an invalid, because he had been ordered to ride for exercise, and
the other because he had nothing else to do, and he did nothing
when he came. We must have been a disagreeable site to eyes as is
unaffected towards Government,--though how Hopper’s horse would
behave in putting down riots I can’t guess, for he did nothing
but make revolutions himself, as if he was still in the thrashing
mill. But you know yeomanry an’t reglers, and can’t be expected
to be veterans all at once. The worst of our mistakes was about
the cullers. Old Ensign Cobb, of the White Horse, has a Political
Union club meets at his house, and when he came to unfurl, he had
brought the wrong flag: instead of “Royal Bumper Daggle,” it was
“No Boromongers.” It made a reglar horse laugh among the cavalry;
and old Cobb took such dudgeon at us, he deserted home to the White
Horse, and cut the concern without drawing a sword. The Captain
ordered Jack Blower to sound the recall to him, but some wag on the
rout had stuck a bung up his trumpet; and he gallopped off just as
crusty about it as old Cobb. Our next trouble was with Simkin, but
you know he is anything but Simkin and Martial. He rid one of his
own docked waggon-horses--but for appearance sake had tied on a
long regulation false tale, that made his horse kick astonishing,
till his four loose shoes flew off like a game at koits. Of course
nobody liked to stand nigh him, and he was obliged to be drawn up
in single order by himself, but not having any one to talk to, he
soon got weary of it, and left the ground. This was some excuse
for him--but not for Dale, that deserted from his company,--some
said his horse bolted with him, but I’ll swear I seed him spur.
Up to this we had only one more deserter, and that was Marks, on
his iron-gray mare, for she heard her foal whinnying at home, and
attended to that call more than to a deaf and dumb trumpet. Biggs
didn’t come at all; he had his nag stole that very morning, as it
was waiting for him, pistols and all.
What with these goings off and gaps our ranks got in such disorder
that the Earl, tho’ he is a Tory, was obliged to act as a rank
Reformer. We got into line middling well, as far as the different
sizes of our horses would admit, and the Duke rode up and down us,
and I am sorry to say was compelled to a reprimand. Morgan Giles
had been at a fox-hunt the day before, and persisted in wearing the
brush as a feather in his cap. As fox tails isn’t regulation, his
Grace ordered it out, but Morgan was very high, and at last threw
up his commission into a tree and trotted home to Wickham Hall,
along with private Dick, who, as Morgan’s whipper in, thought he
was under obligations to follow his master.
We got thro’ sword exercise decent well,--only Barber shaved
Croft’s mare with his saber, which he needn’t have done, as she was
clipt before; and Holdsworth slashed off his cob’s off ear. It
was cut and run with her in course; and I hope he got safe home.
We don’t know what Hawksley might have thrusted, as his sword
objected to be called out in wet weather, and stuck to its sheath
like pitch; but he went thro’ all the cuts very correct with his
umbrella. For my own part, candour compels to state I swished off
my left hand man’s feather; but tho’ it might have been worse,
and I apologised as well as I could for my horse fretting, he was
foolish enough to huff at, and swear was done on purpose, and so
gallopped home, I suspect, to write me a calling out challenge.
Challenge or not, if I fight him with anything but fists, I’m not
one of the Yeomanry. An accident’s an accident, and much more
pardonable than Hawksley opening his umbrella plump in the face of
the Captain’s blood charger; and ten times more mortifying for an
officer to be carried back willy-nilly to Ashford, in the middle
of the Review. Luckily before Hawksley frightened any more, he was
called off to hold his umbrella over Mrs. H., as Mrs. Morgan had
taken in nine ladies, and could not accommodate more in her close
carriage, without making it too close.
