Chapter M: W. Is a Fool; (3)

I have endeavoured by every possible means to ascertain who the Miss Higginbotham was, to whom the letter is addressed, but hitherto in vain. By reference to the files of newspapers kept at the Chapter Coffee House, in St. Paul's Churchyard, I see that in the year 1870, a Mrs. Hickenbotham kept a milliner's shop in Hanway-yard, as it was then called. But I can hardly fancy it the same person, because in the first place Mrs. Barbauld distinctly calls her Miss, whereas the person in question was married; and secondly, because the name of the milliner to whom the newspaper refers, is spelt Hickenbotham, whereas Mrs. Barbauld makes the Hick, Hig, and spells her _bottom_, _botham_, after the manner of the landlord of the Windmill Inn, at Salt-hill, near Eton in Buckinghamshire.

No. IV.

"FROM THE RIGHT HON. EDMUND BURKE TO MR. BURNS.

"BURNS,--Get something for dinner by four o'clock to-morrow, and
tell Simmons to have a fire lighted in my bed-room early in the
day."

"E. B."

The Right Hon. Edmund Burke, one of the most distinguished of our British worthies, was born at Limerick on New Year's Day, 1730; he was educated by a Quaker, got into Parliament in 1765, and died at Beaconsfield, July 8, 1797. Burns I imagine to have been a servant of his, but I have no particular reason for believing it, beyond the evidence of the letter before us. The direction to get dinner ready, comes evidently in the way of a command; and the unadorned style of address quite justifies my suspicions. Simmons is unquestionably a domestic servant, and a female. In the registry of marriages in Beaconsfield church, I find an entry of a marriage between Thomas Hopkins and Mary Anne Simmons, spinster; which Mary Anne I take to be the individual referred to by Burke. The date of that marriage is June 15, 1792. Now, although this letter is without date, it is fair to infer from the reference to "making a fire in his bed-room," that it was written much earlier in the year than the month of June; so that even if we were able to fix the date of the letter in the same year, it is quite within the range of possibility that the marriage did not take place till several months after the servant was spoken of, by her maiden name of Simmons. I took occasion to visit Beaconsfield twice, concerning this little doubt, and I think it but justice to make my acknowledgments to Mr. Thomas Fagg, the deputy-sexton of the parish, for his urbane attention to me, and the readiness with which he afforded me all the information of which he was possessed.--ED.

No. V.

"FROM SIR PHILIP FRANCIS TO MR. PERKINS.

"MY DEAR SIR,--The weather is so hot, and town so dull, that I
intend flying from all its ills and inconveniences to-morrow; I
shall be happy, therefore, to join your pleasant party.--Yours,

"P. F."

This very curious letter is not more valuable on account of the matter it contains, than as conducing to throw additional light upon the mystery of Junius--it would occupy too much space in a note to enter into a disquisition concerning the various conflicting opinions upon this subject, but as far as a comparison of hand-writing with some portions of the MS. of Junius's Letters, which I had an opportunity of seeing, and a strong similarity of style in the writing, go, I have no hesitation in settling the authorship upon Sir Philip--there is such vigorous imagination displayed in the description, in nine words, of the state of the weather and the metropolis, and such a masculine resolution evinced in the declared determination to "fly from all its ills and inconveniences" the very next day, that one cannot but pause to admire the firmness which could plan such a measure, and the taste which could give such a determination in such language. The cautious concealment of the place to which the supposed party of pleasure was to go, is another evidence of the force of habit--I have reason to believe it to have been Twickenham, or as Pope spells it, Twitnam, but I have no particular datum whereon to found this suspicion, except, indeed, that I think it quite as probable to have been Twickenham, or Twitnam, as any other of the agreeable villages round London.--ED.

No. VI.

"FROM SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS TO CALEB WHITEFOORD, ESQ.

"Leicester Fields, Saturday.

"MY DEAR SIR,--I have received your witty note, and am extremely
obliged to you for your present of venison. I trust you will
favour me with your company on Tuesday, to meet some of your
friends, to join them in discussing it.--Yours, very truly,

"J. REYNOLDS."

There can be little doubt that the note referred to by Sir Joshua was full of those quibbles and quaintnesses for which Whitefoord was so well known. Whitefoord was a man of considerable attainments, and was distinguished by the peculiarity of his dress; a French grey coat with black frogs, a small cocked hat and an umbrella--he was the constant frequenter of auctions, and has the credit of being the inventor of the now hacknied concit called "Cross readings." It is certain, that in his note sent with the venison, he called Sir Joshua his deer friend, hoped it would suit his pallate, recommended him to take some cuts from it and transfer them to plates, spoke of the current sauce being jelly, and perhaps signed himself his Buck friend (for at that period the words Buck and Maccaroni were the distinctive appellations of two classes of persons in London). I surmise this, because he was a confirmed punster, a character somewhat prized in those days. Goldsmith said it was impossible to keep company with him without being infected with the itch of punning. He is celebrated in the postscript to "Retaliation:"--

"Merry Whitefoord, farewell! for thy sake I admit
That a Scot may have humour, I'd almost said, wit.
This debt to thy memory I cannot refuse,
Thou best-temper'd man, with the worst-temper'd muse."--ED.

It is impossible for us to spare more room to-day, but we think we have offered a specimen of a work which will be found at least equal to many others whose pretensions are much more formidable, and which, after all, do not exhibit so faithfully the peculiar characteristics of the private lives of public men.

THE COCKNEY'S LETTER.

