Chapter VI: Prologue (5)

Two years after the ship came to England, and was paid off. Joseph Grummet bagged his notes and his sovereigns with much satisfaction; but he did not jump like a fool into the first boat, and rush ashore to scatter his hard-earned wages among Jews, and people still worse: he stayed till the last man, and anxiously watched for the moment when the pennant should be hauled down. When he saw this fairly done, he asked leave to speak to the captain. He was ushered into the cabin, and he there saw many of the officers who were taking leave of their old commander.

"Well, Grummet," said the skipper, "what now?"

"Please your honour, you offered five guineas to anybody who would tell you who milked the cow."

"And so I will gladly," said the captain, pleasantly, "if the same person will unravel the mystery of the ghost." And he turned a triumphant look upon the believers in spirits who stood around him.

"I milked your cow, sir."

"Ah! Joseph, Joseph! it was unkindly done. But with your hands?"--"We widened a pair of Mr. Littlejohn's kid-gloves, sir."

"I knew that little rascal was at the bottom of it! but there is honour in the midshipmen's berth still. What is the reason that they thus sought to deprive me of my property?"--"You wouldn't allow them to take any live stock on board that cruise, sir."

"So--so--wild justice, hey? But come to the ghost."--"Why, sir, I wanted to have the cow unwatched for a quarter of an hour every middle watch; so I took the shark's head we had caught a day or two before, scraped off most of the flesh, and whipped it in a bread-bag,--it shone brighter in the dark than stinking mackerel;--so I whips him out when I wants him, and wabbles his jaws about. I was safely stowed under the bowsprit from your shot; and when your honour walked in on one side of the manger, I walked, with my head under my arm, out of the other."

"Well, Joseph, there are your five guineas: and, gentlemen," said the Honourable the Captain Augustus Fitzroy Fitzalban, bowing to his officers, "I wish you joy of your ghost!"

OLD AGE AND YOUTH.
BY THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY.

Old Age sits bent on his iron-grey steed;
Youth rides erect on his courser black;
And little he thinks in his reckless speed
Old Age comes on, in the _very same track_.

And on Youth goes, with his cheek like the rose,
And his radiant eyes, and his raven hair;
And his laugh betrays how little he knows,
Of AGE, and his sure companion CARE.

The courser black is put to his speed,
And Age plods on, in a quieter way,
And little Youth thinks that the iron-grey steed
Approaches him nearer, every day!

Though one seems strong as the forest tree,
The other infirm, and wanting breath;
_If ever_ YOUTH baffles OLD AGE, 'twill be
By rushing into the arms of DEATH!

On his courser black, away Youth goes,
The prosing sage may rest at home;
He'll laugh and quaff, for well he knows
That years must pass ere Age _can come_.

And since too brief are the daylight hours
For those who would laugh their lives away;
With beaming lamps, and mimic flowers,
He'll teach the night to mock the day!

Again he'll laugh, again he'll feast,
His lagging foe he'll still deride,
Until--when he expects him least--
Old Age and he stand side by side!

He then looks into his toilet-glass,
And sees Old Age reflected there!
He cries, "Alas! how quickly pass
Bright eyes, and bloom, and raven hair!"

The lord of the courser black, must ride
On the iron-grey steed, sedate and slow!
And thus to him who his power defied,
Old Age must come like a conquering foe.

Had the prosing sage not preach'd in vain,
Had Youth not written his words on sand,
Had he early paused, and given the rein
Of his courser black to a steadier hand:

Oh! just as gay might his days have been,
Though mirth with graver thoughts might blend;
And when at his side Old Age was seen,
He had been hail'd as a timely friend.

AN EVENING OF VISITS.
BY J. FENIMORE COOPER, AUTHOR OF "THE PILOT."

I have had an odd pleasure in driving from one house to another on particular evenings, in order to produce as strong contrasts as my limited visiting list will afford. Having a fair opportunity a few nights since, in consequence of two or three invitations coming in for the evening on which several houses where I occasionally called were opened, I determined to make a night of it, in order to note the effect. As A---- did not know several of the people, I went alone, and you may possibly be amused with an account of my adventures: they shall be told.

In the first place I had to dress, in order to go to dinner at a house that I had never entered, and with a family of which I had never seen a soul. These are incidents which frequently come over a stranger, and, at first, were not a little awkward, but use hardens us to much greater misfortunes. At six, then, I stepped punctually into my _coupé_, and gave Charles the necessary number and street. I ought to tell you that the invitation had come a few days before, and, in a fit of curiosity, I had accepted it, and sent a card, without having the least idea who my host and hostess were, beyond their names. There was something piquant in this ignorance, and I had almost made up my mind to go in the same mysterious manner, leaving all to events, when happening in an idle moment to ask a lady of my acquaintance, and for whom I have a great respect, if she knew a Madame de ----, to my surprise her answer was, "Most certainly--she is my cousin, and you are to dine there to-morrow." I said no more, though this satisfied me that my hosts were people of some standing. While driving to their hotel, it struck me, under all the circumstances, it might be well to know more of them; and I stopped at the gate of a female friend who knows everybody, and who I was certain would receive me even at that unseasonable hour. I was admitted, explained my errand, and inquired if she knew a M. de ----. "Quelle question!" she exclaimed; "M. de ---- est Chancelier de la France!" Absurd, and even awkward, as it might have proved but for this lucky thought, I should have dined with the French Lord High Chancellor without having the smallest suspicion who he was!

