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went　completely　into　it。　　Jilkins　then　got　up；　walked　across　the

room；　came　back；　and　sat　down。　　His　words　were　these。　　'You　have

been　humbugged。　　This　is　a　case　of　indigestion；　occasioned　by

deficiency　of　power　in　the　Stomach。　　Take　a　mutton　chop　in　half…an…

hour；　with　a　glass　of　the　finest　old　sherry　that　can　be　got　for

money。　　Take　two　mutton　chops　to…morrow；　and　two　glasses　of　the

finest　old　sherry。　　Next　day；　I'll　come　again。'　　In　a　week　our　bore

was　on　his　legs；　and　Jilkins's　success　dates　from　that　period！



Our　bore　is　great　in　secret　information。　　He　happens　to　know　many

things　that　nobody　else　knows。　　He　can　generally　tell　you　where　the

split　is　in　the　Ministry；　he　knows　a　great　deal　about　the　Queen；

and　has　little　anecdotes　to　relate　of　the　royal　nursery。　　He　gives

you　the　judge's　private　opinion　of　Sludge　the　murderer；　and　his

thoughts　when　he　tried　him。　　He　happens　to　know　what　such　a　man　got

by　such　a　transaction；　and　it　was　fifteen　thousand　five　hundred

pounds；　and　his　income　is　twelve　thousand　a　year。　　Our　bore　is　also

great　in　mystery。　　He　believes；　with　an　exasperating　appearance　of

profound　meaning；　that　you　saw　Parkins　last　Sunday？　…　Yes；　you　did。

…　Did　he　say　anything　particular？　…　No；　nothing　particular。　…　Our

bore　is　surprised　at　that。　…　Why？　…　Nothing。　　Only　he　understood

that　Parkins　had　come　to　tell　you　something。　…　What　about？　…　Well！

our　bore　is　not　at　liberty　to　mention　what　about。　　But；　he　believes

you　will　hear　that　from　Parkins　himself；　soon；　and　he　hopes　it　may

not　surprise　you　as　it　did　him。　　Perhaps；　however；　you　never　heard

about　Parkins's　wife's　sister？　…　No。　…　Ah！　says　our　bore；　that

explains　it！



Our　bore　is　also　great　in　argument。　　He　infinitely　enjoys　a　long

humdrum；　drowsy　interchange　of　words　of　dispute　about　nothing。　　He

considers　that　it　strengthens　the　mind；　consequently；　he　'don't　see

that；'　very　often。　　Or；　he　would　be　glad　to　know　what　you　mean　by

that。　　Or；　he　doubts　that。　　Or；　he　has　always　understood　exactly

the　reverse　of　that。　　Or；　he　can't　admit　that。　　Or；　he　begs　to　deny

that。　　Or；　surely　you　don't　mean　that。　　And　so　on。　　He　once　advised

us；　offered　us　a　piece　of　advice；　after　the　fact；　totally

impracticable　and　wholly　impossible　of　acceptance；　because　it

supposed　the　fact；　then　eternally　disposed　of；　to　be　yet　in

abeyance。　　It　was　a　dozen　years　ago；　and　to　this　hour　our　bore

benevolently　wishes；　in　a　mild　voice；　on　certain　regular　occasions；

that　we　had　thought　better　of　his　opinion。



The　instinct　with　which　our　bore　finds　out　another　bore；　and　closes

with　him；　is　amazing。　　We　have　seen　him　pick　his　man　out　of　fifty

men；　in　a　couple　of　minutes。　　They　love　to　go　（which　they　do

naturally）　into　a　slow　argument　on　a　previously　exhausted　subject；

and　to　contradict　each　other；　and　to　wear　the　hearers　out；　without

impairing　their　own　perennial　freshness　as　bores。　　It　improves　the

good　understanding　between　them；　and　they　get　together　afterwards；

and　bore　each　other　amicably。　　Whenever　we　see　our　bore　behind　a

door　with　another　bore；　we　know　that　when　he　comes　forth；　he　will

praise　the　other　bore　as　one　of　the　most　intelligent　men　he　ever

met。　　And　this　bringing　us　to　the　close　of　what　we　had　to　say　about

our　bore；　we　are　anxious　to　have　it　understood　that　he　never

bestowed　this　praise　on　us。







A　MONUMENT　OF　FRENCH　FOLLY







IT　was　profoundly　observed　by　a　witty　member　of　the　Court　of　Common

Council；　in　Council　assembled　in　the　City　of　London；　in　the　year　of

our　Lord　one　thousand　eight　hundred　and　fifty；　that　the　French　are

a　frog…eating　people；　who　wear　wooden　shoes。



We　are　credibly　informed；　in　reference　to　the　nation　whom　this

choice　spirit　so　happily　disposed　of；　that　the　caricatures　and

stage　representations　which　were　current　in　England　some　half　a

century　ago；　exactly　depict　their　present　condition。　　For　example；

we　understand　that　every　Frenchman；　without　exception；　wears　a

pigtail　and　curl…papers。　　That　he　is　extremely　sallow；　thin；　long…

faced；　and　lantern…jawed。　　That　the　calves　of　his　legs　are

invariably　undeveloped；　that　his　legs　fail　at　the　knees；　and　that

his　shoulders　are　always　higher　than　his　ears。　　We　are　likewise

assured　that　he　rarely　tastes　any　food　but　soup　maigre；　and　an

onion；　that　he　always　says；　'By　Gar！　Aha！　Vat　you　tell　me；　sare？'

