Omeka ID	Omeka URL	Title	Description	Creator	Source	Date	Contributor	Rights	Relation	Type	Identifier	Alternative Title	Bibliographic Citation	TEI File	Publication Type	Publication	Pseudonym	Ngram Text	Ngram Date	Files
165	https://dickenssearch.com/items/show/165	'A Little Talk about Spring and the Sweeps'	<span>Published in </span><em>The Library of Fiction,</em><span> vol. 1. London: Chapman and Hall, 1836, pp. 113-119.</span>	Dickens, Charles	<em>Internet Archive,</em> <a href="https://archive.org/details/libraryoffiction01dick/page/112/mode/2up">https://archive.org/details/libraryoffiction01dick/page/112/mode/2up</a>.	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=40&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=1836">1836</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=37&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Illustrated+by+Robert+Seymour">Illustrated by Robert Seymour</a>	<p><em>Internet Archive,</em> <a href="https://archive.org/about.terms.php">https://archive.org/about.terms.php</a>. Access to the Archive's Collections is granted for scholarship and research purposes only.</p>		<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=51&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Short+story">Short story</a>	1836-A_Little_Talk_about_Spring_Sweeps		Dickens, Charles. 'A Little Talk About Spring and the Sweeps'. <em>Dickens Search.</em> Eds. Emily Bell and Lydia Craig. Accessed [date]. <a href="https://www.dickenssearch.com/short-stories/1836-A_Little_Talk_about_Spring_Sweeps">https://www.dickenssearch.com/short-stories/1836-A_Little_Talk_about_Spring_Sweeps</a>.		<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=94&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Book">Book</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=93&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=%3Cem%3EThe+Library+of+Fiction%3C%2Fem%3E"><em>The Library of Fiction</em></a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=95&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=BOZ">BOZ</a>	"Now ladies, up in the sky-parlour: only once a year, if you please." YOUNG LADY WITH BRASS LADLE. "Sweep-sweep-sue-e-ep." ILLEGAL WATCHWORD. The first of May! There is a merry freshness in the sound, calling to our minds a thousand thoughts of all that is pleasant and beautiful in nature, in her sweetest and most delightful form. What man is there, over whose mind a bright spring morning does not exercise a magic influence? carrying him back to the days of his childish sports, and conjuring up before him the old green field, with its gently-waving trees, where the birds sang as he has never heard them since—where the butterfly fluttered far more gaily than he ever sees him now in all his ramblings—where the sky seemed bluer, and the sun shone more brightly—where the air blew more freshly over greener grass, and sweeter smelling flowers—where every thing wore a richer and more brilliant hue than it is ever dressed in now! Such are the deep feelings of childhood, and such are the impressions which every lovely object stamps upon its heart. The hardy traveller wanders through the maze of thick and pathless woods, where the sun’s rays never shone, and heaven’s pure air never played: he stands on the brink of the roaring waterfall, and, giddy and bewildered, watches the foaming mass as it leaps from stone to stone, and from crag to crag; he lingers in the fertile plains of a land of perpetual sunshine, and revels in the luxury of their balmy breath. But what are the deep forests, or the thundering waters, or the richest landscapes that bounteous nature ever spread, to charm the eyes and captivate the senses of man, compared with the recollection of the old scenes of his early youth— magic scenes indeed; for the fairy thoughts of infancy dressed them in colours brighter than the rainbow, and almost as fleeting: colours which are the reflection only of the sparkling sunbeams of childhood, and can never be called into existence, in the dark and cloudy days of after-life! In former times, spring brought with it not only such associations as these, connected with the past, but sports and games for the present—merry dances round rustic pillars, adorned with emblems of the season, and reared in honour of its coming. Where are they now! Pillars we have, but they are no longer rustic ones; and as to dancers, they are used to rooms, and lights, and would not show well in the open air. Think of the immorality, too! What would your sabbath enthusiasts say, to an aristocratic ring encircling the Duke of York’s column in Carlton-terrace—a grand poussette of the middle classes, round Alderman Waithman’s monument in Fleet-street—or a general hands-four-round of ten-pound householders, at the foot of the Obelisk in St. George’s-fields? Alas! romance can make no head against the riot act; and pastoral simplicity is not understood by the police. Well; many years ago we began to get a steady and matter-of-fact sort of people; and dancing in spring, being beneath our dignity, we gave it up, and in course of time it descended to the sweeps—a fall certainly; because, though sweeps are very good fellows in their way, and moreover very useful in a civilized community, they are not exactly the sort of people to give the tone to the little elegances of society. The sweeps, however, got the dancing to themselves, and they kept it up, and handed it down. This was a severe blow to the romance of spring-time, but, it did not entirely destroy it, either; for a portion of it descended to the sweeps with the dancing, and rendered them objects of great interest. A mystery hung over the sweeps in those days. Legends were in existence of wealthy gentlemen who had lost children, and who, after many years of sorrow and suffering, had found them in the character of sweeps. Stories were related of a young gentleman who having been stolen from his parents in his infancy, and devoted to the occupation of chimney-sweeping, was sent, in the course of his professional career, to sweep the chimney of his mamma's bedroom; and how, being hot and tired when he came out of the chimney, he got into the bed he had so often slept in as an infant, and was discovered and recognised therein by his mother, who once every year of her life, thereafter requested the pleasure of the company of every London sweep, at half-past one o’clock, to roast beef, plum-pudding, porter, and sixpence. Such stories as these, and there were many such, threw an air of mystery round the sweeps, and produced for them some of those good effects, which animals derive from the doctrine of the transmigration of souls. No one, except the masters, thought of ill-treating a sweep, because no one knew who he might be, or what nobleman’s or gentleman’s son he might turn out. Chimney sweeping was, by many believers in the marvellous, considered as a sort of probationary term, at an earlier or later period of which, divers young noblemen were to come into possession of their rank and titles: and the profession was held by them in great respect accordingly. We remember, in our young days, a little sweep, about our own age, with curly hair and white teeth, whom we devoutly and sincerely believed to be the lost son and heir of some illustrious personage—an impression which was resolved into an unchangeable conviction on our infant mind, by the subject of our speculations informing us one day, in reply to our question, propounded a few moments before his ascent to the summit of the kitchen chimney, "that he believed he’d been born in the vurkis, but he’d never know’d his father." We felt certain, from that time forth, that he would one day be owned by a lord at least: and we never heard the church bells ring, or saw a flag hoisted in the neighbourhood, without thinking that the happy event had at last occurred, and that his long lost parent had arrived in a coach and six, to take him home to Grosvenor Square. He never came, however; and, at the present moment, the young gentleman in question is settled down as a master sweep in the neighbourhood of Battle Bridge, his distinguishing characteristics being a decided antipathy to washing himself, and the possession of a pair of legs very inadequate to the support of his unwieldy and corpulent body. Now the romance of spring having gone out before our time, we were fain to console ourselves as we best could with the uncertainty that enveloped the birth and parentage of its attendant dancers, the sweeps; and we did console ourselves with it, for many years. But, even this wicked source of comfort received a shock, from which it has never recovered—a shock, which was in reality its death-blow. We could not disguise from ourselves the fact, that whole families of sweeps were regularly born of sweeps, in the rural districts of Somers' Town and Camden Town—that the eldest son succeeded to the father’s business, that the other branches assisted him therein, and commenced on their own account; that their children again were educated to the profession; and that about their identity there could be no mistake whatever. We could not be blind, we say, to this melancholy truth, but we could not bring ourselves to admit it nevertheless, and we lived on for some years in a state of voluntary ignorance. We were roused from our pleasant slumber, by certain dark insinuations thrown out by a friend of ours, to the effect that children in the lower ranks of life, were beginning to choose chimney-sweeping as their particular walk, that applications had been made by various boys to the constituted authorities to allow them to pursue the object of their ambition, with the full concurrence and sanction of the law; that the affair, in short, was becoming one of mere legal contract. We turned a deaf ear to these rumours at first, but slowly and surely they stole upon us. Month after month, week after week, nay, day after day, at last, did we meet with accounts of similar applications. The veil was removed, all mystery was at an end, chimney-sweeping&nbsp; became a favourite and chosen pursuit: there is no longer any occasion to steal boys, for boys flock in crowds to bind themselves. The romance of the trade has fled, and the chimney sweeper of the present day is no more like unto him of thirty years ago, than is a Fleet Street pickpocket to a Spanish brigand, or Paul Pry to Caleb Williams. This gradual decay and disuse of the practice of leading noble youths into captivity, and compelling them to ascend chimneys, was a severe blow, if we may so speak, to the romance of chimney sweeping, and to the romance of spring at the same time; but even this was not all; for some few years ago, the dancing on May-day began to decline; small sweeps were observed to congregate in twos or threes, unsupported by a "green," with no "My Lord" to act as master of the ceremonies, and no "My Lady" to preside over the exchequer. Even in companies where there was a green it was an absolute nothing—a mere sprout; and the instrumental accompaniments rarely extended beyond the shovels and a set of Pan pipes, better known to the many, as a "mouth organ." These were signs of the times, portentous omens of a coming change: and what was the result which they shadowed forth? Why, the master sweeps, influenced by a restless spirit of innovation, actually interposed their authority, in opposition to the dancing, and substituted a dinner—an anniversary dinner at White Conduit House—where clean faces appeared in lieu of black ones smeared with rose pink; and knee cords and tops, superseded nankeen drawers and rosetted shoes. Gentlemen who were in the habit of riding shy horses, and steady-going people, who have no vagrancy in their souls, lauded this alteration to the skies, and the conduct of the master sweeps was described as beyond the reach of praise. But how stands the real fact? Let any man deny, if he can, that when the cloth had been removed, fresh pots and pipes laid upon the table, and the customary loyal and patriotic toasts proposed, the celebrated Mr. Sluffen, of Adam and Eve Court, whose authority not the most malignant of our opponents can call in question, expressed himself in manner following: "That now he’d cotcht the cheerman’s hi, he vished he might be jolly vell blessed, if he worn’t a goin’ to have his innins, vich he vould say these here obserwashuns—that how some mischeevus coves as know’d nuffin about the con-sarn, had tried to sit people agin the mas’r swips, and take the shine out o’ their bis’nes, and the bread out o’ the traps o’ their preshus kids, by a makin’ o’ this here remark, as chimblies could be as vel svept by ‘cheenery as by boys, and that the makin’ use o’ boys for that there purpuss vos barbareous; vereas he ’ad been a chummy—he begged the cheerman’s pard'n for usin’ such a wulgar hexpression—more nor thirty year, he might say he’d been born in a chimbley, and he know’d uncommon vel as ‘cheenery vos vus nor o’ no use: and as to ker-hewelty to the boys, every body in the chimbley line know’d as vel as he did, that they liked the climbin’ better nor nuffin as vos." From this day, we date the total fall of the last lingering remnant of May-day dancing, among the élite of the profession: and from this period we commence a new era in that portion of our spring associations, which relates to the 1st of May. We are aware that the unthinking part of the population will meet us here, with the assertion, that dancing on May-day still continues—that "greens" are annually seen to roll along the streets—that sportive youths, in the garb of clowns, precede them, giving vent to the ebullitions of their sportive fancies; and that lords and ladies follow in their wake. Granted. We are ready to acknowledge that in outward show these processions have greatly improved: we do not deny the introduction of solos on the drum: we will even go so far as to admit an occasional fantasia on the triangle, but here our admissions end. We positively deny that the sweeps have act or part in these proceedings. We distinctly charge the dustmen with throwing what they ought to clear away, into the eyes of the public. We accuse scavengers, brick-makers, and gentlemen who devote their energies to the costermongering line, with obtaining money once a-year, under false pretences. We cling with peculiar fondness to the customs of days gone by, and have shut out conviction as long as we could, but it has forced itself upon us; and we now proclaim to a deluded public that the May-day dancers are not sweeps. The size of them alone is sufficient to repudiate the idea. It is a notorious fact that the widely spread taste for register-stoves has materially increased the demand for small boys; whereas the men, who under a fictitious character, dance about the streets on the first of May now-a-days, would be a tight fit in a kitchen flue, to say nothing of the parlour. This is strong presumptive evidence, but we have positive proof—the evidence of our own senses, and here is our testimony:— Upon the morning of the second of this present month of May, one thousand eight hundred and thirty-six, we went out for a stroll, with a kind of forlorn hope of seeing something or other which might induce us to believe that it was really spring, and not Christmas; and after wandering as far as Copenhagen House, without meeting anything calculated to dispel our impression that there was a mistake in the almanacks, we turned back down Maiden-lane, with the intention of passing through the extensive colony lying between it and Battle-bridge, which is inhabited by proprietors of donkey-carts, boilers of horse-flesh, and sifters of cinders: and through this colony we should have passed, without stoppage or interruption, if a little crowd gathered round a shed had not attracted our attention, and induced us to pause. When we say a "shed," we do not mean the conservatory sort of building, which, according to the old song, Love tenanted when he was a young man; but a wooden house with windows stuffed with rags and paper, and a small yard at the side, with one dust-cart, two baskets, a few shovels, and little heaps of cinders, and fragments of China and tiles, scattered about it. Before this inviting spot we paused; and the longer we looked, the more we wondered what exciting circumstance it could be, that induced the foremost