(eBook PDF) Qualitative Data Analysis: A Methods

Sourcebook 4th Edition pdf download

https://ebooksecure.com/product/ebook-pdf-qualitative-data-
analysis-a-methods-sourcebook-4th-edition/

Download more ebook from https://ebooksecure.com

We believe these products will be a great fit for you. Click
the link to download now, or visit ebooksecure.com
to discover even more!

(eBook PDF) Qualitative Data Analysis: An Introduction

2nd Edition

http://ebooksecure.com/product/ebook-pdf-qualitative-data-
analysis-an-introduction-2nd-edition/

(eBook PDF) Qualitative Data Analysis with ATLAS.ti 3rd

Edition

http://ebooksecure.com/product/ebook-pdf-qualitative-data-
analysis-with-atlas-ti-3rd-edition/

(eBook PDF) Qualitative Research Methods: Collecting

Evidence, Crafting Analysis, Communicating Impact 2nd
Edition

http://ebooksecure.com/product/ebook-pdf-qualitative-research-
methods-collecting-evidence-crafting-analysis-communicating-
impact-2nd-edition/

(eBook PDF) Introduction to Qualitative Research

Methods in Psychology 4th Edition

http://ebooksecure.com/product/ebook-pdf-introduction-to-
qualitative-research-methods-in-psychology-4th-edition/
(eBook PDF) Qualitative Research Methods 5th Edition

http://ebooksecure.com/product/ebook-pdf-qualitative-research-
methods-5th-edition/

Numerical Methods in Environmental Data Analysis 1st

Edition- eBook PDF

https://ebooksecure.com/download/numerical-methods-in-
environmental-data-analysis-ebook-pdf/

(eBook PDF) An Introduction to Statistical Methods &

Data Analysis 7th

http://ebooksecure.com/product/ebook-pdf-an-introduction-to-
statistical-methods-data-analysis-7th/

(eBook PDF) Qualitative Psychology: A Practical Guide

to Research Methods 3rd Edition

http://ebooksecure.com/product/ebook-pdf-qualitative-psychology-
a-practical-guide-to-research-methods-3rd-edition/

(eBook PDF) README FIRST for a User's Guide to

Qualitative Methods 3rd Edition

http://ebooksecure.com/product/ebook-pdf-readme-first-for-a-
users-guide-to-qualitative-methods-3rd-edition/
Qualitative Data Analysis
Fourth Edition
Qualitative Data Analysis

A Methods Sourcebook

Fourth Edition

Matthew B. Miles
A. Michael Huberman
Johnny Saldaña
Arizona State University

Los Angeles
London
New Delhi
Singapore
Washington DC
Melbourne
FOR INFORMATION:

SAGE Publications, Inc.

2455 Teller Road

Thousand Oaks, California 91320

E-mail: order@sagepub.com

SAGE Publications Ltd.

1 Oliver’s Yard

55 City Road

London EC1Y 1SP

United Kingdom

SAGE Publications India Pvt. Ltd.

B 1/I 1 Mohan Cooperative Industrial Area

Mathura Road, New Delhi 110 044

India

SAGE Publications Asia-Pacific Pte. Ltd.

18 Cross Street #10-10/11/12

China Square Central

Singapore 048423

Fourth Edition Copyright © 2020 by SAGE Publications, Inc. First and

Second Edition Copyright © 1994 by Matthew B. Miles and A. Michael
Huberman. Third Edition Copyright © 2014 SAGE Publications, Inc.

All rights reserved. Except as permitted by U.S. copyright law, no part of

this work may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any means,
or stored in a database or retrieval system, without permission in writing
from the publisher.
All third party trademarks referenced or depicted herein are included
solely for the purpose of illustration and are the property of their
respective owners. Reference to these trademarks in no way indicates
any relationship with, or endorsement by, the trademark owner.
Printed in the United States of America

ISBN: 978-1-5063-5307-4
This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Acquisitions Editor: Helen Salmon

Content Development Editor: Chelsea Neve
Editorial Assistant: Megan O’Heffernan

Production Editor: Andrew Olson

Copy Editor: Liann Lech
Typesetter: C&M Digitals (P) Ltd.

