George Cruikshank's Omnibus

FRANK HEARTWELL; OR, FIFTY YEARS AGO.

Meetings were held in Baurie's apartment, which were attended by numbers of the select—the principal of whom were Brassey Allhead, an intelligent oriental scholar, who had resided many years in India, and now sat as member of Parliament for ——, William Bryan, George Turner, and others, who pretended to see visions, claimed the gift of prophecy, and bore testimony to the authenticity of Brothers's mission—that he was the descendant of King David—the rod that was to come out of the stem of Jesse, &c., &c.: in fact, there only wanted the "unknown tongues," which has since been discovered by the disciples of fanaticism, to render the whole farce perfect in all its parts.

The twilight of a summer evening was gradually deepening its shade, when a hackney-coach stopped at Mrs. Heartwell's door, and the servant announced that a strange-looking woman who came in it had endeavoured to force her way into the house, and still remained clamorous to be admitted. Without a moment's hesitation, Mrs. Heartwell went to the hall—the door was re-opened, but the lady could not help retiring back with amazement, when she beheld a stout female, in short Dutch petticoats, wooden shoes, and a peaked-crown hat, who, in spite of the resistance of the servant, immediately and hurriedly advanced towards her.

"Who, and what are you?" demanded Mrs. Heartwell. "Keep the woman back, Mary!"

The girl caught hold of the intruder's petticoats, but, observing a thick club queue hanging down the female's back, she shouted, "Oh, my! ma'am, she's got a pig-tail!" and let them go again.

"What is all this?—who do you want?" demanded the lady, retreating. "Why don't you stop her, Mary?"

"Lor', ma'am, I carnt," replied the girl, again catching hold of the petticoats, whilst a well-remembered voice laughingly exclaimed,—

"Bless you, my lady—why, dont you know me? Howsomever I hope I arnt frightened you; but what's the odds so as you're happy?"

"Can it indeed be Ben!" said Mrs. Heartwell, in surprise. "But why are you dressed thus?"

"Oh, it's a long story, my lady!" replied the seaman; "and I've kept the duds on to circumwent the pressgangs. But I am so happy to see you again."

Mrs. Heartwell extended her hand to the worthy tar, and as her child was the first object of her thoughts, she eagerly inquired whether he "had seen or heard anything of Frank." From the answers she elicited, she very soon came to the conclusion that Frank was not far off. "He is here, Ben—I am sure of it. Open the door, Mary—the coach is still waiting—my son!—my son! Merciful Father, I thank thee!" The next minute the youth was in her arms; and Sambo, full of joy at his return, sprang in and caught the servant-girl round the neck, so as to excite something like jealousy in the mind of Ben, who however, in the fulness of delight, cut a few capers of the college hornpipe, exclaiming, "What's the odds, so as you're happy!" and making the hall echo again to the sounds of his wooden shoes.

There was pleasure that night at Mrs. Heartwell's, both in the parlour and in the kitchen. In the former Mr. Baurie and family and Mr. Unity Peach, who had called in, witnessed the gratification and anxiety of the mother as Frank recounted his adventures from first to last, not omitting his interview with Brady in the character of a traitorous spy, and stating that the merchant, with his wife and daughter, who had escaped in their company, had gone to an hotel in the neighbourhood.

Sambo and Ben in the kitchen enjoyed themselves to their heart's content—the grog was abroach—the pipes sent forth their wreaths of curling smoke—the servants were delighted, and the hour was late before they all departed to their rest.

The next morning Frank and his two humble companions were supplied with suitable apparel, and Mrs. Heartwell looked with pride upon the handsome appearance of her son in his uniform, though a sigh would now and then escape as she contemplated the strong resemblance which he bore to his father, and when she thought how soon they must part again.

The young midshipman, accompanied by the seaman and the negro, went to the Admiralty and reported their escape to the secretary, who questioned Frank pretty closely relative to what he had witnessed in Paris. During the inquiry a tall, upright, stately gentleman entered the room, and not only remained to listen to the conversation, but put several questions to the youth, and seemed satisfied with the ready and pleasing manner in which they were answered. He was then directed to call the next day, and instructions would be given to him for their future proceedings.

Frank was quitting the Admiralty gates, when a government messenger tapped him on the shoulder and an officer took him into custody. Ben and the black would have resisted; but the youth desired them to desist, and, conscious of innocence of any crime, cheerfully accompanied the messenger, followed at a little distance by Sambo and the seaman. The whole had been done so quietly that no bustle was excited, and they were soon in the Home-office at Downing Street, and Frank was summoned into the presence of Mr. Dundas, the Secretary of State, and questioned relative to his having seen lawyer Brady at the house of Polverel, and what transpired there.

