Chapter XIV (2)

I am very sorry to trouble your mind with anything unpleasant,
but a great change has taken place since the articles were signed
and the premium paid down. All the being on liking has come to
a sudden end. Mr. and Mrs. G. have thrown off their masks, and
he is a cruel tyrant; and instead of being another mother to me,
she is quite the reverse. I little thought the moment I became an
apprentice I should be a complete slave, and work like a horse.
Nothing but drawing, drawing, drawing, as long as it’s light--and
next week we begin lamps. I’ve no over-hours at all except in bed,
and that’s up in the back garret, and nothing but an old flock as
hard as wood. My being a parlour boarder is all over; and as to
sitting up to music and supper, I can’t repeat, but I’m d--d up at
night that I may be down in the morning. They have not sent me as
yet to take my meals in the kitchen, but I would almost as soon,
for I’m snubb’d if I open my lips at table; and the moment the
wine comes on I’m expected to be off, and am reminded if I don’t.
As for the visitors, they take no more notice of me than they do
of the foot-boy; but what goes most to my heart is, Mr. and Mrs.
G. never ask now after your delicate health. It’s very ungrateful
after paying so handsomely, but it’s my belief he doesn’t know
anything about architecture, and only takes in young gentlemen for
the sake of their premiums. I can t help feeling very unhappy, when
I think I’ve got to run seven years to come, and do wish you would
ask Uncle William, as he’s a lawyer, whether I can’t be turned
over by legal law, or cancelled and left to my liberty. Next to
an architect, I should like, if was unbound, to be an author,
and write books; which I hope you will approve of, as it doesn’t
require any premium. But perhaps you would like to have me at home,
and to be nothing at all, with which I remain,

My dear mother, your dutiful and affectionate son,
RICHARD RUGGLES.

As the above letters are genuine, it is probable that many of my readers, who are parents or guardians, have received similar epistles from their sons or wards before or after their being articled to a trade or a profession; at least there is reason to believe that the above case is one of ordinary occurrence. Taking it, therefore, as a fair sample of the practice in England, I was anxious to compare it with the course of a negro apprenticeship in the colonies; and with this view my next visit was paid to my old friend Colonel C., who had recently arrived from Jamaica with a black “turn-over” in his service. Having described the scene at the shop in the Strand, and explained my errand, which, of course, subjected me to some raillery, my request was acceded to, and Sambo was ordered to attend me to a private conference in the study. He was a stout good-humoured African, with rather more than the twilight intelligence allowed to the race by the late Monk Lewis; but with all the characteristic relish for a talk with Massa, ascribed to his brethren by the same pleasant authority. He entered therefore into the discussion with the greatest good-will; and the following, divested of his outlandish jargon, is the substance of his evidence.

To my first question, whether he had ever betrayed any original inclination to go into the rice, sugar, and tobacco line, he gave a decided negative. He had no occasion, he said, to labour for a livelihood, having been in his own country an independent black prince, and heir-apparent, as I understood him, to the king of the Eboes. He acknowledged, however, that he could neither read nor write, and consequently had never applied personally, or by letter, post paid, to any Transatlantic A. B. C. or X. Y. Z., in answer to an advertisement for an “Articled Pupil.” He was taken, he affirmed, at unawares, and he was positive that no premium was required with him. It appeared, however, that he had been regularly bound, but on explanation it turned out that it had been done with rope-yarn, and the only indentures he knew of, were on his wrists and ankles, from the pressure of his fetters. He had a decided impression that his parents or guardians were never applied to for their concurrence; indeed he had no recollection of being asked for his own assent to the arrangement. He would “take his dam” he was never carried before the Chamberlain or any official personage invested with similar functions, and denied ever having received the slightest hint that the binding him was necessary to entitle him to take up his freedom. In short, contrary to the experience of Richard Ruggles, his very first step appeared to have been into slavery, and it was only after a long term of severe service in the rice-field and the cane-piece that he was constituted an apprentice. This being the point to which the public interest is mainly directed, my enquiries here became naturally more minute, and the evidence was proportionably circumstantial. Taking the Ruggles letters for my guide, I was at great pains to make out something analogous to the state of being what is called “upon liking,” but I failed to elicit anything of the sort; and from the solemnity, not to say awfulness, of Sambo’s asseverations, there appeared no reason to suspect his veracity. He denied most positively and repeatedly his dining, in any one solitary instance, with his master and mistress, and by consequence the pleasure of taking wine with them after the social repast. He was equally firm in disclaiming any invitation to sit up to supper; and instead of being asked if he liked music, he declared indignantly that his favourite instruments the kitty-katty and the ganby had been continually broken over his own head. He totally repudiated the notion of playing at Pope Joan with the company that came to his master’s house; and insisted that the only notice he ever obtained from the visitors was his being “larrupped” by every gentleman that got drunk, and none of them ever went away sober. On the whole he would not allow himself to have received any personal benefit from his metamorphosis by Act of Parliament into an apprentice; no, not even to the extent of sparing him one single cut of the cowhide. He rather thought, on the contrary, that the prospect of his being out of his time in so many years had operated to the prejudice of the negro, by tempting the owner in the interim to get as much out of him, and pitch as much into him, as possible. To conclude, I charged Sambo very home with a question which has been much dwelt upon by certain members of both Houses; namely, whether the blacks were “properly prepared” to enter into a state of liberty? to which he answered very candidly, that he had not formally examined them on the subject, but judging by himself he should say they were quite as fit and prepared for freedom as they had been for slavery, to which they had mostly been introduced at an unfashionably short notice. For his own part he had been rather suddenly emancipated by simply stepping on English ground; but the only effect had been to inspire him with profound feelings of veneration and gratitude towards the soil, and a most fervent wish that he could send over a barrowful of the same earth for Black Juno and de pickaninnies to put him foot upon in Jamakey.