The hotel was a fine one, though the apartment was merely good; and the reception, service, and general style of the house were so simple, that neither would have awakened the least suspicion of the importance of my hosts. The party was small, and the dinner modest. I found the _Chancelier_ a grave dignified man, a little curious on the subject of America; and his wife, apparently a woman of great good sense, and, I should think, of a good deal of attainment. Every thing went off in the quietest manner possible, and I was sorry when it was time to go.

From this dinner I drove to the hotel of the Marquis de Marbois, to pay a visit of digestion. M. de Marbois retires so early on account of his great age, that one is obliged to be punctual, or he will find the gate locked at nine. The company had got back into the drawing-room; and as the last week's guests were mostly there, as well as those who had just left the table, there might have been thirty people present, all of whom were men, but two. One of the ladies was Madame de Souza, known in French literature as the writer of several clever novels of society. In the drawing-room were grouped in clusters the Grand Referendary, M. Cuvier, M. Daru, M. Villemain, M. de Plaisance, Mr. Brown, and many others of note. There seemed to be something in the wind, as the conversation was in low confidential whispers, attended by divers ominous shrugs. This could only be politics; and, watching an opportunity, I questioned an acquaintance. The fact was really so. The appointed hour had come, and the ministry of M. de Villèle was in the agony. The elections had not been favourable, and it was expedient to make an attempt to reach the _old_ end by what is called a _new_ combination. It is necessary to understand the general influence of political intrigues on certain _côteries_ of Paris, to appreciate the effect of this intelligence on a drawing-room filled like this, with men who had been actors in the principal events of France for forty years. The name of M. Cuvier was even mentioned as one of the new ministers. Comte Roy was also named as likely to be the new premier. I was told that this gentleman was one of the greatest landed proprietors of France, his estates being valued at four millions of dollars. The fact is curious, as showing, not on vulgar rumour, but from a respectable source, what is deemed a first-rate landed property in this country. It is certainly no merit, nor do I believe it is any very great advantage; but I think we might materially beat this, even in America. The company soon separated, and retired.

From the Place de la Madeleine I drove to a house near the Carrousel, where I had been invited to step in, in the course of the evening. All the buildings that remain within the intended parallelogram, which will some day make this spot one of the finest squares in the world, have been bought by the government, or nearly so, with the intent to have them pulled down at a proper time; and the court bestows lodgings, _ad interim_, among them, on its favourites. Madame de ---- was one of these favoured persons, and she occupies a small apartment in the third story of one of these houses. The rooms were neat and well arranged, but small. Probably the largest does not exceed fifteen feet square. The approach to a Paris lodging is usually either very good or very bad. In the new buildings may be found some of the mediocrity of the new order of things; but in all those which were erected previously to the Revolution, there is nothing but extremes in this as in most other things,--great luxury and elegance, or great meanness and discomfort. The house of Madame de ---- happens to be of the latter class; and although all the disagreeables have disappeared from her own rooms, one is compelled to climb up to them through a dark well of a staircase, by flights of steps not much better than those we use in our stables. You have no notion of such staircases as those I had just descended in the hotels of the Chancelier and the Premier President;[18] nor have we any just idea, as connected with respectable dwellings of these I had now to clamber up. M. de ---- is a man of talents and great respectability, and his wife is exceedingly clever, but they are not rich. He is a professor, and she is an artist. After having passed so much of my youth on top-gallant-yards, and in becketting royals, you are not to suppose, however, I had any great difficulty in getting up these stairs, narrow, steep, and winding as they were.

We are now at the door, and I have rung. On whom do you imagine the curtain will rise? On a _réunion_ of philosophers some to discuss questions in botany with M. de ----, or on artists assembled to talk over the troubles of their profession with his wife? The door opens, and I enter.

The little drawing-room was crowded; chiefly with men. Two card-tables were set, and at one I recognised a party, in which were three dukes of the _vieille cour_, with M. de Duras at their head! The rest of the company was a little more mixed; but, on the whole, it savoured strongly of Coblentz and the _émigration_. This was more truly French than anything I had yet stumbled on. One or two of the grandees looked at me as if, better informed than Scott, they knew that General La Fayette had not gone to America to live. Some of these gentlemen certainly do not love us; but I had cut out too much work for the night to stay and return the big looks of even dukes, and, watching an opportunity when the eyes of Madame de ---- were another way, I stole out of the room.

Charles now took his orders, and we drove down into the heart of the town, somewhere near the general post-office, or into those mazes of streets that near two years of practice have not yet taught me to thread. We entered the court of a large hotel that was brilliantly lighted; and I ascended, by a noble flight of steps, to the first floor. Ante-chambers communicated with a magnificent saloon, which appeared to be near forty feet square. The ceilings were lofty, and the walls were ornamented with military trophies, beautifully designed, and which had the air of being embossed and gilded. I had got into the hotel of one of Napoleon's marshals, you will say, or at least into one of a marshal of the old _régime_. The latter conjecture may be true, but the house is now inhabited by a great woollen manufacturer, whom the events of the day have thrown into the presence of all these military emblems. I found the worthy _industriel_ surrounded by a group, composed of men of his own stamp, eagerly discussing the recent changes in the government. The women, of whom there might have been a dozen, were ranged, like a neglected parterre, along the opposite side of the room. I paid my compliments, stayed a few minutes, and stole away to the next engagement.

