accompany him; such accompaniment as flute adagio is sometimes heard
to give to piano prestissimo. He seemed to pride himself, like some
pompous people, in constantly having a poor foot-boy trotting it his
heels: often did I beg to be left at home; often, but vainly, address
him in the language of old Capulet’s domestic--“Good thou, save me a
piece of _march-pane_.” The descriptive phrase of “rocky fastnesses,”
was but too typical of his speed and temper; he had no more pity for
me, than the great striding Ogre, in the Seven-leagued Boots, for
little Hop-o’-my-Thumb.
The day of retribution at last came, for, according to the clown’s
doctrine, the whirligig of time always brings round its revenges. My
poor mother died, and had a walking funeral, and my Step-father felt
more for her than I had expected; but he suffered most in his legs and
feet: the measured pace of the procession afflicted him beyond measure;
he longed to give sorrow strides, but was forbidden; and he walked
and grieved like a fiery horse upon the fret. The slow pace seemed
as a slow poison: it has been affirmed that he caught cold upon the
occasion; but whether he did or not,--from that day he took ill, went
off rapidly, as he always did, in a galloping consumption, and died,
leaving me, as usual, behind him. In compliance with his last wish,
he was furnished with a walking funeral, and, as decency dictated, I
followed him to the grave; though in truth it was sacrificing the only
opportunity I ever had in the world, of getting before him.
I have been told that, the evening of his decease, his apparition
appeared to a first cousin at Penryn, and the same night to his brother
at Appleby. I have no particular faith in Ghosts, but this I do most
firmly believe, that if any Body had the Spirit to do the distance, in
the time, it was the very Spirit of my Step-father Walker.
[Illustration: FOUR INSIDE.]
CONVEYANCING.
Oh, London is the place for all
In love with loco-motion!
Still to and fro the people go
Like billows of the ocean;
Machine or man, or caravan,
Can all be had for paying,
When great estates, or heavy weights,
Or bodies want conveying.
There’s always hacks about in packs,
Wherein you may be shaken,
And Jarvis is not always _drunk_,
Tho’ always _overtaken_;
In racing tricks he’ll never mix,
His nags are in their last days,
And _slow_ to go, altho’ they show
As if they had their _fast days_!
Then if you like a single horse,
This age is quite a _cab-age_,
A car not quite so small and light
As those of our Queen _Mab_ age;
The horses have been _broken well_,
All danger is rescinded,
For some have _broken both their knees_,
And some are _broken winded_.
If you’ve a friend at Chelsea end,
The stages are worth knowing--
There is a sort, we call ’em short,
Although the longest going--
For some will stop at Hatchett’s shop
Till you grow faint and sicky,
Perched up behind, at last to find
Your dinner is all _dickey_!
Long stages run from every yard;
But if you’re wise and frugal,
You’ll never go with any Guard
That plays upon the bugle,
“Ye banks and braes,” and other lays,
And ditties everlasting,
Like miners going all your way,
With _boring_ and with _blasting_.
Instead of _journeys_, people now
May go upon a _Gurney_,
With steam to do the horses’ work,
By _powers of attorney_;
Tho’ with a load it may explode,
And you may all be _un_-done!
And find you’re going _up to Heav’n_,
Instead of _up to London_!
To speak of every kind of coach,
It is not my intention;
But there is still one vehicle
Deserves a little mention;
The world a sage has called a stage,
With all its living lumber,
And Malthus swears it always bears
Above the proper number.
The law will transfer house or land
For ever and a day hence,
For lighter things, watch, brooches, rings,
You’ll never want conveyance:
Ho! stop the thief! my handkerchief!
It is no sight for laughter--
Away it goes, and leaves my nose
To join in running after.
[Illustration: VAN DEMON’S LAND.]
A LETTER FROM A SETTLER FOR LIFE IN VAN DIEMEN’S LAND.
_To Mary, at No 45 Mount Street Grosvenor Square._
DEAR MARY
Littel did I Think wen I advertisd in the Tims for annother Plaice
of taking wan in Vandemin’s land. But so it his and Hear I am
amung Kangerooses and Savidges and other Forriners. But goverment
offering to Yung Wimmin to Find them in Vittles and Drink and
Close and Husbands was turms not to be sneazed at, so I rit to the
Outlandish Seckertary and he was so Kind as Grant.
