prove for himself, and is by no means the dupe of the noise which like other persons in higher stations, he himself contributes to make. If it is true that the stage castigat ridendo mores, nobody ought to have manners more chastened than the claqueur; for nobody frequents the theatres so assiduously as he does in the way of his business. If he sometimes protects mediocrity, he often supports originality and merit, decides the hesitating opinion of the public, and silences malignity and envy. He gives spirit and vivacity to representations which, without him would be dull and cold; he gives courage to the young actress, trembling when she first appears before the public; his applauses are balm for the wounded self-love of an author, who, while they are music in his ears, easily forgets that he paid for them in the morning. In short, the claqueur is an accommodation furnished by the manager to the public, who are too fine and too fashionable to commit the vulgar. ism of clapping their own hands. The smallest gesture, the least symptom of feeling being proscribed in good society, and every body be lieving himself to be good society, the theatres, but for the enlivening sounds of the claqueurs, would be the abodes of silence as dismal and funereal as that which reigns in the catacombs of Egypt. If the claqueurs were suppressed, they would be loudly called for by the public before a week was over; and the proof of their being indispensable, is that we have always had them. Le claqueur, n'est, du reste, qu'une nature admirative un peu exagerĕe.”*

Such is the claqueur system in the French metropolis. Among ourselves it has not attained the matured state of organization to which it has been brought by our neighbours. We are not aware of there as yet being in London a bureau de la claque, conducted with all the regularity of a public office, from which managers and authors can be provided with troops ready disciplined and trained for their purposes; yet every frequenter of our theatres knows that in all of them, save one, the nuisance is already great, daily increasing, and likely soon to become intolerable. A dramatic author will always have his friends, who will come to see his new play for the purpose of supporting it; and their endeavours can never do much harm, while they may really do some good. If they applaud through thick and thin, without judgment or discrimination, they will be treated by the audience as babbling" hounds are treated by the rest of the pack; while, on the other hand, their previous knowledge of the play may enable them, if they have tact, to direct the attention of the audience to beauties which otherwise might have been overlooked. But this is a very different thing from a house packed by managerial effrontery full of hirelings, for the purpose of brow-beating the audience, and stifling by noise and clamour the voice of criticism. Such practices, in place of being, as at present, tamely acquiesced in, ought to be visited with the strongest manifestations of public dipleasure.

66

* This very expressive phrase is quite untranslatable.

THE STAGE-COACHMAN ABROAD.

Now, by two-headed Janus,

Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time."

SHAKSPEARE.

WE were lately travelling from Cheltenham to town, and a change of position at Oxford placed us on the box beside the coachman whose task it was to pilot us from Alma Mater to the metropolis. Though a young man, he had all the distinctive signs of an experienced whip, and was in form and hue a perfect Jehu. Bulky in figure, rubicund in complexion, and knowing in physiognomy, he lacked no "comple. ment externe" that Nature could bestow, and art had not been appealed to in vain. A green cut-away,-blue bird's-eye neckerchief,spotted waistcoat, cord breeches, and boots with drab-cloth tops; a broad-brimmed white hat, a pink in his button-hole, and a thick gold ring on the little finger of his whip hand, assimilated the outer with the inner man, and made all in perfect keeping. His "haviour" on the box was, in his own language, "ondeniable." As soon as we were well clear of the city, and fairly started on the Henley road, we fell into conversation. The discourse, at first general, and chiefly allusive to "hosses" and the weather, shortly became quite confidential. We gradually fell into discourse on matters intimate, and we found that our friend had not limited his peregrinations to the space that lies between the Angel at Oxford and the Bell in Holborn. He had seen more of the world, and was willing to impart his knowledge. The first remark that bore upon the subject was a question which he put in a somewhat abrupt transition from the high price of corn, which he had just been lamenting." Are you fond of the sea, sir?"-"Why, yes," we answered, " in spite of having crossed the Atlantic some five or six times." "Ah," he replied, I've never been on that 'ere hocean; but I went across the sea too, last summer as ever wos ;- -Be quiet, will you? What is that mare about?"

Heedless of the interjection, we inquired on what occasion.

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Why, you see, sir, I'll tell you. I got tired last summer o' drivin' a hempty cûtch up and down, and wanted to have a bit of a spurt, jest to make things a little lively. So says I to some friends of mine as drives on the Porchmouth and Suthanton roads, suppose we takes a start in the steamer, and goes to Hantwerp. You knows Hantwerp, I suppose, sir? Well, they was all agreeable, so off we trundled, first to Ramsgate, where we picked up a few more good'uns, and then off we sets. When we was aboard, them as warn't sick talked a good deal about what they meant to do and say, and was mighty strong with the French then; but I reckon it was a different thing when we got there; damme, if a man on'em could speak no more than that 'ere near leader!"

