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| Volume I. Part 1 |
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| Volume II. Part 2 |
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INTRODUCTION TO THE SECOND VOLUME. ODE, CONGRATULATORY AND ADVISIORY, |
ILLUSTRATIONS IN THE ENGLISH SPY.
to face page
I.
A SHORT SET-TO AT LONG'S HOTEL; OR,
STOPFORD NOT GETTING THE BEST OF IT. 14
II.
COURTIERS CAROUSING IN A CADGER'S KEN. 28
III.
THE WAKE; OR, TEDDY O'RAFFERTY'S LAST
APPEARANCE. A Scene in the Holy Land. 30
IV.
THE CYPRIAN'S BALL AT THE ARGYLL ROOM. 42
V.
JOHN LISTON AND THE LAMBKINS; OR, THE
CITIZEN'S TREAT. 57
VI.
THE GREAT ACTOR; OR, MR PUNCH IN ALL HIS
GLORY. 62
Amusements of the lower orders. Scene in Leicester-fields.
VII.
COLLEGE GHOSTS. 66
A Frolic of the Westminster Blacks. A Scene in Dean's
Yard.
VIII.
THE MARIGOLD FAMILY ON A PARTY OF PLEA-
SURE; OR, THE EFFECT OF A STORM IN THE
LITTLE BAY OF BISCAY, otherwise, CHELSEA
REACH. 68
Hints to Fresh Water Sailors, the Alderman and family
running foul of the Safety. A bit of Fun for the Westminster
Scholars. How to make Ducks and Geese swim after they
are cooked. Calamities of a Cit's Water Party to Richmond.
IX.
THE EPPING HUNT ON EASTER MONDAY; OR,
COCKNEY COMICALITIES IN FULL CHASE. 73
Lots of Characters and Lots of Accidents, Runaways and
Fly-aways, No Goes and Out and Outers, the Flask and the
Foolish, Gibs, Spavins, Millers and Trumpeters. The Stag
against the Field. Bob Transit's Excursion with the Nacker
man.
X.
THE TEA-POT ROW AT HARROW; OR, THE BATTLE
OF HOG LANE. 81
Harrow boys making a smash among the Crockery, a Scene
Sketched from the Life, dedicated to the Sons of Noblemen
and Gentlemen participators in the Sport.
XI.
THE CIT'S SUNDAY ORDINARY AT THE GATE
HOUSE, HIGHGATE; OR, EVERY HOG TO HIS
OWN APPLE. 89
Another Trip with the Marigold Family. Specimens of
Gormandizing. Inhabitants of Cockayne ruralizing. Cits and
their Cubs. Cutting Capers, a scramble for a Dinner.
XII.
BULLS AND BEARS IN HIGH BUSTLE; OR, BILLY
WRIGHT'S PONY MADE A MEMBER OF THE
STOCK EXCHANGE. 124
Interior view of the Money Market. Portraits of well-known
Stock Brokers. A Scene Sketched from the Life.
XIII.
THE PROMENADE AT COWES. 162
With Portraits of noble Commanders and Members of the
Royal Yacht Club.
XIV.
THE RETURN TO PORT. 184
Sailors Carousing, or a Jollification on board the Piranga.
XV.
POINT STREET, PORTSMOUTH. 188
Chairing the Cockswain. British Tars and their Girls in
high Glee.
XVI.
EVENING AND IN HIGH SPIRITS, A SCENE AT
LONG'S HOTEL, BOND-STREET. 192
Well-known Roués and their Satellites. Portraits from the
Life, including the Pea Green Hayne, Tom Best, Lord W.
Lennox, Colonel Berkeley, Mr. Jackson, White Headed Bob,
Hudson the Tobacconist, John Long, &c. &c.
XVII.
MORNING, AND IN LOW SPIRITS, A LOCK UP
SCENE IN A SPONGING HOUSE, CAREY STREET.—
A BIT OF GOOD TRUTH. 206
For Particulars, see Work; or inquire of Fat Radford, the
Domini of the Domxts.
XVIII.
THE HOUSE OF LORDS IN HIGH DEBATE. 210
Sketched at the time when II. R. H. the Duke of York was
making his celebrated Speech upon the Catholic Question.
Portraits of the Dukes of York, Gloucester, Wellington, De-
vonshire, Marquesses of Anglesea and Hertford, Earls of Liver-
pool, Grey, Westmorland, Bathurst, Eldon, and Pomfret,
Lords Holland, King, Ellenborough, &c. &c. and the whole
Bench of Bishops.
XIX.
THE POINT OF HONOUR DECIDED; OR, THE LEADEN
ARGUMENTS OF A LOVE AFFAIR. 214
View in Hyde Park. Tom Echo engaged in an affair of
honour. A Chapter on Duelling.
XX.
THE GREAT SUBSCRIPTION ROOM AT BROOKES'S. 217
Opposition Members engaged upon Hazardous Points. Por-
traits of the Great and the Little well-known Parliamentary
Characters.
XXI.
THE EVENING IN THE CIRCULAR ROOM; OR, A
SQUEEZE AT CARLTON PALACE. 219
Exquisites and Elegantes making their way to the Presence
Chamber. Portraits of Stars of Note and Ton, Blue Ribands
and Red Ribands, Army and Navy.
XXII.
THE HIGH STREET, CHELTENHAM. 222
Well-known characters among the Chelts.
XXIII.
GOING OUT. 226
A View of Berkeley Hunt Kennel.
XXIV.
THE ROYAL WELLS AT CHELTENHAM; OR, SPAS-
MODIC AFFECTIONS FROM SPA WATERS. 245
Chronic Affections and Cramp Comicalities.
XXV.
THE BAG-MEN'S BANQUET. 248
A View of the Commercial Room at the Bell Inn, Chelten-
ham. Portraits of well-known Travellers.
XXVI.
THE OAKLAND COTTAGES, CHELTENHAM; OR, FOX
HUNTERS AND THEIR FAVOURITES, A TIT BIT,
DONE FROM THE LIFE. 268
Dedicated to the Members of the Berkeley Hunt.
XXVII.
DONCASTER RACE COURSE DURING THE GREAT
ST. LEGER RACE, 1825. 269
Well-known Heroes of the Turf. Legs and Loungers.
XXVIII.
THE COMICAL PROCESSION FROM GLOUCESTER
TO BERKELEY. 288
XXIX.
THE POST OFFICE, BRISTOL. 293
Arrival of the London Mail. Lots of News, and New
Characters. Portraits of well-known Bristolians.
XXX.
FANCY BALL AT THE UPPER ROOMS, BATH. 302
XXXI.
THE PUMP ROOM, BATH. 311
Visitors taking a sip with King Bladud.
XXXII.
THE OLD BEAU AND FALSE BELLE; OR, MR. B.
AND MISS L. 316
A Bath Story.
XXXIII.
THE PUBLIC BATHS AT BATH; OR, STEWING
ALIVE. 320
Bernard BlackmantlE and Bob Transit taking a Dip with
King Bladud. Union of the Sexes. Welsh Wigs and
Decency. No Swimming or Plunging allowed.
XXXIV.
MILSOM STREET AND BOND STREET, OR BATH
SWELLS. 326
Well-known Characters at the Court of King Bladud.
XXXV.
THE BUFF CLUB AT THE PIG AND WHISTLE,
AVON STREET, BATH. 332
A Bit of Real Life in the Territories of old King Bladud.
XXXVI.
THE BOWLING ALLEY AT WORCESTER; OR, THE
WELL-KNOWN CHARACTERS OF THE HAND AND
GLOVE CLUB. 335
ENGRAVINGS ON WOOD.
1. The Gate House, Highgate, Citizens toiling up the Hill
to the Sunday Ordinary 109
2. A Lame Duck waddling out of the Stock Exchange 139
3. The Dandy Candy Man, a Cheltenham Vignette 283
4. The Floating Harbour and Welsh Back, Bristol. 292
5. Bath Market-place, with Portraits of the celebrated
Orange Women 295
6. The Sporting Club at the Castle Tavern. Portraits of
Choice Spirits 300
7. The Battle of the Chairs 306
8. Vignette. Portraits of Blackmantle the English Spy,
and Transit 343
Nor rank, nor order, nor condition,
Imperial, lowly, or patrician,
Shall, when they see this volume, cry,
"The satirist has pass'd us by:"
But, with good humour, view our page
Depict the manners of the age.
Vide Work.
"The Muse's office was by Heaven design'd
To please, improve, instruct, reform mankind."
—Churchill.
Readers!—friends, I may say, for your flattering support has enabled me to continue my Sketches of Society to a second volume with that prospect of advantage to all concerned which makes labour delightful—accept this fresh offering of an eccentric, but grateful mind, to that shrine where alone he feels he owes any submission—the tribunal of Public Opinion. In starting for the goal of my ambition, the prize of your approbation, I have purposely avoided the beaten track of other periodical writers, choosing for my subjects scenes and characters of real life, transactions of our own times, characteristic, satirical, and humorous, confined to no particular place, and carefully avoiding every thing like personal ill-nature or party feeling. My associates, the Artists and Publishers, are not less anxious than myself to acknowledge their gratitude; and we intend to prove, by our united endeavours, how highly we appreciate the extensive patronage we have already obtained.
"I smell a rat."—Book of Common Parlance.
"More sinned against than sinning."—William Shakspeare.
"The very Spy o' the time."—Ibid.
Well done, my lad, you've run on strong
Amidst the bustle of life's throng,
Nor thrown a spavin yet;
You've gone at score, your pace has told;
I hope, my boy, your wind will hold—
You've others yet to fret.
You've told the town that you are fly
To cant, and rant, and trickery;
And that whene'er you doze,
Like Bristol men, you never keep
But one eye closed—so you can tweak
E'en then a scoundrel's nose.
Pull up, and rinse your mouth a bit;
It is hot work, this race of wit,
And sets the bellows piping;
Next Vol. you'll grind the flats again,
And file the sharps unto the grain,
Their very stomachs griping.
But why, good Bernard, do you dream
That we Reviewers scorn the cream{1}
Arising from your jokes?
Upon my soul, we love some fun
As well as any 'neath the sun,
Although we fight in cloaks.
Heav'n help thee, boy, we are not they
Who only go to damn a play,
And cackle in the pit;
Like good Sir William Curtis{2} we
Can laugh at nous and drollery,
Though of ourselves 'twere writ.
Was yours but sky blue milk and water,
We'd hand you over to the slaughter
Of cow committee-men{3};
For butterflies, and "such small deer,"
Are much beneath our potent spear—
The sharp gray goose-wing'd pen.
1 See my friend Bernard's cracker to the reviewers in No.
12, a perfect fifth of November bit of firework, I can
assure you, good people. But it won't go off with me without
a brand from the bonfire in return. "Bear this bear all."
2 Have you ever dared the "salt sea ocean," my readers, with
the alderman admiral? If not, know that he has as pretty a
collection of caricatures in his cabin, and all against his
own sweet self, as need be wished to heal sea-sickness. Is
not this magnanimity? I think so. The baronet is really "a
worthy gentleman."
3 Vide advertisements of "Alderney Milk Company." What
company shall we keep next, my masters? Mining companies, or
steam brick companies, or washing companies? How many of
them will be in the suds anon? Pshaw! throw physic to the
projectors—I prefer strong beer well hopped.
But yours we feel is sterner stuff,
And though perchance too much in huff,
More natural you will swear;
It really shows such game and pluck,
That we could take with you "pot luck,"
And deem it decent fare.
But, 'pon our conscience, bonny lad,
(We've got some, boy), it is too bad
So fiercely to show fight;
Gadzooks, 'tis time when comes the foe
To strip and sport a word and blow,
My dear pugnacious wight!
'Tis very wise, T own, to pull
Fast by the horns some butting bull,
When 'gainst yourself he flies;
But to attack that sturdy beast,
When he's no thoughts on you to feast,
Is very otherwise.
But we'll forgive your paper balls,
Which on our jackets hurtless falls,
Like hail upon a tower:
Pray put wet blankets on your ire;
Really, good sir, we've no desire
To blight so smart a flower.
Well, then, I see no reason why
There should be war, good Mister Spy
So, faith! we'll be allies;
And if we must have fights and frays,
We'll shoot at pride and poppinjays,
And folly as it flies.
There's field enough for both to beat
Employment for our hands, eyes, feet,
To mark the quarry down,
Black game and white game a full crop,
Fine birds, fine feathers for to lop,
In country and in town.
New city specs, new west-end rigs,
New gas-blown boots, new steam-curl'd wigs,
New fashionable schools,
New dandies, and new Bond-street dons,
And new intrigues, and new crim cons,
New companies of fools.{4}
Maria Foote and Edmund Kean,
The "lions" just now of the scene,
Shall yield to newer fun;
For all our wonders at the best
Are cast off for a newer vest,
After a nine days' run.
Old beaux at Bath, manoeuvring belles,
And pump-room puppies, Melsom swells,
And Mr. Heaviside,{5}
And Cheltenham carders,{6} every runt,
4 See note 3, page 6.
5 Mr. Heaviside, the polite M. C. of Bath. He has the finest
cauliflower head of hair I over remember; but it covers a
world of wit, for all that, and therefore however it may
appear, it certainly is not the heavy side of him.
6 Cards, cards, cards, nothing but cards from "rosy morn to
dewy eve" at the town of Cheltenham. Whist, with the sun
shining upon their sovereigns, one would think a sovereign
remedy for their waste of the blessed day—écarte, whilst
the blue sky is mocking the blue countenances of your thirty
pound losers in as many seconds. Is it not marvellous?
Fathers, husbands, men who profess to belong to the Church.
By Jupiter! instead of founding the new university they talk
about, they had better make it for the pupilage of perpetual
card-players, and let them take their degrees by the
cleverness in odd tricks, or their ability in shuffling. "No
offence, Gregory." "No wonder they have their decrepit ones,
their ranters."
The playhouse, Berkeley, and "the hunt,"
With Marshall{7} by their side.
All these and more I should be loth
To let escape from one or both,
So saddle for next heat:
The bell is rung, the course is cleared,
Mount on your hobby, "nought afear'd,"
Black-jacket can't be beat.
"Dum spiro spero" shout, and ride
Till you have 'scalp'd old Folly's hide,
And none a kiss will waft her;
Bind all the fools in your new book,
That "I spy!" may lay my hook,
And d—n them nicely after.
An Honest Reviewer.{8}
Given at my friend, "Sir John Barleycorn's"
Chambers, Tavistock, Covent Garden, this the
19th, day of February, 1825, "almost at odds
with morning."
7 Mr. Marshall, the M. C. of Cheltenham. "Wear him in your
heart's core, Horatio." I knew him well, a "fellow of
infinite jest." A long reign and a merry one to him.
8 My anonymous friend will perceive that I estimate his wit
and talent quite as much as his honesty: had he not been
such a rara avis he would have been consigned to the "tomb
of all the Capulets."
"The trav'ller, if he chance to stray,
May turn uncensured to his way;
Polluted streams again are pure,
And deepest wounds admit a cure;
But woman no redemption knows—
The wounds of honour never close."
—Moore.
[10]Tremble not, ye fair daughters of chastity! frown not, ye moralists! as your eyes rest upon the significant title to our chapter, lest we should sacrifice to curiosity the blush of virtue. We are painters of real life in all its varieties, but our colouring shall not be over-charged, or our characters out of keeping. The glare of profligacy shall be softened down or so neutralized as not to offend the most delicate feelings. In sketching the reigning beauties of the time, we shall endeavour to indulge the lovers of variety without sacrificing the fair fame of individuals, or attempting to make vice respectable. Pleasure is our pursuit, but we are accompanied up the flowery ascent by Contemplation and Reflection, two monitors that shrink back, like sensitive plants, as the thorns press upon them through the ambrosial beds of new-blown roses. In our record of the daughters of Pleasure, we shall only notice those who are distinguished as belles of ton—stars of the first magnitude in the hemisphere of Fashion; and of these the reader may say, with one or two exceptions, they "come like shadows, so depart." We would rather excite sympathy and pity for the [11]unfortunate, than by detailing all we know produce the opposite feelings of obloquy and detestation.
"Unhappy sex! when beauty is your snare,
Exposed to trials, made too frail to bear."
Then, oh! ye daughters of celestial Virtue, point not the scoffing glance at these, her truant children, as ye pass them by—but pity, and afford them a gleam of cheerful hope: so shall ye merit the protection of Him whose chief attribute is charity and universal benevolence. And ye, lords of the creation! commiserate their misfortunes, which owe their origin to the baseness of the seducer, and the natural depravity of your own sex.
"Simplex sigillum veri."
"Nought is there under heav'n's wide hollowness
That moves more dear, compassion of the mind,
Than beauty brought t' unworthy wretchedness."
[12]If ever there was a fellow formed by nature to captivate and conquer the heart of lovely woman, it is that arch-looking, light-hearted Apollo, Horace Eglantine, with his soul-enlivening conversational talents, his scraps of poetry, and puns, and fashionable anecdote; his chivalrous form and noble carriage, joined to a mirth-inspiring countenance and soft languishing blue eye, which sets half the delicate bosoms that surround him palpitating between hope and fear; then a glance at his well-shaped leg, or the fascination of an elegant compliment, smilingly overleaping a pearly fence of more than usual whiteness and regularity, fixes the fair one's doom; while the young rogue, triumphing in his success, turns on his heel and plays off another battery on the next pretty susceptible piece of enchanting simplicity that accident may throw into his way. "Who is that attractive star before whose influential light he at present seems to bow with adoration?" "A fallen one," said Crony, to whom the question was addressed, as he rode up the drive in Hyde Park, towards Cumberland-gate, accompanied by Bernard Blackmantle. "A fallen one" reiterated the Oxonian—"Impossible!" "Why, I have marked the fair daughter of Fashion myself for the last fortnight constantly in the drive with one of the most superb [13]equipages among the ton of the day." "True," responded Crony, "and might have done so for any time these three years." In London these daughters of Pleasure are like physicians travelling about to destroy in all sorts of ways, some on foot, others on horseback, and the more finished lolling in their carriages, ogling and attracting by the witchery of bright eyes; the latter may, however, very easily be known, by the usual absence of all armorial bearings upon the panel, the chariot elegant and in the newest fashion, generally dark-coloured, and lined with crimson to cast a rich glow upon the occupant, and the servants in plain frock liveries, with a cockade, of course, to imply their mistresses have seen service. I know but of one who sports any heraldic ornament, and that is the female Giovanni, who has the very appropriate crest of a serpent coiled, and preparing to spring upon its prey, à la Cavendish. The elegante in the dark vis, to whom our friend Horace is paying court, is the ci-devant Lady Ros—b—y, otherwise Clara W——.
By the peer she has a son, and from the plebeian a pension of two hundred pounds per annum: her origin, like most of the frail sisterhood, is very obscure; but Clara certainly possesses talents of the first order, and evinces a generosity of disposition to her sisters and family that is deserving of commendation. In person, she is plump and well-shaped, but of short stature, with a fine dark eye and raven locks that give considerable effect to an otherwise interesting countenance. A few years since she had a penchant for the stage, and played repeatedly at one of the minor theatres, under the name of "The Lady;" a character Clara can, when she pleases, support with unusual gaieté: instance her splendid parties in Manchester-street, Manchester-square, where I have seen a coruscation of beauties assembled together that must have made great havoc in their time among the hearts of the young, the gay, and the generous. Like [14]most of her society, Clara has no idea of prudence, and hence to escape some pressing importunities, she levanted for a short time to Scotland, but has since, by the liberal advances of her present delusive, been enabled to quit the interested apprehensions of the Dun family. The swaggering belle in the green pelisse yonder, on the pavé, is the celebrated courtezan, Mrs. St*pf**d, of Curzon-street, May-fair. How she acquired her present cognomen I know not, unless it was for her stopping accomplishment in the polite science of pugilism and modern patter, in both of which she is a finished proficient, as poor John D———, a dashing savoury chemist, can vouch for.
On a certain night, she followed this unfaithful swain, placing herself (unknown to him) behind his carriage, to the house of a rival sister of Cytherea, Mrs. St**h**e, and there enforced, by divers potent means, due submission to the laws of Constancy and Love; but as such compulsory measures were not in good taste with the protector's feelings, the contract was soon void, and the lady once more liberated to choose another and another swain, with a pension of two hundred pounds per annum, and a well-furnished house into the bargain. She was formerly, and when first she came out, the chère amie of Tom B——-, who had, in spite of his science recently, in a short affair at Long's hotel, not much the Best of it. (See plate).
From him she bolted, and enlisted with an officer of the nineteenth Lancers; but not liking the house of Montague, she obtained the Grant of a furlough, and has since indulged in a plurality of lovers, without much attention to size, age, persons, or professions. Of her talent in love affairs, we have given some specimens; and her courage in war can never be doubted after the formidable attack she recently made upon General Sir John D***e, returning through Hounslow from a review, from which rencontre she has obtained the appropriate appellation of the Brazen [15] Bellona. A pretty round face, dark hair, and fine bushy eyebrows, are no mean attractions; independent of which the lady is always upon good terms with herself. The belle whip driving the cabriolet, with a chestnut horse and four white legs, is the Edgeware Diana Mrs. S***h, at present engaged in a partnership affair, in the foreign line, with two citizens, Messrs O. R. and S.; the peepholes at the side of her machine imply more than mere curiosity, and are said to have been invented by General Ogle, for the use of the ladies when on active service. The beautiful little Water Lily in the chocolate-coloured chariot, with a languishing blue eye and alabaster skin, is Mrs. Ha****y, otherwise K**d***k, of Gr—n-street, a great favourite with all who know her, from the elegance of her manners and the attractions of her person (being perfect symmetry); at present she is under the special protection of a city stave merchant, and has the reputation of being very sincere in her attachments.
"You must have been a desperate fellow in your time, Crony," said I, "among the belles of this class, or you could never have become so familiar with their history." "It is the fashion," replied the veteran, "to understand these matters; among the bons vivants of the present day a fellow would be suspected of chastity, or regarded as uncivilized, who could not run through the history of the reigning beauties of the times, descanting upon their various charms with poetical fervor, or illuminating, as he proceeds, with some choice anecdotes of the Paphian divinities, their protectors and propensities; and to do the fair Citherians justice, they are not much behindhand with us in that respect, for the whole conversation of the sisterhood turns upon the figure, fortune, genius, or generosity of the admiring beaux. To a young and ardent mind, just emerging from scholastic discipline, with feelings uncontaminated by [16]fashionable levities, and a purse equal to all pleasurable purposes, a correct knowledge of the mysteries of the Citherian principles of astronomy may be of the most essential consequence, not less in protecting his morals and health than in the preservation of life and fortune. One half the duels, suicides, and fashionable bankruptcies spring from this polluted source. The stars of this order rise and fall in estimation, become fixed planets or meteors of the most enchanting brilliancy, in proportion not to the grace of modesty, or the fascination of personal beauty, but to the notoriety and number of their amours, and the peerless dignity of their plurality of lovers.
"Place the goddess of Love on the pedestal of Chastity, in the sacred recesses of the grove of Health, veiled by virgin Innocence, and robed in celestial Purity, and who among the cameleon race of fashionable roués would incur the charge of Vandalism, or turn aside to pay devotion at her shrine? but let the salacious deity of Impurity mount the car of Profligacy, and drive forth in all the glare of crimson and gold, and a thousand devotees are ready to sacrifice their honour upon her profligate altars, or chain themselves to her chariot wheels as willing slaves to worship and adore."
"Let us take another turn up the drive," said I, "for I am willing to confess myself much interested in this new system of astronomy, and perhaps we may discover a few more of the terrestrial planets, and observe the stars that move around their frail orbits." "I must first make you acquainted with the signs of the Paphian zodiac," said Crony; "for every one of these attractions have their peculiar and appropriate fashionable appellations. I have already introduced you to the Bang Bantum, Mrs Bertram; the London Leda, Moll Raffles; the Spanish Nun, St. Margurite; the Sparrow Hawk, Augusta C****e{1}; the Golden
1 See vol. i.
[17]Pippin, Mrs. C.; the White Crow, Clara W****; the Brazen Bellona, Mrs. St**f**d; the Edgeware Diana, Mrs. S**th; and the Water Lily Symmeterian, Ha**l*y—all planets of the first order, carriage curiosities. Let us now proceed to make further observations. The jolie dame yonder, in the phaeton, drawn by two fine bays, is called the White Doe, from her first deer protector; and although somewhat on the decline, she is yet an exhibit of no mean attraction, and a lady of fortune. Thanks to the liberality of an old hewer of stone, and the talismanic powers of the golden Ball, deserted by her last swain since his marriage, she now reclines upon the velvet cushion of Independence, enjoying in the Kilburn retreat, her otium cum dignitate, secure from the rude winds of adversity, and in the occasional society of a few old friends. The lovely Thais in the brown chariot, with a fine Roman countenance, dark hair, and sparkling eyes, is the favourite elect of a well-known whig member; here she passes by the name of the Comic Muse, the first letter of which will also answer for the leading initial of her theatrical cognomen. Her, private history is well-known to every son of old Etona who has taken a toodle over Windsor-bridge on a market-day within the last fifteen years, her parents being market gardeners in the neighbourhood; and her two unmarried sisters, both fine girls, are equally celebrated with the Bath orange-women for the neatness of their dress and comeliness of their persons. There is a sprightliness and good-humour about the Comic Muse that turns aside the shafts of ill-nature; and had she made her selection more in accordance with propriety, and her own age, she might have escaped our notice; but, alas!" said Crony, "she forgets that
'The rose's age is but a day;
Its bloom, the pledge of its decay,
Sweet in scent, in colour bright,
It blooms at morn and fades at night.
[18]At this moment a dashing little horsewoman trotted by in great style, followed by a servant in blue and gold livery; her bust was perfection itself, but studded with the oddest pair of ogles in the world, and Crony assured me (report said) her person was supported by the shortest pair of legs, for an adult, in Christendom. "That is the queen of the dandysettes," said my old friend, "Sophia, Selina, or, as she is more generally denominated, Galloping W****y, from a long Pole, who settled the interest of five thousand upon her for her natural life; she is since said to have married her groom, with, however, this prudent stipulation, that he is still to ride behind her in public, and answer all demands in propria persona. She is constantly to be seen at all masquerades, and may be easily known by her utter contempt for the incumbrance of decent costume." "How d'ye do? How d'ye do?" said a most elegant creature, stretching forth her delicate white kid-covered arm over the fenêtre of Lord Hxxxxxxx*h's vis à vis. "Ah! bon jour, ma chère amie," said old Crony, waving his hand and making one of his best bows in return. "You are a happy dog," said I, "old fellow, to be upon such pleasant terms with that divinity. No plebeian blood there, I should think: a peeress, I perceive, by the coronet on the panels." "A peine cognoist, ou la femme et le melon," responded Crony, "you shall hear. Among the ton she passes by the name of Vestina the Titan, from her being such a finished tactician in the campaigns of Venus;. her ordinary appellation is Mrs. St—h—pe: whether this be a nom de guerre or a nom de terre, I shall not pretend to decide; if we admit that la chose est toute, et que la nom n'y fait rien, the rest is of no consequence. It would be an intricate task to unravel the family web of our fashionable frail ones, although that of many frail fashionables stands high in heraldry. The lady in question, although in 'the sear o' the leaf,' is yet in high request; 'fat, fair, and forty' shall I say?
[19]Alas! that would have been more suitable ten years since; but, n'importe, she has the science to conceal the ravages of time, and is yet considered attractive. No one better understands the art of intrigue; and she is, moreover, a travelled dame, not deficient in intellect, full of anecdote; and as conjugation and declension go hand in hand with some men of taste, she has risen into notice when others usually decline. A sporting colonel is said to have formerly contributed largely to her comforts, and her tact in matters of business is notorious; about two hundred per annum she derived from the Stock Exchange, and her present peerless protector no doubt subscribes liberally. To be brief, Laura has money in the funds, a splendid house, carriage, gives her grand parties, and lives proportionably expensive and elegant; yet with all this she has taken care that the age of gold may succeed to the age of brass, that the retirement of her latter days may not be overclouded by the storms of adversity. She had two sisters, both gay, who formerly figured on the pavé, Sarah and Louisa; but of late they have disappeared, report says, to conjugate in private. Turn your eyes towards the promenade," said Crony, "and observe that constellation of beauties, three in number, who move along le verd gazon: they are denominated the Red Rose, the Moss Rose, and the Cabbage Rose. The first is Rose Co*l**d, a dashing belle, who has long figured in high life; her first appearance was in company with Lord William F***g***ld, by whom she has a child living; from thence we trace her to the protection of another peer, Lord Ty*****], and from him gradually declining to the rich relative of a northern baronet, sportive little Jack R*****n, whose favourite lauda finem she continued for some time; but as the law engrossed rather too much of her protector's affairs, so the fair engrossed rather too much of the law; whether she has yet given up [20]practice in the King's Bench I cannot determine, but her appearance here signifies that she will accept a fee from any side; Rose has long since lost every tint of the maiden's blush, and is now in the full blow of her beauty and maturity, but certainly not without considerable personal attractions; with some her nom de guerre is Rosa longa, and a wag of the day says, that Rose is a beauty in spite of her teeth. The Moss Rose has recently changed her cognomen with her residence, and is now Mrs. F**, of Beaumout-street; she was never esteemed a planet, and may be now said to have sunk into a star of the second order, a little twinkling light, useful to assist elderly gentlemen in finding their way to the Paphian temple. The Cabbage Rose is one of your vulgar beauties, ripe as a peach, and rich in countenance as the ruby: if she has never figured away with the peerage, she has yet the credit of being entitled to three balls on her coronet, and an old uncle to support them: she has lately taken a snug box in Park-place, Regent's-park, and lives in very good style. The belle in the brown chariot, gray horses, and blue liveries is now the lady of a baronet, and one of three graceless graces, the Elxxxxx's, who, because their father kept a livery stable, must needs all go to rack: she has a large family living by Mr. V*l*b***s, whom she left for the honour of her present connexion. That she is married to the baronet, there is no doubt; and it is but justice to add, she is one among the many instances of such compromises in fashionable life who are admitted into society upon sufferance, and falls into the class of demi-respectables. Among the park beaux she is known by the appellation of the Doldrums her two sisters have been missing some time, and it is said are now rusticating in Paris." My friend Eglantine had evidently fled away with the white crow, and the fashionables were rapidly decreasing in the drive, when Crony, whose scent of [21]dinner hour is as staunch as that of an old pointer at game, gave evident symptoms of his inclination to masticate. "We must take another opportunity to finish our lecture on the principles of Citherian astronomy," said the old beau, "for as yet we are not half through the list of constellations. I have a great desire to introduce you to Harriette Wilson and her sisters, whose true history will prove very entertaining, particularly as the fair writer has altogether omitted the genuine anecdotes of herself and family in her recently published memoirs." At dinner we were joined by Horace Eglantine and Bob Transit, from the first of whom we learned, that a grand fancy ball was to take place at the Argyll Rooms in the course of the ensuing week, under the immediate direction of four fashionable impures, and at the expense of General Trinket, a broad-shouldered Milesian, who having made a considerable sum by the commissariat service, had returned home to spend his Peninsular pennies among the Paphian dames of the metropolis. For this entertainment we resolved to obtain tickets, and as the ci-devant lady H***e was to be patroness, Crony assured us there would be no difficulty in that respect, added to which, he there promised to finish his sketches of the Citherian beauties of the metropolis, and afford my friend Transit an opportunity of sketching certain portraits both of Paphians and their paramours.
'Twas at Teddy O'Rafferty's wake,
Just to comfort ould Judy, his wife,
The lads of the hod had a frake.
And kept the thing up to the life.
There was Father O'Donahoo, Mr. Delany,
Pat Murphy the doctor, that rebel O'Shaney,
Young Terence, a nate little knight o' the hod,
And that great dust O'Sullivan just out o' quod;
Then Florence the piper, no music is riper,
To all the sweet cratures with emerald fatures
Who came to drink health to the dead.
Not Bryan Baroo had a louder shaloo
When he gave up his breath, to that tythe hunter death,
Than the howl over Teddy's cowld head:
'Twas enough to have rais'd up a saint.
All the darlings with whiskey so faint,
And the lads full of fight, had a glorious night,
When ould Teddy was wak'd in his shed.
—Original.
He who has not travelled in Ireland should never presume to offer an opinion upon its natives. It is not from the wealthy absentees, who since the union have abandoned their countrymen to wretchedness, for the advancement of their own ambitious views, that we can form a judgment of the exalted Irish: nor is it from the lowly race, who driven forth by starving penury, crowd our more prosperous shores, [23]that we can justly estimate the true character of the peasantry of that unhappy country. The Memoirs of Captain Rock may have done something towards removing the national prejudices of Englishmen; while the frequent and continued agitation of that important question, the Emancipation of the Catholics, has roused a spirit of inquiry in every worthy bosom that will much advantage the oppressed, and, eventually, diffuse a more general and generous feeling towards the Irish throughout civilized Europe. I have been led into this strain of contemplation, by observing the ridiculous folly and wasteful expenditure of the nobility and fashionables of Great Britain; who, neglecting their starving tenantry and kindred friends, crowd to the shores of France and Italy in search of scenery and variety, without having the slightest knowledge of the romantic beauties and delightful landscapes, which abound in the three kingdoms of the Rose, the Shamrock, and the Thistle. How much good might be done by the examples of a few illustrious, noble, and wealthy individuals, making annual visits to Ireland and Scotland! what a field does it afford for true enjoyment! how superior, in most instances, the accommodations and security; and how little, if at all inferior, to the scenic attractions of foreign countries. Then too the gratification of observing the progress of improvement in the lower classes, of administering to their wants, and consoling with them under their patient sufferings from oppressive laws, rendered perhaps painfully necessary by the political temperature of the times or the unforgiving suspicions of the past. But I am becoming sentimental when I ought to be humorous, contemplative when I should be characteristic, and seriously sententious when I ought to be playfully satirical. Forgive me, gentle reader, if from the collapse of the spirit, I have for a moment turned aside from the natural gaiety of my [24]style, to give utterance to the warm feelings of an eccentric but generous heart. But, allons to the wake.
