“Happy the man, who void of cares and strife,
In silken or in leathern purse retains
A SPLENDID shilling! he nor hears with pain
New oysters cried, nor sighs for cheerful ale;
But I, whom griping penury surrounds,
And hunger, sure attendant upon want,
With scanty offal and small acid tiff,
Wretched repast, my meagre corse sustain!
Or solitary walk, or dose at home
In garret vile!”
TALKING over, at the breakfast-table, the occurrences of the preceding day—“On my conscience!” exclaimed Tallyho, “were the antediluvian age restored, and we daily perambulated the streets of this immense Metropolis during a hundred years to come, I firmly believe that every hour would bring a fresh accession of incident.”
“Ad infinitum,” answered Dashall; “where happiness is the goal in view, and fifteen hundred thousand competitors start for the prize, the manouvres of all in pursuit of the grand ultimatum must ever exhibit an interesting and boundless variety. London,
“. . . the needy villain's general home,
The common sewer of Paris and of Rome!”
where ingenious vice too frequently triumphs over talented worth—where folly riots in the glare of luxury, and merit pines in indigent obscurity.—Allons donc!—another ramble, and chance may probably illustrate my observation.”
“Take notice,” said the discriminating Dashall to his friend, as they reached the Mall in St. James's Park, “of that solitary knight of the woeful countenance; his thread-bare raiment and dejected aspect, denote disappointment and privation;—ten imperial sovereigns to a plebeian [328] shilling, he is either a retired veteran or a distressed poet.”
The object of curiosity, who had now seated himself, appeared to have attained the age of fifty, or more—a bat that had once been black—a scant-skirted blue coat, much the worse for wear—a striped waistcoat—his lank legs and thighs wrapt in a pair of something resembling trowsers, but “a world too wide for his shrunk shanks”—short gaiters—shoes in the last stage of consumption—whiskers of full dimensions—his head encumbered with an unadjusted redundancy-of grey hair: such were the habiliments and figure of this son of adversity!
The two friends now seated themselves on the same bench with the stranger, who, absorbed in reflection, observed not their approach.
The silence of the triumvirate was broken in upon by Tom, who, with his usual suavity of manners, politely addressed himself to the unknown, on the common topic of weather, et cetera, without eliciting in reply more than an assenting or dissenting monosyllable, “You have seen some service, Sir?”
“Yes.”
“In the army, I presume?”
“No.”
“Under Government?”
“Yes.”
“In the navy, probably?”
“No.”
“I beg your pardon,” continued Dashall—“my motives originate not in idle inquisitiveness; if I can be of any service———”
The stranger turned towards him an eye of inquiry. “I ask not from impertinent curiosity,” resumed Dashall, “neither would I wish indelicately to obtrude an offer of assistance, perhaps equally unnecessary as unacceptable; yet there are certain mutabilities of life wherein sympathy may be allowed to participate.”
“Sir,” said the other, with an immediate grateful expansion of mind, and freedom of communication—“I am inexpressibly indebted for the honour of your solicitude, and feel no hesitation in acknowledging that I am a literary writer; but so seldom employed, and, when employed, so inadequately requited, that to me the necessaries of life are frequently inaccessible.”
[329] Here Tallyho interrupted the narrator by asking—whence it was that he had adopted a profession so irksome, precarious, and unproductive?
“Necessity,” was the reply. “During a period of eight years, I performed
the duties as senior Clerk of an office under Government; four years
ago the establishment was broken up, without any provision made for its
subordinate dependents; and thus I became one of the twenty thousand
distressed beings in London, who rise from bed in the morning, unknowing
where to repose at night, and are indebted to chance for a lodging or a
dinner!”{1} 1 The following calculation, which is curious in all its
parts, cannot fail to interest the reader:—
The aggregate Population on the surface of the known
habitable Globe is estimated at 1000,000,000 souls. If
therefore we reckon with the Ancients, that a generation
lasts 30 years, then in that space 1000,000,000 human beings
will be born and die; consequently, 91,314 must be dropping
into eternity every day, 3800 every hour, or about 63 every
minute, and more than one every second. Of these
1000,000,000 souls, 656,000,000 are supposed to be Pagans,
160,000,000 Mahomedans, 9,000,000 Jews, only 175,000,000 are
called Christians, and of these only 50,000,000 are
Protestants.
