on each eye,
and the images on the two eyes do not fall
on precisely corresponding parts. This gives
the idea of distance.

For it is to the use of two eyes that we are
indebted for the facility with which we derive
ideas of form, solidity, and distance. There
is only one point before us, to which both

eyes can be turned in the same way at the
same time. Every other point befoi-e and
behind that will fall upon both eyes, will
fall upon the retina of each eye in a different
place, and the amount of variation presents
itself through the optic nerve to the brain as
the idea of distance. Upon this hint the
stereoscope is formed, and the effects of round-
ness and distance are presented to the mind
by a pair of flat photographic pictures. M.
Claudet has constructed an ingenious variation
on the ordinary stereoscope, by placing under
it two plates not perfectly identical. In one,
for example, there are two men fighting : one
strikes, the other wards. The companion
plate contains precisely the same men ; with
this difference in their attitude, that the one
who struck now wards, and the aggressor
stands on the defensive. In looking at this
group, and at the same time rapidly moving
to and fro a small slide behind the glasses,
which covers now one eye and now another,
the two impressions run into each other and
produce the appearance of an active sparring
match. Again, a needle-woman, represented
on one plate with her needle in her work,
and in the other with her thread drawn out
to its full length, appears, when the slide
is shifted to and fro, to be industriously
sewing.

Among ingenious contrivances we ought
not to omit to rank Mr. Mayall's very neat
method of producing what are called crayon
portraits in daguerreotype. His plan is
to place between the sitter and the camera
a revolving plate, having a hole cut into
the middle of it, from which there proceed
broad rays as of the sun upon a signboard.
The result is a picture upon which the head
is engraved with unusual distinctness, and
the bust is gradually shaded down into the
general colour of the plate, so that the
effect is that of a crayon portrait.

Photographic processes on glass and paper
are even more valuable as aids to knowledge
than daguerreotypes.

There are many processes by which pho-
tographic impressions may be taken upon
paper and glass ; a book full of them lies
at this moment before us : we have ourselves
seen two, and shall confine ourselves to the
telling of a part of our experience. We rang
the artist's bell of Mr. Henneman in Regent-
street, who takes very good portraits upon
paper by a process cousin to the Talbotype.
By that gentleman we were introduced into
a neat little chamber lighted by gas, with
a few pans and chemicals upon a counter.
His process was excessively simple : he
would show it to us. He took a square of
glass, cleaned it very perfectly, then holding it
up by one corner with the left hand, he poured
over the centre of the glass some collodion,
which is, as most people know, gun-cotton,
dissolved in ether. By a few movements of
the left hand, which appear easy, but are
acquired with trouble, the collodion was

Charles Dickens.]

THE BALLAD OF THE GOLD-DIGGER

caused to flow into an even coat over the
surface of the glass, and the excess was
poured off at another corner. To do this
by a few left-handed movements without
causing any ripple upon the collodion
adhering to the glass is really very difficult.
This done, the plate was left till the ether
had almost evaporated, and deposited a film
of gun-cotton which is in fact a delicate
paper spread evenly over the surface of the
glass. The glass covered with this delicate
paper, before it was yet quite dry, was
plunged carefully into a pan or bath, contain-
ing a solution of nitrate of silver, about
eight grains of it to every hundred of dis-
tilled water. In about two minutes it was
taken out, and ready for the camera. It
was a sheet of glass covered with a
fine film of cotton-paper impregnated with
nitrate of silver, a colourless salt blackened
by light.

It was removed in a dark frame to the
camera. Then an assistant, opening a book,
assumed an attitude and sat for his picture.
In a few seconds it was taken in the usual
way, and the glass carried again into the
operator's room. There it was dipped into
another bath a bath of pyrogallic acid
and the impression soon became apparent.
To bring it out with greater force it was
then dipped into a second and much weaker
bath of nitrate of silver. The image was
then made perfect ; but, as the light parts
were all depicted by the blackest shades,
and the black parts were left white, the
courteous assistant was there represented as
a negro.

That negro stage was not of course the
finished portrait, it was " the negative " or
stereotype plate, as it were from which, after
it had been fixed with a solution of the sul-
phate of the peroxyde of iron, any number
of impressions could be taken. For it is
obvious that if a plate like this be placed on
sensitive paper, and exposed to daylight, the
whole process will be reversed. The black
face will obstruct the passage of the light
and leave a white face underneath, the white
hair will allow the light to pass, making
black hair below, and so on. Impressions
thus taken on paper, and afterwards fixed,
may either serve for portraits, as they are,
or, like the silver plates, they may be
coloured.

The paper processes, of which we say so
little, are in fact practically the most import-
ant branches of the art of the photographer.
For it is not only or indeed chiefly by the
reproduction of our own features that we
bring photography into the service of our
race. One application of the art has pro-
duced an apparatus which enables many
natural phenomena to register themselves.
Mr. Brooke's little cylinder of photographic
paper, revolving in measured time under
a pencil of light thrown from a small
mirror attached to a, mavins; magnet or an I

anemometer, tells for itself the tale ot every
twelve hours' work, and has already super-
seded the hard night- work that was necessary
formerly at the Greenwich, and at other great
observatories. Photography already has been
found available by the astronomer ; the moon
has sat for a full-face picture, and there is hope
that in a short time photographic paper will
become a common auxiliary to the telescope.
History will be indebted to photography far
fac-similes of documents and volumes that
have perished ; travellers may bring home
incontestible transcripts of inscriptions upon
monuments, or foreign scenery. The artist
will no longer be delayed in travelling to
execute his sketches on the spot. He can
now wander at his ease, and bring home
photographic views, from which to work, as
sculptors from the model. Photography is a
young art, but from its present aspect we
can judge what power it will have in its
maturity. The mind may readily become
bewildered among expectations, but one thing
will suggest many. We understand that a
catalogue of the national library of Paris has
been commenced, in which each work is
designated by a photographic miniature of its
title-page.

THE BALLAD OF THE GOLD-DIGGER
I.

OUR future bright, our spirits light,

We bade farewell to home ;
With many more, we hove from shore,

And cross'd the salt sea foam.

Four months of weary voyage past,
We reach'd that wondrous laud,

Where rivers from their mountain hearts
Fliug gold upon the sand.

Then side by side our work we plied,

Merrily day by day
From pale dawn-light till fall of night,

When the river-mists rose grey.

A happy land it seem'd to me

Till dash'd with wickedness ;
For, all around, the sands were bright,
(Like the Milky Way in a moonless night)

With small stars numberless.

The very dust beneath our feet

Was rich with priceless gold :
Where'er we walked, we trod on wealth

That never could be told.
From far- off caves the river waves

Their endless tribute roll'd.

Old Saturn's reign seem'd come again :

At first, we had no brawl,
No deep-laid stealth for the gain of wealth

There was enough for all.

Oh Heaven ! what gladness fill'd my heart,.

And lit like fire mine eye !
On burning clouds of gold, at night,

In dreams, I seem'd to lie.

HOUSEHOLD WOEDS.

[Gouducted by

The sky it wns a golden dome

A golden mist the air ;
But God, the Giver of all this good,

Was lost in that fierce glare.

Methought I was the absolute Lord

Of all the earth and sea,
And pale kings came, and offered up

Their sceptres unto me.

II.

Day after day thus past away ;

No cloud was in the air :
The steady shine of the gold divine

Made all seem good and fair.

At length a comrade spoke, and said

" Our labour 'gins to rust;
My heart is sick of this sordid work,

Of scraping up mere dust :

" For three nights past I've dreamt one dream.

Methought I left these sands,
And traced the river to its source

Ainid the higher lauds :-

" There, in the crannies of the rocks,

By ceaseless currents roll'd,
I found great flakes, and heavy lumps,

And nuggets huge of gold ;

" Their glory shone in that dull place

Like foam upon the sea !
I clutched them up but at that point,

A darkness fell on me.
As I stand here, thus has it been

On each night of the three.

" Now, hearken, brother, to my plan :

Which is, that I and you
Shall seek this fine dream-land of mine,

Amid the mountains blue.

" This thrice-dreamt dream can not be false ;

I feel it in my soul :
My heart speaks loudly to itself

Vast words beyond control !
So tell me, friend, if you will seek

With me this happy goal ?"

The Fate within me answer'd " Yes."

We left, next morn, the sands,
And traced the river to its source,

And gain'd the higher lands.

A wild domain it was, all full

Of crags, and caverns rude
Deserts of silence, stretching far,

And vasts of solitude.

And in the rocks we found great blocks

Of the metal which we sought ;
Yea, all things seem'd as my comrade dream'd ;

We had not come for nought.

Good lack ! the spade and the pick-axe made

All day a merry chime :
Since my beard was grown, I had not kno\vn

So excellent a time.

But then the Summer came. The Sun,

Alone within the sky,
Struck like a curse the universe

With his consuming eye.

And then rains fell ; and the ground
Was sodden through with damp ;

And in our sleep we could almost weep
In the gripe of the cruel cramp.

III.

Yet still we work'd as best we might

In the pestilent hot rain,
Though each could see in the other's eyes

The picture of his pain.

At last, my strength was stricken down,

And I was sorely ill ;
And on the earth I sank, and lay,

For utter weakness, still.

Within the shadow of the rocks

And the shelter of the caves,
I hid my pain, and in my brain

There was a noise of waves :

For every thought seem'd like a wave,

And made a surging sound
In the pauses of the rushing rain,

When there was silence round :

Silence, that else was only dashed

By the thumping of the axe
Of my comrade wan, who still held on,

Heaping his gold in stacks.

But never a thought to me he gave :

He left me where I lay,
Watching the light, and the clouds' slow flight,

Till the dying of the day.

A week thus past ; and, at the last,

Slowly my strength return'd :
But in my heart, consuming it,

A sharp flame leapt and burn'J.

All through my sickness I had watch'd

My comrade's wealth increase,
While mine stood still ; and those loud thoughts

Cried out, and would not cease :

" His midnight sleep is dull and deep,

And looks so much like Death,
That a single blow would make it so,

And stop his vigorous breath."

And it was so. I struck one blow

As he slept within the cave.
My hand was red ; but he was dead,

And I dug a hasty grave.

I dug a grave in the richest part

Of that gold-teeming laud ;
Put a yellow lump in the gaping mouth,

And one in either hand :
" Ho ho ! " quoth I, " no king doth lie

So royally and grand."

I seiz'd his treasure and my own,

And fled in sudden fear ;
But the presence of my comrade seem'd

For ever hovering near.

He moved before me all the day,

Like a shadow on my sight ;
Anil when the darkness fell from Heaven,

He was a burning light!
A ghostly dream within the noon,

And a living dread at night !

Ciiatles Dickens.]

LEICESTER SQUARE.

I cross'd the sea ; for I was free,
And honour'd for my wealth :

Yet am 1 withering secretly,
And fading as by stealth.

I wander idly up and down ;

And, in my drooping soul,
Every coin among my store

Is like a flaming coal.

LEICESTER SQUARE.

DID Archimedes square the circle ? The
legend (and I have a great respect for legends,
mendacious though they often be) says that he
did. The legend has it that he really, truly,
and completely succeeded. That, chalk in
hand, heedless in his scientific pre-occupation
of the sack of Syracuse, he bent over the
magic diagram he had traced on the floor of
his humble domicile, contemplating with joy
and exultation the glorious end by which his
labours had been crowned. That then, how-
ever, a soldier entered, hot with plunder and
blood-spilling. That with his murderous
javelin he smote the sage to death ; and that
the blood of Archimedes flowing in a sluggish
stream effaced the diagram (which was to the
ruthless warrior merely an unmeaning assem-
blage of curved and straight lines), so that
the circle remains unsquared to this day.

Many have experimentalised with the
mighty mystery since the legendary days of
the Greek philosopher ; but the failures have
been as numerous as the attempts. Not that
the thing is impossible ; oh no ! All of us
have, more or less, friends and acquaint-
ances on the very verge the extreme
point of squaring the circle, also of dis-
covering perpetual motion, paying the Na-
tional debt, and accomplishing some trifling
little undertakings of that description. Only,
they never do. They resemble somewhat
the poor little " punters " one sees at Hom-
bourg and Baden-Baden the men with
" systems " infallible " martingales " who
would always have won fifty thousand florins
to a dead certainty, in one coup, my dear sir,
if red had only turned up again. But it didn't.
Red never does turn up when you want it.
So with the circle-squarers, perpetual motion
discoverers, national debt liquidators, and
inventors of directing power to balloons.
Something always occurs at the very ace and
nick of time the critical moment to nip
their invention in the bud. My friend A
would have squared the circle, weeks ago, if
he had not been sentenced to six months' im-
prisonment in one of Her Majesty's gaols for
writing threatening letters to Lord John
Russell, in which the circle was mixed up,
somehow, with a desire to have his lord-
ship's life. B is only deterred from termi-
nating his- experiments by the want of a
loan (temporary) of one pound five. C's
landlady, in the neighbourhood of Red Lion
Square, has impounded for unpaid rent his

philosophical apparatus, without which it is
impossible for him to complete his discoveries.
D, on the very eve of success, took it into his
head to preach the Millennium, as connected
with the New Jerusalem and the Latter-day
Saints, in the vicinity of Rotherhithe ; and as
for E, the only man who they say has squared
the circle these few hundred years, he is at
present so raving mad in a lunatic asylum,
that we can't make much of the diagrams he
chalks on the walls of his day room, mixed as
are his angles, arcs, and diameters with
humorous couplets and caricatures of public
characters. I might, if I chose, enumerate
initials which would use up the alphabet
twice over ; from M, who combined philosophy
with the manufacture of Bengal lights, and
blew himself, and half his neighbourhood, up
one day, down to Z ; who, impressed with a
conviction that the circle was only to be
squared in the interior of Africa, went out to
the Gold Coast in a trader, and was supposed to
have been eaten up by the natives, somewhere
between Timbuctoo and the Mountains of
the Moon. Still, the circle remains unsquared.

I, who am no mathematician, and would
sooner throw myself off the parapet of the
pons asinorum than trudge over it, not pre-
suming to attempt squaring a circle, humbly
intend to see if I cannot circle a square. Say
Leicester Square, in the county of Middlesex.

In my opinion Leicester Square, or Leicester
Fields, or "the Square," as its inhabitants
call it, or " Laystarr Squarr " as the French
have it, offers in many of its features some
striking points of resemblance to an institu-
tion expatiated upon by Monsieur Philip de
Lolme, called the British Constitution. The
square, like the Constitution, has been
infinitely patched, and tinkered, and altered.
Some of its bulwarks have been broken down ;
some of its monuments have been utterly
destroyed ; and coaches and six may now be
driven where edifices were. But in their
entirety both institutions are unchanged. The
Square and the Constitution have yet their
Habeas Corpus and their Bill of Rights.
Much has been abolished, changed, improved ;
but the Square is the Square and the Con-
stitution is the Constitution ; and the Briton
may point to both with pride, as immutable
evidence of the stability of the institutions of
a free country.

Before I commence circling seriatim this
square which I may call the liver of London,
often spoken of but little known let me say a
few words of its history. This quadrangle of
houses once went by the name of Leicester
Fields. These fields (now partially covered by
Mr. Wy Id's great globe) were built round, three
sides of them, about 1635, what time Charles
the First was in difficulties about ship-money,
and thirsting for Mr. Pym's ears. During
the civil wars and Commonwealth, the powers
that were, occupied themselves rather more
with pulling down mansions than with
building them ; and the south side remained

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

uncovered with houses until the days of that
virtuous and exemplary monarch, who passed
the bill for the better observance of the
Sabbath, and murdered Algernon Sydney.
From 1671 to the middle of the eighteenth
century, Leicester Fields were Leicester
Fields. Then the royal German gentleman,
second of his name, endowed the enclosure
in the centre with an equestrian statue of his
gracious self (brought from Canons, the seat
of the Duke of Chandos), and the fields became
thenceforward a square, and fashionable.

Fashionable, to a certain extent, they had
been before ; since Charles the Second's
time, Leicester Fields had boasted the posses-
sion of a palace. Yes, between where there
is now a sixpenny show with a Shades beneath,
and where there is a cigar-shop, once stood
Leicester House, built by Robert Sydney,
Earl of Leicester, the father of poor Algernon
Sydney, of Henry Sydney (the handsome
Sydney of De Gramniont's Memoirs), and of
Lady Dorothy Sydney, the Sacharissa of
Waller the poet. Here, when the Sydneys
had come to grief, lived and died the Queen
of Bohemia. Here resided the great Colbert,
Louis the Fourteenth's ablest minister of
finance and commerce, when on an embassy
to King Charles the Second. Here, in 1703,
lived (hiring the house from Lord Leicester)
the ambassador from the Emperor of Ger-
many. Prince Eugene lay at Leicester House,
and courtiers (no doubt) lied there in 1713.
In 1718, no less a personage than the Prince
of Wales bought Leicester House, and made
it his town residence. Pennant, that sly old
antiquary whose wit, though dry, like old
port, is as nutty and full flavoured calls it
the " pouting house for princes ;" for here,
when the next Prince of Wales, Frederick,
quarrelled with his papa (who had quarrelled
with his) he, too, removed to Leicester House
and kept a little sulky Court there.

Of Leicester House, palatially speaking,
what now remains ? Of that princely north-
east corner of the square, what is there, save a
foreigner-frequented cigar-shop 1 Stay, there
is yet the Shades, suggestive still of semi- regal
kitchens, in their underground vastness. And
haply there is, above, Saville House, a palace
once, for George the Third's sister was married
from thence so sa} - s the European Maga-
zine for 1761 to a German prince, and, to
her misfortune, poor soul, as her German
prison cell shall tell her in years to come. And
Saville House is a palace still, far more pala-
tial than if kings sat in its upper rooms, and
princes in its gates. It is the palace of show-
manship. It is the greatest booth in Europe.

Saville House ! What Londoner, what
country cousin who visited the metropolis
twenty years ago, does not immediately con-
nect that magic establishment with the name
of Miss Linwood and her needlework 1 It was
very wonderful. I, as a child, never could
make it out much, or settle satisfactorily to
my own mind, why it should not, being carpet-

ing, have been spread upon the floor instead
of being hung against the wall. I did not
like the eyes, noses, and lips of the characters
being all in little quadrangles ; and I was
beaten once, I think, for saying that I thought
my sister's sampler superior to any of Miss
Linwood's productions. Yet her work was
very wonderful ; not quite equal to Gobelin
tapestry, perhaps, but colossal as respects
patience, neatness, and ingenuity. Of and
concerning Miss Linwood I was wont in
my nonage to be much puzzled. Who and
what was this marvellous being ? I have
since heard, and I now believe that Miss Lin-
wood was a simple-minded exemplary school-
mistress, somewhere near Leicester a species
of needleworking Hannah More ; but at that
time she was to me a tremendous myth a,
tapestry veiled prophetess a sybil working
out perpetual enigmas in silk and worsted.

The shows at Saville House are yet all
alive o ! What show of shows came after
Miss Linwood ? There were some, clumsy
caricatures of good pictures and good statues,
enacted on a turn-table by brazen men
and women, called Poses Plastiques. I, your
servant, assisted once at a representation
of this description, where I think the subject
was Adam and Eve in the garden of Eden.
Adam by Herr Something, Eve by Madame
Somebody, and the serpent by a real serpent,
a bloated old snake quite sluggish and dozy,
and harmless enough, between his rabbits, to
be tied in a knot round the tree. The most
amusing part of the entertainment was the
middle thereof, at which point two warriors
arrayed in the uniform of Her Majesty
appeared on the turn-table, and claimed
Adam as a deserter from the third Buffs :
which indeed he was, and so was summarily
marched off with a great-coat over his flesh-
ings, and a neat pair of handcuffs on his
wrists the which sent me home moralising on
the charming efficiency of the Lord Chamber-
lain and his licensers, which can strike a
harmless joke out of a pantomime, and
cannot touch such fellows as these, going
vagabondising about with nothing to cover
them. I think I went the same evening to a
certain theatre, where I saw the most magni-
ficent parable in the New Testament parodied
into a gew-gaw spectacle a convention be-
tween the property man, the scene painter, and
the corps de ballet which made me think
that the Lord Chamberlain and his licensers
did not dispense their justices quite even-
handedly ; that they strained at the gnats a
little too much, may be, and swallowed the
camels a little too easily.

Serpents both of land and sea ; panoramas
of all the rivers of the known world ; jugglers :
ventriloquists ; imitators of the noises of
animals ; dioramas of the North pole, and the
gold-diggings of California ; somnambulists
(very lucid) ; ladies who have cheerfully sub-
mitted to have their heads cut off nightly at
sixpence per head admission ; giants ; dwarfs ;

Charles Dickean.]

sheep with six legs ; calves born inside out ;
marionnettes ; living marionnettes ; lecturers
on Bloomerism ; expositors of orrery all of
these have by turns found a home in Saville
House. In the enlarged cosmopolitanthropy
of that mansion, it has thrown open its arms
to the universe of exhibitions. One touch of
showmanship makes the whole world kin ;
and this omni-showing house would accommo-
date with equal pleasure, Acrobats in its
drawing-rooms. Spiritual Kappers in its upper
rooms, the Poughkeepsie Seer in the entrance
hall, and the Learned Pig in the cellar.

But I should be doing foul injustice to
Saville House were I to omit to mention one
exhibition that it has of late years adopted.
The assault of arms ! Who has not seen
the adventurous life-guardsman effect that
masterly feat, the severisation of the leg
of mutton ; and that more astonishing ex-
ploit, the scientific dissection at two strokes
of the carcase of a sheep ? Who has not
applauded the masterly cutting asunder of
the bar of lead ; the " Saladin feat ; " the
terrific combat between the broadsword and
bayonet ; the airy French fencing and small-
sword practice (like an omelette soufflee after
solid beef and pudding) ? And then the wind-
up, when Saville House, forgetting its ante-
cedents of the drama (slightly illegitimate),
and puppets and panoramas, takes manfully to
fisticuffs ! I am reminded of that company
of Athenian actors, who, in the earlier days
of the Greek drama, essayed a performance
before an Athenian public ; but who, finding
their efforts not by any means appreciated or
understood by their audience, took refuge in
some gladiatorial acquirements they were
lucky enough to possess, and " pitched into "
each other manfully, to the intense delight of
the Areopagus. I am reminded too, by the
way, during this "wind-up," of the propinquity
of certain gentlemen, whose bow legs, green
cut-away coats, flattened noses, fancy shawls,
scarred lips, chameleon-coloured eyes, swollen
mottled hands, Oxonian shoes (tipped), closely
cropped hair, bull necks, large breast pins, &c.,
remind me, in their turn, that I am in the
antechamber of the Ring ; which leads me to
descend into the street, foregoing the pleasure
of witnessing the " Grand exhibition of wrest-
ling between two Southerners," wherein I am
promised a living illustration of the genuine
Devonshire kick, and the legitimate Cornish
hug. Needs must I linger, though, by the
peristyle of Saville House, at the foot of its
wide exterior staircase ; though Mr. Cantelo's
acolyte, next door, mellifluously invites me
to ascend and see how eggs are hatched by
steam ; though there is a rival lady with her
head undergoing the very process of decapita-
tion next door to him ; with a horned lady, a
bearded lady, and a mysterious lady, on the
other side. Saville House has charms for
me which I cannot lightly pass by. There
are the Shades, a remnant of the old Lon-
don night cellars, bringing to mind Tom

King's Coffee-house, and the cellar where
Strap had that famous adventure, and
the place where the admired Captain Mac-
heath and his virtuous companion first heard
" the sound of coaches." Saville House
boasts also of a billiard-room, where there are
celebrated professors in moustaches, who will
give you eighty out of the hundred and beat
you ; who can do anything with the balls and
cues save swallowing them ; who are clever
enough to make five hundred a year at
billiards, and do make it, some of them ;
where there are markers who look like mar-
quises in their shirt sleeves and difficulties.
I have nought more to say of the palace
of my square, save that the Duke of Gloucester
lived at Leicester House, in 1767, previous
to its final decadence as a royal residence ; that
Sir Ash ton Lever formed here the collection
of curiosities known as the Leverian museum ;
and that New Lisle Street was built on the site
of the gardens of Leicester House in 1791.

To resume the circling of my square may I
beg you to pass Cranbourne Street, also a
large foreign hotel, also a hybrid floridly
eccentric building of gigantic dimensions,
where the Pavilion at Brighton seems to have
run foul of the Alhambra, and repaired
damages with the temple of Juggernaut :
splicing on a portion of a Chinese pagoda as
a jury-mast, and filling up odd leaks witL
bits of the mosque of St. Sophia.

Passing this enigmatical habitation (if in-
habited it be), tarry, oh viator I ere you come
to Green Street, by Pagliano's Sablonidre
Hotel, a decent house, where there is good
cheer after the Italian manner. The northern
half of this hotel was, until 1764, a private
dwelling-house its door distinguished by a
bust made of pieces of cork cut and glued
together, and afterwards gilt, and known as
the " Painter's Head." The painter's head was
cut by the painter himself who lived there ;
and the painter was that painter, engraver,
and moralist, that prince of pictorial moralists,

Whose pictured morals charm the miiul,
And through the eye correct the art ;

the King's Sergeant Painter 1 , William Hogarth.
I would give something to be able to
see that merry, sturdy, bright-eyed, fresh-
coloured little fellow in his sky-blue coat, and
bob wig, and archly cocked hat, trudging
forth from his house. I would hypothecate
some portion of my vast estates to have been
in Leicester Square the day Will Hogarth
first set up his coach ; to have watched him
writing that wrathful letter to the nobleman
who objected to the too faithful vraisemblance
of his portrait, wherein he threatened, were it
not speedily fetched away, to sell it, with the
addition of hox-ns and a tail, to a wild beast
showman, who doubtless had his show in.
Leicester Fields hard by ; to have seen him
in his painting room putting all his savage
irony of colour and expression into the picture
of the bully-poet Churchill; or "biting in" that

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

grand etching of sly, cruel, worthless Simon
Fraser, Lord Lovat, counting the forces of the
Pretender on his fingers ; or correcting the
proof sheets of the Analysis of Beauty ; or
scarifying Jack Wilkes on copper ; or haply,
keeping quiet, good-humoured company with
his gentle lady wife, Jane Thornhill, telling
her how he engraved pint pots and masque-
rade tickets in his youth, and how he painted
his grandest pictures for the love of her.
We have painters, and engravers, and moral-
ists now-a-days, and to spare, I trow ; but
thy name will long smell sweet as violets,
Will Hogarth, though thou wert not a Royal
Academician, nor a " Sir."

Yet, circling round about, stand moment-
arily at the corner of a little street Green
Street by name full of musty little book-
stalls and fugacious shops. Fugacious I call
them, for their destinies are as fleeting as their
proprietors. They are everything by turns,
and nothing long : now betting-offices, now
print-shops, now cigar-shops, anon oyster-
shops, coffee-shops, brokers' shops. In Green
Street shall you be sensible also of an odour
very marked, of the cookery of the various
foreign boarding-houses and cook-shops of
the neighbourhood ; and, towering above
the dingy little houses, shall you see the
Elizabethan chimney-shaft of the St. Martin's
baths and wash-houses : a beacon of cleanli-
ness to the neighbourhood ; a Pharos of soap-
suds ; a finger-post to thrift and comfort.

We pass St. Martin's Street street of no
thoroughfare, but remarkable for Mr. Berto-
lini's restaurant, and formerly famous as the
residence of Sir Isaac Newton. We pass the
Soup-kitchen Association's Offices, Star
Street, a score of private houses, and, halting
at number forty-seven, we descry a mansion
of considerable dimensions, formerly the pro-
perty of Lord Inchiquiu, afterwards the
Western Literary and Scientific Institution,
now the resting-place, I think, of a panorama
of the Australian Gold Diggings ; but, before
all these, residence of Sir Joshua Reynolds,
Knight, the first President of the Royal
Academy.

It is something to think, gazing at this
plain house from the shabby cab-stand oppo-
site (where there are always six cabs, and
apparently never any one to hire them) that
to number forty-seven came, sixty years ago,
all that was great, noble, and beautiful
all that was witty, learned, and brave in
this land. It is something to think that
the plain awkward country lad, poor in purse
and pauper in influence in the beginning,
should in this number forty-seven, from 1761
to 1792, have held his state undisputed, undis-
turbed as the pontifex inaximus of portrait-
painting the Merlin of his art that the
steps of his house should have been swept by
the ermine of judges, the lawn of prelates,
the robes of peers, the satin and brocade of
princesses ; that there should have been about
his ante-rooms, thrown into corners like un-

considered trifles, of as little account as the
gewgaws of a player's tiring-room, the fans
of duchesses, the batons of victorious generals,
the badges of chivalry, the laurels of poets,
the portfolios of ministers. It is something
to think that if some spoony lords, some carpet
warriors, some tenth transmitters of a foolish
face, have mingled with the brilliant crowd
at forty-seven, Leicester Fields, its rooms
have re-echoed to the silvery laughter of
Georgina Duchess of Devonshire, to the
commanding tones of Chatham, and Mans-
field, and Camden. It is more to think that
to this house came, to hold familiar converse
with its master, the wise men of England.

Come back, shades of the mighty dead, to
number forty-seven! Come back from Bea-
consfield, Edmund Burke ! Come back, Percy,
scholar and poet; Joe Warburton; lively,
vain, kind-hearted David Garrick, courtly
Topham Beauclerc, staunch old General Ogle-
thorpe, drawing diagrams of the fields of
Belgrade and Peterwardein with filberts, and
nutcrackers, and port wine ! Come back,
stout-hearted Pasquale di Paoli ; gossipping,
toadying, boozy Boswell. Come back, oh, thou
leviathan of literature, with the large wig
and larger heart, with the rolling gait and
voice of thunder, come back, Samuel Johnson !

Do thou also return, sprightly, kindly
spectre in suit of Filby-made Tyriau bloom
poet and novelist and essayist and drama-
tist, for whom, wert thou alive and hard
up for paper, I would send my last shirt to
the paper mill to make Bath post. Return,
if for a moment, Oliver Goldsmith ! Sins
and follies there may be posted against thee in
the Book, but surely tears enough have been
shed over the " Vicar of Wakefield " to blot
them out, and airs of light-hearted laughter
have been wafted from " She stoops to Con-
quer " to dry the leaves again a thousand times !

But they cannot come back, these shades,
at my poor bidding. Beaconsfield and Poet's
Corner, St. Paul's and Dromore, will hold
their own until the time shall come. I
cannot even wander through the genius
hallowed rooms of Reynolds's house. Lite-
rary and scientific apparatus, and panorama,
have effaced all vestige thereof. I can but
muse in the spirit on the dining room where
these great ones met on the octagon
painting room with the arm-chair on a
dais, with the high window looking to the
northward darkened on the day of Gold-
smith's death, with the palette and pencils
laid by for the day when Johnson was buried,
and on every Sunday afterwards, according
to his dying wish.

My square is nearly circled. When I
have stated that David Loggan, the engraver
immortalised by Pope, lived next door to
Hogarth, and that next door on the other
side resided (after the painter's death) John
Hunter, the surgeon, who here formed the
famous anatomical museum, called the Hun-
terian collection, and gave every Sunday

Charles Dickens.]

THE ROVING ENGLISHMAN.

evening, during the winter months, medica
soirees, where matters germane to the scalpe
and lancet were pleasantly discussed over
coffee and muffins, I think I have named all
that Leicester Square offers of remarkable
historically speaking. I am not aware that
any nobleman ever had his head cut off here ,
that Lord .Rochester ever said anything witty
from any of its balconies ; or that any patriot,
from Jack Cade to Mr. Hunt, ever addressed
British freeholders within its precincts.

The diameter I proposed to myself is
well-nigh completed ; but there is yet the
centre of my self-traced circle to be visited.
I shall say no more of Mr. Wyld's globe, save
that it is a very excellent viva voce course of
lessons in geography. I will not touch upon
the bazaar that was to have been built there
once ; but I must, for the benefit of my
untravelled readers, say a word about the
centre of the square before it was built upon.

Where now is a lofty dome was once, oh
neophyte in London, a howling desert enclosed
by iron railings. There was no grass, but
there was a feculent, colourless vegetation like
mildewed thatch upon a half-burnt cottage.
There were no gravel walks, but there were
sinuous gravelly channels and patches, as if
the cankerous earth had got the mange.
There were rank weeds heavy with soot.
There were blighted shrubs like beggars
staves or paralytic hop-poles. There were
shattered marble vases like bygone chemists'
mortars which had lost their pestles, half
choked with black slimy mould like prepa-
rations for decayed blisters. The earth
brought forth crops, but they were crops
of shattered tiles, crumbling bricks, noseless
kettles, and soleless boots. The shrubs had
on their withered branches, strange fruits
battered hats of antediluvian shape, and
oxidised saucepan lids. The very gravel was
rusty and mixed with fragments of willow
pattern plates, verdigrised nails, and spectral
horseshoes. The surrounding railings, rusty,
bent, and twisted as they were, were few and
far between. The poor of the neighbourhood
tore them out by night, to make pokers of. In
the centre, gloomy, grimy, rusty, was the
statue I have mentioned more hideous (if
such a thing may be) than the George the
Fourth enormity in Trafalgar Square more
awful than the statue of the Commendatore
in Don Giovanni.

There were strange rumours and legends
current in Leicesterian circles concerning this
enclosure. Men told, holding their breath,
of cats run wild in its thickets, and grown as
large as leopards. There was no garden, and
if any man possessed a key to the enclosure,
he was too frightened to use it. People spoke
of a dragon, a ghoule, a geni, who watched
o^ T er the square, and for some fell purpose
kept it desolate. Some said, the statue was
the geni; but in 1851, when the Globe was
proposed, he showed himself to the world,
howled dismally, and did furious battle to

keep his beloved Square intact in all its
ruin and desolation. This 'geni, or dragon's
name was, if I remember right, Vested
Interests.

THE ROVING ENGLISHMAN.

THE GEEAT DO.

I SOLEMNLY protest against the Marseille
route to Italy, or to anywhere else (unless,
perhaps, you pack yourself up with the out-
ward India mail) ; and I am now writing
these lines in the best hotel at Marseilles.

Let me begin at the beginning ; in Paris.
In the morning I go to the Lyons railway
station called Lyons as a harmless plea-
santry, for it goes no further than Chalons
to learn how I am to get to Marseilles,
and I am referred to an agreeable gentleman
of lively manners, seated in a species of rabbit
hutch, inscribed Enquiry Office. I take off
my hat to the agreeable gentleman, and re-
ceive his salutation in return. This is the
Gallic substitute for smoking the pipe of
peace ; and must be gone through if you wish
to get anything out of a Frenchman.

" When can I get to Marseilles ? "

" Monsieur can go to Marseilles when he
pleases," replies the agreeable gentleman ;
who, discerning by instinct that I am an
Englishman, appears to expect good sport for
a few minutes, to enliven the monotony of his
rabbit hutch. "That depends entirely upon
Monsieur ! "

" I wish to go at once." The agreeable
gentleman is desolated that no train will start
before ten minutes to eight in the evening
an express train.

" Well, when shall I arrive ? " " Ah, Mon-
sieur, to-day is Monday. Let us see, to-day is
Monday." After a pause, in which I continue
resolutely to look notes of interrogation, the
agreeable gentleman finally assures me that
if it were summer he should be able to tell me

unfortunately, however, it is January. But
be knows a good hotel at Chalons, where the
irain stops. Indeed, he has a few cards of
ihat excellent hotel about him ; and presents
me with one, assuring me that I shall find
surpassing accommodation in it. I take my
.eave chiefly in consequence of the agreeable
gentleman returning to the study of one of
Paul de Kock's instructive romances.

It is evening ; I have left the gay part of
Paris far behind me, its lights, and its boule-
vards ; the brilliant caf&s of the Palais
Royal, and the palaces of the Place de la
Concorde. I am going in a cab to a dismal
suburb in which the railway station may be
bund by any one who has a good organ of
"ocality. Presently a sudden halt and a sharp
erk bring all my luggage on my favourite corn.

" Well, we are not yet at the station ? "

" No ; but Monsieur will have the kindness
.0 pay me."

" But I can't carry these things to the
itation."

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

" Also that is not the question agitated, but
I must have my fare absolutely (with the
Parisian chant), s'il vous plait, Monsieur."

" Continue ! no farces, my friend, continue ;
I shall lose the train." The wretch is im-
movable, and still howls " Pay ! " The first
bell making itself heard at the station, and a
short impatient scream from the steam-engine
frightentng me, I pay six francs, with a wry
face at the roguery of the triple charge. And
the " drink money 1 " It is no use wrangling,
so I give another franc for pour loire and am
at length driven to the station ; either the
rules of the Company, or the regulations of
the Paris police for I had not time to find
out which was in fault having caused me
to be robbed of at least four francs without
the smallest means of redress.

I take my ticket, first class, to Lyons
forty-seven francs odd sous and my bag-

fage is weighed. It is little enough the
are necessaries of a man with few wants
yet I have to pay for it extra. I have given
my great-coat, cloak, and umbrella to a
commissioner, one of the staff of the railway
number nineteen, be he whom he may and
I expect he will carry them for me to the
carriage ; perhaps take my place for me the
corner seat with my back to the engine. But
I am disappointed ; he leaves me at the
waiting-room door, the " Rules of the Com-
pany " not allowing him to go further ;
though they appear to allow him to take the
gratuity for which he asks. The waiting-room
is like an oven, and I am much worried by a
man following me about, and telling me I
have " only to choose my newspaper."

We are off at last. During the journey,
every time I am dropping off to sleep, a person
who appears to watch his opportunity with
great address insists upon seeing my ticket.
It is the same man every time, and he takes
a perverse pleasure in observing me unbutton
my coat N

Chalons and four o'clock in the morning.
A good bumping in a most unaccommodating
omnibus brings us to the boat. One of us
incurs the displeasure of the conducteur, and
is rated soundly ; but, nevertheless, we get
safely on board, and are packed together like
herrings in a barrel, in a long wretched
cabin, with a stove that smells and smokes.
I would rather go upstairs in the rain by
many chalks, and up I go. And now we start,
of course long after the time fixed I am used
to that, for I have been in Germany but I
am glad to be off at any price this miserable
morning. Phizz ! phizz ! phizz ! Something
makes a noise like a hundred shovels grating
edgeways over a hundred hearthstones.
Plopp ! plopp ! plopp ! we are letting in
water. Bang ! crash ! The steamer reels, and
no wonder ; she is broken in two, as it has
been expected she would be every voyage time
out of mind, for she was too old and worth-
less to repair. Let us scramble out as we
may, through the rain and the cold and the

mire. Will our luggage be saved ? Perhaps ;
but we must not expect too much : at all
events, it is likely to be wetted. We shall
make the Company responsible, not only for
our luggage, but for finding us another convey-
ance. We may do wha't we like ; the next
boat starts at five to-morrow morning.

What a lucky thing that our agreeable
acquaintance in Paris recommended us to an
hotel here ! Could he have had a presentiment
of what was going to happen ; and are
stoppages in Chalons as frequent as I have
been told ? At all events we will go to this
hotel. Curious how striking a resemblance
mine host bears to the agreeable gentleman ;
I declare even his whiskers are cut in the
same style. It seems to me that they must be
near relations ; I inquire, and am not dis-
appointed. I wish I could say the same of
the accommodation.

The same scene of noise and scrambling,
and scolding, and rain, and cold, and bad
smells on the following morning, and then
Chalons is left behind us, and we are paddling
down at a great rate, in a smart little boat
called the Parisien, to Lyons. Why could we
not have gone on by the Parisien yesterday 1
I am bound to do justice to the Parisien ; and
if one or two of her crew had spoken French
instead of a most incomprehensible patois,
there would have been little to desire, except
cleaner cabins and seats on deck. The fafe
was pretty good, the wine not bad, and the
prices moderate.

It is half-past eleven, and there is Lyons.
What time shall we be at Marseilles ? Oh,
not to-day. We must remain at Lyons
all night. The only boat starting has just
left. She started directly we were signalled ;
we can see the smoke of her furnaces just
ahead there, and even she only goes as
far as Valence. We may take the mail-
post, indeed, and it starts at two o'clock ;
but we shall gain no time, and it will
be more expensive. Of course it will ;
for, on pretence of sending us forward at
once, a fat individual with a rusty beard
has just induced us to take tickets by the
same Company to Avignon, price twenty
francs, which would be lost money if we
were to go on by the malle paste. Let us go,
therefore, to the Hotel de 1'Eui-ope. Here
we make the acquaintance of two very polite
waiters (brothers), who take quite a paternal
interest in us, and get ready a very excellent
dinner at five o'clock. They also point out
to us, in a hushed voice, a great theatrical
star from Paris, who invariably dines off
cotelettes a la Soubise.

Oh, to be sure, we shall be called at four
o'clock to-morrow, if we please but we do
not start till six. Then Monsieur would
like some breakfast.

What a cold raw morning ; with the same
soft silent rain always falling, falling, till
there seems something sad and solemn in it.
Is that the omnibus 1 Yes. Well, hoist up

Charles Dickens.]

THE EOVING ENGLISHMAN.

my luggage. The omnibus does not take lug-
gage ; but a ticket porter does, and charges
a franc for each article ; I pay it, and get
a good deal of incivility into the bargain.
Capital boat again. We must be paddling
along at nearly fifteen miles an hour. Break-
fast good, too, and only cost three francs,
including wine, coffee, liqueur, and dessert.
Half-a-crown for what in England should
cost two shillings.

That abominable mistral, or north west
wind, is blowing : it began after we made
the last bend in the river before reaching
Avignon, and I can hardly keep my legs
against it. I have a cold in the head all
at once ; and my skin feels like parchment
dried by magic.

Avignon ! and I solemnly assure you
that the whole population of that ancient
papal residence appeared to me to be a set
of drunken extortioners. There was no
order or arrangement of any kind about our
luggage, and I had a hard fight to get mine.
At length, however, I succeeded, and placing
it under the care of a powerful fellow quite
drunk, but the soberest I saw asked him to
carry it to the Bureau des Omnibus. He
assured me that he would carry it anywhere
to Africa, if it pleased me and away we
went together. The scene of rowing, and
fighting, and scrambling on that road was as
bad as it could ever have been at Donnybrook
Fair. The porters seemed to be a regular or-
ganised gang of banditti (speaking no French,
by the way), who look upon travellers as prey,
and the seizure of their luggage as one of the
fundamental rights and privileges of their
order. They catch it up, a box at a time, let
it belong to whom it may, and off they march
with it, of course in the wrong direction.
Before you can get it back, you must submit
to many curses, immoderate shouting and bel-
lowing from a crowd of fellows hopelessly
drunk who gather round you, and pay what
is asked of you. There is no escape except
fighting, and I learn that regular pitched
battles with travellers are by no means
uncommon ; not stand-up fistycuff fights,
but kicking in the stomach and knife-
drawing. Every person I met in the town
was afraid of these fellows, from the omnibus
cad and a friend of his (both hopelessly drunk,
and smelling intolerably of garlic, who got in
and sat down on each side of me in the omni-
bus), to the hotel-keeper, as noisy, drunken,
and shouting as the rest of them. Even the
police dare not interfere.

Through the same oven of a waiting-room,
annoyed by the same ridiculous regulations,
the same incivility, and the same extortions,
I reach my hotel at Marseilles at half- past ten
in the evening. I am obliged to go by the
omnibus, because there are no fiacres or other
carriages ; I see my luggage tossed about as
if there was nothing but wool in it, and
flinging from any height could not hurt it. I
am deafened by a party of jovial commercial

gents teasing a resolute stout lady, who get
into the omnibus puffing and struggling, and
having squeezed a meek English clergyman
out of his seat, announced her opinion that
liberality well understood began at home, and
forthwith wrangled with the cad about her
fare. Every individual in the omnibus, save
the clergyman and I, took part for or against
her, and all talked at once as loud as they
could bawl.

There is nobody to take my luggage at the
hotel, or who appears to expect the omnibusj
or to care a straw about anything or anybody,
or who knows if I can have a room or where ;
but at length these questions are decided, and
eleven o'clock seats me before a fire in my
bed-room, with the bell-rope in my hand.

I ring. Can I have a pair of slippers ? No;
the hotel does not furnish them. Can I have
some tea 1 Not easily ; everybody went to
bed immediately the omnibus came in (at half-
past ten). Well! nevermind. I feel you have
the mistral blowing here, my friend the night-
porter. Yes, monsieur, slightly. Slightly 1
Oh yes, very slightly ; when it blows hard it
takes the skin of your face right off. And
how long is it likely to last 1 About sis
weeks : bon soir, monsieur. His time is pre-
cious. He is off.

I mention these things, trifling as they
are in themselves, because I am staying
at the first hotel in the place, where I
know beforehand that my expenses will be
thirty or forty francs a day, and also because
I wish to shew that every arrangement ia
equally badly managed at present on the
Marseilles route ; every one, from the pri-
mary considerations of safety, speed, and
economy down to the minor ones of comfort,
civility, and attention. I remember arriving
at this same hotel from Algiers, and thinking
it a species of paradise, as indeed it is to any-
thing out there ; a circumstance to which
many seaport hotels owe their celebrity. On
passing through here, however, from the other
side, I maintain a different opinion.

It is afternoon. The mistral has ceased in
spite of the waiter's prophecy, and the same
soft silent rain is always falling, noiselessly,
solemnly. It is a fearful thing this rain, falling
so constantly that for six weeks we have
hardly had a day's respite. Great floods are
out in the country, and the corn lands and the
vineyards lie under water for miles and miles.
Sick women and tender children are dying in
their damp homes in far away villages, the
principal streets of which are not fordable
with safety. And the water saps the mud
foundations of peasants' houses and washes
them away, so that they fall with a dull heavy
sound, killing nobody, for they have been
abandoned. The harvest they say is spoilt, and
the young vine-trees, literally drowned, lay
with their roots rotting in the water. We
hear strange tales of men meeting their death
by drowning upon by-roads which they had
trodden in safety for years, and in meadows

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

ami pastures where the flood rose suddenly in
the night ; aud I begin, for the first time in nay
life, to understand what are the dangers by
" flood and field " which daunted the stout
hearts of our forefathers.

I find my way with some difficulty to an out-
of-the-way little street and stop before a
narrow glass door, through which are heard
sounds of violent altercation. Satisfying
myself that this is the place I want, I turn
the handle gently and find myself in the
midst of one of those Italian rows about two-
pence halfpenny, which so often diversify the
amusements of a traveller beyond the Alps.
I understand Italian pretty well. Am soon
convinced that there has been considerable
cheating going on somewhere ; and an excited
child of the south, who insists with great
apparent reason that he has been done even
browner than he looks, is so furiously irate,
that to this moment I remain under the im-
pression that he had nothing but his watch-
chain left to take him on to Paris.

'' What is the fare to Naples, signor ? "

"One hundred and sixty-five francs, and
your seigueury does right to go by our boat
instead of the Comere Siciliano, which takes
four days, and sometimes even six, touching
at all sorts of out-of-the-way places."

" Yes ; and I find you are some twenty or
thirty francs cheaper a great consideration.
What places are still vacant 1 "

" All, except the two first double cabins to
the right and left on entering the saloon. We
can afford to go cheaper, because we save two
days' provisions."

" I will go down to the steamer, then ;
choose my berth, return and pay for it."

" The signor will be wise. The steamer is
in dock, and you can walk on board."

Nevertheless, I find this to be a mistake,
and am rowed by an excellent fellow of a
waterman half round the harbour before I
get on board the Great Do no end of tons,
bound for Naples with passengers and cargo.
My friend, the waterman, tells me great
things touching the prosperity of the port of
Marseilles ; and what a fat slice she gets out
of the taxes the French people pay to keep
Algiers. I find, too, that all the foreign corn
does not go to England ; and ship after ship,
laden with grain from Odessa, is seen dis-
charging rich cargoes into flat-bottomed
boats that lie alongside.

My friend, the boatman, tells me, however,
that he has a dislike to the bread made of
this foreign grain ; and when I ask him why,
he assures me " it is not salt enough."

Passing, also, the Sicilian mail-boat (a fine
steamer) just about to start, I scramble at
last on board the merchantman, choose my
berth and return.

" I have chosen number six, letter A."

" /Si, signor j one hundred and ninety-eight
francs. Will you give me your passport 1 "
The Italian row, subsided into muttered
grumblings, is still going on in a corner.

" One hundred and ninety-eight francs !
Why, you told me one hundred and sixty-five
just now."

"Oh yes, of course," cries an important
Englishman, whom I notice now upon a chair
in a perfect perspiration of rage, " oh yes, of
course,xbut that was before the Sicilian courier
boat started, and now we are in their power
till the ninth of next month. They can do
what they like with us : I find myself, sir,
sixty francs poorer than if I had paid my
passage before the other boat started ; but
they would not take the money."

" That is odd," said I, in English, and
with a half smile.

" Oh no, it isn't ; they made sure of me by
getting me to give my passport into their
hands to get it vis6d I understand they do a
good business in visa's and then they had me
tight, of course ; wife, maid, courier, and all.
Talk of the Marseilles route, sir ; it's a
swindle, every mile of it ! "

It is ten o'clock on the night of the
twenty-second of January, and the Great
Do is advertised to start at two o'clock on
the twenty-third, while we, the passen-
gers, who are to go by it, have been recom-
mended to get on board before eleven. I am
glad to have done with the extreme dis-
comfort of the noisy hotel where I have
been stopping, and look upon my tightly
packed luggage with a smile of satisfaction.
It is hoisted on a fiacre ; the last harpy has
been bought off ; even the man who opened the
fiacre door, and another who did the looking on
part, have both been feed according to custom,
and in spite of sundry visions of sea-sickness,
I draw a sigh of relief. I am off at last.

Not a bit of it ! There lies the Great Do
high and dry somewhere ; no one of the few
jolly sailors loitering about know exactly
where, but she is somewhere, that is quite
clear ; and she is not to start to-night. Indeed
she is being painted. At this juncture, my
fiacre expresses a polite wish to be paid
double his fare ; but on requesting him to
take me back to the hotel, he becomes
more reasonable in his demands, and back
we go together. Every one has gone to
bed there, however, according to custom, on
the arrival of the last train from Paris ;
and, on awaking them, I find the irrup-
tion of travellers deluded into taking the
Marseilles route has been so great since I
left, that every bed in the house is engaged,
and I must drive elsewhere and get a
lodging how I may. The coachman enjoys
this, and no wonder, for it enables him to
give me a pleasant airing about Marseilles,
and to see how its streets look by moonlight.
In fact I have ample time to judge of them,
for I am convinced he took me twice round
the same Place, either from absence of mind,
or absence of honesty, and of course I have to
pay him bravely. However, I do get a
lodging at last, somewhere or other a lodging
smelling of old rope and beds ill-made, of

THE KOVING ENGLISHMAN.

yesterday's dinner, and fine old preserved
cigar smoke, kept tight since last summer,
when the windows were opened. There is
no help for it sniff and pish as I may and
I soon find myself deeply intrenched in a
fluffy bed, smelling abominably, and with
one sheet and a counterpane excessively dirty
to cover me. I am bound to confess, how-
ever, I do not lack entertainment, and pass
a most lively night with certain dark-com-
plexioned guests who were not unexpected.

I get up the next morning jolly enough
under the circumstances, and except a slight
dimculty in opening my left eye, owing to
certain kisses I received in the dark, and an
intolerable itching all over me have nothing
to complain of. Yet, not being so satisfied,
perhaps, as I ought to be, I go out, and find
my way to the gentleman who resides in the
little house with the glass door. There my
important acquaintance is furious. There is
also a pale clerical looking man, with a large
family, taking an invalid daughter to Italy,
smarting under the prospect of another three
days at an hotel. There is M. de Taroc, a
distinguished member of the Jockey Club,
who has laid a bet that he will go to Naples
and back without taking off his under waist-
coat ; and, having chosen the Great Do as
the quickest means of going, is gesticulating
wildly at the delay. There is Madame Fifine,
who will lose her engagement at the San Carlo
if she does not arrive there before Made-
moiselle Fanchon, her rival, who fearful of
sea-sickness is trying to cross the Alps. There
is also Captain Scurry, who has exceeded his
leave of absence from Malta, with a fraudu-
lent bankrupt or two, who evidently give
themselves up for lost now ; while a poor
pale gentleman who is sighing and coughing
in a corner, has been robbed of his last straw
of a chance of prolonging his life a few feeble
mouths more.

" And will you have the complaisance to tell
all these people, Monsieur, why the Great
Do is not going to start ? "

Monsieur shrugs his shoulders : he has
nothing to say to us. The Great Do does not
start because she is being painted, and because
her cargo is not complete, and because a
vessel expected from the Antipodes did not
come in yesterday indeed, from a variety of
reasons.

" But how is that you print placards and
have them fixed up here and there, even in
the Neapolitan Embassy at Paris, engaging
to start on the twenty-third, and then break
your word ?"

Monsieur shrugs his shoulders again, an
answer that will do for anything he says.
There are many people who are quiet equal
to us in rank and consideration he means
to' say our betters who are also detained
and who make no complaint. Who are we,
and what do we want I "We may have our
passports back, and go by another boat ; there
is one going to Naples to-morrow, he believes,

that is, on its return from the East Indies.
To be sure we shall not arrive there so soon
going round by Calcutta, as if we wait
for the Great Do, but he cannot help that.
There are our passports, if we want them
they are no use to him. We appear to belong
to that class of individuals who will never
listen to reason, &c.

We reply that all we want is to go to
Naples ; the fulfilment of a solemn printed
contract made between the Company he re-
presents and us, the public. That our sole
reason for choosing his vessel was as the
speediest means of getting to Naples. That
if it had not been advertised to start on the
twenty-third, and to arrive as soon as the
other boat carrying the mail, which started
on the nineteenth, and offered us the addi-
tional temptation of a shorter voyage by sea,
we should have taken the mail boat. But
that now we are completely in the hands of
the Great Do till the twenty- ninth again.

The Monsieur replies that our language is
neither well chosen nor polite ; that we appear
ignorant of the usages of genteel society.

We answer that we shall be subjected to
great expense and to grave inconvenience if
the Great Do does not proceed on her voyage
according to advertisement, and indeed that
some of our purses being exhausted, we shall
not be able to go at all.

To which the Monsieur answers that we
are free to go or to remain ; and that as for
the Great Do, she will start some time within
a week and in the middle of the night pro-
bably on the twenty-fifth that is, if she com-
pletes her cargo, and the ship from the
Antipodes comes in. He has now the honour
to salute us, and will not hear anything more
on the subject. If we are not pleased we
have the alternative of being angry, that is all.

The mistral, which lulled yesterday, has set
in again to-day with such fury, that it is well
to carry a hooked walking-stick and catch
hold of something if you are going to turn a
corner, and to breast it suddenly. Never
mind, we will not waste our day. Let us go
down and have a talk with the boatmen on the
quays ; they are very good fellows and take
their due thankfully and civilly. Here is my
old friend, who told me that the foreign grain
made bread which was not salt enough for
him. Let us hear what he has to say to-day.

" Well, my friend, will you have a cigar ? Is
there anything new in to-day 1 "

"There is an American war-sloop, Mon-
sieur."

Let us go on board, and our new friend
takes us. After being courteously received,
entertained, and instructed by the American
naval officers, we return, and are obliged to
lie down at full length in the boat, that she
may make any way against that abominable
mistral which is blowing light a-head. The
boatman is full of attention.

" Upon my word, you Marseilles boatmen
are a very good-natured set of fellows."

HOUSEHOLD WOEDS.

The man, with a strong Italianized accent,
replies, and adds that he would like to learn
English.

" Then why don't you do so ?"

" I have no money."

" But you don't want money to learn Eng-
lish, man ! I will give you a couple of francs
to buy a grammar and a dictionary ; go among
the English sailors as much as you can and
the thing is done. Here are the two francs."

" It is tremendous work pulling against this
head wind. Let me take an oar. Steady, that
will do ; " and twenty minutes hard exer-
cise brings us to shore. " What is your fare 1 "

" Monsieur has already paid me."

" Nonsense ! I gave you those two francs to
learn English ; besides, you have been out with
me these two hours and a half, and your fare
is thirty sous an hour."

" Monsieur has already paid me more than
paid me."

I never like to thwart a man when he
thinks he is doing a pretty thing, so I put up
the five-franc piece I had ready for him, and
say, " Well, some day I may pass through this
place again. If I do, I will look for you. Mind,
it is a premise ; and, if you can speak to me
in English I will give you what ? Why a
silver oar."

" I shall have it, Monsieur, then," answers
the boatman, showing a set of glistening
white teeth, and touching his hat with a frank
upright air which pleased me. One has the op-
portunity of giving an arm to Minerva, some-
times, even on the breezy quays of a sea-port.

Sauntering back to my hotel, I meet a fat
man with a sleepy eye coming out of my bed-
room. The fact presently turns out to be that
I have been robbed of one of three louis from
the secretaire in my room. I complain, but
am met with such an angry hubbub from a
turbulent waiterocracy, that I am glad to put
my loss in my pocket, and leave the fat
thief with the sleepy eye in a state of peaceful
security.

The next morning finds me straining hard
at an intractable cigar in a high wind upon
the quays again.

Why, I declare, there is the Great Do
advertised to start to-night. I hurry to the
office. Can it be true ? Yes, the ship from
the Antipodes has actually arrived, the cargo
is complete, and we shall only lose three days
after all. To be sure, many of those who
intended to go by it have made little excur-
sions for a day or two to Toulon, or where
not, and are not now in Marseilles ; others,
expecting to be detained longer, have mads
arrangements for a week at their hotels, and
sent their things to the tardy wash. I regret
to say I am among the latter.

"Monsieur can I really venture to go down
again to the Great Do to-night 1 Will she
really start ? "

" Certainly. Here is your ticket."

"Excuse me ; my place is number six,
letter A."

" Desolated, Monsieur ; that place has been
taken by Lord Bumblepuppy."

" But I took it three days ago."

My lord has taken it also ; but I can
have a place in the stern, one of the most un-
comfortable parts of the ship.

" Very well, we will not dispute. Do you
take bank-notes 1 "

Bank-notes ! Of course he does. " It is all
the same to us ; we have many commercial
relations with London. Here is the change of
Monsieur."

I have a bad habit of looking at my
change, and on telling it carefully over I find
my gentleman has given me twenty-four
francs for the pound sterling, or exactly
three-fourths of a franc less than its worth on
the exchange. I am too much disgusted
however even to complain.

" Here is your ticket, Monsieur, which you
will present on going on board, and here is
another ticket for the boat which takes you
on board ; you will have the kindness, espe-
cially, to avoid giving the boatmen anything
we pay them already more than sufficiently.
Monsieur, I have the honour to salute you."
My twenty pound note disappears in a greasy
receptacle, the door closes on me, and I return
to mine inn.

My bill is, of course, extortionate as bills
always are at bad hotels but I pay it without
grumbling, because I wish to secure my bed
in case of another disappointment. My lug-
gage is taken to the boat paid for by the
owners of the Great Do, and I follow it.
There are too many of us on board the boat
paid for by the owners of the Great Do,
and we are so uncomfortably crowded that it
appears to me if the boat paid for by the
owners of the Great Do were to spring a
leak and sink, we should all go down in a
compact lump.

" Hi ! Monsieur, you have not paid your
fare."

" Here is my ticket ; my fare is paid by the
owners of the Great Do."

"Pardon, Monsieur, you are paid for by
the owners of the Great Do, but your lug-
gage a trunk, a hat-box, and a leather bag
is not paid for. Three francs, Monsieur."

At last, plucked and plundered, I am de-
livered over, wholly and irremediably, to the
Great Do. What is to become of me now
that I am confined in her, Avithout hope of
redress or escape until I land at Naples, I
shudder to contemplate.

Now ready, price 5s. 6rf, neatly bound in Cloth,

THE SIXTH VOLUME

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

Containing the Numbers issued between September llth,
1852, and February 26th, 1853; including the extra
Christmas number, entitled, "A ROUND OF STORI, ; i;v
THE CHRISTMAS FIBE."

Published at the Office, No. 16, Wellington Street North, Strand. Printed by BKADBOKI & EVANS. Whiwfriurs, London.

Familiar in their Mouths as HOUSEHOLD WORDS." SUAKI .S^AHE.

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

A WEEKLY JOURNAL,
CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS.

- 157.]

SATURDAY, MABCH 26, 1853.

[PRICE Id.

MY SWAN.

THERE was once a great Italian painter
the same who had a hand in painting the
stanze and loggie of the Vatican, and in build-
ing Saint Peter's who, when he came to be
nearly eighty years of age, when he was
justly considered and renowned throughout
Europe as the most learned artist living, as a
man who knew by heart every bone, ligament,
muscle, and vein, and could pourtray them
with the most recondite foreshortening and
the most erudite symmetry which, indeed,
he could designed a rough pencil sketch,
representing a very old man (himself) seated
in a go-cart, drawn by a little child ; while,
underneath the drawing, these words were
written : " Ancora impara " " Still he
learns." The octogenarian sage the oracle
of art was wise and modest enough to
confess how little he knew, and how much he
had yet to learn.

Now, though I do not pretend to the
learning of Michael Angelo, or I say it in
all modesty to know much about anything,
I did natter myself that I was passably well
read in "public" lore that, as I once
foolishly boasted in this journal, I had
graduated in beer. Flippantly, as men of
superficial acquirements are prone to do, I
summed up the phases of " public " life in
three chapters. Fatuitous scribe ! I had
but broken the ground with the point of my
spade. Insensate ! I had thought to do in a
day what it would take years to accomplish
a moiety of. Impotent ! I had essayed to dip
the Mississippi dry with a salt-spoon !

Consider the contemplative man's recrea-
tion. The fishing public-house ! On the banks
of a suburban stream, or by the towing-path of
a canal, or by the mud-compelling, stream-
restraining portals of a lock shall we find
the piscatorial public : the Jolly Anglers,
maybe, or the Izaak "Walton, or very pro-
bably the Swan. What connection there
can be between a Swan and the gentle craft
I know not ; but it is a fact no less strange
than incontrovertible, that the Swan is the
favourite sign for fishing-houses : the White
Swan, the Old Swan, the Silver Swan, the
Swan and Hook, but the Swan, always.

The Swan, my Swan on the little fishing
river Spree (which has been playing some

astonishing freaks of late overflowing its
banks and depositing roach and dace in back
kitchens and dustbins) always puts me in
mind of a very old man with very young legs ;
for whereas it is above, as far as regards its
upper and garret story, a quaint, moss-covered,
thatched-roofed edifice with crooked gable
ends, and an oriel window with lozenge-panes,
it is below an atrociously modern erection of
staring yellow brick with an impertinent
stuccoed doorway, and the usual rhetorical
conventionalities in golden flourishes about
neat wines, fine ales, good accommodation,
and the rest of it. This, doorway faces the
high omnibus road, and is a sixpenny ride
from the Bank a great convenience to anglers
whose everyday occupations are of a City or
commercial cast. The sign of the Swan
formerly stood in this high road, or at least
creaked and swung within an iron frame
affixed to a post standing there. This Swan
was a brave bird, with a neck like a corkscrew,
and a head like the griffin's in the City Arms.
There were faint vestiges of a gold-laced
cocked hat, and a rubicund red nose gleaming
through the whity brown plumage of the
bird, and old folks said that before the house
had been the Swan, it was known as the
General Ligonier. Other old folks held out
stoutly that the cocked hat and rubicund nose
belonged to the publican's friend, the Marquis
of Cranby, while a third party swore hard
that they were the property of Admiral Byng,
and that he was dissignitied after they had
shot him. When Groundbait, the present
landlord of the Swan, took the house, he
caused the sign to be removed as too shabby
and tarnished, and agreed with Joe Copal,
the journeyman decorator, to paint a new one
for a crown and a bottle of wine. Unfortu-
nately he paid the money and the liquor in
advance, and Joe soon after emigrated to
Texas, leaving not only the sign unpainted,
but a considerable score for malt liquors and
tobacco unsettled ; whereupon Groundbait
grew moody and abstracted on the subject of
signs ; refusing to have a new one painted,
and replying haughtily to such friends as
pressed him on the subject that "the gentle-
men as used the Swan knew his 'ouse was the
Swan without a swan being painted up out-
side like a himage, and that if they didn't
they might go to any other swan or goose,"

157

[Conducted by

after which he was wont to expel several vehe-
ment whiffs from his pipe, and, knitting his
brown, gaze ruefully at Joe Copal's unliqui-
dated score, which to this day remains in full
chalk characters behind the parlour door ; it
being as much as Dorothy the pretty bar-
maid's place is worth to meddle with, or hint
about effacing it. Groundbait has looked at
it a good many times since the discovery of
the gold fields of Australia, as he has an idea
that Texas may be somewhere that way, and
that Joe, coming back repentant some day
with a store of nuggets, may call in and
settle it.

The Swan has been a fishing house for
years, not only as in the neighbourhood of a
fishing stream and the resort of metropolitan
anglers, but also as a species of house of call
for fresh - water fishermen a piscatorial
clearing house a fishing news exchange, a
social clubhouse for the amateurs of the rod
and line.

The little bar parlour of the Swan, which is
of no particular shape and has a paper
ceiling, has a door covered on the inner side
half by a coloured mezzotint of George the
Third in jack boots, on a horse like a gam-
bolling hippopotamus, reviewing one hundred
thousand volunteers in Hyde Park ; half by
the famous abacus, or slate the tabular record
of scores. Dorothy, the "neat-handed Phillis "
of the Swan, albeit a ready reckoner and an
accomplished artiste in stewing carp and
frying smelts, is not a very apt scholar ; so she
has devised a system of financial hieroglyphics
to cover her want of proficiency in the deli-
neation of the Arabic numerals. Thus, in her
money alphabet, a circle (o) stands for a
shilling; a half moon ((_) for sixpence, a
Maltese cross for a penny, and a Greek ditto
for a halfpenny. Earthings are beneath the
calculations of the Swan ; and pounds are
represented by a very large O indeed : the
agglomeration of a score of circles into one
circumference. The room is hung round with
badges and trophies of the piscatorial craft.
Rods of all shapes and sizes, eel spears,
winches, landing nets, Penelopean webs of
fishing tackle, glistering armouries of hooks,
harpoons, panniers, bait-cans ; and in a glass
case a most wonderful piscatorio-entomological
collection of flies flies of gorgeously tinted
floss silk, pheasants' feathers, and gold and
silver thread flies warranted to deceive the
acutest of fish ; though if, viewed through a
watery medium, the flies come no nearer
Nature than these do, I have no great opinion
of the fishes' discernment. With all due
reverence for the Eleusinian mysteries of fly-
fishing which I do not understand, be it said.
Over the fire-place is the identical rod and
line with which J. Barbell, Esq., booked the
monstrous and European-famed jack in the
river Dodder, near Dublin, and in the
year of grace eighteen hundred and thirty-
nine ; in one corner are the shovel and
bucket with and in which at the same

place and time the said jack, after being
walked seven miles down the banks of the
Dodder, and cracking the rod into innume-
rable fissures (though the superior article, one
of Cheek's best, would not break), was ulti-
mately landed. Conspicuous between the
windows is the portrait of J. Barbell, Esq., a
hairy-faced man, severely scourging a river
with a rod like a May-pole ; beneath that, the
famous jack himself in propriA persond, in a
glass case, stuffed, very brown and horny
with varnish, with great staring glass eyes
(one cracked), and a mouth wide open grinning
hideously. He is swimming vigorously through
nothing at all, and has a neat fore-ground of
moss and Brighton-beach shells, and a backing
of pea-green sky. There are very many other
glass cases, containing the mummies of other
famous jacks, trout, roach, dace, and carp,
including the well-known perch which was
captured after being heard of for five years in
the back waters of the Thames near Reading,
and has a back fin nearly as large as Madame
de Pompadour's fan. Not forgetting a well-
thumbed copy of dear old Izaak's Complete
Angler ; a price-list of fishing materials sold
at the. Golden Perch or the Silver Roach, in
London, with manuscript comments of anglers
as to the quality thereof pencilled on the
margin, and the contributions of the ingenious
Ephemera to Bell's Life in London, cut from
that journal and pasted together on the leaves
of an old cheesemonger's day-book ; not for-
getting these with a certain fishy smell pre-
valent, I think I have drawn the parlour of
the Swan for you pretty correctly. The first
thing you should do on entering this sanctuary
of fishing is to keep your skirts very close to
your person, and to duck your head a little
the air being at times charged with animal
matter in the shape of dried entrails twisted
into fishing-lines, which flying about, and
winding round your clothes or in your hair,
produce a state of entanglement more Gordian
than pleasant. The chairs and other articles
of furniture are also more or less garnished
with hooks of various sizes, dropped from the
parchment hook-books of the gentlemen fisher-
men. These protrude imperceptibly, but
dangerously, like quills upon the fretful por-
cupine ; and it is as well to examine your
chair with a magnifying glass, or to cause a
friend to occupy it preliminarily, before you
sit down in it yourself.

If you come to the Swan to fish you cannot
do better than tackle (I do not use the word
witli the slightest intention of punning,)
Groundbait, the landlord, immediately. That
Boniface will be but too happy to tell you the
latest fishing news, the most approved fishing
places, the neighbouring gentry who give
permissions to fish. He knows of fish in
places you would never dream of: he has
cunningly devised receipts for ground bait :
his butcher is the butcher for gentles, his
oil-shops are the shops for greaves ; he has
hooks that every fish that ever was spawned

Charles Dickens.]

