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meeting of neighbours, to which he had been attached ever since his indentures had
expired. Rumours were rife of his having been seen in the dress boxes of Drury Lane,
and some malicious fellow declared that he had heard Buzzard make use of very
improper language as to the ultimate destination of country-dances.

At length the Buzzards openly declared their secession from the vulgar world.
The back parlour was thrown into the shop ; the first floor windows were draped with
hangings of crimson moreen trimmed with yellow worsted ; and the private door was
bedizened with a large brass plate, on which was inscribed MR. yes ! MR. B. Buzzard.
These* innovations were very properly resented by the whole street in which Mr. B.
Buzzard carried on his trade of pin-making, and Mr. and Mrs. B. Buzzard were not
only cut but quizzed most unmercifully.

The only person who suffered by the conduct of Buzzard beside himself was his
next door neighbour, Mr. Scott, a very industrious and sober saddler. He had a
small trade which was gradually increasing by his frugality and attention ; but the
causes of his prosperity prevented him forming anything like a social connection, and
almost his only friendly acquaintance in the ward was neighbour Buzzard.

Alas ! their pleasant gossips at the street doors were becoming few and far
between. Weeks passed, and Buzzard had never popped in for a pinch of snuff as he
used to do. In fact Mrs. Buzzard had pronounced saddlering ungenteel, and Mr. Scott
was scratched accordingly. The honest saddler took this somewhat to heart at first, but
he soon ceased to think of Mr. B. Buzzard but as of one whose wisdom was very
questionable.

Mr. Scott's household consisted of his aged mother, and one of those domestic nuisances
usually designated " a drab of a girl." The old lady had hitherto supplied the place of



VOT,. T. \n. iv.



86 BETTY MORRISON'S POCKET-BOOK.

a better servant, but as time stole on she frequently urged her son to look about him for a
helpmate to supply her place when age and infirmities should make her only a burthen
to him. The saddler would readily have obeyed his mother's wishes, but he had hitherto
seen no one with whom he thought he could share the ups-and-downs of life but that
was either too wealthy or too genteel.

Matters were in this state when the porter of Mr. Idol, the silversmith, was seen to
enter Mr. B. Buzzard's house with a somewhat bulky parcel, and to return without it.
Mr. B. Buzzard had certainly been buying plate, and this important news was soon
communicated to every inhabitant of the street. Nor were Mr. B. Buzzard's honest
neighbours the only persons acquainted with this circumstance ; for one fine night in

June the whole population of street, City, were roused from their slumbers by

the din of rattles and lusty cries of " Stop thief," which proceeded from the united
lungs of the pin-maker and his wife.

The sashes of fifty windows were thrown up in an instant, and a hundred heads at
least were peering anxiously therefrom in the hope of catching a glimpse of the thieves.
Their curiosity, however, was doomed to be baffled, for the burglars succeeded in
effecting their escape over the walls at the back of the house, carrying with them all
Mr. B. Buzzard's newly-purchased finery, and (alas !) Betty Morrison's pocket-book.

In the morning the intelligence of the pin-maker's loss flew from door-step to door-
step up and down the street like an ignited powder-train ; and there is no doubt that, had
a jury of Mr. Buzzard's neighbours been empanelled to try the robbers, that the verdict
would have been "justifiable burglary " so very unpopular had Mr. B. become.

A fortnight after this occurrence, David Scott was engaged sweeping the little yard
at the back of his house, when he thought he saw something red behind the water-butt.
Upon closer examination, he was surprised to find a pocket-book. On the fly-leaf
was written, "Betty Morrison, the gift of her dear friend, Mary Grove." Now, as
Mr. Buzzard, in his narrative of the robbery, had never alluded to the loss which poor
Betty had sustained (for the pocket-book, containing neither bank-notes nor bills of
exchange, he had very sagely considered to be of no value), David Scott innocently
believed himself at perfect liberty to inspect the contents of the waif which he had
discovered, never thinking it had anything to do with the " Great Buzzard Burglary"
as the advertisements in the Hue and Cry were headed,

It was after a frugal supper, during which old Mrs. Scott had recurred to her now
daily theme viz., the positive necessity of her son taking unto himself a helpmate, that
the saddler produced the prize which he had found.

