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 4t
h
wi
Ed jQue
th
Learning PHP, MySQL & JavaScript

iti r y
on
FOURTH EDITION
Build interactive, data-driven websites with the potent combination of
open-source technologies and web standards, even if you have only basic bookisthata great
“This beginner's
introduces 

MySQL & JavaScript

Learning PHP,
HTML knowledge. With this popular hands-on guide, you’ll tackle dynamic
web programming with the help of today’s core technologies: PHP, MySQL, several crucial web
JavaScript, jQuery, CSS, and HTML5. developer languages. 
Explore each technology separately, learn how to use them together, and It's a quick-paced, easy-
pick up valuable web programming practices along the way. At the end of to-read, information-
the book, you’ll put everything together to build a fully functional social packed book that will
networking site, using XAMPP or any development stack you choose.
soon have you creating
Learn PHP in-depth, along with the basics of object-oriented dynamically driven web-

Learning
■■
programming sites, including a basic
■■ Explore MySQL, from database structure to complex queries social networking site. ”

PHP, MySQL
■■ Use the MySQLi Extension, PHP’s improved MySQL interface —Albert Wiersch
developer of CSE HTML Validator
■■ Create dynamic PHP web pages that tailor themselves to
the user
■■ Manage cookies and sessions, and maintain a high level
of security

& JavaScript
■■ Master the JavaScript language—and enhance it with jQuery
■■ Use Ajax calls for background browser/server communication
■■ Acquire CSS2 & CSS3 skills for professionally styling your
web pages
■■ Implement all of the new HTML5 features, including
geolocation, audio, video, and the canvas
WITH JQUERY, CSS & HTML5
Robin Nixon, an IT journalist who has written hundreds of articles and several
books on computing, has developed numerous websites using open source tools,
specializing in the technologies featured in this book. Robin has worked with and
written about computers since the early 1980s.

WEB DEVELOPMENT
Twitter: @oreillymedia Nixon
facebook.com/oreilly
US $49.99 CAN $52.99
ISBN: 978-1-491-91866-1

Robin Nixon
 4t
h
wi
Ed jQue
th
Learning PHP, MySQL & JavaScript

iti r y
on
FOURTH EDITION
Build interactive, data-driven websites with the potent combination of
open-source technologies and web standards, even if you have only basic bookisthata great
“This beginner's
introduces 

MySQL & JavaScript

Learning PHP,
HTML knowledge. With this popular hands-on guide, you’ll tackle dynamic
web programming with the help of today’s core technologies: PHP, MySQL, several crucial web
JavaScript, jQuery, CSS, and HTML5. developer languages. 
Explore each technology separately, learn how to use them together, and It's a quick-paced, easy-
pick up valuable web programming practices along the way. At the end of to-read, information-
the book, you’ll put everything together to build a fully functional social packed book that will
networking site, using XAMPP or any development stack you choose.
soon have you creating
Learn PHP in-depth, along with the basics of object-oriented dynamically driven web-

Learning
■■
programming sites, including a basic
■■ Explore MySQL, from database structure to complex queries social networking site. ”

PHP, MySQL
■■ Use the MySQLi Extension, PHP’s improved MySQL interface —Albert Wiersch
developer of CSE HTML Validator
■■ Create dynamic PHP web pages that tailor themselves to
the user
■■ Manage cookies and sessions, and maintain a high level
of security

& JavaScript
■■ Master the JavaScript language—and enhance it with jQuery
■■ Use Ajax calls for background browser/server communication
■■ Acquire CSS2 & CSS3 skills for professionally styling your
web pages
■■ Implement all of the new HTML5 features, including
geolocation, audio, video, and the canvas
WITH JQUERY, CSS & HTML5
Robin Nixon, an IT journalist who has written hundreds of articles and several
books on computing, has developed numerous websites using open source tools,
specializing in the technologies featured in this book. Robin has worked with and
written about computers since the early 1980s.

WEB DEVELOPMENT
Twitter: @oreillymedia Nixon
facebook.com/oreilly
US $49.99 CAN $52.99
ISBN: 978-1-491-91866-1

Robin Nixon
 FOURTH EDITION

Learning PHP, MySQL & JavaScript

With jQuery, CSS & HTML5

Robin Nixon
Learning PHP, MySQL & JavaScript
With jQuery, CSS & HTML5
by Robin Nixon
Copyright © 2015 Robin Nixon. All rights reserved.
Printed in the United States of America.
Published by O’Reilly Media, Inc., 1005 Gravenstein Highway North, Sebastopol, CA 95472.
O’Reilly books may be purchased for educational, business, or sales promotional use. Online editions are
also available for most titles (http://safaribooksonline.com). For more information, contact our corporate/
institutional sales department: 800-998-9938 or corporate@oreilly.com.

Editor: Andy Oram Indexer: Ellen Troutman

Production Editor: Nicole Shelby Interior Designer: David Futato
Copyeditor: Rachel Monaghan Cover Designer: Randy Comer
Proofreader: Sharon Wilkey Illustrator: Rebecca Demarest

December 2014: Fourth Edition

Revision History for the Fourth Edition

2014-11-21: First Release

See http://oreilly.com/catalog/errata.csp?isbn=9781491918661 for release details.

