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than we poor; grown…up; obliterated fools remember。



The name of Skelt itself has always seemed a part and parcel of the 

charm of his productions。  It may be different with the rose; but 

the attraction of this paper drama sensibly declined when Webb had 

crept into the rubric: a poor cuckoo; flaunting in Skelt's nest。  

And now we have reached Pollock; sounding deeper gulfs。  Indeed; 

this name of Skelt appears so stagey and piratic; that I will adopt 

it boldly to design these qualities。  Skeltery; then; is a quality 

of much art。  It is even to be found; with reverence be it said; 

among the works of nature。  The stagey is its generic name; but it 

is an old; insular; home…bred staginess; not French; domestically 

British; not of to…day; but smacking of O。 Smith; Fitzball; and the 

great age of melodrama: a peculiar fragrance haunting it; uttering 

its unimportant message in a tone of voice that has the charm of 

fresh antiquity。  I will not insist upon the art of Skelt's 

purveyors。  These wonderful characters that once so thrilled our 

soul with their bold attitude; array of deadly engines and 

incomparable costume; to…day look somewhat pallidly; the extreme 

hard favour of the heroine strikes me; I had almost said with pain; 

the villain's scowl no longer thrills me like a trumpet; and the 

scenes themselves; those once unparalleled landscapes; seem the 

efforts of a prentice hand。  So much of fault we find; but on the 

other side the impartial critic rejoices to remark the presence of 

a great unity of gusto; of those direct clap…trap appeals; which a 

man is dead and buriable when he fails to answer; of the footlight 

glamour; the ready…made; bare…faced; transpontine picturesque; a 

thing not one with cold reality; but how much dearer to the mind!



The scenery of Skeltdom … or; shall we say; the kingdom of 

Transpontus? … had a prevailing character。  Whether it set forth 

Poland as in THE BLIND BOY; or Bohemia with THE MILLER AND HIS MEN; 

or Italy with THE OLD OAK CHEST; still it was Transpontus。  A 

botanist could tell it by the plants。  The hollyhock was all 

pervasive; running wild in deserts; the dock was common; and the 

bending reed; and overshadowing these were poplar; palm; potato 

tree; and QUERCUS SKELTICA … brave growths。  The caves were all 

embowelled in the Surreyside formation; the soil was all betrodden 

by the light pump of T。 P。 Cooke。  Skelt; to be sure; had yet 

another; an oriental string: he held the gorgeous east in fee; and 

in the new quarter of Hyeres; say; in the garden of the Hotel des 

Iles d'Or; you may behold these blessed visions realised。  But on 

these I will not dwell; they were an outwork; it was in the 

accidental scenery that Skelt was all himself。  It had a strong 

flavour of England; it was a sort of indigestion of England and 

drop…scenes; and I am bound to say was charming。  How the roads 

wander; how the castle sits upon the hill; how the sun eradiates 

from behind the cloud; and how the congregated clouds themselves 

up…roll; as stiff as bolsters!  Here is the cottage interior; the 

usual first flat; with the cloak upon the nail; the rosaries of 

onions; the gun and powder…horn and corner…cupboard; here is the 

inn (this drama must be nautical; I foresee Captain Luff and Bold 

Bob Bowsprit) with the red curtain; pipes; spittoons; and eight…day 

clock; and there again is that impressive dungeon with the chains; 

which was so dull to colour。  England; the hedgerow elms; the thin 

brick houses; windmills; glimpses of the navigable Thames … 

England; when at last I came to visit it; was only Skelt made 

evident: to cross the border was; for the Scotsman; to come home to 

Skelt; there was the inn…sign and there the horse…trough; all 

foreshadowed in the faithful Skelt。  If; at the ripe age of 

fourteen years; I bought a certain cudgel; got a friend to load it; 

and thenceforward walked the tame ways of the earth my own ideal; 

radiating pure romance … still I was but a puppet in the hand of 

Skelt; the original of that regretted bludgeon; and surely the 

antitype of all the bludgeon kind; greatly improved from 

Cruikshank; had adorned the hand of Jonathan Wild; pl。 I。  〃This is 

mastering me;〃 as Whitman cries; upon some lesser provocation。  

What am I? what are life; art; letters; the world; but what my 

Skelt has made them?  He stamped himself upon my immaturity。  The 

world was plain before I knew him; a poor penny world; but soon it 

was all coloured with romance。  If I go to the theatre to see a 

good old melodrama; 'tis but Skelt a little faded。  If I visit a 

bold scene in nature; Skelt would have been bolder; there had been 

certainly a castle on that mountain; and the hollow tree … that set 

piece … I seem to miss it in the foreground。  Indeed; out of this 

cut…and…dry; dull; swaggering; obtrusive; and infantile art; I seem 

to have learned the very spirit of my life's enjoyment; met there 

the shadows of the characters I was to read about and love in a 

late future; got the romance of DER FREISCHUTZ long ere I was to 

hear of Weber or the mighty Formes; acquired a gallery of scenes 

and characters with which; in the silent theatre of the brain; I 

might enact all novels and romances; and took from these rude cuts 

an enduring and transforming pleasure。  Reader … and yourself?



A word of moral: it appears that B。 Pollock; late J。 Redington; No。 

73 Hoxton Street; not only publishes twenty…three of these old 

stage favourites; but owns the necessary plates and displays a 

modest readiness to issue other thirty…three。  If you love art; 

folly; or the bright eyes of children; speed to Pollock's; or to 

Clarke's of Garrick Street。  In Pollock's list of publicanda I 

perceive a pair of my ancient aspirations: WRECK ASHORE and 

SIXTEEN…STRING JACK; and I cherish the belief that when these shall 

see once more the light of day; B。 Pollock will remember this 

apologist。  But; indeed; I have a dream at times that is not all a 

dream。  I seem to myself to wander in a ghostly street … E。 W。; I 

think; the postal district … close below the fool's…cap of St。 

Paul's; and yet within easy hearing of the echo of the Abbey 

bridge。  There in a dim shop; low in the roof and smelling strong 

of glue and footlights; I find myself in quaking treaty with great 

Skelt himself; the aboriginal all dusty from the tomb。  I buy; with 

what a choking heart … I buy them all; all but the pantomimes; I 

pay my mental money; and go forth; and lo! the packets are dust。









CHAPTER XIV。 A GOSSIP ON A NOVEL OF DUMAS'S





THE books that we re…read the oftenest are not always those that we 

admire the most; we choose and we re…visit them for many and 

various reasons; as we choose and revisit human friends。  One or 

two of Scott's novels; Shakespeare; Moliere; Montaigne; THE EGOIST; 

and the VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE; form the inner circle of my 

intimates。  Behind these comes a good troop of dear acquaintances; 

THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS in the front rank; THE BIBLE IN SPAIN not 

far behind。  There are besides a certain number that look at me 

with reproach as I pass them by on my shelves: books that I once 

thumbed and studied: houses which were once like home to me; but 

where I now rarely visit。  I am on these sad terms (and blush to 

confess it) with Wordsworth; Horace; Burns and Hazlitt。  Last of 

all; there is the class of book that has its hour of brilliancy … 

glows; sings; charms; and then fades again into insignificance 

until the fit return。  Chief of those who thus smile and frown on 

me by turns; I must name Virgil and Herrick; who; were they but



〃Their sometime selves the same throughout the year;〃



must have stood in the first company with the six names of my 

continual literary intimates。  To these six; incongruous as they 

seem; I have long been faithful; and hope to be faithful to the day 

of death。  I have never read

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