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I do not mean by death. Those who | And he died; and his family never are gone, you have. Those who de- knew until he was gone, that he had parted loving you, love you still ; and been long aware of the inevitable you love them always. They are not doom. really gone, those dear hearts and This is a cheerful carol for Christtrue; they are only gone into the mas, is it not? You see, in regard to next room: and you will presently, these Roundabout discourses, I never get up and follow them, and yonder know whether they are to be merry or door will close upon you, and you dismal. My hobby has the bit in his will be no more seen. As I am in mouth; goes his own way; and somethis cheerful mood, I will tell you a times trots through a park, and somefine and touching story of a doctor times paces by a cemetery. Two which I heard lately. About two years days since came the printer's little since there was, in our or some other emissary, with a note saying, “We city, a famous doctor, into whose are waiting for the Roundabout Paconsulting-room crowds came daily, per!” A Roundabout Paper about so that they might be healed. Now what or whom? How stale it has this doctor had a suspicion that there become, that printed jollity about was something vitally wrong with Christmas! Carols, and wassailhimself, and he went to consult an- bowls, and holly, and mistletoe, and other famous physician at Dublin, or yule-logs de commande
what heaps it may be at Edinburgh. And he of of these have we not had for years Edinburgh punched his comrade's past ! Well, year after year the sides; and listened at his heart and season
Come frost, come lungs; and felt his pulse, I suppose; thaw, come snow, come rain, year and looked at his tongue; and when after year my neighbor the parson he had done, Doctor London said to has to make his sermon. They are Doctor Edinburgh, “Doctor, how getting together the bonbons, iced long have I to live?” And Doctor cakes, Christmas trees. at Fortnum Edinburgh said to Doctor London, and Mason's now. The genii of the "Doctor, you may last a year." theatres are composing the Christmas
Then Doctor London came home, pantomime, which our young folks knowing that what Doctor Edin- will see and note anon in their little burgh said was true. And he made diaries. up his accounts, with man and heaven, And now, brethren, may I conI trust. And he visited his patients clude this discourse with an extract as usual. And he went about heal- out of that great diary, the newspaing, and cheering, and soothing, and per? I read it but yesterday, and it doctoring; and thousands of sick has mingled with all my thoughts people were benefited by him. And he since then. Here are the two parasaid not a word to his family at home; graphs, which appeared following but lived amongst them cheerful and each other : tender, and calm, and loving; though “Mr. R., the Advocate-General of he knew the night was at hand when Calcutta, has been appointed to the he should see them and work no post of Legislative Member of the more.
Council of the Governor-General.” And it was winter time, and they “Sir R. S., Agent to the Governcame and told him that some man at or-General for Central India, died on a distance -- very sick, but very rich the 29th of October, of bronchitis.”
wanted him; and, though Doctor These two men, whose different London knew that he was himself at fates are recorded in two paragraphs death's door, he went to the sick and half a dozen lines of the same man; for he knew the large fee would newspaper, were sisters’ sons. In one be good for his children after him. I of the stories by the present writer, a
man is described tottering “up the discharge of his duties. Lord Cansteps of the ghaut,” having just ning, to mark his high sense of Sir parted with his child, whom he is de- Richmond Shakespear's public serspatching to England from India. I vices, had lately offered him the wrote this, remembering in long, long Chief Commissionership of Mysore, distant days, such a ghaut, or river- which he had accepted, and was about stair, at Calcutta ; and a day when, to undertake, when death terminated down those steps, to a boat which was his career.” in waiting, came two children, whose When he came to London the cousmothers remained on the shore. One ins and playfellows of early Indian of those ladies was never to see her days met once again, and shook hands. boy more ; and he, too, is just dead “Can I do any thing for you?” I in India, “ of bronchitis, on the 29th remember the kind fellow asking. October.” We were first-cousins; He was always asking that question : had been little playmates and friends of all kinsmen ; of all widows and orfrom the time of our birth; and the phans; of all the poor; of young men first house in London to which I was who might need his purse or his sertaken was that of our aunt, the vice. I saw a young officer yesterday mother of his Honor the Member of to whom the first words Sir Richmond Council. His Honor was even then Shakespear wrote on his arrival in a gentleman of the long robe, being, India were, “ Can I do any thing for in truth, a baby in arms. We In- you?” His purse was at the com dian children were consigned to a mand of all. His kind hand was al school of which our deluded parents ways open. It was a gracious fate had heard a favorable report, but which sent him to rescue widows and which was governed by a horrible lit- captives. Where could they have had tle tyrant, who made our young lives a champion more chivalrous, a proso miserable that I remember kneel- tector more loving and tender ? ing by my little bed of a night, and I write down his name in my litt' saying, "Pray God, I may dream of book, among those of others dearly my mother !” Thence we went to a loved, who, too, have been summoned public schoo!: and my cousin to Ad hence. And so we meet and part discombe and to India.