Such was the result of my conference with Sambo; and it served to account for the conduct of the tradesman in the Strand, by proving, that instead of being treated as one of the family, in a limited sense, the Negro is hardly looked upon as a member of that great domestic circle which has a circumference of 360 degrees. It appears from the facts, that an apprenticeship in Jamaica or Barbadoes has little or nothing in common except the name, with an apprenticeship on our own side of the Atlantic;--that under the same title there exists two diametrically opposite systems, literally as different as light and dark; and of course, as the hand said of the pair of gloves, “They cannot _both_ be right.” As the collective wisdom of the country has decided that the Black style of _binding_ is the correct pattern, and that the Negroes are properly “done up,” it necessarily follows, that our home-made articles are very loosely stitched, and without a due provision for rough usage and durability. Assuming the sable race to be subject to only a wholesome severity, it results that our London Prentices and their kind, are held by indentures shamefully lax in their conditions, and are allowed a most culpable latitude and indulgence. To place this gross partiality in the strongest light and shade, let the servitude of the born Blacks be compared with that of those “Africans of our own growth,” as Elia calls them, who derive their nigritude not from nature but from soot. Simply because they have once been whites, and are still white, or nearly white, once a year, like the hawthorns in May, they are protected and even pampered by laws, the framers of which have assuredly considered their own crows as the fairest. Let any one turn to the Statute Anno Quarto et Quinto Gulielmi IV. Regis, cap. 35, intituled “An Act for the Better Regulation of Chimney Sweepers and their Apprentices,” and he will find that the Climbing Boy, compared with the African, is almost a spoiled child. Instead of allowing him to be nabbed or grabbed, anyhow and willynilly, like our friend Sambo, the statute insists, by article 9, that the binding shall not take place without the concurrence of “a parish officer, or the parent, or next friend.” Article 10 provides, that instead of rope-yarn, as in the case of Sambo aforesaid, the binding shall only be effected with “paper or parchment,” and even before enduring such very mild ligatures, article 13 declares, that the boy is to be regularly “asked out,” before two Justices of the Peace, and in case such boy shall be unwilling to be bound with “paper and parchment,” “such Justices shall, and they are hereby required to refuse, to sanction or approve of such binding.” The 12th clause allows the practice of “liking,” or what, in electioneering cases, would be called “treating;” and before any boy shall be bound as an apprentice, “it shall be lawful for the intended master of such boy to have, and receive such boy in such master’s house, on trial--or ‘liking’--for any time not exceeding two calendar months.” In plain English, it shall be lawful for the said master elect to tempt and bribe the said apprentice, like Richard Ruggles, during eight weeks, by dinners of “delicate cow-heel, with the sauce His Grace is so fond of,” and suppers of hot sausages. And that the cow-heel and sausages may not be too minutely subdivided, clause 14 enacts, that Mr. or Mrs. Chimney Sweeper shall not have more than two apprentices on trial or “liking” at the same time. The same considerate clause forbids Mr. or Mrs. C. S. to have more than four apprentices at once, so that nothing like the close packing, which so often incommodes the race of Africa in a ship’s hold, may inconvenience the favoured sooterkins in the cellar. A taste for music is not specially mentioned or protected: but as clause 17 empowers any two or more magistrates to hear “all complaints” of hard or ill usage, the breaking of a fife or his pan’s pipes, over the head of an apprentice, would be certain to be listened to, and in all probability entail on the master a forfeit, fixed, by clause 16, at “not exceeding 10_l._ nor less than 40_s._” The 18th clause enjoins, on all builders and bricklayers, under extremely heavy penalties, to construct safe and comfortable chimneys that shall not be “hard to climb;” and finally, as if a sweeper on such very eligible terms could have anything to weep for, article 15 forbids, somewhat superfluously, his crying about the streets!!! The incredulous reader who may wish to verify this statement by reference to the Act itself, will find it at full length, and shown “all up” in a well-conceived little volume, called “The Mechanics of Law Making,” by a Member of Symond’s Inn. He will there find too truly that, compared with the genuine black, the sweeper is treated by law with as much tenderness as if each climbing-boy were, like the stolen Montague, a well-born white young gentleman in disguise. The tendency of such over-indulgent enactments to spoil the youth of this country is evidenced in the fact, that whilst the planter will give a considerable sum for a black assistant, a white articled pupil is hardly acceptable as a present, and in most cases, like Richard Ruggles, must have a handsome premium given along with him to purchase him a master. As a mere matter of economy, therefore, the matter is worth the consideration of parents and guardians, and parish officers; whilst the advocates of equal justice to all will imperatively insist that if the blacks cannot be treated like whites, the whites ought to be treated as blacks. For my own part, as a simple admirer of consistency, I cannot help thinking that the whole system of apprenticeship, as regards its home practice, requires to undergo a rigorous revision, and above all, that the act Anno Quarto et Quinto Gulielmi IV. Regis, cap. 35, with all its sweeping clauses, ought to be immediately repealed.

