Julian also gives his experience during his life as a beggar, showing that his life was not so very miserable.

"I married a charming young woman for love; she was the daughter of a neighbouring beggar, who with an improvidence too often seen, spent a very large income, which he procured from his profession, so that he was able to give her no fortune down. However, at his death he left her a very well-accustomed begging hut situated on the side of a steep hill, where travellers could not immediately escape from us; and a garden adjoining, being the twenty-eighth part of an acre well-planted. She made the best of wives, bore me nineteen children, and never failed to get my supper ready against my return home—this being my favourite meal, and at which I, as well as my whole family, greatly enjoyed ourselves."

"No profession," he observes, "requires a deeper insight into human nature than a beggar's. Their knowledge of the passions of men is so extensive, that I have often thought it would be of no little service to a politician to have his education among them. Nay, there is a much greater analogy between these two characters than is imagined: for both concur in their first and grand principle, it being equally their business to delude and impose on mankind. It must be admitted that they differ widely in the degree of advantage, which they make of their deceit; for whereas the beggar is contented with a little, the politician leaves but a little behind."

There is a considerable amount of indelicacy in the episodes in "Tom Jones," and also of hostility, which is exhibited in the rough form of pugilistic encounters, so as almost to remind us of the old comic stage. He seems especially fond of settling quarrels in this way, and wishes that no other was ever used, and that "iron should dig no bowels but those of the earth." The character of Deborah Wilkins, the old maid who is shocked at the frivolity of Jenny Jones; of Thwackum, the schoolmaster, whose "meditations were full of birch;" and of the barber, whose jests, although they brought him so many slaps and kicks "would come," are excellent. There is a vast fertility of humour in his pages, which depending upon the general circumstances and peculiar characters of the persons introduced, cannot be easily appreciated in extracts. The following, however, can be understood easily:—

"'I thought there must be a devil,' the sergeant says to the innkeeper, 'notwithstanding what the officers said, though one of them was a captain, for methought, thinks I to myself, if there be no devil how can wicked people be sent to him? and I have read all that upon a book.' 'Some of your officers,' quoth the landlord, 'will find there is a devil to their shame, I believe. I don't question but he'll pay off some old scores upon my account. Here was one quartered upon me half-a-year, who had the conscience to take up one of my best beds, though he hardly spent a shilling a day in the house, and his man went to roast cabbages at the kitchen fire, because I would not give them a dinner on Sunday. Every good Christian must desire that there should be a devil for the punishment of such wretches....'"

The Man of the Hill gives his travelling experiences:—

"'In Italy the landlords are very silent. In France they are more talkative, but yet civil. In Germany and Holland they are generally very impertinent. And as for their honesty I believe it is pretty equal in all those countries.... As for my own part, I past through all these nations, as you perhaps may have through a crowd at a show, jostling to get by them, holding my nose with one hand, and defending my pockets with the other, without speaking a word to any of them while I was pressing on to see what I wanted to see.'

"'Did you not find some of the nations less troublesome to you than the others?' said Jones.

"'Oh, yes,' replied the old man, 'the Turks were much more tolerable to me than the Christians, for they are men of profound taciturnity, and never disturb a stranger with questions. Now and then, indeed, they bestow a short curse upon him, or spit in his face as he walks in the streets, but then they have done with him.'"

From another passage, we find that ladies are armed with very deadly weapons. He had said that Love was no more capable of allaying hunger than a rose is capable of delighting the ear, or a violin of gratifying the smell, and he gives an instance:—

"Say then, ye graces, you that inhabit the heavenly mansions of Seraphina's countenance, what were the weapons used to captivate the heart of Mr. Jones. First, from two lovely blue eyes, whose bright orbs flashed lightning at their discharge, flew off two pointed ogles; but, happily for our hero, hit only a vast piece of beef, which he was then conveying into his plate. The fair warrior perceived their miscarriage, and immediately from her fair bosom drew forth a deadly sigh; a sigh, which none could have heard unmoved, and which was sufficient at once to have swept off a dozen beaux—so soft, so sweet, so tender, that the insinuating air must have found its subtle way to the heart of our hero, had it not luckily been driven from his ears by the coarse bubbling of some bottled ale which at that time he was pouring forth. Many other weapons did she essay; but the god of eating (if there be any such deity) preserved his votary; or, perhaps, the security of Jones may be accounted for by natural means, for, as love frequently preserves from the attacks of hunger, so may hunger possibly, in some cases, defend us against love. No sooner was the cloth removed, than she again began her operations. First, having planted her right eye sideways against Mr. Jones, she shot from its corner a most penetrating glance, which, though great part of its force was spent before it reached our hero, did not vent itself without effect. This, the fair one perceiving, hastily withdrew her eyes, and levelled them downwards as if she was concerned only for what she had done, though by this means she designed only to draw him from his guard, and indeed to open his eyes, through which she intended to surprise his heart. And now gently lifting those two bright orbs, which had already begun to make an impression on poor Jones, she discharged a volley of small charms from her whole countenance in a smile. Not a smile of mirth or of joy, but a smile of affection, which most ladies have always ready at their command, and which serves them to show at once their good-humour, their pretty dimples, and their white teeth.

"This smile our hero received full in his eyes, and was immediately staggered with its force. He then began to see the designs of the enemy, and indeed to feel their success. A parley now was set on foot between the parties, during which the artful fair so slily and imperceptibly carried on her attack, that she had almost subdued the heart of our hero before she again repaired to acts of hostility. To confess the truth, I am afraid Mr. Jones maintained a kind of Dutch defence, and treacherously delivered up the garrison without duly weighing his allegiance to the fair Sophia."

It has generally been the custom to couple the name of Smollett with that of Fielding, but the former has scarcely any claim to be regarded as a humorist, except such as is largely due to the use of gross indelicacy and coarse caricature. He first attempted poetry, and wrote two dull satires "Advice" and "Reproof." His "Ode to Mirth," is somewhat sprightly, but of his songs the following is a favourable specimen:—

"From the man whom I love, though my heart I disguise, I will freely describe the wretch I despise, And if he has sense but to balance a straw He will sure take the hint from the picture I draw.

"A wit without sense, without fancy, a beau, Like a parrot he chatters, and struts like a crow; A peacock in pride, in grimace a baboon, In courage a hind, in conceit a gascon.

"As a vulture rapacious, in falsehood a fox, Inconstant as waves, and unfeeling as rocks, As a tiger ferocious, perverse as a hog, In mischief an ape, and in fawning a dog.

"In a word, to sum up all his talents together, His heart is of lead, and his brain is of feather, Yet if he has sense to balance a straw He will sure take the hint from the picture I draw."

Although Smollett indulged in great coarseness, I doubt whether he has anything more humorous in his writings than the above lines. Sir Walter Scott formed a more just opinion of him than some later critics. He says:—

"Smollett's humour arises from the situation of the persons, or the peculiarity of their external appearance, as Roderick Random's carroty locks, which hung down over his shoulders like a pound of candles; or Strap's ignorance of London, and the blunders that follow it. There is a tone of vulgarity about all his productions."

Smollett was born in Dumbartonshire in 1721. He became a surgeon, and for six or seven years was employed in the Navy in that capacity. This may account for the strong flavour of brine and tar in the best of his works—his sea sketches have a considerable amount of character in them—sometimes rather too much. His liberal use of nautical language is exhibited when Lieutenant Hatchway is going away,

"Trunnion, not a little affected, turned his eye ruefully upon the lieutenant saying in piteous tone, 'What! leave me at last, Jack, after we have weathered so many hard gales together? Damn my limbs! I thought you had been more of an honest heart: I looked upon you as my foremast and Tom Pipes as my mizen; now he is carried away; if so be as you go too, my standing rigging being decayed d'ye see, the first squall will bring me by the board. Damn ye, if in case I have given offence, can't you speak above board, and I shall make you amends."

Some idea of his best comic scenes, which have a certain kind of humorous merit, may be obtained from the following description of the progress of Commodore Trunnion and his party to the Wedding. Wishing to go in state, they advance on horseback, and are seen crossing the road obliquely so as to avoid the eye of the wind. The cries of a pack of hounds unfortunately reach the horses' ears, who being hunters, immediately start off after them in full gallop.

"The Lieutenant, whose steed had got the heels of the others, finding it would be great folly and presumption in him to pretend to keep the saddle with his wooden leg, very wisely took the opportunity of throwing himself off in his passage through a field of rich clover, among which he lay at his ease; and seeing his captain advancing at full gallop, hailed him with the salutation of 'What cheer? ho!' The Commodore, who was in infinite distress, eyeing him askance, as he passed replied with a faltering voice, 'O damn ye! you are safe at an anchor, I wish to God I were as fast moored.' Nevertheless, conscious of his disabled heel, he would not venture to try the experiment that had succeeded so well with Hatchway, but resolved to stick as close as possible to his horse's back, until Providence should interpose in his behalf. With this view he dropped his whip, and with his right hand laid fast hold of the pommel, contracting every muscle of his body to secure himself in the seat, and grinning most formidably in consequence of this exertion. In this attitude he was hurried on a considerable way, when all of a sudden his view was comforted by a five-bar gate that appeared before him, as he never doubted that there the career of his hunter must necessarily end. But alas! he reckoned without his host. Far from halting at this obstruction, the horse sprang over with amazing agility, to the utter confusion and disorder of his owner, who lost his hat and periwig in the leap, and now began to think in good earnest that he was actually mounted on the back of the devil. He recommended himself to God, his reflection forsook him, his eyesight and all his other senses failed, he quitted the reins, and fastening by instinct on the main, was in this condition conveyed into the midst of the sportsmen, who were astonished at the sight of such an apparition. Neither was their surprise to be wondered at, if we reflect on the figure that presented itself to their view."

