CHAPTER V.

A LANDED PROPRIETOR.

After Michael had spent a month in France, he discovered that he must

still travel on, and still sacrifice time and exertion, if he hoped to

bring his unfortunate parent's affairs to a satisfactory issue. Many

things had happened since his arrival to give him great pain and

annoyance. In the first place, he had learned, with a sickening heart,

that the private debts of his father considerably exceeded in amount

those which had appeared in the testamentary memorandum. He had seen

with his own eyes his father's acknowledgment of liabilities, the

existence of which was thus revealed to him for the first time. In his

immediate and violent disgust, he burned to expose his parent's cupidity

and dishonesty, and to rid himself of the burden which he had

voluntarily taken as his own; but pride, shame, and other low

incentives, came between him and the fulfilment of a rash resolution,

and he had nothing to do but to look his difficulty fully and bravely in

the face. In addition to this trial, he found it necessary to proceed

without delay as far eastward as Vienna; for thither his chief creditor

had taken himself on urgent business, which threatened to detain him on

the spot until the following year. Nor was this all; a Lyonese merchant,

who held old Allcraft's note of hand for a considerable sum, advanced

under assurances of early payment, had grown obstinate and restive with

disappointment and anxiety. He insisted upon the instant discharge of

his claim, and refused to give another hour's grace. To rid himself of

this plague, Michael had not hesitated to draw upon his house for a sum

somewhat greater than five thousand pounds. The act had not been

committed without some distress of mind--some murmurings of conscience;

but the necessity was great--the compulsion not to be avoided. To put an

end to all further and importunate demands, he posted into Austria fast

as he could be conveyed. The chief creditor was destined to be Michael's

chief misery. He was an obdurate, unyielding man, and, after days of

negotiation, would finally listen to nothing but the chink of the gold

that was due to him. And how much that was, Michael dared not trust

himself to think. Now, what was to be done? To draw again upon the

bank--to become himself, to his partners, an example of recklessness and

extravagance, was out of the question. He had but one course before him,

and it was one which he had solemnly vowed never to adopt. To beg a loan

from his wife so early in the morning of their union, seemed a thing

impossible--at least it seemed so in the outset, when the thought first

blushed upon him, and there remained a chance, a hope, of escaping from

the miserable alternative. But as the creditor got clamorous, and every

prospect of satisfying his demand--every means save one--grew dim, and

shadowy, and blank, the wrongfulness, the impropriety of making an

appeal to her, whose heart was willing as her hand was able to release

him from despair, became less evident, and by degrees not evident at

all. It would have been well for Allcraft, and for Margaret too, had the

latter resisted his demand, or opposed it with one kind word of

remonstrance. Michael was prepared for this, and the gentlest opposition

would have saved them both. But what did Margaret possess, which she

wished not to share with him who was her idol--dearer to her than her

life--the joy and light of life! He hinted his request; she hardly

suffered him to hint it. She placed her substance at his command, and

bade him use it. Like a guilty man--one guilty of his first but heavy

fault--blushing and faltering, Allcraft thanked his Margaret for the

loan, promised speedy payment, and vowed that he would beg no more. Fond

Margaret! she kissed the vow away, and bade him clear his brow, smile,

and be happy. It was a woman's part, who loves not wisely, but too well.

The day that gave him the means of satisfying the claims of one great

creditor, bound Allcraft more seriously to another; but he rejoiced at

his success, which brought him temporary ease, and he congratulated

himself upon his deliverance from failure and exposure. There was little

to do. The lady's broker was written to; the legal adviser of the

gentleman, at Michael's own request, prepared an instrument to secure

repayment of the loan; the money came--the debts of Allcraft senior to

the last farthing were discharged, and scarcely discharged before

Michael, eager and anxious to be at home, quitted Vienna, ready to

travel by night and day, and longing to feel his footing safely in the

banking-house again.

It is now proper to state, that on the very day that Michael's draft of

five thousand pounds applied for honourable reception at the counter of

his most respectable establishment, by a curious coincidence another

demand for double that amount appeared there likewise; not in the shape

of cheque or written order, but in that of a request, personal and oral,

proceeding from the proud and high-born lips of Walter Bellamy, Esquire,

lord of the manor--gentleman and banker. Mr Bellamy was not the first

man, by a great number, who has attempted to clothe and conceal real

poverty in the stately apparel of arrogance and offensive

self-sufficiency. He, man of the world, knew well enough, that, thus

disguised, _necessity_ need never fear discovery--might look and laugh

in secret at mankind--might feed and thrive upon its faults and

weaknesses. How comparatively easy it is to avoid the shoals and rocks

of life--to sail smoothly and pleasantly on its waters, when we take for

our rudder and our guide the world's great axiom, "RICHES ARE

VIRTUE--POVERTY IS VICE." "Assume the _virtue_, if you have it not;"

assume its shows and appearances, its tricks, its offences, and its

crimes, rather than confess your nakedness. Be liberal and prodigal, if

it must be, with the crown you need to pay your necessary lodging; adorn

with velvet and with silk the body that grows sick for lack of wholesome

food; bribe, beyond their expectation, the pampered things in livery

that stand between you and the glory you aspire to--bribe them, though

to part with money is to lose your meal. Upon this broad principle it

was, that Walter Bellamy existed--in virtue of it he held lands, and by

its means he had become a partner in the bank, an active one, as very

soon he proved himself to be. His property was estimated by shrewd

calculators at a hundred thousand pounds--that, at the very least. And

Bellamy chuckled at his fireside--no one being by--at the universal

gullibility of man. A hundred thousand pounds! Why, he could not--at any

one period during the last twenty years, command as many farthings. What

right had strangers to calculate for him? What right had Allcraft to

depend upon such calculations? We may well ask the question, since Mr

Bellamy did so, when he endeavoured, as the worst of us will do, to

justify bad conduct to an unfaithful conscience. Why, what was he? a

simple _locum tenens_ of a dozen mortgagees, who had advanced upon the

estate a great deal more money than it would ever realize, if forced to

sale--a haughty, overbearing man, (though very benevolent to postboys

and other serving men,) a magistrate, and a great disciplinarian. This

was the amount of his pretensions, and yet men worshipped him. It was

surely not the fault of Mr Bellamy, but rather his good fortune; and if

he chose to make the most of it, he was a wise and prudent personage.

When it is borne in mind that the possessions of Mr Bellamy were

involved beyond their actual worth--that for some time he had lived in a

perpetual dread of exposure and utter ruin--that for years he had looked

abroad for some kind friend, who, if not altogether willing, might still

be prevailed upon to release him from his difficulties--it will be easy

to understand his very great desire to confer on Michael Allcraft all

the advantages of his own position and high character.

The part which Bellamy had taken in the business of the house, was very

inconsiderable until Michael's departure. Up to that time, he came to

the bank in his carriage with much ceremony--spoke to the dependents

there with becoming _hauteur_, and took his leave, on all occasions, as

a rich man should, with abundant fuss, scarcely troubling himself with

the proceedings of the day. "He had," he was always repeating the words,

"he had the greatest confidence in Allcraft. It was unbounded. He felt

that he could trust to him entirely and unreservedly." Gratefully did

such expressions fall upon the flattered ear of Michael, applauding

himself ever upon his victory--upon the acquisition of such a man. Of

what service he would be to him in his well-laid plans! Of what use was

his name already--and how much more serviceable than all would be the

noble sum of money which he had _promised_ to bring into the bank at the

close of the year! Michael, in his moments of chivalry, standing in the

presence of Bellamy, looked upon him almost with an eye of pity and

self-reproach. Whilst he himself could only plead guilty to a most

refined and cunning policy, his innocent partner was but too full of

trust; too simple and too unsuspecting. Somebody remarks, that God

reserves unto himself that horrid sight--a naked, human heart. Had

Allcraft and Bellamy, during one of their early interviews, suddenly

stripped, and favoured each other with reciprocal glances--one or both

would have been slightly startled by the unexpected exhibition. Planner

had always looked upon Mr Bellamy as a very great man indeed--had

contemplated him with that exact admixture of awe and admiration, that

was pleasing and acceptable to the subject of it. Mr Bellamy, in his

turn, conducted himself towards the schemer with much cordiality and

kindness. Proud men never unbend until their supremacy is acknowledged

through your servility. Your submission turns their gall to

honey--converts their vinegar to milk--to the very cream of human

complaisance. Mr Bellamy acted his part in this respect, as in every

other--well; a tiger to such as would not cringe, he could become a

playful lamb to all who were content to fawn. Planner and he were on the

best possible terms. Looking into what is called the nature of things,

we shall think it very natural on the part of Mr Bellamy, when he found

himself so agreeably situated in regard to the circulating medium, if he

took an early opportunity to help himself of the abundance by which he

was surrounded. The truth is, that some time before the visit of

Allcraft to the Continent, he had entertained a very serious intention

of drawing out of the concern the anticipatory profits of a few years,

in order to relieve himself and fine estate from certain engagements

which pressed inconveniently on both--but his object had not, for many

reasons, been carried into effect. In the first place, a moderate degree

of actual shame withheld him--and again, he had begged for time from his

creditor, and obtained it. Allcraft absent, the sense of shame

diminished; before he could return to England, the grateful respite was

at an end. It was a fine bright morning when Mr Bellamy's grand carriage

drew up in state before the banking-house, and the highly respectable

proprietor descended from it with his accustomed style and dignity. Mr

Planner was, at the moment, at his desk, very busy with the prospectus

of the _Pantamorphica_ Association, in which he had just completed some

very striking additions--but perceiving his respected colleague, he

jumped from his seat, and hastened to give him greeting.

"Don't let me disturb you, my dear friend," said the gracious Mr

Bellamy. "I beg you'll prosecute your labours."

"Don't mention it, I pray--so like you, Mr Bellamy--always considerate

and kind."

"Busy, Mr Planner--eh?--a deal to do now in the absence of our good

friend?"

"Enough, enough sir, I assure you--but business, sir, is pleasure to the

active mind."

"Very true--we feel your worth, sir--the house acknowledges your

ability, Mr Planner."

"Dear Mr Bellamy--you are very flattering."