"Plaze ye'r honor," said Barney O'Finn (my groom of the chambers), "may I be axing a holiday to-night?" "It will be very inconvenient, Barney; but———" "But, your honor's not the jontleman to refuse a small trate o' the sort," said Barney, anticipating the conclusion of my objection. There was some thing unusually anxious about the style of the poor fellow's request that made me hesitate in the refusal. "It's not myself that would be craving the favor, but a poor dead cousin o' mine, heaven rest his sowl!" "And how can the granting of such a request benefit your departed relation, Barney?" quoth I, not a little puzzled by the strangeness of the application. "Sure, that's mighty dare of comprehension, your honor. Teddy O'Rafferty was my own mother's brother's son, and devil o' like o' him there was in all Kilgobbin: we went to ould Father O'Rourke's school together when we were spalpeens, and ate our paraters and butter-milk out o' the same platter; many's the scrape we've been in together: bad luck to the ould schoolmaster, for he flogged all the larning out o' poor Teddy, and all the liking for't out of Barney O'Finn, that's myself, your honor—so one dark night we took advantage of the moon, and having joined partnership in property put it all into a Limerick silk handkerchief, with which we made the best of our way to Dublin, travelling stage arter stage by the ould-fashioned conveyance, Pat Adam's ten-toed machine. Many's the drap we got on the road to drive away care. All the wide world before us, and all the fine family estate behind,—pigs, poultry, and relations,—divil a tenpenny did we ever touch since. It's not your honor that will be angry to hear a few family misfortins," said Barney, hesitating to proceed with his narration, "Give me my hat, fellow," said [25]I, "and don't torture me with your nonsense."— "May be it an't nonsense your honor means?" "And why not, sirrah?"—"Bekase it's not in your nature to spake light o' the dead." Up to this point, my attention had been divided between the Morning Chronicle which lay upon my breakfast table, and Barney's comical relation; a glance at the narrator, however, as he finished the last sentence, convinced me that I ought to have treated him with more feeling. He was holding my hat towards me, when the pearly drop of affliction burst uncontrollably forth, and hung on the side of the beaver, like a sparkling crystal gem loosed from the cavern's roof, to rest upon the jasper stone beneath. I would have given up my Mastership of Arts to have recalled that word nonsense: I was so touched with the poor fellow's pathos.—" Shall I tell your onor the partikilars?" "Ay, do, Barney, proceed."—"Well, your onor, we worked our way to London togither—haymaking and harvesting: 'Taste fashions the man' was a saw of ould Father O'Rourke's; 'though divil a taste had he, but for draining the whiskey bottle and bating the boys, bad luck to his mimory! 'Is it yourself?' said I, to young squire O'Sullivan, from Scullanabogue, whom good fortune threw in my way the very first day I was in London.—'Troth, and it is, Barney,' said he: 'What brings you to the sate of government?' 'I'm seeking sarvice and fortune, your onor,' said I. 'Come your ways, then, my darling,' said he; and, without more to do, he made me his locum tenens, first clerk, messenger, and man of all work to a Maynooth Milesian. There was onor enough in all conscience for me, only it was not vary profitable. For, altho' my master followed the law, the law wouldn't follow him, and he'd rather more bags than briefs:—the consequence was, I had more banyan days than the man in the wilderness. Divil a'care, I got a character by my conduct, and a good place when I left him, as your [26]govonor can testify. As for poor Teddy, divil a partikle of taste had he for fashionable life, but a mighty pratty notion of the arts, so he turned operative arkitekt; engaged himself to a layer of bricks, and skipped nimbly up and down a five story ladder with a long-tailed box upon his shoulder—pace be to his ashes! He was rather too fond of the crature—many's the slip he had for his life—one minute breaking a jest, and the next breaking a joint; till there wasn't a sound limb to his body. Arrah, sure, it was all the same to Teddy—only last Monday, he was more elevated than usual, for he had just reached the top of the steeple of one of the new churches with a three gallon can of beer upon his knowledge-box, and, perhaps a little too much of the crature inside o! it. 'Shout, Teddy, to the honour of the saint,' said the foreman of the works (for they had just completed the job). Poor Teddy's religion got the better of his understanding, for in shouting long life to the dedicatory saint, he lost his own—missed his footing, and pitched over the scaffold like an odd chimney-pot in a high wind, and came down smash to the bottom with a head as flat as a bump. Divil a word has he ever spake since; for when they picked him up, he was dead as a Dublin bay herring—and now he lies in his cabin in Dyot-street, St. Giles, as stiff as a poker,—and to-night, your onor, we are going to wake him, poor sowl! to smoke a pipe, and spake an horashon over his corpse before we put him dacently to bed with the shovel. Then, there's his poor widow left childless, and divil a rap to buy paraters wid—bad luck to the eye that wouldn't drap a tear to his mimory, and cowld be the heart that refuses to comfort his widow!" Here poor Barney could no longer restrain his feelings, and having concluded the family history, blubbered outright. It was a strange mixture of the ludicrous and the sorrowful; but told with such an artless simplicity and genuine traits of feeling, that I would have defied the most [27]volatile to have felt uninterested with the speaker. "You shall go, by all means, Barney," said I: "and here is a trifle to comfort the poor widow with." "The blessings of the whole calendar full on your onor!" responded the grateful Irishman. What a scene, thought I, for the pencil of my friend Bob Transit!"Could a stranger visit the place," I inquired, without molestation or the charge of impertinence, Barney?" "Divil a charge, your onor; and as to impertinence, a wake's like a house-warming, where every guest is welcome." With this assurance, I apprised Barney of my intention to gratify curiosity, and to bring a friend with me; carefully noted down the direction, and left the grateful fellow to pursue his course.
The absurdities of funeral ceremonies have hitherto triumphed over the advances of civilization, and in many countries are still continued with almost as much affected solemnity and ridiculous parade as distinguished the early processions of the Pagans, Heathens, and Druids. The honours bestowed upon the dead may inculcate a good moral lesson upon the minds of the living, and teach them so to act in this life that their cold remains may deserve the after-exordium of their friends; but, in most instances, funeral pomp has more of worldly vanity in it than true respect, and it is no unusual circumstance in the meaner ranks of life, for the survivors to abridge their own comforts by a wasteful expenditure and useless parade, with which they think to honour the memory of the dead. The Egyptians carry this folly perhaps to the most absurd degree; their catacombs and splendid tombs far outrivalling the habitations of their princes, together with their expensive mode of embalming, are with us matters of curiosity, and often induce a sacrilegious transfer of some distinguished mummy to the museums of the connoisseur. The Athenians, Greeks, and Romans, had each their peculiar funeral ceremonies in the exhumation, [28]sacrifices, and orations performed on such occasions; and much of the present customs of the Romish church are, no doubt, derivable from and to be traced to these last-mentioned nations. In the present times, no race of people are more superstitious in their veneration for the ancient customs of their country and funeral rites, than the lower orders of the Irish, and that folly is often carried to a greater height during their domicile in this country than when residing at home.
It was about nine o'clock at night when Eglantine, Transit, and myself sallied forth to St. Giles's in search of the wake, or, as Bob called it, on a crusade to the holy land. Formerly, such a visit would have been attended with great danger to the parties making the attempt, from the number of desperate characters who inhabited the back-slums lying in the rear of Broad-street: where used to be congregated together, the most notorious thieves, beggars, and bunters of the metropolis, amalgamated with the poverty and wretchedness of every country, but more particularly the lower classes of Irish, who still continue to exist in great numbers in the neighbourhood. Here was formerly held in a night-cellar, the celebrated Beggars' Club, at which the dissolute Lord Barrymore and Colonel George Hanger, afterwards Lord Coleraine, are said to have often officiated as president and vice-president, attended by their profligate companions, and surrounded by the most extraordinary characters of the times; the portraits and biography of whom may be seen in Smith's 'Vagabondiana,' a very clever and highly entertaining work. It was on this spot that George Parker collected his materials for 'Life's Painter of Variegated Characters,' and among its varieties, that Grose and others obtained the flash and patter which form the cream of their humorous works. Formerly, the Beggars' ordinary, held in a cellar was a scene worthy [29]of the pencil of a Hogarth or a Cruikshank; notorious impostors, professional paupers, ballad-singers, and blind fiddlers might here be witnessed carousing on the profits of mistaken charity, and laughing in their cups at the credulity of mankind; but the police have now disturbed their nightly orgies, and the Mendicant Society ruined their lucrative calling. The long table, where the trenchers consisted of so many round holes turned out in the plank, and the knives, forks, spoons, candle-sticks, and fire-irons all chained to their separate places, is no longer to be seen. The night-cellar yet exists, where the wretched obtain a temporary lodging and straw bed at twopence per head; but the Augean stable has been cleansed of much of its former impurities, and scarce a vestige remains of the disgusting depravity of former times.
A little way up Dyot-street, on the right hand from Holborn, we perceived the gateway to which Barney had directed me, and passing under it into a court filled with tottering tenements of the most wretched appearance, we were soon attracted to the spot we sought, by the clamour of voices apparently singing and vociferating together. The faithful Barney was ready posted at the door to receive us, and had evidently prepared the company to show more than usual respect. An old building or shed adjoining the deceased's residence, which had been used for a carpenter's shop, was converted for the occasion from its general purpose to a melancholy hall of mourning. At one end of this place was the corpse of the deceased, visible to every person from its being placed on a bed in a sitting posture, beneath a tester of ragged check-furniture; large sheets of white linen were spread around the walls in lieu of tapestries, and covered with various devices wrought into fantastic images of flowers, angels, and seraphim. A large, fresh-gathered posy in the bosom of the deceased had a most striking effect, when contrasted [30]with the pallidness of death; over the lower parts of the corpse was spread a counterpane, covered with roses, marigolds, and sweet-smelling flowers; whilst on his breast reposed the cross, emblematical of the dead man's faith; and on a table opposite, at the extreme end, stood an image of our Redeemer, before which burned four tall lights in massive candlesticks, lent by the priest upon such occasions to give additional solemnity to the scene. There is something very awful in the contemplation of death, from which not even the strongest mind can altogether divest itself. But at a wake the solemn gloom which generally pervades the chamber of a lifeless corpse is partially removed by the appearance of the friends of the deceased arranged around, drinking, singing, and smoking tobacco in profusion. Still there was something unusually impressive in observing the poor widow of O'Rafferty, seated at the feet of her deceased lord with an infant in her arms, and all the appearance of a heart heavily charged with despondency and grief. An old Irishwoman, seated at the side of the bed, was making the most violent gesticulations, and audibly calling upon the spirit of the departed "to see how they onor'd his mimory," raising the cross before her, while two or three others came up to the head, uttered a short prayer, and then sat down to drink his sowl out of purgation. (See Plate.)
But the most extraordinary part of the ceremony was the howl, or oration spoken over the dead man by a rough-looking, broad-shouldered Emeralder, who descanted upon his virtues as if he had been an hero of the first magnitude, and invoked every saint in the calendar to free the departed from perdition. For some time decorum was pretty well preserved; but on my friends Bob Transit and Horace Eglantine sending Barney out for a whole gallon of whiskey, and a proportionate quantity of pipes and tobacco, the dull scene of silent meditation [31]gave way to sports and spree, more accordant with their feelings; and the kindred of the deceased were too familiar with such amusements to consider them in any degree disrespectful. There is a volatile something in the Irish character that strongly partakes of the frivolity of our Gallic neighbours; and it is from this feature that we often find them gay amidst the most appalling wants, and humorous even in the sight of cold mortality. A song was soon proposed, and many a ludicrous stave sung, as the inspiring cup made the circle of the company. "Luke Caffary's Kilmainham Minit," an old flash chant, and "The Night before Larry was stretched," were among the most favourite ditties of the night. A verse from the last may serve to show their peculiar character.
"The night before Larry was stretch'd,
The boys they all paid him a visit;
And bit in their sacks too they fetch'd,
They sweated their duds till they riz it.
For Larry was always the lad,
When a friend was condemn'd to the squeezer.
But he'd fence all the foss that he had
To help a poor friend to a sneezer,
And moisten his sowl before he died."
Ere eleven o'clock had arrived, the copious potations of whiskey and strong beer, joined to the fumes of the tobacco, had caused a powerful alteration in the demeanor of the assembled group, who now became most indecorously vociferous. "By the powers of Poll Kelly!" said the raw-boned fellow who had howled the lament over the corpse, "I'd be arter making love to the widow mysel', only it mightn't be altogether dacent before Teddy's put out o' the way." "You make love to the widow!" responded the smart-looking Florence M'Carthy; "to the divil I pitch you, you bouncing bogtrotter! it's myself alone that will have that onor, bekase Teddy O'Rafferty wished me to take his wife as a legacy. 'It's all I've got, Mr. Florence,' [32]said he to me one day, 'to lave behind for the redemption of the small trifle I owe you.'" "It aint the like o' either of you that will be arter bamboozling my cousin, Mrs. Judy O'Rafferty, into a blind bargain," said Barney O'Finn; in whose noddle the whiskey began to fumigate with the most valorous effect. "You're a noble-spirited fellow, Barney," said Horace Eglantine, who was using his best exertions to produce a row. "At them again, Barney, and tell them their conduct is most indecent." Thus stimulated and prompted, Barney was not tardy in re-echoing the charge; which, as might have been expected, produced an instantaneous explosion and general battle. In two minutes the company were thrown into the most appalling scene of confusion—chairs and tables upset, bludgeons, pewter pots, pipes, glasses, and other missiles flying about in all directions, until broken heads and shins were as plentiful as black eyes, and there was no lack of either—women screaming and children crying, making distress more horrible. In this state of affairs, Bob Transit had climbed up and perched himself upon a beam to make observations; while the original fomenter of the strife, that mad wag Eglantine, had with myself made our escape through an aperture into the next house, and having secured our persons from violence were enabled to become calm observers of the affray, by peeping through the breach by which we had entered. In the violence of the struggle, poor Teddy O'Rafferty was doomed to experience another upset before his remains were consigned to the tomb; for just at the moment that a posse of watchmen and night-constables arrived to put an end to the broil, such was the panic of the assailants that in rushing towards the bed to conceal themselves from the charlies, they tumbled poor Teddy head over heels to the floor of his shed, leaving his head's antipodes sticking up where his head should have been; a [33]circumstance that more than any thing else contributed to appease the inflamed passions of the group, who, shocked at the sacrilegious insult they had committed, immediately sounded a parley, and united to reinstate poor Teddy O'Rafferty in his former situation. This was the signal for Horace and myself to proceed round to the front door, and pretending we were strangers excited by curiosity, succeeded, by a little well-timed flattery and a small trifle to drink our good healths, in freeing the assailants from all the horrors of a watch-house, and eventually of restoring peace and unanimity. It was now past midnight; leaving therefore poor Barney O'Finn to attend mass, and pay the last sad tribute to his departed relative, on the morning of the morrow we once more bent our steps towards home, laughing as we went at the strange recollections of the wake, the row, and last appearance of Teddy O'Rafferty.{1}
1 As the reader might not think this story complete without
gome account of the concluding ceremonies, I have
ascertained from Barney that his cousin Teddy was quietly
borne on the shoulders of his friends to the church of St.
Paneras, where he was safely deposited with his mother-
earth, a bit of a bull, by the by; and after the mourners
had made three circles round his ashes, and finished the
ceremony by a most delightful howl and prayers said over the
crossed spades, they all retired peaceably home, moderately
laden with the juice of the crature.
Sketches of Characters
Scene.—Argyll Rooms.
"Hymen ushers the lady Astrea,
The jest took hold of Latona the cold,
Ceres the brown, with bright Cytherea,
Thetis the wanton, Bellona the bold;
Shame-faced Aurora
With witty Pandora,
And Maia with Flora did company bear;"
(And many 'tis stated
Went there to be mated,
Who all their lives have been hunting the fair. )
Blackmantle, Transit, Eglantine, and Crony's Visit to the
Venetian Carnival—Exhibits—Their Char-acters drawn from
the Life—General Trinket, the M.C.—Crony's singidar
Anecdote of the great Earl of Chesterfield, and Origin of
the Debouchettes—The Omissions in the Wilson Memoirs
supplied—Biographical Reminiscences of the Amiable Mrs.
Debouchette—Harriette and lier Sisters—Amy—Mary—Fanny—
Julia—Sophia—Charlotte and Louisa—Paphians and their
Paramours—Peers and Plebeians—The Bang Bantam—London Leda
—Spanish Nun—Sparrow Hawk—Golden Pippin—White Crow—
Brazen Bellona—Edgeware Diana
Water Lily—White Doe—Comic Muse—Queen of the
Dansysettes—Vestina the Titan—The Red Rose—Moss Rose and
Cabbage Rose—The Doldrum Stars of Erin—Wren of Paradise—
Queen of the Amazons—Old Pomona—Venus Mendicant—Venus
Callypiga—Goddess of the Golden Locks—Mocking Bird—Net
Perdita—Napoleon Venus—Red Swan—Black Swan—Blue-eyed
Luna—Tartar Sultana The Bit of Rue—Brompton Ceres—
Celestina Conway—Lucy Bertram—Water Wagtail—Tops and
Bottoms—The Pretenders—The Old Story—Lady of the Priory—
Little White Morose—Queen of Trumps—Giovanni the Syren,
with Ileal Names "unexed—Original Portraits and Anecdotes
of the Dukes of M———and D———, Marquisses II——— and
II ——, Earls W———, F———, and C———, Lords
P———, A———, M———, and N———, llonourables
B———c, L———s, and F———s—General Trinket—Colonel
Caxon—Messrs. II—b—h, R———, D———, and B———,
and other Innumerables.
It was during the fashionable season of the year 1818, when Augusta Corri, ci-devant Lady Hawke,{1} shone forth under her newly-acquired title a planet of the first order, that a few amorous noblemen and wealthy dissolutes, ever on the qui vive for novelty, projected and sanctioned the celebrated Venetian carnival given at the Argyll-rooms under the patronage of her ladyship and four other equally celebrated courtezans. Of course, the female invitations were confined exclusively to the sisterhood, but restricted to the planets and stars of Cytherea, the carriage curiosities, and fair impures of the most dashing order and notoriety; and never were the revels of Terpsichore kept up with more spirit, or graced with a more choice collection of beautiful, ripe, and wanton fair ones.
1 In page 315 of our first volume we have given a brief
biographical sketch of her ladyship and her amours.
[36]Nor was there any lack of distinguished personages of the other sex; almost all the leading roués of the day being present, from Lord p******** Tom B***, including many of the highest note in the peerage, court calendar, and army list. The elegance and superior arrangement of this Cytherean fête was in the most exquisite taste; and such was the number of applications for admissions, and the reported splendour of the preparations, that great influence in a certain court was necessary to insure a safe passport into the territories of the Paphian goddess. The enormous expense of this act of folly has been estimated at upwards of two thousand pounds; and many are the dupes who have been named as bearing proportions of the same, from a royal duke to a Hebrew star of some magnitude in the city; but truth will out, and the ingenuity of her ladyship in raising the wind has never been disputed, if it has ever been equalled, by any of her fair associates. The honour of the arrangement and a good portion of the expense were, undoubtedly, borne by a broad-shouldered Milesian commissary-general, who has since figured among the ton under the quaint cognomen of General Trinket, from his penchant for filling his pockets with a variety of cheap baubles, for the purpose of making presents to his numerous Dulcineas; a trifling extravagance, which joined to his attachment to rouge et noir has since consigned him to durance vile. The general is, however, certainly a fellow of some address, and, as a master of the ceremonies, deserves due credit for the superior genius he on that occasion displayed.
During dinner, Crony had been telling us a curious anecdote of the great Earl of Chesterfield and Miss Debouchette, the grandmother of the celebrated courtezans, Harriette Wilson and sisters. "At one of the places of public entertainment at the Hague, a very beautiful girl of the name of Debouchette, who [37]acted as limonadière, had attracted the notice of a party of English noblemen, who were all equally anxious to obtain so fair a prize. Intreaties, promises of large settlements, and every species of lure that the intriguers could invent, had been attempted and played off without the slightest success; the fair limonadière was proof against all their arts. In this state of affairs arrived the then elegant and accomplished Earl of Chesterfield, certainly one of the most attractive and finished men of his time, but, without doubt, equally dissipated, and notorious for the number of his amours. Whenever a charming girl in the humbler walks of life becomes the star of noble attraction and the reigning toast among the roués of the day, her destruction may be considered almost inevitable. The amorous beaux naturally inflame the ardour of each other's desires by their admiration of the general object of excitement; until the honour of possessing such a treasure becomes a matter of heroism, a prize for which the young and gay will perform the most unaccountable prodigies, and, like the chivalrous knights of old, sacrifice health, fortune, and eventually life, to bear away in triumph the fair conqueror of hearts. Such was the situation of Miss Debouchette, when the Earl of Chesterfield, whose passions had been unusually inflamed by the current reports of the lady's beauty, found himself upon inspection that her attractions were irresistible, but that it would require no unusual skill to break down and conquer the prudence and good sense with which superior education had guarded the mind of the fair limonadière. To a man of gallantry, obstacles of the most imposing import are mere chimeras, and readily fall before the ardour of his impetuosity; 'faint heart never won fair lady,' is an ancient but trite proverb, that always encourages the devotee. The earl had made a large bet that he would carry off the lady. In [38]England, among the retiring and the most modest of creation's lovely daughters, his success in intrigues had become proverbial; yet, for a long time, was he completely foiled by the fair Debouchette. No specious pretences, nor the flattering attentions of the most polished man in Europe, could induce the lady to depart from the paths of prudence and of virtue; every artifice to lure her into the snare of the seducer had been tried and found ineffectual, and his lordship was about to retire discomfited and disgraced from the scene of his amorous follies, with a loss of some thousands, the result of his rashness and impetuosity, when an artifice suggested itself to the fertile brain of his foreign valet, who was an experienced tactician in the wars of Venus. This was to ascertain, if possible, in what part of the mansion the lady slept; to be provided with a carriage and four horses, and in the dead of the night, with the assistance of two ruffians, to raise a large sheet before her window dipt in spirits, which being lighted would burn furiously, and then raising the cry of fire, the fair occupant would, of course, endeavour to escape; when the lover would have nothing more to do than watch his opportunity, seize her person, and conveying it to the carriage in waiting, drive off secure in his victory. The scheme was put in practice, and succeeded to the full extent of the projector's wishes; but the affair, which made considerable noise at the time, and was the subject of some official remonstrances, had nearly ended in a more serious manner. The brother of the lady was an officer in the army, and both the descendants of a poor but ancient family; the indignity offered to his name, and the seduction of his sister, called forth the retributive feelings of a just revenge; he sought out the offender, challenged him, but gave him the option of redeeming his sister's honour and his own by marriage. Alas! that was impossible; the earl was already engaged. A meeting took place, [39]when, reflection and good sense having recovered their influence over the mind of the dissipated lover, he offered every atonement in his power, professed a most unlimited regard for the lady, suggested that his destruction would leave her, in her then peculiar state, exposed to indigence, proposed to protect her, and settle an annuity of two hundred pounds per annum upon her for her life; and thus circumstanced the brother acceded, and the affair was, by this interposition of the seconds, amicably arranged. There are those yet living who remember the fair limonadière first coming to this country, and they bear testimony to her superior attractions. The lady lived for some years in a state of close retirement, under the protection of the noble earl, in the neighbourhood of Chelsea, and the issue of that connexion was a natural son, Mr. Debouchette, whom report states to be the father of Harriette Wilson and her sisters.
'Ere man's corruptions made him wretched, he
Was born most noble, who was born most free.'
—Otway.
So thought young Debouchette; for a more wild and giddy fellow.in early life has seldom figured among the medium order of society. Whether the mother of the Cyprians was really honoured with the ceremony of the ritual, I have no means of knowing," said Crony; "but I well remember the lady, before these her beauteous daughters had trodden the slippery paths of pleasure: there was a something about her that is undefinable in language, but conveys to the mind impressions of no very pure principles of morality; a roving eye, salacious person, and swaggering carriage, with a most inviting condescension, always particularized the elder silk-stocking grafter of Chelsea, while yet the fair offspring of her house were lisping infants, innocent and beautiful as playful lambs. Debouchette himself was a right jolly fellow, careless of domestic [40]happiness, and very fond of his bottle; and indeed that was excusable, as during a long period of his life he was concerned in the wine trade. To the conduct and instructions of the mother the daughters are indebted for their present share of notoriety, with all the attendant infamy that attaches itself to Harriette and her sisters:—and this perhaps is the reason why Mrs. Rochford, alias Harriette Wilson, so liberally eulogises, in her Memoirs, a parent whose purity of principle is so much in accordance with the exquisite delicacy of her accomplished daughter. As the girls grew up, they were employed, Amy and Harriette, at their mother's occupation, the grafting of silk stockings, while the junior branches of the family were operative clear starchers, as the old board over the parlour window used to signify, which Brummel would facetiously translate into getters up of fine linen, when Petersham did him the honour of driving him past the door, that he might give his opinion upon the rising merits of the family, who, like fragrant exotics, were always placed at the window by their judicious parent, to excite the attention of the curious. But, allons" said Crony, "we shall be late at the carnival, and I would not miss the treat of such an assemblage for the honour of knighthood."
A very few minutes brought Transit, Eglantine, Crony, and myself, within the vortex of this most seductive scene. Waltzing was the order of the night—
"Endearing waltz! to thy more melting tune
Bow Irish jig and ancient rigadoon;
Scotch reels avaunt! and country dance forego
Your future claims to each fantastic toe.
Waltz—Waltz alone both legs and arms demands,
Liberal of feet and lavish of her hands.
Hands, which may freely range in public sight,
Where ne'er before—but—pray 'put out the light.'"
A coruscation of bright eyes and beauteous forms shed a halo of delight around, that must have warmed the cyprian's ball [41]the heart and animated the pulse of the coldest stoic in Christendom. The specious M. C, General O'M***a, introduced us in his best style, quickly bowing each of us into the graces of some fascinating fair, than whom
"Not Cleopatra on her galley's deck
Display'd so much of leg or more of neck."
For myself, I had the special honour of being engaged to the Honourable Mrs. J— C******y, otherwise Padden, who, whatever may have been her origin,{2} has certainly acquired the ease and elegance of
2 Mrs. Padden is said to have been originally a servant-maid
at Plymouth, and the victim of early seduction. When very
young,
coming to London with her infant in search of a Captain D——- in the D————e Militia, her first but inconstant swain, chance threw her in her abandoned condition into the way of Colonel C——-, who was much interested by her tale of sorrow, and more perhaps by her then lovely person, to obtain possession of which, he took a house for her, furnished it, and (as the phrase is) set her up. How long the duke's aide-de-camp continued the favourite lover is not of any consequence; but both parties are known to have been capricious in affaires de cour. Her next acknowledged protector was the light-hearted George D——-d, then a great gun in the fashionable world: to him succeeded an amorous thane, the Irish Earl of F——-e; and when his lordship, satiated by possession, withdrew his eccentric countenance, Lord Mo—f—d succeeded to the vacant couch. The Venetian masquerade is said to have produced a long carnival to this belle brunette, who seldom kept Lent; and who hero met, for the first time, a now noble Marquess, then Lord Y————, to whose liberality she was for some time indebted for a very splendid establishment; but the precarious existence of such connexions is proverbial, and Mrs. Padden has certainly had her share of fatal experience. Her next paramour was a diamond of the first water, but no star, a certain dashing jeweller, Mr. C——-, whose charmer she continued only until kind fortune threw in her way her present constant Jack. With the hoy-day of the blood, the fickleness of the heart ceases; and Mrs. Padden is now in the "sear o' the leaf," and somewhat passée with the town. It does therefore display good judgment in the lady to endeavour, by every attention and correct conduct, to preserve an attachment that has now existed for some considerable time. [42]Indeed it is hardly possible to find a more conversational or attractive woman, or one less free from the vulgarity which usually accompanies ladies of her caste. With this fair I danced a waltz, and then danced off to my friend Crony, who had been excused a display of agility on the score of age, and from whom I anticipated some interesting anecdotes of the surrounding stars. (See Plate.)
The Montagues, five sisters, all fine women, and celebrated as the stars of Erin, shone forth on this occasion with no diminished ray of their accustomed brilliancy; Mrs. Drummond, otherwise H—n Dr—y Ba—y, Me—t—o, or Bulkly, the last being the only legal cognomen of the fair, led the way, followed by Maria Cross, otherwise Latouche, Matilda Chatterton, Isabella Cummins, and Amelia Hamilton, all ladies of high character in the court of Cytherea, whose amours, were I to attempt them, would exceed in volumes, if not in interest, the chronicles of their native isle. Among the most interesting of the fairy group was the beautiful Louisa Rowley, since married to Lord L**c**les, and that charming little rosebud, the captivating Josephine, who, although a mere child, was introduced under the special protection of the celebrated Mr. B***, who has since been completely duped by the little intriguante, as also was hep second lover Lord p********? who succeeded in the lady's favour afterwards; but from whom she fled to Lord H****t, since whose death, an event which occurred in Paris, I hear she has reformed, and is now following the example of an elder sister, by preparing herself for the stage. "Who is that dashing looking brunette in the turban, that is just entering the room?" inquired Transit, who appeared to be mightily taken with the fair incognita. "That lady, with the mahogany skin and piquant appearance, is the favourite mistress of the poor Duke of Ma**b****h," responded Crony, "and is no other than [43]the celebrated Poll——-Pshaw! everybody has heard of the Queen of the Amazons, a title given to the lady, in honour, as I suppose, of his grace's fighting ancestor. Poll is said to be a great voluptuary; but at any rate she cannot be very extravagant, that is, if she draws all her resources from her protector's present purse. Do you observe that jolie dame yonder sitting under the orchestra? that is the well-known Nelly Mansell, of Crawford-street, called the old Pomona, from the richness of her first fruits. Nelly has managed her affairs with no trifling share of prudence, and although in the decline of life, she is by no means in declining circumstances. H**re the banker married her niece, and the aunt's cash-account is said to be a very comfortable expectancy.
The elegante waltzing so luxuriantly with H——— B——— H——— is the lovely Emma Richardson, sometime since called Standish or Davison, a Cytherean of the very first order, and the sister planet to the equally charming Ellen Hanbury, otherwise Bl——-g——-ve, constellations of the utmost brilliancy, very uncertain in their appearance, and equally so, if report speaks truth, in their attachment to either Jupiter, Mars, Vulcan, or Apollo. The first is denominated Venus Mendicant, from her always pleading poverty to her suitors, and thus artfully increasing their generosity towards her. Sister Ellen has obtained the appellation of Venus Callipyga, from her elegant form and generally half-draped appearance in public. Do you perceive the swarthy amazon waddling along yonder, whom the old Earl of W——-d appears to be eyeing with no little anticipation of delight? that is a lady with a very ancient and most fish-like flavor, odoriferous in person as the oily female Esquimaux, or the more fragrant feminine inhabitants of Russian Tartary and the Crimea; she has with some of her admirers obtained the name of Dolly Drinkwater, from her known dislike to any [44]thing stronger than pure French Brandy. Her present travelling cognomen is Mrs. Sp**c*r, otherwise Black Moll; and a wag of the day, who is rather notorious for the variety of his taste, has recently insisted upon re-christening her by the attractive nom de guerre of Nux Vomica. The little goddess of the golden locks, dancing with a well-known roué, is Fanny My*rs, a very efficient partner in the dance, and if report be true not less engaging in the sacred mysteries of Cytherea." It would fill the ample page to relate the varied anecdote with which Crony illustrated, as he proceeded to describe the Scyllo and Charybdes of the unwary and the gay; who in their voyage through life are lured by the syrens of sweet voice, and the Pyrrhas of sweet lip, the Cleopatras of modern times, the conquerors of hearts, and the voluptuous rioters in pleasurable excesses, of those of whom Byron has sung,—
"Round all the confines of the yielding waist,
The strangest hand may wander undisplaced.
* * *
Till some might marvel with the modest Turk,
If 'nothing follows all this palming work.'"
To draw all the portraits who figured in the fascinating scene of gay delight would be a task of almost equal magnitude with the Herculean labours, and one which in attempting, I fear some of my readers may censure me for already dwelling too long upon: but let them remember, I am a professed painter of real life, not the inventor or promoter of these delectable nocte Attici and depraved orgies; that in faithfully narrating scenes and describing character, the object of the author and artist is to show up vice in all its native deformity; that being known, it may be avoided, and being exposed, despised. But I must crave permission to extend my notice of the Cythereans to a few more characters, ere yet the mirth-inspiring notes of the band have ceased to vibrate, or the graceful [45]fair ones to trip it lightly on fantastic toe; this done, I shall perhaps take a peep into the supper-room, drink Champagne, and pick the wing of a chicken while I whisper a few soft syllables into the ear of the nearest elegante; and then—gentle reader, start not—then——-
"The breast thus publicly resign'd to man
In private may resist him—if it can."
But here the curtain shall drop upon all the fairy sirens who lead the young heart captive in their silken chains; and the daughters of pleasure and the sons of profligacy may practise the mysteries of Cytherea in private, undisturbed by the pen of the satirist or the pencil of the humorist.
"The scandalizing group in close conference in the left-hand corner, behind Lord William Lenox and another dashing ensign in the guards, is composed," said Crony, "of Mrs. Nixon, the ci-devant Mrs. Baring, Nugent's old.flame, Mrs. Christopher Harrison, the two sisters, Mesdames Gardner and Peters, and the well-known Kitty Stock, all minor constellations, mostly on the decline, and hence full of envious jealousy at the attention paid by the beaux to the more attractive charms of the newly discovered planets, the younger sisterhood of the convent." "If we could but get near enough to overhear their conversation," said Transit, "we should, no doubt, obtain possession of a few rich anecdotes of the Paphians and their paramours." "I have already enough of the latter," said I, "to fill a dozen albums, without descending to the meanness of becoming a listener. Amorous follies are the least censurable of the sins of men, when they are confined to professed courtezans. The heartless conduct of the systematic seducer demands indignation; but the trifling peccadillos of the sons of fortune and the stars of fashion may be passed by, without any serious personal exposure, since time, [46]cash, and constitution are the three practising physicians who generally effect a radical cure, without the aid of the satirist. But come, Crony, you must give us the nom de guerre of the last-mentioned belles: you have hitherto distinguished all the Cythereans by some eccentric appellation; let us therefore have the list complete." "By all means, gentlemen," replied the old beau: "if I must stand godfather to the whole fraternity of Cyprians, I think I ought, at least, to have free access to every convent in Christendom; but I must refer to my tablets, for I keep a regular entry of all the new appearances, or I should never remember half their designations. Mrs. N———has the harmonious appellation of the mocking bird, from her silly habit of repeating every word you address to her. Mrs. B———is called the New Perdita, from a royal conquest she once made, but which we have only her own authority for believing; at any rate, she is known to be fond of a New-gent, and the title may on that account be fairly her own. Mrs. C——-H——— has the honour of being distinguished by the appropriate name of the Napoleon Venus, from the similarity of her contour with the countenance of that great man.
The two sisters, Mesdames G———and P———, are well known by the flattering distinctions of the red and the black Swan, from the colour of their hair and the stateliness of their carriage; and Kitty Stock has the poetical cognomen of blue-eyed Lima. Now, you have nearly the whole vocabulary of love's votaries," said old Crony; "and be sure, young gentlemen, you profit by the precepts of experience; for not one of these frail fair ones but in her time has made as many conquests as Wellington, and caused perhaps as much devastation among the sons of men as any hero in the world. But a new light breaks in upon us," said Crony, "in the person of Mrs. Simmons, the Tartar sultana, whom you may observe conversing with Lords H———d and P——-m in the centre of the room. Poor N—g—nt the cyprian's ball [47]will long remember her prowess in battle, when the strength of her passion had nearly brought matters to a point, and that not a very tender one; but the swain cut the affair in good time, or might have been cruelly cut himself. Messrs. H—h and R—s—w could also give some affecting descriptions of the Tartar sultana's rage when armed with jealousy or resentment. Her residence, No. 30, B—k—r-street, has long been celebrated as the three x x x; a name probably given to it by some spark who found the sultana three times more cross than even common report had stated her to be." The night was now fast wearing away, when Crony again directed our attention to the right-hand corner of the room, where, just under the orchestra, appeared the elder sister of the notorious Harriette Wilson seated, and in close conversation with the Milesian M. C, O'M————a, who, according to his usual custom, was dispensing his entertaining anecdotes of all his acquaintance who graced the present scene. "That is Amy Campbell, otherwise Sydenham, &e., &c, but now legally Bochsa, of whom Harriette has since told so many agreeable stories relative to the black puddings and Argyle; however, considerable suspicion attaches itself to Harriette's anecdotes of her elder sister, particularly as she herself admits they were not very good friends, and Harriette never would forgive Amy for seducing the Duke of Argyle from his allegiance to her. Mrs. Campbell was for some years the favourite sultana of his grace, and has a son by him, a fine boy, now about twelve years of age, who goes by the family name, and for whose support the kind-hearted duke allows the mother a very handsome annuity. Amy is certainly a woman of considerable talent; a good musician, as might have been expected from her attachment to the harpist, and an excellent linguist, speaking the French, Spanish, and Italian languages with the greatest fluency. In her person she begins to exhibit the ravages of time, is somewhat embonpoint, with [48]dark hair and fine eyes, but rather of the keen order of countenance than the agreeable; and report says, that the Signior composer, amid his plurality of wives, never found a more difficult task to preserve the equilibrium of domestic harmony.
