'Home, indeed! Don't tell me. Does a girl run away from home when she is treated there with gentleness? Did you ever run away from here? Just answer me that! A proud, hard woman, not fit to bring up a daughter." see "If the mother wants to take her, I don't how you can keep her." "But I will keep her; that is, if she is anxious to stay with me. Let the mother go home and cool her temper a little. The girl has asked me for shelter, and I promise you she shall get it." As Miss Martha spoke the parlour door opened violently, and Lady Archbold made her way rapidly down the garden path to her carriage. Miss Martha thanked Heaven, and went back to her store-room, and May met Katherine returning to her chamber. There were two red spots on the young lady's cheeks; but her eyes were dry and bright. It was not she who had wept so piteonsly as to spoil Miss Martha's custard. The eyes that had shed the tears were still weeping themselves blind as they were hurried along through the snow back to Camlough. The next day Katherine's trunks did actually arrive; laden with the costly and beautiful raiment in which Miss Archbold loved to deck herself. Miss Martha marvelled not a little when she saw their number and proportions; and Bridget's head was completely turned for a whole week by the visions of grandeur which dazzled her eyes whilst she was engaged in making up Miss Archbold's room. THOMAS BUSBY, MUS. DOC. THERE is a story of a country clergyman observing of Rejected Addresses, that he could not understand why they had been rejected; they seemed to him very good addresses. And a certain critic of the period is reputed to have said of Gulliver's Travels that he thought the narrative interesting, but rather improbable in regard to some of its details. It is plain that, in the judgment of many lookers-on, satire must often miss its mark. Indeed, when it is of a comprehensive kind, one can no more expect that its every shaft will tell, than that every shot fired from a mitrail leuse will cause destruction. In both cases some waste of force, and some failure of plan, are almost inevitable. A great satirist invests with importance the objects of his satire. However severe may be his usage of them, he yet kicks them up-stairs as it were. Pope has really embalmed in the Dunciad the poetasters and witlings he sought to exterminate. But for him we should know nothing of them. In lieu of the vitriol that destroys, he poured upon them, in truth, the spirits of wine that preserve. Fame clings to them from the fact that they were deemed worthy the furious attack of one so famous. James and Horace Smith were not satirists of the Pope school. Avowedly they designed but to raise " a harmless laugh" at the expense of the more eminent and popular writers of their time. Some of these even-Rogers and Campbell for instance-were passed over from a feeling that they did not present sufficient opportunities to the caricaturists. And throughout their undertaking the joint authors were intent upon producing inoffensive parodies rather than acrimonious satire. As a rule, therefore, we must not look in their pages for the kind of ridicule that confers long life upon its victims. Something like this has happened, however, in two or three cases. Effusive Fitzgerald and his benedictory verses would perhaps long since have been forgotten but for the burlesque of his muse by the Smiths. The Honourable William Spencer's name as a poet would scarcely have survived if the humorous travestie of his style and sentiments, commencing with the line "Sobriety cease to be sober," had not been written. Spencer himself, "in comic confidence at his villa at Petersham," said to Horace Smith: 66 'It's all very well for once, but don't do it again. I had been almost forgotten when you revived me; and now all the newspapers and reviews ring with 'this fashionable and trashy author.' And a third bard, mainly remembered now by the parody of his verses in Rejected Addresses, was a certain Thomas Busby, Mus. Doc., concerning whom we propose to make some brief mention. The arrow sped at Doctor Busby was the one failure of the satirists. He could thereafter claim fame both on the score that he had been thought worth aiming at, and that he had been missed. But he was in truth too vast and too dense a butt. He had already clothed himself so completely in ridicule, that there was no room for any one to add more. What can the satirist do against a man who has more than sufficiently satirised himself? The doctor's own writings, as the Quarterly Review remarked at the time, "for extravagant folly, tumid meanness, and vulgar affectation, set all the powers of parody at utter defiance." Jeffrey, in the Edinburgh, said of the address, Architectural Atoms, which the Smiths had ascribed to Busby, that it appeared to be far more capable of combining into good poetry than the few lines we were able to read of the learned doctor's genuine address." Did ever satirists before over estimate the merits of their subject, or parody so mildly as to raise less laughter than the thing parodied? brace the whole British drama in that mysterious form of entertainment. Doctor Busby provided a prologue to this ballet of Macbeth. It was a curious composition, which reciting that "with nature and the energies of man, the reign of poesy and song began," enumerated all the great dramatists from Eschylus to Shakespeare, and concluded with a reference to the peculiar difficulties of the Surrey management: Though not endowed with fullest powers of speech, The poet's object we aspire to reach ; The emphatic gesture, eloquence of eye, Scenes, music, every energy we try, Το prove we keep our duties full in view, And what we must not say resolved to do; Convinced that you will deem our zeal sincere, Since more by deeds than