"No--not at all. Have you any engagement, Mr Planner, for this evening?

Can you find time to dine with us at the Hall? I am positively angry

with you for your repeated excuses."

"I shall be too proud, sir--business hitherto"----

"Ay--ay--but, my good sir, we must not sacrifice ourselves to business.

A little recreation is absolutely necessary."

"So it is, sir--so it is--and you, sir, with your splendid fortune and

superior taste"----

"Ah, ah--_apropos_! have you heard from Mr Allcraft lately?"

"This morning, sir."

"When does he return, pray?"

"In about a week from this. He writes he leaves Vienna this very day."

"Dear me, how very inconvenient, how very vexing!"

"What is it, may I ask, sir?"

"Oh, a trifle, Mr Planner. Dear me--dear me--it is annoying too!"

"Is it nothing that we can do, sir? Any thing the bank can offer?"

"Why--my dear sir--it is rather awkward, certainly. I have engaged to

complete a purchase, and it must be done to-morrow. What cash have we in

the house? There can be no impropriety in withdrawing a few thousand

pounds for a short time. What do you think--Mr Allcraft being away?"

Now, Planner himself, during the last few days, had been very busy with

the cash-box, in order to meet the expenses of certain preliminaries

essential to the success of the infant _Pantamorphica_--into which

speculation, by the way, he had entered heart and soul--and it was quite

a relief and a joy to him to find his partner turning his attention to

the same quarter; so true it is, that no pleasure is so sweet to a

sinner, as the wickedness and companionship of a brother criminal.

"Impropriety, sir!" exclaimed the schemer. "Certainly not. Draw your

cheque, sir. If we have not the money here, we have a heavy purse in

London--and I beg you will command it."

"You think, then, that until our friend's return"----

"I am perfectly satisfied, Mr Bellamy," said Planner, with an emphasis

on every word, as men will sometimes use, feeling and believing all that

they assert. "I am thoroughly convinced that nothing would give Mr

Allcraft greater pain than to know you had needed a temporary loan, and

had not availed yourself of every opportunity that the bank affords you.

I entreat you not to hesitate one instant. How much may you require?"

"Well, my dear sir--you will dine with us this evening. We will talk the

matter over. Don't be late. Upon consideration, it may be quite as well,

perhaps, to draw upon the bank."

"Much better, sir, I am sure, in every way. Will you walk into the

private room? You'll find pen, ink, and paper there. We can accommodate

you, sir--no doubt."

"Thank you, Mr Planner, thank you."

How very few of the numerous clients of Messrs Allcraft, Bellamy,

Brammel, and Planner, in their worst dreams that night, dreamt of the

havoc which was making with their beloved and hard-earned cash!

COLLEGE THEATRICALS.

It wanted but two or three weeks to the Christmas vacation, and we--the

worshipful society of under-graduates of ---- College, Oxford--were

beginning to get tired of the eternal round of supper parties which

usually marked the close of our winter's campaign, and ready to hail

with delight any proposition that had the charm of novelty. A three

weeks' frost had effectually stopped the hunting; all the best tandem

leaders were completely screwed; the freshmen had been "larked" till

they were grown as cunning as magpies; and the Dean had set up a

divinity lecture at two o'clock, and published a stringent proclamation

against rows in the Quad. It was, in short, in a particularly

uninteresting state of things, with the snow falling lazily upon the

grey roofs and silent quadrangle, that some half dozen of us had

congregated in Bob Thornhill's rooms, to get over the time between lunch

and dinner with as little trouble to our mental and corporal faculties

as possible. Those among us who had been for the last three months

promising to themselves to begin to read "next week," had now put off

that too easy creditor, conscience, till "next term." One alone had

settled his engagements of that nature, or, in the language of his

"_Testamur_"--the prettiest bit of Latin, he declared, that he ever

saw--"_satisfecit examinatoribus_." Unquestionably, in his case, the

examiners must have had the rare virtue of being very easily satisfied.

In fact, Mr Savile's discharge of his educational engagements was rather

a sort of "whitewashing" than a payment in full. His passing was what is

technically called a "shave," a metaphor alluding to that intellectual

density which finds it difficult to squeeze through the narrow portal

which admits to the privileges of a Bachelor of Arts. As Mr S. himself,

being a sporting man, described it, it was "a very close run indeed;"

not that he considered that circumstance to derogate, in any way, from

his victory; he was rather inclined to consider, that, having shown the

field of examiners capital sport, and fairly got away from them in the

end without the loss of his brush, his examination had been one of the

very best runs of the season. In virtue whereof he was now mounted on

the arm of an easy-chair, with a long _chibouque_, which became the

gravity of an incipient bachelor better than a cigar, and took upon

himself to give Thornhill (who was really a clever fellow, and

professing to be reading for a first) some advice as to his conducting

himself when his examination should arrive.

"I'll tell you what, Thornhill, old boy, I'll give you a wrinkle; it

doesn't always answer to let out all you know at an examination. That

sly old varmint, West of Magdalen, asked me who Hannibal was.

'Aha!'--said I to myself--'that's your line of country, is it? You want

to walk me straight into those botheration Punic Wars, it's no go,

though; I sha'n't break cover in that direction.' So I was mute. 'Can't

you tell me something about Hannibal?' says old West again. 'I can,'

thinks I, 'but I won't.' He was regularly flabbergasted; I spoilt his

beat entirely, don't you see? so he looked as black as thunder, and

tried it on in a fresh place. If I had been fool enough to let him dodge

me in those Punic Wars, I could have been run into in no time. Depend

upon it, there's nothing like a judicious ignorance occasionally."

"Why," said Thornhill, "'when ignorance is bliss,' (_i. e._ when it gets

through the schools,) 'tis folly to be wise.'"

"Ah! that's Shakspeare says that, isn't it? I wish one could take up

Shakspeare for a class! I'm devilish fond of Shakspeare. We used to act

Shakspeare at a private school I was at."

"By Jove!" said somebody from behind a cloud of smoke--whose the

brilliant idea was, was afterwards matter of dispute--"why couldn't we

get up a play?"

"Ah! why not? why not? Capital!"

"It's such a horrid bore learning one's part," lisped the elegant Horace

Leicester, half awake on the sofa.

"Oh, stuff!" said Savile, "it's the very thing to keep us alive! We

could make a capital theatre out of the hall; don't you think the little

vice principal would give us leave?"

"You had better ask for the chapel at once. Why, don't you know, my dear

fellow, the college hall, in the opinion of the dean and the vice, is

held rather more sacred of the two? Newcome, poor devil, attempted to

cut a joke at the high table one of the times he dined there after he

was elected, and he told me that they all stared at him as if he had

insulted them; and the vice (in confidence) explained to him that such

'levity' was treason against the '_reverentia loci_!'"

"Ay, I remember when that old villain Solomon, the porter, fined me ten

shillings for walking in there with spurs one day when I was late for

dinner; he said the dean always took off his cap when he went in there

by himself, and threatened to turn off old Higgs, when he had been scout

forty years, because he heard him whistling one day while he was

sweeping it out! Well," continued Savile, "you shall have my rooms; I

sha'n't trouble them much now. I am going to pack all my books down to

old Wise's next week, to turn them into ready _tin_; so you may turn the

study into a carpenter's shop, if you like. Oh, it can be managed

famously!"

So, after a few _pros_ and _cons_, it was finally settled that Mr

Savile's rooms should become the Theatre Royal, ---- College; and I was

honoured with the responsible office of stage-manager. What the play was

to be was a more difficult point to settle. Savile proposed _Romeo and

Juliet_, and volunteered for the hero; but it passed the united strength

of the company to get up a decent _Juliet_. _Richard the Third_ was

suggested; we had "six _Richards_ in the field" at once. We soon gave up

the heroics, and decided on comedy; for, since our audience would be

sure to laugh, we should at least have a chance of getting the laugh in

the right place. So, after long discussion, we fixed on _She Stoops to

Conquer_. There were a good many reasons for this selection. First, it

was a piece possessing that grand desideratum in all amateur

performances, that there were several parts in it of equal calibre, and

none which implied decided superiority of talent in its representative.

Secondly, there was not much _love_ in it; a material point where, as an

Irishman might say, all the ladies were gentlemen. Thirdly, the scenery,

dresses, properties, and decorations, were of the very simplest

description: it was easily "put upon the stage." We found little

difficulty in casting the male characters; old Mrs Hardcastle, not

requiring any great share of personal attractions, and being considered

a part that would tell, soon found a representative; but when we came to

the "donnas"--_prima_ and _secunda_--then it was that the manager's

troubles began. It was really necessary, to ensure the most moderate

degree of success to the comedy, that Miss Hardcastle should have at

least a lady-like deportment. The public voice, first in whispers, then

audibly, at last vociferously, called upon Leicester. Slightly formed,

handsome, clever and accomplished, with naturally graceful manners, and

a fair share of vanity and affectation, there was no doubt of his making

a respectable heroine if he would consent to be made love to. In vain

did he protest against the petticoats, and urge with affecting

earnestness the claims of the whiskers which for the last six months he

had so diligently been cultivating; the chorus of entreaty and

expostulation had its effect, aided by a well-timed compliment to the

aristocratically small hand and foot, of which Horace was pardonably

vain. Shaving was pronounced indispensable to the due growth of the

whiskers; and the importance of the character, and the point of the

situations, so strongly dwelt upon, that he became gradually reconciled

to his fate, and began seriously to discuss the question whether Miss

Hardcastle should wear her hair in curls or bands. A freshman of

seventeen, who had no pretensions in the way of whiskers, and who was

too happy to be admitted on any terms to a share in such a "fast idea"

as the getting up a play, was to be the Miss Neville; and before the

hall bell rang for dinner, an order had been despatched for a dozen

acting copies of "She Stoops to Conquer."

Times have materially changed since Queen Elizabeth's visit to

Christ-Church; the University, one of the earliest nurses of the infant

drama, has long since turned it out of doors for a naughty child; and

forbid it, under pain of worse than whipping, to come any nearer than

Abingdon or Bicester. Taking into consideration the style of some of the

performances, in which under-graduates of some three hundred years ago

were the actors, the "Oxford Theatre" of those days, if it had more wit

in it than the present, had somewhat less decency: the ancient

"moralities" were not over moral, and the "mysteries" rather Babylonish.

