Chapter M: W. Is a Fool; (2)

But when we find that this picture was painted for the directors of the British Institution, founded "for the express purpose of encouraging the Fine Arts," and is about to be engraved and disseminated throughout the country, as a specimen of the works taken under the especial care of that Institution; it really becomes a duty to save the nation from a charge of bad taste so heavy as must arise out of the patronage of such a ludicrous daub.

This may be a picture painted for the Institution at their desire, and the execution of it is no proof of their want of judgment, because they desired to have such a picture, and they have got it, and we have thereby no proof of their approbation; but since they have got themselves into a scrape, they certainly should not allow a print to be made from it, even if they suffer the painting to remain in existence.

If it be possible to imagine one thing upon earth more irresistibly ridiculous than another, it is the composition of this enormous thing--the size of it is thirty-five feet by twenty-one--in the centre appears the Duke of Wellington in a pearl car--under his feet are legs and arms, and heads in glorious confusion--before him rides a pretty little naked boy upon a lion--over him in the clouds are a group of young gentlemen with wings, representing the Duke's victories, who look like Mrs. Wilkinson's Preparatory Academy turned out for a bathe; and amongst these pretty little dears are Peace and Plenty, and a great angel overshadowing the whole party.

But this very absurd jumble (at which, through a little hole, Blucher and Platoff are looking with some surprise,) is by no means the most ludicrous part of the affair--in the clouds are two persons, called by Mr. Ward, Ignorance and Error, (one of whom has a dirty handkerchief tied over his eyes,) beneath whom are dogs' heads with wings--a tipsy-looking cock-eyed owl trampling a heavy stone Osiris into the earth--a little calf without a head--a red night-cap--a watchman's rattle--an old crow--Paine's "Rights of Man"--Voltaire's works, a sick harpy--a devil sucking his fingers--a hobby-horse's head, and a heap of chains--here is the allegory--all of which we shall attempt to explain in Mr. Ward's own words, for he is an author as well as a painter, and, absurd as are the productions of his pencil, the nonsense of his pen is, of the two, the most exquisite.

In the foreground of the picture is a skeleton evidently afflicted with the head-ache, before whom runs a little wide-mouthed waddling frog with a long tail, and beyond these a group which defies description.

The horses (particularly the near wheeler) have a very droll and cunning expression about the eye; but the four persons leading them, whether considered as to their drawing or colouring, are beneath all criticism: a pupil of six months' standing ought to have been flogged for doing anything so bad.

In short, the whole thing in its kind closely resembles the overgrown transparencies painted to be stuck up at Vauxhall, or the Cumberland Gardens, or for public rejoicings, and ought, as soon as it has answered its purpose like those, be obliterated, and the stuff worked up for something else.

In a book published upon this performance, Mr. Ward modestly says, that he is not ambitious to be considered an author, and adds, that there exists some insuperable objection to his ever being one; but still, he professes to attempt in his own simple style an explanation of his own ideas. He feels quite confident of public favour and indulgence, and then gives us his view of the thing:--as a specimen of this said style, we shall quote his notions about envy--its beauty, we confess, is evident--its simplicity we are afraid is somewhat questionable.

"Where shall we find a safe retreat for envied greatness, from
the miry breath or slander's feverish tongue; dark in the bosom
of the ocean's fathomless abyss, on the cloud-cleaving Atlas,
or at the extremity of east or west. High on the gilded dome,
or palace pinnacle, should merit's fairest hard-earned honours
shine, once seated there, the sickly eye of speckled Jealousy,
or Envy's snaky tribe, with iron nerve, and cold in blood, well
scan the mark, and the envenomed javelin cast, with secret but
unerring aim, and what is to screen him from the foul attack? The
shield of Worth intrinsic, bound about with truth, and conscious
innocence, and where that lives, all other covering only tends to
hide its blushing beauties from the rising sun, and dim the face
of day.

"So the firm oak's deep roots, eccentric, winding through the
heaving earth, fast bound and chasmed deep, with many a widening
gap, by blazing Sol's mid ray, at summer's sultry noon, opposes
strength to strength; or round the impervious rocks, in weighty
balance to its broad branch, and highly-lifted head, up to
the mountain's summit, shrinks not from the prospect of the
blackening storm, and while it sends its sweeping arms around
over the circling numerous acres, shadowing under its expanded
greatness, fears not the threatening blast, nor for protection
looks to man. Too great to need a screen; it were children's
play to throw a mantle over its full broad majesty, to try to
save its foliage luxuriant from the rude element. The attempt
would be as weedy muslin's cobweb insipidity; its flimsy partial
covering would only hide its full matured richness; and the first
breeze of whirlwind's opening rising tempest, tear from the
disdainful surface to streaming raggedness the feeble effort, and
open to the eye the golden fruit, freshening by the tempest, and
glittering in the storm."

We know very little of human nature, if Mr. Ward, in spite of his disclaiming any wish to be considered as an author, does not think all this very fine. By way of simply explaining his allegory, it is particularly useful;--of Mr. Ward's view of the necessity of such explanation we may assure ourselves by his very apposite allusion to Milton, Walter Scott, Homer, and Burn (as he calls him). This paragraph we must quote:--

"It is contended by some, that a picture should be made up only
of such materials as are capable of telling its own story;
such confinement would shut out the human mind from a depth of
pursuit in every branch of art. Poetry requires prose fully to
explain its meaning, and to create an interest; for who would be
without the notes in Walter Scott's 'Lay of the Last Minstrel,'
or a glossary to the poems of Burn, the argument to Milton
or Homer? If then it be necessary to make use of language to
explain poetry, should not the same medium be used to explain
personification? It has been thought necessary on the stage to
send a person between the acts as a comment on the past, and a
preface to the future, and can we, I ask, understand what is
going on even in nature, by dumb show? If we see a crowd of
people assembled in the streets, do we expect that the action and
expression should inform us the cause of their congregating in an
unusual manner? Experience proves more than volumes of argument.
We ask 'what does all this mean?'"