Wen this cums to Hand go to Number 22 Pimpernel Plaice And mind
and go betwixt Six and sevin For your own Sake cos then the
fammilys Having Diner give my kind love to betty Housmad and Say
I am safe of my Jurney to Forrin parts And I hope master as never
Mist the wine and brought Them into trubble on My accounts. But I
did not Like to leav for Ever And Ever without treeting my Frends
and feller servents and Drinking to all their fairwells. In my
Flury wen the Bell rung I forgot to take My own Key out of missis
Tekaddy but I hope sum wan had the thought And it is in Good hands
but shall Be obleeged to no. Lickwise thro my Loness of Sperrits
my lox of Hares quite went out of My Hed as was prommist to Be
giv to Gorge and Willum and the too Futmen at the too Next dores
But I hop and Trust betty pacifid them with lox of Her hone as I
begd to Be dun wen I rit Her from dover. O Mary wen I furst see
the dover Wite clifts out of site wat with squemishnes and Felings
I all most repentid givin Ingland warning And had douts if I was
goin to better my self. But the stewerd was verry kind tho I could
make Him no returns xcept by Dustin the ship for Him And helpin
to wash up his dishes. Their was 50 moor Young Wimmin of us and
By way of passing tim We agread to tell our Histris of our selves
taken by Turns But they all turned out Alick we had All left on
acount of Testacious masters And crustacious Mississis and becos
the Wurks was too much For our Strenths but betwixt yew and Me the
reel truths was beeing Flirted with and unprommist by Perfidus
yung men. With sich exampils befour there Minds I wunder sum of
them was unprudent enuff to Lissen to the Salers whom are coverd
with Pitch but famus for Not stiking to there Wurds. has for Me
the Mate chose to be verry Partickler wan nite Setting on a Skane
of Rops but I giv him is Anser and lucky I did for Am infourmd he
as Got too more Marred Wives in a sate of Biggamy thank Goodness
wan can marry in new Wurlds without mates. Since I have bean in My
pressent Sitiation I have had between too and three offers for My
Hands and expex them Evry day to go to fistcufs about Me this is
sum thing lick treeting Wimmin as Wimmin ought to be treetid Nun of
your sarsy Buchers and Backers as brakes there Prommissis the sam
as Pi Crust wen its maid Lite and shivvry And then laffs in Your
face and say they can hav anny Gal they lick round the Square. I
dont menshun nams but Eddard as drives the Fancy bred will no Wat
I mean. As soon as ever the Botes rode to Land I dont agrivate the
Truth to say their was haf a duzzin Bows apeace to Hand us out to
shoar and sum go so Far as say they was offered to thro Specking
Trumpits afore they left the Shipside. Be that as it May or may
Not I am tould We maid a Verry pritty site all Wauking too and
too in our bridle wite Gownds with the Union Jacks afore Us to
pay humbel Respex to kernel Arther who behaived verry Gentlemanny
and Complementid us on our Hansom apearances and Purlitely sed
he Wisht us All in the United States. The Salers was so gallaunt
as giv three chears wen We left there Ship and sed if so be they
had not Bean without Canons they Wood have salutid us all round.
Servents mite live Long enuff in Lonnon without Being sich persons
of Distinkshun. For my hone Part, cumming amung strangers and Pig
in Pokes, prudence Dicktatid not to be askt out At the verry furst
cumming in howsumever All is setteld And the match is aproved
off by Kernel Arther and the Brightish goverment, who as agread
to giv me away. thems wat I call Honners as we used to Say at
wist. Wan thing in My favers was my voice and my noing the song
of the Plane Gould Ring witch the Van Demons had never Herd afore
I wood recummend all as meens curnming to Bring as menny of the
fashingable Songs and Ballets as they Can--and to get sum nolliges
of music as fortnately for me I was Abel to by meens of praxtising
on Missis Piney Forty wen the fammily Was at ramsgit. of Coarse
you and betty Will xpect Me to indulge in Pearsonallitis about my
intendid to tell Yew wat he is lick he is Not at All lick Eddard
as driv the Faney bred and Noboddy else yew No. I wood send yew His
picter Dun by himself only its no more lick Him then Chork is to
Cheas. In spit of the Short Tim for Luv to take Roots I am convinst
he is verry Passionet of coarse As to his temper I cant Speek As
yet as I hav not Tride it. O mary littel did I think too Munth ago
of sending yew Brid Cake and Weddin favers wen I say this I am only
Figgering in speach for Yew must Not look for sich Things from this
Part of the Wurld I dont mean this by Way of discurridgement Wat I
meen to say is this If so be Yung Wimmin prefers a state of Silly
Bessy they Had better remane ware they was Born but as far as Reel
down rite Coarting and no nonsens is concarnd This is the Plaice
for my Munny a Gal has only to cum out hear And theirs duzzens
will jump at her like Cox at Gusberris. it will be a reel kindnes
to say as Much to Hannah at 48 and Hester Brown and Peggy Oldfield
and partickler poor Charlotte they needent Fear about being Plane
for Yew may tell Them in this land Faces dont make stumblin Blox
and if the Hole cargo was as uggly As sin Lots wood git marrid.