We had now to go to a little retired house on the Champs Elysées. There were only three or four carriages before the door, and on ascending to a small, but very neat apartment, I found some twenty people collected. The mistress of the house was an English lady, single, of a certain age, and a daughter of the Earl of ----, who was once governor of New York. Here was a very different set: one or two ladies of the old court, women of elegant manners, and seemingly of good information; several English women, pretty, quiet, and clever; besides a dozen men of different nations. This was one of those little _réunions_ that are so common in Paris among the foreigners, in which a small infusion of French serves to leaven a considerable batch of human beings from other parts of the world. As it is always a relief to me to speak my own language, after being a good while among foreigners, I stayed an hour at this house. In the course of the evening an Irishman of great wit and of exquisite humour, one of the paragons of the age in his way, came in. In the course of conversation, this gentleman, who is the proprietor of an Irish estate, and a Catholic, told me of an atrocity in the laws of his country of which until then I was ignorant. It seems that any younger brother, or next heir, might claim the estate by turning Protestant, or drive the incumbent to the same act. I was rejoiced to hear that there was hardly an instance of such profligacy known.[19] To what baseness will not the struggle for political ascendancy urge us!

In the course of the evening, Mr. ----, the Irish gentleman, gravely introduced me to a Sir James ----, adding, with perfect gravity, "a gentleman whose father humbugged the Pope--humbugged infallibility." One could not but be amused with such an introduction, urged in a way so infinitely droll, and I ventured, at a proper moment, to ask an explanation, which, unless I was also humbugged, was as follows.

Among the _détenus_ in 1804 was Sir William ----, the father of Sir James ----, the person in question. Taking advantage of the presence of the Pope at Paris, he is said to have called on the good-hearted Pius, with great concern of manner, to state his case. He had left his sons in England, and through his absence they had fallen under the care of two Presbyterian aunts; as a father he was naturally anxious to rescue them from this perilous situation. "Now, Pius," continued my merry informant, "quite naturally supposed that all this solicitude was in behalf of two orthodox Catholic souls, and he got permission from Napoleon for the return of so good a father to his own country,--never dreaming that the conversion of the boys, if it ever took place, would only be from the Protestant Episcopal Church of England to that of Calvin; or a rescue from one of the devil's furnaces to pop them into another." I laughed at this story, I suppose with a little incredulity; but my Irish friend insisted on its truth, ending the conversation with a significant nod, Catholic as he was, and saying--"humbugged infallibility!"

By this time it was eleven o'clock; and as I am obliged to keep reasonable hours, it was time to go to _the_ party of the evening. Count ----, of the ---- Legation, gave a great ball. My carriage entered the line at the distance of near a quarter of a mile from the hotel; gensdarmes being actively employed in keeping us all in our places. It was half an hour before I was set down, and the quadrilles were in full motion when I entered. It was a brilliant affair,--much the most so, I have ever yet witnessed in a private house. Some said there were fifteen hundred people present. The number seems incredible; and yet, when one comes to calculate, it may be so. As I got into my carriage to go away, Charles informed me that the people at the gates affirm that more than six hundred carriages had entered the court that evening. By allowing an average of little more than two to each vehicle, we get the number mentioned.

I do not know exactly how many rooms were opened on this occasion, but I should think there were fully a dozen. Two or three were very large _salons_; and the one in the centre, which was almost at fever heat, had crimson hangings, by way of cooling one. I have never witnessed dancing at all comparable to that of the quadrilles of this evening. Usually there is either too much or too little of the dancing-master, but on this occasion every one seemed inspired with a love of the art. It was a beautiful sight to see a hundred charming young women, of the first families of Europe,--for they were there, of all nations, dressed with the simple elegance that is so becoming to the young of the sex, and which is never departed from here until after marriage,--moving in perfect time to delightful music, as if animated by a common soul. The men, too, did better than usual, being less lugubrious and mournful than our sex is apt to be in dancing. I do not know how it is in private, but in the world, at Paris, every young woman seems to have a good mother; or, at least, one capable of giving her both a good tone and good taste.

At this party I met the ----, an intimate friend of the ambassador, and one who also honours me with a portion of her friendship. In talking over the appearance of things, she told me that some hundreds of _applications for invitations_ to this ball had been made. "Applications! I cannot conceive of such meanness. In what manner?" "Directly; by note, by personal intercession--almost by tears. Be certain of it, many hundreds have been refused." In America we hear of refusals to go to balls, but we have not yet reached the pass of sending refusals to invite! "Do you see Mademoiselle ----, dancing in the set before you?" She pointed to a beautiful French girl whom I had often seen at her house, but whose family was in a much lower station in society than herself. "Certainly; pray how came _she_ here?" "I brought her. Her mother was dying to come, too, and she begged me to get an invitation for her and her daughter; but it would not do to bring the mother to such a place, and I was obliged to say no more tickets could be issued. I wished, however, to bring the daughter, she is so pretty; and we compromised the affair in that way." "And to this the mother assented!" "Assented! How can you doubt it? What funny American notions you have brought with you to France!"