we struggle and succeed; or we fai) “For thirty-two years," the paper and drop unknown on the way. As Savs, • Sir Richmond Shakespear we leave the fond mother's knee, the faichfully and devotedly served the rough trials of childhood and boy Government of India, and during hood begin; and then manhood i that period but once visited England, upon us, and the battle of life with for a few months and on public duty. its chances, perils, wounds, defeats, In his military capacity he saw much distinctions. And Fort William guns service, was present in eight gene- are saluting in one man's honor, * ral engagements, and was badly while the troops are firing the last wounded in the last. In 1840, when volleys over the other's grave-over a young lieutenant, he had the rare the grave of the brave, the gentle, the good fortune to be the means of res- faithful Christian soldier. cuing from almost hopeless slavery in Khiva 416 subjects of the Emperor of Russia; and, but two years later, greatly contributed to the happy re- | NOTES OF A WEEK'S HOLI covery of our own prisoners from a
DAY. similar fate in Cabul. Throughout his career this officer was ever ready
Most of us tell old stories in ou. and zealous for the public service, and families. The wife and children laugh freely risked life and liberty in the * W. R. obiit March 22, 1862.
for the hundredth time at the joke. his damper over our hilarity.” The old servants (though old servants I lay down the pen, and think,
Are are fewer every day) nod and smile a there any old stories which I still tell recognition at the well-known anec- myself in the bosom of my family? dote. “Don't tell that story of Have I any "Grouse in my gunGrouse in the gun-room,” says Dig- room' ?." If there are such, it is gory_to Mr. Hardcastle in the play, because my memory fails, not because
or I must laugh.” As we twaddle, I want applause, and wantonly repeat and grow old and forgetful, we may myself. You see, men with the sotell an old story; or, out of mere called fund of anecdote will not rebenevolence, and a wish to amuse a peat the same story to the same indifriend when conversation is flagging, vidual; but they do think that, on disinter a Joe Miller now and then; a new party, the repetition of a joke but the practice is not quite honest, ever so old may be honorably tried. and entails a certain necessity of hy- I meet men walking the London pocrisy on story hearers and tellers. street, bearing the best reputation, It is a sad thing to think that a man men of anecdotal powers :- I know with what you call a fund of anecdote such, who very likely will read this. is a humbug, more or less amiable and say, “Hang the fellow, he means and pleasant. What right have I to me !" And so I do. Notell my "Grouse in the gun-room ought to tell an anecdote more than over and over in the presence of my thrice, let us say, unless he is sure he wife, mother, mother-in-law, sons, is speaking only to give pleasure to daughters, old footman or parlor his hearers - unless he feels that it is maid, confidential clerk, curate, or not a mere desire for praise which what not? I smirk and go through makes him open his jaws. the history, giving my admirable imi And is it not with writers as with tations of the characters introduced : raconteurs ? Ought they not to have I mimic Jones's grin, Hobbs's squint, their ingenuous modesty ? May auBrown's stammer, Grady's brogue, thors tell old stories, and how many Sandy's Scotch accent, to the best of times over? When I come to look my power: and the family part of at a place which I have visited any my audience laughs good-humoredly. time these twenty or thirty years, I Perhaps the stranger, for whose recall not the place merely, but the amusement the performance is given, sensations I had at first seeing it, and is amused by it, and laughs too. But which are quite different to my feelthis practice continued is not moral. ings to-day. That first day at Calais ; This self-indulgence on your part, the voices of the women crying out at my dear Paterfamilias, is weak, vain night, as the vessel came alongside the