Proofreader: Caryne Brown

Indexer: Jeanne Busemeyer
Cover Designer: Scott Van Atta
Marketing Manager: Susannah Goldes
Brief Contents
1. List of Displays
2. Preface to the Fourth Edition
3. Acknowledgments
4. About the Authors
5. • PART I The Substantive Start
1. • Chapter 1 Introduction
2. • Chapter 2 Research Design and Data Management
3. • Chapter 3 Ethical Issues in Analysis
4. • Chapter 4 Fundamentals of Qualitative Data Analysis
6. • PART II Displaying the Data
1. • Chapter 5 Designing Matrix, Network, and Graphic Displays
2. • Chapter 6 Methods of Exploring
3. • Chapter 7 Methods of Describing
4. • Chapter 8 Methods of Ordering
5. • Chapter 9 Methods of Explaining
6. • Chapter 10 Methods of Predicting
7. • PART III Making Good Sense
1. • Chapter 11 Drawing and Verifying Conclusions
2. • Chapter 12 Writing About Qualitative Research
3. • Chapter 13 Closure
4. Appendix: An Annotated Bibliography of Qualitative Research
Methods Resources
5. References
6. Index
Detailed Contents
List of Displays
Preface to the Fourth Edition
A Note on This Revision
Acknowledgments
About the Authors
• PART I The Substantive Start
• Chapter 1 Introduction
The Purpose of This Book
The Nature of This Book
Audiences
Our Orientation
An Approach to Qualitative Data Analysis
Analytic Methods: Some Common Features
The Nature of Qualitative Data
General Nature
Strengths of Qualitative Data
Our View of Qualitative Data Analysis
Data Condensation
Data Display
Drawing and Verifying Conclusions
Suggestions for Readers
Students and Other Novice Researchers
Experienced Researchers
Teachers of Qualitative Research Methods Courses
Closure and Transition
• Chapter 2 Research Design and Data Management
Introduction
Loose Versus Tight Research Designs
Displaying the Conceptual Framework
Description and Rationale
Example
Other Examples
Conceptual Framework Advice
Methodologies (Genres) of Qualitative Research
Formulating Research Questions
 Description and Rationale
Example
Research Question Advice
Defining the Case
Description and Rationale
Examples
Case Advice
Sampling: Bounding the Collection of Data
Description and Rationale
Key Features of Qualitative Sampling
General Sampling Strategies
Within-Case Sampling
Multiple-Case Sampling
Sampling Advice
Instrumentation
Description and Rationale
Example
Instrumentation Advice
Linking Qualitative and Quantitative Data
Approaches to Mixed Methods Designs
Examples
Mixed Methods Advice
Data Management Issues Bearing on Analysis
Data Management
Computer and Software Use
CAQDAS
Staffing and Time Planning
Closure and Transition
• Chapter 3 Ethical Issues in Analysis
Introduction
Agreements With Study Participants
Agreement Advice
Ethical Issues
Worthiness of the Project
Competence
Informed Consent
Benefits, Costs, and Reciprocity
Harm and Risk
Honesty and Trust
Privacy, Confidentiality, and Anonymity
 Intervention and Advocacy
Research Integrity and Quality
Ownership of Data and Conclusions
Use and Misuse of Results
Ethical Conflicts and Dilemmas
Ethics Advice
Closure and Transition
• Chapter 4 Fundamentals of Qualitative Data Analysis
Introduction
First Cycle Codes and Coding
Description
Rationale
First Cycle Coding Examples
Descriptive Coding
In Vivo Coding
Process Coding
Concept Coding
Emotion Coding
Values Coding
Evaluation Coding
Dramaturgical Coding
Holistic Coding
Provisional Coding
Hypothesis Coding
Protocol Coding
Causation Coding
Attribute Coding
Magnitude Coding
Subcoding
Simultaneous Coding
Themeing the Data
Coding Craft and Design
Levels of Coding Detail
A Priori Codes
Revising Codes
Structure and Unity in Code Lists
Definitions of Codes
Second Cycle Coding—Pattern Codes
Description
Applications
 Examples
From Codes to Patterns
Narrative Description
Matrix Display
Network Display
Graphic Display
Coding Advice
Jottings
Analytic Memoing
Description and Rationale
Examples
Memoing Advice
On Visual Data
Hypotheses, Assertions, and Propositions
Within-Case and Cross-Case Analysis
Purposes of Cross-Case Analysis
A Key Distinction: Variables Versus Cases
Strategies for Cross-Case Analysis
Closure and Transition
• PART II Displaying the Data
• Chapter 5 Designing Matrix, Network, and Graphic Displays
Introduction
Display Format Options
Matrices
Networks
Graphics
Timing of Display Design
Entering Matrix, Network, and Graphic Data
Making Inferences and Drawing Conclusions From
Matrix, Network, and Graphic Displays
The Methods Profiles
Closure and Transition
• Chapter 6 Methods of Exploring
Introduction
Exploring Field Work in Progress
Data Accounting Log
Contact Summary Form
Case Analysis Meeting
Interim Case Summary
Partially Ordered Meta-Matrix
 Exploring Variables
Code Frequency Table
Checklist Matrix
Content-Analytic Summary Table
Contrast Table
Two-Variable Case-Ordered Matrix
Exploring Reports in Progress
Prestructured Case
Sequential Analyses
Closure and Transition
• Chapter 7 Methods of Describing
Introduction
Describing Participants
Demographics and Attributes Table
Role-Ordered Matrix
Context Chart
Positionality Graphic
Describing Variability
Concept Table
Conceptually Clustered Matrix
Folk Taxonomy
Thematic Array
Describing Action
Vignettes
Poetic Display
Cognitive Networks
Closure and Transition
• Chapter 8 Methods of Ordering
Introduction
Ordering by Time
Qualitative Timeline
Event Listing Matrix
Growth Gradient
Time-Ordered Matrix
Ordering Processes
Decision Modeling
Process Mapping
Event-State Network
Composite Sequence Analysis
Ordering by Cases
 Case-Process Comparison
Case-Ordered Descriptive Meta-Matrix
Closure and Transition
• Chapter 9 Methods of Explaining
Introduction
Antecedent Conditions, Mediating Variables, and
Outcomes
On Explanation and Causation
Explaining Interrelationship
Variable-by-Variable Matrix
Explaining Change
Explanatory Matrix
Outcomes Matrix
Case Dynamics Matrix
Explaining Causation
Causal Chains
Causal Network: Within-Case Analysis
Causal Network: Cross-Case Analysis
Closure and Transition
• Chapter 10 Methods of Predicting
Introduction
Methods of Predicting
Making and Testing Predictions
Predictor–Outcome–Consequences Matrix
Causal–Prediction Model
Closure and Transition
• PART III Making Good Sense
• Chapter 11 Drawing and Verifying Conclusions
Introduction
Tactics for Generating Meaning
1. Noting Patterns, Themes
2. Seeing Plausibility
3. Clustering
4. Making Metaphors
5. Counting
6. Making Contrasts, Comparisons
7. Partitioning Variables
8. Subsuming Particulars Into the General
9. Factoring
10. Noting the Relations Between Variables
 11. Finding Mediating Variables
12. Building a Logical Chain of Evidence
13. Making Conceptual/Theoretical Coherence
Tactics for Testing or Confirming Findings
1. Checking for Representativeness
2. Checking for Researcher Effects
3. Triangulating
4. Weighting the Evidence
5. Checking the Meaning of Outliers
6. Using Extreme Cases
7. Following Up Surprises
8. Looking for Negative Evidence
9. Making If-Then Tests
10. Ruling Out Spurious Relations
11. Replicating a Finding
12. Checking Out Rival Explanations
13. Getting Feedback From Participants
Standards for the Quality of Conclusions
Objectivity/Confirmability
Reliability/Dependability/Auditability
Internal Validity/Credibility/Authenticity
External Validity/Transferability/Fittingness
Utilization/Application/Action Orientation
Analytic Documentation
The Problem
Examples
Closure and Transition
• Chapter 12 Writing About Qualitative Research
Introduction
Audiences and Effects
The Reader and the Writer
Types of Effects
Voices and Styles
Writing Examples and Recommendations
Writing the Abstract
Writing About Methodology and Methods
“Being There”
Analytic Storytelling With Displays
Traditional Presentation Modes
Progressive Presentation Modes
 On Theses and Dissertations
Support and Supervision
Writing Fundamentals
Closure and Transition
• Chapter 13 Closure
Qualitative Analysis at a Glance
Reflections
Final Advice
Appendix: An Annotated Bibliography of Qualitative Research
Methods Resources
References
Index
List of Displays