Smollett delights in practical jokes, fighting, and violent language. Sometimes we are almost in danger of the dagger. He rejoices in fun, in such scenes as that of Random fighting Captain Weasel with the roasting-spit, and what he says in "Humphrey Clinker" of the ladies, at a party in Bath, might better apply to his own dialogues. "Some cried, some swore, and the tropes and figures of Billingsgate were used without reserve in all their native rest and flavour."



CHAPTER VIII.

Cowper—Lady Austen's Influence—"John Gilpin"—"The Task"—Goldsmith—"The Citizen of the World"—Humorous Poems—Quacks—Baron Muenchausen.

Humour seems to have an especial claim upon us in connection with the name of Cowper, inasmuch as but for it we should never have become acquainted with his writings. Many as are the charms of his works, they would never have become popularly known without this addition. In 1782 he published his collection of poems, but it only had an indifferent sale. Although friends spoke well of them, reviews gave forth various and uncertain opinions, and there was no sufficient inducement to lead the public to buy or read. Cowper was upon the verge of sinking into the abyss of unsuccessful authors, when a bright vision crossed his path. Lady Austen paid a visit to Olney. She had lived much in France, and was overflowing with good humour and vivacity. She came to reside at the Vicarage at the back of his house, and they became so intimate that they passed the days alternately with each other. "Lady Austen's conversation had," writes Southey, "as happy an effect on the melancholy spirit of Cowper, as the harp of David had upon Saul."

It is refreshing to turn from cynicism and prurience, to gentle and more harmless pleasantry. Cowper was very sympathetic, and easily took the impression of those with whom he consorted. Most of his pieces were written at the suggestion of others. Mrs. Unwin was of a melancholy and serious turn of mind, and tended to repress his lighter fancies, but his letters show that playfulness was natural to him; and in his first volume of poems we find two pieces of a decidedly humorous cast. We have "The Report of an Adjudged Case not to be found in any of the books."

"Between nose and eyes a strange contest arose, The spectacles set them unhappily wrong, The point in dispute was, as all the world knows, To which the said spectacles ought to belong."

We know the Chief Baron Ear, finally gave his decision—

"That whenever the nose put his spectacles on By daylight or candlelight, eyes should be shut."

The other piece is called "Hypocristy Detected."

"Thus says the prophet of the Turk, Good Mussulman, abstain from pork, There is a part in every swine No friend or follower of mine May taste, whate'er his inclination On pain of excommunication. Such Mahomet's mysterious charge, And thus he left the point at large. Had he the sinful part expressed They might with safety eat the rest; But for one piece they thought it hard From the whole hog to be debarred, And set their wit at work to find What joint the prophet had in mind. Much controversy straight arose These choose the back, the belly those; By some 'tis confidently said He meant not to forbid the head; While others at that doctrine rail, And piously prefer the tail. Thus conscience freed from every clog, Mahometans eat up the hog."

The moral follows, pointing out that each one makes an exception in favour of his own besetting sin.

These touches of humour which had hitherto appeared timidly in his writings were encouraged by Lady Austen. "A new scene is opening," he writes, "which will add fresh plumes to the wings of time." She was his bright and better genius. Trying in every way to cheer his spirits, she told him one day an old nursery story she had heard in her childhood—the "History of John Gilpin." Cowper was much taken with it, and next morning he came down to breakfast with a ballad composed upon it, which made them laugh till they cried. He sent it to Mr. Unwin, who had it inserted in a newspaper. But little was thought of it, until Henderson, a well-known actor introduced it into his readings.[13] From that moment Cowper's fame was secured, and his next work "The Task," also suggested by Lady Austen, had a wide circulation.

After this success, Lady Austen set Cowper a "Task," which he performed excellently and secured his fame. He was at first at a loss how to begin it—"Write on anything," she said, "on this sofa." He took her at her word, and proceeded—

"The nurse sleeps sweetly, hired to watch the sick, Whom snoring she disturbs. As sweetly he Who quits the coachbox at the midnight hour To sleep within the carriage more secure, His legs depending at the open door. Sweet sleep enjoys the curate in his desk, The tedious rector drawling o'er his head, And sweet the clerk below: but neither sleep Of lazy nurse, who snores the sick man dead, Nor his, who quits the box at midnight hour To slumber in the carriage more secure, Nor sleep enjoyed by curate in his desk, Nor yet the dozings of the clerk are sweet Compared with the repose the sofa yields."

Cowper lived in the country, and wrote many poems on birds and flowers. In his first volume there are "The Doves," "The Raven's Nest," "The Lily and the Rose," "The Nightingale and the Glowworm," "The Pine-Apple and the Bee," "The Goldfinch starved to death in a Cage," and some others. They are pretty conceits, but at the present day remind us a little of the nursery.

Goldsmith's humour deserves equal praise for affording amusement without animosity or indelicacy. With regard to the former, his satire is so general that it cannot inflict any wound; and although he may have slightly erred in one or two passages on the latter score, he condemns all such seasoning of humour, which is used, as he says, to compensate for want of invention. In his plays, there is much good broad-humoured fun without anything offensive. Simple devices such as Tony Lumpkin's causing a manor-house to be mistaken for an inn, produces much harmless amusement. It is noteworthy that the first successful work of Goldsmith was his "Citizen of the World." Here the correspondence of a Chinaman in England with one of his friends in his own country, affords great scope for humour, the manners and customs of each nation being regarded according to the views of the other. The intention is to show absurdities on the same plan which led afterwards to the popularity of "Hadji Baba in England." Sometimes the faults pointed out seem real, sometimes the criticism is meant to be oriental and ridiculous. Thus going to an English theatre he observes—

"The richest, in general, were placed in the lowest seats, and the poor rose above them in degrees proportionate to their poverty. The order of precedence seemed here inverted; those who were undermost all the day, enjoyed a temporary eminence and became masters of the ceremonies. It was they who called for the music, indulging every noisy freedom, and testifying all the insolence of beggary in exaltation."

Real censure is intended in the following, which shows the change in ladies dress within the last few years—

"What chiefly distinguishes the sex at present is the train. As a lady's quality or fashion was once determined here by the circumference of her hoop, both are now measured by the length of her tail. Women of moderate fortunes are contented with tails moderately long, but ladies of tone, taste, and distinction set no bounds to their ambition in this particular. I am told the Lady Mayoress on days of ceremony carries one longer than a bell-wether of Bantam, whose tail, you know, is trundled along in a wheelbarrow."

A "little beau" discoursing with the Chinaman, observes—

"I am told your Asiatic beauties are the most convenient women alive, for they have no souls; positively there is nothing in nature I should like so much as women without souls; soul here is the utter ruin of half the sex. A girl of eighteen shall have soul enough to spend a hundred pounds in the turning of a tramp. Her mother shall have soul enough to ride a sweepstake snatch at a horse-race; her maiden aunt shall have soul enough to purchase the furniture of a whole toy-shop, and others shall have soul enough to behave as if they had no souls at all."

The "Citizen of the World" cannot understand why there are so many old maids and bachelors in England. He regards the latter as most contemptible, and says the mob should be permitted to halloo after them; boys might play tricks on them with impunity; every well-bred company should laugh at them, and if one of them, when turned sixty, offered to make love, his mistress might spit in his face, or what would be a greater punishment should fairly accept him. Old maids he would not treat with such severity, because he supposes they are not so by their own fault; but he hears that many have received offers, and refused them. Miss Squeeze, the pawnbroker's daughter, had heard so much about money, that she resolved never to marry a man whose fortune was not equal to her own, without ever considering that some abatement should be made as her face was pale and marked with the small-pox. Sophronia loved Greek, and hated men. She rejected fine gentlemen because they were not pedants, and pedants because they were not fine gentlemen. She found a fault in every lover, until the wrinkles of old age overtook her, and now she talks incessantly of the beauties of the mind.

The character of the information contained in the daily newspapers is thus described—

"The universal passion for politics is gratified with daily papers, as with us in China. But, as in ours, the Emperor endeavours to instruct his people; in theirs the people endeavour to instruct the Administration. You must not, however, imagine that they who compile these papers have any actual knowledge of politics or the government of a state; they only collect their materials from the oracle of some coffee-house, which oracle has himself gathered them the night before from a beau at a gaming-table, who has pillaged his knowledge from the great man's porter, who has had his information from the great man's gentleman, who has invented the whole story for his own amusement the night preceding."

He gives the following specimens of contradictory newspaper intelligence from abroad.

"Vienna.—We have received certain advices that a party of twenty-thousand Austrians, having attacked a much superior body of Prussians, put them all to flight, and took the rest prisoners of war.

"Berlin.—We have received certain advices that a party of twenty-thousand Prussians, having attacked a much superior body of Austrians, put them to flight, and took a great number of prisoners with their military chest, cannon, and baggage."

The Chinaman observing the laudatory character of epitaphs, suggests a plan by which flattery might be indulged, without sacrificing truth. The device is that anciently called "contrary to expectation," but apparently borrowed by Goldsmith from some French poem. Here is a specimen.

"Ye Muses, pour the pitying tear, For Pollio snatched away; O, had he lived another year He had not died to-day."...

He gives another on Madam Blaize—

"Good people all with one accord Lament for Madam Blaize, Who never wanted a good word From those who spoke her praise."

The Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog terminates in a stroke taken from the old epigram of Demodocus—

"Good people all, of everysort, Give ear unto my song, And if you find it wondrous short, It cannot hold you long.

"In Islington there was a man, Of whom the world might say, That still a godly race he ran, Whene'er he went to pray.

"A kind and gentle heart he had, To comfort friends and foes, The naked every day he clad, When he put on his clothes.

"And in this town a dog was found, As many dogs there be, Both mongrel, puppy, whelps, and hound, And curs of low degree.

"This dog and man at first were friends, But when a pique began, The dog to gain some private ends, Went mad, and bit the man.

"Around from all the neighbouring streets The wondering neighbours ran, And swore the dog had lost his wits, To bite so good a man.

"The wound, it seemed both sore and sad To every Christian eye; And, while they swore the dog was mad, They swore the man would die.

"But soon a wonder came to light That showed the rogues they lied, The man recovered of the bite, The dog it was that died."