To which we most candidly reply, we really do not know.

Mr. Ward then proceeds in the following manner:--

"Wellington has his hand upon the tri-coloured cross, on the
shield of Britannia, expressive of the Christian's emblem,
and the three colours of which it is composed are the colours
answerable to the three principles in Trinity!!!

Red is the first fiery principle in the Godhead;
Blue the second in the Saviour, or Mediator;
White the third in the Dove of Peace."

This ingenious explanation of the mysteries of the Union Jack must be highly satisfactory to every thinking Englishman: there is, indeed, but one drawback to the holy pleasure we feel at Mr. Ward's sublime discovery, which is, that the Revolutionary flag of France was composed of the same three colours.

The enlightened artist then informs us--speaking of Britannia, "that the twisted lock of hair _laying_ in front upon her bosom, and over the right arm, is emblematic of"--what do you suppose, reader?--"of the spirit of justice."

"Justice, stern and unrelenting, whose sword is forward, and
whose plaited hair is answerable to that sword, and makes in the
person of Justice the number three, as expressive of the Trinity,
or the whole of Godhead manifested in the awful administration of
justice. That sword is serpentine, as expressive of flame, Deity
in its principle of fire."

This is "finely confused, and very alarming;" but observe:--

"With the other hand she points through the medium of the Trident
to the Trinity in Unity, commanding him to look up to Providence
as alone able to give success to his efforts."

This puzzles us; pointing through the medium of "the Trident" appears to us to be something like looking at the Sun through the medium of a toasting-fork; but we may be wrong.

Mr. Ward then continues:--

"The cat and broken spear are emblems of rebellion and
anarchy."--P. 11.

"The British Lion is majestically observing the effects of his
own operations; his countenance shows no symptom of the reign of
passion--anger is alone signified by the movement of his tail."

For this illustration of natural history Mr. Ward appears to be indebted to Mathews, who, in his "At Home," told a capital story of a showman and one of the noble beasts in question, in which, while his head is in the lion's mouth, he anxiously inquires of a by-stander, "Doth he wag his tail?" That bit of waggery being indicative (as Mr. Ward has comically painted it) of the ire of lions generally.

Mr. Ward, as matter of information, tells us, page 19, that "the palm-tree grows to the height of five hundred feet, and bears the date and cocoa-nut." What date the trees Mr. Ward alludes to might have borne we cannot say; but certain it is, that modern palms have left off growing to the height of five hundred feet; which, considering it to be about three times the height of the Monument, and one hundred feet more than the height of St. Paul's, is not so very surprising.

The following information, conveyed in page 20, is likely to be very interesting from its importance:--

"Juvenile antagonists in the streets dare not strike an unfair
blow, take the other by the hair, or maltreat him when fallen
upon the ground. In such case, he not only loses his battle, but
also--his character!!!"

At page 22 we have, perhaps, the most finished description of docking a horse that ever was put to paper; it is somewhat lengthy, but it will repay the lover of the sublime for his trouble in reading it:--

"Can any thing be so far from true taste, as to round the ears
of a dog, or to cut them off; whatever may be the beauty, breed,
or character, to cut off the thumb, or fifth toe, and call it
a Dew claw, and consider it of no use! To chop off the tail
of a waggon-horse, so necessary and useful to that class of
creature; above all, to separate every joint of the tail, with
all the misery attending upon it, in order to reverse the order
of Nature, and make that turn up which ought to turn down, all
equally show the want of taste, as the want of humanity? Who has
ever witnessed the operation last alluded to, if not, pause; and
in your imagination, behold a nobly-formed, and finely-tempered
creature, led from the stable in all the pride of health, and all
the playful confidence of being led out, and held by his master
and his friend, view the hobbles fastened to his legs, his feet
drawn to a point, and himself cast to the earth, so contrary
to his expectations and his hopes; observe the commencement,
and the lingering process; behold the wreathing of the lovely
and as useful animal; how does his heaving breast manifest
his astonishment, while his greatly oppressed and labouring
heart beats high with resentment, at being thus tampered. His
quivering flesh sends through every pore streams of sweat; his
open nostrils are bursting with agony of body and spirit, while
his strained eye-balls flash as with the fixed glare of expiring
nature. Heard you that groan? poor animal. They have began the
deed of barbarism! he faintly shrieks, 'tis as the piteous cry
of the timid hare, when sinking under the deadly gripe of the
fierce, agile, and ravenous greyhound. How he grinds his teeth,
and bores his tightly-twitched and twisted lip, and smoking
nostril, into the thick litter, or grovelling, rubs his aching
forehead into the loose sand; now the sudden and convulsive
effort! what a struggle! every nerve, sinew, tendon, stretched
to its full bearing, with fearful energy! Oh! that he could now
disencumber his fettered limbs, and spring from his tormentors.
Those limbs, that would joyfully bound over the broad plain,
or patient bear the cumbrous load, nor utter one complaint in
the deep toil; or drag with unwearied submission, harnessed,
galled, and parched with thirst, the lumbering machine to the
very borders of his opening tomb. He groans again, the struggle's
over, and he again lays down; while the hoarse breathing and his
panting sides, prove that all his energies, his mighty energies,
have failed: and the work goes on, still continues, and now
another and another gash, and now the iron hook, to tear out from
among the separated complicated bones, the tenacious ligament
that binds the strong vertebræ; and lastly the burning steel to
staunch the streaming blood. Tedious process!--but at length it
ceases, and the noble, towering, majestic steed is led back,
tottering, trembling, reeling, and dejected, to repose apparently
in peace; but ah! another torment, the cord, the weight, the
pulley, day o'er day, and week after week, to keep the lips of
the gaping, throbbing, aching wounds asunder, to close no more
for ever. Enough! enough! our country's shame, for cruelty is not
our natural character, our country's vice."