STANZAS ON COMING OF AGE.

“Twiddle’em, Twaddle’em, Twenty-one.”

_Nurse._ O woe! O woeful, woeful, woeful day!
Most lamentable day! most woeful day
That ever, ever, I did yet behold!
O day! O day! O day! O hateful day
Never was seen so black a day as this!
O woeful day! O woeful day!

* * * * *

_Musician._ Faith, we may put up our pipes and be gone.

_Nurse._ Honest good fellows, ah! put up, put up!
For well you know this is a pitiful case.

ROMEO AND JULIET.

To-day it is my natal day,
Three ’prenticeships have past away,
A part in work, a part in play,
Since I was bound to life!
This first of May I come of age,
A man, I enter on the stage
Where human passions fret and rage,
To mingle in the strife.

It ought to be a happy date,
My friends, they all congratulate
That I am come to “Man’s Estate,”
To some, a grand event;
But ah! to me descent allots
No acres, no paternal spots
In Beds, Bucks, Herts, Wilts, Essex, Notts,
Hants, Oxon, Berks, or Kent.

From John o’Groat’s to Land’s End search,
I have not one rod, pole, or perch,
To pay my rent, or tithe to church,
That I can call my own.
Not common-right for goose or ass;
Then what is Man’s Estate? Alas!
Six feet by two of mould and grass
When I am dust and bone.

Reserve the feast! The board forsake!
Ne’er tap the wine--don’t cut the cake,
No toasts or foolish speeches make,
At which my reason spurns.
Before this happy term you praise,
And prate about returns and days,
Just o’er my vacant rent-roll gaze,
And sum up my returns.

I know where great estates descend
That here is Boyhood’s legal end,
And easily can comprehend
How “Manors make the Man,”
But as for me, I was not born
To quit-rent of a peppercorn,
And gain no ground this blessed morn
From Beersheba to Dan.

No barrels broach--no bonfires make!
To roast a bullock for my sake,
Who in the country have no stake,
Would be too like a quiz;
No banners hoist--let off no gun--
Pitch no marquee--devise no fun--
But think when man is Twenty-One
What new delights are his!

What is the moral legal fact--
Of age to-day, I’m free to act
For self--free, namely, to contract
Engagements, bonds, and debts:
I’m free to give my I O U,
Sign, draw, accept, as majors do;
And free to lose my freedom too
For want of due assets.

I am of age, to ask Miss Ball,
Or that great heiress, Miss Duval,
To go to church, hump, squint, and all,
And be my own for life.
But put such reasons on their shelves,
To tell the truth between ourselves,
I’m one of those contented elves
Who do not want a wife.

What else belongs to Manhood still?
I’m old enough to make my will
With valid clause and codicil
Before in turf I lie.
But I have nothing to bequeath
In earth, or waters underneath,
And in all candour let me breathe,
I do not want to die.

Away! if this be Manhood’s forte,
Put by the sherry and the port--
No ring of bells--no rustic sport--
No dance--no merry pipes!
No flowery garlands--no bouquet--
No Birthday Ode to sing or say--
To me it seems this is a day
For bread and cheese and swipes.

To justify the festive cup
What horrors here are conjured up!
What things of bitter bite and sup,
Poor wretched Twenty-One’s!
No landed lumps, but frumps and humps,
(Discretion’s Days are far from trumps)
Domestic discord, dowdies, dumps,
Death, dockets, debts, and duns!

If you must drink, oh drink “the King,”
Reform--the Church--the Press--the Ring,
Drink Aldgate Pump--or anything,
Before a toast like this!
Nay, tell me, coming thus of age,
And turning o’er this sorry page,
Was young Nineteen so far from sage?
Or young Eighteen from bliss?

Till this dull, cold, wet, happy morn--
No sign of May about the thorn,--
Were Love and Bacchus both unborn?
Had Beauty not a shape?
Make answer, sweet Kate Finnerty!
Make answer, lads of Trinity!
Who sipp’d with me Divinity,
And guaff’d the ruby grape!

No flummery then from flowery lips,
No three times three and hip-hip-hips,
Because I’m ripe and full of pips--
I like a little green.
To put me on my solemn oath,
If sweep-like I could stop my growth
I would remain, and nothing loth,
A boy--about nineteen.

My friends, excuse me these rebukes!
Were I a monarch’s son, or duke’s,
Go to the Vatican of Meux
And broach his biggest barrels--
Impale whole elephants on spits--
Ring Tom of Lincoln till he splits,
And dance into St. Vitus’ fits,
And break your winds with carols!

But ah! too well you know my lot,
Ancestral acres greet me not,
My freehold’s in a garden-pot,
And barely worth a pin.
Away then with all festive stuff!
Let Robins advertise and puff
My “Man’s Estate,” I’m sure enough
I shall not buy it in.

THE PILLORY.

“Thro’ the wood, laddie.”--SCOTTISH SONG.