The fine and elegant humour in "The Vicar of Wakefield" and "The Deserted Village," has greatly contributed to give those works a lasting place in the literature of this country. Goldsmith attacked, among other imposters, the quacks of his day, who promised to cure every disease. Reading their advertisements, he is astonished that the English patient should be so obstinate as to refuse health on such easy terms. We find from Swift that astrologers and fortune-tellers were very plentiful in these times. The following lament was written towards the end of the last century upon the death of one of them—Dr. Safford, a quack and fortune-teller.

"Lament, ye damsels of our London City, Poor unprovided girls, though fair and witty, Who masked would to his house in couples come, To understand your matrimonial doom; To know what kind of man you were to marry, And how long time, poor things, you were to tarry; Your oracle is silent; none can tell On whom his astrologic mantle fell; For he, when sick, refused the doctor's aid, And only to his pills devotion paid, Yet it was surely a most sad disaster, The saucy pills at last should kill their master."

The travels of Baron Muenchausen were first published in 1786, and the esteem in which they were held, and we may conclude their merit, was shown by the numbers of editions rapidly succeeding each other, and by the translations which were made into foreign languages. It is somewhat strange that there should be a doubt with regard to the authorship of so popular a work, but it is generally attributed to one Raspi, a German who fled from the officers of justice to England. As, however, there is little originality in the stories, we feel the less concerned at being unable satisfactorily to trace their authorship—they were probably a collection of the tales with which some old German baron was wont to amuse his guests. A satire was evidently intended upon the marvellous tales in which travellers and sportsmen indulged, and the first edition is humbly dedicated to Mr. Bruce, whose accounts of Abyssinia were then generally discredited. With the exception of this attack upon travellers' tales there is nothing severe in the work—there is no indelicacy or profanity—considerable falsity was, of course, necessary, otherwise the accounts would have been merely fanciful. We have nothing here to mar our amusement, except infinite extravagance. The author does not claim much originality, and he admits an imitation of Gulliver's Travels. But, no doubt, something is due to his insight in selection, and to his ingenuity in telling the stories well and circumstantially; otherwise this book would never have become historical, when so many similar productions have perished. The stories in the first six chapters, which formed the original book, are superior to those in the continuation; there is always something specious, some ground work for the gross improbabilities, which gives force to them. Thus, for instance, travelling in Poland over the deep snow he fastens his horse to something he takes to be a post, and which turns out to be the top of a steeple. By the morning the snow has disappeared—he sees his mistake, and his horse is hanging on the top of the church by its bridle. When on his road to St. Petersburgh, a wolf made after him and overtook him. Escape was impossible.

"I laid myself down flat in the sledge, and let my horse run for safety. The wolf did not mind me, but took a leap over me, and falling on the horse began to tear and devour the hinder part of the poor animal, which ran all the faster for its pain and terror. I lifted up my head slily, and beheld with horror that the wolf had ate his way into the horse's body. It was not long before he had fairly forced himself into it, when I took my advantage and fell upon him with the end of my whip. This unexpected attack frightened him so much that he leaped forward, the horse's carcase dropped to the ground, but in his place the wolf was in harness, and I on my part whipping him continually, arrived in full career at St. Petersburgh much to the astonishment of the spectators."

Speaking of stags, he mentions St. Hubert's stag, which appeared with a cross between its horns. "They always have been," he observes, "and still are famous for plantations and antlers." This furnishes him with the ground-work of his story.

"Having one day spent all my shot, I found myself unexpectedly in presence of a stately stag looking at me as unconcernedly as if it had really known of my empty pouches. I charged immediately with powder and upon it a good handful of cherry stones. Thus I let fly and hit him just in the middle of the forehead between the antlers; he staggered, but made off. A year or two afterwards, being with a party in the same forest, I beheld a noble stag with a fine full-grown cherry tree above ten feet high between its antlers. I brought him down at one shot, and he gave me haunch and cherry sauce, for the tree was covered with fruit."

In his ride across to Holland from Harwich under the sea, he finds great mountains "and upon their sides a variety of tall noble trees loaded with marine fruit, such as lobsters, crabs, oysters, scollops, mussels, cockles, &c.," the periwinkle, he observes, is a kind of shrub, it grows at the foot of the oyster tree, and twines round it as the ivy does round the oak.

In the following, we have a manifest imitation of Lucian—Having passed down Mount Etna through the earth, and come out at the other side, he finds himself in the Southern Seas, and soon comes to land. They sail up a river flowing with rich milk, and find that they are in an island consisting of one large cheese—

"We discovered this by one of the company fainting away as soon as he landed; this man always had an aversion to cheese—when he recovered he desired the cheese to be taken from under his feet. Upon examination we found him to be perfectly right—the whole island was nothing but a cheese of immense magnitude. Here were plenty of vines with bunches of grapes, which yielded nothing but milk."

In all these cases he has contrived where there was an opening to introduce some probable details. But as he proceeds further in his work, his talent becoming duller—his extravagancies are worse sustained and scarcely ever original. Sometimes he writes mere mawkish nonsense, and at others he simply copies Lucian, as in the case of his making a voyage to the moon, and then sailing into a sea-monster's stomach.



CHAPTER IX.

The Anti-Jacobin—Its Objects and Violence—"The Friends of Freedom"—Imitation of Latin Lyrics—The "Knife Grinder"—The "Progress of Man."

The "Anti-Jacobin" was commenced in 1797, with a view of counteracting the baneful influences of those revolutionary principles which were already rampant in France. The periodical, supported by the combined talent of such men as Gifford, Ellis, Hookham Frere, Jenkinson (Lord Liverpool), Lord Clare, Dr. Whitaker, and Lord Mornington, would no doubt have had a long and successful career, had not politics led it into a vituperative channel, through which it came to an untimely end in eight months. The following address to Jacobinism will give some idea of its spirit:—

"Daughter of Hell, insatiate power, Destroyer of the human race, Whose iron scourge and maddening hour Exalt the bad, the good debase: Thy mystic force, despotic sway, Courage and innocence dismay, And patriot monarchs vainly groan With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone."

There were pictorial illustrations consisting of political caricatures of a very gross character, representing men grotesquely deformed, and sometimes intermixed with monsters, demons, frogs, toads, and other animals.

One part of the paper was headed "Lies," and another was devoted to correcting less culpable mis-statements. Some prose satirical pieces were introduced, such as "Fox's Birthday," in which a mock description of a grand dinner is given, at which all the company had their pockets picked. After the delivery of revolutionary orations, and some attempts at singing "Paddy Whack," and "All the books of Moses," the festival terminates in a disgusting scene of uproar. Several similar reports are given of "The Meeting of the Friends of Freedom," upon which occasions absurd speeches are made, such as that by Mr. Macfurgus, who declaims in the following grandiloquent style:—

"Before the Temple of Freedom can be erected the surface must be smoothed and levelled, it must be cleared by repeated revolutionary explosions, from all the lumber and rubbish with which aristocracy and fanaticism will endeavour to encumber it, and to impede the progress of the holy work. The completion of the edifice will indeed be the more tardy, but it will not be the less durable for having been longer delayed. Cemented with the blood of tyrants and the tears of the aristocracy, it will rise a monument for the astonishment and veneration of future ages. The remotest posterity with our children yet unborn, and the most distant portions of the globe will crowd round its gates, and demand admission into its sanctuary. 'The Tree of Liberty' will be planted in the midst, and its branches will extend to the ends of the earth, while the friends of freedom meet and fraternize and amalgamate under its consolatory shade. There our infants shall be taught to lisp in tender accents the revolutionary hymn, there with wreaths of myrtle, and oak, and poplar, and vine, and olive and cypress, and ivy, with violets and roses and daffodils and dandelions in our hands, we will swear respect to childhood and manhood, and old age, and virginity, and womanhood, and widowhood; but above all to the Supreme Being. There we will decree and sanction the immortality of the soul, there pillars and obelisks, and arches, and pyramids will awaken the love of glory and of our country. There painters and statuaries with their chisels and colours, and engravers with their engraving tools will perpetuate the interesting features of our revolutionary heroes."

The next extract is called "The Army of England," written by the ci-devant Bishop of Autun, and represents a French invasion as imminent:—

"Good republicans all The Directory's call Invites you to visit John Bull; Oppressed by the rod Of a king and a God The cup of his misery's full;

"Old Johnny shall see What makes a man free, Not parchments, or statutes, or paper; And stripped of his riches, Great charter and breeches, Shall cut a free citizen's caper.

"Then away, let us over To Deal or to Dover, We laugh at his talking so big; He's pampered with feeding, And wants a sound bleeding, Par Dieu! he shall bleed like a pig.

"John tied to a stake A grand baiting will make When worried by mastiffs of France, What republican fun To see his blood run As at Lyons, La Vendee and Nantes.

"With grape-shot discharges, And plugs in his barges, With national razors good store, We'll pepper and shave him And in the Thames lave him— How sweetly he'll bellow and roar!

"What the villain likes worse We'll vomit his purse And make it the guineas disgorge, For your Raphaels and Rubens We would not give twopence; Stick, stick to the pictures of George."

The following is on "The New Coalition" between Fox and Horne Tooke.

Fox. When erst I coalesced with North And brought my Indian bantling forth In place—I smiled at faction's storm, Nor dreamt of radical reform.

Tooke. While yet no patriot project pushing Content I thumped old Brentford's cushion, I passed my life so free and gaily, Not dreaming of that d—d Old Bailey.

Fox. Well, now my favourite preacher's Nickle, He keeps for Pitt a rod in pickle; His gestures fright the astonished gazers, His sarcasms cut like Packwood's razors.

Tooke. Thelwall's my name for state alarm; I love the rebels of Chalk Farm; Rogues that no statutes can subdue, Who'd bring the French, and head them too.

Fox. A whisper in your ear John Horne, For one great end we both were born, Alike we roar, and rant and bellow— Give us your hand my honest fellow.

