work of the person who was sent to put on the dresses, Matilda looked blooming as a thirty-year-old matron, and aristocratic as an empress.

"Tom," said Mrs. Gummer, looking in the glass, "it is a wonder; and if I were put on my oath, I should not like to swear I am not somebody else. A bird may be old, but if it is fresh feathered it looks equal to new-fledged. Depend upon it, Tom, these West-end people could turn, twist, and twiddle a woman of ninety into a longclothes baby."

On our way to Grammont Lodge, we agreed to do as the others did. I was to follow the example of the Colonel, Mrs. Gummer was to imitate Mrs. De Crespin, and the girls were to take copy of the Misses De Crespin. Though we did not say so, we all of us wished that the party was

over.

At first we were as uncomfortable as I suppose fish would be in warm water. Although Mrs. Gummer was a long way off, I could see that the soup was a trial to her. I defy any one to take soup elegantly; and, to a nervous person, it is torture. But the Colonel and his wife were so jolly that, after drinking a little wine, we were much more at our ease; and before the dinner was over, Matilda was talking freely. Mrs. De Crespin told me that Mrs. Gummer was a dear, good creature, that Nancy was a noble girl, and that Janet was a sweet pet. So the dreaded dinner party went off as well as we could desire; and we were home before twelve o'clock, quite content with our behaviour. We did not go to bed, but sat down to talk over the party.

Nancy thought the Misses De Crespin were too free and easy in their manner. Janet told Nancy that she was a fool to suppose that real bred and born ladies would behave as if they were crabby old cats at a cup of tea party. Nancy said that a lady was not obliged to talk in a way that was not proper. Janet went off like ginger-beer in July, and observed that some people were always thinking evil of others, and perhaps they had better look at home. A quarrel -which was common since we had come into a fortune-was at hand; and, by way of a stopper, I asked what they thought of young Mr. De Crespin, and the reply was

"What do you think of him?"

"Not to be compared to the Colonel. If his conceit and brains were put into scales to

be weighed one against the other, the conceit scale would go down with a bang."

Janet pouted and sneered, and remarked that commoners could not understand aristocracy. Nancy admitted he was proud, but pleaded that pride was the fault of his education. Mrs. Gummer said it was stupid to suppose that as fine a blood horse as was ever shod would not show his breed and his feed; and that if the Emperor of Russia, with his crown on his head, was to pay attention to the poor dear girls, their pa would take a pleasure in grinding them down into dust and ashes.

Evidently a storm was brewing; and so Nancy, who is a peacemaker, took Janet to bed. Janet was indignant, and instead of kissing me offered me her cheek.

"Perhaps, Gummer, if the poor dear girls were dissected before your eyes you might believe they had hearts in their bosoms, and not beating stones. What will be will be, and it is not for a man and a father to be sowing domestic jars, which will grow fast enough before they are wanted."

66

Really, Matilda, if opening my mouth leads to this bother, I will keep it shut." "Tom, your temper is getting that bad that it will bring me to my grave; and when I am gone, Gummer, your fortune and your sorrowing won't bring me back again."

Mrs. Gummer mixed my grog, but not any anti-spasms medicine for herself. "Take a little, Matilda. It will settle the wine."

"Not to-night, Gummer; for if you were to guess for a month of Sundays, you would never hit upon what happened in Mrs. De Crespin's dressing-room.'

I took a long whiff at my pipe, and shook my head.

"Gummer, what we know is wonderful, but what we don't know is double wonderful. Before I could put on my hood and cloak, Mrs. De Crespin asked me whether I patronized night-caps.

"Yes, mum, for it is untidy to have one's hair tangled like a hundred skeins of silk used without winding, and nets don't keep the grease from the pillow-case.'

"With that Mrs. C. laughed at me as if I was a pantomime.

'My dear, forgive the laugh, but I did not refer to night-caps for the head, but for the stomach. I meant, if you take a little something before going out into the air?'

"In walked her maid with a tiny kettle

of boiling water, and set it on the stove, two tumblers, spoons, lemon, and sugar on the table, and a bottle from the cupboard-a downright public-house bottle of Old Tom. "If you prefer any other night-cap say so, and Fanny will fetch it.'

"Well, Tom, I took a little, and Mrs. C. mixed for herself. Not an inch of emptiness in her tumbler, and it was fair half and half. It went down with no sipping and no gasping. Now, Gummer, who would have thought that a genuine lady-an aristocrat of high breed-would let her lips come within an inch of gin and water?"