There are in London 502 places of Worship—one Cathedral,
one Abbey, 114 Churches, 132 Chapels and Chapels of Ease,
220 Meet-ings and Chapels for Dissenters, 43 Chapels for
Foreigners, and 6 Synagogues for Jews. About 4050 public and
private Schools, including Inns of Courts, Colleges, &c.
About 8 Societies for Morals; 10 Societies for Learning and
Arts; 112 Asylums for Sick and Lame; 13 Dispensaries, and
704 Friendly Societies. Charity distributed ￡800,000 per
annum.
There are about 2500 persons committed for trial in one
year: The annual depredations amount to about ￡2,100,000.
There are 19 Prisons, and 5204 Alehouses within the bills of
Mortality. The amount of Coin counterfeited is ￡200,000 per
annum. Forgeries on the Bank of England in the year
￡150,000. About 3000 Receivers of Stolen Goods. About 10,000
Servants at all times out of place. Above 20,000 miserable
individuals rise every morning without knowing how or by
what means they are to be supported during the passing day,
or where, in many instances, they are to lodge on the
succeeding night.
London consumes annually 112,000 bullocks; 800,000 sheep and
lambs; 212,000 calves; 210,000 hogs; 60,000 sucking pigs;
7,000,000 gallons of milk, the produce of 9000 cows; 10,000
acres of ground cultivated for vegetables; 4000 acres for
fruit; 75,000 quarters of wheat; 700,000 chaldrons of coals;
1,200,500 barrels of ale and porter; 12,146,782 gallons of
spirituous liquors and compounds; 35,500 tons of wine;
17,000,000 pounds of butter, 22,100,000 pounds of cheese;
14,500 boat loads of cod.
[330] “May I ask,” said Mr. Dashall, “from what species of literary composition you chiefly derive your subsistence?”
“From puffing—writing rhyming advertisements for certain speculative and successful candidates for public favour, in various avocations; for instance, eulogizing the resplendent brilliancy of Jet or Japan Blacking—the wonderful effects of Tyrian-Dye and Macassar Oil in producing a luxuriant growth and changing the colour of the hair, transforming the thinly scattered and hoary fragments of age to the redundant and auburn tresses of youth—shewing forth that the “Riding Master to his late Majesty upwards of thirty years, and Professor of the Royal Menage of Hanover, sets competition at defiance, and that all who dare presume to rival the late Professor of the Royal Menage of Hanover, are vile unskilful pretenders, ci-devant stable-boys, and totally undeserving the notice of an enlightened and discerning public! In fact, Sir, I am reduced to this occasional humiliating employment, derogatory certainly to the dignity of literature, as averting the approach of famine. I write, for various adventurers, poetical panegyric, and illustrate each subject by incontrovertible facts, with appropriate incident and interesting anecdote.”
“And these facts,” observed Bob Tallyho, “respectably authenticated?”
“By no means,” answered the Poet; “nor is it necessary, nobody takes the trouble of inquiry, and all is left to the discretion of the writer and the fertility of his invention.”
“On the same theme, does not there exist,” asked Dashall, “a difficulty in giving it the appearance of variety?”