MY SWAN.

will gorge, lines that never break, rods that
never snap. If you would go farther a-field
after an essay at the mild suburban angling
of the .River Spree, he will put you up to rare
country fishing spots, where there are trouts
of unheard of size, eels as big as serpents,
pikes so large and voracious that they gnaw
the spokes of water-wheels ; of quiet Berk-
shire villages, where the silver Thames
murmurs peacefully, gladsomely, innocently
between sylvan banks, through a green
thanksgiving landscape, among little islets,
quiet, sunny, sequestered as the remote Ber-
mudas ; where the river, in fine, is a river
you may drink and lave in and rejoice over,
forgetting the bone factories and gas-works
and tanneries, the sweltering sewerage, inky
colliers, and rotting corpses below Bridge.

If you come to the Swan merely as an ob-
server of the world, how it is a wagging, as I
do, you may take your half-pint of neat port
with Groundbait, or shrouding yourself be-
hind the cloudy mantle of a pipe, study cha-
racter among the frequenters of the Swan.
Groundbait does not fish much himself. The
engineer has an objection to see himself hoist
with his own petard. Doctors never take
their own physic. Lawyers don't go to law.
Groundbait, the arbiter piscatorium, the
oracle, the expert jure of angling, seldom
takes rod in hand himself. He has curiously
a dominant passion for leaping, darting
the lancing pole, swinging by his hands,
climbing knotted ropes, and other feats
of strength and agility. He has quite a
little gymnasium in his back garden, leading
to the river a kind of gibbet, with ropes
and ladders, an erection which, when he first
took the Swan, and set up his gymnastic ap-
paratus, gave his neighbour and enemy, the
.Reverend Gricax Typhoon, occasion to address
several stinging sermons to the congregation
sitting under him at little Adullam, touching
the near connection between publicans and
the most degraded of mankind, such as
public executioners, with a neat little his-
torical parallel concerning Mordecai and
Hainan.

The angling company frequenting the
Swan are varied and eccentric. Rarely, I am
of opinion, is eccentricity so prevalent as
among Anglers. Take Mr. Jeflerson Jebb,
among his intimates known as Jeff. He is
something in the City, that mysterious place,
the home of so many mysterious avocations.
Every evening during the summer months,
and every Sunday throughout the year, he
comes to the Swan to fish or to talk of
fishing. He is intensely shabby, snuffy, and
dirty, and wears a beaver hat brushed all the
wrong way and quite red with rust. On one
finger ho wears a very large and sparkling
diamond ring. His boots are not boots but
bats splay, shapeless, deformed canoes, with
bulbous excrescences on the upper leather.
When he sleeps at the fewan, and you see the
boots outside his door, they have au iuex-

presaibly ^-ct'ggy, wall-eyed, shambling appear-
ance and sway to and fro of their own accord
like the Logan or rocking stone in Cornwall.
I think Jeff must be in the habit of drinking
coffee at breakfast, and, purchasing dried sole-
skins wherewith to clear the decoction of the
Indian berry, be continually forgetting to
take his purchases out of his pockets, for
there is a fishy smell about him, constant but
indescribable. He never catches any fish to
speak of. He does not seem to care about
any. His principal delight is in the peculiarly
nasty process of kneading together the com-
pound of gravel, worms, and soaked bread,
known as ground-bait, small dumplings of
which ordinarily adhere to his hands and
habiliments. He smokes a fishy pipe, and
frequently overhauls a very greasy parchment-
covered portfolio filled with hooks. His line
or plan of conversation is consistent and
simple, but disagreeable, consisting in flatly
contradicting any assertion on angling, or,
indeed, any other topic advanced by the sur-
rounding company. This peculiarity, together
with a general crustiness of demeanour and
malignity of remark, have earned for him
the sobriquets of the " hedgehog," " old
rusty," " cranky Jeff," and the like. If he be
not a broker's assistant, or a Custom House
officer in the City, he must certainly be
a holder of Spanish bonds, or Mexican
scrip, or some other description of soured
financier.

The arm-chair immediately beneath the por-
trait of J. Barbell, Esq., is the property, by
conquest, by seuioi'ity, and by conscription, of
Mr. Bumblecherry, Captain Bumblecherry,
who has been a brother of the angle, and
a supporter of the Swan for twenty years.
For the last five he has boarded and lodged
beneath Groundbait's hospitable roof. In his
hot youth he was au exciseman ; for some
years he has been a gentleman, existing on
the superannuation allowance granted him by
a grateful country. He keeps a vehicle which
he calls a " trap," but which is, in reality, a
species of square wickerwork clothes-basket
on wheels, drawn by a vicious poney. Bumble-
cherry is a very square, little old man with
a red scratch wig, a bulbous nose, and a
fangy range of teeth. He looks very nearly
as vicious as his poney. He bids you good
morning in a threatening manner ; scowls
when you offer him a light for his pipe, and
not uufrequently takes leave of the parlour
company at night with the very reverse of a
benediction. He is a very bad old man ; and
when he speaks to you looks very much as if
he would like to bite you. He does not believe
in anything, much, except fishing, at which
recreation he is indefatigable ; fishing at all
times and all seasons when it is possible to
fish, singing the while, in a coffee-mill voice,
a dreary chant, touching "those that fish for
roach and dace." In the evening, when he
is in a decent humour, he will volunteer an
equally dismal stave called " The Watchman's

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

nervous," and a certain song about a wheel-
barrow, of whose twenty-four verses I can
only call to mind one, running, I think,

" The Mayor of Hull come in his coach,
Come in his coach so slow
And what do you think the Mayor come for?
Why, to borrow niy wheelbarrow oh, oh, oh ! "
Ad libitum.

It is a sight to see the captain savagely fishing
in all weathers, fair or foul ; pouring male-
dictions on all who dare to meddle with his
tackle ; gloomily cooking the fish he has
caught, or driving doggedly along in the
basket cart with the vicious poney which
brute anon attempts to bite crossing pas-
sengers, anon stands stock still, whereat
Bumblecherry gets out and kicks him till he
moves again. He abuses Dorothy very fre-
quently, but as he occasionally makes her
presents of odd hanks of floss silk he uses in
fly-making, meat-pies, and other confectionary,
and once attempted to kiss her in disen-
gaging a double-barbed hook from her dress,
there is a report that he means to marry
her, and at his decease endow her with the
fabulous wealth he is supposed to have
accumulated during his connection with the
British excise.

A frequent visitor to the Swan is a tall
high-dried French gentleman in a short cloak,
decorated with the almost obsolete poodle
collar. Nobody knows his name, so he is
generally called, with reference to his foreign
extraction, as the " Moossoo." He is a very
assiduous, but pensive and melancholy, fisher-
man, and, sitting on a stump with the poodle
collar turned up over his countenance, looks
very like " Patience on a monument." In
hot weather he will not disdain to take off his
stockings, and, rolling up his trousers, fish
bare-legged at a considerable distance from
the bank. He is an amateur in the breeding
and care of gentles and worm-bait, and
generally carries about with him a box of
lob-worms, which, he laments to Mrs. Ground-
bait (who speaks a little French), are con-
tinually getting loose, and walking up and
down the stairs of his house " la canne a, la
main " an anecdote I venture to relate with
a view to signalling a peculiarity, hitherto
unknown, in the natural history of lob-
worms.

In summer weather a great crowd of dandy
fishermen invade the Swan. These gay young
brothers of the Angle bucks of Cheapside
and exquisites of the Poultry come down on
afternoons and Sundays in the most astonish-
ing fishing costume, and laden with the most
elaborate fishing tackle. Wide-awake hats
of varied hue, fishing jackets of curious cut,
veils, patent fishing boots, belts, pouches,
winches like small steam-engines, so compli-
cated are they ; stacks of rods, coils of lines,
bait cans painted the most vivid green : such
are the panoplies of these youths. Tremen-
dous is the fuss and pother they make about

bait and hooks, elaborate are their prepara-
tions, bold and valorous their promises, but,
alas, frequently and signally lame and unsatis-
factory their performances. With all their
varied armament and intricate machinery, I
have seen them, many a time and oft, dis-
i tanced and defeated by a stick and a string, a
i worm at one end and a little barelegged boy
at the other.

SAINT CRISPIN.'

THE Emperor Charles the Fifth, being
anxious to know the sentiments of his
humbler subjects concerning himself and his
government, often went incog., and mixed
himself among them. One night at Brussels,
his boot requiring immediate mending, he was
directed to a cobbler. Unluckily, it happened
to be Saint Crispin's Day ; arid, instead of
finding the cobbler inclined for work, he was
in the height of jollity among his acquaint-
ances. The Emperor made known his wants,
and offered him a handsome gratuity.

" What ! friend," said the cobbler, " do you
know no better than to ask one of our craft
to work on Saint Crispin's Day ? Were it
Charles himself, I 'd not do a stitch for him
now ; but if you '11 come in and drink to Saint
Crispin, do, and welcome ; we are as merry
as the Emperor can be/' The Emperor
accepted the offer ; but while he was con-
templating their rude pleasure, instead of
joining in it, the jovial host thus accosted him
" What ! I suppose you are some courtier
politician or other, by that contemplative
phiz ; but be you who or what you will, you
are heartily welcome. Drink about. Here 's
Charles the Fifth's health ! "

" Then you love Charles the Fifth ? "

" Love him ! " says the son of Crispin ;
"ay, ay, I love his long nose-ship well enough,
but I should love him much better would
he but tax us a little less." After a time
they parted ; and the Emperor, liking the
frankness of the cobbler, sent for him next
day.

When the poor fellow found that his un-
known guest and the Emperor were one and
the same person, he was scared out of his
wits; he feared that the "long nose-ship"
would be the death of him. The Emperor,
however, allayed his fears, and promised to
grant him any reasonable wish he might
express. Crispin thereupon requested that,
in future, the cobblers of Flanders might bear
for their arms a boot, with the Emperor's
crown upon it ; and that in all processions the
Company of Cobblers should take precedence
of the Company of Shoemakers.

And this is how it arose that the cobblers
of Brussels possess these honorary distinc-
tions.

Saint Crispin, whether in England or
Flanders, greatly disapproves of his sons
working on his natal day. He bids them
all feast and be merry, and they do so

Charlei Dickens.]

SAINT CEISPIN.

from the worshipful Cordwainers' Company
down to the

" cobbler who lives in a stall,
Which serves him for parlour, and kitchen, and nil."

Saint Crispin and Saint Crispinian, the two
sainted cobblers, were two brothers of noble
birth, who came from Rome to Soissons to
preach in the middle of the third century,
supporting themselves by making shoes
during the night. Brothers they are in
fame, at any rate : for there are at Paris (or
were, some years ago, but perhaps revolutions
have overturned them) two pious Societies
called Freres Cordonniers (Brother Shoe-
makers) ; the one under the protection of
Saint Crispin, and the other under that of
Saint Crispinian ; they live monastically, and
make shoes to support themselves and to assist
the poor. Our Cordwainers and these Cor-
donniers are supposed to have derived their
names from Cordouanniers, workers in Cor-
douan, or Cordovan leather.

Saint Crispin keeps up many old customs
among his followers, the Cordwainers of
England, as well as among the Cordonniers
of the Continent, while other ceremonies have
fallen into desuetude. The country shoe-
makers were wont to cease candle-light
working on the first Monday in March, and
a holiday was enjoyed among them called
" welting the block." They assembled in the
shop, procured drink, and the eldest hand
poured the first glassfull on a burning candle
into the block candlestick ; and after this
symbolic performance, the sons of Crispin
went through a well-known process of imbi-
bition. Perhaps the country shoemakers may
still remember something of the custom
which Bloomfield used to enjoy in his shoe-
making days of waxing his customers to
the seat of Saint Crispin, preparatory to the
serving of them with a " pen'orth of strap-
oil."

The craft is rich in names which have
become in greater or lesser degree house-
hold property. There was the eccentric
Lackington who, in the title-page of his auto-
biography, tells us that he came to London
with live pounds in his pocket, and rose
to be a bookseller having an annual sale of
a hundred thousand volumes : he had been
a shoemaker in the west of England. There
was Sir Cloudesley Shovel, the redoubtable
admiral. There was Fox, the real original
Friend. There was Hans Sachs, the poet
of Niirenberg, and the friend of Luther.
There were the learned Baudouin and Jacob
Bb'hmen. There were the radical Hardy and
the astrological Partridge ; the powerful
Gifford and the gentle Bloomfield. There
were Savage, and many others all sons of
Crispin before they turned their thoughts
and energies into new channels.

It is an odd thing, for which few persons
seem to be able to account, that the shire of
Northampton, above all others in the three

kingdoms (except the metropolitan county),
is the headquarters of the boot and shoe trade.
Wellingtons, Bluchers, Prince Georges,
Clarences and Alberts, Oxonians, Cambridge,
Cambridge ties, side-springs, tops, spring-tops,
waterproof shooting, hunting, strong boy,
French dress, strong walking, front lace,
side lace, highlows, and double-channel
all are brought from this inland county in
numbers which would stagger " the oldest
inhabitant."

Northampton, Wellingborough, and Ket-
tering, are the three principal towns ; but
there are others which pick up the smaller
crumbs. The sale-shop shoes and boots are
especially supplied from this quarter ; indeed,
this is the distinguishing feature of the
Northamptonshire trade, for there are very
few " bespoke " goods here made. And these
country workers press somewhat heavily on
those of London, keeping down wages, and
prices, and profits to a somewhat low degree.
Many a manufacture has assumed a new
aspect in consequence of those foolish "strikes"
to which our workmen are rather prone ;
and we believe that it was owing to some
such strike among the London shoemakers,
in the early part of the present century, that
a migration took place to Northampton, where
a tolerably large manufacture for an agricul-
tural population had before been established.
St. Crispin remembers 1812 as having
been a momentous year in these matters.
There was strife between masters and men in
London ; the latter, earning more than they
have ever earned since, assumed the mastery,
and o'ermastered the masters. Men met,
masters met ; men threatened, masters refused ;
work was stopped, and orders were suspended.
Several employers, determined not to be
coerced into the new terms, cut out their
leather in London, and sent it to Northampton
to be made into boots and shoes ; and several
sent their orders to be wholly executed in
that county. Northampton looked up ; it
became mighty busy ; and it opened ware-
houses in London for the sale of Northampton
work ; and foreign merchants, finding that
there was another English town which was
better worth their notice than the metropolis,
in respect to this branch of commerce, forth-
with sent their orders to Northampton. The
result staggered the London masters, and
still more the London men. Down to that
period Northampton boots and shoes were
scarcely known in the metropolis, having
mostly shod the denizens of the midland
counties ; and the London hands made not
only the goods for London wear, but for
export also. St. Crispin's children in the
metropolis have been sorry for 1812.

Busy working is this at Northampton, and
its neighbour towns. There are master
manufacturers, who keep extensive ware-
houses, and give out work to be done by
operatives who work at their own dwellings ;
the leather, cut to the proper sizes and shapes,

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

Conducted b)

is provided, and wages of so much per dozen
pairs are paid for the making. Not that one
man wholly makes a pair of boots and shoes ;
far otherwise. There is the shoe-closer,
who works the upper leather ; the shoe-man,
who attaches the imders to the uppers ; the
boot-closer, and the boot-man, who do in
respect to boots what the others do to shoes ;
the blocker, the runner, the clicker, and the
cleaner-up. And then for women's boots
and shoes, there are the women's-man, the
binder, the sew-round-man, the welt-man,
and others whose separate duties could hardly
be described except in very roundabout
terms. As these busy workers use up much
leather, tanners and leather-dressers must be
resorted to ; and accordingly we meet with
such in the Northamptonshire towns. And
as the men must each have his kit, or
grinders, there are the so-called grinders'
warehouses, whence awls, lapstones, pincers,
nippers, hammers, hemp, flax, wax, horse-hair,
tips, clout nails, sparables, sprigs, pegs, and
all the other odds and ends of the workbench
may be had. But Northampton would be
offended if only the coarse rough work were
attributed to it ; it can and does produce the
more polished elegancies. It may be stated
that there is rather more approach to a kind
of factory system at Northampton than in
London, among the sons of Crispin. The
cheap sale- shop boots for Northampton are
often undertaken by men who have a number
of boys under them younkers who either
obtain very small wages, or who give their
services in return for the apprentice instruc-
tion. So much do the workmen accustom
themselves to children's labour, that there is
a sort of saying, " every child in Northampton
has a leather apron." It must not be sup-
posed that " French " boots necessarily come
from the other side of the Channel ; except
those sold at the best shops, they are of
Northampton origin.

St. Crispin's trade is very much divided
in our principal towns. In London, we know
that there are shops in which the boots and
shoes are not ticketed, and others in which
the temptation of low prices is blazoned forth ;
the former are the bespoke, and the latter the
sale shops. But behind the scenes we should
find many other grades principally relating
to the' old shoe trade, and of singular cha-
racter. In the new work, however, we all
know how much importance is attached to
fit, shape, ton, ease without slovenliness ; and
we may readily believe that a good cutter-
out is valued. And was it not so in the
olden time ? Gay, in his Trivia, makes the
muse do duty in the service of well-fitting
boots and shoes :

' Should the big last extend the shoe too wide,
Each stone will wrench th' unwary step aside ;
The sudden turn may stretch the swelling vein,
Thy cracking joints unhinge, or ankle sprain ;
And when too short the modish shoes are worn,
You '11 jinlge the seasons by your shooting corn."

And Chaucer :

" Of shoon and bootes new and fnir,
Look at the least thou have a pair,
And that they fit so fetously,
That these rude men may utterly
Marvel, sith that they sit so plain,
How they come on and off again."

The Buenos Ayres gauchos, or native
horsemen, procure a close-fitting rider's boot
in an original way. The rider kills a young
colt and takes oft' the skin of the hind legs,
from the fetlock up to the middle of the
thigh. He removes the hair ; and, while the
skin is moist and flexible, he fits it to his
own leg and foot. The part from the
hamstring downwards forms the foot of the
boot, the rest forming the leg. In shaping
the hide, so as to make it fit comfortably, one
part becomes extended, whilst another part
is contracted. In this M r ay the foot is entirely
covered, except the first three toes, which
remain with no other covering than Nature
gave them.

The stray sale-shop boots and shoes "are
met with mostly in some particular localities.
There is an old ballad relating to Bartholo-
mew Fair, written just about two centuries
ago, which says :

" Then at Smithfield Bars, -'twist the ground and

the stars,

There 's a place they call Shoemaker's Eow,
Where that you may buy shoes every day,
Or go barefoot all the year I trow."

Whether this particular Shoemaker Eow is
still left we doubt ; but, about Saffron Hill
and Clerkenwell, there are many shops where
are sold the double-everlasting, much-endur-
ing, weather-defying, lace-up boots and shoes,
whose soles exhibit rows of most formidably-
headed hob-nails.

One by one the relics of old-fashioned
London are taken from us ; but we still
retain the genuine cobbler who stitches
away at old shoes, and talks radical politics
with much English independence in his little
stall beneath a shop-window. How the men
manage to creep into these boxes is a perfect
marvel. We know one whose workshop has
no door whatever ; he can only get into his
establishment through the window, the total
height of which is somewhat under three feet.
Crooked he must get into it, crooked remain
there, and crooked get out again ; for to stand
upright is an impossibility. His factory is
scooped out of one of the old-school public-
houses now passing away under the influence
of plate-glass splendours. Fire-place he has
none ; so that his only caloric must be derived
from the warmth of his own heart. And yet
here does Crispin stitch away, year after year.

Mr. Deuliu who, a bootmaker himself, has
shown that he knows something about litera-
ture as well as boots, tells us, iii his little
book on Shoemaking, that in France there
are itinerant cobblers who go about from:

Charles Dickens.]

SAINT CKISPIN.

place to place with a basket at their
backs, square to the shoulders and rounded
outwards. In this they carry their few pieces
of kit, knife, awls, &c., and a necessary
assortment of leather for patches and sole and
heel mending. On getting a job, these French
Crispins sit down at a door step, and work
away ; then, packing up their traps again,
they are off in search of other customers,
calling out somewhat on the principle of our
itinerant tinkers and chair-menders. Most of
these men are said to come from Lorraine.
There is another class of cobblers in France,
partly itinerant and partly stationary : some-
times you may see, in the South of France,
an enormous umbrella planted firmly in the
market-place, a cobbler busily engaged beneath
it, and a villager or two waiting while the work
is in progress the unshod feet being mean-
while innocently displayed to the light of day.

The cobbler is a favourite in many countries,
and is indeed a sort of privileged person.
He is a clubbist, beyond all doubt, and one
who gives forth his opinions concerning the
state of the nation with a good deal of self-
satisfaction. And even in the East, where
clubs are not very plentiful, and where men
do not much accustom themselves to discussions
on the state of the nation, we find nevertheless
that the shoe-makers, or slipper-makers, or
cobblers, are a waggish sort of people ; they
take part in many a story, as the readers
of the Arabian Nights entertainments will
doubtless remember ; if we mistake not, the
cobblers very often assisted the princesses to
make their escape.

What a delicate name is that of " Trans-
lator," as given by St. Crispin to some of his
sons! A "vampei-" is dubkms ; a "reno-
vator " will do very well ; but a translator is
a happy stroke of genius. When boots and
shoes have rendered all the service which
the owners hope to draw out of them, they
find their way through paths which mark
the curious diversities of town trade to the
districts above-named, and others of similar
character, where the translators take them in
hand. Alas ! a hero is not a hero to his
valet ; nor is a translator a translator among
his brethren of the shoe-craft : he is only a
" clobberer." Now a clobberer is not a nice
name at all : the man who answers to this
name does not do nice work or use nice ma-
terials. If there are crevices and breaks in
an old pair of shoes which he does not choose
to fill up witli leather, he insinuates into
them a dose of clobber, which seems to be a
mixture of ground cinders and paste ; and if
there be other gaps which clobber will not
serve but heel-ball will, then does this black
compound do duty instead of leather. But if
neither clobber nor heel-ball will suffice ; if
there be "nothing like leather" for the
purpose ; he does not waste precious bits
of new leather ; he has by him a store of
pieces, derived from the uppers and unders
of boots and shoes which have passed

through a process of dissection, after perhaps
a long career of service in a higher walk in
life. A pair of Wellingtons, trodden under
feet until their life is nearly pressed out of
them, are sold at last for sixpence or eight-
pence ; their day is so far gone that they can-
not even be translated ; but they are still useful
to cut up, and to supply small pieces which
may be destined to run a yet further career.

While the old shoes and boots are being
cobbled and clobbered, the makers of new
goods are striving to introduce new and
useful forms and materials in the manufac-
ture. One man sews his boots with wire-
thread instead of hempen-thread ; another
directs our attention to his revolving circular
heels, which may be turned round when worn
down on one side ; a third points to his excel-
lent iron-rim heel, filled with gutta-percha ;
a fourth seeks impermeability to wet by the
insertion of a gutta-percha sole between the
inner and the outer soles ; a fifth, learned in
the elasticity of India-rubber, inserts elastic
side-pieces to his shoes. In the warlike days,
the late Sir M. I. Brunei made army shoes by
machinery, fastened with nails instead of by
sewing ; it was ingenious, like his block
machinery ; but, somehow or other, it died.

St. Crispin has had something to do with
the Government, and has found out (what has
been discovered by many others) that Govern-
ment officials move, very slowly in Govern-
ment affairs. A " Blue Book," of recent date,
narrates how that a certain shoemaker, at
Edinburgh, patented in 1838 a boot or half-
boot, which had an elastic " waist," the waist
being that portion of the bottom of the boot
situated between the tread and the heel ; it
was made of an elastic material, that it might
better accommodate itself to the movements
of the foot. The patentee thought these boots
well suited for our infantry soldiers ; and the
fourteen years' correspondence which ensued
is quite a curiosity. The Commander-in-
Chief, knowing that the colonels of regiments
have a pecuniary interest in the clothing of
the men, disavowed all control, but promised
to recommend the shoes to the colonels, if the
invention turned out well. The Adjutant-
General wrote to the general officer com-
manding in Scotland with no result. A fire
of letters followed' from the Adjutant-General
to the Colonel of the Grenadier Guards, from
the Colonel of the Grenadier Guards, back
again, to the Adjutant-General, which lasted
up to 1843, when the Adjutant-General de-
clared that he could do nothing further in
the matter. The patentee then wrote to the
duke, and a correspondence ensued backward
and forward, between exactly the same
parties, until 1847. The inventor then wrote
to the Secretary-at-War. who wrote to the
Adjutant- General, who wrote to the duke,
who wrote to the Clothing Board, who wrote
back to the Secretary-at-War, who wrote
back to the patentee, communicating no satis-
factory result. The matter finished nearly

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

where it began. Of the merits or demerits of j forgotten all about it; which is odd, consi-
the boot we do not presume to judge ; we only j dering that it cost him several thousand
point to the fact, that certain officers of pounds for breach of promise. The lady was
Government take fourteen years to decide inconsolable and married an Irish major

three months after the trial. The name of
the Irish major he industriously forgot ; the
name of the lady even was begiuninjj to

how they like a pair of boots.

THE DELUGE AT BLISSFOBD.

THIS is the way Jack Plover lives when he
is at home ; but first of all I must tell you
that Jack's home is the wide wide world, and
that when he stays in London or in Brighton,
or goes shooting or yachting, he considers
himself merely on a visit. He has now been
what any one else would have- called settled in
town, for the last ten years, but still he looks
upon it merely as a tent pitched for the
night, and conveying no idea to his mind of
stability or even repose. However, all the
rest of us think London his headquarters for
life, and therefore I will tell you how he lives
in that gay metropolis. He has beautiful
lodgings over an artificial flower-maker's in
Jermyu Street, belongs to the Acropolis Club,
and sports a swish-tailed poney. with very
high action and immensely long teeth, in a
livery stable in the St. James's mews. He
pursues his literary studies in bed, and gene-
rally reads a novel before breakfast ; but this
is not so great a feat as it appears, for he
does not breakfast till one or two o'clock.
He then sallies into the street, skims through
a page or two of the Times at the Acropolis,
takes three or four turns up and down from
the Duke of York's pillar to th'eKegent Street
Circus, dives for half an hour into the back
parlour of a cigar-shop, mounts his charger
and goes on duty in Hyde Park, sits down to
dinner at a little past seven, sips a pint of
port, climbs up into the billiard room at ten,
plays till twelve, sups till one, and commences
the round of life by retiring to his couch at
two o'clock in the morning. Mr. Plover is
(theoretically) of a very active, enterprising
disposition, and considers idleness a crime ; he
would send all vagrants to the treadmill, and
pities poor devils of country clergymen because
they have so little to do. His easy life has
handled his outward man so tenderly, that if
it weren't for the gradually increasing dark-
ness of the hair-dye, you wouldn't think he
had grown a day older for the last ten years.
His hair was at one time a glossy brown ; it
has past through the intermediate shades of
dark auburn, coal-black, ink-black, and is now
finally settled into the darkest, deepest, beauti-
fullest blue. His whiskers, however, don't
share in the increasing nigritude of his hair,
so he cuts them rigorously off ; having been
occasionally laughed at for the mixed colours
which adorned his cheeks the roots being
very white and the tips very dark like pine-
trees on the snowy Appenine. This care of his
personal appearance arises from a desire to
please the world in general, and has no
reference to any one in particular. He hasn't
had a flirtation for twenty yeai'S, and has now

glimmer in a feeble indistinctness of something
between Juliet and Maria ; her surname he
had either altogether banished with other
" trivial, fond records," or at least had locked
it away in some secret drawer of his mind
into which he very seldom looked. Jack,
like some philanthropists of my acquaintance
who express unbounded interest in the
happiness of the human family at large,
and do no good to any member of it in
particular had a profound veneration for
the fair sex in the abstract, but hated all
women in their individual capacity with a
vehemence which was only equalled by his
indignation at a tough beefsteak or a bottle of
corked wine. Yet he was polite. No French-
man of Louis Quatorze's reign ever so thrilled
at a female presence. His cheeks flushed
when a lady spoke to him, even when she
only asked him if he would have a helping of
fish. His voice faltered as he answered. In
fact, he, was incorrigibly shy, and was nowhere
happy or at his ease except in the Acropolis
or in his apartments at Jerniyn Street.

Has anybody forgotten the raininess of last
winter 1 How the clouds were in a perpetual
state of distillation, and the streets in a per-
petual stream 1 Walking was impossible,
riding in the Park was a service of great
danger to man and horse. London, in fact,
became intolerable, and Jack determined to
go into the country for change of scene.

There is the prettiest little place that ever
was seen on the coast of Dorset, and out of
compliment to its character we will call it
Blissford. It can scarcely be called a village,
for the houses are all villas, each with a nice
little coach-house, as if for the express purpose
of shewing how excellently Humility contents
itself with a low-hung phaeton, undersize, and
therefore duty-free. These villas are ranged
in a long straight line under a protecting
height, and have a fine and extensive view of
the great ocean in front. Between them, how-
ever, and the shore is a rich low level of
grassy field, and in the middle of the space
shaded by trees and enriched all round with
shrubs of every hue and perfume lies a small
lake, famous for the deep blue of its water, and
the romantic seclusion of its winding banks.
No wonder Blissford became popular, espe-
cially with mammas who are rich in grown-up
daughters.

Never a year passed without a marriage or
two in the little old church, about a mile
from the shore. And how was it possible to
be otherwise ? The visitors for several of
the villas did not disdain to hang a hospitable
board over their garden walls, announcing
their willingness to accommodate families, or

Charles Dickens.]

THE DELUGE AT BLISSFORD.

even single lodgers were thrown very much
together. The clergyman was very popular.
There were charming pathways, and shady
nut groves, and whole days and weeks of
idleness on the yellow sand. So you may say
it was impossible for any two young people
to remain unattached for more than a few
days. It is remarkable, too, that the spire
of the little old church was conspicuous from
every point of view. In the midst of a con-
versation in almost any portion of the
country, on lifting up their eyes the young
people were sure to see the gilded weather-

will make a tour of inspection in front of the
villas. Somebody perhaps will know me. If
not, I will make up to the first pleasant-lookino-
fellow I see. I will have him to dinner. Rainy
weather is delightful for mild Havannahs."

With these active resolutions he put on
his boots, buttoned his great-coat, grasped
his umbrella, and was on the point of
leaving the house. But help was near at
hand, and sunshine in a metaphorical sense
of the word once more penetrated into
Jack's room. He thought he heard in
the garden, which abutted on the road, the

cock glistening in the sun, and saying, or | sound of some one approaching ; he went to

in fancy's ear seeming to say, " Here I am.
Banns proclaimed on the shortest notice or
licensed marriages punctually performed."
The invitation thus ostentatiously given, it
was impossible to resist and Blissford could
boast of one happy couple more.

To this balmy spot Jack Plover on the
recommendation of a friend whose remem-
brance of Blissford was now endeared by
the possession of a wife and seven children
Jack betook himself. The rain which
had been a deluge in London was a water-
spout here. Day and night tubs were per-
petually discharged upon the chalky roads.
The lake swelled over its banks, and spread
over all the fields. Garden walls were under-
mined, and lay in ruins on the tops of
cucumber frames ; grassy banks were pros-
trated, and formed avalanches of mud over
all the footpaths. So when Mr. Plover looked
out of the window of Essex villa on the
morning after his arrival, he saw nothing
between him and the sea but a great floating
expanse of white chalk, relieved by some up-
rooted hedgerows, and a low, sullen, creeping
inundation caused by the gradual but sure
rising of the lake, which converted the whole
district into a true representation of that early
stage of the world's history, when the earth
was inhabited only by the mastodon and the
ichthyosauri. The sight of a crocodile would
not have astonished the observer. In fact it
would have delighted him, for Jack was of a
social disposition, and would have looked on
a visit from a hippopotamus as a vast im-
provement on the utter solitude to which he
saw he was condemned. " Is there no one
else in the whole parish of Blissford ? " he
sighed, for his spirits were rapidly evapora-
ting. " Have the inhabitants of all these
Adllas been washed out of them, like a cargo i Superiors above, the Inferiors below ? "

the window, and looking down, saw the
flattened top of a saturated umbrella at the
front door. He heard a bell he heard the
door opened a voice asking if " the gentle-
man" was at home ; he then heard a dripping
as if from a leak in the roof, but it only
proceeded from the visitor's hat, on the oil-
cloth in the passage ; the parlour door was
opened, and a man in a state of sloppy humi-
dity put his head a very short way into the-
apartment, and smiled a ghastly smile, while
his body was concealed by the door.

" Come in," said Jack, in a cheery voice,,
"pray don't stand on ceremony. I am de-
lighted to see you."

" I am only afra;d," said the face, " of
spoiling the greens."

" Never mind the spoiling of the greens,"
said Jack, " that's more the cook's business
than ours. Are you the market gardener ? "

" The carpet, sir, I mean," said the head
once more. " The greys stand it very well,
but lime and water is fatal to the green pat-
terns. My shoes would burn, them up like
vitriol." Jack looked at the carpet : it was
in squares of grey and green.

" Can't you jump always on one of the
greys 1 " said Jack. " Come in, and tell me
the news of the place."

" Sad news, I fear, sir," said the man, uow
emerging into the room and adroitly planting
his footsteps always on the light- coloured
squares. " The Supei'iors can't take in any
more, and what the Inferiors may do makes
me tremble to contemplate."

" Sit down, my good friend," said Jack,
enchanted to find an opportunity for his ar-
gumentative powers. " There's nothing I like
so much as a little political discussion. After
all, arn't both in their right places 1 the

of oranges out of a stranded ship ? But if
they were as full as Noah's ark, how could
they establish a communication with each
other 1 An ordinary umbrella would be con-
verted into sponge before you got to the
nearest neighbour ; boats also are impossible,
for the excessive porousness of the soil sucks
in every drop that falls, leaving the surface
in a clinging, half-dry condition, so that you
have the appearance, after a turn or two on
the garden-walk, of having whitewashed your

" I can't sit down, sir," said the visitor. " I
should leave my mark on the green morocco
bottoms, and ruin them for lite, having had
the misfortune to have a backward tumble on
my way down here. But, with regard to
Superiors and Inferiors being in their right
places, they may be at this moment let us
hope they are but if this job continues, the
Inferiors will decidedly swallow us up."

" I allow no man, in my presence," replied
Jack in a stately manner, " to join in the

boots. But anything is better than this. I i ridiculous cry against the people. What you

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted hy

allude to, sir, is the very stratum on which
the whole of our fabric rests."

" Exactly, sir," said the man. " Mud."

" I -confess, air," said Jack, a little nettled
at the man's tone and manner, " that occa-
sionally the masses may be a little un-
easy under the burdens they are subjected
to, but see how many hundred years they
have stood the test of all that could be laid
on them ! how they have gone on, consoli-
dating their power strengthening their order
and giving a broad, firm and capacious plat-
form, on which the Superiors, as you call them,
must rely, as their only ground of safety,
their only hope of support." Jack looked
round in the vain expectation of a round of
" Hear ! hears ! " which would have saluted
tliis burst of eloquence in the smoking-room
of the Acropolis. None came; but the man
with the dripping garments replied,

" Precisely what I say, sir ; and now the
rain, if it lasts a week longer, will infallibly
turn the whole of the Inferiors into pap, and
then, sir, where will the Superiors be ? This
is a chalk formation the lower beds are all
clay clay and water make mud mud can't
stand any weight where will all our houses
go 1 And the Boroo's greenhouse 1 And
Mr. Muffleton's imitation tower 1 And the
nag-staif in every garden 1 "

" Oh ! " said Jack, after a pause. " I thought
you meant something else. Sit down ; here's
a wicker -bottomed chair now tell me what
you are afraid of and who you are."

" I am afraid of the Boroo, sir, and am by
profession an architect. I was pleased with
the beauty of Blissford many years ago ;
bought a lot of land ; laid it out in building
sites ; and did very well. Some of the
houses I sold ; the ground-rent was secure ;
others I let on long leases ; and the Boroo,
six years ago, took this villa, and now she
will ruin us all."

" Who the deuce is the Boroo 1 and what
is she doing ? "

" She is a geologist, sir, and declines to pay
any rent till I dry her foundation. I couldn't,
sir ; the pond is not fifty yards from the
house ; and now she is resolved to dry her
foundations herself."

" And a very sensible thing to do," said
Jack. " But what puts you in such a fright ? "

" The lake, you perceive, sir, is a little
swelled just now, the waters are coming in this
direction. I don't deny it, but the Boroo will
take no advice. She has set a number of men
to find a chink in the ground between the
pond and this. If they find a chink, they
will turn the whole water of the lake into
it. Where will it all go, sir? Teai-ing and
tumbling among the great boulders of chalk,
creeping and crawling among the twists and
sinuosities of the lower formation, finally,
sir, it will reach the slippery clay, convert
it all into porridge, and down, down, through
chalk and marl and stone we shall all go
sinking, sinking, till at last we get absorbed

in the black, pulpy, greasy mud, which in
this place is two or three hundred feet thick."

The man's face became pale with agitation,
and the unusual tremor of every limb per-
ceptibly increased the dripping, which now
ran in little runlets all over the carpet beneath
his chair.

" And the Boroo ? " said Jack participating
in the man'a alarm. " Who is she ? Where does
she live ] "

"Here, in this very house, sir. She lives
in the upper story and pretends to be only a
lodger, but she's the landlady, and a very
sharp one you'll find her ; though she pre-
tends to be so far above letting out apartments
for single gentlemen."

" Her name is odd."

" Her name is Mrs. O'Brien, but she says
she had a husband who was descended from
several kings long ago, and so she takes the
name of Brian Boroo. She threatens per-
sonal violence if I ever speak to her again,
for she's tired of hearing my demands for
rent. She'll be civiller perhaps to a stranger
than to me, and if you could manage to get
her to withdraw the men and leave the water
alone, it would be the saving of us all, sir."

" Well," said Jack, as usual letting his
good-nature get the better of his discretion,
" I am not afraid to face the Boroo, espe-
cially as I shall start for Ryme Legis at once
and get out of the way before any catastrophe
occurs."

He looked out of the window as he spoke.
There was the rain, pouring away as if it had
only fresh begun, and there were the waters
of the pond creeping onward, onward, as if
determined to take possession of the laud.

" We'll go and see the men at work," he
said; "if they discover a chink and let the
deluge into it, we can manage to escape before
they have sapped the foundation, and we can
leave the Boroo to her fate."

" But I'm the ground landlord," replied the
man, with a rueful visage, " and where will
be the security for my rents ? "

Jack rang the bell and ordered the maid to
have a glass of brandy and water ready for
him in half an hour, as he felt sure he should
require refreshment after his wet walk. He
also left a message that he wished for the
honour of an interview with the Boroo on
his return, and sent up his card.

The perturbed visitor got up to accompany
him, and made a mist as he walked across the
floor that dimmed the little mirror over the
mantel-piece to such an extent that Jack had
to wipe it with one of the chair-covers before
he could arrange his curls in the glass.

Arrived at the side of the lake they found
they were just in time to witness the disco-
very of a large chink about ten feet below the
surface, opening amidst a mass of broken
marl, with here and there a large rock pre-
senting its fractured angles, and altogether a
very dismal-looking hole, as can well be
conceived.

Charles Dickeu.J

THE DELUGE AT BLISSFOKD.

" All's up ! " said the wretched proprietor,
wringing his hands. " Down we all go. All
the water in the lake will be guided into that
abyss ; it will branch eastward and westward,
and will change its course and get down among
the clay and there it will soak and saturate
and dig and burrow out and soften and loosen
and melt and jumble all together, like a bowl
of whipt cream, and all from the fearful
obstinacy of one detestable woman. I wish
Irish kings had never been invented."

" Then it's too late now to do any good 1 "
inquired Jack. "I may save myself the
trouble, perhaps the danger of speaking to
the Boroo. I'm off to Jermyn Street this
very day."

" There's no coach, no 'bus, no gig," said the
man with a kind of malicious satisfaction at
the detention of the lukewarm advocate,
" see the Boroo, sir ; bid her stop these men.
I'll wait and see the water admitted to the
chink and bring you word of what occurs."

Matters now began to look serious. Mr.
Plover had not been geologically brought up,
but he began to perceive that if foundations
are undermined houses must fall down ; and,
regardless of mud and rain, he hurried back
to Essex Villa, determined to make one more
effort for life before he betook himself to
Ryme Legis the nearest station on foot.
The agitation of his feelings, the perpetuity of
the rain, the stiffness of the clay, the heaviness
of his great-coat, and the rapidity of his pace
were too much for him. He sank on the sofa
on reaching his apartment, and has ever since
maintained that he fell into a deliquiuin or
swoon. When he once more opened his eyes he
found a little table wheeled close to his side, and
on it the object of hisextreme desire a glass of
brandy and water within reach of his hand.
He heard the rustle of a silk gown as if in
retreat from the apartment, but ere he could
turn his eyes towards the door the wearer
of it had disappeared. Could it be the
Boroo 1

His anxiety on this point was soon at an end-
A tap came to the door. Enter a lady on the
wrong side of forty, thin as a lath, with pro-
jecting nose and chin, and drops a courtesy so
long and so low that it had evidently done
duty many a time in a minuet de la cour.
Jack started up. This couldn't be the dread-
ful individual he had trembled to encounter.
She was evidently a "woman of mind ;" there
was a soft romance in her expression ; Jack
could have believed her the Tenth Muse or
Corinne.

" May I ask, madam, whom I have the
honour of addressing 1 "

She replied with a strong Irish accent and
smile : " You address the sister-in-law of the
Boroo. She bids me say that recollection's
font is opened and the tears flow quickly
forth."

" I don't know anything about fonts," said
Jack, who did not understand metaphors,
" but there's a deuce of a hole opened near

I the pond, and a poor little man has been with
me to say we shall all be swamped in a few
hours. The Inferiors whoever they may be
won't stand it at any price, and will be oft
and leave us in the lurch to a certainty. So
it's my opinion we had better walk our chalks
at once."

" That person is never silent on the subject
of his chalks," replied the lady with a scorn-
ful toss of her head, " and the Boroo thinks
she has a right to protect her property from
inundation by every means in her power. She
bids you remember the vale in whose bosom
the sweet waters meet."

" I am by no means likely to forget it,"
said Jack ; " but I think it's a little hard on
the poor man to send a flood of water under
the foundations of his houses. I should like
to see the Boroo for a minute or two herself.
It's getting dark very fast, and I may require
to be off while I can see my way."

" You secured the rooms for a week, I think
but that is an affair with the landlady.
You would like to see the Boroo 1 may I say
so ? I think she will accede to your prayer.
She will venture into the haunted atmosphere,
' where memory weaves her magic spell.' "

" I'm not afraid of haunted houses," said
Jack ; " a landslip is a far uglier visitation,
than a ghost."

" She will see you then," said the ambas-
sadress ; " for the heart that has truly loved
never forgets."

" Doesn't it ? " said Jack, as she glided out
and closed the door behind her. " If the Boroo
hasn't more common sense than her sister,
there's no chance of getting her to change her
mind." In preparation for the worst that
might happen, he brought his small carpet
bag out of the bed-room, and continued in
his great-coat and boots.

The shades of night came on apace." The
rain continued to fall ; the fire unfortunately
had gone out, and darkness was over all the
room. Suddenly, without hearing any sound of
entrance, he felt there was a presence at his
side. An indefinable sensation crept all over
him. He heard a low but quick breathing, as if
his visitor were either in a state of great mental
anxiety, or was slightly touched in the wind.
/' Who's there ?" he said.
'" I am here," answered a whisper close at
his shoulder. " You wished to see me, and I
came."

" How can I see you without a candle 1 "
said Jack, not sure, in spite of his boasted in-
sensibility to ghosts, what might be the nature
of his visitant. " Are you the Boroo in
person ? or the old poetess come back
again 1 "

" I am the Boroo, once better known-
still I hope remembered by another name.
And am I then forgot forgot ? It broke
the heart of Ellen ! "

" You don't say so ! But I'll tell you
what ; you'll break the heart of that little
old landlord of yours, if you go opening

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

caverns under his very floors. Hark ! isn't
there a sound of water under this room 1 "

" Was it to talk of things like that you
adjured me to grant an interview 1 It was
not thus in the days of old when the minstrel
struck his lyre ! "

" It is the rushing of that detestable pond
down among the Inferiors. I must be off."

A hand was laid on his shoulder. He
thought it was in arrest of his departure
without settling for his rooms. " I'll send you
the week's rent," he said, " when I get safely
to Ryme Legis ; but in the meantime bolt's
the word."

" John," said the visitor ; " will you break
off the last link of kindness that bound me
to thee ? "

There was something in the voice that put
Mr. Plover into a cold perspiration. Yet
there was no harshness in the tone, and the
hand continued pressed upon his shoulder in
an amicable manner.

" Really, ma'ani," he began ; " there's some-
thing so strange in this. I'll tell you what
I'll call again to-morrow, but at this moment,
I feel, we're all on the brink of death."

" Sir ! sir ! " cried a voice from the front
garden. " Escape while you can ! There's a
crack in the main wall the house is settling
down it will never stop till it touches the
blue clay."

"D'ye hear that?" said Mr. Plover, casting
the hand from his shoulder. " For my sake
let us get out before we are buried ! "

" lutombed within a living grave I'd live
or die with thee ! " said the lady, laying hold
once more of Mr. Plover, and detaining him
by force. " You would not leave me to
perish 1 Save me, oh, save me ! All will be
forgotten the vows you swore and broke
the presents you gave and reclaimed the
meanness of that vulgar, cold-hearted jury
all, all, will be forgiven, and shall I leave
thee ? never no !"

" The chimney-pots are coming off ! " cried
the voice in the garden. " The Boroo's bed-
room window is bulging out a yard run,
run ! "

Jack took the advice, shouldered his carpet
bag, flung open the door, broke away from his
detainer, and gained the garden in a moment.
The unfortunate landlord met him at the
porch.

" It's all right," he said in a whisper ; " the
house is quite safe, but I think I shall
frighten away a bad tenant. I will get
the Boroo to give up possession before day-
light."

" She keeps a mighty tight hold," said Jack,
" of whatever she lays her hand on. I know
her of old. Only to think," he muttered, as
he pursued his way to Ryme Legis, " that
Juliana Summerset should try to make it up
again as if I were fool enough to be caught
twice ! " Just when he had reached the front
gate he heard a window violently thrown
open, and a voice shouting " Rise up, rise up,

Zarifa, and lay your golden cushion down, and
gaze on false Adelle ! "

Half running, half walking, dripping with
water, trembling with fear, and in momentary
expectation of being overtaken by the Boroo
and the Tenth Muse he slipt and slopt and
tumbled and stumbled, all along the saturated
Blissfbrd, and reached the railway station
just in time for the up-train at one o'clock in
the morning. It is thought Mr. Plover will
not be in a hurry again to leave the protec-
tion of Jermyn Street and the Acropolis.
Club.

LOST AND FOUND IN THE GOLD
FIELDS.

NEWS from the Diggings, at least that
kind of news that comes in letters, is so
perfectly contradictory that individuals with
minds as blank as sheets of white paper on
the subject of Australia are perfectly be-
wildered. And no wonder. Captain Mar-
linspike, who has been at sea for thirty-five
years or, at least, thirty at sea, and barely
five on shore, married twelve years having
established himself in Melbourne (in con-
sequence of the departure of his officers and
men for the Diggings ami condemnation of his
barque, the Lively Leaker), where he is
driving a famous business as ships' husband
and general agent, writes home for his wife
and six children in raptures. He is making
money, eating fresh meat every day, and
does not think cabbages dear at eighteen
shillings a dozen. Bill Picker, who saved
money as a sub-contractor in the Crashington
Railway and went out with his " old woman "
and his " lot o' kids " in charge of a Gold
Mining Company's Establishment that broke
up the day of his landing, has been up to
Forest Creek with two old mates whom he
met accidentally in William's Town. They
have netted a clear nine hundred pounds
each in seven months, and he sends home a
description to his mother in Lincolnshire that
sets the whole parish, including the parson,
in a ferment. The same satisfactory sen-
sations are produced by the missives of the
miners from Pentofroy, near Penzance, who
have found their way from Chili to Port
Philip ; even Lombard Street and Quality
Court, the bankers' and the lawyers' clerks,
have had evidence of good fortune under
sign and seal, of fellows who were thought
no great shakes in their respective capacities
at home. On the other hand, Mr. Softly, who
held a remarkably confidential and pleasant
situation as cashier to the great house of
Blouse and Broadbrim, and who used to
live at Islington where his musical wife gave
pleasant parties and he was thought rather a
neat hand at a speech after supper having
been smitten with a wild notion, compounded
of a villa at Richmond and a mine of gold in
his back garden, to be found in the neigh-
bourhood of Geelong after a fortnight's

Charles Dickens.]

LOST AND FOUND IN THE GOLD FIELDS.

experience, gives a most lamentable and
strictly true account of his present position.
He and Mrs. S. are paying four guineas a week
for a hut little better than a pig-sty. He has
not been able to find out any suitable occu-
. pation. He has lost a Wellington boot
in the mud on each of the two occasions
that he has been down to look after
his baggage. The quartern loaf costs two
shillings and sixpence ; and, the night
before writing, a party of gold diggers on
the spree insisted on treating him, poured
first a bottle of Champagne down his throat,
and then, by mistake, a bottle of blacking. The
letter of little Dick Rafleigh, who ran away
from school, is not more encouraging, although
he writes in the highest spirits, having suc-
ceeded, in consequence of the death of his
master, to a half share in a dray which, with
a partner, he drives to and from the
Diggings. Dick describes the state of society
as " most jolly something like a fair and an
election at the same time." The more we
read, the more we grow confounded. One
husband sends money for his wife, his father,
his stepmother, and all his brothers and
sisters. Another writes his better half that
he is starving, so she must not think of
coming to this dreadful place.

As a relief, we turn from manuscripts to
newspapers, pass by leaders and communica-
tions from our own correspondent, do not
linger on the Police Courts, scarce look
at the debates of the Colonial Parliament,
but dive into the advertisements, certain
there to learn how the people live, how they
pass their time in work and amusement.
Our attention is first attracted by a cross-
head, such as has never yet, we think,
startled the readers of the double supple-
ments of the Times.

TO BURGLARS. We shall feel obliged to the
artists who favoured us with a professional visit
last night to our stores in Flinder's Lane, and ab-
stracted some cash and a timepiece from our safe, if
they would be so good as to return us the key of the
said safe, which can be of no use to them. For
their information, we further beg to state that, in
future, we shall leave no negotiable valuables on the
premises ; in this instance, we thank them for having
left our books and papers, although in some disorder,
uninjured. Signed, HEAP and GBICE.

In England advertisements for heirs of
Thompson and Smith, or for a young lady, or
wife, or husband, earnestly implored to return,
are comparatively rare ; but, in the Port
Philip papers, which do not pay adver-
tisement duty, whole columns are devoted
to missing friends. For instance,

ELLEN O'GRADY, A FREE EMIGRANT,
per Rob Roy, which sailed from Plymouth on
the 15th of February, and whose mother's name is
O'Malley, and who formerly lived at Eden Quay,
Dublin, is hereby requested to leave her address
at the Office of this paper for Mrs. O'Malley.

IF THIS SHOULD MEET THE EYE OF
Sarah Migg, she will hear of her brother Thomas
by applying to Mr. Lazarus, Flinder's Street West.

MRS. STREAKY IS INFORMED THAT A
letter from her husband is lying for her at
two hundred and twenty-two, Elizabeth Street.

Irish advertisements all seem to have a
curious character of their own.

TAMES, OR TIMOTHY BANAHAN, WHO
J arrived about two years ago, is requested to com-
municate with Martha Banahan, mother of the
former, now in the service of C. K., Esq.

IF MRS. SUTHER AND HER DAUGHTER
will call at thirty-one, Stephen Street, she will
hear of her husband.

It is not specified whether it is to be the
mother's or the daughter's husband who will
be heard of.

IF THIS SHOULD MEET THE EYE OF
my husband, Andrew Cullum, he will be pleased
to communicate, and let her know where he can be
found.

The following is both obscure and colloquial.

ISSING FRIENDS. BENDIGO CREEK,
October 4th, 1852. To the last advertisement
in the paper of the 25th of September, I, George
Wilsor, again publish the same, as the 25th paper
did not come to the Diggings, that if Mrs. Wilsor
and son George wish to find their husband and
father they will apply to Cook and Mark's store,
opposite the Argus Office, Bendigo Creek or, if any
person see her and son safe to the said store, shall
receive the sum of five pounds, beside other expenses.

WILLIAM ROUSSELL IS REQUESTED TO
come to Melbourne as soon as possible to see
his sister, now lying under severe illness.

ARRIVALS. In the Argus -of yesterday twenty-
three vessels are reported to have arrived from
England with two thousand, nine hundred and two
souls. A strong fact for the Houseless Committee !

Innumerable advertisements proclaim the
wish of new-comers to find old friends ; for,
from the scarcity of house-room in South
Australia, a distinct address is a very difficult
thing to possess. All that is known of many
of the older emigrants is, that they are sup-
posed to be somewhere in the Colony.

Even before looking for friends, people
want to eat ; they must be startled by seeing
iu a public announcement that the four
pound loaf lias been raised to two shillings and
sixpence ! Compositors will not mind this
so much, as the same paper offers employment
at two shillings and sixpence for composing
and arranging every thousand metal types ;
about four times the price paid in England.
The lists of servants and labourers wanted
occupy columns, headed with capitals and
notes of exclamation, thus : BAKERS !
BAKERS ! ! WANTED JOURNEYMEN
BAKERS ! ! ! LIBERAL WAGES ! ! ! !
Carpenters and bricklayers seem much in

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

demand. The chief peculiarity of the adver-
tisements for domestic servants is, that
married couples are preferred, and also
married men as carters or in situations of
trust. This is a change for the better ; before
the gold diggings single men were in demand.
There seems a great call for cooks, both
male and female ; a dozen are inquired for, in
one paper. Here is one advertisement.

WANTED A GOOD PLAIN COOK, WAGES
forty pounds ; also a kitchen-maid, wages
twenty-five pounds. Also a chambermaid, and a
young man to make himself useful. A married
couple as cook and waiter would suit.

A Serious Lady advertises for " a few quiet
gentlemen." Hotels are numerous in the
town, and on the road to the Diggings.

T)ARTIES TEAVELLING TO THE DIGGINGS
JT will find great cheer and beds for themselves,
dry stabling and excellent fodder for their horses, at
Aberdeen's Accommodation House on. the main road.

There can be no difficulty in finding doctors,
as it is the custom for new arrivals to adver-
tise full particulars of their birth, parentage,
and education. The majority are Scotch and
Irish, some intensely national. We note Dr.
Bashaw, of Edinburgh,

" He begs to intimate that he has pitched his tent
at Moonlight Flat, Forest Creek. Dr. P. has been
engage,d in extensive practice for twenty-four years ;
his tent will be distinguished by his name across an
ensign flying and a Scotch thistle on end."

Money seems to be lost and found in great
quantity ; out of a dozen similar announce-
ments in one paper the following is sufficiently
brief :

JOHN CLARK, PATRICK HAYES HAS
U recovered the gold receipt you lost on the Moon-
light Flat on Friday night, the 8th October. Call
and enquire at the Harp of Erin.

Then we have

FOUND A BUNDLE OF NOTES. Apply to
A. B., Swanston Street.

FOUND A SUM OF MONEY IN A CART-
RACK.

T EFT ON THE COUNTER OF MR. J.
i_J WILLIAMS, stationer, 11 bag containing money.

FOUND A GOLD RECEIPT BETWEEN
Cavlsruhe and Kyiieton.

Then comes :

LOST TWO HUNDRED SOVEREIGNS
yesterday morning in Bourke Street, by a ninn
lately arrived in the colony, the result of twenty-
five years' hard industry.

LOST A SABLE BOA ONE POUND
REWARD.

We cannot help being equally struck by the
carelessness of the people who drop purses,

bags of money, gold receipts, in all directions,
and the honesty of the number who take the
trouble to advertise the waifs which have fallen
to their hands. It is evident that there is a
large stock of honesty in the Colonies, although
we have been taking so much pains to swamp
or neutralise it by an annual flood of felony
in the shape of exiles on tickets of leave,
turned loose in the neighbouring colony of
Van Dieman's Land.

The loose morals are most displayed in the
article of cattle and horses. The ancestors
of the Bold Buceleugh could not have more
thoroughly carried out their motto of " Snaffle,
spur, and spear," than the boys bound to and
from the Diggings. Many advertisements
offer good grazing in enclosed paddocks ; some
end with "no accommodation for Sunday
travellers, and no business done on that day ;"
but in all pasturing advertisements, in a
conspicuous line, are these words, " No re-
sponsibility." And the meaning of " No re-
sponsibility " is explained by column after
column of rewards, from five pounds to fifty
pounds, for the horses and oxen, stolen or
strayed, of every size, every breed, every
colour, branded with every possible variation
of the letters of the alphabet, beside stars,
crosses, and marks ; one mare has a pleasant
head, another horse has no hair on his tail.
It would almost seem that every man going
to or returning from the Diggings borrowed
somebody's horse, and forgot to return it.
As for the bullocks that stray away and get
into the pound, they occupy a couple of
columns monthly in one paper, like the follow-
ing : " Yellow and white bullock, bell on
neck, T off neck, T off ribs, SE near shoulder,
like 20 or 40 off thigh ; yellow and white
bullock, down horns, like M or W near back,
HC or G near rump ; brown bullock, wide
horns, SE near shoulder, bible brand, thus
[1] near ribs." Pigs do not seem well used
in these districts, for three pounds reward
is offered for " A sow in pig, colour black
and white, ears much torn by the dogs,
many scars about the legs, and a piece bitten
off the tail."

The public amusements are very equestrian,
with the exception of a few stray concerts
"a subscription concert by Mrs. Lester : tickets
one guinea." The German Union advertise a
" grand ball and champagne supper : tickets
two guineas each." Rome Equestrian Circus
offers a fine bill of fai'e : " highly-trained
steeds ; the prince of Ethiopian comedians, &c. :
boxes, eight shillings ; pit, two shillings and
sixpence ; and no half price." The Olympic
does not even condescend to advertise its prices.
But in races there is an exuberant strength
that would set on end the hair of the worthy
clergyman in Gloucestershire, who preached
down the Grand Stand of that fashionable
abode of dull gentility.

Geelong, with a population under ten
thousand, supports three days' racing that
might make some towns in Yorkshire jealous.

C'harle Dickons.]

LOST AND FOUND IN THE GOLD FIELDS.

In spite of State subventions, Chantilly and
Versailles sink into mere leather platings, in
comparison. Seven flat races and a steeple-
chase, for prizes of from sixty pounds to a
hundred pounds, with sweepstakes of not less
than ten pounds each added, all conducted in
regular Newmarket style. At Melbourne
"a grand metropolitan steeple-chase ; entrance
twenty-five pounds each ; three miles ; weight
twelve stone ; open to all the world."

The only other public sign of gambling is
an advertisement of a Musical Art-Union
lottery, beginning with a grand piano prize,
and ending with music books. In all, two
hundred and fifty pounds prizes.

But the gold digging population and their
friends have other occupations of a public-
kind, in addition to concerts and balls, circus
and races. The prospectus of the Melbourne
and Geelong Bailway Company, for uniting
those two important ports, with a capital of
three hundred and fifty thousand pounds in
shares of twenty pounds, appears with a long
list of respectable names, and some facts that
in a small compass tell a great deal. "We
learn in this prospectus :

" 1. That even prior to the discovery of the Gold
Fields, the population had increased at the rate of
one hundred and ten per cent, in the quinquen-
nial period between the census of 1846 and 1851.

" 2. That the population of Melbourne had increased
a hundred and twenty per cent, in the same period
of five years.

" 3. That the population of Geelong had increased
four-fold, or three hundred per cent, in the same
period of five years.

" 4. That the population of Melbourne was, in
the month of Murch 1851, twenty-three thousand
one hundred and fifty-three ; that of Geelong at the
same date, eight thousand two hundred and ninety-
one ; total of the two towns, thirty-one thousand four
hundred and forty-four.

" 5. Since that period, the increase of population
has been advancing in a much more rapid ratio.
There was the ordinary increase up to the period of
the gold discovery. Since then, the addition of the
population of the colony has been ascertained to be,
between the month of November, 1851,. and the
present time, at least six thousand souls per month.
Adopting the proportion of the previous growth of
the two towns, their united population must now
amount to at least sixty thousand souls.

" Nearly the whole of the commerce of the colony
is centered within the towns now proposed to be
united. The exports for the year ending June, 1851,
prior to the gold discovery, amounted to nearly a
million and a half one million four hundred and
twenty-three thousand pounds ; and the imports to
the value of one million one million and fifty-six
thousand poumls.

" In the article of wool alone the exports from
Melbourne and Geelong, during the year ending
June 30, 1851, amounted to fifty-six thousand bales,
a large quantity of which was conveyed coastwise
between the two ports, the quantity arriving from the
interior at either place being nearly equal. Since
the discovery of the gold fields a large quantity of
gold dust is carried between the two towns the gold
raised from the western Diggings passing through

Geelong, and that from the northern fields passing
through Melbourne."

The advertising sheet tells us that the inha-
bitants are not entirely absorbed in getting
and spending money. In one column the Mel-
bournites are invited to attend a lecture on
national education at the Wesleyan school-
house ; in another the official inspector of
schools, under the authority of the Colonial
Education Commissioners, calls a meeting .at
the Old Post Office, Forest Creek, to take
means for establishing schools at the Diggings.
Of course there must be children to require
schools. The Congregationalists call a public
meeting to petition and protest against grants
of public money for any ecclesiastical pur-
poses. The Jews use an advertisement with
a Hebrew motto, printed in the Hebrew
character, announcing " to their brethren at
the Diggings and elsewhere " when two
festivals commence. In . another advertise-
ment the members of the Jewish per-
suasion call a public meeting, " to take into
serious consideration the urgent necessity of
providing temporary accommodation for the
large number of our brethren who are daily
arriving." Then the mayor, on the repre-
sentation of Captain Chisholm, calls a meeting
for the same purpose. This has ended in the
formation of a Temporary Home, in which
the women and children who arrived by the
Scindian were lodged.

Official notices, except of pounded -cattle,
are rare in the Australian colonies. French-
men landing there, will cry out on seeing the
following advertisement, even more frequently
than here, " Where is the administration 1 "

" Notice. A public meeting will take place at
Lever Point, Moonlight Flat, Forest Creek, on Thurs-
day, the twenty-first of October, for the purpose of
taking into consideration the present lawless and
unprotected state of the Diggings, and other matters
requiring the serious consideration of the diggers.
A deputation is respectfully requested from the
Bendigo and Ballarat to oo-operate with this meeting."

The movement for establishing emigrant
homes at the instigation of Captain Chisholm,
shows vigorous fruits in the advertising
columns. The Governor announces that he has
appointed three gentlemen to co-operate with
the committee appointed at the public meeting
for providing accommodation for houseless
immigrants. The Wesleyans have established
their Home on a subscription list of nine
hundred and seventy pounds received up to
October thirteenth. They announce that a
building will be completed in the course of
the month ; a register will be kept for
servants ; a bazaar is to be held in aid of the
funds. In the same paper another advertise-
ment appears for a married couple as governor
and matron of the establishment salary two
hundred and fifty pounds per annum. The
Royal Orange Institution call a public
meeting at the Protestant Hall to take into

HOUSEHOLD WOEDS.

[Conducted by

consideration the destitute condition of newly
arrived immigrants.

Besides these public announcements, we
have private information in addition to
that recently communicated in a " Chip,"
of the absolute necessity of emigrants taking
out houses or tents, if they do not desire to
live in the open air, or the public Homes.
Of house room there is no chance.

The following, a Government notice, shows
that the Government have at length partly
adopted the principle of family colonization.
Residents in the colony are informed that for
four pounds for each boy, and two pounds for
each girl between the ages of one and fourteen,
and eight pounds for each man, and four pounds
for each woman under forty-five, they may
obtain passages to the colony for their rela-
tions, provided they comply with the regula-
tions of the Emigration Commissioners in
England. But they must be of the following
callings agricultural labourers, shepherds,
herdsmen, miners, gardeners, or country brick-
layers, carpenters, masons, blacksmiths, wheel-
wrights. What is the difference between a
country and a town bricklayer we are puzzled
to know. So now, all people who think they
can go through the process prescribed by the
formalists of Park Street had better stir up
their relations in Australia. Under this
plan those who go in one ship, if short of
means, may take the eight pounds a head
of the relations left at home, and remit
through the Government on arrival. As
passages are dear now, this profitable mode
of laying out the funds of a family is worth
knowing.

We will not wade through the half-dozen
columns of sales by auction of miscellaneous
goods and the like, of land and houses, that
adorn the Port Philip papers. Certainly it
seems as if with money, and a vehicle to move
the goods, there would be no difficulty in
purchasing land or houses in town or country,
and furnishing and provisioning. From tin
ware to grand pianos, from Dutch cheeses to
champagne, at auction sales everything seems
to go under the hammer, on the same day,
by the same man.

In the general market we find cauliflowers
eighteen shillings a dozen, green peas
eighteeupence a quart, turnips and carrots
four shillings a dozen, fowls sixteen shillings,
geese and turkeys twenty shillings a pair,
butter two shillings and sixpence per pound,
eggs two shillings a dozen, hay eighteen
pounds a ton, fat bullocks ten to twelve
pounds a head, sheep fifteen shillings a
head, horses from forty to sixty pounds
for good hacks, draught horses fifty to
eighty pounds, with an expectation of an
advance of fifty pounds per cent, in the next
month.

After these quotations the farmer, the
market gardener, the sailor, the navigator,
the lawyer, the gentleman, the clerk, can
better decide than on any private informa-

tion whether they are fit for the gold diggings
and its environs, its shops, farms, pastures, or
public-houses.

HERMIT ISLAND.

THE town of La Calle is situated on the
north coast of Africa, near the eastern boun-
dary of Algeria. I took up my residence
there in the beginning of October, 1843 ; and
the brave comrades, who received me on my
arrival, soon discovered that I was disap-
pointed at not finding the country so beautiful
as I had been led to expect. A long, narrow
rock, jutting into the sea, supports the handful
of houses which constitute the town ; at a
very short distance behind, the horizon is
walled in by lofty naked mountains ; and then
there is a poor little creek, which they call
the Port, and at the end of that the sea,
without a single vessel to be seen upon it,
except the numerous coral-boats which I
hardly expected to find there.

"Oh! "said my friends, "you will find
plenty of amusement by and bye. In six
months, the Boberach will be back again,
with Lieutenant Baussand, a capital fellow,
We shall have splendid water -parties, and you
will go to La Galite."

La Galite excited my curiosity greatly. I
had heard M. Guyon- Vernier tell marvellous
tales about it at Algiers ; at B6ne, also, it was
spoken of as something curious. I became,
therefore, a little impatient ; I wanted to
catch a glimpse of La Galite. We went out
for the purpose, but in vain ; the weather wa
rather hazy, and La Galite is not visible from
La Calle except on a particularly fine day.
When this island can be distinctly seen, that
is, when the air is unusually clear, the com-
mon remark is, that rain is coming. This
barometric sign is a perfectly established fact.

At last a fine day did come ; and, in the direc-
tion of Sardinia, fifteen leagues out at sea, I
could see a black rugged rock rising in strong
relief above the horizon. It was La Galite. Sum-
mer came at last, and with it the Bob6rach, a
charming chibeck which had formerly been
used by the corsairs in their piratical expe-
ditions, and which was captured in the port
of Algiers, in 1830. She was a decked vessel,
with a crew of thirty men or thereabouts,,
with three masts and four sails, including the
jib. She was then commanded by M. de
Perallo, whose wife, a young and lively Pa-
risian, accompanied her husband, to whom
she was thoroughly devoted. The Boberach
used to spend the summer at La Calle, to
watch the coral fishery ; in winter she snugged
herself up in the port of Algiers, leaving La
Calle to shift with a naval force of a single
balancelle, the Tafna, commanded by a tall and
stout Provencal, named M. Sicard, a good
sort of man, though a great original. Cap-
tain Sicard, as he was called, might serve as
an excellent representative of a certain kind
of sea-wolf which romance-writers are very

Clurles Dickens.]

HERMIT ISLAND.

fond of exhibiting in their pages. On board
his boat the only punishment administered
was a blow with the fist : he called that
" pushing."

The port of La Calle, with its numerous
coral-fishers, afforded me plenty of subjects
of amusement, without mentioning my friend
Baussand. But La Galite is what we are
talking of just now.

The isle of La Galite is situated about five-
and-twenty miles to the north of Cap Negre,
and is about three leagues in circumference.
Close to it, on the north and west, there are
four small islets which are called Galitons,
and which are nothing but steep, absolutely
naked rocks. The shore of the island is very
steep all round, and is surmounted by two
principal peaks, one of which rises in the
middle of the island (considered in respect
to its length) to the height of about fifteen
hundred feet, English measure. On the
south side, at the extremity of a very open
bay, there is a picturesque and extensive
grotto, through which a tolerably abundant
spring flows. Two small basins, hollowed out
by human hands, testify to the service which
this watering- place has rendered to navigators.
There are likewise three other springs on the
north shore, but they are dried up in summer
time.

The geology of La Galite is volcanic in its
character ; most of the rocks are composed of
a sort of bluish granite. Still, some are found,
especially on the south side, consisting entirely
of porous lava, something like that which
constitutes the curious rocks of the port of
La Calle, but more compact. Scarcely any
vegetable mould is to be found, except on the
table-land which joins the two principal peaks,
and in the ravines. I cannot understand how
a member of the Scientific Commission, who
visited the place in October 1840, could
imagine that forty families might maintain
themselves here, besides creating a little
export trade. The same savant states that
he ascertained the fertility of a great part of
the island !

There are no trees ; for it is impossible to
apply that name to a few brambles although
they are rather tall which are to be found
upon one single spot. I saw a solitary fig-
tree ; it grows from a chink in the rock,
and is quite inaccessible.