The following letter has been transmitted to us, as written by a Cockney gentleman late in the train of Lord Byron,[50] but now discarded--we are not sufficiently acquainted with the style of the writer to vouch for its genuineness, but we give it as we have received it:--

My dear ----, --I am astonished at what you write me. So then,
notwithstanding all the strong articles in our last Liberal
Magazine, neither Government nor people has made a stir; England
is still a monarchy, England is still a monarchy, and not even
a single change in the ministry has been effected! Jeffrey,
(Byron's new friend,) who is always sanguine, thinks the next
Number must do it, but I begin to despair; and the worry-one's
soul-out, as it were, effect of the disappointment on my health
is very visible. I pine, and grow thinner and paler every day. My
appearance, by the way, is very interesting and Tasso-like, and
I think an engraving of me would sell well in England, where a
"how-does-he-look" sort of inquiry must be in everybody's mouth
just now. But let that pass for the present, I have matter of
still greater moment for you.

The only subject of conversation now in England, and indeed
in all those parts of Europe where tyrants are not as _yet_
allowed to send in fellows with bayonets to stop people's mouths
whenever they mention my name, must be the coolness between me
and Byron, and it is proper the rights of it should be known,
which is better than folks going about with a he-said-this--and
then-he-said-t'other sort of report of it. The fact is, that
Byron is the aggressor, for he began first, as the children
say, and all about a piece of patrician pride, very unbecoming
among us radicals. Some time ago, seeing him in conversation
with the Earl of----, at the end of the Strada di----, I hopped
down the street, and, just to shew the intimacy which subsisted
between us, slapped him on the back with a "Ha! Byron, my boy!"
He darted at me one of his look-you-through sort of glances, and
turned from me without speaking; and it was not till after a
decided cut of eight or ten days that, wanting something done,
he sent for me. I went; he began by a tread-you to-dirtish, as
it were taking of me to task, said something about the "coarse
familiarity of your radicals;" and then told me that I might stop
and dine with him that day, which I did. You will gather from
this that these lords are not to be depended upon, they are but
a half and half sort of radicals--the cloven foot of nobility is
perpetually peeping out, they won't give altogether into that
hail-fellow-well-metishness, which we expect from them. Again: at
dinner that day, happening to say to him, "I and you, Byron, who
are called the Satanic School:" he cut me short unceremoniously,
and said, "Who the h--ll ever called _you_ Satanic?--Cockney, if
you please and reminded me of the fable of the apples swimming.
Now, putting radicalism out of the question, this was very
ungenteel from one great poet to another--then he is jealous of
me. We have had a disagreement about which of us should have
the most room to write in the Liberal Magazine. He wanted all;
which (though I never contradict him, or he'd have cut me long
ago.) I almost remonstrated against, so he allowed me a corner
here and there, as it were. Thus he flatly attributes our slow
sale to my poetry--then to my prose--and in short, he was lately
so insulting that I had "ever such a mind" (as we used to say
at school) to tell him the fault was all his own; for between
ourselves he has grown as stupid and as vulgar as the best of
us. But worst of all, I find he has been making a mere tool of
me, and he quizzes me to my very face. Some weeks ago I told
him I had thoughts of writing his life, to which he replied
with a smile, "Do;" but when I added that he ought in return to
write mine, he exclaimed with a sneer "Pooh!" and went away in a
turn-on-the-heel sort of fashion. But this is of a piece with
his refusing to call me Tasso and Ariosto in exchange for my
calling him Dante in our next poems.

Doubtless you have heard of the verses I addressed to him; I
suppose there is an I-wish-I-could-get-'em sort of anxiety about
them in England, so I send you a copy:--

"LINES TO MY FRIEND BYRON.

"Dear Byron, while you're out walking, I'll just say
Something about ourselves in my off-hand way,
Easy and Chaucer-like; in that free rhyme
They used to warble in the olden time,
And which you so chucklingly listen to when I
Pour out a strain of it, as 'twere, chirpingly;
Full of all sorts of lovely, graceful things,
Smacking of fancy, pretty imaginings,
Which I trick out with a Titian-like sort of air,
And a touch of Michael Angelo here and there;
For though the graceful's wherein I excel,
I dash off the sublime, too, pretty well.

"Now, let me see--I have it--I'll suppose,
(Though you're there in the garden plucking a rose,)
That, after travelling many and many a day,
You are wandering in some country far away,
When, being tired, you stretch beneath a tree,
And take from your pocket my Rimini,
And read it through and through, and think of me;
And then you take some other work of mine,
And con it daintily, tasting it line by line,
Pausing 'tween whiles, as one does drinking port,
And smack your lips, saying, 'This is your right sort.'
And when it has grown too dark for you to see,
You close the book and wish for your dear Leigh:
Then comes a little bird, fluttering near,
And perches, fairy like, on the tip of your ear;
Then up you jump and would hunch it away;
But, spite of all, the little bird will stay,
And then----(But what I'm writing all this while
Is a fancy in my wild Ariosto style)--
And thus this little bird turns into me,
And you rush forward to me in ecstasy,
And grasp my hand, as it were, clutchingly,
And call me your 'dear Leigh;' while I, e'en bolder,
Cry, 'Ah, my dear Byron!' clapping you on the shoulder,
E'en just as I might be supposed to do,
If this were not a Poet's dream, but true."

Now, I expected this would have procured me a sonnet at least in
return, but he did not even deign ever once to notice it, spite
of all my attempts to draw him out about it. You, who know what
an excessively sensitive creature I am, will easily conceive the
heart-in-one's-mouthishness of my sensations, when I found out
his real opinion of me. It happened one day that he left me alone
in his study. He had no sooner turned his back than I began to
fumble among his books and papers. What I most earnestly sought
was the copy I gave him of my "Story of Rimini," thinking to
find it full of notes in his own hand-writing. It was not even
half cut open! A proof he had not half read it. Against "my dear
Byron," in the dedication (for you know I dedicated it to him) I
found written "Familiar Cockney," and in the last leaf cut--that
is as far as I presume he had read,--was written the following
critique:--

"O! Crimini, Crimini!
What a mimini, pimini,
Story of Rimini!"

