The Hobbies; a novel

Front matter

Mr. Newbt has been induced to withdraw Miss Kavanagh's name from the title page of "The Hobbies" for reasons that will be publicly stated immediately. THE HOBBIES; il TSsotJfl. MORGAN KAVANAGH. I IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. II. LONDON: THOMAS CAUTLEY NEWBY, PUBLISHER, 30, WELBECK STEEET, CAVENDISH SQ. 1857. Popular Sea Tale — Published by Mr. Newby, THE MEDORA. By the Author of the " Two Midshipmen, " The Young Commander," &c. " This is by far the most interesting of all this author's works. The present war between Russia and Circassia will induce thousands who do not generally read novels to peruse it, as the author por trays graphically the mountain fastnesses which are soon to become the scenes of fearful bloodshed be tween the Circassians and Russians." — Express. In 3 Vols., 31j. &d. THE WRECKERS.

By the Author of " Smugglers and Foresters." " It is not too much to say that such pictures of storm and tempest have never been more vividly brought before our eyes by pen or pencil." — Sussex Gazette.

Chapter I

Mr. Snipes is, as already stated, a gentleman of the Press; and as renowned for his copiousness and versatility of powers is Mr. Snipes as any other member — whether living or dead — of the honourable profession to which he belongs, and of which he is so very bright an ornament. But here we are, we now perceive, speaking of Mr. Snipes in the present tense, which mistake arises, no doubt, from Mr. Snipes being not only a living character, but from his also being — as he himself often assures us — the very best friend we have in the whole world. Indeed we do VOL. not know how we should at all get on as an author but for Mr. Snipes. If so large a number as a dozen copies of our last epic — a very masterly production by the bye — was sold within the short space of only as many years, to what may we ascribe success so unbounded if not to the many very able but silent notices taken of it, in all the journals of the day, by our kind friend Mr. Snipes?

There is nothing upon which Mr. Snipes cannot write, and there is perhaps nothing upon which Mr. Snipes has not written. And upon all things Mr. Snipes appears to be equally at home, being just as remarkable — whatever he is dealing with — for strength and richness of diction, and ease and fluency of style, as he is for closeness and depth of observation. But as for originality, who can equal, who can even approach Mr. Snipes? For is it not apparent to every one in the least acquainted with his writings, that all the reviewers, all the journalists of every grade and fashion of the last hundred years, have borrowed — nay, shamefully stolen from him, not merely their opinions and ideas, but even their very forms and modes of expres sion? And as to the extent and variety of Mr. Snipes' reading, it is really so amazing as to encroach even on the fabulous.

There is cer tainly no work of repute — at least of modern times — in any way connected with religion, war, literature, science, politics, or the arts, with which Mr. Snipes is not profoundly ac quainted, having not only read very consider able portions of their title pages, but often — when long and detailed reviews of their contents were required — several words at the beginning of a volume, and, with an occa sional dip in the middle, several more at the end. And how many works of which the public had been else deprived, or had never cared a rush about, has not Mr. Snipes raised in this way — at least for some days or weeks •to the very top of popular fame ! And how B many others, of which some might be now burthening us with knowledge, some injuring our eyes from their obliging us to be turning them up in admiration, some making us roar, and some making us weep, has not Mr. Snipes, out of charity to the whole world, either sunk in eternal oblivion by his generous and pity ing silence, or blasted at once and for ever by the annihilating influence of his withering satire !

But Mr. Snipes' profound knowledge of modern books does not stop here, since he has every minute circumstance in any way relating to the private and domestic affairs of their authors, publishers, and printers, equally at his fingers' ends. How Mr. Snipes comes by this knowledge, no one can make out; for it is not only entirely new to his numerous readers until he charitably lays it before them in black and white, but it is mostly always so to the authors, publishers, and printers them selves, which makes it, of course, the more curious and valuable. Thus a poet firmly believes he is an only child, until Mr. Snipes undeceives him by assuring him that the least execrable things in his last execrable volume were composed by his second eldest sister, a charming girl of only eighteen — remarkable for her lofty stature, long auburn tresses, and hazel coloured eyes — but who, though she may be very clever at trimming a bonnet or making a cap, unfortunately knows no more about either the trimming or making of verses than does her poor moon-struck brother, the would be-poet.

