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cided failure-and why was it so? Not because the country responded not to the call of civilisation and improvement, but because a powerless handful of human beings, and most of them not of a class suitable to the work, were cast upon the shore, with no hand to direct, no fostering aid to assist. The speculation, if we can admit the term where the lives and properties of our common countrymen are at stake, did not answer according to the expectations of the rulers of the parent country; and therefore they repudiated it, and resigned it to a fate from which, by enduring fortitude, unbounded and uncomputed sacrifice, it has, after the immolation of years-and only acknowledged as a place beyond hopegradually and proudly emerged. The use which has been taken of the experience which fell to its own charge, has placed its rival sister settlements on a prosperous footing, and has even promoted their early and late well-being, from the extension of those several species of motherly assistance which were pointed out at the commencement of the purblind system on which the Swan River settlement was founded. But to show the necessity for availing themselves of this experience, we are obliged to repeat, the unhappy hull, shorn of its gear, and bankrupt in its coffers, was repeatedly dragged up to the light, and pointed to as an example of mismanagement, in such gloomy colours, that the public of this country naturally viewed it with feelings allied to pity and disgust, and could be little induced either to sympathise with or to interest themselves for a settlement which remained under the ban of exclusion, arising from the lack of each and every inducement to risk fortune, or chance of the benefits of emigration, within it. Notwithstanding, however, its having been from the commencement virtually closed as an emigration field, and the deaf ear which has for so many years been turned to its protestations and its claims, the small band of people which clung to the wreck are able at length to show that they have prepared the way-that they have established a colony; and this without any foreign assistance, save that of a small yearly parliamentary grant applied to the services of their local administration; and this latter exceeding by scarcely two thousand pounds that which is yearly required to sustain those problems of colonisation, the Falkland Isles, containing a population at this time of not more than 200 souls!

If, then, the offspring of those days of folly and neglect, now risen into lusty manhood-if the early pioneers of that solitary and disheartening achievement, are not worthy of support, and the results of their endeavours tempting enough to any who may be disposed to join them, it would be hard to trace on the map of our vast colonial empire a place so anomalous, so utterly puzzling and conflicting in evidence, as the colony of Western Australia.

AN EVENING WITH KNIPP.

BY DUDLEY COSTELLO.

CHAPTER I.

HOW MR. PEPYS TOOK A WALK ON MAY MORNING, AND WHAT HE ENCOUNTERED ON THE WAY.

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It was early on the morning of May-day, in the year of our Lord 1667, that a gentleman of a somewhat staid appearance and a certain demureness of aspect, which seemed not altogether natural to him, nor suitable to the occasion which brought him forth, might have been seen leisurely taking his way through the city of London, and walking in the direction of the Strand.

He was attired in a new suit of black bombasin,—the fashion at that time for summer wear,--over which he wore a fine cinnamon-coloured camlet cloak reaching to his knees; and from under his small hat a periwig of huge dimensions fell in voluminous wreaths upon his shoulders. The squareness of his figure, exaggerated by this costume, and the general sobriety of his large massive features, would have led a stranger to imagine him considerably more than forty years old; but when some accidental circumstance brought a smile to his lip, and lit up his small but expressive eye, ten years at least were banished from his countenance, and he looked, what he really was, about five-and-thirty years of age.

The most predisposing cause to this relaxation of gravity was the appearance of a pretty female face; and as, in the progress of his walk, this vision became more and more frequent, his smiles kept pace with the occasion; and whoever had noticed him half-an-hour before, as he issued.. from a dull-looking house in Seething-lane, and observed him now as he turned the corner of Wych-street, would have concluded that he left home with the intention of going to a conventicle, and on his way had changed his destination to a theatre.

into one.

He had, indeed, reached the region of the theatres; and if they had been open at that hour, it was not impossible but he might have walked The first person, too, whom he recognised was one who had just begun to charm the town with the wit, the impudence, and the beauty which soon left her without a rival on the stage; for, as he passed up Drury-lane, who but "pretty Nelly" was standing at the door of her lodging, in her smock-sleeves and bodice, and gazing with childish delight on the milk-maids dancing with garlands on their pails, and on the capering fiddler who led the way.

"Sweet Mistress Nelly," said Mr. Pepys,-for such was the gentleman's washed you your face in May dew this morning, that it

"have

name,
looks so fresh and fair?"