"Well, my dear, there is no harm in it." "I did not insinuate it, Gummer. But there is no harm in Margate oysters, or black puddings, or liver and bacon; but it is not aristocratic food, any more than champagne is drink for common people-which, between ourselves, I admit is no better than ginger beer without the ginger."

MR. DILLY'S TABLE TALK.

THE

'HE late James Dilly was one of the oldfashioned school-stiff, short, and angular, with a face like some of the walnutfeatured comedians of Garrick's day. This, in their case as in his, was no arbitrary gift of nature: the lines and sinuosities of these delved and dented countenances being produced by a deep purpose and intensity of expression an earnestness within, which scores this deep impression on the face. Hence these gnarled, sagacious, twinkling old faces-such as any one may find who visits the Haymarket, and sees the admirable Chippendale, whom our friend really resembled. He wanted the old, high-collared coat and neckcloth, but made his garments correspond to those models as boldly as fashion would allow. He actually wore a wig;not one of our modern deceptions, that simulate the natural hair, partings, &c., but a flat, scrubby article, of a bay colour, which at its extremities curled up, and seemed to long to display itself in "pipes." His voice was sharp, and had the sarcastic, incisive emphasis of those old comedians; indeed, from him I got a clear idea of that lost art of making a tolerable, indifferent sentence tell. This is, in fact, the secret of true acting genuine character making a colourless sentence reflect the humour and nature of the speaker; whereas nowadays, sharp sentences are devised as substitutes

for character, and fail of effect. I often fancied him hung against a dining-room wall, a portrait in a blue, wooden-cut coat. He would have been in perfect harmony. This was but half a dozen years ago; yet he must have been past seventy.

I liked him, enjoyed his company with a surprising zest, and grieved when he passed away. There was a solidity, a roundness in the natures of men of his type which the juniors of our time have not, and never will have: a weight and impressiveness in every little thought or sentence, which gave the idea that each had been thought over, or had been cast in little private moulds which were kept in stock. So with his little stories and traits, which were piquant, and had a racy flavour. There was, of course, an old-fashioned twang about them; but this only made them more acceptable. There was an individuality in his dress, his clothes seeming always to be the same garments; though they were carefully renewed-being, as it were, rebuilt on the same lines and patterns: the hat rather limp, and without the defiant curl and flourish of old military men; the very short, light waistcoat; the rather ill-cut pantaloons, skimpy, but of the tone known as tendre et uni; the brown snuffcoloured coat with the velvet collar; and the walking-stick with the small gold top. In this dress he might have come out in a light comedy-say, fifty years ago and scolded his disobedient son, who would not marry the heiress. With him lived his sister Bridget; and the name will recall the Elias, brother and sister, who together made up a quaint and curious ménage.

Bridget Dilly was matronly, and had all the air of having daughters; and she comes back on me now in an antique bonnet, open at the chin, the strings hanging down limp. Her dress was always costly, but each garment seemed to be a failure; and the ordering of a velvet mantle was a great occasion, undertaken with consultation among females, and their personal assistance at the purchase. It was next to choosing a house or a carriage. James was her treasure; no mother could have more prized and cherished her only darling. In these female councils, of which she was so fond, "James" was the grand precedent: his deeds, sayings-symptoms even-were the eternal theme. To her eyes he was some radiant Apollo, with youth and health and strength glowing on his shoulders, instead

of the slippered pantaloon which, comparatively speaking, he was. Not but that they had their little jars and outpost skirmishing, frequently before the guests and visitors: she impassive, yet aggravating; he very tart and aggressive. But she had the calmest and sweetest of tempers.

