Theres Pippins and Cheese to Come | Page 9

of a single penny. As for Gibbon and
the bulbous historians, though a whole perusal would outlast the
summer and stretch to the colder months, yet with patience they could
be got through. However, before the end was even a hasty reader whose
eye was nimble on the would be blowing on his nails and pulling his
tails between him and the November wind.
But the habit of reading at the open stalls was not only with the poor.
You will remember that Mr. Brownlow was addicted. Really, had not
the Artful Dodger stolen his pocket handkerchief as he was thus
engaged upon his book, the whole history of Oliver Twist must have
been quite different. And Pepys himself, Samuel Pepys, F.R.S., was
guilty. "To Paul's Church Yard," he writes, "and there looked upon the
second part of Hudibras, which I buy not, but borrow to read." Such
parsimony is the curse of authors. To thumb a volume cheaply around a
neighborhood is what keeps them in their garrets. It is a less offence to
steal peanuts from a stand. Also, it is recorded in the life of Beau Nash
that the persons of fashion of his time, to pass a tedious morning "did
divert themselves with reading in the booksellers' shops." We may
conceive Mr. Fanciful Fopling in the sleepy blink of those early hours
before the pleasures of the day have made a start, inquiring between his
yawns what latest novels have come down from London, or whether a
new part of "Pamela" is offered yet. If the post be in, he will prop
himself against the shelf and--unless he glaze and nod--he will read
cheaply for an hour. Or my Lady Betty, having taken the waters in the
pump-room and lent her ear to such gossip as is abroad so early, is now
handed to her chair and goes round by Gregory's to read a bit. She is
flounced to the width of the passage. Indeed, until the fashion shall
abate, those more solid authors that are set up in the rear of the shop,
must remain during her visits in general neglect. Though she hold
herself against the shelf and tilt her hoops, it would not be possible to
pass. She is absorbed in a book of the softer sort, and she flips its pages
against her lap-dog's nose.

But now behold the student coming up the street! He is clad in shining
black. He is thin of shank as becomes a scholar. He sags with
knowledge. He hungers after wisdom. He comes opposite the bookshop.
It is but coquetry that his eyes seek the window of the tobacconist. His
heart, you may be sure, looks through the buttons at his back. At last he
turns. He pauses on the curb. Now desire has clutched him. He jiggles
his trousered shillings. He treads the gutter. He squints upon the rack.
He lights upon a treasure. He plucks it forth. He is unresolved whether
to buy it or to spend the extra shilling on his dinner. Now all you cooks
together, to save your business, rattle your pans to rouse him! If within
these ancient buildings there are onions ready peeled--quick!--throw
them in the skillet that the whiff may come beneath his nose! Chance
trembles and casts its vote--eenie meenie--down goes the shilling--he
has bought the book. Tonight he will spread it beneath his candle. Feet
may beat a snare of pleasure on the pavement, glad cries may pipe
across the darkness, a fiddle may scratch its invitation--all the rumbling
notes of midnight traffic will tap in vain their summons upon his
window.

Any Stick Will Do To Beat A Dog
Reader, possibly on one of your country walks you have come upon a
man with his back against a hedge, tormented by a fiend in the likeness
of a dog. You yourself, of course, are not a coward. You possess that
cornerstone of virtue, a love for animals. If at your heels a dog sniffs
and growls, you humor his mistake, you flick him off and proceed with
unbroken serenity. It is scarcely an interlude to your speculation on the
market. Or if you work upon a sonnet and are in the vein, your thoughts,
despite the beast, run unbroken to a rhyme. But pity this other whose
heart is less stoutly wrapped! He has gone forth on a holiday to take the
country air, to thrust himself into the freer wind, to poke with his stick
for such signs of Spring as may be hiding in the winter's leaves. Having
been grinding in an office he flings himself on the great round world.
He has come out to smell the earth. Or maybe he seeks a hilltop for a
view of the fields that lie