After sword exercise we shot pistols, and I must say, very well
and distinct; only, old Dunn didn’t fire; but he’s deaf as a post,
and I wonder how he was called out. Talking of volleys, I am sorry
to say we fired one before without word of command; but it was all
thro’ Day on his shooting pony putting up a partridge, and in the
heat of the moment letting fly, and as he is our fugleman we all
did the same. Lucky for the bird it was very strong on the wing,
or the troop must have brought it down; howsomever the Earl looked
very grave, and said something that Day didn’t choose to take from
him, being a qualified man, and taking out a reglar license, so
he went off to his own ground, where he might shoot without being
called to account. Contrary to reason and expectation, there was
very few horses shied at the firing; but we saw Bluff lying full
length, and was afraid it was a bust; but we found his horse,
being a very quiet one, had run away from the noise. He was throwd
on his back in the mud, but refused to leave the ground. Being a
man of spirit, and military inclind, he got up behind Bates; but
Bates’s horse objecting to such back-gammon, reared and threw
doublets. As his knees was broke, Bates and Bluff was forced to
lead him away, and the troop lost two more men, tho’ for once
against their own wills.
As for Roper he had bragged how he could stand fire, but seeing a
great light over the village, he set off full Swing to look after
his ricks and barns.
The next thing to be done was charging, and between you and me, I
was most anxious about that, as many of us could only ride up to
a certain _pitch_. As you’ve often been throwd you’ll know what I
mean: to tell the truth, when the word came, I seed some lay hold
of their saddles, but Barnes had better have laid hold of anything
else in the world, for it turn’d round with him at the first
start. Simpkin fell at the same time insensibly, but the doctor
dismounted and was very happy to attend him without making any
charge whatever. All the rest went off gallantly, either gallopping
or cantering, tho’ as they say at Canterbury races, their was
some wonderful tailing on account of the difference of the nags.
Grimsby’s mare was the last of the lot, and for her backwardness in
charging we called her the Mare of Bristol, but he took the jest
no better than Cobb did, and when we wheel’d to the right he was
left. Between friends, I was not sorry when the word came to pull
up,--such crossing, and josling, and foul riding; but two farmers
seemed to like it, for they never halted when the rest did, but
gallopped on out of sight. I have since heard they had matched
their two nags the day before to run two miles for a sovereign;
I don’t think a sovereign should divert a man from his king: but
I can’t write the result as they newer came back,--I suppose on
account of the wet. The rains, to speak cavalry like, had got
beyond bearing rains; and when we formed line again it was like a
laundress’s clothes line, for there wasn’t a dry shirt on it. One
man on a lame horse rode particularly restive, and objected in such
critical weather to a long review. He wouldn’t be cholera morbus’d,
he said, for Duke or Devil, but should put his horse up, and go
home by the blue Stage; by way of answer he was ordered to give up
his arms and his jacket, which he did very off hand, as it was wet
thro’. Howsomever it was thought prudent to dispense with us till
fine weather, so we was formed into a circle--9 bobble square, and
the Duke thanked us in a short speech for being so regular, and
loyal, and soldier-like, after which every man that had kept his
seat gave three cheers.
[Illustration: AN OBJECTION TO CROSSING THE LINE.]
On the whole the thing might have been very gratifying, but on
reviewing the Field day, the asthmas and agues are uncommonly
numerous, and to say nothing of the horses that are amiss with
coffs and colds--there are three dead and seven lame for life. The
Earl has been very much blamed under the rose among the privates,
for fixing on a Hunting day, which I forgot to say, carried away a
dozen that were mounted on their hunters. I am sorry to say there
was so few left at the end of all, as to suffer themselves to be
hissed into the town by the little boys and gals, and called the
Horse Gomerils; and that consequently the corpse, as a body, is as
good as defunct. Not that there were many resign’d at the end of
the review, as his Lordship gave a grand dinner on the following
day to the troop: but I am sorry to say, a great many was so
unhandsome as to throw up the very day after. The common excuse
among them was something of not liking to wet their swords against
their countrymen.
For my own part as the yomanry cannot go on, I shall stick to it
honorably, and as any man of spirit would do in my case; but dont
be afraid of my attending Market, come what will, and selling the
barley at the best quotation.
I am, dear Brother,
Your’s and the Colonel’s to command,
JAMES CHERRY.
