Liverpool a few years since Part 3

All honour and respect and peace to his memory! But we must go on, although you may say-

"What! will the line stretch out to the crack of doom?

Another yet?"

Yes; and one very different from our last-mentioned hero. The next figure upon our canvas was also a character in his way. Look at his bluff, resolute, determined countenance. It is Captain Crowe, as brave a sailor and as odd and eccentric a man as ever walked a quarter-deck.

Once, in the good ship _Mary_, he fell in with two English sloops of war, somewhere in the middle pa.s.sage, which Liverpool ships were engaged upon in those times. They took his trim-looking vessel for a French cruiser, and he took them for a couple of the same craft. It was, however, nothing to old Crowe that they were two to one. He was like the stout-hearted ancient, who said that he would count his enemies when he had beaten them. Night was coming on, and they could not distinguish each other's flags. To it they went, and kept at it hammer and tongs until morning showed them the English colours floating on all their masts. The cruisers had, in the dark, made several efforts to board him, and had been repulsed with terrible loss. The firing of course ceased as soon as the light showed them their mistake, and the senior commander of the man-of-war sent an officer on board, with a sulky civil message, to know if they could do anything for him in the way of helping him to repair damages. "I want nothing," said the old Turk, with a grim smile, which meant that he had given as much as he had taken in the action; "I want nothing, but a certificate to my owner that I have done my duty."

And who next? That is Taylor the brewer. And there is another of the same trade, jolly old Ackers, great in malt and hops, greater in politics, and greatest of all in the actual bustle and conflict of an election. And there is his friend with him, old Hesketh, the famous tailor, of Paradise-street. Instead of being the ninth part of a man, Hesketh was nine men all in one, the picture of a true Englishman, the very portrait of John Bull himself, a regular old Tory, for men, out of his trade, more than measures, and with such a good-tempered countenance, that it drew customers, better than a thousand advertis.e.m.e.nts, to his shop.

And there was another character who must not be excluded from the "curiosity shop" of our reminiscences. Every old stager must recollect Peter Tyrer, the coach-builder, and keeper of hackney coaches. A very primitive-looking man was old Peter, but as full of eccentricity and solemn jocularity as an egg is full of meat. Peter's jests were always uttered with a serious tone, and spoken out of his nose more than through his lips, so that we laughed at the tw.a.n.g when there was nothing else to laugh at. There was occasionally some originality in his humour; but he had one standing joke, a very grave one, which has now pa.s.sed into a regular Joe Miller with the men of his craft. Whenever any one came to order the funeral cavalcade which he had to let out, he invariably pointed to the plumed hea.r.s.e, of which he was very proud, and observed, "That is the very thing for you, for of all that have travelled by it none have ever been heard to complain that they had not an easy and pleasant journey by it." Poor Peter! And when thy turn came, we trust that thy journey, both to the grave and through it, was an easy one! Nor do we doubt it. With all his whims and oddities, Peter was a good man, no idle professor, but a zealous, practical Christian. We could do with more like him.

CHAPTER XIII.

Among the great West Indian merchants of the days we are writing of, we must not forget to place the James and France families. The representative of the latter resides at Bostock Hall, not far from Northwich, in Cheshire. The present Mr. James sat for some years in the House of Commons, and gave evidence of talent far beyond mediocrity.

There was also a spice of originality about him which commanded attention whenever he spoke. It was but seldom, however, that he opened his lips.

Senatorial honours, we presume, had no attractions for him. We so conclude from his voluntary and premature retreat from their pursuit, much to the regret of all his friends. There was another Mr. James in Liverpool in those days, rather a rough-spun and unhewn kind of person, and very eccentric and amusing in his way, a character, in short, amongst his own circle. Many of our old readers must remember Gabriel James, or, "the Angel Gabriel," as some of his waggish friends called him. He had a ready tongue and plenty of mother wit, and seldom came off second best in a tilt and tournament with words. Nor must we omit to mention old Mr.

Waterhouse, of Everton, a grave and venerable-looking man, whom we always regarded with awe and reverence. There was Mr. Neilson, too, whose sons still uphold the family name amongst us with so much credit and respectability. And there was the lively, gay, agreeable "Jack Backhouse," who lived in Smithdown-lane; and Mr. Backhouse of Everton, and another family of the same name at Wavertree; and the Colquitts, and the Dawsons of Mossley-hill. And the gay parties in those times used frequently to be enlivened by Lord Henry Murray, who was often a visitor with the Neilsons and Backhouses.