The youth explicitly answered every interrogatory, and was requested to accompany Mr. Dundas to the Privy Council, which was then about to sit. The carriage was waiting; and when Ben saw the smiling face of his young master as he nodded at him on ascending the steps of the vehicle, he became assured that nothing was wrong, though he determined to watch where he went to; and both the seaman and the black had a smart run for it till they saw the equipage enter the archway of a prison-like building, and Ben became fearful that the young officer was "going to be clapped in limbo." He went up to the sentry and, offering him a bite of pigtail, inquired "What place that was," His mind became more appeased, though his wonder was not lessened, on being told that it was "the King's Palace."

The Privy Council had met, and lawyer Brady was a prisoner before them on a charge of treasonable practices. Several witnesses were examined, who gave evidence against him; but as nothing very conclusive could be drawn from it, he remained cool and firm till Frank was introduced, when that peculiar rolling of the eye for which he was remarkable under sudden excitement plainly indicated strong internal emotion.

Frank was at first somewhat confused, but he was encouraged by the tall gentleman he had seen at the Admiralty, and who was, in fact, the Earl of Chatham, at that time the head of the navy. The youth narrated every particular that had transpired in connexion with Brady at Paris, and at the close of his examination he was requested to withdraw. He was shown into a room where the other witnesses were assembled, and here Frank learned that Brady had been engaged by the government as a spy amongst certain of the higher classes of society, whom he first betrayed, and then, having obtained all the intelligence he could of national affairs, it was supposed had secretly gone over to communicate his information to the enemy. This last supposition Frank had confirmed; and the lawyer was committed to prison on a charge of high treason.

On the following day Frank had another interview with the secretary of the Admiralty, and was desired to leave his address and remain at home till further orders, and the seaman and the negro had leave of absence extended to them.

Mrs. Heartwell was much pleased at retaining her son with her for some time, especially as she received another handsome donation from her unknown friend, which enabled her to procure him a complete outfit. Mr. Wendover, the merchant, had called, and behaved with great kindness and attention to both the mother and son, and the latter was invited to pass a few days at a handsome mansion which had just been purchased near Finchley common, and which gave a right to the owner as lord of the manor. Frank was delighted—he had never ceased to treasure the most pleasing remembrances of the interesting girl who had clung to him for protection on the beach at Blankenburg, and she, with all the tenderness and devotion of youthful affection, secretly cherished a warm regard for the young midshipman, and she most earnestly longed to see him again.

On the evening previous to the intended visit, Brothers, the prophet, held a "meeting" in the drawing-room of Mr. Baurie's lodgings, and as on these occasions—which were looked upon in the light of devotional exercises—none were excluded, Mrs. Heartwell, Frank, Mr. Unity Peach, Ben and Sambo, and two or three of his leading disciples, as well as the servants, were present. There was nothing in the illusionist's general manner that could be construed into aberration of intellect. He was perfectly intelligible and sane when his monomania was not called into operation. He was a strong-limbed man; his hair was cropped close—his full eyes bent upon a book that he held in his right hand, and from which he commenced his address by reading passages from the prophecies of Daniel. His dress was remarkably plain, approaching to that usually worn by the Society of Friends, and his cravat was tied in the most exact manner, so that the bow in front resembled the cross of St. John of Jerusalem. At first, his voice was mild and gentle; but as he proceeded and became warmed with his subject, his countenance assumed an expression of wild energy, his utterance became deep and sepulchral, till at length, throwing down the book, he stood erect, with his arms crossed upon his breast, as the spirit of prophecy seemed to come upon him.