We by no means intend to ridicule Mr. Ward's humanity; but, we confess, as throwing lights upon an allegorical picture of the Duke of Wellington's triumphs, we do not consider the passage quite as much to the purpose as it might be.

At page 29, Mr. Ward states (and with every appearance of believing it) that "Cicero was once a lisping infant, and Sampson, at one period, could not go alone;"--to which assertions we must beg to add, for Mr. Ward's satisfaction, that "Rome was not built in a day."

In his simple style, at page 30, Mr. Ward, speaking of ignorance, says,--

"Loose veins of thought, imaginative intellects, evaporation. As
the school-boy's frothy bubble, rising from the turbid elements"
soap and water, "its inflated globule exhibits in proud mimicry
the Rainbow's gaily painted hues, and calls rude mirth to dance
upon its glittering surface, when suddenly it bursts, and all is
gone!"

We shall conclude our extracts from this explanatory pamphlet with the following:--

"SHAPELESS FORMS OF DEATH.--Perhaps no part of picturesque
representation is so difficult as this. The poet here has much
the advantage. Ossian may, by a language all understand, throw
the imagination into a delirium, and there leave it bewildered
and wandering, in all the confusion of material immateriality;
but in painting it is necessary to give a substantial shape
to a shapeless form, and substance to a vision. It is not for
him to give the ghost of my father as a misty cloud covering
a whole mountain, or enlarging itself to the broad expanse of
the capacious plain, like the flaky layers of a thick fog, on
the opening dawn of a mist-dispersing sunbeam. But the painter
must embody disembodied beings, and give 'to airy nothingness a
local habitation and a name.' Here the various shapes of blood
and carnage are to be contemplated, in the imagery depicted, as
cannon-balls, bomb-shells, fiery rockets, swords, spears, and
bayonets, with all the horrible effects of their operations;
as moving in the conflicted elements; from the head of death's
gloomy tribes, the large death-bat, under the arm of the fell
monster Death, who is grinning with savage pleasure at the havoc
he is making. The monsters are breathing fire, and from their
pestiferous dugs dropping streams of blood, as the milk of their
nourishment."

Having given some of Mr. Ward's ideas as they were written, we leave those who have not seen his picture to judge what such ideas must be, upon canvas, with a clumsy hand, and the worst possible taste.

To say that Mr. Ward is mad, is not what we would pretend to say; but coupling his painting with the articles which we have caught and preserved, from his pen, we must believe that there are many very worthy persons at present in Bedlam, who could paint allegories full as well, and describe their meaning afterwards with infinitely more perspicuity.

All we have to do in this affair is to call upon the Directors of the British Institution, if they mean to patronise real merit, or to make their rewards honourable and of value, to disclaim all approbation of the most illustrious and full-sized specimen of pictorial Humbug that ever drew shillings out of the pockets of John Bull.

We have indeed been told that the Institution have (somewhat too late) discovered that they employed an animal painter, to paint them an allegorical picture--they were not aware of their mistake in the outset; but in order to rectify it and induce Mr. Ward to rub out his allegory, they have resolved, it is said, to give him an opportunity of showing his talents in his own line, by sitting to him for their likenesses,--it is added that the portrait of Mr. Richard Payne Knight is already in a high state of forwardness.

LETTER FROM A GOOSE.

TO JOHN BULL.

Farm Yard, Claremont, Friday, Sept. 27, 1822.

SIR,--These are the last words I shall ever have an opportunity of addressing to you; my doom, alas! is fixed. I am sentenced to die this evening; neither Alderman Waithman, nor Mr. Ex-Sheriff Parkins, can save me; I am waiting in the condemned coop, the _coup-de-grace_ of my illustrious master's chicken-butcher.

Probably you anticipate the cause of my death: Sunday is the feast of St. Michael, my blood is required in the mysterious celebration of the ceremonies observed in all well-regulated families on that anniversary. This very day twelve-months my excellent and amiable mother, and my respectable father, perished on the same account.

At this critical juncture, I pick a quill from one of my wings to assure you of that resignation to my fate, which I truly feel:--that it is not unalloyed, Mr. Bull, I must, however, confess. Those who know our family know that we are patriots, that we have souls; and I cannot quit the world without regretting my future destiny. Brought up, sir, as I have been; educated upon the English system in the farm-yard of a Foreign Prince; fattened as I have been at the public expense; I did expect (as all patriots say they do) that the sacrifice of my life might have been of some utility to the country;--but, alas! no: pampered, fed, stuffed as it were by anticipation. What is my doom? Am I to be yielded as a tribute to the nation, whence I have derived my weight and flavour? Am I to gratify the palate of the illustrious Prince, my nominal patron? No; I am to be sold and eaten by some base venal hind in this neighbourhood, who, in these times of wretchedness, cannot dine on Michaelmas-day without me.