“Certainly; and that difficulty would seem quite insurmountable when I assure you, that I have written for a certain Blacking Manufacturer above two hundred different productions on the subject of his unparalleled Jet, each containing fresh incident, and very probably fresh incident must yet be found for two hundred productions more! But the misfortune is, that every thing is left to my invention, and the remuneration is of a very trifling nature for such mental labour: besides, it has frequently happened that the toil has proved unavailing—the production is rejected—the anticipated half-crown remains in the accumulating coffers of the Blacking-manufacturer, and the Author returns, pennyless and despondingly, to his attic, where, if fortune at last befriends him, he probably may breakfast dine and sup, tria juncta in uno, at a late hour in the evening!” [331] “And,” exclaimed the feeling Dashall, “this is real Life in London!”
“With me actually so,” answered the Poet.
The Blacking-maker's Laureat now offered to the perusal of his sympathising friends the following specimen of his ability in this mode of composition:—
PUG IN ARMOUR;
OR,
THE GARRISON ALARMED.
“Whoe'er on the rock of Gibraltar has been,
A frequent assemblage of monkeys has seen
Assailing each stranger with volleys of stones,
As if pre-determin'd to fracture his bones!
A Monkey one day took his turn as a scout,
And gazing his secret position about,
A boot caught his eye, near the spot that was plac'd,
By w * * * *n's jet; Blacking transcendently grac'd;
And, viewing his shade in its brilliant reflection,
He cautiously ventured on closer inspection.
The gloss on its surface return'd grin for grin,
Thence seeking his new-found acquaintance within,
He pok'd in the boot his inquisitive snout,
Head and shoulders so far, that he could not get out;
And thus he seem'd cas'd—from his head to his tail,
In suit of high-burnish'd impregnable mail!
Erect on two legs then, with retrograde motion,
It stalk'd; on the Sentry impressing a notion
That this hostile figure, of non-descript form,
The fortress might take by manoeuvre or storm!
Now fixing his piece, in wild terror he bawls—
“A legion of devils are scaling the walls!”
The guards sallied forth 'mid portentous alarms,
Signal-guns were discharged, and the drums beat to arms;
And Governor then, and whole garrison, ran
To meet the dread foe in this minikin man!
“A man—'tis a monkey!” Mirth loudly exclaim'd,
And peace o'er the garrison then was proclaim'd;
And Pug was released, the strange incident backing
The merits, so various, of W* * * *n's Jet Blacking.”
[332] This trifle, well enough for the purpose, was honoured with approbation.
The two friends, unwilling to offend the delicacy of the Poet by a premature pecuniary compliment at this early stage of acquaintance, took his address and departed, professing an intention of calling upon him at his lodgings in the evening.
“I would not, were I a bricklayer's labourer,” exclaimed Bob, “exchange situations with this unfortunate literary hack—this poor devil of mental toil and precarious result, who depends for scanty subsistence on the caprice of his more fortunate inferiors, whose minds, unexpanded by liberal feeling, and absorbed in the love of self, and the sordid consideration of interest, are callous to the impression of benevolence!—But let us hope that few such cases of genius in adversity occur, even in this widely extended and varied scene of human vicissitude.”
“That hope,” replied his Cousin, “is founded on
“The baseless fabric of a vision!”
There are, at this moment, thousands in London of literary merit, of whom we may truly say,
“Chill penury repress their noble rage,
And freeze the genial current of the soul!”
Men unsustained by the hand of friendship, who pine in unheeded obscurity, suffering the daily privations of life's indispensable requisites, or obtaining a scanty pittance at the will of opulent ignorance, and under the humiliating contumely, as we have just been informed, even of Blacking Manufacturers!
“But here is a man, who, during a period of eight years, held a public situation, the duties of which he performed satisfactorily to the last; and yet, on the abolition of the establishment, while the Principal retires in the full enjoyment of his ample salary, this senior Clerk and his fellows in calamity are cast adrift upon the world, to live or starve, and in the dearth of employment suitable to their habits and education, the unfortunate outcasts are left to perish, perhaps by the hand of famine in the streets, or that of despondency in a garret; or, what is worse than either, consigned to linger out their remaining wretched [333] days under the “cold reluctant charity” of a parish workhouse.{1}
“When the principal of a Public-office has battened for many years on his liberal salary, and the sole duties required of him have been those of occasionally signing a few official papers, why not discontinue his salary on the abolition of the establishment, and partition it out in pensions to those disbanded Clerks by whose indefatigable exertions the business of the public has been satisfactorily conducted? These allowances, however inadequate to the purpose of substantiating all the comforts, might yet realise the necessaries of life, and, at least, would avert the dread of absolute destitution.”