I never was in the pillory but once, which I must ever consider a misfortune. For looking at all things, as I do, with a philosophical and enquiring eye, and courting experience for the sake of my fellow-creatures, I cannot but lament the short and imperfect opportunity I enjoyed of filling that elevated situation, which so few men are destined to occupy. It is a sort of Egg-Premiership; a place above your fellows, but a place in which your hands are tied. You are not without the established political vice, for you are not absolved from turning.

Let me give a brief description of the short irregular glimpse I had of men and things, while I was in Pillory Power. I was raised to it, as many men are to high stations, by my errors. I merely made a mistake of some sort or other in an answer in Chancery, not injurious to my interests, and lo! the Recorder of London, with a suavity of manner peculiar to himself, announced to me my intended promotion, and in due time I was installed into office!

It was a fine day for the pillory; that is to say, it rained in torrents. Those only who have had boarding and lodging like mine, can estimate the comfort of having washing into the bargain.

It was about noon, when I was placed, like a statue, upon my wooden pedestal; an hour probably chosen out of consideration to the innocent little urchins then let out of school, for they are a race notoriously fond of shying, pitching, jerking, pelting, flinging, slinging--in short, professors of throwing in all its branches. The public officer presented me first with a north front, and there I was--“God save the mark!”--like a cock at Shrovetide, or a lay-figure in a Shooting Gallery!

The storm commenced. Stones began to spit--mud to mizzle--cabbage-stalks thickened into a shower. Now and then came a dead kitten--sometimes a living cur: anon an egg would hit me on the eye, an offence I was obliged to wink at. There is a strange appetite in human kind for pelting a fellow-creature. A travelling China-man actually threw away twopence to have a pitch at me with a pipkin; a Billinsgate huckster treated me with a few herrings, not by any means too stale to be purchased in St. Giles’s; while the weekly halfpence of the schoolboys went towards the support of a Costermonger and his Donkey, who supplied them with eggs fit for throwing, and for nothing else. I confess this last description of missiles, if missiles they might be called that never miss’d, annoyed me more than all the rest; however, there was no remedy. There I was forced to stand, taking up my livery, and a vile livery it was; or, as a wag expressed it, “being made free of the Peltmongers.”

It was time to appeal to my resources. I had read somewhere of an Italian, who, by dint of mental abstraction, had rendered himself unconscious of the rack, and while the executioners were tugging, wrenching, twisting, dislocating, and breaking joints, sinews, and bones, was perchance in fancy only performing his diurnal Gymnastics, or undergoing an amicable Shampooing. The pillory was a milder instrument than the rack, and I had naturally a lively imagination; it seemed plausible, therefore, that I might make shift to be pelted in my absence. To attain a scene as remote as possible from pain, I selected one of absolute pleasure for the experiment; no other, in truth, than that Persian Paradise, the Garden of Gul, at the Feast of Roses. Flapping the wings of Fancy with all my might, I was speedily in those Bowers of Bliss, and at high romps with Houri and Peri,--

“Flinging roses at each other.”

But, alas, for mental abstraction! The very first bud hit me with stone-like vehemence; my next rose, of the cabbage kind, breathed only a rank cabbage fragrance; and in another moment the claws of a flying cat scratched me back into myself; and there I was again, in full pelt in the pillory!

My first fifteen minutes, the only quarter I met with, had now elapsed, and my face was turned towards the East. The first object my one eye fell upon was a heap of Macadamisation, and I confess I never thought of calculating the number of stones in such a hillock, till I saw the mob preparing to cast them up!

I expected to be lithographed on the spot! Instinct suggested to me that the only way to save my life was by dying; so dropping my head and hands, and closing my last eye with a terrific groan, I expired for the present. The _ruse_ took effect. Supposing me to be defunct, the mob refused to kill me. Shouts of “Murder! Shame! Shame! No Pillory!” burst from all quarters. The Pipkin-monger abused the Fishwoman, who rated the Schoolboys; they in turn fell foul of the Costermonger, who was hissing and groaning at the whole assembly; and, finally, a philanthropic Constable took the whole group into custody. In the mean time I was taken down, laid with a sack over me in a cart, and driven off to a Hospital, my body seeming a very proper present to St. Bartholomew’s or St. Thomas’s, but my clothes fit for nothing but _Guy’s_.

A SINGULAR EXHIBITION AT SOMERSET HOUSE.

“Our Crummie is a dainty cow.”--SCOTCH SONG.

On that first Saturday in May,
When Lords and Ladies, great and grand,
Repair to see what each R. A.
Has done since last they sought the Strand,
In red, brown, yellow, green, or blue,
In short, what’s called the private view,
Amongst the guests--the deuce knows how
She got in there without a row--
There came a large and vulgar dame
With arms deep red, and face the same,
Showing in temper not a Saint;
No one could guess for why she came,
Unless perchance to “scour the Paint.”
From wall to wall she forc’d her way,
Elbow’d Lord Durham--pok’d Lord Grey--
Stamp’d Stafford’s toes to make him move,
And Devonshire’s Duke received a shove;
The great Lord Chancellor felt her nudge,
She made the Vice, his Honour, budge,
And gave a pinch to Park the Judge.
As for the ladies, in this stir,
The highest rank gave way to her.

