WITHIN AND WITHOUT. A SERIES OF MOSAICS FROM THE CITY. BY D. MORIER EVANS. IV. THE LAMP OF LIFE. ROLLOA, Dick, here you are!" "What's the matter? Anything in the wind ?" "Oh, such fun-there he goes. Come along." "Who do I mean? Why, mad Ackerley, followed by his Indian, Peter Brown. He has just crossed 'Change; we shall met him on the other side." Being inquisitively roused by this colloquy, and the names of Ackerley and Peter Brown striking on my ear, I knew at once that some special movement was on foot. Following the lads who had started the keynote of an adventure, I soon perceived "mad Ackerley," as the boys called him, marching with Peter Brown through the Exchange, and having entered at the southern, he was leaving by the western entrance. Peter was close by his side, and they were engaged in earnest conversation. Presently came along, crossing by the Bank, the well-known itinerant preacher, Bo'swain Smith, with his stand, and his troop of orphan sailor boys and girls, attired in the most complete nautical fashion. A slight recognition took place between Ackerley and Bo'swain Smith, and Peter Brown "yelled a yell of delight;" and patting the curly-haired children on the head, they both passed in different directions. Suddenly Ackerley pulled up Peter Brown, watching the course taken by Bo'swain Smith and his train of juveniles. He took out the medal Peter was accustomed to wear, readjusted the ribbon by which it was suspended, and placed it carefully round his neck. He then inspected the contents of a blue bag, from which there protruded the connecting tube of a lamp, and after having found it in a satisfactory condition, he returned the bag to Peter. "We'll track him, my son; he is evidently off to Tower Hill." Knowing the eccentricities of my friend, and having a little time. to spare, I followed at a respectful distance. Away trudged Ackerley and Peter, dodging the steps of Bo'swain Smith and his little troop of innocents. Forward rolled Bo'swain Smith; I could see him straight ahead, making for the locality named by Ackerley, the orphan boys carrying the stand and the money box for subscriptions, and the girls marching hand in hand with their pastor and superintendent. Trudging through Leadenhall Street, down Lime Street, Billiter Square, with its quaint old-fashioned houses, up Tower Street, Tower Hill, with its rough, rugged stone embattlements, was soon reached. The appearance of Bo'swain Smith was the signal for a general stampede. His burly figure, his kind, benevolent face, attracted immediate attention, and the neat white caps and cleanly faces of the children gave an additional charm to the scene. The watermen left their post at the Tower Stairs to approach him; and the fish and fruit women, with the truant girls and boys of the neighbourhood, gathered round to take part in this primitive open-air service. Even the advanced itinerant, the gentleman who vended Everton toffee, bore up to the spot, carrying his bright, polished mahogany tray, covered with green baize, to hear what the old Bo'swain had to say. By this time service had commenced; the congregation paid strict attention; Bo'swain Smith descanting at length upon the subject he had chosen for his text. Ackerley and Peter had arrived upon the ground, and I had followed in their wake. The old Bo'swain was full of rhapsody; he appealed to all parties to leave the paths of vice -"to quit the broad road which leadeth to destruction ;" and wound up by remarking that he, as one of the representatives of the Lamp of Life, would be ready to receive all converts into the fold. I saw the lips of Ackerley quiver; his face became perfectly livid with rage. Glaring at Peter, he muttered, "Did you hear that? He the representative of the Lamp of Life! Where are we, Peter ?" and he glared again, and took the blue bag from him, rattling it in anger. The old Bo'swain was about to conclude with his regular peroration, "And now to," &c., when Ackerley stepped forward, and with vehemence denied that the old Bo'swain represented the Lamp of Life. "For here," he said, drawing forth the well-battered lamp from the blue bag, "is the Lamp of Life itself, and I am its fortunate possessor. And you know it too." After flourishing the lamp once or twice before the gaze of the astonished crowd, he returned it to Peter to put back in the bag. The people crowded round, and seemed prepared to take summary vengeance; but a voice in the midst intimating, in reply to a question "Who is he?" "Only mad Ackerley," the announcement apparently appeased them. The old Bo'swain endeavoured to explain that his was simply an allegorical allusion, adding that he was not prepared for any interruption of the kind from his friend Ackerley, who ought to know better, or any other man (shaking his fist menacingly at Peter). The crowd cheered; Bo'swain Smith smiled with evident satisfaction; and the children cheered too. Poor Ackerley and his associate, Peter, dropped back a little distance, but made no signs of active retreat. "And now," said Bo'swain Smith, looking round on the surrounding multitude, and scowling from beneath his dark, shaggy eyebrows -" and now let us have old blind Bartimæus," rolling the last word in his usual sanctified manner; "raise your voices, my friends, and let them reach to the high blue heavens" (again rolling out the last word) "in thankfulness for having escaped the scoffer and his black satellite." Poor Ackerley looked daggers at his assailant; and his black satellite appeared almost inclined to enter into personal conflict with Bo'swain Smith; but the latter, with his usual promptitude, gave out the first verse of the hymn, one of the children pitched the tune, and the voices of the crowd ringing out in sympathy, completely drowned the last utterance of the asserted real possessor of the Lamp of Life. Ackerley, fuming with manifest rage, gave the blue bag to Peter in which was deposited the battered rattletrap metal lamp, and was about retiring, when I approached him, and, tapping