P.S.--I forgot to tell what will make you laugh. Barlow wouldn’t
ride with spurs, because, he said, they made his horse prick his
ears. Our poor corps, small as it is, I understand is like to act
in divisions. Some wish to be infantry instead of cavalry; and the
farmers from the hop grounds want to be Polish Lancers.
I have just learned Ballard, and nine more of the men, was ordered
to keep the ground; but it seems they left before the Troop came on
it. They say in excuse, they stood in the rain till they were ready
to drop; and as we didn’t come an hour after time, they thought
everything was postponed. “None but the brave,” they said, “deserve
the fair;” and till it _was_ fair, they wouldn’t attend again.
The mare you lent Ballard, I am sorry to say, got kicked in
several places, and had her shoulder put out; we was advised to
give her a swim in the sea, and I am still more sorry to say, in
swimming her we drowned her. As for my own nag, I am afraid he has
got string-halt; but one comfort is, I think it diverts him from
kicking.
[Illustration: PEACE OFFICERS.]
[Illustration: “SHE WALKS THE WATERS LIKE A THING OF LIFE.”]
I’M GOING TO BOMBAY.
“Nothing venture, nothing have.”--OLD PROVERB.
“Every Indiaman has at least two mates.”
FALCONER’S MARINE GUIDE.
I.
My hair is brown, my eyes are blue,
And reckon’d rather bright;
I’m shapely, if they tell me true,
And just the proper height;
My skin has been admired in verse,
And called as fair as day--
If I _am_ fair, so much the worse,
I’m going to Bombay!
II.
At school I passed with some éclât;
I learned my French in France;
De Wint gave lessons how to draw,
And D’Egville how to dance;--
Crevelli taught me how to sing,
And Cramer how to play--
It really is the strangest thing--
I’m going to Bombay!
III.
I’ve been to Bath and Cheltenham Wells,
But not their springs to sip--
To Ramsgate--not to pick up shells,--
To Brighton--not to dip.
I’ve tour’d the Lakes, and scour’d the coast
From Scarboro’ to Torquay--
But tho’ of time I’ve made the most,
I’m going to Bombay!
IV.
By Pa and Ma I’m daily told
To marry now’s my time,
For though I’m very far from old,
I’m rather in my prime.
They say while we have any sun,
We ought to make our hay--
And India has so hot an one,
I’m going to Bombay!
V.
My cousin writes from Hyderapot
My only chance to snatch,
And says the climate is so hot,
It’s sure to light a match.--
She’s married to a son of Mars,
With very handsome pay,
And swears I ought to thank my stars
I’m going to Bombay!
VI.
She says that I shall much delight
To taste their Indian treats,
But what she likes may turn me quite,
Their strange outlandish meats.--
If I can eat rupees, who knows?
Or dine, the Indian way,
On doolies and on bungalows--
I’m going to Bombay!
VII.
She says that I shall much enjoy,--
I don’t know what she means,--
To take the air and buy some toy,
In my own palankeens,--
I like to drive my pony-chair,
Or ride our dapple gray--
But elephants are horses there--
I’m going to Bombay!
VIII.
Farewell, farewell, my parents dear,
My friends, farewell to them!
And oh, what costs a sadder tear,
Good-bye to Mr. M!--
If I should find an Indian vault,
Or fall a tiger’s prey,
Or steep in salt, it’s all _his_ fault,
I’m going to Bombay!
IX.
That fine new teak-built ship, the Fox,
A, 1--Commander Bird,
Now lying in the London Docks,
Will sail on May the Third;
Apply for passage or for freight,
To Nichol, Scott, and Gray--
Pa has applied and seal’d my fate--
I’m going to Bombay!
X.
My heart is full--my trunks as well;
My mind and caps made up,
My corsets shap’d by Mrs. Bell,
Are premised ere I sup;
With boots and shoes, Rivarta’s best,
And dresses by Ducé,
And a special license in my chest--
I’m going to Bombay!
[Illustration: “THE COURT OF AN INDIAN PRINCE.”]