members of the crowd to flatten their noses against the parlour window, in the vain hope of catching a glimpse of what was going on inside. After staring vacantly about us for some minutes, we appealed, touching the cause of this assemblage, to a gentleman in a suit of tarpaulin, who was smoking his pipe on our right hand; but as the only answer we obtained, was a playful inquiry whether our maternal parent had disposed of her mangle, we determined to await the issue in silence. Judge of our virtuous indignation, when the street-door of the shed opened, and a party emerged therefrom, clad in the costume and emulating the appearance of May-day sweeps! The first person who appeared was "my lord," habited in a blue coat and bright buttons, with gilt paper tacked over the seams, yellow knee-breeches, pink cotton stockings, and shoes, a cocked hat ornamented with shreds of various coloured paper on his head, a bouquet the size of a prize cauliflower in his button-hole, a long Belcher handkerchief in his right hand, and a thin cane in his left. A murmur of applause ran through the crowd (which was chiefly composed of his personal friends) when this graceful figure made his appearance, which swelled into a burst of applause as his fair partner in the dance bounded forth to join him. Her ladyship was attired in pink crape over bed-furniture, with a low body and short sleeves. The symmetry of her ankles was partially concealed by a very perceptible pair of frilled trousers; and the inconvenience which might have resulted from the circumstance of her white satin shoes being a few sizes too large, was obviated by their being firmly attached to her legs with strong tape sandals. Her head was ornamented with a profusion of artificial flowers, and in her hand she bore a large brass ladle, wherein to receive what she figuratively denominated "the tin." The other characters were a young gentleman in girl’s clothes and a widow’s cap; two clowns who walked upon their hands in the mud, to the immeasurable delight of all the spectators, a man with a drum, another man with a flageolet, a dirty woman in a large shawl, with a box under her arm for the money,—and last, though not least, the Green, animated by no less a personage than our identical friend in the tarpaulin suit. The man hammered away at the drum, the flageolet squeaked, the shovels rattled, the Green rolled about, pitching first on one side and then on the other,—my lady threw her right foot over her left ankle, and her left foot over her right ankle alternately; my lord ran a few paces forward and butted at the Green, and then a few paces backward upon the toes of the crowd, and then went to the right, and then to the left, and then dodged my lady round the Green, and finally drew her arm through his, and called upon the boys to shout, which they did lustily—for this was the dancing. We passed the same group accidentally in the evening. We never saw a green so drunk, a lord so quarrelsome (except in the house of peers after dinner), a pair of clowns so melancholy, a lady so muddy, or a party so miserable. How has May-day decayed! thought we. How many merry sports, such as dancing round the Maypole, have fallen into desuetude! And, apparently trifling as their loss may appear, with how many profligate and vicious customs have they been replaced! How much of cheerfulness and simplicity of character have they carried away with them; and how much of degradation and discontent have they left behind!	18360101	https://dickenssearch.com/files/original/5/A_Little_Talk_about_Spring_and_the_Sweeps/1836-A_little_Talk_about_Spring_Sweeps.pdf
112	https://dickenssearch.com/items/show/112	'Chorus' (<em>The Strange Gentleman</em>)	From Act 1, Scene 1 of <em>The Strange Gentleman</em> (Lord Chamberlain’s Copy, 1836).	Dickens, Charles	Lord Chamberlain’s Copy.; <span>'Chorus.' <em>The Strange</em> <em>Gentleman</em>. </span><em>The Letters of Charles Dickens. The</em><span> </span><em>Pilgrim Edition.<span> </span></em><span>Edited by Madeline House and Graham Storey. Volume 1 (1820-1839), p. 696. Oxford University Press, 1965.</span>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=40&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=1836">1836</a>				<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=51&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Song">Song</a>	1836_The_Strange_Gentleman_Chorus		<span>Dickens, Charles. 'Chorus.' </span><i>The Strange Gentleman </i><span>(1836). </span><i>Dickens Search.<span> </span></i><span>Eds. Emily Bell and Lydia Craig. Accessed [date]. </span><a href="https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836_The_Strange_Gentleman_Chorus">https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836_The_Strange_Gentleman_Chorus</a><span>.</span>	<a href="https://dickenssearch.com/teibp/dist/content/1836_The_Strange_Gentleman_Chorus.xml" target="_blank" rel="noopener">'Chorus.' <em>The Strange Gentleman </em>(Lord Chamberlain’s Copy, 1836).</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=94&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Play">Play</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=93&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=The+Strange+Gentleman">The Strange Gentleman</a>		Oh, What pleasure, tis to see Such a goodly Company Flocking to St James Arms. Where their Servants are to greet ‘em And good Entertainment wait ‘em Banishing all false alarms. Each is welcome here To enjoy the cheer That’s at St James Arms That’s at St James Arms.	18360101
36	https://dickenssearch.com/items/show/36	'Dance and Finale'	From <em>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts </em>(1836). Music by John Hullah, pp. 17-18.	Dickens, Charles	<div class="field two columns alpha"><i>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts </i>(1836). London: John Dicks.</div>; Internet Archive, <a href="https://archive.org/details/villagecoquettes00dickuoft/page/12/mode/2up?view=theater" target="_blank" rel="noopener">https://archive.org/details/villagecoquettes00dickuoft/page/12/mode/2up?view=theater</a>.	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=40&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=1836">1836</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=37&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Hullah%2C+John">Hullah, John</a>	<p class="p1"><i>Internet</i><span> <em>Archive</em>: Access to the Archive’s Collections is provided at no cost and is granted for scholarship and research purposes only (</span><span class="s1"><a href="https://archive.org/about/terms.php" target="_blank" rel="noopener">https://archive.org/about/terms.php</a>).</span></p>		<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=51&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Song">Song</a>	1836_The_Village_Coquettes_Dance_and_Finale		<p class="p1">Dickens, Charles. 'Dance and Finale.' <i>The Village Coquettes </i>(1836): pp.17-18. <i>Dickens Search. </i>Eds. Emily Bell and Lydia Craig. Accessed [date]. <a href="https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836_The_Village_Coquettes_Dance_and_Finale">https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836_The_Village_Coquettes_Dance_and_Finale</a>.</p>	<a href="https://dickenssearch.com/teibp/dist/content/1836_The_Village_Coquettes_Dance_and_Finale.xml" target="_blank" rel="noopener">'Dance and Finale.' <em>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts</em> (1836).</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=94&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Play">Play</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=93&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=The+Village+Coquettes%2C+An+Operatic+Burletta+in+Two+Acts">The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts</a>		CHORUS. Join the dance, with step as light As ev’ry heart should be to-night; Music, shake the lofty dome, In honour of our Harvest Home. Join the dance, and banish care, All are young, and gay, and fair; Even age has youthful grown, In honour of our Harvest Home. Join the dance, bright faces beam, Sweet lips smile, and dark eyes gleam; All these charms have hither come, In honour of our Harvest Home. Join the dance, with step as light, As ev’ry heart should be to-night; Music shake the lofty dome In honour of our Harvest Home. QUINTET - Lucy - Rose - Edmunds - The Squire - Young Benson No light bound Of stag or timid hare, O’er the ground Where startled herds repair, Do we prize So high, or hold so dear, As the eyes That light our pleasures here. No cool breeze That gently plays by night, O’er calm seas, Whose waters glisten bright; No soft moan That sighs across the lea, Harvest Home, Is half so sweet as thee! CHORUS. Hail to the merry autumn days, when yellow corn-fields shine, Far brighter than the costly cup that holds the monarch's wine! Hail to the merry harvest time, the gayest of the year, The time of rich and bounteous crops, rejoicing, and good cheer. Hail! Hail! Hail!	18360101	https://dickenssearch.com/files/original/3/Dance_and_Finale/1836_The_Village_Coquettes_Dance_and_Finale.pdf
29	https://dickenssearch.com/items/show/29	'Duet: Lucy and Squire Norton'	From <em>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts </em>(1836). Music by John Hullah, pp. 9-10.	Dickens, Charles	<p class="p1"><i>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts </i>(1836). London: John Dicks.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>; Internet Archive, <a href="https://archive.org/details/villagecoquettes00dickuoft/page/12/mode/2up?view=theater" target="_blank" rel="noopener">https://archive.org/details/villagecoquettes00dickuoft/page/12/mode/2up?view=theater</a>.	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=40&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=1836">1836</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=37&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Hullah%2C+John">Hullah, John</a>	<p class="p1"><i>Internet</i><span> <em>Archive</em>: Access to the Archive’s Collections is provided at no cost and is granted for scholarship and research purposes only (</span><span class="s1"><a href="https://archive.org/about/terms.php" target="_blank" rel="noopener">https://archive.org/about/terms.php</a>).</span></p>		<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=51&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Song">Song</a>	1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Duet_Lucy_SquireNorton		<p class="p1">Dickens, Charles. 'Duet: Lucy and Squire Norton.' <i>The Village Coquettes </i>(1836): pp. 9-10. <i>Dickens Search. </i>Eds. Emily Bell and Lydia Craig. Accessed [date]. <a href="https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Duet_Lucy_SquireNorton">https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Duet_Lucy_SquireNorton</a>.<span class="Apple-converted-space"></span></p>	<a href="https://dickenssearch.com/teibp/dist/content/1836_The_Village_Coquettes_Duet_The_Squire_and_Lucy.xml" target="_blank" rel="noopener">'Duet: Lucy and Squire Norton.' <em>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts</em> (1836).</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=94&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Play">Play</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=93&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=The+Village+Coquettes%2C+An+Operatic+Burletta+in+Two+Acts">The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts</a>		Squire. In rich and lofty station shine, Before his jealous eyes; In golden splendour, lady mine, This peasant youth despise. Lucy (Apart-the Squire regarding her attentively). Oh! it would be revenge indeed, With scorn his glance to meet. I, I, his humble pleading heed! I’d spurn him from my feet. Squire. With love and rage her bosom’s torn, And rash the choice will be; Lucy. With love and rage my bosom’s torn, And rash the choice will be. Squire. From hence she quickly must be borne, Her home, her home, she’ll flee. Lucy. Oh! long shall I have cause to mourn My home, my home, for thee!	18360101	https://dickenssearch.com/files/original/3/Duet_Lucy_and_Squire_Norton/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Duet_Lucy_SquireNorton.pdf
27	https://dickenssearch.com/items/show/27	'Duet: Rose and Sparkins Flam'	From <em>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts </em>(1836). Music by John Hullah.	Dickens, Charles	<p class="p1"><i>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts </i>(1836). London: John Dicks.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>; Internet Archive, <a href="https://archive.org/details/villagecoquettes00dickuoft/page/12/mode/2up?view=theater" target="_blank" rel="noopener">https://archive.org/details/villagecoquettes00dickuoft/page/12/mode/2up?view=theater</a>.	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=40&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=1836">1836</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=37&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Hullah%2C+John">Hullah, John</a>	<p class="p1"><i>Internet</i><span> <em>Archive</em>: Access to the Archive’s Collections is provided at no cost and is granted for scholarship and research purposes only (</span><span class="s1"><a href="https://archive.org/about/terms.php" target="_blank" rel="noopener">https://archive.org/about/terms.php</a>).</span></p>		<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=51&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Song">Song</a>	1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Duet_Rose_and_Sparkins_Flam		<p class="p1">Dickens, Charles. 'Duet: Rose and Sparkins Flam.' <i>The Village Coquettes </i>(1836): p.7. <i>Dickens Search. </i>Eds. Emily Bell and Lydia Craig. Accessed [date]. <a href="https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Duet_Rose_and_Sparkins_Flam">https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Duet_Rose_and_Sparkins_Flam</a>.</p>	<a href="https://dickenssearch.com/teibp/dist/content/1836_The_Village_Coquettes_Duet_Rose_and_Sparkins_Flam.xml" target="_blank" rel="noopener">'Duet: Rose and Sparkins Flam.' <em>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts</em> (1836).</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=94&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Play">Play</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=93&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=%3Cem%3EThe+Village+Coquettes%2C+An+Operatic+Burletta+in+Two+Acts%3C%2Fem%3E"><em>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts</em></a>		Flam. ‘Tis true I’m caressed by the witty, The envy of all the fine beaux, The pet of the court and the city, But still, I’m the lover of Rose. Rose. Country sweethearts, oh, how I despise! And oh! How delighted I am To think that I shine in the eyes Of the elegant – sweet – Mr. Flam. Flam. Allow me. (Offers to kiss her) Rose. Pray don’t be so bold, sir (Kisses her.) Flam. What sweets on that honied lip hang! Rose. Your presumption, I know, I should scold, sir, But I really can’t scold Mr. Flam. Both. Then let us be happy together, Content with the world as it goes, An unchangeable couple for ever, Mr. Flam and his beautiful Rose.	18360101	https://dickenssearch.com/files/original/3/Duet_Rose_and_Sparkins_Flam/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Duet_Rose_and_Sparkins_Flam.pdf