What my sensations are at the treatment I have met with you may, perhaps, comprehend. Will you believe it, sir, I have never seen the illustrious Personage in whose service I have wasted my days. I have never beheld the amiable Prince, to whom, for many reasons, I am warmly attached: first, because I am a goose; secondly, because, thanks to the generosity of the nation, I am his Royal Highness's goose; and, thirdly, because I am a goose of high feeling, honour, and, above all, of gratitude.

What a consolation it would have been to have seen his Royal countenance!--what a disgrace to my family to quit the world without having attained to such a favour! It is true I have received a great deal of pleasure in the occasional society of Sir Robert Gardiner, whose attentions have been very much devoted to our comfort and accommodation in our Royal Master's absence. I certainly found him in pens; which, as you know Sir Robert is fond of writing, was no small return for his civilities--civilities, which I begin shrewdly to suspect were, after all, interested, and more insidious than I apprehend at the moment.

I ought to apologise for trespassing at such length upon your patience; but, having been for a considerable time a constant correspondent of the _Morning Chronicle_, I am habituated to what are vulgarly called long-winded letters; and when a goose prints his own grievances he is generally somewhat diffuse. My wrongs are now strongest in my recollection, and I am anxious that my family reputation should not suffer in my person, and therefore devote my last moments--my last words to you.

If you were a goose, Mr. Editor, how would you bear with indignities like those I have suffered? Sir, the Heralds' College could prove, and would prove, if they were sufficiently well paid for it, that I am lineally descended from the noble bird who saved the Roman Capitol; and it is in consequence a common observation amongst the poulterers at Kingston, that "there are Capitol geese at Claremont;" which classical saying of that erudite body has been garbled into the more vulgar observation, that "there are capital geese at Prince Leopold's;" inferring thereby that part of his Royal Highness's capital consists of geese!

It is needless to tell you, that the branch of my family which has settled itself in Norfolk is in the most flourishing state, and that at Holkham, at this present moment, there is an old Goose held in high estimation amongst the Whigs. At Woburn Abbey, another set of my connexions are in high force, and admirably calculated for cutting up and roasting; while in the North, the Grey Geese are reckoned invaluable as a cross breed, the head of that coop being the identical bird celebrated in the Fable of the Fox and Goose, to which the Tories have subjoined a very salutary if not pleasant moral. To the notice of these most honourable birds I may add one of the younger scions of our stock, the Goslings--who, as everybody knows, are a most excellent and respectable firm in the City of London.

These things disturb me. I have contributed to the funds of my Master, I am about to lay down my life for his advantage, and, I repeat, he has never seen me. There are thousands of geese, I am ready to grant, labouring under the same disadvantage, and thousands of human beings too, but to them the disappointment is not of the same nature as to us: none but geese would contribute to support an absentee as we do; and yet, supporting him, none but a goose would care about ever seeing him again.

I must cease--the poulterer's cart and my end approach. I have heard that the only modification of my sentence which I ventured to request--the change of strangling into decapitation--is refused me; His Royal Highness's ministers here declaring that I cannot be sent off the premises without a bill. It matters little, Mr. Bull, but I must say, it is not what I expected. Publish my letter, that my Prince may see how he is beloved and respected, and by whom;--he has been at Rome, but never thought of me or mine; perhaps he never heard of the story which connects us with that once mighty city. Adieu!--One of my sisters has already suffered: would I were a swan, I would sing my own elegy--they come nearer--they have seized my pens--I can only give--what we occasionally have here--a great quack, and subscribe myself,

Your affectionate Gander,
BILLY.

P.S.--No _anser_ will reach me; but in making any further inquiries about me, be cautious, as there is a much greater Goose than myself of my name, living at Bagshot, which, being in this neighbourhood, might cause some confusion.

THE HUM-FUM GAMBOOGEE SOCIETY.[48]

The first general meeting of this excellent society took place on Thursday, at the residence of one of its most powerful supporters; and, considering the skeleton state of the metropolis, was satisfactorily attended. We have received an account of the proceedings, under a promise not to mention the names of the committee; and the word "confidential" written diagonally in one corner of our correspondent's letter, prevents our giving the report as fully and satisfactorily as we could wish.

The great Gamboogee himself, however, was present, and explained the nature and intention of the society very succinctly. It may perhaps be necessary to quote for our readers this account of their general views, as detailed by his Lordship.

In the first place, it appears to the excessively correct persons who compose this grave body, that a Christian should never be merry--that it is the bounden duty of all well-disposed persons to groan and sigh, and make themselves as uncomfortable as possible during their stay upon earth; and in order to render themselves apparently subservient to the regulations which they propose to lay down for others, the members have their seats provided on the hardest possible benches, the president being compelled to sit in very thin silk breeches, upon a horse-hair bottomed stool, without either arms or back, _i.e._, while they are in public!

Every member is bound, on similar occasions, to wear large worsted stockings, with the tightest possible shoes, stiff stocks, and hats considerably too small for their heads. Thus accoutred, it is their intention to effect, under the authority they very frequently have on their tongues, a total reformation in society.

They intend to begin with Brookes's and Boodle's, which are to be consigned forthwith to the superintendence of four respectable Dowagers; and the direction of Almack's is to be vested in the hands of six able ministers, to be selected by the great Gamboogee himself for that purpose, next May, previously to the commencement of the ensuing winter season.

In order to prevent the shameful impositions practised upon the credulity of minors of fashion and fortune, by unprincipled women of no property, the Hum-Fum Gamboogees have opened establishments for the reception of young gentlemen of worldly propensities, which are to be placed under the surveillance of most active and pious men.