This you will say was sufficiently cut-one-to-the-heartish, but
this was little compared with what follows. Among other things,
I found the MS. of the Twelfth Canto of Don Juan, which will
shortly appear. By the way, it is rather unfair in him, to say
no less of it, to throw "Cockney" in my teeth at every turn,
considering that I have now quite given up talking of Highgate
and Primrose Hill, ever since I have seen the Apennines--and to
a friend, too! But it is my friend Byron's way; he calls and
uncalls all his friends round, once in every four or five years,
or so. But to my extract from his next canto:--

"Filthy scum!
These Hunts, Hones, Despards, Thistlewoods, and Ings!
These worms with which we politicians angle,
We leave at last on Ketch's line to dangle.

Poor drivelling dupes! and can they think that we
By birth ennobled, and no little proud
Of our nobility, would stoop to be
Companion'd with the base, plebeian crowd;
Or that the crack-brain'd Bysshe, or Cockney Leigh,
Or Gentle Johnny[51] e'er had been allow'd
To sicken us with their familiarity,
Forgetful of their distance and disparity,
But that we turn'd them to our dirty uses?

My tool I've lately placed upon the shelf,
So patronize my Cockney now who chooses;
I've ta'en to do my dirty work myself.
I find, too, that in fashion my abuse is,
And brings--not that I value it--the pelf;
But, let me hint, there's need of cash to victual ye
E'en in this cheapest of all countries--Italy.

I've turn'd him off! He's gone! I've made the ninny stir
His stumps! For on my stomach his pathetic,
His Cockney rurals, drivellings, phrases sinister,
And affectations act as an emetic.
Besides, he thinks he's fit to be prime minister!
The whimpering, simpering, Horsemonger ascetic![52]
And there, he's grown so horribly familiar,
And paws and 'dears' one so--I vow 'twould kill you."

There, my dear friend--and this is from one radical to
another!--the root of all this is, that I did once hint to him
that I thought myself a better poet than he; more antique and
to-the-heartish, giving my verses an Italian twang, and so
forth. As to his allusion to my thinking myself fit to be prime
minister, I merely threw out an idea that way, once when we were
re-modelling. No. V. of our Liberal Magazine shortly. Let tyrants
tremble!--Yours ever.

BYRONIANA.[53]

By favour of a friend just arrived from the Mediterranean we have received exclusively some most interesting papers relative to Lord Byron; they consist of anecdotes, which have never been known, and some original letters, which have never been out of the hands of the individual by whom we are favoured. Some of his Lordship's more recent conversations are detailed, which will be found highly amusing and characteristic. We submit a few extracts, which we trust will prove acceptable to our readers.

"Lord Byron," says our correspondent, "had several peculiarities; he reduced himself from corpulency to the contrary extreme, by eating raisins, and occasionally sipping brandy. He used frequently to observe that brandy was a very ardent spirit, and remarked that to persons anxious to conceal the strength of their potations, hollands was better adapted, inasmuch as being of a similar colour with the water, the quantity mixed with that liquid was less easily detectable by the eye.

"Lord Byron was perhaps more sensible of approaching changes in the weather than any other man living. One day, on a voyage to Athens to eat beef-steaks, a dark cloud appeared to windward of the vessel; his Lordship regarded it steadily for some time, until at length, feeling a few drops of rain fall, he called to Fletcher to bring his cloak, so certain he was of an approaching shower. Byron always slept with his eyes closed, and if by any accident he lay on his back, snored remarkably loud; he was very particular in his toothpicks, and generally used those of a peculiar kind of wood, in preference to quills.

"In writing letters of an ordinary cast, his style was plain, clear, and perspicuous; a specimen follows, it is addressed to a friend:--

Tuesday.

'DEAR ----,

Will you dine with me to-morrow?--

Yours truly,

NOEL BYRON.'

The next is to a person who had been recommended to his notice, and whom he felt it necessary to invite. We suppress the name of the party, lest Mr. Hobhouse should get an injunction.

'Lord Byron's compliments to Mr. ----, requests the pleasure of
his company at dinner on Wednesday next.'

"These sort of notes he would secure indiscriminately with wafers or wax, as the case might be.

"One day conversing with him upon the state of Greece, and the great struggle in which we were all engaged, he observed to me, 'that a very small proportion of the population of London had been in the Archipelago.' When I assented, he said--with a sigh which went to my heart, and in a tone which I shall never forget--'It would be very strange if they had.'

"He had a strong antipathy to pork when underdone or stale, and nothing could induce him to partake of fish which had been caught more than ten days--indeed, he had a singular dislike even to the smell of it; some of his observations upon this subject will be given in a new quarto work about to be published by a very eminent bookseller.

"He spoke of Harrow with strong feelings of affection, and of the lovely neighbours of Dr. Bowen--(who they were he carefully concealed from us)--they were tenants of the same house with the late Duke of Dorset, who was Byron's fag. To a lady of the name of Enoch, who lived in a cottage at Roxeth, he had addressed some of his early productions, but had destroyed them. He used to ask me why Mr. Procter called himself Cornwall? 'he might as well call himself Cumberland,' said Byron, with his accustomed acumen.