34	https://dickenssearch.com/items/show/34	'Duett: Squire, Edmunds, and Norton'	From <em>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts </em>(1836). Music by John Hullah.	Dickens, Charles	<p class="p1"><i>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts </i>(1836). London: John Dicks, p.15.</p>; Internet Archive, <a href="https://archive.org/details/villagecoquettes00dickuoft/page/12/mode/2up?view=theater" target="_blank" rel="noopener">https://archive.org/details/villagecoquettes00dickuoft/page/12/mode/2up?view=theater</a>.	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=40&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=1836">1836</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=37&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Hullah%2C+John">Hullah, John</a>	<p class="p1"><i>Internet</i><span> <em>Archive</em>: Access to the Archive’s Collections is provided at no cost and is granted for scholarship and research purposes only (</span><span class="s1"><a href="https://archive.org/about/terms.php" target="_blank" rel="noopener">https://archive.org/about/terms.php</a>).</span></p>		<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=51&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Song">Song</a>	1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Duett_Squire_Edmunds_and_Norton		<p class="p1">Dickens, Charles. 'Duett: Squire, Edmunds, and Norton.' <i>The Village Coquettes </i>(1836): p. 15. <i>Dickens Search. </i>Eds. Emily Bell and Lydia Craig. Accessed [date]. <a href="https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Duett_Squire_Edmunds_and_Norton">https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Duett_Squire_Edmunds_and_Norton</a>.</p>	<a href="https://dickenssearch.com/teibp/dist/content/1836_The_Village_Coquettes_Duett_Squire_Edmonds_and_Norton.xml" target="_blank" rel="noopener">'Duett: Squire, Edmunds, and Norton.' <em>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts</em> (1836).</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=94&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Play">Play</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=93&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=The+Village+Coquettes%2C+An+Operatic+Burletta+in+Two+Acts">The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts</a>		Squire. Listen, though I do not fear you, Listen to me, ere we part. Edmunds. List to you! Yes, I will hear you. Squire. Yours alone is Lucy’s heart, I swear it, by that heav’n above me. Edmunds. What! can I believe my ears! Could I hope that she still loves me. Squire. Banish all these doubts and fears, If a love were e’er worth gaining, If love were ever fond and true, No disguise or passion feigning, Such is her young love for you. Squire. Listen, though I do not fear you, Listen to me, ere we part. Edmunds. List to you! yes, I will hear you. Mine alone is her young heart.	18360101	https://dickenssearch.com/files/original/3/Duett_Squire_Edmunds_and_Norton/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Duett_Squire_Edmunds_and_Norton.pdf
113	https://dickenssearch.com/items/show/113	'Duett'	From Act 1, Scene 1 of <em>The Strange Gentleman</em> (Lord Chamberlain’s Copy, 1836).	Dickens, Charles	Lord Chamberlain’s Copy, British Library.; <span>'Duett.' <em>The Strange</em> <em>Gentleman</em>. </span><em>The Letters of Charles Dickens. The</em><span> </span><em>Pilgrim Edition.<span> </span></em><span>Edited by Madeline House and Graham Storey. Volume 1 (1820-1839), p. 696. Oxford University Press, 1965.</span>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=40&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=1836">1836</a>				<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=51&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Song">Song</a>	1836_The_Strange_Gentleman_Duett		Dickens, Charles. 'Duett.' <em>The Strange Gentleman</em> (1836). <em>Dickens Search</em>. Eds. Emily Bell and Lydia Craig. Accessed [date]. <a href="https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836_The_Strange_Gentleman_Duett">https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836_The_Strange_Gentleman_Duett</a>.	<a href="https://dickenssearch.com/teibp/dist/content/1836_The_Strange_Gentleman_Duett.xml" target="_blank" rel="noopener">'Duett.' <em>The Strange Gentleman </em>(Lord Chamberlain’s Copy, 1836).</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=94&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Play">Play</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=93&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=The+Strange+Gentleman">The Strange Gentleman</a>		Around the feet of smiling love In Wanton Gambols Myriads play – Like Summer Zephyr’s in the Sun And scatter roses in his way. – A wreath entwine Of bays divine To Crown the boy. With songs of praise Our voice we’ll raise To sing love’s joy.	18360101
25	https://dickenssearch.com/items/show/25	'George Edmunds' Song'	From <em>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts </em>(1836). Music by John Hullah, pp. 5-6.	Dickens, Charles	<p class="p1"><i>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts </i>(1836). London: John Dicks.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>; Internet Archive, <a href="https://archive.org/details/villagecoquettes00dickuoft/page/12/mode/2up?view=theater" target="_blank" rel="noopener">https://archive.org/details/villagecoquettes00dickuoft/page/12/mode/2up?view=theater</a>.	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=40&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=1836">1836</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=37&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Hullah%2C+John">Hullah, John</a>	<p class="p1"><i>Internet</i><span> <em>Archive</em>: Access to the Archive’s Collections is provided at no cost and is granted for scholarship and research purposes only (</span><span class="s1"><a href="https://archive.org/about/terms.php" target="_blank" rel="noopener">https://archive.org/about/terms.php</a>).</span></p>	Hullah, John. 'Autumn Leaves.' V&A, <a href="http://collections.vam.ac.uk/item/O1286490/autumn-leaves-sheet-music-dickens-charles/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">http://collections.vam.ac.uk/item/O1286490/autumn-leaves-sheet-music-dickens-charles/</a>.	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=51&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Song">Song</a>	1836-The_Village_Coquettes_George_Edmunds_Song	'A Song; to be said or sung about the end of October'	<p class="p1">Dickens, Charles. 'George Edmunds' Song'. <i>The Village Coquettes </i>(1836): pp. 5-6. <i>Dickens Search. </i>Eds. Emily Bell and Lydia Craig. Accessed [date]. <a href="https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_George_Edmunds_Song">https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_George_Edmunds_Song</a>.</p>	<a href="https://dickenssearch.com/teibp/dist/content/1836_The_Village_Coquettes_George_Edmonds_Song.xml" target="_blank" rel="noopener">'George Edmunds' Song.' <em>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts</em> (1836).</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=94&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Play">Play</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=93&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=The+Village+Coquettes%2C+An+Operatic+Burletta+in+Two+Acts">The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts</a>		Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, lie strewn around me here; Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, how sad, how cold, how drear! How like the hopes of childhood’s day, Thick clust’ring on the bough! How like those hopes in their decay – How faded are they now! Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, lie strewn around me here; Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, how sad, how cold, how drear! Wither’d leaves, wither’d leaves, that fly before the gale; Withered leaves, withered leaves, ye tell a mournful tale, Of love once true, and friends once kind, And happy moments fled: Dispersed by every breath of wind, Forgotten, changed, or dead! Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, lie strewn around me here; Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, how sad, how cold, how drear!	18360101	https://dickenssearch.com/files/original/3/George_Edmunds_Song/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_George_Edmunds_Song.pdf
116	https://dickenssearch.com/items/show/116	'He’s Mad – Mad – Mad'	From Act 2, Scene 1 of <em>The Strange Gentleman</em> (Lord Chamberlain’s Copy, 1836).	Dickens, Charles	Lord Chamberlain’s Copy, British Library.; <span>'He’s Mad – Mad – Mad.' <em>The Strange</em> <em>Gentleman</em>. </span><em>The Letters of Charles Dickens. The</em><span> </span><em>Pilgrim Edition.<span> </span></em><span>Edited by Madeline House and Graham Storey. Volume 1 (1820-1839), p. 697. Oxford University Press, 1965.</span>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=40&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=1836">1836</a>				<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=51&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Song">Song</a>	1836_The_Strange_Gentleman_Hes_Mad_Mad_Mad		Dickens, Charles. 'He’s Mad – Mad – Mad.' <em>The Strange Gentleman</em> (1836). <em>Dickens Search</em>. Eds. Emily Bell and Lydia Craig. Accessed [date]. <a href="https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836_The_Strange_Gentleman_Hes_Mad_Mad_Mad">https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836_The_Strange_Gentleman_Hes_Mad_Mad_Mad</a>.	<a href="https://dickenssearch.com/teibp/dist/content/1836_The_Strange_Gentleman_Hes_Mad_Mad_Mad.xml" target="_blank" rel="noopener">'He’s Mad – Mad – Mad.' <em>The Strange Gentleman </em>(Lord Chamberlain’s Copy, 1836).</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=94&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Play">Play</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=93&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=The+Strange+Gentleman">The Strange Gentleman</a>		All He’s Mad – Mad – Mad. Alas! Poor lad Like a March Hare he’s Mad. Overton Quick seize him I say. And take him away – Mrs Nooke Be careful I pray Stranger Only hear what I say. All He’s Mad – Mad – Mad! etc. Overton To his bedroom now take him. Tom If he’s restive, I’ll shake him Mrs N. When asleep, pray don’t wake him Tom Oh, I’ll never forsake him. All He’s Mad – Mad – Mad! etc. Stranger Let me go Overton Hold him fast We’ve got him at last Mrs N. His sanity’s past Tom His die now is cast All He’s Mad – Mad – Mad! etc.	18360101
23	https://dickenssearch.com/items/show/23	'Lucy's Song (I)'	From <em>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts </em>(1836). Music by John Hullah, p.5.	Dickens, Charles	<p class="p1"><i>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts </i>(1836). London: John Dicks.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>; Internet Archive, <a href="https://archive.org/details/villagecoquettes00dickuoft/page/12/mode/2up?view=theater" target="_blank" rel="noopener">https://archive.org/details/villagecoquettes00dickuoft/page/12/mode/2up?view=theater</a>.	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=40&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=1836">1836</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=37&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Hullah%2C+John">Hullah, John</a>	<p class="p1"><i>Internet</i><span> <em>Archive</em>: Access to the Archive’s Collections is provided at no cost and is granted for scholarship and research purposes only (</span><span class="s1"><a href="https://archive.org/about/terms.php" target="_blank" rel="noopener">https://archive.org/about/terms.php</a>).</span></p>		<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=51&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Song">Song</a>	1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Lucys_SongI		<p class="p1">Dickens, Charles. 'Lucy's Song (I).' <i>The Village Coquettes </i>(1836): p. 5. <i>Dickens Search. </i>Eds. Emily Bell and Lydia Craig. Accessed [date]. <a href="https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Lucys_SongI">https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Lucys_SongI</a>.</p>	<a href="https://dickenssearch.com/teibp/dist/content/1836_The_Village_Coquettes_Lucys_SongI.xml" target="_blank" rel="noopener">'Lucy's Song (I).' <em>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts </em>(1836).</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=94&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Play">Play</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=93&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=The+Village+Coquettes%2C+An+Operatic+Burletta+in+Two+Acts">The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts</a>		Love is not a feeling to pass away, Like the balmy breath of a summer day; It is not – it cannot be – laid aside; It is not a thing to forget or hide. It clings to the heart, ah, woe is me! As the ivy clings to the old oak tree. Love is not a passion of earthly mould, As a thirst for honour, or fame, or gold: For when all these wishes have died away, The deep strong love of a brighter day, Though nourished in secret, consumes the more, As the slow rust eats to the iron’s core.	18360101	https://dickenssearch.com/files/original/3/Lucy_s_Song_[I]/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Lucys_SongI.pdf
35	https://dickenssearch.com/items/show/35	'Lucy's Song (II)'	From <em>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts </em>(1836). Music by John Hullah, p.16.	Dickens, Charles	<p class="p1"><i>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts </i>(1836). London: John Dicks.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>; Internet Archive, <a href="https://archive.org/details/villagecoquettes00dickuoft/page/12/mode/2up?view=theater" target="_blank" rel="noopener">https://archive.org/details/villagecoquettes00dickuoft/page/12/mode/2up?view=theater</a>.	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=40&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=1836">1836</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=37&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Hullah%2C+John">Hullah, John</a>	<p class="p1"><i>Internet</i><span> <em>Archive</em>: Access to the Archive’s Collections is provided at no cost and is granted for scholarship and research purposes only (</span><span class="s1"><a href="https://archive.org/about/terms.php" target="_blank" rel="noopener">https://archive.org/about/terms.php</a>).</span></p>		<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=51&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Song">Song</a>	1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Lucys_SongII		<p class="p1">Dickens, Charles. 'Lucy's Song (II).' <i>The Village Coquettes </i>(1836): p. 16. <i>Dickens Search. </i>Eds. Emily Bell and Lydia Craig. Accessed [date]. <a href="https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Lucys_SongII">https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Lucys_SongII</a>.</p>	<a href="https://dickenssearch.com/teibp/dist/content/1836_The_Village_Coquettes_Lucys_SongII.xml" target="_blank" rel="noopener">'Lucy's Song (II).' <em>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts</em> (1836).</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=94&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Play">Play</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=93&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=The+Village+Coquettes%2C+An+Operatic+Burletta+in+Two+Acts">The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts</a>		How beautiful at eventide To see the twilight shadows pale, Steal o’er the landscape, far and wide, O’er stream and meadow, mound and dale. How soft is Nature’s calm repose When ev’ning skies their cool dews weep: The gentlest wind more gently blows, As if to soothe her in her sleep! The gay morn breaks, Mists roll away, All Nature awakes To glorious day. In my breast alone Dark shadows remain; The peace it has known, It can never regain.	18360101	https://dickenssearch.com/files/original/3/Lucy_s_Song_[II]/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Lucys_SongII.pdf