Similar receptacles for young ladies, whose flagrant desires lead them into the abominable vices of dancing or singing, will be prepared, where, in rooms hung with black, and from which the much too comfortable glare of day will be excluded, they will be taught to see, in their proper colours, the enormity of those crimes of which they have been guilty, and which their sinful mothers, grandmothers, and great grandmothers, have been rash and vile enough to commit in a similar way.

It appearing to the Hum-Fum Gamboogees that the sun is by far too great a blessing for such wretched creatures as we are, they recommend a careful seclusion during the day, and suggest that wet or windy nights are the most suitable occasions for taking exercise.

A total abstinence from wine is earnestly desired to be observed by the young gentlemen of London, whose interests the Hum-Fums have very near their hearts; and they mention weak black tea as a substitute, or a proportion of that excellent succadaneum for Hyson, chopped hay, which was seriously recommended to the attention of the world, a short time since, through the columns of the _Morning Post_.

Several well-dressed and respectable elderly gentlemen, with umbrellas, will attend in Hyde Park every day, until the abomination of frequenting such places be utterly abolished, to escort young men to pious ordinaries, where it is recommended they should dine, in order to prevent those unnatural sins, flirting, dangling, and making the amiable.

A vast many devout minor agents of the society will be employed to divest the pockets of persons of snuff-boxes, it never having been required by nature to feed one's nose.

It is strongly recommended that every one should abstain from frequenting play-houses, and in order to effect this great object, or at all events to render the performances sufficiently disagreeable to be quite correct, it is suggested that the company of performers, who acted at the Haymarket Theatre last season, be the only persons licensed to exhibit in the metropolis.

The Hum-Fums will visit the houses of their neighbours, after the fashion of that most excellent brother corporation, the Bible Society, and will make it their business to enquire into the state of every man's domestic affairs; in order, if possible, to rescue from degradation the servants of London, whose subordination (although, by the active endeavours of similar unions, they are getting gradually independent of their masters and mistresses,) is derogatory to the dignity of the human character.

The Hum-Fums will distribute amongst the domestics such works as may tend to elevate their minds, open their intellects, make them dissatisfied with debasement, and enable them, by the blessing of Providence, to rise superior to that oppression by which the sinful luxuries of society have humiliated them. Several Hum-Fums of the highest character for dulness and gravity will attend in the kitchens and servants'-halls of each parish, to edify their tenants every evening from eight till twelve.

It will be the study of the Hum-Fums to impress upon the soldiers of this kingdom the sin and shame of carrying muskets and bayonets for pay, and of slaughtering their fellow-creatures for no cause whatever; and by the way in which they expect to be enabled to make their light shine, they hope to convince their brethren in arms that officers are but men, and that obedience from one man to another is by no means necessary to salvation.

The sailors they intend to leave entirely to the pious society called the Bethel Union, convinced that nothing the Hum-Fums can do will more effectually emasculate and sanctify at the same time the sea service, and purge it of its worldly power to do mischief, than the blessed exertions of that inestimable institution.

Riding in carriages, especially on Sundays, they most energetically denounce; and it is proposed to solicit the several lessees of the turnpike trusts round London to allow ministers, selected by a council of Hum-Fums, to be placed at the different toll-gates, to dissuade the infatuated people from enjoying the sun and air of heaven on the only day which they have to themselves, and on which, in obedience to the Decalogue, they do no manner of work.

Night agents of the society will be regularly posted at the doors of all public-houses within the bills of mortality, to check the ingress of sinners to such places; and in order more effectually to promote the devout intentions of the society, Messrs. Whitbread (whose very name inspires respect), Mr. Calvert, and Mr. Buxton have intimated a zealous desire to leave off brewing the liquor which the wretched sinners are so depraved as to swallow in those receptacles for vice.

No rank of society will be free from the surveillance of this pious body. At the Opera, a superior class of agents will be always in attendance to superintend the friendly intercourse of the best families, and by an assiduous watchfulness over the manners and conversations of the various parties, many of those heartrending divisions in society which shock morality will be doubtless prevented.

The Hum-Fums earnestly recommend frequent physicking and bleeding, with a view to the moderation of worldly appetites; and suggest, in the hope of keeping up an incessant feeling of the wretched state to which we are reduced, that all persons between the ages of fifteen and sixty should wear perpetual blisters.

The Hum-Fums earnestly request subscriptions to carry their spiritual benefits into effect, and they would impress upon the minds of those who are hastening to perdition in the same abominable and destructive road, which every one of their ancestors and relations have taken, that all things are subservient to the principles which the Hum-Fums teach, and that without money the Hum-Fums cannot exist.

After the proceedings in which this development of their views was made, the Hum-Fums nominated thirty-five treasurers and sixty-eight secretaries at respectable salaries. Most of the Hum-Fums being decidedly hostile to the establishment in State as well as Church, this was considered the only virtuous mode whereby to provide for those persons, who, though in humbler life had always relied upon the Hum-Fums for support, and whose laudable exertions in exciting a proper melancholy, and a substantial discontent, deserve the highest praise.

The Hum-Fums, after this part of the ceremony, proceeded to sing psalms and hymns, the productions of the Rev. Mr. Smith, of Penzance, whose meritorious conduct under his call, from the station of boatswain in His Majesty's service, to the ministry, demanded their warmest admiration.

Miss Rebecca Engleheart presented the society with a small pasteboard windmill, in the hopper of which were three shillings and ninepence halfpenny, which she had collected by the exhibition of her little toy.

The great Hum-Fum Gamboogee was extremely gratified by this specimen of pious ingenuity, and put the sails of the model into rapid motion, which excited great gratitude and applause.

