The Sun.
London, England, 1845-02-01 00:00:00

DOUGLAS JERROLD'S MAGAZINE.

The story of " St. Giles and St. James" is con-
tinued, but not exactly with so much interest as that
with which it opened. The fact that the children of
the poor and destitute are not brought up, but
dragged up, as Lamb has it, is too well known to
admit of a doubt, and scarcely requires illustration.
Some of Douglas Jerrold's descriptions of character
in this Number are fully worthy of him. Here is
one of a new acquaintance he is about to introduce
as to—it is that of Mr. Capstick, the muffin-maker:—
" One of the seven airiest and finest streets that com-
pose the Seven Dials—for we care Rat to name the exact
spot—boasted the advent of a tradesman, who employed
the whole vigour of his mind, and he himself thought
net meanly of it, on the manufacture of muffins. At
the time of our present chapter, Mr Capstick had only
lived a twelvemonth under the protection of St. Giles ;
paying the Saint due parish rates for such advantage.
Where Mr. Capstick came from nobody knew. It was
plain he was one of those people who now and then drop
from the sky into a neighbourhood, for no other end
than to adorn and dignify it. At least, it was plain that
Mr. Capstick thought as much ; and he was not a man
to disguise his thoughts when they at all tended to his
self-glorification. True it was, muffins had been known in
St. Giles's, ere Mr. Capstick lighted his oven there. But
what muffins ! how, too, were they made—where
vended ? Why, as Mr. Capstick would observe, they
were made as if they were bad halfpence—and they were
quite as hard to chew—in guilt and darkness. Nobody
knew what they were eating. Now, all the world might
see him make Ms muffins. Indeed, he would feel obliged
to the world if it would take that trouble. To be sure,
he was throwing his muffins to swine—but he couldn't
help that. It wasn't his nature to do anything that
wasn't fir4-rate : he knew he was a loser by it ; all men
who did so were ; nevertheless, a man who was a true
man would go on ruining himself for the world, though
he might hate the world all the time he was doing it.
Nevertheless, his muffins was open to the universe.
There was no mystery in him, none at all. And
then he would say, glowing at times with a strange
eloquence, What a glorious thing it would be for the
world if every man made his muffin—whatever that
muffin might be—in the open light of Heaven ; and not
in a cupboard, a hole, a corner I It was making muffins
in secret, and in darkness, that made three parts of the
misery of mankind.' When people heard Mr. Capstick
discourse after this fashion, they would confidentially
declare to one another that it was plain he was born
above his business ; he was a broken down gentle man ;
perhaps come of a Jacobite family, and made muffins to
hide his disgrace. True it was, there was a pompous-
ness, a swagger, an affected contempt of the
people with whom he turned the penny, that gave
some warranty for these opinions. Nevertheless, Mr.
Capstick, with all his consequence, all his misan-
thropy,—and ha wore his hatred of mankind as he
would have worn a diamond ring, as a thing at once to
put in the best light and to be very proud of—.a as a great
favourite. The cellars of St. Giles's echoed his praises.
He was, in his way, a great benefactor to his poorest
neighbours. You see, Mary Ann,' he woul3 say to
his wife, whet a blessing there is in corn. When
muffins are too stale to sell, they:re always good enough
to give away.' And these remainder mans he would

THE SUN, LGNDON, SATURDAY MORNING, PEIBRUARY 1