Portraits of Children of The Mobility

Strangely enough, they are, in their way, votaries of Fashion. Besides their songs, they have various phrases, which have, as dogs are said to do, their day. Many of these will not bear mentioning; but the last in vogue, which embodies an inquiry after the health of the Mamma of the person addressed, is not, perhaps, so objectionable as the majority.

They have, also, particular seasons for their various amusements. Thus, "hop-scot," or "hop-scotch," is "in," as the phrase is, at one time; marbles, or "dumps," at another. Now hoops, then kites are all the rage. There is one species of recreation, however, which is practised among them at all times, denominated "overing a post;" for which Charity Boys are especially renowned; a certain peculiarity of their singular attire, combined with the remarkable lightness of their limbs and bodies, rendering them particularly adroit at this feat.

In connection with the genus of the Children of the Mobility now under consideration, we beg to call attention to their habit of hopping alternately from side to side during a conversation. From this the philosophical observer will perhaps infer, that the graceful accomplishment of dancing is the offspring of an instinct of Nature.

PLATE III. Master "Young Spicy," and Master "Tater Sam."

These hopeful scions of our Mobility are engaged in "an affair of honour." We apprehend that the names by which they are above designated, and by which they are commonly known, are not, bona fide, their own, but have been imposed upon them by the suffrages of their acquaintance, probably with reference to the occupations of their respective parents, and partly, perhaps, in conformity with the custom which generally attaches a sobriquet to fistic proficiency. Master "Tater Sam" is attended by Master "Lanky Tim," a student attached to a parochial seminary. Master "Young Spicy" – for street encounters are not always characterised by the strictest regularity – has no professed second; though the place of one may be considered as supplied by the exhortations of the spectators generally. As to the young gentleman midway behind the two combatants, a retainer of one of the Knights of the Azure Vest, his attentions are bestowed alternately on both; his object being, to enjoy to the full what he regards as a "prime lark;" the reciprocation of as large an amount of blows as possible. The extremity of the by-standers' delight may be read in their animated and dilating eyes; even the soul of yonder small boy in the corner, who, but for the evident care with which he has been enveloped in his cloak, might have been suspected of having left his home without maternal cognisance, is on fire. The contrast presented by the vivacious ardour of the juvenile group to the subdued complacency with which the approving elders overlook the scene, is as interesting as it is remarkable.

The hostile encounter may be supposed to have originated, and to proceed in the following manner. The parties are at first engaged in that particular game at marbles technically termed "shoot ring."

Tater. "Now then, Spicy, knuckle down; 'fend dribbling."

Spicy. "Come, then, stand out of the sunshine."

Tater. "In! Three clayers and a alley. Game! Hooray!"

Spicy. "Oh ah! I dare say. It's no go; play agin."

Tater. "No, no, it's my game."

Spicy. "I say t'an't."

Tater. "I say 'tis."

Spicy. "You'm a story!"

Tater. "Y ou'm another!"

Spicy. "Come, give me my alley, will yer?"

Tater. "No I sharn't!"

Spicy. "Won't yer though?"

Tater. "No I won't, frizzle wig!"

Spicy. "Won't yer, puggy nose? Come, I say, leave go!"

(Here a scuffle ensues.)

Tater. "Don't yer wish yer may get it?"

Spicy. "You'm a strong feller, arn't you?"

Tater. "D 'ye think I'm afeard o' you?"

Spicy. "D 'ye think I'm afeard o' you then?"

Tater. "Ah! jist you hit me!"

Spicy. "You hit me first; that's all!"

Tater. "Well, there then!"

Spicy. "Here's at yer!"

(The contest now commences.)

Cries of "Hallo! here's a mill!"

"Here's a scrimmage!"

"A battle, a battle! 'tween two sticks and a rotten apple!" &c. from various quarters. (A ring formed.)

Butcher Boy. "Now then! Fair play! fair play! Go it!"

A Boy. "'It im ard; he've got no friends."

Second Boy. "Give it im, Spicy! 'It im a peg in the mouth!"

Third Boy. "At im, Tater!"