"Any ladies of the party?"

"Never a one, sir; we was all gen'l'm'n as drives, some one road, some another. As it was a'most dark when we left Ramsgate, we wasn't long a-turnin' in; and when we got up in the mornin' quite

VOL. II.

41

early, there we saw Hantwerp before us,-least ways the spire o' the cathedral, and we a-steamin' it up the Skilt, like a team of thoroughbred 'uns. We soon left Walkerin' behind us, and got along-side of them Dutch forts as protects the Polders,-I think they calls 'em ; though what there is to protect I'm blessed if I could see; there warn't as much grass on 'em as ud feed a donkey,-let alone a good hoss. Hous'ever, it was a fine summer's mornin', and there we was safe enough in Hantwerp very little arter six o'clock. We hadn't much luggage; most on us had got wot we had tied up in a hankercher, or in our great coat pockets; so the Downeers (as they calls their Customhouse officers, in consequence of their being down upon you so uncommon quick) hadn't nothing to say to us, though the Johnny-darms did take us to be searched."

"Well, what was the first thing you did when you got ashore ?" "Why, the steward o' the wessel had pointed out to us the street as we was to go down to get to the market place where the hō-tel wos. He called it the Place Wert, or some such name, and said we'd better go to the Grand Lubberer. Thinks I, I wonder who he is, this 'ere Lubberer when he's at home. Hows'ever, off we sets, and sure enough we did get into the Place Wert. Now, Wert, they says, means green in the French; but we see nothin' green there but ourselves; for not speaking the langige, as I said, we didn't know which way to turn to go to this 'ere hō-tel. So there we was a-walkin' up and down, look. ing fust at the steeple and then at the barricaded winders, and then at the faces as peeped thro' 'em to look at us, till we was rayther tired and rayther peckish,-for we wanted to get some place where we could have our wittles dressed as we'd brought over."

66

Brought over!-what, did you take provisions with you?"

"In course we did; we wasn't a-goin' to be sarved out with frogs and snails and sich as that; no soup meagre for us, I promise you. We'd as prime a piece of roasting beef, about sixteen pound weight, as ever was seen on Mr. Giblett's counter, a leg of mutton for bil. ing, and as pretty a hand of pork, with some greens and taturs, as ever you'd wish to partake. This, and a bit of double Gloster, and a few bottles of Guinnes's stout, was all we brought with us, for we know'd that brandy and gin was to be had for the askin'

"Well, how did you manage ?"

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Why, as I was a-sayin', we was a-gettin' tired o' dawdlin' about doin' nothin',-and wanted to ask our way if we could have seen anybody as could speak to be understood,-for I'm blessed if we could make out one word as them Flemings said. As for their talk, it seemed for all the world like a pig tryin' to parly voo. At last Jem Worritt, him as driv the Manchester Defiance, spy'd a gen'I'm'n a-comin', as he said he was sure was an Englishman and no mistake, for he'd got a hat on his head and no mous-tayshoes on his face; all them Belgians is whiskered up like so many wild cats, and wears foragin' caps and ribbons in their button-holes, 'specially ever since they ran away from the Dutch. So when he cum'd nigher we made him werry purlite bows all round, and Jem Worritt, as see him fust, he was spokesman, and says he: We asks your pardon, sir, but are you an English gen'l'm'n ?'-and so says he, 'Yes, I am; what do you want with me? Why, sir,' says Jem,

66

'here we are, eighteen on us, as come by the steamer this mornin', and wants to know where our Hō-tel is, the grand Lubberer,-where we can get our wittles cooked,-for we can't speak a word o' this 'ere langige.' The gen'l'man larfed a little, and looked fust at one and then another, and at last he says: Why, I don't think the Lubberer is quite the place for you to go to. You'd better by half go to one of the Cabberies down there by the Hō-tel de Wheel,— and you can have your things done all to yourselves without any trouble.' So says I to Jem, I think we had better go to the Hō-tel de Wheel itself instead of a cab-house,-its more respectable, 'specially in a foreign country,'-for you know, sir, we was all on us coachmen. Hows'ever, the gen'l'man explained that the Hō-tel de Wheel meant the Mansion-house, and the Cabberies was places where there was smokin' and drinkin', and such like, always a-goin' on; but whether for cabs or coaches it made no odds. So the gen'l'man he werry kindly walked afore us, and we foller'd him, two and two, across the Place Wert, past them toyshops as is dovetailed into the side of the cathedral. On the way the gen'l'man,—a werry nice man he wos,name was Smith, sir,-Smith of the Borough, p'raps you knows him, he p'inted out to us a iron pump as was built by a blacksmith named Squintin' Bat'seyes,* as afterwards became a great paint. er, cos he fell in love with a gal who wouldn't have him as a blacksmith at any price, so the gen'l'man told us, and I suppose he knew. Did you ever hear tell on it, sir?”