"It has been remarked that Byron spoke of his own child with affection. Strange and unnatural as this may appear, it is literally the fact. It seems, however, to have excited so much surprise, that it is absolutely necessary to be particular in impressing the truth upon the British nation, who are so deeply interested in everything which relates to the immortal poet departed.

"The poem which he wrote upon the close of his thirty-sixth year has been published and republished so often, that we do not think it worth printing here. But the observation made by its great author to our correspondent is curious and striking:--

"'I have written these verses on closing my thirty-sixth year,' said Byron. 'I was always superstitious--thirty-six is an ominous number--four times nine are thirty-six; three times twelve are thirty-six; the figures thirty-six are three and six--six and three make nine, so do five and four'--he paused and said--'Mrs. Williams, the old lady who told my fortune, is right. The chances are, I shall not live six and thirty years more.' The fact has proved that he was not ungifted with the power of divination.

"Byron died, as I have just said, in his thirty-sixth year. What makes this coincidence the more curious is, that if he had lived till January, 1844, he would have completed his fifty-sixth, a circumstance which, curious as it is, we believe has not been noticed by any of his biographers.

"I once proposed to him to take a companion on a tour he was about to make; he answered me snappishly--'No; Hobhouse once went with me on a tour--I had enough of him. No more travelling companions for me.'

"He used frequently to compare himself to Buonaparte--so did we, to please him. Buonaparte had a head, so had Byron, so has Mr. Hayne of Burderop Park, Wilts, so has a pin; he was tickled with the comparison, and we lived with him, and swallowed toads at discretion.

"Moore, the author of the 'Fudge Family,' was a great favourite of Byron's; he had not discovered that it was Moore who persuaded Hunt--the man who made Rimini--that he was a mighty clever fellow, and that if he set up a periodical work, he (Moore) would contribute to it: Moore constantly abused Hunt to Byron at the same time--called him a stupid Cockney, and swore that Byron was ruining himself by associating with him. This was kind and liberal, and justifies what Douglas Kinnaird and everybody else indeed say of Moore just now--Byron would not have liked Moore the better for this--poor Hunt had a wife and children, and was in needy circumstances, and Byron did them great service--and what harm could Hunt do Byron, or anybody else?

"The Greeks think Byron will come to life again after a while, and one poet in the Chronicle, probably Moore, talks of having seen his _manes_ in George-street, Westminster, and of the possibility of his yet wandering about Greece, in a white dressing-gown, singing 'Liberty Hall;' but I, who know Byron well, and all his expectations, doubt the fact. I was surprised to find, considering how right and fashionable it is to praise my departed friend, that his wife declined seeing his body, and all his family declined attending his funeral.

"He told me one night that ---- told ---- that if ---- would only ---- him ----. She would ---- without any compunction; for her ----, who though an excellent man, was no ----, and that she never ----, and this she told ---- and ---- as well as Lady ---- herself. Byron told me this in confidence, and I may be blamed for repeating it; but ---- can corroborate it if he happens not to be gone to ----."

LORD WENABLES.[54]

To those who are in the habit of recurring with a feeling of devotion to the golden gone-by times of our forefathers, and who "track back" upon antiquity to hunt out subjects for admiration, it must be in some degree consolatory to discover, that even in these degenerate days there still exist amongst us men capable of recording the noble deeds of the "mighty living;" and that one of the most important occurrences of modern date has found an historian worthy of the subject which it has been made his duty to transmit to posterity.

To such of our readers as are generally conversant with the history, political or statistical, of the City of London, it may perhaps be needless to observe, that it affords, by virtue of its charter and constitution, power and authority, might and majesty, for one year at a time, to one illustrious individual (made, indeed, illustrious by his office), and that this illustrious individual is pre-eminently distinguished above all others of God's creatures (within his special jurisdiction) by the title of Lord Mayor. Having been a Liveryman, he proceeds to Sheriff and Alderman, and in time, being an Alderman, he becomes Mayor, and being Mayor of London, becomes a Lord!--that he is not a Peer, arises only from the difficulty of finding any to compare with him.

Thus, then, it being conceded that there is, and always will be, a Lord Mayor of London, so long as London stands--for the constitution of Cornhill and the majesty of the Mansion House remain unshaken by the storms of treason or the efforts of rebellion, and shine in all their native excellence with equal purity and brightness, whether under the gentle sway of an amiable Mary, the gloomy troubles of a martyred Charles, the plain dominion of a protecting Oliver, or the glorious sway of a liberating William--it being then, we say, conceded that the Lord Mayor, officially, never dies, we seek to show the imperative necessity which presses upon every Lord Mayor while in office, personally so to distinguish himself from the long line of his predecessors and those who are to follow him, by some striking deed, either bodily or mental, political or financial, literary or scientific, so that when he shall have returned from the pinnacle of earthly splendour at the corner of Walbrook into the softer retirement of his patrimonial shop in Pudding-lane or Fish-street-hill, children yet unborn may learn to lisp the name of their great ancestor mingled with their prayers, never forgetting to singularise him especially from all the other Figginses, Wigginses, Bumpuses, and Snodgrasses of their respective houses, by prefixing in their minds to the patronymic, the deed, or work, or act, or book, as it may be, by which that particular branch of their family has so flourished into virid immortality.

By observing this system, an association is formed in the mind of men and deeds highly refreshing, at once useful and agreeable. Who ever hears of Walworth without thinking of Wat Tyler?--who ever reads of Whittington without having a Cat in his eye?--who speaks of Wood without thinking of Whittington?--who of Waithman without recollecting Knightsbridge foot-path? Thus it is that these illustrious men are distinguished, not only from all other Lord Mayors, but from all other Whittingtons, Walworths, Woods, and Waithmans, in the world.