- not to say culpable. I can imagine pier: the supper at Quillacq and many a worthy man, who begins un- the flavor of the cutlets and wine; guardedly to read this page, and the red-calico canopy under which I comes to the present sentence, lying slept: the tiled floor, and the fresh back in his chair, thinking of that smell of the sheets; the wonderful story which he has told innocently postilion in his jack-boots and pigfor fifty years, and rather piteously tail ; --- all return with perfect clearowning to himself, “Well, well, it is ness to my mind, and I am seeing wrong; I have no right to call on my them and not the objects which are poor wife to laugh, my daughters to actually under my eyes. Here is affect to he amused, by that old, old Calais. Yonder is that commissioner jest of mine. And they would have I have known this score of years. gone on laughing, and they would Here are the women screaming and have preter der to be amused, to their bustling over the baggage; the peodying day, if this man had not flung | ple at the passport-barrier who take
your papers. My good people, I been pulled down ever so long. They hardly see you. You no more inter- knocked down the poor old Virginia est me than a dozen orange-women in Coffee-house last year. My spirit goes Covent Garden, or a shop book-keeper and dines there. My body, perhaps, in Oxford Street. But you make me is seated with ever so many people in think of a time when you were indeed a railway-carriage, and no wonder my wonderful to behold when the little companions find me dull and silent. French soldiers wore white cockades Have you read Mr. Dale Owen's in their shakos - when the diligence "Footfalls on the Boundary of Anwas forty hours going to Paris; and other World”!-(My dear sir, it will the great-booted postilion, as sur- make your hair stand quite refreshingveyed by youthful eyes from the cou- ly on end). In that work you will pé, with his jurons, his ends of 'rope read that when gentlemen's or ladies' for the harness, and his clubbed pig- spirits travel off a few score or thoutail, was a wonderful being, and sand miles to visit a friend, their productive of endless amusement. bodies lie quiet and in a torpid state You young folks don't remember the in their beds or in their arm-chairs at apple-girls who used to follow the home. So in this way, I am absent. diligence up the hill beyond Boulogne, My soul whisks away thirty years and the delights of the jolly road? back into the past. I am looking out In making continental journeys with anxiously for a beard. I am getting young folks, an oldster may be very past the age of loving Byron's poems, quiet, and, to outward appearance, and pretend that I like Wordsworth melancholy; but really he has gone and Shelley much better. Nothing I back to the days of his youth, and eat or drink (in reason) disagrees he is seventeen or eighteen years with me; and I know whom I think of age (as the case may be), and is to be the most lovely creature in the amusing himself with all his might. world. Ah, dear maid (of that reHe is noting the horses as they come mote but well-remembered period), squealing out of the post-house yard are you a wife or widow now? - are at midnight; he is enjoying the deli- you dead ? - are you thin and withcious meals at Beauvais and Amiens, ered and old ?. - or are you grown and quaffing ad libitum the rich table- much stouter, with a false front ? d'hôte wine; he is hail-fellow with and so forth. the conductor, and alive to all the in O Eliza, Eliza! - Stay, was she cidents of the road. A man can be Eliza? Well, I protest I have foralive in 1860 and 1830 at the same gotten what your Christian name time, don't you see? Bodily, I may was. You know I only met you for be in 1860, inert, silent, torpid; but two days, but your sweet face is bein the spirit I am walking about in fore me now, and the roses blooming 1828, let us say; - in a blue dress on it are as fresh as in that time of coat and brass buttons, a sweet figured May. Ah, dear Miss X—, my timid silk waistcoat (which I button round youth and ingenuous modesty would a slim waist with perfect ease), look- never have allowed me, even in my ing at beautiful beings with gigot private thoughts, to address you othersleeves and tea-tray hats under the wise than by your paternal name, but golden chestnuts of the Tuileries, or that (though I conceal it) I remember round the Place Vendôme, where the perfectly well, and that your dear and drapeau blanc is floating from the respected father was a brewer. statueless column. Shall we go and dine at “ Bombarda's," near the CARILLON. - I was awakened this “ Hôtel Breteuil,” or at the “Café morning with the chime which AntVirginie ?” – Away ! “ Bombar-werp cathedral clock plays at halfda's" and the “ Hôtel Breteuil” have hours. The tune has been haunting