And we had also our circle of wits, whose sharp sayings were pa.s.sed round, as household words, from mouth to mouth, and so afforded pleasure and amus.e.m.e.nt, as they spread from set to set, from one extremity of society to the other. First and foremost in this bright and brilliant band, we must place Mr. Silvester Richmond, or "Sil Richmond," as he was generally called. Next to him was Joe Daltera. And with them we must join Sam Pole, and "Jim Gregson," who lived in Rodney-street, a man of racy humour, with a fund of originality about him which revelled in the utterance of good things. And here be it observed, that, as Liverpool is still called the town of "d.i.c.ky Sams," so, in those ancient days, its people were all Sils, and Joes, and Sams, and Jims. It was the custom of the place, and equally observable in every rank of society. But, for a time, let us speak of our prince of wits, Sil Richmond, who was one of the most sparkling, agreeable men ever met with in company. Amongst his own set no party was ever thought to be complete without him. He held the post of a searcher in the Customs, and many were the amusing stories, coined, perhaps, to raise a laugh at his expense, of the "diamond cut diamond" warfare carried on between him and persons striving to break the Revenue laws, of which he was a most vigilant guardian. His powers of conversation were immense, and never flagged. He was always the rocket, never the stick; and he was as potent with the pen as he was brilliant with the tongue. We may call him the poet laureate of the Tories, with whom he warmly sided. The encounters, therefore, between him and Dr.

Shepherd, who was ever the princ.i.p.al scribe for the liberal party, were frequent, fierce, and savage. His weapons were not quite so keen and polished as the doctor's, but they would do a great deal of mangling work, and, like Antaeus springing from his mother earth, if foiled and thrown in one round, he was always ready for another. No amount of punishment could dishearten him, and he was always in wind, and, what is more, kept his temper unruffled in the thickest of the fray. He was the author of all the election squibs in his day. Out they poured, grave and gay, in prose and verse, and he seemed never to be exhausted. We doubt not that some of our old stagers yet retain many of them among their treasures and curiosities. One line in one of his songs is still as fresh upon our mind as if we had heard it but yesterday for the first time. Mr. Fogg, a butcher, was one of the most zealous and active canva.s.sers in the reform ranks at some election. Richmond instantly had his eye upon him, and, bringing intellect as well as ink to the work, thus impaled him on the point of his wit as he spoke of him as

"A FOGG that could never be MIST."

This, of course, told better in the midst of political excitement; but still, at all times, we must admire it as a specimen of our friend's ready wit. We used often to look up at him in boyish wonder and admiration, as he cracked his jokes, and his filberts, and his bottle all at the same time. And one thing particularly struck us. He never led the laugh at his own jests, but looked as grave as a judge, and far more knowing, through his spectacles, while "setting the table in a roar." O, for another Hamlet! to say for us, "Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him well, Horatio; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy," etc. Of Mr. Richmond's family, one went into the navy, and another into the army.

They were both fine young fellows. The soldier, called after his father, distinguished himself and was wounded in the last, we hope that it will always be the last, American war.

But we spoke of Mr., _alias_ "Joe," Daltera just now, as one of the circle of wits in the former days which are slipping from our memory. He was a regular character in his day and in his way. He was brought up to be a solicitor, and at one time was in partnership with the late Mr.

Topham. He had abilities to have raised himself to the greatest eminence in his profession, but he wanted business habits. He had no application, no attention, no steadiness of purpose. In short, he was of a jovial, convivial turn of mind, full of fun and frolic and glee, was fond of company, and greatly preferred shining in society to poring over parchments. He was a terrible sitter at a party. He never sung, "We'll not go home till morning," but practically it was impossible to get rid of him until long after the short hours had set in; and, in truth, he was such a pleasant companion, so overflowing with sparkling conversation, "full of mirth and full of glee," as we said before, that no one ever made the attempt. Steady old fellows at whose houses he used to visit would say, before he arrived, "We will be rude to that Daltera to-night, and give him a hint that shall send him home in decent time." But when the appointed hour had struck, and long after, these same steady old boys, fascinated by Joe's wonderful powers of jest and anecdote, were the loudest in pressing him to keep his seat, a pressure which he never resisted. He thought, with Dibdin's famous song, that there was "nothing like grog," or, as he and his familiars called it, "rosin." Often, when you thought that at last he was really going, he would suddenly exclaim, instead of "one gla.s.s more," "Now, lads, rosin again, and then we'll positively go." He could not use his pen like Richmond, but he was quite his match in wit and repartee. Countless were the stories told of his sayings and doings. Once the watchman found him in the street quite unequal to steer his course home. This friend in need wished to place him in a wheelbarrow, and to carry him to his house in this kind of triumphal car, when Daltera, steadying himself for a moment, and throwing himself into a theatrical att.i.tude, astonished "poor old Charley" as he addressed him, _a la_ John Kemble, whom he had seen performing the character that night, "Villain, stand back; the G.o.ds take care of Cato!"