Tooke. Charles, for a shuffler long I've known thee, But come—for once I'll not disown thee, And since with patriot zeal thou burnest, With thee I'll live—or hang in earnest.

But the most celebrated of these poems is "The Friend of Humanity, and The Knife-Grinder"—

Friend of Humanity. Needy knife-grinder! whither are you going? Rough is the road, your wheel is out of order, Bleak blows the blast; your hat has got a hole in't, So have your breeches! Weary knife-grinder! little think the proud ones, Who in their coaches roll along the turnpike-road, What hard work 'tis crying all day, "knives and Scissors to grind, O!" Tell me, knife-grinder, how you came to grind knives? Did some rich man tyranically use you? Was it the squire? or parson of the parish? Or the attorney? Was it the squire for killing of his game? or Covetous parson for his tithes distraining? Or roguish lawyer, made you lose your little All in a lawsuit? (Have you not read the "Rights of Man" by Tom Paine?) Drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids, Ready to fall as soon as you have told your Pitiful story. Knife-grinder. Story! God bless you! I have none to tell, Sir; Only last night a-drinking at the 'Chequers,' This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were Torn in a scuffle. Constables came up for to take me into Custody; they took me before the justice, Justice Oldmixon put me in the parish- Stocks for a vagrant. I should be glad to drink your honour's health in A pot of beer, if you will give me sixpence, But for my part I never love to meddle With politics, Sir. Friend of Humanity. I give thee sixpence! I will see thee d——d first! Wretch! whom no sense of wrong can rouse to vengeance! Sordid! unfeeling! reprobate! degraded! Spiritless outcast!

(Kicks the knife-grinder, overturns his wheel, and exit in a transport of Republican enthusiasm and universal philanthropy.)

This poem, written as a parody of "The Widow" of Southey, is said to have annihilated English Sapphics. Various attempts were formerly made to adapt classic metres to English; not only Gabriel Harvey but Sir Philip Sydney tried to bring in hexameters. Beattie says the attempt was ridiculous, but since Longfellow's "Evangeline" we look upon them with more favour, though they are not popular. Dr. Watts wrote a Sapphic ode on the "Last Judgment," which notwithstanding the solemnity of the subject, almost provokes a smile.

Frere was a man of great taste and humour. He wrote many amusing poems. Among his contributions, jointly with Canning and Ellis, to the "Anti-Jacobin," is the "Loves of the Triangles," and the scheme of a play called the "Double Arrangement," a satire upon the immorality of the German plays then in vogue. Here a gentleman living with his wife and another lady, Matilda, and getting tired of the latter, releases her early lover, Rogero, who is imprisoned in an abbey. This unfortunate man, who has been eleven years a captive on account of his attachment to Matilda, is found in a living sepulchre. The scene shows a subterranean vault in the Abbey of Quedlinburgh, with coffins, scutcheons, death's heads and cross-bones; while toads and other loathsome reptiles are seen traversing the obscurer parts of the stage. Rogero appears in chains, in a suit of rusty armour, with his beard grown, and a cap of grotesque form upon his head. He sings the following plaintive ditty:—

"Whene'er with haggard eyes I view This dungeon that I'm rotting in, I think of those companions true Who studied with me at the U- -niversity of Gottingen, -niversity of Gottingen.

(Weeps and pulls out a blue kerchief with which he wipes his eyes; gazing tenderly at it he proceeds:)

"Sweet kerchief, checked with heavenly blue, Which once my love sat knotting in! Alas! Matilda then was true! At least, I thought so at the U- -niversity of Gottingen, -niversity of Gottingen. (Clanks his chains.)

"Barbs! barbs! alas! how swift you flew, Her neat post waggon trotting in, Ye bore Matilda from my view; Forlorn I languished in the U- -niversity of Gottingen, -niversity of Gottingen.

"This faded form! this pallid hue! This blood my veins is clotting in, My years are many—they were few, When first I entered at the U- -niversity of Gottingen, -niversity of Gottingen.

"There first for thee my passion grew, Sweet! sweet Matilda Pottingen! Thou wast the daughter of my tu- -tor, law professor at the U- -niversity of Gottingen, -niversity of Gottingen.

"Sun, moon, and thou, vain world, adieu, That kings and priests are plotting in; Here doomed to starve on water gru- -el, never shall I see the U- -niversity of Gottingen, -niversity of Gottingen."

The idea of making humour by the division of words may have been original in this case, but it was conceived and adopted by Lucilius, the first Roman satirist.

The "Progress of Man," by Canning and Hammond, is an ironical poem, deducing our origin and development according to the natural, and in opposition to the religious system. The argument proceeds in the following vein:—

"Let us a plainer, steadier theme pursue, Mark the grim savage scoop his light canoe, Mark the fell leopard through the forest prowl, Fish prey on fish, and fowl regale on fowl; How Lybian tigers' chawdrons love assails, And warms, midst seas of ice, the melting whales; Cools the crimpt cod, fierce pangs to perch imparts, Shrinks shrivelled shrimps, but opens oysters' hearts; Then say, how all these things together tend To one great truth, prime object, and good end?

"First—to each living thing, whate'er its kind, Some lot, some part, some station is assigned The feathered race with pinions skim the air; Not so the mackerel, and still less the bear.... Ah! who has seen the mailed lobster rise, Clap her broad wings, and soaring claim the skies? When did the owl, descending from her bower, Crop, midst the fleecy flocks the tender flower; Or the young heifer plunge, with pliant limb, In the salt wave, and fish-like strive to swim? The same with plants—potatoes 'tatoes breed— Uncostly cabbage springs from cabbage seed, Lettuce from lettuce, leeks to leeks succeed, Nor e'er did cooling cucumbers presume To flower like myrtle, or like violets bloom; Man, only—rash, refined, presumptuous man, Starts from his rank, and mars Creation's plan; Born the free heir of Nature's wide domain, To art's strict limits bounds his narrowed reign, Resigns his native rights for meaner things, For faith and fetters, laws, and priests, and kings."

The "Anti-Jacobin" was continued under the name of the "Anti-Jacobin Review," and in this modified form lasted for upwards of twenty years. It was mostly a journal of passing events, but there were a few attempts at humour in its pages.



CHAPTER X.

Wolcott—Writes against the Academicians—Tales of a Hoy—"New Old Ballads"—"The Sorrows of Sunday"—Ode to a Pretty Barmaid—Sheridan—Comic Situations—"The Duenna"—Wits.

Wolcott, a native of Devonshire, was educated at Kingsbridge, and apprenticed to an apothecary. He soon discovered a genius for painting and poetry, and commenced to write about the middle of the last century as Peter Pindar. He composed many odes on a variety of humorous subjects, such as "The Lousiad," "Ode to Ugliness," "The Young Fly and the Old Spider," "Ode to a Handsome Widow," whom he apostrophises as "Daughter of Grief," "Solomon and the Mouse-trap," "Sir Joseph Banks and the Boiled Fleas," "Ode to my Ass," "To my Candle," "An Ode to Eight Cats kept by a Jew," whom he styles, "Singers of Israel." Lord Nelson's night-cap took fire as the poet was wearing it reading in bed, and he returned it to him with the words,

"Take your night-cap again, my good lord, I desire, For I wish not to keep it a minute, What belongs to a Nelson, where'er there's a fire, Is sure to be instantly in it."

In "Bozzi and Piozzi" the former says:—

"Did any one, that he was happy cry, Johnson would tell him plumply 'twas a lie; A lady told him she was really so, On which he sternly answered, 'Madam, no! Sickly you are, and ugly, foolish, poor, And therefore can't be happy, I am sure.'"

UPON POPE.

"'Grant me an honest fame, or grant me none,' Says Pope, (I don't know where,) a little liar, Who, if he praised a man, 'twas in a tone That made his praise like bunches of sweet-briar, Which, while a pleasing fragrance it bestows, Pops out a pretty prickle on your nose."

He seems to have gained little by his early poems, many of which were directed against the Royal Academicians. One commences:—

"Sons of the brush, I'm here again! At times a Pindar and Fontaine, Casting poetic pearl (I fear) to swine! For, hang me, if my last years odes Paid rent for lodgings near the gods, Or put one sprat into this mouth divine."

Sometimes he calls the Academicians, "Sons of Canvas;" sometimes "Tagrags and bobtails of the sacred brush." He afterwards wrote a doleful elergy, "The Sorrows of Peter," and seems not to have thought himself sufficiently patronized, alluding to which he says—

"Much did King Charles our Butler's works admire, Read them and quoted them from morn to night, Yet saw the bard in penury expire, Whose wit had yielded him so much delight."

Wolcott was a little restricted by a due regard for religion or social decorum. He reminds us of Sterne, often atoning for a transgression by a tender and elevated sentiment. The following from the "Tales of a Hoy," supposed to be told on a voyage from Margate gives a good specimen of his style—

Captain Noah. Oh, I recollect her. Poor Corinna![14] I could cry for her, Mistress Bliss—a sweet creature! So kind! so lovely! and so good-natured! She would not hurt a fly! Lord! Lord! tried to make every body happy. Gone! Ha! Mistress Bliss, gone! poor soul. Oh! she is in Heaven, depend on it—nothing can hinder it. Oh, Lord, no, nothing—an angel!—an angel by this time—for it must give God very little trouble to make her an angel—she was so charming! Such terrible figures as my Lord C. and my Lady Mary, to be sure, it would take at least a month to make such ones anything like angels—but poor Corinna wanted very few repairs. Perhaps the sweet little soul is now seeing what is going on in our cabin—who knows? Charming little Corinna! Lord! how funny it was, for all the world like a rabbit or a squirrel or a kitten at play. Gone! as you say, Gone! Well now for her epitaph.

CORINNA'S EPITAPH.

"Here sleeps what was innocence once, but its snows Were sullied and trod with disdain; Here lies what was beauty, but plucked was its rose And flung like a weed to the plain.

