Harper's New Monthly Magazine, No. XXIV, May 1852, Vol. IV

Assure her by my action – for my lips
Yield me no utterance then – that in my heart
She is the treasured jewel. Tenderly,
Hour after hour, without desire of sleep,
I watch above that large amount of hope,
Until the stars wane, and the yellow morn
Walks forth into the night."

In the final disposition of his characters, Dickens excels any living author. There is no confusion – no infringement of the natural. In "Barnaby Rudge," for example, the old lethargic inn-keeper, Willett, retiring in his dotage, and with his ruling passion strong upon him, scoring up vast imaginary sums to imaginary customers, and the lament of the elder Weller at the death of good old Master Humphrey, are not only characteristic, they are perfect specimens of their kind. "And the sweet old creetur," says the elder Weller "has bolted. Him as had no wice, and was so free from temper that an infant might ha' drove 'im, has been took at last with that ere unawoidable fit of the staggers, as we must all come to, and gone off his feed forever!" "I see him," continues the old stage-coach driver, "I see him gettin' every journey more and more groggy. I says to Samivel, says I, 'Samivel, my boy, the Gray's a-going at the knees;' and now my predilection is fatally werified; and him as I could never do enough to serve or to show my likin' for, is up the great uniwersal spout o' natur'!"

It is poor Tom Hood, if we have not forgotten, who describes a species of "Statistical Fellows" as

– "A prying, spying, inquisitive clan,
Who jot down the laboring classes' riches,
And after poking in pot and pan,
And routing garments in want of stitches,
Have ascertained that a working man
Wears a pair and a half of average breeches!"

Of this kind was the "Scientific Ass-sociate" mentioned in the "Table Talk of the late John Boyle." The Professor is setting forth one of his "various important matters connected with every-day life." The learned gentleman spoke of shaving as follows:

"The mode of shaving differs in different individuals. Some are very close shavers; others are greater adepts at cutting unpleasant acquaintances than themselves. It is, however, most important that the art of shaving should be reduced to a nicety, so that a man can cut his beard with the same facility as he could cut his stick. It is also of consequence that an accurate calculation should be made of the number of shaving brushes and the number of half pounds of soap used in the course of the year by respectable shavers, for I have observed that some of them are very badly off for soap. There is also a very great variation in the price of labor. Some barbers undertake to shave well for threepence; others charge a much higher sum. This is probably the effect of competition; and I must say, that the Government deserves well of the country for not encouraging any monopoly. At the same time there is a looseness in the details of the profession, which I should like to see corrected. An accurate register ought to be kept of the number of individuals who shave themselves, and of those who shave daily, every other day, and once a week only. We can hardly contemplate the immense benefits which science would reap, if such matters as these were properly attended to!"

Who has not seen just such statistics as these dwelt upon with unction by your thorough "statist?"

Never forget this "Receipt of Domestic Economy." When you have paid a bill, always take, and keep, a receipt of the same:

"O, fling not the receipt away,
Given by one who trusted thee;
Mistakes will happen every day.
However honest folks may be;
And sad it is, oh, twice to pay,
So cast not thy receipt away!

"Ah, yes; if e'er in future hours,
When we this bill have all forgot,
They send it in again! ye powers!
And swear that we have paid it not;
How sweet to know, on such a day,
We've never cast receipts away!"

The following is one of the pen-and-ink portraits that have found their way into the "Drawer." The sitter was a subject of our own Gotham.

"He was a Scotchman by birth, and had, without exception, the ugliest face I ever saw on a man's shoulders, or a monkey's either, for that matter. But by a perversity of taste, not unusual in the world, the man made a complete hobby of his 'mug,' homely as it was; and was full of the conceit that on fit occasions he could summon to it a look of terrible and dignified sarcasm, that was more efficacious than words or blows. He was rather insolent in his deportment, and was consequently continually getting into scrapes with some one or other, in which he invariably got the worst of it; because instead of lifting his hand, and giving blow for blow, he always trusted to the efficacy of his look. His various little mishaps he used to relate to his fellow-boarders at meal-times, always concluding his narrations with, 'But didn't I give the dirty rapscallions one o' my looks?' And then twisting his 'ugly mug' into a shape impossible to be described, he fancied he had convinced his hearers that his antagonists, whoever they were, would be in no hurry to meddle with him again!

"The last time I saw him, he was giving an account of an insult he had received the night before at some porter-house in the neighborhood, where a little fellow, who was a perfect stranger to him, had insisted upon drinking at his expense, and who, when he refused to pay for the liquor, had not only abused him most shamefully with his tongue, but had actually kicked him.

"'Kick you!' exclaimed a fellow-boarder.

"'Yes!' said he, growing warm with the recital; 'he kicked me here!' and he laid his hand on that portion of his valorous person that had come in contact with the stranger's boot.