We ourselves remember crossing the river with him, in one of the old-fashioned ferry-boats, before the invention of steamers. There was a stiff breeze, next door to a gale of wind, blowing, and we were in momentary peril from the rash attempt of the boatmen to head a ship at anchor. The sailors themselves were alarmed, while most of the pa.s.sengers were in an agony of terror. One poor market-woman, in the excess of her fright, threw herself upon her knees in the middle of the boat, and burst out into the exclamation, "Lord have mercy upon us!" when the inveterate punster, alluding to the name of the river, thus cried out to her, "No, no, my good woman; do not say, 'The Lord have _Mersey_ upon us' this time!" We were both vexed and shocked at the moment, as the jest out of season jarred upon our ears, while the crew and the pa.s.sengers looked inclined to _extemporise_ poor Joe into a Jonah at the instant. But we have often smiled at it since. Poor fellow, he could not help it. He could no more have kept it in than the effervescence will remain quiet in a ginger-beer bottle when the cork is drawn. It was the ruling pa.s.sion strong in death, or in the face of death. Like Sheridan, "he had it in him, and it would come out." On another occasion, it was said that, upon landing from the boat at Runcorn, or some village between here and Chester, he was seized upon by several persons, who supposed him, from his dress of sober black, to be some celebrated preacher whom they expected, and were on the look out for.

Joe, having made himself safe and certain on two points, namely, in the first place, that none of the villagers had ever seen the antic.i.p.ated star; and, secondly, that he could not possibly arrive that day by any conveyance, humoured the mistake, was carried in triumph to the chapel, preached the most brilliant sermon ever heard, and delighted and won the hearts of the elders, by whom he was entertained, withal taking care to disappear from the scene the next morning before the real Simon Pure arrived. We do not, recollect, vouch for the accuracy of all the details connected with this episode. We only relate it as we have heard it related by Daltera himself a hundred times. Poor Joe! He had many friends and only one enemy, and that was himself. He wasted talents, energy, wit, brilliancy, which would have made an intellectual capital for a hundred shining characters. But who is faultless? Let us look at the beam in our own eye.

CHAPTER XIV.

In our last chapter we mentioned the names of some of the wits and ill.u.s.trious in jest of whom Liverpool could boast a few years since. We now descend the scale, to speak of a cla.s.s whom we would mildly call "the practical jokers." The _Spectator_ makes glorious old Sir Roger de Coverley horribly afraid of the club of Mohocks who, many years since, pushed their horse-play in the metropolis into positive ruffianism, and perpetrated the most savage outrages under the name of fun and frolic.

But the sports of the Liverpool mischief-mongers at the commencement of the present century were of a much more harmless and innocent character.

One young gentleman, who subsequently flourished as a grave old stager amongst us, had a pa.s.sion for collecting, in a kind of museum, or "curiosity shop," all the signs and signboards which struck his fancy; and it was said that he had a large muster of black boys, carried off from the different tobacconists' shops in the town. And sometimes he varied the amus.e.m.e.nt in the following fashion:-In Pool-lane, now modernised into South Castle-street, was a famous ship-instrument maker's shop, in the front of which was elevated a wooden figure of a midshipman in full costume, at which we have often gazed with fond delight in ancient days, and which we are now convinced must have been the original of the one which d.i.c.kens, in Dombey, makes Captain Cuttle contemplate with so much pride and pleasure. Somewhere in the same locality was one of the tobacconists' shops of which we have spoken, with the then usual sign of a black boy over the door. Time after time would our funny and facetious friend subst.i.tute these signs one for the other, so that, when morning broke, the midshipman would shine forth in all his glory at the door of the snuff and tobacco store, while the black boy would be grinning in front of the ship-instrument maker's premises. At last the joke wore itself out. The perpetrator of it never was discovered. He preferred to play his "fantastic tricks" alone, and kept his own secret.