I got some droll anecdotes from my companion, concerning the ingredients of the company on this occasion, for she could be as sarcastic as she was elegant. A young woman near us, attracted attention by a loud and vulgar manner of laughing. "Do you know that lady?" demanded my neighbour. "I have seen her before, but scarcely know her name." "She is the daughter of your acquaintance, the Marquise de ----." "Then she is, or was, a Mademoiselle de ----." "She is not, nor properly ever was, a Mademoiselle de ----. In the Revolution the Marquis was imprisoned by you wicked republicans, and the Marquise fled to England, whence she returned, after an absence of three years, bringing with her this young lady, then an infant a few months old." "And Monsieur le Marquis?" "He never saw his daughter, having been beheaded in Paris, about a year before her birth." "_Quel contre-temps!_" "_N'est-ce pas?_"

It is a melancholy admission, but it is no less true, that good breeding is sometimes quite as active a virtue as good principles. How many more of the company present were born about a year after their fathers were beheaded, I have no means of knowing, but had it been the case with all of them, the company would have been of as elegant demeanour, and of much more _retenue_ of deportment, than we are accustomed to see, I will not say in _good_, but certainly in _general_ society, at home. One of the consequences of good breeding is also a disinclination, positively a distaste, to pry into the private affairs of others. The little specimen to the contrary, just named, was rather an exception, owing to the character of the individual, and to the indiscretion of the young lady in laughing too loud; and then the affair of a birth so _very_ posthumous was rather too _patent_ to escape all criticism.

My friend was in a gossiping mood this evening, and, as she was well turned of fifty, I ventured to continue the conversation. As some of the _liaisons_ which exist here must be novel to you, I shall mention one or two more.

A Madame de J---- passed us, leaning on the arm of M. de C----. I knew the former, who was a widow; had frequently visited her, and had been surprised at the intimacy which existed between her, and M. de C----, who always appeared quite at home in her house. I ventured to ask my neighbour if the gentleman were the brother of the lady. "Her brother! It is to be hoped not, as he is her husband." "Why does she not bear his name, if that be the case?" "Because her first husband is of a more illustrious family than her second; and then there are some difficulties on the score of fortune. No, no. These people are _bonâ fide_ married. _Tenez_--do you see that gentleman who is standing so assiduously near the chair of Madame de S----? He who is all attention and smiles to the lady?" "Certainly: his politeness is even affectionate." "Well, it ought to be, for it is M. de S----, her husband." "They are a happy couple, then." "_Hors de doute_: he meets her at _soirées_ and balls; is the pink of politeness; puts on her shawl; sees her safe into her carriage, and----" "Then they drive home together, as loving as Darby and Joan." "And then he jumps into his _cabriolet_, and drives to the lodgings of ----. _Bon soir, monsieur_----; you are making me fall into the vulgar crime of scandal."

Now, much as all this may sound like invention, it is quite true that I repeat no more to you than was said to me, and no more than what I believe to be the fact. As respects the latter couple, I have been elsewhere told that they literally never see each other except in public, where they constantly meet as the best friends in the world.

I was lately in some English society, when Lady G---- bet a pair of gloves with Lord R---- that he had not seen Lady R---- for a fortnight. The bet was won by the gentleman, who proved satisfactorily that he had met his wife at a dinner party only ten days before.

After all I have told you, and all that you may have heard from others, I am nevertheless inclined to believe that the high society of Paris is quite as exemplary as that of any other large European town. If we are any better ourselves, is it not more owing to the absence of temptation, than to any other cause? Put large garrisons into our towns, fill the streets with idlers who have nothing to do but to render themselves agreeable, and with women with whom dress and pleasure are the principal occupations, and then let us see what Protestantism and liberty will avail us in this particular. The intelligent French say that their society is improving in morals. I can believe this assertion, of which I think there is sufficient proof by comparing the present with the past, as the latter has been described to us. By the past, I do not mean the period of the Revolution, when vulgarity assisted to render vice still more odious--a happy union, perhaps, for those who were to follow,--but the days of the old _régime_. Chance has thrown me in the way of three or four old dowagers of that period, women of high rank, and still in the first circles, who, amid all their _finesse_ of breeding, and ease of manner, have had a most desperate _rouée_ air about them. Their very laugh, at times, has seemed replete with a bold levity that was as disgusting as it was unfeminine. I have never, in any other part of the world, seen loose sentiments _affichés_, with more effrontery. These women are the complete antipodes of the quiet, elegant Princesse de ----, who was at Lady ---- ----'s this evening; though some of them write _Princesses_ on their cards, too.

The influence of a court must be great on the morals of those who live in its purlieus. Conversing with the Duc de ----, a man who has had general currency in the best society of Europe, on this subject, he said,--"England has long decried our manners. Previously to the Revolution, I admit they were bad; perhaps worse than her own; but I know nothing in our history so bad as what I have witnessed in England. The King invited me to dine at Windsor. I found every one in the drawing-room, but his Majesty and Lady ----. She entered but a minute before him, like a queen. Her reception was that of a queen; young, unmarried females kissed her hand. Now, all this might happen in France, even now; but Louis XV, the most dissolute of our monarchs, went no farther. At Windsor, I saw the husband, sons, and daughters of the favourite, in the circle! _Le parc des Cerfs_ was not as bad as this."

"And yet, M. de ----, since we are conversing frankly, listen to what I witnessed, but the other day, in France. You know the situation of things at St. Ouen, and the rumours that are so rife. We had the _fête Dieu_ during my residence there. You, who are a Catholic, need not be told that your sect believe in the doctrine of the 'real presence.' There was a _reposoir_ erected in the garden of the _château_, and God, in person, was carried, with religious pomp, to rest in the bowers of the ex-favourite. It is true, the husband was not present: he was only in the provinces!"

"The influence of a throne makes sad parasites and hypocrites," said M. de ----, shrugging his shoulders.

"And the influence of the people, too, though in a different way. A courtier is merely a well-dressed demagogue."