With such examples before him, was it unnatural, or not to be expected, that the late Lord Mayor, Venables, should be contented to sink back into the shades of Queenhithe from the Civic throne without leaving something behind him which might entitle him to fill a niche in the Temple of Fame? We think not; and we have no hesitation in saying that his Lordship's well-directed ambition, blending as it has done the eminently-useful with the strikingly-agreeable, has produced results which will hand him down to future ages with as much grace, certainty, and propriety as his Lordship ever exhibited in his late great life-time in handing down an Alderman's lady to dinner.

When we say, "late life-time," we mean official life--Venables the man, is alive and merry--but, alas! Venables the mayor, is dead.

It now becomes our duty to explain what it is that has so decidedly stamped the greatness of Lord Wenables--so he was called by the majority of his subjects--and in doing so, we have to divide (although not in equal parts) the fame and glory of the enterprise between his Lordship and his Lordship's Chaplain, who, upon this special occasion, and at his Lordship's special desire, was the historian of his Lordship's exploits.

It seems, that in the course of last summer, the Lord Wenables having over-eaten himself, brought upon himself a fever and rash, and during his confinement to the house the disorder took an ambitious turn, and his Lordship's organ of locomotiveness having been considerably enlarged and inflamed by his Lordship's having accidentally bumped his noble head against the corner of the bedstead, his Lordship was seized with a desire to glorify and immortalise himself by foreign travel the moment he got better of his green-fat fever--and having sent for his Chaplain to consult upon some sort of expedition which might answer his purpose, his Lordship and the Divine deliberated accordingly.

At one time he suggested going down the shaft of Brunel's tunnel at Rotherhithe, but the work was not far enough advanced to render it even commonly hazardous--that was abandoned. Going up in a balloon was suggested, but there was no utility blended with the risk. The dreadful dangers of Chelsea reach had already been encountered, and a colony established by his Lordship on the east end of Stephenson's Island, beyond Teddington--something even more daring must be tried; and, as it happened that a first cousin of my Lady Wenables had been reading to his Lordship, who was not able to read himself (from illness, not from want of learning), "Travels undertaken in order to discover the Source of the Nile," his Lordship at once resolved to signalise himself by undertaking a journey to discover, if possible, the "Source of the Thames." His Lordship was greatly excited to the undertaking upon being told that Mungo Park had been carried into Africa by a similar desire--and he observed with wonderful readiness, that if it were possible to remove a whole Park into Africa, there could be no insurmountable obstacle to transporting Lady Wenables to the source of the Thames.

When Lord Wenables was first put upon the project, he was rather of opinion that the source of the Thames was at its mouth--"a part which," as his Lordship observed, "is in man the source of all pleasure;" and he suggested going by land to Gravesend, to look out for the desired object. But the Chaplain informed his Lordship that rivers began at the other end--upon which his Lordship, not having gone so far into the study of geography as to ascertain the exact course of the river beyond Stephenson's Island, hinted his intention of going with Lady Wenables by land as far as Dunstable, and then proceeding in the search.

The Chaplain, it seems, although not quite sure enough of his experience to give Lord Wenables a downright negative to his suggestion, deemed it necessary forthwith to consult a map of Europe, in which the relative courses of the River Thames and the Dunstable turnpike-road are laid down in different degrees of latitude, and having ascertained that Dunstable was an inland town, proceeded to examine his charts until he discovered Oxford to be a more likely point to start from with any reasonable hopes of success; this he mentioned to Lord Wenables, and when his Lordship arose convalescent from his calipash fever, he mentioned his design to the Court of Aldermen on Midsummer Day, and the last week of July was ultimately and unanimously fixed upon for the expedition.

"Instructions," says the author of the history of the expedition,
"were, accordingly, agreed to be given to the Town Clerk, to
secure such accommodation at an inn in Oxford, Reading, and
Windsor, as might be adequate for the civic party; and to make
every other necessary arrangement."

And here, before we go any further, it may be necessary to state, that the work of which we are about to speak has actually been written by command of Lord Wenables, by his ci-devant Lordship's ci-devant Chaplain, and published by Messieurs Longman, Rees, Orme, Brown, and Green, embellished with two beautiful engravings; all we should add is, that the author is perfectly serious in his details, and that our extracts are made from his work, correctly verbatim et literatim.

Scarce had the Lord Wenables and his Council decided upon going to Oxford, when the Corporation of that City sent them a letter inviting them to dinner on the 26th. This unexpected and welcome letter puzzled the Lord and his Council, inasmuch as they had fixed only to stay one day at Oxford--that day the 26th, and on that day to entertain (as no doubt they would) the heads of houses at dinner.

That the Lord Wenables and his Aldermen could have arranged the matter satisfactorily to all parties by eating two dinners in one day is evident, but not at the same time, and upon this dilemma the reverend author makes this communication:--

"From this difficulty," says he, "they were happily released
by the question, 'Could not your Lordship go a day sooner to
Oxford?' It was immediately seen that this slight alteration of
the plan first intended would obviate every difficulty: it would
allow them the opportunity of showing their respect to the Mayor
and Magistrates of Oxford by dining with them on the Tuesday; and
would also give them the honour of having the University and City
to dinner on the Wednesday."

The quickness of perception in the Lord Wenables and his Aldermen, which gave them the advantage of "immediately seeing" that by going to Oxford on the 25th, they could dine there on the 26th, and by staying till the 28th they might also dine there on the 27th, if they liked, is well worthy of praise; and the liberality of inviting the University and City to dine at the Star Inn, cannot fail to impress upon the reader the magnificence of Lord Wenables' mind. Suffice it to say, the Mayor of Oxford accepted the Mayor of London's invitation, and that the Mayor of London adopted the Mayor of Oxford's proposition.