"O pilgrim! look down on her grave with a sigh Who fell the sad victim of art, Even cruelty's self must bid her hard eye A pearl of compassion impart.

"Ah! think not ye prudes that a sigh or a tear Can offend of all nature the God! Lo! Virtue already has mourned at her bier And the lily will bloom on her sod."



He wrote some pretty "new-old" ballads—purporting to have been written by Queen Elizabeth, Sir T. Wyatt, &c., on light and generally amorous subjects. Much of his satire was political, and necessarily fleeting.

In "Orson and Ellen" he gives a good description of the landlord of a village inn and his daughter,

"The landlord had a red round face Which some folks said in fun Resembled the Red Lion's phiz, And some, the rising Sun.

"Large slices from his cheeks and chin Like beef-steaks one might cut; And then his paunch, for goodly size Beat any brewer's butt.

"The landlord was a boozer stout A snufftaker and smoker; And 'twixt his eyes a nose did shine Bright as a red-hot poker.

* * * * *

"Sweet Ellen gave the pot with hands That might with thousands vie: Her face like veal, was white and red And sparkling was her eye.

"Her shape, the poplar's easy form Her neck the lily's white Soft heaving, like the summer wave And lifting rich delight.

"And o'er this neck of globe-like mould In ringlets waved her hair; Ah, what sweet contrast for the eye The jetty and the fair.

"Her lips, like cherries moist with dew So pretty, plump, and pleasing, And like the juicy cherry too Did seem to ask for squeezing.

"Yet what is beauty's use alack! To market can it go? Say—will it buy a loin of veal, Or round of beef? No—no.

"Will butchers say 'Choose what you please Miss Nancy or Miss Betty?' Or gardeners, 'Take my beans and peas Because you are so pretty?'"

He wrote a pleasant satire on the tax upon hair-powder introduced by Pitt, and the shifts to which poor people would be put to hide their hair. He seems to have been as inimical as most people to taxation. He parodies Dryden's "Alexander's Feast:"

"Of taxes now the sweet musician sung The court and chorus joined And filled the wondering wind, And taxes, taxes, through the garden rung.

"Monarch's first of taxes think Taxes are a monarch's treasure Sweet the pleasure Rich the treasure Monarchs love a guinea clink...."

He was, as we may suppose, averse to making Sunday a severe day. He wrote a poem against those who wished to introduce a more strict observance of Sunday, and called it, "The Sorrows of Sunday." He says:

"Heaven glorieth not in phizzes of dismay Heaven takes no pleasure in perpetual sobbing, Consenting freely that my favourite day, May have her tea and rolls, and hob-and-nobbing; Life with the down of cygnets may be clad Ah! why not make her path a pleasant track— No! cries the pulpit Terrorist (how mad) No! let the world be one huge hedge-hog's back."

He wrote a great variety of gay little sonnets, such as "The Ode to a Pretty Barmaid:"

"Sweet nymph with teeth of pearl and dimpled chin, And roses, that would tempt a saint to sin, Daily to thee so constant I return, Whose smile improves the coffee's every drop Gives tenderness to every steak and chop And bids our pockets at expenses spurn.

"What youth well-powdered, of pomatum smelling Shall on that lovely bosom fix his dwelling? Perhaps the waiter, of himself so full! With thee he means the coffee-house to quit Open a tavern and become a wit And proudly keep the head of the Black Bull.

"'Twas here the wits of Anna's Attic age Together mingled their poetic rage, Here Prior, Pope, and Addison and Steele, Here Parnel, Swift, and Bolingbroke and Gay Poured their keen prose, and turned the merry lay Gave the fair toast, and made a hearty meal.

"Nymph of the roguish smile, which thousands seek Give me another, and another steak, A kingdom for another steak, but given By thy fair hands, that shame the snow of heaven...."

He seems to have some misgivings about conjugal felicity:—

"An owl fell desperately in love, poor soul, Sighing and hooting in his lonely hole— A parrot, the dear object of his wishes Who in her cage enjoyed the loaves and fishes In short had all she wanted, meat and drink Washing and lodging full enough I think."

Poll takes compassion on him and they are duly married—

"A day or two passed amorously sweet Love, kissing, cooing, billing, all their meat, At length they both felt hungry—'What's for dinner? Pray, what have we to eat my dear,' quoth Poll. 'Nothing,' by all my wisdom, answered Owl. 'I never thought of that, as I'm a sinner But Poll on something I shall put my pats What sayst thou, deary, to a dish of rats?' 'Rats—Mister Owl, d'ye think that I'll eat rats, Eat them yourself or give them to the cats,' Whines the poor bride, now bursting into tears: 'Well, Polly, would you rather dine on mouse I'll catch a few if any in the house;' 'I won't eat rats, I won't eat mice—I won't Don't tell me of such dirty vermin—don't O, that within my cage I had but tarried.' 'Polly,' quoth owl, 'I'm sorry I declare So delicate you relish not our fare You should have thought of that before you married.'"

"The Ode to the Devil," is in reality a severe satire upon human nature under an unpleasant form. He says that men accuse the devil of being the cause of all the misdoings with which they are themselves solely chargeable, moreover that in truth they are very fond of him, and guilty of gross ingratitude in calling him bad names:—

"O Satan! whatsoever gear Thy Proteus form shall choose to wear Black, red, or blue, or yellow Whatever hypocrites may say They think thee (trust my honest lay) A most bewitching fellow.

* * * * *

"'Tis now full time my ode should end And now I tell thee like a friend, Howe'er the world may scout thee Thy ways are all so wondrous winning And folks so very fond of sinning They cannot do without thee."

Sheridan was one of those writers to whose pecuniary distresses we owe the rich treasure he has bequeathed. His brother and his best friend confided to him that they were both in love with Miss Linley, a public singer, and his romantic or comic nature suggested to him that while they were competing for the prize, he might clandestinely carry it off. Succeeding in his attempt, he withdrew his wife from her profession, and was ever afterwards in difficulties. He seems in his comedies to have a love of sudden strokes and surprises, approaching almost to practical jokes, and very successful when upon the stage. A screen is thrown down and Lady Teazle discovered behind it—a sword instead of a trinket drops out of Captain Absolute's coat—the old duenna puts on her mistress' dress—all these produce an excellent effect without showing any very great power of humour. But he was celebrated as a wit in society—was full of repartee and pleasantry, and we are surprised to find that his plays only contain a few brilliant passages, and that their tissue is not more generally shot through with threads of gold.

In comparison with the other dramatists of whom we have spoken, we observe in Sheridan the work of a more modern age. We have here no indelicacy or profanity, excepting the occasional oath, then fashionable; but we meet that satirical play on the manners and sentiments of men, which distinguishes later humour. In Mrs. Malaprop, we have some of that confusion of words, which seems to have been traditional upon the stage. Thus, she says that Captain Absolute is the very "pine-apple of perfection," and that to think of her daughter's marrying a penniless man, gives her the "hydrostatics." She does not wish her to be a "progeny of learning," but she should have a "supercilious knowledge" of accounts, and be acquainted with the "contagious countries." There is a satire, which will come home to most of us in Malaprop, notwithstanding her ignorance and stupidity, giving her opinion authoritatively on education. She says that Lydia Languish has been spoiled by reading novels, in which Sir Anthony agrees. "Madam, a circulating library in a town is an evergreen tree of diabolical knowledge! It blossoms through the year, and depend on it, Mrs. Malaprop, that they who are so fond of handling the leaves, will long for the fruit at last." Not only Mrs. Malaprop, but also Sir Anthony, form an entirely wrong estimate of themselves. The latter tells his son that he must marry the woman he selects for him, although she have the "skin of a mummy, and beard of a Jew." On his son objecting, he tells him not to be angry. "So you will fly out! Can't you be cool like me? What the devil good can a passion do? Passion is of no service, you impudent, violent, over-bearing reprobate. There, you sneer again! don't provoke me!—but you rely on the mildness of my temper, you do, you dog!"

Sheridan's humour is generally of this strong kind—very suitable for stage effect, but not exquisite as wit. Hazlitt admits this in very complimentary terms:—

"His comic muse does not go about prying into obscure corners, or collecting idle curiosities, but shows her laughing face, and points to her rich treasure—the follies of mankind. She is garlanded and crowned with roses and vine leaves. Her eyes sparkle with delight, and her heart runs over with good-natured malice."

Sheridan often aims at painting his scenes so as to be in antithesis to ordinary life. In Faulkland we have a lover so morbidly sensitive, that even every kindness his mistress shows him, gives him the most exquisite pain. Don Ferdinand is much in the same state. Lydia Languish is so romantic, that she is about to discard her lover—with whom she intended to elope—as soon as she hears he is a man of fortune. In Isaac the Jew, we have a man who thinks he is cheating others, while he is really being cheated. Sir Peter Teazle's bickering with his wife is well known and appreciated. The subject is the oldest which has tempted the comic muse, and still is, unhappily, always fresh. The following extracts are from "The Duenna"—

Isaac says to Father Paul that "he looks the very priest of Hymen!"

Paul. In short I may be called so, for I deal in repentance and mortification.

Don Antonio. But thou hast a good fresh colour in thy face, father, i' faith!

Paul. Yes. I have blushed for mankind till the hue of my shame is as fixed as their vices.

Isaac. Good man!

Paul. And I have laboured too, but to what purpose? they continue to sin under my very nose.

Isaac. Efecks, fasher, I should have guessed as much for your nose seems to be put to the blush more than any other part of your face.

Don Jerome's song is worthy of Gay:—

"If a daughter you have she's the plague of your life No peace shall you know though you've buried your wife, At twenty she mocks at the duty you taught her, Oh! what a plague is an obstinate daughter! Sighing and whining, Dying and pining, Oh, what a plague is an obstinate daughter!

"When scarce in their teens they have wit to perplex us, With letters and lovers for ever they vex us: While each still rejects the fair suitor you've brought her; O! what a plague is an obstinate daughter! Wrangling and jangling, Flouting and pouting, Oh, what a plague is an obstinate daughter."