A pause ensued—Dashall continued in silent rumination—a few moments brought our Heroes to the Horse Guards; and as the acquirement “devoutly to be wished” was a general knowledge of metropolitan manners, they proceeded to the observance of Real Life in a Suttling House.
Child's Suttling House at the Horse Guards is the almost exclusive resort of military men, who, availing themselves of the intervals between duty, drop in to enjoy a pipe and pint.
“To fight their battles o'er again,
Thrice to conquer all their foes,
And thrice to slay the slain.”
In the entrance on the left is a small apartment, bearing the dignified inscription, in legible characters on the door, of “The Non-Commissioned Officers' Room.” In front of the bar is a larger space, boxed off, and appropriated to the use of the more humble heroical aspirants, the private men; and passing through the bar, looking into Whitehall, is the Sanctum Sanctorum, for the reception of the more exalted rank, the golden-laced, three-striped, subordinate commandants, Serjeant-Majors and Serjeants, with the colour-clothed regimental appendants of Paymasters and Adjutants' Clerks, et cetera. Into this latter apartment our accomplished friends were ushered with becoming
1 “Swells then thy feeling heart, and streams thine eye
O'er the deserted being, poor and old,
Whom cold reluctant parish-charity
Consigns to mingle with his kindred mold.”
—Charlotte Smith.
[334] respect to their superior appearance, at the moment when a warm debate was carrying on as to the respective merits of the deceased Napoleon and the hero of Waterloo.
The advocate of the former seemed unconnected with the army: the adherent to the latter appeared in the gaudy array of a Colour-Serjeant of the Foot Guards, and was decorated with a Waterloo medal, conspicuously suspended by a blue ribbon to the upper button of his jacket; and of this honourable badge the possessor seemed not less vain than if he had been adorned with the insignia of the most noble order of the Garter.
“I contend, and I defy the universe to prove the contrary,” exclaimed the pertinacious Serjeant in a tone of authoritative assertion, “that the Duke of Wellington is a greater man than ever did, does, or hereafter may exist!”
“By no means,” answered the Civilian. “I admit, so far as a thorough knowledge of military tactics, and a brilliant career of victory constitutes greatness, his grace of Wellington to be a great hero, but certainly not the greatest 'inan that ever did, does, or hereafter may exist!” “Is there a greater man? Did there ever exist a greater?—when and where?” the Serjeant impatiently demanded.
“Buonaparte was a greater,” answered the opposing disputant; “because to military renown unparalleled in the annals of ancient or modern history, he added the most consummate knowledge of government; and although his actions might frequently partake of arbitrary sway, (and who is the human being exempted from human frailty) yet he certainly created and sustained, in her most elevated zenith, the splendour of France, till crushed by the union of nations in arms; and if power is the criterion of greatness, who was, is, or ever can be greater than the man, who, emerging from obscurity, raised himself solely by his mental energies to the highest elevation of human glory; and who, this Island excepted, commanded the destinies of all Europe! The most determined of his enemies will not deny, calmly and duly appreciating his merits, that he possessed unrivalled talent; and this fact the hero, whose cause you so vehemently espouse, would, I have no doubt, be the foremost in acknowledging.”
In deficiency of argument, the Serjeant resorted to invective; the vociferous disputation reached the next [335] room, and was taken up by the rank and file in a manner not less tumultuous; when an honest native of the “Emerald Isle” good-humouredly terminated the war of words, calling for half a quartern of gin, with which to qualify a pint of Whitbread's entire.