“LOOK BEFORE YOU LEAP.”
“Fallen, fallen, fallen.”--DRYDEN.
My father being what is called a serious tallow-chandler, having
supplied the Baptist Meeting-house of Nantwich with _dips_ for many
years, intended to make me a field-preaching minister. Alas! _my_ books
were plays, _my_ sermons soliloquies. You would not have wondered, had
you seen me then, with my large dark eyes, my permanent nose, and a
mouth to which my picture does but scanty justice. In large theatres
these may be but secondary considerations; but a figure symmetrical as
mine must have been seen through all space. Accordingly, I eloped with
the young lady who used to rehearse my heroines with me, and came to
London, where, after we had studied together till I was in debt, and
she, as “ladies wish to be who love their lords,” I began applying to
the managers for leave to make my _debût_. I will not describe to you
the neglect and rudeness I experienced! It did not abate my enthusiasm:
but so true it is, “while the grass grows”--the proverb is somewhat
musty,--that I had soon nothing but musty bread on which to feed my
hopes, and hopeful wife. One burning spring day I roved as far as the
fields near Greenwich, and, book in hand, went through Romeo, though
but to a shy audience, for the sheep all took to their trotters, and
the crows to their wings, and not without _caws_. (That joke _was_
mine, let who will have claimed it.)
[Illustration: PRIVATE THEATRICALS.]
[Illustration: NEGLECTING TO JOIN IN A CATCH.]
Suddenly somebody hissed; it could not be the sheep, and no geese
were near. At that instant a very elegant man, stepping from behind
a tree, thus accosted me:--
“Sir, I have heard you with delight. I can procure you an engagement,
not perhaps for the Romeos, but all great actors have risen by slow
degrees, and the best of them has, at his outset, been attacked by
some snake in the grass.” He now pointed out the reptile, who slunk
away, looking heartily ashamed of himself. The gentleman continued,
“Mr. Richardson and Company are now acting at the fair. I am his
scene-painter; see here, I have sketched you in your happiest attitude.
Come with me.” We went to the booth. I was hired; but unluckily, my
powers being suited for a larger stage, so overpowered my present
audience, that I was taken out of all speaking parts, for fear of
fatal consequences. Nevertheless, my grace in processions soon raised
so much jealousy against me, that in the autumn Master recommended me
to one of the Minors in town, where, for twice as much salary, I was
never expected to appear before the curtain, but to make myself useful
among the carpenters and scene-shifters. That Christmas, during the
rehearsal of a Pantomime, four of us were set to catch an Harlequin,
each to hold the corner of a blanket, and be ready for his jump
through the scene. Alas! one gentleman brought his pot, and one his
pipe, and the third an inclination for a snooze. Two were asleep, and
one draining the last drops of stout from the pewter. I alone upheld
my corner from the boards, when the awful leap came on us, like a
star-shoot. I still see the momentary gleam of that strait, spangled,
fish-like, head-long figure. Can, candle, bottle, pipes, all crashed
beneath the heavy tumbler. With a torrent of apologies, we scrambled
up in the dark, to raise the fallen hero; but there he lay, on his
face, with legs and arms outspread, as we could feel, without sense,
or sound, or motion, cold, stiff, and _dead_! For an instant all was
horrid silence; we were as breathless as he. I resolved to give myself
up to justice, yet found voice in the boldness of innocence to shout
“Help! Lights! All his bones are broken!” “And all yours _shall_ be,
ye dogs!” cried a voice. We looked up; there stood one Harlequin over
us alive; there lay another under us, without a chance of ever more
peeping through the blanket of the dark. That the speaker was no ghost
we were soon convinced, as his magic bat battered us. The truth was, he
had thrown at us the stuffed Harlequin used in flying ascents, to try
our vigilance, before he risked his own neck. I felt, however, that I
_might_ have been of a party who had killed a man. It was a judgment
on me for being in such a place, with any less excuse than that of
acting Romeo. I took my wife and babe back to Cheshire. We knelt at my
father’s feet, promising to serve in the shop; fortunately it was one
of his melting days: he raised us to his arm;--we formed a _tableau
generale_--and the curtain dropped.