The reverend author then says:--

"Every preliminary arrangement being completed, and ample
accommodation having been secured at the Star Inn, Oxford, for
his Lordship and suite, to the number of about thirty persons,
the civic party began to lay their plans for the journey!

"It had been previously understood that while his Lordship and
friends should return together, in the City state barge, they
should yet go to Oxford in such a way, and at such a time, as
best comported with their own convenience. Mr. Alderman Atkins,
accompanied by two of his daughters, Miss Atkins and Miss Sarah
Jane, left his seat, Halstead Place, in Kent, on Monday, the
24th of July, and set out from London for Oxford in the cool of
the following morning. On the same day, Mr. Alderman and Mrs.
Lucas, with their daughters, Miss Charlotte and Miss Catharine,
left their house, at Lee, in Kent, and went by land as far as
Boulter's Lock, near Maidenhead, where they embarked on board
the Navigation shallop, and proceeded by water to Reading; thus
selecting some of the finest views on the river."

Lord Wenables himself was, however, not so rash; for having satisfied himself of the actual existence of Oxford by receiving a letter from one of the natives, he resolved to proceed thither by land. See we then from his reverend chaplain's history the mode of his Lordship's setting forth:--

"On the morning of the 25th, the Lord Mayor, accompanied by the
Lady Mayoress, and attended by the Chaplain, left the Mansion
House, soon after eight o'clock.

"The private state-carriage, drawn by four beautiful bays, had
driven to the door at half-past seven. The coachman's countenance
was reserved and thoughtful, indicating full consciousness of
the test by which his equestrian skill would this day be tried,
in having the undivided charge of four high-spirited and stately
horses--a circumstance somewhat unusual; for, in the Lord Mayor's
carriage, a postillion usually guides the first pair of horses.
These fine animals were in admirable condition for the journey.
Having been allowed a previous day of unbroken rest, they were
quite impatient of delay, and chafed and champed exceedingly on
the bits, by which their impetuosity was restrained.

"The murmur of expectation, which had lasted for more than half
an hour, amongst the crowd who had gathered around the carriage,
was at length hushed by the opening of the hall-door. The Lord
Mayor had been filling up this interval with instructions to
the _femme de menage_! and other household officers, who were
to be left in residence, to attend, with their wonted fidelity
and diligence, to their respective departments of service during
his absence, and now appeared at the door. His Lordship was
accompanied by the Lady Mayoress, and followed by the Chaplain.

"As soon as the female attendant of the Lady Mayoress had taken
her seat, dressed with becoming neatness, at the side of the
well-looking coachman, the carriage drove away; not, however,
with that violent and extreme rapidity which rather astounds than
gratifies the beholders; but at that steady and majestic pace,
which is always an indication of REAL GREATNESS!

"Passing along Cheapside and Fleet Street--those arteries, as Dr.
Johnson somewhere styles them, through which pours the full tide
of London population--and then along the Strand and Piccadilly,
the carriage took the Henley-road to Oxford.

"The weather was delightful; the sun, as though it had been
refreshed by the copious and seasonable showers that had fallen
very recently, seemed to rise more bright and clear than usual,
and streamed in full glory all around. The dust of almost a whole
summer had been laid by the rain; the roads were, of consequence,
in excellent order, and the whole face of creation gleamed with
joy!"

In fact, creation was so delighted with the appearance of Lord Wenables, that "Nature wore an universal grin."

The reverend gentleman then describes the blowing up of a powder-mill as they reached Hounslow, which at first startled Lord Wenables, who imagined fondly that he had accidentally set fire to the great river whose source he was seeking; but Lady Wenables concurred with the reverend writer in assuring his Lordship that he might make himself perfectly easy upon that particular point.

"At Cranford-bridge," says the reverend author, "which is about
thirteen miles from Hyde Park Corner, the Lord Mayor staid only
long enough to change horses. For, his Lordship intending to
travel post from Cranford-bridge to Oxford, his own fine horses
were, after a proper interval of rest, to return to town under
the coachman's care.

"These noble animals, however, seemed scarcely to need the rest
which their master's kindness now allotted them. For though
they had drawn a somewhat heavy carriage a distance of nearly
seventeen miles, they yet appeared as full of life as ever;
arching their stately necks, and dashing in all directions the
white foam from their mouths, as if they were displeased that
they were to go no farther!

"Just as the carriage was about to drive away, Mr. Alderman
Magnay, accompanied by his lady and daughter, arrived in a
post-chaise! After an interchange of salutations, the Lady
Mayoress--observing that they must be somewhat crowded in the
chaise--invited Miss Magnay to take the fourth seat, which had as
yet been vacant in the carriage. As the day was beginning to be
warm, this courteous offer of her Ladyship was readily accepted."

Here we have, in one short page, a striking instance of the "true instinct" of Lord Wenables' fine horses, who were quite displeased that they were not allowed to drag him any farther--a delightful picture of a worthy Alderman and his family--three in a chay--a splendid specimen of Lady Wenables' sagacity and urbanity, and a fair estimate of the value of the latter upon the mind of the young invitée, who accepted her Ladyship's offer of a seat in the state coach because the day was beginning to get warm!

In safety, however, did Lord Wenables get to Oxford, of which, the reverend author says--"There is something peculiarly imposing in the entrance, particularly in the eastern entrance, to this city." Now this, which is ably twisted into the beginning of a flourishing description of towers and colleges, evidently refers to the toll at the Bridge-gate, and which Lord Wenables, who paid the turnpikes himself and kept the halfpence in the coach pockets, declared to be one of the greatest impositions at the entrance of a city that he had ever met with.

