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out in still more perfect developement than in the production of 1838; but they embrace a view of the history of Handley Cross, both as a watering-place and a rival to Melton Mowbray, previous to his advent in the locality of his new adventures. We are willing to quote freely from this preliminary part, as many of our readers may know and care little about hunts, but few or none of them can have avoided some acquaintance with spas; and we wish to show them that our author, though a crack sportsman, is quite awake upon a variety of subjects besides. For example, we believe the following account of the medical worthies who first made the Handley waters famous will be allowed to equal in accuracy and far surpass in spirit any parallel record that could be cited from the pages of Dr. Granville ;

'One Roger Swizzle, a roistering, red-faced, roundabout apothecary, who had somewhat impaired his constitution by his jolly performances while walking the hospitals in London, had settled at Appledove, a small market-town in the vale, where he enjoyed a considerable want of practice in common with two or three other fortunate brethren. Hearing of a mineral spring at Handley Cross, which, according to usual country tradition, was capable of "curing everything," he tried it on himself, and either the water or the exercise in walking to and fro had a very beneficial effect on his digestive powers. He analysed its contents, and, finding the ingredients he expected, he set himself to work to turn it to his own advantage. Having secured a lease of the spring, he took the late Stephen Dumpling's house on the green, where, at one or other of its four front windows, a numerous tribe of little Swizzles might be seen flattening their noses against the panes. Roger possessed every requisite for a great experimental practitioner-assurance, a wife and large family, and scarcely anything to keep them on.

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Being a shrewd sort of fellow, he knew there was nothing like striking out a new light for attracting notice, and the more that light was in accordance with the wishes of the world, the more likely was it to turn to his own advantage. Half the complaints of the upper classes he knew arose from over-eating and indolence, so he thought, if he could originate a doctrine that with the use of Handley Cross waters people might eat and drink what they pleased, his fortune would be as good as made. Aided by the local press, he succeeded in drawing a certain attention to the water, the benefit of which soon began to be felt by the villagers of the place; and the landlord of the Fox and Grapes had his stable constantly filled with gigs and horses of the visitors. Presently lodgings were sought after, and carpeting began to cover the before sanded staircases of the cottages. These were soon found insufficient; and an enterprising bricklayer got up a building society for the erection of a row of four-roomed cottages, called the Grand Esplanade. Others quickly followed, the last undertaking always eclipsing its predecessor.

"Ah, I see how it is," he would say, as a gouty alderman slowly disclosed the symptoms. "Soon, set you on your legs again. Was far worse myself. All stomach sir-all stomach- three-fourths of our

complaints

complaints arise from stomach;" stroking his corpulent protuberancy with one hand, and twisting his patient's button with the other. "Clean you well out, and then strengthen the system. Dine with me at five, and we will talk it all over."

To the great and dignified he was more ceremonious. "You see, Sir Harry," he would say, "it's all done by eating! More people dig their graves with their teeth than we imagine. Not that I would deny you the good things of this world, but I would recommend a few at a time, and no mixing. No side dishes. No liqueurs-only two or three wines. Whatever your stomach fancies, give it! Begin now, to-morrow, with the waters. A pint before breakfast-half an hour after, tea, fried ham and eggs, brown bread, and a walk. Luncheon-another pint-a roast pigeon and fried potatoes, then a ride. Dinner at six, not later, mind; gravy soup, glass of sherry, nice fresh turbot and lobster-sauce -wouldn't recommend salmon-another glass of sherry-then a good cut out of the middle of well-browned saddle of mutton-wash it over with a few glasses of iced champagne-and if you like a little light pastry to wind up with, well and good. A pint of old port and a deviled biscuit can hurt no man. Mind, no salads, or cucumbers, or celery, at dinner, or fruit after. Turtle-soup is very wholesome, so is venison. Don't let the punch be too acid though. Drink the waters, live on a regimen, and you'll be well in no time."