31	https://dickenssearch.com/items/show/31	'Quartette'	From <em>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts </em>(1836). Music by John Hullah, p.12.	Dickens, Charles	<p class="p1"><i>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts </i>(1836). London: John Dicks.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>; Internet Archive, <a href="https://archive.org/details/villagecoquettes00dickuoft/page/12/mode/2up?view=theater" target="_blank" rel="noopener">https://archive.org/details/villagecoquettes00dickuoft/page/12/mode/2up?view=theater</a>.	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=40&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=1836">1836</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=37&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Hullah%2C+John">Hullah, John</a>	<p class="p1"><i>Internet</i><span> <em>Archive</em>: Access to the Archive’s Collections is provided at no cost and is granted for scholarship and research purposes only (</span><span class="s1"><a href="https://archive.org/about/terms.php" target="_blank" rel="noopener">https://archive.org/about/terms.php</a>).</span></p>		<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=51&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Song">Song</a>	1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Quartette		<p class="p1">Dickens, Charles. 'Quartette.' <i>The Village Coquettes </i>(1836): p.12. <i>Dickens Search. </i>Eds. Emily Bell and Lydia Craig. Accessed [date]. <a href="https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Quartette">https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Quartette</a>.</p>	<a href="https://dickenssearch.com/teibp/dist/content/1836_The_Village_Coquettes_Quartette.xml" target="_blank" rel="noopener">'Quartette.' <em>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts</em> (1836).</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=94&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Play">Play</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=93&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=The+Village+Coquettes%2C+An+Operatic+Burletta+in+Two+Acts">The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts</a>		Squire. Hear me, when I swear that the farm is your own Through all changes Fortune may make; The base charge of falsehood I never have known; This promise I never will break. Rose and Lucy. Hear him, when he swears that the farm is our own Through all changes Fortune may make; The base charge of falsehood he never has known; This promise he never will break. Enter YOUNG BENSON. Young Benson. My sister here! Lucy! begone, I command. Squire. To your home I restore you again. Young Benson. No boon I’ll accept from that treacherous hand As the price of my fair sister’s fame. Squire. To your home! Young B. (To Lucy.) Hence away! Lucy. Brother dear, I obey. Squire. I restore. Young B. Hence away! Young B. Rose and Lucy. Let us leave. Lucy. He swears it, dear brother. Squire. I swear it. Young B. Away! Squire. I swear it. Young B. You swear to deceive. Squire. Hear me, when I swear that the farm is your own Through all the changes Fortune may make. Lucy and Rose. Hear him, when he swears that the farm is our own Through all changes Fortune may make. Young B. Hear him swear, hear him swear, that the farm is our own Through all changes Fortune may make. Squire. The base charge of falsehood I never have known, This promise I never will break. Lucy and Rose. The base charge of falsehood he never has known, This promise he never will break. Young B. The base charge of falsehood he often has known, This promise he surely will break.	18360101	https://dickenssearch.com/files/original/3/Quartette/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Quartette.pdf
26	https://dickenssearch.com/items/show/26	'Rose's Song'	From <em>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts </em>(1836). Music by John Hullah, p.6.	Dickens, Charles	<i>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts </i>(1836). London: John Dicks.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>; Internet Archive, <a href="https://archive.org/details/villagecoquettes00dickuoft/page/12/mode/2up?view=theater" target="_blank" rel="noopener">https://archive.org/details/villagecoquettes00dickuoft/page/12/mode/2up?view=theater</a>.	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=40&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=1836">1836</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=37&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Hullah%2C+John">Hullah, John</a>	<p class="p1"><i>Internet</i><span> <em>Archive</em>: Access to the Archive’s Collections is provided at no cost and is granted for scholarship and research purposes only (</span><span class="s1"><a href="https://archive.org/about/terms.php" target="_blank" rel="noopener">https://archive.org/about/terms.php</a>).</span></p>		<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=51&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Song">Song</a>	1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Roses_Song		<p class="p1">Dickens, Charles. 'Rose's Song.' <i>The Village Coquettes </i>(1836): p.6. <i>Dickens Search. </i>Eds. Emily Bell and Lydia Craig. Accessed [date]. <a href="https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Roses_Song">https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Roses_Song</a>.</p>	<a href="https://dickenssearch.com/teibp/dist/content/1836_The_Village_Coquettes_Roses_Song.xml" target="_blank" rel="noopener">'Rose's Song.' <em>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts</em> (1836).</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=94&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Play">Play</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=93&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=%3Cem%3EThe+Village+Coquettes%2C+An+Operatic+Burletta+in+Two+Acts%3C%2Fem%3E"><em>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts</em></a>		Some folks who have grown old and sour, Say love does nothing but annoy. The fact is, they have had their hour, So envy what they can’t enjoy. I like the glance – I like the sigh – That does of ardent passion tell! If some folks were as young as I, I’m sure they’d like it quite as well. Old maiden aunts so hate the men, So well know how wives are harried, It makes them sad – not jealous – when They see their poor dear nieces married. All men are fair and false, they know, And with deep sighs they assail ‘em, It’s so long since they tried men, though, I rather think their mem’ries fail ‘em.	18360101	https://dickenssearch.com/files/original/3/Rose_s_Song/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Roses_Song.pdf
22	https://dickenssearch.com/items/show/22	'Round'	From <em>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts </em>(1836). Music by John Hullah, p.3.	Dickens, Charles	<em>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts</em> (1836). London: John Dicks.; Internet Archive, <a href="https://archive.org/details/villagecoquettes00dickuoft/page/12/mode/2up?view=theater" target="_blank" rel="noopener">https://archive.org/details/villagecoquettes00dickuoft/page/12/mode/2up?view=theater</a>.	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=40&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=1836">1836</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=37&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Hullah%2C+John">Hullah, John</a>	<i>Internet</i><span> <em>Archive</em>: Access to the Archive’s Collections is provided at no cost and is granted for scholarship and research purposes only (</span><span class="s1"><a href="https://archive.org/about/terms.php" target="_blank" rel="noopener">https://archive.org/about/terms.php</a>).</span>		<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=51&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Song">Song</a>	1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Round		<p class="p1">Dickens, Charles. 'Round.' <i>The Village Coquettes </i>(1836): p. 3. <i>Dickens Search. </i>Eds. Emily Bell and Lydia Craig. Accessed [date]. <a href="https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Round">https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Round</a>.</p>	<a href="https://dickenssearch.com/teibp/dist/content/1836_The_Village_Coquettes_Round.xml" target="_blank" rel="noopener">'Round.' <em>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts</em> (1836): p. 3.</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=94&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Play">Play</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=93&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=%3Cem%3EThe+Village+Coquettes%2C+An+Operatic+Burletta+in+Two+Acts%3C%2Fem%3E"><em>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts</em></a>		Hail to the merry Autumn days, when yellow corn-fields shine, Far brighter than the costly cup, that holds the monarch’s wine! Hail to the merry harvest time, the gayest of the year, The time of rich and bounteous crops, rejoicing, and good cheer! ‘Tis pleasant on a fine Spring morn, to see the buds expand, ‘Tis pleasant in the Summer time, to view the teeming land; ‘Tis pleasant on a Winter’s night, to crouch around the blaze, But what are joys like these, my boys, to Autumn’s merry days! Then hail to merry Autumn days, when yellow corn-fields shine, Far brighter than the costly cup that holds the monarch’s wine! And hail to merry harvest time, the gayest of the year, The time of rich and bounteous crops, rejoicing, and good cheer!	18360101	https://dickenssearch.com/files/original/3/Round/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Round.pdf
30	https://dickenssearch.com/items/show/30	'Sestette and Chorus'	From <em>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts </em>(1836). Music by John Hullah, pp.10-11.	Dickens, Charles	<p class="p1"><i>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts </i>(1836). London: John Dicks.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>; Internet Archive, <a href="https://archive.org/details/villagecoquettes00dickuoft/page/12/mode/2up?view=theater" target="_blank" rel="noopener">https://archive.org/details/villagecoquettes00dickuoft/page/12/mode/2up?view=theater</a>.	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=40&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=1836">1836</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=37&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Hullah%2C+John">Hullah, John</a>	<p class="p1"><i>Internet</i><span> <em>Archive</em>: Access to the Archive’s Collections is provided at no cost and is granted for scholarship and research purposes only (</span><span class="s1"><a href="https://archive.org/about/terms.php" target="_blank" rel="noopener">https://archive.org/about/terms.php</a>).</span></p>		<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=51&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Song">Song</a>	1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Sestette_and_Chorus		<p class="p1">Dickens, Charles. 'Sestette and Chorus.' <i>The Village Coquettes </i>(1836): pp. 10-11. <i>Dickens Search. </i>Eds. Emily Bell and Lydia Craig. Accessed [date]. <a href="https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Sestette_and_Chorus">https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Sestette_and_Chorus</a>.</p>	<a href="https://dickenssearch.com/teibp/dist/content/1836_The_Village_Coquettes_Sestette_and_Chorus.xml" target="_blank" rel="noopener">'Sestette and Chorus.' <em>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts</em> (1836).</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=94&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Play">Play</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=93&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=The+Village+Coquettes%2C+An+Operatic+Burletta+in+Two+Acts">The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts</a>		Young Benson. Turn him from the farm! From his home will you cast The old man who has tilled it for years! Ev’ry tree, ev’ry flower, is linked with the past, And a friend of his childhood appears. Turn him from the farm! O’er its grassy hillside, A gay boy he once loved to range; His boyhood has fled, and its dear friends are dead, But these meadows have never known change. Edmunds. Oppressor, hear me! Lucy. On my knees I implore. Squire. I command it, and you will obey. Rose. Rise, dear Lucy, rise; you shall not kneel before The tyrant who drives us away. Squire. Your sorrows are useless, your prayers are in vain: I command it, and you will begone. I’ll hear no more. Edmunds. No, they shall not beg again Of a man whom I view with deep scorn. Flam. Do not yield. Young Benson - Squire - Lucy - Rose. Leave the farm! Edmunds. Your pow’r I despise. Squire. And your threats, boy, I disregard too. Flam. Do not yield. Young Benson - Squire - Lucy - Rose. Leave the farm! Rose. If he leaves it, he dies. Edmunds. This base act, proud man, you shall rue. Young Benson. Turn him from the farm! From his home will you cast, The old man who has tilled it for years? Ev’ry tree, ev’ry flower, is linked with the past, And a friend of his childhood appears! Squire. Yes, yes, leave the farm! From his home I will cast The old man who has tilled it for years; Though each tree and flower, is linked with the past, And a friend of his childhood appears. Chorus. He has turned from his farm! From his home he has cast The old man who has tilled it for years; Though each tree and flower is linked with the past, And a friend of his childhood appears.	18360101	https://dickenssearch.com/files/original/3/Sestette_and_Chorus/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Sestette_and_Chorus.pdf
115	https://dickenssearch.com/items/show/115	'Song – Fanny'	From Act 1, Scene 2 of <em>The Strange Gentleman</em> (Lord Chamberlain’s Copy, 1836).	Dickens, Charles	Lord Chamberlain’s Copy, British Library.; <span>'Song – Fanny.' <em>The Strange</em> <em>Gentleman</em>. </span><em>The Letters of Charles Dickens. The</em><span> </span><em>Pilgrim Edition.<span> </span></em><span>Edited by Madeline House and Graham Storey. Volume 1 (1820-1839), p. 696-697. Oxford University Press, 1965.</span>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=40&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=1836">1836</a>				<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=51&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Poem">Poem</a>	1836_The_Strange_Gentleman_Song_Fanny		Dickens, Charles. 'Song – Fanny.' <em>The Strange Gentleman</em> (1836). <em>Dickens Search</em>. Eds. Emily Bell and Lydia Craig. Accessed [date]. <a href="https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836_The_Strange_Gentleman_Song_Fanny">https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836_The_Strange_Gentleman_Song_Fanny</a>.	<a href="https://dickenssearch.com/teibp/dist/content/1836_The_Strange_Gentleman_Song_Fanny.xml" target="_blank" rel="noopener">'Song – Fanny.' <em>The Strange Gentleman </em>(Lord Chamberlain’s Copy, 1836).</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=94&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Play">Play</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=93&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=The+Strange+Gentleman">The Strange Gentleman</a>		Tis Hope that cheers the lover’s breast And lulls the troubled mind to rest – Hope is the sailors leading star The Warriors shield in fiercest War – The youth, the aged to it cling ‘Twill comfort to the wretched bring. Then in my bosom let it dwell For there will ever be a spell In hope, fond hope. 2 The Captive bears the galling chain Nor thinks he call’s on hope in vain The Miser as he views his store Fears to lose, still hopes for more In hope there is a charm divine That all the joys of life combine. Then in my bosom let it dwell For there will ever be a spell In hope, fond hope.	18360101
114	https://dickenssearch.com/items/show/114	'Song – Julia'	From Act 1, Scene 2 of <em>The Strange Gentleman</em> (Lord Chamberlain’s Copy, 1836).	Dickens, Charles	Lord Chamberlain’s Copy, British Library.; <span>'Song – Julia.' <em>The Strange</em> <em>Gentleman</em>. </span><em>The Letters of Charles Dickens. The</em><span> </span><em>Pilgrim Edition.<span> </span></em><span>Edited by Madeline House and Graham Storey. Volume 1 (1820-1839), p. 696. Oxford University Press, 1965.</span>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=40&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=1836">1836</a>				<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=51&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Song">Song</a>	1836_The_Strange_Gentleman_Song_Julia		Dickens, Charles. 'Song – Julia.' <em>The Strange Gentleman</em> (1836). <em>Dickens Search</em>. Eds. Emily Bell and Lydia Craig. Accessed [date]. <a href="https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836_The_Strange_Gentleman_Song_Julia">https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836_The_Strange_Gentleman_Song_Julia</a>.	<a href="https://dickenssearch.com/teibp/dist/content/1836_The_Strange_Gentleman_Song_Julia.xml" target="_blank" rel="noopener">'Song – Julia.' <em>The Strange Gentleman </em>(Lord Chamberlain’s Copy, 1836).</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=94&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Play">Play</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=93&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=The+Strange+Gentleman">The Strange Gentleman</a>		Ah, me, I am a lonely maid That’s made alone to sigh, Ah, me, I am so sore afraid That I a maid shall die. I’m sure I am not very tall Tho’ long enough I’ve waited Nor yet am I so very small Th’ I’m so underrated. I for a husband try each day But can’t a husband gain Each night I for a husband pray But praying is in vain.	18360101