The species of native plants are extremely
limited in number ; the wild graminaceoe,
such as the perennial rye-grass, prevail ; but
the most abundant vegetable production is a
herbaceous plant with leaves that are unctuous
to the touch, and which diffuse an unbearable
odour all over the island. The Italians visit
La Galite for the purpose of gathering a plant
which they call erba tramontana, and which is
used in dyeing. It is a species of orchil, known
as roxela tinctoria. The discovery of the
properties of orchil, accidentally made by a
Florentine merchant, dates back so far as
1300. Having observed that liquid ammonia

caused this lichen to assume a brilliant hue,
he made experiments, from which he learned
the mode of treatment requisite to make
orchil available to the dyer. He kept this
discovery secret for a long while. His des-
cendants, a branch of whom is still surviving,
according to the account of Domenique Mauni,
derived their name of Rucelai from the Spanish
word oreiglia, which denotes this species of
cryptogamic vegetable.

But all the plants here are generally
stunted and puny. The rabbits and goats
are continually ravaging them. And besides,
every year during the summer, a fire lighted
by nobody knows whom, consumes every
vegetable production. It may be piesumed
that were it not for these impeding causes,
we should see at La Galite a vegetation much
the same as that of the mountains of Algeria.

Babbits and goats are almost the only
living creatures at La Galite, but their number
is very considerable. The goats keep together
in troops of twenty or thirty among the
defiles of the rocks, and are exceedingly wild.
But few are killed ; the sportsman finding it
no easy task to follow them to the retreats to
which they climb, and to keep pace with them
as they mount the rocky peaks. The rabbits
also ai - e extremely numerous.

All these particulars we were anxious to
verify. On one fine day in June we set sail
for La Galite ; M. Pergaut, an excellent
Lorrain, a great sportsman, and Garde General
of the forests of La Calle ; and Theui'kauff,
the superintendent of the hospital, a delightful
fellow of most promising talents, who was
soon afterwards miserably murdered by
the Arabs. I have forgotten who were our
other companions. M. and Mme. P6rallo
did the honours of their vessel to perfection.
Thanks to Baussand, I felt scarcely a symptom
of sea-sickness. He furnished me with such
an abundance of amusement during the
passage, that I had no time to think of
being ill.

During the voyage, we harpooned a few
sharks and shot several gulls. At last, after
a seven hours' passage, we reached La Galite ;
that is to say, we lost two hours more in
waiting for the west wind before we could
cast anchor. Navigators wisely recommend
great caution in these seas. The gusts which
pour down from the mountain defiles are
often very dangerous ; and, on the other hand,
the wind almost always absolutely drops
within sight of the anchorage. At that point,
in fact, our sails hung flapping lazily, and the
sailors were obliged to tow the Boberach with
their two boats, till we came within convenient
soundings vipon a gravelly bottom.

Our greedy eyes were already feasting upon
the country which we were shortly to possess
as absolute masters. The scenery we gazed
upon was extremely wild ; frightful rocks
scantily clothed with verdure, cool little bays,
and ravines still tolerably green, wherein we
already peered for the goats and rabbits

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

about which we had heard so much. For,
the greater number of the persons comprising
our party had already visited La Galite
before.

Our provisions were landed and placed in
the grotto ; some clear cool water was
fetched from the spring at its extremity ; and
we took our draught of bitters as usual. This
extremely curious cavern is formed by an
enormous flat rock, which overhangs the
narrow beach. A deep ravine, extending
quite up to the central plain, terminates ou
one side of the cave. The floor, strewn with
pebbles, supports also several flat blocks of
stone, which perfectly answer the purpose of
chairs and tables. The coolness of the place
is very agreeable, and we proposed to sleep
there. I had voted for that motion, bi>t we
were obliged to renounce it, and return every
evening to pass the night on board, because
they pretended to fear that it would be too
cold in the grotto. The real reason was
fright, occasioned by a dead human body we
had found on landing. M. de Perallo, and the
whole of his party vowed they would not pass
a single night on shore. Theurkauff, espe-
cially, had been deeply affected by the sight
of the corpse.

And now for the rabbit-hunt! Ah! that
really deserves a separate account all to itself.
"We were armed with our guns, and well
supplied with powder and shot ; we had M.
de P6rallo's dog Stanhope and Baussand's
dogue, who afterwards gave birth to our
well-beloved Stop, and M. Pergaut's dog
Faquin. We were also accompanied by
several sailors, who carried the game-bags
and further supplies of ammunition. Our
campaign began without delay. I, who am a
bad shot, and an unlucky sportsman, had
never had such a chance in my life. I am
sure I do not exaggerate when I say that in
two days we killed a hundred and fifty
rabbits. Every one took a share in the
warfare. The sailors, armed with muskets
or with any old fowling-piece, blazed away
for their parts. You could hear nothing but
the report of fire-arms. M. de Perallo,
perched on a hillock from whence he could
survey the entire scene of action, did nothing
but shout " This way ! That way ! There
they go ! " Some of them ran between his
legs, and then how we all did laugh !

Then came the goat-hunt. That was alto-
gether a different affair. The goats at La
Galite are extremely numerous, and are of
all colours. They are very wild, and keep
together in herds. They are rarely to be
encountered, except on the highest peaks.
They gave us a ruffled skein to untwist, and
made us long for a glass of cold water. We
climbed the rocks, leaving the dogs below ;
and from time to time we could perceive on
some neighbouring peak a flock of goats
staring at us for a moment in surprise at our
appearance, and then leaping from rock to
rock far out of the reach of gun-shot. At

first, they allowed us to approach within
distance ; but, afterwards, when once they
had been alarmed by our volleys, they took
good care to keep sufficiently out of our way.
The boatswain of the Bob6rach displayed
extraordinary skill and courage.

On the western side of the island are some
singular rocks, to which we gave the titles of
the Chapel, the Church, and the Abbey.
They were, in reality, a mass of micaceous
peaks so picturesquely split aud pinnacled,
that in the evening, at sunset, it was very
easy to give in to the illusion. It was on this
spot, which had been reported as inaccessible,
that we made our special search after the
goats. We could see them on the tops of
the rocks, passing from one point to another,
by means of a balustrade which was per-
fectly pierced into Gothic tracery. There
were a multitude of openings, doors, and
loop-holes, in the shape of natural arch-ways
which allowed them to pass, and through
which they thrust their graceful heads,
laughing at our ineffectual attempts to
reach them.

Besides all this, we had the seal hunt.
On the side of the island which looks towards
Sardinia we arrived, in our boat, at a large
grotto, and there, without expecting any-
thing of the kind, we saw three or four seals
stretched upon the sand. At our approach
they hastened, clumsily enough, to plunge
into the sea under our very noses. We
fired all together, platoon fashion ; the very
best thing w y e could do. The water around
the boat was soon stained with blood, and
we felt quite sure of having killed, or at
least wounded, one or two of these curious
animals. We searched with the boat-hook,
but in vain. The day was closing, and we
returned to dinner. In the evening we
started with torches and lanterns, and every
other necessary implement. Baussand was the
leader of the expedition. " Pull away, boys ! "
he shouted to the rowers, in a terrible hurry
to get there.

At last we reached the grotto, where
Baussand ordered the men to row cautiously
and slowly. We leaned over the edge of the
boat, and by the aid of our lanterns we easily
discovered an enormous seal lying at the
bottom of the water, which at that spot was
not more than five or six feet deep. The
sailors dived down to the carcase ; they made
use of the tackle which Baussand had brought,
and finally, not without difficulty, hoisted
the immense brute on board. It weighed at
least a hundred and fifty or two hundred
kilos (two hundred kilos weigh four hundred
aud forty-one English pounds avoirdupois),
and proved to be a magnificent female.
Next day we cut up the animal ; her skin was
salted and preserved in a chest ; her flesh
was eaten by the sailors. I had tasted seal's
liver and the filet on a former occasion, and
did not find it at all disagreeable ; it has,
perhaps, a slight flavour of fish oil. I made

Charles Dickens.]

HEEMIT ISLAND.

a preparation of this handsome creature's
head. Its jaws were furnished with teeth as
strong as those of the large hysena which I
stuffed at La Calle. In one word, it is the
jaw of a very large dog, with a predominance
of molars, in point of strength. The skin of
these animals is very handsome, being covered
with short, rough, iron-grey fur, and is used
for the covering of game-bags, and to make
tobacco-boxes with.

Whenever we coasted round the island in
our boat, the various wild creatures afforded
us a delightful spectacle, which I shall never
forget as long as I live. But everything just
then contributed to my thorough and complete
enjoyment of the trip. Surrounded by kind,
cheerful, and open-hearted friends ; gently
rocked in a boat managed by joyous sailors;
free from all cares, either of yesterday or for
to-morrow ; far away from any inhabited
country, and escaped from all worldly trouble ;
how could I help indulging in a little
enthusiasm 1 With the splendid weather
which we constantly had at La Galite ; -with
capital refreshments always in our boat, and
pipes, pipes, for ever pipes ; from time to
time jumping on shore, to gather limpets, sea-
urchins, or crabs, and adding these to our
store of sausages and cold meat ; with a few
bottles of good wine which Baussand took
care to slip into the boat ; how admirably
we fared !

A shoal of porpoises and seals would come
and play around our boat, sometimes swim-
ming very close to it. They made prodigious
bounds out of the water, caracolling, hustling
each other, and playing all manner of pranks,
enough to make us die with laughing. I had
read of this sort of thing in books of voyages,
but had certainly formed no idea of the
reality. Some of these porpoises were more
than twenty feet long, and they leaped out of
the sea so as to display themselves at full
length. They spouted out the water, and
made it fall in graceful jets around them.
And we fired ! But at every shot they dived,
very soon making their appearance again.
Seals and porpoises seemed to be laughing
at us, or doing us the honours of our excur-
sion round their island. Sometimes, at a
greater distance, the black fin of the fear-
ful shark would rise above the waves,
clearing them rapidly, and disappearing with
a nourish of his tail. And then, by way of a
change, we attacked the divers, the cormo-
rants, and a host of other seabirds, which were
perched on the boulders at the water's edge,
and which stupidly stared at us as we glided
past them.

I ought not to forget the cray-fish and
lampveys, which are excellent at La Galite ;
so much so that the Bone fishermen come
here expressly to catch them. They were
excellently served by the cook of the vessel, in
spite of Baussand's infamous allitot or garlic
sauce. Altogether we fared sumptuously.
The Boberach's cellar was very respectable.

The mn de Lamalque contrived to please us
all ; but we found no fault with the other
wines, any more than with the cognac, the
rum, the gin, the bitters, the tea, the grog,
the Heaven knows what !

We took our meals beneath the grotto.
Mattrasses were brought there every day, and
in the evening, stretched upon these, we gaily
smoked our pipes, sipping hot wine or tea.
On these occasions we were sure to be enter-
tained by the most diabolical concert that ever
struck terror into human ear ; and I am
thoroughly sure that all who then heard it
will no more be likely ever to forget it, than
I shall. It began at nightfall by the solitary
cry of a cormorant, rapidly responded to by
one, two, or more successive voices ; and im-
mediately after all was dark, the cavern and
the rocks around it re-echoed with inter-
mingling cries of wailing, groaning, sighing,
sobbing, bursts of laughter, and plaintive
lamentations, all proceeding (we supposed)
from flocks of birds which we could not see,
but which hovered invisibly, like phantoms,
in the air. I might vainly heap comparisons
upon comparisons ; it is impossible to convey
the slightest idea of the horrible effect of this
witch-like Sabbath. M. de Perallo, Pergaut,
Baussand, and myself were never tired of
listening to it ; and we confessed that had we
chanced to find ourselves without light and
alone in such a spot, it was enough to make
any one of us expire with fright. I must also
tell you, that we could not discover exactly
what to attribute it to. It was Pergaut's
idea that these unearthly sounds were caused
by night-birds that were either attracted by
the lights we burned, or were irritated by our
intrusion into the grotto which they were in
the habit of using as their roosting-place.
From whatever voices it really did proceed,
the mysterious music of the cavern made so
strong an impression upon my imagination,
that at this very moment while I am
describing it, after the lapse of several years,
I can fancy that I hear it still.

I had the satisfaction of obtaining a view of
Sardinia from the top of the principal peak of
La Galite. But without a strong determination,
and legs like those Pergaut was furnished
with, it is quite out of the question to reach
the summit. You are obliged at every instant
to cling to the rocks, in order to proceed from
one point to another, sometimes suspended an
awful height above the abyss below. It
requires strong nerves to avoid being giddy
when you look down, and see the lovely blue
sea spread out at an immense distance beneath
you. Here and there some graceful herds of
goats were bounding from rock to rock,
mostly far out of gun-shot, climbing spurs of
the peak which to my eyes looked almost
pei'pendicular: From time to time, also, some
rabbit of the wilderness, completely taken
by surprise, would put out his nose ; but
shooting was a difficult matter on such a
labyrinthine pyramid of stone as this. Towards

HOUSEHOLD WOEDS.

[Conducted by

the south, I ccmld distinctly perceive the
coast of the kingdom of Tunis, which I after-
wards visited with so much pleasure. Close
to Cap N6gre, at the foot of an enormous
rock, in the direction of Monte Rotondo, the
little island of Tabavka, also frequented by
the coral-fishers, was barely visible. And
lastly, the view was enlivened by those same
coral-boats dispersed over the sea between
La Calle and La Galite, by a few merchant
vessels coming from Smyrna, and by the
active steamers of the correspondance.

I cannot easily leave off talking about La
Galite ; it retains all its attractions for me to
this very day. My excursion thither was the
realisation of a long-cherished dream. I felt
happy on that desert island, while beholding
Sardinia and Africa at a glance, and perched
aloft in the midst of the Mediterranean so as
to command the azure waste of waters by
which I was encircled in all directions. I
remained whole hours seated in the crevice of
a cliff, and indulging in a long train of day-
dreams, whilst Pergaut was gratifying his
ardent desire to ascend the peak to its utmost
top.

The rocks of La Galite are composed of a
compact lava, which cuts with tolerable
facility, and furnishes excellent building ma-
terials. Spongy lava is also found there,
though in only trifling quantity. On the lofty
rocks at the eastern part of the island, where
the mists constantly maintain a considerable
degree of moisture, the Scientific Commission
gathered a great quantity of beautiful lichens,
and amongst them the orchil which I have
mentioned. La Galite belongs to the Bey of
Tunis, who derives no advantage from it
whatever. It has often served as the retreat
of pirates, corsairs, and smugglers. During
the wars of the Empire, the English cruisers
kept up a look-out there. For a long while
also, it was the rendezvous and the starting-
place of the Italian smugglers, who supplied
the Arabs with arms and ammunition. And
the coral-boats, almost all of which used to
ply the same trade, touched here whenever
they were apprehensive of being searched by
our men-of-war.

At all times of the year, sufficient fresh
water to supply a vessel can be procured on
the island. The watering-place is situated on
the projecting rock, which forms the bottom
of the grotto, opposite to the landing-place,
to the east of the beach of shingle. There are
also three other springs on the northern
coast ; but I believe that those are almost
entirely dried up in summer. For, I remem-
ber that one day, when, exhausted with fatigue
and thirst, I begged Baussand to find us some
refreshment, he led us into a green ravine
which slopes down to the grotto of seals, and
there, at a spot where the grass looked a little
fresher and less parched up, we found a patch
of humid earth. Baussand dug a hole with
his knife, and it slowly became filled with
water, which we were very thankful for,

although it was not of first-rate quality. "We
ladled it out sparingly with our leathern
goblets, correcting it with a few drops ot
wormwood or eau-de-vie.

Some of the old inhabitants of La Calle
profess to know how the first goats reached
La Galite. They all agree that the present
wild race are descended from domestic animals
left there for that laudable purpose. We
formed the project of stocking the place
with partridges. I know not whether my
friends have put the scheme in execution, but
it certainly would have been well worth
while. Pergaut told me that when the quails
make their migratory passage, they may be
killed in abundance at La Galite. And,
lastly, Baussand asserted that there is a jackal
on the island, which had escaped from a
steamer, after it had become very nearly tame.

I have now only to relate the sad story of
M. Dupont.

M.Dupont, then, a native of Grenoble, where
he had been registrar of something or other,
came to Algiers to try his fortune. He had
a place in the Home Office there, at the same
time that he employed himself in the sale of
grants of land. He also possessed a small
estate near the Bouzareah, or watch-tower of
Algiers. But, in spite of those advantages,
things went badly with him. He lost his
situation, and suffered such an amount of
what he considered unjust treatment, that
he became a perfect misanthrope in conse-
quence. He was besides afflicted with a dan-
gerous disease, which had made consider-
able inroads on his constitution, and caused
him much pain. To complete his misfortunes,
the woman whom he loved deceived him.

He came to Bone at the beginning of 1844,
got intimate with some freemasons of the
Hippone Lodge, and tried to persuade a few
adventurers to go and live with him at La
Galite, about which he had heard very favour-
able reports, in respect to the solitary life a
man might lead there.

By and bye, M. Dupont came to reside at
La Calle, in order to be nearer his beloved
island. He was employed as clerk by M. Calmou,
a considerable merchant of the place ; but he
was unable to prevail upon any one to join
him, although there was no scarcity of unfor-
tunate and discontented folk there. It was
at La Calle that I saw this singular man,
whom many people regarded as insane. He
seemed to me about five-and-thirty ; he
was dark-complexioned, short in stature, Avith
a care-worn countenance, bearing the marks
of suffering, fatigue, and a broken spirit.

He had realised all his property, with the
resolution of undertaking the enterprise alone,
and of turning hermit at La Galite. He had
purchased a stock of biscuits sufficient for a
year, besides dried vegetables, preserves, and
so on. He had also procured a boat, some guns,
some sabres, ammunition, the articles requisite
for fishing and shooting, a small medicine
chest, a few romances and philosophical works

Charlcf Dicken..]

HERMIT ISLAND.

of the Voltairean school, different kinds of
seeds, garden tools, clothing materials, trunks,
a few wooden planks, pens, ink, a large
quantity of paper, and other effects, sufficient
to freight a coral-boat that was equipped by
some Genoese, who, if I remember rightly,
profited by the occasion to fish for cray-fish
and gather erba tramontana. We saw him
leave for La Galite ; the boat returned ; and
on the 15th of April 1844 M. Dupont found
himself at last alone in his island. There
he indulged his reveries without interruption,
and began to write his autobiography. People
soon ceased to talk about him, and he seemed
to be entirely forgotten.

When I went to La Galite with the
Bob6rach in July 1844, we were extremely
curious to see M. Dupont again. We asked
one another in what sort of state we should
find this modern Robinson Crusoe. When we
cast anchor, we gazed in all directions along
the beach and its environs, to catch sight of
him ; but in vain. At last, the boat was
aground ; we jumped on shore ; and behind a
block of stone, on the beach in front of the
grotto, I perceived a gaunt yellow dog gnawing
a human skeleton, which still was very recog-
nizable. The dog immediately took to flight.

M. de Perallo was alarmed ; Theurkauff
was deeply affected. The spectacle was a
very sad one. I carefully ascertained that
it actually was a human skeleton ; and the
state of the sutures led me to believe that
it was that of a man about forty years of age.
There was a very irregular fracture of the
skull, on the left temple. Along with the
skeleton, a bloody shirt and a pair of trousers
similarly stained were lying on the ground. I
recognized the trowsers as those worn by M.
Dupont on the day of his departure from La
Calle ; I knew them by their being discoloured
in a remarkable way.

We searched throughout the island. A few
paces from the fountain, on the way up the
ravine, we found the traces of a human habi-
tation in a grotto which offered a very
convenient place of shelter. By the side of
the fire-place there was a rude seat ; scattered
on the ground were fragments of novels, worn
out clothes, torn manuscripts, pens, ink, and
such like sundries. Further on, we picked up
other articles of trifling value, such as bullets,
bags of seeds, medicines, a paper-knife, a pen-
knife, visiting cards, a fishing net, and linen
rags. We explored the island in every
direction, and could find nothing of M.
Dupont. We, therefore, concluded him to be
dead ; and that the body which we saw on
landing, must have been his.

The large yellow dog alarmed us. While
Baussand and myself were out shooting next
day, we fell in with him, and destroyed him.
The bones of poor M. Dupont were collected
by the sailors, and buried in a hole which
was covered over with shingle.

The unhappy man had taken no measures
at La Galite to render his exile comfortable.

Had I been in his place, I would have made
a few convenient arrangements in the grotto
selected for my abode ; and it was a very
easy thing for him to have done. There was no
little garden laid out ; nothing had been
planted ; and yet, in some spots, he had only
to scratch the earth. Instead of employing
himself in that way, M. Dupont confined
himself to making extracts from philosophical
works applicable to his situation. I gathered
up a good many manuscripts and copies of
letters, all characterized by misanthropy ;
long pages on the ingratitude of man and the
inconstancy of woman. There were numerous
notes relative to the sorrows and misfortunes
of his past life ; and those documents enabled
ine to verify the preceding details. I col-
lected fragments from Rousseau and Voltaire,
medical prescriptions, astronomical memo-
randa, agricultural and gardening directions,
and lastly, a few brief notes on La Galite
extracted from the work of M. Berard and
from the Memoir of the visit made to this
island in 1840 by the Scientific Commission,
and printed in the Akbar. We also amassed
a voluminous correspondence, consisting both
of copies and of original letters addressed to
M. Dupont, or written by him ; and it is
remarkable that all the latter documents, on
whatever day of the month they were written,
are dated eleven o'clock at night, as if that
were his special hour of correspondence.
Amongst the papers which we picked up, a
great number were inventories of the articles
which he had brought to La Galite. These
inventories speak of sabres, guns, trunks,
clothes, and tools, while we found nothing
but worthless articles scattered in different
parts of the island.

How are all those facts to be explained 1
Was M. Dupont first murdered, and then
plundered ? Or, did he commit suicide ?
How did it happen that the various articles
which I have mentioned, such as a handker-
chief containing linen, the bag of shot, the
visiting cards, the pen-knife, the paper-knife,
and so on, were all found at considerable
distances from his cave, and distributed in
various localities 1

It appeared to me, from the state of the
remains, that death had occurred about a
fortnight before our arrival. The flesh had
been torn from the corpse by birds of prey,
and by the dog. The fracture on the left
temple was not a gun-shot wound ; nor can I
account for it by a fall. If M. Dupont had
determined on suicide, with the habit which
he had of writing every thought he would
have indited long passages in explanation of
his resolve, and would have used it as a
theme to prove his fellow-creatures guilty of
his death.

The general opinion was that a crime had
been committed ; that M. Dupout had been
murdered, in order to be robbed. The coral-
boats, which sometimes touch at La Galite,
are manned by sailors who are troubled

HOUSEHOLD WOEDS.

[Conducted by

with few scruples. In Sicily, all the scamps
and vagabonds are recruited, and even pressed
into the coral fishery ; and I have not a much
higher opinion of the individuals of other
nations who embark in that profession. They
consist of the dregs of the populace of Genoa,
Corsica, and the Italian States, and especially
of the Torre del Greco, near Vesuvius.

On our return to La Calle, we questioned a
considerable number of coral-fishers. All oi
them declared that it was a long while since
they had touched at La Galite. The author-
ities of B6ne showed very little anxiety to
investigate the matter. We were able, how-
ever, to give evidence as to one point ; namely,
that the boats which had conducted M.
Dupont to La Galite, had left him there alive.
The letters, and some of his thoughts on soli-
tude, were a sufficient proof of this.

STAETING A PAPER IN INDIA.

IN a country like England, where publishers
abound, and where any gentleman who is
desirous of spending his spare cash on a
literary speculation can be immediately ac-
commodated, nothing is easier than to start a
newspaper. You may enter into your contract,
advertise in the daily and weekly journals,
employ your staff including the men to
carry about the placards in the streets and
go to work at once. But it is a very different
matter in the upper provinces of India ; for
instance, at such a place as Meerut, which is
upwards of eight hundred miles from a sea-
port town, Calcutta or Bombay. A friend of
mine, who started a paper at Meerut, once
favoured me with what he had to go through,
and the detail may not be unamusing to the
general reader :

I received a letter one morning, said he,
from a chaplain who was a cotemporary and
friend of mine at Cambridge; it ran thus:
" Dear Johnnie The old Colonel thinks that
a really good paper is required in the upper
provinces, and that it would pay handsomely.
I am authorised to offer you twelve hundred
rupees a month (one thousand four hundred
and forty pounds per annum), and a house
rent free, if you are disposed to be the editor.
Say the word and the capital required will be
subscribed at once." My health was declining
in Bengal, and as Meerut, the locality deter-
mined on, was a very healthy station, and
not far from the Himalayas, whither invalids
resort to restore their shattered frames to
former vigour, I accepted the offer on the
condition that my pay as editor should be
annually increased if the finances of the
journal would admit thereof. In reply to
my letter, I received a laconic note, in these
words " All right. Let me know without
delay how much money you i-equire to buy
type, presses, and paper." I calculated that
two thousand five hundred pounds would
cover every expense, and not only enable me
to make advances to the workmen (for with-

out this they would not stir from Calcutta),
but leave a balance of a few hundred pounds
to work upon for the first few months. Two
thousand five hundred pounds were forthwith
remitted to me by a cheque on the Oriental
Bank. Some twenty-five or thirty officers of
rank and standing in the civil and military
services of the East India Company had
subscribed for the whole amount in the course
of two days. My first difficulty was in pro-
curing presses ; one I purchased an imperial,
a Cope and Sherwin from the Baptist Mis-
sion Press, at a fair price ; but for the other
a royal I had to give double its value,
and then it was only parted with (I say this
in all sincerity) to oblige me, for the owner
really wanted it to carry on his own business.
Then the type. I could not think of allow-
ing my manuscript to be " set up " in anything
but Figgins. A particular friend of mine,
called Iniquity Smith, had once remarked to
me that a little production of mine looked
" uncommon tidy " in Figgins, and the con-
versation to which the remark led informed
me of the fact that Figgins was the prince of
type-founders. Now there happened to be
plenty of eveiy other sort of Figgins's type in
Calcutta, except Figgins's long primer, not a
letter of which was to be had for love or money ;
and long primer was absolutely necessary
for the leading article. There were founts
of type cast by other founders in the market,
but they would not " make up " with Figgins,
and therefore they were of no use to me.
At last, I heard of a second-hand fount, or
set of types, and bought it for fifty pounds.
The heading of the paper, the column rules,
the leads, and the chases or iron frames within
which the type is jammed were soon got ready
by native artisans, and nothing now remained
but to engage the establishment.

The Indian compositor is usually a person
of Portuguese extraction on the male side :
and his name is Gomez, Gonsalves, or Pereira.
He is of course very dark ; but it is one of his
peculiarities to speak of the natives as black
brutes : when half drunk (and unless he be
half drunk he cannot use his fingers they
are so cold even in the very hot weather),
the Indian compositor works well. His fingers
are small, and he picks up his type from the
case with a rapidity truly astonishing. I have
never seen it equalled in an English printing-
office. But his day's work over (and he will
got it done, sometimes, in two or three hours),
he is the most indolent and dissipated creature
in existence. He is never out of debt, and
never without a dun at his heels ; but he in-
variably disputes all claims upon him, and never
pays till he does so by order of some Court.

I required ten of these compositors, and
engaged them at exactly double the rate of
pay they received in Calcutta. " Look at the
distance," they would say ; " to be so far olF
from your families to whom you must send
money, sir ! " The compositors said they
should require five distributors. In India a

Charlea Dickens.]

STARTING A PAPER IN INDIA.

compositor never distributes his matter. He
would consider it beneath, his dignity. Be-
sides, it seems to soothe his feelings to have
some one under him a human being at his
beck and call somebody whom he may bully
with impunity, and strike, if it pleases him.
These native distributors do not know a single
word of English ; many cannot tell you the
names of the letters ; but they will till a case
as speedily and as accurately as any European.

Two pressmen were required ; and they
also were engaged at double the rate of pay.
About the printer there was an immense
difficulty. There were scores of Portuguese
ready to take the place " at any salary you
like to name ; " but none of them were steady
enough for the duties they would have to
discharge. I at length selected a young man
who had been a foreman in one of the Cal-
cutta printing-offices. I was aware that his
character would not bear investigation ; but
I had no alternative.

The presses and type were shipped onboard
the flat, (a vessel tugged by a steamer), and
deck passages were engaged for the motley
crew of compositors, distributors, and press-
men. They were, as the mate remarked to
me, " as queer a looking set of rogues as ever
walked a plank." It was in the cold weather,
and most of the compositors had taken to
wearing thick red nightcaps, which had been
imported for the use of the coolies (native
labourers) on their way to the Mauritius.
Just as we were ready to start, a bailiff came
on board from the Court of Requests, and
thinned the ranks of my regiment. He took
away two Pereiras two of my compositors.
They had received nine pounds each, by way
of advance. I afterwards discovered that
they were parties to their own arrest. Under
the command of the printer, "the establish-
ment" behaved very well till they got to the
Sunderbunds, when they began to quarrel
among themselves, and to spurn the authority
of the person who had been placed over them.
Some of them had brought away arrack in
their boxes, and this made them drunk and
disorderly. One morning, about eleven
o'clock, one of the compositors, Martin Gon-
salves, who had been drinking deeply over
night, thought proper to jump overboard in
one of the narrow rivers. The steamer was
stopped, and a boat was about to be low-
ered to pick Martin up ; but an enormous
crocodile (a mugar') glided from the bank,
and took his victim to the bottom, in the
presence of all on board the vessel. Many
of the ladies, passengers on board, shrieked
loudly on beholding this horrid scene, which
cast a gloom over the little society for a
brief while ; but I regret to say, that Mar-
tin's melancholy end had not that serious
effect upon his friends which might have been
looked for. In a few days we arrived at
Comercolly, where I received a letter from
his widow, who wished me to inform her
whether the report of her husband's death

were true or not, as she had an offer of mar-
riage she would like to accept.

The voyage to Allahabad the terminus ot
steam navigation in the Ganges was, from
beginning to end, a chapter of accidents.
One of the compositors severely injured his
right hand, and it was doubtful whether he
would be able to use it. Two of the distri-
butors were attacked by ophthalmia, a com-
plaint which, in India, often makes the
patient's eyes weak for the remainder of his
life. One of the pressmen was seized with
acute rheumatism in the back and loins ; and
the foreman had the misfortune to take a
very bad fever, which it was feared would
terminate fatally. I had no idea of the
awful responsibility I was entailing upon
myself, when I undertook the editorial de-
partment of the projected bi-weekly paper.

Somehow or other I contrived to land the
presses, types, and establishment on the bank
of the river, at Allahabad. Here it was
necessary to hire carts to convey them to
their destination, a distance of four hundred
aud twenty-seven miles. This was no easy
matter ; for every cart and pair of bullocks
that the Collector and Magistrate could find
in his district, had been seized for the service
of Government. This was in December 1845,
immediately after the battle of Moodkee.
By paying handsomely, however, this diffi-
culty was overcome, and the train was now
ready to start, when the printer came to me,
and said :

" Sir, I think the hands are going to run
away ! "

" Why so ? " I inquired.

"Because, sir, everybody says the Sikhs
will take the country, and they think they
would be safer in Calcutta. The only plan
would be," he continued, " to give them some
more advance, and let them drink hard to
keep their spirits up."

I was obliged to follow the printer's advice ;
but I was rather disgusted to find that he
should himself resort to precisely the means
of bringing about an artificial courage that he
recommended for those in a subordinate posi-
tion. When I saw them off, they were all very
drunk indeed : even the native distributors
were in. the same dreadful state. The presses
and boxes of type were packed in straw in
the body of the carts : upon these there were
platforms whereon those who could sit up,
sat, and those who could not, lay down.
The red night-caps gave the group a very san-
guinary appearance, and to hear the wearers
of them talk now that they were warmed
with drink a bystander might have ima-
gined that they were carrying up a brace of
infernal machines to the seat of war, wliich
would very soon settle that important busi-
ness. Their appearance was not particularly
formidable, but in point of frightfulness I
never beheld anything to equal it, except,
perhaps, on the stage in a pantomime.

On the 24th February, 1846, the artillery,

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

in the straw, entered the premises engaged
at Meerut. A gentle voice, the voice of
one who was the companion of my serious
but amusing difficulties, whispered in my
ear, " It was thus Napoleon conveyed his
ordnance to the field of Marengo." The
carts had been upset several times upon the
road, for the excited " devils " had insisted
on driving the bullocks but fortunately no
damage had been done to the machinery.
The box in which the long primer was
packed in Calcutta had started a plank, and
a vast number of letters had leaked out ;
" capital H upper case " was very imper-
fect ; and unfortunately it was a letter which
would be in great demand inasmuch as
Lord Hardinge was the governor-general. As
the printer very truly remarked, in handing
me a proof, "If his name had been Ardinge,
it would have been all right, sir."

The first number of the paper was to come
out on the fourth of March, and on the first of
the month the printer came to me with a
long face and asked what we were to do about
an imposing-stone a table on which the
pages of letter are laid, to be finally adjusted.
" What with dummy advertisements and re-
prints," said he, " I have got enough matter
to fill the two outer pages, but where is the
imposing-stone to come from ? " There was
not such a thing in Meerut, and it would
take at least a week to get one from Delhi.
Search was made, but no slab without a flaw, j
and with an even surface, could be found
in either the city or the cantonment. A
horrible idea suggested itself to my printer.
" If we could get a tombstone out of the
churchyard," said he, " it would be just the
very thing, and there's some very nice ones
there, sir ; I have been looking over them."
He instanced several that would suit, and he
spoke with a levity of manner, which was
both irreverent and disgusting. He hinted,
too, that he could manage it ; but I was not
sufficiently hardened to encourage him in. the
crime of which he was so ready to be guilty.
He observed that there was a stone over
a Colonel Webster, in a corner of the yard,
which would answer our purpose exactly ;
and, as the tomb was all gone to rack and
ruin, he didn't suppose anybody would miss
or make a noise about it. In justice to the
man, I must own that he was rather the
worse for drink, when this sacrilegious dispo-
sition stole over him.

Although I was not inclined to be a party
to robbing the churchyard, nevertheless I
took the hint, and sent for the old man who
supplied tombstones, and he furnished me
with an article (not a second-hand one)
which answered admirably the purpose
for the time being. It was a rude, uncouth
slab, but it cost me fifteen pounds, besides a
gold mohur one pound twelve shillings to
give it something like a smooth face.

The third of the month the day of publi-
cation came, that anxious day preceding the

day of issue. My leaders were written, my
local intelligence, my correspondence, my
literature, poetry, were ready when the
printer came to me and said " How are we
to manage about the inking rollers 1 there's
no glue to be got here, sir. We must use
the old style of ink-balls, and these Calcutta
men say they don't understand 'em."

I was fairly Avearied out with the obstacles
which appeared to thicken around me, the
nearer we came to striking off our first im-
pression. It was of no use to be angry, and
I was compelled to superintend the making of
these ink-balls, which consisted of a kid's
skin stuffed with coarse wool.

The pages were upon the imposing- stone.
They were locked up in the chases. The press-
man lifted the form, and was carrying it with
the assistance of an ink man, to the press ;
when he stumbled and fell ; and the whole
became a mass of confusion, technically de-
nominated " pie." Eight columns of matter
were mingled together in inextricable con-
fusion like the columns of the French army
at the battle of Waterloo and with precisely
the same sort of feelings that came over
Napoleon on that occasion, I rushed from the
office to my house in a state of agony and
despair which it would be utterly impossible
to describe. It was twelve o'clock at night
when this awful catastrophe happened. What
were Franklin's difficulties compared to mine ?
Nothing ! And yet I could not help laugh-
ing ; although my eyes were bloodshot with
watching the getting out of the paper from
daylight until midnight.

The printer made his appearance, and said,
" It's a very bad job, sir ; but if you were
to treat the hands to a couple of bottles of
brandy, they would stay and set it all up
again. Give me the bottles of brandy, sir, and
go to bed, sir, and you shall see the paper
to-morrow morning at eight o'clock, sir. Your
presence in the office makes us all nervous, sir."

I sighed, mechanically gave him the liquor
he required for himself as well as the
" hands " threw myself upon a couch, and
soon fell fast asleep. True enough ! there
was the paper next morning. It contained
numberless errors of the Press ; but still it
was a very decent production.

There was less difficulty in getting out the
second number, and even less with the third.
The paper " took " and was taken. Its ex-
chequer flourished ; and, before long, I had no
sort of trouble ; for I had the first foreman
and the best establishment in all India.

Nota ready, price 5s. 6d., neatly bound in Cloth,

THE SIXTH VOLUME

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

Containing the Numbers issued between September llth,
1852, and February 26th, 1853; including the extra
Christmas number, entitled, " A KOUND OF STOEIES Br
THE CHRISTMAS FIBE."

Published at the Office, No. 16, Wellington Street North, Strand. Printed hv BRADBOBT & KTANS, Whitcfriars, Louiion.

"Familiar in their Mouths as HOUSEHOLD WORDS." SHAKESPEARE.

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

A WEEKLY JOUKNAL
CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS.

SATURDAY, APRIL 2, 1853.

HOW TO KILL LABOUEERS.
A LABOURER ? We are all labourers,

" For every worm beneath the moon
Draws different threads, and late and soon
Spins, toiling out his own cocoon."

well, a Wiltshire farm-labourer, died not
many weeks ago, bowed down with toil, de-
crepid and rheumatic, at the age of fifty-five.
During the last thirty-three years of his life
there had been added to the bodily work propel',
to the toiling out of his particular cocoon, an
unnecessary walk of eighty-two thousand,
three hundred, and sixty-eight miles. If he
had walked straight on, instead of to and fro,
from home to work and from work home
again, and if there had been a pavement laid
down for him on the surface of the sea, this
man could have walked three times round
the world, and made a trip to the North Pole
and back, out of the waste exertion added to
his daily work upon a farm with hand and
foot and body.

Why then did this absurd man make a
victim of himself by fixing his home at so
great a distance from his place of labour 1 The
man was not at all absurd. He was the victim
of absurdity intended to be shrewdness
in other men. There are certain laws upon
a matter that sounds very unattractive : Set-
tlement and Poor Removal. There are certain
tactics consequent upon those laws, and there
are a great many miserable consequences of
those tactics which depress the condition not
only of the labourer, but of the working
farmer also : which by no means contribute pro-
fit to the landlord-interest, and very seriously
tend to retard the progress of the country.
They belong to a part of our glorious institu-
tions that will have, at a convenient season,
to follow some of their glorious predeces-
sorsto the limbo of obsolete folly and selfishness.

Agricultural labour does not, as it is com-
monly conducted, occupy at all seasons of the
year the same number of hands. Labourers
formerly eked out their scanty subsistence
by work on lace pillows, at spinning-wheels, at
looms, or otherwise by undertaking simple
cottage manufactures for which now there is
no demand. Manchester, Leeds, and Notting-
ham have altered all that ; and now, men and
women out of employ must be maintained

by the parish in which they have a legal
settlement, that is to say, in which they
have been born, in which they fall sick, or in
which they may have lived five years. It
becomes therefore an object with the rural
parish of A, in which a few rich men would
have to maintain all the poor settled among
them, to prevent people likely to require
such maintenance even their own labourers
from acquiring a settlement among them ;
and so by refusing to build labourers' cottages,
such a parish will compel the men who work
for it to pitch their tents with the distant
parishioners of B.

Many landlords believe that a small poor-
rate enables them to command a higher rent,
and therefore refuse to build for the farm-
labourers, that no one additional person may
acquire a settlement within their parish. The
tenant-farmer in such a case pays, perhaps, in
rent what is saved in poor-rate, but suffers
grievously by inability to make free use of
labour. That is a brief statement of one
part of the case. The Wiltshire farm- labourer
of whose death we have spoken is only one man
among many whose strength and health have
for some time been wasted in precisely the same
way. We should not care to specify his case if
there were any individual to blame in the
matter ; but as the story is connected with
a Charity which we know by experience to
be thick-skinned, a Charity that, in a very
ugly sense, covers a multitude of sins, there
can be no reason why we should not add
it to the corresponding narratives on record.

The Charterhouse Charity has excellent
estates in Wiltshire, and in gathering the pro-
duce of them it would seem to be very careful
that no crumbs shall fall among the poor. The
farm of Blagrove, in Wiltshire, held under the
Charterhouse Charity, is thus kept clear of
cottages. The tenant is a man greatly re-
spected by his neighbours, whose men are
nearly all old servants, and regard him as a
friend from whom they would unwillingly be
parted ; but the Charity will not have mercy
upon them by relaxing from its principle of
ordering the poor to keep their distance. It
was to this farm that a labourer, named
Enabling, went daily to and fro in all seasons
and weather for three-and-thirty years, three
miles to his work and three miles from it.
Sunday was not a day of rest, he went over

VOL. VII.

158

J)8

HOUSEHOLD WOEDS.

[Conducted by

to milking on the Sunday morning, returned
to his family during the day for a taste of
Lome, a shave, and a clean shirt, and went
back to the afternoon milking ; so that he
walked, in addition to his farm work, forty-
eight miles a week about two thousand five
hundred miles a year.

During the recent wet weather he had to
wade through water over his half-boots, and
being drenched with rain last Christmas,
already stooping and infirm with premature
old age, he took a chill, and is now dead. The
sedentary man may walk to business through
London streets, starting at nine A.M., or even
eight, put on his overcoat, or take an om-
nibus only in foulest weather, and be better
for the exercise, even though it should amount
to about fifty miles a week. But for the man
whose business is a long day of limb-labour, to
start before the dawn, and to take such added
exercise over rough country roads morning
and evening, through flood, heat, or frost,
with never a hope of omnibus, or overcoat, or
even Sunday rest, is quite a different affair.
How little of the charm of rural life can
touch the jaded senses of a countryman so '
worn and used-up for the sake of saving '
parish A the cost of any possible relief he
may require, and throwing the same upon
parish B ! Such a man when he gets home
of a night goes straight to bed, and quits his
family at dawn, taking his solitary dinner
with him ; he is in worse condition than the
plough-horse, who is not fetched every morn-
ing to his work from stables three miles
off, he knows less of a domestic circle than
the ox whom he sees daily

'' Leaning his horns into the neighbour's field
And lowing to his fellows."

We are not putting forward any rare or
isolated case ; and, before we found any
remarks upon these matters, or endeavour to
point out how inconsistent with good economic
policy as well as with true charity, are all '
such ties upon the labour-market as we find
to have been fastened by the laws affecting
Settlement and Poor Removal, let us take a
few more illustrations of the facts as they
now stand. Parliamentary reports are before
us in which it is shown that the effect of this
crowding of the labourers upon their neigh-
bours by the holders of close parishes is, that
hundreds upon hundreds of men are com-
pelled to live at distances varying between
one or two, and even eight miles, from the
fields in which they work. From the ad-
jacent country, field labourers are especially
liable to be forced back for residence and
settlement upon the towns. Some examples
of this in the case of Reading are cited at
length in a report addressed by Mr. G. A.
a Beckett to the Poor Law Board. We give
the piCh of two or three of them, altering the
names of men, not facts.

Charles Weary has a wife and five young
children. They can obtain no home in their

own parish, and are compelled to live in
Reading, where they pay two shillings a week
for three small rooms in Bank Place, among
dirt, and filth, and noise. For the same rent
a cottage in the country could be provided,
with comfortable accommodations, and a
garden. Charles Weary starts out of his
filthy home at half-past four or five in the
morning, and walks three miles to his work ;
his wife often goes the same distance to earn
eightpence a day. Charles comes home so
tired, that as his wife says " when he sits
down, he hardly knows how to get up." He
is almost as tired in the morning as at night,
and his wife when she goes to labour feels in
the same way the want of rest. Their children
who must be left in the court become
dirty and depraved.

But what is to be done ? An owner of a
close parish making his own statement puts
the case of the whole class of the Wearies as
he sees it, very candidly. In such parishes,
he writes, " great care has been taken for
many years not to make a settlement, indeed
I have known instances in which the leases of
the farms have contained a covenant of penalty
for any settlement which the tenant might
occasion by harbouring labourers ; and, in
these parishes, old cottages have in many
instances been destroyed ; the farm-servants
being obliged to go into the large villages and
towns to hire habitations, built by speculators
charging exorbitant rents. Some of my own
labourers in hay and harvest time, as late as
ten o'clock at night, set off to walk nearly
three miles home to their supper and bed, when
they must be again at work by five o'clock
on the following morning. But I am
deterred from building cottages for their
accommodation, because if I require a man
to remove (i.e., dismiss him) from any cause,
I should perhaps be burthened by the parish
with his maintenance, and that under cir-
cumstances more objectionable than mere
expense ; or I should be compelled to have
an order of removal, probably involving me
in a lawsuit." As the law of settlement now
stands those last considerations are quite
true, although we do not think the refusal to
build cottages, economically speaking, to be
at all an unimpeachable deduction from them.

Then here is another illustration of the
system. Richard Worn has a wife and three
children. He also walks three miles to his
work. He used to live at Caversham, but
was obliged to leave that place because he
could get no house, though he had worked
there under different masters for twenty-four
years. The walking, he says, fatigues him.
When he gets wet, " his clothes dry on him
and makes him shiver." His wife says that
the distance makes a difference of two shil-
lings a week in the expense of living. The
man when he comes home is oppressed by
the foul air that surrounds his dwelling, and
says that " Reading don't suit country people
at all." He has known Caversham all his

Charles. Dickens.]

HOW TO KILL LABOURERS.

life, and remembers several cottages having
been pulled down "some on Caversham Hill,
two against the stocks, two in the meadow
and dairy farm." He thinks that there must
have been at least twenty labourers' cottages
pulled down : the house in which he was born
among the number.

George Ground was found with a wife and
five children " huddled together in a kind of
pit formed by a hole in the floor of their apart-
ment at least two feet down below the door,
and caused by the bricks having been torn up
from the centre. A more deplorable scene,"
says the report, "can scarcely be imagined
than this wretched family, literally half-buried
alive in the ground, and taking a scanty meal
in the midst of dirt, damp, and misery."
George Ground had been working, when he
was thus encountered, at a place seven or eight
miles distant from Reading. His place of
work is commonly three or four, and often
seven miles from his domestic den. George
Ground could tell of nineteen or twenty
labourers' cottages that had been pulled
down, at Caversham : but knew only of four
that had been put up.

Inquiry being made at Caversham into the
history of these four cottages, it was found
that they had been built by a deceased gentle-
man, to be let at two shillings a week, the
very sum paid for the filthy rooms in town.
Each of these two-shilling cottages had two
very good rooms on the ground-floor and two
above, all light, lofty, and well ventilated.
In each cottage the front room on the ground-
floor had a dresser and cupboards ; the back
room a copper and kitchen furniture, while
in every room there was a fire-place. In the
front of each cottage was a garden-plot with
neat iron railings round it, and attached to
each, at the back, was a quarter of an acre of
ground. The founder of these homes would
have built more, but his neighbours found
fault with him for bringing poor into the
parish.

James Toil is an elderly man afflicted with
a disease which makes walking a pain to
him ; yet he has to walk to his work four miles
a day and comes home so exhausted that he
goes at once to bed. He can get no house in
his own parish of Caversham. Seventeen or
eighteen years ago, his daughter being on the
point of making him a grandfather, he was
told that he must either turn her out or go
himself, because the birth of a child would
bring another settlement upon the parish.
Rather than turn their child out of doors,
father and mother went to Heading. The
house in which the Toils lived, when at
Caversham, has been pulled down.

Trickery is constantly employed to obtain
the shifting of the burden of the poor
from one parish to another. A man named
Povey, belonging to Earley, lived in Reading :
"Having had the misfortune to break
his leg, he could not walk so far as Earley,
and he was therefore compelled to go with

I his family into the workhouse. After he
had been there some little time, it was
intimated to him that it was not agreeable
to the guardians that he should continue
a burden to his parish ; and it was suggested
to him that if he would go and find a house
at Reading, his parish would pay his rent,
and give him some assistance besides. He
accordingly came to Reading, took a house,
the rent of which was paid for him by Mr.
Park, the relieving officer of Povey's parish,
and sixteen pounds of bread with a shilling
a week, were allowed in addition towards his
support. Anxious to test the truth of Povey's
statement as to his rent having been paid for
him by the relieving officer of another Union,
I ascertained " says Mr. & Beckett, " who had
been the agent for receiving the rent, and
found that the last person who had done so,
was a Mr. Brown, a carpenter and the keeper
of a grocer's or general shop in Silver Street,
Reading. I called there, and saw Mr. and
Mrs. Brown, who testified to the truth of
Povey's statement ; and Mr. Brown added,
that when the Five Years' Residence act came
into operation, the relieving officer of his
parish declined paying any more rent for
Povey, on the ground that the new law had
thrown him upon Reading."

Between half-past three and five in the
morning, numbers of country labourers may
be met on any of the roads out of the town of
Reading, going to their farm-work ; while in
the adjacent county one instance is mentioned
of a tenant who gave up his farm after the first
seven years, because the landlord woidd not
allow cottages upon the land for the accom-
modation of the labourers. A man living at
Bobbingworth, and belonging to High Ongar,
had a large family. The farm on which he
lived was let, and his cottage was wanted.
He could not get another. Be was obliged to
transfer his entire household to the workhouse,
from which he or his wife were continually
going out in search of a roof to lie under. They
could give security for the rent, and they would
have work ; but nobody would let a cottage
to them because they had a large family, and
in case of illness, might have become burden-
some upon the parish in which they were
allowed to fix their residence.

Again, the chairman of the Billericay Union
stated at the board that, because five years
residence settles a man irremovably, he had
seen several instances of the poor being un-
ceremoniously turned out of house and home
after three, four or four and a half year's
occupation. Employers of labour complain of
the loss they suffer from the wasted strength
of labourers who travel sometimes five miles to
and from their work ; other parishes complain
of the injustice they endure in having to
provide for men in their distress whose labour
when they are in health profits them nothing.
But it is no question of sense or justice, no
question of reducing poverty, but a question of
tossing about responsibilities which should be

100

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

assumed -willingly and shared in fair pro-
portion among all men who have ability to
bear them.

The vice-chairman of the Witham Union
mentioned a friend of his in Cambridge, who
having a quantity of land in one parish and a
strip in a parish adjoining, had pulled down his
cottages on his large estate and rebuilt them
on his small one, so that his labourers might
be removed out of the place in which he would
himself have to contribute much to their re-
lief in seasons of distress, to a parish to which
his contributions were nominal. " In the
Stowmarket Union," writes a resident land-
owner, " I know a parish owned by one man
requiring forty or fifty labourers ; it contains
cottages only for six or seven. The adjoining
parishes bear this landowner's burdens." A
guardian of the Woodbridge Union mentioned
that on his way to the Board he had passed
through one street in Woodbridge, containing
twenty-five cottages, seventeen of which were/
occupied by families not working in the place
or belonging to it, but chargeable in case of
sickness or accident, or by five years' residence.
He spoke also of a parish of Boulge, all of
whose paupers would be chargeable to Wood-
bridge in event of illness, there being only
two cottages in Boulge, although it is a
pai-ish yielding the same rental as Little
Bealings, in which there are more than three
hundred inhabitants.

These scattered facts are of a kind not to
be misunderstood ; but we add more. After
a tour of inspection in Dorsetshire, Hamp-
shire and Somersetshire, Mr. Eevans reported
to the Poor Law Board that " a perpetual
surveillance in small town parishes is now
kept over the working-classes by the rate-
payers to prevent the former becoming irre-
movable. The moment it is supposed that a
labouring man is likely to complete a residence
of five years, every endeavour is made to
induce him to reside out of the parish, even
for a short time. He is offered a residence
rent-free, in another parish, for a short period,
and if this or some other stratagem is not
sufficient, the ratepayers apply to his landlord,
by whom he is induced to go elsewhere, whilst
his dwelling or his lodging is repaired, white-
washed and painted, or he has permanent
notice to quit his dwelling, the rest of the
ratepayers refusing him a lodging during
the short period requisite to break the con-
tinuous five years." As a last instance we
may quote the case of a gentleman at Maple
Durham who brought an action against a
tenant occupying a mill on his estate to
recover two penalties of fifty pounds each for
having, contrary to a clause in the lease, made
two parishioners by lodging labourers who
had been brought from other parishes.
This case was mentioned by Mr. Chadwick
before a select Committee of the House of
Commons.

Where parishes do not belong to a few
owners, and it is impossible to make them

close, they contain a certain number of
labourers who have a settlement; and who,
when not supplied with work by the pa-
rishioners, must be maintained out of the
local rates. In that case it is the object of
the ratepayers to give all their work to these
people, and the farmer who employs strangers,
or fails to employ a full complement of
parish labourers is considered by his watchful
neighbours to be acting like a pickpocket.
The labourers abstain from straying into
other parishes wherein they will be looked
upon as locusts : they maintain their settle-
ment at home, and know quite well that if
Farmer Jones can find no work for them,
Farmer Smith will, or Farmer Brown must ;
or else Farmers Brown, Smith, and Jones
must contribute jointly to their maintenance.
They are set to waste-work very often to keep
them off the rates ; and, having no spur to
exertion, work listlessly with their jackets on ;
for, of course, a minimum of wages. A
Buckinghamshire farmer stated before a com-
mittee of the House of Lords, when speaking
of those of his men who had been enticed
away for a time to active labour upon rail-
way works, " Men of that description working
against my own men, as parish men, would
do a day's work by twelve o'clock, and take
their spade on their shoulder and go home ;
and they would have done as good a day's
work as my ordinary labourers do." The
parish labourer has not a motive to exertion ;
and the farmer thinks that he has no interest
in urging him to rapid movements, since it
appears better that he should spread his work
over a long time than be idle for a day and &
burthen to the local rates. Low-priced labour
is, in fact, woefully dear. A market-gardener
near Leicester made an exceedingly large for-
tune. It was an aphorism with him that " he
could not live by poor two-shilling men, he
must have half-crowners." His sons carried on
the farms on the same principle. One of
them said, emphatically, " We will not look
at those poor two-shilling devils, we can-
not thrive upon their labour." Mr. Josiah
Parkes, conducting agricultural drainage
works in Somersetshire, said that he could
not get on at all with the nine and ten shilling
labouring men, until he got them to earn half
as much again by piece-work ; then they be-
came capital workmen. The owner of a
farm in Middlesex of five hundred acres
worked it with parish labourers at eighteen-
pence a day and a pint of porter. He failed.
His successor worked it as a potato farm and
paid for piece-work. Some of his best hands
earned twenty and twenty-four shillings a
week, and lie himself made out of the farm
before he died two thousand a year. A man
in the Lothians wished to come further south
for his health. He went into Hertfordshire
and Wiltshire. He desired to embark fifteen
or twenty thousand pounds in farming, but
when he saw the value of the parish workmen,
and found how he was beset by difficulties if

Charles Dickens.]

HOW TO KILL LABOUKERS.

101

he attempted to bring others, he declined to
risk his capital.

Mr. Tufnell mentions a man, more adven-
turous, who took a farm in Wiltshire upon
liberal terms, and to the dismay of all
neighbours, brought his own ploughman and
two or three of his best hands with him.
" You are bringing burdens upon us ! " cried
the farmers. " We have already more labour
than we know how to employ." The gentle-
man persisted. In the winter his neighbours
as usual, turned off several men ; the new-
comer engaged them at once they were all
wanted for draining, fencing, and other works
essential to a well-conducted farm. In the
spring the men were wanted back by their
old masters, but they were permanently en-
gaged, and the surrounding farmers were
themselves compelled to seek for labourers
out of the limits of the parish. Industry
never begets want of occupation.

In fact, there can be no greater mistake than
to suppose that active minds and active bodies
set to labour upon land will quickly get through
all the work there is to do upon it. Every im-
provement in agriculture, every new machine,
improves the condition of the farm labourer.
Wherever improved modes of cultivation and
machinery have been introduced, there has
been increased demand for labour ; and the
work wanted being of a kind more or less
skilled, commands better wages. At the same
time that a machine relieves the workmen of
much physical drudgery, it creates a demand
for higher qualities for intelligence and trust-
worthiness in those who are to manage it.
It lifts the labourers, so far as its operation
extends, out of the state of unreasoning
drudgery, brings out their better faculties, and
procures for them that better pay which men
can earn whose heads are something better
than dead-weight. Agricultural machinery
affords men work in winter time ; work under
sheds in wet weather ; work when their bodily
strength fails by sickness or increasing years.
Machinery often creates a necessity tor more
men in a direct way. One man can sow
broadcast as much as a drill. But the drill
requires two men to attend upon it, one earn-
ing half-a-crown a day, the other two shillings,
and after that the hoe has to be handled.
Machinery, increasing profit, will increase
the extent of farming operations. But what-
ever adds to the farmers's capital will add to
the fund at his command payable in wages,
and a general desire to get good workmen,
strong of hand or steady of head whenever
there shall be free-trade in farm labour will
help very considerably to put an end to the
scandal of low wages which is now inseparable
from the condition of our southern counties.
A gentleman occupying a farm which has
been in his family since the year 1772, has
shown by figures the increased demand for
labour caused by the increase of enlighten-
ment among the farmers. This is his " return
of the amount of labour per acre on a farm

in West Norfolk, where machinery is freely
employed, showing the gradual increase of
manual labour caused by improved cultiva-
tion, &c., from 1772 to 1845." The average,
per acre, for the thirteen years ending 1785,
was six shillings and ninepence ; for the next
five years, seven shillings and twopence ; for
the next five, a shilling more ; for the next
five, eleven shillings. For the five years
ending in 1810, nineteen shillings and six-
pence. For the five years ending in 1820,
twenty-three shillings and ninepence. For
the five years ending in 1830, twenty-four
shillings ; and for the five years ending in
1845, one pound nine shillings and threepence.
The increase of machinery and every im-
provement of cultivation is, therefore, a source
of direct gain to the labourer.

But improvements upon farms employing
only the listless men settled upon the parish,
or the weary men who spend an average
of ten or eleven hours a week (more than the
worth of a day's labour) in coming to
and from their work, will be effected very
slowly. What would the Manchester men
say if their towns were subdivided into a
number of small parishes, and the manufac-
turers within those parishes were obliged to
ask every artisan before employing him, " To
what parish do you belong ? " Mr. Chadwick
asked for the opinion on this point of several
manufacturers, always, of course, with the
same obvious reply. Mr. Whit worth, who
employed upwards of five hundred men in
machine-making, said, that if he had to put
the question which the agriculturist has to
put before he engages a workman, " To what
parish do you belong 1 " or were governed by
any such consideration, he must reduce wages :
and he treated it rather as an absurd supposi-
tion, that they could conduct their operations
at all under any such interference or such
obligations. Compare the case of the farm
labourer, whose strength is thrown away on
long walks to and from his place of work,
with the position of the labourers on Mr.
Whitworth's factory, who are hoisted up and
down by a steam-engine, to save them the waste
toil of going up and down the stairs ! Two
or three thousand pounds, perhaps, are spent
upon machinery to supersede the ladders in a
pit shaft. " You are a humane man, mine
owner," we say. " I consult only my inte-
i-est," he answers ; " by thus lifting the men
up and down I save in labour six or eight
hundred pounds a year."

In some parts of England, in great part of
the counties of Lincoln and Nottingham, and
among the fields of Yorkshire, the farmers do
establish a free labour-market ; they get the
sort of men they want and pay them well.
But over the whole country there is a scarcity
of proper cottage accommodation caused by the
present laws of settlement ; and over the best
part of England there is established by the
same laws a system of restricted, enervated,
labour, that keeps wages down and crampa

102

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

the powers of the farmer. In agriculture, as
in manufactures, there can be no full pros-
perity without an open labour-market. To
obtain this, it is necessary to remove the
motive for those detestable petty calculations
which are now made in every little parish when
a settler comes, who may one day be chargeable
upon its rates. Let the wants of a settler not
affect the rates of a village, or of a few farms,
not of a parish, but <if an entire Union, or of
more than an Union ; extend the area over
which charge is made for the poor who require
help within it ; and then at once the corning or
going of men in single villages or upon single
farms will cease to affect the tranquillity of
ratepayers. Over the whole area it will be
then felt that if some come, others go ; there
will be little fluctuation in the yearly rates,
and nobody will think of fettering the move-
ments of the people. Labourers in the south
may wander northward; men of the north
corue southward ; farmers may then employ the
best men they can find, unquestioned by their
neighbours. Then too the farmers, getting
the men that please them best and paying
them for what they do, may stimulate them
to put forth their energies, and teach them to
earn fifteen shillings where they DOW earn
ten.

Other wants and restrictions no doubt clog
the feet of labourer and farmer. Men, however,
who have been tied up with many knots must
consent, if they would break loose, to tug on
one cord at a time : or, if they would untie
themselves, to tackle the knots singly. The
hardships we have cited here, are of a shame-
ful kind would not look at all well in the fair
hands of the Honorable Mrs. Ex-President
Tyler are very wrong, and, like most wrong
things, very foolish.

THE KINGDOM OF RECONCILED
IMPOSSIBILITIES.

THERE is a kingdom whose boundaries are
within the reach of every man's hand, on
whose frontiers no heavier entrance-tribute or
import-duty is exacted save that comprised in
the payment of two-score inflections of the eye-
lids or forty winks ; a kingdom into which
the majority of humanity travel at least once
in every twenty-four hours ; though the exact
time the precise moment at which that
voyage is commenced is, and never has been,
known to any man alive. Whether we are
transported by some invisible agency on the
wings of spirits or in the arms of genii
whether we go to the kingdom or the king-
dom, comes to us, we cannot tell. Why or how
or when we came there we know not ; yet,
almost invariably, when the tribute of the
forty inflections has been duly paid, we find
ourselves wandering in the Kingdom of
Reconciled Impossibilities.

Locomotion in this kingdom is astonishingly
rapid : we run without moving and fly. without
wings. Time and space are counted zeros ;

centuries are skipped at a bound ; continents
and oceans are traversed without an effort.
We are here, there, and every where. Grey-
headed men, we are little boys at school,
breaking windows and dreading the vindi-
catory cane. Married and settled, we are
struggling through the quickset hedges of our
first love. Crippled, we race and lea'p ; blind,
we see. Unlearned, we discourse in strange
tongues and decipher the most intricate of
hieroglyphics. Unmusical, we play the
fiddle like Paganmi. We pluck fruit from
every branch of the tree of knowledge ; the
keys of every science hang in a careless bunch
at our girdle ; we are amenable to no laws ;
money is of no account ; Jack is as good as his
master ; introductions are not required for
entrance into polite society ; the most glaring
impossibilities are incessantly admitted, taken
for granted and reconciled. Whence the name
of this kingdom.

Much more wondrous and full of marvels is
it than the famed land of Cockaigne, than the
country of Prester John, than the ground of
Tom Tidier (whose occupation is now gone
in consequence of the discovery of rival
grounds in California and Australia), than
Raleigh's Dorado, than the Arcadia of Stre-
phon and Corydon, Celia and Sacharissa ;
than the fearful country where there are men

" whosie heads

Do grow beneath their shoulders,"

than even the mirabolant land that Jack saw
when he had gotten to the top of the bean-
stalk. The only territorial kingdom that I
can compare it to is one arid even the
duration of that one is fleeting and evanescent,
appearing only for a season, like specks upon
the sun or the floating islands in Windermere
visible and to be travelled in from the end
of December to the end of the following
February, called the Kingdom of Pantomime.
This kingdom, which, at other seasons of the
year, is as rigorously barred and closed against
strangers as China or Japan or the Stock
Exchange, offers many points of resemblance
to the Kingdom of Reconciled Impossibilities.
There is a voyager therein, one Clown, who,
with Pantaloon his friend and dupe and scape-
goat, dances about the streets, insults and
beats respectable shopkeepers, swindles and
robs ready furnished lodgings, leers at virtuous
matrons, commits burglaries and larcenies in
the broad day (or lamp) light, and perpetrates
child-murders by the dozen, yet goes "un-
whipp'd of justice" : nay, he and his con-
federate are rewarded, at last, by an ovation
of fireworks and revolving stars ; as are also
Harlequin, a lewd fellow in a spangled jerkin
and hose, and a dancing girl they call Colum-
bine ; who together play such fantastic tricks
before the footlights as make the gallery roar
such tricks as would be tolerated nowhere
but in a Kingdom of Impossibilities. For in
all other kingdoms, theft of fish or sausage
were it even the smallest gudgeon or the

Charles i)ickc ns .] THE KINGDOM OF RECONCILED IMPOSSIBILITIES.

103

most infinitesimal saveloy is three months
at least, and robbery in a dwelling-house is
felony ; and to force a respectable white-
bearded man with a crutch stick and an im-
pediment in his speech to cast involuntary
sommersaults, and to make him sit down
oftener on a hard surface than he wishes, is
an assault punishable by fine or imprison-
ment ; and the cutting up, mutilating, smother-
ing, or thrusting into a letter-box of a baby is
Murder.

In all other kingdoms, likewise, as we are
well aware, vice is always vanquished and
virtue rewarded ultimately ; but in the King-
dom of Reconciled Impossibilities, as well as in
that of pantomime, nothing of the kind takes
place. In this former one, innocent, we are
frequently condemned to death, or to excru-
ciating tortures. Masters, we are slaves;
wronged and oppressed, we are always in the
wrong and the oppressors. Though in the
every day kingdom we are perhaps wealthy,
at least in easy circumstances, we are in the
Realms of Impossibility perpetually in difficul-
ties. Moments of inexpressible anguish we
pass, from the want of some particular object
or the non-remembrance of some particular
word : though what the object or the word,
we never have and never had the remotest
idea. Spectres of duties omitted, ghosts of
offences committed, sit at banquets with us ;
and, under circumstances of the greatest
apparent gaiety and joviality, we are nearly
always in sore perturbation of mind and
vexation of spirit.

The kingdom, indeed, is full of tribulations,
impossible yet poignant. Frequently, when
we attempt to sing, our voice dies away in an
inarticulate murmur or a guttural gasp. If
we strive to run, our legs fail under us ; if we
nerve our arm to strike, some malicious
power paralyses our muscles, and the
gladiator's fist falls as lightly as a feather ;
yet, powerless as we are, and unable to beat
the knave who has wronged us, we are our-
selves continually getting punched on the
head, beaten with staves, gashed with swords
and knives. Curiously, though much blood
flows, and we raise hideous lamentations, we
do not suffer much from these hurts. Fre-
quently we are killed shot dead decapi-
tated ; yet we walk and talk shortly after-
wards, as Saint Denis is reported to have
done. Innumerable as the sands of the sea,
are the disappointments we have to endure
in the Kingdom of Impossibilities. Get up
as early as we may, we are sure to miss the
train ; the steamboat always sails without us ;
If we have a cheque to get cashed, the iron-
ribbed shutters of the bank are always up,
when our cab drives to the door, and some-
body near us always says, without being
asked, "Stopped payment!" All boats, ve-
hicles, beasts of burden and other animals,
behave in a similar tantalising and disap-
pointing manner ; tall horses that we drive
or ride, change unaccountably into little dogs,

boats split in the middle, coaches rock up
and down like ships. We walk for miles
without advancing a step ; we write for hours
without getting to the end of a page ; we are
continually beginning and never finishing,' try-
ing and never achieving, searching and never
finding, knocking and not being admitted.

The Kingdom of Impossibilities must be
the home of Ixion and the Danaides and
Sysiphus, and peculiarly of Tantalus. The
number of tubs we are constantly filling, and
which are never full ; and the quantity of stones,
which, as soon as we have rolled them to the
top of a hill, roll down again ; are sufficiently
astonishing; but it is in a tantalising point of
view that the kingdom is chiefly remarkable.
We are for ever bidden to rich banquets not
Barmecide feasts, for the smoking viands and
generous wines are palpable to sight and touch.
But, no sooner are our legs comfortably under
the mahogany, than a something far more
teasing and vexatious than the ebony wand
of Sancho's physician, sends the meats away
unta,sted, the wines unquaffed, changes the
venue to a kingdom of realities. Dear
me ! When I think of the innumerable gra-
tuitous dinners I have sat down to in the Land
of Impossibilities ; of the countless eleemo-
synary spreads to which, with never a sous
in my pocket, I have been made welcome ; of
the real turtle, truffled turkeys, Strasburgh
pies, and odoriferous pineapples, that have
tempted my appetite ; and of the unhandsome
manner in which I have been denied the
enjoyment of the first spoonful of soup, and
of the rude and cavalier process by which
I have been summarily transported to a
kingdom where I am usually expected to pay
for my dinner when I think of these things
I could weep.

Sometimes, though rarely, the rulers of the
Impossible kingdom will permit you to drink
provided always that you have tumbled
(which is exactly your mode of entrance) into
their domains in a desperately parched and
thirsty condition. Cold water is the general
beverage provided, and you are liberally
allowed to drink without cessation to empty
water-jugs, pitchers, decanters, buckets, if you
choose. I have known men who have sucked
a pump for days, nay, have lapped gigantic
quantities of the Falls of Niagara ; but the
Impossible king has mingled one cruel and
malicious condition with his largesse. You
may drink as much as you like, but you must
never quench your thirst, and you must
always wake tumble out of the kingdom, I
mean more thirsty than you wei'e before.

Travelling in this strange country is
mostly accomplished in the night season
" in thoughts from the visions of the night,
when deep sleep falleth upon men." It is
when the kingdom of Life is hushed and
quiescent, when the streets are silent, and
there are none abroad but the watchers and
the houseless, that the Kingdom of Impossi-
bilities wakes up in full noise, and bustle, and

104

HOUSEHOLD WOBDS.

[Conducted by

activity. Yet betimes we are favoured with
a passport for this kingdom in the broad-day
season in the fierce summer heat, when we
retire to cool rooms, there to pay the tribute
of forty winks to the Monarch of the
Impossible : when, as we travel, we can half
discern the green summer leaves waving
through our translucent eyelids, can hear the
murmuring of fountains and the singing of
birds in the kingdom we have come from.
Very pleasant are these day voyages, espe-
cially when we can drowsily hear the laughter
of children playing on a lawn outside.