Two Otaheitean watermen and a New Zealand coppersmith were elected Hum-Fums: they spoke at length of the benefits which their respective nations had received from the exertions of the society, and the latter presented to the society the heads of his elder brother and his sister-in-law, which he had cut off since his notions of property had been matured under its benign influence.

At this period of the proceedings an interruption took place which threatened the unanimity of the society; this, considering the society, as we do, to be one, of which all the members ought to hang together, created a very unpleasant feeling.

One of the members, more lukewarm than the rest, inquired by what authority the Hum-Fums were to take upon themselves the charge of correcting their neighbours, and setting the world in general to rights; adding a doubt as to the obedience of a nation like England, famed for its independence, and envied for the blessings of religious toleration, to the _dicta_ of a committee of Hum-Fums. "For," said the pious member, "although I speak under correction, and with all due deference to the great Hum-Fum Gamboogee and my sanctified brethren, I do not see the right by which we, being only men like themselves, are, in a country of liberty, to control our fellow-creatures in their recreations and amusements; seeing, that if they are to go to perdition for doing that, which has been ordinarily done in Great Britain for the last four or five centuries, we are to conclude that all our forefathers have forfeited their hopes of happiness hereafter, because the system of Hum-Fumism did not exist; which reflection is not only melancholy, but, as I am bound to trust, not founded in fact. Moreover, sir," added the brother, addressing himself to the most venerable Gamboogee, "your Lordship must know, that in Roman Catholic countries the Sunday is universally a day of gaiety; that dances, and even plays, are performed on that day; and since, I believe, many of the great Hum-Fums who now hear me, voted in another place in favour of the Roman Catholics, they should be cautious, while they cry for the admission of such levities with one breath, not to condemn, with another, to eternal punishment the Protestants, who, although it must be confessed they contrive, even in these times of distress, to enjoy themselves on Sundays, confine themselves to a walk or drive into the country, with their wives and children, and a harmless regale of their pipes and their pots, their buggies and their bottles, or their carriages and their claret, as the case may be----"

"Harmless!" said the great Hum-Fum, the buckles of his wig standing on end!

"And I doubt much," continued the former speaker, "whether the very proceedings we are about to adopt will not sicken those of moderately pious lives, and----"

"Sicken, sir!" interrupted the great Hum-Fum--"look at the navy, sir! Do you not perceive that the blessed institution, the Bethel Union, of which Master Phillips and myself are the main props, has taken the navy under its care--that we are to control the pleasures of the sailors--to correct their propensities--dock them of their girls and their grog--and allowance them even in pig-tail? If this experiment succeed--if the navy submit to this most proper control and purification, why should not the army and the laity generally submit to it too? What did Oliver Cromwell do, sir? Had not he a preaching army?----"

Here a considerable noise of coughing took place; for though the ultra Hum-Fums were too much involved in zeal to think of analogies, the designing and radical Hums, who had merely joined the society for political purposes, felt that the mention of old Noll might throw the more moderate into a train of thoughts for which they had not as yet been sufficiently prepared.

The confusion caused the great Gamboogee to cease; when a servant entered and whispered his Lordship. What the communication was we were unable to learn, as an adjournment was immediately moved and carried. The fact is--dinner was ready.

MORAL THEATRICALS.[49]

We have once or twice alluded to a scheme (forwarded to us by the Author) for rendering theatrical entertainments strictly moral; and, it appears to us, that no season can be better suited to its development than the present.

The gentleman, to whose exertions in the behalf of virtue and decency, the public are even now greatly indebted, and whose plan, if carried into effect, will entitle him to the gratitude of the nation at large, is the Rev. Mr. Plumptree, who has published a volume of dramatic pieces illustrative of his purpose, which blend with deep interest a purity of thought and propriety of language rarely to be met with in the theatrical works of the day.

The first of the dramas is called "Royal Beneficence, or the Emperor Alexander," and is founded on an event which occurred to his Russian Majesty, on the banks of the Wilna, where he restored a drowning young man by the means prescribed by the Humane Society, which means of restoration are published with the play--evidently with the best intentions. Mr. Plumptree offered this piece to Covent Garden and to Drury Lane, but it was by both rejected; then Mr. Hindes, the manager of the Norwich playhouse, had the refusal of it; but he, like the London proprietors, objected to its appearance because a living character was introduced.

Mr. Plumptree reasons very fairly upon the futility of this excuse, and prints the detail of the Emperor's indefatigable exertions, upon which his play is founded, together with many other interesting documents concerning the valuable charity to which the piece is dedicated.

The drama is full of interest and good feeling; and although, in the present state of the stage, there is, perhaps, a want of bustle, still the affecting incident at the end of the first act, where the dead body of the hero is dragged out of the water, and stripped upon the stage, under the immediate inspection of the Emperor, who says,--

"Lose no time in fruitless ceremony: this is our duty now; strip
off his clothes; wipe him dry, and rub about his heart, his
temples, wrists, and everywhere,"--

appears to us likely to have produced a great sensation in a British audience.

We must say, that the rejection of such a piece by the London managers reflects equally upon their taste and delicacy.

The next drama is called "Winter," and is founded upon the story of Elizabeth Woodcock, who was buried in the snow for upwards of a week, and is extremely pretty. "The Force of Conscience," a tragedy, follows, which ends with the execution of Mr. Morris, a blacksmith, on the new drop, during which awful ceremony he is assisted in prayer by the Rev. Mr. Jones; the spectators make comments, and the culprit his last dying speech, when the drop, or rather the curtain, falls, which ends "the strange eventful history."