But there were also a.s.sociated bodies for the performance of the same kind of mad pranks. One set of them formed themselves into what they dignified with the name of "A Committee of Taste," although they and their friends called them, over their cups, "The Minions of the Moon."

Their object seemed to be to emulate and imitate the merry doings of Falstaff and his companions. They occasionally, however, pushed their jokes somewhat too far. There was a house in Daulby-street, then a sort of _rus in urbe_, or, rather, country altogether. It had a garden in front, and was ornamented with a verandah. This it appears did not please these fastidious gentlemen, and the owner was served with a notice, signed by "the Chairman of the Committee of Taste," directing him to alter or remove it by a certain day. To this command he paid no attention. Well, the day arrived;

"'The ides of March are come.'

'Ay, Caesar; but not gone.'"

The verandah was still there. But that very night, at a few minutes before twelve o'clock, a loud knock at the door called the owner of the house to the window which overlooked it. The moment he appeared, with his head and the nightcap upon it looming through the darkness, a cheer welcomed him from the opposite side of the street. Then came a pull, and smash, crash; the verandah, with all its trellis-work and ornaments, was gone. The rogues had sawed away the supports, made their ropes fast, and then, with wicked waggishness, summoned the gentleman of the house to witness the destruction of his offending property. We will chronicle another of the feats of the "Committee of Taste." At that period Mr.

Samuel Staniforth lived in the large house at the bottom of Ranelagh-street, afterwards converted into the famous Waterloo Hotel.

Something about it, either a shutter, or a knocker, or a bell-handle, we have forgotten which, was excommunicated by this tasteful inquisition, and ordered to be removed. Mr. Staniforth was about the last man in the world to obey such a lawless mandate, being one of that cla.s.s who, "if reasons were as plentiful as blackberries, would not give one on compulsion." He therefore treated the notice served on him with contempt. And now the battle began in good earnest.

"When Greek meets Greek, then comes the tug of war."

the thing denounced, whatever it was, was removed, then restored, and again removed, to be once more restored, and still in the original offending form, without an atom of alteration. And so the struggle went on, until Mr. Staniforth became highly exasperated, as well as extremely indignant at the persevering annoyance. Of this, the jokers, who met him with grave and sympathising faces every day in society, were fully aware, and only made thereby more resolute in their fun. In the extremity of his vexation he consulted George Rowe, the attorney, of whom we have made honourable mention in a former chapter. We speak from authority, for we had the story from Mr. Rowe himself, who used often to tell it with great glee. When the offended alderman had unbosomed all his griefs to the solicitor, and had urged him to exert all his vigilance to discover the offenders, and then to put in force all the terrors and pains and penalties of the law against them, the latter met the history of his sorrows with one of his good-natured and hearty laughs, to the great astonishment of his client, who certainly did not belong to the laughing portion of the creation. When he had settled himself into seriousness, he said, "Well, Mr. Staniforth, I suppose, after all, your object is to abate the nuisance, rather than trounce the sinners." Staniforth, however, was not so sure that he would not like to do both, and "kill two birds with one stone." But at last, after a long and serious confabulation, he was persuaded to leave the whole affair in the hands of the lawyer, who, indeed, would only undertake it on that condition. Now Mr. Rowe, although he had no guilty knowledge of the offenders, had a shrewd guess in his own mind, and, acting upon the impulse, wrote a note, desiring to have a conference with the chief captain of the knocker and bell banditti. They met, and on the next day glorious old George, sending for Mr. Staniforth, laid the result before him. The latter was exceedingly angry at first when he heard that the bold rogues, instead of being overwhelmed with sorrow and remorse, still took up very high ground, being determined to make him capitulate on the immediate point at issue, but with a promise on their part that he should never more be annoyed by them on any other. At first he would listen to no such terms, regarding any treaty with the parties as little better than compounding for a felony. Gradually, however, he yielded to the reasonings of his adviser, and the agreement, without being duly signed and sealed, was honourably carried out on both sides. "And to whom," we said to George Rowe, when sitting one day with him after dinner, with our legs under his mahogany, "to whom did you address your note when you wanted to have this celebrated interview with the Chairman of the Committee of Taste?'"