24	https://dickenssearch.com/items/show/24	'Squire Norton's Song (I)'	From <em>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts </em>(1836). Music by John Hullah.	Dickens, Charles	<p class="p1"><i>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts </i>(1836). London: John Dicks, p.5.</p>; Internet Archive, <a href="https://archive.org/details/villagecoquettes00dickuoft/page/12/mode/2up?view=theater" target="_blank" rel="noopener">https://archive.org/details/villagecoquettes00dickuoft/page/12/mode/2up?view=theater</a>.	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=40&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=1836">1836</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=37&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Hullah%2C+John">Hullah, John</a>	<p class="p1"><i>Internet</i><span> <em>Archive</em>: Access to the Archive’s Collections is provided at no cost and is granted for scholarship and research purposes only (</span><span class="s1"><a href="https://archive.org/about/terms.php" target="_blank" rel="noopener">https://archive.org/about/terms.php</a>).</span></p>		<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=51&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Song">Song</a>	1836_The_Village_Coquettes_Squire_Nortons_SongI		<p class="p1">Dickens, Charles. 'Squire Norton's Song (I).' <i>The Village Coquettes </i>(1836): p. 5. <i>Dickens Search. </i>Eds. Emily Bell and Lydia Craig. Accessed [date]. <a href="https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836_The_Village_Coquettes_Squire_Nortons_SongI">https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836_The_Village_Coquettes_Squire_Nortons_SongI</a>.</p>	<a href="https://dickenssearch.com/teibp/dist/content/1836_The_Village_Coquettes_Squire_Nortons_SongI.xml" target="_blank" rel="noopener">'Squire Norton's Song (I).' <em>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts </em>(1836).</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=94&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Play">Play</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=93&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=The+Village+Coquettes%2C+An+Operatic+Burletta+in+Two+Acts">The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts</a>		That very wise head, old Æsop, said, The bow should be sometimes loose; Keep it tight for ever, the string you sever: – Let’s turn his old moral to use. The world forget, and let us yet, The glass our spirits buoying, Revel to-night, in those moments bright, Which make life worth enjoying. The cares of the day, old moralists say, Are quite enough to perplex one; Then drive to-day’s sorrow away till to-morrow, And then put it off till the next one. Chorus – The cares of the day, &c. Some plodding old crones, the heartless drones! Appeal to my cool reflection, And ask me whether, such nights can ever Charm sober recollection. Yes, yes! I cry, I’ll grieve and die, When those I love forsake me; But while friends so dear, surround me here, Let care, if he can, o’ertake me. Chorus – The cares of the day, &c.	18360101	https://dickenssearch.com/files/original/3/Squire_Norton_s_Song_[I]/1836_The_Village_Coquettes_Squire_Nortons_SongI.pdf
28	https://dickenssearch.com/items/show/28	'Squire Norton's Song (II)'	From <em>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts </em>(1836). Music by John Hullah, p.9.	Dickens, Charles	<p class="p1"><i>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts </i>(1836). London: John Dicks.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>; Internet Archive, <a href="https://archive.org/details/villagecoquettes00dickuoft/page/12/mode/2up?view=theater" target="_blank" rel="noopener">https://archive.org/details/villagecoquettes00dickuoft/page/12/mode/2up?view=theater</a>.	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=40&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=1836">1836</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=37&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Hullah%2C+John">Hullah, John</a>	<p class="p1"><i>Internet</i><span> <em>Archive</em>: Access to the Archive’s Collections is provided at no cost and is granted for scholarship and research purposes only (</span><span class="s1"><a href="https://archive.org/about/terms.php" target="_blank" rel="noopener">https://archive.org/about/terms.php</a>).</span></p>		<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=51&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Song">Song</a>	1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Squire_Nortons_SongII		<p class="p1">Dickens, Charles. 'Round.' <i>The Village Coquettes </i>(1836): p. 9. <i>Dickens Search. </i>Eds. Emily Bell and Lydia Craig. Accessed [date]. <a href="https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Squire_Nortons_SongII">https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Squire_Nortons_SongII</a>.</p>	<a href="https://dickenssearch.com/teibp/dist/content/1836_The_Village_Coquettes_Squire_Nortons_SongII.xml" target="_blank" rel="noopener">'Squire Norton's Song (II).' <em>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts</em> (1836).</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=94&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Play">Play</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=93&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=The+Village+Coquettes%2C+An+Operatic+Burletta+in+Two+Acts">The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts</a>		The child and the old man sat alone In the quiet, peaceful shade Of the old green boughs, that had richly grown In the deep, thick forest glade. It was a soft and pleasant sound, That rustling of the oak; And the gentle breeze played lightly round, As thus the fair boy spoke: – ‘Dear father, what can honour be, Of which I hear men rave? Field, cell and cloister, laud and sea, The tempest and the grave: – It lives in all, ‘tis sought in each, ‘Tis never heard or seen: Now tell me, father, I beseech, What can this honour mean?’ ‘It is a name – a name, my child, - It lived in other days, When men were rude, their passions wild, Their sport, thick battle-frays. When, in armour bright, the warrior bold Knelt to his lady’s eyes: Beneath the abbey pavement old That warrior’s dust now lies. ‘The iron hearts of that old day Have mouldered in the grave; And chivalry has passed away, With knights so true and brave; The honour, which to them was life, Throbs in no bosom now; It only gilds the gambler’s strife, Or decks the worthless vow.’	18360101	https://dickenssearch.com/files/original/3/Squire_Norton_s_Song_[II]/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Squire_Nortons_SongII.pdf
32	https://dickenssearch.com/items/show/32	'Squire Norton's Song (III)'	From <em>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts </em>(1836). Music by John Hullah, p.14.	Dickens, Charles	<p class="p1"><i>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts </i>(1836). London: John Dicks.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>; Internet Archive, <a href="https://archive.org/details/villagecoquettes00dickuoft/page/12/mode/2up?view=theater" target="_blank" rel="noopener">https://archive.org/details/villagecoquettes00dickuoft/page/12/mode/2up?view=theater</a>.	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=40&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=1836">1836</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=37&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Hullah%2C+John">Hullah, John</a>	<p class="p1"><i>Internet</i><span> <em>Archive</em>: Access to the Archive’s Collections is provided at no cost and is granted for scholarship and research purposes only (</span><span class="s1"><a href="https://archive.org/about/terms.php" target="_blank" rel="noopener">https://archive.org/about/terms.php</a>).</span></p>	Hullah, John. 'There's a charm in spring.' B<span>etween 1863 and 1877. </span><em>HathiTrust,</em> <a href="https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=mdp.39015093760281&view=1up&seq=1" target="_blank" rel="noopener">https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=mdp.39015093760281&view=1up&seq=1</a>.	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=51&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Song">Song</a>	1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Squire_Nortons_SongIII		<p class="p1">Dickens, Charles. 'Squire Norton's Song (III).' <i>The Village Coquettes </i>(1836): p.14. <i>Dickens Search. </i>Eds. Emily Bell and Lydia Craig. Accessed [date]. <a href="https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Squire_Nortons_SongIII">https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Squire_Nortons_SongIII</a>.</p>	<a href="https://dickenssearch.com/teibp/dist/content/1836_The_Village_Coquettes_Squire_Nortons_SongIII.xml" target="_blank" rel="noopener">'Squire Norton's Song (III).' <em>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts</em> (1836).</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=94&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Play">Play</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=93&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=%3Cem%3EThe+Village+Coquettes%2C+An+Operatic+Burletta+in+Two+Acts%3C%2Fem%3E"><em>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts</em></a>		There’s a charm in spring, when ev’rything Is bursting from the ground; When pleasant show’rs bring forth the flow’rs And all is life around. In summer day, the fragrant hay Most sweetly scents the breeze; And all is still, save murm’ring rill, Or sound of humming bees. Old autumn come; - with trusty gun In quest of birds we roam: Unerring aim, we mark the game, And proudly bear it home. A winter’s night has its delight, Well warmed to bed we go: A winter’s day, we’re blithe and gay, Snipe-shooting in the snow. A country life, without the strife, And noisy din of town, Is all I need, I take no heed Of splendour or renown. And when I die, oh, let me lie, Where trees above me wave; Let wild plants bloom around my tomb, My quiet country grave!	18360101	https://dickenssearch.com/files/original/3/Squire_Norton_s_Song_[III]/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Squire_Nortons_SongIII.pdf
164	https://dickenssearch.com/items/show/164	'The Tuggs's at Ramsgate'	Published in <em>The Library of Fiction,</em> vol. 1. London: Chapman and Hall, 1836, pp. 1-17.	Dickens, Charles	<em>Internet Archive,</em> <a href="https://archive.org/details/libraryoffiction01dick/page/n9/mode/2up">https://archive.org/details/libraryoffiction01dick/page/n9/mode/2up</a>.	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=40&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=1836">1836</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=37&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Illustrated+by+Robert+Seymour">Illustrated by Robert Seymour</a>	<p><em>Internet Archive,</em> <a href="https://archive.org/about.terms.php">https://archive.org/about.terms.php</a>. Access to the Archive's Collections is granted for scholarship and research purposes only.</p>		<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=51&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Short+story">Short story</a>	1836-The_Tuggss_at_Ramgate				<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=94&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Book">Book</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=93&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=%3Cem%3EThe+Library+of+Fiction%3C%2Fem%3E"><em>The Library of Fiction</em></a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=95&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=BOZ">BOZ</a>	Once upon a time, there dwelt, in a narrow street on the Surrey side of the water, within three minutes’ walk of old London Bridge, Mr. Joseph Tuggs—a little, dark-faced man, with shiny hair, twinkling eyes, short legs, and a body of very considerable thickness, measuring from the centre button of his waistcoat in front, to the ornamental buttons of his coat behind. The figure of the amiable Mrs. Tuggs, if not perfectly symmetrical was decidedly comfortable; and the form of her only daughter, the accomplished Miss Charlotte Tuggs, was fast ripening into that state of luxuriant plumpness, which had enchanted the eyes, and captivated the heart, of Mr. Joseph Tuggs in his earlier days. Mr. Simon Tuggs, his only son, and Miss Charlotte Tuggs’s only brother, was as differently formed in body, as he was differently constituted in mind, from the remainder of his family. There was that elongation in his thoughtful face, and that tendency to weakness in his interesting legs, which tell so forcibly of a great mind and romantic disposition. The slightest traits of character in such a being, possess no mean interest to speculative minds. He usually appeared in public, in capacious shoes with black cotton stockings; and was observed to be particularly attached to a black glazed stock, without tie or ornament of any description. There is perhaps no profession, however useful, no pursuit, however meritorious, which can escape the petty attacks of vulgar minds. Mr. Joseph Tuggs was a grocer. It might be supposed that a grocer was beyond the breath of calumny; but no,—the neighbours stigmatised him as a chandler; and the poisonous voice of envy distinctly asserted that he dispensed tea and coffee by the quartern, retailed sugar by the ounce, cheese by the slice, tobacco by the screw, and butter by the pat. These taunts, however, were lost upon the Tuggs's. Mr. Tuggs attended to the grocery department, Mrs. Tuggs to the cheesemongery, and Miss Tuggs to her education. Mr. Simon Tuggs kept his father’s books, and his own counsel. One fine spring afternoon, the latter gentleman was seated on a tub of weekly Dorset behind the little red desk with a wooden rail, which ornamented a corner of the counter, when a stranger dismounted from a cab, and hastily entered the shop: he was habited in black cloth, and bore with him a green umbrella and a blue bag. "Mr. Tuggs?" said the stranger, inquiringly. "My name is Tuggs," replied Mr. Simon. "It’s the other Mr. Tuggs," said the stranger, looking towards the glass door which led into the parlour behind the shop, and on the inside of which, the round face of Mr. Tuggs, senior, was distinctly visible, peeping over the curtain. Mr. Simon gracefully waved his pen, as if in intimation of his wish that his father would advance, and Mr. Joseph Tuggs with considerable celerity removed his face from the curtain, and placed it before the stranger. "I come from the Temple," said the man with the bag. "From the Temple!" said Mrs. Tuggs, flinging open the door of the little parlour, and disclosing Miss Tuggs in perspective. "From the Temple!" said Miss Tuggs and Mr. Simon Tuggs at the same moment. "From the Temple!" said Mr. Joseph Tuggs, turning as pale as a Dutch cheese. "From the Temple," repeated the man with the bag; "from Mr. Cower’s, the solicitor’s. Mr. Tuggs, I congratulate you, sir. Ladies, I wish you joy of your prosperity! We have been successful." And the man with the bag, leisurely divested himself of his umbrella and glove, as a preliminary to shaking hands with Mr. Joseph Tuggs. Now the words "we have been successful," had no sooner issued from the mouth of the man with the bag, than Mr. Simon Tuggs rose from the tub of weekly Dorset, opened his eyes very wide, gasped for breath, made figures of eight in the air with his pen, and finally fell into the arms of his anxious mother, and fainted away, without the slightest ostensible cause or pretence. "Water!" screamed Mrs. Tuggs. "Look up, my son," exclaimed Mr. Tuggs. "Simon! Dear Simon!" shrieked Miss Tuggs. "I’m better now," said Mr. Simon Tuggs. "What! successful!" And then, as corroborative evidence of his being better, he fainted away again, and was borne into the little parlour by the united efforts of the remainder of the family and the man with the bag. To a casual spectator, or to any one unacquainted with the position of the family, this fainting would have been unaccountable. To those who understood the mission of the man with the bag, and were moreover acquainted with the excitability of the nerves of Mr. Simon Tuggs, it was quite comprehensible. A long-pending lawsuit respecting the validity of a will, had been unexpectedly decided; and Mr. Joseph Tuggs was the possessor of twenty thousand pounds. A prolonged consultation took place that night in the little parlour—a consultation that was to settle the future destinies of the Tuggs's. The shop was shut up at an unusually early hour; and many were the unavailing kicks bestowed upon the closed door by applicants for quarterns of sugar, or half-quarterns of bread, or penn’orths of pepper, which were to have been "left till Saturday," but which fortune had decreed were to be left alone altogether. "We must certainly give up business," said Miss Tuggs. "Oh, decidedly," said Mrs. Tuggs. "Simon shall go to the bar," said Mr. Joseph Tuggs. "And I shall always sign myself 'Cymon' in future," said his son. "And I shall call myself Charlotta," said Miss Tuggs. "And you must always call me 'Ma,' and father 'Pa,’" said Mrs. Tuggs. "Yes, and Pa must leave off all his vulgar habits," interposed Miss Tuggs. "I’ll take care o' all that," responded Mr. Joseph Tuggs, complacently.