Display 1.1: Components of Qualitative Data Analysis: Interactive

Model 10
Display 2.1: A First-Draft Conceptual Framework for a Case Study
Teacher and the Influences on Her Practice 16
Display 2.2: Major Influences on a Language Arts Teacher’s
Practice 17
Display 2.3: A Conceptual Model of Students’ Intention to Pursue a
Sales Career 19
Display 2.4: Conceptual Model That Presents HCWs’ Perceived
Limitations in the Application of MTB Infection Control Measures
in Clinical Practice, Influencing the Decision–Making Process and
Resulting in the “Knowledge−Action” Gap 19
Display 2.5: General and Special Research Questions Relating to
the Adoption Decision (School Improvement Study) 23
Display 2.6: The Case as the Unit of Analysis 25
Display 2.7: Prior Instrumentation: Key Decision Factors 31
Display 2.8: Excerpts From Interview Guide, School Improvement
Study 34
Display 2.9: Mixed Methods Data-Analytic Procedures 38
Display 2.10: An Excel Spreadsheet With Qualitative and
Quantitative Data 42
Display 2.11: Network View Produced by ATLAS.ti 42
Display 2.12: A Model of Lifelong Confidence From High School
Speech and Theatre 43
Display 2.13: Word Clouds of Top 30 Most Frequent Words in the
Mission (top), Vision (middle), and Values (bottom) Statements of
the S&P 500 Companies 45
Display 2.14: A Screenshot of Quirkos CAQDAS Software 45
Display 2.15: A Screenshot of Transana CAQDAS Software 46
Display 3.1: Sample Informed Consent Letter 51
Display 4.1: Details of the Coding System 75
Display 4.2: Abbreviated Codebook 77
Display 4.3: Matrix of Smoking Cessation Patterns at Months 1 and
6. 84
Display 4.4: A Network Model of Smoking Cessation Loss
Transformation 84
Display 4.5: Arts-Based Graphic Representation of Smoking
Cessation at Months 1 and 6 85
Display 4.6: Interview Transcript With Jottings 87
Display 4.7: A Residential Exterior From the West Side of Chicago,
2018 92
Display 4.8: The Hypothesis Process 94
Display 4.9: Categories of Acute Precipitants of Physical Elder
Abuse 98
Display 5.1: Effects Matrix: Assistance Location and Types
(Masepa Case) 106
Display 5.2: A Network Model of “Lifelong Impact” From High
School Speech Participation 109
Display 5.3: Percentage of 3,416 References Coded in NVivo,
Attributed to the Three Components of Sustainability 111
Display 5.4: A Sustainability Definition: (A) Classic Triple Bottom-
Line Approach and (B) Proposed Representation Emphasizing Time
and Trade–Offs 111
Display 5.5: Impact of Correctional Environment Upon Individual
Women 112
Display 5.6: Transformative Process of Prison Inmate Hospice
Volunteer Service 113
Display 5.7: Axial Coding of the Six Primary SPELIT
Environments of Donald Trump’s Campaign Speech 113
Display 5.8: Characteristics of Systems Thinking Among Middle
School Leaders 114
Display 5.9: Trajectory of Learning to Use Professional Judgment
115
Display 6.1: Data Accounting Log 121
Display 6.2: Contact Summary Form: Illustration (Excerpts) 122
Display 6.3: Contact Summary Form: Illustration With
Themes/Aspects (Excerpts) 124
Display 6.4: Case Analysis Meeting Form 125
Display 6.5: Case Analysis Form: Exhibit With Data 127
Display 6.6: Summary-Aided Approach to Analysis 128
Display 6.7: Interim Case Summary Outline: Illustration 129
Display 6.8: Case-Level Display for Partially Ordered Meta-Matrix
(Format) 131
Display 6.9: Case-Level Display for Partially Ordered Meta-
Matrix: Users’ Second Year of Implementation at Lido 132
Display 6.10: Partially Ordered Meta-Matrix: Users’
Feelings/Concerns and Other Variables (Format) 133
Display 6.11: Partially Ordered Meta-Matrix: Users’
Feelings/Concerns and Other Variables (Lido Data) 133
Display 6.12: Time-Ordered Meta-Matrix (Format) 134
Display 6.13: Summary Table: Individual and Institutional
Concerns During Later Implementation 135
Display 6.14: Summary of Memorable Messages of Social Support
136
Display 6.15: Code Landscaping of “Lifelong Impact” Survey
Responses 137
Display 6.16: Checklist Matrix: Conditions Supporting
Preparedness at Smithson School, Banestown Case 138
Display 6.17: Checklist Matrix on Preparedness (Alternative
Format 1) 141
Display 6.18: Checklist Matrix on Preparedness (Alternative
Format 2) 142
Display 6.19: Checklist Matrix on Preparedness (Alternative
Format 3) 142
Display 6.20: Content-Analytic Summary Table: The Content of
Organization Changes 143
Display 6.21: Contrast Table: Summary of Contextual Factors
Shaping Political Styles 145
Display 6.22: Two-Variable Case-Ordered Matrix: Relationships
Between User Practice Stabilization and Local Continuation 147
Display 6.23: Prestructured Case Outline: Abbreviated Version 149
Display 6.24: Traditional Analysis Sequence Compared With
Prestructured Case 151
Display 7.1: Participant Family Profiles 156
Display 7.2: Role-Ordered Matrix: First Reactions to the
Innovation 158
Display 7.3: Context Chart for Tindale East High School and
District 162
Display 7.4: Predominant Response Types of Cases 165
Display 7.5: Lifelong Impact: Variability of Influence 167
Display 7.6: Conceptually Clustered Matrix: Motives and Attitudes
(Format) 169
Display 7.7: Conceptually Clustered Matrix: Motives and Attitudes
of Users, Nonusers, and Administrators at Masepa 171
Display 7.8: A Folk Taxonomy of the Ways Children Oppress Each
Other 174
Display 7.9: A Principal’s Experiences and Views on Creating
Collaborative Learning Among Teachers 177
Display 7.10: Nursing Professional Dignity Perceived as an
Achievement 178
Display 7.11: Theory of Influences on Women Early Career
Psychologists’ [WECP] Career Adjustment 179
Display 7.12: Social Media Seesaw: Positive and Negative Affect
Influences 179
Display 7.13: A Model in Progress of HIV Test Anxiety 185
Display 8.1: River School District [RSD] Timeline Showing 18
Years of Linear Change. 190
Display 8.2: Event Listing, Banestown Case 193
Display 8.3: Event History of a Case Study 196
Display 8.4: Growth Gradient for ECRI Innovation, Masepa Case
197
Display 8.5: Time-Ordered Matrix: Changes in the CARED
Innovation (a Work Experience Program) 199
Display 8.6: Summary Tables for Verifying and Interpreting a
Time-Ordered Matrix: Changes in the CARED Innovation 201
Display 8.7: A Decision Model for Evening Dinner Choices 203
Display 8.8: A Process Map of a Chaos Narrative About Cancer 205
Display 8.9: Event–State Network, Banestown Case (Excerpt) 208
Display 8.10: Composite Sequence Analysis: Career Trajectory
Data for 11 Cases 210
Display 8.11: Model of Instructional Decision Making for Two
Physics Instructors 213
Display 8.12: Ordered Meta-Matrix: Format for Student Impact
Data 216
Display 8.13: Case-Ordered Descriptive Meta-Matrix (Excerpt):
Program Objectives and Student Impact (Direct, Meta-Level, and
Side Effects) 218
Display 9.1: The Antecedents, Contingencies, and Follower
Outcomes of the Interplay of the Emotion-Related Behaviors of
Nonprofit Leaders and Nonprofit Organizational Display Norms
224
Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
 FASHIONS FOR AUGUST, 1836 FASHIONS FOR MARCH, 1837