The O’Reilly logo is a registered trademark of O’Reilly Media, Inc. Learning PHP, MySQL & JavaScript, the
cover image, and related trade dress are trademarks of O’Reilly Media, Inc.
While the publisher and the author have used good faith efforts to ensure that the information and
instructions contained in this work are accurate, the publisher and the author disclaim all responsibility
for errors or omissions, including without limitation responsibility for damages resulting from the use of
or reliance on this work. Use of the information and instructions contained in this work is at your own
risk. If any code samples or other technology this work contains or describes is subject to open source
licenses or the intellectual property rights of others, it is your responsibility to ensure that your use
thereof complies with such licenses and/or rights.

978-1-491-91866-1
[LSI]
For Julie
 Table of Contents

Preface. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xxiii

1. Introduction to Dynamic Web Content. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1

HTTP and HTML: Berners-Lee’s Basics 2
The Request/Response Procedure 2
The Benefits of PHP, MySQL, JavaScript, CSS, and HTML5 5
Using PHP 6
Using MySQL 7
Using JavaScript 8
Using CSS 9
And Then There’s HTML5 10
The Apache Web Server 11
About Open Source 12
Bringing It All Together 12
Questions 14

2. Setting Up a Development Server. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15

What Is a WAMP, MAMP, or LAMP? 16
Installing XAMPP on Windows 16
Testing the Installation 24
Installing XAMPP on Mac OS X 27
Accessing the Document Root 27
Installing a LAMP on Linux 28
Working Remotely 28
Logging In 28
Using FTP 29
Using a Program Editor 30
Using an IDE 31

v
 Questions 33

3. Introduction to PHP. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35
Incorporating PHP Within HTML 35
This Book’s Examples 37
The Structure of PHP 38
Using Comments 38
Basic Syntax 39
Variables 40
Operators 45
Variable Assignment 48
Multiple-Line Commands 50
Variable Typing 52
Constants 53
Predefined Constants 54
The Difference Between the echo and print Commands 55
Functions 55
Variable Scope 56
Questions 62

4. Expressions and Control Flow in PHP. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63

Expressions 63
TRUE or FALSE? 63
Literals and Variables 65
Operators 66
Operator Precedence 67
Associativity 69
Relational Operators 70
Conditionals 74
The if Statement 75
The else Statement 76
The elseif Statement 78
The switch Statement 79
The ? Operator 82
Looping 83
while Loops 84
do...while Loops 86
for Loops 86
Breaking Out of a Loop 88
The continue Statement 89
Implicit and Explicit Casting 90
PHP Dynamic Linking 91

vi | Table of Contents
 Dynamic Linking in Action 92
Questions 93

5. PHP Functions and Objects. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95

PHP Functions 96
Defining a Function 98
Returning a Value 98
Returning an Array 100
Do Not Pass Arguments by Reference 100
Returning Global Variables 102
Recap of Variable Scope 103
Including and Requiring Files 103
The include Statement 104
Using include_once 104
Using require and require_once 105
PHP Version Compatibility 105
PHP Objects 106
Terminology 106
Declaring a Class 107
Creating an Object 108
Accessing Objects 109
Cloning Objects 110
Constructors 111
PHP 5 Destructors 112
Writing Methods 112
Static Methods in PHP 5 113
Declaring Properties 114
Declaring Constants 115
Property and Method Scope in PHP 5 115
Static Properties and Methods 116
Inheritance 118
Questions 121

6. PHP Arrays. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 123

Basic Access 123
Numerically Indexed Arrays 123
Associative Arrays 125
Assignment Using the array Keyword 126
The foreach...as Loop 127
Multidimensional Arrays 129
Using Array Functions 132
is_array 132

Table of Contents | vii

 count 132
sort 133
shuffle 133
explode 133
extract 134
compact 135
reset 136
end 136
Questions 137

7. Practical PHP. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 139

Using printf 139
Precision Setting 140
String Padding 142
Using sprintf 143
Date and Time Functions 143
Date Constants 146
Using checkdate 146
File Handling 147
Checking Whether a File Exists 147
Creating a File 147
Reading from Files 149
Copying Files 150
Moving a File 150
Deleting a File 151
Updating Files 151
Locking Files for Multiple Accesses 152
Reading an Entire File 154
Uploading Files 155
System Calls 160
XHTML or HTML5? 162
Questions 162

8. Introduction to MySQL. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 165

MySQL Basics 165
Summary of Database Terms 166
Accessing MySQL via the Command Line 166
Starting the Command-Line Interface 167
Using the Command-Line Interface 171
MySQL Commands 172
Data Types 177
Indexes 186

viii | Table of Contents

 Creating an Index 186
Querying a MySQL Database 192
Joining Tables Together 202
Using Logical Operators 204
MySQL Functions 204
Accessing MySQL via phpMyAdmin 205
Questions 206

9. Mastering MySQL. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 209

Database Design 209
Primary Keys: The Keys to Relational Databases 210
Normalization 211
First Normal Form 212
Second Normal Form 214
Third Normal Form 217
When Not to Use Normalization 219
Relationships 219
One-to-One 219
One-to-Many 220
Many-to-Many 221
Databases and Anonymity 222
Transactions 223
Transaction Storage Engines 223
Using BEGIN 224
Using COMMIT 225
Using ROLLBACK 225
Using EXPLAIN 226
Backing Up and Restoring 227
Using mysqldump 227
Creating a Backup File 229
Restoring from a Backup File 231
Dumping Data in CSV Format 231
Planning Your Backups 232
Questions 232

10. Accessing MySQL Using PHP. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 233

Querying a MySQL Database with PHP 233
The Process 233
Creating a Login File 234
Connecting to a MySQL Database 235
A Practical Example 240
The $_POST Array 243