One of Sheridan's strong situations is produced in this play. Don Jerome gives Isaac a glowing description of his daughter's charms; but when the latter goes to see her, the Duenna personates her.

Isaac. Madam, the greatness of your goodness overpowers me, that a lady so lovely should deign to turn her beauteous eyes on me, so. (He turns and sees her.)

Duenna. You seem surprised at my condescension.

Isaac. Why yes, madam, I am a little surprised at it. (Aside) This can never be Louisa—She's as old as my mother!...

Duenna. Signor, won't you sit?

Isaac. Pardon me, Madam, I have scarcely recovered my astonishment at—your condescension, Madam. (Aside) She has the devil's own dimples to be sure.

Duenna. I do not wonder, Sir, that you are surprised at my affability. I own, Signor, that I was vastly prepossessed against you, and being teazed by my father, did give some encouragement to Antonio; but then, Sir, you were described to me as a quite different person.

Isaac. Ay, and so you were to me upon my soul, Madam.

Duenna. But when I saw you, I was never more struck in my life.

Isaac. That was just my case too, Madam; I was struck all in a heap for my part.

Duenna. Well, Sir, I see our misapprehension has been mutual—you have expected to find me haughty and averse, and I was taught to believe you a little black, snub-nosed fellow, without person, manner, or address.

Isaac. Egad, I wish she had answered her picture as well.

After this interview, Don Jerome asks him what he thinks of his daughter.

Don Jerome. Well, my good friend, have you softened her?

Isaac. Oh, yes, I have softened her.

Don J. Well, and you were astonished at her beauty, hey?

Isaac. I was astonished, indeed. Pray how old is Miss?

Don J. How old? let me see—twenty.

Isaac. Then upon my soul she is the oldest looking girl of her age in Christendom.

Don J. Do you think so? but I believe you will not see a prettier girl.

Isaac. Here and there one.

Don J. Louisa has the family face.

Isaac. Yes, egad, I should have taken it for a family face, and one that has been in the family some time too.

Don J. She has her father's eyes.

Isaac. Truly I should have guessed them to be so. If she had her mother's spectacles I believe she would not see the worse.

Don J. Her aunt Ursula's nose, and her grandmother's forehead to a hair.

Isaac. Ay, faith, and her grandmother's chin to a hair.

Sheridan, as we have observed, was not more remarkable as a dramatist than as a man of society, and passed for what was called a "wit." The name had been applied two centuries before to men of talent generally, especially to writers, but now it referred exclusively to such as were humorous in conversation. These men, though to a certain extent the successors of the parasites of Greece, and the fools of the middle ages, were men of education and independence, if not of good family, and rather sought popularity than any mercenary remuneration. The majority of them, however, were gainers by their pleasantry, they rose into a higher grade of society, were welcome at the tables of the great, and derived many advantages, not unacceptable to men generally poor and improvident. As Swift well observed, though not unequal to business, they were above it. Moreover, the age was one in which society was less varied than it is now in its elements and interests; when men of talent were more prominent, and it was easier to command an audience. It was known to all that Mr. —— was coming, and guests repaired to the feast, not to talk, but to listen, as we should now to a public reading. The greatest joke and treat was to get two of such men, and set them against each other, when they had to bring out their best steel; although it sometimes happened, that both refused to fight. We need scarcely say that the humour which was produced in such quantities to supply immediate demand was not of the best kind, and that a large part of it would not have been relished by the fastidious critics of our own day. But some of these "wits" were highly gifted, they were generally literary men, and many of their good sayings have survived. The two who obtained the greatest celebrity in this field, seem to have been Theodore Hook and Sydney Smith. Selwyn, a precursor of these men, was so full of banter and impudence that George II. called him "that rascal George." "What does that mean," said the wit one day, musingly—"'rascal'? Oh, I forgot, it was an hereditary title of all the Georges." Perhaps Selwyn might have been called a "wag"—a name given to men who were more enterprising than successful in their humour, and which referred originally to mere ludicrous motion.



CHAPTER XI.

Southey—Drolls of Bartholomew Fair—The "Doves"—Typographical Devices—Puns—Poems of Abel Shufflebottom.

We have already mentioned the name of Southey. By far the greater part of his works are poetical and sentimental, and hence some doubt has been thrown upon the authorship of his work called "The Doctor." But in his minor poems we find him verging into humour, as where he pleads the cause of the pig and dancing bear, and even of the maggot. The last named is under the head of "The Filbert," and commences—

"Nay gather not that filbert, Nicholas, There is a maggot there; it is his house— His castle—oh! commit not burglary! Strip him not naked; 'tis his clothes, his shell; His bones, the case and armour of his life, And thou shalt do no murder, Nicholas. It were an easy thing to crack that nut, Or with thy crackers or thy double teeth; So easily may all things be destroyed! But 'tis not in the power of mortal man To mend the fracture of a filbert shell. There were two great men once amused themselves Watching two maggots run their wriggling race, And wagering on their speed; but, Nick, to us It were no sport to see the pampered worm Roll out and then draw in his folds of fat Like to some barber's leathern powder bag Wherewith he feathers, frosts or cauliflowers, Spruce beau, or lady fair, or doctor grave."

Also his Commonplace Book proves that, like many other hardworking men, he amused his leisure hours with what was light and fantastic. Moreover, he speaks in some places of the advantage of intermingling amusement and instruction—

"Even in literature a leafy style, if there be any fruit under the foliage, is preferable to a knotty one however fine the grain. Whipt cream is a good thing, and better still when it covers and adorns that amiable compound of sweetmeats and ratafia cakes soaked in wine, to which Cowper likened his delightful poem, when he thus described 'The Task'—

"'It is a medley of many things, some that may be useful, and some that, for aught I know, may be very diverting. I am merry that I may decoy people into my company, and grave that they may be the better for it. Now and then I put on the garb of a philosopher, and take the opportunity that disguise procures me to drop a word in favour of religion. In short there is some froth, and here and there some sweetmeat which seems to entitle it justly to the name of a certain dish the ladies call a 'trifle.' But in 'task' or 'trifle' unless the ingredients were good the whole were nought. They who should present to their deceived guests whipt white of egg would deserve to be whipt themselves."

But Southey by no means follows the profitable rule he here lays down. On the contrary, he sometimes betrays such a love of the marvellous as would seem unaccountable, had we not read bygone literature, and observed how strong the feeling was even as late as the days of the "Wonderful Magazine." Among his strange fancies we find in the "Chapter on Kings:"

"There are other monarchies in the inferior world beside that of the bees, though they have not been registered by naturalists nor studied by them. For example, the king of the fleas keeps his court at Tiberias, as Dr. Clark discovered to his cost, and as Mr. Cripps will testify for him."

He proceeds to give humorous descriptions of the king of monkeys, bears, codfish, oysters, &c.

Again—

"Would not John Dory's name have died with him, and so been long ago dead as a door-nail, if a grotesque likeness for him had not been found in the fish, which being called after him, has immortalized him and his ugliness? But if John Dory could have anticipated this sort of immortality when he saw his own face in the glass, he might very well have 'blushed to find it fame.'"

He is fond of introducing quaint old legends—

"There are certain Rabbis who affirm that Eve was not taken out of Adam's side, but that Adam had originally been created with a tail, and that among the various experiments and improvements which were made in form and organization before he was finished, the tail was removed as an inconvenient appendage, and of the excrescence or superfluous part, which was then lopped off, the woman was formed."

While on this subject he says that Lady Jekyll once asked William Wiston "Why woman was formed out of man's rib rather than out of any other part of his body?" Wiston scratched his head and replied, "Indeed, Madam, I do not know, unless it be that the rib is the most crooked part of the body."

Southey gives a playbill of the Drolls of Bartholomew Fair in the time of Queen Anne—

"At Crawley's booth over against the Crown Tavern in Smithfield, during the time of the Bartholomew Fair, will be presented a little opera, called the 'Old Creation of the World,' yet newly revived, with the addition of 'Noah's Flood.' Also several fountains playing water during the time of the play. The last scene does represent Noah and his family coming out of the Ark, with all the beasts two and two, and all the fowls of the air seen in a prospect sitting upon trees. Likewise over the Ark is seen the sun rising in a most glorious manner. Moreover, a multitude of angels will be seen in a double rank, which represents a double prospect, one for the sun, the other for a palace, where will be seen six angels ringing of bells. Likewise machines descend from above, double and treble, with Dives rising out of Hell, and Lazarus seen in Abraham's bosom; besides several figures, dancing jigs, sarabands, and country dances to the admiration of the spectators, with the merry conceits of Squire Punch and Sir John Spendall."

"So recently as the year 1816 the sacrifice of Isaac was represented on the stage at Paris. Samson was the subject of the ballet; the unshorn son of Manoah delighted the spectators by dancing a solo with the gates of Gaza on his back; Delilah clipt him during the intervals of a jig, and the Philistines surrounded and captured him in a country-dance."

Sometimes Southey indulges his fancy on very trifling subjects as,

"The Doves, father as well as son, were blest with a hearty intellectual appetite, and a strong digestion, but the son had the more Catholic taste. He would have relished caviare, would have ventured on laver, undeterred by its appearance, and would have liked it. He would have eaten sausages for breakfast at Norwich, sally-luns at Bath, sweet butter in Cumberland, orange marmalade at Edinburgh, Findon haddocks at Aberdeen, and drunk punch with beef-steaks to oblige the French, if they insisted upon obliging him with a dejeuner a l'Anglaise."

'A good digestion turneth all to health.'

"He would have eaten squab pie in Devonshire, and the pie which is squabber than squab in Cornwall; sheep's-head with the hair on in Scotland, and potatoes roasted on the hearth in Ireland, frogs with the French, pickled-herrings with the Dutch, sour-krout with the Germans, maccaroni with the Italians, aniseed with the Spaniards, garlic with anybody, horse-flesh with the Tartars, ass-flesh with the Persians, dogs with the North-Western American Indians, curry with the Asiatic East Indians, bird's-nests with the Chinese, mutton roasted with honey with the Turks, pismire cakes on the Orinoco, and turtle and venison with the Lord Mayor, and the turtle and venison he would have preferred to all the other dishes, because his taste, though Catholic, was not undiscriminating." ...