"Woe unto ye of the earth who seeing will not believe; who hear and yet despise. I am he of whom it is said, that a man will be revealed to the Hebrews as their prince, and to all nations as their governor, according to the covenant entered into with king David. Haste then and flee from the wrath to come, for have I not prophesied, and it hath come to pass?—Have I not foretold, and the fulfilment is at hand? Did I not predict the downfal of monarchy in France? and lo! it hath fallen. Did I not foretel the death of Louis? and he is no more. Did I not say the king of Sweden was given over to destruction? The great Gustavus is laid in the tomb by the hand of an assassin. Have I not declared that England would be deserted by her allies? many of them are already gone, and the others will quickly follow.—The king of Prussia will acknowledge the republic of France;—the government of Poland will be changed, and the monarch driven from his throne;—the stadtholdership of Holland shall be cut off close to the ground! Hear and understand, ye men who are in authority! The prisons are crowded with captives charged with high treason, but the powers shall not prevail against them;—yet a little while and the prison doors shall be opened and the whole shall walk forth free. Hearken, oh! ye Hebrews, and listen, oh! ye people—London, with its Armageddon[9], shall be utterly destroyed.—Lo! I saw in a vision, and Satan clothed in white and scarlet, and breathing desecration and fire, was entering the condemned city, and suddenly there was strife and confusion among the citizens, and every man's hand was armed against his brother, till a river ran through London of the colour of blood, and there was a voice of fury and the noise of an earthquake, and there were groans of woe—woe—woe! And I prayed and wrestled with the spirit that the city might be spared, and He, the Mighty One, was angered, and his wrath frightened away the angel from my side, and all became dark and oblivious; yet I saw in my vision that London had sunk into the bowels of the ground, and between the Downs and Windsor there was but one vast sheet of water, so that no trace of the city could be found. Why will ye die, oh! house of Israel?—hear and believe! And a storm shall arise—there will be consternation amongst our rulers—the English Admiralty shall be shaken as a man would shake bread in a basket." (Frank looked at Ben, and his countenance evinced displeasure.) "The prop and stay of the nation shall be knocked away—her armies will be destroyed, and her navy will be annihilated—the carcases of her soldiers shall strew the earth—the bodies of her seamen in an ocean-grave lie buried—for the enemy shall prevail, and the proud ships shall be sunk or grace the triumph of the foe."

Here the prophet was interrupted by Ben, who, rising up and biting through his quid, as he hitched up his trowsers, ejaculated with vehemence the word "Gammon," seemingly to the great delight of Mr. Unity Peach, who screwed his face into all manner of shapes to conceal his mirth, and uttered, "Sit down, man—saucy sailor—go to sea." The prophet prepared to renew his subject; but Frank, seconding Ben's motion by rising also, boldly said, that "being a British naval officer he could not sit to hear the service he loved denounced—it would be treason to his country. The English ensign had been victorious on the seas, and its gallant defenders would never allow it to be dishonoured."

"Hurrah, Master Frank," shouted Ben, "who cares for a bit of a breeze! Nillyhate our navy indeed!—bury all hands in the ocean!—strike to the enemy too!—Gammon, all gammon; but there, what's the odds so as you're happy."

"Neber see de day, boy," chimed in Sambo, as he imitated the example of his master, "Golly-make me tink ob em gullemtine."

The three withdrew, and Mr. Unity Peach soon afterwards left the party, "in order," as he said, "to scold the unmanly interruption given to Mr. Brothers," but in reality to vent his spleen against everybody; and the prophet very speedily took his departure.

The stately and elegant mansion purchased by Mr. Wendover was indeed delightfully situated, and the grounds had been laid out with considerable taste and skill. Joyous were the hours that Frank passed there in the society of friends, who esteemed him as their deliverer from death, and particularly with Helen, who not only admired the handsome young officer's improved appearance, but also very naturally evinced gratitude towards him for saving the life of her father.

Never were pair more truly happy; the present was to them all bright, and clear, and shining; they had no thought of the coming future; not a cloud intervened to cast a gloom upon their innocent enjoyments; and no pain was experienced till the time of separation approached, and then they felt how truly estimable and dear they were to each other. Frank was on the verge of his seventeenth birth-day; Helen had just passed her fifteenth; and both were experiencing those delightful sensations of affection, which in early life are so exquisitely delicious, because they are untainted by unhallowed thoughts or worldly desires.

On the estate was a beautiful little rural cottage, over which the vine grew in rich luxuriance, and its garden shone bright with the varied hues of many flowers. Often when passing it Frank had wished it was the home of his mother, whose health had become impaired by lodging-house keeping, and she earnestly desired to retire from it. The place had been unoccupied for several years, and Helen, without saying anything to Frank, had urged the suit with her parents to offer it to Mrs. Heartwell as a residence. Mrs. Wendover and Helen called upon that lady; and the former was so much gratified with the deportment and conversation of Mrs. Heartwell, that she at once made the proposition and invited her down to visit the place.