Table of Contents | ix
 Deleting a Record 244
Displaying the Form 245
Querying the Database 246
Running the Program 247
Practical MySQL 248
Creating a Table 248
Describing a Table 249
Dropping a Table 250
Adding Data 250
Retrieving Data 251
Updating Data 251
Deleting Data 252
Using AUTO_INCREMENT 252
Performing Additional Queries 254
Preventing Hacking Attempts 255
Steps You Can Take 256
Using Placeholders 257
Preventing HTML Injection 259
Using mysqli Procedurally 261
Questions 263

11. Form Handling. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 265

Building Forms 265
Retrieving Submitted Data 267
register_globals: An Old Solution Hangs On 268
Default Values 269
Input Types 270
Sanitizing Input 277
An Example Program 279
What’s New in HTML5? 281
The autocomplete Attribute 282
The autofocus Attribute 282
The placeholder Attribute 282
The required Attribute 282
Override Attributes 283
The width and height Attributes 283
Features Awaiting Full Implementation 283
The form Attribute 283
The list Attribute 284
The min and max Attributes 284
The step Attribute 284
The color Input Type 285

x | Table of Contents
 The number and range Input Types 285
Date and Time Pickers 285
Questions 285

12. Cookies, Sessions, and Authentication. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 287

Using Cookies in PHP 287
Setting a Cookie 289
Accessing a Cookie 290
Destroying a Cookie 290
HTTP Authentication 290
Storing Usernames and Passwords 294
Salting 294
Using Sessions 298
Starting a Session 299
Ending a Session 302
Setting a Time-Out 303
Session Security 303
Questions 307

13. Exploring JavaScript. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 309

JavaScript and HTML Text 310
Using Scripts Within a Document Head 311
Older and Nonstandard Browsers 311
Including JavaScript Files 312
Debugging JavaScript Errors 313
Using Comments 315
Semicolons 315
Variables 316
String Variables 316
Numeric Variables 317
Arrays 317
Operators 318
Arithmetic Operators 318
Assignment Operators 318
Comparison Operators 319
Logical Operators 319
Variable Incrementing and Decrementing 320
String Concatenation 320
Escaping Characters 320
Variable Typing 321
Functions 322
Global Variables 322

Table of Contents | xi
 Local Variables 323
The Document Object Model 324
But It’s Not That Simple 326
Using the DOM 327
About document.write 328
Using console.log 328
Using alert 328
Writing into Elements 329
Using document.write 329
Questions 329

14. Expressions and Control Flow in JavaScript. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 331

Expressions 331
Literals and Variables 332
Operators 333
Operator Precedence 334
Associativity 334
Relational Operators 335
The with Statement 338
Using onerror 339
Using try...catch 340
Conditionals 341
The if Statement 341
The else Statement 341
The switch Statement 342
The ? Operator 344
Looping 344
while Loops 344
do...while Loops 345
for Loops 346
Breaking Out of a Loop 346
The continue Statement 347
Explicit Casting 348
Questions 348

15. JavaScript Functions, Objects, and Arrays. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 351

JavaScript Functions 351
Defining a Function 351
Returning a Value 353
Returning an Array 355
JavaScript Objects 356
Declaring a Class 356

xii | Table of Contents

 Creating an Object 357
Accessing Objects 358
The prototype Keyword 358
JavaScript Arrays 361
Numeric Arrays 361
Associative Arrays 362
Multidimensional Arrays 363
Using Array Methods 364
Questions 369

16. JavaScript and PHP Validation and Error Handling. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 371

Validating User Input with JavaScript 371
The validate.html Document (Part 1) 372
The validate.html Document (Part 2) 374
Regular Expressions 377
Matching Through Metacharacters 378
Fuzzy Character Matching 378
Grouping Through Parentheses 379
Character Classes 380
Indicating a Range 380
Negation 380
Some More-Complicated Examples 381
Summary of Metacharacters 383
General Modifiers 385
Using Regular Expressions in JavaScript 386
Using Regular Expressions in PHP 386
Redisplaying a Form After PHP Validation 387
Questions 393

17. Using Ajax. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 395

What Is Ajax? 395
Using XMLHttpRequest 396
Your First Ajax Program 398
Using Get Instead of Post 403
Sending XML Requests 406
Using Frameworks for Ajax 411
Questions 411

18. Introduction to CSS. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 413

Importing a Style Sheet 414
Importing CSS from Within HTML 414
Embedded Style Settings 415

