Sketches by Boz : Illustrative of every-day life and every-day people

Preface

. HE wll01e of these Sketches were written and published, one by one, when I was a very If^Kf \\ young nlan- They were collected and republished while I was still a very young V^^g^l man ; and sent into the world with all their imperfections (a good man)-) on their \.0S\ heads. They comprise my first attempts at authorship— with the exception of certain tragedies achieved at the mature age of eight or ten, and represented with great applause to overflowing nurseries. I am conscious of their often being extremely crude and ill-con sidered, and bearing obvious marks of haste and inexperience ; particularly in that section of the present volume which is comprised under the general head of Tales. But as this collection is not originated now, and was very leniently and favourably received when it was first made, I have not felt it right either to remodel or expunge, beyond a few words and phrases here and there.

CONTENTS. SEVEN SKETCHES FROM OUR PARISH ( IIAP. TAr.E IV.— The Election for Beadle .... 9 V. — The Broker's Man . . . . .12 VI. — The Ladies' Societies . . . .16 VII. — Our Next-door Neighbour ... 19 CHAP. PACE I.— The Beadle. The Parish Engine. The Schoolmaster ..... I II.— The Curate. The Old Lady. The Half-pay Captain ..... 4 III. — The Four Sisters 6 SCENES I. — The Streets — Morning .... 22 H.— The Streets— Night . ... 25 III. — Shops and their Tenants . 28 IV— Scotland Yard 30 V. — Seven Dials 32 VI. — Meditations in Monmouth Street . . 34 VII. — Hackney-coach Stands .... 38 VIII. — Doctors' Commons .... 40 IX. — London Recreations .... 43 X. — The River 45 XL — Astley's 49 XII. — Greenwich Fair . . . . 52 XIII. — Private Theatres ..... 56 XIV. — Vauxhall Gardens by Day ... 59 XV. — Early Coaches 62 XVI. — Omnibuses ......

G5 XVII. — The Last Cab-driver, and the First Omnibus Cad ...... 66 XVIII. — A Parliamentary Sketch . . 71 XIX. — Public Dinners 77 XX. — The First of May 79 XXI. — Brokers' and Marine-store Shops . . 83 XXII. — Gin-shops ...... 85 XXIII.— The Pawnbroker's Shop ... 88 XXIV. — Criminal Courts ..... 92 XXV. — A Visit lo Newgate .... 94 CHARACTERS I. — Thoughts about People . . . . 101 II. — A Christmas Dinner .... 103 III.— The New Year 106 IV. — Miss Evans and the Eagle . . . 10S V.— The Parlour Orator . . . .110 VI.— The Hospital Patient . . . 113 VII. — The Misplaced Attachment of Mr. John Dounce . . . • "5 VIII.— The Mistaken Milliner. A Tale of Ambition 117 IX. — The Dancing Academy .... 120 X. — Shabby-genteel people .... 123 XI. — Making a Night of it .... 126 XII.— The Prisoners' Van . . . .128 TALES.

I. — The Boarding-house . . . 130 II. — Mr. Minns and his Cousin . . .148 III. — Sentiment 153 IV. — The Tuggses at Ramsgate . . . 159 V. — Horatio Sparkins . . . . .168 VI.— The Black Veil 176 VII. — The Steam Excursion . . . .182 VIII.— The Great Winglebury Duel . . . 194 IX. — Mrs. Joseph Porter .... 202 X. — A Passage in the Life of Mr. Watkins Tottle 207 XI. — The Bloomsbury Christening . . .225 XII.— The Drunkard's Death . . " . .233 ILLUSTRATIONS. PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS. "IT WAS A WEDDING-PARTY, AND EMERGED FROM ONE OF THE INFERIOR STREETS NEAR FITZROY SQUARE " Frontispiece "WHO WAS HE?" INQUIRED THE SURGEON? "MY SON!" REJOINED THE WOMAN; AND FELL SENSELESS AT HIS FEET .... To face page 182 ILLUSTRATIONS IN THE TEXT. PAGE PAGE Vignette. "What do you mean by that, scoundrel?" exclaimed Mr. Samuel Wilkins, grasping the gilt-knobbed dress-cane firmly in his right hand.