words it will appear. Many other addresses were afterwards written by Busby for Elliston; the great manager and his proceedings supplying sufficient themes for the poet. "They contributed to each other's fame," writes a critic; "it was a joint policy of immortality;" and it was noted at the time that although Kean was the first actor who talked of "his secretary," Elliston was the first manager who for his own greater glorification specially retained the services of a bard. Yet this Busby, apart from his distinction as a butt, was a person of some note in his day. Absurd almost to craziness, he yet had fair title to respect on the score of his abilities and accomplishments. Born at Westminster, in 1755, he had studied music under Jonathan Battishill, at that time a famous composer of anthems, catches, and glees, who lies buried by the side of Doctor Boyce, in St. Paul's Cathedral. Busby became organist at the churches of St. Mary Woolnoth, Lombard-street, and St. Mary, Newington; produced oratorios at the Haymarket and Covent Garden Theatres ; Occasionally it would seem, however, that published selections of music in a serial Elliston, unable to commit to memory the form, such as the Divine Harmonist and rhapsodies of Busby, or preferring his own the Beauties of British Song. In 1800 the impromptu ingenuity as a speech-maker. | University of Cambridge conferred upon would pause in the middle of the doctor's him his degree of Doctor of Music. He address, and conclude with an oration of supplied the accompaniments to the popular his own contriving. Something of this melodramas of a Tale of Mystery and kind happened at the opening of the Surrey Rugantino, and the music of the opera of in 1810. The first poetry lines of the the Fair Fugitives. He published a gram- managerial address were Busby's, but premar of music and a new musical dictionary. sently Elliston was found to be delivering Moreover, he produced a translation of in his happiest manner his own florid prose. Lucretius, which was thus cruelly an- "The poetry was conventional, the speech nounced by one of the newspapers in the was special," writes Elliston's biographer, register of births: "Yesterday, at his house" and though the unhappy rhymester was in Queen Anne-street, Doctor Busby of a still-born Lucretius." It was the doctor's delusion that he was a poet. He was continually pestering the newspapers with his effusions. He especially prided himself upon his prologues and occasional addresses to theatrical audiences. Elliston, who had become manager of the Surrey Theatre, humoured the doctor's foible, enlisted his services, and designated him "the laureate of the Surrey stage.' In evasion or in defiance of the restrictions of the licenser and the privileges of the patent theatres, Elliston had produced Macbeth as "a grand ballet of action with music, &c." He was only entitled to perform "burlettas," but he contrived to em sadly shorn on the evening in question, he had the satisfaction of viewing himself at full length in the newspaper columns of the following morning." When the committee of management of Drury Lane Theatre publicly advertised in August, 1812, for an address to be spoken on the opening of the new building on the 10th of October, be sure that Doctor Busby availed himself of the opportunity to exercise his muse. It does not appear from the terms of the advertisement that any reward was offered for the most successful poem. But no doubt an understanding prevailed that the chosen bard would be duly recompensed. Nearly a gross of addresses was sent in, each in obedience to the pro 66 upon the stage were seen gesticulating and interchanging profound bows, after the manner of Noodle and Doodle in the burlesque of Tom Thumb. Eventually the stranger was somewhat violently removed from the stage by two police officers. This arbitrary proceeding excited great disapprobation. The concluding performances of the night were subjected to grave interruption. The stage-manager was summoned and was loudly hissed upon his entry. He endeavoured to explain that he had only acted in accordance with the duties of his office; he had but removed an unknown person," who had attempted to disturb the representation, and he appealed to the house to know if it was regular or desirable that any one should quit the pit and appear on the stage to recite an unauthorised address: A measure of peace was restored, but Mr. Raymond left many of his auditors unconvinced of the propriety of his treatment of the "unknown person," who remains unknown to this day. visions of the invitation, "sealed up, with a distinguishing word, number, or motto, corresponding with the inscription on a separate sealed paper containing the name of the author." These addresses, some written by men of great, some by men of little, and some by men of no talent," were all rejected. At the last moment a prologue was supplied by Lord Byron, a member of the committee. Probably it had been from the first intended that his lordship should be the poet of the occasion. Of the numerous discarded bards, Doctor Busby was the most angry and disappointed. Fully convinced of its surpassing merits, he had made sure of his address being chosen before all others. Moreover, as though expressly to aggravate the sufferings of the poets, no intimation had been afforded them of the fate of their manuscripts. It is even probable that many of them had attended the theatre on the opening night in expectation of hearing their own verses delivered from the stage. The rejected candidates might surely have been spared this mortification. And the managers would have saved themselves from considerable inconvenience if they had been more alert to consult the feelings of the slighted authors. Lord Byron's address was recited by Elliston, in