Table of Contents | xiii

Other documents randomly have
different content
 SOMEBODY WHOM NOBODY KNOWS.
That pretty little house, the last in Pocklington Square, was lately
occupied by a young widow lady who wore a pink bonnet, a short silk
dress, sustained by crinoline, and a light blue mantle, or over-jacket (Miss
C. is not here to tell me the name of the garment); or else a black velvet
pelisse, a yellow shawl, and a white bonnet; or else—but never mind the
dress, which seemed to be of the handsomest sort money could buy—and
who had very long glossy black ringlets, and a peculiarly brilliant
complexion,—No. 96 Pocklington Square, I say, was lately occupied by a
widow lady named Mrs. Stafford Molyneux.
The very first day on which an intimate and valued female friend of
mine saw Mrs. Stafford Molyneux stepping into a Brougham, with a
splendid bay horse, and without a footman (mark, if you please, that
delicate sign of respectability), and after a moment’s examination of Mrs. S.
M.’s toilette, her manners, little dog, carnation-coloured parasol, &c., Miss
Elizabeth Clapperclaw clapped to the opera-glass with which she had been
regarding the new inhabitant of Our Street, came away from the window in
a great flurry, and began poking her fire in a fit of virtuous indignation.
“She’s very pretty,” said I, who had been looking over Miss C.’s
shoulder at the widow with the flashing eyes and drooping ringlets.
“Hold your tongue, sir,” said Miss Clapperclaw, tossing up her virgin
head with an indignant blush on her nose. “It’s a sin and a shame that such a
creature should be riding in her carriage, forsooth, when honest people must
go on foot.”
Subsequent observations confirmed my revered fellow-lodger’s anger
and opinion. We have watched Hansom cabs standing before that lady’s
house for hours; we have seen Broughams, with great flaring eyes, keeping
watch there in the darkness; we have seen the vans from the comestible
shops drive up and discharge loads of wines, groceries, French plums, and
other articles of luxurious horror. We have seen Count Wowski’s drag, Lord
Martingale’s carriage, Mr. Deuceace’s cab drive up there time after time;
and (having remarked previously the pastry-cook’s men arrive with the
trays and entrées) we have known that this widow was giving dinners at the
little house in Pocklington Square—dinners such as decent people could not
hope to enjoy.
My excellent friend has been in a perfect fury when Mrs. Stafford
Molyneux, in a black velvet riding-habit, with a hat and feather, has come
out and mounted an odious grey horse, and has cantered down the street,
followed by her groom upon a bay.
“It won’t last long—it must end in shame and humiliation,” my dear
Miss C. has remarked, disappointed that the tiles and chimney-pots did not
fall down upon Mrs. Stafford Molyneux’s head, and crush that cantering
audacious woman.
But it was a consolation to see her when she walked out with a French
maid, a couple of children, and a little dog hanging on to her by a blue
ribbon. She always held down her head then—her head with the drooping
black ringlets. The virtuous and well-disposed avoided her. I have seen the
Square-keeper himself look puzzled as she passed; and Lady Kicklebury
walking by with Miss K., her daughter, turn away from Mrs. Stafford
Molyneux, and fling back at her a ruthless Parthian glance that ought to
have killed any woman of decent sensibility.
That wretched woman, meanwhile, with her rouged cheeks (for rouge it
is, Miss Clapperclaw swears, and who is a better judge?) has walked on
conscious, and yet somehow braving out the Street. You could read pride of
her beauty, pride of her fine clothes, shame of her position, in her downcast
black eyes.
As for Mademoiselle Trampoline, her French maid, she would stare the
sun itself out of countenance. One day she tossed up her head as she passed
under our windows with a look
 THE LADY WHOM NOBODY KNOWS.

of scorn that drove Miss Clapperclaw back to the fire-place again.

It was Mrs. Stafford Molyneux’s children, however, whom I pitied the
most. Once her boy, in a flaring tartan, went up to speak to Master Roderick
Lacy, whose maid was engaged ogling a policeman; and the children were
going to make friends, being united with a hoop which Master Molyneux
had, when Master Roderick’s maid, rushing up, clutched her charge to her
arms, and hurried away, leaving little Molyneux sad and wondering.
“Why won’t he play with me, mamma?” Master Molyneux asked—and
his mother’s face blushed purple as she walked away.
“Ah—Heaven help us and forgive us!” said I; but Miss C. can never
forgive the mother or child; and she clapped her hands for joy one day when
we saw the shutters up, bills in the windows, a carpet hanging out over the
balcony, and a crowd of shabby Jews about the steps—giving token that the
reign of Mrs. Stafford Molyneux was over. The pastry-cooks and their trays,
the bay and the grey, the Brougham and the groom, the noblemen and their
cabs, were all gone; and the tradesmen in the neighbourhood were crying
out that they were done.
“Serve the odious minx right!” says Miss C.; and she played at picquet
that night with more vigour than I have known her manifest for these last
ten years.
What is it that makes certain old ladies so savage upon certain subjects?
Miss C. is a good woman; pays her rent and her tradesmen; gives plenty to
the poor; is brisk with her tongue—kind-hearted in the main; but if Mrs.
Stafford Molyneux and her children were plunged into a cauldron of boiling
vinegar, I think my revered friend would not take her out.
 THE MAN IN POSSESSION.
For another misfortune which occurred in Our Street we were much
more compassionate. We liked Danby Dixon, and his wife Fanny Dixon still
more. Miss C. had a paper of biscuits, and a box of preserved apricots
always in the cupboard, ready for Dixon’s children—provisions by the way
which she locked up under Mrs. Cammysole’s nose, so that our landlady
could by no possibility lay a hand on them.
Dixon and his wife had the neatest little house possible (No. 16, opposite
96), and were liked and respected by the whole street. He was called Dandy
Dixon when he was in the Dragoons, and was a light weight, and rather
famous as a gentleman rider. On his marriage, he sold out and got fat; and
was indeed a florid, contented, and jovial gentleman.
His little wife was charming—to see her in pink, with some miniature
Dixons in pink too, round about her, or in that beautiful grey dress, with the
deep black lace flounces, which she wore at my Lord Comandine’s on the
night of the private theatricals, would have done any man good. To hear her
sing any of my little ballads, “Know’st thou the Willow-tree?” for instance,
or “The Rose upon my balcony,” or “The Humming of the Honey-bee” (far
superior, in my judgment, and in that of some good judges likewise, to that
humbug Clarence Bulbul’s ballads)—to hear her, I say, sing these, was to be
in a sort of small Elysium. Dear, dear, little Fanny Dixon! she was like a
little chirping bird of Paradise. It was a shame that storms should ever ruffle
such a tender plumage.
Well, never mind about sentiment.—Danby Dixon, the owner of this
little treasure, an ex-captain of dragoons, and having nothing to do, and a
small income, wisely thought he would employ his spare time, and increase
his revenue. He became a Director of the Cornaro Life Insurance Company,
of the Tregulpho tin-mines, and of four or five railroad companies. It was
amusing to see him swaggering about the City in his clinking boots, and
with his high and mighty dragoon manners. For a time his talk about shares
after dinner was perfectly intolerable; and I for one was always glad to
leave him in the company of sundry very dubious capitalists who
frequented his house, and walk up to hear Mrs. Fanny warbling at the piano,
with her little children about her knees.
 It was only last season that they set up a carriage—the modestest little
vehicle conceivable—driven by Kirby, who had