Charity Boy. "Fetch im a wipe 'tween the heyes!"

Butcher Boy. "Well done, little un, great un's biggest!"

First Boy. "Well done, Tater! My eye wot a whop!"

Second Boy. "Brayvo! Spicy. Had im there!"

Hackney Coachman. "A nasty vun, that ere!"

Cabman. "Rayther."

Charity Boy. "Go in at im, Tater, – that's it!"

(The combatants close and wrestle. Both fall; Spicy under. At this stage of the proceedings a sanguine stream is seen escaping from Spicy's nose; his eyes, too, are in a state of incipient tumefaction. The size of Tater's lip appears considerably augmented; and he bleeds copiously at the mouth. After a short pause, hostilities are resumed.)

Butcher Boy. "That's the time o' day. 'It im, Spicy! Skiver im, Tater. That's it, my cocks!"

Third Boy. "One for his nob! That's the ticket!"

Charity Boy. "Under the ribs! Well done!"

First Boy. "That's a vinder for im!"

Third Boy. "Tater, keep your pecker up, old chap!"

Butcher Boy. "Right and left! Hooroar! Fake away!"

All science is now abandoned, and they rush together, pell-mell; but in the heat of the conflict a Policeman appears, and advancing to the scene of action, separates, with some difficulty, the incensed opponents. After a little additional altercation, they are persuaded to shake hands, and each gathering up his cap from the field of battle, returns home, accompanied by his partisans, the victory remaining undecided.

The horrid scene which we have profaned our pen in describing suggests a few reflections which it may behove our readers to consider. In the first place, with reference to the coarse practice of boxing among the Children of the Mobility, we think it decidedly objectionable. It tends to eradicate from their minds all those fears and susceptibilities with regard to personal safety, by means of which, alone, they are manageable; and to replace them with those unamiable qualities which render them, when grown up, offensive to the genteel and the delicate. It also enables them to repay any little playfulness in which a distingué youth may happen to indulge with them, such as tilting off their caps, or knocking their marbles out of the ring, with rude and painful blows. The frightful violence, too, which their street broils do to the ears and eyes of any of the superior classes who may have the misfortune to witness them, ladies for instance, in their carriages, is such, that we are shocked to think of it. Some people say that it is best to let them have their quarrels out, as they express it, that they may be prevented from bearing malice. We hear, too, a great deal about the danger of stabbing becoming prevalent, were pugilism discountenanced, among the lower orders. Still, being beaten about with great hard knuckles, is very horrid; and the knife, if more sanguinary than the fist, is decidedly more romantic and piquant.

But what shall we say of the Children of the Nobility learning, at public schools, to emulate the boys of the street, transforming themselves from innocent and interesting lambs, into ferocious bull-dogs, if we may use so strong a metaphor, and making one another perfect frights? What must be the feelings of their Mammas?

PLATE IV. The Family Of Mr. And Mrs. Blenkinsop

Among the Mobility, the Blenkinsops are what in the more elevated ranks would be termed, parvenus. Two generations back they were very respectable people; but a series of misfortunes, commencing with the failure of Messrs. Flykite and Co. which occurred some years ago, has reduced them to their present position. We shall not dwell on the steps of their descent. Tales of distress, unless they are invested with a certain je ne sais quoi, which gives them an air of elegance, are extremely uninteresting.

Suffice it, then, to say, that Blenkinsop, – that is to say, the father of our Blenkinsops, – was a mechanic, in a country town. In his early youth his conduct was exemplary; but yielding at length to the force of temptation, he was so unfortunate as to be guilty of – matrimony. For a time all went well; but punishment is sure, sooner or later, to overtake the evil-doer, as, one fine morning, it overtook Blenkinsop. An improvement in machinery threw him suddenly out of employ, and after ten years' reckless indulgence in domestic felicity, he found himself with a wife and six children, and without wages. He was now, of course, obliged to break up his establishment. The Union offered its benevolent institution for his accommodation, but the asylum was proffered in vain. Its salutary regulations were repugnant to his fastidious taste. Among other things, its corrective arrangements displeased him. The rod of affliction, he impertinently said, he could kiss, but not that which was to flog his children.