On inspection the pockets of the book only contained a few dried rose leaves and a
little piece of paper enclosing a lock of grey and brown hair. On the paper was written
" Poor dear father's." The saddler replaced the little memento with a feeling of
reverence, and then carefully restored the dried rose leaves, believing them to be
treasured relics also.

He turned over a few pages of the book and found the following, written in the same
hand as the inscription on the little piece of paper :

" DECEMBER 13, 1815. I promised you, dear Mother, that I would put down what I did and thought
eveiy day, so I hegin at once, by telling you what I think of London O it is such a large place ! First
of all I must tell you how I got on on my journey the day was very cold, surely, but what with
good Mrs. Dove's wittle, and the straw that Will put for me (I thank him for it now, and will do so
again when I come home), I got on bravely. Mr. Dove's basket did help me much, for, though I could
not eat a great deal, yet the brandy-and-water I gave to the guard, who lent me a great-coat, I
do think, in return and now for London. When we got to the inn-yard it was quite night, but then



BETTY MORRISON'S POCKET-BOOK.



87



there was so many lamps in the street, that it was almost as light as day. Then such a many coaches,
and carts, and people, that I grew quite dizzy and sick. After awhile, however, I seemed to get used to
it, and then I saw nothing but houses and houses, whichever way I looked. I got frightened a little,
but the guard was very kind, and sent a woman that he knew to show me to my new place. When I
knocked at the door I confess my heart seemed to sink within me. I wondered all at once what kind of
people my master and mistress would be, but then I thought that GOD had taken care of me, until this
time, and I had no right to fear."

" Good girl," interrupted Mrs. Scott.
" I suppose I may read on ? " said the saddler.

" By all means," replied his mother ; " I feel as though I were listening to your poor
sister Jenny, David."

The saddler resumed :

" When I was shown upstairs to my mistress, for though they are tradespeople they always live
upstairs"

"Just like the Buzzards, " said Mrs. Scott.

" My mistress asked me my name, and how old I was, and whether I was an early riser, and hoped
I had no one I knew in London. She then told me to go down into the kitchen until she rang the bell
for me. The boy who had showed me up lighted me into the kitchen, where he pointed to a large box,
and said, ' That's where you sleep,' and then he left me alone. It was very cold, and I could not help
crying a little only a very little, for I thought I was going to work for you, dear mother, and when I got
rich, to come home and make you happy."

" Rather prosy," said the saddler, turning over three or four pages of the book.
" Never mind, go on," replied Mrs. Scott. "I like it all the hetter. I can
understand it."

" I have now been here a week I work pretty hard I have to do everything, myself, except clean
the boots and the knives. Sometimes I get very tired, for mistress is very fond of ringing the bell, and
it is a long way from the kitchen to the drawing-room."

" How like Mrs. Buzzard," said Mrs. Scott.

" However, I work very cheerful, and whenever I get low or tired I think all this will do to talk
about and laugh at when I come home. My
mistress will not call me Betty but Morrison;
she says Morrison is more genteel."

"It must he Mrs. Buzzard," cried
Mrs. Scott.

The saddler turned over another page
or two.

" CHRISTMAS-DAY. I had dressed up my
kitchen with holly, as I used to do at the
parsonage, but mistress, happening to come
into the kitchen, made me pull it all down, as
she said it was vulgar now-a-days."

" I begin to think that it must be Mrs.
Buzzard, too," said the saddler.

" Master and mistress went out to dinner
I could hardly believe it was Christmas-day.
I sat down by the fire when I had done my
work, and thought how all the folks at Grass-
vale were making merry, whilst I was all alone
in a London kitchen, without one soul to speak

to. I had such a cry, mother and then I was so angry with myself. I knelt down and prayed God
not to let me become ungrateful and discontented ; then I got my Bible, the one that dear old master
gave me, and I read a great deal, ntil I never felt so happy in my life."




BETTY MORRISON'S POCKET-BOOK.



" David," said Mrs. Scott, " who ever did that wouldn't make a bad wife?"
" Wife, mother? " And the saddler turned over several leaves without knowing
he was doing.

" MARCH 12. I have offended my mistress very much, but I am sure I have done right. We are to
have a grand party on the 14th, and mistress has been busy making jellies and sweet things, but all the
time she has been quite in a flurry in case anybody should see her. This morning a knock came at the
door, and she said to me, * Morrison, say I am out whoever it is.' ' But I shall be telling a story, ma'am,'
I answered ' had I not better say that you're busy.' O, how angry she was with me. Is it not strange
that mistress should wish me to say that which was not true. She would be angry, and quite right, did
I tell her a lie. I must pray God to lead me not into temptation."