at　the　end　of　every　sentence　he　utters；　and　that　the　true　generic

name　of　his　race　is　the　Mounseers；　or　the　Parly…voos。　　If　he　be　not

a　dancing…master；　or　a　barber；　he　must　be　a　cook；　since　no　other

trades　but　those　three　are　congenial　to　the　tastes　of　the　people；

or　permitted　by　the　Institutions　of　the　country。　　He　is　a　slave；　of

course。　　The　ladies　of　France　（who　are　also　slaves）　invariably　have

their　heads　tied　up　in　Belcher　handkerchiefs；　wear　long　earrings；

carry　tambourines；　and　beguile　the　weariness　of　their　yoke　by

singing　in　head　voices　through　their　noses　…　principally　to　barrel…

organs。



It　may　be　generally　summed　up；　of　this　inferior　people；　that　they

have　no　idea　of　anything。



Of　a　great　Institution　like　Smithfield；　they　are　unable　to　form　the

least　conception。　　A　Beast　Market　in　the　heart　of　Paris　would　be

regarded　an　impossible　nuisance。　　Nor　have　they　any　notion　of

slaughter…houses　in　the　midst　of　a　city。　　One　of　these　benighted

frog…eaters　would　scarcely　understand　your　meaning；　if　you　told　him

of　the　existence　of　such　a　British　bulwark。



It　is　agreeable；　and　perhaps　pardonable；　to　indulge　in　a　little

self…complacency　when　our　right　to　it　is　thoroughly　established。

At　the　present　time；　to　be　rendered　memorable　by　a　final　attack　on

that　good　old　market　which　is　the　（rotten）　apple　of　the

Corporation's　eye；　let　us　compare　ourselves；　to　our　national

delight　and　pride　as　to　these　two　subjects　of　slaughter…house　and

beast…market；　with　the　outlandish　foreigner。



The　blessings　of　Smithfield　are　too　well　understood　to　need

recapitulation；　all　who　run　（away　from　mad　bulls　and　pursuing　oxen）

may　read。　　Any　market…day　they　may　be　beheld　in　glorious　action。

Possibly　the　merits　of　our　slaughter…houses　are　not　yet　quite　so

generally　appreciated。



Slaughter…houses；　in　the　large　towns　of　England；　are　always　（with

the　exception　of　one　or　two　enterprising　towns）　most　numerous　in

the　most　densely　crowded　places；　where　there　is　the　least

circulation　of　air。　　They　are　often　underground；　in　cellars；　they

are　sometimes　in　close　back　yards；　sometimes　（as　in　Spitalfields）

in　the　very　shops　where　the　meat　is　sold。　　Occasionally；　under　good

private　management；　they　are　ventilated　and　clean。　　For　the　most

part；　they　are　unventilated　and　dirty；　and；　to　the　reeking　walls；

putrid　fat　and　other　offensive　animal　matter　clings　with　a

tenacious　hold。　　The　busiest　slaughter…houses　in　London　are　in　the

neighbourhood　of　Smithfield；　in　Newgate　Market；　in　Whitechapel；　in

Newport　Market；　in　Leadenhall　Market；　in　Clare　Market。　　All　these

places　are　surrounded　by　houses　of　a　poor　description；　swarming

with　inhabitants。　　Some　of　them　are　close　to　the　worst　burial…

grounds　in　London。　　When　the　slaughter…house　is　below　the　ground；