—He was at that very moment eating pickled salmon with a pocket-knife. "We must leave town immediately," said Mr. Cymon Tuggs. Everybody concurred that this was an indispensable preliminary to being genteel. The question then arose—Where should they go? "Gravesend," mildly suggested Mr. Joseph Tuggs. The idea was unanimously scouted. Gravesend was low. "Margate," insinuated Mrs. Tuggs. Worse and worse—nobody there, but tradespeople. "Brighton?" Mr. Cymon Tuggs opposed an insurmountable objection. All the coaches had been upset, in turn, within the last three weeks; each coach had averaged two passengers killed, and six wounded; and, in every case, the newspapers had distinctly understood that "no blame whatever was attributable to the coachman." "Ramsgate!" ejaculated Mr. Cymon, thoughtfully.—To be sure; how stupid they must have been not to have thought of that before. Ramsgate was just the place of all others that they ought to go to. Two months after this conversation, the City of London Ramsgate steamer was running gaily down the river. Her flag was flying, her band was playing, her passengers were conversing; everything about her seemed gay and lively.—No wonder, the Tuggs's were on board. "Charming, a'nt it?" said Mr. Joseph Tuggs, in a bottle-green great-coat, with a velvet collar of the same, and a blue travelling cap with a gold band. "Soul-inspiring," replied Mr. Cymon Tuggs—he was entered at the bar.—"Soul-inspiring!" "Delightful morning, sir," said a stoutish, military-looking gentleman in a blue surtout, buttoned up to his chin, and white trousers chained down to the soles of his boots. Mr. Cymon Tuggs took upon himself the responsibility of answering the observation. "Heavenly!" he replied. "You are an enthusiastic admirer of the beauties of Nature, sir?" said the military gentleman, deferentially. "I am, sir," replied Mr. Cymon Tuggs. "Travelled much, sir?" inquired the military gentleman. "Not much," replied Mr. Cymon Tuggs. "You’ve been on the continent, of course?" inquired the military gentleman. "Not exactly," replied Mr. Cymon Tuggs, in a qualified tone, as if he wished it to be implied that he had gone half way and come back again. "You of course intend your son to make the grand tour, sir?" said the military gentleman, addressing Mr. Joseph Tuggs. As Mr. Joseph Tuggs did not precisely understand what the grand tour was, or how such an article was manufactured, he replied, "Of course." Just as he said the word, there came tripping up, from her seat at the stern of the vessel, a young lady in a puce-coloured silk cloak, and boots of the same, with long black ringlets, large black eyes, brief petticoats, and unexceptionable ankles. "Walter, my dear," said the young lady to the military gentleman. "Yes, Belinda, my love," responded the military gentleman to the black-eyed young lady. "What have you left me alone so long for?" said the young lady. "I have been stared out of countenance by those rude young men." "What! stared at?" exclaimed the military gentleman, with an emphasis which made Mr. Cymon Tuggs withdraw his eyes from the young lady’s face with inconceivable rapidity. "Which young men—where?" and the military gentleman clenched his fist, and glared fearfully on the cigar-smokers around. "Be calm, Walter, I entreat," said the young lady. "I won’t," said the military gentleman. "Do, sir," interposed Mr. Cymon Tuggs. "They a'nt worth your notice." "No—no—they are not indeed," urged the young lady. "I will be calm," said the military gentleman. "You speak truly, sir. I thank you for a timely remonstrance, which may have spared me the guilt of manslaughter;" and calming his wrath, the military gentleman wrung Mr. Cymon Tuggs by the hand. "My sister, sir," said Mr. Cymon Tuggs: seeing that the military gentleman was casting an admiring look towards Miss Charlotta. "My wife, ma’am—Mrs. Captain Waters," said the military gentleman, presenting the black-eyed young lady. "My mother, ma’am—Mrs. Tuggs," said Mr. Cymon. The military gentleman and his wife murmured enchanting courtesies; and the Tuggses looked as unembarrassed as they could. "Walter, my dear," said the black-eyed young lady, after they had sat chatting with the Tuggs's some half hour. "Yes, my love," said the military gentleman. "Don’t you think this gentleman (with an inclination of the head towards Mr. Cymon Tuggs) is very much like the Marquis Carriwini." "God bless me, very!" said the military gentleman. "It struck me, the moment I saw him," said the young lady, gazing intently, and with a melancholy air, on the scarlet countenance of Mr. Cymon Tuggs. Mr. Cymon Tuggs looked at every body; and finding that every body was looking at him, appeared to feel some temporary difficulty in disposing of his eyesight. "So exactly the air of the marquis," said the military gentleman. "Quite extraordinary!" sighed the military gentleman’s lady. "You don’t know the marquis, sir?" inquired the military gentleman. Mr. Cymon Tuggs stammered a negative. "If you did," continued Captain Walter Waters, "you would feel how much reason you have to be proud of the resemblance—a most elegant man, with a most prepossessing appearance." "He is—he is indeed!" exclaimed Belinda Waters energetically: and as her eye caught that of Mr. Cymon Tuggs, she withdrew it from his features in bashful confusion. All this was highly gratifying to the feelings of the Tuggs's; and when in the course of further conversation, it was discovered that Miss Charlotta Tuggs was the fac simile of a titled relative of Mrs. Belinda Waters; and that Mrs. Tuggs herself was the very picture of the Dowager Duchess of Dobbleton; their delight in the acquisition of so genteel and friendly an acquaintance, knew no bounds. Even the dignity of Captain Walter Waters relaxed to such a degree, that he suffered himself to be prevailed upon by Mr. Joseph Tuggs, to partake of cold pigeon-pie and sherry on deck; and a most delightful conversation, aided by these agreeable stimulants, was prolonged until they ran alongside Ramsgate Pier. "Good by'e, dear!" said Mrs. Captain Waters to Miss Charlotta Tuggs, just before the bustle of landing commenced; "we shall see you on the sands in the morning: and, as we are sure to have found lodgings before then, I hope we shall be inseparables for many weeks to come." "Oh! I hope so," said Miss Charlotta Tuggs, emphatically. "Tickets, ladies and gen’lm’n," said the man on the paddle-box. "Want a porter, sir?" inquired a dozen men in smock-frocks. "Now, my dear—" said Captain Waters. "Good by'e," said Mrs. Captain Waters—"good by'e! Mr. Cymon!" and with a pressure of the hand which threw the amiable young man’s nerves into a state of considerable derangement, Mrs. Captain Waters disappeared among the crowd. A pair of puce-coloured boots were seen ascending the steps, a white handkerchief fluttered, a black eye gleamed:&nbsp; the Waters's were gone, and Mr. Cymon Tuggs was alone indeed. Silently and abstractedly did that too sensitive youth follow his revered parents, and a train of smock-frocks and wheel-barrows, along the pier, until the bustle of the scene around, recalled him to himself. The sun was shining brightly—the sea, dancing to its own music, rolled merrily in; crowds of people promenaded to and fro; young ladies tittered; old ladies talked, nursemaids displayed their charms to the greatest possible advantage, and their little charges ran up and down, and to and fro, and in and out, under the feet, and between the legs of the assembled concourse, in the most playful and exhilarating manner. There were old gentlemen, trying to make out objects through long telescopes, and young ones making objects of themselves in open shirt-collars; ladies, carrying about portable chairs, and portable chairs carrying about invalids. Parties were waiting on the pier for parties who had come by the steam-boat; and nothing was to be heard but talking, laughing, welcoming, and merriment. "Fly, sir?" exclaimed a chorus of fourteen men and six boys, the moment Mr. Joseph Tuggs, at the head of his little party, set foot in the street. "Here’s the gen’lm’n at last!" said one, touching his hat with mock politeness. "Werry glad to see you, sir,—been a-waitin’ for you these six weeks. Jump in, if you please, sir." "Nice light fly and a fast trotter, sir," said another: "fourteen mile a hour, and surroundin’ objects rendered inwisible by hextreme welocity!" "Large fly for your luggage, sir," cried a third. "Werry large fly here, sir—reg’lar bluebottle!" "Here’s your fly, sir!" shouted another aspiring charioteer, mounting the box, and inducing an old grey horse to indulge in some imperfect reminiscences of a canter. "Look at him, sir!—temper of a lamb and haction of a steam-ingin!" Resisting even the temptation of securing the services of so valuable a quadruped as the last named, Mr. Joseph Tuggs beckoned to the proprietor of a dingy conveyance of a greenish hue, lined with faded striped calico; and the luggage and the family having been deposited therein, the animal in the shafts, after describing circles in the road for a quarter of an hour, at last consented to depart in quest of lodgings. "How many beds have you got?" screamed Mrs. Tuggs out of the fly, to the woman who opened the door of the first house, which displayed a bill, intimating that apartments were to be let within. "How many did you want, ma’am?" was of course the reply. "Three." "Will you step in, ma’am?" Down got Mrs. Tuggs. The family were delighted. Splendid view of the sea from the front windows—charming! A short pause. Back came Mrs. Tuggs again.—One parlour and a mattress. "Why the devil didn’t they say so at first?" inquired Mr. Joseph Tuggs, rather pettishly. "Don’t know," said Mrs. Tuggs. "Wretches!" exclaimed the nervous Cymon. Another bill—another stoppage. Same question—same answer—similar result. "What do they mean by this?" inquired Mr. Joseph Tuggs, thoroughly out of temper. "Don’t know," said the placid Mrs. Tuggs. "Orvis the vay here, sir," said the driver, by way of accounting for the circumstance in a satisfactory manner; and off they went again, to make fresh inquiries, and encounter fresh disappointments. It had grown dusk when the "fly"—the rate of whose progress greatly belied its name—after climbing up four or five perpendicular hills, stopped before the door of a dusty house, with a bay window, from which you could obtain a beautiful glimpse of the sea—if you thrust half of your body out of it, at the imminent peril of falling into the area. Mrs. Tuggs alighted. One ground-floor sitting-room, and three cells with beds in them up stairs—a double-house—family on the opposite side—five children milk-and-watering in the parlour, and one little boy, expelled for bad behaviour, screaming on his back in the passage. "What’s the terms?" said Mrs. Tuggs. The mistress of the house was considering the expediency of putting on an extra guinea; so she coughed slightly, and affected not to hear the question. "What’s the terms?" said Mrs. Tuggs, in a louder key. "Five guineas a week, ma’am, with attendance," replied the lodging-house keeper. (Attendance means the privilege of ringing the bell as often as you like, for your own personal amusement.) "Rather dear," said Mrs. Tuggs. "Oh dear, no, ma’am," replied the mistress of the house, with a benign smile of pity at the ignorance of manners and customs, which the observation betrayed. "Very cheap." "Such an authority was indisputable. Mrs. Tuggs paid a week’s rent in advance, and took the lodgings for a month. In an hour’s time, the family were seated at tea in their new abode. "Capital srimps!" said Mr. Joseph Tuggs. Mr. Cymon eyed his father with a rebellious scowl, as he emphatically said "Shrimps." "Well, then, shrimps," said Mr. Joseph Tuggs. "Srimps or shrimps, don’t much matter." There was pity, blended with malignity, in Mr. Cymon’s eye, as he replied, "Don’t matter, father! What would Captain Waters say, if he heard such vulgarity?" "Or what would dear Mrs. Captain Waters say," added Charlotta, "if she saw mother—ma, I mean—eating them whole, heads and all!" "It won’t bear thinking of!" ejaculated Mr. Cymon, with a shudder. "How different," he thought, "from the Dowager Duchess of Dobbleton!" "Very pretty woman, Mrs. Captain Waters, is she not, Cymon?" inquired Miss Charlotta. A glow of nervous excitement passed over the countenance of Mr. Cymon Tuggs, as he replied, "An angel of beauty!" "Hallo!" said Mr. Joseph Tuggs. "Hallo, Cymon, my boy, take care—married lady, you know;" and he winked one of his twinkling eyes, knowingly. "Why," exclaimed Cymon, starting up with an ebullition of fury, as unexpected as alarming, "Why am I to be reminded of that blight of my happiness, and ruin of my hopes? Why am I to be taunted with the miseries which are heaped upon my head! Is it not enough to—to—to—!" and the orator paused; but whether for want of words, or lack of breath, was never distinctly ascertained. There was an impressive solemnity in the tone of this address, and in the air with which the romantic Cymon at its conclusion, rang the bell, and demanded a flat candlestick, which effectually forbade a reply. He stalked dramatically to bed, and the Tuggs's went to bed too, half an hour afterwards, in a state of considerable mystification and perplexity. If the pier had presented a scene of life and bustle to the Tuggs's on their first landing at Ramsgate, it was far surpassed by the appearance of the sands on the morning after their arrival. It was a fine, bright, clear day, with a light breeze from the sea. There were the same ladies and gentlemen, the same children, the same nursemaids, the same telescopes, the same portable chairs; the ladies were employed in needle-work, or watch-guard making, or knitting, or reading novels: the gentlemen were reading newspapers and magazines, the children were digging holes in the sand with wooden spades, and collecting water therein: the nursemaids with their youngest charges in arms, were running in after the waves, and then running back with the waves after them: and now and then a little sailing-boat either departed with a gay and talkative cargo of passengers, or returned with a very silent and particularly uncomfortable-looking one. "Well, I never!" exclaimed Mrs. Tuggs, as she and Mr. Joseph Tuggs, and Miss Charlotta Tuggs, and Mr. Cymon Tuggs, with their eight feet in a corresponding number of yellow shoes, seated themselves on four rush-bottomed chairs, which, being placed in a soft part of the sand, forthwith sunk down some two feet and a half.