" March 20. Mistress is still very sulky, but I would rather offend her than do wrong. They have
been out a great deal lately, and I have had to sit up very late and by myself. London is a very lonely
place, but I do not complain I get more time to read my Bible, and to wjjte down these things to talk
over when I come home."

" She seems very fond of her home," remarked the saddler.

" And I dare say it's a very poor one," said his mother ; " she wouldn't neglect a
better I '11 be bound."

" Do you think she is the " here David paused.

" Who ? " inquired his mother.

"The pleasant-looking girl at Buzzard's."

" I shouldn't wonder," exclaimed Mrs. Scott. " I'll ask at once."

" No, mother," said the saddler; " I think I think I'll do that myself," and he left
the room. When the saddler got into his shop he paused to take another peep in Betty
Morrison's pocket-book, and read

" Mistress is very cross and unkind to me, but I will bear it all. O, what could I not suffer for any
one that I loved as dearly as I do you, mother."

The saddler gave a short cough, and proceeded at once to the house of his neighbour
Buzzard.

When Betty opened the door, David Scott felt as though he had some great words in
his throat which were choking him, but when he showed Betty the pocket-book, and saw
the joy dancing amid the tears in her eyes, the saddler thought that the difficulty of
choosing a wife was not so great as he had imagined at one time.

The poor girl thanked him again and again for restoring her lost treasure. " Not,"
she said, " that it is worth anything, Sir, but it was given to me by a very dear friend,
and and my dear mother at home looks forward to that book to know to know "

" How good a daughter she has in London," said the saddler, and then, as fearing
to trust himself further, he uttered a hurried " good day," and rushed back into his own
shop.

After this interview it seems very surprising but Betty was continually meeting
Mr. Scott. If she went on an errand, Mr. Scott always contrived to say, " How do you
do ? " or to give her a nod and smile. If she went to church, which she always did
when she could obtain permission, Mr. Scott was sure to overtake her or meet her on
her way, and then he would go to church too.

Can you guess what all this led to ? If you cannot, read the following extract from
Betty's pocket-book :

" JULY 31. Mr Scott has written me such a kind letter. I have answered it by telling him that I
must consult my dear mother and Mrs. Hartley. Mr. Scott says his mother would like me to come to tea.



A COLD LOVE LETTER.



89



Mr. Scott says he is about my age. Mr. Scott is very good to his work-people, I hear. Mr. Scott O,
dear, what am I writing about !"

Reader, you are now as much in Betty's secret as we are, so the sooner we come to



the better. One Sunday morning, at the close of September, the congregation assembled
in the parish church of Grassvale was thrown into a state of pleasurable excitement by
Mr. Gravely, the clergyman, reading as follows :

" I publish the banns of marriage between David Scott, of the parish of St. - ,
London, and Elizabeth Morrison, of this parish, <fcc., <fcc. ;" - and within a month
afterwards the bells of Grassvale Church rung out their bridal peal.

Ah ! that was the end ! David Scott had listened to his mother's counsel; and from
what he had read of Betty's thoughts and actions things chronicled to meet no other
eyes but her own and those of her dear mother the honest saddler had resolved to share
his fortunes with her. Many after-years of happiness proved how wisely he had chosen,
and again and again has he blessed the day that he found Betty Morrison's pocket-book.



A COLD LOVE LETTER.



Cold Bath Square, Cold Bath Fields.
MY DEAREST Al^ICE,

You complain in your last of my coldness. It is all owing, dearest, to the
weather ; for the papers say it is the coldest season we have had for years. I think it
is not only the coldest for ears, but for eyes and noses also.





You ask me why I do not^come to see you. Cruel girl ! How am I to get out ?



90 A COLD LOVE LETTER.



Besides, there are so many of you, that when I call at your house there is no getting
near the fire. Keep yourself warm, dearest, for my sake. I am sitting in my tra-
velling-cloak, with my nose and my knees actually in the fire.

Ah ! I wish you were hy my side. Yet no there is only one side of my fire-place
that's warm, and I know you could not hear to see your own Horatio sitting in a
draught could you, love ? But we ought to be contented, for at all events we are not
like those lovers whose friends are against the match, and who are obliged to meet
clandestinely. Fancy my having to wait at the corner of a street, kicking my heels
about in the cold during such weather as this.