The invitation was accepted, but before the day arrived Frank was accosted in the street by Shipkins, who had acted as Brady's assistant, and he delivered a message from his employer, earnestly entreating that the youth would come to him, as he had affairs of importance to communicate. Shipkins also added his own persuasions to go immediately; but Frank peremptorily declined, until he had consulted with his mother, who, on his return home, not only advised the interview, but also resolved to accompany him as vague thoughts rose in her mind that possibly she might learn something respecting her husband. On the succeeding forenoon they went to the prison, and were informed that Brady had contrived to make his escape during the night, and the officers were then out in search of him.

Protected from impressment by leave from the admiralty, both Ben and the negro could go where they pleased; and as the merchant had presented them with a liberal sum, they did not fail to avail themselves of the enjoyment of freedom. The Royal Circus (as the Surrey Theatre was then called) was a place of great celebrity for its melo-dramatic performances, and the "unrivalled" feats of horsemanship, enlivened as they always were by the quaint humour of a clever clown. Ben and Sambo had gone to visit a relation of the former somewhere in the neighbourhood of Walworth, and Frank had engaged to meet them at the notorious tea-gardens known by the sign of the Dog and Duck, in St. George's Fields, to accompany them to the Circus. The morning and evening promenades at the Dog and Duck were frequented by all the dashing bucks of the time, with their ladies; and amongst the company might often be seen gentlemen riders, whose modesty on the highway induced them to put crape over their faces as they uttered "Stand, and deliver"—in short, the place became the assemblage of the worst characters of society. Frank, habited in plain clothes (as his uniform would not have corresponded with the dress of his companions), was crossing the open fields to the place of appointment, when Shipkins again addressed him, and by assurances that he could inform him of the fate of his father, induced the young man to enter a respectable-looking house in the neighbourhood; but no sooner had they advanced into a room at the back of the premises, than Frank was seized by two stout men, a wet cloth bound over his mouth, and he was conveyed to a sort of dungeon in the rear of the building, where his clothes were stripped off, and a canvas shirt and trousers substituted in their stead; an iron band was then clasped round his body, and he found himself chained to the floor.

The intentions of Shipkins were now evident; and Frank conjectured that his death was determined upon. Thinking more of his mother than himself, the young man suffered great distress, which was not relieved by a confused noise that suddenly commenced; and by placing his ear against the ground, he thought he could distinguish the strife of many human voices. What it meant he could not tell, but he was not long kept in ignorance, for in another half hour the door of his dungeon was thrown open, and Ben and Sambo, with a crowd of people, entered to his rescue.

"He is not here," said the seaman mournfully, and not knowing the youth in his change of attire; "but this is another victim, anyhow—the man-trapping vagabones!"

The black, however, with keener eye, had recognised his master, and he exclaimed, "Golly, you blind, Misser Ben, for no see me young massa," and he bounded forward to release him; but the chain and band defied his strength—the key was not to be found; but the enraged populace applied crow-bars to the stone in which the staple was fixed, and, after much exertion, it was forced away, and Frank was carried to the open air, where other unfortunate captives had been previously conveyed.

It appeared that Ben and the black were passing the house, which was notoriously known as one of the numerous crimping establishments of the neighbourhood, when their progress was arrested by a crowd that had gathered in front of it, and two or three declared that they had seen a young gentleman decoyed into it, and so many crimes had been perpetrated there, that they were determined to put a stop to them. Ben required a description of the young gentleman, which was given, and suspicion crossed his mind that induced him to join the assailants; in fact, he became their leader—the doors were beat in—the windows smashed, and a forcible entrance made by the mob, whose numbers increased every minute. Several poor creatures were discovered almost in a state of exhaustion, but the principals of the establishment had escaped. In one room Ben found a part of Frank's dress, and the sight almost maddened him. The search was continued, and resulted as has already been told; and now a wild but characteristic scene of lawless justice ensued. The mob dragged the furniture out into the fields, and piling it up fire was applied, and the whole was soon in a blaze. They next proceeded to demolish the building itself, nor did they cease till the whole was razed to the ground. But Frank did not wait to witness the termination—a locksmith had succeeded in forcing the clasp of the band, and releasing him from the encumbrance, which Sambo carried home with him as a trophy. Mrs. Heartwell was informed of what had taken place, and a probability was suggested that her husband might have been carried off in a similar way.

The visit to Finchley was made, and Mrs. Heartwell was persuaded by Frank to accept the tenancy of the cottage, hoping that Fortune would favour him with prize-money to render her life independent and comfortable. He had now twelve months' pay due, which, with what she would receive by disposing of part of her furniture, would serve for present exigencies; and a distant relation had bequeathed her an annuity of thirty pounds a year—so that prospects brightened before her.