From number one and number two,
She search’d the pictures through and through.
On benches stood, to inspect the high ones,
And squatted down to scan the shy ones.
And as she went from part to part,
A deeper red each cheek became,
Her very eyes lit up in flame,
That made each looker-on exclaim,
“Really an ardent love of art!”
Alas, amidst her inquisition,
Fate brought her to a sad condition;
She might have run against Lord Milton,
And still have stared at deeds in oil,
But ah! her picture-joy to spoil,
She came full butt on Mr. Hilton.

The Keeper mute, with staring eyes,
Like a lay-figure for surprise,
At last thus stammer’d out, “How now?
Woman--where, woman, is your ticket,
That ought to let you through our wicket?”
Says woman, “Where is David’s Cow?”
Said Mr. H----, with expedition,
“There’s no Cow in the Exhibition.”
“No Cow!”--but here her tongue in verity,
Set off with steam and rail celerity--

“No Cow! there an’t no Cow, then the more’s the shame and pity.
Hang you and the R. A.’s, and all the Hanging Committee!
No Cow--but hold your tongue, for you needn’t talk to me--
You can’t talk up the Cow, you can’t, to where it ought to be--
I haven’t seen a picture high or low, or any how,
Or in any of the rooms to be compared with David’s Cow!
You may talk of your Landseers, and of your Coopers, and your Wards,
Why hanging is too good for them, and yet here they are on cords!
They’re only fit for window frames, and shutters, and street doors,
David will paint ’em any day at Red Lions or Blue Boars,--
Why Morland was a fool to him, at a little pig or sow--
It’s really hard it an’t hung up--I could cry about the Cow!
But I know well what it is, and why--they’re jealous of David’s
fame,
But to vent it on the Cow, poor thing, is a cruelty and a shame.
Do you think it might hang by-and-by, if you cannot hang it now?
David has made a party up, to come and see his Cow.
If it only hung three days a week, for an example to the learners,
Why can’t it hang up, turn about, with that picture of Mr. Turner’s?
Or do you think from Mr. Etty, you need apprehend a row,
If now and then you cut him down to hang up David’s Cow?
I can’t think where their tastes have been, to not have such a
creature,
Although I say, that should not say, it was prettier than Nature;
It must be hung--and shall be hung, for Mr. H----, I vow,
I daren’t take home the catalogue, unless it’s got the Cow!
As we only want it to be seen, I should not so much care,
If it was only round the stone man’s neck, a-coming up the stair,
Or down there in the marble room where all the figures stand,
Where one of them three Graces might just hold it in her hand--
Or may be Bailey’s Charity the favour would allow,
It would really be a charity to hang up David’s cow.
We haven’t no where else to go if you don’t hang it here,
The Water-Colour place allows no oilman to appear--
And the British Gallery sticks to Dutch, Teniers, and Gerrard Douw,
And the Suffolk Gallery will not do--it’s not a Suffolk Cow:
I wish you’d seen him painting her, he hardly took his meals
Till she was painted on the board correct from head to heels;
His heart and soul was in his Cow, and almost made him shabby,
He hardly whipp’d the boys at all, or help’d to nurse the babby.
And when he had her all complete and painted over red,
He got so grand, I really thought him going off his head.
Now hang it, Mr. Hilton, do just bang it any how,
Poor David, he will hang himself, unless you hang his Cow.--
And if it’s unconvenient and drawn too big by half--
David shan’t send next year except a very little calf.”

THE YEOMANRY.

Amongst the agitations of the day, there is none more unaccountable to a peaceable man in a time of peace, than the resistance to the disbanding of the Yeomanry. It is of course impossible for anyone so unconnected with party as myself, to divine the ministerial motives for the measure; but judging from my own experience, I should have expected that every private at least, would have mounted his best hunter to make a jump at the offer. It appears, however, that a part of the military body in question betrays a strong disinclination to dismiss; and certain troops have even offered their services gratuitously, and been accepted, although it is evident that such a troop, to be consistent, ought to refuse, when called upon to act, to make any charge whatever.

Amongst my Scottish reminiscences, I have a vivid recollection of once encountering, on the road from Dundee to Perth, a party of soldiers, having in their custody a poor fellow in the garb of a peasant, and secured by handcuffs. He looked somewhat melancholy, as he well might, under the uncertainty whether he was to be flogged within an inch of his life, or shot to death, for such were the punishments of his offence, which I understood to be desertion, or disbanding himself without leave. It was natural to conclude, that no ordinary disgust at a military life would induce a man to incur such heavy penalties. With what gratitude would _he_ have accepted his discharge! He would surely have embraced the offer of being let off with the alacrity of gunpowder! And yet he was a regular, in the receipt of pay, and with the prospect and opportunity, so rare to our yeomanry, of winning laurels, and covering himself with glory!