They lived together in a suburb, in a handsome house; and were what is called "well off." He had musical tastes of a really high order, and could perform on "the instrument" in the old classical manner. The established and rather hackneyed "chief works" of Mozart, Beethoven, Haydn, were all familiar to his fingers; and he executed these masterpieces in a steady, firm, and accurate style which spoke of good training. He was modest about these gifts, and "pooh-poohed" himself as rococo, or such as the lights of the present day would not care to listen to. Yet it was impossible not to admire his steady march through the forty or so pages of some great work a little "fumbling" in some parts, it is true; but, on the whole, a "sound" rendering of the piece. But he more favoured such professors as Cramer, whose pupil he had been; John Field, who wrote some fine symphony music; Kalkbrenner, or Dussek, with his piece, entitled "Ne Plus Ultra." It was impossible not to feel an interest and sympathy for this veteran, as he sat at his piano, his silver spectacles on, his head nodding time, as he laboured hard over the "broken stones" of the piece. Sometimes he would adventure a duet with some fair musician some fifty years behind his own age: he taking charge of the bass, and never sacrificing reproof or duty to the charms of beauty. He insisted imperiously on "the piece being played as written," to the consternation and even rebellion of his companion; who, after completing an arduous movement-the andante maestoso, or allegro con brio-was mercilessly obliged to recommence in obedience to the composer's written directions for the repeat. He could thrum off scraps of old operas, odds and ends of airs, in profusion.

It had been his favourite fashion for years to repair with his sister to Tunbridge Wells, where, always looking out for the best people, our friends had cemented alliances with various old ladies-Lady This and Lady Olivia That. They gave dinners occasionally, and years ago had kept a good house at Paris, where they had known many of the wander

ing English. This tradition, with the good dinners, and their own efforts—not obtrusive secured them the acquaintance of the distinguished. James Dilly dearly loved twanging off on his tongue a "Lady Mary," or a "Lord John;" and at these occasional banquets we were certain to meet some lean, elderly dame of high degree, with, more rarely, an ancient peer and his lady. On these occasions, the meat, wines, and cookery were of great merit. Our friend appeared in a grand tenue, modelled on that of the days of the Reform Bill, suggesting the portraits of Mr. Canning and other politicians, in their full dress-high collars, gold eyeglass, with a broad, black riband, &c. I believe our host diligently prepared-furbishing up a stock of piquant stories, which he introduced, not laboriously by the " question detached," but by the more physical ambuscade of some especial dish, wine, or other material object. These anecdotes were of a personal kind, and were really interesting. And, indeed, this sketch is conceived in no jesting spirit, but with a wish to recall a most agreeable figure, whose kindly gifts are sadly wanted nowadays to temper the unalloyed selfishness of our time. I see him at the top of the table: his eyes twinkling, his old comedy face, like Farren's, with the half compliment, dry as his own champagne, before utterance. I can hear his quaint story which has lurked behind the vol-au-vent-or has, rather, been carried in with the dish itself; for, as it is presented to the Lady Mary or Lady Olivia of the feast, he brings it out in the most natural way imaginable.

With such a face, and gifts which have been duly whetted against the grindstones of society, there was nothing wonderful in his having dramatic powers of no inconsiderable order. On a rare occasion, and after some such dinner, he would consent to oblige Lady Mary, who was dying to see him, by arraying himself as Mr. Hardcastle or Lord Ogleby; and, with the assistance of a junior friend the present writer often being called on to make up hastily for Young Marlow, or some such character-would make his entry unexpectedly, in scratch wig, cocked hat, and worsted stockings, and play off two or three scenes with a breadth, vigour, and point that would have shamed our modern actors. No scenery was required. Both stood upthe party grouped round. It was à la Thespis, wanting the cart. He was the character

itself the old Hardcastle, or Ogleby, or Croaker, among these ladies and gentlemen. Pleasant nights, indeed, these were!

For many years this agreeable intimacy went on. It became almost a regular Sunday's diversion for me to go down, and have a walk and dinner. During this walk and dinner it was that he gave out the lively stories and recollections which I now propose laying before the reader. In this place they appear under a disadvantage, as they will lack his dry, incisive manner, which imparted a sort of "olive" flavour, as well as that excellent air of apropos which made each take its place as an illustration. Here they are disjointed, in a certain sense. It may be that some have made a previous appear

ance:

As a great treat, he was brought to a party one night in Paris, to meet Cherubini. It was hoped that the great maestro would manifest his musical tastes, and due preparations had been made to entertain him. His first words were

"Now, place me where I sha'n't hear a note of music the whole evening."

And so, accordingly, he was placed; and he played cards the whole night. He was a queer, strange-looking old man.