The Kingdom of Reconciled Impossibilities
is a land of unfulfilled promises, of broken
engagements, of trees for ever blossoming
but never bearing fruit, of jumbles of com-
mencements with never a termination among
them, of prefaces without finises, of dramas
never played out. The unities are not ob-
served in this kingdom. There are a great
many prologues, but no epilogues. It is
all as it ( should not and cannot be. It
snows in July, and the dog-days are in
January. Men sneeze with their feet and
see with their thumbs, like Gargantua. The
literature of the country consists of tales told
by idiots, full of sound and fury, signifying
nothing. The houses are all built without
foundations ; they are baseless fabrics, which,
vanishing, leave not a wreck behind. Every-
thing in the kingdom is impossible.

Impossible, yet reconciled. In no other
Land, certainly, are we so convinced of the
truth of the axiom that, " whatever is, is
right." Against our knowledge, feelings, ex-
perience, and convictions, against all evidence,
oral or ocular, against truth, justice, reason,
or possibility, we smilingly confess that black
is white, that clouds are whales, that the
moon is cheese. We know our brother to
be our brother, yet without difficulty or re-
luctance we admit him to be Captain Cook.
With a full knowledge that what we are
doing can't be, we are pleasantly convinced that
it can be, and that it is, and is right. So we
violate all laws of morality, decorum, inter-
national justice, honesty, and courtesy, with
a comfortable self-consciousness that it is " all
right," and that we are wronging no one.
Quakers have been known in the Kingdom of
Impossibilities to lie in wait for men and
murder them ; nay, to have hidden the bodies
afterwards in corn-bins, or chemists' bottles.
Moral men have eloped with ballet dancers.
Bishops have found themselves at the Cider
Cellars. Judges of the Ecclesiastical Court
have created disturbances at the Casino, and
have wrenched off knockers in company with
jovial proctors and fast old surrogates about
town. There was a cathedral verger once, in
the Kingdom of Impossibilities, who refused
a fee ; there was an Irish Member without a
grievance ; there was a Chanceiy suit decided
to the satisfaction of all parties.

Good men not only become rascals ; but
rascals turn honest men in this astonishing

country. Captain Mac Swindle paid me,
only last night, the five pounds he lias
owed me for fifteen years. I saw the unjust
steward render up a faultless account. All
is not vexatious and disappointing in the
Impossible Kingdom. If it be a kingdom
of unfulfilled promises, it is one of accom-
plished wishes. Sorely pressed for cash in
this sublunar kingdom, no sooner are we
in the other than the exact sum we wished
for, chinks in golden sovereigns, rustles in.
crisp notes, mellifluously whispers in soft-
papered cheques before our eyes, within our
gladsome pockets, or our rejoicing fingers.
We shall be able to meet the little bill ; streets
are no longer stopped up ; the tailor shall
cringe again ; Caroline shall have the velvet
mantle trimmed with sable. Hurrah ! But
alas ! the money of the kingdom that never
can be, and yet always is and will be, is a3
treacherous and deceitful as a will-of-the-wisp,
or an Eastern mirage ; no sooner do we
possess it than we have it not. We wake,
and the shining sovereigns and the rustling
notes have turned into dry leaves, like the
money paid by the magician in the Arabian
JSights.

If the kingdom (to expatiate further on its
advantageous features) be one of tribulations
and disappointments, it is also one of great and
extended privilege. We are pi'ivileged to
walk about unwashed, unshaven, and un-
dressed, to clap kings upon the back, to salute
princesses if we list, to ride blood horses, to fly
higher than the skylark, to visit foreign lands
without a Foreign Office passport,the reference
of a banking firm, or the necessity of being
personally known to the Foreign Secretary.
We have the privilege of being a great many
people and in a great many places at one and
the same time. We have the privilege of
living our lives over again, of undoing the
wrongs we have done, of re-establishing our
old companionship with the dead, and know-
ing their worth much better than we did
before we lost them.

Yes, pre-eminent and radiant stands one
privilege, to the enjoyment of which every
traveller in the land of Reconciled Impossi-
bilities is entitled. He is privileged to behold
the Dead Alive. The King of Terrors has no
power in the domains of the Impossible. The
dead move and speak and laugh, as they
were wont to speak and move and laugh, in the
old days when they were alive, and when we
loved them. They have been dead of course
we know it and they say so but they are
alive now ; and, thanks to the irresistible logic
of the Impossible kingdom, we slightly question
how. These visitors have no grim tales to tell,
no secrets of their prison-house to reveal.
Here, joyful and mirthful as ever, are the
old familiar faces ; the life - blood courses
warmly through the old friendly hands ; dead
babies crow and battle valorously in nurses'
arms ; dead sweethearts smile and blush ;
dead aunts scold ; dead schoolmasters awe ;

Charles Dickens.]

GENTLEMEN AND BULLOCKS.

105

dead boon companions crack the old jokes,
sing the old songs, tell the old stories, till
we WAKE into the kingdom of the Possible ;
and, ah me ! the eye turns to a vacant chair,
a i'aded miniature, a lock of soft hair in
crumpled tissue paper, a broken toy ; while
the mind's vision recurs to a green mound,
and a half effaced stone.

In the regions of the Impossible there
is a population separate, apart, peculiar ;
possible nowhere but in a land of impossi-
bilities. Monstrous phantasies in semi-
human shape, horrible creations, deformed
giants, dwarfs with the heads of beasts ;
shapeless phantoms, hideous life such as the
Ancient Mariner saw on the rotting deep.
Such things pursue us through these regions
with grinning fangs, and poisonous breath ;
kneel on our chests ; wind their sharp talons
in our hair ; gnaw at our throats with horrid
yells. And, apart from the every day scenes
of every day life brought to the reductio ad
absurdum in the Kingdom of Impossibilities,
we tarry betimes in chambers of horrors, in
howling deserts, in icy caverns, in lakes of
fire, in pits of unutterable darkness. Miser-
able men are they who are frequent travel-
lers through these districts of the Impossible
kingdom. They may say with the guilty
Thane

" Better be with the dead

Whom we to gain our place have sent to peace,
Than on the torture of the mind to lie
In restless ecstacy."

If you would leave such countries unex-
plored, lead virtuous lives, take abundant
exercise, be temperate (in the true sense of
the word : not choosing in what, but in every-
thing), and take no man's wrong to bed with
thee no, not for one single night.

GENTLEMEN AND BULLOCKS.

A YOUNG fellow of high connexions, edu-
cated at Sandhurst, and having subsequently
got his commission in one of the "crack "
cavalry regiments (Lancers or Hussars, we
decline to say which), became rapidly inau-
gurated in all the ways of fashionable London
life. He cantered in the Parks, lounged about
the Clubs ; the Opera and Almacks were his,
with their songs, and dances, and winning
smiles. He hunted, he shot, he raced, he
gamed, he drank, and " all that," until one
morning his father sent for him. He had been
allowed five hundred a year, besides his pay,
and he had been living at the rate of five
thousand as near as it could be calculated.
What his father said was to this effect :
"Arthur, you're going to the devil, and I
must stop you. Sell out directly, sii% and
leave the country for three years. I'll pay
your debts here, and allow you just enough
to live. Learn to do something for yourself ;
and come back in your right senses." So, the

young cornet sold his commission, and sailed
for Australia.

Not intending to go to the Diggings, and
hearing that Sydney was a far nicer place
to reside in than dust -driving Melbourne
(" which nobody can deny, deny "), he landed
at that place, and after a short stay to
recover so long a voyage, he rode up into the
bush some hundred miles. He was a pretty
good judge of a horse, and had something in
his head that way. Horses brought high
prices in Melbourne, and if he could get them
over land there, it might be " doing something
for himself," as his father had recommended.

At East Maitland, about a hundred and fifty
miles from Sydney, he chanced to fall in with a
young fellow about his own age ; and, after
what they considered " mature deliberation,"
they agreed to purchase not horses, but four
hundred head of bullocks, engage a bullock-
driver to help in the work, and drive them
over land to Melbourne. The distance by a
direct route, and using roads, would not
exceed five or six hundred miles ; but, as they
would have to go winding and zig-zagging
and crossing hills and swamps and fields and
creeks in order to find constant food and water
for the cattle, the distance would not be far
short of nine hundred, or a thousand miles.
They purchased the bullocks, engaged a
regular bullock-driver (the driving of these
horned gentry, whether loose or yoked, being
a special art, needing considerable practice),
and off they started.

Besides the four hundred bullocks, they had
nine horses, and a dray. Three of the horses
they rode, three were attached to the dray, and
the remaining three they drove loose in the
rear of the b.u Hocks, on the flank, or as they
liked to go. The dray was laden with some
bags of oats for the horses, provisions for
three men, a change of outer clothing, two
changes of under clothing, blankets, spare
harness, cordage, hobbles, two double-barrelled
guns, a rifle, and a few tools such as wood-
axes, knives, a spade, hammer, and nails.

Day after day, through the solitudes of the
bush, pleasingly varied at times by miles of
bog, br leagues of swamp, amidst which they
had to sleep, or get such rest in the night as
they could, our two young gentlemen accom-
modated themselves to studying the un-
couth mysteries of " stock-driving ;" aiding
and assisting their professor elect in all
his countless exigencies and requirements.
Our cornet, who was the principal proprietor
of all these moving horns, was scarcely one-
and- twenty, and, moreover, looked still
younger than he was. His friend Wentworth
was about twenty-five, of fair complexion,
and apparently of no great strength. The
bullock-driver was a rough, sun-browned,
brawny, bearded old colonial and bush-man.
He did not conceal his contempt for the
capacities of his gentlemen companions, nor
his opinion of the fate that awaited them.
He told them, in his abrupt, gruff, jocular

.105

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

way, that they'd never see Melbourne. He
should bur} r them both in the bush, and take
on the bullocks. They wished him a good
market for them on his arrival, and drank
his health ou the spot in a " nobbier " of
brandy from the keg in the dray.

The most exhausting part of the work was
the necessity of the " stock " being watched
by night, because while many lie down during
a long journey, others wander about grazing.
Sometimes a few of them stray into a bog or
deep swamp, or feel disposed to do so, while
others have a special fancy for swimming a
creek. The three " drovers" kept watches of
two hours duration, in turn.

On one occasion, when it was the bullock-
driver's watch, he thought fit, in the greatness
of his experience, to consider that it was " all
right ; " whereupon he rolled himself up in his
blanket, and went fast asleep. Some time after,
our cornet awoke saw the watch now lying
rolled up looked about, listened, and became
satisfied that a number of bullocks had strayed
across the creek, and that more were follow-
ing them. Finding it impossible to arouse the
professional gentleman to any activity, or
apparent understanding of the case, he shook
Wentworth, and told him what had happened.
" What shall we do 1 " said his friend. " We
must swim the creek and go after them," said
the cornet. " All right ! " answered the
other. Up they got, swam the creek in
their clothes, carrying their long boots in
their mouths and went after the bullocks.

The beasts were far ahead, and set off, as
soon as they found who was upon their track.
What with windings and doubles, and some
going in one direction, and some in another, the
pursuers had to follow the bullocks eighteen
miles before they brought them all together
(except three, who were lost) back to the
creek. Having driven them in, the two
amateur drovers were about to follow, when
Wentworth said he was too tired to carry his
boots over in his teeth, as they filled with
water and dragged behind, so he attempted
to whirl them over across the creek. They
fell short of the bank, and were carried down
the stream.

Arrived 011 the other side, the swimmers
rested an hour or two, and then proceeded on
their journey. The boggy state of the ground
was such that they could scarcely get the
dray through it, and continually expected to
have to throw everything away of its load
excepting the oats and their little store of
provisions. Weutworth could not, therefore,
be taken into the dray, and he had to follow
barefoot. He did the same all the next day
when the ground changed to uneven rocks
and stones, and cracks and holes, and his feet
were cut and bleeding during twelve hours ;
but not one word of complaint escaped his
lips. The ensuing morning, at daybreak,
they " came upon " an old pair of shoes that
had been thrown away, and Wentworth was
a happy man.

They had now been seveu weeks on the
road, and soon after the little event of the
creek, just recorded, our cornet, who was a
masterly horseman, placed himself at the head
of the concern : taking the lead on all occasions
of difficulty, and continually " ordering coves
about," as the bullock-driver morosely com-
plained. Finding his "art" thus distanced,
and comparatively taken out of his hands, the
latter personage announced his intention of
immediately withdrawing his services. The
cornet said, Well, he could go. All right,
old boy. Good day ! The bullock-driver
wanted to be paid. Cornet said he could not
easily manage it, as he and Wentworth had
only thirteen shillings and sixpence between
them at this present. He might take that.
The bullock-driver said he couldn't take that.
There was no alternative, so he went on, and
gradually became more reconciled, and even
tried to make himself agreeable.

In this way they journeyed, making as
much ground as they could by day, and turn-
ing aside towards evening to find pasture for
the stock, and such quantity of sleep for
themselves, in turn, as the wandering fancies
of the beasts would permit. Thus passed
days upon days without their meeting a single
human being, and sometimes they met no
one for weeks. When they did fall in with
anybody, it would be a shepherd, or squatter,
or stock-keeper, perhaps only seen a mile or
two distant ; or they would i^eet a party of the
Aborigines. On one occasion seveu of these
advanced with spears (they are fatal marks-
men), but the cornet's rifle was up in a trice.
He would in all probability have " potted "
the foremost of them, if they had not all
instantly scurried into the bush.

They were now in the third month of their
journey. Their first suit of clothes had been
quite worn out, and flung away, and the re-
maining suit was in rags. As for the cornet,
he was reduced to his shirt-sleeves and half
a waistcoat : he had ridden the seat off his
corduroys, and the legs hung in shreds and
tatters.

One morning, about daybreak, being fast
asleep, and having had a hard night's work
in riding after stragglers, Cornet Arthur
was rather disturbed by a strange voice
calling out " I say, young man ! " The place
where they were, was a shed near a hut
belonging to a sheep station, and the cornet
being far more comfortable than usual, de-
clined to notice the overture ; but the fellow
persisted, till the sleeper opened his eyes and
yawned at him with no very grateful gesture.
This fellow was a butcher on horseback, carry-
ing a long riding whip with a hook at one
end. " I say, young man," said he, " where 's
your master ? " Our cornet drowsily re-
marked that he was pretty well his own
master out there, and he fancied those
bullocks belonged to him. " Now, you be
blowad," said the butcher. Cornet told him
he could not be bio wed (and wouldn't if he

FRESH AIR IN FINSBURY.

107

could, as he saw no reason for it), and turning
his back addressed himself again to sleep.
" This won't suit me, young man," shouted the
butcher, " I tell you I want to bid for some
o' they beasts. I want that wide hoop-horu'd
'un they three red staggy horns the straw-
berry snail-horn, and the dirty- black big 'un
a-lying down. Get up, can't you. Don't lay
there like a precious naked /tape, but be
smart ! " So saying the butcher dismounted
and began to molest the sleeper in a rude and
ridiculous way with the hook end of his whip,
using very rough language ; whereupon our
cornet arose, and " polished him off " in first-
rate style, being a fair boxer. The butcher,
after a few rounds, deliberately remounted
his horse, sat in his saddle looking at his
" young man " then said, " Well, Tm
blowed ! " and rode away.

They had some very cold weather about
this time, especially during the nights,
and they lost six of their horses, almost en-
tirely from the cold, as they had no means of
sheltering them. After this, the remaining
three horses being needed for the dray, they
followed the drove of bullocks on foot, for
nearly a month. The few clothes that had
remained to them were torn piecemeal from
their bodies in passing through the low scrub
and swampy osier beds, till our cornet's sole
personal effects were a pair of stocking-legs
and a tooth-brush. This latter very useful
article had been found loose in the dray, and
was displayed as a trophy.

They lost upwards of a hundred bullocks
in the bogs and swamps, or by straying away
in the night. Following oil foot was a great
disadvantage, to say nothing of the work. At
length they approached a little bush inn, and
a burly old brown-bearded fellow, pleasantly
drunk, issued forth to meet them, crying out,
" My name's Jem Bowles glasses round ! "
He made them all have nobblers of brandy,
and plenty to eat, and got them some clothes
enough to ride in and three good bush horses
in exchange for bullocks. He made them
stay there a day and night at his expense.
He had taken a great liking to the cornet.
But he often took likings, and habitually
treated everybody. (i Glasses round ! "

Jem Bowles was a great stock-keeper, aad
well known on the road. It was his habit
to " drink his bullocks " on the way to market,
and then to return home. He had been known
to drink seventy head, in a few da,ys, at one
bush inn. Of course he was robbed, as he
kept no 'count of the " glasses round " to
which he treated everybody all day long. He
was now drinking his last ten head of
bullocks.

Our cornet and his colleagues being once
more horsed, proceeded on their way, uproar-
iously grateful to Jem Bowles, and eventually
reached Melbourne, leaving the dray behind
them in the bush, where it had at last " given
in," wheel and axle. The journey had taken
them nearly four months. They had lost, in

all, eight horses, and a hundred and three
bullocks : the remainder, nevertheless, sold
well. After paying all expenses, including
everything, our cornet made, as his share,
above one hundred pounds profit. Little
enough for such labour ; but still very good
as the first earnings of a " young man." The
very same day, he met in the street the butcher
whose hide he had tanned in the bush ; and
the butcher touched his hat to him. This is
a fragment of Australian life.

CHIPS.

FRESH AIE IN FINSBURY.

WE may yet see men with fresh daisies in
their mouths and fresh air unexhausted in
their lungs walking along Cheapside ; for
there is great hope of a park within sound
of Bow bells : a park so large that visitors
need never be requested upon large boards
at the entrance not to pluck the daisies.
Four hundred and seventy acres can be had
for the proposed Albert Park, Finsbury ; the
present Government cheerfully aids the
scheme ; the last approved it, and so did the
Government before. It was not, however,
quite in accordance with the declared princi-
ples of one member of the late administration,
who suggested that four hundred and seventy
acres were too much, and who talked of one
hundred and sixty-five. In the names of
all the pale-faced needlewomen in the lanes
of Clerkenwell, of all tradesmen unable to
afford suburban villas, all the sallow clerks
and housekeepers, men-servants, and maid-
servants, who feed on City pots of mignionette
displayed on smoky ledges of back windows,
we beg that there may be no stint in the
dimensions of the City park. Air cannot be
had without space.

" How bountiful, how wonderful

Thou art, sweet Air !
And yet, albeit thine odours lie
On every gust that mocks the eye,
"We pass the gentle blessing by

Without a care."

We must do our utmost to send out of town
dead bodies, and to bring into town the living
turf, trees, flowers, and sweet air.

Expense ought to be no hindrance. When
the notion of the park was first started,
there was land to be had for a hundred and
fifty pounds an acre, which would now fetch
a thousand ; for, the site of the park being
known, land steadily rises in value. While
we v-ait, therefore, money is wasting, and it
must not be grudged.

Awild theury like that mentioned in aformer
number of this Journal for an establishment
which also was to be called an Albert Park,
including another Crystal Palace as one of
the leastparts of the scheme, with colleges,
halls, factories, and organs in the air, is of
course dissipated instantly and very properly

108

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

by the mere sound of the letters L. s. d. : and
here let us mention that the imaginative
projector of that scheme must in no way be
identified with Mr. Lloyd, the indefatigable
promoter of the Finsbury park.

THE FEAST OF LIFE.

A BANQUET is spread for small and great,

A feast for the world of men ;
Where the monarch reclines in purple state,

And the famished within his ken.
The blushing red wine flows freely around,

And tinges the veins of all ;
And the same merry notes of sweet music sound

Through the breadth of the world-wide hall.

There are infants of days, and the aged in years,

The silver and raven tress ;
There are eyes that are swimming deep in tears,

And that sparkle with joyousness.
There are features of beauty and forms of grace,

And smiles like the rays of stars ;
And many a scarred and lowering face

Is seamed with hideous scars.

The viands are rich for the favoured few,

And dainties allure their taste;
And the same are spread for the humbler crew,

But for many are spread in waste.
They fatten the first into lusty health,

And lighten their hearts with mirth ;
But they poison the blood of the latter by stealth,

And plenty is worse than dearth.

Ye happy ones ! how, since my riddle is said,

Can this marvellous difference be ?
Ye falteringly tell me, the riddle is read

Of this poisonous revelry.
Ay ! life is a banquet that 's spread for all,

Of which all must perforce partake ;
But its dainties are turned into wormwood and gall,

For the hearts that are heavy and ache.

STOPPED PAYMENT, AT CKANFOED.

WAS the "poor Peter" of Cranford the
Aga Jenkyns of Chunderabaddad, or was
he not? As somebody says, that was the
question.

In my own home, whenever people had
nothing else to do, they blamed me for want
of discretion. Indiscretion was my bugbear
fault. Everybody has a bugbear fault ; a
sort of standing characteristic a piece de
resistance for their friends to cut at ; and in
general they cut and came again. I was tired
of being called indiscreet and incautious ; and
I determined for once to prove myself a
model of prudence and wisdom. I would
not even hint my suspicions respecting the
Aga. I would collect evidence and carry
it home to lay before my father, as the
family friend of the two Miss Jenkyns's. In my
search after facts I was often reminded of a
description my father had once given of a
Ladies' Committee that he had had to preside
over. He said he could not help thinking

of a passage in Hood, which spoke of a
ihorus in which every man took the tune
he knew best, and sang it to his own satis-
faction.

So, at this charitable committee, every
lady took the subject uppermost in her mind,
and talked about it to her own great content-
ment, but not much to the advancement of
the subject they had met to discuss. But
even that committee could have been nothing
to the Cranford ladies when I attempted to
gain some clear and definite information as
to poor Peter's height, appearance, and
when and where he was seen and heard of
last. For instance, I remember asking Miss
Pole (and I thought the question was very
opportune, for I put it when I met her at a
call at Mrs. Forrester's, and both the ladies
had known Peter, and I imagined that they
might refresh each other's memories) ; I asked
Miss Pole what was the very last thing they
had ever heard about him ; and then she
named the absurd report to which I have
alluded, about his having been elected great
Lama of Thibet ; and this was a signal for
each lady to go off on her separate idea.
Mrs. Forrester's start was made on the
Veiled Prophet in Lalla Eookh, whether I
thought he was meant for the Great Lama,
though Peter was not so ugly, indeed rather
handsome if he had not been freckled. I was
thankful to see her double upon Peter ; but, in
a moment, the delusive lady was off upon Bow-
land's Kalydor, and the merits of cosmetics
and hair oils in general, and holding forth so
fluently that I turned to listen to Miss Pole,
who, (through the llamas, the beasts of burden)
had got to Peruvian bonds, and the Share
Market, and her poor opinion of joint-stock
banks in general, and of that one in par-
ticular in which Miss Matey's money was
invested. In vain I put in, " When was it
in what year was it that you heard that
Mr. Peter was the Great Lama ? " They
only joined issue to dispute whether llamas
were carnivorous animals or not, in which
dispute they were not quite on fair grounds,
as Mrs. Forrester (after they had grown
warm and cool again,) acknowledged that she
always confused carnivorous and gramini-
vorous together, just as she did horizontal
and perpendicular ; but then she apologised
for it very prettily, by saying that in her day
the only use people made of four-syllabled
words was to teach how they should be spelt.
The only fact I gained from this conversation
was that certainly Peter had last been heard
of in India, " or that neighbourhood ; " and
that this scanty intelligence of his where-
abouts had reached Cranford in the year when
Miss Pole had bought her India muslin
gown, long since worn out ; we washed it and
mended it, and traced its decline and fall into
a window-blind before we could go on ; and
in a year when Wombwell came to Cranford,
because Miss Matey had wanted to see an
elephant in order that she might the better

Charles Dickens,]

STOPPED PAYMENT, AT CRANFORD.

imagine Peter riding on one ; and had seen a
boa-constrictor too, which was more than she
wished to imagine in her fancy pictures of
Peter's locality ; and in a year when Miss
Jenkyns had learnt some piece of poetry off by
heart, and used to say, at all the Cranford
parties, how Peter was surveying mankind
from China to Peru, which everybody had
thought very grand and rather appropriate,
because India was between China and Peru,
if you took care to turn the globe to the left
instead of the right.

I suppose all these enquiries of mine, and
the consequent curiosity excited in the minds
of my friends, made us blind and deaf to what
was going on around us. It seemed to me
as if the sun rose and shone, and as if the
rain rained on Cranford just as usual, and I
did not notice any sign of the times that
could be considered as a prognostic of any
uncommon event ; and to the best of my
belief, not only Miss Matey and Mrs. For-
rester, but even Miss Pole herself, whom we
looked upon as a kind of prophetess from the
knack she had of foreseeing things before
they came to pass although she did not like
to disturb her friends by telling them her
fore-knowledge even Miss Pole herself was
breathless with astonishment, when she came
to tell us of the astounding piece of news.
But I must recover myself ; the contempla-
tion of it even at this distance of time has
taken away my breath and my grammar,
and unless I subdue my emotion, my spelling
will go too.

We were sitting Miss Matey and I much
as usual ; she in the blue chintz easy chair,
with her back to the light, and her knitting
in her hand I reading aloud the newspaper
before named in Cranford visiting ; a few
minutes more and we should have gone to
make the little alterations in dress usual
before calling time (twelve o'clock) in Cran-
ford. I remember the scene and the date
well ; we had been talking of the Signer's
rapid recovery since the warmer weather had
set in, and praising Mr. Hoggins's skill, and
lamenting his want of refinement and manner
(it seems a curious coincidence that this
should have been our subject, but so it was)
when a knock was heard ; a caller's knock
three distinct taps and we were flying (that
is to say Miss Matey could not walk very fast,
having had a touch of rheumatism) to our
rooms to change cap and collai-s, when Miss
Pole arrested vis by calling out as she came
up the stairs, " Don't go I can't wait it is
not twelve, I know, but never mind your
dress ; I must speak to you." We did our
best to look as if it was not we who had
made the hurried movement, the sound of
which she had heard ; for of course we did
not like to have it supposed that we had any
old clothes that it was convenient to wear
out in the "sanctuary of home," as Miss
Jeukyns once prettily called the back parlour,
where she was tying up preserves. So we

threw our gentility with double force into
our manners, and very genteel we were for
two minutes while Miss Pole recovered
breath, and excited our curiosity strongly by
lifting up her hands in amazement, and
bringing them down in silence, as if what she
had to say was too big for words, and could
only be expressed by pantomime.

" What do you think, Miss Matey 1 What
do you think 1 Lady Glenmire is to marry
is to be married, I mean Lady Glenmire
Mr. Hoggins Mr. Hoggins is going to marry
Lady Glenmire."

" Marry ! " said we. " Marry ! Madness ! "

" Marry ! " said Miss Pole with the decision
that belonged to her character. " I said
Marry ! as you do ; and I also said, What a
fool my lady is going to make of herself. I
could have said ' Madness ! ' but I controlled
myself, for it was in a public shop that I heard
of it. Where feminine delicacy is gone to I
don't know. You and I, Miss Matey, would
have been ashamed to have known that our
marriage was spoken of in a grocer's shop, in
the hearing of shopmen ! "

"But," said Miss Matey, sighing as one
recovering from a blow, " perhaps it is not
true. Perhaps we are doing her injustice."

" No ! " said Miss Pole. " I have taken
care to ascertain that. I went straight to
Mrs. Fitz Adam, to borrow a cookery book
which I knew she had ; and I introduced my
congratulations apropos of the difficulty
gentlemen must have in house-keeping ; and
Mrs. Fitz Adam bridled up, and said that she
believed it was true, though how and where
I could have heard it she did not know. She
said her brother and Lady Glenmire had come
to an understanding at last. ' Understanding ! '
such a coarse word ! But my lady will have
to come down to many a want of refinement,
I have reason to believe Mr. Hoggins sups on
bread and cheese and beer every night."

" Marry ! " said Miss Matey once again.
" Well ! I never thought of it. Two people
that we know going to be married. It's
coming very near ! "

So near that my heart stopped beating
when I heard of it while you might have
counted twelve.

" One does not know whose turn may come
next. Here in Cranford poor Lady Glen-
mire might have thought herself safe," said
Miss Matey with gentle pity in her tones.

" Bah ! " said Miss Pole with a toss of her
head. " Don't you remember poor dear
Captain Brown's song Jibbie Fowler, and
the line

' Set her on the Tintorle Tap,

The wind will bkw a man 'till her.'"

" That was because Jibbie Fowler was rich,
I think."

" Well ! there is a kind of attraction about
Lady Glenmire that I, for one, should be
ashamed to have."

I put in my wonder. " But how can she

110

HOUSEHOLD WOKDS.

[Conducted by

have fancied Mr. Hoggins 1 I am not
surprised that Mr. Hoggins has liked her."

" Oh ! I don't know. Mr. Hoggins is rich,
and very pleasant looking," said Miss Matey,
"and very good-tempered aud kind-hearted."

"She has married for an establishment,
that's it. I suppose she takes the surgery
with it," said Miss Pole, with a little dry
laugh at her own joke. But, like many people
who think they have made a severe and
sarcastic speech, which yet is clever of its
kind, she began to relax in her grimness from
the moment when she made this allusion to
the surgery ; and we turned to speculate on
the way in which Mrs. Jamieson would receive
the news. The person whom she had left in
charge of her house to keep off followers from
her maids, to set up a follower of her own !
And that follower a man whom Mrs. Jamieson
had tabooed as vulgar, and inadmissible to
Cranford society ; not merely on account of
his name, but because of his voice, his com-
plexion, his boots, smelling of the stable, and
himself, smelling of drugs. Had he ever
been to see Lady Glenmire at Mrs. Jamieson's ?
Chloride of lime would not purify the house la-
its owner's estimation if he had. Or had their
interviews been confined to the occasional
meetings in the chamber of the poor sick
conjuror, to whom, with all our sense of the
mesalliance, we could not help allowing that
they had both been exceedingly kind? And
now it turned out that a servant of Mrs.
Jamieson's had been ill, and Mr. Hoggins had
been attending her for some weeks. So the
wolf had got into the fold, and now he was
carrying off the shepherdess. What would
Mrs. Jamiesou say ? We looked into the
darkness of futurity as a child gazes after a
rocket up in the cloudy sky, full of wondering
expectation of the rattle, the discharge, and
the brilliant shower of sparks and light. Then
we brought ourselves down to earth and the
present time, by questioning each other
(being all equally ignorant, and all equally
without the slightest data to build any con-
clusions upon) as to when IT would take
place ? Where ? How much a year Mr.
Hoggins had ? Whether she would drop her
title ? And how Martha and the other cor-
rect servants in Cranford would ever be
brought to announce a married couple as
Lady Glenmire and Mr. Hoggins ? But would
they be visited ? Would Mrs. Jamieson let
us ? Or must we choose between the Honour-
able Mrs. Jamieson and the degraded Lady
Glenmire. We all liked Lady Glenmire the
best. She was bright, and kind, and sociable,
and agreeable ; and Mrs. Jamieson was dull,
and inert, and pompous, and tiresome. But
we had acknowledged the sway of the latter
EO long, that it seemed like a kind of dis-
loyalty now even to meditate disobedience to
the prohibition we anticipated.

Mrs. Forrester surprised us in our darned
cops and patched collars ; and we forgot all
about them in our eagerness to see how she

would bear the information, which we honour-
ably left to Miss Pole td impart, although, ii
we had been inclined to take unfair advan-
tage we might have rushed in ourselves, for
she had a most out-of-place fit of coughing
for five minutes after Mrs. Forrester entered
the room. I shall never forget the imploring
expression of her eyes, as she looked at us
over her pocket-handkerchief. They said as
plain as words could speak, " Don't let Nature
deprive me of the treasure which is mine,
although for a time I can make no use of it."
And we did not. Mrs. Forrester's surprise
was equal to ours ; and her sense of injury
rather greater, because she had to feel for
her Order, and saw more fully than we could
do how such conduct brought stains on the
aristocracy. When she and Miss Pole left
us, we endeavoured to subside into calmness ;
but Miss Matey was really upset by the intel-
ligence she had heard. She reckoned it up, and
it was more than fifteen years since she had
heard of any of her acquaintance going to be
married, with the one exception of Miss Jessie
Brown ; and as she said, it gave her quite a
shock, and made her feel as if she could not
think what would happen next. I don't
know if it is a fancy of mine, or a real fact,
but I have noticed that just after the an-
nouncement of an engagement in any set, the
unmarried ladies in that set flutter out in an
unusual gaiety and newness of dress, as
much as to say, in a tacit and unconscious
manner, " We also are spinsters." Miss Matey
and Miss Pole talked and thought more about
bonnets, gowns, caps, and shawls, during the
fortnight that succeeded this call, than I had
known them do for years before. But it
might be the spring weather, for it was a
warm and pleasant March ; and merinoes
and beavers, and woollen materials of all sorts
were but ungracious receptacles of the bright
sun's glancing rays. It had not been Lady
Glenmire's dress that had won Mr. Hoggins's
heart, for she went about on her errands of
kindness more shabby than ever ; although
in the hurried glimpses I caught of her
at church or elsewhere, she seemed rather
to shun meeting any of her friends ; her
face seemed to have almost something of
the flush of youth in it ; her lips looked
redder, and more trembling full than in their
old compressed state, and her eyes dwelt on
all things with a lingering light, as if she
was learning to love Cranford and its belong-
ings. Mr. Hoggins looked broad and radiant,
and creaked up the middle aisle at church in
a bran-new pair of top-boots, an audible, as
well as visible, sign of his purposed change
of state ; for the tradition went that the boots
he had worn till now were the identica 1 pair
in which he first set out on his rounds in
Cranford twenty-five years ago ; only they
had been new-pieced, nigh and low, top and
bottom, heel and sole, black leather and
brown leather, more times than any one could
tell.

Cha-rlea l)!cbcn.]

STOPPED PAYMENT, AT CRANFOBD.

Ill

None of the ladies in Cranford chose to
sanction the marriage by congratulating
either of the parties. We wished to ignore the
whole affair until our liege lady, Mrs. Jamie-
son, returned. Until she came back to give
us our cue, we felt that it would be better to
consider the engagement in the same light
as the Queen of Spain's legs ; facts which
certainly existed, but the less said about
the better. This restraint upon our tongues
for you see if we did not speak about it to
any of the parties concerned, how could we
get answers to the questions that we longed
to ask ? was beginning to be irksome, and
our idea of the dignity of silence was paling
before our curiosity, when another direc-
tion was given to our thoughts, by an
announcement on the part of the principal
shopkeeper of Cranford, who ranged the
trades from grocer and cheesemonger to man-
milliner as occasion required, that the spring
fashions were arrived, and would be exhibited
on the following Tuesday at his rooms in
High Street. Now Miss Matey had been
only waiting for this before buying herself
u new silk gown. I had offered, it is true,
to send to Drumble for patterns, but she had
rejected my proposal, gently implying that
she had not forgotten her disappointment
about the sea-green turban. I was thankful
that I was on the spot now to counteract the
dazzling fascination of any yellow or scarlet
silk. I must say a little about myself. I
have spoken of my father's old friendship for
the Jenkyns' family ; indeed, I am not sure
if there was not some distant relationship.
He had willingly allowed me to remain all
the winter at Cranford, in consideration of a
letter which Miss Matey had written to him
about the time of the panic, in which I suspect
she had exaggerated my powers and my
bravery as a defender of the house. But now
that the days were longer and more cheerful,
he was beginning to urge the necessity of my
return ; and I only delayed in a sort of odd
forlorn hope that if I could obtain any clear
information, I might make the account given
by the Signora of the Aga Jeukyns tally
with that of poor Peter, his appearance and
disappearance, which I had winnowed out of
the conversation of Miss Pole and Mrs. For-
rester.

The very Tuesday morning on which Mr.
Johnson was going to show fashions, the post-
woman brought two letters to the house. I
say the post-woman, but I should say the
postman's wife ; he was a lame shoemaker,
a very clean honest man, much respected in
the town ; but he never brought the letters
round except on unusual occasions, such as
Christmas Day, and Good Friday ; and on
those days the "letters which should have been
delivered at eight in the morning did not
make their appearance until two or three in
the afternoon ; for every one liked poor
Thomas, and gave him a welcome on these
festive occasions. He used to say, " he was

welly stawed wi' eating, for there were three
or four houses where nowt would serve Yrn
but he must share in their breakfast," and by
the time he had done his last breakfast he
came to some other friend who was beginning
dinner ; but come what might in the way of
temptation, Tom was always sober, civil, and
smiling ; and, as Miss Jenkyns used to say,
it was a lesson in patience that she doubted
not would call out that precious quality in
some minds, where but for Thomas it might
have lain dormant and undiscovered. Patience
was certainly very latent in Miss Jenkyns's
mind. She was always expecting letters,
and always drumming on the table till the
post-woman had called or gone past. On
Christmas Day and Good Friday she drummed
from breakfast till church, from church-time
till two o'clock, unless when the fire wanted
stirring, when she invariably knocked down
the fire-irons, and scolded Miss Matey for it.
But equally certain was the hearty welcome
and the good dinner for Thomas ; Miss Jen-
kyns standing over him like a bold dragoon,
questioning him as to his children what they
were doing, what school they went to ; up-
braiding him if another was likely to make
its appearance, but sending even the little
babies the shilling and the mince-pie which
was her gift to all the children, with half-a-
crown in addition for both father and mother.
The Post was not half of so much consequence
to dear Miss Matey ; but not for the world
would she have diminished Thomas's welcome,
and his dole, though I could see that she felt
rather shy over the ceremony which had been
regarded by Miss Jenkyns as a glorious op-
portunity for giving advice and benefiting
her fellow-creatures. Miss Matey would
steal the money all in a lump into his hand,
as if she were ashamed of herself. Miss Jen-
kyns gave him each individual coin separate,
with a " There ! that's for yourself ; that's
for Jenny," &c. Miss Matey would even
beckon Martha out of the kitchen while he
ate his food ; and once to 'my knowledge
winked at its rapid disappearance into a blue
cotton pocket-handkerchief. Miss Jenkyns
almost scolded him if he did not leave a clean
plate, however heaped it might have been,
and gave an injunction with every mouthful.
I have wandered a long way from the two
letters that awaited us on the breakfast-table
that Tuesday morning. Mine was from my
father. Miss Matey's was printed. My
father's was just a man's letter ; I mean it
was very dull, and gave no information beyond
that he was well, that they had had a good
deal of rain, that trade was very stagnant,
and many disagreeable rumours afloat. He
then asked me, if I knew whether Miss
Matey still retained her shares in the Town
and County Bank, as there were very unplea-
sant reports about it ; though nothing more
than he had always foreseen, and had pro-
phesied to Miss Jenkins years ago, when she
would invest their little property in it ; the

112

HOUSEHOLD WOHDS.

[Conducted hy

only unwise step that clever woman had ever
taken to his knowledge (the only time she
ever acted against his advice, I knew). How-
ever, if anything had gone wrong, of course I
was not to think of leaving Miss Matey while
I could be of any use, &c.

" Who is your letter from, my dear ?
Mine is a very civil invitation signed Edwin
Wilson, asking me to attend an important
meeting of the shareholder's of the Town and
County Bank, to be held in Drumble, on
Thursday the twenty-first. I am sure it is
very attentive of them to remember me."

I did not like to hear of this " important
meeting," for though I did not know much
about business, I feared it confirmed what my
father said ; however, I thought ill news
always came fast enough, so I resolved to say
nothing about my alarm, and merely told her
that my father was well, and sent his kind
regards to her. She kept turning over, and
admiring her letter.

" I remember their sending one to Deborah
just like this, but that I did not wonder at,
for everybody knew she was so clear-headed.
I am afraid I could not help them much ;
indeed, if they came to accounts 1 should be
quite in the way, for I never could do sums
in my head. Deborah, I know, rather wished
to go, and went so far as to order a new bon-
net for the occasion ; but when the time came
she had a bad cold ; so they sent her a very
polite account of what they had done. Chosen
a Director, I think it was. Do you think
they want me to help them to choose a Di-
rector ? I am sure I should choose your
father at once."

" My father has no shares in the Bank,"
said I.

" Oh, no ! I remember ! He objected very
much to Deborah's buying any, I believe.
But she was quite the woman of business, and
always judged for herself, and here, you see,
they have paid eight per cent, all these years."

It was a very uncomfortable subject to me
with my half-knowledge ; so I thought I
would change the conversation, and I asked
at what time she thought we had better go
and see the fashions. " Well, my dear," she
said, " the thing is this ; it is not etiquette to
go till after twelve, but then, you see, all
Cranford will be there, and one does not like
to be too curious about dress and trimmings
and caps, with all the world looking on. It
is never genteel to be over-curious on these
occasions ; Deborah had the knack of always
looking as if the latest fashion was nothing
new to her ; a manner she had caught from
Lady Arley, who did see all the new modes
in London, you know. So I thought we
would just slip down this morning soon after
breakfast ; for I do want half a pound of tea ;
and then we could go up and examine the
things at our leisure, and see exactly how my
new silk gown must be made ; and then, after
twelve, we could go with our minds disen-
gaged, and free from thoughts of dress."

We began to talk of Miss Matey's new silk
gown ; I discovered that it would be really
the first time in her life that she had had to
choose anything of consequence for herself ;
for Miss Jenkyns had always been the more
decided character, whatever her taste might
have been ; and it is astonishing how such
people carry the world before them by the
mere force of will. Miss Matey anticipated
the sight of the glossy folds with as much
delight as if the five sovereigns set apart for
the purchase could buy all the silks in the
shop ; and (remembering my own loss of
two hours in a toy-shop before I could tell
on what wonder to spend a silver threepence)
I was very glad that we were going early,
that dear Miss Matey might have leisure for
the delights of perplexity.

If a happy sea-green could be met with, the
gown was to be sea-green ; if not, she inclined
to maize, and I to silver grey ; and we dis-
cussed the requisite number of breadths until
we arrived at the shop-door. We were to
buy the tea, select the silk, and then clamber
up the iron corkscrew stairs that led into what
was once a loft, though now a fashion show-
room.

The young men at Mr. Johnson's had on,
their best looks, and their best cravats, and
pivotted themselves over the counter with
surprising activity. They wanted to show us
upstairs at once, but on the principle of
business first and pleasure afterwards, we
stayed to purchase the tea. Here Miss
Matey's absence of mind betrayed itself. If
she was made aware that she had been drink-
ing green tea at any time, she always thought
it her duty to lie awake half through the
night afterward ; (I have known her take it
in ignorance many a time without such
effects), and consequently green tea was pro-
hibited the house ; yet to-day she herself
asked for the obnoxious article, under the
impression that she was talking about the
silk. However, the mistake was soon recti-
fied ; and then the silks were unrolled in
good truth. By this time the shop was
pretty well filled, for it was Crauford market-
day, and many of the farmers and country
people from the neighbourhood round came
in, sleeking down their hair, and glancing
shyly about from under their eyelids, as
anxious to take back some notion of the un-
usual gaiety to the mistress or the lasses at
home, and yet feeling that they were out of
place among the smart shopmen and gay
shawls, and summer prints. One honest-
looking man, however, made his way up to
the counter at which we stood, and boldly
asked to look at a shawl or two. The
other country folk confined themselves to the
grocery side ; but oxir neighbour was evidently
too full of some kind intention towards mis-
tress, wife, or daughter, to be shy ; and it
soon became a question with me, whether he
or Miss Matey would keep their shopman the
longest time. He thought each shawl more

Charles Dickens.]

STOPPED PAYMENT, AT CRANFORD.

113

beautiful than the last ; and, as for Miss
Matey, she smiled and sighed over each fresh
bale that was brought out ; one colour set off
another, and the heap together would, as she
said, make even the rainbow look poor.

" I am afraid whichever I choose I shall
wish I had taken another. Look at this
lovely crimson ! it would be so warm in
winter. But spring is coming on, you know.
I wish I could have a gown for every season,"
said she, dropping her voice, as we all did in
Cranford, whenever we talked of anything
we wished for, but could not afford. " How-
ever," she continued in a louder and more
cheerful tone, " it would give me a great deal
of trouble to take care of them if I had
them ; so I think I '11 only take one. But
which must it be, my dear ? " And now she
hovered over a lilac with yellow spots, while
J pulled out a quiet sage-green that had faded
into insignificance under the more brilliant
colours, but which was nevertheless a good
silk in its humble way. Our attention was
called off to our neighbour. He had chosen
a shawl of about thirty shillings' value ; and
his face looked broadly happy under the anti-
cipation, no doubt, of the pleasant surprise
he should give to some Molly or Jenny at
home ; he had tugged a leathern purse out of
his breeches pocket, and had offered a five-
pound note in payment for the shawl, and for
some parcels which had been brought round
to him from the grocery counter ; and it was
just at this point that he attracted our notice.
The shopman was examining the note with a
puzzled, doubtful air.

" Town and County Bank ! I am not
sure, sir, but I believe we have received a
warning against notes issued by this bank
only this morning. I will just step and ask
Mr. Johnson, sir ; but I'm afraid I must
trouble you for payment in cash, or in a note
of a different bank."

I never saw a man's countenance fall so
suddenly into dismay and bewilderment. It
was almost piteous to see the rapid change.

" Dang it !" said he, striking his fist down on
the table, as if to try which were the harder ;
"the chap talks as if notes and gold were to
be had for the picking up."

Miss Matey had forgotten her silk gown
in her interest for the man. I don't think
she had caught the name of the bank, and in
my nervous cowardice, I was anxious that
fihe should not ; and so I began admiring the
yellow-spotted lilac gown that I had been
utterly condemning only a minute before.
But it was of no use.

" What bank was it 1 I mean what bank
did your note belong to ? "

" Town and County Bank."

"Let me see it," said she quietly to the
shopman, gently taking it out of his hand,
as he brought it back to return it to the
farmer.

Mr. Johnson was very sorry, but, from in-
formation he had received, the notes issued

by that bank were little better than waste
paper.

" I don't understand it," said Miss Matey
to me in a low voice. " That is our bank, is
it not ? the Town and County Bank 1 "

"Yes," said I. "This lilac silk will just
match the ribbons in your new cap, I believe,"
I continued, holding up the folds so as to
catch the light, and wishing that the man
would make haste and be gone ; and yet
having a new wonder that had only just
sprung up, how far it was wise or right in me
to allow Miss Matey to make this expensive
purchase, if the affairs of the bank were
really so bad as the refusal of the note im-
plied.

But Miss Matey put on the soft dignified
manner peculiar to her, rarely used, and yet
which became her so well, and laying her
hand gently on mine, she said,

" Never mind the silks for a few minutes,
dear. I don't understand you, sir," turning
now to the shopman, who had been attend-
ing to the farmer. " Is this a forged
note 1 "

K Oh, no, ma'am. It is a true note of its
kind ; but you see, ma'am, it is a Joint Stock
Bank, and there are reports out that it is
likely to break. Mr. Johnson is only doing
his duty, ma'am, as I am sure Mr. Dobson
knows.

But Mr. Dobson could not respond to the
appealing bow by any answering smile. He
was turning the note absently over in his
fingers, looking gloomily enough at the parcel
containing the lately chosen shawl.

" It's hard upon a poor man," said he, " as
earns every fai'thing with the sweat of his
brow. However, there's no help for it. You
must take back your shawl, my man ; Lizzie
must do on with her cloak for a while. And
yon figs for the little ones I promised them
to 'em I'll take them ; but the 'bacco, and
the other things "

" I will give you five sovereigns for your
note, my good man," said Miss Matey. " I
think there is some great mistake about it,
for I am one of the shareholders, and I'm sure
they would have told me if things had not
been going on right."

The shopman whispered a word or two
across the table to Miss Matey. She looked
at him with a dubious air.

"Perhaps so," said she. "But I don't
pretend to understand business ; I only
know that if it is going to fail, and if honest
people are to lose their money because they
have taken our notes I can't explain myself,"
said she, suddenly becoming aware that she
had got into a long sentence with four people
for audience " only I would rather exchange
my gold for the note, if you please," turning
to the farmer, " and then you can take your
wife the shawl. It is only going without my
gown a few days longer," she continued,
speaking to me. " Then I have no doubt
evei*ything will be cleared up."

114

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

" But if it is cleared up the wrong way ? "
said I.

" Why ! Then it will only have been common
honesty in me as a shareholder to have given
this good man the money. I am quite clear
about it iu my own mind ; but, you know, I
can never speak quite as comprehensibly as
others can, only you must give me your
note, Mr. Dobsou, if you please, and go on
with your purchases with these sovereigns."

The man looked at her with silent gra-
titude, too awkward to put his thanks into
words ; but he hung back for a minute or
two, fumbling with his note. *

" I'm loth to make another one lose instead
of me, if it is a loss ; but you see five pounds
is a deal of money to a man with a family ;
and as you say, ten to one, in a day or two,
the note will be as good as gold again."

"No hope of that, my friend," said the
shopman.

" The more reason why I should take it,"
said Miss Matey quietly ; she pushed her
sovereigns towards the man, who slowly laid
his note down in exchange. " Thank you.
I will wait a day or two before I purchase
any of these silks ; perhaps you will then
have a greater choice. My dear ! will you
come upstairs ? "

We inspected the fashions with as minute
and curious an interest as if the gown to be
made after them had been* bought. I could
not see that the little event in the shop below
had in the least damped Miss Matey's
curiosity as to the make of sleeves, or the sit
of skirts. She once or twice exchanged con-
gratulations with me on our private and
leisurely view of the bonnets and shawls ;
but I was all the time not so sure that our
examination was so utterly private, for I
caught glimpses of a figure dodging behind
the cloaks and mantles ; and, by a dexterous
move, I came face to face with Miss Pole,
also in morning costume (the principal feature
of which was her being without teeth, and
wearing a veil to conceal the deficiency), come
on the same errand as ourselves. But she
quickly took her departure, because she had
a bad headache and did not feel herself up to
conversation.

As we came down through the shop the civil
Mr Johnson was awaiting us ; he had been in-
formed of the exchange of the note for gold, and
with much good feeling and real kindness, but
with a little want of tact, he wished to condole
with Miss Matey, and impress upon her the
real state of the case. I could only hope that
he had heard an exaggerated rumour, for he
said that her shares were worse than nothing,
and that the bank could not pay a shilling in
the pound. I was glad that Miss Matey
seemed still a little incredulous ; but I could
not tell how much of this was real, or assumed
witli that self-control which seemed habitual
to ladies of Miss Matey's standing in Cranford.
who would have thought their dignity com-
promised by the slightest expression of sur-

prise, dismay, or any similar feeling to an
inferior in station, or in a public shop. How-
ever, we walked home very silently ; I am
ashamed to m say I believe I was rather
vexed and annoyed at; Miss Matey's conduct
in taking the note to herself so decidedly. I
had so set my heart upon her having a new
silk gown, which she wanted sadly ; in general
she was so undecided anybody might turn
her round ; in this case I had felt that it was
no use attempting it, but I was not the
less put out at the result.

Somehow, after twelve o'clock, we both
acknowledged to a sated curiosity about the
fashions ; and to a certain fatigue of body
(which was, in fact, depression of mind) that
indisposed us to go out again. But still wo
never spoke of the note ; till all at once some-
thing possessed me to ask Miss Matey if she
would think it her duty to offer sovereigns
for all the notes of the Town and County
Bank she met with. I could have bitten my
tongue out the minute I had said it. She
looked up rather sadly, and as if I had thrown
a new perplexity into her already distressed
mind, and for a minute or two she did not
speak. Then she said my own dear Miss
Matey without a shade of reproach in her
voice,

" My dear ! I never feel as if my mind
was what people call very strong, and it's
often hard enough work for me to settle what
I ought to do with the case right before me
I was very thankful to I was very thankful
that I saw my duty this morning with the
poor man standing by me ; but it's rather a
strain upon me to keep thinking and thinking
what I should do if such and such a thing
happened, and I believe I had rather wait
and see what really does come ; and I don't
doubt I shall be helped then, if 1 don't fidget
myself, and get too anxious beforehand. You
know, love, I'm not like Deborah. If Deborah
had lived, I've no doubt she would have seen
after them, before they had got themselves
into this state."

We had neither of us much appetite for
dinner, though we tried to talk cheerfully
about indifferent things. When we returned
into the drawing-room, Miss Matey unlocked
her desk and began to look over her account-
books. I was so penitent for what I h;id said
in the morning, that I did not choose to take
upon myself the presumption to suppose that
I could assist her ; I rather left her alone, as
with puzzled brow her eye followed her pen
up and down the ruled page. By and bye
she shut the book, locked her desk, and came
and drew a chair to mine, where I sat in
moody sorrow over the fire. I stole my hand
into hers ; she clasped it, but did not speak a
word. At last she said, with forced com-
posure in her voice, " If that bank goes wrong,
I shall lose one hundred and forty-nine
pounds thirteen shillings and fourpence a
year ; I shall only have thirteen pounds a
year left." I squeezed her hand hard and

Charles Pickens.J

COLZA OIL.

tight. I did not know what to say. Pre-
sently (it was too dark to see her face) I felt
her tingers work convulsively in my grasp ;
and I knew she was going to speak agitin. I
heard the sobs in her voice as she said, " I
hope it's not wrong not wicked but oh !
I am so glad poor Deborah is spared this.
She could not have borne to come down
in the world, she had such a noble, lofty
spirit."

This was all she said about the sister who
had insisted upon investing their little pro-
perty in that unlucky bank. We were later
in lighting the candle than usual that night,
and until that light shamed us into speaking,
we sat together very silently and sadly.

However, we took to our work after tea
with a kind of forced cheerfulness (which
soon became real as far as it went), talking of
that never-ending wonder, Lady Glenmire's
engagement. Miss Matey was almost coming
round to think it a good thing.

" I don't mean to deny that men are
troublesome in a house. I don't judge from
my own experience, for my father was neat-
ness itself, and wiped his shoes on coming in
as carefully as any woman ; but still a man
has a sort of knowledge of what should be
done in difficulties, that it is very pleasant to
have one at hand ready to lean upon. Now,
Lady Glenmire, instead of being tossed about,
and wondering where she is to settle, will be
certain of a home among pleasant and kind
people, such as our good Miss Pole and Mrs.
Forrester. And Mr. Hoggins is really a very
personable man, and as for his manners, why,
if they are not very polished I have
known people with very good hearts and very
clever minds too, who were not what some
people reckoned refined, but who were both
true and tender."

She fell off into a soft reverie about Mr.
Holbrook, and I did not interrupt her, I was
so busy maturing a plan I had had in my
mind for some days, but which this threat-
ened failure of the bank had brought to a
crisis. That night, after Miss Matey went
to bed, I treacherously lighted the candle
again, and sat down in the drawing-room to
compose a letter to the Aga Jenkyns ; a
letter which should affect him, if he were
Peter, and yet seem a mere statement of dry
facts if he were a stranger. The church clock
pealed out two before I had done.

The next morning news came, both official
and other wise, that the Town and County Bank
had stopped payment. Miss Matey was
ruined.

She tried to speak quietly to me ; but when
she came to the actual fact that she would
have but about five shillings a week to live
upon, she could not restrain a few tears.

" I am not crying for myself, dear," said
she, wiping them away, " I believe I am
crying for the very silly thought of how my
mother would grieve if she could know she
always cared for us so much more than for

herself. But many a poor person has less ;
and I am not very extravagant, and, thank
God, when the neck of mutton, and Martha's
wages, and the rent are paid, T have not a
farthing owing. Poor Martha, I think she'll
be sorry to leave me." Miss Matey smiled
at me through her tears, and she would fain
have had me see only the smile, not the
tears.

COLZA OIL.

WHO can take up a newspaper just now,
without being tempted to become an ex-
tensive purchaser of real and pure French
Colza oil, and at the same time to be lord
and master over an innumerable variety of
lamps of the newest patterns and most ap-
proved construction, wherewith to consume
that illuminating fluid ? But " Colza " is not
an English word making, however, only a
narow escape from being one and there are
many people, perhaps, who burn the genuine
article, without being exactly aware what it
really is. For knowing advertisers seem to
fancy that the more mysteriously their wares
are enveloped in hard words, the more highly
will the simple public esteem them. Hence
we have Eureka shirts, Revalenta Arabica
diet, and Rypophagon shaving-soap. It would
hardly be safe or prudent to decide whether
the aforesaid advertisers are right or not.
But to prevent Colza from being added to
their list, I will take the liberty of offering a
few explanations.

Oils may be divided into two grand classes,
accordingly as they are derived from the dis-
tinct sources of the animal, or the vegetable
kingdom. It is not impossible, therefore,
that Colza oil may be casually believed to be
the produce of some South American whale,
or Indian porpoise, of unknown and peculiar
organisation. Unfortunately for the imagi-
native who love to set a novel monster
before their mind's eye, it is not so obtained
nor from the sea-serpent either. Colza is a
harmless plant, springing from a kindly
German root, which root is neither more nor
less than cole, kale, kokl, or cabbage.
Whenever the French resolve to kidnap a
foreign word, they generally contrive to
lay hold of it by the wrong end. And
so, the English coleseed, or the German
kohlsaat it is not altogether indisputable
which has been pressed into the service
of representing the entire vegetable Colza,
or brassica, campestris as the scientific call
it, with the additional surname of oleifera,
or oil-bearing. Coleworts, moreover, are not
entirely unknown to horticulturists in the
British Isles.

Olive oil is the peculiar produce of the
South of France, whilst oil-giving seeds are
the objects of culture in other portions of that
vast empire ; for- an Englishman has no notion
what a large country France is, till he begins
to travel from one corner of it to another. The

116

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

extremes of north and south agree in being
lands both abundantly flowing with oil.
Colza is grown in the eastern and in the
central provinces ; but it is more especially
cultivated in the northern departments, and
pre-eminently so in the rich one known as
the Department du Nord. In the environs
of Lille, there are oil-mills by hundreds,
exactly like the one I am about to describe.
Yet one English advertisement states that
Messrs. Suchones, of Provence, in the
south of France the address being just
as precise as that of Mr. Smith, of East
Auglia, Great Britain Messrs. Suchones beg
to inform their numerous customers, that
they have no other agent in England for
their genuine French lamp oil than Messrs.
Someoneelse, who favour the public with a
more distinct reference to their whereabouts.
It is far from impossible that Colza oil may
be exported from Provence to London ; for
a portion of that manufactured in the Depart-
ment du Nord is shipped from Dunkirk for
Marseilles, where, however, they mostly use
it in making soap. And even then they have
not enough. France does not grow a suffi-
ciency of greasy matters for her own con-
sumption. The soaperies of the south, and
of Marseilles especially, obtain a portion of
their oils from Spain and Italy.

Colza is sown for the purpose of serving
three distinct purposes : to be ploughed into
the land as green manure in the early stage
of its growth ; to fatten cattle upon the land,
or to feed milch cows, at a more advanced
period ; and to ripen its seeds for the produc-
tion of oil. The two former styles of cropping
you will not witness except during summer
and autumn ; but were you to take a country
walk in the north of France in winter or in
early spring, you could hardly fail to notice a
number of fields planted with what, at the
first glance, you might mistake for Swede
turnips ; only, on looking closer, you would
say they were very bad and stunted turnips ;
being deficient in the great essential of a
globular root, and having merely a stalk
leaning on one side, and inclined to be what
gardeners call " run up o' legs." Their pre-
vious history has been this. At mid June,
or thereabouts, the seed is sown in a separate
plot of ground, where the plants remain un-
disturbed until the autumn.

In October, the field in which the seed-
lings are to be planted is heavily manured.
Colza thrives best in a light, deep, hazel
loam, permeable to the genial influence of
the rains, the atmosphere, and the sunshine ;
and is all the better for a liberal artificial
enrichment of the soil. Showery weather
is desirable at the time ; but the plant-
ing is nevertheless performed under bright
sunshine, in confident anticipation of the
autumnal rains. Nothing can be easier
than the way in which the little Colzas
are settled in life, after their expatriation
from their nursery. They are brought to

their new home tied up in large bundles, and
are respectfully received by sundry plough-
men already in attendance on the ground.
To each ploughman is attached a small suite
of women and children. The farmer him-
self, or perhaps only his labourer, turns up a
furrow with his plough, from one end of the
field to the other. In this long furrow the
ladies and demoiselles lay the Colza plants, at
the proper distances. With another stroke of
the plough the roots of the plants are
covered up, the manure on the surface being
likewise turned in next them. Then another
stroke of the plough, without plants, to leave
the necessary interval ; and then another
furrow, with them. And so on, till the field
is finished. At the first word, a farmer will
have understood all this. It is a nice healthy
amusement for the women and children, not
unlike our Christmas game, " I sent a letter
to my love ; I dripped it, I dropped it ; " only
it is a pity they do not earn a little better
wages as the consequence of their day's
diversion.

The crop receives no further culture. The
thickness of its growth chokes almost every
weed. Its success is precarious, if the young
shoots or blossoms are frost-bitten in spring.
Ordinarily, the glaucous-leaved plant sends
up its flower-stem, and the whole field is soon
covered with a bright yellow garment.
Although a rather faint and sickly odour is
emitted, it is not unpleasant to follow the foot-
path through a Colza field, and listen to the
quail as it calls, ever invisibly, beneath its
thickset covert. Innumerable busy bees, and
a rabble of big, bouncing, buzzing cockchafers
likewise take the liberty of disporting them-
selves therein ; while earth and sun are com-
bining to brew the oil which shall cheer and
enlighten your hours of wintry darkness.

When the fall of the withered lower leaves,
and the yellow tinge of the bending stalk
announce that nature has completed the great
work of maturing the seed, not a moment
must be lost in completing the harvest, if the
weather be but fine. For the sparrows and the
linnets will come in to take their tithe in kind,
without agreeing to any sort of commutation,
and the more they taste the seed, the better
they find that it suits their palates. So,
haste ye, my hard-working dames of France !
Hither hasten Avith your reaping-hooks. Lay
the Colzas prostrate, bear them gently to the
sail-cloth spread out in one corner of the field,
for fear you lose a single black, round, plump,
precious, unctuous grain of seed. If the men
won't thresh it, you will; and winnow it,
and sift it, and carry it home, and spread
it out thin on the granary floor to dry and
ripen a little more perfectly, and store it in
sacks, and sell it at market, or take it to the
oil-mill and hand it over to your own oiler.
It is not the absence of male assistance which
will make you leave matters to take their
course, still less to let them remain at a
stand-still.

Charlei Dickens.]

COLZA OIL.

117

All this holds good of ordinary winter Colza,
or, as it is called sometimes, Colza froid,
or cold Colza. There is, however, a variety
of Colza which may be sown in spring, and
harvested the same year, and which is dis-
tinguished by the title of Colza chaud, or de
Mars ; in other words, as warm, or March
Colza. It is less productive than the former
kind, but is useful for land which there has
been no opportunity of planting in autumn,
as well as to replace the winter Colza when
it has been irreparably injured by frost.

We have grown and housed our Colza seed.
What remains is a simple affair, offering
fewer impediments to the practitioner than
either of those highly popular difficulties of
skinning a flint, or drawing blood from a gate-
post. All that is required is simply brute
foi-ce. It is true there are here and there
grand establishments, with their cylinders,
to play with the seed a little while before
pounding it ; with their steam chauffoirs,
or warming-pans ; their magnified copies
of vertical coffee-mills, their miniature imita-
tions of flour and wheat-mills, little iron
grindstones, and other what-nots. In short,
there are fancy oil-mills in France. But
we will be content to-day with the gene-
ral and popular method of seed-squeezing,
by which oil is extracted, by and for the
million, in innumerable wind and water-mills
to the south of the English Channel.

The other bright sunshiny morning (and we
have not had too many such of late), I found
myself in the midst of a constellation of mills
that were whirling their arms round, and
twinkling their cloth and wooden beams, as
much unlike celestial stars as possible, and
emitting anything but the music of the
spheres, " Bang, bing, bong, bung ! " " Thamp,
thimp, thomp, thump ! " I tried hard to re-
cognise in it something like the measured
rhythm of our dear old melody, " The Har-
monious Blacksmith," but utterly failed to
catch a single phrase. The noise was exactly
that which the giant made when he " wopped "
about with his great thick club, trying to hit
poor little mischievous Hop-o'-my-Thumb as
he lay asleep, and knocking his own monstrous
children's brains out instead. The succession
of sounds from the whole of this gi-and mill
orchestra, were similar in kind, but not exactly
the same in pitch. Some, too, vibrated more
clear and gong-like than the muffled beats
which were sent forth by the others. Just
before me was a very line-toned mill ; so,
deciding to make my invasion upon that, 1
drove slap past the miller's cottage, and drew
up at the very foot of his temple of
Macassar 1 Out came the lubricated man
of Colza, in blue clothes and with a smiling
countenance. " jBon,jourf" and "JSonjour!"
Why shouldn't he .let me poke about his
mill, if that gave me the least of pleasure?
So I mount the ricketty wooden steps, bound-
ing at every blow of the internal machinery,
like a fly caught napping on the parchment

of a kettle-drum. Luckily, it is a windy
day, or I should not have seen one quarter of
the fun.

The whole thing is a question of pestle and
mortar power. On entering, you behold to the
left a goodly range of half-a-dozen mortars, cut
out of strong solid timber, and lined at bottom
with thick copper. In each of these is pound-
ing, a pestle a long beam of stout oak
twenty feet high, or a trifle more, perhaps ;
for it reaches almost to the very top of the
mill. The end of the pestle is shod with an
ugly-looking piece of iron, channelled and cut
in the way to make it do most mischief. It
is not unlike a frightful molar tooth, with a
single ugly, endless fang. Motion is commu-
nicated to the entire set in the most unsophis-
ticated way possible, and each tooth can chew
independently according to its own devices.
A catch on the axle of the mill-sails just
lifts them up and lets them drop again. Of
course there is a contrivance by which the
progress of the labour of every individual
pestle can be stopped, or re-continued at
pleasure. Suppose the miller has given a feed
of Colza seed to one of these devouring mon-
sters. Thump ! thump ! pestle and mortar,
till the meal is reduced to a pasty mass,
called marc. That one grinder is stopped for
a while. He takes the masticated quid away,
carries it to another snuggery beyond the
apartment into which we first entered, and
with it fills some small woollen sacks, or
bags, made of a coarse stuff, which is known
as morfil. If you have ever seen a sample of
foreign oil-cake, it will give you an idea of
the actual size of the morfil sack. The sack
thus filled is wrapped in a leather case, which
covers both the sides, but is open at the
edges. So that the sack exactly occupies the
place which would be filled by a slice of
tongue in a sandwich. Again, to the left you
observe two other pestles, somewhat slenderer,
but of equal length with those that pound.
Beneath them is a box, or oblong hole. This
hole is filled with marc-wadi-morfil sandwiches,
set upright, like books on a book-shelf. The
miller has at hand a variety of wedges, of long
rather than stout proportions. He inserts
the point of one of these into the midst of his
packet of sandwiches, and then sets the pestle
overhead in motion. Thump ! thump ! thump !
again, exactly like a pile-driving machine.
The wedge is driven home ; and then, an-
other ; till he thinks he has squeezed his sub-
jects enough. The oil thus expressed runs
out at a hole in the bottom, the bags are
taken out of their den of oppression, and from
each of them is removed a cake.

But whatever may be the mode of milling,
it takes at least two acts of pressure to obtain
a respectable yield of oil. The cakes are
again put into the mortar, and are once more
pounded as fme as may be. They are
again carried into the little back chamber.
But before a second entrance into the bags,
they have first to take a turn over a slow

118

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

fire, in a flat and shallow warming-pan of
iron. Inside the pan, a piece of machinery
connected with the mill-work, and crookedly
resembling the hand of a clcck, which indi-
cates the hours only, keeps moving slowly
round and round, stirring the powdered oil-
cake, and preventing it from burning. The

powder, when sufficiently warmed through- are far from perfect,
out, is again bagged, wedged, and squeezed,
till it has parted with every drop of oil that
can be extorted from it, by foul means or fair.
The cakes are then mostly troubled no fur-
ther ; but are set up to dry, to be subse-

man, or even of the more fastidious lighthouse-
keeper.

Colza-oil lamps may be all very well ; but
they by no means supersede what 1 (indi-
vidually) hold to be the only unobjectionable
mode of private-room illumination a pair, or
more, of brilliant wax-lights. Lamps, as yet,

quently sold to fatten cattle, though they
now and then return to their mother earth
in the humble guise of powdery manure.

You must have heard
castor-oil ; " you now a

of " cold drawn
little understand

what it means. The heat employed to aid in
liberating the oil from the seeds containing it,
also sets loose some other particles, which,
for either medicinal or culinary purposes, it
is desirable to leave behind. Hence the
advantage of " drawing it mild."

The final treatment of the oil is its clari-
fication, which is more generally performed
by the oil-merchant than by the miller. Seed-
oils, on escaping from their troubles of the
press, always contain a portion of mucilage,
colouring matter, and resinous principles,
which are all native to and latent in the seed,
and which cause it to have a particular smell,
taste, and appearance. These are partially
got rid of, by keeping the oil for a considerable

THE ROVING ENGLISHMAN.

AFTER THE BOARS.

I HAVE been all my life fond of field
sports. It was not, therefore, without a thrill
of pleasure that I heard my door open at
five o'clock in the morning, though it was
January, and a servant come stealthily in to
light my fire. It was a luxury to watch
him with half-closed eyelids as he performed
his task, and the wood began to blaze and
crackle, and throw a cheerful flickering light
on the glass and polished oak with brass
fittings, which formed the becoming furniture
of my antiquated chamber.

A good fire takes away all discomfort from
that terrible getting up work, and whenever
you want to go anywhere early of a winter's
morning, it is a great mistake to start
cold.