So far we have had no great loss. Whether the judicious getting

up of a tragedy of Sophocles or Aeschylus, or even a comedy of

Terence--classically managed--as it could be done in Oxford--and well

acted, would be more unbecoming the gravity of our collected wisdom, or

more derogatory to the dignity of our noble "theatre," than the

squalling of Italian singers, masculine, feminine, and neuter--is a

question which, when I take my M.A., I shall certainly propose in

convocation. Thus much I am sure of, if a classical play-bill were duly

announced for the next grand commemoration, it would "draw" almost as

well as the Duke; the dresses might be quite as showy, the action hardly

less graceful, than those of the odd-looking gentlemen who are dubbed

doctors of civil law on such occasions; and the speeches of Prometheus,

Oedipus, or Antigone, would be more intelligible to the learned, and

more amusing to the ladies, than those Latin essays or the Creweian

oration.

However, until I am vice-chancellor, the legitimate drama, Greek, Roman,

or English, seems little likely to revive in Oxford. _Our_ branch of

that great family, I confess, bore the bar-sinister. The offspring of

our theatrical affections was unrecognized by college authority. The

fellows of ---- would have done any thing but "smile upon its birth."

The dean especially would have burked it at once had he suspected its

existence. Nor was it fostered, like the former Oxford theatricals to

which we have alluded, by royal patronage; we could not, consistently

with decorum, request her Majesty to encourage an illegitimate.

Nevertheless--spite of its being thus born under the rose--it grew and

prospered. Our plan of rehearsal was original. We used to adjourn from

dinner to the rooms of one or other of the company; and there, over our

wine and dessert, instead of quizzing freshmen and abusing tutors, open

each our copy, and, with all due emphasis and intonation, go regularly

through the scenes of "She Stoops to Conquer." This was all the study we

ever gave to our parts: and even thus it was difficult to get a muster

of all the performers, and we had generally to play dummy for some one

or more of the characters, or "double" them, as the professionals call

it. The excuses for absenteeism were various. Mrs Hardcastle and Tony

were gone to Woodstock with a team, and were not to be waited for;

Diggory had a command to dine with the principal; and once an

interesting dialogue was cut short by the untoward event of Miss

Neville's being "confined"--in consequence of some indiscretion or

other--"to chapel." It was necessary in our management, as much as in Mr

Bunn's or Mr Macready's, to humour the caprices of the stars of the

company: but the lesser lights, if they became eccentric at all in their

orbits, were extinguished without mercy. Their place was easily

supplied; for the moment it became known that a play was in

contemplation, there were plenty of candidates for dramatic fame,

especially among the freshmen: and though we mortally offended one or

two aspiring geniuses by proffering them the vacant situations of Ralph,

Roger, and Co., in Mr Hardcastle's household, on condition of having

their respective blue dress coats turned up with yellow to represent the

family livery, there were others to whom the being admitted behind the

scenes, even in these humble characters, was a subject of laudable

ambition. Nay, unimportant as were some parts in themselves, they were

quite enough for the histrionic talent of some of our friends. Till I

became a manager myself, I always used to lose patience at the wretched

manner in which some of the underlings on the stage went through the

little they had to say and do: there seemed no reason why the "sticks"

should be so provokingly sticky; and it surprised me that a man who

could accost one fluently enough at the stage door, should make such a

bungle as some of them did in a message of some half dozen words "in

character." But when I first became initiated into the mysteries of

amateur performances, and saw how entirely destitute some men were of

any notion of natural acting, and how they made a point of repeating two

lines of familiar dialogue with the tone and manner, but without the

correctness of a schoolboy going through a task--then it ceased to be

any matter of wonder that those to whom acting was no joke, but an

unhappily earnest mode of getting bread, should so often make their

performance appear the uneasy effort which it is. There was one man in

particular, a good-humoured, gentlemanly fellow, a favourite with us

all; not remarkable for talent, but a pleasant companion enough, with

plenty of common sense. Well, "he would be an actor"--it was his own

fancy to have a part, and, as he was "one of us," we could not well

refuse him. We gave him an easy one, for he was not vain of his own

powers, or ambitious of theatrical distinction; so he was to be "second

fellow"--one of Tony's pot-companions. He had but two lines to speak;

but, from the very first time I heard him read them, I set him down as a

hopeless case. He read them as if he had just learned to spell the

words; when he repeated them without the book, it was like a clergyman

giving out a text. And so it was with a good many of the rank and file

of the company; we had more labour to drill them into something like a

natural intonation than to learn our own longest speeches twice over. So

we made their attendance at rehearsals a _sine qua non_. We dismissed a

promising "Mat Muggins" because he went to the "Union" two nights

successively, when he ought to have been at "The Three Pigeons." We

superseded a very respectable "landlord" (though he had actually been

measured for a corporation and a pair of calves) for inattention to

business. The only one of the supernumeraries whom it was at all

necessary to conciliate, was the gentleman who was to sing the comic

song instead of Tony, (Savile, the representative of the said Tony, not

having music in his soul beyond a view-holloa.) He was allowed to go and

come at our readings _ad libitum_, upon condition of being very careful

not to take cold.

When we had become tolerably perfect in the words of our parts, it was

deemed expedient to have a "dress rehearsal"--especially for the ladies.

It is not very easy to move safely--let alone gracefully--in petticoats,

for those who are accustomed to move their legs somewhat more

independently. And it would not have been civil in Messrs Marlow and

Hastings to laugh outright at their lady-loves before company, as they

were sure to do upon their first appearance. A dress rehearsal,

therefore, was a very necessary precaution. But if it was difficult to

get the company together at six o'clock under the friendly disguise of a

wine-party, doubly difficult was it to expect them to muster at eleven

in the morning. The first day that we fixed for it, there came a not

very lady-like note, evidently written in bed, from Miss Hardcastle,

stating, that having been at a supper-party the night before, and there

partaken of brandy-punch to an extent to which she was wholly

unaccustomed, it was quite impossible, in the present state of her

nervous system, for her to make her appearance in character at any

price. There was no alternative but to put off the rehearsal; and that

very week occurred a circumstance which was very near being the cause of

its adjournment _sine die_.

"Mr Hawthorne," said the dean to me one morning, when I was leaving his

rooms, rejoicing in the termination of lecture, "I wish to speak with

you, if you please." The dean's communications were seldom of a very

pleasing kind, and on this particular morning his countenance gave token

that he had hit upon something more than usually _piquant_. The rest of

the men filed out of the door as slowly as they conveniently could, in

the hope, I suppose, of hearing the dean's fire open upon me, but he

waited patiently till my particular friend, Bob Thornhill, had picked up

carefully, one by one, his miscellaneous collection of note-book,

pencil, penknife, and other small wares, and had been obliged at length

to make an unwilling exit; when, seeing the door finally closed, he

commenced with his usual--"Have the goodness to sit down, sir."

Experience had taught me, that it was as well to make one's-self as

comfortable as might be upon these occasions; so I took the easy-chair,

and tried to look as if I thought the dean merely wanted to have a

pleasant half-hour's chat. He marched into a little back-room that he

called his study, and I began to speculate upon the probable subject of

our conference. Strange! that week had been a more than usually quiet

one. No late knocking in; no cutting lectures at chapel; positively I

began to think that, for once, the dean had gone on a wrong scent, and

that I should repel his accusations with all the dignity of injured

innocence; or had he sent for me to offer his congratulations on my

having commenced in the "steady" line, and to ask me to breakfast? I was

not long to indulge such delusive hopes. Re-enter the dean, O. P., as

our stage directions would have had it, with--a pair of stays!

By what confounded ill-luck they had got into his possession I could not

imagine; but there they were. The dean touched them as if he felt their

very touch an abomination, threw them on the table, and briefly

said--"These, sir, were found in your rooms this morning. Can you

explain how they came there?"

True enough, Leicester had been trying on the abominable articles in my

bedroom, and I had stuffed them into a drawer till wanted. What to say

was indeed a puzzle. To tell the whole truth would, no doubt, have ended

the matter at once, and a hearty laugh should I have had at the dean's

expense; but it would have put the stopper on "She Stoops to Conquer."

It was too ridiculous to look grave about; and blacker grew the

countenance before me, as, with a vain attempt to conceal a smile, I

echoed his words, and stammered out--"In my rooms, sir?"

"Yes, sir, in your bed-room." He rang the bell. "Your servant, Simmons,

most properly brought them to me."

The little rascal! I had been afraid to let him know any thing about the

theatricals; for I knew perfectly well the dean would hear of it in half

an hour, for he served him in the double capacity of scout and spy.

Before the bell had stopped, Dick Simmons made his appearance, having

evidently been kept at hand. He did look rather ashamed of himself, when

I asked him, what business he had to search my wardrobe?

"Oh dear, sir! I never did no sich a thing; I was a-making of your bed,

sir, when I sees the tag of a stay-lace hanging out of your topmost

drawer, sir--("I am a married man, sir," to the dean apologetically,

"and I know the tag of a stay-lace, sir")--and so I took it out, sir;

and knowing my duty to the college, sir, though I should be very sorry

to bring you into trouble, Mr Hawthorne, sir"----

"Yes, yes, Simmons, you did quite right," said the dean. "You are bound

to give notice to the college authorities of all irregularities, and

your situation requires that you should be conscientious."

"I hope I am, sir," said the little rascal; "but indeed I am very sorry,

Mr Hawthorne, sir"----

"Oh! never mind," said I; "you did right, no doubt. I can only say those

things are not mine, sir; they belong to a friend of mine."

"I don't ask who they belong to, sir," said the dean indignantly; "I

ask, sir, how came they in your rooms?"

"I believe, sir, my friend (he was in my rooms yesterday) left them

there. Some men wear stays, sir," continued I, boldly; "it's very much

the fashion, I'm told."