the dress of Hamlet, on the opening night, and was repeated after the first play on nine or ten subsequent evenings. There was a murmuring in the air and a leaven of discontent among the audience, but there would seem to have been no serious manifestation of feeling until the night of the 14th of October, when, imme- "I am Doctor Busby: a lover, a member diately after the performance of the Hypo- of the drama, and a friend to the theatre." crite had concluded, an unknown gentle- (Loud cheering, hisses, and cries of "Hear man rose in the pit and addressed the him !"). "Ladies and gentlemen, by some audience with great earnestness. One of I may be blamed for taking this method of the actors appeared upon the stage in ac- addressing you, as being humiliating to a cordance with the custom of that time, to gentleman, but I can see no greater improannounce the entertainments of the follow-priety in speaking from the public box of a ing evening. He was compelled to retire, public theatre than from a forum, or from having failed to make himself heard. The the hustings of an election." (Cheering attention of the audience was engrossed by and disapprobation.) "Ladies and gentlethe speaker in the pit, and great confusion men, for the talents and qualifications of prevailed. The gentleman was waving a the right honourable, noble, and illustrious paper in his hand, and was therefore in- lord who wrote the address which you have vited by his neighbours to mount to the heard this night recited to you I have the stage and address the house from that highest respect." (Applause and hisses.) advantageous position. This counsel the un- "It is well known that for several weeks known followed; when in front of the foot- the committee appointed to manage the lights he was met by Mr. Raymond, the concerns of this theatre have, by public adstage-manager. Both addressed the house vertisements, courted the exertions of the and each other, without either making him- literary world to prepare an address to be self heard. The spectators laughed, cheered, spoken at the opening of this truly magniand then hooted. Meantime, the figures ficent structure. This was, on their part, A more stormy episode was in store for the following evening relative to a rejected address. The entertainments consisted of the Rivals and the farce of Turn Out. Upon the termination of the comedy, Doctor Busby rose from his seat in the boxes, and, bowing repeatedly to all parts of the house, commenced a speech. For some minutes the tumult was so great, friends and foes were alike so vociferous, hisses and plaudits were so intermingled, that not a sentence could be heard. By his more immediate neighbours, however, the speaker was understood to say: noble and praiseworthy, but it must be allowed on all hands that, however right they have been in intention, they have most lamentably erred in judgment.' The noise now became so great that the doctor was unable to proceed for some minutes. Presently he went on to say that the number of persons who condescended to furnish addresses had exceeded one hundred, he believed, and those who thought that out of such a number a better could not have been selected, did not think so highly of the poetical talent of the country as he did. Among them it might be taken for granted that some were very fine. He himself knew of four or five answering to that description. Here arose loud cries of "Your own and your son's were among the number." The orchestra now commenced playing, and drowned in music the voice of the speaker. Presently he was further interrupted by the performance of the farce. Between the acts he made an unsuccessful attempt to renew his speech. The audience were divided in opinion. Some were for hearing the doctor, some for hearing the farce. The actors ventured upon appropriate "gags." Dowton, who played Restive, charged against a misjudging world" which had rejected many of his works of genius, that he had sent twenty most noble addresses to Drury Lane Theatre, none of which had been accepted by the committee. He had, therefore, determined to go to the playhouse himself and recite them." This sally was received with great laughter and applause. And a verse of the song of Turn Out, sung by Knight, in the character of Forage, also excited great amusement : Poor poets must often turn out, turn out, And though often they wait, They discover, too late, Like the rest they must quickly turn out. But the doctor was not to be dismayed' or silenced. The farce over, he again presented himself to the audience. "I have a strong, a powerful motive," he said, "for requesting your attention. I am a friend to this theatre. I wish to open the way to super-excellence, to bring forward strong and powerful talent instead of letting it sink into oblivion. Gentlemen, I am a friend to merit, and more especially to modest merit. My son is now in this house with an address which I had prepared for the opening of the theatre, and nothing would bring greater pride and satisfaction to me than that he should be allowed by the managers to rehearse it on the stage, if you will give him leave." This proposition was greeted with prolonged applause. But suddenly the speaker was roughly seized by two Bow-street officers, and dragged from the boxes. The doctor fought gallantly, and by sitting down on the stairs and grasping the banisters with all his force, he greatly hindered the efforts of the constables. A crowd was collected and chivalrously took the part of the oppressed. The officers were hustled down the stairs, while their victim was borne in triumph upon the shoulders of his friends round the corridors, and reinstated in the boxes. Smoothing his ruffled plumage, and gaining breath while the house cheered him again and again, the doctor resumed his speech. He