Of course, when I was dressed and down
stairs, somebody was not ready, and we had
to wait for him. We were a hunting party
that would have astonished Melton, and made
even Epping open its eyes. Fancy an assem-

time in cool cellars, and so allowing the foreign I blage of gentlemen in grey coats, much too
matter, in suspension, to be precipitated. But small for them, with bright green baize

this period of mere repose is insufficient to
complete the object in view ; the oil is still
charged with a variety of ingredients which
render it unfit for many purposes, and espe-
cially for burning in lamps.

M. Thenard made known a successful
method of purifying Colza oil. Having put
the oil into a cask that would contain double
the quantity, he then pours in very gradually,
stirring it well up at the same time, concen-
trated sulphuric acid, to the amount of two
hundredth-parts of the oil measured by weight.
The agitation of the fluid is continued, till the
whole liquid mass acquires a greenish tint.
After standing for four-and-twenty hours,
during which the sulphuric acid lays hold of
all the foreign matter, pure water equal in
luik to two-thirds the quantity of oil, is then
added. The whole is violently stirred together,
till the combined liquids have a milky appear-
ance. Two or three weeks' rest, hi a chamber
of moderate and equable temperature, are
requisite for the clarification of the oil, and
for the formation of a dark deposit at the
bottom of the cask. The oil, which floats
uppermost, is then drawn off by means of a
tap, and runs into tubs that have their bot-
toms pierced with holes lightly plugged with
tufts of cotton or carded wool. Alter this
last filtration, the oil is perfectly clarified, and
is fit for the service of the fashionable lamp-

collars, and racing caps of black velvet.
Over their trowsers mostly of some broad
check pattern are drawn immense boots
turned down at the top after the fashion of
those worn at the Victoria theatre in the part
of "Will Watch, that bold smuggler." Round
their waists, round their arms, round their
shoulders, are slung a multitude of useless
things by gay-coloured straps and cords. Im-
possible horns ; cat-skin muffs ; powder flasks
of the most ingenious style of fastening that
can never be got to open when wanted, and
holding each a pound and a half of powder ;
shot belts and bags without measures, leaving
the. charge at the discretion of the wearer ;
enormous game pouches (we are going boar-
hunting !) ; and, lastly, guns that look any-
thing but like business, with straps of bright-
coloured webbing to carry them by. As for
my own costume, it is evident that it was
looked upon with a sort of well-bred disposi-
tion to make allowances, and, indeed, they are
needed, as I have on a blue boating coat, too
short in all directions, but borrowed for the
occasion ; a pair of linen gaiters that look odd
enough buckled over my trowsers, and, con-
sidering the flimsy appearance of which, I
inwardly hope the thorns may not be very
strong in this country; a cambric shirt, a
black silk waistcoat, and a Paris hat, bran
new and shiny.

Cliarlea Dickens.]

THE ROVING ENGLISHMAN.

119

Fancy most of our party with beards, and
hair of their heads an inch long, with
shoulders generally disposed to be high and
round, and figures short in the waist and
baggy below it, and you have us to a
shade.

Bless my heart, what a Babel of tongues !
Frenchmen are nearly all great talkers, and
the politest of them rather suffer you to speak
than listen to you, being wholly occupied with
what they are going to say next themselves ;
so I submit to be caught quietly by an excited
little man, whose beard keeps wagging as I
listen respectfully and somewhat drowsily to
a hubbub of sounds which proceed from it,
each seeming to ,end with a sharp note of
interrogation, which I know his countrymen
far too well to answer. A good listener is
always popular, but a good listener in France
will find himself endowed with every good
quality under the sun by a host of delighted
admirers, and though he may never open his
mouth, except for a monosyllable, will be set
down as witty, wise, and eloquent.

After about half-an-hour's waiting, in which
I am sure I earned the undying gratitude of
the garrulous little gentleman with the beard,
the sluggard came in, the carriages came
round, aud away we went, wrapped up well
in cloaks with hoods to them, an Algerine
garment very comfortable and popular in
France. Away we went all chattering to-

f ether, and each with a fresh lighted cigar,
did not pay much attention to the other
carriages, but I remember that the one in which
I was seated was a low phaeton, which made
a great deal more clattering than would have
pleased Mr. Petre ; so low, that the tails of
the two high-actioned weeds of horses came
familiarly over the splash-board. Never mind,
I dare say we shall get there safely ; if not, I
am glad to see the ground looks soft, and
there are no deep ditches ; otherwise I should
hardly like to notice the " all alone " sort of
look of our coachman, as he shouts out to the
high-actioned weeds " Ah chameaux ! Sois
sage ! Sois sage! and holds his whip and loose
reins at arm's length, somewhat as Britons do
a carving knife and fork.

It is pitch dark too, but on we go clattering
and jolting, and bumping over the ground,
but the high-actioned weeds still keep straight
and steady. The word chameau, as applied
to them, becomes less frequent, and the motion
makes me drowsy. When I freshen up again
in consequence of a tremendous jolt, I hear
by the country waggons which come tinkling
by, and the " Bon jour, mes bourgeois" of the
peasantry, that the day has begun; and opening
niy eyes, here we are, safe and sound, at our
shooting quarters.

It is a house in the centre of a village, and
as our phaeton drives up there is a great
shouting and running ; and some five-and-
twenty beaters, who I find already assembled,
come out and take off their hats, and talk
all together, each more anxious than the

other to tell us what he thinks as to the
weather and our chance of sport. And,
mercy on us ! if the regular sportsmen of our
party were a motley group, the eye of man
never looked on a more oddly got up raga-
muffin crew than these.

But first let us breakfast. How nice the
room looks, where I notice with quite a pang
of appetite that everything is laid for break-
fast sausages, and omelettes, and crSpes, pan-
cakes, and hot milk and coffee in clean white
jugs. The blazing wood fire, in the grateless
fire-place, which I do and always did persist in
liking better than a coal one, throws a ruddy
light over the polished oak, and brass fittings
of the room ; the glasses snugly ranged upon
the shelves glitter as it touches them, and
brighten with a thousand colours. In the
room is still the eternal chattering, and all
sorts of preparations going on at the spare
table, gaiters buckling on, guns polishing
up and loading, powder flasks filling, and
cap boxes opening ; and without is the bay
and yelp of the hounds a very stirring
scene.

Bless my heart, how full of gristle and
onions these sausages are that looked so
brown and promising, like young hopes !
Let us try the omelette ; that is sure to be
good. A glass of wine too ; I never drink
it at breakfast anywhere but in France,
but there it comes quite naturally. Come
here, little dog : what, are you going with
us ? Why, I am sure you are too little to
have anything to say to a wild-boar. You
wag your tail : you don't think so. Well,
little dog, here is a bit of brown bread for you.
I must not give you any sausage, though I
can't eat it myself, for it would spoil your
nose ; and if you wish to be a sporting dog
you must pay the penalty of ambition. Look
at that pale-faced lad who has made himself
uncomfortable by smoking cigars which don't
agree with him, because he thinks it military ;
and be consoled, little dog.

There sounds a horn ! With all my
heart, though I foresee some of us will knock
up, starting so soon after breakfast, if there
is anything like work before us. There they
go ; the last buckles are buckling, the last
straps fastening, and cigars lighting ; and
away tramp, tramp, splash, stumble, bundle,
fall up again, tramp, tramp, through mud and
mire, up to our knees. The pace is beginning
to tell, I knew it would, on that fat gentle-
man who ate so many sausages, and on the
thin hero of the cigars ; I observe that both
fall behind, and we shall not see them again
until weare going home, when theywillappear
mysteriously, and claim the honours of the
day. Some others follow their example, as
the ground grows heavier, and we get deeper
into the wood ; especially those who have most
bright-coloured straps and bands about them,
most impossible hornsand game pouches. They
have had their pleasure all they care about
hi putting on their clothes, and do not half

120

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

fancy getting through the mud at four miles
an hour, and making two jumps at a ditcli
full of water ; that is to say, one into it and
one out of it.

Hot work this, though it is January, and I
have thrown away my cigar ; it won't do to
smoke at this pace. Capital plan, by the way,
of carrying your gun, this, slinging it by a
strap over your shoulder, and steadying it
by your elbow, with your hands in your
pockets. I laughed at the others this morning
quietly and to myself, but I have changed my
mind since then.

Who are those fellows shouting so at the
dogs 1 Why, they will clear the country of
game far and wide. The horn again, too ;
what on earth is the use of that 1 Halt !
Oh, very well, with all my heart ; and what
are we to do now ? Smoke cigars. And
down we all sit on our hats by the ditch
side, and the talking begins again until the
stragglers come up.

Well, here is a start at all events ; the
beaters and dogs have struck into the wood
at last, whooping and shouting ; and we are
to go round to a path half a mile off, and post
ourselves along it, waiting for the game. It
is roy private opinion that we shall have to
wait long enough, and that the game will be
driven far enough, with all this noise, before
we get there ; but I keep it to myself like a
prudent individual, and though I see one
dog my little friend whipped off his scent
after he had given tongue, because he was
not going with the others, I shut my eyes
to it, and hastening round with the rest,
am posted by order among some brushwood,
and wait the event. It is weary work this
waiting, and it lasts nearly two hours, during
which there falls a sharp shower, my feet get
wet and cold, and I know my nose must be
blue, so I light a cigar again and warm it. I
do not feel quite easy about my brother
sportsmen, who I know are posted in all
directions round me, and some of them did
not seem very familiar with the guns they
carried invariably on full cock, a detestable
and alarming method ; but, ensconcing myself
snugly between two trees, I think there is a
fair chance of my not being hit, in case of an
accident, and pass the time in thinking of the
snug library I have left behind me at the
chateau.

Whoop ! whoop ! The horn sounds again,
and the dogs are giving tongue bravely.
Bang at the other end of the wood. Halloa !
The boars are a-foot ! Stand fast ! The
boars ! the boars ! Bang, bang, and the
sharp cry of a wounded roebuck, like that of
a child in pain, is heard ; but still the dogs
give tongue, and they have evidently got
scent of a band of marcassins (young wild-
boar). Hark, that is the voice of my little
friend : yelp yelp ! yiow yiow. I have
confidence in my little friend, and he yelps
nearer and nearer.

Here they come ! five little pigs, snorting

and cantering, with their snouts near the
ground. I kneel down, concealed by the
brushwood, and think I will have one of
them, when I hear a deeper grunt, and a
fine boar, probably the respectable papa of
the family, appears behind at a stout trot,
a little beyond his natural pace, and there is
my small ambitious friend yelping at his
heels. I change my aim, and the next
moment the boar rolls over with his off fore-
paw broken near the shoulder, and my small
friend closes with his immense antagonist.
Ah ! little dog. It is a fine thing to be brave,
but it is well to measure the inches of a foe.
In a moment you will be thrown into the air ;
and sure enough you are. Another ball in
the neck seems only to increase the rage of your
antagonist. Alas, my little friend ! it' you had
only waited until the other dogs had come up,
and had yelped at a respectful distance, yon
need not have lost your life. Six hounds, and
some of good size and spirit, are now barking
furiously at the wounded animal, and none
dare close but one, who is thrown, ripped up
by the gigantic tusks of the wild beast, just in
the same manner as my deceased little friend.
But now, attracted by the firing and the noise
of the dogs, the whole hunt has come up. I r
too, have loaded again. There is a sharp
volley, and the gallant beast is struck in a
vital part, jumps once spasmodically, in spite
of his wounded legs, gives one long shriek,
and rolls over just as a peal of village bells
come ringing along a stray wind, first like
a band of joyous singers, and then more
solemnly and I hardly feel half reconciled to
my morning's work.

A dinner of milk soup, boiled beef, rusty bacon
(they have begun to make bacon in France) T
and a roast leg of mutton, with some excellent
cognac, made of prunes (I do not trust the
village wine), completes the day, and the
next, and the next ; though on the third, as
there is a high wind, we get no sport.

We have come out among the woods for a
week ; but I notice at the end of the third
day unmistakeable signs of a desire to return
home, which I confess I share ; though silently.
Some are anxious about their letters, some
about their wives, some about their sweet-
hearts, some about their farms or their stables ;
and, all at once (nobody knows how or with
whom it originated), an idea seems to be
growing general, that it is a bad season of
the year for shooting, that the weather is
against us, and that the dogs won't work, nor
the keepers ; and, in a word, that we had
better go home.

And home we go ; although having sent
away our own horses and carriages in the
rather singular fashion of being seated two
abreast upon trusses of straw for seats, and
in waggons without springs. It is after an
unconscionable deal of jolting, and with an
amazing appetite, that I find myself between
seven arid eight o'clock in the evening in the
antiquated chamber, dressing for dinner.

Published at the Office, No. 1C, Wellington Street ,-rth, Strand. Printed by BBADEUEI & EVANS, Whltefriars, London

" Familiar in their Mouths as HOUSEHOLD WORDS" S

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

A WEEKLY JOURNAL
CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS.

- 159.]

SATURDAY, APRIL 9, 1853.

[PRICE Id.

GENTLEMAN CADET.

I DO not know by what process it came
about that my widowed mother obtained for
me a nomination to the Royal Military Aca-
demy of Woolhnrst. Ill health has since
caused me to forsake the path of military
glory, but I vividly remember Woolhurst as
it used to be when I, a Gentleman Cadet, was
told by my proud friends that " I was a very
lucky young fellow, with my path cut out
before me ; that it was my own fault if I went
wrong again ; and that the Duke of Wel-
lington had worked his way up as I might."
Some reforms have been forced upon the
Academy of Woolhurst since my day ; but
the inner life of a great national establish-
ment is always slow to change, and while
I travel through my story of the past, I may
tread now and then upon a place or two in
which the gout still lingers.

I was about fifteen years old, when I ac-
companied my mother to the great military
office in London (whence generals as well as
cadets derive their dignity) to pay a call of
gratitude to my exalted patron. I recollect
finding it impossible to take affectionately to
the tall white warrior in the splendid uniform,
who could not altogether drop his habit of
severe command even in giving well-meant
counsel to a boy in presence of his mother.

I was to join the Academy, prepared to
pass the entrance examination, in a month.
That interval I employed in rubbing up the
subjects upon which I should be questioned
French, German, printing, mathematics, and
a little Latin to the highest state of polish in
my power ; and, at the end of the month, I was
so crammed with information that I was afraid
to talk or walk about lest I should spill any.
A night had to be passed in a hotel at Wool-
hurst before the day of trial. In the hotel
were fellow candidates, but I avoided them ;
keeping my body still and my mouth shut, as
became a boy who had a load upon his mind.

The knowledge swallowed in a rude heap
by one of the other young gentlemen, a Mr.
Pontoon, acted differently on his constitution;
in a way that, in fact, closely resembled a
severe fit of indigestion. He slept in the
next room to mine, and kept me awake all
night by broken jabbering. In the morn-
ing 1 ascertained that he had been repeating

his memoria tecJinica, for about five hundred
dates of principal occurrences ; whereof, I am
delighted to say, not one was subsequently
asked of him. Certainly some erring youths
employ more labour on those roundabout and
complicated roads to learning, than would
suffice to perform the journey two or three
times over by the beaten track. Why a horse
and a raven under a cucumber frame should
instantly direct attention to the fourth chapter
of St. John ; or why a salmon leaping over a
wall should be the year of the Spanish
armada is rather unintelligible to me. And
yet I possess a Help to the Memory, (price six
shillings and sixpence) which asserts them
among much other distracting matter to be
clear analogies. The same youth, Mr. Pontoon,
was exceedingly near-sighted; and, in addition
to the doubt about his literary qualifications,
there was a source of dread scarcely a doubt
at all, pretty certain he said that he could
not pass the medical ordeal. He would have
been " spun " certainly, had not the senior
^Esculapius been sick, and a too good-natured
assistant surgeon acted as his substitute. I
was a little blind ; but had a specific from
my late schoolmaster, a shrewd Scotch-
man, of this sort " They'll be sure, lad, to
ask you the colour of the horses on the
common ; if they are too far off, say grey.
All horses are grey or bay, and if you're
quick, you can just make a sound that will
do well for either of them."

While youth after yotith was being-
examined as to the objects visible upon
the horizon, poor Pontoon, whose time Avas
not yet come, took anxious note of their
responses. A waggon and horses having
been reported by the Cadet before him to
be going up the opposite hill, Pontoon,
after he had been tapped on the chest
and punched in the ribs, and finally asked
what he could see, promptly answered,
" A blue waggon, sir, with red wheels, and a
piebald horse, sir, and two black horses, and
the carter has got a short pipe in his mouth,
sir." "Well, sir," said the jolly doctor, "I
shan't ask you any more questions, because
all the things you mention have been over
the hill these five minutes ; and, if you can see
through the hill, I'm sure there can't be much
the matter with your eyesight." So Pontoon
was passed.

VOL. VII.

159

122

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

It was necessai*y upon admittance into the
Academy for each Cadet to write down in a
book, kept for that purpose, the names of two
respectable references. Of course, every
young gentleman put down the grandest of
his friends, and the entrance calendar glowed
with titles like a Lodge's Peerage. Macarthy,
however, an Irish Cadet, belonging to the
same batch as myself, declared to the
official, that " sure there was nobody respect-
able belonging to him, small blame to them."
After thatdeclaration,and be ing still compelled
to conform to the regulations, he wrote down
unwillingly the names of the Lord Beeswax,
who at that time commanded the garrison,
and the Earl of Moira. He knew them, he
told me, very intimately as the signs of two
public-houses in the town at which the beer
was excellent.

During the first two or three weeks after
admission that is to say until our regimentals
were completed those of our batch of
candidates who were so fortunate as to
become Gentlemen Cadets were compelled to
wear "mufti." A very singular and edifying
sight it was to see us drilling in civilian
dresses. Fat little Trueman, four feet high,
practising the goose step, differs entirely from
that martial youth, as he will appear when
"keeping time " in uniform. His mensuration
round the waist will be decreased by at least
two inches, his chin will not be permitted to
repose itself, as now it does, in oily folds.
Finally there will be added half a cubit to his
statute by the aggregate influences of regi-
mental boots, a shako and a plume. From
what beast or bird that last ornament
emanates, was to me always the great problem.
Why nature (if it be a natural production),
why art (if it be artificial) should have first
constructed it is, to me, now a mystery. One
office but that could scarcely have been its
original mission which it fulfilled at the
Royal Military Academy at Woolhurst among
the senior Cadets was that of a shaving brush.

The government of Woolhurst seemed,
when I knew it, to have been carefully
compounded of the worst features of an
oligarchy and of a military despotism. The
age of the Cadets (from fifteen upwards) is
certainly a difficult one to manage ; but the
authorities must have gone a good deal out
of their way to construct a system of perfect
inutility.

Lack of authorities in office certainly was
not the cause of failure. There was a
Governor ; who was a great military star
shining upon us from his abode a long way
off. He gave swords away upon prize-days,
and expelled unruly Cadets by his sign manual.
Then there was a Lieutenaut-Governor, who
lived in a great house hard by. and went about
with an orderly. He was brilliantly visible
on review-days without being too familiar to
us at other times, and sent up the lists of
the swords-men and the convicts to the afore-
said Governor, who gave swords away upon

prize-days, and expelled Cadets by his sign
manual. Then there was a " Second-Captain
of the Cadet company," who found out the
men for the swords and for the expulsions for
the Lieutenant-Governor to put down in a list
to send to the Governor who gave swords
away upon prize-days, and expelled Cadets
by his sign manual and so forth, like
the House that Jack built. The Second-
Captain's abode was not so big as the
Lieutenant-Governor's abode, and he had no
orderly, and was visible from twelve to one
o'clock in the library. Then there were two
Lieutenants of the Cadet company. These
officers saw that the Cadets' uniforms were
properly brushed about twelve times a day,
and inquired whether the military choking
stocks were really put on and buckled behind,
not being in any case a slip of leather
fashioned out of the original misery by the
Cadet himself into a machine that offered no
impediment to breathing. One of these
officers was also to be present in the hall
when the "old Cadets" had their dinners and
the " neuxes " hungered ; because the messes
being good for eight and the legs of mutton
eatable by four, the four oldsters cut off all
the handy meat, the two of middle standing
picked the bone, and the remaining two " last
joined " were cheerfully employed in pouring
out the beer and water for their elders. Of
this fact, however patent enough amongst a
hundred others the Governor and the Lieut-
enant-Governor, and the Captain and the two
Lieutenants of the Cadet company were or
pretended to be profoundly ignorant.

These were the commissioned officers : but
there were also non-commissioned officers,
sergeants, and corporals, marching and
counter-marching, quick marching, and double
quick marching the Cadet company from seven
in the morning until sunset ; moreover, there
were half commissioned officers old Cadets
themselves who had all kinds of delegated
authority, to the end of the Cadet company's
improvement and their own perfection as
commissioned officers that Khali hereafter be.
Their duty was to check injustice and to
promote discipline by a more detailed inves-
tigation of the stocks before the Lieutenants'
arrival, and their practice was to abuse every
individual power with which they were un-
happily entrusted. One of the pleasant and,
compared with some others even commend-
able amusements of these gentry, was not
only to maltreat the bodies of the " last
joined," but to destroy some items of their
property. Our hats were all crushed to a
crown, except those which had crape round
them. I make glad mention of this delicacy,
and only regret that the manifestation of a like
feeling was so rare. Upon a young gentle-
man's donning HisMajesty's uniform, receiving
nominal pay, and becoming subject to the
articles of war, it may perhaps be supposed
that he comports himself and is treated by
others as a respectability. The Eton boy may

Charles Dickens.J

GENTLEMAN CADET.

123

have been " swished " in May, and be a
guardsman in July, when if insulted he will
not fight "after eleven to-morrow" with a
pair of fists, but will desire to shoot or horse-
whip his antagonist. The transition is rapid,
but it is complete. Now it appears to me,
that however healthy and elevating an occu-
pation brushing clothes for his seniors may
be for the British school-boy, this task better
becomes the valet than the Gentleman Cadet ;
and when associated, as it was in my time at
Woolhurst, with much punishment from
missile weapons hurled at the valet-cadet by
seniors who are lolling on their beds, it grows
to be degrading. To be obliged to put your-
self in a convenient position to be kicked by
a " fifth form," may at the public school be
" roughing it " (it is that) ; perhaps it may
" make a man of you ;" but to be compelled
to lift up those tails conferred by Majesty,
that an old Cadet (an individual who founds
his despotism on the fact that he has held up
his own tails for about two years) may
project you into space with his right foot, is
only slavish. There used to occur cases of
opposition to this tyranny ; few enough, for
they were useless. In such cases it has been
made necessary for the authorities by inter-
ference to protect some Woolhurst Hampden,
after he had been brutally and dangerously
beaten, set upon at times when his aggressors
could not be recognised, sent down to hospital
again and again. Such a youth has been
made sometimes a "cadet- corporal " while yet
a junior (an otherwise unprecedented occur-
rence) in order to put him out of harm's way ;
because the person of a corporal is sacred, and
an outrage on it is punished by expulsion.
Finally, after all pains, such Cadets have been
recommended " to be withdrawn " by the
officials themselves, who were obliged to give
up their own contest with that system of
bullying which they themselves had so long
indirectly favoured or permitted.

What " fagging " is at the public school
carried to an inordinate and almost incre-
dible extent such was "neuxiug" at the
Royal Military Academy at Woolhurst. The
most savage brutality was but too often exer-
cised by those young and irresponsible despots,
into whose hands the cadet- corporals them-
selves were ever ready enough to play. A
demand for a victim to torment was commonly
made to one or other of those on duty,
and a " last joined " was thereupon remitted
from his place of study to undergo the tri-
umphs of their ingenuity. To have to stand
on one leg upon a high stool ; and, having
attained that position, to be pelted with
clothes-brushes and dirty boots is bad ; but,
when high stool was piled upon high stool
for the rooms are very lofty and a neux
was set upon the topmost one to take his
shower-bath ; when finally, the bottom stool
was plucked away, the sport became extremely
perilous. " An angle of forty-five degrees " is
in the abstract neither pleasant nor un

pleasant; but, for a boy to be placed with
his head at the top of a line formed by a row
of very small open cupboards, one below
another, and then, his feet being gradually
drawn away, to have that small head bumped
as many times as there are doors, in its
descent, is not the way to make him eager or
capable in the science of his mathematics. To
carry a " baby " for a mile or so iiphill is,
though unpleasant, a domestic act ; but when
that baby happens to be a stone bottle of
ardent spirits called baby for shortness and
secresy, carried for others, it is, indeed, a
weary burthen. At night, and. after the gates
were closed, many and many a wretched
neux used to be compelled to fetch the
baby from a public-house at least a mile
away often through rain or snow descend-
ing and ascending, as he went or came, a
ha-ha wall which was no laughing matter ; it
being ten feet high. And the excitement of
each trip was pleasantly enhanced by the
knowledge that the trespasser if discovered
would, in all likelihood, be expelled.

I have only mentioned expulsion ; but
there were many minor punishments. There
was the Black Hole ; a horrible place, where-
in, as our legend ran, it was necessary to
contest with rats for the bare life. Culprits
went into it treble their usual size, with seven
pairs of stockings on, and layers of waistcoats,
as though furnished for a winter at the North
Pole. Very violent some of these culprits
were. Daring Hauty being offered consolation
by the sergeant, cast it at that official's teeth,
and ceased not to howl while in durance, for
about nine hours out of the allotted twenty-
four, his hatred and defiance of authority.
Muddles, a broken corporal, began his im-
prisonment recklessly drunk, and was hauled
out at its close, a still more pitiable object.
He had concealed a brandy-flask about his
person, and strengthened himself further with
it during his affliction. Arrests too, of
various degrees, were of frequent occurrence ;
they entailed confinement to the offender's
own apartment if that is one's own which is
shared by three others and attendance at all
extra drills.

Certainly the regular, without the extra
drills, might have been thought severe enough
already. Gentlemen Cadets could not have
their breakfast, or dinner, or tea, or get
up, or go to bed, or enter their respective
academies, without "falling into line," and
"dressing," and "standing at ease," and
" breaking." It would vex the heart of any
man of business to know the frightful amount
of time that was wasted at the Koyal Military
Academy at Woolhurst, in simply assembling
and getting into a perfectly straight line
simply that we might be dismissed. The
time absorbed in raising the hand by a semi-
circular wave to the cap-front, when in any
sort of communication with any kind of
superior officer, was almost incalculable.
No request, report, answer, explanation, or

124

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted bf

announcement, could be made without at
least four salutations ; two of the appellant,
and two of the recipient. It was as if all the
courtesies (not to say all the sympathy and
kindness) of the Gentlemen Cadets and their
Governors, had crystallised themselves into
those forms.

" Giving step " to the Cadet company in
their imposing march to church or other
duty, was a greatness not without its peril.
Trueman, a very morbid, nervous character,
was put under arrest for seven days, while
in enjoyment of this post, because he could
not resist gratifying an insane desire that he
was always haunted with of treading once
on every paving-stone ; the effect of each
irregular step being to set a column of two
hundred " men " scraping and galling one
another's ancles.

Arrests restricted leave of absence ; therein
lay their greatest punishment. Leave was
granted from Saturday in the afternoon, until
late on Sunday night at first, on the ap-
plication of the Cadets themselves ; next,
on the written invitations of friends ; and
finally, upon the understanding that a cer-
tificate should be brought back with them
of their having gone to the places to which
they had been invited. This last precaution
would have been effectual if the original invi-
tations had been always genuine ; but, as
there was a decayed gentleman in the vicinity
who used to invite a great many of us in
divers disguises of hand-writing to sundry
family firesides in London, from which he was
supposed to date charging per letter, as
coming from parent, uncle, or cousin, accord-
ing to the affectionate nature of the summons
it was easy for that scribe to forge certifi-
cates corresponding to the invitations ; and
the Gentlemen Cadets went up to town on
the Saturday with post-dated proofs in their
pockets that they had been there eight-and-
twenty hours already.

Money was essential to those Gentlemen
Cadets who were ambitious to keep up their
high rank and honourable position while in
the metropolis on these occasions. The
Government did not consider cash " a regi-
mental necessary ;" at all events they made no
provision for our wants in that particular.
Money was therefore often raised of pawn-
brokers. When a certain new captain was
appointed strict, severe, and soldier-like
his first acquaintance with our manners and
customs was made, awkwardly enough, by
his picking up a dirty piece of paper on the
parade ground, inscribed with " John Smith,
gold watch, four pounds ten shillings." The
bugle instantly sounded, the Cadet company
" fell in," " dressed," were attentive, and
physically stood at ease ; but the majority were
mentally uneasy. " I regret," said the captain,
"to have to mention a circumstance inflicting
the greatest degradation upon the Cadet com-
pany, one that I could not have credited, save
for the evidence of my own senses, but the fact

comes to me distinctly proved." ('' He haa
nabbed a ' baby ! ' " whispered one. " He
couldn't have seen me hang Butt up by the
legs," pondered another. " I 'm expelled ! "
thought more than half-a-dozen.) " Gentle-
men, I have found a pawn ticket " (general
and intense sensation of relief throughout the
whole of the Cadet company) ; " the name is
Smith " (here a dozen hands were to be seen
secretly feeling for square pieces of card) ; " of
course an assumed name : but, if the offender
will come forward, he shall not be punished. I
desire to reason with him only. I will get his
watch out of pawn ; nay, 1 will advance him
any reasonable sum of money that will keep
him from again falling into so humiliating a
position : only, I say, let that Cadet who owns
a pawn-ticket bearing the name of Smith come
forward." About fifteen young gentlemen,
headed by Macarthy, at once presented them-
selves ; so favourite was that particular sur-
name as an alias with the Cadets of the Royal
Military Academy at Woolhurst.

During my residence at the .Royal Mili-
tary Academy, leader after leader fulmi-
nated from the office of the Thunderer against
the abuses of that institution, and more
and more sourly flowed the milk of human
kindness in our officers. To write a letter
to the Times or to the United Service
Gazette, was to break every article of war
in one offence. Again and again did the
company fall in, and again and again was
the Cadet not gentleman commanded to fall
out, who had been detected in perpetrating
this or that scandalous paragraph. Although
we were starved ; though we were beaten ;
though we existed in an atmosphere of blas-
phemy, and might be as brutal and debauched
as we pleased, was all the world to hear of
it ? Were we aware of what we became
when we put on the Gentleman Cadet uni-
form 1 Still the letters continued to be
written ; for I suppose some of us were not
properly sensitive upon this point. To the
authors of those letters, however, and to
the gentlemen who wrote the leaders, the
service (of which the Military Academy is a
principal branch) owes very much. I had good
reason to be grateful to them ; because in my
own time there were attempts made at im-
provement, tyranny for a while was checked,
and I had something to eat at dinner.

Many things are now changed for the better.
Cadets are admitted at an earlier age ; but
this holds out greater temptations to the
seniors for bullying ; yet there is at least a
nominal limit to neuxing. With that last abuse
I associate every disgrace that has occurred
at the Eoyal Military Academy. Although
Government has established a training school,
every candidate for Woolhurst is not bound
to pass through it ; and, those who do, are no
match against cramming and the memoria
teclmica.

For my own part, I may add that I got
through my probation in the usual way,

Charles Dickens.]

A DIGGEE'S DIAEY.

125

and wore corporal's swabs before I left
Woolliurst, besides an embroidered collar
of magnificence : distinctions due to some
plan-drawings of wonderful minuteness ; in
one of the woods of which could be counted
five-and-sixty distinct trees, and in which all
the houses were quite square, all the roads
quite straight, and all the rivers tortuous.
I managed also to remain unhurt amidst the
swoops which the official eagles used to make
periodically upon the lambs of the Cadet
Company ; for I was not expelled, but was
presented with a regulation sword.

A DIGGEE'S DIARY.

IN OCCASIONAL CHAPTERS.

July 5th. I have been obliged to drop a
week of my Diary (indeed I see no chance of
keeping it regularly) in consequence of taking
my turn to attend to the serving out of pro-
visions for our mess, the cooking, the washing
up, and other pleasing occupations. Hitherto,
Waits had good-naturedly taken my turn
in addition to his own, in consequence of my
indisposition. The duties I was now called upon
to perform, were of a kind that were very near
to reducing me again to my late prostration.
I was in so delicate and touchy a state after
the Bay, that I think I should never have
recovered the tone of my stomach, if I had
not suddenly bethought me of my kind aunt's
last present the bottle of cherry-brandy.
A brandy-cherry was the first thing that
re-assured me I was a man. For some days
previous to that restorative I had the impres-
sion that I was only an empty pump a
miserable tube of gutta-percha.

I entered upon my new duties with the
proper amount of apparent alacrity, and the
natural degree of inward surprise and dis-
gust at the trick that had been put upon me
by Messrs. Saltash and Pincher in keeping all
this drudgery a profound secret. First, then,
I had to be up at six, when the hatches were
-opened by the third mate at the main, and
tne fourth mate at the forward hold ; unless
they overslept themselves, or had other
duties elsewhere, in which case I had to wait
half-an-hour or an hour, as the case might be.
The fourth mate served out the allotted por-
tions of fresh water for each mess, while the
third mate served out biscuit, salt beef, pork,
or something else. As it was impossible
to be in both places at once, if it happened
that the number of my mess was called for
beef when I was at water, it generally
followed that for that day our mess was
minus either water or beef, and I had to bear
the blame. So, with biscuits and preserved
herrings ; soup and bouilli and salt pork ;
chloride of lime and pickles or flour ; one or
other was always liable to be lost. As there
were no^stated hours and system in the serving
out, an immense quantity of time was wasted.
Mr. Swasher, the fourth mate, professed to
aerve out the water the first thing in the

morning, and we accordingly attended round
the fore-hold at half-past six, when the
hatches were taken off; but it frequently
happened, either that he had something else
to do, or else he had to broach a fresh cask,
and could not get it up, or get himself down
to it without great labour and a good many
hands. We therefore did not receive the
water till perhaps three o'clock, having had
to wait round about all the time, or risk
losing it. The waiting at both hatchways was
constantly prolonged by the sale of tobacco,
bottled porter, and ardent spirits on the
captain's private account a sort of tap and
chandlery in the dark, which the second and
third mates managed for Captain Pennysage.
The regular serving out of provisions was
always stopped to meet any of these cus-
tomers. By these means, from five to seven
or eight hours were occupied in the course of
the day by those whose turn it was to get
the provisions, and obtain the cooked dishes
from the cook-house, where there was con-
siderable disorder.

What a life it was for those two young
men, the mates, who ought to have been
learning seamanship ! In the fore-hold,
where Mr. Swasher remained nearly the
whole clay, his life was spent among water-
casks, bottled-beer casks, cases of wine (ex-
ecrable Cape, called pale Sherry), and cases
of brandy, gin, and rum, with champagne that
resembled stale lemonade. The wet, torn,
and besmutched appearance of Mr. Swasher,
when he came on deck for a little fresh air in
the evening, or for ten minutes in the course
of the day, gave him very much the look of
a hunted water-rat. Mr. Eokeby lived in
the suffocating obscurity of a chandlery in.
a low-roofed cellar, in which he was con-
stantly bumping his head against beams,
and jamming his feet between boxes, kegs,
casks, and broken cases full of nail-points.
Scales, weights, and measures were strewed
around ; and he occasionally sat on a fallen
sack of flour to rest himself, with the mouth
of the sack vomiting whiteness, as he wiped
his reeking forehead with his bespattered and
bedaubed shirt-sleeves, and turned a fatigued
and worried face upwards all yellow with
mustard and gleaming with lamp oil.

A word about the cooks. They were all three
the dirtiest beasts ever seen, and the inter-
mediate passengers' cook, in particular, was
like a man made of kettle-smut and grease.
Clothes, hands, feet (naked), and face were all
alike ; and out of the head of this thing
there looked a pair of prominent bright
eyes which gave him a sort of devilish
appearance, equally ridiculous and horrid.
This grim object had rather a predilec-
tion for me, in consequence, I think, of my
having given him, by Arrowsmith's advice,
half a tumbler of rum on the first day of
entering upon my new office. It was unfor-
tunate that on this very day he should happen
to spoil all the soup ; but I saw that he felt

126

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

grateful to me ; because he smiled upon me,
and, holding up his two filthy paws with the
pantomime of " pat-a-cake," said he should
be happy to make and cook for me any " nice
little thing."

I should be very glad to pass over my own
performances in cookery, but a few words
must be said on public grounds. I knew
nothing of the art. I had never, to the best
of my recollection, even made a dirt-pie when
a child. Not a word was said on this subject
in any of the public advertisements and an-
nouncements of the dietary and other domestic
arrangements, if I may so express myself,
of the Rodneyrig, nor was a word breathed
on the subject by Messrs. Saltash and
Pincher. Of course I thought, as every
other intermediate passenger thought, that
we should have stewards in the ship for
duties in the way of preparing eatables
for the cook quite as much a work requiring
skill and practice as the cooking them by the
fire. Yet here, all at once, one was required
to be a proficient, or at any rate to be able to
manage a few simple dishes. In brief, I dis-
graced myself in my new occupation spoiling
everything I touched, except the biscuits, and
subjecting myself to innumerable unpleasant
remarks, and some threats ; which but for
Waits, who behaved very well, and as a
* tower of strength " to me, would probably
have been carried into condign execution.

July Gt/t. Asked Arrowsmith how he
found the provisions provided for the cuddy
passengers. He said " Pretty well, consider-
ing." He had fared much worse in some
voyages he had been. I said that was no
rule. He admitted this, and asked me what
I thought of the fare of the intermediates.
I told him just the fact. A few things
were tolerably good, and all the rest bad
some things abominable. Biscuits were
good ; salt pork was bad ; salt fish abomin-
able. Rice was good, and flour and raisins ;
preserved meat was bad, so were butter, and
pickles, and cheese, and coffee, and preserved
herrings and salt beef were abominable. The
salt beef that had been provided for the
sailors by the owners of the ship, was far
better than that provided for the intermediates
by the vile agents Saltash and Pincher. Besides
this, as bone was reckoned in our weight, it
often happened that a mess of six persons did
not receive above ten or twelve ounces of
meat among the whole of them ; the remainder
being bone, fat, gristle, or sinew in short,
the very worst parts of the beef had been
carefully selected for our use. I told Arrow-
smith I felt convinced this had been done just
because they got it cheaper. He said that
was rather a shrewd remark.

July 1th. A sailor had a bad fall this
morning, by which he broke his head the
back part of it, I mean in consequence of
the rope he was pulling suddenly coming in
two. In the afternoon another sailor had a
still worse fall and injury from precisely the

same cause. Heard several sailors and pas-
sengers agreeing that it was in consequence
of the rotten state of the ropes. Waits said
that the rigging, both below and aloft, was
rotten, and not fit for men to trust their lives
to ; but that Captain Penny sage would never
allow the " boason " to give out anew piece of
rope so long as an old one could be spliced,
even though certain to break again the very
next time there was any strain upon it.
Isaac said that the captain no doubt thought
to stand well with the owners of the Rodney-
rig for this economy ; or else he must be a
great rogue, and sold the new rope for his
own profit, while he made the old rope last
twice as long as it ought. He inclined, how-
ever, to the former opinion.

July 8th. A squall not at all alarming.
I felt pleased to think I was in a squall
and able to remain on deck, looking about,
or sitting upon the head of a cask with
my arms folded. But presently there was a
very strange kind of sound up above, quite
different from the wind, and this was quickly
followed by a loud flapping and flanking
noise. One of the large sails had split right
across. Heard the second mate say in the
evening, that it was entirely owing to a
rotten rope which had been spliced ten or
eleven times, and that twenty pounds' worth
of canvas had been torn to rags by a saving
of a few shillingsworth of new rope. I men-
tioned this to Arrowsmith. He said it was
just like Captain Pennysage ; and that only
yesterday morning he, Arrowsmith, had
counted seventeen splices in. the main-top-
gallant halliards.

Arrowsmith said that as we had so many
children running about the decks, there ought
to be a moveable rope railing, or some such
protection round the open hatchways, since a
fall down one of them especially if the hold
were open at the time would probably be
attended with fatal consequences. The life-
boat, -which lay inverted over the sheep in
the launch, had been overlaid by a number of
coils of rope and new tackles, but to this hour
had never been properly lashed fast to the
boats beneath, and to the deck. It was
therefore a wonder it had never rolled off
during some of the lurches the ship had
given in the Bay of Biscay ; and if this
occurred in the day-time, the fall of such
a. -weight might have killed half-a-dozen
passengers. Arrowsmith said he had pointed
this out to Captain Pennysage, who answered
that it would all be done in good time
meaning, Arrowsmith supposed, after some-
body had been killed. Then he had found
out that by some carelessness in the ar-
rangements, while the ship was lying in the
East India Docks, instead of the freight,
the passengers' luggage, the captain's
private stores, and the passengers' provision
stores, being all stowed in separate compart-
ments, they had all been lowered down and
stowed together just as they arrived, with

Charles Dickens.]

A DIGGER'S DIAEY.

127

the "medical comforts " into the bargain ;
out of which all sorts of inconvenience, waste
of labour, and confusion, was sure to arise
during the voyage, and on arriving at our
destination. As for 'the Kodneyrig, he said,
she was a very good ship for cargo, and so
forth, but she had never been built as a
passenger ship, and even what could have
been done to remedy this had not been at-
tempted. I told him that only half, at most,
of the cabins below had scuttles to them,
and these were so near to the water, that
they could only be opened to admit air in
emoothish weather, or only at times on one
side of the ship, and still at the mercy of a
deluge from an accidental wave splashing
up or running higher than the rest. He
said, " Shameful ! " I quite dreaded the
tropics, expecting to be suffocated.

July 9th. A horrid stench from the after
hatchway about twelve o'clock. Mr. Rokeby
below serving out preserved meat in tin cases,
which emitted this effluvia directly they were
opened. Twenty or thirty in succession being
found alike ; and the captain with Dr. Bannister
having been to inspect them (of course they
hadn't a word to say), Mr. Rokeby was
directed to throw them overboard. This was
done, to the great delight of the intermediates ;
not, apparently, so much on account of getting
rid of the nuisance, as from the excitement of
seeing something condemned and executed.
Mr. Rokeby was directed to get out some
cases of preserved herrings instead. He did
BO, but on the first incision of his iron instru-
ment in the top of the case there was a
hissing sound, with a spurt-up of juice, and
one of the most disgusting fumes imaginable.
The next case was the same and the next
half-dozen and the next score. It was
shocking. All the time the hatchways were
crowded by the intermediate passengers,
eagerly inhaling it, and crying out " Oh ! pah !
pheu !" while Mr. Rokeby continued to accom-
modate them with the fumes of case after
case, the same being diffused on its way up
from the hold wherein he opened them, all
through the between decks. He stopped at
the sixty-eighth case, being of a sickly yellow
in the face ; and then it occurred to some-
body to cry out that it would be better for
himself and everybody else below if he would
open such cases on the upper deck, and have
them thrown overboard the instant the
effluvia told their condition. The captain
and Dr. Bannister saw the sense of this.
The delight of the intermediates was con-
siderably enhanced by forty more six-pound
cases of herrings being examined and handed
over to them to throw overboard. " Ah,"
said the captain, as he walked away,
" that's a sad waste of provisions ; Messrs.
Saltash and Pincher had better have paid a
trifle more to the contractors. Penny wise
and pound foolish." For this sentiment the
intermediates cheered him.

July 10th. A sailor fell overboard, and was

drowned before a boat could be cleared oi
the lumber in her, and lowered down. He
was hauling upon a rope, which gave way
suddenly. It was suggested that, perhaps,
he was drunk ; and Captain Pennysage said,
he was afraid poor Tom had been often in
that state. The carpenter inquired of Dr.
Bannister, if so be that Tom had been drunk,
how that should make a rope break ? He
must have been very drunk indeed to " give
it " to the rope.

Sunday, July \\tli. Passed the island of
Madeira. Thought I could feel the beauty
of the climate from the soft hues and tints of
the mountains. It looked a place for oranges
in the open air. Dr. Bannister read prayers on
deck. Captain Pennysage was very devout.
Often heard a little buzz of voices from the
'tween decks during the service. Found after-
wards that Mr. Rokeby had been carrying on
a very brisk trade in rum and tobacco on the
captain's private account nearly the whole
time ; but that his weights and measures
were now and then the subject of a little
dispute.

July I2th. The ship " lying her course "
they said. Was extremely glad to hear this,
as she had been lying with her head nearly
the opposite way we wanted to go, on several
occasions, I had heard, since we left Ply-
mouth. It did. not strike me that we should
make a very quick passage. I was very sick
of it. Everything so salt.

July 13th. The self-resources of the pas-
sengers for passing their tedious hours, were
at the lo west ebb, and the means they adopted
to amuse each other were not very much
better. On the poop deck the gentlemen
smoked cigars and tried to read, and the
ladies did fancy work and tried to read a little
too. They inquired the ship's course since
yesterday at twelve o'clock, and how long it
wanted to dinner. In the evening they walked
up and down got up a little very queer
singing, came and looked over the rail to
see how we were amusing ourselves, then
descended to tea, and sometimes a rubber of
whist, after which they disappeared till next
morning when the bell rang for breakfast.
As for the intermediates, their occupations and
amusements were limited to smoking, spitting,
and lounging about all day, during the time
they were not eating or drinking. The
eating and drinking were the only great
points of interest with them, viz., from meal
to meal, and from day to day, and from week
to week. In the evening there was occasionally
an attempt to be genial, and a few songs were
sung with choruses, and there was some
dancing. The choruses showed manifest signs
of rapid improvement, as there were some
good voices, and one or two who knew how
to drill them ; the dancing also got better
each time, and especially after a sailor had
made a tambourine out of one of the sheep-
skins, cleared of its wool, dried in the sun,
and stretched across the lid of a flour cask.

128

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted b .

But half-a-dozen blackguards in the ship took
delight in spoiling everything, and as there
was no order in the ship and no "public
spirit," they were allowed to spoil everything.
In vain had Arrowsmith declared aloud on
the poop deck, in the hearing of all around,
that the ship was iu a most disorderly and
unsafe condition, to say nothing of discomfort,
from the want of all systematic arrangements ;
and that all these arrangements, together
with the requisite authority, devolved, so far
as the passengers were concerned, upon Dr.
Bannister and not upon the captain. All the
good he effected was to make an enemy of
Captain Pennysage, for the doctor's long
period of sea-sickness had rendered him
totally unable to assume any authority ; until
the captain, having taken all upon himself,
would allow of no interference in his manage-
ment. But as he had no sort of head to
devise, or skill or firmness to carry out any-
thing beyond the sailing of the ship on the
most slow and economical principles, we were
constantly in a scene of discomfort and
confusion. Dr. Bannister made one or
two attempts to take his proper position,
but it was too late. Not only was the
captain averse to resigning any claim to
authority, but all the intermediates now re-
sisted it, as an unjustifiable interference. They
said his duty was only to attend to those who
were ill, and not to meddle with those who
were well and hearty : so they all refused to
obey his directions, as to getting up in the
morning and taking their bedding on deck to
be aired ; as to ranging themselves for their
proper turns at the serving out of provisions ;
as to leaving their hot and fuming cabins and
coining up, one and all, from the 'tween
decks or to the upper deck, while the sailors
scraped and scrubbed and cleansed their
place of abode below ; as to extinguishing all
private candles and lamps in cabins at ten
o'clock. The consequences were, that many
who were well made themselves ill in various
ways ; the berths and cabins were in a most
dirty, close, and unaired state, and the lower
decks filthy with the mud of trodden bis-
cuits, fat and gristle and skin of salt beef
and pork, carelessly dropped, or recklessly
thrown down, cooking refuse, slush-buckets,
foul swabs, brimming pails, dishcloths, and
broken candles, with the froth and suds from
attempts to wash with marine soap, and a
running leeward gutter-stream from the oc-
casional shipping of seas, and the frequent
upset of water-kegs or fall of rain down the
open hatchways. The obtaining provisions
for the messes was often a scene of brutal
selfish scrambling, and it seldom happened
that anybody got his proper weight, his sugar
free from sticks and straws, his butter with-
out a plentiful sprinkling of loose tea and
tobacco shreds, his coffee without sand and
stones from the hold, his flour without an
ounce or two of incidental mustard, or his
mustard without being speckled with chloride

of lime. This latter article Dr. Bannister
ordered to be given to everybody who asked
for it, and in abundance ; but scarcely three
of the passengers in the 'tween decks took
any of it, and with the exception of those
three, (Arrowsmith, myself, and Mrs. Cow-
thorne, who had a large family) nobody could
be induced to make use of it in any shape
or way, unless with the unavoidable mus-
tard medium.

July I4t/i. Two children, one of five years
of age, and the other of seven, playing at
chasing each other about the deck, fell down
the fore hatchway, and down through the
open hatchway of the hold. The youngest
was killed on the spot, and the elder child
was taken up insensible, and with both legs
broken. The only wonder was, as there was
no sort of protection round these open abysses,
that among so many children, and with
crowded and lumbered up deck, that some-
thing of the kind didn't happen every day.

July \5th. Passed the Canary Isles. Was
very anxious to see Teneriffe. Don't exactly
know why, but rather think it was on account
of the Peak. The day very fine and clear.
Wind fair and fresh, so that we went along
much faster than we had almost ever done
before. A bright blueish greyish cone was
pointed out to me in the distance, rising
above the clouds, and this being, of course,
the celebrated Peak, a great many of us were
anxious to contemplate it, both with and
without glasses, but were disturbed, and in-
deed put to the rout by the ejaculations and
hurryings to and fro of the mothers of the
two poor children who had been killed by the
fall yesterday, and were ordered by Dr. Ban-
nister to be buried this evening, which the
mothers vehemently opposed. They said they
only wished no more harm would come to the
health of the ship than what would happen
by keeping those two sweet innocents aboard.
The babes had been murdered, they said, by
the want of proper protection and fenders,
and insisted that they should be kept till we
touched at some place where they could be
buried properly, like in a Christian country.
As this could not be listened to, a shocking
scene took place the mothers had to be taken
down below by force, where they continued
to scream the husband of one of them col-
lared Dr. Bannister as he was reading a bit
of the burial service and one of the mothers
made her way by force on deck with her hair
all flying in the wind, just as the dead body of
her child was launched over the side, when she
gave a loud scream with a leap upwards, and
fell flat upon the deck without further motion.

July IVt/i. The weather getting hotter and
hotter. Begin to think of the tropics. Anxious
to know if there were not certain ceremonies
often performed at sea on crossing the Line,
some of which, if I had been correctly in-
formed, were extremely disagreeable. Heard
Captain Pennysage say that he would not
allow anything of the kind to take place in

Charles Dickens.]

SILKEN CHEMISTRY.

the Rodneyrig ; these pranks of crossing the
Line were sometimes the cause of one or two
buckets being thrown overboard, with other
losses, for which he did not choose to be
responsible to the owners of the ship : in
addition to which it sometimes happened that
a passenger fell overboard, and was lost.

About one o'clock in the morning I was
awoke by a loud hooting, and clattering, and
yelling, intermingled with long guttural
screams, and short panting grunts ; and then
a rush of many feet, witli shouts and laughter
all along the between decks. " What's that,

cried I. " It's only a pig hunt,"
" one of the pigs has got out, or

Isaac ? "
said he

somebody has pulled him out, and now a Jot
o' fellows are having a good hunt." Presently
the voice of Captain Pennysage was heard,
and suddenly he appeared in the 'tween
decks with a dark lanthorn, the bull's-eye
of which he turned right into our cabin, so
that I fell back in my berth as if shot, crying

out, " It wasn't
laughed .like

us, sir !
fool for

At this Isaac
several minutes.

Everybody had safely regained his cabin be-
fore the captain showed his light ; he there-
fore declared aloud that he would put the
three ringleaders of the disturbance in irons
the next morning, and named three of the
quietest men in the ship, who had certainly
never stirred out of their cabins all night.

July VltJi. Wind blowing fresh ship run-
ning ten knots an hour very quick for us.
Wind rising, men ordered to take in a flying-
jib. In consequence of many splices in a rope,
one of them got entangled, or would not run
through a block, or something of that kind,
and five men went out to clear the rigging,
when a sudden gust struck the flapping sail
and crash went the jib-boom, which instantly
fell into the sea, carrying with it, of course,
the flying jib-boom, and both sails, together
with the five men. In an instant all was
confusion on deck. Ropes were thrown over
the side for the men to catch at the life
buoy was cut adrift, but was so jammed
that it would not fall down some ran to
lower the quarter boats others called out
for the life-boat to be got out and Captain
Pennysage ran about giving all sort of orders,
and not attending to any one of them being
put into execution. Meantime the ship had
been hove to three of the men were clinging
to the wreck of ropes and spars in the sea
and Arrowsmith and the second mate, both
first-rate swimmers, jumped overboard, and
swam to their assistance. Just as they had
helped the third man up the side, a loud
shriek was heard to leeward, followed by a
cry from the deck of " Shark ! Shark ! " and
a rush of all the passengers to the leeward
side. One of the poor fellows had been taken

down by a shark.
Pyke both saw it.

Mr. Pounderby and Mrs.
The remaining sailor was

still swimming for his life, and crying out for
a _boat. Arrowsmith and the second mate,

scrambling up the ship's side. A loud cry,
swelling into a combined scream, from all the
passengers ! I looked over the side, and was
just in time to see the sailor, with a face as
white as a ghost, swung backwards and dis-
appear beneath the wave. His mouth was
wide open I think with horror some said he
gave a scream, but I never heard it.

Sunday, 18th. Waits brought into the cabin
a small piece of dry touchwood. He asked
me to guess what it was. I said, " Stuff to
light a pipe with, to be sure." He said, " Yes,
it was ; but what had it lately been, or what
had it been part of 1 " " Of the inside of somo
old rotten tree or branch," said I. Waits
folded it up in paper, and put it in his

"Part of the jib-boom of the Rodney-
said he, "just at the place where it

box.
rig !

broke. No wonder it broke. Two men's
lives lost by a rotten spar, and a narrow
escape for five others. That's the way to fife
out ships to make money by passengers ! " I
was glad to find Isaac had so much public
spirit. " I suppose you don't object," said I,
" to my inserting what you have just said in
my Diary." He thought a little, and then

SILKEN CHEMISTRY.

THE assay of gold and silver has already
been described in this miscellany, and most
persons are familiar with analyses of various
minerals and vegetables, made with a view
of ascertaining and determining their relative
degrees of purity. But a method by which
such a delicate fabric as silk is capable of
being assayed ; of being put through a fire
and water ordeal, flung into a crucible, and
brought out free from all impurities, is a
novelty of a rather startling nature ; for who
ever dreamt that silk is adulterated 1

Silk is, from its nature, more susceptible
of absorbing moisture than any other fibrous
article. In fact, it approaches in this respect
to the quality of sponge : well-dried silk,
when placed in a damp situation, will very
rapidly absorb five or six per cent, of mois-
ture ; and, being very dear and being always
sold by weight, this property gives large
opportunity for fraud ; yet it is not the only
channel for mal-practices. Silk, as spun by
the silk-worm, contains amongst its fibres, in
very minute portions, a quantity of resin,
sugar, salt, &c, to the extent generally of
twenty-four per cent, of the entire weight.

This peculiarity leads to the fraudulent ad-
mixture of further quantities of gum, sugar,
and even of fatty substances, to give weight
to the article ; consequently when a dealer
or manufacturer sends a quantity of raw silk
to a throwster to be spun into silk thread, it
is no unusual thing to find it heavily charged
with adulterate matters. When he sends
that silk to be dyed he will find out the
loss, provided the dyer does not follow up

with excited gestures and large eyes, came I the system by further adulteration.

130

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted \>y

The presence of foreign substances in the
silk, is fatal to proper dyeing ; hence the
dyer proceeds to get rid of them by means of
boiling the silk in soap and water. As silk
thread becomes charged with foreign matters
to various degrees, given weights of several
samples will contain very different lengths.
In this way manufacturers are often deceived
in the produce of various parcels of thrown
silks after coming from the loom.

In our own country, great as have been the
strides made by most branches of manu-
facture, the silk spinner or weaver has
quietly borne all these evils and disappoint-
ments in deepest ignorance of the Chemistry
of Silk, and perhaps believing that " Where
ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise." He,
alone, of all the workers, lias neglected to
seek the friendly aid of the chemist.

Possibly it is this indifference to science,
which has left the silk manufacturer so far
behind every other son of industry. It is
notorious that, whilst our cotton, linen, and
woollen manufactories have been multiplied
ten-fold during the last score of years, those
of silk goods have made scarcely any progress.
The manufacturers are themselves perfectly
aware of this startling fact, and it was but a
few months since that a memorial was pre-
sented from them to the legislature, praying
that all remaining protection on their goods
might be removed, as the only hope of giving
a new vitality to their slumbering trade.

The truth is, that Frenchmen are more
keenly alive to the value of science in con-
nection with manufacture than ourselves.
Whilst our silk manufacturers have gone on
upon the old well-beaten track, those of
France have enlisted in their behalf the
services of the chemist, who has brought their
raw material as completely under his analy-
tical control as subtle gas or ponderous ore.
He has demonstrated to a nicety that its
relative purity, its strength, its elasticity, its
durability, its structure, the very size and
weight of each separate fibre, may be shown
and registered with precision and certainty.
He tells the manufacturer the actual amount
of latent moisture contained in a pound of
silk ; he shows him how much natural gum,
resin, and sugar, every bale comprises : he
points out how much lighter his thread should
be after the processes of spinning and dyeing ;
and, more valuable still, he indicates the most
profitable use to which every bale of raw silk
is applicable : that whilst one parcel is best
adapted for the manufacture of satin, another
may be better employed for plain silk, another
for velvet, and so on to the end.

In France, Italy, and other parts of con-
tinental Europe, the assaying, or, as it is
there technically termed, the " conditioning of
silk," is carried on under the sanction of the
municipal authorities, in establishments called
Conditioning Houses. The quantity thus
assayed is published weekly for the informa-
tion of the trade with as much regularity as

a Price Current. In this way we may find
it publicly notified that, in the Conditioning
House at Lyons there were during last
year five millions, thirty-seven thousand, six
hundred and twenty-eight pounds of silk
assayed ; at Milan, three millions, four hundred
and sixty-six thousand, six hundred and
ninety-one pounds, and other large quantities
at St. Etienne, Turin, Zurich, Elberfeld, and
other places.

Of so much importance has this process
been deemed in France that, in 1841, a royal
ordonnance was passed, setting forth the
ascertained weight which silk loses by the
conditioning process, and which is eleven
per cent. This eleven per cent., added to the
weight of the silk after the ordeal it has gone
through, makes up what is termed its mer-
chantable weight.

The French have brought to our doors the
means of accomplishing what they have prac-
tised during the last twenty years, with so
much advantage. These means are no fur-
ther removed from us than Broad Street
Buildings, in the City, in premises lately
occupied by one of the many Colonial bubble
Companies which have so multiplied during
the past half century. Science has estab-
lished herself where humbug so recently sat
enthroned.

We have paid a visit to these premises.
The first operation we beheld was that of de-
termining the humidity of silk. Eleven per
cent, is the natural quantity in all silk, but
from various causes this is nearly always
much exceeded. Several samples of the
articles having been taken from a bale, they
are weighed in scales, capable of being turned
by half a grain. Two of these samples are
then placed in other scales, equally delicate
and true ; one end of which, containing the
sample, being immersed in a copper cylinder
heated by steam to two hundred and thirty
degrees of Fahrenheit, the other, with the
weights, being enclosed within a glass case.
The effect of this hot-air bath is rapidly seen ;
the silk soon throws off its moisture, becomes
lighter, and the scale with the weights begins
to sink. In this condition it is kept until no
further loss of weight is perceived ; the
weight which the silk is found to have lost
being the exact degree of its humidity. The
natural eleven per cent, of humidity being
allowed for, any loss beyond that shows the
degree of artificial moisture which the silk
contains.

To determine the amount of foreign matters
contained in a sample of silk, the parcels after
a most mathematical weighing are boiled
in soap and water, for several hours. They
are then conveyed to the hot-air chambers;
subjected to two hundred and thirty degrees
of heat, and finally weighed. It will be found
now that silk of the greatest purity has
lost not only its eleven per cent, of moisture,
but a further twenty-four per cent, in the
various foreign matters boiled out of it. But

Charles Dickens.]

JANE MARKLAND.

131

should the article have been in any way
tampered with, the loss is not unusually as
much as thirty or thirty-two per cent.

The assaying the lengths of silk is done by
ruling off four hundred yards of the fibre, and
weighing that quantity ; the finer the silk, the
lighter will these four hundred yards be. But
as this gossamer fibre is liable to break, a
beautiful contrivance exists for instantly ar-
resting the reel on which it is being wound
off, in order that it may be joined and the
reeling continued. Another means exists for
stopping the reel immediately the four hun-
dred yards are obtained.

The degree of elasticity is shown by a
delicate apparatus which stretches one thread
of the silk until it breaks, a tell-tale dial
and hand marking the point of fracture.
Equally ingenious and precise is the apparatus
for testing what is termed the " spin" of the
silk ; its capability of being twisted round
with great velocity without in any way being
damaged in tenacity or strength.

The last process is also purely mechanical.
A hank of the silk, on its removal from the
boiling-off cistern, is placed upon a hook ;
and, by means of a smooth round stick passed
through it, a rapid jerking motion is given to
it, which after some little time, throws up a
certain degree of glossy brightness. This
power of testing its lustre is employed to
ascertain its suitability for particular pur-
poses. Should it come up very brilliantly,
the article will be pronounced adapted for a
fine satin ; with less lustre upon it, it may
be set aside for gros de Naples, or velvet, and
in this way the manufacturer can determine
beforehand to what purpose he shall apply
his silk, and so avoid frequent disappointment
and 'loss. In short, instead of working in the
dark and by chance, he works by chemical
rules of undeviating correctness.

After each of the above assays, or con-
ditionings, the owner of the silk is supplied
for a small fee with an authenticated certifi-
cate of ita various qualities.

JANE MARKLAND.

A TALE.

IT needs not beauty to adorn the face,

Nor flexile limbs to give the motions grace.

As from the shapeless block Apollo broke

And glowed with lovelier life at every stroke,

So glows with freshening charms the homeliest maid,

When warm Affection plies the sculptor's trade.

When young Jane Markland came to teach our school
The village children loved her gentle rule ;
So mild the mistress learning won the child,
And hardest words grew easy when she smiled.
But not all smiles ; the teacher knew to frown
And keep disorder by a whisper down ;
Heavy her brows when idlesse mocked her reign,
And, half by chance, her hand would touch the cane ;
So ermined judges thrill the crowd with awe
By useless macs, and sword thev never draw.

Our curate white his hair and warm his heart
By merit fitted for a loftier part,
But pleased and happy 'mid the flock he tends,
Unmarked by bishops rich in humbler friends
Our curate ne'er grew tired of lauding Jane,
And soared at once to Ciceronian strain :

Since first," he says, " to teach our school she came
I scarce believe the village is the same ;
A neatness now pervades our cottage rooms ;
Our cottage walls are sweet with summer blooms ;
I find a book on every table spread,
Where morn and eve the word of God is read ;
Neat prints the fruit of gathered pence bestow
Refinement never dreamt of long ago ;
The school-boys sweep the road before the door,
The weather's self seems better than of yore ;
And then, in all she does she 's so sincere,
'Tis pity she 's so very plain, my dear."

Yes ; Jane was plain ; in truth, I 've often heard
A stranger paint her by a harsher word.
For coarse she was in feature, dull her eyes,
Her gait ungainly and enlarged her size ;
Yet ne'er came child of Eve bereft of all
The charms, Eve's only dowry since the fall;
Some link remains by which the bond we trace
Between the loveliest and the plainest face.
Some one expression that, with instant thrill,
Tells us the ugliest is a woman still ;
White teeth had Jane, and lips that well exprest
Each thought, fear, feeling of her gentle breast.

One night, when winds that had been loud all day
Beneath the troubled moonlight died away,
And left the trees unmoved, while overhead
Large jagged clouds o'er all the blue were spread ;
Swiftly across the sky their squadrons passed
As if for safety flying from the blast;
You seemed to hear the tempest as it swept
Though sound was none, and calm the village slept.

To Jane's low casement came a stealthy tread :
A voice was heard. " Are you still up ? " it said.
Jane laid the iron down. "Who's here so late?
What, Widow Snow ! Come in."

" I may not wait

The moon is hid ; a piping gust I hear
That shows too well a storm is drawing near ;
The boats are all returned, save only one,
And that oh, Jane ! I tremble for my son ;
Heedless and bold lie is, nor used to guide
The boat in darkness to our jetty's side."
Jane heard the widow and no word she spoke ;
But struck the lanthorn's light and pinned her cloak ;
" 'Tis a wild night ; I hear the sea," she said,
And swiftly to the shore the way she led.

A dreadful scene ! With unresisted sway
Wave rushed on wave, as howling for their prey,
And clashing from their heads the blinding spray.
High o'er the pier they swept as if in pride,
And fell in thunder on the leawnrd side;
Then, as in wrath, they struck the rocks, and tore
Deep furrows in the sand and shook the shore.
" Can you see nothing, Jane ? " the widow cried.
" There is no boat in motion faor wide ;
There 's nothing to be seen but the tall crest
Of the land breakers ; blackness hides the rest.
Stop ! there was something dark, a moment seen,
Now sunk in the deep trough, the seas between;
Again ! it is a boat ! Heaven help the crew !
Through all this coil I heard a wild halloo.

132

HOUSEHOLD WOEDS.

[Conducted br

Go, dearest widow ! to the bay below.

Hold forth the lanthorn, it their course will show ;

If they hold on there may be safety yet.

See see they come oh God ! the boat's upset."

Loud screamed the widow and the lanthorn shook ;

With steadier fingers Jane the burden took ;

And raised it high in air its light to show,

And, anxious hoping, waved it to and fro.

On a long shoreward swell that rushed in might

From the black, weltering distance into light

An upturned keel she sees ; witli hideous roar

The wave repulsed ejects it on the shore ;

And on the fragments, drenched, insensate, cold,

Two human forms still keep their deadly hold.

The lanthorn's light their features gave to view,

But Hope expired to mark their pallid hue.

Prone lay the widow on that fatal sand,

Her dead hand closed upon her son's dead hand.

Within a garden from our street withdrawn,
With twenty feet in front by way of lawn,
Our Doctor's house three-storied, roofed with slate
Retired, yet public, keeps manorial state.
A gabled stable helps its airs of pride,
The surgery window decks the other side.
Thither hied Jane; in language clear though fast
Summoned his aid, and shoreward quickly passed ;
Knocked at some doors, her tale of grief displayed,
And b.lf the village rose to give her aid.

John Dire, the roughest, kindest man alive,

Was sixty years, and owned to forty-five ;

A Navy surgeon, thirty years afloat,

The anchor-button still adorned his coat ;

M. D. his rank, but little squared his rules

With tedious lessons learned in musty schools ;

Sharp and decisive was his word ; his hand

Had knife, pill, bolus ever at command ;

His language rough, adorned with words so queer

That even our curate sometimes smiled to hear ;

Storm -beat his cheeks, as if his days had past

Howling defiance to the northern blast,

Yet warm his feelings, though his words uncouth,

Unchilled by age and generous as in youth.

Meantime the crowd had gathered on the strand,
And round the three the mourning neighbours stand.
" Is there no hope ? " said Jane, and felt the skin
Of the drowned youth. "Yes! yet there's warmth

within.

Fly for a blanket; still my parlour fire
Burns clear and bright; but here comes Doctor Dire.'
Back drew the crowd. With careful hand he press'd
The boatman's wrist, and felt within his breast ;
Jane drew the widow off, who slowly woke,
And while the leech was silent, no one spoke.
To see the other sufferer next he went,
And uttered various grunts that spoke content.
" Bill Bosford has no watery death to dread,
Give him some grog and put the dog to bed.
Unsling the main-sail of that boat; with care
Lay Snow within " and then, with threatening air
He bade the crowd go but I can't say where.
Jane hurried homeward, stirred the iire, and spread
Before its blaze her choicest feather-bed.
When footsteps sounded at her garden gate
She oped the door, %nd in was borne the weight.
Oh ! strange the ease that use and skill supply !
'Neath Dire's quick hand all difficulties fly ;
Soon on the cheek a languid colour glows,
Slow beats the pulse ; the eyelids half unclose ;
With many a muttered oath which Heaven forgive!
The doctor swears at last the boy will live,

Puts to his lips a flask; and, with a strain,
Snow lifts his eyes and gazes first on Jane.
' Let the dog lie," says Dire ; " here let him lie ;
If you disturb the scoundrel's rest he '11 die."
Then sat he down, and to the listening few
Who close and closer round his arm-chair drew,
Told he such tales, ns filled them with affright,
Of all his doings after Algiers' fight ;
The bones he sawed, the wounds he staunched, the

gore

That filled the cockpit-boards a foot or more ;
Such were the sights on hoard the Bossentore.*
Then changed the theme ; and next the surgeon told;
Of ten feet water settling in the hold ;
The store-room swampt, while water-logged they lay,
And starving watched the sunset day by day,
Till on the fourth, just when the lots they threw
That doomed the doctor's self to feed the crew,
A sail drew near that food and safety bore.
They watched the ship, that soon lurched wholly

o'er ;

Such the sad ending of the Bossentore !
Delighted listeners looked on him with dread,
As if whole histories in his face they read
So rough, so weather-beat, so gnarled and old,
More wild and awful than the tales lie told.
Snow lay asleep ; above his breath he bends,
Then turns with words uncourteous to his friends,
Bids them go home ; but speaks with honour due
To watchful Jane, and tells her what to do.
Then, muttering many curses, for display,
Goes homeward, shivering timbers all the way.
His are no curses ; even our priest declares
They 're but a topsy-turvey kind of prayers ;
A sort of enmity that fires no lead,
But vollies on its starving foes with bread.