And an unfortunate dramatist believes he is a married man, and has a house full of small brats at his heels, until Mr. Snipes accuses him, while giving his new comedy a friendly cutting up, with being an old bachelor, who is fooling away the few years he has to be upon this earth, in vainly looking out for a young wife and a fortune, when he ought to be trying to favour the public with something of his own, instead of being always pilfering, as he is, from Massinger, Jonson, Beaumont and Fletcher. And a publisher or a printer may be ready to swear that he is living in blessed singleness, until Mr. Snipes lets him know the contrary, by assuring him he would have had nothing to do with a certain paltry work, but that he unfortunately allowed his better-half — with whom the rogue of an author had been always, but especially since marriage, on rather too familiar terms — to influence his own better judgment.

Then Mr. Snipes is also, it would seem ubiquity, invisibility, and a real living entity at the same time; for Mr. Snipes is not un frequently everywhere anyone is, being then able to see every one, hear what everyone has to say, and speak to everyone about every thing, without being himself either seen, or heard, or spoken toby anyone respecting any thing whatsoever. Thus, an author in the country, on finishing his work, determines in his own mind upon coming up to London the next morning and of offering it — which he does — to a certain publisher in the Row. But he is told on merely sending in his name and en tering the publisher's private office, not only the nature of the business he is come upon, but also the nature of the big manuscript he has under his arm. He even receives of the latter a tolerably exact analysis, with a broad inti mation that it will not suit, and that his expectations — which until then he thought were known only to himself and his wife — are a great deal too sanguine.

Of course he looks round him as one astounded; and, while ap prehending that he may be either dreaming or that he is in an enchanted place, of course he begs to be informed how such information respecting himself and his work, could, by any possibility, be obtained. But no one knows — not even the publisher himself — how such in formation came to the house, though everyone in the house is well aware that it was first brought or sent to it in some mysterious way or other by Mr. Snipes ; but how this gentle man, whom the author had never heard of before, came by it, no one either there or else where can tell — except perhaps Mr. Snipes himself. The poor author, like one completely be wildered, runs out of the house, and, upon reaching the street, is determined upon run ning out of the Row also — which he now be gins to believe is an evil place — and of making his way at once to the West End, and of offering his work to a respectable publisher there, of whom he has often heard.

He therefore, on looking around him, inquires of a very well dressed gentleman, whom he per ceives standing close by with his hands be hind his back, the shortest way to the West End. The gentleman very politely informs him that he is going in that direction himself, and so they walk on together. They do not, however, proceed far, when the gentleman with his hands behind his back opens a con versation by abusing the Row and every one in it. In this our author joining both heart and soul, asks him if he ever happened to THE HOBBIES. hear of such a person as Mr. Snipes, who is, it appears, well known to publishers and their clerks. " I have not only heard of the fellow," answers the gentleman, with a deep sigh; " but I, unfortunately, know him — know him too well," upon saying which he again heaves another deep sigh.

" I think he is a kind of a literary spy," says our author. " And a literary scamp and scoundrel also," adds the gentleman with his hands behind his back, while looking very fierce, as if Mr. Snipes had, in some way he does not choose to tell, injured him very much. And so the two gentlemen continue to gether for a considerable distance, abusing Mr. Snipes as they go along, our author not omitting to tell what little he knows of him, which exasperating the other still more, brings down additional abuse, with a fresh assort ment of very foul names, on the head and shoulders of the unfortunate Mr. Snipes. At b length on their reaching the corner of a very long street, they separate, the gentleman with his hands behind his back now observingwhile pointing out the line the other has to take — that his way lies no longer in the direction of the West End.