THE MAN IN POSSESSION.

been in Dixon’s troop in the regiment, and had followed him into private
life as coachman, footman, and page.
One day lately I went into Dixon’s house, hearing that some calamities
had befallen him, the particulars of which Miss Clapperclaw was desirous
to know. The creditors of the Tregulpho mines had got a verdict against him
as one of the directors of that company; the engineer of the Little Diddlesex
Junction had sued him for two thousand three hundred pounds—the charges
of that scientific man for six weeks’ labour in surveying the line. His
brother directors were to be discovered nowhere; Windham, Dodgin,
Mizzlington, and the rest, were all gone long ago.
When I entered, the door was open—there was a smell of smoke in the
dining-room, where a gentleman at noon-day was seated with a pipe and a
pot of beer—a man in possession indeed, in that comfortable pretty parlour,
by that snug round table where I have so often seen Fanny Dixon’s smiling
face.
Kirby, the ex-dragoon, was scowling at the fellow, who lay upon a little
settee reading the newspaper, with an evident desire to kill him. Mrs. Kirby,
his wife, held little Danby, poor Dixon’s son and heir. Dixon’s portrait
smiled over the sideboard still, and his wife was up stairs in an agony of
fear, with the poor little daughters of this bankrupt, broken family.
This poor soul had actually come down and paid a visit to the man in
possession. She had sent wine and dinner to “the gentleman down stairs,” as
she called him in her terror. She had tried to move his heart, by representing
to him how innocent Captain Dixon was, and how he had always paid, and
always remained at home when everybody else had fled. As if her tears, and
simple tales and entreaties, could move that man in possession out of the
house, or induce him to pay the costs of the action which her husband had
lost.
Danby meanwhile was at Boulogne, sickening after his wife and
children. They sold everything in his house—all his smart furniture, and
neat little stock of plate; his wardrobe and his linen, “the property of a
gentleman gone abroad;” his carriage by the best maker; and his wine
selected without regard to expense. His house was shut up as completely as
his opposite neighbour’s; and a new tenant is just having it fresh painted
inside and out, as if poor Dixon had left an infection behind.
Kirby and his wife went across the water with the children and Mrs.
Fanny—she has a small settlement; and I am bound to say that our mutual
friend Miss Elizabeth C. went down with Mrs. Dixon in the fly to the Tower
Stairs, and stopped in Lombard Street by the way.
So it is that the world wags: that honest men and knaves alike are always
having ups and downs of fortune, and that we are perpetually changing
tenants in Our Street.
THE LION OF THE STREET.
 THE LION OF THE STREET.
What people can find in Clarence Bulbul, who has lately taken upon
himself the rank and dignity of Lion of our Street, I have always been at a
loss to conjecture.
“He has written an Eastern book of considerable merit,” Miss
Clapperclaw says; but hang it, has not everybody written an Eastern book? I
should like to meet anybody in society now who has not been up to the
second cataract. An Eastern book, forsooth! My Lord Castleroyal has done
one—an honest one; my Lord Youngent another—an amusing one; my Lord
Woolsey another—a pious one; there is “The Cutlet and the Cabob”—a
sentimental one; “Timbuctoothen”—a humorous one, all ludicrously
overrated, in my opinion, not including my own little book, of which a copy
or two is still to be had by the way.
Well, then, Clarence Bulbul, because he has made part of the little tour
that all of us know, comes back and gives himself airs, forsooth, and howls
as if he were just out of the great Libyan desert.
When we go and see him, that Irish Jew courier, whom I have before had
the honour to describe, looks up from the novel which he is reading in the
ante-room, and says, “Mon maitre est au Divan,” or, “Monsieur trouvera
Monsieur dans son serail,” and relapses into the Comte de Montechristo
again.
Yes, the impudent wretch has actually a room in his apartments on the
ground-floor of his mother’s house, which he calls his harem. When Lady
Betty Bulbul (they are of the Nightingale family) or Miss Blanche comes
down to visit him, their slippers are placed at the door, and he receives them
on an ottoman, and these infatuated women will actually light his pipe for
him.
Little Spitfire, the groom, hangs about the drawing-room, outside the
harem forsooth! so that he may be ready when Clarence Bulbul claps hands
for him to bring the pipes and coffee.
He has coffee and pipes for everybody. I should like you to have seen the
face of old Bowly, his college-tutor, called upon to sit cross-legged on a
divan, a little cup of bitter black Mocha put into his hand, and a large
amber-muzzled pipe stuck into his mouth by Spitfire, before he could so
much as say it was a fine day. Bowly almost thought he had compromised
his principles by consenting so far to this Turkish manner.
Bulbul’s dinners are, I own, very good; his pilaffs and curries excellent.
He tried to make us eat rice with our fingers, it is true; but he scalded his
own hands in the business, and invariably bedizened his shirt, so he has left
off the Turkish practice, for dinner at least, and uses a fork like a Christian.
But it is in society that he is most remarkable; and here he would, I own,
be odious, but he becomes delightful, because all the men hate him so. A
perfect chorus of abuse is raised round about him. “Confounded impostor,”
says one; “Impudent jackass,” says another; “Miserable puppy,” cries a
third; “I’d like to wring his neck,” says Bruff, scowling over his shoulder at
him. Clarence meanwhile nods, winks, smiles, and patronises them all with
the easiest good-humour. He is a fellow who would poke an archbishop in
the apron, or clap a duke on the shoulder, as coolly as he would address you
and me.
I saw him the other night, at Mrs. Bumpsher’s grand let off. He flung
himself down cross-legged upon a pink satin sofa, so that you could see
Mrs. Bumpsher quiver with rage in the distance, Bruff growl with fury from
the further room, and Miss Pim, on whose frock Bulbul’s feet rested, look
up like a timid fawn.
“Fan me, Miss Pim,” said he of the cushion. “You look like a perfect Peri
to-night. You remind me of a girl I once knew in Circassia—Ameena, the
sister of Schamyle Bey. Do you know, Miss Pim, that you would fetch
twenty thousand piastres in the market at Constantinople?”
“Law, Mr. Bulbul!” is all Miss Pim can ejaculate; and having talked over
Miss Pim, Clarence goes off to another houri, whom he fascinates in a
similar manner. He charmed Mrs. Waddy by telling her that she was the
exact figure of the Pacha of Egypt’s second wife. He gave Miss Tokely a
piece of the sack in which Zuleikah was drowned; and he actually
persuaded that poor little silly Miss Vain to turn Mahometan, and sent her
up to the Turkish Ambassador’s, to look out for a mufti.
THE DOVE OF THE STREET.
 THE DOVE OF OUR STREET.
If Bulbul is our Lion, Young Oriel may be described as The Dove of our
Colony. He is almost as great a pasha among the ladies as Bulbul. They
crowd in flocks to see him at Saint Waltheof’s, where the immense height
of his forehead, the rigid asceticism of his surplice, the twang with which he
intones the service, and the namby-pamby mysticism of his sermons, has
turned all the dear girls’ heads for some time past. While we were having a
rubber at Mrs. Chauntry’s, whose daughters are following the new mode, I
heard the following talk (which made me revoke by the way) going on, in
what was formerly called the young lady’s room, but is now styled the
Oratory.