—"Well, I never!" Mr. Cymon, by an exertion of great personal strength, uprooted the chairs, and removed them further back. "Why, I’m blessed if there a'nt some ladies a-going in!" exclaimed Mr. Joseph Tuggs, with intense astonishment. "Lor, pa!" exclaimed Miss Charlotta. "There is! my dear," said Mr. Joseph Tuggs. And, sure enough, four young ladies, each furnished with a towel, tripped up the steps of a bathing machine; in went the horse, floundering about in the water: round turned the machine, down sat the driver, and presently out burst the young ladies aforesaid, with four distinct splashes. "Well, that’s sing’ler, too!" ejaculated Mr. Joseph Tuggs, after an awkward pause. Mr. Cymon coughed slightly. "Why, here’s some gentlemen a-going in on this side," exclaimed Mrs. Tuggs, in a tone of horror. Three machines—three horses—three flounderings—three turnings round—three splashes—three gentlemen, disporting themselves in the water, like so many dolphins. "Well, that’s sing’ler!" said Mr. Joseph Tuggs again. Miss Charlotta coughed this time, and another pause ensued. It was agreeably broken. "How d’ye do, dear? We have been looking for you, all the morning," said a voice to Miss Charlotta Tuggs. Mrs. Captain Waters was the owner of it. "How d’ye do?" said Captain Walter Waters, all suavity; and a most cordial interchange of greetings ensued. "Belinda, my love," said Captain Walter Waters, applying his glass to his eye, and looking in the direction of the sea. "Yes, my dear," replied Mrs. Captain Waters. "There’s Harry Thompson." "Where?" said Belinda, applying her glass to her eye. "Bathing." "Lor, so it is! He don’t see us, does he?" "No, I don’t think he does," replied the captain.—"Bless my soul, how very singular!" "What?" inquired Belinda. "There’s Mary Golding, too." "Lor!—where?" (Up went the glass again.) "There," said the captain, pointing to one of the young ladies before noticed, who, in her bathing costume, looked as if she was enveloped in a patent Mackintosh, of scanty dimensions. "So it is, I declare!" exclaimed Mrs. Captain Waters.—"How very curious we should see them both!" "Very," said the captain, with perfect coolness. "It’s the reg’lar thing here, you see," whispered Mr. Cymon Tuggs to his father. "I see it is," whispered Mr. Joseph Tuggs in reply. "Queer, though—an't it?" Mr. Cymon Tuggs nodded assent. "What do you think of doing with yourself this morning?" inquired the captain.—"Shall we lunch at Pegwell?" "I should like that very much indeed," interposed Mrs. Tuggs. She had never heard of Pegwell before; but the word "lunch" had reached her ears, and it sounded very agreeably. "How shall we go?" inquired the captain; "it’s too warm to walk." "A chay?" suggested Mr. Joseph Tuggs. "Chaise," whispered Mr. Cymon. "I should think one would be enough," said Mr. Joseph Tuggs aloud, quite unconscious of the meaning of the correction. "However, two chays, if you like." "I should like a donkey so much," said Belinda. "Oh, so should I!" echoed Charlotta Tuggs. "Well, we can have a fly," suggested the captain, "and you can have a couple of donkeys." A fresh difficulty arose. Mrs. Captain Waters declared it would be decidedly improper for two ladies to ride alone. The remedy was obvious. Perhaps young Mr. Tuggs would be gallant enough to accompany them. Mr. Cymon Tuggs blushed, smiled, looked vacant, and faintly protested he was no horseman. The objection was at once overruled. A fly was speedily found; and three donkeys—which the proprietor declared on his solemn asseveration to be "three parts blood, and the other corn"—were engaged in the service. "Kum up!" shouted one of the two boys who followed behind to propel the donkeys, when Belinda Waters and Charlotta Tuggs had been hoisted, and pushed, and pulled, into their respective saddles. "Hi—hi—hi!" groaned the other boy behind Mr. Cymon Tuggs. Away went the donkey, with the stirrups jingling against the heels of Cymon’s boots, and Cymon’s boots nearly scraping the ground. "Way—way! Wo—o—o—o—!" cried Mr. Cymon Tuggs as well as he could, in the midst of the jolting. "Don’t make it gallop!" screamed Mrs. Captain Waters, behind. "My donkey will go into the public-house!" shrieked Miss Tuggs in the rear. "Hi—hi—hi!" groaned both the boys together; and on went the donkeys as if nothing would ever stop them. Everything has an end, however; and even the galloping of donkeys will cease in time. The animal which Mr. Cymon Tuggs bestrode, feeling sundry uncomfortable tugs at the bit, the intent of which he could by no means understand, abruptly sidled against a brick wall, and expressed his uneasiness by grinding Mr. Cymon Tuggs’s leg on the rough surface. Mrs. Captain Waters’s donkey, apparently under the influence of some playfulness of spirit, rushed suddenly, head first, into a hedge, and declined to come out again: and the quadruped on which Miss Tuggs was mounted expressed his delight at this humorous proceeding by firmly planting his fore-feet against the ground, and kicking up his hind-legs in a very agile, but somewhat alarming manner. This abrupt termination to the rapidity of the ride, naturally occasioned some confusion. Both the ladies indulged in vehement screaming for several minutes; and Mr. Cymon Tuggs, besides sustaining intense bodily pain, had the additional mental anguish of witnessing their distressing situation, without having the power to rescue them, by reason of his leg being firmly screwed in, between the animal and the wall. The efforts of the boys, however, assisted by the ingenious expedient of twisting the tail of the most rebellious donkey, restored order in a much shorter time than could have reasonably been expected, and the little party jogged slowly on together. "Now let ’em walk," said Mr. Cymon Tuggs. "It’s cruel to over-drive ’em." "Werry well, sir," replied the boy, with a grin at his companion, as if he understood Mr. Cymon to mean that the cruelty applied less to the animals than to their riders. "What a lovely day, dear!" said Charlotta. "Charming; enchanting, dear!" responded Mrs. Captain Waters. "What a beautiful prospect, Mr. Tuggs!" Cymon looked full in Belinda’s face, as he responded—"Beautiful, indeed!" The lady cast down her eyes, and suffered the animal she was riding to fall a little back. Cymon Tuggs instinctively did the same. There was a brief silence, broken only by a sigh from Mr. Cymon Tuggs. "Mr. Cymon," said the lady suddenly, in a low tone, "Mr. Cymon—I am another’s." Mr. Cymon expressed his perfect concurrence in a statement which it was impossible to controvert. "If I had not been—" resumed Belinda; and there she stopped. "What—what?" said Mr. Cymon earnestly. "Do not torture me. What would you say?" "If I had not been"—continued Mrs. Captain Waters—"If in earlier life, it had been my fate to have known, and been beloved by, a noble youth—a kindred soul—a congenial spirit—one capable of feeling and appreciating the sentiments which—" "Heavens! what do I hear?" exclaimed Mr. Cymon Tuggs. "Is it possible! can I believe my—Come up." (This last unsentimental parenthesis was addressed to the donkey, who with his head between his fore-legs, appeared to be examining the state of his shoes with great anxiety.) "Hi—hi—hi," said the boys behind. "Come up, expostulated Cymon Tuggs again. "Hi—hi—hi," repeated the boys: and whether it was that the animal felt indignant at the tone of Mr. Tuggs’s command, or felt alarmed by the noise of the deputy proprietor’s boots running behind him, or whether he burned with a noble emulation to outstrip the other donkeys, certain it is that he no sooner heard the second series of "hi—hi's," than he started away with a celerity of pace which jerked Mr. Cymon’s hat off instantaneously, and carried him to the Pegwell Bay hotel in no time, where he deposited his rider without giving him the trouble of dismounting, by sagaciously pitching him over his head, into the very door of the tavern. Great was the confusion of Mr. Cymon Tuggs, when he was put right end uppermost by two waiters; considerable was the alarm of Mrs. Tuggs in behalf of her son; and agonizing were the apprehensions of Mrs. Captain Waters on his account. It was speedily discovered, however, that he had not sustained much more injury than the donkey—he was grazed, and the animal was grazing—and then it was a delightful party to be sure! Mr. and Mrs. Tuggs, and the captain, had ordered lunch in the little garden behind:—small saucers of large shrimps, dabs of butter, crusty loaves, and bottled ale. The sky was without a cloud, there were flower-pots and turf before them; and the sea at the foot of the cliff, stretching away as far as the eye could discern any thing at all, and vessels in the distance with sails as white, and as small, as nicely-got-up cambric handkerchiefs. The shrimps were delightful, the ale better, and the captain even more pleasant than either. Mrs. Captain Waters was in such spirits after lunch; chasing, first the captain across the turf, and among the flower-pots, and then Mr. Cymon Tuggs, and then Miss Tuggs, laughing, too, quite boisterously. But as the captain said, it didn’t matter; who knew what they were, there? For all the people of the house knew, they might be common people. To which Mr. Joseph Tuggs responded, "To be sure," and then they went down the steep wooden steps a little further on, which lead to the bottom of the cliff; and looked at the crabs, and the seaweed, and the eels, 'till it was more than fully time to go back to Ramsgate again, and finally, Mr. Cymon Tuggs ascended the steps last, and Mrs. Captain Waters last but one: and Mr. Cymon Tuggs discovered that the foot and ankle of Mrs. Captain Waters, were even more unexceptionable than he had at first supposed. Taking a donkey towards his ordinary place of residence, is a very different thing, and a feat much more easily to be accomplished, than taking him from it: it requires a great deal of foresight and presence of mind in the one case, to anticipate the numerous flights of his discursive imagination; while in the other, all you have to do is to hold on, and place a blind confidence in the animal. Mr. Cymon Tuggs adopted the latter expedient on his return; and his nerves were so little discomposed by the journey, that he distinctly understood they were all to meet again at the library in the evening. The library was crowded. There were the same ladies, and the same gentlemen, who had been on the sands in the morning, and on the pier the day before. There were young ladies in maroon-coloured gowns and black velvet bracelets, dispensing fancy articles in the shop, and presiding over games of chance in the concert-room. There were marriageable daughters, and marriage-making mammas, gaming, and promenading, and turning over music, and flirting. There were some male beaux doing the sentimental in whispers, and others doing the ferocious in moustache. There were Mrs. Tuggs in amber, Miss Tuggs in sky-blue, and Mrs. Captain Waters in pink. There was Captain Waters in a braided surtout: there was Mr. Cymon Tuggs in pumps, and a gilt waistcoat; and moreover there was Mr. Joseph Tuggs in a blue coat, and a shirt-frill. "Number three, eight, and eleven," cried one of the young ladies in maroon-coloured gowns. "Number three, eight, and eleven," echoed another young lady in the same uniform. "Number three’s gone," said the first young lady. "Number eight and eleven." "Number eight and eleven," echoed the second young lady. "Number eight’s gone, Mary Ann," said the first young lady. "Number eleven," screamed the second. "The numbers are all taken now, Ladies, if you please," said the first; and the representatives of numbers three, eight, and eleven, and the rest of the numbers, crowded round the table. "Will you throw, ma’am?" said the presiding goddess, handing the dice-box to the eldest daughter of a stout lady, with four girls. There was a profound silence among the lookers-on. "Throw, Jane, my dear," said the stout lady—an interesting display of bashfulness—a little blushing in a cambric handkerchief—a whispering to a younger sister. "Amelia, my dear, throw for your sister," said the stout lady; and then she turned to a walking advertisement of Rowland’s Macassar, who stood next her, and said, "Jane is so very modest and retiring; but I can’t be angry with her for it. An artless and unsophisticated girl is so truly amiable, that I often wish Amelia was more like her sister!" The gentleman with the whiskers, whispered his admiring approval; and the artless young lady glances across, to observe the effect of her most unqualified simplicity. "Now, my dear!" said the stout lady. Miss Amelia threw—eight for her sister, ten for herself. "Nice figure, Amelia," whispered the stout lady to a thin youth beside her. "Beautiful!" "And such a spirit! I am like you in that respect. I can not help admiring that life and vivacity. Ah! (a sigh) I wish I could make poor Jane a little more like my dear Amelia!" The young gentleman cordially acquiesced in the sentiment; both he, and the individual first addressed, were perfectly contented. "Who’s this?" inquired Mr. Cymon Tuggs of Mrs. Captain Waters, as a short female, in a blue velvet hat and feathers, was led into the orchestra, by a fat man in black tights, and cloudy Berlins. "Mrs. Tippin, of the London theatres," replied Belinda, referring to the programme of the concert. The talented Tippin having condescendingly acknowledged the clapping of hands, and shouts of "bravo!" which greeted her appearance, proceeded to sing the popular cavatina of "Bid me discourse," accompanied on the piano by Mr. Tippin; after which Mr. Tippin sang a comic song, accompanied on the piano by Mrs. Tippin, the applause consequent upon which was only to be exceeded by the enthusiastic approbation bestowed upon an air with variations on the guitar, by Miss Tippin, accompanied on the chin by Master Tippin. Thus passed the evening: and thus passed the days and evenings of the Tuggs's, and the Waters's, for six weeks afterwards. Sands in the morning—donkeys at noon: pier in the afternoon—library at night; and the same people every where. On that very night six weeks, the moon was shining brightly over the calm sea, which dashed against the feet of the tall gaunt cliffs with just enough noise to lull the old fish to sleep, without disturbing the young ones, when two figures were discernible—or would have been, if any body had looked for them—seated on one of the wooden benches which are stationed near the verge of the western cliff. The moon had climbed higher into the heavens, by two hours’ journeying, since those figures first sat down, and yet they had moved not. The crowd of loungers had thinned and dispersed; the noise of itinerant musicians had died away; light after light had appeared in the windows of the different houses in the distance; blockade-man after blockade-man had passed the spot, wending his way towards his solitary post, and yet those figures had remained stationary. Some portions of the two forms were in deep shadow, but the light of the moon fell strongly on a puce-coloured boot and a glazed stock. Mr. Cymon Tuggs, and Mrs. Captain Waters, were seated on that bench. They spoke not, but were silently gazing on the sea. "Walter will return to-morrow," said Mrs. Captain Waters, mournfully breaking silence. Mr. Cymon Tuggs sighed like a gust of wind through a forest of gooseberry bushes, as he replied—"Alas! he will." "Oh, Cymon!" resumed Belinda, "the chaste delight, the calm happiness, of this one week of Platonic love, is too much for me." Cymon was about to suggest that it was too little for him, but he stopped himself, and murmured unintelligibly. "And to think that even this gleam of happiness, innocent as it is," exclaimed Belinda, "is now to be lost for ever!" "Oh, do not say for ever! Belinda," exclaimed the excitable Cymon, as two strongly-defined tears chased each other down his pale face—it was so long that there was plenty of room for a chase.