"It follows, then, that man is just a poor devil."

But I am gossiping away with you, when my Asmodean career is ended; and it is time I went to bed. Good night!

[18] M. de Marbois was the first president of the Court of Accounts.

[19] I believe this infamous law, however, has been repealed.

METASTASIO.

I.
_La Signora._
Chi sei tu? Chi sei tu?
Dimmi piccolo fanciullo,
Sempr' andante sù et giù
Sospirando fra 'l trastullo.

_Cupid._
Son Cupidon' in verità
Rè de' burle leggiadre.

_La Sig._
Dunque dì per carità,
Come stia, tua madre?
Senz' arco così, perchè?
Dove sono le saiette?
La faretra poi dov' è?
Sembianze son sospette--
Chi sei tu?

II.
_La Sig._
Chi sei tu? chi sei tu?
Arme c'eran altre volte.

_Cupid._
Giovan' ELLA non è più
Mi furon' allora tolte.

_La Sig._
E la torcia, perchè, dì,
Hai voluto tu lasciare?

_Cupid._
Cuori signor' oggidì
Più non vogliono bruciare.

_La Sig._
Tu rispondermi così
Fanciulletto! che vergogna!
O! sei cambiato, sì,
Ate dunque dir' bisogna
"CHI SEI TU?"

FONTENELLE.

I.
_La Dame._
Qui es tu? Qui es tu?
Bel enfant aux gais sourires,
Toi qui cours tout devtu,
Et ris parfois, parfois soupires?

_Cupidon._
Dame, je suis Cupidon
Dieu d'amour, fils à CITHERE.

_La Dame._
Bel enfant, eh, dis moi donc
Comment va, VENUS, ta mere?
Cette fois, sans carquois
Je te vois avec surprise,
Cupidon, est il donc
Etonnant que l'on te dise
Qui es tu?

II.
_La Dame._
Qui es tu? Qui es tu?
Qu'a tu donc fait de tes armes,
De tes traits de fer pointu ...?

_Cupidon._
De _vos_ traits ... où sont les charmes?

Vous votre beau, moi mon flambeau
Ensemble nous lâchâmes:

Or, plus d'espoir helas! de voir
Pour nous les coeurs en flammes!

_La Dame._
Petit enfant, c'est peu galant
D'user pareil langage;
Pas étonnant que maintenant
Chacun dise au village
"QUI EST TU?"

SAM. LOVER.

* * This song has been set to music
* by Mr. Lover, and is published.

"Who are you?--Who are you?
Little boy that's running after
Ev'ry one up and down,
Mingling sighing with your laughter?"

"I am Cupid, lady belle,
I am Cupid, and no other."

"Little boy, then pr'ythee tell
How is Venus? How's your mother?
Little boy, little boy,
I desire you tell me true:
Cupid, oh! you're alter'd so,
No wonder I cry _Who are you?_"

II.
"Who are you?--Who are you?
Little boy, where is your bow?
You had a bow, my little boy."

"So had you, ma'am, long ago."

"Little boy, where is your torch?"
"Madam, I have given it up:

Torches are no use at all;
Hearts will never now _flare up_."

"Naughty boy, naughty boy,
Such words as these I never knew:
Cupid, oh! you're alter'd so,
No wonder I say
"WHO ARE YOU?"

_WHO ARE YOU?_

"There are very impudent people in London," Said young Ben. "As I passed down Arlington-street a fellow stared at me and shouted 'Who are you?' Five minutes after, another passing me cried 'Flare up!' but a civil gentleman close to his heels kindly asked 'How is your mother?' _Vivian Grey._

"Il y a certaines façons de parler dans toutes les langues de l'Europe, que l'on retrouve partout dans la bouche du vulgaire. A cette classe apparsions "_Qui es tu?_" "_Comment va ta mere?_" En Italie comme en France on n'entend que ça."--L'Abbé Bossu _sur les idiotismes du langage_.

METROPOLITAN MEN OF SCIENCE.

No. I.

The author of the exploits of _Brown Bess_ and of _The Admirable Crichton_ has announced his intention of _editing_ "_The Lions of London_," a task of no ordinary description; and _Boz_ has already chronicled the slang, humour, peculiarities, and vices of the omnibus cads and cab-drivers. Pierce Egan, after uttering a vulgar forgery of _Life in London_, has in a repentant fit announced himself as "_A Pilgrim of the Thames_;" and, in short, the wonders of this wondrous metropolis are drawn, depicted, coloured, printed, narrated, represented, in every possible shape and way to the town and country public. All this we know: but we know more; we know that there are _the_ places, _the_ scenes, and _the_ characters to be visited, and contemplated, and admired in town, which will be omitted to be noticed by any of our pleasant historians; but which are, of all others, worthy of sincere regard and periodical immortality! In the East, according to the letters of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, the corner of the Kiosk was the distinguished place of honour; and may we not conduct our readers to corners and by-places, and "show their eyes and grieve their hearts?" We have for some time felt a great anxiety to exhibit to our readers a few remarkable features of society, or rather to introduce them to Those who are connected with those features. All know, and yet all do not intimately and in particular know, many of our great scientific humanists, as connected with particular departments of our precious faces or heads; but we long, we thirst, to be the chroniclers of

Mr. A. and the eye,
Mr, B. and the ear,
Mr. C. and the nose,
Mr. D. and the teeth,
&c. &c. &c.