Deer Mary if so Be you feel disposed to cum Out of Your self I will
aford evry Falicity towards your hapiness. I dont want to hurt your
Felines but since the Cotchman as giv yew up I dont think Yew have
annother String to your Bo to say nothink of Not being so young As
yew was Ten Yeer ago and faces Will ware out as well as scrubbin
brushes. theirs a verry nice yung man is quit a Willin to offer to
Yew providid you cum the verry Next vessle for He has Maid up his
mind not to Wait beyond the Kupid and Sikey. as the ship is on the
Pint of Saling I cant rite Moor at pressent xcept for them has as
shily shalying sweat harts to Thretten with cumming to Vandemins
And witch will soon sho wether its Cubbard love or true Love I hay
seen Enuff of Bows droping in at supertime and falling out the next
morning after borrowin Wans wags. Wen yew see anny Frends giv my
Distant love to Them and say My being Gone to annother wurld dont
impear my Memmery but I often Thinks of Number 22 and the two Next
Dores. yew may Disclose my matterymonial Prospex to betty as we
hav always had a Deal of Confidens. And I remane with the Gratest
asurance
Your affexionat Frend
Susan Gale--as his to be Simco.
P.S. Deer mary my Furst Match beeing broke off short hope Yew will
not take it Ill but I have Marrid the yung Man as was to Hav waited
for Yew but As yew hav never seen one Annother trusts yew will Not
take Him to hart or abrade by Return of Postesses he has behaved
Perfickly honnerable And has got a verry United frend of his Hone
to be atacht to Yew in lew of Him. adew.
[Illustration: RING-DOVES.]
SONNET.
Allegory--A moral vehicle.--DICTIONARY.
I had a Gig-Horse, and I called him Pleasure,
Because on Sundays, for a little jaunt,
He was so fast and showy, quite a treasure;
Although he sometimes kicked, and spied aslant.
I had a Chaise, and christened it Enjoyment,
With yellow body, and the wheels of red,
Because ’twas only used for one employment,
Namely, to go wherever Pleasure led.
I had a wife, her nickname was Delight;
A son called Frolic, who was never still:
Alas! how often dark succeeds to bright!
Delight was thrown, and Frolic had a spill,
Enjoyment was upset and shattered quite,
And Pleasure fell a splitter on _Paine’s Hill_!
A SERIO-COMIC REMINISCENCE.
It seems but the other day--instead of nearly ten years ago--that
my drawing-room door opened, and the female servant, with a very
peculiar expression of countenance, announced a memorable visitor.
Shakspeare has enquired “What is there in a name?” But most assuredly
he would have withdrawn the question could he have seen the effect of
a patronymic on our Sarah’s risible muscles. To render the phenomenon
more striking, she was a maiden little addicted to the merry mood: on
the contrary, she was rather more sedate than her age warranted. Her
face was of a cast decidedly serious--quiet brow--steady eyes--sober
nose--precise mouth, and solemn chin, which she doubled by drawing
it in demurely against her neck. The habitual expression of her
physiognomy was as grave, short of actual sadness, as human face could
assume, reminding you of those set, solid, composed, very decorous
visages, that indifferent persons put on for the day at a funeral: her
very complexion was uniformly colourless--pale yet not clear--that
_slack-baked_ look which forbids the idea of levity. When she smiled,
which was rarely, and in cases where most females of her years would
have indulged in a titter, or excusable laugh, it was the faintest
possible approach to hilarity--the corners of her mouth curving, if
anything a little downwards. Nothing, in fact, less than galvanism,
which “sets corpses a-grinning,” seemed likely to shock her features
into any broad demonstration of jocularity, and yet, lo! there she was,
her face shortened by half its length--her mouth stretching from ear to
ear, and hardly able, for a suppressed giggle, to articulate its brief
announcement.
[Illustration: PLEASE, SIR! HERE’S MR. GRIMALDI!!!!]