As for Art, in the house or out of it, Art in pictures, sculpture,

architecture, dress, furniture, fiction, oratory, acting, the middle-
class person, the resident in the country town, knew nothing of it.
His church was most likely a barn, his own house was four-square,
his furniture was mahogany, his pictures were coloured engravings,
the ornaments of his rooms were hideous things in china, painted
red and white, his hangings were of a warm and comfortable red,
his sofas were horsehair, his drawing-room was furnished with a
round table, on which lay keepsakes and forget-me-nots; but as the
family never used the room, which was generally kept locked, it
mattered little how it was furnished. He dressed, if he was an elderly
gentleman, in a spencer, buttoned tight, a high black satin stock,
and boots up to his knees—very likely he still carried his hair in a
tail. If he was young, he had long and flowing hair, waved and
curled with the aid of pomade, bear’s grease, and oil; he cultivated
whiskers, also curled and oiled all round his face; he wore a
magnificent stock, with a liberal kind of knot in the front: in this he
stuck a great pin; and he was magnificent in waistcoats. As for the
ladies’ dresses, I cannot trust myself to describe them; the
accompanying illustration will be of service in bringing the fashion
home to the reader. But this is the effigy of a London and a
fashionable lady. Her country cousin would be two or three years, at
least, behind her. Well, the girls had blooming cheeks, bright eyes,
and simple manners. They were much more retiring than the
modern maiden; they knew very little of young men and their
manners, and the young men knew very little of them—the novels of
the time are full of the shyness of the young man in presence of the
maiden. Their ideas were limited, they had strong views as to rank
and social degrees, and longed earnestly for a chance of rising but a
single step; their accomplishments were generally contemptible, and
of Art they had no idea whatever. How should they have any idea
when, year after year, they saw no Art, and heard of none? But they
were good daughters, who became good wives and good mothers—
our own, my friends—and we must not make even a show of holding
them up to ridicule.
One point must not be forgotten. In the midst of all this
conventional dulness there was, in the atmosphere of the Thirties, a
certain love of romance which showed itself chiefly in a fireside
enthusiasm for the cause of oppressed races. Poland had many
friends; the negro—they even went so far in those days as to call
him a brother—was warmly befriended; the case of the oppressed
Greek attracted the good wishes of everybody. Now, sympathy with
oppression that is unseen may sometimes be followed by sympathy
with the oppression which is before the eyes; so that one is not
surprised to hear that the case of the women and the children in the
mines and the factories was soon afterwards taken seriously in hand.
The verse which then formed so large a part of family reading had a
great deal to do with the affections, especially their tearful side;
while the tales they loved the best were those of knights and fair
dames of adventure and romance.
A picture by Du Maurier in Punch once represented a man
singing a comic song at an ‘At Home.’ Nobody laughed; some faces
 expressed wonder;
some, pity; some,
contempt; a few,
indignation; but not one
face smiled. Consider
the difference: in the
year 1837 every face
would have been
broadened out in a grin.
Do we, therefore, laugh
no more? We do not
laugh so much,
certainly, and we laugh
differently. Our comic
man of society still tells
good stories, but he no
longer sings songs; in
his stories he prefers
the rapier or the
jewelled dagger to the
bludgeon. Those who
desire to make the
acquaintance of the
comic man, as he was
accepted in society and
in the middle-class,
should read the works
of Theodore Hook and
of Albert Smith. To
Yours faithfully
begin with, he played
Theodore S Hook
practical jokes; he
-THEODORE HOOK-
continually played
practical jokes, and he
was never killed, as would now happen, by his victims. I am certain
that we should kill a man who came to our houses and played the
jokes which then were permitted to the comic man. He poured
melted butter into coat pockets at suppers; he turned round
signposts, and made them point the wrong way, in order to send
people whither they did not wish to go. It may be remarked that his
tricks were rarely original. He wrenched off door-knockers; he turned
off the gas at the meter; he tied strings across the river to knock
people backwards in their boats; he tied two doors together, and
then rang both bells, and waited with a grin from ear to ear; he rang
up people in the dead of the night on any pretext; he filled keyholes
with powdered slate-pencil when the master of the house was
coming home late; he hoaxed innocent ladies, and laughed when
they were nearly driven mad with worry and terror; he went to
masquerades, carrying a tray full of medicated sweets—think of such
a thing!—which he distributed, and then retired, and came back in
another dress to gaze upon the havoc he had wrought. Again, it was
a time when candles were still carried about the house, and, as yet,
it was thought that gas in bedrooms was dangerous. He dipped the
candles waiting for the ladies when they went to bed into water, so
that they spluttered and went out, and made alarming fireworks
when they were lit; and then, to remove the horrible smell, the
candles being of tallow, he offered to burn pastilles, but these were
confections of gunpowder and water, and caused the liveliest
emotions, and sent the poor ladies upstairs in an agony of nervous
terror.
There was no end to the tricks of this abominable person. Once
he received an invitation to a great ball, which a Royal Personage
was to honour with his presence. The Royal Personage was to be
regaled in a special supper-room, apart from the common herd. The
table had been laid in this room with the most elaborate care and
splendour: down the middle of the table there meandered a
beautiful canal filled with gold and silver fish—a contrivance believed
in those remote ages to set off and greatly increase the beauty of a
supper table. Our ingenious friend quickly discovered that the room
was accessible from the garden, where some workmen were still
putting the finishing touches to their work, the men who had
constructed the marquee, and had arranged the lamps and things.
He went, therefore, into the garden: he
invited these workmen to partake of a little
refreshment, led them into the Royal supper-
room, and begged them to help themselves,
and to spare nothing: in a twinkling the tables
were cleared. He then put certain chemicals
into the canal, which instantly killed every
fish: this done, he returned to the ballroom,
and waited for the moment when the
Illustrious Personage, the hostess on his arm,
should enter that supper-room, and gaze WATCHMAN
upon those empty dishes. (From a Drawing by
George Cruikshank in
On another occasion, he discovered that a ‘London Characters’)
respectable butler was in the habit of creeping
upstairs, in order to listen to the conversation,
leaving his slippers, in position, at the head of the kitchen stairs. He
therefore hid himself while the poor man, after adjusting the
slippers, walked noiselessly upstairs. He then hammered a tintack
into the heel of each slipper, and waited again, until a confederate
gave the alarm, and the fat butler, hurrying down, slipped one foot
into each slipper, and—went headlong into the depths below, and
was nearly killed. ‘Never laughed so much in all my life, sir.’
At Oxford, of course, he enjoyed himself wonderfully. For, with a
party of chosen friends, he met no less a person than the Vice-
Chancellor, at ten or eleven at night, going home alone, and
peacefully. To raise that personage, lift him on their shoulders, crown
him with a lamp cover, and carry him triumphantly to the gates of
his own College, was not only a great stroke of fun, but a thing not
to be resisted. And he blew up the group of Cain and Abel in the
Quadrangle of Brasenose. And what he did with proctors, bulldogs,
and the like, passeth all understanding. It was at Oxford that the
funny man made the acquaintance of the Major. Now the Major was
in love, but he was no longer so young as he had been, and his hair