We beg pardon for not having drawn a more elaborate sketch of Mr. Swizzle, before. In height he was exactly five feet eight, and forty years of age. He had a long, fat, red face, with little twinkling black eyes, set high in his forehead, surmounted by fullish eyebrows and short bristly iron-grey hair, brushed up like a hedgehog's back. His nose was snub, and he rejoiced in an ample double chin, rendered more conspicuous by the tightness of an ill-tied white neckcloth, and the absence of all whisker or hair from his face. A country-made snuff-coloured coat, black waistcoat, and short greenish-drab trousers, with high-lows, were the adjuncts of his short ungainly figure. A peculiarly goodnatured smile hovered round the dimples of his fat cheeks, which set a patient at ease on the instant. This, with his unaffected, cheery, free and easy manner, and the comfortable nature of his prescriptions, gained him innumerable patients. That to some he did good there is no doubt. The mere early rising and exercise he insisted upon would renovate a constitution impaired by too close application to business and bad air; while the gourmands, among whom his principal practice lay, would be benefited by abstinence and regular hours. The water, no doubt, had its merits, but, as usual, was greatly aided by early rising, pure air, the absence of cares, regular habits, and the other advantages which mineral waters invariably claim as their own. One thing the Doctor never wanted a reason why it did not cure. If a patient went back on his hands, he soon hit off an excuse-" You surely didn't dine off goose on Michaelmas-day?" or "Hadn't you some filberts for dessert?" &c.—all which information he got from the servants or shopkeepers of the place. When a patient died on his hands, he would say, "He was as good as dead when he came."-vol. i. p. 23.

It is an old adage, that wherever there is room for one great doctor there must be an opening for a second. Accordingly, the hearty John Bull of the faculty is soon elbowed by an interesting foreigner :

'Determined to be Swizzle's opposite in every particular, he was studiously attentive to his dress. Not that he indulged in gay colours, but his black suit fitted without a wrinkle, and his thin dress boots shone with patent polish; turned-back cambric wristbands displayed the snowy whiteness of his hand, and set off a massive antique ring or two. He had four small frills to his shirt, and an auburn-hair chain crossed his broad roll-collared waistcoat, and passed a most diminutive Geneva watch into his pocket. He was a widower. Mystery being his object, he avoided the public gaze. Unlike Roger Swizzle, who either trudged from patient to patient, or whisked about in a gig, Dr. Sebastian Mello drove to and fro in a claret-coloured fly, drawn by dun ponies. Through the plate-glass windows a glimpse of his reclining figure might be caught, lolling luxuriously in the depths of its swelling cushions, or musing complacently with his chin on a massive gold-headed cane. With the men he was shy and mysterious; but he could talk and flatter the women into a belief that they were almost as clever as himself.

Portraits appeared at the windows, bespeaking the characters of each-Swizzle sat with a patient at a round table, indulging in a bee'swinged bottle of port, while Mello reclined in a curiously carved chair, one be-ringed hand supporting his flowing-locked head, and the other holding a book. Swizzle's was painted by the artist who did the attractive window-blind at the late cigar-shop in the Piccadilly Circus, while Sebastian was indebted to Grant for the gentlemanly ease that artist invariably infuses into his admirable portraits.'-vol. i. p. 31.

Of course, as soon as the visitors began to muster strong at the new spa, a Master of the Ceremonies must be elected: but we regret that we cannot class the lucky candidate for this high office, Captain Miserrimus Doleful, with either the rough and jolly Esculapius of Handley Cross, or his abstemious and dandified rival. The M. C. is a mere caricature; and we resent especially the extravagant blunder the author has made in representing him as the chosen pet of Mrs. Barnington—a splendid Leeds lady, no longer in her first bloom indeed, but in the full magnificence of her matronly development. The husband of this Queen of Handley, a rich Cheshire squire, is as sick of his wife as she is of him-but though, under such circumstances, some extraneous flirtation might have seemed within the limits of the probable, that such a lady should have chosen to console herself with a poor, battered, ghastly Militia Captain is a monstrous incredibility. At the same time, if we can overlook this glaring blunder, the scenes between the wife, the husband, and the swain are very cleverly sustained—so much so, that we fully expect to see them pillaged

pillaged by the theatres. Some other characters of less importance, but all very nicely sketched, need not detain us.

At the period after the waters first began to be frequented, there was on the spot a primitive farmer's pack of houndstrencher-fed, as they are called-that is to say, where every man kept one. As the place proceeds to expand, a little more ambition is apparent in the hunting department. Michael Hardy, a knowing, comfortable yeoman, takes the lead, and under his auspices the pack acquires some provincial distinction. That eminent character, however, is after one glorious day's sport run to ground-gathered to his fathers; and very serious difficulty occurs as to the discovery of a fit successor-that is to say, a master who should be qualified to give the concern a still more effectual lift in the eyes of the world.