him on the shoulder, remarked, "The old Bo'swain wears well, and is as vigorous as ever. He can defend himself at all points." : "Oh, yes,” replied Ackerley, "we know each other well it isn't the first time we have discussed the merits of the Lamp of Life. I shall meet him again in a week or two; we like to tackle each other." Peter gave one of his customary ghastly smiles, showing his enormous row of teeth, simply saying, "Es, sar-(Yes, sir)-hiccorry, hiccorry." My time was up, and I made my way towards Aldgate, leaving them to follow up the mud-begrimed and tarpauling-scented Minories. It was in Wales, however, where the Lamp of Life made the greatest sensation. Ackerley, when on a visit to the neighbourhood, found himself in a mining district, and the labouring classes being grossly ignorant, and medical aid not generally available, he persuaded some of the poor creatures to try the efficacy of his remedy-viz., the inhalation of spirit vapour from his lamp. It need scarcely be added that the operation failed to have any effect, and that in one especial instance the patient, suffering from a long-rooted disease, ultimately grew worse and died. Then the Lamp of Life encountered strong criticism, and an investigation having taken place, Ackerley was put on his trial for manslaughter. When the case was brought before the jury it was clearly shown that he had done nothing wrong; and the evidence being of the most inconclusive character, he was at once acquitted. After this period little more was heard of the Lamp of Life, except in the shape of oratorical displays and discussions with old Bo'swain Smith. The great Ackerley was the individual who conceived the expensive but brilliant idea of preparing an advertisement that, as Lord Dundreary would say, "no fellah could understand "-possibly not even Ackerley himself. It appeared principally in evening papers, and was generally confined to one for a series of months, or perhaps a year. Crabbed, awkward, disjointed, no connecting sentences, but a mass of hieroglyphics, occasionally illustrated with a Persian, Arabic, or Greek character; it exhibited a grotesque aspect, and what was supposed to mean something, in reality meant nothing. Every one imagined that it referred to the claims of the immortal Peter Brown, the real Mexican Indian, the descendant of the Montezumas, or to that curiously arranged machine carried in the blue bag, the Lamp of Life. I do not believe the announcement concerned either. My impression is that it was a vagary of poor Ackerley's, and that Peter Brown was devoted to one service and the Lamp of Life to another; both combining in the end to carry out the objects of their eccentric master. From evidence of the best character, and which could be produced at any moment, the following was the modus operandi of Ackerley arranging his work. It was a sight worth seeing, and when once seen it would never have been forgotten. Ackerley, with his fevered face, sharp grey eyes, and bushy eyebrows, striding upstairs to the composing room. "Rather warm work this," addressing the printer. Printer: "Yes, Colonel." He was always called "Colonel" in the offices, though he was really a lieutenant in the royal navy. Ackerley: "Where's the ad. ?-(ad., short for advertisement). It must go in to-morrow; important, very important"-rubbing his hands in a fussy manner, and looking wild and excited. Printer: "But it takes so long to correct." Ackerley: "Nonsense! out of the way, man"-taking off his coat and necktie, and standing in his shirt sleeves-" give me the bodkin " (taking the compositor's bodkin, a sharp instrument for picking out letters), "I'll soon do it." So he would set to work, and in the space of half or three-quarters of an hour he would, by introducing a disjointed quotation, a new cabalistic character, or inverting the order of a few letters, replace the advertisement, defray its cost, and give the necessary instructions for its appearance. At length, from want of means or other causes, the series was ultimately suspended, and Ackerley then occupied himself wholly with Peter Brown and the Lamp of Life. Singular as it may seem, Bo'swain Smith, with his eccentric mannerism and rough eloquence-for occasionally eloquent he was -did a great deal of good in his time; and although there were vague rumours not thoroughly creditable to his private character-which, however, in reality were never satisfactorily proved-the inhabitants of the lower bounds of Tower Hill, Ratcliff Highway, and Wapping benefited to some extent from his ministration. The poor degraded creatures in the worst haunts of these sickly and fever-stricken localities always behaved decorously when Bo'swain Smith pitched his stand, and listened with attention; whilst their acquaintances, newly-arrived "salts," were restrained from any exuberant feeling till he had finished his discourse and departed. The old Bo'swain was one of the early advocates for Sailors' Homes, to accommodate the men previously to their leaving for sea, or on their return from distant voyages, in order to save them from the hands of "crimps" or other offscourings of society that infest the docks at all seasons. He happily lived to see the first initiation of the movement; and it has since been greatly developed, to the advantage of the mercantile marine of all classes. Peter Brown, the constant attendant of his master, Ackerley, made what would be called in homely phraseology "a good thing of it." He was well dressed, carried the time-honoured blue bag, and a heavily caparisoned green silk umbrella. When he and the Lieutenant went on 'Change, which they occasionally did, the latter would attempt to harangue the merchants on the misguided conduct of trade, and enforce the fact that the only salvation of England would be the restoration of Peter Brown, the descendant of the Montezumas, to the throne of his ancestors. On one occasion a wag, who little dreamed of the mischief of which he was likely to be author, walked up to poor Ackerley and his |