"Why, to Joe Daltera, to be sure," he answered, with a very thunder-clap of laughter, which almost made me tremble lest a blood vessel should burst or apoplexy ensue; "Why, to Joe Daltera, to be sure, who else could it be?"

But alas, alas! for the flight and power of time! Of the actors in this amusing scene, all have pa.s.sed from the arena of busy life. We marvel whether any of the aforesaid "Committee of Taste" yet survive, to sigh or to smile over the wild pranks of their youth! But how is it that such follies are only remembered, not perpetrated, now? As Mr. Pickwick observed, when prosecuted for a breach of promise, men are very much the victims and tools of circ.u.mstances. When we look at the cla.s.s to which the parties of whom we have been speaking belonged, we can find many reasons, without any boast of merit and improvement, which will explain why young gentlemen in these times should not roam through the streets by night, bent upon fun and mischief, for hours and hours. Forty or fifty years ago, men met together to dine about three o'clock. They had, consequently, not only a longer time to devote to the bottle, but also, when they broke up, excited by wine, some hours to get through as best they could, before they retired to bed. This would have a wonderful influence upon their conduct. Moreover we had only a few old watchmen in those days, who were as much alarmed at the approach of our "bucks," as the travellers by an Eastern caravan at the appearance of the wild Arabs of the desert. Again, the introduction of gas for lighting the streets, instead of the old oil lamps which, "few and far between," used to twinkle in the distance and just to "make darkness visible," had a wonderful influence upon the habits of our young men. Some great authority on such matters in the metropolis calculated that, for enforcing order, one gas-lamp was equal, at least, to three policemen.

There are many persons over whom the fear of being found out exerts a strong power. What they would do under the veil of darkness they strenuously avoid when its shelter is removed. The temptation may be strong, the will may be present, but the opportunity is wanting. These remarks, however, only apply to one cla.s.s of society. But, when we make our survey more general, we must also take into account the march of knowledge, the increase of mechanics' and literary inst.i.tutes, and the spread of cheap and useful books among the ma.s.ses. To the printing-press we doubtless owe much for our improved tastes and habits. Who, indeed, can calculate the might, the magnitude, and extent of its diversified influences and powers? It is our schoolmaster, our instructor, our guide, our guardian, our police, all in one. Praise and honour to those who wield the pen, so long as they use it for the benefit and advantage of their fellow-creatures. Ill-disposed persons may pervert it to be an instrument of evil. But who can tell the amount of its well-doing when directed to good? Truly did the wit observe, that the greatest stand ever yet made for the improvement and civilisation of mankind was the inkstand.

CHAPTER XV.

A little back from Water-street, between it and St. Nicholas's Church, stood an ancient Tower in those days. It was one of the remaining antiquities of Liverpool. It had originally belonged to the Lathoms of Lathom, and subsequently pa.s.sed, by the marriage of the heiress of that family, into the hands of the Stanleys, some generations before the elevation of that ill.u.s.trious house to the Derby t.i.tle. At a later period it had become an a.s.sembly-room, and, last of all, by one of those strange vicissitudes to which all earthly things are liable, was a prison for debtors. But at the time we speak of there it was, as if frowning in gloomy strength upon the encroachments which modern improvements and the spirit of enterprise were making on every side of it, a grim old giant, the type, and symbol, and representative of other times. As we contemplated its ma.s.sive walls or walked under its shadow, what reflections it was calculated to awaken within us. We were then too young for our mind to dwell very seriously or very long upon such topics, but we have often since thought within ourselves that, if stone walls had ears, and eyes, and tongues, what strange histories that old Tower could have told. It carried us back to what we call an age of romance, but what, in fact, was an age of stern and iron realities. What a.s.sociations and recollections did the very sight of it conjure up within us! The monument of many centuries of glory and crime! In its day, although now merely an object of curiosity and a prison for debtors, the palace and fortress of n.o.bles! In its day, perhaps, like other old castles within the land, the living grave, and the grave, when dead, of the guilty and innocent alike, of the ambitious and the victims of ambition, of heroes and saints, of martyrs and traitors, of princes and impostors, of patriots and conspirators! How often has the mailed chivalry of the middle ages rode forth through these gates in all its magnificence, pomp, and pride! How often has chained innocence been dragged through them to its dungeon's depths, and to the shambles to which, perchance, they were the pa.s.sage, feeling, as they turned upon their grating hinges and shut it from the world for ever, all the tremendous force of the "Hope no more!" which the Italian poet wrote over the entrance to his Infernal Regions! If, we repeat, its walls had tongues, what wonders could they tell, what secrets reveal, what mysteries unravel! What mighty or memorable names have resided, or been imprisoned and perished here! What strange things have been enacted within these gray old stones now crumbling into ruin, while the wronged and the wrongdoers have together pa.s.sed to judgment! But the period for indulging such contemplations has long since pa.s.sed away. The spirit of feudalism, after holding its ground for so many centuries, at last yielded to the genius of commerce, and the gloomy old Tower was sacrificed upon the altars of modern improvement. Carters and porters now shout and swear where stout old knights and ladies fair held high revelry; and sugar hogsheads, and rum puncheons, and cotton bales are now hoisted, and roll, and creak, and clash where prisoners once groaned and chains clanked. It is a new version of _arma cedunt togae_.

