Chapter 2

Our precarious means were too small to permit us to rent a house, we therefore rented one large room, which served us for--

"Parlor and kitchen and all!"

in the uppermost story of a house, containing about a dozen families.

This 'airy' apartment was situated in a narrow alley of great thoroughfare, in the heart of the great metropolis.

The lower part of this domicile was occupied by one James, who did 'porter's work,' while his wife superintended the trade of a miscellaneous store, called a green-grocer's; although the stock comprised, besides a respectable skew of cabbages, carrots, lettuces, and other things in season, a barrel of small beer, a side of bacon, a few red herrings, a black looking can of 'new milk,' and those less perishable articles, Warren's blacking, and Flanders' bricks; while the window was graced with a few samples of common confectionary, celebrated under the sweet names of lollypops, Buonaparte's ribs, and bulls'-eyes.

In one pane, by permission, was placed the sign board of my honored parent, informing the reading public, that

'Repairs were neatly executed!'

In my mind's eye how distinctly do I behold that humble shop in all the greenness and beauty of its Saturday morning's display.

Nor can I ever forget the kind dumpy motherly Mrs. James, who so often patted my curly head, and presented me with a welcome slice of bread and butter and a drink of milk, invariably repeating in her homely phrase, "a child and a chicken is al'ays a pickin'"--and declaring her belief, that the 'brat' got scarcely enough to "keep life and soul together"--the real truth of which my craving stomach inwardly testified.

Talk of the charities of the wealthy, they are as 'airy nothings' in the scale, compared with the unostentatious sympathy of the poor! The former only give a portion of their excess, while the latter willingly divide their humble crust with a fellow sufferer.

The agreeable routine of breakfast, dinner, tea, and supper, was unknown in our frugal establishment; if we obtained one good meal a day, under any name, we were truly thankful.

To give some idea of our straitened circumstances, I must relate one solitary instance of display on the maternal side. It was on a Saturday night, the air and our appetites were equally keen, when my sire, having unexpectedly touched a small sum, brought home a couple of pound of real Epping. A scream of delight welcomed the savory morsel.

A fire was kindled, and the meat was presently hissing in the borrowed frying-pan of our landlady.

I was already in bed, when the unusual sound and savor awoke me. I rolled out in a twinkling, and squatting on the floor, watched the culinary operations with greedy eyes.

"Tom," said my mother, addressing her spouse, "set open the door and vinder, and let the neighbors smell ve has something respectable for once."

CHAPTER. III.--On Temperance.

"I wou'dn't like to shoot her exactly; but I've a blessed mind to turn her out!"

Armed with the authority and example of loyalty, for even that renowned monarch--Old King Cole--was diurnally want to call for

"His pipe and his glass"

and induced by the poetical strains of many a bard, from the classic Anacreon to those of more modern times, who have celebrated the virtue of

"Wine, mighty wine!"

it is not to be marvelled at, that men's minds have fallen victims to the fascinations of the juice of the purple grape, or yielded to the alluring temptations of the 'evil spirit.'

It is a lamentable truth, that notwithstanding the laudable and wholesome exertions and admonitions of the Temperance and Tee-total Societies, that the people of the United Kingdom are grievously addicted to an excessive imbibation of spirituous liquors, cordials, and compounds.

Although six-bottle men are now regarded as monstrosities, and drinking parties are nearly exploded, tippling and dram-drinking among the lower orders are perhaps more indulged in than ever.

The gilded and gorgeous temples--devoted to the worship of the reeling-goddess GENEVA--blaze forth in every quarter of the vast metropolis.

Is it matter of wonder, then, that while men of superior intellect and education are still weak enough to seek excitement in vinous potations, that the vulgar, poor, and destitute, should endeavour to drown their sorrows by swallowing the liquid fires displayed under various names, by the wily priests of Silenus!

That such a deduction is illogical we are well aware, but great examples are plausible excuses to little minds.

Both my parents were naturally inclined to sobriety; but, unfortunately, and as it too frequently happens, in low and crowded neighbourhoods, drunkenness is as contagious as the small-pox, or any other destructive malady.

Now, it chanced that in the first-floor of the house in which we dwelt, there also resided one Stubbs and his wife. They had neither chick nor child. Stubbs was a tailor by trade, and being a first-rate workman, earned weekly a considerable sum; but, like too many of his fraternity, he was seldom sober from Saturday night until Wednesday morning. His loving spouse 'rowed in the same boat'--and the 'little green-bottle' was dispatched several times during the days of their Saturnalia, to be replenished at the never-failing fountain of the 'Shepherd and Flock.'

Unhappily, in one of her maudlin fits, Mrs. Stubbs took a particular fancy to my mother; and one day, in the absence of the 'ninth,' beckoned my unsuspecting parent into her sittingroom,--and after gratuitously imparting to her the hum-drum history of her domestic squabbles, invited her to take a 'drop o' summat'--to keep up her I sperrits.'

Alas! this was the first step--and she went on, and on, and on, until that which at first she loathed became no longer disagreeable, and by degrees grew into a craving that was irresistible;--and, at last, she regularly hob-and-nobb'd' with the disconsolate rib of Stubbs, and shared alike in all her troubles and her liquor.

Fain would I draw a veil over this frailty of my unfortunate parent; but, being conscious that veracity is the very soul and essence of history, I feel myself imperatively called upon neither to disguise nor to cancel the truth.

My father remonstrated in vain-the passion had already taken too deep a hold; and one day he was suddenly summoned from his work with the startling information, that 'Mother Mullins'--(so the kind neighbour phrased it) was sitting on the step of a public house, in the suburbs, completely 'tosticated.'

He rushed out, and found the tale too true. A bricklayer in the neighbourhood proposed the loan of his barrow, for the poor senseless creature could not walk a step. Placing her in the one-wheel-carriage, he made the best of his way home, amid the jeers of the multitude. Moorfields was then only partially covered with houses; and as he passed a deep hollow, on the side of which was placed a notice, intimating that

"RUBBISH MAY BE SHOT HERE!"

his eyes caught the words, and in the bitterness of his heart he exclaimed--

"I wou'dn't like to shoot her exactly; but I've a blessed mind to turn her out!"