was getting thin on the top—a very serious thing in the days of long
hair, wavy, curled, singed, and oiled, flowing gracefully over the ears
and the coat-collar. The Major, in an evil moment, commissioned the
Practical Joker, whose character, one would think, must have been
well known, to procure for him a bottle of a certain patent hair-
restorer. Of course, the Joker brought him a bottle of depilatory
mixture, which being credulously accepted, and well rubbed in,
deprived the poor Major of every hair that was left. It is needless to
relate how, when he was at Richmond with a party of ladies, the
introduction of the ‘maids of honour’ was a thing not to be resisted;
and one can quite understand how one of the young ladies was led
on to ordering, in addition to another ‘maid of honour,’ a small
Gentleman Usher of the Black Rod, if they had one quite cold.
The middle-class of London, before the development of
omnibuses, lived in and round the City of London, Bloomsbury being
the principal suburb; many thousands of well-to-do people,
merchants and shopkeepers, lived in the City itself, and were not
ashamed of their houses, and filled the City churches on the Sunday.
Some lived at Clapham, Camberwell, and Stockwell on the south; a
great many at Islington, where a vigorous offshoot of the great city
ran through the High Street past Sadler’s Wells as far as Highbury; a
few even lived at Highgate and Hampstead. There were the ‘short’
stages from London to all these places, but, so far as can be
gathered, most of those who lived in these suburbs before the days
of the omnibus had their own carriages, and drove to town and
home again every day. On Sunday they entertained their friends,
and the young gentlemen of the City delighted to hire horses and
ride down. The comic literature of the time is full of the Cockney
horseman. It will be remembered how Mr. Horatio Sparkins rode
gallantly from town to dine with his hospitable friends on Sunday.
The manners and customs of the Islington colony, which may, I
suppose, be taken for the suburban and Bloomsbury people
generally—except that Russell and Bedford Squares were very, very
much grander—may be read in Albert Smith’s ‘Adventures of Mr.
Ledbury,’ his ‘Natural History of the Gent,’ ‘The Pottleton Legacy,’ and
other contemporary works. Very good reading they are, if
approached in the right spirit, which is a humble and an inquiring
spirit. Many remarkable things
may be learned from these
books. For instance, would you
know how the middle-class
evening party was conducted?
Here are a few details. The
gentlemen, of whose long and
wavy hair I have already spoken,
wore, for evening dress, a high
black stock, the many folds of
which covered the shirt, and
were enriched by a massive pin;
the white shirt-cuffs were neatly
turned over their wrists, their A SCENE ON BLACKHEATH
dress-coats were buttoned, their By ‘Phiz’
(From ‘Sketches in London,’ by James Grant)
trousers were tight, and they
wore straps and pumps. The
ladies either wore curls neatly arranged on each side—you may still
see some old ladies who have clung to the pretty fashion of their
youth—or they wore their hair dropped in a loop down the cheek
and behind the ear, and then fastened in some kind of band with
ribbons at the back of the head. The machinery of the frocks
reminds one of the wedding morning in ‘Pickwick,’ when all the girls
were crying out to be ‘done up,’ for they had hooks and eyes, and
the girls were helpless by themselves. Pink was the favourite colour
—and a very pretty colour too; and there was plenty of scope for the
milliner’s art in lace and artificial flowers. The elder ladies were
magnificent in turbans, and the younger ones wore across the
forehead a band of velvet or silk decorated with a gold buckle, or
something in pearls and diamonds. This fashion lingered long. I
remember—it must have been about the year 1850—a certain
elderly maiden lady who always wore every day and all day a black
ribbon across her brows; this alone gave her a severe and keep-
your-distance kind of expression; but, in addition, the ribbon
contained in the middle, if I remember aright, a steel buckle—
though a lady, one thinks, would hardly wear a steel buckle on her
forehead. Sometimes there was a wreath of flowers worn like a
coronet, and sometimes, but I think hardly in Islington, a tiara of
jewels. In middle-class circles, the fashion of evening dress was
marred by a fashion, common to both sexes, of wearing cleaned
gloves. Now kid gloves could only be cleaned by one process, so that
the result was an effect of turps which could not be subdued by any
amount of patchouli or eau-de-Cologne. There were, as yet, no
cards for the dances, and when a waltz was played, everybody was
afraid to begin. Quadrilles of various kinds were danced, and the
country dance yet lingered at this end of the town. The polka came
later. Dancing was stopped whenever any young lady could be
persuaded to sing, and happy was the young man whose avocations
permitted him to wear the delightful moustaches forbidden in the
City and in all the professions. Young Templars wore them until they
were called, when they had to be shaved. For a City man to wear a
moustache would have been ruin and bankruptcy.
Other portions of Albert Smith’s works,
if read with discernment, will enable one to
make discoveries of some interest. One is
that our modern ’Arry is really a survival,
not, as is sometimes believed, a growth of
modern days. His ally and mistress, ’Arriet,
does not seem to have existed at all fifty
years ago; at least there is no mention of
her; but ’Arry flourished. He did really
MAID SERVANT dreadful things. He was even worse than
(From a Drawing by Cruikshank in the Practical Joker. When he took Titus
‘London Characters’)
Ledbury abroad, he went into the
cathedrals on purpose to spill the holy
water, to blow out the candles, and to make faces at the women
kneeling at their prayers; he got barrel-organs into lofts and invited
men to bring grisettes and dance all night, with a supper brought
from the charcuterie; wherever there was jumping, dancing, singing,
and riot, ’Arry was to the fore. On board the steamer he seized a
bottle of stout and took up a prominent and commanding position,
where he drank it before all the world, smoking cigars, and laughing
loudly at the poor people who were ill. At home, he wrenched off
knockers, played practical jokes, drank more stout, ate oysters,
chaffed bar-maidens, and called for brandy and water continually. He
was loud in his dress and in his voice; he was insolent, caddish, and
offensive in his manners. Generally, one thinks, he would end his
career in Whitecross Street, or the Fleet, or the Queen’s Bench.
Doubtless, however, there are still among us old gentlemen who now
sit at church on Sunday with venerable white hair, among their
children and grandchildren, and while the voice of the preacher rises
and falls, their memory wanders back to the days when they danced
and sang with the grisettes, when they wrenched the knockers,
when they went from the theatre to the Coal Cellar, and from the
Coal Cellar to the Finish; and came home with unsteady step and
light purse in the grey of the morning.
The Debtors’ Prison belonged chiefly to the great middle-class.
Before them stalked always a grisly spectre, called by some
Insolvency and by others Bankruptcy. This villainous ghost seized its
victims by the collar and haled them within the walls of a Debtors’
Prison, where it made them abandon hope, and abide there till the
day of death. Everybody is familiar with the inside of the Fleet, the
Queen’s Bench, the Marshalsea, and Whitecross Street. They are all
pulled down now, and the only way to get imprisoned for debt is to
incur contempt of court, for which Holloway is the reward. But what
a drop from the humours of the Queen’s Bench, with its drinking,
tobacco, singing, and noisy revelry, to the solitary cell of Holloway
Prison! The Debtors’ Prison is gone, and the world is the better for
its departure. Nowadays the ruined betting-man, the rake, the
sharper, the profligate, the fraudulent bankrupt, have no prison
where they can carry on their old excesses again, though in humbler
way. They go down—below the surface—out of sight, and what they
do, and how they fare, nobody knows, and very few care.
 CHAPTER VII.