But we are becoming grave; we moralise; we preach; _Vive la bagatelle_.

Let us go back for a few moments to the subject of the last chapter, and speak a little more of those mischief-mongers who dignified themselves with the t.i.tle of "The Committee of Taste." We therein stated that Daltera was the understood or suspected head of the said Committee. On the same authority, neither better nor worse than the a.s.sertion of common report, it was whispered that, amongst its members, were some other dashing spirits of the day, to wit, Mr. William, _alias_ "Billy Graham,"

"Young Sutton," as Mr. William of that ilk was always called, "Bob Pickering," _c.u.m multis aliis_, the _multis aliis_ including some, we find, who are yet amongst us, and whom, therefore, we would not name for all the world, and so expose them to their children and grandchildren, who look up to them as models of gravity, propriety, and piety. One venerable gentleman, whom, from his confessions, we suspect to have been at least an honorary member, said to us only the other day,-and in such a free and easy and impenitent sort of way, that we verily believe that, with youth restored, and opportunity returned, and policemen and gas-lamps extinguished, he would soon be at his old pranks again,-"Daltera was always pre-eminent for good taste, and was, therefore, elected President of the Committee." Finding that our friend was inclined to be communicative, we pressed him for more of his reminiscences, when he added, "They were fine fellows, and woe unto anything that came under their waggish displeasure!" They carried on, he told us, a long war, a repet.i.tion of that which has been already described between them and Mr. Staniforth, with Mr. Parke, the celebrated surgeon, touching the shape of his knocker. Dr. Solomon, who then lived in the large house at the top of Low-hill, had his grounds studded over with statues, of which he was not a little proud. They were voted to be not cla.s.sical by the men of taste, and the decree went forth for their removal, and was carried out on the appointed night, when they were all taken from their pedestals, the "old charley" of the beat being either asleep, or feed or frightened into silence. And we must record another of their performances.

Our readers must recollect Mr. William Wallace Currie. He was not himself a man of jokes, and he was about the last man in the world to joke with. Well, he had an office for his business, upon the door of which was inscribed, in the usual way, "WILLIAM WALLACE CURRIE." One morning, upon his arrival, he was utterly horrified to find into what the men of taste had trans.m.u.ted or translated him. The introduction of a comma and the addition of a single letter astonished him with this new reading of his name and profession, "WILLIAM WALLACE, CURRIER." He joined in the laugh, and there was an end of it. Nor is this the only play upon Mr. Currie's name which we have to record. The late Egerton Smith, to whom be all honour and respect as the father of the Liberal press in this district, and for the honesty and independence and goodness of character which distinguished his long career, once made an admirable hit upon it, which, although it has been in print before, will bear repeating, and is worth preserving. When Mr. John Bourne, as worthy a man as ever lived, was Mayor under the old Corporation, Mr. Currie was one of his bailiffs; and Egerton, being asked on some occasion for a toast or sentiment, following the Lancashire p.r.o.nunciation of their names, electrified the company by proposing, "_Burn_ the Mayor, and _Curry_ the bailiff."