By the side of this fair one, arm in arm with a well-known bookseller, you may perceive Harriette Kochforte, alias Wilson, who, according to her own account, has had as many amours as the Grand Seignor can boast wives, and with just as little of affection in the affaires de cour as his sublime highness, only with something more of publicity. Harriette gives the honour of her introduction into the mysteries of Cytherea to the Earl of Craven; but it is well known that a certain dashing solicitor's clerk then living in the neighbourhood of Chelsea, and near her amiable mamma's residence, first engrossed, her attention, and by whom she exhibited increasing symptoms of affection, which being properly engrafted on the person of the fair stockinger, in due time required a release from a practitioner of another profession; an innocent affair that now lies buried deep in an odd corner at the old churchyard at Chelsea, without a monumental stone or epitaph to point out the early virtues of the fair Cytherean. To this limb of the law succeeded the Honourable Be—1—y C———n, who was then too volatile and capricious to pay his devotions at any particular shrine for more than a week together. It was this cold neglect of the honourable's that has, perhaps, secured him from mention in her Memoirs; since Harriette never speaks of her beaux without giving the reader to suppose they were desperately in love with herself: then there was more of the dignified in an affair with an earl, and Madame Harriette has a great notion of preserving her consequence, although, it must be confessed, she has latterly shown the most perfect indifference to the preservation of character. The the cyprian's ball [49]circumstance which first gave Miss Wilson her great notoriety was the affair with the young Marquis of Worcester, then just come out, and a willing captive to her artful wiles. So successfully did she inveigle her noble swain, and so completely environ his heart, that in the fulness of his boyish adoration of the fair Cytherean, he executed in her favour a certain promise in writing, not a promise to pay, for that might have been of no consequence, nor a promise of settlement, nor a promise to protect, nothing so unsettled,—nothing less did the fair intriguante obtain than a full, clear, and definite promise of marriage, with a sufficient penalty thereunto attached to make the matter alarming and complete, with every appearance on his part to ratify the contract. In this state of things, information reached his Grace of B—f—t of his noble heir's intention, who not much relishing the intended honour, or perhaps doubting the permanency of his son's passion (for to question the purity of the lady was impossible), entered into a negotiation with Harriette, by which, on condition of her resigning the promise and pledging herself never to see the Marquis more on familiar terms, this disinterested woman was to receive eight hundred pounds per annum—so anxious was his grace to prevent a mes-alliance in his family. But, alas for Harriette! jealousy for once got the better of her love of gain; her pride was wounded to see a sister flirting with her affianced lord, and in a moment of irritation, she in a most unequivocal manner publicly asserted her right to his person: the gallant yielded, the bond was __null and void, the promise burnt, his grace relieved from the payment of eight hundred pounds per annum, and his son the Marquis, profiting by past experience, not so green as to renew the former obligation.
"My intention is not to pirate the lady's memoirs, and so rob her of the fair gain of her professional [50]experience," said Crony, when I mentioned these circumstances to him afterwards; "I only mean to supply certain trifling omissions in the biography of Harriette and her family, which the fair narrator has very modestly suppressed. It is but a few months since, that passing accidentally into Warwick-court, Holborn, to call upon an old friend, a navy lieutenant on half-pay, I thought I recognised the well-known superlative wig of the dandy Rochforte, thrust longitudinally forward from beneath the sash of a two pair of stairs window.—Can it be possible? thought I: and then again, I asked myself, why not? for the last time I saw him he was rusticating in Surrey, beating the balls about in Banco Regis; from which black place he did not escape without a little white-washing: however, he's a full Colonel of some unknown corps of South American Independents for all that, and was once in his life, although for a very short time, a full Cornet, in Lincoln Stanhope's regiment, the 17th dragoons, I think it was, and has never clipped his mustachios since, one would imagine, by their length and ferocious appearance. To be brief, I had scarcely placed my glass into the orifice before my imperfect vision, when Harriette appeared at the adjoining window, and instantly recognizing an old acquaintance, invited me up stairs. 'Times are a little changed,' said she, 'Mr. Crony, since last we met:' 'True, madam,' I responded; and then to cheer the belle a little, I added, 'but not persons, I perceive, for you are looking as young and as attractive as ever.' The compliment did not seem to please the Colonel in the wig, who turned round, looked frowningly, and then twirled the dexter side of his lip wing into a perfect circle. It is not possible that this thing can affect jealousy of such a woman as Harriette? thought I: so proceeded with our conversation: and he shortly resumed his polite amusement of spitting upon the children who were [51]playing marbles beneath his window. 'I am really married to that monster, yonder,' said she, in an under tone: 'How do you like my choice?' 'I am not old enough in the gentleman's acquaintance to hazard an opinion on his merits,' quoth I; 'but you are a woman of experience, belle Harriette, and should be a good judge of male bipeds, although I cannot say much in favour of your military taste.' 'And you was always a quiz, Crony,' retorted belle Harriette: 'remember my sister Mary, who is now Mrs. Bochsa,{3} how you used to annoy her about her gaudy style of dressing, when we used to foot it at Chelsea:—but I 3 There were in all eight sisters of the Debouchettes, and three brothers; but only one of the latter is living. Of the girls, Amy is now Mrs. Bochsa; Mary, married to a nephew of Sir Richard Bo****hs, a great Irish contractor; Harriette, actually married to Cornet Rochforte; Fanny expired in the holy keeping of the present Marquis of H——-; Sophia has been raised to the peerage, by the style and title of Lady B——-k, and by her subsequent conduct well deserves her elevation; Julia, an affectionate girl, clung to the house of Coventry through poor Tom's days of adversity, and died early, leaving some unprotected orphans; Charlotte and Louisa, younger sisters, the first now about eighteen and very beautiful, although a little lame, have been educated and brought up by their elder sister, the Baroness, and are by her intended for the church—vestals for Hymen's altar: at any rate, I hope they will escape the sacrifices of Cytherea. Harriette is now about forty years of age: she was, when at her zenith, always celebrated rather for her tact in love affairs, and her talent at invention, than the soft engaging qualifications of the frail fair, which fascinate the eye and lead the heart captive with delight: her conversational powers were admirable; but her temper was outrageous, with a natural inclination to the satirical:—to sum up her merits at once, she was what a connoisseur would have called a bold fine woman, rather than an engaging handsome one—more of the English Bellona than the Venus de Medici. Crony's account of the Round Room and belle Harriette's first views of publishing are, I have since learned, strictly correct. There is not a person mentioned in her Memoirs, or scarcely one of any note in the Court-guide, of whom she has at any time had the slightest knowledge, that have not been applied to repeatedly within the last three years, and received threats of exposure to compel them to submit to extortion. [52]want your assistance.' Egad, I dare say, I looked rather comical at this moment, for in truth I was somewhat alarmed at the last phrase. Harriette burst into a loud fit of laughter; the Colonel drew in his elegant wig, and deigned a smile; while I, involuntarily forcing my hand into the pocket of my inexpressibles, carefully drove the few sovereigns I had up into one corner, fearing the belle Harriette had a mighty notion of laying strong siege to them: in this, however, I was agreeably disappointed; for recovering herself, she acknowledged she had perceived my embarrassment, but assured me I need be under no alarm on this occasion, as, at present, she only wanted to borrow a few—ideas: what a relief the last short word afforded! 'I have been writing some sketches of my life,' said she, 'and am going to publish: give me your opinion, Crony, upon its merits;' and without more ceremony, she thrust a little packet of papers into my hand, headed 'Sketches in the Round Room at the Opera House;' in which all the characters of the Opera frequenters were tolerably well drawn, nor was the dialogue deficient in spirit; but the titles were all fictitious—such as my Lord Red Head, for the Marquess of H——-d, Lord Pensiveham, for P———m, and so on to the end of the chapter. Having glanced through the contents, I recommended her to Colburn, as the universal speculator in paper and print; but his highness is playing magnifico, à la Murray, in his new mansion, it would seem; for he, as I have since learned, refused to publish. At length, after trying Allman and others, belle Harriette hit upon Stockdale, who having made some bad hits in his time, thought a little courtesanish scandal could not make bad worse. Under his superintendence real names were substituted for the fictitious; and it is said, that the choice notes of the lady are interwoven and extended, connected and illustrated, by the same elegant Apollo who used to write love letters for Mary Ann, and [58]love epistles to half a thousand, including Bang and the Bantum, in the dark refectory of the celebrated mother Wood, the Lady of the Priory, or Lisle-street Convent." "If such is the case, 'how are the mighty fallen!'" said I.———But let us return to the ball-room. As the night advanced, a few more stars made their appearance in the firmament of beauty; among these, Crony pointed out some of the demirespectables, attracted thither either by curiosity or the force of old habit: among these was Charles Wy—h—m's bit of rue, that herb of grace, the once beautiful Mrs. Ho—g—s, since closely connected with the whiskered Lord P——-, to whose brother, the Honourable F———g, her daughter, the elegant Miss W————n, had the good fortune to be early married. In the same group appeared another star of no mean attraction, the Honourable Mrs. L——-g, whose present husband underwent the ordeal of a crim. con. trial to obtain her person. 'Par nobile fratum,' the world may well say of the brothers, P——— and L——-g; while F————y, with all his eccentricities, has the credit of being a very good husband. Three little affected mortals, the Misses St—ts, Crony introduced by the name of the pretenders, from the assumed modesty and great secrecy with which they carry on their amours. 'Pas à pas on va bien loin,' says the old French proverb, and rightly too," remarked our ancient; "for if you boys had not brought me here, I should never have known the extent of my experience, or have attempted to calculate the number of my female acquaintances." In the supper-room, which opened at four o'clock in the morning, Waud had spread forth a banquet every way worthy the occasion: a profuse display of the choicest viands of the season and delicacies of the most costly character graced the splendid board, where the rich juice of the grape, and the inviting ripeness of the dessert, were only equalled by the voluptuous votaries who [54]surrounded the repast. It was now that ceremony and the cold restraint of well regulated society were banished, by the free circulation of the glass. The eye of love shot forth the electric flash which animates the heart of young desire, lip met lip, and the soft cheek of violet beauty pressed the stubble down of manliness. Then, while the snowy orbs of nature undisguised heaved like old ocean with a circling swell, the amorous lover palmed the melting fair, and led her forth to where shame-faced Aurora, with her virgin gray, the blue-eyed herald of the golden morn, might hope in vain to draw aside the curtain and penetrate the mysteries of Cytherea. And now, gentle reader, be ye of the hardy sex, who dare the glories of the healthful chase and haunt the peopled stream of gay delight—or of that lovely race, from which alone man's earthly joys arise, the soft-skinned conquerors of hearts—be ye prudes or stoics, chaste as virgin gold, or cold as alpine snow—confess that I have strictly kept my promise here, nor strayed aside in all my wanderings among the daughters of pleasure, to give pain to worthy bosoms or offend the ear of nicest modesty. Pity for the unfortunate, and respect for the feelings of the relatives of the vicious and the dissolute, has prevented the insertion of many anecdotes, with which Crony illustrated his sketches of character. Enough, it is presumed, has been done to show vice in all its native deformity, without wounding the ear by one immoral or indelicate expression. For the unhappy fair ones who form the principal portraits, it should be remembered they have been selected from those only who are notorious, as belles of the first order, stars of fashion, and if not something indebted to fortune they would have escaped enrolment here. When beauty and poverty are allied, it must too often fall a victim to the eager eye of roving lust; for, even to the titled [55]profligate, beauty, when arrayed in a simple garb of spotless chastity, seems
"——Fairer she
In innocence and homespun vestments spread,
Than if cerulean sapphires at her ears
Shone pendent, or a precious diamond cross
Heaved gently on her panting bosom white.
But let the frail remember, that the allurements of wealth and the blandishments of equipage fall off with possession and satiety; to the force of novelty succeeds the baseness of desertion. For a short time, the fallen one is fed like the silk-worm upon the fragrant mulberry leaf, and when she has spun her yellow web of silken attraction, sinks into decay, a common chrysalis, shakes her trembling and emaciated wings in hopeless agony, and then flutters and droops, till death steps in and relieves her from an accumulation of miseries, ere yet the transient summer of youth has passed over her devoted head.
Bernard Blackmantle.
Thoughts on the Philosophy of Laughter—Bernard Blackmantle
in Search of a Wife—First Visit to the Marigold Family—
Sketches of the Alderman, his Lady, and Daughter—Anecdote
of John Liston, and the Citizen's Dinner Party—Of the
Immortal Mr. Punch—Some Account of the Great Actor—A
Street Scene, sketched from the Life—The Wooden Drama—The
True Sublime.
You may sing of old Thespis, who first in a cart,
To the jolly god Bacchus enacted a part;
Miss Thalia, or Mrs. Melpomene praise,
Or to light-heel'd Terpsichore offer your lays.
But pray what are these, bind them all in a bunch,
Compared to the acting of Signor Punch?
Of Garrick, or Palmer, or Kemble, or Cooke,
Your moderns may whine, or on each write a book;
Or Mathews, or Munden, or Fawcett, suppose
They could once lead the town as they pleased by the nose;
A fig for such actors! tied all in a bunch,
Mere mortals compared to old deified Punch.
Not Chester can charm us, nor Foote with her smile,
Like the first blush of summer, our bosoms beguile,
Half so well, or so merrily drive caro away,
As old Punch with his Judy in amorous play.
Kean, Young, and Macready, though thought very good,
Have heads, it is true, but then they're not of wood.
Be ye ever so dull, full of spleen or ennui,
Mighty Punch can enliven your spirits with glee.
Not honest Jack Harley, or Liston's rum mug
Can produce half the fun of his juggity-jug:
For a right hearty laugh, tie thorn all in a bunch,
Not an actor among them like Signor Punch.
—Bernard Blackmantle.
It was the advice of the prophet Tiresias to Menippus, who had travelled over the terrestrial globe fend descended into the infernal regions in search of content, to be merry and wise;
"To laugh at all the busy farce of state,
Employ the vacant hour in mirth and jest."
"The merrier the heart the longer the life," says Burton in his Anatomy of Melancholy. Mirth is the principal of the three Salernitan doctors, Dr. Merryman, Dr. Diet, and Dr. Quiet. The nepenthes of Homer, the bowl of Retenus, and the girdle of Venus, are only the ancient types of liveliness and mirth, by the free use of which the mind is dispossessed of dulness, and the cankerworm of care destroyed. Seneca calls the happiness of wealth bracteata félicitas, tinfoiled happiness, and infelix félicitas, an unhappy felicity. A poor man drinks out of a wooden dish, and eats his hearty meal with a wooden spoon; while the rich man, with a languid appetite, picks his dainties with a silver fork from plates of gold—but, in auro bibitur venenum; the one rinds health and happiness in his pottered jug, while the other sips disease and poison from his jewelled cup. A good laugh is worth a guinea, (to him who can afford to pay for it) at any time; but it is best enjoyed when it comes gratuitously and unexpectedly, and breaks in upon us like the radiant beams of a summer sun forcing its way through the misty veil of an inland fog.
I had been paying a morning visit to a wealthy [58]citizen, Mr. Alderman Marigold, and family, at the express desire of my father, who had previously introduced me for the purpose of fixing my—affection —tush—no, my attention, to the very weighty merits of Miss Biddy Marigold, spinster; a spoiled child, without personal, but with very powerful attractions to a poor Colebs. Two hours' hard fighting with the alderman had just enabled me to retreat from the persecution of being compelled to give an opinion upon the numerous bubble companies of the time, without understanding more than the title of either; to this succeeded the tiresome pertinacity of Mrs. Marigold's questions relative to the movements, ondits, and fashionable frivolities westward, until, fairly wearied out and disgusted, I sat down a lion exhausted, in the window seat, heartily wishing myself like Liston{1} safe out of purgatory; when the sound
1 John Liston, the comedian, is in private life not less
conspicuous for finished pleasantry and superior manners
than he is on the stage for broad humour; but nothing can
offend the actor more than an invitation given merely in the
expectation of his displaying at table some of his
professional excellences. John had, on one occasion,
accepted an invitation to dine with a wealthy citizen en
famille; the repast over—the wine had circulated—a snug
friend proposed the health of Mr. Liston; and John returned
thanks with as much dignity as a minister of state eating
white bait at Blackwall with the worshipful company of
fishmongers. Then came the amiable civilities of the lady of
the mansion, evidently intended to ingratiate herself with
the actor, the better to secure his assent to her request,
but not a muscle of the comedian gave the least
encouragement. The little citizens, who were huddled round
their mamma, and had been staring at the actor in anxious
expectation, were growing very impatient. The eldest boy had
already recited young Norval's speech to Lady Douglas, by
way of prologue; but the actor still continued mute, never
for a moment unbending to the smirking encourage-ment of his
hostess, or the jolly laugh-exciting reminiscences of his
ruby-faced host; as, for instance, "Lord, Mr. Liston, what a
funny figure you looked t'other night in Moll Flaggon!" or,
"How you made thorn laugh in Tony Lumpkin! and then what a
fright you was in Mrs. Cheshire. Couldn't you give us a
touch just now?" "Ay, do, Mr. Liston, pray do," vociferated
a dozen tongues at once, including mamma, the little misses
and mastery. "The children have been kept up two hours later
than usual on purpose," said the lady mother. "Ay, come, my
good fellow," reiterated the cit, "take another glass, and
then give us some-thing funny to amuse the young ones." This
was the finishing blow to Liston's offended dignity—to be
invited to dinner by a fat fleshmonger, merely to amuse his
uncultivated cubs, was too much for the nervous system of
the comedian to bear; but how to retreat?" I have it,"
thought John, "by the cut direct;" rising and bowing,
therefore, to the company, as if intending to yield to their
entreaties, he begged permission to retire to make some
little arrangement in his dress, to personate Vanish; when,
leaving them in the most anxious expectation for more than
half an hour, on ringing the bell, they learned from the
servant that Mr. Liston had suddenly Vanished by the street-
door, and was, of course, never seen in that direction more.
[59]of a cracked trumpet in the street arrested my attention. "I vonder vat that ere hinstrument can mean, my dear!" said Mrs. Alderman Marigold, (advancing to the window with eager curiosity). "It's wery likely some fire company's men marching to a bean-feast, or a freemason's funeral obscenities," replied the alderman. When another blast greeted our ears with a few notes of "See the Conquering Hero comes," "La, mamma," whined out Miss Biddy Marigold, "I declare, it's that filthy fellow Punch coming afore our vindow vith his imperence; I prognosticated how it voud be, ven the alderman patronised him last veek by throwing avay a whole shilling upon his fooleries." "You've no taste for fun, Biddy," replied the alderman; at the same time making his daughter and myself a substitute for crutches, by resting a hand upon each shoulder. "I never laid out a shilling better in the whole course of my life. A good laugh beats all the French medicine, and drives the gout out at the great toe. I mean to pension Mr. Punch at a shilling a veek to squeak before my vindow of a Saturday, in preference to paying six guineas for a [60]box to hear all that outlandish squeaking at the hopera." "La, pa, how ungenteel!" said Miss Biddy; "I declare you're bringing quite a new-sense to all the square, vat vith your hurdy-gurdy vonien, French true-baw-dears, and barrel organ-grinders, nobody has no peace not at all in the neighbourhood." During this elegant colloquy, the immortal Mr. Punch had reared his chequered theatre upon the pavement opposite, the confederate showman had concealed himself beneath the woollen drapery, and the Italian comedian had just commenced his merry note of preparation by squeaking some of those little snatches of tunes, which act with talismanic power upon the locomotive faculties of all the peripatetics within hearing, attracting everybody to the travelling stage, young and old, gentle and simple; all the crowd seem as if magic chained them to the spot, and each face exhibits as much anxiety, and the mind, no doubt, anticipates as much or more delight, than if they were assembled to see Charles Kemble, Young, and Macready, all three acting in one fine tragedy. There is something so indescribably odd and ridiculous about the whole paraphernalia of Mr. Punch, that we are irresistibly compelled to acknowledge the superiority of the lignum vito Roscius over the histrionic corps of mere flesh and blood. The eccentricity of this immortal personage, his foreign, funny dialogue, the whim and strange conceit exhibited in his wooden drama, the gratuitous display, and the unrestricted laugh he affords—all combine to make Mr. Punch the most popular performer in the world. Of Italian origin, he has been so long domiciled in England, that he may now be considered naturalized by common consent. Indeed, I much question, if a greater misfortune could befall the country, than the removal or suppression of Mr. Punch and his laugh-provoking drolleries:—it would be considered a national calamity; but Mirth protect [61]us from such a terrible mishap! Another sound from an old cracked trumpet, something resembling a few notes of "Arm, Arm, ye Brave," and an accompaniment by the great actor himself of a few more "tut, tut, tutura, lura, lu's," in his own original style, have now raised excitement to the highest pitch of expectation. The half inflated lungs of the alderman expand by anticipation, and his full foggy breathings upon the window-glass have already compelled me more than once to use my handkerchief to clear away the mist. The assembled group waiting the commencement of his adventures, now demands my notice. What a scene for my friend Transit! I shall endeavour to depict it for him. The steady looking old gentleman in the fire-shovel clerical castor, how sagaciously he leers round about him to see if he is likely to be recognised! not a countenance to whom he is known; he smiles with self-complacency at the treat he is about to enjoy; plants himself in a respectable doorway, for three reasons; first, the advantage from the rise of the step increasing his altitude; second, the security of his pockets from attacks behind; and third, the pretence, should any Goth to whom he is known, observe him enjoying the scene, that he is just about to enter the house, and has merely been detained there by accident. Excellent apologist!—how ridiculous!—Excessive delicacy, avaunt! give me a glorious laugh, and "throw (affectation) to the dogs; I'll have none of it." Now the farce begins: up starts the immortal hero himself, and makes his bow; a simultaneous display of "broad grins" welcomes his felicitous entrée; and for a few seconds the scene resembles the appearance of a popular election candidate, Sir Francis Burdett, or his colleague, little Cam Hobhouse, on the hustings in Covent Garden; nothing is heard but one deafening shout of clamorous approbation. Observe the butcher's boy has stopped his [62]horse to witness the fun, spite of the despairing cook who waits the promised joint; and the jolly lamp-lighter, laughing hysterically on the top of his ladder, is pouring the oil from his can down the backs and into the pockets of the passengers beneath, instead of recruiting the parish-lamp, while the sufferers are too much interested in the exhibition to feel the trickling of the greasy fluid. The baker, careless of the expectant owner's hot dinner, laughs away the time until the pie is quite cold; and the blushing little servant-maid is exercising two faculties at once, enjoying the frolics of Signor Punch, and inventing some plausible excuse for her delay upon an expeditious errand. How closely the weather-beaten tar yonder clasps his girl's waist! every amorous joke of Signor Punch tells admirably with him; till, between laughing and pressing, Poll is at last compelled to cry out for breath, when Jack only squeezes her the closer, and with a roaring laugh vociferates, "My toplights! what the devil will that fellow Punch do next, Poll?" The milkman grins unheedful of the cur who is helping himself from out his pail; and even the heavy-laden porter, sweating under a load of merchandise, heaves up his shoulders with laughter, until the ponderous bale of goods shakes in the air like a rocking-stone. (See Plate.) Inimitable actor! glorious Signor Punch! show me among the whole of the dramatis persona in the patent or provincial theatres, a single performer who can compete with the mighty wooden Roscius.
The alderman's eulogium on Mr. Punch was superlatively good. "I love a comedy, Mr. Blackmantle," said he, "better than a tragedy, because it makes one laugh; and next to good eating, a hearty laugh is most desirable. Then I love a farce still better than a comedy, because that is more provokingly merry, or broader as the critics have it; then, sir, a pantomime beats both comedy and [63]farce hollow; there's such lots of fun and shouts of laughter to be enjoyed in that from the beginning to the end. But, sir, there's one performance that eclipses all these, tragedy, comedy, farce, and pantomime put together, and that is Mister Punch—for a right-down, jolly, split-my-side burst of laughter, he's the fellow; name me any actor or author that can excite the risibilities of the multitude, or please all ages, orders, and conditions, like the squeaking pipe and mad waggeries of that immortal, merry-faced itinerant. If any man will tell me that he possesses genius, or the mellow affections, and that he can pass Punch,
'Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind;'
then, I say, that man's made of 'impenetrable stuff;' and, being too wise for whimsicality, is too phlegmatic for genius, and too crabbed for mellowness." Mark, what a set of merry open-faced rogues surround Punch, who peeps down at them as cunningly as "a magpie peeping into a marrow bone; "—how luxuriantly they laugh, or stand with their eyes and mouths equally distended, staring at the minikin effigy of fun and phantasy; thinking, no doubt,
"He bin the greatest wight on earth."
And, certainly, he has not his equal, as a positive, dogmatic, knock-me-down argument-monger; a dare devil; an embodied phantasmagoria, or frisky infatuation. I have often thought that Punch might be converted to profitable use, by being made a speaking Pasquin; and, properly instructed, might hold up his restless quarter staff, in terrorem, over the heads of all public outragers of decency; and by opening the eyes of the million, who flock to his orations, enlighten them, at least, as much as many greater folks, who make more noise than he, and who, [64]like him, often get laughed at, without being conscious that they are the subjects of merriment. The very name of our old friend Punch inspires us in our social moments. What other actor has been commemorated by the potential cup? is not the sacred bowl of friendship dedicated to the wooden hero? would you forget the world, its cares, vexations, and anxieties, sip of the mantling, mirth-inspiring cordial, and all within is jollity and gay delight.
"For Punch cures the gout, the cholic, and the phthisic,
And it is to every man the very best of physic."
Honest, kind-hearted Punch! I could write a volume in thy praise, and then, I fear, I should leave half thy merits untold. Thou art worth a hundred of the fashionable kickshaws that are daily palmed upon us to be admired; and thy good-humoured efforts to please at the expense of a broken pate can never be sufficiently praised.
But now the curtain rises, and Mr. Punch steals from behind his two-foot drapery: the very tip of his arched nose is the prologue to a merry play; he makes his bow to the multitude, and salutes them with all the familiarity of an old acquaintance. What a glorious reception does he meet with from an admiring audience! And now his adventures commence—his "dear Judy," the partner of his life, by turns experiences all the capricious effects of love and war. What a true picture of the storms of life!—how admirable an essay on matrimonial felicity! Then his alternate uxoriousness to the lady, and his fondlings of that pretty "kretur" with the family countenance; his chivalrous exploits on horseback, and mimic capering round the lists of his chequered tilt-yard; his unhappy differences with the partner of his bosom, and her lamentable catastrophe; the fracas with the sheriff's substitute; and his interview with that incomprehensible personage, [65]the knight of the sable countenance, who salutes him with the portentous address of "schalabala! schalabala! schalabala!" his successive perils and encounters with the ghost of the martyred Judy; and, after his combat with the great enemy of mankind, the devil himself, "propria Marte" his temporary triumph; and, finally, his defeat by a greater man than old Lucifer, the renowned Mr. John Ketch. Talk of modern dramas, indeed!—show me any of your Dimonds, Reynolds, Dibdins, or Crolys that can compare with Punchiana, in the unities of time, place, costume, and action, intricate and interesting plot, situations provokingly comical and effective, and a catastrophe the most appallingly surprising and agreeable. Then his combats aux batons are superior even to Bradley and Blanchard; but the ne plus ultra of his exploits, the cream of all his comicalities, the grand event, is the ingenious trick by which Mr. Punch, when about to suffer on the scaffold, disposes of the executioner, and frees himself from purgatory, by persuading the unsuspecting hangman, merely for the sake of instruction to an uninitiated culprit, to try his own head in the noose: Punch, of course, seizes the perilous moment—runs him up to the top of the fatal beam—Mr. John Ketch hangs suspended in the air—Punch shouts a glorious triumph—all the world backs him in his conquest—the old cracked trumpet sounds to victory—the showman's hat has made the transit of the circle, and returns half-filled with the voluntary copper contributions of the happy audience. The alderman drops his tributary shilling, while his fat sides shake with laughter; even Mrs. Marigold and the amiable Miss Biddy have become victims to the vulgar inspiration, and are laughing as heartily as if they were enjoying the grimaces of the first of buffos, Signor Ambrogetti. And now the curtain falls, and the busy group disperse their several ways, chuckling with delight over the [66]recollections of the mad waggeries of immortal Mr. Punch.
All hail! thou first great mimic chief,
Physician to the mind's relief;
Thrice hail! most potent Punch.
Not Momus' self, should he appear,
Could dim the lustre of thy sphere;
So hail! all hail! great Punch.
Bernard Blackmantle.
Reminiscences of former Times—Lamentations of Old Crony—
Ancient Sports and Sprees—Modern Im-provements—Hints to
Builders and Buyers—Some Account of the School and its
Worthies—Recollections of old Schoolfellows—Sketches of
Character—The Living and the Dead.
"Fast by, an old but noble fabric stands,
No vulgar work, but raised by princely hands;
Which, grateful to Eliza's memory, pays,
In living monuments, an endless praise."
From a poem by a Westminster Scholar, written during Dr. Friend's Mastership, in 1699.
"What say you to a stroll through Thorney Island,{1} this morning?" said old Crony, with whom I had been taking a déjeuné à la fourchette; "you have indulged your readers with all the whims and eccentricities of Eton and of Oxford, and, in common justice, you must not pass by the Westminster blacks."{2} Crony had, I learned, been a foundation scholar during the mastership of Dr. Samuel Smith; when the poet Churchill, Robert Lloyd, (the son of the under-master) Bonnel Thornton, George Colman the elder, Richard Cumberland, and a host of other highly-gifted names, were associated within the precincts of the abbey cloisters. Our way towards
1 The abbey ground, so called by the monkish writers; but,
since Busby's time, more significantly designated by the
scholars Birch Island.—Vide Tidier.
2 Black———s from Westminster; ruff—s from Winchester;
and gentlemen from Eton.—Old Cambridge Proverb.
[68]Westminster from the Surrey side of Vauxhall bridge, where Crony had taken up his abode, lay through the scene of his earliest recollections; and, not even Crockery himself could have been more pathetic in his lamentations over the improvements of modern times. "Here," said Crony, placing himself upon the rising ground which commands an uninterrupted view of the bank, right and left, and fronts the new road to Chelsea, and, the Grosvenor property; "here, in my boyish days, used the Westminster scholars to congregate for sports and sprees. Many a juvenile frolic have I been engaged in beneath the shadowy willows that then o'ercanopied the margin of old father Thames; but they are almost all destroyed, and with them disappears the fondest recollections of my youth. Upwards, near yonder frail tenement which is now fast mouldering into decay, lived the beautiful gardener's daughter, the flower of Millbank, whose charms for a long time excited the admiration of many a noble name, ay, and inspired many a noble strain too, and produced a chivalrous rivalry among the young and generous hearts who were then of Westminster. Close to that spot all matches on the water were determined; and beneath yon penthouse, many a jovial cup have I partook of with the contending parties, when the aquatic sports were over, in the evening's cool retirement, or seated on the benches which then filled up the space between the trees in front of Watermans' Hall, as the little public house then used to be called. About half a mile above was the favourite bathing-place; and just over the water below Lambeth palace, yet may be seen Doo's house, where, from time immemorial, the Westminster boys had been supplied with funnies, skiffs, wherries, and sailing-boats. The old mill which formerly stood on the right-hand of the river, and from which the place derived its name, has now entirely disappeared; and in lieu of the [69]green fields and pleasant walks with which this part of the suburbs abounded, we have now a number of square brick-dust tubs, miscalled cottages ornée, and a strange-looking Turkish sort of a prison called a Penitentiary, which from being judiciously placed in a swamp is rendered completely uninhabitable. Cumberland-gardens, on the opposite side, was, in former times, in great vogue; here the cits used to rusticate on a summer's evening, coming up the water in shoals to show their dexterity in rowing, and daring the dangers of the watery element to blow a cloud in the fresh air, and ruralise upon the 'margin of old father Thames.'
But where can the Westminster boys of the present day look for amusements? there's no snug spot now for a dog-tight or a badger-bait. Earl Grosvenor has converted all the green lanes into Macadamised roads, and covered the turf with new brick tenements. No taking a pleasant toodle with a friend now along the sequestered banks, or shooting a few sparrows or fieldfares in the neighbourhood of the five chimnies{3} not a space to be found free from the encroachments of modern speculators, or big enough for a bowling alley or a cricket match. Tothill-fields have altogether disappeared; and the wand of old Merlin would appear to have waved over and dispersed the most trifling vestiges and recollections of the past. A truce with your improvements!" said Crony, combating my attempt to harmonise his feelings; "tell me what increases the lover's boldness and the maiden's tenderness more than the fresh and fragrant air, the green herbage, and the quiet privacy of retired spots, where all nature yields a delightful inspiration to the mind. There where the lovers find delight, the student finds repose, secluded from the busy haunts of men, and yet able, by a few strides, to mingle again at pleasure with the world, the man of
3 Since called the Five-fields, Chelsea; and a favourite
resort of the Westminster scholars of that time, but now
built upon.
[70]contemplation turns aside to consult his favourite theme, and having run out his present stock of thoughtful meditation, wheels him round, and finds himself one of the busy group again.{4} As we advance
4 The Rogent's-park, formerly called Marylebone, is an
improve-ment of this nature. It was originally a park, and
had a royal palace in it, where, I believe, Queen Elizabeth
occasionally resided. It was disbarked by Oliver Cromwell,
who settled it on Colonel Thomas Harrison's regiment of
dragoons for their pay; but at the restoration of Charles
II. it passed into the hands of other possessors; from which
time it has descended through different proprietors, till,
at length, it has reverted to the Crown, by whose public
spirit a magnificent park is secured to the inhabitants of
London. The expense of its planting, &c. must have been
enormous; but money cannot be better laid out than on
purposes of this lasting benefit and national ornament.
The plan and size of the park is in every respect worthy of
the nation. It is larger than Hyde-park, St. James's, and
the Greenpark together; and the trees planted in it about
twelve years ago have already become umbrageous. The water
is very extensive. As you are rowed on it, the variety of
views you come upon is admirable: sometimes you are in a
narrow stream, closely overhung by the branches of trees;
presently you open upon a wide sheet of water, like a lake,
with swans sunning themselves on its bosom; by and by your
boat floats near the edge of a smooth lawn fronting one of
the villas; and then again you catch the perspective of a
range of superb edifices, the elevation of which is
contrived to have the effect of one palace. The park, in
fact, is now belted with groups of these mansions, entirely
excluding all sight of the streets. Those that are finished,
give a satisfactory earnest of the splendid spirit in which
the whole is to be accomplished. There will be nothing like
it in Europe. The villas in the interior of the park are
planted out from the view of each other, so that the
inhabitant of each seems, in his prospect, to be the sole
lord of the surround-ing picturesque scenery.
In the centre of the park there is a circular plantation of
im-mense circumference, and in the interior of this you are
in a perfect Arcadia. The mind cannot conceive any thing
more hushed, more sylvan, more entirely removed from the
slightest evidence of proximity to a town. Nothing is
audible there except the songs of birds and the rustling of
leaves. Kensington gardens, beautiful as they are, have no
seclusion so perfect as this.
[71]in life we cling still closer to the recollections of our infancy; the cheerful man loves to dwell over the scenes and frolics of his boyish days; and we are stricken to the very heart by the removal or change of these pleasant localities; the loss of an old servant, an old building, or an old tree, is felt like the loss of an old friend. The paths, and fields, and rambles of our infancy are endeared to us by the fondest and the purest feelings of the mind; we lose sight of our increasing infirmities, as we retrace the joyous mementos of the past, and gain new vigour as we recall the fleeting fancies and pleasant vagaries of our earliest days. I am one of those," continued Crony, "who am doomed to deplore the destructive advances of what generally goes by the name of improvement; and yet, I am not insensible to the great and praiseworthy efforts of the sovereign to increase the splendour of the capital westward; but leave me a few of the green fields and hedgerow walks which used to encircle the metropolis, or, in a short space, the first stage from home will only be half-way out of London. A humorous writer of the day observes, that 'the rage for building fills every pleasant outlet with bricks, mortar,rubbish,and eternal scaffold-poles, which, whether you walk east, west, north, or south, seem to be running after you. I heard a gentleman say, the other day, that he was sure a resident of the suburbs could scarcely lie down after dinner, and take a nap, without finding, when he awoke, that a new row of buildings had started up since he closed his eyes. It is certainly astonishing: one would think the builders used magic, or steam at least, and it would be curious to ask those gentlemen in what part of the neighbouring counties they intend London should end. Not content with separate streets, squares, and rows, they are actually the founders of new towns, which in the space of a few months become finished and inhabited. The precincts of London have more the appearance of a newly-discovered colony than [72]the suburbs of an ancient city.{5} And what, sir, will be the pleasant consequences of all this to posterity? Instead of having houses built to encumber the earth for a century or two, it is ten to one but they disencumber the mortgagee, by falling down with a terrible crash during the first half life, and, perhaps, burying a host of persons in their ruins. Mere paste-board palaces are the structures of the present times, composed of lath and plaster, and Parker's cement, a few coloured bricks, a fanciful viranda, and a balcony, embellished within by the décorateur, and stuccoed or whitewashed without, to give them a light appearance, and hide the defects of an ignorant architect or an unskilful builder; while a very few years introduces the occupant to all the delightful sensations of cracked walls, swagged floors, bulged fronts, sinking roofs, leaking gutters, inadequate drains, and other innumerable ills, the effects of an originally bad constitution, which dispels any thing like the hopes of a reversionary interest, and clearly proves that without a renovation equal to resurrection, both the building and the occupant are very likely to fall victims to a rapid consumption." In this way did Crony contrive to beguile the time, until we found ourselves entering the arena in front of the Dean's house, Westminster. "Here, alone," said my old friend, "the hand of the innovator has not been permitted to intrude; this spot remains unpolluted; but, for the neighbourhood, alas!" sighed Crony, "that is changed indeed. The tavern in Union-street,
5 For instance: in what a very short time back were the
Bays-water-fields, there is now a populous district, called
by the inhabitants "Moscow;" and at the foot of Primrose-
hill we are amazed by coming upon a large complication of
streets, &c. under the name of "Portland Town." The rustic
and primaeval meadows of Kilburn are also filling with raw
buildings and incipient roads; to say nothing of the
charming neighbourhood of St. John's Wood Farm, and other
spots nearer town.