66

Nay," replied Nelly, "I am but just up. To gather May dew, one must out to the fields at three o'clock of the morning; and at that hour Knipp and I were at my Lord Brouncker's, singing merry songs, drinking rosa solis, and still wondering what had become of Dapper Dicky. But I see the reason; that pretty lace band has been a bribe to keep

you at home at nights, where all sober folks ought to be who have got wives."

Mr. Pepys coloured, for Nelly's random-shot had very nearly hit the mark, a propensity to quarrel with her husband's late hours and his fondness for gay company, being one of the attributes of his helpmate's character. He would not own it, however, but pleaded having business at his office, which had kept him wakeful with entangled accounts; and gently squeezing Mistress Nelly's round arm, though he would fain have pressed her rosy lips, he took his leave.

He did not, however, proceed direct to Whitehall, whither his duties called him, but, turning into a narrow street which led from Drury-lane towards the King's Theatre in Bridges-street, stopped at the door of a very mean-looking house and knocked for admission, glancing as he did so at the upper windows, apparently in the expectation of some one approaching them whom he was desirous to see. But in this hope he was disappointed, nor, until he had knocked several times, were there any indications of his summons having been heard. At last a heavy footstep descended the stairs, a bolt was withdrawn, the street-door was opened as far as a strong chain attached to a staple permitted: in the aperture Mr. Pepys beheld a grim-looking, unshaven man, with a grisly wet moustache and black matted hair, which straggled over his coarse flushed features, and suggested the idea, which the fellow's general appearance confirmed, that he had slept in his clothes, and been disturbed in the doubtful luxury of his morning draught. The physical disadvantages under which this gentleman, who might have been taken for a horse-jockey or a led captain, laboured, were heightened by the sinister expression of his countenance, at once cowardly and morose; and it was with an evident feeling of disgust that Mr. Pepys addressed him.

"A fine May morning, Mr. Knipp!" was the salutation with which he greeted the surly janitor, who evinced no disposition to open the door any wider, although he perfectly recognised the applicant for admission. "A fine May morning! How comes it that you are not out to see the merry dances of the milkmaids? The way is so thronged about the maypole in the Strand that there is no passing."

"Humph!" growled the individual saluted as Mr. Knipp; "I'm not out because I'm here. I suppose," he added with a sneer, “it was the crowd that made you take this road to Whitehall."

"Partly, Mr. Knipp, partly," returned Mr. Pepys, unwilling to be moved by the taunt, though he fully understood its meaning; "but chiefly that I might pray for fair Mistress Knipp's presence-and your own," he contrived to bring out, after a momentary hesitation, "at a merry meeting at Foxhall this evening, and then to supper at Chatelin's, hard-by in Covent Garden. I doubt not but we shall have very good company."

All the while he spoke, Mr. Pepys kept an anxious eye on the staircase, of which where he stood he could just obtain a glimpse over the surly husband's shoulder; but he looked in vain; "the sprightly baggage," as he was wont to call Mistress Knipp, not making her appearance, though he had raised his voice beyond its usual pitch. The husband, in making answer, explained the cause of this. The fellow would readily snarl, but was afraid to bite. He disliked the persons who paid court to his wife-Mr. Pepys above all-but his spirit was too mean to deny himself the

tavern-pleasures which were a consequence of his going abroad with her in such society.

He did not know, he said, whether Mistress Knipp would be able to venture forth that evening. She had been at my Lord Brouncker's till a late hour-(he did not add that he had beaten her when she came home, in a fit of drunken jealousy)—was asleep then, but would presently have to rise and dress to go through her part in "The Scornful Lady," which was to be played at the King's Theatre that day, after dinner, when the Duke of Buckingdam, Sir Charles Sedley, Sir George Etheredge, and a knot of gallants beside, had promised to be there. For his part, he was sick of such gay doings and fine people, and thought of shutting up his wife in a convent, while he went abroad to the wars, the only place for a man of honour in times like these. Bnt if Mr. Pepys really intended to sup at Chatelin's that night, and meant to treat the company, he would think about it, perhaps, and let the jade be of the party; though, he added with an oath, it was no pleasure to him to waste the night in hearing squeaking fiddles and squalling women!

The sot told the truth in the last sentence, but not the whole truth, for he might have said he did not care how much of every night was wasted, as long as he had plenty of ale, and tobacco, and strong waters, and feasted at other people's expense; but Mr. Pepys was shrewd enough to see that the ruffian gave his consent to the proposed arrangement, however ungraciously, on the understanding that he was to be in free quarters. Perceiving also that it would be useless to parley any longer at the door in the hope of seeing Mistress Knipp herself, who was probably locked in her chamber, he saluted her husband with the grave courtesy which was habitual to him, and now bent his steps in good earnest towards Whitehall, where his friend and patron the Earl of Sandwich awaited him.