The next play is called "Mrs. Jordan and the Methodist," and is founded upon a benevolent action (one of many) performed by that incomparable actress. We have too much affection for her memory to make a single comment upon Mr. Plumptree's delicate attempt to commemorate her good qualities.

The next is a comedy, called "The Salutary Reproof, or the Butcher!" from which we intend to make a few extracts, in order to give a fair specimen of Mr. Plumptree's dramatic talent and virtuous intentions; and we certainly do hope that one of the London theatres will afford the town an opportunity of judging for themselves the benefits likely to arise to their morals by such representations, without any curtailment of their amusement.

The play opens with a view of a country village; a public-house--sign the Salutation, on one side; on the other side, a baker's house and shop, and next door a butcher's house and shop; trees and a seat before it.

Enter the Rev. Mr. Shepherd--goes to the inn, and is shut out--he tries the baker, who will not give him a lodging--whereupon he proceeds to the butcher's. As he advances, he hears a hymn sung by the butcher's family, accompanied on the oboe. He is shortly after received by the butcher, and the scene changes to the inside of the butcher's house, where, as it is described, there is "everything remarkably neat, and even elegant in a plain way."

Enter Mrs. Goodman, George, and Ruth--then Goodman and the Rev. Mr. Shepherd.

The following conversation occurs:--

GOODMAN. Mary, here is a gentleman will lodge here to-night.
Muggins is in one of his surly fits, and has denied him. Put
clean sheets on the bed, and you shall sleep with Ruth, and I
with--George!

MRS. G. What will the gentleman be pleased to have? Pray, be
seated, sir--take this great chair. Shall I do you a mutton chop,
sir?

GOODMAN. Bring the ease-and-comfort, George.

In a long note Mr. Plumptree elaborately describes this machine, and benevolently observes, that no house should be without at least one of them.

MR. SHEPHERD. I thank you--if it will not be giving you too much
trouble, I should prefer tea before everything--nothing refreshes
me after fatigue like tea.

MRS. G. By all means, sir; the fire is not out in the back-house.
Ruth, put on the kettle; it is hot; and get the tea-things.

GEORGE. (_Bringing the ease-and-comfort._) Here, father.

GOODMAN. Will you rest your legs on this, sir? we call it ease
and comfort.

MR. SHEPHERD. 'Tis ease and comfort, indeed. I know it by the
name of rest-and-be-thankful. I will beg, if you please, when I
go to bed, the patriarchal hospitality of water for my feet, and
that warm.

This conversation, which is quite refreshing from its naturalness, continues till it takes a turn in this manner:--

It will be observed that Goodman is a butcher.

GOODMAN. It is said that our laws do not allow a butcher to serve
upon a jury in a case of life and death--supposing, from his
business, that he must have less humanity than others.

MR. SHEPHERD. But that, I believe, is not the case; and within my
own confined experience I have known several truly respectable
and humane butchers. Our laws themselves are sanguinary; and
they do not make the same exception to the military or naval
characters, both which professions have too much to do with the
effusion of blood.

* * * * *

GOODMAN. What do you think, sir, of the post-boy who cuts and
over-drives his horses?

MR. SHEPHERD. What do I think of the gentleman who sits behind
him, and permits it--nay, encourages him, and pays him extra for
distressing them, merely to bring him a few minutes sooner to the
end of his stage?

GOODMAN. Sir, I had rather be what I am.

MR. SHEPHERD. And so had I--it is a consolation to me often, in
my journeys on foot, that no beast suffers for my accommodation.

The vein of morality which runs through the dialogue is exquisitely touching, and in the hands of Terry or Macready we think Goodman might be made highly effective--Young would be excellent in the "Rev." Mr. Shepherd, and in the latter part of the act, where Goodman discovers in the clergyman a friend who "put up at the Wheat Sheaf, at Blessbury, twenty-five years before," would make a decided hit--when pushing away his ease and comfort, the Reverend Gentleman returns thanks for having made the butcher what he finds him.

The conclusion of the first act is happily imagined, and highly theatrical:--

MR. SHEPHERD. If you please, I will retire to rest--I heard your
evening hymn, and interrupted your prayer in the hope of joining
in it. Of whose devotions do you make use?

GOODMAN. Bishop Wilson's, sir--but you will be so good as to lead
for us.

MR. SHEPHERD. If you please--but in general I know not that you
can do better than make use of the pious bishop.

GOODMAN. George, bring the book.

MR. SHEPHERD. I will have it in my hand, if you please, but our
own peculiar circumstances require our own peculiar thanks and
petitions.

[_George brings the book, and gives it to Mr. S., and whilst they
are looking at him, as if waiting for his kneeling first, the
curtain drops._]

It is impossible not to feel such a scene deeply--its dramatic quality and the powerful effect that such a style of representation could not fail to have upon a thinking audience.

In the second act Goodman dispatches a leg of mutton to Lord Orwell's, and puts up a prayer--Mrs. Goodman inquires if the gentleman's shoes are cleaned, and mentions that she must go and look at the rolls in the camp oven: subsequently to which we are presented with a scene at his Lordship's, who desires the butcher to sit down, and enters into conversation about "Fiorin grass," which Goodman says will produce six ton per acre. His Lordship then recommends a work called "The Experienced Butcher," published by Darton and Harvey, Gracechurch Street, price 6s.--in return for which Goodman mentions the arrival of Mr. Shepherd, and recommends him for the curacy of Gladford, the new rector having refused to countenance him. Whereupon Lord Orwell says to the butcher (taking his hand), "Mr. Goodman, this, like every part of your conduct, raises you in my esteem; depend upon my services wherever they can be useful."