[73]where Charles Churchill, and Lloyd, and Bonnel Thornton used to meet and mix wit, and whim, and strong potation, has sunk into a common pot-house, and is wholly neglected by the scholars of the present time: not that they are a whit more moral than their predecessors, but, professing to be more refined, they are now to be found at the Tavistock, or the Hummums, at Long's, or Steven's; more polished in their pleasures, but more expensive in their pursuits."
As we approached the centre of Dean's-yard, Crony's visage evidently grew more sentimental; the curved lips of the cynic straightened to an expression of kindlier feeling, and ere we had arrived at the school-door, the old eccentric had mellowed down into a generous contemplatist. "Ay," said Crony, "on this spot, Mr. Black mantle, half a century ago, was I, a light-hearted child of whim, as you are now, associated with some of the greatest names that have since figured in the history of our times, many of whom are now sleeping in their tombs beneath a weight of worldly honours, while some few have left a nobler and a surer monument to exalt them with posterity, the well-earned tribute of a nation's gratitude, the never-fading fame which attaches itself to good works and great actions. Among the few families of my time who might be styled ''magni nominis' in college, were the Finches, the Drummonds, (arch-bishop's sons), and the Markhams. Tom Steele{6} was on the foundation also, and had much fame in playing Davus. The Hothams{7} were considered among the lucky hits of Westminster; the Byngs{8} thought not as lucky as they should have been. Mr. Drake{9}
6 A descendant of the celebrated Sir Richard
Steele, the associate of Addison in the Spectator, Tatler,
Crisis, &c.
7 Sir Henry and Sir William Hotham, admirals in the British
navy.
8 Viscount Torrington, a rear-admiral of the blue.
9 Thomas Tyrwhitt Drake, Esq., (I believe)
member for Agmondesham, Bucks.
[74]of Amersham was one of the best scholars of his time; for a particular act of beneficence, two guineas given out of his private pocket-money to a poor sufferer by a fire, Dr. Smith gave him a public reward of some books. Lord Carmarthen{10} here came to the title, on the death of his eldest brother. Here too he found the Jacksons, and what was more, the Jacksons{11} found him. Lord Foley had, during his stay here, two narrow escapes for his life, once being nearly drowned in the Thames, and secondly, by a hack-horse running away with him: the last incident was truly ominous of the noble lord's favourite, but unfortunate pursuits{12}. Sir John St. Aubyn is here said to have formed his attachments with several established characters in the commercial world, as Mr. Beckett, and others; which afterwards proved of the highest consequence to his pursuits and success in life. Lord Bulkley had the credit of being one of the handsomest and best-humoured boys of his time, and so he continued through life. Michael Angelo Taylor{13} was remarkable for his close application, under his tutor Hume, and the tutor as remarkable for application to him.
Hatton, junior. Lawyers, if not always good scholars, generally are something better; with much strong practical sense, and a variety of all that "makes a ready man; "Hatton was all this, both as to scholarship, and the pertinent application of it. Though a nephew of Lord Mansfield, and bred up under his auspices, he was not more remarkable than his brother George for the love of bullion. His abilities were great, and they would have been greatly thought of, had he been personally less locomotive. "Ah, ah," said his uncle, "you'll never prosper till you learn to stay in a place." He replied, "O never fear, sir, do but get me a place; and I'll learn of you to stay in it."
10 The present Duke of Leeds.
11 Dr. Cyril Jackson, afterwards sub-preceptor to his
Majesty, George the Fourth, and since canon of Christ
Church, Oxford. He refused the primacy of Ireland; was an
excellent governor of his college, and died universally
respected at Fulpham, in Sussex, in 1819. Dr. William
Jackson, his brother, who was Bishop of Oxford, was also
Regius Professor of Greek to that university; he died in
1815.
12 His lordship's attachment to the turf is as notorious as
his undeviating practice of the purest principles of honour.
It will not excite surprise, that such conduct has not been
in such pursuits successful.
13 The member for Durham.
[75]Lord Deerhurst (now Earl of Coventry) had then, as now, very quick parts, and early insight into beautiful composition. Whatever good thing he met with, he was always ready with an immediate parallel; Latin, Greek, or from honesty into English, nothing came amiss to him. He had a quick sense of the ridiculous; and could scout a character at all absurd and suspicious, with as much pleasant scurrility as a gentleman need have.
Banks always made his own exercises, as his exercises have since made him. He was a diligent and good boy; and though an early arithmetician, and fond of numbers, he was as soon distinguished for very honourable indifference to number one.
Douglas (now, I believe, Marquis of Queensberry) was remarkable for the worst penmanship in the school, and the economy of last moments; till then he seldom thought of an exercise. His favourite exercise was in Tothill-fields; from whence returning once very late, he instantly conceived and executed some verses, that were the best of his day. On another day, he was as prompt, and thought to have been more lucky than before; when, lo, the next morning he was flogged! for the exercise was so ill written, that it was not legible even by himself.
Lord Maiden was remarkable for his powers of engaging, and he then, as since, made some engagements, which might as well have been let alone. He made an early promise of all he has since performed. He was very fond of dramatic entertainments, and he enacted much; was accounted a good actor; so was his crony, Jack Wilson, so well known at Mrs. Hobart's, &c., for his fal de ral tit and for his duets with Lady Craven, Lady A. Foley, &c, &c.
Lord MANSFIELD, then William Murray, here began his career. When at school, he was not remarkable for personal courage, or for mental bravery; though one of the stoutest boys of his standing, he was often beat by boys a year or two below him; and though then acute and voluble, his opinions were suppressed and retracted before minds less powerful but more intrepid than his own. Of his money allowance he was always so good a manager, [70]that he could lend to him who was in need. The famous exercise which Niçois made such a rout about, was in praise of abundance: an English theme on this thesis, from Horace—
"Dulce est de magno tollore acervo. "
He was in college; and no man on earth could conjecture that in his own acervo there would ever be aggrandizement, such as it has since occurred.
Lord Stormont at school began his knack of oral imitations, and when a child, could speak quite as well as afterwards; after his uncle, the disgusting pronunciation of the letter o then too infected his language; he made it come to the ear like an a. Humorously glancing at this affectation, Onslow or Stanhope said "Murray's horse is an ass."
Markham, the Archbishop of York, made an early display of classical taste, and the diligent cultivation of it. Some of his school exercises are extant, and show more than a promise of that refinement and exactness, which afterwards distinguished his performances at Christ Church. The Latin version of the fragment of Simonides, as beautiful as any thing in the whole range of poetical imitation, though published in the Oxford Lachrymo as Mr. Bournes, is known to be written by Mr. Markham.
At school, too, Markham's conversation had a particularity known to distinguish it. War was his favourite topic, and caught, perhaps, from the worthy major, his father, and from his crony Webb, afterwards the general. It was apparent upon all occasions; when he was to choose his reading as a private study, in the sixth form, Cæsar was his first book; and so continuing through most of his leisure time addicted to this sort of inquiry, the archbishop was afterwards able to talk war with any soldier in England. But, indeed, what is there he could not talk equal to any competitor? To the Archbishop Markham, and through him to Westminster, attach the credit of the good scholarship of the present king. This is little less than a credit to the country.
The Marquis of Stafford had fame for his English exercises; and after saying this of his Wednesday nights' themes, let it also be noted, that he had fame for other exercises of old England. He could ride, run, row, and bat better than most of his comtemporaries; in his potations, too, he was rather deep; but though deep, yet clear; and though gentle, yet not dull. At once a most jolly fellow, and the most magnificent of his time,—and so "ab incepto processerit."
The Duke of Dorset, then Sackville, (since dead) was good-humoured, manly, frank, and passionately fond of various school [77]exercises; as billiards, at the alehouse in Union-street, (then perhaps a tavern) and double-fives between the two walls at the school-door. For Tothill-fields fame as to cricket, he was yet more renowned: there he was the champion of the town-boys against those in college; and in the great annual match, he had an innings that might have lasted till the time Baccelli run him out, had not the other side given up the game.
As to the school itself, there it was easy to catch him out; though such was his address, that he was seldom caught out. When he was in school, really few boys were there to better purpose; he made several good prose exercises both in English and Latin; and, what is rare for a boy of rank, with but small aid from the tutor.
At school, he shot and rowed pretty well; and as he could not always pay for his boat in specie, somebody proposed a barter of Tothill-fields game; but he had a soul above it, and what was more, at his elbow another soul, saying, Carpamus dulcia, and of my dressing. That friend was
Lord Edward Bentinck, whose culinary fame began on the sparrows and fieldfares knocked down about the Five Chimnies and Jenny's whim. At a bill of fare, and the science how dinner should be put before him, he was then, as since, unrivalled; yet more to his good memorial, he knew how a dinner should be put before other people. For one day, as he was beginning to revel in a surreptitious banquet in the Bowling-alley, his share of the mess Lord Edward gave to the relief of want, which then happened to be wandering by the window.—"This praise shall last."
Old Elwes, the late member for Berks, may occur, on the mention of want wandering by, though, notwithstanding appearance, he suffered nobody about him to be in such wants as himself. Penurious, perhaps, on small objects; in those which are greater, he was certainly liberal almost to prodigality. The hoarding principle might be strong in him, but in the conduct of it he was often generous, always easy. No man in England probably lost more money in large sums, for want of asking for it: for small money, as in farthings to street beggary, few men probably have lost less. What he had not sufficiently cultivated, was the habit of letting money easily go. So far, he was the reverse of Charles the Second; for on greater occasions, again I say it, he seemed to own the act under the ennobling impulse of systematic generosity, expanding equally in self-denial, and in social sympathy. He was among the most dispassionate and tender-tempered men alive; and, considering [78]all things, it might be reasonable to allot him the meed of meekness upon earth, and of that virtue which seeketh not her own reward.
His ruling passion was the love of ease.
The beginnings of all this were more or less discernible at school, where Lord Mansfield gave him the nick-name of Jack Meggot.
His other little particularities were the best running and walking in the school, and the commencement of his fame for riding, which, in the well-known trials in the Swiss Academy, outdid all competition. Worsley, of the Board of Works, alone divided the palm; he rode more gracefully. Elwes was by far the boldest rider.
The Duke of Portland (who died in 1809) was among the delicciæ of each form at Westminster, in all that appertained to temper, the tenderness and warmth of feeling, suavity of approach, and the whole passive power of pleasing. Thus much internal worth, tempered with but little of those showy powers which dazzle and seduce, gave early promise that he would escape all intriguing politics, and never degrade himself by the projects of party; for a party-man must always be comparatively mean, even on a scale of vicious dignity; in violence, subordinate to the ruffian; in chicane, below a common town-sharper.
He had, happily, no talents for party; he was better used by nature. He seemed formed for the kindliest offices of life; to appreciate the worth, and establish the dignity of domestic duties; to exemplify the hardest tasks of friendship and affinity; to display each hospitable charm.
All that he afterwards did for Chace Price, and Lord Eduard, appeared as a flower in its bud, in Dean's-yard and Tothill-fields, with the fruit-woman under the Gateway, and the coffee-house then opposite.
In his school-exercises, fame is not remembered to have followed any but his Wednesday evening themes: some of them were incomparably the best of the standing. In the rest of the school business, said the master to him one day, "you just keep on this side whipping."
His smaller habits were none remarkable, except that his diet was rather more blameable in the article of wine. A little too early; a little too much.
This, probably, more than any hereditary taint, made him, in immediate manhood, a martyr to the gout.
Against this, his ancestor's nostrum was tried in vain; the disease would not yield, till it was overborne by abstinence, which, to the praise of the duke's temper, he began and continued, with a splendour of resolution not any where exceeded.
[79]The duke had been long estranged from all animal food but fish, and every fermented liquor. According to the old Latin distich, the poetry of a water-drinker is said to be short-lived, and not fit to live: was this proverbial doom extended to what was not poetry, it might be checked by the prose of the Duke of Portland. Most of his common letters were among the models of epistolary correspondence.
The Duke of Beaufort{14} exhibited at school more of the rudiments of a country gentleman, than the rudiments of Busby; he knew a horse practically, while other boys took it only from description in Virgil.
Stare loco nescit, was however his motto; and through all the demesnes adjacent to his little reign, on the water, and in the water, he was well; on horseback he was yet better; and to ride, or tie, on foot, or on horseback, no boy of his time was more ready at every good turn. He loved his friend; and, such were the engaging powers of his very frank and pleasant manner, his friends all loved him.
Some encumbrances, solito de more of all boys, with the coffee-house, for jellies, fruit, &c, left when he left school, he afterwards discharged with singular éclat.
In regard to scholarship, he was by no means wanting; though it must be owned, he wanted always to be better strangers with them. Like many other boys, he knew much more than he was aware of; for he had as much aversion to the Greek Epigrams, as the best critic could have; and in Terence, as he could find nothing to laugh, Lloyd often raised an opposite emotion. Lloyd, had he lived to this time, would have taken Terence as a main ingredient in his enjoyments. So benevolent is nature to fit the feelings of man to his destiny.
M'Donald, afterwards Solicitor General, was in college, and had then about him much that was remarkable for good value.
The different ranks in college are rather arduous trials of temper; and he that can escape without imputation through them, and be, as it is called, a junior without meanness, and a senior without obduracy, exhibits much early promise, both as to talents and virtue.
This early promise was M 'Donald's. He was well-respected in either rank, and he deserved it; for he obeyed the time, without being time-serving; he commanded, as one not forgetting what it was to obey.
Par negotiis, neque supra, characterised his scholarship.
14 Died in 1803.
[80]He had in every form sufficiency, and sometimes eminence. He had more facility in Greek than most boys; his English exercises were conspicuous for language and neatness of turn.
He was a very uncorrupt boy, and his manners were rather elevated; yet it is not remembered that he lost popularity even with the worst boys in the school; the whole secret of which was specie minus quam vi. He was better than he seemed. There was no pride, no offending wish at seclusion.
Though not so remarkable for book knowledge as his brother Sir James, who thus, indeed, was nothing less than a prodigy, yet was M'Donald extremely well and very variously read. In miscellaneous information, far more accomplished than any boy of his time.
Markham, the master, had a high opinion of him; and once, in the midst of strong and favourable prognostics, said, "There was nothing against him but what was for him; rank and connections, and the too probable event of thence advancing into life too forward and too early."
Markham spoke with much sagacity. The rosa sera is the thing, for safe and spreading efflorescence. Well as the wreath might be about M'Donald's brow, it had probably been better, if gathered less eagerly, if put on later.
Cock Langford was the son of the auctioneer—
And there never was an inheritance of qualities like it. He would have made as good an auctioneer as his father; a better could not bo.
Cock Langford, so called, from the other auctioneer Cock, very early in the school discovered great talents for ways and means; and, by private contract, could do business as much and as well as his father.
His exercises were not noted for any excess of merit, or the want of it. He certainly had parts, if they had been put in their proper direction: that was trade. In that he might have been conspicuously useful.
As he was in college, and nothing loath in any occasion that led to notice, in spite of a lisp in his speech, he played Davus in the Phormio; which he opened with singidar absurdity, as the four first words terminate in the letter s, which he, from the imperfection in his speech, could not help mangling.
From the patronage of Lord Orford, Mr. Langford had one of the best livings in Norfolk, £1000 a year; and afterwards, I understand, very well exemplified the useful and honourable duties of a clergyman resident on his benefice.
Hamilton. Every thing is the creature of accident; as that [81]works upon time and place, so are the vicissitudes which follow; vicissitudes that reach through the whole allotment of man, even to the charm of character, and the qualities which produce it.
Physically speaking, human nature can redress itself of climate, can generate warmth in high latitudes, and cold at the equator; but in respect to mind and manners, from the law of latitude there is no appeal. Man, like the plants that grow for him, has a proper sky and soil: with them to flourish, without them to fade; through either kingdom, vegetable and moral, in situations that are aquatic, the alpine nature cannot live.
All this applies to Hamilton wasting himself at Westminster. "Wild nature's vigour working at his root;"
his situation should have been accordingly; where he might have spread wide and struck deep.
With more than boyish aptitudes and abilities, he should not thus have been lost among boys. His incessant intrepidity, his restless curiosity, his undertaking spirit, all indicated early maturity; all should have led to pursuits, if not better, at least of more pith and moment than the mere mechanism of dead language!
This by Hamilton (disdaining as a business what as an amusement perhaps might have delighted him) was deemed a dead letter, and as such, neglected; while he bestowed himself on other mechanism, presenting more material objects to the mind.
Exercises out of school took place of exercises within. Not that like Sackville or Hawkins, he had a ball at every leisure moment in his hand; but, preferably to fives or cricket, he would amuse himself in mechanical pursuits; little in themselves, but great as to what they might have been convertible.
In the fourth form, he produced a red shoe of his own making. And though he never made a pocket watch, and probably might mar many, yet all the interior machinery he knew and could name. The whole movement he took to pieces, and replaced.
The man who is to find out the longitude, cannot have beginnings; better than these. Count Bruhl, since Madge's death, the best watch-maker of his time, did not raise more early wonder.
Besides this, Hamilton was to be found in every daring oddity. Lords Burlington and Kent, in all their rage for porticos, were nothing to him in a rage for pediments.
For often has the morning caught him scaling the high pediments of the school-door, and at peril of Ins life clambering down, opening the door within, before the boy who kept the gate could come with the key. His evenings set upon no less perils; in pranks with gunpowder; in leaping from unusual heights into the [82]Thames. As a practical geographer of London, and Heaven only knows how many miles round it, omniscient Jackson himself could not know more.
All this, surely, was intrinsically right, wrong only in its direction. Had he been sent to Woolwich, he might have come out, if not a rival of the Duke of Richmond, then master of the ordnance, at least a first-rate engineer. In economical arts and improvements, nothing less than national, he might have been the Duke of Bridgewater of Ireland. Had the sea been his profession, Lord Mulgrave might have been less alone in the rare union of science and enterprise.
But all this capability of usefulness and fair fame, was brought to nought by the obstinate absurdity of the people about him; nothing could wean them from Westminster. His grandfather Roan, or Rohan, an old man who saved much money in Rathbone-place, and spent but little of it every evening at Slaughter's coffee-house, holding out large promise to property, so became absolute; and absolute nonsense was his conduct to his grandson. He persevered in the school; where, if a boy disaffects book-knowledge, his books are only bought and sold. And after Westminster, when the old man died, as if solicitous that every thing about his grave, but poppy and mandragora, should grow downwards, his will declared his grandson the heir, but not to inherit till he graduated at Cambridge.
To Cambridge therefore he went; where having pursued his studies, as it is called, in a ratio inverse and descending, he might have gone on from bad to worse; and so, as many do, putting a grave face upon it, he might have had his degree. But his animal spirits, and love of bustle, could not go off thus undistinguished; and so, after coolly attempting to throw a tutor into the Cam—after shaking all Cambridge from its propriety by a night's frolic, in which he climbed the sign-posts, and changed the principal signs, he was rusticated; till the good-humour of the university returning, he was re-admitted, and enabled to satisfy his grandfather's will!
After that, he behaved with much gallantry in America; and with good address in that very disagreeable affair, the contested marriage of his sister with Mr. Beresford the clergyman.
Indeed, through the intercourse of private life he was very amiable. The same suavity of speech, courteous attentions, and general good-nature, he had when a boy, continued and improved: good qualities the more to be prized, as the less probable, from his bold and eager temper, from the turbulence of his wishes, and the hurry of his pursuits.
[83]Jekyl had in part, when a boy, the same happy qualities which afterwards distinguished him so entirely: in his economy of time, in his arts of arranging life, and distributing it exactly, between what was pleasant and what was grave.
With vigorous powers and fair pursuits, the doing one thing at a time is the mode to do every thing. Had Jekyl no other excellence than this, I could not be surprised when he became attorney-general.
"When you got into the place of your ancestor, Sir Joseph," said the tutor of Jekyl to him, "let this be your motto:
Et properare loco, et Cesare."
"Jekyl," said Mrs. Hobart one day, struck with the same address and exactness, "do you know, if you were a painter, Poussin would be nothing to you in the balance of a scene."
Several of his English exercises, and his verses, will not easily be forgotten. And it will be remembered also, in a laughable way, that he was as mischievous as a gentleman need be; the mobbing a vulgar, the hoaxing a quiz, all the dialect of the Thames below Chelsea-reach, and the whole reach of every thing, pleasant but wrong, which the school statutes put out of reach, but what are the practice of the wits, and of every gentleman who would live by the statutes. All these were among Jekyl's early peculiarities, and raised his fame very high for spirit and cleverness.
"So sweet and voluble was his discourse."
He was very popular among all the boys of his time. And he had a knack yet more gratifying, of recommending himself to the sisters and cousins of the boys he visited.
And he well held up in theory what he afterwards exemplified in fact. For in one of the best themes of the time on this subject,
"Non formosus erat, sod erat facundus Ulysses,"
he was much distinguished.
[84]"But the grave has closed upon most of the gay spirits of my earlier time," said Crony; "and I alone remain the sad historian. Yonder porch leads to the dormitory and school-room.{15}
'There Busby's awful picture decks the place,
Shining where once he shone a living grace.'
15 This school was founded by Queen Elizabeth in 1560, for
the education of forty boys, denominated king's scholars
from the royalty of their founders; besides which, the
nobility and gentry send their sons thither for instruction,
so that this establishment vies with Eton in celebrity and
respectability. The school is not endowed with lands and
possessions specifically appropriated to its own
maintenance, but is attached to the general foundation of
the collegiate church of Westminster, as far as relates to
the support of the king's scholars. It is under the care of
the dean and chapter of Westminster, conjointly with the
dean of Christ Church, Oxford, and the master of Trinity,
Cambridge, respect-ing the election of scholars to their
respective colleges. The foundation scholars sleep in the
dormitory, a building erected from the design and under the
superintendence of the celebrated Earl of Burlington, in the
reign of George the First; and in this place the annual
theatrical exhibitions take place; the scenery and
arrangements having been contrived under the direction of
Mr. Garrick, were presented by Archbishop Markham, the
former master of the school. The king's scholars are distin-
guished from the town-boys, or independents, by a gown, cap,
and college waistcoat; they have their dinner in the hall,
but seldom take any other meal in college; they pay for
education and accommodation as the town-boys; eight of them
are generally elected at the end of the fourth year to the
colleges above-named; they have studentships at Oxford, and
scholarships at Cambridge; the former worth from forty to
sixty pounds per annum, but the latter of small beneficial
consideration. The scholars propose themselves for the
foundation by challenge, and contend with each other in
Latin and Greek every day for eight weeks successively, when
the eight at the head of the number are chosen according to
vacancies. This contest occasions the king's scholarships to
be much sought after, as it becomes the ground-work of
reputation, and incites desire to excel. There are four boys
who are called Bishop's boys, from their being established
by Williams, Bishop of Lincoln; they have a gratuitous
education, and a small allowance which is suffered to
accumulate till the period of their admission into St.
John's College, Cambridge; they are distinguished by wearing
a purple gown, and are nominated by the dean and head-
master.
What a cloud of recollections, studded with bright and variegated lights, passes before my inward vision! Stars of eminence in every branch of learning, science, and public duties, who received their education within those walls; old Westminsters, whose fame will last as long as old England's records, and who shall doubt [85]that will be to the end of time? Here grew into manhood and renown the Lord Burleigh, King, Bishop of London, the poet Cowley, the great Dryden, Charles Montague, Earl of Halifax, Dr. South, Matthew Prior, the tragedian Rowe, Bishop Hooper, Kennet, Bishop of Peterborough, Dr. Friend, the physician, King, Archbishop of Dublin, the philosopher Locke, Atterbury, Bishop of Rochester, Bourne, the Latin poet, Hawkins Browne, Boyle, Earl of Cork and Orrery, Carteret, Earl of Granville, Charles Churchill, the English satirist, Frank Nicholls, the anatomist, Gibbon, the historian, George Colman, Bonnel Thornton, the great Earl of Mansfield, Clayton Mordaunt Cracherode, Richard Cumberland, the poet Cowper. These are only a few of the great names which occur to me at this moment; but here is enough to immortalize the memory of the old Westminsters."
On the Attachment of the Moderns to Good Eating and
Drinking—Its Consequences and Operation upon Society—
Different Description of Dinner Parties—Royal—Noble—
Parliamentary—Clerical—Methodistical—Charitable—
Theatrical—Legal—Parochial—Literary—Commercial and
Civil Gourmands—Sketches at a Side-table, by Bernard
Blackmantle.
"There are, while human miseries abound,
A thousand ways to waste superfluous wealth,
Without one fool or flatterer at your board,
Without one hour of sickness or disgust."
—Armstrong.
In such esteem is good eating held by the moderns, that the only way in which Englishmen think they can celebrate any important event, or effect any charitable purpose, is by a good dinner. From the palace to the pot-house, the same affection for good eating and drinking pervades all classes of mankind. The sovereign, when he would graciously condescend to bestow on any individual some mark of his special favour, invites him to the royal banquet, seats him tète-à-tête with the most polished prince in Europe; by this act of royal notice exalts him in the public eye, and by the suavity and elegance of his manners rivets his affections and secures his zeal for the remainder of his life. The ministers too have their state dinners, where all important questions are considered before they are submitted to the grand council of the nation. The bishops dine in holy [87]conclave to benefit Christianity, and moralize over Champagne on the immorality of mankind. The judges dine with the lord chancellor on the first day of term, and try their powers of mastication before they proceed to try the merits of their fellow citizens' causes. A lawyer must eat his way to the bar, labouring most voraciously through his commons dinners in the Temple or Lincoln's Inn Halls, before he has any chance of success in common law, common pleas, or common causes in the court of King's Bench or Chancery. The Speaker's parliamentary dinners are splendid spreads for poor senators; but sometimes the feast is infested with rats, whom his majesty's royal rat-catcher immediately cages, and contrives, by the aid of a blue or red ribband, to render extremely useful and docile. Your orthodox ministers dine on tithes, turtle, and Easter offerings, until they become as sleek as their own velvet cushions, and eke from charity to mankind almost as red in the face from the ruby tint of red port, and the sorrowful recollections of sin and death. The methodist and sectarians have their pious love feasts—bachelor's fare, bread and butter and kisses, with a dram of comfort at parting, I suppose. The deaf, the dumb, the lame, the blind, all have their annual charitable dinnerings; and even the Actor's Fund is almost entirely dependent on the fund of amusement they contrive to offer to their friends at their annual fund dinner. The church-wardens dine upon a child, and the overseers too often upon the mite extorted from the poor. Even modern literature is held in thraldom by the banquetings of modern booksellers and publishers, who by this method contrive to cram the critics with their crudities, and direct the operation of their servile pens in the cutting up of poor authors. At the Publisher's Club, held at the Albion, Dr. Kitchener and Will Jerdau rule the roast; here these worthies may be heard commenting with [88]profound critical consistency on culinaries and the classics, gurgling down heavy potations of black strap, and making still heavier remarks upon black letter bibliomania, until all the party are found labouring "Dare pondus idonea fumo," or, in the language of Cicero, it may be justly said of them, "Damnant quod non intelligent." The magnifico Murray has his merry meetings, where new books are made palatable to certain tastes by sumptuous feastings, and a choice supply of old wines. Colburn brings his books into notice by first bringing his dinner coteries into close conclave; and Longman's monthly melange of authors and critics is a literary statute dinner, where every guest is looking out for a liberal engagement.
Even the booksellers themselves feast one another before they buy and sell; and a trade sale, without a trade dinner to precede it, would be a very poor concern indeed. Fire companies and water companies, bubble companies and banking companies, all must be united and consolidated by a good dinner company. Your fat citizen, with a paunch that will scarce allow him to pass through the side avenue of Temple Bar, marks his feast days upon his sheet almanack, as a lawyer marks his term list with a double dash, thus =, and shakes in his easy chair like a sack of blubber as lie recapitulates the names of all the glorious good things of which he has partaken at the annual civic banquet at Fishmonger's Hall, or the Bible Association dinner at the City of London Tavern: at the mention of white bait, his lips smack together with joy, and he lisps out instinctively Blackwall: talk of a rump steak and Dolly's, his eyes grow wild with delight; and just hint at the fine green fat of a fresh killed turtle dressed at Birch's, and his whole soul's in arms for a corporation dinner. Reader, I have been led into this strain of thinking by an excursion I am about to make with Alderman Marigold and family, [89]to enjoy the pleasures of a Sunday ordinary in the suburbs of the metropolis; an old fashioned custom that is now fast giving way to modern notions of refinement, and is therefore the more worthy of characteristic record.
Bernard Blackmantle.
Bernard Blackmantle's first Excursion with the Marigold
Family—Lucubrations of the Alderman on the Alterations of
the Times—Sketches and Recollections on the Road—The Past
and the Present—Arrival at the Gate House, Highgate—The
Cit's Ordinary—Traits of Character—The Water Drinker, the
Vegetable Eater, and the Punster—Tom Cornish, the
Gourmand—Anecdote of old Tattersall and his Beef Eater—
Young Tat. and the Turnpike Man.
[90]"May I never be merry more," said the alderman, "if we don't go a Maying on Sunday next, and you must accompany us, Master Blackmantle: I always make a country excursion once a year, to wit, on the first Sunday in May, when we join a very jolly party at the Gate House, Highgate, and partake of an excellent ordinary."
"I thought, Pa, you would have given up that vulgar custom when we removed westward, and you were elected alderman of the ward of Cheap."
"Ay," said Mrs. Marigold, "if you wish to act politely to your wife and daughter write to the Star and Garter at Richmond, or the Toy at Hampton Court, and order a choice dinner beforehand for a select party; then we should be thought something of, and be able to dine in comfort, without being [91]scrowged up in a corner by a Leadenhall landlady, or elbowed out of every mouthful by a Smithfield salesman."
"There it is, Mr. Blackmantle, that's the evil of a man having a few pounds more in his purse than his neighbours—it makes him miserable with his family at home, and prevents him associating with old friends abroad. If you marry my Biddy, make these conditions with her—to dispense with all Mrs. Marigold's maxims on modern manners, and be at liberty to smoke your pipe where, and with whom you please."
"I declare, Pa, one would imagine you wished Mr. Blackmantle to lose all his manners directly after marriage, and all respect for his intended bride beforehand."
"Nothing of the sort, Miss Sharpwit; but, ever since I made the last fortunate contract, you and your mother have contracted a most determined dislike to every thing social and comfortable—haven't I cut the Coger's Society in Bride Lane, and the Glee Club at the Ram in Smithfield? don't I restrain myself to one visit a week to the Jolly Old Scugs{1} Society in Abchurch Lane? haven't I declined the chair of the Free and Easy Johns, and given up my command in the Lumber Troop?—are these no sacrifices? is it nothing to have converted my ancestors' large estate in Thames Street into warehouses, and emigrated westward to be confined in one of your kickshaw cages in Tavistock Square? Don't I keep a chariot and a chaise for your comfort, and consent to be crammed up in a corner at a concert party to hear some foreign stuff I don't understand? Plague take your drives in Hyde Park and promenades in Kensington Gardens! give me the society where I can eat, drink, laugh, joke, and smoke
1 Blue coat boys. The others are all well-known anacreontic
meetings held in the city.
[92]as I like, without being obliged to watch every word and action, as if my tongue was a traitor to my head, and my stomach a tyrant of self-destruction."
The alderman's remonstrance was delivered with so much energy and good temper, that there was no withstanding his argument; a hearty laugh, at the conclusion, from Miss Biddy and myself, accompanied by an ejaculation of "Poor man, how ill you are used!" from his lady, restored all to good-humour, and obtained the "quid pro quo," a consent on their parts to yield to old customs, and, for once in a way, to allow the alderman to have a day of his own. The next morning early an open barouche received our party, the coachman being particularly cautioned not to drive too fast, to afford the alderman an opportunity of luxuriating upon the reminiscences of olden time.
As the carriage rolled down the hill turning out of the New Road the alderman was particularly eloquent in pointing out and describing the once celebrated tea gardens, Bagnigge Wells.
"In my young days, sir, this place was the great resort of city elegance and fashion, and divided the town with Vauxhall. Here you might see on a Sunday afternoon, or other evenings, two thirds of the corporation promenading with their wives and daughters; then there was a fine organ in the splendid large room, which played for the entertainment of the company, and such crowds of beautiful women, and gay fellows in embroidered suits and lace ruffles, all powdered and perfumed like a nosegay, with elegant cocked hats and swords in their sides; then there were such rural walks to make love in, take tea or cyder, and smoke a pipe; you know, Mrs. Marigold, you and I have had many a pleasant hour in those gardens during our courting days, when the little naked Cupid used to sit astride of a swan, and the water spouted from its beak as high as the [93]monument; then the grotto was so delightful and natural as life, and the little bridge, and the gold fish hopping about underneath it, made it quite like a terrestrial paradise{2}; but about that time Dr. Whitfield and the Countess of Huntingdon undertook to save the souls of all the sinners, and erected a psalm-singing shop in Tottenham Court Road, where they assembled the pious, and made wry faces at the publicans and sinners, until they managed to turn the heads without turning the hearts of a great number of his majesty's liege subjects, and by the aid of cant and hypocrisy, caused the orthodox religion of the land to be nearly abandoned; but we are beginning to be more enlightened, Mr. Blackmantle, and Understand these trading missionaries and Bible merchants much better than they could wish us to have done. Then, sir, the Pantheon, in Spa Fields, was a favourite place of resort for the bucks and gay ladies of the time; and Sadler's Wells and Islington Spa were then in high repute for their mineral waters. At White Conduit House the Jews and Jewesses of the metropolis held their carnival, and city apprentices used to congregate at Dobney's bowling-green, afterwards named, in compliment to Garrick's Stratford procession, the Jubilee tea-gardens; those were the times to grow rich, Mr. Blackmantle, when half-a-crown would cover the day's expenditure of five persons, and behave liberally too."—In our way through Islington, the alderman pointed out to us the place as formerly celebrated for a weekly consumption of cakes and ale; and as we passed through Holloway, informed us that it was in former time equally notorious for its cheese-cakes, the fame of which attracted vast numbers on
2 Upon reference to an old print of Bagnigge Wells, I find
the alderman's description of the place to be a very
faithful portrait. The Pantheon is still standing, but
converted into a methodist chapel.
[94]the Sunday, who, having satiated themselves with pastry, would continue their rambles to the adjacent places of Hornsey Wood House, Colney Hatch, and Highgate, returning by the way of Hampstead to town.
The topographical reminiscences of the alderman were illustrated as we proceeded by the occasional sallies of Mrs. Marigold's satire: "she could not but regret the depravity of the times, that enabled low shop-keepers and servants to dress equal to their betters: it is now quite impossible to enjoy society and be comfortable in public, without being associated with your tallow-chandler, or your butcher, or take a pleasant drive out of town, without meeting your linen-draper, or your tailor, better mounted or in a more fashionable equipage than yourself."
"All for the good of trade," said the alderman: "it would be very hard indeed if those who enable others to cut a dash all the week could not make a splash themselves on a Sunday; besides, my dear, it's a matter of business now-a-days: many of your kickshaw tradesmen west of Temple Bar find it as necessary to consult appearances in the park and watch the new come outs, as I do to watch the stock market: if they find their customers there in good feather and high repute, they venture to cover another leaf in their ledger; but if, on the contrary, they appear shy, only show of a Sunday, and are cut by the nobs, why then they understand it's high time to close the account, and it's very well for them if they are ever able to strike a balance."