Some of our readers will think we are about to publish the works of _Head_ in the usual popular monthly series; but we see no reason why old Burton should have it all to himself, and why a pleasant anatomy (which must be an anatomy of pleasure) should not compete with the Anatomy of Melancholy!

We shall at once begin our agreeable task, and as it is _biting_ weather, we will immediately come to Mr. D. and the teeth, than whom a more amiable, honourable, or generous man, or a more decisive and perfect artist, does not exist. Persons may think that his abode is a mere place where drops of laudanum are dropped into wretched receptacles of pain; or where bits of yellow double ivory are lugged out, as though the teeth were dancing the hays in Hayes Court. No such thing! The house is a palace! The man is a magician over the unruly spirit of teeth! The arrangements are pleasant, touching, and delightful; and the operations are rare and fascinating surprises, which no person with a discoloured concave, or suspicious fang, ought to neglect! What a mansion! What an artist! What a deathless D.!

I do not know when I have experienced more of ease and pleasure than I did in the capacious and comfortable ante-room; for I had, to speak the truth, accompanied a friend who had the tooth-ache, and I saw around me, various respectable objects of pang and pity, who were about to have that salutary relief given to them, which the new poor-law has directed to other poor devils, and which is derived from their _being taken into the house_! One by one was beckoned out by the porter to the relieving officer, and nothing could be more interesting or effective than the departure of patient after patient, "with a muffled drum" for a head, and who, as soon as the door closed, was "heard no more of!" What luxury marks this apartment! The handles of the doors are a complete set of ivories; and, indeed, the whole interior is one scene of mingled splendour and comfort. Let our readers, as Brutus says, "_chew_ upon this!" A large table stands in the room, covered with every work that the imagination can devise, for the amusement and satisfaction of the attentive reader. The students, however, in this room, are not so steady and intent over their books as are the visitors to the library of the British Museum; but they snatch a little agreeable reading by fits and starts, and take up a very tolerable number of volumes and pamphlets, and put them down in a remarkably short compass of time. The person to whom the selection of this entertaining library has been entrusted, has executed his task with discretion, fidelity, and spirit; and we were pleased to notice, as we jotted down in our memorandum-book the names of the most attractive of the works, how much he had endeavoured to collect together, pages that should tend to soothe, beguile, and cheer the casual visitor of the place. First we had "_Paine's Age of Reason_"--a book calculated for those in whom pain and reason are so invariably connected. Then we had "Sass's Drawings of the Human Figure;" "The Sufferings of the Early Martyrs;" "History of the Inquisition, with Prints of the Screws and Instruments of Torture;" "Lardner on the Lever;" "Coulson on Distortions, &c." "Tracts on Tumours;" "Montgomery's Omnipresence;" "Five Minutes' Advice on the Care of the Teeth;" "The Lancet;" and "_Elegant Extracts_." There is no refreshment ready in _this_ room, except that which is derived by the person who comes to have his or her teeth "looked at," contemplating a near chair-neighbour who is about to part with one of those useful inmates, which, like all other domestics, get troublesome as they get older, and finally lose their places from becoming in themselves perfectly unbearable! The passages and galleries are magnificent--rows of pillars of the _Tuscan_ order are in even sets, and in perfect order and keeping! On the staircase, which is of marble, stands a superb clock, which _throbs_ the time very awfully; and the suite of rooms on the first floor is, as the visitors cannot but admit, of the most costly order. Refreshments are here constantly spread before the lingerer, tempting those (who have not had a wink of sleep for weeks) to eat and enjoy themselves. In this house one thing is remarkable, and I think it tends to confuse the mind,--"the drawing-room" is on the ground-floor! Here the soothing sorcerer over anguish and horror--receives his visitors; and here, indeed, he sees company in due state. I merely took a glimpse at this room, which was by no means so provocative of curiosity to me as was the blue chamber to that of Fatima's.

A few _mems_ must close this weak and impotent description:--a few recollections snatched amidst the fascination of the whole place! We observed that the mode in which our artist expelled a troublesome _double enemy_ put an end to the usual interpretation of Zanga's famous exclamation,

"The flesh _will_ follow where the pincers tear!"

The _pincers_ might be used, but the flesh did _not_ follow,--the eye-tooth came out as clean as a smelt. Mr. D. had several pictures in _enamel_, which were much to be valued; and he had in his hall a portrait by the late Sir Thomas Lawrence of Mr. Cartwright--and likenesses by _H. B._ in one of his closets, of Howard, Imrie, Sanford, Clarke, Jones, Parkinson, Hayes, Biggs, Rogers, &c. &c. which are allowed to be, by all observers, admirable works of art. There is a slight attempt at _Mallan_ in _mineral succedaneum_, which appears to be falling away--we will not say decaying.

One nuisance there is, and we cannot as honest historians pass it over; the street, in which our D. lives, is disturbed, distracted, by an excess of music, amounting, arising indeed, into a decided case of "_organic_ disease." The _grinders_ making a point--it would seem a pointed point--of showing themselves in the very front of that building,--which is opposed to anything defective in the front!

As we were about to depart from this attractive spot--not _spot_--place,--we saw Charles Taylor or Tom Cooke slipping away with every tooth perfect, and yet not without a _falsetto_. Some musical wag however still remained, and by permission of the butler (a _drawer_ of corks in large practice) we were allowed to hear the following song; and we shall print it at once without comment, explanation, or excuse,

"For, oh! Sir Thomas's own sonnet
Beats all that we can say upon it."

SONG,
For the Private Theatre or the _Drawing_-room.
_Air--Not_ "Pull away, pull away, pull away, my hearties!"--DIBDIN.