"fast" as

Our ancestors, in the time of Charles II., though not so ourselves under the rule of Victoria, were able to get through a tolerables amount of work, of one sort or another, in the course of the four-andtwenty hours; and, perhaps, for combining business with pleasure, or rather for devoting himself alternately to each, there was no man of hist day who could accomplish more than Mr. Samuel Pepys. He had a good solid understanding, an aptitude for business, and a clear perception of the affairs entrusted to his management, so that his official utility was very generally recognised; while, on the other hand, a fondness for the amusements of the town, especially for "musique" and the theatres a forward gallantry towards women, when his wife happened not to be by-and a strain of joviality which he was at little pains to repress when the time and place agreed, caused him to be welcome everywhere as a lover and promoter of mirth and good companionship.

For two or three hours on the morning in question, he was closely occupied in preparing his account of the expense and debt of the navy; and when the labour, or as much of it as was needful for the day, was accomplished, the man of pleasure again set forth to enjoy his holiday. He had not gone far from Whitehall before he was espied by his friend Sir William Pen, the comptroller of the navy, who was out airing in his coach, and invited Mr. Pepys to drive with him to the Park, "Tiburne way," to see the crowds of holiday-makers, the most part afoot, but many in carriages; and, conspicuous amongst the last, the notable Duchess of

Newcastle, in a large black coach ornamented with silver instead of gold; the curtains and all the ornaments being white, her footmen all in black velvet and silver, and she herself in a velvet cap and black just-aucorps, with her hair about her ears, a number of patches on her face, and her large bare neck without any jewel to adorn or lace to conceal it; her retinue, besides her own people, consisting of hundreds of girls and boys, who crowded round the coach to get a peep at the remarkable person inside it.

The discourse between Sir William Pen and Mr. Pepys was a sample of that which prevails at the present day, and, most likely, has always prevailed: it began with politics and ended with scandal, though it was difficult at that time to dissociate the one from the other. The mismanagement of the Dutch war, the fear of invasion, the intrigues for place, the malversations of official personages, the king's expenses, the rapaciousness of Lady Castlemaine, the vulgarity of the Duchess of Albemarle; the going away from court of Mistress Stewart, and the rich jewels which the Duke of York had given her; the service of plate, worth 40007., wrung from the king by "his seventieth mistress abroad," the Lady Byron; the wit and plain speaking of Lacy the comedian, in the new play of "The Change of Crownes," wherein the Court was so much abused for the selling of places and doing everything for money; the recent duel between the two Fieldings, in which one brother killed the other in a drunken quarrel; the scandalous courses of the men of the town, and the gossip of the theatres, furnished matter enough for discussion during the drive. Wearying at length of the dust and noise of the Park, and more weary still of his companion, of whom he entertained the opinion that he was "the most false fellow that ever was born of ," Mr. Pepys caused Sir William to set him down in Tiburne Lane; and, leaving the navy comptroller "to parade in his new chariot,” proceeded on foot along Pickadilly, to seek his way home to dinner at noon. He had not proceeded far before he was accosted by Mr. Pechell, a gentleman of shabby-genteel appearance, with a very red nose, who, in spite of the protestations of Mr. Pepys that he was in much hurry, and greatly to his annoyance, persisted in walking with him till he reached Charing Cross. Mr. Pepys tried many times to shake him off, but in vain, till, passing by the Rummer Tavern, the sight of his friend's nose suggested to him the idea that a pottle of canary might serve his turn; and Mr. Pechell being naturally nothing loth, they entered the tavern together, and there, though at more cost than was agreeable to the worthy Clerk of the Acts, who kept a close eye on his smallest disbursements, he managed to disembarrass himself of his good-natured but not very fashionable acquaintance.

woman,

In the course of his morning's peregrinations, several slight matters had occurred to ruffle the temper of Mr. Pepys: the insolent bearing of Mr. Knipp, and the disappointment at not seeing that individual's wife-the perplexed state of the accounts at his office-the upstart grandeur of his colleague Sir William Pen-and finally, the mortification of being met in company with so red-nosed a man as Mr. Pechell, to say nothing of the extra charges incurred thereby, all contributed to heighten his ill-humour; and it was in a frame of mind much less equable than usual that he took water at Whitehall stairs to return to the city. Nor were matters much mended when he came in sight of his own house in Seething-lane, Oct.-VOL. LXXXVII. NO. CCCXLVI.

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