"What's the matter with you, you little humbug ? " replied the whiskers . .112 "During her absence he completely effaced the name from her brass door-plate, in his attempts to polish it with aqua-fords " . . . . 1 " Why the devil an't you looking after that plate ?" 16 " Hurrying along a by-street, keeping as close as he can to the area railings, a man of about forty or fifty, clad in an old rusty suit of threadbare black cloth," Sec. ...... 124 "When he first came to look at the lodgings, he inquired most particularly whether he was sure to be able to get a seat in the parish church " . 24 " It is nearly eleven o'clock, and the cold thin rain, which has been drizzling so long, is beginning to pour down in good earnest " . . .28 The Prisoners' Van 132 " I received a note — ■ — " he said very tremulously, in a voice like a Punch with a cold.

" Now, anybody who passed through the Dials on a hot summer's evening, and saw the different women of the house gossiping on the steps, would be apt to think that all was harmony among them, and that a more primitive set of people than the native Diallers could not be imagined" . . . . •Till- • 3& "Yes," returned the other, "you did." " Exactly." "Yes" 136 "No what?" inquired Mrs. Bloss with a look of the most indescribable alarm. " No stomach," repeated Mrs. Tibbs, with a shake of the head ....... 140 The Gravesend Boat ...... 48 " The gentleman described looks extremely foolish, and squeezes her hand, and fees the gipsy liberally" 53 " The dear little fellow, having recovered his animal spirits, was standing upon her most tender foot" 156 " His line is genteel comedy — his father's, coal and potato.

He does Alfred Highflier in the last 'piece, and very well he'll do it — at the price" 60 " So exactly the air of the marquis," said the military gentleman ...... 164 " How delightful, how refreshing it is, to retire from the cloudy storms, the vicissitudes, and the troubles of life, even if it be but for a few short fleeting moments ! " .... 172 " I may as well get board, lodgin', and washin', till then, out of the county, as pay for it myself; consequently here goes " .... 69 " Tureens of soup are emptied with awful rapidity " 80 The Black Veil 177 A Gin-shop 88 " The facetious Hardy, in fulfilment of his promise, had watched the child to a remote part of the vessel, and, suddenly appearing before him •with the most awful contortions of visage, had produced his paroxysm of terror " . The Pawnbroker's Shop 92 " His spare pale face looking as if it were incapable of bearing the expression of curiosity or interest " I°4 ILL USTRA TIONS.

PAGE PAGE " One gentleman was observed suddenly to rush from table without the slightest ostensible reason, and dart up the steps with incredible swiftness : thereby greatly damaging both himself and the steward, who happened to be coming down at the same moment " . . 193 " I've brought this here note," replied the individual in the painted tops in a hoarse whisper ; "I've brought this here note from a gen'l'm'n as come to our house this mornin' " . . . 216 " Cross, cadaverous, odd, and ill-natured " . . 228 " Leave that 'ere bell alone, you wretched loo-nattic ! " said the boots, suddenly forcing the unfortunate Trott back into his chair, and brandishing the stick aloft . . . . 200 " He raised his manacled hands in a threatening attitude, fixed his eyes on his shrinking parent, and slowly left the room " . . . . 236 " Looks that he had long forgotten were fixed upon him once more ; voices long since hushed in death sounded in his ears like the music of village bells " 237 "Why," replied Mr. Watkins Tottle evasively; for he trembled violently, and felt a sudden tingling throughout his whole frame ; " why — I should certainly — at least, I think I should like " ....... 209 Tail-piece OUR PARISH.