It has been argued, on high authority, as a reason for retaining the troops in question, that they are the most _constitutional_ force that could be selected; and truly of their general robustness there can be but one opinion. However, if a domestic force of the kind ought to be kept up, would it not be advisable, and humane, and fair, to give the manufacturing body a turn, and form troops of the sedentary weavers and other artisans, who stand so much more in need of out-of-door exercise? The farmer, from the nature of his business, has _Field_ Days enough, to say nothing of the charges and throwings off he enjoys in hunting and coursing, besides riding periodically to and from market, or the neighbouring fairs. Indeed, the true English yeoman is generally, thanks to these sports and employments, so constantly in the saddle, that instead of volunteering into any cavalry, it might be supposed he would be glad to feel his own legs a little, and enjoy the household comforts of the chimney-corner and the elbow-chair. As regards their effectiveness, I have had the pleasure of seeing a troop fire at a target for a subscription silver cup; and it convinced me, that if I had felt inclined to _roast_ them, their own _fire_ was the very best one for my purpose. On another occasion I had the gratification of beholding a charge, and as they succeeded in dispersing themselves, it may be inferred that they might possibly do as much by a mob. Still there seemed hardly excitement enough or amusement enough, except to the spectators, in such playing at soldiers, to induce honest, hearty, fox-hunting farmers, to wish to become veterans. To tell the truth, I have heard before now, repentant grumblings from practical agriculturists, who had too rashly adopted the uniform, and have seen even their horses betray an inclination to back out of the line. The more therefore is my surprise, on all accounts, to hear that the Yeomanry are so unwilling to be dispensed with, and relieved from inactive service; for though the song tells us of a “Soldier tir’d of war’s alarms,” there is no doubt that to a soldier of spirit, the most tiresome thing in the world is to have no alarms at all.

In the mean time I have been at some pains to ascertain the sentiments of the yeowomanry on the subject, and if they all feel in common with Dame, the disbanding will be a most popular measure amongst the farmers’ wives. I had no sooner communicated the news, through the old lady’s trumpet, than she exclaimed, that “it was the best hearing she had had for many a long day! The Sogering work unsettled both men and horses--it took her husband’s head off his business, and it threw herself off the old mare, at the last fair, along of a showman’s trumpet. Besides, it set all the farm servants a-sogering too, and when they went to the Wake, only old Roger came back again to say they had all ’listed. They had more sense, however, than their master, for they all wanted to be disbanded the next morning. As for the master, he’d never been the same man since he put on the uniform; but had got a hectoring swaggering way with him, as if everybody that didn’t agree in politics, and especially about the Corn Bill, was to be bored and slashed with sword and pistol. Then there was the constant dread that in his practising, cut six would either come home to him, or do a mischief to his neighbours; and after a reviewing there was no bearing him, it put him so up in his stirrups, and on coming home he’d think nothing of slivering off all the hollyoaks as he brandished and flourished up the front garden. Another thing, and that was no trifle, was the accidents; she couldn’t tell how it was, whether he thought too much of himself and too little of his horse, but he always got a tumble with the yeomanry, though he’d fox-hunt by the year together without a fall. What was worse, a fall always made him crusty, and when he was crusty, he made a point to get into his cups, which made him more crusty still. Thank God, as yet he had never been of any use to his country, and it was her daily prayer that he might never be called out, as he had so many enemies and old grudges in the neighbourhood, there would be sure to be murder on one side or the other. For my own part,” she concluded, “I think the Parliament is quite right in these hard times to turn the farmers’ swords again into ploughshares, for they have less to care about the rising of rioters than the falling of wheat.” The old lady then hunted out what she called a yeomanry letter from her husband’s brother, and having her permission to make it public, I have thought proper to christen it.

AN UNFAVOURABLE REVIEW.

“You remember Philiphaugh, Sir?”

“Umph!” said the Major, “the less we say about that, John, the
better.”

OLD MORTALITY.

_To Mr. Robert Cherry, the Orchard, Kent._

DEAR BOB,--It’s no use your making more stir about the
barley. Business has no business to stand before king and country,
and I couldn’t go to Ashford Market and the Review at the same
time. The Earl called out the Yeomanry for a grand field day at
Bumper Daggle Bottom Common, and to say nothing of its being my
horse duty to attend I wouldn’t have lost my sight for the whole
barley in Kent. Besides the Earl, the great Duke did us the honour
to come and see the troops go through everything, and it rained all
the time. Except for the crops, a more unfavouring day couldn’t
have been picked out for man or beast, and many a nag has got a
consequential cough.

The ground was very good, with only one leap that nobody took, but
the weather was terribly against. It blew equinoxious gales, and
rained like watering pots with the rose off. But as somebody said,
one cannot always have their reviews cut and dry.

We set out from Ashford at ten, and was two hours getting to Bumper
Daggle Bottom Common, but it’s full six mile. The Bumper Daggle’s
dress is rather handsome and fighting like--blue, having a turn-up
with white, and we might have been called cap-a-pee, but Mr. P.,
the contractor of our caps, made them all too small for our heads.
Luckily the clothes fit, except Mr. Lambert’s, who couldn’t find
a jacket big enough; but he scorned to shrink, and wore it loose
on his shoulder like a hussar. As for arms, we had all sorts, and
as regards horses, I am sorry to say all sorts of legs--what with
splints, and quitters, and ring-bone, and grease. The Major’s, I
noticed, had a bad spavin, and was no better for being fired with
a ramrod, which old Clinker, the blacksmith, forgot to take out of
his piece.

