21-->were “snatched,” but he forgets that this traffic was a secret one, and the bodies were brought to the private residence of the physicians, the only safe way (Vide the memoirs of Sir A. Cooper).  At a great public Hospital the practice would be impossible.

“Hot elder wine, well qualified with brandy and spice,” is a drink that would not now be accepted with enthusiasm at the humblest wedding, even in the rural districts: we are assured that sound “was the sleep and pleasant were the dreams that followed.”  Which is not so certain.  The cake was cut and “passed through the ring,” also an exploded custom, whatever its meaning was.  In what novel now-a-days would there be an allusion to “Warren’s blacking,” or to “Rowland’s oil,” which was, of course, their famous “Macassar.”  These articles, however, may still be procured, and to that oil we owe the familiar interposing towel or piece of embroidery the “antimacassar,” devised to protect the sofa or easy chair from the

unguent of the hair.  “Moral pocket handkerchiefs,” for teaching religion to natives of the West Indies, combining amusement with instruction, “blending select tales with woodcuts,” are no longer used.

Old Temple Bar has long since disappeared, so has the Holborn Valley.  The Fleet was pulled down about ten years after Pickwick, but imprisonment for debt continued until 1860 or so.  Indeed Mr. Lang seems to think it still goes on, for he says it is now “disguised as imprisonment for contempt of Court.”  This is a mistake.  In the County Courts when small debts under £3 10s. are sued for, the judge will order a small weekly sum to be paid in discharge; in case of failure to pay, he will punish the disobedience by duress not exceeding fifteen days—a wholly different thing from imprisonment for debt.

Where now are the Pewter Pots, and the pot boy with his strap of “pewters?”—we would have to search for them now.  Long

cut glasses have taken their place.  Where, too, is the invariable Porter, drunk almost exclusively in Pickwick?  Bass had not then made its great name.  There is no mention of Billiard tables, but much about Skittles and Bagatelle, which were the pastimes at Taverns.

Then the Warming Pan!  Who now “does trouble himself about the Warming Pan?”—which is yet “a harmless necessary and I will add a comforting article of domestic furniture.”  Observe necessary, as though every family had it as an article of their “domestic furniture.”  It is odd to think of Mary going round all the beds in the house, and deftly introducing this “article” between the sheets.  Or was it only for the old people: or in chilly weather merely?  On these points we must be unsatisfied.  The practice, however, points to a certain effeminacy—the average person of our day would not care to have his bed so treated—with invalids the “Hot Water Bottle” has

“usurped its place.”  We find this superannuated instrument in the “antique” dealers’ shops, at a good figure—a quaint old world thing, of a sort of old-fashioned cut and pattern.  There only do people appear to trouble themselves about it.

“Chops and tomato sauce.”  This too is superannuated also.  A more correct taste is now chops au naturel, and relying on their own natural juices; but we have cutlets, with tomatos.

Again, are little boys no longer clad in “a tight suit of corduroy, spangled with brass buttons of very considerable size:” indeed corduroy is seldom seen save on the figures of some chic ladies.  And how fortunate to live in days when a smart valet could be secured for twelve pounds a year, and two suits; [24] and not less.

Surprising too was the valet’s accustomed dress.  “A grey coat, a black hat, with a

cockade on it, a pink striped waistcoat, light breeches and gaiters.”  What too were “bright basket buttons” on a brown coat?  Fancy Balls too, like Mrs. Leo Hunter’s, were given in the daytime, and caused no astonishment.  Nor have we lodging-houses with beds on the “twopenny rope” principle.  There are no “dry arches” of Waterloo Bridge: though here I suspect Boz was confounding them with those of the Adelphi.

Gone too are the simple games of childhood.  Marbles for instance.  We recall Serjeant Buzfuz’s pathetic allusion to little Bardell’s “Alley Tors and Commoneys; the long familiar cry of ‘knuckle down’ is neglected.”  Who sees a boy playing marbles now in the street or elsewhere?  Mr. Lang in his edition gives us no lore about this point.  “Alley Tors” was short for “Alabaster,” the material of which the best marbles were made.

“Tor” however, is usually spelt “Taw.”  “Commoneys” were the inferior or

commoner kind.  “Knuckle down,” according to our recollections, was the laying the knuckle on the ground for a shot.  “Odd and even” was also spoken of by the Serjeant.  Another game alluded to, is mysteriously called “Tip-cheese”—of which the latest editor speculates “probably Tip-cat was meant: the game at which Bunyan was distinguishing himself when he had a call.”  The “cat” was a plain piece of wood, sharpened at both ends.  I suppose made to jump, like a cat.  But unde “cheese,” unless it was a piece of rind that was struck.

“Flying the garter” is another of the Pickwickian boy games.  Talking with a very old gentleman, lately, I thought of asking him concerning “Flying the garter:” he at once enlightened me.  It was a familiar thing he remembered well “when a boy.”  It was a sort of “Leap Frog,” exercise—only with a greater and longer spring: he

spoke also of a shuffle of the feet during the process.

And again.  There is a piquant quaintness in the upside-down turning of every thing in this wonderful Book.  Such as Perker’s eyes, which are described as playing with his “inquisitive nose” a “perpetual game of”—what, think you?  Bo-Peep? not at all: but “peep-bo.”  How odd and unaccountable!  We all knew the little “Bo-peep,” and her sheep—but “peep-bo” is quite a reversal.

Gas was introduced into London about the year 1812 and was thought a prodigiously “brilliant illuminant.”  But in the Pickwickian days it was still in a crude state—and we can see in the first print—that of the club room—only two attenuated jets over the table.  In many of the prints we find the dip or mould candle, which was used to light Sam as he sat in the coffee room of the Blue Boar.  Mr. Nupkins’ kitchen was not lit by gas.

As to this matter of light—it all depends on habit and accommodating.  When a boy I have listened to “Ivanhoe” read out—O enchantment! by the light of two “mould” candles—the regular thing—which required “snuffing” about every ten minutes, and snuffing required dexterity.  The snuffers—laid on a long tray—were of ponderous construction; it was generally some one’s regular duty to snuff—how odd seems this now!  The “plaited wicks”