We are unable to give our readers the account of the highly honourable reception which Lord Wenables met with at Oxford, or the description of the dinner of which he partook--but we must, let what may happen, extract the whole account of the dinner given by his Lordship to the Oxfordians--a dinner which took place after a somewhat protracted lecture on comparative anatomy, which, if it failed in the delivery of establishing a likeness between a "bat" and a "whale," most certainly bears evidence, in its transmission to paper, of the great similitude between a Lord Mayor's Chaplain and a donkey.

It will be needless for us to make an observation upon what follows:--

"The hour of six had scarcely arrived, when the company, invited
by the Lord Mayor to dine with him at the Star, began to
assemble. The City watermen, in their new scarlet state liveries,
were stationed in the entrance hall; and a band of music was in
attendance to play on the arrival of the visitors."

The reverend author, by blending the band and the watermen (who are also firemen), leaves it somewhat doubtful to which corps the duty of playing on the arrival of the visitors was confided. He proceeds:--

"In a large drawing-room, on the first floor, fronting the
street, on a sofa at the upper end, sat the Lady Mayoress,
accompanied by Mr. Charles Venables, and surrounded by the other
ladies of the party. The City Marshal of London, Mr. Cope,
dressed in full uniform, and carrying his staff of office in
his hand, took his station at the door, and announced the names
of the guests as they severally arrived. Near the entrance of
the room also stood Mr. Beddome, in a richly-wrought black silk
gown, carrying the sword downwards. The Lord Mayor, who was in
full dress, and attended by the Chaplain in clerical robes, wore
on this occasion the brilliant collar of S.S. (_quære_ A.SS.)
The Worshipful the Mayor, and the other Magistrates of Oxford;
Richard Cox, Esq., Thomas Fox Bricknell, Esq., Aldermen; William
Folker, Esq., Thomas Robinson, Esq., Richard Ferdinand Cox, Esq.,
Assistants; Mr. Deodatus Eaton, and Mr. Crews Dudley, Bailiffs;
together with Mr. Percival Walsh, the City Solicitor, attended by
the Town Clerk, in his robe of office, which resembled in some
degree the undress black silk gown worn by Gentlemen Commoners
of the University--were all severally introduced, and received
by the Lord Mayor with a warmth and cordiality adequate to that
which they had so kindly manifested on the preceding day.

"The Vice-Chancellor of Oxford, the Rev. Dr. Richard Jenkyns,
Master of Baliol, preceded, as usual, by one of the Yeomen
Bedels, carrying a large mace, and the Rev. Dr. Thomas Edward
Bridges, President of Corpus Christi College, the Rev. Dr. George
William Hall, Master of Pembroke; the Rev. Dr. Nicholas Philip
Shuttleworth, Warden of New College; the Rev. Dr. John Dean,
Principal of St. Mary's Hall, and Lord Almoner's Prælector in
Arabic; together with the two Proctors, the Rev. George Cumming
Rashleigh, M.A., and the Rev. Wadham Harbin, M.A.; the Rev. Mr.
Woodgate, to whom allusion has before been made, and other
Members of the University, all of whom were dressed in full
academicals, were severally introduced to the Lady Mayoress. To
this distinguished list of visitors must be added the names of
John Fane, Esq., one of the Members of Parliament for the county
of Oxford; and James Haughton Langston, Esq., and John Ingram
Lockhart, Esq., Members for the City of Oxford.

"When dinner was announced, the party, amounting to nearly
sixty persons, each gentleman taking charge of a fair partner,
descended to a long room on the ground floor.

"Every attention had been given by the proprietor of the Star
to render the dinner as excellent as the occasion required,
and to fit up the dining-room with as much taste as its extent
would admit of; and no means had been left untried to keep the
apartment as cool as possible. Wreaths of flowers were hung
thickly round it, and the windows, which opened on a garden,
were overspread with branches of trees, to exclude, as much as
possible, the warm beams of a western summer sun. The band of
musicians now removed their station from the entrance hall to the
garden under the windows, where they played, at proper intervals,
with excellent effect, the whole evening. The Lord Mayor and
Lady Mayoress took their seats at the head of the table, the
Vice-Chancellor of the University sitting on the right hand of
his Lordship, and the Chief Magistrate of Oxford on the left of
her Ladyship. The heads of the Houses then took their seats,
according to the priority of their admission to the degree of
Doctor, alternating with the ladies and daughters of Aldermen
Atkins, Magnay, Heygate, and Lucas. The Aldermen of London and of
Oxford then filled the remainder of the table.

"Amidst much elegance and beauty, the Lady Mayoress attracted
particular observation. Her Ladyship was arrayed in the most
splendid manner, wore a towering plume of ostrich feathers, and
blazed with jewels!

"When the Chaplain, by craving a blessing on the feast, had set
the guests at liberty to address themselves to the dainties
before them, and the room was illuminated throughout by a
profusion of delicate wax candles, which cast a light as of broad
day over the apartment, it would not have been easy for any
eye, however accustomed to look on splendour, not to have been
delighted, in no common manner, with the elegance of the classic
and civic scene now exhibited in the dining-parlour of the first
inn in Oxford.

"The accompaniments, indeed, fell short of that splendour which
they would have had in the Egyptian Hall of the Mansion House in
London, but still the general effect was peculiarly striking; and
when the rank of the company is considered, may with truth be
called brilliant!

"The conversation naturally assumed that tone best qualified for
the discovery of those talents and learning, of which the evening
had drawn together so select and bright a constellation.