[Illustration]
ODE
TO THE ADVOCATES FOR THE REMOVAL OF SMITHFIELD MARKET.
“Sweeping our flocks and herds.”--DOUGLAS.
O philanthropic men!--
For this address I need not make apology--
Who aim at clearing out the Smithfield pen,
And planting further off its vile Zoology--
Permit me thus to tell,
I like your efforts well,
For routing that great nest of Hornithology!
Be not dismay’d although repulsed at first,
And driven from their Horse, and Pig, and Lamb parts,
Charge on!--you shall upon their hornworks burst,
And carry all their _Bull_-warks and their _Ram_-parts.
Go on, ye wholesale drovers!
And drive away the Smithfield flocks and herds
As wild as Tartar-Curds,
That come so fat, and kicking, from their clovers,
Off with them all!--those restive brutes, that vex
Our streets, and plunge, and lunge, and butt, and battle;
And save the female sex
From being cow’d--like Iö--by the cattle!
Fancy,--when droves appear on
The hill of Holborn, roaring from its top,--
Your ladies--ready, as they own, to drop,
Taking themselves to Thomson’s with a _Fear-on_!
Or, in St. Martin’s Lane,
Scared by a Bullock, in a frisky vein,--
Fancy the terror of your timid daughters
While rushing souse
Into a coffee-house,
To find it--Slaughter’s.
Or fancy this:--
Walking along the street, some stranger Miss,
Her head with no such thought of danger laden,
When suddenly ’tis “Aries Taurus Virgo!”
You don’t know Latin, I translate it ergo,
Into your Areas a Bull throws the Maiden!
Think of some poor old crone
Treated, just like a penny, with a toss!
At that vile spot now grown
So generally known
For making a Cow Cross!
[Illustration: I SEE CATTLE!]
Nay, fancy your own selves far off from stall,
Or shed, or shop--and that an Ox infuriate
Just pins you to the wall,
Giving you a strong dose of _Oxy-Muriate_!
Methinks I hear the neighbours that live round
The Market-ground
Thus make appeal unto their civic fellows--
“’Tis well for you that live apart--unable
To hear this brutal Babel,
But our _firesides_ are troubled with their _bellows_.
“Folks that too freely sup
Must e’en put up
With their own troubles If they can’t digest;
But we must needs regard
The case as hard
That _others’_ victuals should disturb our rest,
That from our sleep _your_ food should start and jump us!
We like, ourselves, a steak,
But, Sirs, for pity’s sake!
We don’t want oxen at our doors to _rump-us_!
“If we _do_ doze--it really is too bad!
We constantly are roar’d awake or rung,
Through bullocks mad
That run in all the ‘Night Thoughts’ of our Young!”
Such are the woes of sleepers--now let’s take
The woes of those that wish to keep _a Wake_
Oh think! when Wombwell gives his annual feasts,
Think of these “Bulls of Basan,” far from mild ones;
Such fierce tame beasts,
That nobody much cares to see the Wild ones!
Think of the Show woman, “what shows a Dwarf,”
Seeing a red Cow come
To swallow her Tom Thumb,
And forc’d with broom of birch to keep her off!
Think, too, of Messrs. Richardson and Co.,
When looking at their public private boxes,
To see in the back row
Three live sheep’s heads, a porker’s, and an Ox’s!
Think of their Orchestra, when two horns come
Through, to accompany the double drum!
Or, in the midst of murder and remorses,
Just when the Ghost is certain,
A great rent in the curtain,
And enter two tall skeletons--of Horses!
Great Philanthropics! pray urge these topics!
Upon the Solemn Councils of the Nation,
Get a Bill soon, and give, some noon,
The Bulls, a Bull of Excommunication!
[Illustration: A BULL OF EXCOMMUNICATION.]