GOODMAN. Your Lordship is too condescending--too good--to _me_
too.

[_Exit, putting his hand to his eyes, to wipe away the tears._

LORD ORWELL. No profession, I see, however rude, can prevent the
growth of humanity, where religion affords its kindly influence.
Even conversation with this butcher I perceive to improve my
humanity!

_Enter_ SIR WILLIAM RIGHTLY.

Good morning to you, Sir William; you rested well, I hope?

SIR W. Quite so, I thank you; your Lordship is well this morning,
I hope? You have been sending your butcher away in tears, I see.
I passed him in the hall; he gave me a look that spoke I know not
what; I felt it at my heart.

* * * * *

LORD ORWELL. I think you must have heard me mention this butcher
before; he is not only the best butcher for many miles round, but
one of the best men!

His Lordship then characterises Goodman thus:--

I have a great regard for him. In addition to all I have said,
there is a civility and gentleness in his manner--an ease and
frankness--civil without servility--ease without familiarity, and
gentle, with much animation!

SIR WILLIAM. It seems, then, that the butcher, if not a gentleman
has much of the gentleman about him.

LORD ORWELL. Exactly so. But let us join the breakfast party.

[_Exeunt._

There is so much genuine nature in all this, that we certainly should have no hesitation in foretelling the reception it would meet with on the stage, if acted. The _dénoûment_ may easily be anticipated; Mr. Shepherd, instead of being continued as curate, gets the rectory at Gladford; and Lord Orwell and Sir William Rightly having walked down to the butcher's, there conclude the play thus:

[Lord Orwell and Sir William alternately shake hands with Mrs.
Shepherd and Mrs. Goodman; Mr. Shepherd and Goodman then take
each other cordially by the hand, in the centre, while Lord
Orwell takes Goodman's hand and Mrs. Goodman's; Sir William takes
Mrs. Shepherd's and Ruth's; Mrs. Goodman takes Muggins's, and
Muggins George's; Ruth takes Crusty's, and Crusty his wife's. The
curtain drops.]

As we have already said, the great charm of these pieces is the perfect representation which they give of _real life_. The intimate knowledge of human nature, and of society, which shines throughout all of them; and, above all, that consummate skill which, while it affords the richest dramatic treat, conveys the purest moral lesson.

It certainly is not for us to prescribe to Mr. Elliston; but we do think that if the play, whence we have made the above extracts, were acted at Drury Lane, the effect produced would be extraordinary. To Mr. Plumptree we return our thanks for his volume, which having read with admiration, we lay down with infinite satisfaction; and if every author were to pursue _his_ plan and publish the piece, which managers have refused, it would very soon put an end to all doubts as to the cabals and intrigues which agitate, divide, and govern theatrical cabinets.

PRIVATE CORRESPONDENCE OF PUBLIC MEN.

With considerable exertion, and at a great expense of capital and research, we have been fortunately enabled to gratify the prevalent taste for diaries and correspondence; a gentleman of the highest literary character, moving in the first circles as well of the political as fashionable world, has been kind enough to furnish us with no less than twenty-four volumes of MS. letters and memoranda, the production of all the leading personages of the last and present century.

It is from the unreserved communication of their thoughts and feelings that the characters of great men are to be justly appreciated; and with the addition of the notes, explanatory and critical, of our highly-gifted friend, we think we shall do the world a service, and our readers a pleasure, by submitting portions of the great collection entrusted to our care.

It must be observed that the whole of the correspondence of which we are possessed is strictly of a private nature, and certainly has never appeared in print before. We give a few specimens:--

No. I.

"FROM THE RIGHT HON. WILLIAM PITT TO MR. SMITH.

"Mr. Pitt will be glad to see Mr. Smith to-morrow at twelve.

"Downing-street, April 4, 1800."

I have not been able to ascertain precisely who this Mr. Smith was, and the envelope, which possibly might have shewn the address, has been unfortunately lost--the name of Smith is by no means an uncommon one; it is possible that this note might have been written to a relation of Lord Carrington, who was created a Baron on the 15th of July, 1796. His Lordship married a Miss Bernard, by whom he has had one son and eleven daughters.--ED.

No. II.

"FROM DAVID GARRICK, ESQ., TO DR. GOLDSMITH.

"Southampton-street, April 9, 1775.

"DEAR GOLDSMITH,--Mrs. Garrick will be glad to see you here at
dinner to-day, at three o'clock.

"Yours, D. G."

The authenticity of this short letter is unquestionable; for although the initials of this British Roscius only are affixed to it, the date, and the known intimacy which existed between Garrick and Goldsmith, put all doubt at rest as to the real writer. It is a curious transcript of the times, as it marks the hour of dining in the year 1775, in what may be considered the best authority. Garrick retired from the stage in 1777, and died in 1779; his widow survived him nearly half a century. The house at Hampton was purchased by a Mr. Carr, Solicitor, as I believe, to the Excise, one of whose daughters was married to Dr. Lushington.--ED.

No. III.

"FROM MRS. LETITIA BARBAULD TO MISS HIGGINBOTHAM.

"Mrs. Barbauld will thank Miss Higginbotham to let her have the
silk gown home by Saturday night at latest.

"Thursday evening."

This interesting remain is without date, but it bears the evidence of truth on its face. Mrs. Barbauld, who was the daughter of Dr. Aikin, was a highly-talented lady; her "Beggar's Petition" itself is enough to immortalize her. The desire to have home a new gown on Saturday night, in order that she might wear it at church the next day, has a naturalness in it which is quite refreshing--a feminine anxiety operating upon a masculine mind.