And now for one more witticism from Daltera, of whom we have already related so much. It was at the expense of the same Mr. Fogg, whose impalement by Richmond, in an electioneering song, we have immortalised in a former chapter. At a dinner given at Ormskirk by the mess of a regiment of volunteers, or local militia, in which Fogg was a subaltern, Daltera was among the guests. When the cloth was removed, Poor Joe, as was "his custom of an afternoon," became very lively and exhilarated, and, fancying that the other was somewhat dull, suddenly turned to him, and slapping him on the back, exclaimed, "Come, _Fogg_, _clear up_!"

amidst roars of laughter from the party. A veteran officer of the Guards, who happened to be one of the company, still tells this story with the greatest glee and pleasure, and looks back upon the day in question as one of the merriest and most amusing he ever spent.

But we mentioned the name of Mr. William Wallace Currie just now. We must return to him. He was not a man to be casually mentioned and then pa.s.sed by. He was the eldest son of the great Dr. Currie. His abilities were above mediocrity, and his mind well-cultivated and stored with literature. He may be described as a reading man, in an almost non-reading community. As a speaker, he was ready, but not eloquent. He had more affluence of argument than command of oratory, but he never failed to express himself to the satisfaction of his hearers. In his own circle of society he was much esteemed. As a party leader, he was greatly respected by the public, who regarded him as that _rara avis_, an honest politician. His life confirms the verdict, for, with undoubted influence at his command, he never used it to subserve his own ambition or push his own private interest. That he was never in Parliament may be ascribed to his own modesty. We have heard of more than one borough where the electors would gladly have chosen him to be their representative. Mr. Currie is still remembered with strong affection by his friends, and, when they likewise have pa.s.sed away, his name will yet survive for many a generation in the t.i.tle-page of one of the most delightful books which we ever remember to have read. We speak of the _Life of Dr. Currie_, by his son. In reading it, we were charmed and fascinated by the letters and sentiments of the father, and so pleased with the setting in which these jewels were exhibited to us, that our only regret was, that the biographer did not, in executing his task so well, give us more of his own work, but left us to rise from the intellectual treat which he had set before us with an appet.i.te rather whetted than satisfied by the feast which we had been enjoying.

We have said that the reading men in old Liverpool were few. Let us chronicle another of their names, Mr. Alexander Freeland, who still survives amongst us. His inquisitive mind has long since, we may say, made the tour of literature, and the stores of it which he has acc.u.mulated are surprising, as he unlocks the treasuries of his mind in the chosen circle before whom "he comes out." We must also place another veteran, Mr. Henry Lawrence, in the ranks of both well-read and literary men. He always had a good seat in the intellectual tournament, and carried a good lance in the tilting of wit. He was never wanting to contribute his part, when present, at "the feast of reason and the flow of soul." To catalogue all his clever sayings would be an endless work.

His conversational powers were brilliant and infinite. His wit was keen and of the purest order. We defy the young stagers of to-day to produce his match out of their ranks.

CHAPTER XVI.

It would be a strange picture of "Liverpool a few years since" which did not exhibit Mr. (afterwards Sir) John Gladstone in the foreground of the canvas. He had, in those early days, already taken his position, and was evidently destined to play a conspicuous part in this busy world. We never remember to have met with a man who possessed so inexhaustible a fund of that most useful of all useful qualities, good common sense. It was never at fault, never baffled. His shrewdness as a man of business was proverbial. His sagacity in all matters connected with commerce was only not prophetic. He seemed to take the whole map of the world into his mind at one glance, and almost by intuition to discover, not only which were the best markets for to-day, but where there would be the best opening to-morrow. What was speculation with others was calculation with him. The letters which from time to time, through a long series of years, he sent forth, like so many signal-rockets, to the trading world, under the signature of _Mercator_, were looked upon as oracular by a large portion of the public. And there is little doubt that his authority was often sought and acted upon, in commercial legislation, by the different Administrations by which the country has been governed during the last half-century. We recollect, many years ago, standing under the gallery of the House of Commons with the late Mr. Huskisson. A sugar question was under discussion, and Mr. Goulburn was hammering and stammering through a string of figures and details, which it was clear he did not comprehend himself, and which he was in vain labouring to make the House comprehend. Mr. Huskisson smiled, as he quietly observed, "Goulburn has got his facts, and figures, and statistics from Mr.