Jane and the widow watched the youth's repose
And helped him home when earliest morn arose-
His was the farm that close and sheltered lay
'Neath the tall Downs that guard our tiny bay;
A rock-strewn farm, with many a deep ravine,
Where babbling runlets run their course unseen,
Till 'tween split rocks they sparkle into day,
Or soar in jets and noiseless glide away.
Humble the home where widow Snow abode,
But picturesque and lovely from the road ;
For climbing creepers hid the mouldering wal! r
And clustered roses made amends for all ;
A leasehold farm, with such a term to run,
It might outlast, she said, her grandson's son.
By favourite names each little field was known,
And save in name the fields were all her own ;
And scarce more pride can fill an emperor's breast,
When countless armies march at his behest,
Than filled poor Widow Snow when she surveyed.
Her twelve fat cows beneath the elm-trees' shade.
But pride unblest with riches is a snare ; ^
And many a grief had Widow Snow to bear.
A farmer she ; a pew at church her own ; ,
Yet ne'er aspired to silk or satin gown,
While tradesmen's wives, ev'n nursemaids out of

place,

Rustled in silk and veiled themselves in lace.
But pride had heavier falls ; for, as he grew,
The hopes she cherished in her son were few.
Loving to her he was ; but idle, wild
He tired of home, and revelled while she toiled ;
He scorned the land that filled her heart with pride,.
But cost his net ; the tireless oar he plied,

* This is supposed to be the medical pronunciation of tho-
" Bucentaur."

Charles Dickeni.]

JANE MARKLAND.

133

Mixed with the common crew, half-shared a boat,
Arid ne'er was happy saving when afloat.

A change came o'er his life since that dread hour
When harsh experience showed the tempest's power.
No more he sought his comrades en the shore,
Nor scorned the home that had been dull before.
When Jane walked up at evenings there was he,
Kind host, to hand her countless cups of tea,
To press the muffin while it yet was warm,
And all the rural dainties of the farm ;
Nor this alone, but books he tried to read ;
If dark the sense Jane helped him at his need.
A slate he bought, and toiled with many a fret,
Through sums, and weights, and measures dry and

wet.

The maid still aided when a puzzler came,
And joy at her assistance drowned the shame.
Once said his mother, " What a girl is Jane !
How good her heart ! Alas, that she 's so plain !"
John oped his eyes as if he scarcely heard
Or strove to attain the meaning of the word.
"Plain?" he exclaimed; "I know not what you

mean,

A smile like hers no mortal man has seen."
" Have you e'er told her so ? " the mother said.
" What right have I, stained name and empty head,
To speak to such a scholar as Miss Jane ? "
The son replied. " Indeed, I 'm uot so vain."

That night Jane sought the farm when school was

done ;

The mother archly smiled, and blushed the son.
When first they saw her at the Whitefield stile,
Said Widow Snow, "Just tell her of her smile."
But silent sat the youth the evening through,
And never hours before so swiftly flew.
When Jane rose up to take her homeward way,
" John," said the mother, " has a word to say ;
He '11 see you through the yard and past the stile,
He wants to tell you, Jane, about your smile."
No smile had Jane ; so well her face she knew,
How many its defects, its charms how few,
She felt offence ; her voice grew sharp and clear :
" I did not fancy John was so severe."
Quickly she went; abashed the young man stood,
And couldn't have o'erta'en her if he would.

A week passed on ; John Snow was nowhere found,
They searched the village, tried each nook of ground.
A herd had seen him take the upland track,
With stick in hand and bundle on his back ;
But none had heard him tell his journey's end,
Nor on what day his coming to attend.
Poor Widow Snow was all o'ercome with grief,
But Jane came up once more and brought relief;
W T hispered her hopes that he would soon return :
" The post will bring a letter cease to mourn ;
Perhaps our curate knows I '11 go inquire
Perhaps he told his plans to Doctor Dire.
I '11 ask him, too ; rest happy." So she went,
And left the widow wretched but content.

Our curate and the doctor generous twain

Walked up to aid the comfortings of Jane.

" An idle freak," our mild-eyed curate cried ;

" He staid away three days last Whitsuntide."

" He 's a changed man since then," said Widow

Snow.

" And hates the Whitsun ales and all their show."
' I think Heaven bless him ! " thus the leech began,
" He 's caught at last some little spark of man.

No molly-coddle now with bulls and cows,

And such live lumber pressing down his bows,

But " here his eyes were mentioned " he 's now

bore

An A. B. seaman in a ship of war ;
Some fighting dragon like the Bossentore.
God save the Queen ! if that would get him free "
He cracked his hand " he 'd not get that from

me."

Small comfort this; but, when some days went by,
A broken slate the widow chanced to spy,
And on the fragment this short line appears,
" Tell Jane she 's not to marry for three years."
Harsh pangs on this through Jane a minute passed,
" The mail ! " she said, " he mocks me to the last ! "
But, in long nights of talk with Widow Snow,
And tears that did not fail at times to flow,
She learned what thoughts his bashfuluess confin'd,
And strange, sweet fancies filled her wondering mind ;
Content and pleasure gave each action grace,
And fixed their own calm beauty in her face.
So sunshine, when it warms neglected ground,
Calls flower-seeds forth and scatters perfume round.

One wintry night, when scarce two years were gone,

The two sad mourners sat and talked of John.

The glimmering fire sent forth a cheery light,

And all without a cause their hopes grew bright.

" I feel as if some happiness were near,"

The widow said, and wiped th' unconscious tear.

Jane smiled to hear. But sudden, from the sea,

A gun was heard. " What can the signal be ?"

They looked across the bay but nothing saw.

A flash again ! far off and then, with awe,

They watched the coming sound, they heard its

roar

And lights grew frequent on the startled shore.
A third report came booming o'er the tide:
" They want a boat," the saddened mother sighed ;
" If John were here ! " dear memories awoke,
One thought possessing both though neither spoke.

A heavy footstep sounded at the door,

The handle turned, and who stood on the floor ?

Toil-worn he seemed, like common sailor drest,

Blue jacket, shining hat, and hairy vest ;

Across his neck two wooden boxes hung,

These at his feet with heavy sound he flung.

" You do not know me, mother? " Yes, the tone

Of the loved voice revealed him all her own ;

And in his arms she lay ! but still his eye

Was fixed on Jane who sat in silence by.

She helped the widow on a chair to place,

And both sat gazing in the stranger's face.

He went to Jane, he took her willing hand,

" For you," lie said, " my life's great change I

planned,

Crossed the wide seas a man before the mast
And, armed and eager, to the gold world past.
There week by week I added to my store,
Heaped grains on grains till I required no more,
And here I'm landed on my native shore."
Then with a kick he showed the boxes' weight
" Five hundred ounces is my golden freight,
Enough," he cried, " to crown my best design,
Oh, Jane ! oh, mother ! what a bliss is mine !"

What wonders quickly on the farm we see :
Three hundred pounds turned leasehold into fee
Some wise repairs made every fence complete ;
The cottage walls grew clean, the chambers neat.
And when our doctor gave the bride away
Rough were his words tliat hailed the wedding-day

134

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

Our curate^ Jane's meek virtues pondering o'er,
Quite changed his taste and thought her plain no

more.

" A maid so good must make a charming wife,
A very pretty girl, too, on my life ! "

SIX YEAES AMONG CANNIBALS.

I AM physician to a hospital in a large sea-
port town. My curiosity was aroused lately
by the face of a man, which, as it lay upon
the pillow of a hospital bed, looked singularly
savage. It was marked by a broad blue line
extending from the lower level of his nose to
an inch below the lips, and from the back of
one whisker to the back of the other.
Evidently such a tattoo-mark was not one
with which any white man would have been
willingly disfigured. On the patient's re-
covery I put some questions to him, and
obtained the substance of the following
account. For several reasons I believe the
tale to be a true one. It was not volunteered ;
the man appeared to be ashamed of his own
story, and required a steady cross-examination
before he would yield up half of what he
had to say. The cross-questioning produced
no inconsistent statements ; no published
accounts contradict anything that he states ;
and he mentions many facts known in this
country through books which it is not likely
that he ever read.

David or Daniel Dash, native of the state
of Virginia, embarked on board a whaling
ship as a common seaman, at the age of nine-
teen. His ship sailed round Cape Horn, and
had been cruising about for perhaps nine-
teen months, when she was overtaken by a
storm near the Marquesas ; there she was
driven ashore in spite of all exertions, and
soon went to pieces. The crew consisted of
thirty persons. The captain and twenty-four
men took to the boats, and he believes
escaped. He and four others swam to land.
As soon as they arrived on shore they were
surrounded by the natives, made prisoners,
and carried a few miles into the interior.
Being then placed in a long hut, the prince
or chief came to them and arranged them in
a line. Without any delay the choice was
offered to them whether they would be
tattooed or killed. The chief easily made his
meaning understood ; he produced first the
usual tattooing implements, pointed to the
marks on his own person, and then to the
bodies of his prisoners. Presenting next a
knife, he made a feint of cutting off their
heads.

After this dumb-show, the chief offered to
each man in succession dagger or bowl, that
is to say, knife or tattooing apparatus.
Would they be dead men or savages ] Dash's
four companions being his seniors, polled first
at this election, and they chose the knife.
He- was, however, young to die, and willing
to do anything to save his life. He chose
to be tattooed. As soon as the decision

of the five men had been ascertained, the
four who had disdained to be made comrades
by the cannibals were killed. They lost
their heads. Without the least delay, their
bodies were cut up, and preparations made
for a feast. The large bones were cut out
to make fish-hooks, spear-heads, tattoo instru-
ments ; particular parts were cut off to be
given as offerings to the Gods, and the rest
of the flesh was cooked. Holes were then
dug in the earth, and filled with dry wood,
some large stones being placed here and there
among the wood, to be heated when the pile
was fired. After ignition, fresh wood was
heaped on, and the fire kept up until the
ground had been made thoroughly hot. The
ashes being then raked out, the flesh was
put into the holes, and covered with the
stones and embers. It was so left for about
half an hour, and at the end of that time
taken out, and eaten by perhaps two hundred
men. Before the feast was ready, the men
had begun to drink an intoxicating liquor,
which resembled soap suds in appearance,
and soon took effect. This was the Cava
cup, of which travellers have written, and
Lord Byron has sung. Having no rum
or other spirit, and not understanding the
way to prepare any ordinary fermented
liquors, the islanders had been led to the
discovery of a strange substitute. They
procure a root called Cava root (which
appears, by the bye, to be very rich in starch) ;
they cut it up, and chew it thoroughly ; they
then wash it in water, strain it through tappa
cloth ; and, throwing the fibrous part away,
retain the washings. These are allowed to
stand for a short time, during which they
ferment, and acquire intoxicating power.
This drink appears to act as slow poison ;
for indulgence in it reduces men often to a
miserable state of nervousness and blind-

!SS.

These natives seem from Daniel's account
to be epicures in cannibalism ; and it is rather
agreeable to white men, to know that they do
not think so much of white men as they do of
black. Black men's flesh is greatly preferred
to pork, and their fondness for it is so decided
that no man of that colour would ever have
a choice given him for his life. The whites
on the contrary usually meet with the same
treatment that Dash and his companions had
experienced. The feast being over, tattooing
operations were commenced upon him. The
instruments employed were pieces of bone
filed into the shape of very fine saws ; they
were about three inches long and varied from
a pen-knife's to two fingers' breadth ; these
were set in cane handles, and when used
were placed upon the skin and struck by a
ort of wooden mallet till blood spirted out
Burnt human bones were then rubbed in
over the wounds. The process was exceedingly
painful, so much so that only small portions
of the skin were painted at a sitting. Three
months elapsed before the whole tattooing

Cimrlet Dickens.]

SIX YEARS AMONG CANNIBALS.

135

was complete. Dash was marked on the
face, on the breast, on the back, and from the
toe nails to the ancles. All the natives of this
island and the neighbouring ones are tattooed.
The process seems to be compulsory, like-some
of the initiations practised by the North-
American Indians. It has to be undergone
alike by men and women. The priests or
doctors, called " Vahanna," are the operators.
The usual age for the operation is eighteen.
The father hands over his children to the
operator as they reach that age, with a certain
sum, either of goods, money, or land. In case
of his death before the children are suffi-
ciently mature he leaves some of his land for
the same purpose. The men are usually
tattooed in patterns, women more plainly.
In women the lips are marked by small spots,
the ears are bored, and round the hole, faint
blue concentric lines are drawn. The hands are
marked as far as the wrists, looking as if they
were gloved. The feet are marked in a
similar way as far as the ancle, and there
extend stripes from the upper margin of this
tattooed shoe to the knee joint.

When the process of tattooing had been
properly completed, Dash was adopted by
the chief into the tribe. This man " changed
places with him," " gave up his seat to him,"
and " they exchanged names ; " Dash be-
came Coonooai (Coonooy) or "the great chief,"
and the chief David or Daniel Dash. The
chief could pronounce Daniel better than
David, and so adopted that one of the two
names which the sailor claims a right to use
at option. The chief also gave him his
daughter to wife, a well-built, handsome
woman of nineteen years of age. He "had
to marry " also four-and-twenty others, who
expected to be treated as his lawful spouses,
but who were in some degree inferior to the
princess.

The brothers and friends of these wives
soon built for their new associate a hut of
bamboo, in which the entire family resided.
A small compartment was made for the
princess and her spouse a sort of state-room
to mark their superiority. He was in every
way treated as a chief ; the brothers of
his wives prepared his victuals ; a pig was
killed every second day for the use of his
household, and they had as many boiled po-
tatoes as they could eat. He had four chil-
dren only during the time he remained on the
island, three of whom died in their infancy.
He was about ten months before he could
speak the language perfectly, but he could
make himself understood much earlier.

The women, he says, have, on the whole,
few children. They suffer scarcely anything
at a confinement : and do not usually nurse
their children very long ; they feed them with
cocoa-nut, bread-fruit, and raw fish, all these
being finely chewed before they are given, to
the infant. None of the people like cooked fish ;
they all prefer it raw. Few die in infancy ; the
great majority of children born are reared.

They seem almost to have an instinct for the
water. As soon as they can walk to the edge of
the stream they walk into it, and they can
swim as soon as or even before they have learnt
to run. I may observe that all children appear
to have a particular fondness for the water ;
but those only can indulge it who go con-
stantly either quite naked, or in clothes not
liable to be injured, who at the same time have
access to water mild and genial as our
summer air.

The natives of the Marquesas keep up their
swimming powers throughout their lives, and
attain extraordinary faculties. They have no
fear of sharks ; when one appears in the bay
the natives singly or in numbers " go out to
attack it" in its own element with their
knives. They have canoes which they manage
cleverly, and use in trading excursions to
other islands, or in fishing.

The colour of the islanders is similar to
that of many a tawny Spaniard a light
mahogany. The men and women are of a
medium height, well made, and often very
good-looking. Their dress consists of a piece
of tappa cloth round the loins, concerning
which they are as careful and proud as we
are in reference to the quality and fashion of
our more numerous and costly garments.
This tappa cloth is made by beating a part of
the bark of the bread-fruit tree with a sort
of wooden mall, which breaks up its fibres so
that they may be stretched out, like the lace
bark of the West Indies. This is carefully
washed and bleached until it becomes as
white and as fine as linen. It is never woven.

In disposition the Islanders are, by Daniel's
account, true savages. They are constantly
at war with neighbouring tribes. The
country is full of mountains and woods, the
former being very steep and difficult, the
latter dense and extensive. The valleys and
bays are the parts in and about which the
inhabitants are chiefly clustered. A distance
of four miles is frequently all the interspace
between the lands belonging to two hostile
tribes. The men are constantly at war, and
have the Dyak fondness for heads. Scarcely
a moonlight night elapses but one man or
other goes on a head-hunting excursion.
They often go alone, but usually hunt in twos
or threes. They start before night-fall so as
to arrive in the neighbourhood of the intended
victim shortly after dark ; they then either
lie in ambush for a lone man, or go to a hut
disguising their voices, ask for shelter, or a
light for their pipes. When the door is
opened, they rush in ; and if they can succeed
in overpowering the inmates, they kill them,
cut off their heads and return. The bodies are
too heavy to be dragged over the mountains.
The trophy or trophies being thus secured,
are cut into as many parts as possible, and
given to the numerous gods to propitiate them
and to procure from them good luck. These
gods are usually uncouth figures, but by
oversight I omitted to examine Daniel on

136

HOUSEHOLD WOKDS.

[Conducted by

this subject. He spoke contemptuously of
the people for believing just what their
doctor priests told them said that they told
them all sorts of things but did not, of
his own will, particularise any.

As his account of the Taboo agreed com-
pletely with that made familiar by many
writers, not forgetting Herman Melville, I
did not ask many questions about it. In
these midnight expeditions the knife is
used ; hi larger battles, however, the musket
supersedes all other arms. Great battles
are very numerous, a fortnight never elapses
without one. My informant said " He could
not rightly tell what they fought for he
did not think they knew themselves they
could not be at peace." In these fights,
between two and three hundred will engage
on either side ; the scene of the battle is
usually laid in the woods, and the com-
batants dodge to and fro among the
trees. None like to expose themselves fully,
the whiz of a bullet immediately frightens
them, and causes them to drop upon the
ground. In consequence of all this caution,
the contests are often prolonged over from
one to three days, and it rarely happens that
more than four or five are killed on either
side. They sometimes, but seldom, come to
close quarters, when they fight with their
muskets clubbed. As soon as a few men are
killed, the losing side withdraws, the victims
are then conveyed to their village by the con-
querors, the "fancy" parts of their bodies
are devoted to the gods, the rest is cooked
and eaten by the men. The warriors do not
appear to have much sense of honour ; for the
strong tribes constantly make war upon the
weak, and two or three tribes now and then
suspend their own quarrels to make more
effective war upon a fourth. In consequence
of this spirit, many tribes are now almost
exterminated and do not include more than
twenty or thirty men. All the people speak
one language, so that an union might be easily
effected if the temper of the people changed.

As they are savage in their war with
hostile tribes, so they are rude and brutal
in their peace amongst themselves. From
some cause or another Daniel was constantly
attacked by the women of the tribe who,
half in savage fun and half in earnest,
used to seize him by the beard and hair
and shake him ; this they could often do
without fear of his wrath, as more than two
or three would set on him at once. He con-
sidered that the attention was paid chiefly in
fun, but he had often to thrash the ladies
vigorously before they would set him free.
The men are not commonly savage amongst
themselves, as man to man rather as man to
woman. He had seen men thrashing women
with the butt end of a musket, and had known
limbs to be broken in this way. In such
cases it would be of no use for the wife to go
home to her father ; he would only thrash
her again and send her back. It is not often

that actual murder takes place ; when it does,
atonement is made to the friends of the
deceased by presents, or the murderer is
driven out into another tribe.

The islanders have enough regard for their
friends to' show the delicate abstinence of not
eating them whether killed in battle or by
chance. They never inter their dead, but
take them out to a distance in the woods,
where a rude cane hut is built to protect each-
corpse from the sun and rain ; a sort of
trough is made for the dead man's bed, in
which his body is left. Two days afterwards
a hog is killed, cooked, and deposited by the
bedside. This is done under the impression
that the dead require food like the living,
and the supply is continued long after the
flesh has crumbled into dust ; in fact, until
the family of the defunct has itself become
extinct. It forms one of the chief occupa-
tions of the life of the living to convey food to
the dead. Unlike some other savage nations,
they keep the old people during the helpless-
ness of age with assiduous care ; the younger
members of the family, or of the tribe, supply
them regularly with provisions.

The climate is warm, genial, and health}' ;
sickness is rare ; nevertheless, from the
causes before mentioned, the population is on
the decrease. Daniel was not aware that any
European diseases had been introduced, nor
were the people habitually given to intoxi-
cation.

There are numerous feasts held in the
course of the year usually one every two
months. The occasion of such a feast is.
most commonly the reception of some recently
tattooed individuals, male or female, among
the adult members of a tribe. The chief en-
tertainment then is dancing. When all is
prepared, the men of the tribe arrange them-
selves on one side of an open space the
women in a line opposite and pai-allel to them
between these opposed sides there are placed
four men whose duty it is to keep time by
beating drums. The drums are made by
scooping the interior from a piece of wood
and stretching a shark skin over it, which is
tightened by cords made of cocoa nut fibre.
The musicians produce on them only dis-
cordant notes but the rest of the people
somewhat improve the effect by clapping their
hands and singing.

Near the musicians the recently tattooed
youths are placed " yellowed off," said Daniel,
" with curry and cocoa nut, until they shine
like burnished mahogany." They take no
active part in the proceedings. The dancera
are women, who are chosen for their good
looks from amongst the wives and maidens
indiscriminately, they are usually six in
number, and are dressed very handsomely ;
their head-dress consists of tortoiseshell, pearl,
and feathers, their other clothing is a long
robe of tappa cloth, open in front, and reaching
to the ancles like a dressing gown. It is
ornamented as far down as the hips, with

Charles Dickens.]

SIX YEARS AMONG CANNIBALS.

137

bright feathers, hair, &c. The fingers of the
women when they dance are ornamented with
long feathers, which are fastened to them in
such a way as to give to the hands some-
what the appearance of wings. The motions
are not by 'any means vivacious the women
move their hands, pretending to be birds ; they
wriggle their bodies about also in imitation
of eels, and approach each other gradually
in this way on one heel. Successive sets of
dancers thus present themselves, and the
feast is kept up usually for three days ; pork
and potatoes being eaten, and cava drunk ;
the singing of native songs is often added
to increase and vary the enjoyment.

All the natives of the Marquesas have
numerous names. Daniel himself had thirty,
which belonged, in fact, to a graver class of
nicknames. His most common title (I write
it from the sound), was Touanahheematehoei,
or (Tou-an-a-e-ma-te-o-ey), which meant "the
great chief."

There was no lack of food. The people
cultivated the (sweet) potato with success,
and had plenty of yams and bread-fruit.
They caught numbers of fish, and kept a great
many swine.

The savages were very fond of talking.
"When he knew their language, a number
of them would come to Daniel, set him in the
midst, and call upon him to tell them stories,
to which they would sit and listen quietly for
hours. " They wanted to know all about
America, and white people ; whether he had
a wife at home, and the like." On one occasion
they asked whether he would take them
with him to America. " Yes," he said, " but
you would cry if I did." " Ah, yes," they
answered, " that is true ; we should cry after
our fathers and mothers we should cry to
come back to our lands. The whites," they
said, " must surely think very little of their
fathers and mothers ; or must leave them
when they are very young, or they never
ould go sailing all over the world as they
do. If we attempted it, we should be always
crying either after our parents or our
children."

Such conversations made the young white
ohief a great favourite with his tribe, and he
obtained such influence among them, that he
believes he could have prevented them from
again attacking other whites. He never went
to war with them, however, " he had too much
respect for his own safety ; he never knew
what might happen." His wives " thought a
very great deal about him, and if they fancied
he had ever thought of going out to fight,
they would have set on him, and bound him
fast in his own house." He always told them,
that if he went away, he would come back
again ; and he believes, therefore, that they
are still expecting him. He lived very
happily with his house-full of wives, dividing
his attentions very equally among them, and
allowing due rank to " the princess." He was
vvell treated by the men.

The natives do a little trading among them-
selves ; the articles of barter being chiefly
pigs and tappa cloth, fish-hooks, muskets,
powder, and things of that kind. Their sur-
gical skill is small ; but they have good con-
stitutions upon which to practise, and seem
to have learned certain good principles. The
chief demand for the doctor's art is in the
cure of musket wounds, in which the treat-
ment is to keep the track of the ball as clean
as possible.

The tribe with which Daniel herded was,
if I recollect rightly, named the Cauachas,
and his residence was on the island called by
the natives Motani. He gave me, however,
the names of the surrounding islands at the
same time, and I am not quite sure that I
have retained the proper one ; but it was
either Mat or Magdalena. The others are
Magdalena, Fatuiva, Toowata, Domenique,
Eahuga, and Nukuhiva.

In answer to a question as to the possibility
of civilising his old friends, he said that the
French had established a settlement on Ea-
huga (I think) where they had remained
during five years. They built a small fort,
European houses, and churches ; but find-
ing the place too expensive, or for some
other reason, they then abandoned it. During
the night after their departure, all the natives
who had been friendly with the French were
either killed or taken prisoners, and on the
next day all the houses and other edifices
that could be destroyed were pulled to pieces,
and the prisoners were landed on another
island ; so the place became again as wild as
it was before the French had it in charge.
There are some French still in Euhiva, and
some French missionaries in Euapo.

Having in my remembrance Herman Mel-
ville's story of adventures in the Marquesas,
I asked my patient about Typee or Happar.
He informed me that there was a Typee Bay
in Nuhiva (Nukuhiva 1) where the people
were very savage, and that he had heard of
Happa in Domenique. He had heard also of
Hanapa Bay, where a white man named
Brown had been killed who had left his vessel
there.

After Daniel had been on the island about
six years, he and another white from another
island began, with the assistance of the
natives, to build a schooner with which they
hoped to trade with California, and the west
coast of America. When they had been at
work for about six months, Daniel, attacked
with dysentery, became very low and weak.
At that time an American ship passed the
island, and a boat came ashore (the men
being well armed) in search of wood and
water. Daniel went on board the ship,
telling the natives that he should return.
Had they thought him anxious to escape from
them they would, no doubt, have kept him
prisoner until the ship was gone. He went
on board, the captai)i promised fair to him,
and so he left the island ; not, he says, without

138

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.;

[Conducted by

some regret. It is now nineteen months
since he escaped.

The man is a well-looking fellow (barring
the marks upon his face), and it is, perhaps,
worthy of remark, that he has a peculiarly
soft voice ; which, I cannot help thinking,
must have been formed or improved by his
long residence amongst a people whose lan-
guage is without harsh sounds or gutturals.

RECEIPT OF FERN-SEED.

SHOPS destined for the sale of vegetable
curiosities, sometimes display a little ugly
dried-up flower, labelled the " Rose of Je-
richo," which, it is boasted, revives when
dipped in water, although its dried-up condi-
tion may have lasted for any length of time.
The experiment is attended with success,
though not with what may be called brilliant
success. The dingy flower does indeed open
its leaves ; but it would be ridiculous to apply
any syuonyme of the verb " to bloom " to the
phenomenon that presents itself. It is a dingy
affair altogether.

We, of this great incredulous metropolis,
when we grudgingly expend our sixpence on
the floral wonder, which the East is kind
enough to send us, pour a little water into a
wine-glass, insert the stalk therein, contem-
plate the dull miracle, and then throw the
rose away, grudging the sixpence more than
ever. But when, turning away from great
disbelieving London, we look for instruction to
that German Boeotia, called Suabia (our clas-
sical friends need not be reminded that
ancient Bceotia, notwithstanding the slights
of Attican neighbours, was no such very
stupid place after all), we discern the value
of the treasure we have slighted. We have
not tested half its marvels. The good people
in the vicinity of Rotenburg, near Tubingen,
tell us, that a rose of Jericho, however dried-
up, will bloom every year, of its own accord,
on the nineteenth of March (that day being
the festival of St. Joseph), and that if it be
kept in a box, it will burst it open with the
force of its expansion. It seems to us, that
our Suabian friends must have roses of greater
vigour than those which we so unwillingly
purchase. Flimsy, indeed, would be the box
which our poor little roses of Jericho could
burst open.

Let us not, however, be too hasty in des-
pising the gift, which is wafted to us from the
borders of the Red Sea. Our Rotenburg
advisers tell us, that Christmas Day and New
Year's Day are the only two occasions on
which their flower will blossom, besides the
said nineteenth of March, and then they
generally use holy water to elicit its mystic
properties. Our shabby plant, on the con-
trary, will thrive in its own unsatisfactory
way, even though it be inserted in the un-
sanctified water of our own dirty Thames, and
one day is just as good and just as bad as
another for its purpose. Or is there some-

thing superior in the Suabian method 01
blooming ? This may be the case, after all ;
for when the rose of Jericho blooms at Roten-
burg the admiring bystanders are enabled
to prognosticate from the shape it assumes
how fruit, corn, and chestnut will thrive
in the ensuing year. If the Suabian could
discern the particular form assumed by owe
rose of Jericho, Suabia must indeed be the
land of sharp discernment.

And this latter may be the right hypothesis,
as far as the vegetable world is concerned ; for
the deeper we plunge into Suabian tradition,
the more we become convinced of the great
acuteness of the Suabian people in botanical
matters. It was a day-labourer in the same
Rotenburg, who once obtained a supply of
fern-seed, and this, we are enabled to state, is
no such easy affair.

He who would obtain fern-seed (we learn)
must not utter a single prayer during the
four weeks before Christmas ; but must
occupy himself as much as possible with
diabolical thoughts the worse the better.
On Christmas night, he must go to that
old place of horrors a cross- way ; but every
cross-way will not do. Corpses must have
been carried along each of the crossing roads
to render the point of junction fitting for the
operation. The experimentalist will not want
company. His deceased friends and relations
will all appear to him, and ask him what he
is about ; a question which he may feel not
at all inclined to answer. Living friends
will come also, and try to make him speak ;
and little ugly imps will jump about, and en-
deavour to make him laugh. One word, or
one guffaw, even so much as an incipient smile,
will be fatal, for the unlucky experimentalist
will be immediately torn to pieces by fiends.
If, however, he remain firm, and neither
speak to his friends, nor laugh at his enter-
tainers, they will all retire at last, and
a man will present himself in the guise
of a hunter. Who he is, we need not say ;
but we need say, that he presents the grave
inquirer with a neat little cunet such as gro-
cers make filled with the desired fern-seed.

The connection between wickedness and
abstinence from laughter, here set forth,
is worth a moment's consideration. Popular
tradition is generally in favour of good fellow-
ship, and want of mirth is esteemed a sign of
something not altogether agreeable. Thus, in
the puppet-play of Faust, on which Gb'the
founded his immortal work, Faustus himself
is represented as a gloomy individual, and
thus his ultimate lot is prepared. Casperle,
on the other hand, the comic character or
clown of the piece, though he is, like the
learned doctor, exposed to fiendish machina-
tions, wears his mirth about him as a shield,
and lives on in the humble though comfort-
able capacity of a town-watchman, after
Faustus has descended to regions invisible.
" Hence, loathed melancholy," is the maxim
of the unsophisticated ; and, although we find

Charles Dickens.]

A CHILD'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND.

139

that gravity is essential to obtain the wonder-
ful fern-seed, we learn, on further investigation,
that it is but a doubtful possession at last.

This we find in the case of a journeyman
weaver of Eotenburg. The great virtue of
the fern-seed is this, that it enables any work-
man who possesses it to do the work of twenty
without inconvenience. Now, the weaver in
question amused himself with drinking aud
such like pursuits for six days in the week ;
but on the seventh, by virtue of the fern-seed,
he produced a longer web than was achieved
by any of the craft who worked the whole week
through. However, one day, unfortunately,
the journeyman's mistress, taking the cloth
home to a purchaser, stopped at a church to
pray : no sooner was the benediction pro-
nounced than the good woman found all her
cloth reduced to yarn.

Those who live in the practical life of the
nineteenth century, and moisten the path of
that life with coffee, need not be told that
chicory possesses miraculous properties.
In Suabia, chicory assumes a grave, solemn,
and awful character. It should only be
gathered on Saint James's day (July the
twenty-fifth), and then only between eleven
and twelve o'clock, and even then it should
not be picked off with a mere vulgar thumb
and finger, but should be daintily cut off with
the edge of a gold coin. Indeed, there is such
a high art in chicory cutting, that, according
to Doctor Ernst Meier (professor of oriental
languages in the University of Tubingen, and
our great authority in Suabian matters)
there is an old woman in Pfullingen who
devotes the whole energies of her life to this
one pursuit. The prudent man, who will not
rashly trust his own manipulative skill, no
sooner finds a sign of the presence of the root,
than he marks the spot with a stick, and
hastens to inform the sage old lady of the
discovery. She accepts the office of cutting,
but she does not descend from her lofty artis-
tical position. Great sculptors, as we know,
having completed their models, allow their
pupils to rough-hew the marble, while they
reserve to themselves the last finishing touch
of the chisel. So our old woman. When the
festival of Saint James arrives for even she
must wait until then she allows any ignorant
uninitiated wretch to make the first incision
with his miserable knife, but the final operation
with the gold coin is performed with her own
venerable hands.

The great quality required for cutting
chicory is the power of keeping silence ; and
hence we can anticipate that a number of
those empty wits, who exult over woman's
alleged inability to keep a secret, and who
retail old epigrams that liken the movement of
the female tongue to a clock, a smoke-jack,
and so forth, will marvel that a person of
the fair sex is selected to perform the delicate
operation. It is indeed a very serious matter
to speak_ while cutting chicory, and all sorts of
temptations are employed to lure the operator

into danger. One unhappy man, when he
was just about to give the decisive slice,
saw a millstone in the air, floating directly
over his head. Being of a taciturn disposition,
even when under strong emotions, he ran
away without saying a word, and there-
fore underwent no further punishment than
the negative one of taking all his trouble for
nothing. If however, say the wise, he had
uttered so much as a monosyllabic interjec-
tion, the millstone would have been no longer
a vision in the air, like Macbeth's dagger, but
would have smashed him.

The explanation of the origin of chicory is
most satisfactory. The roots, we are informed
by the sages of Pfulliugen, were once human
beings. When the flower is blue, bad men are
at the bottom of it ; when the flower is
white, the root has been a very virtuous
individual. The fact that the blue flower is
much the commoner of the two, proves
that there is a good deal of satire mixed up
with the superstition. The statement that
two white flowers are usually found together,
is pleasant the doctrine that sociality and
virtue go hand in hand being once more agree-
ably illustrated.

But what is the use of the chicory after the
employment of these singular contrivances to
get it ? Its chief utility seems to be that if
we take (exhibit internally) only so much as
a shaving, it will cause all thorns and
splinters which may have run into our flesh
to fly out with the greatest celerity.

When we reflect that a young English lady
with her needle can perform the same office
as the old German lady with her gold coin,
we will not run the risk of being crushed by
imaginary millstones in our endeavours to
gather chicory.

A CHILD'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND.

CHAPTER XXX.

THE Duke of Northumberland was very
anxious to keep the young King's death a
secret, in order that he might get the two Prin-
cesses into his power. But, the Princess Mary,
being informed of that event as she was on
her way to London to see her sick brother,
turned her horse's head, and rode away into
Norfolk. The Earl of Arundel was her friend,
and it was he who sent her warning of what
had happened.

As the secret could not be kept, the Duke
of Northumberland and the Council sent for
the Lord Mayor of London and some of the
aldermen and made a merit of telling it to
them. Then, they made it known to the
people, and set off to inform Lady Jane Grey
that she was to be Queen.

She was a pretty girl of only sixteen, and
was amiable, learned, and clever. When
the lords who came to her, fell on their knees
before her, and told her what tidings they
brought, she was so astonished that she
fainted. On recovering, she expressed her

140

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

sorrow for the young King's death, and
said that she knew she was unfit to govern
the kingdom, but, that if she must be Queen,
she prayed God to direct her. She was then
at Sion House, near Brentford, and the lords
took her down the river in state to the
Tower, that she might remain there (as the
custom was) until she was crowned. But the
people were not at all favorable to Lady Jane,
considering that the right to be Queen was
Mary's, and greatly disliking the Duke of
Northumberland. They were not put into a
better humour by the Duke's causing a
vintner's servant, one Gabriel Pot, to be
taken up for expressing his dissatisfaction
among the crowd, and to have his ears nailed
to the pillory, and cut off. Some powerful
men among the nobility declared on Mary's
side. They raised troops to support her
cause, had her proclaimed Queen at Norwich,
and gathered around her at the castle of
Framlinghani, which belonged to the Duke
of Norfolk. For she was not considered so
safe as yet, but that it was best to keep her in
a castle on the sea-coast, from whence she
might be sent abroad, if necessary.

The Council would have dispatched Lady
Jane's father, the Duke of Suffolk, as the gene-
ral of the army against this force ; but as Lady
Jane implored that her father might remain
with her, and as he was known to be but a
weak man, they told the Duke of Northum-
berland that he must take the command
himself. He was not very ready to do so,
as he mistrusted the Council much, but there
was no help for it, and he set forth with
a heavy heart : observing to a lord who rode
beside him through Shoreditch at the head of
the troops, that, although the people pressed
in great numbers to look at them, they were
terribly silent.

And his fears for himself turned out to
be true. While he was waiting at Cam-
bridge for further help from the Council, the
Council took it in their heads to turn their
backs on Lady Jane's cause, and to take
up the Princess Mary's. This was chiefly
owing to the before-meutionedEarl of Arundel,
who represented to the Lord Mayor and alder-
men, in a second interview with those saga-
cious persons, that, as for himself, he did not
perceive the .Reformed religion to be in much
danger which Lord Pembroke backed by
flourishing his sword as another kind of per-
suasion. The Lord Mayor and aldermen,
thus enlightened, said, there could be no
doubt that the Princess Mary ought to be
Queen. So, she was proclaimed at the Cross
by St. Paul's, and barrels of wine were given
to the people, and they got very drunk, and
danced round blazing bonfires little think-
ing, poor wretches, what other bonfires would
eoon be blazing in Queen Mary's name !

After a ten days' dream of royalty, Lady
Jane Grey resigned the Crown with great
willingness, saying that she had only accepted
it in obedience to her father and mother ; and

went gladly back to her pleasant house by
the river, and her books. Mary then came
on towards London ; and at Wanstead, in
Essex, was joined by her half sister, the
Princess Elizabeth. They passed through
the streets of London to the Tower, and
there the new Queen met some eminent
prisoners then confined in it, kissed them, and
gave them their liberty. Among these were
that Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, Avho had
been imprisoned in the last reign for holding
to the unreforin,ed religion. Him she soon
made chancellor.

The Duke of Northumberland had been
taken prisoner, and, together with his son
and five others, was quickly brought before
the Council. He, not unnaturally, asked that
Council, in his defence, whether it was treason
to obey orders that had been issued under
the great seal, and if it were, whether
they, who had obeyed them too, ought to be
his judges 1 But they made light of these
points, and, being resolved to have him out of
the way, soon sentenced him to death. He
had risen into power upon the death of another
man, and made but a poor show (as might be
expected) when he himself lay low. He en-
treated Gardiner to let him live, if it were
only in a mouse's hole ; and when he ascended
the scaffold to be beheaded on Tower Hill,
addressed the people in a miserable way,
saying that he had been incited by others,
and exhorting them to return to the unre-
formed religion, which he told them was his
faith. There seems reason to suppose that
he expected a pardon even then, in return
for this confession ; but it matters little
whether he did or not. His head was struck
off, and Sir John Gates and Sir Thomas
Palmer, two better and moz-e manly gentle-
men, suffered with him.

Mary was now crowned Queen. She was
thirty-seven years of age, short and thin,
wrinkled in the face, and very unhealthy. But
she had a great liking for show and for bright
colours, and all the ladies of her Court were
magnificently dressed. She had a great liking
too for old customs, without much sense in
them ; and she was oiled in the oldest way,
and blessed in the oldest way, and done
all manner of things to in the oldest way, at
her coronation. I hope they did her good.

She soon began to show her desire to put
down the Reformed religion, and put up the
unreformed one : though it was dangerous
work as yet, the people being something wiser
than they used to be. They even cast a
shower of stones and among them a dagger
at one of the royal chaplains, who attacked
the Reformed religion in a public sermon.
But, the Queen and her priests went steadily
on. Ridley, the powerful bishop of the last
reign, was seized and sent to the Tower.
LATIMER, also a celebrated prelate of the last
reign, was likewise sent to the Tower, and
Cranmer speedily followed. Latimer was an
aged man ; and as his guards took him through

Charles Dickens.]

A CHILD'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND.

141

Snrithfield, he looked round it, and said, " This
is a place that hath long groaned for me." For
he knew well, what kind of bonfires would soon
be burning. Nor was the knowlege confined
to him. The prisons were fast filled with
the chief Protestants, who were there left
rotting in darkness, hunger, dirt, and separa-
tion from their friends ; many, who had time
left them for escape, fled from the kingdom ;
and the dullest of the people began, now, to
see what Avas coming.

It came on fast. A Parliament was got
together, not without strong suspicion of un-
fairness, and they annulled the divorce,
formerly pronounced by Cranmer between
the Queen's mother and King Henry the
Eighth, and unmade all the laws on the sub-
ject of religion that had been made in the
last King Edward's reign. They began their
proceedings in violation of the law, by having
the old mass said before them in Latin, and
by turning out a bishop who would not kneel
down. They also declared guilty of treason
Lady Jane Grey, for aspiring to the Crown,
her husband, for being her husband, and
Cranmer for not believing in the mass
aforesaid. They then prayed the Queen
graciously to choose a husband for herself, as
soon as might be.

Now, the question who should be the
Queen's husband had given rise to a great
deal of discussion, and to several contending
parties. Some said Cardinal Pole was the
man but the Queen was of opinion that he
was not the man, being too old and too much
of a student. Others said that the gallant
young COURTENAY, whom the Queen had
made Earl of Devonshire, was the man and
the Queen thought so too, for a while, but
she changed her mind. At last it appeared
that PHILIP, PRINCE OF SPAIN, was cer-
tainly the man though certainly not the
people's man, for they detested the idea of
such a marriage from the beginning to the
end, and murmured that the Spaniard would
establish in England, by the aid of foreign
soldiers, the worst abuses of the Popish
religion, and even the terrible Inquisition
itself.

These discontents gave rise to a conspiracy
for marrying young Courtenay to the Princess
Elizabeth, and setting them up, with popular
tumults all over the kingdom, against the
Queen. This was discovered in time by
Gardiner ; but in Kent, the old bold county,
the people rose in their old bold way. SIR
THOMAS WYAT, a man of great daring, was
their leader. He raised his standard at
Maidstone, marched on to Rochester, esta-
blished himself in the old castle there, and
prepared to hold out against the Duke of
Norfolk, who came against him with a part
of the Queen's guards and a body of five
hundred London men. The London men,
however, were all for Elizabeth, and not at
all for Mary. They declared, under the
castle walls, for Wyat; the Duke retreated;

and Wyat came on to Deptford, at the head
of fifteen thousand men.

But these, in their turn, fell away. When
he came to Southwark, there were only two
thousand left. Not dismayed by finding the
London citizens in arms, and the guns at the
Tower ready to oppose his crossing the river
there, Wyat led them off to Kingston-upon-
Thames, intending to cross the bridge that
he knew to be in that place, and so to work
his way round to Ludgate, one of the old gates
of the City. He found the bridge broken down,
but mended it, and came across, and bravely
fought his way up Fleet Street to Ludgate
Hill. Finding the gate closed against him,
he fought his way back again, sword in hand,
to Temple Bar. Here, being overpowered,
he surrendered himself, and three or four
hundred of his men were taken, besides a
hundred killed. Wyat, in a moment of weak-
ness (and perhaps of torture) was afterwards
made to accuse the Princess Elizabeth as his
accomplice to some very small extent. But his
manhood soon returned to him, and he refused
to save his life by making any more false con-
fessions. He was quartered and distributed
in the usual brutal way, and from fifty to a
hundred of his followers were hanged. The
rest were led out, with halters round their
necks, to be pardoned, and to make a parade
of crying out, " God save Queen Mary ! "

In the danger of this rebellion, the Queen
showed herself to be a woman of courage
and spirit. She disdained to retreat to any
place of safety, and went down to the Guild-
hall, sceptre in hand, and made a gallant
speech to the Lord Mayor and citizens,
But on the day after Wyat's defeat, she did
the most cruel act, even of her cruel reign, in
signing the warrant for the execution of Lady
Jane Grey.

They tried to persuade Lady Jane to accept
the unreformed religion, but she steadily re-
fused. On the morning when she was to die, she
saw from her window thebleeding and headless
body of her husband, brought back in a cart
from the scaffold on Tower Hill where he had
laid down his life. But, as she had declined
to see him before his execution, lest she
should be overpowered and not make a good
end, so, she even now showed a constancy and
calmness that will never be forgotten. She
came up to the scaffold with a firm step and
a quiet face, and addressed the bystanders in
a steady voice. They were not numerous, for
she was too young, too innocent and fair, to
be murdered before the people on Tower Hill,
as her husband had just been : so, the place of
her execution was within the Tower itself.
She said that she had done an unlawful act
in taking what was Queen Mary's right, but
that she had done so with no bad intent,
arid that she died a humble Christian. She
begged the executioner to despatch her
quickly, and she asked him " Will you take
my head off before I lay me down 1 " He
answered, "No, Madam," and then she was

142

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

very quiet while they bandaged her eyes.
Being blinded, and unable to see the block on
which she was to lay her young head, she was
seen to feel about for it with her hands, and
was heard to say, confused, " O what shall I
do ! Where is it 1 " Then they guided her to
the right place, and the executioner struck
off her head. You know too well, now, what
dreadful deeds the executioner did in Eng-
land, through many, many years, and how
his axe descended on the hateful block
through the necks of some of the bravest,
wisest, and best in the land. But it never
struck so cruel and so vile a blow as this.

The father of Lady Jane soon followed,
but was little pitied. Queen Mary's next
object was to lay hold of Elizabeth, and this
was pursued with great eagerness. Five
hundred men were sent to her retired house
at Ashridge, by Berkhampstead, with orders
to bring her up, alive or dead. They got
there at ten at night, when she was sick in
bed. But, their leaders followed her lady into
her bedchamber, whence she was brought
out betimes next morning, and put into a
litter to be conveyed to London. She was so
weak and ill, that she was five days on the
road ; still, she was so resolved to be seen by
the people that she had the curtains of the
litter opened, and so, very pale and sickly,
passed through the streets. She wrote to
her sister, saying she was innocent of any
crime, and asking why she was made a pri-
soner ; but she got no answer and was ordered
to the Tower. They took her in by the
Traitor's Gate, to which she objected, but in
vain. One of the lords who conveyed her
offered to cover her with his cloak, as it was
raining, but she put it away from her, proudly
and scornfully, and passed into the Tower,
and sat down in a court-yard on a stone.
They besought her to corne in out of the
wet, but she answered that it was better
sitting there, than in a worse place,
At length she went to her apartment,
where she was kept a prisoner, though
not so close a prisoner as at Woodstock,
whither she was afterwards removed, and
where she is said to have one day envied a
milkmaid whom she heard singing in the
sunshine as she went through the green
fields. Gardiner, than whom there were not
many worse men among the fierce and sullen
priests, cared little to keep secret his stern
desire for her death : being used to say that
it was of little service to shake off the leaves,
and lop the branches of the tree of heresy,
if its root, the hope of heretics, were left.
He failed, however, in his benevolent design.
Elizabeth was, at length, released, and Hat-
field House was assigned to her as a residence,
under the care of one SIR THOMAS POPE.

It would seem that Philip, the Prince of
Spain, was a main cause of this change in
Elizabeth's fortunes. He was not an amiable
man, being, on the contrary, proud, over-
bearing and gloomy, but he and the Spanish

lords who came over with him, assuredly
did discountenance the idea of doing any
violence to the Princess. It may have been
prudent, but we will hope it was manly and
honorable. The Queen had been expecting
her husband with great impatience, and at
length he came, to her great joy, though he
never cared much for her. They were married
by Gardiner, at Winchester, and there was
more holiday-making among the people ;
but they had their old distrust of this Spanish
marriage, in which even the Parliament
shared. Though they were far from honest,
and were strongly suspected to have been
bought with Spanish money, they would pass
no bill to enable the Queen to set aside the
Princess Elizabeth and appoint her own
successor.

Although Gardiner failed in this object, as
well as in the darker one of bringing the
Princess to the scaffold, he went on, at a great
pace, in the revival of the unreformed religion.
A new Parliament was packed, in which there
were no Protestants. Preparations were
made to receive Cardinal Pole in England as
the Pope's messenger, bringing his holy
declaration that all the nobility who had
acquired Church property, should keep it
which was done to enlist their selfish interest
on the Pope's side. Then a great scene
was enacted, which was the triumph of the>
Queen's plans. Cardinal Pole arrived with
great splendour and dignity, and was received
with great pomp. The Parliament joined
in a petition expressive of their sorrow at the
change in the national religion, and praying
him to receive the country again into the
Popish Church. With the Queen sitting on
her throne, and the King on one side of her,
and the Cardinal on the other, and the Parlia-
ment present, Gardiner read the petition
aloud. The Cardinal then made a great
speech, and was so obliging as to say that
all was forgotten and forgiven, and that the
kingdom was solemnly made Eoman Catholic
again.

Everything was now ready for the lighting
of the terrible bonfires. The Queen having
declared to the Council, in writing, that she
would wish none of her subjects to be burnt
without some of the Council being present,
and that she would particularly wish there to
be good sermons at all burnings, the Council
knew pretty well what was to be done next.
So, after the Cardinal had blessed all the
bishops as a preface to the burnings, the Chan-
cellor Gardiner opened a High Court at Saint
Mary Overy, on the Southwark side of
London Bridge, for the trial of heretics.
Here, two of the late bishops, HOOPER and
EOGERS, who had been already unjustly and
violently examined before the Council, were
brought to be tried. Hooper was tried first
for being married, though a priest, and for
not believing in the mass. He admitted both
of these accusations, and said that the mass
was a wicked imposition. Then they tried

Charles Dickens.]

A CHILD'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND.

143

Eogers, who said the same. Next morning
the two were brought up to be sentenced,
and then Rogers said that, his poor wife
being a German woman and a stranger in the
land^ he hoped she might be allowed to come
to speak to him before he died. To this the
inhuman Gardiner replied, that she was not
his wife. " Yea, but she is, my lord," said
Rogers, " and she hath been my wife these
eighteen years." His request was still re-
fused, and they were both sent to Newgate ;
all those who stood in the streets to sell
things, being ordered to put out their lights
that the people might not see them. But, the
people stood at their doors with candles in
their hands, and prayed for them as they
went by. Soon afterwards, Rogers was taken
out of jail to be burnt in Smithfield ; and, in
the crowd as he went along, he saw his poor
wife and his ten children, of whom the
youngest was a little baby. And so he was
burnt to death.

The next day, Hooper, who was to be
burnt at Gloucester, was brought out to take
his last journey, and was made to wear a
hood over his face that he might not be
known by the people. But, they did know
him for all that, down in his own part of the
country, and when he came near Gloucester
they lined the road, making prayers and
lamentations. His guards took him to a
lodging, where he slept soundly all night,
and at nine o'clock next morning was brought
forth, leaning on a staff; for he had taken
cold in prison and was infirm. The iron
stake, and the iron chain which was to bind
him to it, were fixed up near a great
elm-tree in a pleasant open place before
the cathedral, where, on peaceful Sundays,
he had been accustomed to preach and to
pray, when he was Bishop of Gloucester. This
tree, which had no leaves then, it being Feb-
ruary, was filled with people ; and the priests of
Gloucester College were looking complacently
on from a window, and there was a great con-
course of spectators in every spot from which a
glimpse of the dreadful sight could be beheld.
When the old man kneeled down on the small
platform at the foot of the stake, and prayed
aloud, the nearest people were observed to be
so attentive to his prayers that they were
ordered to stand further back ; for it did not
suit the Romish Church to have those Pro-
testant words heard. His prayers concluded,
he went up to the stake and was stripped to
his shirt, and chained ready for the fire. One
of his guards had such compassion on him
that, to shorten his agonies, he tied some
packets of gunpowder about him. Then they
heaped up wood and straw and reeds, and set
them all alight. But, unhappily, the wood
was green and damp, and there was a wind
blowing that blew what flame there was,
away. Thus, through three quai'ters of an
hour, the good old man was scorched and
roasted and smoked, as the fire rose and sank ;
and all that time they saw him, as he burned,

moving his lips in prayer, and beating his
breast with one hand, even after the other
was burnt away and had fallen off.

Cranmei 1 , Ridley, and Latimer were taken
to Oxford to dispute with a commission of
priests and doctors about the mass. They
were shamefully treated, and it is recorded
that the Oxford scholars hissed and howled
and groaned, and misconducted themselves in
an anything but scholarly way which, of
course, they have never done, on any public
occasion, since. The prisoners were taken
back to jail, and afterwards tried in St.
Mary's Church. They were all found guilty.
On the sixteenth of the month of October,
Ridley and Latimer were brought out, to
make another of the dreadful bonfires.

The scene of the suffering of these two good
Protestant men was in the City ditch, near
Baliol College. On coming to the dreadful
spot, they kissed the stakes, and then em-
braced each other. And then a learned doctor
got up into a pulpit which was placed there,
and preached a sermon from the text
" Though I give my body to be burned, and
have not charity, it profiteth me nothing."
When you think of the charity of burning
men alive, you may imagine that this learned
doctor had a rather brazen face. Ridley would
have answered his sermon when it came to
an end, but was not allowed. When Latimer
was stripped, it appeared that he had dressed
himself, under his other clothes, in a new
shroud ; and, as he stood in it before all the
people, it was noted of him, and long re-
membered, that, whereas he had been
stooping and feeble but a few minutes
before, he now stood upright and handsome,
in the knowledge that he was dying for
a just and a great cause. Ridley's brother-
in-law was there, with bags of gunfpowder ;
and when they were both chained up, he
tied them round their bodies. Then, a light
was thrown upon the pile to fire it. " Be
of good comfort, Master Ridley," said
Latimer, at that awful moment, " and play
the man ! We shall this day light such a
candle, by God's grace, in England, as I trust
shall never be put out." And then he was
seen to make motions with his hands as if
he were washing them in the flames, and
to stroke his aged face with them, and was
heard to cry : " Father of Heaven, receive
my soul ! " He died quickly, but the fire,
after having burned the legs of Ridley, sunk.
There he lingered chained to the iron post,
and crying, " O ! I cannot burn ! O ! For
Christ's sake let the fire come unto me ! " And
still when his brother-in-law had heaped on
more wood, he was heard through the
blinding smoke, still dismally crying : u O ! I
cannot burn, I cannot burn ! " At last, the
gunpowder caught fire, and ended his miseries.

Five days after this fearful scene, Gardiner
went to his tremendous account before
God, for the cruelties he had so much assisted
in committing.

Cranmer remained still 4 alive and in prison.
He was brought out again in February, for
more examining and trying, by Bonner, bishop
of London : another man of blood, who had
succeeded to Gardiner's work, even in his life-
time, when Gardiner was tired of it. Cranmer
was now degraded as a priest, and left for
death ; but, if the Queen hated any one on
earth, she hated him, and it was resolved that
he should be ruined and disgraced to the
utmost. There is no doubt that the Queen
and her husband personally urged on these
deeds, because they wrote to the Council,
urging them to be active in the kind-
ling of the fearful fires. As Cranmer was
known not to be a firm man, a plan was laid
for surrounding him with artful people, and
inducing him to recant to the unreformed
religion. Deans and friars visited him, played
at bowls with him, showed him various at-
tentions, talked persuasively with him, gave
him money for his prison comforts, and in-
duced him to sign, I fear, as many as six
recantations. But when, after all, he was
taken out to be burnt, he was nobly true to
his better self, and made a glorious end.

After prayers and a sermon, Dr. Cole, the
preacher of the day (who had been one of the
artful priests about Cranmer in prison) re-
quired him to make a public confession of his
faith before the people. This Cole did, expect-
ing that he would declare himself a Roman
Catholic. " I will make a profession of my
faith," said Cranmer, " and with a good will
too."

Then, he arose before them all, and took
from the sleeve of his robe a written prayer
and read it aloud. That done, he kneeled
and said the Lord's Prayer, all the people
joining ; and then he arose again and told them
that he believed in the Bible, and that in
what he had lately written, he had written
what was not the truth, and because his hand
had signed those papers, he would burn his
right hand first when he came to the fire.
As for the Pope he did refuse him and de-
nounce him as the enemy of Heaven. Here-
upon the pious Dr. Cole cried out to the
guards to stop that heretic's mouth and take
him away.

So, they took him away, and chained him
to the stake, where he hastily took off" his
own clothes to make ready for the flames, and
stood before them with a bald head and a
white and flowing beard. He was so firm
now, when the worst was come, that he again
declared against his recantation, and was so
impressive and so undismayed, that a certain
lord, who was one of the directors of the
execution, called out to the men to make
haste ! When the fire was lighted, Cranmer,
true to his latest words, stretched out his
right hand, and crying out " This hand hath
offended ! " held it out among the flames, until
it blazed and burned away. His heart was
found entire among his ashes, and he left at
last a memorable name in English history.

Cardinal Pole celebrated the day by saying
his first mass, and next day he was made
Archbishop of Canterbury in Cranmer's
place.

The Queen's husband, who was now mostly
abroad in his own dominions, and generally
made a coarse jest of her to his more familiar
courtiers, was at war with France, and came
over to seek the assistance of England. Eng-
land was very unwilling to engage in a French
war for his sake ; but it happened that the
King of France at this very time, aided a
descent upon ^;he English coast. Hence, war
was declared, greatly to Philip's satisfaction ;
and the Queen raised a sum of money with
which to carry it on, by every unjustifiable
means in her power. It met with no profitable
return, for the French Duke of Guise siir-
prised Calais, and the English sustained a
complete defeat. The losses thej r met with in
France greatly mortified the national pride.,
and the Queen never recovered the blow.

There was a bad fever raging in England
at this time, and I am glad to write that the
Queen took it, and the hour of her death
came. "When I am dead and my body is
opened," she said to those around her, "ye
shall find CALAIS written on my heart." I
should have thought, if anything were written
on it, they would have found the words :
JANE GREY, HOOPER, ROGERS, RIDLEY,
LATIMER, CRANMER, AND THREE HUNDRED
PEOPLE BURNT ALIVE WITHIN FOUR YEARS
OF MY WICKED REIGN, INCLUDING SIXTY
WOMEN, AND FORTY LITTLE CHILDREN. But
it is enough that their deaths were written
in Heaven.

The Queen died on the seventeenth of
November, Fifteen hundred and fifty-eight,
after reigning not quite five years and a half,
and in the forty-fourth year of her age.
Cardinal Pole died of the same fever next day.

As BLOODY QUEEN MARY, this woman
has become famous, and as BLOODY QUEEN
MARY, she will ever be justly remembered
witli horror and detestation in Great Britain.
Her memory has been held in such ab-
horrence that some writers have arisen in
later years to take her part, and to shew that
she was, upon the whole, quite an amiable and
cheerM sovereign ! " By their fruits ye shall
know them," said OUR SAVIOUR. The stake
and the fire were the fruits of this reign, and
you will judge this Queen by nothing else.

Xoto ready, Price 3s. 6<,
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H. W.

THE subject of this paper is not as from
its title might at first seem probable the
individual who never will go home on
affectionate persuasion, to save the life of his
nearest and dearest relative. Nor is it that
other individual who leaves mysterious trunks,
horses, ponies, greyhounds, gigs, watches,
wheel-barrows, down long-suffering yards or
in patient lodgings, where they run into debt
and must at last be sold, unless fetched away
within fourteen days. Nor is it that Some-
body who appears to have an unaccountable
objection to come forward and hear of some-
thing to his advantage ; nor that impalpable
creature who from year's end to year's end is
in a convulsive state of advertisement about
a, lever, or an anchor, or a dove, or a scorpion,
or a trumpeter, or a turbot, or some other
cabalistic sign tending to the general con-
fusion and madness. H. W. is the shorter
name for Household Words by which this
Journal is familiarly known among the
persons employed in its production ; and we
purpose to describe the processes by which
this Journal is produced.

We have already described the manufacture
of paper.* But before we can possibly go to
the printer's we have to dispose (as we know
to our cost) of our Voluntary Correspondent.
We will give our readers some account of
him in his most irrational aspect.

His name is Legion. He writes everything
on every description of paper, and with
every conceivable and inconceivable quality
of illegible ink. Like the players in Hamlet,
nothing comes amiss to him ; " tragedy,
comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical,
historical-pastoral, tragical-historical, tragical-
comical, historical-pastoral, scene individable,
or poem unlimited." But if he particularly
excel in any one species of composition, it is
perhaps, as to our experience, in the poem
unlimited.

He has a general idea that literature is the
easiest amusement in the world. He figures
a successful author as a radiant personage
whose whole time is devoted to idleness and
pastime who keeps a prolific mind in a sort
of corn-sieve, and lightly shakes a bushel of

* See Vol. i., page 529.

it out sometimes, in an odd half hour after
breakfast. It would amaze his incredulity
beyond all measure, to be told that such
elements as patience, study, punctuality, de-
termination, self-denial, training of mind and
body, hours of application and seclusion to
produce what he reads in seconds, enter inta
such a career. He has no more conception
of the necessity of entire devotion to it, than,
he has of an eternity from the beginning.
Correction and re-correction in the blotted
manuscript, consideration, new observation,,
the patient massing of many reflections, ex-
periences and imaginings for one minute
purpose, and the patient separation from the
heap of all the fragments that will unite to
serve it these would be Unicorns or Griffins
to him fables altogether. Hence, he can
often afford to dispense with the low rudi-
ments of orthography ; and of the principles
of composition it is obvious that he need
know nothing.

He is fond of applying himself to litera-
ture in a leisure hour, or "a few leisure
moments." He " throws his thoughts " upon
paper. He rarely sends what he considers
his best production. His best production i&
not copied somehow, it seldom is. He is
aware that there are many remarkable defects
in the manuscript he encloses, but if we will
insert that, " on the usual terms," he has
another at home that will astonish us. He
is not at all vain, but he " knows he has it in
him." It is possible that it may be in him ;
but it is certain that under these circum-
stances it very, very, seldom comes out.

Sometimes he will write, without sending
anything, to know " if we are open to voluntary
contributors 1 " He will be informed " Yes,
decidedly. If their contributions be adapted
to these pages." He will then write again, to
know what style of contribution would be
preferred ? He will be informed in answer
that he had better try his own style. He
writes back, to the effect that he has no style,
no subject, no knowledge, and nothing to tell;
and will therefore feel obliged to us for a few
suggestions.

He calls sometimes. When he calls, he
has often been a captain or a major. He
comes with a foregone conclusion that we are
always sitting in a padded chair (after a little
early corn-sieve practice) open, like some

160

146

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

competition of a sporting nature, to All
England. He takes it very ill that we don't
see him. Considers it ungentlemanly. Had
supposed we were a public character, and
doesn't understand it. He comes on behalf
of a gifted friend, with a tragedy in five acts,
a poem in twelve books, or a stury that would
occupy a volume or two of this publication.
He brings it out of a cab, and leaves it in the
office, rolled up in paper like a whitey-browu
bolster. It bears evident traces of having
been in every other office in the wide world,
whence any composition in the English
language is disseminated through the agency
of print and paper. He is written to, and
politely informed that the excessive bulk of
this treasure renders it (without reference to
its intrinsic merits or demerits) quite unsuit-
able as a blessing to the unhappy H. W. He
reappears with all speed, red-faced and ireful,
reproduces card, demands explanatory in-
terview, and terrifies publisher. Nothing
coming of it, he, on the spot, indites a letter,
wherein he communicates to us that as we
decline to accept the contribution of his
gifted friend, he requires to be informed in
writing, for the information of his gifted
friend, what our critical opinion is, in
detail, of the bolster, and what publisher we
recommend for it ; for which critical opinion
he will call to-morrow afternoon at four pre-
cisely. He is again politely written to and
informed that we cannot undertake to form
and deliver such opinion, having our little
hallucinations and labouring under the delu-
sion that we have something else to do. Then
he reappears with the cab, and takes the
bolster away in extraordinary dudgeon ; pro-
testing to the last that he had supposed we
were a public character, and that he don't
understand it.

She (God bless her ! Mrs. or Miss Legion)
is not so angry, but she is an unreasonable
Angel, too. She brings little beneficent
schemes in bags of Berlin wool, and, though
they won't suit us, thinks they will suit our
friends : among whom she begs us to distribute
two hundred and fifty copies. She is the
most amiable woman in the world but she
is impracticable ; she is, indeed, though we
love her ! She brings the flattest and thinnest
of little crimson or blue books, published by
subscription, and wants to read them to us
aloud. When she writes, it is on scented
paper, highly glazed, over which all the letters
seem to skate, and all the looped letters to
tumble down. Her favorite title for poetry is

" To a Child," or " To ." We don't know

who is, but we wish he would lead her

to the altar. In prose, she addresses the
Gentle Reader constantly, and sprinkles with
French words. She is invariably persuaded
that blanks heighten the interest, and convey
an air of reality. She generally begins, " it
was on a summer evening in the year eighteen
hundred and (blank), near the pretty little
town of (blank), where the (blank) river mur-

murs its rippling way among the rushes, that
a youth of handsome mien and fine figure,
who might have numbered two-and-twenty
summers, and whose expressive countenance
was cast in the pure Greek mould." Occasion-
ally, she presents herself in the serious aspect
of having some relative to support, and is
particularly deserving of the gentlest con-
sideration and respect. Then it is our misery
to endeavour to explain to her that what is
written for publication can be read for its
own merits only ; and that it would be as
hopeful a resource to play a church organ
without any knowledge of, or aptitude for, the
instrument, as to play the muse's lyre. In
any case and every case, she always forms a
profound conviction (and will die in it) that
we have never read her manuscript.

What inventors write and come, and what
people with grievances of immense duration,
and often real grievances too, we will not
endeavour to set forth. What numbers of
people suppose that to smuggle manuscripts
in at our private door is a means of beguiling
us into despatching them by express to the
printer, instead of an infallible means of de-
laying their consideration, we will not record.
Through how many of these various rocks and
shoals every devoted number of H. W. steers
its course, our readers may infer from the
following facts. In the last year, we read nine
hundred manuscripts, of which eleven were
available for this journal, after being entirely
re-written. In the same period, we received
and answered two thousand letters, and made
appointments with an odd two or three
hundred more of our fellow creatures than
there were pounds to pay for the celebrated
nails in the horse's shoes, which will go
down to posterity rusty with the tears of
school-boys. On the other hand, it is de-
lightful to state that five of our very best
regular fellow labourers first became known
to us, as volunteers, at various periods within
the three years and upwards of our existence ;
and that some remarkable descriptions in
this Journal have come to us from wholly
unaccustomed writers, who have faithfully
and in thorough earnest put down what they
have undergone or seen.

Let us suppose a Number of H. W. " made
up." In other words, let us suppose the articles
it is to contain, their length, their nature,
their order of succession, all duly calculated,
considered, and decided on. We then go to
the printer's.

Since the whole mind of our own nation
finds its way into type, a London printing-
office is a sort of compound brain, in which
the busy working of the thoughts of the
community are represented by the rapid
flowing of the fount of lead between the
fingers of compositors. Permutations and
combinations of the letters of the alphabet
are carried on incessantly upon the premises
of Messrs. Bradbury and Evans, the printers
of H. W., and the work of the printer goes

Charles Dickens.]

H. W.

147

on there, as elsewhere, with a rapidity that
would have made the blood flush to the
head of Guttenberg, or Faust, or Peter
Schseffer. Really the world is not greatly
to be blamed for idleness, when we con-
sider that it is, after all, only about four
hundred years since the art of printing was
invented. The legend of the men of Stras-
burg, who will have it that their townsman
Johann Mentelin cut the first types of wood
and strung them like beads, side by side, and
that Guttenberg was prompted by a runaway
from Strasburg Mentelin's servant, Gans-
fleisch (by interpretation Goose meat)
is but among the tales of yesterday. When
the art of printing was invented, more than
half the knowledge of the best educated
portion of the world was nothing beyond
what had been taught two thousand years
before.

As for the acres of white paper and the
ponds of writing ink, the mileage of finger
movement that precede the issue of each
week's allowance of print to the world, it is
enough for us to have indicated how much
of that comes under our notice in connexion
with the printing of H. W., which is dis-
persed every week over the country. It is
indeed not easy to forget the past when our
attention is directed to the mass of printer's
labour that is set in action by the pence of
our subscribers. When the first printers
used their types on the first printed Bible,
they were in despair because it had cost them
four thousand florins by the time they had
printed to the end of the twelfth sheet ; and
the works issued by them, though some ten
times cheaper than written copies, were still
what we should now think enormously ex-
pensive.

The most familiar portion of the printer's
work, as it is done at this day, it is not
necessary to describe. Few do not know
how the scrap of written paper, placed
conveniently before him, is regarded by the
compositor in the most literal sense as the
production of a man of letters ; and how
all the author's-a's and b's, translated into
lead, are reproduced with an impartial
fidelity that never troubles itself to consider
whether it is reproducing sense or nonsense.
From the types arranged, line under line, in
lines of a fit length, forming a long column,
a rough impression is taken of each article
upon thi-ee or four long slips of paper, as
a proof of the accuracy of the printer's
handiwork. A reader in the printing-office
then corrects all errors of the kind for which
that office is responsible. The printer's work
being made so far accurate, and fresh proofs
having been printed, those are sent to the
office ; to which the responsibility attaches
of the truth and fitness of the literary
workmanship. Alterations are then often
made in the matter or the manner of the
article. In that case the compositors undo
much that they hawe done ; and, with the

expedition of good generals, break up their
lines to form them again into solid columns.
The work of two-fold correction has then of
course to be repeated.

The long irregular columns broken into
detachments of an equal size, are paired into
pages again. Two pages are wedded and bound
together, and then, bondage within bondage,
four of these couples are wedged within an iron
frame or chase, into a square. A set is thus
made of eight pages, cunningly arranged with
a view to the subsequent folding of the
half sheet of paper upon which they will be
printed at a single stroke. H. W. is in this
form and in this form only, we would hope
a desperately heavy journal. The mass of
type prepared thus for eight pages of a
number contains more than forty thousand
separate fragments of type, and weighs eighty-
seven pounds and a half.