"Eh! hum!" said the dean, eyeing the brown jean doubtingly. "I have

heard of such things. Horrid puppies men are now. Never dreamt of such

things in my younger days; but then, sir, _we_ were not allowed to wear

white trousers, and waistcoats of I don't know what colours; we were

made to attend to the statutes, sir. '_Nigri aut suspici_,' sir, Ah!

times are changed--times are changed, indeed! And do you mean to say,

sir, you have a friend, a member of this university, who wears such

things as these?"

I might have got clear off, if it had not been for that rascal Simmons.

I saw him give the dean a look, and an almost imperceptible shake of the

head.

"But I don't think, sir," resumed he, "these can be a man's stays--eh,

Simmons?" Simmons looked diligently at his toes. "No," said the dean,

investigating the unhappy garment more closely--"no, I fear, Simmons,

these are female stays!"

The conscientious Simmons made no sign.

"I don't know, sir," said I, as he looked from Simmons to me. "I don't

wear stays, and I know nothing about them. If Simmons were to fetch a

pair of Mrs Simmons's, sir," resumed I, "you could compare them."

Mrs Simmons's figure resembled a sack of flour, with a string round it;

and, if she did wear the articles in question, they must have been of a

pattern almost unique--made to order.

"Sir," said the dean, "your flippancy is unbecoming. I shall not pursue

this investigation any further; but I am bound to tell you, sir, this

circumstance is suspicious--very suspicious." I could not resist a smile

for the life of me. "And doubly suspicious, sir, in your case. The eyes

of the college are upon you, sir." He was evidently losing his temper,

so I bowed profoundly, and he grew more irate. "Ever since, sir, that

atrocious business of the frogs, though the college authorities failed

in discovering the guilty parties, there are some individuals, sir,

whose conduct is watched attentively. Good-morning, sir."

The "business of the frogs," to which the dean so rancorously alluded,

had, indeed, caused some consternation to the fellows of----. There had

been a marvellous story going the round of the papers, of a shower of

the inelegant reptiles in question having fallen in some part of the

kingdom. Old women were muttering prophecies, and wise men acknowledged

themselves puzzled. The Ashmolean Society had sat in conclave upon it,

and accounted so satisfactorily for the occurrence, that the only wonder

seemed to be that we had not a shower of frogs, or some equally

agreeable visitors, every rainy morning. Now, every one who has strolled

round Christ-Church meadows on a warm evening, especially after rain,

must have been greeted at intervals by a whole gamut of croaks; and, if

he had the curiosity to peer into the green ditches as he passed along,

he might catch a glimpse of the heads of the performers. Well, the joint

reflections of myself and an ingenious friend, who were studying this

branch of zoology while waiting for the coming up of the boats one

night, tended to the conclusion, that a very successful imitation of the

late "Extraordinary Phenomenon" might be got up for the edification of

the scientific in our own college. Animals of all kinds find dealers and

purchasers in Oxford. Curs of lowest degree have their prices. Rats,

being necessary in the education of terriers, come rather expensive. A

pole-cat--even with three legs only--will command a fancy price.

Sparrows, larks, and other small birds, are retailed by the dozen on

Cowley Marsh to gentlemen under-graduates who are aspiring to the

pigeon-trap. But as yet there had been no demand for frogs, and there

was quite a glut of them in the market. They were cheap accordingly; for

a shilling a hundred we found that we might inflict the second plague of

Egypt upon the whole university. The next evening, two hampers,

containing, as our purveyor assured us, "very prime 'uns," arrived at my

rooms "from Mr S----, the wine merchant;" and, by daylight on the

following morning, were judiciously distributed throughout all the

come-at-able premises within the college walls. When I awoke the next

morning, I heard voices in earnest conversation under my window, and

looked out with no little curiosity. The frogs had evidently produced a

sensation. The bursar, disturbed apparently from his early breakfast,

stood robed in an ancient dressing-gown, with the _Times_ in his hand,

on which he was balancing a frog as yellow as himself. The dean, in cap

and surplice, on his way from chapel, was eagerly listening to the

account which one of the scouts was giving him of the first discovery of

the intruders.

"Me and my missis, sir," quoth John, "was a-coming into college when it

was hardly to say daylight, when she, as I reckon, sets foot upon one of

'em, and was like to have been back'ards with a set of breakfast chiney

as she was a-bringing in for one of the fresh gentlemen. She scritches

out in course, and I looks down, and then I sees two or three a' 'oppin

about; but I didn't take much notice till I gets to the thoroughfare,

when there was a whole row on 'em a-trying to climb up the bottom step;

and then I calls Solomon the porter, and"----

Here I left my window, and, making a hasty toilet, joined a group of

under-graduates, who were now collecting round the dean and bursar. I

cast my eyes round the quadrangle, and was delighted with the success of

our labours. There had been a heavy shower in the night, and the frogs

were as lively as they could be on so ungenial a location as a gravelled

court. In every corner was a goodly cluster, who were making ladders of

each other's backs, as if determined to scale the college walls. Some,

of more retiring disposition, were endeavouring to force themselves into

crevices, and hiding their heads behind projections to escape the gaze

of academic eyes; while a few active spirits seemed to be hopping a

sweepstakes right for the common-room door. Just as I made my

appearance, the principal came out of the door of his lodgings, with

another of the fellows, having evidently been summoned to assist at the

consultation. Good old soul! his study of zoology had been chiefly

confined to the class edibles, and a shower of frogs, authenticated upon

the oaths of the whole Convocation, would not have been half so

interesting to him as an importation of turtle. However, to do him

justice, he put on his spectacles, and looked as scientific as any body.

After due examination of the specimen of the genus _Zana_ which the

bursar still held in captivity, and pronouncing an unanimous opinion,

that, come from where he would, he was a _bona fide_ frog, with nothing

supernatural about him, the conclave proceeded round the quadrangle,

calculating the numbers, and conjecturing the probable origin of these

strange visitors. Equally curious, if not equally scientific, were the

under-graduates who followed them; for, having strictly kept our own

secret, my friend and myself were the only parties who could solve the

mystery; and though many suspected that the frogs were unwilling

emigrants, none knew to whom they were indebted for their introduction

to college. The collected wisdom of the dons soon decided that a shower

of full-grown frogs was a novelty even in the extraordinary occurrences

of newspapers; and as not even a single individual croaker was to be

discovered outside the walls of ----, it became evident that the whole

affair was, as the dean described it, "another of those outrages upon

academic discipline, which were as senseless as they were disgraceful."

I daresay the dean's anathema was "as sensible as it was sincere;" but

it did not prevent our thoroughly enjoying the success of the

"_outrage_" at the time; nor does it, unfortunately, suffice at this

present moment to check something like an inward chuckle, when I think

of the trouble which it cost the various retainers of the college to

clear it effectually of its strange visitors. Hopkins, the old butler,

who was of rather an imaginative temperament, and had a marvellous tale

to tell any one who would listen, of a departed bursar, who, having

caught his death of cold by superintending the laying down of three

pipes of port, might ever afterwards be heard, upon such interesting

occasions, walking about the damp cellars after nightfall in pattens.

Hopkins, the oracle of the college "tap," maintained that the frogs were

something "off the common;" and strengthened his opinion by reference to

a specimen which he had selected--a lank, black, skinny individual,

which really looked ugly enough to have come from any where. Scouts,

wives, and children, (they always make a point of having large families,

in order to eat up the spare commons,) all were busy, through that

eventful day, in a novel occupation, and by dinnertime not a frog was to

be seen; but long, long afterwards, on a moist evening, fugitives from

the general prescription might be seen making their silent way across

the quadrangle, and croakings were heard at night-time, which might (as

Homer relates of _his_ frogs) have disturbed Minerva, only that the

goddess of wisdom, in chambers collegiate, sleeps usually pretty sound.

The "business of the stays," however, bid fair to supersede the business

of the frogs, in the dean's record of my supposed crimes; and as I fully

intended to clear myself, even to his satisfaction, of any suspicion

which might attach to me from the possession of such questionable

articles so soon as our theatre closed for the season, I resolved that

my successful defence from this last imputation would be an admirable

ground on which to assume the dignity of a martyr, to appeal against all

uncharitable conclusions from insufficient premises, and come out as the

personification of injured innocence throughout my whole college career.

When my interview with the dean was over, I ordered some luncheon up to

Leicester's rooms, where, as I expected, I found most of my own "set"

collected, in order to hear the result. A private conference with the

official aforesaid seldom boded good to the party so favoured; the dean

seldom made his communications so agreeable as he might have done. In

college, as in most other societies, La Rochefoucauld's maxim holds

good--that "there is always something pleasant in the misfortunes of

one's friends;" and, whenever an unlucky wight did get into a row, he

might pretty confidently reckon upon being laughed at. In fact,

under-graduates considered themselves as engaged in a war of stratagem

against an unholy alliance of deans, tutors, and proctors; and in every

encounter the defeated party was looked upon as the deluded victim of

superior ingenuity--as having been "done," in short. So, if a lark

succeeded, the authorities aforesaid were decidedly done, and laughed at

accordingly; if it failed, why the other party were done, and there was

still somebody to laugh at. No doubt, the jest was richer in the first

case supposed; but, in the second, there was the additional gusto, so

dear to human philanthropy, of having the victim present, and enjoying

his discomfiture, which, in the case of the dons being the sufferers,

was denied us. It may seem to argue something of a want of sympathy to

find amusement in misfortunes which might any day be our own; but any

one who ever witnessed the air of ludicrous alarm with which an

under-graduate prepares to obey the summons, (capable of but one

interpretation,)--"The dean wishes to see you, sir, at ten

o'clock"--which so often, in my time at least, was sent as a whet to

some of the assembled guests at a breakfast party; whoever has been

applied to on such occasions for the loan of a tolerable cap, (that of

the delinquent having its corners in such dilapidated condition as to

proclaim its owner a "rowing man" at once,) or has responded to the

pathetic appeal--"Do I look _very_ seedy?"--any one to whom such absurd

recollections of early days occur--and if you, good reader, are a

university man, as, being a gentleman, I am bound in charity to conclude

you are, and yet have no such reminiscences--allow me to suggest that

you must have been a very slow coach indeed;--any one, I say once more,

who knows the ridiculous figure which a man cuts when "hauled up" before

the college Minos, or Radamanthus, will easily forgive his friends for

being inclined to laugh at him.