Oh! this is the house for effects and for scenes,--
What is Drury, Ducrow's, Covent Garden, the Queen's?
Success at the one or the other will pause,
But in this house the manager constantly _draws_.--
Then let the Muse _be_ at her
Home, in this theatre;
Gain here, and glory, go snacks in applause.

The crowds that come here, made of Beauty and Ninny,
Take--each takes a seat in the stall for a guinea;
Our great managerial actor then bows,
And, oh! with what pleasure he views _the front rows_!
Then let, &c.

At the Opera they boast of the band and the _chori_,
Of Lindley,--of Balfe,--Dragonetti, and Mori;
But here finished art, perfect touch, take their station,
For who beats our hero in _instrumentation_?
Then let, &c.

There's _Richard the Third_ is a favourite part,
And he mouths it, like some of our players, by heart;
But remember that Gloster, when first he drew breath,
Was shaped like a _screw_--with a _full set of teeth_.
Then let, &c.

Macbeth may effectively fall to his lot,
For where's such an artist for "_Out_, damned _spot_!"
And we see, where those old annotators were blind,--
For the issue of Duncan, why he _filed_ his mind.
Then let, &c.

He does not play Lear (Forrest does--so does Booth),
For he thinks the "How sharper!" is wrong on the _tooth_!
His company's good, else why full stall and bench?
But, though he likes _Power_, he won't hear of _Wrench_!
Then let, &c.

Through pieces--light farce--Fame our favorite then next tracks,--
Single acts, single scenes, pungent touches, smart extracts!
With Colman's Review, too, he's coupled by some,
For he, like John Lump, gets a "guinea _by Gum_!"
Then let, &c.

Then, with riches at will, oh! how liberal the lord
Of this mansion is found at the banquet and board!
Still, though wealth comes from east and from west, north and south,
Yet some _will_ say he lives but from mere _hand to mouth_!
Then let, &c.

But cautious he should be,--though bright be the day,--
For he knows, best of any, the works of decay;
And he ne'er should forget, in this splendid--this top age,
That when he _won't_ draw, he inclines then to _stoppage_.
Then let, &c.

But long may he flourish--long, long here preside,
To give "harmless pleasure" to thousands beside!
Age is baffled by him,--we're still rich,--let it fret!
Oh! if hundreds are lost, we can have a _new set_!
Then let, &c. R.

KYAN'S PATENT--THE NINE MUSES,--AND THE DRY-ROT.

"That which is most elaborate in nature is that which soonest
runs to decay." FARADAY.

The Muses, to their infinite disgrace as useful members of society, have for centuries been devoting their time to the sun, the moon, the stars, flowers, lips, hair, love, "kisses, tears, and smiles;" in short, to objects of mere enjoyment and beauty; greatly to the delight, it must be confessed, of the young and the romantic, but tending to no wise and useful purpose, and contributing to no profitable end. The long luxurious indolence of these nine inestimable young ladies for so many, many years, does appear to us to cast no slight shade upon their characters; and Parnassus itself does not "hold its own" as a place of any considerable repute, when the habits of its female frequenters are taken into account. It is, indeed, high time that the Muses should get into places of all work,--that they should earn their bread through habits of honest industry and integrity, and not be idling about the rose-trees, and wasting their powers on a sigh, an eyebrow, or a trumpery star. The time for useful exertion is come; and the days of dalliance, dreaming, and ethereal delight are passing away. Flora gives way to Cocker, and Apollo is whipped off the top of his own Grecian mount by the schoolmaster _abroad_. If the Muses do not now patronise statistical reports, poor-law estimates, and fat-cattle meetings, they will as surely "sink in their repute," ay, as surely as the name of their firm is "Clio, Tighe, Thalia, Hemans, Euterpe, Landon, Polyhymnia, Jenkinson, and Co." Imagination is all very well in its way; but does it know how "things are in the City?" Is it in the direction--it certainly ought to be--of the Great Northern Railway, or the Public Safety British Patent Axletree Conveyance Company? Can imagination "set a leg or an arm?" if not, why imagination may imagine itself carrying out its own shutters in these enlightened times, and shutting up its own shop at mid-day.

We are happy to see, and to be able to say, that the Muses, like the ladies in "the Invincibles," are marching with the times. They are setting imagination to work on various well-sounding schemes for public companies and joint-stockeries. Apollo is preparing a prospectus for a New British Co-operative Joint Stock Music Society, into which, of course, nothing foreign will be allowed to creep, unless it is altered and dressed anew, and "wears a livery like its fellows." Melpomene is to take the Queen's Theatre for a serious bazaar, and Thalia is to turn Astley's into an agreeable chapel for the Jumpers. Urania goes to the Astronomical Society as housekeeper, and Terpsichore is to be the lessee of the dancing-rooms in Brewer-street, Golden-square, for gymnastic purposes. Indeed, there will not be an idle body in the lovely firm; and, in future, it is more than probable that vessels will be propelled by means of airy verse, and balloons inflated by fancy, or elevated and guided by the application of high-flown figures. There is no knowing or foretelling to _what_ extent of usefulness poetry may be carried!

