have experienced to the full the truth of the saying that "Man thinks himself wise at twenty, and begins to find himself a fool at forty;" for at fifty I find I have more to learn than I can ever acquire. But "Up in the morning early" is my new title, and well would it have been with me, perhaps, had I always acted up to my motto. The remembrances of different occasions when I did thus are often pleasant, and sure I am that many of my friends who have consistently carried it out are much wiser and better men than I am. There is much to be said in excuse of the Cockney for his late morning rising, which cannot avail to the country resident. His business hours are frequently very late, and his amusements only commence when his rural friends are about to retire to roost. If he be a play-goer he does not quit the theatre until eleven, and by the time he has snatched a morsel of supper the midnight hour has arrived. If he attends an evening party, the small hours find him engaged in his devoirs to the ladies; or should he be a club-man, short whist seduces him to the same laxity of principle. I say nothing here of the bon vivant, or the drunkard, with his aching head and parched tongue, his feverish prostration and following imbecility for these I offer no excuse. The man who abuses does not enjoy his privileges, for there can be no enjoyment in pursuits which we are conscious must terminate in remorse. There may be a reckless disregard to consequences which seeks to drown the future in the present; but for its owner I offer no palliation. The midnight student may claim the privileges of a late getting up, but one of the most celebrated bibliologists of the day assured me that all his best works were constructed between the hours of four and eight in the morning. He told me that whatever time he went to bed he invariably rose at the former hour, unless prevented by sickness; and many times at his own house has he stolen away from the company at eleven that he might make sure of his five hours' sleep. So used were his acquaintances to this, that we never thought of breaking up any party on account of his absence. It was one particular night at my own house that he first informed me of this habit, when I apologized to himself and some other guests for retiring for a short time to put up some necessaries for the following day's business. After they had arrived I received a letter by the post, making appointments for me at Barnet and Hadham on the following day. Thirty years since there was no early train by the Great Northern which would set me down at the former town in time for breakfast, and my only chance was to catch one of the early long stages at the Angel at Islington. It was a cold bleak morning, that which found me in-waiting for the stage. Not a star to be seen on the November morning which roused me from my bed; but the atmosphere was almost of pitchy darkness. A cup of coffee with a dash of brandy nerved me for my work, although it was not without many sighs of regret that I left my warm nest and my bedfellow behind me. The old jarvey into which I tumbled seemed like an ice-well, and gave me the cold shivers through all the wrappings with which I was enclosed. The mile I traversed in it appeared a dozen, and thankful was I indeed when it drew up to the tavern door. Fearful of losing my conveyance, I had taken Old Time by the forelock, and had to wait a full quarter-of-an-hour before the coach made its appearance. Pacing up and down the street, I contrived to warm myself, and in dulged in the hope of a comfortable nap for the following hour's ride. By this time a few stars broke through the clouds, and 1 trusted that a bright day might be granted after the darkness. When the coach arrived I was grievously disappointed at finding there were already four insides, and no room for myself. Another stage was to follow; but on inquiring at the office I was assured that was already booked " Full inside," and therefore nothing was to be gained by further delay. I therefore mounted alongside the guard, and, having borrowed a rug for my feet, lighted a cigar, and hoped I knew the worst. The stars showed thicker, and the cold became more intense during the few minutes we galloped down the Liverpool-road; but no sooner did we make the turning into Holloway than down came a shower of sleet and snow, which penetrated every available opening of our coverings, and at last succeeded in saturating our over cloths and making us supremely wretched. Thinking I should be secure of an inside place I was prepared accordingly, and was one of the victims to the changes of the weather. Thr first hour of my day's journey was therefore not very likely to encourage me in early rising, and many times before we reached Barnet did I wish myself snug again in bed. On arriving at my brother-in-law's, where I was to breakfast, I found that in consequence of the report as to the state of the weather he had given up any expectation of seeing me that day, and none of the family were in the way to welcome me. Rousing up a servant I obtained admittance, and finding there was no fire I went up to a bed-room, and stripping myself plunged beneath the blankets, after I had swallowed down a tumbler of cold-water. My trousers and coat were dried at the kitchen fire, whilst I obtained another hour's sleep, as my brother put off his breakfast until nine o'clock. At that hour I met the family at their morning meal, and did ample justice to a fine cold ham and a hot sausage. We found we had three hours before us to do the twenty miles across country, and the day having cleared up, we determined on entering our appearance at the sale to which we had been summoned. Accordingly a pair of horses were ordered out, and we packed ourselves inside a postchaise en route to IIadham. Thus My over-coat not being thoroughly dried, I borrowed one of those old blanket-coats then in vogue, and familiarly termed "Wrap-rascals," which was better adapted to the temperature than was my own. accoutred and ensconced we did our twenty miles in comfort, and found ourselves in time to keep the appointment. As far as the results of the day concerned myself, I believe it would have been better had I lain in bed that morning, as the bad lot I purchased I retained, and all the bargains were claimed by a relative, who persuaded me that I was buying them in for her. Certainly our presence tended to prevent the brokers running away with the property, and the assets realized considerably more than was expected. Another early rising I well remember, and this was also followed by a ride across the country, but in a different direction. When I resided at Barnet a friend from London had made an appointment to visit the stables of a well-known dealer some thirty miles from town. He came down the preceding night, and whilst we were partners in a rubber he proposed I should go with him and take a couple of spaniels that we might have an hour's shooting