"'And what did you say to that?' asked a second listener.

"'What did I say to it?' he replied, as if astonished that any body should be ignorant of his invariable rejoinder to similar assaults. 'What did I say? I said nothing at all. The kick was but a soft one, and the fellow that gave it a wee bit of a 'jink-ma-doddy,' that I could have throttled with one hand on the spot. But I just contented myself with giving him one of my looks!'

"Here Sawney 'defined his position' to the company, by giving them one of his awful glances. But this time he managed to convey an expression of ugliness and comicality so far beyond any thing he had ever called up before, that the inference was irresistible that the kick he had received must have been a good deal harder than he was willing to acknowledge."

Any man or woman walking up or down the sunny side of Broadway, on a pleasant summer day, will see various little bipeds, with thin legs, faded countenances, and jaded air, flourishing little canes, who may, perhaps, bring to mind the following lines:

"Some say there's nothing made in vain,
While others the reverse maintain,
And prove it, very handy,
By citing animals like these —
Musquitoes, bed-bugs, crickets, fleas,
And, worse than all – a dandy!"

But Nature, as the poet adds, "never made a dandy;" he was cast in a fictitious mould altogether.

There is something not over-complimentary to us, magazine-editors, in the remonstrance which "Chawls Yellowplush" makes to his employer against his discharging him from his employ, because he has ascertained that he writes in magazines, and other periodicals:

"'Sir,' says I, claspink my 'ands, and bursting into tears, 'do not, for Eving's sake, do not think of anythink of the sort, or drive me from your service, because I have been fool enough to write in magazeens! Glans but one moment at your honor's plate; every spoon is as bright as a mirror; condescend to igsamine your shoos; your honor may see reflected in them the faces of every one in the company. If occasionally I've forgot the footman in the lit'ry man, and committed to paper my remindicences of fashionable life, it was from a sinsear desire to do good and promote nollitch; and I apeal to your honor – I lay my hand on my busm, and in the face of this honorable company, beg you to say – when you rung your bell, who came to you first? When you stopt out till mornink, who sat up for you? When you was ill, who forgot the nat'ral dignities of his station, and answered the two-pair bell? Oh, sir,' says I, 'I knows what's what: don't send me away! I know them lit'ry chaps, and, bleave me, I'd rather be a footman. The work is not so hard – the pay is better – the vittels incompyrably shuperiour. I've but to clean my things, run my errints, you put clothes on my back, and meat in my mouth.'"

This was written by one who was himself, in his own person, an admirable illustration of what success and honor a true literary man is capable of achieving; but Yellowplush's "lit'ry men" were of a different calibre.

The learned "science-women" of the day, the "deep, deep-blue stockings" of the time, are fairly hit off in the ensuing satirical sonnet:

I idolize the Ladies! They are fairies,
That spiritualize this world of ours;
From heavenly hot-beds most delightful flowers,
Or choice cream-cheeses from celestial dairies,
But learning, in its barbarous seminaries,
Gives the dear creatures many wretched hours,
And on their gossamer intellect sternly showers
Science, with all its horrid accessaries.
Now, seriously, the only things, I think,
In which young ladies should instructed be,
Are – stocking-mending, love, and cookery! —
Accomplishments that very soon will sink,
Since Fluxions now, and Sanscrit conversation,
Always form part of female education!

Something good in the way of inculcation may be educed from this rather biting sonnet. If woman so far forgets her "mission," as it is common to term it nowadays, as to choose those accomplishments whose only recommendation is that they are "the vogue," in preference to acquisitions which will fit her to be a better wife and mother, she becomes a fair subject for the shafts of the satirical censor.

The following bit of gossip is especially "Frenchy," and will remind the readers of "The Drawer" of the man described by the late Robert C. Sands, who sued for damages in a case of breach-of-promise of marriage. He was offered two hundred dollars to heal his breaking heart. "Two hundred dollars!" he exclaimed; "two hundred dollars for ruined hopes – for blighted affection – for a wretched existence – a blasted life! Two hundred dollars! for all this!! No – never! Make it three hundred, and it's a bargain!" But to the French story:

"A couple very well known in Paris are at present arranging terms of separation, to avoid the scandal of a judicial divorce. A friend has been employed by the husband to negotiate the matter. The latest mission was in relation to a valuable ring given to the husband by one of the then sovereigns of Europe, and which he wished to retain. For this he would make a certain much-desired concession, The friend made the demand —

"What!" said the indignant wife, "do you venture to charge yourself with such a mission to me! Can you believe that I could tear myself from a gift which alone recalls to me the day when my husband loved me? No: this ring is my only souvenir of a happiness, now, alas! forever departed! 'Tis all that I now possess of a once-fond husband!"

Here she threw herself upon a fauteuil, and covered her face with her hands.