was understood to state that he was now the champion of the rights of playgoers, as much a freeman as a conqueror, and he should now give the house an opportunity of hearing such a monologue as they had seldom heard. (Cries of "Bravo!" and "Go on!") He acknowledged their kind partiality with more than common gratitude, for more than common compliment to his muse; but he had now to mention that if they were as sincere as he was in their desire to hear his verses, they must hear them from his son, who was sitting in the pit, and who knew the monologue by heart. Mr. George Frederick Busby, the doctor's son, now mounted to the stage. At the same moment Mr. Raymond reappeared. In obedience to the wish of the house he soon withdrew however, intimating that the management had no wish to interfere with the efforts of the reciter. Mr. Busby, junior, then began the address. But his voice was small, and the uproar was still great. With difficulty could the opening lines be heard: When energising objects men pursue Then came interruptions, hisses, cries of The young gentleman claimed further indulgence, and for some little time longer he was permitted to proceed with his monologue. But still he could not make himself heard. The house now took to groaning and crying "Go home!" "Go home!" At length he desisted, and retired from the stage, leaving his address still in part unheard. So terminated a scene that was wonderfully absurd, and must have been also irresistibly laughable. The doctor published his address in the newspapers. He was not to be convinced of its inferiority. At his own house he gave private recitations of it, with readings from his translation of Lucretius, refreshing his audience with tea and bread-andbatter. Satire was powerless against such a poet. The Smiths' parody fell flat. Even the Parenthetical Address, by. "Doctor Plagiary," which Lord Byron hastened to publish, was felt as somewhat superfluous, a thrice slaying of the slain. The opening lines ran thus: "When energising objects men pursue," The Lord knows what is writ by Lord knows who. "A modest monologue you here survey," Hissed from the theatre "the other day," As if Sir Fretful wrote the "slumberous" verse, And gave his son " the rubbish" to rehearse. The address was directed to be spoken "in an inarticulate voice by Master P. at the opening of the next new theatre. Stolen parts marked with inverted commas.' But it was hardly worth while to accuse the doctor of plagiarism, or to consider him with any degree of gravity. He was not a foeman worthy of Lord Byron's steel, or of any one's steel, or, indeed, of steel at all employed aggressively. He could be safely trusted to make himself more than sufficiently ridiculous. A CORNISH CARNIVAL. A PROPER Combination of business with pleasure, so as to enjoy a sufficiency of the latter while persuading oneself that one is duly discharging the former, so as to find oneself strongly impelled by duty to proceed to certain places, where, on those particular occasions, there happen to be more than ordinary attractions, though difficult of achievement, amply repays one for the pains and labour it entails. I speak with authority on this subject, because my position, as Commissioner of Drafts and Dockets, has given me a certain amount of experience. It has been my fate to be on duty in the neighbourhood of Epsom in the last days of May, and after a fortnight's interval, to be compelled to proceed as far as Ascot. I have a recollection of attempting to console myself for having to work during Easter week, by finding that the scene of my operations lay in the Isle of Wight, and of mitigating the severity of my autumnal labours, by choosing that period of the year for the inspection of the drafts and dockets in connexion with the English Lakes. But on consideration, I am disposed to think that I never so effectively combined business with pleasure, as during the three spring months of last year, which I passed in Devonshire and Cornwall, a result mainly owing to the suggestive guidance of Mr. Cumberland. A pleasant man, Mr. Cumberland, but not without his peculiarities; the most noticeable of these being his inability to arrive at a railway station until just as the train by which he is going is about to start; his inability to remember anybody's name, and a consequent habit of calling everybody "Mr.-Um;" and a most singular knowledge of outlying corners in all sorts of localities--city streets, country roads, and barren moors-where liquid refreshment, always phrased by him as a "glass of bitter," is procurable. At Travelling here and there in the extreme west, looking after the well-being of the drafts and dockets, I was continually coming across Mr. Cumberland, and was immensely puzzled as to the nature of his occupation. Sometimes I would see him alight at a station, spring into an open trap which was waiting for him, and be whirled away by prancing steeds. other times he would jump out at a little bit of a platform, and go clumping up a badly-made road, in company of a gentleman evidently of the navvy persuasion. I have seen him swathed in thick leather from his hips to his heels, with an oil-skin dreadnought on his back, and a fan-tailed hat on his head, and a short black pipe in his mouth, and I have beheld him radiant in blue broadcloth and white waistcoat, and low-crowned curlybrimmed hat, of the celebrated Champagne Charley pattern, perched rakishly on his head, while he languidly puffed an odoriferous cigar. He was known to all the station-masters and guards on the line, with whom he held muttered conferences about spare timber-trucks, and taking this in conjunction with the fact that I once met him riding, with great difficulty, a very obstinate looking pony, in the midst of a thick wood, and pointing out what |