Brady could not be found, and Frank was ordered down to join his ship, that was then refitting at Portsmouth, and to take Sambo with him, whilst Ben was directed to accompany them and procure a passage round to Plymouth to the Windsor Castle.

Frank received a letter to his captain from the secretary, and set out for Portsmouth, where he delivered his letter, and ascertained that it contained a strong recommendation of himself to the captain. Being somewhat of a favourite with the first lieutenant, the young midshipman earnestly solicited him to use his influence in getting Ben transferred to the same ship with him. The request prevailed; and Ben, by the admiral's directions, was entered on the books of the "Thunderbolt" seventy-four. Nor was he disappointed in his expectations of prize-money, for in the course of a few months several valuable captures were made, and the young midshipman enjoyed the satisfaction of knowing that his mother was comfortably settled at the cottage with a competence, and that Helen when at Finchley visited her daily.

A WARM RECEPTION.

TEA-TABLE TATTLE.

"Well, the opium we could not get, though the applications that Lord Palmerston made were unknown; however we could punish Mehemet Ali for his part in the transaction, and you know as well as I how matters ended in Syria. I must tell you that his Celestial Majesty never once interposed to protect the Pacha, but left him to his fate—this I know to be the case. Well, our quarrel with China still remained open—"

"Cream, Euphemius," said Miss Dibsley.

"We refused to take tea——"

"There's a good lad: a little bit more sugar."

"We refused to take their tea without the supply of opium;—the Emperor grew more and more incensed—told all manner of falsehoods, and asserted that our merchants had been administering opium to the Chinese, (where should they get it, I should like to know!) with the view of producing sleep and plundering the tea-factories. He then, it is said—though I don't understand this part of the story—flung his chops in the faces of the British, and at length provoked our sailors to make an attack on everything in the shape of junk that they could find. And so to war we went—all, as you perceive, through the people of the Boundary-line, and the meddling of Mehemet Ali."

"I never clearly understood the matter before," observed Miss Dibsley, stirring her fourth cup: "but what has the Emperor been doing lately?"

"Lately, why haven't you heard? My dear, to prevent the British from being supplied, he has been ordering all his people to destroy their stocks of teas—hyson, souchong, bohea, congou—all they have, and promising to indemnify them every sixpence."

"Well to be sure!" exclaimed Miss Dibsley; (a little more gunpowder in the pot would improve the next cup, my dear madam;) "only think! But isn't this a good deal like cutting his own nose off?"

"Of course it is, and what his Celestial Majesty will be doing next, I can't guess—I must ask my friend in the Potteries his opinion."

"I shouldn't at all wonder," returned Miss Dibsley, "if he were to hang himself up on one of his own tea-trees by his own pigtail, as a scarecrow to frighten away the barbarians."

"But if this destruction of tea is to go on, what are we to do? What is to become of the tee-totallers, Miss Dibsley?'

"Can't say, my dear Mrs. Hipson, unless they turn coffee-totallers."

"It's a melancholy affair, love."

"It is indeed, dear. That last crisp little biscuit there is positively tempting,—and now I think of it, I'll just venture on half a cup more tea; that sprinkling of gunpowder holds out deliciously. That'll do—thank you—charming!—These Chinese, I believe, have nothing of a navy?"

"I'm credibly informed," responded Mrs. Hipson, "that their ships are all made of earthenware—in the shape of milk-pots."

"Yes, and their cavalry are all mounted on tea-kettles, and go by steam."

"By the way—Oh! Miss Dibsley, I had almost forgot—you have never seen the sweet copy of verses that our dear Euphemius has been inditing on this curious Chinese business. Euphemius, my darling, show them to Miss Dibsley. He actually pictures the Celestial Emperor sitting on a teapot!—a teapot for a throne; how imaginative! I assure you—but I shouldn't like it to go farther—that our friend in the Potteries thinks them quite remarkable, and says that the youth's knowledge of facts is surprising: Euphemius is hardly seventeen yet—quite a child! What an age of genius this is! Euphemius, my dear, will you read?—Martha, you can take away.—Beg pardon, any more tea, Miss Dibsley? No!—not half a cup?—Take away, Martha. Euphemius, dear, proceed with your poetry."—"Hadn't I better read it for myself?" said Miss Dibsley. "No, I thank you," returned Euphemius; "you won't find out the jokes so well as I shall, 'cause I haven't put 'em all in italics." (Euphemius reads.)