Braham told me of his being at a party where Catalani was, when the Bishop of expressed his wish to be introduced to her. This was being done with extraordinary solemnity, the bishop advancing graciously, when suddenly Catalani ran forward, and, with a scream of laughter, seized the bishop's apron, exclaiming

"Oh, my God! vat is dis leetle black

which were highly fashionable some forty or fifty years ago

was living with him at one near Dublin. Quadrilles were then all the rage, and had been lately introduced. Maturin would get up parties for practice during the day, closing the window shutters, and having the rooms lit up; Captain D. , who was a tolerable musician and lame, being put to fiddle. The clergyman also organized theatricals. But these pleasant pastimes were broken up by a strange freak of his-for one day he presented himself in the drawing-room in a sort of circus dress-light web fleshings: a spectacle that sent the ladies screaming from the room.

He saw the execution of the men concerned in the well-known "burning of Wildgoose Lodge." He described the procession to two great hills-some sixteen or seventeen criminals, sitting in carts, a priest and two black coffins with each prisoner. Vast crowds of dragoons and police. On the hills, a row of gibbets; and the bodies were left swinging in canvas bags for a year, with a guard of soldiers. This part of the spectacle left a deep impression, and is still talked of among the peasantry.

Many years ago, the well-known figure of King William III., in College-green, Dublin, was blown from his horse. The effect of the riderless steed was very droll. But the anger and consternation in the high Tory was so great, you would have imagined the constitution and "pious and immortal" memory had been blown away with it. Early in the morning, a wag sent an express to Crampton, the well-known surgeon, bidding him to come with all speed, as a person of rank had been thrown from his horse in College-green. I believe he went. This reminds me of a piece of wit, when the shape of a monument to Sir Henry Marsh, another Dublin physician, was discussed. It was to be put up in the public burying ground. Some one then suggested the inscription over Wren, "Si monumentum quaris, circumspice." This is worthy of Sydney Smith.

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READY-MONEY MORTIBOY.

A MATTER-OF-FACT STORY.

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD.

T was a godly and an ancient custom in Market Basing, that, on a certain Sunday afternoon in the year, the children should have a "church parade" all to themselves, followed by a bun. Of late years, an addition had been made to this festival by setting apart a weekday in the summer for a school feast and treat. It was generally a dreary affair enough. The boys and girls were marshalled, and marched to some field not far off, where they were turned loose previous to the tea, and told to play. As the Market Basing boys saw no novelty in a field—unlike the Londoner, to whom a bird's nest is a new discovery, and a fieldmouse the most remarkable of wild animals -these feasts, although preceded by cake and followed by tea, had no great charms. Perhaps they were overweighted by hymns.

Now, Dick, pursuing that career of social usefulness already hinted at, had succeeded, in a very few weeks, in alienating the affections of all the spiritual leaders of the town. The way was this. First, he refused to belong to the chapel any more, and declined to pay for a pew in the church, on the reasonable ground that he did not intend to go to either. They came to him-Market Basing was regularly whipped and driven to re

Price 2d.

ligion, if not to godliness-to give money to their pet society, which, they said, called alike for the support of church and chapel, for providing Humble Breakfasts and flannel in winter for the Deserving Poor. This was explained to mean, not the industrious poor, nor the provident poor, nor the sober poor, but the poor who attended some place of worship. Dick said that going to church did not of itself prove a man to be religious, artfully instancing himself as a case in point; and refused to give.

Then the secretaries of London societies, finding out that there was another man who had money to give, and was shown already to be of liberal disposition, sent him begging letters through the curates. They all got much the same answer. The missionary societies were dismissed because, as Dick told them, he had seen missionaries with his own eyes. That noble institution in Lincoln's Inn Fields, which exists for the double purpose of maintaining a large staff and converting the Jews, was refused on the ground of no results commensurable with the expense. He offered, indeed, a large sum for a successful mission among the professions-especially the bar-in England. And he rashly proposed a very handsome prize- no less than a thousand pounds-to anybody who would succeed in converting him. Rev. Potiphar Demas, a needy vessel, volunteered; but Dick declined to hear him, because he didn't want to know what Mr. Demas had to say. Now, this seemed discourteous to the reverend gentleman.

All which might have been counterbalanced by his many virtues. For it was notorious that he had given a pension to old Sanderson, the ruined cashier of Melliship's bank; also that he had withdrawn the Mortiboy claims on the Melliship estate: this was almost as if the Americans were to withdraw their Alabama claims, because there was no knowing how they might end. Besides which, it made an immediate difference

VOL. IX.

NO. 222.