IN SOCIETY.

As to society in 1837, contemporary commentators differ. For,

according to some, society was always gambling, running away with
each other’s wives, causing and committing scandals, or whispering
them, the men were spendthrifts and profligates, the women
extravagant and heartless. Of course, the same things would be
said, and are sometimes said, of the present day, and will be said in
all following ages, because to the ultra-virtuous or to the satirist who
trots out the old, stale, worn-out sham indignation, or to the isn’t-it-
awful, gaping gobemouche, every generation seems worse than all
those which preceded it. We know the tag and the burden and the
weariness of the old song. As for myself, I am no indignant satirist,
and the news that certain young gentlemen have been sitting up all
night playing baccarat, drinking champagne, and ‘carrying on’ after
the fashion of youth in all ages, does not greatly agitate my soul, or
surprise me, or lash me into virtuous indignation. Not at all. At the
same time, if one must range oneself and take a side, one may
imitate the example of Benjamin Disraeli and declare for the side of
the angels. And, once a declared follower of that army, one may be
allowed to rejoice that things are vastly improved in the space of two
generations. Of this there can be no doubt. Making easy allowance
for exaggeration, and refusing to see depravity in a whole class
because there are one or two cases that the world calls shocking
and reads eagerly, it is quite certain that there is less of everything
that should not be than there used to be—less in proportion, and
even less in actual extent. The general tone, in short the general
manners of society, have very much improved. Of this, I say again,
there can be no doubt. Let any one, for instance, read Lady
Blessington’s ‘Victims of Society.’ Though there is an unreal ring
about this horrid book, so that one cannot accept it for a moment as
a faithful picture of the times, such a book could not now be written
at all; it would be impossible.
Let us sing of lighter themes. Take, for instance, the great
subject of Swagger. There is still Swagger, even in these days;
cavalry officers in garrison towns are still supposed to swagger. Eton
boys swagger in their own little village; undergraduates swagger.
The putting on of ‘side,’ by the way, is a peculiarly modern form of
swagger: it is the assumption of certain qualities and powers which
are considered as deserving of respect. Swagger, fifty years ago, was
a coarser kind of thing. Officers swaggered; men of rank swaggered;
men of wealth swaggered; gentlemen in military frogs—there are no
longer any military frogs—swaggered in taverns, clubs, and in the
streets. The adoption of quiet manners; the wearing of rank with
unobtrusive dignity; the possession of wealth without ostentation; of
wit without the desire to be always showing it—these are points in
which we are decidedly in advance of our fathers. There was a great
deal of cuff and collar, stock and breastpin about the young fellows
of the day. They were oppressive in their gallantry: in public places
they asserted themselves; they were loud in their talk. In order to
understand the young man of the day, one may study the life and
career of that gay and gallant gentleman, the Count d’Orsay, model
and paragon for all young gentlemen of his time.
They were louder in their manners, and in their conversation
they were insulting, especially the wits. Things were said by these
gentlemen, even in a duelling age, which would be followed in these
days by a violent personal assault. In fact, the necessity of fighting a
duel if you kicked a man seems to have been the cause why men
were constantly allowed to call each other, by implication, Fool, Ass,
Knave, and so forth. So very disagreeable a thing was it to turn out
in the early morning, in order to be shot at, that men stood anything
rather than subject
themselves to it.
Consider the things
said by Douglas
Jerrold, for instance.
They are always witty,
of course, but they
are often mere
insults. Yet nobody
seems ever to have
fallen upon him. And
not only this kind of
thing was permitted,
but things of the
grossest taste passed
unrebuked. For
instance, only a few
years before our
period, at Holland
House—not at a club,
or a tavern, or a tap-
room, but actually at
Holland House, the
most refined and
cultured place in
London—the following
conversation once
passed.
They were asking M. Blessington
who was the worst -THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON-
man in the whole of
history—a most unprofitable question; and one man after the other
was proposed. Among the company present was the Prince Regent
himself. ‘I,’ said Sydney Smith—no other than Sydney Smith, if you
please—‘have always considered the Duke of Orleans, Regent of
 France, to have been the worst man
in all history; and he,’ looking at the
illustrious guest, ‘was a Prince.’ A dead
silence followed, broken by the Prince
himself. ‘For my own part,’ he said, ‘I
have always considered that he was
excelled by his tutor, the Abbé Dubois;
and he was a priest, Mr. Sydney.’
Considering the reputation of the
Prince, and the kind of life he was
generally supposed to be leading, one
can hardly believe that any man
OFFICER OF THE DRAGOON GUARDS
would have had the impudence and
the bad taste to make such a speech.
We still constantly hear, in the modern School for Scandal,
remarks concerning the honour, the virtue, the cleverness, the
ability, the beauty, the accomplishments of our friends. But it is
behind their backs. We no longer try to put the truth openly before
them. We stab in the back; but we no longer attack in front. One
ought not to stab at all; but the back is a portion of the frame which
feels nothing. So far the change is a distinct gain.
Society, again, fifty years ago, was exclusive. You belonged to
society, or you did not; there was no overlapping, there were no
circles which intersected. And if you were in society you went to
Almack’s. If you did not go to Almack’s you might be a very
interesting, praiseworthy, well-bred creature; but you could not claim
to be in society. Nothing could be more simple. Therefore, everybody
ardently desired to be seen at Almack’s. This, however, was not in
everybody’s power. Almack’s, for instance, was far more exclusive
than the Court. Riff-raff might go to Court; but they could not get to
Almack’s, for at its gates there stood, not one angel with a fiery
sword, but six in the shape of English ladies, terrible in turbans,
splendid in diamonds, magnificent in satin, and awful in rank.
 They were the Ladies
Jersey, Londonderry,
Cowper, Brownlow,
Willoughby d’Eresby, and
Euston. These ladies
formed the dreaded
Committee. They decided
who should be admitted
within the circle; all
applications had to be
made direct to them; no
one was allowed to bring
friends. Those who
desired to go to the balls
—Heavens! what lady did
not ardently desire?—
were obliged to send in a
personal request to be
allowed the honour. Not
only this, but they were
also obliged to send for
the answer, which took
the form of a voucher—
that is, a ticket—or a
simple refusal, from
which there was no
appeal. Gentlemen were
admitted in the same
way, and by the same
Alfred d Orsay
mode of application, as
-COUNT d’ORSAY-
the ladies. In their case, it
is pleasing to add, some
regard was paid to character as well as to birth and rank, so that if a
man openly and flagrantly insulted society he was supposed not to
be admitted; but one asks with some trembling how far such rigour
would be extended towards a young and unmarried Duke. Almack’s
 was a sort of Royal
Academy of Society,
the Academic diploma
being represented by
the admitted
candidate’s pedigree,
his family connections,
and his family shield.
The heartburnings,
jealousies, and
maddening envies
caused by this
exclusive circle were, I
take it, the cause of its
‘A SKETCH IN THE PARK’—THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON
AND MRS. ARBUTHNOT. decline and fall. Trade,
even of the grandest
and most successful kind, even in the persons of the grandchildren,
had no chance whatever; no self-made man was admitted; in fact, it
was not recognised that a man could make himself; either he
belonged to a good family or he did not—genius was not considered
at all; admission to Almack’s was like admission to the Order of the
Garter, because it pretended no nonsense about merit; wives and
daughters of simple country squires, judges, bishops, generals,
admirals, and so forth, knew better than to apply; the intrigues,
backstairs influence, solicitation of friends, were as endless at
Almack’s as the intrigues at the Admiralty to procure promotion.
Admission could not, however, be bought. So far the committee were
beyond suspicion and beyond reproach; it was whispered, to be
sure, that there was favouritism—awful word! Put yourself in the
position, if you have imagination enough, of a young and beautiful
débutante. Admission to Almack’s means for you that you can see
your right and title clear to a coronet. What will you not do—what
cringing, supplication, adulation, hypocrisies—to secure that card?
And oh! the happiness, the rapture, of sending to Willis’s Rooms and
finding a card waiting for you! and the misery and despair of
receiving, instead, the terrible letter which told you, without reason
assigned, that the Ladies of the Committee could not grant your
request!
They were not expensive
gatherings, the tickets being only
7s. 6d. each, which did not
include supper. Dancing began at
eleven to the strains of Weippert’s
and Collinet’s band. The balls
were held in the great room at
Willis’s, and the space reserved
for the dancers was roped round.
The two favourite dances were
the Valse and the Galop—the
‘sprightly galoppade,’ as it was
called. Quadrilles were also
danced. It may be interesting to
those who have kept the old
music to learn that in the year
1836 the favourite quadrilles were
L’Eclair and La Tête de Bronze,
and the favourite valse was Le
Remède contre le Sommeil. They
had also Strauss’s waltzes.
The decline and fall of
Almack’s was partly caused by the
‘favouritism’ which not only kept
the place exclusive, but excluded
more than was politic. The only
chance for the continued
existence of such an institution is
that it should be constantly Yrs. Sydney Smith
enlarging its boundaries, just as -SYDNEY SMITH-