"At the time of which I am now speaking, Miss Trewbody was a maiden lady of forty-seven in the highest state of preservation. The whole business of her life had been to take care of a fine person, and in this she had succeeded admirably. Her library consisted of two books; 'Nelson's Festivals and Fasts' was one, the other was the 'Queen's Cabinet Unlocked;' and there was not a cosmetic in the latter which she had not faithfully prepared. Thus by means, as she believed, of distilled waters of various kinds, maydew and buttermilk, her skin retained its beautiful texture still and much of its smoothness, and she knew at times how to give it the appearance of that brilliancy which it had lost. But that was a profound secret. Miss Trewbody, remembering the example of Jezebel, always felt conscious that she had committed a sin when she took the rouge-box in her hand, and generally ejaculated in a low voice 'The Lord forgive me!' when she laid it down; but looking in the glass at the same time she indulged a hope that the nature of the temptation might be considered an excuse for the transgression. Her other great business was to observe with the utmost precision all the punctilios of her situation in life, and the time which was not devoted to one or other of these worthy occupations was employed in scolding her servants and tormenting her niece. This kept the lungs in vigorous health; nay it even seemed to supply the place of wholesome exercise, and to stimulate the system like a perpetual blister, with this peculiar advantage, that instead of an inconvenience it was a pleasure to herself, and all the annoyance was to her dependents.

"Miss Trewbody lies buried in the Cathedral at Salisbury, where a monument was erected to her memory, worthy of remembrance itself for its appropriate inscription and accompaniments. The epitaph recorded her as a woman eminently pious, virtuous and charitable, who lived universally respected, and died sincerely lamented by all who had the happiness of knowing her. This inscription was upon a marble shield supported by two Cupids, who bent their heads over the edge with marble tears larger than gray peas, and something of the same colour, upon their cheeks. These were the only tears that her death occasioned, and the only Cupids with whom she had ever any concern."

Southey introduces into this work a variety of extracts from rare and curious books—stories about Job beating his wife, about surgical experiments tried upon criminals, about women with horns, and a man who swallowed a poker, and "looked melancholy afterwards." Well might he suppose that people would think this farrago a composite production of many authors, and he says that if it were so he might have given it instead of the "Doctor" a name to correspond with its heterogeneous origin, such as—Isdis Roso Heta Harco Samro Grobe Thebo Heneco Thojamma &c., the words continuing gradually to increase in length till we come to

Salacoharcojotacoherecosaheco.

After reading such flights as the above, we are surprised to find him despising the jester's bauble—

"Now then to the gentle reader. The reason why I do not wear cap and bells is this.

"There are male caps of five kinds, which are worn at present in this kingdom, to wit, the military cap, the collegiate cap, and the night-cap. Observe, reader, I said kinds, that is to say in scientific language genera—for the species and varieties are numerous, especially in the former genus.

"I am not a soldier, and having long been weaned from Alma Mater, of course have left off my college cap. The gentlemen of the hunt would object to my going out with bells on; it would be likely to frighten their horses; and were I to attempt it, it might involve me in unpleasant disputes. To my travelling cap the bells would be an inconvenient appendage; nor would they be a whit more comfortable upon my night cap. Besides, my wife might object to them. It follows that if I would wear a cap and bells, I must have a cap made on purpose. But this would be rendering myself singular; and of all things, a wise man will avoid ostentatious appearance of singularity. Now I am certainly not singular in playing the fool without one."

There is much in the style of the "Doctor," which reminds us of Sterne. He was evidently a favourite author with Southey, who speaking of his Sermons says, "You often see him tottering on the verge of laughter, and ready to throw his periwig in the face of the audience." Perhaps from him he acquired his love for tricks of form and typographical surprises. He introduces what he calls interchapters. "Leap chapters they cannot properly be called, and if we were to call them 'Ha-has' as being chapters, which the reader may skip if he likes, the name would appear rather strange than significant."

He sometimes introduces a chapter without any heading in the following way—

"Sir," says the Compositor to the Corrector of the Press "there is no heading for the copy for this chapter. What must I do?"

"Leave a space for it," the Corrector replies. "It is a strange sort of book, but I dare say the author has a reason for everything he says or does, and most likely you will find out his meaning as you set up."

Chapter lxxxviii begins—"While I was writing that last chapter a flea appeared upon the page before me, as there once did to St. Dominic." He proceeds to say that his flea was a flea of flea-flesh, but that St. Dominic's was the devil.

Southey was particularly fond of acoustic humour. He represents Wilberforce as saying of the unknown author of the Doctor—Pooo-oo-oo-oo-r crēēēa-ture. Perhaps his familiarity with the works of Nash, Decker, and Rabelais suggested his word coming.

One of the interchapters begins with the word Aballiboozobanganorribo.

He questions in the "Poultry Yard" the assertion of Aristotle that it is an advantage for animals to be domesticated. The statement is regarded unsatisfactory by the fowl—replies to it being made by Chick-pick, Hen-pen, Cock-lock, Duck-luck, Turkey-lurkey, and Goosey-loosey.

He occasionally coins words such as Potamology for the study of rivers, and Chapter cxxxiv is headed—

"A transition, an anecdote, an apostrophe, and a pun, punnet, or pundigrion."

He proposes in another chapter to make a distinction between masculine and feminine in several words.

"The troublesome affection of the diaphragm which every person has experienced is to be called according to the sex of the patient—He-cups or She-cups—which upon the principle of making our language truly British is better than the more classical form of Hiccup and Hoeccups. In the Objective use, the word becomes Hiscups or Hercups and in like manner Histerrics should be altered into Herterics—the complaint never being masculine."

The Doctor is rich in variety of verbal humour—

"When a girl is called a lass, who does not perceive how that common word must have arisen? who does not see that it may be directly traced to a mournful interjection Alas! breathed sorrowfully forth at the thought that the girl, the lovely innocent creature upon whom the beholder has fixed his meditative eye, would in time become a woman—a woe to man."

Our Doctor flourished in an age when the pages of Magazines, were filled with voluntary contributions from men who had never aimed at dazzling the public, but came each with his scrap of information, or his humble question, or his hard problem, or his attempt in verse—

"A was an antiquary, and wrote articles upon Altars and Abbeys and Architecture. B made a blunder which C corrected. D demonstrated that E was in error, and that F was wrong in Philology, and neither Philosopher nor Physician though he affected to be both. G was a Genealogist. H was a Herald who helped him. I was an inquisitive inquirer, who found reason for suspecting J to be a Jesuit. M was a Mathematician. N noted the weather. O observed the stars. P was a poet, who produced pastorals, and prayed Mr. Urban to print them. Q came in the corner of the page with a query. R arrogated to himself the right of reprehending every one, who differed from him. S sighed and sued in song. T told an old tale, and when he was wrong U used to set him right; V was a virtuoso. W warred against Warburton. X excelled in Algebra. Y yearned for immortality in rhyme, and Z in his zeal was always in a puzzle."

We have already observed that the pictorial representations of demons, which were originally intended to terrify, gradually came to be regarded as ludicrous. There was something decidedly grotesque in the stories about witches and imps, and Southey, deep in early lore, was remarkable for developing a branch of humour out of them. In one place he had a catalogue of devils, whose extraordinary names he wisely recommends his readers not to attempt to pronounce, "lest they should loosen their teeth or fracture them in the operation." Comic demonology may be said to have been out of date soon after time.

Southey is not generally amatory in his humour, and therefore we appreciate the more the following effusions, which he facetiously attributes to Abel Shufflebottom. The gentleman obtained Delia's pocket-handkerchief, and celebrates the acquisition in the following strain—

"'Tis mine! what accents can my joy declare? Blest be the pressure of the thronging rout, Blest be the hand, so hasty, of my fair, And left the tempting corner hanging out!

"I envy not the joy the pilgrim feels, After long travel to some distant shrine, When at the relic of his saint he kneels, For Delia's pocket-handkerchief is mine.

"When first with filching fingers I drew near, Keen hope shot tremulous through every vein, And when the finished deed removed my fear, Scarce could my bounding heart its joy contain.

"What though the eighth commandment rose to mind, It only served a moment's qualm to move; For thefts like this it could not be designed, The eighth commandment was not made for love.

"Here when she took the macaroons from me, She wiped her mouth to clear the crumbs so sweet, Dear napkin! Yes! she wiped her lips in thee, Lips sweeter than the macaroons she eat.

"And when she took that pinch of Mocabau, That made my love so delicately sneeze, Thee to her Roman nose applied I saw, And thou art doubly dear for things like these.

"No washerwoman's filthy hand shall e'er, Sweet pocket-handkerchef, thy worth profane, For thou hast touched the rubies of my fair, And I will kiss thee o'er and o'er again."

In another Elegy he expatiates on the beauty of Delia's locks;—

"Happy the friseur who in Delia's hair, With licensed fingers uncontrolled may rove; And happy in his death the dancing bear, Who died to make pomatum for my love.

"Fine are my Delia's tresses as the threads That from the silk-worm, self-interred, proceed, Fine as the gleamy gossamer that spreads Its filmy web-work over the tangled mead.

"Yet with these tresses Cupid's power elate My captive heart hath handcuffed in a chain, Strong as the cables of some huge first-rate, That bears Britannia's thunders o'er the main.

"The Sylphs that round her radiant locks repair, In flowing lustre bathe their brightened wings, And elfin minstrels with assiduous care, The ringlets rob for fairy fiddlestrings."

Of course Shufflebottom is tempted to another theft—a rape of the lock—for which he incurs the fair Delia's condign displeasure—

"She heard the scissors that fair lock divide, And while my heart with transport panted big, She cast a fiery frown on me, and cried, 'You stupid puppy—you have spoilt my wig.'"