However, in the present case, any anticipations of fun at my expense,

which the party in Leicester's rooms might charitably entertain, were

somewhat qualified by the fear, that the consequences of any little

private difference between the dean and myself might affect the

prosperity of our unlicensed theatre. And when they heard how very

nearly the discovery of the stays had been fatal to our project,

execrations against Simmons's espionage were mingled with admiration of

my escape from so critical a position.

The following is, I apprehend, an unique specimen of an Oxford bill--and

the only one, out of a tolerably large bundle which I keep for the sake

of the receipts attached, (a precaution by no means uncalled for,) which

I find any amusement in referring to.

---- Hawthorne, Esq.,

To M. Moore.

2 pr. brown jean corsets, 8 0

Padding for do., made to order, 2 6

-----

10 6

Rec'd. same day, M. M.

(Savile, when I showed it to him, said the receipt was the only one of

the kind he had seen in the course of a long experience.) Very much

surprised was the old lady, of whom I made the purchase in my capacity

of stage-manager, at so uncommon a customer in her line of business; and

when, after enjoying her mystification for some time, I let her into the

secret, so delighted was she at the notion, that she gave me sundry

hints as to the management of the female toilet, and offered to get made

up for me any dresses that might be required. So I introduced Leicester

and his fellow-heroines to my friend Mrs Moore, and by the joint

exertions of their own tastes and her experience, they became possessed

of some very tolerable costumes. There was a good deal of fun going on,

I fancy, in fitting and measuring, in her back parlour; for there was a

daughter, or a niece, or something of the sort, who cut out the dresses

with the prettiest hands in the world, as Leicester declared; but I was

too busy with carpenters, painters, and other assistants, to pay more

than a flying visit to the ladies' department.

At last the rehearsal did come on. As Hastings, I had not much in the

way of dress to alter; and, having some engagement in the early part of

the morning, I did not arrive at the theatre until the rest of the

characters were already dressed and ready to begin. Though I had been

consulted upon all manner of points, from the arranging of a curl for

Miss Neville to the colour of Diggory's stockings, and knew the costume

of every individual as well as my own, yet so ludicrous was the effect

of the whole when I entered the room, that I threw myself into the

nearest chair, and laughed myself nearly into convulsions. The figure

which first met my eyes was a little ruddy freshman, who had the part of

the landlord, and who, in his zeal to do honour to our preference, had

dressed the character most elaborately. A pillow, which he could

scarcely see over, puffed out his red waistcoat; and his hair was cut

short, and powdered with such good-will, that for weeks afterwards, in

spite of diligent brushing, he looked as grey as the principal. There he

stood--his legs clothed in grey worsted, retreating far beyond his

little white apron, as if ashamed of their unusual appearance,

"The mother that him bare,

She had not known her son."

Every one, however, had not been so classical in their costume. There

was Sir Charles Marlow in what had been a judge's wig, and Mr Hardcastle

in a barrister's; both sufficiently unlike themselves, at any rate, if

not very correct copies of their originals. Then the women! As for Mrs

Hardcastle, she was perfection. There never was, I believe, a better

representation of the character. It was well dressed, and turned out a

first-rate bit of acting--very far superior to any amateur performance I

ever saw, and, with practice, would have equalled that of any actress on

the stage. Her very curtsy was comedy itself. When I recovered my breath

a little, I was able to attend to the dialogue which was going on, which

was hardly less ridiculous than the strange disguises round me. "Now,

Miss Hardcastle," (Marlow _loquitur_,) "I have no objection to your

smoking cigars during rehearsal, of course--because you won't do that on

Monday night, I suppose; but I must beg you to get out of the practice

of standing or sitting crosslegged, because it's not lady-like, or even

barmaid-like--and don't laugh when I make love to you; for if you do, I

shall break down to a certainty." "Thornhill, do you think my waist will

do?" said the anxious representative of the fair Constance. "I have worn

these cursed stays for an hour every evening for the last week, and

drawn them an inch tighter every time; but I don't think I'm a very good

figure after all--just try if they'll come any closer, will you?" "Oh!

Hawthorne, I'm glad you are come," said Savile, whom I hardly knew, in a

red wig; "now, isn't there to be a bowl of real punch in the scene at

the Three Pigeons--one can't _pretend_ to drink, you know, with any

degree of spirit?" "Oh! of course," said I; "that's one of the

landlord's properties: Miller, you must provide that, you know--send

down for some cold tankards now; they will do very well for rehearsal."

At last we got to work, and proceeded, with the prompter's assistance,

pretty smoothly, and mutually applauding each other's performance, going

twice over some of the more difficult scenes, and cutting out a good

deal of love and sentiment. The play was fixed for the next Monday

night, playbills ordered to be printed, and cards of invitation issued

to all the performers' intimate friends. Every scout in the college, I

believe, except my rascal Simmons, was in the secret, and probably some

of the fellows had a shrewd guess at what was going on; but no one

interfered with us. We carried on all our operations as quietly as

possible; and the only circumstances likely to arouse suspicion in the

minds of the authorities, was the unusual absence of all disturbances of

a minor nature within the walls, in consequence of the one engrossing

freak in which most of the more turbulent spirits were engaged.

At length the grand night arrived. By nine o'clock the theatre in

Savile's rooms was as full as it could be crammed with any degree of

comfort to actors and audience; and in the study and bedroom, which,

being on opposite sides, served admirably for dressing-rooms behind the

scenes, the usual bustle of preparation was going on. As is common in

such cases, some essential properties had been forgotten until the last

moment. No bonnet had been provided for Mrs Hardcastle to take her walks

abroad in; and when the little hairdresser, who had been retained to

give a finishing touch to some of the coiffeurs, returned with one

belonging to his "missis," which he had volunteered to lend, the roar of

uncontrollable merriment which this new embellishment of our disguised

friend called forth, made the audience clamorous for the rising of the

curtain--thinking, very excusably, that it was quite unjustifiable to

keep all the fun to ourselves.

After some little trial of our "public's" patience, the play began in

good earnest, and was most favourably received. Indeed, as the only

price of admission exacted was a promise of civil behaviour, and there

were two servants busily employed in handing about punch and "bishop,"

it would have been rather hard if we did not succeed in propitiating

their good-humour. With the exception of two gentlemen who had been

dining out, and were rather noisy in consequence, and evinced a strong

inclination occasionally to take a part in the dialogue, all behaved

wonderfully well, greeting each performer, as he made his first

entrance, with a due amount of cheering; rapturously applauding all the

best scenes; laughing, (whether at the raciness of the acting or the

grotesque metamorphoses of the actors, made no great difference,) and

filling up any gap which occurred in the proceedings on the stage, in

spite of the prompter, with vociferous encouragement to the "sticket"

actor. With an audience so disposed, each successive scene went off

better and better. One deserves to be particularized. It was the second

in the first act of the comedy; the stage directions for it are as

follow:--"Scene--An ale-house room.--Several shabby fellows with punch

and tobacco; Tony at the head of the table, &c., discovered." Never

perhaps, in any previous representation, was the _mise en scene_ so

perfect. It drew three rounds of applause. A very equivocal compliment

to ourselves it may be; but such jolly-looking "shabby fellows" as sat

round the table at which our Tony presided, were never furnished by the

supernumeraries of Drury or Covent-garden. They were as classical, in

their way, as Macready's Roman mob. Then there was no make-believe

puffing of empty pipes, and fictitious drinking of small-beer for punch;

every nose among the audience could appreciate the genuineness of both

liquor and tobacco; and the hearty encore which the song, with its

stentorian chorus, was honoured with, gave all the parties engaged time

to enjoy their punch and their pipes to their satisfaction. It was quite

a pity, as was unanimously agreed, when the entrance of Marlow and

Hastings, as in duty bound, interrupted so jovial a society. But "all

that's bright must fade"--and so the Three Pigeons' scene, and the play,

too, came to an end in due course. The curtain fell amidst universal

applause, modified only by the urgent request, which, as manager, I had

more than once to repeat, that gentlemen would be kind enough to

restrain their feelings for fear of disturbing the dons. The house

resolved itself into its component elements--all went their ways--the

reading men probably to a Greek play, by way of afterpiece--sleepy ones

to bed, and idle ones to their various inventions--and the actors, after

the fatigues of the night, to a supper, which was to be the "finish." It

was to take place in one of the men's rooms which happened to be on the

same staircase, and had been committed to the charge of certain parties,

who understood our notions of an unexceptionable spread. And a right

merry party we were--all sitting down in character, Mrs Hardcastle at

the top of the table, her worthy partner at bottom, with the "young

ladies" on each side. It was the best _tableau_ of the evening; pity

there was neither artist to sketch, nor spectators to admire it! But,

like many other merry meetings, there are faithful portraits of

it--proof impressions--in the memories of many who were present; not yet

obliterated, hardly even dimmed, by time; laid by, like other valuables,

which, in the turmoil of life, we find no time to look at, but not

thrown aside or forgotten, and brought out sometimes, in holidays and

quiet hours, for us to look at once more, and enjoy their beauty, and

feel, after all, how much what we have changed is "_calum non animum_."

I am now--no matter what. Of my companions at that well-remembered

supper, one is a staid and orthodox divine; one a rising barrister; a

third a respectable country gentleman, justice of the peace, "and

quorum;" a fourth, they tell me, a semi Papist, but set us all down

together in that same room, draw the champagne corks, and let some Lethe

(the said champagne, if you please) wash out all that has passed over us

in the last five years, and my word on it, three out of four of us are

but boys still; and though much shaving, pearl powder, and carmine,

might fail to make of any of the party a heroine of any more delicate

class than Meg Merrilies, I have no doubt we could all of us once more

smoke a pipe in character at "The Three Pigeons."

Merrily the evening passed off, and merrily the little hours came on,

and song and laugh rather grew gayer than slackened. The strings of the

stays had long ago been cut, and the tresses, which were in the way of

the cigars, were thrown back in dishevelled elegance. The landlord found

his stuffing somewhat warm, and had laid aside half his fleshy

incumbrance. Every one was at his ease, and a most uproarious chorus had

just been sung by the whole strength of the company, when we heard the

ominous sound of a quiet double rap at the outer door.