the only chance for the continued

existence of such an aristocracy as ours is that it should be always
admitting new members. Somehow the kind of small circle which
 shall include only the crème de la crème is
always falling to pieces. We hear of a club
which is to contain only the very noblest, but
in a year or two it has ceased to exist, or it is
like all other clubs. Moreover, a great social
change has now passed over the country. The
stockbroker, to speak in allegory, has got into
Society. Respect for Rank, fifty years ago
universal and profound, is rapidly decaying.
There are still many left who believe in some
LINKMAN kind of superiority by Divine Right and the
Sovereign’s gift of Rank, even though that
Rank be but ten years old, and the grandfather’s shop is still
remembered. We do not pretend to believe any longer that Rank by
itself makes people cleverer, more moral, stronger, more religious, or
more capable; but some of us still believe that, in some unknown
way, it makes them superior. These thinkers are getting fewer. And
the decay of agriculture, which promises to continue and increase,
assists the decay of Respect for Rank, because such an aristocracy
as that of these islands, when it becomes poor, becomes
contemptible.
The position of women, social and intellectual, has wholly
changed. Nothing was heard then of women’s equality, nothing of
woman suffrage; there were no women on Boards, there were none
who lectured and spoke in public, there were few who wrote
seriously. Women regarded themselves, and spoke of themselves, as
inferior to men in understanding, as they were in bodily strength.
Their case is not likely to be understated by one of themselves. Hear,
therefore, what Mrs. John Sandford—nowadays she would have
been Mrs. Ethel Sandford, or Mrs. Christian-and maiden-name
Sandford—says upon her sisters. It is in a book called ‘Woman in her
Social and Domestic Character.’
‘There is something unfeminine in independence. It is contrary
to Nature, and therefore it offends. A really sensible woman feels her
dependence; she does what she can, but she is conscious of
inferiority, and therefore grateful for support.’ The italics are mine.
‘In everything that women attempt they should show their
consciousness of dependence.... They should remember that by
them influence is to be obtained, not by assumption, but by a
delicate appeal to affection or principle. Women in this respect are
something like children—the more they show their need of support,
the more engaging they are. The appropriate expression of
dependence is gentleness.’ The whole work is executed in this spirit,
the keynote being the inferiority of woman. Heavens! with what a
storm would such a book be now received!
In the year 1835 Herr Räumer, the German historian, visited
England, and made a study of the English people, which he
afterwards published. From this book one learns a great deal
concerning the manners of the time. For instance, he went to a
dinner-party given by a certain noble lord, at which the whole
service was of silver, a silver hot-water dish being placed under
every plate; the dinner lasted until midnight, and the German guest
drank too much wine, though he missed ‘most of the healths.’ It was
then the custom at private dinner-parties to go on drinking healths
after dinner, and to sit over the wine till midnight. He goes to an ‘At
Home’ at Lady A.’s. ‘Almost all the men,’ he tells us, ‘were dressed in
black coats, black or coloured waistcoats, and black or white
cravats.’ Of what colour were the coloured waistcoats, and of what
colour the coats which were not black, and how were the other men
dressed? Perhaps one or two may have been Bishops in evening
dress. Now the evening dress of a Bishop used to be blue. I once
saw a Bishop dressed all in blue—he was a very aged Bishop, and it
was at a City Company’s dinner—and I was told it had formerly been
the evening dress of Bishops, but was now only worn by the most
ancient among them. Herr Räumer mentions the ‘countless’
carriages in Hyde Park, and observes that no one could afford to
keep a carriage who had not 3,000l. a year at least. And at
fashionable dances he observes that they dance nothing but waltzes.
The English ladies he finds beautiful, and of the men he observes
that the more they eat and drink the colder they become—because
they drank port, no doubt, under the influence of which, though the
heart glows more and more, there comes a time when the brow
clouds, and the speech thickens, and the tongue refuses to act.
The dinners were conducted on primitive principles. Except in
great houses, where the meat and game were carved by the butler,
everything was carved on the table. The host sat behind the haunch
of mutton, and ‘helped’ with zeal; the guests took the ducks, the
turkey, the hare, and the fowls, and did their part, conscious of
critical eyes. A dinner was a terrible ordeal for a young man who,
perhaps, found himself called upon to dissect a pair of ducks. He
took up the knife with burning cheeks and perspiring nose; now, at
last, an impostor, one who knew not the ways of polite society,
would be discovered; he began to feel for the joints, while the cold
eyes of his hostess gazed reproachfully upon him—ladies, in those
days, knew good carving, and could carve for themselves. Perhaps
he had, with a ghastly grin, to confess that he could not find those
joints. Then the dish was removed and given to another guest, a
horribly self-reliant creature, who laughed and talked while he
dexterously sliced the breast and cut off the legs. If, in his agony,
the poor wretch would take refuge in the bottle, he had to wait until
some one invited him to take wine—horrible tyranny! The dinner-
table was ornamented with a great épergne of silver or glass; after
dinner the cloth was removed, showing the table, deep in colour,
lustrous, well waxed; and the gentlemen began real business with
the bottle after the ladies had gone.
Very little need be said about the Court. It was then in the hands
of a few families. It had no connection at all with the life of the
country, which went on as if there were no Court at all. It is strange
that in these fifty years of change the Court should have altered so
little. Now, as then, the Court neither attracts, nor attempts to
attract, any of the leaders in Art, Science, or Literature. Now, as
then, the Court is a thing apart from the life of the country. For the
best class of all, those who are continually advancing the country in
science, or keeping alight the sacred lamp of letters, who are its
scholars, architects, engineers, artists, poets, authors, journalists,
who are the merchant adventurers of
modern times, who are the preachers
and teachers, the Court simply does not
exist. One states the fact without
comment. But it should be stated, and it
should be clearly understood. The whole
of those men who in this generation
maintain the greatness of our country in
the ways where alone greatness is
desirable or memorable, except in arms,
the only men of this generation whose
WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY
memories will live and adorn the
Victorian era, are strangers to the Court.
It seems a great pity. An ideal Court should be the centre of
everything—Art, Letters, Science, all.
As for the rest of society—how the people had drums and routs
and balls; how they angled for husbands; how they were hollow and
unnatural, and so forth—you may read about it in the pages of
Thackeray. And I, for one, have never been able to understand how
Thackeray got his knowledge of these exclusive circles. Instead of
dancing at Almack’s he was taking his chop and stout at the Cock;
instead of gambling at Crockford’s he was writing ‘copy’ for any
paper which would take it. When and where did he meet Miss
Newcome and Lady Kew and Lord Steyne? Perhaps he wrote of
them by intuition, as Disraeli wrote the ‘Young Duke.’ ‘My son, sir,’
said the elder Disraeli proudly, ‘has never, I believe, even seen a
Duke.’
One touch more. There is before me a beautiful, solemn work,
one in which the writer feels his responsibilities almost too
profoundly. It is on no less important a subject than Etiquette,
containing Rules for the Conduct of Life on the most grave and
serious occasions. I permit myself one or two extracts:—
‘Familiarity is the greatest vice of Society. When an acquaintance
says “My dear fellow,” cut him immediately.’
 ‘Never enter your own house without bowing to every one you
may meet there.’
‘Never ask a lady any questions about anything whatever.’
‘If you have drunk wine with every one at the table and wish for
more’—Heavens! More! And after drinking with every one at the
table!—‘wait till the cloth is removed.’
‘Never permit the sanctity of the drawing-room to be violated by
a Boot.’
 CHAPTER VIII.

AT THE PLAY AND THE SHOW.

Fifty years ago the Theatre was, far more than at present, the
favourite amusement of the Londoners. It was a passion with them.
They did not go only to laugh and be pleased as we go now; they
went as critics; the pit preserves to this day a reputation, long since
lost, for critical power. A large number of the audience went to every
new performance of a stock piece in order to criticise. After the
theatre they repaired to the Albion or the Cock for supper, and to
talk over the performance. Fifty years ago there were about
2
eighteen theatres, for a London of two millions.

2
The following were the London theatres in
the year 1837: Her Majesty’s, formerly the
King’s; Drury Lane, Covent Garden, the ‘Summer
House,’ or Haymarket; the Lyceum, the Prince’s
(now St. James’s), the Adelphi, the City of
London (Norton Folgate), the Surrey, Astley’s,
the Queen’s (afterwards the Prince of Wales’s),
the Olympic, and the Strand, the Coburg
(originally opened as the Victoria in 1833),
Sadler’s Wells, the Royal Pavilion, the Garrick,
and the Clarence (now the King’s Cross).
 These theatres were not open all the year round, but it was
reckoned that 20,000 people went every night to the theatre. There
are now thirty theatres at least open nearly the whole year round. I
doubt if there are many more than 20,000 at all of them together on
an average in one night. Yet London has doubled, and the visitors to
London have been multiplied by ten. It is by the visitors that the
theatres are kept up. The people of London have in great measure
lost their taste for the theatres, because they have gone to live in
the suburbs. Who, for instance, that lives in Hampstead and wishes
to get up in good time in the morning can take his wife often to the
theatre? It takes an hour to drive into town, the hour after dinner.
The play is over at a little after eleven; if he takes a cab, the driver is
sulky at the thought of going up the hill and getting back again
without another fare; if he goes and returns in a brougham, it
doubles the expense. Formerly, when everybody lived in town, they
could walk. Again, the price of seats has enormously gone up.
Where there were two rows of stalls at the same price as the dress
circle—namely, four shillings—there are now a dozen at the price of
half a guinea. And it is very much more the fashion to take the best
places, so that the dress circle is no longer the same highly
respectable part of the house, while the upper boxes are now ‘out of
it’ altogether, and, as for the pit, no man knoweth whether there be
any pit still.
 Jn. B Buckstone
-JOHN BALDWIN BUCKSTONE-