I have always considered the above physiognomical miracle--the lighting
up of that seemingly impracticable countenance--as the best criticism I
have ever _seem_ of the performances of the great Pan of Pantomime:--a
most eloquent retrospective review of the triumphs of his genius. It
was a glorious illustration of the Pleasures of Memory, to behold
that face so like the stain a dead calm on a dull day burst suddenly
into ripples and radiance, like the brook that laughs in the sun. What
recollections of exquisite fooling must have rushed into her fancy
to convert that Quakerly maiden, as by a stage metamorphosis, into a
perfect figure of fun! What grotesque fantastic shapes must have come
tumbling, rolling, crawling, dangling, dancing, prancing, floundering,
flopping, striding, sliding, ambling, shambling, scrambling,
stumbling, bundling, and trundling into her mind’s eye, to so startle
her features from their propriety! What face-making faces, with
telegraphic brows--rolling, reeling, goggling, ogling, hard-winking,
and soft-blinking eyes--and grinning, gaping, pinching, puckering
mouths must have grimaced at her to put her steady countenance so out
of countenance! What is there in a name? Why magic! A serious, quiet,
decrepid man had but to announce himself, and Presto! Prestissimo!
before an engineer could cry “Ease her! stop her! back her!” our Sarah
had retraced her course up the stream of time to the bright wintry
gallery nights at the Lane, or the Garden, or the Midsummer Night’s
Dream at the Wells. Talk of magnetisers! when did Baron Dupotet, or any
of his sect, without pass or manipulation, thus throw a sedate, orderly
maiden, into an ecstasy, and set her looking through the back of her
head at the pantomimical experiences of the past? Talk of Laughing Gas!
when was there a facetious fluid so potent that the mere sight of the
empty bottle--(for such, alas! the ex-clown was become)--could throw
the ticklesome muscles into merry convulsions?
I have often speculated since on Sarah’s deportment, when, having
ushered “Mr. Grimaldi, alias Joe,” into the drawing-room, she returned
to her kitchen. Of course, in the first flutter and frisk of her animal
spirits, she postponed all domestic duties; or, at best, obliviously
broke the eggs into the flower tub, popped the lump of butter into
the oven, and secured the rolling-pin in the safe. More probably she
dropped herself into the first chair that offered; and throwing her
apron over her head to shut out the daylight, indulged in a lamplight
vision of the drolleries of Mother Goose, or the Sleeping Beauty; when
the frolics of funny Joe had cheated her for awhile of the sorrows of
servitude, low wages, a crustaceous mistress, a _perfidus_ young man,
and a hard place, with perhaps the bodily pains of a recent scald, a
bad bruise, and tight shoes. No doubt it had been one of her wishes,
born of wonder and curiosity, to see the popular Motley off the stage
“in his habit as he lived;” and lo! beyond her hope, she had met him
face to face without his paint, and been on speaking terms with that
marvellous voice, so sparingly heard, even on the stage.
For my own part, I confess to have been somewhat unsettled as well as
the bewildered maid by pantomimical associations. Slowly and seriously
as my visitor advanced, and with a decided stoop, I could not forget
that I had seen the same personage come in with two odd eyebrows, a
pair of right-and-left eyes, a wry nose, a crooked mouth, two wrong
arms, two left legs, and a free and easy body without a bone in it, or
apparently any centre of gravity. I was half prepared to hear that rare
voice break forth smart as the smack of a waggoner’s whip, or richly
stick and chuckling, like the utterance of a boy laughing, talking, and
eating custard, all at once, but a short interval sufficed to dispel
the pleasant illusion, and convinced me that the Grimaldi was a total
wreck.
“Alas! how changed from him,
The life of humour, and the soul of whim.”
The lustre of his bright eye was gone--his eloquent face was passive
and looked thrown out of work--and his frame was bowed down by no
feigned decrepitude. His melancholy errand to me related to a Farewell
Address, which at the invitation of his staunch friend Miss Kelly--for
it did not require a request--I had undertaken to indite. He pleaded
earnestly that it might be brief, being, he said, “a bad study,” as
well as distrustful of his bodily strength. Of his sufferings he spoke
with a sad but resigned tone, expressed deep regret at quitting a
profession he delighted in, and partly attributed the sudden breaking
down of his health to the superior size of one particular stage,
which required of him a jump extra in getting off. That additional
bound, like the bittock at the end of a Scotch mile, had, he thought,
overtasked his strength. His whole deportment and conversation
impressed me with the opinion that he was a simple, sensible,
warm-hearted being, such indeed as he appears in his Memoirs--a Joseph
after Parson Adams’s own heart. We shook hands heartily, parted, and
I never saw him again. He was a rare practical humorist, and I never
look into Rabelais, with its huge-mouthed Gargantua and his enormous
appetite for “plenty of links, chitterlings, and puddings,” in their
season, without thinking that in Grimaldi and _his_ pantomime I have
lost my best set of illustrations of that literary extravaganza.
EPICUREAN REMINISCENCES OF A SENTIMENTALIST.
“My _Tables_! _Meat_ it is, _I set it_ down!”--HAMLET
I think it was Spring but--not certain I am--
When my passion began first to work;
But I know we were certainly looking for lamb,
And the season was over for pork.
