literature, which is somewhat too much despised by those who believe that a brilliant writer, to use a familiar phrase, can make everything out of his own head."-Penny Cyclopædia, 2nd September, 1858, pp. 332—3. In the writings of Jerrold,* the world will find a few traces of an autobiographical nature. As in most writers of original genius, the universal largely predominated over the personal. Those who were in habits of confidence and intimacy with him may probably trace some scenes and characters suggested by his own experience; but in his writings we scarcely ever see his individuality. In the re-publication of his works the prefatory notices are extremely slight. single paragraph of introduction points to their author's early career One "The completion of the first volume of a collected edition of his writings scattered over the space of years-is an opportunity tempting to the vanity of a writer to indulge in a retrospect of the circumstances that first made authorship his hope, as well as of the general tenor of his after vocation. I will not, at least, in these pages, yield to the inducement, further than to say that, self-helped and self-guided, I began the world at an age when, as a general rule, boys have not laid down their primers; that the cockpit of a man-of-war was at thirteen exchanged for the struggle of London; that appearing in print ere, perhaps, the meaning of words was duly mastered, no one can be more alive than myself to the worthlessness of such early mutterings." This interesting passage will be elaborated by future biographers into ample details of "the struggle of London ;" and the more anecdotes we have that will clearly show the zeal and perseverance of the " self-helped and self-guided " young man, the better will it be for all other young men who may imitate his earnest diligence, however inferior may be their natural endowments. Nor is this passage without less obvious lessons. "No one can be more alive than myself to the worthlessness of such early mutterings," is not the mere expression of an amiable modesty. Jerrold knew perfectly well what many who rush prematurely into print do not know that success, large and enduring, in literature, can only be raised upon the foundations of patient thought, unrelaxing * These works are comprised in eight vols. 1. "St. Giles and St. James." 2. "Men of Character." 3. "Caudle Lectures," &c. 4. "Cakes and Ale." 5. "Punch's Letters," &c. 6. "Man made of Money," "Chronicles of Clovernook." 7, 8. "Comedies and Dramas." observation, wide acquaintance with the great masters of their art, education always progressing and never finished. Up to the very last days of his life, Jerrold was a diligent reader. His great refreshment was to turn from the matters of passing interest with which it was his vocation to deal, to seek the companionship of some old wise teacher, under whose quaint style were to be found high thoughts and sound information. His mind was a great storehouse of very various knowledge, not indeed of the abstract sciences or critical philology, but a knowledge derived from a large acquaintance with the productions of the highest minds of all ages, to whom science and language have been as materials to be welded into poetry and philosophy. To his perfect familiarity with the best old. English writers may be ascribed much of the terseness and condensation of Jerrold's own style-its thoroughly suggestive character. His written sentences, like his conversational sallies, had more in them than was at first perceived. They first amused, and then made us think. "Douglas Jerrold had an unaffected dislike of being considered and spoken of as a wit. This wit was the spontaneous result of his temperament, and of his marvellously quick perception of the relations between seemingly incongruous objects out of which wit is engendered. But he had a greater dislike of being reputed an ill-natured satirist. He knew that the world had given him this reputation, but he also knew how little the world understood his real relations of love and kindness to all humanity. His exuberant fancy constantly led him out of the direct paths in which less-gifted writers may safely walk. But readers, familiar or unfamiliar with Jerrold's larger productions, will pause at every page upon the force of thought and the felicities of style. Neither is his power of describing natural scenery or of exhibiting graphic pictures of general society very remarkable. His tendency to reflection, coloured by the bright or sombre hues of that fancy of which we speak, led him away from this distinct word-painting. "But, if there be one charm more than another in all the writings of Douglas Jerrold, it is the voice that is constantly urging on the great duty of human brotherhood. He has had noble fellow-labourers in the great attempt-which is now beginning to look less like a dream-of bringing classes that have been too long separated into a more just knowledge of each other, and, therefore, into more active sympathy. But no one has laboured longer in this work, or has laboured more 15 VOL. I. consistently, than Jerrold. He has not sought to set classes at enmity. He has been indignant at the callousness of the sordid rich; but he has not taught the poor that the rich and the high-born were their social enemies. As a public journalist he had large opportunities of sowing discontent with the great principles of society and government; but he had more practical views, and, therefore, more benevolent views. No one ever more beautifully expressed a deep sense of the nobility of the poor than he has done in a passage of his "Clovernook" in the Illuminated Magazine: "It is a fine show, a golden sight, to see the crowning of a King. I have beheld the ceremony; with undazzled eyes have well considered all its blaze of splendour. A tender thing to think of is the kiss of peace; beautiful the homage; heart-stiring the voice of the champion, when the brave knight dashes his defying gauntlet on the marble stone; very