I don't think I could stand it that is, dearest, I 'm sure you would not hear of my
doing so. I have been trying to write a sonnet to you but in vain have I invoked the
Muses ; they evidently think it " too cold to come out," and the Pierian spring seems
to be so completely frozen up, that I find it impossible to get a draft at it. It has been
utterly impracticable to get hold of any " thoughts that burn " in this bitter cold
weather.

I have tried several times to warm myself up into a comfortable condition to address
some poetry to you, but I can't help thinking of the cold ; and I therefore send you it
will do for your Album

A SONNET TO THE FROST.

Son of old Hyems you deserve the name

Of nature's jeweller because your skill
Makes icy jewels shining just the same

As those of Messieurs Hyams on Cornhill.
You deck with gems the humble bed of greens,

And fringe the parsley with a diamond hue ;
With spangles you adorn the coldest scenes,

And tip the nose with a cerulean blue.
Philosophy to many you would preach,

If of the lesson they were but aware
Yes, patience is the virtue that you teach,

The ice by you controlled learns how to bear.
All Nature 's really nothing but a school ;
From you Frost, we learn to take things cool.

I would have written the above in your album with my own hand, but I 'm sure you
would be the last person to expect me to come out for the purpose of fetching the book.
You ask me to write to say when I am coming. I know you will excuse my writing
when I tell you it is very uncomfortable to have to hold a cold steel pen between my
fingers. The thermometer, dearest, will indicate to you when you may expect to
see Your own

HORATIO.



NOTES TAKEN DURING THE LATE WAR IN CHINA.



1)1




NOTES TAKEN DURING THE LATE WAR IN CHINA.

BY CAPTAIN CUTAWAY, OF HER MAJESTY'S HORSE MARINES.



OUR regiment being ordered to Hong-Kong in the summer of 1843, I set sail in the
Shrimp, of 600 guns, at the head of my troop of nautical cavalry. The voyage out
was marked by nothing particular. My gallant fellows mounted guard every day on
the binnacle, and were ready at a moment's notice to assert the supremacy of Britan-
nia and carry out the allegory of her ruling the seas. But whether it was known that
Captain Cutaway, of the Horse Marines, was at the head of his men aboard the Shrimp,
or whether we did not happen to meet a foe, certain it is that we were not called into
active service on our passage to China.

The ship behaved beautifully throughout, with the exception of her going groggy in
a storm and rolling about from side to side, in a most disagreeable manner.

On our arrival at Hong-Kong the sun was just turning to the right, previous to its
final retirement for the evening behind a pagoda. The shore was covered with clusters
of those trees that may be seen on the willow pattern plates, where apples, as large as
dumplings, depend from branches as fragile as feathers. I called over the muster-roll
of my men, and I could see that there was scarcely a dry eye among the gallant fellows
as they surveyed the splendid landscape. We gave three cheers in honour of old
England, and planted the British standard in the mud on the beach, for the water
being only three feet deep permitted our doing so. The next day I intended to commence
making a series of observations on men and manners in China ; but, I am sorry to say,
that the men have no manners at all, so that my project was defeated : their talents as a
nautical people offered however a wide field for speculation, and I used to sit for hours
on the top of the compass (which continued boxed during the time we remained at



92



NOTES TAKEN DURING THE LATE WAR IN CHINA.



anchor) for the purpose of watching the maritime movements of this very remarkable
nation. Their war junks resemble the state barges of the City companies ; and it may
be inferred from this, that the Chinese take a pleasure in fightinsr, for they come to a
naval engagement in the same sort of vessels that we should use for a pic-nic party
to Richmond. As far as I had the means of observing for I kept at some distance,
preferring, if possible, to view a hostile people through a telescope it appeared to
me that the umbrella is a very important article in Chinese warfare. One of the
junks happening to be overloaded, began to exhibit some of those oscillating symptoms
which may sometimes be observed in a Greenwich steam-boat going down the Thames
on Easter Monday. The Chinese, who do not carry boats, had recourse to an
expedient which we, with all our skill in inventions, would do well to imitate. They
have, in case of danger, a simple apparatus, made of three pieces of bamboo fastened
together triangularly, like a trivet, and on these trivets they are enabled to reach the
shore in perfect safety. It has often occurred to me that the old English saying,
" Right as a trivet," may have been suggested by the Chinese custom alluded to. The
effect of this manoauvre was extremely picturesque, and I immediately made a sketch
of it.