"Who's there?" said one of the most self-possessed of the company.

"I wish to speak to Mr Challoner," was the quiet reply.

The owner of the rooms was luckily in no more _outre_ costume than that

of Sir Charles Marlow; and having thrown off his wig, and buttoned his

coat over a deep-flapped waistcoat, looked tolerably like himself as he

proceeded to answer the summons. I confess I rather hoped than

otherwise, that the gentleman, whoever he was, would walk in, when, if

he intended to astonish us, he was very likely to find the tables

turned. However, even college dons recognize the principle, that every

man's house is his castle, and never violate the sanctity of even an

under-graduate's rooms. The object of this present visit, however, was

rather friendly than otherwise; one of the fellows, deservedly popular,

had been with the dean, and had left him in a state of some excitement

from the increasing merriment which came somewhat too audibly across the

quadrangle from our party. He had called, therefore, to advise

Challoner, either to keep his friends quiet, or to get rid of them, if

he wished to keep out of the dean's jurisdiction. As it was towards

three in the morning, we thought it prudent to take this advice as it

was meant, and in a few minutes began to wend our respective ways

homewards. Leicester and myself, whose rooms lay in the same direction,

were steering along, very soberly, under a bright moonlight, when

something put it into the heads of some other stragglers of the party to

break out, at the top of their voices, into a stanza of that immortal

ditty--"We won't go home till morning." Instantly we could hear a

window, which we well knew to be the dean's, open above us, and as the

unmelodious chorus went on, his wrath found vent in the usual

strain--"Who is making that disturbance?"

No one volunteering an explanation, he went on.

"Who are those in the quadrangle?" Leicester and I walked somewhat

faster. I am not sure that our dignity did not condescend to run, as we

heard steps coming down from No. 5, at a pace that evidently portended a

chase, and remembered for the first time the remarkable costume, which,

to common observers, would indicate that there was a visitor of an

unusual character enjoying the moonlight in the quadrangle. When we

reached the "thoroughfare," the passage from the inner to the outer

quadrangle, we fairly bolted; and as the steps came pretty fast after

us, and Leicester's rooms were the nearest, we both made good our

retreat thither, and sported oak.

The porter's lodge was in the next number; and hearing a knocking in

that quarter, Leicester gently opened the window, and we could catch the

following dialogue:--

"Solomon! open this door directly--it is I--the dean."

"Good, dear sir!" said Solomon, apparently asleep, and fumbling for the

keys of the college gates--"let you out? Oh yes! sir, directly."

"Listen to me, Solomon: I am not going out. Did you let any one out just

now--just before I called you?"

"No, sir, nobody whatsomdever."

"Solomon! I ask you, did you not, just now, let a _woman_ out?"

"Lawk! no, sir, Lord forbid!" said Solomon, now thoroughly wakened.

"Now, Solomon, bring your light, and come with me, this must be enquired

into. I saw a woman run this way, and, if she is not gone through the

gate, she is gone into this next number. Whose rooms are in No. 13?"

"There's Mr Dyson's, sir, on the ground floor."

Mr Dyson was the very fellow who had called at Challoner's rooms.

"Hah! well, I'll call Mr Dyson up. Whose besides?"

"There's Mr Leicester, sir, above his'n."

"Very well, Solomon; call up Mr Dyson, and say I wish to speak with him

particularly."

And so saying, the dean proceeded up stairs.

The moment Leicester heard his name mentioned, he began to anticipate a

domiciliary visit. The thing was so ridiculous that we hardly knew what

to do.

"Shall I get into bed, Hawthorne? I don't want to be caught in this

figure?"

"Why, I don't know that you will be safe there, in the present state of

the dean's suspicions. No; tuck up those confounded petticoats, clap on

your pea-jacket, twist those love-locks up under your cap, light this

cigar, and sit in your easy-chair. The dean must be 'cuter than usual,

if he finds you out as the lady he is in search of."

Leicester had hardly time to take this advice, the best I could hit upon

at the moment, when the dean knocked at the door.

"Who are you? Come in," said we both in a breath.

"I beg your pardon, Mr Leicester," said the dean in his most official

tone; "nothing but actually imperative duty occasions my intrusion at

this unseasonable hour, but a most extraordinary circumstance must be my

excuse. I say, gentlemen--I saw with my own eyes," he continued, looking

blacker as he caught sight of me, and remembering, no doubt, the little

episode of the stays--"I saw a female figure pass in this direction but

a few minutes ago. No such person has passed the gate, for I have made

enquiry; certainly I have no reason to suppose any such person is

concealed here, but I am bound to ask you, sir, on your honour as a

gentleman--for I have no wish to make a search--is there any such person

concealed in your apartments?"

"On my honour, sir, no one is, or has been lately here, but myself and

Mr Hawthorne."

Here Dyson came into the room, looking considerably mystified.

"What's the matter, Mr Dean?" said he, nodding good-humouredly to us.

"A most unpleasant occurrence, my dear sir; I have seen a woman in this

direction not five minutes back. Unfortunately, I cannot be mistaken.

She either passed into the porter's lodge or into this staircase."

"She is not in my rooms, I assure you," said he, laughing; "I should

think you made a mistake: it must have been some man in a white

mackintosh."

I smiled, and Leicester laughed outright.

"I am not mistaken, sir," said the dean warmly. "I shall take your word,

Mr Leicester; but allow me to tell you, that your conduct in lolling in

that chair as if in perfect contempt, and neither rising, nor removing

your cap, when Mr Dyson and myself are in your rooms, is neither

consistent with the respect due from an under-graduate, or the behaviour

I should expect from a gentleman."

Poor Leicester coloured, and unwittingly removed his cap. The chestnut

curls, some natural and some artificial, which had been so studiously

arranged for Miss Hardcastle's head-dress, fell in dishevelled

luxuriance round his face, and as he half rose from his previous

position in the chair, a pink silk dress began to descend from under the

pea-jacket. Concealment was at an end; the dean looked bewildered at

first, and then savage; but a hearty laugh from Dyson settled the

business.

"What, Leicester! you're the lady the dean has been hunting about

college! Upon my word, this is the most absurd piece of

masquerading!--what on earth is it all about?"

I pitied Leicester, he looked such an extraordinary figure in his

ambiguous dress, and seemed so thoroughly ashamed of himself; so

displaying the tops and cords in which I had enacted Hastings, I

acknowledged my share in the business, and gave a brief history of the

drama during my management. The dean endeavoured to look grave: Dyson

gave way to undisguised amusement, and repeatedly exclaimed, "Oh! why

did you not send me a ticket? When do you perform again?"

Alas! never. Brief, as bright, was our theatrical career. But the memory

of it lives in the college still: of the comedy, and the supper, and the

curious mistake which followed it: and the dean has not to this hour

lost the credit which he then gained, of having a remarkably keen eye

for a petticoat.

LINES WRITTEN IN THE ISLE OF BUTE.

BY DELTA.

I.

Ere yet dim twilight brighten'd into day,

Or waned the silver morning-star away,

Shedding its last, lone, melancholy smile,

Above the mountain-tops of far Argyle;

Ere yet the solan's wing had brush'd the sea,

Or issued from its cell the mountain bee;

As dawn beyond the orient Cumbraes shone,

Thy northern slope, Byrone,

From Ascog's rocks, o'erflung with woodland bowers,

With scarlet fuschias, and faint myrtle flowers,

My steps essay'd; brushing the diamond dew

From the soft moss, lithe grass, and harebell blue.

Up from the heath aslant the linnet flew

Startled, and rose the lark on twinkling wing,

And soar'd away, to sing

A farewell to the severing shades of night,

A welcome to the morning's aureate light.

Thy summit gain'd, how tranquilly serene,

Beneath, outspread that panoramic scene

Of continent and isle, and lake and sea,

And tower and town, hill, vale, and spreading tree,

And rock and ruin tinged with amethyst,

Half-seen, half-hidden by the lazy mist,

Volume on volume, which had vaguely wound

The far off hills around,

And now roll'd downwards; till on high were seen,

Begirt with sombre larch, their foreheads green.

II.

There, save when all, except the lark, was mute,

Oh, beauty-breathing Bute

On thee entranced I gazed; each moment brought

A new creation to the eye of thought:

The orient clouds all Iris' hues assumed,

From the pale lily to the rose that bloom'd,

And hung above the pathway of the sun,

As if to harbinger his course begun;

When, lo! his disk burst forth--his beams of gold

Seem'd earth as with a garment to enfold,

And from his piercing eye the loose mists flew,

And heaven with arch of deep autumnal blue

Glow'd overhead; while ocean, like a lake,

Seeming delight to take

In its own halcyon-calm, resplendent lay,

From Western Kames to far Kilchattan bay.

Old Largs look'd out amid the orient light,

With its grey dwellings, and, in greenery bright,

Lay Coila's classic shores reveal'd to sight;

And like a Vallombrosa, veil'd in blue,

Arose Mount Stuart's woodlands on the view;

Kerry and Cowall their bold hill-tops show'd,

And Arran, and Kintire; like rubies glow'd

The jagged clefts of Goatfell; and below,

As on a chart, delightful Rothesay lay,

Whence sprang of human life the awakening sound,

With all its happy dwellings, stretching round

The semicircle of its sunbright bay.

III.

Byrone, a type of peace thou seemest now,

Yielding thy ridges to the rustic plough,

With corn-fields at thy feet, and many a grove

Whose songs are but of love;

But different was the aspect of that hour,

Which brought, of eld, the Norsemen o'er the deep,

To wrest yon castle's walls from Scotland's power,

And leave her brave to bleed, her fair to weep;

When Husbac fierce, and Olave, Mona's king,[5]

Confederate chiefs, with shout and triumphing,

Bade o'er its towers the Scaldic raven fly,

And mock each storm-tost sea-king toiling by!--

Far different were the days,

When flew the fiery cross, with summoning blaze,

O'er Blane's hill, and o'er Catan, and o'er Kames,

And round thy peak the phalanx'd Butesmen stood,[6]

As Bruce's followers shed the Baliol's blood,

Yea! gave each Saxon homestead to the flames!

IV.