At the conclusion of this colloquy, we had arrived at the Gate House, Highgate, just in time to hear the landlord proclaim that dinner was that moment about to be served up: the civic rank of the alderman did not fail to obtain its due share of servile attention from Boniface, who undertook to escort our party into the room, and having announced the consequence [95]of his guests, placed the alderman and his family at the head of the table.
I have somewhere read, "there is as much valour expected in feasting as in fighting; "and if any one doubts the truth of the axiom, let him try with a hungry stomach to gratify the cravings of nature at a crowded ordinary—or imagine a well disposed group of twenty persons, all in high appetite and "eager for the fray" sitting down to a repast scantily prepared for just half the number, and crammed into a narrow room, where the waiters are of necessity obliged to wipe every dish against your back, or deposit a portion of gravy in your pocket, to say nothing of the sauce with which a remonstrance is sure to fill both your ears. Most of the company present upon this occasion appeared to have the organs of destructiveness to an extraordinary degree, and mine host of the Gate House, who is considered an excellent physiognomist, looked on with trembling and disastrous countenance, as he marked the eager anxiety of the expectant gourmands sharpening their knives, and spreading their napkins, at the shrine of Sensuality, exhibiting the most voracious symptoms of desire to commence the work of demolition.
A small tureen of mock turtle was half lost on its entrance, by being upset over the leg of a dancing-master, who capered about the room to double quick time, from the effects of a severe scalding; on which the alderman (with a wink) observed, that the gentleman had no doubt caused many a calf s head to dance about in his time, and now he had met with a rich return. "I'll bring an action against the landlord for the carelessness of his waiter." "You had better not," said the alderman. "Why not, sir?" replied the smarting son of Terpsichore. "Because you have only one leg to stand on." This sally produced a general laugh, and restored all to good humour. On the appearance of a fine cod's head and shoulders, the [96]rosy gills of Marigold seemed to extend with extatic delight; while a dozen voices assailed him at once with "I'll take fish, if you please." "Ay, but you don't take me for a fag: if you please, gentlemen, I shall help the ladies first, then myself and friend, and afterwards you may divide the omnium and scrip just as you please."
"What a strange animal!" whispered the dancing master to his next neighbour, an old conveyancer. "Yes, sir," replied the man of law, "a city shark, I think, that will swallow all our share of the fish."
"Don't you think, Mr. Alderman," said a lusty lady on the opposite side of the table, "the fish is rather high?"
"No, ma'ain, it's my opinion," (looking at the fragments) "the company will find it rather low."
"Ay, but I mean, Mr. Alderman, it's not so fresh as it might be."
"Why the head did whisper to me, ma'am, that he had not been at sea these ten days; only I thought it rude to repeat what was told me in confidence, and I'm not fond of fresh things myself, am I, Mrs. Marigold? Shall I help you to a little fowl, ma'am, a wing, or a merry thought?"
"Egad! Mr. Alderman, you are always ready to assist the company with the latter."
"Yes, ma'am, always happy to help the ladies to a __tit bit: shall I send you the recorder's nose? Bless my heart, how warm it is! Here, Joe, hang my wig behind me, and place that calf's-head before me." (See Plate.)
"Very sorry, ma'am, very sorry indeed," said Mr. Deputy Flambeau to the lady next him, whose silk dress he had just bespattered all over; "could not have supposed this little pig had so much gravy in him," as Lady Macbeth says.
"I wish you'd turn that ere nasty thing right round, Mr. Deputy," growled out a city [97]costermonger, "'cause my wife's quite alarmed for her grose de Naples."
"Not towards me, if you please, Mr. Deputy," simpered out Miss Marigold, "because thereby hangs a tail, i.e. (tale)."
"That's my Biddy's ultimatum," said the alderman; "she never makes more than one good joke a day."
"If they are all as good as the last, they deserve the benefit of frequent resurrection, alderman."
"Why so, Mr. Blackmantle?"
"Because they will have the merit of being very funny upon a very grave subject—jeu d'esprits upon our latter end."
"Could you make room for three more gentlemen?" said the waiter, ushering in three woe-begone knights of the trencher, who, having heard the fatal clock strike when at the bottom of the hill, and knowing the punctuality of the house, had toiled upwards with breathless anxiety to be present at the first attack, and arrived at the end of the second course, just in time to be too late. "Confound all clocks and clockmakers! set my watch by Bishopsgate church, and made sure I was a quarter too fast." "Very sorry, gentlemen, very sorry, indeed," said Boniface; "nothing left that is eatable—not a chop or a steak in the house; but there is an excellent ordinary at the Spaniards, about a mile further down the lane; always half an hour later than ours." "Ay, it's a grievous affair, landlord; but howsomdever, if there's nothing to eat, why we must go: we meant to have done you justice to-day—but never mind, we'll be in time for you another Sunday, old gentleman, depend upon it; "and with this significant promise the three hungarians departed, not a little disappointed.
"Those three men are no ordinary customers," said our host; "they have done us the honour to dine here before, and what is more, of leaving nothing behind; one of them is the celebrated Yorkshireman, Tom [98]Cornish, whom General Picton pitted against a Hanoverian glutton to eat for a fortnight, and found, at the end of a week, that he was a whole bullock, besides twelve quartern loaves, and half a barrel of beer, ahead of his antagonist; and if the Hanoverian had not given up, Tom would have eaten the rations of a whole company. His father is said to have been equally gluttonous and penurious, and could eat any given quantity: this person once dining with a member of the Society of Friends, who was also a scion of Elwes' school, after having eat enough for four moderate visitors, re-helped himself, exclaiming, 'You see it's cut and come again with me! 'to which the sectarian gravely replied, 'Friend, cut again thou may'st, but come again thou never shalt.'"
"Ay, that's a very good joke, landlord," said the alderman; "but you know I am up to your jokes: you think these long stories will save your mutton, but there you're wrong—they only give time to take breath; so bring in the sirloin and the saddle of mutton, waiter; and when we've done dinner I'll tell you an anecdote of old Tattersall and his beef-eater, which occurred at this house in a former landlord's time. Come, Mr. Blackmantle, let me send you a slice of the sirloin, and tell us what you think of good eating."
"That the wit of modern times directs all its rage ad gulam; and the only inducement to study is erudito luxu, to please the palate, and satisfy the stomach. Even my friend Ebony, the northern light, has cast off the anchorite, and sings thus jollily:
'The science of eating is old,
Its antiquity no man can doubt:
Though Adam was squeamish, we're told,
Eve soon found a dainty bit out.'
"We talk of the degeneracy of the moderns, as if men now-a-days were in every respect inferior to their [99]ancestors; but I maintain, and challenge contradiction, that there are many stout rubicund gentlemen in this metropolis that might be backed for eating or drinking with any Bacchanalian or masticator since the days of Adam himself. What was Offellius Bibulus, the Roman parasite, or Silenus Ebrius, or Milo, who could knock down an ox, and eat him up directly afterwards, compared to Tom Cornish, or Richardson the oyster eater?{3} or what are all these opposed to the Oxonian, who, a short time since, went to the Swan at Bedford, and ordered dinner? a goose being brought, he hacked it in a style at which Mrs. Glass would have fainted; indeed so wretched was the mutilated anatomy, in appearance, from bad carving, that, being perfectly ashamed of it, he seized the moment when some poor mendicant implored his charity at the window, deposited the remains of the goose in his apron, rang the bell, and asked for his bill: the waiter gazed a moment at the empty dish, and then rushing to the landlord, exclaimed, 'Oh! measter, measter, the gentleman eat the goose, bones and all!' and the worthies of Bedford believe the wondrous tale to this day."
To return to Tom Cornish, our host informed us his extraordinary powers of mastication were well known, and dreaded by all the tavern-keeping fraternity who had Sunday ordinaries within ten miles round London, with some of whom he was a regular annuitant, receiving a trifle once a year, in lieu of giving them a benefit, as he terms the filling of his voracious paunch. A story is told of his father, who is said to have kept a very scanty table, that dining one Saturday with
3 In 1762, says Evelyn in his Diary, "one Richardson,
amongst other feats, performed the following: taking a live
coal on his tongue, he put on it a raw oyster; the coal was
blown on with a bellows, till it flamed in his mouth, and so
remained till the oyster gaped, and was quite boiled."
Certainly the most simple of all cooking apparatus.
[100]his son at an ordinary in Cambridge, he whispered in his ear, "Tom, you must eat for to-day and to-morrow." "O yes," retorted the half-starved lad, "but I han't eaten for yesterday, and the day before yet, father." In short, Tom makes but one hearty meal in a week, and that one might serve a troop of infantry to digest. The squalling of an infant at the lower end of the room, whose papa was vainly endeavouring to pacify the young gourmand with huge spoonfuls of mock-turtle, drew forth an observation from the alderman, that had well nigh disturbed the entire arrangement of the table, and broke up the harmony of the scene "with most admired disorder;" for on the head of the Marigold family likening the youngster's noise to a chamber organ, and quaintly observing that they always had music during dinner at Fishmongers' Hall, the lady mother of the infant, a jolly dame, who happened to be engaged in the shell fish line, took the allusion immediately to herself, and commenced such a furious attack upon the alderman as proved her having been regularly matriculated at the college in Thames Street.
When the storm subsided the ladies had vanished, and the alderman moved an adjournment to what he termed the snuggery, a pleasant little room on the first floor, which commanded a delightful prospect over the adjacent country. Here we were joined by three eccentric friends of the Marigold family, who came on the special invitation of the alderman, Mr. Peter Pendragon, a celebrated city punster, Mr. Philotus Wantley, a vegetable dieter, and Mr. Galen Cornaro, an abominator of wine, and a dyspeptic follower of Kitchener and Abernethy—a trio of singularities that would afford excellent materials for my friend Richard Peake, the dramatist, in mixing up a new monopolylogue for that facetious child of whim and wit, the inimitable Charles Mathews. Our first story, while the wine was decantering, proceeded from the [101]alderman, who having been driven from the dinner table somewhat abruptly by the amiable caro sposa of the fish-merchant, had failed in giving us his promised anecdote of old Tattersall and his beef-eater. "I have dined with him often in this house," said the alderman, "in my earlier days, and a pleasant, jovial, kindhearted fellow he was, one who would ride a long race to be present at a good joke, and never so happy as when he could trot a landlord, or knock down an argument monger with his own weapons. The former host of the Gate House was a bit of a screw, and old Tat knew this; so calling in one day, as if by accident, Tat sat him down to a cold round of beef, by way of luncheon, and having taken some half ounce of the meat, with a few pickles, requested to know what he had to pay for his eating. 'Three shillings, sir,' said the waiter. 'Three devils!' ejaculated Tat, with strong symptoms of surprise, for in those days three shillings would have nearly purchased the whole round: 'send in your master.' In walks the host, and Tat renewed his question, receiving in reply a reiteration of the demand, but accompanied with this explanation, that peck high or peck low, it was all the same price: 'in short, sir,' said the host, 'I keep this house, and I mean the house should keep me, and the only way I find to insure that is to make the short stomachs pay for the long ones.' 'Very well,' said Tat, paying the demand, 'I shall remember this, and bring a friend to dine with you another day.' At this time Tat had in his employ a fellow called Oxford Will, notorious for his excessive gluttony, a very famine breeder, who had won several matches by eating for a wager, and who had obtained the appellation of Tattersall's beef-eater. This fellow Tat dressed in decent style, and fixing him by his side in the chaise, drove up to the Gate House on a Sunday to dine at the ordinary, taking care to be in excellent time, and making a previous appointment with a few friends [102]to enjoy the joke. At dinner Will was, by arrangement, placed in the chair, and being well instructed and prepared for execution, was ably supported by Tat and his friends: the host, too, who was in excellent humour, quite pleased to see such a numerous and respectable party, apologised repeatedly, observing that he would have provided more abundantly had he known of the intended honour: in this way all things proceeded very pleasantly with the first course, Will not caring to make any very wonderful display of his masticatory prowess with either of the unsubstantials, fish or soup; but when a fine aitch-bone of beef came before the gourmand, he stuck his fork into the centre, and, unheedful of the ravenous solicitations of those around him requesting a slice, proceeded to demolish the whole joint, with as much celerity as the hyena would the harmless rabbit: the company stared with astonishment; the landlord, to whom the waiters had communicated the fact, entered the room in breathless haste; and on observing the empty dish, and hearing Will direct the waiter to take away the bone and bring him a clean plate, was apparently thunder-struck: but how much was his astonishment increased upon perceiving Will help himself to a fine young turkey, stuffed with sausages, which he proceeded to dissect with anatomical ability, and by this time the company understanding the joke, he was allowed uninterruptedly to deposit it in his immense capacious receptacle, denominated by old Tat the fathomless vacuum. Hitherto the company had been so completely electrified by the extra-ordinary powers of the glutton, that astonishment had for a short time suspended the activity of appetite, as one great operation of nature will oftentimes paralyze the lesser affections of the body; but, as Will became satisfied, the remainder of the party, stimulated by certain compunctious visitings of nature, called cravings of the stomach, gave evident symptoms of [103]a very opposite nature: in vain the landlord stated his inability to produce more viands, he had no other provisions in the house, it was the sabbath-day, and the butchers' shops were shut, not a chop or a steak could be had: here Will feigned to join his affliction with the rest—he could have enjoyed a little snack more, by way of finish. This was the climax; the party, according to previous agreement, determined to proceed to the next inn to obtain a dinner; the landlord's remonstrance was perfectly nugatory; they all departed, leaving Tat and his man to settle with the infuriated host; and when the bill was brought in they refused to pay one sixpence more than the usual demand of three shillings each, repeating the landlord's own words, that peck high or peck low, it was all the same price."
With the first glass of wine came the inspiring toast of "The Ladies," to which Mr. Philotus Wantley demurred, not on account of the sex, for he could assure us he was a fervent admirer, but having studied the wise maxims of Pythagoras, and being a disciple of the Brahma school, abominators of flesh and strong liquors, he hoped to be excused, by drinking the ladies in aqua pura.—" Water is a monstrous drink for Christians!" said the alderman, "the sure precursor of coughs, colds, consumptions, agues, dropsies, pleurisies, and spleen. I never knew a water-drinker in my life that was ever a fellow of any spirit, mere morbid anatomies, starvelings and hypochondriacs: your water-drinkers never die of old age, but melancholy."—"Right, right, alderman," said Mr. Pendragon; "a cup of generous wine is, in my opinion, excellent physic; it makes a man lean, and reduces him to friendly dependence on every thing that bars his way: sometimes it is a little grating to his feelings, to be sure, but it generally passes off with an hic-cup. According to Galen, sir, the waters of Astracan breed worms in those who taste them; those [104]of Verduri, the fairest river in Macedonia, make the cattle who drink of them black, while those of Peleca, in Thessaly, turn every thing white; and Bodine states that the stuttering of the families of Aquatania, about Labden, is entirely owing to their being water-drinkers: a man might as well drink of the river Styx as the river Thames, 'Stygio monstrum conforme paludi,' a monstrous drink, thickened by the decomposition of dead Christians and dead brutes, and purified by the odoriferous introduction of gas water and puddle water, joined to a pleasant and healthy amalgamation of all the impurities of the common sewers.
'As nothing goes in so thick,
And nothing comes out so thin,
It must follow, of course,
That no-thing can be worse,
As the dregs are all left within.'"
"Very well, Mr. Pendragon, very well, indeed," said Mr. Galen Cornaro, an eccentric of the same school, but not equally averse to wine; "'temperance is a bridle of gold; and he who uses it rightly is more like a god than a man.' I have no objection to a cup of generous wine, provided nature requires it—but 'simple diet,' says Pliny, 'is best;' for many dishes bring many diseases. Do you know John Abernethy, sir? he is the manus dei of my idolatry. 'What ought I to drink?' inquired a friend of mine of the surgeon. 'What do you give your horse, sir?' was the question in reply. 'Water.' 'Then drink water,' said Abernethy. After this my friend was afraid to put the question of eatables, lest the doctor should have directed him to live on oats. 'Your modern good fellows,' continued John, 'are only ambitious of rivalling a brewer's horse; who after all will carry more liquor than the best of them.' 'What is good to assist a weak digestion?' said another patient. 'Weak food and warm clothing,' was the reply; 'not, [105]however, forgetting my blue pill.' When you have dined well, sleep well: wrap yourself up in a warm watch-coat, and imitate your dog by basking yourself at full length before the fire; these are a few of the Abernethy maxims for dyspeptic patients." I had heard much of this celebrated man, and was desirous of gleaning some more anecdotes of his peculiarities. With this view I laid siege to Mr. Galen Cornaro, who appeared to be well acquainted with the whims of the practitioner. "I remember, sir," said my informant, "a very good fellow of the name of Elliot, a bass-singer at the concerts and theatres of the metropolis; a man very much resembling John Abernethy in person, and still more so in manner; one who under a rough exterior carried as warm a heart as ever throbbed within the human bosom. Elliot had fallen ill of the jaundice, and having imbibed a very strong dislike to the name of doctor, whether musical or medical, refused the solicitations of his friends to receive a visit from any one of the faculty; to this eccentricity of feeling he added a predilection for curing every disease of the body by the use of simples, decoctions, and fomentations extracted from the musty records of old Culpepper, the English physician. Pursuing this principle, Elliot every day appeared to grow worse, and drooped like the yellow leaf of autumn in its sear; until his friends, alarmed for his safety, sent to Abernethy, determined to take the patient by surprise. Imagine a robust-formed man, sinking under disease and ennui, seated before the fire, at his side a table covered with phials and pipkins, and near him his vade mecum, the renowned Culpepper. A knock is heard at the door. 'Come in!' vociferates the invalid, with stentorian lungs yet unimpaired; and enter John Abernethy, not a little surprised by the ungraciousness of his reception. 'Who are you?' said Elliot in thorough-bass, just inclining his head half round to recognize his visitor, [106]without attempting to rise from his seat: Abernethy appeared astonished, but advancing towards his patient, replied, 'John Abernethy.'
'Elliot. Oh, the doctor!
'Abernethy. No, not the doctor; but plain John Abernethy, if you please.
'Elliot. Ay, my stupid landlady sent for you, I suppose.
'Abernethy. To attend a very stupid patient, it would appear.
'Elliot. Well, as you are come, I suppose I must give you your fee. (Placing the gold upon the table.)
'Abernethy (looking rather cross.) What's the matter with you?
'Elliot. Can't you see?
'Abernethy. Oh yes, I see very well; then tasting some of the liquid in the phials, and observing the source from whence the prescriptions had been extracted, the surgeon arrived at something that was applicable to the disease. Who told you to take this?
'Elliot. Common sense.
'Abernethy putting his fee in his pocket, and preparing to depart. Good day.
'Elliot (reiterating the expression.) Good day! Why, you mean to give me some advice for my money, don't you?
'Abernethy, with the door in his hand. Follow common sense, and you'll do very well.'
"Thus ended the interview between Abernethy and Elliot. It was the old tale of the stammerers personified; for the professional and the patient each conceived the other an imitator. On reaching the ground-floor the surgeon was, however, relieved from his embarrassment by the communication of the good woman of the house, who, in her anxiety to serve Elliot, had produced this extraordinary scene. Abernethy laughed heartily—assured her that the patient would do well—wrote a prescription for him—begged [107]he might hear how he proceeded—and learning he was a professional man, requested the lady of the mansion to return him his fee."
"Ay," said the alderman, "that was just like John Abernethy. I remember when he tapped poor Mrs. Marigold for the dropsy, he was not very tender, to be sure, but he soon put her out of her tortures. And when on his last visit I offered him a second twenty pound note for a fee, I thought he would have knocked me down; asked me if I was the fool that gave him such a sum on a former occasion; threw it back again with indignation, and said he did not rob people in that manner." No professional man does more generous actions than John Abernethy; only it must be after his own fashion.
"Come, gentlemen, the bottle stands still," said Mr. Pendragon, "while you are running through the merits of drinking. Does not Rabelais contend that good wine is the best physic?' because there are more old tipplers than old physicians.' Custom is every thing; only get well seasoned at the first start, and all the rest of life is a summer's scene. Snymdiris the
Sybarite never once saw the sun rise or set during a course of twenty years; yet he lived to a good old age, drank like a centaur, and never went to bed sober."
And when his glass was out, he fell Like some ripe kernel from its shell.
"I was once an anti-gastronomist and a rigid antisaccharinite; sugar and milk were banished from my breakfast-table, vegetables and puddings my only diet, until I almost ceased to vegetate, and my cranium was considered as soft as a custard; and curst hard it was to cast off all culinary pleasures, sweet reminiscences of my infancy, commencing with our first spoonful of pap, for all young protestants are papists; to this day my heart (like Wordsworth's) [108]overflows at the sight of a pap-boat—the boat a child first mans; to speak naughty-cally, as a nurse would say, how many a row is there in the pap-boat—how many squalls attend it when first it comes into contact with the skull! But I am now grown corpulent; in those days I was a lighter-man, and I believe I should have continued to live (exist) upon herbs and roots; but Dr. Kitchener rooted up all my prejudices, and overturned the whole system of my theory by practical illustrations.
"Thus he that's wealthy, if he's wise,
Commands an earthly paradise;
That happy station nowhere found,
But where the glass goes freely round.
Then give us wine, to drown the cares
Of life in our declining years,
That we may gain, if Heav'n think fitting,
By drinking, what was lost by eating:
For though mankind for that offence
Were doom'd to labour ever since,
Yet Mercy has the grape impower'd
To sweeten what the apple sour'd."
To this good-humoured sally of Pendragon succeeded a long dissertation on meats, which it is not meet I should relate, being for the most part idle conceits of Mr. Galen Cornaro, who carried about him a long list of those prescribed eatables, which engender bile, breed the incubus, and produce spleen, until, according to his bill of fare, he had left himself nothing to subsist upon in this land of plenty but a mutton-chop, or a beef-steak. What pleased me most was, that with every fresh bottle the two disciples of Pythagoras and Abernethy became still more vehement in maintaining the necessity for a strict adherence to the theory of water and vegetable economy; while their zeal had so far blinded their recollection, that when the ladies returned from their walk to join us at tea, they were both "bacchi plenis," as Colman has it, something inclining from [109]a right line, and approaching in its motion to serpentine sinuosities. A few more puns from Mr. Pendragon, and another story from the alderman, about his friend, young Tattersall, employing Scroggins the bruiser, disguised as a countryman to beat an impudent Highgate toll-keeper, who had grossly insulted him, finished the amusements of the day, which Mrs. Marigold and Miss Biddy declared had been spent most delightfully, so rural and entertaining, and withal so economical, that the alderman was induced to promise he would not dine at home again of a Sunday for the rest of the summer. To me, at least, it afforded the charm of novelty; and if to my readers it communicates something of character, blended with pleasure in the perusal, I shall not regret my Sunday trip with the Marigold family and first visit to the
Have you ever seen Donnybrook fair?
Or in a caveau spent the night?
On Waterloo's plains did you dare
To engage in the terrific fight?
Has your penchant for life ever led
You to visit the Finish or Slums,
At the risk of your pockets and head?
Or in Banco been fixed by the bums?
In a smash at the hells have you been,
When pigeons were pluck'd by the bone?
Or enjoy'd the magnificent scene
When our fourth George ascended his throne?
Have you ever heard Tierney or Canning
A Commons' division address?
Or when to the gallery ganging,
Been floor'd by a rush from the press?
Has your taste for the fine arte impell'd
You to visit a bull-bait or fight?
Or by rattles and charleys propell'd,
In a watch-house been lodged for the night?
In a morning at Bow-street made one
Of a group just to bother sage Birnie?
Stood the racket, got fined, cut and run,
Being fleeced by the watch and attorney?
Or say, have you dined in Guildhall
With the mayor and his corporate souls?
Or been squeezed at a grand civic ball,
With dealers in tallow and coals?
Mere nothings are these, though the range
Through all we have noticed you've been,
When compared to the famed Stock Exchange,
That riotous gambling scene.
The unexpected Legacy—Bernard Blackmantle and Bob Transit
visit Capel Court—Characters in the Stocks—Bulls, Bears
and Bawds, Brokers, Jews and Jobbers—A new Acquaintance,
Peter Principal—His Account of the Market—The Royal
Exchange—Tricks upon Travellers—Slating a Stranger—The
Hebrew Star and his Satellites—Dividend Hunters and
Paragraph Writers—The New Bubble Companies—Project
Extraordinary—Prospectus in Rhyme of the Life, Death,
Burial, and Resurrection Company—Lingual Localisms of the
Stock Exchange explained—The Art and Mystery of Jobbing
exposed—Anecdotes of the House and its Members—Flying a
Tile—Billy Wright's Brown Pony—Selling a Twister—A Peep
into Botany Bay—Flats and Flat-catchers—The Rotunda and
the Transfer Men—How to work the Telegraph—Create a Rise—
Put on the Pot—Bang down the Market—And waddle out a Lame
Duck.
A bequest of five hundred pounds by codicil from a rich old aunt had most unexpectedly fallen to my friend Transit, who, quite unprepared for such an overwhelming increase of good fortune, was pondering on the best means of applying this sudden acquisition of capital, when I accidentally paid him a visit in Half-moon Street. "Give me joy, Bernard," said Bob; "here's a windfall;" thrusting the official notice into my hand; "five hundred pounds from an old female miser, who during her lifetime was never known to dispense five farthings for any generous or charitable purpose; but being about to slip her wind and make a wind-up of her accounts, was kind enough to remember at parting that she had a poor relation, an [112]artist, to whom such a sum might prove serviceable, so just hooked me on to the tail end of her testamentary document and booked me this legacy, before she booked herself inside for the other world. And now, my dear Bernard," continued Bob, "you are a man of the world, one who knows
'What's what, and that's as high
As metaphysic wit can fly.'
I am puzzled, actually bewildered what to do with this accumulation of wealth: only consider an eccentric artist with five hundred pounds in his pocket; why it must prove his death-warrant, unless immediate measures are taken to free him from its magical influence. Shall I embark it in some of the new speculations? the Milk company, or the Water company, the Flesh, Fish, or Fowl companies, railways or tunnel-ways, or in short, only put me in the right way, for, at present, I am mightily abroad in that respect." "Then my advice is, that you keep your money at home, or in other words, fund it; unless you wish to be made fun of and laughed at for a milksop, or a bubble merchant, or be taken for one of the Gudgeon family, or a chicken butcher, a member of the Poultry company, where fowl dealing is considered all fair; or become a liveryman of the worshipful company of minors (i.e. miners), where you may be fleeced à la Hayne, by legs, lawyers, bankers and brokers, demireps and contractors'; or, perhaps, you [113]will feel disposed to embark in a new company, of which I have just strung together a prospectus in rhyme: a speculation which has, at least, much of novelty in this country to recommend it, and equally interests all orders of society.
1 It is not surprising, we see, that lawyers, bankers, and
brokers are found at the bottom of most of the new schemes.
Their profits are certain, whatever the fate of the Gudgeon
family. The brokers, in particular, have a fine harvest of
it. Their charges being upon the full nominal amount of the
shares sold, they get twice as much by transferring a single
100L. share in a speculation, although only 1L. may have
been paid on it, as by the purchase or sale of 100L.
consols, of which the price is 94L. Or, to make the matter
plainer to the uninitiated, suppose an individual wishes to
lay out 500L. in the stock-market. If he orders his broker
to purchase into the British funds, the latter will buy him
about 535L. three per cent, consols; and the
brokerage, at one-eighth per cent, will be about 13s. But
if the same person desires to invest the same sum in the
stock of a new Mine or Rail-road company, which is divided
into 100L. shares, on each of which say 1L. is paid, and
there is a premium of 1L. (as is the case at this moment
with a stock we have in our eye) his broker's account will
then stand thus:—
Bought 250 shares in the —— Company.
First instalment of 1L. paid £250 0 0
Premium L. per share 250 0 0
500 0 0
Brokerage £ per cent, on 25,000L. stock 62 10 0
562 10 0
Which will leave Mr. Adventurer to pay 62L. 10s. to his
broker, and to pay 99L. more on each of his 250 shares, when
the———company "call" for it!
Or, let us reverso the case, and suppose our speculator,
having been an original subscriber for 100 shares in the
—— company, and having consequently obtained them for
nothing, wishes to sell, finding them at a premium of 6s.
per share, and either fearing they may go lower, or not
being able to pay even the first instalment called for by
the directors. If he is an humble tradesman, he is perhaps
eager to realise a profit obtained without labour, and hugs
him-self at the idea of the hundred crowns and the hundred
shillings he shall put into his pocket by this pleasant
process. Away he posts to Cornhill, searches out a broker,
into whose hands he puts the letter entitling him to the 100
shares, with directions to sell at the current premium. The
broker takes a turn round 'Change, finds a customer, and the
whole affair is settled in a twinkling, by an entry or two
in the broker's memorandum-book, and the drawing of a couple
of cheques. Our fortunate speculator, who is anxiously
waiting at Batson's the return of his man of business, and
spending perhaps 3s. 6d. in bad negus and tough sandwiches,
on the strength of his good luck, is then presented with a
draft on a banker for 5L. neatly folded up in a small slip
of foolscap, containing the following satisfactory
particulars:—
Sold 100 shares in the———company—nothing paid—prem. 6s. £30
Brokerage, 1/4 per cent, on 10,000L. stock 25
By cheque 5
He stares wildly at this document, utterly speechless, for
five minutes, during which the broker, after saying he shall
be happy to "do" for him another time, throws a card on the
table, and exit. The lucky speculator wanders into 'Change
with the account in his hand, and appeals to several Jews to
know whether he has not been cheated: some abuse him for the
insinuation against so "respectable" a man as Mr.——- the
broker; others laugh in his face; and all together hustle
him into the street. He goes home richer by 4L.. 16s. 6d.
than when he went out, and finds that a wealthy customer,
having called three times in his absence to give him a
particular order, had just left the shop in a rage, swearing
he would no longer encourage so inattentive a tradesman.—
Examiner.
In this age of projectors, when bubbles are spread
With illusive attractions to bother each head,
When bulls, bears, jews, and jobbers all quit Capelcourt
To become speculators and join in the sport,
Who can wonder, when interest with intellect clashes,
We should have a new club to dispose of our ashes;
To rob death of its terrors, and make it delightful
To give up your breath, and abolish the frightful
Old custom of lying defunct in your shroud,
Surrounded by relatives sobbing aloud?
We've a scheme that shall mingle the "grave with the gay,"
And make it quite pleasant to die, when you may.
First, then, we propose with the graces of art,
Like our Parisian friends, to make ev'ry tomb smart;
And, by changing the feelings of funeral terrors,
Remove what remain'd of old Catholic errors.
Our plan is to blend in the picturesque style
Smirke, Soane, Nash, and Wyatville all in one pile.
So novel, agreeable, and grateful our scheme,
That death will appear like a sweet summer's dream;
And the horrid idea of a gloomy, cold cell,
Will vanish like vapours of mist from a dell.
Thus changed, who'll object a kind friend to inhume,
When his sepulchre's made like a gay drawing-room 1
A diversified, soothing commixture of trees,
Umbrageous and fann'd by the perfumed breeze;
With alcoves, and bowers, and fish-ponds, and shrubs,
Select, as in life, from intrusion of scrubs;
While o'er your last relics the violet-turf press
Must a flattering promise afford of success.
"Lie light on him, earth," sung a poet of old;
Our earth shall be sifted, and never grow cold;
No rude weight on your chest—how like ye our scheme {1}
Where your grave will be warm'd by a process of steam,
Which will boil all the worms and the grubs in their holes,
And preserve from decay ev'ry part but your souls.
Our cemetery, centred in fancy's domain,
Shall by a state edict eternal remain
To all parties open, the living or dead;
Or christian, or atheist, here rest their head,
In a picturesque garden, and deep shady grove,
Where young love smiles, and fashion delighteth to rove.
To render the visitors' comforts complete,
And afford the grieved mourners a proper retreat,
The directors intend to erect an hotel,
Where a table d'hôte will be furnished well;
Not with the "cold meats of a funeral feast,"
But a banquet that's worthy a nabob at least;
Of lachryma christi, and fine vin de grave,
And cordial compounds, a choice you may have.
Twice a week 'tis proposed to illumine the scene,
And to waltz and quadrille on the velvety green;
While Colinet's band and the Opera Corps
Play and dance with a spirit that's quite con amore,
A committee of taste will superintend
The designs and inscriptions to each latter end.
Take notice, no cross-bones or skulls are allowed,
Or naked young cherubims riding a cloud;
In short, no allusions that savour of death,
Nor aught that reminds of a friend's parting breath.
The inscriptions and epitaphs, elegies too,
Must all be poetical, lively, and new;
Such as never were heard of, or seen heretofore,
To be written by Proctor, Sam. Rogers, or Moore.
In lieu of a sermon, glee-singers attend,
Who will chant, like the cherubims, praise without end.
Three decent old women, to enliven the hours,
Attend with gay garlands and sacred flowers,
The emblems of grief—artificial, 'tis true,
But very like nature in a general view.
Lord Graves will preside, and vice-president Coffin
Will pilot the public into the offing.
The College of Surgeons and Humane Society
Have promised to send a delightful variety.
The Visitors all are physicians of fame;
And success we may, therefore, dead certainty name.
To the delicate nervous, who'd wish a snug spot,
A romantic temple, or moss-cover'd grot,
Let them haste to John Ebers, and look at the plan;
Where the grave-book lies open, its merits to scan.
Gloves, hatbands, and essence of onions for crying,
White 'kerchiefs and snuff, and a cordial worth trying,
The attendants have ready; and more—as time presses,
No objection to bury you in fancy dresses.
Our last proposition may frighten you much;
We propose to reanimate all by a touch,
By magic revive, if a century old,
The bones of a father, a friend, or a scold.
In short, we intend, for all—but a wife,
To bring whom you please in a moment to life;
That is, if the shares in our company rise,—
If not 'tis a bubble, like others, of lies.
—Bernard Blackmantle.
[118]The recitation of this original jeu d'esprit had, I found, the salutary effect of clearing my friend Transit's vision in respect to the speculation mania; and being by this time fully accoutred and furnished with the possibles, we sallied forth to make a purchase in the public funds. There is something to be gleaned from every event in this life, particularly by the eccentric who is in search of characteristic matter. I had recently been introduced to a worthy but singular personage in the city, Mr. Peter Principal, stock broker, of the firm of Hazard and Co.—a man whose probity was never yet called in question, and who, having realized a large property by the most honourable means, was continually selected as broker, trustee, and executor by all his acquaintance. To him, therefore, I introduced my friend Bob, who being instantly relieved from all his weighty troubles, and receiving in return the bank receipts, we proceeded to explore the regions of Pluto (i.e. the money market), attended by Peter Principal as our guide and instructor. On our entrance into Capel Court we were assailed by a motley group of Jews and Gentiles, inhabitants of Lower Tartary (i.e. Botany Bay{2}), who, suspecting we came there on business, addressed us in a jargon that was completely unintelligible either to Transit or myself. One fellow inquired if I was a bull,{3} and his companion wished to know if Transit was a bear{4}; another eagerly offered to give us five eighths, or sell us, at the same price, for the account'{5}; while a fourth thrust his
2 A place so named, without the Stock Exchange, where the
lame ducks and fallen angels of Upper Tartary assemble when
expelled the house, to catch a hint how the puff's and bangs
succeed in the private gambling market; when if they can
saddle their neighbour before he is up to the variation, it
is thought good jobbing.
3 Persons that purchase with a view for a rise in the
funds.
4 One who sells with a view to a fall in the price of stock.
5 A certain future day, fixed upon by the Committee of the
Stock Exchange, for the settlement of time bargains—they
are usually appointed at an interval of six weeks, and the
price of stocks on this given day determines the
speculator's gain or loss.