Gladstone, and they are all as correct and right as possible, but he does not understand them, and will make a regular hash of it!" Mr. Gladstone was himself in Parliament for some years, and was always listened to most respectfully on mercantile affairs. If he did not make any very distinguished figure, it was because he did not enter upon public life until he had reached an age at which men's habits are formed, and at which they rather covet a seat in the House of Commons as a feather or crowning honour of their fortunes, than as an admission into an arena in which they intend to become gladiators in the strife, and to plunge into all the toils, and intrigues, and bustle of statesmanship. Had our clever townsman entered Parliament at an earlier period, and devoted himself to it, we have no doubt that he would have been found a match for the best of them, and might have risen to the highest departments of the Government. His name is well represented amongst us still. He left four sons behind him, one of whom, the Right Honourable William Ewart Gladstone, is second to no statesman of the day, either in promise or performance, eloquence or abilities. Mr. Gladstone lived in Rodney-street, in a house subsequently taken by Mr. Cardwell, the father of our late clever and gifted representative. So that, by a remarkable coincidence, Mr. W. E. Gladstone and Mr. Cardwell, severally the best men of their standing, first at the university, and now in the list of statesmen, are not only from the same county of Lancaster, which produces so large a proportion of the able men in every profession, but from the same town, and the same street in the same town, and the same house in the same street. Did ever house so carry double, and with two such ill.u.s.trious riders, before? Nor must we forget to mention Mr. Robert Gladstone, an amiable, kind-hearted man, and one of the most agreeable persons ever to be met with in society, always anxious to please and be pleased.

And there was Dr. Crompton, a fearless, outspoken man, English all over in his bearing. He was the father of the new judge, whose appointment enabled proud Liverpool to say that, as before in Judge Parke, she had furnished the cleverest occupant of the bench, so now she may boast that the two best are both her sons. And what a glorious old fellow, kind, clever, benevolent, well-read, well-informed, and well-disposed was Ottiwell Wood. Who can forget him? His Christian name was a curious and rare one. He was once a witness on some trial, when the judge, rather puzzled in making out his name, called upon him to spell it. Out came the answer in sonorous thunder: "O double T, I double U, E double L, double U, double O, D." His lordship, if puzzled before, was now, if we may perpetrate such an atrocious pun, fairly "_doubled up_," amidst the laughter of the court. We lately, in our travels, met with a gentleman at a party in a distant county. His name, as he entered the room, was announced, "The Rev. Ottiwell -." When we had been introduced to him, we ventured to ask him where he got it. "Oh!" he replied, "I was so called after an old Lancashire relation of mine, as worthy a man as ever lived, Mr. Ottiwell Wood, of Liverpool." We struck up an alliance, offensive and defensive, and "swore eternal friendship" on the spot. We recollect another gentleman, also called Wood, who once, playing upon the names of some of our fashionables, at a party where he was amongst the guests, thus exclaimed, as he entered the room, "There are, I see, _Hills, Lakes_, and _Littledales_, it only wanted Wood to perfect the scene."

The Littledales here mentioned were then, as the representatives of the family still are, among the most thriving and prosperous of our leading people. They brought both intelligence and industry to their work. They owed nothing to chance, for they left nothing to chance. And we may truly say of them, that, to whatever branch of commerce or the professions they devoted themselves, they deserved and adorned the success which they achieved. And here we cannot pa.s.s on without relating an excellent _bon mot_ from the lips of Judge Littledale, the brother of Anthony, Isaac and George, of the last generation, all, in their different ways, distinguished men amongst our old stagers. Some years since, a gentleman, now one of the most prominent of the rising barristers on the Northern Circuit, had, when almost a boy, to appear before the judge in some legal matter. We do not understand the jargon and technicalities of the law. The opposing party, however, moved that, in a certain case, "the rule be enlarged." To this our young friend demurred, alleging, according to the letter of his instructions, that "he had never, in the whole course of his experience, heard of a rule being enlarged under such circ.u.mstances." "Then," replied the judge, with the blandest of smiles, "young gentleman, we will enlarge the rule and your experience at the same time." Never was anything better than this uttered in a court of justice. We heard the story from the young gentleman of such great experience himself. It made an impression on him that will never be effaced; and, doubtless, when a judge himself, he will repeat the anecdote for the benefit of the horse-hair wigs of the next generation.

But, to keep to Liverpool, there must be many yet alive who remember Mr.