Besides, there are so many more distractions; a more widely

spread habit of reading, more music, more art, more society, a fuller
life. The theatre was formerly—it is still to many—the only school of
conversation, wit, manners, and sentiment, the chief excitement
which took them out of their daily lives, the most delightful, the
most entrancing manner of spending the evening. If the theatre
were the same to the people of London as it used to be, the average
attendance, counting the visitors, would be not 20,000 but 120,000.
The reason why some of the houses were open for six months
only was that the Lord Chancellor granted a licence for that period
only, except to the patent houses. The Haymarket was a summer
house, from April to October; the Adelphi a winter house, from
October to April.
The most fashionable of the houses was Her Majesty’s, where
only Italian Opera was performed. Everybody in society was obliged
to have a box for the season, for which sums were paid varying with
the place in the house and the rank and wealth of the tenant. Thus
the old Duke of Gloucester used to pay three hundred guineas for
the season. On levée days and drawing-rooms the fashionable world
went to the Opera in their Court dresses, feathers, and diamonds,
and all—a very moving spectacle. Those who only took a box in
order to keep up appearances, and because it was necessary for one
in society to have a box, used to sell seats—commonly called bones,
because a round numbered bone was the ticket of admission—to
their friends; sometimes they let their box for a single night, a
month, or the whole season, by means of the agents, so that,
except for the honour of it, as the man said when the bottom of his
sedan-chair fell out, one might as well have had none at all.
The prices of admission to the theatres were very much less
than obtain at the present day. At Drury Lane the boxes and stalls,
of which there were two or three rows only, were 7s. each; the pit
was 3s. 6d., the upper boxes 2s., and the gallery 1s. At Covent
Garden, where they were great at spectacle, with performing
animals, the great Bunn being lessee, the prices were lower, the
boxes being 4s., the pit 2s., the upper boxes 1s. 6d., and gallery 1s.
At the Haymarket the boxes were 5s., the pit 3s., and the gallery 1s.
6d.
 LISTON AS ‘PAUL PRY’
(From a Drawing by George Cruikshank)

The actors and actresses were many and good. At the

Haymarket they had Farren, Webster, Buckstone, Mrs. Glover, and
Mrs. Humby. At the Olympic, Elliston, Liston, and Madame Vestris.
Helen Faucit made her first appearance in 1835; Miss Fanny Kemble
hers in 1830. Charles Mathews, Harley, Macready, and Charles Kean
were all playing. I hardly think that in fifty years’ time so good a list
will be made of actors of the present day whose memory has lasted
so long as those of 1837. The salaries of actors and singers varied
greatly, of course. Malibran received 125l. a night, Charles Kean 50l.
a night, Macready 30l. a week, Farren 20l. a week, and so on, down
to the humble chorister—they then called her a figurante—with her
12s. or 18s. a week.
 T N Talfourd
-THOMAS NOON TALFOURD-

As for the national drama, I suppose it had never before been in

so wretched a state. Talfourd’s play of ‘Ion’ was produced about this
time; but one good play—supposing ‘Ion’ to be a good play—is
hardly enough to redeem the character of the age. There were also
tragedies by Miss Mitford and Miss Baillie—strange that no woman
has ever written even a tolerable play—but these failed to keep the
stage. One Mr. Maturin, now dying out of recollection, also wrote
tragedies. The comedies and farces were written by Planché,
Reynolds, Peake, Theodore Hook, Dibdin, Leman Rede, Poole,
Maddison Morton, and Moncrieff. A really popular writer, we learn
with envy and astonishment, would make as much as 30l., or even
40l., by a good piece. Think of making 30l. or 40l. by a good piece
at the theatre! Was not that noble encouragement for the
playwrights? Thirty pounds for one piece! It takes one’s breath away.
Would not Mr. Gilbert, Mr. Wills, and Mr. George Sims be proud and
happy men if they could get 30l.—a whole lump of 30l.—for a single
piece? We can imagine the tears of joy running down their cheeks.

Charles Reade
-CHARLES READE-

The decline of the drama was attributed by Räumer to the entire

absence of any protection for the dramatist. This is no doubt partly
true; but the dramatist was protected, to a certain extent, by the
difficulty of getting copies of his work. Shorthand writers used to try
—they still try—to take down, unseen, the dialogue. Generally,
however, they are detected in the act and desired to withdraw. As a
rule, if the dramatist did not print the plays, he was safe, except
from treachery on the part of the prompter. The low prices paid for
dramatic work were the chief causes of the decline—say, rather, the
dreadful decay, dry rot, and galloping consumption—of the drama
fifty years ago. Who, for instance, would ever expect good fiction to
be produced if it was rewarded at the rate of no more than 30l., or
even 300l., a novel? Great prizes are incentives for good work. Good
craftsmen will no longer work if the pay is bad; or, if they work at all,
they will not throw their hearts into the work. The great success of
Walter Scott was the cause why Dickens, Thackeray, George Eliot,
Charles Reade, and the many second-rate novelists chose fiction
rather than the drama for their energies. One or two of them,
Dickens and Reade, for instance, were always hankering after the
stage. Had dramatists received the same treatment in England as in
France, many of these writers would have seriously turned their
attention to the theatre, and our modern dramatic literature would
have been as rich as our work in fiction. The stage now offers a
great fortune, a far greater fortune, won much more swiftly than can
be got by fiction, to those who succeed.
 M. R. Mitford.
-MARY RUSSELL MITFORD-

As for the pieces actually produced about this period, they were
chiefly adaptations from novels. Thus, we find ‘Esmeralda’ and
‘Quasimodo,’ two plays from Victor Hugo’s ‘Hunchback of Notre
Dame;’ ‘Lucillo,’ from ‘The Pilgrims of the Rhine,’ by Lytton; Bulwer,
indeed, was continually being dramatised; ‘Paul Clifford’ and ‘Rienzi,’
among others, making their appearance on the stage. For other
plays there were ‘Zampa’ or ‘The Corsair,’ due to Byron; ‘The
Waterman,’ ‘The Irish Tutor,’ ‘My Poll and my Partner Joe,’ with T. P.
Cooke, at the Surrey Theatre. The comedy of the time is very well
illustrated by Lytton’s ‘Money,’ stagey and unreal. The scenery,
dresses, and general mise-en-scène would now be considered
contemptible.

T. P. COOKE IN ‘BLACK-EYED SUSAN’

Apart from the Italian Opera, music was very well supported.
There were concerts in great numbers: the Philharmonic, the Vocal
Society, and the Royal Academy of Music gave their concerts at the
King’s Ancient Concert Rooms, Hanover Square. Willis’s Rooms were
also used for music; and the Cecilia Society gave its concerts in
Moorgate Street.
 Yours truly Walter Scott
-SIR WALTER SCOTT-

There were many other shows, apart from the well-known sights
of town. Madame Tussaud’s Gallery in Baker Street, the Hippodrome
at Bayswater, the Colosseum, the Diorama in Regent’s Park, the
Panorama in Leicester Square—where you could see ‘Peru and the