solemn the anointing, and most up-lifting the song of jubilate when all is done. But, sir, to my coarse apprehension, I have seen a nobler sight than this, a grander ceremony, even at the hearthstone of the poor. I will show you a man, worn, spent-the bony outline of a human thing, with toil and want cut, as with an iron tool, upon him; a man to whom the common pleasures of this our mortal heritage are unknown as the joys of Paradise. This man toils and starves, and starves and toils, even as the markets vary. Well, he keeps a heart, sound as oak, in his bosom-in the sanctity of his soul, bestows the kiss of peace upon a grudging world: he compels the homage of respect, and champions himself against the hardness of fortune. In his wretched homestead he is throned in the majesty of the affections. His suffering, patient, loving wife-his palefaced, ill-clad children-are his queen and subjects. He is a king in heart, subduing and ruling the iron hours; unseen spirits of love and goodness anoint him; and, sir,' said the hermit in a solemn voice as surely as the kingdom of God is more than a fairy tale, so surely do God's angels sing that poor man's jubilate.' "We might readily prolong this very imperfect notice of Douglas Jerrold's writings and character. To those who knew him well it is quite unnecessary to expatiate upon the genuineness of that character. Those who knew him only by common report may have believed that a satirist could not be generous and benevolent, and a strong political writer tolerant and just. He did his work in the world like a brave and honest man, and, like many other brave and honest men, was sometimes misinterpreted. But, as "Time works wonders," one of the wonders which it will assuredly work will be to make all know that Douglas Jerrold was one of the largest charity, as well as of the brightest genius."--Memoir in the Illustrated London News. "THE MULBERRIES" CLUB. The Shaksperian Club, called the Mulberries, was thus humorously described by Mr. Buckstone, on the Anniversary of the club, on April 23rd, 1858 :-"It met at a house of entertainment, in Vinegar Yard, Drury Lane, once a week; they dined together on Shakspere's birth-day; Shaksperian songs were sung; members read original papers or poems relating only to Shakspere; and as many artists belonged to this club, they exhibited sketches of some event connected with our poet's life; and some had the honour of submitting a paper to be read, called 'Shakspere's Drinking-Bout,' an imaginary story, illustrating the traditionary event. All these papers and pictures were collected together in a book, called Mulberry Leaves; and in spite of our lowly place of meeting, the club was not intellectually insignificant, when amongst its members, then in their youth, were Douglas Jerrold, Laman Blanchard, the Landseers (Charles and Thomas), Frank Stone, Cattermole, Robert Keeley, Kenny Meadows; and subsequently, though at another and more important place of meeting, Macready, Talfourd (the judge), Charles Dickens, John Forster, and other celebrities." From Mr. Blanchard Jerrold's life of his father we learn that William Elton, the Shaksperian actor, was a member of the Mulberries, as were also William Godwin and Edward Chatfield the artist. The contributions fell into Mr. Elton's hands, and are now in the possession of his family. The leaves were to have been published; but the club dead, it was nobody's business to see them through the press, and to this hour they remain in manuscript. Of the club itself it is said: "Respectability killed it. Sumptuous quarters were sought; Shakspere was to be admired in a most elegant manner-to be edited specially for the club by the author of the Book of Etiquette. But the new atmosphere had not the vigour of the old, and so, after a long struggle, all the Mulberries fell from the old tree, and now it is a green memory only to a few old members." Douglas Jerrold always turned fondly to these Shaksperian days, and he loved to sing the old song he wrote for the Mulberries, in that soft, sweet voice which all his friends remember: "And thus our moral food And less'ning all the ill ;— Our spirits dance with spring." These Mulberry Club meetings are embalmed in Mr. Jerrold's Cakes and Ale, and their life reminds one of the dancing motes in the latter. Then we hear of other clubs-the Gratis and the Rationals-of which Jerrold was a member. 66 But, with clubs of more recent date, with the Hooks and Eyes, and lastly, with Our Club, Douglas Jerrold's name is most intimately associated. It may be justly said that he was the life and soul of these three gatherings of men. His arrival was a happy moment for members already present. His company was sought with wondrous eagerness whenever a dinner or social evening was contemplated; for as a club associate said of him, he sparkled whenever you touched him, like the sea at night.' A writer in the Quarterly Review well said of him: In the bright sallies of conversational wit he has no surviving equal.' "He was thus greatly acceptable in all social literary clubs. In the Museum Club, for instance (an attempt made in 1847 to establish a properly modest and real literary club), he was unquestionably the member; for he was the most clubbable of men." But this club was broken up by troubled spirits, and then succeeded the Hooks and Eyes. WIT OF DOUGLAS JERROLD. Jerrold defined dogmatism as "puppyism come to maturity;" and a flaming uxorious epitaph put up by a famous cook, on his wife's tomb, as "mock turtle." A prosy old gentleman, meeting him as he was passing at his usual quick pace along Regent Street, poised himself into an attitude, and began: "Well, Jerrold, my dear boy, what is going on?"-"I am," said the wit, instantly shooting off. "Have you any railway shares?" said Jerrold to a friend, during a mania. "No," was the reply. "When a river of gold is running by your door," rejoined Jerrold, "why not put out your hat and take a dip?" "I should, perhaps, not have known dear old Jeremy Taylor |