Chapter I. The Beadle

THE PARISH ENGINE. THE SCHOOL- MASTER. HOW much is conveyed in those two short words — " The Parish ! " And with how many tales of distress and misery, of broken Sketches by Boz, i. fortune and ruined hopes, too often of unre lieved wretchedness and successful knavery, are they associated ! A poor man, with small earnings and a large family, just manages to live on from hand to mouth, and to procure food from day to day ; he has barely sufficient to satisfy the present cravings of nature, and 266can take no heed of the future. His taxes are in arrear, quarter-day passes by, another quarter day arrives : he can procure no more quarter for himself, and is summoned by — the parish. His goods are distrained, his children are crying with cold and hunger, and the very bed on which his sick wife is lying is dragged from beneath her.

What can he do ? To whom is he to apply for relief ? To private charity ? To benevolent individuals ? Certainly not — there is his parish. There are the parish vestry, the parish infirmary, the parish surgeon, the parish officers, the parish beadle. Excellent institutions, and gentle, kind-hearted men. The woman dies — she is buried by the parish. The children have no protector — they are taken care of by the parish. The man first neglects, and afterwards cannot obtain, work — he is relieved by the parish ; and, when distress and drunken ness have done their work upon him, he is main tained, a harmless babbling idiot, in the parish asylum. bows assent, and ushers the woman out. Her previous admiration of " the board " (who all sit behind great books, and with their hats on) fades into nothing before her respect for her lace trimmed conductor; and her account of what has passed inside increases — if that be possible — the marks of respect shown by the assembled crowd to that solemn functionary.

As to taking out a summons, it's quite a hopeless case if Simmons attends it on behalf of the parish. He knows all the titles of the Lord Mayor by heart ; states the case without a single stammer ; and it is even reported that on one occasion he ven tured to make a joke, which the Lord Mayor's head footman (who happened to be present) afterwards told an intimate friend, confidentially, was almost equal to one of Mr. Hobler's. See him, again, on Sunday in his state coat and cocked-hat, with a large-headed staff for show in his left hand, and a small cane for use in his right. How pompously he marshals the children into their places land how demurely the little urchins look at him askance as he sur veys them, when they are all seated, with a glare of the eye peculiar to beadles ! The churchwardens and overseers being duly installed in their curtained pews, he seats himself on a mahogany bracket, erected expressly for him at the top of the aisle, and divides his attention between his Prayer-book and the boys.

Sud denly, just at the commencement of the com munion service, when the whole congregation is hushed into a profound silence, broken only by the voice of the officiating clergyman, a penny is heard to ring on the stone floor of the aisle with astounding clearness. Observe the general ship of the beadle. His involuntary look of horror is instantly changed into one of perfect indifference, as if he were the only person pre sent who had not heard the noise. The artifice succeeds. After putting forth his right leg now and then, as a feeler, the victim who dropped the money ventures to make one or two distinct dives after it ; and the beadle, gliding softly round, salutes his little round head, when it again appears above the seat, with divers double knocks, administered with the cane before noticed, to the intense delight of three young men in an adjacent pew, who cough violently at intervals until the conclusion of the sermon.

The parish beadle is one of the most, perhaps tlie most, important member of the local admi nistration. He is not so well off as the church wardens, certainly, nor is he so learned as the vestry clerk, nor does he order things quite so much his own way as either of them. But his power is very great, notwithstanding ; and the dignity of his office is never impaired by the absence of efforts on his part to maintain it. The beadle of our parish is a splendid fellow. It is quite delightful to hear him, as he explains the state of the existing poor-laws to the deaf old women in the board-room passage on busi ness nights ; and to hear what he said to the senior churchwarden, and what the senior churchwarden said to him ; and what " we " (the beadle and the other gentlemen) came to the determination of doing.

A miserable looking woman is called into the board-room, and represents a case of extreme destitution, affecting herself — a widow, with six small chil dren. "Where do you live?" inquires one of the overseers. " I rents a two-pair back, gentle men, at Mrs. Brown's, Number 3, Little King William's Alley, which has lived there this fifteen year, and knows me to be very hard working and industrious, and when my poor husband was alive, gentlemen, as died in the hospital " " Well, well," interrupts the overseer, taking a note of the address, " I'll send Simmons, the beadle, to-morrow morning, to ascertain whether your story is correct ; and, if so, I suppose you must have an order into the House. Simmons, go to this woman's the first tiring to-morrow morning, will you ? " Simmons Such are a few traits of the importance and gravity of a parish beadle — a gravity which has never been disturbed in any case that has come under our observation, except when the services of that particularly useful machine, a parish fire engine, are required : then indeed all is bustle.