It soon becomes apparent however to our author, that this gentleman knows little more of London than he does himself, since, by at tending to his instructions, he shortly after finds' himself far away in the neighbourhood of Whitechapel. It is, therefore, some time before he reaches the West End; but he does at length reach it, and now soon finds the house he is in que^t of. On, however, giving his name, he is astonished to learn that he has been expected for the last half hour, and that now the publisher himself, whom, it appears, he kept waiting somewhat beyond his time, is gone out of town for the day, but not without leaving word to the effect that the offer of the inestimable work which he is come to make him, and of which he well knows the nature, must he declined with a great many thanks.

Here, as in the Row, the poor author stands amazed ; and, while yet indulging in the faint hope that he may be mistaken for some one else, he happens to overhear two of the clerks in close conversation behind him, and soon discovers that his work is the subject of their discourse, and that one of them knows it not only by name, but appears to be acquainted with its contents, since he is en deavouring to explain them to the other. He can also hear them name Mr. Snipes several times. " It is certainly no mistake," says he in his own mind; and then cursing Snipes, he at once — as when at the other publisher's — hurries into the street confounded. And he is still there looking about him like a man who knows not whither to go or what to do, when he suddenly perceives standing on the opposite side of the way, the gentleman with his hands behind his back, whom he first met in the Row.

" Ay, there," he says, " there is another sufferer like myself, another victim of the spy Snipes; I will just step over and tell the poor fellow what further cause we have to abhor and abuse the literary scamp." And so saying, he hurries across the street; but when he reaches the spot where he saw the gentle man standing, the latter, to his profound as tonishment, can be seen nowhere, he having in the interval, as though it were by enchant ment, disappeared all at once. The poor author remains some weeks longer in London in trying to dispose of his work, but it is all in vain ; wherever he goes with it, Mr. Snipes has, he is allowed to understand, been always there before him; and though he can often, during these ram bles among the booksellers, perceive, as he firmly believes, the gentleman with his hands behind his back standing as usual some distance from him — mostly on the opposite side of the way — yet never can he succeed in reaching him, so as to speak to him, though he makes several attempts to do so.

Even three different times does he, as he believes, see him in the Row down at the bottom of some publisher's shop, talking very familiarly, and always with his hands behind his back, to one or more of the clerks ; but if he enters and endeavours to approach him, he invariably disappears at the instant, andno one in the place can tell how, nor even positively assert or deny that such a person was there— some declaring that they believe he was, and some declaring that they believe he was not. Such constant disappointment is more annoying to the poor author, as he has every reason to suppose that the gentleman is a fellow sufferer, and that if he could bring him acquainted with all he has — to his sad experience — learned of Mr. Snipes since the day he first heard of him in the Row, he would, he feels convinced, join with him still more zealously than he did then, in cursing and abusing the fellow; which venting of their feelings — though not procuring them anything like the satisfaction they deserved and were entitled to — might be at least some slight relief to their minds.

Our author also endeavours, while provided with a strong hazel stick, — of course for no wicked purpose, oh ! no, — to meet Mr. Snipes at one of the booksellers, or to learn from them where that gentleman — whom he should like to favour Avith a friendly visit — resides. But they all declare that, though well acquainted with bis person, they know nothing whatever of his residence, and the reason they assign for this is that they never need it, Mr. Snipes being when wanted — though that were twenty times a day — ever at their elbow. They admit, however, that he is never there when our author happens to call, but that he was there just a minute before, or, as they assure him the next day, just a minute after he left on the previous day. Such is Mr. Snipes. But why does Mr. Snipes call to-day on Dr. Willows, this gentleman being no book seller?