[119]copper countenance into my face, and offered to do business with me at a fiddle.{6} "Tush, tush," said Peter Principal to the increasing multitude which now barred our passage, "we are only come to take a look, and watch the operation of the market." "Dividend hunters{7} I suppose," said a knowing looking fellow, sarcastically, "ear wigging{8}—Hey, Mr. Principal, something good for the pull out{9}? Well, if the gentlemen wish to put on the pot, although it be for a pony,{10} I'm their man, only a little rasping,{11} you know." To this eloquent appeal succeeded a similar application from a son of Israel, who offered to accommodate us in any way we wished, either for the call{l2} or put{13}; to which friendly offer little Principal put his direct negative, and, after innumerable
6 When a broker has got money transactions of any conse-
sequence, as there is no risk in these cases, he will fiddle
one finger across the other, signifying by this that the
jobber must give up half the turn of the market price to
him, which he pockets besides his commission.
7 Those who suppose by changing stock they get double
interest, by receiving four dividends in one year instead of
two; but in this they are deceived, as the jobber, when he
changes stock, gains the advantage; for instance, if he buys
consols at sixty, when he sells out there will be deducted
one and a half per cent. for the dividend.
8 When bargains are done privately by a whisper, to conceal
the party's being a bull.
9 Buying or selling for ready money.
10 Pony, 25,000L.
11 Giving greater turns to the jobbers than those regulated
in the market.
12 Call. Buying to call more at one-eighth or one-fourth
above the price on a certain day, if the buyer chooses, and
the price is in his favour.
13 Put. Selling to put more to it on a certain day, at
one-eighth or one-fourth under the market price.
[120]attacks of this sort, we reached the upper end of the court, and found ourselves upon the steps which lead to the regions of Upper Tartary, (i.e.) the Stock Exchange. At this moment our friend Principal was summoned by his clerk to attend some antique spinster, who, having scraped together another hundred, had hobbled down to annex it to her previous amount of consols. "You must not attempt to enter the room by yourselves," said Principal; "but accompany me back to the Royal Exchange, where you can walk and wait until I have completed the old lady's job." While Principal was gone to invest his customer's stock, we amused ourselves with observing the strange variety of character which every where presents itself among the groups of all nations who congregate together in this arena of commerce. Perhaps a more fortunate moment for such a purpose could not have occurred: the speculative transactions of the times had drawn forth a certain portion of the Stock Exchange, gamblers, or inhabitants of Upper Tartary, who, like experienced sharpers of another description, never suffer a good thing to escape them. Capel Court was partially abandoned for exchange bubbles,{14} and new companies opened a new system of fraudulent enrichment for these sharks of the money market.
14 The speculative mania, which at this time raged with un-
precedented violence among a large portion of his Majesty's
liege subjects, gave the "John Bull" a glorious opportunity
for one of their witty satires, in which the poet has very
humorously described the
BUBBLES OF 1825.
Tune—"Run, neighbours, run."
Run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share
In all the famous projects that amuse John Bull;
Run, take a peep on 'Change, for anxious crowds beset us there,
Each trying which can make himself the greatest gull.
No sooner are they puff'd, than a universal wish there is
For shares in mines, insurances in foreign loans and fisheries.
No matter where the project lies, so violent the mania,
In Africa, New Providence, Peru, or Pennsylvania!
Run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share
In all the famous bubbles that amuse John Bull.
Few folks for news very anxious at this crisis are,
For marriages, and deaths, and births, no thirst exists;
All take the papers in, to find out what the prices are
Of shares in this or that, upon the broker's lists.
The doctor leaves his patient—the pedagogue his Lexicon,
For mines of Real Monte, or for those of Anglo-Mexican:
E'en Chili bonds don't cool the rage, nor those still more romantic, sir,
For new canals to join the seas, Pacific and Atlantic, sir.
Run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share
In all the famous bubbles that amuse John Bull.
At home we have projects too for draining surplus capital,
And honest Master Johnny of his cash to chouse;
Though t'other day, Judge Abbott gave a rather sharpish slap at all.
And Eldon launched his thunder from the upper House.
Investment banks to lend a lift to people who are undone—
Proposals for Assurance—there's no end of that, in London;
And one amongst the number, who in Parliament now press their Bills,
For lending cash at eight per cent, on coats and inexpressibles.
Run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share
In all the famous bubbles that amuse John Bull.
No more with her bright pails the milkman's rosy daughter works,
A company must serve you now with milk and cream;
Perhaps they've some connexion with the advertising water-works,
That promise to supply you from the limpid stream.
Another body corporate would fain some pence and shillings get,
By selling fish at Hungerford, and knocking up old Billingsgate:
Another takes your linen, when it's dirty, to the suds, sir,
And brings it home in carriages with four nice bits of blood, sir.
Run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share
In all the famous bubbles that amuse John Bull.
When Greenwich coaches go by steam on roads of iron railing, sir,
How pleasant it will be to see a dozen in a line;
And ships of heavy burden over hills and valleys sailing, sir,
Shall cross from Bristol's Channel to the Tweed or Tyne.
And Dame Speculation, if she ever fully hath her ends,
Will give us docks at Bermondsey, St. Saviour's, and St. Catherine's;
While side long bridges over mud shall fill the folks with wonder, sir,
And lamp-light tunnels all day long convey the Cocknies under, sir.
Run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share
In all the famous bubbles that amuse John Bull.
A tunnel underneath the sea, from Calais straight to Dover, sir,
That qualmish folks may cross by land from shore to shore,
With sluices made to drown the French, if e'er they would come over, sir,
Has long been talk'd of, till at length 'tis thought a monstrous bore.
Amongst the many scheming folks, I take it he's no ninny, sir,
Who bargains with the Ashantees to fish the coast of Guinea, sir;
For, secretly, 'tis known, that another brilliant view he has,
Of lighting up the famous town of Timbuctoo with oil gas.
Run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share
In all the famous bubbles that amuse John Bull.
Then a company is form'd, though not yet advertising,
To build, upon a splendid scale, a large balloon,
And send up tools and broken stones for fresh Mac-Adamizing
The new discover'd turnpike roads which cross the moon.
But the most inviting scheme of all is one proposed for carrying
Large furnaces to melt the ice which hems poor Captain Parry in;
They'll then have steam boats twice a week to all the newly-seen land,
And call for goods and passengers at Labrador and Greenland!
Run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share
In all the famous bubbles that amuse John Bull,
[123]High 'Change was a subject full of the richest materials for my friend Bob, who, without knowing more of the characters than their exterior appearances of eccentricity and costume exhibited, proceeded to book, as he termed it, the leading features. Every now and then there was a rush to different parts of the arena, and an appearance of great anxiety among the crowd to catch the attention of a person who flourished a large parchment above their heads with all the pride and importance of a field marshal's baton. This was, I found, no other than the leading agent of some newly projected company, who took this method of indulging the subscribers with shares, or letting the fortunate applicants know how many of these speculative chances the committee had allowed them to possess. The return of little Principal afforded me a key to the surrounding group, without which their peculiar merits would have been lost to the world, or have remained individually unknown, like the profit of many of the modern speculations. "You must not suppose," said Principal, "that great talents make great wealth here, or that honourable conduct and generous feelings command respect—no such thing; men are estimated upon 'Change in proportion to the supposed amount of their property, and rise or fall in the worldly opinion of their associates as prosperity or adversity operates upon the barometer of their fortunate speculations; a lucky hit will cause a dolt to be pointed out as a clever fellow, when, the next turn of the market proving unsuccessful, he is despised and insulted: so much are the frequenters of 'Change influenced by the most sordid and mercenary feelings, that almost all of them are the willing dupes of riches and good fortune. However, as you are strangers here, gentlemen, I will introduce you, entre nous, to a few of the characters who thrive by the destruction of thousands of their fellow-creatures. The bashaw in black yonder, who rests his elephantic trunk against a pillar of the Exchange, with his hands thrust into his breeches pockets, is the Hebrew star—the Jewish luminary, a very Shiloh among the peoples of his own persuasion, and, I am sorry to say, much too potent [124]with the orthodox ministers of George the Fourth. The fellow's insolence is intolerable, and his vulgarity and ignorance quite unbearable. He commenced his career in Manchester by vending trinkets and spectacle-cases in the streets of that town, from which station he gradually rose to the important occupation of a dealer in fag ends, from which he ascended to the dignity of a bill-broker, when, having the command of money, and some wealthy Hebrew relatives conveniently distributed over the Continent for the transaction of business, he took up his abode in London, and towards the termination of the late war, when a terrible smash took place among some of his tribe, he found means to obtain their confidence, and having secured, by the aid of spies, the earliest foreign intelligence, he rapidly made a colossal fortune in the British funds, without much risk to himself. It is said he can scarcely write his own name, and it only requires a minute's conversation to inform you of the general ignorance of his mind; in short, he is one of Hazlitt's men, with only one idea, but that one entirely directed to the accumulation of gold. A few years since some of the more respectable members of the Stock Exchange, perceiving the thraldom in which the public funds of the country were held by the tricks and manouvres of the Jew party, determined to make a stand against them: among these was a highly respected member of parliament, a great sporting character, and a very worthy man. His losses proved excessive, but they were promptly paid. In order to weaken his credit, and, if possible, shake his confidence and insult his feelings, the Jew took an opportunity, during High 'Change, of telling him, 'Dat he had got his cote and vaistcote, and he should very soon have his shirt into de bargain:' in this prophecy, however, Mr. Mordecai was mistaken; for the market took a sudden turn, and the gentleman alluded to recovered all his losses in a short time, to the great discomfiture [125]of the high priest and the Jews. In private life he is equally abrupt and vulgar, as the following anecdote will prove, at his own table: A christian broker solicited some trifling favour, observing, he had granted what he then requested to another member of the house, who was his brother-in-law. 'Vary true, vary true,' said Solomon Gruff, as he is sometimes called, 'but then you do not shleep vid my shister, my boy; dat makes all de differance.' At present this fellow's influence is paramount at most of the courts of Europe, at some of which his family enjoy considerable honours; in short, he is the head of the locust tribe, and the leader of that class of speculators whom a witty writer has well described in the following lines, addressed to the landholders:
'The National Debt may be esteemed a mass
Of filth which grows corrupter every day;
And in this heap, as always comes to pass,
Reptiles and vermin breed, exist, decay.
'Tis now so huge, that he must be an ass
Who thinks it ever can be clear'd away:
And the time's quickly coming, to be candid,
When funded men will swallow up the landed.
'Then will these debt-bred reptiles, hungry vermin,
Fed from the mass corrupt of which I spoke,
Usurp your place. A Jew, a dirty German,
Who has grown rich by many a lucky stroke,
Shall rule the Minister, and all determined
To treat your bitter sufferings as a joke.
Said I, he shall! It will be nothing new;
The Treasury now is govern'd by a Jew.'
The tall dandy-looking youth standing near the great man is a scion of the former head of the Hebrew family: his father possessed very superior talents, but was too much attached to splendid society to die rich; his banquets were often graced by royalty, and his liberality and honourable conduct proverbial, until misfortune produced a catastrophe that will not bear [126]repeating. The very name of the sire causes a feeling of dislike in the breast of the Colossus, and consequently the son is no partaker in the good things which the great man has to dispose of. The three tall Jews standing together are brothers, and all members of the Stock Exchange; their affinity to the high priest, more than their own talents, renders their fortunes promising. Observe the pale-faced genteel-looking man.on the right hand side of the arena—that is Major G—s, an unsuccessful speculator in the funds, but a highly honourable officer, who threw away the proceeds of his campaigns in the Peninsula among the sharks of the Stock Exchange and the lesser gamblers of St. James's: he has lately given to the world a sketch of his own life, under the assumed name of 'Ned Clinton, or the Commissary,' in which he has faithfully narrated scenes and characters. The little, jolly, fresh-coloured gentleman near him is Tommy B—h, a great speculator in the funds, a lottery contractor, and wine merchant, and quite at home in the tea trade. The immense fat gent behind him is called the dinner man and M. C. of Vaux hall, of which place Tommy B—h holds a principal share; his office is to write lyrics for the lottery, and gunpowder puffs for the Genuine Tea Company, paragraphs for Vauxhall, and spirited compositions in praise of spiritless wines: amid all these occupations it is no wonder, considering his bulk, that he invariably falls asleep before the dinner cloth is removed, and snores most mellifluously between each round of the bottle. The sharp-visaged personage to the left of him is the well known Count Bounce————-"—"Excuse me, Mr. Principal," said I, "but I happen to know that worthy well myself; that is, I believe, Sam Dixon, the coper of Barbican, a jobber in the funds, it would appear, as well as in horses, coaches, and chaises: of the last named article I have had a pretty good specimen from his emporium myself, [127]which, I must ever remember, was at the risk of my life.—"Do you observe that stout-looking gentleman yonder with large red whiskers, in a drab surtout, like a stage coachman? that is the Marquis of H—————-, one of the most fortunate gamblers (i.e. speculators) of the present day: during the war his lordship acquired considerable sums of money by acting on his priority of political information, his policy being to make one of the party in power, without holding office, and by this means be at liberty to act in the money market as circumstances required: among the roués of the west he has not been less successful in games of chance, until his coffers are crammed with riches; but it must be admitted he is liberal in his expenditure, and often-times generous to applicants, particularly sporting men, who seek his favours and assistance. The little club of sage personages who are mustered together comparing notes, in the corner of the Dutch Walk, are the paragraph-writers for the morning and evening press; very potent personages here, I assure you, for without their kind operation the public could never be gulled to any great extent. The most efficient of the group is the elegant-looking tall man who has just moved off to consult his patron, the Hebrew star, who gives all his foreign information exclusively to the Leviathan of the press, of which paper Mr. A—————-r is the representative. Next to him in importance, information, and talent, is the reporter for the Globe and Traveller, G————s M————e, a shrewd clever fellow, with considerable tact for business. Mr. F————y, of the Courier, stands near him on his left; and if he does but little with the stocks, he does that little well. The sandy-haired laddie with the high cheek bones and hawk-like countenance is M'C—————-h, of the Chronicle, but a wee bit of a wastrell in Stock Exchange affairs; and the mild-looking young gentleman who is in [128]conversation with him represents the mighty little man of the Morning Herald. The rest of the public prints are mostly supplied with Stock Exchange information by a bandy-legged Jew, a very Solomon in funded wisdom, who pens paragraphs at a penny a line for the papers, and puts into them whatever the projectors dictate, in the shape of a puff, at per agreement. The knot of swarthy-looking athletic fellows, many of whom are finger-linked together, and wear rings in their ears, are American captains, and traders from the shores of the Atlantic. That jolly-looking ruby-faced old gentleman in black, who is laughing at the puritanical tale of his lank brother, Alderman Shaw, is the celebrated grand city admiral, Sir W. Curtis, a genuine John Bull, considered worth a plum at least, and the author of a million of good jokes. Observe that quiet-looking pale-faced gentleman now crossing the arena: from the smartness of his figure and the agility with which he bustles among the crowd, you would suppose him an active young man of about five-and-twenty, while, in fact, about sixty summers have rolled over his head; such are the good effects of temperance, system, and attention to diet. Here he is known by the designation of Mr. Evergreen; a name, perhaps, affixed to him with a double meaning, combining in view the freshness of his age and his known attachment to theatricals, of which pursuits, as a recreation, he is devotedly fond. As a broker, lottery contractor, and a man of business, Mr. D——-1 stands No. One for promptitude, probity, and the strictest sense of honour; wealthy without pride, and learned without affectation, his company is eagerly sought for by a large circle of the literati of the day, with whom, from his anecdotal powers, he is in high repute: on stage affairs he is a living 'Biographia Dramatica,' and Charles Mathews, it is said, owes much of his present celebrity to the early advice and persevering friendship of this worthy man. The pair [120]of tall good-looking gentlemen on the French Walk are Messrs. J. and H———S***h, merchants in the city, and authors at the west end of the town: here they have recently been designated by the title of their last whimsical production, and now figure as Messrs. Gaiety and Gravity, cognomens by no means inapplicable to the temper, feeling, and talent of the witty brothers. But come," said Principal, "the 'Change is now becoming too full to particularize, and as this is settling day at the Stock Exchange, suppose we just walk across to the Alley, take a look at the market, and see how the account stands."—In passing down Saint Bartholomew Lane, accident threw in our way the respected chief magistrate of the city, John Garrett, Esq. of whose sire little Principal favoured us with some entertaining anecdotes.—"Old Francis Garrett, who began business in the tea trade without cash, but with great perseverance and good credit, cut up at his death for near four hundred thousand pounds, and left his name in the firm to be retained for seven years after his decease, when his posthumous share of the profits was to be divided among his grand-children. As he generally travelled for orders himself, he was proverbial for despatch; and has been known to call a customer up in the morning at four o'clock to settle his account, or disturb his repose in the night, if old Francis was determined to make a lamp of the moon, and pursue his route. A very humorous story is related of him. Arriving at Benson, near Henley, on a Sunday morning, just as his customer, a Mr. Newberry, had proceeded to Church, old Francis was very importunate to prevail upon the servant-maid to call him out, in order that he might proceed to Oxford that night: after much persuasion she was induced to accompany him to the church, to point out the pew where her master sat. At their entrance the eccentric figure of the tea-broker caused a general movement of recognition among the congregation; but Francis, [130]nothing abashed, was proceeding up the aisle with his cash instead of prayer-book in his hand, when his attention was arrested by the clergyman's text, 'Paul we know, and Silas we know, but who art thou?' The singular coincidence of the words, added to the authoritative style of the pastor, quite staggered Francis Garrett, who, however, quickly recovering, made a low bow, and then, in a true business-like style, proceeded to, apologize to the reverend and congregation for this seeming want of respect, adding he was only old Francis Garrett, of Thames-street, the tea broker, whom every body knew, come to settle a small account with his friend Mr. Newberry. The eccentricity of the man was notorious, and this, perhaps, better than the apology, induced the clergyman to overlook the offence; but the story will long be remembered by the good people of Benson, and never fail to create a laugh in the commercial room among the merry society of gentlemen travellers. The son, who has deservedly risen to the highest civic honours, is a worthy and highly honourable man, whose conduct since he has been elected lord mayor reflects great credit upon his fellow citizens' choice."—We had now mounted the steps which lead to the Stock Exchange, or, as Principal, who, though one among them, may be said not to be one of them, observed, we had arrived at the wolves' den, "the secret arcana of which place, with its curious intricacies and perplexing paradoxical systems and principles, I shall now," continued our friend, "endeavour to explain; from which exposition the public will be able to see the monster that is feeding on the vitals of the country, while smiling in its face and tearing at its heart, yet cherished by it, as the Lacedemonian boy cherished the wolf that devoured him. I am an enemy to all monopolies," said Principal, "and this is one of the worst the country is infested with. "A private or exclusive market, that is, a market [131]into which the public have not the liberty or privilege of either going to make, or to see made, bargains in their own persons, is one where the most sinister arts are likely to prevail. The Stock Exchange is of this description, and accordingly is one where the public are continually gulled out of their money by a system of the most artful and complicated traffic—a traffic calculated to raise the hopes of novices, to puzzle the wits of out-door speculators, and sure to have the effect of diminishing the property of those who are not members of the fraternity.{15}
"One of the principles of the Stock Exchange is, that the public assist against themselves, which is not the less true than paradoxical. It is contrary to the generally-received opinion that stocks should either be greatly elevated or depressed, without some apparent cause: it is contrary to natural inference that they should rise,—not from the public sending in to purchase, or to buy or sell, which however frequently happens. It follows, therefore, that the former is occasioned by the arts of the interested stock-jobbers, and the latter by out-door speculators, who have the market price banged down upon them by those whose business and interest it is to fleece them all they can. In the language of the Stock Exchange, you must be either a bull or a bear, a buyer or a seller: now as it is not necessary you should have one shilling of property in the funds to embark in this speculation, but may just as well sell a hundred thousand pounds of stock as one pound, according to the practice of time bargains, which is wagering contrary to law—so neither party can be compelled to complete their agreement, or to pay whatever the difference of the amount may be upon the stock when the account closes: all transactions
15 The mode of exchanging stock in France is in public. A
broker stands in the situation of an auctioneer, and offers
it to the best bidder.
[132]are, therefore, upon honour; and whoever declines to pay his loss is posted upon a black board, declared a defaulter, shut out of the association, and called by the community a lame duck.
"It is not a little extraordinary, while the legislature and the judges are straining every nerve to suppress low gambling and punish its professors, they are the passive observers of a system pregnant with ten times more mischief in its consequences upon society, and infinitely more vicious, fraudulent, and base than any game practised in the hells westward of Temple Bar; but we are too much in the practice of gaping at a gnat and swallowing a camel, or the great subscription-houses, such as White's, Brooke's, and Boodle's, would not have so long remained uninterrupted in this particular, while the small fry that surround them, and which are, by comparison, harmless, are persecuted with the greatest severity. As there is a natural disposition in the human mind for gambling, and as it is visible to all the world that many men (cobblers, carpenters, and other labourers), by becoming stock-jobbers, are suddenly raised from fortunes of a few pounds to hundreds of thousands, therefore every falling shop-keeper or merchant flies to this disinterested seminary with the same hope: but the jobbers, perceiving their transactions interrupted by these persons intruding, in order to keep them at a distance, formed themselves into a body, and established a market composed of themselves, excluding every person not regularly known to the craft.{16} As the brokers found difficulty always to meet with people that would accommodate them either to buy or sell without waiting in the regular
16 An article in their by-laws expresses, that no new member
shall be admitted who follows any other trade or business,
or in any wise is subject to the bankrupt laws: at the same
time it is curious to observe, that most of them are either
soi-disant merchants or shopkeepers.
[133]market in the Bank, to save themselves time they got accommodated among these gamblers in buying or selling as they wished; at the same time they gave the jobber one-eighth per cent, for such accommodation. As the loss was nothing to the broker, of course this imposition was looked over, because it saved his own time, and did not diminish his own commission.{17} It is clear, therefore, that the Stock Exchange is a self-constituted body, without any charter, but merely established at the will of the members, to the support of which a subscription is paid by each individual. They are ruled by by-laws, and judged by a committee, chosen from among themselves. This committee, as well as the members, are regularly re-balloted once in every year; of course no person is admitted within the walls of this house who does not regularly pay his subscription.
"In this way has the Stock Market been established and forced from its original situation by a set of jobbers and brokers, who are all, it will be seen, interested in keeping their transactions from the eye of the public. These men being always ready either to buy or sell, renders it easy for the brokers to get their business done, having no trouble but merely stepping into the Stock Exchange. If a broker wants to buy 5000L. stock, or any other sum, for a principal, the jobber will readily sell it, although perhaps possessing no part of it himself at the time, but will take his chance of other brokers coming to put him in possession of it, and may have to purchase the amount in two or three different transactions,{18} but in doing that he will take care to call the price lower than he sold at.{19}
17 If the system of the private market had tended to lessen
the broker's commission, he would have gone or stood any
where else to transact business for his principals.
18 This at present only applies to young beginners, but old
jobbers, who have enjoyed the system long enough, have been
put in pos-session of large fortunes, and are now enabled to
buy into or sell out of their own names to the amount of
hundreds of thousands.
19 Should other brokers not come into the market to sell to
him, he is then obliged, at a certain hour of the day, to go
among his brethren to get it at the most suitable price
possible. This is sometimes the cause of a momentary rise,
and what is known by the jobbers turning out bears for the
day. A depression some-times takes place on the same
principle when they are bulls for a future day, and cannot
take stock.
[134]After the stock is transferred from the seller to the buyer, instead of the money, he will write you a draft on his banker, although he has no effects to discharge the same till such time as he is put in possession of it also by the broker whom he sold it to; and it sometimes occurs, such drafts having to pass through the clearing-house,{20} the principal is not certain whether his money, is safe till the day following. In this way does the floating stock pass and repass through the Stock Exchange to and from the public, each jobber seizing and laying his hand on as much as he can, besides the eighth per cent. certain, which the established rule gives in their favour: the price frequently gives way, or rises much more to his advantage, which advantage is lost to the principals, and thrown into the pockets of middle men by the carelessness and indolence of the broker, who will not trouble himself in looking out for such persons as he might do business with in a more direct way.{21} When the Stock Market was more public, that is, when they admitted the public by paying sixpence a day, competitors for government loans were to be seen in numbers, which enabled ministers to make good bargains for the country{22};
20 A room situated in Lombard-street, where the banking
clerks meet for the mutual exchange of drafts. The principal
business commences at three o'clock in the afternoon, and
the balances are paid and received at five o'clock.
21 Query,—When a broker has to buy and sell for two
different principals, may he not act as a jobber also, and
put the turns into his own pocket? In such cases the jobbers
are convenient cloaks to disguise the transaction.
22 The loans taken by Boyd and Co., Goldsmidt, and others,
were generally contracted for upon much better terms for the
country than those taken by the Stock Exchange; but as they
were contending against what is known by the interests of
the house, they all were ruined in their turns, as the
jobbers could always depreciate the value of stocks by
making sales for time of that they did not possess.
[135]but, since the establishment of the present private market, the stock-jobbers have been found to have so much power over the price of stocks, after loans had been contracted for, that real monied men, merchants, and bankers, have been obliged to creep in under the wings of this body of gamblers, and be satisfied with what portion of each loan this junto pleases to deal out to them."—In this way little Principal opened the secret volume of the Stock Exchange frauds, and exposed to our view the vile traffic carried on there by the flat-catchers of the money market. In ordinary cases it would be a task of extreme peril for a stranger to intrude into this sanctum sanctorum; but as our friend, the broker, was highly respected, we were allowed to pass through unmolested—a favour that will operate in suppressing our notice of certain characters whom we recognized within. It will, however, hardly be credited that in this place, where every man is by profession a gambler, and sharping is the great qualification, so much of their time is devoted to tricks and fancies that would disgrace a school-boy. Among these the most prominent is hustling a stranger; an ungenerous and unmanly practice, that is too often played off upon the unsuspecting, who have been, perhaps, purposely invited into the den for the amusement of the wolves. Another point of amusement is flying a tile, or slating a man, as the phrases of the Stock Exchange describe it. An anecdote is told of one of their own members which will best convey an idea of this trick. One who was ever foremost in slating his brothers, or kicking about a new castor, had himself just sported a new hat, but, with prudence which is proverbial among the craft, he would leave his new tile at the counting-house, [136]and proceed to the Stock Exchange in an old one kept for the purpose: this becoming known to some of the wags, members of the house, they despatched a note and obtained the new hat, which no sooner made its appearance in the house than it was thrown up for general sport; a joke in which none participated more freely than the unsuspecting owner, whose chagrin may be very well conceived, when, on his return to his counting-house from Capel-court, he discovered that he had been assisting in kicking his own property to pieces. Another trick of these wags is the screwing up a number of pieces of paper longitudinally with a portion of black ink inside them, and lying on the table before some person, whom they will endeavour to engage in serious conversation upon the state of the market, when it is ten to one if he does not roll some of these twisters between his fingers, and from agitation or deep thought on his approaching losses, or the risk of his speculations, blacken his fingers and his face, to the horse-laughical amusement of the by-standers. One of the best among the recent jokes my friend Bob has depicted to the life. (See Plate.) The fame of Mr. Wright's brown pony had often reached the ears of his brother brokers, but hitherto the animal himself was personally unknown: to obviate this difficulty, some sportive wight ascertained the stable where the old gentleman usually left his nag during the time he was attending the market, and by a well-executed forgery succeeded in bringing the pony to Capel-court, when, without further ceremony, he was introduced into the house during the high bustle of the market, to the no small amusement of the house and the utter astonishment of his owner.
There is a new Stock Exchange established in Capel-court, where a number of Jews, shopkeepers, and tradesmen assemble, and jobbers who have emigrated from their friends in the upper house, some [137]of whom have either been ducks, or have retired out of it on some honourable occasion; but as all is conducted upon honour in this traffic of gambling, these men also set up the principle of honour, on which they risk what has been honourably brought away from their honourable fellow labourers in the principal vineyard: these men stand generally in the Alley, and, hearing what is going on in the other market (as they speculate also upon the price established there), they will give advice to strangers who may be on the out-look to make, as they expect, a speedy fortune by dabbling in the stocks. If they find a person to be respectable, they will offer to do business with him on the principle of their brethren, and also exact the one-eighth per cent, as they do, trusting to his honour, that (although they do not know where he lives) he will appear on or before the settling day to balance the account, and pay or receive the difference.{23}
These jobbers speculate a great deal upon puts and calls, and will give a chance sometimes for a mere trifle. They have not, like the private market, the public generally to work upon, the by-laws in the Stock Exchange prohibiting any broker or jobber, being a regular member, from dealing with them, on pain of forfeiting his right to re-enter; but, notwithstanding, some of the brokers, and even the jobbers inside, will run all risks when there appears a good chance of getting a turn on the price in their favour: from this cause, however, the Alley, or New Stock Exchange jobbers, are obliged to gamble more directly with each other; consequently many get thrown to the leeward, and those who stand longest are generally such as have other resources from the trade or
23 There have many lately entered into gambling transactions
with these gentlemen, and have taken the profit so long as
they were right in their speculations; but as soon as a loss
came upon them, knowing they have no black board, they walk
themselves coolly away with what they get.
[138]occupation they carry on elsewhere. From this place, called by the members of the house Lower Tartary, or Hell, the next step of degradation, when obliged to waddle out of the court, is the Rotunda of New Botany Bay. Here may be seen the private market in miniature; a crowd of persons calling themselves jobbers and brokers, and, of course, a market to serve any person who will deal with them; the same system of ear-wigging, nods, and winks, is apparent, and the same fiddling, rasping, and attempts at overreaching each other, as in Upper Tartary, or the Den; and of course, while they rasp and fiddle, their principals have to pay for the music: but as no great bargains are contracted here (these good things being reserved for a select few in the private market), the jobbers, who are chiefly of little note, are glad if they can pick up a few shillings for a day's job, by cutting out money stock for servants' and other people's small earnings. Here may be seen my lord's footman from the west end of the town, who is a great politician, and knows for a certainty that the stocks will be down; therefore he wants to sell out his 50L. savings, to get in at less: here also may be some other lord's footman, who has taken a different view of things, and wants to buy; and, although their respective brokers might meet each other, and transact business in a direct way, at a given price, notwithstanding they either do, or they pretend to have given the jobbers the turn,{24} that is, the one sold at one-eighth, and the other bought at one-fourth.—This market, as in the Alley, is ruled by the prices established in the private gambling market, which being the case, some will have messengers running to and from this market to see how the puffs and bangs proceed; and if they can saddle their neighbour before he knows the price is changed, it is thought good jobbing. From the Stock
24 Some act both as jobbers and brokers, and will charge a
com-mission for selling their own stock.
[139]Exchange to the Rotunda, every where, it will be perceived, a system of gambling and deception is practised upon the public, and the country demoralized and injured by a set of men who have no principle but interest, and acknowledge no laws but those of gain.
As this was settling-day, we had the gratification to observe one unfortunate howled out of the craft for having speculated excessively; and not being able or willing to pay his differences, he was compelled to waddle{25}; which he did, with a slow step and melancholy countenance, accompanied by the hootings and railings of his unfeeling tribe, as he passed down the narrow avenue from Upper Tartary, proclaimed to the lower regions and the world
25 Those who become ducks are not what are termed true
jobbers; they are those who either job or speculate, or are
half brokers and half jobbers, and are left to pay out-door
speculators' accounts; or if a jobber lend himself to get
off large amounts of stock, in cases where the broker does
not wish the house to know he is operating, he generally
gives him an immediate advantage in the price in a private
bargain; this is termed being such-a-one's bawd.
Garden of England! spangle of the wave!
Loveliest spot that Albion's waters lave!
Hail, beauteous isle! thou gem of perfumed green,
Fancy's gay region, and enchantment's scone.
Here where luxuriant Nature pours,
In frolic mood, her choicest stores,
Bedecking with umbrageous green
And richest flowers the velvet scene,
Begirt by circling ocean's swell,
Enrich'd by mountain, moor, and dell;
Here bright Hygeia, queen of Health,
Bestows a gift which bankrupts wealth.
The Oxford Student—Reflections on the Close of a Term—The
Invitation—Arrival at Southampton—Remarks—The Steam Boat—
Advantages of Steam—Voyage to the Isle of Wight—
Southampton Water—The Solent Sea and surrounding Scenery—
Marine Villas, Castles, and Residences—West Cowes—Its
Harbour and Attractions—The Invalid or the Convalescent—
The Royal Yacht Club—Circular in Rhyme—Aquatic Sports
considered in a National Point of Vieio—A Night on board
the Rover Yacht—The Progress of Navigation—The
Embarkation—The Soldier's Wife—Sketches of Scenery
and Characters—Evening Promenaders—Excursions in the
Island, to Ryde, Newport, Shanklin Chine, Bonchurch, the
Needle Rocks—Descriptive Poetry—Morning, Noon, and Night—
The Regatta—The Pilot's Review—The Race Ball—Adieu to
Vectis.
The Oxford commemoration was just over, and the Newdigate laurels graced the brow of the victor; the [l4l]last concert which brings together the scattered forces of alma mater, on the eve of a long vacation, had passed off like the note of the cygnet; the rural shades of Christchurch Meadows were abandoned by the classic gownsmen, and the aquatic sons of Brazen-nose and Jesus had been compelled to yield the palm of marine superiority to their more powerful opponents, the athletic men of Exeter. The flowery banks of Isis no longer presented the attractive evening scene, when all that is beautiful and enchanting among the female graces of Oxford sport like the houris upon its velvet shores, to watch the prowess of the college youth: The regatta had terminated with the term; even the High Street, the usually well-frequented resort of prosing dons, and dignitaries, and gossiping masters of arts, bore a desolate appearance. Now and then, indeed, the figure of a solitary gownsman glanced upon the eye, but it was at such long and fearful intervals, and then, vision-like, of such short duration, that, with the closed oaks of the tradesmen, and the woe-begone faces of the starving scouts and bed-makers, a stranger might have imagined some ruthless plague had swept away, "at one fell swoop," two-thirds of the population of Rhedycina. It was at this dull period of time, that a poor student, having passed successfully the Scylla and Charybdis of an Oxonian's fears, the great go and little go, and exhausted by long and persevering efforts to obtain his degree, had just succeeded in adding the important academical letters to his name, when he received a kind invitation from an old brother Etonian to spend a few weeks with him in the Isle of Wight, "the flowery seat of the Muses," said Horace Eglantine, (the inviter), "and the grove of Hygeia; the delightful spot, above all others, best calculated to rub off the rust of college melancholy, engendered by hard reading, invigorate the studious mind, and divest the hypochrondriac of la maladie [142]imaginaire!'" "And where," said Bernard Blackmantle, reasoning within himself, "is the student who could withstand such an attractive summons? Friendship, health, sports, and pleasures, all combined in the prospective; a view of almost all the blessings that render life desirable; the charm that binds man to society, the medicine that cures a wounded spirit, and the cordial which reanimates and brightens the intellectual faculties of the philosopher and the poet; in short, the health-inspiring draught, without which the o'ercharged spirit would sink into earth, a prey to black despondency, or linger out a wearisome existence only to become a gloomy misanthrope, a being hateful to himself and obnoxious to all the world." With nearly as much alacrity as the lover displays when, on the wings of anticipated delight, he hastes to seek the beloved of his soul, did I, Bernard Blackmantle, pack up my portmanteau, and make the best of my way to Southampton, from which place the steam boat conveys passengers, morning and evening, to and from the island. Southampton has in itself very little worthy the notice of the lover of the characteristic and the humorous, at least that I discovered in a few hours' ramble. It is a clean well-built town, of considerable extent and antiquity, particularly its entrance gate, enlivened by numerous elegant shops, whose blandishments are equally attractive with the more fashionable magazines de modes of the British metropolis. The accommodations for visitors inclined to bathe or walk have been much neglected, and the vapours arising from its extended shores at low water are, in warm weather, very offensive; but the influx of strangers is, nevertheless, very great, from its being the port most eligible to embark from for either Havre de Grace, Guernsey, Jersey, or the Isle of Wight. The market here is accounted excellent, and from this source the visitors of Cowes are principally [143]supplied with fruit, fish, fowl, and delicacies. The steam boat is a new scene for the painter of real life, and the inquisitive observer of the humorous and eccentric. The facility it affords of a quick and certain conveyance, in defiance of wind and tide, ensures its proprietors, during the summer months, a harvest of success. Its advantages I have here attempted to describe in verse, a whim written during my passage; and this will account for the odd sort of measure adopted, which I attribute to the peculiar motion of the vessel, and the clanking of the engine; for, as everybody knows, poets are the most susceptible of human beings in relation to local circumstances.