We mustard very strong,--about sixty--besides two volunteers, one
an invalid, because he had been ordered to ride for exercise, and
the other because he had nothing else to do, and he did nothing
when he came. We must have been a disagreeable site to eyes as is
unaffected towards Government,--though how Hopper’s horse would
behave in putting down riots I can’t guess, for he did nothing
but make revolutions himself, as if he was still in the thrashing
mill. But you know yeomanry an’t reglers, and can’t be expected
to be veterans all at once. The worst of our mistakes was about
the cullers. Old Ensign Cobb, of the White Horse, has a Political
Union club meets at his house, and when he came to unfurl, he had
brought the wrong flag: instead of “Royal Bumper Daggle,” it was
“No Boromongers.” It made a reglar horse laugh among the cavalry;
and old Cobb took such dudgeon at us, he deserted home to the White
Horse, and cut the concern without drawing a sword. The Captain
ordered Jack Blower to sound the recall to him, but some wag on the
rout had stuck a bung up his trumpet; and he gallopped off just as
crusty about it as old Cobb. Our next trouble was with Simkin, but
you know he is anything but Simkin and Martial. He rid one of his
own docked waggon-horses--but for appearance sake had tied on a
long regulation false tale, that made his horse kick astonishing,
till his four loose shoes flew off like a game at koits. Of course
nobody liked to stand nigh him, and he was obliged to be drawn up
in single order by himself, but not having any one to talk to, he
soon got weary of it, and left the ground. This was some excuse
for him--but not for Dale, that deserted from his company,--some
said his horse bolted with him, but I’ll swear I seed him spur.
Up to this we had only one more deserter, and that was Marks, on
his iron-gray mare, for she heard her foal whinnying at home, and
attended to that call more than to a deaf and dumb trumpet. Biggs
didn’t come at all; he had his nag stole that very morning, as it
was waiting for him, pistols and all.

What with these goings off and gaps our ranks got in such disorder
that the Earl, tho’ he is a Tory, was obliged to act as a rank
Reformer. We got into line middling well, as far as the different
sizes of our horses would admit, and the Duke rode up and down us,
and I am sorry to say was compelled to a reprimand. Morgan Giles
had been at a fox-hunt the day before, and persisted in wearing the
brush as a feather in his cap. As fox tails isn’t regulation, his
Grace ordered it out, but Morgan was very high, and at last threw
up his commission into a tree and trotted home to Wickham Hall,
along with private Dick, who, as Morgan’s whipper in, thought he
was under obligations to follow his master.

We got thro’ sword exercise decent well,--only Barber shaved
Croft’s mare with his saber, which he needn’t have done, as she was
clipt before; and Holdsworth slashed off his cob’s off ear. It
was cut and run with her in course; and I hope he got safe home.
We don’t know what Hawksley might have thrusted, as his sword
objected to be called out in wet weather, and stuck to its sheath
like pitch; but he went thro’ all the cuts very correct with his
umbrella. For my own part, candour compels to state I swished off
my left hand man’s feather; but tho’ it might have been worse,
and I apologised as well as I could for my horse fretting, he was
foolish enough to huff at, and swear was done on purpose, and so
gallopped home, I suspect, to write me a calling out challenge.
Challenge or not, if I fight him with anything but fists, I’m not
one of the Yeomanry. An accident’s an accident, and much more
pardonable than Hawksley opening his umbrella plump in the face of
the Captain’s blood charger; and ten times more mortifying for an
officer to be carried back willy-nilly to Ashford, in the middle
of the Review. Luckily before Hawksley frightened any more, he was
called off to hold his umbrella over Mrs. H., as Mrs. Morgan had
taken in nine ladies, and could not accommodate more in her close
carriage, without making it too close.

After sword exercise we shot pistols, and I must say, very well
and distinct; only, old Dunn didn’t fire; but he’s deaf as a post,
and I wonder how he was called out. Talking of volleys, I am sorry
to say we fired one before without word of command; but it was all
thro’ Day on his shooting pony putting up a partridge, and in the
heat of the moment letting fly, and as he is our fugleman we all
did the same. Lucky for the bird it was very strong on the wing,
or the troop must have brought it down; howsomever the Earl looked
very grave, and said something that Day didn’t choose to take from
him, being a qualified man, and taking out a reglar license, so
he went off to his own ground, where he might shoot without being
called to account. Contrary to reason and expectation, there was
very few horses shied at the firing; but we saw Bluff lying full
length, and was afraid it was a bust; but we found his horse,
being a very quiet one, had run away from the noise. He was throwd
on his back in the mud, but refused to leave the ground. Being a
man of spirit, and military inclind, he got up behind Bates; but
Bates’s horse objecting to such back-gammon, reared and threw
doublets. As his knees was broke, Bates and Bluff was forced to
lead him away, and the troop lost two more men, tho’ for once
against their own wills.

As for Roper he had bragged how he could stand fire, but seeing a
great light over the village, he set off full Swing to look after
his ricks and barns.