Let the old Fair have fair-play as its right,
And to each show and sight
Ye shall be treated with a Free List latitude,
To Richardson’s Stage Dramas,
Dio--and Cosmo--ramas,
Giants and Indians wild,
Dwarf, Sea Bear, and Fat Child,
And that most rare of Shows--a Show of Gratitude!
[Illustration: “Arma Virumque _Canoe_.”]
DRAWN FOR A SOLDIER.
I was once--for a few hours only--in the militia. I suspect I was in
part answerable for my own mishap. There is a story in Joe Miller of
a man, who, being _pressed_ to serve his Majesty on another element,
pleaded his polite breeding, to the gang, as a good ground of
exemption: but was told that the crew being a set of sad unmannerly
dogs, a Chesterfield was the very character they wanted. The
militia-men acted, I presume, on the same principle. Their customary
schedule was forwarded to me, at Brighton, to fill up, and in a moment
of incautious hilarity--induced, perhaps, by the absence of all
business or employment, except pleasure--I wrote myself down in the
descriptive column as “_Quite a Gentleman_.”
The consequence followed immediately. A precept, addressed by the High
Constable of Westminster to the Low ditto of the parish of St. M*****,
and endorsed with my name, informed me that it had turned up in that
involuntary lottery, the Ballot.
At sight of the Orderly, who thought proper to deliver the document
into no other hands than mine, my mother-in-law cried, and my wife
fainted on the spot. They had no notion of any distinctions in military
service--a soldier was a soldier--and they imagined that, on the very
morrow, I might be ordered abroad to a fresh Waterloo. They were
unfortunately ignorant of that benevolent provision which absolved the
militia from going out of the kingdom--“except in case of an invasion.”
In vain I represented that we were “locals;” they had heard of local
diseases, and thought there might be wounds of the same description. In
vain I explained that we were not troops of the line;--they could see
nothing to choose between being shot in a line, or in any other figure.
I told them next that I was not obliged to serve myself; but they
answered, “’twas so much the harder I should be obliged to serve any
one else.” My being sent abroad, they said, would be the death of them;
for they had witnessed, at Ramsgate, the embarkation of the Walcheren
expedition, and too well remembered “the misery of the soldiers’ wives
at seeing their husbands in _transports_!”
I told them that, at the very worst, if I _should_ be sent abroad,
there was no reason why I should not return again; but they both
declared, they never did, and never would believe in those “Returns of
the Killed and Wounded.”
The discussion was in this stage when it was interrupted by another
loud single knock at the door, a report equal in its effects on us to
that of the memorable cannon-shot at Brussels; and before we could
recover ourselves, a strapping Serjeant entered the parlour with a huge
bow, or rather rain-bow, of party-coloured ribbons in his cap. He came,
he said to offer a substitute for me; but I was prevented from reply by
the indignant females asking him in the same breath, “Who and what did
he think _could_ be a substitute for a son and a husband?”
The poor Serjeant looked foolish enough at this turn; but he was still
more abashed when the two anxious Ladies began to cross-examine him
on the length of his services abroad, and the number of his wounds,
the campaigns of the Militia-man having been confined doubtless to
Hounslow, and his bodily marks militant to the three stripes on his
sleeve. Parrying these awkward questions he endeavoured to prevail upon
me to see the proposed proxy, a fine young fellow, he assured me, of
unusual stature; but I told him it was quite an indifferent point with
me whether he was 6-feet-2 or 2-feet-6, in short whether he was as tall
as the flag or “under the standard.”
The truth is, I reflected that it was a time of profound peace, that a
civil war, or an invasion, was very unlikely; and as for an occasional
drill, that I could make shift, like Lavater, to right-about-face.
Accordingly I declined seeing the substitute, and dismissed the
Serjeant with a note to the War-Secretary to this purport:--“That
I considered myself _drawn_; and expected therefore to be well
_quarter’d_. That, under the circumstances of the country, it would
probably be unnecessary for militia-men ‘to be mustarded;’ but that
if his Majesty did ‘_call me out_,’ I hoped I should ‘_give him
satisfaction_.’”