THE ADVANTAGES OF STEAM.
If Adam or old Archimedes could wake as from a dream,
How the ancients would be puzzled to behold
Arts, manufactures, coaches, ships, alike impell'd by steam;
Fire and water changing bubbles into gold.
Steam's universal properties are every day improving,
All you eat, or drink, or wear is done by steam;
And shortly it will be applied to every thing that's moving,
As an engine's now erecting to write novels by the ream.
Fine speeches in the parliament, and sermons 'twill deliver;
To newspapers it long has been applied;
In King's Bench Court or Chancery a doubtful question shiver
With an argument already "cut and dried."
Its benefits so general, and uses so extensive,
That steam ensures the happiness of all mankind;
We grow rich by its economy, and travel less expensive
To the Indies or America, without the aid of wind.
Here we are, then, on board the steam boat, huge clouds of smoke rolling over our heads, and the reverberatory paddles of the engine just beginning to cut the bosom of Southampton Water. Every where the eye of the traveller feasts with delight upon the surrounding scenery and objects, while his cranium is protected from the too powerful heat of a summer's [144]sun by an elegant awning spread from side to side of the forecastle, and under which he inhales the salubrious and saline breezes, enjoying an uninterrupted prospect of the surrounding country. On the right, the marine villas of Sir Arthur Pagett and Sir Joseph Yorke, embowered beneath the most luxuriant foliage, claim the notice of the traveller; and next the antique ruins of Netley Abbey peep out between the portals of a line of rich majestic trees, bringing to the reflective mind reminiscences of the past, of the days of superstition and of terror, when the note of the gloomy bell reverberated through the arched roofs the funeral rite of some departed brother, and, lingering, died in gentle echoings beneath the vaulted cloisters, making the monkish solitude more horrible; but now, as Keate has sung,
"Mute is the matin bell, whose early call
Warn'd the gray fathers from their humble beds;
No midnight taper gleams along the wall,
Or round the sculptured saint its radiance sheds."
At the extremity of the New Forest, and commanding the entrance to the river, the picturesque fort called Calshot Castle stretches forth, like the Martello Towers in the Bay of Naples, an object of the most romantic appearance; and at a little distance from it rises the stately tower of Eaglehurst, with its surrounding pavilions and plantations. To the westward is the Castle of Hurst; and now opens to the astonished traveller's view the Wight, extending eastward and westward far as the eye can compass, but yet within its measurement from point to point.
———"Here in this delicious garden is
Variety without end; sweet interchange
Of hills and valleys, rivers, woods, and plains;
Now land, now sea, and shores with forests crown'd,
Rocks, dens, and caves."
The coast presents a combination of romantic, pastoral, and marine beauties, that are deservedly the [145]theme of admiration, and certainly no spot of the same extent, in the three kingdoms, perhaps in the world, can boast of such a diversity of picturesque qualities, of natural charms, and local advantages—attractions which have justly acquired for it the emphatic distinction of the Garden of England. Every where the coast is adorned with cottages or villas, hill or vale, enriched by the most luxuriant foliage, and crowned in the distance by a chain of lofty downs; while in front the coasts of Gosport and Portsmouth, and that grand naval station for England's best bulwarks, Spithead, present a forest of towering masts and streamers, which adds much to the natural grandeur of the scene. As we near Cowes we are delighted with a variety of striking objects: The chaste and characteristic seat of Norris, the residence of Lord Henry Seymour, massive in its construction, and remarkable for the simplicity of its style and close approximation to the ancient castle. On the brow of the hill the picturesque towers of East Cowes Castle rise from a surrounding grove, and present a very beautiful appearance, which is materially increased upon nearer inspection by the rapid spread of the deep-hued ivy clinging to its walls, and giving it an appearance of age and solidity which is admirably relieved by the diversity of the lighter foliage. On the other side projects from a point westward Cowes Castle, the allotted residence of the governor, but now inhabited by the Marquis of Anglesey and his family, to whose partiality for aquatic sports Cowes is much indebted for its increasing consequence and celebrity. The building itself, although much improved of late, is neither picturesque nor appropriate; but the adjoining scenery, and particularly the marine villas of Lord Grantham and the late Sir J. C. Hippesley, have greatly increased the beauty of the spot, which first strikes the eye of a stranger in his progress to West Cowes from [146]Southampton Water. The town itself rises like an amphitheatre from the banks of a noble harbour, affording security and convenience for large fleets of ships to ride at anchor safely, or to winter in from stress of weather, or the repair of damages. But here ends my topographical sketches for the present. The inspiring air of "Home, sweet Home," played by the steward upon the key bugle, proclaims our arrival; the boat is now fast drawing to her moorings at the Fountain Quay, the boatmen who flock along-side have already solicited the care of my luggage, and the hand of my friend, Horace Eglantine, is stretched forth to welcome my arrival at West Cowes.
The first salutations over with my friend Eglantine, I could not help expressing my surprise at the sailor-like appearance of his costume. "All the go here, old fellow," said Horace; "we must start that long-tailed gib of yours for a nice little square mizen, just enough to cover your beam and keep your bows cool; so bear a hand, my boy, and let us drop down easy to our births, and when properly rigged you shall go on board my yacht, the Rover, and we will bear away for the westward. Only cast off that sky scraper of yours before the boom sweeps it overboard, and cover your main top with a Waterloo cap: there, now, you are cutter rigg'd, in good sailing trim, nothing queer and yawl-like about you." In this way I soon found myself metamorphosed into a complete sailor, in appearance; and as every other person of any condition, from the marquis downwards, adopted the same dress, the alteration was indispensably necessary to escape the imputation of being considered a Goth. Among the varied sports in which the nobility and gentry of England have at any time indulged, or that have, from the mere impulse of the moment and the desire of novelty, become popular, none have been more truly national and praiseworthy than the establishment of the Royal Yacht Club. The promotion [147]of aquatic amusement combines the soundest policy in the pursuit of pleasure, two points but rarely united; in addition to which it benefits that class of our artizans, the shipwrights, who, during a time of profound peace, require some such auxiliary aid; nor is it less patriotic in affording employment to sea-faring men, encouraging the natural characteristic of Britons, and feeding and fostering a branch of service upon which the country must ever rely for its support and defence in time of peril. To the owners it offers advantages and attractions which are not, in other pursuits, generally attainable; Health here waits on Pleasure,—Science benefits by its promotion,—friends may partake without inconvenience or much additional expense,—travel is effected with economy,—and change of scene and a knowledge of foreign coasts obtained without the usual privations and incumbrances attendant upon the public mode of conveyance. By a recent regulation, any gentleman's pleasure yacht may enter the ports of France, or those of any other power in alliance with England, exempted from the enormous exactions generally extorted from private and merchant vessels, as harbour and other dues,—a privilege of no mean consequence to those who are fond of sailing. In addition, there are those, and of the service too, who contend, that since the establishment of the Royal Yacht Club, by their building superior vessels, exciting emulation, and creating a desire to excel in naval architecture, and also by the superiority of their sailing, the public service of the country has been much benefited, particularly as regards our lighter vessels, such as revenue cutters and cruizers. This club, which originated with some gentlemen at Cowes in the year 1815, now comprises the name of almost every nobleman and gentleman in the kingdom who keeps a yacht, and is honoured with that of the sovereign, and other members of his family, [148]as its patrons. Cowes Harbour is the favourite rendezvous; and here in the months of July and August may be seen above one hundred fine vessels built entirely for purposes of pleasure, and comprising every size and variety of rigging, from a ship of three hundred tons burthen to the yawl of only eight or ten. It was just previous to that delightful spectacle, the regatta, taking place, when the roads and town presented an unusually brilliant appearance, that I found myself agreeably seated on board the Rover, a cutter yacht of about thirty tons, who, if she was not fitted up with all the superiority of many of those which surrounded me, had at least every comfortable and necessary accommodation for half a dozen visitors, without incommoding my friend Horace or his jovial crew.
I had arrived at Cowes a low-spirited weakly invalid, more oppressed in mind than body; but a few trips with my friend Eglantine to sea, on board the Rover, and some equally pleasant rambles among the delightful scenery which surrounds the bay of Cowes, had in one week's residence banished all symptoms of dispepsia and nervous debility, and set the master of arts once more upon his legs again. Some idea of my condition, on leaving alma mater, may be obtained by the following effusion of my Muse, who, to do her justice, is not often sentimental, unless when sickness presses her too close.
THE INVALID.
Light-hearted Mirth and Health farewell,
Twin sisters of my youthful days,
Who through life's early spangled dell
Would oft inspire my humble lays.
Fancy, cameleon of the mind,
The poet's treasure, life, and fame,
Thou too art fled, with wreath to bind
The budding of some happier name.
Oppression's sway, or fortune's frown,
My buoyant spirits once could bear;
But now chimeras press me down,
And all around seems fell despair.
With fev'rish dreams and frenzied brain,
When Hecate spreads her veil, I'm crost;
My body sinks a prey to pain,
And all but lingering hope is lost.
With the return of health and spirits, Horace insisted I should write the "L'Allegro" to this "Il Penseroso" effusion. So, finding the jade had recovered her wonted buoyancy, I prayed her mount on gayest wing, and having spread her pinions to the sun, produced the following impromptu.
THE CONVALESCENT.
Welcome, thou first great gift below,
Hygeian maid, with rosy glow,
Thrice welcome to my call.
Let misers hug their golden store,
I envy none the servile ore;
To me thou art all in all.
Thou spring of life, and herald fair,
Whose charm dispels disease and care,
And yields a summer joy,
All hail! celestial seraph, hail!
Thou art the poet's coat of mail,
His mirth without alloy.
There is a prepossessing something in the life of a sailor which improves the natural attachment of Englishmen to every thing nautical; so much so, that I never heard of one in my life who was not, after a single trip, always fond of relating his hair-breadth perils and escapes, and of seizing every opportunity to display his marine knowledge by framing his conversation ship shape, and decorating his oratory with a few of those lingual localisms, which to a landsman must be almost unintelligible without the aid of [150]a naval glossary. A fortnight's tuition under the able auspices of my friend Horace had brought me into tolerable good trim in this particular; I already knew the difference between fore and aft, a gib, a mainsail, and a mizen;could hand a rope, or let go the foresail upon a tack; and having gained the good opinion of the sailing captain, I was fast acquiring a knowledge how to box the binnacle and steer through the Needle's Eye. But, my conscience! as the Dominie says, I could never learn how to distinguish the different vessels by name, particularly when at a little distance; their build and rigging being to my eye so perfectly similar. In all this, however, my friend Horace was as completely at home as if he had studied naval architecture at the college; the first glance of a vessel was quite enough for him: like an old sportsman with the pedigree of a horse or a dog, only let him see her, through his glass head or stern, or upon a lee lurch, and he would hail her directly, specify her qualities and speed, tell you where she was built, and who by, give you the date of her register, owner's name, tonnage, length and breadth of her decks, although to the eye of the uninitiated there was no distinguishing mark about her, the hull being completely black, and the rigging, to a rope, like every other vessel of the same class. "For instance," said Horace, "who could possibly mistake that beautiful cutter, the Pearl? See how she skims along like a swan with her head up, and stern well under the wind! Then, look at her length; there's a bowsprit, my boy! full half the measurement of her hull; and her new mainsail looks large enough to sweep up every breath of wind between the sea and the horizon. Then only direct your fore lights to her trim; every rope just where it should be, and not a line too much; and when she fills well with a stiff breeze, not a wrinkle in all her canvas from the gib to the gaff topsail. Then observe how she dips in the bows, and what a breadth she [151]has; why she's fit for any seas; and if the Arrow ever shoots past her, I'll forfeit every shot in my lockers." "Avast there! master Horace," said our master at the helm, who was an old Cowes pilot, and as bluff as a Deal sea-boat; "the Pearl is a noble sailer; but a bird can't fly without wings, nor a ship run thirteen knots an hour without a good stiff breeze. If the light winds prevail, the Arrow will have the advantage, particularly now she's cutter rigged, and has got the marquis's old mainsail up to take the wind out of his eye." "Ay, ay," said Horace, "you must tell that story to the marines, old boy; it will never do for the sailors." "Mayhap, your honours running right a-head with the Pearl, and betting your blunt all one way; but, take an old seaman's advice; may I get no more rest than a dog-vane, or want a good grego{1} in a winter's watch, if I don't think you had better keep a good look-out for the wind's changing aft; and be ready to haul in your weather-braces, and bear the back-stays abreast the top-br'im, ere the boatswain's mate pipes the starboard-watch a-hoy." "Tush, tush, old fellow," said Horace, with whom I found Lord Anglesey's cutter stood a one at Lloyd's. "May my mother sell vinegar, and I stay at home to bottle it off, if I would give a farthing per cent, to be ensured for my whole risk upon the grand match! Mind your weather roll, master—belay every inch of that. There now; look out a-head; there's the Liberty giving chase to the Julia, and the Jack-o'lantern weathering the Swallow upon every tack. His Grace of Norfolk won't like that; but a pleasure hack must not be expected to run against a thorough-bred racer. There is but one yawl in the club, and that is the little Eliza, that can sail alongside a cutter; but then Sir George Thomas is a tar for all weathers—a true blue jacket—every thing so snug—cawsand rig—no topmasts—all so square and trim, that nothing of his bulk can
1 A watch-coat.
[152]beat him." In this way my friend Eglantine very soon perfected me in nautical affairs, or, to use his expression, succeeded in putting a "timber head in the ship;" and the first use I made of my newly acquired information was to pen a jeu d'esprit, in the way of a circular in rhyme, inviting the members of the Royal Yacht Club to assemble in Cowes-roads. The whim was handed about in MS., and pleased more from its novelty than merit; but as it contains a correct list of the club at this period, and as the object of the English Spy is to perpetuate the recollections of his own time, I shall here introduce it to the notice of my readers.
Come, lads, bend your sails; o'er the blue waters thronging, In barks like the sea-mew that skims o'er the lave; All you to the Royal Yacht squadron belonging, Come, muster at Cowes, for true sport on the wave.{1} First our king,{2} Heaven bless him! who's lord of the sea, And delights in the sport of the circling wave, Commands you attend him wherever ye be, Sons of ocean, ye loyal, ye witty, and brave. Here Anglesey,{3} Waterloo's hero, shall greet ye;
1 The club generally assemble in Cowes-roads about the
middle of July to commence their aquatic excursions, which
are continued
until after the Regatta in August.
2 His Majesty is graciously pleased to honour the club by
becoming its patron.
3 The Marquis of Anglesey is a principal promoter of this
truly British sport, and resides with his family at Cowes
Castle during the season. The Pearl cutter, 113 tons, and
the Liberty cutter, 42 tons, are both his property.
The Pearl, and the Liberty, cutters in trim, The Welds {4} in the Arrow and Julia too meet ye, The match for eight hundred affording you whim. Here Grantham{5} his Nautilus, steer'd by old Hollis, Shall cut through the wave like a beautiful shell; And Symonds{6} give chase in the yawl the Cornwallis, And Webster{7} the Scorpion manage right well; And Williams{8} the younger, and Owen{9} his dad, From the shores of Beaumaris have run the Gazelle; And Craven{10} his May-fly wings o'er like a lad That is used to the ocean, and fond of its swell. Come, lads, bear a hand—here's Sir George hove in sight, With his little Eliza{11} so snug and so trim; Tan sails, cawsand rigg'd—for all weather she's tight; You must sail more than well, if you mean to beat him. Then steady, boys, steady—here's Yarborough's{12} Falcon, A very fine ship, but a little too large; And here is a true son of Neptune to talk on, Vice-Admiral Hope,{13} K.CB. in his barge.
4 Joseph and James Welds, Esqrs., of Southampton, the
wealthy and spirited owners of the Arrow yawl, 85 tons, and
the Julia, 43 tons. These gentlemen evince the greatest
spirit in challenging and sailing any of the club.
5 Lord Grantham, Nautilus, Cutter, 103 tons, a new and very
fast sailer.
Owner Vessel Class Tons
6 Capt. J. C. Symonds, R.N. Adm. Cornwallis Yawl 22
7 Sir Godfrey Webster Scorpion, Cutter 110
8 T. P. Williams, Esq., Hussar, Schooner, 120
and the Blue-eyed Maid, Cutter, 39
9 Owen Williams, Esq. Gazelle Cutter 87
10 Earl Craven May-fly Yawl 39
11 Sir George Thomas, Bart. Eliza Yawl 34
12 Lord Yarborough Commodore Falcon Ship 335
13 Vice-Admiral Sir W. Johnston Hope, K.C.B., who is here in
one of the Admiralty yachts.
Come, lads, spread your canvas for health and for pleasure,
For both are combined in this true British sport;
Come, muster in Cowes-roads without further leisure,
Blue jackets and trowsers for dresses at court.
See Deerhurst{14} his Mary sticks to like a lover,
And Lindegren's{15}Dove wings it over the main;
Powell's {16} Briton, 'tis very well known, is a rover,
In Union the Pagets{17}must ever remain;
Here's Smith's {18 }Jack o'lantern and Chamberlayne's Fairy,{19}
Earl Harborough's{20} Ann, and F. Pake's Rosabelle{21}
Lord Willoughby's {22} Antelope, Penleaze's {23}Mary,
And Gauntlet's{24}Water-sprite sails very well.
Come, jolly old Curtis,{25} bear up in your Emma,
Eight cheerily laden with turtle and port;
And Melville{26} set sail if you'd scape the dilemma
Of being too late for our aquatic sport.
See Norfolk {27}already is here in the Swallow,
And the Don Giovanni a challenge has sent,
Which Lyons {28} accepts, and intends to beat hollow,
That is if the Londoner should not repent.
Owner Vessel
14 Viscount Deerhurst Mary
15 J. Lindegren, Esq. Dove.
16 J. B. Powell, Esq. Briton
17 Right Hon. Sir A. Paget Union
18 T. A. Smith, jun. Esq. Jack o'lantern
19 W. Chamberlayne, Esq. Fairy
20 Earl of Harborough Ann
21 F. Pare, Esq. Rosabelle
22 Lord Willoughby do Broke Antelope
23 J. S. Penleaze, Esq. Mary
24 Captain J. Gauntlet Water Sprite
25 Sir William Curtis, Bart. Rebecca Maria, Yawl, 76 tons.
and Emma, Schooner, 132 tons.
26 Lord Melville Admiralty Yacht 100
27 Duke of Norfolk Swallow Yawl 124
28 Captain Edmund Lyons (the polar navigator) had just
launched the Queen Mab.
But look, what a crowd of fine yachts are arriving!
The Elizabeth,{29 }Unicorn,{30} Cygnet,{31} and Jane,{32}
The Eliza, Sabrina,{33} Madora,{34} all striving
To beat one another as coursing the main.
A fleet of small too, at anchor are riding;
The Margaret{35} Sapphire,{36} the Molly,{37} and Hind,{38}
The Orion,{39} and Dormouse{40} and Janette{41}abiding
The time when each vessel shall covet the wind.
Then, boys, bend your sails, and weigh for our regatta,
We've a Sylph?{42 and a Rambler{43} and a Merry Maid,{44}
A Syren{45} a Cherub{46} a Charlotte{47} and at her
A Corsair(48} who looks as if nothing afraid.
Here the Lord of the Isles{49} and freebooter Rob Roy,{50}
By a Will o' the Wisp{51} are led over the deep;
29 J. Fleming, Esq.
Elizabeth
30 H. Perkins, Esq.
Unicorn,
31 J. Reynolds, Esq.
Cygnet
32 Hon. William Hare
Jane
33 James Maxie, Esq.
Sâbrina
34 H. Hopkins, Esq.
Madora
35 Hon. William White
Margaret
36 James Dundas, Esq.
Sapphire
37 Lieutenant-Colonel Harris
Charming Molly
38 Capt. Herringham, R.N.
Hind
39 James Smith, Esq.
Orion
40. P. Peach, Esq.
Dormouse
41 Capt. C. Wyndham, R.N.
Janette
42 R. W. Newman, Esq.
Sylph
43 J. H. Durand, Esq.
Jolly Rambler
44 Joseph Gulston, Esq.
Merry-maid
45 T. Lewin, Esq.
Syren
46 T. Challen, Esq.
Cherub
47 John Vassall, Esq.
Charlotte
48 Corbett, Esq.
Corsair
49 Colonel Seale
Lord of the Isles
50 W. Gaven, Esq.
Rob Roy
51 E. H. Dolatield, Esq.
Will o' the Wisp
And the Highland Lass{52} blushes a welcome of joy,
As alongside the Wombwell{53} she anchors to sleep.
Here the Donna del Lago{54} consorts with Rostellan,{55}
To the New Grove,{56} Lord Nelson{57} Louisa {58} attends,
Galatea{59} runs a Harrie{60} in chase of the Erin,{61}
And here with the Club List my Circular ends.
Owner Vessel Class Tons
52 Lieut.-Gen. Mackenzie Highland Lass Yawl 25
53 T. Harman, Esq. Wombivell Cutter 33
54 S. Halliday, Esq. Lady of Die Lake Yawl 42
55 Marquis of Thoruond Rostellan Schooner 60
56 John Roche, Esq. New Grove Cutter 24
57 Reverend C. A. North Lord Nelson Cutter 75
58 Arch. Swinton, Esq. Louisa Yawl 24
59 C. R. M. Talbot, Esq. Galatea Schooner 179
60 Sir R. J. A. Kemys Harrier Schooner 36
61 T. Allen, Esq. Erin Schooner 94
"A right merrie conceit," said Horace, "and a good-humoured jingle that must be gratifying to all mentioned, and will serve as a record of the present list of the Yacht Club to future times. We must petition the commodore to enter you upon the ship's books as poet-laureate to the squadron: you shall pen lyrics for our annual club-dinner at East Cowes, compose sea-chants for our cabin jollifications, sing the praises of our wives and sweethearts, and write a congratulatory ode descriptive of our vessels, crews, and commanders, at the end of every season; and your reward shall be a birth on board any of the fleet when you choose a sail, and a skin-full of grog whenever you like to command it. So come, old fellow, give us a spice of your qualifications for your new office; something descriptive of the science of navigation, from its earliest date to the perfection of a first-rate man of war."
Dedicated to the Members of the Royal Yacht Club.
In the first dawn of science, ere man could unfold
The workings of nature, or valued dull gold;
Ere yet he had ventured to dare ocean's swell,
Or could say by the moon how the tides rose and fell;
A philosopher seated one day on the brink
Of the silvery margin thus took him to think:
"If on this side the waters are girted by land,
What controls the wide expanse, I'd fain understand."
Thus buried in thought had he ponder'd till now,
But a beautiful nautilus sail'd to and fro;
Just then a sly breeze raised the curls from his eyes,
And he woke from a dream to extatic surprise.
O'er his head a huge oak spread a canopy round,
Whose trunk being hollow, he levell'd to ground;
With a branch form'd a mast, and some matting a sail,
And thus rudely equipp'd dared the perilous gale;
Of the winds and the waves both the mercy and sport,
His bark was long tost without guidance to port,
And the storms of the ocean went nigh to o'erwhelm,
When the tail of the dolphin suggested a helm.
Ry degrees, the canoe to a cutter became,
And order and form newly-moulded the same,
Ropes, rigging, and canvas, and good cabin room,
A bowsprit, a mizen, a gib, and a boom.
From the cutter, the schooner, brig, frigate arose;
Till Britons, determined to conquer their foes,
Built ships like to castles, they call'd men of war,
The fame of whose broadsides struck terror afar.
Now boldly, philosophy aided by skill,
Bent his course o'er the blue waters sailing at will,
But dubious the track, for as yet 'twas unknown
How to steer 'twixt the poles for a north or south zone,
Till the magnet's attraction, by accident found,
Taught man how the globe he could traverse around;
New worlds brought to light, and new people to view,
And by commerce connected Turk, Christian, and Jew.
All this while, father Neptune lay snug in his bed,
Till he heard a sad riot commence o'er his head,
Folks firing, and fighting, and sailing about,
When his godship popp'd up just to witness the rout;
It happen'd in one of those actions to be
When Europe combined fought the isle of the sea,
And, as usual, were conquer'd, sunk, fired, or run,
That old Neptune acknowledged each Briton his son.
"From this time," said his godship, "henceforth, be it known,
Little England's the spot for the ocean-king's throne;
And this charter I grant, and enrol my decree,
That my brave sons, the Britons, are lords of the sea."
"There's nothing like a good song," said Horace, "for conveying information on nautical subjects, or promoting that national spirit which is the pride and glory of our isle. I question if the country are not more indebted to old Charles Dibdin for his patriotic effusions during the late war, than to all the psalm-singing admirals and chaplains of the fleet put together. I know that crab Gambier, and the methodist privateers who press all sail to pick up a deserter from the orthodox squadron, do a great deal of mischief among our seamen; for as Corporal Trim says, 'What time has a sailor to palaver about creeds when it blows great guns, or the enemies of his country heave in sight? a sailor's religion is to perform his duty aloft and do good below; honour his king, love his girl, obey his commander, and burn, sink, and destroy the foes of his country.' Here we have an occasional exhibition of this sort on board the depot vessel in the harbour, when the Bethel flag [159]is hoisted, and the voice of the puritan is heard from East Cowes to Eaglehurst; as if there were not already conventicles enough on shore for those who are disposed to separate themselves from the established church, without the aid of a floating chapel, furnished by the government agent to subvert the present order of things. On this point, you know, I was always a liberal thinker, but a firm friend to the church, as being essential to the best interests of the state. An old college chum of ours, who has been unusually fortunate in obtaining ecclesiastical preferment, thought proper to send me a friendly lecture in one of his letters the other day on this subject, to which I returned the following answer, and put an end to his scruples, as I think, for ever: I have entitled it
THE UNIVERSALIST.
'to a friend who questioned the propriety of his
religious opinions.
'You ask what creed is mine? and where
I seek the Lord in holy prayer?
What sect I follow? by what rule,
Perhaps you mean, I play the fool?
I answer, none; yet gladly own
I worship God, but God alone.
No pious fraud or monkish lies
Shall teach me others to despise;
Whate'er their creed, I love them all,
So they before their Maker fall.
The sage, the savage, and refined,
On this one point are equal blind:
Shall man, the creature of an hour,
Arraign the all-creative Power?
Or, by smooth chin, or beard unshaved,
Decree who shall or not be saved?
Presumptuous priests, in silk and lawn,
May lib'ral minds denounce with scorn;
The reason's clear—remove the veil,
Their trade and interest both must fail.
I hold that being worse than blind,
Where bigotry usurps the mind;
And more abhor him who for pelf,
Denouncing others, damns himself.
Look round, observe creation's work,
From Afric's savage to the Turk;
Through polish'd Europe turn your eye,
To where the sun of liberty
On western shores illumes the wave,
That flows o'er many a patriot's grave;
As varied as their skin's the creed,
By which they hope they shall succeed
In presence of their God, to prove
Their claim to his eternal love;
A claim that must and will have weight,
No matter what their creed or state.
By modes of faith let none presume
To fix his fellow-creature's doom.'"
"A truce with religion, Horace," said I; "it is a controversy that generally ends in making friends foes, and foes the most implacable of persecutors: with the one it shuts out all hope of reconciliation, with the other breeds a war of extermination; so come, lad, leave theology to the fathers—we that have liberal souls tolerate all creeds. More hollands, steward: here's a glass to all our college acquaintance, not forgetting grandmamma and the pretty nuns of Saint Clement's. Where the deuce is all that singing we hear above, steward?" "On board the Transport, your honour." "Ay, I remember, I saw the poor devils embark this morning, and a doleful sight it was—one hundred of my fellow-creatures, in the prime of life, consigned to an early grave, transported to the pestilential climate of Sierre Leone: inquire for them three months hence, and you shall find them—not where they will find you—but where whole regiments of their predecessors have been sacrificed, on the unhealthy shores—victims to the false policy of holding what is worse than useless, and of enslaving the original owners of the soil.
[161]Liquor, and the reflection of their desperate fortunes, have driven them mad, and now they give vent to their feelings in a forced torrent of wild mirth, in which they would bury the recollections of those they are parted from for ever. On the beach this morning I witnessed a most distressing scene: wives separated by force from their husbands, and children torn from the fond embraces of parents whose parting sighs were all they could yield them on this side the grave. 'Push off the boat, and, officer, see that no women are permitted on board,' said the superintending lieutenant of the depot, with a voice and manner hard and unfeeling as the iron oracle of authority. My heart sickened at the sight, and the thrilling scream of a widowed wife, as she fell senseless on the causeway, created an impression that my pitying Muse could not resist recording.
'THE SOLDIER'S WIPE.
'There's a pang which no pencil nor pen can express,
A heart-broken sigh which despondency breathes,
When the soul, overcharged with oppressive distress,
Of the tear of relief the sad bosom bereaves.
'Twas thus on the shore, like a statue of grief,
The wife of the soldier her babe fondly press'd;
Not a word could she utter, no tear gave relief,
But sorrow convulsively heaved her soft breast.
Now nearer she presses—now severed for life
The waves bear the lord of her bosom from view;
Distraction suspends the red current of life,
And she sinks on the beach as he sighs out adieu.'"
"Zounds, old fellow, how sentimental you are growing!" said Horace: "you must read these pathetic pieces to the marines; they will never do for the sailors. Here, steward, bear a hand, muster the crew aft, and let us have a tune, Jack's Alive, Malbrook, or the College Hornpipe;" an order that was quickly carried into execution, as most of the [162]men on board I found played some wind instrument, the effect of which upon the stillness of the water was enchantingly sweet. During the occasional rests of the band, Horace sung one of those delightful melodies, written in imitation of Moore, for which he was celebrated when a boy at Eton.
THE EVENING TIDE.
Tune—" The Young May Moon."
Whither so fast away, my dear?
The star of Eve is bright and clear,
And the parting day, as it fades away,
To lovers brings delight, my dear:
Then 'neath night's spangled veil, my dear,
Come list t' the young heart's tale sincere;
Yon orb of light, so chaste and bright,
Love's magic yields within her sphere.
Then through the shady grove, my love,
Let's wander with the cooing dove,
Till the starry night, to morning's light,
Shall break upon our wooing, love.
As life's young dream shall pass, my love,
Together let us gaily row,
And day by day, in sportive play,
Enjoy life's Meeting gloss, my love.
It was on one of those warm evenings in the month of July, when scarcely a zephyr played upon the wanton wave, and the red sun had sunk to rest behind the Castle turrets, giving full promise of another sultry day, that our little band had attracted a more than usual display of promenaders on the walk extending from the Fort point to the Marine Hotel. With the report of the evening gun, or, as Horace termed it, the admiral's grog bell, we had quitted the cabin, and mustering our little party upon deck, suffered the Rover to drift nearer in shore with the tide, that we might enjoy the gratifying spectacle of more closely observing the young, the beautiful, and the [163]accomplished elegantes who traversed to and fro upon the beach to catch the soft whispers of the saline air.
At the Castle Causeway a boat had just landed a group of beautiful children, who appeared clinging round a tall well-formed man, in a blue jacket and white trowsers, resting a hand upon each of two fine boys dressed in a similar style: he walked on, with a slight affection of lameness, towards the Castle entrance, preceded by three lovely little female fairies, who gambolled in his path like sportive zephyrs.—"There moves one of the bravest men, and best of fathers, in his majesty's dominions," said Horace—"the commander of the Pearl." "What," said I, "the Marquis of Anglesey?" "The same—who here seeks retirement in the bosom of his family, and without ostentation enjoys a pleasure, which, in its pursuit, produces permanent advantage to many, and enables others, his friends and relations, to participate with him in his amusements. We are much indebted to the marquis for the promotion of this truly British sport, who with his brothers, Sir Charles and Sir Arthur, were among the first members of the Royal Yacht Club. The group of blue jackets to the left, whom the marquis recognised as he passed, consist of that merry fellow, Sir Godfrey Webster, who lias a noble yacht here, the Scorpion; the commander of the Sabrina, James Manse, Esq. another jovial soul; the two Williams's, father and son, who have both fine yachts in our roads; Sir Charles Sullivan; and the Polar navigator, Captain Lyons, who has just launched a beautiful little boat called the Queen Mab, with whom he means to bewitch the Don Giovanni of London." "Who is that interesting female leaning over the railings in front of the Gothic house, attended by a dark pensive-looking swain, with a very intelligent countenance? Methinks there is an air of style about the pair that speaks nobility; and yet I have observed [164]they appear too fond of each other's society to be fashionables." "That is the delightful Lady F. L. Gower and her lord: I thought you would have recognised that star instantly, from the splendid picture of her by Lawrence, which hangs in the Stafford Gallery at Cleveland-house. The elegant group pacing the lawn in front of the castellated mansion, on this side of Lord Gower, is the amiable Countess of Craven and her family: the earl, that generous and once merry-hearted soul, I lament to hear, is a victim to the gout; but it is hoped a few trips on board the May-fly will restore him to health, and the enjoyment of his favourite pursuit." "By my soul, Horace," said I, "here comes a splendid creature, a very divinity, my boy: I' faith just such a woman as might melt the heart of a corsair." "By my honour you have hit the mark exactly," replied Eglantine, "for she is already the corsair's bride, and Corbett feels, as he ought to do, not a little proud of his good fortune. The raven-haired Graces accompanying that true son of Neptune, Sir George Thomas, are daughters of the baronet, and, report says, very accomplished girls. Now by all that's fascinating and charming, hither comes the beautiful Miss Seymour, Mrs. Fitzherbert's protégé, and his Majesty's little pet—an appellation I have often heard him salute her by. The magnificent-looking belle by her side is a relation, the charming Mrs. Seymour, acknowledged to be a star of the first magnitude in female attractions. The three portly-looking gentlemen whose grog-blossomed visages speak their love of the good things of this world are the Admirals Scott and Hope, and that facetious of all funny senators, Sir Isaac Coffin. If you are an admirer of the soft and the sentimental, of the love-enkindling eye, and Madonna-like expression of countenance, observe that band of Arcadian shepherdesses in speckled dresses yonder—Bristol diamonds of the first and purest [165]water, I assure you; and their respected father, the wealthy proprietor of Miles's-court, Bristol, may well be delighted with his amiable and beauteous daughters. The little dapper-looking man in the white hat yonder is the liberal, good-tempered Duke of Norfolk; and the dashing roué by his side, the legitimate heir to his title, is the Earl of Surrey, whose son, the young Baron of Mowbray, follows hand in hand with Captain Wollaston, an old man-of-war's man, who sails the Swallow cutter. The female group assembled in front of the King's-house are the minor constellations from East Cowes, and the congregated mixture of oddities who grace the balconies of the Pavilion boarding-house comprise every grade of society from the Oxford invalid to the retired shopkeeper, the Messieurs Newcomes of the island." "A rich subject for a more extended notice," said I, "when on some future occasion I visit Margate or Brighton, where the diversity of character will be more numerous, varied, and eccentric than in this sequestered spot." As the evening advanced, the blue-eyed maid of heaven spread forth her silvery light across the glassy surface of the deep, yielding a magic power to the soul-inspiring scene, and, by reflection, doubling the objects on the sea, whose translucent bosom scarcely heaved a sigh, or murmured forth a ripple on the ear; and now, amid the stillness of the night, we were suddenly amused with the deep-sounding notes of the key-bugle reverberating over the blue waters with most harmonious effect. "We are indebted to that mad wag, Ricketts, for this unexpected pleasure," said Horace; "he is an amateur performer of no mean talent, and delights in surprising the visitors in this agreeable manner." "Rover, a-hoy," hailed a voice from the shore; off went our boat, and on its return brought an accession to our party of half a dozen right merry fellows, among whom was that choice spirit, Henry Day, whose facetious powers of oratory and whim are [166]universally esteemed, and have often afforded us amusement, when enjoying an evening among the eccentrics of London and the brilliants of the press, who assemble for social purposes at the Wrekin. The Days are too well known and respected as a family of long standing in the island to require the eulogy of the English Spy, but to acknowledge their hospitality and kindness he penned the following tribute ere he quitted the shores of Vectis.
LOVE, LAW, AND PHYSIC.
In Vectis' Isle three happy Days
By any may be seen:
First, James, who loves by social ways
To animate mirth's scene;
An honest lawyer, Henry, next
With speech and bottle plies you;
And when by fell disease perplex'd,
Charles physics and revives you.
