commoner kind. “Knuckle down,” according to our recollections, was the laying the knuckle on the ground for a shot. “Odd and even” was also spoken of by the Serjeant. Another game alluded to, is mysteriously called “Tip-cheese”—of which the latest editor speculates “probably Tip-cat was meant: the game at which Bunyan was distinguishing himself when he had a call.” The “cat” was a plain piece of wood, sharpened at both ends. I suppose made to jump, like a cat. But unde “cheese,” unless it was a piece of rind that was struck.
“Flying the garter” is another of the Pickwickian boy games. Talking with a very old gentleman, lately, I thought of asking him concerning “Flying the garter:” he at once enlightened me. It was a familiar thing he remembered well “when a boy.” It was a sort of “Leap Frog,” exercise—only with a greater and longer spring: he
spoke also of a shuffle of the feet during the process.
And again. There is a piquant quaintness in the upside-down turning of every thing in this wonderful Book. Such as Perker’s eyes, which are described as playing with his “inquisitive nose” a “perpetual game of”—what, think you? Bo-Peep? not at all: but “peep-bo.” How odd and unaccountable! We all knew the little “Bo-peep,” and her sheep—but “peep-bo” is quite a reversal.
Gas was introduced into London about the year 1812 and was thought a prodigiously “brilliant illuminant.” But in the Pickwickian days it was still in a crude state—and we can see in the first print—that of the club room—only two attenuated jets over the table. In many of the prints we find the dip or mould candle, which was used to light Sam as he sat in the coffee room of the Blue Boar. Mr. Nupkins’ kitchen was not lit by gas.
As to this matter of light—it all depends on habit and accommodating. When a boy I have listened to “Ivanhoe” read out—O enchantment! by the light of two “mould” candles—the regular thing—which required “snuffing” about every ten minutes, and snuffing required dexterity. The snuffers—laid on a long tray—were of ponderous construction; it was generally some one’s regular duty to snuff—how odd seems this now! The “plaited wicks” which came later were thought a triumph, and the snuffers disappeared. They also are to be seen in the Curio Shops.
How curious, too, the encroachment of a too practical age on the old romance. “Fainting” was the regular thing in the Pickwickian days, in any agitation; “burnt feathers” and the “sal volatile” being the remedy. The beautiful, tender and engaging creatures we see in the annuals, all fainted regularly—and knew how to faint—were perhaps taught it. Thus when Mr. Pickwick
was assumed to have “proposed” to his landlady, she in business-like fashion actually “fainted;” now-a-days “fainting” has gone out as much as duelling.
In the travellers’ rooms at Hotels—in the “commercial” room—we do not see people smoking “large Dutch pipes”—nor is “brandy and water” the only drink of the smoking room. Mr. Pickwick and his friends were always “breaking the waxen seals” of their letters—while Sam, and people of his degree, used the wafer. (What by the way was the “fat little boy”—in the seal of Mr. Winkle’s penitential letter to his sire? Possibly a cupid.) Snuff taking was then common enough in the case of professional people like Perker.
At this moment there is to be seen in the corner of many an antique Hall—Sedan chair laid up in ordinary—of black leather, bound with brass-nails. We can well recall in our boyish days, mamma in full dress and her hair in “bands,” going out to dine in her