The next thing to be done was charging, and between you and me, I
was most anxious about that, as many of us could only ride up to
a certain _pitch_. As you’ve often been throwd you’ll know what I
mean: to tell the truth, when the word came, I seed some lay hold
of their saddles, but Barnes had better have laid hold of anything
else in the world, for it turn’d round with him at the first
start. Simpkin fell at the same time insensibly, but the doctor
dismounted and was very happy to attend him without making any
charge whatever. All the rest went off gallantly, either gallopping
or cantering, tho’ as they say at Canterbury races, their was
some wonderful tailing on account of the difference of the nags.
Grimsby’s mare was the last of the lot, and for her backwardness in
charging we called her the Mare of Bristol, but he took the jest
no better than Cobb did, and when we wheel’d to the right he was
left. Between friends, I was not sorry when the word came to pull
up,--such crossing, and josling, and foul riding; but two farmers
seemed to like it, for they never halted when the rest did, but
gallopped on out of sight. I have since heard they had matched
their two nags the day before to run two miles for a sovereign;
I don’t think a sovereign should divert a man from his king: but
I can’t write the result as they newer came back,--I suppose on
account of the wet. The rains, to speak cavalry like, had got
beyond bearing rains; and when we formed line again it was like a
laundress’s clothes line, for there wasn’t a dry shirt on it. One
man on a lame horse rode particularly restive, and objected in such
critical weather to a long review. He wouldn’t be cholera morbus’d,
he said, for Duke or Devil, but should put his horse up, and go
home by the blue Stage; by way of answer he was ordered to give up
his arms and his jacket, which he did very off hand, as it was wet
thro’. Howsomever it was thought prudent to dispense with us till
fine weather, so we was formed into a circle--9 bobble square, and
the Duke thanked us in a short speech for being so regular, and
loyal, and soldier-like, after which every man that had kept his
seat gave three cheers.

On the whole the thing might have been very gratifying, but on
reviewing the Field day, the asthmas and agues are uncommonly
numerous, and to say nothing of the horses that are amiss with
coffs and colds--there are three dead and seven lame for life. The
Earl has been very much blamed under the rose among the privates,
for fixing on a Hunting day, which I forgot to say, carried away a
dozen that were mounted on their hunters. I am sorry to say there
was so few left at the end of all, as to suffer themselves to be
hissed into the town by the little boys and gals, and called the
Horse Gomerils; and that consequently the corpse, as a body, is as
good as defunct. Not that there were many resign’d at the end of
the review, as his Lordship gave a grand dinner on the following
day to the troop: but I am sorry to say, a great many was so
unhandsome as to throw up the very day after. The common excuse
among them was something of not liking to wet their swords against
their countrymen.

For my own part as the yomanry cannot go on, I shall stick to it
honorably, and as any man of spirit would do in my case; but dont
be afraid of my attending Market, come what will, and selling the
barley at the best quotation.

I am, dear Brother,
Your’s and the Colonel’s to command,
JAMES CHERRY.

P.S.--I forgot to tell what will make you laugh. Barlow wouldn’t
ride with spurs, because, he said, they made his horse prick his
ears. Our poor corps, small as it is, I understand is like to act
in divisions. Some wish to be infantry instead of cavalry; and the
farmers from the hop grounds want to be Polish Lancers.

I have just learned Ballard, and nine more of the men, was ordered
to keep the ground; but it seems they left before the Troop came on
it. They say in excuse, they stood in the rain till they were ready
to drop; and as we didn’t come an hour after time, they thought
everything was postponed. “None but the brave,” they said, “deserve
the fair;” and till it _was_ fair, they wouldn’t attend again.

The mare you lent Ballard, I am sorry to say, got kicked in
several places, and had her shoulder put out; we was advised to
give her a swim in the sea, and I am still more sorry to say, in
swimming her we drowned her. As for my own nag, I am afraid he has
got string-halt; but one comfort is, I think it diverts him from
kicking.

I’M GOING TO BOMBAY.

“Nothing venture, nothing have.”--OLD PROVERB.

“Every Indiaman has at least two mates.”

FALCONER’S MARINE GUIDE.

I.

My hair is brown, my eyes are blue,
And reckon’d rather bright;
I’m shapely, if they tell me true,
And just the proper height;
My skin has been admired in verse,
And called as fair as day--
If I _am_ fair, so much the worse,
I’m going to Bombay!

II.

At school I passed with some éclât;
I learned my French in France;
De Wint gave lessons how to draw,
And D’Egville how to dance;--
Crevelli taught me how to sing,
And Cramer how to play--
It really is the strangest thing--
I’m going to Bombay!

III.

I’ve been to Bath and Cheltenham Wells,
But not their springs to sip--
To Ramsgate--not to pick up shells,--
To Brighton--not to dip.
I’ve tour’d the Lakes, and scour’d the coast
From Scarboro’ to Torquay--
But tho’ of time I’ve made the most,
I’m going to Bombay!

IV.

By Pa and Ma I’m daily told
To marry now’s my time,
For though I’m very far from old,
I’m rather in my prime.
They say while we have any sun,
We ought to make our hay--
And India has so hot an one,
I’m going to Bombay!

V.

My cousin writes from Hyderapot
My only chance to snatch,
And says the climate is so hot,
It’s sure to light a match.--
She’s married to a son of Mars,
With very handsome pay,
And swears I ought to thank my stars
I’m going to Bombay!

VI.

She says that I shall much delight
To taste their Indian treats,
But what she likes may turn me quite,
Their strange outlandish meats.--
If I can eat rupees, who knows?
Or dine, the Indian way,
On doolies and on bungalows--
I’m going to Bombay!