Laporte came forward, and tried to bring matters to a
settlement, and once he ventured to say, that, as manager, he had a right
to engage performers at his own discretion, and that he was not to be
responsible to an audience—which, it is needless to say, added fuel to
fire. Then he told them his engagements would not allow him to employ
Tamburini, which meant ruin to him, but it only provoked more noise.
Then he appealed to their better feelings by telling them of the many
years he had catered for their amusement, and this did bring him some
support, for cries of “Shame,” “No Tamburini,” and “No Intimidation,”
were heard, but this only had the effect of dividing the audience, and
increasing the hubbub.

Once again poor Laporte came forward, and talked of engaging Tamburini on
“Conditions.” This word upset all, and the Tamburinists asked: “Will you
engage him? Yes, or No?” Laporte said he would make proposals, and, if
those proposals, etc. This would not do; “Yes, or No?” said his
persevering interrogators. “Say ‘No,’” said his supporters. He began
talking about terms. “Same terms as last year,” shouted all the
“Omnibus” party, upon which he retired, without proposing anything
satisfactory. Everyone was getting tired, when, at last, a gentleman, in
a box opposite the “Omnibus,” stepped over the front of his box on to the
stage, and was followed by a party; the “Omnibus” party entered the stage
from the opposite side, and, at one o’clock, the Tamburinists had taken
possession, and waved their hats triumphantly, on the stage, as the
curtain fell.

It was this episode that the Rev. R. H. Barham has immortalized in his
_Ingoldsby Legends_, under the title of “A Row in an Omnibus (box),”
beginning:

Doldrum the Manager sits in his chair,
With a gloomy brow and dissatisfied air,
And he says, as he slaps his hand on his knee,
‘I’ll have nothing to do with Fiddle-de-dee!

‘—But Fiddle-de-dee sings clear and loud,
And his trills and his quavers astonish the crowd.
Such a singer as he,
You’ll nowhere see,
They’ll all be screaming for Fiddle-de-dee!

‘—Though Fiddle-de-dee sings loud and clear,
And his tones are sweet, yet his terms are dear!
The glove won’t fit!
The deuce a bit.
I shall give an engagement to Fal-de-ral-tit!’”




CHAPTER XIII.


The Mulready Envelope—Plans of Royal Exchange decided on—Fire at York
Minster—Queen shot at by Oxford—Oxford in Bedlam—Scientific
Agriculture—Electro-metallurgy—Embossed envelope—Sale of Louis Napoleon’s
effects.

On the 1st of May, the Post Office issued the long expected postal
envelope designed by W. Mulready, R.A., and the opinion of _The Times_
may be taken as the expression of most people’s feelings about it.

_Times_, 2 May.—“We have been favoured with a sight of one of the new
stamp covers, and we must say we never beheld anything more ludicrous
than the figures or allegorical device by which it is marked with its
official character—why not add embellished? Cruickshank could
scarcely produce anything so laughable. It is, apparently, a
spirited attempt to imitate the hieroglyphic which formed one of the
ornaments to _Moore’s Almanack_; Britannia is seated in the centre,
with the lion couchant (Whiggish) at her feet; her arms are extended,
scattering little flying children to some elephants on the left; and,
on the right, to a group of gentlemen, some of whom, at all events,
are not enclosed in _envelopes_, writing on their knees, evidently on
account of a paucity of tables. There are, besides, sundry figures,
who, if they were to appear in the streets of London, or any of our
highways, would be liable to the penalties of the Vagrant Act for
indecent exposure. Under the tableland by which these figures are
supported, some evidence of a laudable curiosity is depicted, by
three or four ladies, who are represented reading a billet doux, or
valentine, and some little boys, evidently learning to spell, by the
mental exertion which their anxious faces disclose. One serious
omission we must notice. Why have those Mercuries in red jackets,
who traverse London and its environs on lame ponies, been omitted?
We must admit that, as they have been, recently, better mounted, that
is one reason why they should not appear in this Government picture.”

But the reader can judge how far this description is borne out.

[Picture: Mulready envelope]

As a matter of fact, it was so universally disapproved of by the public,
and was the object of so much ridicule, as to necessitate the destruction
of nearly all the vast number prepared for issue. To do this, a machine
had to be specially constructed; the attempt to do the work by fire, in
close stoves (fear of robbery forbade the use of open ones), having
absolutely failed. They are now somewhat scarce, but are extensively
forged. It was satirized and laughed at by all, and a contemporary
criticism, which has been reproduced in _The Philatelist_, vol. vii., p.
145, is very amusing:

“Britannia is sending her messengers forth
To the East, to the West, to the South, to the North:
At her feet is a lion wot’s taking a nap,
And a dish-cover rests on her legs and her lap.
To the left is a Mussulman writing a letter,
His knees form a desk, for the want of a better;
Another believer’s apparently trying
To help him in telling the truth, or in lying.
Two slaves ’neath their burden seem ready to sink,
But a sly-looking elephant ‘tips us the wink’;
His brother behind, a most corpulent beast,
Just exhibits his face, like the moon in a mist.
On each is a gentleman riding astraddle,
With neat Turkey carpets in lieu of a saddle;
The camels, behind, seem disposed for a lark,
The taller’s a well-whisker’d, fierce-looking shark.
An Arab, arrayed with a coal-heaver’s hat,
With a friend from the desert is holding a chat;
The picture’s completed by well-tailed Chinese
A-purchasing opium, and selling of teas.
The minister’s navy is seen in the rear—
They long turned their backs on the service—’tis clear
That they now would declare, in their typical way,
That Britannia it is who has done it, not they.
A reindeer and Laplander cutting through snow,
The rate of their progress (down hill) seems to show.
To the right, is the King of the Cannibal Islands,
In the same pantaloons that they wear in the Highlands
Some squaws by his side, with their infantile varments,
And a friend, in the front, who’s forgotten his garments.
Frost, Williams and Jones {132} have this moment been hook
And are fixing the day they would choose to be cook’d.
There a planter is giving and watching the tasks
Of two worthy niggers, at work on two casks.
Below, to the left, as designed by Mulready,
Is sorrow’s effect on a very fat lady;
While joy at good news may be plainly descried,
In the trio engaged on the opposite side.”

[Picture: Left—Lord Monteagle and Mr. Baring, Britannia, Lord Palmerston.
Right—O’Connell and the Duke of Wellington]

There were very many pictorial satires on this unfortunate wrapper, but
none bore so near a resemblance to it as the accompanying illustration by
John Doyle (H.B. Sketches, 26 May, 1840, No. 639). Lord Palmerston, as
Britannia, is dispatching Mercuries with fire and sword, to the east,
typical of the wars in Egypt and China. On the other hand, he sends a
flight of Cupids to Father Mathew, the apostle of Temperance, who was
then doing such good work in Ireland, whilst a man is knocking the bung
out of a whisky barrel. Beneath this group is O’Connell, who is roaring
out “Hurrah for Repeal!” to the horror of the Duke of Wellington, who is
behind him. On the left is Lord Monteagle, late Chancellor of the
Exchequer, ill in bed; whilst his successor, Mr. Baring, reads to him the
result of his policy: “Post Office deliveries in the quarter, £272,000!
Total deficiency in the year, to be made up by new taxation, £2,000,000!”

On 7 May, the Gresham Committee met to decide on the two plans for the
New Royal Exchange, one prepared by Mr. Cockerell, R.A., and the other by
Mr. Tite, President of the Architectural Society, which was in favour of
the latter by 13 votes to 7. The works were immediately proceeded with.

Talking of one fire seems to lead on to another, for on 20 May, York
Minster was for the second time visited with a conflagration—this time,
however, it was caused accidentally, and not the work of an incendiary.

The following extract from a letter dated York, 21 May, gives a graphic
account of the fire, and is of especial interest, as being from the pen
of a spectator.

“You may hear the rumour of the alarming and truly awful calamity
that has occurred in this city, before you receive this. I have
witnessed it, and shall hold the recollection as long as my memory
exists. About 20 minutes to 9 last evening, I was told the Minster
was on fire. I ran out, immediately, towards it, and stood by it,
just as the flames had issued from the top part of the south-west
tower, at a height that an engine could not have played upon. The
fire continued to rage until it had entire possession of the upper
part; flames issuing from every window, and piercing the roof. To
describe the feelings under which I witnessed the devouring flames
preying upon a national monument, which every man must look upon with
admiration, requires a pen more descriptive than mine. Grief, awe,
wonder and admiration were the emotions with which I regarded the
destruction of this venerable church. I soon obtained admission into
the nave of the Cathedral, and observed the first falling down of the
burnt embers. The flames illumined the interior with more than
mid-day brightness; the light, pouring through the crevices, threw a
brilliancy over the scene which imagination cannot paint. The fire,
at this time, was wholly confined to the tower.

“After the space of half an hour, the flooring of the belfry in the
tower began to be forced by the falling bells and lighted beams. At
this period, my nerves were strung to the highest excitement. The
noise was extraordinary. The shouting of the firemen, the roaring of
the flames rushing up the tower with the rapidity of a furnace
draught, sounded in the high and arched space, awful and terrific.
The falling masses of wood, and bells, sounded like the near
discharge of artillery, and were echoed back from the dark passages,
whose glomy shade, and hollow responses seemed mourning at the
funeral pile that burned so fiercely. In one hour, the tower was
completely gutted, and masses of burning timber lay piled against the
south-west door. The upper and under roof, composed principally of
fir timber, covering the nave, as far as the centre tower, had, by
this time, become fired, and burned with extraordinary rapidity. The
firemen, by a well-managed direction of the water, prevented the
flames passing through the west windows of the centre tower, and
continued their exertions at that spot, until the whole of the roof
had fallen in, and lay, in the centre of the aisle, a sea of fire.

“The west doors had, now, become nearly burnt through, and planks
were brought to barricade them, and prevent the rushing of air to fan
the embers to flame, which might have communicated to the organ, and
thence, throughout the whole pile of buildings.

“At 1 o’clock, this morning, I again entered the Cathedral, and then
concluded there was no further danger of destruction. The tower is
standing, also the walls and pillars of the nave; and, beyond that,
the building, I am happy to state, is saved.

“The fire is supposed to have originated from a clock maker, who has
been, for some time past, occupied in repairing the clock in that
tower, who might accidentally, have dropped a spark from a candle.”

The repairs in 1829, when the Cathedral was fired by the fanatic, John
Martin, cost £65,000, which was raised by subscription, and it was
estimated that the cost of the present repairs would amount to about
£20,000.

* * * * *

I know of no other general topic of conversation