Three such iron-bound tablets of lead
contain the matter of one number ; and, from
these, several proofs are again struck for
final correction and revision. When the last
amendments have been made, and all is so
far accounted satisfactory, the frames con-
taining the compositors' work are carried
down into the domains of Vulcan : for H. W.
never appears until it has gone through fire
and water.

The two hundred and sixty-two pounds
and a half weight of unpublished H. W.
are taken down into a vault, which may be
regarded as a workshop of Vulcan by reason
of the strong fire-heat that is in it. We
observe, too, by the light of its three furnaces,
a pan of Vulcan's broth boiling-hot lead
soup in a corner. In other respects we
might take the workers in this hot cave for
the miller and his men ; for they are all
covered with a white dust, and white is the
prevailing colour of all the splash and soil
that is to be seen about the walls arid floors
and benches. There is a bin filled with
white powder in the middle of the room ;
and, from one corner, there proceeds the sound
of water flowing from a tap. In another corner
is a gas-jet ; for the gloom natural to this
workshop on the basement story is dispelled
by gas.

Each stereotype plate is the casting of two
pages. The workman takes therefore one pair
of leaden pages bound in its frame, lays it
before him and beats upon its surface with a
broad, flat wooden mallet. The blows of the
mallet are intended to abase all stuck-up
leads, and to produce a perfect evenness upon
the surface of the type from which it is de-
signed to make a casting. After they have
had their beating the two pages are carried
to another part of the long work-bench, or
dresser, that runs along the wall ; and, being
set down by another workman near the
water tap and sink, are covered with a thin
cream. " Plaster of Paris mixed with water,"
the stereotyper tells us. " That's for the
quads."

148

[Con.luftc.1 by

" O yes, certainly. The quads of course.
By the bye, what are the quads 1 "

" Quadrats, sir. We call 'em quads."

" Exactly. Yes. And so you take a
casting ? "

" Bless you, no, sir, you don't seem to under-
stand. Quads are the spaces left between the
paragraphs that come white on the paper. If
you look here, at this page that is set-up, you
will see that they are deeper than the spaces
left between the words and letters regular
little trenches. We don't want any of them.
We must have all the spaces of an equal
depth."

" And so 3'ou cover the whole mass with
a thin mud of plaster ; which that mis-
chievous young monkey there is washing off
again."

" Yes, he's bound to do that, and then I,
with a soft brush, go and rub at it ; but,
look you, my brush sweeps the plaster from
about the letters and between them, but it
passes over the top of the deep quads and
smooths it into them. I made the heights
all even with a mallet, now I'm evening the
depths with plaster and a hair-brush."

Cunning workman, you are understood.
You need not explain why you in the next
place with a delicate touch wipe fine oil over
the types you have prepared ; you are about
to take a casting of those pages of the
work whose title you and your brethren so
irreverently shorten.

A collar is placed about the lump of H. W.
which fits it, and sticks up around it, sloping
outwards. The type and its new collar
together make a pudding-pan ; and, into the
pan plaster pudding mixed by hand in a large
bowl is, in the next place, carefully poured.
Carefully, because at first it must be rubbed
and smoothed, and perfectly insinuated be-
tween every crevice ; the sharp outline of
no letter must be rounded by a bubble.
When the pan is full, the pudding stands to
set, the top of it being in the meantime
scraped smooth and flat. In less than a
quarter of an hour, it is firm enough to be
lifted by its frame, upon the bevelled sides of
which it is supported, and the heavy types,
forming the false bottom to the pan, are left
behind. A plaster cast, shaped like a little
Yorkshire pudding, has upon one side of itau
accurate impression of those two pages of
H. W. The characters inscribed thus upon
pudding remind one very much of Nineveh
and Babylon, but not at all of sixteen,
Wellington Street North, Strand, London.
Since this cast is the mould or sop which will
be dipped presently into the pan of Vulcan's
gravy, " you see, sir," says the cunning work-
man, " if I hadn't made the back of it quite
even, the hot lead wotild lie more on one
part than another, and the plaster then would
crack. Next-a-ways all the damp must be
got out, and so we put the casts into these
ovens to be dried. They want care. I don't
understand what they want in thermometer

degrees, but I know the exact heat by prac-
tice this way : with my bare arm thrust
into the oven."

The mould being quite dry, the demonstra-
tor takes a piece of metal that resenjbles it in
shape and size. " This," he says, " is a float.
You see there's a rim round the cast side of
the mould. The plaster was allowed to run
down for the purpose of a making of it. I just
smooth that with a knife, and nick it in a place
or two, and lay the plaster cast side down-
wards, on the float. Now when that goes into
the metal, metal can flow in between the nicks.
Nextly here is the great pan without a lid, full
of metal whereof stereotype plates are made ;
six parts lead, hardened with one part anti-
mony. The metal's now at melting heat.
Here's a crane over it, with a fixed plate
hanging to it. Under the plate we put the
plaster mould, with the float or swimming
jacket under that, and down they all go for a
warm bath. Now you see the float won't sink
willingly, and the plate fastened to the crane
can't rise : the plaster is between the two,
and the float at the bottom. What's the
results 1 The float pushes the plaster up, and
keeps it fastened tight with its flat back
against the plate above it. The metal forces
in between the notches, but the float won't
be shoved down by the metal, and forces
that up consequently into every cranny of the
plaster mould.- What's the results again ?
We take it out and cool it with a little
water, and there you have two pages of H. W.
stereotyped on one plate beautiful to look
at ! Just like a married couple."

From this plate the two pages will be
printed, if it be not found faulty in another
room, to which we follow it. It is there sub-
jected to the criticism of another censor ; who
looks through it letter by letter, picks it over
with a graver, and rejects it if it contain any
flaw that cannot be removed in his depart-
ment. If accepted by him it is subjected to
further treatment. The pair of pages, now
existing as a solid plate, will be again united
under the printing press with the pairs from
which it had parted ; they will all meet again
in their new form, and when they do meet,
it will be as necessary that the separate ste-
reotype plates should lie evenly side by side
under the paper, as that the letters in each
plate should present a level surface. Their
edges are therefore cut by a machine. Their
backs are first smoothed by a turning lathe.
They are then placed on a flat table, and
passed under a blade, so adjusted as to pro-
duce among all plates submitted to its cutting
scrutiny, an almost perfect uniformity of
thickness. Out of this room the plate of
H. W., containing as we have said two pages,
is sent to be used in its place for the actual
printing of a weekly number.

Under the press, however, it is again sub-
jected to criticism. The plates that belong
together are slipped into nests prepared for
their reception ; of which, the outer rims print

Charles Dickens.]

GABRIEL'S MARRIAGE.

149

off as borders to the pages. An impression
is chen taken, upon paper, of the entire set of
pages, and the printed sheet is carefully ex-
amined ; faults corrected, and then the great
steam-press begins its labour. Under its
two revolving cylinders are grouped the
plates which represent the two halves of
the forthcoming number of H. W. The two
halves correspond to the two sides of our
weekly sheet. Upon a peak covered with
snowy paper that commands the upper surface
ot one cylinder there is a youth. He dex-
terously fits the paper, sheet by sheet, upon
the lips of the devouring engine. As it heaves
and works, the paper is drawn rapidly into a
black abyss. It is rolled over the mass of
metal characters, which is perpetually fertilised
with printer's ink by mystic rollers. One cylin-
der passes the sheet printed upon one side, to
another. Over that it leaps, and from under
that it is delivered perfect, and placed quietly
upon a table, ready to the fingers of a little
boy, who helps it in its easy birth. The press
works, one among many that appear to be
engaged in voluntary labour side by side.
Men and boys are reaping the advantage of
their industry. Our youth upon the peak
administers white sheets of paper to the busy
monster labouring on our behalf. As fast as
they are put into its mouth, like great square
lozenges, they are all sucked away at the rate
of nine hundred an hour. At the same rate,
completely pi-inted copies of H. W. are laid
upon the table of the second boy and piled by
him into a cube. The dimensions of the cube
are constantly kept under by other boys who
carry parts of it away. But our H. W.
is not even yet ready to appear before the
public.

Who does not entertain a proper horror of
damp sheets ? The sheets of H. W. are sent
out of the great hall of steam-presses into a
drying room. There they are hung up and
aired. The sheets of H. W. are in the
next place mangled. They endure a whole
day under a powerful hydraulic press. The
sheets of H. W. are neatly folded by the tidy
hands of women.

The copies of each number which has in
this way run the gauntlet down so long a lane
of labour, are, at last, brought by boys upon
their heads, upon their shoulders, upon their
backs, iipon their breasts, over their arms,
and under them, to sixteen, Wellington Street
North, iu the Strand. .From that place, on a
given day, and punctually after a given hour,
they are issued to a race of individuals who
carry them away in bags, in pouches, in
pockets ; in hands, on heads, shoulders, backs ;
in cabs, in carts, and in trucks to the ware-
houses and shops of the metropolis to be
sold to the public. From the warehouses
they .travel in detachments to the railway
stations, and from railway stations many
travel^ to the ships. So each number at
last finds its owner out, who by some
article he sees in it is perhaps prompted

to become a sensible Voluntary Correspond-
ent, and send up to H. W. a little bag or a
large sack of grist. So the mill goes.

GABEIEL'S MARRIAGE.

IN TWO CHAPTERS. CHAPTER THE FIRST.

ONE night, during the period of the first
French Revolution, the family of Fran9ois
Sarzeau, a fisherman of Brittany, were all
waking and watching at an unusually late hour
in their cottage on the peninsula of Quiberon,
Francois had gone out in his boat that evening,
as usual, to fish. Shortly after his departure,
the wind had risen, the clouds had gathered ;
and the storm, which had been threatening at
intervals throughout the whole day, burst
forth furiously about nine o'clock. It was
now eleven ; and the raging of the wind over
the barren, heathy peninsula still seemed to
increase with each fresh blast that tore its
way out upon the open sea ; the crashing of
the Waves on the beach was awful to hear ;
the dreary blackness of the sky terrible to
behold. The longer they listened to the storm,
the oftener they looked out at it, the fainter
grew the hopes which the fisherman's family
still strove to cherish for the safety of Franfois
Sarzeau and of his younger sou who had gone
with him iu the boat.

There was something impressive in the
simplicity of the scene that was now passing
within the cottage. On one side of the great
rugged black fire-place crouched two little
girls ; the younger half asleep, with her head
in her sister's lap. These were the daughters
of the fisherman ; and opposite to them sac
their eldest brother, Gabriel. His right arm
had been badly wounded in a recent encounter
at the national game of the Soule, a sport re-
sembling our English football ; but played on
both sides in such savage earnest by the
people of Brittany as to end always in blood-
shed, often in mutilation, sometimes even in
loss of life. On the same bench with Gabriel
sat his betrothed wife a girl of eighteen
clothed in the plain, almost monastic black
and white costume of her native district. She
was the daughter of a small farmer living at
some little distance from the coast. Between
the groups formed on either side of the fire-
place, the vacant space was occupied by the foot
of a truckle bed. In this bed lay a very
old man, the father of Fraugois Sarzeau.
His haggard face was covered with deep
wrinkles ; his long white hair flowed over
the coarse lump of sacking which served
him for a pillow, and his light grey eyes
wandered incessantly, with a strange expres-
sion of terror and suspicion, from person to
person, and from object to object, in all
parts of the room. Every time when the
wind and sea whistled and roared at their
loudest, he muttered to himself and tossed
his hands fretfully on his wretched coverlid.
On these occasions, his eyes always fixed
themselves intently on a little delf image of

150

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

f Conducted by

the Virgin placed in a niche over the fire-
place. Whenever they saw him look in this
direction Gabriel and the young girl shuddered
and crossed themselves ; and even the child
who still kept awake imitated their example.
There was one bond of feeling at I'east between
the old man and his grandchildren, which
connected his age and their youth unnaturally
and closely together. This feeling was reve-
rence for the superstitions which had been
handed down to them by their ancestors
from centuries and centuries back, as far
even as the age of the Druids. The spirit-
warnings of disaster and death which the
old man heard in the wailing of the wind,
in the crashing of the waves, in the dreary
monotonous rattling of the casement, the
young man and his affianced wife and the
little child who cowered by the fire-side,
heard too. All differences in sex, iu tempera-
ment, in years, Superstition was strong enough
to strike down to its own dread level, in the
fisherman's cottage, on that stormy night.

Besides the benches by the fire-side and the
bed, the only piece of furniture in the room
was a coarse wooden table, with a loaf of
black bread, a "knife, and a pitcher of cider
placed on it. Old nets, coils of rope, tattered
sails, hung about the walls and over the
wooden partition which separated the room
into two compartments. Wisps of straw
and ears of barley drooped down through the
rotten rafters and gaping boards that made
the floor of the granary above.

These different objects and the persons in the
cotta.ge,who composed the only surviving mem-
bers of the fisherman's family, were strangely
and wildly lit up by the blaze of the fire and
by the still brighter glare of a resin torch stuck
into a block of wood in the chimney corner.
The red and yellow light played full on the
weird face of the old man as he lay opposite
to it, and glanced fitfully on the figures of
Rose, Gabriel, and the two children ; the
great gloomy shadows rose and fell, and grew
and lessened in bulk about the walls like
visions of darkness, animated by a super-
natural spectre-life, while the dense obscurity
outside spreading before the curtainless
window seemed as a wall of solid darkness
that had closed in for ever around the fisher-
man's house. The night-scene within the
cottage was almost as wild and as dreary to
look upon as the night scene without.

For a long time the different persons in the
room sat together without speaking, even
without looking at each other. At last, the
girl turned and whispered something into
Gabriel's ear.

" Rose, what were you saying to Gabriel ? "
asked the child opposite, seizing the first
opportunity of breaking the desolate silence
doubly desolate at her age which was
preserved by all around her.

'"' I was telling him," answered Rose simply,
" that it was time to change the bandages on
his arm ; and I also said to him, what I have

often said before, that he must never play
at that terrible game of the Soule again."

The old man had been looking intently at
Rose and his grandchild as they spoke. His
harsh, hollow voice mingled with the la>l
soft tones of the young girl, repeating over
and over again the same terrible words :
" Drowned ! drowned ! Sou and grandson,
both drowned ! both drowned ! "

"Hush! Grandfather," said Gabriel, " we
must not lose all hope for them yet. God
and the Blessed Virgin protect them ! " lie
looked at the little delf image, and crossed
himself ; the others imitated him, except the
old man. He still tossed his hands over the
coverlid, and still repeated " Drowned !
drowned ! "

" Oh that accursed Soule ! " groaned the
young man. " But for this wound I should
have been with my father. The poor boy's
life might at least have been saved ; for we
should then have left him here."

" Silence ! " exclaimed the harsh voice from
the bed. " The wail of dying onen rises louder
than the loud sea ; the devil's psalm-singing
roars higher than the roaring wind ! Be
silent, and listen ! Francois drowned ! Pierre
drowned ! Hark ! Hark ! "

A terrific blast of wind burst over the
house, as he spoke, shaking it to its centre,
overpowering all other sounds, even to the
deafening crash of the waves. The slumber-
ing child awoke, and uttered a scream of fear.
Rose, who had been kneeling before her lover
binding the fresh bandages on his wounded
arm, paused in her occupation, trembling
from head to foot. Gabriel looked towards
the window : his experience told him what
must be the hurricane fury of that blast of
wind out at sea, and he sighed bitterly as he
murmured to himself " God help them both
man's help will be as nothing to them now ! "

" Gabriel ! " cried the voice from the bed
in altered tones very faint and trembling.

He did not hear, or did not attend to the
old man. He was trying to soothe and en-
courage the trembling girl at his feet. " Don't
be frightened, love," he said, kissing her very
gently and tenderly on the forehead. " You
are as safe here as anywhere. Was I not
right in saying that it would be madness to
attempt taking you back to the farm-house
this evening ? You can sleep in that room,
Rose, when you are tired you can sleep
with the two girls."

" Gabriel ! brother Gabriel ! " cried one of
the children. " O 1 look at grandfather ! "

Gabriel ran to the bedside. The old mail
had raised himself into a sitting position ; his
eyes were dilated, his whole face was rigid
with terror, his hands were stretched out
convulsively towards his grandson. "The
White Women ! " he screamed. " The White
Women ; the grave-diggers of the drowned
are out on the sea ! " The children, with
cries of terror, flung themselves into Rose's
arms ; even Gabriel uttered an exclamation

Charles Dickens.]

GABRIEI/S MARRIAGE.

151

of horror, and started back from the bedside. !
Still the old man reiterated, " The White
Women ! The White Women ! Open the
door, Gabriel ! look out westward, where the
ebb tide has left the sand dry. You'll see
them bright as lightning in the darkness,
mighty as the angels in stature, sweeping like
the wind over the sea, in their long white
garments, with their white hair trailing far
behind them ! Open the door, Gabriel !
You'll see them stop and hover over the
place where your father and your brother
have been drowned ; you'll see them come on
till they reach the sand ; you'll see them
dig in it with their naked feet, and beckon
awfully to the raging sea to give up its dead.
Open the door, Gabriel or though it should
be the death of me, I will get up and open it
myself ! "

Gabriel's face whitened even to his lips,
but he made a sign that he would obey. It
required the exertion of his whole strength to
keep the door open against the wind, while
he looked out.

" Do you see them, grandson Gabriel 1
Speak the truth, and tell me if you see them,"
cried the old man.

" 1 see nothing but darkness pitch dark-
ness," answered Gabriel, letting the door
close again.

" Ah ! woe ! woe ! " groaned his grand-
father, sinking back exhausted on the pillow.
" Darkness to you ; but bright as lightning
to the eyes that are allowed to see them.
Drowned ! drowned ! Pray for their souls,
Gabriel /see the White Women even where
I lie, and dare not pray for them. Son and
grandson drowned ! both drowned ! "

The young man went back to Rose and the
children. " Grandfather is very ill to-night,"
he whispered, "You had better all go into the
bedroom, and leave me alone to watch by
him."

They rose as he spoke, crossed themselves
before the image of the Virgin, kissed him
one by one, and without uttering a word,
softly entered the little room on the other side
of the partition. Gabriel looked at his grand-
father, and saw that he lay quiet now, with
his eyes closed as if he were already dropping
asleep. The young man then heaped some
fresh logs on the lire, and sat down by it to
watch -till morning. Very dreary was the
moaning of the night-storm ; but it was not
more dreary than the thoughts which now
occupied him in his solitude thoughts dark-
ened and distorted by the terrible supersti-
tions of his country and his race. Ever since
the period of his mother's death he had been
oppressed by the conviction that some curse
hung over the family. At first they had been
prosperous, they had got money, a little
legacy had been left them. But this good
fortune had availed only for a time ; disaster
on. disaster strangely and suddenly succeeded.
Losses, misfortunes, poverty, want itself
had overwhelmed them ; his father's temper

had become so soured, that the oldest friends
of Francois Sarzeau declared he was
changed beyond recognition. And now,
all this past misfortune the steady, wither-
ing, household blight of many years had
ended in the last worst misery of all
in death. The fate of his father and his
brother admitted no longer of a doubt he
knew it, as he listened to the storm, as he
reflected on his grandfather's words, as he
called to mind his own experience of the
perils of the sea. And this double bereave-
ment had fallen on him just as the time was
approaching for his marriage with Rose ; just
when misfortune was most ominous of evil,
just when it was hardest to bear ! Fore-
bodings which he dared not realise began now
to mingle with the bitterness of his grief,
whenever his thoughts wandered from the
present to the future ; and as he sat by the
lonely fireside, murmuring from time to time
the Church prayer for the repose of the dead,
he almost involuntarily mingled with it
another prayer, expressed only in his own
simple words, for the safety of the living
for the young girl whose love was his sole
earthly treasure ; for the motherless children
who must now look for protection to him
alone.

He had sat by the hearth a long, long
time, absorbed in his thoughts, not once
looking round towards the bed, when he was
startled by hearing the sound of his grand-
father's voice once more. "Gabriel," whis-
pered the old man, trembling and shrinking
as he spoke. " Gabriel, do you hear a drip-
ping of water now slow, now quick again
on the floor at the foot of my bed 1 " |

" I hear nothing, grandfather, but the
crackling of the fire, and the roaring of the
storm outside."

" Drip, drip, drip ! Faster and faster ;
plainer and plainer. Take the torch, Gabriel ;
look down on the floor look with all your
eyes. Is the place wet there ? Is it God's
rain that is dropping through the roof?"

Gabriel took the torch with trembling
fingers, and knelt down on the floor to examine
it closely. He started back from the place, as
he saw that it was quite dry the torch
dropped upon the hearth he fell on his knees
before the statue of the Virgin and hid his
face.

" Is the floor wet ? Answer me, I command
you ! Is the floor wet ? " asked the old man
quickly and breathlessly. Gabriel rose, went
back to the bedside, and whispered _to him
that no drop of rain had fallen inside the
cottage. As he spoke the words, he saw a
change pass over his grandfather's face the
sharp features seemed to wither up on a
sudden ; the eager expression to grow vacant
and death-like in an instant. The voice too
altered ; it was harsh arid querulous no more ;
its tones became strangely soft, slow, and
solemn, when the old man spoke .T_rain.

" I hear it still," he said, " drip ! drip !

152

HOUSEHOLD WORDS

[Conducted by

faster and plainer than ever. That ghostly
dropping of water is the last and the surest
of the fatal signs which have told of your
father's and your brother's deaths to-night,
and I know from the place where I hear it
the foot of the bed I lie on that it is a
warning to me of my own approaching end.
I am called where my son and my grandson
have gone before me : my weary time in this
world is over at last. Don't let Eose and the
children come in here, if they should awake
they are too young to look at death."

Gabriel's blood curdled, when he heard
these words when he touched his grand-
father's hand, and felt the chill that it struck
to his own when he listened to the raging
wind, and knew that all help was miles and
miles away from the cottage. Still, in spite
of the storm, the darkness, and the distance,
he thought not for a moment of neglecting
the duty that had been taught him from his
childhood the duty of summoning the Priest
to the bedside of the dying. "I must call
Eose," he said, "to watch by you while I
am away."

"Stop ! " cried the old man, "stop, Gabriel,
I implore, I command you not to leave me ! "

"The priest, grandfather your confes-
sion "

" It must be made to you. In this darkness
and this hurricane no man can keep the path
across the heath. Gabriel ! I am dying I
should be dead before you got back. Gabriel !
for the love of the Blessed Virgin, stop here
with me till I die my time is short I have
a terrible secret that I must tell to somebody
before I draw my last breath ! Your ear to
my mouth ! quick ! quick ! "

As he spoke the last words, a slight noise
was audible on the other side of the partition,
the door half opened ; and Eose appeared at
it, looking affrightedly into the room. The
vigilant eyes of the old man suspicious even
in death caught sight of her directly. " Go
back ! " he exclaimed faintly, before she could
litter a word, " go back push her back,
Gabriel, and nail down the latch in the door,
if she won't shut it of herself ! "

" Dear Eose ! go in again," implored
Gabriel. "Go^n and keep the children from
disturbing us. You will only make him worse
you can be of no use here ! "

She obeyed without speaking, and shut the
<ioor again. While the old man clutched him
by the arm, and repeated, " Quick ! quick !
your ear close to my mouth," Gabriel heard
Jaer say to the children (who were both awake),
" Let us pray for grandfather." And as he
knelt down by the bedside, there stole on his
ear the sweet, childish tones of his little
sisters and the soft, subdued voice of the
young girl who was teaching them the prayer,
mingling divinely with the solemn wailing of
wind and sea ; rising in a still and awful
purity over the hoarse, gasping whispers of
the dying man.

" I took an oath not to tell it, Gabriel

lean down closer ! I'm weak, and they mustn't
hear a word in that room I took an oath
not to tell it ; but death is a warrant to all
men for breaking such an oath as that.
Listen ; don't lose a word I'm saying ! Don't
look away into the room : the stain of blood-
guilt has defiled it for ever ! Hush ! Hush !
Hush ! Let me speak. Now your father's
dead, I can't carry the horrid secret with me
into the grave. Just remember, ' Gabriel
try if you can't remember the time before I
was bed-ridden ten years ago and more it
was about six weeks, you know, before your
mother's death ; you can remember it by
that. You and all the children were in that
room with your mother ; you were all asleep,
I think ; it was night, not very late only
nine o'clock. Your father and I were
standing at the door, looking out at the
heath in the moonlight. He was so poor at
that time, he had been obliged to sell his
own boat, and none of the neighbours would
take him out fishing with them your father
wasn't liked by any of the neighbours. Well ;
we saw a stranger coming towards us ; a very
young man, with a knapsack on his back. He
looked like a gentleman, though he was but
poorly dressed. He came up, and told us he
was dead tired, and didn't think he could
reach the town that night, and asked if we
would give him shelter till morning. And
your father said yes, if he would make no
noise, because the wife was ill and the children
were asleep. So he said all he wanted was to go
to sleep himself before the fire. We had no-
thing to give him, but black bread. He had
better food with him than that, and undid his
knapsack to get at it and and Gabriel !
I'm sinking drink ! something to drink
I'm parched with thirst ! "

Silent and deadly pale, Gabriel poured some
of the cider from the pitcher on the table into
a drinking cup, and gave it to the old man.
Slight as the stimulant was, its effect on him
was almost instantaneous. His dull eyes
brightened a little, and he went on in the
same whispering tones as before.

"He pulled the food out of his knapsack
rather in a hurry, so that some of the other
small things in it fell on the floor. Among
these was a pocket-book, which your father
picked up and gave him back ; and he put it
iu his coat pocket there was a tear in one
of the sides of the book, and through the
hole some bank-notes bulged out. I saw
them, and so did your father (don't move
away, Gabriel ; keep close, there's nothing in
me to shrink from). Well, he shared his
food, like an honest fellow, with us ; and then
put his hand in his pocket, and gave me four
or five livres, and then lay down before the
fire to go to sleep. As he shut his eyes,
your father looked at me in a way I didn't
like. He'd been behaving very bitterly
and desperately towards us for some time
past ; being soured about poverty, and your
mother's illness, and the constant crying out

GABRIEL'S MARRIAGE.

of you children for more to eat. So when
he told me to go and buy some wood, some
bread, and' some wine with the money I had
got, I didn't like, somehow, to leave him
alone with the stranger ; and so made ex-
cuses, saying (which was true) that it was
too late to buy things in the village that
night. But he told me in a rage to go and
do as he bid me, and knock the people up
if the shop was shut. So I went out, being
dreadfully afraid of your father as indeed
we all were at that time but I couldn't make
up my mind to go far from the house : I was
afraid of something happening, though I
didn't dare to think what. I don't know how
it was ; but I stole back in about ten minutes
on tip-toe, to the cottage ; and looked in at
the window ; and saw O ! God forgive
him ! O, God forgive me ! I saw I more
to drink, Gabriel ! I can't speak again
more to drink ! "

The voices in the next room had ceased ;
but in the minute of silence which now ensued,
Gabriel heard his sisters kissing Rose, and
wishing her good night. They were all three
trying to go to sleep again.

" Gabriel, pray yourself, and teach your
children after you to pray, that your
father may find forgiveness where he is now
gone. I saw him, as plainly as I now see you,
kneeling with his knife in one hand over the
sleeping man. He was taking the little book
with the notes in it out of the stranger's
pocket. He got the book into his possession,
and held it quite still in his hand for an in-
stant, thinking. I believe oh, no ! no !
I'm sure, he was repenting ; I'm sure he was
going to put the book back ; but just at that
moment the stranger moved, and raised one
of his arms, as if he was waking up. Then,
the temptation of the devil grew too strong
for your father I saw him lift the hand with
the knife in it but saw nothing more. I
couldn't look in at the window I couldn't
move away I couldn't cry out ; I stood with
my back turned towards the house, shivering
all over, though it was a warm summer-time,
and hearing no cries, no noises at' all, from
the room behind me. I was too frightened
to know how long it was before the opening
of the cottage door made me turn round ;
but when I did, I saw your father standing
before me in the yellow moonlight, carrying
in his arms the bleeding body of the poor
lad who had shared his food with us, and
slept on our hearth. Hush ! hush ! Don't
groan and sob in that way ! Stifle it with
the bed-clothes. Hush ! you'll wake them in
the next room ! "

" Gabriel Gabriel ! " exclaimed a voice
from behind the partition. " What has hap-
pened 1 Gabriel ! let me come out and be
with you ? "

" No ! no ! " cried the old man, collecting
the last remains of his strength in the attempt
to speak above the wind, which was just then
howling at the loudest. "Stay where you

are don't speak don't come out, I command
you ! Gabriel," (his voice dropped to a faint
whisper) ' raise me up in bed you must hear
the whole of it, now raise me ; I'm choking
so that I can hardly speak. Keep close and
listen I can't say much more. Where was
I ? Ah, your father ! He threatened to kill
me if I didn't swear to keep it secret ; and in
terror of my life I swore. He made me help
him to carry the body we took it all across
the heath oh ! horrible, horrible, under the
bright moon (lift me higher, Gabriel). You
know the great stones yonder, set up by the
heathens ; you know the hollow place under
the stones they call ' The Merchant's Table'
we had plenty of room to lay him in that,
and hide him so ; and then we ran back to
the cottage. I never dared go near the place
afterwards ; no, nor your father either I
(Higher, Gabriel ! I'm choking again). We
burnt the pocket-book and the knapsack
never knew his name we kept the money to-
spend. (You're not lifting me ! you're not
listening close enough !) Your father said
it was a legacy, when you and your mother
asked about the money. (You hurt me,
you shake me to pieces, Gabriel, when you
sob like that). It brought a curse ou us, the
money ; the curse has drowned your father
and your brother ; the curse is killing me ;
but I've confessed tell the priest I confessed
before I died. Stop her ; stop Rose ! I hear
her getting up. Take his bones away from
The Merchant's Table, and bury them for the
love of God ! and tell the priest (lift me
higher : lift me till I'm- on my knees) if
your father was alive, he'd murder me but
tell the priest because of my guilty soul
to pray and remember The Merchant's
Table to bury, and to pray to pray always
for "

As long as Rose heard faintly the whisper-
ing of the old man though no word that he
said reached her ear she shrank from
opening the door in the partition. But, when
the whispering sounds which terrified her
she knew not how or why first faltered, then
ceased altogether ; when she heard the sobs
that followed them ; and when her heart told
her who was weeping in the next room then.,.
she began to be influenced by a new feeling
which was stronger than the strongest fear,
and she opened the door without hesitating
almost without trembling.

The coverlid was drawn up over the old
man ; Gabriel was kneeling by the bedside,
with his face hidden. When she spoke to
him, he neither answered nor looked at
her. After a while, the sobs that shook him
ceased ; but still he never moved except
once when she touched him, and then he
shuddered shuddered under her hand ! She
called in his little sisters, and they spoke to
him, and still he uttered no word in reply.
They wept. One by one, often and often,
they entreated him with loving words ; but
the stupor of grief which held him speechless

154

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

and motionless was beyond the power of
human tears, stronger even than the strength
of human love.

It was near daybreak, and the storm was
lulling but still no change occurred at the
bedside. Once or twice, as Rose knelt near
Gabriel, still vainly endeavouring to arouse
him to a sense of her presence, she thought
she heard the old man breathing feebly, and
stretched out her hand towards the coverlid ;
but she could not summon courage to touch
him or to look at him. This was the first
time she had ever been present at a deathbed ;
the stillness in the room, the stupor of despair
that had seized on Gabriel, so horrified her,
that she was almost as helpless as the two
children by her side. It was not till the
dawn looked in at the cottage window so
coldly, so drearily, and yet so reassuringly
that she began to recover her self-possession
at all. Then she knew that her best resource
would be to summon assistance immediately
from the nearest house. While she was
trying to persuade the two children to remain
alone in the cottage with Gabriel, during her
temporary absence, she was startled by
the sound of footsteps outside the door.
It opened ; and a man appeared on the
threshold, standing still there for a mo-
ment in the dim uncertain light. She looked
closer looked intently at him. It was
Frangois Sarzeau himself !

He was dripping with wet ; but his face
always pale and inflexible seemed to be
but little altered in expression by the perils
through which he must have passed during
the night. Young Pierre lay almost insensible
in his arms. In the astonishment and fright
of the first moment, Rose screamed as she
recognised him.

" There ! there ! there ! " he said, peevishly,
advancing straight to the hearth with his
burden, " don't make a noise. You never
expected to see us alive again, I dare say.
We gave ourselves up as lost, and only
escaped after all by a miracle." He laid
the boy down where he could get the
full warmth of the fire ; and then, turning
round, took a wicker-covered bottle from his
pocket, and said, " If it hadn't been for the

brandy ! " He stopped suddenly started

put down the bottle on the bench near
him and advanced quickly to the bedside.

Rose looked after him as he went ; and saw
Gabriel, who had risen when the door was
opened, moving back from the bed as Frangois
approached. The young man's face seemed
to have been suddenly struck to stone its
blank ghastly whiteness was awful to look at.
He moved slowly backward and backward
till he came to the cottage wall then stood
quite still, staring on his father with wild
vacant eyes, moving his hands to and fro
before him, muttering ; but never pronouncing
one audible word.

Frangois did not appear to notice his son ;
he had the coverlid of the bed in his hand.

" Anything the matter here ? " he asked, as
he drew it down.

Still Gabriel could not speak. Rose saw it,
and answered for him. a Gabriel is afraid
that his poor grandfather is dead," she whis-
pered nervously.

" Dead ! " There was no sorrow in the
tone, as he echoed the word. " Was he very
bad in the night before his death happened 1
Did he wander in his mind ? He has been
rather light-headed lately."

" He was very restless, and spoke of the
ghostly warnings that we all know of : he said
he saw and heard many things which told
him from the other world that you and Pierre
Gabriel ! " she screamed, suddenly inter-
rupting herself. " Look at him ! Look at
his face ! Your grandfather is not dead ! "

At that moment, Frangois was raising
his father's head to look closely at him. A
faint spasm had indeed passed over the
deathly face ; the lips quivered, the jaw
dropped. Frangois shuddered as he looked,
and moved away hastily from the bed. At
the same instant Gabriel started from the
wall ; his expression altered, his pale cheeks
flushed suddenly, as he snatched up the
wicker-cased bottle, and poured all the little
brandy that was left in it down his grand-
father's throat. The effect was nearly in-
stantaneous ; the sinking vital forces rallied
desperately. The old man's eyes opened
again, wandered round the room, then fixed
themselves intently on Frangois, as he stood
near the fire. Trying and terrible as his
position was at that moment, Gabriel still
retained self-possession enough to whisper a
few words in Rose's ear. " Go back again
into the bedroom, and take the children with
you," he said. " We may have something to
speak about which you had better not hear."

" Son Gabriel, your grandfather is trem-
bling all over," said Frangois. " If he is
dying at all, he is dying of cold : help me to
lift him, bed and all, to the hearth."

" No, no ! don't let him touch me ! " gasped
the old man. " Don't let him look at me in
that way ! Don't let him. come near me,
Gabriel ! Is it his ghost ] or is it himself ?

As Gabriel answered, he heard a knocking
at the door. His father opened it ; and dis-
closed to view some people from the neigh-
bouring fishing village, who had come more
out of curiosity than sympathy to inquire
whether Frangois and the boy, Pierre, had
survived the night. Without asking any one
to enter, the fisherman surlily and shortly
answered the various questions addressed to
him, standing in his own doorway. While
he was thus engaged, Gabriel heard his grand-
father muttering vacantly to himself " Last
night how about last night, grandson?
What was I talking about last night ? Did I
say your father was drowned 1 Very foolish
to say he was drowned, and then see him
come back alive again ! But it wasn't that
I'm so weak in my head, I can't remember !

Charles Dickens.}

GABRIEL'S MAERIAGE.

155

What was it, Gabriel? Something too hor-
rible to speak of '? Is that what you're
whispering and trembling about ? I said
nothing horrible. A crime 1 Bloodshed '(
I know nothing of any crime or blood-
shed here I must have been frightened
out of my wits to talk in that way ! The
Merchant's Table 1 Only a big heap of old
stones ! What with the storm, and thinking
I was going to die, and being afraid about
your father, I must have been light-headed.
Don't give another thought to that nonsense,
Gabriel ! I'm better now. We shall all live
to laugh at poor grandfather for talking non-
sense about crime and bloodshed in his sleep.
Ah ! poor old man last night light-headed
fancies and nonsense of an old man why
don't you laugh at it ? I'm laughing so
light-headed so light ! "

He stopped suddenly. A low cry, partly
of terror and partly of pain, escaped him ; the
look of pining anxiety and imbecile -cunning
which had distorted his face while he had
been speaking, faded from it for ever. He
shivered a little breathed heavily once or
twice then became quite still. Had he died
with a falsehood on his lips 1

Gabriel looked round, and saw that the
cottage-door was closed, and that his father
was standing against it. How long he had
occupied that position, how many of the old
man's last words he had heard, it was impos-
sible to conjecture, but there was a lowering
suspicion in his harsh face as he now looked
;i\vay from the corpse to his son, which made
Gabriel shudder ; and the first question that
he asked, on once more approaching the bed-
side, was expressed in tones which, quiet as
they were, had a fearful meaning in them.
" What did your grandfather talk about, last
night 1 " he asked,

Gabriel did not answer. All that he had
heard, all that he had seen, all the misery and
horror that might yet be to come, had stunned
his mind. The unspeakable dangers of his
present position were too tremendous to be
realised. He could only feel them vaguely as
yet in the weary torpor that oppressed his
heart : while in every other direction the use
of his faculties, physical and mental, seemed
to have suddenly and totally abandoned
him.

"Is your tongue wounded, son Gabriel, as
well as your arm 1 " his father went on, with
a bitter laugh. " I come back to you, saved by
a miracle ; and you never s-peak to me. Would
you rather I had died than the old man
there ? He can't hear j'ou now why
shouldn't you tell me what nonsense he was
talking last night 1 You won't 1 I say, you
shall ! " (He crossed the room and put his
back to the door.) " Before either of us leave
this place, you shall confess it! You know
that my duty to the Church bids me go at
once, and tell the priest of your grandfather's
death. If I leave that duty unfulfilled, re-
member it is through your fault ! You keep

me here for here I stop till I am obeyed.
Do you hear that, idiot ! Speak ! Speak
instantly, or you shall repent it to the day of
your death ! I ask again what did your
grandfather say to you when he was wander-
ing in his mind, last night ? "

" He spoke of a crime, committed by
another, and guiltily kept secret by him,"
answered Gabriel slowly and sternly. " And
this morning he denied his own words with
his last living breath. But last night, if he
spoke the truth "

" The truth ! " echoed Francois. " What
truth 1 " He stopped, his eyes fell, then
turned towards the corpse. For a few minutes
he stood steadily contemplating it ; breathing
quickly, and drawing his hand several times
across his forehead. Then he faced his son
once more. In that short interval he had
become in outward appearance a changed
man : expression, voice, and manner, all were
altered. " Heaven forgive me ! " he said,
" but I could almost laugh at myself, at this
solemn moment, for having spoken and acted
just now so much like a fool ! Denied his
words, did he? Poor old man ! they say sense
often comes back to light-headed people just
before death ; and he is a proof of it. The
fact is, Gabriel, my own wits must have been
a little shaken and no wonder : by what I
went through last night and what I have
come home to this morning. As if you, or
anybody, could ever really give serious credit
to the wandering speeches of a dying old
man ! (Where is Rose 1 Why did you send
her away ?) I don't wonder at your still
looking a little startled, and feeling low in
your mind, and all that for you've had a
trying night of it ; trying in every way. He
must have been a good deal shaken in his
wits, last night, between fears about himself,
and fears about me. (To think of my being
angry with you, Gabriel, for being a little
alarmed very naturally by an old man's
queer fancies !) Come out, Rose come out
of the bedroom whenever you are tired of it :
you must learn sooner or later to look at
death calmly. Shake hands, Gabriel ; and
let us make it up, and say no more about
what has passed. You won't 1 Still angry
with me for what I said to you just now 1
Ah ! you'll think better abouf it, by the time
I return. Come out, Rose, we've no secrets
here."

" Where are you going to 1 " asked Gabriel,
as he saw his father hastily open the door.

" To tell the priest that one of his congre-
gation is dead, and to have the death
registered," answered Fraugois. " These are
my duties, and must be performed before I
take any rest."

He went out hurriedly, as he said these
words. Gabriel almost trembled at himself,
when he found that he breathed more freely,
that he felt less horribly oppressed both in
mind and body, the moment his father's back
was turned. Fearful as thought was now, it

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[ConJucted by

was still a change for the better even to be

capabL

of his

of thinking at all. Was the behaviour
father compatible with innocence ?

Could the old man's confused denial of his
own words in the morning and in the presence
of his son, be set for one instant against the
circumstantial confession that he had made
during the night, alone with his grandson ?
These were the terrible questions which Gabriel
now asked himself ; and which he shrank in-
voluntarily from answering. And ye^ that
doubt, the solution of which would one way
or the other irrevocably affect the whole
future of his life, must sooner or later be solved
at any hazard ! There was but one way of
setting it at rest to go instantly, while his
father was absent, and examine the hollow
place under " The Merchant's Table." If his
grandfather's confession had really been made
while he was in possession of his senses, this
place (which Gabriel knew to be covered in
from wind and weather) had never been
visited since the commission of the crime by
the perpetrator, or by his unwilling accom-
plice : though time had destroyed all besides,
the hair and the bones of the victim would
still be left to bear witness to the truth if
truth had indeed been spoken. As this con-
viction grew on him, the young man's cheek
paled ; and he stopped irresolute, half way
between the hearth and the door. Then he

thus ; the second time pausing long before
he appeared finally to take the way that led
to the village. Leaving the post of observa-
tion among the stones, at which he had
instinctively halted for some minutes past,
Gabriel now proceeded in his own path.
Could this man really bo his father 1 And if
it wr'-(3 so, why did Francois Sarzeau only
determine to go to ths village where his busi-
ness lay, after having twice vainly attempted
to persevere in taking the exactly opposite
direction of The Merchant's Table ? Did he
really desire to go there ? Had he heard the
name mentioned, when the old man referred
to it in his dying words ? And had he failed
to summon courage enough to make all safe

by removing ? This last question was

too horrible to be pursued : Gabriel stifled it
affrightedly in his own heart, as he went on.

He reached the great Druid monument,
without meeting a living soul on his way
The sun was rising, and the mighty storm-
clouds of the night were parting asunder
wildly over the whole eastward horizon. The
waves still leapt and foamed gloriously ; but
the gale had sunk to a keen, fresh breeze. As
Gabriel looked up, and saw how brightly the
promise of a lovely day was written in the
heavens, he trembled as he thought of the
search which he was now about to make.
The sight of the fair fresh sunrise jarred
horribly with the suspicions of committed
murder that were rankling foully in his heart.
But he knew that his errand must be per-
formed, and he nerved himself to go through
with it ; for he dared not return to the cot-
tage until the mystery had been cleared up
at once and for ever.

The Merchant's Table was formed by two
huge stones resting horizontally on three
others. In the troubled times of more than
half a century ago, regular tourists were un-
known among the Druid monuments of
Brittany ; and the entrance to the hollow place
under the stones since often visited by
strangers was at this time nearly choked up
by brambles and weeds. Gabriel's first look
at this tangled nook of briars, convinced him
that the place had not been entered perhaps
for years by any living being. Without
allowing himself to hesitate (for he felt that
the slightest delay might be fatal to his reso-
lution) he passed as gently as possible through
the brambles, and knelt down at the low,
dusky, irregular entrance of the hollow place
under the stones.

His heart throbbed violently, his breath
almost failed him ; but he forced himself to
crawl a few feet into the cavity, and then
groped with his hand on .the ground about
him. He touched something ! Something
which it made his flesh creep to handle ;

~ ,* ,,^^^ >,._; U v, uv ...*v. j-,*w^v,v.. ,. **,,** uu something which he would fain have dropped,
moved forward it was first to advance several j but which he grasped tight in spite of hirn-
paces towards The Merchant's Table then ; self. He drew back into the outer air and
he went back again towards the distant I sunshine. Was it a human bone ] No ! he
cottages and the church. Twice he hesitated ' had been the dupe of his own morbid terror

bed ; and then there came upon him, suddenly,
a revulsion of feeling. A wild feverish
impatience to know the worst without another
instant of delay possessed him. Only telling
Hose that he should be back soon, and that
she must watch by the dead in his absence, he
left the cottage at once, without waiting to
hear her reply, even without looking back as
he closed the door behind him.

There were two tracks to The Merchant's
Table. One, the longer of the two, by the

coast cliffs
this latter

the other across the heath,
path was also, for

But
little

distance, the path which led to the village
and the church. He was afraid of attracting
his father's attention here, so he took the
direction of the coast. At one spot, the track
trended inland, winding round some of the
many Druid monuments scattered over the
country. This place was on high ground,
and commanded a view, at no great distance,
of the path leading to the village, just where
it branched off from the heathy ridge which
ran in the direction of The Merchant's Table.
Here Gabriel descried the figure of a man
standing with his back towards the coast.
This figure was too far off to be identified
with absolute certainty ; but it looked
like, and might well be, Fran9ois Sarzeau.
Whoever he was, the man was evidently un-
certain which way he should proceed. When he

SEVENTY-EIGHT YEARS AGO.

157

' he had only taken up a fragment of dried
wood !

Feeling shame at such self-deception as
this, he was about to throw the wood from
him before he re-entered the place, when
another idea occurred to him. Though it was
dimly lighted through ono or two chinks in
the stones, the far part of the interior of the
cavity was still too dusky to admit of perfect
examination by the eye, even on a bright sun-
shiny morning. Observing this, he took out
the tinder box and matches, which like the
other inhabitants of the district he always
carried about with him for the purpose of
lighting his pipe, determining to use the
piece of wood as a torch which might illumi-
nate the darkest corner of the place when he
next entered it. Fortunately, the wood had
remained so long and had been preserved so
dry in its sheltered position, that it caught
fire almost as easily as a piece of paper. The
moment it was fairly aflame Gabriel went into
the cavity penetrating at once, this time, to
its farthest extremity.

He remained among the stones long enough
for the wood to burn down nearly to his hand.
When he came out, and flung the burning
fragment from him, his face was flushed
deeply, his eyes sparkled. He leapt carelessly
on to the heath, over the bushes through
which he had threaded his way so warily but
a few minutes before, exclaiming, " I may
marry Rose with a clear conscience now ay,
I am the son of as honest a man as there is
in Brittany ! " He had closely examined the
cavity in every corner, and not the slightest
sign that any dead body had ever been laid
there was visible in the hollow place under
The Merchant's Table.

DIRGE.

A FALLEN angel here doth rest :

Deal gently with her, Memory ! lest

In after years thou coin'st to know
God was more merciful than thou !

She cannot feel the timid peeping

Of loving flowers the small moss creeping

Over her grave the quiet weeping

Of saltless dews ;
She hears not she that lies there sleeping,

Whoe'er accuse !

She hears not how the wild winds crave
An entrance to her sheltered grave;

Nor heeds how they bewail and moan,
That one door closed to them alone ;

She nothing recks the cold rains' beating,
The swathed turf-sod's icy sheeting,
Nor hears, nor answers she the greeting

Of such cold friends !
Nor more, of summer suns uuweeting,

To them attends.

Alas ! no season now has power
To charm her for one little hour !

Each change and chance that men oppress
Pass o'er her now impressionless.

She cannot note the gradual merging

Of Night in Day ; the Days' quick urging

To longer Weeks ; llie Weeks' converging

In Months Months, Years !
On Time's wide sea for ever surging,

Till Heaven nears.

The light is parted from her eye,
The moisture on her lips is dry ;

No smile can part them now ; no glow
Ever again those cheeks can know.

Harsh world ! oh, then, be not thou slow'r

The ugly Past to bury o'er !

Time yet may have some sweets in store

For our poor sister ;
Life cast her off; that sell-same hour

Death took, and kissed her !

SEVENTY-EIGHT YEARS AGO.

THE American loyalist of seventy-eight
eight years ago, setting out from London in,
search of a temporary abiding-place or home
among the country towns of England, had not
proposed to himself an easy task. But he
was bent on going through with his enter-
prise. Reduced from affluence to the practice
of a strict economy, he yet imagined that not
a few of the social enjoyments of London,
without their extravagant cost, might be
obtainable in one of our large provincial
cities. He thought thus to sweeten that
bread of exile which Dante tells us must be
always bitter bread ; and cheerfully enough,
therefore, at four o'clock on a July morning
of 1776, took his seat in the early and fast
coach for Salisbury, which, after performing
the gallant feat of eighty-three miles in fifteen
hours, deposited him at the Red Lion in the
ancient city at seven o'clock on that July
evening.

Dear to every American loyalist in those
days had been the old country, and its Church
and State ; and Mr. Curwen was no excep-
tion to the rule. But it is a piece of truth,,
as well as a line of poetry, that distance lends
enchantment to the view ; and it happened^,
on the occasion of this journey to Salisbury,
that the ex-Admiralty Judge of New Eng-
land got so near a view of two very remark-
able types or examples of the Church and
State of Old England as then existing, that
their enchantment passed clean out of them,
then and there. He strolled into the fine old
cathedral the morning after his arrival, and
heard the dean, with five or six surpliced
followers and eight singing boys, mumbling
the service to a congregation of "eight as
miserable looking wretches as ever entered
the doors of a hospital." Yet, wretched as
this audience was, it had been hired to attend;
and on closer examination of the condition of
the cathedral itself, was found not at all out
of harmony with it. The walls seemed
mouldering, the ceiling rotting with centuries
of decay, the seats and woodwork everywhere
tumbling down. Mr. Curwen bethought him of
the English Church militant of old ; compared

158

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

what be now saw to a neglected old soldier
out of service, with his regimentals worn
threadbare and soiled ; and turned on his
heel with the indignant remark that " this
whole church is so slovenly and dirtily kept
that a stranger woidd judge that these
stewards of the Lord's inheritance regarded
the revenues more than the repairs of the
mansion house." But if such was the shock
conveyed to him by want of due repairs in
the Church, it was at least equalled by the
impression which waited him next morning
of repairs as cryingly wanted in the State.
He had started early on a visit to Stonehenge,
when, about three miles from the city on the
right hand, an eminence apparently of an
oval figure including about sixty acres was
pointed out to him, without a sign upon it of
a habitation fit for man ; and lie was told
that while the most populous manufacturing
cities had no voice in the legislature of Eng-
land, the possessor of this mound of grass
and ruin had the power to send two members
to represent and protect his mere breeches-
pocket in that dignified assembly. It was the
line ancient borough of Old Sarum.

But Old Sarum paled an ineffectual fire
before the exciting scene that awaited this
admirer of English institutions at the last
resting point in his journey. He arrived at
Exeter, after another spirited ride of ninety
miles in seventeen hours, in the midst of a
contested election. The seat had been vacated
by Mr. Waters ; Mr. Baring and Mr. Cholwich
were the new competitors for it, in the
interests respectively of Church and Corpo-
ration ; and to the innocent inexperience of
Mr. Curwen an astounding scene presented
itself. All the public-houses were open to
the partizans of either candidate. In some of
them were voters locked up, secured by bolts
and bars, and watched zealously day and
night to secure their free and independent
presence at the polling booths. From others,
in the very teeth of bars and bolts, voters
fetched and secured from great distances by
one party had yet been secretly and suddenly
" spirited away " by the other, whether or
not to re-appear on polling day remained an
inscrutable mystery. From rnorn to dewy
eve corporation-clerks were creating voters.
As the election approached, the constituency
had mounted up to fourteen hundred ; but of
these, two hundred held themselves honourably
aloof from the general disgrace, unconcerned
whether " Baring or Cholwich be the tool of
Administration" ; while, secure alike of either
tool, the Administration was under pledge, as
Mr. Curwen heard on all sides, to contribute
five thousand pounds to the expenses of the
successful man. In other words, in the sole
person of the leading Minister were concen-
trated, with muchsaving of trouble and perhaps
some of expense, the Coppock, Brown, Beves-
ford, Flewker, and Frail, of those more primi-
tive and less complicated days of corruption.
And so the scene went on " the contest fierce,

some wounds and broken heads, but no
deaths, and enough to convince me of the
deplorable venality of the nation." The
winners in this particular venal race, it may
be added, notwithstanding the strenuous
efforts of Cholwich and the Corporation,
turned out to be Baring and the Church,
who came in first by no less than a hundred
and one votes ; and on the morning of his
departure, Mr. Curwen left the whole city of
Exeter decked out in blue and purple favours,
displaying the Baring device, and actually, as
well as metaphorically, drunk with joy. Nor
could anything have been happier than that
Baring device, whether as an expression of
the nature as well as name of the fortunate
candidate, or as a compliment of exquisite
delicacy at once to the member secured and
the minister who had secured him. Enamelled
pendant on a blue ribbon appeared a bear
with a ring in his nose.

It is not matter of surprise, then, that
Mr. Curwen should have carried away with
him no very agreeable impression of Exeter.
He computes the population as scarcely seven-
eighths as numerous as that of his native
Boston, but finds as little resemblance in the
buildings of the two cities as in the wrinkled
features of fourscore and the florid complexion
of thirty. He pronounces the streets narrow,
ill-paved, and dirty enough to pass into a
proverb ; if there were any good buildings,
they were crowded in a corner, out of sight,
as perhaps the good people were also ; for
such of them in private as Mr. Curwen saw,
he thought proud, unsocial, and solitary,
neither conversible nor hospitable. Still
there was something to set off against all
this, for a man of sociable tastes ; as for
example, " a theatre, concerts, a coffee-house
called Moll's, and an hotel, both in the chiarch-
yard, where the London papers are brought
four days in the week " ; and such was after-
wards the scant success of Mr. Curwen's per-
severing search for his temporary home, that
the day soon came when even Exeter, with
all its faults, was " a very Paradise to Man-
chester " or any town in the North that he
had seen.

Not yet, however, has he seen the North,
for, after a brief stay with a friend at Sid-
mouth, he is next to be found at Bristol. His
impression of Bristol was not immediately
formed, yet appears to have had sufficient
promise in it to bring him back for another
trial, on the recommendation of certain friends
who had settled there, after a couple of visits
to some of the northern towns. For, after
brief stay, he went from Bristol, through
Newport, Gloucester, Upton, and Worcester,
to Birmingham; of which he said at once, as
the best observers familiar with both places
have since repeatedly said, " it looks more
like Boston in its general appearance than
any place' in England." This disposes him to
like Birmingham, though it will not suit
him to live there ; and what he sees of its

Charles Dickens.]

SEVENTY-EIGHT YEARS AGO.

159

manufacturers is also agreeable enough. At
the workshops where he went to examine the
first rifle he had ever beheld, " and many other
pieces of peculiar construction I was a stranger
to," he found the master of the concern under
contract to supply Government with six hun-
dred rifles foi use against the Americans ;
yet " in principle an anti-ministerialist, as is
the whole town." This has a relish of inde-
pendence that tastes well after Exeter ; and
he records conversations with Quakers and
other residents, whom he declares to be not
only " sensible," but " warm Americans, as
most of the middling classes are through
the kingdom, as far as my experience reaches'."
And so already the mind of our loyalist friend,
purged by the " euphrasy and rue " of its English
experience, finds itself so far divested of those
violent partialities and likings which had
compelled his exile, that he is now quite able,
as he describes himself when entertained by
" that friendly stranger Mr. Cornelius Fry of
Bristol," to pass his time not at all disagree-
ably in listening to people " talking treason,
and justifying American independence."

He returned by way of Tewkesbury to
Bristol, which he reached after a nine hours'
drive ; but it was not till the following year
he took up a brief abode there, having first,
without success, pursued and completed his
search through the northern towns. He tried
Lichfield, Derby, Sheffield, Wakefield, Leeds,
Hudders field, and Halifax, taking a post-
chaise at the latter, and passing through
Rochdale to Manchester. The various trades
and manufactures interest and occupy him
chiefly in these various towns, and in many
instances they are skilfully described ; but he
makes a general complaint against all the in-
habitants that they show a jealousy and sus-
picion of strangers, and that acquaintance
with one manufacturer proved always enough
effectually to debar him from intercourse with
a second in the same business ; while the diffi-
culty he everywhere experienced in getting
admitted to see their works (often quite imprac-
ticable, " express prohibition being issued by the
masters ") appears to have reached its height
in Manchester, and to have turned his wrath
especially against that thriving and bustling
community. He characterises the disposition
and manners of this Manchester people as, by
their own showing, inhospitable and boorish ;
says further, that they are remarkable for
coarseness of feature, and a quite unintelli-
gible dialect ; and, of their dress, that it
" savours not much of the London mode in
general," What surprised him greatly, more-
over, was to find the extraordinary prevalence
of Jacobite opinions in the town. His land-
lady was a Jacobite ; he heard Jacobite doc-
trines everywhere openly professed ; and,
happening to be there on the twenty-ninth of
May, he saw hoisted over numbers of doors
at the most respectable houses, large oak
boughs to express hopes for another Stuart
restoration. Still, amid all that he thus

thought ungenial and strange, he perceived
also such intimations of energetic movement
and self-satisfied activity, that the place
seemed actually changing and enlarging before
his very eyes. He saw (what nowhere else he
saw), " great additions of buildings and streets
daily making " ; in contact everywhere with
the old, narrow, irregularly built streets, he
saw noble houses in process of erection ; and
when, a few months later, the disastrous news
of Burgoyne's surrender fell like a thunder-
clap on England, Mr. Curwen puts it down
in his journal, without an expression of sur-
prise, that Manchester was the town that first
started up from the blow, offered to raise a
thousand men at its own expense to be ready
in two months for service in America, and
thus lighted up that spirit to which Liverpool
next gave eager response, and which in a
very few weeks was seen " spreading like a
flame from north to south."

Of Liverpool, the commercial character
and fame had raised higher expectation than
of its neighbour, and the disappointment
seems to have been extreme. The docks he ad-
mired immensely, thinking them "stupend-
ously grand"; but he has no better phrase
than "disgustful " for everything else in the '
place. He speaks of the houses, as by a great
majority in middling and lower style, few
rising above that mark ; of the streets, as long,
narrow, crooked, and amazingly dirty ; of
the shops, as inferior to those in other great
towns ; and of the dress and looks of the
people, as more like the inhabitants of Wap-
ping, Shadwell, and Eotherhithe, than those
in the neighbourhood of the Exchange or
any part of London above the Tower.
" During our short abode here," says Mr.
Curwen, " we scarcely saw a well-dressed
person, nor half-a-dozen gentlemen's car-
riages." In short, the whole complexion of
Liverpool appeared to him nautical and com-
mon, " and infinitely below expectation."

Undaunted, notwithstanding, by all his
failures hitherto, and hoping still " the re-
ward of a cheap plentiful country to reside
in for some time," the American wanderer
now proposed to turn his steps to York ; but
a fellow exile induced him to change his plan,
on representation of the number of their
fellow countrymen who had already pitched
tents in the West ; and to the West, with his
compatriot, he consented to go back. They
passed through Stockport, Macclesfield, Leek,
and were very " quietly and genteelly supped
and lodged " in the Dog and Duck at Sandon.
Thence through Stafford and Wolverhamptou,
byBromsgrove and Stourbridge (which instead
of a mean, pitiful place, as its avenues seemed
to threaten* they describe as a well-built, large,
lively, and rich town, having a noble, wide,
and convenient street a mile long, with cross
streets well paved), they reached Worcester,
which Mr. Curwen finds to be a very hand-
some, well-built city, lively and full of business,
having spacious, airy streets, a noble cathedral

160

HOUSEHOLD WOKDS.

[Conducted

and elegant modern houses, its shops large and
well-filled, and its inhabitants polite and
genteel, with " more the air of Londoners
than at any place I have seen." Then, from
Worcester, travelling by way of Tewkesbury
where they stayed the night, past apple
orchards of uncommon height and bigness,
through fields, pastures, and enclosures
singular for their richness and verdure, and
with fruit and forest trees on either hand, " in
greater abundance, and larger girth and
greater height than are to be seen elsewhere
in England," the American exiles, stopping to
dine and see the cathedral at Gloucester (a
city which, after Worcester, sorely disap-
pointed them), resumed their drive through
roads dirty and rough past farmers' houses
wonderful for their look of slovenliness, and
over a soil whose richness they could never
sufficiently admire till they arrived at
Bristol.

The welcome that here waited them, their
first salute in their temporarily selected
home, was hardly complimentary or cor-
dial ; for it proceeded from the " virulent
tongue of a vixen " in the streets, excited
by something that displeased her in their

manner or
the names

dress, and it " saluted
of damned American

us by

rebels."

They walked on, however, not much moved ;
and soon after, in the same streets, passed one
who seemed a humble pedestrian like them-
selves, yet who well deserved the interest with
which they stopped, turned, and looked
earnestly after him. This was " a person
dressed in green, with a small round hat
flapped before, very like an English country
gentleman " ; and the Americans knew, from
what already they had heard, that under that
green dress, small round flapped hat, and
country gentleman's bearing, walked quietly
along those Bristol streets no less a potentate
than the Emperor of Austria, Joseph the
Second, not simply interesting to them for his
rank, or because he was the son of Maria
Theresa and brother to Marie Antoinette,
but for many high and striking qualities of
his own. He was at this time (1777) per-
forming incog the grand tour, including
England.

And now, having seen the working of Old
England's institutions in a borough contest,

parently by a not unbecoming modesty, had
privately left the liveried procession just before
its arrival in town, and was content with au
out-of-the-way corner in a private house,
whence himself and his duchess could seo
the parade and " enjoy his triumph without
observation." After which second notable
instance of a free election, and of that inde-
pendence of the Lower House from all influence
of the Upper which is so cardinal a theory of
the English constitution, Mr. Curwen must
not be thought wholly unreasonable or unjust
for a belief recorded in the next page of his
diary, to the effect that if any thing destroys this
devoted English people it will be " venality" ;
or for an opinion subsequently expressed,
that " in the corrupt state of this people, the
wheels of Government cannot move an inch
without money to grease them"; or for
gravely recording in his journal what he had
heard from the owner of a wine vault, that
of port wine alone a general election always
consumed six thousand hogsheads extra, in
addition to the ordinary annual consumption
of twenty-four thousand hogsheads ; or even,,
at last, for pleasantly proposing to write a
book that should make confession of his New
England visions of Old England and English
institutions which daylight had broken and
dissolved, under the title of " The Perils and
' Peregrinations of a Tory or Refugee in quest
' of Civil Liberty, which the Author fondly
' imagined was to be enjoyed in higher per-
' fection in the Land he travelled through,
' than in That he precipitately abandoned."

But his peregrinations, if not his perils, are
drawn for the present to a close ; and he has
but to sit down and record the result of his
" dearly bought experience," his " long, ex-
pensive, and not very pleasing tour." It is,
briefly, that manufacturing towns are not
proper places of residence for idle people,
either on account of pleasure or profit ; the
expenses of living in every such town, however
distant from London, being as high almost as
in London itself ; the spirit of bargaining,
moreover, and of taking advantage, running
through every line of life in those places ; and
having especially reached acruel predominance
in the North. Not that the good old gentleman
felt he should escape all this, by settling in the
West ; but he had satisfied himself on the

the New Englander had the opportunity of whole that the West was "a quarter of greater
observing how these things were managed in plenty and less expense," and a majority of his

the counties ; for on the morning after his
arrival in Bristol, he beheld a triumphant
entry of the member just elected for the
county of Gloucester ; and this proved to be
" the Duke of Beaufort s man" (his grace's
footman it might have been, though it was
not), Mr. Chester, who burst into the huzza-
ing town, amid the ringing of bells and
discharging of cannon, attended by a body-
guard of some couple of hundred horsemen
" clad in new blue coats and breeches, with
buff waistcoats, the Duke of Beaufort's hunt-
ing garb." The duke himself, touched ap-

fellow refugees had already taken up residence
there. As many as eighteen were in Bristol
alone ; and that he counted upon these as his
chief society may be inferred from the fact, that
he notes as worthy of record the circumstance of
his having had "an hour's conversation with a
stranger on 'Change, a rare event, people in
England being greatly indisposed to join with
unknown persons." He goes on to make
certain exceptions, indeed, which it is evident
do not include himself, in the observation
that the Bristolians are notorious for early en-
quiries into the character of all strangers, from

Ckarlen Dickens.]

SEVENTY-EIGHT YEARS AGO.

161

commercial motives ; and for soon fastening
on everybody worth making a property of, if
practicable ; all others, of how great estimation
soever, being in general neglected. In short,
says Mr. Curwen plainly, " This city is re-
markable for sharp dealings ; and hence the
proverb, One Jew is equal to two Genoese, one
Bristolian to two Jews.''' To all which it may
be well to add, at the same time, that in the
matter of himself and his real or fancied suf-
ferings and wrongs, the diarist's authority is not
to be taken more implicitly than the common
understanding in such a case would suggest.
Nothing is so frequent in the diary, for instance,
as lamentations for old age, whose infirmities
every day would appear to be increasing, and
making more and more hard to bear ; yet in
close connection with one of the most pathetic
of these complaints, uttered in most doleful
strain soon after the writer was lodged in
Bristol, and when he was sixty-three years old,
the reader's spirits are suddenly raised by the
following memorandum. " Oct. 21. Rose at
six o'clock, and went a coursing with two
greyhounds and a spaniel for hares. Started
one, and left her in a turnip-field ; returned
about two o'clock, not greatly fatigued, after
a ramble of fifteen miles over hedge-fences,
ditches, &c."

Nor is this a mere casual indication of acti-
vity and the power of bearing fatigue. It
expresses the habit of the man. During the
long journey ings to which reference has been
made, the mere movement from place to place
has been the least part of the fatigue undergone.
Whatever any place contains, he must see ; if
there be any object of interest in the neigh-
bourhood, off he starts on a visit to it. Heis never
willingly at rest, never comes to apositive stand-
still, is still pushing forward where something
more may be seen or known. With the
passion of a dweller in a new country for all
that makes memory and association so pleasant
in an old one, he is honorably anxious to
examine every spot consecrated by genius or
made illustrious by heroism or worth. He
goes out of his way to see RedclyfFe church at
Bristol, not because Chatterton has yet become
a name (poor fellow ! the earth is still fresh
above him in the Shoe Lane pauper burial-
ground), but because it contains paintings by
Hogarth and the monument of Admiral Penn.
After crossing Salisbury Plain to Stonehenge,
he takes a turn of seven miles that he may
see the classical remains at Lord Pembroke's
seat, admire the handy-work of Inigo Jones,
and touch with reverence the urn alleged to
have held the ashes of Horace. As he passes
though Upton he does not fail to think of
Sophia Western, and the little muff that
turned Tom Jones's head ; and nothing oc-
cupies him so much in Wakefield as enquiries
after Goldsmith's vicar, a somewhat spurious
original for that delightful creation being im-
posed on him by the worthy inhabitants, who
protested it was their own " Parson Johnson "
put into a book. Of course he went to Cam-

bridge, and to Oxford ; he visited Blenheim
and Stowe ; and from Birmingham he made
rapid diversions to Hagley, with its memories
of Pope, and to the Leasowes, still fragrant
with Shenstone's homelyandkindlypoetry. He
finds out the the house where Marlborough
was born, on the road to Axminster ; makes
a pilgrimage from Exeter to Sir Francis
Drake's birthplace ; and pleasantly persuades
himself that he has seen in Dovedale " the very
spot in which Chaucer wrote many of his
pieces." Nor has he been in Bristol many
hours, after the long and tedious journey
which has finally lodged him there, before he
sets forth to hear the famous Wesley preach to
an immense concourse, " having the heavens
for his canopy," when the ungraceful, but plain,
intelligible, and earnest speech, the weak and
harsh, but passionate voice, of the grand old
Methodist, suggest to him an instructive
contrast to " the insipid coldness prevalent
among the preferment-seeking, amusement-
hunting, macaroni parsons, who, to the shame
and dishonour of this age and nation, consti-
tute the bulk of those of the established
clergy who possess valuable livings."

Yet, a few evenings later, it was his chance
to meet one of the dignitaries of the Esta-
blishment deserving a quite different cha-
racter, from whom he heard opinions of the
dispute now raging with America, such as
never before had he heard expressed on either
side, or in either country. Mr. Curwen drily
describes him, as well as the opinions he heard
expressed by him, in the remark that he has
been sitting in company with " a famous po-
litical divine and anti-colonist, who judges
the colonies a burden to Great Britain, and
presses Administration to cast them off."

The man who held these eccentric opinions
was the Dean of Gloucester, Doctor Josiah
Tucker ; and the reason for his holding
them was, that he alone, among the public
writers of that day, correctly reasoned on the
causes of colonial as well as home prosperity,
and what obstructed their further develop-
ment. He did not dispute the right of
England to tax America, and he held the
colonists to have been wrong at the outset
of the dispute ; but he had the courage
and foresight to warn his countrymen to
desist from any farther struggle, for that
political power was not to be increased by
the cumbrous and unwieldy retention of
ill-governed territory, but by energetic and
judicious cultivation of physical resources,
commercial interchanges, and intellectual ac-
quirements. He exploded the fallacy of the
advantage supposed to be implied in the mo-
nopoly of a distant market. A far other and
greater market we had created in America,
a market of the raw material from which
prosperous empires are made ; for we had
supplied that vast continent with man, and
with institutions that strengthen arid de-
velope manhood, nor could the inevitable
tendency of such be stayed by any human

162

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

power. Let the separation be only prompt
and amicable, and all would be well.