"Love, law, and physic," here combine
To claim the poet's praise:
May fortune's sunbeams ever shine
On three such worthy Days.
A few more songs and a few more grogs brought on the hour of ten; and now our friends having departed to their homes, Horace and myself took a turn or two upon deck, smoked out our cigars, conjured up the reminiscences of our school-boy days, and having spent a few moments in admiration of the starry canopy which spread its spangled brightness over our heads, we sought again the cabin, drank a parting glass to old friends, turned into our births, and soon were cradled by the motion of the vessel into sweet repose. The events of the former evening, the novelty of the scene, and, above all, the magnificence of Nature, as she appeared when viewed from sea, in her diurnal progress through the transition [167]of morning, noon, and night, all inspired my Muse to attempt poetic sketches of the character of the surrounding island scenery. A delightful pleasure I have endeavoured to convey to my readers in the following rhymes.
MORNING IN THE ISLE OF WIGHT.
When o'er the foreland glimmering day
Just breaks above the eastern lulls,
And streaks of gold through misty gray
Dispels night's dark and vap'rous chills;
Then, when the landsman 'gins to mow
The perfumed crop on grounds above,
And sailors chant the "yeo, heave yeo,"
Then young hearts wake to life and love.
When still and slow the murmuring swell
Of ocean, rising from his throne,
O'erleaps the beach, and matin's bell
To prayer invites the college drone;
Then, when the pennant floats on high,
And anchor's weigh'd again to rove,
And tuneful larks ascend the sky,
Then young hearts wake to life and love.
When, by unerring nature's power,
Creation breaks the spell of night,
And plants their leaves expand and flow'r,
And all around breathes gay delight;
Then when the herdsman opes his fold
To let the merry lambkin rove,
And distant hills are tipt with gold,
Then young hearts wake to life and love,
NOON IN THE ISLE OF WIGHT.
When toiling 'neath meridian sun
The boatman plies the lab'ring oar,
And sportive nymphs the margin shun
Of ocean's pebble-parched shore;
Then when beneath some shadowy cliff,
O'er-hanging wood, or leafy vale,
The trav'ller rests, haul'd up the skiff,
Then lovers breathe their am'rous tale.
When Nature, languid, seems to rest,
Nor moves a leaf, or heaves a wave,
And Zephyrs sleep, by Sol caress'd,
And sportive swallows skim the lave;
Then, when by early toil oppress'd,
The peasant seeks the glen or dale,
Enjoys his frugal meal and rest,
Then lovers breathe their am'rous tale.
When close beneath the forest's pride
The upland's group of cattle throng,
And sultry heat dissevers wide
The feather'd host of tuneful song;
Then when a still, dead, settled calm
O'er earth, and air, and sea prevail,
And lull'd is ev'ry spicy balm,
Then lovers breathe their am'rous tale.
EVENING IN THE ISLE OF WIGHT.
When twilight tints with sober gray
The distant hills, and o'er the wave
The mellow glow of parting day
Crimsons the shipwreck'd sailor's grave;
Then when the sea-bird seeks the mast,
And signal lights illume the tower,
And sails are furl'd, and anchors cast,
Then, then is love's delicious hour.
When o'er the beach the rippling wave
Breaks gently, heaving to and fro,
Like maiden bosoms, ere the knave
Of hearts has ting'd their cheek with woe;
Then, when the watch their vigils keep,
And grog, and song, and jest have power
To laugh to scorn the peril'd deep,
Then, then is love's delicious hour.
When Cynthia sheds her mystic light
In silv'ry circles o'er the main;
And Hecate spreads her veil of night
O'er hearts that ne'er may meet again;
Then, Anna, blest with thee, I stray
'Mid scenes of bliss—through nature's bower;
While eve's star guides us on our way,
Then, then is love's delicious hour.
It has often been observed by inquisitive travellers, that in most of our country villages not only the three best houses are inhabited by the lawyer, the parson, and the doctor, but three-fourths of the whole property of the place is generally monopolized by the same disinterested triumvirate: however true the satire [170]may be in a general sense, it certainly does not apply to Cowes, where the liberal professions are really practised by liberal minds, and where the desire to do good outweighs the desire to grow rich. But the good people of Cowes are not without their nabobs; for instance, the eastern shores of the river are under the dominion of Lord Henry Seymour and Mr. Nash, who there rule over their humble tenantry with mild paternal sway. On the western side, the absolute lords of the soil are Messrs. Bennett and Ward: the first, like other great landed proprietors, almost always an absentee; and the last somewhat greedy to grapple at every thing within his reach. "Who does that fine park and mansion belong to?" said a stranger, surveying Northwood from the summit of the hill. "King George," replied the islander. "And who owns the steam-boats, which I now see arriving?" "King George," reiterated the fellow. "And who is the largest proprietor of the surrounding country?" "King George." "Indeed!" said the stranger, "I was not aware that the crown lands were so extensive in the Wight. Have you much game?" "Ees, ees." "And who is the lord of the manor?" "King George." "And these new roads I see forming, are they also done by King George?" "Ees, ees, he ought to gi' us a few new ones, I think; bekase Ize zure he's stopped up enou of our old ones." "What, by some new inclosure act, I suppose?" "Naye, naye, by some old foreclosure acts, I expect." "Why, you do not mean to say that our gracious sovereign is a money-lender and mortgagee?" "No; but our ungracious king be the', and a money-maker too." "Fellow, take care; you are committing treason against the Lord's anointed." "Ees, ees, he be a 'nointed one, zure enou," retorted the fellow, laughing outright in the traveller's face. "Sirrah," said the offended stranger, "I shall have you taken before a justice." "Ees, ees, Ize heard o' them ere chaps at East Cowes, but Ize [171]not much respect for 'em." "Not care for the magistrate!" "Lord love you,—you be one of the Mr. Newcome, Ize warrant me; why, we've gotten no zuch animal here, nothing o' sort nearer as Newport; and lawyer Day can out-talk the best of them there, whenever he likes." "There must be some mistake here," said the stranger, cooling a little of his choler: "did you not tell me, fellow, that the king of England owned all the land here, and the steam-boats, and the manor, and the town, and the people, and—————-." "Hold, hold thee there," said the islander; "I said, King George; and here he comes, in his four-wheeled calabash, and before he undertakes to give us any more new roads, I wish he'd set about mending his own queer ways" However strong the current of prejudice may run against Squire Ward in the island, among a few of the less wealthy residents, it must be admitted, that he is hospitable even to a proverb, a sincere and persevering friend, and a liberal master to his tenantry: the Christmas festivities at Northwood, when the poor are plentifully regaled with excellent cheer, smacks of a good old English custom, that shall confer upon the donor lasting praise, and hand down his name to posterity with better chance of grateful remembrance than all his mine of wealth can purchase; there are some well authenticated anecdotes in circulation of George Ward, which prove that he has, with all his eccentricities,
"A tear for pity, and a hand, open as day, to melting charity."
To his enterprising spirit Cowes is indebted for much of its present popularity, the facility of travelling to and from the island being greatly aided by the steamboats (his property) from Portsmouth and Southampton; but much yet remains to be done by the inhabitants themselves, if they wish to secure their present high partronage, and increase with succeeding seasons the number of their visitors. The promenade, admirably situate for the enjoyment of the sea [172]breeze, and the delightful spectacle of a picturesque harbour filled with a forest of beautiful pleasure yachts, is of an evening generally obstructed by the assemblage of a juvenile band of both sexes, of the very lowest description, who render it utterly impossible for the delicate ear of female propriety to hazard coming in contact with their boisterous vulgarities. The beautiful walk round the Castle battery is wholly usurped by this congregated mass of rabble; and yet the appointment of a peace-officer, a useful animal I never once saw at Cowes, would remove the objection, and preserve a right of way and good order among the crowd that would at least render it safe, if not pleasant, to traverse the extended shore. The visit of their royal highnesses the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge to John Nash, Esq. the eminent architect, at East Cowes Castle, gave a new lustre to the enchanting scene, and afforded the English Spy a favourable opportunity for completing his sketches of the scenery and character of the island. Among the festivities which the presence of the royal visitors gave birth to, the most attractive and delightful was the grand déjeuné a la fourchette, given at St. Lawrence by the commodore of the Yacht Club, the Right Honourable Lord Yarborough. The invitations to meet the royal party were very general, including all of note and respectability on the island, and extending to the number of six hundred persons, for whom a most liberal and princely banquet was prepared upon the lawn of a delightful cottage, near his seat of Appuldurcombe. The spot selected for this entertainment was situated under a bold line of cliffs, extending in a semicircular form for above a mile in length, and inclosing one of the most romantic of nature's variegated scenes, abounding with hill, and dale, and rich umbrageous foliage, delightfully increased by the inspiring freshness of the sea breeze, and the unbroken view of the Channel in front, and [173]rendered still more attractive and picturesque by the numerous tents and temporary pavilions which had been erected for the accommodation of the visitors, spreading over a line of ground like an encampment in the Pyrenees, a similitude of feature that was more powerfully increased when the well-concerted echo of the signal bugles resounded from hill to hill, and the cannon's loud report, from the battery beneath, reverberating through the surrounding hill and dale, proclaimed for many a mile the gladsome tidings of the approach of royalty. The scene was, beyond description, magnificent; the assemblage of fashionables included a long list of noble and distinguished persons, who, on the approach of the duke and duchess, congregated upon an eminence, immediately opposite the entrance to the lawn, and by their loyal cheers, and smiles, and birthday suits, gave honest welcome to their monarch's brother, and in the fulness of their hearty zeal, paid a grateful tribute to their absent king. The ungenial state of the morning's weather had prevented many of the yachts from coming round, but a few jolly hearts had weathered the Needles, and displayed their loyalty by decorating their vessels with all the colours of all the nations of the world. At an appointed signal the tents were thrown open, and the royal party having retired to the pavilion, the company sat down to an entertainment, where a profusion of choice wines and viands covered the extended line; then commenced the interchange of bright eyes and soft sayings, and the rosy blush of maiden beauty tinged the cheek of many a sylphic form as the accomplished beau challenged the fair to wine with him, and many a heart from that day's sportive scene shall date the first impression of the soveieign passion which blends with life's red current all of happiness or misery here below. The repast over, the company again met the royal party and promenaded on the lawn, and while thus [174]engaged, a new delight was prepared for them—a scene not less congenial than peculiar to the English character, and one which may well uplift that honest pride of country which ever animates a Briton's heart. The tables being again replenished, the peasantry of the surrounding districts were admitted and regaled with unrestricted hospitality. And round the gay board cheerful Industry shone, In a pureness and brightness to wealth oft unknown; 'Twas a feast where a monarch might wish to preside, For the cottager's comfort's his country's pride; And Benevolence smiled on the heart-moving scene, And music and beauty enlivened the green, While the labourer, gratefully raising the glass, Gave his king, then his donor, his dame, and his lass.
The commodore's liberality is proverbial; he had sold his old yacht, the Falcon, and the new vessel was not likely to be launched this season, yet he would not forego the pleasure of a grand fête, and as it could not be given on board his own ship, according to annual custom, he seized upon this opportunity of the royal visit to unite Loyalty and Friendship under one banner, and it must be recorded, that he displayed an excellence of arrangement which left no wish ungratified. An excursion round the island, sailing in a westerly direction, is one of most delightful amusement to a lover of the picturesque; the circuit is nearly eighty miles, every where presenting new features of the most beautiful variety and romantic scenery, a voyage we made in the Rover in about eight hours. Clearing Sconce Point, which is the first object worthy notice from Cowes, you perceive the cottage, battery, and residence of Captain Farrington on the rise of the hill, and beyond are Gurnet and Harness Bays closely succeeding one another, the shores above being well diversified with foliage and richly cultivated grounds. From this station the coast gradually sinks towards Newtown River, where the luxuriant woods of Swainton are perceived rising in the distance, crowned by [175]Shalfleet church and a rich country as far as Calbourne, the landscape bounded by a range of downs which stretch to the extremity of the island. The coast at Hamsted, the farm estate of John Nash, Esq. presents a very bold outline, and approaching Yarmouth, which has all the appearance of an ancient French fort, the view of the opposite point, called Norton, is very picturesque, presenting a well-wooded promontory, adorned with numerous elegant residences; from this spot the coast begins to assume a very bold, but sterile aspect, composed of steep rugged slopes, and dull-coloured earthy cliffs, till the attention of the voyager is suddenly arrested by the first view of the Needle rocks, situate at the termination of a noble promontory called Freshwater cliffs, which extend along a line of nearly three miles, and at a part called Mainbench are six hundred feet above the sea level, in some places perpendicular, and in others overhanging the ocean in a most terrific manner; at the extreme point, or Needles, is the light-house, where the view of the bays and cliffs beneath is beyond description awfully sublime, and the precipices being covered with myriads of sea-fowl of all description, who breed in the crannies of the rocks, if called into action by the report of a gun fill the air with screams and cries of most appalling import; the grandeur of the scene being much increased by the singularly majestic appearance of the Needle rocks, rearing their craggy heads above the ocean, and giving an awful impression of the storms and convulsions which must have shaken and devoured this once enormous mass. Their present form bears no resemblance to their name, which was derived from a spiral rock, about one hundred and twenty feet high, that fell in the year 1764, and left the present fragments of its grandeur to moulder away, like the base of some proud column of antiquity. On the opposite coast is Hurst Castle, a circular fort, built by Henry [176]the Eighth; and on the north side of the promontory is Alum Bay, the most beautiful and unique feature of the sea cliffs of Albion. For about a quarter of a mile from the Needles the precipice is one entire glare of white chalk, which curves round to, and is joined by a most extraordinary mixture of vertical strata, composed of coloured sands and ocherous earths blending into every variety of tint, and so vivid and beautiful in colour, that they have been not unfrequently compared to the prismatic hues of the rainbow. It was on this spot the Fomone, a frigate of fifty guns, returning home, after an absence of three years, with some Persian princes on board, in June, 1811, struck upon the rocks and went to pieces: the appearance of a wreck, in such an extraordinary situation, must have formed a combination of grand materials for the painter, that would be truly sublime. At Saint Catherine's, in the cliffs, is the gloomy ravine called Blackgang Chine, which should be visited by the traveller at sunset, when the depth of shade materially increases the savage grandeur of its stupendous and terrific effect. Tradition reports, that the awful chasm beneath was formerly the retreat of a gang of pirates, from which it derived its name. The total absence of vegetation, and the dusky hue of the soil, combined with the obvious appearance of constant decay, the dismembered fragments, and the streamlet to which it owes its origin, falling perpendicularly over a ledge of hard rock from above seventy feet high, producing a wild echo in the cavity beneath, all conspire to render it the most striking and astonishing of Nature's wildest works. The view off the Sand Rock presents the tasteful marine villas of Sir Willoughby Gordon and Mrs. Arnold, whose well-cultivated grounds and rich plantations reach down to the sea shore. Saint Lawrence brings to view the romantic cottage of Lord Yarborough, succeeded by Steep Hill, the lovely retreat of the late Earl Dysart; [177]the romantic flank of Saint Boniface Down, and in the distance the fairy land of Bonchurch, whose enchanting prospects and picturesque scenery have so often called forth the varied powers of the painter and the poet, where sportive nature, clothed in her gayest vest, presents a diversified landscape, abounding with all the delightful combinations of rural scenery, of rich groves, and dells, and meads of green, and rocks, and rising grounds; streams edged with osiers, and the lowing herd spread over the luxuriant land. As you approach East End, you perceive an extensive scene of devastation, caused by the frequent landslips near to Luccombe Chine, and the romantic chasm of Shanklin, from which spot Sandown comes next in view, and sailing under the towering Culver cliffs we arrive at the eastern extremity of the island. At Bimbridge a very dangerous ledge spreads out into the sea, and gaining Brading Haven the old church tower of Saint Helen's proclaims you are fast gaining upon that delightful watering-place, the town of Ryde, whose picturesque pier, shooting forth into the ocean, and covered with groups of elegant visitors, forms an object of the most pleasing description. From this point the whole line of coast to Cowes wears a rich and highly-cultivated appearance, being divided into wood, arable, and pasture lands, diversified by the villas of Earl Spencer, Mr. G. Player, and Mr. Fleming, when, having passed Wooten Creek, the next object is Norris Castle; and now, having cleared the point, you are once more landed in safety at the Vine Key, and my old friend, Mrs. Harrington, whose pleasant countenance, obliging manners, and good accommodation, are the universal theme of every traveller's praise, has already made her best curtsy to welcome you back to Cowes.
The regatta was, indeed, a glorious scene, when the harbour was literally filled with a forest of masts and streamers, the vessels of the Royal Yacht [178]Club spread forth their milk white canvas to the gale, many of those who were riding at anchor being decorated from head to stem, over-mast, with the signal colours of most of the squadron and the ensigns of the different nations. On the shore, and round the castle battery, the congregated groups of lovely females traversed to and fro, and the witchery of blight eyes and beauteous faces upon the manly hearts of the sons of Neptune must have been magically triumphant. The Pearl beat the Arrow, and the Julia the Liberty,—thus equalizing the victory between the contending parties. The procession of the pilot boats, about forty in number, was a very animated scene; and in the sailing match of the succeeding day, our little craft, the Rover, came in second, and received the awarded prize. The race ball at East Cowes gave the young and fair another opportunity of riveting their suitors' chains, and the revels of Terpsichore were kept up with spirit until the streaking blush of golden morn shone through the dusky veil which Hecate spreads around the couch of drowsy night. But the day of parting was at hand; the last amusement of the time was a match made between Captain Lyon and a Mr. Davey, of London, to sail their respective yachts, the Queen Mab and the Don Giovanni, upon the challenge of the last mentioned, a stipulated distance, for a sum of two hundred guineas—an affair which did not, to use a sporting phrase, come off well, for the Don most ungallantly refused to meet his fair opponent; and being wofully depressed in spirits, either from apprehension of defeat, or sea sickness, or some such fresh water fears, the little Queen was compelled to sail over the course alone to claim the reward of her victory.
And now the sports of the season being brought to a conclusion, and the rough note of old Boreas and the angry groanings of Father Neptune giving token of approaching storms, I bade farewell to Vectis, my [179]friend Horace transporting me in his yacht to Southampton Water. Reader, if I should appear somewhat prolix in my descriptions, take a tour yourself to the island, visit the delightful scenery with which it abounds, participate in the aquatic excursions of the place, and meet, as I have done, with social friends, and kind hearts, and lovely forms, and your own delightful feelings will be my excuse for extending my notice somewhat beyond my usual sketchy style.
FAREWELL TO VECTIS.
Blest isle, fare thee well! land of pleasure and peace,
May the beaux and the belles on thy shores still increase:
How oft shall my spirit, by absence opprest,
Revisit thy scenes, and in fancy be blest,
In the magic of slumber still sport on thy wave,
And dream of delights that I waken to crave.
Farewell, merry hearts! fare ye well, social friends!
Adieu! see the Rover her canvas unbends;
Land of all that is lovely for painting or verse,
Farewell! ere in distance thy beauties disperse,
Now Calshot is passed, now receding from view,
Once more, happy Vectis, a long, last adieu.
Where now are the frolicsome care-killing souls,
With their girls and their fiddlers, their dances and bowls?
Where now are the blue jackets, once on our shore
The promoters of merriment, spending their store?
Where now are our tars in these dull piping times?
Laid up like old hulks, or enlisted in climes
Where the struggle for liberty calls on the brave,
The Peruvians, the Greeks, or Brazilians to save
From the yoke of oppression—there, Britons are found
Dealing death and destruction to tyrants around;
For wherever our tars rear the banner of fame,
They are still the victorious sons of the main.
A Trip to Portsmouth on board the Medina Steam-Boat—The
Change from War to Peace—Its Consequences—The Portsmouth
Greys—The Man of War's Man—Tom Tackle and his Shipmate—
Lamentation of a Tar—The Hero Cochrane—An old
Acquaintance—Reminiscences of the past—Sketches of Point-
Street and Gosport Beach—Naval Anecdotes—"A Man's like a
Ship on the Ocean of Life."
"Bear a hand, old fellow!" said Horace Eglantine one morning, coming down the companion hatchway of the Rover: "if you have any mind for a land-cruise, let us make Portsmouth to-day on board the steamer, while our yacht goes up the harbour to get her copper polished and her rigging overhauled." In earlier days, while yet the light-heartedness of youth [181]and active curiosity excited my boyish spirit, I had visited Portsmouth, and the recollection of the scenes I then witnessed was still fresh upon my memory. The olive-branch of peace now waved over the land of my fathers; and while the internal state of the country, benefited by its healing balm, flourished, revived, invigorated and prosperous, Portsmouth and Gosport, and such like sea-ports, were almost deserted, and the active bustle and variety which but now reigned among their inhabitants had given way to desolation and abandonment: at least such was the account I had received from recent visitors. I was, therefore, anxious from observation to compare the present with the past; and, with this view, readily met the invitation of my friend Horace Eglantine. The voyage from Cowes to Portsmouth on board the steam-boat, performed, as it now is, with certainty, in about an hour and a half, is a delightful excursion; and the appearance of the entrance to the harbour from sea, a most picturesque and imposing scene. The fortifications, which are considered the most complete in the world, stretching from east to west, on either side command the sea far as the cannons' power can reach. Nor is the harbour less attractive, flanked on each side by the towns of Gosport and Portsmouth, and filled with every description of vessel from the flag-ship of England's immortal hero, Nelson, which is here moored in the centre, a monument of past glory, to the small craft of the trader, and the more humble ferry-boat of the incessant applicant, who plys the passenger with his eternal note of "Common Hard, your honour."
One of my companions on board the Medina was an old man of war's man, whose visage, something of the colour and hardness of dried salmon, sufficiently indicated that the possessor had weathered many a trying gale, and was familiar with all the vicissitudes of the mighty deep. With the habitual roughness of [182]his manners was combined a singular degree of intelligence, and he evinced a disposition to be communicative, of which I found it very agreeable to avail myself. On approaching the harbour, my attention was arrested by the sight of a number of boats rowed by men arrayed in a grotesque uniform of speckled jackets, whose freights, to judge from appearances, must have been of no common weight, as the rowers seemed compelled to use a degree of exertion little inferior to that employed by galley-slaves. I inquired of my nautical Mentor who these men were, and in what description of service they were occupied. "Them, master," replied he, releasing the quid from his mouth, and looking with his weather-eye unutterable things; "they are the Portsmouth Greys." My countenance spoke plainly enough that this reply had by no means made me au fait to the subject of my question, and my informant accordingly proceeded—"Shiver my timbers, mate, they are as rum a set, them boat's crews, as ever pulled an oar—chaps as the public keeps out of their own pocket for the public good; and it's been but just a slip, as one may say, between the cup and the lip, as has saved a good many on 'em from being run up to the yard-arm. Some on 'em forgot to return things as they found rather too easy, and some, instead of writing their own name, by mistake wrote somebody's else's; so government sent 'em here, at its own charge, to finish their edication. You see the floating academy as is kept a purpose for 'em," said he, pointing to the receiving-hulk for the convicts at this station, which was lying in the harbour: "them as is rowing in the boats," added the talkative seaman, "has been a getting stones, and ballast, and such like, for the repairs of the harbour; they does all the rough and dirty jobs as is to be done about the works and place—indeed, we calls 'em the Port Admiral's skippers." I now fully understood the import of the term Portsmouth Greys, which had before been an enigma to [183]me; and comprehended that the unhappy beings before me were of
The ill-fated children of suff'ring and sin,
With conscience reproaching and sorrow within;
Bosoms that mis'ry and guilt could not sever,
Hearts that were blighted and broken for ever:
Where each, to some vice or vile passion a slave,
Shared the wreck of the mind, and the spirit's young grave.
Whose brief hist'ry of life, ere attain'd to its prime,
Unfolded a volume of madness and crime,
Such as leaves on the forehead of manhood a stain
Which tears over shed seek to blot out in vain;
A stain which as long as existence will last,
Embitt'ring the future with thoughts of the past.
I might have indulged much longer in these reflections, but my musing mood was interrupted by the Medina reaching her destination, and we disembarked safely at Portsmouth Point.
On landing, the worthy veteran, who had, by his confabulation during the voyage, claimed, in his own opinion, a right of becoming my companion for a time, a privilege which, in such a scene, and at such a place, it will easily be believed I was not averse from granting him, proceeded along with me carpere iter comités parati, up Point Street, and at one of the turnings my friend made a sudden stop. "My eyes!" he exclaimed, "may I perish, but that is my old messmate, Tom Tackle. Many's the can of flip we've scuttled while on board the Leander frigate together; and when we were obliged to part convoy and go on board different ships, there was above a little matter of brine about both our eyes." At this moment Tom Tackle came up with us: the warmth of affection with which his old shipmate had spoken of him had interested me not a little in his favour, and his mutilated frame spoke volumes in behalf of the gallantry he had displayed in the service of his country. One eye was entirely [184]lost; one coat-sleeve hung armless by his side; and one vanished leg had its place superseded by a wooden substitute. I gazed upon the "unfortunate brave" with mingled pity and veneration; yet, so true is the observation of the ancient,
"Res sunt humanæ flobilo ludibrium"
That is, human feelings and affairs are a singular compound of the ludicrous and the lamentable, that I could not avoid giving way to my mercurial disposition, and congratulating my fellow-voyager on the ease with which he had recognized his old comrade by his present remaining half. "Lord help your honour!" said he, "a seaman's weather-gauge is made for squalls—foul weather or fair—in stays or out of trim—sailing all right before the wind, or coming up under jury-masts; he's no tar that cannot make out an old friend at a cable's length, and bring to without waiting for signals of distress. Shiver my timbers, if I should not know my old messmate here while there's a timber rib left in his hulk, or a shoulder-boom to hang a blue jacket on. But, my toplights, Tom!" continued he, "where's all the girls, and the tiddlers, and the Jews, and bumboat-women that used to crowd all sail to pick up a spare hand ashore? Not a shark have I seen in the harbour, and all the old grog-shops with their foul-weather battens up and colours half-mast." "All in mourning for Mr. Nap, shipmate," said Tom; "we've had no fun here since they cooped him up on board the Bellerophon, and stowed him away at St. Helena. All the Jews have cut and run, and all the bumboat-women retired upon their fortunes; the poor landlords are most of them in the bilboes at Winchester: and as for a pretty girl—whew!—not such an article to be had at Point now, either for love or money: and all this comes of the peace—shiver my odd forelight! mate, if it lasts much longer, it will be the ruin of the navy.
[185]How I long to hear the sound of the boatswain's whistle once more! 'Up hammocks, boys—clear the decks, and prepare for action! 'that's the way to live and be merry; then the music of a good broadside pouring into an enemy's under-works, and cutting her slap in two between wind and water—that's glory, my christian! May I never taste grog again, if we are not all ruined by the peace. There's only one fighting fellow left of the old stock of commanders, and they have turned him out of the navy lest he should infect the psalm-singers. Look out a-head there, shipmate; d'ye see that fine frigate, the Peranga, now lying oft' Spithead, and can you ever forget Basque Roads and the gallant Cochrane? I just got a glimpse of his figure head t'other morning, coming up Point here; so I hauled to and threw my shattered hulk slap across his headway, lowering my top-gallants as I passed round under his bows. 'Officer,' said he, 'you and I should know one another, methinks.' 'Success attend your honour,' said I; 'do you remember your master-gunner when you captured the Spanish galleon, who carried away a spar or two in the action?' 'What, Tom Tackier said he: 'Heaven help thee, lad! I'd give the bounty of a good boat's crew if I could put you into sailing-trim and commission again; but here, officer, is something to drink to old acquaintance with, and if you can find your way on board the Peranga to-morrow, I'll take care they don't throw you over the ship's side before you have had a skinfull of grog: 'so seizing fast hold of my single tin with both his grappling-irons, I thought he would have shook it out of the goose-neck at parting; and when I went on board next day, he treated me like a port-admiral, and sent me on shore with every cranny well-filled, from my beef-tub to my grog-bucket, and put a little more of the right sort o' stuff" in my jacket pockets to pay harbour dues with. That's the commander for me! And now I hear, after having taken [186]and destroyed all the Spanish king's navy, he's off to give the Grand Signor a taste of his quality. My forelights! how I should like to see him with his double rows of grinders wide open, bearing down upon a whole fleet of Mussulmen—there'd be weeping, and wailing, and gnashing o' teeth among the Turks! I wouldn't give my wooden pin for the whole of the Grand Sultan's flotilla. But come, shipmate, may I never want 'bacca, if we don't drink his health, and that 'ere gemman you've taken in tow shall join us, if he likes." I was too much amused to desire to part company just yet, and the good-humoured tars perceiving my bent, linked themselves to each arm, and in this way, laughing at the curiosity we provoked, did our party reach the middle of Point-street, and brought ourselves to anchor under the head of old Admiral Benbow, where Tom assured us we should be supplied with the best of grog and ship-stores of the first quality. Horace had proceeded to escort some ladies, whom he met with on board the steamboat, to the house of a friend in the High-street, where I had appointed to meet him in the space of an hour. Sitting myself down therefore with my two jovial associates, I determined to humour the frolic which had brought me into the society of such eccentric characters. "Shiver my timbers! Jem," said the one-legged mariner, "but you never make any inquiries after Betsy Bluff, among your other old friends. It's true, the wench has got spliced again, to be sure; but then, you know, she waited three years, and had the log-books overhauled first." "Ay, ay, Tom, so they say she did; but I never believed 'em: howsomedever, that wasn't the worst of it; for having got my will and my power in her possession, she drew all my pay and prize-money, and when at last I got home from an enemy's keeping, I had not a shot left in the locker to keep myself. But the mischief did not end even there, for she disgraced me, [187]and the British flag, by marrying a half-starved tailor, and setting him up in the Sally port with the money that I had been fighting the enemies of my country for. May I never get groggy again, if I couldn't have forgiven her freely if she'd taken some honest-hearted fellow, like yourself, in tow, who had got disabled in the service, or consorted with a true man of war's man, all right and tight; but to go and lash herself alongside of such a crazy land lubber as this ninth degree of manhood—may I never taste 'bacca again if Bet's conduct is bearable! She's no wife of mine, Tom; and when I go to pieces, a wreck in this world, may I be bolted into old Belzy's caboose if she shall be a copper fastening the better for Jem Buntline!" During the recital of this story the countenance of the old tar assumed a fiery glow of honest indignation, and when he had finished the tale, his fore lights gave evident signs that his heart had been long beating about in stormy restlessness at the remembrance of his wife's unfaithfulness. "Cheer up, messmate," said Tom; "I see how the land lies. Come, fill your pipe, and I'll sing you the old stave I used to chant on Saturday nights, when we messed together on board the Leander.
A man's like a ship on the ocean of life,
The sport both of fair and foul weather,
Where storms of misfortune, and quicksands of strife,
And clouds of adversity gather.
If he steers by the compass of honour, he'll find,
No matter what latitude meets him,
A welcome in every port to his mind,
And a friend ever ready to greet him.
If love takes the helm in an amorous gale,
Of the rocks of deception beware,
Steer fairly for port, and let reason prevail,
And you're thus sure to conquer the fair.
For the Bay of Deceit keep a steady look out,
Steer clear of the shoals of distress,
Yet ever be ready to tack and about
When the black waves of misery press.
Like a vessel, digest out in all colours, d'ye see,
Are the virtues and vices of life:
Blue and red are the symbols of friendship and glee,
White and black of ill-humour and strife.
True worth, like true honour, is born of no clime,
But known by true courage and feeling,
Where power and pity in unison chime,
And the heart is above double dealing."
"Ay, Tom, now you're on the right tack—a good song, and a jovial friend, and let the marines blubber about love and lullaby, it'll never do for the sailors. As we are overhauling old friends, do you remember Charley Capstan, the coxswain's mate of the Leander V "Shiver my timbers, but I do; and a bit of tough yarn he was, too: hard as old junk without, and soft as captain's coop meat within. Wasn't I one of the crew that convoyed him up this very street when returning from a cruise off the Straits, we heard that Charley's old uncle had slipt his cable, and left him cash enough to buy out and build a ship of his own? That was a gala, messmate! There was Charley, a little fat porpoise, as round as a nine-pounder, mounted on an eighteen gallon cask of the real Jamaica, lashed to a couple of oars, and riding astride, on his messmates' shoulders, up to the Point. Then such a jolly boat's crew attended him, rigged out with bran new slops, and shiners on their topmasts, with the Leander painted in front, and half a dozen fiddlers scraping away 'Jack's alive,' and all the girls decked out in their dancing dresses, with streamers flying about their top-gallants, and loose nettings over their breastworks—that was a gala, messmate! And didn't Charley treat all Point to the play that night, and engage the whole of the gallery cabin for his own friends' accommodation; and when the reefers in the hold turned saucy, didn't you and two or three more [189]drop down upon 'em, and having shook the wind out of their sails, run up the main haliards again, without working round by the gangway?" "Right, Tom, right; and don't you remember the illumination, when we stuck up ten pound of lighted candles round the rim of the gallery before the play began, and when Jane Shore was in the midst of her grief, Charley gave the signal, and away they went, like a file of marines from a double broadside, right and left, tumbling about the ears of the reefers and land lubbers in the chicken coops below? Those were the days of glory, messmate, when old Jack Junk, who had never seen a play before, took it all for right down arnest matter o' fact; and when poor Mrs. Shore came to ask charity of that false-hearted friend of hers, what was jealous of her, and fell down at the door, overcome by grief and hunger, poor Jack couldn't stand it no longer; so after suffering the brine to burst through the floodgates of his heart, till he was as blind as our chaplain to sin, he jumped up all at once, and made for the offing, blubbering as he went, 'May I be blistered, if ever I come to see such cruel stuff as this again!' Then didn't Stephen Collins, and Kelly, and Maxfield, the three managers, come upon deck, and drink success to the Leander's crew, out of a bucket of grog we had up for the purpose, and the ould mare of Portsmouth sent his compliments to us, begging us not to break our own necks or set fire to the playhouse? Another glass, Jem, to the crew of the Leander: don't you remember the ducking ould Mother Macguire, the bum-boat woman, received, for bringing paw-paw articles on board, when we came in to refit?" "May I never want 'bacca, if I shall ever forget that old she crocodile! Wasn't it her that brought that sea-dragon, Bet Bluff, on board, and persuaded me to be spliced to her? shiver her timbers for it!" "Avast there! messmate," said Tom: "when you [190]can't skuttle an enemy, it's best to sail right away from her hulk before she blows up and disables her conqueror. May I never get groggy, if I shall ever forget the joke between you and the old Sheenie, when you threatened to throw him overboard for selling you a dumb time-keeper. 'Blesh ma heart,' said the Jew, while his under works shook like a cutter's foresail going about, 'how could you expect de vatch to go well, ven de ship vas all in confushion?' an excuse that saved him from sailing ashore in a skuttle-bucket." "Have you weathered Gosport lately?" inquired Jem: "there used to be a little matter of joviality going forward there upon the beach in war time, but I suppose it's all calm enough now." "All ruined by the peace; and all that glorious collection of the kings and queens of England, and her admirals and heroes, which used to swing to and fro in the wind, when every house upon the beach was a grog-shop, are past, vanished, or hanging like pirates in tatters; the sound of a fiddle never reaches their ears; and the parlour-floors, where we used to dance and sing till all was blue, are now as smooth and as clean as the decks of Lord Nelson's flag ship, the Victory, which lies moored in our harbour, like a Greenwich pensioner, anchored in quiet, to drop to pieces with old age. You may fire a nine-pounder up the principal street at noon-day now and not hurt any body; and if the peace lasts much longer, horses may graze in their roads, and persons receive pensions for inhabiting the vacant houses." The period within which I had promised to join Horace Eglantine had now elapsed. It was no easy task to separate myself from my nautical friends, and the amusement they had afforded me demanded some acknowledgment in return; calling, therefore, for a full bowl of punch, we drank success to the British navy, toasted wives and sweethearts, honoured our gracious king, shook [191]hands at parting, like old friends, and having promised to renew my acquaintance before I left Portsmouth, I bade adieu to jolly Jem Buntline and what remained of his noble messmate, the lion-hearted Tom Tackle.
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| Volume II. Part 2 |