CHAPTER XII.

Lamb—His Farewell to Tobacco—Pink Hose—On the Melancholy of Tailors—Roast Pig.

No one ever so finely commingled poetry and humour as Charles Lamb. In his transparent crystal you are always seeing one colour through another, and he was conscious of the charm of such combinations, for he commends Andrew Marvell for such refinement. His early poems printed with those of Coleridge, his schoolfellow at Christ's Hospital, abounded with pure and tender sentiment, but never arrested the attention of the public. We can find in them no promise of the brilliancy for which he was afterwards so distinguished, except perhaps in his "Farewell to Tobacco," where for a moment he allowed his Pegasus to take a more fantastic flight.

"Scent, to match thy rich perfume, Chemic art did ne'er presume, Through her quaint alembic strain, None so sovereign to the brain; Nature that did in thee excel, Framed again no second smell, Roses, violets, but toys For the smaller sort of boys, Or for greener damsels meant, Thou art the only manly scent."

But although forbidden to smoke, he still hopes he may be allowed to enjoy a little of the delicious fragrance at a respectful distance—

"And a seat too 'mongst the joys Of the blest Tobacco Boys; Where though I, by sour physician, Am debarred the full fruition Of thy favours, I may catch Some collateral sweets, and snatch Sidelong odours that give life- Like glances from a neighbour's wife, And still live in thee by places And the suburbs of thy graces; And in thy borders take delight, An unconquered Canaanite."

His early years brought forth another kind of humour which led to his being appointed jester to the "Morning Post." He was paid at the rate of sixpence a joke, furnished six a day, and depended upon this remuneration for his supplementary livelihood—everything beyond mere bread and cheese. As humour, like wisdom, is found of those who seek her not, we may suppose the quality of these productions was not very good. He thus bemoans his irksome task, which he performed generally before breakfast—

"No Egyptian task-master ever devised a slavery like to that, our slavery. No fractious operants ever turned out for half the tyranny, which this necessity exercised upon us. Half-a-dozen jests in a day, (bating Sundays too,) why, it seems nothing! We make twice the number every day in our lives as a matter of course, and claim no Sabbatical exemptions. But then they come into our head. But when the head has to go out to them—when the mountain must go to Mahomet. Readers, try it for once, only for some short twelvemonth."

Lamb, however, only obtained this undesirable appointment by a coincidence he thus relates,—

"A fashion of flesh—or rather pink-coloured hose for the ladies luckily coming up when we were on our probation for the place of Chief Jester to Stuart's Paper, established our reputation. We were pronounced a 'capital hand.' O! the conceits that we varied upon red in all its prismatic differences!... Then there was the collateral topic of ankles, what an occasion to a truly chaste writer like ourself of touching that nice brink and yet never tumbling over it, of a seemingly ever approximating something 'not quite proper,' while like a skilful posture master, balancing between decorums and their opposites, he keeps the line from which a hair's breadth deviation is destruction.... That conceit arrided us most at that time, and still tickles our midriff to remember where allusively to the flight of Astroea we pronounced—in reference to the stockings still—that 'Modesty, taking her final leave of mortals, her last blush was visible in her ascent to the Heavens by the track of the glowing instep.'"

References of a somewhat amatory character often make sayings acceptable, which for their intrinsic merit would scarcely raise a smile, and Lamb soon seriously deplored the loss of this serviceable assistance. He continues:—

"The fashion of jokes, with all other things, passes away as did the transient mode which had so favoured us. The ankles of our fair friends in a few weeks began to reassume their whiteness, and left us scarce a leg to stand upon. Other female whims followed, but none methought so pregnant, so invitatory of shrewd conceits, and more than single meanings."

He tells us that Parson Este and Topham brought up the custom of witty paragraphs first in the "World," a doubtful statement—and that even in his day the leading papers began to give up employing permanent wits. Many of our provincial papers still regale us with a column of facetiae, but machine-made humour is not now much appreciated. We require something more natural, and the jests in these papers now consist mostly of extracts from the works, or anecdotes from the lives of celebrated men. The pressure thus brought to bear upon Lamb for the production of jests in a given time led him to indulge in very bad puns, and to try to justify them as pleasant eccentricities. What can be expected from a man who tells us that "the worst puns are the best," or who can applaud Swift for having asked, on accidentally meeting a young student carrying a hare; "Prithee, friend, is that your own hair or a wig?" He finds the charm in such hazards in their utter irrelevancy, and truly they can only be excused as flowing from a wild and unchastened fancy. It must require great joviality or eccentricity to find any humour in caricaturing a pun.

Speaking of the prospectus of a certain Burial Society, who promised a handsome plate with an angel above and a flower below, Lamb ventures—"Many a poor fellow, I dare swear, has that Angel and Flower kept from the Angel and Punchbowl, while to provide himself a bier he has curtailed himself of beer." But to record all Lamb's bad puns would be a dull and thankless task. We will finish the review of his verbal humour by quoting a passage out of an indifferent farce he wrote entitled, "Mr. H——."

(The hero cannot on account of his patronymic get any girl to marry him.)

"My plaguy ancestors, if they had left me but a Van, or a Mac, or an Irish O', it had been something to qualify it—Mynheer Van Hogsflesh, or Sawney Mac Hogsflesh, or Sir Phelim O'Hogsflesh, but downright blunt—— If it had been any other name in the world I could have borne it. If it had been the name of a beast, as Bull, Fox, Kid, Lamb, Wolf, Lion; or of a bird, as Sparrow, Hawk, Buzzard, Daw, Finch, Nightingale; or of a fish, as Sprat, Herring, Salmon; or the name of a thing, as Ginger, Hay, Wood; or of a colour, as Black, Gray, White, Green; or of a sound, as Bray; or the name of a month, as March, May; or of a place, as Barnet, Baldock, Hitchen; or the name of a coin, as Farthing, Penny, Twopenny; or of a profession, as Butcher, Baker, Carpenter, Piper, Fisher, Fletcher, Fowler, Glover; or a Jew's name, as Solomons, Isaacs, Jacobs; or a personal name, as Foot, Leg, Crookshanks, Heaviside, Sidebottom, Ramsbottom, Winterbottom; or a long name, as Blanchenhagen or Blanchhausen; or a short name as Crib, Crisp, Crips, Tag, Trot, Tub, Phips, Padge, Papps, or Prig, or Wig, or Pip, or Trip; Trip had been something, but Ho—!"

(Walks about in great agitation; recovering his coolness a little, sits down.)

These were weaker points in Lamb, but we must also look at the other side. Those who have read his celebrated essay on Hogarth will find that he possesses no great appreciation for that humour which is only intended to raise a laugh, and might conclude that he was more of a moralist than a humorist. He admires the great artist as an instructor, but admits that "he owes his immortality to his touches of humour, to his mingling the comic with the terrible." Those, he continues, are to be blamed who overlook the moral in his pictures, and are merely taken with the humour or disgusted by the vulgarity. Moreover, there is a propriety in the details; he notices the meaning in the tumbledown houses "the dumb rhetoric," in which "tables, chairs, and joint stools are living, and significant things." In these passages Lamb seems to regard the comic merely as a means to an end;—"Who sees not," he asks, "that the grave-digger in Hamlet, the fool in Lear have a kind of correspondency to, and fall in with, the subjects which they seem to interrupt; while the comic stuff in 'Venice Preserved,' and the doggrel nonsense of the cook and his poisoning associates in the Rollo of Beaumont and Fletcher are pure irrelevant, impertinent discords—as bad as the quarreling dog and cat under the table of our Lord and the Disciples at Emmaus, of Titian."

Lamb's interpretation of Hogarth's works is that of a superior and thoughtful mind: but we cannot help thinking that the humour in them was not so entirely subordinate to the moral. One conclusion we may incidentally deduce from his remarks—that the meaning in pictorial illustrations, either as regards humour or sentiment, is not so appreciable as it would be in words, and consequently that caricatures labour under considerable disadvantages. "Much," he says, "depends upon the habits of mind we bring with us." And he continues—"It is peculiar to the confidence of high genius alone to trust much to spectators or readers," he might have added that in painting, this confidence is often misplaced, especially as regards the less imaginative part of the public. We owe him a debt, however, for a true observation with regard to the general uses of caricatures, that "it prevents that disgust at common life which an unrestricted passion for ideal forms and beauties is in danger of producing."

But leaving passages in which Lamb approves of absurd jesting, and those in which he commends humour for pointing a moral, we come to consider the largest and most characteristic part of his writings, his pleasant essays, in which he has neither shown himself a moralist or a mountebank.

The following is from an Essay "On the Melancholy of Tailors."

"Observe the suspicious gravity of their gait. The peacock is not more tender, from a consciousness of his peculiar infirmity, than a gentleman of this profession is of being known by the same infallible testimonies of his occupation, 'Walk that I may know thee.'

"Whoever saw the wedding of a tailor announced in the newspapers, or the birth of his eldest son?

"When was a tailor known to give a dance, or to be himself a good dancer, or to perform exquisitely upon the tight rope, or to shine in any such light or airy pastimes? To sing, or play on the violin? Do they much care for public rejoicings, lightings up, ringing of bells, firing of cannons, &c.

"Valiant I know they be, but I appeal to those who were witnesses to the exploits of Eliot's famous troop whether in their fiercest charges they betrayed anything of that thoughtless oblivion to death with which a Frenchman jigs into battle, or, whether they did not show more of the melancholy valour of the Spaniard upon whom they charged that deliberate courage which contemplation and sedentary habits breathe."

Lamb accounts for this melancholy of tailors in several ingenious ways.

"May it not be that the custom of wearing apparel, being derived to us from the fall, and one of the most mortifying products of that unhappy event, a certain seriousness (to say no more of it) may in the order of things have been intended to have been impressed upon the minds of that race of men to whom in all ages the care of contriving the human apparel has been entrusted."