The reason of his doing so is simply this: Mr. Snipes has had many hobbies in his time; indeed, Mr. Snipes has seldom been without one, any more than some one else whom we need not name. But it has been always Mr. Snipes' ambition to make converts to his hobbies so long as they remained with him, even though the period were for a whole month. And great, very great indeed, has been his success in this way. Thus he could boast of having brought Dr. Willows along with him from Socialism to Toryism, from Toryism to Whigism, from Whigism to Radi calism, from Radicalism to Republicanism, and from Republicanism back to Socialism again; and now he is come to convert him to what he calls Constitutionalism, and which will, he expects, soon lead Mr. Snipes himself to Pen sionism. Ruth had left the dull drawing room in Graveland lane, and the look of Mr. Dalton had, very unnecessarilry, followed her to the door, when Mrs. Willows, who sat in her deep armchair facing the young man, observed in her feeble way, and every day it seemed to grow more feeble: " I knew that was Mr. Snipes' knock.

You have heard of Mr. Snipes, Mr. D'Alton?" Mr. D'Alton was obliged to confess that he had not. " A most remarkable man," feebly con tinued the old lady, " and I beg to observe, Mr. D'Alton, that Mr. Snipes, who is so well known to the Press, is, in the literary world, a gentleman of very high standing, and that it is not everyone he honors with a visit. But the Doctor and I are favourites. Are we not, Mr. Snipes?" asked Mrs. Willows, attempting to raise her voice as she heard the new comer at the door of the drawing-room. " What do you say, my cherub !" asked a well-dressed gentlemen who, with his hands behind his back, now entered bowing to the company. " I was just telling our young gentleman from Yorkshire," answered Mrs. Willows, " while introducing him to your name and character, that you never now bestow a thought on either myself or the poor Doctor; you are so taken up with everyone else."

" Oh ! the gentleman is from Yorkshire," exclaimed Mr. Snipes, with an air of delight. " Am very glad to hear it ; am indeed. My grandfather by the mother's side was from York. And the gentleman's name is, you say, my cherub — " " Mr. D'Alton," answered both the Doctor and Mrs. Willows. " Oh ! oh ! Mr. D'Alton— Mr. D'Alton, an illustrious name — it must be the same," said Mr. Snipes, talking to himself, " You are related, sir, yes to be sure — you are related to the celebrated lawyer, Ebenezer Dugdale, the pride of the ancient and renowned town of Gosborough, Yorkshire, and whose sister was married to the Chevalier D'Alton, as he was commonly called." Spite his ignorance of the world, George D'Alton was surprised to find his family history so familiar to an utter stranger; but neither Mrs. Willows nor her husband who, indeed, was just then fast asleep, showed any astonishment.

Mr. Snipes was known to know everything. " I am his nephew," at length answered the young man. ;' Oh ! indeed !" said Mr. Snipes, in a tone which meant, " of course." " Then, sir," he continued, giving instead of asking for infor mation — " Then, sir, you are the son of Chevalier D'Alton, who was tbe beau ideal of an Irish gentleman, with whom all our English ladies were so distractedly in love; glad to hear it, glad indeed !" George D'Alton bowed. " You are very like him," composedly con tinued Mr. Snipes. George was confounded. Mr. Snipes did not look old by any means ; indeed there was a decided slimness and juvenility about him, and the Chevalier D'Alton had been sleeping in his grave in a Yorkshire churchyard, for some seventeen years. " And how is your worthy uncle," asked Mr. Snipes, "how is that model of legal honour and unaffected virtue, Ebenezer Dug dale?

By the way has he yet finished the first volume of his Law Catechism?" " Not, entirely," answered Mr. D'Alton. "I thought so," observed Mr. Snipes. " Then your uncle is the author of some works on the law ?" asked Mrs. Willows. "Not yet," answered Mr. D'Alton; "but he has been engaged upon one for some years past, and hopes to publish it before he dies." " And a very clever work it will be," observed Mr. Snipes, who declared that he very much liked the opening and the middle of the first volume, and had no doubt but he would like the end also when he saw it. " Then you have already seen my uncle's work?" observed the nephew, fairly amazed. "Why, I have seen it, and I have not seen it," said Mr. Snipes, " if you can make that out." " No, I cannot for the life of me," said Mr. D'Alton, more astonished than before, and evidently expecting some explanation.

