in action; and I can confirm it from my own
experience.

The most trying situation for a soldier in
front of an enemy, occurs when he is placed
with his corps in reserve after the action has
commenced. He listens to the firing, and
perhaps sees, now and then, a batch of
wounded carried to the rear, while he is
every moment anxiously expecting his own
orders to move forward. Then, he is fidgetty
and nervous. On these occasions I have j
observed in many of those around me, as well
as in my own person, a restless uneasiness of
manner, a desire to be doing something, manifesting
itself in a variety of ways. The order
to advance brings sudden relief, and the troop
gladly rushes on the danger that it was so
irksome to stand by and see.

        LAST WORDS WITH PHILIP
                    STUBBES.

GRANT me a few last words with Philip
Philoponus, the Reformer, ladies and gentlemen.*
I know what a patient long-suffering
public you are; how in this and
preceding ages you have borne, without a
murmur, all Prynne's folios, all Sir Richard
Black rnore's endless epics, all the interminable
novels of Mdlle. de Scuderi. I know
how, after Mr. Baxter's Last Words had been
published, you accepted with melancholy
resignation the More Last Words of Mr.
Baxter. It is a shame, I know, to trespass
on your good nature; but Stubbes is in
earnest, and is burning to tell you more of
the shocking state of things that existed in
England in fifteen hundred and eighty-five.
* See Household Words, vol. xi. p. 55X

Philip winds up his tirade against costly
apparel by a final fling at swells in general. " Is
it any marvel," he asks, "if they stand on their
pantoffles, and hoyse up their sails so high!
But whether they have argent to maintain
this gear or not, it is not material, for they
will have it one way or other, or else they
will sell or mortgage their lands, or go a-hunting
on Suter's (Shooter's) Hill, or Stangate
Hole, with loss of their lives at Tiburne
in a rope." Our swells are not quite reduced
to such dire extremities in the reign of
Queen Victoria. Long after lands have been
mortgaged, and credit exhausted, the lively
kite can be flown, and the valiant "bit of
stiff" can be done. Young Rakewell does not
turn highwayman now; he goes through the
Insolvent Court, emigrates to the diggings,
or joins the commissariat in the Crimea.

It is really astonishing, deceitful as is the
heart above all things, and desperately
wicked, what a miserable paucity in invention
there is in our crimes. We find the
very same rogueries exposed in Philip
Stubbes's book as are daily adjudicated upon
by the magistrates at our police courts, every
day in the week. Speaking of bought hair
and coloured (tremble ye ladies with fronts!)
as worn by females, he says, " And if there be
any poor women (as, now and then, we see
God doeth bless them with beauty as well
as the rich) that have fair hair, these nice
dames will not rest till they have bought
it. Or if any children have fair hair, they
will entice them into a secret place, and
either by force, or for a penny or two, will
cut off their hair; as I heard that one did in
the city of Munidnol, of late, who, meeting a
little child with very fair hair, invegled her
into a house, promised her a penny, and so
cut off her hair,—and besides, took most of
her apparel." Civilisation has increased
wonderfully—oh, dear, yes! but has crime
decreased, or altered one single lineament of
its hideous face. Nice dames, it is true, no
longer go about with brandished scissors,
vowing vengeance to the fair hair of children;
but how many " good Mrs. Browns " are
there, and how many cases of child-stripping
throughout the year at the London police-courts.

Mr. Stubbes proceeds to enter into the
discussion of certain questions, into which
I cannot, for obvious reasons, follow him
I notice, however, that he rails much at
the absurditie of ecclesiastical magistrates
making dissolute persons do penance in
church in white sheets, with white wands in
their hands. The congregation do nought
but laugh, he says, and the penitent has his
usual clothes underneath. The severity of
the measures proposed by Philip for putting
down vice would certainly astonish our modern
Society for the suppression thereof.
Vicious persons, he suggests, should either
"drinke a full draught of Moises cup, that is,
taste of present death, as God's word doth
command, and good policy allow; or else,
if that be thought too severe, they might
be cauterised and seared with a hot iron on
the cheek and forehead, to the end that
the children of Satan might be discerned
from honest and chaste Christians." If Mr.
Stubbes' suggestions were ever to be acted
upon (and vagaries far more fantastic and
absurd have passed into law even in this, our
own time), what a demand for red-hot pokers
there would be, to be sure!

Stubbes bewaileth beef. He is speaking of
the great excess in delicate fare, the variety
of dishes with curious sauces, such as the
veriest Helluo, the insatiablest glutton, would
not desire; the condiments, confections, and
spiceries, and how meats bring destruction.
"Oh! what nicety is this!" he cries. " Oh!
farewell, former world; for I have heard my
father say that, in his day, one dish or two of
wholesome meat was thought sufficient for a
man of worship to dine withal, and if they had
three or four kinds, it was reputed a sumptuous
feast. A good lump of beef was thought
then good meat, and able for the best; but
now it is thought too gross for their tender
stomachs to digest." I wonder whether old
Philip Stubbes ever courted the Muses—ever