THE ORATORY.
MISS CHAUNTRY. MISS ISABEL CHAUNTRY.
MISS DE L’AISLE. MISS PYX.
REV. L. ORIEL. REV. O. SLOCUM—[In the further room.]
Miss Chauntry (sighing).—Is it wrong to be in the Guards, dear Mr.
Oriel?
Miss Pyx.—She will make Frank de Boots sell out when he marries.
Mr. Oriel.—To be in the Guards, dear sister? The church has always
encouraged the army. Saint Martin of Tours was in the army; Saint Louis
was in the army; Saint Waltheof, our patron, Saint Witikind of
Aldermanbury, Saint Wamba, and Saint Walloff were in the army. Saint
Wapshot was captain of the guard of Queen Boadicea; and Saint Werewolf
was a major in the Danish cavalry. The holy Saint Ignatius of Loyola
carried a pike, as we know; and——
Miss de l’Aisle.—Will you take some tea, dear Mr. Oriel?
Oriel.—This is not one of my feast days, Sister Emma. It is the feast of
Saint Wagstaff of Walthamstow.
The Young Ladies.—And we must not even take tea!
Oriel.—Dear sisters, I said not so. You may do as you list; but I am
strong (with a heart-broken sigh); don’t ply me (he reels). I took a little
water and a parched pea after matins. To-morrow is a flesh day, and—and I
shall be better then.
Rev. O. Slocum (from within).—Madam, I take your heart with my small
trump.
Oriel.—Yes, better! dear sister; it is only a passing—a—weakness.
Miss I. Chauntry.—He’s dying of fever.
Miss Chauntry.—I’m so glad De Boots need not leave the Blues.
Miss Pyx.—He wears sackcloth and cinders inside his waistcoat.
Miss De l’Aisle.—He’s told me to-night he is going to—to—Ro-o-ome.
[Miss De l’Aisle bursts into tears.]
Rev. O. Slocum.—My lord, I have the highest club, which gives the trick
and two by honours.