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Fortunately several influential members had perused the Jaunts and Jollities,' and after a lengthened negotiation the celebrated Mr. Jorrocks was prevailed upon to accept the vacant post. We must allow his biographer to introduce the prince of

grocers:

At the time of which we speak Mr. Jorrocks had passed the grand climacteric, and, balancing his age with less accuracy than he balanced his books, called himself between fifty and sixty. He was a stiff, squarebuilt, middle-sized man, with a thick neck and a large round head. A woolly, broad-brimmed, lowish-crowned hat sat with a jaunty sidelong sort of air upon a bushy nut-brown wig, worn for comfort and not deception. Indeed his grey whiskers would have acted as a contradiction if he had, but deception formed no part of Mr. Jorrocks's character. He had a fine open countenance, and though his turn-up nose, little grey eyes, and rather twisted mouth, were not handsome, still there was a combination of fun and goodhumour in his looks that pleased at first sight, and made one forget all the rest. His dress was generally the same-a puddingy white neckcloth tied in a knot, capacious shirt-frill (shirt made without collars), a single-breasted, high-collared buff waistcoat with covered buttons, a blue coat with metal ones-dark-blue stocking-net pantaloons, and Hessian boots with large tassels, displaying the liberal dimensions of his well-turned limbs. The coat-pockets were outside, and the back buttons far apart.

His business-place was in St. Botolph's Lane, in the city, but his residence was in Great Coram Street. This is rather a curious locality, city people considering it west, while those in the west consider it east. The fact is that Great Coram Street is somewhere about the centre of London, near the London University, and not a great way from the Euston station of the Birmingham railway. Neat, unassuming houses form the sides, and the west end is graced with a building that acts the double part of a reading-room and swimming-bath-" literature and lavement" is over the door.

'In this region the dazzling glare of civic pomp and courtly state are equally

equally unknown. Fifteen-year-old footboys, in cotton velveteens and variously fitting coats, being the objects of ambition, while the rattling of pewter pots about four o'clock denotes the usual dinner-hour.-It is a nice quiet street, highly popular with Punch and other public characters.' -vol. i. pp. 120-122.

The readers of the Jaunts' will perceive that the hero of Great Coram Street has advanced considerably in years since the date of his Surrey feats and the trip to Paris with Countess Benuolio; but his taste and manners preserve very much the old stamp. Mrs. Jorrocks is still as fat and nearly as comely as she used to be-as proud and perhaps as jealous of the great man; the niece Belinda has from a pale little threadpaper girl become a plump, rosy charmer, slightly given to coquetry-but at heart good, and really very pretty. Batsy, the maid, is still what we remember-handsome, active, clever, managing—a principal personage in the establishment, and possessing special influence over her master. Binjamin, the boy, is as short as when Jorrocks picked him out of the Pentonville Poorhouse-but his wits have been considerably sharpened from living several years under the roof, and occasionally partaking in the sporting excursions, of so eminent a connoisseur.

Mr. J. and family tear themselves from Great Coram Street, and proceed to the Terminus in the same elegant vehicle which we had admired of old on the cover-side near Croydon-a roomy, double-bodied phaëton, sky-blue body, red wheels picked out with black-Jorrocks and Belinda in front, Mrs. J. and Betsy behind-the two celebrated steeds of all-work, Xerxes, and ArterXerxes, tandemwise-Benjamin riding postilion on the leader. In two or three short hours they are carried over what used to be a long day's journey, and arrive at the Handley Cross Station of the Lily-white-sand Railway, recently opened for the purpose of supplying the metropolis with that useful article. The principal members of the hunting club are in waiting, with the charity boys and girls in their Sunday clothes, the Spa band, and in fact the élite of the now fashionable place. Mr. Jorrocks is received amidst tumultuous demonstrations of curiosity and respect. Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Barnington, nor any of the exclusives, have been let in to the grocership-Mr. J. has been to them merely 'a wealthy gentleman engaged in commercial pursuits'—and if the appearance of himself and his party be somewhat less imposing than had been anticipated, much toleration is extended to the caprices of a sporting millionnaire. No doubt the regular equipages are to come down by the slower train in the afternoon.

'Mr. Jorrocks, pulling short up, stood erect in the vehicle, and tak

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