" No, I dare say you cannot," observed Mr. Snipes, who at once gave a new turn to the conservation, by asking Mr. D'Alton if every man in Yorkshire would not sooner part with his life than our glorious Constitution. " I think," said Mr. D'Alton, " that there are many for it and some against it." " Well, it is in that," observed Mr. Snipes, " that the inhabitants of York must differ widely from those of London, for though we have here our different parties, we are all how ever fundamentally the same, all ready to die for our glorious constitution, which is the envy and the admiration of the whole world. Is it not so, Dr. Willows?" "Perhaps it is," coldly said the Doctor, not pleased at being wakened up ; and it was easy to perceive he meant to say that it was not so. But Mr. Snipes not appearing to attach this meaning to his words, addressing Mrs. Willows, said — " And you are, of course, my cherub, of the same opinion as the Doctor respecting our unanimous devotedness — in at least this part of England — to our glorious constitution?"

" To be sure I am, to be sure," answered the lady very feebly. " You now see, Mr. D'Alton, that with us many are not for and some against our con stitution, but that we are all for it," observed Mr. Snipes, regretting at the same time that there were not other parties present to make the thing appear still more evident. " Then you need not regret any longer," said Mrs. Willows, " for I hear Kuth coming up to announce a visitor. Who is it, Ruth?" asked Mrs. Willows, as the young girl, ap proaching her with a timid and noiseless step, whispered something into her ear. " I am sorry to inform you, Mr. Snipes," said the old lady in a weak tone of regret, " that it is not a visitor, that it is only our old cobbler, Bill Blunt, who has brought home something that I gave him to mend." " Bill Blunt!

I know him," triumphantly said Mr. Snipes. " And his father too?" asked Mr. D'Alton. "Yes, sir, his father too," was the grave reply. " And his whole family, sir," said Mr. Snipes, with his hands behind his back. " Well," said Mrs. Willows, " if the opinion of an honest, sober, and industrious poor man — though, of course, an ignorant one — " " Excuse me, my cherub," interrupted Mr. Snipes, "not exactly ignorant; he is the real schoolmaster of this district; teaches his children, grandchildren, and neighbours' children, reading, writing, grammar,geography, history, &c, &c." " Dear me," said Mrs. Willows, " I knew he was sober, industrious, and a teetotaller — " " But you did not know," again interrupted Mr. Snipes, " he was an enlightened man and a useful member of society, which Mr. D'Alton will, I am sure, acknowledge he is."

"Certainly," replied Mr. D'Alton, but looking rather more towards Mrs. Willows than towards the gentleman of the Press. " We will have him up by all means," said Mr. Snipes, " he can, while standing there at the door, let us know what he thinks of our glorious constitution." Mrs. Willows turned therefore to Ruth, who was standing at the back of her chair, and bade her tell Bill Blunt to come up, and then to remain herself, that she might be edi fied by what she should hear. As there were few things for which Mr- D'Alton entertained a more hearty dislike than politics and politicians, he could not ac count for the uncommon willingness he now felt to stop and hear what a poor cobbler might have to deliver on so very stale and unpoetical a subject. " It is certainly," he thought in his own mind, " very strange that I should now feel as I do !

There must be surely a cause — if I could only discover it — for such infatuation." And while thus thinking, Mr. Snipes happened to attract his notice, when, imagining he saw something mysterious about that man — still standing with his hands behind his back — he at once came to the conclusion he was certainly under his influence, and that such was the sole cause of his feeling as he did just then. But had he only waited till Ruth came up and took her stand, nearly op posite to him, behind Mrs. Willows' chair, he might, if the pride of the D'Altons would allow him to own it, have discovered a far more probable cause for his present infatuation, as he called it.