’Twas at Christmas, I think, when I met with Miss Chase,
Yes,--for Morris had asked me to dine,--
And I thought I had never beheld such a face,
Or so noble a turkey and chine.
Placed close by her side, it made others quite wild,
With sheer envy to witness my luck;
How she blushed as I gave her some turtle, and smiled
As I afterwards offered some duck.
I looked and I languished, alas, to my cost,
Through three courses of dishes and meats;
Getting deeper in love--but my heart was quite lost,
When it came to the trifle and sweets!
With a rent-roll that told of my houses and land,
To her parents I told my designs--
And then to herself I presented my hand,
With a very fine pottle of pines!
I asked her to have me for weal or for woe,
And she did not object in the least;--
I can’t tell the date--but we married, I know,
Just in time to have game at the feast.
We went to ----, it certainly was the sea-side;
For the next, the most blessed of morns,
I remember how fondly I gazed at my bride,
Sitting down to a plateful of prawns.
Oh! never may mem’ry lose sight of that year,
But still hallow the time as it ought;
That season the “grass” was remarkably dear,
And the peas at a guinea a quart.
So happy, like hours all our days seemed to haste,
A fond pair, such as poets have drawn,
So united in heart--so congenial in taste,
We were both of us partial to brawn!
A long life I looked for of bliss with my bride,
But then Death--I ne’er dreamt about that!
Oh! there’s nothing is certain in life, as I cried
When my turbot eloped with the cat!
My dearest took ill at the turn of the year,
But the cause no physician could nab;
But something it seemed like consumption, I fear;
It was just after supping on crab.
In vain she was doctored, in vain she was dosed,
Still her strength and her appetite pined;
She lost relish for what she had relished the most.
Even salmon she deeply declined!
For months still I lingered in hope and in doubt,
While her form it grew wasted and thin!
But the last dying spark of existence went out,
As the oysters were just coming in!
She died, and she left me the saddest of men
To indulge in a widower’s moan;
Oh! I felt all the power of solitude then,
As I ate my first natives alone!
But when I beheld Virtue’s friends in their cloaks,
And with sorrowful crape on their hats,
Oh! my grief poured a flood; and the out-of-door folks
Were all crying--I think it was sprats!
[Illustration: “THE CITY REMEMBRANCER.”]
SAINT MARK’S EVE.
A TALE OF THE OLDEN TIME.
“The Devil choke thee with un!”--as Master Giles, the Yeoman, said
this, he banged down a hand in size and colour like a ham, on the
old-fashioned oak table;--“I do say the Devil choke thee with un!”
The Dame made no reply: she was choking with passion and a fowl’s
liver--the original cause of the dispute. A great deal has been said
and sung of the advantage of congenial tastes amongst married people,
but true it is, the variances of our Kentish couple arose from this
very coincidence in gusto. They were both fond of the little delicacy
in question, but the Dame had managed to secure the morsel for herself,
and this was sufficient to cause a storm of very high words--which
properly understood, signifies very low language. Their mealtimes
seldom passed over without some contention of the sort,--as sure as the
knives and forks clashed, so did they--being in fact equally greedy and
disagreedy--and when they did pick a quarrel--they picked it to the
bone.
[Illustration: BOXER AND PINCHER.]
It was reported, that on some occasions they had not even contented
themselves with hard speeches, but they had come to scuffling--he
taking to boxing, and she to pinching--though in a far less amicable
manner than is practised by the takers of snuff. On the present
difference, however, they were satisfied with “wishing each other dead
with all their hearts”--and there seemed little doubt of the sincerity
of the aspiration, on looking at their malignant faces,--for they made
a horrible picture in this frame of mind.
Now it happened that this quarrel took place on the morning of St.
Mark,--a Saint who was supposed on that Festival to favour his Votaries
with a peep into the Book of Fate. For it was the popular belief in
those days, that if a person should keep watch towards midnight, beside
the church, the apparitions of all those of the parish who were to be
taken by Death before the next anniversary, would be seen entering the
porch. The Yeoman, like his neighbours, believed most devoutly in this
superstition--and in the very moment that he breathed the unseemly
aspiration aforesaid, it occurred to him, that the Even was at hand,
when by observing the rite of St. Mark, he might know to a certainty
whether this unchristian wish was to be one of those that bear fruit.
Accordingly, a little before midnight he stole quietly out of the
house, and in something of a Sexton-like spirit set forth on his way to
the Church.
In the mean time the Dame called to mind the same ceremonial; and
having the like motive for curiosity with her husband, she also put on
her cloak and calash, and set out, though by a different path, on the
same errand.