"After dinner, as soon as the health of the King, the welfare of
the Church, the prosperity of the University and City, and other
toasts of loyalty, literature, and religion, had been honoured,
the Lord Mayor proposed the health of the Vice-Chancellor of
Oxford. This was followed by toasts to the health of the other
Heads of Houses, the Professors, and Proctors; the Worshipful
the Mayor and other Magistrates of Oxford, and the Right Hon.
the Lord Mayor of London; each toast giving rise to such
acknowledgments as the individuals, to whom they referred,
considered appropriate and adequate. The health of the Lady
Mayoress, and the other ladies of the company, was proposed by
one of the Heads of the Houses; the toast was hailed with warm
demonstrations of respect, and the honour was acknowledged with
considerable point and taste by Mr. Lockhart, the Member, at her
Ladyship's request.

"The Ladies, who, to the great gratification of the Company, had
sat longer than is usual at most tables, at length obeyed the
signal of the Lady Mayoress, and retired to the drawing room,

'With grace,
Which won who saw, to wish their stay.'

"The conversation was, however, in no degree changed in their
absence. The Lady Mayoress and her fair friends had taken
their share in it with much good sense and delicacy; and their
departure, so far from being succeeded by that obstreperous and
vulgar merriment, or anything like that gross profligacy of
conversation, which indicates rejoicing at being emancipated
from the restraint of female presence, only gave occasion to
the Magistrates of Oxford to express their wish, that, in the
invitations to their Corporation dinners, arrangements could be
made that would include the ladies."

After such a dinner and such an evening, it may easily be imagined that Lord Wenables and his Court slept like tops--not but that his Lordship had "requested his friends not to devote too many hours to repose." In obedience to a wish, which when breathed by a Lord Mayor becomes a command, everybody was up and busy "while the morning was early:" the yeoman of his Lordship's household, half covered with an awning, was occupied with the cook, who was busied on this lovely day in making a fire to boil the tea-kettle, in a grate in the bow of the boat.

"About seven o'clock," says the reverend historian, "signals of
the approach of his Lordship's party were descried and heard.
The populace, thickly stationed on the road through which the
carriages were to pass, caught up the acclamation; and announced
to all who thronged the margin of the river, that----the Lord
Mayor was coming! His Lordship and the Lady Mayoress alighted
from the carriage at the bridge, and walked through the
respectful crowd, which divided to give them passage; and were at
once conveyed to the state barge----in the Water Bailiff's boat!"

The shouts of delight which rent the air were music to the ears of greatness--it was quite a genial morning, and one of those days "when we seem to draw in delight with the very air we breathe, and to feel happy we can scarcely tell why." So writes the reverend author, with more taste than judgment; for a man, placed as he was in the society of Lord Wenables and his Court, not to know why he felt happy, shows, we fear, a want of perception equally lamentable with the want of tact displayed in confessing it.

The reverend author laments that the eagerness of the party to do honour to the delicacies of the Lord Mayor's breakfast-table, prevented their seeing the beauties of Nuneham.

At ten o'clock they made Abingdon--and at Clifton the water shoaled suddenly from eighteen inches to fourteen and a half, so that his Lordship's yacht, which drew nearly two feet, could be drawn no farther, and they remained hard and fast till a fresh supply of the element could be procured.

The following passage is in the author's happiest style:--

"The crowds of people--men, women, and children--who had
accompanied the barge from Oxford, were continually succeeded by
fresh reinforcements from every town and village that is skirted
by the river. Distant shouts of acclamation perpetually re-echoed
from field to field, as the various rustic parties, with their
fresh and blooming faces, were seen hurrying forth from their
cottages and gardens; climbing trees, struggling through copses,
and traversing thickets, to make their shortest way to the
water-side. Handfuls of halfpence were scattered to the children
as they kept pace in running along the banks with the City Barge;
and Mr. Alderman Atkins, who assisted the Lord Mayor in the
distribution, seemed to enter with more than common pleasure into
the enjoyment of the little children. It was gratifying to see
the absence of selfish feeling manifested by some of the elder
boys, who, forgetful of themselves, collected for the younger
girls."

It will be remembered that the voyage now under detail was undertaken in the dreadful year of panic--but we confess we had no idea of the desperate state of affairs in the country which could induce so severe a run on the banks for a few halfpence, such as is here described. It may not be uninteresting to trace the source of the Lord Wenables's munificence. The halfpence in question were those which we mentioned his Lordship to have taken in change at the turnpike-gates during his Lordship's over-land journey to Oxford, and were now distributed with that liberality and grace for which his Lordship and Mr. Alderman Atkins will never cease to be remembered. The reverend writer, indeed, says:--

"There is, unquestionably, something genuine and affectionate
in the cheerfulness of the common people, when it springs from
the bounty and familiarity of those above them: the warm glow of
gratitude spreads over their mirth; and a kind word or look, or
a little pleasantry, frankly said or done--and which calls in no
degree for any sacrifice of personal dignity--always gladdens the
heart of a dependant a thousand times more than oil and wine. It
is wonderful, too, how much life and joy even one intelligent and
good-humoured member of a pleasure-party will diffuse around him.
The fountain of indwelling light, which animates his own bosom,
overflows to others; and every thing around quickly freshens into
smiles."

It is, we fear, too evident that this passage comes direct from the reverend writer's heart: it seems clear to the meanest capacity, that he speaks from experience--perhaps of himself--when he expresses the delight which _even one_ intelligent person can convey to a party. It is quite clear, that in the party now assembled there either was no intelligent person, or only one--at least, the observation of the author leaves little room to doubt the disagreeable fact.

At page 80, the following account of the natives of Caversham and the neighbouring districts is given, which is at once romantic and picturesque:--