This however was not the only use to which the umbrella is put by the Chinese in
their naval tactics, for when attacked by an enemy the first impulse of this extraordinary
people is to get away as fast and as safely as possible. In order to accomplish this
they will throw themselves into the water, with the umbrellas over their heads, and
thus a shield is formed which prevents them at least from seeing the danger, if it does
not assist them in avoiding it. I once saw a whole junk's crew leap into the water
in the way described, and they presented the appearance of a large heap of floating
mushrooms.




EDITOR'S NOTE. We beg to state distinctly that we are not answerable for the facts
or opinions put forth by our Correspondent Captain Cutaway.



PJt E M I U M




I3COITI4T



THE DEMON OF 1845. 93



BY A DREAMER OF REALITIES.



I HEARD a mighty noise in the great city, a loud laughter, and a shriek of exultation,
as though it were a period of merriment, and yet not all merriment, for the laugh,
though it was loud, was hollow in its sound ; and the shriek, though it was triumphant,
was harsh, and almost frantic. And I was raised as one can be only in dreams to an
eminence, whence I looked down on the city, with its great streets, its lanes, and its
alleys, as we look on a panorama.

How great was the tumult in every direction ! Men of every rank pressed forward,
pushing and scuffling, all crowding as if towards one central point. The lazy bloated
rich seemed to have acquired new activity ; the pallid face of the poor was illumined by
a hectic flush ; the industrious had flung aside the implements of his toil : there were
many men, but there was one spirit infused by some magic power into the whole.

I turned my eyes towards an eminence in the great city, for thither I saw the people
were tending ; and strange was the sight I beheld. A gigantic form, seemingly
fashioned of iron, but animated by a sort of semi-life, was seated as on a throne. The
eyes flashed, but it was with the redness of fire, not with the life-sparkle of humanity ;
the breath of the nostrils was a thick white vapour, which reached the far distance ere
it began to disperse,. The occupation of the figure was unpoetical enough. In each
corner of its huge mouth it held a large iron pipe, through which it blew innumerable
spheres, that all glittered like gold, and were wafted about in the air : and it was
strange to see what a curious face the figure made when it had puffed out a more than
usual quantity of these floating erections. The lips forced themselves into a hard
mechanical smile, as if through the workings of a stiff unwilling organisation ; and it
was difficult to say whether this smile expressed a sort of heavy satisfaction, or whether
it was not mingled with something of irony.

I now perceived the object of all the crowding and pushing on the part of the multi-
tude. The glittering surfaces of the spheres flashed upon their eyes, and blinded them
to all else. The possession of these had become the sole object of those who gazed on
them, and it was with the intensity of passion that they jostled and crushed each other
in the pursuit. The spheres, I observed, were of different natures. Some, when
touched, gave a metallic sound, and seemed really to be formed of precious material, and
to possess some solidity ; others were so flimsy, that the least breath seemed sufficient
to annihilate them. I, the dreamer, saw this ; but the mob below me did not seem
aware of the distinction : nay, the flimsiest balls were often pursued the most.

Soon a new phenomenon presented itself. I saw several of the spheres arrange
themselves in little groups, in which they dashed against each other with the wildest
disorder ; and beneath every one of these groups was a host of people, who shrieked and
roared as the balls struck together, each hoping that some particular one would escape
uninjured. Then I heard a great shout of " The Board ! the Board !" and presently
all the spheres in a group burst, except one, which sparkled more brightly than ever.
Then with what delight did part of the people dance and caper, and with what despair
did others roll themselves on the ground and rend their hair ! The same thing
happened with different groups ; but I could not tell what was meant by the " Board."

VOL. i. NO. v. o



94 THE DEMON OF 1845.



It was hard to say whether the gigantic figure, which seemed the prevailing genius of
the great city, was good or evil. I observed a fire that was kindled beneath, and that
appeared to give additional animation to the huge, unwieldy limbs. This was sedulously
kept up by many ill-looking persons, such as lean mustachioed vagrants, and men
with the feverish air of desperate gamesters ; but it was also maintained by many
benevolent-looking folks, in whose countenances honesty was most plainly written.



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