Chapter II

A short, thick-set man, of some sixty years of age, appeared at the door. He was almost bent double, and his breath came quick and short, as if he were asthmatic; and this appearance, joined to a careworn look, — but a very intellectual one, — bespoke a man who had, in his struggle with the world, gone through his own share of labour and anxiety. " How de do, Bill Blunt?" kindly said Mr. Snipes. The Cobbler stared like one who looks on a stranger, but, with innate good-breeding, he made no remark, and merely thanked the VOL. II. C gentleman for his kindness, " and he was pretty well, thank God." " You do not look so well as when I saw you last," said Mr. Snipes. "Ah! you have worked hard in your time, Bill Blunt." " I have wrought pretty hard in my time, sir, but not more so than the generality of English workmen who have large families to support upon small earnings."

"Ay, there is the evil," emphatically said Mr. Snipes ; " the workman is not paid enough is he, Mr. Blunt?" " I beg your pardon, sir ; I think the workman is often paid more than his em ployer can well afford, considering the high prices of things." " Ay, there is the evil," said Mr. Snipes ; " landlords, butchers, bakers, and farmers are too exorbitant, are they not, Mr. Blunt?" "I beg your pardon, sir; I think they often find it hard to make their way." " You mean that we are too heavily taxed." " Not half enough, sir, not half enough. The state is poorer than I am, for I only owe one week's rent; we are not taxed enough, sir." " I rejoice, Mr. Blunt, to hear you say so ; and this gives me a very favourable opinion of your understanding, as it allows me to perceive that you approve of our constitution.

You now perceive, Mr. D'Alton," said Mr. Snipes, addressing that gentleman. "Oh! yes, I perceive," said Mr. D'Alton, who was just then puzzled in endeavouring to analyse his own feelings, and did not appear to be very attentive to either of the speakers. " But I do not say," observed Mr. Blunt, " that I approve of our constitution ; for it is there, in my opinion, all the evil lies." " You perceive that, Mr. Snipes," said Dr. Willows; "you perceive that, Mr. Snipes," said Mrs. Willows; and Mr. D'Alton hearing the same thing thus repeated, took it up with out knowing why, and also said, " You per ceive that, Mr. Snipes." " But are you not aware, my good man," c loftily said Mr. Snipes, " that our constitution is the envy and admiration of the whole world." " Which only proves that if we are badly off, sir, others are still worse off."

" You see the man can reason," chuckled Dr. Willows. " But I do not see," tartly replied Mr. Snipes, " that he is right, and all the world wrong. And pray, my good sir, how would you cure this pretended evil?" " By all being allowed to possess and enjoy the land God has given them, sir." "But you do possess and enjoy it." " My privileges, sir, are those of an animal no more." " Then buy land," said Mr. Snipes, with his hands behind his back; "buy land, Mr. Blunt." " Make land cheap and I will, sir; make a law compelling all waste lands to come into the market, and no industrious man need starve in the sight of Heaven's blessings and Heaven's gifts. True that law would spoil numerous parks, lawns, groves, woods, forests, and large tracts of hunting ground ; and would dot the face of the country with such un sightly and vulgar scenes as cottages, villages, and farms afford.

This law would also de prive lordly landholders of the exhilarating and innocent pleasure of destroying animals and birds by thousands — harmlessly shooting some, and playfully worrying others to death; while in return it would grant them only — with a large increase of wealth — the sorry satisfaction of giving new life to millions of their fellow creatures. But we can never, while saddled, as we are, with a despotic government " " Despotic ! " interrupted Mr. Snipes amazed; "despotic! the man is mad or dreaming! Mr. Blunt, come to your senses; this is not Russia, sir; this is England — free England, sir!" And in a fit of national enthusiasm, Mr. Snipes, again putting his hands behind his back, from which, in his excitement, he had removed them one moment, hummed the tune of " Britannia rules the waves!"