it　is　a　common　practice　to　throw　the　sheep　down　areas；　neck　and

crop　…　which　is　exciting；　but　not　at　all　cruel。　　When　it　is　on　the

level　surface；　it　is　often　extremely　difficult　of　approach。　　Then；

the　beasts　have　to　be　worried；　and　goaded；　and　pronged；　and　tail…

twisted；　for　a　long　time　before　they　can　be　got　in　…　which　is

entirely　owing　to　their　natural　obstinacy。　　When　it　is　not

difficult　of　approach；　but　is　in　a　foul　condition；　what　they　see

and　scent　makes　them　still　more　reluctant　to　enter　…　which　is　their

natural　obstinacy　again。　　When　they　do　get　in　at　last；　after　no

trouble　and　suffering　to　speak　of　（for；　there　is　nothing　in　the

previous　journey　into　the　heart　of　London；　the　night's　endurance　in

Smithfield；　the　struggle　out　again；　among　the　crowded　multitude；

the　coaches；　carts；　waggons；　omnibuses；　gigs；　chaises；　phaetons；

cabs；　trucks；　dogs；　boys；　whoopings；　roarings；　and　ten　thousand

other　distractions）；　they　are　represented　to　be　in　a　most　unfit

state　to　be　killed；　according　to　microscopic　examinations　made　of

their　fevered　blood　by　one　of　the　most　distinguished　physiologists

in　the　world；　PROFESSOR　OWEN　…　but　that's　humbug。　　When　they　ARE

killed；　at　last；　their　reeking　carcases　are　hung　in　impure　air；　to

become；　as　the　same　Professor　will　explain　to　you；　less　nutritious

and　more　unwholesome　…　but　he　is　only　an　UNcommon　counsellor；　so

don't　mind　HIM。　　In　half　a　quarter　of　a　mile's　length　of

Whitechapel；　at　one　time；　there　shall　be　six　hundred　newly

slaughtered　oxen　hanging　up；　and　seven　hundred　sheep　…　but；　the

more　the　merrier　…　proof　of　prosperity。　　Hard　by　Snow　Hill　and

Warwick　Lane；　you　shall　see　the　little　children；　inured　to　sights

of　brutality　from　their　birth；　trotting　along　the　alleys；　mingled

with　troops　of　horribly　busy　pigs；　up　to　their　ankles　in　blood　…

but　it　makes　the　young　rascals　hardy。　　Into　the　imperfect　sewers　of

this　overgrown　city；　you　shall　have　the　immense　mass　of　corruption；

engendered　by　these　practices；　lazily　thrown　out　of　sight；　to　rise；

in　poisonous　gases；　into　your　house　at　night；　when　your　sleeping

children　will　most　readily　absorb　them；　and　to　find　its　languid

way；　at　last；　into　the　river　that　you　drink　…　but；　the　French　are　a

frog…eating　people　who　wear　wooden　shoes；　and　it's　O　the　roast　beef

of　England；　my　boy；　the　jolly　old　English　roast　beef。



It　is　quite　a　mistake　…　a　newfangled　notion　altogether　…　to　suppose

that　there　is　any　natural　antagonism　between　putrefaction　and

health。　　They　know　better　than　that；　in　the　Common　Council。　　You

may　talk　about　Nature；　in　her　wisdom；　always　warning　man　through

his　sense　of　smell；　when　he　draws　near　to　something　dangerous；　but；

that　won't　go　down　in　the　City。　　Nature　very　often　don't　mean

anything。　　Mrs。　Quickly　says　that　prunes　are　ill　for　a　green　wou