THE SCHOOLMASTER. 3 Two little boys run to the beadle as fast as their legs will carry them, and report from their own personal observation that some neighbour ing chimney is on fire ; the engine is hastily got out, and a plentiful supply of boys being obtained, and harnessed to it with ropes, away they rattle over the pavement, the beadle running — we do not exaggerate — running at the side, until they arrive at some house, smelling strongly of soot, at the door of which the beadle knocks with considerable gravity for half an hour. No attention being paid to these manual applications, and the turncock having turned on the water, the engine turns off amidst the shouts of the boys ; it pulls up once more at the work house, and the beadle " pulls up " the unfortu nate householder next day for the amount of his legal reward.

We never saw a parish engine at a regular fire but once. It came up in gallant style — three miles and a half an hour, at least ; there was a capital supply of water, and it was first on the spot. Bang went the pumps — the people cheered — the beadle perspired pro fusely ; but it was unfortunately discovered, just as they were going to put the fire out, that no body understood the process by which the engine was filled with water ; and that eighteen boys and a man had exhausted themselves in pumping for twenty minutes, without producing the slightest effect ! The personages next in importance to the beadle are the master of the workhouse and the parish schoolmaster. The vestry clerk, as every body knows, is a short, pudgy little man in black, with a thick gold watch-chain of con siderable length, terminating in two large seals and a key.

He is an attorney, and generally in a bustle ; at no time more so than when he is hurrying to some parochial meeting, with his gloves crumpled up in one hand, and a large red book under the other arm. As to the churchwardens and overseers, we exclude them unable to guess precisely to our own satisfaction what station the man can have occupied before ; we should think he had been an inferior sort of attorney's clerk, or else .the master of a national school. Whatever he was, it is clear his present position is a change for the better. His income is small, certainly, as the rusty black coat and threadbare velvet collar demons-trate : but then he lives free of house rent, has a limited allowance of coals and candles, and an almost unlimited allowance of authority in his petty kingdom. He is a tall, thin, bony man ; always wears shoes and black cotton stockings with his surtout ; and eyes you, as you pass his parlour window, as if he wished you were a pauper, just to give you a specimen of his power.

He is an admirable specimen of a small tyrant ; morpse, brutish, and ill-tempered; bullying to his in feriors, cringing to his superiors, and jealous of the influence and authority of the beadle. Our schoolmaster is just the very reverse of this amiable official. He has been one of those men one occasionally hears of, on whom misfortune seems to have set her mark ; nothing he ever did, or was concerned in, appears to have prospered. A rich old relation who had brought him up, and openly announced his intention of providing for him, left him in his will, and revoked the bequest in a codicil. Thus unexpectedly reduced to the necessity of pro viding for himself, he procured a situation in a public office. The young clerks below him died off as if there were a plague among them ; but the old fellows over his head, for the reversion of whose places he was anxiously waiting, lived on and'on, as if they were immortal.

He speculated and iost. He speculated again, and won — but never got his money. His talents were great ; his disposition easy, generous, and liberal. His friends profited by the one, and abused the other. Loss succeeded loss; misfortune crowded on misfortune ; each successive day brought him nearer the verge of hopeless penury, and the quondam friends who had been warmest in their professions, grew strangely cold and in different. He had children whom he loved, and a wife on whom he doted. The former turned their backs on him ; the latter died broken-hearted. He went with the stream — it had ever been his failing, and he had not courage sufficient to bear up against so many shocks — he had never cared for himself, and the only being who had cared for him, in his poverty and distress, was spared to him no longer.