me ever since, as tunes will. You | Ursula's at Brussels, and toss a recdress, eat, drink, walk, and talk to ognition to that one at the town-hall yourself to their tune: their inaudible of Oudenarde, and remember how jingle accompanies you all day: you after a great struggle there a hundred read the sentences of the paper to and fifty years ago the whole plain their rhythm. I tried uncoothly to was covered with the flying French imitate the tune to the ladies of the cavalry – Burgundy, and Berri, and family at breakfast, and they say it the Chevalier of St. George flying like is “the shadow dance of Dinorah.” the rest. “What is your clamor It may be so. I dimly remember about Oudenarde ?” says another that my body was once present dur- bell (Bob Major this one must be). ing the performance of that opera, Be still, thou querulous old clapper ! whilst my eyes were closed, and my I can see over to Hougoumont and intellectual faculties dormant at the St. John. And about forty-five years back of the box; howbeit, I have since, I rang all through one Sunday learned that shadow dance from hear- in June, when there was such a battle ing it pealing up ever so high in the going on in the corn-fields there, as air, at night, morn, noon.
none of you others ever heard tolled How pleasant to lie awake and of. Yes, from morning service until listen to the cheery peal! whilst the after vespers, the French and English old city is asleep at midnight, or were all at it, ding-dong.” And then waking up rosy at sunrise, or basking calls of business intervening, the bells in noon, or swept by the scudding rain have to give up their private jangle, which drives in gusts over the broad resume their professional duty, and places, and the great shining river ; | sing their hourly chorus out of or sparkling in snow which dresses up Dinorah, a hundred thousand masts,, peaks, What a prodigious distance those and towers; or wrapped round with bells can be heard ! I was awakened thunder-cloud canopies, before which this morning to their tune, I say. I the white gables shine whiter; day have been hearing it constantly ever and night the kind little carillon since. And this house whence I plays its fantastic melodies overhead. write, Murray says, is two hundred The bells go on ringing. Quot vivos and ten miles from Antwerp. And vocant, mortuos plangunt, fulgura fran- it is a week off; and there is the bell gunt ; so on to the past and future still jangling its shadow dance out of tenses, and for how many nights, Dinorah. An audible shadow you days, and years! Whilst the French understand, and an invisible sound, were pitching their fulgura into but quite distinct; and a plague take Chassé's citadel, the bells went on the tune! ringing quite cheerfully. Whilst the scaffolds were up and guarded by UNDER THE BELLS. - Who has Alva's soldiery, and regiments of not seen the church under the bells ? penitents, blue, black, and gray, Those lofty aisles, those twilight chapoured out of churches and convents, pels, that cumbersome pulpit with its droning their dirges, and marching to huge carvings, that wide gray pavethe place of the Hôtel de Ville, where ment flecked with various light from hereties and rebels were to meet their the jewelled windows, those famous doom, the bells up yonder were pictures between the voluminous colchanting at their appointed half umns over the altars, which twinkle hours and quarters, and rang the with their ornaments, their votive mauvais quart d'heure for many a poor little silver hearts, legs, limbs, their soul. This bell can see as far away little guttering tapers, cups of sham as the towers and dykes of Rotterdam. roses, and what not? I saw two regiThat one can call a greeting to St. I ments of little seholars creeping in and