“To the immortal memory of St. Patrick, and long life to him!” exclaimed Patrick O'Shaughnessy. “If there did not exist but them two selves, bad luck to the spalpeen who will say that the Duke and my Lord Londondery would not be the greatest men in the universe!”
This sally led to a cessation of hostilities, which might have been followed by a definitive treaty of peace, but the d?mon of discord again made its appearance in the tangible shape of a diminutive personage, who, hitherto silently occupying a snug out-of-the-way corner by the fireplace, had escaped observation.
Dashall and his Cousin emerging from the Sanctum Sanctorum, where their presence seemed to have operated as a check on the freedom of discussion, had just seated themselves in the room allotted to the private soldiers, when, in a broad northern accent, the aforesaid taciturn gentleman, selecting the two strangers, who, of all the company, seemed alone worthy the honour of his notice, thus addressed them:
“I crave your pardon, Sirs—but I guess frae your manner that ye are no unacquainted wi' the movements o' high life—do you ken how lang the King means to prolong his abode amang our neebors owre the water, his hair-brain'd Irish subjects, whase notions o' loyalty hae excited sae mony preposterously antic exhibitions by that volatile race O' people?”
“I am not in possession,” answered Dashall, “of any information on the subject.”
“By the manes of the Priest,” exclaimed Mr. O'Shaughnessy, “but the King (God bless him) has visited the land of green Erin, accompanied by the spirit of harmony, and praties without the sauce of butter-milk be his portion, who does not give them both a hearty welcome!—Arrah, what mane you by a preposterous exhibition? By hecky, the warm hearts of the sons and daughters of St. Patrick have exhibited an unsophisticated feeling of loyalty, very opposite indeed to the chilling indifference, not to say worse of it, of those his subjects at home; and as Sir William, the big Baronet of the City, said in the House [336] that gives laws to the land, Why should not his Majesty be cheered up a little?”
This effusion of loyalty was well received, and Dashall and his Cousin cordially united in the general expression of approbation.
“This is a' vera weel,” said the Northern; “but an overstrained civility wears ay the semblance o' suspicion, and fulsome adulation canna be vera acceptable to the mind o' delicate feeling: for instance, there is my ain country, and a mair ancient or a mair loyal to its legitimate Sovereign there disna exist on the face o' the whole earth; wad the King condescend to honor wi' his presence the palace o' Holyrod House, he wad experience as ardent a manifestation o' fidelity to his person and government in Auld Reekie as that shown him in Dublin, though aiblins no quite sae tumultuous; forbye, it wadna hae been amiss to hae gaen the preference to a nation whare his ancestors held sway during sae mony centuries, and whare, in the castle of Edinburgh, is still preserved the sacred regalia, with which it migh no hae been unapropos to hae graced his royal head and hand amidst the gratifying pageantry o' a Scotch coronation. Sure I am that North Britain has never been honored publicly wi' a royal visit.—Whether ony branch o' the present reigning family hae been there incognita they best ken themselves.”
“You seem to have forgot,” observed Tallyho, “the visit of the Duke of Cumberland to Scotland in the year 1745.”
“Begging your pardon for setting you right in that particular,” answered the cynic, with a most significant expression of countenance, “that, Sir, was not a visit, but a visitation!”
“Appropriate enough,” whispered Dashall to Tallyho.
“Augh, boderation to nice distinctions!” exclaimed O'Shaughnessy; “here, Mister Suttler be after tipping over anoder half quartern of the cratur, wid which to drink success to the royal visitant.”
“And that the company may participate in the gratifying expression of attachment to their Sovereign, Landlord,” said Dashall, “let the glass go round.”
“Testifying our regard for the Sovereign,” resumed the Northern, “it canna be understood that we include a' the underlings o' Government. We ought, as in duty bound, to venerate and obey the maister o' the house; bat it is [337] by no means necessary that we should pay a similar respect to his ox and his ass, his man-servant and his maid-servant. May be, had he been at hame on a late occasion o' melancholy solemnity, blood wadna hae been spilt, and mickle dool and sorrow wad hae been avoided.”