It was at this period that he applied for parochial relief. Some kind-'iearted man, who had known him in happier times, chanced to be churchaltogether, because all we know of them is, that they are usually respectable tradesmen, who wear hats with brims inclined to flatness, and who occasionally testify in gilt letters on a blue ground, in some conspicuous part of the church, to the important fact of a gallery having been enlarged and beautified, or an organ rebuilt. The master of the workhouse is not, in our parish — nor is he usually in any other* — one of that class of men the better part of whose existence has passed away, and who drag out the remainder in some inferior situation, with just enough thought of the past to feel degraded by, and discontented with, the present. We are warden that year, and through his interest he was appointed to his present situation.

He is an old man now. Of the many who once crowded round him in all the hollow friend ship of boon companionship, some have died, some have fallen like himself, some have pros pered — all have forgotten him. Time and mis fortune have mercifully been permitted to im pair his memory, and use has habituated him to his present condition. Meek, uncomplaining, and zealous in the discharge of his duties, he has been allowed to hold his situation long beyond the usual period ; and he will no doubt continue to hold it until infirmity renders him incapable, or death releases him. As the grey headed old man feebly paces up and clown the sunny side of the little courtyard between school hours, it would be difficult indeed for the most intimate of his former friends to recognise their once gay and' happy associate in the person of the Pauper Schoolmaster. created an impression in his savour, the sensa tion was increased tenfold by his appearance in private circles.

Pews in the immediate vicinity of the pulpit or reading-desk rose in value ; sittings in the centre aisle were at a premium ; an inch of room in the front row of the gallery could not be procured for love or money ; and some people even went so far as to assert that the three Miss Browns, who had an obscure family pew just behind the churchwardens', were de tected, one gunday, in the free seats by the communion-table, actually lying in wait for the curate as he passed to the vestry ! He began to preach extempore sermons, and even grave papas caught the infection. He got out of bed at half-past twelve o'clock one winter's night, to half-baptize a washerwoman's child in a slop basin, and the gratitude of the parishioners knew no bounds — the very churchwardens grew gene rous, and insisted on the parish defraying the expense of the watch-box on wheels which the new curate had ordered for himself, to perform the funeral service in in wet weather.

He sent three pints of gruel and a quarter of a pound of tea to a poor woman who had been brought to bed of four small children, all at once — the parish were charmed. He got up a subscription for her — the woman's fortune was made. He spoke for one hour and twenty-five minutes at an anti-slavery meeting at the Goat and Boots — the enthusiasm was at its height. A proposal was set on foot for presenting the curate with a piece of plate, as a mark of esteem for his valu able services rendered to the parish. The list of subscriptions was filled up in no time ; the contest was, not who should escape the contri bution, but who should be the foremost to sub scribe. A splendid silver inkstand was made, and engraved with an appropriate inscription ; the curate was invited to a public breakfast at the before-mentioned Goat and Boots ; the ink stand was presented in a neat speech by Mr. Gubbins, the ex-churchwarden, and acknow ledged by the curate in terms which drew tears into the eyes of all present — the very waiters were melted.

Chapter II The Curate

THE OLD LADY. THE HALF-PAY- CAPTAIN. PJp.E commenced our last chapter with v A, the beadle of our parish, because 'y we are deeply sensible of the img| portance and dignity of his office. §*h We will begin the present with the clergyman. Our curate is a young gentleman of such prepossessing appearance and fascinating manners, that, within one month after his first appearance in the parish, half the young-lady inhabitants were melancholy with religion, and the other half desponding with love. Never were so many young ladies seen in our parish church on Sunday before ; and never had the little round angels' faces on Mr. Tomkins's monument in the side-aisle beheld such devotion on earth as they all exhibited. He was about five-and-twenty when he first came to astonish the parishioners. He parted his hair on the centre of his forehead in the form of a Norman arch, wore a brilliant of the first water on the fourth finger of his left hand (which he always applied to his left cheek when he read prayers), and had a deep sepulchral voice of unusual solemnity.