Thus, you see, we have a variety of clergymen in Our Street. Mr. Oriel is
of the pointed Gothic school, while old Slocum is of the good old tawny
port-wine school; and it must be confessed that Mr. Gronow, at Ebenezer,
has a hearty abhorrence for both.
As for Gronow, I pity him, if his future lot should fall where Mr Oriel
supposes that it will.
And as for Oriel, he has not even the benefit of purgatory, which he
would accord to his neighbour Ebenezer; while old Slocum pronounces
both to be a couple of humbugs; and Mr. Mole, the demure little beetle-
browed chaplain of the little church of Avemary Lane, keeps his sly eyes
down to the ground when he passes any one of his black-coated brethren.
There is only one point on which, my friends, they seem agreed. Slocum
likes port, but who ever heard that he neglected his poor? Gronow, if he
comminates his neighbour’s congregation, is the affectionate father of his
own. Oriel, if he loves pointed Gothic and parched peas for breakfast, has a
prodigious soup-kitchen for his poor; and as for little Father Mole, who
never lifts his eyes from the ground, ask our doctor at what bedsides he
finds him, and how he soothes poverty and braves misery and infection.
 THE BUMPSHERS.
No. 6 Pocklington Gardens (the house with the quantity of flowers in the
windows, and the awning over the entrance), George Bumpsher, Esquire,
M.P. for Humborough (and the Beaustalks, Kent).
For some time after this gorgeous family came into our quarter, I
mistook a bald-headed stout person, whom I used to see looking through the
flowers on the upper windows, for Bumpsher himself or for the butler of the
family; whereas it was no other than Mrs. Bumpsher, without her chesnut
wig; and who is at least three times the size of her husband.
The Bumpshers and the house of Mango at the Pineries vie together in
their desire to dominate over the neighbourhood; and each votes the other a
vulgar and purse-proud family. The fact is, both are City people. Bumpsher,
in his mercantile capacity, is a wholesale stationer in Thames Street; and his
wife was daughter of an eminent bill-broking firm, not a thousand miles
from Lombard Street.
He does not sport a coronet and supporters upon his London plate and
carriages; but his country-house is emblazoned all over with those heraldic
decorations. He puts on an order when he goes abroad, and is Count
Bumpsher of the Roman States—which title he purchased from the late
Pope (through Prince Polonia the banker) for a couple of thousand scudi.
It is as good as a coronation to see him and Mrs. Bumpsher go to Court.
I wonder the carriage can hold them both. On those days Mrs. Bumpsher
holds her own drawing-room before her Majesty’s; and we are invited to
come and see her sitting in state, upon the largest sofa in her rooms. She has
need of a stout one, I promise you. Her very feathers must weigh something
considerable. The diamonds on her stomacher would embroider a full-sized
carpet-bag. She has rubies, ribbons, cameos, emeralds, gold serpents, opals,
and Valenciennes lace, as if she were an immense sample out of Howell and
James’s shop.
She took up with little Pinkney at Rome, where he made a charming
picture of her, representing her as about eighteen, with a cherub in her lap,
who has some liking to Bryanstone Bumpsher, her enormous, vulgar son;
now a Cornet in the Blues, and anything but a cherub, as those would say
who saw him in his uniform jacket.
 I remember Pinkney when he was painting the picture, Bryanstone being
then a youth in what they call a skeleton suit

VENUS AND CUPID.

(as if such a pig of a child could ever have been dressed in anything
resembling a skeleton)—I remember, I say, Mrs. B. sitting to Pinkney in a
sort of Egerian costume, her boy by her side, whose head the artist turned
round and directed it towards a piece of gingerbread, which he was to have
at the end of the sitting.
Pinkney, indeed, a painter!—a contemptible little humbug, and parasite
of the great! He has painted Mrs. Bumpsher younger every year for these
last ten years—and you see in the advertisements of all her parties his
odious little name stuck in at the end of the list. I’m sure, for my part, I’d
scorn to enter her doors, or be the toady of any woman.
 JOLLY NEWBOY, ESQ., M.P.
How different it is with the Newboys, now, where I have an entrée—
(having indeed had the honour in former days to give lessons to both the
ladies)—and where such a quack as Pinkney would never be allowed to
enter! A merrier house the whole quarter cannot furnish. It is there you meet
people of all ranks and degrees, not only from our quarter but from the rest
of the town. It is there that our great man, the Right Honourable Lord
Comandine, came up and spoke to me in so encouraging a manner that I
hope to be invited to one of his lordship’s excellent dinners (of which I shall
not fail to give a very flattering description) before the season is over. It is
there you find yourself talking to statesmen, poets, and artists—not sham
poets like Bulbul, or quack artists like that Pinkney—but to the best
members of all society. It is there I made the sketch in the frontispiece while
Miss Chesterforth was singing a deep-toned tragic ballad, and her mother
scowling behind her. What a buzz and clack and chatter there was in the
room to be sure! When Miss Chesterforth sings everybody begins to talk.
Hicks and old Fogy were on Ireland; Bass was roaring into old Pump’s ears
(or into his horn rather) about the Navigation Laws; I was engaged talking
to the charming Mrs. Short; while Charley Bonham (a mere prig, in whom I
am surprised that the women can see anything) was pouring out his fulsome
rhapsodies in the ears of Diana White. Lovely, lovely Diana White! were it
not for three or four other engagements, I know a heart that would suit you
to a T.
Newboy’s I pronounce to be the jolliest house in the street. He has only
of late had a rush of prosperity, and turned Parliament man; for his distant
cousin, of the ancient house of Newboy of ——shire dying, Fred—then
making believe to practice at the bar, and living with the utmost modesty in
Gray’s Inn Road—found himself master of a fortune, and a great house in
the country, of which getting tired, as in the course of nature he should, he
came up to London, and took that fine mansion in our Gardens. He
represents Mumborough in Parliament, a seat which has been time out of
mind occupied by a Newboy.
Though he does not speak, being a great deal too rich, sensible, and lazy,
he somehow occupies himself with reading blue books, and indeed talks a
great deal too much good sense of late over his dinner-table, where there is
always a cover for the present writer.
He falls asleep pretty assiduously too after that meal—a practice which I
can well pardon in him—for, between ourselves, his wife, Maria Newboy,
and his sister, Clarissa, are the loveliest and kindest of their sex, and I
would rather hear their innocent prattle, and lively talk about their
neighbours, than the best wisdom from the wisest man that ever wore a
beard.
Like a wise and good man he leaves the question of his household
entirely to the woman. They like going to the play. They like going to
Greenwich. They like coming to a party at bachelor’s hall. They are up to
all sorts of fun, in a word; in which taste the good-natured Newboy
acquiesces, provided he is left to follow his own.
It was only on the 17th of the month that, having had the honour to dine
at the house, when, after dinner, which took place at eight, we left Newboy
to his blue books, and went up stairs and sang a little to the guitar
afterwards—it was only on the 17th December, the night of Lady
Sowerby’s party, that the following dialogue took place in the boudoir,
whither Newboy, blue books in hand, had ascended.
He was curled up with his House of Commons boots on his wife’s arm-
chair, reading his eternal blue books, when Mrs. N. entered from her
apartment, dressed for the evening.
 THE STREET DOOR KEY.