For this, as we see, our intelligent American
loyalist denounces him as an "anti-colonist ; "
and much harder words were applied to him in
those days by men who had less excuse for
the error. Burke himself, in his impetuous
advocacy of America, refused to believe that
any man could have formed an opinion iu
favour of separation except with the dishonest
motive of secretly helping the hostility of the
court, by making the colonies unpopular with
the people. He denounced the Dean of
Gloucester, therefore, " as one of those court
vermin who would do anything for the sake of
a bishoprick ; " and was not moved to retract
the coarse insinuation even by Tucker's calm
and cliguified reproof declaring his independ-
ence of both parties, and that his opinions had
been equally unpalatable to both. Burke's
attack, however, passionate and unthinking
as it was, was not, like Bishop Warburton's,
treacherous. The bishop assailed the dean
through the side of their common calling,
and, referring to the commercial arguments
by which the case for separation had been
urged, described him as a divine with whom
religion was a trade, and with whom trade
was a religion. " The bishop affects to con-
sider me with contempt," replied the dean,
calmly ; " to which I say nothing. He
has sometimes spoken coarsely of me ; to
which I replied nothing. He has said that
religion is my trade, and trade is my religion.
It is quite true that commerce and its con-
nections have been favourite objects of my
attention ; and where is the crime 1 As for
religion, I have attended carefully to the duties
of my parish ; nor have I neglected my cathe-
dral. The world knows something of me as a
writer on religious subjects ; and I will add,
what the world does not know, that I have
written near three hundred sermons, and
preached them all again and again. My heart
is at ease on that score ; and my conscience,
thank God ! does not accuse me."

Such were the penalties then, as they have
ever been, and will probably continue to be,
attendant on having outstripped contem-
porary opinion. There was hardly a question
on which Dean Tucker was not distinctly in
advance of his time. Though a strenuous
defender of religion against the infidel at-
tacks which were then so common, he was
not less the eager advocate of universal
toleration. He wrote against drunkenness,
against sports involving cruelty to the brute
creation, and against war. Nothing was too
grand, nothing too mean, if it affected a
single human interest, for the wise word
he had to utter. His great argument
for trade against territory, in which he
warned the sovereigns of Europe that the
proper cultivation of the laud of their own
countries inappreciably exceeded in importance
any amount of acquisition of waste land in
other countries, was followed by his " earnest

and affectionate address to the common people
of England on their barbarous custom ot
cock-thi-owing on Shrove Tuesday." He was
the first to defend the naturalisation of
foreigners, to point out the necessity of a union
with Ireland, to denounce the impolicy of the
existing restraints against interchanges with
that country, to resist the taxation which then
fell so heavily on the industrious and the poor,
to oppose every kind of monopoly whether of
corporations or trading companies, to declare
the navigation laws a clog upon commerce, to
propose a plan for getting rid of slavery,
to call for the opening of canals, to point
out what advantages would result from the
establishment of a warehousing system, to
urge the necessity of improvement in the high
roads, to cry out against that East India
Company in which we only now begin to
detect an injustice too monstrous for conti-
nuance or sufficiently ripe for redress, to insist
on the wisdom of permitting the free export-
ation and importation of grain, and to advo-
cate perseveringly in its largest sense free
trade among all the nations of the earth,
' : Ah ! " exclaimed Doctor Johnson one day
at Thrale's ; " another pamphlet by Tucker.
The Dean always tells me something which I
did not know before." Yet it was but a
short time after, that the dean was burnt in
effigy in his native town of Bristol, because
something in one of his pamphlets (it was an
argument for the naturalisation of the Jew)
had given high offence on 'Change, where less
tolerance for originality prevailed than in the
large heart of Samuel Johnson.

Nevertheless Doctor Tucker lived to see
his townsmen make something better than a
Guy of him, though of themselves perhaps
something worse ; for he lived to see a
shouting mob unyoke the horses from his
carriage, against his remonstrance yoke
themselves instead, and draw him into Bristol
in triumph. It was a wonderful change, and
brought about in a curious way. In those
days, the reader will hardly require to be told,
there existed in full force a great many egregi-
ously foolish acts of parliament, called diversely
acts against Forestalling, Regrating, Badgering,
and Engrossing, but all passed with the same
silly purpose of putting senseless restraints
on trade, by preventing the merchant or
speculator from purchasing corn or other pro-
visions, in market or on their way to market,
and selling them again in the same place, or
within four miles of it. The professed object
was to prevent any unfair enhancement of
the prices of provisions ; the almost invariable
result was to empty the markets of provisions
altogether ; and never were the magistrates,
in their fullness of ignorance, so bent on
putting in force the law against Forestalling,
as at those times of pinch and pressure when
nothing but that very law obstructed relief.
A crisis of this kind occurred, and happened
to be sorely felt in Bristol, where a scarcity of
corn was threatened ; whereupon straightway

Charles Dickens.]

THE NORFOLK GRIDIRON.

assembled the sapient justices to give im-
mediate effect to the legislation described, and
were surprised to see Doctor Tucker assume
for the first time his privilege of magistrate,
and take his seat on the bench beside them.
" Why, gentlemen," said the dean, " what are
you going to do ? How can you expect to
have any corn at all, if you mean to punish
the only persons perhaps that will briny you
any ? " This home-thrust had its effect ; and,
says a contemporary account of the incident,
" the markets were immediately supplied with
corn." For the dean's great principle, pursues
the same authority (a writer in a magazine of
the time) about trade and commerce is,
" that they will ever find their level ; that
what commodities are wanted, and can be
paid for, will always be had ; that a
nation will always go to the best and
cheapest market for what they have occasion
for; and that neither political friendship
nor enmity have anything to do with these
matters, but that they are regulated by utility
and convenience." A very simple and suffi-
cient creed, which it took nearly a hundred
years more to make manifest to English
statesmen.

Happily the dean had not to wait so long
before his view of the American quarrel re-
ceived its ample justification. He did not
live, indeed, to see that country enlarged and
raised by Independence from thirteen colonies
to thirty-one, a,nd from three millions to thirty-
five millions of population ; but his life was
spared till sixteen years after the treaty of
Paris ; and when, on the Duke of Portland's
installation at Oxford in the summer of 1793,
the Dean of Gloucester, then between eighty
and ninety years of age, entered the theatre
with his brother doctors, the whole assem-
blage welcomed with acclamation, on each
of the three days of the ceremony, the
venerable man whose advice, if timely taken,
would have saved the useless bloodshed of more
than a hundred thousand of the Saxon race,
and an addition to the English debt of more
than eighty millions sterling.

And as Mr. Curwen himself was still living
at the time, in his native town of Salem, we
may perhaps presume that even he had grown
to be much more tolerant of Dean Tucker and
his opinions, as a citizen of the American Re-
public, than when he first heard them in
Bristol as a Loyalist exile and refugee.

THE NORFOLK GRIDIRON.

THE palace of the Escurial in Spain is
said to have been contrived on the model
of a gridiron the lines of building repre-
senting the bars in honour of St. Lawrence ;
for, as yet, Gobbet and his gridiron were
not. St. Nicholas, the patron of fishermen
and children in general, and of Great
Yarmouth in particular, has no special or
legendary connection with gridirons ; and
yet Great Yarmouth is one vast gridiron, of

which the bars are represented by " Rows,'"
to the number of one hundred and fifty-six.
Repel the recollection of a Chester Row, a
Paradise Row, or a Rotten Row. A Yar-
mouth Row is none of these. A row is a
long narrow lane or alley, quite straight, or
as nearly so as may be, with houses on each
side, both of which you can sometimes touch
at once with the finger-tips of each hand, by
stretching out your arms to their full extent.
Now and then the houses overhang, and even
join above your head, converting the row, so
far, into a sort of tunnel, or tubular passage.
Many and many a picturesque old bit of do-
mestic architecture is to be hunted up amongst
the rows. In some rows there is little mot'e
than a blank wall for the double boundary.
In others, the houses retreat into tiny square
courts, where washing and clear-starching
are done, and wonderful nasturtiums and
scarlet-runners are reared from green boxes,
filled with that scarce commodity, vegetable
mould. Most of the rows are paved with
pebbles from the beach ; and, strange to say,
these narrow gangways are traversed by
horses and carts which are built for this
special service, and which have been the cause
of serious misunderstandings amongst anti-
quaries, as to whether they were, or were not,
modelled after the chariots of Roman inva-
ders. Of course, if two carts were to meet
in the middle of a row, one of the two must
either go back to the end again, or pass over
the other one, like goats upon a single-file ledge
of precipice. The straightness of the passage
usually obviates this alternative. A few rows
are well paved throughout with flag-stone ;
carts are not allowed to enter them, and foot
passengers prefer them to the pebbly path-
ways. Hence they are the chosen locality of
numerous little shopkeepers. If you want a
stout pair of hob-nailed shoes, or a scientifi-
cally-oiled dreadnought, or a dozen of bloaters,
or a quadrant or compass, or a bunch of
turnips the best in the world, or a woollen
comforter and nightcap for one end of your
person, and worsted overall stockings for the
other, or a plate of cold boiled leg of pork
stuffed with parsley, or a ready-made waist-
coat, with blazing pattern and bright glass
buttons with any of these you can soon be
accommodated in one or other of the paved
rows. Here, you have a board announcing
the luxurious interval during which hot joints
are offered to the satisfaction of a salt-water
appetite ; from twelve till two no one need
suffer hunger. There, you behold a valuable
oil-painting representing a gentleman taking
off his hat to a lady in a row, to intimate
how happy he shall be to cut her corns. Else-
where is the notice over the door that, within,
" Live and Boil'd Shrimps are sold BY THE
CATCHER." Shrimps unadulterated, caught
and sold by the very catcher himself ; the
original article, and no mistake ! Many are
the pints of shrimps we have had from thy
shrimp-net, O hard-faring catcher, with the

164

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

motherly wife and chubby-cheeked child, and with practical forethought. Boast how lucky
long may the winds and the waves spare thy

cockle-shell boat, to catch thy daily bread
and thy quarterly rent !

Some few of the most distinguished and
fashionable rows have names to them, but
the vulgar multitude are known simply by
their numbers and that only since 1804.
Before, it was Jumbers's Row and Mopus's
Row, when Jurubers and Mopus had moved
into the street or passed into the churchyard.
It was the Rising Sun Row for many a year
after the Rising Sun, and all belonging to it,
had long since gone to the dogs. From time
immemorial there has been i., Market Row,
iia which two people can walk arm in arm as
they stare at the elite of Yarmouth shop
windows ; and there is a Broad Row, across
which, if an Adelphi harlequin could not
skip from first floor to first floor, he would
get from the management very significant
hints about his abilities.

The entire gridiron which constitutes Great
Yarmouth is an irregular long square,
stretching from north to south. The oddity
is, that till 1813 there were no streets across
it, namely from east to west, although there
are several along it, and no carriage-way
through the town, except by cart through
the little rows. A cross street at each end
of the parallelogram Fuller's Hill on the
north, and Friar's Lane on the south were
both wide apart and inconvenient, causing
this goodly watering-place to be more like
a rabbit warren or an ant-hill, than a city of
men. If otters lived in society, an otter's
hole would have been a better comparison,
seeing that Yarmouth people take to the
water and prey upon
natural instinct.

fish, as a matter of

A little piece of superstition still prevails
amongst these Ichthyophagi or herring-
caters which can be nothing else than a
remnant of the evil eye. Ou one occasion
I purchased of a fish-woman on the beach the
first fresh herrings she had sold that season.
Their cost amounted to that respectable coin,
a shilling, which she considered a much
better omen for her than if their equivalent
had been merely a few dirty copper penny-
pieces. The lady's eyes twinkled ; with ex-
treme rapidity she spat on both sides of the
pure metal which of the Georges was thus
insulted I cannot say, but am nearly sure it
was not Victoria and hastily concealed it
beneath the thick folds of her gown, through
the intricacies of which it may be supposed
to have afc last arrived at the lowest depths,
the fourth stomach, of an omnivorous pocket.

And so, in an Arab tent, the favourite
child is hidden, and perhaps its face purposely
dirtied by the anxious mother, to avert the
dangers of the evil eye. The prudential
feeling is perfectly intelligible in the midst
of the envious world we dwell in. The French
maxim cacher son bonheur, to conceal one's
good fortune, expresses the same apprehension

you are, how successful you have been, what
a happy life you and yours are likely to lead,
and a whole gang of less fortunate folks will
soon come and throw stones at your happi-
ness. But if you chance to be in the midst
of comfort, leading the very life which pleases
you best, and fearing nothing so much as a
change, give out to the worFd that you are
wretched, and heart-broken, and miserable,
and good-for-nothing, and they will leave you
quiet, and cease troubling you with their at-
tentions. It is a wise thing now and then to
hide one's own advantages, and to spit upon
one's self " for luck."

The foundations of Great Yarmouth are
built upon herrings. It is they which have
enabled the town to stand firm upon the
sterile sands. And herrings, if we think of
it, are of the greatest importance to this part
of England, now that salmon no longer exist
there to rival them. The great attention
which the Scottish monarchs for a long time
directed to the salmon fishery only made
fresh-water sailors ; whereas the herring
fishei-y has ever been one of the best schools
in which to train the genuine British tar and
pilot. The grant of various bounties from
the British Government have showed its ap-
preciation of this admirable marine discipline.
The exploits of Yarmouth beachmen, fisher-
men, and sailors, the results of nursing in so
rude a cradle, would make an interesting
volume full of that class of adventure. One
instance of courage and promptitude must
suffice us here.

On the morning of September 4th, 1852,
although the sea did not appear to be very
rough at the distance of three or four hundred
yards from the shore, the billows which broke
over the jetty and the sands were nevertheless
very huge and frightful, and unusually heavy.
At about ten o'clock, a ship's boat, with three
men in her, rowed towards the jetty, for the
purpose of lauding ; but she was suddenly
struck by the breakers, lifted up as high as
the jetty railing, and in a moment overturned
with the men under her. The next wave
removed the boat, and discovered the men
struggling for life amidst the boiling waters.
It was soon apparent that only one of them
could swim, though swimming would be of
little avail in such a foaming sea as that ; and
it was impossible for any boat to get to their
assistance, because it would be sure to be
overturned in a moment, exactly as their own
hatl been. Soon the boat ctaue to the surface,
floating bottom upwards, with one man cling-
ing to her ; the other two men seemed to be
grasping each other in the death struggle.
The one who could not swim entangled the
other who could, while the waves were buffet-
ing the overturned boat, and the sailor who
still was holding fast to it. The bystanders
were ejaculating that there was no earthly
hope for them, and thought only to aid them
by their prayers, when suddenly twenty or

AGROUND UP THE GANGES.

165

thirty brave beachmen ran down, with ropes
in their hands, to a spot on the beach to which
they knew the wind and tide would probably
drii't the drowning *men. Instantly five or
six of them fastened the ropes round them-
selves, the others holding on firmly ; and
although frequently struck down by the waves,
they still ran courageously into the sea to the
rescue. At the very first dash they grasped
and held fast the two men who were clinging
together. The other beachmeu, who held the
ropes, drew them all safely to the shore.
These two were the captain of the ship, who
could not swim, and a stout lad, who could.
The beachmen, speedily disengaging them-
selves from the ropea, and leaving the two
men whom they had saved to the care of
the others, who assisted their recovery
by no very gentle treatment, ran towards
the sailor who was still kept up by the boat,
which, although repeatedly struck by the
waves, fortunately maintained its position,
bottom upwards. The boat had now drifted
to a considerable distance from the shore ;
but the beachmen, with great strength and
courage, at once reached the poor fellow, who
secured the rope round his body, and was
finally dragged through the surf, and landed
safe and sound. Feats like these are con-
tinually performed by the Yarmouth beach-
men, without their seeming to think they
have done anything very extraordinary.

Such are the works which they constantly
do ; now judge of the sights which they are
ever liable to see, as mementos of the fate
which may one day await themselves. During
the gales at the beginning of October, 1851, a
captain of a steamer encountered, somewhere
between Yarmouth and Holland, a vessel
which, from its ungainly movements, he knew
must be waterlogged, and likely to sink. He
therefore steered towards it, for the purpose
of saving those on board. On approaching,
he observed the master pacing to and fro on
his quarter-deck, in apparent unconcern. He
took no notice of the shouts that were ad-
dressed to him, and seemed quite unconscious
of the close neighbourhood of the steamer.
None of the crew were visible. They were,
perhaps, worn out with pumping, and might
have lain down, giving up all further effort as
useless ; or, in their despair, they might have
got to the spirits and made themselves dead
drunk, fearing to meet death in a state of
consciousness. As the master gave no sign
of wishing to accept the assistance offered,
the captain of the steamer turned away,
intending to leave the vessel to her fate.
When he had reached the distance of a quarter
of a mile or so, he gave one more look at the
sinking craft ; and feeling sure, from some
awkward and uumistakeable movements, that
she must soon founder, he resolved to make a
second trial, and turned back again, getting
as near to the vessel as he dared. As before,
no notice whatever was taken of the presence of
the steamer ; but the master continued pacing

backwards and forwards, as one might do
quietly and idly in one's study. In a few minutes
the ship gave a shiver and a struggle, and
went down headforemost, like a duck taking
a dip and a dive, as foundering ships mostly
do. It is nothing very strange to tell, but
must have bseu strange indeed to witness !
It must hava been, frightful; far more so
than the inevitable loss of life. If the
master and crew were prevented from using
the opportunity of a rescue, in conse-
quence of having yielded to the intoxication
suggested by despair, it shows the folly (the
immorality say, wickedness is acknow-
ledged) of such cowardice. While there is
life, there is hope ; and there ought to be a
battle for life, to the last gasp. Let those
who think this sentence harsh, read the
account of the Wreck of the Tweed, published
by the Christian Knowledge Society ; or let
them refer to the Norfolk newspapers for the
record of the heroic exertions of a Yarmouth
man, who was seventeen hours, I think,
floating and swimming in the sea, till at
last he was safely stranded on Gorton beach,
and restored to his despairing family. The
ordinary annual rate of deaths at sea is
fearful enough ; the extraordinary cases are
overwhelming to the mind. " In 1554 was a
dreadful gale of wind. Fifty sail of ships lost
on this coast in one day and night, and thei?
crews perished ! " Such are the calamities
that sometimes happen "off" the Norfolk
Gridiron.

AGROUND UP THE GANGES.

DURING the annual overflow of the Ganges^
in the year 1838, one of the East India Com-
pany's steam vessels grounded at the village
of Damadapore, a little beyond Dinapore, on
her passage from Calcutta to Allahabad, with
a flat in tow.

The manner of her grounding : She was
a victim to the thirst after " short cuts " by
which so many noble vessels have been
led to destruction. At Damadapore the
river Ganges bends considerably, and when
the Megna (that was the name of the vessel)
reached that place, the land was flooded
by the rains. Although the water had
begun then to subside, the Captain thought
that he could make a short cut across, by
the overland route, to avoid following the
twist of the river. So he tried his luck at
a quick passage ; and, luck failing him,
when he had got about a mile and a quarter
from the river bed the vessel struck. The
water was then falling very fast, the flat in
tow had cast off where the steamer grounded,
and found her way back again to the river
without getting aground. Three days after
this the water had fallen so much, that the
ship was high and dry. She had struck upon,
a rising mound of earth, the only bit of danger
in her way, for if she had avoided this she
would have made her short cut safely.

166

HOUSEHOLD WOKDS.

[Conducted by

What was to be done ? Fearing that they
should have to remain in the same spot till
the next year's overflow, the people of the
ship sent the flat down to Diuapore, to com-
municate with the resident engineer of that
place, who shortly afterwards went on a
visit to the scene of the Disaster. He
thought it possible to laun aa .he vessel by
means of placing her in s * die on ways.
The captain coincided. They both went down
again to Dinapore. When there they wrote
to the authorities at Calcutta for permission
to attempt the enterprise. Permission soon
arrived, and they had power to proceed as
they thought best.

How I came to be mixed up in this busi-
ness : In consequence of the above, I gave
up the charge of the Honourable Com-
pany's steamer Soanso, to which, vessel
I had been attached for sixteen mouths,
and proceeded to the scene of action on
board the Honourable Company's " flat "
Soorena, in which boat I had been ordered
a passage to Daiuadapore. I took with me
twenty Lascars, some good Europe eight-inch
hawsers (or stout rope), purchase blocks, and
other apparatus, and I went for the pur-
pose of assisting in getting the Honourable
Company's steamer Megna afloat, which had
been left aground in the manner hereinbefore
stated, mentioned, and set down.

The flats are built expressly for this service,
by Maudsley, Field, and Son, the engineers in
London. Their shells are of iron plate ; in
length they are about one hundred and twenty
feet, with fifteen feet beam, and depth of hold
about six feet. They are sharp at both ends,
with a good run abaft, and steer with a very
broad rudder, like the rudders of our barges
on the Thames. They are flat bottomed.
Beams are placed over the shell for the lower
deck, and stout wooden stanchions are fixed
upright all round the vessel. Over these
beams are placed for the upper deck. The
sides, instead of being flanked, are formed
of Venetian windows, one in each cabin, and
two in the dining cabin, which is in the centre
of the vessel, and extends from side to side.
There are glass windows, which can be put
in when required. They are always in use
during the wet and cold seasons, so that the
cabins are then made as warm as if the sides
were planked.

The flats are steered forward by a wheel,
the tiller ropes being led along the sides on
the upper deck. On the same deck are placed
cow-house, hen-coops, cook-house, &c. Finally,
.each flat has three slight masts fixed in a trunk
to lower down when required, and carries
lug sails.

The steamers are constructed on nearly the
same plan ; and these flats and steamers are,
in my opinion, very comfortable vessels ; well
adapted to the purpose for which they are built.
When I left Calcutta some years ago, there
were six of each running between that place
and Allahabad, starting from Calcutta twice

a month, and several more were setting up in
the dockyard. They perform the passage
(which is about eight hundred miles, following
the course of the river) during the " freshes,"
in about twenty-eight or thirty days ; and,
during the other parts of the year, when the
rapids are not so violent, in much less time.
They are officered by Englishmen, with a crew
of twelve Lascars. The steamers, in addition,
carry two engine-drivers, and four stokers.
The passage money is moderate, and the ac-
commodation to the public is very great ;
for, by a native boat, it takes between two
and three months to go by water to Alla-
habad. At the present time there are many
such vessels running over all the navigable
Indian rivers.

My journey to the scene of the disaster :
At noon we started from the Bankshall
Ghaut, in tow of the steamer Jumna, and
proceeded down the river Hoogly, to go
vid the Sunderbunds (a tract of country
consisting of that part of the Delta of
the Ganges which borders on the sea), be-
tween the main-land and the island of Sangor.
In this part of the Sunderbunds some of
the creeks are so narrow, that the paddle-
boxes brush the jungle on each side. Tigers
and alligators here abound, and many native
woodcutters are yearly carried off whilst at
work at a distance from their boats. Not
far from the place where we anchored, a
Lascar of one of the steamers was killed by a
tiger that swam off in the night from shore,
and scrambled up into the vessel. The man
had the watch in the forepart of the ship,
and went to sleep so that I dare say the
occasion could be improved into a judgment
upon him. The poor fellow was destroyed
before any assistance could arrive ; the cap-
tain or mate I forget which being awake,
heard strange sounds on deck, jumped out
immediately, and whilst in the act of going
up the companion ladder, was struck down by
the paw of the invader. By that time, how-
ever, the alarm had become general, the
tiger taking fright at the great outcry in the
ship, jumped overboard and swam safely
ashore.

We kept a good look out that night, and
the next morning at daylight we up anchor
and steamed on. It is customary always to
weigh at daylight and cast anchor at dusk, as
the navigation of the river, in many parts, is
very intricate ; and fresh native pilots are
engaged at every station. The first station
we arrived at, after a few days, was Com-
mercolly. We also stopped and coaled, and
landed passengers at Rajmahal, Monghyr,
Patna, and Dinapore. At Dinapore is sta-
tioned a European engineer, who always
comes on board the steamers to examine
their engines and take care that all is right.
When we arrived, however, he was gone up
to the Megna. After the due amount ot
steaming between low lands cultivated with
rice, cotton, and indigo, of which the sameness

Charles DiciHii]

AGROUND UP THE GANGES.

167

was relieved only by the Rajmahal Hills,
on the morning of the twenty-first of Novem-
ber, we arrived in sight of the Megna, high
and dry, at Damadapore.

How we launched the Megna : At about
ten A.M. I landed with my men and stores at
the bottom of a small creek, running up about
a quarter of a mile towards the vessel ; there
was a high bank on the left completely
shutting out the view of the river. I walked
up to the vessel, and was introduced to the
commander and officers, who expected and
were glad to see me, because the assistance I
had brought was much required.

A cradle had been already constructed of
teak, and there had been prepared four
hundred feet of ways, in pieces of from
twenty to twenty-five feet in length, besides
cross pieces and blocks of wood for laying the
ways on. Over this preparation some time
had of course been spent ; when ready every-
thing had been shipped in native boats and
towed up to the Megna by one of the steamers
which had arrived from Calcutta.

In about a month from the date of the
disaster all the materials were got up, but
there was a dearth of ropes to reeve for
tackles. The flood had by that time quite
retired, and the Ganges had resumed its
natural appearance. There remained only a
narrow creek that ran up to the spot where
the Megna was lying ; the ground here being
rather hollow, the water had remained. It
was at the entrance of the creek five feet in
depth, shoaling to nothing, and decreasing
daily. The ship was distant from the river
not more than a quarter of a mile on her lar-
board side, but as she could not be slewed
round to launch in that direction, and lay
also in a hollow, there was nothing for it but
to hand her back by the same way that she
had come. After a great deal of difficulty,
the ground being very soft, the men had suc-
ceeded in lifting the steamer, by means of
jack screws and levers, blocking her upas
they hove. The ground had then been levelled
under her, and the ways laid ; on them a
cradle had been placed, and the vessel had
been lowered down on it. When she first
took the cradle her weight sunk" her down
several inches, the ways not being sufficiently
blocked up. This of course made it very
difficult afterwards to get her off, as it became
necessary to drag her up hill into the rest of
the ways. However, when I arrived, the
Honourable Company's engineer, officers and
men had succeeded in getting the Megna back
towards the river some three hundred feet ;
they had, in fact, made one launch.

By that time the ground had become quite
dry, and the weather cold ; the vessel had
been ashore nearly two months. At first it
had been difficult to procure labourers, because
very few of the natives would come out to
work ; but, through the kindness of a native
prince named Bucter Pondee, who lived at a
short distance from the launch, we soon pro-

cured as many workmen as were necessary.
The vessel appeared to be quite straight, not
at all turned or altered in her form, although
much strain had been used in raising her,
and none of the machinery had been taken
out, the paddle-boards only being taken off
and put out of the way. Our party of heads
consisted of the captain, mate, and myself,
who with two engineers in alliance lived on
board ; but the hands were encamped near
the vessel in tents made out of her sails.

The way we launched the steamer : She
stood in the cradle on ways to her own
length, and we had in addition three hundred
feet more, thus moving her every launch
a little more than three hundred feet. The
ground being uneven, we frequently had
either to cut through it to the height of her
paddle-box, or to raise the ways to the proper
level by filling up the hollows with mould
taken from the cuttings. These ways were
laid in the same manner as those used in
shipwrights' yards, on a very gentle slope.
We could not afford much, for we should have
made bad worse if we had brought the vessel
down to a point below the surface of the
river. When all the ways were laid, well
greased, and black-leaded, the launch was
performed by passing the chain-cable round
the vessel, triced up to her sides. Her two
anchors were buried in a trench, with a large
beam laid in it for the lower arms to take.
The stocks lying level on the ground, the
upper arms, being partly above ground, were
backed by another anchor, a chain passing
from both the foremost anchor's arms diago-
nally to the ring of the after anchor. To the
chain-cable at the stern of the vessel (for we
were launching stern-foremost) two large
three-fold purchase blocks were lashed, and
one to each of the rings of the large anchors.
Through these we rove eight-inch Europe
hawsers, with three-inch luffs on them, hooked
to the aftermost anchor ; then a large jack
screw was placed up under the stem. When
all was ready the falls were manned by about
two hundred men on each, and the screw hove
on to a joist in starting her ; the men hauling
at the same time the screw was turned. The
steamer would start on end from ten to fifteen
feet each time, sometimes more, and the screw
was always shifted every time she was moved.
When during each launch we had got half
way down the whole length of the ways,
all the anchors were taken up and removed
further down and reburied. After over-
hauling the tackles, &c., we proceeded as
before. It generally took us four hours to
launch her the whole three hundred yards.
The next day all the ways she had passed
over were taken up' again, to be laid down
astern.' We generally, when the ground was
pretty level, laid the ways, launched, and
took them up again in six or seven days.
When we had to cut through high ground
it took us more than twice that time. On
launching days we employed about four

168

hundred men, and on the other days, while
preparing, about half the number.

How the men were paid : The method of
paying the people (which we had to do every
evening) was as follows : In the morning
when they came they were formed into four
lines, and the captain and I took each of us
a basket filled Avith small paper tickets, with
the ship's name written on them. We then
passed through the lines, giving each man a
ticket, and if this ticket was not produced
in the evening he lost his pay. They were
then all set to work, and overlooked by the
captain, mate, and myself. The engineers,
having left everything to us, a few days after
my arrival had returned to Dinapore. The
men had an hour at noon for their dinner,
aud at dusk assembled to be paid. The captain
then took his chair close by the vessel, with a
large basket of copper coin before him. I
sat opposite, holding my basket ready to take
tickets, and we had a guard about us to keep
off the pressure of the crowd. The first man
being let into the circle came to me, and
having given me his ticket, went over to the
captain, who handed him six pice about
twopence halfpenny in English money. In
this manner all in turn received their pay.
We generally found it more than an hour's
work to pay all, and sometimes after working
later than usual, on launching days, when the
number of men was doubled, the rush of
the people attempting to get first within the
circle was tremendous. Guard, captain, and
ticket-taker were then frequently capsized,
and rolled into a heap.

Our comforts : We were very badly off for
provisions up the Ganges (I speak gastro-
nomically) for the natives either could not or
would not supply us. We occasionally purchased
a pig, fattened him up for a week or so, and
then killed and corned him for our future use.
We also made churpatties from flour, and eat
them instead of bread, of which we could get
none. We occasionally got a fowl or two,
and shot game, which abounded, when we got
a leisure hour. The weather being cold, and
the nights frosty, we did not greatly care
about it. The country in our neighbourhood
was flat, with large cotton plantations close to
us ; in fact, we had to cut through one of them.

By way of evening amusement we shot the
jackalls and hyaenas, that after a launch, came
in great numbers from the adjacent jungles,
to lick up the grease left on the ways. On
Christmas Day our work was nearly over, and
we hoped to get the ship afloat by the New
Year. On that day we had a visit from the
officers and passengers of one of the flats on
their way down to Calcutta ; and, during the
whole of the time of" our stay, we were
frequently visited by passengers passing up
and down the river in boats, who wondered
duly at the undertaking. Our friend, Prince
Bucter Pondee, generally paid us a visit once
a week, always coming on his elephant, at-
tended by a princely suite. He was a stout,

powerful man a proper man to ride an ele-
phant and very good-natured. He made a
picturesque addition to our busy group.

We did not end our work on New Year's
Day. I think it was on the twenty-eighth
of January that all was prepared for the
last launch ; the Megna was then distant
about two hundred feet from the water in
the creek. The ground being in that part
of her course particularly soft and muddj-,
it was not able to support the weight of
the vessel ; so we cut, and laid down a
great quantity of green bamboos as level
as possible, to help to support the ways up.
The anchors were then laid down on the
opposite side of the creek, as daring the
whole progress of launching. We had gradu-
ally brought the vessel to a suitable position,
by slightly curving the ways, for if we had
launched in a straight line, the vessel's stern
would have looked right down the creek ;
and consequently we should not have been
able to have laid our anchors down in the
solid ground, our small anchors would have
come home in the mud of the river, without
starting her an inch, and all our labour would
have been lost. At about three P. M. on the
above-mentioned day we launched the Megna
once more into the river Ganges without
any trouble, and then tracked her down the
stream about a quarter of a mile below the
creek, and secured her alongside the shore in
safety for the night. During the next week we
were busily engaged in collecting the mate-
rials, and stowing them away in native boats,
ready for starting. 'On the morning of the
first of February Prince Bucter Pondee came
on board to pay his farewell visit. At noon,
all being ready, we cast off from the bank of
the river, and with three native boats in tow,
put on the engines at full speed for Dinapore,
on the way to Calcutta, heartily saluted by
the cheers of our late workmen and of all the
natives who had come to see us off. S*o
Government was spared the trouble of laying
up the steamer for a year, till the next
flood ; and in three mouths the launching of
the Megna was completed by the force of
Saxon heads and Indian hands.

MORAL. When any man young man, or
old man gets his ship, no matter what ship,
grounded as we all have ships that run
aground sometimes, especially when we at-
tempt short cuts let him not wait for the
next flood, like a lazy fellow, but set himself
to work at once, and persevere until he hauls
her back by his own strength of wit and will
into deep water.

Now ready, price 5s. 6d., neatly bound in Cloth,

THE SIXTH VOLUME

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

Containing the Numbers issued between September llth,
1852, and February 26th, 1853; including the extra
Christmas number, entitled, "A ROUND OF STI>
THE CHRISTMAS FIKK."

Published at the Office, No. 16, Wellington Street North, Strand. Printed by BHADBKUI & KTAHS. Whitefriars, Looaon

" Familiar in their Mouths as HOUSEHOLD WORDS." SHAKESPEABE.

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

A WEEKLY JOUKNAL
CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS.

N-16L]

SATURDAY, APRIL 23, 1853.

HOME FOR HOMELESS WOMEN.

FIVE years and a half ago, certain ladies,
grieved to think that numbers of their own
sex were wandering about the streets in
degradation, passing through and through
the prisons all their lives, or hopelessly
perishing in other ways, resolved to try the
experiment on a limited scale of a Home for
the reclamation and emigration of women. As
it was clear to them that there could be
little or no hope in this country for the greater
part of those who might become the objects
of their charity, they determined to receive
into their Home, only those who distinctly
accepted this condition : That they came there
to be ultimately sent abroad, (whither, was
at the discretion of the ladies) ; and that they
also came there, to remain for such length
of time as might, according to the circum-
stances of each individual case, be considered
necessary as a term of probation, and for
instruction in the means of obtaining an honest
livelihood. The object of the Home was two-
fold. First, to replace young women who had
already lost their characters and lapsed into
guilt, in a situation of hope. Secondly, to
save oth'er young women who were in danger
of falling into the like condition, and give them
an opportunity of flying from crime when
they and it stood face to face.

The projectors of this establishment, in
undertaking it, were sustained by nothing
but the high object of making some unhappy
women a blessing to themselves and others
instead of a curse, and raising up among the
solitudes of a new world some virtuous homes,
much needed there, from the sorrow and ruin
of the old. They had no romantic visions or
extravagant expectations. They were pre-
pared for many failures and disappointments,
and to consider their enterprise rewarded, if
they in time succeeded with one third or one
half of the cases they received.

As the experience of this small Institution,
even under the many disadvantages of a
beginning, may be useful and interesting,
this paper will contain an exact account of
its progress and results.

It was (and is) established in a detached
house with a garden. The house was never
designed for any such purpose, and is only
adapted to it, in being retired and not

immediately overlooked. It is capable of
containing thirteen inmates besides two
Superintendents. Excluding from considera-
tion ten young women now in the house,
there have been received in all, since Novem-
ber eighteen hundred and forty seven, fifty-
six inmates. They have belonged to no
particular class, but have been starving
needlewomen of good character, poor needle-
women who have robbed their furnished
lodgings, violent girls committed to prison
for disturbances in ill-conducted workhouses,
poor gii'ls from Bagged Schools, destitute
girls who have applied at Police offices for
relief, young women from the streets : young
women of the same class taken from the
prisons after undergoing punishment there
as disorderly characters, or for shoplifting,
or for thefts from the person : domestic
servants who have been seduced, and two
young women held to bail for attempting
suicide. No class has been favored more
than another ; and misfortune and distress
are a sufficient introduction. It is not usual
to receive women of more than five or six-
and- twenty ; the average age in the fifty-six
cases would probably be about twenty. In
some instances there have been great personal
attractions ; in others, the girls have been
very homely and plain. The reception has
been wholly irrespective of such sources of
interest. Nearly all have been extremely
ignorant.

Of these fifty-six cases, seven went away by
their own desire during their probation ; ten
were sent away for misconduct in the Home ;
seven ran away ; three emigrated and re-
lapsed on the passage out ; thirty (of whom
seven are now married) on their arrival in
Australia or elsewhere, entered into good
service, acquired a good character, and have
done so well ever since as to establish a strong
prepossession in favor of others sent out from
the same quarter. It will be seen from these
figures that the failures are generally dis-
covered in the Home itself, and that the
amount of misconduct after the training and
emigration, is remarkably small. And it is
to be taken into consideration that many
cases are admitted into the Home, of which
there is, in the outset, very little hope, but
which it is not deemed right to exclude from
the experiment.

VOL. VII.

181

170

HOUSEHOLD WOEDS.

[Comluctsd by

The Home is managed by two Superin-
tendents. The second in order acts under
the first, who has from day to day the supreme
direction of the family. On the cheerfulness,
quickness, good-temper, firmness, and vigi-
lance of these ladies, and on their never
bickering, the successful working of the esta-
blishment in a great degree depends. Their
position is one of high trust and respon-
sibility, and requires not only an always
accumulating experience, but an accurate
observation of every character about them.
The ladies who established the Home, hold
little confidential communication with the
inmates, thinking the system better adminis-
tered when it is undisturbed by individuals.
A committee, composed of a few gen-
tlemen of experience, meets once a month
to audit the accounts, receive the prin-
cipal Superintendent's reports, investigate
any unusual occurrence, and see all the
inmates separately. None but the committee
are present as they enter one by one, in order
that they may be under no restraint in any-
thing they wish to say. A complaint from
any of them is exceedingly uncommon. The
history of every inmate, taken down from her
own mouth usually after she has been some
little time in the Home is preserved in a
book. She is shown that what she relates of
herself she relates in confidence, and does not
even communicate to the Superintendents.
She is particularly admonished by no means
to communicate her history to any of the
other inmates : all of whom have in their
turns received a similar admonition. And
she is encouraged to tell the truth, by having
it explained to her that nothing in her story
but falsehood, can possibly aifect her position
in the Home after she has been once admitted.

The work of the Home is thus divided.
They rise, both in summer and winter, at
six o'clock. Morning prayers and scripture
reading take place at a quarter before eight.
Breakfast is had immediately afterwards.
Dinner at one. Tea at six. Evening prayers
are said at half-past eight. The hour of
going to bed is nine. Supposing the Home
to be full, ten are employed upon the house-
hold work ; two in the bed-rooms ; two in
the general living room ; two in the Superin-
tendents' rooms ; two in the kitchen (who
cook) ; two in the scullery ; three at needle-
work. Straw-plaiting has been occasionally
taught besides. On washing-days, five are
employed in the laundry, three of whom are
taken from the needle-work, and two are
told off from the household work. The
nature and order of each girl's work is
changed every week, so that she may become
practically acquainted with the whole routine
of household duties. They take it in turns
to bake the bread which is eaten in the house.
In every room, every Monday morning,
there is hung up, framed and glazed, the
aames of the girls who are in charge there
for the week and who are, consequently,

responsible for its neat condition and the
proper execution of the work belonging to it.
This is found to inspire them with a greater
pride in good housewifery, and a greater sense
of shame in the reverse.

The book-education is of a very plain kind,
as they have generally much to learn in the
commonest domestic duties, and are often
singularly inexpert in acquiring them. They
read and write, and cypher. School is held
every morning at half-past ten (Saturday
excepted) for two hours. The Superintend-
ents are the teachers. The times for recrea-
tion are half an hour between school-time
and dinner, and an hour after dinner ; half
an hour before tea, and an hour after tea. In
the winter, these intervals are usually em-
ployed in light fancy work, the making of
little presents for their friends, &c. In the
fine summer weather they are passed in the
garden, where they take exercise, and have
their little flower-beds. In the afternoon and
evening, they sit all together at needlework,
and some one reads aloud. The books are
carefully chosen, but are always interesting.

Saturday is devoted to an extraordinary
cleaning up and polishing of the whole esta-
blishment, and to the distribution of clean
clothes ; every inmate arranging and pre-
paring her own. Each girl also takes a bath
on Saturday.

On Sundays they go to church in the neigh-
bourhood, some to morning service, some to
afternoon service, some to both. They are
invariably accompanied by one of the Superin-
tendents. Wearing no uniform and not being
dressed alike, they attract little notice out of
doors. Their attire is that of respectable plain
servants. On Sunday evenings they receive
religious instruction from the principal Super-
intendent. They also receive regular religious
instruction from a clergyman on one day in.
every week, and on two days in every alter-
nate week. They are constantly employed,
and always overlooked.

They are allowed to be visited under the
following restrictions ; if by their parents,
once in a month ; if by other relatives or
friends, once in three months. The principal
Superintendent is present at all such inter-
views, and hears the conversation. It is not
often found that the girls and their friends
have much to say to one another ; any display
of feeling on these occasions is rare. It is
generally observed that the inmates seem
rather relieved than otherwise when the
interviews are over.

They can write to relatives, or old teachers,
or persons known to have been kind to them,
once a month on application to the com-
mittee. It seldom happens that a girl who
has any person in the world to correspond
with, fails to take advantage of this oppor-
tunity. All letters dispatched from the
Home are read and posted by the principal
Superintendent. All letters received, are like-
wise read by the Superintendent ; but she

Chorles Dickens.]

HOME FOE HOMELESS WOMEN.

171

does not open them. Every such letter is
opened by the girl to whom it is addressed,
who reads it first, in the Superintendent's
presence. It never happens that they wish
to reserve the contents ; they are always
anxious to impart them to her immediately.
This seems to be one of their chief pleasures
in receiving letters.

They make and mend their own clothes,
but do" not keep them. In many cases they
are not for some time to be trusted with such
a charge ; in other cases, when temper is
awakened, the possession of a shawl and
bonnet would often lead to an abrupt de-
parture which the unfortunate creature
would ever afterwards regret. To distin-
guish between these cases and others of a
more promising nature, would be to make
invidious distinctions, than which nothing
could be more prejudicial to the Home, as
the objects of its care are invariably sensitive
and jealous. For these various reasons their
clothes are kept under lock and key in a
wardrobe room. They have a great pride in
the state of their clothes, and the neatness of
their persons. Those who have no such pride
on their admission, are sure to acquire it.

Formerly, when a girl accepted for admis-
sion had clothes of her own to wear, she was
allowed to be admitted in them, and they
were put by for her ; though within the In-
stitution she always wore the clothing it pro-
vides. It was found, however, that a girl j
with a hankering after old companions rather j
relied on these reserved clothes, and that she i
put them on with an air, if she went away or '
were dismissed. They now invariably come,
therefore, in clothes belonging to the Home,
and bring no other clothing with them. A
suit of the commonest apparel has been pro-
vided for the next inmate who may leave
during her probation, or be sent away ; and
it is thought that the sight of a girl departing
so disgraced, will have a good effect on those
who remain. Cases of dismissal or departure
are becoming more rare, however, as the
Home increases in experience, and no occasion
for making the experiment has yet arisen.

When the Home had been opened for
some time, it was resolved to adopt a modi-
fication of CAPTAIN MACCONNOCHIE'S mark
system : so arranging the mark table as
to render it difficult for a girl to lose
marks under any one of its heads, without
also losing under nearly all the others.
The mark table is divided into the nine fol-
lowing heads. Truthfulness, Industry, Tem-
per, Propriety of Conduct and Conversation,
Temperance, Order, Punctuality, Economy,
Cleanliness. The word Temperance is not
used in the modern slang acceptation, but in
its enlarged meaning as defined by Johnson,
from the English of Spenser : " Moderation,
patience, calmness, sedateness, moderation
of passion." A separate account for every
day is kept with every girl as to each of
these items. If her conduct be without

objection, she is marked in each column, three
excepting the truthfulness and temper-
ance columns in which, saving under extra-
ordinary circumstances, she is only marked
two : the temptation to err in those parti-
culars, being considered low under the circum-
stances of the life she leads in the Home. It
she be particularly deserving under any ot
the other heads, she is marked the highest
number four. If her deserts be low, she is
marked only one, or not marked at all. If
her conduct under any head have been, during
the day, particularly objectionable, she re-
ceives a bad mark (marked in red ink, to
distinguish it at a glance from the others)
which destroys forty good marks. The value
of the good marks is six shillings and six-
pence per thousand ; the earnings of each
girl are withheld until she emigrates, in order
to form a little fund for her first subsistence
on her disembarkation. The inmates are
found, without an exception, to value their
marks highly. A bad mark is very infre-
quent, and occasions great distress in the
recipient and great excitement in the com-
munity. In case of dismissal or premature
departure from the Home, all the previous
gain in marks is forfeited. If a girl be ill
through no fault of her own, she is marked,
during her illness, according to her average
marking. But, if she be ill through her own
act (as in a recent case, where a girl set
herself on fire, through carelessness and a
violation of the rules of the house) she is
credited with no marks until she is again in
a condition to earn them. The usual earnings
in a year are about equal to the average
wages of the commoner class of domestic
servant.

They are usually brought to the Home by
the principal Superintendent in a coach. From
wheresoever they come, they generally weep
on the road, and are silent and depressed.
The average term of probation is about a
year ; longer when the girl is very slow to
learn what she is taught. When the time of
her emigration arrives, the same lady accom-
panies her on board ship. They usually go
out, three or four together, with a letter of
recommendation to some influential person at
their destination ; sometimes they are placed
under the charge of a respectable family of
emigrants ; sometimes they act as nurses or as
servants to individual ladies with children, on
board. In these capacities they have given
great satisfaction. Their grief at parting
from the Superintendent is always strong,
and frequently of a heart-rending kind. They
are also exceedingly affected by their sepa-
ration from the Home ; usually going round
and round the garden first, as if they clung to
every tree and shrub in it. Nevertheless,
individual attachments among them are rare,
thouo-h strong affections have arisen when
they have afterwards encountered in distant
solitudes. Some touching circumstances have
occurred, where unexpected recognitions

172

HOUSEHOLD WOKDS.

[Conducted by

of tliis kind Lave taken place on Sundays in
lonely churches to which the various members
of the little congregations have repaired from
great distances. Some of the girls now mar-
ried have chosen old companions thus encoun-
tered for their bridesmaids, and in their
letters have described their delight very pathe-
tically.

A considerable part of the needle-work
done in the Home is necessary to its own
internal neatness, and the preparation of out-
fits for the emigrants ; especially as many of
the inmates know little or nothing of such
work, and have it all to learn. But, as they
become more dexterous, plain work is taken
in, and the proceeds are applied as a fund to
defray the cost of outfits. The outfits are
always of the simplest kind. Nothing is
allowed to be wasted or thrown away in the
Home. From the bones, and remnants of
food, the girls are taught to make soup for
the poor and sick. This at once extends their
domestic knowledge, and preserves their
sympathy for the distressed.

Some of the experiences, not already men-
tioned, that have been acquired in the
management of the Home are curious, and
perhaps deserving of consideration in prisons
and other institutions. It has been observed,
in taking the histories especially of the
more artful cases that nothing is so likely
to elicit the truth as a perfectly imper-
turbable face, and an avoidance of any leading
question or expression of opinion. Give the
narrator the least idea what tone will make
her an object of interest, and she will take it
directly. Give her none, and she will be
driven on the truth, and in most cases will
tell it. For similar reasons it is found desir-
able always to repress stock religious profes-
sions and religious phrases ; to discourage
shows of sentiment, and to make their lives
practical and active. " Don't talk about it
do it ! " is the motto of the place. The
inmates find everywhere about them the same
kind discriminating firmness, and the same
determination to have no favorite subjects, or
favorite objects, of interest, Girls from
Ragged Schools are not generally so im-
pressible as reduced girls who have failed to
support themselves by hard work, or as women
from the streets probably, because they
have suffered less. The poorest of the Ragged
School condition, who are odious to approach
when first picked up, invariably affect after-
wards that their friends are " well off." This
psychological curiosity is considered inexpli-
cable. Most of the inmates are depressed at
first. At holiday times the more doubtful
part of them usually become restless and
uncertain ; there would also appear to be,
usually, a time of considerable restlessness after
six or eight months. In any little difficulty,
the general feeling is invariably with the
establishment and never with the offender.
When a girl is discharged for misconduct,
fihe is generally in deep distress, and goes

away miserably. The rest will sometimes
intercede for her with tears ; but it is found
that firmness on this and every point, when a
decision is once taken, is the most humane
course as having a wholesome influence on
the greatest number. For this reason, a
mere threat of discharge is never on any
account resorted to. Two points of manage-
ment are extremely important ; the first, to
refer very sparingly to the past ; the second,
never to treat the inmates as children. They
must never be allowed to suppose it possible
that they can get the better of the manage-
ment. Judicious commendation, when it
is deserved, has a very salutary influence.
It is also found that a serious and urgent
entreaty to a girl, to exercise her self-
restraint on some point (generally temper) oil
which her mark-table shews her to be de-
ficient, often has an excellent effect when it
is accompanied with such encouragement as,
" You know how changed you are since you
have been here ; you know we have begun to
entertain great hopes of you. For God's sake
consider ! Do not throw away this great
chance of your life, by making yourself and
everybody around you unhappy which will
oblige us to send you away but conquer this.
Now, try hard for a month, and pray let us
have no fault to find with you at the end of
that time." Many will make great and suc-
cessful efforts to control themselves, after
such remonstrance. In all cases, the fewest
and plainest words are the best. When new
to the place, they are found to break and
spoil through great carelessness. Patience,
and the strictest attention to order and
punctuality, will in most cases overcome
these discouragements. Nothing else will.
They are often rather disposed to quarrel
among themselves, particularly in bad weather
when their lives are necessarily monotonous
and confined ; but, on the whole, allowing for
their different breeding, they perhaps quarrel
less than the average of passengers in the
state cabin on a voyage out to India.

As some of the inmates of the Home
have to be saved and guarded from them-
selves more than from any other people,
they can scarcely be defended by too many
precautions. These precautions are not ob-
truded upon them, but are strictly observed.
Keys are never left about. The garden gate
is always kept locked ; but the girls take it
in turn to act as porteress, overlooked by the
second superintendent. They are proud of
this trust. Any inmate missing from her
usual place for ten minutes would be looked
after. Any suspicious circumstance would
be quickly and quietly investigated. As no
girl makes her own bed, no girl has the oppor-
tunity of safely hiding any secret correspond-
ence, or anything else, in it. Each inmate has
a separate bed, but there are several beds in a
room. The occupants of each room are always
arranged with a reference to their several
characters and counteracting influences. A

Charles Dickens.]

HOME FOR HOMELESS WOMEN.

girl declaring that she wishes to leave, is
not allowed to do so hastily, but is_ locked
in a chamber by herself, to consider of
it until next day : when, if she still persist,
ehe is formally discharged. It has never
once happened that a girl, however excited,
has refused to submit to this restraint.

One of the most remarkable effects of the
Home, even in many of the cases where it does
not ultimately succeed, is the extraordinary
change it produces in the appearance of its
inmates. Putting out of the question their
look of cleanliness and health (which may be
.regarded as a physical consequence of their
treatment) a refining and humanising alte-
ration is wrought in the expression of the
features, and in the whole air of the person,
which can scarcely be imagined. Teachers
in Bagged Schools have made the observation
in reference to young women whom they
had previously known well, and for a long
time. A very sagacious and observant
police magistrate, visiting a girl before her
emigration who had been taken from his bar,
could detect no likeness in her to the girl
he remembered. It is considered doubtful
whether, in the majority of the worst cases,
the subject would easily be known again at a
year's end, among a dozen, by an old
companion.

The moral influence of the Home, still
applying the remark even to cases of failure,
is illustrated in a no less remarkable manner.
It has never had any violence done to a
chair or a stool. It has never been asked to
render any aid to the one lady and her|
assistant, who are shut up with the thirteen
the year round. Bad language is so un-
common, that its utterance is an event. The
committee have never heard the least ap-
proach to it, or seen anything but submission ;
though it has often been their task to reprove
and dismiss women who have been violently
agitated, and unquestionably (for the time)
incensed- against them. Four of the fugitives
have robbed the Institution of some clothes.
The rest had no reason on earth for running
away in preference to asking to be dismissed,
but shame in not remaining.

A specimen or two of cases of success may
be interesting.

Case number twenty-seven, was a girl
supposed to be of about eighteen, but who
had none but supposititious knowledge of her
age, and no knowledge at all of her birth-day.
Both her parents had died in her infancy. She
nad been brought up in the establishment of
that amiable victim of popular prejudice, the
late Mr. Drouet, of Tooting. It did not appear
that she was naturally stupid, but her intel-
lect had been so dulled by neglect that
she was in the Home many months before
she could be imbued with a thorough un-
derstanding that Christmas Day was so called
as the birthday of Jesus Christ. But when
she acquired this piece of learning, she was
amazingly proud of it. She had been appren-

ticed to a small artificial flower maker
with three others. They were all ill-treated,
and all seemed to have run away at different
times : this girl last : who absconded with an
old man, a hawker, who brought " combs and
things " to the door for sale. She took what
she called " some old clothes " of her mis-
tress with her, and was apprehended with
the old man, and they were tried together.
He was acquitted ; she was found guilty. Her
sentence was six months' imprisonment, and,
on its expiration, she was received into
the Home. She was appallingly ignorant,
but most anxious to learn, and contended
against her blunted faculties with a con-
sciously slow perseverance. She showed a
remarkable capacity for copying writing by
the eye alone, without having the least idea of
its sound, or what it meant. There seemed
to be some analogy between her making
letters and her making artificial flowers.
She remained in the Home, bearing an
excellent character, about a year. On her
passage out, she made artificial flowers for
the ladies on board, earned money, and was
much liked. She obtained a comfortable
service as soon as she landed, and is happy
and respected. This girl had not a friend in
the world, and had never known a natural
affection, or formed a natural tie, upon the
face of this earth.

Case number thirteen was a half-starved
girl of eighteen whose father had died soon
after her birth, and who had long eked out a
miserable subsistence for herself and a sick
mother by doing plain needlework. At last
her mother died in a workhouse, and the
needlework " falling off bit by bit," this girl
suffered, for nine months, every extremity of
dire distress. Being one night without any
food or shelter from the weather, she went to
the lodging of a woman who had once lived
in the same house with herself and her
mother, and asked to be allowed to lie down
on the stairs. She was refused, and stole a
shawl which she sold for a penny. A fort-
night afterwards, being still in a starving
and houseless state, she went back to the
same woman's, and preferred the same request.
Again refused she stole a bible from her,
which she sold for twopence. The theft was
immediately discovered, and she was taken
as she lay asleep in the casual ward of a
workhouse. These facts were distinctly proved
upon her trial. She was sentenced to three
months imprisonment, and was then admitted
into the Home. She had never been corrupted.
She remained in the Home, bearing an excel-
lent character, a little more than a year ;
emigrated ; conducted herself uniformly well
in agood situation ; and is now married.

Case number forty-one was a pretty girl of
a quiet and good manner, aged nineteen.
She came from a watering place where she
had lived with her mother until within a
couple of years, when her mother married
ao-ain and she was considered an incumbrance

174

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

at a very bad home. She became apprenticed
to a dressmaker, who, on account of her staying
out beyond the prescribed hours one night
when she went with some other young people
to a Circus, positively refused to admit her
or give her any shelter from the streets. The
natural consequences of this unjustifiable
behaviour followed. She came to the Home
on the recommendation of a clergyman to
whom she fortunately applied, when in a
state of sickness and misery too deplorable
to be even suggested to the reader's imagina-
tion. She remained in the Home (with an
interval of hospital treatment) upwards of a
year and a half, when she was sent abroad.
Her character is irreproachable, and she is
industrious, happy and full of gratitude.

Case number fifty was a very homely,
clumsy, ignorant girl, supposed to be about
nineteen, but who again had no knowledge of
her birthday. She was taken from a Ragged
School ; her mother had died when she was a
little girl; and her father, marrying again,
had turned her out of doors, though her
mother-in-law had been kind to her. She
had been once in prison for breaking some
windows near the Mansion House, " having
nowheres as you can think of, to go to." She
had never gone wrong otherwise, and par-
ticularly wished that "to be wrote down."
She was in as dirty and unwholesome a con-
dition, on her admission, as she could well be,
but was inconsolable at the idea of losing
her hair, until the fortunate suggestion
was made that it would grow more luxu-
riantly after shaving. She then consented,
with many tears, to that (in her case) in-
dispensable operation. This deserted and
unfortunate creature, after a short period of
depression began to brighten, uniformly
showed a very honest and truthful nature,
and after remaining in the Home a year, has
recently emigrated ; a thoroughly good plain
servant, with every susceptibility for forming
a faithful and affectionate attachment to her
employers.

Case number fifty-eight was a girl of nine-
teen, all but starved through inability to live
by needlework. She had never gone wrong,
was gradually brought into a good bodily
condition, invariably conducted herself well,
and went abroad, rescued and happy.

Case number fifty-one, was a little ragged girl
of sixteen or seventeen, as she said ; but of very
juvenile appearance. She was put to the bar
at a Police Office, with two much older women,
regular vagrants, for making a disturbance
at the workhouse gate on the previous night
on being refused relief. She had been a pro-
fessed tramp for six or seven years, knew
of no relation, and had had no friends but one
old woman, whose very name she did not
appear to be sure of. Her father, a scaifold
builder, she had " lost " on London Bridge
when she was ten or eleven years old. There
appeared little doubt that he had purposely
abandoned her, but she had no suspicion of it.

She had long been hop-picking in the hop
season, and wandering about the country at
all seasons, and was unaccustomed to shoes,
and had seldom slept in a bed. She answered
some searching questions without the least
reserve, and not at all in her own favour.
Her appearance of destitution was in perfect
keeping with her story. This girl was re-
ceived into the Home. Within a year, there
was clinging round the principal Superin-
tendent's neck, on board a ship bound for
Australia in a state of grief at parting that
moved the bystanders to tears a pretty little
neat modest useful girl, against whom not a
moment's complaint had been made, and who
had diligently learnt everything that had been
set before her.

Case number fifty-four, a good-looking
young woman of two-and-twenty, was first
seen in prison under remand on a charge
of attempting to commit suicide. Her mother
had died before she was two years old, and
her father had married again ; but she spoke
in high and affectionate terms both of her
father and her mother-in-law. She har 1 been a
travelling maid with an elderly lady, and, on
her mistress going to Russia, had returned
home to her father's. She had stayed out late
one night, in company with a " commissioner "
whom she had known abroad, was afraid or
ashamed to go home, and so went wrong.
Falling lower, and becoming poorer, she be-
came at last acquainted with a ticket-taker
at a railway station, who tired of the ac-
quaintance. One night when he had made
an appointment (as he had often done before)
and, on the plea of inability to leave his
duties, had put this girl in a cab, that she
might be taken safely home (she seemed to
have inspired him with that much endur-
ing regard), she pulled up the window
and swallowed two shillings' worth of the
essential oil of almonds which she had bought
at a chemist's an hour before. The driver
happened to look round when she still had
the bottle to her lips, immediately made
out the whole story, and had the presence of
mind to drive her straight to a hospital,
where she remained a month before she was
cured. She was in that state of depression
in the prison, that it was a matter for grave
consideration whether it would be safe to take
her into the Home, where, if she were bent
upon committing suicide, it would be almost
impossible to prevent her. After some talk
with her, however, it was decided to receive
her. She proved one of the best inmates it
has ever had, and remained in it seven months
before she emigrated. Her father, who had
never seen her since the night of her staying
out late, came to see her in the Home, and
confirmed these particulars. It is doubtful
whether any treatment but that pursued in
such an institution would have restored tins
girl.

Case number fourteen was an extremely
pretty girl of twenty, whose mother was

Charles Dickens.J

BED-HOT BUBBLE-BLOWING.

175

married to a second husband a drunken
man who ill-treated his step-daughter. She
had been engaged to be married, but had
been deceived, and had run away from home
in shame, and had been away three years.
Within that period, however, she had twice
returned home ; the first time for six months ;
the second time for a few days. She had also
been in a London hospital. She had also
been in the Magdalen : which institution her
father-in-law, with a drunkard's inconsistency,
had induced her to leave, to attend her
mother's funeral and then ill-treated her as
before. She had been once in prison as a
disorderly character, and was received from
the prison into the Home. Her health was
impaired and her experiences had been of a
bad kind in a bad quarter of London, but she
was still a girl of remarkably engaging and
delicate appearance. She remained in the
Home, improving rapidly, thirteen months.
She was never complained of, and her general
deportment was unusually quiet and modest.
She emigrated, and is a good, industrious,
happy wife.

This paper can scarcely be better closed
than by the following pretty passage from a
letter of one of the married young women.

HONNOUEED LADIES,

I have again taken the liberty of writing to
you to let you know how I am going on since I last
wrote Home for I can never forget that name that
still conies fresh to my mind, Honnoured Ladies
I received your most kind letter on Tuesday the 21st
of May my Mistress was kind enough to bring it
over to me she told me that she also had a letter
from you and that she should write Home and give
you a good account of us. Honnoured Ladies I
cannot describe the feelings which I felt on receiving
your most kind letter, I first read my letter then 1
cried but it was with tears of joy, to think you was
so kind to write to us Honnoured Ladies I have
seen. Jane and I showed my letter and she is going
write Home, she is living about 36 miles from where I
live and her and her husband are very happy together
she has been down to our Town this week and it is the
first that we have seen of her since a week after they
were married. My Husband is very kind to me
and we live very happy and comfortable together
we have a nice garden where we grow all that we
want we have sown some peas turnips and I
helped to do some we have three such nice pigs
and we killed one last week he was so fat that he
could not see out of his eyes he used to have to sit
down to eat and I have got such a nice cat she
peeps over me while I am writing this. My Husband
was going out one day, and he heard that cat cry
and he fetched her in she was so thin. My tow
little birds are gone one dide and the other flew
away now I have got none, get down Cat do.
My Husband has built a shed at the side of the
house to do any thing for hisself when he corns home
from work of a night he tells me that I shall every
9 years com Home if we live so long please God,
but I think that he is only making game of me.
Honnoured Ladies I can never feel grateful enough
for your kindness to me and 'the kind indulgences
which I received at my happy Home, I often wish
that I could come Home and see that happy place

again once more and all my kind Mends which I
hope I may one day please God.

No comments or arguments shall be added
to swell the length this account has already
attained. Our readers will judge for them-
selves what some of these cases must have
soon become, but for the timely interposition
of the Home established by the Ladies whose
charity is so discreet and so impartial.

BED-HOT BUBBLE-BLOWING.

Nooir-and-a-half, or half-past twelve, was
much too early an hour to dine. But I had
driven eight leagues, seated not in the in-
side of a carriage, that sharp snowy February
morning, and was therefore able to do justice
to the long procession of excellent viands
which are sure to march deliberately across
every French table d'htite which enjoys the
patronage of that cruelly and unjustly ca-
lumniated class commercial travellers.

The great puzzle after eating heartily in
the middle of the day is, what are you
to do with yourself while the bodily man
is weighed down with indolence, during
the pleasant process of easy digestion 1 A
grand resource is, to look out at the window ;
so out at the window I began to look. The
first object that caught my eye was acart laden
with queer-looking sand. Being an amateur
in sand, my curiosity was excited. For I had
seen green sands, white sands, blue sands,
yellow sands, coarse sands, fine sands, light
sands, and heavy sands. But this sand, at the
same time that it was not of vulgar texture,
was of extraordinary colour. Figure to your-
self the thick residue settled at the bottom
of a tureen of pea-soup, and you have a
sample of the sand in that cart ; only you
could not for the life of you tell whether the
soup had been made with green peag, or with
grey peas.

' Tell me, if you please, what is that load
of sand for 1 " was the question which I put
to a commis-voyaffeur, whom a fashionable
tourist would have disdained to notice ; but
who, nevertheless, might be as well-conducted
as himself. " What do they do with all that
curious sand 1 "

" Monsieur, they do several things with it ;
amongst others, you will see, if you look down
to your feet, that they use it for the purpose
of carpeting this diuing-room. But it is
employed for a much more important service
than that ; and I should like you to amuse
yourself by trying to guess it."

" Where does the sand come from 1 "

" From the hills close by, and if you have
a mind for an afternoon walk by passing
hence through the Little Place, stepping down
the street of Swordmakers, and then out at
the gate of this good town of Arras, merely
taking the trouble to follow the path, you
will at last discover not only the quarries
whence this sand is dug, but also the very

176

HOUSEHOLD WOEDS.

[Conducted by

satisfactory use which they contrive to make
of it."

"I cannot imagine," I replied, musingly, at
the same time filling myself a glass of vin de
grave from my pint bottle, and tossing it
off with a sincere appreciation of its merits.

"You burn, nevertheless," said the pro-
voking bagman, (the French expression in
such cases, vous brulez, being exactly the same
as our own).

" It cannot be possible that the natives of
those parts drink one another's healths in
glasses full of sand ? However, I will go
and see."

By this time, the mid-day meal had com-
fortably settled itself; I started on my pil-
grimage, not alone, and the gate of Arras
was soon behind me. Next I had to pass
through a formidable outwork, which appears
on the maps as the Fort de Grace ; as if there
were anything particularly gracious in either
the aspect or performances of bombs and
cannon. Emerging out of the Fort de Grace,
I found myself proceeding along one of those
paved roads, on which, in France, if you once
happen to set foot, you never know when you
will get off again. This one, decidedly, has
no known termination ; for, after mounting
mysterious hills in which the quarries of
sand are hollowed out, it darts off straight
into the distant space of an endless per-
spective.

The paved road, bordered by elms planted
at regular distances, and lopped into naked
poles up to the broom-head which crowns
their summits, leads me, before long, to a droll
little village, which successively offers to my
inspection a church with a short stubby well-
crocketed spire, a flour mill, a rushing stream,
a flax mill, and a long straight street, in
which the inns are as numerous as their signs
are strange. There is no fault to be found with
"The Descent of the Good Farmer," for it
does not imply any depression of the agricul-
tural interest, but simply indicates the hos-
pitable shelter at which the farmer, good or
bad, will be welcomed, on getting down or
descending from cart or horseback ; but think
of stopping to eat or drink at " The Double-
quick Step," or " A la Fanfare des Pompiers,"
" The Fireman's Flourish ! " " A la bonne
Femme," to call at " The Good Woman," is
undoubtedly a considerable temptation to the
wayfarer, did not the sign most ungallantly
illustrate the name by a horrible portrait of
a lady without any head. " Au point du jour,"
or " The Break of Day," suggests the duty of
early rising, and equally so of early dram-
drinking.

_ The signs are disregarded and left un-
visitecl, and before me lies a rising ground
in which the sand pits are distinctly visible.
Downhill, from them, comes a cart laden
with their yellow-green produce ; and which,
turning to the left of the pave, enters a
couple of dingy portals. These sombre gates
occupy the centre of a long uniform row of

cottages, whose principal external feature is
soot and grime.

The cart is an omen that the enigma will
be solved, and I follow it through the clear
obscure of the entrance- way. Once in, I gaze
around me, and find that I have wandered
into a large open square, the centre of which
is occupied by a huge oblong thoroughly-
blacked building, from one of the two cupolas
on the summit of whose roof, colossal wreaths
of smoke are majestically rolling away. The
cart disappears in a subterranean passage
beneath the mystic edifice, and I hesitate to
track it further, without a little assurance
that all is right within. For though not a
soul is to be seen passing in and out, and
scarcely a sound is to be heard proceeding
from it there are yet some half-closed shutters
in front, through which I can see brilliant
points of light flashing backwardsand forwards,
strange shadows flitting hither and thither ;
and, through whose openings, there escapes a
slight, sharp, crackling din, just sufficient
to testify that busy life is hard at work
behind all this tranquil outside shell.

A trifle of information would be extremely
convenient at this crisis. Yonder lies a huge
pile of glass bottles, of singular shape and
considerable capacity ; but whether they are
intended to contain imprisoned genii, or are
already well-stored with " black spirits and
white, red spirits and grey," it is impossible
for a foreigner like myself to guess. All I
know is, that they are, hereabouts, called
dames-jeannes, or " Ladies Jane." A couple
of mutes are abstractedly surveying them.
Can those silent figures speak ? Suppose
we try.

" I beg of you, Messieurs, tell me how I can
contrive to obtain admittance to that great
building ?"

" Monsieur can obtain admittance by walk-
ing along that slope and opening the door at
the end of it. There is no prohibition ; and
even if there were, a foreigner would not be
ill received."

I made a low bow, and proceeded on my
way with both surprise and pleasure. Droll !

isn't it ? that the straightforward manner
of attaining any end is not always the first
which enters one's head ! It is most commonly
taken for granted that there must be all sorts
of bush-beatings and round-abouts, if you
want the simplest thing in the world. It
struck me therefore as a grand discovery,
that in cases like this we have only to follow
our noses and open a door ; instead of in-
triguing for the favour and permission of some
one, or some three or four, who might, perhaps,
take care to show what great obligation we
were laying ourselves under.

I did open the door ; and beheld a spec-
tacle. A band of devotees were holding an
excited orgy, in which a considerable amount
of method was mingled with a very suspicious
state of madness. Were they celebrating an
act of fire-worship ? Or were they reviving

Charles Dickens.]

EED-HOT BUBBLE-BLOWING.

177

some secret pagan rites in honour of what
were once supposed the Four and only Ele-
ments of the "World 1 for fire, air, earth,
and water were all conspicuously represented
in the ceremony. The performers were exactly
a dozen men and boys, alike simply and uni-
formly clad ; a blue cotton jacket and trousers,
the everlasting French cap or casguette, and
a light pair of wooden shoes, being their only
garments. Shirts, stockings, and other super-
fluities were dispensed with. " Did you ever
see such a lean set of fellows 1 " was the first
remark I could make to my astonish