He had also an unreasonable objection to the system of separate maintenance, and put a most perverse construction on a certain moral precept which seemed to forbid it; as if that applied to paupers! He therefore spurned the parochial paradise, and betook himself, in hopes of finding something to do, to London. The only piece of good fortune that befell him there was, that the small-pox provided for three of his family. The same complaint, too, affecting the eyes of his wife —

But we are violating the principle which we have prescribed to ourselves. Let us be brief. Mrs. Blenkinsop labours under a privation of vision; her husband under a paralytic state of the extremities; and the whole family are mendicants.

It is the divine Shakspere who thus sings: —

 
"Sweet are the uses of Adversity;
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head."
 

The jewel of adversity, therefore, is the moral which it furnishes to the reflective mind: as in the persons of the young Blenkinsops it offered to the pretty little Adeline, daughter of Sir William and Lady Grindham. The elegant child was exercising her observant and contemplative faculties at the window of the magnificent drawing-room in – Street.

The fond eye of her Papa was resting, in tranquil admiration, on her graceful proportions; that of her Mamma, which would otherwise have been similarly employed, was directed towards an expensive mirror.

"Oh! dear Papa," suddenly exclaimed Adeline, "look, do look!"

"At what, my love?" replied the doting parent.

"Oh! Papa – those poor children!"

"What of them, dearest?"

"Poor little things! – how they shiver! Do look at them."

Sir William advanced to the window, and, elevating his eye-glass, directed his attention on the objects which had so powerfully excited the sympathy of Adeline: – they were the Blenkinsops!

"Oh!" said Sir William; "ah! – yes, I see, love."

"See, Papa" pursued Adeline, "that poor little boy holding the girl's cloak, – he is all in rags! And look how the girl is crying! And the tall boy – how wretchedly ill he looks!"

"I see, dear."

"Oh, but, Papa, those two have no shoes nor stockings; and they seem so hungry. May I give them this shilling, Papa? to go and get something to eat?"

"My dear Adeline," answered the Baronet, "those children are beggars."

"Yes, Papa, I know that; do let us give the poor things something."

"Beggars, Adeline, ought never to be encouraged, we should soon be eaten up by them if they were. They have no business there, it is contrary to law; and I am surprised that the policeman does not take them up.

"Take them up, Papa?" said Adeline, the phrase producing an association of ideas in her youthful mind; "Dr. Goodman said in his sermon that we ought to take poor people in."

"Dr. Goodman is a – that is, dear, he means that the poor should be taken in – charge by the – I mean that they should be properly provided for."

"What did you say, Papa?"

"Provided for; taken care of. There are places, you know, on purpose for them. That large building that we passed yesterday in the carriage is one of them. It is called a workhouse."

"What, that place where the funny man with the great cocked-hat was standing at the door, Papa?"

"You mean the beadle? Yes, dear."

"And do they give them food there?"

"Certainly; that is, a coarser kind of food, fit for such people."

"And things to put on?"

"And things to put on, too. They have clothes made on purpose for them. That man that you saw sweeping in front of the house was wearing a suit."

"But what a fright he was, Papa. He looked as if he had been dressed up to be laughed at. I should not like to be dressed so if I were a man."

"No, dear, nor is it meant that he should. It would never do to make a workhouse too delightful; for one great use of such places is to prevent people from becoming poor, just as houses of correction are intended to keep them from turning thieves. So the persons who go into one are not dressed and fed, and otherwise treated, so as to make their situation at all enviable. The consequence is, that those who know what they have to expect in such an asylum, learn not to be extravagant and careless, for fear they should become poor themselves."

"But can all people help being poor, Papa?"

"Most of them, my love; and those who cannot – can't be helped."

"But those poor children, Papa, – why don't they go into the workhouse?"

"Why, perhaps, they prefer remaining where they are. To be sure, they ought not be allowed to do so. Still, however, they are of some use. Everything has its use, you know, Adeline." Sir William was connected with the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.