Proud palace-home of kings! what art thou now?

Worn are the traceries of thy lofty brow!

Yet once in beauteous strength like thee were none,

When Rothesay's Duke was heir to Scotland's throne;[7]

Ere Falkland rose, or Holyrood, in thee

The barons to their sovereign bow'd the knee:

Now, as to mock thy pride

The very waters of thy moat are dried;

Through fractured arch and doorway freely pass

The sunbeams, into halls o'ergrown with grass;

Thy floors, unroof'd, are open to the sky,

And the snows lodge there when the storm sweeps by;

O'er thy grim battlements, where bent the bow

Thine archers keen, now hops the chattering crow;

And where the beauteous and the brave were guests,

Now breed the bats--the swallows build their nests!

Lost even the legend of the bloody stair,

Whose steps wend downward to the house of prayer;

Gone is the priest, and they who worshipp'd seem

Phantoms to us--a dream within a dream;

Earth hath o'ermantled each memorial stone,

And from their tombs the very dust is gone;

All perish'd, all forgotten, like the ray

Which gilt yon orient hill-tops yesterday;

All nameless, save mayhap one stalwart knight,

Who fell with Graeme in Falkirk's bloody fight--

Bonkill's stout Stewart,[8] whose heroic tale

Oft circles yet the peasant's evening fire,

And how he scorn'd to fly, and how he bled--

He, whose effigies in St Mary's choir,

With planted heel upon the lion's head,

Now rests in marble mail.

Yet still remains the small dark narrow room,

Where the third Robert, yielding to the gloom

Of his despair, heart-broken, laid him down,

Refusing food, to die; and to the wall

Turn'd his determined face, unheeding all,

And to his captive boy-prince left his crown.[9]

Alas! thy solitary hawthorn-tree,

Four-centuried, and o'erthrown, is but of thee

A type, majestic ruin: there it lies,

And annually puts on its May-flower bloom,

To fill thy lonely courts with bland perfume,

Yet lifts no more its green head to the skies;[10]

The last lone living thing around that knew

Thy glory, when the dizziness and din

Of thronging life o'erflow'd thy halls within,

And o'er thy top St Andrew's banner flew.

V.

Farewell! Elysian island of the west,

Still be thy gardens brighten'd by the rose

Of a perennial spring, and winter's snows

Ne'er chill the warmth of thy maternal breast!

May calms for ever sleep around thy coast,

And desolating storms roll far away,

While art with nature vies to form thy bay,

Fairer than that which Naples makes her boast!

Green link between the High-lands and the Low--

Thou gem, half claim'd by earth, and half by sea--

May blessings, like a flood, thy homes o'erflow,

And health--though elsewhere lost--be found in thee!

May thy bland zephyrs to the pallid cheek

Of sickness ever roseate hues restore,

And they who shun the rabble and the roar

Of the wild world, on thy delightful shore

Obtain that soft seclusion which they seek!

Be this a stranger's farewell, green Byrone,

Who ne'er hath trod thy heathery heights before,

And ne'er may see thee more

After yon autumn sun hath westering gone;

Though oft, in pensive mood, when far away,

'Mid city multitudes, his thoughts will stray

To Ascog's lake, blue-sleeping in the morn,

And to the happy homesteads that adorn

Thy Rothesay's lovely bay.

ASCOG LODGE, EAST BAY, ROTHESAY,

September 1843.

FOOTNOTES:

[5] Rothesay Castle is first mentioned in history in connexion

with its siege by Husbac the Norwegian, and Olave king of Man, in 1228.

Among other means of defence, it is said that the Scots poured down

boiling pitch and lead on the heads of their enemies; but it was,

however, at length taken, after the Norwegians had lost three hundred

men. In 1263, it was retaken by the Scots after the decisive battle of

Largs.

[6] This bid was the scene of a conflict between the men of

Bute and the troops of Lisle, the English governor, in which that

general was slain, and his severed head, presented to the Lord High

Steward, was suspended from the battlements of the castle.

[7] In 1398, Robert the Third constituted his eldest son Duke

of Rothesay, a title still held by every male heir-apparent to the

British crown. It was the first introduction of the ducal

dignity--originally a Norman one--into Scotland.

[8] The walls forming the choir of the very ancient church

dedicated to the Holy Virgin are still nearly entire, and stand close to

the present parish church of Rothesay. Within a traceried niche, on one

side, is the recumbent figure of a knight in complete armour, apparently

of the kind in use about the time of Robert the Second or Third. His

feet are upon a lion couchant, and his head upon a faithful watch-dog,

with a collar, in beautiful preservation, encircling its neck. The

coat-of-arms denotes the person represented to have been of royal

lineage. Popular tradition individualizes him as the "Stout Stewart of

Bonkill" of Blind Harry the minstrel, who fell with Sir John the Grahame

at the battle of Falkirk--although that hero was buried near the field

of action, as his tombstone there in the old churchyard still records.

Sir John Stewart of Bonkill was uncle and tutor to the then Lord High

Steward, at that time a minor.

A female figure and child recumbent, also elaborately sculptured in

black marble, adorn the opposite niche, and under them, in alto-relievo,

are several figures in religious habits. Another effigies of a knight,

but much defaced, lies on the ground-floor of the choir--the whole of

which was cleaned out and put in order by the present Marquis of Bute in

1827.

[9] On the 4th of April 1406, this unfortunate prince,

overwhelmed with grief for the death of his eldest son, David, Duke of

Rothesay and Earl of Carrick, who miserably perished of hunger in

Falkland Castle; and the capture, during a time of truce, of his younger

son, Prince James, by the English--died in the Castle of Rothesay of a

broken heart. The closet, fourteen feet by eight, in which he breathed

his last, is still pointed out, in the south-east corner of the castle.

[10] In the court of the castle is a remarkable thorn-tree,

which for centuries had waved above the chapel now in ruins; and which,

at the distance of a yard from the ground, measures six feet three

inches in circumference. In 1839, it fell from its own weight, and now

lies prostrate, with half its roots uncovered, but still vigorous in

growth.

TRAVELS OF KERIM KHAN.

CONCLUSION.

While tracing the progress of our friend the Khan through the various

scenes of amusement and festivity at which he assisted rather as a

spectator than an actor, we had omitted to notice in its proper place an

incident of some interest--his presence at the opening of the

Parliamentary session of 1841, on the 26th of January, by the Queen in

person. By the kindness of one of his friends, who was a member of the

royal household, he had succeeded in obtaining a ticket of admission to

the House of Lords, and was placed in a position which afforded him an

excellent view of the brilliant multitude assembled to receive their

sovereign. "When I had sufficiently recovered from the first impression

of all the magnificence around me, I could compare it only to the Garden

of Trem[11]--nay, it appeared even more wonderful than that marvellous

place. At twelve o'clock, twenty-one peals of artillery announced the

approach of the Queen, who shortly after entered with Prince Albert,

followed by her train-bearers, &c. All rose as she advanced; and when

the Lords were again seated, the _cadhi-ab-codhat_ (Lord Chancellor) put

a piece of paper in her hands, and placed himself on the right of the

throne, while the grand-vizir stood on the left. Shortly after, the

gentlemen of the House of Commons entered, when the Queen read with a

loud voice from the paper to the following effect." We need not,

however, follow the Khan through the details of the royal speech, or the

debate on the address which succeeded, though, in the latter, he appears

to have been thunderstruck by the freedom of language indulged in by a

certain eccentric ex-chancellor, remarking, "that under the emperors of

Delhi such latitude of speech, in reference to the sovereign, would

inevitably have cost the offender his head, or at least have ensured his

spending the remainder of his life in disgrace and exile at Mekka." On

the dignified bearing and self-possession of our youthful sovereign, the

Khan enlarges in the strain of eulogy which might be expected from one

to whom the sight of the ensigns of sovereignty borne by a female hand

was in itself an almost inconceivable novelty, declaring, that "the

justice and virtues of her Majesty have obliterated the name of

Nushirvan from the face of the earth!" But the remarks of the

simple-minded Parsees on the same subject will be found, from their

honest sincerity, we suspect, more germane to the matter--"We saw in an

instant that she was fitted by nature for, and intended to be, a queen;

we saw a native nobility about her, which induced us to believe that she

could, though meek and amiable, be firm and decisive; ... that no man or

set of men would be permitted by her to dictate a line of conduct; and

that, knowing and feeling that she lived in the hearts and affections of

her people, she would endeavour to temper justice with mercy; and we

thought that if no unforeseen event (which God forbid) arose to dim the

lustre of her reign, that the period of her sway in Britain would be

quoted as the golden age."

After this introduction, the Khan appears to have become an occasional

attendant in the gallery of the House of Commons, and was present at a

debate on the admission of foreign corn, in which Lord Stanley, Sir

Robert Peel, and Lord John Russell took part--"These three being the

most eloquent of the speakers, and the chiefs of their respective

parties, though several other members spoke at great length either for

or against the motion, according as each was attached to one or other

of the great factions which divide the House of Commons, and hold the

destinies of the people in their hands." Of the speeches of these three

leaders, and the arguments adduced by them, he accordingly attempts to

give an abstract; though as his information must have been derived, we

imagine, principally through the medium of an interpreter, this first

essay at Parliamentary reporting is not particularly successful; and if

we are to conclude, from his constant use of the phrase _zemindars_ to

denote the landed interest, that he considered the estates of the

English proprietors to be held by _zemindarry_ tenures similar to those

in Bengal, his notions on the subject of the debate must have been

considerably perplexed. "At length, however, as the debate had already

been protracted to a late hour, and there was no probability of a speedy

termination to this war of words, I left the House with no unfavourable

impression of what I had heard. This eternal wrangling between the two

factions is inherent, it appears, in the nature of the constitution.

With us, two wise men never dispute; yet every individual member of the

legislature is supposed to possess a certain share of wisdom--so that

here are a thousand wise men constantly disputing. One would think no

good could result from such endless differences of opinion; but the fact

is the reverse--for from these debates result those measures which mark

the character of the English for energy and love of liberty."