—"Do not say for ever!" "I must," replied Belinda. ‘Why?’ urged Cymon, "oh why? Such Platonic acquaintance as ours is so harmless, that even your husband can never object to it." "My husband!" exclaimed Belinda. "You little know him. Jealous and revengeful; ferocious in his revenge—a maniac in his jealousy! Would you be assassinated before my eyes?" Mr. Cymon Tuggs, in a voice broken by emotion, expressed his disinclination to undergo the process of assassination before the eyes of any body. "Then leave me," said Mrs. Captain Waters. "Leave me, this night, for ever. It is late; let us return." Mr. Cymon Tuggs sadly offered the lady his arm, and escorted her to her lodgings. He paused at the door—he felt a Platonic pressure of his hand. "Good night," he said, hesitating. "Good night," sobbed the lady. Mr. Cymon Tuggs paused again. "Won’t you walk in, sir?" said the servant. Mr. Tuggs hesitated. Oh, that hesitation! He did walk in. "Good night," said Mr. Cymon Tuggs again, when he reached the drawing-room. "Good night!’ replied Belinda; "and, if at any period of my life, I— Hush!" The lady paused, and stared, with a steady gaze of horror, on the ashy countenance of Mr. Cymon Tuggs. There was a double knock at the street-door. "It is my husband!" said Belinda, as the captain’s voice was heard below. "And my family!" added Cymon Tuggs, as the voices of his relatives floated up the staircase. "The curtain! The curtain!" gasped Mrs. Captain Waters, pointing to the window, before which some chintz hangings were closely drawn. "But I have done nothing wrong," said the hesitating Cymon. "The curtain!" reiterated the lady, franticly: "you will be murdered." This last appeal to his feelings was irresistible. The dismayed Cymon concealed himself behind the curtain, with pantomimic suddenness. Enter the captain, Joseph Tuggs, Mrs. Tuggs, and Charlotta. "My dear," said the captain, "Lieutenant, Slaughter.' Two iron-shod boots and one gruff voice were heard by Mr. Cymon to advance, and acknowledge the honour of the introduction. The sabre of the lieutenant rattled heavily upon the floor, as he seated himself at the table. Mr. Cymon’s fears almost overcame his reason. "The brandy, my dear," said the captain. Here was a situation! They were going to make a night of it: and Mr. Cymon Tuggs was pent up behind the curtain, and afraid to breathe. "Slaughter," said the captain, "a cigar?" Now Mr. Cymon Tuggs never could smoke without feeling it indispensably necessary to retire immediately, and never could smell smoke without a strong disposition to cough. The cigars were introduced; the captain was a professed smoker, so was the lieutenant, so was Joseph Tuggs. The apartment was small, the door was closed, the smoke powerful: it hung in heavy wreaths over the room, and at length found its way behind the curtain. Cymon Tuggs held his nose, his mouth, his breath. It was all of no use—out came the cough. "Bless my soul!" said the captain, "I beg your pardon, Miss Tuggs. You dislike smoking?" "Oh, no; I don’t indeed," said Charlotta. "It makes you cough." "Oh dear no." "You coughed just now." "Me, Captain Waters! Lor! how can you say so?" "Somebody coughed," said the captain. "I certainly thought so," said Slaughter. No; every body denied it. "Fancy," said the captain. "Must be," echoed Slaughter. Cigars resumed, more smoke, another cough—smothered, but violent. "Damned odd!" said the captain, staring about him. "Sing’ler!" ejaculated the unconscious Mr. Joseph Tuggs. Lieutenant Slaughter looked first at one person mysteriously, then at another; then, laid down his cigar; then approached the window on tiptoe, and pointed, with his right thumb over his shoulder, in the direction of the curtain. "Slaughter!" ejaculated the captain, rising from table, "what do you mean?" The lieutenant in reply, drew back the curtain, and discovered Mr. Cymon Tuggs behind it; pallid with apprehension, and blue with wanting to cough. "Ah!" exclaimed the captain, furiously. "What do I see? Slaughter, your sabre!" "Cymon!" screamed the Tuggs's. "Mercy!" said Belinda. "Platonic!" gasped Cymon. "Your sabre!' roared the captain, "Slaughter—unhand me—the villain’s life!" "Murder!" screamed the Tuggses. "Hold him fast, sir!" faintly articulated Cymon. "Water!" exclaimed Joseph Tuggs—and Mr. Cymon Tuggs, and all the ladies forthwith fainted away, and formed a tableau. Most willingly would we conceal the disastrous termination of the six weeks’ acquaintance. A troublesome form, and an arbitrary custom, however, prescribe that a story should have a conclusion, in addition to a commencement; we have therefore no alternative. Lieutenant Slaughter brought a message—the captain brought an action. Mr. Joseph Tuggs interposed—the lieutenant negotiated. When Mr. Cymon Tuggs recovered from the nervous disorder into which misplaced affection, and exciting circumstances had plunged him, he found that his family had lost their pleasant acquaintance; that his father was minus fifteen hundred pounds; and the captain plus the precise sum. The money was paid to hush the matter up, but it got abroad notwithstanding; and there are not wanting those who affirm that three designing impostors never found more easy dupes, than did Captain Waters, Mrs. Waters, and Lieutenant Slaughter, in the Tuggs's at Ramsgate.	18360101	https://dickenssearch.com/files/original/5/The_Tuggs_s_at_Ramsgate/1836-The_Tuggss_at_Ramsgate.pdf
33	https://dickenssearch.com/items/show/33	'Young Benson's Song'	From <em>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts </em>(1836). Music by John Hullah, p.14.	Dickens, Charles	<p class="p1"><i>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts </i>(1836). London: John Dicks.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>; Internet Archive, <a href="https://archive.org/details/villagecoquettes00dickuoft/page/12/mode/2up?view=theater" target="_blank" rel="noopener">https://archive.org/details/villagecoquettes00dickuoft/page/12/mode/2up?view=theater</a>.	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=40&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=1836">1836</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=37&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Hullah%2C+John">Hullah, John</a>	<p class="p1"><i>Internet</i><span> <em>Archive</em>: Access to the Archive’s Collections is provided at no cost and is granted for scholarship and research purposes only (</span><span class="s1"><a href="https://archive.org/about/terms.php" target="_blank" rel="noopener">https://archive.org/about/terms.php</a>).</span></p>		<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=51&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Song">Song</a>	1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Young_Bensons_Song		<p class="p1">Dickens, Charles. 'Young Bensons's Song.' <i>The Village Coquettes </i>(1836): p. 14. <i>Dickens Search. </i>Eds. Emily Bell and Lydia Craig. Accessed [date]. <a href="https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Young_Bensons_Song">https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Young_Bensons_Song</a>.</p>	<a href="https://dickenssearch.com/teibp/dist/content/1836_The_Village_Coquettes_Young_Bensons_Song.xml" target="_blank" rel="noopener">'Young Benson's Song.' <em>The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts</em> (1836).</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=94&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Play">Play</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=93&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=The+Village+Coquettes%2C+An+Operatic+Burletta+in+Two+Acts">The Village Coquettes, An Operatic Burletta in Two Acts</a>		My fair home is no longer mine; From its roof-tree I’m driven away. Alas! who will tend the old vine, Which I planted in infancy’s day! The garden, the beautiful flowers, The oak with its branches on high, Dear friends of my happiest hours, Among thee I long hoped to die. The briar, the moss, and the bramble, Along the green paths will run wild: The paths where I once used to ramble, An innocent, light-hearted child.	18360101	https://dickenssearch.com/files/original/3/Young_Benson_s_Song/1836-The_Village_Coquettes_Young_Bensons_Song.pdf
213	https://dickenssearch.com/items/show/213	<em>Sketches by Boz,</em> First Series (1836)	Published by John Macrone, 1836, 2 vols.	Dickens, Charles	<em>Google Books,</em> <a href="https://www.google.com/books/edition/Sketches_by_Boz/_P5NAAAAcAAJ">https://www.google.com/books/edition/Sketches_by_Boz/_P5NAAAAcAAJ</a> (Vol.1)<br /><br /><em>Google Books,</em> <a href="https://www.google.com/books/edition/Sketches_by_Boz/Ff9NAAAAcAAJ">https://www.google.com/books/edition/Sketches_by_Boz/Ff9NAAAAcAAJ</a> (Vol.2)	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=40&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=1836">1836</a>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=37&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Illustrated+by+George+Cruikshank">Illustrated by George Cruikshank</a>	<span>Public domain, Google-digitised</span>	Table of Contents and Relation to Previous <em>Sketches:</em><br /><br />Vol. I:<br /> <ul> <li><em>The Parish.</em> <ul> <li>Chapter I. 'The Beadle<span>—The Parish-Engine—The Schoolmaster', pp. 1-11. Originally </span><a href="http://dickenssearch.com/admin/items/show/43">'<em>Sketches of London</em>, No. IV, The Parish'</a></li> <li>Chapter II. 'The Curate<span>—The Old Lady—The Captain', pp. 12-23. Orig. </span><a href="http://dickenssearch.com/admin/items/show/51">'<em>Sketches of London</em>, No. XII, Our Parish' (I)</a></li> <li>Chapter III. 'The Four Sisters', pp. 24-33. Orig. <a href="http://dickenssearch.com/admin/items/show/53">'<em>Sketches of London</em>, No. XIV, Our Parish' (II)</a> </li> <li>Chapter IV. 'The Election for Beadle', pp. 34-47. Orig. <a href="http://dickenssearch.com/admin/items/show/55">'<em>Sketches of London</em>, No. XVI, Our Parish' (III)</a></li> <li>Chapter V. 'The Broker's Man', pp. 48-66. Orig. <a href="http://dickenssearch.com/admin/items/show/57">'<em>Sketches of London</em>, No. XVIII, Our Parish' (IV)</a></li> <li>Chapter VI. 'The Ladies' Societies', pp. 67-78. Orig. <a href="http://dickenssearch.com/admin/items/show/59">'<em>Sketches of London</em>, No. XX, Our Parish' (V)</a></li> </ul> </li> <li><strong>'Miss Evans and the Eagle', pp. 79-87. Orig. <a href="http://dickenssearch.com/admin/items/show/65">'<em>Scenes and Characters,</em> No.2, Miss Evans and "The Eagle"'</a>.</strong></li> <li><strong>'Shops, and their Tenants', pp. 88-96. Orig. <a href="http://dickenssearch.com/admin/items/show/id/221">'<em>Street Sketches</em>, No. II, Shops and their Tenants'</a>.</strong></li> <li><strong>'Thoughts about People', pp. 97-106. Orig. <a href="http://dickenssearch.com/admin/items/show/49">'<em>Sketches of London</em>, No. X, Thoughts About People'</a>. </strong></li> <li><strong>'A Visit to Newgate', 107-135. First Printing.</strong></li> <li><strong>'London Recreations', pp. 136-146. Orig. <a href="http://dickenssearch.com/admin/items/show/45">'<em>Sketches of London</em>, No. VI, London Recreations'</a>.</strong></li> <li><strong><em>The Boarding House. </em></strong> <ul> <li><strong>Chapter the First, pp. 147-180. Orig. <a href="http://dickenssearch.com/admin/short-stories/1834-05-The_Boarding_House_No1">'The Boarding-House No.1'</a></strong></li> <li><strong>Chapter the Second, pp. 181-223. Orig. <a href="http://dickenssearch.com/admin/short-stories/1834-08-The_Boarding_House_No2">'The Boarding-House No.2'</a>.</strong></li> </ul> </li> <li><strong>'Hackney-Coach Stands', pp. 224-232. Orig. <a href="http://dickenssearch.com/admin/items/show/40">'<em>Sketches of London</em>, No.I. Hackney-Coach Stands'</a>. </strong></li> <li><strong>'Brokers' and Marine-Store Shops', pp. 233-241. Orig. <a href="http://dickenssearch.com/admin/items/show/220">'<em>Street Sketches</em>, No. V, 'Brokers and Marine Store Shops'</a>.</strong></li> <li><strong>'The Bloomsbury Christening', pp. 242-275. Orig. <a href="http://dickenssearch.com/admin/short-stories/1834-04-The_Bloomsbury_Christening">'The Bloomsbury Christening'</a>. </strong></li> <li><strong>'Gin-Shops', pp. 276-287. Orig. <a href="http://dickenssearch.com/admin/items/show/41">'<em>Sketches of London</em>, No. II, Gin Shops'</a>. </strong></li> <li><strong>'Public Dinners', pp. 288-299. Orig. <a href="http://dickenssearch.com/admin/items/show/46">'<em>Sketches of London</em>, No. VII, Public Dinners'</a>. </strong></li> <li><strong>'Astley's', pp. 300-313. Orig. <a href="http://dickenssearch.com/admin/items/show/50">'<em>Sketches of London</em>, No. XI, Astley's'</a>.</strong></li> <li><strong>'Greenwich Fair', pp. 314-330. Orig. <a href="http://dickenssearch.com/admin/items/show/48">'<em>Sketches of London</em>, No. IX, Greenwich Fair'</a>. </strong></li> <li><strong>'The Prisoners' Van', pp. 331-337. Orig. <a href="http://dickenssearch.com/admin/items/show/102">'<em>Scenes and Characters</em>, No. 9, The Prisoners' Van'</a>.</strong></li> <li><strong>'A Christmas Dinner', pp. 338-348. Orig. <a href="http://dickenssearch.com/admin/items/show/104">'<em>Scenes and Characters</em>, No. 10, Christmas Festivities'</a>. </strong></li> </ul> <strong>Vol. II:</strong><br /> <ul> <li><strong><em>Passage in the Life of Mr. Watkins Tottle.</em></strong> <ul> <li><strong>Chapter the First, pp. 1-29. Orig. <a href="http://dickenssearch.com/admin/items/show/150">'Passage in the Life of Mr. Watkins Tottle. Chapter the First'</a> </strong></li> <li><strong>Chapter the Second, pp. 30-76. Orig. <a href="http://dickenssearch.com/admin/items/show/151">'Passage in the Life of Mr. Watkins Tottle. Chapter the Second'</a>.</strong></li> </ul> </li> <li><strong>'The Black Veil', pp. 77-100. First Printing.</strong></li> <li><strong>'Shabby-genteel People', pp. 101-110. Orig. <a href="http://dickenssearch.com/admin/items/show/id/222">'<em>Street Sketches</em>, No. IV, Shabby-genteel People'</a>.</strong></li> <li><strong>'Horatio Sparkins', pp. 111-141. Orig. <a href="http://dickenssearch.com/admin/items/show/132">'Horatio Sparkins'</a>.</strong></li> <li><strong>'The Pawnbroker's Shop', pp. 142-157. Orig. <a href="http://dickenssearch.com/admin/items/show/54">'<em>Sketches of London</em>, No. XV, The Pawnbrokers' Shop'</a>.</strong></li> <li><strong>'The Dancing Academy', pp. 158-170. Orig. <a href="http://dickenssearch.com/admin/items/show/66">'<em>Scenes and Characters</em>, No. 3, The Dancing Academy'</a>.</strong></li> <li><strong>'Early Coaches', pp. 171-181. Orig. <a href="http://dickenssearch.com/admin/items/show/42">'<em>Sketches of London</em>, No. III, Early Coaches'</a>.</strong></li> <li><strong>'The River', pp. 182-195. Orig. <a href="http://dickenssearch.com/admin/items/show/52">'<em>Sketches of London</em>, No. XIII, The River'</a>. </strong></li> <li><strong>'Private Theatres', pp. 196-208. Orig. <a href="http://dickenssearch.com/admin/items/show/58">'<em>Sketches of London</em>, No. XIX, Private Theatres'</a>.</strong></li> <li><strong>'The Great Winglebury Duel', pp. 209-243. First Printing.</strong></li> <li><strong>'Omnibuses', pp. 244-252. Orig. <a href="http://dickenssearch.com/admin/items/show/id/223">'<em>Street Sketches</em>, No. I, Omnibuses'</a>.</strong></li> <li><strong>'Mrs. Joseph Porter', pp. 253-272. Orig. <a href="http://dickenssearch.com/admin/items/show/133">'Mrs. Joseph Porter, "Over the Way"'</a>. </strong></li> <li><strong>'The Steam Excursion', pp. 273-318. Orig. <a href="http://dickenssearch.com/admin/items/show/149">'The Steam Excursion'</a>.</strong></li> <li><strong>'Sentiment', pp. 319-342. Orig. 'Sentiment'.</strong></li> </ul>	<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=51&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Short+story">Short story</a>	1836-Sketches_by_Boz		Dickens, Charles. <em>Sketches by Boz</em> (1836). <em>Dickens Search.</em> Eds. Emily Bell and Lydia Craig. Accessed [date]. <a href="https://www.dickenssearch.com/short-stories/1836-Sketches_by_Boz">https://www.dickenssearch.com/short-stories/1836-Sketches_by_Boz</a>.						18360101	https://dickenssearch.com/files/original/5/Sketches_by_Boz_First_Series_[1836]/1836-Sketches_by_Boz_First_Series_Vol1.pdf; https://dickenssearch.com/files/original/5/Sketches_by_Boz_First_Series_[1836]/1836-Sketches_by_Boz_First_Series_Vol2.pdf