It has fallen to our lot to be able to record one of the scientific turns which poetry has taken. The Muses having of late years observed that the palm-tree, the laurel, and all their sacred trees, had, like the trees in all gardens open to the public, suffered much from ill-usage,--premature symptoms of dry-rot having presented themselves,--the Nine were all at sixes and sevens about the matter, until they were recommended by a humane neighbour (as one of Morrison's pill victims says in a grateful advertisement) to "try Kyan." "Try Kyan!" exclaimed Calliope. "What, in the name of music, can Kyan be?" On turning to the columns of the Morning Chronicle, however, Erato (who could read) discovered the advertisement explanatory of the great patent antidote to dry-rot in timber; and a deputation of three of the daughters of Mnemosyne waited on Messrs. Faraday, Pine, Kyan, Memel, Mills, Oakley, Terry, and Woodison, gentlemen interested in the progress of this invaluable discovery,--and finally at the office in Lime-street-square the Muses bargained for a steeping of their undying, dying, decaying timber in the wondrous tank at Red Lion wharf, Poplar. The process, notwithstanding the mischief done to the wood by the poets of this scratching age, was most triumphantly successful; all symptoms of decay, except where certain initials were carved, at once disappeared, and the immortal plants began to put on "all their original brightness!" Apollo gave an awful shriek of delight as he saw the wanton cuttings and witherings disappear, and the grand leaves of beauty starting into life afresh, at the inspiring touch of the immortal Kyan. The Muses, with a few select friends, dined together afterwards, at the Macclesfield Arms in the New-road, and a song upon Kyan's patent was _impromptued_ on the occasion, and was very favourably received, when the mortal waiters were out of the room. We are enabled to lay a copy of it before our readers; and we are sure they will, with us, receive with pleasure this proof of the interest which the Muses are taking in matters of science and useful art. It is reported that the Nine are about to become members of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.

THE ANTI-DRY-ROT COMPANY'S SONG.

_Air_--"Well, well, now--no more;--sure you've told me before."
_Love in a Village._

1.
Have you heard,--have you heard,--
Anti-dry-rot's the word?
Wood will never wear out, thanks to Kyan, to Kyan!
He dips in a tank,
Any rafter or plank,--
And makes it immortal as Dian, as Dian!
If you steep but a thread,
It will hang by the head,
For ever, the largest old lion, old lion;
Or will cord up the trunk
Of an elephant drunk;--
If you doubt it,--yourself go and try 'un, and try 'un.

2.
In the days that are gone,
As to timber and stone,
Decay was by no means a shy 'un, a shy 'un.
He bolted our floors,
And our vessels by scores,
And the thirsty old rot was a dry 'un, a dry 'un!
Oak crumbled beneath
The dry blast of its breath,
As soon as it e'er came a-nigh 'un, a-nigh 'un;
But gone is the day
Of that glutton Decay,
Since he can't eat his timber with _Kyan_, with _Kyan_!

3.
Say--now--what shall we steep
In the tank? just to keep.--
Shakespeare sniffed our great secret, the sly 'un, the sly 'un!
Hamlet, Macbeth, and Lear,
Have been _Kyan'd_, my dear,
By Nature's immortal Paul Pry 'un, Paul Pry 'un.
Shall the plays of the day
Take a plunge from decay?
(There is no need for Tell, or for Ion, for Ion;)
I fear he could not
Soak away the dry-rot
From _some_ things:--But _all_ rests on Kyan, on Kyan.

4.
Put the lid on the tank,--
Not a crack for a plank,--
While I point out one thing, as I fly on, I fly on,
Which really must not
Have a dip 'gainst dry-rot,--
Stuff with cotton the ears of my Kyan, my Kyan.
In a whisper I speak,
(But 'twill rain for a week,--
Or as long as St. Swithin will cry on, will cry on,--)
The moment I make
Your conviction awake
That _Vauxhall_ wants no plunge 'gainst the dry 'un, the dry 'un.

5.
Do not dip many books
In our anti-rot nooks;
Keep out novels, and all Sense cries Fie on! cries Fie on!
Though, since Wood turns sublime
In its strife against time,
Most heads that we know, will try Kyan, try Kyan.
Only think what great good
'Twould do Alder_men_ Wood,
(Elected for life) if they'd try 'un, they'd try 'un;--
Every word that I say
Is as true as the day,
And each hint you may safely rely on, rely on!

6.
Then, hurrah! come uncork!
This dry-rot is dry work;
Bring the bottle,--that one I've my eye on, my eye on;
My spirit I'd steep
In its rich _anti_-deep,
And linger for morn, like Orion, Orion!
'Gad the secret is out,
We've talk'd so much about;
My dog's on the scent,--oh! then hie on, then hie on!
'Tis the _bottle_, I feel,
Makes immortal mere deal,
And wine's the _solution of Kyan_, of Kyan! R.

THE ORIGINAL OF "NOT A DRUM WAS HEARD."

SCRAP, No. III. _Water-grass-hill._

When _single-speech_ Hamilton made in the Irish Commons that _one_ memorable hit, and persevered ever after in obdurate taciturnity, folks began very justly to suspect that all was not right; in fact, that the solitary egg on which he thus sat, plumed in all the glory of incubation, had been laid by another. The Rev. Mr. Wolfe is _supposed_ to be the author of a single poem, unparalleled in the English language for all the qualities of a true lyric, breathing the purest spirit of the antique, and setting criticism completely at defiance. I say _supposed_, for the gentlemen himself never claimed its authorship during his short and unobtrusive lifetime. He who could write the "Funeral of Sir John Moore," must have eclipsed all the lyric poets of this latter age by the fervour and brilliancy of his powers. Do the other writings of Mr. Wolfe bear any trace of inspiration? None.