“We perfectly understand your allusion,” said one from the group of Life-guardsmen: “Of us now present there were none implicated in the unfortunate occurrences either of that day or a subsequent one: yet we must not silently hear our comrades traduced—perhaps then it may be as well to drop the subject.”
“I canna think o' relinquishing a topic 0' discourse,” answered the Northern, “replete wi' mickle interest, merely at your suggestion; it may be ye did your duty in obeying the commands, on that lamentable occasion, O' your superior officers, and it is to be hoped that the duty O' the country, towards those with whom originated the mischief, will not be forgotten; there is already on record against the honour 0' your corps a vera serious verdick.”
Here the Life-guardsmen spontaneously started up; but the immediate interposition of Dashall averted me impending storm; while Tallyho, imitating the generosity of his Cousin, ordered the circulation once more of the bottle, to Unanimity betwixt the military and the people. Harmony thus restored, the two friends took their leave, amidst the grateful acknowledgments of the company, O'Shaughnessy swearing on their departure, that doubtless the two strangers were begot in Ireland, although they might have come over to England to be born! While the pertinacious Northern observed, that appearances were aften deceitful, although, to be sure, the twa friends had vera mickle the manners 0' perfectly well-bred gentlemen, and seem'd, forbye, to hae a proper sense o' national honor.
Proceeding into Whitehall, Tallyho much admired the statue-like figures of the mounted sentries in the recesses by the gate of the Horse-guards; the relief had just approached; the precision of retirement of the one party, and advance to its post of the other: the interesting appearance of the appropriately caparisoned and steady demeanour of the horses, and their instinctive knowledge of military duty, excited deservedly prolonged attention,
[338] “One would think,” said Tallyho, “that these noble animals are really actuated by reasoning faculties.”
“Hereafter,” replied Dashall, “you will still more incline to this opinion, when we have an opportunity of being present on a cavalry field-day in Hyde Park, where manoeuvre will appear to have attained its acme of perfection, as much from the wonderful docility of the horse as the discipline of the rider."{l}
“But hold, who have we here?—Our friend Sparkle, gazing about him with an eye of inquisitive incertitude, as if in search of lost property.”
As his two friends approached, he seemed bewildered in the labyrinth of conjecture.—“I have lost my horse!” he exclaimed, in answer to the inquiry of Dashall. “Having occasion to stop half an hour at Drummond's, I gave the animal in charge of an Israelite urchin, and now neither are to be seen.”
Casting a look down the street, they at last discerned the Jew lad, quickly, yet carefully leading the horse along, with two boys mounted on its back. Thoroughly instructed in the maxim—Get money, honestly if you can, but get it by any means! young Moses had made the most of the present opportunity, by letting out the horse, at a penny a ride, from Charing Cross to the Horse Guards; this, by his own confession, was the fifteenth trip! Sparkle, highly exasperated, was about to apply the discipline of the whip to the shoulders of the thrifty speculator, when Tallyho, interceding in his behalf, he was released, with a suitable admonition.
1 Not long since some cavalry horses, deemed “unfit for
further service,” were sold at Tattersal's. Of one of these
a Miller happened to be the purchaser. Subservient now to
the ignoble purposes of burthen, the horse one day was
led, 'with a sack of flour on his back, to the next market-
town; there while the Miller entered a house for a few
moments, and the animal quietly waited at the door, a
squadron of dragoons drew up in an adjacent street, forming
by sound of trumpet; the instant that the Miller's horse
heard the well-known signal, it started off with as much
celerity as its burthen admitted, and, to the great
amusement of the troop, and astonishment of the spectators,
took its station in the ranks, dressing in line, with the
accustomed precision of an experienced veteran in the
service; and it was with considerable difficulty that the
Miller, who had now hastened to the spot, cou............