Mrs. N.—Frederic, wont you come?

Mr. N.—Where?
Mrs. N.—To Lady Sowerby’s.
Mr. N.—I’d rather go to the black hole in Calcutta. Besides, this Sanitary
Report is really the most interesting—[he begins to read.]
Mrs. N. (piqued)—Well; Mr. Titmarsh will go with us.
Mr. N.—Will he? I wish him joy!
At this puncture Miss Clarissa Newboy enters in a pink paletôt, trimmed
with swansdown—looking like an angel—and we exchange glances of—
what shall I say?—of sympathy on both parts, and consummate rapture on
mine. But this is by-play.
Mrs. N.—Good night, Frederic. I think we shall be late.
Mr. N.—You won’t wake me, I daresay; and you don’t expect a public
man to sit up.
Mrs. N.—It’s not you, it’s the servants. Cocker sleeps very heavily. The
maids are best in bed, and are all ill with the influenza. I say, Frederic dear,
don’t you think you had better give me YOUR CHUBB KEY?
This astonishing proposal, which violates every recognised law of
society—this demand which alters all the existing state of things—this fact
of a woman asking for a door-key, struck me with a terror which I cannot
describe, and impressed me with the fact of the vast progress of Our Street.
The door-key! What would our grandmother, who dwelt in this place when
it was a rustic suburb, think of its condition now, when husbands stay at
home, and wives go abroad with the latch-key?
The evening at Lady Sowerby’s was the most delicious we have spent
for long, long days.
Thus it will be seen that everybody of any consideration in Our Street
takes a line. Mrs. Minimy (34) takes the homœopathic line, and has soirées
of doctors of that faith. Lady Pocklington takes the capitalist line; and those
stupid and splendid dinners of hers are devoured by loan-contractors, and
railroad princes. Mrs. Trimmer (38) comes out in the scientific line, and
indulges us in rational evenings, where history is the lightest subject
admitted, and geology and the sanitary condition of the metropolis form the
general themes of conversation. Mrs. Brumby plays finely on the bassoon,
and has evenings dedicated to Sebastian Bach, and enlivened with Handel.
At Mrs. Maskleyn’s they are mad for charades and theatricals.
They performed last Christmas in a French piece, by Alexandre Dumas, I
believe—“La Duchesse de Montefiasco,” of which I forget the plot, but
everybody was in love with everybody else’s wife, except the hero, Don
Alonzo, who was ardently attached to the Duchess, who turned out to be his
grandmother. The piece was translated by Lord Fiddle-faddle, Tom Bulbul
 A SCENE OF PASSION.

being the Don Alonzo; and Mrs. Roland Calidore (who never misses an
opportunity of acting in a piece in which she can let down her hair) was the
Duchess.
 Alonzo.

You know how well he loves you, and you wonder

To see Alonzo suffer, Cunegunda?—
Ask if the chamois suffer when they feel
Plunged in their panting sides the hunter’s steel?
Or when the soaring heron or eagle proud,
Pierced by my shaft, comes tumbling from the cloud,
Ask if the royal birds no anguish know,
The victims of Alonzo’s twanging bow?
Then ask him if he suffers—him who dies,
Pierced by the poisoned glance that glitters from your eyes!
[He staggers from the effect of the poison.

The Duchess.

Alonzo loves—Alonzo loves! and whom?

His grandmother! O hide me gracious tomb!
[Her Grace faints away.

Such acting as Tom Bulbul’s I never saw. Tom lisps atrociously, and
uttered the passage, “You athk me if I thuffer,” in the most absurd way.
Miss Clapperclaw says he acted pretty well, and that I only joke about him
because I am envious, and wanted to act a part myself.—I envious indeed!
But of all the assemblies, feastings, junkettings, déjeunes, soirées,
conversaziones, dinner-parties, in Our Street, I know of none pleasanter
than the banquets at Tom Fairfax’s; one of which this enormous provision-
consumer gives seven times a-week. He lives in one of the little houses of
the old Waddilove Street quarter, built long before Pocklington Square and
Pocklington Gardens and the Pocklington family itself had made their
appearance in this world.
Tom, though he has a small income, and lives in a small house, yet sits
down one of a party of twelve to dinner every day of his life; these twelve
consisting of Mrs. Fairfax, the nine Misses Fairfax, and Master Thomas
Fairfax—the son and heir to twopence-halfpenny a-year.
It is awkward just now to go and beg pot-luck from such a family as this;
because, though a guest is always welcome, we are thirteen at table—an
unlucky number, it is said. This evil is only temporary, and will be remedied
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