"Very good indeed, Euphemius;" cried Miss Dibsley, with a slight yawn; "capital; if you live long enough I haven't a doubt that you'll cut a very pretty figure as a poet in the pages of the Stoke Poges Gazette, or Wormwood Scrubbs and Bullock-Smithey Register."

OMNIBUS CHAT.

THE FASHIONS

PLAYBILLS AND PLAYGOING

"No I don't," was the response of Mr. Cavil, "but I read the playbills. The playbill is the veluti in speculum for me. There I see human nature as in a mirror. There I read of envy, jealousy, and hatred—personal pique, private friendship—self-interest, sycophancy, adulation—in the varying forms of announcement, in the varying periods of omission—in the different sizes of type, in the significant conjunction of names—that may happen to compose the playbill. I see why this actor is to be run down now, and why the other is to be cried up then. I detect a reason for the implied insult, a motive for the palpable puff. Your playbill is a wonderfully accurate expositor of the mysteries of your human being. I don't want to go into the theatre, while I can read what I find at the doors. The bill's better than the play. If you want an example, look at that placard there (pointing as we passed to one that bore her Majesty's name at the head of it), I should like to see a comedy coming up to that! There you read of a piece—

"'Which, from its strongly affecting scenes, and powerfully harrowing situations, has nightly drawn tears of pity and commiseration from the sterner heart of man, from all who have one spark of the milk of human kindness, whilst woman's softer nature has swollen with bitterest indignation at the unmerited suffering and patient endurance of the hapless foundling.'

"Such a bill as that is payable at sight. I can't read it without tears. Its bold metaphorical originality is unequalled in our literature. We have heard of the 'fountain of our daily bread,' and of the 'fire of patriotism flowing into other channels;' but who ever before heard of a 'spark of the milk of human kindness!' Shakspeare never ventured to make the daring combination."

"Mr. Cavil," said the Playgoer, "I admire your literary acumen. As you have shown how the theatre furnishes amusement to those who never go into it, let me show in turn that, within, the field of amusement is not exclusively the stage. We need not travel just now 'behind the scenes;' there we may find ourselves another time; for the present we are satisfied with

"A ROMANCE OF THE ORCHESTRA."

In due time the bell rang for the music to the afterpiece, and we saw our musical adversary enter, release his instrument, and seat himself. He then tried the strings at his ear, and finding all right indulged himself with a pinch of snuff, and quietly awaited his time. The second bell rang-the leader gave the preliminary tap-tap, and off they went in the overture to Tancredi. After a few bars, it was our enemy's turn to chime in: he sawed away with right good will, but, to his utter amazement, without producing the desired effect. He looked down inquisitively with his single optic, but without comprehending the mystery. Again he tried, and of course with the same result; another downward look, and the truth seemed to flash across him. His one eye glared most horribly; but not on us did his anger fall. In front of him, perched on a high stool, with a step half way up for his feet, sat a little wee homo, working most industriously at a violoncello, as big as himself, and in a sweet unconsciousness of the storm gathering in his rear. On this unoffending victim did he of the double bass vent his rage—for after the second brief look at his useless instrument he darted one piercing glance at the violoncello player, deliberately deposited his bow on the desk before him, and dealt the little man so sound a cuff on the head, that musician, stool, violoncello, and desk, went down 'in one astounding ruin,' damaging the shins and toes of immediate neighbours, literally putting their pipes out, and producing discord dire throughout the realm of harmony.

In vain did the leader rap his desk and try to keep his flock together. On looking round he found his first flute and fourth violin busily rubbing their legs; the second trombone gentleman dreadfully irate at having a favourite corn hurt by the stool falling on it; the small violoncello player awfully pugnacious; while the grand cause of all was looking on, with a diabolical smile on what passed for his face, and muttering sotto voce, 'I'll teach you to play me tricks again.'

We looked quietly on, and my friend gave it as his opinion, that it was a great pity that the gentlemen could not settle their quarrels in private, instead of bringing them before the public in such a disgraceful way. How it ended I know not, for the curtain rose before it could be adjusted, and the 'harmonists' retired; but we subsequently learnt, that our hero of the double bass was, from a boorish temper, much disliked in the orchestra, and that to his great annoyance tricks had been frequently played off upon him; hence his sudden and violent retaliation on his supposed tormentor.

Our friend the Playgoer having thus introduced us to one of the curiosities of music—a practiser of sweet sounds, who was anything but the harmonist he seemed—his story suggested the image of an equally contradictory humorist, whom we had recently encountered; and we therefore without ceremony presented

ONE OF THE CURIOSITIES OF LITERATURE.