“Oh, yes,—you haven't got his name quite right, or the story either; but the place is very well known. Go on.

وو

"Well, hows'ever the story may be, there we wos, and there we see the pump; and a little way further on, across a sort of a market, the gen'l'man he stops opposite a house with the sign of Bull's-head over the door, carved in wood, with a pair of horns as long as my arm. Underneath this head was a board and a writin' to say, 'Oh, grand Buff!-here you may lodge on horseback or on foot!'- --so Mr. Smith translated it to us; and then something in Dutch about drinkin' and good beer and brandy, and a bit of a paintin' of a bottle of stout going off into two glasses like a jet-dó, as the French call it. We liked the look of this 'ere place, and as soon as Mr. Smith had parlyvood with a man in a red nightcap as stood at the door a smokin' his pipe, he told us it was all right, so in we toddled,— and set down at a long table and called for a glass of brandy and water a-piece, jést to wash the dust out of our throats. As soon as we'd made ourselves all straight, and took a mouthful o' bread and cheese, Mr. Smith said he must be goin', and promised to send us a Commissionee, or Lackey de Place, to act as our interpreter and show us all over the town. So presently in comes a chap with a hairy cap on as wolunteered his sarvices, and glad enough we was to have him. He called himself Jack† somethin', and offered to pilot the whole lot on us for a frong a head and his wittles. The fust thing we set him to, was to order our dinner to be got ready at one o'clock pre-cisely, and then off we went to see the lions."

"And were you much entertained?"

"You shall hear, sir. Fust and foremost we went into the cathedral; it was what they called a Fate-day,-a sort of red-letter-day,

Query,-Quintin Matsys.

+ Probably Jaques.

you know, and there we see the Wirgin Mary, in a gold petticoat, bein' carried up the hill under a canopy, and the priest a-ringin' o' bells, and little boys in long pinafores swingin' their senses about,— and then down they all drops on their knees, one of the priests, in a long black sugarloaf cap, says somethin' in French about cock. alorum,' and up they all gets again and begins a-singin' and chantin' with all their might, and the orgin' a-playin' most uncommon loud. Jack whispered to us that this was a high mass in honour of the Wirgin, whose birth-day they was a-keepin.' Well, we waited till it was all over, and then we walked round the buildin' to look at the pictures, and oncommon fine they wos,-leastways, I never seed sich a hoss as was painted there, and Long Joe, as drives the Nor. wich Union, he said the same, and there isn't a better judge of a hoss nowheres than Long Joe. Jack told us it was painted by Mr. Roobins, as wos werry famous for hannimals. As soon as we'd done with the inside of the cathedral we went out at the door at the foot of the tower where Squintin' Bat'syes is berried and there we see a sort of a toll-keeper, and we giv' him a mutter o' three or four frongs to show us up the tower. Well, up we goes, and a tremendjous lot of steps we mounted. Two or three of our companions, as wos rayther touched in the wind, they cried off at the fust landin'. place, but the most of us held on tiil we got to the top, and a most onaccountable fine view we had. There wos Lillyhock* and Larfinstock, then two forts opposite each other on the Skilt, lying jest beneath us, and there was the river a-runnin' away all down to Flushing, like a bright yaller ribbin a-shinin' in the sun; and beyond that was the sea and the ships on it, as plain as we see them ere crows in that field. Then o' the other side was the rail-road to Brussels, and the spires of the cathedrals of Maylines and Gong, and I don't know how many places, all spread out beneath like a pocket'ankecher. It wos most surprisin' fine-and bless'd if ever I see sich a lot of jackdors as there wos congregated at the top of the tower, and sich a wind a blowin,'--fit to blow your eyes right out of your head. Well, we wosn't werry sorry when we found ourselves at the bottom ag'in though we had a precious larf at them as stopped in the belfry, for while they wos there, what should begin to play up but the chimes, the carry long as they calls it,—and bless'd if it didn't stun 'em all pretty nigh deaf. They thought the tower was a-comin' down, and we heard 'em a-holloring louder than the bells, though onaccountable loud they said they wos.

"What place did you go to next?"

46

Why, ever sich a lot more churches,-some bigger and some littler than others, but all on 'em chock full o' picters. I think there must be as many churches in Hantwerp as there is colleges in Oxford;-can't say, hows'ever, that I remember their names, seeing 'em, you know, for the fust and last time, as I may say. But the rummest sight of all wos the church of St. Jack,† with a himitation of Jeroos'lem in the berryin' ground outside. They calls it a Calvary, and I never see nothin' like it in my life. There wos rocks and mount'ins and stattoos and painted figgers, and all the 'Postles and Moses, and ev'ry thing as ever you hear tell on. And at the end o'

* Lilienhock and Liefenshock.

+ St. Jacques.