Page:Once a Week, Series 1, Volume II Dec 1859 to June 1860.pdf/599

586 want the pastrycook’s art to be taxed for the production in sugar of the two forms of the two children in the snow; for I am sure that Johnny with the best intentions would hand one of them to Louisa, and then the two children would look each other gravely in the face, and bite off the heads of the two abandoned ones, without much thought of St. Martin’s church. They would look at the incident solely from a gastronomic point of view. Still it might be done. If the Egyptian revellers introduced the figure of a skeleton at their banquets to remind the adult revellers of Death; a hint might well be given to the children at a Christmas feast, that there is such a thing as poverty in the world, and that it presses sharply upon poor little creatures as little fitted to contend with the world as they are themselves.

I have particularly noticed two points at which rich children and poor children are brought into contact in the streets of London. I should not infer, from what I have seen, that the spectacle of the struggles and longings of his little fellow-creatures is very impressive to the mind of young Dives. How often it happens, when a carriage is drawn up in front of a silk-mercer’s shop, and mama inside is engaged in the purchase of a silken dress, that you see it filled with bright pleasant children’s faces. There is no doubt here that the small people who are out taking carriage exercise were put to bed each in her or his little white nest at about eight last night; that at seven, or thereabouts, they were roused from their slumbers by a bevy of handmaidens and nurses—the careful housemaids of that small human furniture—who rubbed, and scrubbed, and polished them up to the best point of perfection, and parted their hair with straight “walks;” and they were made to kneel down and lisp their prayers for papa and mama and their daily bread, which latter supplication was habitually answered in a very satisfactory way. Then all but little Emily and the baby went down to breakfast in the dining-room with Mr. and Mrs. Dives, and carried on negotiations with more or less success for the tops and bottoms of eggs, and stray comforts in the shape of an odd spoonful of jam or marmalade. Then the lessons began, under the mild auspices of Miss Pansy; but the rudiments of science and literature had been so marvellously lightened by the labours of ingenious artists, that in truth philosophy in sport was made jest in earnest. Then the little Divites went to play. The contents of a toy-shop were at their disposal. Tommy set up his leaden soldiers—the only restriction upon his military independence being that he was not to suck the Sappers and Miners, nor stick the points of the weapons weilded by the Lancers into Mary Jane’s eye. Mary Jane took to her magnetic ducks; and little Horace summoned Shem, Ham, and Japhet, in their brilliant long coats, from the ark, to give an account of their stewardship. Then came one o’clock, and the legs of mutton, and the rice puddings, and dear mama again. Yes; they should be taken out for a drive in the carriage; and it was very true that a considerable period had elapsed since their stock of toys had been renewed; and if they would only make the sacrifice of being good and patient whilst their mama selected a dress at Messrs. Tulle and Sarsnet’s, their just remonstrances should receive practical attention at the new German toy-shop.

The carriage is drawn up in front of the establishment of those eminent silk-mercers. A fresh, country-looking young woman, tidily dressed, is seated on the front seat holding the fat baby on her lap—the baby in question being got up to a very dangerous point with feathers and laces and a long blue riding-habit sort of thing. Little Emily, also splendidly attired, but in a manner more fitted to her maturer years, is gravely sucking a finger of her glove—whilst Mary Jane, with all the aplomb and decision of a small woman, is endeavouring to keep the boys quiet, as these young gentlemen are playing at “castle” on the back seat of the carriage—Horace, the defending party, being at that moment in imminent danger from the vigorous manner in which his brother Thomas is pressing the siege. At this moment the combat is stopped by the appearance on the pavement of two apparitions which you would suppose to be two sets of the emblem of the Isle of Man in motion. Two young gentlemen are, in point of fact, endeavouring to earn an honest livelihood by being “wheels.” Their day has been spent in a very different way from that of the occupants of the carriage.

I fear they took their rest in the Adelphi Arches, as they had, “in a moment of excitement,” played away the amount of the previous day’s gains at pitch-and-toss, and consequently were unable to meet the demand for their night’s lodging at the “tight rope” which they usually patronised—that establishment being conducted strictly upon the “ready money” system. They had turned out from their airy caravanserai at a very early hour on the chance that something might turn up to their advantage. Nothing had turned up. Consequently they had stood for about half-an-hour in the immediate neighbourhood of a “saloop-stall,” with watering mouths, longing for a steaming cup of that fragrant liquid, and for a thick slice of bread and butter. They could not get it: they were consequently enabled at a subsequent period to enter upon their professional duties in admirable condition. They are, indeed, little else than dirty legs and small black heads. The less said about their clothing the better—for certainly the first act of any one who took them in hand would be to strip them of those filthy rags and chuck them into the fire. Now, do you suppose that Tommy and Horace in the carriage have the smallest idea of the significance of those human wheels in the mud? Not they! I will be bound to say if they have any feeling at all upon the subject, it is one of envy towards the fortunate individuals who are able to accomplish such feats in so masterly a way.

Come again to the window of this fashionable pastry-cook—it is somewhere in the neighbourhood of Charing Cross. See the little rich patricians inside laying the foundations of Rich Man’s Gout, and the little plebeians outside, flattening their noses against the window-panes, and, whether they like it or not, also laying upon their side the foundations of Poor Man’s Gout. I confess that the