besides. We went early in the morning, and breakfasted at St. Alban's whilst our horses rested, and then drove down to —, which we reached about ten o'clock. The horses were duly paraded, and my friend and his brother made their purchases over a fine cold salt rump of beef and a tankard of old ale. Another visit to the stables, and a return to the parlour, and two more horses were added to the string for London. The dealer's nephew brought out a brace of pointers, and (with my dogs in the leash) we beat the stubbles and bagged three or four brace of birds and a hare. The pointers being called to heel, the spaniels were let loose, and we worked the hedge-rows back. We flushed a woodcock out of a small spinney, which I fired at and missed, and only succeeded in adding three couples of rabbits to our bag. We were, however, satisfied with our work, as December was well over, and the game rather thin in that locality. This indeed was not to be wondered at, if the worthy dealer tempted his customers as he had done us, though doubtless he found his profit in so doing. He always boasted that he had some salt beef and a ham for his friends, and a good horse in his stable for his customers. I believe that on this occasion I succeeded in putting an end in his stables to that detestable custom of gingering horses for sale. Talking over other matters on the return home, I asked him what possible good the practice effected. He said the customers could sce their mettle; but I said he had better call it by the name of "agony." I also added, "Do you think any of your customers are deceived by it?" If you were putting off a screw on a yokel I could understand your attempt to make one pain counterbalance another, and thus perhaps turn a limping pace into a full trot or gallop, from the desire to get away from its torment. If I had a horse thus treated when it was brought out for inspection, I should immediately pass it by, from the certainty that the man who would not hesitate thus to torture an animal would not refrain from deceiving me, if it answered his purpose." He appeared convinced by my arguments, and I hope discontinued the practice. Up in the morning early then, when business or pleasure can be .advanced thereby. Although I plead guilty to a love of ease, I can invariably shake off dull sloth when anything is to be gained by so doing. I have risen at five o'clock to finish a case in time for a meeting, or to be in time for a meet with the hounds. I have been found at that hour in my closet or at my desk, but it has always been when I thought I could see either pleasure or profit at the end of it. Our modern hours are still late, although not equally so to those of a few years back; and I suppose we shall not readily return to those good old times, of which the author thus wrote: "Lever à cinq, dîner à neuf; Souper a cinq, coucher à neuf; LITERATURE. "CAVENDISH ON WHIST." T. De la Rue and Co. Whist is now pretty well the only card-game Meltonians and other lovers of the chase indulge in. Just at this time the game is much played, not only on account of its intrinsic merits, but also because it is fashionable. The prince of Wales (himself a sportsman), we have been told, plays his rubber at Marlborough House and at Sandringham. This we can vouch for, that the Prince occasionally makes one in a rubber at White's, of which club he is a member. The club laws are dedicated to H.R.H.; and these laws-now the recognized authorityare given in "J. C.'s" work and in "Cavendish's" last (eighth) edition, by special permission. The new edition of "Cavendish,' which has appeared in the nick of time for the Christmas season, is a little gem. It is got up by De la Rue and Co. with all the attention to perfect finish for which De la Rue's house is so well known. It is printed in very clear type, with very black ink, on very glossy ivory paper; the hands are now, for the first time, illustrated by means of diagramcards-in short, no expense has been spared to render this bijou volumette a peerless handbook. The excellence of the matter is so well known that we shall not stop to dilate on it; but we may observe that, on comparing this with former editions, it strikes us the author has been at much pains with his portion of the task. The amount of revision, rewriting, and addition are so considerable as to constitute this edition substantially a new work. "SNOW." A Christmas Story: By "Lyulph." Ward, Lock, and Tyler. It is not often that one rises from reading a book with a feeling of sincere gratitute to the author; yet we venture to say that no one will peruse the work under notice without being strongly impressed with the most lively satisfaction. Many will recognize in this story a writer who has on more than one occasion found the highest favour with the public; but never has he written more freshly, more charmingly, than in the pages of this truly interesting Christmas tale, in which the artistic touches are worthy the pens of "Boz" and Thackeray. In structure and execution it leaves nothing to be desired, whilst the rapid flow of incident, the photographic pictures of life, the absorbing interest, the lively, agreeable style, and the admirable delineation of character which mark every line will give pleasure to the most critical reader. As a New Year's present, a copy of "Snow" will be most acceptable; it is neatly got up, and contains, for the small sum of 6d., more amusement and instruction than is to be found in many works published at a guinea and a guinea-and-a-half. "Lyulph" made a great sensation last year when he wrote "A Girl's Reply at a Railway Junction," and "Snow" will add rather than detract from his wellearned repuatation. THE ARTS. THE PRESENTATION PORTRAIT OF ADMIRAL THE HONOURABLE H. J. ROUS. Mr. Green, the well known print-publisher, of Union Grove, Clapham, has just brought out his engraving of the Admiral after the portrait by Weigall. The painting itself would be familiar to many from the place it occupied the year before last in the Exhibition of the Royal Academy. It is a full length, catching the great original in an interior, but arraying the figure in a kind of riding costume, such as a velveteen jacket and Hessian boots pulled over the trowsers. The likeness is really good, and the general notion of the man very faithfully conveyed, although the expression is somewhat mild. The print being published by subscription has enabled Mr. Green to turn it out in the very best style, as it is in every way one of the finest specimens of engraving of the year, or of many years past. The craft, that is the 'gravers themselves, speak of the plate as something especially successful, whilst it may be as well to correct here an impression which has got abroad as to Mr. Green having been engaged upon it. Every credit is due to that gentleman for the spirit with which he has embarked upon the business, but the engraver is Mr. Faed, a brother of the celebrated artist of that name. |