But though thus constantly alluding to the two great political parties

which divide the state, the Khan nowhere attempts to give his readers a

definition of the essential differences which separate them; and, for a

statement of the respective tenets of Whigs and Tories, as represented

to an oriental, we must once more have recourse to the journal of Najaf

Kooli, who has apparently taken great pains to make himself acquainted

with this abstruse subject. "The Tories," says the Persian prince,

"argue as follows:--'Three hundred years ago we were wild people, and

our kingdom ranked lower than any other. But, through our wisdom and

learning, we have brought it to its present height of honour, and, as

the empire was enlarged under our management, why should we now _reform_

and give up our policy which has done all this good?' To which the Whigs

reply--'It is more prudent to go according to the changes of time and

circumstances. Moreover, by the old policy, only a few were benefited;

and, as government is for the general good, we must observe that which

is best for the whole nation, so that all should be profited.'" The

Shahzadeh's description of the ceremony of opening Parliament, and his

summary of the usual topics touched upon in the royal speech, are marked

by the same amusing _naivete_--"When all are met, the king, arrayed in

all his majestic splendour and state, with the crown on his head, stands

up with his face to the assembly, and makes a speech with perfect

eloquence as follows:--'Thank God that my kingdom is in perfect

happiness, and all the affairs, both at home and abroad, are in good

order. All the foreign badishahs (kings and emperors) have sent to me

ambassadors, assuring me of their friendship. The commerce of this

empire is enjoying the highest prosperity; and all these benefits are

through your wise ordination of affairs last session. This year also I

have to request you again to meet in your houses, and to take all

affairs into the consideration of your high skill and learning, and

settle them as you find best. Should there be any misunderstanding in

any part which may require either war or peace to be declared, you will

thereupon also take the proper measures for settling it according to the

welfare and interests of the kingdom.' Then they receive their

instructions, the king leaves them, and they meet every day, Sunday

excepted, from one o'clock in the afternoon till four hours after

sunset. They take all things into consideration, and decide all

questions; and when there is a difference of opinion there will arise

loud voices and vehement disputes."

But we must now return to the movements of the Khan, after the Lord

Mayor's dinner, described in our last Number, in the world of amusement

which surrounded him in London. His next visit, when he recovered from

the fit of meditation into which he was thrown by the sight of the

marvellous banquet aforesaid, was to the Colosseum; but his account of

the wonders of this celebrated place of resort, perhaps from his

faculties still being in some measure abstracted, is less full than

might have been expected. The ascending-room (which the Persian prince

describes as "rising like an eagle with large wings into the atmosphere,

till, after an hour's time, it stopped in the sky, and opened its beak,

so that we came out") he merely alludes to as "the talismanic process by

which I was carried to the upper regions;" and though the panoramic view

of London is pronounced to be, "of all the wonders of the metropolis the

most wonderful," it is dismissed with the remark that "it is useless to

attempt to describe it in detail. After this," continues the Khan, "I

passed under ground among some artificial caves, which I at first took

for the dens of wild beasts; and that people should pay for seeing such

places as these, does seem a strange taste. By going a short distance

out of Delhi, a man may enter as many such places as he pleases, bearing

in mind, at the same time, that he runs the greatest chance in the world

of encountering a grinning hyaena, or some such beast; and it was with

some such feeling that I entered these grottoes, not being exactly

acquainted with their nature."

The Khan had now nearly exhausted the circle of places of public

entertainment; but one yet remained to be visited, and that, perhaps,

the most congenial of all to oriental tastes in the style of its

decorations, brilliant lights, and multifarious displays--Vauxhall. "A

large garden! a paradise!"--such is the rapturous description of the

Persian princes--"filled with roses of various hues, with cool waters

running in every direction on the beautiful green, and pictures painted

on every wall. There were burning about two millions of lamps, each of a

different colour; and we saw here such fire-works, as made us forget all

others we had already seen. Here and there were young moon-faces selling

refreshments; and in every walk there were thousands of Frank _moons_

(ladies) led by the hand, while the roses grew pale with admiring their

beautiful cheeks." The Khan, though less ardent and enthusiastic than

the grandsons of Futteh Ali Shah, does ample justice to the splendour of

the illumination; "thousands of lights distributed over the gardens,

suspended on the trees, and arranged in numberless fanciful devices, so

as to form flowers, names, &c.; and when it became dark, one blaze of

bright light was presented, extending over a vast space." He was

fortunate, moreover, in making his visit to the gardens on the evening

of a balloon ascent, "and thus I witnessed the most wonderful sight I

ever saw--a sight which a hundred millions of people in India consider

to be a _Feringhi_ fiction, an incredible fable; for though a Frenchman

made an ascent at Lucknow some years ago, nobody believes it who did not

see it, and many even who were present, believed that their senses had

been beguiled by magic.... A car in the shape of a _howdah_ was swung by

ropes beneath the balloon, in which six individuals seated themselves,

besides the aeronaut; and when it was filled with the gas and ready to

start, the latter tried to prevail on me to take a seat, telling me he

had performed nearly three hundred aerial voyages, and that, if any

accident should happen, he himself would be the first to suffer. I

certainly had a wish to satisfy my curiosity, by ascending to the skies,

but was dissuaded by the friends who accompanied me, who said it was

safer to remain on _terra firma_, and look on at the voyagers; and

accordingly I did so."

Though it would appear that the Khan had already paid more than one

visit to the treasures of art and nature collected within the walls of

the British Museum, his description of that institution, "one like which

I had never before heard of," is reserved almost to the last in the

catalogue of the wonders of London; and his remarks on the numberless

novel objects which presented themselves at every turn to his gaze, form

one of the most curious and interesting passages in his journal. The

brilliant plumage of the birds in the gallery of natural history, and

particularly of the humming birds "from the far isles of the Western

Sea," the splendour of which outshone even the gorgeous feathered tribes

of his native East, excited his admiration to the highest

degree--"animals likewise from every country of the earth were placed

around, and might have been mistaken for living beings, from the gloss

of their skins and the brightness of their eyes." The library,

"containing, as I was told, 300,000 volumes, among which were 20,000

Arabic, Persian, and Turkish manuscripts," is briefly noticed; and the

sight of the mummies in the Egyptian collection sets the Khan

moralizing, not in the most novel strain, on these relics of bygone

mortality. The sculptures were less to his taste--the Egyptian colossi

are alluded to as "the work in former days, I suppose, of some of the

mummies up stairs;" and the Grecian statues "would appear, to an

unbiassed stranger, a quantity of useless, mutilated _idols_,

representing both men and monsters; but in the eyes of the English, it

is a most valuable collection, said to have cost seven _lakhs_ of

rupees, (L.70,000,) and venerated as containing some of the finest

sculptures in the world. I cannot understand how such importance can be

attached in Europe to this art, since the use of all images is as

distinctly forbidden by the _Tevrat_, (Bible,) as it is by our own

law ... But the strangest sight was in one of the upper rooms, which

contains specimens of extinct monsters, recently discovered in the

bowels of the earth in a fossil state, and supposed to be thousands of

years old. Many men of science pass their whole lives in inventing names

for these creatures, and studying the shape of a broken tooth supposed

to have belonged to them; the science to which this appertains, being a

branch of that relating to minerals, of which there is in the next room

a vast collection ranged in well-polished cases, with the names written

on them.... Among these, the most extraordinary were some stones said to

have fallen from the sky, one of which was near 300 lbs. in weight, and

with regard to the origin of which their philosophers differ. The most

generally received opinion is, that they were thrown from volcanoes in

the moon, thus assuming, first, the existence of volcanoes there;

secondly, their possessing sufficient force to throw such masses to a

distance, according to their own theory, of between 200,000 and 300,000

miles; and this through regions, the nature of which is wholly unknown.

This hypothesis cannot be maintained according to the Ptolemaic system;

indeed, it is in direct contravention to it."

The perverse abandonment by the Feringhis of the time-honoured system of

Ptolemy, in favour of the new-fangled theories of Copernicus, by which

the earth is degraded from its recognised and respectable station in the

centre of the universe, to a subordinate grade in the solar system,

seems to have been a source of great scandal and perplexity to the Khan;

"since," as he remarks, "the former doctrine is supported by their own

Bible, not less than by our Koran." These sentiments are repeated

whenever the subject is referred to; and particularly on the occasion of

a visit to the Observatory at Greenwich, where he was shown all the

telescopes and astronomical apparatus, "though, owing to the state of

the weather, I had not the opportunity of viewing the heavens to satisfy

myself of the correctness of the statements made to me. I was told,

however, that on looking through these instruments at the moon,

mountains, seas, and other signs of a world, are distinctly visible."

After satisfying his curiosity on these points, the Khan proceeded to

inspect the hospital, where he saw the pensioners at dinner in the great

hall; "most of these had lost their limbs, and those who were not maimed

were very old, and nearly all of them had been severely wounded; indeed,

it was a very interesting spectacle, and reflected great credit on the

English nation, which thus provides for the old age of those who have

shed their blood in her defence." To the charitable institutions of the

country, indeed, we find the Khan at all times fully disposed to do

justice; "there is no better feature than this in the national

character, for there is scarcely a disease or deformity in nature for

which there is not some edifice, in which the afflicted are lodged, fed,

and kindly treated. Would that we had such institutions in Hindustan!"

In pursuance of this feeling, we now find him visiting the Blind Asylum

and the Deaf and Dumb School; and the circumstantial details into which

he enters of the comforts provided for the inmates of these

establishments, and the proficiency which many of them had attained in

trades and accomplishments apparently inconsistent with their

privations, sufficiently evidences the interest with which he regarded

these benevolent institutions. Another spectacle of the same character,

which he had an opportunity of witnessing about this period, was the

annual procession of the charity children to St Paul's:--"I obtained a

seat near the officiating _imam_ or high priest, and saw near ten

thousand children of both sexes, belonging to the different eleemosynary

establishments, which are deservedly the pride of this country, all

clothed in an uniform dress, while every corner was filled with

spectators. After the _khotbah_ (prayer) was read, they began to sing,

not in the ordinary manner, but, as I was given to understand, so as to

involve a form of prayer and thanksgiving. I was told that they belonged

to many schools,[12] and are brought here once a year, that those who

contribute to their support may witness the progress they have made, as

well as their health and appearance."