Innumerable were the calls made by prudent mammas on our new curate, and innu merable the invitations with which he was as sailed, and which, to do him justice, he readily accepted. If his manner in the pulpit had. One would have supposed that, by this time, the theme of universal admiration was listed to the very pinnacle of popularity. No such thing. The curate began to cough ; four fits of cough ing one morning between the Litany and the Epistle, and five in the afternoon service. Here was a discovery — the curate was consumptive. How interestingly melancholy ! If the young ladies were energetic before, their sympathy and solicitude now knew no bounds. Such a man as the curate — such a dear — such a perfect love THE OLD LAD 1 5 — to be consumptive ! It was too much. Anonymous presents of black-currant jam and lozenges, elastic waistcoats, bosom friends, and warm stockings, poured in upon the curate until he was as completely fitted out with winter clothing as if he were on the verge of an expedition to the North Pole ; verbal bulletins of the state of his health were circulated throughout the parish half-a-dozen times a day ; and the curate was in the very zenith of his popularity.

About this period a change came over the spirit of the parish. A very quiet, respectable, dozing old gentleman, who had officiated in our chapel-of-ease for twelve years previously, died one fine morning, without having given any notice whatever of his intention. This circumare carefully enveloped in yellow muslin ; the table-covers are never taken off, except when the leaves are turpentined and bees'-waxed, an operation which is regularly commenced every other morning at half-past nine o'clock — and the little knick-knacks are always arranged in precisely the same manner. The greater part of these are presents from little girls whose parents live in the same row ; but some of them, such as the two old-fashioned watches (which never keep the same time, one being always a quarter of an hour too slow, and the other a quarter of an hour too fast), the little picture of the Princess Charlotte and Prince Leopold as they appeared in the Royal Box at Drury-Lane Theatre, and others of the same class, have been in the old lady's possession for many years.

Here the old iady sits with her spectacles on, busily engaged in needlework — near the windowin summer-time ; and if she sees you coming up the steps, and you happen to be a favourite, she trots out to open the street-door for you before you knock, and, as you must be fatigued after that hot walk, insists on your swallowing two glasses of sherry before you exert yourself by talking. If you call in the evening you will find her cheerful, but rather more serious than usual, with an open Bible on the table before her, of which "Sarah," who is just as neat and methodical as her mistress, regularly reads two or three chapters in the parlour aloud. The old lady sees scarcely any company, except the little girls before noticed, each of whom has always a regular fixed day for a periodical tea-drinking with her, to which the child looks forward as the greatest treat of its existence.

She seldom visits at a greater distance than the next door but one on either side : and, when she drinks tea here, Sarah runs out first and knocks a double knock, to prevent the possibility of her "Missis's" catching cold by having to wait at the door. She is very scrupulous in returning these little invitations, and, when she asks Mr. and Mrs. So-and-so to meet Mr. and Mrs. Somebody-else, Sarah and she dust the urn, and the best china tea-service, and the Pope Joan board ; and the visitors are received in the drawing-room in great state. She has but few relations, and they are scattered about in different parts of the country, and she seldom sees them. She has a son in India, whom she always describes to you as a fine, handsome fellow — so like the profile of his poor dear father over the sideboard, but the old lady adds, with a mournful shake of the head, that he has always been one of her greatest trials, and that indeed he once almost broke her heart ; stance gave rise to counter-sensation the first ; and the arrival of his successor occasioned counter-sensation the second.

He was a pale, thin, cadaverous man, with large black eyes, and long straggling black hair ; his dress was slovenly in the extreme, his manner ungainly, his doctrines startling ; in short, he was in every respect the antipodes of the curate. Crowds of our female parishioners flocked to hear him; at first, because he was so odd-looking, then because his face was so expressive, then because he preached so well ; and, at last, because they really thought that, after all, there was something about him which it was quite impossible to describe. As to the curate, he was all very well ; but certainly, after all, there was no denying that — that — in short, the curate wasn't a novelty, and the other clergyman was. The inconstancy of public opinion is proverbial : the congregation migrated one by one.